#and when will someone tell him to update his link?????????????????

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN ━━ Best Friends Who Kiss

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.7K

❀ ━ warnings: not much like a make out i guess

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: guys i’m lowk getting tired of this fic sorry about the long awaited update

THE MORNING SUN filters weakly through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the bedroom, but Paige barely registers it. She’s awake, but she doesn’t move at first, lying still, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to make sense of last night.

The kiss.

Her mind keeps circling back to it, replaying it over and over. It had been Jo that had leaned in. Jo had kissed her first. She’d been hesitant, but then she’d melted into Paige, letting her pull her closer. She’d straddled her, and Paige remembers the smoothness of Jo’s thighs against her own, the feeling of Jo’s ass in her hand, and—fuck. It had all felt so right. Like this was always supposed to happen, like this was the inevitable collision they’d been building toward for God knows how long.

And then Mia had shown up, and everything had shattered.

Now, Paige turns her head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Jo beside her in bed, curled up under the covers, completely turned away. The sight makes her stomach sink a little. This isn’t normal—not for them. They always sleep tangled together—legs twisted beneath blankets, arms thrown over waists, breath ghosting over skin. But now there’s distance between them, and it feels impossibly vast.

Paige swallows hard, guilt twisting through her. She had come back to their bedroom last night like nothing had happened, like she and her best friend hadn’t just made out, like she hadn’t run the second someone else had seen. She’d showered, letting the hot water consume her the way it had in the hot tub. By the time she’d gotten into bed, Jo still wasn’t there.

For a while, Paige had thought maybe she wouldn’t come at all. Maybe she’d stay with one of her sisters instead, avoiding her completely.

But Jo had come back.

Paige just hadn’t been brave enough to face her. So, she’d pretended to be asleep, keeping her breaths even, her body still, trying not to flinch when she heard Jo move around, when she finally crawled into bed. But she hadn’t reached for Paige, hadn’t curled up against her like usual.

And Paige hadn’t reached for her, either, unsure of where they stood and not wanting to overstep.

Now, Paige shifts carefully, trying not to disturb Jo as she slides out of bed. She hesitates for a second, staring down at her, waiting for her to stir, to turn, to do something. But Jo stays still, and Paige can’t tell if she’s actually asleep or just avoiding her the same way Paige did last night.

She’s not sure she wants to know.

So, she grabs her phone and steps out of the room, padding quietly down the hallway, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It’s still early, and the house is silent—no laughter, no movement, no sounds of Christmas morning yet. Just her, alone with her thoughts, which is exactly what she doesn’t want right now.

She sighs, unlocking her phone, tapping her dad’s contact. He answers on the third ring, his voice still hoarse, but better than the last time she talked to him a few days ago.

“Merry Christmas, P,” he says, and Paige closes her eyes, exhaling softly. Things would be so much easier if she was just with him and Drew in Maryland like usual.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

They talk for a little while, mostly about how he’s feeling—still sick, but not as bad. He promises he’ll make up for missing Christmas the next time he sees her, and Paige tells him it’s okay, because it is. She knew he wouldn’t have let her go anywhere else for the holidays if he had any other choice.

She talks to Drew next, who’s way too hyper for a.) still having bronchitis, and b.) for this early in the morning. It’s a short conversation—he gets distracted halfway through, yelling something to his mom, and then Bob is back on the phone, telling her they’ll talk to her later.

Paige hangs up, staring at her screen for a second before she presses her mom’s contact this time, FaceTiming her.

It barely even rings once before Amy answers, her face filling the screen. It seems as though she’s already at the beach, the early morning sunlight turning her blonde hair almost gold, her sunglasses perched on her nose. There’s an ocean breeze in the background, the soft sound of waves rolling in, and Paige kinda wishes she were there because damn, the Bahamas sounds like the perfect place to be right now.

“Paigey, hi!” Amy says, beaming, clearly thrilled to see her. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Paige exhales a small laugh despite herself, because her mom’s excitement is kind of contagious. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

“I miss you, I hope you and Jo are having fun! I’m so jealous you get a white Christmas, honestly. It’s so hot here.” Amy flips her phone for a second, showing off the clear blue sky and the sun in it. “Not that I’m complaining, but still.”

Paige smiles faintly. “Yeah, it snowed a little more last night. The mountains here are really pretty.”

“I’m glad,” her mom says, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “Anyway, Ryan and Laur are off running around the water park right now, but I’ll call you again later so they can talk to you.”

Paige nods. “Sounds good.”

Amy studies her for a second, and that’s when Paige knows she’s in trouble. “You’re quiet,” the older woman says, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t look happy. What’s wrong?”

Well, shit.

Paige swallows. She should’ve known her mom would pick up on it immediately. Usually, Christmas is one of her favorite parts of the year—her inner child always seems to come out, and she tends to act like a giddy five-year-old. Clearly, that’s not the case today, because here she is, slumped against the kitchen counter, her face probably screaming something’s up.

“I’m fine,” she says automatically.

Amy lifts a brow. “Paige.”

Paige exhales slowly, looking down at the marble counter, her fingers trailing absently along the smooth surface. “It’s… I don’t know.” She hesitates, then finally admits, “I kissed Jo last night.”

Silence.

Paige’s stomach twists. She can’t read her mom’s expression because Amy’s sunglasses are back on, but she knows she’s being analyzed right now, picked apart like she’s under a microscope.

Finally, Amy sighs, soft but knowing. “I thought there was a little more to you and Jo than you let on.”

Paige groans, dropping her head into her hands. “God, is it that obvious?”

Amy laughs a little, which only makes Paige groan louder. “Not to everyone, I don’t think,” she says. “But I am your mother. And I know you. The way you talk about her—it’s different, P. Good different.”

Paige bites her lip, staring down at the counter.

It’s terrifying, hearing that out loud. If she’s truly not been as subtle as she thought, then maybe that means Jo’s noticed, too.

And if Jo has noticed, then what does last night mean?

“I don’t know what to do,” Paige admits, her voice quieter now. “I mean… it wasn’t just—it wasn’t just some stupid kiss. It was—” She swallows thickly. “It was a lot.”

Her mom hums in understanding. “And now you’re scared.”

Paige nods, shifting uncomfortably. “What if she regrets it? What if she doesn’t want—what if she doesn’t like me like that? I mean, I don’t know even know if she likes girls. She’s never said anything about it. And she just broke up with her boyfriend of, like, five years.”

Any gives her a knowing look. “Paige, do you really think Jo’s the type of person to kiss you like that if she didn’t feel something?”

Paige opens her mouth, then closes it. Because her mom is right—Jo isn’t the kind of person to just make out with someone, especially someone close to her, just because.

Paige wants to believe it meant something. That Jo really had kissed her because she wanted to, not just because it had happened in the heat of the moment.

But Jo had also taken forever to come to bed last night. And when she finally did—

“She wouldn’t even look at me when she got into bed,” Paige says, her voice smaller than she wants it to be. “She just turned away.”

Amy, expression softens. “Honey, she’s probably scared, too.”

Paige exhales heavily, raking a hand through her hair. It’s still messy from sleep. “I just—I really don’t want to lose her, Mom.” Her throat is tight. “She’s my best friend, and she’s been the only person that really understands me about, like, my knee and stuff. I don’t know what I’d do if I—if this ruined everything.”

Amy shakes her head gently. “Nothing’s ruined, P. I promise.”

Paige doesn’t respond.

Because she doesn’t know that. What if last night was a mistake? What if Jo does regret it, and now their friendship is going to be weird forever, and—

“Take a deep breath,” Amy says softly. Paige does. “And stop thinking yourself into a panic, okay?”

Paige nods, a little shakily. “’Kay.”

“You and Jo clicked basically as soon as you met. I don’t think this is going to change that,” her mom tells her. “You just need to talk to her. And I know that’s scary, but I also know you. You’re not a coward, you don’t run away from things.”

Paige huffs. “I ran away last night.”

Amy snorts. “Okay, fair, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to keep running.” She pauses, then adds, “And maybe stop thinking so much and just let yourself feel for once.”

Paige is quiet, letting that sink in.

Amy smiles, like she knows she just got through to her. “I love you, baby,” she says softly.

“Love you, too,” Paige tells her, managing a little smile.

“Call me later?”

Paige nods. “Yeah. I will.”

“Okay.” Amy gives her a final, knowing look. “And talk to Jo.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh.”

Amy just laughs, and then the FaceTime ends, leaving Paige along in the kitchen, slumped against the bar stool, her chin resting in her hands, still so unsure of what to do next.

JO HAS BEEN avoiding Paige all morning.

Not in an obvious, duck into a different room every time she sees her way—but enough that her stomach clenches every time she catches a glimpse of the blonde in the corner of her vision, enough that she finds herself sidestepping conversations, pretending to be busy with her gear, lingering behind the others when they’re getting ready, taking an extra-long time tightening the straps of her boots just to not be near her. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what Paige is thinking.

And she’s scared.

Scared that Paige regrets it. Scared that Paige didn’t like it. Scared that she messed something up, that she’s made things weird, that last night had just been some moment of stupid impulse for Paige that meant nothing, and now she’s going to sit Jo down and give her some speech about how they should just forget about it, about how it was a mistake, about how it shouldn’t have happened. Jo thinks she might actually throw herself off the side of the mountain if that happens.

But thank God for Mia, actually. Because Mia, in all her little-kid wisdom, had begged Paige to go on the ski lift with her, and—since each lift only holds two people—that means it’s just the two of them. And Paige, who never knows how to say no to a kid, had smiled at Mia’s pleading eyes and agreed, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Which means, thankfully, Jo doesn’t have to ride with her.

Instead, she’s on the lift just ahead, sitting next to Peyton.

Jo exhales, adjusting her mittens as the chairlift ascends, the cold air biting at her face. The resort is quieter up here, the only sounds the mechanical hum of the lift and the occasional rush of wind through the trees. It should be relaxing. Should give her a moment to breathe.

But then Peyton turns her head and smirks at her.

“Soooo…” the older girl says, drawing the word out in a way that makes Jo immediately suspicious.

Jo eyes her warily. “What?”

Peyton tilts her head, still smirking, like she already knows something Jo doesn’t want her to. “Mia told me about what happened last night.”

Jo groans, dropping her head into her gloved hands. Of course Mia had told her. Mia, who had no concept of discretion, who had walked outside at the worst possible time and just stood there, grinning.

Peyton laughs at Jo’s misery, completely unsympathetic. “So. You wanna tell me what’s going on, or… ?”

Jo sighs dramatically, tilting her head back to stare at the sky. “I have no idea.”

Peyton just grins. “Joey, I didn’t even know you liked girls.”

Jo stiffens slightly, her chest tightening. It’s not that she’s ashamed of the idea—it’s just that she’s never really thought about it. Not in a real, this applies to me way. But she supposes she’s gotta figure it out now, just like she has to figure out the shit with Paige.

“I don’t,” she says at first. But then Peyton raises her eyebrows, giving her a really? look, and Jo immediately feels her face heat up despite the cold. “Okay, maybe I do. I don’t know. I just—I just like—”

“You just like Paige?” Peyton guesses.

Jo hesitates. Then, quietly, she nods. “I mean, yeah.” She sighs, staring out at the snow-covered trees below. “I don’t know. I haven’t really gotten through all the technicalities of it.”

Peyton hums, considering that. “Well,” she says, “does Paige know that you like her?”

Jo scoffs. “I mean, I kissed her.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you told her.”

Jo presses her lips together. Because, no, she didn’t.

Peyton shakes her head, amused. “Well, I have some good news for you,” she says, nudging Jo’s shoulder lightly. “She definitely likes you back.”

Jo immediately shakes her head. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Josephine,” Peyton says, giving her a look. “Come on. Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

Jo swallows, shifting uncomfortably. She doesn’t want to think about the way Paige looks at her. She doesn’t want to let herself hope—and she doesn’t want to know what happens next, if that hope is real.

But Peyton is relentless. “She’s, like, obsessed with you,” she continues, counting things off on her fingers. “She’s always touching you, always staring at you, always acting like you hung the fuckin’ moon or something.”

Jo clenches her jaw, shaking her head slightly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Peyton sighs, rolling her eyes as if Jo’s stupid. “Why would she kiss you if she didn’t like you?”

Jo shrugs, feeling her stomach twist all over again. “I don’t know. She kisses a lot of girls.”

Peyton snorts. “Okay, well does she kiss a lot of her teammates?”

Jo blanches at that. Because, no. No, Paige doesn’t.

Peyton smirks, satisfied. “Exactly.”

Jo exhales, her heart thudding too hard.

“I don’t think she would’ve kissed you back unless it meant something,” Peyton says, softer now. “And I don’t think you would’ve kissed her unless it meant something, either.”

Jo swallows hard, staring at the mountains in the distance, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gloves. She doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she feels her heart thud rapidly in her chest, her mind running in circles around everything Peyton’s insinuated. Paige likes you. Paige kissed you back because she wanted to. Paige wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t mean something.

Peyton doesn’t push. She just lets the quiet settle between them, lets Jo sit with it.

But then, after a while, she exhales and shifts in her seat. “I get it,” she says gently. “Why you’re freaked out.”

Jo closes her eyes for a second. The shift in tone, the look Peyton gives her. She already knows exactly where this is going. 

“You just got out of something,” Peyton continues. “Like, less than a month ago.”

Jo tenses, doesn’t meet her sister’s eye.

Peyton sighs. “I know how much Asher meant to you. I know how much you were planning on him. And I know it’s gotta feel—” She hesitates, searching for the right word. “Weird. To have feelings for someone else this soon.”

Jo swallows, forcing herself to keep looking forward. She doesn’t want to talk about Asher. Doesn’t want to think about Asher. But of course, it’s Peyton. Of course, she sees through her like she always does.

And of course, she’s right.

Because Jo did plan on Asher. She planned on forever with him. She spent five year (or, really, her whole life if she’s honest), thinking that was it, that they’d go the distance, that everything they’d built—everything they’d been—was unshakeable. That she’d never have to think about this—about feelings for anyone else, about wanting anyone else, about what it means to like someone new when the ghost of someone old still lingers in the back of her mind.

But here she is, less than a month later, having just made out with Paige Bueckers in a hot tub last night.

God.

“I just don’t want you to rush into something,” Peyton says, her voice careful, measured. “Not when you’re still—”

“Figuring my shit out?” Jo offers.

Peyton huffs out a soft laugh. “I mean, yeah.”

Jo exhales softly, running her gloved hands over her thighs. She knows Peyton’s right. She knows she’s not really emotionally available right now. It would be stupid to jump into something—anything—so soon after the end of a near six-year relationship. It wouldn’t be fair—to her, to Paige, to anyone.

But it’s also Paige.

Paige, who makes her laugh in ways she forgot she could. Paige, who takes care of her when she can hardly take care of herself. Paige, who looks at her like she’s something worth looking at, like Jo is worth knowing, like Jo is worth wanting.

Paige, who kissed her back last night and felt like something Jo had been searching for, even though she wasn’t supposed to be searching for anything at all.

“I don’t know,” Jo murmurs finally, shaking her head. “I just—I don’t know.”

Peyton studies her for a moment, then nods, like she understands. “That’s okay,” she tells her. “You don’t have to.”

The lift slows as they approach the top of the mountain, and Jo is more than ready for the conversation to end. She grips the safety bar, rolling her shoulders back, already shifting into action mode. As soon as they hit the snow, she pushes off smoothly, coasting to a stop a few feet away. She drops onto one knee, strapping into her board, movements quick and practiced.

She feels Peyton’s eyes on her.

“What?” Jo asks, snapping her goggles into place.

Peyton raises a brow. “What, are you just gonna leave without them?”

Jo knows exactly who she means—Paige, Mia, their parents. She keeps her expression neutral as she shrugs. “It’s fine,” she says. “If P or Mimi need help, they have Mom and Dad. Let’s go.”

Peyton doesn’t argue, but Jo can tell she wants to. She hesitates for a second longer than necessary, like she’s debating whether or not to call Jo out for clearly avoiding Paige. But in the end, she just sighs, pulls down her own goggles, and says, “Alright.”

And then they’re off.

Jo cuts through the snow carefully, the wind rushing against her face, the world blurring at the edges. When you’re snowboarding, there’s no thinking, no feeling, no space for over analyzing. Just movement. Just speed. Just the sharp, exhilarating rush of letting go.

So, that’s what she does.

JO’S SITTING on the bed in the bedroom, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. It’s the only thing she can focus on right now. Her thumbs move over the screen without any real intent, the blue light flickering, almost like it’s keeping her tethered to something—anything. She doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want to feel. Doesn’t want to worry.

The day has been a blur of distance. Too many spaces between her and Paige, though she’s the reason for most of it. But every glance felt loaded, every second stretched longer than it needed to. Jo told herself it was for the best, that she needed space, needed time to think, to process. But deep down, she knows that the silence felt more like a slow burn, a slow and uncomfortable ache that she couldn’t—still can’t—escape.

And then the door is opening and Paige walks in.

It clicks shut behind her, the sound final, and Jo’s stomach does a flip. She doesn’t look up immediately. She stays glued to her phone screen, even though she can feel the weight of Paige’s gaze.

Paige sighs, the sound almost too heavy for such a soft, small thing. It fills the space between them, and that’s when Jo finally looks up, her heart beginning to race.

She watches as Paige scratches the back of her neck, one of her nervous habits. Jo forces herself to breathe. She doesn’t know what’s about to happen, doesn’t know what to expect from this conversation. All she knows is that her entire body is on edge.

Then Paige asks, “Uh… can we talk?”

Jo swallows, the anxiety catching in her throat. She doesn’t even know how to answer, what to say, so she just nods. She scoots back a little on the bed, making room for Paige to sit. It feels like the most awkward thing they’ve ever done, like there’s too much space between them already. But she forces herself to breathe, forces herself to be still. “Yeah,” she says, voice a little too tight.

Paige sits down on the mattress, and then goes quiet, looking at the floor. Jo doesn’t say anything either, unsure of what should be said. She tries to form the right words, tries to form anything, but it all feels like it would just come out wrong, clumsy. So, she stays silent.

Paige is the one to break it. “We’ve been avoiding each other all day,” she says, stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” Jo murmurs, the word barely leaving her lips.

“I don’t wanna do that anymore,” Paige says, her voice softer now, almost a little uncertain. The words hang in the air between them, like a fragile promise.

Jo’s heart stutters in her chest. She wants to say something, something that won’t make this worse, something that will make Paige—and maybe herself, too—feel better. “Me neither,” is all she’s got, but it’s true.

Paige lifts her eyes to meet Jo’s. Her gaze is intense, a little searching, but also guarded, like she’s trying to read Jo’s expression, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head. And then Jo sees it—that look. The kind that makes her insides twist, that makes her want to curl into herself and die.

It’s the way Paige’s eyes linger on her face, the way she takes in the lines of Jo’s expression, as if she’s deciding whether or not she’s about to let Jo down easy.

Jo doesn’t want that.

She doesn’t want Paige to pity her. Doesn’t want her to give her some soft, carefully worded rejection, something that’s meant to ease the sting. She doesn’t want that look to mean that what happened last night didn’t mean anything, that it was a mistake.

So, Jo says it before Paige can get the words out, before anything else can be said.

“Hey,” she says quickly, too quickly, like she’s scrambling to control the situation. Which, she kinda is. “It’s fine. Seriously. We don’t have to, like, say anything or whatever. What happened happened. Let’s just not be weird.”

It’s a half-hearted attempt at sounding nonchalant. And maybe it’s a little too causal, a little too defensive, but Jo can’t help it. She needs the reassurance that nothing has changed—that this won’t ruin them. She needs Paige to tell her it’s okay, that they’re still them—that she hasn’t messed this up entirely.

But Paige doesn’t say anything at first. She just stares at Jo for a long, drawn-out moment. It’s as if she’s trying to figure out if Jo really means it, if this is what she really wants, or if she’s just saying it to avoid confrontation.

Jo starts to doubt herself, stars to wonder if she came off wrong, if Paige actually wanted the kiss more than Jo thought.

But then, Paige shakes her head. “Yeah,” she says slowly, like the word is almost twisting around her tongue. “Yeah, exactly.”

Silence falls over them again, like a blanket. Jo doesn’t like it. She’s tired of it. So, the words spill out of her before she can think better of it: “Do you want your Christmas gift?”

The question feels like it might be a lifeline, something to break the tension, something to shift the conversation away from all the uncertainty she’s feeling.

Paige blinks, caught off guard for a second. Her eyes flick to Jo’s, and then she straights up a little, her shoulders pulling back in a way that looks like she’s remembering something important. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, do you want yours?” she asks, voice lighter now.

Jo can’t help but laugh, just a little. It’s a short, breathy sound, but it feels like a small release, like she’s letting go of some of the anxiety she’s been carrying. “Well, duh,” she says, trying for playful, a smile tugging at her lips.

That seems to shift the mood some, and then they’re each standing up, going to their bags. Jo grabs the wrapped box, and sits back down on the mattress. Paige follows, sitting beside her, a much smaller box in her hands.

“Okay, open mine first,” Jo says, her voice more confident now, more sure of herself. She hands the box to Paige, feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach.

Paige takes the gift, her fingers brushing against Jo’s hand as she does, and Jo’s heart skips a beat at the contact.

When Paige opens the box, her jaw drops a little, and Jo can’t help but feel a swell of pride. It’s exactly what she hoped for—Paige’s surprise and delight, the way her eyes widen as she takes in the gift.

The shoes are exactly what Paige had been obsessing over for months, the ones she had tried to get but had sold out before she could grab them. Jo, on the other hand, had been lucky enough to snag them before they were gone for good, and now here they are, right in front of Paige.

Paige’s voice is soft, almost in awe, as she stares at the shoes. “Joey…” she says, her tone slow and filled with something Jo doesn’t know. It’s more than gratitude, more than just being impressed. It’s like there’s something deeper in the way she says it.

“Do you like them?” Jo asks.

Paige’s eyes meet hers, a flicker of something there—something that makes Jo’s heart thud a little faster. “I love them,” Paige confirms, and the smile that spreads across her face makes Jo’s chest constrict. The blonde nudges her own small box toward Jo, saying, “Your turn.”

Jo opens it slowly. When she sees the necklace, her breath catches in her throat.

It’s a diamond-studded clover necklace—delicate, simple, but beautiful. Jo runs her fingers along the edge of the charm, feeling the smooth coolness of the metal. It’s perfect. On the back of the clover, the word steady is engraved, small but clear, and Jo’s stomach sinks just a little, the weight of the word—the weight of the gift—settling.

Paige watches her closely, her expression soft, as if she’s trying to gauge Jo’s reaction. “I know you get anxious before games,” she says gently, like she’s afraid Jo might somehow not like it. “I thought… maybe this could be your good luck charm. A reminder to stay steady.”

Jo’s heart hurts at the thought—how Paige knows her so well, knows the way her anxiety flares before a game, knows the way she holds herself together even when she’s not sure she’s capable of it. This feels like something more than just a gift. It feels like Paige sees her, understands her.

The knot in Jo’s throat tightens. “It’s perfect,” she says. And it is. More than she can put into words.

But at the same time, it stirs something in her, something she can’t quite control. The fact that Paige knows her this well, that she’s thought of something so specific and so meaningful—it makes Jo want her more, in a way that’s dangerous. The kind of wanting that burns slow, that builds over time, that’s impossible to ignore.

Paige smiles softly, and Jo’s heart skips a beat. “Help me put it on?” Jo asks, her voice a little shaky even though she tries for it to not be.

Paige doesn’t hesitate. She nods, and Jo turns slightly to the side, lifting her hair out of the way. She feels Paige’s fingers brush against the back of her neck as she secures the clasp, and the touch sends a shiver down her spine. Paige’s fingers linger there, just a moment longer than necessary, and Jo feels a heat settle in the pit of her stomach.

When she turns back to face Paige, she finds that the distance between them has closed just a little. Paige is closer now, her gaze intense, like she’s studying Jo with an almost unreadable expression. There’s something in her eyes—something that makes Jo’s pulse quicken, something that makes her wonder if Paige feels it too.

And then the blonde is shaking her head, the motion slow, like she’s trying to pull herself together, trying to sort through whatever’s going on in her head. “Okay,” Paige starts, and she sounds uncertain and shaky, so unlike herself, “I know you said that we don’t have to say anything—but I… I can’t not.”

Jo feels her eyes widen a little as she takes in the words. She looks at Paige, really looks at her—sees the vulnerability in her eyes, the way she’s holding back, the way Jo can see she’s biting the inside of her lip.

Paige swallows, her eyes not leaving Jo’s. “Because I liked it, Jo,” she says, her voice quiet but somehow steady. “I liked kissing you. And I was really glad that you kissed me. I—I don’t wanna just forget ’bout it.”

Jo feels her heart stop and stutter in her chest cavity. The words stab through her, consuming her like a virus. She’s still silent, still staring at Paige, trying to make sense of the words. I liked it. Her head spins at that, the sheer honesty of it.

“Really?” she manages to get out, her voice sounding strained, uncertain. She needs confirmation, needs to hear it again.

Paige nods, the motion slow but sure, her eyes still locked on Jo’s. “Really,” she repeats, and there’s something in the way she says it—like she’s laying herself bare for Jo, like she’s giving her this piece of her heart and hoping that Jo doesn’t crush it in the process.

For a moment, they just stare at one another, neither of them saying anything, neither of them moving. Jo feels the pull of Paige’s gaze, the way it tugs at her chest, her stomach, her being. It’s like they’re suspended in this moment, where everything is possible and yet nothing feels safe. She doesn’t know what to do with it—it’s so unfamiliar. Jo feels heat creeping up her neck, feels the way her palm have started sweating, but she can’t look away from Paige. She can’t stop herself from wanting this—whatever this is.

But then, her brain snaps into focus, a sharp reminder of everything they can’t do, everything that stands between them. “P, we… we can’t,” Jo says, her voice low, almost too quiet to hear. She feels her heart pounding in her chest as she says it, but she knows the words are necessary, knows she can’t just let this moment slip by without addressing the reality of the situation. “It’s not smart. We’re both dealing with our own emotional problems, and we’re teammates, and we’re roommates, and we—we can’t.”

The words feel like a sudden weight that’s fallen over the room. Jo’s stomach lurches as she watches Paige’s face fall slightly, the light dimming from her eyes for just a second before it flares back to life. It’s the look of someone who wants something—badly.

Paige shakes her head, her face resolute. “I know. I know that,” she says, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself. “We… we don’t gotta be anything more. We can just be… best friends who kiss?”

Jo feels a laugh bubble in her throat at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. But as she looks at Paige, she realizes that she’s not joking. She’s serious. She’s offering something—something that could make the ache in Jo’s chest go away, just for a moment, without any strings, any commitment, anything that could really ruin them.

“Is that the best idea?” Jo asks slowly.

Paige shrugs. “Prolly not,” she admits, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. But then her gaze sharpens a little, her expression becoming more focused. She leans forward just a fraction, her body language pulling Jo in, even as she tries her best to keep her distance. And then, quietly, Paige says, “But now that I know what it feels like, I just wanna do it again.”

Jo feels her lungs clench, her breath hitching slightly. Every inch of her body is screaming at her, telling her to pull away, to put some distance between them. But she can’t move. She can’t breathe. All she can do is watch Paige’s lips, watch the way she’s leaning closer, the way she’s asking without asking, the way she’s giving Jo a choice without giving her a choice at all.

Before Jo even realizes what she’s doing, she hears herself say, “Me, too.”

And just like that, Paige is kissing her again.

Jo’s brain short-circuits the moment it happens. It’s like she’s been set on fire, every nerve in her body lighting up at once. Paige is warm, solid, and everywhere—her hands gripping Jo’s shoulders, pulling her in, her lips moving against Jo’s with a kind of certainty that makes Jo feel dizzy. It doesn’t start hesitant like last night. This isn’t about testing the waters. It’s intentional—like Paige knows exactly what she wants, and she’s done pretending otherwise.

Jo lets her take the reins without even thinking about it. She likes the way Paige moves, the way she presses in closer, tilting her head just right to deepen the kiss further. Jo does her best to breathe properly as Paige shifts, her fingers skimming down Jo’s arms before settling on her waist, her grip firm but not forceful. The touch alone sends a shiver down Jo’s spine, makes her stomach flip in a way that should probably concern her but doesn’t, because all she can focus on is Paige—the way she smells like something clean and warm, the way she tastes like mint and something sweeter, something her.

Jo’s hands move on their own, sliding up the curve of Paige’s back, feeling the way her muscles tense and shift beneath her fingertips. It’s intoxicating. It’s too much and not enough all at once. She’s never felt like this before—like she could drown in a person and not even care. It wasn’t really like that with Asher.

The bed is suddenly shifting beneath them as Paige moves, pressing in closer, slotting herself more firmly against Jo’s body. Jo barely has time to register the shift before Paige’s hands are on her shoulders again, guiding her, pushing her gently until Jo’s back hits the mattress.

Jo inhales sharply at the change in position, a sharp thrill shooting through her chest as she feels the weight of Paige hovering over her. It’s dizzying, having Paige above her like this, her hands braced on either side of Jo’s head, her body caging Jo in but not in a way that feels trapping. No, it’s the opposite. It feels steadying, like Paige is something solid in the middle of all the chaos in Jo’s head.

Paige pulls back just slightly, just enough to look down at Jo, her breathing heavy, her lips pink and a little swollen. “This okay?” the blonde asks, her voice a little gravelly, a little breathless.

Jo can’t do anything but nod, can’t do anything but stare up at Paige and try to memorize the way she looks right now—hovering above her, hair falling into her face, lips parted like she’s barely holding herself back.

Paige makes a soft sound—relived, maybe, or just impatient—and then she’s kissing Jo again, pressing her back into the bed. And then she’s slotting a knee between Jo’s thighs, pressing down—not too much, not enough, but also just enough that Jo feels it everywhere. A slow-burning heat unfurls in her stomach, her breath stuttering against Paige’s lips.

Paige deepens the kiss more, her tongue sweeping against Jo’s in a way that makes her whole body tighten. Jo’s hands grip at Paige’s t-shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like she needs something to hold onto. Paige’s hands skim up Jo’s sides, light and teasing at first, the touch barely there. Jo kisses her harder, leaning into the way Paige’s fingertips trace just beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, like she’s seeing just how much she can get away with.

It’s then that her hands slip beneath Jo’s sweatshirt, palms pressing flat against her ribs, and Jo nearly gasps into her mouth. It’s striking, the contrast of Paige’s warm hands against the cool skin of her stomach, the feeling of Paige touching her like this, in a different way than ever before.

Jo sucks Paige’s tongue in her mouth, their teeth clashing just a little, making Paige groan. Paige’s hands reach up further—and then they’re cupping Jo’s tits.

It’s not careful, the way she does it. Not uncertain. Not hesitant in the way it might be with most people. No, it’s instinctive. It’s like Paige didn’t even think about it, like she just needed to do it, like it was inevitable. Jo stills, her breath stalling in her throat, because this is just a little more than “best friends who kiss.”

Paige must realize it too, because she also freezes Her breath fans warm against Jo’s lips, her forehead pressing against hers, both of them unmoving now. Paige’s hands are still beneath Jo’s sweatshirt, still there, and neither of them are saying anything, neither of them are pulling away.

Jo’s chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths. She can’t think straight, can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the way Paige feels against her, the way Paige’s hands feel on her.

Paige exhales, slow and a little shaky, murmuring, “We should probably stop, yeah?”

Jo’s head spins, her body still thrumming. But she nods, because she has to, even though every single nerve in her body wants to just keep going. “Yeah,” she breaths out. “Um. Yeah, we should.”

Paige stays still for another second, like she doesn’t want to move, like she’s debating whether she even can. But then she finally pulls her hands away, rolling off of Jo, onto her back beside her. Suddenly, Jo feels cold. Feels the absence of her immediately. But before she can even process that loss, Paige is tugging her right back in, wrapping a firm arm around her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies are flush together again.

Jo lets her. This is familiar territory. She turns into Paige, burying her face into her neck, gripping at the hem of her t-shirt. She feels Paige’s lips in her hair and Jo sighs, melting into her further.

This is fine. This is good. This is normal. And maybe it’s none of that, maybe it’s entirely new and bad. But Jo can’t find it in herself to care. Because being here, like this—she could get used to it.

[thefandomsfervent]

JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 26) -Rose Lake

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

Someone commented as a joke on Ao3 a while back that they hope the typical fanfiction author thing doesn’t happen to me but it did happen lol. I have a heart condition that got me real fucked up this past week and some other life things that prevented me from writing.

Admittedly I have lost steam with this story, it is one I still want to tell but I’m hitting a wall because of so many other ideas bouncing around! This is the end of part one while I work on maybe one - two other fics but I will return to this one. When I first started it I wanted it to span the whole show, i.e reader would be there for all parts of the show with very little canon divergence. I still want to do that but maybe not as in depth as I first imagined it. I feel like this will be a story I drop and pick up and come back to randomly once things are further established relationship wise between our three mains. 

Long story short, I’ll be taking a quick hiatus of maybe a month or so with this story, coming back for regular updates to establish more of the relationship, another hiatus, then after that it will be tidbit chapters for large canon events in the show. Sort of a “and then this” kind of situation. Thank you guys so much for your patience and support. Keep an eye out for the other stories set for between now and March <3 stay safe and hydrated out there. This is the end of part 1, Hiatus officially starts now <3

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It was finally here. The day of the Gala. And what a joyous occasion it was to be at the Academy for days like today. When the people bustling about in the halls had smiles and were tittering with excitement. “Not a care in the world for personal space or expediency.” Some part of himself did truly enjoy the liveliness it brought to the faces of his peers. But another, more pressing and bitter, part of Viktor was growing more and more frustrated with how crowded the halls had become. Caterers, assistants, movers, florists, and more had joined the usual foot traffic. 

This usually would not have been a problem. Perks of having a lab so deep into the Academy walls and a room that was close to it. But today was not just Gala day. It was return every overdue book day. It was talking with the council about more funding day. It was another day with another set of tasks to get done that only served to get in the way of things he actually wanted or needed to be doing. It was days like today where he did consider Heimerdinger’s offer for a Hextech assistant. Considering how quickly he and Jayce had warmed up to you he wondered if it wouldn’t be so bad, letting more people into their life, their dream. The kind thought interrupted by another person bumping into his side. A one-worded apology barely made it through the thrum of people and whoever it was wasn’t even visible to him by the time he looked up. 

When he finally returns to the lab to drop off the edited list of things that the council wanted done before they could “consider” funding the next leg of the project, Viktor doesn’t immediately notice the change. How the lab is quieter and colder than usual. After taking a moment to settle he can feel it. The difference. And the thought comes back, about having more people, about how quickly they had warmed up to you. And how you had been warm to them. In this past year there had been two people that had started to change his perspective on connections. They didn’t entirely need to be for some gained profit, not that he truly ascribed 

to that belief. But he did see many people in Piltover who did, felt like it was all he had met. 

There was also Heimerdinger, but as a Yordle the professor held lifetimes of knowledge and mannerisms that were indiscernible to most. But Jayce. But you. Had undeniably connected with him, had been kind. Perhaps that was just the kind of people that you were, and not because of him at all. Viktor knew how to play into charisma, how to snare people to get things done. Unfortunate games one had to play to make it anywhere really, Piltover and Zaun were not so different in that regard. Yet it was a game he did not like to play, it was tiring, and usually boring. Tonight’s gala would be full of that. Inventor’s older and younger than him from the Academy and elsewhere in this accursed city would be there. To flaunt themselves and their money and their oh so beloved progress. He had read the invitation, and despite it saying that it would be for the “brightest minds” of Piltover it would undoubtedly host too many prying eyes and greedy hands. 

Jayce had agreed with him that they would keep talk of Hextech to a minimum tonight, they had the Council's approval and funding. Limited, but it was given to them nonetheless. Something that many would do anything to get. Tonight would be purely for mingling on Jayce’s part and good drinks and food for Viktor. Although, the idea of seeing you there too was quite the incentive. When you had said you wanted to go it hadn’t immediately changed his mind about it. But when Jayce had pulled him into bed that night with convincing hands and words he’d been shown a new perspective. In all your time there, they hadn’t seen much of you out of the lab. Didn’t know what you were like outside of their stuffy uniforms and your paint stained clothes. 

He could admit to himself, and some nights to Jayce, that he did want to know more. To see more. Thoughts that not only bring heat under his skin but set his mind alight. You were good company, pleasant conversation, and had a driven core. These attributes may not seem like much to others meant a lot to him. Viktor doesn’t know when he made it to your station but he’s looking at your painting. 

He had been told that it can take years to do large paintings. Information he had heard in passing and had heard directly from you. The layering and glossing and glazing could be quite the lengthy process. It was hard to believe that when he had seen you crank out swathes of color so quickly. Overtime he understood, had watched you rub out section after section, going over areas with the tiniest brush for “highlights” and it had been interesting to see another person’s process.

Viktor can see the care you had for your craft in every brush stroke here. The paint was thicker in some finalized spots, where you had continuously layered and where you had let your brush texture be visible. You had let him touch it once, a section that was dried. Had shown him how to let his fingers drag lightly over the canvas to feel every smooth swipe and bump. It was an early morning, where you had stayed late in a burst of inspiration on the flowers bordering it and Viktor had been sticking to his usual schedule. He smiles at the memory. You had been blushing so heavily, the heat coming off of your skin in waves. Stuttering over your words when he had grazed your hand one too many times. It was flattering to see the effect he had on you. Viktor was no stranger to people’s attraction, but yours was so sweet. As if you didn’t know what to do with it. 

Something that he and Jayce had hoped to change tonight.

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Water rushed down your back as you lifted your arms to stretch under its heat. Scented soaps with their bubbled lathers rinsing off and pooling towards the drain. You watched as they swirled around it, eyes following a particularly big bubble before it popped. You had exfoliated, washed, shaved, lathered, rinsed, lathered, rinsed. If you didn’t get out now you’d be all pruney in the fingers, but the water was warm and you were avoiding getting ready. Despite all the nerves leading up to the Gala you were oddly calm today. Had cleaned and eaten and even folded laundry. But as soon as you started getting ready it was an odd dread that settled in your stomach. Excitement and anxiety always get confused the closer you got to whatever new event awaited you. Seems like today would be no different. 

The handle squeaks as you shut off the water, heavy drops of it hitting the tub as it slows. It’s a deep breath you take, lungs filling with the steam of the bathroom. The air was thick but it helps to calm your nerves. Tonight would likely be no different from any other gathering you’d been to since moving from Zaun. People talking to other people, taking up space and wasting words to fluff up their feathers and boost egos. Usually it didn’t bother you too much, you could just as easily blend into the wall as you could talk to other party-goers. It’s just that this time it wasn’t an even playing field. You were no scientist or inventor. At every gallery opening, exhibition talk, and art presentation you were an artist amongst artists. You could talk technique, influence, and materials with anyone there. Not tonight. 

You still weren’t sure if it was Mel’s doing that you were included in that invitation, hadn’t seen her to ask. Not that you would have. Doing so would imply that you took her parting words as if they had been directed to you. They had been. But admitting that your admiration of your other invitees was so obvious meant that they may have noticed it too. And that was not something you had the brain power to deal with right now. So you force your focus to be on getting ready. The towel is fluffy against your skin, still warm from when you had brought them inside from drying in the sun. You look to the window of your room, the sun still blazing that same ungodly summer heat. It makes you grateful that the Gala was set for the late evening, the sun would be setting just as people were to arrive. A strategic decision to not just curb the heat, but to make sure that all the gold filigree of the city, of the Academy, would be gleaming. 

Architecture was design, and design was intentional. Functionality aside, beauty and aesthetics reigned supreme in displaying power. You wonder if that was something anyone else had noticed, or if it was a design feature meant to wow people from outside Piltover. Another deep breath in, and then a fast exhale. You wouldn’t need much time to get ready, but you still had to do it. Nerves or not. Lotions, perfume, creams, powders. A routine to follow and to distract you. This could be fun, getting ready. Getting yourself together. The clock ticks on in your room, a steady clicking that fades into the background while you work. Twisting portions of your hair and pinning them in place, embellishing with thin rounded golden leaves. Wires that could be hidden and bent into place. It was a set you had bought many years ago for one of your first galleries. A staple in your wardrobe for nights like these. It matched other jewelry you’ve acquired over the years, bracelets and earrings and necklaces that you wore interchangeably but very rarely in the hopes that you could sell them later on in life with little damage to them. 

Tonight you chose long earrings, ones that dangled delicate berries down to your neck, almost to your shoulders. It had a matching necklace that you were able to weave some of the leaves around. The necklace was long and it pulled the eyes down to your chest. An expansive space of exposed skin, accentuated by the plunging neckline from your dress. A garnet red fabric, rich and soft against your skin. It crossed but opened in the back exposing your spine and dipped to your waist. It was a good dress, and had gotten you through a few different shows. The cut of it made it easy to reconfigure and reuse. You’d tailored it all sorts of ways in the past, adding and removing appliques and embellishments. Red filigree that clung around the edges where fabric met skin. It was a bit more form fitting than it was when you first bought it, age and time on both you and the dress. Despite the wear and tear you put it through, it held up. Quality fabric that took the needle and thread well, much different from the scraps you’d pieced together over and over again in Zaun.

There’s a tightness in your heart at that thought. What you’d give to be able to share this with the people that you had left there. Bitterness always visited these nights, that Piltover was a place that could have all this lavish life while Zaun had nothing. That you were part of Piltover now and fed into these ideals even if you didn’t agree with them. Bitterness and shame, staining your thoughts and your cheeks. Feelings that you have to tuck away for when the night is over. Being sad and nervous was a pitiful combination that you did not want lingering over your shoulder when you made it to the event hall. It’s all the way across the Academy, far from your provided room. Final touches and readjustments, further stalling the journey you’d have to make to get there. But eventually the clock face tells you it’s time to leave, hands pointing to numbers and urging you to the door. Uneasy clacking of your heels matches the heartbeat in your veins when you make it to the hallway. 

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The music could be heard well before you made it to the corner that would take you to the grand entrance of the hall. Laughter and instruments moving through the air almost tangibly, getting louder with every step you take. When you round the corner the doors are wide open letting you see into the first room. Everyone dressed in finery, groups mingling in cloisters and people smoothly shifting from one space to another. In front of the open entryway is a collection of enforcers, two flanking either side of the doors. Making their own conversations with each other and the attendees making their way past the podium. A very tall man stands behind it, a large open book in front of him and a fake smile stretching his cheeks with that same placating blank look of customer service behind his eyes. It’s a short walk up to him, your eyes moving between the crowd ahead and the decorations set all around you. 

“Welcome to the Innovator’s Gala,” his voice is smooth and charismatic, an energy that doesn’t reach the top half of his face. “Your name please?” You give it to him. He flips through a couple pages. A long pen tracing the length of the page before he finds yours. Tapping the pen to the page he waves you through. He barely gets through his goodbye to you before starting to greet the next guest “Have a lovely nigh- Welcome to the Innovator’s Gala.” With how many people already here, you wonder how long he’s been there. Saying the same script over and over again. One set of enforcers nods their heads in acknowledgment before continuing their conversation. You nod back as you walk through the doors. 

There was no real plan for tonight. Just to get here and at some point find Jayce and Viktor. The problem, you’re realizing, is that you never set a meeting place or time. You had all three agreed to come, to make an appearance. That may be all that they do, at the very least it may be all that Viktor does. It was no secret that this was not how he liked to spend his evenings. It meant that you would just have to bide your time and hope to see them. You make your way deeper into the room, pillars were decorated in their usual gold but added to that were various lengths of draping cloth. It filtered the lingering light coming in from the ceiling-tall windows. Caterers weaving through the groups with trays of finger foods and cocktails, carefully balancing the weights on golden trays. You’re offered morsel after morsel as you try to move to the next room, trying to find where the music is. 

A stage is set with several musicians, all playing their instruments. There are a few groups of people here. Some are at the tables and chairs set around the room’s border, some are coupled off closer to the center of the room swaying with the melody. You spy an open table, none of the seats were taken. It was early enough in the night that things weren’t too crowded, you could sit until things picked up. And you would have done that if a hand hadn’t dragged its way across your shoulders, quickly trailing down an arm to hold up your hand. You jump at the contact, going to pull away when a figure is in front of you. 

“Beautiful night isn’t it? What brings you here?” It’s a person you don’t recognize, some man with his hair gelled back and his suit sleeves rolled up. You try to pull your hand back to respond but he keeps a slight grip, nothing too tight but uncomfortable. A second tug and your hand is free. 

You keep your voice even, disinterested but polite. “An invitation, same as y-.” 

“Hmm, a fellow inventor then? Brains and Beauty, stellar combination.” A line you are sure he has used many times before. Something in his smile isn’t threatening, but annoying. Your eyes narrow at the interruption.

“Not an inventor. Just here to-” 

“To make connections then, an investor?” This night was going so well already, the familiar coiling of anger in your stomach. You try to step back and away, hoping to slip into the growing crowd but your back hits a warm wall.

“Persistent guy, aren’t you?” A voice you know speaks before you, big hands settling on your shoulders. “Little tip, if you’re trying to pick up a lady, let her finish her sentences.” You look up behind you, Jayce. The relief is immediate, a sigh and greeting following. 

“Sorry man, didn’t realize she was taken.” He turns on his heel walking away, finding a group of women nearby. The annoyance festers up almost immediately at not only a lack of acknowledgement to you but also the quickness in how he stalks off to find anyone else. Those poor ladies. You must not be able to hide the disgust on your face because Jayce’s laugh shakes you. And the implication of that man’s statement sinks in. Your bare back to Jayce’s front, his hands on your shoulders rubbing those soothing circles, your head leaning against his chest as you look up at him. His usual charismatic smile beaming down to you, the little gap in his front teeth barely visible behind his full lips. 

“Jayce, hi.” You peel away, trying to keep heat out of your face. Hard to do while maintaining eye contact. Harder to do when you feel the tips of his fingers drag gently on your skin as you turn to face him properly. 

“Hi yourself, hope it was okay that I stepped in there.” He’s nodding behind you, his arms now pressed behind his back while he talks to you. 

“Yes, well, I would have gotten to it if he’d let me speak.” You both give a soft chuckle at that. “But it certainly helped, thank you.” Your eyes dance around the room for a second before looking back at Jayce. He’s in a nice suit, white and gold, impossibly wide shoulders made wider by the cut of it. A red tie and textured black button up. Little hammer cufflinks, a detail that makes you smile before you note that he’s here alone. “Where’s Viktor? Did he change his mind?”

“Surprisingly, no. Actually he’s-” You go to follow his now raising arm, hand pointing behind you but Vitkor’s voice cuts in.

“It is good to see you. We were worried that it may be impossible if the night went on too long.” 

He and Jayce had made it to the Gala maybe all of thirty minutes before you, weaving their own way through the rooms of the event hall. Had made the same path as you, going to the entertainment room to find seating and less conversation. Although, it seems that they were luckier than you in that regard. It was not like he didn’t see what that man saw in you. You looked terrific tonight, and your scanning eyes and turning head gave you a deer-like look. Eyes wide as you looked around you, all alone and in that tantalizing red. Gold tastefully accenting you to make you look like some of Piltover’s finest. He had already pointed Jayce in your direction before you’d been circled, watching with annoyed interest at how the scene played out before him. 

Viktor won’t deny the feelings at seeing you be touched like that, not that it was necessarily his to feel yet. But just for you, at the indignation you had to feel when that man carelessly touched you, refused to let your hands go at first. At how you were continually interrupted. Though, it was amusing seeing Jayce pick up his pace trying to get over to you. And how it warmed his chest to see the two of you posed like that, you leaning into Jayce as though it was natural. He didn’t realize how flush your face was until he made his own way over. It was deliciously creeping down your neck, to your very exposed back. He can’t help the graze of a knuckle before unfurling his hand to press flat against your waist. Guising it as care, in part, it was. 

“Are you alright?” You were warm, jumping at the contact, a small gasp making its way out before you could stop it. His hand was cold but tender, softly becoming flush against you. Viktor gives you a nonchalant smile, one that looks like it was meant to comfort. But Jayce catches his gaze, knows exactly what he’s doing. Eyes dipping to where he can see Viktor’s hand disappear behind you. 

“Yes, thank you.” What was happening? What. Was. Happening. “You both look great, who knew the lab men had it in them.” You try to laugh but it is cut short when you feel Viktor’s hand trail up your spine, those lithe fingers pulling away. But not fully, fingertips barely grazing. A tingling feeling that makes you warmer in ways you don’t want to be feeling in this very public space. You take a small breath in to steel yourself. It lets you step away, to look at him and Jayce. Viktor’s in much darker attire, a deep brown vest instead of a suit top, a sleek form-fitting black button up below it. A jewel-toned red satin tie tucked into it. His cane was different, golden filigree starting from the handle and moving down. A cushion like handle where his hand rested, the same color as his tie.

“Could say the same about you, have a lot of these hidden away?” Was this flirting? Surely not. Was this just how they acted in places like this, when their focus wasn’t directly in front of them in the form of crystals and metals? Surely not. 

You almost don’t register Jayce’s question, not when he’s moving his hands from behind him. Those powerful arms straining in the sleeves of his suit jacket. “None that you guys will be seeing.” It’s a joke, you’d let them see anything. A shameful thought that you try to push back. A little skin to skin contact and suddenly you have no restraint. You laugh when he feigns being hurt. “Have you been here long? Securing investments?” The look on Viktor’s face is answer enough. His lip curled back in unfiltered disgust at the thought. This time it’s Jayce who laughs, reaching to pat Viktor’s shoulder. 

“Not tonight, tonight is about everything but that.” And he gives that smile again, so very bright and full of a kind of sweetness that lights his whole face. It’s a look that you see often, not really reserved for anyone but it’s hard to take the full power of it right at you. It makes you aware of how truly charming he is. Unwittingly or otherwise, Jayce could have any room eating out the palm of his hand. A contrast to the dark smooth energy that you caught from Viktor every now and again. The two of them here, being so careful looking out for you. And here you were, wanting to bask in their gazes. But not being able to truly enjoy it. 

Tonight was not the night for self-pity. As Jayce had said, tonight is about everything but that. “Well, why don’t I grab us some drinks and we can enjoy the music then.” You turn to the next room where the drink table had been when you feel an arm hook beneath yours. Viktor is by your side.

“You’ll need a guide back to our table. Besides, we -eh,  wouldn’t want you to get caught again.” His voice is low and close to your ear, for you to hear over the growing cacophony of people. And nothing else. It takes everything in you to face him, ignoring how close his face is to yours when you turn. 

“Didn’t realize I needed a chaperone tonight.” You had no idea what you were doing, this was completely out of your element. They were your friends. Every moment of tonight was a lovely sort of torture you would think of often. 

“In that dress you’ll need a lot more than a chaperone. You look exquisite.” A new voice joins the conversation and Viktor pulls away. 

“Mel! I didn’t think I’d get to see you tonight.” It’s a wide smile you give her. She was in a beautiful ivory pantsuit, perfectly cinched in all the right places, elongating all her limbs for powerful elegance. Long sheer paneling on her shoulders that would billow behind her with every step, that were currently settling by her legs. They fluttered with every step of the people around her, as if the air itself wanted to curl and caress around her. She was an artist like you, and you know that every decision she made tonight was to exude power and allure. And it was working. 

“I hope you boys don’t mind if I steal her for a moment.” She extends a hand towards you, like a goddess beckoning a follower. “She’ll be back safe and sound, I assure you.”  Viktor is giving her a polite smile, but the lines around his eyes are tight. Jayce is nodding along to both you and Mel when you give him and Viktor a wave. Mel’s hand is soft in yours as she pulls you away. They wait until both of your backs disappear into the crowd before speaking. 

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you Vik.” He tucks a piece of Viktor’s hair behind an ear, letting his hand linger on the side of his neck. 

“Morbid curiosity is more like it. I think that she could just as easily sweep Y/N off her feet as either of us if we aren’t careful.” 

“You worry too much.” Jayce is laughing as he tries to get both of them back to their table.

“And you are too easy to please. I bet you would love to see the two of them together.” Viktor takes Jayce’s arm in his as he walks forward. A teasing lilt and glow in his eyes. 

“And you wouldn’t?” He leans in at that, having to stoop his head down to reach Viktor’s ear. “Two gorgeous women together doesn’t do anything to that brilliant mind of yours?” He makes sure that his lips brush the shell, delighted at the slight change in grip he feels on his forearm. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” But it will pull a smile out from him as they sit and await your return. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“Where is Elora?” You’d reached the drink table awhile ago, trying to ignore all the new attention that was being directed to you in Mel Medarda’s presence. Gazes that looked at you both with all sorts of intentions. 

“She isn’t always by my side you know.” A small airy laugh as Mel grabs a glass of some amber liquid. A drink that was likely strong and expensive. “But she is around here somewhere, enjoying the festivities I’m sure.” She waves her hand at that, fingers wiggling around her glass. “Have you had the opportunity to speak to them about advertising?”

“Yes! No? Well-”, she cocks her brow at that. “I brought it up to them, that if they needed anything in that regard to let me know. Which they agree to, but I don’t think-”

“Good, that’s good.” Her voice like honey and she smiles at you. Under her gaze anyone could feel small or grand, her will could make either happen instantly. “We’ll keep that in mind as they continue their progress. Speaking of which,” she pauses to hand you a glass of your own. 

“Oh I don’t think-” it’s not that you don’t drink, but tonight you needed to be aware of yourself. Self-control was already slipping as it was and now that people had seen you with a Councilor you didn’t want to be caught lacking in any way. 

“And here I thought you being here meant that you weren’t afraid of a challenge.” She’s teasing, you can tell that much. That she wouldn’t make you take a drink. Still, you find your fingers wrapping around the offered glass. You could just hold onto it, pass it off to Viktor or Jayce when you got to their table. 

“I didn’t realize that there was one.” 

“Don’t play coy now, you’ve encountered enough wolves tonight to know that being here is a statement on its own.” Mel nods to someone passing by, raising her hand and smiling to another. 

You laugh, “It was one overzealous guy.” You reach to grab another glass, a champagne for Jayce.

“You’re very sweet, but he’s not who I’m talking about.” Green eyes gleaming over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip. The recognition she’s looking for in your face must not appear because her eyes widen in understanding. Then narrow in amusement. 

“Careful dear, or they’ll eat you alive tonight.” She reaches out, perfectly manicured hand patting your cheek. She grins at your immediate flush. “If they don't, someone will surely try to stake a claim. You’re ripe for the picking.” Her thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek before pulling away. She trades her empty drink for a whiskey glass and gestures for you to move. “Why don’t we head back, don’t want to keep them waiting too long do we?”

The walk back to your table is too quick, not enough to process all that has happened tonight. If one more out-of-reach attractive person touched you flirtatiously you were going to explode actually. And you are certain that whatever blush Mel had inspired is only brighter when you make it there. Still, you made it back. Placing both of the drinks you’re holding onto the table you seat yourself. 

“Lovely company as always, you all have a fun night.” She places the whiskey by Viktor before turning. 

“Not joining us?” Jayce asks, a look over her shoulder in his direction. 

“Wouldn’t want to interrupt any plans.” Her knowing eyes shift to you, and you want to sink into yourself. And with that she leaves the three of you. The clink of glasses pulls your attention, and you see Jayce and Viktor raising their glasses together, prompting you to do the same. Jayce says some cheer as the three glasses come together, it’s barely audible over the rush in your ears and the music behind you. It was going to be a long night.  

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

--.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 25.-Next Part will be linked here.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .--

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

thanks again for all the love and patience this story has gotten, it has inspired me to write more. And I do want to write more for this story, it'll just be a minute.

[ghost-of-you]

When you've been out of social media for so long that your profile is linking to 2 songs you're NOT EVEN PLAYING IN YOUR NEW TOUR

[adrift-in-thyme]

Ok if I scream about nothing else I have to scream about this

It’s the quote!! THE QUOTE AAAAAHHHH

Credit to @linkeduniverse

[inkedlove]

so frustrating when you wanna be someone's friend and they just are not cooperating. I'M INTERESTED IN YOU AS A PERSON. PLEASE INTERACT WITH ME.

[cleolinda]

AITA for banning my husband and father in law from the delivery room due to their intensely stressful/creepy behavior during my pregnancy?

There’s a famous Reddit post from 2020 where a pregnant woman wrote that her husband and father-in-law were a little too comfortable with their certainty that she was absolutely going to die in childbirth just like her husband’s late mother. It was to the point where her FIL was insisting that she go ahead and put all her clothes into storage, because she was obviously going to die in the hospital and it would save them the grief of packing up her things afterwards. Like. It was WILD.

When I tell my husband [that she feels suspicious of her FIL], he calls me paranoid, but I feel like my FIL WANTS me to die; his whole life identity for the past 35 years has been “amazing single dad” (never dated or had close friends or even hobbies really), and it seems like he’s looking forward to being able to guide my husband through what he went through. At this point, I’d honestly be happy to never see my FIL again, and I certainly don’t want him in the delivery room, especially since he told me he was “putting [his] foot down” about me not being “allowed” to have an epidural…. My husband, in addition to backing his dad on everything, acts like my due date is my death date, and has completely pulled away from me.

The commenters (and me, honestly) were convinced that the husband and FIL were either going to kill her outright to fulfill this expectation, or just make decisions about her care that might conveniently let her die.

And then she never posted again.

Over the last four years, people have frequently mentioned that post, always leading to a thread of people saying, “Oh god, I still worry about that woman.” I did too. It became one of those famous unresolved posts that people always wondered about.

Until yesterday, when someone on r/BestOfRedditorUpdates dug up a 2022 update she had posted on a different account:

TLDR; I had a beautiful and healthy baby girl, and I divorced my ex-husband. I lived, obviously.

She writes that she put her foot down about having her own mother in the delivery room rather than her FIL (!), and she WOULD be getting an epidural. Her husband lost his shit. And in his outburst, he let slip--

I admittedly lost my temper, and told him that I wasn’t going to die- it wasn’t my fault his father’s trauma wormed it’s way into his head, and that he needed to fix it without taking it out on me. He yelled at me that he didn’t need therapy. That caught me a little off guard; I asked him why he went to his therapist and was given advice about my death if he felt he didn’t need it. His expression gave it away, and he caved not long after. It turns out there was no therapist. It was just his dad. During the times he was supposed to be at therapy, he was with his dad. I’m still fuming.

And that was when she got the fuck out.

I’ll wrap this up- I’ve got an adorable little toddler tugging at my leg atm. I’m alive, I’m happy, and I’ve got my baby in my arms. Life is good.

I truly never thought we'd see a resolution to this, and I feel like there's probably a good number of people who remember it, so I thought you might want to know.

ETA: Brilliantly, I put the link in at the top; here it is again for convenience.

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Masterpost and Prologue

dead on main fic, intro + four chapters.

Summary: The Red Hood starts off his righteous campaign with a lot of nerve but no legal identification that will let him behind the wheel of a car. Public transportation really doesn't have the panache he needs to start off as a fearsome crime lord, so he needs a driver. He finds Danny Fenton, a grungly college student trying not to be noticed by any government agencies or vigilantes.

to subscribe to this post, on mobile open the notes and click the bell on the upper right hand corner of the post. on desktop, open the notes at the bottom and press the bell on the right edge of the notes.

Links will be added to chapter list as the story posts. Chapter one will go up on July 14th. Updates are approximately every other day.

LINKS/ chapter count

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

prologue

“No, Habibi,” Talia said calmly into the phone. “I will not falsify you an American non-commercial driver's license for motor vehicles. If you cannot prove yourself to Gotham without American motor vehicle operating permissions, you will never prove yourself. Rise above this challenge.” Talia covered the phone for a second but he could hear her talking to someone else about tile options.

“It's an unnecessary challenge,” Jason argued, doing his level best not to let his tone go up. It was undignified to whine. He was a man now. “The important parts of the challenge are the tactical planning and the skills.”

Talia sounded like she was filing her nails. “Tactically plan to take the bus. Or walk. Walking is free and healthy.” 

Jason made an indignant sound but she mercilessly hung up. The worst! She made the top three of his worst mother figures, easily.

“She's just doing this so I can't go drinking.” He scowled into the air. “I don't even want to!” His voice broke mid whine, which was an insult to add to all the injuries visited upon him by the cruel whims of women who weren't even his legal guardian. He was an adult in most countries!

The worst part was that Talia didn't care about underage drinking. She just didn't want to hear shit about enabling him from Bruce when he eventually figured out that Jason was alive, 19, and in Gotham. His passport claimed he was 21 because it had to for him to travel alone, but she knew damn well no one used their passport as ID in bars. 

He couldn't just go get a license. Jason sulked viciously and threw himself into fixing his plans to accommodate for this. 

He was legally dead and living under a fake name. If he tried to sign up for the driving exam, it'd be too much scrutiny on his paperwork. But he was not taking the bus around as a crime lord. It lacked panache. More importantly, it didn't go where he wanted it to go.

Fine. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anyone's help. He just needed to download Uber. 

That was how Jason wound up wiping a mob lieutenant’s blood off of his hand onto his pants so that he could use the guy's touch screen phone. Victor Woodward's account put in a request for a ride to the Gotham police headquarters. He killed time kicking ass in all the Words with Friends games that Victor had ongoing, which was really gonna surprise anyone who normally played with that boob. Victor’s last ever play was ‘cat,’ for fuck’s sake.

A few minutes later, a skinny teenager pulled up in his clanker and opened the door. Jason put on a smile and hefted his duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder. 

“Hi! Victor?” The guy, Danny, waved his phone at Jason.

“That's me!” Jason lied breezily. “Can I put this in the trunk?” 

“Go for it.” Danny popped the trunk open from inside the car. He watched Jason with his big blue doe eyes.

For an instant, Jason thought that Danny might have seen something. Paranoia reared up. Was there blood visible? Was it easy to tell that the shapes in the bag were heads?”

The moment passed. Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.” 

Jason got in the car and let satisfaction wash over his body as the weirdly timid kid pulled them out into traffic at a snail’s pace. Whatever. They wouldn’t get stopped for a traffic violation when the driver was cautious.

He’d done it. His debut as the terrifying Red Hood, hunter of the wicked and bane of the Batman, was launched. And he didn’t need a license to do it.

[cvnntagious]

˗ˏˋ pornstar!chris films with someone new ‧₊˚

꒰part two ✩꒱ (coming soon)

creeping into chris' condo as quiet as possible with a wrapped gift in hand, a large smile took up most of your face at the thought of him opening it. though, the more you explored the area, the more discouraged you got before eventually giving up with a loud sigh at the realization that he wasn't home. but then, where was he? he always told you when he was going to be out, but today? he didn't even so much as leave you a text.

if not for chris updating you on his whereabouts becoming routine, you truthfully would've thought nothing of his sudden absence, but with a confused look on your face, you found yourself setting his christmas present on the coffee table in front of you to plop down onto his couch. you slipped your phone out of your back pocket, instantly typing away at it.

it was simple and straight to the point, leaving no room for confusion; you'd never been the type to beat around the bush. you weren't upset, really—more like confused, is all. and you waited. sitting idly on his couch as you waited for that little 'delivered' alert to turn into 'read'.

it didn't.

not for a while, at least. you ended up leaving his house only about half an hour after you sent the message, seeing no reason in just sitting there overthinking it. but you still did. going on about your day, trying to distract yourself from that nagging voice in the back of your brain that whispered 'where's chris at? what's he doing?' and 'you're not special. he got bored of you, silly,' at any moment you weren't occupying your mind with something else.

you knew you were probably overreacting; being dramatic in a way chris wouldn't like if he could hear your thoughts. i mean, it's not even like you'd be that upset if he had gotten tired of you. he was only some good dick and a person to keep you company... every single day for the past month. shit, you needed to know. picking up your phone in a swift motion as you now sat on your own couch, having tried to watch a show as means to keep your mind off chris, you checked your notifications in hopes that you'd missed his text.

but something new caught your eye.

a notification from chris' twitter, far different than anything you'd imagined throughout the day. of course you clicked it, a small breath of relief coming from you as you'd immediately told yourself he must've been busy with his executives. oh, he was busy alright.

your eyebrows raised at the sight before you: a short clip of chris plowing into some blonde with big tits, her moaning and whining in such a forced way. he was grabbing and squeezing at them. i mean, shit, he wasn’t even a boobs guy. it was so unlike him, completely disregarding his original intent for his content—keep it authentic. the caption only contained the hub link, telling his fans to watch the full video there.

dread sounds about right. a look of dread spread across your face, as if you'd just witnessed your worst fear. except it wasn't your worst fear. at least you didn't think it was, until now.

without thinking, you found yourself in chris' messages again, seeing the 'delivered' alert still there like a taunt. it was a slap in the face, really. not even the fact that he'd went and filmed with someone else, but the way he'd so clearly purposely failed to give you any type of warning.

once you'd sent the message, seeing the little text below your blue message change to 'read' instantly, it all suddenly felt pointless — all the worrying throughout the day, the dread you felt when you watched the short clip chris posted, the hurt when you saw he ignored your message, and now, even the message you literally just sent to him.

w/c : 645

a/n : i'm gonna try to bust these out the best i can, but y'all might have to bare w me cs i'm proly the worlds slowest writer... this may overlap with the au calendar as well, so to be clear, this isn't my priority. if i have to postpone parts of this to keep up with the prompts, i will. that being said, hope you guys enjoy my first multi-part tumblr fic <3.

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

[revasserium]

roronoa zoro; 21,051 words (not including epilogue), fluff and angst, ENEMIES!!! to lovers, the slowest of slow burns, canon-normal violence, on-page description of injury, excessive use of flashbacks, some banter, healing from trauma, baroque works!reader to strawhat!reader, no "y/n", emotionally constipated!zoro, hurt and comfort, angst with a happy ending; (epilogue tags will be posted separately)

summary: in which neither you nor zoro are the children you remember each other to be.

update: new chapters will be posted on @shouyuus!!!

a/n: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! i honestly cannot believe i actually finished writing this lmfao. but anyway, this post will act as a table of contents/masterlist of sorts, and i will update links to the separate chapters as they go up. chapters will be posted every few days (but they are all done! except for the epilogue LOL). i've tagged everyone who has req-ed to be tagged in this series so far on this prologue post, but if you wish to be tagged for the upcoming chapters and you're not already on this fics specific taglist, please comment below to be added! and without further ado -- here we go!

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: someone, somewhere

chapter one: a shadow of the past

chapter two: tell no tales

chapter three: sleep of the living, dreams of the dead

chapter four: another life

chapter five: true love's kiss

epilogue: la petite mort (nsfw)

prologue: someone, somewhere

He remembers you most as a child, in halcyon images and gold-limned flashes of his own childhood memories, the edges blurring watercolor soft, but the center (always you) carved in knife-sharp relief.

You were one of the few children that lived in Shimotsuki Village who hadn’t come from the doujou — one of the few children he knew that (at least to the best of his knowledge) had a thing called family. A mother to braid your hair, a father to chase the darkness away, a warm bed and a kitchen that always smelled of freshly made rice. And perhaps it was jealousy, or some other more complicated emotion that had been then too big to name with one single word, but he’d never gone out of his way to befriend you like the other kids from the doujou did — fascinated as they were by your soft hands and round cheeks and the bright, glittering array of homemade sweets you’d bring with you once every couple of weeks.

He’d learn later on that it was because Shimotsuki-sensei had saved your father’s life at some point in time; the story now lost to the annals of legend and withering memory, but back then, he’d only assumed it was the natural way of things. Of waking up for kata practice and then settling in for lunch, and then maybe, if it was to be a good day, you, with your basket of sweets and your blue-bell laughter.

And perhaps this is why, years later, when he meets you again in a dark, nameless village tavern, he doesn’t recognize you — not at first. Because you’d looked so different. Gone was the roundness in your cheeks, or the natural star-bright light in your eyes. Gone, too, were the bright braids that your hair had always been set in — he remembers so clearly, watching the other boys from the doujou jab their fingers into the rings of your pinned up braids, pulling down just to hear you squeak. He hadn’t said anything then, stupidly thinking him above it all, watching as you tried to jerk away, but laughing when the boys finally relented with half-hearted apologies.

You always threatened to take their sweets away; you never did, in the end.

But there, then, in that tiny tavern, you’d been thin, your hair dark as an oil spill, loose and inky as it cascades over your shoulders, your eyes lightless as the windows to an abandoned house — the hollowness made all the more visceral by the light he knew once inhabited them. The way loneliness is always more potent when coming back to it, the second time around.

He wanders up to the bar, slates you a glance before rapping his knuckles on the worn wood to catch the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have beer and a refill of whatever the lady’s having.”

You shift slightly, shoulders hunching towards your ears.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say, shifting to shield your face from his gaze.

Zoro cocks his head, tossing a few Berry towards the bartender as they set down a stein of beer and a champagne flute to replace the one in front of you.

“Can’t a guy buy a girl a drink?” Zoro asks, rolling his shoulders as he reaches out for his beer. You eye him warily.

“Not for a guy that’s been tracking me for three weeks straight.”

Zoro hums, thumb poised on the hilt of his swords.

“We just happened to be going in the same direction.”

You reach out to run a forefinger along the rim of the thin champagne flute before swirling it once by the base. You watch the bubbles fizzle before leaning in to take a dainty sip.

“And they say chivalry is dead…” you murmur, almost too softly for him to hear. Zoro scoffs, allowing himself a twinge of a smirk before his mouth falls flat.

“You let me track you for three whole weeks.”

There’s no question in his words, only a harsh, accusatory certainty.

You lick your lips, leaning back in your stool, tugging your glass of champagne with you.

“Maybe I wanted the company.”

“Or maybe… you wanted me to follow you here.”

Every muscle in his body is tense, drawn taut as a tightrope, coiled tight as a spring.

You sigh, twisting a single lock of your hair around a finger, examining the ends as if looking for split hairs.

Then, quick as a flash, you’re at each other’s throats — him with a sword poised at your jugular, you with a knife pressed against his stomach.

“One move —” you warn, digging the knife slightly further into his skin. Distinctly, Zoro feels the pressure slice through his thick linen shirt, the cool kiss of the blade against his abdomen. And he’s killed enough by now to know that you’ve picked a major artery — one that would hurt, and take minutes for him bleed out. Just long enough for him to suffer, but not enough to get help.

The edge of his mouth ticks upward — not bad.

It’s then, in the infinitesimal flicker of your eyes meeting his, that he realizes who you are.

He nearly topples back, jerking away slightly with the revelation. Your eyes go wide, jolted by his sudden movement. But he’s quick enough to evade the sharp jab of your knife and a second later, you’re on either ends of the tavern, drawn blades and bared teeth.

“Y-you!” the word rips from Zoro like an unripe scab, thick and hard and still bloody underneath.

You lick your lips, eyes narrowing to slits beneath your long, lanky hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t.”

“Oi! No fighting in the bar!” the barkeep’s voice is gruff and loud, and for a second, Zoro wonders if you’ll listen. The next, the sharp clang of metal on metal stuns him backwards a few steps as you wrest your knives from between two of his katanas, snarling.

“If you’re so much of a gentleman — let’s take this outside.”

“Ladies first,” Zoro spits out as he whips both swords through the air before sheathing them. He makes a show of holding the tavern door for you as you stalk out in front of him, your hackles raised, your knives jutting out from your belt like so many pairs of sharpened claws.

“What do you want?” you ask, as soon as you’re both out of the bar and standing in the moonlit street outside, the wharf to your left, the strip of small, rundown taverns to your right.

The air twangs with the metallic smell of fish and the thick, oppressive sweetness of rotting wood.

“An explanation,” Zoro says, crossing his arms and planting his feet.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Zoro nods, “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know.”

You lick your lips, glaring at him for a second longer before turning and marching down the rickety boardwalk. A moment later, Zoro levels himself with you as you round a corner onto a small stretch of beach, pillowed against a backdrop of sharp, unrelenting rocks, the tips bleached white by the round, silver moon.

“There was a beach just like this,” you say, stepping onto the tide-soaked sand, leaning down to pick up a fragment of a broken seashell, washed ashore by an errant wave.

It takes Zoro a second to realize you’re talking about Shimotsuki village, and the tiny little beach on the other side of the dense, cedar wood.

“Yeah. A bunch of us used to play there — see who can throw rocks out the furthest.”

“You were always the best at that,” you say, your voice softer than he’d heard all night.

“Yeah, well…” Zoro shrugs, leaning down to pick up a piece of rock, weighing it in his palm a few times before whipping his arm back to snap it into the gentle, shushing waves. You both watch as the rock skids out over the water before plunking into the sea, “Guess I’ve always been kind of a show-off.”

The sound of your laughter sends summertime sparklers racing up his spine.

The quiet pools between you like spilt blood, rank and dripping.

“So. You go by Ms. Double Nines now, I heard,” Zoro says, in a flagging attempt to be casual as he turns to glance at you, both his hands resting on the hilt of his swords.

You stand next to him, your eyes focused on a point far out on the horizon, still as statue.

“What’s it to you?”

Zoro sighs, looking down. In the pale, cool moonlight, his earrings glint like baring teeth.

“What happened?”

You suck in a breath.

"Life happened,” you say, turning back towards him with a steely glint in your eyes. Zoro stiffens, his grip tightening on his swords as he sizes you up. He does the mental calculations — you’re just far enough for him to defend against an attack, but close enough where if things were to go south entirely, he’d have a hard time getting back to safety.

You grin, seemingly noticing his rough internal calculations.

“Do yourself a favor, Roronoa — and don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answers to,” you say, flicking out one of your blades and tossing it up into the air, only to catch it around your finger, swinging it round and round, the sharp edge of the blade nicking the air just shy of your cheekbone.

“Who said I didn’t want to know?” Zoro presses, bracing himself for a fight.

You chuckle, the sound harsh and mirthless.

“If you’d wanted to fight me properly, you wouldn’t have waited till I got you onto this stretch of deserted beach.”

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to kill you.”

“Or maybe…” your voice is so low Zoro almost doesn’t catch the stomach-wrenching longing in your words, “I just wanted a quiet place to die.”

The sharp shink of blades being drawn is heart-rendingly familiar, but the bone-rattling clash of metal on metal still shakes him to the roots of his teeth. Zoro grunts as he parries a blow from either side, before crossing his swords to catch your assault down the center.

You’re fast, he’ll give you that, your body smaller and quicker. You slip through the shadows with the comfort of a person who knows nothing but and he can’t help wondering at the life you’ve led that had pushed you to this point.

To having a mark on your back, a bounty on your head.

You’re a good fighter — this much, he acknowledges. But good isn’t usually good enough to best him. This much, he also knows. Yet somehow, you’re keeping up, somehow, you’re pushing him back, forcing him to retreat one step and then another. It’s not until you duck beneath one of his pin-wheeling blades and force yourself into a knife’s-breath of his space that he realizes — it isn’t that you’re good, it’s that you’re reckless.

Reckless with your own body in a way that makes him stumble back at the realization. Reckless, in the way you charge forward and thrust your body into spaces where he’d easily be able to slip a blade between your ribs — and later, when he’s wiping his swords clean of your oxidizing blood, he’d wonder why he didn’t.

Still, there’s something terrifying in the way you barely flinch when he knicks your arm, drawing a dark line of blood through your clothes, or how you jerk yourself forward when the tip of his sword catches your stomach, almost as if daring him to impale you in one fell swoop.

“You — you used to be… someone else,” he says, panting as he steadies himself against a sharp jut of moonlit rocks. Behind you, the ocean churns, dark and foaming as it throws itself onto the jagged reefs.

You lick your lips, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek. Your chest heaves with the exertion, but there’s a pale, flickering ache behind your eyes that sets Zoro’s whole body on edge.

He shivers as you grin, savage and unrecognizable as the tiny girl with mochi-round cheeks who had once upon a time offered him sweets in a hand-woven basket.

“Yeah? Well — so did you.”

TAGLIST: @brairslair @msheds0519 @yunabelless @lynndt-chocolate @lostonthrillerbark @stunies @tsumu-senpai @phroggii @ssailormoonnn @breathinginyoursmoke @guridoodles @kyllium @naomihatake @itoshiexx @mythicallystupid @mars-mizuko @astroniii @crispynutella @enhastolemyheart @fanficwriter101 @jamesbparker @dira333 @weirdowithaphone @ink-perfect

[ma1dita]

partners in crime

luke castellan x fem!dionysus!reader [the trouble!verse]

MAIN SERIES MASTERPOST

summary: few things are certain in this life as a demigod, but one thing is for sure— you can’t fight fate when it pulls you and luke castellan together, over and over again. two young people who hate the gods are more like them than they think, for better or worse. annoyances to best friends to lovers

things to know: dionysus!reader's nickname is trouble & most of these can be read as standalones!

here's a playlist (spotify & apple music links now available!)

child of dionysus headcanons!

trouble!verse moodboard 1 & moodboard 2 & college!trouble by the lovely @24kmar

deleted scenes from a different universe (AUs)

play the extended cuts (blurbs from in-between)

character study: luke castellan & trouble

any works, updates, thoughts, musings, etc about this series will be tagged under #trouble!verse !

key: fluff - ☼ angst - ☽ smut - ☆ jo's favorites - ᥫ᭡

[rewind to before] pre-established relationship

trouble always finds me (trouble!reader origin story) 1.7k ☼

The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. (You're an annoyance, but not an enemy)

entropy 3.6k☼

The one where you both blur the lines between annoyance and admiration. (the promise of becoming partners in crime)

buddy system 4.2k ☼

The one where he comes with you to rescue your younger twin brothers, Pollux & Castor. (this is as close to a real quest that Mr. D will give you--might as well take someone you trust!)

somebody's angel 4.4k ☽

The one where you convince him he’s pretty, even with a scar. (songfic - Die Alone - Finneas)

feed the fire 1.2k ☼

The one where his focus is not on spilled food, but on you. (Luke realizes this is more than playful banter)

bedtime stories 2.4k ☼

The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don’t mind at all. (the both of you have feelings you want to admit, but duty calls!)

crazy little thing 3.4k ☼

The one where he uses all his drachmas to make you smile on Valentine's Day. (the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite, sometimes)

anything you want 1.6k ☼

The one where you and him have your first kiss. (You've always loved teaching the story of Orpheus and Eurydice; except when your Orpheus runs away from you)

said he likes crazy 2.1k ☼ ☽

The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's avoided you since your first kiss. (For being a son of Hermes, he has a way of calming your nerves)

[pause and remember us like this] established relationship

play pretend 5.1k ☼

The one where Mr. D catches you two in the act, but you and him aren’t exactly together yet. (Drunk words are sober thoughts. Your dad just wishes Luke told you instead of him)

a wish your heart makes 1.4k ☼ ☽

The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. (The dryads will probably ban you from the kitchen after this)

star crossing 4k ☼

The one where both your dreams come to life for a night (Crossing the stars for love is easier said than done)

to see the chaos through 4k ☼☽

The one where he remembers he was never a good guy, just yours. (Luke makes the ultimate deal with the devil in order to save you)

not your goddess 8k ☽

The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. (songfic - Goddess - Laufey)

don't blame the kids 7.6k ☼

The one where you both chaperone a trip to Mount Olympus. (the Olympians are bigger gossips than you thought they'd be)

trouble's coming for you 3.7k ☼

The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. (three times Percy is oblivious (and in the way) and the time he realizes you and Luke are in love)

now that we're older 3.5k ☼

The one where he asks if you can stay the night even if all of cabin 11 makes fun of him. (Luke is tired of the routine. He just needs his girl)

if you need to be mean (be mean to me) 1.5k☽

The one where he leaves before you wake up. (songfic - I Don't Smoke - Mitski )

[fast forward until we meet again] post-tlt

lovers, or partners in crime 2.1k ☽

The one where Annabeth and Percy think you’re guilty too. (the last day leading up to Luke's betrayal)

love like a blister: the five stages of loving losing luke 4.7k ☽

The one where you learn to mourn someone even if they’re still alive. (the five stages of grief after facing a loss)

to catch a thief 3.7k ☼ ☽

The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. (Your reunion with Luke isn't quite what you expected.)

solipsism 5.3k ☽

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. (the four times Luke uses Backbiter to visit you during college ft. the first time you trust a god to help you)

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves 4.3k ☼ ☽

The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him)

love me dry 4.5k ☼ ☽

The one where he meets you at his mother's house, though both of you didn't expect the other to be there. (a glimpse into May Castellan's idea of a perfect day)

when the curtains close 5.3k☽

The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Annabeth and Pollux find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.)

asking for trouble 7.8k (NEWEST ADD) ☽

The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all)

as above, so below ☽ ☼

The one where you plead your case with the gods of Olympus. (The one thing the fates didn't expect was how much you'd both be like your fathers; in a way, you and Luke didn't see it coming either)

ask to be added to luke/general taglist 🥹

[pseudowho]

Okay, hiiii, hello there, your Papamin writings are awesome and literally healed my depression?? They're so wholesome and cozy it gives me funny fuzzy feeling in my chest, thank you so much.

I'm so pleased you love them! I've been having a lot of fun doing them, usually just as they pop into my head. I'll keep writing them, as and when they occur to me.

In case anyone wants to read any of the Haitch's Nanami x Reader & Yuuji Papamin series, I've linked them below.

I'll keep this post as the Master link for the Papamin/Yuuji series, and update it regularly.

Haitch's Nanami x Reader & Yuuji Papamin Masterlist

Updated: 2nd January 2025

Requests considered.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Fathers Day -- Yuuji tries to buy Kento lunch, and Kento misses the point. Papamin x Reader.

Disappointed -- Yuuji puts himself in danger, and Kento chastises him for his poor decisions. Papamin x Reader.

Con-Artist -- Kento has plans for the summer vacation- not that he'll tell Yuuji about them. Papamin x Reader, conning a teenager together.

Conbini -- Itadori Yuuji didn't like Kento, at first.

Next of Kin (feat. Bonus Papa Higuruma) -- Yuuji is arrested on a mission, and Kento calls a friend to help bail him out. Papamin x Reader, feat. Higuruma Hiromi.

Shaving Lessons -- Kento teaches Yuuji to shave. Papamin x Reader.

Not-Father -- Kento tries to hide his care of Yuuji from his new girlfriend. His girlfriend shows Kento exactly what she thinks of that. Papamin x Reader.

Playtime Heroes -- Kento tries to rescue you from your daughter after a long week...so Yuuji rescues him.

Simp -- Yuuji calls Kento a simp, so Kento shows him what it means to truly love someone.

Millennials -- you and Kento are thrown by Yuuji's Gen Z vernacular, so clap back hard.

First Impressions -- Yuuji needs to make sure he's getting off on the right foot, the first time he meets a new member of the Nanami family.

The Talk -- Yuuji has a date...so Kento gives him 'the talk'.

Bunny and Bear-- things go bump in the night in the Nanami household. Feat!Big Brother Yuuji.

Clutch Hitter/Baby Driver-- Itadori Yuuji can't drive...until it's an emergency. Feat! Driving Lessons with Nanami Kento and Reader.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[the-californicationist]

The Window (6 of 7)

Ch 01 // Ch 02 // Ch 03 // Ch 04 // Ch 05 // Ch 06 // Ch 07

AO3 Link

TW: lactation kink

The house is lonely without your boys, especially when your breasts are so full and achy. If only there was someone home to help you…

You settled into the house almost too quickly. You each had your own space, but the main bedroom was where you all spent most of your time. The bedroom was huge — one of the reasons John had picked this house — and the en suite bathroom could more than accommodate all five of you, if need be. But, when the boys were away, the sprawling, expansive house was… lonely. 

They tried to leave you in shifts, but it wasn’t like they were logging hours at a normal job; it was war. War didn’t have a schedule. So, you padded around the house, trying to play some music or keep the television on, but it wasn’t the same. It was just you and… who? 

You’d asked the doctor not to tell you the sex of your baby at your ultrasound appointment, and none of the potential fathers had been around to go with you. So, you were in the dark. You’d thought about names, and Johnny had offered a good many family names to keep you busy for a while. But, even though you had plenty to think about and plenty to do – you were still working remote on recon and data tracking – it was just an empty sort of existence. 

To make matters worse, you’d hit a bit of a snare. Right at the sixteen week mark, you’d started leaking more than just a little milk. You’d woken up to a wet, messy situation, and you quickly scheduled an appointment. The doctor had taken some time to assure you all was well, but then, not even a week later, you had swollen, painful blockages and you were back in his office, waiting for more news. 

“Looks like you just have tiny ducts,” he shrugged, looking at your scans. His hands were dry but chilly as he peeked under your hospital robe to examine your sore nipples, “You may need to express them. I know it may put you at risk of an early labor, but we can monitor you in the meantime. Try to only pump when absolutely necessary.”

So, you’d followed his orders. Once every few days, you pumped out the heavy, engorged globes that used to be B-cups, watching as your nipples filled jar after jar. There was no use in freezing it this early, so down the drain it went. 

Now, at week twenty something, you were a walking milk nightmare. You’d never done so many loads of laundry in your life. The embarrassing thing about it though was that you liked it. Just the thought of attaching the plastic suction cup onto your breast was enough to make you slick between your legs, and the act itself was frequently pleasurable enough to send you over a climactic edge. To say that your nipples were sensitive was an understatement. But still, you tried to only do it when need be. You didn’t want to make a mistake. 

When the boys came home, you filled them in on all the updates. Johnny was a little sad he’d missed the ultrasound, but it just added fuel to his fire of picking out names. He seemed even more interested in the pain-relieving, pleasure-inducing qualities of your breast pump, though. At dinner, you caught him staring down your shirt more than once when you tried to speak with him, and when you lay together on the couch, his hand was always massaging your swollen flesh, all under the guise of keeping you from getting another painful duct. 

But, you knew the truth. His cock had never been so hard as when you started to leak through your top and had to go change, rushing to wash and find your nipple pads. Johnny stalked you into the large bedroom, thumb crooked in the waistband of his pants, 

“You alright, bonnie? Need me to help you?”

“No, yeah. I’m okay. Just… dealing with the dairy farm over here,” you said, exasperated. 

He sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, watching you pull out the tubes and machine with all of its parts and cords. His hand fell to your thigh, squeezing you gently,

“Think I could do it instead?”

“You…” You turned to face him, hands still tangled in the pump, making sure you heard him correctly, “You want to try it?”

Johnny adjusted himself in his jeans, his eyes pinned to your cleavage, unable to look away even for decorum’s sake, 

“Aye, lass. More than anythin’.”

“Um, sure. I think it’s fine. It all gets thrown out anyway. I’ll get you a towel,” you moved to get up, your belly now at a round enough size to be a hindrance, but he stopped you, pulling you back down roughly. 

“Hey —” You protested, but he interrupted you.

“Sit down,” his voice was gravelly and heavily accented, almost like when he was drunk, “Let me…” 

“Johnny, wait,” you tried to twist away from his grip, but he was too strong, “It’ll be such a mess. They’re so full right now. Just wait for me to—”

His eyes shot up to yours, pinning you in place, his full lips set in a hungry snarl, 

“I dinnae need a towel, bonnie. I’m gonna taste you, messy or not.”

He let his vow sink in, and you could feel yourself melting, literally and figuratively, at his words. You didn’t fight him as he began to kiss you, smearing his mouth all over you, doing his best to shove down your tank top, stuffing the neckline under your tits, fumbling around the back to unhook the clasp of your bra. 

“Johnny,” you breathed, your voice giving away the wet rush that was flooding straight to your core, “The laundry…”

“Fuck the laundry. I need to drain you fuckin’ dry. Right now.”  

Your whole body responded to that comment. Your skin flushed hot and your sore nipples hardened, eager to experience the way his mouth would feel as he drank from you. You weren’t even sure if he’d know how to draw out your milk. 

All of your concerns were cast aside as he settled you in his lap, pulling off your clothes like a much-desired present, tossing your clothes aside like wrapping paper to get to the good part. He fumbled with his jeans, freeing his thick, curved cock from his pants, pumping it roughly to spread his precome over the heavy head. 

You helped him, angling your body over his dick and lowering yourself down onto him, as carefully as you could, spearing your pussy with his rod, inch by trembling inch, listening to him try to catch his breath. Once you reached the middle, at the deepest part of his curve, you struggled to fit him the rest of the way in, grinding forward and back, looking for that sweet spot. 

Then, impatient and hungry, he finished the job, pulling you down by your hips and forcing himself the rest of the way. It made you cry out from the shock of it. It wasn’t necessarily painful, but his roughness was a stark change from how he had been treating you. When he knew about the baby, he spent a lot of time preparing you, using his mouth to lap at your pussy and prying you apart with his fingers. Always gentle and mindful of your comfort. But, not now. Now, he had his sights set on devouring you in the literal sense of the word.

“Johnny…” You gasped, rocking against his shape tentatively.

“C’mere, lass,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice sharp and commanding. 

His eyes were fixated on your dark, round nipples, and as you rode him, grinding yourself down onto his lap, he latched onto your left breast, taking the meat of your peak all the way into his mouth. Then, he began to suck. 

You thought it would be gentle and sensual, expecting it to be largely for his pleasure and not effective enough to get the thick, creamy milk out of your poor swollen ducts, but you were wrong. Johnny began to suck and swallow, suck and swallow, suck and swallow; a terrifying, rhythmic feeding, drinking from you like his life depended on it. You peered down at him as he delivered this unknown pleasure to you. 

Johnny’s eyes were fluttering closed, the whites of them rolling back into his head, and he began to let out these long, deep, guttural moans. You could feel the relief in your breast the moment he began, and with each suck, you could tell that his mouth was filling with squirt after squirt of warm, sweet milk. 

Your hips humped against him involuntarily at this point, too horny to think straight, and you realized that your right nipple had begun to let down, full as it was. You tried to catch it from dripping onto him, swiping away the white rivulets with your palm, but he caught you, realizing you were trying to take what was his. 

He moved his mouth from your left nipple to your right, letting his score drip down his chin and neck, caring nothing for the mess. Then, he latched onto your right nipple just as he had the left, sucking and swallowing until his cock throbbed inside of you. 

You cradled his head as he drank from you, using his neck and shoulders to keep you steady as you rode him, feeling him suckle against you over and over, your hot milk filling his belly. 

“Havin’ fun without us, Johnny?” Price’s voice rumbled from the doorway, startling you. You tried to turn around, but Johnny had you in a vice grip, and all you could do was ride and whimper from his fucking and his feeding. 

“John…” You moaned, and he stepped around to sit next to his sergeant on the bed, smiling at the two of you, admiring the mess you were making. 

“Can I try, love?” Price asked, leaning forward to drink from you without waiting for your permission. 

All you could do was moan, high and helpless, your pussy so wet that it was practically gushing over Johnny’s thick cock. As soon as you felt John’s mouth on you, suckling from you just as intently as Soap’s, you started to come. You felt yourself clenching around your hungry lover, flooding him with your orgasm, wrecked by their insistent mouths.

“Tha’s it, bonnie,” Johnny pulled away, white streams of cream falling from his lips, looking like he was drunk, “Come for me.”

Price was greedier than Soap, even though you weren’t sure how that could be possible, and he used his strong hand to knead and squeeze your tits, forcing your body to drop even more milk for him to drink. His mustache tickled your sensitive flesh, and you couldn’t see it but you could hear the twisting, slapping wetness of him jerking his fat cock as he drank from you. 

“Fuck, she tastes so good, hm?” Prince crooned. 

“Hngh, Johnny… I can’t…” You whined, feeling yourself start to become overstimulated, “I can’t…”

“You can, lass. And you fuckin’ will,” Johnny grabbed your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks, forcing you to kiss him. You could taste your own milk on his tongue. It was warm and a little sugary, like the dregs of a bowl of cereal, thick and creamy. 

He released your jaw and went back to work, suckling from you with a relentless vacuum, making your head spin. You didn’t know how you were able to make so much milk, but it seemed endless. You were hypnotized by the way his throat bulged as he swallowed gulp after gulp of your body’s gift, sucking you down. 

Price seemed just as hungry, and you saw how, from the corners of his mouth, tiny droplets of milk would escape and wet his beard, the white cream staining his dark hair. He teased you with his hand, leaving his cock to fend for itself as he smeared his precome all over your asshole. Then, as you rode Soap back and forth, thrusting against him with abandon, John put his finger against your puckered hole and let you push yourself onto it. As you canted your hips back, your hole would let your captain’s huge fingertip slide inside it. As you thrust forward, you would pull away, losing the feeling of fullness that he was giving you. 

It was agony. You wanted him to fuck you on his hand, or to take you with his cock — as painful as it may be without prep — anything to make you feel filled up. But he didn’t; he kept his finger right where he wanted it, letting you fuck yourself with just the tip until you felt stinging tears in the corners of your eyes. 

“Please, John… please…” You barely had any words left, but he knew what you wanted. 

He met your eyes with his own as he took a particularly long suck from your sore breast, making you watch as he coaxed your nectar into his mouth. Then, he pulled away with a swift pop, licking across your swollen nipple to soothe the pain he had caused. He smiled at you, patronizingly, teasing you still with his finger,

“Does our girl need me to fuck her tight little arse?”

You nodded, barely able to keep your eyes open, overwhelmed by the pleasure, 

“Yes, please… I need it. Need to come again. Please…”

“Fuck, bonnie. If you come again, you’ll take me with you,” Soap murmured, unwilling to take his mouth away from your tits too far, talking with his mouth half-full.

Price bent his head, returning to his rough suckling, filling his cheeks with more of your milk. But, this time, as you thrust yourself against Johnny, you felt two, curled fingers shove themselves deep inside of your asshole. Your whole body convulsed, your pussy clenching and gushing with wetness, twisting its muscles around Soap’s dick, trying to get him to fill you with his load. Your legs shuddered, unable to keep from shaking as you rode him, feeling numb as the tantalizing sensation of your stretched holes washed over you. 

John fucked you without mercy, pulling his fingers all the way out and stuffing them all the way back into your ass everytime you thrust forward and back. You were screaming, and your poor, well-used cunt was pumping itself against Soap’s rod, making heinous slick noises as you rode him. Beyond any sort of politeness or gentility, your men were noisy in their feasting as well, slurping and sucking loudly, grunting every time you clenched yourself around them. 

When Price added a third finger, you came again, your pussy quickly running out of room to accommodate them both. Soap’s hot seed burst inside of you just as he’d promised, burning your core and painting your walls with his come. 

“Oh, fuck! Johnny, fill me up. Fill me…” You slurred, letting your head hang back limply, basking in the feeling of his orgasm. 

Price took the opportunity to haul you off of Johnny’s lap and onto his own, replacing the emptiness in your pussy with his fat cock, sliding through his sergeant’s come and keeping his fingers in your ass as you rode him. 

Even though he was spent, Johnny didn’t let up on his feeding. He’d ripped a page out of Price’s playbook and was massaging your breast with both hands, squeezing out every last drop from your body. When he finally stopped suckling from your bruised nipple, he licked you, over and over, running the warm flat of his tongue across your nipple to swipe up any stray drops, chasing your peaks as you bounced on your captain’s dick. 

Price squeezed your tits in his hands, letting the one that was still full squirt all over his mouth and nose, covering himself in your cream. When he noticed Soap’s desperation, he switched positions. The sergeant fell onto his back, resting against the mattress, and the captain threw you on all fours, letting your tits dangle over Johnny’s open mouth. Then, he climbed up behind you, feeding himself back into your pussy. 

As Price fucked himself into you, your breasts swayed back and forth, your nipples rubbing across Soap’s mouth as he moved from one to the other. You felt him latch onto the left one, drinking from you in thirsty slurping gulps, his puckered lips pressing onto your flesh with as much suction as he could muster. Meanwhile, your stretched cunt was being stuffed with Price’s shaft, his head invading your deepest parts, filling up your hole over and over and over. 

Finally, when you were out of milk and practically sobbing from the brain-breaking orgasms you’d been given, he pulled out, flipping you onto your back and laying you right beside Soap, aiming his load at your bruised tits. His teeth were clenched as he grunted out his climax, painting long, white ropes of come all over your nipples. 

You looked down, unable to tell what was his and what was yours, your breasts messy and covered in cream of all kinds. John’s hands came down and rubbed his spend all over your nipples, smearing it around them like a salve. Johnny leaned over you, licking up Price’s come just as greedily as he had your milk, latching and suckling from you over and over, even if you were empty, like a greedy puppy. 

Exhausted, and with a belly full of breast milk, Price crashed to the mattress beside you and Soap. 

Standing in the doorway, Gaz and Ghost looked down at you with smug, satisfied expressions, and Garrick chuckled, 

“Better recover quick, babes. Got me workin’ up an appetite.”

[florencemtrash]

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Update: Decided to commit to writing this fic! Check the link for taglist+masterlist post

I recently watched Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse and I just... I understand why the internet has been losing their minds over Miguel O’Hara... I really do. 

And! It got me thinking about how we really know nothing about Miguel’s wife/family - at least when it comes to his film counterpart. We get a few scenes of him with his daughter and not much else. We also have no knowledge of whether or not a version of his wife and daughter exist on Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe). 

So it got me thinking of an idea for a Miguel O’Hara x Reader fanfic:

>>>

Reader is the Earth-1610 version of Miguel’s late wife and also - dun dun DUNNNNNN - Miles’s AP Art teacher. She’s his favorite teacher and he’s her all time favorite student one of her best students. On Earth-1610 Miguel O’Hara and Gabriella don’t exist and Reader has recently gotten out of a long-term relationship after being cheated on. During his multiverse travels The Spot learns just how important Reader is to Miles and Miguel and kidnaps her as part of his revenge plot. 

Imagine the chaos that would ensue once Reader finds out that a) Miles is Spiderman and b) her alternate reality husband tried to *very aggressively* stop Miles from saving his father's life.

Reader: *Holding onto Miguel for dear life as they try to outrun The Spot*

Reader: Miguel did WHAT?!

Miles: Right, Miss Y/l/n? 

Miguel: Listen kid I already apologized for that. 

Reader: *slaps Miguel on the shoulder*

Reader: What the hell is wrong with you? He’s just a teenager!

Miguel: Cariño, can we please discuss this at a later time?

Reader: …

Reader: What did you just call me?

Miguel: …

Miles: …Aren’t you his wife?

Miguel: *visibly sweating*

Reader: I’M HIS WIFE?!

This was really just a midnight thought and I'm hoping someone will expand upon the idea. If such a fanfic exists, I beg of you to tell me about it! If it doesn't... well I might just be forced to do it myself...

[luvhughes43]

sweetener | jack hughes

au masterlist⭐️ (apart of the journalist! au)

the previous part is linked here !

word count: 5.8k

⋆ ★

Three hurried knocks sound out from my front door and I rush out into the entry way as if whoever is behind that door will dissipate at a moment's notice. Of course I know that wouldn't happen, because Jack Hughes is standing on the other side of my door and all week he’s been updating me on his schedule and when he’d be able to meet our daughter. 

He’s been saying that a lot, our daughter. Which, he’s right. Leighton is our daughter but the word our feels so completely foreign to me that my mind reels and my heart races every time I hear him say it. Which is another thing, because Jack is a serial texter and yet, every night this past week without fail he’s called me to talk. He’s completely committed to being a father, and now that the paternity test came back telling us what we already know, Jack is coming to meet Leighton. Our daughter. 

Jack knocks again, and I quickly comb through my hair with my fingers before slowly opening the door. 

“Hey,” Jack waves awkwardly, unsure of what to do when you’re about to meet your secret baby for the first time. We both shuffle around my entryway awkwardly, before I gesture for Jack to sit on my couch. 

“Do you want water or anything to drink?” I ask lamely, twisting a lone baby blanket that was sprawled across the back of the couch in my hands. Jack shakes his head and then rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans. 

What were you supposed to say to someone who was meeting their baby for the first time? Somebody that you had so much history with? Somebody who, despite everything that happened, still has a prominent place in your heart? You wouldn’t know. 

Jack opens his mouth, before quickly shutting it again. 

“I’ll go get Leighton,” I nod dumbly, as if that wasn’t the whole reason that we were both here. I’m not normally this awkward around Jack but… under the circumstances any sort of social queues I know have gone right out of the window. I don't let Jack reply before I shuffle out of the room. 

Leighton is dressed in a pink one piece onesie which was a gift from Jack’s mother, Ellen. Who for the last week has been texting me and sending things over to the apartment. 

As soon as Jack hears my footsteps, he's rushing to his feet and facing us. “Oh wow…” he murmurs as soon as he lays eyes on our daughter. “This is so much better than the pictures and videos…” he trails off again, referring to the numerous videos I've sent him of our daughter this past week. 

“Do you want to hold her?” I ask, to which Jack immediately nods. I gesture for him to sit back down on the couch and he happily obliges. 

“She’s gorgeous,” Jack awes as I shift Leighton to rest into his arms. I’m not surprised that I don’t have to tell Jack how to hold a baby properly, he’s always been so well versed with children. Even when we were dating babies and kids just seemed to gravitate towards him, making it easy for him to handle kids.

Tears rush to Jack’s waterline as he holds his daughter for the first time. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away as they freely run down his cheeks. “I have a baby,” he whispers, gaze soft as he stares at our little girl. “Hi Leighton,” he says again, voice slightly louder as he tries to get the young girl's attention. She smiles up at him gummily, before reaching a chubby hand out and latching onto one of her dad’s fingers. 

I silently pull my phone out of my pocket and capture the sweet moment between the two. I had imagined this moment for months, but no dream would ever compare to what was sitting before me. Jack softly cooing at our daughter, completely in awe of her would be something that I would never forget. 

⋆ ★

When Jack looks back on the past year, he can’t help but wince. If he was more mature maybe he wouldn’t have let you walk away so easily - maybe he would have seen through Vivienne's deceptions and would have realized that he wasn’t truly happy with her. After meeting his daughter and getting to spend time with you in person today he made a promise to himself that he would do better for himself and for his family. 

His family. Whom he had just fully met a few hours ago and yet his happiness still hadn’t slowed or ebbed away yet. It was all so incredibly surreal.

“Like I'm telling you, that was the most.. Like the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Jack spoke hurriedly on the phone to his older brother Quinn. “I have a daughter, and she’s real, and I held her today,”

“That’s really great,” 

“She grabbed a hold of my finger! She has a really good grip, probably going to be better than all of us at hockey,” Quinn only laughed in response. 

“When can I meet her?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, I'll have to talk to y/n about everything. We’re taking it slow right now you know? Just trying to get me comfortable with the baby and all that,” Jack answers, excitement still laced in his voice. “Mom sent Leighton some things though which… Leighton… What a pretty name? Like I have a daughter”

“I’m really happy everything's starting to work out for you,” Quinn responded. After all the dramatics of the past few weeks, the future was finally starting to brighten.

“Thank you,” Jack replied honestly, mind still reeling from the day's events. “I have a family.” 

⋆ ★

ynuser

liked by jackhughes, claudia, and others

ynuser my whole world🤍

jackhughes added to their story !

⋆ ★

“Are you okay? Why are you smiling so hard?” my best friend said to me as I finished doing my makeup. 

“What? I’m fine!”

“No seriously, what’s going on?” Claudia continues, easily seeing past my poorly constructed lies. 

“Jack’s coming over to see Leighton tonight,” I can’t help the smile on my face as it grows. Jack’s coming over. How long have I waited to say that? Now that this whole mess is behind us, we’ve really started to carve out a routine for ourselves. Jack would make the trip to NYC as much as he could within his schedule, and he’d come over and spend time with Leighton and I. Everything is finally starting to fall into place, and so sue me for getting a little excited that he had the whole evening free to spend time with Leighton and I. 

Claudia rolled her eyes, “You’re moving fast,”

At her words, my forehead scrunches. I don’t like the way she said it, moving fast, it sounds like she disapproves of Jack and I starting to co-parent.

“Well, we already have a kid together so I think it’s a little too late for ‘moving fast’” I remark, busying myself in my makeup bag so she doesn’t see the clear displeasure coating my features. 

Claudia studies me for a minute and I wish she wouldn't. I understand that Jack’s and I’s situation is completely out of the ordinary and that we were childish and immature before. But honestly, how else are we supposed to go about this situation if not barrel straight ahead? We waited for him to meet Leighton until the paternity was settled, we created a clear schedule for his visits and we’ve spent hours discussing how we would go about co-parenting. 

“Nothing I guess,” she shrugs simply. I reach for my powdered blush and messily reapply.

It’s tense for the next five minutes it takes for me to finish my makeup.

 “Well, how “fast” should we be going? Because, I know I'm trying the best that I can here. We have a history, and we have a baby, so i’m sorry if you think things seem to be going “too fast” for you,” 

“You're right, I'm sorry” Claudia immediately apologizes, probably not realizing how her words had offended me earlier.

Ever since Jack started making a reappearance in my life Claudia’s had an attitude about it… always wanting to sprinkle little comments here and there. I get that she’s overprotective, but she takes it too far with Jack. It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t here for my pregnancy and the first few months of Leighton’s life. 

“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “Things have been… nice recently and I just need this to work out.” 

Claudia nods in understanding, and it makes me want to take my apology back.

When Jack comes over two hours later, any sense of annoyance or stress I was feeling immediately dissipates. We do our usual, watch over Leighton and play with her. She’s only a few months old and so there’s not much that she can do yet besides smile and play peek-a-boo, which I'm learning Jack excels at. 

“And… peek-a-boo!” the hockey player enthuses for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening to an excited baby. Leighton face scrunches up as she lets out another round of loud laughs, which immediately causes Jack and I to giggle.

“We have the cutest kid!”

“We really do,” Jack replies, eyes trained on our daughter who's smiling up at him. I leave the two to play as I make my way into my kitchen. It’s already getting quite late and since Jack’s keeping Leighton entertained… I might as well make dinner before he has to leave and I have to watch over her again. She always gets fussy closer to her bedtime, making it essentially impossible to cook dinner before she’s asleep. 

I pull out all of my necessary ingredients before pausing. “Jack?”

“What?” he calls out. 

“Are you staying for dinner? I’m making pasta” I respond, walking back into the living room so we don't have to yell. 

“Ohh can I? I’ve missed your cooking so much,” 

He missed my cooking… it was such a simple task and yet my heart melted… There was so much we seemed to be missing of each other these days.

Dinner coincidentally ends up being ready just as soon as Jack finishes putting Leighton to bed.

“It’s crazy to think that we’re parents,” Jack voices his thoughts aloud in between bites of his dinner. “Like, really. Were mother and father… like that's insane,”

“Are you having doubts?” I joke, knowing that he’s fully committed to being a father. His amazon cart alone proves that with all the toys and outfits he has ordered for our daughter. 

“No never! Are you kidding me? Being with you two… it feels right,” 

I giggle and end up having to cover my mouth with my hands. 

“What?”  

“I’m sorry that was just really cute,” I explain myself, lowering my hands so that Jack could see my wide smile which he immediately reciprocates with his usual gorgeous smile. 

Jack leans his head on the palm of his hand, and things finally feel like they used to. If I wanted to I could reach my hand out and hold his, but just knowing that he was here was enough. For so many months I wished that what I was seeing now would become true and now everything had finally turned out. 

“I’m really happy y/n”

“I’m really happy too,” my face tingles, but unlike my smile I make no move to cover the redness that was no doubt coating my cheeks. 

⋆ ★

Now that I am back from maternity leave, it seems like my boss is trying to punish me. I’m constantly getting all of the shitty news stories, and I've been getting less opportunities to get out on the field. Therefore, I've been stuck in the office all day writing fluff pieces about influencers and brands that “you need in your life!”. 

So, when I got the call that there was an important story that I could work on but it would mean I had to come into the office on my day off… well… I was going into the office. 

Now usually I had somebody to watch Leighton on the days that I work, but there was just no way that I would be able to find somebody to watch her on such a short notice. So, I did the only thing that I could think of and asked Jack if he was willing to watch Leighton by himself… for the first time. 

The day started out simply enough. Jack had come over to y/n's apartment early with breakfast and some coffee for the both of them. He listened dutifully to y/n explaining Leightons morning routine, and he prepared the baby a fresh bottle with no stress. Even after y/n had left for work, Jack had been running the place smoothly and without any hiccups. Which is why around mid-afternoon when Leighton refused her bottle that Jack had panicked.

“Okay, please just eat. I know you're hungry,” he cooed to the small girl who was cradled tightly against his chest. She squirmed, tears running down her face at a rapid speed. 

He had rocked Leighton, burped her, walked around the apartment with her bundled in his arms all in hopes of her quieting down. When nothing worked he had checked her diaper, changed it although it was clean, and warmed up her bottle again in case that may have been the issue. She continued on wailing.

“Please Leighton, eat for daddy please. Settle down, it's okay!” He tried his hardest but nothing was working. He debated on calling his parents but ultimately thought it was pathetic that he didn’t know how to take care of his own child. He had missed out on so many months with his girl, what if he fucked today up and was never allowed to take care of her again? Jack started to spiral. 

Another painstakingly long hour went by, and Jack felt as if he had truly lost his mind. Nothing was helping Leighton settle down, and now Jack was so far behind y/ns schedule that he was feeling beyond hopeless. 

“Just- okay just eat!” Jack tried again, but every time Leighton got close to the bottle she would shift her head away and cry. “I don't know how to help you!” he rocked his daughter in his arms. “Please, help me help you,” 

It was to no surprise that Leighton kept crying. So Jack did the only thing that he could think of doing next, he walked swiftly to Leightons crib and left her there. Once she was confined in her crib, he simply walked out of her room and back into the living room where he fished his headphones out of his bag. 

Jack's shoulders sagged in relief when the first few chords of some country song played. 

I’m not a good dad

I don’t know what to do

How am I supposed to be a father?

After two more songs played in their entirety, Jack called his mom. 

“Are you okay…?” I ask as soon as I catch sight of Jack whose shoulders were sagging. 

“Listen, everyone has already asked me that tonight so I don't need to hear it again. you don’t need to lecture me”

“Excuse me? I don’t even know what’s wrong?” “It was my first time watching my daughter, and I fucked up, I know”

“Jack… I'm not mad at you?” 

“Right, whatever” he says, gathering all his belongings that were scattered throughout my apartment and stuffing them in his bag. 

I stare at him in confusion, “Can we talk about this?”

Jack continues stuffing shit in his bag, and I walk towards him and place a firm hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, twisting towards me. “I don't want to talk about it,” 

I scoff, patience truly wiening thin. “Well, I’m Leighton’s mother and I would like to talk about what happened”

“I can’t do this with you tonight” Jack sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. 

“Do what? Communicate?”

“Look, i’ve had a rough week at work and i’ve been a shit dad tonight so I really don’t need to hear you bitch at me right now”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t talk to me like that.” 

“Like what!” Jack says defensively. 

“Saying I'm going to bitch at you! I want us to talk through things. You getting upset over a few minor mistakes isn’t going to get us anywhere. Leighton is fine, you’re fine, so tell me what’s really going on so that we can get past this”

Jack scoffs, “there's nothing going on”

“Well, you’re being all rude and defensive so there must be something” I snark, truly fed up with Jack’s behaviour. I understand that today was a lot for him, and maybe it wasn’t the best idea for him to watch Leighton for a full day when he’s only used to a few hours but he can at least try and speak nicely to me. 

“You know what? I don’t need this right now” Jack says, breaking his stance and making quick steps towards the door. 

I’m hot on his heels and he yanks the door open. “Jack?”

He slams the door, and i’m left reeling with whatever the fuck just happened. 

⋆ ★

3 weeks later...

DEUXMOI

liked by vivienne, and others

deuxmoi Jack Hughes seems to be a topic of demand recently…. But don’t worry! Viviennes new podcast episode will cover everything you need to know and more! Stay tuned

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user19 vivienne sending her own “tip” into deuxmoi just so she can get views on her new podcast episode… deuxmoi hits a new low every day

user20 this is actually so embarrassing omg

user21 nhl players on deuxmoi is my worst nightmare tbh

user22 theyve been on here for awhile lol its nothing new

user23 ohhhh i’ll be tuned in!

user23 he definitely cheated on her omgggg😭😭

⋆ ★

Pretty Girls Podcast EP 22: Mr. NHL Man

[audio] timestamp: 24:33 - 1:13:03

Co-host: Okay maybe we should address the elephant in the room!

Vivienne: The elephant in the room? I’m crying… [laughs], but yes everybody is here to know about my ex-boyfriend situation so let's just get into it

Co-host: Right so… 

Vivienne: Okay so Jack Hughes!

[both laugh]

Co-host: Oh we're just coming right out and saying it!

Vivienne: I mean everybody knows

Co-host: Right, so let's get into it. What's the story? Because you’ve only told me parts of the story but I don't-

Vivienne: I haven't really gone into detail with anybody yet so this is like, an exclusive

Vivienne: But anyway… as we all know… Jack and I were seeing each other for a while and we were pretty official by the time I did the podcast with Alix Earle. So there was this whole bit of Alix calling her boyfriend “mr. nfl man” and so I teased Jack by calling him Mr. NHL man.

Co-host: Right as one does! And I just want to add, Vivienne and Jack were - you guys were kind of serious at this point. Like your relationship wasn’t just a fling like there’s a reason you're talking about it on the pod. 

Vivienne: Yeah we were fully dating by that point. Like he was staying over at my apartment and things like that. 

Co-host: How did you guys get together? You should tell the whole story, like I'm already sensing the hate comments you’ll get if you don’t tell this right.

Vivienne: Okay. So, I met Jack through a mutual friend of ours and that's how we started talking. We went on a few dates to bars and things, and we really got along well, or at least I thought we did. 

Co-host: Were there any warning signs?

Vivienne: Honestly… 

Vivienne: Things were really good between us and we had a “normal” relationship for the first few months. Like we got together around the beginning of the hockey season, and we broke up like, right before he went on personal leave if you guys keep up with the NHL side of things.

Vivienne: But basically we were doing completely fine and it wasn’t until people started catching on that Jack and I were dating that things became rocky. 

Co-host: I've also seen a lot of things about an ex that he had? Like I'm just going to come out and say it, did he cheat on you?

Vivienne: Honestly, till this day I don't really know. 

Co-host: What? What do you mean?

Vivienne: He didn't tell me why we broke up. Like, I'm being so serious. One day he came over to my apartment and just broke up with me and then unfollowed me on everything. 

Co-host: Oh my god??

Vivienne: Honestly, I think it's because of his ex. Like, the amount of times I caught him searching through his photo albums of her is insane.

Co-host: What an asshole oh my god?? Do you know if they got back together or if they were talking while you two were still together?

Vivienne: No they weren’t talking

Co-host: How do you know?

Vivienne: I uh… 

Co-host: Did you go through his texts or something?

Vivienne: Well… [short pause].. No I didn’t- well- I know he wasn’t

Co-host: Okay…

Vivienne: But it was clear there was something going on there [weak laugh]

Co-host: Damn…

Vivienne: But anyway, he broke up with me unexpectedly and I just don't know why

Co-host: To be honest it sounds like he cheated on you and just didn't want to own up to it.

Vivienne: Yeah… I mean possibly. The ex thing was..

Co-host: He was just using you as a distraction and that really sucks for you.

Vivienne: It's just an awful situation. Like it was clear that he was still hung up on his ex and now I look like an idiot in front of everyone for making our relationship public.

Co-host: I don't think you look like an idiot. You thought the relationship was going to work out and now people are flooding your comment section begging to know what happened. Plus, it's Jack's fault anyway. Like he's no stranger to cheating allegations so what are you supposed to do?

Vivienne: Yeah… my dms are full of his fans basically blaming me for the breakup when they don't even know what happened. 

Vivienne: So, I just want it to be clear that I did nothing. Like I didn't want us to break up. 

Co-host: Even though you knew about the ex?

Vivienne: Yeah… I just felt so… like our relationship was really good I think I would have put up with anything. But now that it’s over i'm stuck looking back and… well it’s clear he maybe wasn’t always faithful or he had commitments with his ex. 

Co-host: Gosh…

Vivienne: But that's honestly it. After this episode is over I'm not talking about this. It's honestly really hurtful…

[end of snippet]

⋆ ★

“y/n i’m so sorry,” Jack's words are fast as he paces the floor of my entryway. He had a game in a few hours which he would no doubt be late for, seeing as he’s all the way in New York City instead of Newark.

“What are you doing here? You have a game?” I wonder aloud, Leighton softly cooing from her spot on my chest. 

Jack pauses at the sound of his daughter and his eyes visibly soften. “I’m really sorry,”

“I wasn’t mad at you,”

“I’m just afraid to mess things up again,”

“Jack…”

“And I'm sorry for snapping at you. It wasn’t your fault that I got upset,” 

I walk towards Jack and place a comforting hand on his arm, mindful of our daughter that was strapped to my front.

“I should have stayed,” he says into my hair, his arm coming around to hold onto me. 

I turn my body to hold him properly, and Leighton babbles away as she’s wedged between her parents. “You were overwhelmed. You're not used to watching her all the time and that’s okay,”

“I should be okay watching her while you’re at work I just-”

“You have to be kind to yourself,” I start, slowly pulling yourself away from Jack to lead the two of us into the living room. “It took me a long time to learn Leightons needs and how to read her. With more time you’ll learn and become more comfortable,”

Jack nods reluctantly, ultimately realizing that what I was saying was the truth. We sit in silence for a while, both wanting nothing more than to move on from this situation. 

“Come to my game tonight?” Jack breaks the silence. “You and Leighton? Please?” 

“You want us to come… tonight?” I question. Was this a good idea? 

Jack nods and takes Leighton out of my hands. “I think she should come to her first game,” 

“Okay….” I’m slow to agree. When Jack and I were dating, I barely went to his games. He never really invited me, and I had always felt weird about asking. With our relationship so private, we usually just appreciated each other’s careers from afar. 

Jack looks away from our daughter and back up at me, “I've talked to management about our… situation and they’re okay with you sitting in the box with Nico since he’s out” Jack explains. “It’ll be completely safe, and if you're worried about the drive to the stadium I’ve got my car and I can drive you” 

“What about afterwards?” 

“I can drive you back here after the game or you can stay at my place… I've… i've bought a bassinet for Leighton and some things if you guys want to stay the night,” 

“Okay,” I agree easily now. “Let me pack some of our stuff and we’ll stay with you tonight,”Jack looks beyond relieved at my words.

njdevils

Liked by jackhughes, _quinnhughes, trevorzegras, and others

njdevils Jack is back and meeting some fans 🔥

tagged: jackhughes

view all comments

jackhughes ❤️

_quinnhughes Love to see it

user24 jack and quinns comments… okay….

user25 jack is such a girl dad ugh! so cute!

user26 jack would be such a good dad im crying

user27 hold on is that his ex gf?? she looks like the same girl from the fan pics

user28 omfg wait???

⋆ ★

nhl.drama

liked by hughesl0ver43, and 351 others

nhl.drama jack hughes ex gf, vivienne aiden, reveals in her podcast that jack seemingly broke up with her for no reason. she also claims that he would constantly look at pictures of his ex gf while they were together, and he may have possibly cheated. what are your thoughts?💭

-

#jackhughes #nhl #vivienneaiden #confession #nhldrama

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user29 this is honestly just ridiculous like she clearly made this all up

user30 ? what how do u know

user29 she kept rambling on, couldn't confirm if Jack cheated or not, and just started bringing up his ex gf? And also, if she really didn’t know why he broke up with her/would still go back to him.. why would she make a whole podcast about it? it fr doesn't make sense

user31 They said Jack has a history of cheating? How would they even know that i’m so confused

user32 viv was his ex lmao im sure somebody warned her about him.

user33 i think it’s so weird that some of u guys are sticking up for jack… like vivienne sounded so sad / upset during the podcast… like he obviously did something wrong regardless of if shes telling the truth or not.

user34 she did not sound upset at all… she was legit laughing throughout the whole podcast and she could not make up her mind on which “story” she was gonna tell. she clearly lied and i hope jack sues her ass🤷‍♀️

user35 the timeline of this whole thing is so interesting tbh. like what ex are they talking about? also, i wish viv confirmed why jack took a personal leave lol. she left out all the interesting bits

user36 “ex gf” …. do yall think it was the girl from last year ? istg they refollowed each other after vivienne and jack broke up

user37 this whole drama is so lame IMO. just another girl looking for her 5 seconds of fame… nobody should care if jack cheated or not because his job is to play HOCKEY. honestly who gaf about his personal life

user38 his personal life is bleeding into his game lol. 

user39 LEAVE HIM ALONE MY GOD!!!!! U KNOW NOTHING. 

⋆ ★

Vivienne's podcast episode about her breakup with Jack had gone viral overnight. Everybody online was speculating about their relationship, as well as trying to prove each side right. Some of Jack's fans were trying hard to prove that Vivienne was lying and well, gossipers around the world were sticking up for Vivienne and trying to confirm that Jack is a serial cheater. 

Thankfully for Vivienne, she just had to sit back and enjoy the show. She knew that there was absolutely no way that Jack would come out and deny the cheating rumours, plus she knew y/n was private on everything and wouldn't come forward either. The drama would run its course for a few days until something better came along, and then Vivienne would be completely off the hook for everything. 

Alix E: just watched the pod! i hope you’re doing well❤️

Tana M: HE CHEATED ON YOU?? that's actually crazy. youre so fucking pretty. ugh, men are awful. If you ever wanna come on the cancelled podcast you're always welcome!

Alex C: Men are the worsttttt. Youre absolutely winning life though so make him regret it!💋

Everything seemed to be falling right into the palm of Viviennes hands. While Jack finding out about the whole y/n thing was a colossal nightmare, the support from her peers almost made up for it. She now had deals lining up the block, and she knew her career would only sky rocket from here on out. 

While being with Jack had pulled in massive numbers, the breakup was just insane for her social blade. She had gained soo many more followers across all platforms after posting Jack on her story, plus naming him in her podcast was just… it was honestly too good. A pr dream… It was going to be Viviennes year. 

⋆ ★

As soon as the small family made it back to Jack’s apartment after the game, they were all exhausted. Leighton had fallen asleep well into the second period, and had surprisingly stayed asleep despite how loud the arena was.

Jack quietly guided his girls into his bedroom. He set Leighton in her bassinet, and then helped me organize some of the things I brought over.  

“I haven’t been here in so long,” I mumbled as I pulled my toiletries out of her bag. 

“Well you're always welcome,” Jack whispered back as he silently watched me fumble around in the darkness.

“Shit, I forgot pyjama pants and all I have are jeans…” 

Jack immediately stands from his position in bed, mindful of the fact that Leighton is peacefully sleeping in the recently purchased bassinet. “You can have a pair of my sweats if you want?” he whispers as he walks over to his dresser and pulls out options. 

“It’s okay,”

“I’m not letting you sleep in jeans that's foul,” Jack says quietly as he gives me a pair of his sweats.

“Thank you,” my face heats up. If I wasn’t thinking about our history before, now I am. Everything was becoming a little too much… if I closed her eyes I could still picture the way things used to be. How we’d stay in his apartment and well… yeah.

Jack turned away just then, settling himself in his bed so that I could finish getting ready. He hadn’t thought too far ahead in their sleeping arrangements, and just as he started to worry that y/n might’ve found her way to the couch he felt a dip in his mattress. 

“Do you mind if…?”

“No I uh- No I don’t” Jack stuttered, completely caught off guard by their newfound closeness. 

“Thanks for tonight,” I whispered, snuggling into all of Jack’s blankets and excess pillows, all of which were bought when we were still together. 

“No worries,”

“I mean it though. Thanks for talking to me in person earlier and for driving us to the game” I continued sleepily. “And for letting us stay here tonight,” 

“Of course. Anything for my girls,” 

When there was no answer, Jack looked over to y/n's side of the bed only to find that she was already fast asleep. He checked the bassinet afterwards to find his daughter sleeping peacefully as well. Jack sighed in contentment before drifting off to sleep himself. 

My girls,

My girls, 

My girls..

Life was sweet.

next part

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[1d1195]

Lapse

~2.5 words

From me: Just a silly little thing I was thinking about. Not a lot of background. Probably has some plot holes. Currently thinking it will not continue.

Warnings: Enemies to lovers (you came, you called)

Summary: She doesn't like Harry. Which is fine because Harry doesn't like her either. Except both of them are lying.

Harry didn’t like her. But to be fair, she didn’t like him either. For albeit stupid reasons on both their parts that had prolonged throughout their lives. She was best friends with Eleanor. By proxy Eleanor’s boyfriend Louis and his circle of friends were therefore inextricably linked to her. Which meant she and Harry were around each other.

A lot.

To everyone’s dismay.

It was an offhanded comment, one that Harry never should have made but it soured her to pieces. “Only an idiot would do something like that,” he said, quietly. Only Louis overheard.

And her.

That was Harry’s mistake.

But she wouldn’t take it lying down. Harry could call her stupid all he wanted; she wouldn’t let anyone get away with saying it to her. So she told him off.

It was probably the first time in his life anyone had ever stood up to him. She found that when people were attractive, they were more likely to get away with bullshit that others would put up with even though they didn’t need to. Someone like Harry was more likely to say whatever he wanted and just assumed no one would tell him off because he was pretty.

Harry shouldn’t have called her an idiot. It wasn’t kind. Maybe he was jealous because honestly, watching her follow her passion was admirable and if the light hit her just right maybe he would have agreed that she was cool for doing what she wanted despite all the naysayers like him.

Even if it was embarrassing to be told off in front of their friends.

“Damn,” Louis whispered making everyone snicker. Harry was fuming. His eyes practically turned red with anger while he glared at her.

So, they weren’t friendly.

But given they were stuck in one another’s lives they learned to be... cordial. As cordial as two people could be when she absolutely wanted to claw his eyes out.

*

An hour.

That was how long she waited inside before she realized it was no use. No new messages, no phone calls. Nothing.

For whatever reason, she imagined Harry’s smug smile saying something to the effect of “I told y’were an idiot.”

It fueled her anger, and she silently blamed him for her date’s inability to appear. Which made no sense at all. Harry had no idea she was even on a date. But she had waited too long and honestly couldn’t disagree with the British voice mocking her inside her head. She was an idiot for waiting so long.

Her phone gave her more disappointing news but she was grateful she had service.

“Hey, uh... Uber is going to be... a wait,” she mumbled quietly standing just inside the entryway of the restaurant she had stayed at far longer than any sane person would have. “I know you’re on a date, I’m so sorry. I just... any chance you’re around to come get me?” She asked through her phone. The anxiety filled her lungs and a single tear rolled down her cheek. It was so typical that she didn’t have anyone to come get her.

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. Louis and I have been drinking and—”

She nodded, closing her eyes. She knew it was a long shot. If it were any other time, she had no doubt Eleanor and Louis would be there for her. “Oh, you know what,” she laughed quietly. “The app just updated their time. They’ll only be five minutes,” she assured her. “Sorry to bother you,” she sighed looking at the time on the app that increased by another half hour.

“Not at all, you know I’d be there as soon as I could,” Eleanor assured her.

She texted her mom, her sister, even her sister’s boyfriend and was met with no response from any party. Her toes were numb from the chill in the air and uncomfortable shoes. It was unfair. No one was there for her when she needed them. Ever. It sounded so dramatic but it was true. She wanted one nice thing. She wanted a nice date. A night out. It wasn't supposed to be hard.

Anxiety rolled through her with each passing second on the cold street. Her throat felt tight as she scrolled through her contacts one last time and realized there was one and only option left. But she sure as hell wasn't going to call him.

Are you busy?

Is this a joke?

Well, that was a short-lived idea. God, he was the worst.

Forget it.

What? Your date stood you up?

I said FORGET IT.

Why did you text me, then?

Lapse in judgment. Won’t happen again.

Her phone illuminated with Harry’s contact, no picture. Just his name. Not even an emoji to recognize she had known him for ten years. She may as well have had his number for no longer than a week. “What?” She snapped.

He snorted. “Let’s get it straight, love. You contacted me.”

“And I told you to, ‘forget it.’”

“Are y’seriously that stubborn y’won’t tell me?”

“No, I’m not stubborn,” she was very much so stubborn. “I will not let you berate me and call me stupid or make fun of me for going on a fucking date. I needed help and I will admit. I was stupid to call you thinking you would do anything but sit on your throne of self-adoration and help someone else. As I said, it was a lapse in judgment. Good. Bye.”

*

With an invigorated sense of frustration and anger, she had determined walking was her best bet. It had only been five minutes since she spoke to him. Her feet were aching, the chill gripping every inch of her body, when a car slowed beside her. It parked and she heard the door open. She didn’t turn around. Anxiety crept through her veins. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and she tried to remember the self-defense moves she had learned in a seminar put on by her dorm her freshman year of college.

“How much for an hour?” Harry’s voice cut through the cold air. She wanted to be mad. Wanted to snap something at him. But the relief crushed her; she couldn’t help but feel grateful for his familiar voice.

“You couldn’t afford me,” she grumbled turning back toward him. He was leaning against the side of his car—just by the front wheel. Ankles crossed; hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. He looked like a model for either the car or his coat. Hell, he could have been a model for the laces of his shoes. He was utterly beautiful.

He scanned her up and down. “S’that how you dress for all your first dates?”

“Shut the fuck up, Harry,” she muttered. A blush painted her cheeks as he scanned her. It felt so judgmental she wanted to punch him. She stood in front of him several feet away, eyeing him suspiciously. She didn’t know how he knew where she was. Didn’t know why he even decided to show up. Honestly, she thought maybe he was just driving around and was going to just get back in his car and leave her.

He snorted, scuffed the bottom of his shoe on the sidewalk. “You look nice.”

“Nice?” She repeated. “Is this a joke?”

“A lapse in judgment,” he rolled his eyes. “Are you getting in or what?” He asked pushing himself off his car and opening the passenger door.

“Why did you even come here?” She asked. The warmth from his car hit her like a blanket and she wanted nothing more than to dive in and snuggle into the front seat, blast the hot air at her toes, and fall asleep against the heated seat he knew she had from all the times Eleanor talked about it.

But she was stubborn.

“Obviously it was a mistake,” he closed the door again and made his way toward the driver’s side. “Could leave you here instead,” he shrugged eyeing her over the top of his car. Like a game of chess. It was her move. She glared at him and put her hand on the car handle. He locked the door as she pulled and smirked at her. “So easy,” he mumbled.

She thought taking her chances walking would be better—her toes were going to fall off and the numbness was creeping up her ankles and making way for her legs. “Oh, forget it,” she grumbled and stalked back down the sidewalk.

Harry groaned as if truly pained by her existence. “Oh, for God’s sake, love! It was a joke,” he was by her side before she had taken ten full steps.

“What are you doing here, Harry? Huh? Just here to rub salt in the wound? I got stood up, okay? You were right. Happy? I just wanted to—”

“Idiot.”

Fury pulsed through her at his interruption. At the insult. She slapped his cheek before she could say anything else. Before she could think of anything else. His head was still turned to the side when she marched further down the street without waiting to see his reaction. The numbness of her legs didn’t deter her. The heat of her embarrassment flooded her and warmed her plenty to make it somewhere nearby that would have more accessible Ubers.

“What the fuck was that?” He snarled, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around. It shouldn't have been a surprise he caught up to her so rapidly.

“You called me an idiot,” she snapped back.

He chuckled darkly. His grip tightened on her wrist, and he shook his head. The laugh hadn’t a trace of humor in it. “He. Your date. He’s an idiot.” She glared at him waiting for him to make another joke at her expense, but it never came. They stood still on the sidewalk. Harry’s hand holding her wrist like she might bolt at any second. Lord knew she was thinking about it. His gaze didn’t stray from hers. Intense.

And really fucking beautiful.

“Get in the car,” he ordered.

Which she didn’t take kindly to. “I’ll take my chances,” she sniffed and tugged, trying to release his grip. He didn’t budge, not even a millimeter.

“M’not asking,” his voice was low. “Get in the car, or I’ll drag y’in,” he promised.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, love.”

The thought of Harry dragging her in the car didn’t seem like a good idea. It would only embarrass her further. “Why did you even come here? I told you to forget it,” she muttered.

He opened the passenger door and the warmth once more enveloped her like a hug. He gently touched her shoulder. She turned in the space between the opening of his car and Harry. He stared at her again. “You called me,” his voice was gentle. Unlike anything he had ever heard from him—especially directed toward her. There was no shrug, no indifference, no irritation. He was breathing evenly. As if they had done this a thousand times. As if he looked at her like she was... precious all the time.

There was a thud in her chest, her heart stuttered unevenly against her ribs. Her lips parted and she didn’t know what to say or do. Her toes weren’t numb anymore. She wasn’t cold. There was a silence that filled the space between them as he stared at her and part of her believed if they just never spoke again maybe they could be friends.

“If some idiot guy can’t see how special you are then s’his loss. Only his loss. Standing up anyone is horrible. Standing you up...someone so pretty, so intelligent, so kind, should be a crime.” The words escaped her. The air in her lungs was gone. “M’always gonna be there for you,” it felt like a trap to let him say something like that to her. His hand reached up from his side, he brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek. “I don’t know what happened, love,” he murmured. “I... I was so worried. And I truly would pity the person that tries t’take you on,” a smile danced at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t smug. It was beautiful and melted her further and it wasn’t even a full smile. “And I was still so worried... I jus’,” he shook his head. “I think I ran two stoplights,” he admitted. “S’like a switch flipped, love. Never been so worried ‘bout anyone like that,” he continued holding her gaze.

She bit her lip and looked at his chest. “Are you fucking with me?” She asked quietly. Her voice defensive but low. Afraid to believe him.

But more afraid to not believe him.

“No, love. Not even a little... well, jus’ the part ‘bout taking you on. S’quite the slap y’gave me,” his smile grew, and he rubbed his cheek as if it really hurt him. Maybe it stung, but she didn’t think it really was all that hard.

“Been like ten years of build up to that.”

He chuckled quietly. “S’all you could muster?” He challenged.

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. Genuinely. It felt weird to say it to Harry. Felt weird to be in such a position. But she couldn't help but feel that she liked it.

“Always, love. And I meant it. Y’look beautiful.”

Her heart was doing things that she didn't know Harry could do to her. She blushed, looked at her shoes; her toes numbing in the chilly air. “Well, his loss right?”

“My gain,” he winked at her and gave her arm a gentle squeeze as he left her side of his car for the driver’s side.

“Have you just been jealous all this time?” She asked as he settled behind the wheel.

“No,” he rolled his eyes. The silence was companionable. The first time in knowing Harry that it felt anything other than hostile. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

“Maybe?” Her eyes were delighted, and she smiled at him. “You like me.”

“Oh, bite me,” he grumbled. “I do not.”

“You so like me,” she teased. Her cheeks were warm making her forget about the cold. He didn’t say anything. Just the gentle hum of the road filled the car. “For what it’s worth, I like you too,” she murmured tucking herself to turn sideways in the seat. Her face squished against the back of the warm seat. “Probably more than a lot,” she admitted. “I guess," she took a deep breath, scared to say it, but Harry had called her pretty, intelligent, and kind. She couldn't let that go unnoticed. Her declaration wasn't as pretty as his but she needed to say something. "I think my brain mixed up my emotions. I was... very unhappy that you didn’t like me all these years.”

“God, love, you're ridiculous,” he grabbed her hand without moving his eyes from the road. He squeezed her fingers but it felt tied directly to her heart. “How could I not like you?"

--

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[ktkat99]

Update to this prompt I posted a little while ago. Scroll to the bottom for a link to the story.

Tim gets injured while not wearing his suit one night.

Bernard, who has never met Tim before, finds him and takes him home. He ends up losing his memory and Bernard decides to let him move in while he heals, unaware that he's really Red Robin.

Bruce and the rest of the family can't find Tim anywhere.

Days turn into weeks.

Weeks turn to months.

All without a trace.

Tim and Bernard are getting used to living together, and both the pros and cons of being roommates.

Tim will sometimes have nightmares or flashbacks, but he’s also started to heal.

His family ends up torn, with Jason, Dick, and Steph convinced he’s alive, while Bruce, Cass and Damian have all resigned themselves to believing that he died.

One night, Tim and Bernard take a nighttime walk to a convenience store and witness a robbery.

Tim stops the guy on instinct and has a flashback of fighting with Nightwing. He assumes he was a criminal and runs off before the clerk can thank him.

Something the clerk mentions to Officer Dick Greyson when he arrives to arrest the thief. The clerk hands over the surveillance footage, which ends up being proof that Tim survived.

Dick is overjoyed, but Steph and Jason point out that he isn't being held hostage. He's free and yet never contacted them.

Was he in hiding?

From them?

Or for his own protection from someone?

Or maybe the civilian he was with had done something to him?

Whatever the reason, they decide against telling the rest of the family until they can figure out what's going on.

They begin following Tim, keeping their distances.

Tim, meanwhile, after ‘remembering’ being a criminal, can't stop obsessing over his scars, and who he might have hurt to receive them. He keeps thinking about the convenience store clerk and Bernard, wracked with guilt about all the things he may have done.

Bernard stays by him the whole time, doing his best to calm him down.

Tim doesn't tell him what's on his mind out of fear of being kicked out, and Bernard assumes the event was too stressful for him and doesn't push him to talk.

Eventually, the two of them fall asleep together, and Tim promises to make up for his past crimes by protecting Bernard. Things gradually go back to normal with Bernard going to work and Tim, who has no valid id, staying home and taking care of the apartment.

Nightwing, Red Hood, and Spoiler take turns watching Tim and Bernard.

They still haven't told their family, but know they can't just follow Tim forever.

Before they can decide on their next move, though, Cass bumps into him while grocery shopping. She freezes and he doesn't recognize her, but Dick, Jason, and Steph have to come clean.

Cass is pissed, Bruce wants to bring Tim home immediately, and Damian points out that he might not even want to come home, and that they should leave him be.

They decide that, before they make their decision, they need to talk to Tim. Maybe he really did just decide to quit.

Tim, meanwhile, has been using his free time while Bernard is at work to help people who need it. He becomes somewhat of a neighborhood vigilante, believing that he needs to make up for his past crimes.

Most of the injuries he incurs are minor and easy to hide from Bernard, but one day he takes a knife to the arm.

Bernard freaks out and tries to give him stitches in their kitchen, but then has to convince Tim to let him take him to a hospital.

Tim, not wanting to be arrested for crimes he doesn't remember committing, therefore leaving Bernard alone, argues that he's fine.

It doesn't hurt that bad.

He'll heal.

Bernard gets frustrated and shows off his own scars, which he had worked hard to always keep hidden. He explains what happened to him, and how his family disowned him as a result of ending up in the cult, and that he promises he won't put Tim in a situation where he could be in danger.

He asks to know why Tim is so adamant against going to the hospital and Tim reluctantly admits what he's pieced together from his flashbacks.

Bernard is shocked to find out that he might have been sharing his apartment with a criminal, but reasons that that must be why Tim knows how to fight.

Deciding to focus on the problem at hand, Bernard convinces Tim to at least let him take him to Leslie’s place, as she doesn't ask questions.

Leslie proceeds to ask questions, prompting Bernard to be the one to answer them for Tim.

Leslie comes to the conclusion that Bernard is answering so that Tim doesn't say the wrong thing, and only grows more concerned when she tries to subtly give him openings to slip her a message or some sort of sign that he needs help and he doesn't.

She decides that, since he's acting like he's never met her, she'll play along.

Once Bernard and Tim leave, she calls Bruce and tells him what happened.

Bruce decides it's time to step in because something is clearly wrong with Tim.

Tim and Bernard head back home and have a long talk about everything Tim's been hiding and what he's been up to.

Bernard wonders if Tim might be wrong about his assumption that he was a criminal, but Tim remembers stalking Batman, fighting with Nightwing, Robin trying to kill him and a few other things.

Tim was a criminal, and he's certain of it.

At a loss of what else to do, Bernard convinces Tim to get takeout for dinner, since neither have eaten yet.

Tim agrees and they walk down to Tim's favorite place.

On the way there, Batman and Nightwing show up and order them into the Batmobile.

Tim manages to fight off Nightwing as Batman is driving and Nightwing isn't expecting Tim to fight him and escapes with Bernard.

Their suspicions all appear to be confirmed; the Batfam believe Tim is being controlled by Bernard, while Bernard and Tim believe he's a wanted criminal.

Tim decides he needs to leave, since he's obviously being hunted, but Bernard refuses to let him.

Not alone, at least.

Tim wants Bernard to stay safe, which means away from him, but Bernard is just as worried about Tim's safety. They argue, but ultimately both find an abandoned building to hide in together.

They decide to take turns sleeping and Tim falls asleep wondering what sort of crime he committed to warrant the Bats searching for him. He ends up dreaming of the night he found his father's body and wakes up believing that he killed him.

Bernard has nodded off at this point and Tim needs to clear his head so he heads up to the roof to process what he dreamed about.

The bats decide that, for their safety and his, Tim will need to be taken by force and they can figure out what's wrong with him once they have him back home.

They track them to the abandoned building and break in, but only find Bernard.

Bernard ends up getting captured quickly and taken to the batcave for questioning.

Tim, who witnessed the abduction but hadn't been quick enough in getting down from the roof to do anything, decides it's time to go on the offensive against the bats.

He has had enough flashbacks to piece together that Batman is Bruce.

He's tired.

Angry.

Frustrated.

He's been living for months without knowledge of who he used to be and having to deal with random flashbacks and trying to piece together what his life before looked like.

The bats taking Bernard is his last straw.

He decides to start by breaking into the manor and looking for Bernard there.

Bernard, meanwhile, is desperately trying to convince Bruce and the others that he has no idea where Tim is, that he didn't do anything to Tim, and that Tim has amnesia.

They don't believe him until Tim shows up and goes all-out trying to attack them and escape with Bernard, but Bernard is the one who manages to calm him down and convince him to listen to his family.

It takes a while, and a lot of proof, but Tim finally regains his memory.

He and Bernard officially start dating and move back in together.

They like to joke that Bernard had the craziest introduction to the family, despite being a civilian.