#anyways. i just think this is interesting

[rebornofstars]

really whats interesting to me is that if u stay involved in a fandom long enough u get an evolution of scrolling from: ooh! - ooh! - ooh! - OH i didn't realise this was a trope - ooh! - OH - ooh! - ooh!!

to smth more like: read that - read that - oh LOOK it's my mutual - omg that one looks SO GOOD i love the trope subversion - wrote that - read that - oh my friends have been screaming about this one - wrote that - oh LOOK it's my mutual - read that - FRESH MEAT LETS GO SAY HELLO and its

SO beautiful and joyous. being a member of a community is fun!!!!! being so familiar with a tiny corner of the internet is fascinating!!!!! seeing the connections between yourself and other people is crazy cool!!!! we're all here on the web page together!!!! i see you and i love you!!!!!!

[rueclfer]

PLUG KATSUKI WHO IS SOOO CUTE AND NONCHALANT BUT ONLY FOR U!!! rolls up and lights for you so sweetly but hates everyone else, charges people extra while all he charges u is kisses while he rolls

AAAAAAHHHHHH AAAAHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH thank u ily omfg THANK U

plug!katsuki // job fair

event m.list

you’re rocking back and forth on your heels as you see the bright headlights of katsuki’s car pull up in front of your apartment building. you can’t see through his tinted windows, but you're well familiar with the vehicle and wave as you approach anyways.

“hi,” you whisper once he rolls down the window, letting a gust of the perpetual weed smell in his car hit you in the face.

a whistle leaves his lips as he leans over the center console and eyes the outfit you had worn out to the club an hour prior. “throwing a party and didn’t even invite me?”

“we went out for someone’s birthday,” you correct with an eye roll, “you would’ve hated it.”

“would’ve hated it more than being woken up at 1am to deliver across town?”

“stop that. you said you were already up,” you lean into the open window with a pout, “you really didn’t have to, katsu, i already told you i wasn’t expecting you to say yes.”

“no shit i’m going to say yes to you,” he scoffs, “you know better than to think i won’t. get in.”

you don’t move or say anything until he cocks his eyebrow at you, almost ready to get out of the car and come over on the other side to open the door for you himself.

“i can’t sit and hang. i have guests over and they’re all drunk and feigning for a smoke.”

he presses his lips together in a tight line. maybe he would’ve enjoyed being dragged out for one of your friend’s sloppy birthday celebration after all- as long as it meant time with you if he couldn’t have it right now.

“how are you gonna smoke it, huh?”

“uhhh..” you trail, “through an apple? crush up an empty beer can?”

he gives you the look that only brings a sheepish grin to your face.

“sit with me for a little and i’ll roll a couple for you to take in.”

without missing a beat, katsuki reaches over and unlatches the passenger door, leaving you no choice but to slide right into your spot.

he doesn’t waste any time. from behind your seat, he pulls out a tray that perfectly fits in his lap. you’ve watched him do this countless times, but it never gets less interesting. you think he’s so type-a. he’s meticulous about his rituals, you don’t even bother asking him to let you have a go at it.

“you should teach me how to do this sometime,” you say, leaning over the center console and resting your cheek against his shoulder, watching his hands move seamlessly.

“nope."

“no?”

“no.”

“scared you won’t be useful to me anymore?” you chuckle, shifting your head to gaze up at him.

“can't risk losing business.” he shrugs.

“oh right. business,” you roll your eyes, “how much do i owe you? i’ll wire it over right now.”

katsuki scoffs out a chuckle and shakes his head, still fumbling with the cone in between his fingers. 

“if you want to pay me right now, then you’re definitely gonna be late getting back to your little friends.”

your hand runs up the side of his outer bicep and to the back of his neck, rubbing your thumb back and forth against his nape. he sends you a side glance.

“not that i mind,” he quips.

you lean up against him and press a kiss onto the tender skin of his cheek. and again. and again until the tip of his ear is pink and he’s biting back a smirk.

“thank you again,” you mutter against his cheek.

“it's you. no biggie."

katsuki takes his attention away from the half stuffed joint to turn towards you, pressing his lips against yours for a split moment. you taste the remnants of the mint chewing gum in his mouth just as he pulls away.

"you should've invited me to the birthday thing," he murmurs, "i wouldn't have minded. even if your friends are messy as fuck."

"really?"

"mhm," he hums.

you fiddle with the hem of your dress for a moment, chewing on the bottom of your lip.

"do you want to come up then? people are probably just gonna smoke a little and then go home, but we can still hang out? if you're not sleepy?

he continues humming. he's pensively thinking and it only makes you more nervous, but his hands are still moving as if rolling a joint was muscle memory at this point.

"yeah sure. but when you introduce me, i'm not your plug. i'm just yours."

[yallstar]

viktor calls a timeout, and jayce is nothing if not accommodating......

[kdh-tally]

i have such bad brainworms over zoey and mystery and i’m living in rarepair HELL because there’s barely any content about them ( ; ω ; )

anyways can you write any headcanons you have about them specifically? i saw this tweet earlier this morning that said that if the saja boys came back to life (somehow), that mystery would shyly ask the other boys if zoey meant it when she said he was her type and the BRAINWORMS ARE WORMING ( : ౦ ‸ ౦ : )

Prompt : Zoeystery Headcannons <3

Authors Note :  I don’t think Mystery is shy, just quiet. Bro was barking at a random fan… he must be a bit crazy. I do adore this ship however and have so many ideas for them but I have so many ideas for everyone else too 😭 Hope you enjoyed :D

Context 

I do think that once the Saja Boys reunite with Jinu they have like a 24 hour long conversation about how life will work for them in the human world (since they can’t go back)

Confessions will be made

Romance and Abby admitting that maybe their flirting with Mira isn’t just flirting and they actually kinda like her.

Jinu confessing that he is very much in love with Rumi

The boys all look at him with straight faces.

“We’ve known”

Baby is just there, drinking some hot sauce drink made specifically for him after everyone saw the hot sauce challenge. He isn’t interested in anyone.

Everyone turns to mystery, the only guy that hasn’t spoken yet.

First he tries to play it off “I’m not into any of them like that…”

The boys continuously hound him. He can no longer maintain his mysterious image any longer. 

“Okay fine,” he runs a hand through his hair. 

I feel like he’d keep his hair up in a ponytail or bun or something when around the boys. 

This headcannon is kinda specific but because he was the only demon with like “tusks”, I feel like after becoming human he would still feel uncomfortable with his face hence the hairstyle.

Leading to his confusion about Zoey cause he might feel as though she doesn’t deserve someone like him.

“I’m not saying I like her or anything but… do you guys think Zoey meant what she said?”

No one’s sure what he’s talking about because they weren’t there. Except Baby. 

This guy is laid back with a grin as he 100% knows what is bothering Mystery.

“About you being her type?~” he teases

Uproar

Mystery is trying to sink into the couch to avoid all the teasing thats being thrown his way but he notices there’s an unanimous agreement that Zoey must have been honest.

Zoey isn’t any better off.

Even though the girls have more or less accepted the Saja boys into the human world, they’ll still probably be a bit on guard at all times.

“Zoey he’s the enemyyyyy” Mira would groan, interrupting one of the black-haired girls' many rambles about the Saja Boy.

“But Rumi is half-demon and she isn’t the enemy” she’d argue in defiance.

“This isn’t about being a demon anymore,” Zoey would have Mira pulling her hair out, “He’s the competition!”

“But Rumi gets to be with Jinu and no one says anything!!!” 

Rumi is in immediate denial but no one is listening

All 3 girls know that Zoey will continue to pursue this crush anyways

General 

Now, Mystery is probably the most quiet Saja Boy. He doesn't talk much, but every time he does, Zoey repeats whatever it is he said in her head for hours.

Zoey would totally fluster him (and herself) by mistake

Remember the scene where they had a joint fan meet and she was immediately all giggly when he sat by her?

This would set off something in his heart yk. 

Zoey also needs to like physically remind herself to stop fangirling around him 💀

Mystery’s the “cool one” of the group but if there was ever a moment where Zoey let her hair out of her cute space buns?

He’s a goner

Even watching her rap messes with his heart strings

How can someone so cute be so attractive?

There are fan edits of them glancing at each other at the same time that go viral constantly.

A specific one is this fanart I saw on tiktok of them doing the “Bark Like You Want It” trend (will link it and add a photo in the end)

Someone also made a compilation of them looking away awkwardly after accidentally touching each other.

Zoey once wore earrings that were clearly his during a livestream.

No explanation was given.

The fandom exploded.

Mystery avoided the internet like a plague. He didn’t even know how she got them.

The line he had in “I’m Your Idol”?

“I will love you more when it all burns down”

Notice how Zoey goes from looking like a hypnotized zombie into a smiling hypnotized zombie???

He would write lyrics about her but disguise them as some metaphorical demon lore. 

Zoey reads between the lines way too easily (she writes lyrics for a living) and now whenever he performs it, she won’t make proper eye contact.

She eventually admits this to him and he’s just like “Yea I figured”. Zoey clocks that this was one of his chosen methods of flirting.

They talk best when no one's watching. 

Mystery doesn’t feel like anyone will be there to tease him and Zoey won’t feel any guilt for talking so much

I JUST REALIZED THEY’RE LITERALLY THE YAPPER X LISTENER DUO!

"Do you ever miss being a demon? Not having a soul?"

“Not having a soul meant I wasn’t able to feel all the joy you bring me" my guy is a flustered mess.

Zoey would leave sticky notes on the boys' dorm fridge. 

All of them are jokes or warnings. The warnings are specifically for Baby though. 

"don’t eat my snacks unless you want your hand broken, Baby :D"

The ones she leaves for mystery are always sweet though.

"You looked nice on stage today ;P"

"Wear your hair up more! ><"

He keeps them folded in his wallet.

Zoeystery and Baby

Speaking of Baby

Zoey and Baby are most definitely a messy duo that both fans love to see together.

With Baby being their number one (in secret) supporter, Mystery would almost always find himself tagging along on their adventures.

Making pancakes at 3 in the morning? Mystery is helping them with the batter.

Having a rap battle? Mystery is tallying up the points.

Finding a way to prank Jinu? Mystery is making sure they escape without getting caught

He really only follows Baby cause he knows it means he’ll be spending time with Zoey.

Overall they're just two cuties.

[owe-143]

From my grave I arise with a humble request hajshsjs

Plz this movie got me so hyperfixated, I haven't felt this in like soooo long and reading ur works after watching is just hehehe yes I love it

Anyways! What if like saja boys with like reader who has a pet like a cat/dog/bird and like how wud they interact with them hehehe

Have a nice day!!! Thank you for feeding the us 🫶🫶🫶

~Pets and Saja!!

A/N: Ty for requesting pookie!! I LOVEE FEEDING YALLL. and this is such a cute request hehe. You have a nice day/night too

Warnings: swearing, honestly a silly ahh fic

Fluff☁⭐

Saja Boys (separate) x reader

Jinu!

-LOVES YOUR PET SMMM

-considering that he has his own lil buddies i feel like he'd totally be cool with yours

-ESPECIALLY IF YOU GOT A CAT. HE'S A CAT DAD GUYS

-he'll take care of your pet as if it's his own

-talks to the animal like constantly

Abs!

-DID NOT like your pet at first

-''Who this animal think they is stealing my pookie?'' ahh

-But quickly warmed up to it becuz its just that cute like hellooo

-If you have a dog, he will be so obsessed with it to the point of stealing the cutie

-laughs his ahh off when the animal does dumb shi

Romance!

-Hates your pet lowkey💔😭

-He tolerates it anyway because he loves you

-flips em off (to which you beat the shit outta him because wtf)

-if you have a bird, he'll mock the damn thing

-eventually warms up to your pet but in secret. never in front of you

Mystery

-Is a little confused on why you have a pet in the first place when you have him (LMAOOO)

-YOU JUST KNOW HE BE BARKING BACK AT THE DOG. NEVER LETTING YALL FORGET THAT SCENE

-overall likes the silly pet

-will teach it tricks or skills

-prefers cats. He will stare at it for hours on end without saying a word like it's the most interesting thing on earth

Baby

-need to get this out. if you have a damn parrot. DON'T LEAVE IT WITH HIM. THAT THING WILL BE SWEARING LIKE CRAZY😭

-loves your pets really. has no reason to beef with them. they cute. he cute-mutual understanding

-Always ready to entertain/play with them

-doesn't know when to leave em alone tho💔

-expecting you to baby him like how you baby that pet

[crazziforazzi]

Red Jersey

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

One shot

Warning: MDNI, Possessive!P, Mild dom/sub dynamics

A/N: This started out as a cute little post-game one-shot I drafted after the match… then I went to work, came back, and rewrote it into whatever this is now. I will now be closing my laptop and pretending this never happened, okay? We don’t talk about it.

But in my defense, I did promise to deliver something if P dropped 20. Next time I’m betting on 25+

Word Count: 4k words

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble.

Not the catastrophic, relationship-on-the-line kind of trouble. More the you knew what you were doing and now you’re dealing with the consequences kind. The kind of trouble where your girlfriend doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t throw a fit, she just misses three open layups in the first half of a game she should be dominating and avoids eye contact the whole time.

That kind of trouble stung, because it meant Paige was actually upset. And Azzi couldn’t even say she hadn’t earned it.

It had started with the post. Their hard launch, yesterday. Paige had known it was coming, they’d even laughed about the case together when it arrived in the mail. She’d said Azzi could post it whenever she felt ready. Azzi had felt ready. Paige, apparently, had felt… too busy to react.

Sure, they had agreed Azzi would be the one to go public first, to slowly place the signs for their fans. But she hadn’t expected complete silence from her girlfriend. No like, no repost, not even their pink heart emoji. Just…nothing.

And that silence? It annoyed the hell out of her.

And she knew it was stupid. She knew Paige was barely online these days. She knew that one like didn’t matter when her girlfriend made sure she woke up to a good morning text every single day, and treated her like a princess whenever they were together. But still, Azzi liked to be claimed. In every way possible.

So yeah, maybe Azzi was feeling a little petty when she showed up to the Wings-Mystics game today. 

Her hair was still perfect from the event she’d been at the day before. Her natural makeup hit just right. She even pulled on the jeans Paige loved and decided on a cropped white UConn shirt that left just enough abs and her piercing peeking out. She looked good. Hot, even. First official WAG game and she was showing up for it.

But when she was greeted by Georgia Amoore instead of her own girlfriend first, with a cheeky grin and a "You want this?" Azzi caught the jersey, smiled, and pulled it on right over her tank top without missing a beat.

Okay, maybe she paused for a second. But only because she knew Paige would be annoyed. Her girlfriend was way too possessive for this kind of shit.

Which made her do it anyway.

She’d barely been sitting for a few minutes, casually chatting with the girl next to her, when she saw them. Or more accurately, felt it first. The stare.

When she looked up, Paige and Arike were jogging toward the sideline for warmups. Paige wasn’t even trying to hide the glare. Azzi met her eyes across the court and raised her brows, all faux innocence, like what? Someone else gave it to me.

She didn’t expect Paige to actually come over to her side of the court. But she did.

With Arike flanking her, both of them bouncing the balls casually as they strolled toward Azzi’s section like they had no other place to be. Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just gave her that look. The one that said 

You think you are funny, huh?

"Interesting jersey choice," Arike said with a sly grin, clearly enjoying the drama way too much.

"Georgia said she didn’t want it getting wrinkled on the bench," Azzi shot back smoothly. "I’m just doing her a favor."

"Mhm," Paige murmured, eyes flicking up and down slowly. "Bet she appreciated that."

Azzi tilted her head, playful. "Bet you noticed."

That earned her a look. Paige didn’t respond though,—just turned back to warm up again with Arike, glancing over at Azzi every once in a while before shaking her head. Each time, Azzi just smiled back sweetly, all charm and no remorse.

Now it was halftime, and Azzi sat very still in her seat, Georgia’s red jersey still on, and maybe regretting everything, just a little.

Paige had gone 1-for-6 in the second quarter alone. She’d gotten beat on defense twice, once by Citron, and passed up an open three just to dish to Smith, who wasn’t even ready for it. It was a turnover.

It was bad, like noticeably bad. The kind of bad that made sports Twitter start asking if something was wrong.

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on the Wings bench. Paige was pacing in front of the seats, towel draped over her shoulders, head down. She wasn’t even pretending to be composed anymore. Nalyssa tried to say something to her. Paige just nodded and looked up, directly at Azzi. And Azzi… flinched.

Shit.

This wasn’t what she meant to do. This was supposed to be fun. 

Azzi thought she’d fire Paige up. That it’d get her locked in. She thought Paige would come out swinging, torch the Mystics for daring to even flirt with the idea of taking what was hers. She thought Paige would have the kind of game where she dropped 25 just to spite the Mystics, the kind of night that ended with her backing Azzi against the door as soon as they got to the hotel room and saying mine in every possible way.

That was what Azzi had expected. A little fuel. A little bite. 

Not throwing off her game. Not making her doubt everything.

Azzi tugged at the collar of the jersey, suddenly very aware of how obvious it was. Bright red. Amoore #8. 

Cute… if you weren’t Paige Bueckers watching your girlfriend flaunt someone else’s name across her chest less than 24 hours after hard launching your relationship.

She chewed her lip as the players made their way into the tunnel. Paige didn’t look up once. Not toward the bench. Not toward the crowd. Certainly not toward Azzi.

Azzi had wanted a reaction. Just… not this one.

This wasn’t the fun kind of jealousy. This wasn’t Paige rising to the moment and proving a point. This was Paige shutting down, overthinking, spiraling, playing like she was stuck in her own head.

And Azzi, still stubborn, still too proud to admit it out loud, was starting to realize that maybe she’d misjudged the line between teasing and testing.

She slouched lower in her seat, elbow on the armrest, chin buried in her palm. 

She decided to open the group chat. UConn Huskies 💙💍. 

It had been buzzing with activity all game, mostly with playful jabs and updates. A few GIFs. Some exaggerated "OOPS" messages after Paige’s third turnover. Classic KK.

Azzi didn’t even want to scroll down to see the vote percentages. She knew what option was winning. Judging by Jana’s flame emojis and Sarah’s unhelpful "👀👀👀," her teammates were thriving off this chaos.

And then there it was:

KK: "New poll: What should Azzi do to fix being a dick and wearing the enemy’s jersey?"

Option 1: Beg for forgiveness after the game.

Option 2: Buy new shoes for lil Paigey.

Option 3: Put on that lingerie she packed and wait in the hotel room for Big Daddy Bueckers.

She exhaled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Do I defend myself? 

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then the floodgates opened.

Finally, she typed:

Azzi: Okay but… do you guys actually think she’s mad at me?

The words hit her like a slap. And suddenly, all the teasing and jersey-stunting didn’t feel worth it. Not if Paige was hurt. Not if she was second-guessing herself. Not if Azzi did that.

Sarh: Girl.

Morgan: She is mad.

KK: I’d be mad. I am mad. You look like you are repping Georgia like y’all go way back 😭

Caroline: Azzi, you literally hard launched yesterday and then pulled the most passive aggressive side chick stunt of all time 💀

Sarah: Also. She missed a layup which she almost never does. What do you think?"

She stared at her phone, jaw tight. No more playing it cool. She had to fix this.

She opened Paige’s contact, stared at the empty message window, hen finally typed:

Babe, are you ok?

Read, almost Immediately. 

But nothing else. No bubble. Just that quiet little confirmation that Paige saw it, and still wasn’t ready to say anything back.

Azzi’s chest tightened. She glanced to make sure her dad wasn’t watching, took a breath, and typed the kind of message that might break through. The kind that usually worked when normal words weren’t enough. The kind that brought Possessive Paige out of hiding.

It was her asking for a second chance in Paige’s language.

Can you please come out and show them why, even if I wear someone else’s name on my back right now, I only ever moan yours when we get home?

Remind me who I belong to. I’ll be good for you when you do. Promise.

She hit send and was ready to see the effect.

Azzi sat on edge the entire second half—barely blinking, barely breathing—silently praying Paige would settle in. The arena was loud, tense, alive with every possession, but all Azzi could hear was her pulse hammering in her ears. Her hands were clenched in her lap, fingers curled tight in the hem of Georgia’s jersey. She hadn’t sent another message after that last one—but she didn’t need to.

Because Paige had read it. And now Paige was responding.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. She was getting double-teamed off the inbound, blitzed every time she touched the ball, and still not getting much help. But she was fighting. Hard. Every floater came with a shoulder dipped through contact. Every pass was threaded like a dare. Every drive ended with her hitting the floor and popping back up like it just fueled her.

Azzi didn’t move. She just watched.

By the final stretch, Paige had clawed her way to 13 points. And then, with just seconds left in regulation, she pulled off a screen and hit a cold-blooded three to tie the game and send it to overtime.

Azzi shot up before the ball even dropped through the net, hands in the air, mouth wide, screaming without thinking. Pride surged through her like a flood. She was full of relief and awe and love. This was her girl.

And then Paige turned. She didn’t look at her teammates. She didn’t even glance at the bench. She looked straight at Azzi.

Their eyes locked across the chaos, and Azzi’s whole body went still. Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. She just stared, held her there, then lifted her hand and pointed. One deliberate motion, right at her chest. Right at the red jersey.

You are mine.

Azzi’s heart stuttered so violently it nearly made her dizzy. Paige’s eyes burned into her with a promise so sharp it almost hurt. It said, You wanted a reaction? You got it. Now get ready for what’s coming.

Azzi looked down and suddenly couldn’t stand the feel of the jersey she was wearing. The red. The number 8. The smug little game she thought she’d been playing. It felt like wearing someone else’s skin. 

Her fingers flew to the hem and yanked it over her head, not caring who saw, not thinking about the cameras or Georgia or anyone else. She folded it once, maybe out of guilt, maybe just habit, and set it down behind her on the seat like it was something she no longer had permission to wear.

Azzi froze in place, heart stuttering. She didn’t even realize she was still wearing the red jersey until she looked down and suddenly hated it all over again. Her fingers yanked at the hem and she pulled it over her head like it was on fire, not caring if the arena cameras caught it or if Georgia saw. She couldn’t keep it on anymore.

When she looked up again, Paige was mid-huddle, sweat slick on her skin, hair damp, jaw tight but her eyes were still on Azzi. She’d seen the jersey come off. Of course she had. She was waiting for it.

And now she looked at Azzi like she was taking inventory. Her eyes dragged over Azzi’s now-bare shoulders, her fitted white UConn crop top, the deep rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. And then, so subtle it almost didn’t register, Paige nodded.

It wasn’t a "thank-you" or a "you’re off the hook" nod.

No.

It was more of a a good girl nod. A that’s more like it nod. A you’re-in-so-much-trouble-later-and-I-hope-you-know-it nod.

Azzi sank back into her seat, suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. Her pulse raced, her throat dry, her skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the arena lights. It was anticipation, pure want. The dizzy, sweet ache of having poked the wrong version of the bear and realizing, too late, that the bear liked being poked.

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to look composed, but she already knew.

She was in trouble. The kind of trouble that would show up in slow drips of sweat down the back of her thighs later, with Paige hovering over her until Azzi was begging for release.

And god, she deserved every second of it.

Overtime didn’t go how Azzi had hoped.

It started well enough. Paige hit a tough two right off the jump, then James came up with a steal and fed her for another clean finish at the rim. The Wings had momentum, briefly. But as always, without structure, without support, it crumbled fast. Missed switches, bad spacing, no real plan. And even Paige, locked in and pushing through, couldn’t hold the whole team together on her own.

Still, she fought. She always did. And she still finished with 20 points. Came damn close to a triple-double  through sheer willpower alone. She didn’t quit. She just ran out of hands.

The crowd emptied quickly after the final buzzer. People were already halfway to the parking lot by the time Azzi stood from her seat. Paige stayed behind, as always. She signed every poster, took every selfie with the kids pressed against the railing, even as her body sagged a little under the weight of the loss. Her smile was tired, but it was still there. Her shoulders tense, but still straight. That was Paige. Win or lose, she showed up.

Azzi watched all of it from courtside, the red jersey balled up in her hand now. It didn’t feel like a statement anymore, just a mistake she was ready to be rid of.

She made her way across the court toward Georgia, who was still near the bench, smirking like she’d just watched a live drama unfold and maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

"Thanks for the loan," Azzi said lightly, holding it out.

Georgia accepted it with a grin and a quick once-over that lingered a beat too long. "Anytime," she said, flicking her gaze over Azzi’s shoulder, straight toward Paige, who was still watching. Still tracking. "Though I gotta say... it looked better on you than it ever did on me."

Azzi didn’t dignify that with anything more than a tight smile, already turning away.

She lingered by the baseline with Lili and Amari, pretending to laugh, letting the noise of the court fade around her. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t need to. She knew Paige would come to her.

And she did.

Azzi felt it before she saw it and then an arm wrapped around her from behind, firm and familiar, dragging her a step off balance.

Azzi didn’t resist. Her body fell into Paige’s without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission. Her shoulder pressed under Paige’s jaw, her back tucked tight against her chest, and for a second, she just stood there. Breathing, absorbing. 

Paige smelled like heat and sweat and the same damn perfume Azzi had been sleeping in when she missed her too much. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this, Paige’s weight on her, the sense of being held intentionally, not just lovingly but fully possessed.

And Paige? She didn’t say hello. She didn’t ask. She just held her there, one hand gripping her waist, the other resting low on her hip, fingers splayed like a warning sign to anyone watching.

Mine.

Then Paige looked down at her with that maddeningly smug smile. "You really think you can wear someone else’s name on your back and not answer for it?"

Azzi blinked up at her, breath stuttering. "I thought it would get you fired up," she admitted. "That you’d…y’know, prove a point. On the court."

"Oh, I did," Paige murmured, eyes unblinking. "And now I’m going to prove the rest of it. Not here. Not in front of all these people. But you are going to pay for it."

Azzi swallowed. Her entire body responded to that tone, it was low and clipped. The kind of tone that promised she’d be lucky to walk straight tomorrow.

"I mean," she tried to deflect, voice lighter, "you’ve definitely made your point already…"

Paige didn’t even blink. "No. That was the warm-up."

Before Azzi could say another word, a voice behind them groaned dramatically.

"Oh my god. You two still lookl disgustingly obsessed with each other. Nothing’s changed."

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look away.

"Disgusting and exclusive," she said coolly, her voice dropping to a murmur as she leaned down, close enough that only Azzi could hear the rest. "And territorial as hell. Keep that in mind when I have you face-down tonight."

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart forgot how to beat. Paige straightened like nothing had happened, throwing a casual wave toward a passing staffer.

Azzi just stood there, blinking like she'd been hit by a truck. One that smelled like sweat and victory and consequences.

She’d pushed. Paige had pulled.

And now she was in so much trouble. And she loved every second of it.

By the time they finally started heading out, the arena was almost entirely empty besides the staff cleaning up. Azzi had Paige’s gym bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring the way Paige kept glancing down at it with an expression that practically screamed give it to me. But Azzi just shook her head.

"No," Azzi said firmly, swatting her hand away. "Absolutely not. You carried the team tonight. You played forty minutes and got a bruised knee. The least I can do is carry your bag."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Azzi—"

"Babe," Azzi cut in sweetly. "Let me be a good girlfriend and carry your stuff for once. You always carry mine."

Still, she muttered under her breath the entire walk to the parking lot, and Azzi caught enough of it to know that "good girlfriend" was going to be revisited. Thoroughly. Later.

When they reached the car, Azzi popped the trunk and turned to grab the keys from her back pocket, but Paige was already standing there, palm extended. Silent and Expectant. 

Azzi met her eyes and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. She dropped the keys into Paige’s hand like she was surrendering something more than just a fob.

"I may carry your stuff," she said, saccharine sweet, "but I’m not giving up passenger princess treatment."

Paige cocked her head, that sharp smile slowly spreading. "You are really pushing your luck and my limits tonight, princess."

"Pushing," Azzi echoed, already sliding into the passenger seat. "Not over it."

"Yet," Paige murmured.

They shut the doors almost in sync, the cabin falling into soft darkness. The air shifted, quiet and charged. No noise, no lights, no crowd. Just them. Paige’s hands on the wheel. Azzi practically vibrating beside her.

And Possessive Paige finally alone with her girl.

Paige turned toward her without a word, eyes sharp in the shadows, and reached out slowly, like she’d been holding back for too long and was finally ready to take. Her fingers found Azzi’s jaw, curling under it, her thumb brushing up the line of her cheekbone, firm and unhurried. She guided her in like gravity, lips brushing once, soft and purposeful, then again, deeper, hungrier, heat blooming between them.

"I missed you, baby," Paige murmured against her mouth, voice low and possessive, the baby nearly swallowed by how close they were.

Azzi let out a whimper, high and helpless, her fingers already clawing at the back of Paige’s neck, tangling into the damp curls stuck to her nape. She pulled her in again, harder this time—mouths crashing, breath catching, her legs shifting to pull Paige closer over the console. Their kisses turned messy fast. All tongue, teeth, gasps. Azzi made a small, broken sound every time Paige tugged at her bottom lip. 

It had only been two days, but with the month before that hollowed out by travel and tension and late-night missed calls, it felt like she was kissing life back into her lungs.

Paige leaned in harder, pinning Azzi into the seat. Azzi folded under her without resistance, knees parting, one thigh pressing up against the console. Paige's hand slid from her jaw down to her throat, thumb pressing right beneath her jawline. Azzi’s breath stuttered, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body pulsed under Paige’s touch.

She was already shaking.

Paige didn’t stop kissing her until she felt it, felt how gone Azzi was. Then she pulled back just slightly, hovering above her, lips swollen, eyes black with promise. Her hand never left Azzi’s throat. She didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have to. The weight of it was enough.

Her smirk was slow, calculated, absolutely devastating.

"I haven’t forgotten about your little stunt," she said, voice low and deliciously cruel. "You think just because you handed the jersey back, you’re off the hook that you are a good girl again?"

Azzi’s pupils blew wide. Her breath hitched so sharp it was almost a gasp. She swallowed, her whole body taut with anticipation, thighs squeezing together without permission.

Paige leaned in closer, lips grazing her jawline, her voice dropping into something even darker. She was all breath and threat, velvet and warning.

"You’re not getting off easy tonight. You want to play games in public? You want to wear someone else’s name on your back and act like you don’t know who you belong to?"

Azzi whimpered, hips twitching upward like she could grind against the air. She was panting now, eyes dazed, hands tightening into Paige’s hoodie like an anchor.

"You’re mine," Paige growled against her ear. "And you’re gonna remember that for days."

Azzi couldn’t speak. She just nodded, desperate and shaking.

Paige kissed her once more, harsh and claiming, then pulled back, just far enough to look her in the eye.

"First I’m going to hold you down and make you scream my name over and over again until it’s the only one left in your head. And then I’m going to make sure your thighs are too sore to pull another stunt like that for a long time."

Azzi made a sound that was half-moan, half-plea. Her head fell back against the headrest, lips parted, eyes dazed.

"I’m serious," Paige said, softer now, but no less threatening. "I’m not going to rush it. You’re going to feel every second of it. And you’re going to thank me when it’s over."

Azzi’s voice finally broke through, wrecked and trembling. "Yes. Please."

Paige smiled, dark, satisfied, cruel in the way only someone who loved you could be before pulling away and starting the car.

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble. She was about to pay for every second she spent in that red jersey. And god, she couldn’t wait.

[swordgrace]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 — john walker

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: john walker smut with "im serious, right here, right now (from reader)" prompt!! myb make it semi-public

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), porn with little plot, jealous john, semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, dirty talk, making out, biting, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex.

[ 4K CELEBRATION. — PROMPT LIST. ]

John’s been watching you for the last hour.

Hooded blues have followed your movements throughout the gala event, narrowing whenever someone got too close or you laughed at a senator’s joke.

He isn’t as talented at masking emotions as he thinks he is, jaw clenched hands shoved into the pockets of his suit.

It’s tailored, Armani; Valentina was all about optics, about appearing marketable to those interested.

His blazer fits too snugly through the shoulders, crisp, white dress shirt tight over his musculature. There’s a sour look on his face, wanting to be anywhere else.

The last time he remembered wearing something like this was high school prom.

Being stripped of all military credibility and his rank had put a foul taste in his mouth. He used to be excited about the premise of rubbing elbows with politicians, but now, it only embittered him.

You were in your element; visibly, anyway.

The bright, sunshiny disposition you wielded seemed to magnetize any who stood around you, John included. As you chatted with shareholders, you had some light about you.

A begrudging sigh pushed through his nose, blonde brows pinched together as he took a swig of his champagne.

It was difficult to remain hushed about your relationship, especially being scrutinized beneath the public eye. John wilted when faced with backlash, and he didn’t want to subject you to it, either.

He played watchdog for a majority of the evening, keeping an eye on you from afar, watching as you entertained investors and representatives.

When you finally broke away to get yourself something to drink, John followed, mirroring your movements as the both of you arrived at a polished table.

Hundreds of glasses of champagne and vermouth sat on top of a pale tablecloth, pink-and-cream liquid fizzing at the top.

“I think I’ve had enough socializing for tonight,” You mumble, discarding your empty glass amongst the rest, rubbing a hand against your forearm. “How are you holding up?”

John hovers, perhaps too close to be considered strictly neutral. He’d played the indifferent role well whenever you were in public, but tonight, he wanted something else, something more.

“Suit’s too tight,” He grouses, scratching over his jaw, covered in a scruff of strawberry-blonde. “I don’t like being paraded around like a goddamned show-pony.”

That’s what he was when he was Captain America — a government weapon dressed in spangled colors like a mascot, living by their mandates.

Agitation ticks up in his voice as he shakes his head, and the temptation to grab another glass of champagne is present.

The strain of irritation laced like venom in his tone, and you feel yourself becoming concerned. “Do you want to take a walk? There’s an exhibit upstairs.”

His chest heaves with a tired sigh, and he nods, conceding to you with a threadbare smile. “Yeah,” John turns apologetic. “Sorry, this is just … It’s ridiculous.” He murmurs.

“That’s alright,” With a reassuring smile, you gently skim your fingers over the back of his bicep, the gesture fleeting. “I’ve been wanting to see you.”

John perks up when you mention wanting to see him; maybe preens, too. He used to despise how easily he fell for you, feeling entirely undeserving of it, and he still does — not as much anymore.

“Hm,” There’s a low warmth to his grunt, and he leans inward, catching a whiff of your perfume. It’s the one he’s complimented you on before. “Aren’t you sweet?”

Departing from the table, the both of you make your way toward the grand staircase at the back of the ballroom, weaving through patrons.

One of the senators calls after you, but you pretend not to hear, side-by-side with John as you grace the steps. The heels of your stilettos click over marble, and you catch him staring.

He’s been staring all night like a man who’s walking the thin line of restraint.

Sage satin clings to your frame, and the gown you’re wearing is nothing short of simplistically beautiful. Despite Val’s insistence to wear something flashy, you don’t; it’s better that way.

John’s gaze carefully traces over your frame for the hundredth time that evening, hand briefly hovering over the small of your back.

The pavilion upstairs houses a humble art gallery that has seen better days, no longer the primary attraction of the venue. Though, it’s significantly quieter, voices drowning into mere background static.

An open archway serves as the frame for the gallery, strewn with several pieces of artwork, some contained behind glass panes. The walls are smooth, lit in a low, golden glow.

When you’re both out of-sight, tension unfurls from his shoulders, bleeds away as if it’s been cut from him like a wound. In private glimpses, he seems to soften around you.

“You look handsome,” It’d left your mouth before you left for the gala, but you make sure to remind him. “The suit highlights your shoulders, even if it’s too tight.” You smile.

John scoffs, mouth curling into a sardonic smirk, standing close beside you in the middle of the room. The hush clears his head, but the thoughts are a farcry from wholesome.

He’s thinking about you; you in that dress, with a wide beam and an ethereal glow about you, as if you’ve been touched by sunset.

“Haven’t worn a suit since prom.” He admits, and the sentiment is somewhat cute, especially for you. His vulnerability only slips through the cracks in private moments.

“Really? You should wear them more often,” You pause, deciding on how best to broach your question. “Didn’t wear one at your wedding?”

Expecting a streak of bitterness, John surprises you by being open about the ordeal. His divorce still hurts, but it’s something he’s worked through. “No,” He laughs dryly. “Too broke. I wore jeans.”

Amused, a glitter reaches your gaze, warm and saccharine, a look of fondness that he clings to. It’s that shred of affection he wants desperately; he only wants it from you.

“I can’t remember the last time I wore something this beautiful,” With a shrug, you smooth your hands over the bodice. “If I ever did.”

“You’re the prettiest thing in the room,” John murmurs, jaw tightening. “Only one worth looking at.” His tone drops, palm steady over the small of your back.

“John …” Smitten, you’re mesmerized by his boldness, throat tight as he draws you closer. It’s as if his restraint snaps then and there, already frayed to begin with.

“Jesus, you’ve been torturing me all night.” He gruffs, pressing a kiss to your jaw. Even if he can kiss you a few times, that’ll be enough to satisfy him until you’re back at the Watchtower.

A low, excitable exhale rushes from your mouth, lips parted as your hands grab at the front of his blazer. He kisses over your throat, taller frame caging you in against his musculature.

“That wasn’t the goal,” Little more than a content utterance, your voice hums low, savoring the feeling of his lips scraping across your neck. “Whatever’s gotten into you, I like it.”

“Couldn’t take my eyes off of you, sweetheart.” The strained, needy sound he makes catches you off-guard, heightening the spike of want in your belly.

Part of you is wanting to finish this back at the Tower — until you aren’t, and a lascivious fantasy soon blossoms within your mind. It’s reckless, but the feeling it gives doesn’t go away.

Mouths meet in a heated collision, bruising enough to pull a grunt from his lips, and a soft moan from yours. His hands steady over your hips, gripping you with urgency.

He’s half-carrying you, hoisting you an inch or two higher, kissing you again and again. Your hands hold tightly to his suit jacket, lungs stinging with excitement.

Wordlessly, the both of you are walking sideways toward the nearest wall, and he doesn’t intend for it to become so heated; it just does.

Your hands lock over the nape of his neck, beginning to trail through blonde tresses, bodies wedged together. Each kiss sends you reeling, but you don’t recoil, reciprocating with enthusiasm.

The kiss is an unbridled thing, smoldering with a mutual want. He kisses you as if you might cease to exist, hands roaming your hips, anchoring your body to his.

John begins to slow to a crawl, lips tugging into a smirk, but your insistence starts to bleed through.

“Why did you stop?” You whisper, pupils dilated and tone stretched thin with desire, the cool marble kissing your spine.

“You want everybody to know what we’re up to?” He murmurs, kissing a steady, passionate trail across the side of your face. It’s teasing, but he realizes that you’re genuine with your question.

“Maybe I do,” When it slips past your mouth, John feels a spike of excitement strike at his gut. It’s white-hot and primal, as if you’ve flipped a switch. “I want you, John.”

Something raw and wanting blisters through him, scorching his bones like a wildfire. Resolve slips, already threadbare, and he grabs you tight, his hold ironclad.

“You really want this?” He rasps, as if something inside of him is actively waging war. God, he wants you — wants to fuck you rough and lose himself in you.

“I’m serious — right here, right now,” The insistence and urgency within your cadence conveys everything that he needs to know, lips parting to make room for a gasp. “Please.”

Mouths connect with a gnawing hunger, a knot of teeth and tongue, lips clamoring as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. He groans when you bite his bottom lip, teasing him further.

“Pull your dress up.”

John’s growl sends shivers down your spine, rough and commanding, as if time is of the essence. You’ve already been gone long enough for it to warrant some attention.

Scrambling to act, you’re grabbing at the train of satin, wrestling with it as you bunch it into eager fistfuls. Labored breaths and excitable sighs serve as idle ambiance.

He can barely focus, hungry and wanton, hands flying to unclasp the buckle of his belt. Every kiss is a collision — teeth, tongue, lips, and then the cycle repeats itself.

As you hitch your dress up around your hips, his hand follows, calloused as his digits push past the waistband of your panties.

You’re wet, and he stifles a noise at the sensation, parting your legs with his thigh. He’s much bigger than you — more muscle, more man, more to grab onto.

John gazes at you through eclipsed hues and half-lidded lashes, incendiary enough to burn a hole straight through you. Fingers slide over your pussy, momentarily grazing your clit.

“Shit,” You choke, hips jolting into the friction instantaneously. “John, please, please just fuck me.” The sound of your borderline plea clouds every rational thought he might’ve had.

“Want it that bad, huh? Don’t want my fingers, sweetheart? Just my cock?” He doesn’t know what’s come over him, but it’s shadowed and lascivious; he wants you.

“Yes, yes —please!” With a whine, you watch with doe-like eyes as he nearly rips at his pants, body flush against yours, adjusting your legs. He bites at the juncture between your throat and shoulder.

A low grunt tears through his throat, lips hotly sealing themselves to your neck, sucking a bruising hickey into the sensitive flesh.

It earns him a pretty moan from your mouth. The hot swell of his cock soon presses into your navel, incessant and throbbing.

“Jesus, you’re killin’ me.” He gruffs beside your ear, breathing hot, nostrils flaring like a bull. One hand grabs your thigh, the other steadying over your hip to keep you afloat.

Restraint crumbles completely, dissolving as the flushed head of his cock bullies past your folds. He’s quick about it, knowing that your time is limited.

With a brusque snap of his hips, he buries his cock into your pussy, a guttural groan escaping his mouth. It’s smothered into your throat, faces pressed close together.

All it would take is for one person to come strolling up here — neither of you were subtle.

He fucks you so well, pouring all of his built-up tension into every thrust of his hips. John isn’t cruel, but he isn’t sluggish this time, cock nearly kissing your cervix.

A string of muffled growls plume over your flesh, and he kisses at your jaw, beard scratching ragged across your skin. You cling to him, legs parted, hand fisitng into his shoulder.

The pace he sets is quick, needy, desperate; he’s all bite and no bark, shuddering at the feeling of your cunt, tight and clenched around him.

“You asked for this, and now you’re shy,” John grouses, teeth snagging against the spot beneath your jawline. “Talk to me.”

Each brutal thrust of his hips sends his cock deeper, fucking into you like a battering ram, chasing after a release. He’s actively trying not to fall apart, too.

“Need you so bad,” It’s instinctive, the way your voice hums to life when he’s fucking you raw, pitched with want. “S—Shit, you fuck me so well, John.” You moan, and he nearly gasps.

He drives you into the wall with each urge of his hips, cock kissing your walls, filling your pussy with him. The hint of praise only spurs him on, hands holding you tight.

John’s head rolls forward, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded, loosing a primal groan that makes your cunt clench around him.

Each slap of his cock lewdly urges against your slick cunt, arousal thick and honeyed around him, making everything easier.

The hum of patrons and shareholders drones on somewhere beyond the door frame, and fortunately, there aren’t any footsteps nearby. It’s just you and him, fucking against a wall.

“Fuck, you’re mine,” John grits out, grasp hard enough to leave bruises, but you don’t care. He fills the void inside of you, hammering away at your aching pussy. “My girl.”

“M’yours, yours.” You pant, wound-up and coiled, feeling that ball of heat threaten to burst within your abdomen. Bliss curls over your bones, slithering through, ceaseless and burning.

He’s fucking you as if it’s the last thing he’ll do, grunts resonating beside your ear, breath hot as it tickles the nape of your neck.

Lewd, crass noises fill the space between bodies, perspiration lingering over your spine, even when wedged against the wall. You’re scratching at his shoulders even still, mouth agape and eyes closed.

Scarlet clings to John’s features, handsome and pink, jaw strained as if something might shatter. He’s rutting into you as if he might come apart, his sounds borderline animalistic.

His cock throbs, pulses desperately inside of you, and it’s heightened when your cunt clenches around him again. Every little sensation sends him into a near-frenzy.

“Don’t stop, I’m — Mm, almost there,” With a whimper, you let him take what he needs, and he’s pistoning into you like a man starved. “Fuck, keep going.”

John nods, knowing he’s on the verge of crumbling, hips snapping — it’s a vigorous push and pull, quick, desperate, and feral.

As his cock pounds lewdly into your pussy, you use his tie to tug him in for a wet kiss, mouths molding together. It’s all heat and want, pulling a strangled grunt from his chest.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” John rasps, throat thick with desire, coarse as he feels himself slipping over the edge. “Perfect like this.” He grits, cadence husky and low.

Another moan leaves you, and he fucks you hard, right into that spot that makes you writhe. It’s an instantaneous wave of bliss that takes you, and you squeeze around his cock again.

“Fuck, I can’t — Shit, honey …” There isn’t any warning, but you don’t care in the slightest. He shudders, face pressed into yours, fucking you full of his cum.

Warmth floods your insides, veins simmering with liquid fire as it washes over the both of you, white-hot and consuming.

It almost makes you dizzy, head spinning, brain dissolving into a mess of static. The hum persists even after you cum, clenching around his cock, leaving you feeling dazed.

He knows he’s disheveled, but he doesn’t care.

Blue eyes snare on you, on the blissed-out look in your tender gaze, the smitten smile you wear as if you didn’t ask him to fuck your brains out against the wall.

John’s tangled within your beauty, in the way you bask so effortlessly in the afterglow, features illuminated by crystalline colors. He exhales, low and drawn-out, almost in disbelief.

The both of you are panting, ragged as if you’ve just run a marathon, but he’s never felt better. There’s a contentment he feels afterwards; happiness.

When he pulls out of you, it’s sticky and warm, coating the insides of your thighs, over your cunt as you awkwardly tug your panties up.

Hurriedly, you attempt to fix your hair and smooth your dress back into place, but anyone with eyes can tell that you’ve been up to debauchery. John’s smirking, seemingly nonchalant.

“How do I look?” You murmur, visibly flustered as he plants a kiss against your brow, playfully pinching at your hip. You smile despite yourself, thighs still shaking like leaves.

“Like I might have to carry you out of here.”

[fear-is-truth]

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 𝑫𝑨𝑫 .ᐟ

𓂃 ꒰ headcanons.꒱ gn!reader x jason (est. relationship) + fluff ⌗ ( 💌 let’s chat ! ) ⋆ ( m.list ) ࿐ ⸝⸝ ⸝⸝

· ❥ 𝐚/n : very rushed; i was sick when i wrote this

first & foremost, jason todd is girl dad through and through. the moment he holds her for the first time, he recalibrates everything—speech, sleep, temper, priorities—without even realising he’s doing it.

he won’t dilute language for her sake. no sing-song voice, no “whoops-a-daisy!” crap. he speaks to her like a small, reasonably intelligent civilian. when she babbles near-nonsense in response, he nods seriously:

“interesting take. but you’re still not eating crayons.”

when she starts talking, she parrots him with terrifying accuracy. says “bullshit” in perfect context. he side-eyes you like “that might’ve been you” but it was 100% him. he starts substituting in dumb phrases like “holy fork” and “crud nuggets” which somehow sound even more offensive in his voice.

his gut wrenches every time he sees her hurt. no matter how small the injury, how quick the recovery .

“it’s okay to cry, you know.” “m’ not crying.” she sniffles hard, mouth twitching. he takes a breath, carefully brushing dirt from her elbow with the sleeve of his shirt. “…good. because if you did, i might have to start too.” her bottom lip quivers. then she throws her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder while he holds her.

he gives her choices. always. because no one gave him any. ‘pink cardigan or the baby blue one? park or zoo? sandwiches cut into triangles or squares?’ she doesn’t know why the questions matter—not yet—but she answers anyway. and he always listens. even when she changes her mind five seconds later.

when she gets scared of the monster under her bed, jason grabs a crowbar from the hallway closet, locks himself in her room, and puts on a full performance. loud bangs, snarls, curses, all muffled through the door. she waits outside clutching your hand, wide-eyed. when he opens the door, slightly sweaty:

“we’re clear. monster’s in pieces. bedtime.”

absolutely watches disney movies with her. you once catch him mouthing along to i’ll make a man out of you with perfect accuracy.

her room is stocked full of high quality toys: watercolor paint sets, pop-up books, wooden animal figurines, everything he would’ve killed to touch when he was little.

when she gets sick, even the most minor of colds send jason into a tailspin. not outwardly though; outwardly he’s calm & reassuring—but he looking up symptoms and staying up beside her bed with one hand on her forehead, watching the rise and fall of her breath like it might stop at any second.

if you’re out for the day, he sends you hourly photo updates: her sitting in her booster seat, her eating grapes, her mid-nap with a book across her lap.

insists she learn how to throw a punch and memorize your phone number before she enters kindergarten.

she mirrors his sarcasm & sass too well.

you and jason have developed a “tag-team” parenting style—he picks up on your cues instinctively. if you’re too tired to argue with a picky toddler, he just whips up grilled cheese without a word and makes her think it was your idea.

and if she’s crying—inconsolably so—you both sit beside her and jason lets you do the talking. she always opens up eventually, even if it’s just, “i didn’t wan’ the poor banana to break.” (???)

she looooooves curling into him. a six-o kind of love, paired with matter-of-fact trust. she’ll press her forehead to his cheek while holding her sippy cup. tug at his sleeve when she wants to sit in his lap.

her vocabulary is way beyond her age. not just because of books; she mimics his cadence. jason once commented she was “morally opposed” to cauliflower. days later, she informed the pediatrician she was “philosophically anti-broccoli.” this had you laughing uncontrollably.

bedtime isn’t “lights out,” it’s literature hour! jason reads her stories with perfect enunciation and blunt dignity. she grows up on peter rabbit, winne-the-pooh, madeleine, and eventually segues to aesop’s fables, abridged dickens. the sound of pages turning becomes part of her core memories.

as her vocabulary progresses in a rapid fashion, jason still reads to her every night without fail: brontë. shelley. woolf. austen. he edits on the fly when needed, replacing death with long naps and violence with “stern talking-tos.”

four years of age, your little girl is already quoting jane eyre in front of her classmates.

she wins the spelling bee every year!

she told her entire kindergarten class that her daddy is an actual zombie, which resulted in an email from her teacher, regarding “concerns about her vivid imagination.” jason’s only response is, “technically, that’s not inaccurate.”

she loves all of her uncles, but it’s clear that uncle dick is her favourite. she likes him so much it’s borderline treason. jason pretends to be grumpy about it but secretly finds it endearing how much she adores his brother.

he can’t stand the thought of her going hungry. she’s never missed a meal, but he still packs too much in her lunchbox when it’s his turn. carries snacks in his glove compartment, keeps fruit cut up and ready in the fridge, just in case. he remembers what it felt like to open the fridge and find nothing but condensation. his little girl won’t ever know that.

꒰ ⠀· ❥  𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ꕀ

[neosaidwhoa]

This reminds me of how the founders era sub fandom is the Naruto equivalent of the marauders sub fandom LMAOOO i love the collective creative power of fanon.

I really don’t think fanon is bad and I really don’t think death of the fandom is necessary though? And this is coming from someone who gets personally annoyed by some mainstream fandom mischaracterizations sometimes. Fandom and fanon is usually just a reflection of the kind of people who are in it. But I agree with your recommendation to not limit yourself to popular fanon trends.

I disagree with the statement that “the most authentic enjoyment of media comes from liking it for what it is and not what it *could* be”. I actually think imagining things beyond canon for “what it could be” is inherently an extremely authentic way to enjoy media. Transformative fan work that adds to or strays from canon is very important and meaningful for a lot of different reasons.

Also, I think context matters a lot for this conversation, maybe if I knew where you were coming from with these frustrations I would agree haha. I think for me, current mainstream Naruto fanon is very warped from the source material but I know that and enjoy some of it anyways, and I really enjoy the parts of fandom that think and write critically about both the source material and the fanon. Most of the people I choose to interact with also seem to enjoy both?

Ah, maybe my disagreement just comes from what I was thinking the definition of fanon is. I was thinking of fanon to mean “non-canon elements that are popularly accepted and used by fandom”, so it’s a given that fanon is not actually what happened. I realized maybe you were thinking of fanon to mean “non-canon elements that fandom popularly believes/insists is canon”? I would agree that I’d advise against trying to assert that fanon is canon. I’d recommend people not take fanon as truth and to study the source material itself if you’re interested in knowing what’s canon. I think this is what you were saying in your post, so I’m guessing you meant the second definition and I misunderstood you.

Anyways, all this makes me think of the Achilles and Patroclus top/bottom discourse that’s been spanning millennia (more specially discourse about their place in the erastes/eromenos dynamic) lol. The idea that they had sex or had this dynamic at all is fanon since it’s never said outright in the canon text they were referencing. But I’m glad all that fanon existed and exists and so much of the fandom activity around that particular element of fanon has been preserved for us to read about today.

death of the author yeah whatever but death of the fandom is so integral to enjoying legitimately anything like that is just a necessary step to take in ur head always. do not let them affect the text in any way exterminate them all with ur death ray. they r not real and cannot hurt u

[pork-pop]

DON’T MAKE ME BEG FOR YOU!

✧ the girl of his dreams is throwing him a bone…is he feigning nonchalance or acting a fool?!

contains: gojo, geto, nanami || cw: p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f. receiving), like a hint of hair pulling for suguru, mentions of masturbation || wc: 1.7k~

✧ a/n: i am half asleep right now if there’s a typo just come to my home and take me out before i wake up! cheers. srry nanami’s ended up kinda shorter than the others oopsie daisy.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!!

SATORU GOJO

acting a fool is an understatement

Satoru is terrible at the art of subtlety, and to most, making one’s intentions blatantly clear to the person they’re interested in might seem mortifying. But that’s been Satoru’s goal since the start. Those lingering touches, the flirtatious glances and suggestive comments were all done in stride, after all, he takes pride in the fact that he’s getting what he wants. You, however, have been the hardest shell to crack. So, naturally, he’s utterly whipped. 

He can hardly believe his luck when you choose to reciprocate after months of cat and mouse, and he has no choice but to lay out all of his chips and double down. 

For someone who was raised to be a gentleman, he sure does know how to get your clothes on the floor without any manners at all. As soon as you’re blessing him, deepening the kiss, his wandering hands are tugging at your blouse for permission to show you how much he’ll work for it. 

“Isn’t this a treat?” He pants humorously between thrusts, fucking into you like he’ll know he’ll find the answers to all of his intrusive questions regarding you if he just gets an inch or two deeper. Satoru hisses as you tighten around him, “You gonna keep talking or are you gonna fuck me harder?” you snicker. And you should know that there’s nothing Satoru loves more than a good challenge; getting you like this wasn’t the challenge he’d most anticipated, no, it was making you crave it just as much as he did. 

“Is that an invitation?” He asks, a big grin twisting at the corners of his lips while he inches a hand down to thumb teasingly at your clit, “You know, I’ve been thinking about you saying that for a while now, don’t you?” In spite of his stamina, Satoru’s breath is ragged and shaky, could it be that he was even a bit…nervous? You didn’t have the time to put much thought into it before his hips speed up, knocking every one of those pretty suspicions out of your head for the time being. Your eyes roll back and you swear you can hear a triumphant little huff of a laugh from him as he takes that as inspiration to roughen the circles he’s drawing against your clit. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you’d sound like when you cum, too,” he admits without a shred of shame, nosing into the tender column of your throat so you can hear him better, “Can I hear?” “Fuck!” Is all you can manage through a strangled cry, clawing at the shifting muscles of his back in a futile attempt to ground yourself. “C’mon, I can tell you’re getting close,” he rasps madly, “I wanna hear you.” He begs, suddenly licking a greedy stripe along the dampened skin of your neck. 

And who are you to deny him? You cry out a declaration of your sudden orgasm, features squeezed and mouth parted as you struggle to catch your breath. Satoru stares at you with widened eyes, and a stuttered breath, “Hah-...” He hadn’t even realized how close he’d been getting to spilling inside you, but welcomed the overwhelming feeling with open arms. He could go for five more rounds if you’d let him, anyways. 

God, this must be what it’s like to hit the jackpot. 

SUGURU GETO

nonchalant (acting a fool)

Suguru can’t lie to himself and pretend like he hadn’t imagined this scenario too many times to count before, usually as a desperate last resort when he’d found he can’t imagine getting off to anything other than the thought of you at a certain point. He’s sure that he’s a better man than this, and he’d certainly tried to be courteous and discrete about the way you make him feel, shying away from the line he’s been dreaming to cross. 

But now, sitting up on the mattress and unable to tear his eyes away from your tits, he realizes that he’d been overshooting the strength of his own resolve. Suguru surges forward, taking one in his mouth as he guides you up and down his length, doing anything he can to prove he’s still being normal about this. Fuck it. 

“Fuck,”  he moans against your chest, “wait a minute-...” You still your movements, tilting your head curiously at him as he swallows breathlessly, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” He quickly reassures with a shake of his head, gently squeezing at your hips to punctuate the promise, “God, nothing’s wrong at all, I just need-...let me eat you out. Please?” You blink at him in surprise, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Huh?” 

“Seriously, I-...” He shakes his head, gazing up at you like you’re the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen, “it’s all I’ve been thinking about.” 

During those moments in the past in which he found himself fucking his fist to the thought of you, he only ever found himself relishing in the idea of burying himself between your legs and making careful sure that the only thing you’d be capable of saying was his name. The both of you had been too hasty in the wake of realizing your feelings were reciprocated, too desperate to give each other everything you’d been dreaming of. It feels like the heavens have opened up before him as you slip off of his lap, letting him situate you against the pillows. 

Suguru’s methodic in the way he trails warm kisses down your body, stopping to suck a mark into your hip, but he can’t tease for too long, not when he probably wants to get you off on his tongue more than you want it (which is saying a lot). 

He kisses your bare cunt gratefully, before dragging his tongue against your entrance, eyelids already going heavy as he slips into a euphoric trance. Suguru tries his very hardest to keen on every noise you make, every cry of his name, but it’s hard to do that when he’s getting so drunk off the flavor of you. He’s suddenly starved, devouring you completely, too far gone to be embarrassed of the way he shakes his head against your pussy or moans just as loud as you do. 

Geto’s suspicions had been utterly correct. While he’s been eager to have you like he did moments before, to feel you wrap around him and to fuck up into you with calculated thrusts, this definitely takes the cake. He grows dizzy off your scent, grinding against the mattress to prevent himself from further losing his mind over the prospect of what he’s doing right now. 

You lace your hands through his hair, pulling at it as he brings you closer to the edge. This is all he needs, he thinks, he can easily be fine spending the rest of his life like this. Suguru wants to prove that much over and over again to you, and he won’t hesitate if you’ll let him. “You’re perfect.” He mumbles against your cunt, and he’s partially glad you’re too far gone to hear some of the pathetic remarks he’s uttering, “Need this so bad.”

Yeah, good luck hopping back on his dick anytime soon now that he knows he was right about how addicting you’d be. 

KENTO NANAMI

nonchalant by a thread

It’s easy for Kento to have steel-grade self control when you’re fully clothed and the conversation is tame. But when clothes are taken out of the equation, well, that’s a different story. That being said, he won’t forget his manners. 

You’re in a tender mating press, smiling softly at the sweet kisses Nanami keeps peppering across your face, and occasionally one to your lips. He briefly wonders why he ever thought it was a good idea to hesitate in taking the initiative to have you laid out against his pillows like this, moaning his name almost as if you knew how much that chipped away at his own self-preservation. You’re dangerously close to getting him to embarrass himself. 

“Do you like this?” He breathes against the shell of your ear as his pace speeds up a bit, knocking the wind out of you. Regardless, you nod, hardly able to wrap your lips around anything other than the shape of his name. Kento bites his lip, fighting the urge to go even faster. This was your first time together, after all, he’d be mad not to cherish it like something fleeting and sacred. He wants more, he wants this all the time, and he’s so close to begging you for it. In some last attempt of self-preservation, he utters, “You feel amazing,” almost choking on his breath after the fact. 

“Fuck, keep doing that.” You cry out, throwing your head back to give him a clear view of your throat that he so desperately wishes to mark up. He almost asked what you meant, before he peers down, realizing he’d mindlessly begun rubbing circles into your clit. Kento feels like he’s getting ahead of himself, yet not doing enough at the same time; this feeling is so foreign and overwhelming, but he’s falling in love with it. 

Following your orders, he continues his steady pace on your clit, mouth going dry as you tell him how close you are. Yes, please, that’s all I want to hear. 

“Please,” he murmurs in a gravelly voice, not realizing he’d started voicing his own thoughts, “cum for me.” Nanami is certain he’s going to lose control any moment, and he’s sure that you cumming around his cock is not going to help him at all in his hope to still be a gentleman to you. It’s alright, though, he thinks. If he’s going to embarrass himself, lose all resolve and allow himself to drown in this simple pleasure, Kento doesn’t think he’d want to do it with anyone else but you.

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 12

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.6k

cw: angst, very vague allusions to self harm, semi-crash out from em i guess (?), hurt/comfort technically, yearning tbh, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns (i try to avoid that but sorry), im getting really casual with these content warnings, mostly bc i think no one reads what i actually write up here

Synopsis: While you talk with Rafayel, Sylus gets a visit from someone he thought had disappeared. (i’m bad at synopses)

author’s note: this took me a little longer to put out so im sorry >_< im really looking forward to writing zayne next though! then caleb and then its reader and em again and its gonna get crazy and then im gonna put up a poll so y’all can decide how i end it! i hope y’all are excited lol im getting closer to the end and its making me kinda sad cause i love this series but i have multiple ideas for different series so i might have multiple ongoing after this <3

taglist: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @xyzbeloved @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @myheartfollower @nightmarewasteland @feralwolfkat @junni-berry @chiikasevennn @lethalasylum @loudpiratepirate @sweetnightowl @rafaissance @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @iunse @asilaydead

Series Masterlist

Onychinus’s base was quiet. Its occupants were comfortably off fulfilling their own tasks, no last-minute crises disrupting them. An unexpected peace settled, though an air of anticipation filled the space.

Sylus had been eyeing the door since you left this morning. Just like he had when you left yesterday.

He knew he shouldn’t worry. He knew you could handle yourself.

He also knew he was going to worry anyway.

You came to him after your talk with Xavier last night, a serious, somber expression painted on. You were quiet at first, sorting through the conversation. He let you. You’d filled Sylus in then, just enough to keep him updated, to know everything was fine. He respected your privacy, the distance you kept with such a sensitive subject, though he wished you’d confide in him.

Allow him to give you shelter from the storm in your eyes.

You’d stopped him, before you left for bed. Told him not to worry. It was sweet of him, you’d said, but unnecessary. That he didn’t need to give Luke and Kieran a task as boring as watching you talk to Xavier, that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

Sylus didn’t tell you that he knew that, too. He didn’t tell you that he wanted Luke and Kieran to watch you with Xavier to see if you were interested in him, interested in a way Sylus couldn’t compete with.

Instead, Sylus told you he’d let you be. Not before making you promise to tell him if something goes wrong, though. He’s only a phone call away, after all.

Even a panicked look to Mephisto would do.

You nodded, assuring him that he would be the first person you’d call if things went haywire.

He wasn’t quite sure if he believed you, but he relented nonetheless.

So, when you left the base early this morning, just as Sylus’s business day was ending, he’d told Luke and Kieran to simply drop you off where you asked, no need to watch you.

Of course, now his eyes hadn’t wandered from the front door.

Even as the dark circles under his eyes sunk deeper and his shoulders drooped, Sylus stayed. Waiting patiently.

He wasn’t sure when you’d be back. He just wanted to see you as soon as you were. Make sure you were okay under the guise of a smug smile and a teasing remark.

It wasn’t worth risking the raw vulnerability embedded in his worry if you had another man in your heart, after all.

The soft click of the back door pulled Sylus’s head up, listening carefully to the barely audible footsteps padding through the hallway behind him. Two sets, he noted. Luke and Kieran.

The tension in his shoulders relaxed again as he turned to see the two boys unceremoniously drop onto the couch.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, Boss?” Kieran asked.

“I’m alright,” Sylus answered shortly.

“You sure, Boss-man?” Luke pushed. “Looks like the bags under your eyes could carry the weight of the world.”

Sylus stared at the twins. “Don’t you two have something better to do than worry about my sleeping habits?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Luke starts, sitting up. “I almost forgot why we came here.”

Kieran sighed. “We’re here to give you a report on the tracking.”

Sylus nodded. “Continue.”

“Looks like Em and Caleb have been staying at his apartment in Skyhaven since Little Boss came here. Haven’t been outside much,” Kieran explained.

“Yeah, they’ve just been holed up in there together. From what we could tell, things looked pretty tense,” Luke said. “But it was pretty much the same thing for a week. Except today. Em left early, about 7:30. Caleb left at 8:00. Went to the Fleet, a new mission or something. We couldn’t track him very far, too high of surveillance on the Colonel.”

“We could track Em after she left, though,” Kieran continued. “She boarded the Coelum Express at 8:00, arriving back in Linkon at 10:00. She first went to her apartment, where she checked every room before leaving. Then she went to the Hunter’s Association.”

“She went to her desk immediately, and she was stopped by Tara and Simone. They talked for about five minutes before Jenna called Em over,” Luke listed off. “Em reported on her most recent mission and then said she had to go. Then she went to Research, talking to Nero very briefly where he gave her very vague answers. Em then sought out Xavier, who seemed more worried about how panicked she looked then answering the questions she asked him.”

Sylus nodded. “Seems like everything’s following the plan,” he muttered. “Where is Em now?”

Kieran shifted on his feet. “That’s the thing, Boss,” he confessed. “We lost her.”

Linkon was incredibly lively.

Bustling streets filled with locals and tourists alike. The chatter rose, echoing through the city so that even the quietest corners were filled with the hum of connection.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

You navigated the busy streets, wondering just how anyone could manage to live here permanently.

Wondering how the you from before you landed in Love and Deepspace did it.

You’d almost forgotten it, how this life wasn’t really your own. You were filling in the slot of a life already lived, already planned, that you had no recollection of.

Was that person from before really you? Or did you steal the life of another, taking what they deserved?

Feeling your chest tighten, you tried to focus on your breathing instead.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

It wasn’t like the feeling was new. On the contrary, you often felt like your life wasn’t really your own. Like it wasn’t real, you weren’t real. That all that you’d experienced before was just a precursor to what life really was, what it was supposed to be. Almost convincing yourself that the life you had couldn’t be real, because wasn’t life supposed to be more than that?

Maybe you were still that kid reading Narnia, waiting for a world at the end of the Wardrobe to find her.

You were almost getting better, you thought as you sat down at a cafe. Your hands itched at your thighs, the lengths you’d gone to feel real again a constant reminder.

But then you got dropped into Love and Deepspace. A world that, as far as you were concerned, was just a game come to life.

This wasn’t real, you told yourself. Which is why the fulfillment this life brought hurt all the more.

You thought of what Xavier had said when you told him. How he wasn’t really surprised.

That had caught you off guard at first, but it all clicked when you thought about it later.

Xavier hadn’t been your favorite Love Interest, but there was always something there you connected to. Something quiet, lurking there but not making a show out of itself.

Xavier was never really present, it felt. He was quiet, reserved, always lost in his mind or his dreams.

Always thinking of something else, always something taking his focus, never truly being in the moment.

It made sense he would almost expect a twisted reality, after all he’s seen.

But then you thought of what he’d said after.

It’s real to me. That’s enough.

You hadn’t understood at the time, hadn’t gotten how he could so easily live with that doubt.

How could you live with the possibility that this life might not completely be your own?

But maybe that’s what you were missing. That doubt is just a part of life. No one’s ever really sure, you thought, and that’s okay.

Our reality is what we make it.

It seems this is your reality now. If this is what you have, it’s time to make the best of it.

Sylus was now settled in his office, eyelids still feeling heavy as he watched the security screens. He watched as you made your way to Mo Art Studio, Mephisto patiently watching you from a distance. He wouldn’t know what you were talking about, but he could see if anyone laid a hand on you, and that was enough for him.

Luke and Kieran had run off to who knows where, to sleep or to prank Sylus didn’t know. It was negligible to him, what they did. They had limits, he knew, and he could clean up any messes they made.

It had been a while since their last prank, though, so Sylus kept an eye on the door behind him. He wouldn’t put it past them to do something now, especially since he’s so tired and out of his element.

Sylus didn’t flinch when the door slammed open. Didn’t flinch when his chair was aggressively pulled back from the desk.

What gave him pause was, instead, the click of heels against the floor.

The feeds were immediately cut, any glimpse of what they had shown gone as soon as the door opened.

A security measure Sylus was now thankful he’d implemented.

“Where is she?” Em hissed.

Sylus rose from his chair leisurely, letting out a deep breath. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.”

“You know damn well who I mean!” she exclaimed. “I saw Mephisto outside that morning. I shooed him away, but when I came back she was gone.”

“What a shame.” Sylus smirked. “If you’d let him be, he might have seen who took her.”

“I know it was you, Sylus, just admit it! I saw your stupid bird outside, and that same day she was gone!”

“And obviously, that means I took her.” Sylus raised an eyebrow.

“Well, who else would have?” she asked.

“Enlighten me,” Sylus sighed. “What reason would I have to take your little friend?”

“I don’t know,” Em groaned. “All I know is she’s gone. I—” Her breath caught, eyes watering ever so slightly. “I lost her,” she whispered. “And now I can’t find her.”

Sylus inhaled sharply, staying quiet for a few beats. “You lost her,” he began softly. “Have you ever considering she doesn’t want to be found?”

Mo Art Studio was bright, elegant, a seaside paradise. The soft crash of waves could be heard throughout the grounds, a view of the changing tides almost always visible. You checked your phone again, seeing Rafayel’s latest confirmation that it was okay for you to stop by. The gates in front of the studio were intricate and, most noticeably, open.

You hesitantly made your way through the grounds, stopping just before the front door. With a deep breath, you pushed it open, immediately met with the smell of paint, canvas, and seafood. Rafayel was easily spotted in the open floor plan, situated in an awkward position in front of a canvas.

“Great timing, cutie,” he said as he cast his paintbrush aside. “If I stayed in that position any longer, I’d probably be stuck like that.”

You chuckled as he stretched, white shirt opening slightly. You remained silent as he walked towards you, leaving down slightly to match your height.

“Now, cutie, why did you need to see me so urgently?” he asked.

“I’ve got something important to tell you,” you said, wringing your hands.

Rafayel straightened up. “Do you want to go walk on the beach for this?” He pointed back towards the opened French doors behind him.

Nodding, you took his hand as he led you out onto the sand.

You both discarded your shoes once you got off the boardwalk through the dunes, allowing the sand to shift under your bare feet. The incoming waves nipped at your heels as you took a deep breath.

“Do you remember the first time we met, that painting we were looking at?”

“Of course,” he nodded, “I loved that piece. So did you. But, it didn’t sell.”

“And you remember what you said about when you painted it? How that afternoon was really weird, like the universe was trying to fit in something new?”

Rafayel nodded again, the crease between his brows growing deeper.

“That afternoon was weird for me, too.” You exhaled. “See, I’m not from here, not like you are. I’m from a— a different world. I think that was what was weird about that day. It was me coming into this world.”

Rafayel stared at you. A few beats of silence passed. “So… so what? You’re saying there’s other worlds? Other dimensions? How did you even get here?” he sputtered. A deep sigh. “I knew something weird happened, I just didn’t think…”

“I don’t know how it happened. All I know is, I was there one moment, and the next, I was in Linkon,” you explained.

“Is it that Deepspace tunnel?” he muttered.

“There’s another thing,” you said sheepishly. “In my world, there’s this game, Love and Deepspace.” You tried to explain it slowly, carefully. You explained the events of the Main Story, everything that had happened that even he didn’t know all about. You left out the memories, the romantic moments stolen away that hadn’t happened yet.

You told him about the past lives, though, all that you knew. You watched as a myriad of emotions passed through his eyes, the ghosts of past loves haunting him.

“You know what’s going to happen, then? How it’s going to end?” he asked quietly.

“Not really,” you admitted. “I just know a lot about what has happened, even the things other people haven’t noticed.”

With barely a nod, Rafayel turned to the incoming ocean. Treading the water, his pants were soaked, up through the calf with salt staining the silken black.

“She had my heart,” he whispered, keeping his back to you. “I guess I never had hers, though.”

You took a step forward, the waves lapping at your legs. Pearls dropped, one by one, to the ocean, their tiny splashes becoming lost in the moving tides.

“Rafayel…” you began.

He turned to you, eyes bright and swirling like the eye of a hurricane. “She was never really going to be mine, was she? Not wholly, not completely.” He let out a dull, empty laugh. “Not in this life, not in the last, not in the next. I guess I was never really meant to have a love like that. All I get is something not meant to last, but something that can’t seem to let me breathe without aching.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Do you know… what happens to me? The bond, it’s still—”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know.”

“Then… did she ever really love me?” His hands trembled at his sides, the hurricane in his eyes nearly spilling out.

You rushed forward, taking your hand in his. “Of course she did,” you murmured. “She’s always loved you. I think she always will.” You laughed lightly. “I don’t know if it’s ‘meant to be’ like you say, but I think anyone would be foolish not to love you.”

Rafayel chuckled, looking back to the sun’s rays across the ocean before his gaze met yours again, leaning down once more so he was eye-level with you.

“Well, well, cutie. Does this mean you love me, too?” He grinned.

You glanced away, feeling your cheeks warm up. He moved next to you, pulling you against him with an arm around your shoulder.

Pressing a kiss to your hair, he whispered, “Thank you, cutie. That’s more than I need. She was never meant to willingly give me her heart. Maybe its time I find a new muse.”

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

[nyaruelle-designs]

🦄 Mane 6 + Family Redesign! 🦄

aaaaa this took so long, but it's finally done 😭 here's some art of mane 6 with their families. If you haven't seen my first redesign for the Mane 6, click me!

Keep reading below for design notes! (most of them are very small tweaks to get the palettes to look close to the Mane 6 hahaha)

OK! starting off with twilight's family, I tried to keep her parents' colors close with her own colors, I took both twilight's and shining's colors to match along with their mom and dad. I think Night Light is the most noticeably different of all the parents so far??

shining's colors are quite good but I guess I make it a point to give some siblings matching coat patterns to relate them to each other haha

also I had to add spike. He is apart of the family after all <3

For Rarity's family, I really took a lot of creative liberties haha

I kept Sweetie Belle's colors quite similar but yeah, tweaked it to match more in her sister's color scheme and gave her shared coat patterns with Rarity.

Rarity's parents also underwent some tweaks HAHA (i swear, every time I give the mlp character a unique coat pattern, they turn out looking so different but good??)

Fluttershy's family still looks relatively the same just with a few tweaks to the colors. (Fluttershy definitely gets her soft wings from her mom hehe)

I gave Zephyr a tattoo which I imagine he got in his youth while figuring himself out, thought it would complement his 'surfer?? chill bro' character

Also, fun detail: the tips of Fluttershy and Zephyr's wings compliment/relate back to each other which I think is really neat

Rainbow's family is quite self-explanatory, not a whole lot of difference HAHA

I think I let myself have a little bit of fun when redesigning the Apples. Idk why I thought it'd be interesting to add a bit of green to Pear Butter but ye??

I also kept Pear Butter as having a more petite frame as my personal handcanon is that while she did do farm work, she mostly did the less intensive work like watering the crops or something ahaha

neat detail: Applebloom inherited her eye color from granny smith, thought it'd be interesting to link them together

And last but not least, the Pie familyyy

As Pinkie and Marble are twins, I modelled Marble directly off Pinkie's desaturated form but gave her a longer mane. Other then that, I tried making them look as similar as possible

It's not very noticeable but I also gave Pinkie's dad a bit more pink in his colour scheme to show where she could've gotten her pink genes from. (I want to believe that in the past Igneous Rock had a pink mane before it turned grey from age)

also out of topic but I have this personal headcanon that the pie sisters are actually quadruplets with pinkie being the only one out of the 4 having her recessive pink gene, thought it would be fun to share.

Anyway, congrats on making it to the end! Thanks for reading all my design notes :’D I’ll definitely be drawing more. (next I'm gonna try to draw the secondary characters and hopefully not take too long to get it done-)

[ganondoodle]

doing my best to squeeze out even the littlest bit of art out of my brain

(tloz, demise + hylia)

[dissolved-g1rl]

leon and his insomniac s/o ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

One thousand and one. One thousand and two. One thousand and three. One thousand and four. This really isn’t working anymore. Counting sheep, taking melatonin gummies, wearing socks to sleep, not wearing socks to sleep. Many forums have been browsed, insomnia books purchased, the only thing that seems to get you to sleep is Leon’s voice. There lies your problem, he works so hard everyday, just because you can’t sleep doesn’t mean Leon should have to wake up and read to you till you fall asleep.

You glance to the side, you can see how his chest rises and falls with every breath. Leon had been holding you, trying to soothe you to sleep with head rubs, at some point he dozed off, rolling over onto his back. Leons hair splays out backwards, exposing his forehead, honey blonde looking like a darkish brown. His pouty lips are slightly parted, you can hear him snore after each exhale.

The room is dark, but you’ve been staring off for so long that you’ve just…adjusted to it. You sigh quietly, sitting up in bed. The plan is to escape Leon, drink some warm milk, do some jumping jacks, anything to try and tire yourself out. You almost make it to the door, had to crawl over his limbs to do it, but you hear the sheets rustle, “Where’re you going….” You hear, and turn around like a startled animal.

“Just getting a drink.”

“Liar.”

He pats the still warm space next to him and you begrudgingly return. Leon is sleepy, barely keeping his eyes awake as he tugs you close to him, so close that the two of your are sharing a pillow. Leons nose rubs against your cheek. He takes a moment to try and wake up, his voice is groggy, and his limbs are heavy with sleep. “How long have you been up.” He murmurs, “A few hours.” is your response that makes him sigh. “You could’ve woken me up.” He rubs your arm all the way down to your hand, lacing your fingers together. “I know…but…” He makes a noise at your sheepish rebuttal. “You want me to read the last chapter of Pride and Prejudice?” Leon asks, it’s been a good read, he never thought he’d like a romance novel, and it put you to sleep like a charm and kept him interested. “No…Go back to sleep Leon, I’ll be fine.” Leon smacks his lips disapprovingly “You’re gonna try ‘n leave me again.” He says through a yawn. “You have work in the morning.” You try to be reasonable, “Then I’ll take a nap on my lunch break, ‘s fine.” He’s too sweet, too understanding, too considerate. “You want the chapter?” He suggests again, he won’t take no for an answer, stubborn is another one of his traits, its as loving as it is infuriating. You shake your head again and he sighs.

He tries a few different things. Soft kisses, ones that have a little too much spit, and that are a little off center. Leon even leaves the bed to turn the ac down, he comes back to cuddle you under the sheets, he gets chilly, the way you put your hands under his biceps and feet all over his calves makes it seem like you do to. “Y’know, our receptionist just came back from maternity leave.” Leon rubs your back, “What does that have to do with anything?” You ask incredulously, Leon shushes you “Anyways, she had a colic baby, never slept for more than like…two hours or something, till they got a little white noise machine, worked like a charm.”

“White noise, seriously?”

“Yes seriously, just give it a try, please?” He’s such a polite boy when he says please, you make an indignant noise, yet agree. He hums approvingly, blindly groping for his phone, he finds a long video of repeated white noise, playing it loud enough to hear yet to not be jarring. You let the noise of static gum up in your brain, “It sounds like when you snore.” You mumble, your eyes feel a little heavy, “I don’t snore.” Leon denies, he thinks you’re pulling his leg. “Mhm…” You nuzzle his chest, his hand still is rubbing your back, albeit slowly as he too starts to get sleepy.

Unfortunately, it works like a charm, it takes thirty minutes, but that’s nothing compared to four hours of counting sheep. Leon calls you his colic baby for the rest of the week, people assume he had a baby young, no he’s just talking about his insomniac lover.

dividers by @uzmacchiato

a/n: This story was a request, i accidentally posted it instead of saving to my drafts so i had to delete re do it all lol, hope u enjoy ^_^ I am so sorry I don’t remember your @!!!!

[emily-escott]

Jedi Master Lene Kostana

I’ll admit, the format of Dooku: Jedi Lost was really hard for me to engage with. Because it reads like a script, it felt to me like all the characters were going 😐 at each other the whole time. I know I probably should have listened to it to get the full effect, but I have a really hard time locking in for audiobooks, even if it’s a whole production ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it’s one of my flaws. But anyway! Lene is so fascinating to me because she really is cut from the same disaster cloth as Yoda’s lineage. Almost every decision she made had me going “why would you do that” or “thats just going to make things worse” but we really do love to watch someone who’s technically not wrong about the fate of the galaxy continuously make questionable choices that harm the ones they care for and undermine their reputation with the Council. It’s an age-old tradition.

Here’s my headcanons for her -

- After getting to know Thame Cerulian through their shared interest in the Sith, she initially viewed him as an irritating, pseudo-intellectual bother. His belief that the Sith could return comes more from a place of (by her estimation) frivolous academic conjecture rather than actionable concern. However, when he’s offered a seat on the High Council, she realizes it could be advantageous to involve him in her research. He is incredibly knowledgeable, and as long as she puts up with him, he can intercept most of the prying questions from the Council. (To be clear, I don’t ship these two - Thame likes guys)

- She watches as Dooku, Sifo, and Jocasta all develop a big stupid crush on each other and goes out of her way to foster whatever that is. She does this largely because she thinks it’s cute, but also to confuse Thame and spite Yoda. Thame isn’t sure why these boys are always hanging out in his apartment, but he doesn’t really mind. Yoda knows exactly what’s going on, but is frankly relieved Dooku even has friends.

- While training Sifo, she quickly learns her words carry a lot of weight and anything she says could potentially end up being extremely impactful to her apprentice. This is advantageous most of the time - Sifo only needs to be told something once for the lesson to stick, and it warms her heart to see him basking in her praise, even over something small. The downside? Lene is horribly foul-mouthed, and Sifo is a sponge.

In terms of visual references, there’s obviously not much to go on. The book basically says she’s purple, she’s got a shaved head, and she has a curl of hair behind her right ear… The lil baby version of her in that one comic I haven’t read at least shows what the species looks like. @ junchan_nyan_art has a couple gorgeous drawings of younger Lene on insta, and @bolithesenate more or less captured how she looks in my mind! idk what the curl of hair behind her left ear is supposed to mean or look like. So I’m giving her a sick faux hawk. idc. I was pretty much happy with her design right off the bat, it just took a few drawings to really nail her features. What do we think, is this something?? I feel so late to the party. She’s been on my to draw list foreverrrrr but I just wasn’t getting around to reading the source material 💀 we’re really in serious blorbo territory now, this ain’t an entry level Star Wars blog anymore, if it ever was

[blackwidowbabe]

Hot Wheels

Description: Your roommate’s hot biker friend Natasha comes to town for a visit.

Tags: biker!Natasha (bc why not?), Wanda is reader’s roommate, reader is down bad for Nat (who isn't?), gn!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

You opened your eyes to the sound of chirping birds. It was the time of year when spring was slowly rolling into summer; days were growing longer and trees were getting greener. The sun was shining brightly on the trees that lined the street you and your roommate, Wanda, lived on. 

As you slowly awakened, you could hear the sound of Wanda’s playlist coming from downstairs. That only meant one thing—she was baking. 

Eager for her treats, you rolled out of bed and padded downstairs. As you entered the kitchen, you saw Wanda swaying to music as she slid a tray of unbaked cookies into the oven. 

“Morning,” you greeted, seating yourself at the kitchen table. 

She turned and smiled, “morning Y/N.” Wanda took off her oven mitts and set them on the counter. 

As the cookies baked, the delicious smell of them wafted to your nose, which made your stomach grumble. “Those smell good.” 

“They’re for Natasha,” Wanda explained. “She always liked my baking.” 

“Natasha?” So the cookies weren’t for you? You paused, choosing to think rationally instead of being protective over Wanda’s (albeit orgasmic) chocolate chip cookies. “Who’s that?” 

Wanda’s paused, “did I not tell you?” 

“Tell me about what?” You asked reluctantly, reaching for the cookie dough-covered beaters. 

"My old college friend is coming over,” she answered, slightly narrowing her eyes as she watched you lick the utensils. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought I told you.” 

You shook your head, “I don’t mind,” you told her assuredly. Interesting people never came into the neighborhood, and it never hurt to meet new people. “What’s the saying anyway? The more, the merrier?” 

Wanda shot you a grateful look, relief washing over her, “thanks, Y/N.” The brunette took the beaters from you and began washing them in the kitchen sink. You glanced outside, wondering about Natasha. 

If she was Wanda’s old college friend, it probably meant she was into quieter things. Maybe she and Wanda baked together, or maybe she painted landscapes—something unexciting that would fit the vibe of your town. 

You and Wanda had gone to different schools. You two had only met because you needed a roommate. Ever since you’ve known her, she’d become your best friend—sweet, but totally capable of standing up for you with an attitude and a hair flip. You were forever grateful that you met her, for both her ability to cook and for being a friend in need. 

As you looked out the window, the neighborhood kids ran around spraying each other with water guns. It was the perfect suburban picture. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head.

If Wanda’s friend was coming over, she would probably be just as boring as the two of you. 

—— 

Wanda had left to buy ingredients for dinner after letting out a few Sokovian curses when she realized she didn’t have them. By this time, the sky darkened to the point where the streetlights turned on. You had been laying on your bed, scrolling, when you heard a low rumble roll through your street. 

Initially, you thought it was Wanda returning. But as the deep growl got louder, you glanced out of your window to see the source. A sleek black motorbike rolled down the street—its rider clad in the same gothic color. The biker rode as if they were one with the machine, and you watched as they leaned the bike to the side to ride up your driveway. 

They parked their bike and switched their engine off—leaving the environment eerily quiet. You watched the rider swing a leg off their bike with practiced ease. As they took off their helmet, short blonde hair fell out and swayed with the movement.

That’s when you realized—seeing the person approach your front door, snapping you out of your trance as they knocked—that this was Natasha. 

You hastily made your way to the front door. As you opened it, you paused. Her blonde hair was free of any helmet hair—like she simply didn’t get affected by such things. She was toned—strong—and held herself with an intimidating presence. She puts the ‘hot’ in Hot Wheels...

Her plush lips quirked slightly. “Y/N?” 

“Yes—” you stammered, stepping to the side to let her pass through, “Wanda’s out right now. She went to get the ingredients for dinner.” 

“That’s fine,” her voice was even as she stepped through. 

“Here, let me get that,” you took her leather jacket and hung it. She gave you a polite smile, and you sheepishly smiled back. You must’ve looked a little too eager to help. 

“I'm Natasha, by the way.” She said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. She clearly wasn’t one to wait for an invitation she didn’t need. 

Natasha. You already knew that. But you let it roll silently over your tongue anyway as if you were hearing it for the first time.  

“Natasha Romanoff.” She added.

“Romanoff? Are you Russian?” 

She smiled, “da.” 

You chuckled, moving to sit across from her—your usual spot at the table. “It makes sense you and Wanda clicked then. She’s also Slavic.” 

The corners of Natasha’s lips twitched, “has she mentioned anything else about me?” 

“Well—no. Just that you were old friends in college.” 

She nodded in understanding—slowly, almost calculating. “She’s told me a bit about you as well.” 

“She has?” You wondered what Wanda could’ve possibly said, there wasn’t much about you that was interesting. A small part of you hoped the blonde was impressed with whatever she could’ve said. 

Natasha nodded again, her smile upturned in a playful way, “all good things.” 

You smiled with relief. This was the last person you’d expect Wanda to befriend—someone who radiated confidence without needing to be extra. The two of you sat in the dimly lit kitchen in a momentary silence, the noisy cicadas blaring through the open window. There was something alluring about Natasha, and you could’ve sworn that you saw her studying you as well.  

Just then, the front door clicked open. “I’m back!” Wanda returned from the store carrying a packed shopping bag. She spotted the two of you sat at the table and grinned widely in recognition. “Natasha!” 

Wanda set down the shopping bag and made her way towards Natasha, who stood up from her chair. They hugged each other in reunion, both smiling happily. As they pulled apart, they chatted something in Sokovian, which went way over your head. You heard Wanda speak Sokovian with her brother over video call sometimes, but you could never pick the language up on your own.  

Natasha joined you back at the table as she and Wanda continued their conversation. Wanda began preparing dinner, and the atmosphere became more vibrant.  

“Do you speak Sokovian?” Natasha turned to you with a curious tone in her voice. Her question snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shook your head. 

“No, I’m hopeless with languages,” you admitted, “although I’m surprised you know Sokovian too.” 

“Natasha’s a polyglot,” Wanda interjected with a fond smile. She began cutting vegetables on a cutting board. 

Natasha gave a humble smile but didn’t deny it. 

“What else can she do?” You asked. 

“What can’t she do?” Wanda started humorously, “combat, hacking.” 

“I’m right here.” Natasha sighed. 

“You do combat?” You asked incredulously. 

Natasha nodded, “I took a few courses in uni. Wanda and I did it together.” 

“You too?!” 

“Natasha always beat me,” she sighed, prompting a light chuckle from Nat. 

“She never tried.” 

—— 

The three of you sat around the kitchen table, enjoying Wanda’s wonderfully cooked meal. 

Wanda pointed her fork at Natasha, chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “Before you leave, remind me about the cookies I have for you.” She said. 

Natasha grinned with joy, “how could I leave those behind?” 

“Don’t worry, they wouldn’t go to waste,” Wanda chuckled, “Y/N loves my baking as much as you.” 

Natasha’s eyes flickered to yours, “are you saying I have a competitor?” 

You chuckled, setting your cutlery down. “With your combat skills, they’re all yours.” 

She laughed. 

Once the three of you had finished dinner, you began indulging in the cookies Natasha insisted Wanda bring out for dessert. 

After a while, Wanda was the first to leave for bed. She stretched her arms over head, and with a yawn, declared she was going to sleep. 

That left you with Natasha. Alone. Again. The two of you sat in silence, and you wondered what else there was to ask the blonde. “What made you start riding motorcycles?” You asked. 

Natasha’s eyes lingered on the the table, thinking of an answer. “They’re easy to manage.” She replied. “Have you ever ridden one?” 

“No,” you answered honestly. You wondered what riding on the back of her bike would be like. Sitting behind her, your hands lingering on the dip of her waist as wind rippled past you. “Not that I wouldn’t be interested.” You added. 

“I’ll have to take you for a ride sometime.”  

You looked up at her, noticing how her seemingly polite offer was mixed with a suggestive undertone. 

“You’ll enjoy it.” She assured, snagging one more cookie from the bowl before leaving the table. Your eyes followed her as she walked away, trailing down to her behind. A part of you wondered if she was sashaying on purpose, the other part didn’t care at all. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

Natasha glanced back and smiled as if she was expecting the answer. “Tomorrow then.” 

She made her way up the stairs, leaving you alone in the kitchen, thinking about what tomorrow would hold.