#because I thought it would be impossible to get them in the same shot together

[holdmymallowsweet]

Triple Treat

[helenanell]

A Breath of Life || Challengers

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Part Two

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.) 

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

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The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to. 

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep. 

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it. 

 Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered. 

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real. 

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water. 

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone. 

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again. 

And your prayer was answered. 

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes��they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life: 

“So, when can I play you again?”

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Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world. 

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you. 

Tashi had breathed life into you.

 Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear. 

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

 How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

 You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought. 

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin. 

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in. 

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands. 

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile. 

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

 ���Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music. 

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm. 

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over. 

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach. 

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The four of you had wandered down to the beach. 

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form. 

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her. 

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you. 

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

 Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.” 

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you. 

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display. 

 Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear. 

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear. 

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass. 

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you. 

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile. 

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is. 

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

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Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria. 

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face. 

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

 “You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table. 

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.” 

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?” 

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently. 

“Do you love her, Art?” 

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.” 

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her. 

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.” 

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

 “I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

 You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you. 

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

 His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

 Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

 Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth. 

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi. 

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.” 

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek. 

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.” 

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!” 

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?” 

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him. 

But you don’t move. 

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together. 

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin. 

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you. 

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back. 

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious. 

Why won’t he follow you? 

Why do you still want him to?

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You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art. 

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.  

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong. 

You walk through the stands until you come across Art. 

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised. 

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares. 

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.” 

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone. 

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him. 

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly. 

 Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away. 

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence. 

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

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Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain. 

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!” 

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.  

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away. 

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you. 

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for. 

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka. 

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.” 

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury. 

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling. 

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs. 

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head. 

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. 

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over. 

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet. 

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

 It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door. 

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs. 

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top. 

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

 Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication. 

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs. 

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most. 

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to. 

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to.  You want him. 

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure. 

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you. 

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him. 

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names. 

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around. 

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

 You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him. 

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“ 

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert. 

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol. 

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

 You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes. 

“Do that again.” 

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

 Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side. 

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back. 

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips. 

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next. 

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art. 

Art.

 Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him. 

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you. 

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move. 

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck. 

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force. 

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real. 

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive. 

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room. 

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t. 

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away. 

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world. 

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered. 

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life. 

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him. 

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come. 

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old. 

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered. 

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art. 

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either. 

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you. 

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you. 

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room. 

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him. 

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him. 

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch. 

You get down off the barstool.

 As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down. 

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak. 

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them. 

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture. 

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?” 

“I don’t know Art, can you?” 

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him. 

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be. 

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

 But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do. 

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.” 

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?” 

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds. 

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him. 

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him. 

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly. 

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.” 

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.” 

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him. 

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question. 

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?” 

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship. 

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. 

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer. 

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you. 

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you. 

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head. 

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck. 

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean. 

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined. 

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most. 

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

 “Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head. 

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to. 

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly. 

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.” 

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.” 

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you. 

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up. 

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

 His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin. 

“Lay back.” He instructs gently. 

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre. 

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations. 

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets. 

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.” 

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait. 

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head. 

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs. 

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.” 

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you. 

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. 

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever. 

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity. 

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs. 

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck. 

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping. 

“Is this alright?” 

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch. 

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision. 

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

 As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick. 

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.” 

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts. 

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi. 

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world. 

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip. 

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum. 

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead. 

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place. 

Someone was knocking on your door. 

And then you hear her voice. 

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

 “Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

 In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you. 

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

 The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door. 

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things. 

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

 “You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously. 

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade. 

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again. 

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

 Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too. 

Only time would tell.

[bandsofmarv]

Cold to the touch

Enemies to lovers Bucky x reader

TW - smut, angst

Part 2

The compound was unusually quiet, except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. You sat at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea, hoping the caffeine would get you through another tense morning.

It wasn’t the missions, the training, or even the threat of constant danger that drained you. No, it was him.

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Resident pain in your ass.

You had been forced to work together on Steve’s orders, a new partnership meant to “strengthen the team dynamic.” Instead, it had only strengthened your resolve to avoid him at all costs. Bucky was cold, distant, and maddeningly closed off. And worse, he seemed to go out of his way to make your life hell.“Up early, huh?” His voice, low and gravelly, startled you out of your thoughts. Speak of the devil.

You turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. He looked as stoic as ever, but there was a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I could say the same to you,” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral.

He shrugged, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until he broke it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question.

You blinked at him, surprised by his directness. “Not everything is about you, Barnes.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure this is,” he said, turning to face you fully. His gaze was sharp, assessing, like he was trying to read your mind. “What’s your problem with me, anyway?”

“My problem?” You laughed bitterly, setting your mug down with a clink. “You’re arrogant, impossible to talk to, and you act like the whole world owes you something.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, the faintest crack in his icy exterior. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back. “You don’t let anyone in. You’re like a damn wall.”

He took a step closer, his steel-blue eyes burning into yours. “Maybe I don’t let people in because I know how it ends. People like you—they don’t stick around when things get messy.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, cutting through your anger like a blade. For a moment, you saw the man beneath the armor, the one haunted by a past he couldn’t escape.

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, your tone losing its edge. “You don’t get to push people away and then blame them for not trying.”

Bucky stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his metal hand bracing on the counter beside you.

“Why do you care, anyway?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why not just walk away?”

Your breath hitched as his proximity sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a mix of leather and something distinctly him, filled your senses, making it impossible to think straight.

“Maybe I’m just stubborn,” you said, your voice shaking slightly.

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Stubborn enough to take a chance on someone like me?”

You didn’t have time to answer. Bucky’s lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrelenting, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long. You gasped against his mouth, your hands flying to his chest, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

He made the decision for you. His flesh hand slid to your waist, tugging you against him as his metal fingers traced up your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His kiss was messy, full of teeth and hunger, but it was exactly what you needed.

“Bucky,” you breathed when his lips left yours to trail down your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his breath hot against your skin. “If you want me to, tell me now.” But you didn’t. Instead, you pulled him closer, threading your fingers through his hair as his hands roamed, exploring every inch of you like he was memorizing it.

“Hard to love, huh?” you murmured, your voice teasing despite the breathlessness.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark with desire. “You have no idea.”

And then he kissed you again, and for the first time, you thought maybe you were willing to find out.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER EIGHT ━━ Be You, Be Great

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

❀ ━ word count: 6.2K

❀ ━ warnings: angst, mentions of a panic attack/anxiety, underage drinking

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: this one is kinda all over the place i was gonna split it in two but i tried and i didn’t like that either so here this is anyways. also not proofread at all soooo

THE END of October brings a drought. Not the kind that wilts leaves or cracks the ground, but one that seeps into Jo’s chest and leaves her feeling parched in a way she can’t quite explain. It’s been weeks now since things between her and Paige started drying up, and, no matter how much Jo tries to ignore it, to act like everything’s fine, the ache of it gnaws at her.

It started just before Paige went back to LA and only worsened when she was there. All Jo got from her was clipped texts and dodged FaceTimes scattered with weak excuses about being busy with rehab. Jo had tried not to overthink it, convincing herself Paige was genuinely overwhelmed and that things would go back to normal when she came home.

They didn’t.

Paige still avoids her—not entirely, of course, because they live together, and avoiding her completely would be impossible. But she’s rarely in the apartment anymore, and when she is, it’s brief and transactional. She’s quiet during their rare interactions, offering half-hearted “hey”s and “what’s up”s before disappearing into her room or heading out the door again.

It’s just so different to how things used to be. Before, Jo could count on Paige to be there—physically, emotionally, all of it. They’d talk about anything and everything, share late-night snacks on the couch, or marathon stupid shows just because they could. Paige was Jo’s favorite person to spend time with. But now, it’s like there’s been a complete flip of a switch.

What makes it worse is the not-knowing. Jo has no idea why Paige is pulling back, why she’s suddenly so distant. She’s racked her brain trying to figure it out, wondering if she said or did something wrong. The thought of it eats at her, but she’s too afraid to bring it up. She’s terrified of making it worse or of Paige telling her something she doesn’t want to hear.

So, she says nothing.

Instead, she busies herself with other people. Ice, for one, has been in a bad place ever since dislocating her knee a few weeks ago. She’s out for the season, and Jo knows all too well how isolating that kind of injury can be. She’s been spending a lot of time with her, trying to cheer her up, keep her distracted. It’s been good for both of them, but not the same.

Nothing is the same without Paige.

And Jo knows that Paige is probably out hooking up with other girls most nights—she’s not stupid. Paige never brings anyone back to their apartment, which Jo is grateful for, but the idea of it still stings in a way she can’t explain. It’s probably just the principle of it, that Paige can go out and entertain these other girls every night while simultaneously acting like Jo doesn’t exist.

And this stupid drought lingers even under the bright lights of Gampel.

It’s First Night, the annual event kicking off the basketball season, and the whole arena is packed. The men’s and women’s teams have been split into two groups for the evening’s competitions, with Andre Jackson and Paige as the respective captains. Jo is on Andre’s team.

The evening kicks off with a dizzying mix of games, dances, and contests, the crowd roaring with every half-court shot and mascot stunt. Jo participates in a few challenges with her team, laughing when Andre attempts to dunk it over one of their managers and fails spectacularly.

It’s fun. It should be fun. But Jo can’t help but feel the weight of Paige’s attention—or lack thereof—throughout the night.

When the three-point contest rolls around, Jo is the last to go. Her name gets called, and the crowd cheers for their new freshman. She steps into her corner, shaking her limbs out. She doesn’t look at Paige—can’t, really—but, somehow, she still feels her gaze from where she stands at half-court. Jo doesn’t know how or why she always seems to register it, but the feeling is continuously at the edge of her awareness.

The contest is a blur. Jo doesn’t miss much, her muscle memory doing most of the work, and when the buzzer sounds, Andre and her teammates swarm her, lifting her arms in victory. She grins, basking in the win of it, but her eyes inevitably find Paige.

The blonde is clapping along with the rest of her team, grinning wide and hyping up the crowd, but when her gaze flicks to Jo, something shutters behind her eyes. She doesn’t approach, doesn’t tease her about beating her team. Doesn’t say a single word.

It hurts more than it should.

Jo retreats back to the sidelines, the cheers still echoing in her ears, though her head has started to hurt a little. Since the day she got here, Paige was always the first to hype her up—always the loudest voice in the room for her. Clearly not anymore.

The rest of the event passes in a haze. Jo keeps up with the energy of her team, but her chest feels heavy, weighed down by everything unsaid and unknown. By the time the night ends, she’s exhausted—not from the competition, but from the effort of pretending that everything’s normal and fine.

As the crowd filters out and the teams gather for a final photo, Jo finds herself standing a few feet from Paige. The photographers are shouting directions, rearranging players into rows, but Jo hardly listens. She risks a glance at Paige, who’s laughing at something Alex Karaban just said, her smile radiant and gummy and perfect under the bright arena lights.

But when Paige’s eyes meet Jo’s, probably having sensed her creepy staring, the smile falters. It’s brief—barely noticeable—but Jo sees it. She feels it. And it twists something deep in her chest.

Jo doesn’t know what she did to deserve this distance, but it’s killing her. Whatever is going on with Paige, clearly it might be bigger than anything Jo can fix.

And as much as she hates to admit it, Jo’s starting to wonder if Paige even wants her to try.

IT’S THE first game of the season—a guaranteed blowout against Northeastern—and the energy around campus is full of excitement. Paige should be, too. The start of a new season is always her favorite time of year, a chance to do what she loves most and remind herself why she worked so hard to get here. But this year, it feels more like a countdown to a role she doesn’t want to play.

Paige knows she should be grateful. Grateful that her recovery has gone smoothly so far. Grateful that she’s still part of the team she’s always dreamed of playing for, even if it’s from the sidelines. But sitting out isn’t what she was built for. She misses the adrenaline of the game, the weight of the ball in her hands, the feeling of sneakers skidding across the court as she runs a fast break. She misses the pressure—real pressure—and the way it forces her into focus like nothing else. Without it, she feels… aimless.

So, she’s determined to channel her energy elsewhere. If she can’t play, she’ll hype. She’ll coach. She’ll be Coach P, the way everyone loves her to be. It’s easier that way. Easier to focus on everyone else than to deal with the mess she’s made for herself.

Jo is a big part of that mess.

Paige hasn’t spent a single night in their apartment since she got back to LA—not one. It’s not like she doesn’t want to. She misses the way things were before, how easy and natural it was to be around Jo before everything got so damn complicated. But the thought of sitting in bed with Jo beside her, watching a movie or eating takeout like they always did, feels like far too much.

So, she stays away. She’s made a habit of bouncing between other people’s beds—random girls whose names she barely remembers by the morning. Paige has always been a little reckless when it comes to that stuff, but lately, it’s spiraled into something worse. A distraction. A way to drown out the feelings she doesn’t want to deal with.

But even in that, she’s careful. She doesn’t bring anyone back to her and Jo’s apartment—not after Jo saw Celeste sneaking out during the summer. Paige doesn’t want to do that—doesn’t want Jo to be dragged into her mess.

Paige tells herself she’s protecting both of them by keeping her distance. If she gives herself a little more time, maybe the feelings will face. Maybe they’ll go back to being normal, just friends, the way they’re supposed to be.

But the truth is, Paige doesn’t think it’s working.

She still catches herself watching Jo during practice, noting things she shouldn’t. The way her hair falls into her face when she’s running drills. The soft laugh she lets out whenever Nika says something characteristically stupid. The way she moves on the court—so quick and sharp, like she’s always a step ahead of everyone else. It makes Paige’s stomach flip in a way she hates.

And the more time that’s passed, the more Paige has wondered if she’s just fooling herself. That maybe these feelings aren’t going anywhere at all. That maybe this is just who she is now—stuck and restless, with a hopelessly crush on her roommate, teammate, someone who’s supposed to be her best friend.

She shakes the thought off as she walks into Gampel for shoot-around. Her teammates laugh and joke as they warm up, excited. Paige pulls on her best version of normal, slinging her arm around Azzi and teasing Nika about her taped-up finger.

It works for a while. Her voice rings out as she cheers for Lou’s perfect three-pointer, then for Aaliyah’s easy layup. She’s Paige—bright and loud and focused on everyone but herself.

Afterward, the team files back into the locker room, their chatter bouncing off the walls. Paige trails behind, mentally cataloging what she’ll say during the pregame huddle. But when she glances around the room, she realizes something’s missing.

Someone’s missing.

Jo isn’t there.

It’s not entirely unusual for Jo to slip away for a few minutes—she’s probably grabbing water or something. But Paige’s chest tightens anyway. She leans toward Ice, who’s scrolling through her phone on the bench.

“Hey, you seen Jo?” Paige asks, trying to sound casual.

Ice shrugs without looking up. “She couldn’t have gone far.” Then she glances at Paige, and gives her a look. Her eyebrows lift just enough to make the blonde feel like she’s been caught in a lie she hasn’t even told yet.

Paige’s jaw clenches. She straightens and brushes it off with a quick, “Thanks,” ignoring the unspoken why do you care now? hanging in Ice’s expression.

She slips out of the locker room before anyone else can ask questions, her sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished floor. The back hallways of Gampel are quiet except for the muffled sound of the crowd filtering in through the concrete walls. Paige assumes Jo’s probably just off clearing her head.

But then she hears it.

It’s faint at first, just a sharp, broken sound that makes her pause mid-step. She tilts her head, frowning as she listens harder. For a moment, there’s nothing, just the distant murmur of the arena. Then it comes again—a soft, muffled sob.

Paige stills.

Her chest tightens as she slowly scans the hallway, her eyes narrowing. She knows that sound. It’s raw, unfiltered, the kind of cry that comes from deep inside. Her feet move before she can think, her pulse quickening as she rounds another corner.

And there, huddled in a little alcove off to the side, is Jo.

Her head is buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling violently as her chest heaves with shallow, rapid breaths. Even from a few feet away, Paige can see how hard she’s struggling, her whole body curling in on itself as if trying to disappear.

Paige stops dead in her tracks.

She doesn’t know what to do. Jo isn’t supposed to look like this—broken and vulnerable and so completely unlike herself. Jo’s the happiest, brightest, smiliest person she’s ever met. But here she is, falling apart right in front of Paige, and it feels like the air’s been sucked out of the hallway.

“Jo?” Paige asks softly, hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

Jo’s head snaps up, her tear-streaked face whipping toward Paige in a startled panic. Her wide, glassy eyes lock on hers for a split second before she looks away, hurriedly wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her warm-ups.

“It’s fine,” Jo blurts, her voice cracking as she waves Paige off. “’M fine. Nothing’s wrong. Just—it’s okay. You can go.”

But Paige isn’t going anywhere.

She steps closer slowly, cautiously, her heart pounding as she watches Jo’s chest rise and fall too quickly, her breathe shallow and uneven. Jo’s hands tremble where they’re clenched in her lap, her knuckles white, and Paige begins to recognize the signs.

“Jo,” Paige says again, firmer this time. She crouches slightly, trying to meet Jo’s gaze. “Hey, it’s okay. You can talk to me. I’m here.”

Jo shakes her head violently, her lips trembling as she stares down at her hands. “I don’t—I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she stammers, her voice shaking. “I just—I can’t—” She breaks off, gasping for air as another sob wracks her body.

Paige’s stomach twists. She drops to one knee, her hand hovering awkwardly near Jo’s arm before she finally touches her, rubbing gentle circles on Jo’s sleeve. “Hey, hey, just breathe,” she says softly, trying to keep her voice steady even though she feels like she’s about to unravel herself. “Slow and deep, yeah? Just breathe with me.”

But Jo can’t. Her breaths are too fast, too shallow, and the tears keep coming, spilling down her flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Jo chokes out. “I’m so sorry, I don’t even know why—I don’t know why I’m like this. Maybe it’s because I forgot to take my anxiety meds today, or—or maybe it’s just everything. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Paige says gently, nodding even though she feels completely out of her depth. “Okay. That’s okay. Just take your time.”

Jo sniffles, and Paige watches as the younger girl’s nails dig into the fabric of her warm-up pants. “I’m just so nervous,” she admits, her words coming out in a frantic, breathless rush. “Even though I know—it’s so stupid, I know—we’re gonna win by, like, forty points. But I can’t stop thinking about. I don’t wanna mess up. I don’t wanna disappoint anyone.”

Paige’s heart cracks a little more with every word, though she knows it’s not entirely abnormal for a freshman to feel this way. That doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want Jo to feel this way.

The brunette’s breathing stilts again, her voice rising a little as she continues. “Especially not you,” she says. The words come out so soft, so sad, that Paige almost doesn’t hear them. “I don’t wanna disappoint you.”

Paige opens her mouth to say something, but Jo keeps going, her voice trembling as fresh tears begin to fill her eyes. “I—I know I’ve disappointed you—or—or made you mad,” she stumbles, her breath hitting on a quiet sob. “I had to have, right? Because, I mean—why—why else would you be ignoring me?”

Paige’s heart stutters at the words.

Jo’s tear-filled eyes finally meet hers, and Paige is struck by how wide and vulnerable, like every signal wall Jo has ever built is crumbling down. Her lip trembles as she whispers, “What did I do to make you hate me, Paige?”

The question lingers in the air, hanging heavy between them, suffocating Paige with its weight. The words pulse in her chest, beating against her rib cage, and suddenly, she feels like she can’t breathe either. The guilt crashes into her like a tidal wave, a suffocating, all-consuming force.

She should’ve been more considerate. She should’ve seen this coming—Jo’s feelings. She should’ve taken the time to explain, to talk it out. But instead, she had pulled away, had put this distance between them, thinking about all of her own feelings without even giving a thought to Jo’s. And now Jo thinks she hates her. Hates her. The thought slices through Paige, a sharp pain that she can’t shake. It feels like a punch to the gut. The fact that Jo—perfect, pretty, happy, sweet, smart, everything that’s good in the world Jo—could ever believe that makes Paige realize just how much she’s fucked this all up.

I’ve never hated you, Paige thinks desperately, but the words feel so empty, so hollow. They’re not enough. They’ll never be enough.

The irony of it hits her like a ton of bricks—Jo thinks she hates her, but the truth is far more complicated. Because it’s the exact opposite. I like you too much. The thought pops into Paige’s head unbidden, and her heart skips a beat.

She takes a shaky breath, her hand instinctively reaching up toward Jo’s face. The movement feels foreign, almost bold, but her fingers are gentle as they sweep under Jo’s eyes, wiping away some of the tears that still stain her cheeks. For a moment, Jo doesn’t react, her eyes still unfocused, the remnants of panic still visible in her expression. But then, slowly, her gaze meets Paige’s. Brown on blue, the contact feels like a jolt, like electricity running through her veins.

Paige’s heart stumbles, and she can’t stop herself from cupping Jo’s cheeks in her hands, cradling her face softly. She needs Jo to understand, needs her to hear this. She needs to make it clear—I don’t hate you. The words are stuck in her throat, tangled up with everything else she’s been feeling, but they finally tumble out, heavy and full of suppressed emotion.

“God, Joey,” she whispers thickly, “I could never hate you.”

Jo’s eyes are wide, filled with confusion and hurt, and she opens her mouth as if to protest, but then she asks, her voice barely a whisper, “Then—then why have you been ignoring me?”

Paige feels the weight of that question settle into her bones. She wants to tell Jo everything, to be honest, but the words fall down her windpipe as soon as they’re formed. You’re the reason I’ve been pushing you away, she wants to say. It’s you, Jo. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you. But she’d never admit that. It’s not fair—not when Jo’s happy with Asher. There’s no need to complicate things further for something that will never happen.

So, instead, Paige forces herself to breathe, to steady herself before speaking again. She looks at Jo, trying to read the sadness in her eyes, the confusion, the vulnerability that still lingers despite the panic subsiding. Paige feels another hot sting of guilt—how could she have let Jo feel this way? How could she have been so careless?

“I’ve just been in a bad place in my head recently,” Paige says, her voice quieter now, more measured. It’s not exactly a lie. It’s just that the full truth is too messy, too tangled. She needs a reason that makes sense, something Jo can understand, something that doesn’t risk breaking everything between them. “I’ve been frustrated with my knee, and… I guess it’s just all piled up.”

Jo listens, nodding slowly, her expression still tight with uncertainty. Paige adds, carefully, feeling the weight of the words press down on her, “And—and I really like this girl who doesn’t like me back.” She pauses, her stomach twisting with the admission, even though it’s only half of the truth. “And all of it together—it’s just… it’s made me pull away from almost everyone. I don’t really know how to deal.”

Jo takes in the words, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, her fingers twitching nervously against her thighs. Paige watches her closely, hoping that Jo can make sense of everything she’s said, that she can understand why Paige has acted the way she has in some capacity.

“But,” the blonde adds, knowing it’s necessary, “it’s not excuse. None of it is. I shouldn’t of pulled away. I shoulda talked to you, told you what was goin’ on. And I’m really fucking sorry I didn’t.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, and all Paige can do is wait, her heart hammering in her chest. Jo’s breathing has finally evened out, the tension in her shoulders beginning to ease, but there’s still an underlying fragility in the air.

Finally, Jo says quietly, “Okay.”

Without thinking, Paige reaches out, pulling Jo into a tight hug. Her arms wrap around Jo instinctively, holding her close, and for a moment, Paige can’t help but think about how perfect Jo feels in her arms like this. How soft and warm and real she is. The weight of Jo’s body against hers, the way Jo fits into her arms, feels so right that it almost takes Paige’s breath away. She buries her face in Jo’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo, the feeling of Jo finally grounding Paige in way that she hasn’t felt in far too long.

“’M sorry,” Paige murmurs into Jo’s hair. “’M so sorry for making you feel like that.”

Paige isn’t sure how long they stay like that, locked together, before she feels Jo’s hands move, shifting just slightly, gently beginning to pull away. The movement feels like a cold wind cutting through the warmth of the hug, and Paige immediately feels the absence, the space between them growing far too wide. She wants to reach out and pull Jo back into her, to hold her tighter and never let go, but—obviously—she doesn’t.

Jo’s eyes are still slightly red, but as she pulls back, her lips curve into the softest, most forgiving smile, a smile that feels so Jo—genuine and kind, even when everything else is unraveling. It’s almost unbearable to see, because Paige knows that Jo doesn’t deserve to be this forgiving. She doesn’t deserve to feel like this was all just something to brush off.

“It’s okay,” Jo says, her words wrapped in warmth, in that same kindness that makes her who she is. But Paige knows that it’s not okay. She knows that, even if Jo’s forgiven her, Paige is not so quick to forgive herself, because what she’s done is not okay.

It goes silent between them again for a long moment. Paige can’t think of what to say. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She wants to apologize again, over and over, to make sure Jo really knows. But the clock is ticking. The game is still ahead of them. The pressure of it presses in on her chest, and she knows that they can’t have this conversation now. Not before the game. Not when the adrenaline needs to take over and the court demands focus.

Paige takes a steadying breath, feeling the air fill her lungs, forcing her thoughts to calm down. She needs to help Jo. She needs to get her head in the right space before the game. Jo is here, with her, needing her. And as much as the emotional weight of everything is damn near overwhelming her, Paige pushes it aside.

She reaches forward, gently but firmly placing her hands on Jo’s shoulders, giving her a soft but decisive push to meet her eyes. Jo’s gaze lifts to meet Paige’s with a quiet, uncertain trust, and Paige feels the familiar surge of responsibility that always floods her when her teammates need her. She’s a leader. She has to lead. And right now, Jo needs her to.

“My dad texts me before every game I play in,” Paige says steadily. “‘Be you, be great.’ That’s all you gotta do today, Joey. Just be you, and it’ll come to you.”

It’s simple, but true. Jo doesn’t need anything more than to be herself. She doesn’t need to try to be perfect or live up to expectations that aren’t hers. She just needs to trust herself, trust her game.

Jo’s eyes shift slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. It’s there, but it’s still guarded. The smile that Paige so desperately wants to see doesn’t fully reach Jo’s eyes yet, but it’s a start. She nods slowly, a small motion, but enough to let Paige know she’s listening.

“Josephine fuckin’ Jacobson,” Paige continues, saying her full name for emphasis, “you are such a good basketball player. And you’re gonna do great. Okay? Be you, be great.”

Jo takes a deep breath, and Paige watches as the tension seems to slowly ease off of her. She nods, more definitively this time, the hint of a real smile tugging at her lips. It’s small, but it’s there.

“Okay,” Jo says quietly, before repeating the word more firmly. “Okay.”

PAIGE’S MIND is fuzzy, her limbs heavy with the after effects of one too many dirty shirley’s. Despite the November chill, she feels hot, and her feet shuffle unevenly as she and Jo stumble back toward their apartment. They’re both absolutely hammered—there’s no other way to describe it. The world feels a little hazy, like everything around her is softly swaying. Her head spins, and it’s all a bit much, but it’s also freeing in a way. She hasn’t felt this loose, this light, in a long time.

Their win against Northeastern and the start of the season fills the air, hanging around them like a celebratory cloud. Jo played like Jo—21 points, 5 assists, 4 boards, 4 steals—just as Paige knew she would. A great collegiate debut, and Paige had watched every second of it from the bench, locked in. She’d felt so proud—and even a little awestruck—that Jo went out there and did that, after having such an emotionally charged pre-game.

Now, as they weave their way back to their apartment, arms brushing, legs tangling as they trip over their own feet, that sense of pride is still lodged in Paige’s chest, warm and comforting, like a glow that won’t fade. She can’t stop giggling, low and breathy, as Jo laughs along beside her. Their words are slurred, but that doesn’t stop them. Everything is funny—every little thing. Every misstep, every giggle, every second of pure chaos that they’re living in right now is a spark of joy after having been without it for too long.

Paige’s thoughts drift lazily, floating between the haze of the alcohol and the warmth of the night. She’s not sure when they’d started leaning into each other—just that they are now, and it feels comfortable. Familiar. Nice. Perfect. Great.

“You good?” Jo asks in a voice that’s too loud as she unlocks the front door to their apartment, then bursts into giggles again.

Paige snorts, stumbling a bit more dramatically than necessary. “I’m so good,” she says, her voice sounding more slurred than she means it to be. She throws an arm around Jo’s shoulder to steady herself, but the weight of her makes Jo stumble, and they both neatly collapse into the wall. They’re laughing too hard to care.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Jo gasps suddenly and jerks her arm away, running ahead, the sound of her feet echoing down the hallway. Paige, still a bit off balance, blinks in confusion for a moment, then laughs drunkenly. “Bro—where you goin’?” she asks, her voice trailing off into giggles as she watches Jo hurry toward her bedroom.

Paige follows slowly. It’s odd, in a way—this whole night, this whole feeling. This morning when she woke up, she never expected to be here with Jo, giggling and laughing and things feeling normal again. She probably assumed she’d just be in someone else’s bed. But she’s not, she’s here—with Jo.

Jo. Jo, Jo, Jo, Jo, Jo. She’s so good at basketball, and she’s so good at being there for Paige, even when Paige fucks up. She’s still here, still making everything feel lighter than air.

Paige leans against the doorframe of Jo’s bedroom, watching the younger girl move around her room, back and forth, rifling through her closet with purpose. Clearly, she’s looking for something.

“Joey, what’re you doin’?” Paige asks. Her question hangs in the air, teasing, but it’s laced with affection—Paige can’t hide that part. Especially in her tipsy state, Paige can’t help but stare at Jo with a smile that feels like it’s stretching her face.

Jo doesn’t answer. She’s clearly very focused on something, her movements a little clumsy but endearing. Paige watches her closely, and she lets out another small laugh without meaning to. Her eyes stay glued to Jo, to how everything she does seems to command Paige’s attention. It shouldn’t be a surprise though—even without alcohol in her system, Jo is always there, always occupying every inch of Paige’s thoughts. Maybe it’s starting to get a little pathetic, actually.

Then, Jo suddenly straightens up, a gleam in her eyes. She pulls something out of the depths of her closet—a gift-wrapped box. She bounds over to Paige with her infectious energy, and before Paige can fully process what’s happening, Jo grabs her hand and tugs her into the room, practically pulling her off her feet in her enthusiasm. The force of it makes Paige stumble a little, but it doesn’t matter—Jo’s laughter fills the room, a sound so bright that it makes Paige’s chest swell.

The door slams shut behind them. Paige watches as Jo shoves the gift into her hands, still grinning, still beaming like she’s giving Paige the greatest gift in the world.

“Happy late birthday!” Jo’s words are slurred but joyful.

It is late. Very late, in fact. But Paige had been in LA during her actual birthday, and when she got back, Jo didn’t really have time to give her her gift for… obvious reasons.

But she’s here, giving her one now, and Paige feels so cared for and seen that she can barely even focus on what’s in her hands. The wrapping paper crinkles under her fingers as she tears it open, the motion slow and clumsy, but she feels her heart beat a little faster as Jo watches her do it with those wide eyes full or excitement.

The gift is a Lego set.

It’s one Paige has wanted for months, one that she’d seen in the store and practically drooled over, but she’d never let herself buy it. Jo and Aaliyah and Ines had been with her there, watching her ponder over whether or not to buy it. She decided not to, deeming it too expensive even if she certainly could afford it. But she already had, like, five sets in her hands—so, it was definitely a no-go that day.

But now she’s holding that set, because of Jo. Jo spent money on it, just for Paige. Just because she knew how much it would mean to her.

“Joey!” she exclaims, her voice full of awe and genuine surprise. She turns to Jo, blue eyes wide.

“Do you like?” Jo asks, voice soft but still excited.

“I love!” Paige responds with a wide, goofy smile. It’s true. She loves the thought behind it, the gesture, the fact that Jo cares enough to get her this, let alone anything.

It’s not long before Paige flops onto her back on Jo’s bed, the Lego set abandoned to the side, her arms stretched out like a starfish. Jo plops down next to her, the mattress dipping under her weight, and Paige has to fight the instinct—drunk and probably sober, too—to pull her closer. It would be so easy. One hand on Jo’s waist, the other around her shoulder, tucking her against her chest. It’s a dangerous thought, one Paige shouldn’t even entertain, but the drunkenness isn’t helping her self-control. Instead, she keeps her hands firmly to herself, pressing them into the comforter. She stares up at the ceiling for a moment before her gaze inevitably shifts to Jo.

Jo is staring at the ceiling, too, wide-eyed, like she’s marveling at the sheer existence of it. Her mouth falls open in an exaggerated “wow,” and Paige bites her lip to stifle yet another laugh.

“The world is spinning,” Jo announces, her voice filled with awe and disbelief, like she’s just uncovered some profound universal truth.

Paige can’t hold back her laughter this time. It bubbles out of her, loud and unabashed. “Bro, you’re so drunk,” she says, turning her head to look at her more directly.

Jo grins and shifts her gaze, meeting Paige’s eyes. “No, you’re so drunk!” she fired back, her words slurring slightly as she pokes Paige in the shoulder for emphasis.

They’re both laughing now, the kind of laughter that comes from being young and carefree and absolutely wasted. It’s the kind of moment Paige wants to capture and keep forever, this version of Jo so happy and light and hers, if only for now.

But then, the sharp trill of a phone cuts through the moment, jolting them both from their drunken bubble. Jo groans, her head tipping back against the mattress as if the mere thought of moving is too much effort. “Ugh, noooo,” she whines, squirming around to try and reach into her back pocket where her phone is ringing insistently.

Paige sits up slightly, propping herself on one elbow, laughing at Jo’s struggles. “C’mon, champ,” she teases, watching the younger girl twist and wriggle until she finally manages to pull her phone free. Jo squints at the screen, her tongue sticking out a little in concentration, before she lets out a soft, “Oh. It’s Asher.”

The name hits Paige like a splash of cold water, instantly sobering her. She forces her face to stay neutral, her heart sinking just slightly as Jo answers the call. She tries to brush it off, but it feels like someone just yanked her back to reality.

Jo’s voice brightens as she presses the phone to her ear. “Hiiii, what do you want?” she greets, the words teasing but affectionate. Paige watches her closely, her eyes scanning Jo’s face, cataloging every expression as Asher’s voice hums faintly on the other side of the line. She can’t make out the words, but she doesn’t really need to. Jo’s smile tells her everything she doesn’t want to know.

“Yes, I’m drunk,” Jo says with a laugh, rolling her eyes playfully. Another pause, another response Paige doesn’t hear. “Okay, yes, I will.” Jo giggles, the sound light and airy, and Paige’s chest aches. “Yes, I love you, too. Byeeee!” Jo hangs up with a flourish, tossing the phone toward the foot of the bed. It bounces off and clatters to the floor, but Jo just laughs. “Oops.”

Paige tries to laugh with her, but it doesn’t come as easily as before. She’s too caught up in the sting of hearing Jo say those words so effortlessly. I love you too. It’s not like Paige hasn’t heard it before, but tonight, when they’ve spent the whole evening laughing and leaning into each other’s space, it feels sharper, harder to ignore.

Before she can think too much, Jo scoots closer, collapsing onto Paige with a happy sigh. Her head rests on Paige’s chest, and Paige freezes, her heart slamming against her robe as a Jo mumbles, “Boys,” in an exasperated tone, as if that single word explains everything.

Paige forces a chuckle, but it’s quieter now, more subdued. Her mind races, but she doesn’t move. She can’t. She doesn’t trust herself to touch Jo, even though she wants to, desperately. She wants to wrap her arms around her, hold her tight, tell her that boys are stupid and unnecessary and that Paige could love her better, so much better. But she doesn’t.

Jo’s breathing slows and it seems within moments, she’s out cold, the alcohol taking everything out of her, her body heavy and warm against Paige’s. Paige shifts slightly, careful not to disturb her, and lets out a shaky breath. She hesitates, then lifts a hand, brushing it gently through Jo’s hair. The soft strands glide through her fingers, and it’s soothing in a way she can’t explain, even if it makes her chest hurt.

She stares at Jo, at the peaceful expression on her face. She shouldn’t feel this way. She knows that. But knowing—or the stupid space shit she tried that was clearly bad for both of them—doesn’t stop the feelings. It doesn’t stop the yearning or the way her stomach flips every time Jo looks at her. It doesn’t stop the way she knows Jo is happy with Asher, that Jo loves him, that Paige will never be anything more than her best friend.

But she decides that it’s enough. That it has to be. If this is the only way she can have Jo, then she’ll take it. She’ll take the laughter, the late nights, the moments like these where Jo trusts her enough to fall asleep on her. She’ll take Jo in any way she’ll give her, even if it breaks her heart a little more every day.

Because loving Jo, even from a distance, even like this, feels like the most natural thing in the world.

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Daddied: based on true events

“Come on bro! Why are you being so weird?” Lee mocked standing in next to the bathtub with a bottle of alcohol. “I mean you got the perfect body and what not I think but I’m really just not into guys”. Lee laughed at Nathan. Lee knew that Nathan has a crush on him. People even claimed that they had a bromance going on with how much time spent together but after all the months of Lee casually flirting, Nathan finally made a move. Only for Lee to laugh in his place.

Nathan walked out of the bathroom while Lee could be heard laughing at him. Nathan was heart broken. The first man that he actually felt a connection to. The one he grew to love. Just laughing at him. Rubbing the tears from his eyes Nathan laid in his apartment. In bed bundled up trying to find the courage to face the world again. He couldn’t continue on with this “bromance” any longer after being lead on for so long. He could feel his chest hurting. His heart breaking while he sobbed. He played back memories he had with Lee. Fun nights of playing games. Even the night when Lee told him that he better get his ass to class and get his degree. Lee was actually the reason he graduated college because he wanted to make Lee proud. He was the only one that pushed him to do. He even reminisced on the nights they would drink together. The deep conversations they had. The more Nathan thought. The more he got angry. He wanted Lee to pay for wasting his time. For breaking his heart. He didn’t want to feel this pain again. There was one memory that Nathan was playing back in his mind. And suddenly he shot up in bed. A dark smile creeped across his face.

—————————————————————-

Lee woke up the next morning with a hangover. “Ohh god how much did I drink?” He moaned to himself. His phone was buzzing. It was the chick he was flirting with at the very last night. “We need to talk was all the txt said”. Why would be need to talk? She was just a random chick he was flirting with. Dismissing the txt he swaggered to the bathroom. In the mirror flexing his muscles. And giving himself that perfect smile that got him out of so much trouble. His phone began to ring. He answered it not thinking about it only to hear the screeching of some chick. After a bit he said “oh yeah I remember you …. Wait… what are you saying!? WHAT!!” He dropped the phone. Apparently one of his hookups from a month ago was pregnant. He sat down on the edge of tub. Head in his hands trying to figure out what he was going to do. His stomach grumbled telling him it was time for breakfast but he wasn’t in any mood to eat. He walked back to his bedroom. Putting on some clean clothes. Not even noticed as he passed the mirror that his muscles had lost some definition.

He made it to the bistro next door, ordered some breakfast and took a seat trying to take in the news that he was going to be a Father. His phone rang again. This time the girl from last night. Reluctantly he picked up the phone. “THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE” he screamed and slammed his phone down. She was claiming to be pregnant with his child too! And they didn’t even sleep together ! Lee picked his sandwich up to take a bite of his food when his hands caught him off guard. Dropping to the food he stared at them. Seeing dark hairs creeping out the back of them and traveling up his arms. Hurrying home he ran to the bathroom and took his shirt off only to see the dark hairs poking out of skin. His chest and abs has a dark sheen on then and turning sideways he could see his back had the same peach fuzz hairs that were growing. “WHAT IS GOING ON!”

Grabbing the razor he began to shave off all the hair that seemed to being growing like wild fire across his body. And only the. Did he see it. His muscles seemed to be deflating. It was starting to look like he skipped a few gym sessions. “What happening !!” He screamed.

His phone rang and he dreaded seeing who it was. Nathan. “I’ve decided to distance myself from you. Yesterday really hurt and I need this for me”. Lee sat on the bed. Head in hands sobbing. The one person he needed right now more than ever and he pushed him away. Lee didn’t know what was happening. He still felt hungry but all he wanted to do was sleep. It’s all he wanted to do with all the uncertain changes happening.

———————————

Waking up Lee felt more groggy than ever. He didn’t want to get out bed. Staring at the ceiling he didn’t know what to do. He can’t be a father of 1 kid let alone 2! His stomach churned and he knew he needed to eat something. Sitting up in bed he screamed. “WHT THE FUCK IS THIS!” Running to the bathroom he was horror struck. Hair was everywhere.

A thick beard coated his face. His muscle definition was gone. And his stomach was poking out as if he drank beer all the time ! Look down he see. Thicker legs that lead down to some meaty sweaty feet. That had the beginnings of dark hair coating them. He began to swap from all the changes. He was fucked. He didn’t know what was happening. And …and…was he SHORTER!! Judging his height from the bathroom sink he had to be at least 4 inches shorter!!

————————————————

A week last Nathan went to Lee’s apartment. The door was unlocked. Walking into the space the living area was completely disheveled. As if someone was tearing the place apart. On the couch was a large circled wrapped in a sheet. Water dripping from the opening where a face would be as the hunched over figure appeared to be crying. “Hello?” Lee’s could be heard. “GO AWAY!” Deep and raspy. Nathan sat down beside him. Asking what’s wrong? Lee responded that he was a freak. The exposed flesh that Nathan could see was a pair of large hairy feet that he could smell. Leading up to some tree trunk legs coated in the thickest hair he had ever seen on a man. He heard Lee’s stomach growling. “Do you need me to make you something to eat ?”

Whipping the sheet back Lee screamed “does it look like I need something to eat!?”

Nathan jumped back. Shocked at how large Lee had gotten. “I can’t even leave this apartment anymore without people calling Jaimie. Jaimie!!! I’m not my damn father ! I’m not!!” Lee’s phone wrong. “Oh no not again!!” As if on command his body immediately responded. His stomach swelling larger. His hair growing thicker and his body becoming smellier. The dark smile crept across Nathan’s face. Lee caught a glimpse of it. “You did this! You and your spells! What did you do!?” Nathan stood up and laughed at him. “Well. You always said you would never follow in the foot steps of your father. After the other day, I decided to make you do exactly that”. Le was becoming his worst nightmare. His own father and a father to many as well.

[loveandfictionforall]

Could I request for Daryl Dixon? Maybe reader getting sleepy as they sit together and falling against him and just all fluffy? Headcanons or oneshot I don‘t care

It’s just a small one shot but I still hope you will enjoy it 🙈

Reader falling asleep against Daryl

It was a quiet night on the Greene Farm. Nobody was around, all of them already sleeping. The woods were quiet too, not even a single leaf was shaking in the wind. While everything was quiet, the sky looked bright, with so many stars that some of them seemed like one blob.

Tonight was Daryl’s watch. Like always you wanted to use that time to have some privacy with him. Most of the time you were not even speaking, sometimes talking in a hushed whisper. But tonight wasn’t one of those.

The day was turbulent enough, with Shane being dramatic and a little bit insane. There happened a big fight between Rick and Lori and you knew, Daryl’s nerves were frazzled. His face showed clearly his mood, his features tight in annoyance.

You knew silence and darkness helped him to relax. You hoped you helped him to relax too. That was the only reason you were there, sitting with him on the Camper from Dale.

With a small sigh you leaned a bit against his arm, slowly inching a bit down so you could rest your head on his shoulder. For a second, Daryl tensed. His head turned towards you, scanning your face until a small quirk appeared with his lips. Then he looked forward to the woods again.

Happy with that, you did the same. But unlike Daryl, you were really tired. You could have went to sleep but without Daryl at your side, you didn’t feel were secure and so you had to settle with being tired tomorrow.

Your thought became unfocused. Your head moved with Daryl breaths. Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep. At first you noticed it, pulling them open again with sheer will force but Daryl’s comforting scent and warmth made it much more impossible.

„Go to sleep.“ came the quiet voice of your boyfriend as he looked down on you. He had seen you struggle for the last 20ish minutes. He knew what your answer would be. Stubbornly you shook lightly your head, not quite meeting his eyes because you knew he looked at you with his eyebrows drawn up. Instead you closed them and that was your biggest mistake. You didn’t even really noticed it but Daryl certainly did.

With a small chuckle, he slowly gets his arm that’s trapped between the two of you and wraps it instead around you.

„Like always.“ was the only thing he said as he softly kissed your hair and continued his lookout.

[bluespace-writer]

I had this idea and I NEED to get it out

Ofc feel free to ignore this tho

Sniper x gn other team reader who seems to always figure out where he is. It's like they have this weird spidey sense type thing. Like, they'll look directly into his scope or fire a warning shot next to him when he hasn't seen them yet.

Maybe they've even sniped him once with like a handgun or something cuz he pissed them off

Like I can imagine how much of a loop it would throw him through

Also, if he could be a pining loser, that would be great

Ooh also what if he also noticed how they're particularly brutal with the rest of his team but not him (examples above) because they have a soft spot for / crush on him too

[I can't express how MUCH I love this idea! Thank you for this ask it was fun to write it! Have fun reading!]

Warning shots

◇ TF2 Sniper x GN!Reader [crush]

Badlands, where setting sun gives you third degree burns and gravel is treated like gold, a place where lays control point, ready to be taken over by one of the two teams, and belive when I say, it is no easy thing to do. The point was active for some time now, but no one on the teams managed to get it before they were shot down, dying in their own pool of blood and coming back to life, trying all over again.

Meanwhile Sniper was on his was to changes places to confuse his opponents, firing from high place, his scope scanning the corners and waiting for some idiot to take a peek and find themselves with a bullet in their skull.

Another warning shoot. This time bullet made a hole in his hat. Bugger. How?? He just got here! He didn't even fired his weapon! What kind of six sense bullshit is this! Alright, alright... there is no time to think about it, he has a job that needs to be done. Again, he decided to change his position, walking to the comple opposite side of the war zone.

"Steady... Steady..." Sniper mumbled to himself while aiming at the enemy Heavy's head. Then BAM, bullet hit, creating hole in wooden plank next to his head. Sniper moved away from the window, completely caught off guard. He was sure it was a good spot and none one will be able to find him this quickly ! No matter. He decided to change his position, it was not a good idea to try to shoot again from the same spot when someone knew he was there. He passed Engineer's nest and found for himself better spot to try again. He aimed carefully, grinned when dot from his scope pointed on Medic's head and-...

Bang!

He found much better spot this time, far away from the control point but close enough for him to land every shoot. Finally, he can continue his job without any surprises. Sniper looked through his scope and noticed- You. He was ready to pull the trigger when suddenly you turned your head to the left and looked directly at him. Sniper felt weird tingle on his neck. Did...Did you noticed him? No... it's impossible, he is too far away! But there you were, staring directly into his scope, completely aware of his current position. Were you the one who knew where he had always been? His eyebrows knit together, as he was aiming at your head, but you were quicker and pullet trigger on your handgun, shooting Sniper right into the shoulder three times.

Sniper did the only reasonable thing, which was running away to find the closests med kit. As he was runing he thought about....this. This weird treatment you were giving him. Besides Pyro and Solider you are one of the most violent mercenary on your team, always finishing your targets in the most brutal and extreme way possible, and yet you, of all people, were giving him warning shoots! Twice ! It was....strange...

This situation for you two was a tradition at this point. Whenever Sniper was trying to shoot someone down, you were there to send your bullet ricochet next to him, suddenly shout "Sniper ahead!!" and let rest of your team know he is watching. Or you'll turn around and stare at him as if you were saying "I always know where you are."

It annoyed him. His ego was damaged now, because of you and your stupid abnormal senses. Only times he could get a kill at this point was when you were respawning or when enemy Spy failed to backstab him. Was he even allowed to call himself a professional now?? You were now his biggest priority on the battlefield, he was constantly waiting for you to show up just to land a shoot on you. Not even to kill you, even a simple bruse was enough for him. It trapped him into a tunel vision that resulted in him dying several times to the rest of your team.

Well.

Sniper was aiming at respawn machine, waiting for you to come out. He didn't even hear footsteps creeping up behind him. He only realized someone was behind him when he was pulled by the shoulder, and pinned against the wall by- you!

How-

When-

Looks like Sniper forgot that this respawn had two exits. You were holding him for...quite a while not. Both of you stared at each other, not moving an inch.

...

...

...

...

This was akward.

....what the bloody hell was that?!

Sniper felt sweat on his eyebrows and how his face is getting warmer from the embarrassed. You smirked before letting him go and you-

Just-

Walked away...

He should be dead! But you just decided to spare him? Why??? And that look on your face... He always saw you stare at him, but only now he saw your eyes up close...they looked... surprisingly pleasant to look at.

Now you're stuck in his head. Constantly teasing each other with shots and looks. Sniper felt better, knowing he wouldn't be butchered by you like the rest of his team. Was he this special? Were you...special to him? Each thought about you made his cheeks shine in pink and clouded mind with this weird soft feeling. But don't think only he did! Ha! Come on, it was obvious you have soft spot for this Australian man. It was not hard to miss when you shredded enemy team like nothing, and only Sniper was able to somehow "Get away" or just "Suddenly disappeared". The tingling, almost spider like sense made you detect him like on radar, which was the reason why you found it so hard to not think about him.

You two found a reeallllly interesting way to flirt with each other heh.

[mccardswife]

You are enough

heyy! this is my first one shot so it is not the best but feel free to give any tips!

arsenal wfc x teen!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, bruise, angst, sh, a few cuss words, suicidal thoughts, protective awfc and fluff in the end. Please remind me if I have forgotten some! (don't read if you get triggered)

(not proofread so if any mistakes give me a heads up)

word count: 2144

enjoy!

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Being a 16 year old professional football player is not the easiest thing in the world. Yes, you do what you love everyday but it has its up and downs. I signed for arsenal 3 months ago but I had no idea it would be that difficult. I don't feel like I belong here, all the girls on the team are truly amazing don't get me wrong, but it is so hard living up to the standards. Especially when I am me, just me and only me. I don't feel enough

After my alarm went signaling me to get ready for another day of training, the thought of going to training today dreaded me, and it has for weeks. Silence, I lay in my bed in silence just thinking of all the bad things that can happen today. If you are wondering where my parents are, the truth is. I live alone, yes, alone as a 16 year old in England. My parents has never supported me playing footy, not even when I was little. They wanted me to have a career that was meant for "girls" and not "boys", but that sounded bizarre. Football is for everyone, but they don't seem get that into their head. My parents kicked me out when they found out I signed for Arsenal, we lived in London, but since I got kicked out I had to get an apartment for myself. It was pretty hard but my best friend helped me and I am so grateful thankful for her. I have not told the team about me living alone for 6 months, they would go all protective and wanting to know why but I can't tell them, not yet. I don't want to be judged. Saying to the girls that I got kicked out of home, even thinking about it makes me feel so embarrassed and ashamed of myself.

I lay in bed, in pain. Physically and emotionally. Last night, after I was out grocery shopping I took the metro home as always, when a man probably doubled my age walked over to me. I then realized that it was my father, he dragged me into a corner and asked me if I still was into all that "football shit". I got furious and started whisper shout at him, turned out that was not the best idea. He started going about me being a disgrace to the family, not only the family but the world, that no one is ever going to love me for playing football, and then he punched me right in my cheek. I felt thrilling pain in my face, but he grabbed my wrists hard and said in my face "You useless bitch, no one cares about you and never will".

That sentence goes through my mind over and over again. I was almost impossible to fall asleep last night, because of the pain I was in both physically and emotionally. What my father told me, got to my head and I was thinking. Maybe he was right, I am a disgrace, no one will ever love me, maybe if it would be better if I just disappeared.

Well, well. Got to get up for training and stop thinking. Seriously y/n, get your shit together...

I walked downstairs to the bathroom and got dressed and tried to cover the bruise on my cheek that now has gotten all blue, yellow and purple. It was really painful and very difficult but totally worth it when I was done and I literally could not see a damn thing. Then I did the same to the bruises on my wrists and after I tried to cover up the dark bags under my eyes but that was a bit more of a job.

Suddenly I got the urge, the painful urge. I took the hidden blade from the mirror cabinet and drawed lines on my right arm. One, two, three, four.

Then I looked at the clock. Shit, I thought. The training starts in two hours and we have breakfast together in the dining room an hour before. The metro usually took 30 minutes, I packed my bag in a hurry and left.

When I walked in to the facility I heard two voices yelling my name behind me. Lotte and Alessia walked quickly over to me. "You excited for training?" Alessia asked you. "Yes totally" I said in a lie, I think they saw that I lied because it did not look like they believed me at all. "What about you Less and Lotte?" you said to try getting the attention away from you. It seemed that it worked because they said in sync "Yes". Less and Lotte looked at each other and we giggled.

When we walked in to the dining room, everyone was there. I tried to brush off all the looks I got. Why does everyone look so suspicious today...

"Come here Y/n, sit with us", Leah said after I served myself food. Leah sat with Katie, Kim, Lia, Caitlin, Steph, Beth, Viv and Kyra. I walked nervously over to them and sat down in the seat beside Beth. They started talking and I just sat there quietly eating my food being in my thoughts until Viv said "Y/n, you've been quiet, are you good". They looked at me concerned, "Me? Yes of course Im good, just sat thinking about the upcoming training today". I lied straight through my teeth. "Okay, if you're sure. but you can talk to us though", Caitlin said. I just said a quietly thank you, and then we walked to the locker room and got ready for training.

We started doing some light jog then got into some training drills. I was already sweating, it was surprisingly very sunny outside today and I wore a long sleeve training jersey because of my scars. "Aren't you hot in that", said Jen to me. I just simply shrugged her off saying no.

I was so exhausted, my body is so tired and I really want to lay down. When we had water break I just laid down on the grass. Sweating, I rubbed my face because I was so tired.

Beth and Viv walked over worriedly, they have become my unofficial parents after my transfer to Arsenal. They looked shocked when they saw me. "What" I said in a panicked voice. "Why do you have a big black bruise on your cheek?" Beth said, "And on your wrists?" Viv said. "Is something going on at home?" Viv asked with a knowing look. "No, no of course not, why would you assume that".

After training everyone looked worried and concerned, my passes and shots got sloppier and sloppier, I was hurting more and more. When I was about to leave, Kim, Katie, Leah and Jen cornered me. With Beth and Viv looking guilty behind. They brought me into a private room and they started telling me what Beth and Viv told me. Then all of a sudden Kim said "You know, all the team has been worried and concerned for a while, I can't remember how many times the girls have repeatedly come and talked to me". I looked at her ashamed. "Why do you have bruised?" Katie asked, "I just fell" I said, the lie obvious.

I started scratching because my scars got really itchy, I really wanted to just disappear right there and then. Then Leah grabbed my right wrist softly and pulled up my sleeve, the last thing before I broke down was gasps from the girls. I started trying to make up excuses but none of them were having it, "come with us" said Beth, "We will bring you to the medical room and then we want you to tell us everything". I desperately did not want to but I knew it was no chance of me getting out of this.

When we got to the medical room they put me on one of the beds. My scars were infected, that is why they itched so damn much. Jen was cleaning up my bruises while Kim cleaned up my scars. I know the people who worked here could do it but I did not want them right now, it is bad enough that now the whole team knows.

Leah then said in her stern but soft captain voice "Now tell us everything". I tried to tell her that it was nothing. What Katie said broke me "Please babe, we only want to help you. We know it has been hard for you but please". Then I broke down again, full on shaking and crying. Desperately gasping for air.

I started telling them everything, how my parents are and that they has never supported me once for the choices I have made, that I don't feel like I belong here because I am only me... When I spit out the truth about me living alone for 3 months because my parents kicked me out and that they were abusing me for years before, I saw tears in all of the girls faces. It was a heartbreaking sight. I told them how I ran into my father last night and what he did and said to me and I started sobbing again and saying silently to myself "It is true, what he said. I am a reckless disgrace full kid".

"You are enough y/nn, I promise you babe" Viv said. All of the others agree but I could not help believing my fathers words. "Actually me and Beth have been thinking for a while, we have a spare room and big enough place for 3, and you are like our kid. I am being for real, we love you as our own family. All the team does, but we wondered if you wanted to come live with us?" Viv asked me. I was hesitant and I think Beth saw that because she said "We are not taking no for an answer". I felt a smile creep up on my face and as desperate I was trying to hide it all the others saw and started smiling too. I said to Meadema, "thank you moms". I realized what I said "shit fuck, sorry I did not mean to".

"Y/nn it is okay, you have no idea how glad that made us, you are like our kid" Beth and Viv said.

After a while of me telling them about my thoughts, how I have been feeling for the last weeks, they decided to get me into therapy. We have a therapist at the facility so we agreed to be going to her twice a week. "I am grateful for all of you, I really am but I just feel like a bother" I said quietly.

"No babe stop" Jen said, Katie walked over to me, she took her hands on my head and said "You are enough, a hundred times enough". "You are like a younger sister to me, it breaks me to see you like this, not only me but all of us. We and all the team loves you. You are the baby of the team."

"We will always protect you, and we will get your so called parents locked up." Kim said to me. "Not Viv and Beth but the other parents" Jen said in a playful tone.

"That I understand" I said with a smile of my face.

Leah asked me if she could tell the other girls and the Gaffer, she needed to anyway but it was nice she asked me. I said yes then she walked outside.

A few minutes later they all came in. Kyra, being kind of like my annoying twin ran over to me and hanged on for me for dear life in a bear hug. I started explaining to them a bit more, and reassured them that it was not their fault but my manipulative parents.

I also said that I called Viv and Beth mum and that I am moving in with them and Lessi and Laura said at the same time "about damn time". All the team broke out in laughter.

"I am sorry for not telling you but I feel a thousand times better now after telling you, I have been scared and not felt at home here for a while but telling you and knowing that I can count on you girls will help me. The whole team is kind of like my family I never got and I can't ask for more than that. I am so grateful for all of you, and I love you"

"We love you too y/nn", Leah said with the softest most heartwarming smile ever. "You are our family, blood or not you will always be family" Kim said reassuring.

"Always," Katie said

"And you are enough" the team said lovingly.

[thefemmefatalexo]

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 3 - Fake It Till You Make It

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: JEEZ LOUISEEEE! SMOOCHEEEES 💋💋💋

{chapter 2} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

You already knew today was going to be bad, but you hadn’t expected it to be this bad.

It started when you woke up late. Your phone was dead—your stepsister had “accidentally” unplugged your charger overnight, and your alarm never went off. You had exactly ten minutes to get ready, which meant skipping breakfast and throwing on whatever clothes you could grab. In your rush, you stubbed your toe against the corner of your desk so hard that you nearly collapsed.

You tried to shake it off, but things only got worse from there.

By the time you got to campus, the café was out of everything except black coffee, which tasted like burnt disappointment. You tried to force it down anyway, only to spill half of it on your sweater before your first lecture.

Then, your professor—who never acknowledged your existence before—suddenly decided today was the perfect day to call on you. It had to be on the one topic you hadn’t reviewed properly, and when you failed to answer, he sighed and moved on. That one sigh was enough to make the students around you turn and look, some of them exchanging glances, some holding back laughter.

You spent the rest of the class staring at your notebook, trying to disappear.

By the time you reached the library, you were exhausted, but just as you sat down and opened your book, a chair scraped loudly across from you.

Before you even looked up, you already knew who it was.

“Why do you look like someone just ran over your dog?”

Satoru Gojo.

You sighed. “Go away, Satoru.”

“No can do,” he said cheerfully, leaning back in his chair. “Saw you sitting here all alone and thought, ‘Wow, that’s kind of depressing.’ So, here I am. Your knight in shining armor.”

You shot him a flat look. “More like my court jester.”

He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “Ouch. Right in my fragile heart.”

Ignoring him, you turned back to your book.

He didn’t do silence.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table in an annoying rhythm.

“What question?” you muttered, already regretting engaging.

“Why you look like someone just ran over your dog.”

You debated whether answering would make him leave faster. “…Because I had a long day.”

Satoru hummed, tilting his head. “Long day or bad day?”

“Both.”

To your surprise, he didn’t joke. He just nodded, like he actually understood.

For a second, you almost thought you’d get some peace. But then, his smirk returned.

“And here I was thinking you were deep in thought about me.”

Your face deadpanned. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “But you still haven’t denied it.”

You shut your book. “Gojo.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I will kill you.”

His grin widened. “That would require effort. And let’s be honest, you don’t strike me as the type.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

Gojo sat there for another ten minutes, occasionally tapping his fingers on the table just to annoy you, before finally stretching and standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your brooding,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses. “But don’t miss me too much.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response.

A Lie That Shouldn’t Have Happened

When you finally got home, all you wanted was a shower and sleep.

But the second you stepped inside, your mother’s voice cut through the air.

“Come to the living room.”

Your stomach sank.

Your stepsister was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, a smug, knowing smile on her lips. Your stepfather sat beside her, looking like he’d just won the lottery.

“We have something to celebrate,” he announced.

You didn’t react.

Your stepsister, on the other hand, was practically glowing. “I got invited to the National Collegiate Tennis Championship,” she said, tilting her head like she wanted to see your reaction.

Your mother sighed, so proud. “She’s worked so hard. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

You forced yourself to nod. You weren’t bitter about your stepsister’s success. It wasn’t her fault she was their favorite. But the way your parents used her as a golden standard—while treating you like you weren’t even worth noticing—never failed to sting.

Your stepfather leaned back in his chair, his expression turning more mocking. “And you,” he said, looking at you expectantly, “what exactly have you been doing?”

“College,” you said, keeping your voice neutral. “Like everyone else.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “But you don’t do anything else, do you? No sports, no clubs. You don’t go out, you don’t socialize.” He smirked. “Do you even have a boyfriend, or are you just wasting your time being forgettable?”

Your stepsister covered her mouth, laughing under her breath. “Dad, that’s mean,” she said sweetly. “She’s just… not really the type to have a boyfriend.”

Your mother sighed like this was the greatest disappointment of all. “She’s always been a bit… invisible.”

That was it. That was the moment.

The exhaustion, the stress, the endless belittling—it all crashed over you at once. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “I do have a boyfriend, actually.”

The room went silent.

Then, they laughed.

Not a chuckle. Not a scoff. A full-blown, gut-wrenching laugh.

“You?” Your stepfather shook his head, smiling. “Oh, that’s rich.”

Your stepsister raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re serious?” Her smile widened. “Who is he?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Shit.

“Someone from school,” you muttered.

“Well, obviously,” she said, laughing. “But what’s his name?”

Your heart pounded. “You don’t know him.”

Your stepfather shook his head, amused. “Sure, kid. Whatever you say.”

Your mother didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you said it all—like she didn’t believe you for a second.

Your face burned.

Before they could ask anything else, you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs.

By the time you slammed your bedroom door, reality had settled in.

You had lied.

You had actually lied.

And worse? You had no way of getting out of it without making yourself look even more pathetic.

For the next week, you racked your brain for solutions. You considered telling them you broke up with this mystery boyfriend before they could meet him, but you knew that’d just open the door for more insults, more mockery. You thought about faking a long-distance relationship, but that seemed way too complicated.

Meanwhile, Satoru Gojo was everywhere.

You didn’t know why you kept seeing him—maybe the universe was punishing you—but he popped up in the library, at the campus café, even outside one of your lectures. And every single time, he made sure to annoy you.

“You always look so serious,” he teased one day, leaning against the table you were studying at. “Are you plotting world domination or just thinking about me?”

“Neither,” you muttered, turning the page in your book.

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

He was relentless.

And today, after another long, exhausting day, you just wanted to be alone.

Your safe place was a hidden bench near the lake, tucked away behind the trees where no one ever bothered you. It was quiet, peaceful—exactly what you needed.

But as you sat there, staring at the water, a loud rustling noise came from the bushes.

You tensed.

Then, Satoru Gojo stumbled out.

“Are you serious?” you groaned.

“Oh, hey,” he grinned, “didn’t know you’d be here.”

“This is my spot.”

“I don’t see your name on it.”

You shot him a glare. He sat down anyway.

You considered getting up and leaving, but you were too tired to fight.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the rustling leaves and the soft ripples of the lake.

Then, Gojo broke the silence.

“Alright, spill. What’s wrong?”

You scoffed. “None of your business.”

“Oh, so it’s extra bad.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “C’mon, you’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

You tried to ignore him. But he kept poking, prodding, teasing until finally, you snapped, “Fine! I lied to my family about having a boyfriend, okay?”

He blinked. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face.

“Oh, this is fantastic.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your boyfriend.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you insane?”

“Probably,” he admitted cheerfully. “But listen—this works out perfectly. You need a fake boyfriend, and I need a serious girlfriend for my family thing. Boom. Problem solved.”

You gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious.” He placed his hands on your shoulders, grinning like a lunatic.

Your brain struggled to keep up. Gojo? Pretending to be your boyfriend? This had to be a joke.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Ridiculously genius,” he corrected.

He must have seen the doubt on your face because his expression softened slightly. “Hey. It’s just a deal. No strings attached, no weird expectations. Just two people faking a relationship to make their lives easier.”

You hesitated.

You wanted to say no. But… he wasn’t wrong.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if you make this weird, I swear—”

“No promises,” he sang.

With an annoyed sigh, you pulled out your phone. “We need proof.”

The first selfie was awkward. You sat stiffly on the bench, trying to keep as much space between you and Satoru as possible. He, of course, leaned in way too close, grinning like an idiot as he snapped the first photo.

Click.

You glanced at it. It was bad. You looked uncomfortable, your lips pressed into a tight line, while Satoru, on the other hand, looked effortlessly photogenic—like he wasn’t taking a fake couple’s picture but rather doing a promotional shoot for some high-end brand.

“This is terrible,” you muttered.

Satoru let out a dramatic sigh. “That’s because you look like I’m holding you hostage.”

“You are holding me hostage.”

“Emotionally,” he agreed, scrolling through the photos. “Alright, let’s try again. This time, look at me like you actually like me. Pretend I just said something funny.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Blatant lies.” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I’m hilarious. Try to keep up.”

Click.

The second was worse. You tried forcing a small smile, but it came out looking like you were in pain.

Satoru examined it and snorted. “You look like you just swallowed a lemon.”

“I hate this.”

“No, you just suck at it,” he corrected. “Here, let’s make it natural.”

Before you could react, he suddenly threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in.

“Hey—!”

Click.

“Much better,” he said, showing you the photo.

It was… convincing. His arm around you, the effortless smirk, the way your faces were close enough to suggest something more. You still looked hesitant, but at least you weren’t grimacing anymore.

“This could work,” he said, sounding pleased.

You shifted uncomfortably. “You’re way too comfortable with this.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Natural talent.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. We got the pictures. We’re done here.”

“Not quite,” he corrected. “We need a convincing story. How long have we been dating? How did we meet? What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“Nothing,” you deadpanned.

“Ouch. Okay, my favorite thing about you is—” he tapped his chin thoughtfully before grinning— “how easy you are to mess with.”

You groaned. “This was a mistake.”

“Too late now, babe,” he teased, stretching out the last word obnoxiously. “We’re in this together.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Fine. How did we meet?”

“Obviously, you fell madly in love with me the first time you saw me.”

“Try again.”

“We met in class,” he said, thinking. “I was struggling with my engineering assignments, and you offered to help. We bonded over late-night study sessions, and boom, love blossomed.”

You squinted. “You don’t struggle with engineering.”

“They don’t know that,” he pointed out. “Besides, it makes me sound relatable.”

You sighed. “Whatever. And how long have we been together?”

He grinned. “Long enough to make it believable, short enough that you don’t have to explain why I wasn’t around before. Let’s say… a month?”

You shrugged. “Fine.”

“And my favorite thing about you?” he pressed.

“That you shut up when I tell you to.”

He laughed. “We both know that’s not true.”

You shook your head, stuffing your phone into your pocket. “I’m leaving.”

“Not before you post those pictures,” he reminded you.

You hesitated.

Posting them meant committing to this ridiculous lie. It meant opening yourself up to questions, speculation, and attention—all things you had avoided for so long.

Satoru watched you, head tilted. “Cold feet?”

You exhaled slowly. “No.”

With one last look at the photos, you posted them to your Instagram. Satoru did the same, tagging you with a caption that read:

“Finally got her to admit she’s obsessed with me. Took long enough. ❤️”

Your phone immediately started vibrating.

By the time you got home, the notifications were nonstop.

Messages. Comments. Likes.

And by morning, one thing was clear:

You and Satoru Gojo were now the hottest gossip on campus.

[diejager]

I can request yandere! König and yandere Ghost?

She used to be a soldier before she was kidnapped by them, so she uses what she learned to beat them and escape from that room she was locked in.

Although she can't find the exit

No Escape Cw: DARKFIC, kidnapping, yandere, possessive behaviour, obsessiveness, nonconsensual drugging, basement wife, tell me if I missed any.

You learned that compliance was a better choice in this situation, having fought tooth an d nail against them only to be punished and had your privileges taken away from you. You started in the basement, waking up confused and disorientated, throat dry and head heavy from the substance König and Ghost used to drug you. You trusted Ghost, having worked with him so often - too many to count on both your hands and feet - and learned to put your trust in him to watch your back and protect you.

You, however, couldn’t say the same about König, you didn’t trust him, he was the enemy, someone you and Ghost had fought so many times, shot and wounded time and time again —only for him to come back stronger, more determined and more dangerous. Yet they worked effortlessly together rather than fight on every decision, they’d work through their differences, barked and fought but they clung to the thought of having you to themselves. It was the driving force behind their cooperation.

They took you, locked you away in the darkness of a home in Austria (an idea they both agreed to, Austria was farther and calmer, less populated and you wouldn’t be able to get help if you escaped, a stranger to the country’s spoken language) until they deemed you compliant enough to let out. You threw snide remarks, leering comments and a disrespectful and bratty attitude to push the act, to have them believe you weren’t thinking of playing them.

You were punished for every act of noncompliance, Ghost was cruel but he didn’t beat you, he used words and training —dog training, to train the disobedient mutt out of you. He did just enough to stop you from always biting, but never too much that you lose your feistiness, the aspect that made keeping you interesting and fun. König was more direct, holding you down and making you listen to him, he went without beating or training you. He had firm hands and he knew how to use them, praising you whenever you did something well and giving you privileges like going to the bathroom, showering alone, taking a walk outside or sleep in a bed.

Compliance had worked so far, they were lost to the domesticity of having a soldier turned housewife cook for them, care for them and give yourself to them. They had grown so used to having you at their beck and call, giving you whatever you wanted: books, food, a bed, a Tv, but never your freedom. That was something you had to work harder for, to pull them deeper into the delusion of your love and subservience towards them. You went unsupervised for long periods of time at home, leaving the doors locked and windows shut whenever they left.

And today seemed like the right time to move, you’d been warned by Ghost that they would be gone for a while for a joint mission (SpecGru and KorTac had somehow formed an impossible alliance), leaving you home alone with enough food and ressources to last a year. You watched them leave, their cars driving out in the distance and disappearing behind the trees once they turned the corner. You waited an hour, and hour of patience in case they came back for an emergency or because something in the plan changed, but you didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of car engines or the imposing steps up the porch.

You scoured the house, eyes roving over every little crevice and hands feeling the walls for any weaknesses. The windows were bolted shut and the grates made of hardened iron that were simply too sturdy for you to cut through without the right equipment, and the doors were locked from the outside, both men holding the only copy of the key. You wanted to keep forcibly unlocking the door as a last ditch effort because it would take more effort than needed to pry it open. So you searched the house, up the attic and down the basement, and their individual offices, who unfortunately had every drawer locked with a master key.

As you broke apart a few pins to make a lock pick, you heard two cars drive up the driveway, the loud rev of the engine and the angered slam of a door. You cursed, swiftly moving down the stairs and into the hidden corner of your reading spot, hidden by the arch between the indoor porch and the kitchen, away from the entrance’s sight. You hadn’t prepared for them to come back home —a mistake. You’d picked a random book, flipping through the pages and acting as if you spend the time reading, hoping that they wouldn’t grow suspicious.

“Come here, love,” there’s a dark edge in his done, a deep and angered growl. “Now.”

They knew. Not only were you too late, but you were caught as well. You’d lose all your freedom, your privileges and your soft affection, replacing them with the cold and damp air of the lonely basement. You bit your trembling lip, stopping yourself from spitting at them and worsen your punishment. You felt their disappointing and wrathful gaze without looking at them, it oozed off their broad shoulders in waves.

“You know what you’ve done, ja, Bärchen?” König sounded more disappointed than mad, his tone on the edge of condescension, his blue eyes dimmed with sorrow.

Ghost was quick to grab you, handling you roughly against his chest, gear and vest scrapping your skin. He had you down the basement stairs and chained to the mattress in seconds, a leather collar wrapped around your neck. He scruffed you, pushing your nose into the musky bed and thin sheet of your new room, glaring down at you with deep browns, his chest puffed with angered breaths and throat rumbled with menacing growls.

“You’re stayin’ here until we see you’ve learned your lesson.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders

[marzipanandminutiae]

I’ve had weirdly antagonistic and insulting housemates like that before - once had a flatmate yell at me about which hook I hung my towel on in the bathroom. Sounds like they’re being unnecessarily rude in the way they’re raising this, I’m sorry. From my experience, I wouldn’t get into litigating what counts as filthy (bc you can’t rationalise with people being irrational), but rather focus on agreeing processes that work for everyone. E.g. ‘after preparing food, wipe down surfaces with x cleaning product and do all washing up within x time’. If they keep complaining, can just return to the fact that you’re following the agreed process and you’re happy to revisit that if it’s no longer working, but they need to also extend a little grace and be okay with you not having exactly the same priorities as them. Good luck!

It's very strange because I HAVE been doing what I was told to (clearing the counter of crumbs if any fall on it, wiping up spills- which I would have done anyway -etc.). Which is why this is so blindsiding

I've started taking pictures of the kitchen before and after I use it so that mess I didn't make- what little there is -doesn't get blamed on me. Because they've apparently all decided this is MY fault specifically, since "we didn't have this issue before you came." Which seems impossible because- I cannot emphasize this enough -I AM NOT MAKING ALL OF THE "MESS." There are crumbs on the stovetop. I only use the stovetop to make rice. How, I ask, could I possibly be responsible for that? Especially because they apparently all decided that was a fine state for the stovetop to be in, or they'd have cleaned it themselves!

It's also just the lack of directness. I'm TERRIBLE at direct communication, I freely admit. But I've been letting little things slide because...you know...we have to live together, everyone has flaws, and I can easily fix things to my satisfaction myself or ignore them since it's not been anything major. And I thought either it was all good or they were doing the same, because they've been perfectly pleasant to me and not raised any issues.

But now I find that they've all been talking behind my back about how filthy I apparently am? And just...I don't know, waiting until they can call a ~house meeting~ and confront me as a united force?

(It will be their way or the highway at the house meeting, I already know from the last one- every time I tried to interject that I didn't feel something was necessary or I had a different opinion, it was just immediately shot down in tones that suggested I was being totally unreasonable. Eventually I just gave up, because compromise was clearly not on anyone's mind so much as Being Right and getting me to do what they said.)

It's just such a mess and has me in a terrible mental place because my biggest fear at any given time is that Everyone Secretly Hates Me, and. Now it seems like that's been true the whole time.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 71 ~ Version 2

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,650ish

Summary: You take the cure and deal with the consequences.

Notes: Please send in reactions! Can't believe we're here. At the end. I am literally sobbing. I don't think I can handle this. I've never loved a series like I have this one before. HELP PLAN MY NEW LOGAN SERIES HERE. (new link!)

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

“Are you sure?” Logan asked. He didn’t want to risk it, but watching you die this way was breaking him.

“I’m exhausted, Lo,” you rasped. “And Laura’s right. I need to at least try.”

You coughed, ash pouring from your mouth and into the water that you were sitting in. Laura held you up and you slipped further into the water. She couldn’t have you drowning before the cure was in you.

“Is there anything we need to know before she takes the cure?” Logan asked Wade.

“No,” Wade shook his head. “They said if she takes it, it should activate her phoenix ability and she should be good as new.”

“I want my bed,” you rasped. “I’m not dying in this pool.”

“I’ll grab a towel,” Laura said, rushing away.

Wade and Logan helped you to your feet before Laura showed up with a few towels. She quickly dried your freezing body with one before wrapping you up in two others. Logan scooped you up into his arms and carried you to your bedroom. Wade and Laura followed. Laura quickly came around to the other side of your bed and held you.

“I need you all to know how grateful I am for you,” you start, knowing that this could very well be the end. “I don’t know where I would be without you in my life.”

“Sad and depressed, my Little Flame. I am your sole provider of happiness,” Wade joked, only to be growled at by Logan. 

You huffed out a laugh. “I owe you a lot, Wade. For finding this cure and for saving Laura and I. Not to mention, bringing Logan into our lives.”

“You can repay me by getting better, Buttercup.”

“I’ll try.” You turned your attention to Laura. “Thank you for being the best daughter.”

Laura shook her head, tears trickling down her cheeks. “No, I had the best mother. You didn’t have to take me in and yet you did. I owe you everything.”

“If this doesn’t work, continue being better than you were made to be.”

“I will, mom, I promise.”

You gave her forehead a light kiss. “I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you more, mom.”

“Impossible,” you smiled. You finally turned your attention to Logan, who was staring at you with glossy eyes. You reached over and took his hand. “Lo… It’s all going to be okay, no matter what happens.”

He sat down on the bed and gripped your hand a little tighter. “I can’t–  I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes you can, babe. Because this time, no matter what happens, you are not alone. Without me, you still have Wade and Laura. You need them just as they need you. You can’t walk away.”

“Darlin’--”

“No, Logan. You promise me that you won’t walk away. Not from them. Not from your family.”

“I promise, doll.”

“Good.”

“I need you to know that I never thought that I’d love again until I found you.”

“I feel the same… I love you, Lo.”

Logan leaned forward and crashed his lips against yours. He didn’t care who all was in the room, he needed to kiss you. “I love you, too, baby. So much.”

“You all stay together, okay?” You looked around the room at your small found family. “You stick together.”

“Can do, Buttercup,” Wade said. “Anything for our Little Flame.”

“And the cure… it will set off my phoenix ability?”

“That’s what they said.”

“So… it will kill me?”

Wade sighed. “Yes.”

“Okay… let’s get this over with.”

Logan pulled the cure from his pocket and opened it up for you. You noticed how his hand was shaking as he offered it to you. You took it in your weak hand and took a deep breath before throwing the liquid back like a shot. The burning sensation quickly escalated inside of you, causing you to be thrown into a coughing fit. Laura tried to steady you but as soon as her hands hit your skin, they shot off at how hot you were. In the time that Laura had known you, you had never been that hot. The bedding around you began to burn as you screamed out in pain. 

Wade yanked Laura away from you to protect her. Logan stumbled back as the flames grew, completely surrounding you. His heart was breaking at your screams, forcing the tears from his eyes. His claws slipped out of his knuckles as he fought to keep himself from going to you. He couldn’t risk it if this cure was going to work. Logan’s eyes clenched shut as you took a dramatic inhale and completely went limp on the bed.

“Mom!” Laura couldn’t help but cry out, Wade keeping her back. 

The flames grew in temperature and intensity. Wade dragged Laura around the bed and to the door. You were fully covered in flames now, unable to be seen by the others. Logan moved in front of Wade and Laura, to shield them from the flames and the sight. The flames grew a bit bigger for a brief second before completely disappearing, revealing your ashes in their place.

“Mom,” Laura sobbed. Wade turned her around and held her tightly.

Tears streamed down Logan’s face as he stared at the pile of ashes that replaced you. He stepped forward only for Wade’s arm to snap out to stop him.

“You can’t,” Wade said, voice cracking. “If her ashes are disturbed, there’s no hope for her returning.”

Logan’s stomach sank. He hated this. He didn’t know enough about this ability of yours that made you so different from the other you’s across the multiverse. And the more Logan learned about it, the more he actually began to hate it. But it was now the only hope they had in you returning. So he would make sure nothing prevented that from happening.

~~~

No one was allowed in your room. Logan had locked it. Laura hid away in her room, crying out for you. It was breaking Wade and Logan further to hear that. Wade was trying his best to help her, but Laura was pushing him away. She had begun to refuse to eat until you returned. Logan wasn’t happy about it, though he was only keeping down alcohol at this point and trying not to walk away from it all.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Wade sighed as he slumped into the seat next to Logan at the table. “I’ve tried everything, but Laura won’t eat.”

“It’s been five days,” Logan muttered. “She’s gotta eat something.”

“Yeah, well, so do you.”

“I’m fine.”

Wade scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” Logan huffed, pushing himself up and shuffling to Laura’s room.

Logan opened the door and slipped into Laura’s dark room. She was curled up in bed, clutching the dog tags and wearing her old purple sunglasses. Logan shut the door behind him and leaned against the door. He stayed there, silent, as he mulled over what to say.

“I’ve seen her go to flames before,” Laura rasped, breaking the tense silence. “I was so scared… My dad grabbed me and held me back from reaching her. He promised that she would come back and that we just had to wait… Thinking back on it, I’m sure he was saying that more for himself than for me… He would have never been able to live without her… I don’t know if I can.”

“Yeah… me either, kid,” murmured Logan.

“What if she never comes back?”

“Then, I guess, we try to move on.”

Laura turned to face him. “Do you think we can do that?”

Logan sighed. “I really don’t know, kid… But what I do know is that you need to eat.”

“I don’t want to be in a world without her in it.”

Logan understood the feeling. “She wouldn’t want you to suffer like this… Let Wade get you something to eat, okay? Anything. You just need a few bites.”

“Fine…”

Logan pushed himself off of the door and went over to Laura. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. “We need to stick together, kid. No matter how hard it is… I’ll let Wade know that you’ll eat something. Let me know if you need anything. I’m here for you.”

Logan had to take care of Laura now. She no longer had either of her parents, having watched both go through a similar fate. He would stay for her. He would try, no matter how hard, for your kid. 

~~~

Later that night, Logan let the urge to go into your room win him over and he slipped in when he was sure Laura and Wade were asleep. He collapsed onto his knees on the floor next to the bed.

“Baby…” 

Logan breath shuttered as he breathed in the word. It was a desperate plea in a single word. What his heart longed to say, but couldn’t find the strength to get out. Logan wanted—needed you back. He honestly didn’t know how he, Wade, and Laura were going to make it without you. He had barely known you a year and you had completely turned his world upside down.

Sobs began to tumble out of Logan, causing the man to tremble. He just wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss you one last time. How was he expected to continue in this universe that he didn’t belong in without you? Logan finally felt at home with you, like he belonged, and you were taken from him all too soon. Was he destined to lose every version of you he came across? Was he truly the worst version of The Wolverine? The one who could never keep you--Ember-- safe and happy. He was slipping back into truly believing that he was the worst version of him— in all of the multiverse.

“I’m sorry I failed you,” he sobbed. “I’ll do anything you want… Just come back to us— me, please… I can't take the heartbreak, my love.”

Logan’s head fell into his hands as he curled up and broke into even more heartbreaking sobs. His sobs were the first thing you heard as you gasped back to life. The ashes fell around your body as you sat up, naked and no longer covered in scars. Your eyes fell to the large seemingly indestructible man curled up on your floor, piercing your heart with his sobs. You reached down and lightly touched his arm. His breath hitched as he snapped up, eyes wide and swollen.

“Y/N?” He gasped, taking in the sight of you smiling at him. You no longer had any scars on your skin. You looked healthier and even a bit younger than he’d ever known you to be.

“Hey, Lo,” you whispered.

Logan lunged forward and wrapped his arms around you. You failed to suppress the giggle that bubbled up as he buried his head into your neck. You knew that this was no laughing matter, but you were just relieved to be alive and being held by the man you love.

“You’re here…” He mumbled against your skin. “You're alive… I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lo,” you told him softly as your hands came up to card through his hair. 

You pressed a kiss to his head as he continued to hold you tightly and mutter things against your skin. Neither of you knew how long you two stayed like that until Logan finally pulled back enough to give you a kiss. You gave him full control, knowing that he was clearly needing to know that you were alive and okay. This was his first time experiencing your phoenix ability and you knew that it wasn’t easy.

“Please don’t ever do that again,” he begged. “I can’t handle it… I can’t continue on without you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, holding him close. “I’m so sorry… I’m here, babe… I’m right here.”

~~~

Logan couldn’t keep his hands off of you. He couldn’t get enough of feeling your warm skin under his rough hands and the feel of your regular heartbeat. He helped you slip into a cozy outfit before leading you to Laura’s room. He knew that he should have given you and Laura your privacy, but he couldn’t let you out of his sight and grasp. His hands remained loosely on your hips and you approached the sleeping young adult. 

“Hey, kiddo,” you whispered.

“Mom?” Laura rasped, waking up.

“Yes, sweetie, it’s me.”

“This isn’t some dream?”

“You’re not alone in that thinking, kid,” Logan chimed in.

“I have something for you,” you smiled. 

Taking a deep breath, you lifted one of your hands, palm up, and formed a flame. Tears sprang to your and Laura’s eyes at the sight. It had been all too long since you had done this, especially without pain. Logan’s hands gripped your waist tighter with nerves at the urge to stop you, though he had never seen you be able to make a flame like that. Laura grinned as she stared at the bright, flickering flame in your palm. When you finally let the flame out, Logan reached over and grabbed your hand, checking for any burns or scars.

“I’m okay, Lo,” you smiled up at him. “I promise.”

He still looked at your palm with a hesitancy that proved he wasn’t fully believing that this was all real. That you were alive and okay with your full strength back, which he had never be able to witness. But you understood that it would take some time for him to adjust. Laura broke the moment when she hugged you and you quickly hugged back.

“I love you so much, mom,” she whispered, growing emotional.

“I love you more, kiddo,” you replied. “So much more.”

~~~

Wade was asleep on the couch in the living room. You immediately knew how to wake him. With the slightest movement of your fingers, you lit Wade on fire. He yelped as he shot up from the couch. As quickly as he was on fire, the flames died out.

“What the fu—Buttercup!” He tugged you from Logan’s grip in a crushing hug that made you laugh. “Oh, how glad I am to see you again! It was getting depressing around here. I even had a dream where Peanut killed you because the cure required it and you never returned. Talk about a mood killer. But it gives me some good inspiration for my next fic!”

“Well, let me know when you’ve finished it and I’d love to read it,” you told him, pulling away.

“Really?! Oh goodie!” He clapped excitedly. “Wait a second!” He looked down at his singed clothes. “You have your powers back! I need to see everything! Can you go up in flames like Johnny or fly? What if we—“

“No,” Logan growled, pulling you back into his chest.

“I’m fine, babe,” you tried to explain, but it was clearly falling on deaf ears.

“No,” he repeated more firmly as his grip around your waist tightened. “You need to rest.”

You cranked your head around to look at him. “But I’ve been—“

“No more powers.”

You could see that he was terrified as you studied his eyes. It was clearly going to take a lot longer than you were initially thinking for Logan to get the hang of you being healthy.

“Okay,” you shot him a smile. “No more powers.” You turned back to Wade. “Sorry, Wade, maybe another time.”

“Why do you got to be a party pooper, Peanut?” Wade teased.

“This isn’t funny,” Logan snapped. “This is her life.”

“Okay, okay,” you broke in calmly. “It’s okay. I’m not going to do anything. I think it’s clear that the three of you need some rest. Why don't we plan to have lunch together tomorrow and everyone goes to get some sleep?”

“I think that’s a great idea, mom,” Laura spoke up, trying to help ease the tension that Logan was causing.

“Fine,” Wade huffed. “Guess I’ll go and make a list of things I want to see our Little Flame do when Mama Bear will let her.”

“Goodnight, Wade,” you told him with a smile.

He leaned in and kissed your cheek. “Goodnight, Buttercup. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Well, we do owe that to you. Thank you for finding the cure.”

“Anything for my favorite hero.” Then he skipped out of the apartment.

Laura pressed a kiss to your other cheek. “I’m heading to bed,” she told you. “Goodnight mom. Night Logan.”

“Night, kiddo,” you responded as Logan let out a grunt.

Laura gave your arm a light squeeze before she slipped into her room. You leaned back into Logan and let yourself just focus on being held by him. His head rested against yours.

“Do you want to go to bed, Lo?” You quietly questioned.

“I just want to hold you,” he mumbled.

“Then we should go change the sheets so we can lay down.”

“Too much work.”

“Then what do you want to do, babe?” 

Logan scooped you up, causing you to squeal, and carried you over to the couch. He laid you down and placed you on top of him. Logan then reached over and pulled a blanket over the two of you before wrapping his arms around you to secure you to him.

“You okay?” You whispered, pressing a kiss under his chin.

“I will be,” he replied. “Just got to remember this isn’t a dream.”

“We’ll get there, Lo. Together.”

~~~

You refrained from using your powers too much for weeks while Logan got used to you being healthy. When he wasn’t at work, Logan’s hands were still all over you. You didn’t mind it. The touch was grounding to you as it was to him. At this point, he had basically moved in, which you didn’t mind. But you could tell that it was weighing on Laura.

“Mom? Can we talk?” She wondered one day while you were getting ready to make dinner.

“Of course, kiddo,” you turned, giving her your undivided attention. “What’s up?”

“I think… I think I’m going to move out.”

“What?”

“I made some friends and they have an empty room in the apartment. They asked if I wanted it.”

“And is this the only reason why you want to move out?”

“I just think it’s time and that you and Logan need some space too.”

“Are you sure this is what you want? I will support you in whatever you decide, I just want to make sure that you don’t feel like you have to go.”

“I know and I don’t. I’m just trying to take the next step.”

You pulled her in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you and you will always have a room here.”

“Thanks, mom. I love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo.”

~~~

Logan came home from work to you making dinner with soft music playing in the apartment. A soft smile formed on his face as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. He pressed a kiss to your neck.

“Hey, Lo,” you greeted. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” he answered. “How was here?”

“Laura’s moving out.”

You felt him tense. “What? Why?”

“She said it was time. A few friends have a room and asked her if she wanted it.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Bittersweet… I’m proud of her for wanting to take this next step but I don’t want my daughter gone.”

“She’ll be back. You guys can’t be parted for long.”

“You’re right.”

The two of you fell quiet as you continued to work. Logan began swaying the two of you to the music, pressing light kissed to your neck and face. Eventually, he tugged you away from your work and began leading you in a circle in the middle of the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You giggled.

“Dancin’ with my girl,” he mumbled before stealing a kiss.

You melted into him before breaking the kiss and resting your head against his shoulder. The two of you moved in a slow circle until the song was over. Then Logan got to helping you with dinner.

~~~

Once Laura moved out, your wardrobe changed and Logan noticed instantly.

“Are you only wearing my flannel?” Logan questioned one night after work.

You shrugged. “It’s comfy and everything else is making me too hot,” you replied. “Plus it smells like you.”

“Oh, yeah,” he smirked.

“Do you like it on me?”

“I love it, baby.” He came over and tossed you over his shoulder. You laughed. “Let me take you to bed and show you just how much.”

~~~

As Logan got more comfortable with you having your full powers back, you began to tease him more with them. Between lighting and unlighting his cigars to setting his butt on fire for a brief moment. At first, it always caught him off guard and you could see the concern cross his features quickly. But, eventually, it began to cause Logan to smirk and chuckle and tease you back.

It was often when those teasing times led to sexy times. Which led you to where you were currently, naked and cuddled in bed.

“You’re so warm,” Logan commented softly, hands gently moving over your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized. “Am I over heating? I’m still getting use to it all again. I can—“

“No, no, no. Please don’t change anything, baby. It’s just… you were so cold.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“I’m so grateful that you are okay.”

“Me too.”

“I’m still struggling to believe it.”

“That’s okay.” You leaned forward and kissed the shaved part of his chin. “I’m here… you’re here… I’m alive… We’re okay.”

“I love you so much, baby.”

“I love you more, Lo.”

“Impossible, darlin’. Completely impossible."

one-shot: dad >

~~~~

Notes: So, here we are my darlings. The final chapter in this series. Thank you for going on this journey with me. This series was so much fun to write and it was all because of how it was interacted with. I couldn't have made this series what it is without you. This series has been the fastest series that I have ever put out. Thank you so much and I hope you stick around to see what's to come. ALSO, there are a few more Everyday Moments one-shots in the works. So we aren't finished seeing Y/N and OG!Hubby!Logan just yet!

[billskeis]

ᡣ𐭩 sharing a bed w bill

it was quite an evening you were having. you and the guys decided to have a little get together, the five of you were laughing, drinking, and just overall doing stupid shit teenagers would do.

you haven’t spoken to bill at all tonight.

you’re not quite sure why it’s like this. you got along with everyone, especially tom. so why wasn’t it the same case with his brother? at this point you thought he hated you. whenever you came over, he didn’t really acknowledge you, nor made the effort to even have a conversation: let alone say hi.

one could ask, why didn’t you make the effort?

that’s because you did. you did, on multiple occasions, and it was either always a shrug, a nod, or one worded answers. “he definitely doesn’t like you, not even as a friend.” you decided at this point to be content with it. it feels as though despite the obvious gap and disconnect between the two of you, bill and you remained civil for the sake of keeping the whole group together.

it also didn’t help that you had a little crush on bill.

but he’s basically proven with his actions he’s wanted nothing to do with you. cross out all possibilities that bill will ever like you back..

downing another shot, tom screams at the burning feeling down his throat. “WHOOO! i could definitely go for another, dare, truth, or not,” you however, could not take anymore shots. being the idiot you were you decided to occasionally pour yourself some without even playing the game. you knew that this will be a long night being within the proximity of bill so the alcohol was much needed. but now, even one whiff or drop of alcohol will have you puke.

“y/n, truth or dare?” georg asks, he almost slurs on his words, obviously tipsy, and gustav is already blacked out on the couch sleeping peacefully. “mm, i’ll do a dare.” both georg and tom made eye contact with one another and grin, tom then whispers something in georg’s ear and georg snickers, tom following.

what they had in store for you, you would’ve never expected.

“i dare you to share a bed with bill tonight.”

what? say what now? did you hear that correctly?

your jaw most likely and probably did reach the floor, even though you were so close to it. because why would they even declare a dare like that? especially tom? it’s not like you could even step out of the dare, because if you did. you would have to take another shot, and you were NOT trying to throw up tonight. so you just had to suck it up.

you may ask, what did the other guy’s think of this? you had once talked to tom about your concerns and he just brushed it off, saying some bullshit like “that’s just bill, it’s nothing personal.” did he do this to purposefully fuck you over?

oh, but it felt oh so personal.

bill didn’t speak, although you could tell that he was a little displeased by this dare. his eyes went wider for a second to then quickly return to his nonchalant face. did he really hate you that much? you twiddled your thumbs not knowing the words to put in your mouth.

tom and georg were just giggling. those fuckers. unfortunately for you, you’re so drunk that any doing anything requiring physical strength is impossible. you’ll deal with them tomorrow morning. “is.. is that okay with you bill..?” you ask, bill just heavily sighs and walks away from the living room. assumingely this gives you the okay and you follow behind after him.

“goodnight y/n! have fun!” georg and tom chant while waving you out of the room teasingly. shit, did they know you like bill? did you make it that obvious? you look behind them and look at the stupid looks on their faces, sticking up a middle finger at them as they laugh a little harder.

this is going to be a loooong night.

“sleep on that side.” bill tells you, he attempts to sound stern but his voice is softer than from what you usually hear. which is like, once in a blue moon. his makeup is all cleaned off and he’s in his pyjamas. you couldn’t help but stare at his side profile as he fixes the bed up before letting the two of you get in.

you nod at him, slipping into the bed and under the sheets. he turns off the lamp and does the same as you. you feel the bed dip with his weight added to it, as he adjusts himself to get ready to sleep. your bodies are facing opposite ways, clearly wanting nothing to do with one another. but how true is that?

“goodnight,” you say, no answer.

wow, he can’t even say goodnight back? you feel so disheartened by this. the constant attempts to get to know him, make conversations with him, all for nothing. it feels as if he’s completely shut you out by building a wall between the two of you, even though so close together. why couldn’t he just want to be together with you like you wanted with him?

you decided to just close your eyes and try to sleep the night off. as soon as it’s morning, you’d leave the room to let bill be. there’s no point in good-mornings if all he’s going to do is ignore you.

a pair of arms begin to wrap around your body, pulling you closer to theirs. is that.. bill..? is he drunk..? no, he had no shots tonight. he wasn’t even participating in the game. this couldn’t be him behind you. it must be a stranger. wait, that’s even worse..

your body is frozen. you don’t know what to do. in the dim light, you look down to the pair of hands that hold you so closely together.

black nail polish. with white french tip.

you begin to feel your face heat up. what the hell is he doing? you’re so confused. head and thoughts conflictingly filled with the thoughts of how the boy who hated you the most is cuddling with you at this very moment.

“i don’t hate you.”

tense. your body tenses at his words. should you reply? oh god, what the hell do i do? the alcohol is making your brain all fuzzy and you just can’t seem to come up with anything to say, being completely silent and motionless. however, the way you’re breathing indicates to him you’re awake.

“i’m sorry, i just don’t know—how to talk to girls… it’s quite embarrassing. i want to get closer. i want us to be.. together.”

it feels as though a thousand weights have been lifted off your chest, your body relaxes within his touch. noting this, bill continues to speak and you hear him out. not like you can say much anyway, you’re shocked, stunned, flabbergasted and quite bashful right now.

he actually wants to get to know you.

“i hope i can make it up to you with this, sorry if you’re uncomfortable. i can let go if you wa—“ you immediately shake your head no. he quietly laughs at this. bill then lets his chin rest on your head while the two of you lay on your side.

he’s so tall his body engulfs you, making you feel safe. safe in a space that once has you so awkward it felt as though whenever you were with him it was like walking on eggshells.

intertwining your hands together, he runs his thumb back and forth across the surface of your own hand caressing it. it soothes you. his hand is soft and warm along with his whole body.

“comfortable?” you nod and giggle at him.

the whole reason why bill “disliked” you was because he lacked experience. reflecting back on it, bill has never really done anything to show that he hated you. he just ignored you or ran away. it’s quite cute.

you begin to feel yourself drift into sleep. it’s so cozy here you never want this moment to end.

bill kisses the top of your head, “goodnight.”

“see man? i told you this was a good idea. i can’t believe for a second you doubted me,” tom smacks georg on the chest gently while georg is taking pictures on his digital camera.

“i am, NEVER, letting them live this down..” georg says as he continues to flash his camera pic after pic. tom runs to the side of the bed bill is sleeping on, posing at the edge of the bed so he can get in one of the pictures.

you and bill were cuddling closely. you switch from your spooning position to you with your head on top of bill’s chest, his arm wrapped around you waist. completely oblivious to this as the two of you were sound asleep.

gustav then walks past the room to use the restroom. he then stops to see the buffoonery that was going on in the room. watching as georg and tom were fucking around whilst you and bill were sleeping. he notes that the two of you were indeed hugging while sleeping. still drunk, he thinks while scratching his head,

“they must be really good friends now.”

[kenmjiro]

ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ Scars and bad memories | Carl Grimes

Carl grimes (TWD) x Fem reader

TWS: angst, kissing, mention of child abuse

Carl was locked in his room throwing darts, he did this frequently since they let him out of the infirmary after losing his eye.

He was distant, he didn't talk to anyone except his father and Michonne occasionally, he didn't leave his room and that had me worried, I have come to see him every day, but he doesn't speak to me and barely looks at me

We had been together for 6 months before this happened, but I just don't know what will become of us anymore. It hurts me to see him like this, but I will continue fighting, because I love him and I will do everything possible to prove it.

With my legs trembling with nervousness I decided to go in, I wiped the sweat that was accumulating on my palms on my pants, I gathered my courage and pushed the door.

When I saw Carl with his back to me, he was throwing darts from the side where he had been shot, and there were no darts on the target, they had all hit the door and he seemed more and more frustrated and absent.

“What are you doing here again?” His voice sounded so cold and hard that for a moment I thought I had hit an ice barrier, and as soon as I could answer, a cruel lump of anguish had formed in my throat.

“I-I came to see little Judd.”

He didn't even look at me and continued throwing darts at him.

“She's in her room, so don't bother me.

That hurt me, but I'm not a weak girl and my duty is to help Carl, there's no time to get depressed.

“Talking to me like that won’t give you back your eye.” I knew that my comment would piss him off and I waited expecting the worst from him, that he would run me out of his room or yell at me, whatever he did to hurt me I didn't care, I needed to remove all that indifference that was consuming his feelings.

“You think I care? Go chase squirrels, you silly little girl.”

“No thanks, I already had lunch.” My sarcastic response seemed to bother him more and he began to throw the darts with more fury than before, but half of them hit the door and the rest fell to the ground.

“Do you remember when we met and I had a huge bow with me?”

“No." He cut me off abruptly, trying to silence me.

“You said it was impossible for a girl as short and skinny as me to have enough strength to shoot it, you made fun of me for days until she saw me shoot it.”

The memory seemed to have softened his bad mood; he stared vacantly at a spot on the wall and smiled imperceptibly.

“Yes, I still don't understand how you did it... You were tiny.” He gave a small, fleeting chuckle. "You still are."

Carl had spoken almost in a whisper, but since we were alone, that was enough for me. In the end he gave up throwing the darts and looked at the ground.

“I just needed my arms, correct posture...and an eye. “Carl turned around to look at me, he seemed angry, but at the same time I could see that I was getting to him.

“What are you getting at, y/n?”

“You don't need everything to shoot a bow, or a gun, or to throw darts, you just...you just have to have the way.

“Yeah? and when you lose an eye… what is the Y/n way?” Carl began to approach me in a threatening manner. " which ?!?"

“I can teach you.”

I raised my hand to caress his face, but he moved away from it as if my touch burned him.

“Oh yeah? Try it, see what you can do as a hunter.”

“First stand up straight, put one foot on the shooting line and the other behind.” With my hands I gently corrected his posture and pushed his leg so that it was aligned. “stand on your side and fix your target with your dominant eye.”

“You will say with the only eye I have left.”

His voice was bitter and sarcastic, but he was relenting.

“That's all you need, sheriff.”

I carefully took his throwing arm and told him to take it back to throw the dart, I left his side and he looked at me skeptical, but he threw, and it took him half a second to realize that he had hit right. the target. He hid his surprise and finally spoke to me without his tone of indifference and bitterness.

“Not bad hunter, now I understand how being so little you had better aim than dad.”

“You see, everything has its side... You just have to find it.”

He looked down so that his hair hid how heartbroken and sad he was, but he knew him better than I knew myself, he knew how he felt.

“And how do I find the side to this?”

She pointed to the side of his face where there was only a thick bandage.

I approached him calmly and hugged him, he didn't return the gesture, but his entire body was trembling.

“Why are you still looking for me?” His voice was barely a whisper full of pain. “I'm horrible, I can't force you to stay with me like this, please don't feel sorry for me and just leave.”

My heart hurt so much hearing his voice, so fragile, so vulnerable.

“I don't feel sorry, I love you. Please believe in me, we will get through this together, let me help you. ”

"You do not have to do it. “I’ll be fine alone… You don’t deserve to spend your life with a monster, full of scars and bad memories.”

My heart broke at his words, I separated from him and forced him to sit down on the bed in the room, it's time for me to show him my own scars, I calmly took off the blouse I was wearing and then the small tank top, leaving me only with a sports bra.

“Do you see this scar?” I said pointing to my stomach “When my uncle got drunk he was very violent, he tried to hit my mother, but she locked herself in her room and left me alone with him. "She was scared, and trying to escape I fell on a glass table... her blood must have scared him, because she left me lying there and walked away."

“and-I didn't-I had no idea…”

“and you see these marks here?” I took off the leather wrist guards I always wore. “A year before I found them I ran into a group of unpleasant people... Our leader made them angry and as punishment they handcuffed me and other kids to a fence and attracted the attention of some walkers so that our parents could see it, I I tore the skin on my wrists to free myself, I didn't even care about the pain, I just had to pull. And do you see this ugly mark?” I brushed the hair off my shoulder and showed him a large asterisk-shaped scar. “I had a small accident with Daryl when we went out to look for Beth, a guy tried to shoot me at point-blank range, luckily Daryl was able to deflect the shot and it didn't hit me.” in the heart as was his plan.”

“...Why didn't you ever show me all this?”

“Because I'm horrible... How could I expect you to love someone who carried only scars and horrible memories?” Carl looked at me bewildered and looked away.

“It’s not the same Y/n.”

“Of course... we are both full of scars and these remind us that we were stronger than what tried to kill us, we are survivors and this is our life... and I want to share my scars and my bad memories with you and I want you to you do the same. Carl, I love you and I want to experience all the good that is left in the world with you.” Without realizing it, I had walked until I was in front of Carl and I knelt down so I could look him in the face, my eyes were full of tears and my voice was shaking, “and don't think that you can decide for me, I want to be by your side... “Just… Unless you don’t love me anymore…”

He didn't let me finish and silenced my crying with a kiss. He knelt down next to me and kissed me passionately. His arms wrapped around me with strength and desperation. My cheeks were wet, but he didn't care. With his fingers he delicately caressed each one of my scars and I did the same.

“Of course I love you, forgive me for acting like an idiot, I…”

This time it was my turn to silence his lips, my entire body vibrated as the temperature rose, in desperation I lightly pulled his hair, wishing he would never leave me. When our lungs were begging for air we did not separate slightly, his lips were red and swollen from what had happened before, we both gasped to catch our breath.

“You know, it's very unfair that even with a scar like that you still manage to look so perfect.” Carl laughed lightly and leaned down to kiss my shoulder.

“Says the girl who, even with all her scars, looks like an angel.”

I blushed at his comment, it was always the same, he managed to take my breath away just with a phrase like that.

“Shut up and kiss me sheriff.”

“With pleasure, hunter. ”

The kisses continued just like the memories and the scars.

Even though we had both lost a part of ourselves and even though destiny had marked us, it no longer mattered to us, because being together we were finally complete.

[dyns33]

Without warning part 1

I wanted to make a soulmate Frank Castle with some angst

Frank Castle didn't believe in soulmates.

Or rather, he did, he had seen his parents happy, at first, and many other people who had said their sentences to each other, but he considered that the universe had been wrong.

He had almost immediately fallen in love with Maria, before she had even spoken to him, and it had been a shock that she was not meant for him.

But it didn't matter, because he only wanted her, and she didn't seem to care that he wasn't her soulmate either. They had been very happy together, for years, with their children.

He wished it would last forever, and that he would never hear the phrase "Well buddy, shooting people without warning ?"

His decision to join the army had already been made before the phrase appeared, but it had scared him. Frank didn't want to be the kind of man who would shoot someone without warning. He was neither a coward nor a monster.

He didn't understand in what context someone would say such a thing to him.

Then Maria and the children had been killed. He had thought he was going crazy, and it was no longer so impossible for him to put a bullet in a man's head without being polite.

Red could have said his sentence to him, and Frank thanked his God for not having stuck such a boring blessed ass with him.

Some thought he could have resumed a normal life with Karen.

Sweet Karen. He loved her very much, he cared for her, she was family, but Frank didn't see her like that. Both more romantic than they probably wanted to admit, he knew she wanted to find her soulmate, and he didn't want to put her in danger, as strong as she was.

He couldn't relive the same thing as with Maria. Neither the same love, nor the pain of losing her.

After avenging his family, killing several bastards, dying in the eyes of the world, Frank had understood that he would never have a normal life again. So he remained hidden, sometimes helping Red stop bad guys, even if they continued to disagree on the method.

The last one had disturbed them a little. First, because the Devil couldn't determine if he was really a criminal.

"I've already crossed paths with him… He smells of blood, I know he kills people, often for money. But he seems like you, only targets criminals. And he sometimes works with Spiderman."

"The kid ?"

"Yeah. The kid seems to trust him. He told me he was a fan of my work, before he cut a guy in half, so I don't know, Frank. I don't know at all."

"I know. I'll take care of him."

"Wait, there's something else…"

As was often the case with Red, Frank hadn't taken the time to listen to the rest, certain he knew what he had to do. It had been a surprise when Murdock hadn't screamed because he had shot the guy.

It had been a surprise when the guy had gotten up, whining because a bullet in the heart was really painful, even if it was an honor to be shot by the Punisher.

"Deadpool, big fan, nice to meet you !" he had hummed as he hopped towards him, one hand outstretched for Frank to shake. He had shot him again.

They had then often crossed paths with Wilson, who continued to stick to Frank by acting like a madman, and each time he ended up killing him, because he was really too unbearable.

This seemed to make the mercenary laugh, who considered it a mark of friendship. Even if he was immortal, Red and the young spider reprimanded him, first violently, then out of habit after a while.

It was a surprise to hear a new female voice rise against the bullet he had just fired into Wilson's leg in the hope of silencing him.

"Well buddy, shooting people without warning ?"

Frank froze at first. Since the others snickered, he knew that it was not an enemy who had just appeared behind him. He vaguely heard them call her 'Ghost'. Obviously they had known each other for a long time, they trusted her.

So they didn't understand when the Punisher pointed his gun at her, as she approached to help Wade get up.

Still as naive, Daredevil thought it was because Frank had never met her before. A simple reflex. It had to be said that Ghost was strange, surprising. Her costume was entirely black, and her helmet of the same color completely hid her face.

Her voice was strange too. A distant sound, as if muffled by the wind. Later, much later, Red would explain the powers of Ghost, who had given her her name.

Not only could she completely disappear, either only for the eyes, or by becoming gone, passing through matter, but on top of that, she became undetectable. No smell, no heartbeat, no breathing, no footsteps. Nothing.

The first time, it had been complicated for poor Red. She had wanted to help him against a gang, and even if he refused to admit it, she had scared him. He had thought he was losing his mind when enemies were beaten by nothing, then a voice had spoken to him.

Without him saying anything, Ghost had finally understood. And then, suddenly, he had heard her heart, as she asked him with an amused voice if that was better.

Able to go anywhere, she could have known who he was, who Spiderman was, everyone, and no doubt she knew, but she had never said anything, not even to Wilson. In any case, he didn't want to know, because of his vigilante bro code of honor.

That wasn't the problem. He didn't have a secret identity, and even if people learned he was alive, he knew how to defend himself. But this Ghost had said his sentence, which echoed in his head, and he couldn't accept it.

"Calm down, Frank. This isn't…"

"Fuck no." he said simply.

If the others noticed that she froze, they didn't say anything. She hadn't seemed afraid when she saw the gun, but that simple word had paralyzed her, which didn't help the situation at all, because Frank was then completely certain of who she was.

And then, without thinking, he fired.

Frank could have meant that he knew what would happen. But it was a real shock to see the pierced helmet fall to the ground, while the rest of the woman had vanished into thin air. He didn't know yet that she could do that. He would have killed her instantly.

The others were very angry with him. Much more than with Deadpool. And besides, Wilson got mad for the first time with him, threatening to cut off his head. Ghost was a friend, a sister.

They didn't understand why he did that. To be completely honest, Frank wasn't sure he knew either.

It wasn't that girl's fault if fate had decided they had to be connected. If to meet her, he had to lose Maria, the children, become a murderer. He didn't want that, it was out of the question, and she had to know it.

It seemed like Ghost was smart. Frank didn't see her again after that. After that exchange, he also saw Wilson a little less often, and the mercenary ignored him most of the time, when he wasn't insulting him.

His behavior had disappointed the Spider kid and Red, but it was nothing new, and their opinions didn't matter to him.

Life went on, as if he had never met his soulmate.

Then he crossed paths with Y/N.

As if his life wasn't complicated enough already.

[atamascolily]

Given how tightly plotted previously installments have been, I have to admit I was caught off guard by the seeming introduction of new characters in the Walpurgis no Kaiten trailer. However, on reflection (heh), it makes sense if one of the themes of the movie is indeed opposites/doubling/mirroring. After all, if Homura has a double for a narrative foil, why shouldn't the rest of the main cast have one, too? Prior to the second trailer, I had assumed this role would be filled by the "new girl" in the first trailer, who appears to be a Homura/Mami/Madoka hybrid, but it seems that's just the tip of the iceberg.

That said, it's also clear to me from the second trailer that this mirroring, if that's what's really going on here, isn't going to always literal as it is with Homura. The girl paired with Nagisa in the ball pit in the second trailer doesn't look exactly the same as Nagisa, but it's clear from the framing that the two of them are being deliberately juxtaposed, and will likely serve as narrative foils to each other. My guess is that this girl is the humanized form of Nagisa's witch Charlotte, just like I think that the most likely candidate for Homura's double is her witch Homulilly, (because the metaphorical almost always becomes literal in this series, even though the movie may or may not name them directly as such), but my point stands regardless of their exact relationship to each other.

If that's the case, then who in the Holy Quintet is the counterpart for the other new character--the green-haired girl in the trailer?

The obvious answer is "Mami"--partly because of the tea party and general vibes, and partly because of the color scheme (green and yellow go well together and the girl has golden eyes like Mami's). This is especially true if fan theories are right and this girl is the humanized form of Gertrud the Rose Witch, whom Mami faces off against in episode 1-2 of the original series, and who serves as a deliberate counterpoint to Mami there.

Having a more human Gertrud as foil to Mami would make sense because unlike Homura and Nagisa, Mami never becomes a witch in the original series; while she does have a witch form in the PSP game and other spinoff media, I think we are unlikely to see it in this installment and thus her most likely counterpoint would then be Gertrud. Gertrud's familiars are also visible in Homura's new world at the end of Rebellion, suggesting she might turn up in some fashion in Walpurgis no Kaiten.

(This also raises the interesting question of whether Mami's VA would voice this character or not. Considering that Kaori Mizuhashi also voiced Walpurgisnacht and Tatsuya in the original series, it's not impossible than she and/or other voice actors might play one or more roles in this new installment. As a bonus, this would also mean that SHAFT could get away with not announcing the minor roles before the release, as they would probably have to if they were adding completely new voice actors to the cast. Until we get more news, I'm assuming that Chiwa Saito is voicing both Homuras, though everything else is more speculative.)

However, it occurred to me that based on her ponytail and her position in this shot, she could also be Kyouko's foil (red and green being opposing colors); this is less likely, but I figured I'd mention it as a possibility anyway, since the second trailer appears to be leaning heavily into Rebellion parallels. TBD. Like Mami, Kyouko doesn't have a witch form in the original series, so her most likely parallel is another established witch character, although nobody from the original series immediately leaps to mind.

(By the way, this would mean there are more new characters--or new versions of established characters--we haven't seen yet, so, uh, hold that thought.)

After that, it gets a little more complex and murky. Sayaka's most likely foil should be her witch Oktavia, but it's unclear to me from what we've seen so far how much that particular conflict manifests internally or externally. I think Sayaka is going to be extremely conflicted in Walpurgis no Kaiten, and it will be interesting to see how her arc develops. Based on the original series, however, I would say that the other logical witch counterpart for her is Elsa Maria the Shadow Witch, whose labyrinth mirrors Sayaka's black and white thinking during a particularly dark period for her, though I suppose H.N. Elly the Box Witch who attacks Madoka in Episode 4 is also a possibility.

Madoka also has a witch form, Kriemhild Gretchen, who is absorbed into the Law of Cycles, though I think her foil is most likely the Law of Cycles itself. We'll have to see.

You may have noticed that I am limiting myself solely to witches from the original series rather than spinoff media. The first reason is that I'm skeptical that SHAFT would bring in a witch that general audiences who have only followed the main series have never seen before (except for maybe a brief cameo). The second reason is that the Law of Cycles' motif in Rebellion explicitly shows only those witches from the original series, and we see only a select group of these witches and/or their familiars during the battle against Homulilly's familiars.

All these witches are potentially fair game to appear in WnK, making nine in all, though I doubt more than a handful would have more than a few lines, let alone a major role. Also this diagram does not appear to incorporate Walpurgisnacht unless she turns out to be the Law of Cycles after all.

Somehow, I can't imagine SHAFT pivoting in mid-stream to bring up something completely new or even a more obscure witch from another spinoff, especially when so much of the main series focused on reliving and re-experiencing the same events over and over again. Sorry, fans of the Madoka PSP and slot machine games, I think you're destined to be disappointed in your wish to see any of those game-only witches on the big screen, but I suppose we'll see.

This is all just speculation for now, but I'm excited and intrigued to see where this goes!