#and now I’ve had to tell her what I’m doing and I feel like I just gave another piece of me away again

[beloveds-embrace]

(p2 of john price x reader who basically manifests him into her life)

It turns out that Captain John Price is, unfortunately, not a fever dream conjured by stress and blackberry pie. He is very real, very present, and very much making himself at home in your cottage.

The next morning, you wake to the unmistakable sound of your mother cooing like a particularly smitten dove. Your heart sinks as you stumble out of your room, still trying to rub sleep from your eyes.

There, at your kitchen table, sits John- completely at ease, like he’s been your husband for years. He’s drinking your favorite tea blend, bulky frame almost dwarfing the chair, and he’s listening attentively as your mother babbles on about your so-called “devotion.”

“Oh, she was absolutely heartbroken when she thought you wouldn’t come back,” your mother gushes, practically swooning, and your father nods his sagely alongside her tale. “You should have seen her, sitting by the window with her knitting, sighing over those letters. I’ve never seen a girl more in love. My poor daughter!”

John hums appreciatively, lips twitching into that insufferably smug smirk as he glances over at you beneath his equally insufferable beard and mutton chops. “Could tell from the letters,” he says, eyes practically sparkling. “All those sweet words. Such a lucky man I am.”

You grit your teeth, feeling the vein in your temple throb. “I was trying to avoid Thomas.” You mutter, but your mother (thankfully) doesn’t hear you over the sound of her own gleeful rambling.

“Oh, and when she baked those little honey cakes just because you said you liked them! I told her it was too much, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

You freeze. You most definitely did not bake any little honey cakes. Your mother, bless her meddling heart, is getting so caught up in the fantasy she’s started making things up. You shoot her a glare, but John is already giving you that half-lidded, knowing look.

“Honey cakes, eh?” he rumbles, sounding far too interested. “Didn’t know you were so sweet on me, lovey.”

You snatch the teapot from his hands and pour yourself a cup, resisting the urge to pour it over his head instead. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your mother beams, entirely oblivious to your silent war. “Well, I’ll leave you two to catch up. So happy to see you’re finally together!” She bustles out the door, humming cheerfully, and drags your sagely smiling father along with her.

The moment she’s gone, you whirl on John, a fierce glare on your face. “What are you doing?”

He leans back, stretching leisurely, his grin nothing short of wicked. “Having breakfast with my wife. Not how I pictured it, but it’ll do.”

You scoff. “I’m not your wife.”

Price shrugs. “Your letters say otherwise. And your mum’s convinced enough. Can’t exactly leave you now, can I? Wouldn’t be right.”

Your mouth opens, then snaps shut. It’s as if your own trap has snapped back at you, jaws clamped tight around your life. You cross your arms, glowering, and think of something else to say. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, barging in here like you own the place- drinking my favorite tea blend, too!”

He just looks at you, eyes twinkling. “Funny. That’s not what you wrote. Said you missed me. Said you’d make me the sweetest of teas. Said you just couldn’t wait for me to come home.”

“That was fiction, you horrible man!” You hiss, but he just chuckles, entirely unbothered.

Otjer than John, though, you also had another problem that was also caused by him; wedding preparations, the bane of your existence as you’ve come to realize.

Some people look forward to their wedding day- the flowers, the vows, the promise of a life shared. You, however, never pictured it like this, and never expected your “fiancé” to be a man who waltzed into your cottage like he owned it, dropped a stack of letters on the table, and declared himself your soon-to-be-husband. You certainly never imagined he’d take to it so naturally, like he was born to sit at your breakfast table and make himself comfortable with your family.

Your mother, thrilled to bits and practically floating on a cloud of matrimonial bliss, has begun planning the “official” ceremony. Blissfully ignoring your protests (and your thinly veiled threat to elope with the next traveling bard) because she assumes her sweet, beloved daughter is just nervous, she’s already halfway through arranging the entire affair. John, meanwhile, seems to find the whole ordeal oh so terribly amusing.

You find him at the kitchen table one afternoon, carving a piece of wood into something vaguely useful. He’s taken over the end seat- like he’s the head of the household now, of all things, and your father merely laughs sagely- and seems perfectly content to whittle away while you stew in frustration. His coat hangs on the back of the chair, sleeves rolled up, revealing the strong forearms that seem permanently smudged with wood dust and effort.

The door bursts open, and your mother flutters in like an overly enthusiastic magpie, clutching swatches of lace and muttering about floral arrangements as if the fate of the world depends on which flower goes where.

You can practically feel your sanity slipping through your fingers like the flour dust you use in your baking.

“Oh, I’ve spoken to Mrs. Beech about the flowers- she says lilacs would be perfect for the bouquet. Don’t you think so, John?”

Fuck you, Mrs. Bitch-

John doesn’t even look up, his knife still scraping curls of wood from his project. “Lilacs. Sounds nice.” He says with that slow, sure nod of his, like he’s contemplating the tactical advantages of the flower choice even though you just know he has no fucking idea what flowers lilacs are and just knows them by name, not shape.

You glare at him as if sheer force of will could make him combust. “You’re not helping.”

He finally lifts his gaze, an eyebrow raised, amusement curling along his lips, while your mother now frets and flutters around your father. “Don’t think your mum would take ‘no’ from either of us, love.”

You slump back in your chair, arms crossed tight against your chest, trying to will away the traitorous warmth blooming in your stomach. Curse him and his voice. “… I was hoping to at least have a say in my fake wedding.” You mutter in the end.

“Now, now,” he drawls, leaning closer, his voice dropping to that familiar rumble that makes your stomach do a little somersault- so much worse (better) than his usual voice. “A proper husband lets his wife plan the details. I’ll just stand there lookin’ pretty for you.”

Your jaw clenches. You open your mouth to retort, but your mother interrupts with another idea- apparently, she’s already been thinking about colors for John’s suit. “John, you’re so thoughtful! And I’ve been looking at suits- do you prefer navy or charcoal? I do think charcoal brings out the blue in your eyes.”

John glances at you, his lips twitching in a barely suppressed grin. “Whichever makes her happy, ma’am.”

You’re torn between strangling him lightly and strangling him harshly. The worst part is that he doesn’t even sound insincere; he just leans back, all relaxed confidence, like he was born for this domestic chaos just as much as he was built for fighting in ward. You try to glare again, but your resolve falters when he shoots you a quick, soft wink.

Your mother, oblivious to your internal crisis, claps her hands together, now planning the guest list. You sink lower in your chair, wondering if you’d survive being exiled to the woods. John, ever the menace, just gives you a look that promises he’d happily follow you even there and maybe build you a cottage so he can show off those arms of his.

A few days later, you’re back in the kitchen, trying to reclaim some semblance of peace by kneading dough with a vengeance. You don’t even know what you’re baking anymore- scones, maybe? Bread? At this point, it’s less about the final product and more about taking out your frustrations on something pliable and innocent that won’t screech for its life.

John wanders in like he owns the place (again), smelling like the outdoors and freshly chopped wood. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, and watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Another batch of sweets?” he drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t know you were so dedicated. Those famous honey cakes of yours?”

You shoot him a glare. “They’re not for you.”

He raises a brow. “Oh? Someone else in line to be sweet on you?”

You huff, too tired to argue. “They’re for your men.” You snap, your hands practically mauling the dough now. Almost strangling it, to be honest.

A little smile spreads across his face, almost fond. “Didn’t know you were so sweet on them too, love.”

You huff, flour smudging your cheek as you try to actually shape the dough. “They’ve had to put up with your grumpy ass, haven’t they? Thought they deserved a treat… and mum said to, anyways- so don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Before you can blink, his hands slip around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His chin settles on your shoulder, scruffy beard tickling your skin. “You keep spoilin’ them like that, they’ll think you fancy ’em.”

You squirm, but his grip tightens, his breath warm against your neck. “Can’t have that, can we?” His voice is a growl, low and deep. “Better make sure they know who you belong to.”

Forget somersaults, your stomach actually flips. “They know,” You mutter. “Doubt they’d go against their own Captain.”

He hums, nuzzling your temple. “Good. Only one man gets to come home to your bakin’.”

You manage an eyeroll despite your heart pounding like a trapped bird. “You’re ridiculous.”

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “You like me that way.”

When he finally releases you, it’s only to snatch a fresh scone off the tray, biting into it with that satisfied grin of his. “Perfect,” he murmurs around the mouthful, nodding his approval. “But I’ll make sure to tell the lads you made ’em for me.”

You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “What are you, five?”

“Nah. Just a man who likes showin’ off what’s his.”

When he reaches to take another scone, you smack his hand away and he just laughs, the sound rumbling low and warm. He stays with you after that, bothering and pestering you like a stubborn pustule, until all of the scones have been baked and cooled.

And when he kisses your cheek before heading out the door, tipping his boonie hat with a teasing, “Be good, love.” You realize that maybe- just maybe- you should have strangled him when you had the chance.

As revenge for upsetting your stomach, of course.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Cliche but imagine Bob’s trying his hardest to confess to you, seeing as how everyone is on his ass about how oblivious he is with his feelings, literally heart eyes and looking at you as though everything else didn’t matter type of thing.

However while that might sound easy enough to the rest of the group, they’re literally the ones preventing Bob from confessing in the first place with how often they interrupt him, and or ruin the mood set in place with their entrance.

John tells Bob that he should ask you on a date, Bob then later tries to ask you out on a date to a nearby bookstore that also acted as a cafe, only for John to fucking walking in and say ‘have you done it yet?’ Mood ruined.

Alexei tells Bob that he should just go for it and be confident when doing so, And so Bob tries to do it that way when you and him were making breakfast for the rest of the team, only for Alexei to hover over the doorway like a weirdo as a massive smile paints his face as he asks. ‘Is my ship finally sailing as the young people call it these days?’ Or ‘have you kissed them yet?! I’m not getting any younger!’ (I would’ve put ‘are you winning son’ but thought against it)

Yelena tries to be helpful too by telling Bob to wait for his golden opportunity to confess to you, yet again while that sounded great at first, but when poor Bob is convinced that this moment where you two were on the roof of the tower simply watching over the bustling city. The mood was right, the conversation was flowing as it should to naturally transition to a confession that was on the tip of his tongue. Only for Yelena to ruin it when Houdini -the guinea pig- decided to be rebellious and break out from her room, somehow ending up on the roof where you and Bob heard her trying and cursing as she attempted to recapture the animal.

Ava does something similar to Yelena but just as Bob had gotten past saying ‘I’ve got something to tell you’ after walking you back to your room after movie night, it was a romcom, only for Ava to phase through the wall, look at the both of you before phasing through another wall to get to her room.

Poor Bob was growing frustrated and needless to say in a moment of spontaneity and general tiredness of being interrupted by the very same people who had pester him into confessing for weeks now, he just grabs your face and kisses you, pulls away and walks out of the room with a red face as he realised what he had just done. He doesn’t regret it but he didn’t think he’d have it in him to just do something so boldly.

Apparently it was the same for the rest of the team as they were all slack jawed at the display, but you were happy and on cloud nine to care.

[wandanatsgf]

The Doctor is Ready For You

Pairing: Doctor!Wanda x Reader

Summary: it’s your first time going to a gynecologist and Dr. Maximoff takes good care of you

Warning this contains: manipulation, innocent reader being taken advantage of, fingering, cum eating, finger sucking, oral sex, bondage, use of speculum

“Y/l/n,” a nurse calls out. Shes taller than you with curly black hair and a nice smile. She has on purple scrubs and is holding a clipboard, which you assume has your information on it.

“That’s me,” you say getting up from the plastic chair and approaching the woman.

“Hi I’m Agatha. I’m Dr. Maximoff’s nurse and I’ll be helping her today,” the woman in front of you says. She leads you to the back room and has you sent on the examination table.

“First we’ll just go over a couple questions then I’ll have you strip and put on a gown, okay?”

“Okay.”

“First are you sexually active hon?”

Wow, the questions are starting off strong, you think.

“No, I’ve never…” your words trail off and your face turns hot. You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve never done that before.

“You’ve never had sex before?” Agatha guesses.

“Yes,” you confirm.

“Well that’ll make these questions quick then,” she jokes.

“Have you ever been to the gynecologist before?”

“Nope. It’s my first time.”

Sensing your worries, Agatha comforts you. “Don’t worry hon Dr. Maximoff is amazing. You’re in good hands.” She winks then sets the clipboard down before standing up.

“Ok that’s all the questions I have for you,” she says. She opens a cabinet and pulls out a thin paper gown and hands it to you.

“Put this on then crack the door and I’ll come back in ok?”

You nod in agreement then Agatha closes the door, leaving you alone. You remove all of your clothes, including your underwear, folding them and setting them down in a chair. You pull on the thin paper dress. It leaves little to the imagination and if this weren’t such a clinical setting you’d be embarrassed. You crack the door open and a few minutes later Agatha walks back in. She has you sit back down on the examination table.

“Can you lean back for me?” You do as you’re told, leaving back on the table. Your upper half is flat against the table while your legs are bent.

“Good girl,” Agatha says. Her words stir something inside you. They make you feel good but you’re not sure why so you choose to ignore it.

“Now we just have to strap you down ok hon? It’s a safety thing.”

“Yeah that makes sense,” you agree. Sure it’s a little odd, but you’ve never been to the gynecologist before so what did you know?

Agatha straps your legs down first. She has you place them in the stirrups then straps them down. There’s straps around your shins and thighs, keeping you in place and your legs spread.

“Can you try to move your legs hon?” You do as she says and find them unable to move.

“Perfect,” she murmurs under her breath. “Now I just need to strap down your hands.”

“My hands?”

“It’s just procedure for first time patients. Having this done can be a bit invasive and scary and we don’t want you to freak out and hurt yourself,” she explains.

You nod, like that makes total sense and let Agatha strap your hands down. They lie at your sides strapped down to the table.

“Ok now try moving your arms,” she says after shes finished. Once again you’re unable to move your limbs. Agatha smiles and then speaks.

“Dr. Maximoff will be here in a minute,” Agatha says, her eyes are glued to your exposed center as she leaves, leaving you alone. You could’ve sworn you saw a hungry glint in her eyes as she walked out, but you’re sure it’s just your anxieties playing a trick on you. There’s no way such a professional nurse was lusting after you, you tell yourself.

A few minutes go by with you just lying there. You anxiously pick at the paper on the examination table, at least what you can reach with your hands bound.

Then the door opens and in walks the most breathtaking woman you’ve ever seen. She has striking green eyes and brown hair that’s pulled up and out of her face. She’s wearing a white doctor’s coat and a nice shirt and slacks underneath. In her hands are your chart.

“Good morning Miss Y/l/n. I’m Dr. Maximoff but you can call me Wanda.”

“Good morning Dr. Ma-Wanda,” you say, straining to sit up and look at her.

“You’re just here pap smear correct?”

“Yes that’s right.” Your words come out soft and shaky, anxiety taking over you.

“Don’t worry baby. I know you’re a virgin so I’ll go slow,” she tells you. Her words put you at ease.

Wanda sets the chart down on the counter and slips on a pair of blue gloves and then sits down on the stool between your legs.

“I’m just going to take a look right now, okay? We’ll work up to the speculum”

“Okay Dr. Maximoff,” you agree.

“It’s Wanda, baby.” She smiles at you, which puts you at ease.

One of Wanda’s gloved fingers runs itself up and down your slit. Her finger comes away soaking wet, your arousal leaking everywhere.

Wanda groans out. Her breath quickens and her eyes darken in arousal. She slips the finger into her mouth and has a little taste, grateful that you can’t see her in between your legs with the gown blocking your view.

Then she swipes a finger against your pussy again and stands up, leaning over you so her fingers are against your lips. She spreads your wetness around, coating them. When she tires of that she has you open your mouth.

“Open,” she commands and you do as she says. She slips her fingers inside, having you suck on them.

“Good girl,” she praises. The praise goes straight to your core, igniting you in a way you didn’t know was possible.

“So this is what your pussy tastes like,” Wanda says, switching to a professional tone. “You taste how sweet it is?” You moan in agreement around her then she slips her fingers out.

“Are you sure this is normal Wanda?” You ask once she removes her fingers from your mouth.

“All the good doctors do this honey. We have to make sure you’re healthy and know what to look for.”

Wanda sits back down and messes with your pussy some more. She swipes up and down your center, brushing your clit with every stroke. You moan out, her movements feel too good.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes, Wanda.”

Wanda removes her hand, writing down some notes on the chart next to her, trying to maintain a faux professional appearance.

“Ok now I’m going to try and open you up okay? I’ll use my fingers first then we’ll try the speculum.”

You nod in agreement then Wanda rubs a single finger over your pussy, gathering your slick. She slips the finger inside you, gently pushing in. It burns as her finger goes inside you.

“It hurts,” you whine.

“I know baby I’m sorry. I’ll do something to make it feel better.” Wanda leans her head down and her tongue swipes over your clit. It surprises you, you weren’t expecting it. Your limbs tense up in shock before they go slack again.

“That feel better hon?”

“Yes Wanda,” you moan out. The pressure on your clit feels so good, you don’t even notice the pain from her finger inside you. The more she pumps inside you the better it feels.

"Oh god," you moan out, despite how quiet you're trying to be, those words still slip out.

"You like this baby?" She briefly detaches from your core.

"Mhm," is all you're able to say. You don't trust your voice right now.

"I'm going to slip another finger inside," Wanda warns you. Her mouth returns back to your center as she slowly slips the finger inside. Just like the other finger there's a burning feeling from the stretch, but her mouth on you helps you ignore the pain.

You can't tell, but Wanda is mesmerized by your pussy. The way it sucks in her fingers, greedy for the pleasure she is providing. Wanda would be lying if she said this didn't turn her on.

You can feel a strange tightening feeling in your belly.

"Wanda something's wrong?"

"What is it honey?" Her fingers stop, her mouth detaches, and her movements cease, the feeling goes away.

"While you were touching me," you say, your face flushing at using such vulgar words, "I felt this weird feeling. Almost like I was going to pee."

"That's normal honey. That's what happens when you feel really good down there," she speaks to you as if she's speaking to a child, her tone soft her words condescending.

"Can I continue the exam now?" she asks, eager to continue her assault on your pussy.

You nod, giving her permission. She slips her fingers back inside of you. It doesn't hurt this time, all you feel is pleasure. You feel the coil tightening again, the urge to pee hitting you and this time you let go. You cum all over Wanda's fingers, soaking the latex with your slick.

"Good girl," Wanda says, Her words have you feeling weird, a heat pulses through your pussy and leaves you aching even though you just came.

“Now that you’re nice and stretched out let’s try the speculum,” she says. She grabs the speculum and some lube, generously dousing it before slipping it inside. Despite Wanda having just stretched your pussy out, it still hurts and you tell her such.

“I know baby. I’m sorry but we have to do this,” she softly explains. “We have to make sure this cute little pussy of yours is healthy. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

She slowly opens the speculum, making you wince and whine.

“You’re being such a good girl for me,” Wanda murmurs, eyes transfixed on your open hole.

“You’re so pretty,” she says. “Such a pretty pussy.”

Wanda, pretending to be the professional doctor she isn’t, grabs a swab sitting next to her, unwrapping it and positioning it to go inside you.

“I just have to take a swab and then we’ll be done okay?”

“Okay.”

Wanda inserts the swab as gently as possible, swabbing your cervix then pulling it out. She puts the sample in some liquid then calls out for Agatha.

The door opens and in walks Agatha, whose eyes widen as she takes in the scene.

“Yes Doctor?”

“Take this to the lab.” She hands Agatha the sample and Agatha walks out, but not before lingering longer than necessary in the doorway.

“I just need to close the speculum and slip it out honey. Then you’ll be good to go.”

Wanda takes her time closing the speculum, enjoying the way she can see inside you, the way your pussy clenches around it. She slowly closes it and slips it out, setting it off to the side. Then she cleans you up, undos the straps, freeing your limbs.

“Ok get dressed and then you’ll be ready to go. I’ll see you back in a week?”

“A week?”

“Yes honey. We want have to go over your results.”

That’s something that could be done over the phone, you think, but what did you know? Wanda is the doctor and she knows best. You agree and book the appointment, excited yet nervous to see Dr. Maximoff again next week.

[luvergirl-535]

meet cute, but, like, wayyy worse

part - 2

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 8.3k

c/w - smut (iktr), paige is a loser in the streets and a freak in the sheets (lol), horrifically unedited to the point where idek if it’s legible so bear w me 🥀

a/n - writing this made me realize i’ve literally forgotten how to write smut 😔 bc why’d i keep trying to make it funny. i’m actually a little concerned that ive been doing too much unserious stuff i won’t be able to go back to normal writing anymore lmao maybe i’m the problem…

paige has had an absolute shitshow of a night. actually, scratch that—the entire year has been a shitshow. maybe even the past two years. she doesn’t like to dwell on it.

she hates the way her friends look at her these days, with cautious smiles and sympathetic eyes, like all they ever do anymore is feel bad for her. she hates the way they speak to her when she starts drinking, like she’s an unpredictable, wild thing. like they’re afraid of what she’s doing to herself.

honestly, she’s fine. they just don’t get it. the fame, the work, it’s a lot. she’s in shape. her basketball has never been better. she’s bringing girls home every night.

it’s not like she’s addicted to coke or anything. since when is it a crime to need a few beers every now and then?

(it’s every night. and some mornings, too.)

(she finds herself forgetting—birthdays, anniversaries, names—more than ever.)

(she used to fucking hate alcohol.)

(she is a little afraid of herself, too.)

anyway.

the cruise has been fun. a team-bonding experience, meant to build their chemistry off the court, to take their minds off the upcoming season for a little while. a week of relaxation. a week to destress. for paige, it’s been hard. she cannot justify sneaking off to day drink to her teammates, and they’ve been steering clear of alcohol like their lives depend on it. she only gets to drink at night, after the rest of the girls have gotten too drunk to care about what she does. the rest of the time, she’s forced to be painfully sober.

it all goes from ‘difficult’ to ‘burning gates of hell’ when she throws up on the love of her life—who does not know she’s the love of paige’s life—azzi fudd. an angel on earth, the most beautiful girl paige has ever seen. like, better than zendaya. for real.

after that, she wants nothing more than to jump off ship and be lost at sea forever. when kk offers to take azzi back to paige’s room, she swears she could kill her.

and then, almost consecutively: her stupid little crush is exposed, she’s forced to cut a dress off azzi’s body, and then—this.

her first thought, after the phone call, is mental image of her fist pumping, because, duh. and then comes the, oh my god, i get to fuck azzi fudd, followed by a brief moment of panic, followed then by the realization that of course she is not going to fuck azzi tonight. or ever.

she is both relieved and disappointed by this knowledge.

“i’m…” azzi says, staring at her phone as if she could magically make chad call her back again. paige expects something, like maybe an explanation on why the fuck she’s telling her ex-boyfriend they are going to fuck tonight, but instead, azzi just tosses the phone onto the bed as if she’s been burned and says, “i’m going to change.”

paige has half a mind to leap in front of the door and barricade azzi in the room with her until she gets an explanation. she doesn’t, because she can barely act like a normal person around azzi, let alone confront her like that.

azzi disappears into the restroom. paige sits. and waits—not so patiently.

she pulls at a fray in the comforter until it comes loose. taps her foot against the bedframe. thinks about how azzi’s voice changed on the call—quieter, but not exactly embarrassed. maybe satisfied? there was something in it that didn’t sound like regret. that’s the part that’s screwing with her the most.

she gets up from the bed to pace, the back-and-forth a feeble attempt at wrapping her mind around what just happened. when that doesn’t work, she drops to the floor and does some sit-ups, because when she was a kid her dad told her if she let the anxiety build in her body she’d explode and that the only way to get rid of it was to do sit-ups. he’s a bitch for that, but she’s also spent a lifetime with nice abs, so she can’t really be too mad. but not even the magical sit-ups really work, so she does the last thing she can think of:

she pounds on the bathroom door.

“jesus!” azzi’s voice is high-pitched, nervous. “you tryna knock the door down?”

“uh, no,” paige says, a little unsure of what she’s going to say now that she’s here. “you’ve just been in there for awhile so…”

“don’t worry about it.”

oh, she’s worried. though not particularly about azzi. “can you just come out?”

“why?”

at this point, azzi is just playing in her face. because what does she mean, ‘why?’. is it not a normal thing to come out of the bathroom once you’re done?

the most alarming thing about all this is that paige has yet to question her undying crush, even as azzi is turning out to be a possible psycho. actually, even worse—it might be turning paige on?

now she is doubly worried. perhaps she should focus on one thing at a time.

paige’s silence must have stretched long enough to spark concern, because azzi speaks again, a hesitant, “paige?”

paige sighs, a hand on her hip and the other pinching the bridge of her nose, a pose she might have adopted from her coach. “you know you owe me an explanation, azzi.”

another sigh, as equally annoyed as paige’s, from the other side of the door. and then, its opening, and azzi’s standing there in paige’s clothes, looking altogether too soft and sweet for the diabolical things she did ten minutes prior. “i know, i just…i don’t really have one.”

paige’s eyes flick down azzi’s body without permission. the loose uconn t-shirt hangs too long on her—paige knows that shirt, it’s the one she used to let her ex borrow. something about azzi in it makes her stomach twist. not in a bad way. in the worst possible way.

paige steps back, allowing azzi back into the bedroom. “you mean you don’t have an explanation for telling your boyfriend we’d…” paige isn’t usually shy about sex, she’s a grown adult, for god’s sake, but this is azzi fudd and she can’t really find her words in normal conversation, and certainly not this one, “you know…” she trails off awkwardly.

azzi bites her lip, half-sheepish, half-trying to charm her way out of it. and, yeah, maybe it’s working a little.

paige realizes with a little bit of a start that she’s staring at azzi’s lips. she glances up and away quickly, turning around to give herself something to do before motioning to the phone on the bed. “you should…call him back.”

“hell no,” azzi sneers.

“well it’s either that or we fuck,” paige retorts before she can think. she’s glad she’s faced away so azzi can’t see the way blood flushes her cheeks.

azzi’s silent for a moment. almost long enough that paige turns around, but then she speaks. “maybe there’s another option,” she says.

paige senses trouble.

❀❀❀

kk’s jaw is on the floor.

she looks between a guilty-looking azzi and a tomato-red paige before letting out a shocked laugh. “now why would you tell him that?”

kk asking all the most important questions.

“it was the first thing that came to mind!” azzi says, voice high and defensive. paige can’t help but think it’s adorable.

“why, though?” kk asks, a small, suspect grin spreading over her face.

azzi gives her a look, something that clearly says cut it out, and paige doesn’t doubt that kk spilled all the beans about her crush to azzi earlier.

“uh-huh,” kk responds, making a small ‘mcht’ sound.

azzi gives that warning look again. “shut up, kk.”

“that isn’t even the main thing,” paige points out, jumping between their tense interaction. “what we came to tell you is azzi had an idea.” an outlandish, admittedly odd one, but an idea nonetheless.

“an idea,” kk repeats.

azzi nods. she’s hesitant, clearly, but paige has already assured her kk will be on board. she’ll laugh in their faces first, sure, but then she will help them go through with azzi’s little…plan.

“okay,” she says doubtfully. “tell me this lil’ idea.”

azzi glances nervously at paige. “well, i can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right,” she explains.

kk nods. “obviously.”

“and i can’t go back to my room tonight.”

“okay…”

“so i’m going to stay here,” she continues, taking a deep breath as in gathering courage for the teasing about to come. “and i’m going to take…suggestive pictures with paige, in paige’s bed. and we’re just hoping you can help.”

before azzi’s finished, kk’s eyebrows have already raised to her hairline. she lets out a half-shocked, half-ifuckingknewit scoff. it’s enough to have paige jumping in to try and make it look better. “her boyfriend’s really an ass, kk, like, she needs to get him back.”

azzi nods. “paige heard him on the phone. she knows.”

“i know,” paige agrees.

kk looks between the two of them, both so earnest and oh-so oblivious, and just laughs. “i believe you. oh, i believe you.”

“so are you going to help us?” azzi asks.

“help with what, exactly? do i need to ref? do i need to make sure it stays pg in there?”

paige immediately blushes, squeaking an awkward “what? no!” before azzi can even react. when she does, it’s a much more nonchalant, normal person answer: “don’t be weird, kk. answer the question.”

kk gives paige a pointed look. “for the record, this is stupud. y’all are stupid. and i don’t condone such behavior.”

“oh, shut up, kk,” paige says.

“but i will help,” kk finishes, getting up from her kitchen stool. “i’ll make sure y’all look as, what’d you say? suggestive, as possible,” she grins.

azzi, bravely, doesn’t so much as redden. “cool. thanks.”

“what friends are for,” kk replies easily. she walks toward them, slinging an arm around both their shoulders and pulling their heads close. “and after tonight, we are definitely friends,” she tells azzi.

“except on the court,” azzi points out.

“unless you come to uconn.”

“you tryna recruit me? to a team that always loses against us?” azzi laughs, pushing away. “you’re funny.”

“trust, we wouldn’t lose with you on our team,” kk says.

paige rolls her eyes. “can we just get this over with?”

“aight, cranky pants. let’s get it.” kk motions toward the bedroom. “go start taking y’all’s clothes off. i’ll get the camera ready.”

“oh, brother,” azzi sighs, at the same time paige mutters, “worst fuckin’ idea,” under her breath.

❀❀❀

azzi looks—fucked out, to be perfectly honest. more specifically, like a scene straight from one of paige’s many azzi-centered wet dreams. not that she has azzi-centered wet dreams or anything. but if she did, like hypothetically, azzi would look exactly like this.

lips plumped with oil. braids pulled back messily. mascara re-applied and then carefully smeared. she studies herself in the mirror as she adds the final touch: a dark bruise above her collarbone, created with deft fingers and dark blush courtesy of kk. paige sits on the toilet seat, watching azzi work. she’s been staring for the past thirty minutes. azzi has yet to notice. kk, on the other hand, has spent the entire time sending her not-so-subtle signals, such as disguising a ‘talktoher’ with a cough, and whispering ‘go offer to do that for her,’ when azzi started applying the hickeys.

paige has not taken this advice. she’s still a little tipsy and azzi looks too enticing and she’s awkward enough that she’d much rather observe than try to interact at the moment.

before azzi finishes applying the final fake hickey, kk is fiddling with angles, mumbling about “golden hour lighting” even though they’re inside and it’s past midnight. paige’s gaze is caught in the mirror—not on herself, but the reflection of azzi in front of her. she imagines reaching over. just touching azzi’s wrist. she doesn’t. she clenches her hands together in her lap instead.

“you know,” azzi says idly, still dabbing at her collarbone, “you’re not nervous enough.”

paige blinks. “about what?”

“pretending to fuck me. in pictures. that we’re going to send to a real person.” azzi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s something layered beneath it.

“what, you want me to panic?”

“a little. would make me feel better.”

paige laughs—quiet and dry. “i’m panicking plenty. just…internally.”

“uh-huh.” azzi licks her thumb before dabbing at her neck, turning her chin this way and that in the mirror. “do i look good?”

“you look bad,” kk says, nodding appreciatively. “as hell.”

azzi smiles a little shyly. “thanks.”

she knows it’s stupid, but a pang of jealously hits paige. she wishes she had kk’s natural instinct to flirt with girls. and it’s true paige has this instinct sometimes, but with a girl she really likes? with azzi fucking fudd? it’s best for everyone if she just keeps quiet and lets kk charm her instead. after this whole thing, she’ll go back to her indulgent bedtime fantasies of she and azzi in domestic situations and wet dreams.

“okay,” azzi says, pulling her phone out of her pocket and snapping a quick selfie in the mirror before turning to the two of them. “we ready?”

“i been practicing my photography skills,” kk says (she got a new camera app last week and has been taking candid, objectively bad photos of the team ever since). “never been readier.”

“don’t think that’s a word,” azzi points out, then looks at paige. “paige?”

“yup,” paige says, slapping her thighs before standing up in an attempt to get rid of the chalant written all over her face right now. “super ready.”

“now why you sound all excited to cozy up in bed with fudd?” kk quips. paige gets warm all over, glancing furtively at azzi to see her reaction—seriously, kk’s going to make azzi think paige is weird or something—but she just gives a little laugh before leading the way into the bedroom. “okay, let’s do this then.”

paige is maybe beginning to reconsider the this in question—their great plan. nothing’s even been done yet, for god’s sakes, with phase one—making azzi look as fucked out as possible—barely being finished. yet still paige is already uncomfortably damp between her legs: hence, the reconsidering. but, lord save her, azzi is already crawling into paige’s bed much too seductively, and it would look downright suspicious of her to pussy out now. no, she’s going to go through with this faux-sex photoshoot like a man, goddamit.

“get in there, twin,” kk says, pulling her phone out from her back pocket.

paige gingerly sits on the edge of the bed while azzi lays back, propped up on her elbows as they watch kk navigate around the device. “you know,” azzi says, “i wasn’t thinking you’d actually take the pictures for us. i thought you’d just, like, tell us what looks good.”

paige is a little surprised to hear this, and at the offended expression on kk’s face, she panics—her friend has a liking for dramatic storm-outs, and paige cannot have her leaving right now. “but this works too,” she jumps in, shooting azzi a warning look. “right?”

azzi places her palms upright, surrendering. “i mean, yeah, i guess. i was just sayin’.”

“well i ain’t here to be a third opinion or nothing,” kk says haughtily.

“you’re not,” paige says quickly. “you’re our creative director.”

“yeah,” azzi adds, already settling deeper into the pillows like this is just another thursday night. “we trust your vision.”

kk narrows her eyes at them like she’s sniffing out sarcasm, but apparently decides she accepts it. “creative director,” she repeats, pleased. “i like that. okay. azzi, scoot a little more to the left. paige, behind her. lean in like you just got done doing something y’all shouldn’t have been doing.”

“we haven’t even started yet,” paige mutters.

“don’t kill the vibe,” kk says. she gestures wildly. “go on. get close. more. closer.”

paige shifts behind azzi on the bed, legs folding automatically. azzi leans back slightly to rest against her, and the contact sends a shock through her skin like she’s short-circuiting. this is fine. totally fine. normal behavior for two near-strangers in a definitely-not-suggestive photoshoot.

“hand on her waist,” kk calls, adjusting her phone. “and azzi, tilt your head back, like you’re worn out.”

paige’s hand finds azzi’s hip, fingers splaying across the soft cotton of her borrowed t-shirt. azzi does as told, and for a second paige’s vision blurs. the curve of her neck, the flushed heat of her skin from alcohol or earlier makeup efforts—it’s all a little too real.

“jesus,” kk mutters, half to herself. “this looks…kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

paige groans. “can we not—comment on that?”

“okay, okay,” kk says, still snapping. “let’s switch it up. azzi, crawl into her lap. yeah, like that. lean back a little, like you’re laughing at something she said. paige, smile. not like you’re being tortured.”

“so, you are taking the pictures for us, then?”

“i’m close enough he won’t be able to tell it was taken by someone else,” kk huffs. “now, go. c’mon.”

“i’m not a model,” paige mutters, but she does her best to grin.

azzi wiggles into place, her thigh slotting between paige’s legs. “sorry,” she whispers.

“don’t apologize,” paige says automatically, which is a mistake, because then azzi looks at her, and they’re way too close for that.

“aaaand pause,” kk says, not looking up from the phone. “i think i need y’all to look a little messier. paige, mess up your hair. azzi, can you tug the shirt off your shoulder a little? you look too put together.”

paige drags a hand through her hair, trying not to stare as azzi obliges, the shirt slipping just enough to expose the faux-hickey she’d applied earlier. kk catches it in the next snap and lets out a sharp whistle.

“he’s gonna cry when he sees these,” she says gleefully.

azzi’s lips twitch. “that’s the goal.”

more posing. more directions. at some point paige gets bolder, draping an arm around azzi’s stomach. azzi leans back into her without hesitation, as if it’s natural, like they do this every day.

kk crouches to get a shot from below and then pauses, frowning at her screen. “hold up,” she says. “jana’s calling. gimme a sec.”

she stands and walks out, phone already at her ear, voice lowering as she steps into the other room.

the silence she leaves behind is heavy.

paige shifts slightly. azzi doesn’t move off her lap.

“so…” paige starts, voice low. “this is probably the weirdest way i’ve ever spent a night.”

azzi chuckles softly. “same. but kind of… weirdly fun?”

“yeah,” paige admits. “yeah, it kinda is.”

they lapse into another pause. paige thinks she should move, but azzi hasn’t, and she’s scared that if she does, she’ll mess up whatever weird little truce they’re holding onto.

“hey,” azzi says suddenly, voice softer now. “can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

“do you hang out with your team very often?” she asks. “because, i mean, i see y’all on tv and at social events and stuff but—i dunno. you’re never in any of their tiktoks or anything.” azzi winces. “not that i’ve been paying attention.”

paige stiffens slightly. “uh. i dunno. just—trying to focus. this year’s important.”

“yeah,” azzi says quietly. “it is.”

azzi looks down, to gather her thoughts, maybe, and seems to realize that she’s still on top of paige because her breath hitches and then she moves, rolling off so she’s sitting beside her. “sorry,” she murmurs.

“you’re good.”

the quiet stretches again, heavier this time.

“truth?” paige says suddenly.

azzi turns toward her a little more, her thigh still between paige’s, their knees brushing. “truth.”

“i’ve been drinking too much,” paige blurts. “i’m not like an alcoholic or anything,” she’s quick to defend, because alcoholism is for deadbeat dads and stuff, right? not for celebrity college athletes. “it just, lately, it got kind of bad, and people started noticing, and it’s hard to be around them now. they all look at me like they think i’m gonna…i dunno. fall apart or something.”

azzi’s eyes soften. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. i mean—it’s not,” paige shrugs. “but it’s…i had this breakup a few months ago. really bad. i thought it was going to be forever, you know? and when it wasn’t, i guess, and it was kinda my fault, and i—the team took me to parties, to get my mind off it. i learned pretty quick that drinking helped me forget. and now, i mean, i’m mostly over it, i guess, but it helps with other things, too. like when i’m stressed about an exam, or worried for a game, or something. it helps.”

she stares off into space, then catches herself, glancing over at azzi, who’s staring her with an imperceptible look on her face. “damn, my bad. didn’t mean to overshare with a stranger like that.”

“you’re not a stranger,” azzi says, her voice quiet. “not to me.”

paige blinks. “i didn’t think you knew anything about me.”

“i do,” azzi says. “we’re not close, but…i’ve kept up with you, since usa. i’m a people-watcher. very perceptive.” she elbows paige, raising a smug, teasing eyebrow. “and i think i’ve got you all figured out.”

paige exhales, glad for the mood lightener. “oh yeah? and who am i?”

“you’re…a twenty-two year old college student,” azzi starts.

paige laughs. “wow, super perceptive. how’d you figure that one out?”

“shut up, smart-ass, i’m not finished,” azzi snips, and paige is almost surprised at the sass, at the teasing that she herself loves so much. “lemme continue. i think you’re someone who likes to think you’ve got your life together. you walk around like you’re so sure of everything, like your whole future is planned out, and you know it’s all gonna end well for you. so you act like you don’t worry, like you don’t…care.”

paige raises an eyebrow. “but…?”

“but,” azzi says, “you’re a twenty-two year old college student. of course you don’t have your life figured out. you get stressed out trying to decide what you’re gonna eat for your next meal. your shoulders are constantly tense. you’re always wringing your hands before games, did you know that? during time-outs, too.”

paige looks over, startled, to find azzi looking just as surprised. “you watch me play?”

azzi fumbles for something. “i’m a basketball player. you didn’t expect me to watch basketball?”

“i didn’t expect you to watch me,” paige says.

azzi opens her mouth. closes it. looks away, at the wall ahead. “i guess i didn’t realize i was doing it.”

paige doesn’t know what to say to that. she feels seen and it’s terrifying.

“truth?” azzi says after a moment.

“truth.”

“chad’s been cheating on me,” she says. “i haven’t caught him, but i know. it’s been obvious for weeks.”

paige looks at her, waiting.

“and he’s mean,” azzi continues. “not, like…evil. just sharp. cold. the kind of mean that makes you feel stupid for crying or asking to be treated better. tonight was just—my last straw, i think. i didn’t want to go back to that room and feel like shit again. so i came here.”

“you didn’t have to come with us,” paige says. “i would’ve just, like, venmoed you for the shoes.”

azzi meets her eyes. “i think…i think i wanted to come here.”

paige’s breath catches.

before she can figure out what that means—what to say—kk’s voice cuts in from the hall. “yo! i gotta bounce for a sec, emergency meeting. jana’s constipated for real, imma bring over some laxatives. i’ll be back in like twenty.”

they hear the cabin door open and then click shut.

“you think we should keep going?” azzi asks after a beat.

paige nods, voice suddenly thick. “yeah. okay.”

wordlessly, they rearrange, moving closer. azzi sits with her knees up now, leaning into paige’s shoulder, one hand splayed across her thigh.

they take a few selfies this time. azzi guides her hand behind the camera, adjusting the angle to catch just enough skin, just enough closeness. their shoulders press. their cheeks touch. at some point, paige’s hand finds azzi’s knee, and azzi doesn’t move it.

by the time kk returns, azzi is in paige’s lap again, one hand hooked around the back of her neck.

kk pauses in the doorway. “well damn.”

“we figured we’d keep going,” paige says, eyes wide.

“uh-huh,” kk says knowingly. “y’all definitely got the shots now.”

she walks around, checking a few pictures. “these are good. like…y’all could win a grammy for best fake situationship or something.”

paige laughs, a little too loudly. “we just wanted to sell it.”

“mission accomplished.” kk pockets her phone. “i’ll edit mine and get them to you, azzi.”

“thanks,” azzi says. “seriously. for everything.”

kk just grins. “get some sleep, y’all. and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.”

when she’s gone, paige and azzi look at each other.

“that was—” paige starts.

“insane,” azzi finishes.

they laugh, even though nothing’s really funny.

❀❀❀

the clock on the stove reads 4:36 a.m. the suite is dark and quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. paige is sitting at the counter, a half-empty glass of water in her hand, the condensation dripping slowly down to form a ring beneath it.

she can’t sleep. her skin’s still buzzing, brain too full. not from alcohol—for once—but from azzi. from the way her voice had gone soft. from the weight of her in paige’s lap. from the echo of that not-quite-confession: i think i wanted to come here.

the room creaks. faint footsteps pad across the floor.

paige looks up.

azzi appears in the doorway, her braids wrapped in kk’s spare bonnet, bundled in one of paige’s old huskies sweatshirts that’s big enough to swallow her whole. she looks warm. sleepy. somehow both tentative and certain.

“couldn’t sleep,” azzi says, voice scratchy.

paige offers a quiet smile. “same.”

azzi shuffles forward, hugging her arms around herself. “can i hang with you?”

“uh-huh.”

azzi climbs onto the stool next to her. their knees knock under the counter and neither moves to pull away. azzi steals a sip from paige’s water without asking, and something about that—something about the easy familiarity of it—sends a warm, unsteady ache through paige’s chest.

they sit in silence for a while. the kind of silence that settles between people who are too tired to lie but too uncertain to speak first.

finally, azzi says, “i didn’t think today would end like this.”

paige snorts quietly. “me either.”

“i thought i’d be crying to some emo playlist and wondering why i ever trusted him.”

“and i thought i’d be drinking alone in my room, again,” paige admits. “so…silver linings, i guess?”

azzi turns slightly to look at her, and the light from the fridge reflects in her eyes, soft and shimmering. “i meant what i said earlier. about wanting to come here.”

paige looks at her. “yeah?”

azzi nods, then smiles softly to herself. “it’s been a lot of fun, despite…everything.” she gestures at their surroundings. “i don’t think i’ve laughed like that in months, to be honest.”

“i don’t think i’ve felt…wanted like that in months,” paige says, quieter now, fully aware that what she’s saying is pathetic and induced by the last dregs of alcohol in her system. “even if it was fake.”

azzi’s voice is even softer. “it didn’t feel fake.”

that—that does it.

paige’s breath catches, heart thudding loud in her chest. she glances at azzi, who’s already looking at her, mouth parted, gaze open in a way that makes something deep inside paige tremble.

“can i—?” paige starts, voice hoarse.

“yes,” azzi breathes.

paige leans in slowly, giving azzi every chance to pull away. but she doesn’t. she leans in too, and when their lips meet, it’s soft. hesitant. careful, like they’re both afraid of shattering something delicate.

azzi’s hand finds paige’s hoodie, clutching at the fabric. paige cups her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye. the kiss deepens in quiet pulses, not rushed, but heavy with the weight of something new.

when they finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, paige whispers, “sorry. i didn’t—i wasn’t trying to make this weird.”

“it’s not weird,” azzi says, eyes still closed. “it’s…good. i think it’s really good.”

they sit like that for a long beat, breathing the same air.

then azzi whispers, “can i stay with you? i just…don’t want to be alone tonight.”

paige nods immediately. “yeah. of course.”

azzi takes her hand. her fingers are cold, but her grip is sure.

they walk quietly through the dark apartment. it’s a short walk, but it feels like it takes years. the lights are all off, but paige’s room glows faintly with the soft blue light of the tv she’d left on, a 2000s sitcom playing on mute.

paige opens the door and lets azzi step inside first. she watches her for a second, silhouetted against the light—still in the oversized hoodie, bare legs, face bare and soft. she’s never looked more unreal.

paige swallows hard, her pulse thudding in her ears.

azzi turns to face her. “you coming?”

paige steps in and closes the door behind her. something buzzes under her skin, in both a turned-on way and a bug-crawly way.

it’s dawning on her, now, with azzi standing there giving her bedroom eyes in her bedroom—she just kissed azzi fudd. she threw up on her then proceeded to be incredibly awkward for the entire tonight before trauma-dumping and has now pulled her.

azzi fudd. the fucking—love of her life. the celebrity crush of her goddamn dreams. is standing before her like some kind of bisexual goddess waiting to receive the best head of her life. and oh, will paige make sure it actually is the best head of her life. much better than chad’s, that’s for certain. if he even gave her head. he seems the type of guy to say it’s ’too gross’.

“paige?”

oh god. she’s been staring.

“hey,” azzi frowns, stepping towards her. “you okay? i can leave, or…”

“no,” paige says vehemently, also stepping forward, closing the gap between them. she wants to reach out, to pull azzi in, but she’s not sure if that’s what azzi really wants. maybe she just wants to sleep? not that paige isn’t down for snuggling, but she’s already hyped herself up for that whole head thing, and she’s not super willing to back down now. “i just…”

azzi looks at her, eyes searching her face before she looks down. her lips quirk up, and when she looks back at paige, she’s clearly amused. “i clocked you so hard earlier.”

“i…what?” paige asks.

azzi points. “your hands.”

paige looks down, and sure enough—she’s wringing her hands. like a nervous little wimp. she scoffs, pulling them apart and wiping them on her sweats before making a split-second decision, pulling azzi in by the waist. “you didn’t clock shit.”

“no?” azzi asks, smile growing a little. her hands are soft as they roam up paige’s arms before circling around the back of her neck. “so you’re not super nervous right now?”

“i’m not nervous,” paige is quick to correct. “just wondering what you want.”

azzi’s eyebrows rise, just a little. “oh?”

paige hadn’t really meant to say it, but what the hell. “uh-huh. you wanna tell me?”

“hm.” azzi looks up at her like she’s deliberating something, then smiles, coy and dimply, before stepping back slowly, taking paige with her. “i think…” she whispers, walking them back as if the room were her’s, until her thighs hit the edge of the bed. “i think i want you to give me some real pictures.”

paige quirks an eyebrow, sitting azzi down before kneeling in front of her, playing into the game. “for chad?” she wrinkles her nose as she says it. even his name is a turn-off. paige has no clue how azzi managed to have sex with that man. she imagines azzi saying something like, “oh, chad, yes!” and it turns her teasing smirk into something more like a barely-contained laugh.

azzi’s expression breaks, and it looks a little like she’s fighting a smile of her own. “ew, don’t say his name.”

unable to help it, paige chuckles, leaning her forehead against azzi’s thigh. “what do we call him, then?”

“nothing,” azzi says firmly, lifting paige’s chin and bending down so their nose-to-nose, biting her lip slightly as she studies her face. “i want you to give me those pictures,” she mutters, “let me prove him wrong. and then i want you to make me forget him.”

oh, paige can definitely do that.

without another word, paige surges forward and kisses her. it’s surer this time, steadier, now with the knowledge of what’s to come, not just tonight but tomorrow, and maybe—if paige lets herself dream—maybe even longer than that. based off the way azzi presses her tongue against the seam of her lips, paige thinks she might feel it, too.

paige opens up for her, pliant and willing, ready to do whatever azzi asks of her. azzi’s tongue is warm, wet, slippery against paige’s own and she groans at the feel of it, at the minty freshness of her own toothpaste that azzi had used.

“paige,” azzi breathes against her lips. paige hums, leaning forward again to close the small amount of distance. but azzi pulls back, just slightly, and when paige blinks her eyes open azzi’s looking at her urgently, pulling her up by the shoulders. “paige,” she repeats.

paige swears, she usually has so much more finesse in the bedroom. she once made a girl come in under sixty seconds. she convinced her ex to call her daddy, for god’s sakes. but this—this is azzi. and thus, she just stares blankly at her, mind trying desperately to figure out what azzi’s saying while her cunt pulses desperately in her boxers. “…huh?” she says after a moment.

azzi sighs, but there’s something in her eyes, and when paige looks hard enough she thinks maybe it’s fondness? but she doesn’t have time to discern that properly because then azzi is hooking her arms under paige’s armpits and all but hoisting her up into her lap, and that’s just…really fucking hot. paige doesn’t think she’s ever been hoisted before.

hands finding their ways to azzi’s shoulders, paige exhales, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to regain some of her rizz. “you’re really strong,” she says instead.

azzi presses her lips to the hinge of paige’s jaw, mumbling against her skin, “good observation.” her arms are steady around paige’s waist, holding her close, allowing for the best access, and paige shifts, hips moving subtly against azzi’s thighs.

azzi’s lips trail higher until she’s nipping at paige’s earlobe, and paige can so clearly hear the little noises coming from her now; soft pants and exhales like she’s trying hard to contain herself. and that just—that does it.

wordlessly, paige presses against azzi’s shoulders, urging her to lay down. azzi looks at her quizzically but goes willingly, getting comfortable against the pillows as paige crawls on top of her. she leans down for another kiss but azzi presses a hand to her chest, stopping her.

“want this off, first,” she says, tugging at the hem of paige’s shirt. “wanna feel you.”

paige is quick to oblige, reaching behind her head to pull the neckline, azzi helping her until the shirt’s off, discarded somewhere to the side. azzi’s eyes roam shamelessly, but not as shamelessly as her hands, which trail over her abs, her ribs, the taut muscles in her back.

“you’re—” she swallows hard, “you’re pretty strong too.”

paige mentally fist-pumps. “good observation, baby.”

shivering against the cool air of the room, paige presses one last kiss to azzi’s lips, lingering there and thinking she could stay like that forever before remembering her job. photos. head. make azzi forget chad.

she shifts down, dipping her head into azzi’s neck to kiss the warm skin there. she smells good, like hair products and perfume. her hands wander of their own accord, lifting azzi’s shirt just enough to reveal a small sliver of skin, a glinting belly piercing. god, she doesn’t think she’ll get enough of this girl.

“want this off you, too,” paige instructs quietly, searching azzi’s eyes for any hesitation, but there’s only heat as she pulls her shirt off in one swift motion. it take’s paige’s brain a few seconds to catch up with what her eyes are seeing—azzi, topless, skin dark against the white bedding, nipples pebbled from the temperature change.

paige makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat, completely aware she’s staring but unable to do anything about it, because she’s surely not going to look away. not when azzi is staring up at her like—like that, with hooded eyes and a small, teasing smile. she knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly what it’d do to paige by letting her find out for herself she isn’t wearing a bra, and it’s going to drive her fucking insane.

“paige,” azzi says.

paige’s eyes snap up from azzi’s chest, somewhat guiltily. “yeah?”

“you have me really fucking worked up right now,” azzi says bluntly. “and as much as i love watching you stare at me, i need you to actually come here and do something about it.”

that gets paige moving.

it’s instinctual, the way she dips her head down, nuzzles into the valley between azzi’s breasts. the way her tongue darts out to taste her skin, the way her palms cup the underside of azzi’s tits and push them up before she takes the stiff peak of one into her mouth.

azzi sighs, this small, satisfied sound which only serves to encourage paige further. she relaxes a little, allowing herself to get out of her own head because she knows this. she’s good at it. she knows without a doubt she can make azzi feel good and if she dies tomorrow, then she’ll die happy knowing she at least got to have this first. got to flick her tongue over azzi’s nipple and revel in the soft moan it elicits from her.

the sound sends a jolt of heat through paige’s stomach, straight to the apex of her thighs. she’s acutely aware of the way she and azzi’s legs are slotted together, the sinewy muscle of azzi’s bare thigh between her own, hovering just beneath her. paige has to make a conscious effort not to bear down onto her, not to search for any of the friction she so desperately needs.

paige pulls off azzi’s tit with a slight pop, admiring the way it looks now, glistening with her saliva. she had planned on making her way down the length of azzi’s body, but now she’s stuck here, watching intently as she rolls azzi’s nipples between her fingertips, loving the way azzi arches up into her. she glances up to catch her expression, and what she finds—mouth slightly ajar, eyes fluttered shut—has her leaning back up to capture her lips in another searing kiss. azzi groans, surprised at the contact, and when paige licks confidently into her mouth, she groans again, this time sounding a little strangled.

paige chuckles against her lips, trailing away to nose against her cheekbone. “what, you need sum’?”

azzi huffs, arms around paige’s neck pulling her insistently closer. “you’re teasing me.”

“well, i’on know what you want,” paige says, pressing soft kisses against azzi’s jaw.

azzi’s nails scratch a little punishingly into paige’s back. “i told you what i want.”

paige shudders at the pain, the starkness of it, the shivers it sends down her back. “yeah,” paige agrees, leaning up on her elbows to look into azzi’s eyes, “but you ain’t told me how you want it.”

azzi’s eyebrows furrow, a slight pout forming on her lips, and the expression is so cute compared to the compromising situation they’re in that paige almost gives in then and there. but she’s a spent the entire night making an absolute fool of herself in front of azzi, and this feels like her only opportunity to show her just what she can do, what she can be, when she wants to.

and, shit, does she want to.

“gotta use your words, mami,” paige tells her, looking down at her with something like sympathy even as her tone is commanding, and it has the desired effect: azzi’s breath hitches, cheeks flushing, eyes squeezing shut like she’s collecting herself before she meets paige’s again.

“want your mouth, paige,” she whispers, almost like she’s embarrassed to be saying it out loud. “your tongue.”

somewhere in her aroused haze, paige registers that this must mean they’re soulmates or something, that they both want the same thing. she tucks that little thought away for later (she knows kk will agree when she tells her about it) and then nods, pressing a kiss to azzi’s forehead, just below her bonnet. “good girl,” she murmurs, testing the waters, and based off the way azzi exhales this shaky little whimper, she figures she’s probably into it. also good to know.

paige takes azzi’s forearms in her hands and withdraws them from around her neck, sitting back on her knees in between azzi’s legs. she hooks her fingers around her own basketball shorts, which sit tantalizingly on azzi’s hips—she doesn’t think she’s ever described basketball shorts as tantalizing before—and raises her eyebrows at azzi. azzi nods, lifting her hips off the bed, just enough that paige is able to easily pull them over the swell of her ass. azzi lifts her feet up, allowing paige to pull the fabric completely off and toss them away before she presses a kiss to each of her ankles. azzi watches her closely, hands fondling her own breasts in a way that makes paige want to put her mouth back on them, but then she’s glancing down at the exposed core between azzi’s thighs and there is nothing else that could possibly be more important than that, ever.

she sets azzi’s legs on the bed before shifting, laying herself flat on her stomach with her arms propped up beneath her until she’s hovering over azzi’s pelvis, admiring the smooth skin there and the belly ring that sits a few inches higher. she bends down, nuzzling her nose against the soft, curly hair she finds there, pressing a kiss and then many more along the expanse of skin until she reaches a hipbone. she bites, just roughly enough to make a mark, and azzi hisses above her.

paige’s eyes flick up, double-checking, but azzi looks more than okay—in fact, she looks downright impatient. when their eyes meet, she nods urgently at her. “get on with it.”

paige raises an eyebrow at the attitude but doesn’t comment on it just yet, instead pressing a kiss to the other hipbone before saying, “oh, you want more?”

azzi sighs at the coy tone in paige’s voice. “paige.”

“mm,” paige hums. “you sound frustrated, baby.”

“yeah, well,” azzi shifts uncomfortably, “it’s frustrating when you tease me like this.”

“yeah?” paige asks. she rests her cheek against azzi’s thigh, allowing her fingers to trail up and down the inside of her other one, getting close to where she needs her but never close enough. “you’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you?” she muses.

“fuck you,” azzi says, no real venom there as annoyance mixes with amusement in her eyes.

“i will,” paige promises, kissing her thigh, “princess.”

azzi opens her mouth to speak again. paige cuts her off with a harsh bite to the place she just kissed, turning her almost-sentence into a high-pitched whine instead.

“fuck,” azzi mutters.

paige inspects the bite—that will definitely be a mark tomorrow—and then shushes her gently, brushing her lips over the spot. “if you catch an attitude with me again,” she murmurs, almost sweet, “you’ll find how much worse i can be.”

azzi’s hips lift, surprise etching itself slowly into the lines of her face as she registers the words, but paige doesn’t take the time to look too close. azzi is spread before her, enticing, dripping, caramel brown giving way to soft pink, and she finally lets herself do what she’s dreamed of doing since she was in high school—she buries her fucking face in it.

azzi’s reaction is immediate and more intense than paige expected it would be, her back and hips arching off the bed as she groans, loud. paige doesn’t even care that arousal has just been smeared all over her forehead. she’s far too busy committing the way azzi tastes, sweet and salty, to memory.

the build-up paid off, as it always does, and azzi’s soaked. paige’s tongue laves wet heat from her entrance to her clit, building her up to a slow rhythm. she lingers a little each time at her entrance, where the taste is the strongest, unable to conceal her own choked sounds as azzi grinds against her face. she glances up to where azzi is playing with her nipples, propped up on her elbows to get a better look at what paige is doing, and the knowledge that she’s being watched so intently has her doubling down on her efforts.

when paige’s movements speed up, azzi’s head tips back, rolling against her shoulders. “oh, paige,” she breathes, sensual and dirty, “oh, baby. feels…”

paige presses her own thighs together at the pet name before flicking her tongue back and forth against azzi’s clit, applying pressure until azzi falls back completely, head thumping against the pillows as she whines. distantly, paige thinks kk could almost definitely hear them if she were to listen for it. she finds she doesn’t really care at the moment.

“feels good?” paige asks, pressing a few soft kisses to azzi’s cunt.

“mm-hmm,” azzi hums, eyes closed as she focuses on the feeling. her hands travel south until they’re gripping the back of paige’s head, and then she’s tugging her closer, back into her heat. “keep going, baby. please.”

“since you asked so nice,” paige teases, letting azzi’s hands guide her forward. she opens her mouth a little wider, sucking hard against azzi’s hole as if trying to draw more precum out of her before she kisses sloppily against it. azzi’s legs fall further open at the feeling, but paige quickly misses the feeling of thighs pressed against her head and loops her arm under the brunette’s legs, surrounding herself with soft brown skin.

the new angle brings her impossibly closer to azzi’s center, and paige sticks her tongue out, seeking azzi’s entrance before pressing inside as far as she can.

“oh my fuck,” azzi groans, gripping paige’s head tighter, almost possessive. “keep doing that, right—“ she chokes on her own words as paige begins a slow thrust, “right there.”

paige nods, unsure whether azzi can feel the acknowledgment, but it has her nose bumping up against azzi’s swollen clit and azzi cries out. she moves her tongue, feeling around the spongy inner walls of azzi’s cunt, a new wave of arousal pumping out until it’s dripping down paige’s chin onto the bedsheets below.

the room isn’t quiet, but it sounds like sex, azzi’s breathy moans and the filthy wet sounds of her cunt filling the room. she sounds so good, tastes so good, smells so good—paige is only vaguely aware that she has her own pelvis pressed into the mattress, absentmindedly searching for friction as she gets off on pleasing azzi.

she’s so focused on tonguing her that she doesn’t notice the way azzi’s breathing changes, becomes more rapid, or the way her fingers fist up paige’s hair in a way that’s almost painful. in fact, it’s not until she presses her thumb to azzi’s swollen clit while she tongue-fucks her that azzi manages a broken, “oh my god, i’m fucking—!“ that paige realizes she’s going to come.

azzi’s orgasm hits her in waves, it seems, with her hips pressing into paige’s mouth so intensely she can’t breathe for a solid thirty seconds before she’s abruptly pulling away, thighs shaking with the effort. paige watches in something like amazement as her stomach tenses, her cunt pulsing and clenching around nothing, clit twitching almost imperceptibly. it is—fucking beautiful, actually. a work of goddamn art. an image that belongs in the louvre right next to the mona lisa and the venus de milo.

she’s about to dive back in and get another taste of it when azzi uses her grip on her hair to urge her up. reluctantly, paige lets herself be pulled, kissing a gentle path up azzi’s stomach before coming face-to-face with her, thumbs brushing her cheeks as she comes down. eyes still closed, azzi pulls her closer, bumping their foreheads together.

“so pretty,” paige can’t help but mutter, watching azzi’s lashes flutter against her cheeks, lips plump and shiny and parted. “so good for me, baby. did so good.”

after another few moments, azzi opens her eyes, looking at paige like she hung the stars in the sky or something.

“i think i just fell in love with you,” she croaks, and paige laughs, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “heard that one before.”

azzi smacks her lightly, then pulls her head down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before urging her to lay on her chest. paige presses her cheek to azzi’s heartbeat, their breathing gradually syncing up as they lay together. azzi’s nails scratch light patterns against paige’s back, nearly lulling her to sleep, before she abruptly stops and says, “oh, shit.”

“what?” paige asks sleepily.

“we forgot to get pictures.”

paige swears her ears perk up, and she thinks she might be just a little insatiable because she doesn’t feel so tired anymore as she lifts her head with a wicked grin. “damn,” she says. “guess we’ll have to go again.”

the next day, kk gives them hell for keeping her up all night, and gives azzi many earfuls about how she ‘told her so.’ paige offers up their room for the rest of the trip, even though they ultimately proved chad wrong with some certain photos, and azzi is all too quick to take her up on it.

and when, a year later, azzi transfers to uconn? let’s just say kk will swear up and down that she’s the reason they never lose another game to ucla.

[snooperzz]

Back on You

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x female!Reader/OC Word count: 5.9k Warnings: angst, reader/oc has self esteem issues Note: this is written in third person & reader/oc is unnamed! you can also read this story on ao3 :) Summary/Excerpt: She liked Bob. She liked hearing about his favorite characters in the book he was working his way through, or the crazy stories from his time working at a bail bonds company as a sign-spinning chicken. She liked spending time with him and seeing his dorky smile, and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling him how much she liked it. How much she liked him. (i.e., A former member of the Guardians of the Galaxy, now a member of the New Avengers, has a crush on Bob.)

They had cornered her. 

“They” being Yelena and Ava. She had just gotten out of training with Bucky, and all she wanted to do was take a shower and disappear into her room for the rest of the day. But, of course, Yelena and Ava spotted her raiding the pantry and had now made it their top priority to make her talk about the one subject she avoided at all costs.

Bob .

Not that it was really his fault. He was just possibly the sweetest person that she had never met, and he unfortunately was not hard to look at. It was embarrassing, really, how often she was caught sneaking glimpses at him from across the room. It seemed like everyone was onto her. Well, everyone except for Bob, thankfully. He was oblivious, from what she could tell, and she did not plan to do anything to mess that up.

They were good friends. Ever since the New Avengers were announced, and she found herself moving from her closet-sized apartment into the Watchtower, she and Bob had been spending more and more time together. But that was just out of convenience. It wasn’t her fault his room was right across the hall from her own, and they just so happened to leave their rooms at the same time every morning. And it definitely wasn’t her fault they developed a habit of concocting smoothies together each morning, testing out new, sometimes questionable, combinations (this morning’s was strawberries, bananas, and jalapenos).

She liked Bob. She liked hearing about his favorite characters in the book he was working his way through, or the crazy stories from his time working at a bail bonds company as a sign-spinning chicken. She liked spending time with him and seeing his dorky smile, and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling him how much she liked it. How much she liked him .

So, she avoided the topic altogether. At least, she tried to. Just like she was doing right now, shoving whatever snacks she laid her eyes on into her arms in an attempt to get out of the impending conversation with Yelena and Ava as fast as possible.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Yelena teased, causing her to turn around. She could already feel her face turning hot.

“You’re ravaging this place like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Ava commented. “Which I know isn’t true because I was forced to try the disgusting smoothie you and Bob made this morning.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she muttered, placing a family-sized box of cheez its back onto the shelf.

“Speaking of Bob,” Yelena began, giving her a knowing look. “How is he?”

She shrugged, jostling the remaining snacks in her arms. “I don’t know. You should ask him.”

They both looked at her suspiciously. Then at each other. Then back at her.

“We just noticed you guys have been spending a lot of time together,” Ava hinted, raising her eyebrows. “So we thought you might know.”

“I haven’t seen him since this morning. I’ve been training with Bucky all day, so I’m starved,” she laughed awkwardly. 

They groaned at her excuse.

“Come on,” Yelena sighed. “We all see you guys looking all goo-goo eyed at each other. It’s disgusting.”

“What?! I don’t—”

Ava interrupted her, stating her name sharply.

“You do,” Yelena continued. “You definitely do, even Alexei is getting annoyed.”

“Why don’t you say something?” Ava questioned her. 

Her face was burning under their pointed gazes, and she shifted from side to side, unsure how to respond.

Ava said her name again, waiting for the girl to look up at her before continuing. “You’re a badass, and he likes you. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

“I don’t know—”

“Oh my God,” Yelena groaned, walking up to her and grabbing the snacks out of her arms and putting them back in the pantry shelf. “Why don’t you invite him out for food instead of stuffing your face with cheese crackers.”

She grabbed the girl’s shoulders and gently pushed her out of the kitchen.

“And take a shower! You stink!” Ava called out after her as she rushed back to her room. 

The two women watched her scurry away before looking at each other, unable to hide the coy smiles growing on their faces.

When she got back to her room, she had hoped she would feel some type of relief. She wasn’t under the prying eyes of Yelena and Ava anymore, but her mind was still racing. Did they really believe that Bob had feelings towards her too? She had sometimes thought maybe he did, like when he stayed up with her until the next morning on movie nights. Long after everyone else went to bed, they would make home on the couch, a bucket of popcorn in between them, having their own movie marathons.

Last week, Bob had introduced her to Back to the Future . Well, she had heard of it before but had never had the time to actually watch it. 

She hadn’t grown up on Earth. She was raised by Ravagers and grew up surrounded by dingy ship walls and bitter outcasts. Her parents had abandoned her as a child, and she was on her own for a while. Until one day, a little boy not that much older than her with fiery red hair picked her up and refused to let her go. Peter Quill became like an older brother to her. A piece of family she never thought she would have. He taught her how to shoot a gun and break out of a jail cell. He showed her which vents in the Ravagers’ ship led to the kitchen and where Yondu kept his spare arrows. She missed him. More than she thought she would when she decided to stay on Earth while the rest of the Guardians travelled back into space with Thor. 

She remembered saying goodbye. Peter almost refused to leave, but she had always been more stubborn. After each Guardian insisted on having their turn to hug her, Peter approached her again, handing her a small box.

“What is this?” she had asked, eyeing him with a quirked brow before taking the box from his hands. When she opened it, she found his walkman along with some other device.

“I can’t take this,” she said immediately, automatically ripping it out the box and pushing it onto his chest.

“Nah, you have to take it,” he chuckled. His eyes were glassy, and his smile was teasing, almost mournful. “You gotta have something to remember me by. Remember how you abandoned me with these losers.” He put the walkman back in her box.

“Then what’s this for?” She picked up the second device.

“That’s a pager. I put my number in there in case you ever want to reach out.”

She smiled, holding the box of gifts close to her chest. She tried to ignore the burning in her eyes. “Does it work even if we’re on different planets?”

“You’ll have to test it out,” his eyes were watering too, and he pulled her in for a final hug.

She hadn’t seen him since that day, and she hadn’t reached out either. Sometimes she would find herself just sitting with the pager, her mind dancing with the decision of sending Peter a message. But she could never do it. She usually ended up slipping on his old headphones and listening to one of his mixes on the walkman. It reminded her of home. Her old home on the Milano. This happened more often, though, before she met Yelena, Ava, and the rest of the Thunderbolts.

She felt happier now. She liked being on Earth. It was something she never got growing up. She also liked her new friends. Her new friends that became more and more like family everyday, no matter how much they tried to deny it. And, as much as she tried not to think about it, she really liked hanging out with Bob.

Sighing, she shook her head.

Fuck it.

She would say something. Tell him how she felt. But only because Yelena and Ava seemed so sure he reciprocated her feelings.

She spent her entire shower trying to find the right words to ask him to dinner, but nothing sounded right. She felt stupid. She had fought side by side Iron Man and Captain America to defeat Thanos. She could fly a spaceship. Was she really going to let the idea of talking to a boy scare her?

No.

Ava was right. She was a badass. She reminded herself of this as she walked towards her bedroom door. All she had to do was open it up, walk across the hallway, and ask Bob if he wanted to get burgers or something. She took a deep breath and swung the door open, only to find a figure already standing there, arm raised as if he were about to knock on her door.

It was Bob. Bob in his navy blue sweater and corduroy pants. Bob with his curly hair framing his face, with that dorky smile that always made her face turn red. He swallowed nervously, letting out an awkward laugh as he slowly brought his arm down.

“Hi,” he said, his voice almost a whisper as he looked at her intensely.

“Hey,” she squeaked back, her confidence from five seconds ago quickly depleting.

He cleared his throat, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. Despite his efforts to make himself seem smaller, his broad shoulders felt like they took up her entire door frame. She tried not to think about how good he looked.

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab dinner with me?” His words came out quick, like if he didn’t say them now, he probably never would. “I heard the burger place down the block also has good milkshakes.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Really, she was shocked. He asked her before she had even gotten the chance to approach him. When she didn’t say anything for a moment, he began to look worried.

“We don’t have to, though, if that’s too wei–”

“No!” she interrupted him quickly. “I would really like that.”

“Really?” A soft smile began to grow on his face.

“Of course.” She smiled right back.

So, they went to dinner. They both ordered a burger, fries, and a milkshake, hers chocolate and his vanilla, of course. They talked about anything and everything. Bob caught her up on the current book he was reading (Bucky had recommended The Hobbit ), and they made plans to binge all of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings movies once he finished all of the books. She told him about her adventures with the Guardians and all of the stupid arguments her old teammates always had. He was still fascinated by the fact that she had not only been to space, but she had also grown up there too. That, and the fact she also knew a talking racoon.

They spent hours at the diner, talking and sipping on their milkshakes, until finally, a waiter came over and told them the restaurant was closing soon. Bob picked up the check, refusing to let her pay no matter how much she insisted, and they walked back to the Watchtower.

She thought about holding his hand, but she didn’t want to push it.

When they got back to the team’s penthouse, it was quiet. Not quite ready to go to bed, they sat down on the couch. She tried not to think about how close they were to each other. How their legs were brushing against one another’s. They sat like that for a while, quietly. It was a comfortable silence for the most part, but her mind was racing, the butterflies in her stomach picking up.

She wanted to kiss him. She really did. But she had never kissed anyone before. Before she was on Earth, she never really had the time. Or the want. She saw how many women Peter tried sneaking into his room, and she never really understood why. She had never been interested in anyone like that. 

Not until she met Bob. 

But now that she knew she wanted to kiss him, she also knew that she had no idea how to kiss anyone. It was embarrassing, really. Most people her age had been in relationships already, and she had never even had her first kiss.

Bob whispered her name so quietly she could barely hear it, but she still jumped in surprise as his voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Thanks for getting dinner with me,” he smiled shyly at her, and she returned his look.

“Thanks for asking.”

“Maybe we could go again tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I'd like that a lot.”

They were quiet again for a moment, but before she could spiral into her thoughts for the second time, Bob spoke.

He said her name softly as he shifted his body on the couch to face her head on. His eyes were serious, and they shifted between looking at her own eyes and her lips. He leaned in closer, placing a hand softly onto her thigh and the other on her waist.

She froze. This was it. He was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to kiss her. But she also had no idea how to kiss him back.

He leaned in even closer (somehow that was possible) and stopped for a moment, looking at her, waiting for a sign that she was good, that he could keep going. She took in a shaky breath and gave him a small nod.

When his lips finally touched hers, they felt surprisingly warm, assured. The complete opposite of how she was feeling. She felt like a bumbling mess. She had no idea what to do with her hands. She had always heard not to think about how to kiss someone and just to let it happen. But that felt impossible at the moment. She tried to let him guide the kiss and simply follow his lead, and that worked for a moment until suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore. And neither was the silence they had found comfort in.

In its place was the thunderous sound of thousands of heroes and aliens charging towards each other, attacking each other all around her.

Then she saw it. Herself. Fighting the Chitauri, shooting down every alien that she could, but she was running out of time. They were starting to corner her. She remembered when this happened. It was years ago, in the Avengers’ final fight against Thanos. 

Then she saw him. Peter. After five years of not knowing if he was alive. After hearing from Nebula he had been turned to dust. He was there, in front of her and alive. She remembered how happy she was, how thankful she was to see him.

She watched as he helped take down the remaining Chitauri that had her trapped. She watched her past self as she ran toward him, jumping into his embrace. They gripped each other tightly, and her past self laughed almost hysterically as she fought against tears.

Then there was a shift. He paused. He had seen something else. Someone else . His grip loosened, slowly releasing her, and her past and present self turned to look at what he saw.

It was her. Gamora.

Peter had left her side now, walking slowly towards Gamora, his eyes wide in awe and admiration. He left her alone to watch as he ran back to Gamora. Again. 

It wasn’t that she was jealous of Gamora. She just felt intimidated anytime she was around. And a little bit sad. Forgotten, maybe. She had grown up with Peter, watching him bulldoze through thousands of hookups and one-night stands. Sure, it was annoying, but at the end of the day, she knew she still had him. He would always look out for her, always have her back. Not to say that after he met Gamora he didn’t look out for her anymore, but things were definitely different. He started going to Gamora for second opinions instead of her, and started only looking for Gamora’s approval of his ideas.

So, it hurt when he ran straight to Gamora after not seeing him for years. And watching it all over again, those feelings came right back.

She shook her head violently, wanting to be anywhere but in that memory. She closed her eyes tightly, pushing against her tears and her own brain. She wanted out, out, out .

Then, it was quiet again. A panicked voice was calling her name, and a hand nudged her shoulder softly. She opened her eyes to see Bob again, a worried look on his face. She looked all around her, taking in the environment. She wasn’t in the past anymore. She was here, in the penthouse, with Bob.

“A-are you okay?” Bob asked, his voice laced with concern.

She nodded quickly. She was pretty sure she was fine. Her face felt wet, though, and she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. Had she been crying?

“You went somewhere else, didn’t you?”

She looked at him dumbly. She felt like an idiot. She had spent the past few months thinking about kissing Bob, and when she had finally gotten the chance, she blew it. Maybe if she hadn’t been in her own head so much, she wouldn’t have ruined it.

“I’m sorry,” Bob muttered, his eyes down cast. He scooted away from her, not wanting to touch her. Not wanting to accidentally send her into another bad memory.

She shook her head, watching as he moved away. Even though she didn’t really want him to. “It’s not your fault,” she tried to reassure him, but she could tell he didn’t believe her.

“I’m gonna, uh,” she continued. She stood up, hugging herself. “I’m gonna go to bed. I’ll, uh–I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She rushed out of the living area and back to her room, wishing she could disappear.

The next few days felt never ending. She sunk herself into her training, using it as a distraction from the fact she hadn’t spoken to Bob in days. He was clearly avoiding her. Every morning when she made her way into the kitchen, he was already there, eating a bowl of cereal and refusing to even glance in her direction.

It hurt, but she understood. She had run away after he kissed her, with no explanation. And, in all honesty, she had been avoiding him since that night too. She just missed him. Missed getting to spend time with him every day. 

Instead, she spent time in the gym. And when she wasn’t attacking punching bags or trying not to die on the treadmill, she was in her room. Alone with her thoughts and Peter’s walkman. She tried to use the music to drown out the old memories flooding her brain. Ever since seeing her past self that night, she kept remembering her life before being on Earth. Before the Blip. Before the Guardians, even.

Back when Yondu would send her on smuggling missions once Peter was too big to actually fit in the vents anymore. Back when Yondu deemed missions “too dangerous” for her to join him and Peter, and he would leave her behind. Stuck with the rest of the Ravagers. The Ravagers that would leave her on less-than-safe planets for “fun,” forcing her to find her way back on her own. When she did eventually find her way back, they would still taunt her relentlessly, telling her she would never be a real Ravager. Not that she even wanted to be anyway.

She wanted to be just like Peter. Peter, who was charismatic and good at taking down whatever enemies got in Yondu’s way. Peter was always Yondu’s favorite, and she was always the second choice. The one Yondu would take along only when Peter was too busy with another mission.

She had finally left the confines of her room, choosing to go sit outside instead. She was sitting on the edge of the landing pad, her feet dangling over the streets of New York. She held her pager, staring at the number Peter left for her.

Maybe she should finally reach out. It had been a few years since the Guardians left on their search for Gamora. Maybe they had found her. Her fingers hovered over the device. A small part of her told her to just do it. To not think about it and send him a message. It didn’t have to be anything crazy or deep, maybe just a simple “Hey, how are you?” But, a bigger part of her was scared. Scared to reach out to him only to never hear back.

That was where Bucky found her, sitting at the rails of the helicopter pad. The rest of the New Avengers knew something was up. They had noticed she and Bob were never together anymore, annoying the rest of them with their constant, yet somehow oblivious, flirting with each other. They noticed that she had also spent less and less time with them as a group, choosing instead to hide away in the gym or her room.

He had been looking for her that evening. They had just finished eating dinner, and she opted not to join them once again. So, he took it upon himself to make her a plate and bring it to her room. When he knocked on her door, though, she didn’t answer. She wasn't there, and he also didn’t find her in the gym either. He asked around, to see if anyone else knew where she was, but all he was met with were shrugs. 

That was until he ran into Bob. Bob, who quietly informed him he saw her make her way outside to the landing pad. And, sure enough, that’s where he found her.

He called her name softly, and she turned to look at him, watching as he sat down beside her and placed a bowl of mac and cheese in between them. 

“I brought you some food.” He looked at her carefully, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. “We missed you at dinner.”

She scoffed. “Thank you.” She looked back down at the pager in her hands.

“What’s that?” Bucky asked, nodding towards the device.

“Pager,” she responded. Her brows furrowed. “Shouldn’t you know that? Aren’t you like a hundred years old?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Over one hundred, and that’s actually past my time.”

She smiled, “Right.” 

There was a beat of silence between them.

“It’s from Peter,” she spoke again. “He was one of my friends before being here. Before the Blip.”

Bucky nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. “He gave it to me in case I ever wanted to reach out. Put his number on it.”

“Have you?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess…I guess I’m just afraid he won’t answer.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t give you his number if he wasn’t going to answer.”

She shrugged. “He’s probably too busy to respond, anyway.”

“How would you know that if you haven’t reached out?”

“What are you doing?” she huffed. “Did you come out here just to lecture me?” She looked at him, her furrowed eyebrows turning into a scowl.

His head dropped. “No. No, I came out to make sure you’re okay. We’re worried about you.”

She turned to stare at the streets below them. “I’m fine. Just…tired I guess.”

“Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been around. You missed movie night yesterday. I don’t know, I just feel like something’s up.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he said her name again. “You can talk to me.”

She thought about his offer, chewing on her lip. She knew she could trust him. Bucky was there for her after the final battle with Thanos. He took her under his wing, offering her a place to stay. But she knew he had his own demons, his own battles. She didn’t want to be a burden on him, so when she finally got a job, she moved into her own place. Then, they found each other again. Through Valentina, of all people.

“Me and Bob…kissed,” she said finally, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

“Really?” Bucky mused. “How’d that go?”

She grimaced. “Not great. I ran out on him. Left him alone on the couch.”

“Ouch.”

“Wait, no! It wasn’t his fault. It was me,” she stammered. “I mean, he was great.”

Bucky tried and failed to hide his smile. “I’m sure he was.”

She felt her face burning. What was she doing?  

“Geez,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands, the pager dropping to the floor beside her. She lifted her head to look at it again, the memories of Peter and the Guardians rushing back into her mind.

“When we kissed,” she continued. “It took me back to a memory. From when we fought Thanos for the last time.”

Bucky nodded, letting her continue.

“I saw myself. And Peter. I hadn’t seen him in five years at the time. I thought I would never see him again. When we saw each other, we hugged each other so tight. I didn’t want to let go.”

She could feel the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“But then he let go. Because he saw her. ”

Bucky looked at her carefully. “Who?”

She laughed dryly. She sounded ridiculous. “Gamora. His girlfriend . He ran straight to her. It didn’t surprise me, really, but it still hurt. You know?”

Bucky nodded.

She went on, “I didn’t know it at the time, but he thought she was dead. Well, technically she was . But he didn’t think he would ever see her again, and then he did. And I understood that, I thought the same thing about him. But I just…”

She paused for a moment, gathering her words. “Ever since Gamora came into our lives, and we became the Guardians of the Galaxy, it felt like I lost a piece of him. Like I used to be his number one. His best friend. And then that became…her.

“And it was fine. I mean, I made new friends too, but…my new best friend was a talking racoon. And his best friend was a tree.” She laughed pathetically. She felt stupid, sitting there crying in front of the Winter Soldier about having no friends. He must have had better things to worry about.

He shifted closer to her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he said softly.

She sniffled. “I’m just tired of always being everyone’s second choice. My parents abandoned me. Then my fake-dad liked my fake-brother better than me. And then my fake-brother decided to get a girlfriend that was ten times better than I was.” Her words came out in hiccups.

Bucky let out a quiet, “Come here,” before pulling her into a tight embrace. She hid her face into her hands, tucking herself into his side.

“You’re not everyone’s second choice,” he told her, adamant. “We all care about you. We all want you here. You’re an asset to our team, and you’re a great friend.” He squeezed her to his chest, letting her release all of the emotions she had been holding back for years.

He didn’t let her go until she pulled back on her own.

“For what it’s worth, I can definitely think of one person who considers you their first choice.” Bucky paused, pretending to think. “Hmm, yeah. You are definitely their favorite out of our little group, although,” he grimaced. “Your competition isn’t that great, so I don’t know how flattered you should be.”

He nudged her shoulder playfully, and she laughed, her sniffles fading away. “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

He looked at her as if it was obvious. “Oh I don’t know, the one person that knew exactly where to find you when I asked.”

She nodded her head and looked down, attempting to hide the smile sneaking onto her face. “Bob,” she whispered.

“Bob,” Bucky confirmed. Another beat of silence. “You should talk to him.”

She took a deep breath in. “I don’t think he wants me to do that. He avoids me like the plague, he can’t even look at me.”

“Okay, now that,” he pointed at her. “That is a lie. He cannot take his eyes off of you. He’s just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t kn–”

“I’m serious,” he butted in, giving her a sharp look. “Just at least try. Please. Okay? If not for your sake then for the rest of ours.”

She nodded. “Okay, I will.”

“And eat this,” he continued, picking up the bowl of mac and cheese and plopping it down on her lap. “Before it gets cold. Yelena worked too hard on it for it to go to waste.”

That night, she found herself pacing back and forth in her room, trying to muster up the courage to go knock on Bob’s door. It reminded her of just a few days ago, when she was convincing herself to ask him on a date. Except when she opened the door this time, he was not already there, waiting for her. So, she took a deep breath and made the short trek to his side of the hallway. Before she could even think about turning around and running back to her room, she lifted her hand and landed three soft knocks on his door.

She waited for a moment, nothing happened. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. Maybe he was out. Just as she was turning to walk back to her room, the door swung open, and Bob’s voice called out her name.

She turned to face him. He was in his pajamas, a hoodie pulled over his head. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I, uh,” she ran her hand through her hair, trying to release some of her nerves. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He swallowed, nodding quickly. “Sure. Do you wanna…” he trailed off, opening his door a little bit wider. He motioned inside.

She nodded back, stepping into his room. It wasn’t her first time in there. There was one night where she had woken up from a nightmare, unable to fall back asleep. When she went to the kitchen to grab herself some water, she found Bob already there, raiding the fridge for a midnight snack. Since they both knew sleep was not in the cards for them that night, they grabbed a Monopoly board from the living area and took it back to Bob’s room. They played Monopoly until six in the morning, and both ended up falling asleep on the bedroom floor.

They stood there for a moment. Bob waited for her to speak, but she was wrapped up in her own thoughts, remembering that night. Finally, she broke the quiet tension between them.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Bob. For leaving you the other night. And for ignoring you the past few days. I was just…scared I guess.”

He watched her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

Her eyes grew. That wasn’t what she meant at all .

“No!” she said suddenly, startling him. “ You didn’t scare me, Bob. I just…when we kissed, you disappeared, and I saw myself. Myself from years ago. It was a memory I forgot about, one pushed down, but it came back that night. and I’ve kind of just been…wallowing since then.”

“That was my fault,” he argued. “That still happens sometimes when I touch someone. They see things they don’t want to. They have to relive memories they hate. I knew that it could’ve happened to you, but I kissed you anyway.”

“I knew that, though.”

He stared at her, eyebrows creased in confusion. “Wh-what?”

“I knew that there was a chance it would happen, but I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t. Because I like you, Bob. And I wanted to kiss you,” she was rambling now, the words flowing out of her like a waterfall. “And I’ve missed you the past few days. A lot.”

“I like you too,” he confessed. She could see his cheeks turning red, and she could feel her face heating up.

She went to grab his hand, but he backed away from her touch. He apologized. “I don’t want to send you back there again.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you did. I think I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was so nervous that night. So in my own head. I had never kissed anyone before, and I was so worried about messing it up. About not being good enough. I think all those negative thoughts are what brought that memory back.”

He nodded, taking in her words. Trying to understand. “You could never not be good enough,” he promised. 

His words caused her face to heat up even more, and she looked away, trying to hide it. He said her name, and she turned to look at him again.

He stepped closer to her, grabbing the arm of her sweatshirt. “Would you maybe want to try again?”

She didn’t even have to think about her answer. She nodded softly, her breath hitching as his hand moved from her sweatshirt to her neck, cupping her jaw, his other hand placed on the small of her back. She was still nervous, yes, the butterflies dancing around her stomach made that obvious. But it was a different kind of nervous than before. It was more of an anticipation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him in closer until, finally, their lips touched. She didn’t even have to think about it this time. It was natural. Right.

The kiss started off tender, sweet. But soon, it turned into something more hungry, like they had been waiting months to explore each other in this way. And honestly, they had.

After what felt like hours, they finally broke apart, but they didn’t let go, still holding each other close.

“You still here with me?” Bob breathed, his hands traveling down her sides to rest on her waist.

She laughed breathlessly and nodded, their noses bumping together with her movement. “I’m here,” she whispered.

He leaned in again, and she could feel the smile in his kiss.

“For someone so worried about messing up, you’re pretty good at this,” he teased, squeezing her sides.

His words sent heat through her body, and she shoved him back playfully. “Shut up,” she rolled her eyes.

He laughed along with her, and they both settled into a comfortable silence.

“Maybe now everyone can get off our backs about this,” he said, pointing between the two of them.

“God, yes,” she groaned, shaking her head. “Yelena and Ava would not leave me alone.”

“It was John for me,” he chuckled.

“You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was. That guy’s an asshole.”

“...Sooo, how are we feeling about getting some milkshakes right now?”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

[scoupsakakitty]

can i request for angry love confession with san? like they’re fighting and one of them just blurts out “i love you!” to the other

make it angsty pleaseeeee

Say it Like you Mean it | idol!San x Reader | angst fluff

The rain hit the windows hard, as if the sky itself was angry.

San stood by the doorway, chest rising and falling, lips tight, eyes burning. You were on the other side of the room, arms crossed, your jaw clenched as if holding everything in.

“You never tell me what’s really going on,” he snapped, his voice sharp. “You shut me out and expect me to just—what? Pretend like I don’t notice?”

You shook your head, biting back the words. “Maybe because every time I try, you make it about you.”

He flinched, just slightly. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back. “Every time I let you in, you pull away. You care when it’s convenient. You show up when it’s easy.”

“That’s not true!” he barked. “I show up even when it hurts!”

Something in the room shifted. His voice cracked with that last word—hurts.

You looked at him, finally meeting his eyes. “Then why does it always feel like I’m alone in this?”

The silence between you was deafening. San’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. He took one step closer, then another—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to walk away or fall into you.

And then, through gritted teeth, voice shaking—he exploded.

“Because I love you, damn it!”

You froze. The rain kept hitting the glass, but inside, everything stopped.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time. “And it terrifies me. Because every time I look at you, I think about what it would do to me if I lost you. So yeah, I pull back. I get scared. But don’t you ever say I don’t care.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

“Say something,” he whispered.

You couldn’t. Not yet. Because you knew—if you said anything now, it might break you both wide open.

The room was too quiet after his words shattered the air.

San’s chest heaved. His jaw clenched like he was holding something back—more words, maybe. Or the fear that he’d said too much.

Y/N didn’t move. She stood completely still, eyes locked on him like she didn’t recognize the man in front of her.

“I love you,” he repeated, softer now, like it hurt to say again. “I love you. That’s the truth. You want honesty? That’s all I’ve got.”

Her breath caught, like the words hit somewhere in her chest she wasn’t ready to open. Her hands dropped from their crossed position, fingers twitching at her sides.

“I didn’t…” she started, then stopped. “I didn’t know.”

San laughed bitterly, running a hand through his rain-damp hair. “You did know. You just didn’t want to believe it.”

Her eyes flashed. “No. Don’t you dare blame this on me. You’ve been pulling away for weeks, San. You don’t get to say ‘I love you’ like it makes everything okay.”

“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” he snapped, the emotion rising again. “But what else do you want from me? I’ve been holding it in for months. Do you think that was easy?”

“I didn’t ask you to hold anything in!” she cried. “I’ve been here, right in front of you, waiting for you to just talk to me. But you act like I’m the problem.”

His face broke at that. “You’re not the problem. You never were. I just… I didn’t think I deserved you.”

That silenced her.

He took a shaky breath and stepped forward. “You’re strong. You’re everything. And I’m… not. I’m a mess. I get overwhelmed. I don’t know how to be in love without ruining everything.”

Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper. “Then why say it now?”

“Because I thought I was going to lose you tonight,” San said. “And I couldn’t let that happen without telling you the truth.”

The tension that had stretched like barbed wire between them finally loosened—just slightly.

Her lips trembled. “Do you even know what you’re saying, San? You say you love me, but you’ve been shutting me out. Making me feel like I’m just… here. Like I’m temporary.”

He shook his head violently. “No. God, no. You’re not temporary. You’re the only constant. That’s what scared me.”

She let out a shaky laugh, the sound half-exhausted, half-broken. “You’re afraid of losing me, and I’m afraid of not being wanted. How messed up is that?”

San finally stepped close enough that she could feel the heat of him again. His voice dropped low, rough. “Then we’re both messed up. But we don’t have to keep hurting each other because of it.”

Y/N looked up at him. Her expression was softer now, but guarded.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

“Say it again,” she said. “If you mean it.”

San exhaled like he’d been underwater. He cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing against the tear-tracks she didn’t even realize were there.

“I love you,” he said, steady this time. “And I’m sorry for every time I made you doubt it.”

Her heart broke and healed all in the same breath.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “And I hate that I’ve been waiting for you to say it while pretending it didn’t matter.”

His forehead dropped against hers. “You matter. So much more than I ever let myself show.”

They stood like that for a long moment, breathing in sync, letting the storm outside roar as the one inside finally began to calm.

“I don’t want to fight like this again,” she murmured.

“Then don’t let go,” he said. “Even when I’m scared. Even when I mess it up. Just… stay. Please.”

She leaned into his touch. “I’ll stay. But only if you promise to meet me halfway.”

San nodded, a quiet desperation behind his eyes. “I promise. I want this. I want you.”

He kissed her then—not a perfect kiss, not a cinematic moment—but one filled with too much emotion, too many unsaid words, and months of held-back longing. It was messy, tear-streaked, aching, and real.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers again.

“No more running,” she whispered.

“No more hiding,” he replied.

The rain began to soften outside, as if even the sky had calmed with them.

[finemeal]

I’ve been seeing a lot of: what would the batfam do for Bruce on Mother’s Day? And I’m like: … nothing, he has Father’s Day? So here’s what I ACTUALLY think what some of the batfam would be doing on Mother’s Day since most of them are without Mother’s (sad)

Alfred: We don’t know much, if anything, about Alfred’s mother. But, I can’t imagine Alfred not doing something to honor her. Whether that's cooking dishes she taught him, enjoying an activity they used to do together, or simply him sitting in silence as he reflects on fond memories they had together. Maybe he'll even tell anyone who's willing to listen stories about her.

Bruce: I imagine Bruce is visiting his mother’s grave on Mother’s Day. From my research, some Jewish people place small stones on the gravestone to mark their presence, so I imagine he’d spend countless hours before the day finding the perfect stone to place. After he leaves the grave, he’d spend time doing things he used to do with her, or get things for her that he wished he could now. Maybe he’d spend time at the Elderly home with mother’s whose kids can’t/don’t visit to make sure they get to enjoy Mother’s Day as well.

Dick: I can see Dick going to a circus, or Haly's Circus, on Mother's Day to celebrate his mom. I imagine on the day his parents died, he goes to their graves, but on Mother's Day he does what they used to do on Mother's Day which is: enjoy the circus. If he's able, maybe he even performs at Haly's Circus in her honor. Spending time somewhere he used to spend with his mom is something I can see him doing. I can even see him buying flower's and gifting them to either some stranger at the circus to brighten the mom's day up, or to one of the mom's who works at Haly's Circus. And if he's at Haly's Circus, I can see him talking to people and swapping stories about his mother, surrounded by people who loved her and misses her.

Barbara: When it comes to what Barbara would do on Mother's Day, it's actually really complicated. In some continuities she's dead, in other's she's alive but moved away. If she died, I imagine Barbara would spend Mother's Day with her family as they do things to honor Barb's mom's memory. Most likely, doing things they used to do with her mom on Mother's Day. If she's alive? Well then shit dude, Barbara's spending Mother's Day with her mom and doing whatever she wants. I don't know how close they are canonically, but I can see Barbara at the very least getting a meal with her mom or sending her gifts to celebrate Mother's Day.

Jason: Jason had, and lost, two mom's: the mom who raised him and the mom who birthed him. I imagine that he used to celebrate Mother's Day differently by spending the day mourning. But now-a-days he spends it in Crime Alley either taking care of mother's (no matter how old/young), and/or spending time with kids who, like him, lost their mom. I imagine he does this to honor both of his mom's who he lost, unable to celebrate with them but able to celebrate their memory with other people. He likely, like Alfred, would even tell anyone who asked about his moms and memories he had with them (though some are worse than others).

Tim: No matter how you feel about how Janet Drake did as a mother, Tim CANONICALLY was distraught over her death and mourned her. I think the Mother's Days that happened when his dad was still alive was doing things they used to do with her. After his dad died, I think Tim at first didn't want to celebrate it, but over time either goes somewhere with Bernard to distract themselves or they do what Tim and his dad used to do.

Stephanie: We actually see a lot more of Crystal Brown in comics than gets talked about in fandom, likely because her appearances dwindled when New 52 happened. But, as far as I can tell, Stephanie and her mom had a (mostly) good relationship. I think for Mother's Day, Stephanie would be spending the day with her mom. Going out to eat, doing whatever her mom wanted to do, and just spending good quality time together.

Cass: Now, obviously, Cass's relationship with her mother is ... complicated to say the least. I can see scenarios where maybe one Mother's Day they do sorta spend time together, but in a very toxic way most likely. Most Mother's Days, I can see Cass either taking the day to herself or tagging along with someone for their Mother's Day activities.

Damian: Damian's mother is VERY much alive and he VERY MUCH loves his mom. Damian spends Mother's Day with Talia al Ghul if she is available, if she's not then he tags along with Bruce and learns more about his grandmother. But, Damian very likely prefers spending time with his mom on Mother's Day and doing some bonding with her (as much as he can, really).

Duke: Duke's mom is not dead, she's even actually been cured of the Joker Venom! Duke is spending Mother's Day with his mom, doing what she wants and soaking up all the time he gets to spend with her (especially since, at one point, she was practically lost to him). They get good mother-son bonding time and he 100% gets her her favorite flowers and chocolate and writes a card that makes her cry.

[witchslove]

that is PERFECT I just love the idea of wanda finding out just how good sex can feel when it’s not boring af

& when you make her squirt she tells you she didn’t know her body could do that, or when you hit her g spot after she comes and it has her rolling into her next orgasm

with wanda having touched herself for you and finding out she likes it, she would send you pictures while you’re at work, tease you in public, etc and as much as her newfound confidence is beautiful, you’re creatively thinking of new ways to see just how far she’ll go to tease you

-🚀

Thank you omg and yes, exactly!

The first time she squirts, it’s from your tongue inside her while your fingers rub her clit. It’s her third orgasm of the night with no breaks and she thinks she might rip the sheets with how hard she’s gripping them. She cums hard, her head thrown back as she cries out and wetness squirts from her overstimulated pussy.

When she comes down from the most intense orgasm she’s ever had and realizes what she just did, her cheeks turn red and she immediately begins apologizing. She’s rambling out “I’m so sorry” and “I’ve never done that before,” feeling even more embarrassed once she notices how wet your face and upper body are.

You interrupt her with a kiss, shushing her against her lips. “That was so fucking hot,” you whisper after you separate, reassuring her that you liked it. She’s so surprised that you aren’t upset or disgusted with her, even more so when you tell her that you want to make her do it again. Spoiler alert: you make her do it again.

Also, now that Wanda has touched herself for you, she’s much more confident in how she can turn you on. She becomes such a tease, calling you late at night and moaning into the phone as she makes circles on her clit, telling you to talk to her the way she likes so she can get off. She knows it drives you crazy, especially since the first time she did it, you showed up at her house ten minutes later.

Now that she’s becoming more sexually confident, you also try to coax it out of her too. You’ll tell her you had a long, rough day at work just to see if she’ll try to cheer you up with a revealing photo or a naughty video call. You also get into the habit of making your desire obvious, letting her catch you staring at her ass or scrolling through photos she’s sent you. When she notices, she teases you. She’ll say things like “my eyes are up here detka” or “I don’t know why you’re looking at photos when you’ve got the real thing right here.”

The longer Wanda is with you, the more she starts to break out of her shell and feel more self-assured. You don’t know how it’s possible for her to become even sexier, but her newfound confidence is insanely attractive - especially when she uses it against you.

[pisces-reader]

Beginning of the End

Pairing: pre outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: You return to Texas for summer, greeted by Joel — your dad’s best friend — whose presence stirs up long-buried tension. The air crackles with heat, not just from the sun, but from glances too long and words too careful.

Rating: 18+ (but who am i to tell you what to read)

WC: 2,823

Warnings: smut with a bit of plot, Modern Day AU, Dad’s Best Friend, Age Gap (Reader is in her 20s, Joel in his mid 50s), Forbidden sexual Tension, oral (m!receiving), public sex, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it), light breeding kink, light dumbification (like one sentence lmao) and i hope that’s it

A/N: these new pictures?!?! EXCUSE ME I CANT I NEED THIS MAN BIBLICALLY OKAY BYE. So i did the only right thing - wrote some smut 😔✊🏻 also, this it not really proofread so don’t come at me for mistakes

18+ under the cut!

The Texas heat hit like a wall the second you stepped off the plane, thick and unrelenting. You adjusted the strap of your bag, squinting against the sun as you scanned the crowd for a familiar face.

“Over here, sweetheart!”

Joel Miller stood leaning against his black pickup truck, a pair of Ray-Bans pushed up into his dark hair, arms folded across his broad chest. His voice cut through the airport noise like warm honey — familiar, grounding. You smiled, heart doing something odd in your chest as you walked over.

“Hey, old man,” you teased, tossing your bag into the backseat before hugging him.

Joel grunted, arms wrapping around you with a little more force than necessary. “Still smart-mouthed, huh? What do they teach y’all in college these days?”

“Nothing useful,” you quipped, pulling back just enough to look at him.

He hadn’t changed much — maybe a few more lines around his eyes, a touch more gray at his temples. But he was still Joel. Still the man who taught you how to fix a flat tire, still the one who made the best barbecue in the neighborhood, still your dad’s best friend.

Still completely off-limits.

You shook the thought away as you climbed into the passenger seat.

Sarah was waiting at the house when Joel pulled in, grinning as she all but tackled you in a hug.

“Two months,” Sarah beamed. “I’ve already got a list of parties, movie nights, and absolutely nothing responsible planned.”

“Perfect,” you laughed. “I’m not even unpacking my textbooks.”

Joel chuckled behind you both as he headed for the kitchen. “Just remember y’all are under my roof. I better not find any strange boys sneaking out the back door.”

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “That’s a pretty outdated assumption, Miller. Maybe I’ll be the one sneaking out.”

He paused at the fridge, glancing at you — a little too long. “That’s not funny.”

Your stomach flipped. The air shifted — just barely — but enough that Sarah rolled her eyes and tugged you upstairs before you could say anything else.

Later that night, while you and Sarah were watching TV and Sarah had dozed off on the couch, you padded into the kitchen to grab a drink. Joel was there — nursing a beer, leaned against the counter, lost in a book.

He looked up when you walked in. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not really.”

His eyes flicked over you — bare legs, tank top — and then quickly back to his bottle.

“You should get some rest,” he said, voice quieter now. Rougher.

You lingered near the counter, fingers brushing the condensation on your glass. “You still dating that woman from the hardware store?”

Joel blinked. “Lisa?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Didn’t work out.”

You nodded slowly, and when he looked up at you again, there was something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Something dangerous. Something that made you feel like you were balancing on the edge of something sharp.

“You’ve grown up,” he said softly. “A lot.”

“I’m an adult now, Joel.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched, heavy and charged.

Then he cleared his throat and stepped back. “You should head to bed.”

But the way he looked at you before turning away — like he was trying to remember every line of your face — told you everything you needed to know.

This summer was going to be different.

The house was quiet.

Sarah had gone out to some party, promising to be back late, and Joel had stayed home, claiming he was too tired for the noise. You hadn’t planned to stay in — but when Sarah left, you found yourself lingering. You told yourself it was because the couch was more comfortable than going out. Told yourself the wine in the fridge was reason enough.

But really, it was him.

Joel sat on the back porch, one leg propped up, beer in hand, looking out over the yard like the summer night held answers he was too tired to ask for. The porch light cast shadows over the sharp angles of his face — the stubble along his jaw, the deep lines that came from years of hard work and harder choices.

You stepped outside, barefoot, cradling your own glass of wine.

He looked over, eyes trailing down your legs, lingering on the curve of your hips beneath the oversized shirt you were wearing — his shirt, technically. One you’d stolen out of the laundry days ago and never gave back.

“You always steal clothes from men twice your age?” Joel asked, voice a low drawl.

You raised a brow, settling into the chair beside him. “Only the ones I’m not supposed to want.”

The air cracked like lightning between you.

Joel’s jaw tightened. He took a slow sip of his beer and didn’t answer.

You leaned back, eyes on the stars above. “You’re always looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me,” you said softly, “and hate yourself for it.”

That did it.

In one breathless second, he was out of his chair and standing in front of you. His hand cupped your cheek, rough thumb brushing your skin, and his eyes searched yours with something between a warning and a plea.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, voice tight.

“I do,” you whispered. “And I don’t care.”

Joel didn’t move.

So you did.

You stood, close enough that your chest brushed his. You tilted your head up and kissed him — soft at first, testing. But the second his lips touched yours, the dam broke.

He groaned — low and deep — and kissed you like he’d been waiting years for it. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, mouth greedy and desperate. You moaned against his lips, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as your back hit the porch wall.

“You’re so goddamn young,” he muttered against your neck, voice strained as he pressed hot kisses to your skin.

“I’m old enough to know what I want,” you whispered, tugging him closer.

His hands slid under the hem of the shirt, fingers rough on your bare thighs, and he cursed under his breath. “You shouldn’t want me.”

“But I do.”

Joel kissed you again — harder this time, almost angry. Not at you, but at himself. At how fast he was unraveling.

Your mouths met again and again, each kiss a confession both were too afraid to speak out loud.

He gripped the back of your neck, forehead resting against yours, breaths shallow.

“If your dad knew—”

“He’s not here,” you whispered, brushing your lips over his. “And you’re not thinking about him right now. Are you?”

“No,” Joel rasped. “Right now all I’m thinking about is how much I wanna ruin you.”

A breath hitched in your throat.

And still — he didn’t stop. His hand slid up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast, and you arched into him with a soft whimper.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You didn’t.

You pulled him down to kiss you again instead.

And that was it.

Joel groaned, deep and ragged, as he lifted you effortlessly onto the edge of the porch railing, standing between your legs. His lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing skin, hands roaming freely now.

There would be guilt later. Shame. Regret.

But in that moment — all heat and tension and low moans swallowed by summer air — both of you didn’t think.

And you sure as hell didn’t care.

The porch was still, crickets humming in the background, but the air between you was electric.

Joel’s hands were on your bare thighs, fingers tight like he didn’t trust himself to let go. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, pressed between your legs, breath coming heavy against your neck. And still, even as he kissed you like a dying man tasting water, his voice was a strained whisper:

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know,” you breathed, fingers moving to his belt, “but you don’t want me to stop.”

His head dropped to your shoulder, a guttural sound leaving his throat as you unfastened his jeans with quiet, practiced ease. You slid down from the porch railing, knees meeting the old wooden deck as you looked up at him.

“Jesus…” he muttered, torn between pulling away and thrusting forward.

Your hands moved slow, teasing him free from his boxers. He was thick and heavy in your palm, already leaking at the tip. The sight made your thighs clench, made you ache.

Joel looked down at you like he couldn’t believe this was happening — like he was waiting for the guilt to catch up and knock him out cold.

But then you licked a slow stripe along the underside of his cock, and he swore harshly, head falling back with a groan.

“Fuck…”

You wrapped your lips around the tip and sucked — soft, warm, gentle at first, just enough to make him twitch in your mouth. Your tongue circled the head, tasting salt and skin, before you slid lower, taking him deeper with each slow pull.

Joel’s hand found your hair, fingers tangling almost involuntarily.

“This is so wrong,” he breathed. “You’re—fuck—your daddy would kill me.”

You hummed around him, and the vibration made his knees nearly buckle.

“You’re my best friend’s little girl,” he groaned. “You grew up with Sarah, for Christ’s sake…”

But he didn’t stop you. Couldn’t.

Not when you looked up at him like that — eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips stretched around his cock like you were made for it.

He tightened his grip in your hair, guiding you just slightly, the conflict etched across his face even as his hips rocked forward into your mouth.

“Goddamn it, baby,” he muttered, voice ragged. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You pulled back for just a moment, breath hot against him as you whispered, “Yes I do.”

And then you took him again, deeper this time — gagging slightly, but pushing through, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with wet, determined strokes. Your hands gripped his thighs, pace unrelenting.

Joel’s free hand hit the porch railing, knuckles white. His breath came fast, sweat beading along his brow. “Baby—shit—I’m gonna—”

You moaned around him, and that was it.

He spilled into your mouth with a strangled growl, hips jerking, head falling forward as he came hard — messy, hot, and overwhelmed. You swallowed every drop, then licked your lips slowly as you sat back on your heels.

Joel looked down at you like you were something unreal. Dangerous. Sacred.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said hoarsely.

“You didn’t stop me,” you whispered.

Silence settled over you like a blanket.

Joel should’ve walked away.

He should’ve pulled his jeans back up, told you to go inside, locked the goddamn door behind him and slept this lust out like a bad dream.

But when you looked up at him with spit-slick lips and glassy eyes, his cock still twitching from the way your mouth wrecked him, Joel knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Get up,” he rasped.

You blinked, breathless. “Wha—”

“Get up,” he growled again, hauling you to your feet in one swift motion.

His mouth crashed onto yours, messy and hard, tasting himself on your tongue. You moaned into it, fingers clawing at his shoulders, legs shaky as he spun you around and pressed you against the porch railing.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he muttered against your neck, biting at the skin. “You don’t have a goddamn clue.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

That snapped something in him.

Joel shoved your shirt up, baring you to the warm night air, and pushed your panties to the side with a rough grunt.

“You’re soaked,” he growled, dragging two fingers through your folds. “You got this wet just from suckin’ me off, baby?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Want you. Want you so bad—”

And that was it.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

He lined himself up, thick and still hard, and shoved inside you in one deep, brutal thrust.

You gasped — loud, sharp — as your body arched, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

“Joel—!”

“Shhh,” he hissed, biting your shoulder. “You want someone hearin’ you like this? Want the whole neighborhood to know what a filthy little thing you are for me?”

You whimpered. “I don’t care. Let them hear.”

That sent him spiraling.

He started to move — slow, dragging thrusts at first, like he wanted to savor every inch of you. But it didn’t last long. Joel was already too far gone. His hands gripped your hips tight, pulling your back onto his cock over and over, until all you could do was sob his name into the wood slats of the railing.

“You feel that?” he grunted, hips snapping against your ass. “Feel how deep I am?”

You could only nod, lips parted, eyes dazed.

“Fuckin’ made for me,” Joel muttered. “Takin’ me so good, baby… just like that…”

Each thrust shoved you forward, body jolting with every punishing snap of his hips. Your legs shook beneath you, knees threatening to give out, and Joel wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice dark and wrecked. “Let me fuck you dumb, sweet girl. Let me ruin you for anyone else.”

“Already are,” you slurred. “Already ruined.”

Joel groaned — feral, raw — and drove into you harder.

You were gone. Eyes fluttering, mouth open, fucked out completely. You babbled his name like a prayer between moans, fingers clawing at the railing like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

He reached down between you both, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that made you scream. “Come for me, baby. Right now. Let me feel you.”

You shattered with a cry, pussy clenching around him, soaking his cock as your orgasm tore through you. Your whole body trembled, and Joel fucked you through it, still chasing his own release.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groaned. “Wanna see it dripping down your thighs. My girl.”

“Y-Yeah—please—” You gasped. “Do it. Want it. Please, Joel—”

He came with a strangled sound, spilling deep inside you, hips jerking as he filled you completely. The heat of it made you whimper, still twitching around him.

You stayed like that for a moment — pressed together, breathing hard, sweat-slicked and ruined — before Joel finally pulled out, watching his cum leak from your swollen cunt.

He stared like he couldn’t believe what he’d done.

You looked over your shoulder, dazed and glowing. “You still think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Joel wiped a hand over his face, chest still heaving. “Fuck.”

You both knew this wasn’t just a mistake.

It was the beginning of the end.

A/N: u made it! lmk what you think!! likes and reblogs are welcome <3

[gigiii1sblog]

Fake Dating: The love that lays between Part 4

Warning: sexual content, mature content, cheating, and more

Y/NS POV- (FLASHBACK- HOW IT STARTED)

Nathan Doe was always nice. The golden retriever boy. Chris’s best friend, his ride-or-die since high school.

But he looked at me like I mattered. Always had. He came over within twenty minutes of the text.

Nate stood in the doorway like he knew he shouldn’t be there, but didn’t have the strength to say no. He was in a gray hoodie and black sweats, hair still damp from a shower. He looked clean. Kind. Safe.

But I wasn’t safe.

And I wasn’t kind.

I answered the door in a tight top with no bra and short shorts. His jaw dropped. He knew what this was.

“You okay?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Do you want to come in?”

I saw Nate’s eyes flick to my tits, then down to my bare thighs.

“You said you needed company,” he said softly.

“I need a lot of things.”

I stepped back, let him in. My heart was pounding and I didn’t know if it was from nerves or rage.

He looked at me like I was breakable. I hated it.

So I stepped closer, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and pulled him down to kiss me.

His lips were softer than Chris’s. Less demanding. Less cruel. And I hated that too. He let me control it, at first. My hands under his hoodie, dragging across abs I hadn’t realized he had. My mouth moving down his neck, licking at the sharp edge of his jaw. He groaned, fingers twitching at my waist.

“Y/N,” he breathed, voice wrecked, “are you sure—”

I cut him off with a bite to his throat. “Don’t ask.”

He grabbed my hips, spun me, and pinned me against the wall with more force than I expected. Something about the way I moaned lit something up in him.

“You want rough?” he asked, voice dark now. “Or do you want to pretend I’m him?”

That snapped something.

“No,” I gasped. “I want to forget him.”

He kissed me again, deeper now, tongue sliding into my mouth, hands lifting my shirt over my head. His knuckles brushed my nipples. I gasped.

He groaned, lips dragging down my chest. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

He sank to his knees in front of me, pulled my panties down slow, watching my reaction the whole time. His fingers trailed up the inside of my thighs, teasing me until I was shaking.

I forgot how to breathe.

He kissed me like he wanted me to feel good like he wanted to erase Chris with, every swirl, every groaned “fuck” into my skin.

I came on his fingers with a cry so loud I covered my own lips.

But he wasn’t done.

He stood, eyes blown wide, and pulled me toward the bed. He slid into me slow, too slow stretching me open until my nails raked down his back.

He held eye contact the whole time. I hated it.

Chris never looked at me like this. Like I mattered.

“You okay?” Nate whispered, buried to the hilt inside me.

“Harder,” I panted. “Please.”

He obeyed. Snapped his hips into mine, his breath catching, body moving like he was afraid he’d break me. I pulled him closer, kissed him sloppily, whispered, “Faster.”

And when he gave it to me when he fucked me like he meant it I finally let go.

I cried out his name.

But I thought of Chris.

Later, Nate lay next to me, hand tracing lazy lines on my bare stomach.

“That was… a mistake, wasn’t it?”

I didn’t answer. I just rolled away, wrapped myself in a blanket, and stared at the wall.

And when he left, I cried.

Because it wasn’t love.

It was revenge.

And it didn’t work.

CHRIS POV-

Nate didn’t tell me.

He didn’t have to.

I saw her.

Wearing his hoodie.

Hair a mess like she’d been dragged through sin.

Lips bruised.

Eyes dazed, glassy.

The kind of look only fucking leaves behind.

And then I saw him.

Walking out of her apartment at 3 a.m.

Like he was carrying her scent on his skin.

Like he didn’t just rip my soul out and spit on it.

Like he didn’t just fuck the only girl I’ve ever—

I punched the wall. Didn’t feel the pain. Only rage.

And then I found him.

He was in the locker room, sweat still slicking his neck, laughing with someone about the game.

Like everything was fucking normal.

Like I didn’t want to kill him.

“You fucked her,” I said. Quiet. So quiet it was dangerous.

Nate turned, froze. He knew. The guilt was instant.

“Chris, man—”

I launched at him.

My fist cracked against his cheekbone with a sound that should’ve broken me, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

“You fucking knew she was mine!”

I slammed him into the lockers. Metal rattled like thunder.

“You don’t get to act betrayed,” he spat, blood in his teeth. “You tossed her like she was a piece of shit.”

“She wasn’t yours to touch!” I roared, throwing another punch.

He landed one in my gut, and I saw stars, but I didn’t care. Pain was a welcome guest.

“She cried to me,” Nate said, venomous. “While you were busy fucking your ex. She came to me.”

That was it. I saw red.

We were teeth and fists and blood. His lip split open. My knuckles tore.

It took three guys to drag us apart.

I was still screaming his name like a war cry. He was spitting blood onto the floor, glaring at me like I lost the right to be mad.

“She loved you,” he said. “And you broke her.”

⸻

I didn’t knock.

I kicked the door in.

She flinched in the kitchen, wearing a short silk robe, hair wet from a shower, bare legs that had no right to still be that familiar.

“Chris—”

“You fucked Nate.”

She blinked. Then crossed her arms like she wasn’t standing there in my favorite robe. “So what if I did?”

I stepped toward her. Fast. My jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“You fucked my best friend.”

She scoffed, “You fucked your ex. Don’t act brand new.”

My hands curled into fists. My chest rose with every breath like I couldn’t get enough air.

“You did it to hurt me.”

Her jaw clenched. “And it worked.”

I crossed the room in seconds. Grabbed her face like I could crush the lies out of her.

“You fucked my best friend.”

“You wanna know what I thought about when he was inside me?” she whispered.

I gritted my teeth, rage and heartbreak pulsing in my veins. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

She leaned in, smiling like a devil in red lipstick. “You, Chris. I thought about you the whole time.”

I don’t know who moved first. Maybe me. Maybe her. All I know is my mouth crashed onto hers like a weapon. Like revenge. She kissed back with the same force like we were trying to ruin each other with every second.

Teeth. Tongue. Spit. Her hands in my hair. Mine on her ass. Pulling. Scratching. Bruising.

“I fucking hate you,” she hissed.

“You love it,” I growled, dragging my mouth down her neck.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you keep letting me in,” I snarled, biting hard enough to leave a mark.

“You’re not supposed to care,” she whispered. “This was all fake.”

I buried my face in her shoulder. “Then why the fuck does it feel so real?”

We moved like we were in love. Like our bodies never got the memo that this was just pretend. Every kiss was a confession. Every gasp a betrayal.

⸻

Y/N POV

It’s been three weeks.

Twenty-one long, miserable days since I let him kiss me like nothing had ever broken between us.

Since his mouth was on my throat and his fingers were digging into my hips like he was still allowed to leave marks.

And three weeks since he walked out the door.

Again.

We haven’t spoken.

Not a word.

Not even a passive, aggressive like on an Instagram story.

I don’t even remember the final fight clearly.

I just remember how it ended.

The venom in his voice.

The door slamming.

The silence that followed, louder than anything we’d ever screamed at each other.

It was cruel.

It was stupid.

But it had been building for months, in the way he looked at me like I wasn’t enough, in the way I kissed him like I wanted to punish us both.

But now?

Now his hoodie, that oversized, black one I wore the night he first undressed me is still hanging on the back of my desk chair.

His silver ring is still on my nightstand. The one he used to toss there before fucking me, like it meant something to shed his armor around me.

And my black lace bra is still in his glove compartment.

I left it there.

Like a landmine.

Like I wanted him to reach for the AUX and remember how I felt wrapped around him.

We see each other all the time now.

Same friend groups. Same shitty parties. Same shallow conversations across the room.

He pretends I don’t exist. I pretend I’m not watching him out of the corner of my eye.

But I feel him.

In my bloodstream. In my spine. In every song that still sounds like us, he’s still everywhere.

In the music I hear. In the hoodie I sleep in. In the fucking silence between songs on a playlist we made months ago.

Especially that song.

The one that ruined me.

The one that used to be ours.

That’s why I got the tattoo.

Two weeks ago.

Left hip. Low enough only he would see it.

Delicate, messy script inked into my skin black and bold:

Born to Die.

I didn’t cry when the needle hit my bone.

I cried when I got home and realized he’d never see it.

Except… I wanted him to.

I needed him to.

Because that song? That night in his car? I played it for him the first time,windows down, his fingers tracing circles into my thigh like he wasn’t scared yet, Legs in his lap, rain on the windshield, Lana humming through blown-out speakers at 2am, that wasn’t just a memory..

I told him the song made me feel like falling off a cliff.

He grinned that lazy, dangerous grin and said “Then fall with me.”

He looked at me like I was salvation. I looked at him like he was my true love.

⸻

Born to Die, inked into my skin like a confession, a scar, and a love letter he’ll never read.

I haven’t told anyone.

No one’s seen it.

Not even him.

But sometimes, when I catch his eyes across a party, when I see the way his jaw clenches at the sight of me laughing with someone else, I wonder if he knows.

Not about the tattoo.

But that I love him. And that it’s killing me.

CHRIS POV-

She ghosted me.

Not officially. Not with words.

She just stopped responding.

Stopped texting.

Stopped showing up where she knew I’d be, unless it was for a party we had to be seen at when we’d slip back into the roles like clockwork.

Her hand in mine. Her laugh too loud. My arm around her waist like we still fucked every night.

But we didn’t.

Not anymore.

It’s been three weeks since I touched her.

Since I kissed her hard enough to bruise.

Since she clawed my back and begged me not to stop.

She’s still everywhere.

Her stupid pink toothbrush is still in my bathroom.

Her hair tie with orange hairs is around my gearshift.

Her brown lipliner smudge is still on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

And her bra is still in my car.

I left it there. Like a goddamn altar.

I want to hate her.

I want to get over her.

I want to stop checking Nate’s story like a psycho just to see if she’s in the background smiling like she’s free of me.

But I can’t.

Because every time I’m alone, I hear it.

That fucking song.

“Born to Die.”

She used to play it just to see the way i looked at her.

Like she was something tragic. Something romantic. Something dangerous i wanted to get hurt by.

We’d drive around for hours with it on repeat, her legs on the dash, her fingers in my hair, her mouth tasting like weed and chapstick.

I’d sing the chorus under my breath and she’d tell me to shut up, but her smile said don’t.

“'Cause you and I, we were born to die”

I don’t know why I miss that song more than her sometimes.

Or maybe it’s the same thing.

Maybe the song is her now.

And I can’t stop listening.

CHRS POV- THE PARTY

It’s one of those parties that feels like static.

Music too loud. People too sweaty. Vodka too cheap.

I saw her across the room.

Short skirt. Tank top. Big hoops. Brown Lip liner.

Danger. Desire. Regret.

Everything I’d been trying to drink away.

God, I could taste her.

She was tipsy, already swaying a little when she laughed at something too loud. Her eyes landed on me for a second, half a second, then flicked away. Like she didn’t see me anymore. Like I wasn’t the guy who held her while she cried after sex and begged me not to touch her like I loved her.

I took a shot.

Then another.

Three more and I was stumbling.

I shoved through the crowd, tunnel vision, until I found her on the stairs. Alone. Smoking.

Her lips were brown, pink and glossy. Her hair was a mess. She looked like trouble I’d never get tired of chasing.

She didn’t look at me when I sat next to her.

“You still got my shirt,” I muttered, watching the way her tank top clung to her chest.

She exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You still have my bra in your car.”

Silence.

Then she laughed, sharp and bitter. The kind of laugh that hid hurt.

“Why are you even here, Christopher?”

I looked at her, and the words came out heavy. Honest.

"Because even when you hate me, I still feel like you're mine."

She turned. Her eyes glassy.

Her voice low and cracking.

“Then why’d you keep breaking me?”

We didn’t speak again.

We just moved.

Mouths colliding like a car crash.

Her fingers in my hair, tugging. Mine gripping her hips like I was afraid she’d vanish.

She pulled me down the hall, bumping into walls, teeth clashing. We were a mess.

We didn’t care.

Her back hit the wall hard, her leg hiked around my hip.

My hand slipped under her skirt and she gasped, mouth parting, breath hitching.

“You’re drunk,” she whispered, dragging my belt loose.

“So are you.”

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Then tell me to stop.”

She didn’t.

We stumbled into the bedroom like we were being pulled by something stronger than us, some sick gravity that always brought us back.

I pulled her tank top over her head, tossed it.

She stripped my shirt off, pushed me onto the bed, and climbed into my lap.

I kissed down her neck, licking, biting, worshipping the bruises I’d left before.

My fingers dipped under her panties. She was soaked.

“Fuck,” I hissed. “You missed me?”

She smirked, breathless. “Shut up.”

I grabbed her waist and flipped her under me.

She squealed, laughing breathlessly, and it was soft.

For a second, it wasn’t toxic.

It felt happy.

I kissed down her stomach, licking and nipping lower.

And that’s when I saw it.

Born to Die

Small, black, fresh ink just above her hipbone.

My breath caught.

I touched it gently, fingers brushing the letters.

“You got this recently?” I asked, voice quieter than I meant.

She hesitated.

Then nodded.

“Jesus,” I whispered, brushing my lips against the ink. “That what I did to you?”

She didn’t answer.

Just reached down and ran her fingers through my hair.

And something about that, her letting me kiss the part of her that said she was broken, made my chest tighten.

I licked from the tattoo down to her thigh, slow.

She was trembling beneath me.

I kissed her inner thigh, dragging it out. She whimpered, already squirming.

Then I licked her through her panties. Long and firm.

“Chris—”

Her voice cracked.

I pulled them off slowly, eyes locked on hers. Then I dove in.

I licked her like I needed it, like I could crawl inside her and live there.

Flat tongue against her clit. Sucking, flicking, circling until her hips bucked and she sobbed out my name.

“F—fuck, Chris, please—”

I didn’t stop.

Held her thighs down and devoured her.

She was shaking. Moaning. Whispering my name like it was the only word she remembered.

I only stopped when her legs clamped around my head and she came with a cry she tried to muffle with her fist.

I kissed up her body, kissed her tattoo again, then her stomach, her chest, her neck.

When I kissed her mouth, she grabbed my face and pulled me deeper.

“I hate how good you feel.”

“Say you missed me.”

She didn’t.

But she kissed me like she did.

I lined myself up, teased her entrance with the tip of my cock.

“You sure?” I asked, forehead pressed to hers.

Her nails dug into my back.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything I shouldn’t want.”

I pushed in slow.

She gasped, back arching, eyes fluttering shut.

I filled her inch by inch, my hands on either side of her head, holding myself back from going too fast.

She was so warm. So tight. So familiar.

“Look at me,” I whispered.

She did.

Eyes glassy, lips parted.

I started to move deep and steady, grinding every time I bottomed out.

Her moans were soft, needy, gasped against my mouth.

We didn’t talk.

Just moved.

Her legs wrapped around me, locking me in. Her hands in my hair. Mine gripping her hips.

I kissed her hard, kissed her soft, kissed her like I meant it.

Like I was sorry. Like I still loved her.

Because maybe I did.

She clawed down my back. “Harder.”

I gave it to her.

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room.

Her name fell from my lips like worship.

Mine was gasped like she hated how it tasted and couldn’t stop saying it anyway.

She came again, shaking. Eyes rolled back, whispering “I love you” so quiet I wasn’t sure I heard it.

But it ruined me.

I fucked her through it, buried deep inside her, and came with a groan against her shoulder, holding her so close I couldn’t tell where I ended and she started.

We collapsed in silence.

Her back against my chest.

My hand tracing lazy circles over the Born to Die tattoo.

“I don’t want this to mean nothing,” I whispered into her hair.

She stayed quiet.

But her fingers laced with mine.

And in the morning?

She was still wearing my shirt.

And I was in her kitchen, making coffee like I’d done it a thousand times before.

Like it wasn’t just sex.

Like it wasn’t just damage.

Like maybe just maybe we could survive this.

Even if we weren’t born to.

Y/N POV- A MONTH LATER

It’s been thirty days since I last saw Chris.

Thirty days since that night at the party when he kissed me like I was oxygen and fucked me like I was special.

I thought it meant something.

He never said it, but the way he touched me… the way he kissed the tattoo, held my hand afterward, whispered into my hair while I fell asleep in his arms, I thought maybe this time would be different.

But then he disappeared. Again.

Didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t even block me just went silent like I never mattered.

Now his shirt’s still hanging on the back of my door. His cologne still lingers in my pillows. His stupid hoodie still sits on my desk chair, like it belongs here more than he ever did.

I don’t even cry about it anymore.

I just… exist. Hurt. Pretend I’m fine.

⸻

CHRIS POV

I never should’ve gone back to her.

That’s what I tell myself when I lie awake at 3 a.m., staring at the ceiling, my chest fucking aching because I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked up at me when I kissed her tattoo.

She whispered, I love you.

And I didn’t say it back.

Not because I didn’t feel it.

Because I did.

Too much. So much that I knew if I said it, I wouldn’t be able to let her go. And she deserves someone better than the version of me that still wakes up sweating from dreams of her leaving.

I never stopped wanting her. I just didn’t think I deserved to keep her.

⸻

ANOTHER MONTH LATER..

It’s raining.

I’m walking home from Nate’s place, finally going back to being the great friends we are, hoodie up, earbuds in, when I see her standing outside the gas station.

No umbrella. Hair soaked. Arms crossed over her chest. And she looks like she’s about to cry.

I stop walking. Just… stop.

She hasn’t seen me yet.

She’s pacing in front of the door, probably waiting for Milla. She looks cold. Frustrated. Beautiful.

And then she turns her head, and sees me.

For a second, it’s just silence. Static. Like the rain got louder and the world stopped moving.

Her lips part. She doesn’t say my name.

So I say hers.

“Y/N.”

Her eyes flicker, like she’s deciding whether to hit me or cry. “What?”

I take a few steps closer. “You okay?”

She laughs, bitter. “You don’t get to ask that anymore.”

“I never meant to disappear.”

“You always disappear, Chris.”

And then her voice breaks.

“You always ruin everything. And I still—” she cuts herself off.

Still what?

Still loved me?

Still missed me?

Still wanted me?

I step closer, until we’re only inches apart under the storm.

“I never stopped thinking about you.”

“That’s the problem,” she whispers. “Thinking doesn’t fix the damage.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You did it anyway.”

She’s trembling now, soaked and furious and shaking but she doesn’t walk away.

Neither do I.

“Come with me,” I say.

She hesitates. But then she does.

⸻

BACK IN HER APARTMENT

Clothes in the dryer. Rain still pounding outside. Everything feels too quiet.

We sit on the couch. Neither of us speaking.

Then she says, “I got rid of your stuff.”

Pause.

“Except your hoodie.”

Pause.

“I couldn’t throw it out.”

My throat tightens. I reach out slowly, brush her wet hair behind her ear. She doesn’t flinch.

“Why are you here?” she whispers.

“Because being away from you hurts more than being near you.”

She closes her eyes.

And starts to cry.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just quiet, tired tears that roll down her cheeks like she’s too exhausted to hold them back.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she says, voice shaking.

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“Then don’t.”

We sit there, soaked, broken, silent until I lean in and kiss her forehead.

It’s not make up sex this time..

It’s something softer. Raw.

Like maybe we still have a chance to build something real, even if we don’t know how to be good for each other yet.

Y/N POV-

He didn’t try to kiss me again.

Not after that first forehead kiss.

He just… stayed.

We didn’t talk much. He watched the dryer spin. I made tea I didn’t drink. We moved like ghosts in a house we used to live in together. Like every step was a memory we hadn’t unpacked yet.

I gave him dry clothes from the drawer he never officially had, but somehow still exists. He changed in the bathroom. I stared at the floor.

When he came out, he looked like someone I used to know. Soft eyes. Quiet presence. Hoodie too big. Socks mismatched.

He didn’t sit next to me this time.

He sat across from me. On the floor.

“I’ve been clean for 20 days,” he said, voice low.

I blinked.

“Drinking,” he clarified. “Since that night.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I didn’t.

He looked up at me with something that wasn’t quite hope, but not quite defeat either.

“I’m trying. I swear.”

I felt it then, that familiar, bitter ache.

Because he always tries. After the damage.

“Why now?” I whispered.

He swallowed. “Because I hated waking up and not smelling your shampoo on my pillow.”

My throat tightened.

“And because,” he continued, “when you whispered I love you, I almost said it back. But I knew if I did, it’d be real. And if it was real, I couldn’t lose it again. And that scared the shit out of me.”

Silence.

Not angry.

Just heavy.

“I meant it,” I whispered finally. “When I said it. Even if I was drunk.”

“I know.”

He reached out, hand open. Not grabbing. Just offering.

I stared at it for a second before I took it.

His fingers laced through mine like

muscle memory.

And for the first time in a long time… it didn’t hurt.

⸻

That Night

We didn’t have sex.

He slept on the couch. I left him a pillow and a blanket and a cup of water.

But I stood in the hallway for fifteen minutes just listening to his breathing. Slow. Deep.

Like maybe, for once, he wasn’t dreaming about me leaving.

⸻

THE NEXT MORNING

He made coffee.

I came out in his hoodie.

He looked up like I was the sun he wasn’t expecting to see.

“You stayed,” I said.

“I didn’t want to leave.”

“You’re gonna have to.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But not yet. Right?”

I nodded. “Not yet.”

He held my gaze.

“Y/N,” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

That broke something soft in me. Because he’d never asked before.

He always took.

But now, he was trying to earn it.

So I nodded. Just once.

He walked toward me slow, hands gentle. He cradled my face like I was fragile.

His lips brushed mine. Once. Then again.

And the kiss was slow.

No teeth. No grabbing. No war.

Just… warmth.

His thumb swiped my cheek like he was memorizing my shape.

“I missed you,” he breathed against my lips.

“I know.”

⸻

Chris is lying back on the pillows, shirtless under his hoodie, hair messy. Y/N sits cross-legged, picking at noodles with a fork, pretending not to steal glances at him every five seconds.

Chris:

“You know what’s weird?”

Y/N:

“What?”

Chris:

“I think the fake dating thing might’ve been the only time I ever felt like… I had you for real.”

She freezes, fork mid-air. Her stomach tightens.

Y/N:

“You did have me. That was the problem.”

He sits up a little, eyes searching hers.

Chris:

“I didn’t know how to handle it. I kept telling myself it wasn’t real, so I could justify fucking it up.”

She lets out a soft breath, pushing food around the container.

Y/N:

“And I kept pretending it was fake so I wouldn’t get hurt. Joke’s on me.”

He nudges her foot with his.

Chris:

“But it wasn’t fake, was it?”

She doesn’t answer.

He keeps his voice low.

Chris:

“The way you’d look at me in front of everyone. Touch my arm. Kiss my jaw like it didn’t mean anything. That shit drove me insane.”

Y/N:

“I had to sell it.”

Chris:

“No. You didn’t. You wanted to.”

She looks at him finally. Eyes glassy. Honest.

Y/N:

“Yeah. I did.”

Silence.

Chris:

“I wanted it to be real. So bad. But I kept thinking if I said that out loud, you’d pull away.”

Y/N:

“You always say things too late.”

He reaches for her hand this time. Laces their fingers together gently, rubbing his thumb over her skin like it grounds him.

Chris:

“I’m saying it now. I wanted you. I still do. Not fake. Not casual. Just… you.”

She looks down at their hands.

Y/N:

“I don’t want to be another girl you ruin.”

His voice drops.

Chris:

“Then don’t let me ruin you. Stay. Call me out when I’m being an asshole. Push back. I’ll take it. Just don’t leave.”

She bites her lip.

Y/N:

“If this is real… we have to be honest.”

Chris:

“I’ll tell you everything. I’ll show you everything.”

A beat passes.

Y/N:

“So what are we now?”

He smirks, just a little, but it’s soft.

Chris:

“We’re whatever you want to be. But if it’s up to me?”

He moves closer, lips brushing her knuckles.

Chris:

“We’re real.”

She smiles through her watery eyes. Wipes her cheek.

Y/N:

“God, I hate you.”

Chris:

“No, you don’t.”

And he leans in, presses a kiss to her lips slow, patient, reverent.

Like he’s finally kissing his girlfriend for the first time.

omg you guys aren’t ready fro what’s coming next ….. 😣

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @pair-of-pantaloons @amiraisafreakokaysorry

[orphicreveries]

Henry gets jealous, unbelievable jealous and that makes him realise that he is actually in love and committed to you.

And simply the thought of you being with someone else makes him go insane.

Francis’s house was flickering with too many candles and too little sense. The wine, something expensive and French was being poured with careless abandon, and the smoke from Camilla’s cigarette curled into the low chandelier like an offering. You were sitting beside Richard. Laughing. Touching his arm. The entire scene was so painfully, politely theatrical that Henry found himself repulsed.

He did not speak much that evening. He sat opposite you, spine straight, wine untouched. You weren’t looking at him. Not deliberately avoiding, no, but not seeking him out either. And that, he thought, was worse. Like you’d forgotten to remember him. Like you’d chosen someone simpler.

Richard was blushing at something you said. Some harmless anecdote, your fingers brushing his wrist as you reached for the water. Henry stared at the contact, eyes fixed and glassy, and something unspeakably old and ugly stirred behind his ribs.

Her hand doesn’t belong there.

She never laughs like that with me.

I would’ve killed a man for her once. And now she’s smiling at Richard like she’s never been touched.

He did not say a word when the party moved to the drawing room. Didn’t offer to help when you carried your wineglass with one hand and the hem of your dress with the other, nor when Richard leaned too close to whisper something idiotic in your ear.

You found Henry much later, where you always found him standing in the shadows like something pressed between the pages of a very old book. Francis’s library door had been left slightly ajar, and inside he was alone, staring at the window, fingers tapping once against the glass.

“You’re angry,” you said. You didn’t bother softening it. He would’ve heard the amusement in your voice anyway, and he hated being humored.

“No,” he said, not turning. “I’m out of my mind.”

You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you. The lock clicked like a gun being cocked.

Henry turned slowly. His gaze met yours, and the room went colder.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked, like a professor catching you plagiarizing Ovid. There was no tremor in his voice. Only ice. Calculation.

“About what?”

“Richard.” His voice didn’t rise. It never rose. But the name was spat with the acidity of a curse. “You looked comfortable.”

You folded your arms. “I was being kind.”

“You were being flirted with. And you let him.”

You laughed, too sharp. “What, and you’re jealous now?”

“I’ve been jealous,” he said, calmly, walking toward you. “I’ve been jealous for months. I simply no longer care to hide it.”

You’re honestly in shock at the news of the cold and stoic Henry being jealous.

He stopped when he reached you. You didn’t move.

“You think he’d know what to do with you?” His voice dropped. “Would he even know how to touch you?” His face inches closer. “Do you truly think he could know you the way that I know you?”

“Henry—”

He kissed you, cutting you off like punctuation, hard, brutal, no breath, no prelude. His hands were already gathering your dress at the thighs, the bookshelves behind you creaking as he shoved you back against them. Leather-bound copies of Plato trembled.

“Did you like the way he looked at you?” he murmured into your neck, biting. “Did it make you feel desirable?”

You were breathless, fingers clinging to his shirt. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No,” he agreed. “That’s the problem.”

He dropped to his knees like a knight, but nothing about him was reverent. His hands were already under your dress, mouth at the soft inside of your thigh.

“Let me guess,” he said, breath hot. “You thought I wouldn’t care. Thought I was above it. That I’d keep fucking you like nothing happened.”

You gasped as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your cunt, one hand holding your thigh open.

“You were wrong.”

He ate you out like he was trying to rewrite something. Like Richard’s name had been written there, and he was erasing it. You could feel the blunt pressure of his fingers digging into your thighs, bruising, possessive. He wasn’t trying to make you come quickly, he was dragging it out. Ruining you.

When he stood again, his mouth was wet. He kissed you with it. Let you taste yourself.

“You’re mine,” he said, unbuckling his belt with infuriating grace. “Say it.”

You didn’t.

So he fucked you against the bookcase.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. But it was slow, each thrust deliberate, dragging a whimper from your throat despite how hard you bit your lip to stay quiet. He didn’t want fast. He wanted complete obliteration.

His mouth was at your ear. “Still thinking about him?”

“Huh?” You gasped

“Good.” A pause. “Because I will not share.”

It was overwhelming in a way that bordered on cruel. The rhythm of his thrusts was slow but ruinous, each one dragging something sacred and senseless out of you. He wasn’t fucking you to get off. He was fucking you to prove a point, one only he knew, one that kept spilling from his mouth in jagged fragments between clenched teeth and bitten kisses.

The sound of him, sharp exhales, the wet slap of skin against skin, the low, groans he barely let himself make filled the room like smoke. You clawed at his back, not because you needed him closer, but because there wasn’t any closer to get.

Every time he pulled out even an inch, your body clenched down like it thought he might leave. Every time he pushed back in, it felt like the first time again like he was discovering something secret inside you. Like he was branding it.

“You’re the only thing I believe in anymore.” And that alone would push you over the edge, the rawness and honesty in the way he says it.

You came first.

It hit like a fever, like a breaking wave, like the first sharp inhale after being underwater too long. Your thighs trembled around his hips, shaking violently from how long he’d held you on that edge, hovering there, useless with need, body taut and burning. And then suddenly it snapped. Not gently. Not in some soft, movie-score kind of way. You shattered around him.

But he kept going. His head is bowed low, eyes pinned to the place where your bodies meet, and his fingers dig mercilessly into the meat of your thigh, holding it open like he owns it.

And it’s all so unbearably slow.

Measured. Deep. Focused. Not because he’s being gentle, but because he’s chasing something. A precise feeling. An answer, maybe.

Your voice breaks, his name stuttered out in a gasp, breath catching in your throat, and something in his expression flickers. Not soft. Just cracked, for a moment. You feel him twitch inside you.

“Don’t,” he says lowly. Like you’ve touched a nerve. “Don’t say my name like that.”

But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he pushes deeper.

And then it hits him. Right as he feels your walls flutter around him, back arching, hand fisting the sheet—

This is different.

Not the sex. Not the body. But the weight of it.

He’s been inside other people. It’s never felt like this. Never like his ribs are being peeled open. Never like his breath is leaving him in fragments.

Your hands are on him. Your mouth, too, kissing at his neck, his jaw, your lips brushing something devastatingly sweet into the shell of his ear. He doesn’t even register what you say.

Because suddenly it’s all too much.

Your skin is too warm. Your body too tight. Your voice too soft, too intimate. You know things you shouldn’t. You’re looking at him like you see him, and Henry, Henry Marchbanks Winter, has never been more undone.

And it terrifies him.

He won’t say he loves you.

But something inside him is breaking.

He groans, breath hitching hard. His thrusts grow erratic, his hands tremble.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ll come- fuck I’ll come if you keep looking at me like that.”

“If anyone else ever-” he cuts himself off with a gasp, voice cracking on the brink, “-if anyone else touched you like this, I’d-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

Your nails rake down his back. Your mouth finds his again, messy and open, and when you come, biting his shoulder to stifle the moan, it sends him spiraling. A full-body shudder. He follows you with a guttural, broken noise, buried so deep inside you it feels like drowning.

He comes hard. Like he’s losing something. Like you’re taking it from him.

And afterward, when you’re panting beneath him and he’s still buried in you, muscles twitching with the aftershocks, he doesn’t speak.

He just stays there. Forehead pressed to your collarbone. Breathing you in. Letting himself be ruined in silence.

Because he doesn’t have the words for what this is.

But he knows it’s never happening with anyone else.

Not like this.

[moriitis]

HIII, how are you?? I hope you're having a great day/night!

I just wanted to tell you that I REALLY loved the HCs about Toby being a father (and the one where the child died left a severe trauma in me..)

So I was thinking—could you please write one where him and his child (maybe a girl?) have a day out together? Like going for a walk in the woods or.. maybe going to the mcdonald's or something like that? Or just doing something fun together! I would really love to read that! C:

you're one of my favorite writers, and I really enjoy your work! :3

(also, I’m really nervous bc I’ve never requested anything before, so please don’t make fun of me or smth😭🙏) srry if bad english :b

Oh my god, bet.

But quickly, admire;

HCs under cut!

"Hey, w-wh-what toy did you get?" Toby utters, leaning over the table to peer over toward the box in the kid's hands. The young girl admired the box closely, with a steady precision before shrugging softly. "I don't know," she whined softly, narrowing a glance at her dad that had stolen a fry from her side of the table. "They're all different inside." Holding out a hand, Toby lifted an index finger. "Let me look." Quickly, the young girl pulled the box close to her chest - protecting it with a furrowed brow. Confusion etched across his features as he studied her and her prized toy intently. "What?" he asked with a shrug in his shoulder, taking a moment to take a cautious gaze around the McDonalds. It was quiet, which was no surprise, it was a moody, midday Monday. There weren't many people inside; which is how he liked it. Last thing he needed was more attention, especially when he technically snuck his kid out to grab something to eat. "You're going to open it," the kid whined, earning an honest chuckle from Toby. Shit, he hadn't thought of that but now she gave him an idea. Immediately, he threw his hands up in surrender and shook his head softly, a big dumb grin across his features. "Whoaaa, damn, I-I- I won't," he chuckled in-between a stutter, the child eyeing him suspiciously for a moment before sliding the box toward his direction. Catching it with ease, Toby assessed the box. It was probably another crappy, cheap toy; at least it wasn't a book or something. The promotion was from this upcoming kids film he'd never heard from but it had some cats and dogs in it; something the kid loved. "Looks boring," he mumbled, sliding the box back toward the little girl that sat opposite him. "You know, when I was a k-kid, t-these toys were wayyy b-b-better." There was a smug grin across his face, like back in his day he was even allowed to eat at McDonalds - his family were too broke even for this greasy shit.

"So, was that like.. forty years ago?" the child asked, fingernails toying with the edge of the box as she peeled it open. Toby could feel a dagger in his heart, shit, did he look that old?

"I'm nn-not that old-" he protested, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand as he observed - finding himself way too eager to figure out what kind of toy she got.

With a soft shuffle, the kid pulled out the toy and out fell out a little plastic toy of a ginger cat. Sure, it was a kids toy, but was that it? It opened its mouth and.. that was it? Toby's lips narrowed, trying to surprise some laughter at just the thought alone.

"Awh! A kitty!" the little girl exclaimed with excitement, holding it up in front of his face and waving it about proudly. Toby's eyes fluttered, trying to focus on the toy before leaning back a little to take one more look around the restaurant.

"Hey, you g-gonna eat that?" he asked, pointing at a lone nugget that sat on the table. The girl, who was too preoccupied with the cat at this point, simply shrugged; which gave Toby a clear signal that he'd just eat it for himself. He'd only just managed to scrape by enough for a kids meal, so he'll eat whatever was left behind.

A silence fell between him and the kid as he run his tongue over his bottom teeth, remaining on high alert. The last thing he wanted was to get caught.

"Daddy, look, look, you're not looking!" Toby blinked and glanced toward his daughter, narrowing his brows for a moment. The kid pottered the toy cat along the table, meowing loudly and suddenly attacking Toby's other hand he had flat on the table.

"This cat's l-l-loud-" Toby mumbled, watching with a little smile across his face. A part of him still couldn't believe this was his kid? He could see Lyra in her eyes. Lyra would've loved her; he hoped anyway.

"Well, yeah, they are loud, look - listen, I can do a really loud meow-"

Before she even got a chance to suck in a deep breath, Toby clamped a hand over her mouth quickly.

"No, no, no, no, I believe you!" he exclaimed in a hushed whisper, cautiously removing his hand away from her mouth. "Plus, my m-mmeow would be l-louder." He shrugged with a challenging smirk.

"Daddy's are not allowed to meow," his daughter chuckled, leaning back on the leather chair with a glint of mischief in her eyes. Toby took it as a challenge, the whole 'responsible parent' being thrown out the window at the thought of out-meowing his daughter in a restaurant.

"What?! Who the h-hell made that rule up? Dad's are t-totally allowed to meow."

The little girl continued to giggle, shaking her head with a little, "nuh-uh" following.

Toby took a look around, cleared his throat and quickly sucked in a breath before releasing a loud 'meow' that practically stopped everyone in their tracks; looking over toward him with concern. The kid was a giggling mess, Toby watching with a hint of satisfaction across his features.

"See?" he asked, pinching another fry from her happy meal box. They were pretty cold, but he'd take it. It took a moment for the little girl to recover from her laughing fit, shaking her head softly.

"Not loud enough." Toby raised a brow, shaking his head softly with a little chuckle to himself.

Maybe becoming a dad made everything worth it.

[musette22]

Lol I’m back here yapping but it’s not my fault so many people are suddenly talking about how shitty endgame and Steve’s ending was 😭 one thing I’ve noticed when it comes to Steggy is people are legit writing a fanfic about them and treat it as canon. Saw someone say Peggy fought with them every day on the field. Peggy was an agent, not a soldier? Not once in any of the cap trilogy do we see her anywhere near the battlefield? I know the Carter show tried to do some heavy lifting there but a) literally nobody saw that and b) are any of the older shows even canon? And id we go by Carter show, doesn’t it show how she moved on from Steve and literally wasn’t simping for him for 70 years?? People claim Peggy always loved him and fought by his side, but the whole steggy romance is literally all tell, no show. We DONT see them in love, we see what could be considered a war fling. We don’t see them connect deeply, we don’t see Steve have an understanding with her, we don’t even see Peggy going crazy for him. But suddenly it was this grandiose romance that’s worth risking the universe for. I think that’s my main issue with it bc we literally see them have like five convos, one assault and one awkward kiss yet I’m meant to believe they were soulmates? If marvel wanted me to believe that, they should have written that! If marvel wanted me to believe they saw each other all the time on the battlefield, they should have shown that or told us in the actual movies! Peggy’s legit watching the war reels along with everyone else! She was an agent, probably a code breaker, helped with training and briefings, she did not fight and plan, that was all the commandos. Surely they could have done that if they wanted to? And now ppl claim Peggy never moved on bc she had Steve’s pic on her desk (mind you shield was founded in his name and she’s a co-founder, why wouldn’t she have a pic of the man who sacrificed himself for them) and she always waited for Steve? No. Pegg literally told him she lived her life happily, and he should too. Ppl literally watched the mess that was endgame and started pretending like they were obsessed with each other when Steve just regretted the missed chances. Peggy was not waiting on him! I know the gen public just does not understand Steve and that’s why they fell for this lazy nostalgia bait that is Steve’s ending, but now they’re literally ignoring the cap trilogy and making up their own stories based on endgame (which is full of nonsensical time travel and it’s never explained how Steve didn’t fuck up timelines. And no, he was not the husband the whole time, it was not the plan all along, if that were the case Steve would not be told to move on and live in the future by Peggy, Peggy would not fall in love on agent Carter and Steve WOULD NOT MAKE OUR WITH HIS NIECE OMG

THANK YOU. You are so completely, utterly right about all of that, you really said it all. It drives me nuts that the general public considers endgame to be this epic, near perfect movie when it is ANYTHING but, so I'm just happy more and more people are apparently starting to see that, especially when it comes to the travesty that was Steve's ending. It's not going to undo the damage, but it does mean there are still people out theee who love and understand Steve, and that's heartening. If means something ❤️

Please, always feel free to yap at me, thank you for sharing your thoughts!

[anythinggoesbutme]

Whiskey Words

Nash Hawthorne x Libby Grambs

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, public embarrassment (mild), language, mutual pining, friends-to-lovers, slow burn

Synopsis: Nash Hawthorne has always played it cool—until a few too many drinks loosen his tongue at a family party and he finally says out loud what he’s been holding in for far too long. Right in front of everyone.

Word Count: 902

Libby liked Hawthorne parties the way she liked overly complicated frosting techniques: pretty to look at, a nightmare to pull off.

Still, she stood on the back patio of the estate, a fizzy drink in one hand and the other curled protectively around her paper plate of charcuterie, trying not to feel out of place in a world of tailored blazers and offhand millions.

“Whatcha thinkin’ so hard about, darlin’?” came a familiar drawl.

She smiled before even turning.

Nash.

Worn jeans, button-down flannel, boots. Somehow both effortless and magnetic. A warm breeze of a man who didn’t seem to carry the storm clouds his brothers did.

“You brought me the good stuff,” she said, gesturing to the can of cherry soda he’d pressed into her hand earlier.

He winked. “Wouldn’t let you suffer through Hawthorne brand champagne without backup.”

He didn’t usually drink much—beer at most, and even then, slowly. But tonight was different. Libby noticed the flush on his cheeks, the slower drawl, the way he leaned into her laugh like it steadied him.

Later, she’d realize he’d been building up to something. That every refilled drink and easy joke had been a layer pulled back. But at the time, she just thought Nash was feeling extra friendly.

“I ever tell you,” he said after his fourth drink (or was it fifth?), “how pretty you look in blue?”

Libby’s breath caught.

“I—uh—thank you. It’s kind of my thing,” she joked, motioning to her dyed hair.

But Nash wasn’t laughing.

“You always look good, Libbs,” he said, too earnestly. “Not just the hair. You smile like you mean it. Even when this place makes you nervous. I don’t know how you do that.”

She blinked. “Nash, are you drunk?”

He grinned. “Workin’ on it.”

And then—because the universe has no mercy—Jameson called out: “Nash! C’mere, we need you for the toast!”

“Libby too!” shouted Xander.

She started to wave them off, but Nash gently tugged her along.

The family gathered by the fire pit, toasting the launch of one of Grayson’s new foundations—something about clean water and legacy.

And that’s when Nash decided to open his mouth.

“I got somethin’ to say.”

There was a pause.

Even Jameson, who was halfway through a joke, stopped talking.

Nash stepped forward, swaying slightly.

“I just wanna say… this girl right here?” He pointed at Libby. “Best damn thing to walk into my life.”

Libby froze.

“She bakes like magic. She cares about people. She sees straight through all the Hawthorne B.S. and still chooses to hang around us. I don’t know why.”

“Nash,” Avery murmured, eyes darting toward Libby, toward the stunned crowd.

But Nash didn’t stop.

“I ain’t good with words. Never was. But every time I see her—it’s like somethin’ in me slows down. Like I can breathe better. I’ve been holdin’ this in for so long I might explode if I don’t say it now.”

Libby’s heart was pounding.

“I’m in love with you, Libby Grambs,” he said. “Have been for a while.”

Silence.

The kind that stretches and pulses like a balloon waiting to pop.

Libby opened her mouth, closed it again.

Nash laughed nervously. “Guess I shoulda saved that for, uh… not in front of all y’all.”

The brothers stared. Even Max, mid-bite, had frozen.

“Nash,” Libby whispered, finally stepping forward. “You’re drunk.”

“Yup,” he said cheerfully.

“Let’s get you inside.”

He didn’t protest when she took his hand, leading him back through the French doors and into the quieter side of the house.

The sitting room was dim, a soft lamp casting golden light across the couch. Libby sat him down, hands shaking.

“I’m gonna get you some water.”

“You mad?” he asked, eyes soft.

“No,” she said honestly, returning with a glass. “Just… surprised.”

“I didn’t mean to do it like that,” he said, looking down. “It just came out.”

Libby sat beside him. “You meant it, though?”

He nodded. “Drunk words, sober feelings.”

She laughed, despite herself. “You would say that.”

He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

And maybe she was.

“I never wanted to mess things up,” he said. “Didn’t think I deserved to say it.”

Libby’s voice was soft. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “You’re this bright, wild thing. I’m just… me. Lotta people look at me and see the easy-going one, but you—you look at me and actually see me. That scares the hell outta me.”

Libby didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then she reached for his hand.

“I don’t think you’re easy-going,” she said. “I think you’re steady. You’re kind. You make people feel safe.”

His eyes met hers.

“I didn’t know what to do with my feelings either,” she admitted. “But I’ve had them. For a while.”

He blinked. “You have?”

She nodded.

“I love you too, Nash Hawthorne.”

There was no kiss. No sweeping music.

Just two people on a couch, a little broken, a little brave, holding hands in the quiet.

The next morning, when Nash woke up with a splitting headache and a vague memory of emotional disaster, Libby handed him coffee, kissed his cheek, and said:

“Next time you confess your love, maybe don’t do it with Xander filming.”

His groan was so loud it shook the walls.

But underneath it, a smile crept in.

Because despite everything, she stayed.

And maybe that’s what love was.

[caffedrine]

Keith Howell Sequel 11 True Love Route - Fan Translation

If you trust me to know what I'm doing, then we have both made a huge mistake. I cannot guarantee accuracy for this fan translation, or even grammatical correctness.

Please support Cybird and pick up this event when it makes it to the English Server

A little rewind in time—

—There’s something I’ve been struggling with for a while, unsure whether or not to tell you.

That day… beneath a dark world cloaked in heavy clouds, I took a step toward the shadowed figure standing in the gloom.

The air between us was sharply tense, clearly different from usual.

There was an unmistakable boundary that said: Don’t step any closer.

—It’s about how you treat Emma.

Even so, I moved forward.

—I understand your desire to protect her.

—But lately, your need to shield her feels like it’s one step away from chaining her down.

—It’s too much.

Alter!Keith “…You might be right.”

—So you are aware of it?

Alter!Keith “I’m not doing it unconsciously, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Alter!Keith “But honestly, you seem abnormal to me.”

—How so?

Alter!Keith “You’re too carefree. Did you forget about how you lost your precious younger brother?”

—……

Alter!Keith “What’s lost can never come back.”

Alter!Keith “And you know that better than anyone—so how can you stay so calm?”

Alter!Keith “If I had locked her away, bound her, and kept her at my side… at least she wouldn’t have been hurt like she was.”

Alter!Keith “That’s a lot better than tasting the pain of losing her.”

The clouds thickened further, blocking out all light.

Alter!Keith “You must feel the same way deep down.”

Alter!Keith “We may be different in personality, but in the end, we’re the same.”

In the long silence, the soft sound of leaves rustling filled the gaps between us.

—…You might be right. You are me, and I am you.

—I want to keep her far away from danger, to let her spend her life in a safe, peaceful place.

—But still, I won’t do it.

Alter!Keith “…Why not?”

—I don’t want to chain her down.

—No matter the reason, taking away her freedom is never justifiable.

—Only a heartless beast would do that.

Alter!Keith “……”

—But that feeling… you have it too, don’t you?

—You and I were both drawn to her heart—untainted, free, and beautiful.

Alter!Keith “……”

—You asked me earlier how I can stay so calm…

—But I’m just pretending to be calm.

—I’ve lost someone important too. I’ve despaired so deeply that I wished for death.

—Maybe I’ve simply gotten used to it more than you have.

—But even so, I never want to lose someone again.

—I’m no longer the powerless man who could only lean on you.

—I made a vow the moment I accepted my feelings for her and came to terms with my past.

—I want to be someone who can protect everything.

The normally stoic other half stood there, stunned, like a lost child.

He said nothing. His usual resolve was gone. But his eyes were trembling.

—But this vow is not something I can fulfill alone.

—Do you remember?

~Flashback~

Alter!Keith “‘I want to keep planting beautiful flowers of happiness in this country forever.’”

Alter!Keith “That’s what I once promised my little brother… and now, as the next king, and as Emma’s lover—”

Alter!Keith “I want to fulfill that vow together with him, my other self.”

~End Flashback~

Alter!Keith “…Yeah. I do remember saying something like that.”

—Now, perhaps it’s your turn to face it.

—Just as I once had to.

There was no reply. The shadows quietly swallowed everything.

The conversation between the two ended there.

~Present time~

Alter!Keith “…”

The pounding rain drenched his entire body, chilling him to the core.

Through the heavy strands of his bangs, his golden eyes quietly gazed at the figure discarded like trash.

On the ring finger was a familiar-looking ring.

Kagari “Keith.”

Without a sound, a man with burning red hair appeared and followed Keith’s gaze.

Kagari “Did you lose something precious again?”

Kagari “Or… is this the first time?”

(Shots fired)

Alter!Keith “…You…”

Kagari “Ah, so it’s the first time, then.”

Kagari “Don’t be so down about it. On the battlefield, this is nothing unusual.”

Without a trace of emotion, he looked down at the figure lying on the ground as though it were an object.

The moment those empty words of consolation reached Alter!Keith’s ears, a blade was drawn from its sheath, slicing through the falling rain.

It clashed against Kagari’s sword, and the dry shriek of metal was swallowed by the sound of the storm.

Kagari “Taking it out on me?”

Alter!Keith “You said it’s nothing unusual on the battlefield, right?”

The surge of bloodlust rippled through the air, startling a nearby cat into leaping away and sending sheltering birds into flight.

Kagari “What do you gain from killing me?”

His question didn’t reach Alter!Keith’s ears—his golden eyes, blazing with rage, had already locked onto their target.

Like a beast baring its fangs, Alter!Keith kicked off the wet ground, his sharpened blade pursuing the demon of Kougyoku.

But Kagari, calm as if soothing a rampaging beast, dodged with graceful ease.

He blocked the trembling blade with his own, deflecting it lightly.

Kagari “Don’t lose control over something like this. Calm down.”

Alter!Keith “‘Something like this,’ huh. Maybe to you.”

Alter!Keith “But to me, it’s not.”

Kagari “I see. You're in no state to talk right now.”

Kagari had been on the defensive, simply blocking the furious strikes—but in a sudden opening, he countered with a swift kick.

The raging beast caught the leg with his arm, grabbed the collar of his prey now within reach—

But red hair swayed with intent, and with the precision of someone who had waited for just this moment, Kagari delivered a headbutt meant to snap Alter!Keith out of his frenzy.

Alter!Keith “…gh…”

Alter!Keith let go of his collar, stepping back through the mud.

But the murderous glint in his golden eyes didn’t fade. His anger only grew.

Kagari “Same hard head as always… that hurt more than it should’ve.”

Alter!Keith “You…”

Kagari “Still not coming back to your senses?”

Kagari “This isn’t like you. Why are you directing your anger at me?”

Kagari “Do you think I did this?”

Alter!Keith “…”

Kagari “Look.”

Kagari sheathed his sword and walked confidently toward the discarded figure in the forest.

He lifted the body, soaked and caked in mud, with one hand—and from beneath the long hair, a face was revealed.

In an instant, the bloodlust surged like an arrow—but it was just as quickly interrupted by something clearly unnatural.

Keith “…That’s not… Emma…”

Kagari “It’s just a wax doll.”

Kagari “They’re quite the popular souvenir in Kougyoku. Though typically they’re palm-sized.”

Perhaps because it had been exposed to the rain for so long, the surface of the "thing" had begun to melt, becoming entirely lifeless and inorganic.

Alter!Keith's sword slipped from his hand and disturbed the water in the puddle below.

Kagari “Your fiancée is safe. The real Keith asked me to protect her before going to the royal palace.”

Alter!Keith “Where is Emma?”

Kagari “She’s staying at King Kuga’s villa with the people from the Rose Kingdom.”

Kagari “She’s probably waiting for you right now.”

The moment he heard that, Alter!Keith bolted from the scene without even picking up his fallen sword.

Kagari, watching him disappear without a glance back, released his grip on the doll.

It collapsed onto the ground. From afar, it looked disturbingly human—so intricately crafted it was hard to tell it was fake.

The clothes it wore, the ring on its finger—everything was clearly modeled after a specific person.

Kagari “……”

With a sigh, a cat jumped down from the trees and landed on his shoulder.

As he stroked its small chin, it purred in satisfaction.

Kagari “...Even for them, this is seriously bad taste.”

~Later~

Kagari “Emma!”

Emma “Eh—Keith, when did you—?”

Emma “…Keith?”

Just moments ago, I had been praying for Keith’s safety as he made his way to the royal palace.

The gloomy skies only made my worry worse.

Until today—it felt like an eternity.

It had only been a few days, but as time passed, my anxiety swelled. I had even forgotten how to sleep.

That’s why when Keith suddenly appeared before me, I had wanted to greet him with a smile.

I had prepared myself for that moment…

(But… something’s off.)

Keith pulled me into a tight embrace.

So tight, it made my bones creak.

(…ugh… it hurts…)

It was as if he were checking to see that my body was truly warm, pressing himself against me without the slightest gap.

Keith’s body was wet, and the remnants of the rain began soaking into my own clothes.

Emma “…Did something happen?”

Instead of the “Welcome back” I had practiced, those words slipped out first.

Alter!Keith “No…”

Alter!Keith “I just figured you were waiting for me, so I rushed back.”

(…Keith being cheeky…?)

At last, he let go, and I could see a faint smile peek out from behind his wet hair.

But his face was far weaker than I had ever seen it before.

The breath he let out as he looked at me was laced with fatigue… and a trace of peace.

And deep in his golden eyes I saw a tremble.

(I’ve never seen Alter!Keith look this fragile before.)

(He’s always so composed, always smiling like he’s got everything under control…)

As I stood there, unable to find the right words, Alter!Keith reached out to me.

His finger gently traced under my eye and in that motion, I understood exactly what he meant.

Alter!Keith “Couldn’t sleep… because you missed me?”

Emma “…So you noticed.”

Alter!Keith “With bags under your eyes like those? They’re impossible to miss.”

Alter!Keith “Don’t worry. Nothing happened that should make you feel anxious.”

(He’s pretending everything’s normal.)

There was no sign he intended to answer the question I had just asked.

(But I don’t want to pretend not to notice the small changes anymore.)

(Even so… right now, I just want to celebrate that he came back safely.)

My thoughts finally caught up, and I wrapped my arms around Keith’s body.

As I held him, the dampness from the rain transferred to me—this time, with a trace of warmth.

Which line will you choose?

—Welcome back —I'm glad you're safe —Thank you

Emma “Thank you for coming back safely.”

Emma “But first, you should take a bath.”

Alter!Keith “You’re right. Want to join me?”

Emma “Do you want me to?”

Alter!Keith “You’re soaked too… Sorry.”

(Alter!Keith’s being so honest today—it’s throwing me off a little.)

I shook my head and forced a smile.

Emma “I wanted to hold you too… Let’s go in together.”

Alter!Keith pulled me into another hug.

The breath he had been holding escaped against my neck as if he were finally letting something go, and I felt the weight of his body lean into mine.

(Even with his large frame, he feels so small today.) (What should I do…?)

Unable to find the right words, we changed out of our wet clothes and headed to the parlor.

There, we found King Leon, Lord Licht, and even Prince Kagari all gathered.

(Something’s off.)

Leon, who usually wore a smile, had a deep furrow between his brows. Even Licht’s normally unreadable expression seemed tense.

Alter!Keith “…Kagari, you told them?”

Alter!Keith’s voice—usually kind—was now laced with tension, sounding like his more guarded, harsher side.

Kagari “It’s not something that should be kept secret.”

Kagari “It’s a desecration of your fiancée.”

Emma “…What do you mean?”

(Does this have something to do with what was bothering him earlier?)

I looked up at Alter!Keith. His golden eyes rippled again.

Alter!Keith “…Yes. Emma, you probably deserve to know.”

~Later~

Emma “So… there was a doll that looked like me, abandoned in the rainy forest?”

Kagari “Yes. As if it were a corpse.”

(That explains it…)

After I sat down and listened to the full story, what welled up inside me was a sudden, impulsive anger.

The cruel method of it… The very image of “a lifeless body left in a rainy forest”—

It must have brought back vivid, haunting memories for Keith.

(It was far too similar to how his younger brother died…) (Even if it was a coincidence… I can’t forgive it.)

I clenched my fists in my lap to keep the rage from spilling over.

Leon “The question is—who did this, and why?”

Licht “Keith, do you have any ideas?”

Alter!Keith “…I might.”

Alter!Keith “You all know I went to see Prince Shiou.”

Alter!Keith “There’s something I was told there.”

Keith looked up—his eyes fixed on Kagari.

Kagari “You seem very eager to make me the culprit.”

Alter!Keith “I’m not saying that. But I can’t fully rule you out either.”

Alter!Keith “The bandits who attacked us before were apparently from Jade.”

(From Jade…?)

That single phrase triggered a flood of thoughts about Keith’s standing back home.

(The faction that once pushed Keith to the brink… the prince’s supporters…) (Even though their leader, Lord Fernand, is no longer alive, many of them are still around.) (They still hold ill will toward Keith… and now, they’ve gone as far as to try to sabotage him even here in Kougyoku?)

(But…)

Kagari “What does your problem have to do with me?”

The question I had raised was spoken aloud by Prince Kagari himself.

Alter!Keith “The bandits in question were reportedly staying within Kuga faction territory.”

Alter!Keith “If the Kuga faction was cooperating with those bandits, then there’s a hypothesis we can build.”

Alter!Keith “There are people in the faction who bear a grudge against me—and they possess a certain ‘weapon.’”

(…The 'golden cash cow.')

Alter!Keith “It’s a poison—so powerful it could change the tide of an entire war.”

Alter!Keith “They could’ve offered that weapon in exchange for cooperation in their revenge.”

Alter!Keith “Even if Jade were to grow distrustful of Kougyoku over this incident, the Kuga faction already signed the trilateral alliance.”

Alter!Keith “When weighing me against the weapon, it’s possible they chose the latter.”

(It might not be entirely impossible…)

(*Though it’s all based on the condition that ‘if the cooperation is real…’)

Leon “So, what’s the reality then?”

Kagari “Brilliant. I can only admire your remarkable deduction.”

(…)

Alter!Keith “Right? Which is why I think it’s the work of someone pretending to make it look like that.”

(Huh?)

Licht “So in other words, someone’s trying to drive a wedge between Jade and the Kuga faction?”

Alter!Keith “Exactly. There’s no other explanation.”

Emma “…Wasn’t the suspicion originally directed at Prince Kagari…?”

I spoke up quietly, and Alter!Keith, unfazed, let a sly smile curl at the corner of his mouth.

Alter!Keith “Of course he’s suspicious. It’s still smart to be cautious of Kagari.”

Kagari “That a jab from earlier?”

Alter!Keith “I don’t know what you mean. But based on the circumstantial evidence, I actually think the Kuga faction is innocent.”

Alter!Keith “Revenge usually means killing. Taking the time to craft a lifelike doll just for harassment? That’s pointless.”

(Now that he mentions it… if the prince’s faction really is behind this, their goal would likely be Keith’s assassination.)

(Spending effort on petty intimidation doesn’t fit.)

Alter!Keith “More than likely, that doll was a warning—criticizing our attendance at the Kuga faction’s goodwill event.”

Alter!Keith “It felt like a threat: ‘If you get any closer to the Kuga faction, you’ll lose your life.’”

Leon “That explanation makes more sense. Right now, the Kuga faction’s drawing massive support from other nations.”

Leon “Wanting to chip away at that power even a little would be a logical move.”

Emma “So then… the one behind the doll was someone from a different faction?”

Alter!Keith “Yes—but it’s also clear whose order it was.”

Keith’s gaze shifted toward Kagari. Without changing expression, Kagari simply shrugged.

Kagari “My brother.”

[tryandbehappy]

Hey! Love your commentary! Provides so much insight!

But I am struggling to understand the conversation with Nick and June at the amusement park when he said that he risked everything for Luke because “you chose Luke”. I felt that Nick is saying look at the lengths I would go for your love but you don’t choose me. (This is also after telling her that Nick teamed up with the Americans to see June at the hospital) And all June said is that he waited for me. She told Nick “I had you. I loved you” what does that mean??? I’m baffled.

She proceeds to tell Nick, ��I’m here” after he says “I’ve lost you over and over again”. But what does that mean? I’m here right now but you’re going to lose me again because I gotta be with Luke?

What is the message?

Does she not see what is Nick doing? He drops everything for her beck and call. Is that not waiting? Did June absorb all of this information that was said to her? You mentioned in another post that she didn’t say she loved Luke and I agree but in the later episodes she decided to stay with him. Idk I’m just confused.

Thank you for the question. And thank you for liking my insights.

I actually already broke this down it’s in the posts below.

But to put it simply: When he says, like, “, you chose Luke,” and she says she did choose him, but only because of guilt — because Luke had waited for her, and Nick understands that in the moment.

She basically says:

“So while he was waiting for me all those years, I was with you. I loved you.”

Which makes her the unfaithful one, and Luke the faithful one so now she feels like she owes him.

That’s the whole scene.

And then when she says “I’m here,” to me, that means: I’m with you emotionally. Not like, “I’m leaving Luke today,”but more like, “I love you.”

And that’s exactly what Nick needed to hear in order to take that next step, the initiative she had probably been waiting for all along.

And honestly, you can see it in her reaction in episode 6x06. She says yes!!! Like come on. It’s obvious.

He proposes, she kisses him in response. He even pauses and says, “Is that a yes?” And she keeps kissing him.

So yeah she chose him too. She was ready to throw everything away for him.

Of course, it might not have worked right away, they still have unresolved internal conflicts, and a lot to figure out.

But the fact remains:

She was waiting for him to make a move. He finally understood that and he did make the move. And she said yes.

That’s what happened.