#it does feel like they are just lying to you know

[lunebulous]

Playing with your body in non-sexual ways

A.N: This is my first time writing fanfiction. Any feedback is very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy! I have no idea what tags to put here so, just trust me bro. cw: thigh worshipping (zayne), plus-size reader (rafayel).

Xavier

There wouldn’t be a lot of occasions where his caresses would be in a non sexual way - that's why he's known to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. But don't get me wrong, being sexual does not equal condescending or rough. Not for him. - well, sometimes. - It's just that if he focuses too long on your face when you’re sleeping soundly, or when you're admiring the lantern lights at another festival, he gets this sensation that he should own you once more, just to be sure you're his. 

So when he kisses, it's only to leave you wanting more of him.  So when he caresses your body, it's only to let himself know he's the one making your skin get goosebumps.  So when he embraces all of you in a tight hug, it’s only to feel like you’re finally real this time.  And when all of these inevitably turn into that feeling of ownership again, he frowns internally. Initially, he wishes that he was different and that he wouldn’t feel like this everytime he stops to think about you; But it's just so much love that it overflows from his heart, dripping right into the lowest part of his torso. When he realizes, he’s slowly kissing you against the wall again. He can’t help it, he's naturally drawn to you like a magnet. And that feeling gives place to a necessity, a craving that hurts so deliciously he gives up on being different. So when you gasp for air and tug at his hair to breathe a little, he just can’t understand why. Or how can you do this to him. He wants more. And more. And more. He needs it so bad he can’t help but pin your hands to the wall so he can kiss you longer, raveling in the way you squirm under him. After all, just because he can't help it, doesn't mean he's not enjoying every second of the fruits of his own possessiveness.

So he caresses you all the time - the problem is that it often turns into a primal need to own and to explore each cute face - each little sound - you make for him. He feels like a victim to his own desires. Poooor Xavier… (irony included).

Rafayel

Rafayel is completely enamoured by your hands, making sure to always kiss them whenever he gets the chance. When he doesn’t, he’s more than expected to caress them while you wait for food in a nice restaurant, or when you’re walking on the shore with him. He is the king of intertwining your hands all the time - never letting go even if for brief moments. He says his bodyguard should be aware of where he is at all times, and when you replied that having one of your hands busy would actually get in the way if danger arrives, he puffed his chest, saying something along the lines of “i’m lucky I have the best bodyguard that can fight 10 men with only one hand then!”. You sighed, giggling because of him. “You’re not actually expecting me to fight with 10 men without letting go of your hand, right?” “Well, I'm pretty sure that was on your job description when I hired you.”  “No it wasn’t.” “Now it is.”  --- He also kisses and grabs your stomach and love handles all the time, especially when lying down, like now. There were some times when it made you feel a little bit insecure, but he always buried his face on it with a big smile, hugging your waist. When you voiced your insecurity to him for the first time, he simply said: “Well, I never saw a painting of any muse that didn’t have enough body for me to drown in it. - he stares up at you intently, before looking at your stomach again. - In fact, it is the only scenario where drowning would be possible for me. - Now he’s getting a hold of your love handles. - And actually, i'd love it. Thank you, my muse!” Right before nuzzling his face on your belly again, giggling. You blush furiously, caressing his purple locks, but he’s too busy to see it.

Zayne

Zayne would always need a bit of a push to touch you like he wants to - and you know that. He’s slowly coming out of his shell and being more confident when it comes to being intimate with you, getting over his irrational fear of hurting you again. The ‘push’ he got today was seeing you come home after brunch with your friends, wearing a dark and muted red lipstick, blended on your lips so perfectly it reminded him of a vintage doll. He made a note to himself to compliment you later when you had your attention on him - because you were busy taking off your shoes, your coat and yapping about some BIG gossip you just found out. He listens attentively, putting two and two together with you as you happily stride towards him. 

You sit beside him on the couch and hug his arm, leaning on his shoulder. He places his hand between your thighs, trying not to pay too much attention to it - a task quite hard for him, as you were wearing light brown stockings that made your oh-so-loved thighs look even more bite-deserving; But he tries to shake the thought away. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re well-invested in the documentary he is watching, but the position is getting quite uncomfortable now, so you crawl between his legs and rest your back against his chest, both of you laying down on the chaise part of the couch. First he stares at you, finding adorable how you don’t hesitate before making yourself comfortable with him. He lays a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, making you snuggle against him even more, getting it just right like two puzzle pieces. And he swears to himself he’s a good man. He is not going to turn this into something more just because your ass grinded against him innocently, no, no. Breathe, you touch-starved man! 

But the same man now is fighting for his life to NOT look at your thighs, the stockings making them look so shiny for him, he couldn't help himself but imagine the shadows his fingers pressing onto your skin would look like. He imagined you in not-so-innocent lightings more than he’d ever admit, and as his thoughts stray away, he doesn’t notice how he’s been caressing your chest and collarbones for some time now, lightly using his fingertips to circle around your skin, as if memorizing each part of it. Then he's slowly directing his way to your neck, with four fingers on one side and his thumb on the other, going up and down with featherly touches as his eyes are glued to your legs, completely blank, admiring each curve going from the arch of your feet to your calves, and then to your thighs, stopping at the start of your tight skirt. Now he’s gripping your neck - just lightly pressing on it, your airflow is completely free. (for now). You can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his mind, lying to yourself that feeling his firm hand around your neck is not making you want to rub your legs together, but you're already doing it a bit, discreetly, not knowing you’re being very thoroughly watched. As he’s breathing deeper to try to not get excited, you feel his hand slowly letting go of your neck and you whine inwardly at it. But then his hands hesitantly go higher, his slender fingers sliding across your chin to play with your lips as he remembered to compliment you. He opens his mouth to do it, but being so lost in thought he just stops. Staring at your legs with an empty gaze, completely out of it. God, they’d look so good around his cock. Fuck.  You look up, a bit surprised with his actions, slowly tilting your head to the side, looking at him. - the movement makes him get out of his trance, suddenly confused as to how his fingers got to your lips - but as if reading his mind, you part them, waiting. And then he gets it. The key to making himself touch you like he wants to is just to - not think. It makes sense, it's a part of him he never let himself explore. He then lets himself do what he wants, sliding his middle and index finger on your tongue, experimenting. As you close your lips around them, looking at him so puppy-eyed, he can't help but smirk as realizing he could get used to this very quickly. You start feeling him growing against your ass now.

He presses down on your tongue, smiling. “You look so beautiful wearing this color, love.”

So, Zayne doesn’t play with any part of your body - because as soon as he does it, he gets a problem under his trousers. And now that he knows how to let go of control, - you got one too.

Sylus

Sylus wouldn’t be the type of man to touch you without being full-on intentional with it. The same amount of hate he has towards ‘quickies’, he has for the idea of touching your most sensitive parts without being completely devoted to them. So when playing with you, it is usually filled with admiration and love, silently appreciating your presence by his side. That’s why you often find him mindlessly braiding your hair as you lay your head on his lap to watch a movie, or how he gently runs his fingernails - once claws - on your calf under the table when he’s discussing his next moves with the twins. Yeah, sometimes his hands wander a little bit higher, a little bit firmer, but always looking at you to watch your reaction; as if to just - test the waters, tease you to see your ears turn red.. or warm you up for what’s coming next.

[toothfa-1-ry]

YOU STILL LIKE IT THOUGH

GENRE: Fluff, crack fic ish?

PAIRING: Choi su-bong/thanos x preg!fem!reader

FEAT: Nam gyu as the supportive bestie (that he never rlly was)

A/N: this fic i based of a request from anon !! Tbh i changed ALOT of the request (haha- sorry 😞) because I felt like it was a little repetitive and idk i just can't write rlly emotional scenes with Thanos for some reason (??) ALSO I feel like there are parts where Thanos seems ooc? Idk.. i wrote this instead of studying in the span of 30 mins

"Whoo!" You hear Thanos shout on the top of his voice while he high fives nam gyu as they both jump up and down as if they were children in elementary school after winning a play ground game

You manage your groan, suppressing it while you stare at them from afar, of course that crazy fucker managed to pass through the first game.

You hated to admit it, but a part of you was relieved,

You always had a thing for psycho guys, and your ex boyfriend? The one with the brightly dyed hair who was now doing some weird dance seemed to proudly embody every part of that sentiment.

You carefully watch from afar, not wanting to catch his eyes, your hand unknowingly lay over your stomach while you move uncomfortably in the bunk bed

Fuck, your feeling dizzy all over again

You hear a thud against your bed post, you look up slowly, your eyes slightly squinting to see the purple haired boy with a usual frown on his face

"Hey" his eyebrows raise "are you okay"

"I thought I told you to get lost earlier"

Your mood swings weren't really helping either

"Geez woman" thanos tchs but sits beside you in your bed anyways "im just trying to help" grumbling under his breath but the cautious expression in his face saied otherwise

"I came here to brag about how amazing i usually am but seeing you like this is just killing the vibe yknow"

he makes a hand gesture in the air, leaning face closer in an attempt to make you smile which does not go wasted as the smile you tried to supress escaped your face

"Fuck off you loser" your still kneeling, your hands over your knees and your face hiding behind your knees but he hears the smile in your voice anyways.

He wouldn't want to admit it, but he was relieved

He always had a thing for girls with pretty voices and you? The girl right next to him had to have one of the prettiest voices he had ever heard. Ofcourse who would better know than a rapper like himself?

"I thought I told you to stick close to me, instead you leech to that crazy old man" thanos says as he points towards gi hun who sat far away in the opposite side

You immediately slap his hand, causing him to wince while retracing it back, rubbing it softly

"How many times will I tell you! You shouldn't point your hands at strangers especially to people who are older" you scold him rather loudly causing him to wince even more

"Agh" thanos ruffles his neon hair while complaining "why don't you shout louder so that everyone will hear and laugh at me?"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes upon his childish manners, he really didn't change

Thanos suddenly bangs the top of the bunk with a loud sound, taking you by shock

"Oi" his voice loud and almost threatening "nam gyu" calling out the man above the bed

Immediately your taken by shock once more when a man's head pops upside down, with black oily hair falling all over his face from above the bed

"Yes Thanos?" Nam gyu quickly inquired while sparing you a quick glance which didn't go unnoticed by the scowling man next to you

"Did you hear her telling me off?" He points at nam gyu before quickly adding "careful, there's only one correct answer"

Nam gyu pauses and thinks which seems to be the wrong thing to do as it just annoys Thanos

"Whats wrong with you, tell me quickly!"

"N-no! Not at all! Infact nobody heard anything!" Nam gyu quickly says, obviously lying but this seemed to please Thanos who now held a haughty face

Wow, this is was supposedly the father of your unborn child. Shame you and your taste in weird guys

Before Thanos could open his mouth to say something, a group of pink guards enter the room with large containers

Straight away you freeze up, shrinking behind the bed while your heart hammered, fear spread across your face

Noticing your expression on your face, instinctively Thanos covers you with his back, shielding you with his arms which covered your sides while his expression, though you could not see was filled with wariness

The pink guards open the large containers they were carrying as everyone watched quietly, scared as they were unsure of what to expect, you included

The pink guard with the white circle lifts up a piece of bread and milk "lunch time" announcing in the same robotic voice like all the other guards

A sigh of relief escapes your mouth as your shoulders relax, unlike you Thanos still shields you, covering your face with his back

You hit him with a thud on the back of his head

"What the hell man" thanos turns around, his eyes glaring at you

"Stop trying to act like a hero you shameless prick" you frown even though his actions did leave you with a warm feeling in your heart

"Your acting so protective after all the stunt you pulled before we broke up" you continue "seeing you act all so protective is just pissing me off even more"

Thanos throws his head back, groaning "give me a break woman. You know I was going through a hard time"

"Bullshit" your fold your arms, as if it was act to protect yourself, and the unborn baby in your stomach.

The poor thing was only 2 months old

The both of you hear nam gyu cough from above the bed, forgetting that he was there in the first place

Again Thanos bangs the top of the bunk, causing you to give him a look

"Stop doing that" you scold him

"doing what?" Thanos raises his eyebrow before banging the top of the bunk again while sticking his tongue at you

Nam gyu pops back down again, upside down, the sight would have been hilarious only if you weren't experiencing the pain in your stomach and the sight of the man sitting beside you

"Go get lunch for me and my girl" thanos tilts his head towards you while avoiding your eyecontact while you tell yourself not to think about the fact that he still referred to you as 'his girl'

"go fast what are you still doing here" thanks reprimanded nam gyu

Nam gyu awkwardly stood unsure of what to say "but it's just one bread and one milk per person"

"Then give her yours" thanos said simply "and go steal someone's lunch for me"

"Then what about for me?" Nam gyu asked dumbfounded which caused Thanos to pause and think for a while

"That's not my fucking problem man- now go" he pushes him away, leaving you with a heavy sigh

"I don't want to eat"

"Don't talk bullshit" thanos eyes you "you think i'm gonna let you starve? I never did, and i wont be starting now"

Again with the whole protective boyfriend act, fuck, why did it make your heart race a little?

"Your still such an asshole, you didnt change a bit" you huffed as you leaned behind, resting your back against the wall

"Well you changed" thanos says which quirks your curiosity

"How so?'

"I don't know" he shrugs "something is different. Something happened, i can't exactly ppint my fi ger at it though"

Your eyes dart away from his while your breathing started to fasten slightly

"Oh yea? How so?" You ask, your voice slightly higher than it was which Thanos picks up immediately

"Ohoho" he grins "did I get it right? Did you get something done?" He glances you up and down which leads you to hitting him

"Ow- i was just joking, you still take everything so seriously" he grumbled holding your hand from hitting him "I wish that part had changed'

Your other hand comes swinging which he again grabs softly

"jokingg" he says in a sing song voice before letting both your arms go leaving you with a scowl and him with a satisfied smirk in his face

"Asshole" you mutter which stretches his smirk even more

"You still like it though"

You almost swear you heard a hint of vulnerability in his tone, prompting you to glance at him quickly just to catch him already looking at you

"So? Aren't you gonna ask me what has changed?" You ask slowly, in your head trying to process whether your doing the right thing or not,

You first found out you were pregnant with your baby right after you and Thanos broke up.

The following days, whenever you went to pay him a visit, he was always missing, causing you to believe maybe it was better for him not to know. And then you suddenly meet him for the first time after your breakup during the squid games

The timing was almost comical

"Why?" Thanos continued still with an amused face "you still seem the same on the inside"

Your hand immediately goes to your stomach, slowly tracing along it from above the green track jacket which everyone wore

"Don't tell me your sick or something" thanos asks with his voice slightly raised as he notices your action "fuck are you?"

His eyes slightly widens as he frowns "hey" he snaps his finger upon your zoning out "are you sick?"

"Hm?" You ask confused

"What the fuck" he swears under his breath with a anxious expression on his face while his hand runs through his finger "is that why your here? To win some money for your treatment?"

"Su Bong its not like that-" All your attempts of correcting him seemed to be futile as he sweared loudly, getting out of the bed

"Shit shit shit!" He grabs his head while he paced around the floor, a sight you had seen a few times over the span of your relationship

"ofcourse that's why your here, you would only be here for a sensible reason"

"Oh, su bong" you attempt to appeal to him, reaching your hand out, pulling his closer towards you while he hands were still over his head, eyes lowered

"Fuck baby I'm so sorry" he breathed out "shit i never should have left, i thought" he paused "I thought I'd win some money and get you back, give you the life you really deserve but"

You watch his dazed expression while he rambled, you bit you underlip, hesitant of whether to tell him the truth still

"Fuck, i didn't even know that, i didn't even know you were sick-"

Before he could continue again you grab his face , forcing him to look at your face

"I'm not sick, that's not why im here"

Thanos breathed heavily, everything felt so real suddenly, he felt his cross necklace strapped around his neck, his fingers itching to pop a pill in his mouth to sooth his nerves

"I'm not sick" you shake your head as you lean your forehead against his "su-bong"

You can still feel his strained breaths and darting eyes

"I'm pregnant"

And it all stopped,

You held your breath, afraid of what would happen if you let go, your could heart your heartbeat from your ears, feel the realisation setting inside thanos,

You were scared. Scared of how he would react

He breaks away first, slowly and gently. Staring at you with no expression in his face,

"And it's yours" you rapidly feel the need to add, taken back by his silence which didn't not suit him "and i know having a kid was never in your plan, and i know things are over between us but-"

Your body is wrapped by his arms and his face nestles in your neck, pulling your deeper in his embrace

"Holy shit" thanos whispers in your ear, you can hear the giddiness radiating off his voice "im a dad"

"Yea you are" you laugh a little as you say "your a dad"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I never got the chance to"

Thanos furrows his eyebrows but doesn't press any more "will you let me be our baby's dad?" He ask

"You know I grew up without a dad, this kid doesn't deserve that" he pokes your stomach with a soft grin which looked slightly odd against his eccentric features "I wanna be in this kids life"

You nodd softly, hearing his words

"And yours too" thanos looks up to you, grinning while he winked at you "senorita"

"You corny bastard" you laugh shaking your head

"You still like it though"

You nodd your head, with tenderness in your eyes and voice

"I do"

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ extra scene pack !!

"Thanos!" Nam gyu came running with 3 pieces of sweet bread and 3 packets of milk "I got it! Do you know how much trouble i went to get all these-"

"Give it here " thanos grabbed all the bread and milk away "why did you take so long anyways"

Nam gyu held his hands as he pouted "I mean- i had to fight like 2 guys for bread and milk for us-"

Thanos brushed him off as he opened all the packets of bread and poked in the straw of all the milk packets

"Uhm thanos" nam gyu apprehensively called out "What are you doing?"

Thanos hands you all the bread and urges you to eat while he holds the packets of milk in his hand, ready to feed you

Thanos gestures towards you who was sitting in the bed, now wrapped in not only your jacket but his aswell "can't you see the lady is pregnant"

Nam gyu scratched his head "pregnant? With who?"

Thanos shakes his head, exaggerating his actions "dumb ass, she's pregnant with my baby ofcourse" he announced like it was the most obvious thing in the world

"Holy shit!" Nam gyu gaped his hand covering his mouth as he stares at you while you sheepishly smile at him

Thanos let out a small laugh which then slowly grew louder

"What? Why are you surprised? Ofcourse i succeeded in my first try- fuck" he kneels down in pain after being striked by you in the stomach

Nam gyu pulls a face in behalf of Thanos as he pats his back sympathetically while he whispers to you

"Don't worry. I know it probably wasnt his first try or anything- ow" nam gyu kneels on the ground after being hit in the stomach by thanos

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

"What... what are you guys doing?" You question as you approach Thanos and nam gyu who were huddled up in a corner, in a long rather quiet conversation which seemed like an unusual activity for both of them to part take in

Both in the 'discussion' and 'quiet' part

Thanos loops his arm around your with a proud smirk on his face while urging nam gyu to announce what they were discussing

Nam gyu nodds eagerly as gets up in his two feet quickly, standing straight and tall with a loud and confident voice "we have decided the perfect name for the baby !!"

You see thanos's broad smile and nam gyu's confident voice, uneasiness settling in your stomach for whatever name they picked out

"These is the name that Thanos and i have personally given a lot of thought for and chosen after much contemplation !!"

Thanos nodded his head with a content expression while he winked at you, assuring that you'll like it

"Ahem" nam gyu clears his throat "before I announce the name that we have chosen, i would like to give recognition to the name we almost chose aswell !!"

Thanos immediately began clapping his hand loudly "waaah, I never knew you could speak so well "

This comment made nam gyu's chest fill swell with pride as he puffs out his chest a little

"I shall now, announce the first runners up, the name that almost was given to the new born baby"

nam gyu pauses which prompts Thanos to make the sound of drum rolls

"Nebula" nam gyu announces as he and thanos clap loudly.

Seeing your still figure both men urge you to claps aswell

"Nebula?" You mutter under your breath "where have i heard that name before?"

"And now, the name that has been selected over numerous selection test and discussion, the name of the baby is" nam gyu points at your stomach

"Gamora"

Thanos whoops loudly, both nam gyu and him clapping their hands in the air while you stand off handedly as it hits you

"Your naming our child after the daughter of the purple alien monster from a superhero movie?!"

[amysnotdeadyet]

from the other side of the fence, I actually like the books that have low stakes, where all the tension is personal (I disagree that plan B was easy in L&L, she def put all her eggs in that basket), and we don't have to save the world again. I do think her love interest and that whole romance was handled meh-ish-ly (separate bedrooms wtf), but I loved the random fantasy worldbuilding that didn't make me care about the big continental problems and just let me enjoy pastries and weird little characters and stuff.

a lot of the low-stakes fantasy I've liked has centered around a romance, yes, but also around found family, or building a life, in a way that feels high-stakes to someone like me because building a life is hard, man.

i'm honestly super tired of seeing people save the world (and yeah the MCU contributes to that), and especially exhausted by how they can never prevent the bad thing anymore, just deal with the aftermath. if i can read some books where the hardest thing someone does is choose paint colors and compete against another local business, then sometimes that's all i want.

i read a book recently that i won't name but it was like, the perfect book for me. there were stakes for the characters but they were quite low for the rest of the world, and some found family, and a romance, and some cool fantasy worldbuilding, and that's all i wanted. the sequel gets someone kidnapped and fearing for their life and i'm kind of hating it, because i didn't want those stakes.

so, you know, some people just need low-tension everything when real life is full of high stakes, nazis, healthcare crises, etc.

but i do also watch GBBO.

Cozy Fantasy and Why It Doesn't Work

I think I am among many who feel like they should love cozy fantasy and have found it an incredibly lacking genre.

This newly branded "cozy fantasy" genre that has taken readers by storm since 2020 and while it is new that books are now marketed as cozy, the genre itself isn't new. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones is a great example of the genre before it was labeled and also how to make it work.

Cozy fantasy is defined by many as fantasy with low stakes. Fantasy aesthetic but less sword fights. On paper, it sounds great. But the execution has been less than stellar for readers like me. The lack of physical stakes has also impacted the emotional stakes of these books, creating forgettable characters with boring problems. As a romance reader, I find this frustrating. Romance is known for being a predictable and formulaic genre, the now defunct Romance Writers of America defined romances as needing happy endings, a term romances have continued to follow. Yet these romance texts manage to have low physical stakes (how to date your neighbor, how to confront your toxic friends, etc) while still maintaining high personal stakes that keep readers invested and begging for more. So I was initially confused why cozy fantasy authors struggle to write texts that connect to readers like me.

I think I have found the answer which is the genre is just here for vibes. It is all about aesthetic, not even worldbuilding that fantasy is known for as most cozy fantasy I read have so many problems as soon as you ask one question. It is hard to acknowledge that a genre that is pitched to work for readers like me doesn't work for many of us. Especially because occasionally there is one that works beautifully to my taste.

I often say my favorite cozy fantasies that are more contemporary are short and visual, which I plays into the idea of the genre being an aesthetic. The Bakery Dragon by Devin Elle Kurtz is a good example because it is a simple story that is given the perfect amount of pages and gorgeous visuals without dragging on when the message is very clear and easy to understand. Books like The Phoenix Keeper and Legends and Lattes have absolutely nothing for me, their very clear message hitting the reader over and over so the readers don't miss it and focusing on the aesthetic of worldbuilding rather than the reality of the fantastic elements within the world.

I guess my point is. . . I realize this genre isn't for me since I have realized it is more of an aesthetic than anything. .. .but I want it to be. Should I let it go and put my efforts elsewhere? Or should I keep exploring this new trend and find the hidden gems?

[strawberryfloofs]

tw: mentions of neglect/abuse

carer with a traumatized age regressor they know they're helping to heal everytime they slip.

never received toys/were given very few toys as a kid? bubbas spoiling you in all the toys you want! if their kiddo is a little more shy and feeling guilty, they'll notice their little one eyeing a toy. "do you want it puppy? no need to feel bad, i just wanna give you everything you deserve"

went without food in public? carer will always order something for you, you never have to watch them eat while you have nothing. "oh honey I would never~ not only is that mean, but you gotta grow big and strong like me!"

went without food/snacks in private? your caregiver always makes sure they stock up on your favorite snacks and brands- no matter how specific they are. there's no shame in only eating a certain brand or flavor of chips. there's always groceries in the house and they're happy to cook for you, wanting to make sure you're safe AND fed. "are you hungy? I can get my sweetheart their favorite snack until the pastas done?"

had bad physical treatment? they would NEVER even THINK about laying a hand on you. if you misbehave or act up, they understand you're just in littlespace. like real kids, emotions can be hard and some moments arent good. sometimes kids like to test boundaries, there's nothing wrong with that. they won't let it slide and will issue lines, time outs, and stuff like early bedtime or shorter playtime- but nothing physical or mentally damaging. "angel I know you're all upset and shouting at bubba, but I need you to sit in the chair for 5 minutes. we don't yell."

missed out on a lot of childhood experiences? that's okay! your cg is soooo happy to integrate anything into their routine. whether it's storytime, going to the park, holiday celebrations, they're happy to accomodate! "oh you wanna have a bubba baby book read before your nap? of course little one!"

touch starved and wanting a lot of physical affection? they'll love on you SO much to try and make up for it! cuddles, pats, carries, boops, you got it! "awww does munchkin need a hug? cmere"

weren't treated the best emotionally? they understand how it can impact you. your carer always reminds you that you're not a burden, it wasn't your fault, and they truly do love you. they're not lying to you, they don't hate you, there's no maliciousness or ulterior motives- just pure love and care. "I know it was a lot, and I'm sorry you had to live through that angel- but I'm glad you're with me now. As long as I'm here, and as long as you'll let me- I won't let anyone treat you like that again. I pinky promise, my little love. Always, and forever."

Icl, this was very self indulgent to me- but I hope anyone who can sadly relate feels atleast a little bit of comfort and wholesomeness from this. I believe you. You're strong.

[yutarot]

ride or die. l.jn smau

017 — when it comes to you.

JENO POV

in all honesty, jeno has no idea what he was going to say when he finally met face to face with jaemin. this past week he has been going over and over it in his head, each and every detail, but nothing at all makes sense. why would jaemin, his longest and closest friend, openly admit to doing something like that. jeno didn’t know whether to be angry or confused, or maybe even a little bit of both. but all he knew was that he needed to speak to him. not just for his own piece of mind, but jaemins too. there was something he needs to know too, and it’s been killing jeno that he can’t speak to his closest friend.

especially when it comes to this. especially when it comes to you.

as he sits in the apartment lobby, staring mindlessly down at his shoes, jeno can do nothing but anticipate the feeling of his gut twisting when he sees jaemin come out of the elevator. and god how it flips in his chest when he finally sees him standing there, an apologetic smile on his face.

but jeno doesn’t know why jaemin could possibly be sorry.

“hi.” jaemin says.

jeno stands. “hi.”

he can’t think of what to say, what to do. so he just lets jaemin lead the conversation.

“how are you?” jaemin asks, knowing the answer.

“been better.”

jaemin sighs, guilt ruining him.

he gets straight to it, almost pleading with him. “i wanted to tell you.” he pauses, “i wanted to tell you everything. but if i missed my opportunity…”

“opportunity?” jeno’s eyes squint in confusion. “what opportunity?”

“to tell her i like her.”

jeno freezes, every inch of his body tensing. he didn’t know what to expect from jaemin, but it definitely wasn’t this. but and as the next words leave his mouth, it all makes sense.

every piece of the puzzle that jeno has been trying to decipher finally falls into place.

“it wasn’t me who leaked your identity, jeno.”

of course it wasn’t.

the air between them thickens, becomes a fog that neither of them can see through.

jaemin continues. “i just-“

jeno can’t help it, he speaks his mind, finishing what jaemin wants to say. he knows him too well. “you just wanted her, and you thought a big act like that would make her fall for you?” jeno says, placing the final piece in its correct place. amongst all of this, all the lying, all the betrayal, it had been all because of a simple sentance.

‘you really like me that much that you wanted to ruin jeno’s career?’

that’s what you had said to chenle in that tweet where you had confronted him when you thought he was the real culprit, that’s what jaemin had foolishly misread. he thought you said it out of surprise, out of adoration. not out of disgust. he hadn’t even made it to the end of the tweet before he had made up his mind, before he decided he was going to falsely admit it was him.

“yeah… it didn’t take me long before i realised i had misread it..” jaemin laughs nervously, closer to wanting to cry than he’s ever seemed. jeno doesn’t blame him, he’s been watching him closely, every comment made from the group hurting him just as much as it had hurt jaemin.

“you’re an idiot.” jeno says. he wants to punch him, make him pay for all the worrying he had made him do, all the hours lying on his friend jungwoo’s sofa, scared about going back to his dorm, scared about going to his dads. but jaemin wasn’t the one who exposed him.

although jeno knew that all along.

“i know i am.” jaemin laughs, “but can you blame me.”

weirdly, jeno can’t. it’s you. he’s seen the way you laugh, he’s seen the way you stuck up for him despite being unsure of why. and something deep in his chest aches at the way jaemin talks about you like he shouldn’t understand. but jeno does, he understands it the most. and he hates himself for it.

because that’s what he did all this for.

he did it for you.

“jaemin.”

jaemins laugher pauses when he notices the tone of jeno’s words. he’s being serious.

“yeah?” he asks.

“there’s something i need to tell you.”

jaemins head tilts. “what is it?”

jeno takes a deep breath, deciding that if he doesn’t tell jaemin now, he fears he never will. and despite jaemins feelings, he doesn’t have a choice. he looks at him, really looks at him, searching for an ounce of uncertainty and finding way too much of it. but he has to do this, it all had to have been worth it. all of it.

so he says it.

“i know who leaked my secret.”

previous : mlist : next

notes; 😆

taglist — open! @jenohyun @jirsungs @do-you-remember-summer-127 @ddolbyong @stqrgr7 @thatsatricky1 @sunghoonsgfreal @nattan127 @ssweetreveries @flamingi @chenlesfavorite @peterm4rker @snoopyjimin @akunoeyebrows @junviadinho @slayhaechan @f6llsun @multifandomania @cookiehaos @catecita @mrsjohnnysuh @luv4jeno @hyuckies18 @dreamiestay @tangerinelovelees @jjaegyeom @https-yeonjun @nanaxwi @yukisroom97 @nosungluv @mrkleelvr @neocrashed @jaedgemental @apolloxxivmin @kyubing @catdonut657 @dudekiss3r @juyeonshour @hamjwis @antifrggile @mmjhh1998 @thegracerammy @jenocity23 @honeynanamin @bluedbliss @lampcults @yyangj3lly

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 8

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.0k

c/w - angst, language

a/n - i am so sorry for the wait you guys, but i’m so happy to finally be putting this chap out!! i hope yall enjoy 😈

When Paige wakes up before the sun rises, she knows something is wrong.

Ever since she was a little girl, Paige has been a sleeper. While the other kids were fighting off naps, she was begging for them. While the other kids began bothering their parents during the early hours of the morning, she would be konked out until noon if her dad let her.

And then she met Azzi. Became her friend. Had their first sleepover.

And ever since that morning so long ago, when Azzi had shyly jostled her awake so they could get breakfast, Paige will not wake up early unless it’s Azzi doing the waking.

But this morning, it’s silent—eerily so. The AC is humming and there’s traffic noises from outside, but something’s missing. In Paige’s half-sleep state, it takes her a moment to realize what exactly it is: the absence of Azzi bustling around, getting ready for the day, calling room service to ask about breakfast options.

Paige cracks her eyes open, to find they feel dry. Shit, did she sleep with her contacts in?

No—she didn’t. She took them out as soon as they got back last night.

As soon as they got back. Tipsy and flirty. Paige, still too aware of the feelings brewing uncomfortably in her belly, asking if they should drink some more, just the two of them. Azzi, reaching into her pocket with a sly smile and pulling out a joint. Paige, thinking she looked so fucking beautiful, moonlit and blowing out smoke from between her lips. Azzi, confessing things, Paige, asking for more. Azzi, shy and giggly—

Paige, giving in to her urges. Letting the marijuana in her system cloud any rational thought she could have. Pressing their lips together and going lower, lower, down between Azzi’s thighs, watching in awe or wonder or reverence as she bared herself completely. Like she trusted Paige. Like Paige deserved it.

Carefully, almost as if afraid, Paige glances around the dark room. She’s on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Senses suddenly overflowing with something acutely familiar, Paige can picture the girl on the bed next to her, almost knows exactly how she’s laying without even seeing her yet.

Deep breath. Don’t get sick, Paige. Be normal.

Roll over. Onto her back, at first, to stare at the ceiling, and then, finally, onto her side.

And there she is. Lying on her back, the sheets bundled around her waist, one arm over her face while the other spreads out to Paige’s side of the bed—Azzi is breathtaking like this.

Breathtaking, and beautiful, and vulnerable. Oh-so vulnerable, while Paige lays beside her, fully clothed. No part of her bare, because she was unwilling to show herself to Azzi last night. She wonders why, now. She doesn’t really have to.

Cautiously, Paige reaches a hand out, brushing a strand of hair from Azzi’s face almost instinctively. Azzi doesn’t stir, and it emboldens her to move her hand lower, fingers tracing delicately over her jawline, down the line of her neck, to her collarbones. It’s only when Azzi does stir that Paige pulls away, reluctantly, because she’s not sure if she’ll get to see Azzi again like this.

And it’s that thought—the thought of Azzi waking up, naked beside a clothed Paige, angry and hurt—that scares her out of bed, ambling quietly over to her suitcase and throwing on a pair of running clothes. She glances furtively at Azzi while she gets dressed, but not once does she wake up, and Paige doesn’t know whether it’s relief or bitter disappointment she feels when she leaves the room without having words with the younger girl.

Paige comes to a stop outside the hotel, Google mapping a running route, and while she’s at it her fingers move of their own accord, navigating to her messages and then to Azzi’s contact. But as she stares at the screen, she can’t find anything to say. Seeing that their last text thread was from last night, she scrolls up to read it:

azziiii where’d u go

u been in the bathroom too long

shoulda let me come w you

for real we’re abt to play a drinking game come back

i’ve been gone for like five minutes paige

the line to the bathroom was long

u guys in the living room??

yeah

bro it was definitely longer than 5 mins

not letting u out of my sight again fr 🙄

ok drama queen

just missed me that much huh?

yeah and what

missed my girl

ok p chill

i’m omw

hell yeah we’re up

The conversation ends there, and Paige distinctly remembers it, how Azzi had left to use the restroom and Paige had sat there, talking to old friends and boring strangers, not even pretending to laugh at their jokes while she waited anxiously for Azzi to come back. And how when she did, she took a mental snapshot of Azzi’s smile when they saw each other, her dimples lighting up the entire room.

The memory, unlike all the alcohol-hazy ones from last night, is vivid. Too much so. Paige shakes out her limbs, stuffs her airpods in her ears and her phone in her pocket, and runs.

She hates running. With her heart and soul, she hates it. If ever she needs to take her mind off of bad things, she goes for a run, because almost nothing could be worse than the feeling of her feet hitting pavement, her chest hurting, her side seizing.

Today, it doesn’t work. Even with music pounding through her earbuds, memories come back to her in crushing tidal waves: Azzi sat on her lap on the couch, Paige’s hands on her ass, Azzi’s lips on her neck. The two of them pressed close together when they migrated to the kitchen, Paige wrapped around her from behind, listening to Azzi talk to a few other students. She remembers how at one point some guy had approached them while they were snuggled up on the couch and asked Azzi for her snap; remembers how she’d practically snarled at the guy telling him to go the fuck away, Azzi teasing her about it afterwards and asking, What if I had been interested? but there was a satisfied smile on her face when Paige only pulled her in closer, as if she’d known exactly the reaction she’d elicit.

She remembers the way they’d held hands in the Uber, and all the way up to their hotel room.

And maybe it was inevitable, their only option, really, to end up the way they did—Azzi spread out naked on a hotel bed and Paige situated between her legs, licking her clean after she came.

Paige doesn’t know why she asked for a second time. Even in her slightly cross-faded, pussy drunk haze, Paige recognized that it might be because this is the only chance she’d get. Because fucking your best friend once is a simple mistake, something the two of them can laugh about later, even. Fucking your best friend twice is a slippery slope.

Azzi had given her another one, even though she was surely overstimulated and tired. Paige never wanted to stop tasting her, but once they were done, Azzi whimpering above her, she got this strange feeling—a need for affection, maybe even comfort? Like she not only wanted sex and fun but also some emotions attached to it, too.

Paige shakes her head, tries to survey her surroundings, tries to enjoy the view of mothers walking their babies, friends going to early trips at the mall, people commuting to work. But with each pound of her feet, something new hits her and it feels like getting smacked in the face.

As Paige crawled back up to Azzi, as they whispered sleepily to each other, Paige didn’t acknowledge the heat between her own legs, didn’t think about how the fact that she wanted affection from a hookup is somehow a larger revelation to her than the fact that she and Azzi just fucked, and she of course didn’t allow it when Azzi offered to return the favor.

She could never ask that of her. So she lulled her asleep instead, holding onto her like she’s afraid she’d disappear—and maybe she was. She wouldn’t have blamed her.

The truth is, Paige thinks that this was a long time coming. Maybe she knew it when they were fourteen and fifteen and slept on each other on the flight home from USA basketball, after a few weeks of knowing each other. Maybe she knew when Azzi’s family invited her to the state fair for the first time and Paige won Azzi a prize before they held hands on the Ferris Wheel. Maybe she knew when she spent the entire summer at Azzi’s house, and they spent nights tracing shapes and hidden letters into each other’s skin, trying and failing to guess what the other was saying. Once, Azzi had written something longer than usual, and when Paige had been unable to guess, she’d begged for Azzi to tell her what she’d said. But Azzi had stubbornly shook her head, told her that was against the rules.

When it came Paige’s turn, she lifted Azzi’s shirt and traced three words into the skin of Azzi’s back. Azzi had always been good at this game, and so there was a long pause afterward, and Paige thought maybe something real was about to happen, but then Azzi had simply rolled over and said, “No idea.”

Paige didn’t believe her then. Doesn’t believe it even now.

If she’s being honest with herself (and she’s never been very good at that) things between them have always been electric, charged by small moments between them, things that always went unacknowledged because both of them were too scared to bring this sacred little thing they had out into the open.

Paige stops to catch her breath, a little lightheaded, clutching her sides in pain. Running has nothing to do with the ache that’s overtaken her or the way she’s finding it hard to breathe.

The sun is up now, and she walks off the sidewalk into the little park she’s stopped at, heading over to a large oak tree in the middle which will hopefully provide some solace from the morning heat. She wipes at her brow, and the shade helps, but her palms are sweaty, back of her neck still hot, and it might be from the memories of last night, the taste she swears is still lingering on her tongue.

It’s not long before her phone buzzes and she knows it’s Azzi before she even checks. She’s always been good at that—sensing when it’s her best friend on the other end of the line. It’s a blessing and today it’s a curse, because she’s nowhere near ready to face the hurricane of emotions wreaking havoc on her mind. She takes a few deep breaths after the phone buzzes, putting it off, afraid of what she will find: an angry message, how dare you; a heartbroken one, why’d you do this to me; the truth, you’re a bad friend, maybe even a bad person.

With one last steadying breath and trembling fingers, she pulls up the message, only to find four words, so non-threatening they’re almost vulnerable: Hey, where’d you go?

She should be relieved, but her heart sort of sinks a little more at that. She deserves the anger, doesn’t she? The heartbreak, the truth?

Leaning against the tree, letting the rough bark bite into her skin, Paige checks the time and types out a reply. Went for a run, I’ll head back now

But she won’t head back now. She needs some more time. So, she deletes the message and tries again. Just went out, want me to grab u some breakfast??

The answer will be no; Azzi is picky about her breakfast, will only eat a certain few foods and never store bought.

So, sighing, Paige sends a simple: Went for a run. Be back by eleven. And before Azzi can reply, she turns her phone on silent, shoves it into her pocket.

She wonders what Azzi is feeling now. If its anything similar to Paige’s train of thought, or more likely, worse: that maybe this was all a mistake, that they can’t continue to be friends like this, that last night was real and that’s really fucking scary.

If Azzi just woke, she’ll be needing more time to think things over. So, jogging back over to the sidewalk, Paige starts running again, further away from the hotel. Further away from Azzi.

—————————————

When Paige steps into their hotel room, her shoulders are tensed, breath held as she waits for confrontation. But with a quick glance around the room, she realizes she can put this off a little longer—the bathroom door is closed, running water coming from inside. She sighs, shoulders relaxing, and closes the door as quietly as she can.

But it must not be quiet enough. Because a moment later, the faucet turns off, and then there’s a set of slow footsteps approaching the door. Paige tenses all over again, watching in what probably looks like terror when the bathroom door opens and there’s Azzi, in a hoodie and sweatpants, braids tied back, eyes and nose a devastating shade of red.

“Hey,” Paige starts, a softly as her strained voice will allow, but to her surprise, Azzi gives a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says simply, sniffling, looking Paige up and down. “Get in the shower. We check out soon.”

“I…I know,” Paige stammers, caught off guard by the way Azzi looks both heartbroken and angry. But, of course, she shouldn’t be. Not after what she did to her last night. Taking a tentative step forward, Paige tries to meet Azzi’s eyes. “Az, listen. I’m sorry about—“

“Stop,” Azzi hisses, stepping out of the bathroom, closer to Paige. “I don’t want to hear it. Not—not fucking now.”

Paige opens her mouth, but Azzi holds her hand up, swollen eyes flashing. “Get ready. We’ll leave once you’re done.”

Everything good and stupid in Paige tells her to fall to her knees, beg for forgiveness, take whatever anger Azzi has to give about last night. And maybe, a few years ago, she would’ve. But she’s never seen Azzi like this, and that alone raises enough alarm bells in her head to do exactly what she tells her to do, hanging her head as she sidesteps her into the bathroom, turning the shower on to cold to try and ease the burning behind her eyes, in her throat.

Leaning against the shower wall, Paige rubs a hand over her face, and wishes she were anybody else.

————————————

It’s one hour into the drive home that Azzi speaks to her—really speaks to her—for the first time all day. And when she does, it’s so unexpected that Paige flinches hard enough to jerk the car aside.

“Let’s go to the park, first. So we can talk.”

Once Paige has righted the car, she risks a glance over at Azzi to try to get an idea of what’s going through her head, but her face is turned away, gazing out the window.

Turning back to the road, Paige doesn’t respond. She just drives.

It’s a hot day but once they pull into the park an hour later, the basketball court is empty, and she’s barely stopped the car before Azzi’s getting out. She goes to the backseat and grabs one of the balls Paige keeps there.

“Az,” Paige says, unbuckling.

Azzi looks at her and slams the door shut. Paige watches her walk away through the window before getting out and following her.

It’s clear at this point that talking won’t get Paige anywhere, which is okay and also not: she’s bad with heartfelt stuff, anything too touchy-feely—it makes her uncomfortable; but talking is also what she does best. She’s never been one to stand in awkward silence or take it when she’s told to shut up, because she always has something to say and it’s why Azzi often affectionately refers to her as ‘my yapper’.

There’s nothing affectionate in the way Azzi looks at her now, nothing soft in those doe eyes, nothing sweet in the dimples borne of a scowl. Paige doesn’t know what to do with this version of Azzi.

After a moment, Azzi starts dribbling the ball, and the mere sound is enough to get Paige kneeling a little bit, body reacting before her mind can, ready for a game. But Azzi doesn’t pass to her. “You wanna play?” she asks tentatively.

Azzi stares at her for a moment, then slowly shakes her head. She drops the ball and it rolls a few feet away from them. “No. Not really.”

Paige nods. Shoves her hands in her pockets, then takes them out.

It’s a torturously long stretch of silence before Azzi says, “What are we doing, Paige?”

Paige looks at her best friend, but she finds she can’t really look her in the eye, and she hates that, so she looks at the asphalt underneath her instead.

“And don’t say we’re pretending,” Azzi continues when Paige opens her mouth to say just that, “because last night—that wasn’t pretend.”

The odd thing is her tone lilts up a little at the end, as if she’s asking a question rather than making a statement. But maybe that’s not odd because Paige wonders, too.

Trying to recall everything she thought about during the long ride here, Paige glances up, takes a small step towards Azzi. “I’m sorry.” She tries to sound both casual and heartfelt, but instead it comes out all raspy and choked, and she cannot cry right now. “For this whole trip, this whole thing—I shouldn’t have asked you to do this for me.”

Azzi inhales like she’s going to interrupt. Now, it’s Paige’s turn to stop her. “Just, let me, okay?”

Azzi’s brows are furrowed, but she nods.

Almost immediately, Paige regrets saying anything. It’s now, with Azzi staring at her expectantly, that she realizes she has nothing to say. She has been thinking about it nonstop, all day, and still she doesn’t understand everything going through her mind—the guilt, the fear, the feelings.

She decides it’s safest to start with the guilt. “I need to say I’m sorry. About last night…” she fumbles, tries her hardest to right herself, “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this for me. Shoulda treated you better, instead of taking out my shit with my mom on you. And I shouldn’t have let things get so…real.”

Azzi doesn’t react much. Her stance doesn’t change, expression doesn’t really waver. Eventually she steps forward, so they’re an arms-length away from each other. “Paige,” she says.

Paige shuffles from one foot to the other. “Yeah?”

“You’re sorry,” she reiterates, and Paige nods, a little confused. Fuck, she’s really never been good with words. “You’re sorry for—last night?”

Something inside her wants to correct Azzi, tell her if she could go back and do last night over, she wouldn’t change it, and she doesn’t think she’s ever had to act when it comes to loving her best friend. But she doesn’t say that, instead opting for something less weighted, more trivial—“And for asking you to pretend to love me.”

Azzi’s stare is flat for another second before her eyes widen, and she turns around, pushing her hands into to her hair and shaking her head. And Paige can’t see her but it almost sounds like she’s…laughing?

“Azzi,” Paige mutters.

Azzi turns on her, then, and there is a smile on her face but it’s bitter, nothing humorous in it. “I can’t believe you.”

It’s Paige’s turn to stare. “What?”

“Paige,” Azzi says slowly. Then again, “Paige. You left me this morning. You fucked me last night and then you left me to wake up alone and you couldn’t even look me in the eye all day and now, what? Now you’re fucking—“ two steps forward, and then she’s jabbing an accusatory finger into Paige’s chest, “apologizing about last night? About everything? Like it was all a mistake?”

Paige can’t help but take a step back, heart racing. “I don’t…I mean, exactly. We’re all weird now—honestly we have been since the first week we started pretending—and I don’t want us to be like that. I hate this, Az. I just wanna be normal again.”

Azzi takes a step toward her. “Have we ever been normal?”

That gives Paige pause. Hands, legs, intertwined; fingers creeping under shirts while they lay together at night; stealing glances when they think the other isn’t looking. All things Paige never let herself think about too hard, because it made her nervous, jumpy. And now, after so many years of buildup has finally come crashing down on both of them, they have no choice but to talk about it.

She has nothing to say.

When she’s met with silence, Azzi scoffs. “Even now, you’re too fucking stubborn to admit it.”

“What?” Paige nearly whispers. “I’m not being stubborn,” and she’s really not, “I just—things were good, between us. You’re my best friend and I’m trying to apologize for—for the way I’ve been acting, for being distant and…and rude, and for being a shitty friend and complicating things and—“

“I don’t care!” Azzi screeches, and it startles Paige into silence. “God, Paige, you are so fucking stupid sometimes. Did you ever stop to think about why I dropped everything and came to Montana for you? Why I let you kiss me and look at me and fucking go down on me last night?”

Paige opens her mouth, closes it, and something curls in her tummy, this coiling in her gut warning her of how dangerously close they’re getting to everything she wants to leave unsaid. “I don’t—“

“Of course not,” Azzi scoffs, and Paige hates the anger in her tone. “I should’ve known. Because you’re only ever thinking about yourself. Making sure everything you do aligns with your little moral compass to make you feel good about yourself—well, guess what, Paige? You did fuck up this time.”

Paige steps forward, trying to wrap her mind around anything else other than the way Azzi’s looking at her like she hates her. “I know, I know,” she says, pleading.

Azzi stands her ground when she says, “You left this morning.”

Paige nods, understanding now. “I know.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed—time to think.”

“And, until just now, you didn’t realize that might make me upset? Waking up alone after last night?”

Paige watches her, and seeing the way her eyes get shiny makes her own throat constrict. “I guess, no, but I—things were going to be awkward, and I felt bad, and I was scared.” She finally admits it, the fear, and it doesn’t do much to loosen the knot in her throat. “I thought it was a—a mistake.”

“Well I didn’t think last night was a mistake, Paige,” Azzi says lowly.

And it’s then—just then, seeing the way the tears threaten to fall but don’t, trapped behind the words she wants to say but can’t—that realization dawns on Paige. And it’s enough to make her chest constrict because, no, it can’t be true.

Still, like watching a car crash, Paige can’t bring herself to stop looking. “Why?” she whispers, already knowing the answer.

When Azzi looks up at her with a quivering bottom lip and nothing left in her eyes but heartbreak, it’s all the confirmation she needs.

Paige stumbles back, and Azzi lifts an arm like she’s going to reach out, but drops it helplessly as the first tear tracks down her face. “I thought—maybe, you knew. I thought you knew and you were acting the way you have been because—“ she hiccups like a little kid, and it breaks Paige’s heart, “because you were staring to feel the same. I thought, last night, there was something real. Did you not feel it, Paige?” she doesn’t give her time to answer before she’s continuing. “And now I’m wearing these clothes in this weather because I couldn’t stand to look at the marks you left on me and you’re standing here telling me you’re sorry for wanting to fuck me, and God, Paige—I’ve loved you since I was fourteen. I loved you since I was fourteen and I should’ve fucking known you’d end up doing this to me.”

“Azzi,” Paige chokes out, the knot unraveling and giving way to free-falling tears.

“Paige,” Azzi replies, and there’s desperation in her tone like she wants to reach out, but instead she wipes furiously at her face before crossing her arms, effectively creating a barrier between them. “I need to know.”

Watching tears stream down Azzi’s cheeks, it’s all Paige wants to do to comfort her, to wipe them away. But her own vision is blurring and Azzi has this look in her eyes—like she hates her, like she loves her and she hates herself for it.

“Know what?” she whispers, the sun beating down on the back of her neck in a way that makes her nauseous.

“If you—“ Azzi’s bottom lip quivers, “if you feel it, too. If you love me, too.”

When Paige blinks the moisture from her eyes, there’s a moment of darkness and behind it she sees every moment, every fucking moment where they toed an invisible line, only to never speak of it again, to act as if nothing happened.

She opens her eyes, and realizes maybe they’ve spent their whole lives pretending, and only really stopped when they were just supposed to start.

There have always been feelings. Always an intensity when it came to Azzi, evident in the way Paige would get jealous of any of her other friends, the blowout fights they’d have over small things, because they couldn’t talk about the big things.

Paige has always wanted Azzi as something more. But—love.

Love is so complicated and scary and Paige doesn’t think she’d even be that good at it, anyway. And what if they did this—addressed the feelings between them and dated, for real? Azzi would be perfect, like she always is. Kind and gentle and soft, and Paige can only exhale at the thought of having her best friend that way.

But she inhales deeply, and imagines how she would is. She’s stubborn, hard-headed. Bad with words, bad with apologies.

“Azzi,” Paige says for the nth time, the only word she knows anymore, so she says it like a prayer. “We did one thing last night and I couldn’t even do that right. I couldn’t do any of this right, this entire trip. You don’t—you don’t want me. Trust me. You don’t.”

“You don’t know what I want!” Azzi cries, uncrossing her arms to push again at Paige’s chest. “You’re not perfect, Paige, and I am really fucking mad at you,” she bites, “but you have no idea how much I want you.”

“And you have no idea how much that scares me,” Paige replies, eyes downcast, a few tears dripping onto her sneakers. “I’m good at being your friend, Az. Let me be your friend.”

Azzi lets out a sob at that. “Paige, please, I know—you have to feel something, you don’t act the way you do and not feel anything, I—“

“I’m not saying I don’t feel it,” Paige admits shallowly. “It’s just like I said. I’m scared.”

For the next few moments, there’s silence, and in it Paige hears the birds singing, the distant voices of kids laughing at the playground. But then there’s a sniffle, a scuffle of shoes, and she dares to look up only to find Azzi facing away from her.

“Okay,” Azzi says, voice cracking heartbreakingly. “That’s it, I guess.”

Paige clutches at her belly. “What do you mean?”

“After everything that’s happened,” Azzi whimpers, “you think we can just go back to normal?”

It’s stupid, but that’s what Paige was hoping for. But she knows neither of them can forget this, leave it behind. And she doesn’t know if Azzi can forgive her, either.

She wouldn’t blame her if she never did. Even though the notion kills her.

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say, but it’s weak, broken, and Azzi just shakes her head, not bothering to look back as she heads slowly to the car.

“I’m tired, Paige,” she says. “Just take us home.”

————————————

When Paige walks through the front door, the house feels empty—her parents are gone again for work—but when she walks into the kitchen she finds Lauren on a barstool, eating cereal and watching TikTok. Paige tries to slip past her but Lauren perks up, spinning around and grinning when she spots Paige. “You’re back!”

“Yup,” Paige says, trying for a smile.

Lauren hops off the barstool and as she walks up to her, she gets this weird look on her face, like she’s studying her—but then she’s hugging her and Paige breathes a sigh of relief. “You guys have fun?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where’s Azzi?”

“She’s, uh…out in the car.”

Lauren pulls away to scrunch her nose. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Paige says evasively, unraveling herself from her little sister’s arms. “Listen, I gotta headache, I’ma be up in my room. But lemme know if you need anything.”

Paige makes her way to the staircase, and Lauren follows after, the way little sisters do. She hears the footsteps padding behind her and remembers when she was a teenager, and Lauren was just a toddler, and their mom would always joke that Paige had a little shadow because Lauren would follow her everywhere.

Back then, it was annoying—and it is now too—but it’s also comforting, endearing.

Still, Paige gets midway up the stairs before turning around to face her sister. “I wanna be alone, Laur.”

Lauren frowns up at her. “Why?”

Paige picks at her thumbnail. “Don’t you wanna be alone sometimes?”

“I guess.”

“Well, this is like that. Just need some time.”

She takes a couple more stairs, but Lauren is still following behind her, and she turns around again. “Dude.”

“I wanna hang out with you!”

“I’m sorry,” Paige says, and she really is, guilty about the disappointment etched on Lauren’s face. “I promise we’ll hang later, okay?”

“Like later today?”

“I dunno, Laur.” The thought of doing anything but moping with her own thoughts sounds exhausting, and it’s evident in her exasperated tone. “I’m tired, we had a big night.”

“Really?” Lauren’s face morphs into a teasing smile. “Doing what?”

Paige fumbles, covers it by reaching to play with the cross at her neck. “Don’t, Lauren.”

“I’m sure you spent allll night kissing your girlfriend, didn’t you?”

Paige takes a breath so deep it’s nearly a gasp, for air, maybe, and she spins on her heel, taking the last steps two at a time. “I’m going to my room now,” she says, eternally grateful that Lauren doesn’t follow her this time. As a last thought, she calls over her shoulder, “And don’t bother Azzi, either.”

Once she’s in her room, she heaves against the closed door, looks around. They’ve been here eight days now, and it doesn’t seem like long but they’ve already left their imprint on this room: their scents mingling into the sheets, bed unmade, toiletries scattered in the bathroom.

In her back pocket, her phone buzzes. For a wild moment she thinks it’s Azzi, calling to ask if she wants anything from the coffee shop or to lay out their plan for the day, but she remembers quickly enough that Azzi has no reason to be calling her. With trembling fingers, she pulls the phone out, and is relieved to see it’s Drew on the other end.

“Hey,” she says when she picks up, plopping down onto the bed as casually as possible.

“Guess what,” is what Drew starts out with, and Paige smiles tenderly as she watches her brother give her an expectant look.

“Aw, I missed you, too,” Paige says, and when Drew’s expression turns to a scowl she laughs. “Okay, what?”

“You’re ’posed to guess.”

Paige sighs; she hates this game. “Fine. Um, Dad got us a puppy?”

“No.” Drew frowns. “I wish.”

“Lame. You’re coming to see me?”

This makes Drew frown even harder. “No, but I wish that too.”

“We’re going to Disneyland?”

“Aw, I wanna go to Disneyland!” Drew is downright pouting now. “Your guesses suck.”

“You didn’t gimme any context!”

“The heck is context?” Drew looks at her as if she’s the dumb one, but before she can retaliate he says, “Fine, I’ll just tell you. Dad said when you get back he’s gonna get us those shoes we wanted.”

“Shit, really?” Paige should be reluctant to match with her eight-year-old brother, but in her opinion he’s way cooler than most eight-year-olds. And also, those shoes are pretty dope. “Sweet. I thought he wasn’t gonna cave.”

“Yeah, I gave him my cute eyes.”

“Thought he said you were too old to be cute.”

“He was lying, I guess.”

Drew widens his eyes and pouts, the look Paige taught him when he was a toddler because if she was too old to mooch her way into things, her baby brother would have to do her dirty work. And it looks different now, without the chubby cheeks and missing teeth, but it’s still just as adorable as it was then. “You’re a real one, Drewski.”

“Mm-hmm.” They settle into momentary silence, Drew’s eyes wandering from the phone to something ahead of him—Paige thinks maybe his TV—and his gaze stays faraway when he mumbles, “I miss you, Paigey.”

Staring at her little brother over the phone—the little brother who’s her best friend, who has never been complicated or scary, who is taller every time she comes home from college—Paige’s throat constricts again, a constant ache beginning to form there from how tightly knotted it’s been all day. “I miss you, too. But I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Still another week.”

“Less than that.”

“Feels like forever.”

“I know,” Paige sighs, suddenly grateful that her too-old-for-emotions little brother is avoiding eye contact, because she can see her own nose and eyes growing red over the screen. “We got the whole summer together, though. By the end of it you’ll be sick of me.”

Drew shakes his head firmly. “No I won’t.”

Again, Paige sighs, trying her hardest to exhale all the feelings creeping up on her. “Me neither.”

“I wish I could come to college with you.”

Paige gives an exaggerated groan at that, causing Drew to look back at her. “No you don’t, I promise. It’s boring.”

“You go to parties every weekend!”

Paige looks at him in surprise. “Who told you that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Was it Ice?”

“KK, actually.”

“Yeah, well, KK’s a dirty liar. I’m way too studious for parties or any of that.”

“KK also said you kiss a lot of girls.”

At this, Paige gasps, downright scandalized. “I do not!”

“Well, she said that you used to, before you dated Azzi.”

Her very name is enough to yank Paige out of this bubble Drew pulled her into, and it’s like getting out of a warm bed on a cold morning. “I guess so.”

“Where is Azzi, anyway? I wanna see her.”

“Uh,” Paige hesitates—she hates lying to her brother, because they may be over a decade apart but they are each other’s confidantes—but she can’t just go telling the truth. Not now, and certainly not to a third-grader. “She’s out right now.”

“Out where?”

“The…gym.”

“But you always go to the gym together.”

“Well, I didn’t feel like going.”

“Why not?”

“Drew,” Paige says, a little too firmly, immediately guilty at the confused look in his eyes, “listen,” she says more softly, “I’m sure you can talk to her later, okay? Just not right now.”

Paige expects more complaints, but what comes instead is a bout of silence and then, “Are you okay, Paigey?”

Drew leans closer to the screen to get a better look at her, and instinctively, Paige pulls the phone away from her face. “Yeah, I’m all good. Why?”

“You just seem a little sad.”

Sad generously understates Paige’s state of mind. But, at the same time, he’s right on the nose, reading her incredibly.

“Promise,” she lies. “I’m good.”

By the time they end the call, Drew still seems suspicious.

————————————

When, ten minutes later, Azzi still hasn’t come inside, Paige peeks out her bedroom window. The car is still in the driveway, and the sun is glaring unhelpfully on the front window but Paige can just make out Azzi’s form in the passenger seat. She can’t tell what she’s doing—she’d assumed she’d be calling her mom, because she knows Azzi and when she’s hurt she calls her mom.

Paige has never made Azzi call her mom before. She is officially the very person she’s always hated: somebody who could hurt her best friend, so heartless and cruel she could make the unshakeable Azzi Fudd cry.

She hates herself for it.

Hates herself enough, in fact, that she almost wants to go out there. To apologize a million times over—something she’ll end up doing anyway—and to comfort her and to let her break that last barrier away, the barrier that kept her from saying yes in the park, the root of all her fears and inhibitions. To ask Azzi to give her a chance and to be brave enough to take it. To risk everything they’ve so carefully built over the years for something that could be even better.

But then, Azzi glances up. Paige ducks away from the window, wincing at the sound of the car door slamming.

The front door follows soon thereafter, and Paige presses her ear to the bedroom door, trying to make out Azzi and Lauren’s conversation downstairs. She can’t hear them, though—she can only hear enough to know that Lauren is doing most of the talking. And she doesn’t have nearly long enough to prepare when Azzi’s familiar footsteps ascend the stairs, coming closer to her with each rapid thump of her heart.

Paige barely has the common sense to back away from the door just before she comes in. And then, it opens, and they’re standing face-to-face, Azzi’s eyes red-rimmed and stone-cold as they avoid Paige’s.

“Hey,” Paige says hesitantly.

When Azzi doesn’t answer, Paige steps out of the way, wondering if maybe Azzi wants to come in, but she stays put. Her gaze goes over Paige’s shoulder, to the bed. She looks exhausted.

“You tryna sleep?” Paige asks. Azzi only shrugs, making a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat.

“Aight, I’ll…leave, then.”

Still, Azzi doesn’t move from the doorway. Finally, her eyes find Paige’s, and she holds them there when she says, “I think…I think I’m done, Paige.”

She’d implied it, earlier—That’s it, then—but hearing her say it out loud like this is a whole other thing, and it makes Paige want to double over. It’s instinctive, the way she reaches out to beg Azzi to stay, to let her amend for her wrongdoings and make everything right again, but Azzi flinches back and her arm falls limply to her side. “Okay,” Paige says, helpless. “I was looking at flights, earlier—I could get you one for tonight, or tomorrow morning, I know you prefer morning flights. But if you want good seats you might have to wait a couple days, but I could maybe call the airline and see what I can do? Just, whatever you want.”

Azzi winces, shaking her head slowly. “No, I meant—I’ll stay, for the trip. So your parents don’t get suspicious.”

“You don’t—“

“But after that,” Azzi interjects, “I think I have to be done. With you.”

Paige doesn’t react much, not outwardly—she takes a small step that’s more of a stumble back, and her eyes widen—but on the inside it feels as if she’s being ripped in two. “Azzi.”

“Don’t,” Azzi murmurs. She kicks at the floor. “I—we—need this. If we ever want a chance at being us again, we need space, okay? We need time.”

Paige stammers, so many words lunging up her throat but stopping behind her lips, creating a torrent so strong she can only make a weak, helpless sound. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“I don’t blame you,” Azzi mutters, looking up at her as she takes a small, tentative step forward. “You can’t help how you feel.”

Paige wants to scream at her, to say I feel it, too, to take her by the shoulders and hold her close and whisper, I love you, too—but she can’t.

So instead she says, “I wasn’t—I meant—I’m sorry. For leaving you this morning, for acting distant a couple days ago—for sending so many mixed signals, for being rude to you at the lake and for being mean when we got here—“ as she says it, it all becomes very clear to her, just how much she has managed to damage the trust between them in such a short amount of time. “It might not help, but I need you to know, you know?”

Slowly, Azzi nods, and her hand brushes against Paige’s arm. “I know you are,” she whispers. “I just—I don’t know if I can…”

“It’s okay,” Paige is quick to fill the silence, her arm burning from where Azzi touched her, “I know, it’s okay.”

Azzi bites her lip, and when her eyes trail back to the bed Paige shuffles awkwardly. “Hey, how about I sleep downstairs tonight, okay?” when Azzi opens her mouth, Paige stops her. “We’ll tell my parents that you kicked me out because I was—snoring too loud, or something. I dunno.”

“But won’t they think—?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Paige waves her off, stepping aside, relieved when Azzi finally comes in. “You deserve some sleep.”

She doesn’t expect her to, but when Azzi doesn’t protest any further, doesn’t say I can’t sleep without you next to me, it comes with a bitter disappointment.

She really, really fucked up this time.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa @router2260 @guesswhoitsn @patri-ots87 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @ijustreadignoreme @pazzilover101 @tropics43 @bueckersss @bigheadfudd @surferandskater5 @iknowth35nd @rhyxanwaters @graceinshade @azzilov

[salvieslovenotes]

Mirror Mirror

vi x reader, 18+ themes!!

Vi receives a nude from you for the first time and... freaks out a little

(a/n: i haven't written anything like this before, please be gentle!!)

Vi loves the way your relationship is going. She's never taken it this slow before; her relationships in the past have all been about diving head-first, but this, with you, it feels different. She really, really likes you. She doesn't want to mess it up. And taking it slow feels good, it feels like the right thing.

She suspects she's in a bit deeper than you, afraid that it means more to her than it does for you, and so slow... yeah, that's good. Give her a bit of space, allow her to reign in the rush of feelings and want that floods her whenever she's around you.

It's new for her, not to be sure of where it's going, what's happening—but she's taking a step back, taking the cues from you. Whenever you want to take it a step further, she's more than happy to go there.

But it's also tricky, not seeing you every day when she wants to. Not being sure if you're feeling the same way. Only going on one or two dates a week, holding herself back when kissing you, afraid you'll taste the longing she can't swallow down, pull away because you don't want that. You made it very clear, you two were casual. Your relationship was supposed to be fun, and yeah—casual.

So she never mentions it, even though yeah, she wants to know if you're thinking about her, too, when you don't see each other. She wants you to be thinking about her. She wants to get little dirty texts from you, she wants to send them back. She wants to get a text and be thinking about it all day. But she respects your boundaries, and so she says nothing.

Casual is... not really how Vi feels about you.

But it's alright, she knows you haven't been treated right in the past. Been with some people who haven't been respectful, who've made it so you don't give your trust easily. And so she understands why you're hesitant about starting something serious, and she really wants to show you that she's not like the others. She would never do anything to hurt you, or make you uncomfortable.

It's a total slap in the face one morning when she's just messaged you hello like she always does and you respond... differently.

good morning love

sleep well?

She's busy pouring coffee when a moment later her phone buzzes with a new message.

Cupcake <3: Well... not so good.

Frowning, she types quickly.

oh??

Three dots appear on the screen and she waits impatiently, a little worried.

Cupcake <3: Yeah, couldn't sleep well.

Was kinda... distracted

Thinking about you

Vi stares at the last line, her heart suddenly beating hard in her chest, fast enough that her stomach clenches a little. Is this... are you doing what she thinks you're doing? For a moment she has a small panic; what if she's misinterpreted, because you two have never done anything like this before. Even your flirting is all tame, none of it overly suggestive, and what if she's got it totally wrong? What if you actually meant you were up because you were questioning the relationship. Is this you telling her you want to talk?

Now panicking in earnest, Vi glances down at her screen again where your three dots have reappeared. Wondering how to reply, she takes a sip of coffee—then promptly chokes.

Another message from you has just come through. This time, it's a photo.

A photo of you, specifically.

When Vi's finished coughing her lungs out, she grips her phone tight in both hands, staring, suddenly very certain that she was right the first time. It does not look like you're questioning the relationship.

The photo doesn't include your face, cutting off at your collarbones. Vi's gaze travels along their dip and curve, thinking of how she wants to run her tongue along that same line. You're clearly lying down in the image, rumpled sheets below your back. The lower half of the image cuts off again, just showing the elastic of your panties, and the fingers you're just slipping beneath the hem.

It's a matching set. Black lace, making the curve of your waist even sharper. Vi drinks in every pixel of the image, the way your fingers are teasing her, barely pulling the elastic of your panties as if it could snap back at any moment. She can imagine your satisfied little smile, the way your breaths would become more rapid and shallow as your hand slipped lower.

Vi lets out a shaky breath, a twinging ache of want low in her stomach. She doesn't need to move to know she's soaked her boyshorts. Pushing a hand that's trembling a little through her hair, she looks at the photo again, swallowing roughly. And shit—wait, the message is from almost ten minutes ago and she...

She has the sudden thought that you might be doing that right now, and fully just —spaces out. Gripping the counter until her knuckles are white, she closes her eyes, the picture of you blazing behind her eyelids. She thinks of the way your back would arch a little as you teased yourself, brushing a finger over your clit, bucking into your own hand. Biting your lip to stifle a moan, free hand clutching desparately at the sheets.

She still hasn't replied.

What does she even respond to something like that? Wow angel, thanks for wreaking me at eight in the morning.

Honestly, she's not really sure why this photo has... affected her so much. It's not the most explicit photo she's received from a girl, not by a long shot. Hell, some of her old hook-ups had sent full on videos and none of them had made her feel... quite like this. Shaky with the need to touch you, to have her mouth on your skin, your taste over her tongue. The desparate desire to make you hers, properly hers, someone that no one else would get to touch, to want, to have. You've barely been going out a month, and she wants it to be for always.

She's worried about leaving the message read and without a response—she doesn't want you to get the wrong impression, that it wasn't a good idea to send or worse, that she's unfazed by it.

But she just... doesn't know what to send back. In the past she's snapped responses without even thinking, quick photos of her touching herself, or maybe some at the gym, especially when she was with one girl who was particularly into her strength, but she doesn't know you well enough to know what you'd like, what would make you think of her in the way she's thinking of you—you're both still learning each other, the sex is still new. And she sort of wants...

She wants to make you feel like she does right now. She just doesn't know how.

For now she just sends a quick text, just the truth, before she can think twice about it—

fuck, angel

do you have any idea what you do to me?

—then locks her phone and religiously doesn't look at it for the rest of the day. Not that it makes a difference. Without ever opening your chat again, she's distracted. Thinking about you. Wanting you.

After work she can't take it anymore and calls Caitlyn, one of her closest friends and incidentally how you two met, as Caitlyn is also a close friend of yours.

Vi's not calling to ask for advice on nudes... but she's also not not calling to ask for advice on nudes. She and Caitlyn have been friends long enough that she's not even embarrassed about it.

"Fuck I just... I dunno what to do," she sighs. It's a little frightening, to want someone that badly, when she has no idea if you feel that strongly about her.

She's so highly strung her fingers have a tiny tremor in them even though she's only had one coffee today. Every time she thinks of that photo (which she's done approximately seven times a minute all day) her heartrate picks up, heat inching up her neck. She's pretty sure her cheeks have been flushed all day—though it's not particularly hot weather-wise.

She's wearing tight black jeans, her old pair full of rips she usually wears when tinkering on her bike, but it was a bad choice today because they're tight around her waist, and every time she bends or takes a seat the seam presses against her. Usually she doesn't notice, but now even that slight pressure is enough to have her biting back a whine as she thinks again about your long fingers curling under the lacy hem of your panties, the way you'd —

A soft laugh in her ear snaps her back to the present. Fuck, she needs to get it together.

"Okay, I'm gonna help you," says Caitlyn on the other end of the line, sounding vaguely amused. "But only because you're being a pathetic wet sock. Alright, you want her to want you?"

"Uh-huh," Vi mumbles, slumped over her counter top and staring moodily at the floor.

"Right, go into your bedroom."

"Okay..." Vi replies, pushing herself up off the counter and wandering through her small flat to her bedroom. "M'kay, I'm there."

"Open your wardrobe door," Caitlyn instructs, "the side with the long mirror. You still have that mirror, don't you?"

"Uh-huh," Vi says, pulling open the side of her wardrobe with the mirror attached. "Now what?"

"Now take off your shirt, and turn around. "

Having tossed her phone onto her bed, halfway out of her shirt Vi pauses, frowning. "Turn... around?"

There's an exasperated sigh from Caitlyn's end. "Yes, turn around. One-eighty. One-eight-zero. Turn around."

"So I'm... not facing the mirror?"

There's another sigh from Caitlyn. "Fuck, Vi, you useless lesbian. Yes, turn around so your back is to the mirror."

"My back?"

"Yep." There's a smirk in Caitlyn's voice when she adds, "Trust me, that's all you need to do to make her want you."

And well, Caitlyn's not wrong.

[cherie-doll]

I have this brainrot for a while now

Which cod man would be the most husband material, who waits for the shortest amount of time before getting married? And who would be the one who would be fine with not getting married at all? And where are the rest of them?

How many kids would they want if they want?

I don’t need sleep, i need answers!😭

sorry for the delay my wifi is so slow, we just got a new batch of snow down here and tbh it might be affecting my internet

✧ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ᰍᩚ Price... he's PERFECT husband material. Cut from the finest cloth I'm SO normal about him. You've just observed his behavior closely and he doesn't do annoying things like leaving his clothes lying around on the floor or leaving unwashed dishes in the sink. He def want to get married, but doesn't wait too long nor asks you right away, he'd time it just right. As for kids? Maybe he could convince you to have one or two...

ᰍᩚ Ghost... he doesn't realize he can lowkey be a good husband. He thinks he's not willing to adapt to anyone, given how much stuff he's been through. A relationship isn't the worst thing he's had to go through, he's gone through worse, so why is he thinking about it so much? He doesn't want to enter a relationship with only half a heart, not mindlessly. But he knows his feelings towards you don't come from nothing. His feelings would have to be resolved before you even started dating, so that afterwards everything progresses pretty smoothly. And after marriage, kids? Maybe idk.

ᰍᩚ Soap... he probably had your entire life planned out before he confessed. He knew he loved you, was convinced he wanted to marry you and needed to have kids. So, he waited the least amount of time to marry you. There's lots of things he could improve on as a partner but the good thing is he's willing to make any and all of those changes for you. His respect will never run dry, he won't let desperation take ahold of him, always letting you know one way or another he still cares. It was up to you to decide how many kids you'd be okay with but if it were up to him... yk what better not go there.

ᰍᩚ Gaz... Perfect boyfriend AND husband material. He loves showing affection with the little things, a cup of coffee or tea and cuddling when you feel down or taking care of chores when you need a break. Simple things that he does on the daily that in the long run fortify your relationship. The amount of time he waits before asking you to marry him depends and it's all on how you want your relationship to progress. He's surefooted in his decisions so after the initial stages of the relationship when he's gotten to know you very well, your faults and what he loves about you, he just lets you know that if you want to take that step, he's more than ready to do so. He def wants kids, at least three.

ᰍᩚ Roach... oh my sweet boy ToT. He's such boyfriend material and in time will no doubt grow into a loving husband. He very deeply cares about your connection and how deep it runs between you both. The topic of marriage comes up at a very proper time in your relationship, it's when all he can think of is holding your hand every day, how comforting your presence is to him and how this couldn't ever revert into something casual. Marriage is a definite yes for him. Kids are something he wouldn't think of right away. Maybe a few years down the lane, and maybe one.

ᰍᩚ Alejandro... you made him wish impossible things. How you've made him feel, the sensations not only running smoothly over his skin but finding a way to penetrate deeply, to make him desire nothing else but a life with you. Marriage was the ideal way to continue living in that daydream. How he wishes the days were endless, so he can rejoice for eternity with you. If this was what made him wish to be better, then he was surely husband material. In time, he'd want to start a family with you, to create life, to have little ones to take care of. Three or four kids would occupy his days.

ᰍᩚ Rudy... is THE blueprint for all husbands out there to follow. He's very patient, his voice soothes you, could lull you to sleep. Always listens to you even if you rant, if you point out a flaw of his he works to be better. Never pushed you into doing anything, even when he could already hear the wedding bells ringing, he wanted you to make this decision on your own. In the back of his mind, he most likely already had baby names planned and asked if you wanted kids. He def did and wanted three. He thought it was the perfect number.

ᰍᩚ Phillip Graves... husband material at its FINEST. He's not only charming and a gentleman as a boyfriend but also as a husband. He just couldn't wait to put a ring on your finger so he did want marriage very soon. There is no way he'd NOT want children, he's just as much father material as he is husband material. I've said it before but he was made to father children and I will die on that hill. He loves going everywhere with his son, showing him how to run a company and then he gentles when his daughter is born, doing everything she wants.

ᰍᩚ Makarov... husband material at the core. Deep on the inside he can be genuine and want to care for someone. He likes having someone to depend on him, under his care, leaning on him for that strange affection that isn't found anywhere else. It would be hard to refuse him with the amount of gifts he sends to sweeten you up and coax you to accept his proposal that came too soon for your liking. But look at it this way, he'll always provide everything you'll ever need and want and in exchange you only have to agree to marry him, live with him and... kids. Yes, he wants kids. A numerous family preferably.

ᰍᩚ Keegan... is quite levelheaded when it comes to relationships so he's fine with staying your boyfriend and living with you or becoming your husband when you marry. He could improve on becoming peak husband material but you're lucky if he picks up his clothes from the floor and places it in the laundry basket instead. He thinks having no kids is better until you get a scare thinking you might be with child and he gets excited until you call false alarm. He felt disappointment and then realized he did want kids after all. Would be fine with just one but wouldn't completely be against having another one later on.

ᰍᩚ König... it's not him you have to worry about when it comes to marriage. He's got to watch out for himself because YOU'RE going to wife him up, otherwise he'd never get around to asking you to marry him. Not that he wouldn't want to but he's thinking when would be the perfect moment to ask and he's always thinking, "I'm going to ask them next date", and another date comes and goes by and then another and another... He'd learn to be so loving with kids you just gotta convince him he CAN be a good father. I don't know how many he could handle though.

ᰍᩚ Horangi... he's fun but he's prob best as a boyfriend. Not that he could never be a husband because he can, but he'd be completely fine with not marrying. If you're expecting him to bring up the question and get down on his knee for you... then you're probably setting yourself up for disappointment. It'd take him a while and you'd have to hint at wanting marriage, because otherwise he wouldn't mind just moving in together. I know I used to say he'd want marriage quickly but idk man my perception of him changed. He might get baby fever (rare) and he might ask for ONE kid them, but don't think he's the type for them much.

ᰍᩚ Nikto... if he does open up to wanting a relationship you've got to work with him on the long run. He might be closed off to certain things simply because he might not see a point in progressing in that field, but once he sees that you respect him and don't force anything, he'd def want to marry you. I'm not exactly sure how long he'd wait before proposing to you, honestly it all depends but once he grows attached to a person he wouldn't want to be apart from them so I'm guessing he'd tie the knot pretty soon. The topic of kids is something he's very hesitant of, he rarely gets baby fever, like ever. It'd have to be a lot of convincing on your part. But he might be okay with one or two at most.

[cruel-seduction]

James Potter as Your Boyfriend

a/n - I am listening to my romantic playlist on repeat so it might be more cheesy than I intend it to be.

(୨୧) That Infuriatingly Perfect HairJames Potter is the guy who knows his hair is a mess and somehow still uses it as his primary flirting tactic. (Like, sir, did you actually think ruffling your hair would make me swoon? … Okay, maybe a little.) He smirks every time you roll your eyes at him doing it, but the kicker is when you catch him fixing it in a reflection right before seeing you. “Gotta look sharp for my girl,” he says with a wink. (Spoiler: he does not, in fact, look sharp, but you love it anyway.)

(୨୧) The Walking Ego (Who’s Secretly a Softie)He loves to show off in front of you, especially on the Quidditch field. He’ll pull stunts, grinning like he’s the coolest guy in the world, just to hear you cheer his name. (Never mind that he almost fell off his broom that one time; we don’t talk about that.) But when it’s just the two of you, his cocky demeanor drops, and he’s all shy smiles and quiet, “Did you really think I was good out there? Or are you just saying that because you love me?” cue him melting when you reassure him.

(୨୧) His Endless Need for Validation

James is the guy who constantly asks, “Did you see that?!” anytime he does anything remotely impressive, even if it’s just catching a piece of parchment midair. (You could be reading, and he’ll yell, “Love, LOOK!” before performing some ridiculous stunt). He’s a golden retriever in human form, and if you don’t immediately cheer for him, he’ll sulk until you give him a kiss. (You love it, though. Admit it).

(୨୧) His Terrible Jealousy

James acts like he’s the most confident guy alive, but the second someone flirts with you, his ears turn red, and he starts loudly talking about how amazing his girlfriend is. (You: “Subtle, Potter.” Him: “Not subtle, James Potter.”) If you so much as laugh at someone else’s joke, he’ll spend the next hour sulking until you kiss him and say, “No one compares to my idiot.” (He perks up immediately, naturally.)

(୨୧) The Chaotic Pillow Talk

James is that boyfriend who talks nonsense when you’re lying in bed together. One moment, he’s whispering sweet nothings like, “You’re my entire world,” and the next, he’s like, “Do you think Sirius could charm his hair to look like yours? Because I think about it a lot.” (You: “What the actual fuck?” Him: “I’m serious.”) Somehow, you love him more for it.

(୨୧) The Unintentional PDAJames isn’t subtle. At all. He’s the guy who’ll grab your hand in the middle of class, lean over, and whisper, “You look really pretty today,” loud enough for everyone—including Professor McGonagall—to hear. (You’re mortified; he’s grinning like a cat that got the cream.) And when you try to scold him later, he just shrugs and says, “What? I’m not gonna hide how I feel. Everyone should know you’re mine.”

(୨୧) The Emotional ProtectorJames may be a reckless Gryffindor, but when it comes to your emotional well-being, he’s shockingly thoughtful. If you’re upset, he’s the first to notice, even if you try to hide it. He’ll pull you into a quiet corner and say, “What’s wrong, love? You know you can tell me anything.” And if you cry? Oh, this man will hold you so tightly it’s like he’s trying to shield you from the entire world. (He definitely whispers, “I’ve got you, always,” like it’s a solemn vow.)

(୨୧) The Ride-or-Die RomanticJames Potter is the kind of boyfriend who makes you feel like you’re his entire world. He’s got that intense Gryffindor loyalty, and once he’s in love, there’s no turning back. He’ll write you corny notes like, “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, and I’m including winning the House Cup in that list.” (They’re signed with little doodles of a stag and a heart because he’s the absolute worst.)

(୨୧) The Over-the-Top Romantic Gestures

He’ll do big, stupidly romantic things, like charming the stars in the Astronomy Tower to spell out your name (Sirius: “You’re disgusting, mate.” James: “Shut it, Pads, she’s the one”). But he’s also the type to leave little notes in your books, like “Marry me?” and “You’re the sexiest witch alive.” (You’ve found many letters in Hogwarts, A History. Yes, you kept them all.)

(୨୧) The Unexpected Vulnerability

Despite all his confidence, James has quiet moments when he doubts if he’s enough for you. “You could have anyone,” he’ll say softly, tracing patterns on your arm. (His voice cracks, and your heart aches). You always pull him close, reminding him that he’s more than enough, and he’ll smile in that shy, boyish way that makes your chest warm. (You: “You’re my James.” Him: “Always.”)

(୨୧) The King of Over-the-Top Gestures

James doesn’t just love you; he worships you. He’s the guy who’ll book out the entirety of Madam Puddifoot’s just to have a private date (you: “James, this is ridiculous.” him: “Ridiculously romantic, you mean”). But he’ll also sit with you on the Quidditch stands, freezing his arse off, just because he knows you like watching the stars after a match.

(୨୧) The Secret Softie

Yes, he’s cocky. But when it comes to you? This man melts. You mention being tired? Suddenly there’s a hot cup of tea waiting for you in the common room. (You: “How’d you know?” Him: “I’m James Potter. I know everything.”) He’d deny it if anyone else asked, but he lives to see you smile. His whole demeanor changes when it’s just the two of you—less bravado, more tenderness. (If you catch him staring at you all lovesick, just know he’s planning your wedding in his head.)

(୨୧) The “I’m Your Biggest Cheerleader” Energy

James will hype you up like his life depends on it. Got an essay due? “No problem, love, you’ve got this!” Need help with a spell? He’ll spend hours practicing with you until you nail it. And when you do, he’s out here clapping like you just won the Quidditch Cup. (Sirius: “Mate, chill, it’s a summoning charm.” James: “IT’S A BIG DEAL, PADFOOT.”) You can’t even be annoyed because the way he beams at you makes your heart flutter every damn time.

(୨୧) The Ego and the Heart to Match

James knows he’s hot—and he’ll never let you forget it. (You: “You’re insufferable.” Him: “You mean irresistible.”) But here’s the kicker: despite his cockiness, he’s never made you feel less than cherished. He’s the type to blow off quidditch practice just to study with you for your OWLs, or charm your quill to write faster when he sees you stressing. (You didn’t even ask. He just noticed.) He may act like the world revolves around him, but you’re the sun he orbits.

(୨୧) The Bravado

This man will not shut up about how good he is at everything—Quidditch, hexes, kissing you senseless against a bookshelf. And the worst part? He’s not wrong. (You: “Cocky much?” Him: “Confident, sweetheart. There’s a difference.”) But then there’s the unexpected softness, like when he presses his forehead against yours after, whispering, “You’re all I’ll ever want.” It’s the mix of arrogance and vulnerability that leaves you completely undone every time. (Yes, you’re ruined. No, you’re not mad about it.)

(୨୧) The “I’d Die for You” Loyalty

James would go to the ends of the earth for you—and you know it. He’s reckless when it comes to protecting you, stepping in front of danger without a second thought. (You: “Stop being so stupidly brave!” Him: “I can’t help it; it’s in the Potter genes. Do you want your kids to have these genes??”) Even in his most infuriating moments, you can’t deny how deeply he loves you. He’s yours, completely and irrevocably, and Merlin, does it feel good to be loved by James Potter.

[deathofpeaceofmiiind]

Kill my time // Quinn Hughes

In a city full of lonely people, I just want you all to myself

summary: birthday celebrations causing jealousy while struggling to turn a certain age

warnings: drinking, clubbing, smut (18+)

── ∘◦ ⛤ ◦∘ ──

“I can’t believe I’m going to a bar like I’m in my early twenties again.”

I smoothed my dress down, picking apart everything wrong with me as I looked in the mirror. Turning thirty felt like my world was about to collapse, and what made it worse was knowing my boyfriend was only turning twenty five just two days after me.

“Not to mention with a bunch of guys who are twenty one.” My roommate added as she fixed us a couple of drinks. I saw her bring out a bottle of tequila, knowing I was going to be in for a long night.

“Ugh, what did I get myself into?”

“Girl, it’s fine! Quinn doesn’t care about your age so why should you?” She asks, passing me whatever concoction she made. A took a small sip, realizing it was tequila and soda…more like tequila with a splash of soda.

Deep down I knew she was right, because when I told Quinn I was older than him it didn’t phase him at all, I completely expected him to run. He told me the idea of being with someone older was a big turn on for him, something he didn’t discover until he met me. As for me, it didn’t matter what age the men were I dated, they were all extremely immature. I knew it was a risk with Quinn but he definitely didn’t act like men his age. After all he was the captain of an NHL team, he had to have a strong head on his shoulders.

An hour later I was making my way through a busy drunken crowd, holding onto Quinn’s hand for dear life. For whatever reason, his teammates chose this club to celebrate his birthday tonight. Wouldn’t have been my first choice, and I don’t think Quinn was thrilled on it either but he was too quiet to say anything. We always made the best of a bad situation and I knew tonight wouldn’t be any different. House music and lights were bouncing off the walls, making it hard to focus on where we were going. We finally got into our booth and a heavy sigh left me, I definitely wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Quinn’s velvet voice echoed in my ear, calming my nerves. His eyes were bright green, almost enchanting as they peered into mine. My face grew hot, wondering how it was humanly possible for someone to be this gorgeous.

“Yeah it’s just been a while.” I wasn’t lying either. I spent most of my time in breweries with my friends since most of us were over going to clubs. Quinn likes to tell me he doesn’t like going out, but give him a few drinks and he makes a liar out of himself.

He pulled me closer to him, so close I could feel his stubble on my neck. “I won’t leave your side at all, I promise.”

“Okay.” I nodded before he gently brushed his lips over mine. I got lost in our own little world, the music melted away and I forgot we were in the middle of a busy club surrounded by strangers.

“Let’s celebrate, it’s your birthday after all.”

I rolled my eyes, “it’s also yours in two days.”

“Yeah, but …” his words trail off as he runs the pad of his thumb over my lip, “today brought me you.”

“How does it feel to be with a thirty year old?” The words falling last my lips causing my eyes to roll again. That number just didn’t sit right with me. “I’m officially an old lady.”

“Thirty has never looked better.” He mused, his hand running up my hip and pressing me closer to him. I pulled him into another kiss, his cologne hit me like a tidal wave causing butterflies in my stomach. His hand ran up my neck and gripped me tighter while his tongue begged to enter my mouth. We stayed like that, blissfully unaware of reality until his teammates came over with trays of various shots.

“Okay lover boy that’s enough. Let’s get you drunk.”

One thing about partying with hockey players is all of them have no limits when it comes to spending. I had to finally stop accepting every shot they brought around after the room began to spin. Best part of the night though was that the Devils were in town, so Jack and Luke, Quinn’s brothers were here to celebrate with everyone. This was only my second time meeting them but they were extremely welcoming and treated me like I was their sister. Jack at one point asked me to go dance with him and I couldn’t help but say yes.

“So how does it feel to be thirty?” Jack yelled into my ear as we danced to one of my favourite John Summit songs.

“Terrible. I’m almost a decade older than you!”

“You make thirty look so good though.” He smirks as Luke came behind me and picked me up, causing me to scream at him to put me down. As much as I fought he kept me over his shoulder.

“I just want you to know we fucking love you and you make my brother so happy.” Luke added as he finally put me down, the room was still spinning so I had to brace myself against him to make it stop.

“Thanks buddy.” I jumped a little, feeling Quinn’s hand on my back. His face was flushed, telling me he was taking shots without me.

“Can I have my girlfriend back now?”

“Sorry bro!” Luke kissed the top of my head before him and Jack ran off to grab more drinks.

“You okay?” I asked Quinn as I turned to him, he smelt like whiskey and honey as he brought his lips to my neck.

“I will be.” He mumbles, burrowing his face into my neck. “I’m glad my brothers like you, but you’re my girlfriend. Not theirs.”

“Do you think they’re gonna steal me?” I clasped my mouth, trying to hold in my laughter because I know he was being serious. It was downright adorable.

“Maybe.”

“But I’m yours” I assured him, pressing closer to his body. My hands teaching behind his neck, slipping stands of his hair between my fingers. “No one will ever steal me from you.”

“Prove it.” He replied with such confidence, not taking his eyes off my lips. His hands reached up to my hips, pressing me even closer to him. I gasped as I felt his erection brush up against my leg, “come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Trust me.” He mumbled, his eyes glazed with desire and whatever was in his system. I grabbed his hand, not knowing where he was taking me.

Quinn guided me into a private bathroom and locked the door. His hand brushed gently over my chest, hooking his finger under the strap of my dress. I watched him with intent, my heart pounding so fast I was surprised he didn’t feel it.

“You belong to me.” He whispered, slowly bringing me closer to him. My hands braced onto his chest as he captured my mouth into a kiss that started off sweet but grew sloppy.

“Let’s not wait then, birthday boy.”

He smirked so devilishly that I felt something more than butterflies in my stomach. Our kisses were met with biting of lower lips and Quinn grabbed my dress so tight I thought it was going to split. I wasted no time and began to unbutton his pants, dropping to my knees in the process. His dick sprung out of his boxers, dripping with pre-cum as my eyes widened.

“Stick your tongue out baby.”

My exposed tongue was met with his tip as he gently circled over my taste buds. I could taste him already, it was making my mouth salivate and run down my chin.

“Such a good girl.” He breathed as his free hand tugged on my hair. “Open your mouth for me.”

I did as I was told and Quinn slowly slid his erection into my mouth, inch by inch until his tip hit the back of my throat. He bit his lip as I began to slide my mouth up and down, his grip on my hair getting tighter.

“Fuck, baby this feels so good.” He deeply moaned, making me feel it in the back of my throat. “Such a good girl taking my whole dick in that pretty little mouth of yours.”

I could tell he was getting close with how laboured his breathing became. I removed my mouth from him and began to lick his tip that was glistening with my spit. He looked down at me with pleading eyes, as if me mouth fucking him was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Come in my mouth Quinn, I know what you want to.”

“Not yet.” His voice sounded so husky as he motioned for me to stand up. I wiped my mouth, taking a long look at him. “Your turn birthday girl.”

I couldn’t help but giggle as he picked me up and sat me on the bathroom counter. My back rested against the mirror as he spread my legs, situating himself between them. When our eyes met my heart felt like it was going to explode, I’ve never seen him like this before.

“How bad do you need me right now?” He asked, slowly taking my lip between his teeth again.

“I need you so fucking badly.”

He makes his home between my thighs and begins to tease me with his tip. I regretted wearing underwear tonight but feeling his pre cum soak the lace was the sweetest form of torture, and he knew it.


“Tell me again…how bad do you need me?” I couldn’t get a word out. His laugh was dark as he fluttered his somber eyes at me, “use your words sweetheart, what do you want for your birthday?”

“I want you.”

“That’s a good start.” He muses, applying pressure on my thighs with his thumbs, “where do you want me?”

No words were leaving me as I gasped for air. Quinn began to run his mouth over my jaw, down to my collarbone, nipping slightly at the skin. I grabbed his hand and guided it between my thighs, his thumb instantly pressing onto my underwear.

“Right there?” He asks, slowly moving my underwear to the side. A small gasp in satisfaction left him as he felt how soaked I was for him. I just nodded, whimpering already from his touch. “Tell me how much you wish this was my dick instead?”

“Quinn, I need you please … I’m yours.”

“That’s my girl.” He replied so proudly, pushing his tip inside of me slowly. His head falls back once he’s fully inside me and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. “Fuck you feel so good, so fucking good.”

Quinn started off slowly, teasing my clit simultaneously with each stroke. He leaned into my ear, continuously praising me as his strokes became faster and harder. Sweat rolled down me as the building started up in my stomach, that familiar flutter began to take over and I knew I was done for. My nails dug into his back as he sinks his teeth into my shoulder as my orgasm left my body.

“Fuck I’m gonna -“

It only took a few seconds before he spilled into me. His hands gently found my face, guiding me to look at him. My legs were still shaking as he kissed me so softly. I was in a complete haze as we broke apart, that one unruly strand of hair fell in front of his face as he studied me. He was so beautiful, there were no other words to describe him.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He mused, gently kissing all the tattoos on my arm. Funny thing,

I never thought he’d go for a girl with a full sleeve and dark hair like me. He struck me as someone who went for blonde Instagram models but, once again he proved me wrong.

“You definitely just gave me the best birthday present ever.” I lightly laughed.

He titled his head to the side, cupping my cheek, “I don’t think anything will be beat the gift you gave me.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Devout

Guardian Angel alternative POV, or Jason Todd is the Arkham Knight, and he can't stop himself from watching you, from clawing his way into the cracks of your life in a twisted, mangled mirror of what he used to be ~3.5k words

CW: Jason commits a few murders, some gore, stalking, some religious imagery for fun

Jason Todd shouldn't be watching you. He knows it's wrong, knows he shouldn't be perched on the shadowy rooftop across from your apartment building, staring intently into your windows.

He knows. He knows. But he's doing it anyway– been doing it for weeks.

You haven't noticed once, so wrapped up in your own life, your peace of mind that no one would break the sanctity of your own home that you don't even consider closing your blinds.

He thinks you should know better. Gotham is tainted– he is tainted– yet you never spare a glance over your shoulder when he follows you down the street, never linger on that sixth sense that screams that you're being watched.

You pick up on his presence on the rare occasion, he thinks. The days you walk home quicker or the nights you actually slam your blinds shut makes him wonder if you do know you're being watched. But then you go back to normal, brush off every sign and every lingering feeling that something isn't right.

It almost makes him angry, sometimes, that you'd be so careless with your safety. But everything makes him angry now. It's a constant, tight grasp in his chest, the righteous fury he has against the world, against the city and its filth, against Batman.

The anger makes him reckless, or maybe he's just cocky. Maybe he wants you to know he's there. Jason doesn't let himself wonder why he does it. He might just be a masochist. He might just miss you. But he opens the faulty window to your living room that he knows squeaks and never quite locks right.

The first time he breaks into– visits your apartment while you're asleep, he doesn't touch a thing. He just takes in everything that's you, cleanses his fractured soul in the space he used to know like the back of his hand. The trinkets that sit on your counters. The paintings on the wall. The color of the blankets thrown over your couch.

He doesn't touch anything the second time, either. Or the third. The fourth time, though, he picks over the photos you keep on your shelves, the books you leave lying around. He moves them, just slightly. Just to see if you'll notice.

You don't. Not really. Not until the eighth time. He doesn't know why he does this either. He just does. He picks up your keys from where you usually keep them and moves them. It's something you can't deny. Something tangible and real and clear, an unyielding truth. He was here. He exists, and he can affect your life, change it with his hands.

(It's the first time he feels like he's truly alive since the asylum, the first time there's more than just revenge and watching you from afar, even if he feels like he's corrupting something that's only meant to be seen and not touched by impure, broken hands)

If your keys being displaced affects you, well, you don't show it for more than a few moments. And that bothers him. You might not know he's here– alive– and maybe he's not ready for you to, but he's still a part of your life, isn't he?

So he gets bolder. He doesn't want to scare you, not really. But he can't help but dig his nails into the parts of your life he can change. It starts simple, innocent. You were annoyed when you left your kitchen, out of sugar, just another thing on top of everything else you have to deal with.

And he wanted to help. Like he used to. It was easy to get a bag of sugar, even easier to sneak into your kitchen. He leaves just enough for a few days, just enough to get you through the week, enough that you'll think you misremembered how much was left.

And he should have left it at that. But he's never been good at doing things halfway, especially when it comes to you. So he fixes your apartment up while you're at work. Makes sure your window doesn't squeak, your shower doesn't rattle, your oven actually heats up. All things he's heard you try to get your landlord to fix.

He makes a note to give your landlord a visit as he's looping the footage in your cameras over, effectively erasing any evidence of who he is.

Honestly, he's proud of you for finally doing something about him, it's just a shame he has the skills to outmatch your attempts to figure out his identity. Not that any pictures of him would do any good. He's still nameless in Gotham as the Arkham Knight, and if he's not wearing a mask while he's easily picking the new lock on your apartment window, his hood and ballcap do the job of hiding his face just as well.

He thinks he could let it go on like this forever, just doing things for you in the shadows, never revealing himself. At least until he's routinely following you home from work one night, and he sees you get tugged into a dark, lonely alley. He recognizes the man that hauls you off the faux safety of the streets, the one that's lifting a shaky hand and a gun to wave it, demanding your possessions.

Murphy is a nobody in Gotham, just another gambling addicted alcoholic that takes work from whatever rouge is paying the most that week. Jason more or less only recognizes him because he lives on the third floor of your apartment building, but it's clear you don't know who the man snatching your things is.

The Arkham Knight resigns himself to stealing your wallet and phone back after you've gotten home, to keep himself out of your sights for as long as he can. That was the plan.

But there's a flicker in Murphy's eyes, a consideration– a passing thought that Jason can't ignore, one he's seen a million times. Maybe it's the idea that he could get more from you, or maybe he's realizing you've seen his face and wants to get rid of any witnesses, whatever it is, Jason isn't going to let it happen.

The Arkham Knight doesn't hesitate to drop himself between you and the gun. He breaks Murphy's arm without even thinking about it, effectively disarming him as he kicks the gun away from him. The sound of his bones breaking is loud, but Jason doesn't register it as something to be sickened by until he turns and sees the nausea and horror written plainly on your face.

Honestly, maybe he should be more disgusted with himself. He's just sent a man into shock, revealed himself to you in a way that's not at all comforting. But he doesn't care. No one was going to save you. No one but him. He protected you, and it's not like Bruce Batman– it's not like broken bones are uncommon in Gotham.

You take a step back. He steps towards you, drawn to you. He can't help it. He shouldn't. But his head is spinning, and he hasn't been this close to you since before the asylum. You look tired, older, but no less beautiful than he remembers.

"Who are you? What do you want," You snap at him.

Jason wants to praise you for your bravery, as fake as it is. It's a good tactic, to try and get him talking. He doesn't understand why you look so uneasy of him, though. He got you out of a bad situation, even if he's wearing military-grade armor and a mask that glows in the darkness of the alley, shouldn't you feel grateful? Safe? Happy?

He tilts his head, trying to read you. Would you feel better if he offered to walk you home? "I saved you," he tries, the modulator making his voice sound flatter than he intends to. The Arkham Knight silently curses himself. He should just leave. Should have shot your attacker from the roof without you ever seeing him. He's being emotional now, irrational under your gaze.

"You've been following me. You're the one who's been in my apartment," you accuse, eyes darting like you're trying to find an escape in the dead end alley.

He stiffens. Huh. Clever thing. You've always been too smart for your own good. A part of him wants to deny it, pretend he's just some passing good doer in a mask, pretend that he's some kind of knight, an angel here to shield you from harm.

The notion almost makes him laugh, "Have I," he prompts instead with all the air nonchalance. He wonders if you'll drop it then, actually thank him for stepping in and helping you. You don't.

"Yes," You say instead, voice low like it's a secret– a confession, "You have."

Jason finds himself impressed at your stubbornness, if not a little unnerved by your recklessness in confronting the supposed stranger you believe is breaking into your home alone. He has to give you credit for piecing it together, but who else, if not a freak in body armor, would be letting themselves into your apartment without a word just to fix what's broken?

He nods, unsure of what to do. You weren't supposed to figure it out, but you have. And now there's consequences.

The Arkham Knight turns his back to you, making a show of gathering your phone and wallet before standing and facing you again. He walks closer to you, each step measured and calculated. He holds your belongings out to you, a twisted, mirrored version of some kind of sacred offering.

He studies you as you grab at them, trying to tug them from his unyielding grip. There's bags under your eyes. He can practically see your pulse jumping under your skin.

You're less than a foot away, and Jason basks in that distance, how light he feels now that you're only an arm's reach away. He could brush his knuckles over your cheek, dip his head to take in the scent of your hair, kiss the hollow of your throat the same way he used to.

He does none of those things. Because you don't see Jason Todd. You only see a threat, a monster, some kind of demon that clawed their way out of the shadows and cracks that litter Gothams hallowed corners.

He cocks his head, letting go of your wallet and phone while greedily drinking down the color of your eyes in the dim light of the alley, "And if I have?"

"I'll go to the police," You tell him, defensive, and he wants to laugh as you shove your wallet and phone back into your pocket.

"They can't help you," he grits out, and it's the truth. No one knows who he is yet, what his plans are. Even if you told someone, whatever description you give won't be enough to find him.

"They can contact Batman," you bite out, and that does earn you a laugh. You really think Bruce can do anything? That Batman has any chance of standing between him and you? Batman couldn't even find– couldn't even save–

"He can't help you either," The Arkham Knight tells you. He gives into his desire to touch you then, partly in anger that you still believe in Batman and partly because he just misses you. He pats your cheek, but doesn't let himself linger. "Get home," is all he says before he grapples into the night.

He follows you back to your apartment from the rooftops and notes how you avoid getting too close to any more alleys. But, it's not until you're safe in your bed that he goes looking for Murphy– that he goes to finish the job.

The creep's nursing his broken arm in his dingy apartment when The Arkham Knight gets to him. He doesn't make it quick, but it is quiet. (It's difficult to scream when you're choking on your own severed tongue, after all) He brings down fire and fury and vengeance for daring to lay a hand on you and leaves nothing behind but a corpse.

Murphy's brutal death is sweeped under the rug by the GCPD, which Jason shouldn't be surprised by. Just another mob death, the tiny obituary in the paper reports. You don't even register the death in your apartment building. He doesn't blame you for that. Not when he knows he's scaring you.

He's getting careless, sloppy. He wants you to catch glimpses of him now, he wants you to know he's watching. It's sick. He knows that, knows it so well that it claws in the back of his throat when he breaks into your apartment to fix your fan.

He's guilty about it, sometimes. It's a pressing weight on his shoulder even when he's trying to help. So, he redoubles his efforts.

He sneaks into your room and stuffs six hundred dollars into the emergency fund you keep under your bed. He sends you flowers, fills your gas tank, finally visits your landlord, and pays off your rent for the next six months. (He's already bought you a better, newer apartment, he just hasn't figured out how to tell you that)

He knows it's all wrong, but sometimes, he doesn't feel guilty at all. He wants to do things for you, that's not a lie. He wants to do everything and anything you could ever want or ask for.

He starts letting you catch flashes of him outside your window, moves your things around just out of the sheer curiosity of what you'll do. He can't justify that, because it does nothing to protect you. But he does it anyway. The Arkham Knight needs you to know he holds a spot in your life, even if it's not as Jason Todd anymore.

He's getting bolder, much too comfortable. There's times you almost walk into your apartment as he's leaving gifts on your counter, times when you wake up and walk into your kitchen just seconds after he forces himself out your window.

He's going to get caught if it keeps going on like this. But he can't bring himself to worry or care. His plans are coming together, and while he doesn't exactly know where you fit into them yet, he knows he doesn't trust anything or anyone enough to leave you to your own devices once he unleashes his legions upon Gotham and her failure of a saviour.

He never seems to do the right thing when it comes to you, at least not since he came back. But saving you– guarding you against the vile filth of the world– that can't be wrong. He'd do anything to keep you as you are, untouched by all the cruelties Gotham has to offer. It's an unwavering, righteous mission he has commanded unto himself.

It's why he reacts the way he does when three men break into your apartment.

He was late. He always seems to be late when you're involved. He had just finished overseeing the arrival of tanks and men into Miagani Tunnel, just dragged himself halfway across the city for the slighest chance to catch a glimpse of you in your apartment, when he catches sight of it.

Your window– open. You never keep it open. Dread washes down his spine, and when he gets close enough to see the man pointing a gun towards the floor– towards you– he just reacts.

He shuts down, becomes nothing but instinct, and he brings hell on to Earth in your name.

He's clinical. He doesn't hesitate to shoot the man aiming a gun to your head through his temple. If the man were alone, he would have shot the gun out of his hand, but there's two other targets, and he needs to eliminate any threats to your life first.

He climbs through your window with the ease of a man who's done it hundreds– thousands of times. You haven't moved to get up. It concerns him, but he's angry right now, so, so angry he doesn't even consider ending this quickly.

Everyone tries to take something from him. He keeps losing. If he didn't come to watch– see you tonight, he would have lost you too. The very thought makes his vision blur red, his ears ring.

It's not a fight, what happens next. It's a death penalty. The Arkham Knight is a weapon, and he proves it with each hit. He's efficient, brutal, and purposeful with each movement. He doesn't flinch at the blood that splatters on his armor, doesn't stop even when fluids and flesh start to stick to the knuckles of his gloves.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, until the only hearts left beating in your desecrated apartment are his and yours.

Then, and only then, does the blood pounding through his veins start to cool. It's only then, does he turn to look at you. He expects to meet your terrified gaze, but you haven't moved, still laying on the floor. It makes his heart clench. What's wrong with him? He just– while you–

He shakes his head, slowly tugging his gloves off and stuffing them into his belt. He walks over to you, kneels carefully to your side, and watches you breathe. He matches the slow rhythm of your shoulders rising and falling, and then he helps you sit up.

You're responsive to that, at least. The Arkham Knight presses his hands to your face, waiting for something. He doesn't know what, just anything. Some kind of sign. A message of what he's supposed to do. How he can make this all better.

When you finally open your eyes, they're hazy, not quite reactive. It makes him angry all over again. You got hurt. He wasn't here.

"Saved me again," you murmur, and his throat tightens. He failed you. Yet here you are, spouting words that make it sound like he's done something good.

He runs his thumb over your cheek, savoring the feel of your skin, soothing himself and you as he reassures himself that you're still here– still alive. But you aren't safe.

It's all he can think about. He saved you, but how long until you're in danger again? What if he's not quick enough this time? What if he's not there? What if– what if– haunts him. It weighs heavier than the nightmares that plague him when he finally has to succumb to sleep.

He makes the decision then and there to take you away from here, away from the rot and the fester to some place where it can never touch you again.

He picks you up, cradles you to his chest like you're made of shattered, stained glass and tarnishing silver, but nonetheless precious. You're talking, and he's answering, but he hardly registers what either of you are saying. His mind is working over plans, where he's going to take you, the guards he'll need to recruit to watch over you when he can't, which ones he trusts the most.

Jason only tunes back in when you point out that he could hurt you. It's funny, in a way. After everything he used to be to you, after everything he's done for you, he could still hurt you. He tips his head down to really look at you, the cloudy, exhausted look on your face, the heaviness of your eyes as you struggle to keep watching him.

He can't find it in himself to lie, so, he tells you, maybe he could hurt you. He tells you that he wouldn't like it. (And it's the truth)

Maybe you recognize that, because you drop your head to his shoulder and let your eyes fall shut. The Arkham Knight never wavers in his steps, mapping the path to the apartment he'd purchased in your name in his head. It's not perfect, not filled with everything you deserve quite yet, but it'll do the job for now.

Something in him simultaneously softens and hardens when your breathing goes even and slow against him, and he curls his fingers tighter into your skin. You're weak. Weaker than him. Too naive and too soft for what's going to come.

There's no other fate for you than this now. He'll have to take care of you, protect you from it all, from all the evil that festers in Gotham, even if that includes him.

He lets the mission engrave itself into his heart– into the fabric of his very soul and right next to his revenge. You're going to be safe. He is going to keep you safe, and he'll throw himself into fire to see it done.

[rhiannonsknife]

── SHATTER YOUR ILLUSIONS OF LOVE

— summary: lucy finds something interesting in an abandoned store. it’s not what she thinks it is.

— warnings: fem!reader. implied lesbian!reader. nsfw content. mdni. strap-on usage. for the sake of the fic, we gotta ignore the sanitary aspect of this.

the wind howls through the cracked windows of the abandoned storefront, rattling the metal grates hanging half off their hinges.

you’re leaning against the weathered brick wall right outside, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, and your eyes scanning the empty street for signs of trouble.

traveling through the wasteland was a gamble already, and stopping anywhere for too long only upped the odds of drawing unwanted attention. but lucy had insisted she needed to check inside, claiming she’d seen ‘something interesting’ through the remains of grime-streaked glass.

that had been ten minutes ago.

“lucy,” you call, raising your voice over the wind. “are you done yet?”

her laugh echoes from inside, light and carefree, followed by her reply: “almost” lucy calls. there’s a long pause, then the unmistakable sound of something heavy clattering to the ground.

you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. this wasn’t unusual; lucy’s curiosity was perhaps simultaneously her best and worst trait. she had a knack for finding weird, useless junk and being way too excited about it. not that you minded. most days, her by wasteland standards unique disposition was the only thing keeping you sane. not today though, today, you’re cold, tired, and running low on patience.

finally, the door creaks open behind you.

“hey!” she calls. “look what i found!”

you push off the wall and turn to face her…and immediately feel your brain short-circuit.

lucy stands before you, beaming like she’s just stumbled upon the wasteland’s greatest treasure. she’s wearing…something: leather straps crisscross her chest, looping around her shoulders and down her torso in a series of buckles and loops. the centerpiece, an empty ring attachment, sits just below her chest. clearly not where it’s supposed to be, but it’s not like lucy knows that. nor does she seem aware of what she’s put on to begin with.

it’s a strap-on harness.

“oh my god,” you choke out, heat rushing to your face so fast you feel dizzy with it.

“what?” lucy looks down at herself, tugging lightly at one of the straps. “pretty cool, right? it was just lying there in the back of the store! i think it’s some kind of…uh…” she frowns, tilting her head as she spins to give you the full view. “tool belt? or maybe armor? either way, it’s really sturdy! feel this leather!” she grabs one of the straps near her shoulder and holds it out to you.

you don’t take it. matter of fact, you can’t. you’re too busy trying to remember how breathing works, because all you can think about is the way the harness fits snugly against her body, though entirely wrong, the leather gleaming faintly in the dim light, and how absolutely oblivious she is to what it actually is.

“lucy,” you manage, voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “that’s not- it’s not- oh my god, take it off!”

she blinks, startled by your reaction. “what? why? did i put it on wrong?”

“no, i mean…yes, but that’s not the point!” you gesture at her frantically, as if that’ll somehow distract from the mortifying situation. “it’s just- it’s not what you think it is, okay?” you try to explain, pointing at the leather “that is not a tool belt!”

lucy’s brow furrows in confusion as she adjusts the straps around her shoulders. “then what is it?”

you gape at her, torn between laughter and sheer disbelief. how do you even begin to explain this to her? clearly, she hasn’t seen those in her vault.

“it’s- it’s a-“ you cut yourself off with a groan, burying your face in your hands. there is no way you’re explaining this to her. absolutely not.

“what?” lucy presses, her curiosity clearly piqued. “what’s it for?”

“nothing!” you yelp, your voice cracking. “it’s for nothing! just take it off before-” you gesture vaguely at the very much empty street. “…before someone sees you!”

she glances around, perplexed, following your outstretched finger. “but no one’s here…?”

“that’s not the point!” you can feel your cheeks burning hotter by the second. “lucy, just- just trust me on this, okay? please?”

lucy hesitates for a moment, clearly not understanding but willing to humor you. “alright, alright,” she finally agrees, reaching for the buckles. “but i still think it’s a good find! i’m keeping this!”

you turn away as she starts to unstrap herself, both to give her privacy and to avoid spontaneously combusting from sheer embarrassment. despite all the dangers of the wastelands, you’re pretty sure traveling with lucy maclean is what’s actually going to kill you.

by the time lucy gets the harness off and stashes it in her pack (for some unfathomable reason), the sun is starting to dip low on the horizon, painting the scenery in streaks of amber and rust. after a full day of walking and scavenging, this crumbling storefront seems as good a place as any to settle down for the night.

“well,” you say, clearing your throat and trying to move past the initial awkwardness, “i guess this place’ll do. better than sleeping out in the open, at least!”

“it’s not bad,” lucy says cheerfully, looking around the store’s interior again.

the place, from which you can only assume that it is the ruins of what once was an adult store, is mostly empty, save for a few rusted shelves, a broken counter at the far end and a few boxes left in the old shelves.

there’s no sign of wildlife, which you consider a plus, and the building’s thick walls provide decent protection from the wind. “way better than that place we stayed last week. remember that weird smell? ugh…”

you hum in agreement, busying yourself with clearing a space on the floor. truthfully, it isn’t the worst spot you’ve camped in.

“you take first watch,” lucy says, dropping her pack with a soft thud. “i’ll take a quick nap and take over in a few hours?“

she’s adapting to how sleep works out here, at least, and you nod your head. “i could use some quiet time anyway,”

lucy nods, satisfied, and stretches out on the ground, rolling up her jacket like a makeshift pillow. “wake me if anything weird happens,” she says, closing her eyes.

you lean back against the wall, rifle propped an arm length away, trying to ignore the ache in your muscles and the stubborn heat still lingering in your cheeks.

now, the image of lucy in that harness races unbidden through your mind. it comes in flashes; pictures of her, with a strap now firmly attached to her body. lucy, on top of you, her face pressed to the crook of your neck as she rolls her hips. behind you, with her fingers curling up in your hair as she forces you back against her. above you, with your lips stretched around her-

you shake your head violently to banish it. you need to focus. there are bigger problems in the world than your ridiculous crush on someone who might not even swing your way at all.

but, of course, lucy doesn’t make it easy.

after barely twenty minutes of silence, she stirs and sits up, rubbing at her eyes.

“couldn't sleep?” you ask, raising a brow at her.

“nope,” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the leather harness again. “i keep thinking about this thing…” she mutters, running her fingertips over the ring.

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “lucy, just drop it! it’s-”

she doesn’t. of course she doesn’t,

instead, she flips the harness over in her hands, fiddling with the straps as she examines it from every angle. instinctively, you reach for your rifle just to have a distraction.

“i mean, it’s pretty well-made,” she muses, tugging on one of the buckles. “whoever made it must’ve known what they were doing. and it’s got this…ring thing? maybe for carrying tools?”

“it’s not for tools!” you blurt, louder than intended. lucy looks up, startled. “well, then what is it for?”

you sigh, setting your rifle aside.

“can't you just let it go?��

you stare at her. lucy is watching you with those wide, curious eyes, completely oblivious to the mortifying reality of the situation. a part of you wants to lie. to make up some ridiculous story about it being part of a long-lost survival kit. another part of you knows you’re a terrible liar, and that she won’t drop it until she gets a real answer.

“well, i could,” lucy shrugs, “but you're being…weird about it, which makes me think it's actually kind of important! and now i really want to know!”

you glance at the open doorway, down rows of shelves, the faint breeze stirring the dust on the floor, as if hoping for some kind of divine intervention to save you. it doesn't come.

“fine,” you mutter, standing. “come on!”

lucy grins triumphantly, bouncing to her feet and following as you lead her to the far corner of the store.

she trails after you, harness in hand, until you crouch down by one of the dusty shelves, brushing aside cobwebs before pulling out one of the few remaining boxes you passed by earlier. it’s heavy and battered, but the faded label on the side is still legible and it is still sealed shut

“alright,” you say, placing it on the ground before you. “this,” you tell lucy as you pull a knife from your belt. “is the counterpart to what you're holding!”

without another word, you cut the plastic open and, after some more layers of carefully sealed packaging, pull out the bright neon-pink silicone dildo. you hold it up just long enough for her to get a good look before tossing it back into the box.

lucy blinks, eyes wide, and for a moment, she says nothing. then her mouth opens in a soft “oh,”

she kneels beside the box, staring at its contents with an unreadable expression. “wait, so...” she picks up the dildo again, and turns it over in her hands, her brow furrowing as she connects the dots. “this goes with the harness?”

“yes,” you say quickly, folding your arms across your chest. “and that's why i didn't want to talk about it. can we move on now?”

lucy, on the other hand, doesn't seem remotely embarrassed. if anything, she looks intrigued.

she puts it back in the box and stands, holding the harness up to her hips as if testing its fit.

“so it's, like... for, uh... intimacy stuff? sex?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

“yes, lucy,” you say, your voice tight as you force your gaze away. “it's for ‘intimacy stuff’,” then, after a beat of silence, you decide this might be your only chance to get your truth out as well: “specifically for people like...like me, i guess?”

she looks at you then, her eyes softening slightly. “like you?”

“yeah,” you shift uncomfortably under her gaze, heart pounding. “you know? people who don't really, uh, like guys…that way…?”

understanding dawns on her face, but instead of recoiling or making a joke, she simply nods. another pause, then: “so, like, women who…prefer other women?”

your throat feels dry. “yeah. something like that,”

lucy looks back at the harness, a thoughtful expression on her face. then, to your utter horror, she starts fiddling with the straps again, this time more deliberately.

“what are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising slightly.

“trying it on,” she replies matter-of-factly, stepping into the harness and pulling it up over her hips. she tightens the straps with surprising ease, the leather settling snugly against her body. “it's comfortable,” she says conversationally, running her fingers along the waistband.

all you can do is stare at her dumbfounded. “lucy,”

she glances at you, her face the picture of innocence. “what? you said it's for people like you, right? i just want to see what it's like!”

“people like me using it,” you practically hiss. “not people like you…wearing it around like it's a pair of pants!”

lucy laughs, but there's a glint in her eye now, something playful and teasing that wasn't there before. she shifts her hips slightly, the leather creaking, and you have to fight the urge to look away. or worse, stare.

“calm down” she says. “it’s not a big deal, right? just a harness!”

your heart pounds in your chest as lucy tilts her head, watching you with that same curious gaze. there's no judgment in her expression, nor is there discomfort. just a quiet, steady interest that leaves you completely off balance.

“look,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “you...you don't understand what you're doing right now!”

“don't i?” her tone is light but her eyes are searching yours. lucy steps even closer, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “you're blushing,”

“i'm not-” you take a step back, bumping into the wall behind you. “i'm not…blushing!”

“you totally are. is it the harness?” she pauses, her voice dropping just slightly. “or is it…me?”

your breath catches in your throat. for a moment, you can't think. you can't move. the tension in the air suddenly feels electric, heavy with the weight of everything you haven't said and everything she might not even realize she's doing.

“lucy…” you manage. “you should- uh- you should probably take it off now, yeah?”

she only grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. “why? am i making you nervous?”

yes. absolutely. but you don't tell her that. instead, you stand frozen as lucy leans just a little closer, the leather harness shifting as she moves. the air between you is stifling now, charged with something you can’t quite name. she hasn’t moved back. if anything, she’s standing closer, the faintest grin on her lips, her eyes locked on yours.

“lucy,” you say again, but her name catches in your throat, sounding more like a ragged plea than a warning.

“yeah?” she asks, her voice teasingly playful.

you glance down at the harness, that stupid harness, and then back at her, hoping she’ll take the hint. lucy doesn’t. instead, she shifts her weight again, the leather creaking softly. you swear she’s doing it on purpose now.

“why are you…” you trail off, biting your lip. “why are you doing this?”

her smile falters slightly. “i don’t know,” she admits. “i guess i just…like seeing you like this,”

your breath hitches. “like what?”

lucy tilts her head, her eyes searching yours. she pauses. then, her gaze flickers to your mouth and heat floods your face. you try to think of something -anything- to say, but the words won’t come.

“do you want this?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper now.

you nod your head slowly, your throat feeling too tight to speak.

her smile softens, and she takes another step forward, close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body through the faint chill of the room. “good,”

and then she kisses you.

the shelves behind you clatter as your body is forced back against them by lucy’s own, trapping you against the metal.

it surprises you how fast her mouth is moving. how desperate and hungry. in all the times (more than you’d ever openly admit) you pictured yourself kissing her, she’d been the careful one. you should’ve known better than that. way better.

now, she is all over you, eager hands cupping your cheeks as she presses you against the cold surface. your whole body shivers as lucy licks into your mouth experimentally, humming when you gasp in response.

“for the record,” she mumbles against your mouth, barely breaking away from you enough to get those words out. “you want to have sex with me?”

you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question, would lucy not force one of her thighs between yours, keeping you on the tip of your toes with a strangled gasp. it doesn’t occur to you to question where she knows all this from. instead, you just nod, panting as she pushes her knee further up.

pleased with all those reactions she’s getting from you, lucy hums. “and you want me to use…that?” she nods towards the now unsealed box at your feet.

“uh huh,” is all you can manage. it seems enough for lucy, who flashes an excited smile before walking over to pick it up from the floor. for the first time, you dare to breathe.

she fumbles with the box momentarily, struggling to free the toy from its plastic packaging in her excitement. before you can offer your help, she has figured it out and carelessly tosses the container aside, leaving only the dildo in her hand.

“hm,” lucy hums, taking it in from all angles under the dim light.

“this goes through the…” you start breathlessly, nodding toward the ring that sits right above her still fully clothed pubic bone.

it’s not often that you find yourself longing for a life a little more like lucy’s. this is one of those rare moments though. the things you’d do to have her in an actual bed, in a place that belongs to just the two of you. somewhere where you can actually take your time to undress her, see her fully, and not just rushed glimpses in the barely lit space around you.

“okey dokey,” she fumbles with the toy, experimentally tracing the buckles and straps before pushing the dildo through its designated hole.

then, it’s just you, her, and the shuddered breath you exhale into the small space left between you when lucy steps closer again.

you briefly wonder if it would overwhelm lucy if you’d go down on your knees before her right then and there. if you’d force her down your throat and show her just how much of her you’re willing to take. but then you turn to look back at her and decide that this is not the time.

lucy is watching you attentively, her eyes darting between yours and the strap attached to her body. there seems a newfound sense of pride in the way she carries herself as you feel her press against your inner thigh. it draws a gasp from you, an expression on your face that lucy instantly mirrors: mouth agape, eyes slightly widened.

it is your hushed, shaky “lucy, please” that sets her into motion.

her fingers, once resting on your hips, jump into action before you know it; roaming all over your body. into your hair, over smudged, dirty clothes, underneath them…her nails briefly scrape the expanse of your stomach, the fabric of your shirt riding up your torso, and lucy seems satisfied with the way you exhale into her open mouth. then, she drops them lower.

it doesn’t take her long to unbuckle your belt and pull it free from your pants. the setting doesn’t allow any slower, more sensual undressing. instead, you push your pants down your legs until they’re polling around your ankles and you can easily step out of them, leaving you exposed from the waist down except for your underwear -which is doing a terrible job in covering the arousal there.

you’ve been wet from the moment you started fantasizing about her, and your little make out session has only made matters worse. lucy, who’s pushing her fingers past the waistline of your underwear, notices too when she’s met with your wetness once they slide through you.

“fuck-“ you mutter, your head falling back.

lucy studies you attentively once her fingers find your clit, rubbing it in clockwise circles underneath the fabric until your thighs are trembling and instinctively closing around her wrist.

“sit,” she orders, jerking her chin towards the shelf pressed against the back of your thighs.

stunned into silence, you hop onto the cool metal, your legs spread enough for lucy to stand between them. her palms stroke along your thighs as she bites her lip, now able to see the wet patch your arousal has left in the fabric of your underwear.

“can you take it?” she whispers, immediately earning herself an eager nod from you.

lucy pulls you forward until you’re sitting on the edge, then forces your legs apart further with a sudden motion. only once she’s reached out and pushed your underwear aside, does it seem to occur to her that she’s never been on this side of things before.

nervously, she glances up at you. “i’ve never-“ lucy begins, gesturing downward.

“that’s okay!” you interject instantly. at this point, you don’t care what she does, as long as she does it inside of you.

“okay,” she echoes, before focusing on the matter at hand.

absentmindedly, though it sends another wave of arousal down to your center, lucy uses what’s left of your wetness on her fingers to coat her length in it. you watch breathlessly as she pumps her fist along the silicone shaft until it's glistening with the makeshift lube.

immediately, you wrap your legs around lucy, closing your ankles behind her and urging her closer. she complies gladly.

her eyes flicker up to your face when she lines herself up and moves forward. your fingers reach around lucy’s back, desperately grasping for something to hold onto as her cock sinks into you inch by inch. her nose nuzzles against the side of your neck as she fills you up slowly, her breath warm against your skin, until she’s pushed it in as far as it’ll go and your bodies are nestled flush together.

“good?” lucy whispers, slowly pulling back just enough to look up at you.

“mhm” you hum, struggling to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head.

her hands fall to your waist again, squeezing you gently as her eyes remain fixed on where she has pushed into your body, where the toy is pressed against your walls just right.

“can i move?” lucy husks, looking like she’s barely containing herself from doing so.

for a moment you wish that her impatience was actually justified. not that it isn’t already, you are dying to see her in a similar position, but you wish she could feel you too: all around her, taking it greedily, sucking her in deeper.

once again, you nod.

pressing your palm between her shoulder blades is about all the bracing you get to do before lucy starts to move. she pulls her hips back slowly as if she’s testing the waters, before slamming into you faster and deeper than expected.

“o-oh!” you gasp, your mouth falling open over lucy’s shoulder. the relief of finally feeling her against your g-spot is immediate and has you seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

you arch your back against her, involuntarily searching for more as lucy starts thrusting into you more confidently. you meet each of her thrusts, gently lifting your hips from the shelf to rock back onto her strap. like this, she’s fucking you properly in no time, falling into an easy rhythm.

the sound of your skin slapping together echoes through the otherwise abandoned store, accompanied only by your occasional ragged moans. you don’t bother to hold back anymore, not when you’ve spent half of your travels fantasizing about her like this.

it only vaguely registers that lucy’s mouth is pressing against the side of your neck, sucking on the soft skin there as she keeps fucking the strap into you. she’s reaching depths you could never quite find with only your fingers during your rare attempts to find some sort of relief, depths that have you trembling already.

“lucy please!” you cry, unsure what you’re even asking for as one hand holds onto the back of her neck whereas the other grips the edge of the shelf for dear life. “please,”

“does that feel good?” she asks, her voice genuine and amazed despite her relentless pounding.

“mhm, so good!” you nod. your legs are shaking around lucy, trembling more with each thrust that makes you gush around the strap.

the longer lucy moves like this, the more confident she gets in her own movements. despite the occasional grunts of exhaustion, she does not let up. it doesn’t take her long to find the perfect angle either, your cunt throbbing once you feel her right where you need it the most.

too eager for your own release to feel embarrassed, you drop your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit at a pace that matches the one lucy has set.

the space around you smells of sex and her hands are carefully holding your legs apart, keeping you open for her. the shelves creak under the force of her pace, slamming against the wall so loudly you will have to check if the noise has attracted any unwanted attention once she’s done with you.

for now, all you can focus on is the pleasure in your system, which only intensifies when lucy starts talking: “god” she groans, eyes narrowed down on your body to watch the way you take the full length of her strap over and over again.

she pulls out almost all the way once, the motion agonizingly slow so she can see the way you part for her as the silicone slides from your body. the toy is glistening with your wetness in the barely lit room.

“fuck-” she grunts, before snapping forward and sinking back into. there’s sweat collecting at her temple from the efforts of her constant rolls of her hips. “are you close? tell me!”

your weak whine seems to sound agreeable enough for lucy to double her efforts. not once does she falter, her hips thrusting forward effortlessly and desperate cries of her name are all you can manage. they're your only prayer as she gets you closer and closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” she praises absentmindedly, her eyes glued to what she can see past the fabric of your underwear and the frantic movement of your wrist as you rub yourself to the rhythm of her thrusts. “that’s it!”

lucy seems almost as eager to make you cum as you are yourself, panting: “are you gonna cum?” as though she can hardly believe that she’s the one to get you there.

“oh my god, are you gonna cum on my- on my cock?” the distant realization dawns upon you that she doesn’t even know the proper words, but the way she’s put it -albeit clumsy and unsure- works. it is what you ultimately need to be pushed over that edge.

a breathless “oh my god!” is the only response lucy gets before your orgasm rips through you. with a prolonged moan, you slam your head back, only vaguely aware of the dull pain as your body convulses around her strap.

your hips are still rutting back and forth uselessly, grinding against your hand as she stills inside of you. when the pleasure finally subsides, your body goes slack and you fall against lucy with her strap still buried inside you.

her arms wrap around you soothingly, pressing you as close to her chest as the current position allows. you stay like this for a while, just enough for you to catch your breath and ground yourself. the stillness of the night settles back into the store as the two of you adjust in the dim light. she pulls back gently and you pull your jacket tight, brushing stray bits of dust from the sleeves, while lucy fumbles with her gear.

the wind that blows through the creaks in the wall seems louder now, as the silence between you stretches on. finally, lucy dares to speak. “well,” she begins. “this has officially been my favorite pit stop so far!”

you can’t help but laugh, your cheeks heating up all over again as you carefully reach down to push your underwear back into place.

“and these?” she jerks her thumb down to the strap that’s still fastened to her body. “these are definitely coming with us!”

you freeze mid-motion, “lucy, you can’t just carry that around like it’s-“

“like it’s what? a perfectly good survival tool?” she interrupts. “come on, think about it! it’s sturdy, lightweight, multipurpose and-”

“multipurpose?” you cut in, raising a brow.

she shrugs, unbothered. “sure. you never know when you might need something to hold up supplies!”

your lips part to protest, but no words come out. instead, you watch as she unbuckles the harness. this whole situation is ridiculous. it’s so lucy. you feel warmth spreading through your chest at the sight.

she glances over at you, her head tilted when she catches you staring. “are you alright?”

you nod quickly, forcing yourself to look away before your face betrays you again. “yeah,” you swallow audibly. “yeah, i’m good!”

but you’re not. not really. because she kissed you. she kissed you, and then she fucked you, too. and now, instead of brushing it off like another one of her impulsive experiments, she’s acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like it’s you that’s natural to her.

“alright,” she says, her voice pulling you from your thoughts. “let’s set up camp for the night. i’ll try to get some actual sleep this time!”

you nod again, following her toward the back of the store where the shadows are deepest. as you lay out your bedroll, you glance at her from the corner of your eye. she’s humming under her breath as she secures her pack.

this wasn’t just a one-time thing, you realize as she packs up both the harness and its counterpart. it wasn’t just a kiss or a moment or something you won’t speak about in the morning, otherwise she would not be keeping this.

it was lucy, and it was you.

and whatever comes next on your travels, you know there’s no going back from this.

— a/n: my first lucy fic!! you can thank @lottiesgrl for this, they helped me turn my silly little idea into…something!!

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆. a lesson in possession ★ ˚ jealous!Ford x fem!reader

little bonus to this, nsfw under the cut

so, uh, I didn’t plan this piece at all?? but somehow it still came out and well, here it is!! a little gift from me to all of you

The water rushes around you, steaming hot against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heavy press of Ford’s chest against your back. Every inch of him is flush with you, his hands are everywhere at once. It’s the first time you feel Ford being that greedy, rough and possessive. And you love it.

His hands never stop as they cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. He didn't mean to, didn't want to lose himself like that. But he can’t help it, not when his twin had you first, not when he knows he got to feel and stretch you open before Ford could. He can’t stand it.

“You shouldn’t let me touch you like this,” his voice is hoarse, but thank god the water splattering against the tile drowns him out. His lips are at your ear as he breathes heavily. Yet his hands betray him, they slide up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist before settling just beneath your breasts again.

“Then stop,” you whisper, but your words hold no weight, you just want to tease him a bit more.

“Don’t tempt me, darling. Holy multiverse, you’re perfect.”

“Ford,” you hiss, arching into his touch even as your hands press against the slick wall for balance. “S-Stan, he’ll wake up—”

“Okay, let him,” Ford says all confident, though his fingers tremble as they brush over your hardened nipples. He rolls one between his fingers, his other hand sliding back down to your thigh, holding you tight against him. “Let him see what he can’t give you, what only i can.”

His desperate hands roam because there's too many places at once. He can’t decide where to touch, where to hold, gripping your waist, cupping your soft breasts, smoothing up the curve of your arms before starting all over again. He drags his lips against the damp line of your wet neck, murmuring apologies that sounds less like regret and more like please “forgive me for wanting you this much”.

His hips shift forward and the hard, aching press of his cock against your ass makes you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder. “Ford,” his fingers find your nipple again, tugging, rolling it between calloused fingertips.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he soothes you, pressing soft, frantic kisses along your neck, his teeth nipping before his tongue smooths over the marks. “I'm sorry, so sorry, but i need you. I need you so bad.”

It’s fucking torture, Stan doesn’t love you the way Ford does. He can’t. Not like this.

Ford’s hand moves lower, dipping his long and thick fingers between your delicate folds, spreading you open as his needy cock nudges against your entrance. He doesn’t push in, not yet, but the teasing pressure alone has your thighs shaking.

“Oh my god, oh my god, Ford.”

“Just let me have you. Just for a little while. I’ll be gentle, i promise.” he mutters in disbelief because Ford knows he’s lying. Inside him rages a volcano of conflicting emotions, and this time, they eclipse reason. Of course, he’ll fuck you and not just once. He’ll have you as much as he needs, behind his brother’s back, while Stan remains oblivious, while he sleeps, or cooks, or swindles tourists.

Ford will make love to you as much as it takes, rough or gentle, fucking you with his cock or his fingers, worshipping you with his mouth or letting you ride his face until you can’t think straight. Right now, Ford couldn’t care less about anything else, he needs to be inside you.

And who knows, maybe he’ll even manage to fuck you right in front of his brother, just to show him how you deserve to be worshipped.

“Please, don’t te-tease me,” you sob when his fingers circle your clit and he catches the sound, cupping your jaw, tilting your head back so he can kiss his lovely girl. His tongue tangles with yours and when he pulls back, you whine loudly, arching your back into his chest as he rocks his hips forward, grinding the full weight of his cock between your thighs, feeling how soft you are.

Ford holds you by the hips, changing his pose to let his length rub through your folds now, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance, threatening to push inside. You bite your lip, oh sweet heavens, you just want him to take you, your poor pussy clenches around nothing as your chest rises and falls, your head tips back against his shoulder, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat. His teeth nips there, sharper this time, and you gasp.

“Do you have any idea what it did to me? Watching him take you, knowing i couldn’t stop it? Knowing it should have been me filling you up first?”

“You’re, ah! you’re jealous.”

“Jealous doesn’t cover it. The thought of him putting his hands on you, of him spilling inside you—”

“He didn’t,” you interrupt softly. “he didn’t, Ford, you know that.”

“It doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, love, because now i’m the one filling you. Now i’m the one who’ll— never mind.” he takes a deep breath, trying to come back to his senses as he changes the intonation of his voice. “Open your mouth for me, love. Just like this, good girl.”

You do, parting your lips as his fingers slip into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. He growls at the beautiful sight, his lovely girl, so needy and pretty, begging to be used and filled, only by him. His eyes darken as he watches you suck on them, your lashes fluttering, saliva pooling at the corner of your lips.

“You’re still so wet,” and now, holy moses, all of this is just for him, only him. Fantastic. Ford presses his forehead against the damp curve of your shoulder. His hips stuttering as he eases inside, his girth stretching you. The angle has you gasping, your hands scrambling for purchase against the wet wall, but he’s there, holding you tight, enveloping your body with his. Your pussy feels so good and Ford is almost sorry for being jealous, for being this selfish, for wanting you so much it hurts. Almost. But he can’t stop, can’t let this go.

“Don’t stop, don’t want you to stop,” you confess, but the words sound unintelligible because of his fingers. Your hand find his and you thread your fingers together as he drives into you with a growing urgency. “i want—”

Ford knows that if he lets you continue, you will say such dirty things he's afraid he wont be able to stop himself from cumming inside. But he can’t risk, not right now. So he cuts you off with a messy kiss as his pace quickens, the sound of water, skin slapping and your muffled moans filling the small space. “Then take it,” he groans into your mouth. “take everything i have, sweetheart, because it’s all yours.”

His fingers press deeper in your mouth and you gag softly, drool slipping down your chin, but the sound only spurs him on. His other hand moves to your swollen clit again, rubbing in slow circles that have you whining, your knees nearly giving out.

“Gonna make you cum. Wanna feel you squeeze me, feel you fall apart on my cock.”

“Please, ple. . . please, please, more, more, fuuck mee,” you beg. Oh you sound so broken, poor girl, so overstimulated and desperate.

“I know, sweetheart, i know,” he coos, his fingers leaving your mouth to trail down your body, gripping your hips as he moves inside you. But he changes the rhythm, thrusting slowly this time, stretching your pussy as you drip down on his cock.

“So tight, my love,” he rests his forehead against the back of your head. Then he pauses for a moment and his hands slide to your stomach, pressing lightly. “right here. I’d fill you right here, honey. Fill you so full you’d carry my kids. . . our kids.”

Surprised, your breath catches and you twist to look at him, wide-eyed. “Ford, what—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts. “don’t worry, i know. Not tonight, not like this.” but the thought of you, round and glowing, carrying his child makes his cock throb inside of you, ready to paint your walls white. His hand splays across your stomach as if imagining what his smart girl would look like, round and full with his child. You’ll look so gorgeous, so damn beautiful and cute, carrying his baby.

Ford shudders at the thought, fucking you slow but deep, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. You’re mine right now, just mine. Let me love you.”

His tender pace didn’t last long though. The jealousy simmering beneath the surface bubbled over, and his thrusts turn sharper, meanier and needier. Ford drags his hot cock against your walls in a way that makes your knees buckle and you swear you're ready to pass out, because he's so deep, so deep you feel him in your tummy. He never stops worshipping you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, anywhere he could reach.

“Mine, my darling, m-my love,” he can't stop touching you too, gripping your hip while the other six-fingered hand palms your breast, caressing the stiff peak with his thumb.

“That’s it,” but of course, of corse he wants to make you feel so good you'll forget your own name and hopefully Stan's too, so his fingers find your clit again, working you with a ferocity that leaves you choking on your own sobs and moans. ”that’s my good girl, so good for me.” oh, that praise does something to you, especially coming from someone so smart and cool like Stanford Pines so you just melt.

“Close, 'm close!” your body shakes against his, and he holds you close, feeling your pussy clench around him, trying to milk him dry and he tries to control himself, gritting his teeth. You cry out as you finish, while Ford kisses your shoulder, showing you he’s here for his lovely girl. Some seconds later, he pulls out and wraps his hand around his aching cock, groaning your name and spilling on your skin.

You both come down, the water still streaming around you. The only sound is your labored breathing. Ford slumps against you.

“I’m sorry, i— i don’t know what came over me.”

You turn your head, tangling your fingers with his again where they rest on your waist. “It’s okay. Just. . . let's not let Stan find out, okay?”

Ford chuckles weakly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close despite the awkward angle. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

Not really.

[scary-grace]

omg Hana lives au where you’re in her group for a project and keep suggesting studying at her house. You say it’s because she has a library but actually you just think her brother’s cute.

You sent this ask and my brain started clicking, so here is a Hana (and Mon) lives ficlet, ft. a reader who’s lying about her quirk.

“Again?” Hana asks. She heaves a dramatic sigh and flops down over her desk. “We always study at my house.”

“Your house is nicer,” Yue says.

“You have a library and a bunch of pretty windows,” Manami says. “And your backyard is so nice! If the weather’s good we can study outside.”

All of what your friends are saying is true. Hana has the nicest house by far, and the most books you can borrow, but you’re not going to join in the guilt-trip. Hana picks her head up and glances your way. “You’re not going to say anything?”

You can’t. It’ll look suspicious. “I’m fine with wherever,” you say.

“No you’re not,” Yue says, and elbows you. Her elbows are really pointy. “You want to go over to Hana’s too. Say it.”

“Okay, okay,” you say. Maybe not going along with it looks more suspicious than going along with it would. “We have to go over to yours, Hana. Mon loves me, and I promised to go back see him soon.”

“Mon does really like you,” Hana admits. “Better than me. The only person he likes more is Tenko.”

“Is he going to be around?” you ask as casually as possible. “Tenko?”

“Yeah. Why?”

That settles it. You’re going to Hana’s to study if you have to climb over the back fence and study in the grass. “Just figuring out how many snacks to bring. If you’re hosting, I’m bringing food.”

Manami and Yue renew their attack on Hana. “She has a cooking quirk. People pay for her stuff and we get it for free. Come on, Hana —“

Hana heaves an even more dramatic sigh than before, but you can see her smiling slightly. “Fine. My house tomorrow at noon.”

Manami and Yue are grinning, pleased, but you feel a knot of anticipation pulling tight in your chest. You like going to Hana’s, sure, and you love seeing Mon. But you’d rather fail every class between now and graduation than admit to Hana that the reason you always want to study at her place is that you have a crush on her little brother.

You’re not that much older than Tenko is — just a year or so, since you’re a grade ahead in the classes you share with Hana and Yue — and if you told anybody about your crush, the age difference would be the last thing they’d comment on. Tenko can be a little intense, a little earnest, a lot awkward. When you first became friends with Hana, nobody was making him pay for it yet, but then he got to middle school, and you know he got picked on. Hana stood up for him as best she could, and so did you, if someone was mean when you were in earshot. You stood up for him before you had a crush on him. That’s not why you did it.

You’re not sure when you went from the kind of distant fondness you have for your friends’ siblings to this, but it happened, and now you’ll take any chance you get to hang out at Hana’s house. Even if it means you’ll be up all night baking, trying to make the quirk you lied about look real.

You’re at Hana’s house two minutes after noon, with your backpack and two covered trays, one with cupcakes and one with taiyaki. Hana beams. “Sorry I was weird yesterday,” she says as she ushers you inside. “I was worried my dad might try to visit.”

“Oh.” You know Hana’s parents are divorced — messily divorced, and Hana has really mixed feelings about her dad, who lives in a luxury apartment on the other side of town. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s good. I told him he couldn’t visit because I had friends coming over to study, so it all worked out.”

Hana lifts the trays out of your hands while you take off your shoes and goes to set them on the table. As you straighten up, you hear the sound of paws pattering across the floor. “Mon?”

Mon pounces on you, much more spry than his white-flecked muzzle would suggest, and you crouch down to greet him. You don’t have a dog of your own, but you’ve always been a dog person, and Mon’s your favorite by a mile. You tell him so. “Who’s the most handsome man? I missed you so much —“ He bounces up on his hind legs to lick your nose, and you laugh. “I promised I’d come back. You don’t have to give me that many kisses.”

“He wants you to pet him.”

That’s Tenko’s voice, and just like that, you’re nervous. You look up to find him watching you from around the corner, dark-haired and grey-eyed, halfway in the shadows. “You never pet him,” he continues. He got cuter since the last time you saw him. How is that possible? “Why not?”

“Do I have to pet him to love him?” you ask awkwardly. “He likes me anyway.”

“Yeah. A lot. But it’s weird that you don’t pet him.” Tenko scratches lightly at the side of his neck with a gloved hand. “If you’re allergic, you shouldn’t let him lick your face.”

“I’m not allergic.” You nudge Mon away, and thankfully, he defaults to sniffing your backpack, giving you an excuse to look at him instead of Tenko. “I promised I’d bring treats for you next time. Give me a second.”

“He can’t eat treats from the store. They’re bad for him.”

“I made these at home,” you say. “There are two kinds — salmon and quinoa, and carrot and cheese.“

Tenko’s quiet. You glance up at him and see a surprised look on his face. “You made him two kinds of treats?”

“I wasn’t sure what he liked best,” you admit. You take the package out of your backpack, and Mon starts slobbering all over your hands as he tries to get you to open it. “Can I give him one?”

Tenko nods, and you open the plastic bag, selecting a carrot and cheese biscuit. “Sorry I was mean,” he says quietly. “I heard Hana tell you. About our dad —“

“It’s okay,” you say. He’s so earnest about stuff. You can’t remember the last time you heard a boy apologize and really mean it. “Um, should I ask Mon to do a trick or something?”

“If you hold it up and say ‘up’ he’ll stand on his hind legs,” Tenko says, and you laugh. “Don’t make him do it for too long. He’s getting old.”

Tenko’s voice catches a little bit on the last words, and breaks your heart a little bit more. “Can he roll over?”

“Yeah. Mon, roll,” Tenko orders, and Mon flops down and log-rolls twice. “Good boy. Now he can have a treat.”

You feed Mon the carrot and cheese biscuit, which he snaps up in two bites. He must like it, because he immediately comes hunting for more. Tenko fishes around in the bag and comes up with one of the salmon biscuits, which he gives to Mon without asking for a trick first. He pets Mon with gloved hands and Mon immediately pops up, licking his cheek and snuffling his ears. Tenko laughs, a quiet, rusty sound that makes your cheeks heat up. “Don’t be dumb. There aren’t any treats in there. She has the treats.”

Watching the two of them interact, you’re amazed that more of Hana’s friends don’t have crushes on Tenko. There’s something sweet about him, something that renders any weirdness or awkwardness or itchiness irrelevant. You know he’s smart, and you think he’s cute, and the fact that he’s a year younger than you and your friend’s brother shouldn’t matter at all.

But it does matter, because when Hana calls your name, you jump out of your skin like you’ve been caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Where did you go?” she complains, then rounds the corner. “You don’t have to win Mon’s heart with treats. He already likes you second-best out of everybody.”

“He does,” Tenko agrees. He glances sideways at you, somehow managing to look up at you through his eyelashes even though you’re both the same height crouching down. “I can tell.”

You try not to blush and mostly fail, because it’s not Mon’s heart you’re trying to win. And even though you know you shouldn’t, even though you know it’s a bad idea, you reach out to pet Mon’s ears, stealing a little bit of life from yourself and passing it along to him.

[nagaytoe]

Tres Ictus

(Latin) [noun] Three strikes

Solivan Brugmansia X Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Requests: Open

TWs/Tags: Violence, drugging, abduction, established relationship, betrayal

Note: This was inspired by some of fantasias answers from her askbox!

(Next post will probably be some Crowe angst teehee)

Solivan Brugmansia was the picture-perfect boyfriend.

He was loving, protective, and reassuring, you could always bask in the warmth of him and his words.

“I love you, Pumpkin. More than words could ever describe.” He smiled down at you, his big, strong arms wrapped securely around your waist. You couldn’t help but smile back as he gazed at you so lovingly. “I love you too, Sol.”

The two of you laid on your bed, limbs entangled, and it seemed as though you couldn’t be pried away from one another by any force on this earthly plane. He radiated a comfortable warmth on many levels; physically, emotionally, and in his gaze as well. Whenever Sol looked at you, you suddenly felt like you were the only person in existence alongside him, like you were the most precious being he ever had the fortune of laying eyes upon. You loved cuddling sessions like these, sometimes they felt far more intimate than anything else, sex included.

Sol tilted his head downwards a little, pressing a kiss to your forehead and tightening his grip on you further. “I don’t think you understand how much you mean to me… I’d do anything to ensure your happiness, Pumpkin. If I could, I would spend all my days by your side, though in my mind you never leave anyways.” His smile was radiant and made him seem like the happiest person to have ever walked earth. You could feel the love he radiated, almost as if he was transferring his very heart from his chest to yours by the simple gesture of lying this close.

“I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, your smile that never fails to brighten up my day, your contagious laugh, your gorgeous eyes…You’re the most perfect person I ever met, no other living being can compare…”

Your heart swelled at your boyfriend's words. Just how did you get so lucky? You knew some people who would kill for a boyfriend like Sol. Someone compassionate, who never leaves your side no matter how hard times may get. Someone invested in you, who surprises you with little gifts all the time. Someone who does little day-to-day things for you, even though you are perfectly capable of doing them yourself. Someone whose words always affirm you. Someone who protects you from harm, no matter what. Someone who doesn’t just love your outer shell but everything underneath as well. Someone who knows you in a way like no one else knew you before. Someone who still views you as perfect, despite all your flaws, because you are the most perfect partner for them nevertheless. All these traits made up your lovely boyfriend, Solivan Brugmansia. There was no way he was actually this perfect, was there? Usually, there was always a catch to everything seemingly perfect, though perhaps you were lucky enough to get the jackpot.

“Sol…” , you whispered, your cheeks flushing red as you hid your face in his chest. No matter how many times he told you all these sweet nothings, you would never get used to it. Probably because it didn’t feel like nothings, it felt like he carved those words out from the depths of his heart, for your ears to hear only, “You are far too sweet to me… I am so very lucky to have you with me, I can’t even begin to put it into words.”

“There is no need for that, Pumpkin, I can feel how much you love me.” Sol bowed his head down once more and pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your hair, which conveyed everything words failed to. A warm feeling flooded your chest, and your heart felt as though it might break out of your chest, past your ribs, any moment now.

“Please do promise me this however,” you could feel Sol’s chest vibrate a little as he spoke, his grip tightening once more, as if afraid you might slip away any second were he not careful enough.

“Never leave me. Please, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you ever left me.”

You glanced up at him, a sorrowful gleam in your eyes, being well aware of his fear of abandonment. Craning your head further up and pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, you assure him, “I won’t leave you, Sol. Not ever. How could I? I love you far too much.”

Sol was an amazing partner – most of the time.

He tended to lovebomb and was a bit overprotective, but that’s alright, he just cared a lot about you, right?

Crowe awkwardly excused himself, uncharacteristically for him, before walking back into the building of Olympeius University. Your gaze flicked up to Sol, who wrapped his arm around your waist a little too tightly the second Crowe approached the two of you in the school garden. The two of you had been standing in the garden under the shade of a tree and studying the flowers present, when Crowe had interrupted your fleeting moment of peace. You didn’t mind, having not talked to him for quite some time, though Sol felt different about this predicament. If looks could kill, your dear friend would probably already be six feet under with the way Sol was glaring daggers into his back. Nudging his side, he quickly averted his attention back to you, gaze immediately softening. “Is everything alright?”

Sol hesitated before answering, glancing back into the direction of the doors that led back into the building and were just falling shut again. “Why would it not be, Pumpkin?”

You studied his face for any sign of anger, but you could hardly read any emotions off of the stone-cold mask he put on whenever he was asked such question. “You were staring at Crowe like he had the plague.”

Your boyfriend’s gaze immediately darkened, and he muttered something under his breath which you failed to catch as he averted his gaze once more. “He is the plague…”

“I didn’t quite catch that-”

“Don’t worry about it, Pumpkin.”

You couldn’t help but frown at his words and decided not to back down for once; you needed to find out what his problem with Crowe was, “Sol, why do you dislike Crowe this much? I’ve noticed before but never thought much of it, but I would like to know, especially since he is one of my closest friends.”

Sol sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment while gathering his thoughts.

“I just… I can’t shake the feeling that he likes you more than a friend should…”, His voice was dripping in venom as he admitted his feelings through gritted teeth.

Taken aback slightly, you had to take a moment to process your boyfriend's words.

“Are you implying that Crowe has a crush on me?” Sol nodded in response, the action almost seeming a bit too forceful as he averted his gaze.

“So what if he does, Sol?” His gaze snapped back to you the moment those words left your mouth, shock and anger brewing in his piercing red gaze.

“I’m with you, Sol. For a reason as well, might I add. If Crowe truly has a crush on me like you think, then I feel sorry for him; I really do, because I only love one guy, and that is not him. It’s you.” His stare softened in an instant.

“I’m sorry, Pumpkin, I just can’t help it… I love you way too much, and the thought of someone else stealing you from me feels like a dagger to my heart. I’m worried that you might find someone more worthy of your time…”

You shook your head at his words, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I can’t think of anyone who could ever be more worthy of my time than you, Sol. There’s no need for you to worry, alright?” Wrapping your arms around his form, you pulled him into a hug. He quickly returned the gesture, burying his face in your neck and muttering that he loves you, asking you to never abandon him. He was really overbearing at times, but there was no reason to further worry about it, was there?

Perhaps Sol wasn't that good of a boyfriend after all.

He was obsessive, jealous and possessive, so much so that sometimes it scared you.

“What the fuck was that about, Sol?”

You were enraged. Just about half an hour ago, Sol and you had been about to head back to his apartment after date night, the initial plan being that you’d sleep over at his place. You had dropped off your things at his place before going out since you didn’t want to have to carry them with you while going out.

In light of Sol having to use the restroom, you had waited outside of the building, wanting to get some fresh air and stargaze a bit. You had leaned against the cold brick wall of the building, looking up at the sky, which had been blanketed in pitch-black with specks of white scattered all over in seemingly random patterns. As you had studied the constellations in the sky, a middle-aged man had come up to you, asking for directions, and naturally, you helped him out. Unfortunately for both the man and you however, Sol had mistaken the scene for the stranger making a move on you. The moment Sol had stepped outside, he strutted up to the two of you, slithering his arm around your waist and forcefully pulling you closer to him as he snapped at the man about what his deal was.

You didn’t bother to hang up your jacket and take off your boots as Sol closed the apartment door. Unbeknownst to you, he locked the door and pocketed the key.

“That man was clearly trying to hit on you, did you not see his smug smirk?”

You walked towards his bedroom where your backpack was located, snapping back at him, “He asked me for directions!”

“Don’t you know how often that is used as an excuse to ask someone for their number?”

You scoffed, unable to believe how he was acting right now, “You’re overthinking this.”

“I am simply worried! That guy could’ve started molesting you, just like those guys back at the arcade a few months ago!”

As you were re-entering the hallway, you stilled in your movements to look at him in disbelief, your backpack slung over your shoulder. “Not every person out there is a criminal.”

“How do you know whether or not they are? One can never be too sure, you are simply way too trusting!” Sol argued and he wasn’t completely wrong. You were a trusting person, sometimes a bit too much for your own good, however, he was being unreasonable right in this moment.

“I’m not too trusting, you’re just too overbearing!”

“Overbearing?”, he repeated far too calmly, “How am I too overbearing if I end up being the one to get you out of trouble every time? It’s not that I am complaining, I would never not help you, but I would prefer if you stopped getting into those types of situations in the first place.”

The two of you barely ever argued. Sol was the perfect partner, at least he used to be. Just what was going on lately? The other day he grew irritated because you wanted to spend some time with your friends, something you hadn’t done in a long time, a while before that he punched a guy in the face for hitting on you.

This was your third strike, you can't keep on letting him get away with this type of stuff, he had to learn to accept your boundaries.

“Sol, I believe it might be better if we take a little break, at least until you learn to respect my boundaries.” It hurt to say it, but you couldn’t keep doing this, it was taking a toll on your mental health by now; Always worrying about whether your boyfriend might snap if you talk to the wrong person, then again, everyone who wasn’t Hyugo or him was the wrong person.

He stared at you in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape but no sound coming out until a few beats later, “What?”

“I can’t do this, it’s just… too much. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to have to keep stressing about who I can talk to and who I can’t talk to without you getting mad.”

“Pumpkin, Darling, I’m not mad when you talk to others,” Sol was clearly stressed out, almost a bit panicked, dread reflected in his eyes as they were locked on your every movement. “I just care about your well-being, is that so wrong?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose with one hand, resting the other upon your hip. “There’s a difference between caring about someone and being controlling.”

“I’m not controlling, [__]. If I were controlling, I wouldn’t allow you to talk to anyone, go through your phone, tell you what to wear, but do I do any of those things? No, I don’t and why is that?” He stepped a bit closer with every instance he listed, looking at you expectantly, before answering his own question, “Because I am not controlling.”

“Sol, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

He swallowed, his left eye twitching ever so slightly, as he took a deep breath. “You’re really going to break up with me over that?”

“I’m not breaking up with you, I said I need a break, some distance, not that I want to end things between us.”

“If you need distance, then I can sleep on the couch. You need a break? Take a warm bath, I’ll get it ready for you, but you won’t be breaking up with me, Pumpkin.”

You could feel yourself growing more and more agitated, why did he fail to understand the problem?

“You don’t get to decide over that.” Walking towards the door, which he was still standing in front of, you were about to make your way outside.

“A relationship consists of two people, I get as much of a say in this as you do.”

You stared at him, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lashing out at him.

“If you learn to respect my boundaries then I have no problem in continuing things as they were, but right now I simply can’t.”

Sol turned to face you, placing his right hand on the front door, effectively blocking it.

“I can work on myself, I can start memorizing all your boundaries right now, you don’t need to break up with me for that.”

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes as you did before meeting Sol’s stare again. “Please get away from the door, I want to get home while the street lanterns are still on.”

“Just stay here for the night, it’s far too dangerous to walk around outside all on your own anyways. I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s what you prefer.”

That’s it, you couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Sol, if you don’t let me leave right now, this will turn into an actual breakup.”

He froze for a moment, eyes wide as they scanned your agitated expression. Sighing, he finally stepped away from the door, walking off into another room. You reached for the doorknob, however much to your dismay, it wouldn’t budge.

“Did you lock the door?” You called out to Sol, while still trying to open the door. In your desperation, you failed to notice Sol walking up behind you, a small pill in his hand. “This isn’t funny, Sol. Open the doo-”

You were cut off by his fingers entering your mouth, causing you to gag a little. Reaching up to grab his wrist, you tried to pry away his arm, but he was far stronger than you. Panic spread throughout your body as Sol wrapped his arm around you from behind, a gesture which was once a source of comfort was now reason for terror. His right hand was still in your mouth, the other securing you in place and grabbing your jaw. Sol dropped something small on your tongue, quickly shutting your jaw with his left hand as soon as his fingers left your mouth and squeezing your nose. He wrapped his now unoccupied right hand around your shoulder as he shut off any oxygen source with his left. You struggled against him, refusing to swallow whatever he just put in your mouth.

“Please stop struggling and swallow it, [__].” His voice was ice cold, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you swallowed reluctantly.

His grip loosened a little, becoming less bruising as you greedily inhaled as much air as your lungs let you, before coughing violently.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Something to help you calm down.” He was still eerily calm. Then again, no, he wasn’t really. He only put on a calm facade; you could feel anger boiling up deep down inside of him and gushing out of every pore.

Sol led you towards the bedroom, but not without you putting up a fight. However, no matter how much you thrashed in his grasp, it was no use, he overpowered you in every way. A trait of his which you once found attractive was now the thing you dreaded most about him.

It didn’t take long for the drug to enter your system, as you could feel yourself growing dizzy and your vision fogging up.

Your boyfriend sat you down on the bed, and you could barely fight back anymore. Your limbs were growing weaker by the minute, your vision slowly fading to black.

Sol gently pushed you down and brushed your hair out of your face, the gesture way too loving, considering the situation. You muttered words incoherent to his ears as he gazed upon your nearly unconscious figure.

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be your boyfriend, could it be? Was everything he told you, everything he showed you nothing but lies? Did he really manage to trick you like this, trick you into believing he was a good person, a loving partner?

He laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms and entangling his limbs with yours. You wished you could pry yourself free from his grasp, run as far away from him as humanly possible but alas, such luxury will not be granted to you.

“Don’t worry, Pumpkin, I’ll take care of you. Rest well…”

Sol bent his head down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, like he did everytime when the two of you cuddled or before you went to sleep. It made you sick to your stomach, it hurt you and tugged at your heart, ripping it out of your chest. All these loving gestures, you didn’t want them, you wanted to be at home, you wanted your old Sol back, just like how he was at the beginning of your relationship. You briefly wished you wouldn’t have gotten with him, hadn’t told him you loved him, hadn’t met him in the first place.

Perhaps you were just as much at fault as he was, you should have noticed the warning signs earlier, for in hindsight they were so very obvious, or maybe you shouldn’t have pushed him like that. This was his third strike and he wouldn't let you leave him, especially not after you promised not to.

After all, it’s what you agreed upon the moment you told him you loved him, didn’t you?

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any suggestions for stories similar to your Don’t Kiss and Tell or Incandescent? It’s hard to find Paige not being a love to Derek

uh, sorta, kinda... let's see if these ones will tickle your fancy

Unprofessional, Ms. Blake. But ARMS. by lalalathisisme

Ms. Blake, Erica's first grade teacher, may have a tiny crush on Mr. Hale, Erica's dad. He's tall, dark, and handsome and she has to remind herself to be professional and try not to climb Mr. Hale like a tree when he comes to pick Erica up after school. It doesn't help that he is completely adorable with his daughter – laughing and smiling and thoroughly impressed by every piece of macaroni-and-glue art that Erica makes. And every day he greets her with a hug, asking her how her day went. And he even says hello to Ms. Blake (“Jennifer” she insists, and yet he still calls her Ms. Blake) when he picks Erica up, looking like he actually cares to hear the random things that happened in class. She doesn't pry. She doesn't even know how to do it without seeming highly suspect. But as it happens, sometimes information is offered up relating to a class project, and she files them away in her brain in the folder titled 'This Is Unprofessional But Jesus, Have You SEEN His Arms?'

Professor D. Hale series by har1ey_quinn

A series of outsider POVs on Professor Hale and his significant other (with some guest appearances from the pack)

His by neil4god

He was always alone, head stuck in a book or glued to his phone. He never seemed to talk to anyone, was too busy running from class to the library and back again. Kent couldn't help but feel bad for him, after all he was his room-mate and he could see just how alone the poor guy was. At least, that's what he assumed, turned out he didn't know the first thing about Stilinski.

The life of the irresistibly oblivious Stiles series by Nosiddam1

Just a series of cute fluffy one shots where Stiles is irresistible or oblivious or both and who only has eyes for Derek.

The Way You Look At Him by neil4god

Their relationship wasn't perfect, no-one's ever was, but she didn't know how broken it was until she met Stiles. Derek never smiled at her like that, he didn't rush home early from work to make her dinner or pick up her favourite snacks like he did for Stiles. Derek didn't look at her the way he looked at Stiles and she was starting to think that maybe Derek wasn't a commitment-phobe like she thought, maybe he just didn't want to commit to her.

Too Little Too Late by SolariaLunar21

Danny's always had a secret crush on Stiles Stilinski but never hopes for more until he over-hears Scott and Stiles talking about the other boy coming out to his Dad as bi.

2, 4, 6, 8, Who's Gunna Get The Date? by rebekahdarian

The five times a cheerleader asked Derek out on a date, and the one time he said yes.

Cursed

It’s just not fair. Stiles loves Derek but Derek never notices him. Why would he notice a Tea Cup? Besides, it’s not like he’s able to break the curse. It’s not like he can make Derek human again. Derek’s stuck in Beta form, Stiles’ a tea cup. They’re cursed.

Incandescent

“You are trying to court our alpha,” sang Lydia. “Surely you realize that he does not reciprocate.” “He doesn’t stop it.” There was no point in lying. Paige was courting Derek. She would be a fool not to. “He doesn’t care to.” Lydia arched her thin eyebrow. “Why do you think he’s still searching for his mate, hmm? Why didn’t he stop once you were here? You think you can annoy him into sleeping with you?” Lydia laughed. “He is a born wolf, darling. He will not fuck you if you are not his.”

Don't Kiss and Tell

Paige has finally got the boyfriend she always wanted. The only thing is, said boyfriend doesn't touch her, doesn't kiss her and spends all his time with Stiles Stilinski. You'd think they were dating, or something…

Untouchable

The day Stiles Stilinski entered the Berkeley campus was the day all the alphas went absolutely fucking nuts. See, omegas were rare, even more than redheads. Got to be extremely fucking lucky to even see one in a lifetime. They were supposed to be these ethereal creatures of beauty and elegance, irresistible and blinding. And Stiles Stilinski was exactly that.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles