#what’s good for someone will be agonizing for someone else

[sodacowboy]

saw someone reciting a poem over a video and it was about how a love that burns isn’t actually good bc it won’t last long and how a river is a better comparison and isn’t that such bullshit lmao

stars burn for billions of years, more than enough warmth and passion for a lifetime

rivers however, will wear you down and reduce you to a mere grain of sand when you were a mountain before

[moeblob]

Anyway they can change between being tiny and human sized. And when they're tinier they can only be seen by the other fae or their selected humans. So if you just passed Noll on the street while Shavuli was perched on his shoulder chatting away you wouldn't see or hear her.

[redhotarsenic]

It’s so fucked that the main source of unease I felt building up over the past several months was me feeling pressured to perform femininity to be seen as desirable to other people. It was never ever said said out loud in that space but I could FEEL it and I never knew until it was pointed out to me.

[mayonakano-archive]

you never realize how much exhaustion impacts you until every little thing feels agonizing and everyone is putting pressure on you to do more

[tonycries]

Little Heaven

Synopsis. He’s just your friend-with-benefits, right? So why - in the still haze of the soft sheets and you, fúcking you so sensual and tenderly - does he feel like he’s found his own personal heaven?

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, kinda fluffy, he’s both pússydrunk and in love, slow to rough, marking, mentions of marriage and kids, morning, swearing.

Word count. 1.3k

A/N. Probably the fluffiest smút I’ve ever written.

You were just his friend-with-benefits, right? No strings attached, right? 

So why was he here? Sinking into your plush mattress, quiet morning sun just barely peeking in through the curtains as he wraps his arms around your naked figure. 

God, he really shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be laying you on your side, drinking in your soft little, “G’mornin’.” Both of your movements languid and still burning with soreness. Your hips pushing back desperately into his as he positions himself so that his leaking tip was just kissing your swollen folds. 

He shouldn’t be whispering soft kisses into the marks that littered your skin. Licking one, long stripe up the sinful trail of hickies down your neck. All sensual touches where it was bruising grips last night. 

That was rule #1, right? No marks. 

Or was it #4… 

Ah, right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when his greedy eyes wander the expanse of your face, fingers trailing along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Tracing delicate patterns across your skin, snaking down, down, down to leisurely lift your leg a little higher. 

Bare chest warm against your back, his voice is low and gravelly in your ear as he whispers, “I had a dream y’know.” 

Mind still thinly veiled with sleep, you lean into his warm touch, “Mhm?” 

Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip. Smearing your juices with his thumb as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good. You almost miss the way he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring a soft “Had a dream of us.”

Oh? 

Before you can overthink his words, he’s nudging in gently. So agonizingly gentle. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as he bullies his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. 

You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy and him. 

And it seems he was drunk on you just as much, because as soon as his hips are flush against yours, the words escape him. So quiet and groggy with sleep, that you almost don’t catch them.

“Had a dream that I made you my beautiful bride.”

Oh. 

That was new. His words hung heavy in the heady air. 

Shivers run down your spine - all the way to where he was buried in your dripping cunt. Your voice is slightly shaky as you let out a humorless laugh, “Oh yeah? Must’ve been a nightmare then.”

Soft lips press against your forehead, breathing in your scent. Absolutely searing as he mutters out a muffled, “No, was the best dream I ever had.”

And then, with the audacity of someone who didn’t just send your mind reeling, he pulls his hips back unhurriedly. Immediately fucking into you at a slow, sensual pace. Tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips languidly into yours, making sure you feel every bump and graze against your tight walls.

You don’t know what’s more maddening - his agonizing pace or the words that tumble out of his lips. “Y’looked so beautiful in white. So pretty walking down the aisle to me.” 

His lips brush against yours, hands dancing across every inch of you he could reach. Gently caressing the skin like it’s something divine, soothing over the marks from last night as if an apology. “Don’ think I’d want to see anyone else there.”

You glance back at him - only to find his eyes already on you. A jolt of electricity runs across your skin at the pure warmth in them. And you realize that, no, this wasn’t a joke. 

Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply grind your hips down to meet his, abs rubbing against your ass. Letting out a broken whimper of what sounds like his name as he moves down a hand to press rough, little circles over and over your throbbing clit. 

“Saw a little something else too.” he hums, a sly smile curling his lips as his other hand dances across your body to press down on your stomach. Hard. “Saw that I had some competition - two actually. Funny, right?”

“Hah- h-hilarious.” you manage to choke out as his thumb speeds up on your clit, hips moving a bit more purposefully. A bit more like you were used to. Rock-hard cock plunging into your quivering cunt in deliberate, sloppy thrusts that have you white-knuckling the sheets. 

“Though…” he trails off dangerously, pulling back all the way until his furiously hard tip was just kissing your waiting hole. “I wouldn’t really mind.”

And with that he’s sheathing his throbbing erection in your wet pussy completely. A gasp of delight leaves him at the way you take him so readily. Walls sucking him up so sinfully - perfect. You were always so perfect for him. 

“Dreamt we had a lil’ house with a big garden.” God, he can feel his cock harden so painfully at the fucked-out little ah! ah! ah! leaving your pretty lips each time his hip smack into yours. It’s music to his ears, such a shame he just can’t shut the fuck up right now. “And then you dressed the kids up while I made breakfast.”

“Then you made us do taxes and I didn’t even fucking mind.” His voice is strained now, words slurring together as he rams his cock deeper and deeper, glistening with your slick in the soft morning glow. 

“And finally at night, I say we should make a third one.” 

He looks at you, a sly grin stretching his lips, eyes half-lidded and a dangerous twinkle in them that has you wondering whether everything he said before was merely a ruse to fuck you silly. And it probably shows on your face - because he grins lowly in your ear, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we have till our wedding night f’me to fuck you slow.”

And oh he almost feels guilty. But he can’t bring himself to slow down at the way your swollen lips drop into such a pretty oh! at his words. Mewling at the sting of his heavy balls as they smack your ass. Walls clamping down desperately on his dick, milking him for every drop of pleasure. Each thrust into your warm core has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, brows furrowing in ecstasy as he focuses on making you lose your mind. 

He shifts his angle slightly, grinding expertly against your g-spot just right, and you throw your head back, releasing a low moan of his name.

“Shit. Yeah, say m’name, sweetheart. Jus’ like that.” he moans breathlessly. 

His name - soon to be yours.

Maybe.

You turn your head to face him, eyes fiery as you capture his in an equally scorching kiss. Cock slamming into your poor, abused cunt with an intensity that matches that of your lips.

Probably. 

Biting down on his lower lips, soft yet insistent. Humming deliriously against his mouth - and in the heat of it all, he feels you smile against his lips. Ever-so-slightly. 

Definitely. 

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure behind your eyes, walls clamping down so deliciously around his twitching cock. It sends him over the edge as well - whispering your name as if a prayer, voice hoarse with emotions neither of you could name at this very moment. 

Hot ropes of his thick cum paint your trembling cunt white, milking the soul out of him as you both ride out your climaxes together. A creamy ring forming around his base as some truly animalistic part of himself fucks his seed into you - a promise, he likes to think.

“I’m serious about the dream.”

Almost as gentle as that one. 

As the haze settles, his thrusts slowing down to just shallow grinds, a fragile silence envelopes the room as neither of you speak. Because maybe no other words were needed. 

And right now, morning sunlight harsh on his skin, strong arms pulling you warm body flush against his, no one but you two in this quiet world - he doesn’t think he’d like to be anywhere else.

All is well in your little heaven.

- GOJO, GETO, Choso, SUNA, ATSUMU, Tsukishima, Kuroo, EREN

A/N. Bro it took longer to think of what to write than to write this. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[eelhound]

"The idea of reforming Omelas is a pleasant idea, to be sure, but it is one that Le Guin herself specifically tells us is not an option. No reform of Omelas is possible — at least, not without destroying Omelas itself:

If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms.

'Those are the terms', indeed. Le Guin’s original story is careful to cast the underlying evil of Omelas as un-addressable — not, as some have suggested, to 'cheat' or create a false dilemma, but as an intentionally insurmountable challenge to the reader. The premise of Omelas feels unfair because it is meant to be unfair. Instead of racing to find a clever solution ('Free the child! Replace it with a robot! Have everyone suffer a little bit instead of one person all at once!'), the reader is forced to consider how they might cope with moral injustice that is so foundational to their very way of life that it cannot be undone. Confronted with the choice to give up your entire way of life or allow someone else to suffer, what do you do? Do you stay and enjoy the fruits of their pain? Or do you reject this devil’s compromise at your own expense, even knowing that it may not even help? And through implication, we are then forced to consider whether we are — at this very moment! — already in exactly this situation. At what cost does our happiness come? And, even more significantly, at whose expense? And what, in fact, can be done? Can anything?

This is the essential and agonizing question that Le Guin poses, and we avoid it at our peril. It’s easy, but thoroughly besides the point, to say — as the narrator of 'The Ones Who Don’t Walk Away' does — that you would simply keep the nice things about Omelas, and work to address the bad. You might as well say that you would solve the trolley problem by putting rockets on the trolley and having it jump over the people tied to the tracks. Le Guin’s challenge is one that can only be resolved by introspection, because the challenge is one levied against the discomforting awareness of our own complicity; to 'reject the premise' is to reject this (all too real) discomfort in favor of empty wish fulfillment. A happy fairytale about the nobility of our imagined efforts against a hypothetical evil profits no one but ourselves (and I would argue that in the long run it robs us as well).

But in addition to being morally evasive, treating Omelas as a puzzle to be solved (or as a piece of straightforward didactic moralism) also flattens the depth of the original story. We are not really meant to understand Le Guin’s 'walking away' as a literal abandonment of a problem, nor as a self-satisfied 'Sounds bad, but I’m outta here', the way Vivier’s response piece or others of its ilk do; rather, it is framed as a rejection of complacency. This is why those who leave are shown not as triumphant heroes, but as harried and desperate fools; hopeless, troubled souls setting forth on a journey that may well be doomed from the start — because isn’t that the fate of most people who set out to fight the injustices they see, and that they cannot help but see once they have been made aware of it? The story is a metaphor, not a math problem, and 'walking away' might just as easily encompass any form of sincere and fully committed struggle against injustice: a lonely, often thankless journey, yet one which is no less essential for its difficulty."

- Kurt Schiller, from "Omelas, Je T'aime." Blood Knife, 8 July 2022.

[erythristicbones]

need to figure out why mylings are the only ghost-adjacent creature that exists in the lore for my main universe. rotating the worldbuilding in my head like a rotisserie chicken to find out

[moonstruckme]

hi, love! i have a silly request for james or sirius. there are a lot of wonderful fics out there where reader or the love interest confess their feelings when they’re loopy from drinking or being sick and whatnot, but i think it would be quite funny for reader to just, completely sober, get fed up one day by how lovely he is. She confesses but she’s so angry that it doesn’t even register as a confession at first.

Thanks for requesting lovely!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Sirius is braver than you are. You’ve always known it, but you think he likes to remind you by doing things like this, sitting on the edge of his building’s roof with his legs dangling off the edge. You don’t have nearly enough trust in yourself not to lean too far forward and go toppling over, so you’ve got your legs drawn in close to your chest and have situated yourself a few inches back from the edge, watching Sirius as he tempts fate for his lungs as well. 

“I sort of knew he was going to end it tonight,” he says, smoke billowing out from his mouth into the darkness. 

He’s melancholy but trying to hide it, looking off into the distance instead of at you. Your heart aches for him. Sirius likes to pretend that these little rejections don’t phase him, that he’s only dating casually and having fun, but he gets attached quickly; when things don’t work out, he hurts. 

“How did you know?” you ask. 

“He said he wanted to talk over dinner.” 

You wince. “Yeah, that’s never good.” 

“No.” Sirius smiles wryly, the cherry of his cigarette flaring orange as he takes another drag. “But I suppose I can hardly blame him. He wanted something easy, and I’m hardly the easiest person to be around.” He laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “I really make you work for it.” 

“Sirius,” you chide, already exhausted. 

This, unfortunately, isn’t uncommon. Sirius’ heartbreaks, big or small, always come with a horrid bout of self-deprecation hidden under the facade of humor. Even hearing about his dating life isn’t so bad as this; you’re somewhat jealous of the people he finds attractive enough to date, sure, but what you really want, most of all, is for Sirius to be happy. You’re fine with it if someone else is the key to that. But hearing him like this, using jokes to paint himself as worse than he is, is agonizing for you. 

“Don’t say that. It’s not work to be around you.” 

“Oh, but you would say that.” If there’s some bitterness in Sirius’ voice, you know well enough that none of it is for you. He turns to look at you with one eyebrow raised, unable to keep himself from flirting even now. “You’re the sweetest thing on this side of the equator, babe. We can’t expect everyone I go out with to have your saintlike patience.” 

You level him with a stern look despite your heating face. “Stop.” 

“M’just saying,” Sirius goes on, unaffected by your remonstrance, “it’s not like I’m bringing tons to the table.” 

“Don’t say that. You don’t have to bring anything to the table, it’s not an exchange of goods.” 

“But that’s sort of how it starts, isn’t it? And what do I have to offer? Fucked up ideas of intimacy?” 

“You have plenty to offer.” 

“Right. Like a cold, bony shoulder for them to lie their head on.” 

“Sirius—” 

“I’m careless, and impulsive, yet unbearably clingy,” he’s really on a roll now, laughing at himself as he talks and brings his cigarette back to his mouth, “and Evans is always saying I’m arrogant—”

“That’s”

“Plus the anger issues I suppose, and altogether that’s really not—” 

“Oh, would you quit!” Your voice climbs to a shout. Sirius turns to you in surprise, and you snatch the cigarette from his mouth, putting it out on the ground. His eyes follow the movement. 

“My cigarette,” he says bemusedly. 

“Fuck your cigarette!” You’re seething, his words nettling you worse than insults against yourself, and Sirius looks at you like you’re something new and unexpected. Good. Maybe he’ll listen. “You are not difficult to love.” 

“Now, I’m not sure I quite said—”

“No, shut up!” You pin his stare with yours, vehement. “You are smart, and kind, and brave, okay? You are impulsive, but it’s because you’re brave. And you’re not clingy, you just care, Sirius, I—” Your voice grows fraught, and you have to fight past an intrusion in your throat, blinking away some dampness in your eyes. “I don’t want to be a part of your pity party if it’s just going to be you shitting on yourself. You’re a good person, and you’re easy to love, and for those of us that love you, it’s—for all of us, that love you, it’s awful to hear you talk about yourself like you’re not. You’re great to be around. It’s not work.” 

Your voice gets softer at the end, squashed defeatedly under the weight of your emotions. Sirius’ brow pinches. 

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands like he’s surrendering, then like he’s reaching for you. “Message received; I’m the shit.” 

“You are,” you insist tearily. “You can’t say it like you’re joking.” 

A little laugh stutters out of him. “I’m sorry. C’mere, babe.” 

If there was ever a time to hold out on going into Sirius’ arms this would be it, but you’re not sure you’ll ever have that much willpower. He folds you into him with one hand, using the other to brush away the still-hot cigarette butt before pulling you closer. 

“And your shoulders are nice,” you whimper, pushing your cheek into one to prove it. 

Sirius chuckles again. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He rubs tentatively between your shoulder blades. You feel bad that you’d met up tonight so you could comfort him, and somehow you’ve made it the other way around. “You’re too good to me.” 

“I’m not just saying that because I’m good to you.” You pull back from him, wiping under your eyes. “You’re a thousand times better than you say you are.” 

“I…” Sirius’ expression looks somewhere between confused and disbelieving, but there’s a caution there you know enough to be wary of. “Did you mean what you said about loving me?” 

Your heart stutters. “I said all of us that love you.” 

“No, but before that,” he presses. “You said those of us, and then you changed your mind, but it seemed like you were talking about you.” 

You shut your eyes, mortified. “That wasn’t the point.” 

“You did mean it, didn’t you?” Sirius’ voice isn’t gentle or pushy, just full of pure, bald curiosity. He sounds mystified. “You really feel that way about me?” 

“Sirius.” You keep your tone measured. “I realize you’re having a shitty night, but please don’t make fun of me right now—” 

“Hey.” Sirius sounds so genuinely wounded that you open your eyes. Once you look at him, his expression gentles. “Hey, I wouldn’t. I’m just surprised.” 

You give him your best attempt at one of his wry smiles. “Well, you shouldn’t be. I’ve just finished telling you about how lovely you are.” 

He laughs again, a breathy, startled sound. And beyond your humiliation, you can still appreciate the rare privilege of seeing him like this; shocked into his truest, most genuine self. 

“Yeah, but you’re only supposed to tell me nice things to make me feel better,” he says. “You’re not supposed to start believing them.” 

You decide to give him a pass on the self-deprecation, but you shoot him a half-teasing irked look. “Thin ice, Black.” 

“Fair enough.” He’s smiling an awful lot, his real one, pretty and dashing at the same time. It keeps coming back like he can’t hold it at bay. “I’m in love with you, too, you know.” 

Your heart can’t decide whether to be in your throat or your stomach. You feel like you’re choking on air. “Don’t fuck with me.” 

“I’m not fucking with you,” he laughs. 

“You are not in love with me.” 

“I am! And who are you to decide? You don’t get to tell me everything about myself, you know. I can know some things.” 

“But,” you’re shaking your head, bewildered and still looking for the trick, “why haven’t you said something?” 

Sirius shrugs, the first hint of that feigned nonchalance making its return. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. I do make you listen to me whine about all my woes and heartaches, after all. It can’t be very attractive.” He shoots a look at you, sizing you up. “Why haven’t you?” 

You sigh. Your voice comes out quiet. “I was always hearing about all your woes and heartaches. With other people.” 

Sirius makes a low groaning sound, but he nods. “Sort of shot myself in the foot there, I suppose.” He offers you a little smile. “Maybe we both ought to have given ourselves a bit more credit.” 

You rub your lips together, grinning despite yourself. “Maybe so.” 

[firehose118]

They go back to Miceli’s for their six month anniversary.

It’s stupid to celebrate something like that, Buck knows, but every day he’s spent with Tommy has felt like a gift. He wants to make up for that first date, when he threw their newly sprouting relationship away the moment he got spooked by someone else knowing about it. By someone knowing about him. He wants to show Tommy how far he’s come. He wants to show Tommy how committed he is.

Buck had made the reservation online two weeks ago. He’d called this morning, as soon as they opened, to see if he could reserve the same table they’d sat at last time.

“We don’t usually reserve specific tables,” the person on the other line had said.

But by the time Buck had finished explaining why, exactly, it was so important for them to sit at this table on this day at this time—sparing no agonizing detail about just how much of an idiot he’d made of himself, and how the first time Tommy kissed him it made Buck understand himself for the first time in his life, so please he really needs to do this for him—the person said they’d see what they could do; their words coming through the speaker with an audible smile.

Buck looks at himself in the mirror while he waits for Tommy to pick him up. He looks so different from the person who stared back at him all those months ago, in a moment just like this, waiting for Tommy to pick him up for their first date. His hair had been shorter, his sideburns longer, his clothes tighter.

He’d been nervous. He’d been so fucking nervous. He’d looked in the mirror and seen someone about to go on a date with a man. He’d seen someone who was struggling with the idea that he liked men, period, and apparently always had. He’d seen someone about to try something he didn’t think should feel as new as it did, and terrified of what it meant. Of how long he hadn’t known he’d wanted it. Of what it meant about himself if he wasn’t comfortable with wanting it. He’d looked in the mirror and seen someone who’d always been an outspoken ally, who was now terrified of someone else looking at him and seeing that he liked men.

But that was April. Now, it’s October. The winds have shifted and the air is cooler and Buck is bisexual. He knows who he is now. He’s not scared of what loving Tommy means anymore.

He takes a steadying breath and checks himself over one more time in the mirror. He’s cleanshaven almost to the top of his ear—just to the spot where Tommy rests his thumb and strokes back and forth when he cups Buck’s cheek while they kiss—and his curls are laying perfectly tonight. There’s a boyishness that’s come back to him with this haircut; a physical lightness that accompanies the joy that Tommy brings him. He looks happy. He looks good.

More than anything, he knows Tommy will think he looks good. Tommy likes his curls, likes him cleanshaven. He likes to pinch his smooth cheeks and pull his hair deliciously and tell him he loves him. Tommy thinks he’s adorable. Miceli’s is the first place he told him as much, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal. It still makes Buck’s heart flutter every time Tommy says it.

It’s kind of embarrassing, Buck thinks, how much better he feels about himself now that he’s with Tommy. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest. Part of it is understanding that he’s bi, sure. That’d been an itch he’d been scratching at until he bled for years without figuring out it was there. He’d simply registered it as a baseline discomfort with how he fit into the world. The source of that, once illuminated, felt so obvious and undeniable. The discomfort melted away once he understood the full truth of himself. Once Tommy showed him.

But it’s more than that. It’s not that Tommy is a man: it’s that he’s Tommy. It’s the way Tommy makes Buck feel. His whole life, Buck has felt like he was hard to love. He was too much. He wasn’t enough. He was wrong. He was a failure.

A lot of that was his parents. A lot of it was not understanding why Maddie wouldn’t run away with him. A lot of it was not knowing who he was or what he wanted—and so not knowing how to ask to be loved correctly. It was clinging onto Abby past the relationship’s obvious expiration date. It was Ali leaving him mid-recovery because dating a firefighter was too much. It was trying to start something real with Taylor when they were so much better off as friends-with-occasional-benefits. It was being so certain that Natalia saw him for who he was, and realizing she only saw a three-minute-seventeen-second moment of him. No one wanted to keep him long-term, or if they did they wanted a specific version of him that he couldn’t be.

But Tommy came into his life. He saw Buck at some of his worst moments almost right away, and he still wanted to get to know Buck better. He saw Buck injure Eddie in a fit of jealous rage, and rather than leaving the two of them to deal with whatever that was among themselves, Tommy kissed him. Tommy asked him out. Tommy took him to Miceli’s and opened up about his past. He tried to calm Buck’s nerves. He said it wasn’t Buck’s fault if Buck wasn’t ready for what Tommy wanted from him. He gave Buck a second chance. He saw Buck in full clipboard glory and didn’t bat an eye. He showed up to a hospital wedding in dirty turnouts, exhausted, just because Buck asked him to. He apologized for being late.

He made sure Buck knew he wasn’t too much. He made sure Buck knew he was enough. He looked at every one of Buck’s flaws and faults and told Buck in no uncertain terms that he loved him—not loved him anyway, not loved him in spite of those things, just loved him. Like it was that easy.

And Buck has blossomed with Tommy’s love and attention. It feels dumb to say that about himself, but he has to admit it’s true. Buck feels calmer, more sure of himself than he ever has—not in that cocky 1.0 way, but in a steady, relaxed, stable way. Buck knows who he is now. He doesn’t have anything to prove anymore. He feels settled. At ease.

And so, so grateful for Tommy.

Tommy knocks on the door to the loft before letting himself in. It’s a habit that Buck can’t break him of. He insists it’s polite, so that Buck gets some warning before suddenly there’s someone else in his apartment. Buck thinks that’s sweet, has told him a thousand times that he doesn’t mind when Eddie just appears so why would this be different, but Tommy still does it. It’s gentlemanly. Buck hopes after tonight Tommy will understand just how much Buck wants Tommy to just be in his space.

Buck emerges from the downstairs bathroom just as Tommy is closing the front door.

“Hey,” Tommy says in that sing-song way of his. If Buck were to spell it out, it would have three Ys at least. And a few music notes—just for accuracy.

“Hey,” Buck says back, breathless. “You look… wow.”

Tommy is wearing the same shirt he wore on their first date. The black button-up is a favorite of Buck’s, and Tommy knows it. It makes him look big and broad and soft at the same time. It makes Buck want to snuggle into his chest. It makes Buck want to cancel their reservations.

Other than the shirt, Tommy looks different now than he looked six months ago, too. He’s stopped using quite so much product in his hair—inspired by Buck to also let his curls have a fighting chance—and he just looks… softer. He looks more like he did when Buck asked him to be his date to Maddie’s wedding, or when he came over for dinner after Bobby woke up from his coma. He’s not sharp angles and a harsh haircut. He looks relaxed in the same way that Buck feels. He looks confident in himself not as someone who can get the guy—not as someone impressive—but as someone who has the guy he wants, and who trusts that the guy is happy with him just the way he is.

Buck is happy. He’s very happy.

“You’re not looking too bad yourself,” Tommy says, fitting his hands on the tops of Buck’s hips and rubbing his thumbs back and forth. He smiles as he leans in close. “You got a hot date tonight or something?”

Even six months in, Buck still has such a huge crush on Tommy that he goes a little stupid sometimes. He blushes like this is the first time Tommy has played with him like this.

“Yeah,” Buck says. He wraps his arms around Tommy and squeezes once, just to feel him.“The hottest.” It’s not his best line but it works.

Tommy makes a noise of intrigue and scrunches his nose. “Anyone I know?”

“Probably not. He’s just some guy my brother-in-law knew back in the day.”

Tommy laughs and finally closes the distance between their lips. He kisses Buck soundly, sweetly; letting his love flow from his body into Buck’s. Or at least that’s how it feels.

“You ready to go?” Tommy asks when he pulls back, a sparkle in his eye.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The drive over is peaceful. There’s shockingly little traffic for a Friday night in a touristy part of town, and Tommy holds his hand over the center console the whole time. That’s not unusual: Tommy always does that. What’s unusual is getting a parking spot so quickly on a block so close to the Chinese Theater—it’s why they’d Ubered last time.

Buck won’t jinx it by saying it feels like a sign. So he doesn’t say it.

Miceli’s held their table. Buck won’t say that feels like a sign either.

They order the same veggie pizza and salad as last time, but instead of the same pitcher of light beer, they order wine. Unlike on their first date, Tommy isn’t afraid to come off as a beer snob anymore. Buck already knows he is.

“Can I be honest, Evan?” Tommy says when Buck suggests a full recreation of their first meal; beer pitchers and all. “The worst part of that date wasn’t you no-homoing me in front of Eddie. It was that beer.”

Their conversation over dinner is more normal than Buck expected for an anniversary. It’s nice, relaxing. It feels natural. Tommy tells him about the high rise rescue he did today—run of the mill stuff, really, he insists it’s not that cool—and Buck tells him about the history of winemaking in Sicily, and how the volcanic soil adds a different flavor to the grapes that grow in it, and Mt Etna smokes all the time but people still live near it, and millions of people also still live in the shadow of Mt Vesuvius, and how pizza was first created in Naples, and did you know that margherita pizza isn’t really called that because Queen Margherita liked it even though that’s what people say and that actually the story was made up like fifty years after she allegedly went to Naples and tried it, so it’s just a marketing ploy?

Tommy didn’t know that—any of that—but he looks so fond as Buck tells him that Buck finally works up the nerve to ask him the thing he brought Tommy here to ask.

“So,” Buck says, once they’ve had two slices each. “I wanted to talk to you about something, and I figured this would be the best place to do it.”

He wasn’t nervous before, but he’s nervous now. He thinks he knows what the answer will be, but he’s never done this for the right reasons before. He doesn’t want Tommy to think he’s moving too fast. They haven’t been dating long, but it’s been so transformative. Buck is sure he wants this.

Tommy looks at him with mild concern, so he must look as nervous as he feels. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes!” Buck says, eyes going wide. He reaches across the table to hold Tommy’s hand. “Yes, everything is- is great, sorry. That’s what I wanted to ask you about. These last six months have been amazing. You’ve been amazing. Sometimes I still can’t believe- like I wake up next to you in the morning and I can’t believe it’s real. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to- to- for you to want me in your space like that. So I’ve been thinking, um, well, I-I’ve been wondering. What- what do you think about- I mean, I know it’s too soon, maybe, but it feels right and I- I’ve never really done this right in the past, and this is a-actually the longest I’ve taken to do this with someone, so maybe that’s a good sign? You don’t think it’s too soon, do you? It’s just that my lease is up soon and I- I have to make a decision and I just thought, well, it might be nice to officially- but if you’re worried about the- the commute for me, since you’re pretty far from the 118, I- I thought about that, and it’s not like I don’t do that a few times a week now anyway. I think it’s worth it.”

Tommy just looks at Buck with a small, patient, excited smile. “What are you asking me, Evan?” Tommy looks like he already knows, but he won’t do the work for Buck. He’s gonna make him ask.

“Right, uh, I guess I didn’t… W-what would you say- um, I mean, would you want to- can I- because obviously it would be me who would- fuck, sorry, let me just…”

This isn’t even The Big Question and Buck can’t get it out. There’s too much going on in his head, too much backstory and too many possible arguments against it that he’s trying to head off because he wants this so badly.

“Do I make you nervous or is it this place?” Tommy laughs. It’s not a mean laugh, he’s not laughing at Buck. He seems charmed by the spluttering. Adorable. “I haven’t seen you like this in months. It’s okay, baby. Ask me.”

Buck takes a breath. “Let me start over-“

“Evan.”

The music is back in Tommy’s voice. The way he says Buck’s given name makes it sound like a term of endearment; how he holds out the final syllable and doesn’t let it go until he has to. Most people go down on that last N sound, like a frown. Tommy goes up, like it makes him smile just to have the sounds in his mouth.

He’s looking at Buck like Buck is something worth looking at. He’s holding Buck’s hand like Buck is something worth holding onto. And he’s smiling at Buck like Buck is something that brings him joy.

It makes Buck smile in return. It gives him confidence. Tommy makes him nervous, but he also settles all the noise that buzzes around in Buck’s head. He helps Buck see the clear path forward, just by being there. Just by being steady.

“Tommy,” Buck starts. He squeezes Tommy’s hand in his, on top of the table for everyone to see. “Do you want to move in together?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart.” Tommy smiles so wide his eyes crinkle and, god, those eye crinkles are just barely below his cleft on the list of things Buck loves about Tommy’s face.

“Yeah?” Buck is beaming.

“Honestly, you beat me to the punch. I was gonna ask you to move in over dessert,” Tommy says. He squeezes Buck’s hand. “I love you. I’ve never been happier than I am when I’m with you. Of course I want to live with you.”

Tommy was going to ask Buck to move in. Tommy wants Buck to live with him. Tommy wants Buck. Tommy wants to keep him.

Buck is standing up and bumping the table before he realizes what he’s doing. Their wine spills, the last of their pizza falls from its elevated rack onto the table next to them, and Buck couldn’t care less about any of it. He’s kissing Tommy right there, both hands on Tommy’s handsome face, in the same restaurant where he pretended they weren’t on a date, at the same table where he said some of the most embarrassing things he’s ever said, and he’s never in his life been more thrilled to return to a place he made a fool of himself in.

“People are looking at us, Evan,” Tommy says, pulling back as far as Buck will let him.

“I don’t care. I love you.” Buck kisses him again.

But he’s still a person with a sense of decency, so once the rush of Tommy wants me Tommy loves me Tommy wants to keep me close wears off, Buck pulls back from Tommy’s mouth and apologizes to the table next to them—the unintended casualties of their toppled dinner. Still worth it.

They clean up as much of the mess as they can. Neither of them stop smiling.

A piece of tiramisu comes to their table not long after, with the word Congratulations! and a picture of two rings drawn on the plate in chocolate sauce.

“Oh,” Tommy says. “They must have thought we got engaged.”

“Yeah,” Buck laughs. “I guess most people would only have that kind of reaction to something that big.”

“Then they don’t know you very well,” Tommy smiles.

You do, though, Buck thinks. You know me better than I know myself. You saw me for who I am—not who I thought I was—and you brought that to the surface so gently, so easily. You let me finally get to know myself. After searching so hard and so desperately by myself all these years, all you had to do was kiss me, and I knew myself. I’ve never looked in the mirror and truly seen myself there, but now I do. Because of you.

Filled to the brim with love and joy and excitement for the next chapter of his life, Buck smiles back.

“Well,” he says, gesturing at the tiramisu. “Mistaken free dessert?”

And Tommy, in his patented cool, confident way, says, “Premature free dessert,” and takes a bite.

Six months later, when Tommy asks if he wants to go to Miceli’s, Buck pretends not to know what Tommy is going to ask him. He just smiles and says yes.

{now on ao3}

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

45 / 1.9k / soap soulmate au, part 11

...

Mercenaries can be paid off for just about anything.

So when Price rings your cell phone to propose a trade—Laswell had your number, naturally—Horangi has no qualms with fishing it out of your pocket. You glare at him, but he doesn’t bother giving you anything more than a dry look before he answers it.

You hear Price’s voice from the speaker in Horangi’s ear. "Was wondering what was taking you lot so long."

Horangi sighs. It never ends, apparently. "What do you want?" he asks.

"Just to talk," Price replies. "What's your rate?"

"Come again?" Horangi asks.

"We're all soldiers here. Unfortunate that our mission came at the cost of yours, but we can all walk away happy, hm? I want to make sure you don’t go uncompensated. That’d be a shame."

Horangi scowls, but one of your squadmates in the back seat grips your shoulder and shifts his weight toward the phone in obvious interest.

"What do you have in mind?” Horangi asks.

"First, your rate."

"Too rich for your blood."

"Try me."

Horangi narrows his eyes. Then he shrugs and throws out a number. It's far more money than KorTac’s real fee, but before you can decide whether to say something, Price speaks again.

"We'll double that."

"Will you now?"

"I will. Even pay you all directly if you like. No need to involve the company. Just keep your handler’s cut for yourselves. I won’t say a word," Price says. "That should be good enough, shouldn't it?"

Horangi leans back, tapping the steering wheel in thought, but you can tell he's interested now. "What's the job?"

"Not a job, really. Just a favor. Let us have custody of your songbird, and the money's yours. Make up some story about how she got away or got shot if you need a scapegoat. We’ll turn a blind eye if you prefer. Keep the record nice and clean."

Horangi glances at you. “Songbird’s worth a lot to the company.”

“You’re not the company, now are you? You already did the damn job. You should get paid. You and your team.”

He likes the sound of that. Price's offer turns both of your situations into something everybody can be pleased with. Get the mercs paid for what they lost. They get the girl. Fine by him. He hums in thought. “Cash in hand.”

There’s a beat of silence on Price’s end. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Cash in hand,” Horangi says again. “Or no deal.”

“Are you sure about that? Wired funds spend just as well as cash.”

“I can afford to be picky, my friend.”

Another long pause. “Is that so?”

“Apologies. I’d be happy to consider your deal if I hadn’t already made a better one with someone else. He’s willing to pay cash.”

“Who?”

Horangi scoffs and ends the call. He tosses your phone into the backseat floorboards and ignores your stare burning into the side of his head. “Don’t worry, rookie,” he tells you. “You know it’s a better deal than you’d get back at base. You’ll thank me one day.”

…

But you don’t make it back to base.

It’s an ambush. A trap—Horangi doesn’t see the charges on either side of the road until it’s too late, and the truck transporting you flips forward onto its roof. One minute, you’re feeling the melted snow in your boots; the next, you’re looking down at the road through the windshield. Then you’re coming to in a haze of gunfire and hoarse voices barking call-and-response orders all around you.

It’s not until your teammates have evacuated the wrecked truck that you attempt to move yourself and do the same. Maybe they plan to come back for you; maybe they think you’re dead. Maybe you are dead. You really fucking hope not. Whatever death has in store for you, it had better not force you to contend with the agonizing pain of a dislocated shoulder and broken glass buried in every second nerve ending.

You push against the seatbelt holding you to the seat, having to twist out of your coat just to slump to the pavement. You’re still ziptied, but you have to move. If whoever laid this ambush finds you, you're done for.

Somehow, all you can think about is Johnny. If he could see you now, he’d never let you hear the end of it. He’d lecture you like a goddamn recruit. You hate how much you want to see his stupid face get angry at you again.

There’s a long lull in the gunfire. Then the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone curses and orders the others to “spread out,” searching for your scattered teammates—for survivors.

Your teammates aren’t coming. You’re on your own.

Then you remember Price’s call and Horangi swiping your phone from your pocket.

Desperately, you shoulder your way back into the wreckage. Somehow, you find it. The screen is cracked, but it still lights up when you wrestle your bound wrists under your feet and touch the screen. Thank Christ. You redial Price's number from the call log.

He picks up on the first ring. "Go for Price."

"I need to talk to Johnny."

There's a moment of crackling silence through the line. Then: "Soap's tied up at the moment. What's going on?"

"I don't know. Ambush. The car flipped." You wince, feeling broken glass cut into your shoulder. The slushy pavement under you is turning ruddy. Oh, that’s your blood. "It's bad."

Price swears under his breath. "Where are you?"

"Near the base of the mountain. In the side. There's a... a lot of trees. Twenty hostiles. I think. I can't see."

"Stay put. We'll find you. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime."

"I want to talk to Johnny."

"For God’s sake. You can talk to him in person when we find you. Just sit tight."

"Let me talk to my goddamn soulmate," you hiss. You put as much venom into your voice as you can, but even you hear how weak you sound.

Price says something away from the speaker you can't quite make out. There's shuffling and then another familiar voice picks up, low and gruff, and tinged with a Scottish burr.

"Hen?"

The wave of relief that sweeps through you renders you mute for a second.

That makes the worry in his tone swell. “You okay? They hurt you?"

The concern in his voice has your throat tightening. Dammit.

Before you can reply, there's another burst of gunfire and a hostile voice much too close by for comfort. You grab the phone and edge your way further into the tenuous safety of the wreckage. You clutch the phone in your hands, barely clocking the glass screen digging into your palm.

The sound of your voice cutting out over the line triggers Soap’s anxiety all over again. He curses up a storm on the other end, his voice rising with every word and the urgency in his tone growing as he calls you by name.

You hear more footfalls, but whoever it is, they don't seem to notice you. You've not been gunned down yet, at least. You need to find somewhere safer.

Peering around the wreckage, you look for somewhere else you can hide. The tree line is close. You don't know how long you'll last in the snow no matter what, especially without your coat—but cold cover is safer than none. Staying under a leaking, gasoline-filled truck carcass isn’t a good long-term plan.

Soap’s voice rises over the line. "Dammit, say somethin'!"

Finally you do. "Johnny?"

"Jesus." Soap closes his eyes, hoping like hell he's not about to hear you get shot, or captured, or worse. He can already tell by the rough sound of your voice that he's not going to like what you say next. "I'm here," he says quickly, trying to keep the worry from his own voice. "Where are ya?"

"I’m an idiot. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about..." You let out a harsh sigh. "You. Just wanted to tell you that."

It suddenly feels like there's a block of ice lodged in Soap’s chest. "That a goodbye, darlin'?" he says.

"I'm doing my goddamn best. Alright?"

"That’s a sorry fuckin’ excuse. You’re aways doing your best," Soap snaps. An ugly, hard thread of bitterness creeps into his tone. "Trouble is you always choose the worst way of goin’ about it. I’m not lettin' you go like this.”

"I know it's my fault," you retort. "Okay? I should've listened to you. Are you happy to hear me fucking say it?"

"Does it look like that's gonna fix things?" Soap’s voice rises with every word now. His temper is frayed at the edges. "No, I'm not bloody happy. I don't want apologies. I don't want some grand realization. I just want you to survive. You're damn right you fucked up. And you've got a lot of work to do to make it up to me, so you'd best stay alive. You hear me?"

You swallow, clutching the phone tighter in your hands.

"Answer me."

"I'll try."

"No. You'll do," Soap says in a voice that brooks no argument. His voice drops low again, but the anger is still there. "You will make it back to me. You'll do whatever it takes. You don't get to leave me alone after all the trouble you gave me. I'll not hear one more sorry excuse."

God. You want him so bad it hurts. You close your eyes, concentrating on the pain of the glass in your skin and your dislocated shoulder to sharpen your focus. "Fine."

"That's my girl." The words come out rough, heated, and tinged with something like pride. "You just stay put," he says. "We'll find you."

You tense as another set of voices raise in aggravation nearby. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance you'll be seen. "I have to go," you say lowly into the phone. "Need better cover."

"Stay on the line," he says quickly. "Do not hang up. Hen!"

You bring your ziptied wrists down hard on the edge of your boot—and again, and again, pain radiating up your arm—until it finally snaps.

With your hands free, you pull yourself out from under the wreckage and away, leaving Soap on the line to hear nothing but shouting and gunshots.

Soap listens through the phone, biting down hard on the curse that threatens to tear free. He can't lose you. He's going crazy imagining the worst right now. His mind is all too happy to cycle through a parade of gory images. No. No, you can't go, not like this.

He'd give anything to be a knife on your belt right now. A bullet in your gun. Anything but this—this utter fucking helplessness. He can’t do anything but sit on the other end of a line and listen. It's torture.

Even with Price at the wheel, racing all of them toward the bottom of the mountain.

"We'll make it, Soap," is all Price says.

Soap nods, but he barely hears it. All he can listen to is the sound of gunfire through the phone and the cold, visceral rage in the pit of his stomach. He'll claw his way to you with his bare hands if he has to. It doesn’t matter how much blood and sweat it costs him to get you back. You’d better keep your word and stay alive to make it up to him.

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / [part 11] / part 12

more Soap / masterlist

[inkspiredwriting]

The Diner of Destiny - Part 2

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Okay, some of you wanted a second part. So I thought why not? I've never written a second part to any of my stories, so I'm not so sure if the second part is any good.

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6, angst

Five wandered through the fractured remains of countless timelines, driven by a singular purpose: to find y/n, the woman he had unwittingly erased from existence. He had become a phantom, slipping between realities like a shadow, his resolve hardening with each failed attempt. Every timeline, every world was a dead end, a cruel reminder of the life he had obliterated with one careless choice. But giving up was never an option. He had to find her.

Weeks blurred into months as he tirelessly pursued the faintest hints of her existence. Fragmented memories, distorted whispers, and fleeting visions of a woman whose face he had never truly known. Each clue led him deeper into the labyrinth of time, and each step weighed heavier on his conscience. He was close—he could feel it.

Finally, one day, in a timeline that felt strangely still, as though it had been waiting for his arrival, Five found her.

She was sitting in a small, secluded garden, surrounded by overgrown ivy and vibrant flowers. The sun cast a warm, golden light over the scene, but there was an air of melancholy that clung to the place, as if it remembered the things that had been lost. Y/n was there, her back to him, her head bowed as she absentmindedly traced patterns in the dirt with a stick. She looked almost like a statue—beautiful, but untouchable, frozen in a moment that he had shattered.

Five approached her cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. His footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path, and y/n looked up, startled. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, agonizing moment, it was as though she recognized him. But then the flicker of familiarity vanished, replaced by confusion.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice tinged with wariness but not fear. There was a gentleness in her tone that cut Five deeper than any anger could have.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and for the first time in a long time, he hesitated. How could he explain the unimaginable? How could he make her understand what he had done?

“My name is Five,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not sure how to say this, but… you were supposed to be someone important to me. To all of us, actually. But I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and I… I lost you.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. “Lost me? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. We’ve never met before. How could you have lost me?”

Five’s chest tightened with the weight of his guilt. “You’re right. We’ve never met. But we should have. I was supposed to find you, fall in love with you. You were supposed to be my anchor, the person who kept me—and all the other versions of me—grounded across the timelines. But instead, I got involved with someone else, someone named Lila.”

At the mention of Lila’s name, Y/n’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Lila?” she echoed, the name unfamiliar and distant.

Five nodded, his voice trembling. “Yes. I thought I was making the right choice at the time, but it was the wrong one. Choosing Lila… it erased you from our lives. You were supposed to be there, and because of me, you weren’t. I took away your life, your future, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception or malice. But all she saw was a man haunted by his mistakes, a man who had come to her not for forgiveness, but for something even more elusive.

“What do you want from me?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow she didn’t fully understand.

Five closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to continue. “I don’t know if I can make things right, but I had to find you. I had to tell you what happened, even if it doesn’t change anything. I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry for what I took from you, for what I took from all of us. I just… I wanted you to know that you mattered. That you were supposed to matter.”

Y/n looked down at the ground, her hand still clutching the stick. She was silent for a long time, and Five feared that his words had only hurt her more, that there was nothing left to say. But then, she spoke, her voice soft and distant.

“Do you really believe we could have been happy?” she asked, almost to herself.

Five’s heart ached at the question, at the lost possibility of what could have been. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I would have liked to find out.”

Y/n nodded, her expression unreadable. “I can’t remember you,” she said softly. “But something in me feels… something. Maybe it’s just the idea of what could have been. Or maybe… maybe there’s something more.”

Five watched her, his breath catching in his throat. This was it—the moment that could change everything. But even as hope flickered within him, he knew the truth. He had come too late. The damage was done, and there was no going back.

“I wish I could change what happened,” he whispered. “But all I can do is tell you the truth. You deserved so much more than what I left you with.”

Y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with a sadness that went beyond words. “Maybe we were never meant to be,” she said quietly. “Maybe… maybe this was always how it was supposed to end.”

Five shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “No. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. But it’s what I’ve made it. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Y/n stood slowly, the stick falling from her hand as she faced him fully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I appreciate that you tried to make things right. Even if it’s too late.”

Five nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he met her gaze. “I’ll never stop trying to make it right,” he vowed. “Even if I never see you again, I’ll keep looking for a way to fix this.”

Y/n gave him a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of acceptance and resignation. “Goodbye, Five,” she said softly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, her figure growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the distance. Five stood there, alone in the garden, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had found her, but he had also lost her—again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garden in a blanket of twilight, Five knew that this was his burden to bear. He had made a choice, and now he would live with the consequences for the rest of his existence. The woman who was supposed to be his anchor, his salvation, was gone, and he was the one who had pushed her away.

And so, with a heavy heart and a mind full of regrets, Five turned and walked back into the shadows, disappearing from the world that could have been his. The timelines would go on, fractured and unstable, and he would continue his endless search for redemption. But deep down, he knew the truth—some things could never be undone. And some losses were meant to be permanent.

The garden, now empty and silent, bore witness to a moment that had passed, a possibility that had slipped through time’s fingers. And as the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Five’s silhouette faded into the night, carrying with him the memory of what could have been, and the sorrow of what never was.

[avi-on-jumblr]

awful tweet warning:

Before I describe everything that's wrong with this tweet, let me transcribe Stephen Fry's words:

I am Stephen Fry, and I am a Jew. The great Irish thinker and writer Conor Cruise O'Brien once said that antisemitism is a light sleeper. Well, it seems to have woken up of late. The horrendous events of October 7th, and the Israeli response, seem to have stirred up this ancient hatred. It's agonizing to see all violence and destruction that is unfolding, and the terrible loss of life on both sides brings me an overwhelming sadness and heartache. But whatever our opinions on what is happening, there can be no excuse for the behaviour of some of our citizens. Since October the 7th, there have been 50 separate reported incidents of antisemitism every single day in London alone, an increase of 1350%, according to the Metropolitan police. Shop windows smashed, stars of David and swastikas daubed on walls of Jewish properties, synagogues, and cemeteries. Jewish schools have been forced to close. There is real fear stalking the Jewish neighbourhoods of Britain. Jewish people here are becoming fearful of showing themselves, in Britain, in 2023.

(Then it cuts off.)

For those who still don't know why this tweet was ignorant and inane, let me explain.

"To hear him conflate antiZionism with antisemitism has shocked me."

Guess how many times Stephen Fry mentions zionism? Zero! Guess how many times he mentions the country of Israel? Zero! (Unless you count "the Israeli response" which is unrelated to the existence of the country, or Zionism at all.) What this person is saying, is that they consider the smashing of shop windows, and the vandalism and marking of Jewish property, to be anti-Zionism. Considering they are an anti-Zionist, by following their logic, we can conclude that they not only believe this destruction and harassment is acceptable, but they believe it is ethical.

Further, they accuse him of showing no care for the Palestinians, even though he explicitly states that the loss of life on both sides brings him overwhelming sadness.

Finally, they accuse him of "[Centring] people in this country". It is disturbing that this person believes one cannot be concerned over two issues at a time. It perpetuates the idea that we can only talk about the "worst oppression" and talking about anything else means you are complicit in "silencing" someone else. If this were true, we would not be allowed to talk about Gaza either, or Ukraine, or police brutality, racism, islamophobia, homophobia, transphobia, and so on and so on, because clearly there are other issues with hundreds of thousands more deaths, and millions more displacements, so why bring attention to it ever?

Unfortunately, people are not talking about those countries, like Syria, Yemen, Ethiopia, Congo, and more, and anyone who does is spammed with "free Palestine" comments. In fact, the most I've heard people talking about Sudan is when these TikTok geopolitical experts attempt to spam the Palestinian flag and get it wrong.

This is not new. This is obviously not new. I have seen tweets like these every single day in the hundreds for the last 80 days. It is not surprising that people think smashing windows is "anti-zionism", nor that they think it good. It is not surprising that they hear a Jew speak, and experience shock and disgust, regardless of what we say.

I do wonder if they would regard anything short of a second Holocaust as antisemitism.

[arlertwhore]

draft #1: sneaky link series, pt. 7

completed draft - not a part, a draft - meaning there is technically no pt 7. i have no issues with people taking it as pt 7though.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem! “sneaky link” reader.

warning(s): angsty, argument / breakup, fluff, smut, scissoring, pussy eating, fingering, spitting, hair-pulling, unedited.

synopsis: Despite your admission of feelings, Paige still wants to keep you as her secret. However, as the threat of discovery looms and you grow close with someone else, she jealously realizes she doesn't want anyone to think you don't belong to her. Even if you remain a secret, you are undeniably hers.

word count: 7.1k (what happens when ana's creativity fights to not fight)

Author Note: first ever draft i'm dropping AH! i'm so weirded out that i'm leaving this series unfinished (for now) and posting something this trash, but i think its what best for me. like i said, this isn't an official pt . 7, it's just a draft, but i have no issue if i get an inbox we can talk about like its an off pt 7 yk?? you guys are also so free to leave ideas for pt. 8 and 7 in my dms, inbox, etc.. so if i return i can get back into the groove!

Paige, after a week of ghosting, suddenly texts: "Good News", and despite being frustrated with her, you're desperate for a study break in studying for your last exam of the year and some positivity, so you quickly respond: "?"

She tells you her old friend from Minnesota, Serena, is in town for the week at a hotel while her soccer team plays Connecticut, and she's allowing Paige to use the hotel room while she's away due to her losing a bet.

You respond with a terse "Cool", and Paige's response hangs in the air, marked by those ominous three dots. After an agonizing pause, her next text arrives: "See you by tomorrow night?"

And although you're betraying every emotion you've had at the frustration of paige ghosting you the whole week, you say, "yeah."

You felt like a total idiot for believing that perhaps now that she'd confessed, Paige would stop running from it. You should've been wiser, given your history with Paige, but the thrilling days that followed your vulnerable confession of feelings deceived you. They were a dizzying whirlwind of happiness, lulling you into a false sense of security, and masking the reality of her true intentions.

You and Paige had a fast romance, resembling a newlywed couple's bliss. You strolled hand-in-hand through the neighborhood, enjoyed family movie nights, and explored the mall together. She even surprised you with intimate gifts, like delicate lingerie, which she eagerly removed in the privacy of your bedroom. Those days were filled with laughter, love, and a sense of security, free from the fear of rejection that once plagued you. Your connection deepened so much that Paige even let you take her with her strap, a thrilling milestone in your relationship.

The experience was magical, but as the school week began, reality hit hard, and Paige, as she always did, resumed the cycle. She seemed to have perfected the art of creating distance. Her texts became short and infrequent, she stopped answering your calls, and just ghosted you.

You were crushed: you made it clear on the week she did ghost you that you hated when she did that, and the fact she ignored your pleas and chose to cowardly avoid everything was heartbreaking. But at least you had your new roommate, Maggie, to distract you. After growing up with a wayward sister, Maggie was your first taste of what a healthy sibling relationship could be like. She was everything you weren’t—energetic, popular, outgoing, and the life of every party—your polar opposite, and her presence brought a refreshing contrast to your life.

She filled your evenings with wild stories of campus drama and an endless supply of party interesting anecdotes. And also, piping hot gossip that you were more than amused by until one night, when Maggie stumbled into your room back from a party, reeking of alcohol and giggling uncontrollably.

"Paige Bueckers, aka Ms. Hollywood, is allegedly hooking up with some mysterious girl on campus who claims to be straight."

Your heart skipped a beat: you had never claimed to straight before. 

And also, both of your entire life's focus had been on your careers, and this rumor had potentially to be extremely damaging to your professional prospects. Especially for you — you had worked tirelessly to build a respectable image, and the thought of being linked to Paige's scandalous behavior was daunting.

You played it cool, dismissing the rumor with a nonchalant laugh: "Oh, really? People say crazy things." But inside, you were turmoil-stricken, unable to reveal the truth to Maggie due to Paige's strict secrecy and dislike of her for being a blabbermouth.

Maggie shrugged, "Well, Paige is in trouble; social media's onto her, and they're searching for her mystery girl. Apparently, they even go clubbing together." Your heart sank, knowing this was all too true. As exams approached, you pushed aside the rumors and pretended to be too busy to care, all while secretly suffering in silence, worried about the potential fallout on your career.

So, when you pulled up to "Serena's" hotel the next day, really Paige's place, you were exhausted, beaten down by her behavior, the looming rumors, and the fact that you had probably bombed your exam that night. You couldn't have been acting more out of character, bursting through the hotel door and pushing past Paige, who stood awaiting your acknowledgment in the foyer.

"Is there anything to drink? Maggie drank every last drop of alcohol in the house." you called out, voice laced with desperation and a hint of frustration, as if the scarcity of alcohol was the final straw in a long series of disappointments.

"Me?" she whispered softly as she crept up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around your waist with a gentle kiss to your neck. "Or Rose. In the fridge. You're lucky S I'm sharin'; S got it for us tonight." The warmth of her embrace and the sweetness of her kiss sent a buzz down your spine, momentarily distracting you from the fact she was everything wrong these days too.

"Oh, is that why you've been ignoring me? For Rose, Serena —because Paige, if we're being honest," you said, pulling away from her and striding over to the fridge to grab the coveted bottle, "I don't like sharing either."

There's a tense and awkward momentary silence as you stretch to reach the glass from up-top the shelf, and Paige approaches, her hand resting on your lower back, and her breath on your scalp. "We've both been busy - I'm not ignoring you, alright?" she says in a low, defensive murmur, her gentle touch sparking a flutter in your chest, making it hard to maintain your frustration.

Together, you manage to retrieve the glasses, but her gentle gesture  has already disarmed you, and the tension between you shifts, your  defenses slowly dropping, a fragile facade crumbling under the weight of her.

"I miss you even when we're together." you admit, looking up at her with a vulnerable gaze, your eyes locking onto hers as you bare your soul, the weight of your words conveying the constant fear of losing her, the ache of knowing that external pressures and expectations can tear you apart at any moment, and the desperation to hold on to her, even when she's right in front of you.

"I've had the worst fucking week, and- I spent most of my time in bed and not studying, thinking about why I could make you confess, but not... not stay with me." The pain in your voice as you reveal the turmoil that's been consuming you, and the desperate desire for her presence in your life is felt mutually.

"Okay," you whisper shakily, feeling tears prick at the way Paige looks at you, mutually, like she feels the same, but where you can see her resistance up still. And you know you'll never win. You have to stop thinking you can.

"I'll drink my feelings away, and then we're gonna fuck to get it off my mind, and we're never gonna bring this up again." your voice cracks as you surrender to the defeat, seeking temporary escape. 

You pour the rose in both your glasses, and Paige stands back watching, knowing that this is exactly what's happening. She's suppressing her inner fear and has no choice but to acquiesce, and not say anything because she told you her rules at the beginning, and fears if she says anything, it'll be from her heart because it hurts her as much as it hurts you.

She's trapped in her own emotions, unable to express her true feelings, and resigned to silently follow the script you've both agreed upon.

"Cheers," you say, raising your glass, and she looks confused, but reluctantly clinks your glasses together and watches through a slow sip as you down it and then pour yourself some more. The alcohol burns your throat, but you welcome the numbness, trying to dull the ache in your chest.

Paige's gaze lingers, melancholy, but more neutral, as she silently acknowledges the change in you, trying to read to lightheartedly conversate. 

"I see Maggie's introduced you to the lifestyle. You guys still getting close?'' her voice is subtly clad with a hint of detachment, an attempt to shift the focus away from the tension between you, and onto a more casual topic, but her underlying concern and curiosity are both still evident.

You nod, your eyes focalled on the alchol in your glass. "Yeah, she- we're thinking of doing a double date thing and I was gonna ask you before - y'know, but I guess it's pointless even though she already kinda knows."

You mention the fact - y'know - that you guys just suffered a breakup without even being together in a very odd manner, and that that is the weirdest thing ever. Well, to Paige, the second strangest thing of the night - the third is that how you broached the subject courageously in the first place, and the first: "Maggie knows?" she repeats, "Did you tell her?" a slight accusatory tone to her voice, her eyes narrowing slightly as she sets her glass down, her gaze fixed intently on yours, as if searching for any sign of betrayal or deceit.

"Everything." you whisper, jokingly confessing and shaking your head at her ridiculous pissed face (that's also sorta hot). 

Paige glares back at you, serious and you furrow your brows, feeling the alcohol hitting you already. "Shit, what do they put in here?" you ask, checking the label for the alcohol volume, when Paige snatches it out of your reach and demands, "I'm serious, Y/N, what'd you-" 

"Nothing!" you interrupt, exploding, "Nothing, Paige, there is fucking nothing to tell Maggie because all of this," you notion back and forth between you two, face-to-face, "Is nothing! What would I tell her, huh? That you don't text me for days on end and shit like that?" Your words spill out in a frenzy, the alcohol fueling your emotional release in the opposite sense you wanted it to.

Paige hates how that's supposed to comfort her, but instead makes her feel belittled and trivialized as she processes, now reaching for her own glass to forget about what you just told her - that you guys are "nothing." The word stings, a harsh reminder of the boundaries she's set, and the apparent insignificance of their connection in your eyes. She takes a swig, the rose souring her throat, as she struggles to reconcile the conflicting emotions within her.

Pretty soon, because you guys are weird and perfect for each-other, you're in bed and dealing with your conflicting emotions in a thoroughly unproductive way.

Paige kisses down your neck, hands roaming over you with a fervor in her eyes like she had the day at the bar, but now, times ten, and mixed in with something new. As she's stripping off your pants and kissing down your legs, she's still doing that thing where she murmurs vague stuff she knows she can deny if you try to confront her later. "So pretty, baby," she whispers, spreading your legs apart and kissing your calf, "My pretty baby." If not for the desire you have to get fucked out of your own brain, you would probably tell Paige to stop entirely or just stop saying that, but you can't, especially because it at least feels good to pretend that all just didn't happen.

By now, you've had plenty of rose, a lot more than Paige has, and under the spell of alcohol, every sensation she evokes in you feels better than the last. The room spins, and your senses blur, but Paige's touch is the one thing that feels lucid, the one thing that makes sense in this haze of emotions and alcohol.

Before Paige can put her mouth to use on you, the bedroom door is bursted open, and the once muffled call of her name that you're too tipsy to register becomes audible. "Paige! Bro, practice is cancelled, let's go-" she suddenly crashes in, who you can only assume is Serena, and walks in on the compromising sight and exclaims, "Oh shit!" standing there in awe as Paige scrambles for your clothes to cover yourself, furious, "Get out!"

She storms, jumps out of bed and slams the door in her face. The sudden movement makes your head spin, and you wince, the loudness reeling in your head from the alcohol and the abrupt interruption.

When Paige sees you lying still, eyes shut in what looks like anguish, she rushes over to you, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, she's- she's obviously not supposed to be here as you just heard and-" - "It's fine." you interrupt, gathering your clothes hastily and getting out of bed. Once again, Paige has let you down, and it annoys the both of you equally. "Call me," you say, your tone indifferent, "Or don't."

You go to open the door and rush away before Paige can stop you, but Serena awaits on the other side, and you pause, dissecting her.

You were going to be jealous over this girl until you realize she's like Paige, just a little less tall, a lot less blonde, and skinnier. She isn't her type and she's masculine too, to your delight, and not because of Paige and her not being compatible, but at the fact its your type.

"Sorry," she says cheekily, "I thought she was here to take a break from the team." 

Serena smirks, amused. "I mean, I guess she was." and her eyes linger at the hickey on your neck. The implication is clear, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks as you try to brush it off, the alcohol still clouding your judgment.

"Y/N," you laugh, smiling, "I'm sorry, I- I drank all your rose tonight, and you just saw me kind of naked, so probably not a great way to start things off." you chuckle, trying to play off the awkwardness,  and she smiles, exposing pearly whites, and seeming to appreciate your honesty and humor.

"Oh trust me, I couldn't mind less." and you can't figure out which way she means it before she continues again, "But... if you had too much rose, I don't just wanna send you driving home with a stranger. And better yet,  by yourself. You're welcome to stay the night if you want to." her tone is genuine, and you hesitate for a moment, weighing your options, before nodding in agreement, grateful for her kindness.

Paige is forced to watch her Serena clearly court you over the night, dressing you in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, and giving you some cold water as you guys converse on the couch in the living room. She does need time to herself after the alcohol begins to wear off and she begins to think about the consequences of her actions, the weight of her emotions, and the reality of her situation with you, but she can't do that logically while hearing you giggle and laugh at everything Serena says.

When she emerges from the bedroom, realizing she can get a rise out of Serena too, you both glance at her like she's intruding once she plops down at the couch in the living room.  Serena laughs. "Yo, are you- you staying here tonight?" she asks, her tone playful, but also hinting at a sense of not wanting Paige too, as if she's making her rethink her choice, and maybe even staking a claim on you, much to Paige's dismay.

"Well, yeah, that's the plan for the week, S," she says, eyes darting between you two, "Unless you guys want the house all to yourselves." Paige's tone is laced with a hint of sarcasm and a dash of curiosity, as if she's testing the waters, gauging the dynamics between you and Serena, and perhaps even hoping to stir up a reaction from one or both of you.

"Maybe we do," you say, leaning back on your couch, and Serena smirks, Paige rolling her eyes. 

"Well, yeah, we're learning lots about each-other. She's a huge soccer fan, and I'm a soccer player." 

Paige scoffs, shaking her head and laughing, "You hate sports. You're a nerd, what do you mean you're a-" - "I am." you interject, "You just don't care enough to know that." you shoot back, Paige's expression a mix of amusement and disbelief, as if she can't fathom you pretending to be something you're not.

Serena glances at between you both, intrigued, and curious. "So, uhh...before I ask what I do, what are you guys?" she asks as if she's navigating a sensitive topic, and her eyes dart between you and Paige, seeking clarification on your relationship status.

"It's complicated," and "Nothing," you both say in simultaneously, and when Paige's eyes narrow and she falls silent, you learn that the word "nothing" triggers her. The air is thick with tension, and Serena's eyes widen, sensing the underlying dynamics at play.

"Nothing?" she raises an eyebrow at Paige. She pauses. "Uhh... well on that case, why don't all three of us go get dinner tomorrow? Paige can bring somebody!" she suggests, hoping by the proposal, it will soften the blow of tension. 

"And... And so can you, even though I'd prefer if you don't." You smile warmly at her attempt to flirt, and also, keep things equal. "What about my friend Maggie Bowman? She's practically my sister, I think you'll love her. She plays soccer too." You offer, trying to lighten the mood and include Maggie, finally, in your real life.

Paige realizes thats how you must've been able to keep up a sports conversation for so long. "Maggie? I mean, c'mon, I-" "I'd love that!" Serena exclaims, "Who're you bringin' Paige? Maybe another hot model girl?" she teases, referencing you, who does that stupid giggle again and it takes Paige all her might not to lash out as she calmly responds, "I don't know, Azzi maybe." 

Serena nods. "That'd work." and Paige grimaces at the fact she'd try for her best-friend too.

The rest of the night is a blur and you come down from the alcohol, all eventually falling asleep on the couches, yet you awaken in bed, next to Paige, like you had become used to as of a week ago. The familiarity of her presence, the scent of her skin, and the warmth of her body engulfing yours stir up a mix of emotions, from comfort to guilt, as you try to process the events of the previous night and the current state of your relationship.

Your body may crave the comfort of her closeness, but your mind knows that giving in to these desires will only lead to more heartache and confusion in the end, so you nudge her. "Off, Paige." you whisper, your voice gentle but firm, trying to extricate yourself from her embrace without hurting her feelings, and subsequently yours.

"Hmm?" she murmurs from sleep, groggily, "No, stay," she slurs, her voice laced with a hint of desperation, as she tightens her hold on you. She has a bad sleeptalking habit, one that you've struggled with in the past to understand if she's just stupid and asleep or genuine.

It's both. And it also seems like old patterns are dying hard. You force yourself up, you exit her arms, and book an Uber back to your house, where Maggie is waiting at the doorstep with coffee. "Where were you all night? Gosh, I was worried sick, I called everybody you knew. Fuck, your friends are dicks." She scolds, her expression a mix of relief and annoyance, as she hands you a steaming cup of coffee, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in your disheveled appearance.

"Serena's house," you reply, "This friend of mine. She's in for the week while her Soccer team plays Connecticut." 

Maggie's eyes widen. "What? Like The Minnesota Stars playing Connecticut this week? As in the Serena Davis?" She asks, her voice laced with excitement and disbelief, as if she can't quite wrap her head around the fact that you spent the night at the hotel of a famous soccer player.

"I think," you smile, glancing down at your clothes, "I didn't catch her last name, but these are all hers. She's sweet." Maggie's jaw drops, her eyes bulging in utter shock, before she lets out a squeal of excitement, jumping up and down like a teenager at a rock concert. "OH. MY. GOD! You're a groupie! You're a total groupie!" she accuses, laughing and teasing, her hands on her hips. You nod, playing along, "Would this groupie still be one if she was inviting you to dinner with Serena? And Paige Bueckers? And maybe Azzi Fudd?" You ask, grinning mischievously, as Maggie continues to freak out, still in disbelief.

Up until 8:00, the confirmed meetup time, is when Maggie energizes.

She talks endlessly about how you're basically living a double life, how you're "rubbing shoulders with soccer royalty", and asks you what it's like to be with Serena, her questions ranging from serious to absurd. On the drive to the restaurant, you have to lecture Maggie on proper etiquette, reminding her to behave herself, not to fan-girl too hard, and to please, for the love of all things good, not ask Serena for a jersey or autograph.

"Just be chill," you advise, shaking your head in amusement as you walk into the restaurant together. You can feel Maggie's excitement radiating like a force, and you know she's struggling to contain her inner fan-girl. You shoot her a warning glance, silently reminding her to play it cool, as you spot Serena, Paige, and Azzi waiting for you at a table, Serena looking radiant and entirely too comfortable in her celebrity skin.

You underestimate just how famous the girls are, especially Serena, but when even your waiter is a little starstruck to see the three of them, telling them each she's seen them in sports, you realize that you're dining with genuine sports royalty.

You each spend the dinner laughing. Maggie and Azzi talk for some time, both self-proclaimed party-girls with mutual friends, and Paige, you, and Serena—mainly Paige and Serena—do their own thing up until you guys have finished eating and chatting, at which point Serena pays the bill with a flourish, her celebrity status evident in the discreet yet deferential service you received all evening. As you prepare to leave, the waiter lingers, still starstruck, and Serena, Paige, and Azzi graciously autograph a napkin for her before you exit.

The night ends with Maggie inviting you all to a party that you and Paige decline, however, Serena opts to go. "Might as well make the most of it while I'm in town." she says with a grin, "But... if you wanna stay at the hotel, Y/N, we'll all see you guys tonight." She winks, eyes sparkling as she ganders at you hungrily.

Azzi, the only person besides you and Paige who knows your history, a member of the "Paige needs to stay focused" club, and also her best-friend knows exactly what'll happen if you guys are left alone together, and once you say, "I think I will, S," Azzi is quick to interject, "Sure you BOTH don't wanna join us? I mean, Y/N, I remember the first time I met you. At a party." she teases you playfully, coaxing a smile out of you.

"And you remember how I embarrassed myself, Azzi?" you ask, laughing. "How could I forget?" the girl chuckles, "I wanna hear this story tonight," Maggie chimes in, and Serena agrees, "Me too." before Azzi just sighs, knowing there's nothing further she can do, and relents with a playful warning. "Just don't get too distracted, you two. We'll see you tonight."

You don't think you'll get distracted as they disappear into the distance, waiting for their Uber, and you and Paige head towards your car, walking down the street together in silence. The only sounds are the crickets chirping and the occasional passing car, but the air is thick with an underlying tension between you and Paige until you speak up.

"Can you drive? I'm too tired, I wanna take a nap." you ask Paige, tossing her your keys. She catches the keys with a hesitant smile, her eyes searching yours for a moment before she nods. "You done being mad at me?" she asks, her voice soft, playful, and a little vulnerable, like she's feeling her way through the moment, trying to gauge if the chill between you has started to return.

"I was never mad at you," you say with a shrug, avoiding her eyes and sounding utterly nonchalant. "I was mad at myself." Your tone is detached, like you're dismissing the whole thing, and your gaze drifts away from hers, leaving a sense of distance between you.

She decides not to go there with you. "So, Maggie's actually chill," she says, changing the subject, her tone light and conversational. "It's kinda weird it's all falling into place now even though we're not, y'know, 'friends' anymore." her words hang in the air, not probing or accusing, just stating a fact.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs, continuing, "Well, Azzi just accepted the fact I'm staying at a hotel with you, which means they all will because she's my best friend. I like Maggie. You like Azzi. And the net is catching on."

You chuckle, amused, and she smiles, playfully teasing. You can't help but think that if you two were still close, she wouldn't be so nonchalant about this situation. It's as if she's only comfortable with this all coming to you both at once because you're no longer under her control.

The thought crosses your mind that sometimes, it takes losing something to realize its value, and you wonder if she's come to appreciate you only now that you're no longer there. You have to remind her you aren't, because with the way her eyes scan your body, your dress, her favorite color on you, black, accentuating your shape perfectly before she licks her lips, adjusting her gray Nike tech, its obvious.

"I do have to say, I like Serena. How come you never mentioned this 'friend' of yours was hot and also really talented?" you laugh, a low throaty sound, and raise a waggling eyebrow that makes Paige herself chuckle smally.

With her laughter, her inability to go there with you ever, you don't expect it at all when she looks you straight in the eye, and boldly smiles, "No you don't. You like me? Remember? Back at your parents' at the park?" there's a dash of challenge to her tone, as if daring you to admit the truth, her eyes sparkling with a knowing glint that makes your heart race.

And just like that, you fall back in.

You slip up in your words. "The car's here, Paige," but you swallow the last part, jumbling it into, "C'mere Paige," instead of repeating what you had actually meant to say. Your voice is struck with want, your brain foggy with the familiar haze of passion, as you pull her closer, your hands roaming over her body like they used to, like no time has passed at all.

Within seconds, you're inside of your car, making out with Paige as her big hands grasp your hips, and you can't at all believe yourself one bit — that you're doing it again — that Azzi was right — and letting her fuck her way back into your life again, but you did have unfinished business.

And plus, now, with it all out of the way — you didn't mind just being casual, your resistance crumbling like dust as her lips devour yours, the familiar spark between you, consuming all rational thought.

"Fuck, I-... I never wanna see you like that again, do you hear me?" she growls again, staring intensely with her hand gripping your tits, spilling out the top of your dress. "Never," she repeats firmly and pulls you back in roughly by your ass, making you yelp into her mouth as she kisses you fiercely, tongue claiming yours.

Luckily for you guys, the deserted streets are quiet and your windows have a tint. It would be a shame for anybody to witness how Paige pulls you over her lap in the driver's seat, pulling your dress down and popping your tit into her mouth, sucking on you with hungry groans, tongue flicking against your nipple as she murmurs, "You like that?"

It's obvious in the way your body responds to hers, hips bucking against her thigh, and how you moan, "Y-Yes, shit." She holds your hips firmly, guiding you back and forth sensually, and due to how wet you are, she can feel you soak her knee through her sweatpants. She softly whispers into your ear, "No panties, huh? Of course, such a slut," and she grabs your hair, forcing your head to tilt back as she suckles on your neck. "Let me show Serena who you belong to."

Those times you knew Paige would flat out ignore you or deny it when you brought up her possessiveness and control during sex, were far behind you because you knew she couldn't now, and it was clear she didn't want to, and it was the hottest thing ever.

Her passion and intensity were undeniable, and you were swept up in the fervor of the moment, loving every second of her unbridled desire.

Once she's done doing that, you can't take it. "Wait, I-.. home Paige home, it's too tight in here." Your voice is laced with desperation, pleading with her to stop or to slow down, but your words are overtaken by her intense kisses, your body betraying your mind as you succumb to her fervent touch, the confines of the car suffocating you.

You don't know how you guys even manage getting home: the want is that much. You have so much need in your body that you do the most reckless thing ever known to mankind. As Paige slams on the accelerator, you spread your legs and slip your fingers down between your thighs, rubbing on your clit, in your wetness that makes the lewdest sounds ever, second to when you moan her name breathlessly. "Paigeee, fuck…! Wish this was you, P, mmph, gosh."

She tries not to glance and she tries not to react, but when you extend your arm and put your hand right across her lap, fucking your own fingers into you with wet noises and desperate whimpers before you give her a taste of it, it's like she's possessed.

You're rushing through the hotel to get back to the room, and in the elevator, more kissing continues, but at the door, you guys tap in and are making out furiously, for what feels like hours, hotly, both stepping out of your clothes in the corridor.

Your hands are all over each other once you crash in, rekindling the passion that never quite faded as you stumble into the room, locked in a embrace that's hard to break.

You unzip Paige's sweater and remove her Nike tech pants and are upset to find the truth about layering being true now of all times -- underneath, she has a black sports bra and blue basketball shorts.

You drop to your knees, sliding them down her legs, and your mouth is on her cunt in a flash. She's insanely wet—probably the wettest you've ever had her before in all your years of fucking.

"Do I have to be standing for this?" she asks through gritted teeth, and you realize that she's complimenting your head game like that, and smile, smirking as you look up at her and delving into her pussy with a strong flick of your tongue against her clit a couple of times, moaning hungrily.

The teasing gets her weak, her knees buckling.

Your words, your touch, your gaze—all of it has her surrendering, her defenses disappearing as she gives in to the tension that's been building between you two.

It's been ages since you've gotten to do this—melt Paige on your tongue, and she tastes like heaven, and sounds like it too. When you focus on her clit, parting her folds with your fingers to angle your tongue and flick at it, she whimpers.

Your touch is so, so perfect it doesn't even feel real, and though none of it does, Paige can't help but savor the moment. She gazes down at your face, looking deep into your eyes as she grinds her hips against you, in a frenzy riding your face as she moans loudly.

"Fuck, you're so good," she groans, pulling you back up by your hair and onto your feet, eyes blazing. "Tell me you wouldn't do this for Serena. For any other girl," she demands, tugging your hair in a way that turns you on intensely as you murmur, "Just you. Always only you." And she's relentless, spitting into your mouth, her saliva thick and warm, before she pushes your face back into her cunt, making everything a wet mess through the singular action.

You pull back and marvel at her pink folds. "So beautiful," you whisper against her cunt, entranced with desire and by the way her pussy glistens and gleams, sparkles, and you suckle her clit like a connoisseur.

The signs she's going to climax emerge: her eyes shut tightly, her abs contract repeatedly, and her face turns red and redder by the moment as you work your jaw faster, slipping your finger up into her entrance, but she stops you with a yank of your head backwards.

"Seriously, I'll fall over if we—c'mon, let's go to the bed." she pants.

This time, Paige remembers to lock the door behind her before she slips in between your legs, dangling her chain enticingly in your face. "Still wet?" she softly and earnestly inquires, and you chuckle at her ridiculous charm. "Yeah, of course."

She kisses you deeply, hands roaming eagerly. "Lemme check," she whispers, and then she slides up your dress, exhaling in awe at the sight because you're genuinely dripping.

"So fuckin' perfect, fuck," her warm breath against your stomach gives you chills, and you twitch slightly in her embrace, prompting her hand to fly to your hipbone, anchoring you with a desperate gaze, afraid you might slip away. "N-no," she stammers, her voice trembling, "No, just... just stay like this, just like this."  With lustfully hazy eyes, she closes them as she nuzzles her nose against your clit, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. "Ah, Paige-!" you yelp, and she's quick to hush you.

"Shhh, angel, please," she whispers, her eyes meeting yours fleetingly. "Please," she repeats, more firmly this time, before her tongue teases at your clit carefully - like she just wants a small taste.

The shamelessness in her begging — begging for you to be complicit with her, coupled with her mouth, it all makes your head spin.

When you nod, silently giving into her, you watch as she indulges in you, moaning at the faint taste of you on her tongue before she withdraws. "You taste amazing," she mumbles, "Just for me."

Your eyebrows furrow at her words, arousing you further, soaking you thoroughly and making you squirm once more, much to her dismay. "Stay still," she instructs firmly, pausing. "Stay still or you won't get anything out of this… I could do this all night, I promise you."

It took you back to when you first met Paige and she told you the exact same thing. You didn't believe her at first, and then she ended up not letting you cum for half an hour, her fingers inside you changing with every stroke, LITERALLY keeping you on edge.

Your hands laced into her hair, and you tugged lightly. "'s what you get, you bitch… so fuckin' mean to me," you teased, knowing exactly how to get her where you needed her, just like she'd gotten you to where she needed you for what you were about to do. "Serena'd be fucking me good by now. She almost did last night before you came out on the couch."

That was true. You weren't just saying it, and you both knew it. That was true.

"Is that so?"

In moments, you were now both naked, her hands gripping your ass and tits eagerly. Her kisses were urgent and messy as she undressed you, her lips assaulting your neck with hungry fervor. "I'm going to fuck that out of you," she declared, her voice filled with need, her breath heating your skin. "I can't get enough of you."

"Do it."

Paige complied, her hands gently kneading your breasts as she positioned herself between your legs. You gasped softly as she settled against you, the heat of her body melding with yours as she aligned your cunts precisely. The room seemed to fade away as you focused on the exquisite friction between you, the heat intensifying as Paige hooked her leg around your thigh in a sense, drawing you closer with each movement. Her voice was a whisper against your calf, filled with need as she questioned, "Feel my clit, baby? Feel how wet I am for you?"

You whine, overwhelmed. "You're so wet, P, fuck." She had your leg bent back towards your head, her slick heat gliding against yours as she moved forward, inhaling sharply at the exquisite friction between you.

She smirked down at you. "Fuck, you're my slut, baby," she moaned, pupils dilated as she arched her back, pressing her body closer to yours.

With each powerful thrust of her hips, you could see the subtle flexing and rippling of muscles beneath her skin, a testament to her arousal. Her voice was heavy with desire as she lifted your leg higher, craving deeper access. "Fuck me back, baby, come on. Just like that." the last part a near whine as you appeased, meeting her every grind with a fervent thrust of your hips.

"God, you're so wet," she whimpered, biting onto her bottom lip to stifle her moans, "Fucking dripping, aw.. shittt." in the break, she's panting, breathing fast breaths into your ear, and then it falls silent.

The sound that fills the air between you two once it does was raw— carnal. It had grown louder as you complied, truly fucking her back, your clits sliding against each other frenziedly, eliciting a wet sound that mingled with the rhythmic clapping of your skin. Unable to stifle it, a sigh of satisfaction escaped you, breaking the silence. "So deep, Paige," you grunted softly, reaching up to fondle her firm tits, her eyes fluttering shut as she quickened her pace, urging you to keep up.

"Don't… do not fucking stop," your voice cracked with pleasure, urgent and needy without care. "Then fuckin', ohh," testing her resolve, you pinch her nipples mid-sentence, and they perk up, practically begging to be sucked. Her voice trembles so invitingly that your mouth waters.

"Then fuckin' keep up with me, ma. You can do it, angel," she encouraged, brushing your hair from your face just to look you with her glossy from determination, and then she's crying out, "Fuckk, yes!" as her hips buck against yours snugly. You're just about to ask what has her so riled up when you feel it— her nails digging into your skin at the sensation of your clit, rubbing hard against hers and pulsating, driving her insane and making her lose control. It makes you shake with pleasure. It was all just perfect — Paige never fucked you like this often just because in her own words, she didn't like sounding like a bitch.

Moaning like a girl. And... she always warned that she couldn't hold back when it came to your pussy. She'd always lose control if she took you like this, and she knew you secretly liked it when she did.

It was hot watching her internally battle the side of herself that wanted to hold the power and the side that wanted to fuck you stupid and give you all her cum.

Nevertheless, she's spilling more arousal from her hole into the mix, and the glide just gets smoother and smoother, like water on water.

You push your hips up harder, grunting with each forceful thrust, and Paige sounds like she's exerting herself at the gym, groaning gruffly as she fucks you relentlessly, babbling about how badly she wants you to cum in her.

"You do? You want it?" you tease, and she's quick to nod her head vigorously, hair flying free from its bun as she moves. "Mhm," spitting down between you both and pleading, "I want your cum so badly, baby, please give it to me, please let me have it, please make me- make me cum, shit you're gonna-"

Her eyes squeezed shut and she moaned deeply, hips bucking, signaling her impending climax. "Look at me," you urged, "Look at me, Paige, I want to cum, I want to give it to you, look at me."

When she forces her eyes open, glistening with tears, she freezes on the spot at the sight of your tits bouncing and clapping together rhythmically, the way you bite your bottom lip, and how desperate you sound once you climax at the exact same time as her, calling out her name hoarsely. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, Paige, oh—! Oh fuckkk, yes!"

She's whining and crying out listlessly as she collapses over your body, muscles contracting as she spills onto you, and with each slow movement, her cunt feels like glue against yours, so much so that you tremble.

Your skin sticks to each other, a mixture of sweat and arousal making it feel almost impossible to separate, and before you can offer to clean her up again like you so desperately want to — to finish what you started earlier and have her cum on your tongue, a firm knock is heard on your door.

"Guys?!" shouts Maggie, "What the fuck are you doing in there?"

Paige is so thoroughly fucked out that she can't move or speak or react, even though her worst fear has come true, and Maggie knows.

You shake your body, responding cautiously, and inadvertly shaking Paige in the process. "Peanut Butter?" you say. "Yeah?" she manages timidly and you press your hands on her waist, moving her gently, only for her to shudder at the sole movement. 

You chuckle at her sensitivity and general posterior as you disclose, "Secret's out," with a humorous whisper.

And to your collective surprise, realizing Serena is back too, she responds resolutely.

"Good."

MASTERLIST

AUTHOR NOTE #2: i think you just witnessed the fact i can’t write angst — or maybe it’s just the creative slumping idk man show all your fav writers some love it’s rly tough out here lol! as always i am now gonna beg for you to interact with me because ily all sm - ana. ALSO TY FOR NEARLY 900 FOLLOWERS WTF!! love u all my cutiemooties, followers, anons 🤍

[nohoney]

touya x drug dealer! reader has been an idea that i’ve been wanting to do for a while. i had thoughts of cute flowing dresses, flutes of champagne, strawberries with brown sugar, and a powdery compact mirror with a credit card lined with white at the edge ♡

Touya hates going to the country club. He hates having to get ready to wear the stupid polo shirt and pressed pants his mother picked out for him. He hates having to take out most of his face jewelry, only leaving his eyebrow piercing as a slight rebellion to irritate his father. It’s all so annoying to him but to be fair—

They all hate going to the country club together.

It’s only an obligation for them to attend as a family. To show up so that Enji’s professional business ties can remain intact if the event is important enough. It’s the only time everyone agrees together as a family. Despite the fact that going to the country club is meant to be a luxurious get away, the Todoroki’s see it as anything but.

With the exception of Shouto who is too young to partake in anything, the rest of the family cope in their own ways to survive an agonizing event that none of them want to attend.

Enji smokes in private with the other men, Rei quietly nurses a glass of white wine as she makes polite conversation with the other wives, Fuyumi and Natsuo discreetly pass a weed pen between one another, and Touya…

Well he’s got his special friend that he knows where to find.

All throughout the club, there’s little signs that lead to a certain someone who exchanges little treats for just the right price. It could be money or it could be secrets or something else entirely, but the exchange given has to be deemed equal in value to what is handed out. There’s bouquets that are found throughout the entire club, all seemingly of the same variations except for one flower that’s meant to point you in a certain direction.

Touya walks through the club, noting the one flower that sticks out in the bouquets as a subtle sign of where to find you.

Following the secret path, it leads him this time to a room with only a single piano in the center and the white curtains drawn over the windows.

It’s a beautiful grand piece of shiny, lacquered black and is maintained regularly in its tuning. No music is being played though, all that’s heard is the tinkling laugh from one of the two people that are sitting on the piano bench. Touya walks with his hands in pockets, leisurely in his step when he approaches you. Next to you is the caddy that often accompanies your father on the golf course, amber eyes lifting to him and giving him a friendly nod.

“Touya, so nice to see you again!” you greet with a warm smile. You’re graceful in the way you stand up from the piano bench, sliding your hand along the caddy’s shoulders as you make your way to Touya. He leans down, used to the customary greeting of kissing each cheek from you. The perfume you wear is new, smelling more like citrus and freesia than the usual florals he’s used to.

Turning back to the caddy, you wave him off. “I’ll meet you later Keigo, okay?”

The feathery blonde haired caddy stands from the piano bench, pressing a kiss to your temple first before making his way out.

“So, what can I do for you today Touya? You wanna be perked up? Or you wanna relax?” You ask him immediately, leaning against the grand piano and clacking your manicured nails against the surface.

“You ever think that maybe I’m just here to see you? And nothing more?” Touya playfully nudged his shoe against your ankle, also noting the clean polish of your pedicure. Strappy white heels are your choice of shoe today to compliment your tea dress.

You’re this vision of a good girl, prim and proper, soft and sweet. All the mannerisms you exude are perfected and practiced, taught firmly from the all girls school that you attended. On the surface, you’re just simply the rich daughter to the man who owns the country club. You’re known to love lounging by the pool or reading under the shady trees by the garden. The older adults love to fawn over you, even trying to set you up with suitors but only if they’re screened through your father first.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flash him a smile that sends the message of ‘yeah right’ before you wave him over.

You lift the piano bench where your current stash resides. It’s organized meticulously of all types of different pills and already measured bags of different powders. Nude colored nails hover over the selection that you know him to always get, but you’re polite enough to ask first for confirmation before plucking the packed substances from their spot.

“The usual?”

Touya pulls money out from his pocket, the same exact amount that he’s paid every single time he’s seen you. “The usual.” he confirms.

You hold two baggies for him, one with two blue pills and the other filled halfway of white powder. Touya takes it from you and waits for you to take out the held out cash.

“Mm, this dress doesn’t have pockets. Can’t take it.” you smile as you shut the piano bench, “I’ll take a kiss though.”

Touya smiles back, pocketing his cash alongside the goodies you’ve given him. “Is that how you’re taking payments today? With kisses?”

He knows you want him, you’ve been wanting him ever since he had fucked you at your father’s birthday party just a few months back. He can still recall the champagne he tasted on your lips, the silky material of your party dress as he pushed it over your hips, the smell of peony and honey spritzed onto your skin when he had bit your shoulder. It was an amazing fuck, one that he thought about going back for, but he liked to see you dangle yourself for him. Beg him with those pretty eyes and try to seduce him with low cut dresses or leave lingering touches that you hoped pull him in.

You shrug your shoulders and play coy, stepping into his personal space to smooth your hands along his shoulders as if you were going in to hug him. “Special just for you, I’ll figure it out with the rest.”

His hand slides along the small of your back to pull you in and close the space. “You are so bad.”

“I happen to be a very good girl, my record shows that.”

“Your records were expunged by your dear daddy.”

“So therefore, I have done nothing wrong.” you giggle, “C’mon, stop teasing me like this. You never want to see me outside of this place. I only see you when you and your family come to the club for an event, and you guys always look so miserable.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Touya’s hand drops lower, grabbing at your ass and relishing your little gasp, “because you help me get through these aggravating events.”

He teases you, has you chasing after him and keeps him entertained whenever he comes to this ridiculously posh club. You play the polite girl when you’re out among the crowd but he’s always felt your eyes on him whenever the two of you are in the same room together. If you could keep your eyes on him the entire time you would, but sadly you have to get pulled aside from so many people. From your inner circle, to polite introductions to your father’s colleagues, to the ones who want a little something to get them through the night. You carry yourself with grace and good posture, more than any girl that he had ever met.

You’re the classiest little drug dealer he knows.

And like every deal, a transaction has to be completed. So he leans down to kiss you, holding you tightly by your waist to bring you closer to him. You’re so eager for him locking your fingers behind his neck, sighing sweetly that makes him reminisce of that night you had together. The plush of your lips takes him back to that night, back when you smelled more floral and warm, when he had found you lounging alone at the pool and bored from your father’s party.

Surprisingly you pull away from the kiss. “I like you Touya, c’mon we had so much fun together at my daddy’s party. Don’t you wanna have fun again?”

“I never said that I didn’t want to do it again.” Touya points out as he takes a seat on the piano bench, “It’s crossed my mind.”

You pout at him, the gloss from earlier kissed off slightly sticky on his lips instead. Carefully you wipe away the remnants of the gloss from his lips, smudging it on the pads of your fingers. “You’re so mean, you know that? Don’t you know to not make your plug mad?”

“Ah, how can I make it up to you, princess? Please oh please,” Touya wryly plays along with you, “what can I do to get back in your good graces?”

You hold out your hand to him, “Take a walk with me.”

Walking out hand in hand with you, he is led out of the piano room and allows you to take him to wherever it is you have in mind. You pass by one person that you give a subtle signal too, Touya observing how they make their way to the piano room with a key in hand. He wonders how much you’ve paid off certain workers inside the country club to help and protect you.

He admires that about you, not being afraid to exercise your power. Maybe it just comes with being a spoiled brat who can get her record wiped clean when she calls her daddy with crocodile tears. All this wealth at your disposal and the only thing that entertains you is being the unofficial country club girl scout for xannies, oxies, and other treats.

Touya is led to different halls throughout the club, some he recognizes more than others, but not as well as you do. These are your grounds after all. The caddy from before is seen talking to a group of gentlemen, the elders clearly enjoying conversation with him if the boisterous laughter and the friendly pats on his back are anything to go by. Hell, Touya’s father is apart of the group and even he looks to be amused from whatever quip the feathery haired young man doled out.

Keigo must sense your presence nearby as he immediately looks up to see you. You blow an air kiss to him and he pretends to catch it in his fist. Touya can swears that when he looked at you, you mouthed ‘love you’ to him as they passed by.

He doesn’t know much about Keigo, only that he was brought on by you and that he happens to be very charming with many people. Looks wise, he can see why you went for him but Touya hasn’t taken any personal interest to get to know the caddy.

People pass by and give you pleasant greetings, all of which you returned kindly but never paused to have a conversation. There’s excitement running through you as Touya follows behind, wondering where exactly you’re taking him. He can tell by how eager your pace is that gives it away. It’s precious, he enjoys it too much.

You want him that badly.

━━━━✧

Touya’s not sure how he’ll explain to his mother how his pants got so wrinkled, but it’s a thought that gets pushed out of his mind as he smothers you in a kiss. He’s trying to recall his last excuse when his mother questioned how he became so unkept. The answer isn’t quite coming to him; all he can recall is just the adrenaline he had afterwards from fucking you so good. Normally he’s very smooth with his words, lying easily to anyone when it pleases him, but he had gotten pussy drunk off of you and his brain just wasn’t operating the same.

You and that cunt of yours.

He’s almost upset that he’s been denying himself this entire time. There were plenty of nights recalled the sloppy kisses from you, the elegant way you crooked your finger to bring him to you, and when you pulled on the roots of his hair when he had eaten you out. Truthfully he had wanted to chase you just as much when the deed had been done. But as he’s got you on your knees for him, Touya remembers why he decided to not give into you so easily.

“Please Touya? Please, pretty please?”

It’s so sweet when you beg.

He remembers after coming down from the high that arrogant look on your face when he had helped zip your dress back up. That because he had shagged with you then he was surely to come at your beck and call. Instead of giving in, Touya decided that he’d like to see you chase after him. To have you be the one sending text messages or letting late night calls go unanswered, declining private invitations from you to keep you frustrated.

He still has all your voicemails of you breathless and needy, begging softly for him to just want you back.

Your voice is small and pitched, whiny almost as you pathetically tug at his belt as you sink to your knees. You’re practically drooling for it, eyeing his bulge and caressing it gently through the fabric. Christ, he really made you that in love with his cock. “Oh princess, don’t tell me you’ve been pining after me.” He coos over you and tilts your head up to look at him, “All this time?”

“Yes, god yes!” You admit and jut your lower lip in a pout, “I would wait around for you, hoping you’d answer me or even come visit! I’ve always been so nice to you Touya, and you just ignore me!”

It is the spoiled brat in you that’s making you act this way. You’re such a good girl, a nice girl, a pleasant and sweet and pretty girl that there shouldn’t be any reason to give you this awful treatment. That’s how you see it. That you’re the one who blessed Touya with the rare gift of giving him personal access to you so therefore, he should be grateful and be falling at your feet.

Touya has his own pride though.

“Is that darling caddy you’re so fond of not enough for you?”

“I adore Keigo, I love him,” you admit, “but I want you too.”

You want him desperately, slowly crumbling your pride as you beg softly for him. This is what Touya wanted from you. To see you throw a bit of dignity away just for him.

“Yeah? You mean that?” he asks you, using a single finger under your chin to lift your gaze up to him.

“Yes.”

He could probably ask anything of you in this moment if it meant that he’d give himself up to you. Something that you would find worth it for him to finally cure your ache. Admittedly one of his fantasies with you is to use one of your fancy lipsticks to draw the filthiest names on your body and take pictures for evidence. He wants to write slut at your tits, whore written in fat letters on your back, maybe even cumdump on your tummy with an arrow pointing down to your cunt. Touya wonders if that would be too much though.

He wants to demean you so bad, knock you off your high horse and make you look pathetic.

Yet there’s also some desire in him to cherish you too. You are the darling of this club, adored and revered and Touya falls into that crowd too. That it wouldn’t be so bad if you were to wear a dainty necklace with his initial, have you in his car for leisurely joy rides down by the coast, and go on those stupid fancy picnics that you posted on your instagram.

“Need you Touya, need you!” you whine, catching his hand and leaning your cheek into his palm. Aw look at you, trying to look sweet for him, giving him doe eyes and batting your lashes.

There’s some laughter outside, just a small group passing by the room you’ve locked yourselves in for privacy. There’s a little sign that you hung on the door handles: the art gallery is closed. Nearby is a sculpture of a nude woman, crafted by one of the local artists here and was in the club’s newsletter not too long ago. Touya glances to it, finding it beautiful and better in person than in the photo they had taken of it. Art is usually better to see in person anyway-

“Touya!”

You’re not on your knees anymore for him, standing to your feet and smoothing down your dress. Ah, you’re upset now—actually upset at him. “If you don’t want me, then just fucking go. You’ve been playing these games with me and I’m tired!” you huff and try to pick up your heels that you discarded onto the floor when you had locked up the room, “Keep the stuff I gave you, I still won’t charge you for today.”

His hand goes to your wrist and he’s pulling you back to him, wrapping you up in a hug as he hushes you, “Don’t be so upset, it’s not a good look for you.”

“Well I wouldn’t be if you would just look at me!” you almost cry, sinking into his body and making a small noise when he hugs you tighter. “Everyone else wants me, why don’t you? Don’t you want me?”

It surprises him how genuine you’re being. You can’t be this upset, can you?

It makes Touya happy that he can make you this way.

“Never said that I didn’t, princess.” he admits finally, “I like you back, is that all you need to hear?”

He’s given a little nod, feeling your hand press at his bulge again. Your hand caresses his cock through his slacks and you sigh a little, slightly tilting your head up and nosing along his jawline. Touya bites down the smug smile that wants to sprout up on his face—this is how he wanted you, on his terms and not on yours. So now that he’s got you right where he wants you…

“Ow!” you cry out when Touya roughly grabs a handful of your hair right at the root, pulling you just enough to make you look up at him. He holds tightly and coos over your shocked expression, your wide eyes looking up at him with a small sense of betrayal. How could he switch up on you so fast like that? “T-Touya..!”

You pout up at him, your lips tempting him to kiss you.

“You’re not the good girl you make yourself out to be. Like you got everyone wrapped around your little finger, huh?” Touya speaks haughtily, his grip flexing slightly and tugging slightly on the roots of your hair, “Good girls don’t sell drugs out of a piano bench and fuck around with the piss poor caddy that’s so popular around here.”

“Maybe not other girls,” you hiss through your teeth, “but I can.”

You can do whatever you want, it’s how you lived your life. If there are any rules you’ve broken, you’ve always been very good to take care of it yourself mostly. Look at how you flout about, walking around with your pretty heels and waving the help over with darling manicured hands, discreetly handing cash and speaking with the sweetest lilt to get people to do what you please.

Touya snorts, but he does admire you all the same. If he had more drive to do anything, he’d probably be working under you too.

But he hates being inside this stupid country club, which is where you typically are when you’re not traveling or with your own gaggle of friends. This is where you like to work after all, and will be yours to run once your dear daddy passes.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” Touya sighs out before leaning down to kiss you. He’s unexpectedly soft considering the tight grip he still has on you, slotting his lips against yours too intimately for someone who also wants to ruin you all the same. It’s a long kiss he gives you, that it even gets the butterflies fluttering inside of his chest.

He pulls back and releases the hold he had on your hair, twirling his finger in a circle to indicate for you to turn around. You present your back to him, getting flashbacks to when Touya had first undressed you. His fingers are cold as he fiddles with the zipper at the back and pulls it down slowly. The dress loosens from your body and you shrug off the thin straps. It falls to the floor in a pool surrounding your feet, and you’re left standing in a little cotton panty that’s lined with lace. Your nipples are perked due to the chill of the room but you don’t bother to cover yourself to retain some modesty.

You’ve been wanting to be like this in front of Touya for the longest time.

You’re given another wordless command, blue eyes briefly glancing down to the hardwood floor. Kicking your dress off to the side, you kneel down in front of Touya once more and watch as he unzips his slacks and pulls his cock through the opening. Your mouth practically waters upon seeing his dick again, so thick and with the prettiest color at the tip you had seen. You’re about to go in when he stops you with a simple little tut.

Glancing up at him, you wonder what he could possibly have to say.

“Don’t get too sloppy, can’t walk out of here with fucking drool stains on my crotch.”

Touya hopes to fuck you in his bed one day, have you squirt on his sheets, and then cum all over your face. But while the two of you are here, the two of you have to be able to come out look presentable. He can’t go as wild as he wants on but he fucking swears that he’s gonna make you fucked out by him one of these days.

You nod in understanding before swallowing his cock into your throat. There’s some dreamy sigh from you as you bob up and down on his cock; you really must have been aching for this. There’s enthusiasm as you swallow all his inches, looking up at Touya and going all doe eyed for him. See how much you wanted him?

He admires your small gags, the way your body lurches when you choke deeply on his cock, but he reminds you again to try to keep your drool from getting on him. Touya wants to fuck your face, he wants to make you cry from fucking your mouth too hard, and even slap your cheek. There’s so much he wants to do but this isn’t the time or place to do any of it.

You’d be pissed off too if he even attempted.

You pull off his cock, a line of drool connecting your lips to his cock still but it gets wiped away quickly by the back of your hand.

Touya grabs your wrist to bring you to your feet, pulling you to the nearest wall to fuck you against. Your hands brace the flat surface, grunting when Touya uses one hand to jut your ass back to him and the other presses your head to the wall. With your back arched, he admires your elegant form under the soft lighting of the art gallery. The lovely still life painting of a bouquet does not compare to how fucking beautiful you are in this moment.

He can’t wait until he can ruin you to tears.

He offers his fingers to your lips, your mouth obediently dropping to lick and spit on them. It tickles a little with the way your tongue drags along his fingers but he doesn’t allow it for long. Touya only needs just enough to finger your hole, even spitting on his own fingers before he does a careful but quick prep after pulling down your panties.

“Oh god… oh fuck…” you mutter, your eyes shutting as relishing in his touch, “Fuck me please!”

“Relax.” Touya is firm in his tone, acting cool and masking the equal desperation that is surging throughout his own body. He wonders if you notice how eager his fingers are to be inside you, biting his lip to force down the wolffish smile on his face when he feels how wet you are. All that teasing before that he had done to you was worth it.

It was worth all of it to lead up to this moment.

His fingers withdraw and he sucks on them, savoring the taste of your slick along his tongue. Touya recalls how he ate you out at your father’s birthday party, driving you wild with his tongue on your clit and the sweet noises you made. It would be nice to do it again.

Your body shudders a little as the head of Touya’s cock nudges against your pussy, a sharp little breath sucked in as the first few inches sink into you. “Fuck!” you quietly curse.

Touya would like to savor this, to take his time and work you up into a sloppy, pretty little mess. To finger your clit until you cry out of frustration and then choke you if you give him an attitude. There’s so many things that he wishes he could do in this moment. But you remind him—

“Please hurry, we can’t be in here for long.”

Because you’ve got people waiting for you. People waiting to eagerly meet you, whether at your piano bench or if you’re needed somewhere else to help maintain your father’s appearance. No matter how much Touya has this vision of what he wants, he knows that he truly can not have you in his own way.

But he’s grateful to get you anyway.

He thrusts in, sinking in smoothly but with a sharp clap of his body meeting yours. Your pussy tightens up on him from the brief shock that is also coupled with a small gasp. His hands grasp your hips tightly and he pounds away at you, noticing how you help with the motion by moving back into him as well. It’s quiet inside the art gallery so all Touya can hear is you and the sound of his skin slapping against yours as he fucks hard into you.

“T-Touya!”

It’s just as sweet as the first time, observing how you occasionally look over your shoulder at him and give him sweet doe eyes again. But this time they’re glazed over, your eyelids dropping as you get lost in the pleasure, relishing in everything that you had been waiting for. Touya wonders how many nights you spent fingering yourself to him, he imagines your embarrassment when he would leave your needy voicemails or nudes in his inbox unanswered, and he dreamt more than a few times of you riding that pretty boy caddy in front of him.

I want to fuck you again.

Those words almost slip out as he reaches a hand to finger your clit. Your knees buckle but you maintain yourself, your own little sounds struggling to be kept in. Touya can feel it already, he can feel you just about ready to snap if the way your cunt is clenching around him is any indicator of anything.

“Please cum, please cum!” you desperately whisper, “Please cum in me!”

I need to fuck you again.

Touya fucks harder to get himself to cum, looking down to see that you’ve creamed all over him. He’s grateful that he pushed his pants down enough so that none of it catches onto his clothes. It’d be nice if you could clean up his cock with your mouth after he cums in you, but you’ve got to come out looking as proper as you can be.

So no hair pulling, no spitting in your mouth, no crying to ruin your makeup, and no marks are to be left.

But if you’re going to beg him to cum in you, you should be able to accommodate a reasonable request.

Touya leans over, feeling his control ready to let go as he’s about ready to burst as he mutters in your ear, “Keep my cum in you, keep me inside you.”

His words have your eyes rolling back, answering him with a jittery nod and a sweet yes hissed into the air. “Yes, fuck yes!”

I am going to fuck you again.

Touya jolts into you one last time, pressing himself so deep that you whine his name. He’s emptying himself into you, spilling cum into that delicious cunt of yours. He chances putting a hand at your throat to choke you, his fingers careful at your windpipe and peering down at you as your orgasm wipes your mind blank and has you going limp that he has to catch you.

And then there’s silence.

He’s holding your body against him, carrying your weight as your mind tries to start back up again. Touya drinks in this moment because he knows he won’t get a repeat of this. He may never get the upper hand again now that he’s given you what you’ve been aching for.

He wants to keep coming back not to just buy off you, but to keep seeing you.

“Good, Touya?” you manage to find your voice and lean back against him, patting your hand against his arms that are still holding you tightly.

“The best.” He answers

You chuckle, nodding your head and still remaining in his hold with his cock in you. He wonders why you haven’t bothered to start making yourself proper—

The door to the art gallery unlocks and it has Touya jolting. All the curse words he knows flash in succession in his mind but you pat your hand against him. “It’s okay, it’s Keigo.”

Sure enough, it is.

The pretty caddy with blond hair is approaching the two of you with two small towels in hand. Had he been waiting outside the entire time?

Touya wonders if every move you’ve made has been calculated. Did you know for sure that he would finally fuck you today after keeping you waiting for so long? And to have your favorite toy waiting on hand to clean you up as well?

He takes the offered towel from Keigo but doesn’t offer a thanks. Touya wipes off the remnants of you off his cock, throwing the towel over his shoulder as he pulls his pants back up. His belt buckle clinks as he makes himself presentable.

“Can we stay and talk for a little Keigo?” you ask leisurely as the caddy places the towel over a wooden bench for you to sit on. You’re smoothing down your hair as you sit down, Keigo kneeling down on one knee to massage your calves. Your dress and heels still lay discarded as you appear to take your time getting ready to leave.

“Just for a little, okay? Hana is looking for you—“ Keigo informs you and laughs a little as you groan at the name. It seems he has the sense to not continue the sentence.

Touya is dressed, his pants not as wrinkled as he hoped they would be. Rei will probably take notice like she did last time but this time, he has enough clarity to give an answer that he knows his mother will not believe but does not have any backbone to question.

He supposes that he should go out there.

He’s got what he wanted anyway.

“See ya princess.”

“I’ll see you out there Touya.” You call to him just as he’s out the door.

Stopping by a restroom first, he puts himself in the privacy of a stall after locking the door. He retrieves the dime bag and admires the scaling of the cocaine inside the plastic. He fishes out a key from his wallet, using the tip of it dip into the bag. He inhales a sizable bump into each nostril, wiping his nose clean before flushing the toilet for the sake of seeming as if he had used the facilities.

He joins Natsuo and Fuyumi, the weed pen offered to him as well but he declines. Just a little further down, Shouto is with two boys that he seems to have made friends with. One of them is blond and huffing his chest while the other has hair the color of an evergreen tree and seems to be the mediator of whatever fuss is going on.

Touya leans back into his seat, just a touch more awake as he tastes the drip at the back of his throat.

━━━━✧

It’s a relief when it’s finally time to leave.

Enji and Rei are side by side, she’s holding onto his arm for balance, teetering slightly to the right but is corrected by her husband as he helps her into the car. Shouto is waving his friends goodbye before going along to Fuyumi’s side. She asks him if she had fun and he answers yes. She is no longer high but Natsuo takes a small hit of the pen one last time to tolerate the car ride.

Touya is about ready to take his place inside the car when he hears his name. He looks back to see you walking towards him and he decides to walk to you so that none of his family eavesdrops.

“Thank you for seeing me today, I really enjoyed your company.” you speak with a bubbly lilt and your smile more pleasant than usual. Of course you’re happy—you and Touya finally fucked again.

“Thanks for having me.” Touya responds a little flatter than he intended to, just trying to keep his family off his tail so that they don’t ask questions.

“Text me later.”

It’s not framed as a hopeful question; you’re telling him to text you.

“I will.”

He means it.

No more ignoring or being coy, not anymore since you got what you wanted and Touya knows that he’s given up the power to you. It was nice to briefly wield it but he knows in the end that you are the one to hold all the cards and have things aligned with how you want them.

Touya avoids his father’s gaze as he gets into the car. He leans back into his seat at the very back of the car, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling the buzz of the coke starting to wind down. He chances looking back and you’ve hung around in your same spot, appearing to see him off.

The windows are tinted and he’s sure that you can’t see him through the glass but you wave anyway, as if knowing that he’s looking at you. He resists waving back.

And as the car starts, someone joins you. Wearing all black and with slightly unkempt white hair, Touya recognizes your foster brother. He’s only seen Tomura around a handful of times—unlike you that leaves a trail to be found, he’s a bit elusive.

The car starts to pull away, Touya watches from his seat as your foster brother leans down to you. One would think that he just leaned down to kiss your cheek but he swears that it was a kiss on the lips. It was hard to tell when enough distance had blurred the interaction.

Not that it matters to him anyway.

Later that night, Touya does as promised and he texts you. All the previous messages in his inbox from you were one sided but now he’ll be expected to reach out to you. Maybe you can meet him at a different place occasionally, take you for a ride in his white mustang or share a sorbet with you in the downtown area.

He knows that he will have to meet you more often at the country club though—it is where you work after all.

Touya hates the country club but he’s only ever gone to have a chance to see you.

[lancermylove]

Things You Do That He Doesn't Understand (HC)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Pairing: Leaders with fem!Reader

Warning: None

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Wake up at an ungodly hour so that you can do your hair and makeup before going to work or school. You are not going to a party or a modeling show, so just use those hours to rest. Honestly, it's okay if your hair isn't perfect and your face looks natural.

Collecting anything. Leona can't understand how you have so much patience managing a collection of items. However, he finds it a little amusing when you agonize over not being able to find that miniature pizza to put in your mini kitchen collection.

Shapewear. Do you honestly like the feel of someone squeezing your organs out of your body? If so, just ask him for a hug. Leona will be more than happy to give you a bone-crushing hug.

Complex hair routine. Malleus likes to watch you do your hair, but it makes his head spin. Why do you need 50 different products for your hair? You look fine without putting those products in your hair.

Fear of abandoned places. Why are you scared to go into the castle that looks like something will jump out at you from the corner at any moment and attack you? It's really not that scary, says a powerful dragon who is over 200 cm tall.

Need for fluff. He finds it amusing that whenever you see fluffy things, you absolutely have to touch them no matter what, even if it means crossing a pit filled with lava. Sometimes, he wants to wear a fluffy coat so that you stay glued to him and can't stop touching him his coat.

Shave only half of your legs. Just take a few minutes to shave your entire legs.

Going to sleep with makeup on. NO, just NO! How dare you commit such an atrocious crime against your skin? He knows you might be tired, but take five minutes to clean your face or call him. He will do it for you. Vil better not find your face transferred on your pillow when he walks into your room to wake you up in the morning.

Telling your best friend/girlfriends everything. Do they honestly need to know how good he is at kissing or anything else? That's between the two of you, so why do you have to tell them? Vil finds it embarrassing that you are discussing such private affairs with your female friends.

Large handbags. Some of the handbags you carry are half his size. Why do you need such a huge bag? Are you hiding a pet or child in there? Also, why is it so heavy? Do you have dumbbells inside?

Expandable stomach. Riddle can't understand how, in the morning, your stomach looks one way, but after dinner, you look like you expecting a child. You tried to explain to him that's how women's stomachs work, but he still can't wrap his head around it.

Long nails. How do you keep your nails so long and manage to do things, especially if your nails are the lengths of claws? Whenever you struggle to open a can tab or pick up a flat object from a table, Riddle crosses his arms and waits to lecture you.

Worry about weight. Why worry about numbers when you could just enjoy eating? Food is too good to resist, so don't fight the urge and enjoy your life!

Impeccable memory. How do you remember what he said fifty days ago when the two of you were talking in the evening? Does your brain have a date/time stamp log with all the conversations you had? This means he can't get away with anything. T_T

Multitasking. How do you manage to do so many things at once and not mess up? Kalim can't understand why your mind is able to handle so many computations at once; he can't even handle one thing at a time. He doesn't know whether to be impressed or be scared.

Spend hours in the bathroom. Why does it take you a few hours to come out of the bathroom? Do you just sit there and watch an entire movie? If you do, why not just do it on your bed or sofa? It's much more comfortable.

The number of shoes. Why do you have 500 million shoes? Also, can we talk about high heels? Why do you wear them? Azul can't even understand how Vil and some of the other students are able to walk around in killer high heels. Unless you use them as a self-defense weapon.

Math is scary. What? It's just a bunch of numbers that you need to add, divide, subtract, or multiply. What's so hard about it? Then, he remembers he has a special talent for doing mental math and that not everyone is able to. Azul apologizes.

The urge to party every weekend. Why do you want to party every weekend? No, wait, why do you want to party in general? Too many people everywhere. Too many eyes and ears on you.

Details. Why do you need to ask the whys? He told you the truth, did he? Then why do you still need details? Can't you just accept the simple answer and let him move on?

Crying while watching romance movies. It's just a bunch of actors acting, so why are you crying? Seeing your tears fazes him quite a bit. So, when you start crying during an emotional scene, Idia gets startled and freezes, not knowing what to do.

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[yaksha-lover]

The hands of fate weave a tale as old as time.

Malleus had once foolishly believed that yours might be a story that intertwines with his own. That the strings that pulled you and him inevitably toward each other might be final and true: that he might be your destiny.

You, a kind-hearted traveler from another world, pulled into this one by an inescapable force, demanding to set the stage for your romantic pursuits.

Him, a lonely prince, awaiting, in a way, his own knight to come rescue him from a tower built of isolation and abandonment.

But the endless hours of reading fairytales alone as a child must have distorted his perception, because Malleus realizes he is far from the lovely, innocent prince who gets to be rescued. He isn’t the type who gets to be loved.

Perhaps fate did pull you into this world, as he suspects, just not for him.

Because he can remember the first time you’d met your silver-haired prince. The way you’d looked at him, gaze lingering before shying away, like you knew. You knew you weren’t in love with him, but that, one day, you would be.

You looked at him in a way you’d never looked at anyone else; especially not Malleus.

A selfish, aching feeling gnaws at him. He hates you for being in love with someone else, hates Silver for being that person, and hates himself most of all for being so selfish and spiteful.

Malleus feels like a truly pitiful creature, born only to poison everything that bares the mark of his fingertips.

He knows the truth: no one deserves you like Silver does. If it had been Kingscholar, or even Schoenheit, Malleus might have been justified in his feelings of annoyance and objection.

But Silver is good. Good like you.

The two of you are a truly rare gems in a place like NRC. Neither of you really belong here, amongst the egotism running rampant.

But you do belong together. The lovely man earns the heart of his beloved, never the malevolent prince, cast off to the side.

That is fate, stringing each and everyone along into the roles they’re destined to play.

Malleus wonders, as he sits alone once again, watching the two of you, what role he might be to you. He hates it, hates where his thoughts go. But just as fate compels you away from him and into Silver’s arms, it forces his mind to wander, to land on questions that are agonizing and horrifying.

Thoughts that make him afraid of himself.

If he is not your handsome prince, might he be the villain whose malevolence robs you of your happiness?