#it feels like you have a better understanding of who they are to each other than even i do 😌 very much a fan

[swtheartz]

i loved your little drabble of the “breaking up with mark doesn’t work” post and i’d really like to hear your thoughts on how that would go down with some of his variants if you have the time pretty please🫶✨

ohh of course dear !! been thinking abt it and this req inspired me even more info : obsessive behavior, mentions and acts of murder, stalking, he’s crazy in every universe. gn!reader a / n : this is a gift to you guys for 348 followers. i’m soo grateful n happy <33

SINISTER MARK

he thinks it’s a joke at first. you’ve no real reason to actually want to leave him, right? he’s utterly convinced that there was nothing wrong with the relationship. and to be fair, there wasn’t. other than the fact he was possessive as shit and always had tabs on you. would scare off your friends and constantly linger around you whenever he wasn’t terrorizing the masses. the second he realizes that you’re serious? he doesn’t take it very well. you won’t ever find someone better than him. he won’t let you. just what human could ever be better than him?

“You’re not very good at jokes,” Mark says—voice and expression both hauntingly blank. It sends chills down your spine for the simple fact he’s never had such an empty tone. The way he looks at you is something that you can’t exactly put into words. Maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s annoyed, or expectant, or some other emotion that you cannot be bothered to decipher. Not when there’s blood staining your clothes and his, the floor, your cheeks and his hands. Whatever ‘friend’ you were hanging out with was dead before they’d hit the ground. It’s been twelve days since you had gathered the courage to tell Mark you wanted a break, and it took him this long to take you seriously. Thought, it hadn’t taken much effort for him to take a life. “I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea. . .” He hummed, tilting his head as he crouched down in front of you, watching you tremble like a deer in front of an incomprehensible creature. ”But let’s not do this again, hm?”

OMNI MARK

calm. at least, he seems calm. but he also doesn’t take you very seriously. acts as he usually does, even asks you when the next date night is. as if he’ll even be able to make it with his schedule and how often he cancels on you. looks at you as though you’ve said something ludicrous when you answer that there isn’t a date night—you’re not together anymore. surely, you don’t know what you’re talking about. if you wanted him to plan the next date, you could have just told him. he’s usually the one that does all the thinking, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. honestly, what made you think you could walk away from him? the one human he cares for, and you’ve the nerve to try and separate from him? funny.

“We’re not dating, Mark.” The way the two of you stare at each other for a few tense moments is a little awkward, though he doesn’t seem to care. He holds eye contact with you before sighing—like you’re a child who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Like you’ve garnered the nerve to tell some dry joke. “If you have a problem,” Mark starts, arms crossed against his chest as he ignores your exasperated expression, “we talk it out. Like a couple is supposed to do.” “But we’re not a couple anymore. That is what I’m telling you.” You’re attempting to be reasonable, you really are, but you swear up and down he’s making you feel like the crazy one. This has got to be the third time you’ve had this conversation with him, and it hasn’t even been a week. There isn’t any way you can get through to him and you just don’t understand why. Mark scoffs, again, ignoring you. “I’ll make sure I’m not busy. Crime’s been going down, so it should be fine. They’ll manage without me.” “Just kill me already.” You mutter to yourself, unable to decide whether or not you’ll be able to ever get your point across. . . . You’ll just try again tomorrow.

FULL MASK MARK

more pathetic than mainstream mark. this man is like a wet cat in the rain. tries to maintain distance, but ends up following you everyday, texts you without thinking about it while he attempts to reason that it’s okay. you just need some distance and time, and maybe you’ll both get better. ends up outside your window after a particularly bad fight with a villain he had. he didn’t do it on purpose, he just sort of ended up here. call it muscle memory if you will. all he knows is that he’s a mess without you—needs you like oxygen, can barely think or focus on anything without you. probably the only one that tries to be the best he can be for you outside of the main universe. and probably the only one you didn’t really want to break up with.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Markus.”

“ ‘m sorry,” Mark sniffles, face tucked into your neck as he clings to you. You’d think of it as pathetic if it were anyone but him, honestly. He’d shown up with your favorite candy and drink, bloody and looking like a stray abandoned on the side of the street. You practically had to drag him through the window when he tried to turn back around. It took a bit of insisting and a med-kit to get him cleaned and patched up, despite him reminding you that he technically didn’t need it. You snapped at him to shut up before inevitably pulling him to your room again—letting him stay the night was an easy decision, almost too easy. As of right now, he was simply listening to the sound of your heartbeat, your soft breathing, enjoying the way your gentle fingers tangled in his hair. It was sweet. Familiar. Something Mark had missed so much it made his heart ache and hurt, to the point felt as though it was being ripped apart. Though, if it were done by your hands, he wouldn’t mind.

a / n : i liked writing this, i might make a part two to this and i’m gonna make the healer reader thing a series if you guys are up to reading that. mwah mwahhhh

taglist : @lxkoluvsu // @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha // @tokoyamisstuff

[its-just-m]

I wanted to post something and seeing this just got me typing so most of this probably won't be related to the above.

As someone that gave up on sexuality as a whole when they were a teenager.

At the time I didn't have much freedom to look into it and anyone I did approach about the subject, regardless of gender, said no.

Trying to figure it out at ~30, as a virgin, sucks.

Not only virgin, never been in a relationship, never been on a date. After the 3rd or 4th person in a row saying the exact same thing "You? Pft, Never" I stopped trying.

Was never that good socially and I often put sentences together incorrectly. The meaning is mostly correct but sometimes the wrong word means the person never talks to me again. Never felt confident, often felt like I was the enemy. My physical appearance does not help matters, people treated me like I was dangerous and I started to believe them. So I stayed away from people whenever I could.

This went downhill quickly.

Edit: It's my eyes that people have issue with. Had them called "crazy eyes", "somehow dead inside and too aware at the same time", told I "see too much", had an army vet I worked with tell me "I feel like you have an incredible capacity for violence but society has told you your whole life it's wrong so you've locked it away and it's killing you". Like, bruh.

I had a bit of a (mid?) life crisis a while back, quit my job, got some piercings, and decided to try being more social and also some dating apps.

With the dating stuff I was so unprepared for a lot of the questions they asked, I spent a couple weeks looking stuff up and playing around with personality/ sexuality/ gender tests trying to find answers.

The answers I got were ...

Neutral.

Like,

Not straight, but not bi or gay either

Not cis, but not trans

Not binary but not NB/fluid

Not ace but not alo

There's one sexuality and gender test that has a square chart where each corner has either cis or gay or what have you.

Dead fucking center, both nothing and everything.

Edit: "contrary" might be a better word than neutral, possessing conflicting trais rather than none at all?

Even my looks are just average, not short but not tall, not thin but not obesse, I'm told I'm not ugly but apparently I'm not beautiful either, not ripped but no limp noodle, no big tits or "nice cock" to show off, but not so lacking as to be pitiful either.

I put finding answers on pause and tried to just answer all the dating questions as best I could and figured as I met people I would learn more about myself.

All I have learned is the only way I'm gonna get someone to talk to me or spend any time with me is by paying them. And my financial situation isn't impressive either.

I'm not bothered by the lack of success, I expected failure (though I had hoped i was wrong). More that I want to know who/what I am and I can't seem to figure it out because I don't have anything someone else wants and I can't afford to persuade them financially.

Looking at any kind of romance/ sexual media just makes me feel jealous and lonely. I can't put myself in any of the situations but somehow I could see myself on both sides and it doesn't seem likely to fufil the craving that I have.

Often times I will look at a person and not feel anything. Or I will acknowledge they are aesthetically pleasing. Sometimes I will feel something but struggle to decipher if it's lust or jealousy.

The only feeling I think I understand is the craving for intimacy. I struggle to explain it but it like all the things couples do but without the sex part, or maybe that part too but I don't understand it enough to know where it fits in.

I just want to learn things about them, to touch them in places that aren't inherently sexual but also need consent for.

And the same the other way around. I want someone to see that I have worth (other than the old man that runs the liquor store who's always high). I want to be comfortable enough around someone that being touched doesn't make me want to go light myself on fire.

Oof

Got thru all that and only that last one got me teared up.

Anyways, I've come across a couple things with older individuals exploring sexuality but it's usually either "I'm a virgin and I just need a dark-daddy to teach me pleasure" or "haven't had much luck with men and this chick is making me feel some type of way and btw I was so repressed lol" or 40yr old virgin type a story. Or yoai.

Mostly not helpful.

Idk, I think I've run out of words for the moment.

Edit: I want to add that I in no way feel entitled to the attention of others or that it's their fault for not wanting to be around me, more that I'm never going to be good enough anyways so why try. But then like, sometimes trying out of spite too.

Don't hesitate to ignore!

-M

characters in their 30's and older exploring their sexuality and discovering themselves beyond their teens and twenties is so important and beautiful and worth telling

[slutoru1207]

I love you, but I need boundaries

Jealous!Reader x Protective!Mark

Boundaries & Reassurance | Soft but Firm Conversation

It takes Mark exactly one second to notice something’s wrong.

The way you lean away when he reaches for your hand. The forced smile. The quiet, distant way you say, "Yeah, I’m fine, just tired."

He’s not buying it.

So, the moment you're alone, he corners you.

Not in an aggressive way, but in a Mark way—close, warm, protective, concerned. His hands settle on your arms, brows furrowed as he studies your face.

"Talk to me, sweetheart."

You hesitate. You don’t want to start a fight. You know you shouldn’t feel this way. But—

"Is there something between you and Eve?"

The words slip out before you can stop them. Your stomach drops, guilt clawing at your chest—but Mark?

Mark looks absolutely wrecked.

"What?" His voice is barely above a whisper. "Baby, no. God, no."

You exhale sharply, looking down. "Then why does it feel like she understands you better than I do?"

Mark takes a step closer, voice urgent. "She doesn’t. She never could. Just because we’ve known each other forever doesn’t mean she knows me like you do."

You swallow hard. "I don’t want to be that person, Mark. I don’t want to tell you who you can and can’t be friends with. But I also can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt when you’re always with her, always laughing with her, always—" You shake your head, voice cracking. "I need to know I’m enough for you."

His expression shatters.

"You are." His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he’s trying to memorize you. "You’re everything to me. And if I’ve made you feel any different, that’s on me. I’m sorry, baby."

You take a shaky breath. "I need boundaries, Mark."

"Okay." His response is immediate. "Tell me what you need."

You steady yourself. "I need you to be mindful of how close you are with her. I need you to stop letting her touch you like that."

"Done."

"I need to know that when we’re all together, you’re still focused on us, not just her."

"I hear you. I’ll do better."

"And if I ever feel uncomfortable, I need you to listen and not just brush it off."

Mark nods firmly. "You have my word. You’re my priority. Not her. Never her."

Your chest tightens with emotion. "Okay."

Mark pulls you into his arms, holding you tight. "No more pulling away from me, alright? If something’s wrong, you tell me. We fix it together."

You nod against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. "Okay."

And this time, when he kisses you, you don’t hesitate to kiss him back.

Because this? This is what love feels like.

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere Alien has seen you at clubs all around the city. The way you dance like nobody is watching, and to your credit most aren’t. But he is. He’s always watching. He can’t seem to look away from you, in truth.

Leaving him to hide in the shadows waiting to see which club you and your friends will hit up next. Forcing him to hack into your accounts with his advanced technology and read all your messages for future plans. But no matter what he just can’t find it in himself to go up and finally claim you as his mate.

He’s drawn to you, that’s for certain. His eyes always stuck on the way your plush frame moves, giving him no choice but to drool over you. You have to know he’s watching. You must be doing this for him, your dance moves far to perfectly match his planet’s mating rituals.

The next time he sees you at the club, he decides that he’s gotta act and he has to do it now. He sees you just as the song changes. And then you’re doing that dance that reminds him exactly of home and he feels his cocks twitching in his pants. His eggs building up inside of him from the sight of you alone.

Fuck, he can’t do this. Not sober. So he heads to the bar and downs who knows how many shots. He honestly lost count. He drinks until the world spins. For a moment it’s almost as though he’s back in space. That’s when he finally gathers the courage to go to you. He stumbles his way over, careful not to crash into you. He’s been dreaming about this for so long, he can’t mess it up now.

He joins you in the mating dance just as he’s always wanted to. A long sigh of relief leaves him as he does. Like some part of his DNA has finally clicked into place. Fulfilling his kinds purpose of finding a mate. His heart soars once you notice him and instead of rejecting his joining, you dance back into him.

Grinding your deliciously plump ass against his cocks. A low groan leaves him as his hands settle on your wide hips. He lets you feel exactly what he’s working with, showing off and moving to the next stage of the mating ritual.

By now you have to know what you’re doing. There’s no denying the way you’re making him feel. He’s being so obvious about it. The way he claws at you, desperately pulling you closer, aching to be inside of you already. The way he wards off other potential mates, snarling at them over the music till they understand you’re taken. And the way his scent perfumes the air, attempting to mix with yours to prepare your body for his eggs.

You respond to it all so perfectly just like he knew you would. Each time you rock back into his hips and lean into his embrace he’s more and more certain you’re meant to be he. So he really isn’t all that surprised when you invite him back to your place. It’s all going according to his people’s rituals.

The rest of the night was a euphoric daze. A blur of limbs tangled together till he didn’t know where he ended and you began. Hips snapping together furiously in total sync in a way no one had ever felt before. It was the best fuck of his very long life and he knew no one else would ever be better than you. You were his mate after all.

And the deal was sealed as you both finish together, his eggs spilling deep inside of you where you’re most warm. They’ll be safe there until they’re ready to hatch, till you can all be a family.

Now he simply keep you safe, make sure you accept his eggs and the future as his mate that awaits you.

[sxorpiomooon]

What does your family think of you?

Paid readings

Masterlist

Pile 1-

More thinking less actually talking about it. You might talk to yourself alot or blabber alot? Alot of words that you say or are deep thinking about never actually see the light of the day and that's what they think. I see especially a women figure mother probably very worried and curious about this. They think of you as someone who knows very well how to hype others well someone who brings the light in people and you know the mood settler. Someone who brings excitement and they are always upbeat when you are near. However I think your family might be a little worried about you mainly because they believe that you hide alot from them especially your struggles it's like you refuse to talk about them or even acknowledge that they are there. There is also this theme about trying to ignore the past or let go off the past but not being able to. I keep having a vision of a person with their hands on their face there is a shame that this person feels as they wish to hide themselves/ their face so that other people don't look at it. Your mother or a women around you is the one that is the most worried and concerned she loves you alot and is waiting for the moment that you come up to them to talk. They believe that you bring light whenever you go and it's like you are the light. Your family also believes that you tend to hide your struggles this might be someone who might have had to protect their family from a very young age, someone with alot of burden on their shoulders and a belief that no one else can or should be handling it except them.

Pile 2-

The thought daughter. "You got your passion, you got your pride but don't you know that only fools are satisfied" from Vienna started playing in my head. Very warm and kind you might love winters or more so being able to hide yourself in big clothes, mufflers and fire near. You might daydream alot and might drink coffee or some other drink alot. "You know how to love better than most of us that's why you find it all so painful" from fleabag played in my head I heard "begging to be understood". You might feel as if no one understands you or your struggles but they do that's what you need to know. You might repress your anger alot in order to be kind or nice. I think your dad loves you the most he understands you it's in the way that he stares at you. Read books, philosophy, write in your journal and observe art you have a very long way to you. You have to understand and realise that people do see you for who you are especially your family. Someone very warm, kind and wise very good intuition and very connected to her inner voice.

Pile 3-

do you perhaps say the same thing alot of times because you are nervous or simply because you are not able to remember what you were gonna say next? Your family is patient with you. You have a good home I think if not good, you do have a home. You will always come back to your home and you will always have a place that will celebrate even your smallest goals. I think you make your house a home. You might connect all the family members with each other and even if there isn't much love between them they share this mutual love for you. You also have your community I think for this pile their family is not just their parents who gave birth to them etc but also other people that they have found over the years. You have a bigger family than the rest of the people. You are very celebrated. Are you good with decorations or surprises? There is something coming up regarding that I think your family might have wanted to do something for you alot of times but they fail because you are always two steps ahead. Your family might also feel as if they are a burden to you or perhaps you do more for them than they do for you? This might be a native household I'm also hearing a language I heard "their first time living too" and "maybe they really don't know any better"

Pile 4-

Oh they really fw however it's either that they think you are too much with your friends and about friendship or they believe and actually think of you as someone who is their friend and keeps a very friendly environment in the house. They might think that you like to party and have fun and also that people around you just have fun yk. Do you bring your friends to your home alot I see one in particular dancing with you dancing queen by ABBA started playing in my head. I heard "a very loving community". However they might also feel as if you have not yet discovered who you truly are. They might often worry that you are too fixed on the superficial thing and other people and pay no focus to your own well being I heard "emptiness and hopeless" that's not how they feel about you but that's what they believe that you feel about yourself. They might worry about your future and might want you to see things for what they truly are I heard "disregard for consequences". But they believe that you are someone who's very compassionate and composed.

[oswaldthatendswald]

"Huh," says Kirkland. "Well, that's damned unusual."

The rest of you do your best not to shift uneasily or glance at each other. You'd known this was a risk. Known it going out; known it better coming back.

"You understand, your team has to be quarantined now," the general says. (You don't know his name. It's safer that way, supposedly. A shapeshifter can become you-- not just take your shape, but mind and heart as well-- with just that scrap of identity. You've always wondered, if that were true, why you were told the names of your teammates when you met them?)

The youngest of the team is Ardent. "Sir?" she says quietly. "What are we going to do?"

The general backs out the door, holding a handkerchief to cover his mouth and nose, as though it might be catching. When the door slams shut behind him, you hear the click of the lock. Kirkland, who had smiled and smiled the whole time the general had been watching him, drops the mask and slumps against the door. He turns back to look across the room, keen eyes passing over all of them.

Kirkland pauses for a moment. "Take your coat off," he sighs. "It's boiling in here."

"Feels fine to me," Ardent grumbles, but she takes the coat off.

You've all been left in a meeting room, designed for managers to sit in and discuss budgets. Six plush chairs around a long table, a white screen at one end with a projector overhead. It's not meant for you-- and certainly not like this, unwashed and still in your gear, detained right off the mission-- but the number of chairs is eating at you. One for the general to sit in, when you'd entered, then five more. Coincidence? Not with the way you'd been dragged in here practically as soon as you'd stepped off the helicopter.

"You think this is new protocol?" you say, heart in your throat.

The team looks to you. You gesture at the chairs. Calm and Cassius in the back both figure it out, two pairs of eyes widening in comprehension, but Kierkan frowns. "The debrief?"

"No," you reply, "Kirk, look at this." Laying a hand on one chair, you point to the one at the head of the table. "The general was sitting there when we came in, right? Five other chairs. It's a visual aid. To remind him how many people were supposed to come back."

His face contorts in frustration for a moment, before he huffs out a breath. "You'd think they could've just checked the old policies," Kirkland says. "Those would've told them that it's three soldiers to a team."

"Then we really would've had a mess on our hands," you chide.

"Yeah, yeah, Bale, you don't have to tell me." He kicks the general's chair, sending it rolling sadly away.

Ardent, who has been growing more agitated, finally bursts out, "They're going to find me, aren't they?"

She's just a baby, really. It's no wonder she's having trouble staying calm. Fortunately, Kirkland is surprisingly good at this side of the job.

"No way in hell," he says. "We'd never throw one of our own to the wolves like that."

Calm pats Ardent on the shoulder, and Strident and Cassius nod along in agreement. You cross the room to sit on the table in front of Kirkland. It wobbles a little, not really meant to hold a person's weight. Typical. Big fancy table like this, and they couldn't even spit out enough cash to make it out of real wood.

You lower your voice. Calm is working to soothe Ardent now, and you know your words would only set her off again. "They're getting more careful."

"I know." Kirkland doesn't look at you.

"It's Ardent this time," you press, "but what if they really do look into the policies? Will Strident and Calm be on the chopping block next?"

He snorts. "If they look into the records, you'll be in as much trouble as the rest, Baleful."

"Ah, come on," you protest, voice still low. "So my records are a little sparse. It convinced them at the time, didn't it?"

"Well, you'd better convince them to let you into the records, or else the first enterprising jackass looking for evidence of shifters is going to find all the holes in your story." He squeezes your shoulder, apology and offer of comfort both, then raises his voice enough to be heard by the rest of the room. "So, Bale, got a plan for us?"

You narrow your eyes at him, but don't protest. He knows the conversation's not over. For now, you take a moment to compose yourself. Glancing up at the ceiling, an idea begins to take shape. You're not sure if you've seen too many movies or if whoever picked this room hadn't seen enough, but you're willing to take advantage of it.

"What's your smallest shape, Ardent?" you asks.

She shifts uncomfortably. "Mouse, I guess."

That's good enough for you. You'd worried it would be something like a cat: possible, but tricky. "Then yes, I have a plan."

---

The general is summoned back to the room by the sounds of your team screaming.

(Or rather, while the rest of you shout and Kirkland barks orders, Strident pulls off the most piercing scream you've ever heard. Back when you'd picked him up, you'd expressed some concerns about his name. It was unusual, you'd said, and might not fit in well amongst humans. He'd insisted that it defined him better than any other he'd tried on. Ever since, you've had a sneaking suspicion that he goes out of his way to live up to his name.)

The general bursts in. "What's going-- stop that screaming. What's going on?"

Strident, who'd climbed onto the table, smiles at him sheepishly. "Sorry, sir. I'm afraid of mice."

While the general is staring at Strident, Kirkland breathlessly breaks in. "It was Ardent, sir. She climbed into the ceiling. Turned into a mouse and made a break for it when we tried to get her, sir." He looks away, shaking his head. "I just don't understand it. I would've sworn to you I'd been to her sister's christening."

He's a pretty good actor. You'd known that already, but this is a step farther than he'd ever had to go before.

"Of course you would've," the general says gruffly. "That's how the monsters work." He looks up at the ceiling, where Ardent had left a tile artfully askew, then starts barking orders into a radio. Seal the vents, sweep the building, permission to use lethal force. You share a look with Kirkland.

The remaining five of you are pulled out for a real debrief this time. As you follow your team, the mouse in your breast pocket squirms. You cover her with a hand, both to disguise the movement and offer a little comfort.

You are a soldier in a team of six who have been sent to investigate shapeshifter sightings but return to base after finding nothing. On your return, however, all six of you are detained, and your commanding officer points out that there were only five members of your team when you left.

[pazziescapism]

Break Our Ice - Chapter 4

pairing: paige x azzi

wc: 12.1k

au fic what??, figureskater!Azzi x icehockeyplayer!Paige

fake dating, just like playful banter teasing relationship to lovers, basically paige and azzi dancing around each other

a/n: HI GUYS!! i am truly sorry for the wait i have no idea why this chapter took me so long, honestly this is definitely my least favourite chapter and sorry if it seems choppy i took out and rearranged heaps of scenes i don't watch ice skating or ice hockey so i didn't really think about how i would write about it... AHAH anyway i guess this is kinda the last chapter?? i think id be down to do some bonus ones but i am working on something new so we will see, again thank you for reading! ps, did u see that wc?? 12k, yes im very proud

Someone is pulling Azzi to the side, a hand digging into the meat of her upper arm, hard enough to bruise. She’s having a hard time registering anything over the noise and lights. It feels like there’s a hundred people surrounding her, pushing her off to the side, crushing her by the borders.

Then the crowd falls away, and Paige’s in front of her looking harried. The press continues to shout from the side, the noise a little quieter now that they’ve moved, a crowd of people in front of them like a barricade.

“Ah, man,” Ice says, next to the two of them. “Bad luck.”

“I’ve got to go back out and do press,” Paige says, and she looks upset, running a hand jerkily through her hair. “Can you get someone to take Azzi out the back way?”

“It’s only the tabloids,” Azzi says and stays where she is. The situation is mixing badly with the insecurity in her chest, her head. Something selfish and angry has taken up residency in her, curling and twisting unpleasantly. 

“That’s the problem,” Paige says, not even looking at her, her face scanning the crowd, like she’s already searching for a way to get Azzi away. 

Like a picture of them together would be something so dreadful. 

“They’re already here,” Azzi points out, not moving. “Who cares if they get a picture or two?”

Paige frowns. She’s gotten fully ready to act within seconds, Azzi’s coat clutched in her hands. “They’ll come to the wrong conclusions,” she says, and Azzi’s heart sinks. 

The unpleasant feelings in her stomach give a sharp twist, and Azzi feels herself smile and knows it must look off.

“As long as they’re here,” she whispers, leaning in closer to Paige. “Let’s give them a show.” 

Paige’s eyes drop to her lips, like Azzi knew they would; for an instant, their faces are inches apart. She hears someone yell, and the camera’s go off again, too many bright lights to see, photographers moving around the crowd in front of them to get a picture. Paige steps fully away from her, panicked expression twisting into something sharper.

“For fuck’s sake, Azzi,” Paige says, viciously angry, and Azzi steps back too, taken aback by the reaction.

“I didn’t mean to,” she starts, and she isn’t sure what she didn’t mean to do so she lets that sentence trail off and starts again. “I didn’t mean it.” 

This doesn’t seem to make Paige feel much better, judging by the volume of her retort, her eyes angrier than Azzi’s ever seen them, as she shoves Azzi’s jacket into her arms. “You can’t just fuck around with my life when you get bored. Those pictures are going to be everywhere by tomorrow.”

“Don’t yell at me,” Azzi says back, her face burning hot with what might be anger, or might be shame. She’s off-balance, tilting too far one way and then the next. I don’t understand, she wants to yell. She wants, selfish as it seems, for Paige to understand her, without Azzi having to explain. 

Is it that awful to be seen with me? Azzi thinks, her head buzzing miserably.

Ice’s got her by the arm, then and they’re both heading down a dark little hallway, leading out to the parking lot. 

“I practice here too,” Azzi snaps, and yanks her arm away. Her jacket is gripped in her arms, and the jersey suddenly feels tight and humiliating on her skin. “I know the way.”

Ice doesn’t seem to take offense, which makes Azzi feel worse, just nods good-naturedly, her head ducked to avoid stray cameras. “That makes sense.”

Azzi swallows, hard. “I’m sorry,” she says, and that at least, is sincere. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ice tells her, and then hesitates as they exit out into the employee’s only section of the parking lot. Someone must have told Caroline, because Azzi can see her car heading towards them. “Hey, and- um, Paige just kind of hates cameras more than the rest of us, so, I mean, try not to-”

“Whatever,” Azzi says, cutting her off. She doesn’t really need the reminder. 

It’s freezing outside, thick dark clouds rolling over the sky, threatening snow at any minute. Azzi shivers, and then steps away from Ice as Caroline pulls up, nodding goodbye stiffly. 

To Caroline’s credit, she doesn’t ask any questions as Azzi angrily peels the jersey off the second they get onto the road, leaving her in only the thin sweater she had been wearing underneath. For good measure, she throws it on the floor and stomps on it, her dirty sneakers creating a bizarre black mark over the fabric, before throwing it to the back of the car. 

She considers slipping on the jacket, which at least doesn’t have Paige’s name written on it, but the image of Paige’s white knuckles around it as she tried to usher Azzi out as quickly as possible rises to mind and she chucks it to the back too. 

“So,” Caroline says casually, reaching over to turn the heating up in the car. “After game jitters?”

“Fuck you,” Azzi says bitterly. “Actually, fuck her. Let’s turn around so I can go slash her tires.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Caroline says, like a hint. 

“No,” Azzi says. “I already told you what I wanted to do, but you missed the turn.”

White flurries are starting to drift down outside the window, the wind picking up speed. Some of the flakes drift against the glass, individual specks so that Azzi can get a brief glimpse of the small symmetrical patterns making up each snowflake before they melt away against the window. 

“I’ve been trying so hard to make her like me,” Azzi says suddenly, into the quiet of the car, “and she doesn’t.”

“I’m sure she does,” Caroline says, accepting this too, without question. 

“She was such an asshole, just now,” Azzi seethes. “It’s one picture, will the world end? Will the sky fall?”

“I’m sure you already know this,” Caroline says, “but it was probably a bigger deal to her than it was to you.”

“I piss her off all the time,” Azzi points out. The anger is separating into hurt, a needle digging under the skin of her ribs. “She’s never reacted like that.”

Caroline doesn’t respond to this, as they pull into their neighbourhood. “You want to come over?” She offers. “Kaitlyn’s away for the day.”

Azzi is still considering this when her phone rings in her pocket, making her jump. She keeps meaning to set it to vibrate. She looks at the caller ID and considers hanging up. It would make her feel good, she reasons, give her a little vindictive pleasure. She’s aware of Caroline’s eyes still on her.

“Yes?” She says tersely, answering the phone. 

“Hey,” Paige’s voice sounds a little hoarse on the other end. “I ditched the press conference. I’m on my way home. I thought, maybe we could talk?”

Azzi stares out the window. The temperature’s dropped fast, and the wind has picked up, white snow starting to cover the sidewalks, clinging to the window and the windshield. 

 “Talk about what?” She asks, forcing herself to lean back against the seat. 

“Um,” Paige says. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like- I wanted to apologize.”

“I don’t want an apology, Paige,” Azzi says coldly. “I want to finally lay this humiliating chapter of my life to rest.”

“Azzi,” Paige says. “We won’t get anywhere if you refuse to talk about it.”

“There’s nowhere to go,” Azzi snaps. Her split lip stings as she speaks, newly scabbed over skin starting to split again. “We were never going anywhere to begin with.”

There’s a silence over the phone, only Paige’s breath filling the space, still so fucking steady. “You don’t mean that,” she says finally, voice charged with a bone-deep tiredness.

“This was always temporary,” Azzi says, always clawing her nails into wounds that are already bleeding, both her own and other people’s. “Sorry that you thought otherwise.”

“Fine,” Paige says into the phone, frustration jagged in her voice. “The dating part is fake, yeah, but- Christ, Azzi- I thought we were at least friends.”

Azzi is breathing too fast, too heavy. She wants to cry. She wants to scream some more. She wants to put her head on Paige’s shoulder and just breathe in the familiar smell of her, until they’re in sync again, inhaling and exhaling in the same rhythm. She doesn’t want to be friends.

“Go home, Paige,” she says, and feels the cavity in her chest split open a little further. There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, so vulnerable it nearly rips her determination into shreds. The next thing she hears is the dial tone. 

The car is horribly silent. Azzi doesn’t look, but the sound of Caroline’s disapproval is nearly audible.

“Don’t start,” Azzi moans. “I just- fuck, do you think I fucked up?”

Caroline is quiet for a moment, long enough for Azzi to turn and see hesitation lining her face. 

“I think you would feel better if you were honest about your feelings,” she says finally. “Even if it doesn’t end up getting you what you want.”

Azzi lets her fingers fall, tracing over the material of her sweatpants. “It was going so well too,” she says, trying not to sound like she’s whining, and not quite succeeding.

“It’s not a real relationship, though,” Caroline says, and Azzi’s head snaps up in irritation.

“Thank you for that,” she says, curt. “Exactly what I needed to hear.”

“What I mean is,” Caroline sighs and then starts over. “It’s not real. It’s easy to have a great relationship if you don’t have as much to lose. You’ve been living in fantasyland.” 

“This is like, the most unhelpful you have ever been,” Azzi tells her. “And that is saying something.”

“All I’m saying is, if you want to have a relationship with her after this whole thing is over-”

“I don’t,” Azzi interrupts, and Caroline closes her eyes like this whole thing is horrible for her, personally.

“Sure. But if you do, you need to figure out whether this is all it’s going to take before you give up.

“Ugh,” Azzi says. She glares out the window again. The snow is starting to blow in heavy gusts outside, and when Caroline parks, she can see that it’s piling up on the staircase leading up to their building. The snowfall is starting to pick up speed, thick, soft heaps of white beginning to form, deep enough to get in your shoes, sink into your socks. 

The cab driver stops before turning into the long, narrow street leading to Paige’s building, and tells Azzi that with the current road conditions, she’ll either have to pay extra or walk the rest of the way. Azzi looks at the storm starting to rage outside, the snow swirling on strong winds, until she can barely see anything other than white through the window. She looks at the still-running meter. She decides to walk. 

About thirty seconds in, she’s regretting it. She didn’t bring a jacket with her, so the snow is flying everywhere, landing in any available gaps in her clothes and melting into ice cold water on contact with skin. Her feet are suffering the worst, the snow piling up inside her shoes, melting and then piling up again until she can’t feel her toes anymore. 

“Paige,” she says when she reaches the building, hitting the buzzer for Paige’s apartment. “Paige, if you don’t let me in, I’ll die. I’ll die, seriously.”

“Azzi?” Paige says over the intercom, static blurring her voice, and she says something that sounds like a question, but the locked door clicks and unlocks, and Azzi misses the words as she shuffles eagerly into the heated building. 

It’s only once she’s in the elevator, a minute away from Paige’s door that she realizes that she has no plan, she’s forgotten her speech, and the snow collected in her hair and clothing has melted, leaving her sopping wet and creating a puddle of dirty water where she’s standing. 

It’s all she can do to keep herself standing when Paige opens the door, her eyes widening as she takes in Azzi, sniffling only a little pathetically in her doorway, soaked to the bone in a thin sweater and sweatpants. 

“I’m sorry,” Azzi says, before Paige has the chance to say anything. “I didn’t mean to say- I just- we are friends and I want to keep being friends and I don’t want to fake break-up, and I’m a really terrible fake-girlfriend, but I want to keep being your terrible fake-girlfriend.”

Paige’s mouth opens. Closes again. She seems, for the first time since Azzi’s met her, to be at a total and complete loss for words. 

“And I’m sorry for pushing it about the picture thing,” Azzi continues nervously. A patch of melting snow is sliding down her back. “I didn’t want to- You hurt my feelings, a little, so I wanted to hurt your feelings and now I feel bad about that-”

“You are the dumbest person alive,” Paige says, and she grabs Azzi’s wrist and yanks her inside. 

She closes the door behind them, almost as an afterthought, her hands fluttering over Azzi’s body, her fingers, her neck, her cheek, bringing a moment of blissful warmth wherever they land. “You’re shaking, Jesus Christ. How far did you walk like this? There’s a blizzard warning out, are you stupid?”

Azzi peels her shoes off and then stands in the entranceway, unsure of where to go or what to say, her hair dripping water onto her already wet socks. 

“Unbelievable,” Paige is saying, already halfway across the living room before she realizes Azzi isn’t following. “Go, sit,” she says, and gestures at the stools across the kitchen counter. 

Azzi obediently takes a seat. 

It isn’t long before Paige returns to stand in front of her with a towel in her hands, and chucks it over Azzi’s wet hair, her hands scrubbing at it like she’s planning on taking Azzi’s whole head off. 

“What is wrong with you?” Paige is asking her, though it seems to be rhetorical, her hands still busy drying Azzi’s hair, none too gently. “No jacket, no scarf, not even any decent shoes. Did you look outside before you decided to come running to apologize? You know how long it takes to get frostbite?-”

“Paige,” Azzi interrupts and Paige stops, both the lecture and the scrubbing, tilting Azzi’s face up so their eyes meet. Azzi’s tongue flattens at the expectant look in her eyes, and it’s with considerable effort that she manages to start again. “Paige, you forgive me, right?”

For the second time in as many minutes, Paige looks absolutely floored by the words out of Azzi’s mouth. Azzi can’t explain it to herself, any more than she can explain it to Paige, but she needs to hear the words, needs to see the shape of them in Paige’s mouth. 

“Yes,” Paige says finally. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“I know,” Azzi says, a shaky smile lifting the edges of her mouth. 

Paige doesn’t move for a second, just watches Azzi, her green eyes contemplative. Then she starts drying Azzi’s hair again, a gentler set to her mouth, if not to her technique. 

“You have qualifiers in a couple days,” she continues, as if nothing had happened, Azzi’s neck aching from the directions it’s being pushed and pulled in. “What would you have done if you’d gotten sick? Would you have sat out? Idiot.”

  “I would have won anyway,” Azzi mumbles, a little guiltily, and then screeches at a particularly rough yank on her head. “But I won’t if I go bald! Paige!” 

“Oops,” Paige says, not sounding very regretful. “Was that one too much?”

“Obviously, you fucking-” Azzi wails as Paige does it again. “Paige, my hair!” 

Paige snickers, and pulls the towel away completely, tossing it into Azzi’s lap. “Drop this off in the laundry. And find some clean clothes and take a warm shower. I’ll get you some hot water with lemon and honey, so you don’t catch a cold. Silly girl.”

Azzi doesn’t answer, busy trying to feel her aching scalp for possible bald patches. 

“Don’t worry,” Paige tells her, pushing her off the stool. “I promise you’re still pretty.”

Azzi whips around, beaming, ignoring Paige’s increasingly forceful attempts to shove her in the direction of the laundry room. “You think I’m pretty, Paige?” 

She says it as half a joke, mostly expecting Paige to roll her eyes and push her away. It catches her by surprise when Paige’s expression softens instead, as she reaches up to push a strand of damp hair behind Azzi’s ear, the pad of her fingertip brushing softly over the shell of Azzi’s ear. 

“You’re very pretty,” she says indulgently, her hand falling back to her side, Azzi staring at her wide-eyed. “Even when you’re at my door looking like a drowned puppy.”

Azzi goes to take a shower without further comment. 

When she pads out, significantly calmer, in barefeet and a soft bathrobe, Paige is squeezing some lemon into a glass, the hot water creating condensation along the sides of the glass, fogging it up. It tastes honey-sweet going down Azzi’s throat, warming her up where the heat of the shower didn’t reach. 

She feels warmer still when Paige presses her up against the kitchen counter, rough hands slipping inside the bathrobe, spreading across her back, as she licks into Azzi’s mouth like she can taste the remnants of honey and lemon lingering on Azzi’s tongue.

“Your lip is bleeding,” she murmurs, pulling away from Azzi, kissing the corner of her mouth in apology. “Sorry.”

Azzi licks over her lower lip, tastes metal in her mouth and grimaces. “Oops.”

Paige is already grabbing a tissue, and running it under the tap. She squeezes water out into the drain and presses the damp tissue to Azzi’s mouth, wiping away where the blood has smeared. Azzi winces at the contact, and Paige holds her chin between a finger and a thumb, keeping her in place. “Stay still, baby.”

Baby, Azzi thinks delightedly, lets the sound echo inside her brain. She’s still thinking about the word choice when she realizes Paige’s stepped away. 

“Does it hurt?”

Azzi blinks. “Huh?” 

Paige stares at her. Azzi stares back.

“Your lip?” Paige prompts, after it becomes clear that Azzi won’t be answering, a small smile playing at her own mouth. “It’s bleeding.”

“Oh,” Azzi says. She’s lost it. “Yes. The lip. It was bleeding. Still bleeding?”

Paige just looks at her, her eyes blinking slowly, like Azzi is the most fascinating person in the world. If this was anyone else, Azzi thinks, she would probably be embarrassed. But Paige just smiles at her, and Azzi can only muster up the smallest hint of sheepishness at being caught out so directly.

“Yes,” she amends, and wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. “It hurts lots. Kiss it better.”

Paige groans, her hands landing on Azzi’s shoulders, resisting her attempts to pull them back together. “You are insufferable. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” Azzi says again, honestly, and she nudges her cold nose into the space between Paige’s shoulder and collarbone, drinks in the smell of Paige’s perfume (which she thinks is actually a cologne) “But here you are. Suffering.”

Paige’s eyes meet Azzi’s and hold eye contact, her face unreadable. Then she sighs. “You have no idea.”

Azzi doesn’t know what to make of this insult that doesn’t sound like an insult. She doesn’t respond, she presses cold feet against Paige’s shin in retaliation, grinning at her put-out expression.

“I can’t believe your toes didn’t fall off,” she says, and tugs Azzi over to her fireplace using the belt on her borrowed robe.

Azzi settles cross-legged in front of the blazing heat, lets it sweep over her back, feeling thrillingly, deliriously happy, sparks running up her still damp skin, making her heart beat faster in her chest. 

“What do you look so happy about?” Paige asks, when Azzi grabs her and tugs her closer. She goes willingly, her head settling in Azzi’s lap, wincing as Azzi’s cold hands come around to pull at her cheeks. 

“I’ve accepted my fate,” Azzi tells her.

“Your fate as what, exactly?” Paige says, the words mumbled as Azzi tugs on her face.

Azzi doesn’t answer, just leans forward and plants a kiss on her forehead, right above the bridge of her nose. 

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“Kaitlyn,” Azzi says, interrupting Kaitlyn’s dramatic reading. “You could read these in your head.”

“Good literature deserves to be shared,” Kaitlyn tells her, and holds up a new one. “A source close to the couple reveals the relationship has been on the rocks for months. Did you know that?”

“Where are they getting all these sources from?” Azzi wonders out loud. 

“Beats me,” Kaitlyn says mournfully. “I’ve been calling offices all day to tell them you’ve got mad cow disease. Nobody even cares.”

Azzi pauses, looking up from the suitcase she’s packing at Kaitlyn, who’s draped over her bed. “You know humans can’t get mad cow disease, right?”

Kaitlyn, who is ostensibly meant to be helping Azzi pack, stops flipping through tabloids to look at Azzi, horrified. “Are you serious? I’ve wasted so many phone calls, man.”

“It’s literally called cow disease,” Azzi says, and Kaitlyn is still complaining when the door swings open, creaky hinges announcing Caroline’s arrival. 

“There was a whole section about you guys on my way home. Like a whole section of a newsstand with just your faces on it,” she calls, already halfway into Azzi’s apartment. Azzi does not remember giving her a key.

“Did you bring any back?” Kaitlyn asks, already bounding up in excitement.

“Breaking!” Caroline reads, walking into the bedroom. She hasn’t changed out of the branded shirt she wears to work, a cartoonish smiling skull peering down at Azzi from under her own face, pressed against Paige’s on a magazine cover, bold lettering over their bodies.  “Azzi, Withholding Her ‘Icicle’ From New Girlfriend?! ‘Not Until Marriage’ New Sources Report.”

“Who is writing these?” Azzi asks in amazement. 

“And who is doing their fact-checking?” Kaitlyn says, peering down at the page over Caroline’s shoulder. “They should be fired.”

“Are you guys breaking up?” Caroline asks, and both her and Kaitlyn are staring at Azzi, expressions nauseatingly similar. “I need to know where to place my bets.”

“How’s the casual sex going for you?” Kaitlyn adds, looking irritatingly knowing. “Still no feelings?”

Azzi looks back down at her suitcase. It’s too full. If she adds anything else to it, she won’t be able to get it closed, but she hasn’t even packed any clothes yet. “No,” she says to the peanut gallery, an answer to both questions. She adds her folded clothes and takes the performance makeup out. She can probably put that in the carry-on.

 “I’m starting a six-year plan to make her fall in love with me,” she says casually. “Can one of you come help me close this?”

“I love being friends with you,” Kaitlyn says, neither of them moving. “Every decision you make is worse than the last. Like a slow-motion car crash. Thrilling.”

“Why is it taking her six years to fall in love with you?” Caroline asks.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Azzi says. “At the end of the six years we get married. The suitcase?”

“Thrilling,” Kaitlyn repeats, and comes over to plant her full body weight on top of the suitcase so that Azzi can zip it closed. 

Azzi is staggeringly drunk. Mind-bendingly drunk. Everything is swirling into pieces around her and then swirling back together, the noise pounding in her eardrums reverberating through her entire body. It’s loud, sweaty, hot, crowded. The smell of alcohol is stinging her nose, a too-expensive bottle of champagne still staining her clothes, sticky where it touches her skin. 

Every now and then, the realization comes back to her and then she’s smiling again, her cheeks aching with the force of it, her throat raw from screaming. 

“I made it!” She yells to Caroline. The two of them are so close together but her voice is carried off in the noise regardless, and she can see Caroline blink as she tries to process. 

Then Caroline is grinning back at her, just as wide. “We made it!” She yells back, and Azzi throws her head back to laugh, giddy. 

Someone pulls her away and Azzi goes willingly, out of her mind with joy and nearly deaf from the music.

The quiet of the evening, when she stumbles outside, is an ice-cold shock. The sudden stillness surrounding her, the indiscernible noise of screaming teenagers in the background. It had been a struggle to extricate herself, a tugging push and pull until she made it out into the night air. She’s pressing the call button before she can talk herself out of it. 

“Azzi?” She hears Paige say, only a dark blurry shape on the small screen of her phone. There’s rustling movement, the click of a lamp, and then Paige’s face is peering blearily at her, illuminated by soft yellow light. “Are you wearing bunny ears?”

“I think I got them from a fetish store!” Azzi tells her, and it’s only when Paige flinches away from the phone screen that she realizes she had been yelling. She lowers her voice abashedly. “They wouldn’t let you in without a costume,” she whispers, like she’s letting Paige in on a secret. “But I didn’t have one.”

Paige falls back and Azzi can hear her laugh tiredly, voice still gravelly with sleep. She must have set the phone down, because all Azzi can see now is the ceiling of the hotel Paige must be staying at. Her team had left for a series of away games, both of them now far from home. 

“Paige,” she says to the ceiling. “I can’t see your face anymore.” Her words are starting to blur together, but she can’t concentrate enough to pull them back apart.

“Sorry, sorry,” Paige mutters, and there’s another rustle before her face returns, now with headphones. “Are you out celebrating?”

The word celebrating reminds Azzi why she called to begin with and she beams back at the camera, exhilarated once again. “I made it! I’m going to the Olympics!”

Paige is laughing again, though Azzi isn��t sure why. “I know,” she says. “You texted me.”

“Oh,” Azzi says. Then, “What did I say?”

“Um,” Paige says, and then her video is paused. “Hang on. You said ‘i made it’ and then ‘Olympics baby’ and then ‘can alcohol absorb through your skin?’ and then there were a bunch of letters.”

“Oh,” Azzi says again. “What did you say?”

Paige’s face returns to the camera once more, her smile fonder than usual, the planes of her face carved out soft in the mellow light. “I knew you’d make it.”

Azzi thinks that if it’s possible to be crushed by sheer affection, she’s feeling it now, a building pressure in her chest that pulls her accelerating heartbeat back to ground level.

“Thank you.” Now that she’s calmer, she notices for the first time how Paige’s eyes are fluttering closed, how her voice is sleep-rough, and she feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Nah,” Paige says, clearly lying. “I couldn't sleep anyway.”

“Liar.” There’s that soft, tired laugh again, and the phone shifts to a view of the ceiling again, like Paige has set it down beside her. Azzi can hear the sound of her breathing, each breath slipping slowly into a steady rhythm.

“S’Okay,” Paige mumbles. “I like the sound of your voice.” 

This is enough to stun Azzi back into silence. Her brain feels slippery from how much she’s had to drink, the hot pink lighting of the club she had been in still dancing across her feet, a glimmering haze over her field of vision. She’s so aware, all of a sudden, of how cold the night air is, biting into exposed skin, how tightly the headband of the bunny ears is pressing into her scalp, of the hair falling over her forehead-  of how much love is piling up inside her, scrubbing her raw and threatening to drown her under its weight. 

If Paige liked the sound of her voice, Azzi would read her a novel, would read her a dictionary, would write her a new love letter every morning and recite it to her every night. 

As it is, she whispers into the phone, “Goodnight, Paige,” and lets herself wait five full seconds before hanging it back up.  

That night Azzi crashes on the sofa of a hotel suite she could have never afforded by herself, legs too wobbly to make it to a bed. She doesn’t sleep, she just lies there, the bright glow of her phone across her face the only light in the dark room, and she drafts drunken texts and deletes them, writing out confessions she’ll never send. 

Are you still awake? She writes to Paige, and deletes it.

Good luck tomorrow.

Recently, you’ve been in all of my dreams. Do you think that means something? 

I wish you had been here today. 

In a hazy space of her brain, it starts to register to Azzi that this is possibly a little bit embarrassing. She doesn’t feel embarrassed- she feels giddy in a way she hasn’t for years, caught up in the middle-school thrill of having a crush, something that reminds her of drafts of love letters on pink stationary, of leaving gifts in lockers and roses on desks. It’s the indulgent happiness of allowing herself to get caught up in the push and pull before a relationship, both of them on edge, neither willing to slip first. 

It’s enough, she tells herself. For now, it’s enough. They’ll have time. 

The sun is just beginning to set when Azzi walks back to her apartment days later, a plastic bag of groceries crinkling in one hand, the other holding Paige’s hand. The heat is starting to return after a long winter, and there’s sweat collecting between their hands, but neither one moves to disentangle their fingers. 

“You don’t have a fucking clue,” Paige is saying heatedly, and Azzi scoffs but doesn’t interrupt. “You have no idea how much I’ve suffered because of this. It’s the worst possible-”

“Not the worst,” Azzi interjects. “I’ll take a lot but I won’t let you lie to me right now-” 

“It is the worst, it’s the laziest way out, it never makes sense, it creates so many plot holes-”

“I think it’s fun and creative,” Azzi says, and passes the bag of groceries to Paige, who takes them unquestioningly, as Azzi fumbles one-handed with the lock. “And the plot holes wouldn’t exist if you didn’t think about them.”

“That’s the target audience,” Paige says grimly, as Azzi pulls her into her apartment via their connected hands. “People who don’t think. Like you.”

“Time travel is an old, respected, trope,” Azzi says. “Just because you don’t understand it-”

“Boo!” Paige says, setting the bag of groceries onto the counter. She starts unloading them without Azzi asking her to, taking out the eggs to place them into the fridge, not even pausing in the flow of conversation. “There’s nothing to understand, because it sucks.”

“Not enough things getting blown up for you?” Azzi asks snidely, and pulls out a cardboard pink box, wrapped with matching pink ribbon before Paige can respond. “Are you ready for your present?”

Paige comes to stand beside her, reaching out a hand to pull at the strings of ribbon and pouting when Azzi slaps it away. “I don’t know why you had to make me stand outside the bakery. It’s not like I can’t guess it’s a cake.”

“Hush,” Azzi says. “As long as it’s not open, it could be anything.”

They had only had Valentine’s Day cakes available at the bakery, so when Paige opens the box, it’s to a mess of pink and red frosting over a small heart-shaped cake. In cursive script over the top, white lettering reads ‘C U @ O.V.’

“They were charging per letter,” Azzi says. “O.V.  stands for-”

“Olympic Village,” Paige says, grinning. “I get it. I love it.” 

Azzi beams at her. Paige had cleared the team selections for the national team yesterday, when she had still been away for a game. She had made it back last night, the pair of them reuniting for a private celebration that left bruises that ached pleasantly along Azzi’s hips, her chest, her thighs. 

“Here,” Paige says, in a suspiciously innocuous tone. “Taste.”

Azzi narrows her eyes. “What-”

Paige runs her finger through the icing as Azzi starts talking and then sticks her finger into Azzi’s open mouth. 

Azzi clamps her teeth down around the finger immediately, glaring at Paige. She’s hoping the look in her eyes communicates something like a threat, like I could bite through your finger like a carrot right now and not holy shit, I want to eat you out. It’s always so hard to figure out the line between the two with Paige.

Paige tries to pull her finger away, teasingly, and her eyes widen as Azzi bites down a little harder. 

“Hang on,” she says, her wrist falling a little limp. “I’m trying to figure out if this is turning me on or not.”

Giving in is against Azzi’s principles but this is beginning to seem torturous, so she lets her mouth close, keeping her teeth back to let her lips close gently over the first knuckle. Paige makes a strangled noise and it feels like victory. 

“Yeah. Definitely turned on,” she says decisively. 

Azzi can’t speak, just swirls her tongue around the pad of her finger, tastes sugar and strawberries, lets it dissolve in her mouth, relishes in the way Paige’s lips tug up in exasperated acceptance.

She’s thinking of abandoning the cake entirely and starting up those celebrations over again, or maybe just dropping to her knees in the kitchen, when the doorbell rings. 

“Ugh,” Azzi says, pulling away reluctantly, turning toward the door. 

She’s stopped by the firm grasp of Paige’s hand around her jaw, bringing Azzi’s face back to her own. Azzi thinks about complaining about the hand Paige’s using to do it, feeling her own spit touching her cheek, sticky and off-putting and gripping hard enough to bruise.

But Paige’s lips are already on her, tongue slipping into Azzi’s mouth with a proprietary confidence that makes Azzi’s hands clench tight around the edge of the countertop, keeping her on her feet. 

The doorbell rings again, and Paige pulls away with a sigh and a wet parting of mouths, Azzi’s eyes fluttering back open in slight shock. 

Paige is watching her lips, looking all too pleased with herself. “Yum,” she says, letting go of Azzi’s jaw with a pat on the cheek and a wink. “Strawberry.”

The doorbell rings for a third time, aggressive in how long it lasts, like the person outside is leaning on it, impatient.

Paige’s eyebrow twitches slightly at the noise but she steps fully away from Azzi, looking entirely regretful at her own actions. “Tell them to go away” her eyes flicking down to Azzi’s lips meaningfully. 

“Stop saying words,” Azzi says, flustered beyond measure, and tries not to rush to the door in order to do exactly as told.

She opens the door, flushed and still half-laughing, the remnants of a smile on her face fading away as she sees Jayden outside her apartment, still in that ugly fucking coat, the human personification of a cockblock.

“Yes?” Azzi asks, leaning against the door. She doesn’t want Jayden taking a step inside. She doesn’t want Jayden here at all, encroaching on a moment Azzi was enjoying, his presence a reminder of a truth Azzi would rather forget. She very selfishly hopes Paige doesn’t see him. She wants Paige to forget about Jayden all together, forget that two of them had ever been together for a reason that wasn’t so they could watch old science fiction and argue about director’s cuts. 

“Just thought I’d drop by,” Jayden says. “You’re not going to let me in?”

“I’m a little busy,” Azzi says coolly. “You should really text first.” 

“Busy?” He’s smiling a condescending little smile that makes Azzi’s eyebrow twitch. “You aren’t at practice?”

“I’m hanging out with my girlfriend.” If she places more emphasis than is strictly necessary on the last word- well. 

If Jayden is surprised to hear this, he covers for it well, only a slight blotchy red flush to his cheeks giving away a reaction. “I thought- I heard that you’d broken up?”

“Been reading a lot of tabloids recently?” Azzi drawls, letting her head fall to rest on her door frame. 

“You haven’t brought her around for dinner,” Jayden counters, still mostly placid. “I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“We’ve both been busy,” Azzi says, eyes narrowed. “It’s the season for it.”

Jayden smiles a little wider and it feels like an accusation. “I’m sure my dad would love to meet her.”

They will never find your body, Azzi says with her eyes. 

With her mouth she says, “We’ll see you guys Wednesday.”

Once the articles had come out, it had become impossible to ignore Geno’s hints about meeting her new girlfriend. Azzi hadn’t expected to be able to avoid it for long but she had gotten away with it for longer than she expected.

She didn’t know how she felt about the dinner now that it had arrived. Somewhere inside her, something was screaming that this was too serious, too much, too fast. That the unsteady foundation of their little show couldn’t hold up under any more serious inspection. Another part was screaming that Azzi hadn’t been acting for a long time. 

A month and a half had passed easily under the guise of their fake relationship. A month and a half, so much time and almost none at all. 

At no point during those forty-five days had she prepared herself for seeing Paige waiting in her apartment for her to finish getting ready, complaining on Azzi’s terrible couch, wearing a white sweater, the thick knitted pattern against the pale of her skin. 

She’s used to seeing Paige in sharp angles and hard muscles. Like this she looks almost soft. Huggable.

“I bet you’re just a natural-born parent pleaser, aren’t you?” Azzi says, eyeing the gentle cling of the fabric to her shoulders. 

“What are you ever talking about?” Paige responds. “Come on, I brought some flowers and they’re going to wilt if we don’t hurry.”

“Flowers,” Azzi says, to herself, as Paige takes her hand and drags her along. “Of course she brought flowers.” 

“Listen,” Azzi says, once the two of them are in the elevator heading down to the main floor. “We need to bring our best game tonight.”

Paige does not seem to be listening, her eyebrows a little furrowed as she responds to a text on her phone. Azzi can feel her blood pressure spike. 

“Paige,” she says, and Paige’s head lifts immediately, the look she sends Azzi endearingly nervous. “As far as I’m concerned, this is a competition,” Azzi continues, very seriously. “And if I lose to Jayden of all people, I’m killing you and then myself.”

Paige slides her phone into her back pocket as the elevator doors open, and takes Azzi’s hand again instead, pulling them both towards where her car is parked. Her thumb is tracing small circles over the back of Azzi’s palm, a motion that she assumes is meant to be calming. Insultingly, it works, the tense slope of Azzi’s shoulders relaxing into a less rigid line. 

“It’s fine,” Paige says. “I’m sure we’ll nail it.”

“That’s a lot of baseless confidence,” Azzi says. “Especially for someone who can’t lie.”

Paige only sends her that familiar exasperated look as she starts the car, like she can see right through Azzi’s bullshit but likes her anyway. Azzi smiles back, a little helpless in the face of that familiar affection.

By the time they arrive at Geno's house, the effect has worn off, and Azzi is a stretched out ball of nerves all over again, her leg bouncing against the floor of the car so fast it’s nearly vibrating. 

“Seriously,” Azzi says again, grabbing onto Paige’s sleeve as she moves to open the car door, the two of them still parked in Geno’s driveway. “If they ask any serious questions, I’ll take it. You just- tell the truth unless absolutely necessary.”

“I’m not that bad at lying,” Paige complains, but Azzi isn’t amused, her hand still tightly gripping Paige’s sleeve.

“Hey,” Paige says, a little softer, and extricates her sleeve from Azzi’s grip, just to replace it with her own hand. She lifts Azzi’s hand up, and presses her lips to the knobby bone at Azzi’s wrist, looking back up at Azzi with a smile. “Relax. It’ll be fine.”

Azzi tries to maintain a scowl, but her hand untenses in Paige’s grip, against her will and she gives in.

“Fine,” she says, ungracious but accepting. “But if this all goes wrong, the murder-suicide is still in the plans.”

“Like you could kill me,” Paige snorts, and Azzi makes a sharp dissatisfied noise as they both finally exit the car, a large wrapped bouquet of orchids in Paige’s arms.

“I so could.”

“Maybe if I let you,” Paige says.

“Paige, please you would let me do anything to you.”

“Oh my god Azzi! We are just about to go inside, and you insist I’m the vulgar one” Paige complains as she rests her head on the wheel before they get interrupted.

“I thought I heard yelling,” the old man says, the sharp clean lines of her white haircut unforgiving against the bright light shining from behind her, the doorway lit up against the darkness of the night sky. “Azzi, is the impression you want to make on your guest?”

“Sorry,” Paige says instantly as Azzi scowls, her head bowed.

Geno’s expression changes so fast it’s almost comical, a beaming smile overtaking the thin, wrinkled face as she turns to Paige.

“No, no,” she says dismissively. “Don’t apologize. I know an Azzi antic when I see one. It’s good to meet you. Please, come inside.”

“She started it,” Azzi mutters, only a little sullen as the two of them enter the large house, the foyer illuminated in white by bright lights set into the high ceiling. Her breath leaves her with an ‘oof’ as Paige elbows her gut in silent response, smirking at the betrayed look Azzi sends her.

“Nonsense,” says Geno, who has apparently decided to miss that entire interaction. “Here, let me take your jackets.”

“It’s alright,” Paige says quickly, and smiles that white smile again and Azzi is suddenly struck by the image of a newspaper ad, ‘Perfect Girlfriend’ scrawled in large expansive lettering over the top. $9.99 a month. 

“I brought flowers,” Paige says, doing nothing to dispel the image, and holds out the bouquet. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh,” Geno says, and takes the offered flowers. “These are lovely, thank you.”

Azzi is expecting Geno to return to the kitchen to put away the flowers, leaving her some time with Paige in the hall before the trial begins, but the man just lingers, watching Paige hang up first her jacket, and then turn to Azzi for her. 

“You’re so polite,” Geno croons in a voice that Azzi considers unseemly for a man of his age. “Not at all like the last girl Azzi brought home.”

Both Azzi and Paige freeze, Azzi in the middle of handing her jacket off to Paige. 

“I was fifteen,” Azzi splutters, blood rushing to her face. She feels hotter now than she ever did with the jacket on.

Paige places the hanger with Azzi’s jacket into the closet, her voice seemingly casual, but Azzi can hear the glimmer of laughter underneath her words. “Oh, really? What happened?”

“What didn’t?” Geno sighs dramatically, leading them into the kitchen where Jayden is seated at the stools lining the kitchen island, slicing up cucumbers for the salad. “Never said thank you or please, stared at the wall the entire night. She wouldn’t have brought flowers. Actually, I think she stole my vase.”

“She did not,” Azzi says, and then pauses. “She probably didn't.” She amends.

“Do you see?” Geno says, and Paige nods. Azzi takes the opportunity the instant the older man turns her back to elbow Paige, returning the favour from earlier with a bright smile on her face as she drives her elbow into Paige’s stomach. 

Paige wheezes and manages to disguise it as a cough when Geno turns back around. The wide table is already set, and the four of them start to settle around it, Jayden bringing over the salad, surprisingly quiet. 

They manage to make it to the end of dessert without incident.

“It’s alright,” Geno is saying graciously, now empty bowls sitting in front of them. “Now is the time to make mistakes. Around your age, I got engaged to this lovely young woman. Turned out, she was already married.”

  Paige gasps and Azzi thinks about banging her head on the table. 

“Not this story again,” Jayden says glumly. “Please.”

“She was married,” Geno says, and pauses for dramatic effect. “To an Earl. In England.”

Jayden and Azzi groan in unison. Paige, damn her, seems genuinely interested, her mouth dropping.

“No,” she says, hushed. “And you had no idea?”

“None,” Geno says, puffed up with the pleasure of a willing listener. Both Jayden and Azzi exchange long-suffering looks over the dinner table, and for a moment it feels normal, for the two of them to be complaining light-heartedly as the old man relays a story both have already heard too many times. Then Jayden’s eyes cut to the side, where Azzi’s hand is resting next to Paige’s on the dinner table, their pinkies interlocked. His expression hardens, leaving Azzi blinking. 

“So, how did you two meet?” He asks loudly, cutting off a question Paige had been asking. Geno frowns at the interruption, but also turns to the two of them, looking between expectantly. 

“We skate at the same rink,” Azzi says, taking a careful sip of water. “We ran into each other all the time. Practice times overlapped sometimes.”

“Ah, go on,” Geno says, looking unfortunately engrossed. “Tell us the details.”

Azzi forces a little laugh, her hand on the glass tightening. She’s talking to Geno but she can feel Jayden’s eyes on her, stinging wherever they reach.

“It’s nothing interesting,” she says. “We got along, I asked her out, we went to dinner.” 

“Ah,” Geno says, lying back in his chair a little. “How unromantic.”

“It’s still pretty new,” Azzi says. She thinks she might be starting to sweat.

As if on cue, Paige’s hand wraps around her fully, squeezing a little before letting go. 

“Azzi is answering all the questions,” Jayden says, a sharp smile directed at the two of them. “We could at least let the paige talk a little.”

Azzi thinks about propelling herself over the table, and slamming her fist into that smug little face. It’s a comforting image, if nothing else.

“Hm?” Geno says, looking between them. “How did you meet Azzi, Paige? What did you think?”

“I don’t-” Azzi starts, her voice a little high with nerves, but Paige just squeezes her wrist again, gently. 

“I thought she was beautiful,” Paige says, before Azzi can start to panic. She smiles at Azzi and adds, “And very talented, of course. Maybe a little sharp around the edges, but it was part of the appeal. And I knew I had to talk to her that day, or I’d regret it forever.”

Azzi’s face feels burning hot. She thinks it’s probably a good thing Paige isn’t holding her hand anymore, because her palms feel clammy.

“What?” She asks and her voice sounds shaky in her ears. 

“That’s romantic,” Geno says, nodding. She says something else and Azzi can hear Jayden’s voice, but it’s all faded a little to background noise, as she stares full-on at Paige’s profile, turned away from to address a comment Geno made, and Azzi feels like her heart is going burst entirely out of her chest.

“I’m going to go take a breath,” she says abruptly, standing up. “Outside. Be right back.”

She can feel everyone staring at her, but at this point, she’s pretty sure her face can’t get any more red than it already is. 

She steps out into the night, the glow of the porch light dancing across the wooden slats at her feet. It’s happening again, she thinks, where just as soon as she’s starting to feel like she’s got everything under control, scheduled neatly into her calendar, Paige comes along with that honest little smile and her dimples flashing and Azzi starts to feel like she’s swirling apart again. 

Footsteps sound behind her, and Azzi turns, mostly expecting to see Paige or maybe Geno, come out to fetch her again.

“Hey,” Jayden says, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He looks uncomfortable, standing just outside the door, shorter than Azzi remembers him being. 

He doesn’t say anything at all, just raises an eyebrow, leaning back to brace his elbows on the porch fence behind him. 

“You guys make a good couple,” Jayden says finally. 

Something flutters in Azzi’s chest. “What?”

“You look right together,” she says, and motions with hi hands. “You fit.”

Azzi can’t think of anything to say. Oh God, it’s over, she thinks, with a burst of relief. And then again, with an overwhelming panic. It’s over. 

“I-” Jayden rubs at the back of his neck, and Azzi just stares. “I’ve been a little overbearing, I guess.”

“Overbearing?” Azzi repeats scathingly. “You mean the blackmailing me into hanging out with you?”

Jayden seems like he’s trying to put on a good show of repentance. “I just, I didn’t want to lose, so I kept pushing.” 

Azzi tilts her head back and stares at the sky. A month and a half of effort, gone in two minutes. What, her mind whispers to her, do we do now? A bright star twinkles down at her unhelpfully.

“Whatever,” she mumbles out loud and pushes her way past Jayden back into the house. 

Azzi returns to the dining room and starts clearing the table without being asked. She stands in the kitchen and doesn’t wash a single plate, just stares at the delicate china Geno had brought out specially for meeting Azzi’s girlfriend and thinks about how unfair and awful life is. Bitterness is creeping up her throat, long tendrils threatening to choke her out entirely.

Paige comes to meet her in the kitchen after a few minutes, her arms wrapping around Azzi, enfolding her entirely as her chin comes to rest over Azzi’s shoulder. 

“Hi,” she says.

It’s always been in Azzi’s nature to poke at barely formed scabs, ripping her cuts open before they’ve had a chance to heal. She doesn’t pull away from Paige’s arms. 

“Hi,” Azzi whispers, turning her head to plant a small, clumsy kiss to her forehead. 

Paige pulls away, and stands beside Azzi instead, her back leaning against the edge of the counter. “You good?”

Azzi grins, and swallows down the acrid taste at the back of her tongue. “Are you? I thought you were a bad liar, what was all of that back there?”

Paige flushes slightly, red creeping up her neck. Her eyes leave Azzi’s to look at the plate in her hands instead. “All that hanging out with you has made me a worse person, probably.”

Azzi sets the plate down and pretends to swoon dramatically into Paige’s chest, who rolls her eyes, but grabs her arms anyway, steadying her.

“Oh no,” she warbles piteously, fluttering her eyelashes. “What will your teammates think of me, now that I’ve tarnished their precious golden girl?”

Paige reaches up and pinches Azzi’s nose. “Gold doesn’t tarnish,” she says, ignoring Azzi’s nasally protests.

Azzi pulls away and pouts, rubbing at her nose. “I’m just a special influence, Paige.”

“You’re a special something, for sure,” Paige says dryly.

Azzi makes a face at her, and turns back to the dirty dishes, still waiting for her.

“Are you alright?” Paige’s voice asks again from behind her. “I saw Jayden follow you out. I didn’t want to step in. What did he say?”

“Oh, you know,” Azzi says feebly. She gives up, and turns on the warm water, starts scrubbing the dishes. “I’ll tell you later,” she says to Paige. 

She wonders, not for the first time, if Paige’s got a superpower that lets her know how far Azzi can be pushed at any particular moment, because she doesn’t say anything else. She just nudges Azzi a little to the side with one heavy hip, until both of them are standing side by side, washing dishes in the silent kitchen. 

A clock in Azzi’s head is keeping time in the car ride home, tick-tick-ticking away the moments before they’re back and Azzi has to confess. It’s over, she thinks again. It was always going to be over, she reminds herself, but it doesn’t help. Even if she keeps this quiet, the two months will pass.

Azzi’s dreams have always been so huge but recently they’ve started to seem so small. Not the far away pressure of a medal around her neck, only the image of a kitchen in the early afternoon, warm hands around her waist, gentle lips on her. A breakfast set out for two. She isn’t sure what she’ll do if that slips away again.

“Paige,” she says when the car finally stops in front of her apartment. “Guess what?”

There’s a terrible sort of lingering stillness in the car, like Paige can sense that something is wrong.

“Jayden said we were a cute couple,” Azzi says, as casually as she can manage. She’s watching Paige’s face carefully, searching for a reaction, but she can’t tell if her expression really changes or if Azzi’s just seeing what she wants to see. “I think she’s going to back off. So we’re good now.” 

“Oh.” Paige says. And that’s that. 

She expects, despite herself, for Paige to follow her out of the car, maybe just to talk, maybe to say a goodbye. 

She hasn’t even made it into the building before she hears the car start to move, driving off. 

Sure enough, when she turns around, the street is empty.

Because the world is conspiring against her, the elevator is out of service.

 Azzi climbs up five flights of stairs slowly, thinking about what she’s going to do now. The stairwell is abandoned this late at night, everybody else in the building already asleep. 

She had known this was going to happen. She had planned for this happening. Their relationship had come with a deadline and she had known it was eventually going to run out. She had made a plan, and the plan was fucked now because Paige had said not a single thing when Azzi had told her they could end their fake relationship, hadn’t even stuck around to watch her leave.

“If she doesn’t even want to be friends,” she says to a bleary-eyed Kaitlyn, standing on her doormat. “What am I supposed to do then?” 

Kaitlyn isn’t wearing any pants, and her eyes are halfway to closing before Azzi’s even finished her sentence.

“Hang on,” she says, and turns her head to the side to yawn wide, jaw cracking. “Okay, come on.” Ushering Azzi back into her own apartment.

Inside her apartment, Kaitlyn hears her out, splayed out on Azzi’s floor, nodding sleepily as Azzi explains.

“This problem is stupid,” Kaitlyn says, like she always does. Azzi is lying on her couch, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling again. It really is such an ugly ceiling. 

“Tomorrow,” Kaitlyn is saying. “Just talk to her.”

“But-” Azzi starts and Kaitlyn cuts her off. 

“If she really doesn’t want to be friends at all, I’ll call all the magazines I can think of and tell them she’s really bad in bed or something.”

Azzi pauses and contemplates this. “Promise?” She asks eventually, and Kaitlyn groans where her face is half-mashed into the floor. 

“We can do it together,” she promises. 

“Ugh,” Azzi says, and rolls over on her couch and gives in to sleep. If she’s going to cry, she tells herself, might as well do it tomorrow.

When she wakes up, it’s not to the shrill piercing noise of her alarm, but to the equally shrill and piercing sound of her phone ringing. She’s still on her couch, and the apartment is still dark, the sun not yet risen. It could only have been a few hours since she got home. The ringing cuts off, and then starts up again.

“Azzi,” Kaitlyn says warningly, her eyes still closed, her face still buried in Azzi’s carpet. “Either you pick up that fucking phone, or I’m going to shove it so far up your ass, you’ll feel it ringing in your throat.”

Azzi leans off the couch to pick up the phone, rubbing the sleep crust out of her eyes.

“Hello?” she says into the phone, not bothering to check the caller ID, more irritable than normal.

“Azzi?” Paige’s voice says over the phone, and it’s so unexpected that Azzi almost misses that she’d said her first name.

“Paige?” She asks, wide-awake now.

“Can you let me in?” Paige asks. “To the apartment building, I need to-”

“Yeah,” Azzi says, stumbling over to where the buzzer sits. She presses. “What are you- Paige?” The line’s gone dead. 

“Oh my God,” Azzi says, staring at the phone in her hands. Her phone log is open in front of her, confirming that it hadn’t been some kind of longing-induced dream. “Oh my God,” she repeats.

“What’s happening?” Kaitlyn asks from behind her. She hasn’t moved at all, as far as Azzi can tell. If she wasn’t speaking, Azzi would worry that she was dead.

“You need to get out,” Azzi says, still staring at her phone in disbelief. She looks over and Kaitlyn is still unmoving. “You have to get out,” she says again, running over to pull Kaitlyn up and out of her carpet.

“You are-” Kaitlyn scowls as Azzi tries to push her out the door with both hands at her back. “You are ungrateful, that’s what.”

“I’ll buy you dinner,” Azzi says desperately. “Anything, seriously, but you have to get out.”

“Hm,” Kaitlyn says, ignoring Azzi’s attempts to throw her bodily at the door. “Alright. If you insist.”

Just before the door closes behind Kaitlyn, Azzi hears her whistle. “Hey Paige,” she hears Kaitlyn call cheerfully, just outside her door and before Azzi’s had the time to process what that means, someone is knocking at her door. 

When she opens it to see Paige, she starts to wish that she had spent her time brushing her hair instead of kicking Kaitlyn out. Or maybe her teeth. 

Her only consolation is that Paige looks equally haggard, hair even messier than usual, her eyes looking wild as she takes Azzi in, her chest heaving with exertion.

“One more date,” Paige says. She’s breathing hard. “Rule number four. You still- We still have one more.”

Azzi’s eyes couldn’t open any wider if they tried. A painful hope is springing up in her chest, pushing against her ribcage until it aches. “Did you run all the way up here?” She manages to ask, her head still in a daze.

“Your- fuck-” Paige is still panting, bracing her hand against the doorframe, but she laughs, breathless and a little nervous. “Your elevator was broken.”

Azzi can’t tell if she wants to laugh with her or cry. “I live on the fifth floor,” she says, instead of doing either.

“I just needed to tell you,” Paige says, straightening up fully and Azzi thinks that she looks dazed too. “I had to tell you-”

It’s all Azzi can take, all she needs to hear, her heart hammering in her chest. “Wait, stop!”

Paige is staring at her, and it’s an awful expression on her face, one that Azzi’s never wanted to see, like something is falling apart in front of her. 

Azzi doesn’t bother trying to explain any further. Azzi grabs Paige’s face and brings their lips together, so hard it hurts. 

Paige makes a sound against Azzi’s lips as their teeth knock together, her pointy canines digging into Azzi’s lower lip.

“Okay,” she says, pulling back. She’s laughing again, the soft puff of air hitting Azzi’s skin. “Okay.”

She cups Azzi’s face in one hand, hardened calluses meeting soft skin and gently, so gently, tugs her back in, smiling against Azzi’s mouth. 

This kiss is easier, in that it tastes less like blood. Paige’s lips are sweet, soft and plump and red, and she’s hesitant in a way Azzi’s never known her to be before, as she licks over her bottom lip, pulls Azzi even closer with a hand on her waist. Until they’re pressed up tight together, one of Azzi’s hands bruising her shoulder, the other tight on the back of her neck. Until Azzi’s tongue is in her mouth, tasting coffee and mint, feeling Paige’s body shudder against her, her hand opening and then closing tight around Azzi’s waist.

When they pull away, Azzi keeps one hand on her sleeve.

“I like you,” she says defensively, and Paige looks like the breath in her lungs has left her all at once. “I like your face. I like your arms. I like it when you wake up before me and you get ready without turning the lights on so you don’t wake me up. I like it when you carry my bags without me asking even though I’m a professional athlete and carrying heavy things is like, 45% of my life. I like the way you put your hand on my thigh when you’re driving. I like that you have piles of tickets in your car and I like that you call your mom every Sunday-”

“I get it.” Paige says, looking mortified. 

“Do you?” Azzi says. “Because, just so you know, you are completely ruining my six year plan.” 

“Okay,” Paige says, her voice muffled from where she’s covered her face with her hands. “Maybe I don’t get it.” 

“My six year plan,” Azzi wails. “You aren’t supposed to confess until the second year.”

Paige’s hands lower as she considers this. It’s a testament to how well Paige knows her, maybe, that she manages to piece together what’s happening, regardless of how objectively batshit it is.

“Do you want me to wait a year?” She asks, grinning again. Her ears are bright red.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Azzi says, “You are ruining my life. Just- hang on. I need to show you something.”

Azzi’s got one hand on Paige’s wrist, leading her into her apartment, and Paige comes easily, like she has nowhere else to be. Azzi swallows down the lump in her throat, and takes them both to her bedroom, opening up drawers until she finds the notebook she’s looking for, passing it over to Paige who takes it, confused.

Those furrowed lines between her eyebrows only deepen as she opens the book, scanning down a long page covered in Azzi’s handwriting.

“Every time you did something that made me think I loved you, I wrote it down,” Azzi says, her eyes burning holes in her stupid worn out carpet. “So I wouldn’t say it out loud.”

Silence settles over the two of them like a heavy blanket, stifling and hot. Azzi lets it sit, doesn’t dare to move, holds her breath, until she can’t take it anymore and looks up. 

“Are you crying? ” She asks, her eyes widening. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Paige snaps, not even bothering to wipe away the tears resting in the corners of her eyes, poised to fall. She’s still looking through the second page. “Why would you- why wouldn’t you say any of this before?”

“I don’t know!” Azzi says, slightly alarmed by the tears that are now fully rolling down Paige’s cheekbones. “Please don’t cry. It makes me feel icky.”

“You stupid- God, I don’t even have a word for you right now,” Paige tells her. “There are- you’ve written pages in here.”

“I only started writing in it about a few weeks ago,” Azzi says helpfully. “Otherwise I would have more.”

“At no point,” Paige asks incredulously, “did it occur to you that maybe it would be easier if you just said these things to me?”

Azzi frowns. “I didn’t know if you- you know. Are you?”

“Obviously I’m in love with you,” Paige says, and Azzi feels like all the strings holding her up have been cut at once. “Who would agree to this whole fake-dating thing if they weren’t?”

Azzi thinks that that is almost insulting, but she doesn’t have it in her to feel offended, just feels a bone-melting relief, sagging against her bedroom wall. “You said you couldn’t think of a better solution.”

“There is always a better solution,” Paige tells her, and she’s laughing as she says it, finally wiping her wet eyes, which makes Azzi laugh with her. 

“Sorry,” Azzi says, and because she’s pretty sure she’s allowed to, she presses her hands to Paige’s cheeks, and kisses the divot right between her eyebrows. “Sorry,” she repeats. 

Paige puts her hands up to Azzi’s face, and they must look ridiculous, both of them holding the other’s face between their palms, grinning like children.

“Azzi,” Paige says, very seriously. “Do you want to be my-”

“Agh!” Azzi cries, and tackles Paige onto her bed. Paige groans as she falls heavily onto Azzi’s covers, her hands flying up to Azzi’s wrists, Azzi’s hands on her chest, Azzi’s knees digging into the mattress on either side of her thighs. 

“You already ruined my six-year plan,” Azzi says, pressing down on Paige’s chest. She pretends that she is not effectively groping Paige’s tits right now, but she’s not sure if she’s fooling anyone. “Just let me do the asking.”

 Paige’s hands move from Azzi’s wrists to her shoulders, and she pulls Azzi down towards her, rolling them both over, a hand cradling the back of Azzi’s head. She looks down at Azzi from where she’s straddling her thighs and grins at the flustered expression on Azzi’s face.

“You asked for the fake relationship,” she reminds Azzi. “It’s my turn.”

“It’s not a competition,” Azzi lies. “And fake isn’t equal to real. That was more like a business pitch.” 

Paige only smiles at her, sharp and knowing, and that wasn’t what Azzi had wanted at all because she can feel her slick stir at the sight. 

“It was all business to you?” Paige asks, bending over Azzi, a mocking tilt to her lips, to the arch of her eyebrow. “Really?”

Azzi opens her mouth to respond, but Paige’s already got her mouth on Azzi’s skin, her tongue darting out at the sensitive spot under Azzi’s ear until she’s got Azzi arching up underneath her with a strangled cry, grinding against Paige’s thigh to try to get some friction. Paige’s hands are pushing her shirt up, fingers rough against her abdomen, a sharp contrast to the soft kisses she’s leaving down Azzi’s neck.

Azzi has the sudden, vivid thought that if she comes just from this, she’ll never forgive herself. 

Then Paige’s mouth is at the creases of her thighs, teeth digging in just a little into where the flesh is softest, and Azzi stops thinking all together. 

Once the sweat and cum are drying on their stomachs, Paige looks up at her, and Azzi thinks that she’s lost the battle and the war. 

She moves in for a kiss, but Azzi pushes her face away with one hand, the other draped over her eyes, too jittery for her own good. 

“I’m not going to lick my own cum out of your mouth.”

She can feel Paige twitch against Azzi’s thigh at that and Azzi lifts her arm to squint at her, levels her with the best unimpressed glare that she can manage with her body still feeling so jelly-like and her heart still beating so fast. “Really?”

Paige just laughs, and pulls Azzi’s hands away and to the side, so she can look her straight in the face, can see her own expression reflected back in Azzi’s eyes- a little nervous, but grinning so wide her cheeks hurt. She places a gentle kiss on the soft skin of Azzi’s cheek.

“Go on, then,” Azzi says, the glumness in her voice offset by the brightness of her eyes as she looks up at Paige. “I know when I’m beaten.”

“Azzi,” Paige starts. She stops, and tries again. “Azzi.”

The Azzi in question groans at the sound of her name, and Paige keeps her hands around her wrists.

“Azzi, I love you,” she says, and Azzi huffs, the warm air hitting Paige’s chin. “I’ve loved you for a while now, I think.”

She lets go of Azzi’s wrists, moves her hands to cradle Azzi’s face instead. Azzi knows how she must be feeling, because she’s feeling it too. Her throat feels scratchy, the culmination of so much longing suddenly real and staring her dead in the eyes, her eyelashes casting a shadow over her cheeks. It’s almost overwhelming. 

“Be my real girlfriend, okay?” Paige finishes lamely, sweeping Azzi’s hair out of her face, the tips of her ears burning hot.

“That was terrible,” Azzi says, but her voice sounds suspiciously wet. “Go brush your teeth so we can kiss properly.”

Azzi makes them both breakfast, and burns the toast when Paige distracts her halfway through. She doesn’t mind, the blackened bits can be scraped off, and the eggs still taste good. 

She’s expecting the doorbell, when it comes. Honestly, she’s impressed they managed to hold off so long. 

“How’s it going?” Kaitlyn says in Azzi’s doorway, attempting to sound casual, while leaning around Azzi’s body to get a glimpse inside. 

“Kind of early for a visit,” Azzi says, but Caroline is already pressing her way inside, curiosity blatantly etched on her features. 

“It’s fine,” Kaitlyn says, also stepping inside. Azzi sighs and moves to the side. 

“So, why don’t you want to real-date Azzi, huh?” Caroline is asking, clearly trying to loom intimidatingly over Paige. The effect is damaged by the flowery embroidered shirt she’s wearing, short at the ruffled cuffs, cropped to her midriff.

“Stop-” Azzi starts to say, trying to pull Paige away from the two of them. 

“She has good bone structure,” Kaitlyn interrupts, her hands reaching up from behind Azzi to grab her face, smushing it between her palms. “Have you seen her bone structure?”

“You guysh are th’ worsht,” Azzi says, her face still clutched in Kaitlyn’s iron grip. She pulls, until Kaitlyn releases her, and rubs her now sore cheeks, scowling. “We already- we fixed it. Jesus.”

“We could try a shovel talk,” Kaitlyn mutters to Caroline, both of them looking slightly disappointed, and Azzi scowls harder. 

“Get out already!”

“I have actual shovels,” Caroline tells Paige as a parting statement.

“Okay?” Paige says, bewildered. She turns to Azzi once the two of them have left. “Why was she telling me about her shovels?” 

“It was probably meant to be ominous,” Azzi sighs. “Caroline is terrible at ominous.” 

“It came across a little more like she was bragging about her shovels,” Paige says.

Azzi watches Paige- her girlfriend, her mind supplies, thrilled- get her stuff together, searching for keys in the pockets of pants that had been discarded. They’ve still got practice, Azzi thinks, a little loopy. After all that, and they’ve still got practice. Azzi will show up to the rink in the evening, and see a crowd of hockey players taking up space on the rink- always too slow to clean up- and one of them will be Paige. It seems too much to process. The sun has risen outside, painting Azzi’s apartment in golden light, her ugly ceiling and her cheap carpet, and the girl in the center of it. Azzi wonders if she should tell her her shirt is inside out. 

Paige looks up to see her staring, her eyes even more blue under this lighting, and that animated flash when she smiles- bright and bold, like she's just seen something good.  

[hope-for-the-planet]

I'm scared for the future. The year starts with WTF, trump is in the Whitehouse. They're are 3...no 4...Idfk how many wars and humanitarian crises. We're are 90s seconds (probably lower in 2025) to midnight on the doomsday clock. And the earth is getting hotter by the half-hour. I'm scared of dying and I'm pretty sure we're alone in the universe. So how in the flibity flabuty F**k! Do you stay so positive? (Genuinely I want to know)

Hi Anon!

This may not be the most satisfying answer, but a lot of it is practice.

Pivoting away from negative thought spirals, knowing when the despair is welling up and it's time to put the news down for a bit, being aware of the human tendency for negativity bias that feeds the media bias towards catastrophizing, seeking out stories of progress and people helping each other even if it's not glamorous or flashy or immediate. These get easier the longer you practice.

Truly, I have never been aware of how much this hope practice has paid off until this year. I won't say that I don't have bad days, but the strategies I have to deal with them and keep the bad news from driving me to disengagement feel like muscle-memory now.

I know this may not feel terribly helpful to you, but I say this to express that it is not some unique element of my personality that allows me to stay hopeful in the face of bad news--it is a skill that you can get better at too.

One really big part of this is to combat the bombardment of negative information by looking for positive information. News of progress, resistance, and people coming together to make a difference are a great place to start--but also hopeful and inspiring art (books, movies, TV shows, visual art, theater, etc.), research into human goodness and altruism, reading not just about the dark times in human history but also the times that people worked together to make things better. I just finished reading Hope for Cynics by positive psychologist Jamil Zaki, which I highly recommend if you feel like delving into the good side of human nature.

The more you train your brain to look for hope the more you will notice--one day you'll hear bad news and your knee-jerk reaction will be to turn towards possible solutions and wonder who is already working to make those solutions a reality.

I understand living in that place of fear and hopelessness--I have spent time there too and some days I still do. But hope is something worth working towards, even slowly and imperfectly. It doesn't just feel better to live in a world where you can see the possibility for things to be better than they are right now--it is the first step in being engaged in helping to make them better.

There are so many kind, brave, talented, imperfect, regular people pushing back against the bad things. None of us are alone. None of us have to save the world by ourselves. We only have to hope enough to be one small part of the process of making the world better than it would have been otherwise, in whatever ways we can.

[mdsbabygirl]

Cam girl!reader x bllk men

Synopsis: when the desperate and horny bllk men fall for the pretty cam girl

Featuring: Isagi Yoichi/Bachira Meguru/Chigiri Hyoma/ Yukimiya Kenyu/Alexis Ness/Michael Kaiser

Cw: SMUT MDNI, masturbation , porn addiction, jealousy, obsessiveness, egoistical men, horny men lol, reader is an adult entertainment worker, idk what else to add

ISAGI YOICHI:

Isagi isn't the type to fall for appearances. He'd usually value morals over looks, after all he's a gentleman that falls for a woman's inner beauty rather than how well she can ride cock; he thinks. He never imagined himself lowering at such a low, filthy level. Alas, the hormones got the better of him, so here he was stroking his cock in languid strokes, as he was watching your live. You were almost naked, if it hadn't been for those two tiny lace pieces covering your most sensitive spots, that you dared to call lingerie. You were so hot, hypnotizing your viewers with your body, voice and moves just like a siren, and Yoichi was yet another one of your victims.

In his dimly lit room, the air was thick with anticipation, he sat on the edge of his bed, his breath already coming in ragged gasps. His hand moved up and down his hard length as he jerked himself off, his browns furrowed in pure ecstasy as he was concentrated on the moans that escaped from the speakers. "Mmm, yeah... just like that..."

Isagi could have never imagined the extent of his lust for you, everyday logging into his account to see any updates on your upcoming live streams. He was addicted to you, he got high off the way you touched yourself, the way you rolled your hips while riding your dildo or the way you made ass bounce. He was utterly consumed by his cam girl's allure, drowning in an ocean of his own unquenchable desire. He felt rather possessive of you, referring to you as his girl, he'd mutter countless curses under his breath, imagining how much better he could make you feel. "That stupid toy doesn't know what it's doing." He'd say, leaning back in his chair, stroking himself faster as he watches you slide the pink dildo in and out of your wet pussy. Continuing to pump his cock, he watched intensely as you increased pace, your moans growing louder. "Damn, she needs a real man," he growls, his ego inflating alongside his dick. "I could ruin her pussy so much better than that dildo ever could." He'd groan as his cock twitches, spurting hot ropes of pearly cum on his abs, as he'd imagine how your pretty count would squeeze the hell out of him.

Bachira Meguru:

Bachira's routine changed significantly after his new discovery. Late night training sessions turned into him sitting in his dimly-lit apartment, eyes locked onto the laptop screen, transfixed on the cam girl dancing seductively on camera - his new obsession. His hand moved roughly over his cock as he watched her. "Fuck, look at those tits..." He was truly infatuated with the way you looked, particularly your boobs, he liked the way your nipples perked up in contact with the cold air, or when you pinched them with your fingers, enjoying the little mewled erupting from your delicious-looking lips.

Meguru's obsession deepens with each passing night. He convinces himself that you, with your seductive figure and sultry moves, were destined solely for him. Logging into your streams became his most sacred ritual, his heart racing when your flirtatious smile graced the screen. He'd call you "my angel," "my princess" while masturbating to your body. "None of those other viewers know how to appreciate her like I do... I'm the only one who truly understands her beauty." He'd coo, as he'd watch you rub your clit at a fast pace, rubbing his dick in erratic motions as his hips jerked upward, thick spurts of cum staining the PC's screen. He wished it was your face instead of that damn screen tho.

Chigiri Hyoma:

His fateful discovery happened one late night, when he was scrolling aimlessly on the internet, searching for something entertaining, he stumbled across a pretty cam girl's profile, your profile. Your captivating smile and heavenly body had immediately caught his eye. He was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Chigiri was into you a little more than he liked to admit. Sleepless nights he passed jerking off to your sexy dances streams, dilated pupils focused on every single move, every sway of your hips, every squeeze of your tits, every bite on your red lips, EVERYTHING .

Hyoma would click on your live stream, his eyes widening as you danced seductively in front of the camera. He felt his pants grow tight, his length hardening. "God, she's so hot..." He whimpered softly, unbuttoning his jeans to free his aching erection. His fist pumped wildly up and down his shaft, each stroke accompanied by a desperate whimper. "Ah, fuck... just like that, baby..." He gasped, imagining you riding him hard. His hips bucked erratically, seeking out a pleasure he knew only you could provide. He watched you, with half lidded eyes, his breath heavy as his fist never stopped moving. With a choked cry, Hyoma's release hit him hard. He came all over his hand and stomach, moaning out filthy praises. "Fuck, you're so perfect... I'd fill you up with my cum every day if you were here with me..." He cried out

Yukimiya kenyu:

Kenyu's eyes were glued to the screen, his breathing ragged as he stared at your ondulating figure. His heart ached with an unfamiliar longing, his thoughts spinning with the sinfulness of his obsession. "This is so wrong..." He whispered to himself, feeling ashamed by his actions. Much like Isagi, Yukimiya wasn't one to fall for such sinful temptations, his strong belief in god had made him immune to the greed and lust most people tended to fall for, he thought. Nonetheless, he was still human, having his own needs and desires. When he found your account he didn't think he would get so infatuated with you. Your body radiating pure sex appeal didn't really help his newfound kin to you, actually it turned it into a full on obsession.

Everyday, he'd sit at his desk watching you as his hand moved desperately up and down his length, each touch sending bolts of pleasure through his body. " She's so beautiful..." His voice cracked in need. He knew this was wrong, downright sinful, yet despite this inner turmoil he couldn't tear his eyes off of you. Kenyu's face was scrunched up in a mix of pleasure and guilt as he jerked himself off. His hand flew over his length, his breathing ragged and uneven. "I'm going to hell for this..." he'd moaned, his eyes fixated on your bouncing curves. Suddenly, wave after wave of agonizing bliss crashed over Kenyu. His cock throbbed intensely as he came hard, pearly essence spurting onto his abdomen. "Ahhh, fuck... I'm cumming. God forgive me..." He'd whine, throwing his head back as he'd imagine how he'd make love to you.

Alexis Ness :

Ness had stumbled upon your account by accident, a random click leading him to a world he never knew he needed. Your username, "SweetSiren," was etched into his mind, and your profile picture—a sultry pout and a glimpse of cleavage—had drawn him in like a magnet. He never imagined himself obsessing over someone else who wasn't kaiser, yet here he was palming his hard-on from his pants as he was looking at some of your pics.

Your streams were always packed with viewers, but Alexis felt like you were performing just for him. The way you arched your back, the way you bit your lip ever do seductively, the way you spread your legs so invitingly... It was all for him. Or so he liked to believe. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy..." He'd groan, finally freeing his aching erection from the restriction of his pants that had become a little too tight for him. His hand moved frantically over his hard length, imagining it was your touch instead. He moaned out loud, his voice laced with desire and need. "I'd treat you like a queen... give you everything you desire... but who else gets to see this beautiful face?" He moaned loudly, head thrown back. When he looked up to see more of your sexy features, he was met with other viewers' tips and comments, which made his jealousy flare up "Stupid perverts... She's mine! Only I get to see her like this..." He growled, his pace increasing as he jerked himself off violently. "When I finally meet you, I'll lock you away...nghh..ill make you mine Angel.." he'd whimper, hips jerking upward to meet his movements. "I'd make you scream my name every night, baby. Only I get to fuck that tight pussy..." Ness's fantasies ran wild as he stroked himself harder, his grip tightening around his shaft, making him cum violently, as thick ropes of creamy semen hit his toned abdomen, making his duck twitch in pleasure. He'd make you his one way or another, he just has to find a way to do so.

Michael Kaiser:

Michael Kaiser was a man of precision and strategy, both on and off the field. But when it came to his obsession with the cam girl, aka you, all logic flew out the window. He spent hours observing your streams, picking apart your every move, every facial expression. He wanted —needed— to know what things you liked and what not, he desperately sought the things that made your eyes roll back to the back of your skull, the things that made your toes curl and scream in pleasure.. he needed to know every little detail about you, his little slutty princess.

He'd tip you hundreds of dollars at a time, just to see you smile or hear you say his name. He'd request you to wear certain outfits, to say specific phrases, to play with particular toys... All to feed his insatiable obsession.

He'd sit in his dark room, the glow of his laptop casting eerie shadows on his face. His hand moved swiftly over his length as he watched you dance on his screen. "Say it..." He whispered, his voice hoarse as he stroked himself harder. You on the other line, just received another hundred dollars, which made you squeal in excitement, and at the same time bite your lips at your mysterious donor's request. You breathed in slowly, approaching the camera as you looked directly into it, "uhh.. Kaiser I want your cock so bad! Want it so deep inside me..." You moaned and mewled, all the while keeping your siren like allure, hypnotizing each and every one of your viewers, Kaiser included. His breath hitched as you teased you nipples, rolling them between your fingers. "Fuck... just like that," he moaned, his grip tightening around his cock. He imagined it was your hand, your mouth, your pussy wrapped around him instead of his own fist. With a stifled groan, Michael felt his orgasm building fast. His muscles tense, veins throbbing as he stroked feverishly, matching the rhythm of your seductive dance on screen. "Fuck... coming..." Several streams of hot cum shot out onto his stomach. "Jesus... baby..." He grilled, half lidded eyes glued to his screen as he watched you smile content as another very generous donation was made to you, "thank you so much Kaiser, you're such a generous Daddy!" You cooed, looking up at the camera with dolly eyes, all while he'd chuckle, ready for another round of masturbation.

© mdsbabygirl do not copy or translate my work without my permission

[bubblegum-bros-sys]

If I have to defend or explain myself for this post one more fucking time I’m actually gonna lose it

Can people not comprehend the fact that weird is not inherently an insult.

I am not saying these things necessarily have anything in common past being ostracized by general society

I am not saying any of these things are wrong or bad

I AM most of these things

Literally ALL I’m saying here is that I PERSONALLY don’t understand exclusionist culture because PERSONALLY I would never look at someone who is ALSO ostracized or oppressed or marginalized and tell them that their experience is wrong or fake, because I KNOW HOW THAT FEELS AND IT SUCKS

ALL I’m saying is that I PERSONALLY think it would be better if we were all more kind to each other

THATS what people are getting mad about, because either they’re misunderstanding what I’m saying or they’re straight up putting words in my mouth

Get your heads out of your asses, not everything is about you

“Here’s my bean soup recipe!!” “What if I don’t like beans?” Or “I like waffles” “oh so you hate pancakes?” Ass responses like get out of my face this post was NEVER that deep IM LITERALLY JUST ADVOCATING FOR KINDNESS AND COMMUNITY WHY ARE YOU MAD ABOUT THAT

Tbh the more “weird” a person is, the more I get confused when they don’t support other “weird” people

Like how can you be a system and alterhuman and objectum and autistic and trans and queer and schizophrenic etc etc but then be anti endo or anti “contradictory” labels

Like

Like dude those are our cousins what are you talking about

You’re weird as fuck why are you complaining about other people being weird in different ways tf

[minxipinxi]

If Anyone Is to Blame… It’s Infold

I just want to have an honest conversation with you all about the recent controversy surrounding Caleb’s myth in Love and Deepspace.

I know emotions are running high right now, and I completely understand why. I will talk about the situation and why I think this drama isn’t something that should divide us as a community.

Before I start, I want to make one thing clear: if anyone is to blame for this situation, it’s Infold, not the players.

The Issue: Why Are Fans Arguing?

So, for those of you who haven’t seen the leaks or don’t understand what’s going on, here’s the short version: Caleb’s myth storyline was leaked.

Because of this, the fandom has split into two sides:

🔹 Side A: Some Caleb fans feel like he’s being unfairly attacked and insist that since his character was in the game from the beginning.

🔹 Side B: Some Sylus fans feel like their love interest’s story is losing its uniqueness.

What’s been happening is that both sides are fighting each other, making accusations like:

👉 "You’re trying to take this away from my love interest!"

👉 "Stop being dramatic—Caleb’s myth was planned long before Sylus’s was released!"

And honestly? Neither of these arguments are entirely wrong. But neither of them actually solve the real issue either.

The Truth: This Was Infold’s Decision, Not Ours

Let’s take a step back and be realistic here. This is a game. It’s a story-driven game with deeply crafted characters, and the developers plan everything out far in advance.

That means:

✅ Caleb’s myth wasn’t just randomly thrown together at the last minute.

✅ Sylus’s myth wasn’t randomly thrown together either.

✅ These character arcs were conceptualized before the game launched on 18 January 2024.

So, the argument that “Caleb came first, so nothing was copied” isn’t valid—because both myths were planned before either one was ever fully released. If they are too similar, that’s not on the players. That’s on Infold’s storytelling decisions.

The Bigger Picture: Let’s Focus on the Real Issues

Instead of fighting amongst ourselves over which love interest "deserves" their myth more, why aren’t we focusing on the actual problems with Love and Deepspace?

🔥 The game still lacks grinding options for F2P players.

🔥 There’s a severe lack of accessories and customization options.

🔥 We still don’t have enough new story content for all love interests.

🔥 Infold has a pattern of ignoring community concerns.

At the end of the day, arguing over which character is getting "better" content is exactly what Infold wants us to do. It keeps us distracted from holding them accountable for things that matter.

We should be standing together as a community and demanding better for all our love interests—Caleb, Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, and the soon-to-be-revealed 6th love interest.

Final Thoughts

I get it. This is frustrating. I love all of them, and I understand why fans are upset. But the last thing we need is to turn on each other. Instead, let’s keep the energy directed where it belongs: at Infold.

[milessunflowers]

soulmate!omega!kimi antonelli with childhood best friend!alpha!reader who goes into heat for the first time and he's scared?

STOP THIS IS GONNA BE CUTE TRUST

soulmate!omega!kimi antonelli x soulmate!alpha!male!reader

synopsis: for as long as you have known each other, you've known you were soulmates. it was only a matter of time before you presented. what you didn't account for was how scary that would turn out to be

author's note: guys i swear ive been meaning to write, i just got so busy with school and extra curriculars but now that it is my spring break/holiday, i will hopefully write more! this is obviously going to be suggestive, so if you do not want to read, you can skip!

you guys have known each other your entire lives

and once you were old enough to really understand what a soulmate was, you guys instantly knew that tug between you guys meant you were soulmates

you would brag to schoolmates about it and were just so happy

when you reached grade 8, that's when you finally learned more about omegas, betas, and alphas, and what goes along with each designation

it wasn't a big deal to either of you because regardless you were destined to be together

you guys knew it would take a bit to present so you didn't even worry too much about it

that was until you noticed something different about kimi on a random thursday

he woke burning up and sweaty and needy

he was practically rubbing himself you

you panicked because you didn't know what to do

you hadn't even presented so how were you supposed to know how to take care of a freshly presented omega?!

you frantically searched google for answers and followed what it was saying

you brought him nesting supplies, made sure there was food nearby, and tried to find something to substitute for a knot

turns out, you only needed that substitute for a few hours because your soulmate's heat triggered your rut

freshly presented omega, meet your freshly presented alpha

it was a lot of fumbling and neediness

you were trying to fuck him gently but you also wanted to mate him so badly

kimi was begging you to fuck him harder and mate him

it was hard to resist mating considering you guys were soulmates but you didn't even have a chance to talk over mating before all of this happened

(you guys didn't mate the first time thank gosh because you wouldn't know what to do)

during the first small break, you managed to text beta!ollie to help you out since ollie had helped omega!paul and alpha!dino through this before

ollie is super good at taking care of you guys since he's the best friend any of you could ask for

he makes sure you guys have fresh nesting supplies, food, water, and anything else you need

he stays in the guest room while you guys are in heat/rut

he does have to wear headphones because he does not want to hear his best friends go at it

kimi is such a loud moaner, especially when begging for your knot

turns out, it feels amazing with your soulmate

during breaks when your knot deflates, you help kimi clean up a bit, rebuild a nest, and use the restroom before cuddling him

ollie does bring better food than the small snacks you had so you help feed kimi

who looks so in love and content that you just want to kiss him all over

and you do

it takes a week for everything to die down

on the final day, kimi and you just cling to each other and cuddle

ollie tries to coax you guys to the bath to clean up but kimi whines and you accidentally snap at ollie

ollie just sighs and gives up

you and kimi nuzzle together and scent each other for the first time

i feel like kimi would smell like the beach tbh

and you have never felt more protective of him

once you guys are back together, you do tell your parents so they don't worry then go clean up the bedroom

then kimi has to talk to mercedes about his heat cycle, to make sure they don't interfere with races too much

in the paddock now, you guys are more insufferable

you are always by kimi and kimi always has a hand around you somehow

to a lot of people, you just remind them of alex and george

funny enough, george claims kimi as his paddock pup so it makes sense

alex helps you navigate how it works being an alpha while george tutors kimi on how it works being an omega

they also tell you it's okay to be however this is just the basics

kimi honestly is more protective of you than him but that doesn't mean you don't snap at people when kimi is upset

the next time kimi is in heat, you don't go into rut so you panic again

you call alex and ask him what to do

alex hands george the phone and he tells you what you can do

it works for a while but the panic doesn't subside when kimi is still begging for more

you call alex again and he (sheepishly) explains to you that you just need to fuck him

you burn bright red and hang up, definitely embarrassed but it works

you can't look george or alex in the eyes the next time you see them (and the same goes for the next few weeks)

kimi teases you about it all the time until he has to call george or alex about your rut

then it's a back and forth thing

kimi always smells like you and you always smell like kimi

you guys are so smiley and happy together, especially after you guys mate later on

bigger smiles than ever

that really solidifies you guys being mini galex since george and alex had the same look you guys do

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile, @alex-wotton, @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[ghostgirl-22]

Patrick and Art jerking of together after Tashi got out of the hotel room…

Oh yeah! <3

CW: 18+ NSFW

—-

Art can’t help himself after she leaves, he’s still aroused even after Patrick slaps him. Probably even more aroused. He lays back on the hotel bed closing his eyes as he jerks off. Thinking about her soft lips, the feel of her tongue, the smell of her hair, the caress of her hand. And to a lesser extent Patrick’s tongue swiping along his lips, slipping in and out of his mouth. He tries to push that part out of his head.

Then he hears a contented sigh and blinks his eyes open turning his head to see Patrick settled next to him on the bed, hands down his shorts too. Art swallows down on a bit of jealousy and something else he can’t name as Patrick eases his big cock out. Just like always he’ll be the winner. He’ll actually get to be with her. For Art it’s only a fantasy.

Art jerks himself faster, more angrily and then Tashi and Patrick’s words fill his head. “Who finished first?”

“I think you did.”

God why’d he have to bring up that fucking story to begin with. Just to make Art seem like a pathetic fucking loser.

Art takes a deep breath and slows his pace just as Patrick lets out a soft moan. “Dude imagine if she stayed… god imagine if we took turns fucking her.” Patrick sighs.

Art bites his tongue, the idea of it alone bringing him too close.

“Or what if…” Patrick sighs. “God imagine both of us inside her fucking her at the same time. I’m fucking her pussy while you’re deep in her ass.”

Art shivers. It’s almost like he’s doing this on purpose so next time he can laugh and say Art couldn’t last, in front of her again.

“No I’d— I’d fuck her pussy,” Art whispers.

Patrick chuckles. “Sure man,” he says and lets out another soft groan. “I’ll take her ass any day of the week. I’d bend her over the fucking net.”

Art stops touching and grips the sheets. He’s just gotta outlast him. He’s just gotta fucking tune him out.

“Mm she was so into it. I thought she was gonna ask us to fucking jerk each other off. Imagine that.”

Art doesn’t know why that idea makes his tummy flip flop. Even without touching he jerks his hips a little.

“Or maybe she’d beg you to suck me so she could watch. Oh god.”He’s moving faster his breathing heavier, his big hand pulling hard at his enormous cock. Pearls of precum dripping from the tip, Art doesn’t know why his mouth is so wet. “Dude can you imagine?”

Patrick opens his eyes, and groans when their eyes meet. “Fuck man,” he reaches for Art’s cock. Art is surprised by himself because he doesn’t instinctively jerk away… no… he scoots a little closer.

Patrick jerking them both off, his warm heated palm feels so good. Art can’t help it, his eyes flutter closed as a desperate “oh fuck” escapes his lips.

“Mm thats right baby.” Patrick moans. “Imagine if she was watching us right now. Fingering her cunt. Oh fuck… she’s probably doing that right fucking now man. She’s probably so fucking wet.”

”Ohh… oh god…oh fuucck,” That’s the end for Art. He’s seizing up, shooting off sticky spurts all over Patrick’s solid grip.

“Mm fuck yes.” Patrick’s soft voice sounds again, he takes the now sticky hand he’d been using to bring Art off and uses it on his own cock, the stains of Art’s cum covering his length. He rolls on his side and starts kissing on Art’s neck. Art thinks he’s gonna pull away but instead he just lets out a soft moan as Patrick sucks on him like a vampire. Just a few more minutes and Art can feel Patrick’s heated, sticky cum wetting his thigh as he groans filthy swear words, lips pressed against Art’s skin.

“Mm, so fucking good,” Patrick sighs happily. “I fucking needed that.”

Art’s all tangled up and feeling so weird. He thought he very clearly wanted only her. Now he’s trying to understand why his body is also apparently very happy about the way Patrick’s fingertips are tracing light circles along his inner thigh.

“Mmkay I better shower. Big day tomorrow.” Patrick sighs, pushing himself up with a little grunt like it’s nothing.

”Yeah,” Art mumbles, suddenly annoyed again. It’s not a thing. No Patrick definitely just did all of that on purpose just to give him a complex. Just to fucking sabotage him and of course it fucking works. He feels defeated before he even steps out on the court.

[kaayyyys]

the walking dead

how Daryl Dixon would react to you having a nightmare

The humid Georgia night clung to the skin like a second layer, even through the thin cotton sheets. You shifted in your sleep, a low whimper escaping your lips. The dream you'd been lost in fractured, splintering into shards of terrifying memories. Faces of the dead, the screams of the fallen, the fear that never truly left – they all turned into a monstrous form in your mind.You jolted awake, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. A silent scream died in your throat. The room swam back into focus, the familiar, walls of the house on the Hilltop a stark contrast to the horrors you'd just escaped. Sweat slicked your skin, and you could feel the tremor running through you.Daryl stirred beside you, a low grunt rumbling in his chest. He was a light sleeper, because of many years of survival, always alert to any potential threat. His eyes, usually sharp and guarded, blinked open slowly, softening as they focused on you."You alright?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. His hand, calloused and strong, instinctively reached for yours in the darkness.You couldn't speak. The parts of the nightmare still clung to you, choking the air in your lungs. You just shook your head, the movement barely perceptible in the dim light filtering through the window.Daryl immediately sat up, his senses on high alert. He scanned the room, his hand reaching for the knife he kept under the pillow. "What is it? Walkers?" You squeezed his hand, trying to convey that there was no immediate danger, just the lingering shadows of your own mind. "No," you finally managed to say. "Just a…a nightmare."He lowered the knife, but the tension remained in his shoulders. "Bad one?" he asked, his voice softer now, laced with a quiet . Some things were too raw, too personal to put into words, even for Daryl. He seemed to understand, not pressing you for details. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Come here," he murmured, and pulled you closer.You nestled against him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and leather, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, slowly began to soothe the frantic pace of your own. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his body a warm, comforting shield against the lingering darkness.He didn't say anything, just held you. That was Daryl's way. He showed his love through actions, through his unwavering loyalty, his quiet strength, and his unwavering .You felt the knot of fear in your chest begin to loosen its grip. Daryl continued to hold you, his hand stroking your back in slow, rhythmic circles."You okay now?" he finally asked, his voice barely a whisper.You nodded against his skin. "Yeah," you murmured. "Better."He didn't let go. He just held you tighter, as if afraid you might disappear if he did. You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms, finding solace and comfort in the shared ."Thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.Daryl just shrugged, his cheeks flushed a faint pink in the dim light. "Nothin' to thank me for," he mumbled, avoiding your gaze. He would always be there for you, through thick and thin, in the face of walkers and nightmares, his love a quiet, unwavering flame in the darkness.He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a rare and tender gesture that spoke volumes. "Try and get some more sleep," he said. "I'll be here."And you knew he would be. You snuggled back down into the covers, feeling safe and protected in his arms. The nightmare still lingered in the back of your mind, but it no longer held the same power. You had Daryl, and that was all that mattered. He was the one person who could always chase away the darkness, even in the dead of night. With him beside you, you knew you could face anything. In his arms, you were safe. You were home. And slowly, you drifted back to sleep, this time finding peace in the quiet comfort of his embrace.

[monstersholygrail]

I've been working on stuff for uni and I just thought of something-

Yandere!university professor who does his very best for you to be accepted in his master program and his only.

He can't risk having you accepting another master program's offer, right ? I mean, how else is he going to keep an eye on you, make sure you're safe and succeed ?

But let's be honest here. Even if you don't end up passing your exams, it's fine. He's right there to take care of you after all, is he not ?

Yandere!University Professor x GN Reader

It took a great deal of work to manage to make oneself into a highly regarded professor at a prestigious university. If anyone were to even simply bring up Yandere!University Professor’s name, they’d hear that there was no better teacher than him. None more dedicated, caring, patient, understanding, and always incredibly helpful. They’d tell you that it was as though it was his calling. A perfectly gentle hand that naturally guided young and impressionable students on their way to a better future.

It was something he took great pride in. It was almost as though he had a six sense about these sort of things. Managing to spot star students right away and tucking them close under his wing where he could direct and nurture them. Ensuring them that he knew best, they should trust him, let him take care of everything. Then letting them go on their way, even if they were left a little uncertain. He had done his job right.

But all that changed when he first saw you nervously shuffle into his classroom. Apologizing to every student you accidentally bump into. Your mouth closing and parting as you hesitate to ask if anyone had taken this empty seat before promptly rushing over to an empty cluster of chairs. With you he didn’t see some star student who he could mold their future career plans for. No, you gave him a far more delicious challenge. He wouldn’t just mold your future, he’d mold your life. Your life with him.

He isn’t surprised to find you struggling with his course right off the bat. Far more early than is necessary for this type of concern, he comes to you, offering he tutor you. He’s helped so many before you, you can trust him to get you through the class. The best environment to learn is somewhere comfortable, so why not his home, right? Although you’re unsure at first, his assurances break you down. Before you know it you’re going over to his place nearly every night, studying well into the night. It only makes sense for you to stay, he couldn’t have you getting hurt out there.

As the weeks go on of course your fellow classmates begin to whisper. Trading rumors and gossip every time you pass them. You try not to let them get to you. You know nothings going on with your professor, the two of you always just study together.

Sure, he sits a little close to you on the couch, his arm curling around your shoulders and rubbing your back whenever you get an answer right. And yeah, sometimes you feel like you’re being watched by the painting of the man hung in the guest room. Maybe sometimes the two of you tire yourselves out so much studying that you both fall asleep and somehow end up tangled up in each others arms. But it’s all harmless! And he’s helped countless students before you, you have no reason to be suspicious. Not of someone who’s helped your grades go from scraping by to getting high marks.

With exams getting closer and closer you’re only feeling more confident in your abilities to succeed after this class. One evening you express just that to your Professor. Thanking him profusely for all the ways he’s helped you. Building you up so that you can finally start working towards your goals. You even mention to him a couple of masters programs you’re looking into after you finish. Some even as far as the other side of the country. A few of the Professors you’ve spoken with have already encouraged you greatly.

Something dark simmers in his chest at your words. It seems as though you’ve gotten a bit too confident in your abilities. Doing something as silly as going over his head and deciding things about your future that he didn’t agree to. And across the country?! There was no way. He has put in so much time and work with you, shaping you into the smart and accomplished young student you’ve become.

You couldn’t just leave him now. There was still so much work to be done. He wouldn’t be able to look out for you from so far. He couldn’t ensure your success because there was certainly no way you were achieving it on your own. You relied on him, you needed him. And he was going to remind you of that fact.

He made sure to be with you the moment exam scores hit. And when you immediately burst out into tears at the abysmal score painting your screen like a slap in the face of all your hard work, he is right there to comfort you. His arms curling around you in comfort instead of congratulations. The realization makes you sob even harder and his hand is cupping the back of your head and tucking you snugly into his neck. Letting your tears soak through his white button up shirt. When you try and lean back, insisting you’ll dirty his expensive looking shirt, he shushes you and pulls you back in. He couldn’t care less about the mess you make. In fact, he relishes in your tears. And how he’s the only one who could possibly make you feel better right now.

“Don’t mind the scores, darling. There’s always next time,” he murmurs soothingly. You’re so caught up in your grief that you hardly notice the way he pulls you into his lap, securing you safely against his body. “I-I know but the programs!” You wail in response and his hold tightens. Wishing you’d just forget about those blasted opportunities. You didn’t need them. Not when you had him.

He holds you for hours, softly rocking you on the sofa of his living room. Whispering soft praises in your ear while you cry and cry. He could hold you forever like this. So reliant on him. In such need of him. You couldn’t think for yourself, not like this. And right now, to him, you couldn’t be more perfect. He pulls you back and something wicked sparks inside of him at your whine, the way you push back as if wanting to return into his warm neck.

His smirk is clear on his face and he doesn’t bother to hide it. His eyes sparkle up at you in adoration as he brushes your hair away from your eyes. “What if your future wasn’t meant to be academic?” It was so cute the way your brows furrow, your pretty head totally empty in your confusion. “I think all of this happened to lead you back… to me. You needn’t worry about academics. All you need to be is Mine.”

Then he’s tucking you back into his chest before you can fully register what it is he’s planning for you. For your future. Your body tenses in his hold for a moment before you remember this is just what he does. He knows which paths his students should and shouldn’t take. He’s never been wrong about a student before. So how could he possibly be wrong about you?

A million thoughts are battling against each other in your head but you push all of it aside and melt back into his arms. Not wanting to admit the gigantic weight lifting off your shoulders as you start to envision the future your Professor’s molded for you. Suddenly none of it matters. Not the programs, the exams, the schoolwork, and all the stress that comes with it. All that matters is that you’re here with your Professor, just as you’re meant to be.

[angelrissa]

𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒄

𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒙 𝑭!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝟏 | 𝟐 | 𝟑 | 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅

Content: possible grammatical errors, slight sexual content, religious guilt + trauma, sheltered reader, retired Simon, no use of y/n, female reader, slight description of punishments, unhealthy mother-daughter relationship

The next time you saw Simon was through the delicate, sunny hues of your lace curtains, The afternoon sun streamed through the fabric, the sun's golden rays illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. You rested your elbow on the windowsill, your cheek cradled in your hand as you gazed out. You had been in that position since the moment you woke up, lost in thoughts as you watched the world pass by, you always seemed to admire life from this perspective anyway, this time it was literal. Each person who walked along the street outside seemed to carry a piece of the joy and freedom you longed for, but instead, a heavy sadness settled over you. It had been almost a week since your mother had seen you at the bar, a week filled with absolute isolation. You felt like a prisoner in your bedroom, confined to the four walls that had become your prison.

 Your door was locked from the outside, or maybe it wasn't. You tend to believe everything your mother says without questioning it, so even if you wanted to leave, you truly couldn't; you were too afraid to try anyway.

 She'd come in three times a day to spoon feed you like a child, this time it was more humiliating, she was belittling you and maybe you didn't have the guts to speak up about it, but you knew, just when you thought you'd get a break shed slip in twice to pray with you, once at night, the other right before she leaves for work.

 It only happened a few times but sometimes she'd walk into your room and just hold you, cradle you in blankets, and hold you like you were a baby again, maybe that's what she wanted most, a baby. Something she could completely control without it growing older, and defying her. The thought hung in the air, heavy with unspoken wishes and the realization that you were no longer that small child she once rocked in her arms nightly. Instead, you were becoming your own person, with feelings and desires that might one day lead you away from her grasp, and she refused to let it happen.

 She was quiet when she held you, Only the soft murmurs of her voice broke the silence, whispering sweet nothings about how much she loved you, how pure of a girl you were. But for the first time, her words twisted in your stomach, making you feel sick rather than special. They felt like chains, binding you to the person you no longer wanted to be. You didn't want to be her perfect little angel anymore, that role suffocated you. Instead, you longed to be a woman, someone who could stand on her own two feet, make her own choices, and navigate the world outside these four walls. 

As if conjured by your very thoughts, you catch a glimpse of movement outside your window. Your heart quickens, and you whip your head around to see him. Simon stands on the sidewalk beside your house, his presence drawing your attention. Sweat trickles down his forehead, glistening in the sunlight, and beads form on his exposed arms. He wore a loose fitting tank top and shorts that swayed with every step he took. His chest heaved up and down like he was out of breath, he was running, taking a moment to catch his breath before going for another lap around the block. It was the best thing you'd seen all week, you didn't understand why but the sight of him all sweaty and hot made the appeal of him even better. Your staring did not go unnoticed, he saw you from your window, gazing outside like a princess trapped in her tower. You looked extra sweet when he knew you were something forbidden from him, but like Eve and the apple, he'd have you anyway despite any repercussions.

 You were absolutely darling, the sweetest thing he's ever met truthfully, he wouldn't miss this chance to see you, after the incident in the bar you disappeared he didn't know when he'd get to see you again, this was his chance He trudges towards your window, stepping over the daisies planted delicately in your backyard garden, though he was clearly going for a run yet he wore black laced combat boots, something completely unfit for running. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you quickly straighten your posture, shifting from hunching over the windowsill to sitting up straight, your gaze fixed intently on him. You can't help but notice the way the muscles in his legs flex as he kneels against the dirt of your garden, a sight that sends a flutter of anxious excitement through you. You nervously give him a little wave, not sure what else to do, there's never been a man at your window, never mind Simon himself, you would've assumed he'd be completely uninterested in you the moment you were dragged away from Ellie’s. But he only tilted his head at you, raising a brow before tapping his finger against the window, a silent request to open up. You freeze, hands going slack in your lap, you quickly move to lift the window open as far as it can go, the creaking of the wood breaking the silence. Hearing his voice wouldn't be enough, you hoped he'd touch your hand again, like he did at Ellie’s, that touch single handedly made your heart race every time you thought of it, something so simple was enough to make you feel like you were falling in love.

 "Oh, well look at you love, thought you skipped town or something, I haven't seen you in a while" His voice is gentle, a playful joke that seemed to make your gut wrench, but it couldn't possibly hurt as long as the feeling came from him. You could make the feeling something you craved, something that could make you smile. 

He was so perfect to you and truthfully you hardly knew anything about him, you knew what color his eyes were, brown like the coffee your mother drank every morning., you knew the rumors he was a killer, but that couldn't be true, but you still wrote it in your journal every night. In case he left town one day, you needed to remember him. The one good thing left for you.

You doing alright, sweetheart? You go to nod but before you even could process, his fingers raked through the waves of your hair, it should've been casual, something you shouldn't have thought too much into but it made your heart beat pound in your chest. “Uh, well I guess I haven't been so bad” you murmur, glancing down at your lap, trying to pull your eyes away from his sweat glistening skin. Killbrough was a hot town, it wasn't uncommon to see people sweat, and if it were anyone else it would have grossed you out, you'd gag at the smell and walk a little bit further away from them, but the scent of him, hot with musk made your stomach twist.

"Not bad?" he questions, leaning closer to you through the open window.

"I guess so"

"Hm, talk to me" Sitting down on your haunches, your shoulders sagging at his words, your face isn't as bright as it usually is. Even when you were stuttering over your words and blushing like a maniac, you still seemed in a state of happiness or at least content. Not now, though. It was like a candle on its last day of burning, a bent wick just waiting to fall into the wax.

"Well, uhm...I don't really know what to say to you; I'm a little embarrassed," you utter, head tilted downward to your knees, eyes peering up through your lashes.

"Embarrassed, why are you embarrassed, love?" He almost laughs as if you said the most ridiculous thing in the world. How were you being tortured all week by the thought of your mother forcing you to cough up alcohol on the floor of the diner, how didn't he care, when that very moment replayed in your nightmares every night?

"Well you were there, mama, she-" "Shh, that wasn't your fault" He cuts you off. This felt wrong in so many ways, someone was defending you for a mistake you made, this had never happened, you were always to blame, and you knew it was your responsibility to admit to your sins and beg for forgiveness, that fact was drilled into your head since the day you shattered your mother's flower vase, sitting delicately on the coffee table, unaware of the small girl that would bump into it during an intense game of hide and seek. You didn't even register what happened till your mother sat you in an ice cold bath for your carelessness, the water making you cry and squirm from the feeling. Since that day you expected a punishment for every little thing, not once had anyone simply brushed a mistake off without severe punishment following.

"Glad to see you doing okay love, as okay as you can be at least" Simon was a hardened man, he's seen things no man should ever have to, felt things no human should. Yet with you, he was so soft, gentle, kind even, it shocked him sometimes, but he couldn't help it. The way you'd look at him with big Bambi eyes, stumbling around him on wobbly doe legs, too precious for a man like him, how was he supposed to be normal about you?

Honestly, he deserved something soft, a pretty supple girl who'd give him the chance to take care of her. You'd let him, of course you would, you needed him like you needed god, like how you relied on your mother for all these years. To you Simon was a real man, he was. Even your father couldn't compare to Simon, Daddy wasn't a man, he was a boy. A boy who selfishly took his own life and sent your mother down this religious spiral before his sweet angel was even born. But you never knew your father so what did that count? 

"Any clue when mommy dearest plans on letting you free?" 

"Not exactly...she says when I learn what it means to be a good daughter…I think I'm already a good daughter though" A little sniffle escapes your nose, you didn't mean to get emotional. Your lips wobbling, the bottom one protruding out in an anxious pout as you hold back the tears that threaten your waterline.

Simon couldn't tell if this was the right thing to do right now he could, and it was definitely not, but he did it anyway, was it selfish, maybe, But how could he resist when you were looking at him with teary eyes, your lashes clumped together and your lip caught between your teeth? You were a sweet girl in need of comfort. Is this not what you need? He leaned in and kissed you, rough pale lips pressing plush against your wobbly ones with the gentlest of urgency.

You were frozen, that's the best way to describe it, you didn't kiss back, you couldn't kiss back, your only experience was with the snout of a teddy bear in the dark of your bedroom, you didn't know how to. How Pathetic you think, a girl of your age freezing up during her first ever kiss.

You just sit there, lips parted, tears trickling down your face as his cheeks press against yours. He was so close to you, that it felt euphoric. No man ever dared to come near you to this extent with your mother hovering over your shoulder.

Your mother was constantly kissing your hair, your cheeks, your nose, a reminder of her love for you, but for all twenty three years of your life, your lips remained untouched by anyone. Was this really the way you wanted your first kiss to go? 

He pulls away, hands tangled in the messy locks of your hair, your isolation came with a restriction of your hygiene, mother not allowing you out of the room to bathe or take proper care of yourself,  you doubt you smelt anything near good right now, still Simon ran his tongue over your teeth like you were the only thing he wanted to taste ever again.

A gasp leaves your lips when he pulls away a short string of saliva momentarily connecting you to him. With your breath catching in your throat, you look down at your chest your cross necklace resting in the center of your cleavage, what sounded like a gasp left your lips as you grasped it, flipping the charm around to touch the back of your neck, but you still couldn't let out a sigh of relief, the cross felt like it was burning into your back, how could you ever allow something like this to happen.

With hardly any hesitation, your eyes brimmed with tears, and you let out a loud sob that made Simon flinch in surprise. He might have fully backed away from the window, but you practically threw yourself against the sill, arms outstretched toward him, silently screaming for his touch, 

A wave of guilt washed over you, it stabbed you in the stomach with the keenest of blades, you can't help but feel like one of the women your mother warned you about, not only from the kiss, but the kiss was the least of your worries, especially now when all you can think about was the heat between your soft thighs…lust.

You sob, rubbing your thighs together in an uncomfortable manner, craving at least a sliver of relief from this feeling. Thank God Simon wasn't looking down at your lap, the ledge thankfully covered the way your hand rushed down to press against your clothed cunt squeezing it in between your legs to soothe the ache

"So, was that kiss that bad love?" His voice tried to joke around, lighten the mood, lick your tears away, but he had an idea why you were freaking out like this. He didn’t spiral into a panic attack the first time he was kissed, or maybe he did, frankly, it wasn't something he recalled, but he could understand why you did.

Simon's question hung in the air, his face blank, as usual, but his eyes held care. You couldn't form words, could barely think. All you could feel was the burning cross on the back of your neck, the guilt in your stomach, and the disturbing feeling of heat between your thighs. Sure you remember your young curiosity the day you indulged in your pleasure, but that was years ago, after being caught you never did it again, you refused to, and Simon kissing you couldn’t change that.

You shake your head. Oh god, you didn't want to give him the wrong idea that you were ungrateful; you should be thankful a man kissed you. Without a word, your outstretched hands grip against the fabric of his tank top. You didn't need to say a thing. He seemed to understand what was going through your head because he leaned in towards you, making it easier to hold you through the window frame.

His hands stay tangled in your locks, scratching the skin of your scalp ever so gently, just like Mama, but this time it felt safe.

"D-Didn't want my first kiss to be like this..."

"Oh love…”

"D-Did I do good?" You murmur, knowing he'd either embarrass you or lie to your face

“Well, you didn't really kiss back, sweetheart, but it's alright. I didn't expect you to. Honestly, I thought you'd slap me.” He chuckles into the slight grease of your hair as you bury your face in his neck, the subtle scent of his workout still lingering.

"Id'e never slap you, I like your face too much"

"S' tha so?"

You sniffle, a small giggle escaping your lips as you lean back from his chest, still close but not quite pressed up against him. It was hard to be sad when he was like this, so effortlessly able to make you relax with his simplistic words

“Mhm, you have a nice face…” This was the closest to flirting you'll ever get, little awkward squeaks of affection.

“M’ glad you think so, you ever slap someone, love?” He questions, brow raising ever so slightly.

Well, no- but a slap from me could seriously mess you up” You laugh, lifting a hand to wipe your teary eyes, not quite fast enough for him to beat you to it, grazing his rough knuckles under your eyes, collecting the tears that leak from your eyes

“Oh yeah, I bet you'd do a lot of damage, pretty thing like you must have some strong hands”

The sound of a pleasant bell rang loudly throughout the town, it was a nice bell, with a pretty melody, and its chime was beautiful to tourists and visitors. But every time you heard it, your heart would drop into your stomach. It was the church bells, signaling the end of one service and the beginning of another, you wouldn't need to worry about it usually, you never attend a third service anyways, but this time Mother was there, she left you home for the hour while she attended service. 

If she were to walk home and see Simon kneeling in the garden, head through your window, you can't even imagine the horrific punishment that would be to come.

“I-i you have to go!” you blurt, hands reaching his chest, giving him a slight push before quickly standing up to close the window.

“Love, what's going o-”

“T-the bells, please Mama will be home soon, you cannot be here” Panic surged through you, your hands fumbling with the window screen as you tried to close it. Just as you managed to push it halfway shut, a large hand gripped the mesh, holding it open.

“Hey. calm down…okay-

“Simon, please!” you cried, desperation lacing your voice. “You can’t be here when she gets back. You don’t understand what she’ll do!”

He lets out a slightly irritated sigh before shoving the window screen up, leaning his head through the open window.

“Simon, I-”

“Shh, need a kiss from my girl before you kick me out”

You whine, shaky hands letting go of the screen “This isn't the time, Simon, please just go, Mamas coming home”

“I know, I know, just come here real quick” he whispers, gently taking your hands away from the window and pulling them against his chest, the soft rhythm of his heartbeat under your clammy palms. “Just a little peck to hold me over, don't know when I'll see you again”

Your cheeks flush, eyes softening at the tone of his words. Mama doesn't seem so important right now, nor do her rules, or the fear she induces with every step she takes. The bells aren’t so scary either, time seems too slow. Maybe this is what peace could be like, a life filled with stillness rather than distress. You kiss him. Its sloppy, shaky lips against the corner of his, you couldn't decide between his lips or cheek, which one would god hate less? The kiss is over as quickly as it began, pulling away and watching as a small smile stretches across his pale lips.

“Was I good this time?”

“Perfect.”

Taglist (always open!) : @ttznlettt | @your-internet-tenshi

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, please let me know if you have any ideas or feedback, I'm a newer writer so I'm open to criticism. once again I apologize for the insane delay (let me know if I forgot to tag anything, or if I seriously messed up any grammar)

wc : 3.3k