#because she doesn’t expect that night to be real. it feels like a dream

[capquinn]

Sünneli | N. Hischier

summary: when nico holds his baby girl for the first time, it feels like the world has rearranged itself around her. she was born with the sun, slipping into the world as it woke, and before he even realises it, he's giving her a name that feels like it was always meant to be hers... pairing: nico hischier x reader content: dad!nico, fluff word count: 1.3k note: i finally birthed my teeny tiny dad!nico au. hope u enjoy cutie pies <3 ↪masterlist

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The hospital room is quiet, bathed in the soft golden light of early morning, the world outside just beginning to wake. The air is still, thick with the kind of hush that lingers after something monumental, something life-changing.

Just a few hours ago, his entire world shifted.

His baby girl was born.

The night had blurred into dawn, exhaustion hanging heavy in the space, but Nico? He doesn’t feel it. He hasn’t stopped looking at her since she was placed in his arms, like his body physically won’t let him look away.

He’s completely wrapped up in her, holding her with a care so instinctual it’s like he was made for this. She’s so small, so impossibly new, her features delicate and soft beneath the warm glow of the sun spilling through the window. His hand — large and steady, his grip still carrying the faintest tremor of disbelief — rests over her tiny back, his thumb tracing slow, gentle strokes against the fabric of her swaddle.

His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks, so soft it barely carries beyond the space between them. He murmurs to her in Swiss, the words slipping from his lips low and full of quiet awe.

"Du bisch so perfekt," he breathes, his lips brushing against the top of her head, lingering there for a moment as if he can’t quite believe she’s real. You are so perfect. "So schön, so klein…" So beautiful, so small...

He rocks her without thinking, the motion smooth and rhythmic, his body moving on instinct to soothe her, to keep her close. Her tiny breaths are warm against his chest, her little mouth occasionally forming sleepy, barely-there movements, like she’s dreaming. Like she knows she’s home. And Nico thinks he could stay like this forever — just holding her, memorising the weight of her in his arms, the way she feels right there, pressed against his heartbeat.

For the first time since she arrived, the room feels still. The tension, the exhaustion, the rush of the last few hours — it’s melted into something softer now, something full and quiet and settled.

He lets out a slow breath, glancing over at you, expecting to find you asleep at last. But you’re awake—exhausted, yes, but completely wrapped up in the moment, watching him with an expression so full of love it makes his breath catch.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds your gaze, his arms tightening ever so slightly around the tiny bundle in his chest, like he’s silently sharing this feeling with you. You both stay like that for a moment, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, the weight of everything settling between you.

You look so tired, but there’s a warmth in your eyes, something Nico knows he’ll carry with him forever. You fought so hard to bring her into the world, gave everything to make this moment possible, and now you’re here, looking at him like he’s holding the most precious thing in existence. Because he is.

His lips twitch into the softest smile, small but full of love. He shifts slightly, adjusting your baby girl against his chest, as if to say, "look at her. Look what we made."

And he doesn’t have to say it out loud — because you are looking. And you see it. See him. See the way he’s holding her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing he’s ever touched. See the way his whole world has clicked into place, like this is who he was always meant to be, like fatherhood isn’t something new but something he was always waiting to step into, something written into his very being.

You watch as his lips part, like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Instead, he exhales softly, voice barely more than a breath.

"Thank-you."

Two simple words, but they wreck you.

It’s the way he says them — quiet, thick with emotion, like they hold everything he can’t put into words. Like he’s not just thanking you for this moment, for the little life curled against his chest, but for everything. For every day you spent carrying her, for every exhausted breath, for bringing her into the world, for changing his forever.

His heart swells, stretching wide, impossibly full, spilling over with something bigger than words, bigger than him. His breath shudders, his throat tightens, and before he can stop it, his eyes burn with the threat of tears.

He blinks quickly, tilting his head slightly, gaze shifting toward the window as he tries to steady himself, to catch his breath.

The early morning light spills into the room, golden and soft, stretching across the floor, casting warm edges over the bed, over you, over her. The world outside is waking slowly, painted in delicate hues of pink and orange, dawn easing into full daylight.

But even as he stares out at the horizon, he can still feel her — the gentle weight of her against his chest, the warmth of her tiny body snug against his.

And somehow, that makes it worse. Makes it more.

Like the feel of her, the reality of her pressed so close, amplifies everything. Every emotion swells, raw and overwhelming, catching in his throat. His love for her, for you, for this moment — it’s too much and somehow not enough, all at once.

He glances down again, eyes still damp, heart still aching, and there she is. So small. So new. So impossibly perfect.

And it hits him.

She was born with the sun, slipping into the world as it woke, as if she already belonged to it.

And then, without thinking, the words just come, soft and instinctive.

"Mein Sünneli."

He doesn’t even register that he said it — too caught up in the way she stirs slightly against him, making the tiniest, warmest little sound. His heart aches with it, with how much he loves her, with how much he already belongs to her.

It isn’t until you speak — your voice quiet, amused, full of warmth — that he blinks, finally glancing up at you.

"Sünneli?" you repeat, the word unfamiliar on your tongue, tilting your head slightly as you shift against the pillows, exhaustion still weighing on you.

His brows furrow for a second, like he’s trying to replay the moment in his head, and then it clicks. He glances back down at her, at the way the first light of the morning spills over her tiny, perfect features.

A small, breathy chuckle escapes him, barely there. His fingers brush gently over the fine, downy hair on her head, his voice nothing more than a whisper as he answers.

"Little sun."

He looks back at you then, something so tender, so unshakable in his expression, like there is no other name in the world that could ever fit her the way this one does.

"She’s my little sun."

And that’s it. From that moment on, she’s Sünneli.

It comes so naturally, like it was always meant to be hers. He calls her that again later, when the room is quiet and still, just the soft hum of the world outside, the warmth of her tiny body resting against his bare chest. His fingertips trace the impossibly small curve of her hand, following the gentle rise and fall of her breaths, and the word falls from his lips like second nature, like a prayer whispered just for her.

He says it the next morning too, when she stretches in his arms, letting out the tiniest, sleepiest sound that destroys him, her little face scrunching up before settling again. He presses his lips to her head, breathes her in, and murmurs it against her soft skin.

And every single day after.

Sometimes it’s Sünneli, whispered into her hair as he rocks her in the quiet of the night. Other times, it’s Sunny, slipping easily into English, spoken with a soft smile as she blinks up at him, eyes round and curious, tiny fingers wrapping around his.

No matter which language, no matter how many years pass, it never changes. Because from the moment she entered the world, she was his — his light, his warmth, his brightest, warmest thing.

His little sun.

[idolbound]

The night that Meredith and Amelia ( @milfyclaus ) reconcile after seeing each other again in Skyhold after 3 years and 3 months apart, is the first time (in their decade-long relationship) that they get to sleep together and wake up and Meredith doesn’t have to rush back to the Gallows and fear being seen or caught doing so, and that’s beautiful.

[eupheme]

Not to be the little gremlin obsessed with Chappell Roan BUT… reader thinking Logan is too cool to want a proper relationship with them, so when things get physical they insist things are just “casual” in order to protect themselves from getting hurt. But secretly you’re in love with each other, so honestly, neither of you want things to be casual at all… (mutual pining my beloved) please & thank you!! Love you!

ahh hi hi avo I LOVE this song, and this request, and you - I could so see this being a situation that Logan and reader find themselves in. I had so much fun writing this, I hope you like it! (I added a couple winks to the lyrics as well.) 💖 thank you so much for sending this to me!!!

casual | variant!logan howlett x f!reader

1.2k | posessive!logan, fwb(???), use of alcohol, mutual pining, references to oral sex and PiV.

It doesn’t matter that your heart flips when you look at him. It’s Logan. It’s just casual.

It certainly feels like a dream, watching your worlds collide.

The heft of Logan’s palm fitting into your friends as he shakes their hand - the five of you squeezed into your usual booth in the corner of the bar.

You’d say the past couple weeks had seemed that way, as well. A late-night dose of bravery spiraling into something so raw and intense and real, that you feel like you could choke on it.

Even now, there’s heat in your cheeks as your eyes flick his way. Something stirring in your chest at the way his other arm slings across the back of the booth almost possessively.

But like all dreams, there comes a moment where you have to wake up.

Because you know it’s not.

Because you know your feelings aren’t requited. How could they be, when it’s Logan you’re talking about?

A legend.

A lone wolf.

Someone important, someone whose name carries a weight. Who saved the world, from what Wade tells you.

And you’re - you.

So even if you know what he looks like beneath that flannel, know what his mouth feels like when it presses against yours - what he sounds like, when he comes - you know that this is nothing.

It’s casual. A distraction, for both of you.

And if that’s how it has to be, then you’ll do your best to show him you’re cool with it.

You just hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon. It had been a genuine offer, your “you wanna come with?” when the hour rolled around for your weekly trivia night.

Not thinking his head would cock to the side. The look he’d give you - that arched brow, as his fingers splayed out across your bare hip. Still crowded together on your couch, sweat-dewed.

The “sure, sweetheart” that slipped out.

And now you’re introducing him as your friend - that quick history you’ve perfected - rattling off the “you know, Wade from work’s roommate” even though Wade didn’t work at the dealership anymore.

He had made enough of an impression that none of your friends had forgotten.

And you ignore the bitter jolt in your stomach, when all Logan does is hum.

You think you must have assumed right.

He doesn’t correct you.

Logan quickly solidifies himself as an asset to the team. He gets a lot of the history questions that you’ve always struggled with. A shy quirk of his lips when your friends cheer, and you get swept along with it.

His hand ending up on your thigh along the way. Squeezing, when you chime in. Almost as if forgetting - it’s easy to, when you’re having fun like this.

A low rasp in your ear, when the host takes a break.

“Lemme get you another.”

You can only nod, as he eases out - taking your glass with him.

It only takes a second, before MJ’s hand slaps down on yours.

“That’s Logan?” She hisses - leaning forward, “The one who-”

“Yes.” You cut her off, ignoring the sideways glance her boyfriend gives you.

You never should have told her about that.

Had a hard enough time climbing into your car without thinking about it, yourself - the way he had man-handled you in the passenger seat. Thighs thrown over broad shoulders.

Fingers twined in his hair, as he made you moan in the dark parking garage. Too eager to make it up to your apartment.

She frowns, the words petering out, “But I thought-”

Your teeth worry at your lower lip.

“Yeah. Me too.” You sigh.

MJ knows how much you like him.

Really like him - butterflies, and everything. How it’s been years since you felt this way - slipping from you during that rushed phone call at 6 am the morning after your first night together.

Her eyebrows raise, and it’s a look you know well.

“It’s, you know.” Your hand waves, “It’s casual. It’s-”

It’s easier, this way.

Maybe if you keep repeating it, it won’t hurt as much when he moves on.

The look she shoots you is one of pity, just as a drink is set down in front of you.

Your teeth clicking against each other as the words are swallowed. Forcing a smile as Logan slips back in the booth next to you.

The next round starts a moment after, and it’s a welcome reprieve.

You miss the way his eyes narrow, as yours fix firmly on scorecard in front of you.

But you don’t miss the way his hands stay folded on top of the table, for the rest of the night.

You suppose he must have remembered where he was.

“You wanna come up?”

He lingers outside your apartment door, hands jammed into his pockets. That look from the bar is back - all dark, narrowed eyes.

A low sound in his throat, close to a scoff.

“That what you want, sweetheart?”

Your eyebrows raise, “Well, yeah. I mean-, that’s what we usually do, right?”

He’s spent just about every night at your apartment. His things still scattered across your room. A leather jacket slung across the chair that’s tucked against your vanity.

Logan’s lips twist at the edges, eyes dropping.

“Suppose we do.” Those hands slip from his pocket, crossing over his chest, “Back when I thought we knew what we were doing. But now…”

His head shakes. A tick in his jaw.

Your stomach drops.

“What do you mean?”

Logan huffs, “The bar, baby. Is that how you really feel?”

A step closer, until he’s caging you in. Voice dropping, rough and low - near gritted out.

“Does this,” His fingers flick between your chest and his, “feel casual to you?”

Your heartbeat gallops behind your ribs.

“I thought-,” You manage, “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

He’s too close, now. The dip of his head, those eyes burning in their shades of brown and gold.

“Now, why would you think that?”

You swallow, “Because you’re you, and I’m-”

“You’re?” He prompts, but you go silent.

A sigh, when your head dips.

Unable to say it out loud.

“Driving me crazy all night, you know that?” He rasps, “Giving me those looks. Calling me your friend, when we both know your mouth was around my cock this morning.”

A low rumble in his throat, “When I still taste like you.”

Your breath hitches, as his hand thumbs at your jaw, tilting it up.

“Lemme ask you again.” His mouth is close enough now to ghost against yours, “Is that how you really feel?”

Your head shakes.

“Wanna be yours.”

It’s breathed out, just as he kisses you.

His body pressing flush, as your hands twine around his neck. A palm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he deepens it.

Desire thrumming to life inside you, washing out the dregs of insecurity that you’ve been carrying this whole time. Melting them away completely with the hungry sweep of his tongue, the way he swallows your soft moan.

There’s a flash of white when he finally leans back, with the curve of his lips.

“Good.”

His hand closes around the knob. A rough twist, as his another arm wraps around your waist.

Walking you backwards, into the dark.

“Then let me show you exactly how I feel.”

thank you so much, again!! 💖

[luvleyshif4]

for the arranged marriage i sort of pictured to be when cameron development isn’t doing as well and it’s sort of a hail mary for the camerons. like reader comes from a family where her parents have passed she lives with her grandfather( who is a kook and very traditional). readers family is really interested in marrying the camerons for social currency where the cameron’s sort of need it for like stability b/c the public doesn’t know the company isn’t doing as well. idk if this makes sense i feel like i’m just rambling 😭

HAIL MARY

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Arranged marriage trope, Power dynamics, Mild alcohol use, Family expectations, Parental pressure, miscommunication, slight angst to fluff

Word Count: 1.74k words

Authors Note: HEYY!! bb you’re not rambling at all I instantly understood what you wanted but it still took me a while cause this was kinda new and different for me to write so if it’s not up to your expectations please lemme know!! I tried my best to bring your idea to life and I tried to keep it as a one shot but lemme know if yall want a part 2 and how yall want it to be 😘😘

The wedding was perfect on the surface. Gilded edges on the invitation cards, a floral arrangement that screamed wealth, and guests dressed to the nines.

Your grandfather beamed with pride, his weathered hands gripping your arm as he walked you down the aisle. Rafe stood at the altar, his expression unreadable, though his posture was impeccable. He looked good in his tailored suit—too good. The kind of good that made you resent him a little, because he seemed untouched by the weight of what this marriage meant.

To the guests, this was a union of two prestigious Kook families. But you and Rafe knew the truth. Cameron Development needed the stability your family’s name could bring, and your grandfather sought to tie your future to theirs in a calculated move for relevance.

As you recited your vows, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, Rafe’s gaze met yours. For a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something—hesitation, vulnerability, or maybe even guilt.

But then it was gone, replaced by the practiced charm of a man who knew how to play his part.

When the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, Rafe leaned in, brushing a featherlight kiss on your cheek instead of your lips.

Polite. Distant. Just enough to make the crowd cheer.

~~~

You awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the massive windows of the Cameron estate. The bed was cold beside you; Rafe hadn’t spent the night.

Not that you expected him to.

You sighed, slipping out of bed and wrapping a silk robe around yourself. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt oppressive. You padded down to the kitchen, where Rose was already bustling about, her morning routine as polished as ever.

“Oh, good morning, sweetheart,” she greeted, her smile a little too bright. “How was your first night?”

You hesitated, not wanting to admit that it had been lonely. “It was fine,” you said instead, grabbing a glass of water.

Before Rose could probe further, Rafe strolled in, looking effortlessly put-together despite the early hour.

“Sleep well?” he asked, his tone light but devoid of real interest as he turned to you.

“Like a dream,” you replied dryly.

Rafe smirked, clearly catching your sarcasm. But instead of biting back, he gestured toward the doorway. “Walk with me?”

~~~

The two of you wandered down to the beach, the ocean breeze ruffling Rafe’s perfectly styled hair. You stayed a step behind him, unsure what this was supposed to be.

“So,” he began, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You hate this as much as I do?”

You blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. “I wouldn’t say I hate it,” you replied carefully. “But it’s not exactly what I imagined for my life.”

Rafe nodded, kicking at a pebble. “Yeah, me neither.”

For a moment, the only sound was the crash of waves against the shore.

“Look,” Rafe said finally, turning to face you. “I know this isn’t ideal, but we’re stuck with it. So, maybe we should try to make it… less miserable?”

You crossed your arms, eyeing him skeptically. “How do you suggest we do that?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging. “We could start by not pretending to hate each other.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t hate you, Rafe. I just don’t know you.”

His smirk faltered, and for once, he looked almost vulnerable. “Fair enough,” he said. “Guess we’ll have to fix that.”

~~~

Over the next few days, Rafe made an effort—or at least, he pretended to. He showed up to meals on time, asked you about your day, and even cracked a few jokes that made you laugh despite yourself.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. Rafe’s temper flared at the smallest things—a missed call from his dad, a deal that fell through—and you quickly learned to give him space when he needed it.

One evening, after yet another tense family dinner, you found him in the study, nursing a glass of whiskey.

“You know,” you said, leaning against the doorway, “if you keep brooding like that, people might think you actually care about something.”

Rafe looked up, his lips curving into a tired smile. “Funny.”

You stepped inside, sitting across from him. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong?”

He hesitated, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Just… the usual. My dad breathing down my neck, trying to keep everything from falling apart.”

You frowned. “You mean the company?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t answer. But his silence said enough.

“I’m not blind, Rafe,” you said softly. “I know why this marriage happened.”

He looked at you then, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. “And you’re okay with that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know if ‘okay’ is the right word. But I understand it.”

Rafe leaned back, studying you. “You’re not what I expected.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”

“Someone like my dad,” he admitted. “Cold, calculating. All business.”

You smiled faintly. “Well, sorry to disappoint.”

“Don’t be,” he said with a smile matching yours, his voice quieter. “It’s a good thing.”

~~~

The gala had been like every other event since your marriage, carefully orchestrated, polite smiles, and an unspoken agreement to keep up appearances. You played the part of the poised wife, and Rafe was the picture of composed charm. But tonight, something felt different. He was quieter, more distracted, his usual effortless confidence replaced with something… uncertain.

When the evening finally ended, Rafe lingered near the doorway as you said goodbye to the last guests. His gaze followed you, his jaw tight. You caught it in your periphery, but before you could ask, he motioned toward the garden.

“Come with me,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual edge.

You hesitated only for a moment before following him into the cool night air. The garden was bathed in soft moonlight, the distant sound of waves blending with the gentle rustle of leaves. It felt like a world away from the ballroom.

Rafe stopped abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets. He glanced at you, then quickly looked away, as though second-guessing why he’d brought you out here in the first place.

“What is it?” you asked, stepping closer, your arms brushing against each other.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His gaze flicked to the ground, then back to you. “I don’t really know,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I just… I needed to talk to you.”

“Okay,” you said gently, your heart fluttering at the vulnerability in his tone. “About what?”

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “About us.”

The words hung between you, their weight undeniable.

“What about us?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, his shoulders tense. “This thing we have… this marriage… it’s not what I thought it’d be.” His voice wavered, the confidence you’d always associated with him nowhere to be found. “You’re not what I thought you’d be.” He said for the second time in your marriage.

“You already said that though,” you murmured, your voice steady.

“I know, I just…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as if searching for words that wouldn’t come. Silence hung between you, heavy and unfamiliar, until he finally exhaled sharply and looked away.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Well is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You said after a while.

“I think it’s a good thing,” he murmured, his eyes darting to yours before quickly looking away. “But it’s confusing….. You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle…. And I…i think about you more than I should. About us. What we are. What we could be.”

Your breath hitched. His honesty, his hesitance—it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen from him. Slowly, you took a step closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Rafe….”

He laughed softly, a self-deprecating sound. “I don’t have any answers,” he admitted, his hand twitching at his side.

You reached out, your fingers brushing his arm, grounding him. “Then don’t overthink it,” you said.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to where your hand lingered, then back to your face. His eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. He opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated.

“What?” you asked, stepping even closer.

He swallowed, his voice tentative, almost shy. “I want to…. Can I….” He said as his gaze fell on your lips….

As hesitant as he might have seemed, he sent your heart racing. You stared at him, his expression almost boyish in its uncertainty, and something in you broke.

“Please….” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of all the feelings you hadn’t caught on to yet, or hadn’t dared to name until now.

That one word was all it took. The hesitation melted from his face, replaced with something deeper, something more certain. His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, like he was still testing the waters. But as you kissed him back, all the tension, all the uncertainty, seemed to dissolve. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepened, taking on a desperate, unspoken intensity.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his lips hovered just a breath away. His hand still cradled your face, his thumb tracing soft patterns on your cheek.

“Was that okay?” he asked, his voice rough and uncertain again, though his lips quirked in a small, nervous smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head in disbelief. “More than okay,” you murmured, your fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer.

Rafe exhaled a laugh of his own, his tension finally breaking. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze filled with something raw and unspoken.

“Wanna try again?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his smile more sure.

Your heart fluttered as you nodded with a shy smile.

“Please,” you said again, and this time, the word carried no hesitation.

He didn’t wait this time, capturing your lips with his again, and the kiss felt like a promise—a quiet, unspoken vow that things between you would never be the same.

[rebelspykatie]

Recently divorced Steve is roped into attending an adult summer camp with Robin. She thinks it’ll get him out of his funk, and she’s probably right. At this point, he’s mostly given up on love. He’s put off moving forward long enough and agrees that this can be his fresh start. When Steve has a chance encounter with Nancy in the airport, he thinks it’s destiny, them both going to the same summer camp. 

He has a vision of them together, the details of which he doesn’t reveal to anyone but Robin. It’s a fuzzy vision of curly brown hair, a bright smile, and a warm embrace. He fixates on it when they arrive at camp and Nancy is Robin’s roommate. It feels like the universe is aligning for him again, finally pushing him towards his destiny. Robin keeps setting up situations for them to be together, pushing them together for the team races, stepping aside so Nancy can be his partner on the ropes course. 

It also leads him to Eddie. They’re roommates for the week, and he’s Nancy’s best friend. Apparently they spent many years attending this same summer camp as kids before it reopened years later as a camp for adults. They butt heads at first, but he’s quick witted and funny, and makes Steve laugh when he needs it most. He works his way right into Steve’s heart. There’s this fearlessness that guides his every move, unafraid to look silly or be an outcast. He reminds Steve of Robin in a way that feels like home. 

They spend a lot of sleepless nights together, in separate bunks, talking across the darkness about all their hopes and fears. Eddie drags him to his thinking rock that overlooks the lake and Steve doesn’t think twice about pulling Eddie into the water and tangling their legs together in the moonlight. The paint smeared across Steve’s cheeks during arts and crafts is in the shape of Eddie’s fingers and the smile on his face feels permanent. 

Steve’s never taken a lot of chances in life, always going down the easiest path, never putting up much resistance when things felt less than perfect. Nancy feels like much of the same, and it takes him too long to notice that there’s no spark there. Sure, they fit together in a way that makes sense, but it doesn’t bring him to life like Eddie does. 

He doesn’t light up like Robin does around Nancy. He doesn’t elicit that coy smile or that fierce protectiveness from Nancy. After a while, he starts to think the universe was wrong. That his vision was about meeting Robin’s soulmate and how he wants her happiness just as much as he wants his. 

Nancy doesn’t challenge him to try new things, or face his fears. Eddie does, helping him gain the confidence to sing karaoke while Eddie plays guitar for the whole camp to hear. Robin and Eddie are the ones by his side when Steve’s parents don’t show up for family day. Eddie’s the one he keeps finding himself pulled to, a thousand missed moments where he could’ve reeled Eddie in for a kiss but didn’t. All for a vision that doesn’t even feel real anymore. 

And maybe Steve learns to let go of expectations. Accepts a part of himself that he avoided for so many years because it didn’t seem to matter when he was married and living the American dream. But now? He wants more. He wants to wake up from being a zombie in his own life. 

When he kisses Eddie in the mess hall in front of the whole camp on the last day because he feels time slipping away, he suddenly understands. It all clicks into place with his arms around Eddie, who’s pressing their foreheads together with a grin, that his vision was never about Nancy (and yes he has a type). It was always about Eddie and how Eddie could be his home.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request batboys learn of reader's fake death, she is on a mission and they find her.

Reader can be read as gn or whoever you see fit.

Dick

‘Is that you?’ Dick asks softly as he neared you.

‘No.’ You replied in hopes that he’d leave but you knew deep down that he wouldn’t, not if leaving meant leaving you behind also. Not the way you chose to erase yourself out of the picture for this stupid suicide mission.

Dick on the other hand was hellbent to not loose you again, the house you both built wasn’t a home if you weren’t in it to share it with him and Hayley, the poor dog was still fast sleeping on your side of the bed before Dick left for his nightly patrol; Hayley missed you very much and would whimper when she realises that your scent was slowly fading away.

It hurt Dick more then he liked to admit, and he tried to suppress it for as long as he could but he would often find himself trying to look for you in other people, other things but it always ended with him looking at the pictures of the two of you on the wall and feeling nothing but cold. Everything felt out of place without you but Dick would always try to act as though he was coping better then he was behind closed doors doors, clutching at the clothes you’ll never wear again as he silently sobs into the fabric.

Now here you were stood before him in what people would call as pure coincidence or luck because anyone would give anything to see their lost ones again, absolutely anything, even if it was by morally questionable means and Dick can understand the reason why that might be.

‘I- I wish I could tell you but I can’t.’ You replied, not wanting to put Dick in danger because of the dangerous people you’ve wronged.

‘Why not?’ Dick asked, worried that something had happened when he wasn’t nearby to help.

‘It doesn’t concern you.’ You told him as you tried to make distance but Dick was quick to close it. ‘It does concern me if it involves you.’ He says lowly, gently reaching out to hold your face to make sure this was real and not a dream and when you leaned into his touch, eyes closed shut Dick lets out a relieved sigh as his thumbs stroke your cheeks. ‘So please, don’t make me loose you again. let me help.’ He whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

Now you really couldn’t reject his help, he made it impossible just like how he made it impossible for you not to fall in love with him all over again.

Tim

Didn’t know what to expect from what he was seeing.

He had heard that there was someone of your stature going about town during the night but he wasn’t one to believe it until he’s seen it with his own eyes. So when he did catch of glimpse of you or someone pretending to be you, he didn’t know what to do, he was brought back to where he was when he found out about your supposed death; helpless and confused as to how such a thing could happen.

It wasn’t until your eyes met his did Tim feel his blood go cold from how dull and borderline dead your eyes looked when glaring right at him. There was a flash of familiarity but that was gone before Tim could blink, something was wrong, very wrong but he didn’t know what exactly.

You weren’t…well you.

Now Tim did have dreams about what he’d do if you were to be magically reanimated, brought back to life but those were dreams for a reason, a alternative reality that didn’t abide to realism or the more likeliest of outcomes; this was reality and reality wasn’t pretty and is often disappointing on most accounts.

So Tim stood there, frozen as you made a quick exit, much to the confusion of his siblings -Dick and Damian- who knew how hard your death had struck Tim, they didn’t need to be told how difficult it must’ve been to see your dead partner somehow alive again.

‘Are you okay?’ Dick asks.

‘Somethings wrong.’ Tim said. ‘Why would they feel the need to fake their own death and not tell me about it beforehand?’ He asks himself.

‘Only if someone powerful wanted you dead.’ Damian suggested. ‘What other reason is there besides that one?’

‘If that’s truly is the case,’ Tim began as he looked between Dick and Damian, ‘then why reappear after only a week? It’d be common sense to stay low for far longer until the smoke clears, unless...’

Dick then places a hand on Tim’s shoulder. ‘Looks like we’ve got work to do.’

Tim wasn’t certain what he would do if you ever did come back, but now it seems as though he did know; to save you from whatever has been nipping at your heels.

Jason

Wasn’t sure whether or not the sleepless nights had finally caught up to him ever since your passing, spending them staring at the door to your shared bedroom as though you’d magically walk through it with a smile, telling him that everything that had happened was just a nightmare before kissing him on the forehead and cuddling into his side to fall asleep.

However Jason had pinched his skin that many times to know well enough that was all a fallacy created by his own mind because he didn’t want you seeing the man he’d become from whether afterlife you resided in.

So when he spotted sow thing he believes looked a lot like your silhouette, his body followed after it, much like it did whenever things pertaining to you sparked that sense of familiarity within him, that sense of home and belonging. However this lack of subtly on his end didn’t end up well as he was soon enough laid flat out on his back as your masked face hovered over his.

‘Why were you following me?’ You asked through gritted teeth.

‘I thought you were dead.’ He replied In disbelief.

‘That was the plan until you ruined it.’ You grunted as you pulled him up to his feet, ‘you weren’t followed were you?’ You asked as your eyes shifted from shadow to shadow.

‘No, listen sweetheart-‘ Jason tried to speak but you sharply shushed him. ‘What’s going on, you can tell me.’ He now whispers and you sigh, finding it hard to exist within the same space as Jason without hugging him to death, but you couldn’t risk dragging him into your troubles.

‘I can’t.’ You tell him, knowing that there was a heartbroken expression behind that red helmet of his, ‘and even if I can all I would be allowed to say is that some bad people are after me.’ Jason’s shoulders tensed at this.

‘Why did you say anything earlier.’ He asked, he was holding back from exploding because had this been brought up earlier then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to be subjected to witnessing your ‘death.’ ‘I could’ve helped you out-‘

‘And risk you becoming their next target? Not thanks Jason I already lost you once I’m not doing it again.’ You tell him firmly but he wasn’t having it, not after what you put him through. ‘And I thought I lost you or has that not ever come to mind.’ He bites back with the sharpness of someone who was deeply hurt by the actions of someone who he loved more than life.

‘Jason.’ You tried to say but you knew him better then most, once his mind had been made up there was little chance to change it.

‘No. I’m going to help you get out of this mess, either you want me to or not, this is my war now.’ Jason tells you as he marched ahead. You sighed as you followed after him.

This was going to be a long night.

[hitlikehammers]

PART FOUR: wherein regular-guy!Eddie is ✨finally✨ reunited with his soulmate famous!Steve

He doesn’t remember reaching, but everything’s a little bit hazy. ⭐ 💛

<<< back to the charity soirée // back to the beginning

But then Eddie’s catching sparkling eyes, and his pounding heart-in-his-throat jolts like an electrical storm’s striking in all its chambers at once but at different angles, so he’s dizzy, he’s faint, he’s not just tasting his heart, he’s holding it whole in his goddamn mouth, ready to cough it out into his hands on the coattails of ozone from the lighting seizing it up, the lifeblood pooling in it fit to fucking burst, he’s—

"We've met."

Those eyes are everything he remembers. That voice is the only thing he dreams of every night, but now, it’s like it’s his dreams and recollections were the knockoff version—though what that makes the advertisements, then, Eddie can’t even begin to guess—but the genuine article, living and breathing in front of Eddie now puts all the memories he’s been clinging to to fucking shame, because…

Eddie’s maybe died. Probably that makes the most sense. Definitely he is now dead. He slipped looking for Chrissy, hit his head. He had an unexpected allergic reaction to one of the actually-really-simple hors d'oeuvres. Tasting his heart in his throat in the first place was more serious than originally supposed.

And now, at the end of everything: he gets Steve. The real deal.

Which is so much better as an afterlife than he ever expected.

“Remember when I did that charity thing in Indianapolis?” Steve is turning away and Eddie doesn’t like that, this is his afterlife and he wants the totality of Steve’s attention and affection and adoration and—

“Like I forgot a whole three months ago—” and wait.

Wait, because that’s Buckley, and she shouldn’t be in Eddie’s afterlife. It makes sense that Steve would turn to talk to someone, but why would he be talking to anyone in Eddie’s afterlife, and Eddie’s hand goes automatically to his own hip and pinches hard enough to split skin, he’s sure, and it fucking hurts and he can still taste his heart in his throat because it’s still pounding and why is it pounding in Eddie’s afterlife—

“It was you?” Eddie rasps, and Steve turns on a dime, his attention zeroing immediately in on Eddie but…Eddie hadn’t quite weighed the glaze of distance in those eyes compared to what they’d been that night, that morning; he hadn’t clocked it wholly: they were always bright but something was missing, now, and Eddie notices it best when it’s gone and all the shine is there again, but it’s shifting to a sharp kind of intensity as that gaze takes in Eddie’s whole person and seems to find…cause for concern, if the slightest downturn in those lips, the little furrow between those brows is anything to go by.

“It,” Eddie swallows hard when Steve makes a half-aborted step in his direction, moves the littlest bit closer and that’s the right cologne, that’s the right glistening pool of subtle shade-shifts in those irises—and fuck.

Hooooly fuck.

There’s just the slightest curls of chest hair peaking above where his shirt’s unbuttoned only the littlest bit. Tantalizing. Perfect.

Goddamn…perfect.

“It is you?” Eddie whispers, the moment, the impossible gift it’s promising feeling too precious, too…delicate, to push, lest it disappear. Lest Eddie drop it and lose…more. Again.

He doesn’t remember reaching, but everything’s a little bit hazy, he thinks he can hear the spark that makes his heartbeats, he knows he can hear the blood surging in his veins, he feels stupidly alive inside the hope he’s breathing in and then—

Then there’s a hand that meets his own. And Eddie knows it’s shape. Everything in him recognizes the weight, the texture, the warmth.

His pulse stumbles at the contact, like something slipping into place where it’s been barely connected, a cable for his very being having been hanging half-outside the power socket all this time and now: there. Like the circuit’s complete.

Eddie stretches his fingers on instinct, needy, and when Steve responds by slotting their fingers and locking his around Eddie’s hand, steady and sure, Eddie’s whole fucking body lights up, all sizzling, magnetic wonder.

“Steve,” he marvels at this man, because it is this man, and Eddie’s chest feels buoyant and his heart’s a balloon full of helium knocking wild against the ceiling of his ribcage but all it knows how to do is rise, rise, rise.

“Steve,” Eddie exhales again, reaching his other hand—like fuck he’s letting go with the one already wrapped safe in Steve’s grasp—to graze Steve’s cheek ever-so-slightly, needing one more proof of reality against all the wishful daydreams he’s been tormenting himself with.

“I thought I was losing my mind seeing you everywhere,” Eddie knows he’s gaping, like a man in a desert with a mirage, and he cares not-one-fucking-bit; “but I was actually seeing you, it wasn’t just me being lovesick and pathetic,” he’s a little breathy, kinda gasping and he can’t see entirely straight but, but…

What if—

“Lovesick, you say?”

Eddie feels the way he blushes so fucking hard. He can’t even try to hide it.

He’s not solid enough in his own skin just now to even try.

“Umm,” he clears his throat, then makes himself make full-on eye contact.

“Yes,” he admits a little bashful, but Steve’s eyes just dance and fuck, Eddie will humiliate himself in any way necessary in order to earn that look. No hesitation, all in.

“Underscore pathetic, please. Make sure that’s front and center.”

He does need to make sure that part is really clear.

“What if I find it endearing, though?” Steve says like he really means it, not like he’s just trying to cushion Eddie’s ego from the burn of his honesty; “and not at all pathetic?”

Before he can process it fully, let alone think of a response, Eddie feels a hand on his arm that not Steve’s, and glances dumbly around to see Robin bustling them pointedly but unobtrusively, with no eyes on them but Steve’s on Eddie and Eddie’s fixed on Steve, shit she’s good, and Eddie recognizes where they end up, just a side meeting room, a little table with chairs, nothing special.

Except Steve is in this room. And Eddie cannot think of a more special thing. At all. Anywhere.

Ever.

“You really didn’t know?”

Eddie blinks, because he’d kind of been mooning and he needs to snap back to the now, so he makes his eyes focus on Steve’s face, Steve’s words, rather than getting lost in the all-encompassing spell of him.

Which is hard, for the record. But Eddie perseveres.

It takes him a couple seconds to reorient—just the two of them, Robin is fucking skilled—and then to put together what Steve must mean.

Like: almost definitely the fact that he was always the guy on the billboards.

So Eddie just shakes his head, and tries not to get sidetracked by how extra fucking insane and unheard of this all is, with the superstar element tacked on.

“You were the most beautiful human being I’d ever seen,” Eddie’s barely breathes the words, airy and light and not wholly there but honestly he’s pretty impressed he manages that much; “and you bought me a drink.” He laughs, shaking his head:

“Did I think you were movie-star gorgeous and then some? Duh,” because seriously: duh. “But I didn’t know, god, didn’t even notice until after you left, and before that? I wasn’t gonna blab that shit, open my mouth and make you think twice, scare you right off.”

Steve’s studying him, like he’s a puzzle when Eddie’s never felt more like an open book in his life, raw and unvarnished and heartsick over it all, and wanting so bad, tender with the suggestion the universe is offering just now that maybe he’s allowed. Maybe he can even…maybe he has a chance to have.

“Kinda remember your mouth doing anything but,” Steve shoots back wryly, leaning back on the table before dimming a little:

“You never texted me.”

And Eddie isn’t proud of the little whine he gives for the pout, the resignation in Steve’s posture; he’s not proud, but fuck if he’s ashamed.

“I started to by like mid-afternoon the same day, absolutely zero chill,” Eddie tries to steep every syllable in earnestness, in the heartfelt truth of it all; “my phone didn’t save your number.”

Steve doesn’t seem to be expecting that one.

“Seriously?” he blinks, edges softening a little as he chuckles humorlessly. “I thought you’d figured all this out,” he gestures beyond the closed door; “and that was why.”

Eddie would like very much to be able to grab that thought out of Steve’s head and crush it under the heel of his Docs. Like, not shattered, just pulverized into a stain on the ground. Unrecognizable and insignificant and easily forgotten as all absurd notions should be.

“Sweetheart, I’ve created my own dry spell out of sheer misery, over having missed that chance,” Eddie states it plain, lays it out on main between them.

And Steve? Steve just stares some more, a deeper version of the calculating look he’s had on and off since they locked eyes again, against all fucking odds.

Like maybe Eddie’s been right the whole time. That they’re something other, like something fated. That this really looks like it is the great love of his life, and everything in him knew it.

Which: fuck. Of course Eddie was right. He didn’t actually doubt it—couldn’t, not when he felt like something had died, too big to even mourn.

Until right fucking now. When it feels like he’s breathing with both lungs for the first time in months.

Then Steve’s eyeing him up and down, worrying his lip before he says, almost quips save for the way his hand seems to nervously brush back through that gorgeous fucking hair:

“Would you like another?”

Eddie takes a second to trace back to what he last said: chances. Missed ones.

Would he like—

“What?”

It cannot be that simple.

(Please be that simple.)

“Wanna know a secret?”

Eddie’s still tongue tied, brain firing randomly and out of any particular pattern to follow, just giddy disbelief and the urge to start fucking bawling for emotional overload and the implications that he might just be entitled here to feel sheer relief: the way Steve tips himself toward Eddie a little from the waist, just enough to notice him closer, does absolutely nothing to make Eddie more inclined to coherence.

He just nods frenetically, like a goddamn bobble head.

“Been in kinda a funk of my own, thinking about you, moping pathetically,” he emphasizes with feeling, and a raised brow to boot; “about how you never called, according to my best friend,” he cocks his head behind himself again, no doubt indicating Robin and, and…

Is it too good to be true?

Fuck if it is; Eddie’s not letting this go again.

“Let me make it up to you?” he blurts out, and watches Steve’s eyes widen and…wait.

“Wait, wait, fuck,” Eddie says all breathless, because he’s taking liberties, isn’t he; he wants this, whatever it is and all it can be but Steve’s, Steve is—

Eddie just propositioned a movie star. His very-likely star crossed lover, but, Eddie can’t just assume that they’re both on the same—

“Name the date.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. Steve doesn’t hesitate.

If this isn’t real, if Eddie’s reading it all wrong…

Eddie isn’t brave, like, that’s a categorical fact. But there’s a primal sense of purpose, not to mention self-preservation, in leaping at this and grabbing with both hands, with his whole heart.

“Tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful as hell, but that’s when he sees it: Steve’s eyes hadn’t widened in surprise. His pupils had dilated.

His eyes are more black than anything, now, when he says with absolute definitive certainty:

“Done.”

Eddie can’t help but stare, can’t tame the childlike dizzy joy bubbling over in him as he asks, wondering:

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Steve smiles small, emanating like a banked fire on a cold night; “you’re something special, Eddie,” and he tilts his head, looks up through his lashes and holy fuck, but if Eddie is lucky enough to be the target of that look for any time at all beyond this encounter, here and now?

It would be the most incredible way to fall apart on the goddamn daily.

“We spent one night together,” Eddie feels himself mouth, just, baffled in the brightest way that this can possibly be happening for real, that for all the certainty he’s felt in the face of every logical voice of sense, he’s known and now the other half of his equation is standing here, like maybe he knows too.

“And a lovely morning,” Steve leans into his space before his gaze changes, not in a bad way, exactly, but whatever the right word for how it changes is?

Eddie doesn’t like it.

“You feel differently?”

And that would be why he didn’t like it.

“Fuck no,” Eddie hisses, aghast at the notion. “Just,” and he licks his lips, tries to straighten out his thoughts; “you are,” and, hey: looks like he sucks at straightening out his thoughts, wow, okay—so he just grabs a clump of hair to hide behind a little, but more like a tether than a shield, and he resigns himself to just…spilling his words all clumsy as shit, willy-fucking-nilly.

“Even if I agreed with you about being special, if I was, then I don’t have a word for how out of my fucking league you are.”

He drops his hair when there’s no reply for a few beats, and he makes himself look up at Steve properly.

Steve, who is watching him with curiosity, and warmth, and with no small amount of genuine fucking affection, the kind that threatens to make Eddie’s heart try to escape out through his mouth again, only this time he’d really be aiming for it to land in Steve’s hands.

Or Steve’s chest, if he was bold enough to hope at being that lucky, after all of this already.

“Did you play sports?” Steve asks, weirdly casual, the kind of tone you’d expect from someone looking wholly bored as they stared to the side into the distance, which is the opposite of what Steve’s doing, tipping his chin the way Eddie remembers from the bar. Considering, but somehow inviting for it. Wholly contradictory.

Fascinating.

“Like in school?” Eddie asks, only a little bewildered, and whole-ass snorts when Steve nods.

“Do I look like the jock type?”

“Then how about you leave the league thinking to me,” he lifts his palm to Eddie’s waist and pulls him a little closer, and Eddie is suddenly very aware of just how much he missed being in a close enough orbit to this man to be able to feel when he breathes; “and take me out tomorrow,” and Steve, because he’s otherworldly and spectacular and shit, reaches up to tuck Eddie’s hair behind his ear and hell if Eddie doesn’t shiver from the base of his neck straight down for the featherlight, fragile little gesture’s quiet intimacy, good god.

But then he’s pulling back, and Eddie feels his eyes widen and his jaw drop because no, no, that’s not right, that—

“And you let me put my number in your phone right now,” Steve gestures very close to the clear shape of said phone in Eddie’s back pocket, like he wants to grab it himself but isn’t sure where they stand yet, or maybe because they are still ‘in public’ no matter how much Robin must be making sure they’re not bothered in this side room, but then Steve grins, and it’s so soft and it’s molten in his eyes and Eddie thinks he gets it.

Steve’s hands have been more than his on Eddie ass before, but.

This is gonna retrace some of the steps they had to skip, for circumstance’s sake. Eddie doesn’t hate that.

Watching Steve’s eyes darken as his lips quirk a little higher, yeah. Yeah: Eddie doesn’t hate that at all.

He hands Steve his phone wordlessly, maybe a little desperately as Steve flicks his thumb and starts to type, grinning as he does while he speaks a little sly:

“So we can both maybe do something about the cases of blue balls it sounds like we’ve been fighting?”

Eddie chokes on something dangerously close to a giggle. “Does it count as blue balls if I’ve been jacking off more in the last twelve weeks than I have since high school?”

And god, Eddie lights up like fucking chandelier when Steve cackles, and shoves Eddie’s bicep, as easy as that morning in the kitchen had been.

Just like that.

“I think it counts if we were only able to jack off,” Steve raises a brow with a smirk as he passes Eddie’s phone back to him, and Eddie only glances away to look down at the screen when it vibrates right after Steve hands it back, just to see the contact S.H.😘, with a simple message below:

fuck ‘missed chances’

“You can take that both ways, just so you know,” Steve says softly, not pushing, but definitely sure. Presumptuous because he can read it seeping out of Eddie’s pores, not because he expects it as a matter of course.

Which is really fucking hot, basically. Like.

Really fucking hot.

“How do you feel about Italian?” Eddie asks before he can’t think any further, can stumble when his heart’s doing all the stumbling necessary for the moment, and in truth: Eddie isn’t at all unsure.

Like: not even a little.

Plus, with the way Steve smiles?

Worth all the fluttering happening in his chest, fucking twenty-fold.

💛💛💛

<<< back to the charity soirée // part three ✨or✨ on to date night // part five >>>

for @pearynice 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts @bumblebeecuttlefishes @shrimply-a-menace @wheneverfeasible @1-tehe-1 @themoonagainstmers @dreamercec @ravenfrog @live-laugh-love-dietrich @stealthysteveharrington @tinyplanet95 @theohohmoment @samsoble

divider credit here

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 2

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.3k

c/w - language, slight angst if you squint, emetephobia warning

a/n - hi!! it’s odd for me to post two days in a row, so try not to get used to it! i just already had this written and wanted to share it so baddd. hope yall enjoy! also, this is unedited so once again, im begging, lmk if there’s any mistakes. and ofc tell me what you think!!

To be honest, Azzi hadn’t really known what to expect when they put their plan in motion. She and Paige had gone over the logistics, sure, but they’d only really skimmed over how they’d act in public, and whether they’d hold hands, and what kind of flirty things they’d say to each other. Azzi sort of regrets her decision to let Paige lead the way, because that makes her feel like she’s going into this blind, with no idea of how Paige is going to act when they’re together now. No idea of how things are going to change.

It is only the morning after their movie night, and here is what Azzi has learned so far:

For one, Paige doesn’t actually seem to be that big on hand-holding. The only time she held Azzi’s hand last night was when she led her to the doorway once the night was over, waving their joined hands goodbye to their friends.

Paige does, however, seem to be big on basically everything else.

Once the girls were done gushing and celebrating and asking (very invasive) questions, they’d all decided on some horror movie they’d seen the trailer for. Azzi hates horror movies and she guesses this is probably the reason why Paige advocated so hard to watch one. Because as soon as they turned the lights off and the scary intro music started, Paige wrapped her arm around Azzi’s shoulders, pulling her flush against her side. They stayed this way for around ten minutes before Paige claimed she had to use the restroom, but before she left, she kissed Azzi’s head and mumbled, “Don’t get too scared while I’m gone, baby,” into her ear. Azzi had swallowed thickly and nodded, and pretended not to notice Jana wiggling her eyebrows at her.

When the first real jumpscare happened, and Azzi screamed along with a few of the other girls, Paige chuckled quietly and leaned down to whisper, “You’re such a baby about this kinda stuff, Az.” Azzi had reacted how she normally would, slapping Paige on the arm and rolling her eyes, defending herself with a, “Shut up, I know you’re scared, too.” But what wasn’t normal was the way Paige fondly shook her head and nuzzled her cheek with her nose before pressing a kiss there, and then leaned back up to pull Azzi into her side once more, this time protectively. Azzi swore she could hear her own heart racing for a solid five minutes afterwards. It didn’t help that KK had looked back at them and said, “Aw, y’all grossing me out with how cute you are,” before turning back to the movie. Paige had snickered. Azzi had taken a deep breath, which did nothing to help with her composure.

Almost an hour into the movie, Paige rested her hand on Azzi’s thigh and squeezed, and she didn’t give Azzi any time to tame the fire in her belly before leaning into her ear once more and whispering, “You’re so stiff. You gotta chill,” and so, tamping down the need to cross her legs, Azzi’d obeyed and leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder.

At some point or another, she must’ve fallen asleep there, because all she remembers after that is a gentle pressure on her shoulder, jostling her softly, and a voice from her dreams saying, “Az, it’s late, we gotta go. Time to wake up, baby,” and Azzi opened her eyes to find Paige sitting beside her, giving her this look that Azzi had only ever caught glimpses of, and it was so soft she had to shut her eyes again.

“Thought we were sleeping over,” Azzi mumbled, stretching and then turning onto her side, realizing vaguely that somebody must’ve thrown a blanket over her.

“Nah, I figured we better sleep in an actual bed tonight.” Paige stroked back a strand of Azzi’s hair with incredible tenderness before taking her by the waist and hefting her into a sitting position. “C’mon. I’ll take you to mine, okay?”

Azzi had nodded sleepily, and had let Paige say all their goodnights while she hung off her arm with lidded eyes. Even in her half-sleep state, she didn’t miss the way the girls elbowed each other and gave knowing glances.

Now, Azzi stares at Paige, who lays sleeping just next to her, hair all splayed out and mouth hanging open. Azzi smiles softly at her. She and Paige have slept in the same bed hundreds—maybe thousands—of times, but this is different, because Azzi is allowing herself to pretend that it is. She imagines reaching out and waking Paige the same way Paige woke her last night, gently and lovingly, and then sharing a lazy morning together as a couple where they joke about morning breath and talk about their plans and hold each other.

But Paige grumbles, then shifts and blinks her eyes open, rubbing them a little before finding Azzi laying next to her. She smiles, but it’s not the same smile from last night—it’s not that tender, adoring smile, but rather the one Azzi is used to—the wide, toothy, beautiful but friendly one. “Oh, hey. Morning.”

“Morning,” Azzi mumbles, her indulgent fantasy broken, and she reminds herself just how careful she’ll have to be while she and Paige are doing this. She cannot allow herself too many delusions, cannot let her imagination run wild with the idea that their act is real. She cannot let herself get burned by this.

“You kept stealing the blankets last night.”

Azzi lies onto her back to avoid eye contact, staring up at the ceiling. “No, Paige, you were taking up the entire bed.”

“Cap,” Paige says, shoving her shoulder. Rough, friendly. Sisterly.

It’s silent for a second and then Paige turns onto her side. “Hey.” Azzi can feel her eyes burning into the side of her head. “We did pretty good last night, yeah? We seemed super in love and shit?”

Azzi doesn’t chance a glance over, staring stubbornly at the ceiling. “Yeah, P,” she agrees. “We did.”

——————————————

Finals come far too fast.

The last month of school is always hectic, and this year has been no different—Azzi’s spent the vast majority of her time studying, drinking her nostalgia away with friends, and then more studying on top of that.

Oh, and pretending to be in a committed relationship with Paige. That too.

Some days are easier than others—it’s not like they’re being forced to undress each other in front of an audience or anything. They haven’t even had to utilize pet names much. But it’s still…different. So different. Paige was touchy-feely with Azzi even before they started ‘dating’, so now, if they ever sit more than an inch apart or walk somewhere without wrapping their arms around each other, they get strange glances from their friends. A couple mornings ago, they were so hungover that they forgot about their whole act, and when they’d stumbled out of Paige’s room and began making breakfast without so much as a word to each other, KK had abrasively asked if there was ‘trouble in paradise’. Paige was all over her the rest of the day. After two weeks, Azzi is starting to get used to it.

At least they haven’t had to kiss. They haven’t even discussed it, and Azzi has been specifically avoiding that topic of conversation. She knows herself well enough to know that she can’t kiss her best friend and act normal about it.

Later, Azzi will curse herself for thinking this without knocking on wood after.

“So, we all know the rules of the game?”

“KK—“

“Girl, just answer the question!”

A pause, and then a bored chorus of yes’es.

“Yay!” With a big, tipsy smile on her face, KK places the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle.

Paige groans and rests her head on Azzi’s shoulder. “KK, this is so fuckin’ lame.”

“For real!” Ice says from a few spots down. “We’re not in middle school.”

KK waves them off. “Girl, boo. Y’all are the lame ones. This‘ll be so much fun, you’ll be thanking me after.”

Everyone starts to groan in response to this, but Caroline, ever the mom, speaks up. “C’mon, guys, just play KK’s game.”

Unable to really say no to Caroline, the group shuts up. KK smiles excitedly. “Now that’s what I like to hear! Thank you, Carol.”

Azzi brings her hand up to rest on Paige’s back, and she’s proud that it almost comes naturally now, like her body knows that’s just what it’s supposed to do.

Nika breaks the peace a moment later with another teasing comment, which prompts KK to yell at her, and then everyone is talking amongst themselves, the room buzzing with late-night, drunk-college-students-before-finals energy.

Paige sighs deeply into Azzi’s shoulder, and she loves that she’s the only one who can hear it, who can feel it against her skin.

Putting her lips to Paige’s hair, Azzi mutters, “Wanna go downstairs?”

Downstairs is where Paige’s dorm is. Azzi’s is the floor they’re on now, and it’d probably make more sense to sleep there for the night. But Paige’s dorm, and more specifically, her bedroom, is where they’ve been gravitating to the past couple weeks. Azzi has always loved it there, the smell of Paige filling the very air, photos of the two of them on her nightstand, purple bedding so very Paige. And now it’s become something of a sanctuary, a way to escape their facade which can become cumbersome.

Usually, they’d be in bed by now, because Azzi likes to sleep early and Paige hasn’t been wanting to stay up without her. But Paige shakes her head at the question.

“No?” Azzi asks. “You’re not tired?”

“Mm, nah.” Paige glances up at her. “You?”

Azzi licks her lips. She swears Paige’s eyes track the movement, and linger for just a moment too long. She clears her throat. “Same.”

“Aight,” Paige says, turning back to her shoulder. “We can leave after this, ma.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” KK says, barely giving Azzi any time to shudder at Paige’s nickname. “Pay attention. You’re going first.”

Everybody’s looking directly at Azzi, and she shakes her head awkwardly. “Oh, no, I don’t think—“

“If you don’t wanna play, you gotta take a shot every round.”

Paige lifts her head up. “KK, that’s dumb. She doesn’t have to play if she don’t want to.”

KK smiles deviously. Paige flips her off, but Azzi pulls her hand down, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever.” She leans over into the middle of the circle, making Paige lean off of her, and spins the beer bottle.

It spins only twice before slowing down and, blessedly, landing on Aubrey.

The girls make a range of noises, mostly giggles, and then Aubrey leans into the circle to meet Azzi in the middle, smiling.

Once she gets close enough, Azzi whispers, “Liyah good with this?”

Aubrey raises her eyebrows. “I’on think it’s my girl we gotta be worried about.”

Confused, Azzi glances over her shoulder, and sees Paige staring intensely at them, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. The blank look on her usually lively face scares Azzi a little bit. She turns back to Aubrey, who also looks a little afraid.

“You’re good,” Azzi reassures her, because she is. Aubrey doesn’t know that Paige is just acting, because she’s the possessive type and of course, if she and Azzi were really dating, she’d be jealous even of her own teammates. But Azzi can’t tell Aubrey this, so instead, she leans forward and kisses her.

Aubrey lets out a noise, surprised, and it makes Azzi laugh because she probably should’ve warned her she was going in. The kiss can’t last more than two seconds before there’s a hand fisting Azzi’s shirt, pulling her back, and Paige is saying, “Alright, alright,” quite gruffly.

Azzi’s stomach does flips at Paige’s rough voice, but she’s tipsy (maybe a little bit more than tipsy) so she leans up to nuzzle Paige’s cheek rather than shying away from her. “Somebody’s jealous.”

“Yeah,” Paige says, “no one should be up on you like that.” And they’re obviously acting—but when Azzi pulls away to look at her, there’s something on her face that isn’t quite fake enough.

But then she’s smiling and saying, “Stop tryna steal my girl, Aubrey,” and Azzi’s heart contracts like it always does when Paige says stuff like this nowadays.

Across the circle, Aubrey takes her spin. It lands on Ice, and Ice is considerably more drunk than any of them, so the whole thing is pretty slobbery. The next spin—Nika—is mostly the same.

It goes like that for a while, a few people taking shots instead of kissing, and a few others taking shots for the hell of it. The bottle lands on Azzi once again and she fills her shot glass to the brim before taking it, needing to dull the feeling of Paige’s hand wrapped possessively around her waist.

By the time the bottle lands on Paige, they’re all pretty damn drunk.

Azzi knows it’s just a game, but she’s always hated seeing Paige with other people, and now is no different. Ashlynn laughs, because this whole thing is pretty fucking funny, but Azzi can’t help but sulk, glad to be under the guise of a relationship—glad she doesn’t have to hide her feelings for awhile.

Before leaning into the circle, Paige looks at Azzi and says, all lighthearted and buzzed, “Don’t pout at me, baby.”

There’s that roughness again, that tone in the back of her throat, and Azzi squirms when Paige presses a wet kiss to her cheek.

Paige and Ashlynn kiss, but they both laugh kind of hysterically so their teeth are pretty much just clashing, and when they’re done Paige wraps an arm around Azzi’s shoulders and spins for herself. And it spins, and spins, and spins, so many times Azzi gets dizzy watching it—

It gets to Amari, and it slows.

It passes by Inês, barely moving anymore.

The neck gets back to Paige, and Azzi wonders for one drunk second, What if it lands on Paige and she has to kiss herself? and she doesn’t even have the time to laugh at how ridiculous that is before the bottle stops, pointing almost accusingly at her.

The girls all cheer, oohing and laughing.

Paige laughs too, easy and casual because they’re supposed to be a couple, they’re supposed to have done this a thousand times, it’s supposed to be normal, normal, Azzi, act normal.

They should have known this would be inevitable.

Paige turns to her, still smiling but with a concerned, almost imperceptible furrow between her brow. Azzi obviously can’t refuse this kiss, can’t take a shot rather than kiss her girlfriend in front of all these people who know she’s her girlfriend.

So instead, she wills herself to nod and then she takes Paige by the collar and kisses her.

Strangely enough, the first thing Azzi takes note of isn’t actually the way Paige’s lips feel touching hers for the first time, or the fact that their teammates are watching them, wolf-whistling and giggling amongst each other.

No, instead, it’s the way Paige smells—the fact that the hair tickling Azzi’s cheek is sweet, vanilla, which means she washed her hair today. And it’s the way her hands cup Azzi’s jaw, cradling her like they do this all the time, thumbs rubbing gently against her cheekbones in a gesture soft enough to make Azzi gasp into her mouth.

She only snaps into it and really realizes, oh, Paige is actually kissing me right now, when Paige’s tongue teases against Azzi’s bottom lip. And it’s just for a second, Paige pulling away fast enough that Azzi thinks she must have imagined it, but it leaves her lip wet.

After that, Paige sits back, smiling at her but there’s that furrow between her brow again, imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know her as well as Azzi does, and she’s stroking Azzi’s cheek like a tick now, like she’s trying to figure something out.

The moment ends when the girls all clap like white people on a plane, and Azzi isn’t even paying attention to the teasing and cooing, because she’s too busy staring at Paige, wondering what she’s thinking about right now, wondering what about that kiss made her feel so damn…safe.

Whenever she thought about her first kiss with Paige, she expected butterflies, light-headedness—maybe even nausea. Comfort, the thing you feel when you come home to your small town after a semester away—that was not expected.

Paige blinks, that strange look on her face disappearing, and Azzi realizes that she’s still holding onto the front of her shirt. She pushes her away teasingly, and Paige laughs, wrapping an arm around her as she turns to the girls, waving off their teasing remarks, and as Azzi watches her profile, feels the wetness on her bottom lip cool, she knows that she is falling and thinks nobody will be there to catch her when she reaches the bottom.

——————————————

The next morning, Azzi wakes up and immediately regrets it.

Paige’s window blanket must’ve fallen down last night, because the sun is shining through the room and it is…loud. She rolls onto her side to try and get away from it, and then that problem is fixed but another rises in the form of an abrupt tummyache. And Azzi prides herself on being a strong person, but as soon as she gets a tummyache it’s over for her.

Also, maybe the loud sun problem isn’t as fixed as she thought because her head is beginning to pound. She can feel it beating against her skull in time with the beating of her heart, and somehow that gives her a feeling akin to motion sickness, which makes her tummy hurt worse. She is probably going to throw up very soon, and should get up so she doesn’t do it all over Paige’s bed, but that’s where the third problem arises: she is so comfy. How can she ever be expected to leave this bed when she’s so goddamn comfy?

“Yo, are you gonna puke?”

Azzi groans. “Probably.”

Azzi’s facing away, so she can’t see what Paige’s doing, but she hears sheets rustle and then a pair of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Soon enough, Paige is standing in front of her, holding a hand out. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Azzi looks up, and that makes her stomach turn again, the back of her neck burning. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m gonna kill you if you puke on my bed. Like, actually.”

If Azzi threw up on Paige’s bed, Paige would probably usher her to the bathroom, give her some water, and clean the sheets without complaining about it until a few days later. But Azzi still doesn’t think that’d be a good idea, so she sits herself up and is about to accept Paige’s hand when she realizes this is much more urgent than she thought. Almost as soon as her feet hit solid ground, the bile rises in her throat at an alarming rate and she has to run across the hall. She doesn’t make it to the toilet but manages the bathtub, which is arguably better.

Paige is there once she’s done, tying her hair up into a ponytail. “That it?”

Azzi spits. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Lemme grab you some pepto or somethin’. Hang tight.”

Once Paige walks away, Azzi wipes her mouth and all at once, like the tide coming in, remembers how the lips now coated in spit and bile were yesterday on Paige’s.

Of course, she also remembers the pet names, the affection, the flash of jealousy in Paige’s eyes that may or may not have been there. But it’s the kiss, the wonderful, tipsy, warm kiss that wrestles its way to the forefront of her pounding head and stays there, the memory replaying quite a few times before Paige comes back with pepto bismol and water. “Here.”

Azzi looks disdainfully at the bright pink medicine. “I don’t think I can swallow that, P.”

“Whoa, pause.“

“Chill,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes. “Gimme that.” she takes them from Paige’s hand and manages to swallow one before throwing up again, this time with Paige by her side to hold onto her while her shoulders heave.

“Aw,” Paige tuts sympathetically when she’s done. “My lil lightweight.”

Azzi rests her head on the edge of the tub while Paige turns on the tap, washing the bile away.

Azzi lifts her head enough to see Paige sit against the wall across from her. “Feel okay now?”

Her throat burns, and her tummy hurts, and throwing up in front of the love of your life is not a glamorous experience. But with Paige here with her, taking care of her, she doesn’t feel too bad.

If it only weren’t for that really good fucking kiss.

Azzi nods weakly even though she doesn’t know the answer, because saying ‘I hate the fact that we kissed last night, not because I regret it—I’ve been wanting to do it since we were kids in high school—but because now I’m worried I won’t be able to keep my feelings hidden for much longer which is worrisome because we haven’t even left for Montana yet, and also I wonder what this means for us and our fake relationship, because if it means kissing will become a normal thing I don’t know if I can do this’ would probably be weird.

“K, good. Thanks for not puking in my bed.”

Azzi smiles weakly at her, mouth still tasting like bile. How could Paige ever return her feelings when she has seen her like this a hundred other times?

Paige reaches a socked toe out to nudge Azzi’s calf. “Okay, you said you feel better, but you still look kinda…green.”

Azzi looks Paige in the eye, and manages maybe a second of eye contact before she’s thinking about how they looked at each other just like this after they kissed last night, and there it goes, the moment playing in her head once and then again. She can’t help but groan and rest her burning cheek to the cool tub.

And the universe should go to hell for making them best friends because Paige gets it instantly. “Oh, this is about last night.”

Suddenly the cool tub isn’t helping anymore. Azzi weakly shakes her head, but she knows the truth is showing plainly on her face.

“Yeah, whatever.” Paige pushes herself off the wall, wiggling her eyebrows. Azzi senses trouble. “It was a good kiss, huh?”

Azzi balks, then tries to reel it in. “That’s not…Paige…”

“Hold up,” Paige says, looking genuinely a little confused. “You don’t think I’m a good kisser?”

“No, no, but I just…” how can Paige talk about this so casually, like it was meaningless, something to be joked about? Azzi envies her lack of feelings. “Don’t you think we should talk about it?”

“Uh, I mean…” Paige scratches the side of her neck, and it occurs to Azzi that the bathroom isn’t an amazing place to talk about this. “Yeah, sure. If you want to.”

Not exactly an encouraging answer. Azzi strives on nonetheless. “It was our first kiss.”

“Yeah. Guess we coulda planned it better.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Azzi trails off. “Don't you think it was sort of…weird?”

Paige frowns again. “Damn! If you didn’t like the kiss just say that.”

Azzi hopes she can blame her flushed cheeks on the hangover. “P, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that you’re my best friend—“

“That’s me.” Paige smiles proudly. It’s too fucking cute.

“And,” Azzi says pointedly, “I feel like, weird, about kissing you.”

She waits for Paige to answer, but Paige just stares, apparently waiting for her, too. Azzi sighs. “I worry we won’t be able to fake it well enough.”

“We did fine last night, didn’t we?”

“We were drunk last night.”

Paige makes a face. “I guess. But I feel like we’d do good even if we were sober, y’know?” She leans her head back against the wall. “And it’s not like kissing’s a big deal, anyway.”

Azzi’s eyes drop down to the tiled floor, cold against the thin material of her sleep pants. “Maybe not to you,” she mumbles.

There’s a shuffling, and then Paige is closer than before, nudging Azzi’s knee with her own. “Yeah, you’re right, that’s my bad.” There’s a silence, both of them thinking, and Azzi wonders if maybe Paige is thinking the same thing she is. About how their kiss last night felt…different. Different than a kiss between two friends, different than the other kisses with other people felt. And the look Paige gave her afterward…

But then Paige says, “Wanna practice, ma?” and Azzi was a fool to ever think they’d be on the same track.

Azzi splutters for a moment. “Practice?”

“Yeah. To prepare, in case we have to do it again,” Paige says casually, like it’s no big deal at all.

“I don’t think that’s…that’s not—“ Azzi cuts herself off on a sigh. Then she looks at Paige, really looks at her, and that’s when she catches the glint in Paige’s eyes, and she realizes—she’s messing with her. She’s taking advantage of Azzi’s obvious shyness about this whole thing.

What a little shithead.

Making a quick decision, Azzi leans forward a little bit, glancing down, then back up, looking at Paige through her lashes before she licks her lip.

Paige clocks it, tracks it with her eyes. Just like last night.

Azzi swallows down the nervousness and wills herself to be normal, reminds herself that this is Paige, and she has no reason to sink into her shell when she has the opportunity to take the upper hand.

“Okay,” Azzi says after a moment.

Paige’s eyes flit up, away from her lips. “Okay?”

Azzi nods, then lifts her hand to place over Paige’s knee, bare in her sleep shorts, before she dances her fingers delicately up her thigh. “You wanna practice kissing me, Paige?”

Paige swallows thickly. And then she nods.

Okay. So. That’s…unexpected.

Paige wants to kiss her.

That would explain the lip-ogling.

Azzi has half a mind to make the biggest mistake of her life and close the gap between them, but then she remembers they are sitting on the bathroom floor, and, ew, she just threw up. Twice.

Azzi manages what she hopes is a cocky smirk and leans away. “Well, too bad. Sick, remember?”

Paige’s eyes widen, like she’s just been snapped out of a trance. “Oh. Yeah.” She backs off then, relief coursing through Azzi, before she’s standing up and dusting off her shorts as she reaches down to help Azzi up. “You good to stand?”

Ok. So they’re not talking about it. Cool.

Azzi nods and takes Paige’s hand, her palm warm against her own as their fingers entangle for the two seconds it takes to go from sitting to standing, feeling a little dizzy from the altitude once she’s up.

Paige frowns at her. “You still look kinda messed up. How ‘bout you lay down. I can go get us some food? Gotta fuel up for all the studying today.”

Azzi groans, palming her face. “No, I forgot about finals.”

“Azzi Fudd? Forgetting about finals?” Paige teases, leading them out of the bathroom. “Last night really fucked you up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Azzi mumbles. “It was definitely the alcohol that did it.”

Paige glances back at her but doesn’t say anything, sitting Azzi down on the edge of the bed once they get there. “Okay, sit here and chill out. Lemme know if you need to puke again.” She smiles down at her, and Azzi smiles weakly back, before the older girl is turning on her heel and walking out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. Another door opens somewhere down the hall and then one of the girls’ voices mixes in with Paige’s as the roommates converse too quietly for Azzi to really hear. She sighs and flops down on the bed, hands wringing nervously at her stomach as she stares at the ceiling.

She has really gotten herself into some shit this time.

Her phone starts buzzing from its place on the nightstand, and Azzi straightens up to check it, her mother’s face flashing on the screen. Anxiety coils in Azzi’s belly at the sight of her mother’s contact, which usually brings her so much comfort.

Ever since she and Paige ‘came out’ to their friends, Azzi has been avoiding her mother like the plague. She knows she should just come out and tell Katie, but she’s not sure what she should tell her.

Azzi knows that Katie would disapprove if she found out about their little scheme, the woman avidly against lying. But if Azzi were to tell Katie what they’ve been telling everyone else—that they are a disgustingly happy, perfectly real couple—she’d be lying to her mother. And with Katie being her main confidante throughout her entire life, Azzi’s never really been good at that. She hasn’t gotten enough practice.

Not without guilt, Azzi lets it go to voicemail, holding her phone close to her chest afterwards, lying back down. She feels nauseous again at just the thought of lying to her mom. But if she came clean, would Katie make her feel guilty about it? Urge her to tell the truth, even if it meant not helping Paige like she promised she would?

Just as Azzi’s about to head back to the bathroom, Paige comes to the bedroom, leaning through the doorframe. “Toast’s almost done, Az.”

Azzi nods but doesn’t move. Paige lingers, sensing that Azzi’s going to say something.

Finally, after some internal debate, Azzi says, “What do you think I should tell my mom?”

Paige frowns. “I thought you talked to her already.”

Azzi shrugs. “We haven’t called. I’ve been avoiding her, but I feel bad about it.”

Paige bites her lip like she always does when she’s thinking, and it eases some of the tension out of Azzi’s shoulders, softening her around the edges. She leans against the doorframe, looking right at Azzi. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

Azzi shrugs helplessly.

Paige scrunches her nose (very cutely) and says, “Honestly, I don’t think we should tell her. Not yet, at least.”

Azzi heaves out a breath, not liking the sound of that answer. “You think?”

“Yeah. Have you met your mom?” Paige smiles fondly. “Lady can’t keep a secret for shit.”

“You’re right.” Azzi hadn’t thought of that, the fact her mom’s the town gossip. “She’d probably have the truth out before we could even finish telling her.”

Paige nods in agreement. “Exactly. Plus, it’s easier to tell everyone the same story, right?”

“I guess.” Unsteady, Azzi pushes herself up from the bed, walking over to Paige slowly. “You still sure this is a good idea?”

“Even if I wasn’t,” Paige says, “we’re too deep in it now.”

Azzi looks up at her solemnly. “The point of no return.”

“Uh-huh.” Paige sighs out a breath, looking almost regretfully at the girl in front of her. “Sorry again, about asking you to do this. I know it’s kinda a whole thing now.”

Azzi’s shaking her head before Paige can even finish. “I already told you, it’s fine. We go to Montana soon, and before we know it we’ll be done.” Azzi’s stomach sort of sinks at the thought. No more flirting, no more cheek-kissing, no more Paige protectively slinging an arm around her shoulder while they’re in public like she’s telling everyone Azzi’s her’s.

Azzi manages what she hopes is an optimistic smile anyway. “Let’s go eat breakfast. And then I’ll call my mom back and we can tell her together?”

Almost as if reading her mind, Paige easily wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as she leads her down the hallway. “Alright, ma. Sounds good to me.”

@smiths-fan--13 @ch12334

[greengoblinswifey]

Hi

I would love if you can do one reader x Nicholas. Sisters best friend. The readers sister was friends with Nicholas bc she was influencer. Nicholas wanted to ask you out but your sister disapprove,because he was known as player. No smut please and thank you !

warnings— player!nicholas, slight heartbreak, angst, slight fluff.

a/n— no smut so i’m assuming you want angst maybe a bit of fluff, enjoy i hope i met your expectations <3

One afternoon, you went over to your sister’s apartment after she invited you to help her plan an influencer party she was hosting. As you approached her door, you overheard voices coming from inside. You stopped, recognizing that she was talking to Nicholas. They’d been best friends for a long time, especially since she’d started making a name for herself online and he became a famous actor, and they’d been by each other’s side for years as they navigated their journey. Your heart skipped a beat hearing his voice—you’d had a crush on him for months, but you’d tried to keep it under wraps, not wanting to complicate things. But now, it was all too real.

“Look, you can’t date her,” your sister said, her tone low but insistent. “I don’t want you to ask her out, or even think about it.”

You heard a pause, and then his response. “I’d never hurt her. She’s different.” His voice was soft, almost pleading, as if he’d been hoping to get your sister’s blessing.

Your sister sighed, clearly skeptical. “But that’s the problem. You’re all over dating apps lately, and don’t even get me started on what I’ve heard about you and your last girlfriend. People are saying you cheated. My sister deserves someone who’s stable and serious, not, whatever it is you’re doing.” Her tone held a sharp edge.

You lingered outside the door, a mixture of embarrassment and hurt welling up inside. It stung to hear her talk about him like that, but there was part of you that knew she was probably right. Yet there was another part of you that wanted to believe he was telling the truth, that he wouldn’t hurt you, that he really did want to be with you.

Maybe you were naive or just hopeful. Or blinded by the strong feelings you had for Nicholas all these months, especially since his rise to fame, it hurt you to see him out and about with your sister’s influencer friends and other women— his costars.

Eventually, he left, looking defeated, and your sister’s words stayed with you, reminding you of the risks. Still, the lingering desire was there; you couldn’t simply ignore the spark you’d felt for so long. The idea of being with him felt right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to defy your sister’s warning, not openly at least.

The night of the influencer party, you caught sight of him in the crowd, looking as charming as ever. Your stomach twisted when you saw him talking to another girl, who looked just as captivated by him. You watched as they laughed, getting closer, until eventually, he led her away from the crowd and down the hall. You felt a pang of hurt. The crush, the dreams, all of it seemed so foolish now. Your sister had been right; he really was the player she’d warned you about.

Later, when he reappeared, you tried to act unfazed, but he noticed you looking his way. He approached, guilt evident in his expression, and you didn’t hold back. “I saw you with her,” you said, crossing your arms, not even bothering to hide your disappointment.

He paused, seemingly struggling with what to say. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “I was just, trying to get over you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

You felt a surge of frustration and hurt. “Trying to get over me by being with someone else? That doesn’t change anything,” you said, shaking your head. “I wanted to believe you, but my sister was right about you.”

As you walked away, you felt the weight of closure settle in. Maybe things could have been different, but he’d shown you who he was, and you were finally ready to let him go.

The rest of the night, you tried your best to enjoy yourself at the party. You laughed, danced, and chatted with others, determined not to let him ruin your night. Yet, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him standing by himself, drink in hand, looking unusually contemplative. For once, he wasn’t mingling with other girls or putting on a show, instead, he seemed lost in thought, a hint of defeat on his face. Maybe he’d finally realized that this reputation he’d built for himself wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d thought. You could almost feel the shift in him, as though he was reconsidering everything and beginning to question if this player lifestyle was really worth losing someone like you.

At the end of the night, you and your sister were winding down back at her place, getting ready to stay over after the party. While everyone else was settling in, he found a quiet moment to approach you. He looked tired, yet determined, and there was an apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, reaching out like he wanted to hug you. “I know I messed up. I want you to know that it wasn’t just, casual for me. I’d never want to hurt you like this.”

You took a step back, crossing your arms. “You made your choice,” you replied, a touch of sadness in your voice. “If you really wanted me, you’d have fought for me, done everything to prove to my sister that you’re serious. You can’t just say sorry now and expect it to change things.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “You’re right. I messed up, and I don’t know if I can fix it, but, I want to try. Maybe not just for you, but for myself, too.”

Without another word, you turned away, retreating to your sister’s room. You crawled into bed beside her, feeling the weight of it all start to lift. She wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “I’m sorry things turned out this way,” she murmured, her voice soft with understanding.

“It’s fine,” you replied, managing a small smile. “It’ll be fine. Maybe he’ll change, maybe he won’t. But I know I deserve better.”

Your sister nodded, squeezing your hand. “I think he can change, but it’s going to take time, a long time,” she said, and you nodded, knowing she was probably right.

The next morning, as everyone was preparing to leave, he found you one last time. This time, there was a sense of quiet resolution in his eyes. He hugged you gently, murmuring, “I’ll walk to the ends of the earth if that’s what it takes. I’ll do whatever I need to, to win her approval and show you I mean it.”

You pulled back, still guarded. “We’ll see,” you replied, giving him a small nod before leaving with your sister.

[lafiametta]

Just saw Anora and got so obsessed w Igor its not funny i need to see more posts about him 😭😭😭😭

Igor’s on such a journey and I love it.

Can you imagine: it’s your birthday and you get a call from the Armenian guy you work for to pick him up at a baptism so you both can check on his boss’s boss’s rich-ass useless son and see if he has or has not married a prostitute. You understand the job — look tough, provide a little muscle if the situation calls for it — and once it’s done you can go return your grandmother’s car from where you borrowed it and visit with her for an hour or so before maybe heading out for a lowkey night to celebrate.

Instead, the rich-ass useless son runs away and you end up having to make sure the girl he married — who takes great offense to being called a prostitute, by the way — doesn’t take off too, and because she won’t stop throwing things and hitting you in the face and screaming you don’t know what else to do except restrain her with a phone cord.

And then she bites you and breaks the Armenian’s nose even as you’ve got her in a hold on top of you.

It’s not exactly what Igor had in mind for the day, is all I’m saying.

As an audience, we also get our expectations turned on their head: Igor, who at first just seems like your standard Slavic hired goon, turns out to have a heart of gold, or at least a soft spot just big enough for a beautiful, foul-mouthed erotic dancer with an impressive left hook. (Although he’s no slouch either, considering how he wields that aluminum bat.) There’s something about her that he really likes, even from the beginning, and you can see him looking out for her and trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to make up for what he did to her back at the house.

I think he admires her brashness, and the way she’s determined to fight for the Cinderella dream that a life with Ivan promised her. In both the courtroom scene and on the tarmac with Ivan’s mother he secretly smiles as he listens to her argue and threaten, even against people far wealthier and more powerful.

(There also seems to be a class element, at least where her conflict with the Zakharovs are concerned. Igor probably doesn’t love the fact that he’s employed by these rich assholes and Ani saying that she’s going to take half their money has him silently cheering her on, because, yeah, fuck them. And when Galina Zakharov winks at him after threatening Ani’s whole existence, he has to look away in shame, because he still works for them, and they think that means they own him.)

I’d love to know when he decides to steal the ring from Toros. Maybe at some point on the plane, after he can see that part of her has given up. It’s a brilliant display of rebellion, made even better by the fact that he waits until the very last minute to give it to her. (Would we have heard all that shit about “hunchback weirdos” and “rape eyes” if he had surprised her with it the first moment they were alone? But Igor is secure enough to take all her insults, and probably likes the fact that she feels safe enough to keep roasting him again and again. “Touché, motherfucker?” she says, and all he can do is giggle.)

Which brings us to the car scene.

The ring is an act of atonement, something to make up for what she’s been through over the past two days — some of which he knows he’s responsible for — and one last fuck you to the family that humiliated her. Igor thinks he’s evening the score before he says goodbye, not realizing that Ani sees it as a gesture she needs to pay back to keep feeling like she’s in control. So she gives him what she thinks he wants — what all men want from her.

Igor’s an adaptive, street-smart guy, but he wasn’t prepared for what she ends up doing. He doesn’t resist, though, taking initiative only once she’s fully on top of him and then just to take her face in his hands. Does some part of him know this is transactional? Does some part of him want it to be real the way Ani wanted Ivan to be real? He wants to pretend at least, and tries to kiss her, only for Ani it’s too real, too much, and she’ll fight to make it stop, like she fights for so many things in her life. But the emotions bubble up anyway, and even through the haze of sex Igor can see she’s in pain, so he pulls her in close and lets her cry, steady and silent as the sobs wrack her body like waves.

It’s a scene that neatly mirrors the one from the living room — him holding her as she’s on top of him — now cast as an expression of vulnerability and care rather than fear and aggression. He’s always been strong enough to hold her, but it’s only at the very end that Ani is willing to be held.

[smileysuh]

comfort cuisine - TEASER

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink. 

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue. 

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

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[trulyumai]

planting chaos

pairing: Stanford Pines / Reader (+Infatuated Bill Cipher)

synopsis: Bill cypher and Ford are buddies, right? And what kind of buddy wouldn’t enter inside their pals mind and kind, of maybe, well… fall in love with their special buddies significant other!? Ha!

warnings: none!

a/n: This was a request, thank you anonymous!

Chapter One: Oh Great Eye o’ Mine!

Gravity Falls was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of water flowing in the stream. In the shadows, a figure stood out—an odd triangular shape with a single eye, casually perched on a branch. Bill Cipher had found himself unusually fascinated with the mind of one Stanford Pines, the brilliant but guarded scientist. As he dug deeper into Ford’s psyche, he stumbled upon a hidden gem—a thought, a feeling, a name: you.

He had seen you around the Pines’ household, quiet and often retreating into the safety of your own thoughts. You were the type to fade into the background, unnoticed yet undeniably present. Bill couldn't resist the thrill of a challenge. With a grin, he dove into Ford's mind, the connection growing stronger as he navigated through memories and emotions.

—————————————

Your first real encounter with Bill came on a chilly evening. You were sitting alone on the porch, reading a book, when the air shimmered and twisted. Suddenly, Bill appeared before you, his form vibrant and unsettling.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" he said, tilting his head with a mischievous smile. "A shy little butterfly trapped in a web of words. How quaint!"

You jumped, nearly dropping your book. “What do you want?” Your voice was barely a whisper, laced with fear.

“Want? Oh, darling, I just wanted to meet the intriguing mind that’s been wandering around Ford’s thoughts!” His tone was playful, but there was an edge of something deeper—curiosity.

Days turned into weeks, and Bill began visiting you more often. At first, he was a chaotic force in your life, bringing an unpredictable energy that both frightened and fascinated you. He would often joke about your timid nature, but there was a softness in his gaze when he looked at you.

“Why do you hide in the shadows?” he asked one evening, floating beside you as you sat on the porch. “You’ve got such potential! So much to offer!”

You sighed, feeling exposed under his intense gaze. “It’s just… easier to blend in. No stresses, no expectations. People don’t see me and that’s okay.”

“But I see you,” he insisted, a genuine sincerity lacing his playful demeanor. “And I like what I see. You’ve got real spark, Kiddo!” He twirled a shadowed hand before continuing.

“So much untapped talent waiting to be broken into!”

You couldn’t help but blush at his words, a mixture of flattery and confusion swirling within you. As the days passed, you found yourself looking forward to his visits, despite the chaos he embodied.

——————————————————

As Bill became a constant presence in your life, you opened up to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You shared your dreams, your fears, and even your thoughts on Ford’s experiments. Bill, in return, revealed fragments of his own existence—his chaotic nature, his longing for connection, and, surprisingly, his loneliness.

“Even a demon needs a friend,” he said one night, his tone shifting from teasing to sincere. “And you, my dear, are the most fascinating being I’ve encountered.”

You could feel your heart race. “I’m just… me. Why would you want to be friends with someone like me?”

“Because you’re different. You see the world through a lens that’s uniquely your own. That’s rare and delightful,” he replied, floating closer, his eyes glinting with mischief yet softened by warmth.

As your connection deepened, Ford’s paranoia began to grow. He sensed something amiss with Bill’s presence around you and his mind. Late one night, Ford confronted Bill, accusing him of manipulating you.

“Stay away from her, Bill! She doesn’t understand the danger you pose!” Ford’s voice was sharp, filled with protective anger.

Bill simply laughed, unfazed. “Oh, Ford, you worry too much! She’s not just a pawn in my game. She’s special.” His eyes flickered toward you, who stood off to the side, uncertain.

Feeling cornered, Ford’s protective instincts kicked in, and he attempted to sever the connection Bill had forged with you. “You need to leave. Now.”

The tension reached a breaking point. Ford attempted to trap Bill, hoping to contain him once and for all. But in the chaos, Bill turned on Ford with a predatory grin.

“Did you really think you could control me?” he taunted, the air crackling with his energy. “You’re the one who’s been playing with fire!”

You watched in horror as Ford’s plan unraveled, but in the midst of the chaos, Bill’s gaze met yours. There was an intensity there, a desperation that tugged at your heart.

“Join me, won’t you?” he said, a wild glint in his eye. “Let’s make our own destiny! You could be my right-hand gal, and we’d be unstoppable!”

The words echoed in your mind as the battle raged on. Part of you was terrified by the implications, yet another part—one that had slowly grown fond of the chaos Bill represented—was intrigued.

“Bill, wait!” you shouted, stepping forward. “This isn’t what I wanted! You can’t just hurt him!”

Bill’s expression softened slightly, the chaos around him fading for a moment. “I don’t want to hurt you, my dear. I want to show you a world beyond the ordinary—a place where you can truly shine.”

But you were torn. Ford had been a protector, a lover… he had trusted you. “I… I can’t just abandon him,” you murmured, glancing back at Ford.

“Then you’ll always be stuck in the shadows,” Bill replied, frustration mingling with a hint of pleading in his voice. “You could be so much more with me! I can help you break free from your fears.”

In that moment, everything shifted. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your decision pressing down on you. “I won’t choose chaos over what’s right. I won’t let fear dictate my life anymore.”

Bill’s expression darkened, frustration boiling over. “You’re making a mistake! You could have everything!” His voice was laced with desperation, but you stood firm.

“I don’t want everything if it means hurting someone I care about,” you said, your heart pounding. “You may think chaos is freedom, but it’s not worth losing my humanity over.”

With that, you turned away from Bill, stepping closer to Ford. The atmosphere shifted, and you could sense the tension between the two powerful beings. Bill’s laughter echoed, but there was an edge of sorrow in it.

——-—————

The battle reached a climax, and Ford managed to contain Bill, pushing him back into the dimensional rift he had come from. As the rift closed, you felt a pang of regret. You had chosen loyalty over chaos, but the glimpse of what could have been lingered in your heart.

In the days that followed, you struggled with the aftermath. Ford recognized the toll it had taken on you. “You did well, standing up for what you believed in,” he said, his voice softened by understanding. “But it’s okay to feel conflicted about Bill.”

“I just wish he could have seen things differently,” you replied, looking up at the stars that twinkled above. “There was something in him that… wanted connection.”

Ford nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “He’s a complex being. But you chose wisely, and that’s what matters, sweetheart.

Though Bill was gone, you felt a lingering sense of connection, an echo of his chaotic spirit within you. You resolved to embrace your own uniqueness, finding strength in your individuality.

Days turned into weeks, and as the summer began to wane, you found a new purpose. Ford encouraged you to explore your own talents, and you began to step out of the shadows, slowly finding your voice.

But at night, as you lay in bed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Bill was still watching. Perhaps he would always be a part of your story, a reminder of the chaos you had chosen to resist.

And somewhere in the depths of the multiverse, Bill Cipher smirked, knowing that even in defeat, he had planted a seed of chaos in your heart—one that would never truly fade away.

[veturiusofserra]

when you know, you know | s. r.

𑁤 synopsis: in an interview she opens up about how easy it is to be loved by Spencer, sharing the story of how they met and how his love inspired her music.

𑁤 pairing: spencer reid x singer!reader

𑁤 words: 1.090

𑁤 disclaimer: This was 100% inspired by something my bf said a while ago, and I love the song. I hope you will enjoy it too <3

“As we reach the close of our conversation, one thing’s bugging me. In your song “Margaret,” there’s this line ‘when you know, you know.’ Like, how do you just know someone’s the one? I’ve been through my share of relationships, yet I haven’t experienced that kind of thing you sing about. In your song, it’s all so clear-cut, like you can predict the future. It reminds me of a kid believing in the tooth fairy – sweet idea, maybe not quite real. But that’s probably what makes the song so good. It talks about this perfect love where everything just clicks, and all your worries disappear. Maybe that’s what I’m still looking for, or maybe it’s just for some lucky people. Either way, your song paints such a strong picture of love that it makes me wonder if I’ll ever have a ‘Margaret’ of my own.”

“It’s funny, right? The answer everyone gives is so simple: “you’ll just know.” Like love hits you like a lightning bolt, destiny calls, happily ever after guaranteed. But maybe that’s the problem. We get this picture-perfect idea of love from movies and books, and then we miss the real thing when it’s right under our noses. We set these high expectations, these checklists of what “the one” should be like. And if someone doesn’t tick every box, we write them off. It’s like searching for a flawless diamond, forgetting that even the most beautiful gems have tiny imperfections. Because guess what? We all mess up. You make mistakes, I make mistakes, everyone does. Maybe that’s what makes a real connection so special – accepting someone, flaws and all. Speaking of which, there’s this story I wanted to share with you.”

“We're all ears!”, the interviewer and the crew smile with waiting faces.  

“For the longest time, I believed I was destined to give love, but never receive it.  Maybe because... well, let’s be honest, I can be a bit self-absorbed, lost in my own head and neglecting others. But even with the no love life mantra, there was always this yearning for a family, a deep desire for children I could call my own. The ‘what ifs’ terrified me, though. Would I be a good parent? Would they be happy? Could I provide for them? Eventually, I resigned myself to a life of music, making people happy through my art, having a few friends, maybe a tragically young death – you know, the artist’s curse. 

Then, I found him. We both know Penny, but run in different circles. He’s in law, I’m an artist – about as different as you get, except for maybe a shared love of fancy vocabulary. We met at Penny’s birthday party, and while he claims it was love at first sight for him, I just thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. But that was it. He was too shy to introduce himself, and I was sworn off men at the time. Funny how fate works, right?  We never crossed paths before, but after that night, it seemed like everywhere I turned, there he was. That’s when I decided to take a chance, and boy, I was so scared!

All those stories about soulmates and butterflies? They weren’t for me. Anxiety had been my constant companion for as long as I could remember. Butterflies just meant another battle brewing in my head. What I craved was peace, a steady hand to anchor me until I was ready to set sail. So, I built a friendship with him. We shared secrets, dreams, and vulnerabilities. He turned out to be a brilliant mind, a walking encyclopedia with an IQ of 187. Yet, he never made me feel inferior. He found humor in my quirks, and we seemed to complement each other perfectly. The more time we spent together, the more his words resonated: “We were designed for one another.”

And then, it hit me. Love. Deep, unexpected, and all-encompassing. It felt effortless, a perfect fit. But fear gnawed at me. It was all so new, so unfamiliar. Just as I was drowning in uncertainty, Penny, our mutual friend, reached out. She had something to show me – “Margaret.”

“She wrote it?” she asked, intrigued.

“Well, she started it,” I clarify. “Inspired by him, she penned the first lines that night after the birthday party. She couldn't shake the image of his longing gaze, a sight she’d never witnessed before. It felt sacred, a raw glimpse into his heart. The initial draft, rough around the edges, went something like this: ‘just writing for a friend. My shirt's inside out, and penmanship is messy. He met her on the rooftop, and she wore white. He said, ‘I think I’m in trouble.’ He saw flashes of the future.” A gentle smile graces your lips. 

“Seriously, that’s adorable.”

I nod, a blush creeping up my cheeks. “Right? Her words sparked inspiration within me. I wrote the rest, my mind consumed by-”

“By him.” she prompted, leaning in.

“He made love feel simple. Loving me was effortless for him, a stark contrast to the struggle I’d always imagined. It was like breathing, a natural and easy rhythm. He helped me discover the light that had been hiding within me all along.”

“There’s a saying,” the interviewer began, “to be loved is to be changed.”

I smiled. “I prefer a different one: to be loved is to be known. Because maybe, just maybe, he saw the affection within me all along, the part I couldn’t quite see myself.”

“You are indeed full of affection,” she said warmly. “Thank you for sharing this story with us.”

“Thank you for listening. I know it's a cliché, but there truly is someone out there for everyone. You never know what tomorrow holds, but deep down, a tiny spark ignites within us, guiding us towards that love. Trust it.”

“That wraps it up for our interview with the lovely Y/n! But before we say goodbye, there's one more message for her. Can we play it, Jonah?” A nod later, the studio fills with the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hey there, love. Just wanted to say congratulations on the album! You poured your heart and soul into it, and I’m incredibly proud. But hey, can you come home soon? Two days feels like an eternity without you. Miss my other half. Love you tons, sweetheart. And everyone listening, stream Ocean Boulevard! Dex says hi to mom, too.” A meow erupts in the background, eliciting a laugh from you and the studio crew.

thoughts? or prayers idk

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Kinktober Day 20 - Facesitting

Pairing: 56!Elvis x reader

Word count: 1.8K

TWs: Age gap (reader is about 15 years older), reader is a soft dom, reader calls herself Mama, facesitting (obv), oral (m receiving) and a little bit of suffocation.

Kinktober masterlist

The front door opens and Elvis blinks in confusion. He’d been expecting to see Sherry standing there, but instead it’s you. It takes a beat for him to realise that you must be Sherry’s mom. You look far too young to be Sherry’s mom, but she told you she didn’t have any siblings, so it’s the only solution. All the same, he doesn’t want to offend you so he doesn’t make any assumptions. 

“Good evening, ma’am.”

You blink at him. “Sorry, who are you?”

He extends a friendly hand. “Elvis, ma’am. Elvis Presley. Come to pick up Sherry for a date.”

“Oh. Hang on.”

You turn around and shout for your daughter up the stairs. She’d told you she had a date but she didn’t tell you who it was with. Or just how handsome he was. 

“Down in a minute!” Sherry yells back. 

You turn back to Elvis. You have to admit, he’s sort of shaken you up a bit. He’s ridiculously attractive and he’s staring at you like he might try to eat you for dessert. 

“You must be Sherry’s sister,” he tries, with his best winning smile. You’ve got a good poker face so he has no idea he doesn’t need to charm you. 

You snort. “I’m sure you know that’s not true. She’s my daughter.” You keep him out on the step because you don’t think you can trust yourself with him indoors. 

Elvis’ smile grows wide. “Surely that ain’t true. You don’t look anywhere near old enough.”

“Oh, you’re a real charmer.” You still don’t smile so he can’t tell if he’s getting anywhere with you. 

“You think so? You wanna go out sometime?”

You feel like your heart actually skips a beat. Then you hear your daughter’s footsteps as she makes her way down the stairs, and see his reaction to her pretty little outfit. He must’ve been joking. 

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, firmly, walking away from the door and turning to Sherry, telling her when to be back by and not to do anything you wouldn’t do. Which isn’t much at this point, but luckily she doesn’t know that. 

Elvis smiles when he sees Sherry. She does look very pretty in that pink dress, and he’s looking forward to the date. But when he walks away from the house with her on his arm, you’re all he can think about. 

***

Elvis and Sherry don’t last long. She tells him she’s not interested after a few dates, and although he’s surprised he’s not that disappointed. His heart wasn’t really in it. Every time he went to pick her up he hoped you would answer the door, and every time you did he tried to charm you again. Having no idea that you were already charmed the minute you laid eyes on him. You keep your cards close to your chest though, barely cracking a smile when he talks. You don’t expect him to come round again, once Sherry tells you they’ve broken up. So the night when she’s at a girlfriend’s house having a sleepover, you’re surprised to hear a knock on the door. You’re not expecting anyone. It’s even more shocking when you open the door to find him standing there. 

“Sherry’s not here.”

He leans against the door frame, looking down at you through hooded eyes. 

“I’m not here for Sherry.”

You’re not entirely sure how you end up in the bedroom, tongues tangled in one another’s mouths, hands all over, and neither is Elvis. He doesn’t care one bit though, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you and having your warm body pressed up against his is better than his wildest dreams.

You feel him press himself against you and moan into his mouth. He pushes you a little and you stagger backwards, falling onto the bed and pulling him on top of you. Rolling his hips against yours, enjoying the friction, he starts to do what he always does with a girl - rubbing until one of you cums. He likes doing it, and it’s safe. He had a bit of a scare with a broken rubber once and he’s been ultra-cautious ever since. It doesn’t occur to him that you might be expecting something else, being that much older. His hard-on feels good, rubbing against your clothed pussy, but you keep wondering when he’s going to move on. Then you realise maybe he isn’t. Maybe he doesn’t know what else to do. Maybe you need to teach him. 

“Elvis?” Your lips against his neck. 

“Mmmm.”

“Have you ever been with a girl?”

His hips abruptly stop their movements and he looks down at you, a blush spreading on his cheeks. 

“Y-yes ma’am.”

You can’t help smiling, bringing both of your hands up to hold his face. Your thumb runs along his lower lip, plush and red and shining a little with a combination of your saliva. 

“Don’t you be calling me that. You’re making me feel old,” you tease. 

He blushes even more. “S-s-s-sorry, honey, ah-I…”

You put your fingers over his lips to stop him talking. “Let me on top.”

He rolls over obediently, pulling you with him. You sit up, settling on his hips and holding his hands in yours. 

“Do you know how to make a woman feel good, baby?” 

He nods eagerly. 

After the dry humping you’re not convinced so you don’t let him try without further questioning. 

“You know how to use your tongue?”

Unbuttoning your blouse and tossing it onto the floor, and then removing your skirt so you’re just in your underwear, his eyes are like saucers. 

“M-my tongue?” He stutters. 

His friends were always talking about going down on girls and he thought it sounded disgusting, who would want to put their mouth there? But you’re on top of him, and you’re nearly naked and you’re so pretty… 

You smile gently. “You want Mama to teach you?”

“But I-I-I-I… girls… girls always say I’m g-good with my hands…” he stammers back. 

“I’m sure you are baby,” you lift one of his hands to your mouth and start to kiss the back of it. “They’re gorgeous, your fingers are so long…” sliding one between your lips and making him gasp. “But I wanna teach you something new.” You bend at the waist, lying down on top of him and pinning his hands above his head, your lips hovering just above his. “Then girls will say you’re good with your hands and your tongue.”

He whimpers as you kiss him, grinding your hips against his erection. 

“You want me to?”

“Y-yes… yes please…”

“Good.”

You remove your underwear and to his surprise shift forwards so that one of your knees is on either side of his head. He suddenly feels nervous. Is that what usually happens? 

“Mama?” He whispers. 

You look down at him and smile. “It’s okay baby. I’m not gonna suffocate you.”

Slowly lowering yourself, you bend your knees until you’re close enough for him to lick you. The smell of you is all around him, and he breathes it in deeply, his hands going to your ass to hold you in place as he cautiously sticks his tongue out. You gently move to rub yourself against it and he gets his first taste of you. It’s exhilarating. He’d expected to hate it, but he immediately tries again, this time moving his tongue instead and he’s bolder, a firm lick right down the centre of your pussy. You moan. 

“Is it good?” He asks, eager again. 

You nod and bend your knees a little more to get a little closer. “So good, baby. I want more.”

His hands grip you and pull you onto his face as he licks again and again, making you grab on to the headboard to keep yourself steady. He starts to use his tongue like he’d usually use his fingers - as far up inside you as he can get - and the noise you make makes him think he’s on the right track. You start to roll your hips to get more contact, bumping his nose with your clit over and over. He moans into your pussy as his dick gets harder and harder, it’s almost painful now. Struggling to breathe as you push against him more, your promise not to suffocate him going completely by the wayside now as you chase your high. His fingers digging into your flesh even further just spurring you on, you throw your head back and moan, riding his face as you feel yourself getting closer and closer. 

“Oh fuck!” 

Grinding down against him somehow even harder you cum on his face, crying out in pleasure. Fuck. He did not need a lot of instruction. 

Elvis gasps for breath when you finally get off him, red and covered in your arousal. You lie down next to him for a while, panting and trying to recover. 

“Can I wash my face?” He asks, quietly. 

You grin and gently kiss his lips. “Sure, honey.”

When he comes back he looks at you almost sheepishly, biting his lip. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Can you…?” He looks down at where his erection is extremely obvious through his pants. 

“Take them off for me.”

He quickly pulls his shirt off and then unbuttons his pants before stopping. “It’s… it’s not like other ones…”

“Show me.”

His obvious need overwhelms his usual nervousness about showing women his uncut dick and he pulls his pants down quickly, looking at you intently. 

“Oh baby, you’re beautiful,” you coo, staring at his big, hard dick, red and shining with precum. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes. C’mere.” Patting the bed next to you. 

He kicks his pants off and moves towards the bed.

“Lie down, baby. I’m sure plenty of girls have done this for you before.”

Once he’s laid down, you slide his dick all the way into your mouth so your nose pushes into his skin at the base. He moans uncontrollably at the feeling. No woman has ever done this for him before. Plenty had told him he was too big to get more than just the tip in. His fingers ball into fists, grasping the bedsheets as you start to bob your head up and down on him. Softly whining, he knows he won’t last long. He got far too excited when you sat on his face. 

“Shit,” he mutters, still not comfortable being that vocal in bed, his orgasm shooting through him as he cums down your throat. 

You let him pump his hips into you a few more times and then lie down next to him and run your fingertips over his bare chest. 

“Mmmm.”

“Was it good?”

He slowly opens his eyes and stares at you. “No-one ever did that for me before, Mama. Felt so good.”

You lean over and kiss him gently. “You enjoy making me feel good too?”

“I loved it.”

“Good. Now you’re good with your hands and your tongue.”

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[kikyoupdates]

Made to Destroy ⭑˚💎⭑ 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑠

bnha x op!reader

op!reader, my hero academia x fem!reader, reverse harem, over powered reader, f!reader

You are the product of a series of twisted experiments, an anomaly that shouldn’t have ever existed in the first place. Thankfully, you are taken into the arms of a hero and given a new purpose in life. But as you soon discover, it isn’t easy to deny your true nature, especially when you were made to destroy.

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When you awaken, Aizawa and Present Mic are still there, just like they promised.  

They must have stayed by your side all night, even though the bed is rather cramped for the three of you. Still, it brings you a great deal of relief to know that they aren’t going to abandon you. They’re here to watch over you, so surely, Dr. Garaki won’t be able to take you prisoner again.  

You really, really hope that’s the case.  

“Good morning,” Aizawa smiles. He gently pats your head. “How are you feeling? A bit better?”  

He’s clearly referring to the nightmare that you had, and you a feel guilty for worrying him. Hopefully he didn’t lose too much sleep because of you.  

“I’m okay,” you affirm. “It was just a bad dream, and I’m awake now, so everything’s going to be fine.”  

“That’s right. Nightmares are scary, but they aren’t real, so they can’t hurt you.” He pats your head one last time, then rolls over and jabs Present Mic in the ribs. “Mic. Wake up. Hurry up and get your lazy butt out of bed.” 

“Wha—huh?!”  

Present Mic comes to with a gasp. His hair is all over the place, and there’s a gritty patch on his chin from where he drooled in his sleep. 

The expression he’s making right now is also rather funny, so you can’t help but laugh.  

“Oh,” Present Mic sighs. He reaches out to you and pats your head, just like Aizawa did a few moments ago. “She’s laughing. That’s good. Sleep well, kiddo? I hope your day’s off to a great start so far.” 

“Your hair looks silly,” you muse.  

“Well, hair like mine requires constant maintenance, you know? I don’t just wake up with it perfectly styled. It’d be nice if that was how it worked, though.”  

“Whether you style it or not, it always looks dumb to me,” Aizawa shrugs.  

“Hey! What the hell, man? Don’t undermine me in front of [Name]! That’s so uncool!”  

Present Mic swats his friend on the arm, and while Aizawa rolls his eyes and recoils, you’re perfectly content to watch the scene unfold with a smile on your lips.  

Yep. You’ve made up your mind. You want to be with these two forever.  

“I’ll go get breakfast started,” Present Mic declares. He steps out of bed, then hoists you up into his arms, much to your bewilderment—and glee. “Do you like pancakes?” he grins. “I make some mean pancakes.”  

You shake your head. “I’ve never had pancakes before. And why would they be mean?”  

“Haha! It’s just an expression, kiddo. Come on, I’ll show you. They’ll turn out super tasty, don’t worry.”  

Present Mic carries you to the kitchen, and meanwhile, Aizawa reaches for his phone. As expected, he’s got several missed calls, all from the police officer he exchanged contact information with the other day. 

He dials the number back, then waits for the line to click. 

“Ah, Aizawa,” the policeman picks up. “Good morning. How did everything go with [Name] last night?”  

“It was good, for the most part. She had a bad dream,” Aizawa says, frowning a bit. “It seems like she must still be pretty shaken up, not that I can blame her. But more importantly, I saw that you called, so did you find any leads?”  

“About that...” He hesitates for a few moments, then lets out a sigh. “Unfortunately, no. It doesn’t sound like anyone’s reported her missing thus far, and we contacted some of the other stations too. There haven’t been any reports of a missing girl with her appearance, and without a family name, we can’t track down any relatives either. We’ve tried asking around, but it doesn’t sound like anyone recognizes who she is.”  

Aizawa chews on his lip. He was afraid something like this might happen. It sounds like there’s one hell of a mystery in play. Perhaps the bad man who hurt you really is your father? But you might simply be too traumatized to make the connection. In that case, it would certainly make sense why no one reported you missing.  

Even so, there are still a lot of things that don’t add up, and Aizawa can only hope that eventually, he’ll get to the bottom of this.  

“Okay,” Aizawa says. “Thanks for filling me in. I don’t mind looking after her for a while longer, if you feel comfortable listing me as her temporary legal guardian.”  

“That should be fine. If [Name] feels safe with you, that’s what’s most important. In the meantime, we’ll do our best to gather as much information as possible. Surely someone will be able to identify her eventually.”  

Aizawa hangs up the call. He can feel a headache coming on. This is a heavy situation, and even though he’s a hero, he has to admit that he wasn’t prepared to take a child in all of a sudden.  

Still. This too, is part of the job. Protecting your adorable little smile is easily one of his most heroic pursuits.  

He steps out of the bedroom and finds you and Present Mic in the kitchen, whipping up fresh pancake batter. Needless to say, you’re making a mess, but there it is again—that precious, impossibly pure smile of yours. It seems like you’re smiling more and more lately, and that alone makes Aizawa feel incredibly fulfilled.  

He walks into the kitchen, only to be immediately splattered with wet pancake mix.  

“Oopsie,” you say. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”  

Present Mic is already roaring with laughter, the bastard. Aizawa makes a mental note to get him back later, but as he looks down at his dirty shirt, then glances towards the thin sheet you’re unfortunately still clothed in, suddenly, he has a thought. 

“[Name],” he says. 

You lift a brow. “Yes?”  

“I think it’s time we go shopping.” 

Aizawa brought you to what is apparently called a ‘shopping mall’, and if you thought the city was packed before, it’s clear that you hadn’t seen anything yet.  

The mall is bustling with people, most of whom are carrying bags, talking to their friends, and the occasional few who push through the crowds with a determined look in their eyes, as if they’re on some kind of mission.  

Long story short, it’s an impressive place, and you can hardly stop yourself from oohing and awing.  

Present Mic frowns. “Didn’t you have anything better to dress her in? I know we’re here to buy her new clothes, but that outfit is hideously tacky.”  

“What’s wrong with it? I just picked a few things out from the children’s clothing donation box.”  

“But why that of all things? It doesn’t do her cuteness justice! It’s like you’ve made a total mockery of her sweet little face!”  

Present Mic seems to take issue with the hand-me-down clothes Aizawa swung by to grab. It goes without saying that you have no sense of style, but you suppose the clothes he picked out are rather bright. Most people don’t seem to be dressed in clothes as bright as yours.  

Still. You trust Aizawa’s judgment, and that isn’t going to change anytime soon.  

“I like these clothes,” you say. “Aizawa picked them out for me.”  

Aizawa’s expression remains stoic, but on the inside, he’s so happy it feels like his heart might burst. Seriously, you’re such a sweet kid. And you’ve clearly got great taste too, if you can appreciate all the graphic cat designs plastered across every article of clothing you’re wearing. They truly are works of art, if Aizawa says so himself.  

“Hopeless,” Present Mic sighs. “You two are both hopeless. Come along. I’ll show you what real fashion looks like.”  

Even though you don’t realize it, it’s a good thing Present Mic came along. Aizawa has a lot of great qualities, but unfortunately, fashion sense isn’t one of them.  

There are so many new things to see here, and you end up slowing your two chaperones down quite a bit, on account of all the times you just abruptly stop and stare. They don’t seem to mind, though. Or rather, they’re remarkably patient with you. But they probably don’t realize that this is more than the simple fascination of a little kid.  

This is the fascination of someone who’s barely been alive for two days.  

“I want that,” you point around happily. “And I want that, too.”  

“[Name], that’s a dog,” Present Mic chuckles.  

“Yes, and I want it!”  

“We’re here to buy clothes, not pets.” Aizawa gently ushers you towards one of the stores. “Here. This looks like a good place to get children’s clothing. I’m sure they’ll have something you like. Maybe you’ll even find something similar to what you’re already wearing.”  

“Over my dead body will I let her get anything else that looks like that,” Present Mic shudders.  

“Seriously, what’s wrong with it?”  

“Man. You need to get your eyes checked.”  

While the two of them bicker, you look around, as incredulous as always. There are so many different clothes here, in all colors, shapes, and sizes. With so many amazing options, how can you possibly be expected to choose? Unless you buy everything, but you get the feeling that Aizawa and Present Mic probably won’t let you do that.  

So, you browse through the items on display, hoping to find something that strikes your fancy. You’re not sure what exactly is considered good, but as long as you like it, that’s all that matters, right?  

You walk around for a while longer, taking the time to properly assess each item. But just as you’re about to reach out and grab something off one of the clothing racks, a voice cuts in. 

“I like your shirt.”  

“Huh?”  

A boy is speaking to you. He has indigo-colored hair that flares up away from his forehead, in wild, unkempt tufts. His eyes are a deep shade of purple, and there’s a laziness to them that kind of reminds of you of Aizawa.  

You glance down at the shirt in question. “This?”  

“Mhm,” he nods. “I like the cats. They look nice.”  

Wow. Someone is complimenting you! Not only that, but it’s a kid who looks to be around your age. You actually don’t know what your age is even supposed to be, but based on his height and build, it seems to be a pretty reasonable assumption.  

“Aizawa picked this shirt out for me,” you proudly declare. Silly Present Mic. Just a few moments ago, he was insulting these clothes, but here you are now, being praised for wearing them.  

“I don’t know who Aizawa is, but if he likes cats, he must be cool.”  

“He’s super cool,” you insist. “Him and Mic are the coolest!”  

Wait. What's the right etiquette for something like this? You should probably tell him your name, shouldn’t you? That’s how people introduce each other.  

“I’m [Name],” you say. You pause to furrow your brows. He complimented you, so it’d probably be nice to compliment him back. “And, um... I like your hair! It looks fun. Kind of like Mic’s. Do you have to style yours too, or are you lucky enough to wake up with it all perfect?”  

The boy pats his head in disbelief. “Uh... I think I just wake up with it like this.”  

“Wow, awesome! I’m sure Mic would be super jealous.”  

“If you say so. And I’m Shinsou,” he adds. “Shinsou Hitoshi.”  

What a nice name. He has a first and last name, just like Aizawa and Present Mic do. All people have multiple names, it seems. You wonder when you’ll be able to get a second name too. Maybe Aizawa will find you one eventually.  

Just as you’re about to ask Shinsou more questions, someone approaches you from behind.  

“There you are!” Present Mic grins, tickling your sides. You giggle at the sudden assault, and Present Mic tilts his head when he notices the little boy in front of you. “What’s this? We left you alone for hardly two minutes, and you’ve already made a friend, huh? Impressive!”  

Everyone keeps showering you with compliments today, and you’re starting to realize that you really like it.  

“This is Shinsou,” you introduce. “Shinsou, this is Mic. See? He has cool hair, just like you. Mic, Shinsou said he really likes the shirt Aizawa picked out for me.”  

“Did he now...?”  

Present Mic offers the boy a pitying look, although you’re not sure why.  

“I found some clothes for [Name] to try on—ah.” 

Aizawa joins the group as well, carrying a big pile of clothes that he can barely wrap his arms around. You don’t have the chance to get a very good look at them, but you spot some very vibrant colors in the mix.  

“She made a friend,” Present Mic beams. “Look at her being a little social butterfly. Gosh, she makes me so proud.”  

Before Aizawa can reply, he feels you tugging on his sleeve.  

“Aizawa,” you say. “I think Shinsou kind of looks like you.”  

Shinsou must be the boy with the messy indigo hair. Aizawa decides to humor you and take a good look at him, but honestly, he fails to spot any resemblance.  

“I don’t really see it,” he shrugs.  

“No, she’s right,” Present Mic blinks. “The two of you are practically father and son! Honestly, it’s kind of uncanny. Kind of like I’m seeing double.”  

Aizawa and Shinsou exchange dubious looks, and it’s clear that neither of them believes they look like the other.  

“You’re imagining it,” they both utter in unison. 

Present Mic squeals. "Ah, so creepy! It’s Aizawa and Aizawa Jr.!”  

You start giggling, very much amused. Ever since you met these two, you just can’t seem to stop having fun. If this is what life is like, then truly, you can’t wait to experience more of it.  

“Hitoshi,” someone suddenly calls out, and you watch as a woman walks up to the boy. “I’ve already paid, so it’s time to go.” She stops when she realizes her son has a little group gathered around him. “Oh. What’s happening here?”  

“[Name] was introducing me to her weird dads,” he explains.  

“Ah. I see.”  

“We aren’t her dads,” Aizawa hurriedly cuts in. “Him and I are most definitely not romantically involved.” 

“And would that be so bad?” Present Mic pretends to sob. 

“Yes. Unbelievably so.” 

Shinsou’s mom chuckles. "Alright, well, thank you for keeping him company. Say goodbye to the nice girl and her dads.”  

“Like I said, we aren’t like that!”  

Unfortunately, Shinsou waves goodbye, grabs his mother by the hand, and walks off before Aizawa has the chance to defend himself any further.  

“My friend left,” you say, head drooping. “I didn’t even get to ask him if he liked burgers or not.”  

“The two of you might meet again some other time,” Present Mic suggests. “You never know what life has in store.”  

What he’s saying will inevitably come true, but of course, you don’t know it yet.  

Now that Shinsou is gone, Present Mic finally redirects his attention to the big pile of clothes Aizawa is holding onto, and immediately, he grimaces.  

“Aizawa,” he warns, “you’d better get your hands off those ugly-ass clothes.”  

“What’s wrong with them?” Aizawa asks for the millionth time, but instead of responding, Present Mic merely shakes his head and turns away in disgust.  

Aizawa sighs.  

Nobody appreciates his sense of style.

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[hrizantemy]

It truly is baffling how so many people can acknowledge Elain’s unhappiness in the Night Court—how she feels out of place and trapped—but then turn around and refuse to extend that same logic to Nesta, whose dissatisfaction is arguably even more glaring. It’s not hating on Elain to point out the double standard here. Both sisters are fundamentally unsuited to the Night Court’s values, yet only Elain gets the empathy and recognition for it.

Nesta’s dreams and desires have always been clear. She’s never been about the Night Court’s ideals of camaraderie or belonging. Nesta wanted freedom—freedom to explore, to travel, to chase her ambitions on her own terms. She outright said she wanted to see the world. She wanted more than Velaris, more than Illyria, more than playing house with Feyre and Rhysand in their self-contained little kingdom. Yet, instead of honoring that aspect of her character, she’s stuck. Why? Because of other people. Feyre and Cassian are the anchors chaining her to the Night Court, a place that has never been her home, a place that stripped her autonomy and belittled her at every turn.

What’s even worse is how this is framed as a “happy ending” for her. She’s supposedly “healed” because she found Cassian and reconciled with Feyre, but what about her dreams? What about her desires? Nesta Archeron deserved to be out there exploring new lands, learning new cultures, reclaiming her sense of self. Instead, she’s in a place where she has to constantly suppress the parts of her that don’t fit the Inner Circle’s mold, pretending that being tied to Cassian is enough to fulfill her when, let’s be real, it’s not.

The narrative doesn’t just ignore her longing for freedom—it actively erases it by shackling her happiness to Cassian and Feyre. It’s like her whole arc was boiled down to “you don’t need to travel or chase your dreams; you just need to learn how to belong in Velaris.” It’s suffocating to think about, especially when you compare how freely Elain’s discontent is acknowledged. Everyone is so quick to sympathize with Elain’s alienation because it’s “obvious” she doesn’t belong in the Night Court—but Nesta, who has outright said she doesn’t want to be there, is expected to grin and bear it.

It’s not hate; it’s just infuriatingly obvious that Nesta is not thriving in the Night Court. She’s surviving. She’s coping. She’s settling because of the people she loves, but it’s at the expense of the person she could have been. And the fact that so few people see it—or, worse, choose to ignore it—is my own thirteenth reason.

It’s absolutely enraging how at the end of Nesta’s healing book, she still has to earn love—whether it’s from Cassian, Feyre, or the Inner Circle—and we’re supposed to buy into the idea that this is a “happy ending.” How is it healing if she has to prove herself worthy of the people who should have loved her unconditionally? How is it growth if she’s still bending over backward to fit their expectations, rather than being allowed to exist as she is?

Take Cassian, for example. Their relationship is framed as some great love story, but the dynamic is painfully uneven. Nesta spends the entire book being berated, degraded, and humiliated—often by Cassian himself—and yet she’s the one who has to grovel for his love. She’s the one who has to change. At the end, it’s made clear that he hasn’t fully forgiven her, even though his own actions—his cruel words, his dismissal of her trauma—are never addressed. She saves his life, literally redefines herself through sacrifice, and still, it feels like she’s being tested, like his love is conditional on her “proving” she’s no longer the woman he once judged. How is that love? How is that a happy ending?

And Feyre? Nesta’s entire arc is twisted into some redemption for the harm she did to Feyre, but where’s Feyre’s acknowledgment of her own mistakes? Where’s her apology for the years she ignored Nesta, for the way she dismissed her struggles, for throwing her into a situation where she was humiliated and isolated? Feyre’s love is only extended when Nesta conforms to her expectations—when she becomes the sister Feyre wanted all along, not the person she was. Nesta has to save Feyre’s life, give up her power, and completely transform herself to be accepted. That’s not a resolution; it’s a transaction.

And let’s not even start on their father. He shows up, what, once to sacrifice himself, and suddenly we’re supposed to believe everything is forgiven? This man neglected Nesta her entire life. He let her carry the weight of their family’s survival, let her bitterness fester, let her fight battles he didn’t have the strength to face. But in the end, it’s Nesta who’s forced to let go of her anger, to remember him fondly, to forgive. Where’s the justice for her? Where’s the acknowledgment that his failings shaped so much of her pain? Instead, the narrative tells us that she has to be the bigger person, because heaven forbid anyone else take accountability.

Then there’s the Inner Circle. They despise Nesta throughout the book, openly mock her, and isolate her at every turn. And yet, by the end, it’s presented as some triumph that she’s finally “earned” their acceptance. Why does Nesta have to “earn” love and respect from people who treated her like an enemy? Why is she expected to grovel while none of them reflect on their own cruelty? The book frames this as her becoming part of their “family,” but it reads more like Nesta finally learning to make herself small enough to fit into their perfect little world.

This isn’t a happy ending. This is a tragedy of a woman forced to give up pieces of herself to gain conditional love. Nesta’s “healing” is nothing more than her being stripped of her autonomy, her rage, and her dreams, all so she can be more palatable to the people around her. And the fact that we’re supposed to cheer for that—supposed to believe that’s what she deserved—is not only insulting, it’s heartbreakingly obvious.

It is absolutely maddening how, after A Court of Silver Flames gives us Nesta’s so-called “happy ending,” the next book has her saving an entire world—a literal act of heroism—and yet she’s met with threats of execution. Meanwhile, Rhysand and Feyre have put the entirety of Prythian in jeopardy time and time again, yet their actions are met with excuses, understanding, and blind adoration. How is that even remotely fair?

Nesta sacrifices everything—her power, her autonomy, her very soul—to protect the people she loves and even those who have wronged her. Her act of saving the world should have cemented her as a hero, someone worthy of respect and admiration. But instead of gratitude or acknowledgment, she’s threatened? The hypocrisy is glaring. When Feyre and Rhysand risk the entire realm with their schemes, their gambles, and their alliances, they’re treated like untouchable saints. But when Nesta acts selflessly, it’s somehow twisted into something punishable.

Let’s not forget, Feyre and Rhysand—put everyone at risk. With the constant machinations, secret deals, and habit of withholding critical information have endangered not just their own court but the entire continent. Yet, no one ever brings up the consequences of their actions. They’re not threatened with execution; they’re celebrated as cunning, brave, and self-sacrificing.

But Nesta? Nesta, who saved an entire world at immense personal cost, is immediately vilified. It’s not even subtle. She’s never allowed the benefit of the doubt, never given the same understanding Feyre and Rhysand get on a silver platter. It’s as if the narrative can’t stand for her to succeed without reminding her—and the audience—that her love and sacrifice are still conditional. It’s a deliberate attempt to undermine her triumph, to ensure that no matter how much she gives, she’s never allowed to rise above the labels they’ve slapped on her.

What’s worse is that the Inner Circle’s hypocrisy in this moment is staggering. These are the same people who rallied behind Feyre and Rhysand through every bad decision and questionable gamble, but when Nesta makes the ultimate sacrifice, they threaten her life? It’s as if their love and loyalty only extend to those who fit their narrow idea of family, and Nesta—no matter what she does—will never truly be one of them. She can save worlds, bring people back from the brink of death, and give up everything she has, but it will never be enough.

This isn’t just unfair—it’s infuriating. The blatant favoritism Feyre and Rhysand receive compared to Nesta is a reminder that the Night Court’s supposed ideals of fairness and family are nothing but a facade. Nesta’s journey should have ended with her being celebrated for the hero she is, not treated as a disposable threat. But the narrative refuses to let her win, and that’s the real tragedy.

What’s even more infuriating is how people are begging for Elain to go off on the Night Court and the Inner Circle, yet when Nesta does the exact same thing, she’s vilified for it. The double standard is honestly exhausting. Everyone romanticizes the idea of Elain standing up for herself, calling out the hypocrisy of the Inner Circle, and rejecting the expectations they’ve placed on her—but when Nesta dares to push back, she’s labeled as bitter, cruel, or ungrateful. Why is it empowering for Elain to fight back, but when Nesta does it, it’s a problem?

Nesta has always been the one to challenge the Inner Circle’s hypocrisy. She’s called out their sanctimonious behavior, refused to play by their rules, and made it clear that she doesn’t owe them anything. And instead of being seen as someone standing up for herself, she’s treated as a villain for it. She’s punished for not falling in line, for not worshipping at the altar of Feyre and Rhysand, for refusing to be molded into their perfect little family. Meanwhile, Elain, who has spent the entire series quietly enduring, is suddenly being lauded as a feminist icon for maybe, possibly, calling out the same things Nesta’s been railing against for years.

The worst part is that the people who love the idea of Elain confronting the Night Court are the same ones who tore Nesta down for her anger and defiance. When Nesta lashes out, it’s framed as her being toxic or cruel, but when Elain hypothetically does it, it’s framed as a moment of empowerment. Why is Elain allowed to have righteous anger, but Nesta isn’t? Why is Elain’s potential rebellion seen as a triumph, while Nesta’s defiance is seen as a flaw?

Nesta’s anger has always been justified. She has every right to be furious with the Inner Circle for how they’ve treated her—for their judgment, their cruelty, their complete lack of understanding. But instead of being validated, she’s told to “get over it” and “be grateful” for their so-called help. Elain, on the other hand, is handed endless sympathy, and her potential anger is preemptively celebrated. It’s yet another way the narrative, and the fandom, refuses to give Nesta the same grace they so readily extend to others.

The truth is, people only like rebellion when it’s palatable. Elain’s quiet, subtle defiance fits the narrative they want to see: a meek girl finally finding her voice. But Nesta’s anger has always been too loud, too raw, too real for people to handle. She’s messy and unapologetic, and instead of celebrating her for it, they tear her down. It’s a double standard that perfectly encapsulates why Nesta’s story feels so unfinished—because no matter what she does, she’ll never be allowed the freedom and empowerment that everyone is so eager to grant Elain.