#back at posting all of them in one sitting

[kaisaerinlover]

the kaisaerinsagi rivalry goes so hard like imagine dating them (seperate of course) and you’re out wearing one of their jerseys whilst you’re shopping, and they all have a number one on their jerseys (3 number 10s 😭😭) so the press mistakes you as one of the other’s girlfriend instead of his and he gets soo mad.

imagine sae’s reaction to the public thinking you’re dating isagi or someone, he wouldn’t even be mad just jealous. “huh? how can anyone even get me and that lukewarm striker confused. our jerseys aren’t even the same colour.” he’s genuinely baffled, and he’s not trying to be insulting either; he’s just speaking his truth. he knows you’re his, but he’s so lost at how they could ever confuse you as the girlfriend of one of those other 3 idiots. his face is just blank, the same as always, and you just laugh a bit. and he’s even more confused now, what’s so funny? “why are you laughing?” he would ask, whilst giving you that same blank stare. oh sae itoshi PLEASE never change. you just laugh again and pinch his cheeks like he’s a baby and give him a kiss. “no reason, love you” he just rolls his eyes at you and pecks your cheek back. “i’m being serious, you know.” itoshi sae never change please you’re too cute.

rin would be the opposite, having everyone thinking you were dating isagi or sae especially makes him so angry. “tsk, those lukewarm idiots. how tepid. why would you ever date someone as low level and shit as them. fucking stupid.” he’s seething, to put it very very lightly. he’s holding you against the wall as you’re still in his jersey, giving YOU the dead eye, as if you somehow orchestrated this huge misunderstanding. rin is a jealous guy, he really is; and the only thing he truly won for himself is you. so when it’s even suggested you could be in the hands of those other two losers he feels his insides tie themselves up into a knot of pure and unbridled anger. “r-rin you’re hurting meee” you whine up at him as he presses you against the wall harder and bites at your fragile neck. “no, need to show everyone you’re mine” oh rin-rin, you’re so jealous. he is truly the cutest. with those killer eyes but really cute pout and the way his hair falls over his face making him look like a stupid emo, itoshi rin you will never win the idgaf war.

isagi wouldn’t be as mad, he would be a bit of both, confused but a little jealous. “how can they even mistake the number 11 for any of THEIR numbers anyway???” he’s so confused, everyone is contemplating whether you’re dating him, kaiser, sae or rin. it’s obviously him? come on, he is number 11 and only him and kaiser share the same jersey as of now, how stupid? he’s following you around the house like a puppy asking you these questions nonstop, you can tell he’s jealous. he has his cute scowl as he’s asking. “yoichi i really don’t know-“ he interrupts you. “maybe your hair was covering the other 1? that has to be it. fine, next time don’t leave the house without a ponytail or i’ll-“ you just shut him up with a kiss, and when you pull away you giggle up at him. “i know i know, you don’t gotta be so jealous y’know, next time i go out i’ll make sure to show off your number ‘kay yoichi?” and he’s happy with that. isagi yoichi’s smile is so precious, it really is. he pulls you in for another kiss. “yeah, okay, want everyone to know you’re my girlfriend only.” even his jealousy is cute. isagi is simply just the cutest boyfriend in the world.

kaiser would not be like the others. if rin’s anger was nasty imagine kaiser’s, he would be literally losing his mind. sitting in his fancy robe sipping champagne with his glasses whilst having ness next to him, using the tv remote to go through all of the posts and theories being posted online. kaiser is madddd mad. he slams his fist down on the arm of the chair and growls a bit. “really, yoichi? fucking yoichi? and that shithead from pxg who can’t even keep his tongue in his mouth? the other itoshi brother? please, when i get into re al all he’s going to be doing is feeding me passes anyway” he scoffs. and ness diligently nods. “yeah, they’re all shit, shitty trash and below you kaiser!” and as kaiser sends ness off to go pour him another glass, you walk into the room. it’s just you two now, and boy is he angry. “have you fucking seen this, prinzessin? what insanity this is” he laughs a little. but he’s not humoured, you really love kaiser but jesus christ he acts like a fucking psycho sometimes. “i have” he just looks at you annoyed again, but still wearing that freakish smile. ew. “and why did you let your hair cover MY number? MY name? are you not proud to wear the jersey of a prodigy? are you fucking stupid or something.” he’s so condescending, pulling your hair again now. “m-micha- was an accident- was windy- c’mon stop- won’t happen again” and he releases his grip just a bit. he takes a sip of the very last droplets of champagne in his glass and looks at you again. “mmm, sorry engel, you know how i get, just love you soo much” he coos at you sweetly. and you fall for it every time. “it’s okay love you too micha.” and you really do know how he gets, as you walk past the room, you brush past ness a bit as he’s bringing kaiser back another bottle of champagne. you shudder, you’ve heard how your boyfriend treats that boy sometimes, you’re thankful you’re on the receiving end of his sweetness and not whatever that is. poor guy, you think as you walk out and shut the door behind you.

[archangeldyke-all]

i feel like sev would be like this w reader bc she nvr wants to objectify or make them feel uncom but can’t help but speak before she thinks 😭 especially with mom!reader

HAHHADHEWPH this is hilarious

men and minors dni

the thing is, sevika's never been like this before. she's usually all cool and suave and sexy when she's trying to put the moves on someone, but you make her all honest and stupid and outrageously horny. and she finds herself saying some truly obscene things to you.

you send her a picture of an outfit you picked out for a work meeting? she's texting you back before her mind can even comprehend what her horny lizard brain is typing. puddle in my boxers now, thanks.

it only takes a moment for her to become shocked by her words-- flustering even herself with her strong reaction. and then she's texting you again. was that too much? it's only seven in the morning...

and then she thinks about it for a second... her chin in her hand while she waits for you to read her texts. you're her girlfriend, she's allowed to act desperately horny about you... right? so, she sends a third text. i mean, i am sorry if it was tmi, but it's true. you're so fucking hot. i'm gonna have to jerk off to that picture before work.

and then, she fucking panics, and sends a fourth text. unless that's weird and you don't want me to.

"oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with me!?" sevika groans as she throws her phone across the room.

over time, as you guys get closer, sevika's anxiety about her horny ramblings lessen. they don't disappear completely, though.

sevika finds herself cornering you at a fuckin' kids' birthday party, whispering in her ear about how she's gonna knock you up and give you a little kiddo of your own.

but a balloon will pop behind her, you'll both jump, and the moment will be gone. "fuck, sorry, was that gross?" she mumbles as you guys grab cupcakes.

"sevika." you giggle. "i'm very into hearing how into me you are. you know this."

"yeah, but i feel like this isn't... an appropriate environment..." she cringes as she looks around at the gaggle of kids screaming and laughing. you cackle and kiss her cheek.

"maybe save it for home, yeah." you agree.

once you're married, sevika refuses to apologize-- no matter how insanely horny she's acting. you're her wife now. she's allowed to be feral about you.

you post a selfie on one of your social medias? she's commenting underneath: 'god i can't wait to sit on that pretty face tonight <3'

you show your followers the dinner you're cooking up, and sevika reposts it with 'wifey's getting pregnant tonight!'

and if you ever scold her for it-- reminding her your co-workers and families can see what she's posting, she just shrugs with a smile.

"well, i'm not lying."

you laugh. "you're traumatizing people."

"please. they're just jealous." she scoffs.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion

[v6quewrlds]

I know requests are closed (sad face) but can we get a quick blurb of reader being at the bengals game tonight. reader cheering Joe on. dealing with the rollercoaster of emotions. meets him in front of the locker room and congratulates him. once they arrive home, reader rewards him with some sexy timeeee. plz plz plzzzz

i need to learn how to say no to y'all 😭 anyways, it’s much longer than i anticipated. second person (she/her) because i wasn’t feeling you/your. hope you enjoy anon <3

She stood in front of the suite's glass wall, her heart racing as the final minutes of the game ticked away. The stadium lights cast an orange glow on her skin as the Cincinnati Bengals and the Broncos battled it out on the field below. She was consumed by painful anticipation, her eyes glued to field, watching the home team's every move. Each play felt like an eternity as she silently cheered for him, unable to sit down since halfway through the 4th quarter.

As Joe took the field for the final drive in overtime, a cold shiver shot down her spine. The tension was palpable, even from this high above the action. She and Robin held onto each other, eyes darting between the jumbotron and the field. The crowd's roar grew deafening as Joe dropped back into the pocket, his eyes scanning the field like a hawk hunting prey. Then, with a grace that defied the chaos around him, he released the ball in a perfect arc towards Tee Higgins.

Tee's fingers stretched out, catching the football just as he crossed the goal line, securing the victory for the Bengals. She had barely processed what she was seeing when the stadium erupted into a frenzy. Her scream melded with the cheers around her, her eyes brimming with joyous tears. She turned to Joe's mother, Robin, and they shared a moment of pure elation, their arms flying around each other in a tight embrace. Joe's father Jimmy and her own parents - were equally ecstatic, pumping their fists, exchanging hugs, and shouting into the buzz of the celebration.

She couldn't stop her fidgeting even as the game ended. Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing the rhythm of the fans' chanting below. She watched Joe jog off the field, the weight of the moment etched on his sweat-drenched face. It was a victory they all needed, a victory that tasted so much sweeter after such a rollercoaster of a game. As the players began to disperse and head towards the locker room, she couldn't wait any longer. She had to be with Joe.

The wait to see him after showers and locker room debriefs and post-game pressers was agonizing. She paced in the makeshift reception area for the Bengals' family members, the sixty degree Ohio air outside somehow feeling like a blast from a sauna compared to the cool suite. Her legs trembled slightly with pent-up energy, her eyes darting to the clock on her lockscreen that seemed to tick away in slow motion. Every bubble of excited noise from the lingering fans outside the stadium walls was like a tease, a reminder of the victory she hadn't yet been able to share with Joe.

When Joe finally emerged, his eyes locked onto hers from across the walkway. The chaos of the celebration around them faded into a distant hum as he made a beeline for her.

It was unusual, Joe was never one to break tradition, typically greeting his parents first, then her parents, and then her. But today, the desire to claim his victory with her first was too intense to resist. His stride was purposeful, his eyes dark with a hunger that sent a jolt of anticipation through her core. As he reached her, she nearly gasped out loud as he pulled her into his arms, his grip around her waist tight and possessive.

Their eyes met, and she could see the fire in his gaze, a reflection of the passion that had fueled him on the field. Without a word, he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss that left no doubt of his intentions. The taste of victory was on his lips, and she devoured it hungrily. Her hands roamed over his shoulder, feeling the muscles that had propelled him to greatness just minutes ago. The smell of sweat, grass, and victory melded into a scent that was uniquely his.

When they finally broke apart, she whispered against his cheek, "I can't wait to get you home." Joe's grip tightened, his voice gruff with desire as he replied, "You and me both."

He turned to greet the parents, his arm still wrapped tight aroundher waist. They all offered congratulations, a mix of pride and relief in their eyes. The stress of the long game lingered in the air, but Joe's win had brought them all together in a shared triumph.

She playfully groaned as her mother demanded she pose with Joe for a picture, the flash of the camera phone blinding them briefly. The excitement in the air was contagious, and she felt a thrill run down her spine as she leaned into his side, her hand poised on his broad chest. The fabric of his Dior jacket was cool, mirroring the gentle December chill, but it was the heat of his body beneath that truly scorched her. His heart thundered against her palm, a tempo that matched her own racing pulse.

Once the flurry of photos and congratulations had died down, Joe whispered in her ear, "Let's get out of here, I need to get my hands on you." His breath was hot and sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn't agree more. They parted, deciding to ride with their respective parents back home, hoping the distance would help cool their need for each other.

By the time they each pulled into the driveway, the heat between them was returning in full force. The moment they stepped inside, Joe's hand found hers, squeezing upon contact as if promising that the wait was almost over. They settled into the living room, surrounded by the warm glow of Christmas lights and the faint scent of evergreen from the tree. The conversation was a blend of excitement over the game and their belated holiday festivities planned for tomorrow.

Their parents, caught in their own chatter, didn't notice the way she leaned into Joe, her legs resting over his parted thighs, her head resting on his broad shoulder. Every so often, Joe would lean down to whisper something into her ear, something that made her skin tingle and her breath hitch. His hands wandered over her body, exploring under the guise of comfort and casual affection. She felt her resolve to wait until their parents retreated to their rooms wavering with every brush of his fingers.

Finally, the night grew late and the conversation began to wind down. With a yawn, Jimmy suggested everyone get some rest before the festivities tomorrow. Her parents agreed, their eyes sparkling with the same excitement she felt.

"Goodnight, you two," Robin said, standing up. "We're so proud of you, Joey. We'll let you two lovebirds have some time to celebrate privately." She winked, gaining a reciprocal laugh from her mother.

The parents disappeared into their designated guest rooms, the click of the doors echoing through the hallway like a starting gun. She and Joe looked at each other, the anticipation thick enough to cut with a knife. "You heard the woman," Joe said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm fuckin' you into our mattress tonight."

He took her hand and led her upstairs, their footsteps barely audible on the plush carpet. The house was still, the only sound their heavy breaths and racing hearts. They reached the sanctuary of their bedroom, and Joe closed the door with a gentle click. "Strip," he ordered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Keep that jersey on, though."

She smirked, the heat in Joe's eyes making her skin sizzle. She peeled off her jeans and bra, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud. Standing in nothing but her panties and Joe's oversized jersey, she felt both exposed and incredibly powerful. His gaze roved over her, imagination running wild as he picture her hidden curves before returning to her face, his eyes dark with need. She took a step between his spread thighs. Joe reached out, his thumbs hooking under the band of her underwear. With a firm tug, they were around her ankles and she stepped out of them.

The room was filled with a charged silence as Joe took in the sight of her. His hands kneading the soft, brown flesh of her ass, pulling her closer to him, the heat from his touch radiating across her skin. She felt like she could combust from the intensity of his gaze. She leaned over him, humming softly as he took in the sight of her, the jersey riding up, exposing her plush thighs.

"Mm, you're so fuckin’ beautiful," Joe murmured, his breath hot against her skin as he reached up to cup her breasts. She felt her nipples harden under his touch, a warmth pooling between her legs. She leaned down, her mouth capturing his in a kiss that was both sweet and demanding, her tongue dancing with his as he unbuttoned his jacket. Her hands pushed the fabric of the expensive material away from his body, revealing the bare muscular physique that had carried him to victory today.

"I fuckin' knew you were naked under here," she murmured as she straddled him. His hands slid under the fabric of the jersey, caressing her smooth, bare skin, his fingertips grazing her waist and sliding up to cup her breasts. She moaned into his mouth as his thumbs brushed against her sensitive nipples, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

Joe's own need was palpable. "God, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he continued to palm her breasts. She felt the tension in his shoulders, the power coiled in his arms as he held her close, his kiss growing more urgent by the second. She could feel his cock, already hard and insistent, pressing against her through his pants.

With a smirk, she slid off Joe, standing before him as she sank to her knees, the jersey riding up even more. She reached for his belt, her eyes never leaving his as she unbuckled it and pulled it free from his waist. The sound of his zipper echoed through the room as she slowly pulled his pants down. His cock sprang free, thick and proud, and she couldn't resist the urge to lick her lips.

Joe's breath hitched as she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze before leaning in to kiss the tip. Her warm breath ghosted over him, making him twitch in anticipation. She took her time, savoring the taste of him, the smell of his arousal, the feel of his hand in her hair, his gentle tugs guiding her rhythm as she took him deeper into her mouth.

Her tongue swirled around the head, teasing him mercilessly as she sucked him in further. The wet sounds of her ministrations filled the room, a stark contrast to the quiet outside their door. Nyla's eyes never left Joe's, watching the way his pupils dilated with pleasure, the way his jaw tightened and his breathing grew ragged. His hands gripped the bed sheets, cursing under his breath before deciding to stop fighting the urge to take control.

With a groan, he pulled her off him, standing to remove the last of his clothing. She watched, eyes hooded and mouth watering, as Joe's muscular body was revealed to her. He slowly ordered her to stand, his voice gruff with desire. He took her face in his hand, thumb pressing against her plumb lips. "I've been thinking about this all night," he confessed, his voice low and urgent.

"Yeah?" she responded, her voice equally thick with want. She allowed his thumb to push past her lips, sucking gently, her eyes never leaving his. The hunger in Joe's gaze was unmistakable. He stepped closer to her, their bodies no longer apart, the heat from their desire warming the nonexistent space between them. He bent his head, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her body arching into his as their tongues tangled together. His hands trailed from their place on her waist, down to her ass, squeezing and lifting her to wrap her legs around him, making her whimper.

He carried her to the bed, laying her down gently. His eyes never left hers as he positioned himself between her legs, his cock brushing against her wet folds, teasing her entrance. "Gonna be sweet for me?" he murmured against her neck, his breath hot and ragged. She nodded, biting her lower lip as his hand slid between them, guiding himself inside her with a slow, deliberate stroke that made her toes curl.

They began to move together, their bodies fitting like two pieces of a puzzle made for one another. Each thrust was a silent declaration of victory, a celebration of passion that mirrored the game's intensity. Her hands clawed at his hair, her breaths coming out in soft whimpers as Joe's pace remained steady. His hips grinded into her with an agonizingly slow pace, their gasps and moans dissolving into each other's mouths.

The bed's springs squeaked faintly with each movement, a rhythmic tune that matched their muffled sounds of pleasure. They had to keep it down, their parents just a few walls away, but the urgency of their union was too great to be fully contained. She felt her orgasm building, the tension coiling deep within her like a tight spring.

He really was fucking her into the mattress, and she was loving every second of it. The way his body felt over hers, his weight pressing her down into the bed, was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her pussy tightened around him, eager for more, and Joe responded by picking up the pace. The headboard knocked gently against the wall, but the sound was muffled by the intentionally selected thick walls and their hushed moans.

Joe's muscular thighs flexed with each thrust, his skin slick with a sheen of sweat that made her hands glide over his body with ease. Her legs were wrapped around him, her heels digging into his back as she held on tightly, her nails digging deliciously into his skin. His cock filled her completely, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. She could feel the veins along his length, throbbing with his pulse, the heat of him setting her alight from the inside out.

Their movements grew more urgent, their kisses more desperate, as their orgasms approached like a runaway train. Her breath was hot against his neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below his ear. He groaned, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine, his hips moving faster, the head of his cock brushing against her g-spot with every deep thrust.

Joe's eyes bore into hers, the blue depths dark with need. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a deep, claiming kiss as he pushed into her harder and faster, the urgency of their passion growing with each passing second. His skin slapped against hers as his hips switched from their slow, deliberate pace to a more bruising tempo that had her eyes rolling back in her head; his hand coming down to squeeze at the sides of her neck. She felt the coil of pleasure tighten within her, the sweet ache of a climax that was just out of reach.

As if it wasn't enough, Joe paused for a moment, distracting her with a nibble on her earlobe before flipping her onto her stomach and pulling her back towards him. She gasped in surprise and pleasure as he buried his face into her neck, his teeth grazing her skin lightly. His cock slid into her from behind, filling her completely, and she had to bite the pillow to keep from screaming out.

He began to move again, his strokes deep and forceful, her body jolting with each impact. The jersey she was still wearing had ridden up, exposing her round, firm ass to him, and he couldn't help but admire it as he took her. Her hands clutched the bed sheets, body straining with the effort of keeping their passionate sounds contained. Her voice broke through their muffled silence, a string of curses and pleas for more, more, more.

Joe's hand slid down her spine, his fingers dancing over her curves, his grip tightening as he pulled her ass back into him, holding her tight against his pelvis, the angle of his thrusts changing to hit her in just the right spot. She felt the heat building inside her, a pressure that grew with each stroke. Her breathing grew erratic, her body tightening around him as the orgasm crashed over her like a wave. She bit down on the pillow, muffling her scream as her muscles clenched, her pussy pulsing around Joe's thick cock.

"Mmm, fuck, baby," Joe groaned, feeling her walls spasm around him, pushing him closer to his own release. "You're so goddamn perfect." His rhythm grew erratic, his hips slapping against her ass as he lost control, leaning over her blissed out body, entrapping her with a growl. She could feel the tremors of his approaching climax, the tension in his body a delicious prelude to what was to come. She pushed her ass back into him, urging him on, her own breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"Joey," she moaned, arching her back to meet his dark gaze. "You played so good today." Her words were breathless, a gentle praise that sent a shot of pride through Joe's veins.

He leaned further, teeth grazing her skin as he goaded her lowly, "Keep talking, baby. Tell me how good I was tonight."

Her cheeks grew hot, the heat from her climax still simmering as she whimpered into the pillow, her voice shaky with passion. "Fuck — best fuckin' quarterback in the league. You were a god out there, baby. Carrying the team on your back, ‘m so fuckin’ proud, baby." Joe's strokes grew more fervent at her words, the praise driving him closer to the edge. He loved how she talked dirty, how she'd moan and writhe under him, telling him exactly how she felt.

He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his cock still deep inside her. His teeth grazed her ear. "You think so?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You think I deserve this prize?" She nodded, her body trembling as she felt him swell even more. "Come on, baby," Joe urged, his hips slapping against her ass with more force. "Gimme my prize, come for me again, make a mess, pretty girl."

The pressure grew, her body tightening around him as he pumped into her. She could feel her orgasm building once more, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. Her nails dug into the bed, her breaths coming out in pants as she neared the peak. "Fuck, Joe, I'm dammit—" she began, but her words were cut off by a muffled cry as she climaxed again, her body shaking beneath him.

Joe groaned, his own orgasm following closely behind. He thrust into her one final time, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her. His grip on her hips tightened as he held onto her, his breath hot against her neck. The quiet was only pierced by their harsh breaths and the sound of their skin slicking against each other as Joe slowly pulled out of her.

She collapsed onto the bed with a sigh, Joe following closely behind, his body heavy and satisfied. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, the sticky warmth between them a testament to their passion.

"I've never come like that before," she confessed with an embarrassed laugh, her voice still shaky with pleasure as she lay sprawled on the bed, Joe's arms around her waist. She felt his chest rise and fall with his labored breaths, the weight of him a comforting pressure.

Joe's lips curled into a smug smile against her neck. "My ego just tripled in size," he murmured, his voice a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. He rolled onto his side, his arms still wrapped around her.

She turned to face him, a goofy grin on her face. "You didn't need me for that," she said, brushing soft curls from his face. "My mom was saying you looked like your LSU self. Like you were possessed or something."

He chuckled, his eyes glazed with the aftermath of pleasure. "I guess that explains the griddy," Joe teased, kissing her gently.

[isaadore]

BOUND BY TWO HEARTBEATS LUKE HUGHES

pairing dad!luke hughes x mom!reader

SUMMARY an unexpected pregnancy challenges your relationship with luke, forcing you both to rethink your future together. however, despite the uncertainty, luke stays by your side, and the pregnancy brings you two closer than ever. word count 3.6k

warnings fluff with slight angst, use of y/n, fem!reader, mentions of birth, unplanned pregnancy, mild arguments

note first ever luke fic! hope u guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it 🤞 also, i apologize for the cheesy hockey references 😕 i just thought luke would be the type to make those

MAIN MASTERLIST LH43 MASTERLIST

THE PREGNANCY TEST felt heavy in your hand as you sat on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the coffee table. Two pink lines. The confirmation was there, undeniable, and yet you felt stuck in a haze of disbelief.

Luke would be home soon. The thought made your stomach twist. What would he say? Would he be excited? Scared? You didn’t know how to prepare for a conversation that could go in so many different directions.

The sound of the front door unlocking made your heart jump. Luke stepped inside, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly dishevelled from his post-practice shower. He didn’t notice you right away, too busy slipping off his sneakers.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, dropping his gear by the door. His voice softened when he looked up and saw you sitting there, still as a statue. “Everything okay?”

You swallowed, gripping the test tighter in your hand. “We need to talk.”

Luke frowned, the playful ease on his face fading instantly. He dropped his keys on the counter and made his way over, sitting down next to you. “What’s going on?”

You held out the test without a word, unable to meet his gaze. The silence that followed was unbearable. Finally, you risked a glance at him.

Luke stared at the test, his expression unreadable. His jaw tensed, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re… pregnant?”

“Yeah.” Your voice cracked on the single word.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Okay. Okay,” he said, as if trying to convince himself.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” you blurted, your chest tightening. “I just—I needed to tell you. I know it’s a lot, and I know it wasn’t part of the plan, but—”

“Of course it wasn’t part of the plan,” Luke interrupted, his voice low and firm. He turned to you; his brows knit together. “We’re not ready for this, Y/N. I’m not ready for this.”

The words stung, even though you’d braced yourself for them. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, trying to hold yourself together. “Do you think I am? I didn’t exactly ask for this either, Luke.”

He sighed, running his hands over his face. “I just—I don’t know what to do. This changes everything.”

“I know it does,” you said quietly. “But it’s happening whether we’re ready or not.”

Luke stood, pacing the length of the living room. His movements were restless like he was trying to escape his own thoughts. “I mean, what are people gonna say? My career’s just getting started, and now—”

“And now what?” you snapped, unable to hold back anymore. “Now you’re stuck with me and a kid? Is that what you’re worried about?”

He stopped in his tracks, his face falling. “That’s not what I meant,” he said softly, guilt clouding his eyes.

“Then what did you mean?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Because I’m scared too, Luke. I’m terrified. But I can’t do this alone, and I don’t know what you’re thinking right now.”

Luke’s shoulders slumped, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he sank back onto the couch, his head in his hands. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can be the kind of dad a kid deserves. I don’t even know if I’m ready to try.”

Your anger softened at his vulnerability, and you reached out, hesitating before placing a hand on his back. “I don’t have all the answers either,” you said gently. “But I know we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He lifted his head, looking at you, his eyes glassy. “You really think we can do this?”

“I don’t think it’ll be easy,” you admitted. “But I know I want to try. And I know I need you with me.”

Luke reached for your hand, gripping it tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I just… I love you, and I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You won’t,” you said, squeezing his hand. “We won’t.”

For the first time that evening, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “We’ll figure this out.”

THREE WEEKS LATER

It had been weeks since you told Luke you were pregnant, and while things between you had softened, an unspoken tension still lingered. You were both trying, Luke especially. He had been sticking around more, helping out with things he never used to notice, like stocking the pantry with your favourite snacks or making sure the coffee pot was always ready in the morning. But sometimes, you’d catch him staring off into space, lost in thought and his jaw tight.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The two of you sat on the couch, a documentary playing on the TV that neither of you was really watching. Your legs were tucked under a blanket while Luke sat at the other end, absently fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“Luke,” you said softly, pulling his attention away from the screen.

He looked over at you, his blue eyes clouded with worry. “Yeah?”

“How are you feeling about… everything?”

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he sighed. “Honestly? Still kind of overwhelmed,” he admitted. “Every day, it sinks in more, but I don’t know if I’m doing enough. Or if I can even do enough.”

“Luke, you’re here,” you said gently. “That’s more than enough for me right now.”

“Yeah, but just being here doesn’t mean I’ve got it all figured out,” he countered, frustration creeping into his voice. “What happens when the baby actually gets here? What if I mess it all up?”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, shifting closer to him. “And you don’t need to have all the answers right now.”

He rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back against the couch. “I just want to be good at this,” he murmured. “For you. For the baby.”

Your heart ached at his honesty. Reaching out, you placed your hand over his. “You already are,” you said. “The fact that you care this much, that you’re thinking about it every second, it shows how much this means to you. And that’s what matters.”

Luke turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours. He didn’t say anything right away, but his grip tightened as if holding on to you grounded him.

“I looked up some stuff earlier,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Stuff?”

“Yeah… about pregnancy. What you’re going through, what I should be doing to help. I even looked up prenatal vitamins to make sure you’re taking the right ones.” He let out a nervous laugh. “I guess I just needed to feel like I was doing something, you know?”

Your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you at his confession. “Luke,” you said softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he teased lightly. “I’m still figuring this out.”

“We both are,” you reminded him.

He rested his cheek against the top of your head, the tension in his body easing for the first time that night. “Do you think we’ll be good at this? At being parents?”

“I think we’ll be better than we give ourselves credit for,” you said.

A comfortable silence settled between you. For a moment, the weight of everything seemed lighter.

“You know,” he said, a mix of nerves and excitement in his voice, “I was thinking… maybe we could tell my parents soon if you’re ready. They’d probably want to know.”

Your breath hitched. It was a big step, one that made the pregnancy feel even more real. His expression was hopeful yet hesitant. You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady. “I think I’m ready.”

Luke smiled for the first time in days, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “We’ve got this,” he whispered.

SEVERAL DAYS LATER

You sat in the passenger seat of Luke’s car, watching the scenery blur as you made your way to his parents’ house. The test, the doctor’s appointment, and the initial shock were behind you, but this, telling Luke’s parents, felt like a challenge on its own.

Luke’s grip on the steering wheel was tight. His jaw was set, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He glanced at you and forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking about how to say it.”

You reached over and placed your hand on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “They’re going to be happy, Luke. It’s Ellen and Jim. They love us.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But it’s still a lot. What if they think we’re too young or that it’ll mess up my career?”

“Your mom will probably cry, your dad will give some practical advice, and then we’ll all hug. It’ll be fine.”

Luke nodded but didn’t seem convinced.

When you arrived at the Hughes’ home, the familiar smells of freshly baked cookies and the sound of hockey commentary from the living room made you feel more at ease. Ellen greeted you both with a warm hug, calming your nerves a little.

“You’re just in time! I made peanut butter cookies,” she said, ushering you into the kitchen.

“It was Luke’s favourite,” Jim teased from the dining table, where he was tasting one of the freshly baked cookies.

“Still is,” Luke said with a weak laugh, earning a curious look from his dad.

The four of you settled into the living room. Ellen and Jim began small talk with the both of you, but the weight of the real reason for your visit sat on your shoulders.

Ellen caught on first. “Is everything okay?” she asked, tilting her head. “You both seem… nervous.”

Luke’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing tightly with yours. He cleared his throat and glanced at you for reassurance.

“Yeah, uh, everything’s fine,” he said. “Actually, it’s more than fine. We just—we have some news.”

Jim folded his arms and leaned forward slightly. “What kind of news?”

Luke looked at you again, and you gave him a small nod. He took a deep breath.

“We’re… we’re having a baby,” he said, the words tumbling out quickly.

For a moment, the room was silent. Ellen’s mouth opened slightly, her eyes darting between the two of you. Jim’s brow furrowed as he processed the news.

“You’re pregnant?” Ellen finally asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

You nodded. “Yes.”

And then, as predicted, Ellen burst into tears. “Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands. “That’s amazing news!”

Jim leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, that’s a big step. Congratulations, you two.”

Ellen jumped up, pulling both you and Luke into a tight hug. “I can’t believe it! A baby! I’m going to be a grandma!”

Luke exhaled, his tension visibly easing. “You’re not mad?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Mad?” Ellen pulled back, hands on his cheeks. “Luke, this is wonderful. It’ll be a lot of work, but you two are going to be amazing parents. And we’ll help every step of the way.”

“Absolutely,” Jim added, standing to join the group hug. “You’re not alone in this. Family is everything.”

Luke looked at you, his blue eyes shining with relief. “Told you,” you whispered, and he chuckled softly.

The rest of the evening was filled with talks about baby names, parenting advice, and promises of Ellen knitting baby hats. The weight on Luke’s shoulders seemed to lift with his parents’ excitement.

Later that night, as you drove home, Luke reached over and took your hand. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For reminding me this is going to be okay,” he said. “And for being the best girlfriend I could ask for.”

You squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “We’ve got this,” you said, echoing his words from a few days ago.

He smiled at that.

DURING THE SECOND TRIMESTER

You hadn’t even opened your eyes yet, but you could already feel Luke moving around the room. The faint clatter of plates and the smell of something burning told you exactly what was going on.

With a sleepy laugh, you called out, “Luke, are you trying to set the kitchen on fire?”

There was a beat of silence before his voice responded, a little defensive. “It’s not burning; it’s just… toasty.”

You rolled out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen, finding him standing at the stove in sweatpants and an old Michigan hoodie, waving a spatula at the smoking pan. He glanced at you sheepishly.

“Breakfast in bed,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess: eggs and toast?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, grinning despite himself. “Figured it was safe enough.”

You walked over and slipped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his back. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

He turned the stove off and faced you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I wanted to. You’re growing a whole human; the least I can do is make you breakfast.”

You laughed, lightly swatting him on the chest. “Maybe stick to smoothies next time.”

Luke’s attentiveness did not stop there.

At night, he would lie next to you, his hand on your stomach, waiting for a kick. The first time he felt one, his eyes lit up like he’d just scored in overtime.

“That’s insane,” he whispered, staring at your belly like it held the secrets of the universe. “They’re really in there.”

“Where else would they be?” you teased, but your heart swelled at the wonder in his voice.

Then there were the books.

Stacks of them appeared on the coffee table, everything from practical guides to detailed pregnancy manuals. You often found him flipping through them late at night, squinting at diagrams and detailed instructions.

One evening, you caught him staring at a page about swaddling techniques. His brow furrowed, lips moving slightly as if rehearsing the steps.

“You know,” you said, sitting down beside him, “babies don’t come with instruction manuals.”

“Yeah, but they should,” he muttered, holding up the book. “I mean, look at this! Who knew folding a blanket could be this complicated?”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re going to be a great dad, Luke. Blanket folding skills or not.”

And then there was decorating the nursery.

Luke spent most of his free time preparing the nursery. He assembled the crib (after three tries), organized baby clothes by size, and insisted on painting the walls himself.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” you told him one afternoon as he measured for curtains.

“I want to,” he replied without missing a beat. “I want everything to be perfect for them.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. “And for you.”

But it wasn’t just the big gestures. It was the small ones that meant the most.

It was the way he kept a stash of salt-and-vinegar chips in the pantry because they were your latest craving.

It was the way he always adjusted the pillows behind your back whenever you sat down, muttering about “keeping you comfortable.”

It was the way he sent texts during away games, even if he only had a few minutes between practices and games.

How are you feeling today?

Are you drinking enough water?

One night, as you lay in bed, Luke traced patterns on your stomach, his voice quiet.

“I still don’t know if I’m ready,” he admitted. “But I want to be. And I want to make sure you never feel like you’re doing this alone.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “You already make me feel that way, Luke.”

He exhaled slowly, tension leaving his body. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ll keep trying, every day.”

A COUPLE MONTHS LATER

You lay on the couch, scrolling through your phone and trying to ignore the dull, persistent pain in your back. Luke was a few feet away, aimlessly passing a foam puck between his hands, clearly restless. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting for days now, and you couldn’t blame him; your due date had come and gone, and you were both on edge.

“I think this kid’s taking after you already,” you teased, glancing up at him. “Always late to the party.”

Luke smirked, tossing the puck onto the coffee table. “Or they’re just waiting for the perfect time, like a game-winning goal.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could reply, a sharp, unfamiliar pain ripped through your stomach, stealing your breath. You instinctively pressed a hand to your belly, eyes wide.

“Y/N?” Luke asked, his voice laced with concern as he immediately sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but then you felt it: the unmistakable sensation of your water breaking. “Luke,” you said, your voice shaking slightly, “my water just broke.”

For a second, Luke froze, staring at you like you’d just announced the world was ending. Then he shot to his feet, panic written all over his face. “Wait—what? Like, right now? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, unless I suddenly forgot how to hold my bladder,” you said dryly, but the wave of another contraction cut off your sarcasm.

Luke bolted into action, scrambling around the room like a tornado. “Okay, okay, uh, the hospital bag! Where’s the bag? And your shoes! Do you have shoes? Oh my god, should we call an ambulance? No, wait, we can drive—we can drive. Right?”

“Luke,” you said through gritted teeth, gripping the arm of the couch. “The bag is by the door, my shoes are on my feet, and yes, we can drive. Just breathe.”

He stopped mid-spin, exhaling sharply, trying to calm himself down. “Right. Breathe. I can do that. I’m breathing.”

“Good,” you said, trying not to laugh despite the pain. “Now grab the keys, and let’s go before this baby decides to make their debut on the living room floor.”

The car ride to the hospital was a blur of speeding, frequent checks to make sure you were okay, and Luke muttering to himself under his breath. “This is fine. We’ve got this. Totally fine.”

“Luke,” you said through another contraction, your voice tight, “you’re doing great, but maybe slow down just a little. I’d rather not get a speeding ticket.”

“Right, right, sorry,” he said, easing up on the gas pedal but still darting worried glances your way.

By the time you were settled into a delivery room, Luke had transformed into a nervous ball of energy. He was constantly by your side, holding your hand so tightly it almost hurt, peppering you with questions.

“Do you need water? Or ice? Or a back rub? Oh my god, am I supposed to be doing something? Should I call someone?”

You squeezed his hand, managing a small smile between contractions. “You’re doing fine, Luke. Just stay here with me, okay?”

His eyes softened, and he nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

Hours passed in a haze of pain, encouragement, and Luke’s endless stream of reassurances. “You’re so strong, Y/N. You’re amazing. You’re doing so well. I love you so much.”

And when the time finally came to push, his face was a mix of awe and sheer terror as he stood by your side, holding your hand as if his life depended on it.

“You’ve got this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re incredible, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s a boy!” one of the nurses announced, and Luke’s hand dropped from yours as he turned to look.

The doctor carefully placed the baby on your chest, and Luke froze, staring down at the tiny, wriggling bundle in awe.

“Is that…” His voice cracked. “That’s our son.”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you looked down at your baby boy. “Yeah. That’s him.”

Luke’s hands shook as he reached out, gently brushing a finger against the baby’s cheek. The baby’s cries quieted slightly, and Luke let out a shaky laugh.

“Hi, buddy,” he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. “I’m your dad. And you… you’re perfect.”

Later, in the quiet hospital room, Luke sat beside you, cradling your son in his arms. The baby had fallen asleep, his tiny fist wrapped around Luke’s finger.

“He’s so small,” Luke murmured, his eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “How is he so small?”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “They don’t come out NHL-sized, you know.”

He chuckled softly, the sound filled with awe. “I can’t believe we made him. That he’s ours.”

You reached out, gently stroking the baby’s head. “What should we name him?”

Luke hesitated for a moment, then looked at you, his eyes shining. “How about Caden?” he suggested quietly. “You always liked that name.”

“Caden Hughes,” you said, testing it out. “I love it.”

As the three of you lay in the hospital room, Luke sat beside you, cradling the baby in his arms with a look of pure adoration.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving Caden’s face, “I didn’t think it was possible, but I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Me too.”

And in that moment, everything felt exactly as it should be.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ LH43 MASTERLIST

[6qubed]

fair enough, that's what I've been doing. and yeah, I did the bumper-sticker snappy comeback thing, which was not cool. apologies.

let's recontextualize. first point of order, every human is a human, be they man, woman, white, black, gay, straight, pick your fucking adjective. we're all humans. we're the same. that sounds fairly obvious on the face of it, but remember that dehumanization and othering- that "Us vs. Them" shit- are the tools of bigots; note what I said there, not fascists, bigots. we'll never truly be free of the taint of Godwin's Law, but we haven't gotten to them yet. not yet. soon, though. but back on track, this does respond to that thing you wrote; women and fascists are the same, because there is literally nothing separating them from any other group of humans on the planet. nothing that matters, anyway. (and if that thought pisses you off, hey it pisses them off too. one more thing y'all got in common)

second point, no person ever thinks of themselves as a "bad person". we're getting dangerously close to discussions of morality here (and I have a bias anyway because I'm an antinihilist and morality doesn't exist. neither does holiness, since you mentioned it) but my point is no person ever does "the wrong thing" on purpose. if they do, they either think they're being "wrong for The Right Reasons", i.e. telling those mormons that rocked up to your doorstep that you can't go to church with them next sunday because that's when you're hosting a gay satanic orgy, three things that a religious person would find objectionable and that's why you're saying it, or (and this is the dangerous one) they think they "didn't have a choice", i.e. that "look what you made me do" shit that a domestic abuser would say after she slapped her husband around for buying another woman flowers (his mother, for Mother's Day).

third point, building off the second, is that once a person's got it in their heads that they're a "victim" being "oppressed", it's real easy for anything and everything they do to be "protecting themselves and/or fighting back" and anything their "oppressor" does as "oppression". okay, let's go back to the fascists now: you've no doubt seen that "1488" dogwhistle that every dickhead tries to use to be "clever", right? ignore the 88 for a second; that 14 is a reference to "The Fourteen Words", a slogan for white supremacy. now consider what those fourteen words actually say. it's actually the first half of an entire slogan broken up by a comma: "We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children, because the beauty of the White Aryan woman must not perish from the Earth." do you see it? they think all that awful shit they've been doing this whole time is an act of protection. they think they're under attack. any act of cruelty they commit might be regrettable, on its face, but really in their minds they don't have a choice. because they're being oppressed. they're being run out of their homes, having their money and their jobs and their opportunities and their futures taken away, by their oppressors. hell you want a less dramatic example? remember all that fuss everyone was making years ago about "manspreading"? when Men's latest act of oppression against feminists All Women Everywhere was sitting comfortably on public transit? "How dare they take up Our Space! it's supposed to be for those who truly need it! what's next, Men in Women's bathrooms??"

there is nothing separating you from that. nothing makes you better. nothing makes you "special". and nothing makes you any different from me. or anyone else. nothing at all. the idea that you are somehow above that sort of thinking is a trap, and the minute you think that being harmed gives you justification for doing harm in return, you've fallen in. as for "just making jokes", well first of all go back and reread OP's posts, and second consider how burned you'd be or have been by men making "women jokes"

i see "men bad" jokes as very similar to suicide jokes. like making them every once in a while isn't the worst thing, but if you Keep making them constantly. it DOES shape how you start thinking and you WILL become a more unpleasant and bitter person and also make people around you uncomfortable. and sometimes you just gotta choose to not make or engage with certain jokes, even if they are amusing to you, because its just not who you wanna be

[xxtc-96xx]

Found a Totally Legal format to watch Mufasa: The Lion King so as someone who was formerly deeply involved in the lion king years back it seems right to give my thoughts:

Jesus wept what have they done (there will also be spoilers see more to read my stupid rant lol)

Now I can see a few spots in the story that could have lead to interesting ideas, in a better story for sure. The problem is the story overall was incredibly cluttered, they rushed from one point to the next and didn’t let any moments sit and breathe. Kiara was cute but Timon and Pumbaa practically held the audience hostage every time an interlude in Rafiki’s story happened with the same routine of “why aren’t WE in the story???” Every time undermining any authentic moments with Kiara and Rafiki

The biggest gripe I have is with Taka and Mufasa’s relationship or lack there of. Aside from having a song saying they’re brothers they hardly have a bond at all that we see. Mufasa is forced to stay away from Taka in the short time they’re even in Taka’s home, Mufasa has a closer bond with Taka’s mother Eshe than he does with his “brother”

Even dumber that several brief lines, Obashi, Taka’s father, keeps mentioning blood bonds are all that matter and Taka kind of argued against that as if the lesson here is that there’s more to family than blood…..except we all know what happens with Scar so in the end his father was right, blood bonds are all that matter because it took next to nothing to turn on Mufasa and he murdered him later in life anyways lol

Even on their Land Before Time style journey that takes them to the pride lands I feel nothing towards Mufasa and Taka, I never once believe they had a deep brotherly bond of any sort. Which makes it even more stupid that all it takes for Taka to betray all of them is Sarabi deciding she has feelings for Mufasa and not Taka.

Mufasa even played as a wingman and tried his best to direct Sarabi to Taka but in the end the two of them bonded instead, and Taka flips the traitor switch instantly over that without even confronting him about it and from then on he speaks as his 2019 Incel murder counterpart, even confessed to Mufasa proudly of his betrayal and yet Mufasa and everyone else is stupid enough to just let him stick around anyways, every line he delivered post betrayal was said in the same way one would say “I’m going to murder every one of you and also you smell bad”

Overall a very frustrating and hollow experience, it didn’t feel like it added anything to the overall universe and now Scar apologists have more to work with despite the fact Taka in the film is terrible and hardly has any redeeming qualities XD

If you want a better falling out story as I’ve said before, watch Transformers One. You feel the bond between Orion Pax and D16, you sympathize with D16’s slow decent into a dark place and you mourn the lost brotherhood between Optimus and Megatron but still know that Megatron was still in the wrong by the end. I felt none of that in Mufasa

Also Mufasa’s dad never told him about the great kings of the past because he’s not a king, and the throw away line in the terrible 2019 remake Zazu said specifically for the prequel mentioned he knew a headstrong cub who was always getting into scrapes but Zazu didn’t meet Mufasa until he was a young adult XD

[wonderjanga]

You Feed Me Now For Some Reason?

This is inspired by @the-autistic-spider’s repost on this post.

Billy was having a good day. It was sunny out in Fawcett and just the right amount warm. He was relaxing, laid out on a bench in a park. His eyes were closed and he simply basked in the sun like a cat. Then all of a sudden the sun was blocked out by something.

Black Adam: *looking absolutely horrified* “Aman?”

Billy: *opens his eyes to look up, look up at him, and honest to the Gods his soul almost leaves his body as he sees Adam standing over him*

Both of them looked equally horrified to see each other.

Black Adam: “Ah…” *rubs his eyes before looking back at him* “No. You’re not him.”

Billy: “Not who?”

Black Adam: “No one that concerns you.” *clears throat* “Child, where is the Champion?”

Billy: “You mean Captain Marvel? He’s uh… not here right now.”

Black Adam: “I thought the bumbling fool was always around.”

Billy: “Bumbling- he’s not a bumbling fool!” *offended* “And he’s not always around because he kinda has a life to live, you know?”

Black Adam: “He has a life outside of being the Champion?” *does a little short evil laugh* “Like that’ll last long.”

After that, Adam flew away, leaving Billy to stare him like he was a fucking idiot because, well, he was acting like one. At least in Billy’s opinion anyways. Fast forward a week or two and Billy is leaving the Whiz building. He gets maybe about a street away before Adam suddenly lands in front of him.

Black Adam: “You.”

Billy: “Me?”

Black Adam: “Where is the Champion?”

Billy: “I dunno sir.” *shrugs*

Black Adam: “But you should know. You are the Whiz Kid, yes? You spread news about his accomplishments and battles and such.”

Billy: “Yeah? That doesn’t mean I know where he is though.” *is mentally pointing an laughing*

Black Adam: “I see.” *narrows eyes and looks Billy up and down* “You’re… skinny. Your parents need to feed you more.”

Billy: “Uhm… I don’t have parents Mr. Black Adam Sir.”

Black Adam: “I see.” *stares for a solid minute*

Billy: *stares back*

Black Adam: *picks Billy up and flies to look for a food vendor*

Billy: *screams and flails*

After they found a vendor…

Black Adam: *puts Billy down*

Billy: *tries to run*

Black Adam: *grabs the back of his sweater to make sure he stays there* “Give us your finest…” *looks to what the vendor is even selling* “Hot dogs.”

Billy: *still trying to run but this is his favorite sweater and he doesn’t want to ditch it so he’s just stuck trying to pull away from a man with the strength of Amon*

When Adam got the hotdogs he sat down at a bench and lifted Billy to sit on the bench too and eat. Now see, Billy wasn’t about to get rid of a perfectly good hotdog, no siree. So, he scooched all the way to the edge of the bench and the two ate in silence. After that awkwardness, Adam straight up left.

Now, you’d think this would be a one time thing right? Nah. Adam ends up dragging Billy to food places so frequently the boy gets used to it. They still sit in that silence but Billy’s gotten used to that and just tries to focus on the food. As for how they’re getting all this food? Adam just intimidates anyone who even thinks to deny the pair a taco or hotdog.

[missarchive]

cognitive dissonance pt 1 - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

who? tutor!spencer reid x student fem!reader

category: fluff, smut

content warnings: NSFW MDNI!! dry humping, fingering

word count: 5k

a/n: scheduled post as i am away at a new years music festival with my friends :] i will be back with you all in a few days <3

The first time you saw Spencer Reid was during a lecture hall mix-up in your second week at the university. You had rushed in, clutching your notebook and hoping to secure a spot before the professor started, only to find yourself in a room filled with students much older than you. At the center of it all, there he was—leaning casually against the podium, flipping through a worn-out book with an intensity that made the rest of the world blur around him.

He wasn’t the professor, but he might as well have been. His sharp, confident voice cut through the murmurs as he corrected an older man’s calculation on the whiteboard with such precision that the room seemed to collectively hold its breath. You’d learned his name that day from the whispers: Spencer Reid. The prodigy. The genius with more degrees than anyone knew what to do with.

From then on, he became a background character in your university life—a distant figure who seemed too brilliant, too out of reach, to exist in the same world as you. You heard the rumors, the awe-filled anecdotes: he’d started college as a child prodigy, aced every test like it was nothing, and was now juggling multiple Ph.D. programs.

Your own academic pursuits felt mundane in comparison. Sure, you worked hard, but you struggled. Like now, for instance, staring at the red marks slashing through your latest assignment—a problem set for your advanced statistics class.

“You’ve got potential, but you’re missing the fundamentals,” your professor said when you approached him after class, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “I’m assigning you a tutor.”

“A tutor?” you echoed, your stomach dropping. Group study sessions were bad enough; working one-on-one with someone felt like an invitation for them to witness your shortcomings up close.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a knowing smile. “You’ll be in good hands. I’ve paired you with one of the best.”

You didn’t know what to expect as you walked into the library that afternoon, clutching your notes so tightly your knuckles turned white. The email from your professor had given you nothing but a time and a name: Spencer Reid.

Your heart raced as you reached the designated table tucked into a quiet corner of the library. There he was, surrounded by open books and a tower of index cards, his familiar mop of brown hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled something into a notebook. He looked up when you approached, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you freeze in place.

“You’re here for tutoring?” he asked, his voice softer than you expected, though no less confident.

You nodded quickly, struggling to find your words. “Y-yeah, I’m… I’m Y/N. My professor said you’d be helping me with stats?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gestured for you to sit. “Let’s get started, then.”

As you settled into the chair across from him, you couldn’t help but feel like you were stepping into another universe—one where Spencer Reid wasn’t just the untouchable genius you’d admired from afar but someone real, someone tangible, someone who, for the first time, was looking directly at you.

You weren’t sure what you expected Spencer Reid’s tutoring style to be, but it certainly wasn’t this. You’d assumed he might be aloof, perhaps brisk, throwing around jargon you’d struggle to keep up with. Instead, he was patient—meticulously breaking down concepts into manageable pieces while his pen skated effortlessly across his notebook.

Not that you could focus on much of it.

His presence was… distracting. The way his long fingers tapped thoughtfully against the edge of the table, the faint crease between his brows when he explained something particularly tricky, the way his lips pursed as he considered your answer before gently redirecting you to the correct one. All of it sent your mind spiraling into a whirlwind of thoughts that had nothing to do with statistics.

“Does that make sense?” Spencer asked, tilting his head as his hazel eyes searched yours.

You blinked, realizing too late that you hadn’t heard a single word of his explanation. Heat rushed to your face as you fumbled for a response. “Um, yeah! Totally. Makes sense.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “Really? Then can you explain why we divide by the square root of the sample size in this calculation?”

Panic flared in your chest. “Oh, uh… because it… balances the equation?” you ventured weakly.

Spencer set his pen down, leaning back slightly as he studied you. There was something disarming about the way he looked at you, like he could see straight through the flustered exterior you were so desperately trying to hold together. And, knowing Spencer Reid, he probably could.

“You’re nervous,” he said, not unkindly, but with the clinical precision of someone stating a fact.

Your breath hitched. “What? No, I’m fine!” you lied, your voice raising an octave.

He tilted his head, his gaze softening. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “A lot of people feel overwhelmed during one-on-one tutoring. It’s a different kind of pressure.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sincerity in his tone stopped you. He wasn’t mocking you or trying to make you feel small. If anything, he seemed… concerned.

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he continued, his voice almost soothing now. “Because if you’re too focused on feeling self-conscious, it’s going to be harder for you to process the material.”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. Spencer smiled—a small, reassuring curve of his lips—and slid his notebook closer to you.

“Let’s try this,” he said, switching tactics. “Instead of diving into the calculations right away, let’s talk about what you’re struggling with conceptually. No pressure, no judgment. Just a conversation.”

That did help, marginally. His calm demeanor and methodical approach were like a balm to your frazzled nerves. But every now and then, he’d catch you staring at him for a beat too long, your mind wandering to thoughts that had nothing to do with statistics. Each time, his gaze would flicker with amusement, like he knew exactly what was going through your head but was too polite to say anything.

By the time the session ended, your brain felt like it had been wrung out like a sponge—not just from the math but from the sheer effort of keeping yourself together in his presence. As you packed up your things, Spencer handed you a few pages of handwritten notes.

“These should help,” he said, his voice still as calm and steady as ever. “And if you have questions before our next session, feel free to email me.”

You nodded, clutching the notes like a lifeline. “Thanks. I’ll, um… I’ll do that.”

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, warm and curious. And though you were mortified at how obvious your flustered state had been, a tiny part of you couldn’t help but hope he didn’t mind.

You were determined to be better this time. You’d spent hours poring over the notes Spencer had given you, even rewatching a few recorded lectures for good measure. If you couldn’t control the embarrassing way your brain short-circuited around him, the least you could do was come prepared.

But as you approached the table in the library’s corner and saw him already seated, legs crossed, pen twirling lazily between his fingers, you realized preparation could only take you so far. He looked up as you neared, his hazel eyes lighting up briefly in acknowledgment.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice sounding far too breathy for your liking.

“Hi,” he replied, a slight smile playing on his lips as he motioned for you to sit. “Ready to dive in?”

You nodded quickly, lowering yourself into the chair and flipping open your notebook. Spencer wasted no time launching into a review of last session’s material, but as he began sketching out a new problem, you felt your focus slipping again.

It wasn’t your fault, really. Who could concentrate with him looking like that? His hair was slightly messier than last time, a few stray curls brushing against his forehead. He chewed absentmindedly on the cap of his pen as he thought, the motion inexplicably captivating. And when he leaned forward to jot down a formula, the faint scent of his cologne hit you, warm and woodsy, leaving your thoughts spiraling once more.

“Did you catch that?” Spencer’s voice cut through your haze. You blinked, realizing you’d been staring—again.

“S-sorry. What?” you stammered, gripping your pen like it might anchor you to reality.

His lips quirked up, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I was asking if you understood why we’re using a t-distribution here instead of a z-distribution.”

“Oh! Uh… yes?” you said uncertainly.

Spencer chuckled, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “You’re lying.”

Your stomach dropped, and you immediately ducked your head, cheeks flaming. “I’m not lying,” you mumbled.

“You are,” he said, and though his tone was light, there was an unmistakable confidence in his words. “Your body language gave it away. You looked down and shifted in your chair when you answered, which is a pretty common tell.”

You groaned softly, mortified. “Okay, fine. I don’t know why we’re using it.”

“See? That’s progress.” He grinned, and you could swear there was a hint of mischief in his expression. “But I can’t help noticing that your attention seems… elsewhere.”

Your head snapped up at that, your wide eyes meeting his. “What? No! I’m paying attention.”

Spencer tilted his head, his smile widening slightly. “Really? Then why do you keep staring at me?”

Your heart practically stopped. “I’m not—I wasn’t—I mean—” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a flustered mess, and his grin only grew more pronounced.

“It’s fine,” he said smoothly, cutting off your babbling. “I just couldn’t help but notice. You’ve been doing it since last session.”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I wasn’t staring,” you lied weakly.

His gaze held yours, unwavering and far too knowing. “You were,” he countered, his voice low and teasing now. “But I’m curious—why?”

“I wasn’t—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were only digging the hole deeper. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking?” His eyebrows lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “About the statistics, or something else?”

You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole. “The statistics,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and almost smug. “If you say so.”

He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the table, and you felt the air shift between you. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer now, “it’s not a bad thing. People observe things they find interesting.”

The words hung in the air, and you swore your pulse echoed in your ears. You couldn’t tell if he was being matter-of-fact or if there was a deeper implication in his statement, but the knowing glint in his eyes kept you from relaxing.

“Let’s try again,” he said after a beat, tapping his pen against the notebook and effortlessly shifting the conversation back to math. But the playful smirk that lingered on his face for the rest of the session made it clear: he wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily.

When you arrived at your usual table in the library, Spencer was already there, meticulously arranging his materials. His long fingers smoothed out the corner of a page in his notebook, and he glanced up as you approached, offering a small smile that made your stomach flutter despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“Hi,” you greeted softly, sliding into your seat.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice warm and low. “Ready to tackle some more statistics?”

You nodded, pulling out your notebook and pen. He scooted his chair slightly closer—not enough to be obvious, but enough that you could feel the faintest brush of his knee against yours under the table. You froze for a moment, unsure if it was intentional, but Spencer didn’t react.

“Okay,” he began, leaning toward you to sketch out a problem. As he wrote, his shoulder nudged yours lightly. The contact was brief, but it left your skin tingling.

“Let’s start with this,” he said, his pen gliding smoothly across the page. “We’re calculating confidence intervals today. Do you remember the formula from last time?”

You stared at the problem, willing yourself to focus, but the warmth of his proximity made it difficult. “Uh… I think so?”

“Let me jog your memory,” he said. His hand moved toward your notebook, his fingers brushing against yours as he adjusted it to face him. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you.

“Sorry,” he said casually, his eyes flicking to yours for a moment. “Didn’t mean to invade your space.”

“No, it’s fine,” you replied quickly, your voice higher than usual. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that the contact had been accidental. But then he leaned even closer, his arm grazing yours as he explained the formula.

“See how the standard error fits into this part?” he asked, his voice calm and steady.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to. It was impossible to concentrate with the way his sleeve brushed against yours, the subtle movement sending a ripple of awareness through you.

“Let’s work through this part together,” Spencer continued, his tone patient. He slid his hand over the notebook, his fingers brushing against yours again as he pointed to a specific number. The touch lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, but his expression remained neutral, as though he hadn’t noticed.

You couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or if you were imagining things. Either way, the warmth radiating from him was making your thoughts hazy.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you.

“Yeah! Totally fine,” you said quickly, though your face felt like it was on fire.

He smiled, his expression soft but unreadable. “Good. Let me know if I’m going too fast.”

You nodded, gripping your pen tightly to ground yourself. But Spencer didn’t make it easy. Every time he reached for the notebook or gestured toward your notes, his hand would brush against yours. Once, he leaned forward to grab a pen, his shoulder pressing lightly into yours for a moment that felt both casual and deliberate.

By the time the session was over, your nerves were shot. Spencer handed you a fresh set of notes, his fingers grazing yours yet again as he passed them over.

“These should help,” he said, his voice soft and steady. “You’re doing better than you think, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, clutching the notes to your chest.

“Same time next week?” he asked, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual.

You nodded, too flustered to say much else. As you walked away, you replayed the session in your mind, questioning every subtle touch, every quiet moment of proximity. Was it intentional, or were you imagining things?

The worst part was that you couldn’t tell—and that you didn’t really mind either way.

You weren’t sure why you’d agreed to have Spencer tutor you at your place. The library felt safer somehow, more neutral. But when he’d suggested it—citing the possibility of fewer distractions—you’d found yourself nodding without a second thought.

Now, as you sat across from him at your small dining table, you were second-guessing every decision that had led to this moment.

“Nice place,” Spencer said as he set his bag down and took in the cozy, slightly cluttered room. His eyes lingered on a stack of books by the couch. “Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you replied, fidgeting with your pen. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting company, so it’s kind of messy.”

He gave you a small smile, his gaze warm and easy. “It’s fine. Ready to get started?”

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to focus on something—anything—other than the fact that Spencer Reid, in all his impossibly distracting glory, was sitting in your home.

For the first few minutes, you managed to keep things professional. Spencer explained a complex concept with his usual precision, and you actually managed to follow along. But then he leaned closer, pointing out a detail in your notes, and you felt that now-familiar flutter in your chest.

“You’ve got the right idea,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You just need to be more precise here.”

He tapped the edge of the page, his hand brushing yours in the process. The contact was brief but enough to make your breath hitch.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing up at you with those impossibly perceptive eyes.

“Yeah, fine,” you said quickly, though your voice betrayed you.

Spencer’s lips quirked, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours under the table. It felt so casual, so natural, that you couldn’t decide if it was intentional.

For a while, he kept his focus on the notes, but his proximity seemed to grow with each passing moment. The air between you felt charged, like static electricity, and you could feel your resolve slipping.

“So,” Spencer said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and studying you with an intensity that made your pulse race, “how are you finding these sessions so far?”

“They’re good,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Really helpful.”

“Helpful,” he repeated, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “You sure about that?”

“Of course,” you replied, glancing up at him.

His eyes locked onto yours, and the weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear. “You seem… distracted sometimes.”

“I’m not distracted,” you said defensively, though the heat rising to your cheeks said otherwise.

Spencer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice dropped slightly, the teasing edge unmistakable. “Are you sure? Because I get the feeling you’ve been paying more attention to me than the math.”

Your stomach flipped, and you looked down, trying to steady your breathing. “That’s not true,” you muttered.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his tone soft but insistent.

Before you could respond, he reached out, his fingers grazing yours as he took the pen from your hand. The movement was slow, deliberate, and it left your skin buzzing.

“Relax,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just helping.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. He leaned closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice shaky.

“Yes?” he murmured, his gaze flicking to your lips for the briefest of moments.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The tension between you was palpable, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

Spencer’s hand moved slightly, his fingers brushing against yours again. This time, the touch lingered, deliberate and unmistakable. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he said softly, his voice low and steady.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you found yourself leaning ever so slightly toward him, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a slow, careful movement, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hand resting lightly on yours as he tilted his head. The kiss, when it came, was soft and tentative, like he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned into him, your heart pounding as you let yourself get lost in the moment. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of curiosity and something deeper.

“Still distracted?” he asked, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Your heart thundered in your chest as his words hung in the air. You couldn’t decide if the heat coursing through you was from the kiss or the way he was looking at you—like you were the most fascinating puzzle he’d ever encountered.

“Very,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened slightly, but it wasn’t the smug grin you expected. It was softer, almost tender, though his eyes still carried that flicker of mischief.

“Maybe we should take a break,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost inviting.

You nodded, your breath catching as he stood and motioned toward the couch in the living room. You followed him, your nerves on edge but your body moving of its own accord.

The moment you sat down, the tension between you snapped like a rubber band. Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, as though giving you one last chance to stop him, before leaning in again.

This time, there was nothing tentative about it. His lips met yours with more certainty, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as the kiss grew more fervent.

Spencer shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours as his free hand settled on your waist. The pressure was light, grounding, but it sent a shiver down your spine all the same. His thumb traced a small, absent-minded circle against your side, and the simple motion made your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

You tilted your head slightly, allowing him to angle the kiss more deeply. He responded immediately, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer. The world outside your apartment ceased to exist, leaving only the heat of his body and the intoxicating pull of his lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Spencer’s forehead rested lightly against yours, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath.

“I think,” he said after a moment, his voice rougher than usual, “we’ve officially crossed into not studying territory.”

You laughed softly, your hands still clutching the front of his shirt. “You think?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. His fingers lingered on your waist, and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re full of surprises, you know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“Me?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one who—”

Before you could finish, he kissed you again, effectively silencing any protest. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. You sighed against his lips, your hands sliding up to his shoulders as you gave in to the moment.

Spencer’s hands, steady but careful, slid down from your waist to rest on your hips. He shifted closer, and you felt the subtle press of his body against yours, his touch firm but never overwhelming. When his knee nudged between your legs, your breath hitched, the pressure sparking a warmth that spread through you like wildfire.

You froze for half a second, unsure if the movement had been intentional, but Spencer didn’t pull back. Instead, his lips moved against yours with more intent, and his hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips, guiding you just enough for the tension between you to crackle and deepen.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders more tightly as you let yourself lean into him.

Encouraged by your response, Spencer deepened the kiss, his knee pressing more firmly between your thighs. The sensation was maddeningly slow, his movements deliberate and measured as though he was testing every reaction. You gasped softly, and he swallowed the sound with a small, satisfied hum.

His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing against your ribs just beneath the hem of your shirt. The touch was gentle, but the heat of his palms against your skin left you trembling.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “I’m going to ask you a question from one of our sessions. If you get it right, I’ll keep going. If you don’t…” His hands stilled against your skin, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk growing. “Well, I’ll have to stop.”

Your mouth went dry. Was he serious? The challenge in his eyes told you he absolutely was.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice shaky with anticipation and a tinge of frustration.

“Hm?” he prompted, his hands sliding down slightly but remaining just beneath your shirt, a silent reminder of what was at stake. “What’s the formula for calculating a confidence interval?”

You stared at him, your mind scrambling to recall the formula you’d seen so many times in your notes. But all you could focus on was the way his fingers were still, waiting, as though they held the key to your ability to think.

“Um,” you began, your voice faltering. “It’s, uh, the mean… plus or minus… the critical value?”

Spencer’s smirk widened, his head tilting slightly as though he was considering your answer. “Close,” he said, his hands retreating slightly. “But not quite. Want to try again?”

“No, wait!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing as you tried to focus. “The mean plus or minus the critical value times the standard error?”

He hummed softly, his fingers resuming their slow circles. “There it is,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “See? You can focus when you want to.”

Your heart pounded as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing dangerously close to the underside of your bra. The sensation was enough to make your breath hitch, but you barely had time to react before he spoke again.

“Next question,” he said, his tone taking on a slightly firmer edge. “What’s the first step in solving a regression problem?”

Your brain felt like it had been set on fire. How were you supposed to remember academic concepts when his hands were touching you like this?

“I—I think…” you stammered, biting your lip as you tried to focus. “The first step is… identifying the variables?”

Spencer’s brow lifted, his expression a mix of amusement and approval. “Good,” he said, his hands sliding back down to your waist. “But don’t forget to check your assumptions first. Details matter.”

You let out a soft whine of frustration, but the sound turned into a gasp as his knee pressed gently between your legs again, reigniting the fire building in your core.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he spoke. “But I think you can do better.”

The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your resolve crumbling under the weight of his attention.

“What’s the difference between Type I and Type II errors?” he asked, his tone almost clinical despite the heat radiating from him.

“Type I is… rejecting a true null hypothesis,” you managed, your voice shaky. “And Type II is failing to reject a false one.”

Spencer grinned, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Excellent,” he said softly. “You’re such a quick learner when you try.”

The praise made your heart race, warmth blooming in your chest as his words sank in. You barely had a chance to respond before his hand slid lower, resting on the bare skin just above the waistband of your pants.

“You deserve a reward,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine.

“A reward?” you managed, your voice breathless and unsteady.

He chuckled softly, his lips moving to your neck, pressing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive skin. “For all your hard work,” he murmured against your skin, his fingers toying with the elastic of your waistband. “Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”

Your only response was a soft, shaky nod, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as though it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Good girl,” he said, the words barely above a whisper, but they sent a jolt through your entire body.

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your pants, his touch deliberate and teasing as he traced the edge of your panties. He paused for a moment, his lips ghosting over your ear as he murmured, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling but filled with certainty.

That was all the permission he needed. His hand slipped lower, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your panties to find your most sensitive spot. The first touch was light, almost experimental, but it was enough to make you gasp softly, your body arching into him.

“That’s it,” Spencer murmured, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction. “You’re doing so well.”

His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to leave you trembling in his grasp. His other hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your head slightly so he could capture your lips in another searing kiss.

The contrast between his steady, controlled movements and the growing intensity of his kisses was intoxicating, leaving you completely at his mercy. He broke the kiss just long enough to study your face, his eyes dark with desire but filled with a surprising tenderness.

“Look at you,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

The praise made your cheeks flush, but before you could respond, his fingers pressed more firmly against you, drawing a soft whimper from your lips.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight kiss. “So responsive. So perfect.”

His words and touch combined left you completely undone, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. All you could do was cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

taglist: @opheliahotchner

[croissantsandblackcoffee]

luigi mangione ⊹ foundering

— luigi’s next courting hearing is on january 18th, but there won’t be any pictures of him until the one later on february 21st. i hope he’s doing well :( i posted this earlier than planned bc i hate having work sitting in my drafts for too long lmao

previous parts: 01, 02, 03

a month later.

the past month has been a rollercoaster for the both of you. the uncertainty and the stress has been getting to you. the constant back and forth in your head, the worry of overthinking and second guessing your every decision.

the prison staff has been a bit nicer, allowing luigi to spend more time with you. however, the guards are always around, watching like vultures.

it’s like they’re almost waiting for him to slip up. for him to do something, anything that would be against the rules. they’re like hawks, and they won’t hesitate to punish him if he steps out of line.

the other prisoners are also watching him from time to time, but not for the same reason. they care for him, luigi tells you.

he’s popular in the prison block, respected by the other inmates. he gets along with almost everyone; he’s well liked and people will go to him if they have any problems.

the other prisoners don’t mind that he’s getting preferential treatment, though. they’re just happy that he has someone to visit him, happy that he’s able to interact outside the prison.

the past month has also been a lot of talking. long, serious conversations between you and luigi. both of you trying to figure things out, to sort out your thoughts and feelings. trying to weigh things up; pros and cons, risks and consequences.

you’d talk for hours, sitting across from each other through the glass.

sometimes you’d get interrupted by a guard, telling luigi that his time was up. to which he would protest, saying that he wasn’t finished talking. other times, his time would be cut short, forcing the two of you to end your conversation prematurely.

but a lot of the time, he’d still have a lot of time left. plenty of time to talk, to keep going, to keep trying to comfort each other.

you’d talk about everything. about your thoughts, feelings, worries. you’d talk about the future, about what the best decision was.

you’d talk about what could happen, all the possible scenarios. if you hadn’t decided to keep the baby. if you chose not to, how would it affect you, luigi, the people around you?

and now that you had, how would it affect your life. would you be able to cope? could you really raise a child.

could you handle it? could he?

a lot of the time, you’d end up crying. it would always start with either a small teary eye and a wobbly lip, that would then progress to a shaking lip and shaky breath. then your eyes would tear up, your breathing quickening, and your nose would start to run. then your breath would get heavier, and a few tears would roll down your face.

then it would progress into a full on sobbing, shaking crying fit. and each every time, it would break luigi’s heart.

he’d always talk soothingly, his voice low and steady, as he tried to calm you down. telling you that everything would be okay, that you’d get through it. telling you to breathe, to take deep breaths.

every time, you’d manage to calm down, get yourself back under control. but the conversation would be cut short as a guard would walk to tell luigi his time was up.

and he’d fight back, begging them to give him just a little longer.

but they would always tell him the same thing, in that cold, emotionless tone. “no,” they’d say, crossing their arms. “time is up. she can come back tomorrow if she wants to talk to you again.”

and luigi would sit there and watch helplessly as you were ushered out of the room. he’d watch as you looked back at him one last time, waving as the door closed in front of you.

that was usually the end of it, until tomorrow. and he’d go back to the cell block, and have nothing to keep his mind off the situation as he laid down in his bed. he’d think about you, about the conversation, replaying it over and over again in his head.

then he’d start thinking about the other scenarios again, starting back the whole endless cycle of overthinking. he’d toss and turn throughout the night, never getting a good, restful sleep.

the next day would roll around, and he’d get up. wash up, get changed. have breakfast with the other prisoners. get his daily dose of exercise.

his mind would be racing the entire time, never taking a break from the constant stream of overthinking.

and then the clock would finally hit visiting hours, and he’d be getting led out to the visiting room again. his mind would start to calm down slightly, finally being able to see you again.

then he’d get to the visiting room. sometimes they’d make him wait, for reasons that they wouldn’t disclose. he’d sit there impatiently, tapping his fingers on the floor, tapping his foot, looking around the room. he’d count the minutes as they ticked by, the seconds.

every minute that passed without you being brought in felt like an eternity to him. it was almost as if time became slower, every passing minute dragging by.

then finally, you’d be brought in as well.

and every time, he’d immediately feel a wave of relief wash over him. the constant overthinking in his brain would quiet down, and he’d be able to relax a little bit. you were there. you were with him. he would no longer be alone with just his own thoughts.

but he doesn’t have to tell you that. instead, he sits down across from you, picking up the phone and holding it up to his ear.

he smiles as he does so, trying to stay casual and composed. on the inside, though, he’s feeling happy, relieved. after being alone in silence all day, he feels like he can finally breathe again. seeing you, being able to talk to you, and having you right in front of him.

“hey,” he says into the phone, keeping his tone light. he watches you through the glass, studying you quietly.

he studies you, looking at your facial expressions, listening carefully to your voice. your body language. anything that might give away how you’re feeling right now.

he can tell, from the expression on your face, that you look a little bit more tired. your eyes look sunken in slightly, darker than the last time he saw you. be picks up on the fact that maybe you haven’t been sleeping either.

you open your mouth to speak, “luigi, i…” but you can’t seem to get the words out. you’re not looking him in the eyes.

he sees you struggling to speak, and that gets his attention. he notices that you’re struggling to look him in the eyes, avoiding his gaze. ge frowns, sitting forward in his chair.

“sweetheart?” he prompts gently. “what is it?”

he’s starting to get worried now, and his heart picks up a little bit. the way that you’re avoiding his gaze is off putting, and his frown deepens.

he leans a bit closer, his heart rate increasing slightly. “sweetheart,” he says again. “talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

he can feel anxiety building up inside him, his heart rate increasing even more. is something wrong? has something bad happened?

he leans even closer now, staring at you intently. “sweetheart, please.” he says, his voice soft but almost desperate. “say something, please. you’re making me nervous.”

your breathing is heavier than usual, and it’s not like you had to walk up an entire flight of stairs before getting here. you know you have to tell him sooner or later, before it eats you from inside—

“i lost the baby.”

he doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to accept it.

he swallows again, shaking his head slightly. his hands are curled into fists, shaking ever so slightly. he’s still just trying to process it all. it doesn’t feel real.

he opens his mouth again, and this time manages to say a word. “when?”

“yesterday morning,” you answer, avoiding his gaze, “right before i had to leave for work. it’s been killing me ever since.”

he listens to you speak and closes his eyes, letting the information sink in. he takes a deep, shaky breath.

the day before. you had lost the baby the day before you came to visit him. you had come here, talked to him, and the whole time, you had lost the baby already.

and you never said a thing.

he feels a wave of anger wash over him, but he tries his best to push it down. you’re not at fault for miscarrying. but not telling him, and waiting until now? for a second, he feels betrayed.

he opens his eyes and looks at you, staring you down almost coldly. “you should’ve told me yesterday.”

there’s a harsh, bitter tone to his voice. he doesn’t want to take it out on you, he knows it’s not your fault, but he can’t help himself.

“you came here and talked to me, and the whole time you were keeping this from me? why didn’t you say anything?”

“… i’m sorry.” that’s all you say. you’re feeling a mix of emotions — shame (towards yourself), embarrassment, guilt, sadness, grief. it’s hard for him to read your expression, but you’re not letting him do that at all. you drop the telephone, burying your face in your hands.

he tries to read you, he tries to figure out what you’re thinking, but he can’t see your face. you’ve covered it with your hands, so all he can see is the top of your head. he sits back, staring at you.

he wants to respond, to say something, but he can’t. that wave of anger has been snuffed out by the sight of you, hiding your face with your hands. now he just feels guilty for snapping at you.

for a few moments, he just sits there. watching you.

his eyes are fixed on you, watching as you sit there with your head in your hands. he can’t see your face, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re crying.

the realization suddenly hits him like a truck; here you were, telling him you had lost the baby just now. and you’d been sitting on that information for a whole day.

you’d come here, and sat here for an entire conversation not telling him, while you were hurting.

he feels a rush of guilt and anger again, a sense of betrayal. but he pushes it down. he swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady.

“… how long were you planning on not telling me?” He asks, his eyes on you, his voice quieter now. the anger is less intense. more hurt and betrayal. “were you ever gonna tell me?”

his heart is pounding again now. he sits forward in his seat, clenching his hand into a fist in his lap.

“what— what were you thinking?” he asks, still keeping his voice soft. “you come here, you talk to me for hours, and you don’t say anything? why? why did you do that, sweetheart?”

his voice breaks slightly on the pet name.

he feels like he wants to break down right along with you, the emotion of the situation hitting him like a freight train. but he pushes that down, keeping it in. He can’t break down, he has to stay calm.

he doesn’t know what to feel. anger at you for not telling him, guilt for snapping, grief at what has happened. it’s a mix of everything.

he’s staring right in your eyes. “come on, look at me.”

“i…” you struggle to find your voice in all of this. why did you hesitate to tell him? he’s the only person who knew you were pregnant, and you didn’t tell him a thing.

“… fuck, it was hard for me to tell you. i was planning on contacting karen to tell you. you think it’s easy for me to show up here and tell you this while i promised you a life if you’ll ever get out of here?”

luigi almost looks wounded by that part. he swallows hard, frowning deeply. you promised me.

that promise plays in his head like a record, the same memory on loop. he lets out a harsh exhale, his heart sinking. he knows you meant it, that you’d meant every word.

and yet you were struggling to tell him this.

he swallows again, trying to push down the hurt. “so you thought it would be easier to let my lawyer tell me?”

the idea of that is infuriating. he’d been sitting here, worrying about you, worrying about what you were thinking and how you were feeling, and you’d been planning on letting his lawyer tell him.

he can’t help the cold tone to his voice. “is that your idea of keeping a promise?”

he looks down for a moment, shaking his head. when he looks back up, his expression is intense, his eyes almost pleading.

“you should have told me yesterday,” he says, his voice almost desperate. “i don’t care if it would have been hard, i don’t care if it would have hurt to tell me. you should have told me, no matter what.”

there’s a sense of desperation to his voice, a sense of hurt. part of him wants to snap again, to lash out at you for not telling him, for going with his lawyer.

“you don’t get to break that promise and then say it was too hard for you to tell me,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “you made that promise, sweetheart. you made it and then you want to let my lawyer take care of it for you.”

he’s never felt so frustrated before, so hurt. the idea of karen telling him, when he’d been worrying about it this whole time, when he’d wanted so badly to ask you if you were okay.

he leans forward again, getting as close to the glass as he can. “you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to take back that promise because it was hard to tell me.”

“i’m sorry, alright?” you apologize once again, rubbing your forehead with one hand while the other had a tight grip on the phone, “i’m a shitty person for not telling you about the baby, and for your wanting to break the news to your lawyer, not you.”

he can’t help but feel a little bit hurt by that, but he shakes it off, trying to push down the feeling. he lets out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head.

“i’m not saying that,” he says, his voice softer now. “you’re not shitty, alright? you’re not shitty, you understand?”

he takes a deep breath, his fingers tapping on the countertop. “but you can’t just break a promise and then think that karen’s going to fix it for you.”

“fine, okay, i acknowledge my mistake.” you fidget in your seat, “let’s just change the subject. it’s like I can feel my breakfast coming back up.”

he almost wants to argue more, to keep pressing and keep questioning, but then he sees the way you’re fidgeting, and his expression softens.

he almost scoffs at your sudden attempt at a change of subject, but he stops himself. he just nods instead, giving you a slight smile. “alright. whatever you want, sweetheart.”

it’s hard for him to just change the subject that easily, to just brush it aside and stop talking about it. he’s still upset about it, and he has a lot of things he wants to say.

but the expression on your face and the way you’d started fidgeting just reminded him that he can’t be selfish.

“what do you want to talk about?” he asks gently.

you shrug, trying to think of something.

“do you still have that ring i gave you?”

he perks up a little bit at your question, and he almost laughs. he’s surprised by the change of subject, but he’s grateful for it as well. he nods, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out.

“of course i do, sweetheart,” he says, holding it up to show you through the glass. “you think i would get rid of it?”

“i thought you must’ve traded it in for some money by now. i wouldn’t have blamed you, y’know.”

he can’t help but smile at that, shaking his head. “nah, i would never get rid of it,” he says, holding it up closer to the glass. “this thing means more to me than money, sweetheart. and besides, even if i did trade it for money, i’d use that money to call you.”

you smile. “aw, well, aren’t you thoughtful.”

he laughs at that and shakes his head a little. he can’t help but smile as he looks at you.

“i’m thoughtful? i’m the one being thoughtful?” he asks, grinning at you. “you were the one giving me the ring in the first place,” he points out, holding up the ring to show you again as if he’s displaying the evidence.

“i’m just making good use of it,” he says, twirling the ring between his fingers with a smirk. he knows this is just a way to distract away from the original subject, but he can’t help but play along.

this feels easier to deal with. just talking to you normally, like nothing happened. he almost wishes he could reach through the glass and take your hand.

“you know, the guys in here have been on my case non-stop,” he says suddenly, a lighthearted tone to his voice. “they keep calling me an idiot for not trading it in for money. they say i could’ve bought a whole candy bar with the money from that ring. one whole candy bar.”

you chuckle at his words, amused by how the inmates have been teasing him. “yeah? They tell you that?”

he laughs a little as well, leaning back in his chair now. “yeah. constantly. they also wanted to know why i bothered keeping it when i wasn’t even sure if i was gonna keep seeing you or not.”

he glances down at the ring in his palm, twirling it again. “i just told ‘em they were all morons.”

“i mean, come on, a chocolate bar or my love?” he asks, grinning at you. “seems like an obvious choice to me.”

You raise an eyebrow, “i’m your love now?”

“my love, my sweetheart, my darling, my baby,” he says, listing off all the pet names he’s used for you. “do you need me to keep going?”

“i think i’m good.”

he grins at your response, leaning forward a little. “you don’t need any clarification on that one, huh?”

he’s a little quieter now, but his voice still has that flirty edge to it. “you know i love you,” he says softly, a loving little smile on his face.

it feels a little surreal to sit here talking to you like this. to say these things to you without anyone else listening in, without anyone else around.

he wishes he could hold your face between his hands. he wishes he could wrap his arms around you, pull you close, and kiss you on the forehead.

but he can’t, so he just speaks quietly to you instead, the ring still in his hand.

“wish i could do more than just talk to you like this,” he whispers, sighing a little. he glances around the visiting room, checking on all the guards and other visitors. no one is paying attention to you two.

“wish i could just take you on dates, take you out to dinner and the movies and whatever else you wanted,” he says, turning his eyes back to you. “just be a normal couple doing normal relationship things, y’know?”

he laughs a little, but there’s a hint of frustration to it. why did everything have to be so impossible for the two of you?

“we could’ve had a nice place together by now, and you wouldn’t have to keep coming here, just to talk for a few hours,” he says, shaking his head.

he glances around the visiting room again, taking in all the other visitors and inmates meeting with their friends and families.

“instead we…” he trails off, sighing again. what else could he say. Instead we’re here, stuck with whatever this is.

he looks back at you, letting out a sharp exhale. he wants so desperately just to be with you. to hold you, kiss you. to hold your face in his hands and whisper sweet words against your ear.

all he wants is to be allowed to love you, but the world won’t let him.

“you look tired,” he remarks suddenly, noticing the dark circles under your eyes, the way you’re fidgeting in your seat.

he wonders if you’ve slept at all since yesterday. he can’t imagine that you have.

“i’m fine,” you assure luigi, “i’ll be fine.”

he gives you a skeptical look, but doesn’t press the issue. he can tell just by looking at you that you’re exhausted, and he can see that stubborn determination in your expression.

he doubts he could convince you to take care of yourself even if he tried.

TAG LIST

@ga33y3 @icedchailattebabyy @betty-boop-lips-05 @harrysbestiee @badaspice @tsukishimawhore @guatebabyxo @poohkie90 @lousends @mailuvsnct @raekensluver @nosebeers @techno54 @lolarmy72 @planetsheher @ixdoll

[fyeahnix]

Sevika Hockey AU where Sevika is the team enforcer and Reader had been traded to the team in a legendary deal as their new star player.

------

The game had been close all night. Physical, too. High-sticking and cross-checks under the referee's noses drew out the nastiest insults from the crowd. You saw and heard and felt it all.

But you tuned it out. You had a job to do.

The Zaun Wolves needed an experienced star player added to the roster to help mentor their rising rookie hopeful, and in an odd turn of events, the Noxus Generals decided to part ways with you, the player they'd drafted with the number one pick only five years ago, for a draft haul in the off-season.

After a rocky rookie season and a sophomore slump, you were on the upswing in your career. You'd posted some record statistics during your time with the Generals and judging by the two goals you'd achieved tonight, you'd say the Piltover Progressors were learning that you lived up to your reputation.

It was no secret in the league that Zaun had beef with Piltover as rivals, but no one informed you just how much the Progressors hated the Generals. To them, you were the bastard child of both, and they were keen on making you feel every bruise in your first bout this season.

This team was fucking ruthless. No only were they trying to box you out from getting the puck, but when you did manage to snatch it away, another player would check you against the boards with their entire body weight and sneak in an illegal hit to go with it. And Janna bless the rookie Vi for coming to your defense. She was scrappy and never backed down from a fight, but she lacked the muscle mass to take the bigger players down completely. Still, you appreciated her effort.

Your saving grace, however, was the large woman sitting anxiously in the penalty box whose eyes locked with yours whenever you skated by. Sevika was one of the older vets on an already fairly young team, and the team's one and only enforcer. You learned over the off-season that while she didn't speak much and wasn't the best player on the Wolves, the team listened wholeheartedly to her wisdom and rallied behind her when it mattered. Much different to the militancy you experienced on the Generals.

Your defenders did their damnedest job keeping the puck away from the Progressors during the penalty. The penalty clock wound down to the last fifteen seconds just as you saw an opportunity to seize the puck and take a shot on goal.

You launched yourself across the ice to gather the puck. With quick stick work, you coiled back for a slapshot and before the end of your stick collided with the puck, a heavy body slammed into you. You lost balance and tumbled to the ice, losing the puck. They'd knocked the wind out of you, and you struggled to stand as the crowd yelled about another missed charging call.

You stood, finally, just in time for Sevika to hop out of the penalty box a second before stoppage of play. She rolled over to you and gave you a once-over.

“You good?” she asked.

You shook your head. “I'll be fine. They're startin’ to piss me off though.”

She nodded. “Gotchu.”

You skated into position behind your center for a face-off near your goal. Play resumed with your center winning the bout and passing over to Vi who took the puck to the other side of the ice. You followed. She passed it to you, and you played keep away with it before passing back to the center. The defender who tagged you grew sick of watching the clock and took it up on herself to check you into the boards when the puck came flying back to you. You lost it in the scuffle.

When you recovered, you saw Sevika sailing over to the defender, grabbing her by the jersey to pull her back.

Sevika then dropped her stick and gloves.

The defender followed suit.

The crowd hollered and screamed, went wild as the two danced around each other on skates.

The defender took a couple of feint jabs, but Sevika didn't fall for it. She kept her guard up and when the defender missed a big swing, Sevika followed up with a sharp uppercut. She grabbed the front of the defender's jersey and held her in place as she pummeled the defender with a flurry of right fists to the cheek and jaw. Her blows echoed off the ice, somehow overpowering the deafening crowd. The defender tried to no avail to fight back, but managed to sneak in a few lucky hits to make Sevika bite her own tongue.

The defender stumbled down, and finally, the referee broke up the fight for another stoppage of play.

Sevika grinned at the crowd, circling the ice with a bloody mouth. With one last glare at the defender, she yelled words that reassured your growing trust in her.

“Yeah, try that shit again and see what I do!”

On her way to the penalty box, she gave you a quick wink before slamming back inside to sit down.

Most of your team were slow to warm up to you during the off-season when you arrived in Zaun. Sevika had been the slowest. She acknowledged you, sure, but actually talking to you outside of work-related topics was like pulling teeth. It wasn't until she stumbled upon you skating around the ice in the brisk hours of the morning did she make the effort to engage. She'd always been first one in, last one out, and for once, someone had her beat.

You loved what you did—the juxtaposition of gracefully gliding across ice with the heaviness of pads protecting your person—but nothing came easy. You were smaller than the average player and faster because of it, but what you couldn't accomplish in raw strength, you made up for it in accuracy and finesse with the puck at your blade. But shooting a frozen piece of rubber into a goalie's five-hole took practice. Ten thousand hours of it. You'd told Sevika then why you were there and while the acknowledgement she gave you then was nothing but a gruff scoff and quick smile, her demeanor towards you changed from then on.

You came to learn that she valued nothing more than hard work and dedication. You weren't some gifted player with natural-born talent with access to the best resources at your disposal. You were you—an Ionian who had worked their ass off from sun up to sun down to have any hopes of being the best player in the league.

As the clock wound down to the final five minutes, you checked the scoreboard. Sevika's penalty time would take you down to the final three and you only had to endure from there.

The Progressors took their timeout. You locked eyes with Sevika for two long seconds during the team huddle, who only gave you the faintest of nods, an action that only said “I got you.”

Your opponents kept up the pressure but laid off the dirty plays for the rest of the game. The message was loud and clear to them: fuck with you and they'd answer to Sevika.

------

taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat

@ash-fall7 @the-anonmaton @peanutbutterprincess @thesevi0lentdelights @kylorey25

@thegothicchangeling @slut4sevika

[chaoticpazzi]

Cruise gate summary from what I know

-first it was the begging of UConn summer break everyone’s thinking… what’s gonna happen during this break…AND THEN one faithful night a tweet pops up on Twitter of this Random man saying his friend just saw Paige on a cruise with one of her teammates… but there’s no real evidence. The people r wondering is this real? Is it not. We move on. UNTIL the next day a fan picture drops Paige is on the cruise. BUT WAIT who’s that in the back? The one and only AZZI FUDD

- then pictures kept dropping. THE CONTENT KEPT FLOWING. And one day a what we called cruise gate anon pops up with proof that I’m pretty sure her cousin is on the same cruise as them. Cruise gate anon recalls stories of them being attached at the hip and how at the fancy cruise dinner Paige and azzi pulled up in kind of matching fits and Paige pulled out azzis chair for her to sit down.

- time goes on and this mom from a Facebook group from the cruise mentions Paige and azzi dating someone asks how she knows they r dating she said something along the lines of “my son said…mom she (Paige) was grabbing her ass I’m pretty sure they r together”

- Paige posts cruise pics azzi never has (still have hope) and azzi REPOSTS pictures of Paige saying “I wonder who took all 1,000 something pictures of her 🤔” at the time this was a huge deal because pazzi deniers still had the audacity to say azzi wasn’t on that cruise.

-more pictures drop That I don’t have but will for ever be ingrained in my memory

-after the cruise people noticed that Azzis nail polish was missing on her 2 fingers iykyk and YA don’t think I missed anything but I probs did

omggggg

[redwinelew]

knee socks | lewis hamilton

summary | singer!y/n released a song which exposes lewis' lack of attention toward her in their relationship and he isn't too pleased with it.

warnings | 18+. smut. oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, vaginal sex, dirty talk, lewis being a little mean, english is not my first language, pls lmk what else i missed

author's note | i have nothing to post rn and this has been sitting in my drafts so weeks so here you go. lmk if u guys enjoy this and if u want me to write more written fics.

lewis is a private man, he made that clear all throughout his life, since the first world championship trophy was handed to him, the moments everybody's eyes in the world started to set on him, following his every move, to this day. he doesn't like channeling his personal matters to the public. sure there are a lot of people who'd be interested to know, journalists who would sell their souls for an exclusive interview with him, but nothing can make him give up his peace anymore. he had his moments when he was younger. everything was open to interpretation for the media and fans. but as he gets older, things changed. private life should stay private.

you are a musician. and it's risky, dating a musician. he's seen it. he's been with one, and he is one. he thought he already knew, he thought he understood what he was getting himself back into. you are different from his ex. you make your own music, write your own songs, not afraid to be vulnerable through your art, never care however fans and media are going to interpret them. they'll never know the truth. it's none of their business anyway. he doesn't regret dating you, though. nothing could make him regret being with you. he wouldn't trade it even for his 8th championship.

but deep down, lewis knows this day will come. where a little inconvenience happens in your relationship was enough to set you off completely. the day where you stopped listening to the logical part of your brain and follow your heart instead. the day you pissed off enough to finally say fuck it.

in your defense, you were so caught up in your feelings. part of you also honestly didn't care. you are a singer, a musician, as much as he is. this is how you express yourself. he should have known that by now. if he didn't want the whole world to know how fucking busy he is with the race season to the point where he never spent time with you anymore, he should have pay more attention to you.

you would have argued with that if only you could form a single coherent sentence right now. but all you could say was—

"please...."

do not ask how long has this been going on. he could lie and say hours and you'll believe it. he could ask you to do anything and you'll obey. it's not like you have a choice. if it pleases him, if it will somehow get you the release you have been desperately craving, fucking hell, you'll do it. that's how it is right now. you, half naked on the bed. pants discarded somewhere on the carpeted bedroom floor. panties gone to fuck knows where. his old band t-shirt that you're wearing is pushed up, exposing your belly and almost your chest.

him? in between your legs. inked hands holding your thighs open for his tongue to explore your folds in every way he knows, drawing all kinds of sounds out of you, pushing you to the edge again and again but not quite giving you the release you've been desperately needing. not after what you said about him in the song, no.

a whine escapes your lips yet again when he pulls himself off of you just as you're about to reach another peak. he looks up, a smirk decorating his face as his tongue licks your arousal from his thick lips.

bastard.

"i didn't ask you to beg." he replies calmly, caressing your inner thigh all the way up to your knee, making you almost jerk up at the slightest of his touch.

of course he is calm. he's enjoying this. torturing you. driving you insane. god how you wish the tables are turn right now. how you wish that you have the energy to flip the two of you and get your revenge on him, showing him how it feels to be in your shoes. he'd be worse than you are right now. you can say that confidently because you've seen it. some rare moments where he handed over the control to you, letting you take charge in bed and do whatever you wanted to him. easiest way to say, he was a mess.

"you're not being fair—" was instead all you could say in such a pathetic tone that even you did not recognize yourself.

"i wasn't planning to be."

your pussy clenches around nothing at the casualness of his reply. your mind is pissed at him for ruining your orgasms but your body couldn't help but craving for his touch. you've seen the dominance side of him almost every night and yet the calmness that he's radiating right now even though you know how angry he is at you and your song is enough to send shivers down your spine.

there's something about lewis being angry and yet not completely showing it.

it turns you on even more.

"tell me what i want to hear first." he demands, his thick digits rubbing your bundle of nerves. your back arches into his touch. your eyelids flutter, broken moans fall from your lips.

the pleasure didn't last long. a soft, frustrated sigh leaves you as do his fingers from your clit. just when you were going to try catching your breath, he plunges two fingers inside without warning.

"fuck— oh my god—"

he hovers above you, eyes never leaving your face, watching your every reaction, the way your jaw hangs low. the thickness of his digits makes you feel so full already, you couldn't form neither words nor sounds.

"fuck, fuck—" and when he moves his fingers, you already saw heaven. the wet squelching sound from your arousal is so sinful it almost made you feel embarrassed at how wet you still are even after having your pleasure punished by him. your hand reaches up to his free arm near your head, clinging to him for support. your nails dig deep into his inked skin, drawing a silent hiss from him.

"come on," he says again. "tell me what i want to hear."

this might be it. he's fingering you with passion, hitting that sweet spot over and over again, making your legs tremble. he never half-assed anything in his life, especially when it comes to your pleasure but something tells you that maybe this is when he thinks that you have had your lesson and it's time you give you that release. he just loves you that much. and you always get what you want.

"n-no." you stutter in defiance.

he smirks again. your denial only makes this more fun for him, which is apparent in the way his fingers move rougher and faster right now. and you notice how his other digits are avoiding your clit, making it a little harder for you to reach another peak.

"four orgasms denied and you still wanna be stubborn?"

only four? it felt like hundreds, you manage to think to yourself despite how hazy your mind feels right now.

"please...." you croak out, and that's how far you'll beg for his forgiveness.

but he's not satisfied. he pulls out his fingers, and you would have groaned if you could even speak right now.

"no...."

"don't worry, sweetie," he cuts you off surprisingly, sitting up straight again. you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he lines up the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing your folds slightly. you feel as if air has been knocked out of your lungs. you didn't even think that this was a possibility tonight, to be fucked by him. to feel his thick cock inside you. genuinely you thought he would leave you high and dry, though it's very unlikely for him. but still. he could truly be that cruel when he wants to.

"i'll make you come if that's what you wanted so badly. but only on my cock. and i'll make you come again and again until i finally get my apology."

you swallow thickly.

that is certainly a promise.

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

What many people don't realize is, Russia and most of the countries in Soviet Union were rich with all sorts of resources back then. Soviet Union could afford export to feed people in Cuba and stuff. No one has that amount of recourses anymore. Forests were chopped down, the sheer amount of crops was so much that it couldn't be transported and it was left to rot. But some people still starved. Where do you see fairness here?

Also, "The honest labour" was never honest, the deadlines and demands were never met, everyone stole everything. The price of gas was low since it came from Russia, but everyone still stole it. People stole literally everything from factories they worked in, they added extra rooms to their houses built from stolen bricks, and no one really minded. That situation is unimaginable today. If Russia gets post-Soviet countries again, it will only drain them dry of what they have left and use their territory and people.

Some old people think they miss Soviet Union because things were easier back then. What they really miss is being young. Cigarettes were cheap and education was free, that's what they miss. Life was never really easy. They remember visiting Poland fondly and laugh about the fact that it was only allowed to bring a little money so you wouldn't be able to stay for long, that the trains were searched and KGB was allowed to examine you gynecologically and literally look up your vagina to see if you had money shoved up there, that you couldn't speak freely even at a party with friends cause someone would inevitably report you to KGB. People raised in that atmosphere can't fully realize just how abnormal it was. It's natural to them.

Grandpas who sit in parks and play chess know more about what really happened in Soviet Union and its collapse than the West. Every time I hear someone from US say something about what it was like in USSR it's just utter nonsense. Bribing, bureaucracy and nepotism was through the roof.

Some of y'all like communism a little too much and act too much like it's communism or else you're a big ol' conversative republican who loves capitalism and 'Merica. (P.S. not everything is about the United States of America. No, not even if you dig. Misery can be brought by more than the US of A.)

It's concerning as someone who spends half their time trying to tell children about communist atrocities and wondering how many of them go home and rant about how evil I am for being against communism. Even after knowing/learning communism has killed far more millions than we will ever really fully know because they figured out how to do it a little too well in an age when you just have to toss everything into a fire to get rid of the evidence.

How much generational trauma is still going along the bloodline because of communism. How many victims feel like they have to be silent or else they get dogpiled by children. Telling them they're wrong.

Do you even know who the Khmer Rouge killed? Why?

Do you even know what the Holodomor is?

How many millions of Ukrainians and Cambodians are gone because of communists? Because their ideology literally says to murder en masse? I'm sorry that isn't what you took out of your little commie manual.

How much bigger, fuller, wonderful would life be in dozens of places if not for communism? Communism does not encourage art. It does not encourage writing (except for the machine of communism). It does not care if you are disabled, it will kill you for being useless as a worker. If you think it cares a fucking whit about people like me, you're sadly mistaken.

Queer people are an abomination. They will not/can not produce future workers. They are things to be killed and dumped into pits because they are not proper members of the Party. Some even got forced sterilization just for that extra bit of misery and humiliation.

It is not the amazing, wonderful, loving, caring ideology you take it for.

It cares not for true science. If a scientist disagrees with the Party Scientists, they have to go. Communist Science looks like putting hundreds into the freezing cold. Forcing them to have children. For the sole purpose of making the children immune to the cold. That's not how that works. So many dead for science that isn't real science. Where is your concern for ethics? For humanity? It does not exist in communism.

Communism is not what you think it is. Communism has murdered millions. Communism has hurt the families of people you claim the glory of communism in front of.

Better dead than red? Dead because of Red.

Communism is not 'people of color winning' in South America, in Cuba. In Cambodia. In China. It's people of color dying because of an ideology that should have been stopped in the 1800s.

[mejaemin]

many more - hong jisoo

wc: 1.1k

summary: you never fail to give joshua the best birthday every year, and he hopes to spend them with you forever

warnings: very fluffy, also very suggestive, making out, allusions to sex

an: here’s my real birthday fic for joshy :33 i literally finished ctqy and then started this bc i felt bad making a bday post for him just for it to be so sad… but it’s okay here’s this !!! another gift for my love, joshua. i hope you all like it <3

(part two here !!! nye edition <3)

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

the morning air is so peaceful, and when joshua wakes up it almost feels like a fairytale.

you’ve opened up the curtains, and lit a few candles matched to his favorite scent, the breeze through the window being the perfect temperature despite it being the dead of winter. after the third call of his name, his eyes open to you, leaning over his frame, with the most beautiful smile in sight. your hair tickles his face, and you’re full of so much light that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve it. what a beautiful way to wake up, he thinks.

“good morning, love.” you coo, stroking his cheek that rises with a smile to return your own.

“good morning.” he backs away for a moment to stretch before sitting up, pulling you into his lap with a kiss.

you lean into his embrace, smiling up at him as you twirl his stray hairs around your finger. “i’ve got so much prepared for you.”

his smile turns a little more mischievous as he leans back, letting the light hit his face better for dramatic effect. “oh, really? what’s the special occasion?”

you know he’s seeking attention, but you’d be mad to not give it to him. “your birthday, of course!” you cheer, straddling his lap to give him just a portion of the many birthday kisses he’d get today. you leave a few on every single spot of his face that you enjoy, which is just about everywhere. a few for his forehead, some for his eyebrows, a couple on his cheeks, and finally, you give him the biggest one atop his gorgeous smile.

he hums, hands finding your hips with ease. “really? i thought it was just a random monday. nothing special.” he teases.

“oh, today’s super special. i’ve made it my job to make sure you feel special today, ‘kay?” you giggle.

he leans in to kiss you once again, holding your lips against his for a sweet moment before pulling away. with a dramatic pout, he continues his teasing, “but baby, i don’t know if you’re doing too good of a job.. i don’t feel so special right now, i think i’ll need a little more convincing…”

without responding, you lean in once again, eyelids drooping as you kiss him once again. he pulls you closer, large hands gripping your skin. you sigh, sinking into his body, and he uses the opportunity to let his tongue into your mouth. his hands begin traveling over every inch of your body, and before you can let out a whine and indulge in his advances, you pull away.

“i’m saving that for the end of the day, okay..? let us celebrate first.” joshua’s affect on you is so strong that kissing him in such a fashion is all it takes to leave you feeling dazed, and he knows it, running a finger over your pink, glossy lips in admiration.

like a switch flips in his head, he’s sitting up, letting you get up before following behind. “alright, darling, let’s go celebrate.”

after collecting yourself, you take his hand and lead him out to the kitchen. on top of the island there’s a plethora of gift bags among the most beautifully decorated cake. in front of it is a letter, and it’s the first thing you lead him to.

you hand it to him before bringing your hands together, fidgeting nervously. “i know i’m not the best at saying this stuff out loud, so i wrote it down. i had to show you my gratitude somehow, and i felt like gifts weren't enough, so…”

it’s almost as if he can’t stop smiling today, and if it could get any bigger it does. with a kiss to your lips, he goes and sits down at the dining table to read it. you follow, sitting on the table in front of him to watch. he rests a hand on your thigh while the other opens up the folded paper, and you can see the shock on his face at the length of its contents.

he says nothing, choosing to read it instead. you poured your entire heart and soul into it, and there’s quite a few tear stains on the paper. at some point the ink from your pen bled due to it, and he asks a few times for you to help decipher what the smudged penmanship means. you haven’t always been the best at expressing your feelings and gratefulness for your boyfriend, yet you have so much to share. after an emotional night post argument a few months ago, you sat down and wrote this out for him. there’s a second paper that you wrote yesterday to follow up, and you can see how touched he is. it’s a bit complicated being with someone so into words of affirmation while not being the type to be that way, but you made sure to give it to him for his special day.

when he finishes reading, he looks back up at you. “wow, darling, this is.. so sweet. i can tell how much thought you put into this, thank you so much.” he stands up to hug you, and with your head in his chest you squeeze him that much harder. he strokes your hair, keeping you there for a beat longer. he walks away to presumably put the letter away somewhere before returning.

“i know that must’ve taken a lot of thought for you to write for me. seriously, it means a lot. thank you, love.” he hugs you once again, kissing you once more before turning to the rest of your setup. “now, let’s celebrate.”

he spends the rest of the day with you, no other people being spared your time, opening gifts and eating his favorite foods with you. not that it’s any different other times, but he pays no mind to his cellphone, spending his special day offline with you, celebrating another year of life by your side, and above his candles he wishes for there to be many more like this.

in the late hours of the night, you’re laying together, skin to skin, basking in the afterglow of your final present to him. it’s then that he expresses his gratitude one final time before falling asleep. “thank you so much for today, love. i enjoyed it so much.”

you kiss his bare chest, too tired to move any more than that. “of course, shua. happy birthday.”

“mm, thank you. i hope i get to spend a thousand more with you.” he grabs your hand, kissing your ring finger. he thinks you say something in response, but he’s already lost in his thoughts, wondering if it’d be too much to give you a ring the next day, new year’s eve, to make sure his wish comes true.

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

[jiinxswife]

Choosing you Jinx x Fem!reader

warnings: season 2 spoilhers, jinx choosing reader over ekko, reader being insecure and jealous of ekko, crying autor note: this is pretty much some short of part two of how would they meet, but you can read this post without having to read the first one, just another silly drabble of mine

autor note: this is for us, weird girlies who feel jealous of ekko and want jinx for oursevles. lets have a treat

jinx will be written on blue, reader on pink

Hallucinations will be written on red

you dont quite to know when or how you found out about him, probably it was due to Jinx's mentdown rambles, how she said his name, how it was "always a dance with her", before her breakdown was again, over her death family. you tried not to think about it, after all, he was probably just her childhood boyfriend or something, who would be jealous of that? you've had childhood boyfriends yourself, and you definitely woulnd't leave jinx for them, so why are you so scared of him coming back to her life?

you try not to fuzz or think much about it over the next weeks, the last thing you need is your girlfriend to think that now she can't vent or express her feelings to you because you can get sad\hurt over things she says or feels, it was hard enough to get her to emotionally trust you, you don't want to fuck things up

You hide your feelings well, even from you, until one day, you caught yourself biting your just-made nails, taking off parts of the nail polish, that matches jinx’s and tearing up while jinx was showering, allowing, even if only for some minutes, anxiety and fear to consume you. When you hear the water noise ceasing, you quickly wipes your tears and takes some deep breaths, calming down before jinx entered in the room, clean and fresh

“ugh , toots, I think you should wash my hair tomorrow, I don’t wash it was well as you do” she says, but her untouched, dry braids show that she didn’t even try to and just wanted you to spoil her

“Sure thing, love” you answer, earning an eyebrow raise from her, probably surprised at your lack of teasing and snark answers. Her eyes go all over you, searching for any sign of injury or sickness before she stares at your hands, noticing the state of your nails, and, knowing that they were made not so long ago, she was able to deduce that you are worried about something since whenever you were, you would pick on them. She walks to you and sits down on the bed, by your side, wrapping an arm around you, hand softly squeezing your shoulder, in an act to remind herself that you’re real, not an hallucination

“Toots? What’s wrong? You seem off” she questions, before you wave her off with a smile “I’m fine, just extra tired today” you say, ignoring how dry your throat is starting to feel just for being asked if something is wrong

“Yeah, fine my ass” jinx says, rolling her eyes and bitting her lower lip in an attempt to decide what to do “don’t lie to me, what’s wrong?”

You close your hands into fists; bitting your lower lip, habit you got from the girl sat by your side. You look away, in an attempt to not cry “it’s stupid and“ before you could finish, jinx softly hits you on the head with the arm that was previously wrapped around you “if you’re crying, it’s not stupid” she tries to add a playful smile “and I think my girlfriend is smarter then to cry over stupid things” jinx sighs when she doesn’t have a positive answer from you, her smile fades and she opens her mouth to speak before you cut her off “you wouldn’t leave me, would you?”

“You’re not giving her enough” “you are not good enough” “you’re not worth of her love”

Milo’s, Claggor’s and Silco’s voice echoes through Jinx’s head, making her mind fuzzy and unable to think of an answer “I- you- fuck” you feel tears starting to form on your face “I heard you speaking sometimes about a guy named Ekko” you look down, tears falling down on your lap “how it’s ‘always a face with him’” you face your girlfriend for the first time since you started talking, your eyes filled with tears, showing insecurity and vulnerability “if he came back to your life, you wouldn’t leave me for him; would you?”

Your words take Jinx out of guard, she tries to answer, but once more you cut her off “I know how you didn’t quite want me in your life, I remember how you tried to get rid of me and how hard it was- you stop yourself, looking away and you tearing up even more, your overthinking becoming a mess of feelings and words inbuilt head- hard for you to fall for me, and hearing about that Ekko guy started to make me think that maybe all of that was because you were waiting for him to come back, and you’re just with me because you lost hope but can still leave me if he comes back” you rub your templates as you cry, moving to wipe your tears, refusing to look at Jinx “and I know it’s stupid to be jealous over someone you mentioned on a mental breakdown, and I didn’t want to tell you because i didn’t want you to worry that when showing me your feelings you might hurt me” you’re embarrassed of yourself and at lost of words, wiping pathetically your own tears as jinx moves to hug you, embracing you completely “I’m so sorry”

“Fuck.. toots, look” she mumbles her voice a bit hoarse from the tension and meaning of the moment, she was never able to express herself well with words “yeah, I guess I did short of like Ekko once,” she sighs, thinking of a manner to decode her feelings into words “but not like how i like you. I had a crush on him when we were kids, but then we stayed without talking for seven years” she says as she manages to hug you even more “and once we reunited” she chuckles, a mix of a bitter chuckle and a lighthearted one “well, it was to try to kill each other, and then to … stop me from doing a big shit” you look at her, trembling, hurt, vulnerable, but obviously wanting, no, needing to believe jinx “I’m not in love with him, toots. I’m..” she sighs, saying that was never easy for her “I’m in love with you, okay? I wouldn’t be dating you otherwise. It took me long to fall for you” she softly kiss the top of your head “longer then it should, but I’m smitten. I won’t leave you for anyone, much less for Ekko”

she grabs one of your hands and softly squeeze it while still hugging you “and that thing about worrying that I might worry about hurting when I vent to you, it’s okay, I won’t worry. You are allowed to feel hurt to.” She chuckles and smiles at you “heh! That was a lot of “worry” for just a phrase, right, hun?” She jokes, getting a soft chuckle from you

“I- thank you. I love you” you say to your girlfriend, hugging her tightly as you close your eyes, letting your last tears fall before being consumed by a feeling of love and comfort “same for you; toots; same for ya”

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (10)

Originally posted on my old account. Uploading twice weekly :)

The following morning I woke up to a pounding headache, Keira sleeping peacefully next to me. My eyes hurt, a tell tale sign that I’ve been crying. My suspicions were confirmed when I made my way to the bathroom. Red, swollen eyes. The memories were a little fuzzy, I remember dancing with Misa and Alba, Alexia pulling me outside, she was mad? I remember she said she loved me. 

Alexia loved me. I loved Alexia. 

As I paced back and forth in the bedroom, unable to stop because my brain was going so fast, Keira slowly woke up. 

“Milly what are you doing? What time is it?”

“Tell me she didn’t say she loved me outside the club last night?” 

Signing as Keira looked at her phone “it’s only 6am, please come back to bed. It’s too early for this.”

“No no no no. Keira this can not be happening. This is bad. Very very bad. I shouldn’t have come back.” 

“Hey Mil. Stop. You love her. You always have, so what’s the problem?” 

“The problem? The problem is that I can’t love her Keira! It’s not a fucking option. I need to go. “ 

“Milly wait!” keira got up as fast as she could. But it was too late. I was gone, out the door. I couldn’t go home, that was the first place she would go. The gym would be the next, the beach would be the last placed she go, especially considering it was raining now. 

After I had left, Keira rang Lucy panicking. Lucy rang Ona, who rang Claudia, who rang Patri, Patri rang Mapi and Mapi rang Alexia. It’s safe to say everyone started to panic. Thinking I was running away again, the thought was there but I couldn’t do that to the team. 

Surfing was freeing for me. Sitting on the board, pretty far out gave me a chance to think without anyone around. I loved Alexia, but this didn’t feel right. None of this felt right. I had always dreamed about some fairytale ending for us but it never happened. Maybe if I had listened to her and not married Emily, things would be different. We only lasted a month, does that even count as being married? I wasn’t particularly interested in catching the waves, just wanted to think without anyone around to disturb me. As I made my way back to land, I noticed her. Drenched, sitting in the wet sand. 

“Everyone’s looking for you.” 

“Well tell them to stop. I’m not lost.” My tone was harsh, I didn’t mean for it to be. Not really. 

“Mil, we need to talk about it.” 

“Talk about what Alexia? You being jealous last night? You and Olga breaking up? You being in love with me? Me being in love with you? Pick a subject and I’ll talk.” 

“You love me back?” Whispering, She looked at me wide eyed, almost as if I’d take it back. I would. 

“Pick a different one.” 

“No. I want to talk about the fact that you’re in love with me too.” 

“I’m not doing this.” I tried to walk away. I couldn’t do this. 

“Don’t walk away from me Amelia!” I stopped. Not turning around to look at her, I couldn’t. “Please stop running away from me Mil.” The last few words came out broken. She was crying. 

“Why can’t you just let me love you? That’s all I want Mil!” 

“Because every time you say that all I see is her! I could’ve let you love me before Emily! But I didn’t. Instead I’m the reason she’s dead and the reason your heart was broken. All I see when I look at you is the pain and destruction I’ve caused but you look at me like I put the stars in the sky. So full of love and care. I can’t do that Alexia. It’s too much.” 

Suddenly arms wrap around me, not alexia’s because she’s standing in front of me. “Hija, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Eli. The mother I never had. 

“It’s too much Eli please.” 

“Come. I will take you home. Alexia, let’s go please.” 

“Mami no.” 

“Now Alexia.” 

Alba was waiting at my apartment when we arrived. It was all too much. Alexia’s family treated me like their own, despite the pain I’ve caused, the devastation I’ve caused. They were soft, too soft. 

I headed straight for the shower. Ignoring the way Alba looked at me, or the way Eli called out to me. I needed to be alone. This isnt what I wanted to have happened. I hoped that after all this time Alexia wouldn’t love me and I could pretend to not love her. 

The shower was scolding hot. Even through my clothes which I didn’t bother to take off. I thought it would make me feel better, feel something. I didn’t realise how much time had passed until Alba came in. 

“Mil? Are you okay?” Silence. “Milly?” No response. “Amelia I’m coming in.” The alarm in her voice got the attention of Eli and Alexia. 

“Milly can you hear me? Fuck this water is boiling.” Alba tried turning it off but it was too hot. 

“Move Alba. Get me a towel.” Alexia turned off the water, taking the towel from her sister. “Can you get me some clothes for her and give us some space please?” Without even realising it, Ale had picked me up and taken me to the counter. 

“I’m going to undress you now, okay? If you need me to stop tell me and I’ll stop straight away.” All I could muster was a nod. 

There was nothing sexual about it. She moved as quickly and carefully as she could. Removing my shirt and bather top, drying me then putting an old oversized shirt on, carefully lifting me up to remove my skirt and bather bottoms. I flinched when she did that, hoping she didn’t notice but she did. 

“Do you need me to stop?” She pulled away quickly, noticing my eyes screwed shut. Shaking my head, she continued. She quickly pulled my underwear up, then lifted me up and carried me to bed. As she was about to leave I stopped her. 

“Ale please stay. Don’t leave me, please.” I begged. 

“I’ll be right back bebé, I’m just getting some water.” 

She was right back, putting a water bottle on my side, plugging my phone into the charge, then making her way to the other side. Climbing in and pulling me onto her chest. That’s how I fell asleep. The exhaustion of what happened last night and today hitting me.