#THE PERSON WHO I WANTED BY MY SIDE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE

[sunnie-angel]

miss july you absolutely killed this fic (and me. i'm dead. deceased. cause of death: julymusings). tbh my only thought about the wound marinating for a half hour was "oh no, the ice cream is gonna melt" and not, you know, the medical side of things. i don't know how but you've captured such a specific anxious meltdown that i could feel myself getting worked up too (this is meant as a compliment). you deserve all the flwoers (and ice cream) for putting out this incredible thing, if it feels like i highlighted half the fic below, no i didn't but i was very tempted.

You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes.

miss july are you in my mind? are you living my life? are we the same person?

Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

there is something so visceral about this passage. i've never been in this exact situation and yet i feel like i have.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

can't defend myself, my brain just went hot here

You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut.

god the frustration is so real and palpable and catty. (honestly miss july, are you in my head bc this is almost exactly what my reaction would be in this scenario)

You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

you know how some people complain about how they can't get into x reader fic bc 'they wouldn't do that'? well i DON'T have that complaint bc this is literally me

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—” “Okay.”

jason trying to be nice and problem solve because he can sense there's a problem but he doesn't know what it is but by trying to be helpful he thinks he can maybe make it better? me. reader not having the emotional bandwidth to deal with his attempts to help and shutting him down before she can implode anymore? also me.

First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined.

real talk, i would be sobbing at this point. i don't care what kind of tricks jason has to get blood out of light coloured fabric, these pyjamas have now been tainted by the moment

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

this!!!!! oh my god when your mind is noticing but you're trying to not notice because then you'll spiral but you're already spiraling so all it does is make you feel guilty but because you're spiraling you don't have the emotions or energy to deal with the full weight of it so you're just back to guilt

You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out.

who hasn't been here before, am i right?

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

reader gets to exhale. it just feels like they've been holding their breath for the first part of the fic but now they can't anymore. this is the exhale, this is catharsis.

You know why.

jason, honey, sugar pie, darling. USE YOUR WORDS. YOUR ACTUAL WORDS

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe. There’s a half-pint of ice cream left in the freezer, you remember, and store that information for later.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

[haniette]

midnight miracle. // ln4

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | fluff, angst, friends to lovers, hurt-comfort.

word count | 2k

warnings | no use of y/n, use of alcohol, kissing, heartbreak.

summary: when the new year’s eve couldn’t get any worse and everyone disappoints you, Lando is there to keep you company.

a/n: happy new year guys <3 a small gift for you to start this year better. its HIGHLY inspired by my own experience, and as I really needed some comfort, i decided to write this :) hope you’ll enjoy it !

It all just felt unfair.

The wind howled outside as the cold air of the last day of December wrapped itself around the city, making the windows tremble. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, standing in front of the mirror and staring at your reflection. 

Your shining, mini dress fitted you perfectly, and your makeup was still intact, the soft shimmer of eyeshadow and gloss untouched despite the turmoil churning inside you.

Tonight was supposed to be the night that washed away the sorrow of a year that had taken from you more than it had given, where a new chapter in your life would start with the strike of midnight. A night for celebration, laughter, and fresh starts. But now, standing in the quiet solitude of your apartment, it all felt like a cruel joke.

Your friends were nowhere to be found, each one preoccupied with their own plans. Some were with their significant others, wrapped up in cozy celebrations and shared kisses. Others had joined gatherings where you weren’t really invited—groups you didn’t quite belong to. It had left you with one single invitation, offered by a fellow friend.

You hadn’t wanted to go. The idea of spending New Year’s Eve mostly surrounded by strangers, music blasting too loud for conversation, wasn’t appealing. But as the hours dragged on and the weight of your loneliness pressed harder against your chest, you caved. You needed company.

You spent far too long deciding what to wear, pulling yourself together, and braving the freezing cold to get there.

The moment you stepped into their house, the air was electric with excitement. You scanned the room, searching for any familiar face. Instead, your eyes locked onto him.

Your ex.

The breath caught in your throat as your gaze swept over him. He looked the same but different. Familiar but distant. And then you noticed her. The woman standing at his side, her smile radiant as she leaned into him. His hand rested on the small of her back—the way it used to rest on yours.

The sight hit you like a punch to the stomach. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The memories, you’d worked so hard for past months to bury, clawed their way back to the surface, bringing with them a mix of heartbreak and humiliation. Your heart stung again.

You stumbled back, barely managing a weak excuse to leave. You didn’t even wait for your friend to notice you before you slipped away, the cold night air stinging your cheeks as tears blurred your vision.

Back home, the dam broke. The tears you’d held in since the breakup—since the countless small heartbreaks that followed—came flooding out. You sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs wracked your body.

The clock on your phone read 10:37 PM. An hour and a half until midnight, and you were certain it would be the loneliest New Year’s Eve you’d ever known. You didn’t even care about the dress or the makeup you made a few hours ago. The dress was already switched for a hoodie and sweatpants, the makeup smudged by the tears that kept falling down your face.

You replayed the scene of him with her over and over in your mind. How he had moved on so easily, so effortlessly. As if you never meant anything to him. How everyone seemed to have someone except you. A best friend, a boyfriend, a girlfriend. Their special person, who would always be their first choice. The unfairness of it all, of not having a person like that twisted like a knife in your chest.

You felt so alone. You just wanted to stop always being the second choice for people.

A soft knock at the door startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You froze, your breath catching. For a moment, you thought you imagined it. But then it came again—gentle, hesitant.

Who could it be? Everyone you knew was busy now, partying.

Wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, you stood and made your way to the door. You opened it slowly, unsure of what—or who—you’d find on the other side.

And there he was—Lando.

He stood there, a sheepish smile on his face and a bottle of champagne in his hand. His curls were messy from the wind, and his cheeks were flushed pink from the cold.

“Hi,” He said, his voice soft. “Can I come in?”

You stared at him, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He gave a small shrug, stepping inside as you moved aside to let him in. He set the champagne down on the counter before turning to face you. “I saw that you left the party quickly, and I didn’t want you to be alone tonight.”

He noticed.

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You crossed your arms over yourself, suddenly self-conscious. “You didn’t have to leave the party for me, you know?” You said quietly.

“It wasn’t much of a party, nothing special,” He said with a grin. “Besides, I couldn’t stop thinking about you here, all alone. I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Your throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you turned away, blinking back fresh tears. “That’s… really kind of you, Lan.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando moved closer, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me,” He said softly. “That’s what friends do, right?”

The two of you settled onto the couch, the bottle of champagne opened and poured into the mismatched mugs you’d found in the kitchen to which Lando laughed at you. The TV played quietly in the background, a countdown clock in the corner of the screen ticking away the minutes until midnight.

Lando started telling stories, his voice filling the quiet of your living room as he recounted the ridiculous moments of his year. From the careless mistakes during races to hilarious encounters with fans. His laughter was infectious, and you found yourself smiling despite the ache in your chest that now seemed to slowly fade away.

“Fucking hell, you wouldn’t believe it.” He said, shaking his head as he finished a particularly absurd story about a mix-up at a hotel.

You laughed, the sound surprising you with its ease. “Well, at least you know how to keep things interesting.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I try.”

The seconds ticked closer to midnight, and a soft breeze whispered through the slightly ajar window, carrying with it the distant sound of cheers and laughter from neighboring apartments. 

You glanced toward the balcony, the curtains swaying gently in the draft. “Do you want to go outside?” Lando asked, following your gaze. His voice was soft, almost hesitant as if he didn’t want to intrude on your thoughts.

You nodded, standing and brushing your hands down your hoodie. “Yeah. Let’s watch the fireworks.”

He stood as well, grabbing the champagne bottle and your mismatched mugs before gesturing for you to lead the way. You slid the balcony door open, stepping out into the crisp night air. It was cold but refreshing, the kind of air that stung your cheeks and made you feel alive.

The view from your balcony stretched out over the city. Lights twinkled like scattered stars, and in the distance, you could see clusters of people gathered on rooftops, waiting for the countdown with sparklers in their hands. 

The sky was clear, the inky blackness dotted with faint stars, a rare sight in the city. Everyone had waited in anticipation of the final countdown for the new year.

Lando joined you, setting the mugs on the small table by the railing. He leaned against the edge, his hands in his pockets, and looked out at the view. “Not bad.” He said with a small smile.

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Kind of quiet, though.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes soft. “Quiet’s not so bad. Sometimes it’s exactly what you need.” You nodded, your gaze dropping to the street below. People were starting to gather, their laughter and shouts echoing faintly in the night air. 

For a moment, you let yourself just be—taking in the sights, the sounds, and the comforting presence of the man standing beside you.

“Are you warm enough?” He asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “I’m fine. I like the cold. It feels… cleansing.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Cleansing, huh? Is that what we’re calling it when your nose turns red?”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Okay, maybe it’s a little too cold.”

Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The gesture caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him.

“Thank you.” You murmured, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself. It was warm and smelled like him—something clean and familiar that made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Anytime.” He said simply, his smile soft.

The countdown began, faint cheers echoing through the city as the final seconds of the year slipped away.

“Ten.” You whispered, glancing at the watch on Lando’s wrist as it matched the voices in the distance.

“Nine.” Lando stood a little closer now, his arm brushing against yours.

“Eight!” The voices of the people outside were heard in the distance.

You looked up at him, your breath catching at the way the city lights danced in his eyes.

“Seven!”

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, the world seemed to be still, the noise around you fading into the background.

“Six!”

“Thank you, Lan.” You said softly, your voice almost lost in the wind.

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “For what?”

“For being here,” You confessed, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “For not letting me be alone tonight. It means more than you know.”

“Five!”

Lando’s expression softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” He said quietly. “I really wanted to be here.”

“Four!”

The words settled in your chest, warm and heavy. You held his gaze, the world around you fading away.

“Three!”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you gathered your courage. “Lando?”

“Two!”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?” You asked softly, staring deeply into his shining eyes.

“One!”

The fireworks exploded overhead, vibrant bursts of color lighting up the sky. Lando didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between you, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in.

“Happy New Year!”

The kiss was soft, tender, and everything you didn’t know you needed. The warmth of his lips against yours chased away the chill of the night, leaving you breathless and weightless all at once. A tear slipped down your cheek, feeling overwhelemed with the emotions.

When you pulled away, the fireworks continued to bloom above you, their colorful lights reflecting in his eyes as he smiled at you. “Happy New Year.” He said softly, his forehead resting against yours, gently wiping away your tears with his hand.

You smiled, your chest swelling with a hope you hadn’t felt in months. “Happy New Year, Lan.”

The two of you lingered on the balcony, watching the fireworks in comfortable silence. His arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you close as the final bursts of color lit up the night sky. The weight that had pressed down on you all evening seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something warmer.

Eventually, the fireworks faded, and the city settled into the quiet hum of a new year. But neither of you moved. The cold didn’t matter, nor did the late hour. All that mattered was the warmth of his presence, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment.

“Lan?” You said softly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to rethink your question, before finally asking, “Why did you really come tonight?”

He was quiet for a moment, “I told you already. It's because I care about you,” He said finally. “And I didn’t want you to feel like you were alone. No one deserves that, especially not you.”

Your throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you blinked back the tears that were again threatening to fall. “Thank you.” You whispered.

He turned to you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to thank me. I really wanted to be here. And I— I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You looked at him, your heart pounding as you searched his face. “Lan,” You said softly, your voice trembling. “I think I—”

He cut you off with another kiss, this one deeper, more certain. And in that moment, with the city quiet around you and his arms holding you close, you felt something shift. 

The pain of the past year didn’t completly disappear, but it felt smaller, and less consuming.

For the first time in months, you felt hope. And you knew that with the new year starting, a new, better chapter of your life was starting with it.

© haniette | 2025, all rights reserved.

reuploads and likes are highly appreciated ♡

[azzifuddfanpage]

testing the waters

OKAY NEW PAZZ FIC THANKS TOO 😛 ANON

There would not have been a fic if it weren’t for their amazing prompt so bless 😍

^if u wanna read their prompt look at my last post

themes: friends to lovers/ fluff

tw: SMUT

Azzi walked through the doors of Gampel Pavilion. She had just gotten to campus not even an hour before and was already having her first meeting with the team. 

Azzi stood by the back with the other freshman. Still getting adjusted to the thrill of the change in atmosphere. 

Standing on the court was unreal. Azzi turned her head admiring the bleachers and banners that lined the walls. She took in all the greats that came before her, all names she knew and studied growing up. She couldn’t believe that she was finally here, hopefully going to follow in their footsteps.

Azzi listened carefully as Geno’s voice carried through the walls.

“This team that is here right now is one that will never be the same again. This year, with this team, this is temporary. Next year there will be new people, seniors will be gone, and the team will be a whole new team again.” He paused scanning the room eyeing the freshman. 

“You will value every moment you have with this team, build your chemistry now or it will be too late.”  He continued pacing along in front of the group. 

Azzi felt someone’s hand brush against her wrist and a warm gentle breath draw close to her ear. 

“Don’t worry he is all talk. He’s not this scary all the time- well actually maybe just try to stay on his good side.” Azzi knew this voice. 

She turned her head slightly coming face to face with Paige Bueckers. She actually hadn’t prepared herself for how close they would really be, accidentally turning and even feeling  Paige’s breath on her lips. Azzi’s face flushed and she tried to play it off backing up and giggling.

—-

Her and Paige went way back. Paige was even one of the reasons she went to UConn in the first place. 

They had been best friends since 2016 when they met playing for team USA. All it took was one plane ride back to Minnesota and they were best friends for life.

Azzi always had loved Paige. Her laugh, her smile, her long blonde hair, her big blue eyes, her pink lips… just normal best friend type of stuff. But as she got older she started to feel differently about Paige. About girls in general.

Azzi had always liked boys- well she liked watching movies about them. Love and basketball was her favorite movie- “I want that type of relationship.” Azzi would say, almost convincing herself. 

The thing was, she never really knew if she actually ever had feelings for a guy before. Yes she thought they were attractive. In a world where she personally knew Steph Curry, who wouldn’t think guys were attractive. But the thing was, whenever she pictured a future it never included a guy. Infact Azzi would picture herself alone before she would picture herself settling down with a guy. 

Her and Paige even talked about living together jokingly as high schoolers in a purely innocent way.

“If we both don’t find someone by the time we are thirty- I’m gonna have to just marry you.” Paige said with a laugh. Azzi laughed but her laugh never went deeper than the surface. She would have given anything to live with Paige, to marry her, to spend the rest of her life with her. Things would have just been so much easier. 

But what did any of that even mean. Paige was just her best friend. Her beautiful, talented best friend, her hot as fu-. Azzi didn’t really finish that thought. Shutting it down before she could let herself admit what she deep down knew already. 

—-

“Ya I don’t know about that he seems pretty serious.” Azzi whispered back looking up and gulping when she saw Geno look at her while he spoke. 

Paige reassuringly squeezed her wrist, sending butterflies down Azzi’s stomach. Actually they felt more like bald eagles than butterflies to be honest. 

—-

An hour later after he was done talking they had a few hours to go back to the dorms before their offseason weight room. 

Since Underclassman were not allowed to have cars on campus- Azzi being a freshman and Paige a sophmore decided to walk back to the dorms rather than hitching a ride with the others. 

“So… what do you think of the campus so far. It’s awesome, you can say I was right and thank me whenever.” Paige said confidently as she watched Azzi scan the surroundings wide eyed, and taking everything in. 

“Ya everything is so much bigger. I’m gonna need an extra hour to get from class to class at this point.” Azzi replied with a laugh. 

They continued walking going about their day as usual. 

Azzi was excited for this new life at UConn, she looked forward to it. But something about the way Paige looked at her left her wanting more.

As the day turned to night everyone retired to their rooms.

After what felt like forever of just laying in bed unable to sleep Azzi sat up. 

12:30 AM Azzi read on her clock next to her. She flopped back down defeatedly. 

Azzi had never been away from her parents for more than a day, every team USA tournament her parents went to. She never didn’t have someone to tuck her in. 

“Not even 24 hours and I miss my mommy like I’m a five year old.” Azzi whispered to herself.

It may have been better if she had a roomate but no such luck. Her roomate, Ines was an exchange student meaning she would be flying in the next week instead of this one, meaning Azzi was stuck alone. 

She couldn’t hide the tear that slipped out of her eye. She could hear people talking down the hall. Her teammates maybe-hopefully.

She climbed out of bed, wearing her black tank top and pink boxer shorts and made her way out of her room. A little down the hall she saw Paige. 

Her blonde hair was unmistakable. Her laugh echoing down the long hallway. 

Azzi started to walk towards her when suddenly she got a glimpse of the person she was talking to. 

The girl was probably one of the prettiest ones she had ever seen- paige was prettier- and she had thick brown curls like Azzi, and tanned skin a bit lighter than Azzi’s. 

Azzi watched from a far, the pit in her stomach increasing at the way the girl reached out and squeezed Paige’s arm as she laughed. 

Azzi began to turn to head back down the hallway, not wanting to make herself feel any worse than she already felt, and ended up walking right into a lamp. 

The sound of the lamp colliding with the floor made Paige shift her attention down the hall where she saw…

“Azzi? Is that you?” She said confused as to why the freshman was up this late when she knew she always went to bed rather early. 

Azzi froze in her tracks, picking up the lamp and setting it back on the table. Wiping off her tears, she turned slowly. 

“Hi Paige.” She muttered just loud enough for her to hear. 

She watched as Paige said bye to the girl and they both walked as she walked down the stairs to leave.

Azzi could feel her heart pound as Paige walked closer towards her. 

“Why are you awake.” She checks her phone. “It’s 12:30! You should have been asleep like 3 hours ago huh.” She said softly.

Paige notices the wet streaks on Azzi’s cheek. 

“Baby are you okay?” Paige said wrapping an arm around her back. 

Azzi shivered at the nickname, that alone was enough to make Azzi forget everything that she was worried about. Forget being homesick, Paige was her home. 

“I’ve never slept by myself before.” Azzi admitted. 

Paige knew exactly what she meant. Azzi had always been a homebody, now states away from her parents, she was homesick.

“Oh shit I forgot you don’t even have a roommate either right?” Paige said looking at her and running her fingers through her hair lovingly.

Azzi shook her head. 

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Paige said walking her back to her room with her hand resting low and protectively on Azzi’s back.

As Azzi climbed back into bed, she attentively watched Paige’s every move. 

“Paige?” Azzi asked as Paige reentered her room with a glass of water.

“Ya.” Paige said handing it to Azzi and sitting down on the edge of the bed.  

“Can you stay with me. Just for tonight.” 

Paiges heart jumped. 

“I’ll stay with you everyday until Ines gets here how bout that?” Paige said standing up and kissing her forehead. 

Azzi melted into her touch. She could get used to that. 

Azzi nodded watching paige walk over to the other mattress, that had nothing on it. 

“Sleep with me.” Azzi said. 

Paige raised her eyebrow smirking. 

“OH MY GOD PAIGE!” Azzi shrieked throwing a pillow at her head, which Paige of course caught. 

Laughing Paige climbed into the small twin size bed with her. They were basically on top of each other, but they tried to keep their hands to themselves- for now.

—-

As the nights went by they started growing closer. Their touches were more affectionate as they lingered. Azzi even woke up the third day with Paiges arms wrapped around her waist, her shirt had risen and Paiges hands were dangerously close to her breasts. Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that she actually liked it. 

“Why the fuck do I want my best friend to touch my boobs?” Azzi said with shock, trying to push it to the side and just let Paige cling to her. 

—-

It was finally the weekend. This Saturday they had the day off. 

It was around 11:00 and Paige and Azzi were both in her bed. 

“Hey wanna watch a movie? We don’t have to be up early tomorrow.” Paige said turning to Azzi. “I brought my iPad.” She said grinning.

Azzi giggled, “only if we can watch frozen.” She said.

Paige sighed pulling it out and propping it against a pillow. 

“Whatever you want princess.” She said laughing. 

Azzi was praying to god that the purple led lights masked the red glow of her blush.

It was getting harder and harder for her to hide her feelings for Paige. She was so confused. She was striaght though. Definitely straight. Right??

—-

Halfway through the movie Paige got up to grab some snacks. 

Paige was wearing just a sports bra- literally no clue why- and Azzi could literally feel her heart beating, maybe something else too but she couldn’t pin point it.

Embarrassingly enough Azzi was a virgin. She hadn’t told anyone, no one really asked either. It wasn’t that no one liked her, she simply just didn’t feel the need to be with anyone like that. 

“Why would anyone want to suck someone’s dick that’s just nasty.” Azzi could not understand it for the life of her. 

But now with Paige, she would give anything to feel her fingers inside her…. Maybe she was just finally starting to want to have sex. She was just confused it wasn’t fine.

As paige reentered the room her breath shifted. The pants paige was wearing had hung even lower- showing the outline of her V-line, and she had two waters in her arms. Azzi’s attention immediately scanning up and down her body and then focusing on the vein bulging out of her bicep.

“Like what you see.” Paige smirked making her way over to Azzi and setting down the snacks and waters that were saying down her pockets.

Azzi felt her heat spread to her cheeks.

“Sorry I just-“ she honestly had no idea how to cover that up.

“It’s okay I get it. I have been hitting the weight room.” Paige said wrapping her arm around Azzi laughing as she could feel her tense up under her touch.

Paige always had thought Azzi was straight but now she wasn’t so sure. 

Azzi had never once talked about her love life. And the way she had looked at her the other day when paige was with another girl… the pieces were starting to connect.

A little while later, paige started to get curious, wanting to test her theory out. She began to move her hand a little lower on Azzi’s side. 

She listened to the rise and fall of Azzi’s breath, listened to it speed up as her hand began to move onto her thigh traveling closer and closer inward. 

Paige “coughed” accidentally brushing in between her legs causing Azzi to let out a soft moan. Azzi tried to cover it up with a cough but it was too late.

Paige leaned forward and whispered in her ear. 

“You like it when I touch you princess? Thought u were straight- I should’ve known a pretty girl like u would want something better than a man.” Paige growled causing Azzi to tense up completely caught off guard by her assumption.

Azzi had never told anyone this, she had no idea how Paige was able to see through her so easily.

“Paige I am straight, what are you talking abo-“ she was caught off by another one of her own gasps as Paige ran her hand back around and placed it on her upper ass. 

“See the way you look at me. You sure bout that?” Paige said confidently moving her hand so she was rubbing Azzi’s back through her clothes. 

Azzi’s breath hitched feeling Paiges long fingers slip under her shirt and explore higher on her back.

“You seriously mean to tell me you don’t feel anything when I touch you.” Paige said smirking as she continued to rub her back in a way that left Azzi’s mouth watering in desire. 

“I- I- don’t know. I don’t know what it feels like.” Azzi replied at a low whisper secretly hoping Paige wouldn’t hear it.

“What do you mean? Are you saying you have never had sex before?? What’s a pretty girl like you doing still a virgin.” Paige said honestly her hand stopping and staying rested on her back. 

“I don’t know just never found the right person I guess. I just don’t know what I am, I can’t tell if my feelings are real or not.” 

“We’ll have you ever thought about it.” Paige said simply. 

“Thought about what?” Azzi asked innocently not sure where this conversation was going. 

“About having sex…. I’m sure you have thought about it at least once.” Paige replied.

“I mean I guess kinda but I don’t even know anymore I just feel like my brain is playing tricks on me.” Azzi said shaking her head.

Paige turned Azzi’s face to look at her by grabbing her chin gently. 

“Wanna test it out?” Paige said experimentally. 

“What do you mean test it out.” Azzi asked confused. 

“Paige brought her hand to the front of Azzi’s shirt gently moving it up towards her breasts over her clothes, avoiding them but paying all the attention to them at the same time. 

“I mean why don’t you just try it, like get it out of your system, fuck me and then I gaurentee you will know exactly how you should be feeling.” Paige leaned closer into Azzi’s ear grabbing her by the front of her shirt. 

“I will make you feel better than anyone else baby.” Paige whispered seductively. Azzi could feel something wet between her legs. She couldn’t explain it, it was  feeling she had never really had before.

Without thinking about what this would mean, Azzi nodded.

“Let’s start slow, hm? Ease you into it.” Paige said softly. 

Azzi nodded, she trusted paige more than anything. If paige could show her what she needed to know, then why not. 

With that, Paige brought her lips so they were hovering just above Azzi’s. 

“Let me know when you feel something.” Paige said suggestively right before connecting her lips to Azzi’s. 

There was no turning back now. Both girls sinking into the kiss. Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s back grabbing at her ass, and Azzi instinctively stabilized herself by grabbing Paige’s neck. 

The kiss grew quickly. Azzi let out soft moan telling paige exactly what she needed to know.  The second Azzi opened her mouth again letting out a soft whine against paige’s lips, paige shoved her tongue inside her mouth. 

Azzi moaned into her mouth feeling Paiges tongue fight against her own. Paige really knew what she was doing. 

Both girls worked to get closer to each other, causing paige to lay down on top of Azzi, sticking her leg in between hers. As the kiss quickened, paige moved her knee and pressed it against Azzi’s core causing her to let out a shrill moan. 

She had never been touched like that before, paige knew just how to make her feel seen. No one had ever taken care of her needs like this before. 

As Azzi began to get more comfortable and grind down on her knee desperate for some friction, Paige pulled back from her. 

“You feel anything yet?” Paige said giggling as she could see just how dilated Azzi’s eyebrows were desperately in need of her touch.

“Yes a little.” Azzi admitted focusing down on paige’s fingers that rested on her thigh.

Paige noticed this and smirked, she started to move her fingers closer to Azzi’s center. 

“Only a little?” Paige said slyly. “That’s a shame, I thought I felt a little something myself.” Paige said suggestively leaning forward into Azzi’s ear causing her breath to hitch. 

“And I really wanted to know what my fingers felt like inside of you.” Paige said smirking against Azzi’s ear. 

Azzi couldn’t resist it anymore, grabbbing paige’s collar and pulling her back to her lips.

As Azzi’s tongue filled paige’s mouth, she heard paige let out a tiny soft moan. 

“Need you so bad. Show me please. Teach me.” Azzi whined running her hands along paige’s bare abs. 

Paige smirked knowingly. 

“So needy for me huh.” Paige said reaching down so her thumb was now directly on Azzi’s pussy. She started to rub at it blindly through her clothes.

Feeling Azzi thrust towards her she looked into her eyes.

“Can I take these off baby?” Paige asked not looking away from her big brown eyes begging to be fucked.

Without a word Azzi lifted her but so paige could pull down her shorts and panties in one sweep. 

As the air hit her slick she felt nothing but fear and embarrassment. She tried to close her legs, suddenly afraid of what this would mean for her, but paige caught them keeping them apart. 

Azzi looked into paige’s eyes and saw nothing but love as paige eyed her pussy hungrily. She laughed. Oops.

Paige looked up at her laughter.

“What’s so funny.” Paige asked confused. 

“Nothing it’s just ironic. I think I have had a crush on you this whole time and now hear you are literally staring at my pussy the way I have stared at you all these years.” Azzi answered smiling. 

Paige smirked running her hands up her inner thigh, leaning forward to press a kiss against her. Azzi moaned.

She placed another kiss equidistant to the last one.

“I-“ paige started, then left another kiss, sucking a bit harder this time.

“Have felt-” continuing and leaving another kiss.

“The same-“ going back in one more time right above her mound. 

“Way.” She finished settling so now she was just hovering over her pussy.

“Don’t just love this pussy tho.” Paige winked right before diving in to attack her clit with her tongue licking a long stripe up her starting from the entrance of her hole and ending at the bundle of nerves. Azzi moaned loudly tugging at paige’s hair, partially from the love confession, and also from the feeling of paige’s powerful tongue attacking her clit. 

Azzi couldn’t contain her moans as paige sucked and nipped at her clit pullljngbvack and spiting into it spreading the mixture of spit and cum around her clit with her fingers before sliding one of her fingers teasingly into her hole. 

Azzi thrusted forward greedily, needing to feel paige as close to inside of her as possible. 

“Baby relax” paige started “lemme show you why gay is better.” She finished before shoving a finger into Azzi. 

Azzi’s eyes widened and she propped herself up on her elbows so she could see paige ponding the finger into her and simultaneously using her thumb to rub at her clit in small circles. 

“You’re so tight holy fuck.” Paige said as she added another finger leaving Azzi gasping and  moving one of her hands to pull paige towards her to kiss her. 

Paige swallowed her moans continuing to feel around her cervix with her finger as it went in and out, the wet squishing of Azzi’s cum against paige’s fingers filled the silence of the room. 

Pulling back from the kiss paige resumed her focus on her pussy, attaching her tongue to her clit and sucking as she pounded in and out of her.

Paiges middle finger brushed against her g spot causing Azzi to let out a loud breathy moan, arching her back shoving her pussy into  paige’s face. 

Motivated by Azzi’s actions, paige pulled back again from her clit, using her thumb to rub it up and down, separating her folds to expose the pink center of her clit. 

“Prettiest pussy in the world. She loves me.” Paige whispered as if talking to her pussy. 

Azzi sat up to look again as paige slowed down, when all of a sudden paige used one of her hands to press down on Azzi’s lower stomach making her feel like she was about to pee, and her with her other hand that was thrusting two fingers in and out of her, she slipped in a third, barely fitting it in Azzi’s tight cunt. 

Azzi moaned watching the way her pussy sucked in her fingers so naturally. 

As paige leaned back down to her clit, three fingers still pounding into her with power and force, the pressure of paige’s tongue against her was almost too much. 

“Paige I’m gonna cum oh my god.” Azzi moaned throwing her head back. 

“You can cum for me baby.” Paige said against her pussy the vibrations sending her over the top as she could no longer hold back anymore, streams of cum pouring out of her and paige stuck her tongue out drinking it all up.

Paige slowly worked her fingers getting her through the climax as Azzi was left a heap of tears and moans, still very out of breath. The warm sensation still tingling in her pants. 

“Welp I’m definitely gay.” Azzi said with a laugh as paige joined her on the bed. 

“Thank god, I have been waiting to hear you say that for fucking years.” paige said turning to her.

“Really?!” Azzi said surprised that who she now realized was her childhood crush had felt the same way for all these years.

“Damn we really have been waiting time not trying this sooner.” Azzi continued, laughing as she saw the paige’s mouth still glistening in the lights with her cum. 

“Well I guess we will have to just make this a daily thing then huh.” Paige said smirking pulling Azzi closer to her.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll show you how to eat me.” 

“How about now.” Azzi said confidently flipping them over so paige was back on top of her, where Azzi shimmied down so paige’s cunt was directly above her. 

Pulling her shorts and panties to the side, she got right to work. 

[rubywithecat]

JjK men love tropes and how you first meet them

A/n: Please note that this is just a fiction and my own opinion, so please feel free to skip if you find any discomfort in reading. Thank you for love and support ~<33

Gojo Satoru

(Colleagues)

-I first think of student-teacher trope but I personally feel like Gojo wouldn’t date a student (especially his student)

-He would likely to date a colleague or junior partner.

It all started when u were assigned with the strongest sorcerer, Satoru Gojo for your first mission since you graduated. You don’t know if you should feel lucky or doomed cuz the mission is guaranteed to be hard. Since you attended Kyoto school, you haven’t personally trained by Gojo and heard a lot abt how arrogant he is from your teacher, Utahime like how he bullied her back in sch. “So, ur the kid that they partnered me with?” He appeared from behind. You turned your back “Yeah. My name is y/n” you greeted formally. He didn’t even bother to greet back and told you to just stay behind him. You were really annoyed by him but it was not a good idea to make a sense here. You got injured from the mission but helped a lot for him to fight with your cursed technique and he was impressed. He visited you to your apartment, asking about injury. Your impression for him changed quite a bit of how thoughtful he is. Then, you go out a lot with him and started growing feelings for him like who could resist his charm. On the other hand, he couldn’t believe himself but he also fall in love with you without any reason as if he’s capable of love?

Geto Suguru

(Friends to lovers)

-I think he is likely to only date from inner circle so it’s whether you’re his friend or have mutual friends.

It was at your bff birthday party and you were lost in the big room. You bumped into Geto and he apologized, helping you get up. “Thanks” you awkwardly replied. “Im Geto Suguru” he broke the silence since you were starring at him for a couple of sec. “Oh, I’m y/n. I’ve heard abt you from (ur fri name)” you replied, giggling. He smiled at your laughter. “I bet she wouldn’t tell good things, right?” He said and you guys chatted a lot that it was like an hour. “Hey y/n!” Your bff yelled as she saw you from the crowd and made her way to you and noticed someone beside u “Oh Geto! I thought you didn’t come!” She hit his shoulder. “I almost go back home of how boring your party is” he sarcastically replied which made her rolled her eyes. “Stop being an ass, Geto. Were you chatting with y/n?” Your bff side eyed him. He chuckled “Well, see you guys later. I just saw Gojo” he suddenly blushed and made his way out, saying small goodbye to you. You grabbed nearby drink and took a sip, looking at his way “U didn’t tell your childhood fri is cute” you said to your fri. “He’s all yours” your bff smirked at you and the rest of the night, enjoyed the party. The next day, you got his social acc from your bff and added him. You guys started talking and formed a friendship. U wanted more but didn’t wanna ruin the newly built friendship so as he too. But when the third party got involved, everything changed and jealousy grew into more and then he confessed to you finally.

Toji Fushiguru

(Second chance)

-This man would very likely to mess up in a relationship so it wouldn’t work out at first and you break up with him.

Even tho your clan doesn’t agree you with him cuz he doesn’t have cursed energy and is disgrace in jujutsu world, you fought for him and he messed up, letting you go. You were emotionally so hurt and heart-broken when he handed you to your brother back, taking the deal money. That was the biggest betrayal he made. How could he? Besides, Toji had always been selfish and wanted to keep you by his side but he has to give up on you to protect you and he know he couldn’t provide a good life to you so he just thought it would be better to make you hate him and just watching you happy from afar. He thought he would be fine but he isn’t. He couldn’t sleep nor focus on other things and his mind is always on you and memories. When he heard that you are forced to marry to another clan leader, he couldn’t do it anymore and fought for you back, this time harder.

Nanami Kento

(Love at first sight)

-He doesn’t believe in love or he is too busy to think about love. But when he saw you for the first time, he felt a strange but nervous feeling and his heart started to beat faster. Does it called love?

He was watching sunset from his apartment when he saw a girl with her friends, laughing and talking. Your beauty is unmatched and even the sunset he admired doesn’t compare it. It happened so fast that he doesn’t realize he was looking at your movements without even batting an eye. Then, you disappeared and he thought that’s it. Even tho there are several beautiful women who are throwing themselves to him, he doesn’t even bother to look at them. But how could you bewitch him? The next day, he tried his best not to think about the event anymore and went to work and then he saw you when he grabbed a coffee. You worked there. “What would you like to order, sir?” Your sweet voice sounded so good to him. The next day, he always come to visit you and you guys got close to each other and the relationship grows into smtg more.

——

——

[matchingbatbites]

@wheneverfeasible I saw this SO CLEARLY, I couldn't help myself.

The sign pops up midway through their second to last song.

Eddie frowns a little because they don't usually allow signs at their concerts. As fun as they can be, it isn't always appreciated by other fans who paid just to have their view of the stage blocked by a piece of poster paper. Especially when that poster paper is being held by someone right up against the barrier.

He wonders why they didn't bring it out earlier, wonders if maybe they were banking on him not saying anything since the concert is almost over. Unfortunately, Eddie can't just let one person slide; if he lets one person get away with it then other people are bound to try!

Eddie finishes out the song and grabs the mic off the stand as he makes his way over to that side of the stage. "Hey, sign person. I dunno if you're new here, but we don't-"

He cuts himself off as he gets close enough to actually read it:

EDDIE U R PRETTY. MARRY ME?

His heart stops in his chest and his eyes snap down, hoping-

And it is. Pressed against the barrier is Steve - who is supposed to be backstage - holding the sign with the biggest smile on his face. He shakes it a little, pulling Eddie's attention back to it, and the reality of the question slams into him, almost knocking him off his feet.

Eddie practically throws the mic and shoves his guitar to his back as he scrambles off the stage, almost falling in his haste to get to Steve. The crowd around them goes crazy when Steve drops the sign so he can pull Eddie into his arms, almost hauling him over the barrier.

Steve has been one of the best things that ever happened to him, the last two years of his life absolute bliss even with both of them traveling and not getting nearly as much time together as he wants.

Moving in together last year had helped a lot, and overlapping CC's tour with hockey season so they can actually spend the summer together helped even more.

"Are you serious?" Eddie asks, on the verge of tears as he clings to his boyfriend. Steve chuckles and nods, holding him even tighter.

"I am. I love you, Eddie. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll let me."

Eddie laughs wetly and nods. "Of course I'll let you," he says, and Steve pulls back just enough to look at him.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods again before pulling him into a kiss.

They're not expecting the "He said yes!" that comes over the speakers or for the crowd to explode at the news. They laugh into the kiss and Steve breaks it so he can rest their foreheads together.

"I think you have a show to finish, rockstar."

"I guess I do. See you after?"

Steve gives him one more peck before releasing him, a grin on his face. "Of course. We have to celebrate our engagement, right?"

A shudder runs down Eddie's spine at the implications of just how they're going to celebrate, and though he doesn't rush through the last song, it's a near enough thing.

Eddie doesn't like sports.

Well, okay, that's not technically true. Growing up in the deep south left him with an ingrained interest in college football that he's not sure he'll ever be able to shake, but at least he can understand that game. He doesn't know a single fucking thing about hockey.

The rest of the guys had been excited when Chrissy said the band had been offered tickets to see the local NHL team. He was upset by how quickly he'd been outnumbered, but the boys had plied him with the promise of violence on ice, and that was enough to sooth the betrayal, at least a little.

Which is how he finds himself here, smushed between Chrissy and Gareth and not really as engaged as he should be, watching a bunch of men run around on the ice - sometimes literally, which is crazy. There has been a little violence though, so that's something at least.

Eddie blinks when Chrissy hands him a small dry erase board and a couple of markers that she pull from her bag. "What's this for?"

"You're famous, Eddie. The arena staff knows we're here, which means we're probably going to be on camera. I figured you could entertain yourself with some appropriate messages. Appropriate," she reiterates, and Eddie grabs at his chest like he's been shot.

"You wound me! As if I would ever deign to flash the cameras with a message that's anything less than the pinnacle of wholesome!"

Chrissy rolls her eyes but smiles - ever used to his dramatics by now - and just turns back to the game. Right, sometimes it's easy to forget that Chrissy is actually a sports person.

Eddie gets to work on his first message, not entirely sure when they're going to be the focus of the large screen above them. Chrissy glances over to see what he's writing and just sighs, and Eddie can't bite back his grin.

It's actually not too long before the announcer mentions something that isn't related to the game, and then-

"With nearly twelve million monthly listeners on Spotify, please welcome local metal band, Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie looks up to see their faces on the screen and grins as he turns his board around, showing off the LOOKIN 4 HUSBAND he's written in block letters. There's a mix of cheers and laughter from the crowd, and Eddie can't help but give a joking wink to the camera before he's laughing as well.

Chrissy smacks him on the arm and says "I can't believe you," but she's smiling as well. Eddie just shrugs and cleans the message from the whiteboard, freeing up space for him to doodle in between catching glances at the game.

It's a little bit later when a big fight breaks out, and a few players from each team are sent to the- box? The box. Eddie watches the big screen as the camera follows one of the players, tracking the man as he steps inside the little booth and rips his helmet off in frustration and- holy shit.

The guy is fucking stunning; his jaw, his nose, his sweat-damp hair and the beauty marks scattered across his skin like stars. Eddie wants to get closer, wants to know the color of his eyes and smooth the crease between his brows, wants to shove his fingers into that pretty, pink mouth-

And then the camera changes, going back to the players on the ice, and Eddie blinks like he's been released from a spell. He turns to Chrissy, one hand grabbing at her arm as he says "Who the fuck was that guy?"

Chrissy glances at him but keeps most of her attention on the game. "Harrington? He's literally the captain of our team, Eddie. I know you're not super into this, but that's kind of a hard thing to miss."

The man huffs a little as he releases Chrissy's arm. "I know literally jack-shit about this game, Chrissy, nothing is hard to miss."

Eddie takes the chance to re-write his white board before turning it to face outward, hoping that some cameraman will take pity on him and put him back on screen. He's not sure how long Harrington has in what is essentially timeout, but Eddie keeps his eyes on him all the same, glad that they're actually not too far away from the box.

It's a couple of minutes later when the announcer says "Looks like our friends Corroded Coffin have another message, this time for team captain Steve Harrington," and Eddie doesn't need to look to know that the screen is showing his new sign: #14 U R PRETTY. DATE?

He sees Harrington - Steve - look up, and watches as the frustration melts from his face, only for the prettiest pink blush to spread across his cheeks and ears. The guy laughs - and christ, Eddie didn't think he could get any more beautiful, but here he is - and doesn't hesitate to nod, even makes a little call me motion like he knows Eddie's watching him.

Eddie beams and nods back, laughs when the other player in the box shoves Steve playfully and makes a comment that deepens the blush on his face. He gets a couple of shoves and smacks from his own friends and a bewildered "I can't believe you just did that!" from Gareth.

Chrissy leans into him as he cleans the board again. "Hockey's not so boring now, is it?" she says, and Eddie can't help but agree, his eyes never leaving the ice - leaving Steve - for the rest of the game.

[gallusgalluss]

please unleash your inspekta thoughts

your art is amazing i cant stop looking at it

i hope you have a happy new year!!

happy new year anon n thank you :]!!!!

also ur so evil ur letting me unleash my Inspekta thoughts,,,,how cruel how cruel

im going full yapper mode + there's spoilers so Watch Out

I like Inspekta, he's a little freak and a really interesting character to think about. While, for me, the twist with him wasn't totally a surprise (I did Not trust his cuteness the second i saw him lmao), I REALLY liked the way his character progressed throughout the game. He's your buddy! He's your pal! Don't worry about all these posters and weird plushies and standees and propaganda of him everywhere and how he keeps being called “the one and only god”, it's Fine it's Fine! He's sillay :D!!!

I'm generally just obsessed with characters who are put into leadership positions who absolutely Should Not have that amount of power over people, and I think Inspekta's a perfect example of that type of thing for me.

He had his own fears, loneliness, and jealousy cloud his judgment and that resulted in some Really Fucked Up Stuff. As a mortal he wanted to be special in the eyes of the public, so he gained enough popularity to get elected to be a god! Yay! But now he's scared of being forgotten and there's a new possible god being elected, wuh oh! Time to ruin Literally Everything because what's the easiest way to be remembered, worshiped, and loved by all if there's no more competition for your rule? Empty heavens, baby!!! Let's bring in an apocalypse!!! Yay!!!!!

Bro's fucked up and I like that.

I love how despite it all he still tries this whole Cute Buddy Friend act, even at the end with this Worm Form. Cause he KNOWS the other gods would trust and believe him and the lies he's spread about King's shocking letters, cause why wouldn't they? He's just a silly lil cutie pie! They all trust him! He's the God of Leadership! How could a Leader lead others astray? And he knows the Bizzyboys will follow him as well since he's been leading them pre-godhood for several years. He's a role model to them all, starting from nothing and now he's a god! He's just so trustworthy and sweet and will totally save the day!

Also I just wanted to include this somewhere. I really like this section (after Chapter 3, I think???)

He has this brief moment of vulnerability/sincerity/something that made him drop his “Cutesy Voice”. Like aside from this scene, near the end of chapter 5, and i Think a few parts i'm 100% forgetting, I don't think we actually see this more contemplative n genuine side of Inspekta.

He does instantly goes into gloating about himself and how he's Clearly the MOST IMPORTANT GOD OF ALL (before correcting himself to include the other gods, of course, of course).

Like if he didn't have that Ego-the-size-of-the-galaxy + Saddest Scaredest Loneliest Most Jealous Withdrawn Loser combo, all he had to do was to just Talk To People. He could've Talked to people about his Fears and Insecurities. Even the other gods; after all he's done, were still there for him! Like “Hey dude this is fucked up, we all already love you dummy, you can talk to us ya know you're allowed to feel scared!”

He's just the cutest most moe creature with soooo many issues and problems he needed to figure out.

NOW WITH HECTOR

Most of my Inspekta Thoughts can just be applied to him but slightly modified. I think it's interesting how he chose to go back to being a regular person, it makes sense cause he's like Aware of the amount of damage he's done/could've done. While he certainly won't be forgotten after Everything he's done, he isn't going to be as Grand and Powerful as he wished to be.

He's just a guy in his 50s who's trying to get over his God Complex of 33 years and also attempt to gain back the trust and respect of the Grove’s people. He's definitely going to be bearing the weight of what he's done for the rest of his life probably, but it IS interesting thinking about what he'd do to actually improve himself now, learn how to be a person again n such.

He’s also a sad miserable booboo beast of a man and i think him suffering in anguish is awesome!!!!!!! yay!!!!

This turned into more a character analysis of some sorts instead of solely my own personal thoughts, whoops. Anyways i think his designs, all 3 of em are really fun to draw. He's cute n stretchy and marketable, as all gods should be.

so ya basically inspekta/hector sucks, i hate him, and we should kill him with hammers. now. thank you 💖💖💖

[hereghostslive]

WIP Wednesday

thanks for the tag @carlos-in-glasses !!

yesterday I mentioned reapers and Tommy kinard, so here's some of it. I was going to wait until it was all finished to post but my sister is dragging me a long to lots of places today so I want have time to work on it.

trigger warning, but this does involve major character death for Tommy, although I don't want to totally bum everyone out so I will say it's temporary ... but we're definitely playing in this supernatural realm for a bit though. But this is definitely a Tommy Learns To Fight For His Own Happiness kinda fic.

--

Tommy never makes it to 2025. 

He knows this because he remembers the clock sitting at 11:59 p.m. when the semi hit his truck on New Years Eve. He supposes he could have still been alive while they tried to free him from his car, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Tommy as he was, a person of mediocre value that held some mildly interesting presences in other people’s lives, was already gone. 

It just took his brain waves a few minutes to follow the rest of him into death. 

But they eventually made it there. 

So when he was fully dead, that was that. Life, completed. 

Was it satisfying? It had its moments, Tommy supposes. 

Did he have any regrets? Well, obviously. Who doesn’t? 

Did he have any unfinished business they should be aware of? I don’t – Wait, what do you —

“— mean by ‘they’?”

Tommy pauses, startled by the sudden sound of his own voice. He looks around but all he can see is a milky sort of darkness, rippling around him like waves in the ocean. If he looks too hard, he starts feeling dizzy, so he turns forward again, and then realizes he’s sitting on one side of a desk. On the other side is a figure of some indistinguishable shape. 

So? It asks. 

Tommy doesn’t see anything he can classify as a mouth move when the shape talks but he hears a voice all the same. 

Tommy clears his throat. “So, what?” 

Is there any unfinished business they should be aware of? 

Tommy’s hit with blue eyes and startled heartbreak, the sound of a door falling closed behind him. And him, the one who locked it and threw away the key. 

He shakes his head. “No. No unfinished business.” 

Good, the shape says. Your processing is complete. Someone will come to collect you soon. 

The shape disappears, there one second and gone the next before Tommy can even blink. 

And just like that, he’s alone. 

Dead, and alone. 

Happy fucking New Year to him. 

–

“Soon” turns out to be … well, Tommy’s not sure how long he’s been here. Somewhere between five seconds and five months sounds accurate to him. Though, does time even exist when you’re dead? 

He looks around him again, but the only thing he sees is that rippling sort of milky darkness. There’s no sound, either. And there doesn’t appear to be anyone else here, no other souls waiting to be … collected? That’s what the shape said, he thinks, however long ago it was that it said that. 

Tommy was never religious so he never really put a lot of thought into what happens after you die. If this is it, he can’t decide if people will be pleased with the answer that obviously something exists or unsatisfied with the result. Then again, nothing ever really turns out the way we want them too. 

As much as Tommy can guess, this is a waystation between the newly dead, and wherever it is you go after that. Whatever questioning he just completed must be part of the deciding factor. 

He wonders if he should be worried about the result but being dead kind of takes away all your worries. He’s not at peace, he doesn’t think, but maybe that part is what comes next. 

--

no pressure tagging: @liminalmemories21 @lemonlyman-dotcom @bonheur-cafe @thisbuildinghasfeelings @cecilyv

@alrightbuckaroo @whatsintheboxmh @firstprince-history-huh @carlos-tk

some other bucktommy folks: @leashybebes @screamlet @alchemistc @beanarie @vamphours

[mariacallous]

Several years ago, I invited my new boyfriend to Yom Kippur at my aunt’s house. He didn’t need convincing – I think he adored my family early on – but to entice him further I made sure he knew what was on offer.

Bagels. Cream cheese. Lox.

Let’s just say he showed up on time. I knew my aunt would be thrilled when he devoured the pickled herring. (He earned similar accolades when he asked for seconds of gefilte fish at Passover.)

Jewish food, he says, is just a hop, skip and a jump from the Scandinavian food he grew up with. “It’s like the foods of my people. Foods of your people, foods of our people.”

Apart from being poetic, it was a very Jewish thing for him to say.

Now my husband, Brad is definitively non-Jewish by all religious standards. His father was raised in a big Irish Catholic family and his mother, raised in the Midwest, is of Scandinavian descent. He was the first non-Jewish person I’d met with his own proclivity for pickled fish and smoked salmon.

Among the items he always kept in his pantry — before he met me and still today — are tinned fish and Triscuits, often eaten as a meal. He and I have been on a year-long journey of finding the best “real rye bread” within driving distance in the greater Metrowest area of Boston. (Haven’t found it yet.)

To say that he embraces all things Jewish is obvious. That he loves me is only part of the reason; another is the food. 

My grandmother always had enough food to feed an army, no matter whether it was Shabbat, Passover or Tuesday. I watched as Brad became accustomed to the foods we loved and the leftovers we take pride in sharing: the containers left on the table after Yom Kippur for extra brisket, the paper bags for challah and rugelach.

But he’s taught us about food, too. Our family text chain is called “Smashburgers Unite” because of my family’s newfound favorite meal, brought to us by my husband. A better cook than I (a generous understatement), he loves cooking projects. 

At that point, my biggest cooking project I’d taken on was making latkes for Hanukkah.

It had been my job for years. I’d shove the potatoes in the Cuisinart, wring them out as best I could, and do my best guesswork with how much egg, matzah meal, onion and salt should go in. Then I’d stand at the stove and fry them, the kitchen filling with that wonderful greasy-spoon smell, as the rest of my family arrived. I laid them out as they were done, always in an inadvertent ombre from light to dark as the oil, and my patience, decreased. 

So for Brad’s first Hanukkah with us, I told him — who once made a BBQ for 40 people with no help from anyone — that I (and, by proxy, he) was in charge of latkes.

“Cool,” he said. His indifference both alarmed and relieved me. 

“It’s more work than you think,” I said.

I should have known he’d have better tricks  for peeling massive amounts of Russet potatoes and draining their water (cheesecloth! The man I’m dating owns cheesecloth?!), adding cornstarch to help the eggs adhere better to the mix, and adding enough salt so they actually tasted good. He added seasonings like zaatar, onion powder and garlic powder. He showed me how to wait until all the oil – way more than I was used to adding for frying – was shimmering, and to be patient while each side cooked.

I think he wanted to add a shallot.

“It’s not traditional,” I said.

“So?” he said.

He had a point.

The latkes that year were a hit. My family made sure he knew that it was now his task for life. They were joking, but they were also serious.

I knew he was about to take this latke-making to the next level. On the way home, he thought up different flavor combinations, like adding dill and black pepper, and what if we fried them in schmaltz – we’d have to roast a chicken first; store-bought schmaltz wouldn’t cut it – and what if we added cayenne, and what if we used different root vegetables, like turnips and rutabagas, and what if made a sweet potato version?

I was exhausted just thinking about it. The latkes take a great deal of effort, and I don’t have the same love of cooking that Brad does. Where he sees opportunity, I see how long it will take to clean up. 

Maybe we buy shredded potatoes, to make it easier? I suggested. 

But no: Everything from scratch, no shortcuts. Our first year in our new home together, we made them in our kitchen. He shredded the potatoes, I wrung them out. He set up three bowls with different seasonings and spices. I spooned them into balls, and we’d take turns at the stove, frying, flipping, frying again. We ate several between us right away – impossible not to. Yes, it was an hours-long process. But the pride I felt at bringing them home, measured by the silence while people ate and ate, was unmatched.  

I learned that the effort, the planning, the execution: it’s  a way of showing love. The energy we put into the latkes as a team made me feel closer, somehow, to the holiday and to my Jewish roots.

That first meal of jointly-made latkes also included my mom’s brisket. Over dinner, the conversation turned to other traditional Jewish foods like corned beef and pastrami. Brad pointed out that they were both brisket, just made different – something we hadn’t really ever thought about. 

He mentioned he could make a pastrami. 

Our eyes widened. 

“It’s just a matter of brining it…then smoking it…” 

So we’re in charge of both now: latkes and pastrami. 

[emeraldsfanfics]

Hi. I just stumbled upon your page and loved the Rise! Turtles x Dark Knight Reader! If possible, is it okay for me to request TMNT2012! X Older Sibling Reader, where during Master Splinter was still taking care of the turtle tots reader was just a quiet kid when he found her in the sewer, took her as part of the family and she also helped took care of the turtles since she was a few years older. The rest continued as usual until the turtles were big enough. Reader being the supportive sibling but still strict when it comes to their safety. Very disciplined when it comes to learning martial arts. The turtles admired her strength and courage. Didn't become a full time kunoichi because she still an online college student. A reliable person to ask for second person advice after Master Splinter. Gentle and caring. A safe person for the turtles to vent and be with when needed. (Spoiler) After Master Splinter died, reader also become a guide for the turtles if they needed another perspective at heavy decision making like a big mission or something. Overall, just one of the pillars in the family. (My apologies if this is too long. You can add or subtract anything from here if you want!) Thank you 🧡

Guidance

●A 2012!TMNTBrothers and older sister reader●

I ADORE this request! As a older sister and eldest of all sides of the family this touched my heart strings 🥲 thank you so much for requesting 🧡annon

If you want to request, rules here!

Hamato Yoshi was still adjusting to his new form and life in the sewers. It was still odd. Add four mutants turtles you found into the mix and you got a mutated life. However, those turtles are the best thing that happened to him. And he knew that those turtles are what has his love.

But, however, there is a daughter who will later have the man's heart.

Hamato Y/n.

During one of his outings with his sons. Through the sewers, where they'd play and just be kids. Until he heard Footsteps ahead. Perhaps construction? But there would be more chaotic sounds of machinery.

Going to investigate with protecting his sons, he sees a young girl. Human, a child. Looking around, confused, scared. Your heart pounding violently.

He didn't know how to approach you at all, he never wanted to frighten you. That is, until Lil Raphael made his way to your leg. You jumped slightly, wondering what it was. Until you saw...an adorable human turtle?

Then another one, then another. All so happy and joyful around you. Which made you feel insanely better.

That's when you seen him, hesitant to approach you. You froze, almost observing him and his actions.

"Hello little one." He greeted, you slyly gave him a wave. "Do you know where your guardian is?"

You simply gave him a nod no.

•And that was the start of your new family life. First, he was hesitant to call you a daughter. His heart still aching the loss of his own biological daughter.

•In time, he developed unconditional fatherly love for you. He had a desire to protect you and to teach you how to protect yourself.

•At a very young age, he started training you. He gave you a bow and arrow, engraved with your name. You hugged him in thanks, you were a fast learner after all.

•Later in time, even though you weren't a full Kunoichi, he also taught you how to use the Tessen. Giving you the one that was originally for his biological daughter. It was better off in your hands instead.

•Splinter is very proud of your work and determination. Even now working to get a degree in college online.

•Something also known, you would do anything for your younger brothers. Growing up, you were always another caretaker of theirs. Even playing with them and their little games.

•When older, you are always the one resolving their conflicts and the peacemaker

•They all look up to you, ESPIACALLY Leo

•Leo admires how organized you are how easily you can get the others to listen to you.

•He is also slightly scared of you...

"Now we have to make sure Y/n isn't awake."

"It is late, she's usually done with classes and homework at this time."

"Besides,if Splinter won't know, she won't know"

*appears out of nowhere* "Know about what green beans?"

"AHHHH-"

•It is confirmed you have older sister senses, including for April and Casey?

Casey: "we're not even related-"

Wash your hands and eat.

Casey: Yes Y/n...

April: amature

•You are one of the only people who can put Raph in his place when necessary. He has a soft spot for his older sister

"Want to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"Remeber what I told you, your emotions are reactions to something greater. Take your time."

"Okay here's what happened-"

•Yeah. Out of everyone Raph is most protective over you. And you will always be proud of him.

•Also you let him swear when no one is around >:p

•If you can't get groceries then the turtles go and get them

•Donatello learned his sarcasm from you. You're the one who introduced him to engineering and science.

"I know bait doesn't talk back."

*sniff*

"What's wrong N/n?"

"That was a beautiful smart-ass response" *still crying* "im so proud."

•You're one of the only people he'll ever ask for input on for his experiments

•Leo is sometimes hesitant to ask for advice, but you can tell when he wants to, mainly about being a leader when you aren't there

"Don't throw out your teenage years for being the perfect leader. That would hurt me. You have courage and good intentions. Just be the best leader YOU can be."

"But it's hard with brothers like ours. I feel like, I'm not good enough."

"I understand, be a leader worth trusting. If they aren't being a team worth leading, I'll help you, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Y/n."

•He trusts you, a lot.

•Mikey is clingy to you the most. In a platonic way. He'll randomly stick on your arm or leg. You don't even know why.

"Mikey."

"Yes?"

"I need to do homework."

"Then do it."

*crashes out*

•You are actually the one who got him the skateboard. And even taught him how it's used!

•Raph won't dare do anything to Mikey or anyone when you're in the room

•You and your brothers are extremely competitive. It only escalates when you enter, and it's a full on war. Especially video games.

•Pillow fights are on a whole other level with the five of you, betrayal, backstabbing and broken hearts happen...

•Training is another thing when you are there to spar

"How hard can princess be to beat?"

*Has him on the floor* "I don't know you tell me princess"

*April, Casey, Leo, Mikey and Donnie about to die in the corner*

•Yup, just like your father

•Lectures are frequent when they first came with injuries. And you couldn't get a hold of them.

"You all are idiotic! Why would you do that?! Just blindly going into that without a plan! PLAN!" *you say as you're giving them medical attention*

•When Splinter died, you felt your whole world collapse. Your father...dead? Can't be right. In a way, you were in denial.

•This meant you had to step up, you couldn't be weak right now. Your brothers need you. So, that's the role you took up.

•You provided emotional support and the guidance they need, which you did and they were thankful for you

•Your brothers had noticed your obvious masking, you and Splinter were close like the rest of them

•And you working so hard, they started feeling bad for not noticed earlier

•So they did what good brothers would do. A TV marathon of space heros.

•A day of self care! Which took them a while to research ANYTHING about that. Even asking April for input.

•Which was thoughtful and made you wanna cry, like what do you mean these idiots thought of something so sweet 😭

•The turtles love you as their older sister and will always protect you <3

[sapphireshineonao3]

*inhales*

I ended up listening to Mavuika’s voicelines about the Six Heroes early since I couldn’t wait and I made an observation. No spoilers for the quest, just voicelines.

Mavuika speaks about all the other heroes with some kind of levity and admiration, her voice is more light and reminiscent sometimes.

HOWEVER, her voice line about Kinich is spoken just ever so slightly more somberly, her voice is heavy, more reminiscent than light, with just a hint of frank sadness. Her manner of speech is also different in regards to Kinich in comparison to the other Heroes, she talks about Iansan, Chasca, and Ororon more personally, she comments on how different Mualani is in comparison to Tupac. Mavuika always refers to the person directly in regards to the other heroes. But, for Kinich, she speaks about the Ancient Name of “Malipo” first and the qualities she admires. It’s not about Kinich personally, but the role he played in aiding her.

Why she does this, I do not know, but it further makes me wonder about their dynamic. Kinich was one of the first to awaken their Ancient Name, he’s from the same tribe as Mavuika, he is the successor of her childhood friend, even his signature weapon was one Kongamato used to use. There’s too many details, and this… this odd figure of speech, referring to Kinich by his ancient name and the role he played rather than him personally is interesting to say the least.

Taking into account their respective voicelines about each other, there’s an obvious distance between them, whether this distance is purposeful or not, I do not know. But taking into account how Kinich carries himself, I’m going to take a shot in the Abyss and say part of this distance is his insistence.

Voicelines regarding Kinich and Mavuika are below the cut, just for spoilers to be safe. Alongside some additional thoughts.

Kinich, “About Mavuika” - “For most of my life, I’ve been getting others to pay a price. Then, the Pyro Archon used the Ode of Resurrection to bring me back from the Night Kingdon, and suddenly I was the one paying the price… Only then did I understand it from both sides. To the stronger party, the “price” is a bargaining chip, and to the weaker party, it’s a sign of what’s at stake. What matters is whether you have the courage to make the gamble.”

Mavuika, “About Kinich” - “In addition to the Turnfire, Malipo has another meaning, “cost” or “price”. It may seem less overtly heroic compared to the other Ancient Names, but in truth, Malipo teaches us to be calm and analytical — to ask the questions people may not want to hear. Without people who possess these qualities, it’s just too easy for the rest of us to act on impulse and emotion, and to make decisions we’ll come to regret.”

What’s interesting now that I look at both of these lines, is that the both don’t refer to the person in question, but rather the role and title they wield. Looking at these two lines together, I now get the impression that something else happened when Kinich was brought back. Based on looking at his line again, he might have very well awoken his Ancient Names that day alongside his Vision. The “parties” referring to the former Six Heroes, Mavuika, and the abyss, and the “gamble” being Mavuika’s plan to jump 500 years into the future.

As for Mavuika… that ending line gives me the impression there!s more under the surface. Something happened and she is carrying that weight with her. Whether that’s in regards to Kinich or Burkina, I don’t know. Regardless, I think these two are hiding a lot more in regards to their dynamic, and I want to know what that secret is.

[caruliaa]

someone else when theyre in a thinking of someone as their best friend when they dont think of them that way contest and their opponent is me

[mymarifae]

DUDE COME ON

[talentforlying]

priest: i don't, ah, quite know what to say to you. if you are in such terrible danger, why are you taking it all so calmly? constantine: hmh! i dunno, father. i had a bloke beaten to a pulp earlier this evening. that sound calm to you? priest: you did what...? constantine: i must've been off me bleedin' rocker. i've never done anything like it before in me life, y'know?

constantine: but there's header gets his guts blown out, and george is stickin' his head in the noose, and helen gets ... jesus, then friggin' sarah bites me head off — ! everything's coming to bits in me hands and it's so easy to just see red and now, shit, they could've killed the tosser for all i know! and now i'm just like the bastards i've hated all me life! kill him! fire him! close them down! piss all over him! screw you, i can do whatever i want! i so much as blink and you're dead, pal! i'm in charge!! ...

constantine: 'scuse me, father. i'm always like this when i don't get me own way. — hellblazer #81, "rake at the gates of hell pt. 4"

babygirl you are just....so, sooooo offputting. (and grieving, and guilty, and terrified, but yeah: offputting.)

anyway, it's issues like this one that remind me why i kind of hesitate over some of the retcons in the recent spurrier runs, like the one with him now having opened dream's pouch of sand and stolen some before they even met. because like, it's easy enough to look at john constantine now — with 70 years of worst possible choices and unresolved trauma crystallizing underneath his skin to cover up all the soft, hopeful bits where he's used to getting hit — and assign him arbiter of ill intentions, magus of wasted potential, saint of shit choices, but man . . . he was new to this, once. he was still new to this 80 issues in.

80 issues in, and he's not used to losing friends yet; he even has time enough between catastrophes to grieve each individual one. still has enough left to live for at this stage to necessitate running and hiding, instead of bodily throwing himself at the problem like he learns to later, or sitting apathetically by to do nothing except smoke and watch the world fall apart when he finally gives up. fuck, he still apologizes.

and you're telling me this guy, this soppy wet cat motherfucker hiding from the devil in a church basement, so guilty over not knowing what happened to the guy that he paid people (paid chas, so chas could pay people) to attack that the bottle he's holding in this scene isn't even his second or third........this guy's past, more innocent self lied right to the face of DREAM OF THE ENDLESS and got away with it?

hm. i just don't know about all that.

[thats-how-i-like-it]

/ vent

[rosicheeks]

10, 27, 50🥰

10. Do you believe in love at first sight?

Nah. Like you said there’s infatuation at first sight.

27. Has someone ever written a song or poem for you?

Yes 😭 I’ve had a few poems sent to me on here either through anon, DMs or posting one and saying I’m the inspiration behind it.

50. If your first true love knocked on your door with apology and presents, would you accept?

That’s pretty complicated lol

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...