#“did you think you could change me” + “I already have”

[salthusiast]

Who you truly are

Viltrumite Mark x Female Reader

Summary: When the Invincible variants arrived on Earth, you never expected to get involved. It’s not like you knew Invincible personally. What you didn’t know was that you’d ended up housing one of these variants, and you didn’t know for weeks. Basically Viltrumite Mark pretends to be the Mark you know.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: None! Maybe some violence, but if you watched the show, it’s basically nothing. Maybe slight ooc? In my defense this guy is pretending to be another person though.

Quick A/N: Hey, this is actually my first post on Tumblr so sorry if the formatting is weird or anything. Let me know if you guys want a part 2 :D

Life was so much simpler when you didn’t know. Who knew that in a singular month, your life would change so much? You could lie and say that you expected it to happen, but again that'd be a lie. Hell, even now you can barely believe the course of events that went down.

Sometimes you think about how many others got hurt during the war and its aftermath. You were so oblivious. You think about how he spared you like he did.

--------------------------

“Mark! Eve!” You call out, waving your hand to your friends across the hallway. Mark stops in his tracks, along with Eve.

Mark is more of your friend than Eve is, but you get along with her well. You walk purposefully to Mark, feeling like he may disappear if you take too long to get to him. It seems like he disappears all the time now.

“I haven’t seen you recently. Where have you been?” You approach him smiling.

Mark shares an indecipherable look with Eve, and chuckles awkwardly, “Around… You know, I’ve been busy with… stuff.” He says gesturing to his backpack. You raise an eyebrow seeing his backpack filled with books. 

“Studying? You? My, we really haven’t talked in a while. The last time we all hung out, you bailed halfway through.” You smile teasingly, not truly mad, but more concerned than anything.

He grimaces, “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been so hectic lately.” He looks over at Eve once again, she seems to empathize with whatever Mark is going through. You can’t help but feel… insignificant.

Mark was once one of your closest friends. What happened for them to grow so close? You can’t even bring yourself to be mad, Eve seems to understand him way more than you ever could.

Perhaps at one point, you would have felt different about that truth, but Mark as your friend is more important.

“Woah!” You chuckle, “It’s okay, really. I just want to make sure you aren’t, ya know, dead.” You smile, jokingly gesturing to your neck as if it was slit. He smiles and shakes his head, “Nope! Still kicking. I’ll be around for a while.” He glances at Eve, who seems to find what he said extra funny.

You laugh, “Yeah huh... Hey, I was wondering if you’d wanna hang out with us sometime soon. You, William, me, maybe one of my friends? Serena perhaps?” You raise a finger for each person you talk about. “Eve is free to join us too of course.” You smile at her, which she returns in good nature. 

Mark nods, “Yeah, I’ll make time for it. It’s been a minute since we’ve all hung out. Eve, would you wanna join?” Mark asks, turning to Eve.

“Sure. It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out as a group. I look forward to it.” She smiles at you. “I should be busy for a bit, but I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

You smile, “Great! That works for me!” You start to walk off before you stop abruptly and turn around. “You know we’re always here right?” You look at Mark and glance at Eve. He smiles back, but it looks more like a grimace. 

”Of course.” Suddenly he stands up straight. “Oh shoot I gotta go.” He announces before looking at Eve silently expressing… something? 

“No worries, see you guys…” They’re already speeding off to who knows where. They certainly have a mission in mind. They weren’t that rushed five minutes ago. Could whatever Mark forgot be that important?

(You didn’t know it at the time, but the reason he left was actually important. You later found out the reason on TV, even if you weren't aware it was him under the suit.)

“Hey, did you see what happened on the news?” Your friend, Serena, asks you later that day back in your apartment. She would often come over after classes to hang out.

You raise an eyebrow shaking your head, “No? Why? Anything interesting?” You sit down on the couch, leaning your head on the back as you respond.

“Somebody was trying to get Invincible’s attention earlier. He was talking for ages. Was claiming that he was the one who killed all those people in Chicago. I don’t know, he definitely has some issues he needs to sort out.” She waves a hand dismissively. 

That catches your attention, “Really that happened today? How’d I miss that? Wait, he was mad that Invincible ‘killed those people,’ but he is trying to kill people to get his attention?” You ask, doing air quotes as you say “killed those people.” 

“I’m not sure, it mainly just seemed like he wanted Invincible. I don’t know, I stopped questioning these villains a while ago. I only know the bare details.” She sighs.

You nod in agreement, “Fair enough.” You search for the remote and find it between the couch before turning on the TV. Perhaps this story is on the news?  

“ . . . just in! The newest villain, going by the name “Powerplex” has been arrested. Invincible was there to stop him this time, but that did not come without a cost. There were two casualties during this specific attack by him, not even counting his other attacks during this week. The casualties of this attack were his wife and child, who were electrocuted to death. It appears he took them hostage to get Invincible’s attention. You will all be happy to know that he has been arrested. . .” 

“That’s awful.” You frown. “Can’t believe he brought his wife and kids into it. That’s such a cruel thing to do… You think she knew what she was getting into with him?” You ask, turning toward Serena. 

“I mean maybe he was just a good actor? Perhaps he was able to blend in for a while?” Your friend throws out suggestions. “She could’ve also known though. Not that it’s my business. We’ll never know, and I don’t think I want to know.” She sighs before standing up.

“It’s horrific in either scenario. Imagine living with somebody for that long and not truly knowing who they are.” Serena chuckles, but there is no humor. You both stare at the TV screen, watching as the reporter drones on about the details.

“I think I’m going to head back home.” Serena stands up, grabbing her keys and swinging them in her hand. You nod, “Okay, drive home safe… Don’t get electrocuted.” You give her a thumbs up and smile. Is it wrong to joke about events like this? Probably, but if you don’t laugh you cry so…

She gives you an unamused expression “Ha. Ha. Very funny.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly,  “I’ll see you later.” You wave as she walks out, turning your attention back to the TV. 

You have no connection to Invincible or any of that “superhero” life. The idea of superheroes excites you, but after seeing what occurred in Chicago, you can’t help but feel like it’s not all it’s made out to be.

It’s not like you’d be able to help. You’d end up as a casualty, another body to clean off the field. The thought makes you shiver.

Every time you see a story like this you wonder if there is a universe where it was you that died. It’s easy to just brush these events off like nothing when you aren’t living them.

That was how most people do it nowadays. Doesn’t affect you? Not your problem. It was a frustrating way to live. You didn’t like to think about how people are dying every day due to these villains.

However, you can’t not think about them. Hearing about this whole situation with, what’s his name, Powerplex? It creates this feeling of dread, a feeling you’re unable to ease. Who is to say that you aren’t going to be the next casualty mentioned on the news?

It truly was easy for the whole world to live in that ignorance. It was easier for you to live in ignorance, then they appeared.

--------------------------

DAY ONE

Honestly, the first day wasn’t that eventful for you. It wasn’t until the late evening you even heard about it.

You didn’t live in an area that was immediately affected by the attacks, so it wasn’t as if your apartment suddenly came crashing down on you. Instead, you got a call from Serena. You raise an eyebrow before picking up the phone. 

“Uh hey?” You wonder why she called you, it wasn’t like you got calls often.

”Oh my God, you’re okay.” She breathes out in relief, and now you know something is up. “Please tell me you’ve seen the news.” Her voice is filled with worry.

You stop moving, “No… You know I don’t check the news that often.” You respond. Admittedly, that's on you. You probably should keep up with the news more often.  

She sighs, “Turn it on. There’s like over a dozen Invincibles out destroying major world cities.” You feel your heart drop before immediately moving to your TV and turning it on. You switch to the news.

No words are being spoken, they don’t have to. The screams of panic strike fear into your heart.

The camera shows a gigantic building in Chicago crumbling down. The cameraman focuses their lens on the figure floating above it all. Whoever it is, they’re wearing a white uniform.

The camera isn’t advanced enough to zoom in on their face, but you don’t find yourself doubting Serena’s information. Suddenly a white blur knocks the camera away, and it fades into static. You watch in horror. 

“Oh shit…” You whisper to yourself, forgetting that you are still on the phone. 

“It’s being recommended that we don’t exit our homes. We just pretend like nobody is home.” Serena’s words barely register, but you nod, forgetting that she can’t see your visual response.

“Okay… So we just sit here until they leave?” You ask, feeling stupid for asking the question. What else could you do? Fight them? You’d sooner kill a bear with your bare hands than somehow survive facing off one of them. 

The silence between you two is loud, “Not like we have any other choice.”

--------------------------

DAY TWO

By this point, you had been living in relative darkness for a little over a day. Serena sent you a link to an article advising citizens what to do: keep the lights off, and stay away from windows. You don’t want them to know you’re there. You had occasionally gone to get some food and drinks from the kitchen, but besides that, you were pretty much locked in your room.

The small peeks you took of the outside world showed promise. Realistically, the chances of one of the variants coming to your suburban neighborhood to wreak havoc aren’t high.

You close the curtains and look away from the window. To be fair, they also aren’t zero.

After being bored and doing nothing for over a day, you were instantly aware when something changed in your environment. You felt your heart stop for a moment. It sounded like somebody entered your apartment. 

You remain frozen as you try and listen for any more signs of life outside your room. Eventually, you hear something. A voice calling your name, whoever it is sounds familiar. However, that doesn’t mean you’ll come running out. You don’t respond immediately, sitting there in silence and fear, slowly inching towards the closet to hide.

On the way, you pass by your door, which was slightly cracked open. The intruder could walk in whenever they wanted. It wasn’t the most brilliant move you’ve made, but it wasn’t like you were expecting guests okay?

Your eyes widen as you take in who it is. “Mark?” You push the door open hesitantly. His attention immediately snaps to you. “What are you doing here?” You ask, exhaling slowly and calming your pounding heartbeat. 

He stares at you stoically, before walking over to you, his steps are unhurried. Suddenly you realize that he left the door open behind him. You feel your heart rate spike up again. 

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!?” You whisper yell as you push past him to the door. You accidentally bump your shoulder onto his while walking by, causing him to halt and falter in surprise.

”How did you get in? I thought you said you lost that emergency key I gave you.” You lock the door and turn to him again. He observes you silently.

“I found it.” He responds, tone even. 

“Well yes, I kinda assumed that.” You respond dryly before feeling the anger leave your body.

“Hey…” You place your hand on his shoulder and he stiffens. “Are you okay? Did one of those variants attack you or your mom?” He finally looks you in the eye for the first time since he unexpectedly entered. His stare is piercing, it feels like he’s looking at your entire soul. 

He pauses for a moment before answering, “They came through and destroyed my house.” His voice sounds detached like he’s somewhere else right now.

You feel your eyes widen and your heart drops, “Oh my God, is your Mom okay?!” You guide Mark back to your room, he seems to follow with no resistance. You sit on the floor, but he remains standing.

“She’s fine. She wasn’t there.” He responds, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“That’s good… I mean not good that your house was destroyed, but good that she got out of there. I mean have you seen the damage that these Invincibles have done?” Mark looks at you like he’s expecting something, and you feel slightly unnerved. Maybe he’s in shock? You can’t exactly blame him. You do feel kinda awkward though. How exactly do you comfort somebody who just had their home destroyed and almost had their mom killed?

“I was watching the news when it started, there was this one I saw. I think it was Chicago he hit?” Mark freezes slightly, his eyes narrowing in on you, but you don’t notice.

“It was crazy… He didn’t look like Invincible at all. However, judging by how many of the other attackers look like Invincible, I want to say that this one was probably some weird Invincible variant in white.” Mark gives you a weird look.

“What’s wrong? Still worried? Don’t worry we should be safe here. I don’t see why an Invincible variant would attack me. I don’t even know who is under that mask. We’ll be safe here if you wanna stay until it’s over.” You feel like you’re talking too much at this point, so you stop before you embarrass yourself more than you already have. 

“So I can stay.” Mark eventually speaks, getting your attention. The phrase is less of a question, and more of a statement, like he needs you to reaffirm what you already said.

You nod, “Of course, stay as long as you need.” You smile at him. Mark stares down at you before nodding and sitting right next to you on the floor. 

You raise an eyebrow, “You know you can sit on my bed right? You don’t have to sit on the floor.” He looks at you and slowly nods. 

“Right…” He sounds hesitant, but eventually stands up walking over to your bed. He sits down on it and looks back at you. He stares at you expectantly. You feel scrutinized under his gaze.

"Uh, is there something on my face?" You ask. He continues to stare at you before he looks away.

"You look different." Well okay then. Is that an insult or compliment?

“Uhh, I don’t exactly look much different than the last time I saw you. Maybe it’s the lack of sunlight.” You joke. He looks at you like you’re stupid. “Hey don’t give me that. Come on wanna play a game or something? I’ve been bored out of my mind here.”  You stand up stretching.

“A game…” He repeats dryly. “What ‘game’ would you wanna play?” He asks.

You hold your hand out giving him the “wait” gesture. He watches as you search around your room before finally finding what you're looking for. “Here we go!” You show him your deck of Uno cards. 

“Uno?” Mark responds confused. “You want to play this... ‘Uno?’” He gestures to the cards. You raise an eyebrow looking back at the cards.

”Yes…? Something wrong with that? I only have the original one if that’s what you’re upset about. Couldn’t find the Seance Dog version, I must've lost it.” You sit next to him starting to shuffle the cards.

”That’s not the problem…” Mark starts to sound unsure looking at the deck of cards. ”Do you perhaps have its original packaging?” He asks. 

You blink in confusion, “No, why?” You start giving him his cards.

”I just need to see its instructions.” He looks at the cards blankly.

You sigh, “No, stacking plus twos and plus fours is not in the rules. Yes, we will play with it anyway.”

You give yourself your cards before setting the giant stack down and flipping over the first card, it’s a green four. “I’ll go first.” You place a green seven down.

Mark stares at the cards, before looking up at you. He stares at his cards for half a minute. “You gonna play a card or are we just gonna sit here?” You joke. 

“Just…” He sounds frustrated, “Just give me a moment…” He looks at the cards. 

After another period of silence, you eventually break it, “Dude just place down a seven or green, please. Whatever strategy you’re thinking of, it clearly isn’t working.” You chuckle.

He looks at his cards before slowly placing a green five down. “Right… I was just planning something.” 

You immediately slam down a blue five. “Yeah sure, try all you want. You aren’t gonna win this time.”

He looks at you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen on his face, “I wouldn’t count on that.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“HOW?! YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” You point at the stack of cards in the middle, telling you to take 14 cards. 

“The rules are the rules. Take the cards.” Mark points to the deck of cards, his lips upturned slightly. 

You glare at him before smiling. That was the first time he’s "smiled" today. He’d been off all day, and if losing a game of Uno was what it took to cheer him up, it was a price to pay.

You both play a few more rounds before you get tired of losing. “Okay, you never win this much. Are you cheating?” You jokingly ask.

He scoffs, “Cheating? I don’t need to cheat to win.” He taunts holding his singular card in plain view. The words "UNO" in the back taunt you for the seventh time. The trace of a smile is gone from his face, but you can see the mirth in his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while you can.” You sigh placing down your only play. You look up at him, and he stares at you for a long moment.

“You know dramatically holding out your move doesn’t make you mysterious. Just draw more cards, I know you don’t have a yellow or two.” You roll your eyes. 

He looks at his card and sighs in the most contrived manner possible, a stark contrast to the serious demeanor he had when entering the apartment. “You’re right. I don’t have either…” He places his last card down, a wild.

You look at him blankly, he returns the stare with a smugness he didn’t previously have. You place your cards down before walking out into the kitchen, Mark follows you. “What are you doing?” He asks, the smug tone gone. 

“I'm gonna sacrifice myself to those variants running around, that fate might be better than having a seven-time losing streak.” You respond sarcastically.

“You know what,” You point out to the window, “at least I would beat them in Uno.” You say referring to the Invincibles out destroying the world.

Mark looks at you, then at the window, then back at you, “I doubt that.” 

You lean back on the counter dramatically, feigning offense, “Oh how you wound me! I think I could beat their asses in Uno! I bet at least one of them doesn’t even know how to play it!” 

“I’m sure.” He replies, there seems to be amusement in his voice, but you can’t imagine why. 

“Hey, I beat you in Uno all the time. Consider this your lucky day.” You grab a bag of chips. “I was going easy on you today.” You say before you begin grabbing chips out of the bag. “Want some?”

Mark looks at the bag, his face turning to a grimace, “I’ll… pass.” You shrug and continue snacking before putting the bag away.

”Suit yourself. Feel free to eat whatever I have, just don’t eat it all.” You gesture toward your pantry, his gaze following the direction you point. 

You start to walk away, “Where are you going?” He asks as you pause.

”Pillows? Blankets? I need to grab some extra for myself. You can take my bed.” You look into one of your cabinets, grabbing an extra couple of pillows and a blanket. 

“Is it not your bed though?” Mark asks, frowning.

”Well, yeah, but you’re my friend and my guest.” You smile walking towards your room, and he follows behind you. “I mean with everything you’ve been through recently, I’d feel bad if I forced you to the floor.” Mark remains silent.

You start to create a pile of blankets on the floor, rearranging the pillows how you like them. Mark watches silently. 

“Hey, could you turn my TV on? Make sure it’s muted. As long as the lights aren’t flashing too bright on it I think we’ll be okay.” You ask Mark, he gives a hum of acknowledgment before heading back to the living room.

You finish setting up the makeshift bed before joining him. You look around making sure all the windows are closed and secure before joining him. 

“Oh my God…” You whisper as you watch different clips play out on the TV. These Invincible are destroying cities. You can only stare in shock, you watch as buildings topple over, skyscrapers crumble to the ground, citizens get buried under rubble, and nearby life burns.

What you saw that Invincible in Chicago do was a fraction of the damage.

Mark doesn’t say anything, and the initial glance you took towards him when you walked in reflects that indecipherable look once again. Who knows what he’s thinking? These monsters almost killed his family.

You look over to him to see if he’s watching, his gaze looks detached and uninterested. You turn back toward the TV. “I’m sorry…” You mutter, feeling his eyes turn toward the back of your head.

“For what?” He asks, and he sounds genuinely confused. “You didn’t do it.”

You look back at him, his eyes reflecting disbelief at an apology. “No, but I’m sorry it happened to you.” You look at the screen, showing the burning buildings. It feels like you can hear their screams despite the muted volume. 

He looks at you, not that you can see, as if you're a puzzle. “Why apologize for something you didn’t do? Seems pointless.” He asks.

You look at him, your eyes meeting again, “Sympathy, perhaps.”

--------------------------

DAY THREE

You open your eyes to the blinding light of your window. You blink the sleepiness away before processing that your window is OPEN.

You stand up quickly, tripping over your pillow before you reach to close the window and curtains. You look at your empty bed, perfectly made. 

”Mark?” You call out. You open your door to see him in the kitchen with a mug in hand, windows all open, and lights bright as day.

You gape for a minute before walking over and closing all of them. Once you close them, you turn off the lights, you can still see, but you will admit you kind of missed lighting like that. “What are you doing?!”

Mark looks at you, raising an eyebrow.

You gesture wildly to the house around you, “Uhh I don’t wanna burst your bubble, but we are not Invincible. What are you gonna do if one of those variants attacks us? The attack on your house proves that nobody is safe.”

Mark looks at you uninterested, “Nobody will attack this place.”

”You can’t guarantee that, Mark.” You respond exasperated. “If you could, you wouldn’t be here right now.” You frown as Mark stares at you stoically.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t want to take this out on you, but it’s scary out there. I don’t want to be this paranoid, trust me, but I can never be too sure what will happen.” You sigh looking at him.

“Hell I mean, one of those Invincibles could kick that door down, and we’d be toast. I mean how many even are there?” You ramble.

“Sixteen total.” 

“Sixteen?! Damn.” You exhale in disbelief. “That’s sixteen different Invincibles who could essentially destroy the world. Wait, how’d you even know there are sixteen?” You ask.

Mark gestures lazily toward the TV. “Righttttt, that was a dumb question.” You sigh. Suddenly you pause that train of thought, “Wait, what happened to Eve?”

Mark takes a slow sip of his coffee, “Not sure.”

You frown in concern, “Have you had contact with anybody since they invaded?”

”Just you.” He takes another sip.

”Damn, that’s sad… Do we want to try and contact her?” You ask hesitantly. It doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about Eve.

He shrugs, “Lost my phone.”

You frown, “Oh… Do you wanna. . .” You look up at him, his eyes dead set on you. “You know what, never mind.” You make a mental note to check if you have Eve’s number later, and maybe ask what his whole attitude is about.

“Anyway, were you up long before I got up?” You ask, changing the subject. 

He shakes his head, “No.” He responds. 

“Okay good, I was worried I had slept in or something.” You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You pull it out and see that Serena sent you a new link, you’re so grateful that she keeps up with news better than you can.

”Hey it seems like the variants disappeared from the cities.” You casually mention, Mark looks up, suddenly interested. 

“Where did they go?” He asks. You shrug in response, reading the rest of the article. He walks over to try and read over your shoulder.

“It seems like they all left at roughly the same time, perhaps something called them. Maybe they have a ‘Boss Invincible’ or something.” You joke.

Mark chuckles humorlessly, “You think?”

“You don’t think that?” You retort, smiling.

“No, I mean you’re probably right.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “It just sounds strange.” He continues.

You nod understanding, “Yeah, but I mean what else could bring them together? They have to have a leader of some kind. This attack seems too coordinated to just be unplanned.” 

Mark sips his coffee loudly, “I guess.” It sounds like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. 

You feel your phone vibrate again. You check it and see a text from William. “Hey, William texted me! You’ll be glad to hear that he is okay.” You hear Mark hum in acknowledgment before opening the message. 

It’s safe. They’re gone for good.

You look at the text message surprised. You have multiple questions.

 

How do you know?

Just trust me on this, I know some people who work with the government. The Invincibles are gone. 

Mark notices your silence, “What is it?” He asks.

You turn towards him, “They’re gone gone. The Invincibles apparently vanished, completely. They didn’t just stop attacking the cities or get called away, they aren’t here anymore. They’re gone for good. ” This catches his attention. 

“Are you serious?” He asks. His eyebrows furrow, is he mad?

”...Yeah.” You pause before confirming. “Are you okay?” You walk up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He immediately tenses up.

“Hey, they’re gone. They can’t do any more damage. Everything will be okay.” You try to reassure him.

He looks down before relaxing. “They’re gone.” He repeats, you nod. “All of them?” He asks quietly, you nod. 

“All of them.”

--------------------------

“What do you mean they’re not all accounted for?” Cecil yells out walking down the hallway as one of the assistants follows closely.

“You mean to tell me that there is still one of those Marks out there?”

The assistant nods frantically, “We accounted for every single one that died, and the ones that were sent to that alternate dimension. There is still one here, and he’s not our Mark.”

Cecil stops walking, “Does Mark know?” He asks.

The assistant shakes their head, “No… We weren’t sure if we should tell him. I thought it was best to tell you first.”

Cecil nods in approval, “I’m glad you did… Do you know where he was last seen?”

“It was the Invincible that destroyed Chicago, he left after decimating that city. We aren’t entirely sure where he went. He could be on the other side of the globe, but we do know he hasn’t left the atmosphere.” The assistant replies.

"Good, we need to see if there’s a way to locate him. For all we know, he’s already aware that his counterparts have been banished. I can’t imagine he’d serve himself up on a silver platter for us to eliminate." Cecil starts walking towards Eve’s room, there’s a large chance Mark is still there. 

“He can’t hide for long, sir. We’ll find him.” The assistant follows closely behind him.

"Like you already said, he could be halfway across the globe. We can’t leave a threat like that lying around ready to strike whenever. We need whatever leverage we can get right now. If we make it public information that he’s wanted, he might just leave the planet."

"I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly feel safe knowing an evil version of Invincible is out there somewhere in the universe. We were unprepared for this attack, next time we’ll be ready." Cecil walks down the hall watching through the windows as more ReAnimen are being created. He continues to walk past them.

“There’s only one of him. We’ll bide our time. Keep me updated on any status updates on him. If you hear anything that sounds like Viltrumite sightings, I need to know as soon as possible. I will spare no expense, understand?”

”Yes, sir.”

[guardianofscrewingup]

This is exactly it. ^

So I'm a writer and want to get published and I was looking at chatgpt out of curiosity in a "will this ever replace the job I want to do" kind of way and I put in some premise stuff and plot stuff and was like "hey chatgpt, write this first chapter" of a book.

Now this was for the first chapter of a book I'd already co-written with my writing partner. It already existed. I didn't plan to use the chatgpt version. I wanted to see how that version compared to our version.

And it sucked. The things it came up with were trite and very tropey and boring, and you could tell were lifted from a million badly-written book summaries and Ao3. The thing I wrote with my friend was still funnier and more lively (esp since my friend is very funny.) It dealt with stuff thematically in a way that chatgpt couldn't, with us grappling with some mental health stuff rooted in personal experience.

For a different book, I tried different ideas, different prompts, asked it plotting stuff, compared to what I already had plotted.

And that also sucked. What I'd already planned was less tropey and more personal and more about some life-changing personal experience. It couldn't even come close to even the premise idea I was going with, because the premise idea I was going with had to do with my own perspective - whether people like that book or not, it is a specific-to-me perspective.

While experimenting with it, the only, and I mean literally the only thing I think it could be useful for for writers is as a glorified dictionary search. I did find it was useful to be like "hey chatgpt give me occupations that could work as surnames that can be used as given names, and link to your actual sources" or "give me a list of roots of [specific language] I can use to make up a name with, also give the etymology and links to your sources" or "give me some old-timey English surnames with X vibes from Y time period, with sources" or something. (All with requested links to sources to check it wasn't hallucinating and actually pulled it from at least somewhere.)

And that was marginally useful bc it had pulled a lot from stuff like dictionaries and wiktionary, could link to it for me to check for words and etymology that were there but would've taken a lot of time and sifting to find. The skill to filter through a ton of minutiae, if anything, wastes time you could be learning or doing things of actual meaning. Just like a calculator is a time saver if it's not math that it's very important for you to learn or do in your head.

But when it comes to acts of thought, of creativity, of memory, of research for actual topics that are important to learn, it is so so bad. AI should, honestly, at most be used for it's normal and healthier uses - to make it easier to search and catalog very minor information like a glorified dictionary search, or perform very limited functions. That's a thing that narrow AI already does and has done and with things like auto-correct, bot detection (like flagging bots for propaganda or hate speech slurs), speech recognition for voice-to-text, etc. etc.

Cataloging minor info that no one could possibly memorize like dictionaries to cross-reference, because there is no one that can actually memorize whole dictionaries, is one thing. Just like auto-correct is useful because no one can know how to spell every single word, even if it's their native language. Just like speech-to-text is useful because it helps someone communicate but doesn't communicate for them.

But when it comes to broader stuff, we can think, we can communicate, we can research and learn important things on our own, we can analyze things, we can create, and hell we can even learn math when we do need it, on our own.

If AI isn't a limited-focus time-saver that saves us time so we have more time to think, learn, and create, and is the thing that does the thinking, learning, and creating for us, it's a problem.

generative AI literally makes me feel like a boomer. people start talking about how it can be good to help you brainstorm ideas and i’m like oh you’re letting a computer do the hard work and thinking for you???

[81pastrys]

Favorites

Summary— Juliette starts disliking her favorite things and Charles figures out why

Warnings— bullying? ; upset toddler

A/N— I’m back for now 👀

Dad Charles List

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— Can u do a Charles dad to a toddler mabye she has a favourite food and one day she just says she doesn’t like its anymore mabye somebody at a her playgroup said something

It was hard to find things Juliette liked, the picky girl refusing nearly everything and anything offered to her. So when Charles found anything she liked he would buy a whole lot of it. Snacks, juices, ingredients to food he could make that she liked.

It was a relief when he found something she liked, considering it a parenting win. Now, she was in a daycare and Charles knew other little kids were not the same. Juliette was 3 and that age can be explorative in emotions or eliciting emotions from others.

Charles would pack the same lunch and snack for her everyday. Comfort foods and familiarity. Usually the lunch box would come back empty and the snack would be gone, sometimes unfinished but depleted.

Around the middle of the year, Charles begins noticing that the lunchbox and snack come home seemingly untouched. He looks to his little girl playing in the living room with her toys and sighs.

The next day he decides to fill it with different comfort foods of hers. Thinking that maybe she didn’t want the same thing everyday. Sure enough the lunchbox and snack were gone. He started mixing up what she would get for lunch or snack and she would return happily now.

Her food wasn’t the only thing he noticed a change in. She also was picky with certain clothes and wore certain outfits, repeating them often. She started fighting him in the morning when getting dressed if she had already wore the outfit that week- not caring that it had been washed and clean.

“Non papa!” She screamed. She was angry, her arms crossed while she stood in her pajamas. “I wore that Monday!” She told him. He was utterly confused.

“Oui, but it’s your favorite dress?” He said. She huffed and stomped a foot in protest. He sighed and picked a different dress she liked- and hadn’t worn that week. He didn’t have time to argue with her at the moment. Her hair was also an issue according to her mum, but Charles didn’t reflect that towards the same issue.

After her recent school day Juliette seemed upset. Charles was driving home and she sat in her car seat, looking out the window with a slight pout. He sighed and made it home. He unbuckled her and she stomped her way inside.

He followed with her bag and lunchbox. She preoccupied herself with toys while he went through his own emotions- she hadn’t eaten her lunch. He sat on the couch by her and she gave him a look.

“Juliette.” He said giving her a stern look, he only did that when she was in trouble or not expressing feelings like she should. Her lip quivered and tears formed in her eyes. He pulled her to his lap and she clung to him. “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?” (What’s wrong?) she sobbed harder in his hold.

He rocked her for little, she obviously didn’t know how to communicate why she was upset. He sat with her until she calmed down and looked up at him. His heart broke then and there. Her face was bright red and tear stained.

“Can you tell papa what’s bothering you?” He asked. She sniffled and crawled off his lap. He was confused, where is she going? She walked to the counter and grabbed her lunchbox. She gave it to him. “Are you hungry?” He asked.

While she was in fact hungry that was not what she meant. She shook her head and he gave her a confused look. He opened the lunchbox and she stared at the food. “Weird food.” She said. Charles looked even more confused.

“Weird food? Who said that?” He asked. She slumped and sat on the floor in front of him. He closed the lunchbox and picked her up into his lap again. “Mon cœur, I pack what you eat.”

“Mes amis disent que c'est bizarre.” (My friends say it’s weird) She said quietly. “My clothes too.” She added. “And my hair.”

“Mon bébé, don’t listen to them. You like these things, there’s nothing wrong with that.” He assured her. “The food you eat is not weird, it’s what you like.” She nodded her head, taking in what he was saying.

Charles made it a point to remind her everyday before school that she was unique in her own way and that she was perfect. He would compliment her hair, her outfit, and he would ask her what she wanted for lunch. It worked, she was happy again in no time. Back to her usual bubbly self.

Dad Charles for you all 🫶🏻

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @itznotsophia @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @chertik-007vvv

[perfectyeager]

|| WHO..?; Eren Yeager

|| SYNOPSIS..?; Cheater!Eren who will happily fuck you despite having a girlfriend

|| WARNINGS..?; 18+ MDNI. Smut.

|| A/N..?; HEY so i changed my username so i was @/yeagersackerman but i didn’t fw it anymore so yeah! hey new username who dis lol. enjoy !!

EREN YEAGER had the morality of a wasp.

He had a very, very fucked up moral compass and lacked serious empathy — hence why he fucked you every few days while still having a girlfriend!

“Jeeesus, baby, yeah — fuuuck — yeah, that’s it, that’s my girl.”

You huffed out an annoyed breath, eyelids twitching as Eren delivered a particularly hard slap to your ass as you bottomed out on his throbbing cock in reverse cow-girl on his bed.

“I’m not your girl.”

Eren stifled a laugh, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he ogled at your behind, a large, tattooed hand coming up to rub the soft skin as it rest upon his abdomen.

“Sure, you are, babygirl.” He’d whisper, hands residing on your hips, lifting you fully off his achingly hard cock, and back down again, a loud groan erupting from his throat, whining when his tip kissed your cervix beautifully, “My perfect girl.”

“N-no,” You spoke, your voice unstable as Eren set a pace behind you, his grip on your hips like a vice as he slowly dragged his cock in-and-out of your tight, shamefully wet cunt, “You already h-have one of those, Eren.”

“Have a what, baby?”

He knew what he was doing — you could hear the smirk in his voice as he landed a large hand on your ass once more, forcing a moan to be ripped from your mouth, along with his name in a lewd manner.

“Ereeeen.”

“Hm? Tell me, baby.”

You couldn’t help but feel so disgustingly pleasured as images of his girlfriend filled your head, “Y-you have a g-girlfriend. Who’s not me.”

Eren tutted behind you, rubbing soothing circles on your hips with his thumb as he fucked you slowly, enjoying the painfully slow drag of his cock through your tight, gummy walls.

“Oh, do I?” He’d tease, “Must’ve slipped my mind when you took your clothes off.”

A strained gasp was ripped from your throat as Eren got bored of the pace — now, gripping your hips harder than before and fucking up into your tight pussy like a bitch in heat. Revelling in the way your pussy squelched as he fucked your arousal out of your abused little hole and all over his pelvis, a creamy white ring forming around the base of his cock.

“Fuuuuuck — best pussy on the planet.”

“B-but, what about—“

“What about who?”

He was a tease. He loved making you say it, make you feel guilty for fucking a taken man, make you think about his girlfriend and still continue to bounce your ass back onto his cock, whining his name.

Eren’s hand snaked up your back, grabbing a fistful of your hair, dragging your aching body backwards, your back flush against his heaving chest, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the way your pussy clamped down on his cock and his name was screamed from your swollen lips.

“Tsk — you little whore. You fucking love this, don’t you? Fucking someone’s boyfriend?” His breath was hot against your neck as he panted into your skin, licking and biting at your earlobe.

You whined louder than before, a hot, red blush rising to your cheeks at the thought of making him harder than his girlfriend could, making him cum twice the load, making him say he’d rather you be his girlfriend.

“Y-you’re sick, Rennie.”

“Yet you keep coming back, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You hated how fucking right he was. You’d never ever call it off or try to tell his girlfriend the things he does behind her back because you don’t want it to stop. Because, shamefully not, you don’t feel guilty. At all.

Eren made you feel three times as good as any man could. He makes you cum more times in one night than your ex did in 4 months of dating. So, if being a complete and utter slut and a home-wrecking bitch means getting the best orgasm and dick of your life — then, I guess you take the cake for worst girl on the planet.

But, who could blame you when the man behind you looked like that?

You caught a glimpse of Eren in his mirror — strands of his dark hair had come loose from his bun, now stuck to his forehead in sweat, his cheeks a slight twinge of red, mixed with a cocky smirk and a fucked out expression on his face.

He was positively perfect.

“Fucking love this pussy,” He whined in your ear, the desperation nearly sending you over the edge, “Can’t fucking wait to feel you cum ‘round my cock. Do it better than anyone else.”

Eren’s nimble fingers slipped between your legs as kept up his brutal pace, his middle finger rubbing quick circles onto your sensitive, throbbing clit as he angled his hips to hit your G-spot so deliciously you were seeing stars. Eren’s cock was the longest, and best, you’d ever had — so good that most times you had sex, you were nearing your orgasm without having your clit touched once. The way his cock repeatedly slammed against that sweet spot deep inside you that had you creaming and crying out his name like you wanted someone to hear, and had you fucked utterly dumb.

“‘M close, Rennie —Nngh! —, ‘m there!”

“Yeah, give it to me, baby. Let Rennie feel you cum on his cock — yeaaaah, such a good girl.” He coaxed, fingers speeding up ever so slightly and increasing pressure as your eyes rolled back, the coil in your stomach on the brink of snapping as Eren smirked against your neck, pressing open-mouthed hot kisses to your warm skin.

“That’s my girl.”

The phrase that once sent shivers down your spine in shame, was now pushing you over the edge to squirt on his cock. You cried out in ecstasy as Eren bucked his hips harder into you, his cock driving deeper as you came harder than before, your juices coating this thighs.

“S-shit, baby, you squirtin’? Fuckin’ squeezin’ me so tight.” He huffed, grinding his teeth together as you milked his cock, feeling his own orgasm approaching as you writhed on top of him.

“Rennieee!” You whined, feeling suddenly overstimulated as he continued to ram his hot length into your fluttering walls, your eyes squeezing shut as you gripped his tense forearm.

“Sshh, baby, I’m there, God, ‘M fuckin’ cummin’,” He warned, his face tensing as his mouth fell agape as you clamped down on him once more, “Fuuuck, yeah, that’s it, yeah, take it, take it, take it—!”

Eren was extremely vocal as he let out a low groan, almost growling as he pumped his sticky load deep inside your willing cunt — pushing his cum so deep it squelched out the side of his cock and onto his already soaked thighs. You whined deeply from your chest as you felt Eren fuck his cum deeper into you, wanting to make sure you took every drop.

“Shiiiit, girl.” Eren laughed as he lifted you off his softening cock with a hiss, “‘Made a fuckin’ mess.”

“Your fault.” You mumbled as you collapsed on his bed, curling up into a ball in fatigue as Eren walked to his bathroom casually as if nothing had occurred.

Sleep almost took over your body before Eren’s nonchalant voice hit your ears as he retreated back into the bedroom, phone against his ear as he smirked evilly down at you.

“Yeah, babe, I’m just with Connie. No, I’m not doing anything stupid. What do you mean you checked with Connie’s girl and he said he’s with Jean? Yeah, Jean’s here too, God, at least let me finish, woman.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as his girlfriend’s mumbled, clearly worried and upset, voice rang in the silent room, “Girl, if y’just wanna argue I’m hangin’ up. No, I’m not cheating on you — for fuck’s sake, I’m not an asshole. Okay, there we go, stop crying, you’re fine. Yeah, love you too, or whatever.”

You couldn’t hide your giggle at his fake affection, which you soon stifled behind your hand as Eren smirked down at you.

“What do you mean who was that? It sounded like a girl?” Your eyes shot open as Eren repeated her words, “Babe, I already told you Jean’s had a drop in testosterone recently — it’s a serious condition.”

Like I said, his moral compass was very skewed..

[fawnnlvr]

quiet support | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x catvalentine!reader

masterlist

summary: in which spencer reid realizes that he does in fact have one supporter in his journey with dealing with his addiction to dilaudid

word count: 2.3k

warning: addiction, kidnapping, all the themes of criminal minds, and cat valentine lore

author's note: i just really wanted to write a story where spencer reid had at least somebody to support him through his addiction. what better person than a girl who had been through it herself and is the type of person to offer unconditional love to those around me. pre-lobotomy cat is always in my mind

You had joined the BAU right after the a tragedy had struck the entire unit. Their number one prodigy was one the verge of dying after being kidnapped and tortured by an unsub. Although Spencer Reid was able to get some time off after the whole ordeal, he didn't fully use his time as he wanted his job to give him a sort of distraction from his racing thoughts. He wanted things to go back to normal.

Emily Prentiss had also joined right after you; the two of you creating big changes to a unit that is already on edge. When you accepted the position as the assistant, you would've never imagined you would've been assigned to the most psychologically grueling unit but that's just the way things go and it was times like this where you felt it was somewhat fate.

You recognized the signs. The agitation, those around getting worried about your behavior, the concerning gazes, the increased aggressive behavior, and the distracted mind. It was something you knew all too well.

Although you hadn't been apart of the team for long, it bothered you that everybody seemed to turn a blind eye. They were profilers weren't they? They could see what was happening? Even your high school friends had noticed quickly despite only really seeing each other during school days. The unit spent the most time together so how could they not say something?

Really, it wasn't your place to intervene since you were barely apart of the group. You mainly worked with JJ and contact was limited except for the occasional greetings and helping JJ with the briefings.

One day, you noticed Spencer get up from his desk and make his way to the bathroom, agitation clear on his face. You followed and waited outside, a neatly printed out photo and a staple in your hand as you stapled the paper on the wall. It was a support group with information on where and when it takes place.

You heard him coming out, "Oh my what a nice poster to help people!" you never were a good person to lie when it came to hidden intentions. You looked behind when the door opened and it was not Spencer Reid but another agent, "Oh hello, Agent Anderson. How's your day?"

Anderson lit up at the question and happily told you about it while you just nodded your head, nervously keeping an eye out for Spencer. The bathroom door opened once again and Spencer had zoomed pass the two and towards his desk. After Anderson finished his rant, you smiled and sighed when he left.

First attempt was a fail, but you weren't going to give up.

You came into work early the next day, and lingered around the coffee bar, waiting for Spencer to get his daily morning coffee at the exact time he always did.

"Hi Spencer!" you waved and he smiled and greeted your back, "10 sugars as usual?"

He nodded and this was your chance. You pulled out a pack of gum and started to unravel it. You wanted to show him a small alternative to whatever he was addicted to. Curiosity always got the best of Spencer as he loved to ramble about random things. "Whats that?"

"Gum! I like to chew on it whenever I'm craving something else."

"What would you be craving?"

"You know. The usual, but I think the sugars in this gum can really distract a person."

"Like nicotine gum?"

Your head snapped towards him, eyes narrowing as if he had told you highly classified information, "Of course not. I've never been addicted to nicotine. What are you trying to say?"

Spencer was taken aback by your sudden defensiveness and it seemed you were as well. An awkward laugh left you as you tucked a hair strand behind your hair, "I think I am going to start work now. Bye Doctor."

Okay so that did not go the way you had hoped so. Nicotine was a touchy subject for you as it had turned out, the British snack, bibble, you were so addicted too, had traces of it in the factory that seeped into the sweet snack. After it was banned, only then did you realize that you had a serious problem.

However, what you didn't know at that time was that a wheel sort of turned in Spencer's head. The next couple of days, you figured it was time to step back and reflect. Aggressively chewing your pink gum, you tried to calm yourself down to reflect on your defensiveness. Seeing a therapist had really helped you process your emotions and psychological issues, which you learned had nothing to do with your dyed red hair. The gum was in no way nicotine gum, as you slowly weened off of it long ago but still needed that chewing fixation.

You spun around in your chair at your desk that was next to JJ's. She was going through the case files and you just finished communicating with police precincts in New York.

A knock on the door brought you out of your daze. Your head looked towards who it could be and there was Spencer Reid, a nervous smile on his face as he opened the glass door.

"Hey. Sorry JJ, can I borrow [Name]?"

JJ had this smile on her face as she looked between you and Reid, "Go ahead."

You quickly stopped chewing your gum, grabbed the small trash can by your desk and leaned down to peacefully spit out the gum away from the public's view. The gum sticks were still in your pocket as you followed Spencer out the office.

Spencer noticed that you were unusually quiet, possibly thinking the same as he was. He led you towards a more quieter, private section of Quantico: their case file room.

"What did you need Doctor?" you tried to feign a normal tone but you would've needed to do more to fool a profiler. The two of you sat on a bench that was placed for those who had to search for hours.

"I know what you've been doing."

"What?" You dragged on the last syllable in a higher octave.

"I know it was you who put up those support group posters by the men's bathroom, inside the men's bathroom, the elevator, and in the lobby cork board." You tried to interupt and defend yourself, "I saw the pink double-sided tape and you used the same design for each one."

That last part quickly caused you to shut your lips, "Sorry." you quietly stated and your head hung Iow.

"It's okay. You don't have to apologize. I just wanted to thank you. I actually did check out when of the groups yesterday and it felt nice to open up to other people."

You turned to him and moved closer even though the bench was already quite cramped, "You did? How did we not see each other?"

"You went?"

"Yeah well I sort of kinda volunteer to help arrange it during my free time since it was groups like that that helped me."

"I went to the one at night."

"Oh! Yeah that's probably why." You smiled and moved away.

"I do want to ask, but I don't want to sound too intruding seeing as what happened at the coffee bar."

"Sorry for being defensive. I'm trying to work on that but ask me whatever you want Spencer! I promise I will be open to anything."

"Well I assume that you too were also addicted to something." he carefully worded his words, "How long was it till you felt like you didn't think about using it again."

For once, you really looked deep in thought. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to formulate your thoughts of this seven year long battle. "Well, I'm not sure I can tell you. When I was 16, I was addicted to this British snack called bibble."

"Wasn't there a big case for that with the FDA?"

"Yes. They were adding nicotine to make it more addictive, but the damage was already done by the time it was sent to the world. I had three giant stashes in my room and it would be the only thing I ate. Even after the stash was gone because my friends threw it away, I couldn't stop thinking about it and constantly craved it. The drawbacks were the worse and it took a lot for me to not buy nicotine products to fill the void."

"How did you resist?"

"I had people who cared for me. Enough to go to my house and take away any traces of bibble. Enough to research how to try and ween me off of it. Enough to buy me nicotine gum and other candies to fill the void. Enough to not go away even after I almost fought them. And enough to give me strength to recover and continue to choose recovering."

That is probably the sweetest and most nondisturbing story he had ever heard from you.

"They also handcuffed me to a recovered addict when they first found out to stop me from buying bibble."

And there it was.

"He was really a nice man and we made a promise to stop eating bibble or use any nicotine products. I still keep in contact with him whenever we get cravings and need support."

You then turned to Spencer and placed your hand on top of his, "I really didn't want to try and intrude since I am new to this team but you really reminded me a lot of myself and I just wanted you to know that you have a supporter. It really is a tough journey and I probably wouldnt be here if I didnt have people who helped me and I dont want you to turn into a version of what could have been me."

'You have a supporter' Those words replayed in Spencer's mind. He looked into your eyes, this warm feeling in his chest as he looked at the resolve in your eyes.

The two of you stayed silent for a while; a comfortable silence yet unspoken words lingered over his head. He glanced towards you; you simply had this smile of relief on your face, happy you got that off your chest, but you still felt a little worried and nervous. Almost as if you were unsure of what would happen now.

"When I first got kidnapped, I remembered thinking that this would have been the end. The unsub had a split personality and one part of him tried saving me in this deluded way through injecting me with a hallucigen."

You knew about the kidnapping but you were never sure about what exactly he went through during that time.

"In a messed up way, I would say that it saved me from what I was experiencing. The more he injected me with, the more that I felt the most calm I had ever felt in my entire life and it made me chase that feeling. When Hotch and the others found me, I—"

Spencer had to pause. He never really imagined he'd recount this story aloud, let alone to the a new agent he met less than a month again. Your hand found it's way back to his, rubbing your thumb to provide a sense of comfort.

"I ended up taking some with me when all was said and done and its still —" he spoke slowly and he could feel his voice crack. This was a smile side of vulnerability he wasn't even sure he had in him. He barely had the courage to look you in the eye as he retold it to you, but felt it was necessary after you shared yours.

Spencer did not have to say anything more before you gently took you hand off of his and wrapped your arms around him. One hand found the back of his head as you caressed his hair and he melted into you. It has been a while since he got a hug. The last one probably got was from Hotch when he found him in the graveyard but he initiated it. The last time anyone had initiated a hug with him was right before Elle Greenaway had left.

You gave a good hug, Spencer deduced as he practically melted into your gentle touch. He did not mind any germs at this time as all he needed right now was the support he longed for from those around him.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Spencer. You are so so so strong. Thank you for trusting me."

He wasn't sure how long he had stayed in your arms or how much time had passed since the two of you had entered the file room, but he was so glad that he went to talk to you. It truly was you who gave him the strength through your quiet unconditional support despite only knowing him for a month and only knowing this side of him.

The first rule of giving a hug is to never pull away first and that's a rule of life that you abide by. It was Spencer who pulled away from the hug and you simply stayed close to him. He wasn't sure where this journey will lead him and he couldn't estimate the difficulty either, but with you by his side to support him, he knew it would be okay.

But of course, even after these sweet moments, you would never change your surprising nature. "Shall I handcuff us together now?"

Spencer just smiled, happy you are still your jolly self and gently let you done with a small shake of his head.

[moondustbaby]

You’re Still My Girl

Blue collar!Rafe x Wife!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

Summary: It’s your first formal event since having the babies, and dress shopping brings out every insecurity you’ve been trying to ignore. But Rafe’s not having it—not when you’ve never looked more beautiful to him.

⸻

You should’ve been excited.

It had been months since you and Rafe had gone out—like really out, somewhere nice, somewhere that didn’t require packing snacks and extra diapers. When the wedding invitation came in the mail, he grinned like a kid. “We’re going,” he said, already setting it on the fridge. “Mia and Jace can stay with my sister. You and me—just us.”

And it sounded perfect. Until you had to find something to wear.

The first dress you tried on barely zipped. The second clung to every part of you that still didn’t feel like yours. By the third, you were blinking back tears in the dressing room, hands trembling as you tugged at the fabric.

Your body had grown two babies. It had been stretched, softened, changed—and most days, you were proud of it. But not here. Not under the fluorescent lights, with Rafe waiting outside, hopeful and smiling like this was supposed to be fun.

You cracked open the door.

He stood up immediately, eyes lighting up like they always did when he saw you. But the second your arms crossed over your chest, his smile faltered.

“Baby,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “I look terrible.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do, Rafe. None of these fit right. I hate the way I look—I just… I don’t feel like myself.”

He was quiet for a second. Then, without asking, he pushed open the door the rest of the way and came inside. His hands found your waist, rough fingers brushing against the curve of your stomach.

“You feel like you to me.”

Your throat tightened.

“I mean it,” he said, voice softer now. “You think I care that your body changed? I watched you carry our babies. I watched you wake up every night, feed them, rock them, love them when you could barely keep your eyes open. You think I look at you and see anything but the strongest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known?”

You looked down, tears blurring the cheap tile under your feet.

His thumb brushed your cheek. “I know it’s hard. I know it’s different now. But it’s still you. You’re still my girl.”

A breath caught in your chest.

“I love you,” he said. “All of you. Always.”

And maybe it wasn’t the dress. Maybe it wasn’t your body. Maybe it was just the pressure to feel like everything was back to normal when your whole world had changed. But with Rafe’s arms around you, forehead pressed to yours, something inside you softened.

You ended up picking a dress you hadn’t expected to like. A soft navy blue one that flowed where it needed to and hugged where it didn’t hurt to be held. Rafe’s eyes practically bugged out when you stepped out of the store in it.

“You’re gonna ruin me in that,” he murmured, hand resting on your lower back like he couldn’t help himself.

That night, he zipped it up slow, whispering praises into your neck, kissing every inch of skin he could reach.

And when you walked into the wedding, hand in hand, his pride was louder than anything you wore.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this one’s for the girlies who cried in a Target dressing room and still made it to the event!! blue collar!rafe doesn’t give a damn about stretch marks or soft tummies—he just wants his girl to feel like the goddess she is. let him hype you up and zip your dress, ok?? also rafe seeing you in that navy gown? he’s not surviving the night.

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@lolabunnyworldss @superlegend216

[inkedinshadows]

And Soon They Were Three

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

Summary: You're waiting for Cassian to come back home and give him news that will change your lives.

Warnings: fluff

Word count: 1.5k

Main masterlist | Week Masterlist | Cassian Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

You were fidgety, unable to keep your hands still for more than a minute. If you sat down and tried to calm yourself, all it took was a quiet sound—a leaking faucet, a bird singing outside, hurried steps on the street—and you were up and on the move again. Every noise made you think Cassian was about to open the door and walk in, even though you knew it wasn't him.

He'd told you the night before that he would leave early and come back late. He was already gone when you woke up, but a blueberry muffin was waiting for you on the kitchen table, like every time he had to leave before you got up. He still refused to tell you where he got them from.

But that morning, the usual delicious fragrance made you race to the bathroom before you could even step into the kitchen. Fortunately, it passed quickly, and you dared to attempt a bite, only to devour the muffin once you realized you felt fine. It was your favorite flavor, after all.

The day went by quickly, yet not quickly enough. You had an appointment with Madja in the morning, and since then, you had been counting down the minutes until Cassian's return.

You cleaned the whole house, but it wasn't enough to dim your excitement. You tried to read, but you couldn't focus on the words and had to reread the same page four times before you gave up and opted for a stroll along the Sidra. It didn't help much, though, and you spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between pacing aimlessly and sitting for only a few seconds at a time until you decided you might as well start making dinner.

Right at that moment, you heard the click of a key turning in the lock and the front door opened.

“Sweetheart, I'm…”

You didn't give Cassian time to even finish the sentence before you raced out of the kitchen and straight into his arms.

“...home,” he finished with a chuckle as he hugged you back. He kissed the top of your head. “Hello, sweetheart. Did I miss something? Or are you just really happy to see me?”

You pulled back, a large smile plastered on your face. “I have to tell you something.”

Cassian lifted his brows. He took in your expression and the excitement that seemed to radiate off you in waves.

“Well,” he said with his usual confident, charming smile, “at least I know it's good news.”

At your enthusiastic nod, he gave you a questioning look. “Are you going to tell me or…?”

He left the question hanging, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to the couch. “I think you'll want to sit down for this.”

You could sense his growing curiosity as he sat on the edge of the couch.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “So what is it?”

You stood in front of him, and suddenly, all the ways you had planned to give him the news were gone, completely forgotten, as you blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”

Cassian stared at you for a moment, then his eyes slowly widened. “Wait, what?”

You had thought of different puns and jokes to tell him and let him figure it out on his own, but it was too late now. You only nodded and repeated it, a wide grin on your face. “I’m pregnant, Cass.”

His shocked expression was soon replaced by a huge smile, as if hearing it again was all he needed to truly understand what you were saying, to be sure that you weren’t just messing with him.

He lunged forward, almost tackling you to the ground in the process of wrapping his arms around you and spinning you around. His boisterous laugh rang loud in your ears, but you could only laugh with him.

“I’m going to be a father!” He peppered your face with kisses, his stubble tickling your skin. “Can you believe it, sweetheart? We’re going to be parents!”

You were about to answer that no, you couldn’t believe it. Madja had confirmed it that morning, and though you had been—and still were—overjoyed, it still didn’t feel real. After all the time spent trying, it was finally happening.

But Cassian's excitement had reached a whole new level. He didn't give you time to respond as he set you back on your feet—your head slightly dizzy—and a moment later, he was at the window. He yanked it open and leaned out, his wings folded but still as wide as the frame.

“I'm going to be a father!” he shouted to the world outside. “My mate's pregnant! We're going to be parents!”

“Cass…” you chuckled, eyes soft and heart full as you watched your mate shout his joy to anyone passing by.

“What?” He turned back to you and in just two long strides, he was at your side again. He cupped your face and pressed a loud kiss to your lips before pulling you into his arms. “Oh, this is wonderful! Parents, sweetheart. Can you believe it?”

You covered the broad hand he’d placed over your still-flat stomach with yours.

A baby. There was a baby slowly growing inside you right as you stood there—one you and Cassian had created, one you had wished and waited for, for so long. And now, in just a few months, the wait would be over, and you would finally be able to hold your baby. Your child.

The more you repeated it in your head, the more it began to feel real.

“Barely,” you finally answered. You looked up at him, meeting his loving gaze as you both smiled. “I’ve never seen you this happy, my love.”

He seemed to almost vibrate with joy, and he was more beautiful than ever. Your mate, your love—and soon, the father of your child.

“Of course I am,” he replied instantly. “We’ve wanted a child for so long, and now the Mother has blessed us with one.”

Taking a step back, he knelt in front of you. His hands settled on your hips, and he leaned in close, lips brushing against your shirt.

“Do you know that, little one?” he murmured. “We can't wait for you to arrive.”

Your heart was so full of love for the male in front of you that it felt like it might burst. There couldn't possibly be enough space in your chest, or in your whole body, to contain all of it.

“Cass…” you said quietly. You buried your fingers in his hair, gently stroking it as tears welled in your eyes. “I don't think the baby can hear you yet.”

Cassian shrugged. “I don't care. I want them to know that they are already loved.”

His mouth was so close to your shirt that you could feel his warm breath through the thin fabric as he added, “You hear that? Mama and Dada already love you, little one.”

He lifted the hem of your shirt, just enough to press a kiss to your bare stomach before rising again. His grin faltered when he noticed the tears now rolling down your cheeks, but you smiled at him.

You looped your arms around him and leaned up to kiss him. It was gentle, tender, an attempt to show him just how much he and this moment meant to you, though you knew no words or gesture could ever be enough.

“I love you,” you murmured when you pulled back and rested your head on his chest. “You're going to be a great father.”

His arms wrapped around you, squeezing you against him. You felt his lips press to your temple, then your hair.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered as he tucked you under his chin. “And I'll try. I'll try to be the best father I can for our child. I promise.”

You wanted to tell him that he didn't need to promise anything, that he didn't even need to try. He was already so good with children. He'd be even better with his own.

But the words slipped away.

All you could do was breathe in the moment and let the realization slowly settle.

You were pregnant. You were going to have a baby. You were about to have the family you and Cassian had always dreamed of.

You'd have to tell your families, you knew that. And the next months wouldn't be perfect or easy. But for now, you could just enjoy the beginning of this journey with the person you loved the most.

You snuggled closer to Cassian, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent—the one you had come to associate not just with him, but with home. He held you tighter, his heartbeat a steady, soothing rhythm against your ear.

The two of you stood in the middle of the living room—a home that would soon be filled with even more love.

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

[lexiputellas]

Not A Date from the broken vows series

The house was finally quiet.

Upstairs, Dolores was reading to Iris in a slow, gentle voice that drifted down the stairs. You couldn’t make out the words, but the cadence was soothing. Nora had stopped giggling ten minutes ago. You pictured her passed out on top of her comforter, tangled in glittery gift bags and torn wrapping paper, still wearing the paper crown someone had handed her during cake.

You stood barefoot in the kitchen, wine in hand, every bone in your body humming with exhaustion. That specific post-birthday-party fatigue: part joy, part chaos hangover, part identity crisis.

Then your phone buzzed on the counter.

@ elliemercer:

So. Did you survive?

You smiled. For the first time today, it wasn’t polite or forced. It just happened.

You:

Barely.

You took a sip of wine. Let it rest on your tongue.

Another buzz.

@ elliemercer:

Do you want to have a drink?

You choked. Actually choked. Set the glass down too hard and backed away from it like it had bitten you.

You stared at your phone for a full five seconds, frozen.

Oh my god.

You turned in a slow circle in the middle of the kitchen.

She saw me today. I had a ‘Happy Birthday’ sticker on my boobs. There was frosting on my sleeve.

You grabbed the fridge handle. Opened it. Closed it. Opened it again and stared at an expired yogurt like it might answer for your entire romantic past.

Okay. It’s just a drink. It’s not a date. Not a thing. Just… a casual beverage.

You paused. Voice quieter.

She’s not Alexia.

Your eyes flicked to the counter. You could still see the knife Alexia used to slice the cake earlier. Her bracelets had clinked against the countertop. She’d looked tired. Focused. Like this wasn’t strange. Like she hadn’t ripped your whole life apart just weeks ago, like cutting cake in your kitchen was still her place to be.

You shook your head, pressing your palms to your cheeks.

No. No, no, no. I haven’t shaved.

Wait. I’m lasered. That’s why I haven’t shaved. I’m smooth like a marble countertop. That’s right. I’m unstoppable.

Wait, why am I thinking that? I’m not having sex with her. Or—maybe I will? No. I’m not.

You:

Where?

The answer came quickly.

@ elliemercer:

I know a bar. I think you’d like it.

Your heart gave a single, measured thump. Not panic. Not fear. Something quieter. Older.

You:

Okay. I’ll meet you there. In 40 minutes?

@ elliemercer:

I’ll be waiting.

You stared at the screen like it might dissolve if you blinked, especially after she shared the name of the place.

Then you bolted into motion.

Upstairs, everything was soft and dark. You passed the girls rooms quietly, stepping lightly. Nora was already out cold, diagonally across her bed, clutching a new toy and drooling a little. You smiled, kissed the top of her head.

Then you crossed to Iris’s room. The door was half-open. A nightlight threw golden, animal-shaped shadows on the walls. Dolores sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting gently on Iris’s back, a book closed on her lap. She looked up as you stepped in.

I’m heading out, you whispered.

Dolores gave you a slow once-over, taking in your bare feet, your tangled hair, the wild panic probably still leaking from your eyes. She didn’t ask. Just nodded.

You leaned down, kissed Iris’s forehead. Her breath was warm. She made a small, content sound and rolled onto her side.

Thank you, you whispered.

Dolores smiled softly. Have fun.

You slipped out of the room, pulled the door almost shut, and padded into your bedroom.

The closet lights flicked on as you stepped in. Everything looked too polished—too calm compared to the chaos in your chest.

You reached for the black high-waisted jeans. The ones that fit just right, hugging all the places that needed hugging. Then pulled on the soft black off-the-shoulder top, the one that made your collarbone look like something worth photographing.

You stood in front of the mirror and tried different earrings. Sprayed perfume—wrists, neck. Changed your bag twice before settling on the small black baguette slung effortlessly over your shoulder. Slipped on silver heels that gleamed even in the closet light.

You looked in the mirror one last time. Hair loose. Lips tinted. Skin flushed with adrenaline and maybe fear.

Okay. I look like someone who forgot how to flirt but accidentally put together a really hot outfit.

A notification buzzed, it’d the car you had requested. Marco. Black BMW.

You clicked off the lights and tiptoed downstairs, heels now clicking softly against the hardwood. You didn’t call out again. Just opened the door and stepped into the night.

The car was parked by the curb, windows slightly fogged, headlights dimmed. You crossed the lawn slowly, heart rattling in your ribs like it was trying to warn you.

You pulled the door open, slid in, gave the driver your best attempt at casual.

The city moved around you. Lights flashing past the windows. Perfume rising from your skin. Pulse steady but sharp.

You leaned your head back and whispered, not to the driver, not even to yourself really—just to the space.

What the hell am I doing?

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 4┃ Not Until You Beg

Male reader x Ningning x Giselle

Word count: 12k Tags: threesome, BDSM, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

I didn’t text her first.

I could’ve. Probably should’ve. But by the time I made it halfway back through the city, I’d already been home. Showered. Changed. Sat on the edge of my bed for half an hour doing nothing but thinking.

Then I walked. Nowhere in particular. Around the block. Then down another. Then through a few more I didn’t recognize. Like I was waiting for my body to make a decision my brain hadn’t caught up to.

It was already dark when I stopped walking.

And found myself standing in front of her building, staring at the buzzer like it was gonna tell me if this was a good idea.

I pressed it.

Two rings. Then silence.

Then: the soft buzz of the door unlocking.

I didn’t need to ask if she knew who it was.

The elevator ride was fast. Too fast. I could feel my pulse behind my teeth. There wasn’t a plan. I just needed to see her. Not even to explain.

Just to exist in the same room again.

The hallway looked the same. Polished floors. Dim lighting. Cold and expensive. I reached the door and lifted my hand to knock.

It opened before I could.

But it wasn’t Giselle.

Winter stood in the doorway.

She was barefoot, wearing loose sweats and a cropped hoodie, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug. Her eyes landed on me, unblinking, calm.

Neither of us said anything.

Then her gaze slid over my shoulder, like she was checking for cameras.

She stepped aside.

“Come in,” she said.

I hesitated.

Then stepped in.

The apartment was quiet.

Winter walked past me, taking a sip from her mug. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t smirk or give me a look.

She just said, "She's in her room," then padded down the hall and disappeared without another word.

A few seconds later, Giselle appeared from around the corner, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, eyes tired but alert.

She stopped when she saw me.

We looked at each other for a second. No hello. No smile. Just silence.

Then she stepped forward.

And let me stay.

She didn’t ask me to sit. I didn’t take my shoes off. I just stood there while she walked to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and sipped.

“Long night?” she said finally.

I swallowed. “You could say that.”

She nodded once. Then turned, walked to the bed, and sat. She pulled one leg under the other, resting her arm along the back of the mattress like she hadn’t just asked something that stuck in the air like smoke.

“You gonna sit, or?”

I moved.

Dropped onto the mattress beside her, close but not touching. She didn’t lean away.

She watched me like she always did — eyes steady, curious, a little tired, a little distant.

“You wanna talk?” I asked.

She exhaled. Not quite a laugh. More of a breath with shape.

“I don’t know what I want,” she said.

“Then why did you let me in?”

Her fingers curled against the mattress.

"I'm not sure yet," she said.

Then she looked away, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Silence again. Not comfortable. Not cruel. Just full of things neither of us were ready to admit.

I leaned back, palms pressed to the edge of the mattress. “It’s not nothing, you know.”

Giselle didn’t look at me. “What’s not?”

“Whatever this is.”

She snorted. “So now we’re calling it this?”

“I don’t have a better word.”

“I don’t either.”

Her voice dropped on the last line like it surprised her—like admitting she didn’t have control over the narrative hurt more than anything I could’ve said.

She pulled her leg tighter under herself and rubbed a thumb across the seam of her sleeve.

“I thought I’d feel different by now,” she said.

“About what?”

“You.”

My throat stopped. I waited for the punchline. A laugh. A cold edge. Something.

But she didn’t deliver it.

“I thought maybe if we had sex, it would be out of my system,” she said. “I’d be able to move on. Blame the tension. Call it a moment.”

“And now?”

Her eyes finally met mine. “Now it’s worse.”

I exhaled. Something in me wanted to flinch. But not out of guilt. Just the weight of it.

She sighed and looked down, tracing the hem of her hoodie.

“I’m not trying to make this a thing,” she said quickly, like she regretted every word she’d said in the last five minutes. “I don’t do things. Not like this.”

“I don’t either.”

She gave me a side glance. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just…” She paused, biting the inside of her cheek. “You came back. That already makes you different.”

I didn’t answer right away.

“You think I’m some romantic?” I said finally.

“I don’t know what you are,” she said. “But I keep trying to figure it out.”

“Why?”

Her jaw tightened. “Because I don’t want to be wrong about you.”

That one landed.

I looked down at my hands, flexed them slowly. They still felt like mine. But something about the way she was watching me made me feel like they were on display.

Giselle’s voice softened. “You don’t let people in easily, do you?”

“No.”

“So why me?”

That question came quiet, but it was the hardest one yet.

And I didn’t have an answer. Not one I could say out loud.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re not here because you got bored.”

“No.”

“You’re not here because you miss the sex.”

“I’m here,” I said, turning to her. “Because I'm confused about us.”

That cracked her, just a little.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t move. But her breath changed. Her hand curled tighter in the fabric of her hoodie. And for a second, she just sat there with that pain in her chest like she didn’t know where to put it.

“Did you think about me?” she asked, even quieter now.

I hesitated.

“After,” I said. “Not during.”

She nodded. Once. Twice. Like she’d expected it but still didn’t like how it felt.

“I didn’t think I’d care,” she said. “I told myself it was just fun. Something I could control.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.” she snapped

I watched her for a long time. No comeback. No comfort. Just presence.

She looked at me again.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Not knowing where I stand. Not knowing where you do.”

I shifted a little closer. Not touching her yet. Just near enough to feel her breath hitch.

“You want to know the truth?” I asked.

“No,” she said. Then: “Yeah.”

I nodded.

“I didn’t come here because I knew what to say. Or because I had a plan. I came here because I couldn’t stay away.”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

Not yet.

She sat with that for a moment — what I’d just said. That I couldn’t stay away.

Then she blinked, like waking from her own thoughts, and looked at me again.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Okay?”

She nodded, slowly. “I don’t know what this is. Or what it’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t either.”

She swallowed. Her voice was soft, but steady now. “And I don’t want to screw it up by trying to define it too early.”

I nodded once. Let her talk.

“I’m confused,” she admitted. “That’s the truth. I like having you around. I like the way you look at me. I like the way you fuck me.”

That made my breath catch, but I didn’t interrupt.

She kept going.

“But I also like not being tied down to a label. Not yet. Not when I’m still figuring myself out.”

There was no apology in her tone. Just honesty. Like she was laying out a map neither of us had drawn yet.

“So we’re not together,” she said, more to herself than me. “But we’re something.”

“I can live with that,” I said.

She looked at me again — this time longer.

“And if something happens with someone else?” she asked.

My heart didn’t jump. I’d already braced for this.

“I won’t lie to you,” I said. “But I also won’t pretend it wouldn’t mean something if you asked me not to.”

She nodded again.

“I’m not ready to ask,” she said. “Not yet.”

That cracked something deeper. But it wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold.

It was permission.

“I don’t want to own you,” she added, quieter now. “I just don’t want to pretend I don’t care, either.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Good.” Her eyes met mine. “Then let’s just go with it. Whatever this is. However long it lasts.”

There wasn’t a perfect response. So I didn’t give one. I just looked at her, took her in — the skin under the hoodie, the mess of her hair, the way her fingers picked at the mattress even when she tried to sound calm.

I leaned forward.

And kissed her.

Not rushed. Not demanding.

Just lips on lips. Warm. Slow. Honest.

She kissed back like she meant it. Like this wasn’t closure, but the kind of beginning that doesn’t come with a name.

When we pulled apart, she was smiling. Barely.

And I could feel the pulse of something just under the surface. Something we weren’t ready to name — but weren’t going to ignore.

The kiss lingered in the space between us even after we pulled apart. There was no music, no line to close the scene. Just the silence, warm and fragile, like a blanket we hadn’t decided to share yet.

Giselle exhaled through her nose. Almost a laugh. She didn’t smile, not really. But her hand drifted toward mine and paused there, not quite touching.

Then—

“Mylooo.”

The name came floating through the hallway, singsong and light.

Giselle stiffened instantly.

I turned my head toward the sound, pulse tightening before I even saw her.

The door creaked open with no knock, no announcement.

Ningning leaned against the frame like it was hers. She was barefoot, wearing nothing but a long white tee that fell halfway down her thighs. Hair down, damp at the ends. No makeup. Just flushed cheeks and that slow, feline smirk.

“Well, well,” she said, tilting her head. “Look who came back.”

Giselle’s voice came sharp. “He was invited.”

Ningning didn’t flinch. She stepped inside, walked like she was gliding — not quite bouncing, but close. There was something too casual in the way she moved. Like she was here for fun. But not just that.

Her eyes went straight to me.

“I missed you,” she said, with a pout that didn’t touch her eyes.

“Didn’t realize I was missed,” I said, careful.

“Oh, you were,” she said, brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“That was kind of the point,” Giselle muttered under her breath.

Ningning turned to her with an exaggerated look of surprise. “Still mad at me for stealing your toy?”

Giselle didn’t rise to it immediately. She just leaned back, arms crossed over her chest. “You didn’t steal anything. He makes his own choices.”

Ningning grinned. “Exactly. And he chose well.”

Mylo. Neutral. Stay neutral.

I cleared my throat. “You two always talk like this?”

Giselle said nothing.

Ningning walked closer to the bed and sat — not beside me, but close. Her bare leg grazed mine. Her skin was warm.

“Only when we’re sharing,” she said.

Giselle’s jaw twitched.

She looked at Ningning. “You’re not even pretending to be subtle.”

“Why should I?” she said, shrugging. “He already knows what I sound like when I scream.”

That hit harder than I expected.

Giselle’s stare didn’t break. But her expression dropped a degree colder.

“And you know what I sound like when I don’t,” she said calmly.

Ningning’s grin faltered. Just a flicker.

She blinked, then laughed. “Touché.”

The air was a heavy. Not angry. Not yet. But charged in a way that said: one wrong word and this turns into something else entirely.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to breathe normally. Ningning smelled like coconut body wash and heat. Giselle still smelled like her sheets. Like me.

“Why are you here?” Giselle asked, her tone neutral, her posture not.

Ningning stretched her arms up in a dramatic yawn. “I was bored. Heard voices. Thought I’d say hi.”

“You never just say hi.”

“True,” she said, twirling a piece of hair. “But tonight I might surprise you.”

She turned to me again.

“You seem tense,” she said, voice softer now. “Need a distraction?”

I didn’t answer. My eyes flicked to Giselle, whose silence was loud enough to register as its own response.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Oh,” Ningning said, tilting her head. “That’s a shame.”

She leaned closer, almost whispering now. “You know, I was thinking about you last night.”

“Don’t,” Giselle warned.

Ningning grinned wider. “Just saying. He made an impression.”

“You think this is cute?”

“Not really. I think it’s fun.”

I looked between them. Giselle, clenched jaw and quiet fury. Ningning, all innocent malice wrapped in sugar.

And me, dead center.

“You want me to leave?” I asked Giselle, gently.

“No.” she said immediately.

Ningning raised her brows. “Wow. That was fast.”

Giselle turned to her. “You want to start a fight?”

“Nope.” Ningning leaned back on her hands, her shirt riding high on her thighs. “But I’d love to finish one.”

Neither of them spoke after that.

It wasn’t just quiet anymore.

It was the kind of still that only came before a storm.

Ningning didn’t move.

She was still perched on the edge of the bed like it was hers, one knee folded under her, the other dangling just enough to brush against my shin. Casual. Deliberate. That look in her eye like she was toying with something breakable just to see when it’d crack.

Giselle hadn’t changed position either. But everything about her posture said I see you. The line of her spine. The stillness in her jaw. The way her eyes kept dropping to Ningning’s leg like it had no business being that close.

“Funny thing about you,” Ningning said, turning to me again. “You don’t act like most guys.”

I kept my voice even. “Yeah?”

“Most guys wouldn’t survive one night here without getting all…” She twirled her finger vaguely in the air. “Messy.”

Giselle’s voice came flat. “He’s not here for your commentary.”

“I didn’t see a sign-up sheet yet.” Ningning replied sweetly.

“You came to say hi,” Giselle said. “You’ve said it.”

Ningning looked at her, unblinking. “I’m staying.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. It was a challenge.

Giselle didn’t flinch. “It’s my room.”

“And he’s your guest?” Ningning tilted her head toward me. “Or are we still pretending this house runs on rules?”

Neither of them looked at me.

It was like I’d stopped being the point and started being the prize.

“Let her stay,” I said.

Giselle turned to me, slowly. Not mad. Just… measuring. Like she was trying to decide if that was weakness or strategy.

“You sure?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “But I want to see what happens.”

Ningning smiled like she’d already won something.

She stood and walked over to Giselle’s dresser, started rifling through the top drawer like she lived there. Pulled out a piece of gum, popped it in her mouth, and chewed slowly.

“Your taste in underwear has improved,” she said over her shoulder.

Giselle raised an eyebrow. “Why? Hoping to borrow a pair?”

Ningning grinned and let the drawer slide shut. Then she turned and faced both of us again.

“I’m not here to steal,” she said. “I’m just bored.”

She sat down again—this time on the other side of me. So now I was flanked. One girl on each side. Neither touching. Both watching.

My mouth was dry.

“So,” Ningning said, stretching again, “are we just gonna sit here pretending this isn’t weird?”

“Yes,” Giselle answered.

“Shame.”

A long pause.

Then Ningning leaned in, her voice low in my ear. “Did she make you beg?”

Giselle sat up straighter.

“I mean, she looks like the type,” Ningning continued. “All soft at first, then suddenly you’re the one on your knees.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.

Giselle’s face didn’t change.

But her hand reached behind her and tugged her pillow onto her lap like a shield.

Ningning didn’t miss it.

“She told me you were good.” she whispered.

That pulled my attention.

I turned to Giselle, slow. “You told her?”

Giselle didn’t blink. “She wouldn’t stop asking.”

“That’s not a no.” Ningning said brightly.

The air got heavier. Tighter. Like all it would take is one touch and the whole thing would ignite.

“I’m gonna make tea,” Giselle said suddenly, standing up. “Either of you want some?”

“No thanks,” I said.

“Sure,” Ningning chimed.

Giselle rolled her eyes but left the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Ningning turned to me, voice lower now. No smile.

“She’s not okay.”

I blinked. “What?”

“She’s pretending she is. But she’s not.”

“She said—”

“I know what she said. I also know what she looks like when she’s hurt.”

My voice dropped. “And what’s this? Helping?”

“Maybe.” Ningning shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just curious what you’ll do when we finally stop pretending we don’t want the same thing.”

I stared at her.

And she smiled, slow and wicked.

Ningning stayed close.

Too close.

She didn’t touch me, but everything about her presence screamed intentional. Her thigh rested just shy of mine. Her shoulder turned toward me, open, relaxed. Like if I leaned even slightly, I’d fall into her orbit.

“She’s strong, you know,” she said, voice softer now. “Giselle.”

I nodded.

“But not invincible.”

Her gum clicked once. Then silence.

The door creaked a moment later, and Giselle returned with a single mug — hers.

She didn’t ask why Ningning hadn’t followed her.

Didn’t ask what was said.

She just walked back to the bed and stood in front of us, taking a long sip of whatever was steaming in the ceramic.

Then, quietly: “She’s still here?”

Ningning smiled. “You miss me already?”

Giselle didn’t answer. She set her mug down on the nightstand, then sat. Right next to me. Her hip brushed mine. It wasn’t subtle.

And suddenly, I was caught again. Giselle on my right. Ningning on my left. Both sitting too close. Both pretending they weren’t measuring me, but measuring each other.

“You ever feel like you’re in the middle of something?” I muttered.

“Usually means things are about to get interesting.” Giselle replied smoothly.

Ningning gave her a look. “You’re getting territorial.”

“Am I?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t have to. You’re still in my room.”

“Maybe your room is the most interesting place in the house.”

“Or maybe you just like an audience.”

That one landed.

But Ningning didn’t back down.

She looked at me, biting her lip like she was thinking about saying something worse.

Instead, she leaned in and whispered, “You’re real quiet for a guy caught between two girls.”

“I’m processing,” I said.

“Don’t take too long,” she said. “You might miss the fun part.”

I looked at her. Then at Giselle.

And I could feel it — the heat rising, slow and patient. Like the room itself had started listening.

Giselle leaned forward and grabbed the mug again, wrapping her fingers around the handle.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“I’m good here,” Ningning replied, stretching her legs out across the floor like she owned the space. “Unless Mylo wants me to go.”

Their eyes both found me.

And for a second, I wasn’t sure whose move it was.

But I could feel the pulse in my neck. The air around all three of us pulling tighter.

“I don’t want a fight,” I said.

“Then don’t start one,” Ningning said.

“I won't.” I said, turning to Giselle.

But Giselle’s expression had changed. It wasn’t angry, just… aware.

Her eyes met mine, and there was something new there. Not fear. Not jealousy. Just quiet understanding.

And under it — a question she hadn’t asked yet. You want this? You want her? I didn’t answer it out loud. But I think she saw it in my face. Her throat bobbed once, then she exhaled. And when she set the mug down again, her hand brushed mine.

Not a grab. Not a challenge. Just a reminder that she was here, that I wasn’t alone in this. And that maybe… neither was she.

The room felt warmer now.

Not just body heat. Something else. Tension crawling along the floorboards. Every breath between us a thread waiting to snap.

Giselle’s hand still rested near mine, fingers not quite touching, and on the other side, Ningning shifted closer—just enough to let her bare thigh press against mine.

They didn’t look at each other. But I could feel the weight of them on either side of me, gravity pulling in both directions.

Then Ningning smiled, slow and teasing.

“Okay,” she said softly, “I’ve been good. I haven’t touched.”

She leaned in, breath brushing my ear.

“But I’m done being good.”

Her lips grazed the shell of it. Not a kiss. Just the suggestion of one. Her hand slid to my knee and stayed there, warm and bold.

Giselle moved instantly.

Not rough, not loud—just decisive. Her fingers laced into mine, pulled my hand to her thigh, where her skin was already hot.

“He’s not yours,” she said coolly.

Ningning’s eyes flicked down. “Doesn’t seem like he’s yours either.”

“He came here for me.”

“And stayed for me.”

“Funny,” Giselle said, “I don’t remember him moaning your name last night.”

“Oh?” Ningning turned to me. “You moan for her?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

She was already climbing into my lap.

Her hands slid up my chest, smooth and slow. She straddled me without hesitation, grinding once—slow enough to tease, firm enough to be felt.

But Giselle didn’t back down.

She leaned in from the other side, her lips grazing my neck as her fingers dipped under the hem of my shirt.

“Let’s see if you’re still so cocky when you’re crying under my mouth,” she murmured against my skin, and I shivered.

Ningning laughed. “Babe, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Her tongue traced my collarbone. And then—Their mouths met right there.

Giselle leaned over me and kissed Ningning hard, open-mouthed, aggressive. Not for her. Not for passion.

For me.

A show of force.

Ningning moaned into it, not backing down. Her hand dropped to my belt, tugged it open without asking. Her hips rocked forward as she kissed Giselle harder, nails dragging down my stomach.

I could barely breathe.

Giselle pulled back, breath shaky, and turned to me.

“Lie back.”

I obeyed.

They followed.

Ningning yanked my shirt off while Giselle stripped her own. Their hands moved fast, not clumsy—confident, practiced. Clothes disappeared like they’d done this a dozen times.

Only this time, it was for me.

And then Giselle was on her knees beside me, straddling my thigh, her lips dragging a hot trail down my chest.

Ningning grinned and climbed over me, facing the other way, her thighs caging my head. Her mouth met my cock just as Giselle’s tongue found my nipple.

I groaned—deep, guttural—fingers gripping the sheets.

They were in sync, but not gentle.

Ningning’s mouth was greedy, messy, stroking and sucking with zero pretense. She made noise on purpose—slurping, moaning, letting spit drip and drag down my shaft like she wanted Giselle to hear it.

Giselle bit my chest, not hard, just enough to leave a mark.

“You’re loud,” she said flatly.

“Jealous?” Ningning gasped.

“Focused.”

Then she shifted down, her tongue following the trail of skin Ningning wasn’t touching.

I was losing it.

Ningning's hand cupped my balls, rolling them gently as she bobbed deeper. Giselle’s mouth dragged down my stomach, teeth grazing just enough to pull a hiss from my throat.

I looked down—Two heads, pink and dark hair brushing against each other, mouths working opposite ends of me, completely focused. No hesitation. No shame. And both of them watching each other out of the corners of their eyes like they were keeping score.

I was going to lose it fast.

“Fuck—slow down,” I gasped.

“Make us,” Ningning said, pulling back with a wet pop.

Giselle just smirked.

And then she wrapped her mouth around the base of my cock while Ningning took the tip again, their tongues briefly brushing—fighting—for control. It was like they were trying to devour me from opposite ends.

Ningning moaned first. A little loud, a little performative. She popped off me with a gasp, slapped my cock against her cheek twice, then turned her face just enough to let the shaft smear against her lips.

“God, he’s throbbing,” she said with a breathless laugh. “You gonna let me win this one?”

“I don’t let anyone win,” Giselle snapped, and in one motion she slid her mouth all the way down my cock—past halfway, deeper, wetter, slow and brutal.

My whole body jolted.

“Fucking—Giselle—”

Her name spilled out without meaning to.

Ningning raised an eyebrow. “Round two, huh?”

She leaned in, licked up the underside of my cock where Giselle wasn’t, and then pulled the other girl’s hair aside to kiss her cheek as she bobbed up.

“You missed a spot.”

She dove back down.

Giselle didn’t yield.

Instead, she grabbed the base of me in one hand, stroked what Ningning couldn’t reach, and bit her lip as she whispered, “You’re drooling all over him.”

“I am.”

Ningning went deep again, this time moaning on purpose around me, fingers kneading my thighs, her other hand creeping up to cup my balls as she sucked hard—sloppy, loud, relentless.

Giselle dragged her tongue over what was left of my shaft, licking around Ningning’s lips, not even flinching when their mouths collided again on me.

The sounds were obscene. Wet and raw and constant. I was sweating, trembling. My fists curled in the sheets.

“You wanna cum already?” Giselle asked me, voice deceptively soft as she looked up, her lips slick.

I shook my head. Couldn’t speak.

“I think he does,” Ningning teased, pumping me twice, her wrist twisting with precision. “Look at him. He’s about to beg.”

“I don’t beg,” I growled.

“Maybe not,” Giselle said, mouth brushing my base again. “But you break.”

And then she sucked hard—just the base—at the same time Ningning swallowed me down, deep.

“Fuuuck—”

My hips twitched and they both felt it.

“Almost,” Ningning purred. “Someone’s close.”

Giselle didn’t stop.

She just squeezed tighter at the base, held me there with one hand, and took over completely—mouth gliding, lips tight, tongue working in cruel little flicks under the head.

Ningning backed off, eyes locked on me, watching every stutter in my breath.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered. “Let’s see whose mouth wins.”

Giselle looked up, never breaking rhythm.

My hips buckled.

“I’m—fuck—”

“No,” Giselle said, pulling off instantly, gripping my cock tight.

My head dropped back.

Painful denial.

“You don’t cum yet,” she said, stroking slow, mean.

Ningning smirked. “Aww. He was so close.”

Giselle tilted her head. “Good. He’s staying hard for round two.”

Ningning straddled my chest like a cat in heat—smirking, smug, her thighs pinning me down while her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt. The oversized tee she’d come in still clung to her hips, soaked through with sweat and tension, her nipples already hard under the thin cotton.

“I think I want to ride your face next,” she said playfully, leaning forward. “Think you can handle that, Mylo?”

She barely finished the sentence before Giselle yanked her back by the hair. Not rough. Not violent. Just… dominant.

Ningning gasped, not from pain—but shock.

Giselle’s grip was firm, the other hand sliding to her hip, spinning her off of me like she weighed nothing.

“Not yet,” Giselle said. “You’re forgetting who finishes first.”

“Excuse you?” Ningning snapped, but she was already on her back, legs tangled in the sheets.

Giselle didn’t answer.

She climbed on top of her.

One thigh between Ningning’s legs. One hand gripping her wrist and pinning it above her head. Her eyes, cool and focused, locked down like a predator who’d just lost patience.

“You want to be loud, Ning?” Giselle asked, lips hovering inches from her mouth. “Wanna act like you’re the one he wants?”

Ningning bared her teeth in a grin. “He came in my mouth last night.”

“And he fucked me raw the night before that.”

They were nose to nose now. Breath to breath, no laughter left, just electricity. And then—Giselle kissed her. Hard. Not sensual, not romantic. Claiming.

Ningning bucked against her, one hand trapped, the other scrambling to grab Giselle’s side—but she didn’t stop it. She moaned into the kiss like she’d been waiting for it, hips grinding up against Giselle’s thigh with something between frustration and heat.

When they finally broke apart, both of them panting, Giselle leaned in and whispered something I couldn’t hear.

Then she sat up, still straddling Ningning’s waist, and pulled her shirt over her head. No bra underneath. Her tits bounced free, sweat-slick and flushed, nipples hard as glass.

Ningning licked her lips.

“I hate you,” she muttered.

“No, you don’t,” Giselle said.

She reached over to the nightstand drawer.

I didn’t know what she was looking for.

Until I heard the jingle of metal.

Cuffs.

Real ones. Not fur-lined. Not decorative.

Stainless steel.

The sound made Ningning freeze—just for a second.

Then she smirked. “You’re seriously cuffing me?”

“You don’t get to make the rules tonight.”

“Giselle—”

“Hands. Up.”

She said it like a command, not a request.

And Ningning—bratty, cocky, untouchable Ningning—obeyed.

She lifted her arms over her head, wrists together.

Giselle snapped the cuffs on fast, locking them to the headboard with a flick of her wrist.

Then she looked down at Ningning, spread and restrained, shirt pushed up under her arms, her bare thighs squeezing together from anticipation.

She looked fucking ruined already.

And Giselle hadn’t even started.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “You’ll still get his cock.”

Then she turned to me.

“But not until you beg for it.”

Ningning snarled. “Fuck you.”

Giselle laughed. “Later, maybe.”

She slipped down her own panties, tossed them aside, and sank lower between Ningning’s thighs. The younger girl shuddered, ankles flexing as Giselle kissed her inner thigh—once, twice—then bit it just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck—Giselle—”

“Shh,” she said.

Her tongue slid over Ningning’s folds in one long, hot stroke. Ningning moaned, loud. Giselle did it again. Then sucked. Then licked faster.

Ningning’s back arched, fists clenched in the cuffs, and she let out a string of breathless whimpers that barely formed words.

“Oh my god—fuck—fuck, right there—”

Giselle didn’t let up.

She gripped her thighs and spread her wider, tongue working in circles, then flicks, then deep strokes that made Ningning gasp and writhe.

“Fuck—Giselle—I’m—”

“No,” Giselle said, pulling back instantly. “Not yet.”

“Giselle—please—don’t—fuck—don’t stop—”

“You want to cum?” Giselle asked, eyes gleaming.

Ningning nodded furiously. “Yes—fuck—yes—please—”

“Beg better.”

“Giselle—please—I need it—need your tongue—please—fuck—just let me cum—”

Giselle went back in, tongue relentless, mouth tight around her clit.

Ningning came like a fountain—back arched, legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry that broke into a sob.

Giselle didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

She held Ningning’s hips down and licked her through it, over and over, until she was jerking, twitching, gasping for air. And still cuffed. Still helpless.

When she finally stopped, Giselle sat up, mouth slick, and turned to me.

“She’s not done,” she said.

Then she reached for the rope.

Ningning let out a shaky breath. Her legs trembled. Her chest rose in ragged bursts. But her eyes—red, wet, wide—were still defiant.

Still burning.

“I said I’d make her beg,” Giselle murmured, as much to herself as to me.

She turned to the nightstand and unspooled the rope in slow, fluid movements—knots already half-formed, like she’d done this before. Like she had planned to do this again.

“Come here,” she said to me without looking.

I moved. Silently. Kneeling beside the bed as the heat off Ningning’s body reached me in waves. Her skin was glowing. Her arms still pinned above her, wrists cuffed to the headboard. Her pussy was soaked—spread, twitching, pink and sensitive as hell. And her voice was hoarse from the moaning.

“You’re gonna help,” Giselle said, passing me one end of the rope. “Lift her leg.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I hooked my hands under Ningning’s thigh and pulled it up, bent and open.

Giselle looped the rope around her ankle, quick and snug, tying it to the side of the frame with a flourish. Then she did the same to the other—until Ningning was bound open, her knees parted wide, arms still cuffed, body completely exposed between us.

She squirmed, pulling against the restraints.

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “You guys are—fuck—”

“Quiet,” Giselle said.

She moved between her legs again. Her fingers ran down the inside of Ningning’s thighs, featherlight, teasing.

“You’re gonna cum for him this time,” Giselle said, glancing back at me. “You’re gonna let him watch every second of it.”

I swallowed. My cock throbbed. Just seeing her like this—splayed out, dripping, gasping—was enough to make my head spin.

“She’s yours for now,” Giselle added, crawling backward on her knees to make room. “But keep her begging.”

I leaned over her.

Ningning’s eyes met mine, wide and wet. Her bottom lip trembled.

“Mylo,” she whispered. “Please—touch me—I need it—I can’t—”

I slipped two fingers inside her without a word.

She screamed.

Her body arched so violently the headboard thudded against the wall. Her back bowed, her arms trembling in the cuffs.

“AHHH—FUCK—YES!”

She clenched hard around my fingers. Still so tight. Still fluttering from that last orgasm.

I stroked inside her—deep, firm, curving just enough to brush that spot that made her wail.

“YES—oh my god—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop!”

I didn’t.

I pumped harder. My palm slapped her clit with every thrust, wet and loud and nasty. Her body fought the restraints like she was trying to throw herself into me.

Her legs trembled violently.

She gasped.

“I'm—I’m gonna—Mylo—fuck I’m gonna—”

I stopped.

Dead still.

Two fingers inside her. One second away from the edge.

She screamed.

“NO! Mylo—fuck—you asshole!”

Giselle smirked behind me.

“Aw. Poor thing.”

“She’s shaking,” I said, pulling out just enough to feel her clamp down, desperate.

“Give her a break?” Giselle teased. “Or make her work for it?”

I looked at Ningning.

Her head was thrown back, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.

And still—still—she looked cocky.

Just barely.

“Work,” I said.

Giselle laughed. “Good choice.”

She reached between Ningning’s legs and gave one slow drag of her fingers over that soaked, trembling clit.

Ningning twitched.

“Beg again,” Giselle said softly.

Ningning growled. “You bitch—”

Slap. Not hard. But firm, right across her pussy. Ningning howled.

“AHHH—fuck—okay—okay please—please—let me cum—I’ll do anything—I swear—please Mylo—please—!”

I slipped my fingers back in. Deep. Giselle leaned in and sucked her clit. And Ningning exploded, she screamed so loud it cracked.

Her thighs shook so violently the rope tensed. Her body locked—completely—like a live wire, shuddering and gasping as the orgasm ripped through her like lightning.

“FUCK—FUCK—FUCK—YES—AAHHHHH—MYLO—!”

I didn’t stop.

Neither did Giselle.

We made her feel it. Made her ride it. Dragged it out until she was sobbing, soaked, babbling through clenched teeth. And still tied up. Still ours.

Giselle pulled off her with a pop and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Then looked at me.

“She’s ready for round two.”

She was still panting.

Wrists trembling against the cuffs. Hair stuck to her face. Sweat pooling at the bend of her neck. But Ningning’s eyes were already sparking again. That same wicked, bratty fire back in full blaze.

“She’s ready for round two,” Giselle said, wiping her mouth, cool and smug.

“Damn right I am,” Ningning hissed.

I looked at her—then back to Giselle. Although Giselle was cute when she was in charge, I wanted to see her beg.

“She’s earned something.”

Giselle tilted her head. “You think so?”

“I think,” I said, stepping closer, “you’re overdue.”

And before Giselle could reply, I leaned down and undid the cuffs.

Ningning’s wrists dropped limp at first, tingling, red-ringed. Then she pushed herself up. Slowly. Deliberately. Stretching her back, rolling her shoulders, cracking her neck like she was preparing for a fight.

Giselle raised an eyebrow.

“What now, baby?”

Ningning lunged.

She shoved Giselle back onto the bed in one smooth motion, knees straddling her hips, hands pinning her arms. The sheer force of it left Giselle breathless for a second—and Ningning grinned.

“My turn.”

Giselle tried to smirk. “You think I’ll just lie here?”

“You’re not gonna lie,” Ningning whispered. “You’re gonna squirm.”

Her hands shot down and yanked Giselle’s wrists up over her head, fast and sure, and before Giselle could twist away, click. She had grabbed the cuffs. One locked. Then the other.

Giselle gasped. “Are you fucking serious—”

“Dead serious,” Ningning purred. “You said I was loud, right?”

She leaned in, tongue trailing over Giselle’s collarbone.

“Let’s see how quiet you can be.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Ningning dragged her nails down Giselle’s sides—slow, hard enough to leave lines.

Giselle bit her lip.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Oh, babe,” Ningning said, dipping her head. “I never bluff.”

Then she bit her nipple.

Giselle yelped.

“Fuck—!”

“Oh, did that hurt?” Ningning teased, licking the tip.

“Do it again,” Giselle growled.

Ningning did. Harder.

I watched Giselle squirm—hips shifting, legs twisting, eyes squeezed shut, breath shaky.

“You’re dripping,” I said.

Ningning glanced down. “Oh, I know.”

She climbed off her chest, dropped between her thighs, and spread her open with two fingers.

Giselle moaned without meaning to.

“Still think I’m bluffing?” Ningning asked.

“Do your worst.”

“I plan to.”

She ducked her head and went to town.

Her tongue was everywhere. Sloppy, aggressive, fast—completely different from how Giselle had taken her apart. She wasn’t building pressure. She was breaking it.

Giselle bucked hard.

Her wrists strained against the cuffs. Her legs tried to close—but Ningning held them wide.

I stepped in. Grabbed one thigh and pinned it.

“Good boy,” Ningning said without looking.

I stroked Giselle’s leg, fingers grazing her skin, as Ningning ate her like a meal. Her mouth was loud—wet, messy, cruel. Every lick made Giselle twitch. Every suck made her whimper.

And then—

“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—”

Ningning stopped.

Dead silent.

Giselle growled.

“Don’t—fucking—edge me.”

Ningning grinned. “Now you get it.”

She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the vibrator.

“Wait—wait—” Giselle’s voice cracked. “Not that—”

“Oh yeah.”

The toy buzzed to life.

“Remember this?” Ningning said sweetly

Giselle thrashed. “You little—fuck—don’t you—”

Ningning pressed it right against her clit. Giselle screamed. Not loud. Violent.

Her body locked instantly, thighs trembling so hard I thought she’d tear the rope off the frame. The toy never left her—just constant, brutal vibration while Ningning licked right beside it.

“I hate you!” Giselle cried out.

“I know.”

“You bitch—fuck—Mylo—!”

I knelt beside them.

Held her hips down.

Watched her fall apart.

“Let it happen,” I said.

She did. And came like a storm.

Giselle was gasping, twitching—still cuffed to the headboard, legs shaking from the vibrator pressed relentlessly to her clit. She’d just come hard enough to shake the bed.

And Ningning? She wasn’t done. Not even close.

She shut off the toy and tossed it aside, crawling up over Giselle like a panther licking blood from her teeth. Her eyes sparkled, cruel and gleeful. She straddled Giselle’s chest, leaned down so close their noses nearly touched.

“Aww,” she cooed. “Poor princess can’t handle a little tongue?”

Giselle glared through her sweat-soaked bangs. Her chest still heaved. “Fuck… you.”

“Oh, you wish,” Ningning said, tilting her head. “But you don’t get to make demands right now.”

She grabbed a pillow from the side, stuffed it behind Giselle’s head, then reached for the waistband of her own panties. Slowly—tauntingly—she peeled them down.

And dropped them across Giselle’s face.

“Since you like mouthing off so much,” she said, “maybe try mouthing this.”

Giselle froze.

Her breath hitched.

Then Ningning slapped her lightly across the cheek with the damp fabric. “Open up.”

Giselle didn’t move.

So Ningning did it for her.

Two fingers between her lips, prying them open just wide enough. Then she shoved the balled-up panties into her mouth and pressed her palm against Giselle’s chin to hold them in.

“God, look at you,” she said, grinning down at her. “Still cuffed, still dripping, now gagged with my panties. Tell me, Giselle—do you still feel like the one in charge?”

Giselle moaned behind the gag—frustrated, humiliated, and fucking soaked.

I watched, hard as a rock, my cock twitching from the sight of it. Giselle’s thighs still trembled. Her cheeks were red. Her tits rose and fell under Ningning’s knees.

She looked wrecked. And Ningning wasn’t done. She leaned forward again, closer to Giselle’s ear.

“You act so tough,” she whispered. “So perfect. The hot one. But the moment you get a little pressure, you come like a needy little cumslut.”

Giselle whimpered—low, guttural, almost a sob.

“Pathetic,” Ningning said, licking her lips.

Then she turned to me.

“Mylo,” she said sweetly, “do you know how many guys dream about her?”

I nodded, eyes locked on the mess between them.

“And now look at her,” Ningning said, grabbing a fistful of Giselle’s hair and yanking her head back slightly. “Stripped. Gagged. Cuffed. Thighs twitching like a toy.”

She leaned down and spat on her chest.

It hit just above her nipple, sliding down her breast.

Giselle moaned again, louder now, almost desperate.

“Oh,” Ningning laughed, “you like that, don’t you?”

She turned back to me.

“Tell me,” she said. “You still think she’s in charge?”

I didn’t answer.

I just moved beside them, hard and leaking, and stared down at Giselle’s red, ruined face.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Ningning whispered, dragging her thumb through the spit on Giselle’s chest. “You’ll get a taste of redemption soon.”

“But first,” she said, “I want to see you break for him.”

Giselle was gagged and cuffed, cheeks flushed, chest still wet with spit. Her thighs trembled. Her breath came in short, shaking huffs. And Ningning?

She was glowing.

Crouched over her like a devil in heat, eyes gleaming, voice velvet-edged with cruelty.

“She looks mad,” she said, pinching Giselle’s cheek. “You mad, baby?”

Giselle didn’t respond. Couldn’t—not with Ningning’s soaked panties stuffed in her mouth. But the way her eyes burned was enough. Her jaw tightened. Her chest hitched like she wanted to scream.

Ningning leaned closer. “Want me to take it out? Hm? Let you talk?”

She reached down.

Slid the gag out slowly—dragging it along Giselle’s tongue.

The panties dropped onto her chest with a wet slap.

“Say something.”

Giselle spat.

Not at her—just to clear her mouth. Then she whispered, hoarse and shaking: “You’re going to regret this.”

Ningning laughed. Then slapped her across the face. It wasn’t hard. But it echoed. Giselle flinched. Not from pain—from shock. Her mouth opened in protest, but the words didn’t come.

Ningning slapped her again. Opposite cheek. Same sting. Giselle gasped. Her arms pulled at the cuffs. Her back arched. But the moan she made? It didn’t sound angry. It sounded wet.

“She likes it,” I said, watching her nipples harden.

“She does,” Ningning said, grinning. “She just doesn’t want to admit it.”

She reached up and grabbed a fistful of Giselle’s hair, yanked her head to the side, exposing her throat.

“Tell him,” she hissed. “Tell Mylo how much you like being slapped.”

“Fuck you—” Giselle started.

Slap. She cried out. Then moaned again. Her hips rolled. I moved closer.

Watched her chest rise and fall in desperate waves.

“She’s close,” I said, staring at her pussy—still glistening, still dripping, even though she hadn’t been touched in minutes.

Ningning glanced at me.

“You wanna help?”

I didn’t answer. I just reached out and grabbed one of Giselle’s tits, rough and fast. She whimpered. Then I slapped it.

She gasped—sharp and loud—and her legs twitched.

“Holy shit,” Ningning said, biting her lip. “Do it again.”

I slapped her again. The sound was filthy. Her tit bounced hard, skin flushed. Giselle made a noise that wasn’t a moan or a cry. It was somewhere in between.

“I think she likes being our toy,” I said, leaning in.

Ningning crawled over to the other side and slapped her opposite breast—synchronized.

Giselle broke.

“F-fuck!” she cried. “Fucking stop—”

But her hips didn’t stop. They fucked the air. I grabbed her jaw. Made her look at me.

“You’re soaking the sheets,” I said. “You want more?”

She shook her head.

But her thighs said otherwise.

Her clit throbbed. Her chest heaved. Her voice cracked.

“You want to be used,” Ningning whispered, pinching her nipple until she whimpered. “Admit it.”

Giselle bit her lip.

“No.”

Ningning leaned down. “Then why are you still dripping?”

“Because—fuck—because—”

I reached between her legs.

One finger—barely inside her.

She clenched.

“Because you’re mine,” I said.

“No—fuck—stop—”

But I didn’t.

I fucked her slowly—just my fingers—and watched her squirm.

Her eyes rolled.

She didn’t want to come.

But her body begged.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Don’t stop—don’t—please—”

Ningning smirked. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say you love it.”

She shook her head.

Then Ningning slapped her again—light, fast, teasing.

Giselle screamed.

“I love it—fuck—I love it—please—just let me cum—please—”

Her eyes found mine.

Desperate. Wet.

And I saw it.

She was a mess.

Wrists still cuffed, arms stretched above her head, chest glowing red with slaps and spit. Her thighs trembled, hips rolling helplessly into my hand, soaking everything under her. Her eyes were glassy—half-defiant, half-broken—and her lips trembled every time she tried to form a sentence.

And Ningning?

Still straddling her chest, watching her squirm.

"You hear that, baby?" she purred, brushing a thumb over Giselle’s swollen lip. "You’re dripping all over for us."

“Mmnh—” Giselle whimpered.

Ningning leaned in and kissed her cheek, then nipped at her ear.

“You’re such a good little girl when you’re falling apart.”

I ran my fingers down her thigh. Slow, soft. The kind of touch that would’ve made her squirm if she still had strength left. I reached between her legs again, fingers sliding through slick heat.

She twitched.

"She’s so sensitive," I muttered, watching her melt.

“She can take it,” Ningning whispered. “Right, baby?”

Giselle nodded once. Barely.

“Say it,” I told her.

“I… I can…”

“Louder.”

“I can take it,” she gasped. “Please—please let me—please—”

“Aw,” I cooed. “Princess wants to cum?”

Giselle nodded again, desperate.

“Like a good girl?” I said.

She whimpered. “Y-yes—yes, like a good girl—”

We moved together.

Ningning slid down to kiss her again—deep and wet and claiming—while I lined up between her legs and pushed into her in one slow, thick stroke.

She screamed.

“AHHH—f-fuck—Mylo—!”

I started slow. Deep. Cruel. Every thrust designed to make her feel full, helpless, owned.

Ningning held her face, whispered things between kisses.

“You’re so pretty like this, baby… so perfect when you cry… keep taking it… show us how good you are…”

Giselle sobbed.

“Please—please—ohmygod—I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, princess,” I said.

Her walls fluttered around me. She writhed.

Ningning dragged her nails down her sides. “Hold it, baby. Just a little longer. Be good.”

I slammed into her harder. Faster. Giselle’s body lifted off the bed with every thrust. She begged with her whole body—arched, stretched, trembling.

“Please—I c-can’t—Mylo—please—Ning—I need—”

“Now,” Ningning said, voice low and firm. “Cum for us, princess.”

“Cum like a good girl,” I whispered.

And she did.

She screamed.

Long, high, broken.

Her whole body convulsed. Her thighs locked around my waist. Her cunt clamped down and milked my cock like she never wanted to let go.

She sobbed through it, moaning both our names, her voice cracking on every syllable.

Ningning kissed her again.

“Good girl… good girl…”

I didn’t stop.

I kept fucking her through it. Giselle was trembling, her moans dissolving into whimpers. Her eyes fluttered. Her whole body gone, melted, wrecked.

And I was close.

Too close.

Ningning watched me, smirking. “Give it to her.”

I slammed in deep and came—hard, full, spilling everything inside her. My groan was low, rough, desperate.

Giselle shuddered around me, riding every pulse of it. We stayed there like that—tangled, breathless, dripping. She blinked slowly, eyes dazed.

Ningning brushed hair from her face. “Still with us, baby?”

Giselle nodded weakly.

“Good girl,” I whispered again.

And she smiled.

Just barely..

Ningning leaned back on her knees, messy and smug, fingers trailing down Giselle’s cheek like she’d just won a war. Her grin said it all—she thought she was done. That we were finished.

But Giselle was already lifting her head.

Eyes glassy. Hair wild. Lips swollen from the gag and kisses. Still trembling—but smiling now. A slow, wicked smile.

I reached up and unlatched her cuffs from the headboard. She shook her wrists out once, then sat up.

And I saw it click. She wasn’t broken. She was waiting.

Ningning turned toward me, ready to bask in her chaos—and that’s when I moved.

I grabbed her by the hips and flipped her down onto her back, her body hitting the mattress with a gasp. Before she could scramble up, Giselle slid over and grabbed her wrists.

“What—wait—” Ningning started.

But she was too slow.

I snapped the cuffs around her wrists before she could squirm away, locking them to the same headboard Giselle had just been strung up on.

“Shit—what the fuck—” she thrashed once, then stilled, staring at both of us. “You guys are serious?”

Giselle leaned in close, chest still glowing from slaps and sweat. “You think you’re the only one who gets to have fun?”

Ningning’s eyes darted to me. Her mouth opened like she had something clever to say—but I kissed her before she could. Rough. Claiming.

She moaned into it.

And her hips rolled.

Giselle slid down, kissed her neck. Then lower. Her mouth traced the curve of Ningning’s tits, sucking until deep red marks bloomed under her tongue.

“Still think you’re in charge?” she asked.

Ningning didn’t answer.

So I slapped her breast.

Not hard.

She gasped—loud, shocked.

Her back arched and her thighs clenched.

“She likes it,” Giselle said, licking a slow path across her stomach. “Of course she does.”

I slid between her legs, palms on her thighs, holding her open.

“She made a mess of you,” I said. “Time to return the favor.”

Giselle smiled. “Together?”

“Together.”

Ningning tried to pull away—but the cuffs held. And her pussy?

It was dripping.

I ducked down and dragged my tongue through her folds, slow and thick. Her hips bucked. She tried to twist, to get away from it—but I didn’t let her.

I held her down and devoured her.

Giselle climbed up, straddling her chest again, dragging her fingers through Ningning’s hair, keeping her pinned.

“You gonna be our good girl now?” she purred.

“F-fuck you—” Ningning gasped, voice already cracking.

I slapped her thigh. Bit the inside of it. She screamed.

Then I dove back in.

Tongue on her clit. Two fingers inside her. My pace merciless. Wet. Filthy.

She was thrashing. Moaning. Her voice was breaking.

“Please—please stop—please—”

Giselle leaned down.

“You didn’t stop when I begged.”

She slapped her. Just once. Sharp across the face.

Ningning whimpered. And she came. Just like that.

Her whole body snapped, her legs clamped around my head, and she screamed—a loud, wild sound that cracked halfway through.

I didn’t stop.

I licked harder, deeper, fucked her until she was sobbing.

Giselle reached back and pinched her nipple, twisted it until she was writhing beneath both of us.

“Please—please—I can’t—I can’t—” Ningning begged, shaking.

I pulled back, just enough to speak.

“You can.”

Then shoved my tongue back in.

She screamed again. And broke.

Tears streamed down her face. Her body thrashed. Her thighs shook. She came so hard she soaked my mouth, the sheets, everything.

She looked ruined. Beautifully, perfectly ruined. And we weren’t done. She was still cuffed.

Still flushed from the last orgasm, thighs twitching, lips parted like she needed more but wouldn’t admit it. Her body said yes, but her eyes? Still holding that spark. That edge.

The brat hadn’t surrendered.

Yet.

I knelt beside her, dragging two fingers along her inner thigh. She shivered, but didn’t move. Her hands tugged at the cuffs. Not to escape—just to feel it.

“You look good like this,” I said.

She turned her head, eyes locking with mine. Her smirk was faint but there.

“Don’t think I’m saying thank you.”

I grinned. “Didn’t ask.”

I leaned in, stroked her cheek. She let me. But when I brushed my thumb across her lip—

“Don’t call me baby,” she said sharply.

I blinked. “What?”

“Or princess. I’m not your little anything.”

Giselle let out a slow laugh behind me. She was sprawled on her side, legs still damp and red from where Ningning had wrecked her earlier. She propped herself up on one elbow and raised an eyebrow.

“Well. That’s new.”

Ningning tugged at her cuffs again, chin tilted high.

“I can take whatever you throw at me,” she said. “But don’t think I’m one of your soft little toys. You don’t own me.”

Her voice cracked just slightly on the last word.

I reached out and grabbed her jaw, not hard—just firm enough to stop the noise.

“Not yet,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed.

And I saw it—the flash of heat beneath her defiance. She liked pushing. She just didn’t know how much she wanted to be pushed back.

I leaned closer. My cock pressed against her cheek, wet and heavy.

“You open your mouth when I tell you.”

She stared up at me. Didn’t move.

So I slapped her. Not hard. Just enough to sting. Enough to make her eyes widen.

“Open.”

She did. But her glare didn’t drop.

I slid in—slow at first, letting her feel the weight of it on her tongue. Her throat clenched reflexively. She gagged once. Then again. But she didn’t pull back.

Didn’t whimper. Didn’t break.

Not yet.

I grabbed her hair and started to move. Shallow thrusts at first, then deeper. Her spit coated everything. Her chest rose faster, her toes curled against the sheets. But her eyes never softened.

Giselle moved behind me and slid her fingers between Ningning’s legs.

“She’s soaked,” she said softly. “But still so fucking proud.”

“Not for long,” I muttered.

I shoved deeper. Ningning’s moan caught in her throat. She tried to twist her hips—away or toward, I couldn’t tell. Her body wanted it even if her pride didn’t.

“You gonna be good for us?” I asked, sliding out just enough for her to speak.

She coughed once. Spit clung to her chin.

“Fuck. You.”

I smirked.

“Princess, huh?” Giselle said, fingering her faster.

“I said—fuck—don’t—call me—”

Her voice broke. Her hips bucked.

“You feel that?” I growled. “That’s your body saying yes while your mouth still lies.”

She moaned. Loud. Uncontrolled.

And I knew. The brat act was unraveling. Bit by bit, she was starting to need this. Starting to fall. She was trying so fucking hard to hold it together.

Giselle had her fingers back inside her, slow and cruel. My cock rested heavy against Ningning’s cheek, glistening from where she’d gagged and moaned and nearly choked around it. And still—somehow—she had that look.

Like she was stronger than this. Like she could come out the other side and laugh in our faces.

Her wrists tugged uselessly against the cuffs.

Her legs shook.

And when Giselle curled her fingers just right, she flinched—but bit her lip instead of screaming.

“Still holding on, huh?” I said.

She didn’t look at me. Didn’t dare.

“Answer me, princess.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not your princess.”

Giselle laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her stomach. “She’s still got fight.”

“Not for long,” I muttered.

I slid two fingers into her mouth. Wet. Rough. She moaned around them—but she didn’t suck. Didn’t give me that satisfaction.

So I pulled them out.

And slapped her clit with the fingers.

She screamed. Her hips jerked off the mattress—and I knew that one was close. I could feel it in her body. That tension. That edge. But Giselle pulled her fingers out.

I slapped her pussy again—light, fast, just enough to drag her back down.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“I—fuck—please—”

“Please what?”

She bit her lip again. Hard. And that pissed me off.

So I leaned down and bit her nipple. Not gently.

She arched off the bed, crying out as I sucked hard, teeth grazing the soft skin until her breath came in sobbing gasps.

“Still not ours?” I growled against her chest.

She shook her head. “I—I—”

Another moan. Her hips twisted again, looking for anything—anything—to grind against.

Giselle smirked, brushing her lips across Ningning’s inner thigh.

“She’s close.”

“She doesn’t get to be.”

I reached down and rubbed her clit in hard, fast circles—just enough to make her hips stutter, her mouth drop open—

Then stopped. She let out a ragged cry, almost a sob. I did it again. Same rhythm. Same pressure.

Then stopped right at the edge.

“No!” she gasped, pulling at the cuffs. “No, please—I was—fuck—I was—”

“You were what?” Giselle asked sweetly, kissing her hipbone. “Cumming? About to cum for us?”

She whimpered. But still didn’t say it.

So we did it again.

And again.

And again.

Ten times.

Twenty.

Every time she got close—every time her body started to tremble, every time her moans pitched up, every time she gasped like she couldn’t breathe—

We stopped. And every time, she begged a little harder. Not for release. Not yet. But for mercy. For anything.

Her thighs were soaked. Her voice was shot. Her chest was flushed and rising in frantic waves.

She was breaking.

Finally.

“Please,” she panted. “Please—I need to—I can’t—”

“You can,” I said. “You will.”

“I’ll be good,” she whispered.

I tilted my head. “Say it louder.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Say what you are.”

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “Don’t make me—”

I grabbed her jaw. “Say. It.”

She choked on the words. Struggled. Fought.

Then, finally—

“I’m yours.”

I paused.

Giselle looked up at me.

I leaned down.

“You’re whose?”

She moaned.

“Yours, Mylo. Giselle’s. Yours. I—I belong to you—please—please let me—”

But we didn’t.

Not yet.

She hadn’t earned it.

And she knew it.

Tears slid down her cheeks. Her pussy clenched around nothing. Her body bucked, straining against the edge we held her on like it might kill her to stay there.

She didn’t say no anymore. She didn’t say anything. Just soft, broken whimpers of please, over and over, like a mantra. Like worship. Like surrender.

And when I slid my fingers into her mouth again, she sucked them eagerly—desperate, needy, completely wrecked.

Giselle leaned up and kissed her cheek, soft and slow.

“That’s our baby.”

And this time?

Ningning didn’t protest.

She was crying now.

Not sobbing. Not afraid. Just… shaking with the need. Her cheeks were wet, lips swollen, arms stretched taut against the cuffs above her head. Her body had given up. Her pride was gone. The brat? Buried under sweat, spit, and surrender.

I cupped her jaw and tilted her face toward mine.

“Say it again.”

Her voice was barely there. A rasp soaked in tears and desperation.

“I belong to you…”

“To who?”

She swallowed. “You. Mylo. Giselle. Yours—fuck, I’m yours—”

Giselle kissed the inside of her knee.

“Good girl.”

Her legs fell open wider without us even asking. Her eyes flicked from me to Giselle to the space between her thighs, like she didn’t know what she wanted first—just that she needed it.

“Let her have it,” Giselle said, crawling up beside me. “She earned it.”

“I don’t know,” I said, rubbing one knuckle against Ningning’s oversensitive clit. “Feels like we should make her say it one more time.”

She gasped.

“I’ll say anything,” she breathed. “Please—I’ll say anything—do anything—”

I slid two fingers inside her and watched her whole body seize up.

“Anything?” I asked.

“Yes! Please—I—I need to—please—I can’t take—”

I added a third finger.

She screamed. Her hips lifted off the bed, her cuffs rattling hard enough to shake the headboard. Giselle sucked on her nipple, tongue flicking fast. “Come for us, baby.” she whispered.

And Ningning broke. Hard.

Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning—violent and loud and devastating. Her back arched. Her mouth dropped open. And the sound she made? It didn’t even sound human.

“AAHHH—fuhhh—MYYLO—fuckfuckfuck—I’M CUMMING—!”

Her pussy clamped down on my fingers like she never wanted them to leave. She was twitching, shaking, gasping—eyes wild, legs kicking.

And it didn’t stop. Because I didn’t stop. Neither did Giselle. We forced it to keep going. Over and over.

Every time her voice cracked, I curled my fingers deeper. Every time her thighs locked, Giselle dragged her tongue up the inside of one. Every time she cried out, we gave her more.

Until she was nothing but sound and wetness and broken moans.

Until she was limp in the cuffs, eyes glassy, mouth slack.

Until she whispered it on her own—no prompting, no order.

“I’m yours,” she breathed, again and again. “Yours… yours… yours…”

And we believed her.

Because now?

She knew.

The only sound in the room was Ningning’s breathing—broken, shallow, too light for someone who’d just screamed her voice raw.

She hadn’t moved.

Her body was slack, arms still stretched from the cuffs, wrists pink. The defiance that had burned in her just minutes ago had vanished, drained out through her skin along with everything else. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t look at either of us.

I didn’t wait.

I got up first. Found a fresh towel, ran warm water from the bathroom sink. I soaked it, wrung it out. The mirror caught my reflection for a second—hair wrecked, chest rising with the kind of high that comes only from the most intense experiences.

But I wasn’t thinking about myself.

I was already back at the bed, already kneeling beside her.

Ningning flinched slightly when the towel touched her inner thigh.

“Easy,” I said, my voice lower, slower now.

Her eyes opened—barely. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

She blinked, trying to focus. “I feel…”

“Overloaded,” I said. “Yeah. I’ve got you.”

Giselle watched from the other side, head propped in her hand, gaze soft but quiet now. She didn’t move to interfere.

I ran the towel between Ningning’s legs, gentle, careful, like I was wiping away more than just the mess. Her breath hitched. Not from pain. From… whatever was settling in her now. She turned her face toward the sheets and let me keep going.

“Let me see your wrists.”

She hesitated. Then raised them.

Pink. A little red. No welts, no breaks. Just pressure marks. I kissed each one without thinking, then rubbed my thumbs in slow circles over the skin.

“You okay?”

Her throat worked. “I think I left my body.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I noticed.”

She made a small noise—not quite a laugh. Then: “I wasn’t expecting… all that.”

“You didn’t have to be. We were watching you.”

“I liked it.”

“I know,” I said, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “That’s why we did it.”

Her lashes fluttered. She looked tired. Glowing. Messy and open and real in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“Do you want some water?” I asked.

She nodded.

I helped her sit up, cradling the back of her neck with one hand, slipping the bottle to her lips with the other. She drank slow, eyes on me the whole time.

When she finished, I wiped her mouth and kissed her cheek.

She closed her eyes again and leaned against me.

No words. No bratty lines. No biting.

Just trust.

That weight hit me all at once. She’d let us wreck her. And now she was letting me hold what was left.

Giselle finally moved, pulling a blanket up over Ningning’s legs. She didn’t speak—just rested a hand on her thigh and met my eyes.

You’re doing good, that look said.

I wrapped both arms around Ningning and let her settle into my chest.

“Stay here,” I said. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

And she did.

Ningning was warm against me. Warm and limp, her body curled into my side like she belonged there, her breath still a little shaky. She hadn’t said much since she came down. Just small hums, tiny nods. I kept stroking her hair.

PART 5

[shysuccubusstuff]

Loser! Caleb:

Content: Obssessive! Caleb + Manipulative! Caleb; underwear stealing + scent kink + masturbation

Note: I mean, most of the LI are kind of losers if you think about it… (I love it). With this I refer to, the kind of loser who may or may not be able to cum just from putting it in… ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ Just read that some ppl think infold may take away my sweet yandere trope and I'm about to lose it, fuck you mean you will make me lose this sweet man with a dubious state of mind… #tragic I ACCIDENTALLY PUBLISHED IT BEFORE FINISHING IT--- Does anyone have a request for a next writing? "૮₍ •⤙•˶₊˚ෆ I would love to try and do one!

Loser! Caleb who always had to stay close to you since childhood. The two of you met in the orphanage, and ever since then, he had chosen to follow you anywhere you went. You wanted to go to that park? There he was. Now to the new candy store they had recently opened? Of course he was behind you. You didn't particarly mind, after all, he was your friend, and an extremely shy person, so you believed it was your "duty" to keep him from people who could try to take advantage of him. This situation didn't change a bit, with Caleb even staying close to you during highschool, always giving teary eyes to the teachers every single time they were planning on changing the seats or groups, with him always telling them some sob stories about how you were one of the few people that had always stood by his side ever since his parents suddenly dissappeared without trace.

Loser! Caleb who took advantage of your common situation. By the time the two of you finished highschool, both of you were planning to get into university, after all, the orphanage would pay for half of the tution, together with the money the two of you had been able to save during the years, it would be easy to find a place to stay during the academic year. So by the time you are already looking for places that are close to uni, Caleb had already found one. Who would have guessed that it was just for two people? Not only that, but according to him, the rent was a bit too high for him, so maybe you could move with him? Totally not for him to become even closer to you. And before you realise it, the two of you are already moving to a new flat, with Caleb helping you move all the heavy cardboard boxes, a big smile on his face as his chest puffed up from thinking about how he was finally able to help you. He silently thanked his past self for thinking about getting into the gym after hearing you speak with some friend about how you loved strong men.

Loser! Caleb who no longer has to conceal his affection. As soon as the two of you moved together, you had noticed how Caleb had become much more affectionate towards you. With him always accompanying you to your class before leaving, planting a soft kiss on your forehead with the excuse of how "childhood friends can do this much", which you obviously believe because, why would Caleb lie to you? The fact that you are that naïve is a great help for him, allowing him to kiss your cheek every morning, sometimes even sleeping together with poor excuses such as suffering from nightmares every night... Surely Caleb wasn't actively taking advantage of the fact that he was the closest to you.

Loser! Caleb who starts to become more cocky. He starts slowly, leaving some of his clothes around your room in case any of your "classmates" was able to get into your room. He suddenly opens the door, bringing some refreshments with his warm smile, eyes glistening as he leaves the plate filled with fruit, together with two glasses of fresh orange juice, "accidentally" dropping the whole content of the glass on the pants of the other guy. He looks apologetic, tears swelling up on his eyes as he tells him that he's absolutely sorry for that, how could he be so clumsy? But as soon as he leaves your bedroom, his arms are wrapped around you, his face hidden on the crook of your neck as he gives you kisses all over it. "Why did you invite him without letting me know...? You know I get really anxious with new people..." Caleb's hands clinged onto your clothes, caressing your arms over the cloth and sending currents of electricity through you.

"I'm sorry, Caleb. He kept asking to visit our house since I kept trying to push him off, I thought this would make him stop once and for all." You petted Caleb's hair as if he was a cute puppy, with him smiling happily and leaning towards your touch.

"It's ok, not like he left you any change, right?" Caleb soon got away the second the guy entered the room, leaving the two of you to finish the project as fast as possible, after all, the sooner he left you two, the sooner that ugly man would be away from you.

Loser! Caleb who makes sure to get his revenge. It takes less than a few weeks for the guy to be expelled from the university. According to the gossip that has been running around the class, the guy had been trying to flirt with some of the freshman girls, even trying to force them to spend time with him in fear of creating bad rumours about them. Luckily, some other students had provided screeshots of the different mesages he had sent, and after they had send them to Caleb, the one in charge of all the matters related with the welfare of all the students of the university, it was just a matter of time for him to get expelled. Despite that, he keeps acting oblivious, telling you that he had nothing to do with his expulsion, as he had been too busy with some other matters. Still, you couldn't even imagine just how happy Caleb had been after doing it, taking his sweet time getting to know all the freshman of your grade so he could easily get the proof he needed. Just what would he do for you? ♡

Loser! Caleb who begins to steal some of your underwear. He knows this is quite twisted even for him, I mean, just what kind of man would sneak into the room of his sweet childhood friend to grab a pair of underwear and use it, wrapping it around his hard cock as he imagined your sweet cunt wrapping around it. Gosh, he could barely contain his lewd whimpers as he kept overstimulating himself, always stopping just before he was about to cum. He had to make sure to enjoy it as long as possible, as he then had to rush to the bathroom so he could clean and dry your underwear as if he had never done anything.

Loser! Caleb who takes advantage of each time you leave to hangout with your friends. As soon as he hears your steps getting away from the door he is already rushing to your bedroom, taking one of the pillows in your bed and taking a deep breath, face buried on it as he smelt the sweet mixture between your shampoo and your natural scent. Just this was more than enough for him to let his imagination go wild, his pants starting to press against his hardened cock as he kept sniffing happily. Before he was even able to notice, his hand was already running down his chiseled abs, swiftly lowering his trousers so he could let his erection out, starting to stroke it as he kept imagining your sweet face, that coy smile as you teased him, together with your alluring body and that lovely personality... How could he resist such an enticing woman...? He bites your pillow as he finally cums, his mind drifting on the idea of painting your soft tummy with his thick cum ♡...

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude: chapter v.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 masterlist.

cw: fluff, suggestive content, paige vs her self control, love declarations.

notes: hello, hello. had to update before i got jumped. wanted to post before i was consumed by the met gala. the song lyrics used belong to "scar for love" by niki & the dove. i hope you enjoy yourselves. love you. can't wait to see what you think.

V: COHERENCE.

“wait, we have three golden retrievers? baby, how big is our house?”

azzi smiled radiantly from the smooth face of paige’s phone screen. she shrugged, her hair sliding down her neck and across her shoulder. it was practically buoyant, highly teased for the upcoming single that azzi planned to release. she kept everyone, including paige, in the dark, telling her that it would matter more if she didn’t know a single thing about it.

paige wondered if that was the ethos of her brand as a star. 

“i don’t know,” azzi teased. “how many acres could that wnba money get us?” 

paige laughed, her face twisting into mock-outrage. “damn, ma. and here i thought you really loved me.”

azzi’s face softened, and she rolled onto her stomach, settling deeper into the body of her bed. the motion made her chest push up slightly, her tits high and glossy with glitter-infused body oil. paige’s eyes glazed over slightly at the sight. 

“i do love you, baby. besides, i think i got more money in the bank anyway.”

paige tore her eyes away from azzi’s chest, and met her mischievous gaze blushing fervently when her girlfriend cocked an eyebrow as if to let her know she’d caught her. 

“i know, mama. ‘m just playing.”

azzi pursed her lips and then pulled herself backward into an arch, the small of her back flashing a momentary, perfect peek of brown skin before she sat back with her thighs spread. paige muttered a prayer under her breath, pressing her eyes closed with a slow blink. azzi tilted her head, her cheeks flushing a little bit at the small groan that severed itself from paige’s chest.

“you know what i saw the other day?”

“a vision of me flying you out?” paige asked, eyes still closed. azzi laughed, and she opened them in satisfaction. 

“no,” azzi answered, drawing the ‘o’ in the word out. “i saw on tiktok that they keep calling me mrs. bueckers. isn’t that so cute?”

paige wanted to die. no, it wasn’t fucking cute. 

“yeah?” she murmured. “they calling you by my last name?”

something in her tone was predatory enough to hook azzi, making the other girl look at her with wide eyes. paige’s blue gaze was low-lidded and dark, her bottom lip almost bloodless underneath the press of her teeth. azzi felt her throat squeeze, and her thighs followed.

“um, yeah,” she said with a slight nod of her head.

paige let her lip fall free, her teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek instead. she studied azzi, azzi only barely changed from being on set today. azzi with her baby pink tube top and thrifted lululemon v-waisted yoga pants (she’d made that clear.) she thought of the text she’d gotten last week when azzi said she was thinking of getting lip fillers, which paige responded to in the following manner: 

sending a selfie of her side-eyeing azzi heavily in response.

a second text in which she said: » 1 ml at most, otherwise i ain’t allowing it 

a third and fourth text to follow up, in which she said:  » just thought of how good its gonna feel to kiss you fuck

then: » i mean it's good already but imma bout to be insatiable lol

azzi had responded with a kissy emoji and then promptly shattered paige’s player dreams by saying:

» i’m afraid of needles :( 

paige had laughed at that. but now, paige wasn’t playing. she’d been on one for several days, made worse by the memory of what it was like to have azzi live with her in dallas. and now, azzi was telling her about how the world saw azzi as paige’s wife. 

“p?” azzi asked hesitantly, and paige refocused on her.

“i’m with you, baby. went somewhere for a minute.”

“where did you go?” and the way she asked was so sweet, so eager to follow paige across every mode of time and space. she’d probably even take the pain of it, punish herself, though paige found her highly unpunishable. 

“just thinking about you, mama,” paige told her, voice throaty and low.

azzi smiled, pleased. outside, new york sang its song of life. cars droned on in the late-night traffic, and azzi’s eyes looked out of her window for a moment. paige studied the soft shape of her face and tried to remember what azzi smelled like when she came out of her shower for the first time in texas.

“you’re so sweet f’me, princess,” paige said, and azzi slid back onto her side, shifting her phone so that it all traveled with her. 

“what do you mean?” azzi asked, huffing out a laugh. “i’m not even with you right now.”

“you’re always with me, azzi,” paige said, her tone firming into something serious. “i never let you go, physically here or not.”

it was true. azzi’s name was written on paige’s wrist tape before every game. she’d even tailored her brand-deal-gifted aromatherapy set to smell exactly how it did whenever azzi tucked her into her arms. paige ached for her at every moment. her biggest indulgence was being azzi’s favorite baby. 

she thought of when azzi was last here, how paige had draped herself across azzi’s lap like she belonged there, face pressed to the soft plane of her stomach. her hand had traced idle shapes along azzi’s side, fingertips dragging light over warm skin, brushing just under the hem of her tank top. fresh from the shower, azzi’s curls had spilled damp and wild down her back, and she’d smelled saccharine—like something honeyed. familiar. paige had nosed at her ribcage lazily, kissed the skin there without really thinking about it. 

her brain buzzed now with the ghost of azzi’s hum, with the phantom movement of the one hand carding through paige’s hair, slow and soothing. they’d stayed like that for hours, half-watching a movie neither of them would be able to recall. 

azzi was paige’s permanent aftershock, a nuclear vibration that mutated her into something different. someone she liked a lot more than the version of herself, to whom azzi remained unknowable. she wanted azzi under her, inside of her, on top of her.  

“everything makes sense when i’m looking at you,” she continued, blue eyes unyielding as she gazed into the screen.

she watched azzi shiver, a flash of perfect teeth biting into her lip.

it made something lurch in paige, some organic thing inside her chest pulling tight. she shifted, suddenly full of everything she couldn’t say quickly enough.

“i like bueckers-fudd better,” she said abruptly, and azzi blinked. “like the sound of it. looks real good on paper, too. or on the inside of a ring. on a deed.”

azzi’s smile flickered wider, not fully following.

“i want your name next to mine,” paige continued, voice picking up steam. “not just romantically, i mean. like legacy shit. your art, your writing, your music. i want us to build a whole empire off our last names touching. i mean, i’m already planning to buy your masters over time. i’m tryna make sure you own every piece of you. you know? you worked hard for it.”

azzi didn’t speak.

“baby?”

her screen was quiet, the faint city hum behind azzi like a mechanical tide. paige leaned forward. “ma?”

azzi shook her head slightly, her lips parted. her cheeks shone.

“oh. shit, wait, are you—baby. what’s wrong?”

“i love you so much,” azzi said, so quietly that paige almost missed it, “and i don’t even know what to do with any of it.”

paige went still, breath caught in her throat, heart wrung out like a rag. she didn't know how to say me too in a way that could entail the way that the love she carried was the only thing holding her down. so she just said:

“can you come home? to me?  like, now. please.”

azzi sniffled and shook her head. “i’m sorry, p. i have rehearsals tomorrow and the final filming day for my new music video.”

paige groaned, her head falling back to reveal the white belly of her throat.

“if you can’t come to me,” she said, voice gone light and teasing, “can you pull your top down a little instead?”

“paige madison,” azzi gasped, scandalized, but already smiling, cheeks warm and eyes brimming with new joy.

paige laughed, the sound crooked and golden.

and azzi just looked at her. she often felt that paige wasn’t real, that she couldn’t be real, that it was impossible to hold all of this adoration without being prostituted by it, and yet there she was, laughing, like the sun had no other job but to kiss her teeth when she smiled.

paige blinked, and for a moment, it felt like she left her own body. like she was floating, carried by azzi’s gaze alone. she dreaded when they would have to hang up. 

she always hated the come down.

⟡

pbueckersofficial: my girl is such a fucking crybaby, and she looks so pretty with it too. it be making me wanna fuck her up till her legs shake. 7:03 pm • likes: 1.2m | retweets: 243k | replies: 301k  ⤷ username: did we forget the password to the priv AGAIN or...😭😭😭 ⤷ username: be fr we are ONE more tweet away from another WNBA-wide media training day. ⤷ username: paige bueckers saying “fuck her up” with no warning is why the government wants to ban twitter ⤷ username: just 0 decorum on my wifi. ⤷. karnold: girl, boo. she ain’t live with you  ⤷ username: she's so real for this bc i too would want to make azzi fudd see white repeatedly ⤷ pbueckersofficial: trust, you won’t be seeing the morning. #stayblessed 😇 ⤷ username: IS THIS A THREAT OR???

pbueckersofficial: hoes mad bc they didn’t lock in like me 🤷🏼‍♀️💍 8:10 pm • likes: 1.1m | retweets: 500k | replies: 432k ⤷ username: HOES MAD BC YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA ACCESS IS GONNA BE TAKEN AWAY 😭😭😭  ⤷ username: this that libra bullshit. fall in love and immediately start tweeting like future ⤷ username: don’t invoke that demon’s name in this loving home ⤷ username: isn’t that hoe a scorpio?

pbueckersofficial: y’all be tweeting “you my peace” to someone who gave you a UTI. i’m not the same. 8:15 pm • likes: 944k | retweets: 132k | replies: 346k ⤷ dallaswingspr: your account could be at risk for temporary suspension for violating community guidelines.  ⤷ pbueckersofficial: my b ⤷ azzi35: paige 😭😭😭😭😭😭 ⤷ pbueckersofficial: baby imy, call me back 💔💔

⟡

count on azzi to drop her most public declaration of love while sleeping right next to paige.

the day broke, pink and orange like a heart on fire, and paige blinked awake far earlier than she usually did. something hummed inside of her bones, her marrow thick and something sweet tugging at her mouth. she stayed still, lying on her back like a felled animal, with azzi’s head pillowed on her chest. she hadn’t yet put her finger on the pulse of what had dragged back into the land of the living.

beneath her, azzi murmured something incoherent. they hadn't even lasted a week before paige flew her out again. 

the bonnet they’d grabbed at a beauty supply store had slipped off, but her scarf held strong against her bush of curls. her face was marked by pillow lines despite her gravitating away from them onto paige’s body. paige absentmindedly stroked a finger along her cheek, her nail catching along the delicate bones of her nose and cheeks. azzi pressed into it, as if she was trying to find her even in her deepest dreams, and the thought of that made paige run warm. 

after a few more moments, paige carefully slid the other girl to the side and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. her feet touched plush carpet, and she grabbed the thin body of her phone, making sure to tuck the covers around azzi before padding into the bathroom. she turned it on, letting it vibrate on the countertop as notifications flooded in, and reached for her toothbrush. it was only after a steady five minutes of vibrations that she figured something might be wrong. 

​​tucking a strand of soft blonde hair behind an ear, paige tapped the sleek face of the device, the screen blurring for a moment before it stabilized. she was already distracted, fingers restless against the sleek glass, as notifications flooded in. but one, sitting there with a quiet power above the rest, caught her attention.

youtube: new upload from azzi fudd. 

her heart stopped for just a beat, a strange knot tightening in her chest. paige didn’t even think to hesitate. she clicked.

it was the silence at first that caught her. she didn’t recognize the setting when the video loaded, the screen dimmed at first, only to be pierced by the sharp gleam of neon pink sharp enough to make her flinch. azzi’s face filled the frame, framed against that pop of color like a strange, beautiful ghost. her curls were soft, pinned upward, and despite their careful arrangement, they still seemed to carry a slight wildness to them, as if this updo was nothing more than an act. 

every movement was cold and precise, her hands pulling the air into sharp, geometric arcs. it was stunning in its simplicity. azzi was everywhere, but nowhere all at once, moving like she knew every inch of herself. like she had to.

paige’s chest tightened as she watched azzi, this girl who liked to seem so small when they were together, this woman who was now reminding the world that she was a fucking popstar. the popstar.

she watched azzi’s body twist and propel itself across the stage, dipping and bending while azzi kept intense eye contact with the camera as it dared to follow her. paige licked her lower lip as she followed the soft sweep of the body suit, its thin cover as it dipped between azzi’s thighs. 

there was an aching vulnerability in azzi’s movements, the way her body tensed and then unraveled, like a machine coming apart under its own weight. paige could see it in the way azzi moved. her eyes slipped closed for a moment, head tilted back just enough to expose the delicate line of her throat, vulnerable, but also so very controlled. she balked, stumbling forward on the balls of her feet like she was on the edge of a large cliff. her body strained over and over, always so close to breaking, but instead, managing to weave itself into a new shape.

azzi sang to herself. it was clear that she was alone in this, spinning like a solo planet even as she bled her heart out for the world to see. 

it's either with or against you and nothing left to say / 'cause all you ever got was hurt.

there was a madness to it, a quiet destruction that paige couldn’t shake. she had never seen azzi like this, and maybe that’s what unnerved her most: how easily the world consumed her. how easy it was for azzi to give it all up, even when every part of her seemed to be begging to hold it together.

we mark each other’s hearts / with a scar for love. 

it wasn’t just the vulnerability that caught paige off guard; it was how effortlessly azzi embodied it. how easily she could twist herself into something so raw and exposed, and make it seem like the most natural thing in the world. and maybe it was. 

azzi had once told her that she despised her inability to be indifferent to anything: the critics, the fans, her mother, her management. azzi was a masterclass in caring above the norm. everything kicked her while she was still down, and sometimes she rolled over to let the world get a clean hit in.

as if to drive the point home, azzi fell off-screen. she hit the floorboards with a tough thud before the camera spun to display her face twisted in electric pain as she crawled across the space. her voice never faltered, its pilgrimage from her throat to the outside world uninterrupted. 

paige watched as azzi swung herself up into a crouch just before she hit a wall, stumbling dramatically back before gliding into a gorgeous moonwalk-esque promenade. she faced the camera, jaw strong and proud as she pointed mockingly with a bejeweled acrylic tip and then turned it back to herself, mimicking the action of slitting her throat.

draw a line, sister / draw it deep / do not stop until we bleed.

but there was more. a shift. the camera pulled back, the screen flickering, and for a moment, something different filled the space.

a video. a video of someone blonde. it took a few moments for paige to recognize that it was herself, but from behind. this was clearly a moment that azzi had captured when they were together because paige was laughing, unguarded and helpless in her adoration. it was clear that both women were slaves to love. 

as it continued, paige glanced back in slow motion, her eyes crinkling with the softest smile, the kind of smile that made a heart stop in its tracks. paige watched herself stand there as the camera zoomed out, her face falling slightly with the smallest of smiles, the kind that only azzi could pull out of her.

and then, in a fluid motion, azzi stepped closer to the projected image of paige, the video shimmering against the dark backdrop. there was something tenderly desperate in the way azzi approached the screen, like she was walking into a game she knew she’d most likely lose. she sped up, tripping into an unbalanced run. just as she grew close enough to touch, she tilted forward and slammed into the wall with both hands, palming the projection of paige.

she slid down the wall, her body sinking to the floor with a tragic grace that made paige let out a small, wretched gasp. azzi turned and slowly began to curl into herself, leaving just enough time for her audience to see the blood snaking languidly down her cupid’s bow. it fell into her mouth with a sick drip, and continued as she ended it all with a head buried in her knees, as if she couldn’t bear to look at the memory she had just tried so futilely to keep for herself.

the screen went dark. and then there it was: nothing but the numbers 10.20 flickering softly on the black screen in baby pink, italicized serif. the numbers lingered like a kiss print.

the date. it took paige a moment to process. 

10.20. 

she blinked, disoriented, the weight of it sinking in.

the new album. azzi was releasing it on her birthday. the significance of it hit her all at once, staggering like an unexpected blow. she had watched azzi bare her soul, shed her skin, and now she understood why. this wasn’t just a love song. this wasn’t just azzi doing what she did best. 

paige thought of the blood dripping down azzi’s full-glam face, the way she hadn’t wiped it but had hidden it so that the hot, crimson line could continue staining her. she thought of what azzi had texted her just a few weeks ago:

» i can’t be normal about you » i want to hollow myself out, so i can keep you inside of me forever  » i don’t care if it sounds crazy, but i don’t want to be anything other than yours. every time i’m alone, every time i’m without you i feel like i’ve made a wrong turn somewhere. » it's like i'm supposed to be going home, but i missed my turn. 

paige stared at the screen, the room feeling suddenly too small around her. her chest felt tight, too tight, and her fingers trembled as she wiped away the sudden tears that slipped down her cheeks.

fuck, she loved that girl.

just in the other room, azzi was sleeping deeply. the sunrise stretched like a fresh wound on the wall.

⟡

azzi35: for p. ❤️‍🔥 new album out 10.20 4:44 am • likes: 4.7m | retweets: 1.3m | replies: 828k

popcrushdaily: azzi fudd just released the most daring visual of her career. vulnerable, unrelenting, and devastatingly beautiful. this is a popstar who isn’t afraid to show her scars, both literal and metaphorical. “scar for love” feels like it’s pulling at the heartstrings of every single person who’s ever loved and lost. 10.20 can’t come fast enough. #azzifudd #scarforlove • likes: 6.8m | retweets: 2.2m | replies: 1.4m ⤷ username: oh so grammy secured iktr!

arvind__music (music critic): the perfect example of how a popstar can make you feel uncomfortable, moved, and seen all at once. azzi fudd is making history with this drop. her vulnerability is unmatched, her vision untouchable. we are witnessing the birth of something transcendent. #scarforlove  • likes: 33k | retweets: 15k | replies: 8.6k

carmenintheclouds (celebrity choreographer): azzi fudd never fails to have a visual hand that is so on point. from the neon pink to the choreography, everything is tight. and that final scene? don't even get me started on the symbolism. scar for love is art, people. #azzifudd #scarforlove • likes: 12k | retweets: 4.6k | replies: 2.2k

pbueckersofficial (quote replying to azzi35): fuckkkkkkk i love her.  6:20 am • likes: 3.2m | retweets: 326k | replies: 999k ⤷ pbueckersofficial: she put my whole heart in 3 minutes and 47 seconds. what do i even do with myself now? ⤷ pbueckersofficial: i’m supposed to go to practice after hearing that? be fr ⤷ pbueckersofficial: i need to propose. like now. i need to propose TODAY. FAWK ⤷ pbueckersofficial: mind you she’s stil sleeping imma bout to [redacted] ⤷ pbueckersofficial: if this was the bachelor i would’ve given her the final rose S2E1, timestamp 0:30. ⤷ karnold: so you really said fuck that priv huh

wnbagossip: lmao paige bueckers never fails to be the realest out there ⤷ username: when she said “fuck i love her”... we all felt that. ⤷ pbueckersofficial: ain’t nobody got her like i got her, trust

bueckersfuddsourcebrasil: bueckers-fudd nation, how are we feeling now that miss “i’m private” just went PUBLIC?? • likes: 6.5k | retweets: 536 | replies: 1.3k ⤷ username: azzi said here damn! ⤷ username: first strap pregnancy is coming in october  ‎‎⤷ ‎ pbueckersofficial: #realshit ⤷ azzi35: paige, please put the phone down and come out of the bathroom, i wanna give u a kiss  ⤷ pbueckersofficial light ain’t got nothing on how fast im about to move 

© hcneymooners.

[sturniololuvz]

could you make a fic where chris is a single dad and he’s trying to bath his like 7 month old daughter and she keeps splashing him and nick and matt are there and it’s a cute fluff moment

Splish Splash Disaster

Chris was soaked.

Like—t-shirt sticking to his chest, dripping hair, water in his socks—soaked.

“Okay,” he said, deadpan, staring at the tiny human in the tub who was squealing like she just won the lottery. “That’s the third time you’ve done that.”

His daughter blinked up at him with wide, mischievous eyes, then immediately slapped both palms into the bath water again, sending another tidal wave over the edge of the tub.

Chris flinched and wiped his face. “Fourth.”

Matt, crouched by the bathroom door with a towel draped over his shoulder, couldn’t stop laughing. “Dude, you’re losing. She’s got you beat.”

Nick popped his head in with a juice box from the kitchen. “Why does it sound like someone’s drowning in here?”

“She’s splashing like it’s SeaWorld,” Chris muttered, gently trying to guide her hands away from the water while she giggled and kicked like a frog. “And I don’t think she’s legally allowed to be this strong.”

Nick took one look at the soaked floor, Chris’s wet socks, and the foam-covered baby girl absolutely thriving in the tub — and burst out laughing.

Matt handed Chris a fresh towel. “Want me to take over?”

Chris gave him a look. “She likes you too much. She behaves for you.”

“She likes the chaos,” Nick said, sitting on the counter. “She’s literally your clone, bro. This is karma.”

The baby squealed, grabbing a rubber duck and immediately launching it like a grenade at Nick’s chest.

“HEY!” Nick shouted, stunned. “I’m not even in the water!”

Chris looked at his daughter, jaw dropped. “Did you just—you aimed! That was intentional! Are you a baby or a linebacker?”

She just grinned, cheeks chubby and dripping, waving her duck around like a victory flag.

Matt leaned over the tub and gently cupped his hands under her arms. “Alright, tub monster, let’s get you dry before you turn into a raisin.”

Chris reached for the towel as Matt carefully lifted her out, swaddling her like a burrito.

She nestled into Chris’s chest, warm and slippery and still trying to wiggle free.

Chris looked down at her, heart softening instantly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Nick snapped a picture of them before Chris could stop him. “I’m posting that on the family group chat. You look like you just went to war.”

“Because I did,” Chris said, but he was smiling. “She won.”

Matt handed him the baby’s lotion and pajamas. “Want help with bedtime?”

Chris shook his head. “Nah. I got it. Just—maybe mop the floor so nobody dies.”

Nick was already grabbing paper towels. “On it.”

As Chris carried his daughter out of the bathroom, she sighed sleepily against his chest, tiny fist clutching the corner of his shirt.

“You’re exhausting, you know that?” he whispered.

She blew a spit bubble in response.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead.

And in that moment — soaked, tired, and wrapped around the finger of the tiniest chaos gremlin — he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

⸻

[solmire]

Author's note: this scene takes a place before car accident.

deaf!gojo masterlist full mlist

So loud. 

A Cacophony of mind-blowing noises. 

Everything around Gojo is clicking, clacking. Someone’s voice bounces off the walls, creating the feeling of drowning in his head. A common cafeteria of one of the best universities in Japan.

‘Oh gosh, life would be better if I were deaf.’ Only the thought of not being able to hear anything and living in peace calms his overstimulated mind, returning him to the letter in his hands - with the little hearts and “To: Satoru” on the bottom right corner.

“The same handwriting… Unfortunately, no sweet treats this time.” Satoru disappointedly mumbles under his breath. He is about to open the letter when someone suddenly slams a designer bag down in front of him.

“What the hell are you doing here, Gojo?! What did I tell you?!” Pretty girl’s face was grimacing with anger and disapproval toward the guy in front of her. “Why do I always need to wait for you to be done?! Son of a bitch!”

At this moment, the headache has become a constant. Nothing could beat Amaya’s tantrums and hysterics - always screaming like her life depends on the volume of her voice. Even the fall of aluminum dishes on the tile won’t win the battle against her high-pitch screams.

“Oh god, you know, society would work better if you changed your major from linguistics to being a megaphone. You need to consider this idea!” Despite growing migraine, he doesn’t let his guard go down, always fast with his cheeky remark. 

“I hate you! What the fuck are you holding?!” Amaya instantly forgets the reason for her tantrum, attention fully shifted to the letter in Gojo’s hands. “Again these stupid letters?! These bitches are so pathetic!  Give it to me!”

He doesn’t have time to react, as the letter is already in her hands and in the shortest possible seconds she tears it to pieces. 

“I am done with you, Gojo! Sukuna will take me there if you are so scared to drive a car, mama’s boy.” She turns around on her high louboutins  and storms out  of the cafeteria.

“Amaya, wait. I told you that my fear didn’t come out of nowhere. Something is wrong with my car-” He is trying to reach for her, leaving the cafeteria.

You were sitting two tables behind him, waiting for the moment when he finds out about you. You’d poured your heart into this letter a few days ago, thinking it’s the right way to confess.

You slowly approach the table where Satoru had been just minutes ago. Pieces of your love are lying around, you are squatting down to take a look. One of the nearest was with your name on it. 

That day you left the cafeteria with that torn piece of your love and a new note in your diary.

‘Loving deeply is my gift not my curse. There is the possibility of never being the one who is loved, at least, I know that my love is pure, that’s all I need.’

Taglist: @someonenamedray @totallyuniquenut @not-aya @pinacoladagod @lumilarity @rh-tg1 @luv3nti @thequeenofcurses @arrozyfrijoles23 @hel1nn @luna-v-roiya @p1nkfl0wers @iwriteforlove @gloomysel

[linartblogs]

First, thank you very much for your response ! Also, I apologize for any mistakes, I'm not a native speaker, but I'll try to map out my thoughts as well as I can ! Also, for anyone reading, spoilers ahead for s6 (El Toro de Piedra).

On the Adrien = love thing, I see what you mean, I guess I just tend to ignore certain messages the show seems to push and interpret some things my own way (keeps me sane). s1-s5 already made me so skeptical about Adrien's parents, but s6 is just making them look worse to me, especially Gabriel. Him being involved with the cult they introduced in s6 (idk if you're caught up with that) makes me go "yeah no that guy was still weird even before his wife's death ? And she's maybe on it too ? They both wanted to reform the world ?" or maybe that was after Emilie's death who knoooows.

I guess a reasonable "fanon" interpretation of Emilie and Gabriel would be that while they DID love Adrien, they're still shitty, self-centered people and parents who always projected their own dreams/wants onto their kid, whom they wish to shape into the perfect little man. However, near her death, Emilie seemed to have semi gained some self awareness which is why, in her final moments, she tells Nathalie to change Gabriel's mind and to let Adrien choose who he wants to be. Idc if the show wants me to think that she was a good mom, but to me that seems to indicate that she only had a change of heart towards the end. So she was somewhat controlling at first, but finally understood that she could not mold Adrien into just who she wanted him to be. I guess making her a semi decent mom is a more interesting thing. It also makes her a more complex, realistic character.

So, maybe Adrien is made of multiple complex emotions : His parent's love, his mom's desire for freedom as you said, but also her desire for him to be a "better" version than her, destined for bigger, great things (to go with that theme of her projecting onto her kid). So I see him breaking free from Gabriel's control as a first step, which gets him some extra power, like shielding the ones he loves since he's so attached to his identity as a super hero ? Make him go like, marie-sue style and face off his dad in the finale ? Well, at least it has to be impactful to signify his emancipation from his father's control.

Felix being a copycat makes a lot of sense to me, I think he's naturally a genius (was made that way), which is why he is skilled at so many things. But him being a shape-shifter would add to his manipulator aspect a lot.

As for Kagami, truthfully I'd love for the show to release more information about her or her mom, since we don't even understand fully Tomoe's motivation, or even who actually made Kagami. Her father maybe, since he seems to be absent ?

Globally, Miraculous is a real mess to rewrite, because you have the sort out a looot of stuff. They have so many good ideas but they always execute them poorly or drop something right after being on the good track. I still think it's entertaining, and they seem to be fixing some stuff in s6 although it's a bit late lol.

Sentimonsters are beings made from a single emotion and Adrien's emotion is heavily implied to be love. Sentimonsters can also have any random power the writers decide to give them and have been established to sometimes get powers their creators didn't intend (see Feast). That is the ultimate setup to use the power of love to empower Adrien and yet the show gives us nothing.

(See power of love rant for more)

[engie-ivy]

690 words.

Remus could never date Sirius’ ex.

Sirius’ Ex

“Isn't this… I dunno, crossing a line?” Sirius asks hesitantly.

“Nah,” James waves his hand. “Moony and I used to spy on your dates with Dearborn all the time.”

“You what?”

James scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, those are some hours of my life I'm never going to get back. Godric, your dates were boring.”

Really, the juiciest thing they got out of those spy-sessions was a goodbye kiss that lacked any passion. And Remus was always in a bad mood when they went spying on Sirius’ dates, so it was never much fun.

“Well,” Sirius says pointedly. “Excuse me for boring you while you were spying on me.”

“No worries,” James says easily, ignoring Sirius’ sarcasm. “Though it's a good thing you and Dearborn broke up, you two had zero chemistry.”

“True,” Sirius acknowledges, making a face remembering those dates.

“Well, let's see if we get more juice spying on Remus’ date!”

“Remus did say he and Fenwick are only hanging out as friends,” Sirius says, sounding a tad insecure.

“Let's find out if our Moony was telling the truth then, shall we?” James suggests, throwing the invisibility cloak over Sirius and himself with practiced ease.

Remus was telling the truth.

The whole thing definitely has a ‘two friends getting a drink’ vibe, no ‘first date’ vibe at all. James is already bored out of his mind having listened to Remus and Fenwick discussing their latest Potions assignment for the last twenty minutes, but Sirius and he are silently sitting at the corner of the table tucked away under the invisibility cloak, and they can't possibly leave without being noticed.

“So, guess what?” Fenwick says, placing their second round of butterbeer in front of Remus.

“Ah, you're finally going to tell me the big news?” Remus asks, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

Fenwick arches his eyebrow. “You're not one for guessing, are you?”

“Out with it, Benjy.”

Fenwick grins broadly. “I've got a date tomorrow!”

So definitely just friends, James thinks.

“You do?” Remus puts down his mug. “With whom?”

“Caradoc Dearborn,” Fenwick practically beams.

James quickly glances over at Sirius, but his expression hasn't changed.

“Dearborn?” Remus asks. “Sirius’ ex?”

“Among other things,” Fenwick replies dryly, taking a sip from his butterbeer. “But he says both he and Sirius are absolutely fine with the other dating other people.”

Remus shakes his head. “Still, I could never date Sirius’ ex.”

James notices how, now that the hypothetical situation of Remus dating Sirius’ ex is mentioned, a slight frown has appeared on Sirius’ face.

“Well, I'm not as close to Black as you are,” Fenwick reasons. “And besides, we're all seventh year Gryffindors, it would make things way too difficult if we can't date each other's exes.”

“Not just that,” Remus says. “I mean being the one who comes after Sirius. Being compared to Sirius.”

“I guess some comparison is inevitable,” Fenwick shrugs. “But it'll be fine. Caradoc and Sirius broke up for a reason, after all.”

“Still, I couldn't take the idea alone of potentially being compared to Sirius Black in a relationship,” Remus insists. “Sirius is just so… you know.”

“Eh, not really,” Fenwick says.

“So… perfect, I guess.” Remus sighs. “He's of course ridiculously good-looking,” he continues. “Merlin, those eyes and that hair… But besides that, he's so smart and talented, always top of the class! And he's utterly charming, but behind that charm, there's so much more. He's brave, of course, great with animals, kind and caring…” Remus trails off.

“Well, well,” Fenwick crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. “I see why you couldn't date Sirius’ ex.”

Remus’ face turns beet red. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he mutters, picking up his butterbeer and trying to hide his face behind his mug.

“So, that turned out to be interesting after all, didn't it, Pads?” James whispers, but as he turns to Sirius and sees the look on his face, he realizes that the next time he goes spying on a date, he'll have to do it on his own.

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter 3

It was the night before her birthday, and Paige was about to pretend she was going to sleep early—mostly so she wouldn’t have to sit in the quiet of her thoughts—when her screen lit up with Azzi’s name.

She hesitated for a second—thumb hovering over Accept—before answering.

Azzi’s face appeared, dimly lit by the glow of her desk lamp. Her hair was longer now, or maybe just messier, falling in front of her face like it always did when she was distracted.

“Hey,” Paige said, adjusting her phone against a pillow.

“Hey,” Azzi replied. She sounded tired but not in a bad way—just worn in. Familiar.

There was a beat of silence.

“Happy almost birthday,” Azzi added, softer this time. “Are you gonna do anything tomorrow?”

Paige shrugged. “Nika is dragging me to Ted’s. She likes a guy who's gonna be there tomorrow, apparently.”

Azzi nodded. “Fun.”

“Hopefully.”

Another pause. Azzi shifted on her end, leaning back against a wall covered in new posters Paige didn’t recognize. Her room looked lived-in. Different.

Paige hated how that made her feel.

Azzi said, “I was thinking I could come visit. Just for the weekend.”

Paige’s heart did something annoying. “Seriously?”

Azzi nodded, eyes flicking to the side like she wasn’t sure how serious she was until just now. “Yeah. I mean… if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly. “Of course it’s okay.”

Azzi smiled. Small. Tentative. “Cool.”

Another silence, but this one felt warmer. Familiar. Dangerous.

“You still like burrito bowls?” Azzi asked.

Paige laughed. “You think I’ve changed that much?”

Azzi tilted her head. “You never know. College changes people.”

The smile on Paige’s face flickered, something unspoken passing between them again. She looked away from the camera for a moment.

“Some things don’t change,” she said.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. I guess we’ll see.”

It was officially Paige’s birthday, and Azzi didn’t know how she was supposed to feel.

So much had happened since that night in May. They’d promised nothing would change, or at least pretended like it hadn’t—but of course, it had. Their friendship still existed, technically. But it felt quieter now, thinner around the edges. Not broken, just… edited. Cropped.

They still talked—memes, updates, half-hearted check-ins—but the real stuff slipped through the cracks. Paige hadn’t told Azzi about the night she got drunk for the first time, stumbling back to her dorm with glitter on her cheek and someone else’s jacket draped over her shoulders. And Azzi hadn’t told Paige about James—how it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, how she told herself it didn’t, even when it felt like it did.

Then there was the bigger stuff. Like how Paige had come out to her teammates. How it wasn’t just whispered anymore, or something she only acknowledged in the dark. Azzi had found out through someone’s Instagram story—a blurry shot from a party, loud music in the background, red cups and grinning faces. But what made her stomach twist was the way Paige had her arm draped casually over a girl’s shoulder, their bodies close, their smiles too comfortable to be just friends. The tag said something stupid like “sapphics only 💋💅”, but it was the image that stuck with her. Paige looked free. Unapologetic. Seen.

Azzi hadn’t double-tapped the photo. She hadn’t said anything at all.

It was real now, public in a way it hadn’t been when it was just them, tangled in sheets and silence.

They hadn’t fought. There was no dramatic falling out. Just a slow drift, like two satellites caught in different orbits.

She told herself it was just what best friends did. But even that label felt wobbly now, like it didn’t quite fit the way it used to.

And that scared her more than anything else.

Paige, meanwhile, was being bombarded.

The texts were already rolling in—group chats lighting up, a dozen notifications from people she barely knew tagging her in blurry photos and stories with 🎉 emojis. Nika had already yelled "Birthday bitch!" in their kitchen before 9 a.m. and promised tequila later, and Paige had smiled like that felt good.

But underneath it, something was missing. Or not missing, exactly—just quiet.

Azzi hadn’t texted again. Not after the FaceTime. Not since saying she was coming.

They still talked, technically. Still sent each other TikToks and inside jokes and the occasional “miss your face” when it got late enough to say things without really meaning them. But the real stuff—the stuff that used to buzz between them like a live wire—had started slipping away sometime over the summer.

It was like trying to hold water in her hands. No matter how tightly she cupped her fingers, it leaked out.

She hadn’t told Azzi about the first time she got drunk, about how the city lights had blurred into streaks and she’d kissed a girl she didn’t even know the last name of. How afterward, she’d cried in the stairwell, not from guilt or regret, but from this weird ache she couldn’t quite name.

She hadn’t told Azzi about coming out to her teammates, either. Aaliyah had asked casually at a party—“So you’re, like, gay-gay?”—and Paige had just nodded, like it wasn’t a big deal. And then it wasn’t. Word spread. No one cared. It was freeing, in a way. But also lonely. Because Azzi wasn’t part of that version of her. Not really.

And then there was the photo. The glitter, the arm around the girl’s shoulders, the tag, the smile. It was harmless. Fun. Paige hadn’t thought much of it—until she saw that Azzi had viewed the story.

But she never said anything.

And neither did Paige.

Maybe that was the worst part—not what they said, but what they didn’t. The way their friendship had morphed into something polite. Something safe. Like they were both afraid of stepping too close to the edge again, just in case the fall this time actually broke something.

Paige didn’t know about James. She didn’t ask. Didn’t press. But she could feel it—something in the tone of Azzi’s voice, the way she’d started talking around certain topics, the way her laughter felt more like a defense than a reaction.

They were still best friends. But only in the way people still call their childhood house home, even when someone else lives there now.

And yet, Azzi was coming.

She’d texted the night before, like it was just a casual visit, not something that made Paige’s heart twist itself into knots.

“Still cool if I come visit this weekend?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Paige didn’t know what it meant—that Azzi was coming. That they were going to be in the same room again. That for the first time in months, they wouldn’t have a screen or a phone call or a hundred miles of distance between them.

But she knew how it felt.

Dangerous.

And a little bit like hope.

She had arrived.

Azzi pulled into the parking lot just outside Paige’s dorm complex, the hum of her car engine softening as she shifted into park. The campus stretched out in front of her—wide sidewalks winding between old brick buildings, students crossing the quad with coffee cups and headphones, the faint clang of someone shooting hoops nearby. It looked alive. Bigger than she remembered. And maybe, if things lined up, it could be hers next year.

She sat behind the wheel for a moment longer, taking it all in. The place Paige called home now. The place Azzi might soon belong to.

She was supposed to meet with Geno and CD later that afternoon—an unofficial but important check-in to talk about the decision she’d been circling with her parents all week. No commitment yet, not officially. But it was close. Close enough that her stomach flipped every time she thought about it too hard.

She hadn’t told Paige.

Not yet.

Part of her wanted it to be a surprise—a birthday gift that wasn’t wrapped or posted online. Just… her. Showing up. Fully present. Not as the girl who used to share a bed on weekends and text cryptic one-liners about feelings at midnight. But as someone who was maybe, finally, ready to be part of Paige’s world again. More than just a visitor.

She glanced at her phone, thumb hovering over the text that said “I’m here”, and paused. Her reflection stared back at her in the rearview mirror—slightly windblown, eyes wide with something that felt a lot like nerves.

This wasn’t just a visit.

It was a beginning.

Maybe.

She hit send.

And then she stepped out of the car.

“Wassup, big head,” Paige called out, pushing through the stairwell doors with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly where she stood—in her space, in her body, in this moment.

She was wearing a loose UConn t-shirt, sleeves rolled up slightly, and a pair of navy athletic shorts that showed off the familiar strength in her legs. Her hair was pulled back messily, still damp from the post-lift shower, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to her skin like proof of how hard she’d just been working. Azzi felt her breath hitch—just for a second—because, damn. Paige looked good. Strong. Like herself. Like the version Azzi sometimes still dreamed about, even when she swore she was over it.

“Not much,” Azzi said, her voice almost too casual, squinting slightly in the sunlight as she looked Paige over. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, unsure where to put the weird mix of nerves and nostalgia twisting in her gut.

Paige crossed the short distance between them in a few easy strides, her sneakers quiet on the concrete. Before Azzi could say anything else, Paige pulled her into a hug.

It wasn’t tight, or long. Just enough to register. Warm arms around shoulders, the smell of laundry detergent and whatever body spray Paige always used—vanilla and something faintly citrus. It should’ve felt familiar. And in some ways, it did.

But Azzi stiffened, just slightly.

Not enough for Paige to notice, probably. But enough for Azzi to feel it in her own bones. The way her body flinched inward—not from Paige, but from herself. From the weight of what she hadn’t said yet. From the secrets lodged somewhere between her chest and her throat.

She hadn’t told Paige about James. Or about how she’d been thinking—seriously thinking—about committing to UConn. That she’d be walking into a meeting with Geno and CD in a few hours that could change everything. It had all seemed like part of the birthday surprise, part of the gift. But now, standing in Paige’s orbit again, it just felt like too much unspoken.

And the thing was… Paige didn’t know Azzi wasn’t the only one keeping things close to the chest.

Because Paige was carrying guilt too. The kind she didn’t name out loud, but that still haunted her in quiet hours—like the night she kissed someone new just to see if it would feel like Azzi. Like the day she came out on campus without so much as a warning text. Like the moment she saw Azzi had viewed that Instagram story and never said a word.

The hug ended.

Azzi stepped back with a faint smile, trying to fold her emotions into something more manageable. “You smell like sweat,” she said, teasing just enough to cover the tension.

Paige grinned, unfazed. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Azzi nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. She was here now. The hug had happened. The weekend had officially begun.

But the real conversation?

That was still waiting.

And it wasn’t going to stay quiet for long.

“So, how’s senior year been so far?” Paige asked casually, her voice light but genuinely curious as she carried Azzi’s duffel bag on her shoulder. They stood at the back of Azzi’s car, the trunk now closed with a soft thud, the early afternoon sun still bright overhead. Azzi had just finished unloading her stuff, but the silence between them lingered for a moment before Paige broke it again. “Decided to commit to UConn yet?” she added with a playful smirk, but there was a confidence behind her words—as if she already knew the answer.

Azzi hesitated, a little caught off guard by the question. She felt her pulse quicken, the weight of what she was about to say hanging in the air. “Yeah, actually,” she said, but paused. The words felt heavier than she’d expected. “I was gonna tell you at dinner, but since you brought it up… I texted Geno last week that I’m gonna be up here and want to talk.”

The second the words left her mouth, Paige stopped dead in her tracks. Her jaw dropped, and she stared at Azzi like she had just announced she was moving to Mars.

“No way, bro, stop playing with me.” Paige’s tone was incredulous, her eyes wide, not fully processing what Azzi had said. She shifted her weight, clearly still trying to make sense of the statement.

Azzi squinted against the sun, lifting her hand to shield her eyes as she shrugged, the weight of the moment suddenly feeling very real. “No, I’m serious.”

Paige stood frozen for a second longer, then repeated herself with more disbelief. “Seriously?”

Azzi gave a small nod. “Seriously.” She could feel the weight of the decision pressing in on her chest, but there was also something in the air between them that made her heart race—something deeper than just the surface-level exchange.

Without warning, Paige dropped the duffel bag to the ground with a thud, her hands shooting out to grab Azzi, pulling her into a tight, unexpected bear hug. Azzi felt the sudden force of it, a mix of warmth and surprise, as Paige’s arms wrapped around her like she was holding on for dear life.

“Paige,” Azzi gasped, feeling slightly smothered in the embrace. She tried to laugh, but it came out strangled as she struggled to breathe, a mix of emotions swirling inside her.

The hug lasted a beat too long, and when Paige finally pulled back, Azzi could feel something damp on her neck. Her heart skipped a beat. “P, are you crying?” she asked, her voice softer now, a little more tentative. She could tell something was off, but didn’t know how to address it.

Paige wiped at her eyes quickly, as if to cover it up, but when she spoke, there was a smile fighting through the tears. “No, bro, I’m just happy.”

Azzi stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She felt the pull of something deeper between them, but she couldn’t figure out if it was just the joy of the moment or something more complicated. “P,” she said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Are you really that excited to spend three years here with me?” Her laugh was light, teasing, trying to defuse the sudden rush of emotions that had taken over.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that stretched across her face. “Bro, stop trying to make fun of me.”She reached down to grab Azzi’s duffel bag, hoisting it back over her shoulder as if nothing had happened. She started walking toward the dorm stairs, her pace casual, though the smile on her face was wide and genuine.

Azzi stood there for a moment longer, watching Paige walk away, a bemused smile still playing on her lips. “You’re impossible,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head at the ground. Despite the way her heart was still beating fast, she followed Paige up the stairs, the weight of what was coming next settling between them like an unspoken promise.

P.S. Sorry for posting this so late been out of town, but I also will posting chapter four and maybe five tonight depending on how much time I have.