#and they acted it out because of course they did they act it out every time

[willyoubemycherryy]

No Guidance (Stack.M x R)

Summary: You’re just getting to the good part.

Contains: Flirting, some smut, Mary slander, cursing, everyone has a southern accent, platonic smoke with reader, a little dancing, MARY SLANDER, and I don’t care I don’t fucking like her, this is for the _ strictly for the _, kissing, making out, a hint of manhandling, established relationship, choking, allusions to sex and one brief flashback of some impact play, Michael B Jordan fine as hell, fine enough to bring me out of retirement

-There’s just not enough mindless smut of sinners, almost no x reader bc they’re all OC 😔 and please tell me how we feel about the daddy thing bc Stack screams daddy kink and in the next part👀…

A/N: act like I’ve been here the whole time.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉

“Uh-uh. We not doin’ none of that. Not tonight. Get ta steppin’”.

You level a look at the pale woman standing in the doorway, raising an eyebrow when she crosses her arms- fixing you with a glare of her own. She really was lucky you 50 percent Christian- otherwise, you’d have turned her every way but inside out.

It was no surprise that Mary was there- given her history with Elias or “Stack”. Of course she’d come running the minute she heard he was back in town along with his brother and cousin…but running to where? Not up in here.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere cause I have business in there.” Mary points the loud crowded space behind you and you push your shoulder from off the side of the doorway. You knew all about Mary. You may have empathized a little with her but you damn sure didn’t like her. She was the past in a future that needed her gone in order to make it and her refusal in understanding that irked you immensely. To you, she was selfish- plain and simple.

“You also ‘bout to have a foot up yo ass because the only business in there is the one my man is tendin’ to and you can’t possibly be talkin’ ‘bout him?” You pose it like a question but you leave no room for debate in your voice.

She was there for Stack. She wasn’t getting Stack.

Your question was met with a scoff but otherwise silence. Mmhm. That’s what you thought. Stepping back, you get ready to close the door since you were not about to stand and argue with Mary all night; fixing her with the same ugly glare she always gives you before leaning down to whisper in her face,

“Go be a good bitch and find a new master or I’ll be the one to walk you.”

Slamming the door with a satisfied grin, you turn around to go find a friend of yours and ask her to watch the door. It took some convincing since she was the strict one out of your group but it had to be her because as much as you love the twins and trust their judgment (mostly), Cornbread could not be the one to watch the door the entire night. After agreeing that you’ll owe her one, you leave to grab a drink of your own and judging by the look on Smoke’s face as you pass him- you didn’t look happy.

“Ooh. Who did it?” He drawls out as his eyebrows draw together in a slight frown. He knew about his brother and Mary’s sordid past because of course he did but he also knew how you and Stack have been since day 1.

He still remembers the day they met you…barefoot and sass-mouthed serving drinks at your mommas little dive bar.

“Aww twins~ Wait-! don’t tell me! Y’all gots ta be Double and Trouble!” Laughing like a hyena until your mama threw a spoon from the kitchen and you ducked- smacking your teeth before hurrying off to get their liquor.

That was it.

A pretty young server and good malt..until they came back for another couple rounds one night and you were still barefoot but this time, you wasn’t serving no drinks. Instead, you were standing in the middle of the room singing with a voice so sweet and strong that it rang through their head for the rest of the night. Smoke saw an amazing gift. Stack had seen a gift and something more…

“Just some go-go flour ranger. Nobody important.” Damn. Smoke winces with a soft hum at the insult yet knowing exactly who you mean. You always were creative with your insults- never missing in hitting where it hurt. Taking a deep breath, the beat of the music temps up and he passes you your drink and you sip at it, nodding along to the music as you start to loosen up. Tonight wasn’t the night and neither were any of the others. Tonight was supposed to be the continuation of their new pages turning- and that meant the end of whatever beef was between you, Mary, and his brother.

Smoke watches you start to move and raises a brow; broad smile growing across his face, making his dimples pop out as something comes to him.

“You gon’ sing a lil sum’ for us?”

Reaching out, he takes your hand to twirl you with a soft grin and you let go afterwards to fake think for a bit. Sammy currently had the floor and he was doing great plus…you sorta had other plans for the night. Smoke huffs a laugh, noticing that glint in your eyes- the one you got when you were fixing to get a kick out of causing trouble.

“Ohh, I get it. You in a just dancin’ mood tonight, huh?”

You get another drink and finish that one quick before nodding slowly before moving closer with a grin.

“Smoke, y’know, I neva’ woulda pegged you as a dancin’ man but if you’re offering-“,

“Oh nah baby, he ain’t but I am.”

The low words are whispered against the shell of your ear with a heat that sends shivers licking up your spine. Big, familiar hands fit themselves on your shoulders while Stack dips his head lower to press soft, full lips against your throat- directly over your pulse point and your heart jumps; you barely holding back a gasp. You look at the space where Smoke had been standing before he made himself scarce with a lighthearted “don’t wear y’selves out” and try to gather yourself, turning in Stack’s arms to face him.

Lidded, mellow chocolate eyes focused on you with plump lips pulled up in a smirk framed by dimples greet you and you roll your eyes. Shaking your head lightly as you swallow a whine.

There really was such thing as being too fine and Stack was proof. Strong hands glide themselves further down your sides, settling on the space just above your ass, never taking his eyes off yours and the intensity of him sparks something inside you.

“Been lookin’ for ya. Shoulda known yous’ somewhere in here causin’ trouble, hmm?”

It’s a lot warmer than you remember it being a couple minutes ago but no matter how deep you inhale, it doesn’t go away. That’s when you realize that the room hasn’t gotten any hotter than it’s already been.

But you have.

Your mouth barely opens to retort before Stack’s is covering it completely with his- slow, consuming and so deep. You truly can’t help the way you melt into him. Heart pounding with adrenaline and something much more tantalizing at the way Stack leads, plush lips firm against yours as you suckle at each others mouths. You only had two drinks but you already feel drunk; senses heightened and so sensitive that you’re borderline vibrating. Blood flowing through your system with a searing rush.

Stack harshly sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and your pulse drops like a boulder into the lava pooling in your lower stomach; sending waves ricocheting through your body before licking deep into your own just in time to muffle the nasty little moans threatening to slip out while his tongue memorizes every inch of your mouth and the pleasure has you on the way to out of your mind and he knows it.

You were unyielding to everyone and everything else except him and Stack used that to his advantage each and every time. He’d always been good at getting people to listen to him but the way you gave into him was the sweetest thing he’d come to know. From the way your doe eyes would get wide whenever he’d say or do something that set you off and you’d find yourself wanting him- to the way you were purring and sighing like a cat now, snuggling your soft pretty self tight against him while he devoured your mouth; lips smacking hungrily against yours.

By the time you two separate, his hand is a little too close to your throat and you suddenly want everyone to go home.

“Don’t be lookin’ at me like that baby. 'Else I might think we have a problem.” Stack drags his lips from the corner of your lips to your cheek, rasping lowly into your ear and you whine in frustration, shifting in his hold.

“And what if we do?”

The hand that was at first only close to your neck, slides up to wrap around it. Loose enough but heavy like a collar and you go dizzy from how hard your cunt throbs, biting your swollen lip as you bat pretty lashes up at him.

Now, Stack learned early that you had a thing for sass-mouthing. You, learned quickly that Stack didn’t have much patience for being sass-mouthed. So if there was something you wanted from him, you learned the first time he spanked your ass raw while being stuffed with three of his thick fingers but nothing else- to ask for it real nice and polite. Your tone though, would be the death of you.

“Then I’m sure we can come to an agreement”, his hand squeezes quick before releasing as he presses another hard kiss to your lips, “Right baby?” You nod before you can stop yourself, body roaring with molten need and you blurt out,

“Tell everyone to go home.”

A surprised bark of laughter shoots from his chest and he raises an amused brow as he looks down at you.

“C’mon, you know I can’t. We just opened this place a few weeks ago, mamas. Gotta break it in.” You throw your head back with a groan, rolling your eyes as you mumble under your breath.

“Wish you’d break me in…”

“Huh?”

“What?”

You ask back just as fast and Stack whistles lowly, shaking his head before dragging you in by your throat so close that you’re standing between his legs. He drops his forehead against yours and just takes a couple seconds to look at you- breathe you in before he has you begging for the better half of the night.

“Nah, what was that?”

“What was what?” You could play dumb with the best of em. Grinning innocently like you had all the time in the world to play your games and Stack was all too ready to play with you. Especially when he knew he’d win.

“You gon’ make me get it outta you, pretty girl?”

Your heart skips a beat and he notices your eyes doing the thing when you answer:

“If you think you can then go ahead.”

Stack nods slowly, moving his hand off your throat to take your hand instead. Rising to his full height, he leads you up to the office of the joint, guiding you in first then closing the door behind you both with a click and makes his way towards you.

His stride reminds you a lot of a predator getting ready to jump on their prey and you only hope that you’re left shaking afterwards…

Part 2🫶🏽

-p.s. can y’all guess who’s next?

[nadvs]

the power play (part six)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe drives down the dark street, silent while his mind races and whirls with regret.

He shouldn’t have offered to come with you tonight. He shouldn’t have let himself see you like that, with all your friends, with the guy who’s blind to how lucky he is that you love him.

Envy courses through him, burning and vicious. Who would he be if he had a life like Beck, surrounded by people who loved him? Why couldn’t he have that? Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone you’d want?

“You might be right,” you say happily. “Maybe Beck is jealous. He wouldn’t stop looking at me tonight.”

Rafe is still in his head. He hated that your eyes wouldn’t stay on his at that party. That other eyes were on you.

“Neither would that guy who plays for Hatfield,” he mutters.

“Marcus?” You sink further into the passenger seat, settling in for the hour-long drive back to campus. “What do you mean?”

He rubs his jaw, reminded of how warm your cheek felt on his when you whispered to him during that stupid game of truth or dare.

“He likes you, too,” he says.

You have to laugh.

“No way.”

“So, he’s never tried anything,” Rafe states, unconvinced.

You look out your window as he turns onto a busier street. Through your high school days, Lyla had implied that Marcus had a crush on you, but you refuted it every time.

“Well…” You sigh. “Lyla thinks because he asked me to a dance one time, it meant something, but he told me himself he was asking me as a friend.”

“He said that to not look like a loser if you shot him down,” Rafe huffs.

“I’m not so sure,” you say.

His pain weighs even heavier. It’s messing with him how you imply that guys don’t look at you like that. It took you this long to say that maybe Beck’s jealous.

You’re oblivious to the effect you have on people. On him.

Frustration wrenches in his chest and his words come out unfiltered.

“You really are clueless about this shit,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

It’s the first time Rafe’s words truly cut into you. You’re used to his brashness, to how he doesn’t hesitate to let you know when you’re irritating him, and normally it makes you laugh or roll your eyes.

But this stings. And it throws away the joy you’d felt seconds ago. You’re already painfully aware that you’re inexperienced, having spent so much time stuck on one guy who kept you trapped in a confusing loop.

Despite the pang in your heart, it’s comforting to know, to really know, that you could never like Rafe like that.

You’ve seen bits of tenderness in him, but he’s more hard, icy edges than anything else, and he’s not the type of person you’d ever feel safe giving your heart to.

At least you know you’ll be able to avoid Rafe hurting you the way Beck has.

Rafe glances over to see you turned away, your dejected pout reflected in the window. He hates himself for being such a dick, but fuck, it kills him that you act like it’s ridiculous that someone could have feelings for you.

He’s falling off the edge right in front of you and you don’t see it. And it dawns on him that it’s a good thing you don’t, because you wouldn’t fall with him.

“That was mean,” you say quietly. You look over and catch glimpses of the writing you left on the inside of his wrist as the streetlights flood in and out of the car. “Even for you.”

The thinness of your voice is a razor that slices into him.

“You’re not always right about everything, okay?” Rafe says stiffly.

“I never said I was,” you reply. You look out the window again and take a moment before you continue speaking. “But what happened with Beck did mess with my confidence, if that’s what you’re getting at. And you’re not making it any better.”

Knowing he’s only adding to your baseless insecurities cuts him deeper.

“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbles. He stares ahead as he pulls onto the freeway. “All I’m tryin’ to say is that you don’t need to be so jaded just because one asshole strung you along.”

Your ache numbs a little. In his own, tactless way, he’s attempting to help.

“Your approach needs work,” you say flatly, “but I see your point.”

Tension sinks between you, every sense of camaraderie gone. And Rafe is desperate to undo it, to make you feel better.

“You can tell you’re getting to him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say in a hush, although the high of witnessing Beck’s jealousy is gone now.

It’s satisfying to know he’s seeing what he’s missing, but it hurts that you had to go to these lengths for it to happen. It hurts that you still care.

“Good,” he says.

Rafe’s met with no response. And he wants to beg you to speak. His lips part, heart hammering.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice fractures the silence.

You bite your lip, remembering the first time you were in this car, when Rafe suggested he drive you back home because you wouldn’t stop talking.

Now, he wants you to talk, and if he didn’t ask, you wouldn’t offer up your thoughts like you usually do. Not after that dig.

“You ever wish you could make yourself not care about something?” you eventually say.

“All the time,” he admits within an exhale of relief that you answered him.

“Really?” you ask, your brows lifted in surprise.

He knows he manages to seem like he doesn’t give a shit about most things. It’s a defense mechanism that works until his anger gets so heavy that he cracks.

He refuses to crack in front of you again. Right now, he’s okay with giving you the vulnerability you’re always trying to coax out of him if it means you’ll be you again.

“She told you I wouldn’t move on, right?” he says sardonically.

You gaze at him, reminded of the way his ex had laughed when she told you he wouldn’t stop bothering her.

“I kept trying to work things out and I – I wish I didn’t.” He shakes his head, embarrassed. “And I don’t even want to be with her now, but I care enough to want to piss her off. I know that’s not normal.”

You eyes are fixed on the license plate of the car ahead of you. The things you know about his past relationship, things that Emma said, things that he said, come together to paint an ugly picture.

“I think it’s how a lot of people would feel,” you say. “It doesn’t sound like she was very nice to you.”

Rafe knows he could be just as poisonous, raising his voice and escalating fights, but Emma made him feel like he was insane for being human.

Any time he was hurt, she said he was overreacting. He wasn’t allowed to be angry. To be sad. To be anything.

And he always feared she was right. He was too much, felt too much. He’d heard it from so many people, the first and loudest voice being his father’s.

“She wasn’t,” he answers. “I wasn’t, either.”

You don’t doubt it. You can only imagine how vicious their arguments were.

“Can I tell you something?” you say.

He’s upset, but he takes a page out of your book, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he mumbles.

Despite yourself, you chuckle.

“You already very kindly established that I’m no expert on relationships,” you say, your joke splitting the tension, “but do you ever think that maybe things were toxic between you?”

You’re prying again, but Rafe’s relieved you are, because it means you’re okay.

Maybe his relationship was toxic, but he doesn’t know otherwise. It’s how he operates, always on the cusp of chaos, always on the edge of imploding.

“What?” he asks, just to stall.

“You said you wanted to hurt each other when you fought, right?”

The tires continue to rapidly roll over the asphalt with rhythmic pats, the wind whooshing over the windows.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you fight about?”

“Everything,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I have a short fuse and I – I say shit I don’t mean, but she acted like she never did anything wrong.”

“That’s hard to deal with,” you sympathize. “What’d she do wrong?”

He grits his teeth. The memory of how Emma would shut him down whenever he had a problem with something she did flashes through his mind like a bad dream he wants to forget.

“She acted like she only liked me when I was happy,” he tells you, on edge, in disbelief that he’s hearing his voice admit these things.

“What would she do when you weren’t?” you ask.

His jaw tenses, the memories of Emma’s shouted words a punch to the gut.

“She’d tell me to grow up,” he says dryly.

Rafe is sure you’d never say something like that to him, but there’s still an alarm going off in his head that he’s opening up too much, giving you what you need to hurt him, sharing criticism that you might silently agree with.

Every piece that he shares with you could serve as proof that he’s a catastrophe of a man that you’d be better off staying away from.

You look down at your lap, your heart pinching. The space between you is delicate, fragile, a bond you never could have imagined growing between you.

You’re upset to think about how Rafe clearly already doesn’t really do feelings and was made to feel bad for showing his to his girlfriend.

Emma had called him pathetic, but you feel that the word describes her instead.

“That’s not fair,” you say. “Nobody deserves to hear that from someone who’s supposed to care about them.”

He only offers a rigid shrug.

You’re still curious about what he told you when you asked him why he liked her. He’d said things were simple with her, that she made him feel uncomplicated, but it sounds like all they did was bicker.

You want to know why he tried to get back together after they’d had such a rocky relationship, why he’d called her crying.

“You said she made things easy?” you say.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not sure how much more of this conversation he can take.

“When we weren’t fighting, we had fun,” he explains. “I didn’t have to think about anything, you know?”

And she never pushed to see the pieces of himself that he hides. And all you do is push, so why the hell is he losing his mind over a girl who’s done nothing but try to make him face what he runs from?

But when he looks at you again through the darkness, it’s like he can see how good you are.

And that’s why.

That’s why you’ve taken him captive. You’re warm, the way you find joy in almost everything, the way you’re unabashedly yourself, the way you want to understand people for who they really are.

You take in his awestruck expression, looking like he can’t believe he just told you all that.

You get it now. Emma didn’t want to deal with the heavy stuff. And it worked for him. Until it didn’t. It doesn’t sound like they had that deep of a connection if she punished him for having feelings.

“I really don’t like her,” you say quietly.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “Brutal coming from you.”

You chuckle. Rafe takes a few breaths before he speaks again, hating that he actually feels shy right now.

“Sorry I said…” He trails off, not wanting to repeat the word clueless. He went too far. “You’re smart, okay?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times,” you laugh.

“We friends again?”

You smirk.

“Maybe if you say please,” you say.

“Shut up,” he laughs.

“Hmm.” You squint. “Try again.”

You watch him with an expectant expression, a playful smile on your face.

“Please,” he mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alright, you don’t have to beg,” you chuckle.

Rafe groans in annoyance and you laugh again, picked back up out of your low mood.

You get the feeling of being linked to him again, the one you had when you watched him from the stands before you even spoke.

He’s wading through the pieces of a broken relationship, and you’re trying to shake yourself out of infatuation, and they’re different circumstances, but you both need the same thing. To not care anymore.

“I read something about how the opposite of love isn’t hate,” you say. “It’s indifference. Eventually, you won’t care about what she thinks. And you’ll find the girl you need when the time’s right.”

Rafe stares ahead.

“Yeah,” is all he can say. Because he’s already found the girl he needs. She just doesn’t need him back.

════════

In the span of almost five days, Rafe has gone from bad to worse.

On Sunday, the team just barely won the first game of the tournament. He watched from the bench, pissed off beyond belief watching the gameplay. They were lucky the opponents’ offense was so choppy.

It was both frustrating and validating when his coach told him that he hopes Rafe can play game two, because defense is suffering without him.

Yesterday, he saw the team’s physical therapist. He managed to move his arm with full mobility, but still felt a minor, stubborn pinch. He was cleared for game two, so long as he saw a doctor to get imaging done and make sure he wasn’t putting himself at risk.

He had the appointment this morning and he’s already dreading the call with the results. He can’t lose hockey. It’s the one thing keeping him sane.

Now, he’s walking under the hot afternoon sun, on his way to an off-campus uptown cafe you’d suggested for your tutoring session. He had to park two blocks away after looking for a spot for ages.

He’s in a foul mood, rereading your text just so he doesn’t take it out on you. You gave him the head’s up that this place is usually busy and parking could be tough, offering to stick with the library if he preferred.

He went along with what you wanted, because he’d rather not let you down. At this point, it hurts seeing any hint of sadness on your face. He’s still pissed off at himself for what he said to you in his car last weekend.

He steps into the small cafe, the air smelling of coffee, the machines whirring over overlapping conversations. He finds you in the corner, your head adorably tilted in thought as you type on your laptop.

The knot in his stomach loosens once you look up and smile at him.

Every morning, every afternoon, every night, you’re on his mind. You’ve thrown him completely off center, dominating every second of his day, the longing to see you when he’s not with you insatiable.

Rafe strides towards you between full tables, and you take a moment to drink him in, the strong, self-assured way he walks, never the type to act like he thinks he doesn’t belong wherever he is.

“Hey,” you say. “Was parking okay?”

“You warned me.” He pulls out the chair across from you, dragging it across the hardwood. You shut your laptop. “Why are we here? I got that tattoo for nothing?”

You glance at his wrist to see that the marker has washed off.

“It’s gone anyway,” you giggle. “I thought we could use a change of scenery. Plus, this place has the best treats.”

You slide a small brown paper bag towards him.

“I’ll trade you for your laptop,” you say.

Minutes later, you’re checking in on his grades. Your stomach drops when you see a warning in red text next to last week’s submission link.

7 days late.

“Rafe,” you say soberly. “You forgot to send it in.”

You look up at him from across the table, confusion creased into his features as he finishes chewing.

“Remember, last week?” you say. “Your laptop died and I told you to submit the essay before midnight?”

He readjusts his posture.

“It’s not a big deal,” he sighs defensively.

“It’s 5% lost every day,” you reply. “I’ll submit it now.”

He scowls, agitation rippling over his features. It discredits the text that Lyla sent you the morning after her birthday party, not that you believed it anyway.

My mom said it’s cute how obviously in love Rafe is with you.

The way he’s looking at you right now is the farthest thing from love. Like he said, he’s a great liar.

“This matters,” you reiterate. Rafe glances away. It’s hurtful to witness how disinterested he is.

You submit the assignment, displeased by his apathy, reminded of how much his bad attitude and moodiness can get to you, but try to remain positive.

“Let’s see what you have so far,” you say, opening his draft document. “This week’s discussion question is about the significance of time in the novel. Did you notice it was sometimes spelled with a capital T?”

Your brows pinch in concentration as you lean forward, reading what he’s put together. It’s sparse, disjointed, just like his work when you first started tutoring him. It’s like he’s gone backwards.

You look up at him, but his eyes are downcast, lips turned down. Something’s wrong.

“You didn’t get much time to work on it?” you say, keeping a kind tone to your voice.

“This book made no sense,” he mutters.

“It is pretty convoluted,” you say. “But there’s substance to it. I like how it explores the idea of friendship. Speaking of, friends tell each other when something’s wrong, so get to talking.”

If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d think you're trying to hurt him.

Disappointing you was painful enough. It’s why his instinct was to act like that late assignment wasn’t a big deal; because then, he wouldn’t have to accept that he was messing up in front of you yet again.

And now, you’re rubbing it in that you only see him as a friend, adding salt to the wound.

“It’s been a shitty week,” he admits.

You lean over to push the bag of treats a little closer to him, earning a nearly silent chuckle.

“Is your shoulder feeling okay?” you ask.

“I had to do some scans,” he says. “I’m waiting to see if I can play. But I’m good.”

Your lips purse in thought. It’s like Rafe is nothing but knee-jerk reactions, snapping when he’s mad, direct about when he’s annoyed, but he hides everything else, as if he’s telling himself he’s not allowed to feel anything besides anger.

You wonder if he was always like that, or if his last relationship left that particular scar.

“Is midterm season getting to you?” you ask. “Because it’s getting to me. Studying’s hard enough and now I have a group project that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“It’s that bad?” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“You know when you’re put into a group with guys who think dropping paragraphs into a slide deck counts as contributing?” you say. “And when you try to meet up outside of class to practice the presentation, they pretend they didn’t see your text? Does that kind of stuff not happen to you?”

A smile pulls on his lips.

“Just me, then,” you reply.

“Do I need to talk to anyone?” he asks, and he realizes he’s only half-joking.

“You mean like, to threaten them? Only if you can fit it in your schedule,” you joke. “I don’t want to put you out.”

You think he’s kidding. He’s not. He feels insanely protective over you, and while he can see that you’re not that bothered by this, he’d get those idiots you’re working with in line if you needed him to.

This is only getting more difficult. He wants to tell you that he’s serious. That he’d do anything to make things easier for you, that you don’t deserve to be ignored, that you should cut this act out and be with him for real.

But he has to accept that while he’s spent his life being ruthlessly honest about what he thinks about people, good or bad, he needs to swallow down his words around you.

He can’t talk like that with a girl who’d never want him. Who he’d never recover from getting rejected by.

“You know you can tell me when something’s bothering you, right?” you say. “It’s not like I’d…”

You don’t finish your sentence, your gaze soft. He can tell you’re trying to reassure him that you wouldn’t criticize him for being stressed like his ex used to, the reminder of your last conversation planting discomfort in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he utters, eyes darting away again. You nod. So he does care. And now you feel bad if you made him feel ridiculed.

“Was I too intense?” you say dolefully. “I’m sorry. I just want you to do well. We worked hard on that assignment and it’s a waste of effort to lose points for lateness.”

You pull out your notebook, full of study notes you took last semester.

“It’s okay,” you conclude. “It’s just one assignment. We’ll finish up this essay and then start prepping for the midterm.”

Rafe’s muscles loosen, in awe of how quickly you just turned his mood around.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, “do you want me to come to the next game? I can drive up with Lyla. It’s an away, right? This Saturday?”

“You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” you laugh.

“Yeah, you should come,” Rafe says after a beat. “If I play.”

“Deal,” you say with a grin.

He’s hopeful you follow through. Because even if you’re there as a friend, as all you’ll ever want to be to him, he plays better knowing you’re watching.

════════

Rafe sits on the team bus on the way to game two, his eyes following the dips and valleys of lush trees lining the road. Music buzzes in his earbuds, his fingers interlaced in his lap, his knees bouncing.

He needs this before big games; the closest he can get to solitude, confining himself into his own mind, finding focus.

He’d never liked quiet until he started playing hockey. He chased noise, commotion, distractions. And he still gets his dose of chaos with every game, but it’s always preceded by this stillness. This moment he gives himself for the calm before the storm.

He got the call yesterday. The scans came back fine. They showed nothing serious, no signs of tearing, no reason for him to be freaking out.

Rafe texted you right away, finding himself wanting to tell you of all people the good news first, even before his coach.

As expected, you responded with an enthusiastic message telling him you couldn’t wait to cheer him on. The focus he’s trying to find right now keeps getting derailed by thoughts of you.

The song fades out, replaced with ringing. He picks up his phone to see that you’re video-calling him.

His stomach flips and he feels like a little kid with a crush on a girl in his class. The effect you have on him is starting to get really damn embarrassing.

Your pretty face appears on his screen, the backdrop a well-lit ceiling and colorful display shelves.

“Hello,” you greet him cheerfully. “We just stopped at a gas station. Do you want me to grab something for you for after the game? You know, because you’ll need nutrients and electrolytes and all that.”

“I will?” he says, his lips turned up in a smirk. “No shit?”

“Okay, I’m just being nice,” you laugh. “Don’t you get tired of being so sarcastic all the time?”

“Not really,” he replies.

Isaac, who always sits beside him on these drives, hears Rafe mumbling. He leans over and gazes at the screen.

You see the corner of Isaac’s face, then grin and wave.

“Hey, I have a really quick question,” Isaac says.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“She said to leave her alone,” Rafe murmurs.

“I did not,” you laugh, realizing only Rafe can hear you through his earbuds.

“Lies,” Isaac says. “I have this essay that’s killing me. You’re good at that stuff, right? Could you look at it for me? Please? It’s a huge chunk of my grade.”

“Sure,” you say with a nod. “Send it to me. You can get my email from Rafe.”

“She said no,” Rafe says.

“I saw her nod,” Isaac retorts.

“I’ll give you her email, alright?” Rafe says impatiently. “You done now? I’m trying to talk to my girl.”

Isaac feigns offense and leans away after giving you a thankful smile.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” he tells you.

“Suit yourself,” you say. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says simply, because he can’t be honest that he’s nervous about this game, nervous that he’ll mess up his shoulder again, nervous that he’s falling so hard for you that you could shatter him without even knowing it.

His mind is blank, words refusing to form.

“Okay,” you say, unhappy he’s being so short with you.

You don’t know what you did wrong, why he gets so irritated with you all the time. You’d called him impulsively, only ten minutes into your drive with Lyla when you stopped to buy a drink, but you assumed you were in a good enough place to call whenever you felt like it.

It’s all too familiar, this sinking feeling of questioning what a guy thinks of you, just like you always did with Beck. You know things between you and Rafe are platonic, but you thought he’d like to hear from you, because you like to hear from him.

Still, you can’t pretend that the sound of him calling you his girl didn’t make your heart lift with an unwelcome warmth. You remind yourself it’s a lie. Beck’s surely sitting close by, overhearing Rafe’s words.

“I’ll see you after the game,” you say low-spiritedly.

Rafe grimaces, guilt sinking into his bones. You’d once told him he makes you feel annoying and you were joking, but he hates to think that he’s really making you feel like that.

“How ‘bout you?” he asks hurriedly. “How’s your drive been?”

“Aside from Lyla’s road rage?” you joke.

“I do not have road rage,” Lyla defends herself with a playful gasp from the other side of the aisle.

Rafe watches as you look off-screen, the corners of your eyes crinkled as you laugh.

“Be careful,” he says, worry icing his chest. “Tell her to drive safe.”

“Oh, my God, I do!” Lyla half-shouts with a laugh. “Is he always that protective?”

“It’s why I like him so much,” you answer.

This is the point where Rafe would just be direct. He doesn’t play games. Never has. He’d ask you, straight up, the next time you're alone, if you meant that or if you were just faking affection in front of your best friend.

But he can’t do that when he already knows the answer. You told him yourself last weekend. I like you. Just not like that. Imagining something more with you just makes him a masochist.

“I’m offended that your boyfriend doesn’t trust me,” Lyla says.

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” you counter playfully. You look back at the screen. “I’ll let you go. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Look what I found,” Lyla sing-songs. She holds up a bottle of the drink you’ve been looking for.

“I love you,” you tell her.

Hearing you say those words and knowing they’ll never be directed to him is its own brand of agony. And it’s so soft, so insane that he’s already thinking about love, but you’ve thrown him for such a loop that he can’t control it.

He catches his reflection in the corner of the screen. It’s almost unbelievable how good he is at it, looking so careless, numb, when his heart is cracking down the middle.

“Good luck today,” you say to him. “You don’t need it, though.”

“Thanks,” Rafe replies. “See you.”

You hang up.

“For a second, I thought you were telling Rafe you love him,” Lyla says.

“Oh,” you laugh, turning to look at the items on the shelves again. “No.”

“Do you?” she asks. “Or do you see it getting to that point?”

“Maybe,” you reply.

“You’re giving me crumbs,” she whines.

You meet your best friend’s eyes, having already heard her complaints about how little you share about your relationship. You’re tight-lipped about Rafe because you’d rather not have to stomach the shame of feeding Lyla lies.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

“Everything. Start with the juicy stuff. Have you guys kissed?”

Imagining what it’d be like to kiss Rafe makes your stomach flutter. You wonder if his kisses would be like him; rushed, hard, impatient, or if he’d be soft and gentle and slow.

Your cheeks burn as you think about it, once again trying to pull yourself back into reality.

“Lots of times,” you say with a shrug.

“Have you guys…?” She raises her brows.

You laugh nervously. Her brother saw you leaving Rafe’s room. You doubt they’d ever gossip about you like that, but it’s better to keep the lies consistent.

You nod in response.

“And?”

“Let’s not do this here,” you chuckle, playing it off. “I don’t want strangers overhearing.”

Less than a minute after you hang up, Isaac gets Rafe’s attention with a nudge. He takes out an earbud.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Isaac says, “but how’d you get her to like you?”

“How the hell do I take that the right way?” he replies.

“No offense. She’s just so… nice,” Isaac tells him. “It’s a good thing. I can tell you’re happy. Way happier than you were with what’s-her-name.”

Rafe suggested this ploy so it’d seem that way. But with time, with getting to know you, with seeing what it’s like to be someone you care about, it’s become the truth.

════════

The game is hardly a nailbiter. Within the first period, you can tell the opponents aren’t strong contenders. It ends in an easy win.

You catch Rafe’s gaze a few times throughout the game, but you don’t get a chance to talk to him. On your way back to campus, he texts you that the team is celebrating their win in one of the common rooms in the athletes’ dorm building.

Lyla parks and before you can let her know you’ll call Rafe to come downstairs, she pulls out her phone.

“Hey,” she says after a pause. “Can you come down and let us in?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, stomach turning. You know she’s talking to her brother.

“I could’ve called Rafe,” you say nervously when you step out of the car, walking side-by-side to the building.

“It’s no problem,” she says. You can tell that she thinks she did you a favor by taking care of it, but these days, being around Beck brings you an unwelcome, awkward tension.

Beck lets you in, holding the front door open as you exchange casual greetings. You pace through the lobby and the elevator door slides shut behind you.

Beck stands by the buttons, Lyla leans against the corner between you, and you cross your arms and look up at the numbers changing.

“When’s the last time just the three of us hung out?” Lyla says lightheartedly. “And this doesn’t count.”

Your eyes flit up to Beck, whose stare is already on you. Lyla has no idea what’s gone on between you, that an unspoken heaviness has settled between you since that day in front of his exam room last semester.

Does he regret it? Does he want to take it back? Does he wish he’d never spent years leading you on and just pursued you from the beginning? Does he want to tell you what he’s really thinking? Will he ever?

The questions swirl through your head, a pattern that, at this point, you could do in your sleep.

And you realize that the answers don’t matter. Not really. Because if it takes a lie, a delusion that you’re with another man for Beck to see your worth, he never deserved you in the first place.

It gives you hope that you’re finally taking back your heart, piece by piece.

You need to allow yourself to see who you are without this hold he has on you. To love yourself instead of waiting for somebody else to. To give yourself space to be you, unencumbered by what anyone else thinks.

“It has been a long time,” you say. “I think we’ve all just been swamped.”

“Swamped?” Beck asks you. “You doing okay?”

His eyes drift over your face, shadowed with a hint of sadness.

The elevator reaches its stop. The doors open with the ding of a bell. And you nod.

“Yeah,” you answer. “My head has never been clearer, actually.”

════════

Rafe was hoping you’d still be wearing his jersey, rubbing it in Beck’s face that you’re wearing his name, no matter if it is just a ploy.

His throat tightens when his eyes land on you as you step into the common room, taking you in as he leans against the armrest of a couch. You’re not in his jersey. And you’re with Lyla and Beck.

His heart sinks. Why didn’t you call him to come get you?

“Hey,” you say, beaming at Rafe as you approach him. “You were great tonight.”

You pull him into a hug, arms draped around his wide shoulders, inhaling the smell of his body wash.

Part of you is embracing him because it’s what a girlfriend would do. The other part is because it feels good to be held by someone who knows just how much pain you’ve been holding onto.

Rafe’s hands tighten at your waist, his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“Pretty relaxed celebration,” you say, looking around when you part. Teammates and their friends and girlfriends are scattered around the room, grouped in different conversations.

You look at Rafe again and you swear that he’s somehow getting more handsome the longer you know him. Being inches away from him after daydreaming about kissing him makes the realization all the more overpowering.

The only thing you can feel is frustration because this is the last thing you need, to jump from liking one guy to another. Especially to one who has proven that he’d only hurt you.

You need your crush on Rafe to remain superficial. Any deeper and you’re just opening yourself up to more heartache.

“Yeah, this is really lowkey,” Lyla agrees with you. “You guys didn’t have it in you to party?”

“We’re pretty worn out,” Beck explains.

“Are you?” you ask Rafe, gazing up at him in that way that he’s grown to adore.

He is. He’s exhausted. And he’d fucking love it if you could go to his room just down the hall, lie in his bed together, doze off wrapped up in each other.

“Getting there,” he replies.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Lyla says, then looks at you. “Or whatever it is you do.”

“Lyla,” you groan with a laugh. She slips away, prompting Beck to do the same. Nowadays, he seems to hate being around you when you’re with Rafe.

“What was that about?” Rafe murmurs to you quietly.

You lean on the armrest, settled next to him with your arm pressed against his, finding that you’ve grown to enjoy the conversations you’re always having outside of the crowds, the feeling of being tucked away into privacy together.

“She’s annoyed that I’ve been so secretive,” you reply just as quietly. “I don’t give her details about us, but can you blame me?”

“What does she want to know?”

“If we’ve kissed and… stuff,” you say, looking at the floor, feeling too awkward to tell him the truth. “I said yeah, but I couldn’t exactly come up with details about something that never happened.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, staring while your gaze stays on the floor.

“You tellin’ me you want to break your ‘no kissing’ rule?” he asks in a joking tone, as if his heart is pounding in his ears right now.

“No,” you chuckle, looking back up at him. “I still want my first kiss to be real.”

It’s the first time he doesn’t like the sound of your laugh, because it’s apparently funny to you to consider having genuine feelings for him.

He swallows down the bitterness, determined not to punish you for his own pain. He’s done that before and he hated himself for it.

“If I played so great, why’d you take off my jersey?” he asks.

He didn’t his best tonight, feeling pricks of pain in his shoulder only a few minutes into the game. It made him afraid of getting into any hard collisions. He’s never been like that. It’s just as aggravating as it is depressing.

You lace your fingers together in your lap, fidgeting.

“I left it in the car,” you answer. You don’t offer him anything else, a faraway look in your eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You breathe out slowly, still in disbelief of how easily Rafe can read you. It’s a good thing you’re not really falling for him. He’d be able to tell.

“You’re too perceptive,” you murmur. He smirks. “It was just a weird elevator ride.”

“You could’ve called me to let you in.”

“Lyla called him before I could.” You clear your throat. “I’m finally seeing him act how I always wanted him to and… it doesn’t feel like I thought it would.”

Rafe studies you intently, hanging onto your words like they’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Everything that happened with him made me so insecure,” you confess. “And I think I shouldn’t date for real until I’m totally over him.”

At least Rafe won’t see you with another guy once you call this off, but now he’s wondering if he’ll see you at all, if you want to stay friends with someone like him, if he can manage being platonic with a girl who has so ruthlessly claimed his heart.

“And that’ll be long after we stage a mature, civil breakup where we mutually decide we’re better as friends,” you say. “And we are staying friends, got it?”

You offer him a smile. He returns it, relieved that you answered his unspoken concern, lucky that you want him around at all.

Rafe hopes you mean it, that you’re not just being nice. He can’t not have you in his life. He’ll just have to get used to quietly wanting you.

“Do we have to?” he teases, keeping his pain hidden.

You breathe a laugh, gently elbowing him, the contact making your heart feel a little less heavy.

It’s moments like these, when Rafe jokes with you and flashes his dimpled grin and shows glimmers of softness, that you worry your feelings will plunge into dangerous territory.

But you spent too long silently hoping someone would like you back. You can’t do it again.

(to be continued)

author’s note my bad… i love a man yearning too much to end it just yet… slowest slowburn i’ve ever written stg

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[yueichihara]

A date with Mephisto

Our little pretty crow was feeling down for being left behind on Sylus' birthday! So I thought about taking him out for a date.

cw: major fluff | yearning looks | Sylus x MC |

word count: 1,656 words

“I’m pretty sure there’s no need for this.” 

You don’t need to turn around to know Sylus is still lingering behind you, his arms crossed and one brow arched as he shaked his head. “I am sure I need to do this.” 

It had been about a week and a half since Sylus’ birthday, and Mephisto had yet to forgive you both for leaving him behind. Again. This wasn’t the first time you two went on a date alone, but it seemed to have been something he had been expecting to be allowed to tag along to. According to Sylus, he’d been pouting since that day, following instructions but refusing to get closer to you like he always did. You’d tried luring him out with snacks and shiny things, but he’d only let out a noise that resembled a snort and turned his head away. 

You’d come to the conclusion that there was just one option left: a date with him. Of course, it wouldn’t be something you’d usually do with Sylus, but you needed to get his trust back. Both of you. So you’d go with this: Mephisto and you would go on a date, visit a few places, go for dinner by the beach, and Sylus would stay. Mephisto had cawed with an eager flap of his wings when you’d presented him with the idea, turning to look at Sylus with a smug glint in his eye, earning a glare from his boss. 

You were currently in Sylus’ garage, looking for a bike to use as tonight's vehicle. Sylus had not been pleased with the idea, immediately refusing to stay behind and let you two go out alone. He’d only backed down when you’d teased him about Mephisto being more charming than him and taking you away. He’d laughed mockingly and closed the distance, lifting your chin with one finger as he leaned down. His voice was low, almost a whisper “Sweetie, I don’t think anyone else is ever gonna be able to satisfy your desires.” and then he’d kissed your cheek, his lips lingering more than necessary, before pulling away.

Now you turned to him and couldn’t help but snort, all that sass had suddenly turned into some kind of uneasiness, trailing behind you and still trying to dissuade you from going.

Narrowing his eyes, he walks closer “Care to share the reason for your good humour?” 

Not letting him have his way, you walk away from him towards the bike that had caught your eye, acting unimpressed at his attempt to corner you. “My humour is good because I get to have a date with the most interesting character in the N109 Zone.” You take your helmet that had been hanging from your elbow and put it on as you settle yourself over the motorbike. You’d agreed to drive to the entrance of the base and get Mephisto from there. The garage’s door opens in the distance. “I am the ruler of this place and you find him more interesting?”

Smiling at him, you put your visor down and start the bike, making the engine roar to life. “It’s because you rule over this place that you’re not, mafia boss.” You don’t let him react to your teasing before driving away.

Mephisto lands on your shoulder as you take off the helmet, leaving the bike parked near the beach. There was a gathering of people in the distance, a band playing indie music was giving a free concert at the fair according to your research. It was a warm summer night, you’d worn a light dress and shorts beneath it for the ride, your make up matching the pink of your dress. It didn’t matter that it was Mephisto, you wanted to give a good impression to your date companion. 

You wandered in between stalls, looking and enjoying yourself, talking to Mephisto about trivial stuff, him cawing in response every now and then. He nipped at your neck when you passed in front of one specific stall, filled with handmade jewelry and exquisite sea themed gems. 

“Oh those are so pretty, Mephi!” You exclaimed, leaning closer to get a better view. “Tell me which one you want, I’ll get it for you.” Beaming with energy, he nuzzles against the side of your face before jumping on the table. “Careful!” You send an apologetic smile to the vendor. 

“Oh don’t worry, I can see your buddy is eager to get something nice. Here,” He says, offering a box that was stashed away “these are the ones I save for people who have a good eye.” 

Mephisto peeks into the box and uses his beak to rummage inside, looking for something that might catch his eye. You see movement from the corner of your eye a few stalls away, but when you start to turn towards it Mephisto caws at you, signaling that he’s made his mind and grabs the gem with his beak. You help him choose a matching chain before paying and heading towards the restaurant you’d made the reservation at. Wind was starting to rise this close to the sea, and you make it a point to dress better next time you came regardless of the season. You rub your arms as you curse at yourself for leaving your jacket inside the bike’s compartment. 

Mephisto looks at you curiously and you smile at him, changing the topic. Announcing yourself at the door, the staff guides you to one of the outdoor tables where the view of the sea was stunning. The lights from the boats drifting in the distance contrasted with the darkness of the water, the stars shimmering in the midnight sky. Some of the other customers looked at you weirdly but you paid it no mind in favour of enjoying your company.

One of the waitresses brings over the menu, looking at Mephisto with curiosity but saying nothing about it. You’d obviously mentioned your companion for the night when making the reservation, and the staff had been kind and open about it. A sudden cold breeze makes you shiver, wondering if it would be worth it to change this beautiful scenery for a table indoors. But as soon as you see Mephisto watching the waves and the reflection of the stars in the water, as if they were pearls drifting away, you decide not to. 

The smile vanishes from your lips the moment you feel a touch on your neck, your body tensing and readying for battle. Mephisto looks over and tilts his head, his eyes gleaming.

“Aaand… you’re dead, sweetie.” With an irritated sigh, your body relaxes as you turn to look at Sylus, his expression relaxed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You shouldn’t get your guard down just because you’re having fun.” He puts a jacket over your shoulders -your jacket-, before sitting before you on the empty chair. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, but your words lack curiosity or bite, already knowing he’d been tailing you since a while ago. 

He points to Mephisto with the tip of his chin “You should ask him that, he’s the one who called me over, kitten.” 

Your eyes narrow on Mephisto and you playfully pinch his beak, your eyes then softening as you proceed to pat his head. “If you wanted us both to come, you should have said so, Meph.” 

“Caw” He flaps his wings and motions to Sylus and you with his beak. “Caw”

You laugh looking over at Sylus, his gaze warm as he watches the two of you. Your eyes meet and you stay like that for a while before Mephisto nudges your hand. 

“Caw” He says and points to your purse. 

“Right! You want to give it to him now?” Reaching inside, you take out the necklace with the gem you’d bought before. “Here.” He grabs it with his beak and jumps over to Sylus. “What is it?” Sylus says, trying to sound annoyed but failing completely. “Oh. Is it for me?” 

“Caw” You see as Sylus’ gaze softens surprisingly more as he takes the necklace offered from Mephisto’s beak, with a gentleness that leaves your heart aching.

“You should have seen the glint in his eye while he rummaged through the gems. He found something that goes with your aesthetic.” You lean your elbow over the table, your chin on your hand as you watch Sylus examine the gift. It is a deep red translucent gem, shaped like a natural heart. A delicate golden metal thread framed it, as if it were veins. The golden chain you’d chosen matched it perfectly. 

“Thanks.” Sylus says looking at Mephisto, patting his head. “You, too.” He smiles at you and you grin at him. The sea’s icy breeze disappears as your dinner unfolds, lighthearted chat and laughs filling the space around you.

When dinner’s over, the three of you head over to the shore, few people around now that the stalls have started closing down for the night. Sylus holds your sneakers with one hand, the other firmly clasped in yours, fingers intertwined. You feel the sand between your fingers, still warm from the afternoon’s sun. Mephisto suddenly flies overhead, perching on a rock further away, giving you both space. You feel Sylus’ thumb softly stroking the back of your hand before he speaks. 

“I initially refused, you know.” You look at him, knowing he’s referring to Mephisto’s invitation. He lifts your hand to his lips and gives it a kiss. As he puts it down again he looks back at you. “But he told me I shouldn’t be missing out on how beautiful your smile looked today.”

Your heart fills with warmth as you look over at Mephisto, his eyes locked on the moon. Looking back at Sylus, you say, a wide smile tugging at your lips “See? He is the most interesting character in the N109 Zone.”

[hugs-are-good-for-you]

I would consider the second option more, because at the center of Hamlet as a play is a hollowness. We are made to realize very quickly that this grand kingdom and social circle and family are as sturdy as a house of cards. The reason that Hamlet having his autonomy removed is not just that he would be potentially dangerous to their standing if he had autonomy, it's that they know that he WOULD absolutely be dangerous. They have to fabricate that Claudius is his loving father uncle, because we all know that he isn't. There isn't a moment in the play where we see that this is a family that used to be strong and has deteriorated, there isn't even the foundation laid for that to be true. Instead, we find an absence and an emptiness that has been surrounding Hamlet and his family for most likely his whole life. Even his father's ghost who Hamlet has the most loyalty to doesn't come to Hamlet with any substantive moment of affection or parting word, he is there to continue his personal agenda and to pass that along as Hamlet's duty.

And Hamlet's actions also make a lot of sense from this lens of isolation. Claudius and Gertrude are obvious, but even most of the others in the cast display this separation in how they interact with Hamlet. They don't know him and it's been convenient enough to continue that way until now, when Hamlet is no longer pliant and quiet. Polonius, Laertes, even Ophelia do not have a foundation of who Hamlet is in any substantial way, so when Claudius makes his claims and Hamlet plays a rather obvious act in some ways, they still believe it, because they don't have a basis of comparison. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, supposed friends previously, are led in circles to every wrong conclusion, so easily. And so Hamlet's actions go largely unquestioned in any real way. And based on what that tells us about Hamlet's life before this play, his decisions to go this alone make sense. Why would he believe that any of them would listen to him? Especially where he did raise valid questions in the beginning and was publicly scolded with no one to stand beside him.

The single character that is the exception to this precedent is, of course, Horatio. He is the single person who sees Hamlet in this play, who listens to him, and helps him. And I think that's why, when the lack of foundation has crumpled and felled the entire royal family and the majority of the supporting cast, it is Horatio that remains, as solid and unshakeable at the end as he was proceeding everything else. He is the one who is not hollow and was not made to be. And he is the one who finally shares to a person who will listen what Hamlet had been trying to expose the entire time. It is Horatio that brings reason and truth and honor into the story, he is the reason that Hamlet is given a warriors funeral and remembered in that world as anything other than the mad, lonely prince that he was made out to be and in some ways became.

i also think some of my hamlet takes/interpretations are somewhat inseparable from the fact that i read hamlet as at least fairly young, regardless of exactly how old he is, because the way the older characters in the play treat him resonates very deeply with my experience of being a mentally ill teenager. like, you know something is wrong, you know this thing you're experiencing (in hamlet's case, grief, but also the knowledge of the murder) is real and it's unimaginably painful and it might actually kill you, and yet not ONLY are the people around you telling you to just Be Normal and Get Over It, they are ALSO?? acting like everything is FINE?? they're walking around and living their lives like everything is perfectly normal and the same it's always been, and they're interacting with you like they expect you to live that way too, and at some point you inevitably hear the siren song of "just how much do i have to act out before they're FORCED to acknowledge it?" and then you put on an antic disposition and kill your situationship's dad, you know how it is.

this doesn't mean hamlet has to literally be a teenager. like, hell, you could have your thirtysomething hamlet and still lean into this reading, because it would be really compelling to highlight that a thirty-year-old hamlet is a fully grown adult being shoved into the role of a teenager/youth because the generation above him refuses to treat him like an adult or allow him autonomy. but i do think this is why hamlet as, like, Traditional Handsome Brooding Protagonist man almost always falls flat for me, because your average traditional handsome brooding protagonist man isn't being constantly infantilized, denied, ignored, told his emotions are meaningless, told he can't possibly be an authority on his own experience, etc. obviously some of this is stated in the text (particularly claudius's get-over-it speech), but in performance it falls flat for me if he's just stalking thirtyfiveishly around the castle as Some Guy Who Also Lives Here. no!!! they put that prince in the INCONVENIENT TEENAGER WE DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH box and you're gonna ACT LIKE IT

[ilovemarvel97]

Craving What We Shouldn’t

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Reader

Summary: Senior year. What could happen? School troubles? Suspended? Or becoming step-sisters with the girl you are in love with?

Word Count: 3,617

Warnings: High school AU, Angst, forbidden romance, step-siblings, reader has a penis, mutual pining, secret relationship, emotionally charged.

A/N: I just wondered how step-siblings would be if they fall in love before becoming siblings. Please do not interact if you don't like the topic.

Main Masterlist

---

The last place Y/N wanted to be on the first day of senior year was standing in front of a brand new front door with a suitcase and a forced smile. Her mom had been glowing with happiness ever since she married Oleg Maximoff over the summer. A second chance at love, she called it.

For Y/N, it felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Because on the other side of that door was Wanda Maximoff. The girl who stole her heart during junior year. The girl who kissed her once at a party before summer and never talked about it again. The girl who used to sneak glances at her across the library table, who blushed when their hands brushed.

Now they shared a house. A bathroom. A last name.

And none of it changed how Y/N felt.

“Come on,” her mom said with a light laugh, nudging her shoulder. “You’ll love it. Wanda’s been asking when you'd arrive.”

That made Y/N’s stomach tighten.

She stepped into the house. The air smelled like rosemary and floor polish. A few family photos had already gone up on the walls—her mom with Oleg, Wanda with Pietro, one of all of them awkwardly posed at the wedding.

Then—“Hey.”

Y/N froze. Her head turned slowly toward the stairs.

Wanda stood halfway down, her red hair pulled into a lazy ponytail, a soft sweater hanging off her shoulder. Barefoot. No makeup. Just her. And she was looking at Y/N like nothing had changed.

Like everything had changed.

“Hi,” Y/N said, her voice caught somewhere between casual and breathless.

They stared at each other. Too long for step-sisters. Too long for ex-almost-somethings. Just long enough for the air to thicken.

Wanda broke the moment with a quick smile. “Your room’s next to mine.”

“Of course it is,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

That night, lying in bed with the walls too thin and Wanda’s music playing faintly through them, Y/N stared at the ceiling.

She’d spent months trying to forget her.

Now she was going to see her every morning. Every night. Every hallway at school.

She couldn’t want her anymore.

She already did.

---

Y/N didn’t even make it through her first morning coffee before things got awkward.

She stepped into the kitchen still half-asleep, only to find Wanda already there in her cheer uniform—leaning against the counter, sipping orange juice, acting like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn’t once kissed Y/N in the hallway after finals. Like she hadn’t ghosted her all summer. Like they hadn’t suddenly become family.

“Want toast?” Wanda asked without looking up.

Y/N grabbed the mug waiting for her on the table. “I’ll live.”

Wanda glanced at her then. Briefly. But long enough.

There it was again. That electric pull. That heat just beneath the surface.

Y/N took a long sip of coffee to distract herself. She didn’t look at Wanda again.

---

At school, nothing had changed—and everything had.

Wanda slipped into her role like a second skin: queen bee of the cheer squad, top of her AP classes, adored by teachers and untouchable by everyone else. She walked the hall like she owned it. Beside her were Monica and Pepper, as always. Pietro waved from across the lockers, grinning at both of them.

Y/N moved differently. Not a loser, not a nerd—just a little outside the lines. She wore her usual cargo pants and hoodie, skateboard slung through the strap of her bag, earbuds in, always just out of reach.

Except now people were talking.

“Didn’t you hear?” someone whispered by the lockers. “Maximoff’s got a new stepsister.”

“She’s kind of hot, right?”

“Wait—is that the girl who punched Steve Rogers sophomore year?”

“No way. I thought she was expelled for that.”

Y/N smirked. She wasn’t. She just hated how Steve talked to Bruce that day.

But the whispers didn’t stop when she passed Wanda in the hallway.

If anything, they got worse.

“Do you think they knew each other before the wedding?”

Wanda’s eyes flickered to her. Brief. Loaded. But she didn’t say anything. She just laughed along with her friends, like nothing was wrong.

Y/N looked away.

---

Lunch was the worst part.

She’d barely sat down at her usual table—Nat, Carol, and Clint already mid-convo about the upcoming school trip—when a tray slammed down across from her.

Wanda.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, half-whispered, half-panicked.

“Eating,” Wanda said coolly. “We live together now, remember?”

Nat raised an eyebrow. Carol looked like she smelled drama. Clint was just frozen mid-chew.

Wanda took a bite of her apple and looked right at Y/N when she said it:

“Besides… family should sit together.”

Y/N choked on her drink.

Nat reached over and thumped her back with a smirk. “You alright there?”

Y/N nodded, eyes burning.

Wanda smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Y/N hated her for that.

And wanted her anyway.

---

Y/N found her in the hallway after seventh period.

Wanda had just slipped out of AP Lit, a stack of books in her arms and her signature bored-but-beautiful expression on. The hallway was nearly empty—just the occasional echo of locker doors slamming and chatter from other classrooms.

Y/N caught up fast. Too fast.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing Wanda’s arm gently. “We need to talk.”

Wanda didn’t flinch. “We’re talking.”

“Not here,” Y/N hissed. “Come on.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but followed, heels clicking as Y/N led her around the corner to the empty back stairwell. The one nobody used anymore except for cutting class or making out. Fitting.

Y/N dropped her bag and crossed her arms. “What the hell was that at lunch?”

Wanda leaned against the railing like she wasn’t cornered. Like this was a game. “Lunch?”

Y/N stepped closer. “Don’t play dumb. Sitting with me. Calling me family in front of *everyone*.”

Wanda shrugged. “That’s what we are now, aren’t we? You and me. One big happy—”

“Don’t,” Y/N cut in, voice low and sharp. “Don’t pretend this is normal.”

Wanda looked at her then. The sarcasm slipped for a second. Just a second.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” she asked, quieter now. “That I regret it? That I wish we’d never…?”

Y/N swallowed. “I want you to be honest. For once.”

Wanda stepped forward, suddenly too close. Her voice dropped.

“Fine. You want honesty?” Her eyes searched Y/N’s. “I think about that kiss every night.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“I think about what would’ve happened if my dad hadn’t proposed to your mom. If we weren’t stuck under the same roof, pretending nothing ever happened.”

Wanda’s fingers brushed her wrist. “But we are. And now I have to sit at breakfast with you across from me, wearing that stupid hoodie, acting like you don’t feel it too.”

Y/N’s voice cracked. “I do feel it.”

Silence. Their eyes locked.

“Then why are you mad at me?” Wanda asked, softer now.

Y/N looked away. “Because you ghosted me after that kiss. And now you sit with me at lunch like nothing’s wrong. Like *you* get to decide when it matters.”

Wanda blinked. Guilt flickered.

“I was scared,” she admitted.

Y/N turned back to her. “So am I.”

A long pause.

“I shouldn’t want you,” Y/N whispered.

“I know,” Wanda said, barely audible. “But I do.”

And for a moment, the world tilted.

But neither moved. Neither kissed.

Because wanting each other was easy.  

Living with it—that was the hard part.

---

Dinner was quiet.

Too quiet.

Oleg was rambling about his new teaching position, and Y/N’s mom nodded politely at every word, stealing glances toward the teens at opposite ends of the table.

Wanda picked at her mashed potatoes like they offended her. Y/N kept her eyes on her plate and said nothing at all.

They hadn’t spoken since the stairwell.

Not at school. Not on the walk home. Not even when Wanda brushed past her at the front door, close enough for her perfume to linger.

“I’m glad you girls are getting along,” Oleg said with a smile, breaking the silence. “High school’s tough enough without family drama, right?”

Wanda’s fork froze mid-air.

Y/N gave a small, hollow laugh and shoved another bite in her mouth.

---

Later, Y/N stood in the upstairs hallway, toothbrush dangling from her mouth, staring at Wanda’s bedroom door.

It was cracked open.

She should’ve kept walking. Should’ve gone into her room, shut the door, put headphones in, and pretended everything was normal.

Instead, she knocked.

Softly.

“Yeah?” came Wanda’s voice from inside.

Y/N stepped in.

Wanda was curled up on her bed in an oversized sweater, hair wet from a recent shower, legs tucked under a blanket. She wasn’t reading. She wasn’t watching anything. Just… sitting there. Waiting.

Y/N stayed near the door.

“You okay?” she asked.

Wanda looked at her with those deep, unreadable eyes. “You’re asking me that now?”

Y/N sighed. “I didn’t mean to come at you so hard earlier.”

“No, you were right,” Wanda said, her voice quieter now. “I shut you out. I didn’t know what to do with what happened between us.”

“And now?” Y/N asked.

Wanda hesitated. “Now I want to pretend we’re just two girls in the same school again. Before the wedding. Before all this.”

Y/N gave a small, tired smile. “We can’t go back.”

“I know.”

A silence stretched between them. The hallway light behind Y/N cast her shadow across Wanda’s carpet.

“I think about it too,” Y/N said finally. “That kiss.”

Wanda looked at her like she was holding her breath.

“I never stopped wanting you,” Y/N confessed. “Even when it got complicated. Even when it got impossible.”

They stared at each other. That familiar pull crackled in the air between them.

But neither moved.

Because outside that room was a hallway. And down the hallway were their parents. And in that house, they weren’t just Y/N and Wanda anymore.

They were stepsisters.

“Goodnight,” Y/N whispered.

Wanda’s voice was barely a whisper. “Goodnight.”

And as the door clicked shut, both of them lay awake, two doors apart, craving something they couldn’t have.

Not anymore.

---

The days that followed were unbearable.

They barely spoke. Barely made eye contact. But the tension followed them like a shadow—thick in the air during breakfast, suffocating during car rides, lingering in the spaces where their shoulders nearly touched but never quite did.

At school, they played their roles. Wanda smiled in the hallways and laughed with her friends. Y/N kept her head down, skated to class, joked with Nat and Carol like she wasn’t constantly glancing toward red hair in the crowd.

But the truth followed them home every day.

In the quiet. In the in-between.

And eventually, it had to break.

---

It was late.

The house was dark. Everyone else asleep. Wanda padded into the kitchen in an old t-shirt, hoping for water. She didn’t expect to find Y/N already there, back turned, staring out the window with a glass in her hand.

Wanda froze.

Y/N didn’t turn around. Just said, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Wanda said, voice barely a breath. “You?”

Y/N shook her head. Silence stretched again. Familiar. Heavy.

Then—

“This is killing me,” Wanda whispered. “Pretending like we’re not… something.”

Y/N turned then. Slowly. Her eyes tired. Sad. And so full of everything Wanda felt too.

“It’s killing me too,” she said. “But what are we supposed to do, Wanda? Risk tearing our parents apart because we can’t stay away from each other?”

Wanda looked down.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

“I want to choose you,” Wanda said quietly. “But if I do, it won’t just be us who gets hurt.”

Y/N stepped closer. “So what? We ignore it? We bury this and pretend we don’t want each other?”

“We already are,” Wanda said with a bitter smile. “And it’s tearing me apart.”

Y/N reached out without thinking. Her fingers brushed Wanda’s, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto.

And for a moment, Wanda let her.

They stood there, trembling, their hands barely touching, eyes locked in silent agony.

“I wish we met in another life,” Wanda whispered. “Where you weren’t my stepsister. Where we didn’t have to pretend.”

“I know,” Y/N said, voice cracking. “But this is the life we got.”

Wanda nodded, tears clinging to her lashes.

Then, slowly, she pulled her hand away.

“We have to stop,” she said, though it broke her to say it. “We have to try.”

Y/N blinked fast, nodding. “Yeah. We do.”

But neither moved. Not yet.

Because even when they tried to be strong, tried to do the right thing, the ache was still there. Unrelenting.

---

One Week Later

By the end of the first week, everything looked perfect from the outside.

Y/N and Wanda passed each other in the halls with polite nods. They shared the bathroom like normal siblings. They even managed to help set the table together without saying a word too sharp or too soft.

To their parents, it looked like the girls were settling in just fine.

But every moment felt like walking a tightrope.

Every brush of fingers when reaching for the same spoon. Every second of accidental eye contact. Every laugh they weren’t supposed to share, every memory they weren’t supposed to have.

It was unbearable.

Y/N stopped eating breakfast in the kitchen.

Wanda started walking to school with Monica instead of waiting for Y/N on the porch.

They both told themselves it was better this way.

They were lying.

---

One Night

It was late.

Everyone was asleep. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that rang in your ears.

Y/N was wide awake, staring at her ceiling, heart pounding like it always did lately—tight and restless. She couldn’t stop thinking about Wanda’s bare legs under oversized sweaters, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating, or how she laughed—*really* laughed—when she let herself forget the rules.

And then there was the memory she couldn’t outrun: that kiss. Hot. Breathless. Full of promise.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut.

She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

The hallway creaked.

Her bedroom door cracked open.

Y/N bolted upright.

Wanda stood there in the dark, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes shining in the dim light.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered.

Y/N’s voice was hoarse. “Then don’t be here.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Wanda stepped inside and closed the door softly behind her.

She didn’t climb onto the bed. She didn’t touch her. She just sat on the floor against the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees, like she was trying to ground herself.

“I thought I could do this,” Wanda whispered. “Pretend. Keep you at a distance. But I see you every day, and it’s like I’m starving.”

Y/N swallowed thickly. “You think I don’t feel that too?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Wanda said. “They’re so happy. Our parents. I don’t want to ruin that. I can’t.”

Y/N pushed her fingers through her hair. “So what are we supposed to do? Torture ourselves?”

Wanda looked up at her. “We have to try.”

And for a while, they just sat there. Quiet. Wanting.

Eventually, Wanda stood and left.

Y/N didn’t sleep at all.

---

The Next Day

At school, they avoided each other like it was a sport. But their friends noticed.

Pepper leaned into Wanda’s side at lunch. “You okay? You’ve been off all week.”

“I’m fine,” Wanda said too quickly, stabbing at her salad.

Across the room, Carol gave Y/N a sideways look. “You know if you keep bottling stuff up, you’re gonna explode, right?”

Y/N didn’t respond. She just tossed a grape into her mouth and stared at nothing.

Because Wanda was sitting with Monica. Laughing. But not really.

And Y/N hated that she could tell.

---

Two Weeks Later

It happened on a Sunday.

The house was quiet. Oleg and Y/N’s mom were out at some local art exhibit. Pietro was at a friend’s. The storm outside had knocked out the power.

Wanda lit candles in the living room, wrapped herself in a blanket, and put on an old record player Oleg had dug out of the attic.

Y/N wandered in after hearing the music, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“I didn’t think you liked Fleetwood Mac,” she said.

Wanda shrugged. “Didn’t think you paid attention.”

“I pay attention to everything when it comes to you,” Y/N said before she could stop herself.

Wanda froze.

The thunder cracked in the distance. The song shifted to Landslide.

Neither of them moved.

“I miss you,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N stepped forward, every breath shaky. “I never stopped missing you.”

Wanda looked up, her eyes wet. “We can’t.”

“I know.”

Their fingers touched. Just barely.

Wanda shook her head, trying to breathe. “You make it so hard to be good.”

Y/N’s voice cracked. “Then maybe we stop pretending to be.”

For one breathless second, it was all too close.

Wanda leaned in—so close their noses brushed.

But she stopped.

She stepped back.

“We can’t,” she said, voice trembling.

Y/N nodded, her heart breaking again. “I know.”

But neither walked away.

And that was the scariest part.

---

They were picture-perfect again.

Wanda helped her mom cook. Y/N helped Oleg in the garage. They all sat down for dinner like a Hallmark ad.

At school, Y/N and Wanda didn’t walk together, didn’t eat together, didn’t exist in each other’s orbits if they could help it.

But Y/N was always watching.

That’s how she saw it happen.

Some tall junior with too much gel in his hair cornered Wanda by the vending machine. He was smiling like he was confident and clueless. Wanda laughed politely, brushing her hair behind her ear. Classic deflection.

Y/N clenched her fists.

It meant nothing. She knew that. Wanda wasn’t into him. Wanda never even looked at anyone else.

But that didn’t matter when the jealousy hit like poison in her veins.

When the guy leaned in a little too close, Y/N saw red.

---

That Night

Wanda barely had time to set her bag down before she realized something was off.

Y/N didn’t greet her.

Didn’t glance up from the couch.

Didn’t even flinch when their mom said, “Girls, want to pick a movie for tonight?”

“I’m tired,” Y/N said. “Not in the mood.”

That wasn’t like her.

Wanda frowned but said nothing.

Later, she knocked on Y/N’s bedroom door.

No answer.

She opened it anyway.

“You’re ignoring me,” she said flatly.

Y/N sat at her desk, scribbling something into her sketchpad like it was life or death.

“Go away, Wanda.”

Wanda stepped inside anyway. “What the hell did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Y/N snapped, still not looking at her.

Wanda’s jaw tightened. “Then why are you acting like I don’t exist? You’re not even pretending anymore.”

“I can’t pretend anymore!”

That made Wanda freeze.

Y/N stood up abruptly. Her eyes were wild—pained.

“I’m in love with you, Wanda,” she said, voice cracking. “I’ve been trying not to be. I’ve been trying to be good, for our parents, for you. But I can’t watch you let some random guy flirt with you. I can’t watch you and pretend it doesn’t kill me.”

Wanda blinked. “Y/N—”

“You laughed at something he said.”

“It was small talk! I didn’t even like him—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Y/N said, softer now. “Because I’m the only one who can’t have you.”

Wanda’s eyes were filling with tears. “You think this is easy for me? You think I’m not dying inside every time I have to act like you’re just my step-sister?”

Silence stretched between them like a live wire.

“I want you too,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N looked at her like she didn’t believe it.

“I never stopped,” Wanda said. “I’m just… scared. We’re not supposed to feel this.”

Y/N’s voice cracked. “But we do.”

And that was the truth.

The silence between them was heavy. Breathing was hard.

Wanda’s words hung in the air like something sacred and dangerous all at once.

“I want you too.”

Y/N stepped closer before she could stop herself, eyes searching Wanda’s face for any hesitation. There was fear there, yes—but it was tangled with longing. Raw and open.

Wanda didn’t move.

Didn’t pull back.

Didn’t blink.

Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Then kiss me.”

And just like that, Wanda did.

She surged forward, hands fisting into Y/N’s shirt, pulling her down, up, into her—like she didn’t know where she began and where Y/N ended. Y/N’s arms went around her instantly, holding her like she’d been waiting for this exact moment her whole life.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss.

It was desperate. Messy. Hungry.

A crash of emotion too long suppressed.

Wanda whimpered against her mouth, and that broke something inside Y/N. She backed Wanda into the wall, their bodies pressed tight, lips moving fast, like they were making up for all the times they pretended they didn’t want this.

Didn’t need this.

But they did.

God, they did.

Wanda gasped when Y/N’s hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye like she was fragile and precious. “I don’t care if it’s wrong,” Y/N said between kisses. “I just want you.”

Wanda nodded, breathless. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

They kissed again, slower this time. Softer. Like a promise.

They stayed like that until they heard footsteps outside in the hallway.

Wanda stiffened.

Y/N pulled back, resting her forehead against hers.

Back to reality.

Back to hiding.

But now, they couldn’t go back to what they were before.

Something had shifted.

And it was too big to ignore.

---

Does anyone want to see part 2 😁

[dantes-jacket]

I’ve only wanted you

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #3! You confess to Dante and he rejects you. You two get into an argument, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, love confessions

Dante Sparda. The infamous half demon half human demon hunter. Everyone in town knows his name and his business, Devil May Cry. But you know him as a goofy guy that loves pizza and strawberry sundaes.

He is also your closet friend and your biggest crush. But you’ve taken that secret to the grave. Or well you’re trying. Every time you two hang out it comes closer and closer to being blurted out.

Would it be a bad thing if it got known? You don’t know because you can’t even begin to think what he would say or do. He’d probably think you were just joking and brush it off like he does to the waitress at the cafe. Soon you’ll probably be in her boat at this rate.

You can’t help it though, Dante is so sweet and caring. He’s also super protective about you. He acts differently around you than he does with any other girl. He’s a lot more touchy and flirty with you compared to when he’s with Lady or Trish. He also doesn’t shy away from acting that way when they are around. It’s like he wants to make something known. Maybe you do have a chance.

You’re laying in your bed looking up at the ceiling while all these thoughts run through your head. It just makes your heart hurt more and more. Keeping this secret is really hurting you. Tonight you should tell him, even if it ruins everything. The thought of losing him hurts but the pain you’re feeling now also hurts a lot. You’d rather rip the band aid off instead of hurting yourself slowly.

You get out of bed with groan and get ready to head over to Dante’s. He called you earlier asking if you wanna hang out, of course you didn’t decline because you just want to be near him.

The walk to Devil May Cry is about fifteen minutes. It’s nice because the cool breeze is helping calm yourself down. Today is the day you’re going to confess. You know it could end horribly but that isn’t going to stop you now.

When you arrive you knock and the door and it swings open revealing Dante. “Thought you were the pizza man.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh I’m sorry, I can leave if you want.” You jokingly say while turning around to “walk away”.

He laughs at your joke and grabs your hand, “Not so fast, you’re mine tonight.”

You try to control yourself from blushing so he doesn’t see his comment makes you flustered. It does send your heart racing though. You let him drag you inside and he announces the plan for tonight, “Thought we could eat some pizza and catch up.”

“Sounds like fun.” You nod along with the idea. Wonder what kind of games he has in mind.

You set your purse down and kick off your shoes and head into the kitchen. You grab two beers and bring them back to the living room. You immediately fall onto the couch letting out a sigh of relief. Dante’s couch might be worn and old but it’s comforting and warm at the same time.

Dante comes to join you but it’s stopped in his tracks when he hears a knock at the door again. He grabs the pizza and walks back over to you. “Did you even pay for that?”

“Nah I had them put it on my tab.”

“Dante you’re probably going to go even more in debt if you don’t start paying for this stuff.”

“Hey it’s fineeee. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.” He opens the pizza box and instantly digs in.

You try to not blush at this comment too. He definitely didn’t mean anything by it and was just playing with you. You change the subject and ask, “How have you been?”

He swallows a massive bite then answers, “You know same old same old. Killing demons while looking like a total sexy badass.”

You slap a hand over your face and drag it down of course he had to add the last part. “Yeah, yeah. But I meant how you actually are like as Dante.”

“Oh well that’s not fun. When I’m not hunting and killing demons I do nothing but wait to hunt and kill demons. I mean I’ve had some good pizza and strawberry sundaes recently.”

You roll your eyes, this man is really dense sometimes. “We need to get you a hobby that isn’t hunting and killing demons.”

He looks at you like you were the one that killed him family in front of him, “How dare you say that!”

Great now he’s pouting. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant find something to do in your free time while you wait. You like to dance but you’ve barely done that recently. We could get you some books to read-“

“BLEH, books? Are you trying to kill me with boredom? I’d rather sit in complete silence than read a book.”

You roll your eyes at the man again, “Sometimes I really think you’re a child.”

“Hey-“

“But then I remember you are probably the furthest thing from one.” You look over to him and he’s looking at you. You have his full attention and don’t seem like you’re going to lose it any time soon.

“You’re very strong Dante, the strongest person I know. You care so much about everyone around you and carry so many burdens just so you can help them. You’d take away all the pain from everyone and carry it yourself if you could. You hold the weight of the world on your shoulders but you never complain about it. You only face the problems head on and without any hesitation.”

You let out a shaky breath and continue, “I guess that’s why I fell for you. Everything about you is so admirable that it’s hard not to fall for you. I love you Dante and have for a while.”

You hear his breath hitch and you don’t dare to look at him. You close your eyes and pray that it doesn’t end like the bad scenarios you’ve made up in your head.

“Why did you have to ruin this?”

Your eyes fly open and you snap your neck to look at him. He looks absolutely pissed. “Tell me why did you have to fucking say that?”

Now you’re confused, “What- I don’t get what you mean.”

“WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TELL ME YOU LOVE ME!?” He’s standing up now and yelling. He’s never once raised his voice at you. This is a different side of him and you don’t like it one bit.

You stand up and try to stand toe to toe with him even though you know it’s probably useless. “Because keeping it a secret was hurting me! I had to tell you so it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

“I don’t fucking care! We are friends and now you had to try and cross that line.”

Now you’re mad, “Don’t act like you don’t act differently around me! You act completely different with me compared to Trish and Lady.” You argued back.

“Well I don’t see you any different from those two! You mean the exact same to me as they do, nothing more nothing less. You’re basically a work friend. I’m not interested in you that way at all.”

Work friend? That’s it? After everything you two have gone through together in the past years, he doesn’t see you as someone close to him. You freeze and bite your lip at his comment. It’s like he’s tearing out your heart and handing it right back to you.

“I’m not even a demon hunter Dante!” You yell back. You lower your head so he wouldn’t see the tears that are starting to run down your cheeks. You lower your voice, “I was wrong, you’re not a good person. You’re just a jerk.” You lift your head to look at him and you see him open his mouth just to quickly shut it.

“I guess I made another mistake in loving you. I thought you’d be at least nicer.” You walk past him and slip on your shoes. You grab your purse and open the door.

Dante can’t move. He can’t comprehend any of this. He doesn’t know how it got so bad. But he doesn’t want you to leave. Not like this. Not when he lied to you.

“Hey come on wait-“ he steps closer to you reaching his hand out to grab your hand again.

You move your hand out of his reach, “Don’t touch me.”

“Wait I-“

You look at him solemnly, “This is goodbye Dante.” You then walk out and close the door behind you. Once you’re a couple feet away you sob harder and run back to your apartment.

This went worse than you ever could have imagined. You knew there was a possibility of him rejecting you but you never knew it would end like this. You two are definitely on opposite side of a cliff, with the biggest ravine between you.

Dante begs for you to open the door again and come back. He stands and watches hopelessly. He knows you’re not going to and he’s stupid for thinking that it’s even possible.

Why did he yell at you? Why in the actual fuck would he yell at his favorite person in the whole world? Why would he yell at the woman he loves?

Dante knows why he was so quick to say no though. Everyone he’s ever loved has died or been in some kind of pain because of him. He can’t put you through that and he can’t put himself through losing someone else he loves. You told him he was super strong but he feels so weak now. He feels weak because he broke everything between you two.

His necklace starts to feel oddly heavy around his neck, great his mom is mad at him too. He grabs the necklace and looks up, “I am going to fix this mom. I’m not going to let her get away.” He promises.

While you’re running back to your apartment you run into someone. You mentally curse yourself because now you’re going to be in an awkward situation. Before you can apologize you hear two people call out your name.

You recognized those voice. Shit you gotta run. You try to get around them and mumble a sorry but your hand is suddenly grabbed.

“Why are you running from us?” Trish asked.

You turn to look at them and they freeze at your tear stained face. You hide your face and try to stop the tears. But your broken heart won’t let you. Lady looks at Trish and they silently agree to get you back to your apartment.

They walk you back while you silently cry. Lady takes your purse and grabs your keys from it to unlock your door. Once you’re inside they guide you to the couch.

You finally calm down enough to where you’re not completely sobbing. But still have some stray tears rolling down your face.

Lady now speaks up, “Okay what in the hell happened?” Trish smacks her arm. “Ow what was that for?”

Trish only glares at her, “Let her go on her own time.”

“It’s fine.” You cut the arguing duo off. You tell them what happened and you have to hold them down.

“Oh I’m going to fucking kill him. Shoot him right between the eyes,” Lady growls.

“I’m right behind you girl. Let’s go.”

“Wait stop! Just leave it. It’s already so messy between us and I don’t want the rift to grow even bigger.”

Lady rolls her eyes and questions, “How can you defend him after this? He was a total douche to you.”

“I’m not defending him. I don’t even know if I could do that. What he said hurt me more than anything ever has. But I don’t want to completely burn our bridges. He’s good at what he does and that’s helped me many times.”

Trish sighs knowing you making a good argument. But she isn’t just going to sit around and let you be upset.

“How about this, tomorrow we all go out! I’ll invite some drinking friends and we can relax together. We gotta get your mind off of this.”

“Sounds good to me,” you respond. It actually sounds awful but you know they are going to drag you out no matter what you say. So it’s better to agree than disagree and make another argument happen.

•

A couple weeks have gone by since your big argument with Dante. You two have spoken a word to each other and haven’t seen each other since. You went out with Lady and Trish the next night and it was hell.

Most of the people Trish invited were guys so they were trying to hit on you and it made you feel uneasy. One guy was really persistent though.

His name was Jackson. He was kinda nice and okay to look at. He wasn’t funny, he didn’t like to dance, he wasn’t cocky, he wasn’t Dante. You shook your head at the thought. Dante is your standard now and you can’t even change it.

The going out for drink because quite common within the past few weeks which means you see Jackson more and more. Last night he asked you out on a date. The thought of that made you sick. You didn’t want to go out on a date with him. You’re still thinking about Dante.

You wonder how he’s doing. He’s been radio silent with Trish and Lady too. Maybe he knew they’d be on your side so he just kept to himself for now. You hope he’s okay. You hope he’s eating enough and getting enough sleep. You hope he’s taking care of himself during missions and resting properly after them.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you look to see Jackson, “So is that a yes?”

Lady buts in and says yes for you. You give her a glare and she just shrugs it off. So much for no date.

Now you’re out shopping with Lady and Trish to get an outfit for the date tonight. They claimed you needed “a fresh new look for a fresh new start.” You hated every second of this. They kept handing you dress after dress to try on.

You ended up falling in love with one dress though. Of course it was red and of course it made you think of Dante. You tell them you want this dress and Trish eagerly buys it for you.

You three are walking out of the store that’s when you see him. The man you secretly have been yearning to see again. You can’t help yourself, you still love him. Even after what he said to you.

As if he senses eyes on him Dante turns and sees you three. He then quickly walks over to the group. Lady and Trish sees him approaching and goes to cover you. All he manages to get out is, “Hey.”

“Hello Dante.” Trish responds. The brave soul that’s going to go toe to toe with him.

“What are the three of you doing here?” He tries to look around the barrier they made to see you but they keep you blocked.

“We’re shopping for her date tonight. Now if you excuse us, we gotta go get her ready.”

“Date?” Dante stammers out not believing what Trish just said. She just nods and pushes you away.

Lady stays back and Dante looks at her, “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No we aren’t. There’s some men out there that actually want her unlike you.”

“I WANT HER MORE THAN ANYTHING!” He snaps back.

“Then why yell at her like you did? Why say she means nothing to you?”

“Because I’m fucking afraid of losing her. The thought of it hurts so bad. I can take shots like nothing but she can’t. What if something happens to her because of me? I can’t live with that.”

“So you’d rather live without her?”

“No I want her right by my side.”

“You have to pick. You can’t say you want her then push her away. You also can expect to push her away and expect to have her.”

Lady starts to walk aways and looks over her shoulder, “She still talks and thinks about you all the time. She’s leaving at six for her date. If you want to fix this, stop her and apologize.” She then goes to catch up with you and Trish.

Dante stands there watching hopelessly again hoping you’d come back to him. But after Lady’s last comment there’s new fire that burns within him. He’s determined to get you back.

These past few weeks has been absolute hell for him. All he’s wanted to do is reach out to you. He can’t deal without your presence anymore. He misses how your laugh would fill up the quietness of Devil May Cry. He misses how the pillow on the couch you always slept on doesn’t smell like you anymore. He missing calling you and having you come over just to goof around with him.

He misses your beautiful self. He’s always thought you were eye catching. Your presence made him calm and happy. He needs you in his life again. He can’t go a minute without you anymore. Tonight he’s getting you back. He’s sure of it.

You finished getting ready and all you have to do is slip on your heels. You’re happy Lady and Trish left even though it kind of confused you. Lady whispered something in her ear and the two of them suddenly announced they are leaving. But it is peaceful because now you just get to think freely.

You slip on a pair of black heel and look at yourself in the mirror. You looked great, the red dress and heels really complement one another. You wonder what Dante would think of this dress. You shake your head trying to get the thought out. You finally got to see him today even though you didn’t get to talk to him. He looked exhausted, he must have just came from a mission.

You smack your hands against your cheeks to focus yourself. You’re going on a date with someone else tonight. You can at least be decent and not think about another man.

You hear a knock at your door and look at the clock. It’s 5:30 and you agreed to meet at the restaurant. So who on earth could be knocking?

You walk to the door and open it to be greeted with the man that hasn’t left your thoughts. You two stare at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence.

Dante swallows thickly and then murmurs, “Don’t go on the date.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“No Dante I don’t.”

“I can’t really say…”

You were happy to see him now you’re mad. You’ve had enough of this. He’s telling you not to go on the date and won’t tell you why. What is his goal here?

“Okay bye then.” You start to shut the door but he scrambles and stops you.

“Wait please don’t shut the door again. I have a feeling if it shuts again we are done.”

“What’s your goal here Dante? Are you trying to make me miserable?”

He pushes the door open so you two have no barrier between you two anymore. “Hell no. That’s honestly the last thing I want.”

“Funny, didn’t seem like you cared about that last time.”

“I know, I was a dick and shouldn’t have yelled at you. I regret it with every fiber of my being. Human and demonic side.”

“Dante, that doesn’t change what happened. You said I didn’t mean anything to you.”

“I didn’t mean it I promise. I’m so sorry for how I treated you. I wish I could take it all back because I regret it all. I want to punch myself for yelling at you but most of all I hate myself for lying to you.”

You gulp at his words. You think you know where this is going and you don’t know if he’s just going to say it or if he means it. “Dante, what do you mean?”

He steps forward and raises his hands to your cheeks. Seeing that you’re not stopping him, he rests them on your cheeks. He swipes his thumbs back and forth against trying to soothe you.

“I love you. I’ve always had.”

You bite your lip and close your eyes. You are taken back to when he said he saw you as nothing more than a work friend. That you meant nothing more to him. You hear that replaying in your head over and over again.

“You said I was nothing more to you than a work friend.”

You feel him flinch and him whisper, “I know.”

“You yelled at me and said I ruined everything.”

“I know.”

“You said you weren’t interested in me.”

“I know.”

“But Dante the funny thing is even after all that, I don’t hate you. I still am in love with you.”

He sighs and hangs his in relief. “Fuck I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it all up to you. I’ll take care of you and protect you. I’ll treasure your love till the day I die. Please give me the chance to make it right.”

“I trust you Dante but you only get one chance. Don’t waste it.”

“I’m not going to fucking waste a second more.”

He dips down to connects your lips. It’s as if a switch has gone off and made everything right again. This kiss feels so perfect and warm. It’s passionate and loving, like Dante is trying to confess even more than he has.

You two break apart and you look to see your lipstick smudged on his lips. You laugh at the look. You raised your hand to his lips and wipe off the lipstick.

“Heyyyy don’t do that I wanna walk around with that.”

“You’re fine. But now I gotta cancel the date. Great Trish is going to be mad the dress didn’t get its use.”

You start to walk away but Dante pulls you back into his embrace. Your back is against his chest and he leans down and whispers into your ear, “Nah you’re going to be a no show baby, no more talking to that guy. But I’m going to take you out because I’m not wasting this sight. You look so fucking hot in red.”

@fashionloverr846

[lazysoulwriter]

you should’ve told me first - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: childhood friends to lovers, heavy yearning, one-sided love that isn’t so one-sided, secondhand heartbreak, soft confrontation, finally some honesty and kisses!!

----

It had been a quiet decision, the kind you didn’t tell anyone until it was already happening. You said yes to the blind date because it felt like a mercy kill — an act of kindness to yourself, even if your heart wasn’t in it.

Pedro had never noticed before. Or if he had, he was cruelly good at pretending.

Years of watching him fall in and out of quiet, hidden relationships. Years of holding his hand through heartbreaks he never made public. Of showing up, showing love, showing every damn sign a person could — and never being seen the way you needed to be.

So when you told your shared friends over drinks that the date hadn’t been a disaster — and that you were considering a second — it felt like turning the page.

You didn’t know Pedro would hear about it days later. You didn’t know he’d go still at the table, fork halfway to his mouth, jaw tight with something too complicated to name.

And you definitely didn’t know he’d let himself into your apartment the next day, heart racing as he sat on your couch, hands clenched, staring at your door like it might swallow him whole.

He had a key. Of course he did. He always had.

But when you opened the door and saw him there, waiting—

You paused.

Then, softly: “Pedro?”

He stood. Fast. “You’re going on a second date?”

You blinked. “Hi.”

“Are you?” he asked again, voice a little rough. “With that guy?”

You sighed, setting your bag down. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

He scoffed. “Since when do you date?”

You gave him a look. “You of all people can’t be asking me that.”

He flinched. Just barely. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It didn’t feel like something I had to,” you whispered. “I tell you everything, Pedro. And nothing ever changes.”

He looked at you then, really looked. “Do you like him?”

“I want to,” you said honestly. “I’m trying to.”

Silence.

Then: “Don’t.”

You frowned. “Pedro—”

“Don’t,” he repeated, stepping closer. “Don’t go on another date with him. Don’t try to feel something when I know you’ve already felt it for me.”

You stared. “That’s not fair.”

“I know,” he said, eyes glassy. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to risk you. Us.”

You exhaled shakily. “And now?”

He swallowed hard. “Now I’m standing in your living room praying you haven’t already moved on. That I’m not too late.”

Your heart cracked. Wide open. “Pedro…”

He stepped forward again. “Tell me you haven’t stopped loving me.”

You closed the distance, quiet and certain. “I never did.”

He kissed you like a man starved. Like he’d just figured out he was allowed to be full.

And when he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, he whispered the words that should’ve come years ago.

“I’ve loved you my whole life. I just didn’t know it until I thought I’d lost you.”

----

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[politicallyfuckoff]

"Gonna get it together"

Honestly, from the bottom of my heart, I'm so fucking sick of this country. No, I'm not American, I have no American heritage, I have never been to America and never plan to go, but still, on the other side of the world, I hear more about them than I do my own country.

I know more about Trump than I do my own country's leaders. I know more about Hegseth and Vance than I do my own country's laws. I know more about the tariff wars between one rich country being led by a toddler with another, than I know my closest grocery store prices that are local, and actually paying the farmers producing the wares they are selling.

But you know what's even worse? The fact that I have to know, because all the shit First Felon is doing, is going to affect me, too, at one point. Half the conversations I have with friends and family are about whether or not we support or condemn the president and his incompetent crew controlling him from behind the scenes, because I have to figure out if I'm safe with them or not.

I saw a YT video the other day of a woman ranking the safety of certain groups and their necessity of getting the fuck out of America. I'm part of almost every one, except for the "You're fine" groups which were all those willing to get behind the atrocities the president is doing. I'm white, that's about the only thing making me safe if I were in America. I'm trans, disabled, pro-Palestine, against the president, and I'm not scared to show it with my short, colored hair, baggy rainbow inspired clothes and Keffiyeh. I'd rather get killed in his attempts to conquer the world than abandon my entire belief system and moral compass for self preservation.

I've said it since I first heard of him in 2016, and I won't ever stop: Fuck Trump. I hope his coffee is forever cold, that his precious golf club is always skewed and hits the ball off course, that his cronies continue to dismantle his own acts by accident because they're so mind-numbingly incompetent, and that his sleep is forever disturbed by the feeling of something crawling on his face. This is the least he deserves. The best? To finally get imprisoned for his inhumanely long list of federal crimes, to get sued to his bare bones by everyone he ever did wrong. The same goes for everyone on his team, and anyone who ever stood behind him.

For those who changed their mind; did you only reconsider after you were a direct target yourself, or did your values actually change? If the latter isn't the answer, you, too, deserve to be forever disturbed in the most infuriating ways.

Conservative white privilege is the refuge of scumbag racists and misogynists.

[softsunnyy]

mean luke with a piss kink🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

i tried not to get carried away, i swear

🚨 piss kink, u peeing on his dick, him making you not go to the bathroom ?? idk 🚨

poorly written

it started almost two hours ago. You hadn't even realized his plan. Not at first.

Luke kept giving you glasses of water, distracting you with meaningless conversation so you wouldn't notice. Then he started making you laugh, saying and doing silly things just to get a smile out of you. And don't get me wrong, he loves hearing you laugh. He takes pride in knowing he's the reason you smile so much, having the chance to see your face transform into one of pure joy. However, right now his intentions aren't so pure, and he's not doing it for the usual reasons. No.

he does it to see the way you shift in your seat, unconsciously at first, feeling the urge to pee slowly creep in as your belly begins to swell. He does it to see your panicked face when you wanna excuse yourself and get up to go to the bathroom and he says no, telling you to stay seated. God, your eyes widen, and you stammer, trying to make sure you heard correctly.

but of course you did.

and you try to act normal, because you wanna be good, but when he started running a hand up your inner thigh, you knew you were lost.

he does it so he can see you so, so desperate.

and that led to your current situation, with your boyfriend running his fingers between your folds, admiring how your fluids soak his fingers, leaving them shiny and slippery, and making it even easier to slide them into your tight hole.

you whimper, which makes Luke smile; it makes him move his fingers faster, like he forgot that his hands are big, going inside of you so deep that you can feel yourself almost releasing. And you try to warn him, but you can only put a hand on his arm, squeezing it tightly as you try to close your legs. Luckily, he seems to understand, because he immediately looks at you, slowing down the speed with which he slides his fingers into your walls.

“don't even think about it,” he warned, a smug grin on his face. He can feel your pussy spasming, your walls smothering him to try to hold back your juices, terrified of embarrassing yourself by peeing on his hand.

“i can't, Lu, i need…” he moved his fingers harder, deeper, drawing a moan from you so you wouldn't finish your sentence.

“nothing, you don't need anything,” he said, then slipped his fingers out of your pussy, watching your hole throb, wanting to be filled once more.

this drove him to go faster, so he began to remove his clothes, an image that distracted you.

you can feel your pussy drooling as you watched his muscles with every movement, or his chest and abdomen covered in old and new marks you'd left on other occasions. And your legs tremble, opening slowly and obscenely for him when he finally releases his cock, hard, big, swollen and ready for you.

Luke wastes no time, shoving it into your hole before you can even think about holding back your pee, and he's hard, so rough that you try to hit his arm, as a way of begging him for mercy.

his cock is so deep inside your pussy that you can feel it everywhere, and the pressure in your belly begins to increase as he moves, sliding in and out, while he teases, talking about how you squeeze him, how you take him so well, like a good whore.

and he knows what he's doing when he places one of his hands on the bulge in your belly, making your eyes water, and making you feel a huge pressure and desperation. Luke moves fast, harder and harder, and you drool, babble, try to beg, but you can only moan his name like a broken record, using your hands to scratch his back, leaving reddish lines on his skin as a result of all this play.

and he enjoys it, of course he does. Because he loves the way you try to close your legs, and your walls throb, tighter even as he expands them every time he slides in. He knows you're trying to hold back, trying not to let your pee flow, but he also knows you're gonna fail, because your hands are shaking, your toes are curling, and he's putting more and more pressure on the bulge in your belly.

his cock slides in and out, hammering inside you, hitting your cervix, filling you completely, while you receive him, like his good girl, like he's trained you.

teases and taunts come out of his mouth, which you're already somewhat accustomed to, and which only serve to turn you on even more. And he smiles, talking about how well you're taking him, how hard you're squeezing him, how you should get his cock completely wet, until you start to feel the knot forming, too fast and intense.

you don't even have time to warn him when your eyes squeeze shut and your moans turn to whimpers, your juices running down your folds, over his cock, down your thighs, making a mess. And he can feel your hot fluids, your scent of arousal. He can see your face turning red with embarrassment, and it makes Luke explode, moving more wildly, more primal, not giving you time to rest, watching your juices spurt everywhere, making an obscene, sticky sound, until he finally reaches his orgasm, filling you with strips and strips of his cum, until you feel stuffed again.

Luke feels like he unlocked something, because he'll never forget your panic, your desperation, and the way your body reacted to his touch. And maybe he'll want to try more. Maybe he'll try to push himself to the limit, until he can't hold it anymore and pee on you while you're in the shower, or while he's inside you. Maybe even while you're eating his dick.

the mere thought of his juices running down your body, marking you in a more intimate, possessive, disgusting, and obsessive way, made him feel something different in his chest. An emotion he'd never experienced before.

so prepare yourself for the teasing, the torture, but also for this new world of pleasure, where you'll end up accepting whatever Luke wants to give you, no matter what it is, even if it means humiliating yourself to the limit.

it's what you would do for your boyfriend.

[at4-raxia]

Mark Grayson x Ladybug!reader part 4

(part 3, part 5)

Before you read: Mark and the reader are whipped for each other (obsessed to some degree), suggestive, non consensual touching/kissing, the variants want that cookie, Sinister Mark is his own warning (I don't think I need to specify that any further honestly), the reader is not okay, angst (because why not?), and lastly but not least, violence and blood.

Synopsis: In every universe out there you're the sweet girl that knows Mark Grayson since birth and that sticks with him until you die. One way or another, no matter the circumstance, you die. The ways differ: some are more gruesome than others, some are just mercy, some deaths are an extreme act of rebellion. Right now, as you swing from building to building to try and save your parents, you don't know how exceptional you are, since no other version of yourself has ever left Mark's embrace.

("Mark"

It's a peaceful morning, a weekend. As always, you spent those at his house and wake up on his bed with him wrapped around your midsection. You know he's awake but doesn't want to get up since he tickles your stomach with his nose and hair as he tries to find a better position.

"Mmh?" That's the only thing that comes out of him as he just tightens his hold. You smile, amused, because out of all the people around the globe you're the only one that can 'tame' Invincible, you're the only girl in the world that has the opportunity to see him like this, make him like this.

Even if your parents don't approve of him.

They never did actually.

You wonder if their dislike comes from the fact that when you two were little he broke your wrist from playing too roughly. Maybe it's not that, but the fact that his eyes are a little too apathetic to be normal, his way of handling things is too rough, too harsh, sadistic at times. Nevertheless they don't know what you see in that mess, in that boy that smiles at you only when things go his way. Mark hated them just as much, they were nuisances in his opinion.

It's not that you don't see. You do, you do it better than anybody. It's just that you don't want to acknowledge, accept, that they are right. After all he is not a good person, he is not kind, he is merciless as he slaughters another monster in a way that's too gruesome to even record and show on the news. But he is so good to you, they just don't see it.

You know he loves you in his own distorted way, and that's enough. Because you'd prefer having Mark than not having him at all.

"I have received my acceptance letter from that culinary school. The one that has that two year experience course."

"The one in Paris?"

"Yeah", for a moment nothing comes out of his mouth as he is thinking about this, or maybe he is waiting for you to give him the answer he wants.

"I've been thinking we could go to Paris, since you dropped out of high school". After his father's indoctrination, he didn't see a point in completing his studies when instead he had to train for more important things, like the empire he was going to build.

"I don't know". It's almost a warning, it feels like one.

"What do you mean 'you don't know'? There's nothing that's holding you back". He's the one holding you back instead, because everyone knows that wherever you are, Mark is not far behind.

"What about the GDA?" His voice is calm, collected, a bit scratchy like always, and he has yet to look at your face. To him this conversation is meaningless, it's pointless, just a way to pass time as you comb your fingers through his hair. At the end of the day, no matter how much you whine, you always give in to what he says.

"Mark don't give me that bullshit, we both know that you don't give a shit about them", your statement is not authoritarian, it doesn't question the dynamic between the two of you, but your tone is enough to make Mark finally turn around and look at you.

His gaze is always so dark, so cold, it makes you wonder if he loves you at least a little bit.

"Are you going to keep wasting my time with this nonsense? Why would we even need to go to Paris anyway?" It's not as if in the long run you're going to need the certificate from that course if you're with Mark, the next ruler of the viltrumite empire. You frown, obviously. He knows how much you love baking, he knows how much you've trained and how much sacrifice you've put into this passion, and yet he remains selfish, even if it's you, the only person that's ever made him feel something.

"Then I'll just go alone", he laughs, of course. Where would you even go without him?

"[name]", his laugh tickles your stomach and then you feel his breath move higher and higher as he gets up from his previous position—like a wolf does to his prey as it decides which part to eat first—until your noses are almost touching.

"Do you really want to try me?" He stands now fully on top of you, his breath hot on your lips as he stares at them. You know he is a monster, you know who you're dating is not sane. He is dangerous, a killing machine that stands above any other man, any other creature on this planet, and in this little fantasy you're above anyone else too, above all the carnage and the blood.

But you're caged.

Like a little exotic bird who's known nothing else but that cage for their entire life. You dream, you dream big, you try to chase the feeling in your chest that screams that out there there's something else other than bars of metal, that there's a big future ahead. The cage is big, there's a lot of space to roam, it's not locked and your wings are not clipped. You could fly away at any moment, you've had plenty of opportunities before, you could leave him behind and stop following his twisted rules, and the funniest thing is he would let you. But you don't, because you've never known anything else but the cage, nothing else but Mark in your short pathetic life.

Right now you could tell him to fuck off, to let you be and let you live out your dream and have the life you want for yourself, you could get up right now from the bed and go home, and throughout all this he would look at you with those cold, dark eyes and then let you go.

Then you would be a person like the rest, nothing special, just a nobody like everyone else on this weak, miserable planet.

And you couldn't live with that, you could not live in a world where you're nothing for Mark Grayson.

And he knows it.

There's a cruel mocking smile as his lips get closer to yours with each word, his hand moves up your leg as if you were made of glass, a contradiction to his cruel behaviour. You don't give an answer to his threat, you just frown and look away, giving away your decision.

He doesn't say anything more, content with you as he closes the distance between the two of you. He almost crushes you against the headboard, your head banging against it as he assaults your lips. He's cruel, everything about him is. Everything about Mark is rough and bloodthirsty as he just bites your lip in the frenzy of the 'kiss'.

You nearly scream as you feel his canines rip through the skin, piercing it. It's muffled anyway as he doesn't even let you breath, he just takes, and takes, and takes.

Then, just when you think you're going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, he finally lets you breathe. You slump against his shoulder like a puppet whose strings had just been cut, dizzy and lightheaded as the room spins. Your lips hurt, they are swollen and red, just how he likes them.

You don't shed any tears yet, he's done it many times before that you almost like the pain now, but your eyes are glossy as you try to recollect yourself against his shoulder.

Mark' s grin becomes bigger, happier, as he looks at your unfocused stare, at the trickle of blood that runs down your mouth and that you don't bother to clean as you regain your breath slowly.

In mock comfort he nuzzles his nose against your neck, enjoying the way your vein is pumping faster to compensate for the lack of oxygen. He inhales your scent and then he sighs, genuinely pleased with the outcome.

"Maybe if you like we could go on a date in Paris?" You don't answer, still trying to get yourself together from this murderous make out session, even if you're already thinking about what he'd like for you to wear.)

-

Your feet collide with the glass roof of the factory as you smash your way in, the twisted version of Mark had not returned yet from his little trip, but it was only a matter of time before you would have to face him.

Your parents are relieved to see Ladybug here to their rescue, but not enough since that man is out to get you.

"My daughter" your mother gasps as you remove the gag and untie her as quickly as possible.

"Where is she? Is she safe from him? They were on a call just now". She sobs as she thinks of what he might be doing to you right now, and wonders how you knew this man. It was difficult to ignore his desire that radiated from every word as he talked to you on the phone, even harder to not puke at how quickly he had launched himself in the air after you had given up your location.

"She's safe, you don't need to worry about him, I'll take care of him." You make quick work of your parents' restraints, your only thought is being quick, hoping that you'll be fast enough to be able to not fight another version of Invincible. Even if you really want to murder him, you know it will be nearly impossible to do so, maybe it could also cost your life. "Go somewhere else, not your house, it's not safe".

"But our daughter, where is she—"

"She's fine!" You're sweating bullets as you feel the air change, your instincts already feeling the ripple in the atmosphere as something approaches. Something fast, murderous, angry.

"You need to go! Now!" You scream as you suddenly need to push your parents towards one of the doors as this Mark comes crashing down going straight for their heads. You manage to evade near decapitation by jumping acrobatically over his flying body, everything seems to go in slow motion as the both of you make eye contact.

Then, before he can stop himself and you can land on the ground, your yo-yo wraps itself around his whole body sending him flying against one of the machines. The whole building shakes from the collision, but you don't even hear him grunt as he just grabs the string of your yo-yo and pulls you to him. You yelp as you don't have enough strength to stop him, he's smiling, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he throws a lethal punch to your head, finally free from your yo-yo's hold after you were forced to let him go because of his pull.

"This is entertaining and all, but you've just interfered with a personal matter, did she send you?" His outfit comically matches yours as he flaunts the colours black and yellow.

You were a ladybug and this Mark looked like a wasp, aggressive like one two.

You would have laughed if you weren't busy shitting bricks thinking how to come out of this alive. Some dark part of you screamed to just kill him, to murder this tainted copy of your Mark not only to avenge your parents, but also the ones of the other version of you. Another part of you, the most rational one probably, tended towards a more cautious approach, one that would make sure you would come out alive with intact limbs.

"Very personal might I had, and now you're even blocking my path", then he laughs, all teeth and gums, "What's with the costume anyway? A ladybug? And those ponytails?"

"Could say the same for you with all that black and yellow", he doesn't even look at you, deeming you insignificant as he just dusts himself from the remaining debris on his costume.

"You sure do talk back for someone so pathetic"

"And you talk too much" you glare at his pitch black lenses, hoping to find at least something in those eyes that for a moment could make you remember that he is Mark, no matter what universe.

"You don't want me to be silent, little bug, after all I'm giving you time to think." He smiles cruelly, gloating at the large disparity between the two of you. Your hate returns triplicated, your whole body trembles under its weight. You know it's the truth, you know how limited you are. Yet you don't like not being taken seriously, you never did.

There's a moment of silence, the both of you waiting for the other to do something. You don't want to ponder too much on the proof of how twisted Mark could have become, had he made different choices. His cape twists around itself due to the wind, it's caked in blood along with his costume. Some of it is old and dried, some of it is bright and fresh as it drips on the ground, but no matter what form, that is still the blood of millions of people who were annihilated along with the city he chose to destroy.

People you can't bring back to life with your powers, because death is not something you can reverse with a quick smile and an object thrown in the air that vanishes in tiny little ladybugs and pink sparkles.

Death is permanent, the only irreversible act of destruction.

He doesn't wait for a remark, suddenly remembering why he was there in the first place, and he makes the first move by flying towards you with the intent to kill.

Every single one of his punches is deadly, so you're forced to dodge every single one of them.

This man doesn't even let you summon your lucky charm, he doesn't move like the Mark you have fought a couple of hours ago. His movements are the manifestation of years of honing his technique, of sharpening his body and mind in a machine that only works to massacre his enemies.

You don't have time to even say the famous words, since he just violently makes his way through the contraptions that surround the building, just to get to you.

You've seen yourself nearly decapitated, or with a hole in your chest as he just squishes your heart in his hands. You don't know how much longer you could escape all these near death experiences, you're just running on pure adrenaline as the beast in front of you gets more restless with each punch and kick that hits the air and not your guts.

Your luck for a moment falters, maybe it's just you making a tiny mistake, but it costs you dearly as the yo-yo you send his way is caught by him. In a matter of seconds your arms and legs are tangled around it, tying you up as he uses the other end of the weapon to send your body through at least three walls.

He hears the cracks your bones make, you feel all of it as you groan.

"Look at that, the little bug doesn't even know how to use her own silly 'weapon'." Your body is suspended in the air thanks to him and you're still tied up like some sick sort of present, all blood and cuts.

"Pathetic", the strings tighten around you, ripping through the costume and cutting your skin. Your yo-yo is indestructible, so you know that before the strings even think of snapping from his brute force, your body will already be a lifeless, sliced mess.

At every scream you make, his smile grows bigger. If he could, he'd take his sweet time with you, maybe even taste your thick dark blood that is now regrouped in a puddle on the dirty floor. Some of it splutters out of your mouth, adding some more red to his collection that stains his body which he wears proudly.

Before he can finally squish you like the bug you are, he's blinded by the pink sparkles of your de-transformation, shocked when he doesn't feel your yo-yo in his hands anymore. When you hit the ground, all tired and rapidly approaching blood loss, you struggle to get up and transform back.

"[name]?" It's a mix between euphoric and speechless, your name once again sounds like it hasn't been said in a long time, and it deeply freaks you out. You're afraid, don't really know what to do as you shed some tears that mix with the blood that coats your chin. You're back in your costume, but you feel naked in front of his gaze that speaks volumes, that almost devours you whole.

He laughs, ugly, like a maniac as he just hugs you tightly like you're the only medicine that can soothe his ache.

"I hate you so much" his words are fused with disbelieving laughter, his tight hold nearly makes you see god as he just inhales your scent, taking it in with deep long breaths and exhaling it in hot sighs that make you shiver.

"You don't know how much I hate you, after all I did..." He sounds so desperate, all his previous composure discarded. "You—you just left me, after everything I did for you—for us", he squeezes you even tighter, you can feel his rage, maybe even disappointment. You're scared like never before, cold sweat runs down your forehead, afraid of what he might do to you, seeing as he is losing his marbles ranting about things that happened with the you from his world.

"I fucking hate you so much, you had to go and ruin everything", he sounds like he might cry as he grits his teeth, but he doesn't, and you know he won't since instead his hands grip your blood coated skin even tighter, almost as if he was trying to imprint the feeling of it in his memory. He won't cry now, not when he didn't even flinch when he saw your lifeless body hang in the kitchen.

He had buried you, you had made him bury you.

He had taken care of every problem that stood in your way: his father wanted to get rid of you? Murdered in cold blood with his heart as an offer for you, people who did you wrong? Gone in the wind, your parents when they decided they had enough of him? Fucking ripped in half, bodies bent in the most gruesome ways imaginable.

You had always accepted him for how he was, because you couldn't live without him or with the thought of being nothing to him. You had flinched when you saw his dad's bloody heart, you had grimaced at the smell of the blood of your friends, of his coworkers, of innocent people, but it had never repulsed you enough to hate him or to not hug him, to not kiss him.

Yet, when he finally decides to murder the bastards that stood in the way of your future, the world he had envisioned for the both of you, you suddenly think it's too much?

How hypocritical could you be?

Your struggling is useless, you're punching him, trying to kick him, but it's all futile.

"Maybe deep down, you knew that I would have never let you go, even if I was so cold and 'heartless'". Without meaning to, you had given him clear access to your neck, to your vein that moves so rapidly due to the frantic beating of your heart.

"You're satisfied now, right? I let you make the choice you wanted for once." He hates how much he needs you, how dependent you had made him.

"Let me take care of the rest, now you just need to listen and be good for me, alright?", you don't understand how a statement could be both so malicious and adoring at the same time. After witnessing his delirium, anguish consumes you, were you the reason why he was such a psychopath? Was Mark destined to go rouge if he stuck with you?

Your speeding thoughts come to an abrupt stop as you feel teeth sinking in your neck, a scream erupts out of your dry throat, but he's quick to silence you as he just licks the blood running down your neck.

Your neck becomes his canvas, he covers it in bites and hickeys, brandin you like an animal and tasting your flesh and blood as if they were the most delicious things he has ever tried. A sob escapes you as you just close your eyes and take whatever he is giving you, but when you open them he is staring directly at you.

His mouth is covered in your blood—just like yours—then, as if he couldn't get enough, he slowly licks the blood that's running down your chin, loving the taste too much to let any of it go to waste. Your eyes widen as you feel his warm lips move against yours, your hands fly up to his hair and he moans in the kiss after you pull them to get him off you. For a moment your mouths separate but your lips collide again in a vicious cycle of tugging and pulling. He's panting, hair sticking in every direction, and you're light-headed, most likely due to the blood you're losing.

He doesn't give you any room to breathe, uncaring that unlike him you need oxygen to survive.

So you do the most logical thing really, you bite his tongue.

Nearly chewing off the squishy organ.

Naturally, his reaction is instantaneous as he screams and drops you to the ground. "You bitch—" he splutters out with a newly acquired lisp that makes you giggle as you lay on the ground, high in the clouds from all the blood that you were rapidly losing.

Before he is even able to grab you from the floor like a little mindless puppet, you're scoped in the arms of someone else, red paints his white suit.

You can't move, your eyes slowly closing as the cold air hits your face and warm, bloody hands hold you like you were giving to die at any moment, maybe you were, maybe not, you don't really know.

"Hey, don't go dying on me", the voice sounds as if it were underwater, you don't get all the words, but hearing 'dying' is enough to understand the meaning of the entire phrase.

"Don't worry, I'm just resting my eyes for a bit, okay?" You're mellowed out, tired and giggly as you just touch his nose with a "BOop!", your bloody finger smearing your insides on his perfect nose.

He looks at you with an undecipherable gaze, or maybe you're not really in the best conditions to understand his feelings, but then he just sighs, worried? Angry? Loving? All the above?

"You better just be resting".

( "Don't you sometimes wish you could just—I don't know—disappear, even for a second." It's cold, it's a dark night only illuminated by the full moon.

"I have done that sometimes, there are so many desert planets in the galaxy—", you interrupt his calm voice, gentle and relaxed as always when he is with you.

"I—I don't know Mark. I think that no matter where we could go, we can't escape this, our responsibilities." You're sitting on a roof, your black suit clashes with his white one. Another reminder of how incompatible the both of you were.

"I can't let you conquer earth, I can't let the viltrumite empire win, but I don't want to lose you".

"You don't need to lose me" he breathes out, after his hands always find yours. Sometimes you think that it might be an instinctual response for when you need comfort, stability.

"And then what? I give up like a coward and live off the rest of my days in luxury as earth is enslaved? You know right that I can't just do that". He doesn't get why you need to make it so difficult, he could force you to just accept his way and get this over with, but he doesn't want to hurt you.

"But why not?"

"Would you give up Viltrum for me?"

A shaky breath. A twitch. The air stills.

"Don't do this to me [name]..."

Your lips twitch downwards and you don't hesitate to just get away from him, baton ready to just fly out of there.

"There you have it, your answer, why should I give up Earth when you wouldn't do the same for me?")

Taglist: @xzmickeyzx , @fijiwaterbottle

[subbyboysgalore]

, ,,,, picturing minami getting railed by reader to the point he loses all. his. composure. and is begging to get cummed in. ( = ⩊ = )

a/n: got this ask and started giggling evilly to myself i love it. to the point i locked in and wrote it all in 2 hours right after i got it.

tags: reader has a dick/strap

type: minific, 752 words

🔞🔞

railing minami <33

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡

Minami was so frustrating sometimes. All you wanted to do to him is make him let loose for a little bit. Just a little! Is that too much to ask? Apparently so, because every time you try to fluster him, to trip him up, he always stays calm and collected. It's charming, really, but it makes you want to break his mask sometimes.

Not to mention how illegally pretty he is. Even his voice is pretty, soft and composed in a way that makes you want to hang on to every word. It's so pretty that you daydream about how pretty he'll sound like, broken into a whining mess.

Honestly, that's why you couldn't help but laugh a little into your palm right now. Rocking your hips forward, you watched as his pretty back moved, hands gripping the sheets. Minami's face was buried in the pillows, muffling whatever sound he produced.

Earlier, he'd asked for it ever so politely, to be able to hide his face. You teased him that you'd get him to whine and beg at one point anyways, so there was really no point. It really was something you looked forward to.

"Come on Mina, I wanna hear your pretty sounds.."

Bending forward to get closer to his ear, you practically whined at him, impatient. Who could blame you? Here he was, shaking and dripping all over the bed and all the sounds coming out of his mouth here absorbed by that stupid pillow. His composed act was crumbling right in front of you, and he wouldn't let you hear it? How unfair.

"Please, Minaaa.."

How unfair. Not fair that you were the pathetic one here, gripping his hips like it was a lifeline. Not fair how you were the one cuddling closer to his back, intentionally driving your cock deeper in him to get a louder reaction from him. He was only giving you crumbs! His muffled moans weren't enough..

"Mina please, if you don't tell me that you're feeling good I might get sad and stop. Minaa.."

At that, he let out a gasp, both at your harsh thrust in him and your words. Of course, the both of you knew it was just teasing. It was obvious by the way he clenched a fist around the blankets that he was feeling so, indescribably good. He felt so filled up, so hot everywhere, it was impossible not to be loud. The threat of being edged though.. it was something you might actually do. He wasn't feeling in the mood to be deprived of pleasure today, not after he was about to snap.

Finally, finally, he turned his head to the side, light hair covering parts of his face. Oh, he was just so beautiful..

Reaching out your hand, you tucked his hair behind his ear, smoothing it down. It was a contrast to the harsh way you slammed into him just seconds earlier, and you smiled at the thought.

"Your voice is too pretty to hide it, so please."

Before he could reply, you slammed back into him, making Minami choke on whatever sentence he was going to say. His body went limp again, scarlet eyes widening.

"Ah-! Slow down, I'll- mmnh!"

God, his jumbled begging sounded like music to your ears. His soft singing voice, twisted into cute pleading just for you.

"Talk more, I wanna know how you feel Mina, I wanna see how you finally break under me."

He tried to hold back, he really did. But the way you pushed into him, pressing up against all the right spots made him wheeze, made his eyes see white. The wet sounds between his legs just grew louder, and he couldn't help but melt and whimper into the mattress.

"P-ple.. please.. ah-! Don't.. don't stop, please. I want-"

A grin stretched across your face, both mischief and endearment tangling itself in your mind. He sounds adorable.

"Want what, Minami?"

Each syllable of his nickname was interrupted with a harsh thrust into him, making him yelp each time.

"Please. Co- Come in me, I want- want you filling me up- gh-!"

Honestly, you were a bit surprised. Minami usually wasn't this straightforward about this sort of thing, ever. Must have fucked him so good that his braincells stopped working, consumed by white hot pleasure spreading throughout his body. He'd never beg like this normally. How adorable.

"Minami.. even your begging is so pretty.. more.. I want more."

Can anyone blame you for being greedy for him?

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: reread this and realized how much i missed these two </3

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: cheating, mentions of alcohol

word count: 7.9k

…part 2, part 3, part 4…

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— A FAMILY DIVIDE —

It's no secret that your in-laws don't like you.

You're not entirely sure why — you've never done anything to sour their opinion of you. You've always stayed respectful, friendly, always did your best to fit right into this social circle of privilege and wealth they've created. You're supportive of Ethan, but not in a way that makes them think you're hogging him for yourself. You're a good, hands-on mother to Nina, you regularly send them pictures of her, you visit at least every few months.

Still, they can't seem to get over the fact that you're apparently undeserving of Ethan. You suspect that it's because of your background, which is rather modest compared to theirs. Nurses instead of surgeons, cashiers instead of insurance agents, librarians instead of lawyers.

They don't know the struggle of sitting in front of a pile of bills, scattered across the dining table, your father's head in his hands as he stares down at them. They can't imagine wearing the same outfit twice in the same week, let alone two days in a row. They think that anyone can be rich like them — as long as they're willing to put the work into it.

You can't deny that your upbringing, so different from Ethan's, sets you apart a little. It's only natural, since you're not used to the kind of life they lead. Even now, over five years after getting married to him, you still don't know how to act sometimes.

How do you host a dinner party? How do you decide what art to hang in your home? How many seasonal homes does one family actually need?

They're questions you don't dare ask. They swim around in your head whenever you spend time with the Baileys, making you feel increasingly uncomfortable and outcast. Even if it's something as simple as brunch together, they'll manage to make a bunch of question marks appear in your head.

But despite it all, they're still Ethan's family, which technically makes them your family, too. They're Nina's grandparents, her aunts and uncles and cousins, and you can't imagine keeping her away from them just because you struggle to feel at home with them.

As every year, her great grandmother's birthday is the reason the entire family (including you, of course) gathers in their antebellum-style home in South Carolina.

Manicured gardens, featuring rose bushes, hedges and a large koi pond. A grand fountain, with a marble statue of a woman pouring water out of an urn, right next to the driveway. You keep Nina cradled in your arms as you take it all in, feeling the cold feeling of dread wash over you.

Ethan shuts the door of the car before walking up to you. He puts his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he gazes up at the house appreciatively.

"I missed this place", he says. "So much nicer than New York."

"It is beautiful", you agree, not able to resist the charm of the estate. It's ridiculously huge and almost too perfect, with its towering columns and black iron gate. Even though it's gorgeous, it's short of a certain sense of warmth and individuality. Not a home, just a house.

"Granny Bee!", Nina squeals, squirming. You put her down on the floor as Ethan's mother approaches, her lips curling into a small smile. She gives Nina a hug, her manicured fingers swiftly adjusting the little girl's jacket.

"My, my, did you grow!" Beatrice cups Nina's face before looking at you, her smile turning just a tad less warm. Not unfriendly, but lacking familiarity. "Y/N, hello. Ethan, my dear, I haven't seen you in so long. Let me see you! Oh, handsome as always."

"Hey, mom", he says, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Where's dad? Inside?"

"You know how he is. The cold weather makes him grumpy. He misses golf", she says, her voice turning a bit quieter as she tells him that. "With the knee injury..."

Nina pads back to your side, her hand swiftly grabbing yours. You exchange a smile with your daughter, not noticing that Beatrice has shifted her attention back to you. Her eyes scrutinize your outfit — simple jeans and a sweater, elegant but not as polished as the rest of the family, apparently.

"You look lovely, Y/N. Still keeping things simple, I see", she says and you look up. "It's refreshing, really — many of us overdo it, don't we?"

"I wouldn't know about that", you say politely, plastering on a smile. A kiss on each cheek, her hands briefly squeezing your free one. "We aren't late, are we?"

"No, right on time. Come on, everyone else wants to see the child", she urges you, starting to lead you into the house.

You step onto the marble floor of the grand entrance, still holding your daughter's hand. You circle the double staircase and make your way to the hallway that leads to the living area. Inside, you're welcomed by about a handful of people — seems like most of the guests won't arrive until tomorrow.

You shake hands with Dean, Ethan's brother, hug his wife, say hi to all the kids that are present. Then you look at Margaret, the matriarch of the family — 90 years old, but still as elegant and witty as ever. She's the only one in this family you truly like, even if her sense of tradition and proprietary is as strong as everyone else's.

"Say hi to Grandma Maggie", you tell Nina. She nods, making a beeline for the oldest family member. Margaret welcomes her with open arms, her face softening with genuine affection as the girl clambers onto her lap.

"There you are! Aren't you adorable. Did you draw anything for me?"

Nina smiles and starts chattering, her hands clumsily brushing strands of hair away from her face as she does so. Having ensured that your daughter is comfortable, you finally allow yourself to relax a little.

You mostly sit quietly and observe as the conversations start to flow. Ethan blends in seamlessly, of course, laughing at something his father said or cracking jokes with his brother. His parents are constantly fussing over the children of the family — seven of them in total, which makes it all the more odd that the atmosphere is still somewhat quiet and collected. Seems like the Baileys have everything under control.

. . .

One of Ethan's hands is on your lower back, the other is holding Nina's.

The birthday party is in full swing. Guests are roaming the parlor, chatting amongst each other and sipping ridiculously expensive champagne from just as ridiculously expensive flutes. Waitstaff weave through the room with silver trays of hors d'oeuvres. Elaborate arrangements of ivory roses, china patterned with intricate floral designs, the white centerpiece cake multi-tiered with gold accents.

A gleaming backdrop, one that makes you feel like you're sticking out like a sore thumb. You shift in place, smiling politely as some of his relatives approach you.

"Aunt Vivian", Ethan says, not being too delighted but hiding it well. "What a beautiful dress. Where's uncle Andrew?"

"He's over there, talking to your mother." Her gaze trails from Ethan to you and then to your daughter. "You have a lovely family. Such a cute thing, a Bailey through and through — and you're Y/N, right?"

Of course, you think, forcing a smile and shaking her hand. It's not like you've met me about a dozen times before, you old shrew.

"Yes, that's me. Nice to see you again, Vivian."

"Still a little housewife?", she asks, her smile saccharine. The words land like darts, making your grip on Nina's hand tighten. "Must be such a blessing, having all that free time. How do you keep yourself busy? I mean, I would just lose my mind. I get bored so easily!"

"Oh, I manage well", you reply simply, glancing at Nina. "She still needs quite a bit of attention."

"No nanny?"

"No", Ethan says, pulling away from you as his eyes dart to another person in the room. He quickly adjusts his tie. "Y/N insisted on handling it herself. Said she wanted to be hands-on or something. Would you excuse me?"

Off he goes, approaching one of his uncles. You sigh, looking at Nina as Vivian leaves as well.

"What does 'hands-on' mean?", she asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"It means I want to be there for you", you reply, trying to make it graspable for the little girl.

You start navigating the room, still holding onto her hand to make sure she doesn't get away. Not necessarily because you're worried you'd lose her — it's a big house, but she's used to it by now —, but rather because she's the only person bridging the gap between you and Ethan's family at the moment. It feels pathetic, to be relying on your daughter like this, but she's still young enough to not mind that at all.

"Nina! Oh my, look at you."

You turn around rapidly as you hear Beatrice's voice behind you. She appeared out of seemingly nowhere, her coifed bob looking as flawless as always. She swoops in and picks Nina up, not bothering to ask either of you.

"Let grandma fix this mess", she says, fussing over her dress and hair. She briefly turns to some woman who can't be much older than you, yet her makeup and outfit make her look at least 50. "Children need a bit more refinement, don't they? Especially at this young age."

"Thank you", you say, trying not to let your frustration show. This isn't unusual behavior for Beatrice, but it still manages to grate on your nerves. "Didn't even notice."

"Of course not, dear. It can be hard looking after a child all by yourself. I don't know how Clara does it, with her three little ones — however, she does have a nanny."

"Good thing I only have Nina", you say curtly, grasping your daughter's hand again and leading her away. She follows without complaining, but she glances at her grandma over her shoulder.

"Mommy, are you mad?"

"Not at you, honey."

"At granny Bee?", she probes, making you smile faintly.

"I'm not mad", you lie, squeezing her hand. "Just a bit tired."

"I'm not tired. Can I go play?", she asks, subtly sneaking a peak at her cousins.

Stifling a sigh, you nod. You don't blame her for wanting to escape the attention of the adults. You wish you could escape, too. Escape to a place — a person — that's too far away for your liking.

"Of course, sweetheart." You gently nudge her forward and she runs off, quickly finding her way to her favorite cousin.

You watch her for a few seconds, then turn around and grab a glass of wine. You've estimated how many hours you have left before you can retreat to the guest suite without coming across as rude, and the result is chastening. If you're going to be stuck here for the next four hours, you'll need at least a bit of alcohol in your system.

You keep fiddling with your necklace, playing with your wedding ring, checking your phone for new messages. Every time you glance at the screen, you secretly hope you'll spot Natasha's name on it. You haven't stopped thinking about her since that day at the park, and not being around her is killing you.

If only she was here. She always knew how to spot your 'tell' — that nervous little gesture you did whenever you were uncomfortable, the one that signaled her to get you away from wherever you are. You know that if you were here with her, she'd have pulled you outside into the gardens about a half hour ago already.

But nope. You keep suffering.

You find yourself standing with a group of people — Ethan's uncle, brother, a few distant relatives. You nod politely as you sip your drink, trying to stay engaged with a conversation about the estate's history. The Bailey family takes pride in their legacy, which is something you don't fully understand.

Again, you feel isolated. It's not their fault, at least that's what you keep telling yourself. They shouldn't have to adjust their topic of conversation just because one person can't relate, should they?

"It's just interesting, isn't it?", Vivian remarks, her gaze idly sweeping across the room. "How many generations have lived here. And so many more to come."

"This, right here — it's our family's legacy. Every single inch of this house, of the property outside. It's been in the family for more than a hundred years", Dean says, his arm wrapped around his wife's waist. She smiles, leaning into his side. Must be nice — Ethan ditched you two hours ago and you haven't spoken to him since. "It'll be ours one day."

"Your brother's first in line. Him and his family", their uncle Andrew remarks, slowly turning his head to look at you. There it is again: that look of genuine curiosity, mixed with a hint of condescension. "You're married into the family now, so it's yours at well."

Please shut up.

"Oh, well..." You smile stiffly, glancing at your almost empty glass of wine. "It's not my priority."

"No? Well, it must be such a change for you. Quite different from what you're accustomed to."

You bite the inside of your cheeks before answering, briefly holding your breath to avoid snapping at the man. His temper definitely surpasses yours — if your patience snaps now, it'll end in a fight.

"I've had time to adjust", you say, sounding clipped.

"It has been quite a few years, yes", Vivian says, nodding. "Ethan is such a good boy. You should've seen him when he was a kid — smart and cheeky. There's this story...I'm not sure if you've heard it, it happened when he was in middle school. He tricked his teacher, his science teacher. He should tell it himself." She looks around, not seeing him anywhere. "Where is he, anyway?"

You feel a light flush rise to your cheeks. "I'm not sure, actually."

The woman gives you a disapproving look. "You're not sure? He's your husband. Come on, he has to be somewhere-"

"Yes, he's my husband", you cut her off, a faint glare on your face. You've officially had enough of these subtle jabs, these microaggressions that are being thrown your way. "Which doesn't mean I need to know where he is at all times. Now, if you'd excuse me for a moment."

You put your glass down with a little more force than necessary, then you spin on your heel and make your way out to the porch. A few people are standing outside, quietly talking in the afternoon sun. You keep walking until you reach an empty corner, one where you're alone, and lean against the railing.

Your mind is spinning, you feel sick to your stomach, you can feel a headache slowly starting to announce itself. Every part of your being wishes you were somewhere else, somewhere you'd feel less isolated.

Red hair appears at the front of your mind, accompanied by green eyes. A little arrow, combat boots. Laughter, low and private, drawing you in instead of pushing you away. Kisses that felt searing, still burned into your mind.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing those thoughts to go away.

It's not right. None of it is.

Your hand clenches around the railing in frustration, the chilly November air feeling like ice on your skin. You didn't remember to put on a jacket, but you're too exhausted to go back inside. Plus, you'd most likely be confronted by Vivian or Beatrice. If that happened, it'd probably result in you slapping someone.

"Y/N?"

Startled but not surprised, you look over your shoulder — Ethan. The smile on his face is tight, his expression cold. The way he's looking at you isn't too different from how his family does.

"Yes?", you ask, doing your best to mask how irritated you are.

"What are you doing out here? Everyone's asking where you are."

"Oh, really?" You turn around again, staring into the distance. Wide landscapes and bare trees, hedges and stretches of farmland. The sunlight feels thinner and softer now, promising an early dusk. "I didn't realize talking to your family was a full-time job."

He blinks, his neutral expression shifting to one of slight disbelief and irritation. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously!" You look at him, not hiding your feelings this time. You've been considerate enough. "I'm tired of it. I've been explaining and defending myself the entire fucking day, but it's useless."

"It's not 'useless'", he begins, stepping closer. "It just takes some effort, Y/N. And you hiding from them makes me look bad."

"I've been making an effort — which you would've known if you hadn't ditched me as soon as the damn party started!" You go silent, then mutter: "And I really don't care how it makes you look."

He pauses, taken aback. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs. "Look, can't- can't you just try? For Nina's sake?"

The mention of your daughter is enough to quiet your retort, but not the anger curling in your chest. All you expected was at least a bit of comfort from Ethan — a few reassuring words, maybe a promise that he'll stay by your side for the rest of the party.

What did he do, though?

He started scolding you like a child.

"I've tried enough", you finally say, stepping away from the railing. "I'm done here."

He frowns. "What?"

"I'm done. I'm leaving. I'll pack my stuff and leave", you say, your mind made up.

"You're being ridiculous", he snaps, crossing his arms. "What are you going to do, huh? Storm off and leave Nina here? That's mature."

"Yes", you say bluntly. You feel a tangled mix of frustration, exhaustion, deep-seated bitterness — you're fed up. "Exactly that. It's not like it'll make much of a difference, anyway."

"'Not much of a difference'?", he echoes, his sharp voice reflecting his bruised ego. "You think this is all about you?"

"Maybe, maybe not! I don't care!"

"Fine! Run, leave! Let Nina wonder why her mother can't even stick it out for her own family!"

His use of Nina as a weapon stings. Your face is pale but set, your jaw tight, as you stare at him. "I'll be sure to let her know her father had more time for his little art project than her", you say coldly, a deliberate steadiness in your tone. You can't allow yourself to crumble.

You turn around and leave, weaving your way through the party and hurrying upstairs. You grab your suitcase and start throwing your stuff into it. Usually, you'd make sure the clothes are neatly folded, but now you don't care. All you want is to disappear from this place.

Downstairs, you look for Nina. You find her with Ethan, holding his hand as they talk to one of his uncles.

"Nina", you say, making her turn. She smiles widely and runs up to you, instantly forgetting about everyone else. You scoop her into your arms and press a kiss to her cheek.

Nina looks at the suitcase next to you, her eyebrows raised in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home a bit early", you explain, brushing some hair out of her face. "I'm not feeling well, baby. You'll be okay here, with daddy and granny?"

The girl frowns. "Are you sick, mommy?", she asks, her voice soft with concern. "I can take care of you. I make you tea!"

You smile and shake your head, the ache in your chest growing worse. God, you hate leaving her here — but you don't want to make matters worse.

"That's so sweet of you, honey, but I'll be okay. I just need to rest at home for a bit. You'll have so much fun here, okay? Daddy and granny Bee love you so much."

She pouts, her little hands touching and playing with your necklace. "I want to go home, too."

"Nina", you say quietly, trying to sound reassuring. "You'll go home soon. In two days. I promise."

She looks at you, her head tilted. "Two days?"

"Yes, two days."

She hesitates again, chewing on her lip. "Can you call me?", she then adds.

"I'll call you. Pinky promise", you say, holding out your pinky. She interlocks it with hers and you squeeze it gently.

"Pinky promise", she whispers. "I love you, mommy."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Come on", you say, putting her down.

Ethan immediately steps forward, briefly kissing your cheek and mumbling something along the lines of "get well soon." Pure formality, that much is clear — he's still pissed, but he can't let his family know. They have a certain image of your marriage that he needs to uphold, after all.

They watch you leave as you get into the taxi, standing in the doorway. Nina waves at you, still chewing on her lip nervously. You wave back until you can't see them anymore, then you sigh and slump into the seat. The muffled hum of the car engine seems to amplify the silence, pressing in on you.

Your eyes flicker to the window, but the scenery — a blur of autumn foliage and elegant driveways — fails to register. Your mind is elsewhere.

You instinctively reach for your bag, your hand brushing against your phone. For a split second, Natasha's face flashes in your mind, unbidden but undeniably clear.

Why Natasha?, you think, but the answer comes easily.

Natasha's steady. She's dependable in ways Ethan could never be. She doesn't push, she doesn't judge. Somehow, she always seems to know what you need. She's the only person you can think of who will understand without needing a full explanation, who will listen without offering hollow reassurances.

With her, it was simple. You loved her, she loved you.

Doubt creeps in as your fingers hover over the screen. You can't decide whether this is selfish, whether you'll just end up bothering her.

But the alternative — being alone with your spiraling thoughts — feels unbearable.

You unlock your phone, scrolling to Natasha's name. Before you can second-guess yourself, you press the call button and lift the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times. Your heart thunders as you worry that she won't pick up.

But then, Natasha's voice — steady and familiar — cuts through.

"Y/N?"

"Natasha", you say, something inside you loosening. A shaky breath escapes you. "Are you busy?"

. . .

— SOMETHING LIKE HOME —

Shopping carts clink, checkout registers beep, plastic bags rustle.

You push your cart through the aisles of the grocery store, eyeing fresh produce and holiday-themed items. Natasha's next to you, one hand on the handle of the shopping cart.

This was Natasha's idea. She sensed how emotionally drained and uncertain you were when she picked you up from the airport, so she offered a way for you to unwind and take your mind off whatever you're thinking about. A run to the grocery store seemed perfect: a mundane task, detached from the drama of the day.

"Anything in particular you're craving?", she asks, an underlying current of concern audible.

"No", you say absently, scanning the shelves. You grab a box of cereal, showing it to her. "You think Nina would like this?"

Natasha inspects the box. Frosted Flakes with a cartoon character on it, its unmoving mouth grinning at her. "It is pretty sugary", she says, looking at you. "But kids seem to love that."

You nod and toss the box into the shopping cart. Normally, you don't let Nina have too much sugar — but after you basically abandoned her, you want to make up for what happened. A special sweet treat sounds like the perfect way to do that.

"You could also get this", Natasha says, grabbing a jar of peanut butter. "Go the full indulgence route, you know? Really spoil her."

You see through her with ease. She's trying to keep things lighthearted, which you're immensely grateful for.

"For you or for her?", you ask teasingly, reaching for the jar. Your fingers brush against hers, lingering.

She gives you a sly grin. "Both?"

"You're impossible", you say, but put the jar into the shopping cart anyway.

"I'm just saying —", she says, taking over the shopping cart, "if I ever need to bribe her to stay on my side, I've got the perfect plan."

"I don't think that's necessary. You've already got her wrapped around your finger."

"Well, I do have my charm."

"Yeah", you agree softly. You're all too familiar with her 'charm'. It's always had a hold on you, whether you wanted it to or not. No matter how many times you tried to fight it or push it aside, Natasha always seemed to slip into your mind at the most unexpected times.

You watch her as she puts more items into the shopping cart — a jar of pasta sauce, some pasta, lettuce. She looks so perfectly at ease in that moment, effortlessly casual, as if she's right where she belongs. It's not always been that easy for her. You know that better than anyone else.

A part of you, a part that's always adored Natasha, even when it was impractical to do so, starts to soften again. Just being with her like this makes it feel like you're stepping into an old, familiar rhythm, one that you don't know how to escape from.

"How does cheesecake sound?", you ask, grabbing one from the fridge. "For dessert."

"Love cheesecake", she mumbles, reading the ingredients of a salad dressing. She looks up to briefly catch your eye, then continues looking at the label on the back of the bottle. "You seem calmer", she says, a softness beneath her voice. "More like yourself again."

"Being around you helps", you admit quietly. "You've always had this ability of making everything feel less...heavy. Even just standing there like that. It's almost unfair."

Natasha raises her eyebrows, lowering the salad dressing. "I don't think I've ever been accused of making anything less heavy", she says with a small smirk that quickly mellows into a smile. "But I'm glad it's different with you."

You smile, then clear your throat. Her reaction makes you feel both heavier and lighter at the same time. A sense of safety and relief — feelings you haven't experienced in a while — floods you.

"We're getting sentimental again", you joke, hoping to maintain some sense of distance — even if it's futile. There's that pull again, subtle but undeniable, making you yearn for something you can't quite grasp.

You're not even sure what you want, or how much you're allowed to want.

You probably want more than what's appropriate, and that thought makes you take a step back.

Natasha gives you a curious look as you she notices you creating some distance. She decides not to comment on it and instead continues pushing the shopping cart, her fingers absentmindedly drumming against the handle.

You fall into step beside each other again, the silence between you heavy, but not entirely uncomfortable. You pick up a few more things as you go — chocolate-coated raspberries, some pretzels. Natasha nudges you, the brief touch feeling like an electric shock.

"What's next on the list?"

You reach for your phone to check the list. "Uh...wine?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, the lighter expression on her face pulling you both back to safer ground. "Now we're talking."

The moment allows you to forget about the tension for now, but just because it's unspoken doesn't mean it goes anywhere — it simmers beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for the right moment rise again.

. . .

The lighting in Natasha's apartment is softer, its only source a lamp in the corner. The remnants of your late dinner sit on the coffee table, forgotten in favor of the wine you now sip. Quietude, rare and delicate, lingers in the air.

"Cozy here", you comment, your legs crossed and your posture much more relaxed than it's been all day. Your eyes lazily take in the space around you — clean, minimalistic, yet without a doubt Natasha's. There's a part of her in every nook, every detail, and it's making you feel warm and fuzzy.

"You think so?", she asks, the corners of her lips lifting into a small, amused smile. "Cozy enough for you?"

You give an almost imperceptible shrug, not bothering to make a big show of it. "I like it. It's just so...you", you say, your words simple but honest. You quietly wonder if you could ever feel at home in a place like this, and you find you could. A thought you won't voice out loud, but one that seems like a weight on your chest. It's too unattainable.

Natasha hums, the sound getting lost in the noise from the city outside. She swirls her wineglass in her fingers, watching the bordeaux liquid slosh around.

"I've been told it's the perfect mix of 'comfortable' and 'pretentious'."

You laugh softly, watching Natasha settle deeper into the couch as her finger traces the rim of her glass. "Well, I could get used to it."

"You've always been good at finding your place", she says after a few seconds of silence, setting the glass down. Just like that, the ease of the moment is gone, vanishing like smoke. It fades with your smile, making Natasha frown.

"I'm not so sure about that anymore", you say, chuckling weakly.

A small silence stretches between you. Natasha watches you for a moment, and the weight of her gaze makes you fidget slightly. You tap the side of your glass, shifting on the couch.

"You okay?", she eventually asks, her voice losing all of its usual sharpness.

"I don't know", you respond honestly, putting your wineglass aside. "I've been...feeling out of place, lately."

Natasha doesn't press. Instead, she leans back, her silence encouraging you to go on.

"It just feels like I'm stuck", you continue, looking at your hands in your lap. "Stuck between two worlds. I don't know what I want anymore. It's all very confusing."

"Sounds heavy."

You wave your hand dismissively, not wanting her to worry too much. Ethan's tendency to nurture this picture-perfect image everyone's supposed to have of your family seems to have rubbed off on you.

"It'll pass, just like everything else", you say, trying to convince both her and yourself. "Just a phase, right?"

"Y/N..."

"I mean", you continue, glancing at her, "things have been difficult, sure. It's hard to feel like I'm going down the right path sometimes. But there has to be a reason why I'm here, right? In this...life."

Natasha can't bring herself to say anything. Your words, heartfelt and sincere but also so damn vulnerable, hit her right in the chest. She's always felt protective over you, even though she knows she shouldn't. Hearing you like this — all confused and frustrated — makes her entire body ache.

"You're not alone", she finally says. You look at her, a lump forming in your throat. "Maybe it feels like you are, but you're not."

You nod, inspecting your fingernails. Not perfectly manicured, with the nail polish chipping off and the cuticles pushed back unevenly.

Why do you always feel the need to distract yourself instead of focusing on what's in front of you?

"It's why I called you", you admit, daring to meet her eye again. She smiles faintly, softening her sharp features in a way that makes your heart stumble.

"I figured", she says gently. "But I'm glad to hear you say it."

"Is it?" You let out a quiet laugh and avert your eyes. "I don't know. It feels like I'm unloading on you."

"You're not unloading", Natasha says quickly, leaning forward slightly with her elbows resting on her knees. Your eyes meet, momentarily making the guilt in your chest fade away. "You're reaching out. There's a difference."

Her words wrap around you, reassuring you in a way you didn't know you needed. But you did need it. You craved it, sought it out, all whilst never receiving it from the one person who promised he'd be there forever.

You feel foolish. You married someone who could never fill the spaces in your heart, someone who was maybe never interested in those spaces in the first place. You deliberately ignored the fact that you already had someone who was willing to follow you to the ends of the universe.

"You make it sound so easy", you say quietly.

"It's not", Natasha admits. "But it's worth it."

Your breath catches as you look up, meeting those impossibly green eyes that always seem to look right through you. There's no pretense, no agenda in Natasha's gaze — just honesty and that familiar kind of adoration.

"Natasha..." Your voice falters.

"Don't overthink it", she says. "You don't need to have all the solutions. Just let yourself be here."

"Here", you mumble, feeling yourself lean into the moment — into her warm presence, into the comfort of her home — and suddenly, your world feels a little less heavy. You grab your wineglass and take a small, steadying sip. "I don't even know what 'here' means anymore."

She smiles faintly. "It can mean whatever you need it to. Right now, it just means...this."

You look up, caught by the simplicity of her words. "This?"

"You and me, sitting here. No expectations, no pressure." Natasha tilts her head. "Us."

"You make it sound so easy", you repeat — but this time, there's no trace of doubt in your voice. You set the wineglass down with a soft 'clink', Natasha's eyes tracing your movements. She leans back, her own glass forgotten.

"It can be", she says in a way that makes your pulse quicken.

You swallow, hesitating for a short moment. The ring on your finger suddenly feels impossibly heavy, like a weight dragging you down. You decide to ignore it.

"It should be", you say softly, and it's all the permission Natasha needs.

She leans in, giving you the space to pull away. But you meet her halfway, feeling her hand on your cheek, her breath on your face.

Her lips brush over yours, feather-light and tentative, testing the waters. You lean in more as you allow her to deepen the kiss, feeling her mouth press against yours with a little more urgency.

First soft and gentle, now more desperate and hungry. You try to satiate the need you're feeling, but it seems impossible. Your hands grasp at Natasha's sides, feeling the heat of her skin through her shirt. Her thumbs press into your cheeks, keeping your face close and your lips locked with hers.

You can barely breathe at this point and you're not sure why. All you know is that the lack of oxygen is making you feel lightheaded and that the knot in your chest has loosened, allowing you to melt into her.

Her hand slides to the back of your neck, gently toying with the soft hairs at your nape. You make a soft noise and pull away, your breathing as ragged as hers.

"Dammit", you curse quietly, your body slumping into the pillows behind you. Your face is flushed, just like hers, and your breath is coming in quick pants.

"Y/N", she starts softly, despite the ache she's feeling deep in her soul. "Talk to me."

You shake your head and run a shaking hand through your hair. There's a glimmer in your eyes — of fear, regret, something you aren't quite ready to name.

"I shouldn't have-" You take a deep, unsteady breath. "I need a minute", you mutter, pushing yourself off the couch and taking a few steps away. Natasha stays where she is, her eyes following you.

"Take your time", she says quietly, her hands balled into fists — holding herself back is an effort.

You pace a few steps, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt. You stare at the far wall, your mind racing in circles. Ethan, Nina, your marriage, your carefully constructed life that seems like it's been falling apart — and now Natasha, and the kiss, only further solidifying your belief that what you have won't last long.

"I just- I-" You shake your head and look at her again. Your voice is laced with frustration. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I came here to...I don't even know anymore."

"You came here because you needed someone", Natasha says simply. Her green eyes are unwavering, as steady as you've known them to be. "And I'm glad you did."

Your lips part as if to argue, but no words come. Your chest is falling and rising unevenly as your gaze flits to the floor and then back to Natasha. "It's not fair", you say quietly.

"What isn't?", she asks, frowning slightly.

Your movements are tight, almost defensive, as you gesture between the two of you. "This. You. Us. The way it makes me question everything."

"Y/N", she says slowly as she gets up from the couch, her movements hesitant. "You're allowed to question things. You can't always figure everything out immediately."

"No", you snap, your entire body tense. "I chose this mess. I made my bed, and now-"

"And now you're allowed to get up", Natasha cuts you off, her voice firm but not unkind. "You don't have to be stuck in it forever."

"It's not that easy", you say weakly. "I don't know how to do it. I don't know what to do."

Natasha steps closer, her hand hovering above your arm for a moment. Then she pulls back, her gaze finding yours.

"You'll figure it out", she says softly. "You always do."

The kiss was a release of emotions you've been bottling up for way too long, but it also made your need to be close to her even more apparent. You crave the safety she provides, the passion, the knowledge that she — unlike Ethan — will always care.

Being with her soothes something raw inside you. It's something you've been feeling more and more lately, and you're tired of holding back.

Without another word, your hands fist the front of her shirt. Her lips meet yours in yet another kiss, one that's messy yet grounding.

There's no hesitation, no holding back this time. Natasha wraps her arms around you and pulls you close, drawing out the kiss until you're both breathless. You pull away and rest your forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

"Still need a minute?", Natasha murmurs, smiling faintly.

"Yeah", you mumble back, an amused, halfhearted huff escaping you. Your hands smooth down the front of her shirt, straightening away the small creases. "I should go home", you say, your tone somewhere between apologetic and guilt-ridden.

Natasha just nods, her thumbs rubbing your sides soothingly. "Take your time", she repeats, this time a bit more sincerely. "Take a few days off, now that you've got the house to yourself."

"I will." You slide your hands up to her face, cupping it, and then give her a quick goodnight-kiss.

When you leave, it doesn't feel like a goodbye. Not this time.

. . .

— THE QUIET BEFORE —

There's a reason why Nina spends most of her time with you.

He's never been paternal, or nurturing, or great with kids. They're cute, he has to admit that, and he likes the idea of having a descendant. He's awkward in moments where Nina needs reassurance or comfort, he doesn't know how to talk to her without feeling like he's downplaying his own intelligence, and the lack of emotional connection is apparent.

He lets you handle basically everything child-related — and it shows.

It's only been a few hours of Ethan being alone with his daughter, and he's already about to lose his mind. The girl was chatting nonstop during the flight already, and now, sitting in the back of the car, she still won't stop. It's like she's got an endless reservoir of words she needs to use up as quickly as possible.

He's not used to this chatterbox of a child. He knows she can talk, but damn it, she sounds like a broken record. It's so bad his head has started to pound. Not even work stresses him out like this, despite it being fast paced and demanding.

"Okay, honey", he interrupts her, glancing at her through the rearview mirror, "we gotta make a quick stop at my office, yeah? I need to grab some stuff."

Nina nods, her hands toying with the tiny sweater her teddy bear is wearing. It's one her other grandma — your mom — knitted for the stuffie.

"Are we going home to mommy?", she then pipes up.

"Yes, yes, we're going home soon. I just need to check something."

Ethan pulls into the parking lot behind the office building and parks the car. He briefly registers the presence of a few other cars — not surprising —, but what really makes him pause is the unfamiliar Jeep parked across from him.

After a few seconds of just staring at it, he decides he's being paranoid. He turns around to face Nina, his hand on the side of the passenger seat.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't leave the-"

"Mommy's friend!"

He frowns as he's cut off by a suddenly ecstatic Nina. "What?"

She keeps bouncing in her seat, eagerly waving at someone outside. The girl clearly has no idea she might be getting Natasha, or you, into trouble — she's just happy to see the nice lady again.

Ethan turns his head and follows her gaze, spotting a red haired woman as she makes her way towards the Jeep. A black blazer and a matching skirt, her hand loosely clasping a file.

I knew I haven't seen that car before, he thinks.

"That's mommy's friend", Nina repeats excitedly. "She was at the gallery. And we played in the park."

"Oh yeah?", Ethan says, his mind starting to race. He knows you haven't expanded your close circle of friends during the past few months; surely, you would've informed him in some way. Finding out that this unknown woman has met Nina twice doesn't sit right with him, for some reason.

But then again, it's not like he's too involved in your or your daughter's life — he's a busy man, after all, working overtime and constantly on the run. Even when he's at home, he's working on things.

He debates confronting you about it, but ultimately decides against it. If this stranger is connected to you, it could mean trouble — trouble he doesn't want to call attention to. He tries telling himself it's no big deal, that it's probably just a big coincidence.

Despite his best efforts to convince himself that everything will be alright, he feels his paranoia grow as the Jeep pulls out of the parking lot.

"Daddy?", Nina interrupts his train of thoughts. He turns around with a slight start. "I want to go home."

"In a minute."

. . .

"Hey, baby!"

You smile as Nina runs straight into your arms. It's only been a few days, but you missed your daughter more than anything.

You pick her up with ease, her entire body slumping into your embrace.

"I missed you", she says sincerely, her warm breath sweet like apple juice.

"I missed you too", you reply, rubbing her back. Your eyes flit back to Ethan, who's carrying two suitcases into the house. Oddly enough, it seems like he isn't mad at you for leaving anymore. He actually seems pretty unruffled, which is a surprise — after what happened, you'd expected him to be more than just pissed. "You okay?"

"I'm good", he says, glancing at you. He smiles faintly. "Kid missed you. Guess there's a reason why she prefers you."

"No kidding", you say, cracking a smile, and follow him into the house. He puts his suitcase next to the staircase. "You're not taking that upstairs?"

"No, actually", he says as he makes his way to his office. "There's a work trip coming up. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

You pause, taken aback. Of course, work trips aren't anything unusual in his line of work. He frequently travels to other cities or countries to meet clients, attend networking events, pitch new investment opportunities — this, however, seems abrupt.

"Oh", you say slowly, gently putting Nina down. "Okay."

"I'll replace a few of the clothes I packed. Care to grab me that one gray suit? The one from Italy."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." You nod absentmindedly and follow him upstairs. He disappears into his office, shutting the door behind him, and you round the corner and enter your bedroom.

You step into the walk-in closet and rummage through his collection of suits until you find the one he asked for. Then, just to be nice and make it easier on him, you open the drawer with his shirts. As you start to organize a few, your fingers brush against a folder of documents hidden underneath the clothes. It's barely visible — clearly, he tried to hide it, but not well enough.

For a moment, you consider letting it be. Spare yourself the trouble, forget about it, pretend it doesn't exist. But your curiosity gets the better of you, so you gently pull the folder out from underneath the shirts.

You open it and scan the first document.

A financial statement, outlining a series of transactions from an unnamed offshore account to Durant Enterprises. Ethan's name — Consultation Fee: Ethan Bailey — appears in the memo line of one transaction for $50,000.

What confuses you the most is the handwritten note, in neat, feminine script, underneath:

"All set for the Zurich project — talk soon.

- Isabelle."

Your shaky fingers struggle to push the document aside and reveal the next one.

A partial draft of a business agreement between Ethan and Durant Enterprises; the text is mostly filled with jargon, but it hints at a high-risk, high-reward investment opportunity that would require discretion.

At the bottom?

Ethan's signature, right next to Isabelle's.

Then, an email.

Subject Line: "Zurich Timeline Adjustment"

From: isabelledurant@durantenterprises.com

To: ethanb@nycinvestments.com

Hi Ethan,

As discussed, the timeline for Zurich needs to move up for next month. I've already made the necessary arrangements on my end, but I need confirmation from you that everything is good to go.

Let me know if you'd like to discuss this further — dinner next week, maybe? Same place, same time? I'll make the reservation.

- Isabelle.

It's the final nail in the coffin. Your unease shifts into something sharper, almost unbearable. Your eyes start to burn, but no tears seem to come. But why cry, anyway?

It's not like you've been faithful, either. But for some reason, what you did feels different.

Stop — you've kissed Natasha, you've wanted Natasha. If he's guilty, then so are you. You can't ignore the paralleles between what you did and what you suspect Ethan might be doing.

'Suspect' being the keyword here. You have no clear evidence yet. All of these documents point in the same direction, but none of them confirm any of your suspicions. As far as you know, Isabelle Durant could be a business partner.

You barely manage to tuck the folder back under his clothes when you hear someone enter the bedroom. You look to your right with a start, then relax once you see it's Nina. It's a relief to see her instead of Ethan. She won't ask questions as to why you're digging through his stuff.

"Mommy? Can we go play?", she asks, clumsily running her hand over her messy hair.

You smile and crouch down, gently pulling her closer.

"In a minute", you promise, kissing her cheek. "I just have to help daddy pack."

"Okay", she says, giggling at the kiss. She frees herself from your loose hug and rushes off, her tiny feet pattering down the hall. She leaves you in the quiet of the room, the weight of the documents still pulling at your thoughts.

Finally, you straighten up.

You'll have time for this later. For now, you'll focus on your daughter.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlets

[ash005]

Imagine of DI leon dating a college girl. Been so obsessed with this like I need him so bad. 😋🙏

Mentions of: baby, age gap, mild cussing and mentions of body image. This is not proofread so sorry if there’s mistakes :(

Thinking about DI leon dating a college girl and coming up to her college to pick her up for spring break. He can’t remember the last time he’s been to a college campus and can’t help but feel a little out of place.

You made him feel young and old at the same time. Like whenever you would you would send him pictures of what was called “brain rot”. He didn’t understand that stuff and apparently he’s been known to ruin a joke by asking too many questions about it.

But none of that mattered because he was here now, and he couldn't help but smile when he saw you walk outside. In your cute little shorts and shirt, how did you end up with him? He thought you were too good for him. Sometimes he feels guilty, you should be with someone your age. Some young college boy who you could go to parties to. But you have assured him you're fine, and who wants to date an inexperienced, stupid college boy anyway?

You ran up to him, throwing your arms around his neck and getting on your tippy toes. "Hi!! I can't believe you actually came!"

He wrapped his arms around your waist and chuckled a little. “Yeah, of course I came. Who wouldn’t want to see you?”

Staying in the embrace for a moment before pulling away, you grabbed his hand and started walking down the sidewalk. “So do you want me to drive?” You asked.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ll drive.” He says, to be completely honest, your driving scares him. He’s only driven with you once and decided that will never happen again. You're not a bad driver or anything; you just hit a few curbs, listen to loud music, and maybe cut some people off. But he wouldn’t tell you that.

“Are you sure? I can do it.” You pushed, looking up at him as you led him through your campus.

“I’m sure, besides you look better in the passenger seat.” He teased, looking down at you.

You huffed and shook your head. You were a great driver, it didn’t make anydn’t want to drive with you, but his car was nicer anyway. So you’ll let it slide this time.

When you finally got to his car, you immediately hooked up to the Bluetooth in his vehicle. You didn’t ask because you weren’t sure if he knew what it was or how to work it. And he listens to bad music. All old music sounds the same.

Leon couldn’t help but scoff at you acting like the princess you were. He’d never admit this out loud, but he didn’t even know his car had Bluetooth. He learns something new every day with you. Now you had on Sabrina something, he'd heard this song so many damn times he could probably recite the lyrics. He couldn't help but look at you for a moment before he started to drive. You were just so pretty, so so so cute, and he couldn't imagine being with anyone else.

You’d make him take you to Starbucks and order a caramel something frappuccino. Trying to keep him up with trends was just a nightmare. You once mentioned “freak-bob” to him, and he just stared at you in silence for a good 30 seconds. But he loved you, you and all your crazy energy. Sometimes he wonders what life would have been like if he’d met you younger, but it was too late, and he had you now.

He’d help you with your schoolwork because he’s freakishly good at math. Listen to you complain about your friends and whatever drama was going on. He didn’t understand half of it, and any advice or solutions he would give you would get shut down immediately. So he just let you talk, it was cute how worked up you would get over this stuff. He watched you do what he now knows as a skincare routine. And yes, you have influenced him into buying all these ridiculous products for his skin, but hey, he looks good. Sometimes he lies in bed with you all day, scrolling through “TikTok,” he believes it’s called. Sometimes you would ask him to make a video together, but he didn’t understand the appeal of dancing or lip-singing to a camera.

He’s so dad coded! Yes, he makes dad jokes. If you tell him you’re hungry he says “hi hungry, i’m leon.” Or some corny line like that. You’ve introduced him to so many things he can’t even remember half of it. He was always there to reassure you when you felt insecure. He never understood why young women had such an issue with their body, he thought you looked beautiful. But he was there, pressing soft kisses to your body and whispering praises into your ear.

Luckily for the both of you, his house actually wasn’t far from your college. The drive there just flew by and before you knew it you had arrived. His house was nice, I mean he was basically a 40 year old man making good money. So it made sense he had a nice house.

He carried your bags for you, because he was a gentleman. And you were too small to be carrying heavy stuff anyways. After you settled in you both kinda just cuddled on the couch watching movies all day. It was cute watching you try and stay awake as the night progressed. Your little yawns and snuggles into his chest made him smile. His life was so chaotic, constantly on missions fighting bio weapons and dealing with nonsense all the time. But moments like this made it worth it.

He managed to get you up and into the bathroom so you could do your little skincare. He knew if you found out he let you go to bed without taking your makeup off you would freak out. The whole time he had his arms around your waist, swaying you slightly as he squeezed you tightly. You were just adorable.

After what felt like forever he was finally in bed watching you sitting on his bed wearing your cute little pajamas. A little tank top with some shorts. And wow did that sure show off your body. He loved your curves, the way your tits squished together when you rolled onto your side, or how your hair fell over your face.

Pulling you closer to him, he rubbed a hand over your head and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. Watching you fall asleep, he sighed and closed his eyes, falling asleep with you.

(I know i’m supposed to be writing a country leon x city girl reader fic, but this has been stuck in my head forever. I promise i’ll start writing that soon..😭😭)

[lady-arcane]

People Like Us Don’t Survive Love :

You met him when he was still almost whole.

Geto Suguru—with his easy smile and sleepless eyes, the boy who said the world was cracked like glass and still tried to carry it in his bare hands. Back then, he hadn’t yet decided to hate it. Not entirely.

And you—naïve enough to believe that love could be a soft place to land. That maybe, just maybe, you could be enough to keep him tethered to the light.

You were wrong, of course. But that’s the thing about people like you and Suguru.

You want to believe in beautiful endings even as you sharpen your teeth for the fall.

-----

He used to say things like:

“If we were gods, would you still love me?”

And you’d laugh, kiss the corner of his mouth, say:

“Only if you didn’t act like one.”

He didn’t laugh back. Not really—

-----

You knew he was slipping long before the massacre. Not by his actions, but by the pauses between them.

The silence after missions stretched longer. The way he’d stare at children with something like dread curdling in his eyes. His hands still touched you gently, but his words grew heavier, like they were being dragged out of a well.

He told you he was tired. He told you that saving people started to feel like holding sand with bloodied fingers. He told you that no one cared.

You told him you did.

That was the problem.

-----

When he finally broke, he didn’t shatter. He peeled. Like an old wall cracking in slow motion, truth flaking off with every breath. You watched him rot and rebuild in the same breath.

“You love me,” he said once, “because I haven’t hurt you yet.”

“That’s not true,” you whispered.

But it was.—

-----

The last night you saw him before he disappeared, the moon was hanging like a sickle in the sky. He wouldn’t look at you when he spoke.

“You make me hesitate,” he said.

You stood still, heart in your throat. “Good. You should hesitate.”

“No.” His voice was quiet, almost reverent. “That’s why you have to go. I can’t carry this part of myself anymore.”

And by this part, he meant you.

-----

But he didn’t kill you. He could’ve.

Instead, he left you alive with the softest kind of violence: the knowledge that he was still out there, being terrible, being brilliant, being lost—and that somewhere deep inside, he still loved you.

That was the cruelty. Not the leaving. But the not-quite.

-----

You dream about him sometimes.

In those dreams, he comes back. Not reformed—don’t be stupid. No, in your dreams, he’s still the Geto Suguru who believes the world needs fixing, but he’s tired and he crawls into bed beside you, smelling like blood and smoke, and he doesn’t say sorry.

He just touches your face like it’s still sacred.

You always wake up aching. You never tell anyone.

-----

When the world speaks of him, they call him a traitor.

You never correct them. What’s the point?

(You just nod and keep your mouth shut and bleed quietly in places no one can see.)

Because how do you explain that you were loved by a ghost long before he died?

How do you explain that you watched him become the villain, and still sometimes miss the boy who asked if you thought cursed spirits cried?

---

You’ve tried to hate him.

God, you’ve tried—

But how do you hate someone who was sick and brilliant and yours before the sickness won?

How do you hate someone who once touched your hand like it meant something?

How do you hate someone who almost stayed?

-----

And the worst part?

You understand him.

Not the killing. Not the cruelty. But the loneliness beneath it. The isolation of knowing too much, feeling too much. You’ve seen the way the system feeds itself—how kindness is disposable and the weak get left behind. You know how loud the silence is when you scream into the void and no one listens.

You just chose to survive it differently.

He burned.

You buried.

-----

You saw him again once. Years later.

He didn’t smile.

You didn’t cry.

But when your eyes met across that broken corridor—battle rising, blood in the air—you saw it again: hesitation. The ghost of the boy he was. The boy who once made you tea when you were sick. The boy who told you cursed spirits were just grief given shape.

He didn’t say a word.

Neither did you.

And then he left you standing there.

Again.

-----

Sometimes you wonder if he ever loved you.

If maybe it was all projection—an echo of his old self reaching for something warm before he extinguished the last light.

But then you remember the way he looked at you. Like you were the only thing in a crumbling world that made him consider staying.

And that’s worse.

Because he did love you.

And still chose this.

-----

People like you and Suguru—

You don’t survive love.

You dismantle under it.

Because when you give yourself to someone who’s breaking, you don’t just lose them. You lose the part of yourself that believed you could fix them. That love could be an answer.

You survive the aftermath, sure. You keep breathing.

But you are never, ever whole again.

-----

He exists now only in half-memories, in the spaces between sleep and sobering clarity. You never say his name. You don’t need to.

It echoes anyway—

Suguru.

Suguru.

Suguru.

A name like a wound.

A god who tried to save the world and hated you for being the reason he couldn’t.

-----

[rans-prettydoll]

Sukuna did not like to fuck with condoms. He liked that raw sex. He liked to feel every part of you as he fucked in and out of you at a speed that made your toes curl and eyes roll. Why would he spend money on a piece of rubber that would probably pop anyways from how big and thick his dick was? He thought it was both a waste of money and sperm. He wanted his seed to spill into your pussy, he wanted to knock you up so you would be carrying his baby. He wanted to fill you to the brim with his cum and watch it spill out of your pussy just to fuck it all back in. So no, plain and spank no when you asked if he liked using a condom. “Baby..do you actually like using rubber? Because every time I tell you to put one on, you act like you’re all annoyed.” You would say as you crossed your arms and stood in front of him. “Of course not, woman. What type of fuckin’ question is that?” He would sigh and roll his eyes before continuing, “What kind of man doesn’t wanna knock his woman up? Especially one that’s as pretty as ya. Hate to have to waste my nut in some stupid piece of rubber.” Well now that you actually heard it come from his mouth instead of assuming, you would let him fuck you raw all the time.

<NOT READ OVER SO MIGHT BE SOME TYPING MISTAKES.3

[wbbobsesserr]

ᯓ sweet spot — chapter two

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

wc: 2.5k

it had been three weeks.

three weeks of pretending azzi fudd didn’t occupy 99% of paige bueckers’ waking thoughts. three weeks of trying not to stare during film, of forcing herself not to “accidentally” sit next to her at every team meal. three weeks of scrolling through azzi’s social media accounts like they held the secrets of the universe. three weeks of watching every reposted workout clip like it was a sacred ritual. three weeks of dying. slowly. softly. lovingly.

it was hell.

because azzi was still azzi.

sweet. soft-spoken. warm to everyone. she high-fived her teammates. she brought extra protein bars to practice in case anyone needed one. she complimented everyone, everyday. and paige? paige was losing her mind. she’d never felt like this before. not about anyone. there had been hookups, of course. flings. a very short-lived situationship with a girl from back home who smoked too much weed and ghosted her after two weeks. but azzi?

azzi made her feel like a middle schooler with a crush. like she was trying to act normal during a fire drill while her entire body was combusting.

and the worst part was that azzi didn’t even know.

or maybe she did, and she was just too nice to say anything.

practice had ended an hour ago, but paige was still in the gym, sitting on the bleachers with a bag of ice balanced on her knee and her phone glowing in her lap. she wasn’t texting anyone. she was just looking at azzi’s most recent post: a photo from the locker room after the team’s first practice. azzi smiling, flushed, holding up a peace sign. caption: “i love it here already.”

she’d liked it within 0.3 seconds of it going up.

now she just sat there, staring at it like it might change.

“hey.”

paige nearly threw her phone across the gym. she looked up. it was azzi, hair pulled into a high bun, hoodie slung over one shoulder, and a water bottle tucked under her arm. she looked like a nike ad. or her own personal dream.

“you good?” azzi asked, stepping closer. “didn’t see you leave with everyone.”

paige sat up straighter, hiding her phone screen. “yeah— just icing. knee’s a little sore.”

azzi nodded, then sat next to her. right next to her. their knees almost touched. paige stopped breathing.

“you looked good today,” azzi said, like it was just a fact. “sharp on that last drill.”

paige shrugged, trying to act chill. “you always look good.”

silence.

paige’s eyes widened. “i mean— you played good. you looked good playing. like— your shot. your form. it was— good.”

azzi laughed quietly. “thanks.”

paige wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

they sat in silence for a few moments, the quiet hum of the lights buzzing overhead. azzi leaned back on her palms, gazing out at the empty court.

“you like being here?” paige asked finally, voice low.

azzi turned her head, smiled. “yeah. i do. it’s… different. but good-different. i feel like i’m supposed to be here.”

paige nodded, then swallowed. “you are.”

azzi’s smile lingered. “what about you? you still like it?”

paige glanced down at her hands. “i used to think it was just about winning. getting a national championship. now… i don’t know. it feels like it matters more when you have the right people around.”

azzi looked at her, something soft in her eyes.

before paige could completely combust, someone called from down the tunnel— lou, probably. something about team dinner.

azzi stood, brushing imaginary dust off her pants. “you coming?”

paige blinked, then nodded. “yeah. just need a sec.”

azzi lingered for a moment. “you sure?”

“positive.”

azzi gave her one last look, then jogged off.

paige watched her go, heart a tangled mess of hope and helplessness. she grabbed her phone again and looked at the photo. zoomed in just a little. yeah. she was so, so screwed.

the team dinner was supposed to be casual. nothing fancy— just some bonding, a little pasta, maybe a couple of dumb games nika liked to spring on them out of nowhere. coach had even given them the evening off to “build chemistry,” which everyone knew really meant “don’t get in trouble and try not to burn the dorm down.”

paige almost didn’t go.

because azzi.

and because paige had barely survived three practices without turning into a puddle every time azzi looked in her direction. but nika wouldn’t let her skip, practically dragged her by the collar out of her room with the promise of free garlic knots and good lighting for selfies.

the restaurant was small and loud, with big booths and sticky menus. half the team was already there, squeezed into one corner and tossing crumpled straw wrappers at each other. azzi sat near the end, her curls pulled up and her smile lighting up the table like a lantern. paige picked the seat next to her before she could think twice.

“hey,” azzi said, voice soft over the buzz of conversation. “glad you came.”

paige nodded too fast. “yeah. me too. i like… food.”

azzi blinked.

nika snorted soda out of her nose.

lou choked on her breadstick.

“smooth,” aubrey muttered, bumping paige’s knee under the table.

but azzi just laughed— a quiet, melodic sound— and passed paige the basket of garlic knots like she hadn’t just committed a social crime. “i meant to tell you— you’ve got a really quick first step. it’s hard to guard. you kinda burned me yesterday.”

paige blinked. her soul left her body. “i— uh. i didn’t mean to? i mean, i did, but not like— burn— like basketball, not like… fire.”

nika buried her face in her hoodie.

azzi smiled. “i got what you meant.”

it was fine. everything was fine. except her hands were sweating and her fork was now mysteriously on the floor. paige reached down to get it and hit her head on the table.

azzi leaned over, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “are you okay?”

“never better.” paige’s voice cracked. she never wanted to die more.

later that night, paige laid in bed, phone screen glowing inches from her face. she should’ve been asleep— they had weights in the morning. but instead, she was twenty minutes into another accidental deep dive of azzi fudd’s instagram.

it started innocent. a few scrolls. a couple likes.

and then she found him.

noah.

the boyfriend. azzi’s boyfriend. smiling next to azzi on some beach in california, both of them mid-laugh. another post from valentine’s day— azzi in his hoodie, captioned “my favorite human.”

her stomach twisted.

azzi didn’t post often. but when she did, the captions about noah were always so full. like she really meant them. paige lingered on one in particular— a photo of the two of them in front of the usc gym. the caption read: “through every win, every loss, every late night practice— you’ve been my home. i love you so much.”

paige closed the app.

then opened it again five seconds later. she wasn’t proud of herself.

she was about to close the app for good when nika barged into her room with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.

“you’re so gone for her.”

paige flinched so hard she dropped her phone.

“excuse me?”

“don’t even try to deny it,” nika said, plopping onto the bed like she owned it. “you short-circuit every time she so much as looks at you. i’ve never seen someone so flustered.”

“i don’t—”

“you do.” nika pulled paige’s pillow out from under her and whacked her with it. “you’ve got the biggest gay panic i’ve ever seen. and i roomed with lou.”

paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. “she has a boyfriend.”

“yeah, and you have zero chill,” nika leaned back. “i’ve never seen you like this before. nervous, shy. it’s weird.”

paige didn’t answer. she couldn’t.

because now, every little moment replayed like a loop— azzi’s compliment. the softness in her voice. her dimply smile that lingered too long.

well, fuck.

practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but paige was still out there, lazily flipping a ball between her hands as the last few teammates trickled out. her shirt clung to her back, sweat drying slowly in the gym's faint breeze. she could’ve left. should’ve. but something told her to stay.

and then azzi appeared.

“hey,” she called softly, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she approached. “you staying to shoot?”

paige’s heart dropped to her knees, then tried to crawl back up her throat. “uh— yeah. just a little.”

azzi smiled, grabbing a ball from the rack. “mind if i join you?”

“join? no. i mean yes. i mean— of course.”

they started with simple catch-and-shoot drills. easy rhythm. azzi’s release was still perfect, every shot as clean as glass. paige couldn’t stop glancing sideways, watching the way azzi’s eyes followed the arc of each shot, the way she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet after every make.

paige hit her stride eventually, sinking threes from the corner, then fading toward the wing. they passed back and forth, no words, just the soft echo of the ball and their sneakers squeaking on the court.

azzi shot like she was born doing it. No wasted movement. every jumper was soft, clean, perfect rotation. paige tried to stay focused— tried to match her rhythm— but she kept getting caught in the way azzi would laugh lightly when she missed, like even failure didn’t rattle her.

“your arc’s so pretty,” paige said before she could stop herself.

azzi looked at her. “mine?”

paige nodded, suddenly shy. “yeah. it’s, like… the perfect rainbow.”

azzi smiled. “thanks. yours is faster, though. quick release. super smooth.”

paige’s stomach did an actual flip.

“thanks. i, uh— yeah. i work on that,” she said, for what felt like the tenth time this week. why was she always saying the same thing around her? like she had five phrases and two working brain cells?

they continued shooting.

after a few more rounds, azzi passed her the ball and stretched her arms over her head. “you know, you’ve got such a calm confidence about you. like, on the court. even when you mess up, you never look rattled.”

paige literally missed the rim.

not the net. not the backboard.

she missed the rim.

azzi’s eyes widened, a little startled. “you okay?”

“i— yeah. i’m just— tired,” paige mumbled, retrieving the ball like it wasn’t the most humiliating moment of her life.

azzi laughed, light and genuine. “that was kinda cute.”

paige stopped breathing.

she didn’t even know what to say. her mouth opened, but no words came out— just a small, embarrassed sound like a kicked puppy.

azzi tilted her head. “sorry, was that weird?”

paige shook her head fast. “yes. i mean, no. i mean— not weird. totally fine.”

azzi walked over and gently bumped her shoulder. “you’re funny.”

you’re funny.

paige wanted to throw herself into the sun.

just then, nika popped her head into the gym.

“ohhhh,” she called, loud and dramatic. “what’s this? a little after-hours hoop date?”

paige glared. “we’re just shooting.”

azzi, ever the sweetheart, smiled and waved. “hey, nika!”

nika waved back and winked directly at paige. “don’t stay too late, lovebirds.”

she disappeared before paige could cuss her out.

azzi giggled. “she’s funny.”

paige swallowed hard. “yeah. real funny.”

they kept shooting a little longer. paige never fully recovered from the embarrassment she put herself through.

when they finally called it a night, azzi walked beside her toward the locker room. “i’m really glad i transferred,” she said quietly.

paige looked over. “yeah?”

azzi nodded. “everyone’s been really welcoming. especially you.”

paige could barely breathe.

“oh. uh.” she blinked, thinking of the words. “well, you’re easy to welcome.”

azzi’s smile curled into something almost shy. “that’s really sweet.”

paige scratched the back of her neck. “i mean it. you’re… like. good. at everything. and nice. and— you know. people notice that.”

“people like you?” azzi teased, gently.

paige almost dropped her water bottle. “i mean, yeah. maybe.”

azzi smiled so softly, paige thought she might cry.

paige was halfway through tying her shoes when she spots azzi just a few feet away, standing by the gatorade cooler, laughing at something aubrey just said. it should be normal. it is normal. but paige’s brain short-circuits the same way it always does lately when azzi’s in the room.

and then it happened. a moment. a mortifying, soul-leaving-your-body moment.

“yo, paige!” nika yelled across the gym. “you left your phone in the locker room. again.”

she tossed it with a perfect spiral. paige reacted late and fumbled the catch. the phone hits the floor with a dramatic thud, screen up, very much alive, and very much still open to instagram.

specifically, azzi fudd’s instagram page.

a beat of silence. then a few beats.

someone snorted. probably aubrey.

paige dove for the phone, her face already bright red.

“i’m fucking killing myself,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut.

out of the corner of her eye, azzi’s gaze landed on her. she never said anything. but she smiled.

oh, jesus.

during a quick water break, azzi was sitting beside paige on the bleachers, who was untying and retying her sneaker for no real reason. nika and caroline are arguing about music again. nobody was really listening.

“god,” azzi groaned softly, scrolling through her phone. “i forgot how cursed my finsta is.”

paige, stretching her calves, froze like someone hit pause. “you have a finsta?”

azzi laughed. “unfortunately— i don’t call it that, though. more like my friends-only account,” she paused. “my friends at usc made me make one. it’s mainly me complaining about homework or pictures of my boyfriend.”

she didn’t mention the username. but paige tucked the information away in the back of her mind.

“sounds cool,” paige said casually, but her mind was already in overdrive. she knew what she’d be doing later, that’s for sure.

paige was supposed to be writing a paper. she had three tabs open for it. but none of them matter. what mattered was the list of usc mutuals she’s stalking, scanning every tagged photo of azzi from the past two years.

it took time. it took way too much time.

but eventually, she found it.

@fuddleazzi. azzi’s not-so-secret account.

private. 63 followers. the profile picture was azzi in a pair of massive ski goggles, wearing a bright smile with her dimples on display. no bio, no nothing.

paige stared at the screen for a full five minutes, thumb hovering over the follow button.

she doesn’t press it.

instead, she swiped up, into the messages app and texted nika:

paige: i found azzi’s secret account and i think i deserve a metal

nika: SEND ME THE @ U MANIAC

paige: it’s private. should i request or would that expose me as terminally obsessed

nika: baby u already dropped u phone OPEN TO HER IG. embrace ur downfall

paige groaned into her pillow.

she didn’t request.

but she did screenshot it.

and maybe saved the profile pic too.

just in case.

© wbbobsesserr