#But something new and maybe it will lead to something better

[screamlet]

♞: Caring for each other while ill

thank you for the prompt! have another 1.2k of fluff, this time set during the summer between s7/s8 when bucktommy was new and anything we wanted it to be, lol. from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

---

On a really good, horny day, Buck might be strong enough to haul Tommy off his living room floor and drop him on the couch. That's not one of those days, though: Buck is sick, Tommy is sick, and they might be better off dying together in each other's arms on the floor of the loft.

"I should just go home."

"Tommy, you fainted when you tried to put on a sock."

They're lying side-by-side on the floor of the loft; Tommy did try to put on a sock and faint, but Buck caught him before he shattered his skull on the floor. Once he had saved Tommy's life, he felt vertigo kick in and slowly lowered himself to the floor, too, where he and Tommy could lie together for the last 10-15 minutes of their lives.

"I don't need socks to drive," Tommy answers.

Buck laughs quietly. "Don't make me laugh, everything hurts."

"It's too early for flu season, it's the fucking Fourth of July."

"Eighth."

"It's the fucking Eighth of July."

"You know, the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4th, but on July 8th at 12 PM, it was read aloud in public for the first time."

"So… Happy Public Declaration of the Declaration of Independence Day?"

"It's a little wordy."

"Just a little."

"And it doesn't need to be flu season for my niece to get us sick." Buck turns his head and pouts. "I'm sorry you're sick. I'm sorry I'm sick, too, but I'm more sorry you're sick."

"Don't apologize. People get sick sometimes. This'll probably be the last time I'm sick, though, since I'm gonna die from this, whatever it is."

"No you're not." Suddenly Buck's eyes widen as he flails at Tommy. "Are you? You don't have like a compromised immune system or anything? Are you actually dying? Tommy, we're first responders, why haven't we called 9-1-1?"

Tommy's eyes close for a beat. "I'm not dying, I'm just a very melodramatic 39-year-old man who doesn't want to be sick in front of this guy he really likes."

"Oh," Buck says.

Tommy turns his head to look at Buck. "I'm sorry. I was saving that for my deathbed confession, but that could be now. You can't cringe at a guy's deathbed confession, Evan. It's the law."

Buck doesn't—he doesn't know how to—how he can talk to Tommy. He doesn't know how to keep up with him when he's so—he's funny and flirty and sexy and sometimes he seems so serious that everything in Buck's soul quakes in a way he doesn't understand because he's never felt it before. There's a hundred, a thousand things Buck wants to say to him: he wants to flirt back, he wants to be funny, he wants to say something that will get Tommy to smile in this way he has, when the grin breaks across his face like a sunrise Buck stayed up all night waiting to see. He's so—he's so much, and Buck wants so much.

Buck softly replies, "Okay, I won't."

Tommy's eyes soften, too, like Buck had done or said any of the things that might make Tommy fall in love with him. He hadn't, though. Maybe Tommy just likes him.

"Is it more embarrassing to DoorDash Gatorade and more cold medicine, or to text Eddie and make him our DoorDash guy?" Buck asks.

Tommy's eyes crinkle a little. "Do you think either of those entities have the capacity for shame?"

"No, it's me, I'm ashamed. Which is more embarrassing?"

"Well how about this." Tommy closes his eyes and sighs as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone like it's made out of lead. "You keep your shame and I will get a whole pharmacy delivered to your door, and no one will ever know that you have a cold, too."

"Now it just sounds silly. It's fine, I'll do it."

Tommy swings a hand to Buck and holds it out. Buck rolls his eyes and takes it, links their fingers together. "Let me treat you to some electrolytes and cold medicine before we spend our 48 off on this floor, choking on our own phlegm."

"Yeah, not even each other's," Buck says. "I bet your phlegm tastes great."

It slips out of Buck's mouth and makes Tommy stutter and laugh with his whole achy body. Buck's so embarrassed and so proud and so embarrassed, but how can he want to wither and die when Tommy's looking at him so—

The way Buck looks at him? This warm look like—like he can't look away from Buck, the way Buck can't look away from him.

"I can't believe you've been depriving the queer community of hits like that all these years," Tommy replies, still grinning at him. Buck squeezes his hand and hopes this lightheaded feeling is just—it's that he likes his boyfriend, not that worms are eating his brain or anything.

"Hey, uh." Tommy's hand has loosened around Buck's. Buck wants him back, but maybe he's letting go for a good reason. Or a bad one. Buck doesn't care, he wants it back. "So I'm gonna build this delivery order to end all orders, and then maybe…"

"Maybe…"

Tommy turns his head, but he looks less confident than he did 90 seconds ago. "I know we had really amazing plans for this 48 off, so many things we were going to do to each other's bodies that didn't involve cold compresses and acetaminophen. But now that's all been crushed… would it be so bad if we… like if we still, I don't know, spent them together?"

Buck stares at him, long enough that Tommy looks away and shakes his head. "Never mind, I was—"

"Tommy, you fainted trying to put on a sock," Buck interrupts. "You're not leaving here until I say you can."

"I mean, that sounds very hot and in charge of you, but this was supposed to be a fun little weekend. You didn't sign up for—"

"Yes I did," Buck says. "You're gonna stay here until we're strong enough to fuck each other's brains out again. Upstairs. On the bed." Buck links his fingers with Tommy's again and squeezes (clutches) his hand. "It might take a while. We might even need to take a sick day."

There's something around Tommy's eyes that Buck wants to rub away. Tommy, his fun Tommy, the one who's been funny enough to keep him on the floor for this long, is slowly coming back, but Buck wants—he wants. He wants to be the one to say or do the thing that gets Tommy to stop thinking dumb things like is he gonna kick me out of his house when I'm sick. Just like Tommy makes him laugh and think, Buck wants to be the one to—

He just really wants to be something, mean something, to him.

"If you mean it." Tommy lets out a long-suffering sigh. "If you'll have me, Evan Buckley, I would really like to take a sick day with you."

Buck nods with more confidence than he actually has. "Good. Cause you're gonna. Add some popsicles on there, too."

"Oh, good idea, you're very smart."

Tommy flashes him a grin that makes Buck an even weaker puddle on the floor. Good thing he doesn't have to get up yet so he can lie here, watching Tommy order them Gatorade and popsicles and cold medicine, and try not to fall in love with him.

[bunnyclawzz]

Can you do more hyperfem reader x Mohawk mark??

Yesyesyes!! I lovee mohawk Mark so much, I might make this a little series😋

Opposites!

Mohawk Mark x Hyperfem!reader

Going shopping with you would be a full-time job to anyone who wasn't him. He never got bothered when you would ask to go. Yeah, he had those snarky little comments, but her never actually meant any of them

"Maarrkk? Can you come to the mall wi-" he didn't even let you finish asking for his company before he cut you off in a rude yet affectionate way. "Stop asking me like I'm ever gonna let you go alone. The hell do you even need from there anyways?" he questioned without even looking up from his phone. His response had a warm grin blossoms onto your face, the kind of smile that he could tell was there without needing to turn to check. A soft hum leaves your glossed lips before you reply. "Wanna get new clothes for spring. Maybe early summer shoppin' too. Maybe we can get some for you too!' you'd offer all enthusiastically as if you were the one paying for any items. He turns his head to face you, raising an eyebrow at you with a slanted head "..Sure. Whatever you pick, princess" he spoke, purposely using the nickname that always made you feel all warm inside and out.

Just like clockwork, each and every time you were shopping with him he would follow you around like a stray dog. He'd carry whichever drink you had chosen for the warm afternoon-weather it's a iced soda, a boba tea, or an overly sugared iced coffee, it's in his hand while you wander around whichever shop caught your attention first. "Hmm.." you buzz softly, eyes scanning around for just a moment. Your soft hand takes his rough and hard-skinned one to lead him into a store that makes him look like an action figure stuck into a dollhouse.

"Mark," you began as you lifted a lacy pink baby doll top up into his view "do you like this?" you questioned as your free hand ran along the pastel fabric. He had no time to respond before you continued on with the questions. "Or do you like the yellow one better? Oh-they have blue! You like blue, right?" He couldn't hold back the big smile that plastered across his face as you trailed on and on about the colors of the tops that had your attention. "I do like blue, yeah, but you shouldn't just get something 'cause it's a color I like" You're silent for a few seconds, clearly up in your head thinking about something. After just another second you click your tongue and shake your head, you voice coming out like the curb of a morning bird. "Nope!" You said, popping the 'p' in the word as you set the pink top down and reached for the French blue colored one instead, "Already got an outfit for it planned in my head." He chuckles at your words. His hand reaches out to take the top, holding it up to your body in attempt to get a visual. "Yeah? Can't wait to see it on" He said in a low murmur as he eyed you up.

Just around an hour into the trip you had your own drink in hand, sipping contently as your boyfriend followed you around whilst carrying all your shopping bags, all full of items purchased by him. Store after store, changing room after changing room and giving endless input and compliments and watching you swatch an endless amount of lippies only to buy you one new lipstick and a new mascara tube-how could he not spoil you? You're the one thing in his life that is absolutely perfect in and out, he has to treat you as what you are. "Princess," he began with a soft sigh, "Come on, we're sitting at the food court for a minute. Just the sound of those shoes tells me they're uncomfortable" he said as he gestured to the open-toed kitten heels on your feet. He barely let your brain process the words, just quick to take you by the wrist and tug you to the first open seats he could find.

"Alright," he spoke again, "I"m getting you a burger and fries. Do you want a new drink?" You didn't respond for a few seconds. Your eyes got glued to him, admiring him and all he does for you for just a few seconds before you answered. "...get me a lemonade?" "Got it" he said as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "I'll be right back, just sit and rest your feet for a few minutes."

Upon meeting Mark, the weirdo-punk with the spiky mohawk and short temper, you never thought you'd like him, let alone date him. You would've never dreamt that being paired with said weirdo would lead to you being treated like royalty and being absolutely spoiled rotten whenever he could. Can’t help but adore his very unlikely girlfriend

[vamptizm]

SNOOZE — p.bueckers iii.

pairing: paige bueckers x soraya mensima (oc)

synopsis: rookie paige bueckers enters the league with confidence, charm, and a bad habit of gravitating toward things she shouldn’t want— like soraya mensima, the wings’ respected star and reluctant heartbreaker. soraya’s been here longer, knows better, and refuses to let lines blur... even as paige keeps rewriting them with every smile.

warnings: fluff. brief sexism. sexual tension.

word count: 6877

ana speaks ᝰ.ᐟ ── this chapter and the previous ones are basically the calm before the storm so after this i promise u won’t have to read anything too boring anymore.

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd

Practice had been brutal. Chris had them running sets over and over again, the kind that made your lungs burn and legs feel like lead, all in the name of preseason prep. There were only a few days left until the first game, and though the team was beginning to find its rhythm, it wasn't clicking the way it needed to—especially not for Soraya. 

She and Paige had shown flashes of potential, working off each other better than expected given how new they still were to each other's tendencies. But it wasn't enough. Not to Soraya. Not to Chris. There were still missed cuts, mistimed screens, glances that should've turned into passes. 

By the end of it, Soraya was drenched in sweat and silently seething. Not at Paige, not even at herself, really—just at the whole frustrating knowledge that this could work if she just... let it. If she softened. And she hated that. 

All she wanted now was to go home. 

She could already picture it: the icy blast of her apartment AC, the soft flick of her cat's tail against her leg as she slumped on the couch, some dumb comfort movie playing in the background while she scrolled through food delivery options with half-lidded eyes. Nothing cooked. Nothing planned. Just stillness. Quiet. 

But as she stepped out of the facility's back entrance and into the parking lot, she was smacked in the face by the kind of sticky, oppressive heat that made her swear under her breath. 

It was past six, yet the Texan sun still clung to the air like it had something to prove. The pavement shimmered, every breath heavy and cloying with humidity. It was easily in the high 80s, maybe just shy of ninety. 

"Are you fucking serious?" she muttered, wiping at her freshly washed face with the back of her hand. 

She'd just showered. She could still smell the faint trace of eucalyptus body wash lingering on her skin. And now this? This sauna? 

She half-jogged to her car, a white four-door with fading tint and character that didn't quite match her demeanor, and flung the door open. Sliding inside, she tossed her bag into the passenger seat and jammed the keys into the ignition, already reaching for the AC dial in anticipation. 

The engine sputtered. Coughed. Then died. 

She blinked. Waited. Tried again. 

More coughing. A hollow rattling noise. A low, mechanical wheeze—like the car was sick of the heat too. 

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." 

Panic didn't hit immediately. Just annoyance. A steady, creeping dread began to settle in her gut as she shoved the door open and stepped back out into the frying pan of a parking lot. 

By the time she popped the hood, the smoke came in a thick, almost theatrical burst—white and suffocating, curling up in her face and sending her coughing, stumbling back a step as she waved her hand uselessly at it. 

"Jesus," she gasped, eyes watering. 

She waited a beat for the worst of it to pass, then moved in again. Her hands braced against the frame, hips angled, upper body bending into the open hood. A few strands of hair clung to her damp temples, her tank top shifting up her back with the motion, exposing just a sliver of skin to the unforgiving air. 

The denim skirt she'd changed into post-shower—a casual, worn-in piece she liked for its comfort more than its appearance—rode higher as she leaned in, resting her weight into the effort. The sight was almost too perfectly framed. 

There she was: a woman alone in a parking lot, the Texas sun casting her in gold, the lines of her body etched in sweat and defiance. Bent over the engine of her own car, swearing under her breath and fuming with the kind of heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. 

Soraya wasn't some helpless girl in need of rescue. She knew just enough about cars to not get swindled, enough to handle the basics. But right now, she didn't need knowledge—she needed a miracle. Or a mechanic. Or a cold beer. Maybe all three. 

She muttered something unintelligible and leaned in closer, squinting through the residual haze, wishing she hadn't deleted the number of the guy who used to do her tune-ups for free in exchange for game tickets. 

And somewhere in the background—quiet at first—came the slow, steady sound of approaching footsteps. 

When Paige stepped out into the parking lot, she was met with a scene that made her slow to a stop, one brow raised, a smirk already curling on her lips. There was Soraya, bent over the hood of her car like a cursed pin-up, her skirt threatening to ride just a little higher, her tank top hugging the sharp lines of her back. The engine was hissing softly, still exhaling the last remnants of smoke like it had something to say for itself.

It was chaos. Beautiful chaos.

"Who you tryna give a lil show to?" Paige called out, voice lazy with amusement as she strolled toward her. "Is it me? I hope it's me."

If Soraya hadn't been so simmering with rage, so done with this day and this heat and this damn car, she might've cracked a smile. Might've offered an eye roll with a begrudging laugh. But instead, she kept her eyes narrowed on the mess under the hood, flashlight from her phone slicing through shadows, scanning wires and belts with a practiced impatience.

"I'd run you over with my car if it was working," she muttered, flatly. Her tone had a dry bite, but there was a whisper of humor buried beneath it—just enough to let Paige know she wasn't totally serious.

Paige let out a soft chuckle, stepping in beside her. "Lucky me."

She peered into the hood, pretending like she might have something to contribute, but it was clear even to her that things were bad. Worse than bad. She could smell burnt oil, maybe coolant. Nothing good.

Just as she was about to offer to call someone, Soraya snapped.

The frustration poured out in one motion. Soraya straightened abruptly, lips pressed into a thin line, the tension in her jaw making her look almost serene—for a second. Then her foot connected with the tire. And again. And again. She kicked the side of the car like it had personally betrayed her, cursing in a flurry of languages, half of which Paige couldn't even hope to translate.

"Woah, woah, okay—hey!" Paige moved quickly, wrapping her arms gently around Soraya's waist and pulling her back before she broke her foot or dented the door. Her touch wasn't rough, just enough pressure to ground her. "Let's relax, alright?"

"Stupid fucking piece of shit, Scheiß Hurensohn Auto," Soraya growled, breath hot and fast as Paige eased her away from the curb. (shitty son of a bitch car)

"Hey, hey." Paige's voice was quieter now, a gentle anchor. She waited until Soraya looked at her, their eyes locking in a tense, charged second. "Breathe, okay? In and out. Just like that. Come on."

Miraculously, Soraya listened. She drew in a deep breath, held it, then let it go. And again. The tension in her shoulders slowly loosened with each breath, her hands unclenching from fists to flat palms.

"There you go. Good job," Paige murmured, the corner of her mouth lifting. It wasn't condescending—it was warm, real, and just soft enough to make Soraya's throat tighten.

But then the awareness returned.

Soraya blinked and suddenly remembered Paige's hands were still on her. Her skin prickled—not from discomfort, but from the sheer fact of being touched without warning. She peeled Paige's arms off, not harshly, just firm. Boundaried.

"Hard to fucking breathe when it feels like you're inside an oven," she muttered, rolling her eyes toward the sun like it had personally offended her.

Paige couldn't help the amused huff that left her. Yeah, it was hot. Stupid hot. And yet somehow Soraya looked even hotter—glistening in the golden hour light, cheeks flushed with frustration, her hair beginning to curl at the ends from the heat. How was it fair for someone to look so good while actively crashing out?

Still, Paige didn't push back when her hands were brushed off. She respected it. Not everyone liked being touched. Especially not when they were angry and vulnerable. 

"Alright," Paige said, adjusting the strap of her bag as casually as she could. "Let's go back inside. I'll help you call a tow truck or something. Get it towed, figure it out later."

She half expected resistance. A snippy comment. Soraya was stubborn, after all. But instead, the other girl just sighed—deep and heavy—before turning on her heel and stomping back toward the facility with her arms crossed tight over her chest.

Paige followed, a beat behind, hands shoved in her pockets. She couldn't wipe the grin off her face if she tried. Watching Soraya walk in that denim skirt, hips swaying with each indignant step, her soft thighs—it was criminal, really.

Paige let her eyes drift for a second longer than she should have.

God help her, she was so fucked.

Inside the building, the blessed kiss of air conditioning hit Soraya's skin like a miracle. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, but the tension in her posture remained like static clinging to fabric. She stood near the tall windows, arms crossed, fingers fidgeting as she cracked her knuckles in turn. Outside, the sun still blazed like it had something to prove, reflecting off her car's hood—mocking her.

Twenty minutes had passed. Still no tow truck.

"Y'know you can go home, right?" Soraya said without turning, eyes fixed on the parking lot. "Don't gotta stay here, Bueckers."

From behind her, Paige's voice was relaxed, soaked in that same teasing confidence Soraya had come to associate with her. "I know. Can't leave a pretty girl on her own, though."

Soraya's jaw twitched, the corner of her mouth nearly threatening a smile. Instead, she rolled her eyes lightly, keeping her voice even. "It's not the wilderness. I'll be just fine."

She looked back briefly, catching a glimpse of Paige manspreading in the nearby chair, scrolling through her phone like she owned the damn place, one leg bouncing in lazy rhythm. It was annoying how good she looked doing absolutely nothing.

Before Paige could volley back another quip, Soraya's eyes flicked back to the window just in time to catch the arrival of the tow truck.

Without a word, she pushed off the wall and headed back outside, her phone still in her hand. She met the driver halfway, offering him the keys with a neutral expression.

"The shop's already been informed," she explained. "Just gotta drop the keys off too."

The man looked her over with an unsubtle scan that lingered a second too long. "You sure they ain't gonna rip you off, lil lady?"

Her gaze sharpened instantly. Lil lady?

The words sat wrong in her stomach—like vinegar on an open wound. Already exhausted and pissed off, she was not in the mood.

"I'm not clueless and helpless," she said, voice flat and cutting. "Thank you very much."

The man chuckled, holding up his hands in faux innocence. "Just makin' sure. Girls don't usually know much about cars."

Paige was by her side a second later, slipping between them like a wall made of fire and steel. "We appreciate the concern," she said coolly, towering over the guy with just enough proximity to make him uneasy, "but if we could wrap this up a bit quicker, that'd be great."

Her tone wasn't rude. It was simply firm. Soraya said nothing, watching as the man suddenly seemed to realize he might be outmatched. He muttered something vague and went about his work.

Once everything was squared away, and the tow truck disappeared down the road with Soraya's car in tow, there was a strange silence between them. Soraya didn't say thank you. Didn't offer Paige a look or even a nod. It wasn't because she wasn't grateful—it was because she hadn't needed saving, and she didn't want to feed the narrative that she had.

She pulled out her phone again with a sigh and began walking toward the door.

"Where y'going?" Paige asked from behind, her tone casual but curious.

"Inside?" Soraya called back, one brow raised. "I'm not waiting for an Uber out here."

Paige let out a soft laugh under her breath. "Nah, c'mon. Lemme give you a ride."

Soraya slowed slightly but didn't stop. She turned halfway, still walking. "That's not necessary."

"It is to me," Paige insisted, standing her ground. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Just lemme do something nice for you, 'kay?"

The sincerity in her voice was unexpected. Not cocky. Not performative. Just... real.

Soraya hesitated. She hated being the person who said yes to things she didn't ask for. Hated being the passenger in someone else's kindness. But also—she was tired. It had been a long day, and her feet ached, and the idea of sitting in a stuffy Uber with a stranger felt like the final straw.

"Fine," she said, sharp and short, like she was doing Paige a favor.

Paige didn't seem to mind. She just grinned, turning on her heel like she'd just won something, and led the way to her car.

Soraya followed, keeping a few steps behind—not because she didn't want to walk beside her, but because she needed the space. Space to process the weird warmth in her chest. Space to ignore the way Paige's shoulders looked under that sleeveless tee. Space to remind herself that this wasn't anything.

Ever the gentleman, Paige rounded the car with a lazy confidence, hands in her pockets like she'd done it a million times before. She opened the passenger door for Soraya without saying a word, the gesture effortless, not showy. Just instinctive.

Soraya raised a brow, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk she quickly shut down. She slipped into the seat, muttering a soft, "Thanks," under her breath. As soon as Paige turned away to walk around to her side, a brief smile cracked across Soraya's face—quick and amused, gone by the time Paige slid into the driver's seat beside her.

The inside of Paige's car smelled faintly like citrus and something crisp and clean—maybe her cologne or her laundry detergent. The engine hummed to life with a soft rumble, and her music started playing—some mellow R&B track with deep bass and smooth vocals that filled the space without overwhelming it. Soraya didn't say anything about the song. She just let it wash over her, content in the stillness.

She wasn't someone who felt the need to fill silence. Silence was easy. Familiar and safe. She sat back in her seat, letting it settle between them like a quiet agreement. Paige didn't fight it either. She just drove.

And Soraya watched her—quietly, against her better judgment.

It started with the way Paige gripped the steering wheel. There was something almost annoyingly attractive about it. The way the veins on the back of her hand flexed when she turned, the strong tendons that shifted under her skin. The way her forearms looked—lean and cut, casual but controlled.

Paige leaned into her seat like she belonged there, one hand resting at the top of the wheel, the other occasionally shifting gears with a smooth flick of her wrist. It wasn't just how she moved—it was how sure she looked doing it. Relaxed. Unbothered. Confident in a way Soraya hated to find so damn appealing.

She forced herself to look away, eyes snapping back to the window before her thoughts wandered somewhere she didn't want them to go. This was stupid. Paige was her rookie, not some girl she should be admiring like this.

"Nice neighborhood," Paige commented offhandedly, just to break the quiet, eyes still on the road. She didn't seem to expect a response.

Soraya gave her a short nod. "It's quiet. I like that."

More silence. The music continued. Then, out of nowhere, Soraya said, "You have good taste."

Paige turned her head just slightly, a smirk tugging at her mouth. "In music or women?"

That made Soraya chuckle. Actually chuckle. Quiet and reluctant, but real. She rolled her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. "Both, I guess," she murmured with a casual shrug.

Paige didn't respond to that—just let it hang there, satisfied with the answer.

The car ride continued like that. Comfortable. Occasionally interrupted by Soraya's soft-spoken directions. Paige didn't question them, didn't try to make small talk just to fill the air. She just drove and listened and made every smooth turn feel somehow cinematic.

By the time they pulled up to Soraya's building, the sun had dipped fully below the skyline, casting everything in that deep twilight blue. The dashboard light painted Paige's face in a soft glow, and Soraya found herself lingering in her seat a moment too long, not quite ready to open the door.

Paige shifted into park, her fingers resting on the gear like they belonged there.

Soraya glanced at her, hesitant. "You can come up for a bit... if you want."

Paige's brows lifted slightly. "Is that your poor attempt at an invite?"

Soraya narrowed her eyes, though the almost invisible smile tugging at her lips gave her away. She wasn't really mad. "Alright, keep it cute. So you coming up or you got somewhere to be?"

Paige tilted her head like she was considering it, then asked, "Like where?"

The question threw Soraya for a second. "I don't know. Home? A date?"

Paige let out a quiet laugh, brushing her hand over her knee. "You think I'd flirt with you, drive you across town, open your car door... just to be late to a date?"

Soraya blinked at her, then looked away, trying not to let the warmth in her chest show. She didn't know how to react to the verbal confirmation that the rookie was indeed flirting with her. "I dunno," she muttered.

"Yeah, I'll come up," Paige replied, glancing at her for a moment that lasted a beat too long.

Soraya reached for the door, her voice cool again. "Cool."

She stepped out, not bothering to look back to see if Paige followed.

But she knew she would.

h The lobby of Soraya's apartment building was clean and modern, all cool tones and sleek lines, the air tinged with the faint scent of eucalyptus from some hidden diffuser. Soraya led the way across the glossy floors, her pace easy, unhurried, while Paige trailed a few steps behind, her hands shoved into the pockets of her loose-fitting pants, taking everything in with a quiet kind of curiosity. 

They reached the elevators just as the doors slid open with a soft chime, and out stepped an older woman—small, spry, with silver hair pulled neatly into a low bun. She wore a colorful scarf draped over her shoulders and carried a well-worn handbag tucked into the crook of her elbow. 

The woman's face immediately lit up at the sight of Soraya. 

"Soraya, mi cielito!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and affectionate as she reached out to gently rub Soraya's arm in that familiar, grandmotherly way. 

Paige blinked, a little caught off guard by the sudden shift in atmosphere. 

To her further surprise, Soraya's entire demeanor softened. A smile—genuine, bright, and completely different from the wry, guarded expressions Paige was used to—bloomed across her face. 

"Hi, Carmen," Soraya said warmly, her voice carrying an easy affection. "I'm good, thank you. How've you been?" 

Carmen let out a small, dramatic sigh as she patted Soraya's arm. "Ay, you know... same old back issues. But what can you do, mija?" 

Soraya's brows knit together in a small, concerned frown. "You should get that checked out again," she said, her tone laced with genuine worry. 

But Carmen just waved her hand dismissively, smiling like she didn't have a care in the world. "Bah! Doctors only tell me what I already know." 

Paige shifted awkwardly on her feet, feeling a little like an intruder in a moment that wasn't meant for her. She glanced at the elevator button, pretending to study it, but her eyes kept flicking back to Soraya—this different version of her that she hadn't seen before. 

It wasn't just the smile. It was how relaxed she was, how her voice lost that sharp edge she usually carried like armor. 

Carmen's gaze eventually turned toward Paige, her dark eyes twinkling with curiosity, before darting back to Soraya in a way that made it obvious she expected an introduction. 

Soraya glanced over her shoulder, as if suddenly remembering she wasn't alone. "Oh—uh, this is Paige," she said, the ease in her voice giving way to a slight, sheepish note. "She's a new teammate. Just moved here recently." 

Carmen's face lit up again as she offered Paige a kind, understanding smile. "Ah, bienvenida, hija. I hope you get used to our Dallas heat. It's not for the faint of heart." 

Paige chuckled softly, nodding. "Working on it, ma’am." 

Carmen laughed, clearly charmed, and patted Soraya's arm one last time. "I'm meeting a friend for coffee," she said with a wink. "Don't stay away too long, Soraya. The building feels quieter without you." 

"I won't," Soraya promised, her smile lingering even after Carmen gave a little wave and disappeared out the sliding doors. 

The elevator doors closed again with a soft ding, forcing them to wait for the next one. 

Paige slid a glance toward Soraya, who was staring ahead at the closed doors like nothing had just happened. But Paige had caught it—the rare tenderness, the open affection. It stuck with her, clinging to the edges of her mind even as the elevator finally returned and the doors swept open again. 

She stepped in behind Soraya, hands still buried in her pockets, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

It was, without a doubt, the kindest she'd ever seen Soraya be to anyone. And it made her wonder, more than she probably should have, who else got to see that side of her.

Soraya pulled her keys from her purse with a small clink, the metal catching the light. A tiny shark plushie keychain dangled from the ring, the soft fabric worn slightly at the edges, clearly something she'd had for a while. Paige's sharp eyes caught it immediately. 

A comment hovered at the tip of her tongue—something teasing, something that would've made Soraya roll her eyes again—but she let it sit, filing it away for later. 

Without a word, Soraya unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on the lights with a casual flick of her wrist. 

She moved a few steps in before pausing, glancing back over her shoulder when she noticed Paige still standing just outside the threshold, hands sunk into her pockets like she wasn't sure she was allowed. 

"Are you a vampire?" Soraya asked dryly, arching an eyebrow. "Do I need to verbally invite you in?" 

The words were spoken so flatly that it might've been mistaken for a serious question if Paige hadn't spent the last hour learning how to read the subtle humor tucked into Soraya's voice. 

A soft chuckle rumbled from Paige's chest as she stepped inside, letting the door swing closed behind her. "God forbid a girl appreciates an invite," she muttered, amusement clear in her tone. 

Soraya only rolled her eyes in response, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward—barely, like she was fighting the smile. 

As Soraya disappeared further into the apartment, Paige's eyes roamed curiously, taking in the space like she was trying to piece together a side of Soraya she hadn't seen before. 

The apartment was warm and vibrant in a way Paige hadn't anticipated. She had expected something neat, minimalist, sharp—something that matched Soraya's quick-footed, ruthless style on the court. Instead, the space was full of life and color. 

Pale pinks and lush greens layered over a backdrop of clean cream walls, woven together with thoughtful details. Potted plants hung from ceiling hooks and crowded the windowsills, their leaves spilling over in messy, thriving bursts of green. A tree-like shelf built into one corner of the room stretched from floor to ceiling, wooden ‘branches’ cradling rows of books and an assortment of small, charming decorations—vintage cameras, tiny sculptures, a framed photo of a beach at sunset. 

A gorgeous record player, sleek and vintage, sat atop a carefully curated stand made from what looked like old repurposed record players, stacked and painted in soft pastels. 

At the center of the living room, a deep green velvet couch anchored the space, rich against the lighter tones. It was adorned with mismatched pink and cream pillows that somehow looked perfectly thrown together. A glass coffee table with delicate gold legs rested in front of it, the top scattered with a few books, a small ceramic bowl, and a gold lighter, probably for candles. 

The far wall boasted a sliding glass door leading to a balcony, the right panel of glass covered in a mosaic of a large flower design that caught and fractured the light like stained glass. 

Everything about the place felt lived-in and carefully loved—cozy without being cluttered, elegant without being cold. 

Paige shifted on her feet, feeling almost out of place, like she'd wandered into a part of Soraya that most people weren't supposed to see. 

It didn't feel like an apartment designed to impress anyone. 

It felt like a home.

And somehow, that was more disarming than anything else Soraya could've done. 

Soraya set her keys down into a lily-shaped ceramic key bowl perched neatly by the entrance, the soft clink echoing in the cozy space. Without a word, she bent down, slipping out of her sneakers and into a pair of fuzzy pink slides waiting by the door.

Before anything else, she turned, her gaze falling to Paige's shoes, then flickering back up at her expectantly. 

"Shoes off. Those on," Soraya instructed flatly, pointing to a second pair of white fuzzy slides. "This is not an American household." 

Paige let out a low snort of amusement, shaking her head but obediently toeing off her sneakers and lining them up neatly by Soraya's. She slipped into the slides, wiggling her toes a little against the unfamiliar softness. 

"Cute," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Soraya to catch if she was listening. 

Without responding, Soraya moved further into her space, her voice softening as she called out, "Jiggy!" 

It didn't take long before a tabby cat, all sleepy stretches and lazy steps, emerged from one of the rooms. She yawned audibly, arching her back before trotting over with a slow, confident air. 

Soraya knelt slightly, expecting the usual routine—Jiggy would sniff her fingers, demand a few pats, then go sulk somewhere high up. But to her mild shock, Jiggy bypassed her entirely. 

Instead, the cat beelined straight for Paige, tail flicking once with casual curiosity as she circled the new visitor. 

Soraya straightened, her brows pulling together in mild disbelief. "What the hell," she mumbled under her breath. 

Paige stood still, watching the little tabby with a crooked smile tugging at her lips. She crouched slowly, arms draping over her knees as she held a hand out, palm up and relaxed. 

"Hey, lil cutie," she murmured, voice low and nonchalant. 

Jiggy didn't hesitate. She sniffed once, twice, then leaned in, brushing the top of her head against Paige's fingers with the familiarity of an old friend. 

Paige chuckled softly, scratching behind the cat's ears in a lazy rhythm. Jiggy responded by purring faintly, nudging her head harder into Paige's hand like she was already claiming her. 

Soraya could only stare, arms folded tight over her chest. Her cat, the same cat that took weeks to even tolerate Lou's presence, was actively cuddling up to Paige without a second thought. 

Paige glanced up, catching the baffled look on Soraya's face. 

"What?" she asked, an innocent glint flickering in her eyes. "I'm just vibing." 

"You don't understand," Soraya said, her voice caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief, "she doesn't vibe with anyone." 

Jiggy, completely unbothered by Soraya's growing existential crisis, began weaving between Paige's legs, her purrs growing louder as she rubbed against her calves. 

Paige shrugged, straightening back up and smirking slightly. "Guess she's got good taste too." 

Soraya opened her mouth, ready to argue—but nothing came out. She just exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head like she could somehow reset what she was seeing. 

Paige didn't press further.

The older moved quickly, brushing past Paige to head into the open kitchen. 

"You want water or something?" she called over her shoulder, trying to sound casual. 

Paige's lips twitched into a knowing smile. "Yeah, sure. Water's good."  Behind her, Jiggy remained loyally at Paige's feet, still purring. 

Soraya emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of water balanced carefully in her hands, only to pause at the sight in front of her. 

Paige was crouched low again, gently stroking Jiggy's exposed belly with a kind of reverence Soraya wasn't used to seeing from anyone. The cat lay sprawled out, blissfully purring, her paws stretching every so often with content. 

For a moment, Soraya just watched, feeling a strange, stubborn pang rise in her chest. Jiggy was supposed to be her cat—loyal only to her, attached only to her. Now she was practically in love with Paige after less than half an hour? 

Soraya almost scoffed under her breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at how absurdly cute the scene was. Annoying. Endearing. Unfair. 

With a clink, she set the glasses down onto the glass coffee table, the sound pulling Paige's attention back to her. Paige straightened slowly, brushing off her hands, before glancing at Soraya with that same easy, disarming smile that made her stomach twist. 

Soraya didn't say anything, just motioned lazily to the couch with a tilt of her chin before sinking into the deep green cushions herself. The velvet was cool against her skin, but she was already feeling a little too warm, a little too aware of the situation she had created for herself. 

What the hell were they even supposed to do now? Make small talk? Watch TV? Sit here in awkward silence until one of them made an excuse to leave? 

"You just gonna stand there?" Soraya finally spoke up, keeping her tone dry but not unkind. 

Paige huffed a quiet laugh and lowered herself beside Soraya, sitting with a casual sort of sprawl that still somehow made her seem confident, in control. 

"Nice place. It's cute," Paige offered, her voice easy, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. 

Soraya nodded once, lifting her glass for a long, deliberate sip. "Thanks."��

For a second, that was it—just the soft hum of the AC, the faint purr of Jiggy now nestled by Paige's foot. 

But Soraya exhaled through her nose and decided to push herself, just a little. What's the worst that could happen? 

"You already set your new place up?" she asked, glancing sideways at Paige over the rim of her glass. 

Paige shook her head, lips puckering for a brief second in a way Soraya shouldn't have found so distracting. "Nah, barely. Just the necessities like a bed, couch, fridge, and TV." 

Soraya let out a short chuckle, the sound a little looser than she meant for it to be. "Wow. Very homely." 

Paige laughed, the sound genuine and warm, and Soraya could feel the pride radiating off her even without looking directly at her. 

"Yeah, whatever. I've been here four days, chill on me," Paige grinned. 

The tension thinned a little, replaced with something lighter—but it was still there, humming underneath. A subtle, undeniable current neither of them knew how to address. 

Soraya leaned back against the couch, resting her elbow lazily against the armrest, but her eyes kept flicking back to Paige when she thought she wasn't looking. The way Paige's mouth curved when she laughed. The way her thigh pressed into the couch cushion a little too close to Soraya's own leg. 

Paige wasn't oblivious either. She noticed the way Soraya's gaze lingered a little too long, the way her posture was loose but not entirely relaxed, as if part of her was hyperaware of their proximity. 

Neither of them spoke for a beat too long. The silence between them was no longer awkward—it was thick, heavy, loaded with something neither wanted to name yet. 

Jiggy's tail flicked lazily against the carpet, and the sound somehow made the charged quiet even more obvious. 

Paige leaned back too, stretching an arm across the back of the couch, almost but not quite brushing Soraya's shoulder. The move was casual. Innocent. But it made Soraya's pulse quicken embarrassingly in her throat. 

"You always bring new teammates over like this?" Paige asked after a moment, her voice low, slightly teasing, as she turned her head to look at Soraya directly. 

Soraya met her gaze steadily, refusing to be the first to look away even though it made her insides coil tight. Would it really be that wrong?

"No," she said simply. 

There was a beat where neither of them moved, both aware of just how close they were sitting, of how Paige's fingers were barely an inch from brushing Soraya's shoulder, of how their knees nearly touched if one of them so much as shifted. 

The air between them crackled. 

Paige smiled slowly, something almost wolfish flickering in her eyes. "Good to know," she murmured, her tone a little too loaded to be casual. 

Soraya rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat in it.  "Don't get a big head about it," she muttered, but her voice was softer now, almost playful. 

Underneath it all, the tension simmered, unspoken but palpable—an invisible thread stretched tight between them, fragile and electric and ready to snap at the slightest wrong move.

Small, accidental touches had been happening—the graze of a knee, the brush of fingers when they reached for one of the close together water cups. Each time, neither girl acknowledged it, but the tension between them thickened, humming just below the surface. 

And just when it seemed like something might happen—not exactly, not yet, but something leaning into almost—Jiggy launched herself into Paige's lap, startling them both. 

Soraya inhaled sharply, her body stiffening for a moment before she exhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. Partly because of being startled. Mostly because she needed to calm the hell down. 

She rolled her eyes at the sight of Jiggy now happily curled up on Paige's thighs, the picture of betrayal. 

"Traitor," Soraya muttered under her breath, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. 

Paige looked at her with amused disbelief, her hand moving almost automatically to stroke Jiggy's soft fur. "Bit dramatic," she said, her voice warm with suppressed laughter. 

Soraya shot her a pointed glare—sharp, but not serious enough to cut. It was just enough to make Paige fall silent, though the smile lingered on her face. Soraya couldn't help it; she always looked like she wanted to pick a fight unless she was smiling. 

"Nah," Soraya said finally, her voice lazy, "you don't get it. I rescued this little hoe." 

Paige let out a snort she barely managed to cover, pressing her knuckles against her mouth to hide the grin threatening to break free. "Oh yeah? Tell me more," she prompted, a glint of curiosity lighting up her eyes. 

Soraya hesitated—not because she didn't want to tell the story, but because she wasn't used to people asking. Not like this. Not looking at her like this.

But eventually, she gave in. 

She shifted on the couch, getting more comfortable as she twisted her body to fully face Paige. One arm folded across the backrest, her head lazily resting on her hand. The movement was casual, easy—but intimate, somehow. 

"Basically, I was new to town," she began, her tone softening, "and I found her on the streets. No collar. No chip. Looked like her previous owners just dumped her." 

Paige's hand stilled on Jiggy's back, her attention sharpening, hanging on to every word. 

"Two days after I took her in," Soraya continued, her voice light but tinged with faint exasperation, "I left the window open. Didn't even realize it. She fell out. Gone." 

She huffed a soft, self-deprecating laugh and shook her head slightly. 

"Couldn't find her anywhere. Almost started crying during therapy the next day," she added, glancing at Paige like she dared her to laugh—but Paige didn't. She just listened, her expression serious but open. 

"What happened then?" Paige asked quietly, her voice low, coaxing. 

Soraya tucked her legs up behind her on the couch, staying twisted toward Paige, the proximity between them shrinking without either of them seeming to notice. 

"I decided to walk the neighborhood," she said, "jiggling my keys like a dumbass, hoping she'd hear them. I hadn't even named her yet. Looked up and down every block for hours." 

She paused, as if hearing the faint meows again. 

"Eventually, I heard her. Tiny little cries, scared out of her mind. Found her hiding under my neighbor's motorcycle cover." 

Soraya swallowed, her throat tightening slightly at the memory. 

"Poor baby had dried snot on her nose from the cold. Scooped her up and took her straight home. Straight to the vet after that. She was fine, though." 

The tension in her shoulders loosened, the memory ending in a tiny breath of relief. She reached for her water, taking a sip before setting the cup back down with a small clink against the table. 

"And after that, I named her Jiggy," Soraya finished, her mouth tugging into a faint, crooked smile, "because 'Jiggles' sounds like a fuckass clown." 

The corner of Paige's mouth twitched—not quite a laugh, but dangerously close. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the low rumble of Jiggy purring and the muted noises from the city outside the window. 

Paige leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees, her hand pausing in Jiggy's fur. She looked at Soraya—really looked at her. 

"You're..." she started, then trailed off, clearing her throat. "You're a good person, you know that?" 

Soraya snorted, tilting her head back against the couch cushion, pretending she didn't hear the sudden, quiet sincerity threading through Paige's voice. 

"Don't get all sappy n' shit," she muttered, but there was no heat behind it. 

Paige just smiled, unbothered by the brush-off, and they lapsed into an almost dangerous silence—the kind that buzzed with something unspoken and new. 

It might've lasted longer, it might've turned into something they weren't ready for if Paige hadn't glanced up and caught sight of the clock hanging above the TV. 

"Shit," she cursed under her breath, straightening. "It's almost ten." 

Soraya followed her gaze, clicking her tongue. 

"Y’gonna turn into a pumpkin or something?" she asked dryly, masking the flicker of disappointment tightening her chest. 

Paige chuckled, rising from the couch and gently setting Jiggy beside Soraya. 

"Nah. Early workouts tomorrow, remember? If we're late, Coach isn't gonna be all smiles like usual." She grabbed her sneakers from the floor, holding them loosely in one hand.

She lingered by the door, rocking back on her heels, visibly debating something. Then, casually—too casually—she spoke again. "You mind if I get your number? Y'know, just in case. Since we're teammates now and all." 

Soraya gave her a look so flat it should've knocked Paige through the door. She didn't buy the excuse for a second. But still, without a word, she leaned over, grabbed her phone from the side table, and tossed it lightly in Paige's direction. Paige caught it, grinning like she'd just won something. 

She quickly punched her number in, shooting herself a text so she had Soraya's saved, before tossing the phone back onto the couch. 

Paige bent down, giving Jiggy one last scratch behind the ears. 

"Later, little traitor," she said under her breath with a fond smile. Then, straightening, she turned to Soraya, her hand awkwardly hovering near a wave before she thought better of it. 

"Later, pretty girl," Paige said, her voice a little softer than before. 

Soraya leaned back against the couch, her arms lazily crossed, an unreadable expression on her face. 

"Later, Bueckers," she replied, voice low and almost—almost—fond. 

Paige slipped out the door with a final grin, sneakers dangling from her fingers, her heart hammering a little harder than she cared to admit. 

With one glance at her unlocked phone, a genuine smile crept onto her face and a real laugh escaped her at the name Paige had saved herself as. ‘BDB Paige💜’. “What the fuck.”

Soraya stared at the door for a long moment, feeling Jiggy curl up against her hip again like nothing had changed. 

Except, somehow, everything had.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Damaged

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After a bad evening with your parents, Tim Bradford reminds you that you aren't damaged, and if your family won't be there for you, he will.

Warnings: abuse (emotional, verbal, and physical), 3rd party alcohol consumption, fluff and comfort, protective!Tim, platonic leading toward romantic

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Slacking off?” Tim asks. “A little early for civvies.”

You look up quickly, surprised by his presence outside the locker room. “I’m leaving early,” you explain weakly.

“I remember,” he replies, observing you. “Dinner with your parents.”

“Right.”

“Enjoy.”

Dropping your eyes to his boots, you nod and answer, “I will. Bye.”

Tim watches you go, wondering why dinner with your parents puts you on edge. Every time you mention them, your eyes shift, you grow nervous and jumpy, and the strong, confident cop he knows retreats into the shell of a scared woman. It’s a change he recognizes, one he understands, and he knows you lied when you said you’d enjoy yourself.

“You know what I think?” your dad asks.

You’re going to tell me no matter what, you think.

“Your job is bad enough,” he says, interrupting himself to take a drink. “But you could at least dress like a woman while you’re off the clock.”

Glancing down at your outfit, you try not to let his words affect you. Your parents have been like this for your entire life. Some might call it verbal abuse, while others consider it an absence of a filter. Regardless, your parents have never hesitated to point out your every insecurity. The worst part of seeing them, you think, is that they see your scars and rip those old wounds open again, tearing you down with every word they speak.

“Can you afford some new clothes?” your mother asks. “Maybe then you could find a man who’d give you a second thought.”

Chewing your inner lip, you nod silently. You feel like you’re twelve years old again, too big for the frame they try to shove you into. It’s been years since you gave up on trying to please them, but it doesn’t take away the pain.

“Although,” your dad continues, “who would want to start a family with a beat cop who could get shot at any moment?”

“Beat cops are a real family,” you mumble under your breath, fiddling with the napkin in your lap.

You don’t see your mom move, but the sharp slap sound of her palm hitting your face startles you enough that you finally look her in the eye. Your hand raises to your stinging cheek without thought. You know it won’t bruise, and something deep inside you tells you to stand up for yourself, to leave, and never look back.

“I’m getting another drink,” your dad states, stumbling slightly as he stands.

You’ve been in this exact spot too many times, you realize. So, you decide to play the part until they’re ready to leave. Sitting still, you listen, nod, and apologize as you hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“Look at the time,” your mom mutters after you serve dessert.

“And we have people who give a crap about where we are,” your dad adds, laughing at you. “We better head out. Next time we do this, don’t make the- the food like that and buy more drinks.”

“Will do,” you answer, standing.

“That didn’t sound like an apology,” your mother patronizes.

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately. “I’ll do better next time.”

“That means we have to come back,” your dad grumbles.

Not if we can help it, you think.

“Sweetheart,” your mother says, wrapping her hand around your wrist. Her nails dig into the sensitive skin above your pulse point, but you level your expression. “You need to try harder.”

“Sure. I will.”

She releases your hand, but your dad takes it just as quickly, his grip tighter and stronger than hers. You pull back instinctively, and he raises his other hand. When you cower away from him, dropping your chin, he laughs and twists the skin of your arm harshly.

“Better food,” he seethes. “Better news. If we come over here again and you’re still a disappointment… Just don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” you force out.

You stand in place, staring at the dirty dishes on your table as the door slams behind them. Alone, you stumble backward until you hit the wall, your vision growing blurry with tears. Sinking to the floor, you let yourself cry, and within a minute, heavy sobs shake your entire body. You feel paralyzed, your mind viciously reminding you that you and your parents are on a crashing course that only worsens with time.

But, you remember, they are your parents. They loved you at some point, but it’s always been like this. Maybe you are the problem, a voice you don’t recognize says in your mind.

You want to forget tonight, forget the pain in your chest and along your skin, so you reach for your phone. You’re texting Tim before you think about it. You don’t know what to say, but you’re desperate. Anything would be a welcome distraction, so you ask if he’s busy.

It changes from Delivered to Read, but he doesn’t reply. So, you toss your phone aside and pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself as if it will make the world disappear. 

A knock on your front door pulls you out of your teary reverie that is on the constant brink of returning to the nightmare of reality. Walking to the door, you hope that it isn’t your parents. You look through the peephole before you open the door, sure your surprise is evident.

“What happened?” Tim asks, his face softening when he sees your tear-stained face and red cheek.

You shake your head as you step back, and Tim follows you inside, closing the door softly.

“Did your parents come over?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer, laughing humorlessly. “They were here.”

“Hey,” Tim says. You hold the back of your chair and stare at the table again. “Hey,” he repeats firmly. “Look at me.”

You turn your chin toward him, your eyes glassy and your skin blotchy.

“You’re okay,” he promises, spreading his hands with his palms toward you. “Whatever they said, whatever they made you believe, it’s a lie. Your parents are… they’re abusive.”

“They just-”

“Crossed a line,” Tim interrupts. “I see it every time you mention them. I don’t know what they said or did, but if it brought you here, they are the problem. Not you.”

You rub your chest, failing to lessen the pressure there before Tim steps toward you. When you don’t stop him, he lays his hand on your shoulder.

“What if they’re right?” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Tim looks between your eyes, then says, “What if my dad was right?”

Your eyes clear as you look at Tim. His question, his vulnerability, brings you back into this moment. Tim is here because he saw something in you. Despite his gruff exterior, he cares about you. And now he’s sharing something about himself to help you. To save you.

“My dad was abusive,” he says. “He shoved my head through plaster, yelled at me, belittled me, made me doubt myself and all that I could do. You? You’re stronger than you think, stronger than your parents make you feel. You are not what or who they say.”

“Then why am I like this?” you wonder.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Tim repeats, his thumb brushing kindly, comfortingly over your shoulder.

“They…” you begin. “Their voices are in my head constantly, and it’s so loud.”

“They talk with razors on their tongue just to provoke your combat, use new weapons to snap those final strings just to watch you fall back,” Tim replies. “I get it. Their voices, their lies, they follow you everywhere because they’ve ingrained them into you.”

“How do you do it?” you ask, wiping the tears from your face. “How do you do everything that you do, and do it well and confidently, after going through it?”

“You know who you are and what you can do. Place your confidence and your belief in that, not the words they yell trying to make themselves feel like they’re better than you.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Tim,” you argue, shaking your head as you sink into your chair.

“Then shut them up, drown them out, listen to me,” Tim encourages, moving with you. “Whatever it takes.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy. I’m not as strong as you Tim.”

“You’re stronger,” he insists. “And I’m here for you. You’re not alone, okay?”

You nod, willing yourself to believe him. Tim takes your hand, and when your sleeve shifts, he sees the bruise forming around your wrist. Without hesitation, he pushes the fabric up to your elbow, revealing the darkening patch and angry red scratch marks.

“They touched you?” he asks, his voice different than before as he stares at your arm.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Was it the first time?”

“I…”

Tim releases your hand as he stands. Your unwillingness to answer was better confirmation than he would have received if you had said yes. Tim moves toward the door, on his way to leaving you alone. Again.

“Tim,” you call, your voice strained as tears well in your eyes once more. 

He slows, his hand on the doorknob. “They touched you.”

“Please,” you plead.

“I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Tim, please don’t leave me,” you whisper, fresh tears running down your face, the salt stinging your raw skin.

He sighs, turning toward you. As he returns to your side, he makes a promise to himself. No one will ever hurt you like this again. He let his dad impact his life for years after he moved away from home. When his dad got sick, it felt as if a strong current was pulling him into the nightmare his dad created all over again. If your parents are so willing to take you for granted, to hurt you, then Tim Bradford will be at your side to stop them from damaging you.

You’re not alone. As long as Tim is breathing, you never will be.

[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . mentions of blood, descriptions of a wound, romantic tension, slow burn.

CHAPTER TEN: NEW BLOOD, OLD WOUNDS

read more parts here!

you limp down the cracked sidewalk, leg aching, heart worse. the sky’s bleeding pink into a gray, tired dusk, and the group is quieter than ever. it’s like everyone’s waiting for someone else to break first. lana’s trailing behind chris and nick, arms crossed tight over her chest, eyes flicking to every shadow. she hasn’t said much since the diner, just quiet thanks and awkward silences. she doesn’t trust any of you yet, and, honestly? you don’t really trust her either.

you glance at matt. he’s walking ahead, again. not too far, but enough that it feels like a statement, a message. his jaw’s clenched. his knuckles white around his weapon. like if he just focuses hard enough, he can pretend he didn’t say something that shattered the air between you two like broken glass. and you wish you could stop replaying it…

“we kissed once. it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

it meant everything. even if he’s too afraid to admit it.

nick finally breaks the silence, walking backward like a tour guide in a war zone. “okay. i vote we find shelter and maybe have a full group therapy session, but like, in a chill, emotionally repressed way.”

“we’re not stopping yet,” matt says without looking back.“dude,” nick deadpans, “you’re limping. she’s bleeding. chris has been muttering to the cat for twenty minutes.”

“he has a name,” chris snaps, holding whiskers tighter. “and he’s helping me emotionally process our near-death experience.” lana finally speaks. “there’s a place up ahead. small house. boarded up, but i saw it on the way in. it looked empty.” matt hesitates. eyes narrow. “you’re just now mentioning that?” she shrugs. “you didn’t ask.”

nick raises a brow. “oh, cool. i love when strangers maybe lead us into traps. very fun for me personally.” but no one has a better option, so you go. the house is small. half-swallowed by vines, windows thick with grime. the door creaks open with a sound like a dying animal. but it’s quiet. still. no fresh blood, no smell of rot. for once… it feels safe.

nick checks the back, chris sets up a sleeping spot for whiskers, and lana sits in the farthest corner, hugging her knees like she wants to disappear into them. you collapse against a wall, pressing a cloth to your leg. it stings, bad. you’re trying to hide how much it hurts, but matt notices. of course he does. he crosses the room, dropping his pack next to you without saying a word. pulls out gauze. alcohol. tape. you blink at him. “i can do it myself.”

“you shouldn’t have to,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes. and before you can argue, he’s kneeling in front of you, carefully peeling back the cloth, your breath catches. because even now, even when you’re angry and hurting and full of everything you never said.

his hands are gentle.

he doesn’t look up, just focuses on the wound. “i didn’t mean to say what i said like that.” you don’t respond. he dabs the alcohol and you flinch. he curses under his breath. “sorry.”

“why’d you say it then?” you ask, voice quiet. he pauses. tape in hand. “because,” he finally says, “you make me forget that we’re not safe. that this could all be gone in a second. and i—i can’t lose you.” you swallow. “so your solution is to push me away?” he looks up at you now. eyes dark and tired and pleading. “i’m not good at this,” he says. “but i’m trying. i want you. even if it’s stupid. even if it’s risky. i just… don’t know how to be in love and be in survival mode at the same time.”

your heart stops. “in love?”

his eyes widen just slightly. like he didn’t mean to say it. like the words slipped out before he could stop them. but he doesn’t take them back. you don’t say anything, just stare at him like the floor’s disappeared under you. he finishes taping your leg, slower now. hands lingering. breath shallow.

then, suddenly—

a crash from outside.

everyone jumps. nick swears. chris grabs a pan. lana stands, wide-eyed. you freeze. matt stands, already moving toward the window. “stay here.”

“like hell i am,” you say, following him. and when you peer through the cracked slats, your blood runs cold. figures. three of them. not undead. alive. armed. heading straight for the house.

not zombies. people.

matt turns to you, low and panicked. “we’ve got company. and not the good kind.”

“you think they saw us?” as if on cue, a voice beamed from outside.

“we know you’re in there. come out with your weapons down. you’ve got ten seconds.” everyone’s frozen. you look at matt, matt looks at you back. and all of that tension, all the fear, the love, the mess of feelings…is right there between you again. he steps closer, matt grabs your hand and holds it. “if we make it out of this,” he says, “we’re not ignoring this anymore. okay?” you squeeze his hand. “okay.” the door rattles. you all lift your weapons. outside, the countdown begins.

“ten… nine… eight…”

© delilahsturniolo

[cherryblossms]

it was so damn hard for garam to control himself; the way his cheeks and his ears glowed bright red, the smile that just wouldn't stop growing, even the straggling tear or two rolling from his eyes as he blinked. angel was such a good person, so warm and comforting. someone garam still didn't believe he was worthy or deserving of. he didn't even see himself as a bad person, really. he made bad choices, he was selfish and willingly ignorant when it came to other people, their wants and desires. axel was more along the lines of someone whom garam felt fit him better, he was just as selfish and ignorant, and made bad choices. he hurt willingly hurt people he claimed to love. it almost made him feel guilty, giving his heart to angel when he wasn't entirely sure he could handle angel's with just as much care. at mention of the camera, all garam wanted to do was hide himself from angel but instead, he just nodded his head and pulled away as angel moved to unlock the door. that was something the two of them needed to talk about: his little side hustle. garam had no idea if angel knew about his onlyfans account, he wasn't extremely open about it on his social media but the links were posted so anybody could see he did, indeed, have an account and was relatively active on it. he also needed to maintain that activity regardless of where he was staying, it was a topic that needed to be discussed but garam knew he'd have to find the confidence to bring it up in the first place. garam was quick to put his button up shirt back on, though he only buttoned up the two in the middle of his shirt which left both his upper chest and a very small portion of his lower chest exposed with the right movement. he decided to forgo his sweater, deciding he was warm enough as it was and the added material would only cause him discomfort. then he grabbed the clothes they brought in, holding them in a sort of jumbled up mess in both arms as he exited the dressing room and started walking back through the store. he lead them to the registers, grabbing a couple pairs of socks that surely wouldn't be warm enough for why he wanted new ones but they had cute characters on them and who was he to pass on cute characters, on the way. once they were there, he put all of the clothes they'd gathered — whether they tried them on or not didn't matter — on the desk to be rung up. he was quiet as they waited, not lifting his eyes away from the counter in fear that the person ringing their clothes up was making googly eyes at angel — garam didn't want his possessiveness or jealousy to show again. it wasn't until it came time to pay that garam looked up, a man who seemed to be around their age standing on the other side of the counter. garam smiled at him, friendly but empty, before thanking him and wishing the man a good day. axel's brother being presence was nearly forgotten, having slipped his mind after his little confession to angel. garam really didn't want to look around to see if the man was still lingering but he also didn't want to randomly run into him anywhere throughout the store. subtlety was his choice, grabbing the bags in one hand as he scanned what he could see of the store. "so," he drew the singular word out, almost in a sing-song tune, as he wrapped his free hand around angel's arm. "what do you and darius like to do when you're together? like outside of working hours, what do you two do for fun, to pass time?" garam wasn't trying to instigate anything, it was his attempt to get to know darius better through angel so he wouldn't have to find things out about the man from in person experience. if angel liked him, there had to be something good in him that garam hadn't had the opportunity to see just yet. "maybe sometime, we could have him come over to hang out. i was serious when i said i wanted to be friends with your friends."

Angel’s chest ached in a way he didn’t quite expect it to. Not from pain, not from anger—but from the raw, unfiltered vulnerability Garam had just handed him. There was no mask, no seduction, no performance. Just *him*. All of him—afraid, uncertain, clinging tightly to the idea that he could lose what they had just because someone else might try and take it. And Angel knew that fear. God, *he knew it*—how it lived under the skin like a second pulse, whispering that nothing good ever stays, that love was conditional, that one misstep and the people you care about would find better. He stayed quiet for a moment after Garam finished speaking, letting it all settle. Letting Garam *see* that he wasn’t running from those words, or pulling away from the messiness of it. No, he was still here and he wasn’t going anywhere. Then, Angel gently touched Garam’s face, thumbs brushing lightly against the flushed heat of his cheeks. His eyes flicked toward the tear he hadn’t missed, even if Garam had wiped it away quickly, as if ashamed to let it show. “You don’t have to apologize for being scared,” Angel said, low and steady. “That kind of honesty? That takes more strength than anything else. You’re not weak for feeling this way. And you’re not *too much*.” He leaned in and kissed Garam’s forehead, slow and deliberate, letting his lips linger there like he could press reassurance into his skin. He loved this side of Garam, taking accountability and being honest with him. This was all Angel ever wanted from any partner or whatever limbo they were in right now. “I hear you. About Darius. About all of it.” His voice remained soft, but there was a firm edge of conviction behind it now. “You’re not asking too much. I’ll talk to him. Set boundaries. If you’re uncomfortable with us being alone, then that’s something I respect.” He pulled back just enough to meet Garam’s gaze again, brushing a hand gently through his hair like it calmed *him* as much as it soothed Garam. “And no one,” Angel continued, voice tight with emotion, “*no one* gets to tell me you’re not good enough for me. Not Darius, not anyone. Because I know you. I know your heart. And yeah, you’ve got some fears—but so do I. And I *still choose you.*” His hand lowered to clasp Garam’s again, fingers curling around his with warm certainty. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. That’s not changing because someone else wishes it could.” There was a pause—just long enough for the words to sink in—before Angel offered the smallest, most tender smile.“And when we do have our first time,” he added, lips curving with a hint of that usual charm, “it’s gonna be somewhere that *feels* like ours. Not rushed, not messy. Just us. All of us.”Then, a beat. The three-letter words hung on his tongue but he swallowed them away, not yet. Not like this. “Let’s quickly pick out some basics for you and buy that sweater. Then run over to grab the camera and go home. I’m going to cook us a great dinner and we can work together to get your room together. As much as I would love for you to stay in my room forever you will want space eventually” Angel grinned pecking the man’s cheek as he unlatched the dressing room door. As pent-up as he was Angel couldn’t wait to get home where he could poke at Garam a little to have a repeat of the morning. But for now they still had things to do.

[luvblogsposts777]

𝐓𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨

paring: Franco Colapinto × f!reader

summary: you are out for dinner with your boyfriend and his friends, little did you know he got jealous so easly

warning: making out, slight dom!franco, oral sex (f receiving), jealous!franco

author's note: english is not my first language, divider's from @girlonabreak , the spanish phrases are traslated on google translate

After an intense and emotional season for Franco such as the 2024 one, you decided to spend winter break in Argentina, around Franco's family and friends. You two were together for 6 months now and of course you had already met his parents, but there was no time for you to meet his friends as well.

At first you were nervous when Franco suggested going out for dinner to meet his friends, you knew nothing about them, you didn't know if they spoke english, if they were boys or girls or what they were like but even though you were scared at first, you accepted, since you knew Franco would be thrilled to see you meet his friends.

Despite all your worrings the evening turned out way better than you immagined: Franco had a large group of friends, they were all friendly and tried to envolve you in the conversation as much as they could by telling you all Franco's childhood stories like that one time when at 6 he fell into a lake while trying to act cool. You laughed so much at each of those stories and everytime a new story was told Franco was like

"¡Che! ¿Por qué andan contando todas estas historias?" (Hey! Why are you all going around telling all these stories?)

then he hid your face behind your shoulder and blushed in embarassment

The rest of the night passed with Franco's friends asking about your life, about your friends and how you and Franco met. One of them, Mateo, was paying particular attention to you; he asked you questions about your life, and more than once, you caught him staring at you. You didn't mind his little attentions but it looked like Franco did: almost everytime Mateo spoke to you, you felt Franco's hand tighten a bit around your thigh, was he jealous?

To be honest, in 6 months you've been together he was never given the possibility to show his jealousy so, you think maybe this is the reason you've never seen Franco acting like this.

At the end of the night, right when me and Franco were saying our goodbyes, Mateo said

"ella es muy simpática, traela más seguido, Franco" (she is very funny, bring her more often, Franco)

It was a normal phrase, but you could feel Franco's hand becoming suddenly tight around your waist. The ride home was quiet, you didn't even know what to say because you never found yourself in a situation like this.

When you finally arrived at Franco's parents house you went up to your shared room and you started to take off your earrings

"it was a funny evening, no?" you said in a calm tone because his parents were sleeping few rooms away

"yes" only one word but he said it almost with a sad tone

you walked to the corner of the bed where he was sitting and put an arm around his shoulder

"did i do something wrong? Why you became so distant after the dinner?"

"Amor you did nothing wrong, i just didn't like how Mateo looked and spoke to you" he said this lowering his tone and putting his hand on your thigh

"i don't like the thought of someone else having all you attention" as he said this his hand started to trail up your thigh, getting close to your core. As his hand got close to the hem of your skirt he started to leave kisses all along your jaw and neck. You knew where this was leading so you put your hand over his

"Franco we can't, what if your parents hear us?"

"then you'll have to keep quiet amor"

He kissed you like there was no tomorrow, your tongues dancing together as your hands caressed his torso under his shirt. He moved then his mouth to your neck, kissing and biting it, letting out some whimpers and little moans from your red and puffy lips. His trail of kisses got lower and lower until he dropped to his knees at the end of the bed and with a swift motion he took off both your skirt and panties. He spread your legs and put your thighs on his shoulders and gave a first lick bewteen your folds, you threw your head back with an open mouth. He continued to assalt your clit until you put your hand in his hair and started pulling

"Franco please im close" you said with possibly the whinest voice ever, how could he resist such a tempting thing?

He put two fingers inside of your pussy without any warning and started to curve them right at that point. You gasped at the sudden intrusion and let out a loud moan, not caring anymore about his parents. Within seconds you were a twitching mess

"Fran- Franco... oh god... Fran im gonna come"

Suddeny he slowed his movements and you began to writhe even more

"Fran i beg you, let me come" you whimpered with a pornstar-like voice

"Did you like Mateo looking at you tonight?" he asked with a hoarse voice

"what!?" you couldn't believe he was thinking about Mateo right now

"answer me or i won't let you come" and he looked very serious when he said it

"i didn't like it"

"say it again"

"i didn't like how Mateo looked at me, i only like when you look at me"

And with that he retuned to his job to your pussy with a smirk, sucking your clit until you were almost screaming from overstimulation.

Needless to say that the morning after Franco's parents didn't ask anything about the dinner, or wanted to make eye contact with both of you.

[paulinet]

Bonus for waiting

Warnings: fluff, ooc Medicine Pocket, Medicine Pocket - they/them, reader - she/her, but it came out relatively neutral. Almost.

Synopsis: failed dates lead to something more interesting than disappointment. Wouldn't you agree?

Word count: 2500≈

From the author: just a little sketch. It's nothing serious, but I like this AU(?). Suppose?? I had a good day and decided to write something to cheer me up, hopefully you too.

You may think there's a lot of unnecessary stuff here. That's the way it's designed, I think the atmosphere is there.

English is not my first language!

Enjoy reading!

You put on your shoes and shake any dust off your clothes one last time. Tearing around in front of the mirror, you examine your work and wink at yourself with a smile.

It's going to be a fun day!

You lock the door and run down the steps, almost jumping over one like a Shaolin monk. Finally, you step onto the floor and open the door, welcoming the fresh, hot air. Summer is in full swing, damn it.

As you walk along the paved path, turn your head to all the things going by. There's a couple walking with bags full of stuff in their hands, there's a mother buying her child an ice cream by the cart, there's a car passing by you with damn loud music. How is the driver still deaf?

The afternoon sun bakes your head and shoulders pleasantly, and you clutch the strap of your bag. You breathe deeply as you pass a flower bush. It's a good thing they haven't been cut down like those trees near the art school, leaving the walls all bare and unsightly. They could have stood for many more years!

You turn left and walk on the sidewalk again. You walk past a half-empty bus stop and hear children talking, playing some kind of game. They must be having a lot of fun after school and starting to relax on their phones.

You'd like to have fun today, too. Studying at the institute eats up all your time, but you also need to relax, which you're not very good at. You can relax for a while when you go to a dog shelter near your home. You buy some food and just go visit these cuties. It's a shame you can't afford to get one yet: you're not poor, of course, but you have a long time to save up.

At the beginning of the new school year, you met a cute guy when you lingered in the courtyard of the institute, rewriting notes from a fellow student, and now you've been socializing for a few weeks. Everything is going well, you can even call yourselves not just acquaintances but friends.

So he asks you out for a walk in the park. Just for no reason at all. To walk in the park, to eat ice cream, maybe to go somewhere else.

Not to say you have a lot of dating experience, but it's common to invite someone to the park to get to know them better. You didn't mind at all if it meant you could hang out with someone and enjoy yourself. Who would turn down a walk on such a beautiful day?

"I hope nothing spoils today," — you probably should have wished that beforehand.

The park, already familiar but still like new, welcomes you with painted gates and the noise of children running along the paths. Walk straight ahead and you'll see the hanging swings. They are already occupied by grandmothers and moms with strollers, ideal for those who want to relax. But unfortunately, this is not the place for you.

You go further into the park and do not even think of taking your eyes off the trees. Pine and rowan trees, and even the cherry tree - everything here welcomes you and disposes to a pleasant pastime. It's hard to turn down something like this. Even in the rain it is dazzlingly beautiful here.

The janitor is sweeping away the windblown sand and spruce branches from the paths, and you go around him to walk a little further straight ahead. You come to a bench.

The simplest bench, hidden in the large bushes at the sides. Wooden, with an ornate backrest and a garbage can next to it. Opposite it was another bench, just like it.

You sink down onto it with a sigh and let yourself relax. It's normal to be a little nervous, but it's worth it. This guy is very interesting to you-it's a sin not to at least try to be friends.

The phone in your bag vibrates and you see a notification from an online store on your screen. Something like "Faster! Hurry up! Don't miss out on hot as grandma's pie merchandise, 70% off!" Uh-huh, sure. The prices may be low, but they're still the same.

You decide to check your messenger notifications and make sure you got it right again. Yes, it's Saturday, the time is 1:49 p.m., and the meeting is scheduled for 2:00 p.m. sharp. You're in the habit of coming in early and giving yourself a break. It calms your nerves, and it's nice for the other person to see you there early.

You walk into your friend's chat room and involuntarily smile at her message.

Y/n, Y/n, listen! I found a cool restaurant near med university! in Korean style!!!

Read at 1:49 p.m.

There's kimbap, and kimchi, and there's even Dalgon candy!!!! Ya know, from the squid game?

Read at 1:50 p.m.

Let's go there next week? I can't this Sunday, I have to take my cat to the vet( And ya're going to the shelter next weekend?

Read at 1:50 p.m.

Pls?? Can you find the time?

Read at 1:50 p.m.

As you start typing your answer, you hear loud footsteps coming your way, but you don't pay any attention to it. Only when the footsteps stop in front of you do you decide to look to see who's there.

Your gaze is fixed on a boy (or girl? You honestly didn't give it much thought), looking around bored. They hands are in the pockets of their shorts, their hair is sprawled across they shoulders, and they bright yellow eyes are looking at the surroundings.

"Hey, was anyone here?"

You were so engrossed in considering their appearance that you didn't immediately realize it was you who was addressed. Startled, you smiled, and the shock went away.

"I just got here five minutes ago myself. But I didn't see anyone here."

"I see."

They sigh, sit down across from you, cross their legs, and cock their heads skyward. Now you sit across from each other, but on opposite sides of the benches.

You continue to stare at them, scrutinizing every detail of their appearance. Something seems vaguely familiar.

Exactly!

You remembered. You saw them a few times outside the dog shelter where you occasionally bring food. Very... It's hard not to notice them. Their behavior is quite out of character with a hundred people and more like the behavior of those four-legged friends you love.

"It's not polite to stare at strangers like that, like some kind of maniac," — you reprimand yourself and return your gaze to the phone.

Your friend's messages make you smile again. She's a nice person when she's not begging you for notes because she missed class due to a trip to the hospital. Her teeth need to be fixed, of course, but for some reason her absences fall on the days when the most information is taught. Then, while she's rewriting, you'll have to tell her what the words in your notes are.

Sure, we'll definitely go next weekend. What time is convenient for you?

Delivered at 1:56 p.m.

You hit "send" and suddenly notice the time. 1:56 p.m, but... You don't see anyone in the neighborhood. He's late?

Oh, well, that's all right. Maybe it's traffic, he's taking the bus to the park.

You put your phone away and lean back on the bench. You breathe in the same hot air, but mixed with the smell of the park. The sun scorches your back, and you close your eyes briefly.

Across from you, there's an incomprehensible noise.

And opening your eyes again you see stranger angrily munching on a chupa-chupa. They have placed their foot with the unlaced sneaker on the edge of the bench and have one arm around it, while they are staring off into the distance. You can definitely hear the crunch of that candy.

"They must be waiting for someone, too. Someone important," — the thought made you smile involuntarily. You're not the only one waiting for a person who is running late.

To brighten up your time a little, you decide to open an e-book. Waiting is waiting, but why not do something enjoyable?

It's some cheap novel you dug up off the internet. As usual, the heroine is mouse blind, rat stupid, but everyone spreads out in front of her like a red carpet in front of a celebrity in old cartoons. Typical, but... Okay.

It takes you a while before you finish the first chapter. It started off well enough for a book like this.

You check the time. 2:10 p.m.

And you immediately open a chat with a friend.

Hey, where are you? You late?

Delivered at 2:10 p.m.

You decide to check when he was online... Yesterday, 11:34 p.m.

...

He overslept?

You'd be lying if you didn't say you felt bad. You've been planning all this time, getting ready to have fun, and you've been so... Screwed up.

Did it ruin your mood? Honestly, yes.

But you thought you've been in this situation before. You'd be up late watching something and you'd be hard-pressed to get up. And if it's in the middle of the week...Ugh.

At exactly that moment, the phone vibrated.

Shit, sorry. I overslept because of a bunch of homework, I just got up. Pls wait a little while?

Read at 2:15 p.m.

I'll get dressed and call a cab!

Read at 2:15 p.m.

You're shining! It's okay if it's he a little late, right? You were so sincerely warned.

Okay, no problem. I'll wait.

Delivered at 2:16 p.m.

You turn your gaze back to your surroundings, and you are once again attracted to the person across from you. You didn't even hear them lie down on the bench, throwing their legs over the armrest. Only now do you notice they're wearing different socks. Cute.

"I wonder who they might be waiting for?" - A friend? A classmate? Maybe a sibling?

It's none of your business, but they look interesting. Especially their hair. White like that, rust-colored with black on the ends. They're sprawled out on the bench, and their bangs are pulled back, pinned up by their glasses.

The combination, surprisingly, reminded you of the spots on a dog, which was kind of cute. Strange how you always noticed their behavior at the shelter, but never noticed what they actually looked like.

But enough with the staring again. Waiting is waiting. One more chapter to go.

As time goes on, you finish chapter two.

Honestly, the novel is a bit bland, but it reads easily. That's a plus.

Yes, you're pissed off by characters, one of whom constantly neglects the other, but.... What can you do? It's the only thing you can get your head around.

You're distracted by a message.

Sorry, I'm indecently late. I'll be there soon!

Read at 2:38 p.m.

Can you wait a little longer?

Read at 2:38 p.m.

You're frowning. You've been looking forward to this day, of course, you wanted to get to know this man better, but... Is this how he's showing himself? It's not the nicest thing you'll find out about him.

You sigh and roll your eyes. Your mood's ruined, but... Last chance.

Okay.

Delivered at 2:39 p.m.

There's a resentment coming over you. You really wanted to walk in this park again, and it would have been more pleasant with someone else. What's stopping you from walking now? Well. You promised to wait at this spot. It's a big park, and you like to walk. If you leave, you're not likely to make a quick circle and come back.

You clutch your phone in your fingers and sigh.

"Waiting for someone too?"

You flinch when the person across the hall addresses you. Why are you being so skittish today?

"Yeah. He's late... A little bit."

They look at you closely, and now they're standing behind the bench, leaning against the backrest. No more chupa-chups, but they look annoyed. Kind of like a Chihuahua. They obviously talk to you out of boredom, and you keep the conversation going because of it. It's better than being bored.

"Judging by the look on your face, 'a little' feels like a long time. Are you sure it's worth the wait?" — they say it so casually, it makes your chest pound.

Is it worth the wait? Well, uh. Honestly, you liked this guy. Cute, kind, and you have interests in common, lots of them. You wanted to try it. That's why you said yes and that's why it took you so long.

Maybe he really is late. But now it seems like you've been putting up with it too long.

"I think I'll wait," — you smile and nod slightly, saying, yes it's nothing, and it doesn't escape their attention, it shows. Only they shrug and say nothing. Instead, they move away from the bench, starting to slowly circle around it, clearly not intending to continue the conversation.

You snickered.

"And you... Waiting for someone too?"

"Sort of," — they reply instantly, despite the demeanor.

"Is he late too?"

"Unfortunately for him, yes."

"Are you sure it's worth the wait?" — you decide to answer the same way, and for good reason.

They chuckle and turn their heads back to you. Whoa... They've got pretty sharp teeth. It looks ominous.

"Hey, no fair," — the indignation in their voice is beyond words. But it's not really indignation, it's just fake indignation.

"You started it."

They puff up their cheeks, but are clearly satisfied with the answer. They shrug their shoulders.

"It's a long way for him to get there. But that doesn't excuse this idiot's tardiness."

You unwittingly accept that about your situation. It doesn't justify your friend, but it's true that these situations do happen. So now we're supposed to hate everyone when they're late? That's not very nice either.

"And yet you're waiting for him?"

"What can I do? He owes me something."

Well, waiting for your debts to be repaid is also some reason to be here.

Suddenly you see them squint and stop. Now you've switched roles and now they're staring at you. Now it's clear that this can be quite uncomfortable. Take note.

"Hey, look, could I have seen you somewhere? You look so damn familiar."

Wow. They've you... Remembered you in some way? You didn't seem to stand out much. That's flattering.

"At the dog shelter. I bring food there often."

They blinked in surprise.

"Oh, really? And you're not lazy?" — you don't know if it was a rebuke or genuine interest. But on their part?

"No, not at all. I like dogs."

"Why don't you take one for yourself if you like them so much?"

"I can't yet. And I don't have a lot of money for a dog," — you shrug with a chuckle, and decide that's enough revelations for now. "When I get a chance, I'll definitely get one."

You smiled and decided to be the first to end the conversation, returning your attention back to the book. Hey, meet us, a cheap novel with lots of clichés!

You're drawn in, you don't argue. The way the main characters flirt with each other seems really hilarious. Only you were frustrated by one of the situations there, in which the man himself scheduled a meeting and decided to cancel it at the last minute. You were really hoping that wouldn't happen to you.

A new message distracted you from the growing strange feeling.

Not coming, sorry. No offense, have an emergency. Shall we do it another time?

Read at 3:08 p.m.

You're falling out. What the fuck do you mean, I'm not coming?!

Your lips are pressed into a line and your hand is clenched into a fist. So this is how you get repaid for waiting?!

Fuck you.

Delivered at 3:09 p.m.

You don't regret your rude answer. If that man was late once, he'll be late again. Couldn't he have just said he couldn't make it? Why did he feed you all these expectations? What are you, a seedling, to be fed with fertilizer?

You suddenly remembered that he was late for class many times. But those were five or ten minutes, not a fucking hour.

You were angry, if not more, upset. The anticipation of a good time washed over your eyes a lot.

"What, bummer? Not coming?"

The voice across from you sounds a little mocking, but you hear sympathy. Barely audible, but it's definitely there.

You lower your gaze.

"Won't come."

You spit out the words and clutch the hem of your skirt. You've wasted so much time sitting on that bench, watching people walk past you and reading a cheap novel. You could have been having fun somewhere else, by the way.

"Sympathize. You didn't have to wait so long."

You're frowning. The unsolicited advice starts? You pass.

"And who have you been waiting for an hour?" — you ask sharply, looking at the stranger reproachfully.

They are silent. Now they sit on the bench, digging into their phone and swinging their leg again. They are clearly very bored.

"Good question," — they look at you for a moment, and then somewhere off to the side. "Apparently that idiot isn't coming either. And he still owes me."

You want to roll your eyes, but you hold back. You don't want to take it out on someone who's right.

But it turns out you were wasting your time. You wasted your outfit, you wasted your makeup, you wasted your choice of places to go. You wasted a good day, and he ruined it.

It could have been a fun day.

...

In fact, why did he ruin your day?

The time is only 3:00 p.m with the thread. You're still pretty, dressed up, enthusiastic (albeit with a ruined mood), and now you're mad at your (non) friend who ditched you?

...

Have you no pride at all?

You stand up abruptly, the key chains on your bag jingling loudly. You don't know why you stood up so abruptly, but your emotions must have gotten the better of you.

You have to rub this guy's nose in it and have some fun!

And, apparently, your emotions took over your brain (along with your instinct for self-preservation), because you had an idea.

You take a quick step to the bench across the street. It feels like you should be sent, but there's nothing to fear today.

"Hey. Let's hang out?"

The blond's surprised gaze flicks away from the phone and pierces you from bottom to top. They look like a surprised puppy, to be honest.

"Again?"

"Let's go hang out somewhere. It doesn't matter where."

Your answer gives him a pleasant chuckle, and the toothy grin is back again.

"Hang out? Are you out of your mind from grief, offering that to a stranger? What if I came here on purpose to wait for the moment and drag you off somewhere?"

"I'll do it first, don't worry," — you smiled proudly. "I mean it. You've been ditched too, I take it?"

They push themselves off the back of the bench and tuck their phone into their pocket. They seem interested in you. Of course, for an hour you both sit there bored, exchanging a few words. Anyone would be happy with an interesting proposition.

"Well, not really. But we'll take it as such. So what?"

"Well, since we've been abandoned, let's hang out together. Let's not ruin our day."

They jump, put their hand on their knee and prop their head up. I think you're about to be teased pretty hard about this.

"What if I don't hang out with strangers?"

Now it's your turn to laugh. But is that a problem? You extend your hand to them.

"Well, so let's get acquainted. Y/n," — they look at your hand like it's something strange.

But eventually, they take your hand and stand up abruptly. Oh... they're quite tall. A head and a half taller than you. It seems different from afar... But you can't back down.

"And you're funny. Medicine Pocket," — they lean closer, and to your surprise they kiss your knuckles. You can almost smell the musk and the hospital. They're probably in medical university.

Warmth quickly rushes to your cheeks, and you're ready to swear that stupor is exactly the reaction they've been waiting for. And it makes you resent it a lot.

"And you're a strange one," — there was no denying that the mood got worse after that gesture. On the contrary, amusement flowed through his fingertips. "Want to go karaoke?"

"And I like you already," — the suggestion was to their liking, since they swayed slightly in your direction. The smile never stopped coming off their face. "Let's."

They nudged you lightly by the shoulders, giving you the direction you wanted, and then joined you beside them.

"Just so you know, I don't have a wallet today," — he said, either bragging or warning. You can still change your mind.

"I've got you memorized on your face if anything," — but who says you can't respond the same way?

"Is that a threat?"

"I'll find you at the shelter anyway. I'm sure they have your contacts."

"Hey, I'm starting to think you're the maniac," — you get a shove in the shoulder, and they walk with your back to the front, all the while keeping your gaze fixed on you.

"I can assume you're in medical university."

"Not because of my name, right?"

"Well, who knows, who knows..."

"...I get it, I get it. I can't even joke with you, can I?" — they're pouting, but you can see in their eyes they're enjoying the conversation.

"I take all jokes seriously."

"I take that back. You're mean," — Medicine start walking normally, but with his head held high. You have to catch up with them a bit and make an effort not to laugh.

"You don't like me anymore? I was just kidding."

"... Fucking joker. Fine, I'll pay for us."

"What are you, a gentleman?"

"I have to match today's outfit."

"But you don't have any money."

"That's right. I'll take your wallet and pay for both of us like a real gentleman."

You just can't hold back the laughter. Talking to them is just as much fun as watching from the sidelines. The mood is instantly lifted.

You don't know them at all. And going anywhere in fact with a stranger is very dangerous. But you've seen them many times at the shelter and you can make a bold assumption - they're a good person. Strange, but good. You want to believe that.

And you plan to have a good time with them.

This day is definitely going to be fun. You'll do your best to make it so.

I WANTED TO WRITE A LITTLE SKETCH- and I couldn't. I looked back and there's already 2k words chasing me. (ʘ‿ʘ)

I really wanted to make a lively narrative and I hope I did it... And I still feel like there's not enough detail or interaction between the reader and Medicine Pocket. I'm not a perfectionist but *cough cough*. Also, when you edit for a long time, you don't like the final result. It's me.

Thanks for reading!

[shadowcrow]

Neve/Rook

Sunset in the city

Sunset in the City

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were kidnapping me," Neve didn't have to be looking at her Trouble to know she was smiling.

Neve chuckled; fondly of course, before making sure Nora's eyes were still solidly covered by the blindfold. Her girlfriend thought it funny to put her palms over it too, just show off that she really wasn't peeking. Still, it meant a lot to her that Nora trusted her so deeply (as much as it terrified her). Tonight was meant to be a sweet night, so she held on to the former feeling. She'd done her best to plan this out in secret for weeks until it was perfect for the other woman- Neve was determined for it to be a good distraction from their day jobs.

It had gotten off to a bit of a rough start- Nora was late coming back from Treviso with Lucanis and Bellara, barely able to shoot a tired grin at Neve before rushing to clean up. And in Neve's case, Dock Town had been as busy as ever- work piling up even in the middle of Venatori schemes and a double Blight. She was lucky Rana kicked her out, refusing to let her stay in their new office when she had a woman to woo.

Considering how it felt guiding Nora to the small picnic spot she'd set up high in Dock Town… yeah, she owed her a favor for this. Even if it wasn't how they usually operated, if Nora was delighted in the end- it was worth the compromise for a little romance.

"I knooooow where we are!" The sudden exclamation got a chuckle out of Neve. The silly woman had been guessing where she was being taken ever since they'd left the Lighthouse. No matter how much Neve had tried to confuse the rogue- she had an impeccable sense of direction. So, it wasn't a surprise that Nora was able to tell where they were.

Well…

There was also the fact that the smell of Dock Town was damn impossible to replicate. The only thing that had ever gotten it right was Fade Magic evoking the smell in Neve's memory- no one could ever come close otherwise.

She didn't want to mention how thoroughly delighted she was at how Nora knew the smell of her home. The warden had entrenched herself in Dock Town as much as she'd wormed her way into Neve's heart. Dock Town seemed to adore the light she brought to it- the people greeting her as if she was a permanent fixture and treating her just as kindly. Some days, that was not at all, but Nora still fought for it- bled for it, and oh, she loved it.

"Aren't you clever?" She teased instead, squeezing Nora's strong shoulders and pushed her gently to the right spot. Looking around her, Neve was pleased that despite the stumbling on leading a blindfolded Nora through the Eluvian and around her home, they weren't late.

She didn't have to see Nora's face to see that smile. "Maybe- still pales in comparison to you." For a woman who's never been in a relationship before, she was damned smooth with the way she made Neve's heart flutter. Neve couldn't say she didn't like it, it was painfully honest coming from the rogue who'd made off with her heart.

"Can I peek now though?" Nora looked adorable with her pout and hands covering the blindfold Neve had slipped around her eyes several paces back.

Neve fully rounded to Nora's front and took a moment to drink in the sight of her much taller girlfriend. Her hair lit up as the sun cast light upon it, almost like fire and Neve could imagine the way it would play amidst her eyes when she blinked them open in a moment. Perfectly highlighted by the setting sun, slightly impatient but an ever mischievious quick to her lips that drew her in. She didn't smile as much ever since Lusacan awoke so Neve was delighted to be the root cause of the joy Nora found in this moment.

She smiled, rolling her eyes at herself- she'd become a sap ever since she and Nora made whatever had been between them something more concrete. "Yes, you can look now, Trouble," Neve's hands reached up to untie the blindfold while they were face to face.

Pulling away, she didn't get far as Nora's hands caught her wrists and her gorgeous eyes drank in the sight of her in a similar fashion. A bit of a girlish joy filled her chest as Nora's eyes went half lidded after a moment of admiring her; just before she leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on waiting lips. "You look beautiful." Nora mumbled, still holding Neve to her chest which earned her a fond eye roll.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, I look like I usually do."

"Which is beautiful."

"Keep that up, see where it gets you."

"As long as its with you." Nora kissed her again, distracting Neve from her goal but not wholly deviating from it. The aim was to spend a few uninterrupted minutes with this woman- so what if they spent most of it lost in each other?

The light shifting outside of her closed eyes reminded her of her goal. "Alright, stop that before we miss why I brought you here."

"To a random roof in Dock Town?"

"Yes, but this one… has a lovely view." She stepped aside, shifting her hands to hold Nora's and tug her closer to where she'd set up their little picnic thanks to Harding. It endlessly amused her that Nora actually enjoyed some of the dwarf's heinous culinary experiments- it paid off as Nora sniffed around and perked up at the smell of the awful noodle dish hitting her. "And yes, I did bring someyhing for us to eat."

Nora's face lit up in such a gorgeous smile that Neve had to steal one more kiss- she couldn't help it, really. "You did this for me?" She asked in an awed whisper, adoration and something deeper shining on her face.

It scared Neve, a little, a lot actually- she still wanted to have it all with the woman before her. Enough so that she swallowed the fear to return the smile, "With a little help. But yeah, I did it for you."

Nora excitedly pulled her down to the ledge of the roof, boots kicking against the wall as the woman swung her legs before turning that grin back to Neve. "You're a romantic, Neve Gallus," Nora teased, nudging Neve's shoulder with hers.

Neve didn't answer straight away- once again struck by how the sunset highlighted the woman's features. If she focused, she could see a hint of a pointed ear peeking out from behind wavy hair. Nora was comfortable enough with her to just be herself, to be silly- to be vulnerable, to let the mask drop and to just be, no matter how that translated to anyone else. Affable, humorous or the more blunt, stoic side that showed up in extremely rare situations. She'd been lucky to see every shade of emotion from Nora and she cherished all of them.

Neve laughed, disbelieving at how utterly and thoroughly she'd fallen in love despite trying to remain distant. It was as clear as day that she'd failed; a romantic picnic with Nora's favorite dish in Dock Town to watch as the sunset on her (maybe even….their) city? Oh, Nora was Trouble and Neve was helpless against the call.

She answered, once again, "Don't tell anyone." Neve winked at Nora.

Nora entertwined their fingers, clasping her free hand tightly before leaning down to lay her head on Neve's shoulder with an entirely too pleased sigh. "Warden's Honor, I won't tell."

Neve hoped she couldn't hear how her heart raced at the intimate contact. She didn't continue the conversation, choosing instead to relish in this moment of peace as the sun set on another day in Minratuous. Broken and full of danger, but trouble wasn't always a bad thing- in fact, Neve loved it all the same.

[heyclickadee]

Okay, now I’m finally not on the road and have a chance to reblog this, YEAH. THIS. The discourse around this has got to be among the most infuriating fan discourse I’ve come across simply because of how determined some people seem to insist that the rules of storytelling don’t apply to this one guy in particular.

Death in Star Wars is somewhat fungible. It always has been. It’s not a bug, it’s a feature baked into its DNA from basically the beginning. If a writer wants a us to know a character died in this franchise they have to make sure we know make sure we know that character is really dead. That’s why Fives has a full arc and dies in Rex’s arms, and why Crosshair has an entire mental breakdown next to Mayday’s body after failing to find a pulse.

And if it’s a character who’s part of the lead group in a show? You can’t just kill them on screen, you’ve got to justify it. Make the audience accept that it’s real and move on. Especially if you’re writing for kids. This is why Kanan got a solid episode of death prep, an on screen death, an entire completely silent credits sequence afterwards to give him a moment of silence, a reconfirmation of the death from the lead in the beginning of the next episode, a whole episode of processing and getting to a point of acceptance and consolation for the other mains, and then two more episodes of processing and acceptance for the lead while also making it completely clear that Kanan can’t come back and why.

And you know what? They still might not stay dead after that. I actually wouldn’t say no to either Fives or Mayday coming back, and could see it happening, even if I think the intent at the time was 100% for them to be and stay dead, and even if it would take a significant amount of retcon to do so. Star Wars has retconned more solid deaths than theirs and handwaved away the explanations of how. Maul is missing half his internal organs. How’d he survive like that for a decade? He got real angry, the force is mysterious, don’t worry about it. (I would object to Kanan coming back, but that’s because I don’t know how you’d round out his arc better than they did with Jedi Night. It’s the most narratively justifiable death in Star Wars.)

Popular characters come back in Star Wars all the time because they’re popular and Star Wars doesn’t really care about death all that much. There’d be nothing keeping Tech permadead forever even if they’d actually killed him off in the first place and I’m still not sure they did.

Because, I mean. They don’t kill him. They drop him off screen. All we actually know about his status is that he’s not wearing those goggles. We don’t even know if Omega, who’s usually right about this kind of thing, thinks for sure that he’s dead, because the most explicit thing she says about it is that he’s not gone. We don’t know if Phee thinks he’s dead because we don’t see her get the news—hell, you could actually make the argument that none of the bad batchers are 100% sure he’s dead (except maybe Crosshair, who might just have to think that). He’s not written like a dead guy, he’s written as MIA. The episode in which he falls is written like a textbook fakeout. There’s so much survival shadowing you could write essays on it. There was significant hinting he could be CX-2—something that’s never proven wrong on screen, by the way—which, if nothing else, even if it’s not him, served as a suggestion that Tech could have survived the fall because just hinting provides a gateway through which he could come back. He’s got a whole unfinished character arc and significant connections to the other arcs that remain unfinished. Nothing in the epilogue confirms he didn’t come back during the gap.

If I were writing this particular plot as a fakeout I genuinely don’t know what else I’d do besides just showing the man alive. It’s not just that he could come back, it’s that they’ve sort of written it in such a way that he kind of has to in order for anything outside of Omega’s arc to make any sense.

And yet this is the one character “death” where arguing that it’s a fakeout was considered the niche, delusional opinion in the more online parts of the fandom.

It was actually to the point that I kind of wonder if the solidity with which you can argue that it sure looks like an intentional (if extended) fakeout, and one of the very few intended fakeouts in Star Wars (Star Wars brings a lot of characters back, but with the exceptions of Ahsoka and maybe Fennec the returns are generally retcons after the fact) is part of what has some people insisting it can’t be changed no matter what. Not for the portion of the audience that sees themselves in Tech—with that part of the audience I think it’s as simple as the fact that we’re used to autistic characters being treated badly, have justifiably low expectations, and don’t want to get our hopes up because of it.

With everyone else, though, it’s like Tech comes up and suddenly any notion that Star Wars is space opera for children (slight sidebar—I don’t mean that as an insult, it’s just a categorization, I do think TBB is a for kids/for families show but I mean that as high praise in its case) flies out the window. I recently had a (maddening) conversation with someone who, turns out, kept arguing with me that Tech had to stay dead in part because he thought it was so obvious that the writers were/are planning on him coming back. No one does that for any other character in the franchise. Ever.

I’ve seen people go from arguing that Maul could come back again post “Twin Suns” pyre funeral on Tatooine (again, not out of the question, it’s Star Wars) to saying that Tech can’t ever come back. For reasons. I even put on a hazmat suit to trawl some old reddit posts about Fallen Order and the Ninth Sister’s “death.” And guess what?

No one in those posts thought she was dead.

Because no one in fiction ever dies in a fall like that.

The thing that's insane about the Tech Lives Discourse is that it seems to live in an alternate universe where zero normal narrative rules apply. Because so many major character deaths in media that are otherwise definitive will still get a little bit of "What if it's a fakeout" and everyone accepts this at least as a possibility even if they personally think it's a real death. And in Star Wars it's pretty accepted that even if a character died onscreen in front of you there's always a chance they'll come back even if they died out of universe years ago.

But from the second Plan 99 aired, suggesting that Tech was alive got you insulted or dismissed as delusional despite him having the single most sus "death" in history. Suddenly real life fall statistics have meaning in Star Wars and "no body no death" isn't a common narrative trope anymore. But just for him, every other character continues as normal.

Genuinely I don't understand why it's so out there to assume Tech's alive. He fell offscreen into some clouds and the only thing we know about him from the epilogue is that Omega still has the broken goggles. Literally nothing is actually keeping him dead and the fact that "Tech's alive we just haven't seen how he comes back into the story yet" is treated as a delusional niche opinion is straight up bizarre. No other character gets this treatment! Why is everyone so weird about him?

[aryaryxoxo]

uno — [⏮] [masterlist] [⏭]

I'm fucked, aren't I? #soshiro hoshina x lara jean coded!reader

Sure, why not add accidentally losing the love letters you wrote for your VICE CAPTAIN to the list of the dumb shit you did this year...Why did I even write it in the first place, you pondered. You knew why…writing helps you let loose your overflowing feelings for the vice-captain.

But maybe—pray to God. Whoever has the used—to—be—chocolate—now—letter storage tin threw it in the trash you wished DING!

Of course not, I’m fucked—aren’t I?

...

...that morning

“Y/N! You better hurry up—the stalls are going to be full!" Kikoru yelled through your bedroom door, way too energetic for your liking. You've never been a morning person, but here you were, forcing your eyes open at 5 a.m.

What even is the agenda for today? you wondered, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"I swear to God, Y/N, I'm leaving without you if you’re not out here in five seconds!" Kikoru shouted again, this time banging on your door so hard it made you jolt out of bed.

Geez, I'm awake, woman, why are you even outside? you grumbled under your breath. You hurriedly grabbed the chocolate tin can sitting on the drawer near the door, hoping you hadn't forgotten anything important. 

…

By the time you and Kikoru reached the communal bathroom, the stalls were already full, the room buzzing with chatter and the rush of running water.

"Great, now we have to wait," Kikoru said, shooting you an annoyed side-eye.

"If you’d just let me talk, we could’ve been on our merry way to another bathroom by now," you shot back, matching her tone.

You took the lead, heading toward the bathroom on the third floor. Thankfully, it was mostly empty, with only a few women occupying the stalls. You placed the tin can down at the sink and hurried into one of the stalls...

Ah, shit—the tin can! Of course, thanks to your half-asleep brain, you forgot to actually bring it with you. You rushed back out, flipped open the lid... and froze.

Instead of toiletries, the tin was filled with letters.

AH SHIT. Wrong tin can, Yeah, now you remembered—you had stayed up writing letters last night. I placed this in the drawer again...

Screw it. I'm just going to ask Kikoru for some shampoo and body wash.

…

"The old man just texted me—breakfast is being served," Kikoru said, setting down her phone and finishing one of her ponytails.

"One minute," you replied, carefully applying the last stroke of mascara.

Why do I feel like I'm missing something? you wondered, blinking at your reflection. Gosh, I really do hate mornings. They turn my brain into mush.

"You done?" Kikoru asked, already slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Yep," you said, capping your mascara and hurrying after her.

...

...

uno — [⏮] [masterlist] [⏭]

a/n — YAYAY FIRST CHAPTER !! im finally writing a smau !!! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

Warnings — grammatical errors; timeline is weird, pls ignore it. I’m new to the fandom, hence there are chance of misrepresentation, my apologizes.

[thecloudsaremyhome]

☆𝓓𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 1☆

𝓓𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮ꨄ

Platonic yandere various x gn! Reader

Tw: cursing, grammer mistakes

You grimace as you scan over the very obvious jaded print text. You sigh as you very reluctantly put the manga down.

“Damn that was so predictable” you mutter as you look back down on it visibly cringing at yourself from the current scene of the male lead pinning the female lead to the wall.

It was a very predictable dark, psychological love story.

With the second male lead obsessively pinning after the poor submissive female lead while trying to kill the other male leads in the process. It was cliche as it was predictable.

Because we all know how it's going to turn out anyways? So what's the point of reading this you ask?

Well, your friend Aliyah recommended (forced) you to read it, and with no choice but to indulge in the obsessive hold this manga has on her, you decided to read it.

But even though you recognize how predictable it is, you couldn't deny the hold it has on you, so you continue to read it to the very end to at least find out what happens.

But as you reach to pick up the manga an continue your reading you hear the buzzing sound of you phone.

You reach over and grab it being faced with aliyah’s name. You press the answer button.

“Hiyaa! (Name)!” you cringe at how Loud she is. “Hi aliyah can I ask why you called?” you dam with a neutral tone knowing your friend probably wants something from you.

“Hey! Im not always goung to need something from you jeez, anyways how are you enjoying deep love? Is it up to your oh so high standards.”

she says teasingly having a slight pout in her voice you cant help but lightly chuckle at your friends overall teasing behavior.

“Its interesting to day the least but also painfully predictable, its not the worst nor the best.” you say honestly.

“Well, I guess that's better than some of your other reviews on my type of manga.”

she says, pouting slightly on the other end.

You giggle at this. It is true that some of her other manga recommendations have been interesting, but some are too plain and cringy, and others are just too dark and overall predictable.

Your friend has never had the best tastes in manga or in anything for that matter but you love her for it, love her quirckiness and how she can not give to shits on what anyone else thinks. Maybe thats why you were to inevitably drawn to her.

“Anyways ill let you get back to your book byyyyyy!” she says but before you could respond she hangs up, this causes you to chuckle and pick the manga back up, deciding to pick up where you left off.

But what you didnt expect is to unfortunately be left on a cliff hanger, this of course both surprised and angered you!

Like why leave it on a cliff hanger when the story was just getting good!

And you actually started to kinds enjoy it not like youd admit it to anyone though. Thats your little secret.

Well whatever, you cant really do anything about it anyways, so youll leave ot at that, youll just ask aliyah tomorrow if she has any more copies.

But for now its time for bed, even though youd rather stay up and scroll through social media you really need to get to sleep so you dont flunk your geometry test tomorrow. Even though you didnt study for it at all.

With that, you place the manga down and get yourself situated in your rather messy bed before slowing closing your eyes, drifting off to slumber in the hopes of starting a new day tomorrow.

Not knowing that you wont exactly wake up tomorrow.

You groan feeling a raging headache blossom, you slowly open your eyes trying to adjust your vision the the sudden eplacy of light.

You widen your eyes as you notice your looking out a window of sorts but not just any window your looking out of a bus window, you rubb you eyes trying to see if you mistaken as you look around.

Yup you defiantly are on a bus and going to gods knows where, and what are you wearing? A uniform of some sorts?

You look around and notice a few other people are wearing similar uniforms to you. Maybe theyare going somewhere similar to you?

You dont know but these uniforms feel oddly familiar like youive seen them before.

But you have no time to ponder ads you feel the bus make a sudden stop, you look out the window and widen your eyes in surprise at the familiar structure of the university.

With its pure while brick walls to its prestigious entrance that has thousands of students littering in to get to class.

Then from its extragvgent entrance with the name plastered right on top of it like its actively taunting you.

You cant help but shiver in anxiety, this cant actually be happening, why the hell is this happening to you?

You didn’t ask for this? Hell you didnt even want this!

But here you are staring out of the bus window feeling absolute dread coursing through your veins at your current predicament.

Evergreen University.

Home for its remarkable students and excellent courses.

This is also where the main plot of deep love takes places, the manga that you read and now are currently in.

You are so fucked.

No you arent fucked your screwed.

So very screwed

Authors note: thank you all so much for the support! I'm going to be crossposting this new series on my wattpad and quotev so more people have access to it! I really appreciate all the support!

[spotaus]

Okay. So Killer (New Age) lore post! Putting it immediately under the cut, because I get the feeling this will be longer-

Killer! He's the first one Nightmare takes in! He's the 'Average' one. The silver-tongued common street rat, literally snatched away from the gallows. He's obnoxiously loyal.

His story is going to be (hopefully) loosely based on his canon, but still follow a lot of the New Age conventions.

So, Killer was a straight up orphan. Like, abandoned as a babybones on the steps of a temple. Temples would often double as orphanages, if you dropped a kid at the right one. (Killer had a malformed soul from birth. Didn't affect him at all, just looked weird.) So Killer? He was raised religious, basically. Worshipping the deity which was most prominent at the time (which for this era, Nim was largely the one being worshipped as though a god. Like Rome worshipping the Emperor), a very strict environment, a very lonely one as there weren't many other kids, and a fairly violent upbringing. The people there were Not proper caretakers. But it was all Killer had, and running away never crossed his mind, because beyond the market, there was nothing for him that the temple couldn't give. At least, that's what he was taught. Until, of course, he met Chara (just going by the normal ut name tho I do think they're called the Player in Something New?). (Note: Killer had a different name before he left the temple.)

Killer was only 11 or 12 (he didn't really keep track) when Chara started coming with their parents to the Temple. Their parents would ditch them to talk to the adults, and Chara would try to find other things to do, to get out of their parents sight, and one day they spotted the Orphans. Killer in particular (the oldest) was their target, about their same age. And they would talk to him. At first he was hesitant, but, you know how it goes, kids are kids and they'll talk.

And over the course of several visits, Chara told Killer about the outside world. All the places and the animals (Killer told Chara that the sacrafices were all animals, very unique) and the ocean, they told him about the mountains and the towns and ships and the guard and all of it. And it got to Killer. He started wanting to go beyond the walls of the temple (he always had, but never had reason to understand that urge).

One night, Chara showed up at the temple grounds after dark, while Killer was doing his final cleaning checks, and they encouraged him to leave. to run away with them. And... well, he did. He stole a cloak from the doorway and ran off with Chara. While they were on the run, Chara from their parents and Killer from his temple, they had to do what all street-rats did. Steal, cheat, and protect themselves. Killer was the first of them to kill. it wasn't much different from sacrificing the animals on the altar, anyhow. It was just another way to get what he wanted, since the god, Nim, never had any answers to his prayers. The person he killed had recognized his name, other sects were after him now that he'd run with Chara (unbeknownst to him, Chara was meant to be a sacrifice once they were old enough). He changed his name to the skill he was good at: Killer.

And they stay like that for a long long time, never settling down, always on the move, never leaving the kingdom because doing so would make it easier to find them, two red marbles in a sea of blue ones. And Chara never got their hands dirty. it was always Killer. it was his duty to back-up Chara. he 'owed' them for getting him out of that Temple. Out of that boring life. Chara, in some way, became the center of his world, something beyond his grasp and beyond poor judgement. Beyond the flaws of any living being. And they were fine. They still did normal teenage things, they laughed, they joked, they played, they lied, they got sweet treats and split big loaves of bread. But it wasn't healthy. A parasitic relationship where Chara took and Killer gave, weighed down by an impossible debt to repay.

Then, years and years later, Killer was finally taken down by the guard. Now wanted for several counts of murder, theft, and other bad things, he was caught. This time, unlike several others, instead of breaking out like he normally did, h decided to wait and see. How long would he have to be gone for Chara to seek him out instead? And Chara left him. And left him. And didn't ever come back for him. Gone, fully, 100%. His faith broke, along with his hope. The one thing that motivated him in life had abandoned him, and he couldn't seem to bring himself to do anything anymore, because he had sacrificed all he was and wasn't enough to keep his only friend around.

In prison he talked with other people. Prisoners aren't all bad, you know, especially when they saw Killer, a young guy, looking so downtrodden. Even though he was an objectively horrible person, hearing others try to cheer him up, expecting nothing in return, was helpful.

And then, ofc, when he met Nightmare he decided he could have a ticket out of here. A weird guy who would give him a place to stay, and pay him, and he could just go and then escape like he always did? Go live his own life for the first time ever? Yeah, sounds banger.

But then, you know, he ended up finding Nightmare's situation much too interesting, and Ccino way too handsome, and his gig just a bit too cushy. But he never had blind faith again. Nightmare is unaware, but that fake faith act Killer started with quickly morphed into a faith earned through action, and care, and kindness. Killer saw and felt that Night would be willing to risk himself just as much as Killer would. (Maybe that's why he became so loyal. maybe that's why it's important that Killer came first and set that expectation for the other Knights. Maybe that's why Killer faced off against Dream and almost died, and why Nightmare ran infront of Killer to spare him that final blow and proved exactly why Killer followed him in the firstplace-)

[klickbot]

The robot squinted and moved back slightly as a finger got near his camera aperture.

"Not like them..." he repeated in a quizzical tone, debating internally if Tanjiro were lieing or simply didn't know better. Whatever conclusion he came to, the bot decided it not worth dwelling on. The solar allergy was a new one to him though, for a demon anyway. "Well, if you should ever tire of that box, you might try the market near the docks. There are a number of sellers there who specialize in magical items that- oh... Hello?" the bot paused suddenly as if interrupted by an unseen person only he could hear. "Yes? Well no I hadn't gone outside, I've been busy talking with guests like you asked m- Statues? So? What about them? Ah... hah. What do you mean? I thought you wanted me to take the rest of the evening off to- No, no I didn't say it wasn't important just that I- ah. Well. Yes sir. Right away." The bot paused and then sighed, looking a bit more tired and stressed than he had a moment ago. While the bot was speaking to someone unseen, Tanjiro may have noticed a few familiar smells that might be of interest. The first, a smell similar to a demon from his world- but also the smell of... the ocean? That one was quite close, perhaps thirty feet away at most, near the lobby lounge. The second also a demonic-like scent but... some sort of knight's metallic armor and... tea? This one was much further, past the lobby fountain. Then a third distinct smell was someone, or something near the elevators. It was reminiscent of the flowers in which he found himself surrounded when he first realized he was in this world. Perhaps that person had been in that location too, and might know something about how he got there? "I do apologize, but it appears there has been- ah... that I must get back to work. Best of luck to you retracing your steps, and if you are ever truly lost, you could always try the Ferrymaster to take you back home. That is the main mode of transportation to and from the island, you know. Though I really must be going. I hope you enjoy your stay!" he told the two of him in his best customer service voice, trying to hide a number of things at this point as he flew toward one of the resort's exits. @slayingblades

Being reassured by her brother, Nezuko looked around once more. Then to this flying robot. And then back to Tanjiro. As her cautiousness waned down a bit, she stood up. Since she's not exposed to the sun, it should be fine for her to wander a bit in this hotel, right?

Anyway, her form began to shift, turning into a young teen that made her look only a couple years younger than her brother. She was about to poke Klick's eye, only for the older sibling to hold her to refrain from such an attempt.

"She's Nezuko, my sister. She was turned into a demon but she's not like them." He shortly explained, hoping this robot doesn't see Nezuko as a threat. "Since she can't be exposed to the sun, I had to keep her hiding in this box."

"Mm-mm~" his sister nodded in response, unable to speak due to that bamboo nuzzle on her mouth. While it can be taken off, they were advised not to. Perhaps it's what's keeping her from consuming any human blood.

[thelawsofdaylight]

I feel like all this still leaves the question of Why Would Enjolras Be Romantically Interested in Grantaire Of All People and that is DIFFICULT to answer

EXACTLY!!!!

And THE THING IS I feel like when we're just dealing with E/R I'm willing to cast aside any doubt because the answer is simply Narrative Symbolism. That's why my favourite iterations of E/R always encompass an OFPD moment/a similar instance of transformation somehow and it always makes me lose my mind.

HOWEVER in a world where Enjolras/Feuilly is a thing, it's as if Feuilly is already fulfilling that role in their narrative (e.g Grantaire post-OFPD) and then it becomes EXTRA difficult to conceive of a reason why Enjolras would be interested in Grantaire. I feel like I can see why E/F works and I will forever be obsessed with the sheer symbolic power of E/R... but atm they're mutually exclusive in my head and that's why I'm so determined to mash them together hahaha

[liebelesbe]

one day i will have a bunch of friends and a silly wonderful amazing romance <- manifesting