#but I was just feeling normal again and now

[strnilolover]

dealer!chris takes care of soft!reader after she accidentally takes an edible

warnings : edible. weed. reader is high for the first time. little bit of a freak out. and more?

“chris,” you murmured, your voice shaky as your body leaned up against the wooden frame of his bedroom door. your wide eyes darted around the room, not quite focusing on anything. “i don’t feel right.”

he was on his feet instantly, crossing the room to you. “what do you mean? what happened?”

your bottom lip quivered as you clutched the edge of the doorframe for balance. “i… i ate something. from the kitchen.” you paused, trying to collect your thoughts, though your words came out slow and slurred. “it was a brownie… in a bag… and now i feel weird.”

chris froze. he didn’t need to ask which brownie you meant. he’d left them on the counter for a friend to pick up later—edibles that were definitely not meant for you. his stomach dropped.

“angel,” he said cautiously, running a hand through his hair. “that wasn’t a normal brownie.” your brows furrowed in confusion. “what do you mean? it tasted normal.”

“it had weed in it,” he explained, his tone gentle. “a lot of weed. those are for people who’ve, y’know, built up a tolerance. not for someone who’s never smoked in their life.”

you blinked at him, the information processing in slow motion. then, your hands flew to your face. “oh my god. am i gonna die?”

chris bit back a laugh, his worry softening into affection. “no, babe. you’re not gonna die. you’re just really, really high right now.”

your shoulders sagged in relief, but only for a moment before panic set in again. “i don’t like it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i feel like my body’s not mine, and my thoughts won’t stop racing.”

his heart ached at the fear in your eyes. “okay, come here,” he said softly, guiding you to the bed. “sit down. i’ve got you.”

you leaned away from the door fran, your feet dragging against the floor as you made your way to the bed. you sat obediently, but your hands fidgeted in your lap. “chris, everything feels… big. like my hands, my feet, my head.”

he crouched in front of you, his hands gently covering yours to still them. “hey, look at me,” he said, his voice steady. “you’re okay. i promise. you’re just feeling things more intensely right now, but it’s all in your head. i’m here, and i won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded, clinging to his words. “promise?”

“i promise,” he said, brushing a stray tear off your cheek. “i’m gonna help you through this, alright?” you nodded again, leaning into his touch. “okay.”

“good. now, first things first—water.” he stood, turning and walking out of his door—disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water, a cold washcloth.

“drink this,” he said, handing you the water. “and take small sips, okay? don’t chug it.” you followed his instructions, the cool water soothing your dry throat. chris sat beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders, grounding you with his presence.

bringing the glass away from your lips, you hand it to chris. he takes it gently, setting it on his bedside table before returning his attention to you.

you managed a weak laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “i don’t get how people like this. my brain won’t shut up. i keep thinking about… about how time feels stretchy. Is that normal?” you ask, your words coming out slowly.

“yeah, that’s normal,” he said reassuringly. “it’s just the weed messing with your perception. it’ll pass. you’re safe.” you let out a shaky breath, sinking further into his side. “you’re really good at this,” you mumbled.

chris smiled, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back. “i’ve been around enough people to know what to do. next time, ask me before you eat random stuff, yeah?” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “this is so embarrassing.”

he laughed, pulling your hands away to press a kiss to your forehead. “nah. it’s kinda cute, honestly. no need to be embarrassed baby.” his hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “now lay down. rest a bit. i’ll be right here if you need me.”

you did as he said, turning out of his hold to crawl up in the bed—chris following as you curled up on his bed. his body slotted next to yours, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. the water started to help, and his steady presence calmed the storm in your mind.

“chris?” you murmured after a while, your voice drowsy. he looked down at you, tugging you closer. “yeah?”

“thanks for taking care of me,” you said softly, your eyes fluttering closed as your body shifted—laying on your side as your own arms wrapped around his middle. your face snuggling into his chest.

he smiled, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “always, baby. always.”

[calypso-rt]

When Rafe Realizes...

He’s Falling for You

-> Rafe x F!Reader

The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting golden light over the backyard as Rafe leaned back in his chair, the legs precariously balanced on the uneven patio bricks.

You were sitting beside him, scrolling on your phone, the occasional sound of your laughter breaking through the hum of cicadas.

He wasn’t sure when it started, but lately, he found himself watching you more than he should...at least more than someone who was supposedly "just friends" should.

He told himself it was harmless. You were easy to look at, after all, with your beautiful hair catching the light and your lips quirking into tiny smirks when you read something funny.

"Rafe," you said, your voice cutting through his daydream. You barely look up, your attention still on your screen. "Your hair is doing that weird thing again."

"My hair doesn’t do a weird thing," he shot back defensively, running a hand through it out of instinct.

You snorted, finally glancing up at him. "It absolutely does. Hold still."

Before he could protest, you leaned in, your fingers brushing against his forehead as you flattened a rogue piece that had sprung up, defying gravity. The touch was brief, just the lightest pressure of your hand smoothing over his hair, but Rafe felt his entire body tense like he’d just been electrocuted.

"There," you said, sitting back with a satisfied nod. "Now you look less like a mad scientist."

"I didn’t look like a mad scientist," he muttered, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck.

"You kinda did," you teased, your focus already back on your phone.

Rafe leaned back again, a smug retort dying on his tongue as he felt the ghost of your touch still lingering. It wasn’t like you’d done anything grand. Just fixed his hair.

People did that kind of stuff all the time, right?

Except… no one else did it to him. And certainly not like that. There was something so natural about the way you’d reached over, like it was second nature, like it was the most normal thing in the world for you to touch him.

And now he was stuck, hyperaware of how the air still smelled faintly of your sunscreen from when you’d leaned in.

How the air between you had felt charged, even though you’d gone back to scrolling like it was nothing.

He shifted in his seat, trying to push the thought away, but it clung stubbornly to the edges of his mind. How could something so insignificant make him feel like the air had been knocked out of his lungs?

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you laugh softly at something on your phone, oblivious to his internal crisis. He swallowed hard, his chair tipping back a little further as he tried to refocus.

How does something so insignificant feel so important?

"Careful," you warned without looking up. "Fall off that chair and I’m not driving you to the ER."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

You had no idea, did you?

No idea that one absent-minded touch had just tipped his entire world off balance.

"Thanks for your concern," he said dryly, finally steadying himself.

You gave him a fleeting smile, one he tried to memorize. Because somewhere in the chaos of his overthinking, Rafe Cameron was beginning to realize something terrifying and wonderful all at once.

He was falling for you, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Rafe leaned against the counter of the grocery store, pretending to scroll on his phone while you wandered the aisles. He hadn’t even wanted to stop here, but you’d insisted on grabbing snacks before heading to the beach.

"What’s the big deal? It’s just food," he’d grumbled earlier, but you’d only rolled your eyes and dragged him along anyway.

Now he was waiting impatiently, glancing at his watch every few seconds. “You done yet?” he called out.

“Almost!” you yelled back. “I’m looking for something specific.”

He sighed dramatically. “We’re going to miss the sunset at this rate.”

When you finally rounded the corner, a triumphant grin on your face, you were holding a bag of… lemon pepper sunflower seeds?

“What’s that for?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You blinked at him, clearly unimpressed. “For you, obviously.”

Rafe stared at the bag, then back at you. “What?”

“You told me a few weeks ago you used to eat these all the time when you were a kid. Remember? You said your dad used to bring them home after his fishing trips.”

For a moment, he was silent, caught completely off guard.

He had mentioned that, hadn’t he?

Some random memory he’d thrown out one evening, barely thinking about it. It wasn’t even important. Just some passing detail about his childhood.

But here you were, holding a bag of sunflower seeds like it was the most normal thing in the world to remember something so small.

“I didn’t think you’d…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

“Didn’t think I’d what? Listen to you?” you teased, tossing the bag into the basket.

“Well… yeah,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I always listen, Rafe. You just don’t talk enough for me to prove it.”

There was a lightness to your tone, but the words hit him harder than he expected. You listened to him. Actually listened. To the stuff no one else cared about, the random memories he’d barely even registered himself.

“Sheesh,” you said, breaking him out of his thoughts. “If I’d known this would blow your mind, I would’ve grabbed these for you weeks ago.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was smiling now, following you toward the register.

As you paid, chatting casually with the cashier, Rafe kept glancing at the bag of sunflower seeds in your basket. Something so simple, but it made him feel… seen. Like you actually cared about the parts of him that most people ignored.

Walking out of the store, he finally nudged your shoulder. “Thanks. For, uh, remembering that.”

“Of course,” you said, flashing him a grin. “Just don’t eat them all at once. I’m not buying more if you get another craving later.”

He laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he fell into step beside you. Inside, though, his chest felt warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

She actually listens to me, he thought, stealing a glance at you as you debated what playlist to put on in the car. How is she so thoughtful?

And just like that, another piece of the puzzle slid into place. He was falling for you, headfirst and helplessly, and he wasn’t even mad about it.

The rain was relentless, pounding against the pavement like a drumline gone rogue. Your car sat lifeless on the shoulder of a backroad, hazards blinking uselessly in the downpour.

You’d tried everything.

Turning the key again and again, Googling quick fixes, even giving the steering wheel a good, frustrated whack.

Nothing worked.

Which is how you ended up sitting in the driver's seat, soaked from your earlier attempt to check under the hood, dialing a number you swore you wouldn’t use unless it was an absolute emergency.

“Rafe?” you said when he picked up, voice sheepish.

He immediately picked up on the edge in your tone. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“It’s probably nothing,” you rushed to say, cringing at how pathetic you sounded. “My car broke down, and it’s pouring, and I’m kind of stuck on the side of the road. I just… I didn’t know who else to call or...or what to do...”

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the rain hammering against your windshield and the faint noise of his car’s radio in the background.

“Where are you?” he said, tone clipped and serious.

You gave him the location, muttering something about how you didn’t want to bother him if he was busy, but he cut you off.

“Stay put. Lock your doors. I’ll be there in ten.”

True to his word, Rafe’s truck pulled up exactly ten minutes later, tires skidding slightly as he parked in front of your car. You barely had time to roll down your window before he was at your door, an umbrella in one hand and an intense look in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning down to peer inside.

“Yeah, just a little damp,” you joked, gesturing to your soggy clothes.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he opened your door and handed you the umbrella before crouching to look under your hood himself.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” you said, feeling a little guilty as you watched him fiddle with something. “I could’ve called a tow truck.”

“Yeah, and waited an hour for them to show up while sitting out here alone?” he shot back, not even looking up. “Not a chance.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sharpness in his tone.

“Rafe, I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine,” he interrupted, standing up straight and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Your car’s dead, you’re soaking wet, and it’s pitch black out here. What if someone stopped by who wasn’t me, huh?”

The thought made your stomach flip, but you tried to shake it off. “I had my doors locked.”

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

You stared at him, taken aback by his uncharacteristic panic. “Why are you so worked up?”

“Because I care about you!” he snapped before freezing, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You… care about me?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I care, okay? I don’t like the thought of you being stuck out here alone in the middle of nowhere. It freaks me out.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The Rafe you knew was cocky and confident, never flustered or vulnerable like this. Seeing him so visibly shaken made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Well,” you said softly, “thanks for coming to my rescue.”

He finally looked at you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. “Always.”

You smiled, holding the umbrella a little higher to shield him from the rain. “Guess you’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the faint grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t let that get around.”

As he helped you into his truck, soaking wet and dripping water all over his leather seats, he couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

You shivered, hugging your arms to your chest in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

Rafe’s eyes softened for a split second before he quickly reached for the spare jacket in the back seat, tossing it to you. “Here,” he muttered. “Put this on before you freeze to death.”

You gave him a grateful, but shaky, smile, slipping the jacket on. “Thanks, Rafe.”

He didn’t respond, but you caught the way he kept his eyes on you, making sure you were okay. The warmth of his jacket, the concern in his eyes, it was enough to make the cold rain outside feel like nothing.

She called me. Out of everyone, she called me.

And that’s when it hit him, hard and fast like a tidal wave. He wasn’t just smitten. He was utterly and completely gone for you.

Rafe sat back in his chair, his gaze lazily sweeping over the busy café. He had his usual coffee in front of him: black, no sugar, no cream.

Just the way he liked it.

It was a Saturday morning, and the place was a bit quieter than usual, with only a handful of people scattered at tables around him. His fingers tapped the rim of his cup as his mind wandered.

He was halfway through a text to a friend when he noticed something that made him stop mid-typing.

You had slid to sit across from him, sipping on your own cup of coffee. When you lowered it, you caught his eye and gave a small smile.

"Coffee’s perfect today," you commented, stirring it absentmindedly.

Rafe blinked, then stared at your cup for a second. It was identical to his: black, no sugar, no cream.

"You—" he started, his voice trailing off in confusion. You hadn’t ordered the same thing, had you? No, you always chose the caramel latte, but you had started transitioning to more bitter coffee...

His eyebrows furrowed, watching you take another sip.

"What?" you asked, noticing his stare.

"Why’d you..." Rafe caught himself. "Never mind."

He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. You’d been unconsciously drinking your coffee just the way he did. Had you even noticed?

His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back, his gaze not leaving you. You’d also been humming that same song he had been listening to on repeat all week. An old track by some band he'd introduced you to, one that had been stuck in his head for days.

When you softly hummed the chorus as you fidgeted with your phone, he couldn’t help but grin.

"You always hum that?" he asked casually, raising an eyebrow.

You stopped and blinked, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I didn’t realize it was the same one we were playing the other day, though."

He sat forward slightly, his eyes searching your face for a moment, trying to figure out if you were joking, but there was something in the way you said it that made it clear: you weren’t aware of the little things.

How, over the past few weeks, your habits had begun to align with his.

And in that moment, Rafe felt a quiet thrill spread through him. You were becoming his person without even trying. Without even realizing it.

He leaned back, smiling to himself, then took a sip of his coffee. “Guess we’ve got the same taste,” he said with a half smirk, watching you carefully for your reaction.

You looked at him and shrugged again, clearly clueless about what had just happened.

"Guess so," you said, a playful glint in your eyes.

Rafe’s heart gave a small, almost imperceptible flutter.

You weren’t his yet. Not officially, at least. But in this small, unspoken moment, he was already beginning to feel like you were.

You had spent hours upon hours, which felt like minutes, talking, joking around, and watching ridiculous movies with stupid plots, chowing down on various snacks.

The door had clicked shut behind you with the usual soft thud, and now that you were gone, he couldn’t help but feel that sharp pang of longing in his chest. It was like someone had tugged at something deep inside him, pulling a part of himself along with you as you left.

Rafe’s lips pressed together, and his gaze drifted to the spot on the couch where you had just been sitting.

When did she start taking up so much space in my life?

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake the thought. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how true it was. Every time you were around, everything felt just a little more... right.

Even the way the silence between the two of you felt more like a conversation than an awkward pause.

With a groan, he grabbed his phone, half-wishing he could text you to come back, but he knew that was ridiculous. You’d left, and it was just the way things were.

Still, as he sat there in the quiet, he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten so used to your presence in his life.

And how much he already missed it.

[hanasnx]

“ PROMISE, BABY, I’LL TAKE YOU TO HEAVEN IF YOU WANT IT ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: writing a scene that was in my dream last night. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ dry humping ノ how clark gets you to forgive him ノ hair pulling (m receiving) ノ dry fuck mention ノ exhibitionism/voyeurism: caught during.

getting annoyed with CLARK KENT for not spending enough time with you so you act out. it takes him a second to realize you’re mad at him so he hears you out, and then gets cheeky. puts on that kent charm, wears that famous smile, impishly draws you in into his arms. he embraces you, tucks your head under his chin. you’re so desperate for his attention you’re entranced for a moment, melting into him. you close your eyes, you feel his muscle underneath his clothes, you feel small next to his big body, he smells so good—and then you get wise. “hey.” you exclaim indignantly, pushing off him. he wears an expression that looks like he knows what he was doing manipulating you. “you can’t just act like we’re back to normal.”

“i know, i know, i’m sorry.” he replies in a drilling tone of voice. he doesn’t mean it. yet he’s pulling you in again, snaking those arms around your waist while you arch away from him. he stoops, stretching a grin onto his face as he’s now eye-level with you.

“you’re not sorry at all.” your gaze narrows as you accuse him, backing up and taking him with you. both of your feet shuffle together hazardously. he trips you, and you fall backwards onto his bed, he lands on top of you, pinning you with his weight. seizing the opportunity, his mouth latches onto your neck, toying with you while he’s sucking on your pulse point. you can’t stay mad at him and giggle at the same time, getting ticklish and trying to fend off your boyfriend while he’s overpowering you.

his hands get frisky, his hips starts to grind, his sharp canines scrape against your neck while the fight in you is dwindling. “clark—!” you keen in a scold, but it sounds more like a breathy moan, and the heel of your hand bangs against his broad shoulder. his wet lips slide along the column of your neck as he mouths it, and you claw into his sweater, lashes fluttering as pleasant tingles send a shiver down your spine. before you know it, you’ve begun to pull him closer, a hard outline becoming decipherable in his pants, rutting against the inside of your thigh. that wide body of his curls around you, blanketing you as you spread your legs so his hips can slot in more comfortably. both of his large hands slide between the mattress and you, cupping your ass to draw you into him.

that hard rod finds its place in the shallow divot of your slit, and he rubs his shaft against you with every surge. the head of him bumps your clit, and when he can gracefully grind up, the underside of his cock slides against your little bud in one steady motion. the sounds that spill out of you change, evolving into a longing plea as he asks for forgiveness through his body. a wet spot blooms in the crotch of your panties, yearning for a relief that’s not confined by his jeans. his fingers dig in, kneading the globes of your backside in his excitement. he’s set a slow and deliberate pace, but you can feel the need within him pulsing through his every movement. his cock twitches, and you’re so close you can tell it knows where it wants to go, seeking you out like the nose of a bloodhound.

his tip catches on the give of your hole, interrupting the streamlined grind, making his hips jerk back so as to protect himself. he whimpers into your neck, a pitiful little sound that conveys just how much he wanted to plow through fabric and dry fuck you. if he’d just pushed a little harder, he could’ve been that much closer to feeling your silken walls. your hand flies to the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling in the raven locks to squeeze. you can feel his grin stretch against your skin, his pearly white teeth and his moistened lips and his handsome dimples. just imagining his smile makes you weak in the knees, falling limp under him.

“you like me again?” he questions, nuzzling his face into the crook of your shoulder.

“oh, go to hell.” you shoot back, but it lacks conviction, breathy from his ministrations. for just one single second, you feel proud. here’s this hot, big, romantic oaf of a farm boy, obsessed with making you feel good, with a smile that could kill, who saves people… and he’s on top of you. you’ve known plenty of girls that would maim for this kind of opportunity, for clark kent superman or not to be at their beck and call. yet he’s here for you, wantonly pleading for you to just let him in. you have something no one else does.

“oh, my god! i’m so sorry—uh, i’ll come back later—“ the humiliated voice of chloe snaps you out of your stupor, both you and clark fixing yourselves up to see the blonde head of hair retreat out of his doorway, humiliated. it was no question what you two were doing, bodies tangled together like this, and you and him exchange a brief eye conversation after you realize what your friend just caught you doing.

[umbrella-show]

⋆.˚🃏 𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒕 ⋆✮⋆˙

“Y/N, pookie, cutie patootie, I’m baaack!~

The first of multiple drafts about Shadow Milk cookie. (If I can finish the rest 🥲)

You grunted lowly as you forced yourself out of the comfort of your bed at the sound of loud knocking at your door. You silently listened to fin out if the insistent banging on your door was just your imagination. You grumpily groaned when you realized the knocking was, in fact, real. Standing from your bed you wearily stumbled towards the door. 

“Coming…” You yawned, hoping that the knocking would stop now that the cookie on the other side of your door knew you were awake. The knocking, however, became more persistent. You repeated that you were on your way, irritably stomping and quickening your pace. When you got to the door, you firmly gripped the doorknob and threw the door open in frustration. You expected the door to hit whoever was insistantly knocking, but you were only met with the cold breeze of the night and the stars.

Glancing around, you found no one. You huffed, chalked it up to an annoying prank, and were about to go back to bed. However, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted something on your door. A poster, fluttering gently in the breeze with an envelope taped to it. Your mind blanked as you stared at it in confusion. What kind of prank was this?

You stiffened when you recognized the Beast cookie, Shadow Milk cookie, was the one on the poster. ‘Invitation to Deceit’ was written on it, and a deep blue envelope hung beside it. You took a moment to look around again, completely awake now. Everything was normal. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You gently took the poster off your door, ripping the envelope off of it and cautiously went back inside of your house.

The envelope was a dark blue with writing in a black pen on the bottom right corner. Your name was spelt in cursive with small doodles of stars next to it. Shakily opening the envelope revealed a small ticket inside. The ticket had the same design as the poster, Shadow Milk cookie’s close up face grinning directly at you. On the back was some more writing.

‘See you soon, (Y/N) cookie,

Your favorite jester happily awaits your arrival~”

- From, you know who ;)

A terrible feeling of dread pooled in your stomach. You stared down at the note, rereading it over and over again. He’s back, you thought, your dough shaking at the realization. You needed to show this to Pure Vanilla cookie immediately. 

Shoving the ticket back in the envelope you rushed to leave your house. You threw a thick coat over your shoulder and ran out into the night, clutching the envelope in your hand tightly.

It was so funny, watching you run and hide to that pathetic Soul Jam thief. Silly-Vanilly can’t do anything to save you, for he is on his way to become the one and only~ It’s only a matter of time, Y/N cookie. I’ll relish at the sight of you drowning in deceit. I’ll see ya, sooner than you think, silly goose~

[imaginespazzi]

Part 14: The End And The Beginning

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me that I wanna keep (please don't leave)

(In which an infrequently-updating writer finally didn't take a month to update)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff and I guess a little bit of Hurt/Comfort

Words: 9.2K

TW: Swearing (and I believe that's it)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 It's a little past 2 AM but y'all wanted a chapter at an ungodly hour so here it is. It's insane to think that there will only be one more chapter of this fic. In all honestly I did have ways to drag it out for a little longer but ultimately, this felt like the right path to take. I feel like some of this chapter is a little OOC (though my lovely friends have said maybe I'm just being paranoid) but whelp it was for the plot so! Like I said, ungodly hour chapters means barely any editing for now but I will go over and fix things later. In the meantime if y'all wanna point things out in terms of grammar and typos, please feel free. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see as this story comes to an end. Have a lovely rest of your day (night?) my loves <3

June 2033 

Azzi thinks she might have every detail of her rather uninteresting bedroom ceiling memorized by now. After all -for almost 3 weeks now-  instead of sleeping, all she’s done is stared up at it, her mind wandering off to a thousand places, all plagued with the same face. Azzi hadn’t thought it was possible for her heart to ache as much as it had the morning after the proposal, when the regret had hit and she’d rushed into Paige’s room, only to be told by KK that the older girl was gone. The days following had been torture, like enduring a heart attack over and over again, the pain crescendoing until she’d gone numb from it. 

But last time there had been no false notions, no open-ended goodbyes, just a clean break and somehow that had been easier to live with. These last few days -filled with the unbearable waiting of maybe today she’ll come back to me- have been worse. Perhaps it’s because of the innate hope flickering like a candle within her. And even though the flame of it seems to get smaller and dimmer every time she sees Paige and the older woman still can’t quite make the promise to stay, Azzi knows that until that hope of hers is either completely shattered or fulfilled, there is no moving on from this hurt. 

Sighing to herself, Azzi grabs for her phone. The screen lights up to countless notifications and she bites her lip when she notices the one from Clémence. Dinner had been uncannily awkward last night in a way that it had never been before when the French woman had been a much more frequent presence in her and her daughter’s life. But in between Azzi being completely lost in thoughts of her and Paige’s conversation in the locker room and Stephie somehow managing to find a way to relate every little detail back to Miss Buecks and her face-falling a little every time she did, well it was suffice to say even Clémence’s attempts as making the dinner more cheerful hadn’t been enough to make the evening less of a disaster. Azzi had almost let out a sigh of relief when she’d finally dropped the other woman off at the hotel, trying to not to wince when Clémence had leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. But cleary she hadn’t been inconspicuous enough -and neither had Stephie, who’s voice had been rather devoid of her normal Clémence related cheer when she’d wished the Frenchwoman a goodnight- and the guilt from the way the other woman’s smile had faltered, still lingers in Azzi’s stomach. 

Chewing at her bottom lip, she swipes the text open. It’s a simple “it was good to see you two again.” and perhaps it doesn’t mean much -maybe Azzi’s doing that overthinking thing again- but there’s something about the formality of it, about the full stop at the end of the sentence feels rather definite. Azzi almost feels like she should apologize for something, perhaps for being so aloof last night or maybe even more. She knows that Clémence had wanted something else from her, had patiently waited for her to turn their relationship into something beyond just casual, something Azzi had never been ready to give to her. But it almost feels too late for any of that and so all she says is “it was good to see you too.” and she hopes that Clémence knows that despite everything, she means it. 

Throwing her phone back on the dresser and now feeling perhaps even worse than she had a couple minutes ago, Azzi pulls her blanket above her head, almost pleading with her brain to just shut off. She’s about to give into the impulsive urge to scream into her pillows, when instead her door creaks open and she immediately throws the comforter off of herself, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp as she sits up straight on her bed. 

Stephie stands in the doorway, a fluffy teddy bear cuddled to her chest as she stares up at Azzi with big doey eyes and the older woman’s heart constricts when she sees the hint of sadness sitting heavily within them. Her little girl had been quiet all day -really since dinner last night. With today being a rare off day, the two of them had spent most of it lounging on the couch watching movies. But Azzi could tell something was off about Stephie. Her daughter, normally ever the commentator, had been dead silent, cuddling into her mother’s side and barely even chuckling at the comedy scenes. Truthfully, Stephie hadn’t been quite the same ever since they’d left Paige’s that morning -and with the amount of nights she’d snuck into Azzi’s room since, her mother had almost been expecting it tonight- but it seemed like something else had shifted last night. 

“C’mere baby girl,” Azzi says softly as she holds her arms open and Stephie dutifully climbs into them, burrowing her head into her mother’s chest, “what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” comes the muffled response from her daughter as Azzi gently rubs the little girl’s back, “can I sleep here with you?”

Azzi smiles, pressing a gentle kiss against Stephie’s hair, “of course you can sweetheart,” she whispers, before falling back into her pillows with her daughter still securely wrapped in her arms. 

She continues to brush her hands through Stephie’s hair, listening to the sound of her little girl breathing as she hums a lullaby. 

“Mama,” Stephie says tentatively, after a while. 

“Yeah Stephie-bean?”

“Yes-er-day when we were at dinner-,” the little girl swallows nervously and Azzi’s squeezes her shoulders, hoping it conveys that she’s listening, ready to hear whatever it is that’s been bothering the little girl, “yes-er-day at one of the other tables, I saw- I saw a woman with gold hair and she- she had it in a bun like- like the one Miss Buecks usually has.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “go on sweetheart.”

“And she- she was-,” Stephie drops her voice down to a whisper, “she was kissing someone who looked a lot like you Mama.”

“Oh,” Azzi manages to get out as she feels her lungs compress. 

“And there was a little girl too and they both gave her lots of kisses too,” Stephie’s voice is small as she says the fact and Azzi has to bite her lips hard to keep in the sob that’s threatening to escape her lips. And she remembers the exact people Stephie’s talking about, remembers the way her heart panged as she’d seen the way three of them -the two women and their little girl- were practically giddy around each other. They’d looked almost like an exact replica of Paige, Azzi and Stephie, not that long ago. Azzi had, had to tear her eyes away from the scene, not wanting to let the tears that were dangerously close to her waterline slip down her cheeks. She hadn’t looked in their direction again. But Azzi hadn’t even imagined that maybe Stephie would’ve noticed that too, that her daughter would’ve felt the sting of the happy picture the same way she had. 

“Oh sweetheart-”

“My friend Anya has a Mama and a Mommy,” Stephie rushes out before Azzi can console her any further, “and my other friend Lena didn’t understand how that was poss-ble cause she has a Mommy and a Daddy like most of my other friends but Anya said it’s poss-ble and that her Mama and Mommy love each other just like Lena’s Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Anya’s right,” Azzi says softly, smiling at how simple children make everything sound even though she’s not quite sure where Stephie’s getting at with this story, “I’m sure her Mama and Mommy love each other a lot.”

“Anya says they kiss on the lips- just like- just like the women at the restaurant and like Nana and Pops or like Uncle José and Aunty Tully,” Stephie scrunches her nose as she finally untucks herself from Azzi’s chest, “Anya says that’s what people in love do but I think it’s kinda gross cause kissing on the lips looks kinda yucky.”

Azzi laughs, booping the little girl’s nose, “it does look a little funny.”

“But Anya says her Mommy and Mama do other things too. Like her Mama takes care of her Mommy when she’s sick and when her Mama cries over a movie, her Mommy laughs but then gives her Mama a big hug. And Anya says that sometimes when Anya’s Mama isn’t looking, Anya sees her Mommy looking at her Mama with a big smile,” Stephie stretches out her arms for emphasis as she climbs off of Azzi’s lap to sit on the bed next to her. 

“That sounds sweet,” Azzi says wistfully, still a little confused why she’s being told everything about Anya’s two mothers. 

There’s a moment of silence before Stephie drags in a deep breath as she stares intently at her mother, “I never seen you and Miss Buecks kiss, Mama.”

Her words loom in the air as Azzi’s mouth falls open, everything suddenly beginning to click, “Steph-”

“But when Miss Buecks was sick, I saw you make her soup and make her eat her med-cines even though Miss Buecks said they tasted yucky. And when you cry over Mr. Olaf melting in Frozen, Miss Buecks always says ‘Az you’re so silly, you’ve seen this so many times. How can you still cry at it?’”Stephie recites, doing an almost perfect impression that has Azzi’s letting out something in between a sob and a laugh. 

“But then she gives you a big hug anyways. And Mama,” the little girl continues, “when you’re not looking, I see Miss Buecks looking at you with this big, big, big, smile all the time.” 

“Stephie,” Azzi chokes out, trying to hold herself together. 

Her daughter looks at her with something almost like wonder, “you and Miss Buecks- you were just- you were just like Anya’s Mama and Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispers, as she grasps the little girl’s hands in her own, bracing herself for whatever Stephie might say next, “yeah I guess we were.”

But Stephie doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting all quiet and contemplative for a moment until she slowly climbs back into her mother’s arms, resting her head right against Azzi’s chest. 

“Mama,” her voice is small when she finally does speak, “I really miss Miss Buecks.”

Azzi feels her heart constrict, finally losing the battle against her tears as they drip down her cheeks, and she tightens her grip on her daughter, “I know baby. I really miss her too.”

*** 

April 2025

“What are you doing?” panic filters into Azzi’s tone as she watches Paige slowly get down on one knee, her heart pulsating as she slowly begins to understand why her girlfriend had set this whole thing up. Really she should’ve known as soon as KK and Ice had excitedly bound into her room, mischievous knowing smirks on their faces as they’d made her change into something nice before practically dragging her onto the roof. She should’ve known when she’d seen the candles and the pink roses and Paige just a little too dressed up in the midst of it all, that this was more than just one of the older girl’s lavishly planned date nights. 

Paige smiles up at her, either not hearing the distress in the brunette’s voice or perhaps not quite understanding the gravity of it. She reaches for Azzi’s hands, soft fingers entwining with the younger girl’s like their holding onto a lifeline. An unfamiliar sensation builds in Azzi’s stomach, one she doesn’t think she’s ever felt in Paige’s presence before.  

“Paige,” she whispers helplessly. 

“I’ve got you baby,” Paige squeezes her hands gently, mistaking whatever it is that Azzi’s feeling, for simple nerves. 

But it’s not that. Azzi knows this unsettling feeling that’s tornadoing around her isn’t just nerves or butterflies or whatever else it is that one normally feels before a proposal. It’s something much, much worse. Something almost like dread. And Azzi can feel all those suppressed emotions that have been building for the last couple of weeks-the whispers of thoughts that she’d brushed away as nothing serious- suddenly rushing through her body and settling like a large, immovable lump at the back of her throat. 

She remembers the first time she’d felt it, that unfamiliar twist in her stomach. It had been at a press conference after some easily won Big East game with UConn’s Big Three sitting diligently at the media-table. And it had suddenly occurred to Azzi, just as they’d finished their media availability, that she’d been asked exactly one question about her own performance -a respectable 24/4/3 statline- from the pool of reporters. Every other question of the four that had been directed her way, had been about Paige. She’d come to a stop outside the press room, letting herself sit with the thought for a second until her girlfriend -with her bright blue eyes and just-for-Azzi smile- had come bounding up to her. And suddenly, as it always seemed to be when it came to Paige, Azzi couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Not when the blonde was lacing their fingers together and putting her lips dangerously close to her ears, whispering all the sinful things they could get up to that night.

But then it happened again two games later. One question about her own performance followed by a cycle of questions about Paige during a presser where the blonde wasn’t even in attendance. This time Azzi had thought about it a little longer but then she’d chided herself for it, chalking it up to her brain doing that overthinking thing again. It was natural to be asked about teammates, especially superstar, generational, teammates who were likely to go #1 in the upcoming WNBA draft. 

And then it happened again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until it was the Elite Eight and Azzi found herself, after a 28/5/4 statline and two clutch free throws to win it all, still somehow fielding more questions about Paige -and how the blonde had impacted Azzi’s game and recovery and their relationship as best friends- than about her own performance. 

That’s when she’d finally begun to understand what that twist in her stomach had been. She’d felt sick at the idea that it could be envy -how could she ever be jealous of her Paige’s success- but she’d understood then, almost gawking at the reporter who’d had the audacity to ask her, her fourth Paige-related question that night, that it wasn’t that. Maybe it would’ve been easier if it was. 

It was fear. 

The fear that her own identity in the basketball world was slowly withering away under the weight of her relationship. 

“Hey,” Paige’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance even though she’s right in front of Azzi and the brunette swallows hard as she tries to pry herself away from her thoughts to focus on her girlfriend. 

“Paige,” she whispers back helplessly, as her eyes begin to water. 

Every time Azzi had imagined Paige proposing -the first time had been when she was 15 and she’d woken up from the dream, almost shaking but still filled with the serene calmness that came from knowing something was inevitable- she had always in fact pictured tears in her own eyes. 

But not like this. 

Because these little droplets cascading down her cheeks that Paige’s fingers diligently reach up to wipe away aren’t the tears of a girl whose dreams to marry her best friend -the love of her life- are coming true. They’re the tears of a girl who’s bracing herself for an inevitable fight when she puts her career before a relationship, when her head wins this fight against her heart. 

Blissfully unaware, Paige continues on, “I’ve um- I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you.”

Stop, Azzi thinks but all that comes out is a whimper. 

“So you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did you know. I uh- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too,” Paige laughs and the sound of it, that had once felt like a warm blanket shrouding all of Azzi’s senses, now feels a lot like a wintry chill settling around her body. 

“And what I realized,” there’s moisture pooling in the blonde’s own eyes now, “is that I don’t need a speech. I don’t need hundreds of words. I just need three. I love you,” Paige presses a kiss against Azzi’s knuckles and the other girl shudders, “I love you so fucking much Azzi Fudd. And I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

She lets go of the brunette’s hands to retrieve a black velvet box from her pockets and Azzi bites her lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood overwhelms her taste buds. 

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd,” Paige says softly, flicking open the box to reveal a heart-cut diamond ring, “will you marry me?”

“No,” it comes out so soft, almost blending with the wind, that for a second even Azzi doubts she’d said it. 

“”What?”

Azzi clears her throat, “no.”

“No?” Paige repeats, blinking up at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipatory dread. 

“No,” Azzi says again, her voice much stronger now as she takes a step back, the tears freely falling from her cheeks. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” Paige, still on one knee, stumbles a little as she tries to formulate the right words, “you- you don’- no?,” her eyebrows furrow in confusion, “you don’t want to marry me?”

I do, Azzi wants to scream. 

“I can’t,” she says. 

Paige stares up at her, something akin to disbelief etched across her beautiful features, “what does that even fucking mean you can’t?”

“I just-” Azzi struggles against the jumble of thoughts in head as she tries to piece together a coherent sentence, “I can’t.”

“Bullshit,” Paige snarls. 

“Paige-”

“Do not Paige me,” the older girl seethes, her expression darkening, “you better fucking explain yourself.”

“I- I will,” Azzi stutters, trying to make herself small as she wraps her arms around herself, “can you- just,” she eyes Paige, who’s still kneeling one one knee, “can you please- please just stand up.”

Paige flinches, like Azzi has asked her to shoot an arrow into her own soul. And maybe she had. But she does as asked. The blonde’s movements are reluctant, almost like it pains her to stand up and when she does, the distance she puts between her and Azzi can’t be more than a few meters, but it feels like it stretches the length of an ocean. 

“Explain,” Paige says scathingly.

“I just-” Azzi takes in a deep breath, barely able to meet her girlfriend’s eyes as she forces out the next words, “I don’t want to be known as just your wife.”

Paige lets out an expected noise of protest, “you wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know that,” Azzi cuts her off with a pointed look, “because right now- right now sometimes it feels like all I am is just Paige Bueckers’ best friend. It doesn't matter how many points I score or how many defensive moves I make on the court or whatever else I do on the court, somehow it all leads back to you. And it makes me feel-,” she chokes on the next words, the acidity of them leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, “I feel invisible.”

“Azzi-”

The brunette holds up a hand, needing to finish what she’s saying before she fully succumbs to her emotions, “sometimes- sometimes my entire career at UConn so far feels like- like it’s just an extension of yours. Paige you- you get to be Paige. Just Paige. The superstar. You get to go to entire pressers not having to answer a single question about me or our friendship. You get to have entire articles written about you that have just a throwaway line about me and not have half of it be dedicated to how I’m the driving force behind your success. And that’s how it should be because- because as much as we rely on each other, your success is still yours. But sometimes it feels like mine isn’t mine.”

“I’m sor-”

“No!” Azzi cuts Paige off loudly when the older girl tries to apologize, guilt flashing in her eyes, “it’s not your fault Paige. You- you’re my biggest cheerleader. You always have been. But I just- I need to have my own identity. And that’s already been so hard being known as just your best friend. It’s only going to get worse if I-” she stops, unable to say the rest but even unspoken, it lingers in the air. 

If I become your fiancé. 

 “I need next year to be different,” Azzi says instead, “I need it to be my year. Just mine. Just for once, I just want to be known as Azzi.”

“It will be,” there’s a newfound conviction replacing the previous anger in the blonde’s voice as she takes a deliberate step towards Azzi. Bolstered when the other girl doesn’t instinctively move back, she takes another one and then another and another, until the seemingly never-ending distance between them disappears. 

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Paige says softly as she gently holds one of Azzi’s hands between her own, “and I hate- I hate that you feel this way. But it’ll be different next year when we’re not on the same team anymore right? Out of sight out of mind type shit? They won’t- they won’t ask you about me or make everything you do about me anymore-”

“You don’t know that-”

The older girl continues like she didn’t hear the interruption, “I just- I just don’t understand why you can be known as my girlfriend but not my-” she swallows, “but not my wife? Because Az- when we come out-,” the girl in questions flinches and Paige pauses, her expression falters at the movement. 

A deadly silence clouds the air and it’s April in Connecticut and the spring breeze is just the right temperature. But as Paige slowly lets go of her hands, realization dawning on her face, Azzi thinks she’s never felt colder in her life. 

“You- you don’t-” the blonde looks at her almost accusingly as she takes a step back, “you don’t want to come out?”

“Paige-”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

Azzi casts her eyes downwards, digging her fingers as deeply into her palms as possible, “no, no I don’t.”

“I see,” Paige says slowly, her tone dangerously low, “and how long have you felt this way Az?”

“I-I-” the brunette stutters nervously, “I made- I made the decision after the Elite Eight.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Paige says calmly. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand-”

“How long Azzi?” the blonde sneers, “how long have you had all the fucking doubts about your identity and our relationship? How long have you been questioning everything about us? How long have you bee going through this whole fucking decision-making process about our future?”

“That’s not-”

“Oh no,” Paige interrupts harshly, “that’s exactly it. That’s exactly what you were doing. So tell me. How. Long?”

Azzi gulps nervously, “since the game at home versus Nova.”

Paige blinks at her, “three months? Three fucking months Azzi. You’ve been feeling this way for three months and you didn’t once think that maybe you should tell me? That maybe we should talk about it?”

“I didn’t know,” Azzi says helplessly, “I didn’t even understand it myself Paige. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t even know there was something to discuss.”

“But clearly you did figure it out, Azzi. Because I know you and I know you didn’t make this decision without figuring your emotions out, so why not come to me then? Why not tell me as soon as possible. God fucking hell Azzi- when even were you gonna tell me?” Paige yells, all pretence of calm gone from her body, “if I- if tonight hadn’t happened, when would you have even told me?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything and Paige shakes her head, starting to pace around the rooftop. 

“We had a plan Azzi. We’ve had a plan for four years. As soon as one or both of us was out of UConn, that was it. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just you and and me and we weren’t gonna care who the fuck knew about it,” the blonde pinches the bridge of her nose, “and you’re telling me that for three month- three fucking months- you’ve been questioning that whole fucking plan while I remained oblivious as fuck? Azzi all I’ve done these past few months is tell you how fucking excited I was about being able to call you my girl in front ov everyone. How excited I was to hold you in public and for us to just be us without giving a fuck who could see. And you just,” Paige’s voice breaks, “you let me. You let me do all of that- feel all of that. You let me be hopeful for a future that you weren’t even sure you could see for us.”

Azzi looks away, that rock of guilt settled in her stomach starting to get heavier and heavier with each word that leaves Paige’s mouth, “I’m just asking for a little bit more time Paige.”

“And what happens if that time doesn’t go the way you want it to Az?” Paige asks sadly, “what if we survive the next year but you decide that you can’t be attached to me to start your W career?”

“That won’t happen-”

“You don’t know that,” a sardonic smile appears on the blonde’s face, “I can’t keep hiding forever Azzi. All I’ve done is love you in secret. I can’t- I don’t- I won’t do that forever.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Azzi bursts out, her defensiveness suddenly translating into a burst of anger, “I am asking you for a little bit of time. Not even a whole year anymore. Just a little bit of time for me to establish my own identity and honestly Paige if you can’t even give me that- if you can’t understand why I need this time- then maybe-” she stops herself, eyes widening at the words -word she’d never even expected herself to think of - that are now sitting, like burning embers, on the tip of her tongue. 

“Then maybe what?” Paige asks slowly, but there’s an almost resigned tinge to her tone that suggests she already knows. 

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, turning away from the older girl’s piercing gaze. She looks down at the ground, still covered in rose petals. The wax of the glittering candles littered between them has melted onto them, causing their pink hue to turn into a darker shade of red. And it’s like there’s blood scattered on the remnants of Paige’s perfect proposal. 

“Say it Azzi-”

“No-”

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to,” Azzi covers her ears and she wishes this were a nightmare, wishes she could open her eyes and find herself waking up in Paige’s arms. Warm and soft and loved. 

“Godfuckingdammit Azzi,” Paige yells, “just say it. If I can’t understand why you need time then maybe we should what?” she repeats, waiting for the brunette to finish her own sentence. 

Azzi whimpers, continuing to shake her head, “Paige please.”

“Just. Fucking. Say. It.”

The younger girl swallows, “then maybe we should end it.”

Another beat of silence. 

“Maybe we should,” Paige’s voice is gravelly and Azzi doesn’t dare turn around, not ready to see the heartbroken expression -or worse, perhaps the nonchalant one- on the older girl’s face, “if after all we’ve been through, if it’s so easy for you to think those words. Then maybe we should- maybe we should end it.”

And Azzi thinks for the rest of her life she will wonder what she should have done next. If she should’ve said something or if -when she hears those retreating footsteps- if she should’ve run after her. She thinks, for the rest of her life, she will look back on this moment and dissect every single second of it, that she will wish for the time machine to go back and stop herself from doing and saying so many of the things she had on the rooftop that night. 

But Paige walks away. 

And Azzi doesn’t do anything to stop her. 

It isn’t until the morning after -when her head does finally catch up to her heart and all she can feel is that unfamiliar sting of regret- and she races into the apartment downstairs and Ice’s expression is filled with sadness and KK’s glare is filled with accusation, that she finds out just how far Paige had gone away from her and Azzi realizes, she’s just a little too late. 

*** 

June 2033 

There’s a redhead and a brunette, holding hands and chatting quietly as they wait outside the school. The two women are clearly entrenched in their own world -sharing those warm gazes and bright smiles that Azzi’s just a little too familiar with- blissfully unaware that they are currently being stared at. Actually, perhaps glared at is a more accurate statement because there’s a clear tinge of envy running down Azzi’s spine as her eyes remain laser-focused on the scene in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be doing this of course -nobody really plans to come to pick up their daughter from school and somehow end up stink-eying said daughter’s friends parents for being too in love. But as fate would have it, somehow from where she’s parked, Azzi has a perfect view of Anya, infamous Mommy and Mama. 

They’re sickeningly cute.

And Azzi fucking hates them.  

It’s unfair of her to feel this way; she knows that. But watching them lead the life she’d always imagined for herself, is more difficult now than it ever has been when Azzi had seen them before in passing. Back then, it was just a dull ache of something she craved but knew she’d turned away herself. But now- now she’s had a taste of that life; had gotten to live it out -even if just for a second- with the girl she’d always dreamed of living it with. Until one night and a series of revelations had snatched it all away, and now Azzi’s left with nothing but the bitter feeling of waiting to see if she’ll get that back forever or if it had really only ever been meant to be a fleeting moment in her life. 

A sigh of longing escapes her as she watches Anya go rushing into her mothers’ arms, the two of them catching her in perfect sync. She has the resentful urge to scoff at the scene. It’s all so goddamn dramatic for three people who see each other every day. Except Azzi’s mind is filled with memories that are almost exact replicas of the scene in front of her; just with different faces. 

“Hi Mama,” it isn’t until the backdoor opens and Stephie’s voice fills the car that Azzi finally tears her eyes away from Anya’s family. 

“Hey baby,” she choruses back, turning around in her seat to make sure her daughter is buckling herself in correctly, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Stephie shrugs and Azzi feels her heart plummet at how nonchalant the little girl sounds. She misses the sound of her daughter ranting about just how booooring school is, and thinks she wouldn’t even try to reprimand her if Stephie deemed school useless like she used to. Azzi just wants her ball of sunshine, talks-a-mile-per-minute child back because this meek, quiet little girl in the back feels like a shell of who Stephie used to be. 

“You excited for Mama’s game tonight?” Azzi presses as she starts to back out of the parking lot, almost relieved when it seems to cause Stephie to sit up a little straighter. 

“You’re- you’re playing the Liberty right?” the little girl asks quietly, “that’s- that’s where Miss Buecks wanna go? New York?”

Azzi freezes at the question, trying to keep her hands steady on the wheel as she hums in agreement. 

“They’re a good team right? Lots of champ-ships and stuff?” Stephie continues. 

“Yeah,” Azzi clears her throat, “it’s uh- it’s definitely gonna be a good game.”

“Anya’s Grammy and Grandpa live in New York. Not the city-city but close to it,” Stephie says after a moment, “Anya says New York’s really nice. She’s been there lots and lots of times to see her Grammy and Grandpa forChristmas. And she- she says when she went, it snowed lots and lots.”

Despite herself Azzi smiles as her mind drifts to memories of cold Northeast winters. For the most part, they had been filled with dreary chills and darky rainy days. But then amidst it all, there had been a couple rare days of snow and when she’d been at UConn, her teammates had taken full advantage. And just like most of her memories of those years, Paige is front and center of these ones too. The blonde had never been nearly as enamored with the snow as Azzi was, and she definitely wasn’t enamored by it at seven in the morning when the brunette would wake her up squealing that it had in fact snowed and the world around them was white. Despite her grumbling, Paige had still let Azzi bundle the both of them up in winter clothes and drag her outside. And her faux irritated expression hds slowly morphed into one of admiration as she’d flicked the snow off the younger girl’s eyelashes, pulling her closer by her scarf because Azzi I’m so cold, you have to kiss me to keep me warm baby. 

“We don’t get snow here,” Stephie says thoughtfully, unaware of the path down memory lane her mother had just taken. 

“No, no we don’t,” Azzi says, almost wistfully. 

“It would- it would be nice to live somewhere with lots of snow,” Stephie ponders out loud and her mother’s eyes widen as she starts to understand where this is going, “like- like in New York.”

“We could- we could have snowball fight and make snowmen like Mr. Olaf and snow angels and everything else you do in snow,” the little girl’s voice gets increasingly more and more high-pitched in excitement, “it would be so fun Mama.”

“Steph-”

“And Anya said that- that- that- she’d even visit me like she visits her Grammy and Grandpa. She promised Mama, she promised she’d come see me if I lived in New York-”

“Honey no,” Azzi cuts her daughter off heartbrokenly, “we are not going to live in New York. 

“But Mama, Miss Buecks-”

“Stephie stop-”

“No Mama listen,” Stephie protests indignantly, “Mama what if- what if Miss Buecks really needs to be in New York. What if it’s impo-tant. And that’s- that’s why she can’t stay here. With us. Not cause she doesn’t want to but cause she can’t. But Mama just because Miss Buecks can’t say doesn’t mean we can’t go Mama.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you- you just said the Liberty is a good team and you’re such a good player Mama. I think you’d be good on their team too. And I- I really, really like the Valk-ries and I would really miss Aunty J and Aunty Tessie and Aunty Joy but if you- if you and Miss Buecks played for the Liberty- I know I’d like them too. And I’m sure Nana and Pops and Uncle Jon and Uncle Jose and Aunty Tully would come visit us lots and lots and I wouldn’t even miss them lots cause they’d visit so much. I just know it. It could work Mama- I know it could.”

“Stephanie,” Azzi's voice is louder than she’d meant it to be as she pulls onto their street, “sweetheart, we are not moving to New York.”

“But Mama-” the little girl whines. 

“No Stephie. That’s just-” Azzi swallows the sob stuck in her throat, “that’s now how the world works.”

“But what if I want it to work that way?” Stephie asks softly with all the innocence of a five-year old as she meets her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Oh baby,” Azzi’s so caught up in her daughter’s earnest wishful thinking that she doesn’t even notice there’s another oh-so-familiar car parked in her driveway until she almost crashes into it. 

“That’s Miss Buecks car,” Stephie whispers softly, craning her neck to get a better view. Her eyes widen in tandem with her mother’s as they both catch sight of the same thing at the same time. 

It’s Paige. 

Paige, whose eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed. Paige, whose hair is tossed back into a messy bun -looking like it’s been in that same one for days- with little loose strands falling out of it. Paige, whose entire body is hunched over as she sits on their front porch, holding a grey hoodie close to her chest. Paige, whose hands are fidgeting with themselves because she can never sit still, especially when she’s nervous. Paige, who looks up just as Azzi parks her car -whose staring at the both of them like they’re still her everything. Paige, who despite it all, still looks like the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Paige, who’s here. 

It’s Stephie who recovers from the shock of seeing Paige first, the click of her seatbelt being unclasped pulling Azzi out of her own trance. The little girl pushes her door open, getting out of her car seat with quickness as she stumbles out of the car. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out immediately but Stephie isn't listening, already rushing up the pathway as Paige -her expression hopeful- stands up at the sight of the child running towards. 

It isn’t until Stephie hesitates, coming to a halt just a couple of meters away from Paige, that Azzi draws in a deep breath and gets out of the car herself. Unlike her daughter, her steps are much slower, her movement hesitant and guarded. She knows this is it; knows that this is when all that waiting she’s done in the past few weeks will finally be over, that Paige is either here to fulfill a dream or to start a nightmare. 

Azzi walks up the pathway until she’s right behind Stephie, one of her hands instinctively reaching out to hold her daughter’s shoulder, conveying two messages. One to Stephie, a promise that no matter what happens now, she’ll still always have Azzi. The other to Paige is an unspoken message from a protective mother, silently begging her that if she is here to break their hearts, to break Stephie’s gently. 

“Hi,” Paige’s voice is croaky when she speaks, her eyes flickering nervously between the mother and daughter in front of her. 

Azzi clears her throat, willing herself to reply, “hey,” she pauses, continuing only when the older woman keeps her own mouth shut, shuffling her feet nervously, “do you- do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her cheeks reddening at how quickly the word leaves her mouth and that almost makes Azzi smile. 

She nods at the older woman, her hand travelling from Stephie’s shoulder to instead hold her hand as they walk up the steps together. Azzi’s shoulder brushes against Paige’s as she moves past the blonde to open her door and electricity courses through her veins. From the way Paige gasps, the brunette is sure she must’ve felt it too. It crackles in the air as Azzi unlocks the door, her brain feeling foggy at the mere feeling of having Paige so close after so long. 

The three of them walk quietly towards the living room, Stephie’s hands still clasped in Azzi’s and Paige following closely behind them. The little girl’s grip is tight and despite how young she is, Azzi knows just how perceptive Stephie is. She’s just as aware of this moment as the adults are, realizes it just as much as they do, that they’ve reached a crossroad and the path they take -a path determined by whatever Paige chooses- will shape their future together or apart. 

“I um- I- well- the thing is- I-,” Paige breaks the silence first, stuttering over her words before letting out a soft sigh She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, there are little droplets of water on the edges of her eyelashes. 

“I really missed you guys,” she confesses in a whisper, her voice breaking throughout. 

There’s a second of silence as her words linger in the air and Azzi feels Stephie’s hand slip away from her own and the little girl almost stumbles over her own feet as she races towards Paige, the older woman’s arms immediately opening to catch her and as she kneels down to pull Stephie into her her chest. It’s like the blonde’s confession had broken a dam, and the water that came rushing through it, had washed away the last little bit of pretence of nonchalance that Stephie had been holding onto. 

For the last few weeks, every time Azzi’s little girl had seen Paige, be it when she accompanied her mother to a practice or when she was on the sidelines at a game, Stephie had ignored the blonde, maintaining the same angry façade as the one she’d had the morning after that night. But Azzi had seen that resolve weaken over time; had seen Stephie’s eyes linger just a little bit longer on Miss Buecks with that familiar look of yearning. And Azzi had known that resolve was almost completely gone, in the car, when Stephie had all but begged her to consider moving to New York if that was the only way they were going to be able to keep Paige in their lives. 

She feels her own set of tears prickling in her eyes as she takes in the scene in front of her. Stephie’s face is pressed into Paige’s neck, the blonde has one arm wrapped around the little girl’s waist and the other other gently brushing through her hair. Their grip on each other is tight with barely any space for air between them, tears freely streaming down both of their faces. 

“I missed you too Miss Buecks,” Stephie sobs and Azzi notices the way Paige’s hold on her tightens at the familiar nickname, “missed you so much.”

“Me too Stephie-bean,” Paige affirms as she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, cupping it in her hands, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. So, so, sorry. I missed you so, so, so, so much,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Stephie’s face in between. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie looks down nervously, her fingers playing with the collar of Paige’s t-shirt, “can me and Mama come to New York with you?”

“Stephie!” Azzi exclaims as Paige’s eyes widen. 

“Wh-what?” the blonde asks softly as she searches the little girl’s face in confusion.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stephie says quietly, “but if you have to- then can we come with you?”

“Oh sweetheart,” there’s disbelief in Paige’s tone, something almost akin to awe as she tilts Stephie’s chin to make the little girl look back at her. 

“My friend Anya says New York’s nice,” Stephie rambles, repeating what she’d been telling her mother in the car, “and-and-and she says there’s lots and lots of snow and I told Mama that I think it will be nice to live in lots and lots of snow. Mama hasn’t said yest,” the little girl briefly looks back at Azzi with a sheepish look on her face before turning back to Paige, “but I know- I know we could cov-ince her because Miss Buecks, Mama’s missed you so, so, so much too.”

“Has she?” Paige asks, her eyes flickering to Azzi who’s trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she keeps her own gaze firmly fixated on a picture of her daughter on top of the mantle. 

“She has,” Stephie confirms, before using a finger against the older woman’s cheek to get her to return her attention back to her, “so can we come with you? Please.”

Paige slowly tucks a strand of hair behind the child’s ears as she shakes her head, “no.”

“N-no?” Stephie’s bottom lip trembles at the rejection, “why not? Why can’t we go to New York with you?”

“Because nobody’s going to New York, Stephie-bean,” Paige says firmly and Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde, her lips parting slightly as she processes the meaning behind her words, her heart beginning to race with anticipation. 

“Nobody?” Stephie repeats as a question, her little voice filled with hope. 

Instead of answering, Paige grabs the grey hoodie she’d brought with her that had fallen to the ground. She gently un-scrunches it, holding out the sleeve of it for Stephie to look at. Azzi cranes her head curiously to get a better look of it, squinting her eyes when she notices something written in washed-out black ink. 

“You probably don’t remember this because you were a lot littler when it happened,” there’s a teasing smile of Paige’s face as she uses the incorrect word, “but the first time you ever spoke to me properly, you told me, that your Mama says that one day, you’re gonna be an even better basketball player than she is.”

Stephie beams, “Mama says I’m gonna be the best in the world today.”

Paige chuckles, “I believe it and I believed it then too. That’s why,” she points down at the hoodie, her fingers brushing over the material so delicately, like it’s one of her most treasured possessions, “that’s why I had you sign my hoodie.”

“You asked for my auto-graph?” Stephie’s eyes glint and perhaps she doesn’t quite remember what Paige is talking about exactly, but Azzi can tell that it’s stirred up recollections of something. 

“Yeah- yeah I did. And you said, ‘silly Miss Buecks, I’m not famous’ and I said, ‘but if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, you will be. Just like me and your Mama.’ And I meant it. You’re gonna be so- so great one day sweetheart. I know you are,” Paige says with conviction as her thumbs lightly caressing Stephie’s cheeks, “and I- I wanna be right here every step of the way, I wanna be right here to watch you grow up and become the great player -the great woman- that you’re destined to be.”

“You mean it?” Stephie asks, her eyes shining with a fresh new set of tears.

Paige nods, delicately wiping her thumbs under the little girl’s lower eyelid, “I do. I wanna be here, with you and- and your Mama,” she raises her head toward Azzi, mustering a watery smile, “I want to stay. Forever. If you’ll have me.”

Azzi lets out a staggered breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as her eyes remain locked with Paige’s. And suddenly, after eight years spent feeling unfulfilled -eight years spent with this constant sense of being incomplete-, hearing Paige finally say she wants to stay forever, feels a little bit like as if that missing part of Azzi has finally returned back to where it rightfully belongs. 

A loud squeal echoes throughout the living room as Stephie leaps back into Paige’s arms, a large smile stretching the length of her whole face as she buries her face back into the crevice between the blonde’s shoulder and her neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” the little girl chirps excitedly, “of course we’ll have you. Of course, of course, of course,” Stephie says in delight before she turns herself slightly in Paige’s grapes, arms still around the other woman’s neck as she looks imploringly at Azzi, “right Mama?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, pursing her lips as she tears her gaze away from the two people in front of her. 

“Mama?” Stephie presses. 

“Give me a second Stephie-bean,” Paige whispers to the little girl, bumping her head against her temple. 

From the corner of her eyes, Azzi watches as the blonde disentangles herself from Stephie, before slowly getting to her feet and walking towards the younger woman. 

“Az-”

“It’s been almost three weeks-”

“It’s been two weeks, six days, five hours and around fourteen minutes,” Paige shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her face, “give or take a few minutes.

Azzi continues to look away from her, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion, “still took you a really long time to decide you were gonna stay.”

“Well I’m an idiot,” Paige says matter-of-factly and Stephie snickers behind her, “you know me Az. Sometimes these things- they take me a little while to understand.”

“I told you we wouldn’t wait forever,” Azzi says softly. 

“I didn’t make you wait forever,” Paige reaches out to gently grab her chin between her thumb and index, turning the brunette’s face towards her, “just needed a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t give me time,” Azzi accuses and the blonde flinches. 

“I know. I- I should’ve. Should’ve don’t a lot of things differently when it comes to us but I didn’t and I- I can’t change that but Azzi, I promise, I promise I’ll do everything right this time,” keeping one hand cupped around Azzi’s cheek, Paige uses the other to guide one of the brunette’s hands to rest against her chest, “I swear.”

Azzi swallows, feeling the quick rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat under her fingertips, “how do I know you won’t run away again?”

“Because I trust you,” the blonde whispers, “I trust you to stay and I trust you not to break my heart again. And that- that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared anymore- cause I am. Not a lot but definitely still a little bit. But someone once told me that, trusting is really scary but that maybe- maybe it would be a lot less scary, if we did together.”

“They sound like a really smart person,” Azzi bites her lip, “you should probably listen to them more often.”

Paige chuckles, “well if uh- if they give me the chance, I think I’d listen to them for the rest of my life.”

Azzi shudders and she doesn’t know if it’s from the earnestness of the words spoken or the strength of the emotions in the blonde’s gaze that’s still completely transfixed on her. 

“What about New York?” she asks finally. 

“I called the whole thing off,” Paige states nonchalantly,“I had Talia call Jonathan Kolb last night and I explained everything to Ohemaa this morning. Everyone’s on the same page. There is no deal anymore.”

“You-” Azzi gapes at the girl in front of her, “you- you already called the whole thing off?”

“I did,” Paige confirms, not a hint of regret in her voice, “I don’t need an escape plan.”

“You called it off before even talking to me?” Azzi asks, knitting her eyebrows together, “you didn’t even know how this was gonna go.”

“I already told you. I trust you,” Paige says simply, “I believe in us Az and I really hope you still believe in us too.”

The words are barely out of Paige’s mouth before Azzi’s crashing into her, the weight of her body sending the blonde staggering back a few steps before her hands steadily secure themselves around the younger woman’s waist. A slightly surprised gasp escapes Paige until the sound of it is stolen by Azzi pressing her lips against the older woman’s. Despite her initial surprise, Paige kisses Azzi back with equal fervor, both of them pouring the myriad of suppressed emotions between them the last few weeks into it. And it feels like a cliché, like coming home. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Paige breaks away first, eyes widening as she slowly turns around to look at Stephie who’s practically vibrating with happiness as she watches the two of them, “Stephie-”

“She already knows,” Azzi says with a slight grin, shaking her head fondly at just how joyful her little girl looks. 

  “You told her?” Paige looks between the mother and daughter. 

Stephie smirks triumphantly, “I figured it out myself Miss Buecks.”

“Of course you did smarty pants,” Paige smiles at the little girl but Azzi knows her well enough -is still so in tune with every little bit of Paige despite the time apart- to see the small hint of disappointment behind it. 

“I would’ve told her myself if she hadn’t,” Azzi says quietly and Paige turns back around to face her. 

“What?”

“I love you,” Azzi says and she swears no three words have ever sounded as right on her lips, as those three do, “I love you,” she repeats again and she can feel Paige’s hands shaking as they instinctively tighten their grip on her waist, “I love you so much Paige Madison Bueckers and I want everybody to know it. Stephie, our families, our friends, our teammates, the whole world. I love you and I never wanna hide that. I want everybody to know that you’re mine and I’m yours. Forever.”

A strangled sob escapes Paige’s mouth as she presses her forehead against Azzi’s, “I love you too. I love you, so, so, so much. I’ve loved you since the beginning and I’m gonna love you till the very end. Forever.”

Their lips meet in a searing kiss and it’s unclear if they’re both crying more or giggling more, as they hold each other as tightly as possible. And this isn’t their first kiss, far from it- far closer to being their millionth or so- but still it feels like a fresh new start, a brand new love story but with that same old special, all-consuming, forevermore love that has always connected them to each other. The one that had never gone away, no matter how long they’d been apart. 

“Ahem, ahem,” an exaggerated cough breaks them apart and the two of them turn their heads at the same time to see Stephie looking dramatically at them, her hands on her hips. 

  “So, Mama loves Miss Buecks and Miss Buecks loves Mama. What about Stephie?” she pouts, exaggeratedly stomping her foot. 

Paige and Azzi both laugh, removing themselves from each other just enough to crouch down and open their arms out for Stephie, beckoning for her to join their embrace. The little girl’s attempt at a sour expression is immediately replaced by a cheerful grin as she runs into their arms, tiny hands somehow managing to wrap around both of their necks. 

“You know we love you the most Stephie,” Paige whispers into the little girl’s hair, who lets out a content sigh as she burrows herself further into the two women’s arms. 

Azzi hums in agreement, closing her eyes as she leans her head against her daughter’s, feeling Paige’s fingers intertwine with her behind Stephie’s back. And then it’s quiet for a while, nothing but the sound of the three of them breathing and their hearts beating together in sync. Azzi feels at peace, her mind completely calm, no longer overthinking anything. 

Because now she finally has everything. 

Paige, Stephie, and the promise of a world the three of them can build together, it’s everything. 

[jaggedamethyst]

easy (part 2) (bucky barnes x gn!reader)

content: secret relationship/established relationship, miscommunication/misunderstanding, angst, self-doubt, mentions of death, cheating (kind of), not proofread

notes: part two this this...good luck lmao (a short one but it’s the right length i fear)

main masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

You’d been woken up by the sounds of knocks on your door. They started off normal and quickly became more frantic…aggressive, even. 

The sound of your name made you sit up on the floor. Suddenly, the door pushed open—revealing Bucky there. His hair was disheveled, clearly having run his hands through it. He hadn’t bothered with saying hi, kneeling in front of you and looking you over.

He cupped your face, “Are you okay?” He pressed into you more, nudging you to sit up. “What are you doing down here?”

You reached out to him, making sure you hadn’t tricked yourself, that he was really here. 

He continued, “What happened? Sharon said you disappeared and she couldn’t find you.” 

Somehow Bucky was missing the point. You could only blink at that, knowing that his energy was so misplaced. Why would he care about you right now when this entire relationship had so quickly gone awry? Why would he focus on you being on the floor when he ruined this—him. 

Bucky spoke again, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “I called you a shit ton, where’s your phone?” 

“Don’t know.” 

He paused, confused at your first and only words to him being so carelessly spoken. “Steve said he saw you—that you just…ran.“ 

You nodded. You had ran. Swift motions out of the building and to your place weren’t enough to erase the imagery in your brain. The way Bucky had seemed so carefree—so happy. With someone who wasn’t you, most importantly. A woman who looked so remarkably different than you. 

Your skin and body physically repelled him—pushing him away without a thought. Moving to stand, you watched his face twist in hurt. 

“How was recon?” 

“It was fine…am I missing something?” 

You ignored the question, asking your own. “You said Steve told you he saw me?” He nodded. “Did he know who I was?”

“Course he knew who you were—he’s my best friend.” 

You bought your in front of you, wringing them together. “Does she?” The question was meant to quell your anxiety, but instead made the prospect of him cheating infinitely harder to swallow. You looked at him expectantly, an answer seeming to escape him—despite you both knowing what happened that evening. 

“Does who?” 

“Natasha…Romanoff…the one you went on recon with.” You moved your head as you slowly spoke the words—breaking it down for him. “Does she know about me? About us?” 

“You know that we keep this a secret for your safety. We’ve talked about this a thousand times-“ 

“No, you keep it a secret and you've talked about it.” You moved to sit on the couch, “I agreed because I love you and I understand the stress of your job. But what I saw today,” you shook your head and looked up at him across the room. “That wasn’t a secret for my benefit. It was for yours.” 

“That’s just not true.” Bucky moved from his spot, finally, stepping across the room to sit beside you. “You have to understand my perspective on this. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I was the cause of anything happening to you.”

You twisted your entire face, staring up with an incredulous look. “Did you stop to consider how much worse it would be to have to live with the knowledge of you doing god knows what every time you’re not here?” You paused, feeling his hands attempt to wrap around you. Moving back instantly, you continued, “What happened with her? What haven’t I seen?” 

“Nothing.” Bucky waved his hands in front of him, emphasizing his words. “Nothing happened-“ 

“I saw you. Sharon showed me the feed, Bucky.” 

His face glazed over in realization—not that you had seen him with her, but that you had seen him with her. Bucky’s head started to move on its own, searching for how to make sense of this for you. “That wasn’t what it looked like.” 

A huff escaped you. Without a second thought you got up and moved toward the door, Bucky right on your trail. “If we’re gonna act like this you can just go.” You put a hand on the door handle, raising a brow at him. “You of all people know I won’t sit here and look stupid. Not when I’ve already wasted so much time waiting for you.” 

A moment passed, the reality of what you were saying lingering in the room. The two of you had talked about it before, how you’d waited so long for someone like him to appear. There’d been years of self discovery and “loving yourself first” before Bucky showed you that someone else could. When that happened, you settled for the relationship existing in its very specific confines—under the lock and key of his life’s restrictions. Even then, he’d get a call; people needed him. Bucky would go away for however long, and you’d wait. The amount of time spent yearning for the world to suddenly be quicker for you, for him, was immense. In every instance it seemed that despite the relatively common cosmic occurrences he’d faced, none of Bucky’s opponents could grant your wish—to get the man you loved back to you sooner. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke. You watched his hands ball into a fist, angered with himself. The mechanical whir of his arm filling the empty space. “I don’t feel that way about her.” 

You scoffed at that. He sounded so textbook it was physically making you ill. 

He continued, though, “She’s been my friend for a long time. We spend a lot of time together…and I wanted to tell her about you.” He inhaled, “But I didn’t. I don’t know why.” 

“Did you sleep with her?” 

“Of course not…and she kissed me. I regret making her feel like there was even a slight chance of me seeing her that way—because I don’t. I can’t.” His voice wavered, “Can’t because I only love you.”

He reached a hand out to you and it caused you to move away from him—impossibly closer to the door. 

“Bucky…I don’t think I can do this.” 

“Doll, please-“

You waved a hand, interrupting him, “Wait—just…listen.” You let go of the door, fully looking at him now. “I don’t think I can be with you if it’s like this.” He let you continue, “I know you want to protect me, but all of this has hurt me more than it could’ve ever helped. I feel so removed from you—like I don’t know you outside of our apartment walls.” Sweat had accumulated on your palms, making you realize how anxiety-inducing this had been. “I haven’t felt confident in myself around you in…a while-“

“But-“ 

“Bucky, please.” He nodded, stilling himself in commitment to let you speak. “That’s not your fault…but I think I need space to figure out why that is.” 

Bucky whispered your name, a shakiness on his voice. “I just…can’t stomach the idea of you dead…dying...because of me.” 

“I would’ve.” You moved to open the door. “I think I would’ve been fine facing death as long as everyone knew I loved you first.” You stepped back from the threshold and offered him the space to step out. “But they don’t. Nobody knows except us. That hurts.” 

Bucky didn’t speak as he stepped toward the hall. His entire figure seemed to hang lower than normal, and it pained you to see. You felt the heat of tears in your eyes, but you wouldn’t cry. There was a sort of satisfaction in facing this—breaking up with Bucky. It was always going to happen, you reasoned, so bearing your soul…crying…would’ve been too easy.  

tags (tried to get everyone who asked lol)

@julvrs @shanksstrawhat @vicmc624 @preeyas-world @ilovemcuff @winchestert101 @caity1995 @hereforfun-31 @cjand10 @nadinekr @wintercrows @read-just-cant @behindmygreyeyes @ordelixx @pklol @bookworm3570 @largarei @fairlyfatale @kittenkiryu

[russo-woso]

Hey, can you write something for the lyrics of The Alchemy-Taylor Swift with Alessia? "There was no chance, trying to be the greatest in the league Where's the trophy? She just comes running over to me

Don’t come to me! || Alessia Russo x reader

Masterlist

Summary you’re the first one Alessia runs to when Arsenal win the FA cup

A/N another short fluffy one

It had been a thrilling four goal match so far.

Manchester City had been in the lead the first forty five minutes, holding a comfortable 2-0 lead over Arsenal.

But during the second half, Arsenal made their comeback.

The scoreline soon became 2-1 with a goal from Frida, then 2-2 thanks to a screamer from Katie - let’s be real, every goal she scores is a screamer.

The 90 minutes ended 2-2 so the game went to extra time.

You sat on the edge of your seat as the clock drew closer and closer to the second final whistle.

“You’re gonna fall off of you move any more.” Luca, your brother in law, joked clearly noticing how far forward you were.

“I’m nervous, I can’t imagine how they must be feeling.” You told him, referring to the girls on the pitch.

“Lessi’s used to it by now.”

“I know. I asked her this morning how she was feeling and she just said it was a normal match - no it is not! It’s the fa cup final! I think I was more nervous than her.”

“She hasn’t always been like that. She used to be so nervous before big matches but as soon as she met you, she knew you were her lucky charm. That’s what she told me anyway. If you’re in the crowd, her nerves go away.” Luca explained, your heart warming at your wife’s past words.

You went to respond but before you could, the crowd started getting rowdy.

You looked in time to see Caitlin pass a perfect ball through to Alessia.

With brute force, Alessia struck the ball, sending it flying to the back of the net.

You jumped up, pride filling you as you watched Alessia get tackled by her teammates.

Alessia quickly found you in the crowd - easily due to her getting you front row tickets by the corner flag.

She swiftly blew you a kiss before jogging back into position for kick off again.

The minutes ticked by and although it was painfully slow, the whistle finally blew.

Arsenal had won.

You watched as the whole team ran to each other, engulfing each other in hugs, but there was one person who wasn’t with the team - alessia.

It wasn’t hard to find her though, her blue eyes being so easy to find - for you anyway.

She had a massive smile on her face as she started jogging towards you.

“Lessi!” You exclaimed as she tackled you into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

You pulled away from the hug to place your lips on hers.

“You’re my lucky charm.”

“So I’ve heard. Go celebrate with your team, lessi.” You told her but she turned your suggestion down.

“I just want to celebrate with you, love, no one else.”

“They’re getting ready for the trophy, less, go.” You laughed, watching as she cling onto you.

“You’re my trophy. You’re the only one I need.”

“Oh, baby.” You laughed, stroking a hand through her sweat dampened ponytail. “I tell you what, go get your medal and celebrate with your team and then we’ll celebrate properly when we get back home - however you like. Deal?”

“Deal. Try get a nap in at some point because it’s gonna be a long night, pretty girl.”

[stxrsys]

Hii we’ll try to answer these :) Good distraction for this evening.

Incoming wall of text . . .

Around 14 give or take, the system is rather fluid and still in the process of figuring itself out.

As a system, it/they. As passing as a singlet, or general for one fronting, she/he. For general usage you can just use they if you don't know.

Astriiolite collective - our headspace (or mind palace pre-syscovery) we called Astriiolite, portmanteau of astro (stars) and iolite (purple-blue stone).

Now that we think about it, not really. We don't really do much lol and when we do it's hobbies specific to each person. I suppose singing, we sometimes try to do a pseudo-karaoke night with everyone who wants to participate.

Mixed. Broadly speaking the music taste ranges from source media OSTs & musicals, piano & violin instrumentals, nu-metal & alt rock, vocaloid & jpop, and phonk & hot-girl-walk pop.

Mmm probably late-teens early 20s if we averaged it out? Youngest is one of the littles ~8-9, and oldest is ⌚ ~mid-30s. There's also a few who aren't exactly age-constricted.

Our singletsona so to say is called the same thing as our birth name, and is essentially a mix of the best traits of our primary host (☕) and the two best socializers (🪐&🦇).

We're sort of trying to figure those out. We have some sense of who is good at protecting, caretaking, and who is good at socializing, and who holds symptoms and who holds memories/triggers.

Pssh yeah we only Really acknowledged our system for the first time in late December 2024, but we've fallen juust short of figuring it out so many times over the last 2 years.

Ok this is awkward um. We created OCs in character ai to talk to and suddenly switched to 🐾 fronting one day. If it hadn't panicked and wrote that they didn't know who they were and what was going on, we would've probably forgotten it happening again and not figured it out for a while longer.

We're monoconscious and it tends to feel something like this comic from oursystemblog. Kind of a mix of the different types they describe, mostly the last one.

Mixed. Mostly involuntary, we're still getting the hang of it. We are highly cooperative though usually so it's not forceful. It can range from blurriness for most of the day, to rapid switches every 10-30 minutes when under stress.

Being loved and protected and supported by people who're always with us, I guess? We're all quite close and can accommodate or help one another in ways no one else can.

Having meltdowns/floaty dissociation/terrible memory, and feeling separate and strange and never able to be normal amongst others.

Most of us share a number of features with the body, but we have a number of non-humans and sysmates of completely different features in the body - such as gender/sex, height, hair color, skin color, physical anatomy in some ways.

Multiple fictives, upon reflection. Two are more close to source appearance and personality-wise (🥤&🌩️), the other three are quite deviant but retain qualities and connection to source (☕,🎻,⌚). Also we're not sure how to classify her but 🦇 is based on a persona we created years ago.

Small preference differences, also comfort foods more specific to one or the other. Examples; 🪐 likes chocolate more than any of us, 🥤 is comforted by instant oatmeal or simple freezer meals, most of us don't eat meat often but 🐾 will take any chance to tear into jerky or other meat snacks.

A few, though we can never tell if they do it ironically or automatically. ☕ has a slight non-region-specific British accent, 🎱&🥤 speak lower than others, and the socializers/🌸 (newer fragment) are better at speaking 普通话 than the others.

Semi-functional found family.

Most of us, lol. Top hits include: aroace & agender, bisexual, sapphic ace, gay, and genderqueer. We usually just say we're queer and go with it.

Yeaup, our two best friends. Depending on who's fronting we pull back and forth on telling them about us vs denying anything we've ever said. We're working on it.

I share most of them on this blog as I go through my day, but one that comes to mind was Indigo appearing, flirting viciously with 🎱, and then disappearing never to be heard from again. That was a thing.

No one else's experiences will match yours entirely. You do not need to fit a specific defined criteria/list to be considered plural. You are real regardless of what you are told or are made to think.

Lots, really. Mainly that we are not so completely different and we are deserving of the same decency, respect, and support as any other singlet in the world.

Plural Ask Game

We figured we’d try making an ask game! This is for anyone who’s a system–regardless of origin–to use. Remember that you’re not obligated to answer any of these if any are too personal!

How many members are in your system, and does this number change frequently?

What are your collective pronouns, if you have any?

What’s your system name if you have one, and how did you choose it?

Are there any activities your system members like to do together? Collective hobbies? Talk about those!

What sort of music do people in your system like?

What’s the average age of your systemmates?

If you have a singletsona, what is it? Explain a bit about them!

Does anyone in your system have roles? If so, what roles?

How long have you been a system and/or known of your system?

How did you discover your system? What was the process?

What does switching feel like to you, if you switch at all? 

Are your switches voluntary, involuntary or a mix? How often do you do it, if at all?

What’s your favourite part of being a system?

What’s your least favourite part of being a system, if you’re comfortable sharing?

Are your headmates generally different from the physical body? How do they differ from it?

Do you have any fictives/factives/etc? Tell us a little about them!

Does your system have a headspace? Are there multiple of them? What are they like?

Are there differences between systemmates surrounding sensory things? (For example, one person likes the taste of one food and another doesn’t.)

Does anyone have any different accents, or speak any different languages?

How would you describe your system in 3 words or less?

Do you have any LGBT+ headmates? What do they identify as?

Does anyone outside of the internet know you’re a system?

Do you have any cool/funny stories from inside the headspace that you’d like to share?

What’s some advice you’d give to yourself when you were first discovering your system?

What is something you wish singlets knew about plurality?

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 058 - Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Smut ◛⑅·˚ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. By interacting with this post you are fully aware that this is a work of fiction for 18+ readers.]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ I want you in my Blood Veins ] ¡! ❞

"Ngh.. Haa... Jinwoo please" You beg, gasping pathetically as you fumble around on the sheets that felt damp from the frequency of your activities with you lover. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can." Jinwoo purs against your ear, suckling gently on the shell of your ear as he continously pistons you from behind.

How many rounds has it even been since you both started?

The last time you were able to count it was fifteen.

Someway along the way way you had lost count from the fog that overwhelmed your brain with how insatiable this bastard is.

He came from work and then suddenly he's fucking you like he didn't do it last week.

Is Sung Jinwoo losing his fucking mind?

With his cock inside you?

Fuck Yes.

God, did he have to be so big?

Each time it feels like you're a virgin with how girthy he is. The veins poppingon the skin brushing inside you walls is driving you absolutely insane.

How can he get so big in such a short amount of time even?

Sung Jinwoo is not even human at this point.

"Hic!..." He groans, thrusting once more as he buries himself into you— And you swear his cockhead is kissing your cervix right now.

"J-jinwoo... Have mercy." You drool on the pillow, completely fucked out of your mind as you once again feel so lightheaded with the thick and creamy release flooding your insides.

the uterus is normally pink, but yours right now must be white.

"I'm not even done yet, sarang" Jinwoo purrs sadistically, pulling out and then flipping you over on your back so he can admire the mess he made.

"Look at you" He muses, swiping his thumb on your parted lips. "So pretty like this, how can you expect me to control myself?"

Hair sprayed on his pillows, your cute and swollen pink pussy overflowing with his semen, your releases mixed together in his sheets— How can he resist? How can a man like him be calm when the love of his life is this perfect and fuckable?

He praises you with sweet nothings as he once again slides inside your already sensitive insides as if he wants you with a child by the time he's done with you.

"Ah, fuck" Jinwoo groans as he leans his head back while thrusting in and out like a fucking animal.

Such a brutally beautiful man this psycho is.

You swear your eyes must be dilating into hearts shapes at this moment with the sight of his slicked back hair from the amount of sweat he is producing. His defined adam's apple is bobbing up and down over and over,

Those scars on his wondserful skin, those lovely and strong pecks littered with your nibbles and bite marks, those hazy grey eyes who can only see you in the midst of all this madness and debauchery—

You are just as clouded with lust as this man, you hypocrite.

So, your legs wrap around his waist no matter how limp you already are from the countless rounds and the sticky feeling originating from your overflowing core.

Really, you don't mind even if this bastard fucks you until sunrise♡.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Now before ya'll start qouting me on my last Jinwoo smut— STFU IK IM A HYPOCRITE NO NEED TO RUB SALT IN THE WOUND MFS QAQ. Miner Jinwoo is my AND I AM IN HEAT YOUR HONOR. PLEASE SENTENCE ME TO LIFE IN PRISON PLEASE. I NEED HIM AND ITS NOT A JOKR ANM— ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[genderqueerdykes]

i think that people forget that the transtrender thing from a few years ago predominantly effected and targeted transmascs. treating us like we were girls who just wanted to feel special. i honestly could not give you any examples off the top of my head of transfems being called trenders. im sure it must've happened at some point, but all of the "this is a normal trans person. and this is a WEEEIRRRRD TRENDERRRR who thinks that boys don't have to wear bras uwu i don't have to shave my legs :3 blue hair he/they/xe/it and if you don't use my one thousand neopronouns you're transphobic!!!!!!!!" stuff was so so so so obviously pointing towards transmascs.

and then we got out of it for a bit! things improved! transmascs started becoming comfortable with being gnc again! trans people in any direction started playing with neopronouns and mogai terms!

and now we're right back where we were before. not only that, but it feels so much worse. back then, i had enough confidence to puff my chest out and say "actually yeah! i wanna take pride in my neopronouns! i wanna dye my hair weird colors! i wanna have a billion neogenders! and if you don't like it, you can bite me!"

but now it isn't just attacking "surface level" things. it's attacking the very CONCEPT of being transmasc. i didn't have to seriously consider going back in the closet when the trender stuff started. but i have now. on multiple occasions. it's just so tiring. i have no idea how people think that trans men are somehow more privileged. it feels like we keep getting kicked down as soon as we find a new community to just exist in. im so fucking tired, man.

-TB

oh wow, true, i forgot about that. damn i haven't thought about that term in quite a while but you are very right. while i'm sure there were and are transfems affected by it, there's no denying that the bulk of the targets were explicitly transmascs and trans men. like, i'm almost certain the term was coined specifically to harass and misgender transmascs and trans men.

people have been erasing and being horrific to trans men and mascs for decades, they just keep changing hats and making up new terms. thank you for pointing this out, i really appreciate it. trans men are not inherently any more privileged than anyone else, especially if they're closeted, no transition, pre transiton/early transition, intersex, a person of color and so on. people just go out of their ways to punch laterally on trans men and mascs and it's so old. we don't have it better than any other type of trans person just because we are men and mascs. it doesn't make our lives any easier- it just gets harder after we come out. same as everyone else.

take care of yourself! thank you for sending this ask, i really appreciate you.

[amomentsescape]

Hi! I saw headcanons with slashers, with a pregnant reader that's clingy on ur account. Would it be possible to write about a pregnant reader that's irritated by their voice, or feels nauseous from their scent? (obv the reader didn't have problems like that before the pregnancy) Ty in advance! Love your headcanons and writing in general! 💞

Slashers with Sick & Pregnant! Reader

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, Bo & Hannibal

A/N: I saw your other message and made sure to include Hannibal with this!

Freddy Krueger

As mentioned so many times before, he can literally alter his world in any way, shape or form

A certain scent is throwing you off?

No problem, he'll just change it to something that relaxes you

His voice is irritating you?

Then why not make himself sound like that one singer you've been obsessed with recently

He can fully take away your discomfort if you ask

Which is why you've been sleeping so much recently

His world, for the time being, is much better than the real one

Michael Myers

Michael is Michael

He doesn't really care to be honest

He rarely goes out of his way to speak or get all touchy with you anyways

The couple of times he has so far is met with a quiet apology as you pull away

He just looks at you and continues on with whatever he was going to do next

He doesn't take it personally

But if he has a particularly rough night, then sadly for you, there is no denying him

If he wants to sit next to you then nothing is going to stop him

Jason Voorhees

He knows he probably doesn't smell the best, considering his current... state

But every time you make a face or scoot a few feet further away, Jason's head noticeably falls

You've apologized to him probably a million times by now, and you constantly reassure him that it's just the hormones

He believes you, but that bullied little boy is still in his mind sometimes

He's doing his best to be strong for the both of you, but it's tough on him

The only solace is at night when you're already asleep, and he can finally curl up beside you in peace

Thomas Hewitt

He's fairly understanding of it all, and he always waits by the door in the morning to see if you need help with anything

All it took was ONE time when you pulled away early from a hug, and he basically avoided you like the plague for the rest of the day

It's killing him not to be close to you, but he is not willing to over step your boundaries

He'll just act as your personal assistant for the next several months, fetching you anything and everything you could possibly need

He's happy to wait until things can finally go back to normal again

Bubba Sawyer

Poor guy has no idea

You can explain this to him in every way possible, but he still doesn't understand

It's worse too because he's been extra cuddly with you knowing that you have a little one growing inside you

But his giggles have been too pitchy, and no amount of showering seems to remove that bloody aroma off of him

Even his mother has tried to explain to him why you're reacting like this, but all he hears is that you don't want him around

He's quite literally going to be acting like a kicked puppy until your hormones get sorted out

Brahms Heelshire

Yeah, this isn't going to go well

You may be pregnant, but he still needs to be taken care of too

And he's so incredibly observant

So all it takes is one crinkle of the nose or a slight turn of the head, and he's immediately on you about "when you're going to leave him" and "who the other man is"

Even if you get him to listen to what's going on, it won't matter

Nothing will change, he won't let it

You better buy some nose and ear plugs, because Brahms is desperate for your attention

Norman Bates

He understands

He literally bought a dozen books about pregnancy and how to help out as best as one can

All you have to do is mention it once, and he's to work

The smallest sounds are bothering you? He's not uttering a single word and will sound proof the house

A certain scent is making your stomach turn? He will fill the area in anything you can tolerate, so much as to switching his soaps and detergents to better suit your needs

He fully understands everything you and your body are going through in order to carry his child; the least he can do is make you comfortable

Billy Loomis

He isn't exactly the best at empathizing, so he feels like you're probably exaggerating it a bit

These things never once bothered you before, so there's no way they could be now

Takes everything very personally

If you even slightly push him away, he'll make his exit out the door

He always comes back though with a pout and a murmured apology

He has a lot of abandonment issues he's still working out

He isn't too mature with his emotions, but he's trying his best to figure things out

Will eventually do research on his own and see that things are backed by science

Won't stop him from still pouting though

Stu Macher

Apologizes for just being in your presence

Once you explain how you're feeling and what's bothering you, he'll be your biggest supporter...

From the other room

You wake up to warm tea and snacks most mornings since he knows he can be in the same room when you're asleep

Will become a bit deprived of affection after a while though

So he'll sneak into bed with you once you're already asleep and will be out before you wake up the next morning

He explains that it's important for him to spend time with you both

May still give you the occasional hug out of nowhere

He just can't help it

Vincent Sinclair

He's going to 100% respect your wishes, but he's definitely sulking any time your back is turned

He gets it, he knows about the hormones and science of it all, but damn

It hurts him so much to know that something so natural about him can be making you sick like this

He's kept his tinkering to a minimum since the noises have been hurting your head

He's taken to showering multiple times a day too since it's the only thing keeping your nausea at bay

He knows you don't mean harm by it, but this phase is going to feel like an eternity for him

Bo Sinclair

Sympathy isn't exactly in his vocabulary

He won't really do or change anything at first

But if you complain about it for long enough, he'll finally give in

But he isn't really going to do anything that actually benefits you

He'll buy nose and ear plugs for you so that he doesn't have to change anything himself

He still expects you to watch and eat whatever he is feeling though

He's trying to be there for you the best he can, he just hasn't had many experiences of empathy in his life

Hannibal Lecter

He understands and will act ever so maturely about it (like always)

He'll stop wearing his usual cologne and aftershave if it bothers you

Will only cook certain foods around you that you can tolerate

The rest he'll cook privately

If his smooth and suave voice bothers you for some reason, he'll be happy to communicate through gestures and looks

He's willing to adapt to your needs since he knows the severity of pregnancy and hormone changes

He's truly the "ask and you shall receive" type partner

[deepseasmetro]

i feel like youre really again misunderstanding fundamentally what is being said here. in an ideal, communist, post-psychiatry future, you or i would NOT be socially designated as "having ADHD" and thus "being Disabled tm" or "Neurodivergent tm" or , Wrong tm. we would have Our Specific needs tended to - in mine and likely your case, access to stimulant medication - without that designation being necessary. because those designations as they exist now exist to delineate Normal, Healthy People from Sick, Abberant People. we will just be People, whos particular individual needs involve stimulant medication or specific labor accommodations or whatever.

what do u think ab the whole ‘mental illness wouldn’t exist under a different political economic arrangement’ line of thought

this is a really common point of misunderstanding with regards to both anti-psych critiques and the 'social model of disability'. although there are some specific forms of affective distress that would probably be drastically reduced or eliminated in a communist society (for example, stress and alienation that people experience as a direct result of poverty), anti-capitalist critiques of psychiatry are not promising to eliminate all mental / emotional suffering through political action.

rather, if you hear someone say that 'mental illness' per se wouldn't exist in a communist society, they're usually making the following argument: all humans experience distress, including mental distress, and have limitations, including mental and emotional ones. what makes these things disabling, or an 'illness', is living in a social context in which we are denied support or accommodations for them, and are expected to function in specific ways and conform to specific social expectations, particularly standards of capitalist productivity. in a non-capitalist society where people are valued intrinsically rather than on the basis of economic productivity, we should provide for one another and accommodate each other's unique needs and experiences.

therefore, things we currently identify as 'symptoms' of 'mental illnesses' (eg, anxiety, hearing voices, self-injury, &c) would still exist as part of the spectrum of human experience, but would not prevent us from having our material and social needs met. rather than (as we do now) assuming a very specific set of experiences and abilities as a 'baseline', with a wide range of other behaviours designated as pathological aberrations, we would expect human mental experiences to be varied, including sometimes in ways that are potentially distressing or that limit certain abilities and functionality. so, this line of critique isn't saying that the experiences we currently identify as 'mental illnesses' would all vanish outside of a capitalist context, but that we would treat them as value-neutral variants in the incredibly wide spectrum of human experience, and would create a society that is not hostile to them, or to providing for people's many and varied needs.

[daeniradraconis]

Banter Between the Lines - Hughes Brothers

Author's Note: Hey, so here’s another quick chat-style piece! I haven’t had much time to sit down and write properly lately, so short and sweet it is for now. 😊 Feel free to send me some requests if you’d like! (You can check out the "rules" here: link). I can’t promise when I’ll get to them, but I’ll definitely find time soon.

Summary: A little fluff with a touch of smut (nothing too crazy, just some extra flirting). Quinn’s girlfriend roasts the boys while calling them out in their group chat.

Warnings: Nothing major, just some mention of 🍆.

It was one of those quiet Sunday nights where everything felt slow. You'd spent the evening catching up on your favorite shows, but it was hard to concentrate when all you could think about was Quinn. The constant distance between you two had become harder to ignore with each passing day, and as much as you loved how happy he was with his team, you missed him. And, truthfully, you missed the whole family.

You’d gotten close to Jack and Luke over the years, and now, with Quinn playing for the Vancouver Canucks and Jack and Luke together on the New Jersey Devils, the family dynamic felt a little more spread out than you liked. Sure, they’d all make time for you when they could, but it wasn’t the same as those days when you’d all hang out together.

Tonight, instead of a call or a quick text, you decided to turn to something a little more familiar. You opened up youtube and searched for their latest highlights.

All three of them were struggling on the ice, and it showed. It hurt to see them like this, especially when you couldn’t do much to help. So you did what you always did in times like these—opened the group chat and prepared to roast them into oblivion. If nothing else, it might make them laugh.

you: just finished your highlights. Quinn, congrats on being the saddest guy on the ice again 🥇. Jack, loved the mini tantrum energy 👏. Luke, did you forget which team you play for? because those turnovers were next-level.

Jack: wow, you really woke up and chose violence.

you: always. someone has to keep you humble.

Luke: humble? this feels more like a personal attack.

Quinn: what would you call it, then?

Luke: bullying.

you: oh, Lukey, don’t take it so hard. I tease because I care 💕

Jack: you literally plotted my ex’s demise last month. is that “caring” too?

you: first of all, it wasn’t a plot. it was more of a… fantasy.

Quinn: putting her in the ground “while she’s still breathing” doesn’t sound like a fantasy…

you: listen, if she hadn’t been such a manipulative little snake, I wouldn’t have had to consider it 🐍

Luke: terrifying. but honestly? fair.

Jack: I could’ve handled her myself, you know.

you: oh, really? because from where I was sitting, she had you wrapped around her finger like a puppet.

Quinn: she’s not wrong!

Jack: whose side are you on?

Quinn: hers. always.

you: damn right honey. and don’t worry, I’m not plotting her demise anymore… unless she tries to come back. then all bets are off.

Jack: remind me to never date again. you’re scarier than Quinn’s slap shot.

You grinned as the banter flew back and forth, but your focus shifted to Luke. His disastrous date still didn’t sit right with you.

you: okay, but seriously, Lukey. I've heard some gossip. how does a girl ditch you mid-dinner? you’re literally the sweetest human alive.

Luke: THANK YOU! finally, someone gets it.

Jack: don’t encourage him. he needs to toughen up.

you: excuse me? let him be sweet! not every guy needs to have your level of 'I’m too cool for feelings,' Jack.

Quinn: valid point.

Luke: thank you, Quinn.

you: honestly, Luke, I’ll never understand how she left. did you say something weird?

Luke: no!!! I was perfectly normal.

Quinn: “normal” is a stretch…

Jack: is this really the same guy who told a girl on a first date he’d make six different accounts just to sort himself into Hufflepuff six different times because he didn’t 'trust the algorithm'?

Luke: OKAY, THAT’S DIFFERENT. I was being honest!

you: oh, Lukey. you’re lucky you’re adorable because that is painful 😂

Luke: this is why I didn’t want to tell you guys.

Quinn: bro, it’s fine. just embrace the awkward puppy vibe. it’s clearly your brand.

Luke: I hate you.

Jack: ugh, why does he get the sympathy? roast him more guys!!! I can’t be the only one taking L’s here.

you: because Luke doesn’t put ketchup on his eggs like a serial killer, Jack.

Luke: yeah, what is WRONG with you? ketchup on eggs? really?

Jack: you people are so dramatic. it’s normal.

Quinn: nothing about that is normal.

you: thank you, Quinn. once again, the only rational person in this chat.

Jack: stop flirting with my brother. it’s disgusting.

Luke: seriously. I can feel the weird vibes through my phone.

You smirked, knowing exactly how to push their buttons.

you: you’re just mad because Quinn’s risotto is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

Quinn: best risotto AND lasagna. don’t forget!

you: how could I? it’s the only reason I keep you around. And of course your magic 🍆

Quinn: oh, not my sparkling personality? btw you're objectifying my body...

you: hmm… maybe that too. but i have my priorities straight!

Jack: 🤢 STOP. this is disgusting.

Luke: seriously. this is TMI guys!!

you: just jealous, you two can’t even scramble eggs properly.

Quinn: cooking skills = key to a woman’s heart.

Luke: ugh. golden child strikes again.

Jack: some of us don’t need to cook because we have charisma, thank you very much.

Quinn: does your charisma excuse ketchup on eggs? because it shouldn’t.

Luke: still the biggest red flag in this chat.

Jack: Y’ALL ARE SO DRAMATIC.

You smiled at their bickering, your heart full, untouched by their chaos.

you: okay, but for real… I miss you guys 💔.

Luke: aww, finally some love.

Jack: are you feeling okay?!

you: don’t get used to it. but yeah, I miss you. Quinn, risotto night when you’re home! Jack and Luke, you can come eat it too.

Quinn: deal. but I’m ignoring them for the first hour I’m back. i need my time with you!

Luke: RUDE!

Jack: gross. is this the flirting portion of the chat? can we not?

you: love you too, boys. even if you’re disasters.

Jack: love you too. now stop flirting with Quinn before I puke.

Luke: seriously. save it for your own chat.

Quinn: jealousy doesn’t look good on you two.

Luke: jealous of what? your cooking? maybe. your 🍆? absolutely not.

you: you should be Lukey! your brother got some great 🍆

Jack: I’m OUT.

Luke: same.

Quinn: good job hon. guess it’s just us now. you: just how I like it 😘

[kirbmey]

— 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓!𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃 ૮꒰˵• ﻌ •˵꒱ა

synopsis: there’s also soft moments with gege, the majority of them are!

tw: the usual stepcest and cute reader, besides that it’s all rainbows and unicorns, reader calls her mom ‘mommy’, i picture their house being spotted in some natural area and it’s quiet vintage, etc.

waking up from what you could swear was the worse night of your life sweating was not on you monday plans. caleb could hear your coughing from the other side of the house, so he visited you earlier than normal to check on your condition.

finding you curled up underneath your silky bedsheets he could barely spot your eyes. and when he met them he immediately knew something was wrong, very wrong.

he knelt in front of you as he was used to, a big palm coming up against your forehead to check your temperature first thing; no fever.

his best friend zayne (and one of your fewer ones, he trusted him to be around you) was studying medicine and told him how to spot things such as fever, flu or a mere cold.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　 “my angel, what’s the matter? what do you feel?” he questioned with a saddened expression, hurting when you did. his amethyst eyes locking with your lifeless ones.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　 “throat feels dry and m’ head hurts so much.” you complained with almost quiet voice, turning your back on him so caleb couldn’t see your pathetic state.

cold it is, he deduced. he softly caressed your hair for a little longer before standing up and coming back with the right medicine. he helped you sit up against the bed frame and medicated you.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　 “there you go, good girl. we’ll be taking these again in eight hours, hmm? for now you’ll be taking a warm bath, it’ll make you feel a lot better.” he informed you and stood up grabbing some fresh clothes from your drawers, heading to your bathroom to fill up the bathtub along with your favorite vanilla scented salts and lighting up cherry candles.

the window of your bathroom almost completely covered by the blinds, he could see just how dark it was outside yet, the moon not ready to leave for now.

when he came back to you he found you falling asleep again, smiling to himself at the adorable sight. “i know you wanna sleep, princess, but we have to wash you up first.” he acknowledged, he always knew how you felt or what you were thinking.

you merely nodded and lifted your weak arms as you could so he would take you to said bathroom, which was warm by the time you got there because of the steamy water filling the tub.

the pink countertop was your designated sit while he undressed you, not a single lustful intention in his actions.

he began rustling with the cottony fabric of your nightgown to finally lift it out of your lumpy body, leaving it aside as he removed your used panties so they could be thrown away with the rest of your clothes.

you let out some sneezes and coughs from time to time, making caleb pull you against his dressed chest and wrap his big arms around you, hugging you while resting his head on top of yours, just for moral support.

while waiting for the tub to be full of water you both heard a weak knocking on the bathroom door, hearing your moms voice.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　 “is everything okay, baby, you need help?” she asked, concern noticeable in her voice. you were quiet prone to get sick these seasons, so she always tried to help you whenever you felt off.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　 “no, mommy, gege’s helping me.” you said as you came down the counter, opening the door so your mom could see caleb turning off the tap, your discarded clothes and your naked form.

anyone would find that alarming, weird, off putting, mostly when you were already grown up adults. but your mother had a pure heart, just as you did, and only felt tenderness take over her soul when noticing how caring your step brother was about you.

she held your pale face between her hands, peppering it with small kisses as she spoke. “alright, i see caleb gave you medicine already. what about if i get on cooking breakfast so it’s ready when you come out?” she smothered your arms up an down.

caleb came up behind you, grabbing onto your shoulders and offering your mother that characteristic boyish smile of his. “that’d be great, ma, we’ll be done in a minute here.”

⠀ ⠀ 　　　 “splendid then, i’ll light up the fireplace as well! we have to keep you warm.” she mumbled while leaving the room, closing the door in her departure.

and just like that your brother held you between his arms, lifting you like a princess without needing much effort due to his strength, and put you down inside the warm and bubbly water.

he knelt in front of the tub outside, the sleeves of his pajamas rolled to his elbows so he could wash your hair and body comfortably. he would often times use the foam floating around to plaster it on your face and give you little mustaches or weird beards, gaining tiny laughs from you.

after a few minutes he was done and didn’t waste time on pulling you out when he felt the water running cold, making you stand in front of the big vintage mirror while he had your back, drying your hair and applying your usual products on it to keep it silky and smooth.

he then dried you whole and creamed your body with coconut scented lotion, massaging your arms, legs and feet on the way, dressed you up with a cozier pajama, making sure it was perfectly buttoned and squeezed your nape to make you turn to look up to him.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　 “feeling better, my dear?” you simply nodded, standing on your tippy toes to leave a loud kiss on his cheek. a stupid smile drawn on his lips; he was utterly in love with you.

when you two came out of your little bubble the sun was already setting, waving the moon goodbye. the wooden walls of the house filled with the sound of the gramophone playing your mom’s favorite jazz album; you loved jazz too.

she’d play it when she carried you inside her belly.

grabbing onto your brother’s big hand you would go downstairs to meet your loving mother place some homemade pancakes on the peeled white table along with chocolate syrup and orange juice.

caleb sat down next to you and in front of your mom, feeling your legs coming up to rest on his lap while you chatted with the woman who gave you birth, caressing the soft skin of your ankles as he munched on a chocolate covered pancake.

he could pick some parts of what you two said, something about his dad being out of town for work, something about the roses out the garden starting to bloom, to which you happily clapped at.

he was too mesmerized with your angel-like features accompanied by the lake he could see outside the window behind you, noticing how the swan that swam around looked just like you.

his little swan.

a/n: this is by far the sweetest thing I’ve ever written, i need me a caleb living with me in a vintage country side cottage rn ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

— masterlist.

[tackytigerfic]

This fic took a lot for me to write — in a good way, but it was still a lot. Time and energy and commitment and thought and all of those juicy things. And then it was done and posted and part of me missed it, is still missing it. I've spent so long in its world that being without it feels weird. So to see this art emerge from one of the scenes feels like closure or, dare I say, fulfillment. I wrote that scene to be a moment of harmony and community in the middle of a war. This art takes that feeling and expands it into a new realm, and brings it depth and vividness and a sense of magic and energy. It is this writer's dream to be seen and understood in such a way, and to get in turn to bask in the way joy saw and shaped the world. I saw the art less than a day ago and have already pored over it so many times, zooming in on every tiny space and getting to see the intuition, the transformative and collaborative mingling in such beauty and character and detail. This scene is everything that i could have hoped for in that it feels exactly as i wanted it to feel (Rosie so perfectly childlike and joyful, the focus and contentment of harry and draco who are finally becoming friends after years of hurt and loneliness, a moment of joy and distraction for malfoy who is alone in another world, his red string trailing out of the world, seeking.... plus all the DETAILS there is so much to marvel at) but it feels like the essence of joy's art too, which takes it out of my brain and puts something else into the world, and I'm so grateful.

To have joy with us again feels like Good Things distilled, something precious and very much hoped for. Thank you joy, I'm honoured to have this, it has made me more happy than i can even convey. And to have it as a gift from sweet and Maester too - my two dear friends, who poured more energy, time, and thought into this fic than anyone has a right to ask, to do it so generously without ever making me feel like the horror i was (let me stress again... THREE YEARS of listening to me and talking me through and reading hundreds of thousands of words and taking all the shit and helping me fix it). Not to sound trite but I'll never forget this. Thank you.

art inspired by first watch of night by @tackytigerfic

“Rosie!” Harry shouted joyfully from somewhere over their heads, and then they heard a “woah” and the creak of something old and wooden, and looked up just in time to see Harry, holding one of the fencing swords from the training room, balanced on the upper bannister of the mezzanine stairs, his body twisting lithely away from a flashing flurry of something.

hello! this is the first time i’ve done something in my… actual style on here in forever, but what better cause for it than tacky’s new incredible, epic fic. this piece is a gift from @sweet-s0rr0w and @maesterchill!

like the characters of this story, i’m blessed with good friends in every universe i inhabit, especially this one. i was completely swept up by what it must have felt like to be in that library - a heavy, hard-won, sudden happiness, the kind that often appears in tacky’s work. i felt the need to do something that would visually translate the immense detail, whimsy and familiarity of that moment.

the chapter title comes from a wilfred owen poem, and i continued to borrow from him for the piece - the big sigil made by malfoy and rosie, as well as the small ones helping harry and draco duel, are all coded from lines from two of his poems.

from training day:

harry - none else may meet me till I wear my crown

draco - my renown be the clean beauty of speed and pride of style

the big sigil malfoy and rosie are casting comes from owen’s poem the end and it spells out: all death annul, all tears assuage.

i hope you all go and read this incredible story (and tacky's entire back catalog) and i hope you're all happy and safe forever.

[pinkboaclub]

Professor Styles [part two]

[read first part here!]

Summery: After you hook up, Professor Styles desperately tries to work things out, though you’re unsure……until you’re not.

Words Count: 2.9k

Warnings: smut, teacher-student relationship (university-everyone is of age), fem!reader

It was Monday morning, and the air in the lecture hall felt heavier than usual. You could barely focus on anything, definitely not on the lecture Professor Styles—Harry—was doing.

Instead, your mind kept circling back to Friday night when you felt the soft brush of his hand against yours, the lingering heat between you as he leaned in closer to help with your research, the unexpected rush of emotions that had filled the space between the two of you, the kiss, and everything after that. You couldn’t shake it. You couldn’t look at him the same way anymore.

He stood at the front of the room, detailing his lecture, though you didn’t hear a word he said. His eyes were constantly trying to find yours, looking over at you every few minutes, but you stayed looking at your notebook. You normally were so engaged in these lectures, eager to raise your hand, to contribute, but today you stayed silent. The tension between you and Harry was palpable, and you felt it in every inch of your body.

He dismissed the class to work on their assignment as he walked around the room, asking people if they needed help. Your stomach churned every time he walked by your seat, which he kept doing, as if he was preparing himself to talk to you.

"Y/N?" He finally said, breaking you out of your nervous thoughts. "How’s the assignment going? Need any help?"

His voice, low and familiar, sent a jolt through your body. You didn’t dare look up, but you could feel him standing there beside your desk, waiting for an answer.

You shook your head quickly, avoiding his gaze. "No. I’m fine," you muttered, your voice coming out more abrupt than you intended.

He paused, as if he wanted to say something back, but nodded and moved on to the next student. You felt like you’d ruined everything, and yet, he still was trying to grab your attention.

The rest of the class dragged on. You couldn't focus. Your mind kept spinning with thoughts of Harry. What would he think of you now?

After Harry gave a last minute instruction and dismissed the class, everyone started to shuffle out of the room. You grabbed your things, the only thing on your mind was leaving. Just as you were about to walk to the door, you heard Harry’s voice again.

"Y/N, could you stay for a moment?"

You froze. His voice made your heart race, and you cursed yourself for not leaving faster. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as you reluctantly gathered your belongings and made your way to the front of the room. You tried to come up with some excuse, an assignment to work on, a place to be.

“Uhm, I actually have to go…I have somewhere to be.”

“It will only take a moment, it's about the last assignment.”

You knew it wasn’t about the last assignment, but a large part of you was praying it was.

"Sure," you reluctantly said, your voice tight.

The last student left, and Harry closed the door behind them. The awkwardness caused your body to want to squirm.

He leaned against his desk, his gaze softer now, but still carrying that same tension. “Y/N, I—” He paused, running a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. "I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable, and I just...I don’t want you to hate me. I really care about you, and I would never want to ruin…this…us." His voice was sincere, and you could hear the concern in it, but it only made you feel more confused.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got caught in your throat. You didn't know what to say, you agreed with him, you never wanted to feel uncomfortable around him. But, he never made you uncomfortable.

“I don’t hate you,” you said firmly. "I think I...crossed a line, though. I shouldn’t have let it happen." Your voice broke slightly, and your heart raced at the confession. You stared down at your shoes, shifting uncomfortably.

Harry’s eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently. “No, Y/N, you didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing about that was wrong.” He took a deep breath and a small step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You didn't cross any line and I’d never want you to feel bad about it. You didn’t make things awkward for me. I just want to know you’re okay, at the very least"

You stared at him, trying to make sense of everything. His words, your feelings, the entire situation. But everything felt so jumbled in your mind.

And then, without thinking, you walked up to him. The pull between you both felt magnetic, and before either of you could say another word, you were kissing him again, this time, it was you who closed the space between you.

His lips were warm against yours, and the second they met, they welcomed yours, molding together. He didn’t hesitate this time. His hands cupped your face, drawing you closer.

When you pulled away, your breath was shallow, your heart pounding in your chest. His forehead rested against yours, and you could feel him smile, that same soft smile you’d seen a hundred times before—but now, it felt different, warmer, more intimate.

"I think I just ruined everything, again." you whispered, your voice breathless.

Harry chuckled softly, pulling back to look you in the eyes. "No," he said, his voice low but certain. "You didn’t. We’re just figuring this out together."

There was a loud knock on the way causing both of you to harshly separate, creating a large distance between the both of you. The person walked in, it was another one of the art professors coming in to talk with Harry.

“So I think if you have time to make it up today, we can definitely work something out, make sure you get the grade you wanted.” Harry blurted, trying to make it look like he wasn’t just making out with a student moments before.

“Oh, yeah no problem, what time do you want me here?” You casually replied, pulling out your best acting skills. The other teacher, giving Harry a smile and waiting patiently for your conversation to be done.

“Uhm,” He looked at his watch, face scrunched, in a way that almost turned you on. “How about, anytime after twelve thirty My last class ends at twelve, so I can prepare a makeup quiz for you, it shouldn’t take long.” He lied and he gave you a look.

“That sounds perfect, see you then.” You gave a final nod before walking towards the door, giving the other professor a smile before walking out.

In your next class, feeling way better about your current situation with Harry, your phone lit up.

‘See you at 12:30, my classroom.’

You knock on the door that had ‘Professor Styles’ engraved into it. Taking a deep breath, looking around to see other students passing by. The door finally opened to a smiling Professor Styles—Harry.

“I have that makeup quiz ready for you.” He said while the door was still open.

Once the door was closed and he turned towards you, you grabbed his face, smashing your lips against his. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body closer to his.

“Mm…my…office…is the only…door with…a lock on it.” He muttered in between kisses. You both walked towards his office, which was connected to the classroom.

He closed and locked the door and turned on the light. Walking backwards, you leaned your backside against his desk, continuing to keep his lips on yours.

Licking your bottom lip, he gently demanded entrance to your mouth, which you gave gladly with a light moan. You kissed him deeply, pushing your tongue against his. His hands rested lightly on your waist and yours on his solid chest.

You lost track of time while enjoying kissing him, not worrying about anyone or anything else, until you suddenly wanted more. Much more.

“Is this okay?” You broke away from his lips to unbutton his shirt, looking up at him to silently ask. He firmly consented and slowly dragged your top off, followed by your bra.

He leaned down to kiss your collarbone, gently nipping his way down to your breasts before taking one in his mouth. His hand cupped the other breast, rolling the already hard nipple with his thumb and forefinger. He moaned into your breast, the vibration against your nipple sending a wave of heat and sensation through your body. You gasped and dug your nails into his broad, strong shoulders.

He helped you out of your pants and lifted you on to the desk. His hands became more urgent as he began kneading and caressing your thighs.

“Please, more, Harry,” You babble, unable to form a specific request.

He pulled your underwear off and swiftly placed his fingers on your clit, before slowly lowering his body. You had never been so turned on in your life. He pulled your legs over his shoulders and without another word, he licked a soft stripe along your slit, from your opening to your clit, before parting his lips and planting a gentle kiss on the clit itself. You covered your mouth to muffle your strained gasp.

“We need to be so quiet, honey. Just for now, next time I’ll make sure you can scream as much as you want.” He gently said, rubbing a hand up and down your thigh.

He licked another stripe along your slit and fixed his gaze on yours as you watched your Professor do this, which was the sexiest yet dirtiest thing you’d ever seen.

He continued to look up into your eyes as he alternated licking, sucking, and grazing his teeth along your clit and labia. Registering every reaction, noting what you responded to the most, every moan, every ‘yes, keep going’. He gave you the most attentive care you had ever been given during sex.

The men on campus you had been with either wouldn’t go down on you or only did it until you were wet enough for penetration. Harry enjoyed giving you oral. He began sucking harder when he felt your legs straighten out, stiff and trembling, while your breath became heavier and louder.

“Oh fuck, Professor, I, I–ugh” This time he didn’t correct you, almost finding you calling him Professor hot.

“Yes, cum for me. You’re so beautiful like this, Y/N,” He encouraged between hot heavy breaths, before he buried his face into your pussy, using his nose to rub your clit even more vigorously while his tongue licked at your entrance.

His words tipped you over the edge and you started grinding yourself upwards, grabbing the back of his head and lightly pushing his face into you. You were cumming violently, heels digging into his shoulder blades, fingernails digging into his scalp, wanting to scream at the intensity of the pleasure.

After he licked your sensitive folds and inner thighs clean as you came down from your extreme high, he wiped away the cum that painted his chin, the tip of his nose, and his lips.

As he stood up you noticed his cock pressing against the fabric of his trousers. He had almost made you forget, by putting your pleasure at the centre of his attention. You unbuckled his belt and massaged him through his underwear.

You then removed his underwear, getting a better look at him than you did last time when you both were so quick and urgent. This time, you both were taking in every moment.

He stepped towards you, caressing your breasts before running his hands down to your hips, making you feel safe in his embrace.

“Tell me what you need, baby.” He kissed your upper neck, then behind your earlobe, rubbing his cock along your sensitive slit.

“You Harry, please, I want you.”

He kissed your temple, acknowledging your request. Using the head of his cock to stimulate your clit and inner lips, he began breathing against your neck. He knew exactly how to pleasure you, you almost feel ready to cum on the spot with this new stimulation.

After a little more teasing, you couldn’t take it anymore. You lightly gripped his cock in your hand and led him to your very ready entrance.

Needing no further encouragement, he slowly plunged into you and finally buried himself fully. He waited a moment, looking at you to make sure you were comfortable. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he began to move.

You stayed as quiet as your mouth would let you, not wanting to risk someone hearing and Harry getting fired. But you could have spent the whole time screaming his name over and over again.

He was so deep in you that your muscles started to contract around his cock, causing him to grunt in pleasure. He gripped your hips hard and began thrusting more vigorously, you could tell he was close.

Teasing your clit, he began sending you towards your own climax. You started to grind up against him even harder and crashed your mouth onto his. Desperately kissing and gripping each other, you both approached your own orgasms.

“Harry…..Harry” you quietly moaned into his shoulder, using every ounce of strength you had to stay quiet.

“I know, I’ve got you.”

You cum again, your body twitching as the pleasure rolled through you.

Your muffled moans as well as your contracting muscles on his cock, drove Harry to his orgasm, which almost made him double over as he holds your thighs in a grip that will probably leave bruises. He pulled out and came on your thigh, neither of you really worrying about where any of it would land.

Gently, he took your flushed face in his hand, “You’re so perfect, that was so perfect.”

You nodded, fully agreeing with him

You smiled as your foreheads leaned against each other, happy that you could be this intimate with him and not hate yourself afterwards.

“I do want to make this work. It will be hard, we won’t be able to tell anyone, at least for now, but I want to make it work, make you comfortable.” He said, moving his hand up to brush away some of your hair.

“I want to too. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to tell you on Friday.” You replied, diverting your eyes from his out of embarrassment.

“Don’t apologize. Our lack of communication was not your fault at all” He said sternly. “We’re here now, we feel good, we’ll figure this out as we go.” His words comforted you. In that moment you could have stayed in his embrace forever.

“I should get going though, I don’t think makeup quizzes usually take this long.” You both chuckled, allowing yourself to pull away and put your clothes back on.

With a flirtatious wink, you said a temporary goodbye “See you tomorrow, Professor Styles”