#I was thinking about turning it into a painting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madewithsilk · 3 days ago

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Virgin!reader x toxic gf!ellie

She pressures reader to have sex with her and she’s really rough with her even when reader asks her to be gentle

(Btw I love your writing so much 🩷)

— ᴛᴏxɪᴄ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ; ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ɢꜰ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ (ꜰ!) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ; ᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀʟꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴅᴜʙ ᴄᴏɴ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ ᴏɴ

Ellie believes she has been more than patient. She notices the flicker of fear and the shadows of disagreement that cross your face whenever she brings having sex up, and she chalks it up to the norm. After all, it's only natural to feel apprehensive about the first time; she experienced those nerves herself. Yet, as she watches you, a wave of hunger washes over her, making it all the more enticing to bridge the gap between you and her. The way you lay in bed, watching TV, panties visible the her. She nearly swears you're doing it on purpose. It makes her think of all the times you were so needy but refused to have sex. She could hear you cumming on your pillow at least three times in one night while she stayed in the living room.

She wanted to keep being the slow-moving and forbearing lover, keeping to her promises of giving you as much time as needed and hiding how she truly felt. But her patience has always had limits.

She shuffles into the bedroom, a hand running through her hair. She was forming a script of words she’d whisper at you to finally bring you over the edge and give in. Your gaze shifts onto her, closing your thighs with a small redness on your cheeks. Ellie crawls onto the bed besides you, slipping one of her arms around your face to turn you and face her. Your puppy-like eyes stare up at her, an incoming pout forming. Her free hand strokes your cheek, a moment of intimate silence before she speaks up.

“How are you feeling, babe?” She whispers, thumb tracing circles on your hip. You grumble under your breath, being held flush against Ellie. Your eyes would dart around on her face, her tattoos. Your thighs clenched together. "Bit sleepy, just couldn't fall asleep." You huffed.

Ellie tuts, moving strands of hair out of your face in faux sympathy. "Poor baby," She begins, slipping a leg between your thighs, catching you by suprise. Your hands rested on her chest defensively, nodding. "Need help going to sleep?" You had an idea of what she could be suggesting, but you trusted her to respect your wishes, so you nodded again and asked "How?"

A smile ends up painted on Ellie's lips, refraining from rocking her knee against your clothed cunt just yet. “Y’know,” Her hands wander away from your hips and face, instead groping your tits in implication. You couldn't have shaken your head quicker, brows furrowing. Your hands pushed against Ellie's chest but she just held you closer. "Shh, shh, c'mon. It'll help you go to bed in no time, baby."

Your breathing was slightly uneven, biting your bottom lip. You wanted to sleep, but it was just so soon in your mind for sex. "I'll be so, so gentle, baby." You trusted Ellie, or at least you wanted to. Yet, you still denied the consistent offer. "No– Ellie, I'm not ready.." She rolls her eyes, body now above yours on the bed. She was caging you in. "Don't you wanna make me happy?" Her statement gave you a moment of contemplation. You feared her leaving if you didn't give her what she wanted soon enough.

“You promise you’ll be gentle?” Ellie keeps one hand besides your head on the bed, the other one reaching her pinky out to you childishly. “Pinky promise.” When your finger interlocked with hers, a small leaving your lips at the gesture, her hands went straight to undressing herself. She hovered above you, her belt undone right before you. You couldn't help but whimper, her boxers just begging to be taken off.

Your fingertips trace the waistband, seeing her already having a strap underneath. It slightly threw you off, wondering if she had planned this, but you didn't have much time to keep thinking when she fully tugged them down. The silicone dick was girthy, her palm encasing it and stroking it as if it were real. “Not gonna fit, Els..” She scoffed, kissing you to shut you up while removing your shirt and hiking up your skirt to reveal your panties and take those off too.

You responded to the kiss with fervor, hands tangling in her hair and groaning into the kiss alongside her. She didn't even reach down to play with your clit nor stretch you out with her fingers, lining up her cock to your entrance. Your tongue was exploring her mouth and she held you closer.

When you felt it stretch you completely, Ellie immediately buried herself to the hilt, you broke the kiss. Your eyes were wide, a bit of pain in your expression. Ellie groaned, hand resting on your throat as she began to thrust inside you. You whimpered, squeamish from the pain and incoming pleasure. She moaned into your neck now, hand pressing against your lower tummy so you could feel all of her inside you. “Fuckk— you don’t know how long I’ve needed this,”

You clawed at her back, head thrown against the mattress. Her pace was unrelentless and you felt the tip nudging your cervix. She pulled back from your neck, grasped your thighs, and kept pumping her dick into your sopping cunt. Tears welled in your eyes, it felt so good but it was so unwarranted. “Ellie— so- s’mean!” You whimpered, huffing and panting.

Your vision got blurry from both the tears and how her cock made your head swirl, you were filled to the brim. “Fuck, don’t- don’t cry, baby,” She was gasping for air, and even as you got closer and closer, she kept ramming the strap inside you. The sound of squelching and skin-slapping bounced off the walls, a knot forming deep in your tummy. “You’re dripping on me, baby, I can’t be that mean?” She chuckled breathlessly.

Your eyes were basically rolled to the back of your head, tongue lolling out. You wanted so badly to be mad and yell, but you couldn’t do much, just babble incoherent words. Your mouth was nearly completely slack, “Fuck— Els, can’t, can’t ta-take—“ She hummed, nodding and letting you ramble.

“You can, can take everything I give you, going so fuckin’ dumb,” She kept pounding into you, she swears she can feel you clench around her dick. You couldn’t stop squirming, back arching, she held you right in place while fucking you through your orgasm. She slithered a hand between your thighs to rub circles on your clit, throwing you over the edge and cumming all over her

Her pace slowed down, instead giving harsher, deeper thrusts as you came down from the high. Ellie pulled the silicone cock out, resting it on your abdomen with the white ring of cream you left on it. She swiped sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, kissing it gently. She noticed the upset front you put on, her pride too high to say sorry.

Instead, she whispers sweetly in your ear, “You’ll forgive me, right?”

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trashsuit · 2 days ago

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Fuck y'all, I'm answering all of these right here, right now (if you want me to elaborate, put it in my asks)

1. River (I go by my middle name online)

2. 17, turning 18 in a few months

3. June 9 2007

4. Gemini

5. Light purple

6. 3 and 82

7. Yes, 3 cats. A calico (I think) named Millie, a light brown tortie named Marley, and a dark brown tortie named Mischief

8. Pennsylvania

9. 5'4

10. 9

11. Idk, 5-10 if I had to guess

12. I can't remember any of my dreams

13. Uh, I have talents in most of the arts, I think. I act, I sing, I play piano and guitar, and I draw and paint

14. I don't think so

15. Changes every week. Right now? Maybe Hug All Ur Friends by Cavetown

16. I don't really watch many movies, but probably Wicked

17. I'm aroace, but I'd love to live with a good friend who doesn't mind stuff like hugs and cuddles

18. Absolutely not

19. Even if I wasn't aroace, no

20. No

21. I got brain surgery when I was a few months old, but nothing since then

22. Not yet :3

23. Uh, does the actor who played The Wizard when I saw Wicked on Broadway count?

24. I prefer showers for actually cleaning myself, but I love a nice, relaxing bath

25. All of the above

26. No

27. Probably not, but I'd like to be the kind of celebrity who's only known by theatre kids and just about no one else

28. I listen to a lot of musical theatre and indie pop

29. No

30. 2, not counting stuffed animals

31. Yearner or free faller with one leg over my long stuffed animal

32. Medium, I think

33. Pillsbury strawberry cream cheese mini bagels that my school serves

34. No

35. No, but I want to

36. Skedaddle

37. Ass is one of my favorite insults

38. No clue, I usually take a lot of naps

39. Yes, across the top of my head

40. Yes I think, but his friend just tried to wingman for him, like, twice, then I was left alone

41. It depends on the lie and who I'm lying to

42. Fuck no, I don't realize people are hurting me until I'm bleeding out.

43. Yeah, I've learned through my acting class

44. I don't think so, but I've also never really left the area I grew up in enough to notice

45. I like doing a southern drawl

46. Idk what the personality types are and I don't feel like checking rn

47. By far my prom dress from last year. Most of my clothes are thrifted or from Walmart

48. Yes

49. What?

50. Right

51. Yes

52. My mom makes really good potato pancakes

53. Idk what it was called, but I had it in Japan. It was some meatballs with veggies and a really good sauce. Here's a picture (it's the stuff by the eggs)

54. Definitely messy

55. You freak/y'all freaks

56. Either fuck or freak, tbh

57. 10-15 minutes most days (if that)

58. I don't think so

59. Suck

60. Yes

61. Yes

62. I'm alright, but I'm improving with the help of a teacher

63. Probably my best friend leaving me. She's the reason I've stuck around this long, idk what I would do without her

64. Yeah

65. I genuinely can't think of one

66. I like my hair nice and short

67. *sings the 50 states song*

68. Art or history (my favorite class I take is actually theatre, but I don't think it counts)

69. It feels like it depends on the day and who I'm around

70. No

71. Almost everything, if I'm being honest (except for acting, alone or in front of a crowd)

72. Not really

73. Not really, I don't even correct people on my pronouns (I probably should tho)

74. I don't think I am

75. I don't think so, usually if I say something, I genuinely believe it, so if I did, it wasn't intentional

76. No and I don't wanna be

77. Like one sip of wine and I thought it was disgusting

78. No

79. I'm aroace, so no one

80. I have both of my earlobes pierced once and nothing else

81. Yeah

82. Not very, I'm faster on my phone than on an actual keyboard tho

83. In short bursts, like 7 mph, but I can't run a mile, I have to walk

84. Naturally, dark brown, but right now it's blue with streaks of purple

85. Hazel

86. Bactrim and possibly the sticky stuff in bandaids (I think it's latex)

87. I've tried and failed multiple times

88. My dad's a truck driver

89. It's alright, I mostly like it for theatre stuff

90. Id have to think. I'm easily annoyed or frustrated, but it takes a lot to piss me off

91. Yeah, though I kinda regret choosing such a common name. I know, like, 6 other people with my name

92. No

93. Idk, probably just a happy, healthy kid if I ever had one. I don't really care about its sex

94. Seeing the good in people

95. How trusting I am and how I try to see the good in people (that's how I keep getting hurt)

96. I kept going through baby name sites and for some reason, I really liked this one

97. No

98. Yeah, from ear to ear on top of my head

99. All of the above

100. The walls are a very light purple, but you'll find every color in there

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

#i might've answered some in the wrong places #but oh well #live laugh lobotomy

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slut4megantheestallion · 2 days ago

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Could you make arcane women x reader who likes to paint or sew?

Arcane Women with a s/o who likes to paint & sew headcanons

- Pairings: Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, Ambessa.

Summary; being in a relationship w/ a s/o who likes to paint and sew.

Genre: fluff

-Vi

●Vi loves that you have such a creative side. Even if she doesn’t fully understand all the work that goes into it, she thinks it’s insanely cool.

●The first time you sew something for her, she’s blown away.

●You made her a custom red bomber jacket with her initials stitched subtly into the fabric.

●"Babe, you MADE this?! Shit, I’m never taking this off."

●If you rip your gloves? Vi refuses to let anyone else fix them, but you.

●When you paint her, she just stares at the finished piece, looking at herself in a way she’s never seen before.

●"Damn, you really see me like this? I—uh. Wow." (She gets weirdly emotional but plays it off.)

●After a long day, she loves to just sit beside you, watching you work.

●"Dunno how you do this shit, but it’s hot. Carry on."

-Jinx

●She adores your artistic talent. If you let her, she WILL steal your paints and mix colors into chaotic neon explosions.

●"Babe, babe, LOOK—I made art! It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s Jinx!"

●Jinx has ZERO patience for sewing but will still sit in your lap, messing with your materials.

●Uses your fabric scraps to make dolls—little stuffed bombs with stitched-on grins.

●"They’re like my babies! Boom babies!"

●If you paint murals, she WILL graffiti over them—not to ruin them, but to "add her touch."

●"C’mon, baby, it needed a little Jinx in it!" (Cue her spray-painting a giant, neon heart around your work.)

●If you ever paint her? She loses her mind.

●"You PAINTED ME? Oh my GOD, babe, I look AMAZING—wait, wait, make my eyes glow MORE."

●If you make her clothes, she begs you for patchwork designs that are a chaotic mess of colors and textures.

●"Okay, okay—hear me out—pink, blue, and, like, a hundred pockets."

Caitlyn

●She finds your skills incredibly elegant and admires how much effort you put into them.

●Sometimes, she just sits in quiet admiration, sipping her tea while watching you work.

●"You make it look so effortless, my love."

●If you sew something for her? She wears it immediately.

●A custom blue waistcoat? Instant favorite.

●"This is exquisite. You have a gift, darling."

●Buys you the best art supplies—high-quality paints, imported fabrics, anything you could ever need.

● "No, no, it’s not ‘too much,’ you deserve the best."

●If you make her a scarf, she NEVER takes it off.

●She commissions you to paint a landscape of Piltover’s skyline for her study.

●"Something about your work makes this city seem… softer."

Mel

●Mel is beyond impressed by your talent and considers it a high art form.

●She loves watching you work, trailing her fingers over the fabric, or gently touching a finished canvas.

●"Your hands create beauty with such ease. It’s mesmerizing."

▪︎If you make her a dress? She will show it off at every event.

●"Custom-made by the most talented person in Piltover. A true work of art."

●She commissions exclusive pieces from you, both clothing and paintings, because your work is far superior to anything money could buy.

●Will absolutely display your art in her home, making sure every guest acknowledges your talent.

●"Don’t you agree? My love’s work outshines anything in the Council Hall."

●If she catches you doubting your skills, she will shut that down immediately.

●"Don’t be ridiculous. Your talent is unmatched."

Sevika

●She pretends not to care, but she absolutely does.

●If you sew for her, she’ll just nod, acting casual—but she refuses to wear anything else.

●"Yeah, whatever. It’s nice. Thanks." (Literally wears it every day.)

●If you paint? She loves watching the process but will never admit it.

●"Tch. You’re gettin’ paint everywhere." (Secretly fascinated)

●Lets you paint on her metal arm sometimes, turning it into a work of art.

●"Don’t make it too soft. I still gotta look like a badass."

●She will not sit still for long periods, so if you need a model, you have to bribe her.

●"Fine. But you owe me a drink after this."

●Sometimes, she catches herself staring while you work, watching your hands move with quiet precision.

●When you catch her, she’ll just grumble and look away.

Ambessa

●She sees your skills as a mark of power and refinement.

●She’s fascinated by the patience and control you have over your craft.

●"Discipline. Precision. You would have made a fine general."

●If you make something for her? She wears it proudly, but only if it’s impeccable.

●"I accept nothing less than perfection. And you, my dear, deliver just that."

●She commissions war banners, military insignias, and regal garments from you, knowing your work will make a statement.

●Loves watching you paint. There’s something about the graceful intensity of it that captivates her.

●Doesn’t give praise easily, but when she does, it means something.

●"Your talent is rare. Do not waste it on anything unworthy."

#wlw #mdni #wlw x reader #arcane x black reader #arcane x reader #vi arcane x reader #arcane vi #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kirraman x reader #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #mel medarda #mel medarda x reader #sevika #sevika x reader #ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader

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lauraschiller · 1 day ago

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When I was seven years old, I found a room that exists outside of time.

It was shortly after my parents died - I’d rather not talk about that, if you don’t mind - and their friends Rudy and Kirsten took me in. They had asked me to think of them and their three children as family, but I couldn’t quite manage it yet. They were good people and they did their best, but sometimes I just couldn’t stand the noises in that house.

It felt especially loud to me that day; my ears still ring just thinking about it. I wandered from one corner of the house to the other, my orange plush cat and a tattered paperback copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe clutched in my arms, looking for somewhere - anywhere - quiet.

I couldn’t read in my own room because I shared it with Melissa, and she was practicing on the piano. If you think that sounds soothing, you’ve never heard the same fumbled chord over and over on a tinny electric keyboard. I stood by the door for a while anyway, curious about what the piece would sound like if she got it right. She looked up, lifted her purple-polished nails off the keys, and frowned. “Do you mind? I’m trying to concentrate!”

So was I, but I shuffled off down the hallway without a word.

In the living room downstairs, Frank and Josh were sprawled on the couch in their sweatpants and sports jerseys, playing a video game. Virtual gunfire shook the floor. Blood splattered across the screen. I flinched. They laughed.

“Scaredy-cat!” Frank sneered after me as I ran.

“Hey, leave her alone,” Josh said. “She’s just a kid.”

I could hear them bickering and shoving as I ducked into the kitchen.

“Boys!” Kirsten called through the door. “Can you please kill each other more quietly?”

They turned down the volume by a few decibels, but kept playing.

She was standing at the counter, chopping a carrot. I must have seen her that way hundreds of times, with her green-and-yellow-striped apron on and her hair - it was still blonde then - falling out of its clip. She put down her knife and pushed the flyaway strands out of her face. “Did you need something, dear?”

“I … uh … ”

“Looking for a place to read?” She smiled down at the book and toy I was holding.

“I … can’t,” I said. My throat was tight. “There isn’t anywhere.”

“In an old house like this, there’s always somewhere.” She cupped my cheek with a hand still wet from washing vegetables and kissed me on the forehead. I usually avoid being touched, not because I don’t like it, but because the feeling tends to linger for a long time. “This is your home. I hope you know that.”

I nodded, the lump in my throat growing tighter.

She scraped all the carrots into the blender and switched it on. The sound of that machine, a shrill roar that rattled my teeth all the way to the back of my head, made conversation impossible. I fled back upstairs.

Kirsten was right; the house was old. It was a modest red brick split-level, the kind we used to see more of in this neighborhood before they got crowded out by these giant cubes made of glass and concrete. The floorboards creaked. The paint on the walls was cracked and peeling in a few places, forming patterns like spiderwebs. Wind and rain rattled the window panes. I walked in circles, opening and closing the same doors over and over, re-memorizing the layout - bathroom here, linen closet there - as if my life depended on it. I could still hear all the noises of the house - the blender, Melissa’s keyboard, the boys’ shooter game, the constant hum of the fridge and heater, the driving rain outside - jangling wildly in my ears. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I had to get away.

I grabbed the nearest doorknob, hurled myself through and shut it behind me.

The noises stopped.

My skin tingled.

I was standing in a room I had never seen before, a room I knew at once was somehow different from every other part of the house, even before I could define it. Besides the quiet, the difference was in the light. While the rain had turned the light everywhere else a washed-out gray, here it was the warm gold of an afternoon just before sunset. It flickered through the branches of the maple tree growing beside the house, making leaf-shadows dance on the walls. I was almost a little surprised to see that maple. To my seven-year-old mind, it would have been just as logical for the window to open on a whole other world.

In other respects, it seemed like an ordinary room. Two armchairs stood on either side of the window, their indigo upholstery faded from the sun like a favorite pair of jeans. A little table stood between them with a cloth draped over it, deep blue like the chairs, printed with an intricate pattern of white vines and flowers. Shelves lined the walls, holding books, magazines, little ornaments (including a teddy bear with oatmeal-colored fur, a pair of ceramic dancers in white wigs and ruffles, and an unlit candle beside a black-and-white photograph of people I didn’t know), and a turntable complete with a row of vinyl records ...

It was all so much like home, I could barely breathe.

That tablecloth was my mother’s, made by the grandmother I was named for, with a method called Blaudruck or blue-dyeing that was centuries old. As a child, you take these things for granted - I’d never even asked what had happened to all these things - but now I walked around the table examining it from all angles, smoothed the creases, traced the swirling leaves and petals with my fingertip, and even leaned down to sniff it. It smelled like the lavender sachets my mother used to keep in her closet.

The records were my father’s. He had trusted me to handle them, even at my age. He had shown me how to slide them carefully out of their cardboard sleeves; to touch only the edges and the center, never the surface; to wipe off any fingerprints with a soft cloth. On that day, however, I didn’t play any of them; it was enough just to flick through them, to look at the cover art - a rainbow arcing through a black triangle; a little green dragon perched on the moon - and puzzle over the mysterious grown-up lyrics printed on the back of the sleeves.

I don’t know how long I stayed in that room. I only know I never stopped to think about the time, which is the surest sign of being happy. I curled up in one of the armchairs to read my book and pet my plush cat until I could have sworn he purred.

“So, what have you all been up to?” Rudy asked across the dinner table that evening, as he always did when he came home from the office.

That question used to make me fidget every time I heard it. When he surveyed us from under his peaked black eyebrows, frown lines carved into his face, I always suspected him of suspecting us of some kind of trouble. It took me years to figure out that this was only his awkward way of making conversation.

Kirsten, who was used to him, grumbled good-naturedly about the challenges of knitting stripes, which reminded Melissa of how tricky her new piano piece was, which reminded the boys of the new game level they had reached (complete with arguments about who had played it better). I was only half listening, relieved to have their attention off me as I waited for my hot soup to cool down to edible.

“What about you, Hertha? How are you spending your summer vacation so far?”

My spoon splashed into the soup.

“Reading? Drawing? Watching movies?” Rudy was an unstoppable list-maker. He would fire off options one after another until I chose one, and if I didn’t choose quickly enough, possibly start from the beginning. I waited for what I felt was a suitable pause between words - I’d been reminded often enough that it was rude to interrupt, although how to avoid interrupting people who talked this much was a different matter - took a deep breath, and dived in like a cartoon burglar through a laser grid.

“I was in the other living room,” I said. “Reading. With Leo.” (Leo was the name of my plush cat.)

Rudy’s frown lines deepened. “Other living room?”

“The … the one upstairs,” I faltered. “With the record player.”

“There’s no living room upstairs,” he said. “Just your bedrooms and the linen cupboard. And what record player?”

“But I really was there!” I blurted out. “It’s not like anywhere else in the house. It was sunny there and … and it smelled like our old house.”

I could pinpoint the exact moment when he decided not to believe me. He gave me the same shaky smile I’d seen from all the guests at my parents’ funeral, the one that said he felt sorry for me, but had absolutely no idea how to help.

“Oh, that’s … that’s nice,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “That sounds beautiful.”

“Upstairs? Like what, the cupboard?” whispered one of the children. I was staring down into the thick orange gloop that was my dinner, though, and didn’t look up to see who it was. “She was pretending in the cupboard?”

“I knew she was weird. Even before - ”

“Shut up!”

“Kids, stop it.” Kirsten’s clear voice cut through the whispers like a knife. “Remember what we talked about before. If Hertha needs her personal space, then we give it to her. Without judging her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom,” they chorused.

I didn’t want them to give me space, only to believe me. But if there was one thing I took away from that conversation, it was this: I should never talk about the other living room again.

A short time later, when Kirsten asked me about it in a smiling, casual way - “So, how was the upstairs living room? Everything comfortable?” - I assumed that she was only humoring me, and gave her the coldest look my seven-year-old eyes could muster.

“I don’t play that game anymore,” I informed her.

She looked at me with something like sadness, but then shrugged and let the subject drop.

It was about forty years later that I came back for Kirsten’s funeral.

After the reading of the will, we all somehow found ourselves back at the house, drinking iced tea in the living room as stiffly and formally as if we’d never sprawled on the sofa, read all night in the armchair, or watched cartoons on the old TV that no longer worked. Melissa wore a sleek black dress and a hat with a spotted veil. Frank and Josh wore their best black suits. I wore the only black dress I owned, an old polyester number that itched and clung after our sweltering car ride from the lawyer’s office. Rudy wasn’t there - he had passed away a few years earlier - but someone had lit a candle beside his picture on the fireplace mantel. It felt like his funeral all over again, as well as his wife’s, which in a way it was.

“So,” said Melissa, stirring the ice cubes in her glass with a sharp clatter. “Did any of you have any idea that Mom would do this?”

“Nope,” and “Not me,” said the men.

All three of them turned to look at me.

“I … didn’t know either.” I had to cough twice before my scratchy voice would work. “I didn’t know she’d leave this house to me. I never … I never asked her to.”

“Of course not.” Her smile was brittle. “I didn’t think you did. I mean, you’re not exactly the domestic type. What would you want with a whole house? ”

“To live in it, maybe?” Josh suggested, raising his head from where he leaned tiredly against his corner of the sofa.

“I’m just saying.” She waved her hand in the air to indicate all the space in this room. “It’s too big for a single person. Some of us have families - ”

“Mel,” Josh protested.

“Sorry, Hertha. You know I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not like I begrudge her anything,” she said, turning to Josh. “It’s just - ”

“If you ask me,” Frank chimed in, although no one had actually asked him, “The most logical thing to do would be to sell it.” Melissa relaxed into the cushions and nodded, as if she’d been about to suggest the same thing. “The value of this place has gone up through the roof since Mom and Dad bought it. If we sell it and divide the proceeds between the four of us, it would only be fair, don’t you think?”

“It’s your decision, Hertha,” said Josh, meeting my eyes point-blank. “What do you want to do?”

I had no idea - or rather, I had far too many at once.

Frank was right, but why did he sound so wrong to me? I couldn’t bear to leave this house, but how was I supposed to look after it? What if something broke and I couldn’t afford the repairs? My job at the time let me work remotely, but didn’t pay much. I’d been bouncing from one shabby rental apartment to another, where the landlord took care of problems and if they didn’t, I could just move. I was completely unprepared to be a homeowner. I’d run it into the ground. If Rudy were here, he’d probably agree. I could almost hear him calculating how much the house would fetch on today’s real estate market, but would that be because it was the logical solution, or because I wasn’t really his daughter? Even if I could keep the house, would the others ever forgive me for taking what should have been theirs?

What would Kirsten say if she were here? What would my parents say?

All these thoughts went boiling up inside my head like lava in a volcano, then erupted in tears. I barely had time to mutter “Excuse me, I need a moment,” before running upstairs, so that these three logical adults wouldn’t see me disgrace my forty-seven years by crying.

Half blind with tears, I reached for the bathroom door so I could sob myself out and wash my face. I thought I saw two doors in the wall instead of one, but that had to be my eyes playing tricks on me.

I thought of the magical room I used to daydream about as a child. If ever I needed a place like that, it would be now, but surely it couldn’t be real. Still, I missed it more than I had ever missed anything in my life.

If only it were real …

I stumbled through the door.

This was not the bathroom.

The other living room hadn’t changed a bit from what I’d imagined - no, remembered. My mother’s indigo tablecloth was still draped over the table. My father’s records still leaned in a row next to the player. The two armchairs looked as cozy as they ever had. Even the light coming in through the window was the light of a different day and time. Outside, it had been the kind of hot, humid August day that feels like you’re breathing pea soup. From this window, I could see a full silver moon and a golden street lamp shining over a blue-white blanket of snow.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. The time display was blinking as if it had shorted out.

The other living room was real. Even when I looked for it as a teenager and couldn’t find it, even when I told myself it was only make-believe at best and a delusion at worst, even when I moved out to go to college and never felt at home anywhere again, all along it had been real.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, walking softly around the room, and: “Thank you.”

I told myself I was only going to stay until I calmed down, but I couldn’t seem to stop crying. Everything set me off, from the teddy bear on the shelf to the scent of lavender, blending with the lemon soap that Kirsten had always used as if the two of them had just stepped out moments ago. I crumpled up one tissue after another from the box on the table and stuffed them into my pockets. My eyes and nose burned.

I never heard the door open, or the sound of slippered footsteps on the rug. What made me look up was a soft, shaky intake of breath - in a voice that was not mine.

“Oh my,” said Kirsten. “Well … the doctors did warn me.”

She must have taken one look at my black dress, red nose and swollen eyes and guessed from what time I had just come. Looking at her, I could make a similar guess: This was after she’d stopped chemo, but before she had gone to the hospice. Her hair was growing back in soft white wisps. She looked pale and drawn, but not as much as during those last weeks. She wore the soft burgundy shawl Rudy had given her on the last Christmas before his heart attack. She shuffled into the room, wrapping the ends of that shawl around her as if she were cold.

I really had to stop crying now. It would be too unfair to make her comfort me about her own death. Besides, sheer astonishment was drying my tears faster than anything else could have done. In all the years I’d lived or even visited this house, I had never seen another person enter this room.

“How … how is this happening?” I croaked. “How are you here? I thought … ”

“You thought you were the only one?” Her wrinkles deepened into a wry, knowing smile. “Who do you think showed you the way? Or tried to, anyhow. After all these years, I’m glad to see it actually worked.”

She settled herself in the armchair next to mine with a creak and a sigh, waiting patiently for me to collect my scattered thoughts.

“Showed me the … ? Oh!” I thought back to the day I had first found the room. What I usually remembered was loneliness, but in that moment, I heard Kirsten’s “This is your home” as clearly as if it were the first time. “Oh … thank you!”

“You’re very welcome.”

“But you … we never talked about it … ”

“You didn’t seem to want to,” said Kirsten with a shrug. “I figured you needed privacy.”

All these years we had missed out on sharing something so precious to both of us.

“How did you even find this place? Did you … ” My voice dropped to an awed whisper as a new idea occurred to me. “Did you … create it?”

“Me?” She laughed until she had to catch her breath. “Goodness, no! If I could control time and space like that, I’d make a door to some sunny beach somewhere.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes, still grinning. “No, I found it when we first moved here, before the kids were born. I made such a mess in the kitchen one night, just when Rudy’s boss was invited to dinner. Tomato sauce everywhere, I swear, it looked like a crime scene! I ran to the cupboard for paper towels, panicking all the time, and opened this door instead. You can imagine how that put my messy kitchen into perspective.”

I laughed along with her, not only because it was so rare for the Kirsten I knew to panic, but because I knew exactly what she meant.

“So you had time to clean before the boss showed up?”

“Oh no, but at least it gave us something to joke about.” Her smile faded away into a wistful little sigh. “Those were good times.”

I nodded slowly. This room did have a way of reminding you of your good times. I ran my finger over the swirling white vine pattern on my mother’s tablecloth the way I used to as a child. The dye hadn’t faded. Nothing ever seemed to fade here.

“Was it you who put my parents’ things here?”

“Yes, I did.” She peered down with respectful attention at the pattern I was tracing. “They left them for you. I couldn’t think of a safer place.”

I had no words for what that had meant to me over the years except a half-choked “Thank you,” but she smiled and patted my hand as if she understood.

“I, um … I have another question.” One I never thought I’d have the chance to ask before now, even though it had been on my mind for decades.

“You can ask me anything,” she said. “Go ahead.”

“Did you ever … ”

How did I say this without sounding completely unhinged? It did help a little to remember that certain people - those downstairs probably included - would not consider either of us entirely sane for believing in a place like this.

“Did you ever want to just … move in here?” I asked, with an awkward wave of my hand around the room. “I mean … like you said, it’s a safe place. The only safe place sometimes, it feels like. Do you ever just want to … stay?”

As I talked, I could imagine all too clearly how she might want to. Since she was dying, a place where time did not obey its usual rules might call to her even more than it did to me. When she left this room, the cancer would go back to eating away at her. She’d have to give up everything she enjoyed: long walks, rich food, even crafting once she could no longer thread a needle. Frank would organize an online schedule for us all to take turns bringing her groceries. She would die comfortable, but vacant, with too many painkillers in her system to recognize any of our faces.

I couldn’t tell whether she was thinking any of the same things. All I know is that when she answered, her face was as calm and confident as I had ever seen it.

“No, dear,” she said. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you still get hungry, for one thing.”

“Oh.” That matter-of-tact answer made me suspect that, at one point in her life, she might have actually tried it.

“Also, I’ve been wondering all my life how this place could have happened, and my best guess is that it must be a miracle. Miracles,” she fixed her bright blue-gray eyes on me with something almost like a challenge, “Aren’t meant to hide away in. They’re meant to be shared.”

“A miracle … ” I repeated, halfway between awe and dismay. “Wait - shared? You mean with - ” I tipped my head in the direction of the door, outside of which were the stairs that led to Melissa, Frank and Josh in the living room.

“With your brothers and sister, yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”

Not even the implication that all four of us were equally her children made me feel any less like a bristling porcupine.

“But - they’ll never believe me!” I sputtered. “They didn’t back then, so why would they now? They already think there’s something wrong with me. If I come after them with something like this, I … I don’t even know what they’d do! They never wanted me in this family - all these years, they never even tried to get to know me - ”

“There is nothing wrong with you. No one here believes that.” Kirsten’s voice was quiet, but very stern, as she interrupted my tirade. “And as for trying, when was the last time you tried to get to know them?”

That silenced me at once.

The shameful truth was that I couldn’t remember the last time I had tried to get close to the others. I never learned to take rejection well; one setback is enough to set all my metaphorical quills on edge. I must have given up soon after moving in with them. If our not feeling like a real family was partly their fault, it was also partly mine.

Besides, I realized, I might be wrong about that too. Earlier today, hadn’t Josh defended me from Melissa’s comment about me being too single for such a big house? Hadn’t Melissa apologized? And hadn’t Frank done his best to find a solution that was fair to all of us?

“You’re right.” I blushed and lowered my head. “I should try … I will try.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

Kirsten gripped the arms of the chair and began rising carefully to her feet, signaling quite clearly even to me that she was worn out and wanted to end this conversation. I could have sat talking to her for hours - if you could call them hours in this timeless place - just so I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her again, but I knew how selfish that would be.

I did, however, have one more question.

“Doesn’t it scare you?”

“Dying, you mean?” She snorted. “Of course!”

“Really? … You don’t seem scared.”

“I don’t like to worry all of you.” She leaned on my arm as we shuffled towards the door, her thin hand holding on with surprising strength. “Also, I’m curious about what happens next. I like to think of Rudy standing by the Pearly Gates, with a full itinerary of sights.”

I smiled, because that sounded so like him.

“And if I’m wrong and nothing happens,” she added with characteristic common sense, “At least I’ll never have to find out.”

Just as we reached the door, she squeezed my arm even tighter and looked up at me with sudden intensity, stopping me in mid-step. “One more thing,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Tell your sister and your brothers that I love them.” Her eyes glittered. “And tell yourself the same. I wish I’d said it more often.”

“You show it all the time,” I said. “But - yes, of course, and - Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you too.”

I opened the door for us both.

One moment she was holding on to me, the next she was gone.

I’d thought I was all cried out for the night, but I wasn’t. All the better; these tears barely hurt at all.

My siblings, of course, were still sitting in the downstairs living room. From their perspective, I must have left the room for only a few moments, just long enough to splash water on my face and take a few deep breaths.

Standing in the doorframe in the moment before they spotted me, it struck me how old they looked. They had always been older than me, but this was different. The men’s hair was turning from salt-and-pepper to plain salt, and Melissa’s was such a bright gold, I guessed that she dyed it. Their skin was beginning to have that crepe-paper look. All three of them were on their phones, scrolling and frowning, avoiding each other’s eyes. It felt like such a short time since we had been children. In Kirsten’s eyes, no doubt we still were.

I stepped forward.

“Are you okay?” Josh pocketed his phone and came towards me, his blue-gray eyes wide with concern.

“I’m, uh … better, thanks.” I blinked away the last few tears and cleared my throat. “I need to tell you something.”

He nodded, stepped back and waved a hand for me to go ahead. All three of them looked up with polite, expectant faces. It felt like being a teenager again and having to give a presentation in class, only more so. I wished I had stayed upstairs at least long enough to prepare a speech.

I turned to Melissa first, who I had always thought disliked me the most, just to get it over with. “You’re right,” I said, causing her to raise her eyebrows. “This house is too big for one person … and in some ways, I can see how it would make sense to sell it,” turning to Frank, who nodded in a gratified way and opened his mouth as if to jump right into a planning session. I flung up my hands just in time, however, and no one interrupted.

“It’s just … this house, it’s … it’s more than a piece of real estate,” I went on in my incoherent way. “It’s the only home I can really remember. It’s where Kir - it’s where Mom and Dad took care of us, and … and it’s where we could always come back when we needed to. I don’t … I don’t see why it can’t still be like that. I think … we could all use a place to come back to, sometimes. I know it’s not where we live, most of the year anyway, but this is still our home, and I … I want to keep it. For all of us.”

This was the most personal thing I had said to them in years. I might as well have come downstairs in my underwear. I waited for Melissa to roll her eyes, or Frank to keep arguing, or Josh to look away in quiet second-hand embarrassment. I waited.

“Huh,” said Frank, squinting at me over the top of his glasses. “That’s interesting.”

I braced myself for whatever came next.

“What’s interesting?” Josh asked warily.

“That the adopted kid takes after Mom the most.” Frank smiled. “Doesn’t she?”

“I know what you mean,” Melissa admitted in a surprisingly small voice. “I always used to wonder where she went to find that … whatever it was … peace, I guess? It made me so jealous.”

“Me too.” Josh shared a rueful smile with her. “Wish I could go there.”

In that moment, the same current I had sensed when Kirsten had told me I was home went buzzing through my hands. Without thinking about it, I knew exactly what to do. I sat down on the sofa between Josh and Melissa and put a hand on each of their arms, and Josh - as if by instinct - reached over to nudge Frank. The current flowed between the four of us at once.

“You’ll find it,” I said to my family.

I believed it then, and I still do.

Whoever you are, reading this, may you find it too.

There’s a room in your house that exists outside of normal time. No one can bother you because no time passes between you going in and coming out no matter how long you’re there. Until one day someone is already there.

#writing prompts #original story #magic realism #time travel #adoptive family #grief #peace #salt and light #@writing-prompt-s

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reminiscingtonight · 2 days ago

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Guilty

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Tis the season for sequels. Featuring a lot of Kyra and Alessia and not so much of Lia

[The Thing About Families Masterlist]

You should have known better than to trust her.

There’s a reason Steph’s always more than happy to drop Kyra off on your doorstep whenever camp’s over.

There’s a reason Mini looks like she’s gained five years every time the younger girl has been granted privileges to “babysit” her two kids.

You have a million reasons to not trust her yet you did.

Why did you trust Kyra with the ring?

Your knuckles are nearly white as you drag the young girl into a nearby unoccupied conference room. Kyra’s looking apologetically guilty, but a delirious haze is starting to take over you. It’s a mixture of horror and disbelief, but at the bottom of it all, you feel beyond stupid.

“What do you mean you lost it?!”

Kyra looks like she’s moments away from crying, but you can’t find it in yourself to be compassionate. You can console her later. Right now you need to get to the bottom of this and try to salvage your relationship with your girlfriend first.

“I swear it was stashed at the bottom of my drawer but it just wasn’t there when I looked this morning.”

“Well where did you put it?”

“I never moved it! Someone must have taken it.”

You pinch your eyes shut, praying to whatever soccer gods that are above that this was just a cruel joke. This wasn’t really happening and you weren’t about to postpone all the plans you’ve spent months working on. “Kyra, I am begging you not to do this. What am I supposed to do? The dinner’s been booked! The restaurant knows I’m proposing!”

“We can get you a new one! I’ll front it, I swear.”

Forget Kyra crying, you’re going to cry.

“Unless you’re willing to shell out five grand in the next few hours, I don’t think ‘buying me a new’ one will work.”

The young Australian’s eyes bulge out at the sound of how much you spent on Lia’s ring.

It’s not a well kept secret that you were going to propose. You and Lia have been together for years now, married in every way except for the official one. Wedding plans have already been discussed, from venues to food to the invitation list. The last thing you actually had to do was the actual proposing and getting married parts.

Though with the ways things are going, you’re not sure you’re going to get married anytime soon.

There’s a knock on the door but you ignore it, pacing back and forth as your mind races. There’s not really much you can do at this point. The place you got Lia’s ring custom made at is already closed at this time of day, and your girlfriend deserves something better than a last minute generic engagement ring.

A flash of blonde enters your peripheral just as you make your decision.

“Okay. I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh I’ve been looking for you guys--”

“Now’s not a good time, Less,” you wave your sister off, not even bothering to pay her any attention. “Okay Kyra, listen closely because I won’t repeat myself.”

The younger girl nods, determination painted all over her features.

“I’ll cancel the reservations. That’ll buy me a couple days.”

“Guys--”

“Less. Not a good time,” You repeat, shuffling to turn your back to her to ensure Alessia can’t interrupt again. “The jeweler still has the plans I sent him. I can probably get Gio and Luca to lend me some money, but you have to find where you stashed that ring, Kyra. It wasn’t cheap.”

“About the ring--”

“Not now Alessia!” This time your and Kyra’s voices blend together, neither of you willing to give Alessia a minute of your days.

She lets out an offended huff and you have half a mind to just strangle her right here and now, your mother’s feelings be damned.

Gritting your teeth you turn around, not really happy to have to find out what your sister wants. She has free reign to bother you at any minute of any day but why was she so insistent on doing so right now? “What could possibly be so important, you impatient piece of--”

You cut off suddenly, eyes doubling in size when you look down at her hands.

There’s a velvet box clutched between her perfectly manicured nails, the tiny thing sitting there like it’s mocking you for losing your temper earlier.

“That’s my--”

“The ring! But-- but--”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Oh god, Lessi I could kiss you, you just saved my ass--” Kyra breaks off, something clicking in her brain. “Wait, where did you find it?”

There’s a slight pause as you wait for Alessia’s answer.

“Err… so funny story.” She blows out a breath of air, trying her best to look nonchalant. “I might have been-- actually Kyra hid…” Alessia fidgets, not liking the crease that was growing deeper and deeper between your brows. “IwantedtoprankKyraaftersheprankedmesoItooktheringthelasttimeIvisited.”

She slams her mouth shut the second the words are uttered, but no one says a word.

An uncomfortable tension settles into the room and Alessia does her best not to wilt to the ground.

You stare at her.

Kyra stares at her.

Alessia stares at a spot past your faces, nervously shuffling under the weight of your gazes.

There’s no mistaking icy stare or the clenched jaw that proved you caught every word of her fastball confession.

“You… What?” There’s an edge to your voice, a tone Alessia rarely was at the end of growing up, but one that she recognizes all the same. The order there is clear, but Alessia’s not so sure she wants to repeat herself out of self preservation.

She shrinks, suddenly wishing she wasn’t so tall. “Um. Well. So Kyra hid my earrings the other day, and I, uh, I thought hiding this would be a funny way to prank her back?” Alessia cringes, not liking the way this all sounds now that she’s saying it out loud. “But judging by the looks on your faces, I’m going to say otherwise.”

Your nose flares but that’s the only response she’s given.

Kyra looks grumpy, probably the result of taking your misplaced anger from earlier.

You hold out your hand.

No words are exchanged but Alessia is quick to drop the box into your hand.

Just as quick as she darts forward to do so, she jumps back, shoving her now empty hands into her pockets.

“See, no hurt no foul, right?”

Crickets.

That’s all Alessia hears as she nervously chuckles.

Neither you nor Kyra have moved, faces giving nothing away.

At least not until you call the Australian’s name calmly, eyes never leaving your sister’s.

Alessia watches as the two of you slowly peel away from each other. Her eyes keep darting between the two of you, feeling more and more like prey that’s being stalked as the seconds tick by. “Guys, c’mon–”

“Remember how I told you to play nice with my only sister?”

Kyra’s frowning. It’s probably supposed to come off frightening but she looks too much like a kicked dog for it to really do too much.

But the look on your face… yeah, that was intimidating enough for the two of you.

“Forget everything I’ve ever said. I don’t have a sister.”

Alessia gulps.

“Get her.”

She bolts.

#lia walti x reader #lia walti imagine #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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kathaelipwse · 2 days ago

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When You Call Them Daddy In Front Of Your Daughter | SKZ OT8

Synopsis: When you playfully call your husband "Daddy," you don’t expect your daughter to question it—loudly. Now, you're stuck scrambling for an explanation while your husband watches you suffer with the biggest smirk. Whether he teases you endlessly or plays along, one thing is certain… you are NEVER living this down.

Warning: Fluff, suggestive, teasing

Word Count: 0.8k

Authors Note: Sighs- I am posting too much since last two days lmao- Anyways- Enjoy!!

Bang Chan

He’s got you pinned against the kitchen counter, his lips trailing dangerously close to your neck.

You sigh, barely above a whisper, "Mmm… Daddy…"

You fucked up.

His grip tightens, his smirk devilish. "What was that, baby?"

Before you can correct yourself—

"Mommy, why did you call Daddy, Daddy?"

You launch yourself away from him, heart slamming in your chest.

Chan just crosses his arms, watching you suffer, amused.

"I—I! Uh! Because! Daddy—uh—I mean, your Daddy! He’s! Uh! A superhero! Yes! Daddy saves people all the time!"

Your daughter, wide-eyed: "Like Spider-Man?!"

Chan bites his lip, hiding laughter.

He finally steps in, voice deep: "That’s right, sweetheart. Daddy takes care of everything. Right, Mommy?" You just nod extremely flustered.

He later smirks whispering in your ear "After she falls asleep be in our room, hm? I need to take care of my lovely minx." he pulls your shirt down kissing your cleavage and walks off to his home studio.

And you realized, You’re dead.

Lee Know

He’s got you straddling his lap on the couch, fingers teasing under your shirt.

You squirm, breathy, "D-Daddy, stop teasing—".

His smirk is lethal. "What was that? Say it again, baby."

But before you can self-destruct further—

"Mommy, why are you calling my Daddy, Daddy?"

Silence. Your soul leaves your body.

Minho leans back, arms behind his head, watching you crash and burn.

"U-uh! I! I called him that because! Uh—he’s like a k-k-kitten! No—wait! A lion! Yes! Daddy is a big, strong lion!"

Minho raises a brow, smirking. "A lion, huh?"

He leans in, whispering against your ear as he nibbled on your earlobe, "Wanna hear me roar later kitten?"

You CHOKE.

Changbin

He’s pressing you against the fridge, lips ghosting over yours.

"Mmm, you like that, Daddy?" you tease.

He’s about to wreck you when—

"Mommy, he is my Daddy, why did you call him Daddy?"

FUCK.

You panic so hard you forget how to speak.

"Uh! Because! Uh! D-Daddy—uh—I mean, your Daddy! He’s! Uh—like a big, uh, puppy! Yes! Daddy is a big, fluffy puppy!"

Changbin is wheezing.

He finally steps in, rubbing your daughter’s head: "That’s right, baby. Mommy just thinks Daddy is very cuddly."

He turns to you, voice low as he kisses your neck: "Let’s see how cuddly or nasty we get tonight, hmm?"

You die.

Hyunjin

He’s trailing kisses down your throat, hands gripping your waist.

You moan, "Mmm, Daddy—".

His smile is instant. "Oh? Say that again, baby?"

But then—

"Daddy? But he is my daddy!"

You short-circuit.

"I—uh! Daddy is—uh! A—a p-painter! Yes! Daddy paints beautiful things!"

Hyunjin tilts his head, grinning. "Oh? Beautiful, huh?"

He crouches, smirking. "That’s right, sweetheart. Mommy just likes how talented Daddy is."

Later, he whispers against your lips biting it gently before continuing, "Wanna see what else I can do with my Fingers, sweetheart? I have noticed you taking a liking in them."

You combust.

Han Jisung

You’re giggling under him, his lips dangerously close to yours.

"Mmm, Daddy, you’re too much—".

He freezes, then grins. "Oh, I’m Daddy now?"

But then—

"Daddy?, he is mine though" she pouts

Han drops his forehead against your shoulder, LAUGHING.

You panic.

"Uh! Because Daddy is! Uh! A-a-a squirrel! No—wait! A knight! Yes! Daddy is a knight in shining armor!"

Han finally catches his breath and wipes his tears from laughing too hard.

"That’s right, baby. Mommy just thinks Daddy is her hero."

He whispers later, "Wanna be my damsel in distress tonight? We could create another minx like her~"

You’re done for.

Felix

He’s pinning you against the wall, voice deep as hell.

"You like that, Daddy?" you breathe.

His smirk is instant.

But then—

"Mommy, why are you calling Daddy, Daddy?"

You forget how to breathe.

"I! Uh! Daddy is! Uh! Like a fairy! Yes! A-a-a magic fairy prince!"

Felix fights back laughter, covering his mouth.

He finally crouches, smiling at your daughter. "That’s right, baby. Mommy just thinks I’m magical."

Later, he whispers against your neck sucking on it, "Let’s make some magic tonight, hmm? I won't go easy don't worry just the way you love it baby"

You choke.

Seungmin

He’s hovering over you, eyes dark with mischief.

You whimper, "Daddy, don’t tease me—".

He grins like a menace. "Oh? You like it when Daddy teases?"

Then—

"Mommy, did you just call my Daddy, Daddy?"

You glitch.

"Uh! Because! Daddy is! Uh! A a-a-a boss! Yes! Daddy is the boss of the house!"

Seungmin tilts his head, smirking.

"That’s right, sweetheart. Mommy knows who’s in charge."

Later, he leans in, voice low as his fingers grip your chin: "You should remember that, too..In bed sweetie."

You malfunction, as he sucks her collarbone and leaves with a smug look.

Jeongin

He’s hovering over you, fingers teasing your sides.

You squirm, "Mmm, Daddy—".

His smile is wicked. "Say that again, baby."

Then—

"Mommy, why did you call Daddy, Daddy?"

FUCK.

You stammer nonsense. "Uh! Because! Daddy is! Uh! A champion! Yes! Daddy is like an Olympic champion!"

Jeongin raises a brow. "An Olympic champion, huh?"

He crouches, ruffling your daughter’s hair. "That’s right, sweetheart. Mommy just thinks Daddy is really… athletic."

Later, he leans in, whispering as me squeezes your bare waist: "Wanna see just how athletic I can be in various things baby? My tongue can be athletic too."

You choke.

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shinhyunjin · 18 hours ago

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── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

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nanamiskentos · 1 day ago

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➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊﹙ 脹相 : CHOSO KAMO ﹚ ─ the death painting cw ─ MDNI. canon!choso, óràl (m. receiving)

"and don't get me wrong," choso huffs, his breath puffing out like steam escaping a kettle. pale pink lips pouting, "i know yuuji's got a heavy burden on his shoulders, but he could really stand to try and take my advice a bit more, don't you think?"

huh. no response. choso's scowling now. cinnamon-hued eyes thinning into slivers, searching for where on earth you disappeared to.

thin brows furrowing, "my love?" the end curling into a question as uncertainty colours his tone. choso's had a long day training thus far, and it didn't help that upstart who shoulda' stayed in that damned box — gojo satoru, seemed to occupy most of his younger brother's attention. diverting his attention away from the important lessons that his petulant older brother was trying to teach him. eso and kechizu were never so stubborn.

with a sharp exhale, choso pushes himself up from the seat, smacking his thighs in frustration, but not before —

"sit back down, cho."

choso's mouth goes bone-dry, nerves going into some twisted form of sensory overload as he tries to calm the blood rushing through his pounding heart before the muscle explodes. but it's too late for the blood rushing down south, already pooling in a satisfied coil over his groin.

he hasn't the faintest clue on where you managed to swipe away his robes, but he thinks he may yet be the luckiest man (no, wait, let's not unpack that yet) alive. amber eyes raking over how the cream linen drapes your form so perfectly, clinging to every curve that he loves to worship.

but choso is sharp, he doesn't miss the mischievous glint in your eyes nor the way that your teeth sink into the flesh of your lower lip. teasing, watchful. he should have known better than to be caught off guard like this, but choso truly cannot even bring himself to care about how much of an effect you have on him. how you unravel him to the core.

"you're lookin' pretty frustrated, baby," you're purring, already stalking closer so choso has to tear his eyes away from the swell of your chest and back to somewhere more polite and acceptable. think, choso, think of something smart to say. something that isn't sleazy, and something that hasn't been concocted by the heat throbbing and pumping straight outta' his cock.

but there's some awful lag between his brain and his tongue, and choso can only let the crimson flush build up, painting the back of his neck awash. watching as you snicker, knowing that the half-curse is practically one touch away from trembling in your hold. well, you can truly give him something to quiver about now.

"had a rough day, is all," choso rasps, and he doesn't even seem to be aware of how his vocal cords have turned to a husky granite. loose strands of chestnut-dark hair falling over his eyes as his pink tongue comes out to moisten his lips, mind whirring on how to turn this loss of composure into a win, "uh, it really sucked, you could say. mhm, i guess that's how i'd describe it."

you're already seated between his knees, head gently leaning against the broad muscles of his thighs. hands already pawing at the loose waistband of his ivory martial pants. unimpressed eyes blinking up at him, "what did i say about bad puns, cho?"

"that they're no good," choso murmurs, doing his best not to shudder as your nails lightly skim over the thatch of dark curls past his hips. but because he truly can't help himself, he has to add on, "that they blow."

he's really a natural born comedian, choso thinks to himself, it's just a shame that no-one else can really see past the gloom and doom to appreciate his natural wit.

you're pressing a gentle kiss to the base of thick shaft, and choso has to muffle a loud groan to prevent himself from coming undone already. fuck, he was far more sensitive than he anticipated but how could he not be? when you're proving personal love and care to each thick, throbbing vein that spirals up his cock?

choso shuffles in his seat, muscles already twinging as he parts his thighs. giving you more room to giggle and slot yourself into that gap, allowing you to firmly reach for his shaft and giving it a firm one, two! pump. already managing to pull out slick beads of translucent precum from the pink slit.

"sooo, how's that feel, baby?" your tongue barely brushing against the tip of his cock, applying the most gentle and teasing pressure that makes choso press his lips together firmly. your mouth parting to try and take as much of him as possible past your lips.

"g-good, real good," choso breathes out, tawny eyes already reaching skywards to thank the heavens for bestowing this upon him. he's panting, hands flailing in the air to clutch at the air, then at the thin material of the seat before settling at your scalp.

but he's gentle with it, determined to not apply too much pressure, to not delivery any sharp stings of pain. not when you've lavishing him with such attention, your fingertips now resting on his bare thighs as your mouth steadily bobs and releases with a sticky pop! each time you pull back.

and god, choso's entirely obsessed with how you press against the underside of his cock with a lil' more firm pressure. laving right up against the girthy veins in a way that makes his muscled abdomen tense and flex with each new wave of pleasure.

"m-my love?" choso's eyes are shut now, dark lashes fluttering against splotched skin as he feels something creeping up on him. he's sensitive, so sensitive now and each caress of your loving mouth has his thighs shaking, "i think 'm gonna, hah, i'm 'bout to — what the fuck?"

choso does pride himself on being an exemplary role model and a high standing member of whichever society will have him, so he doesn't actually curse quite often. but this situation entirely calls for it, and he can only swing his hazy eyes open to blink down at you. dumbfounded as you're already smiling like a minx. pulling yourself up, and up and —

oh. well, choso's never been one to complain. not when you're gently positioning his large hands against the ties of the robes, nudging him to pull the linen off so your bare skin can be lavished by him. a gentle kiss being pressed to his bite-stung lips, "wanted you to cum in me, silly."

#he's so fun to write i really loveee writing him being a bit quirky idk #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso #jjk x reader #choso smut #choso kamo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #daphworks #choso x y/n #choso x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you

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bueckersstuff · 19 hours ago

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PART IV

The room is thick with tension, the air so heavy it feels like it might crush you. Paige hasn’t moved, hasn’t blinked. She’s still staring down Azzi, jaw clenched, fists trembling at her sides. And then, finally, she exhales—slow, controlled, but you can feel the shift in her.

She’s done.

Paige straightens, rolling her shoulders back. Her voice is steady, but there’s a finality to it that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I pick her.”

Azzi’s smirk falters. She wasn’t expecting that. Her confidence cracks for a split second before she quickly masks it with a scoff. “You’re serious?”

Paige nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Azzi steps back, lips pressing together like she’s trying to hold something in—anger, disbelief, maybe even hurt. But you don’t feel sorry for her. Not after everything.

Paige turns to you, her expression softening in an instant. She reaches for your hand, threading her fingers through yours, holding on tight—like she’s making sure you don’t disappear. And in that moment, everything else fades.

Azzi clicks her tongue. “You’re making a mistake.”

Paige doesn’t even look at her when she responds. “Maybe. But at least it’s mine to make.”

Azzi doesn’t say another word. She just turns and walks out, slamming the door behind her.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Paige just holds onto you, her thumb running absentmindedly over your knuckles. Then she sighs, pressing her forehead against yours. “I’m gonna fix this.”

You shake your head. “Paige, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” Her voice is firm. “I’m not letting them paint you as some homewrecker. I should’ve ended things with Azzi sooner. I should’ve been honest. This is on me, not you.”

You swallow hard, because you know what this means. “How?”

Paige takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna do a press conference.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“I won’t name you,” she promises. “But I’ll set the record straight. Let them know that me and Azzi are done. That this—whatever this is—was never some scandal. I’m not letting them tear you apart over something that isn’t even your fault.”

It’s reckless. Dangerous. And yet, the way she says it, the way she looks at you like you’re something worth protecting—it makes your chest ache.

But not everyone is on board.

Paige insisted you accompany her to the meeting with her agent, Lindsay Kagawa Colas. You felt out of place, a silent observer in a world where decisions were made in boardrooms rather than on basketball courts.

As you entered the sleek office, Lindsay greeted both of you with a professional smile that didn't reach her eyes. She gestured for you to sit, her demeanor calm yet authoritative.

"Paige," Lindsay began, folding her hands on the polished table, "I've reviewed your proposal for the press conference. While I understand your desire to address the rumors, I must advise against it."

Paige's jaw tightened, but she remained composed. "I can't let these lies spread without addressing them. It's affecting not just me but those I care about."

Lindsay sighed, her gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to Paige. "I understand your frustration, but going public could jeopardize your endorsements and future career prospects, especially with the WNBA draft approaching."

Paige's eyes flashed with determination. "So, I should just stay silent while my personal life is dissected and misrepresented?"

“You are not doing a press conference.”

Paige sits across from her in her office, hands gripping the arms of the chair, barely containing her frustration. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.” Lindsay pinches the bridge of her nose. “Paige, do you have any idea how bad this could get? You’re graduating this year. You’re going pro. The last thing you need is unnecessary drama. You cannot let this get bigger than it already is.”

Paige’s jaw tightens. “It’s already big. My name is everywhere. And people are dragging her through the mud for something she didn’t even do.”

Lindsay leans forward. “And what do you think happens when you confirm the breakup? When you stand up there and make a speech? You think that just stops the rumors? You think that clears her name? No, Paige. It makes it worse. It makes you the villain.”

Paige shakes her head. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.” Her voice is sharp, cutting. “And so does UConn. And so do your future sponsors. You cannot afford to do this.”

She’s about to argue, about to fight, but then Lindsay’s next words land like a gut punch.

“You think you’re protecting her?” she asks, voice quieter now. “You’re not. You’re making it harder for her, too. The more noise you make, the bigger target she becomes.”

Paige goes still.

Lindsay leaned forward, her expression softening. "I'm asking you to consider the bigger picture. Sometimes, silence is the best response."

The tension in the room was palpable. Paige's fists clenched on her lap, her knuckles white. You wanted to reach out, to offer some comfort, but you remained still, knowing this was her battle to fight.

After a long pause, Paige nodded curtly. "I'll think about it."

Lindsay offered a tight-lipped smile. "That's all I ask."

As you left the office, Paige's silence was deafening. You could see the conflict raging within her—the desire to protect you clashing with the reality of her career's demands.

The following day, you received an unexpected summon to Coach Auriemma's office. Your heart pounded as you made your way there, anxiety gnawing at your insides.

You’ve never been in his office before, but it feels suffocating. He sits behind his desk, hands folded, gaze unreadable. When you enter, he gestures for you to sit, and you do, heart hammering in your chest.

“I’m not gonna dance around it,” he starts, his tone firm but not unkind. “I know what’s going on.”

Your stomach knots. “Sir, I—”

He holds up a hand. “I don’t care about the rumors. I care about Paige. And I care about what’s best for her.”

You bite your lip. “And you think I’m… not?”

Coach Auriemma exhales. “I think Paige is a damn good player with a future ahead of her. A future that’s already under a microscope. And if she does this press conference, if she makes a spectacle out of it, it could cost her.”

Your throat tightens. “I never asked her to—”

“I know,” he says, cutting you off. “And that’s the problem. Paige doesn’t care about the consequences. She’s ready to burn the whole thing down for you.”

You blink. “She… she said that?”

He leans forward. “She doesn’t have to. I see it. And as much as I admire that kind of loyalty, it’s dangerous. For her. And for you.”

You look away, because he’s right. Paige is reckless with her heart. With the things she loves. And right now, that’s you.

Coach Auriemma sighs. “You want to protect her, right?”

You nod. “More than anything.”

“Then step back,” he says simply. “At least for now. Let her finish this season. Let her go pro without this weight on her shoulders.”

Your breath catches. The idea of stepping back, of putting distance between you and Paige again—it hurts. More than you can explain.

And yet.

“Think about it,” Coach Auriemma says, his voice softer now. “Because if you love her, you won’t let her throw everything away for something that can wait.”

Can it, though?

That’s the question that eats away at you as you leave his office, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a storm cloud that won’t go away.

You don’t tell Paige about your conversation with Coach Auriemma.

Not because you don’t want to—but because you don’t know how. Because saying it out loud would make it real, and you’re not ready for that. Not yet.

The weight of his words lingers in your chest, heavier with every passing hour.

Step back. Let her finish the season. Let her go pro without this weight on her shoulders.

It makes sense. It makes so much sense that it hurts.

And maybe that’s why you decide to do something drastic.

Thanksgiving break is coming up. A perfect excuse. A perfect escape.

You’re packed before you even realize what you’re doing. The duffel bag sits at the foot of your bed, unzipped, stuffed with just enough clothes to last you the trip back home to Minnesota. You tell yourself it’s just for the break. Just some time to breathe. To think.

To be selfish for once.

You don’t tell Paige. You don’t tell anyone.

Because if you do, they’ll stop you.

You slip out of the dorm just as the sky begins to darken, hoodie pulled over your head, footsteps light against the pavement. The air is crisp, biting at your exposed skin, but you barely feel it. Your heart is pounding too hard.

You make it to the parking lot without incident, fingers shaking as you tighten your grip on your bag. Just a little further. Just a few more steps and—

“Where the hell are you going?”

You freeze.

Nika.

She’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, brows furrowed in suspicion. Her gaze flickers to your bag, and then back to your face. “You running away or something?”

You exhale sharply, shoulders slumping. There’s no use lying. Not to her.

“I’m going home for break,” you admit.

Her expression doesn’t change. “And you were just gonna disappear without telling anyone?”

You swallow hard. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” she challenges, stepping closer. “Because last time I checked, Paige has been glued to your side. She’s fighting the entire damn world for you. And you’re just leaving?”

Your chest tightens. “She doesn’t need to fight for me,” you murmur. “She needs to focus on basketball. On her future. And I…” Your voice wavers. “I just need a second to breathe.”

Nika studies you, and for the first time, her tough exterior cracks just a little. She sees it—the exhaustion, the weight of it all pressing down on you.

“What happened?” she asks, softer this time.

You hesitate. But then the words spill out before you can stop them. “Coach Auriemma called me into his office. He told me it would be better for Paige’s career if I… if I stepped back. At least for now.”

Nika doesn’t say anything right away. Her jaw tightens, and her hands curl into fists at her sides. She looks ready to march into his office and cuss him out, but then she sighs, shaking her head. “And you just listened to him?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” you whisper. “She’s risking everything, Nika. Her future, her reputation… all for me. I can’t be the reason she loses it all.”

Nika’s quiet for a long time. And then she nods. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“I won’t stop you,” she says. “If you need to go, go.”

A lump forms in your throat. “Thank you.”

“But,” she adds, fixing you with a sharp look. “You have to let Paige fix her own mess.”

Your stomach twists. “Nika—”

“She’s a big girl,” she interrupts. “And yeah, maybe she’s been reckless, maybe she’s been making dumbass decisions, but that’s on her. Not you. You don’t get to carry all of this by yourself.”

You don’t respond. You don’t know how to.

Nika exhales, running a hand through her hair. “I won’t tell Paige,” she promises. “But you owe it to her to talk when you come back.”

You nod slowly, chest aching. “I know.”

She studies you for another moment before sighing and stepping back. “Go, then. Before I change my mind.”

You don’t waste another second.

As you slip into the backseat of the Uber waiting to take you to the airport, you press your forehead against the window, watching as the campus fades from view.

You don’t know what awaits you back home. All you know is that, for the first time in a long time, you’re letting yourself take a break.

Even if it breaks you in the process.

The cold air bites at your skin as you sit outside your childhood home in Minnesota, staring at the phone screen that hasn’t stopped lighting up. Paige’s name dominates the notifications—calls, messages, voicemails. You haven’t responded to a single one.

You squeeze the phone in your hand, heart heavy with guilt. She’s done nothing wrong, and yet you’ve left her to suffer. Coach Auriemma’s words still echo in your mind.

If you love her, you won’t let her throw everything away for something that can wait.

But was disappearing really the right thing to do?

The vibration of your phone startles you, and this time, it’s Nika. You hesitate before finally picking up.

“Are you still at home?” she asks, sounding so tensed.

Your breath catches. “Nika—”

“She’s losing it,” Nika cuts you off, her voice sharp with urgency. “Like actually losing it. You need to hear this.”

Your stomach clenches, but you stay silent, gripping the phone tighter.

“She’s been a wreck ever since you left. Coach ripped into her and Azzi during practice. Called them out in front of everyone. Said their personal drama was a distraction to the team and that if they didn’t get their heads straight, they could both sit on the damn bench for all he cared.”

You close your eyes, already picturing the scene. Their coach doesn’t play around, especially when it comes to his team’s focus.

“But that’s not even the worst part,” Nika continues. “He mentioned you.”

Your eyes snap open. “What?”

“He was pissed and let it slip that you were part of the mess. Paige went stiff as a board. You should’ve seen her face. She asked what he meant, and he actually told her he spoke to you.”

Your breath falters. “What did she say?”

“She freaked out, obviously. Kept asking what he said to you, but Coach wouldn’t tell her. Just said he ‘advised’ you on what’s best.”

You rub a hand over your face. Shit.

“After that, I knew that she started calling you like crazy. She hasn’t stopped. She’s barely talking to anyone. Barely eating, dude. I tried to tell her you probably just needed space, but she’s convinced you left because of her.”

Guilt twists like a knife in your chest. You can hear Nika sigh on the other end. “Look, I get why you left. But this? This is killing her.”

You don’t say anything, because what can you say? That you knew this would happen? That you left to spare her, only to end up hurting her more?

Nika sighs again, softer this time. “She keeps updating you, doesn’t she?”

Your throat tightens. Yeah.

Paige has been sending messages non-stop. Long ones, short ones. Some begging, some demanding. Others just saying she misses you. That she doesn’t understand. That she needs to see you.

She’s unraveling.

Nika��s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Just—just let me know if you’re coming back, okay? She needs to know you’re not gone forever.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you stare at the latest message from Paige, your vision blurring as you read her words.

Please just tell me if you’re okay. If you don’t want me to call anymore, I’ll stop. Just… I need to know if you’re okay.

Your hands shake as you lock your phone and press it against your forehead, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You thought leaving would be the best way to protect her.

But now, you’re not so sure.

You’re pulled from sleep by the constant buzzing of your phone. The screen glows in the darkness, illuminating the room in short, erratic bursts. Blinking against the haze of sleep, you reach for it, squinting at the overwhelming flood of notifications.

Your heart stops when you see Paige’s name.

She posted on Instagram.

A photo. No—several. A collage, old memories spilling into the present. Your childhood together. Your high school days. The candid shots of laughter, inside jokes captured in pixels. And then, the recent ones—the ones taken in the past few months, the ones you thought no one else had noticed. A soft look she gave you after practice, your hands nearly brushing at a coffee shop, a blurred shot of you both standing too close at some party. It’s all there. Laid out for the world to see.

You swallow hard, your chest tightening as you read the caption.

Some people are just part of your soul. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many things change, they’re always there. Even when you lose them. Even when you’re the reason they’re gone.

It’s the kind of post that sounds more like a confession than an appreciation. And people are noticing. The comments are blowing up, theories forming faster than you can process them.

— Why does this sound like a breakup post???

— Wait… is she talking about Azzi or…?

— Who is this mystery person??

— Oh my god, the way she looks at her in these pics.

Your stomach churns. Then you see it.

Someone from back home. Someone who knows you and Paige.

— Before Azzi, it was always them. They go way back, trust me.

And people are buying it.

Your notifications spike—friend requests, follows, people digging, trying to put pieces together. Your stomach twists as you scroll, anxiety flooding your veins. This is getting too big.

And then, the final nail in the coffin.

A comment, posted just three minutes ago.

— Good to know you're still friends with each other, Paige. I just bumped into her this morning, still so charming and sweet.

Your blood runs cold. That's your high school classmate who actually lives here in Minnesota!

And then, Paige’s reply. It's the only comment she actually replied to.

— Thank you.

Just one minute ago.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Thank you.

Thank you for what? The compliment? The nostalgia? Or—

Or the clue of where you are?

“Fuck.”

Your hands are shaking as you stare at the screen, heart pounding so hard it drowns out all rational thought. And then, your phone dings.

Paige: I know where you are, baby. I’m coming to get you.

Your eyes snap to the clock. 4:00 AM.

You don’t know when she’s going to show up.

But you know one thing for sure.

You’re so, so doomed.

A featherlight touch tickles your ear, a sensation so faint it almost feels like a dream. Then, another—a ghosting touch against your cheek. You stir, shifting under the warmth of the blankets, but then you feel it again.

Something—someone—is here.

Your eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused, and the first thing you see is Paige, perched on the edge of your bed, smiling down at you. But it’s not her usual smile. It’s a sad one, fragile and worn, like she’s been crying. Like she’s barely holding herself together.

"Why did you leave me?" she whispers, voice small, almost broken. "I got so scared."

Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in her eyes. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. There’s so much you want to say, but you don’t even know where to begin.

Paige exhales shakily, blinking rapidly. "I thought I lost you. For real. I called. I texted. I had no idea where you were, and it drove me insane. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep—I just kept thinking, what if you weren’t coming back? What if I really ruined everything?"

You sit up, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Paige, I—"

"I know why you did it," she cuts in, her voice stronger now, but still laced with pain. "Nika told me everything. That you thought it was for the best. That you were trying to protect me. But, baby, you leaving? That didn’t protect me. It destroyed me."

Your breath catches. Paige’s fingers find yours, squeezing tight, almost desperate. "I don’t need protecting from you," she continues. "I need you. I don’t care what Coach Geno says, or what Lindsay thinks, or what the world expects from me. I only care about you. So don’t ever—ever—do that to me again."

Tears well in your eyes as you cup her face, thumbs brushing over the damp trails on her cheeks. "I just… I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to hold you back, Paige. I didn’t want to be the reason you lost everything."

Paige shakes her head, shifting closer until her forehead presses against yours. "You are everything."

And that’s all it takes for the dam to break. The next thing you know, Paige is kissing you, and it’s different from before—it’s raw, emotional, relieving. Her hands are in your hair, yours are gripping the fabric of her hoodie like she might disappear again if you let go. The taste of salt lingers on your lips, but you don’t know if it’s from her tears or yours.

You don’t pull away until you're breathless, foreheads still pressed together. Paige lets out a shaky laugh. "God, I missed you."

You laugh too, watery and soft. "I missed you more."

She grins, bumping her nose against yours. "Impossible."

Breakfast with your parents is warm, filled with laughter and lingering touches under the table. Paige is her usual charming self, but there’s a tenderness in the way she looks at you, in the way she talks about you to your family—like she wants them to know just how much she cherishes you. And they do. They see it.

Your mom smirks when Paige clears both your plates before you even finish your first. "Still stealing food off her plate, huh?"

Paige grins sheepishly. "Can you blame me? She always get the best bites."

Your dad chuckles. "Some things never change."

And for the first time in a while, everything feels right.

Later in the afternoon, Paige takes you to her house. You hesitate when she pulls into the driveway, but she just laces her fingers with yours, squeezing reassuringly. "I wanted to see you first before coming home," she says softly. "That’s how important you are to me."

The words settle in your chest, warm and deep.

Inside, her family welcomes you with open arms. They tease Paige endlessly, making comments about how she’s been sidetracked before (Azzi, though no one outright says her name), but they knew—they always knew.

"She just got a little lost," her mom says with a wink. "But she found her way back."

Paige groans. "You guys are the worst."

Her younger siblings giggle, throwing in their own commentary about how she was always different when you were around—happier, lighter. It makes you wonder how long everyone had seen it before either of you did.

And then, in front of everyone, Paige clears her throat, looking straight at you. "I’m gonna court you properly this time. No games, no confusion. Just me, proving to you every day that you’re it for me."

Her dad whistles. "Bold move. I like it."

Your face burns, but you nod, heart thudding. "I’d like that."

She beams, and for a second, you forget everything else.

The evening is spent driving around old familiar places, reminiscing about childhood memories, seeing things in a different light now. Paige reaches for your hand at every stop, as if making sure you’re still real, still here. You are. And you’re not going anywhere.

But reality catches up fast.

Your phone buzzes—Nika. You answer, and before you can even say anything, she’s groaning. "Dude, where the hell is Paige? Coach Geno’s losing his damn mind."

Your stomach drops. "What?"

"He found out she flew to Minnesota. He’s pissed." Nika sighs. "You two need to get your asses back here ASAP. I booked a flight for Paige already. You coming back with her?"

You hesitate, but then you glance at Paige, who’s watching you with quiet expectation. Like she’s waiting to see if you’ll run again.

You take a breath. "Yeah. We’ll come back together."

Nika snorts. "Good. Because, uh, people already know who you are now, thanks to Paige’s stupid, drunken, emotional post. Might as well face the world together."

Paige cringes but grins at you, hopeful. "Together?"

You lace your fingers with hers. "Together."

And for the first time in a long time, that word doesn’t feel scary at all.

The flight back to UConn was quieter than expected. Paige held your hand the entire time, her thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly, as if she was making sure you were still there. You could feel the weight of everything pressing down on her, but there was something steadier in her grip now—like she had made up her mind about something.

When you landed, reality hit. Paige pulled her hoodie up, trying to shield herself from the attention, but it was useless. Eyes followed you both through the airport, whispers rippling through the crowd like wildfire. People knew now. Maybe not the full story, but enough. The post she made, the comments, the theories—it had spiraled into something neither of you could control.

The second you stepped onto campus, you knew it was only a matter of time before you had to face everything you ran from. And it started with Geno.

Nika had given you both a warning text—He’s pissed, but not at you. Be ready.

You didn’t even get a chance to process that before you were being summoned to his office.

Geno Auriemma was pacing when you walked in, hands on his hips, muttering something under his breath. Paige straightened beside you, ready for whatever lecture was coming.

He stopped, looked between you two, then exhaled sharply. “Do you have any idea what kind of circus you’ve created?”

Paige lifted her chin. “I do.”

“Do you?” His eyes narrowed. “Because last I checked, you had a season to focus on. A future to protect. And instead, I’ve got reporters hounding me about your love life.”

Paige didn’t back down. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Geno crossed his arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re ready to blow up everything for the sake of proving a point.”

Paige’s grip on your hand tightened. “It’s not about proving a point. It’s about doing what’s right.”

Geno studied her, then you. His gaze softened, just a little. “Kid,” he said, directing it at you this time. “You really planning on sticking around for this?”

You swallowed, but your voice was steady. “If Paige wants me here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Geno sighed, rubbing his temples. “Then I hope you’re both ready for the firestorm that’s coming.”

The confrontation with Azzi was next.

You didn’t seek it out, but it found you anyway. In the gym, of all places, where she stood by the lockers, arms crossed, waiting.

“I figured you’d come crawling back eventually,” she said, voice sharp. “Didn’t expect Paige to drag you back herself, though.”

You stiffened, but before you could speak, Paige stepped forward. “I didn’t drag anyone anywhere.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked to her. “Really? So this isn’t just you making another impulsive decision? Risking everything for someone who ran the second things got hard?”

You flinched, but Paige’s response was instant. “She didn’t run. I pushed her away.”

Azzi scoffed. “Yeah? And what happens when it gets too much again? When the pressure crushes you? You're gonna push her away again? Or maybe find someone new to hold your hand?”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then why are you here?” Azzi’s voice wavered just slightly. “To rub it in my face? To prove a point?”

Paige shook her head. “No. To end this.”

Azzi’s expression faltered. “It’s already over.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. And I should’ve ended it sooner. But I need you to know—this isn’t about you. It never was.”

Azzi’s eyes burned into yours, then back to Paige. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something more. But then she just scoffed, turned, and walked away.

The media reaction was a whole different beast.

Some people loved the story. Childhood best friends reconnecting, fighting for love, defying expectations. Others? Not so much. Some still clung to Azzi, to the image of her and Paige together, painting you as the villain in a story you never asked to be part of.

But the tides were shifting. The more people dug, the more they learned about you and Paige’s history—how you’d been there long before the spotlight, long before the fame. Slowly, the narrative began to change.

One clip from an old high school interview resurfaced—a young Paige, smiling when asked about her best friend, talking about how you were the first person to believe in her dreams. It went viral overnight.

And then there was the final push.

Paige’s first official statement.

She didn’t hold a press conference like she originally wanted. Instead, she posted a video—a simple, unedited clip of her sitting in her dorm, looking straight into the camera.

“I never planned on my personal life being public,” she started. “But if people are going to talk, I’d rather they hear it from me.”

She took a breath. “Azzi and I are done. We ended things because it wasn’t working, and that’s the truth. And as for the rumors about me and—” She hesitated, then smiled slightly. “Her. I’m not gonna confirm or deny anything. But I will say this—I don’t regret a single thing.”

Paige paused, like she was choosing her next words carefully. “The people who’ve been here since the beginning, the ones who really know me, they know where my heart has always been.”

That was all she said. But it was enough.

The world could interpret it however they wanted. But you? You knew exactly what she meant.

And as you sat there, watching the video play out, you realized something.

This wasn’t just Paige fighting for you.

It was both of you, fighting for each other.

The return to UConn was chaotic, but somehow, you and Paige faced it together. The confrontation with Coach Auriemma had been tough—he wasn’t happy about the distractions, but after seeing how firm Paige was in her choice, he let it go. Azzi was another story. She had scoffed, feigned indifference, but you could see the bitterness in her eyes. However, over time, even she started to come around. One evening after practice, she pulled Paige aside and, though reluctant, admitted, “I just want you to be happy. And if that’s with her, then… I’ll deal with it.”

Nika? She just smirked, shaking her head. “Took you two long enough.”

The media had been relentless at first, but eventually, things started to shift. Paige’s history with you, your childhood friendship, the way you had always been in her life—it changed the narrative. The fans saw it too. Some still clung to the idea of her and Azzi, but most of them started to accept you. Even like you. And Paige? She made sure the world knew exactly where she stood—with you.

One evening, after a long day of classes and training, you and Paige found yourselves curled up on the couch in your shared apartment. The weight of everything was still there, lingering, but for the first time in weeks, it felt manageable.

Paige let out a sigh, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Come with me after I go pro.”

Your heart stilled. “Paige…”

“I mean it,” she said, pulling back to look at you. Her eyes were filled with something so raw, so desperate, it made your breath catch. “I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

You exhaled slowly, fingers tracing patterns on her arm. “I have dreams too, Paige. My own path. My own future.”

She nodded immediately. “I know. And I’d never ask you to give them up. But I won’t give you up either.”

You hesitated, because as much as you loved her, as much as you wanted to be with her, you had spent so much of your life trying to find your own way. You couldn’t just abandon that.

Sensing your turmoil, Paige cupped your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “Tell me what you want.”

You swallowed hard. “I want to finish my degree. I want to build something for myself. And I want you too, Paige. But I can’t follow you like a shadow. I need to stand on my own too.”

She was quiet for a long moment, then she nodded, determination settling in her expression. “Then we’ll build our life together. I’ll go wherever you go.”

Your breath hitched. “Paige, you—”

“I can play anywhere. I don’t have to be across the country. I don’t have to make this harder than it needs to be. We’ll figure it out, but I’m not leaving you behind.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Are you sure?”

Paige leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Months passed, and the world around you both continued to shift. Paige declared for the WNBA draft, and you stood by her side as she took that step into her future. She kept her promise—supporting you, making time for you, making sure you were part of her world.

And when the draft night came, when her name was called and she walked across that stage, she searched for you in the crowd, her eyes shining with tears and triumph. Later, when the cameras were off and the celebrations died down, she pulled you close, whispering against your lips, “We made it.”

You smiled, pressing your forehead to hers. “We did.”

The journey wasn’t perfect. There were challenges, moments of doubt, moments where the weight of it all felt unbearable. But through it all, one thing remained certain—Paige had chosen you. And you had chosen her, too.

In the months that followed, you both moved into a cozy apartment together, balancing her WNBA career with your own pursuits. Some nights, she came home exhausted from games, collapsing onto the couch with you, murmuring how grateful she was to have you by her side. Other nights, you stayed up late, working on your own dreams, with Paige curled up next to you, offering sleepy encouragement.

One day, as you both cooked dinner together, Paige wrapped her arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I don’t care where life takes us,” she murmured. “As long as we’re together.”

You turned, looking into her eyes, and smiled. “Always.”

And with that, the future no longer seemed uncertain.

It was yours—together.

139 notes · View notes

giuseppe-yuki · 2 days ago

Text

🍕 pizza delivery 🍕

frat boy!logan sargeant x pizza delivery driver!reader

w.c.: 1.6k

warnings: like, two curse words. that's it.

summary: logan hunter sargeant from alpha phi kappa either really fucking likes pizzas or has a big fat crush on you. maybe both.

picture credits from pinterest :)

honestly, was prema’s pizza that good? sure, it might have been made with sauce from vine-picked tomatoes, hand-grated cheese, and italian-sourced pepperonis, but was it good enough for someone to order a grand total of fifty pizzas within a five day period? probably not.

still, you stand corrected, because the unmistakable order receipt, a carbon copy of the one from yesterday, again, states the same order: 10 x-large pepperoni pizza - extra cheese.

it cannot be healthy eating this many pizzas per day.

nevertheless, you hurriedly rip the receipt from prema pizza’s tiny, half-broken printer and head past the front of house towards the kitchen to fetch the order to deliver. the yeasty smell of fresh dough and aroma of garlic bread intensifies as you slide between a few employees and squeeze into the kitchen. to your surprise, a neat stack of exactly ten pizza boxes are placed on the counter, along with a sticky note with your name on it.

frederik, one of the longtime pizza makers, nods his head in greeting at you before pointing towards the stack.

“arthur told me to tell you that he stacked all of your orders over there before he clocked out for the day,” frederik notes, before turning back to rolling out the pizza dough. there’s somehow a glob of dough in his hair and flour in the shape of a hand imprint on his back, but you pretend you don’t notice.

instead, you beam at him and give him a mock salute.

“thanks, fred!” you respond. “it’s actually just one whole order, though.”

he whips around, brow wrinkled.

“one order?? who hell is this guy??”

you shrug, and instead turn your attention to shoving as many pizza boxes as you can into one warmer bag. as hard as you try, you can probably get a max of three in the bag.

“eh, don’t remember his name.” you say dismissively. “kinda cute, blonde hair, blue eyes? he’s been ordering the same thing for the past five days, though.”

frederik wipes his dough-covered hands on his apron before snatching up the receipt you set on the counter.

nosy fuck.

“okay, well, why is this kinda-cute, blonde hair, blue eyed-” he squints at the name on the paper- “logan sargeant possibly having a twenty person pizza party every day?”

oscar, the main cook, stops his rapid throwing of pizzas into the oven and perks up when hears the name.

“logan sargeant?” he asks, head tilted in question. “i swear he’s in my tuesday morning english lectures- i’m kind of mates with him. he’s literally so american, though. perhaps that’s why he’s obsessed with pizzas- all that typical american culture and stuff.”

frederik “hmms”, tapping his chin exaggeratedly.

“i think, he has a big fat crush on our little pizza delivery girl here- why else would he order, like, a billion pizzas? plus, it’s not like oscar here does our pizzas any justice when he’s out here hurtling ingredients onto pizzas then shoving them into the oven at top speeds.”

you roll your eyes before snatching the receipt back from frederik.

“you don’t get to have an opinion on anything pizza related- we still remember you’re a psycho who likes pineapple on pizza,” you shoot back.

oscar laughs at your words and throws a handful of flour from the dough board at frederik’s head.

“yeah, fred, pineapple on pizza is a crime, mate.”

by the time you split up fred and oscar from having a full blown fight with the pizza ingredients, shove all the pizza boxes into your warmer bags, and arrive at the allotted house, you are sure you are about to get yelled at by kinda-cute-logan-sargeant for being late with his absurd amount of pizzas.

the warmer bags weigh down your arms and you basically teeter towards the door that has the same ugly hand-painted, peeling sign that you had eyed up the first time you delivered the pizzas. it crudely labels the house as the frat house “alpha phi kappa.” you take account the other things on the porch as you wait-

three empty beer bottles.

one tattered miami dolphins’ football flag.

two beat-up traffic cones.

one upside down, dusty, motorcycle-looking helmet with a giant american flag printed on the side.

four broken string lights + one working string light.

one questionably green couch that had a giant spring coming ou-

the door creaks open suddenly and the porch light comes on, effectively startling you and blinding you at the same time.

a guy with bleached-blonde hair sticks his head out, eyeing you wearily. one of his eyebrows has a sharp slit in his eyebrow, leaving a clean gap in the arch.

“yeah?” he asks, as if you haven’t been at this god forsaken frat house for the now-fifth time in a row.

“oh-” you stutter out. “i’m- i’m here with your pizzas? um, for logan?”

he breaks out in a wide grin immediately, before shoving the door open with a bang.

“oh, well why didn’t you say so?” he jokes, tilting his head to the side. he pats his forest-green hoodie, obviously looking for his phone, but when he comes up with nothing, he lift one finger towards you.

“give me one second, let me get logan for you,” he says, before bolting away.

the door is still wide open, so you just stand there uncomfortably in the open doorway. you can literally see their entire floorplan, from the semi-trashed living room to the cluttered kitchen, to even the backyard sliding door that leads to a glowing swimming pool. a dude you are pretty sure is franco from your mechanical physics class stalks by the stairwell next the door, sipping something that looks suspiciously like maté. you give him an awkward wave that he returns.

a minute later, the blonde guy thunders down the stairs, dragging a concerningly red-faced, kinda-cute-logan with him.

“okay, here’s logan for ya,” the guy says, beaming once more, before full-on galloping back up the stairs.

“al-right,” you drag out. tearing your eyes away from whatever that was, you face logan, who has somehow turned more red than before. “your pizza?”

you slide all ten boxes towards him, making sure to open the lid of the first one to show him pizza one of ten that was handcrafted to meet his specific needs- x-large pepperoni with extra cheese.

logan barely looks at the pizza before giving you a quick thumbs up.

“yeah, that’s um, perfect! you know me too well, haha.”

you begin to see where this is going. maybe frederik was right.

raising an eyebrow, you nod.

“well, considering this is your fifth consecutive order in a five day period…yeah.”

logan leans against the doorframe, obviously trying to look cool.

“what can i say? your pizza is.. um… top-tier. like if it was a race, it would go, like first place podium over all the other pizza places.”

before you can respond, a car swerves into the driveway of the frat house. a guy with the fluffiest brown hair you have ever seen climbs out the car. when he sees you with the pile of pizzas in the doorway with logan next to you, a devilish grin spreads across his face.

“ah, it’s the pizza delivery girl, eh, cabrón?” he remarks to logan. turning to you, he cups a hand dramatically around his mouth like he was telling a secret. “did logan here tell you about his pizza shrine?” he asks, before squeezing past the two of you into the house.

logan’s eyes widen almost immediately.

“CARLOS, no-”

a what?

this must be a joke, right?

alas, when you tilt your head into the doorway, past logan who was trying to look inconspicuous, you spot it.

a corner of the freaking frat house was turned into a pizza shrine. each one had multiple sticky notes on them, one of them reading: “great delivery today, she smiled at me.” and “her laugh is cute.” in scrawled, messy handwriting.

ok, frederik was definitely right.

“so, uh… do you typically do this with all your pizza delivery girls?” you interrogate, fighting back a smile.

logan looks at you with visible panic.

“wait, wait, i can explain!”

carlos, or whatever his name is, yells from inside the house.

“HE EVEN FRAMED THE RECEIPT FROM THE FIRST TIME YOU DELIVERED! IT’S ABOVE THE FIREPLACE!”

the blonde in front of you huffs, one hand covering his face in embarrassment.

“i’m gonna kill him,” he mutters.

you laugh at his reaction, feeling oddly endeared by the presence of the literal shrine and apparent framed receipt atop the frat house fireplace.

“do you even like prema pizza?” you gently question.

logan scratches his head sheepishly.

“i mean, the pizza is cool an all that, but like, you’re like, um, cooler.”

well, logan couldn’t be more apparent. if he wasn’t going to make a move, though, you would. you couldn’t keep making pizza deliveries forever.

you pull out your phone.

“if you, you know, ever want to hang out- without the pizza excuse, just text me okay?”

logan looks like he’s about to implode.

he nods aggressively, before taking at least two tries to type his phone number with the speed he’s trying to input his contact info.

“a pizza shrine??” arthur shouts, voice blaring from your phone. “ugh!! why do i always miss these things when i go home! -and then what happened?”

frederik laughs from his spot next to oscar, huddled close in a semi-circle around you in the dark, the only light coming from the call on your phone.

“and then, he gave her his number, that’s what, arthur. because i was right!” frederik trills, leaping around the just-cleaned kitchen of the empty pizzeria. “i just knew that it wasn’t because he liked the pizzas here.”

oscar rolls his eyes.

“well, i’m just saying it could be a factor, frederik.”

just then, your phone lights up with a ding.

logan 🇺🇸🍕: are you down for a pizza date? i actually do really like prema pizza.

oscar leaps up with a celebratory shriek, directed at frederik.

“ha! i was right too!”

general taglist: @ellelabelle @n0vazsq

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #ls2 x y/n #ls2 x reader #ls2 x you #📝

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hjparisian · 2 days ago

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angel baby - theodore nott x reader

p: theodore nott x fem!reader w: just some fluff, theo pining, swearing, drinking, ooc(?), kinda modern au? (mentions 1996 romeo and juliet) s: after hearing who his crush is being at the slytherin's halloween party, theo decides to impress her with his own costume a/n: i know i know, very late, but i finally got around to finishing this and still wanted to post it

It was a week before Halloween, which to many, was one of the most anticipated holidays other than Christmas. But it wasn't the candy upper year students were excited for. Rather, it was the Slytherin party that would be happening that night.

All the girls were chatting about who they would be for the night. Ideas ranging from vampires to scantily dressed nurses. It was a night to show off.

Theo never cared much about the costume part. The past couple years he settled on skeleton face paint, mainly because his roommate Enzo has a surprisingly good eye for art.

Truthfully, he had planned to do the same again, despite Blaise's insistence on doing something different. But plans had changed for him.

Theo was at the Slytherin table with the rest of his friends as they chatted about the upcoming event of the season.

"I'm so excited for this party," exclaimed Daphne. "Have you guys decided on what you're wearing?"

"I've decided on a black cat," Pansy told them. "Got the perfect outfit and everything."

"Oooh you're gonna look so good Pans!" (Y/N) told her.

"I know, I'm so excited. What about you Daph?"

Daphne smiles. "I'm going to be a vampire." A sound of 'Ooos' was heard after the girl's answer. "What about you (Y/N)?"

(Y/N) giggles a bit before responding, the sound making Theo's heart pick up a bit. "Do you guys remember that one muggle movie we watched during summer?"

"Was it that weird one where that girl and boy died at the end because their families hated each other?" Draco chimes in.

The girl scoffed at Draco's comment. "Well yes, but you know its more than that." The boy rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I think I want to be Juliet from the party scene."

"Oooh, is that the one where she's dressed as an angel?" asked Daphne. "You're going to look stunning!"

(Y/N) grins, thanking Daphne. Her smile made Theo's lips twitch a bit, wanting to mirror her. A small nudge was felt on the boy's left side where Mattheo sat, smirking at him. Caught red handed.

It wasn't like nobody knew about Theo's crush on his fellow Slytherin classmate. In fact, Mattheo had been the first to know about it, albeit, not by choice. Theo had kept his interest for the girl low key. It was just that Mattheo had notice Theo staring a little too long at (Y/N) one time and had basically got his friend to confess his crush.

After that, Mattheo had made it his mission to help Theo to get with (Y/N).

"I just wished I could have someone be my Romeo though," (Y/N) confided with her friends. "It would make the costume feel more complete."

"He was the knight right?" Asked Pansy. "That would be so cute."

This had caught Theo's attention again. The gears were beginning to turn in his head.

Back at the dorms, Theo was pacing, Enzo and Mattheo watching him from Mattheo's bed.

"So are you going to tell us what's happening or are we going to continue watching you burn a path in the floor?" Enzo asked his dormmate. "Feel like I'm getting dizzy from watching you."

Theo stops his tracks before looking towards his two friends. "I need to find a halloween costume."

Enzo stared at the boy, confused. While Mattheo had a feeling as to what was stirring in his friend's mind.

"You're going to match with (Y/N), huh?" Mattheo asked.

"Finally!" Enzo shouts, startling the other two. "Thank Merlin, I won't have to do that fucking face paint anymore. You know I was getting tired of that shit, right?"

Theo rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Anyways," Enzo began. "What's (Y/N) going to be?"

Mattheo answered. "An angel basically."

"She wants to be Juliet from that movie we watched over the summer." Theo explained to him as he sat on his own bed. "But during that party scene."

"And Romeo here wants to be her knight in shining armor," Mattheo said.

"Ooh. And let me guess, you need our help?"

"No, well, kinda," Theo said. "Help me find the perfect costume."

"And what will we get out of this?" Mattheo had a look of mischief in his eyes.

"Nothing."

"Well. Then you wouldn't mind if I asked (Y/N) to the party would you? Share a drink or two with her, maybe dance?"

"You wouldn't."

"Oh I would," his roommate said. "Unless you do my homework for a month."

"No bloody way."

"Fine. Three weeks."

"Two and that's final."

Mattheo thought for a second before grinning. "Alright, two weeks it is. Didn't think you'd actually go for it though, was just joking a bit."

"Oh you bastard, I'm going to kill you!"

That weekend, the boys had dedicated their time at Hogsmeade to finding stuff for Theo's costume. They had found the items surprisingly quick thanks to Enzo and his eye for things.

The three had ended their day at the Three Broomsticks with Draco and Blaise, who noticed the bags they carried, but decided to not question it (didn't stop Mattheo from telling them what was going on).

The day of the party had come way too soon for Theo's liking. He stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself with the costume on.

What if (Y/N) doesn't like his costume? What if she thought it was stupid and laughed at him? Should he have done this?

So many thoughts and scenarios ran through Theo's mind, he was half tempted to take the costume off and go for a smoke.

"Theo?"

The boy looked towards the door to find Enzo and Mattheo. The two were examing Theo's current state.

"You good?" Mattheo asked. Theo just shrugged.

"Come on mate," Enzo said to him. "She'll like the costume. And if she doesn't, who cares? Now, let's go for some shots. I know Mattheo has been itching for some."

After a few more minutes, Enzo and Mattheo had successfully gotten Theo out of the dorm room and into the Slytherin common room. And true to his word, Enzo had gotten a couple shots into his dorm mates to liven things up.

Things were going alright for Theo. A couple shots had gotten him feeling more loose, but he was still thinking about (Y/N), whose whereabouts were unknown to him.

He was grabbing another drink when he heard his name being called. Confused, he turned around to find the culprit.

"(Y/N)."

"Hi Theo."

The boy took a second to look at (Y/N)'s outfit, or what he thought was a second. He saw how intricate it was, almost like it was a replica of the costume from the film.

She looked like an angel.

"I like your costume," Theo heard her say. Seems like he wasn't the only one looking.

"Thank you. Don't look too bad yourself."

(Y/N) smiled at his comment. "Thanks. Made it myself."

"Well it looks lovely," Theo said to her. "Drink?"

She nodded, taking the drink Theo offered her.

"Who are you supposed to be?" She asked after taking a sip.

"Oh uh," the boy began. "Romeo. From the movie we watched back during the summer. Thought his party fit was cool."

"Really? Well I like it. You look really good Theo."

Theo felt his cheeks heat up. She liked his costume. He would have to thank Enzo (and maybe Mattheo) for his help.

The music in the common room had begun to slow down. Couples gathered with each other and swayed to the music. Theo turned his head and saw Mattheo dancing with a girl, but he was looking directly at him.

'Ask her' Mattheo mouthed to him, discreetly pointing at the girl next to him.

Theo nodded his head at his mate before turning to his crush beside him. Just as he was about to speak, the words on the tip of his tongue were stolen.

"Dance with me?"

(Y/N) looked up at Theo, waiting for his answer. Out of shock, Theo just nodded. Taking his answer, (Y/N) pulled Theo closer to the center of the room where everyone was. She wrapped her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist. Eyes gazing at each other. Everything felt perfect.

"So, why did you choose this costume, Theo?"

He faltered in his steps, surprised at the sudden question. He had two choices, he could be honest and admit his feelings, or lie and say Mattheo made him do it, which is something he would actually do. But the more he looked at her, realizing how close they were, he needed to say the right thing.

"I did it for you."

"For me?"

Theo nodded. "I heard how you wanted someone to match with you to make your costume feel complete. I wanted to make your night special. Because. I like you (Y/N)."

(Y/N) halted her steps, confusing Theo.

"You like me?"

The boy nodded, feeling slightly nervous. "Actually have a while."

(Y/N) took in this new information, nodding at him. The silence between them was killing Theo. He was half tempted to kill Mattheo if she said she didn't like him. Since technically, if he thinks about it, it would be.

As Theo was going through every little thought and concern in his head, he missed out on the girl in front of him trying to speak to him. He finally tuned back into the world when she said his name.

"Hm?"

"Theo, I was trying to tell you, I like you too," (Y/N) tells him with a smile on her face.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well bloody hell finally," said a voice.

The two turned to see Mattheo looking at the two, seemingly having stopped dancing to spy on this moment.

"Thought I would never see the day come where Theo finally admits his feelings for you. I was thinking I was gonna have to make a move myself."

"Mattheo shut the fuck up." Theo glared at his roommate.

Mattheo stuck his hands up. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you too lovebirds alone. Don't be surprised when Enzo is asking you questions when you come back to the dorm." The Slytherin took his leave, relieving Theo.

"I hate that motherfucker," he mutters, raking his hands through his hair.

(Y/N) chuckles. "Maybe, but I think you don't mind him. You guys are best friends after all."

Theo laughs, shaking his head.

"So, I hear there's a Hogsmeade trip happening next week. Would you want to go on a date there?"

"I'd like that." (Y/N) grins.

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott #theodore nott x you

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bejeweledinterludes · 22 hours ago

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— ⌈ dean x reader headcanons that are way too specific and very important TO ME! ⌋

『 part 2 of @bejeweledinterludes’ headcanon series. 』

read my headcanons part 1 here!

↳ . . . YOOOOO HEYYYY here’s a part 2 since everyone seemed to like the first one! thinking about doing a solely nsfw headcanon post OR some chubby!reader headcanons for deano 😋 bc i’m in the trenches of ovulation week rn and my stupid thoughts have to go somewhere. also, if anyone had requests, i’d definitely be open to that as well! anyhoo enjoy my pookies <3

𖤐 ────────────────────────

> being a decent hunter, the winchester brothers had heard of you before, and you them— you’d heard stories, of course, but you never officially crossed paths until you were at bobby’s house at the same time they were. you’d known bobby— because everybody knew bobby—since you started hunting.

your greeting to them came almost as quickly as your goodbye, nodding at them with a “hey” while clambering down bobby’s front porch to your car, your usual bag full of weapons and books in hand— but not before you notice the jet-black ‘67 impala next to your own.

and you know your way around a car, having your own ‘baby-esque’ vehicle that you love more than life itself (can be vintage or newer model, doesn’t matter, because it’s yours). dean had noticed your car in bobby’s driveway immediately, too— who wouldn’t? the man had eyes.

anyways, you walk past baby in all her glory while nodding appreciatively— turning just a little to dean and tossing a free thumb towards her with a grin before saying a quick: “dude. bitchin’ car.”

and after initially being thrown off by the way you carried yourself, a mixture of confidence, respect, and almost familiarity— dean shoots back with a “could say the same about yours.”

at that remark, you freaking smiled. and dean almost fainted right then and there at the sight. you got in your car, and that was it, due to your visit to bobby’s house really being just a pit stop/supply run before you headed right back on the road again, a new hunt already waiting for you in montana.

> because despite sam and dean being the most good-looking hunters you ever laid eyes on, you weren't one to dilly dally over just a pretty face (when lives were on the line, of course). but somehow, you knew that you’d see them again. hunting wasn’t exactly a booming career field, after all.

> that being said, it took dean a while to get comfortable around you whenever you did end up working together— like a while. you’d only crossed wires with the brothers a few times, helping them out when you could on hunts over the next few years. sam and you made easy friends almost immediately, but dean took longer to warm up to you. but you didn’t mind, or take it personally. you never pushed dean to be your friend even with how much you wanted to be.

> when you guys do work together, though, you and dean understand every single pop culture reference you guys throw at each other. he was shocked when he referenced a classic 80s movie (it was weird science) while working one of your first cases together.

and not only did you understand it and laugh— you made your own joke about it. now you two can’t shut your traps once you get going (for the love of god, do not ask about die hard around them).

> dean and you have also almost blown your cover and gotten caught on hunts because you guys laugh/giggle too loud at what the other says (especially in serious situations).

your favorite running joke is finding old portraits of ugly dead guys, pointing a finger at them and saying to dean “huh, i didn’t know you were alive in *checks plaque under painting* 1837” (and don’t worry, he does the same exact thing to you.)

> dean once fell asleep on your shoulder during a stakeout/recon/watching a potential victim’s house and you didn’t move an inch the entire time. when you finally tried to gently wake him up, he had the audacity to sleepily mumble “jus’ five more minutes” into your shirt and cling to you like a koala in the car. you, being the saint and not wanting to argue, let him sleep for another 2 hours couple minutes.

> and soon enough, dean eventually came around. you knew he cared about you way before he did, but you never forced anything. he appreciated that more than you knew.

and it wasn’t just one single moment of realization like in the movies when dean knew he cared about you. it was quiet, simmering, and when he looked, it was already just… there. but the feelings he hadn’t noticed he’d been pushing down for so long came to a head on a hunt when you almost died— the way they always did when someone he cared about was hurt.

after that, something shifted. you could feel and see it, even if dean didn’t say anything outright to you. for one, he called more often when you were away— he’d need help with something you knew that he already knew damn well how to do, or with something you knew he had much better contacts for.

i mean, come on. he knows freaking rowena, and he’s calling you for assistance on a spell? and sometimes, he’d call for no reason at all, making up some excuse just to hear your voice. you never mentioned it, out of fear he’d stop calling entirely.

> because you always loved when dean called.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

i genuinely believe that i tweak out over this man at least 4 times a day stg. and the gif i picked lives in my mind rent-free. he looks so ethereal sigh i wish he was real 💔

ANYWAYS here’s my taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

#faith’s works . . . @bejeweledinterludes!#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester x reader #dean!reader #dean x you #supernatural headcanon

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the-kr8tor · 2 days ago

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Gonna do my nails today and I can't help but think of Hobie insisting to do it for you like he's so careful while he paints your nails in the colour you had him choose for you and his warm hands are holding onto your fingers so delicately while you ogle the sheer concentration on his face. Then when it's done and drying he refuses to let you touch anything as to not ruin his handiwork! You want to get dressed for bed? Nah he's helping you put on your clothes for you. Gonna brush your teeth? Bro is already putting toothpaste on your toothbrush. Once he tucks you in bed while your hands are above your head and fingers spread out that's when you see the bottle of nail polish and it says 'quick dry' you turn to him and he has that signature smirk and you know he knew about it!

#katy mumbles #hobie thoughts #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #sigh oh to have hobie do my nails instead of me furiously wiping it all off and doing it again #imagine he does a lil heart on each pinky 😍😍

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fdelopera · 2 days ago

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I'm trying to find the quote about how Jews are painted with the worst sins a generation can imagine. That it used to be communism, now it's settler colonialism - but I cant find it anywhere! Do you know the one I'm talking about? I feel like you might know

Hi @counterpunches , thanks for your question. I believe you are thinking of the keynote speech by the great Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z''l that he delivered before the European Parliament in 2016.

Since Rabbi Sacks delivered his speech, of course, Europe, the UK, and Ireland have continued to descend into the chaos of their own self-destruction, of which Jew-hate is the first major symptom.

These goyishe freaks think they are just having "fun" celebrating Islamofascist terrorism, glorifying in the slaughter of Jews, and attacking the Jews in their own communities, but really these goyim are DIGGING THEIR OWN GRAVES.

Here is the video of Rabbi Sacks' speech. I've also provided the transcript below under a Read More, and I've bolded the sections that relate to your question.

I recommend that everyone listen to Rabbi Sacks' speech. Nearly 10 years after he delivered this speech, his words could not be more true:

If Europe lets itself be dragged down that road again, this will be the story told in times to come. First they came for the Jews. Then for the Christians. Then for the gays. Then for the atheists. Until there was nothing left of Europe’s soul but a distant, fading memory.

Today I have tried to give voice to those who have no voice. I have spoken on behalf of the murdered Roma, Sinti, gays, dissidents, the mentally and physically handicapped, and a million and a half Jewish children murdered because of their grandparents’ religion. In their name, I say to you: You know where the road ends. Don’t go down there again.

You are the leaders of Europe. Its future is in your hands. If you do nothing, Jews will leave, European liberty will die, and there will be a moral stain on Europe’s name that all eternity will not erase.

Stop it now, while there is still time.

youtube

Transcript of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks' z''l speech:

The hate that begins with Jews never ends with Jews. That is what I want us to understand today. It wasn’t Jews alone who suffered under Hitler. It wasn’t Jews alone who suffered under Stalin. It isn’t Jews alone who suffer under ISIS or Al Qaeda or Islamic Jihad. We make a great mistake if we think antisemitism is a threat only to Jews. It is a threat, first and foremost, to Europe and to the freedoms it took centuries to achieve.

Antisemitism is not about Jews. It is about antisemites. It is about people who cannot accept responsibility for their own failures and have instead to blame someone else. Historically, if you were a Christian at the time of the Crusades, or a German after the First World War, and saw that the world hadn’t turned out the way you believed it would, you blamed the Jews. That is what is happening today. And I cannot begin to say how dangerous it is. Not just to Jews but to everyone who values freedom, compassion and humanity.

The appearance of antisemitism in a culture is the first symptom of a disease, the early warning sign of collective breakdown. If Europe allows antisemitism to flourish, that will be the beginning of the end of Europe. And what I want to do in these brief remarks is simply to analyse a phenomenon full of vagueness and ambiguity, because we need precision and understanding to know what antisemitism is, why it happens, why antisemites are convinced that they are not antisemitic.

First let me define antisemitism. Not liking Jews is not antisemitism. We all have people we don’t like. That’s OK; that’s human; it isn’t dangerous. Second, criticising Israel is not antisemitism. I was recently talking to some schoolchildren and they asked me: is criticising Israel antisemitism? I said "No" and I explained the difference. I asked them, "Do you believe you have a right to criticise the British government?" They all put up their hands. Then I asked, "Which of you believes that Britain has no right to exist?" No one put up their hands. "Now you know the difference," I said, and they all did.

Antisemitism means denying the right of Jews to exist collectively as Jews with the same rights as everyone else. It takes different forms in different ages.

In the Middle Ages, Jews were hated because of their religion. In the nineteenth and early twentieth century they were hated because of their race. Today they are hated because of their nation state, the state of Israel. It takes different forms but it remains the same thing: the view that Jews have no right to exist as free and equal human beings.

If there is one thing I and my contemporaries did not expect, it was that antisemitism would reappear in Europe within living memory of the Holocaust. The reason we did not expect it was that Europe had undertaken the greatest collective effort in all of history to ensure that the virus of antisemitism would never again infect the body politic. It was a magnificent effort of antiracist legislation, Holocaust education and interfaith dialogue. Yet antisemitism has returned despite everything.

On 27 January 2000, representatives of 46 governments from around the world gathered in Stockholm to issue a collective declaration of Holocaust remembrance and the continuing fight against antisemitism, racism and prejudice. Then came 9/11, and within days conspiracy theories were flooding the internet claiming it was the work of Israel and its secret service, the Mossad. In April 2002, on Passover, I was in Florence with a Jewish couple from Paris when they received a phone call from their son, saying, “Mum, Dad, it’s time to leave France. It’s not safe for us here anymore.”

In May 2007, in a private meeting here in Brussels, I told the three leaders of Europe at the time, Angela Merkel, President of the European Council, Jose Manuel Barroso, President of the European Commission, and Hans-Gert Pöttering, President of the European Parliament, that the Jews of Europe were beginning to ask whether there was a future for Jews in Europe.

That was more than nine years ago. Since then, things have become worse. Already in 2013, before some of the worst incidents, the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights found that almost a third of Europe’s Jews were considering emigrating because of antisemitism. In France the figure was 46 percent; in Hungary 48 percent.

Let me ask you this. Whether you are Jewish or Christian, Muslim: would you stay in a country where you need armed police to guard you while you prayed? Where your children need armed guards to protect them at school? Where, if you wear a sign of your faith in public, you risk being abused or attacked? Where, when your children go to university, they are insulted and intimidated because of what is happening in some other part of the world? Where, when they present their own view of the situation they are howled down and silenced?

This is happening to Jews throughout Europe. In every single country of Europe, without exception, Jews are fearful for their or their children’s future. If this continues, Jews will continue to leave Europe, until, barring the frail and the elderly, Europe will finally have become Judenrein.

How did this happen? It happened the way viruses always defeat the human immune system, namely, by mutating. The new antisemitism is different from the old antisemitism, in three ways. I’ve already mentioned one. Once Jews were hated because of their religion. Then they were hated because of their race. Now they are hated because of their nation state. The second difference is that the epicentre of the old antisemitism was Europe. Today it’s the Middle East and it is communicated globally by the new electronic media.

The third is particularly disturbing. Let me explain.

It is easy to hate, but difficult publicly to justify hate. Throughout history, when people have sought to justify antisemitism, they have done so by recourse to the highest source of authority available within the culture. In the Middle Ages, it was religion. So we had religious anti-Judaism. In post-Enlightenment Europe it was science. So we had the twin foundations of Nazi ideology, Social Darwinism and the so-called Scientific Study of Race. Today the highest source of authority worldwide is human rights. That is why Israel—the only fully functioning democracy in the Middle East with a free press and independent judiciary—is regularly accused of the five cardinal sins against human rights: racism, apartheid, crimes against humanity, ethnic cleansing and attempted genocide.

The new antisemitism has mutated so that any practitioner of it can deny that he or she is an antisemite. After all, they’ll say, I’m not a racist. I have no problem with Jews or Judaism. I only have a problem with the State of Israel. But in a world of 56 Muslim nations and 103 Christian ones, there is only one Jewish state, Israel, which constitutes one-quarter of one per cent of the land mass of the Middle East. Israel is the only one of the 193 member nations of the United Nations that has its right to exist regularly challenged, with one state, Iran, and many, many other groups, committed to its destruction.

Antisemitism means denying the right of Jews to exist as Jews with the same rights as everyone else. The form this takes today is anti-Zionism. Of course, there is a difference between Zionism and Judaism, and between Jews and Israelis, but this difference does not exist for the new antisemites themselves. It was Jews not Israelis who were murdered in terrorist attacks in Toulouse, Paris, Brussels and Copenhagen.

Anti-Zionism is the antisemitism of our time.

In the Middle Ages Jews were accused of poisoning wells, spreading the plague, and killing Christian children to use their blood. In Nazi Germany they were accused of controlling both capitalist America and communist Russia. Today they are accused of running ISIS as well as America. All the old myths have been recycled, from the Blood Libel to the Protocols of the Elders of Zion. The cartoons that flood the Middle East are clones of those published in Der Sturmer one of the primary vehicles of Nazi propaganda between 1923 and 1945.

The ultimate weapon of the new antisemitism is dazzling in its simplicity. It goes like this:

The Holocaust must never happen again. But Israelis are the new Nazis; the Palestinians are the new Jews; all Jews are Zionists. Therefore the real antisemites of our time are none other than the Jews themselves.

And these are not marginal views. They are widespread throughout the Muslim world, including communities in Europe, and they are slowly infecting the far left, the far right, academic circles, unions, and even some churches.

Having "cured" itself of the virus of antisemitism, Europe is being reinfected by parts of the world that never went through the self-reckoning that Europe undertook once the facts of the Holocaust became known.

How do such absurdities come to be believed? This is a vast and complex subject, and I have written a book about it, but the simplest explanation is this. When bad things happen to a group, its members can ask one of two questions: “What did we do wrong?” or “Who did this to us?” The entire fate of the group will depend on which it chooses.

If it asks, “What did we do wrong?” it has begun the self-criticism essential to a free society. If it asks, “Who did this to us?” it has defined itself as a victim. It will then seek a scapegoat to blame for all its problems. Classically this has been the Jews.

Antisemitism is a form of cognitive failure, and it happens when groups feel that their world is spinning out of control.

It began in the Middle Ages, when Christians saw that Islam had defeated them in places they regarded as their own, especially Jerusalem. That was when, in 1096, on their way to the Holy Land, the Crusaders stopped first to massacre Jewish communities in Northern Europe. It was born in the Middle East in the 1920s with the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. Antisemitism re-emerged in Europe in the 1870s during a period of economic recession and resurgent nationalism. And it is re-appearing in Europe now for the same reasons: recession, nationalism, and a backlash against immigrants and other minorities. Antisemitism happens when the politics of hope gives way to the politics of fear, which quickly becomes the politics of hate.

This then reduces complex problems to simplicities. It divides the world into black and white, seeing all the fault on one side and all the victimhood on the other. It singles out one group among a hundred offenders for the blame. The argument is always the same. We are innocent; they are guilty. It follows that if we are to be free, they, the Jews or the state of Israel, must be destroyed. That is how the great crimes begin.

Jews were hated because they were different. They were the most conspicuous non-Christian minority in a Christian Europe. Today they are the most conspicuous non-Muslim presence in an Islamic Middle East.

Antisemitism has always been about the inability of a group to make space for difference. No group that adopts it will ever, can ever, create a free society.

So I end where I began:

The hate that begins with Jews never ends with Jews. Antisemitism is only secondarily about Jews. Primarily it is about the failure of groups to accept responsibility for their own failures, and to build their own future by their own endeavours. No society that has fostered antisemitism has ever sustained liberty or human rights or religious freedom. Every society driven by hate begins by seeking to destroy its enemies, but ends by destroying itself.

Europe today is not fundamentally antisemitic. But it has allowed antisemitism to enter via the new electronic media. It has failed to recognise that the new antisemitism is different from the old. We are not today back in the 1930s. But we are coming close to 1879, when Wilhelm Marr founded the League of Anti-Semites in Germany; to 1886 when Édouard Drumont published La France Juive; and 1897 when Karl Lueger became Mayor of Vienna. These were key moments in the spread of antisemitism, and all we have to do today is to remember that what was said then about Jews is being said today about the Jewish state.

The history of Jews in Europe has not always been a happy one. Europe’s treatment of the Jews added certain words to the human vocabulary: disputation, forced conversion, inquisition, expulsion, auto da fe, ghetto, pogrom and Holocaust, words written in Jewish tears and Jewish blood. Yet for all that, Jews loved Europe and contributed to it some of its greatest scientists, writers, academics, musicians, shapers of the modern mind.

Stop it now, while there is still time.

#jumblr #islamist antisemitism #christian antisemitism #jewish history #rabbi lord jonathan sacks #may his memory be for a blessing

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