#it’s fine!! it’s fine I’m fine I’m normal. smiles

[paxtito]

pretty girl

pairings: wednesday x fem!reader

word count: 3685

warnings: smut 18+. just lesbian sex innit (w receiving)— (all characters are 18+)

summary: wednesday put together a little surprise date night, but, enid being enid, couldn’t keep it a secret

a/n: based on this request: ‘I love your writing and was wondering if you could make another smut fic with Wednesday? Maybe something sorta soft, honestly anything would do. Thanks!’ hope this is what you were looking for and thank you!! spent the day resting which gave me plenty of time to do this because my lil’ anger issues of a dog bit my cheek after wanting my birthday cake 😒

MASTERLIST

The morning air is crisp as you walk across campus with Enid, her usual vibrant energy making up for your grogginess. You clutch your coffee tightly, half-listening as she chatters about the latest gossip in the werewolf pack.

“And then Ajax tried to—are you even listening to me?” she asks, bumping her shoulder into yours playfully.

“Barely,” you admit with a small smile, taking another sip of your coffee. “It’s too early for full Enid mode.”

“Rude,” she pouts dramatically before grinning. “But fine, I’ll get to the point. I’m sleeping over at Yoko’s tonight!”

“Wait, what?” you ask, blinking at her. “Why?”

Enid’s steps falter, and she looks away for a moment, biting her lip. “Oh, uh, no reason!”

You narrow your eyes at her, immediately suspicious. “Enid…”

“It’s nothing!” she insists, waving her hands defensively. “Totally normal, just, uh, bestie stuff. You know, girl talk, vampire-werewolf bonding, that kind of thing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar.”

She groans, throwing her head back dramatically. “Fine! But you can’t tell Wednesday I told you, okay? She’d literally kill me. Like, for real this time.”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Wednesday. “What does she have to do with this?”

Enid hesitates, looking torn. “Ugh, okay, fine,” she blurts out, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “She’s planning something for you tonight. Like, a date night or something. She told me to clear out so you two could have the dorm to yourselves.”

A warm, unexpected blush creeps up your neck. “Wait… Wednesday planned something? For me?”

Enid nods, her grin widening. “Yup! And let me tell you, she’s been stressing about it all week. She even glared at me less than usual yesterday, so you know it’s serious.”

You can’t help but smile, your heart fluttering at the thought of Wednesday going out of her way to plan something for you. “That’s… actually really sweet.”

“Right? But don’t tell her I told you, okay?” Enid warns, gripping your arm. “She swore me to secrecy and gave me this whole creepy ‘I’ll bury you alive’ speech. Classic Wednesday.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good. Because I value my life,” Enid says with mock seriousness before breaking into a smile. “But seriously, I’m happy for you guys. She’s got a soft spot for you, you know.”

Your smile grows as you think about Wednesday, her deadpan expression softening ever so slightly when she’s around you, the way her hand lingers in yours when no one’s looking. “Yeah,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to Enid. “I know.”

As the two of you reach the doors to your next class, you can’t help but feel a little giddy. Whatever Wednesday has planned, you know it’ll be something only she could come up with—quiet, dark, and maybe a little macabre. And you can’t wait to see what she’s put together.

—

The afternoon sun filters through the classroom windows, casting a warm glow across your desk. Your fingers absentmindedly tap against the surface as you try to focus on the teacher's droning voice, but your thoughts keep drifting to Wednesday and the surprise she has planned for you.

Despite your best efforts to keep a straight face, a small, giddy smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You sneak a glance at Wednesday from the corner of your eye, trying to gauge her reaction.

To your surprise, she's already staring at you, her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. Your gaze meets hers, and you quickly look away, feeling your cheeks heat up under her intense scrutiny.

"You," she says flatly, her voice cutting through the monotony of the lecture. "Are you feeling alright? You seem... distracted."

You swallow hard, your mind racing for an excuse. "I'm fine," you manage, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. "Just thinking about the assignment."

Wednesday raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze bores into you, as if she's trying to read your thoughts.

You squirm in your seat, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope. You can practically hear Enid's voice in your head, warning you not to blow her cover.

But it's too late. Wednesday's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of panic crossing her face before she schools her features back into a neutral expression.

"Ah," she says slowly, leaning back in her chair. "Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

You bite your lip, wondering if you should press further. But before you can open your mouth, the bell rings, signaling the end of class.

Wednesday stands abruptly, gathering her books without another word. She brushes past you, her shoulder bumping against yours in a way that feels almost like a dismissal.

You watch her go, your heart sinking. You've blown it, haven't you? Ruined whatever surprise she had planned.

You scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over your chair in your haste. Your backpack slips off the desk, scattering your belongings across the floor.

"Wednesday, wait!" you call out, your voice echoing in the now-empty classroom.

You chase after her, weaving through the throng of students in the hallway. Your heart pounds in your chest as you catch up to her, reaching out to grasp her arm.

Wednesday whirls around, her dark eyes flashing with irritation. "What?" she snaps, her voice sharp.

You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I... I'm sorry," you manage, your voice coming out smaller than you intended. "I didn't mean to ruin your surprise. I just... I couldn't help myself."

For a moment, Wednesday just stares at you, her expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, her shoulders slump slightly, and she lets out a sigh.

"You're impossible," she mutters, but there's no real heat behind her words.

You blink, taken aback by her sudden shift in demeanor. "I... I know," you say softly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "But I meant what I said. I'm sorry."

Wednesday is silent for a moment, and then she nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Fine," she says, her tone grudging. "But don't think this means you're off the hook. You owe me one."

You grin, relief washing over you. "I can live with that," you say, your voice light and teasing. "So... are you going to tell me what you have planned, or do I have to guess?"

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of amusement in her gaze. "Guess," she says simply, before turning and walking away, leaving you to follow in her wake.

—

You stand outside Wednesday's dorm room, your hand hovering over the doorknob. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach.

Despite your earlier promise to keep quiet, you can't shake the nagging feeling that you've ruined whatever surprise she had planned. You glance down at your uniform, suddenly self-conscious about your appearance.

"Get it together," you mutter to yourself, giving your skirt a quick smoothing. "She's not going to bite."

With a final nod of determination, you raise your hand and knock on the door. The sound echoes through the empty hallway, making you wince.

Silence greets you for a moment, and you wonder if Wednesday is ignoring you. But then, the door swings open, revealing Wednesday standing in the doorway.

She's changed out of her school uniform, now wearing a simple black dress that falls to her knees. Her hair is loose, tumbling down her back in dark waves.

For a moment, you're struck dumb, your brain short-circuiting at the sight of her. She looks... pretty. Soft. Nothing like her usual sharp edges and icy demeanor.

Wednesday arches an eyebrow, her lips twisting into a smirk. "Cat got your tongue?" she asks, her voice dry.

You shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat up. "No," you manage, clearing your throat. "I just... I didn't expect you to look so..."

You trail off, not quite sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like a complete fool. Wednesday's smirk widens, and she steps aside, gesturing for you to enter.

"Come in," she says simply, before closing the door behind you with a soft click.

You step into Wednesday's dorm room, your eyes widening as you take in the scene before you. The furniture has been pushed to the sides, creating a large open space in the center of the room. Soft, ambient lighting casts a warm glow over everything, making the room feel intimate and cozy.

In the middle of it all stands Wednesday, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable. She's holding out her hand to you, a silent invitation.

"What's all this?" you ask, your voice coming out a little breathless.

Wednesday's lips curve into a small, enigmatic smile. "I'm going to teach you how to dance," she says simply, her tone matter-of-fact.

You blink, taken aback by her words. "Dance?" you repeat, feeling a little foolish. "Like... ballroom dancing?"

Wednesday nods, her dark eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. "Yes," she confirms, her voice dry. "Like my parents do. It's a family tradition."

You feel your heart skip a beat at the thought of Wednesday's parents, of the life she leads outside of Nevermore. It's a side of her you've never seen before, and the idea of being a part of it, even in a small way, makes your stomach flutter.

"I... I'd like that," you manage, stepping forward to take her hand.

Wednesday's fingers are cool against yours, her grip firm and steady. She pulls you closer, her body mere inches from yours.

"Good," she says simply, before beginning to guide you through the steps.

You stumble a little at first. But Wednesday is patient, her instructions clear and concise. Slowly, you begin to find your rhythm, moving in tandem with her.

As you dance, you can't help but notice the way Wednesday's eyes never leave yours. There's an intensity there, a depth of emotion that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You're doing well," she murmurs, her voice soft. "Just follow my lead."

You move gracefully in Wednesday's arms, your body reacting instinctively to her guidance. The fabric of your black trousers brushes against her dress as you spin, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine.

Wednesday's gaze is intense, her dark eyes boring into yours with an unspoken question. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your heart races at her proximity.

"You're a natural," she murmurs, her voice low and intimate. "I knew you'd be good at this."

You duck your head, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "It's easy when I have a good partner," you manage, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Wednesday's lips curve into a small, enigmatic smile. "Is that so?" she asks, her tone teasing.

You nod, your gaze flickering down to her lips for a brief moment before meeting her eyes again. "Definitely," you confirm, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wednesday hums, her fingers tightening around yours. "Good," she says simply, before pulling you closer, your bodies now just inches apart.

You can feel the heat radiating off her skin, the scent of her perfume filling your nostrils. Your breath hitches, your pulse pounding in your ears.

"Now," Wednesday says, her voice low and husky. "Let's try something a little more... challenging."

She steps back, her hand leaving yours. You feel a momentary pang of loss, your fingers aching to touch her again.

But then Wednesday begins to move, her body swaying to a beat only she can hear. She extends her hand, a silent invitation for you to join her.

You hesitate for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest. But then, with a deep breath, you step forward, ready to follow wherever she leads.

You take Wednesday's hand, her fingers cool and strong in your grasp. She pulls you close, your bodies pressing together as she guides you into a new dance.

This one is more sensual, the steps slower and more deliberate. Wednesday's gaze never leaves yours, her dark eyes smoldering with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You move together, your bodies swaying in perfect sync. The world around you fades away, until there is nothing but the two of you, lost in the rhythm of the dance.

Wednesday's hand slides up your arm, her fingers trailing over your skin. You shiver at the contact, your nerve endings igniting with each touch.

"You're doing well," she murmurs, her lips barely brushing against your ear. "Keep going."

You nod, your body responding to her commands without hesitation. You've never felt so in tune with another person, so utterly in sync.

As the dance comes to an end, Wednesday pulls you into a final, tight embrace. You can feel the heat of her body against yours, the softness of her breasts pressing into your chest.

For a moment, you're frozen, your heart pounding in your ears. You know you should pull away, put some distance between you. But you can't bring yourself to move, not when Wednesday feels so perfect in your arms.

Slowly, tentatively, you raise your hand, your fingers brushing against the silky strands of her hair. Wednesday's eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

"Y/N," she breathes, your name a prayer on her tongue. "I..."

Your heart races as Wednesday's breathy voice caresses your name. In this moment, suspended in time, the world seems to fall away, leaving only the two of you, hearts beating as one.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you lean in closer, your forehead resting against hers. Your hands slide up to cup her face, thumbs gently stroking her high cheekbones.

Wednesday's eyes flutter open, dark and filled with a vulnerability you've never seen before. Her hands come up to rest on your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

"I..." she starts, her voice barely a whisper. "I want..."

But she trails off, unable to finish the thought. Instead, she closes the remaining distance between you, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that steals your breath away.

You melt into the kiss, your body molding against hers like it was made to fit. Wednesday's lips are soft and warm, moving against yours with a desperate hunger.

Your hands slide into her hair, tangling in the silky strands as you deepen the kiss. Wednesday makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, a sound of pure need.

Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the taste and feel of her. The rest of the world fades away, leaving only this moment, this connection.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Wednesday rests her forehead against yours, her hands still gripping your waist tightly.

"That was..." she starts, her voice rough with emotion.

"Perfect," you finish for her, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Wednesday hums in agreement, nuzzling her nose against yours. "I've wanted to do that for a while now," she admits, her tone shy.

You chuckle softly, your fingers carding through her hair. "I'm glad you did," you murmur, bringing your lips to hers once more.

As you kiss, you know that this is just the beginning. The start of something new, something beautiful and terrifying and utterly intoxicating.

Wednesday's hands slide down to your hips, her fingers gripping your waistband tightly. With a sudden tug, she pulls you flush against her, your body pressing into hers.

You gasp at the contact, your hands flying up to grip her shoulders for balance. Wednesday takes advantage of your momentary distraction, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

With a soft push, she sends you tumbling onto the mattress, her body following yours. You land with a bounce, your breath knocked from your lungs as Wednesday settles on top of you, her weight pinning you in place.

"Wednesday," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are you..."

But your question is cut off as Wednesday captures your lips in another searing kiss. Her tongue delves into your mouth, exploring every inch of you with a desperate hunger.

You moan into the kiss, your hands sliding down to grip her hips, urging her closer. Wednesday grinds against you, the heat of her core seeping through the thin layers of fabric separating you.

Wednesday breaks the kiss, her dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that steals your breath. She sits up, straddling your hips, her hands resting on your chest.

"I want you," she whispers, her voice low and husky. "But we don't have to..."

You reach up, cupping her face in your hands. "I want this," you assure her, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "I want you."

Wednesday nods, her gaze never leaving yours. Slowly, she leans down, pressing her lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

Your hands slide down her back, settling on her hips. You guide her movements, encouraging her to grind against you. The friction is delicious, the heat building between your legs.

Wednesday gasps into your mouth, her hips moving faster, more urgently. You can feel her growing wetter, her arousal soaking through your clothes.

You break the kiss, panting heavily. "Let me," you plead, your voice rough with desire.

Wednesday nods, shifting off of you. You sit up, your fingers trembling slightly as you reach for the hem of her dress. With a swift movement, you pull it over her head, tossing it aside.

She sits before you, clad only in a black lace bra and matching panties. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her, her pale skin flawless in the dim light.

You lean forward, pressing reverent kisses along her collarbone, down the swell of her breasts. Wednesday shivers, her fingers tangling in your hair.

Your hands slide down her sides, hooking into the waistband of her panties. With a gentle tug, you pull them down her legs, leaving her bare before you.

You take a moment to drink in the sight of her, your gaze roaming over her body appreciatively. Wednesday flushes under your attention, her thighs pressing together shyly.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper, your voice filled with awe.

Wednesday shakes her head, her dark hair falling in waves around her face. "I'm not..." she starts, but you silence her with a kiss.

Switching positions, you lay Wednesday down on the bed, your body covering hers. You capture her lips in a searing kiss, your tongue delving into her mouth, exploring every inch of her.

Wednesday moans softly into the kiss, her hips arching up to meet yours. Your hands slide down her sides, cupping her breasts through the thin lace of her bra.

You break the kiss, your lips trailing down her neck, nipping at her collarbone. Wednesday gasps, her fingers digging into your back, urging you on.

Your hand slides down her stomach, teasing the edge of her panties. Wednesday's breath hitches, her thighs parting slightly in invitation.

You dip your fingers beneath the fabric, finding her slick and ready for you. Wednesday whimpers, her hips bucking into your touch.

Your fingers glide through Wednesday's slick folds, finding her sensitive bud. She gasps, her hips jerking at the sudden contact.

"Y/N," she breathes, your name a prayer on her lips.

You circle her clit with teasing strokes, reveling in the way her body responds to your touch. Wednesday's thighs tremble, her hands fisting in the sheets beneath her.

Slowly, you slide a finger inside her, groaning at the way her walls clench around you. Wednesday is so hot, so tight, so perfect.

You add a second finger, pumping them in and out of her slick heat. Wednesday's head thrashes on the pillow, her mouth falling open in a silent cry of pleasure.

Your thumb finds her clit again, rubbing firm circles around the sensitive nub. Wednesday's hips buck wildly, her body chasing the release you're so eager to give her.

"Please," she whimpers, her voice barely audible. "I need..."

But she doesn't finish the thought, her body arching off the bed as you curl your fingers just right. You can feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around your digits.

With a final twist of your wrist, Wednesday comes undone, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. You hold her through it, whispering words of praise and encouragement.

As she comes down from her high, you press soft kisses to her sweat-dampened skin, murmuring your love and devotion. Wednesday clings to you, her body still trembling with aftershocks.

In this moment, the rest of the world fades away. There is only the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of love and passion.

—

You wake to the sound of the door opening, your eyes fluttering open to find Wednesday still asleep beside you. For a moment, you simply lie there, taking in the sight of her.

Her dark hair is fanned out across the pillow, her face relaxed in sleep. Your gaze travels down her body, tracing the curves and dips you explored so thoroughly the night before.

The door swings open fully, revealing a surprised Enid standing in the doorway. Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene before her - you and Wednesday, tangled together in the afterglow.

"Oh," she breathes, her cheeks flushing pink. "I... I didn't know you two were..."

You sit up quickly, pulling the covers up to your chin. Wednesday stirs, her eyes blinking open in confusion.

"Enid?" she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

Enid clears her throat, averting her gaze. "Sorry," she says, backing out of the room. "I'll just... I'll leave you two alone."

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving you and Wednesday in a tense silence. You glance at her, unsure of what to say.

But Wednesday just sighs, turning to face you. "Well," she says, her tone dry. "That's one way to start the day."

[goldfades]

TIGHTLING ─── LUKE HUGHES

request: "luke hughes + reader doing tiktok couple trends??"

here is the trend i was doing!

The phone props precariously against a stack of books on the coffee table, its tiny lens trained on you and Luke as he lounges on the couch beside you. His long legs are sprawled out, a stark contrast to your cross-legged position, and he looks completely at ease, a faded Michigan sweatshirt hanging loosely on his broad frame.

It was your idea—of course it was—to rope him into yet another TikTok trend. And honestly, it didn’t take much convincing. Luke, for all his teasing about how “obsessed” you are with the app, has never been one to back down from your antics. You swear he secretly loves these little moments where the two of you can just be goofy together.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” you start, holding your phone up to demonstrate the angle and framing, even though he’s barely paying attention. His eyes flick lazily from your face to the camera. “I’m gonna ask you a bunch of questions, and they’re things only girls would know—like, makeup stuff, skincare stuff. You just have to guess what they mean.”

Luke blinks at you, visibly unimpressed. “That’s it? I just guess?”

“Yes.” You grin, wide and mischievous, and he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

“Why do I feel like this is just a setup to make me look stupid?”

“It's not, I promise.” You say, patting his knee in mock reassurance.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward into the faintest smile. You’ve won, and he knows it. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, grabbing the remote and shoving it out of the frame. “And what exactly do I owe you for a few minutes of your time?”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you stop stealing my clothes every time you come over?”

“That’s a deal I’ll never make,” you quip, setting the phone back on its makeshift tripod. “Okay, ready?”

Luke leans forward slightly, brushing his hair out of his face as he flashes you a lopsided grin. “Hit me with it.”

And just like that, you hit record.

You settle back into the couch, phone recording, and glance at Luke, who’s already sitting straighter, his focus zeroed in like this is some kind of high-stakes playoff. The intensity is so out of place that it’s almost impossible not to laugh, but you manage to keep a straight face. Barely.

“Alright,” you say, scrolling through your mental list of girl-specific words. “First question: What does waterline mean?”

Luke blinks. “Waterline?” His brows furrow, and he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees like he’s trying to think through an SAT question. “Like... the edge of a body of water? Or where water stops?”

You gasp dramatically, clapping your hands together. “Oh my God, yes! That’s exactly it. How did you know?”

His face lights up, the corners of his mouth quirking into a self-satisfied grin. “Seriously? I mean, it makes sense, right?”

“Totally,” you nod fervently, resisting the urge to crack up. “You’re so smart.”

He smirks, leaning back against the couch. “Told you. What’s next?”

You bite your lip, stifling a laugh, and move on. “Okay, next question. What’s a cuticle pusher?”

Luke’s face scrunches up, his confusion written all over it. “A... what?”

“Cuticle pusher,” you repeat innocently, as though this is a perfectly normal thing for him to know.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes at you. “Uh... is it like... something you use to push dirt out from under your nails?”

You gasp again, clutching your chest like you’re shocked by his brilliance. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, how do you know these things?”

He lets out a laugh, visibly proud of himself. “I don’t know! It just made sense!”

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head like you’re genuinely impressed. “You’re two for two.”

“Duh,” he quips, leaning forward again, his confidence swelling. “Keep going. I’m on a roll.”

You suppress another laugh and press on. “Okay, what about... baking?”

“Baking?” he repeats, frowning. “Like... cooking?”

You shake your head quickly. “Not that kind of baking. It’s a makeup thing.”

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his leg as he thinks. “Makeup... baking... Does it have something to do with heat? Like, you heat the makeup onto your face or something?”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to break character. “Oh my God, yes! Exactly! You bake it onto your face to, like, set it. You’re literally on fire, Luke. I can’t believe this.”

He laughs again, a full, genuine laugh this time, his cheeks a little pink. “I’m just that good.”

“You really are,” you say with mock awe. “Okay, okay, one more for now. What’s a winged liner?”

Luke doesn’t even pause to think this time. “Easy. It’s eyeliner, but it’s, like... shaped like wings.”

You clap your hands together, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! You’re literally unstoppable!”

“I know, right?” He beams, clearly riding the high of getting “everything” right. “See? I told you I’d win.”

You bite back your laughter, nodding along like you’re his number-one fan. “You’re seriously the best at this. I’ve never seen anyone crush these questions like you.”

Luke leans back, folding his arms across his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, what’s the next round? I’m ready.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter, but he just looks at you, confused but still grinning. “What? Why are you laughing? I’m killing it!”

And the best part? He truly believes it.

You shake your head, waving your hand as if to dismiss your laughter. “Nothing, nothing! You’re just—you’re killing it, Luke. Like, I think you might know more about this stuff than I do.”

He grins, sitting up straighter. “I mean, you said it was trivia. I’m just good at picking stuff up.”

“Right, right,” you say, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye as you compose yourself. “Okay, next question. What’s... double cleansing?”

Luke pauses, his competitive streak kicking back in as he furrows his brow in concentration. “Double cleansing... like, washing your face twice? First to get the dirt off and then... to, I don’t know, make it extra clean?”

You gasp again, clutching his arm this time. “Yes! Oh my God, that’s exactly it. How do you keep doing this?”

He looks so smug now, like he just nailed a game-winning goal. “It just makes sense, you know? Two steps—one for the surface, one for deep cleaning. I’m basically an expert.”

You nod vigorously, stifling another laugh. “Seriously. Like, you should teach a class or something.”

“Maybe I will,” he says with a smirk. “Alright, next one. Hit me.”

You glance at your mental list again, biting your lip to keep from cracking up. “Alright. What’s a dupe?”

Luke tilts his head, confused but determined. “A dupe... like... a duplicate? Something that looks like something else?”

You slap your hand over your mouth, pretending to be floored. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, you’re literally on fire. It’s like a cheaper version of something expensive. How are you so good at this?”

He’s grinning so wide now, his cheeks pink with pride. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a natural instinct for this stuff.”

“Clearly,” you say, barely holding it together. “Okay, okay, next one. What’s a beauty blender?”

“A beauty blender?” He pauses, his competitive edge shining through as he carefully thinks it over. “Uh... like... a machine that mixes stuff? Like makeup or foundation or something?”

You clasp your hands dramatically, your jaw dropping. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, are you kidding me? How do you know this?”

He throws his hands up like it’s no big deal, even though he’s clearly eating up the praise. “What can I say? I’m just built different.”

You double over with laughter, but quickly try to disguise it as a cough when he narrows his eyes. “I’m serious! You’re like... a prodigy.”

“I know,” he says, fully leaning into the role now. “Alright, what’s next? Let’s keep going.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, wondering how far you can push this before he catches on. “Okay, this one’s tricky,” you warn, straightening up. “What’s... tightlining?”

He blinks at you, a little wary but still confident. “Tightlining? Uh... when you line something up really close together? Like... packing it in tight?”

You gasp again, throwing your head back. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! It’s when you line your eyes super close to your lashes! You’re incredible!”

His grin is so wide now, he looks like a kid who just found out he’s getting a puppy for Christmas. “I mean, it’s just logical, right? Tightlining. Tight lines. Easy.”

“Easy for you,” you say, shaking your head in mock amazement. “You’re like a makeup genius.”

“I should probably put that on my résumé,” he jokes, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Luke Hughes: NHL defenseman, trivia champion, and makeup expert.”

You can’t help but laugh again, your chest aching from holding it in for so long. But he still doesn’t catch on—he’s far too busy basking in the glory of his “success.”

“Alright,” you say, wiping a pretend tear from your eye. “One last question, and this one’s a doozy. What’s a halo eye?”

Luke’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he’s clearly not backing down. “Halo eye... uh... is it like... when your eyes look shiny? Like they’re glowing or something?”

You clasp your chest, pretending to be in awe. “Yes! That’s exactly it! How did you know?”

He throws his hands in the air, grinning ear to ear. “I mean, it’s in the name. Halo. Glow. It’s not that hard.”

You’re practically wheezing at this point, barely able to hold yourself together. But Luke? He’s still riding that high, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s been getting it hilariously wrong the entire time.

── COMMENTS

melia 🤍 "halo eye… uh… when your eyes look shiny?" IM SCREAMING ♡ 18k

abby grace 🌸 the gasp after every answer has me CRYING 💀 ♡ 14.5k

lily 🦋 the fact that he’s dead serious makes this even better ♡ 6.3k

viv 🪩 “double cleansing… to make it extra clean?” i can’t breathe 😭 ♡ 292

nj devils enthusiast “baking… does it have something to do with heat?” AND YOU SAID YES 💀💀 ♡ 500

sarah rose ☁️ his face when you said he got it right 😭😭😭 pure joy ♡ 4.2k

ellie ✨ he’s never gonna trust you again when he finds out 😭 ♡ 1.8k

emma 🤍 “tightlining… tight lines… easy” LUKE WHAT ♡ 239

sophia 💕 he’s gonna tell people he’s a skincare guru after this 😭 ♡ 2k

madeline you could’ve asked him anything and he’d still be so proud of himself lmaoo ♡ 103

noah’s gf how is he so wrong yet so sure every time 💀 ♡ 89

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[demonic0angel]

Anger Management prompt where there is a car accident, except it's in space, between Team Phantom and The Outlaws.

(Lmaoooo this is so freaking funny bc my sister got into a car accident just a week ago. She’s fine tho, dw)

“Fuck you!” The teenager immediately screamed. “Where the hell did you learn to drive?! Go back to school, fucking dumbass! You can’t even drive, you piece of sh—”

He was then pulled back by one of his friends, who grabbed him and dragged him back to their normal looking, definitely not broken spacecraft. A girl, dressed in a very distinctive style of goth, then made an awkward face, popped her gum, and said, “Sorry about him. He has really bad road rage.”

Jason’s eye twitched. “I can see that. So what’re we going to do now? You crashed into our spacecraft!”

“Well, you don’t have spaceship insurance, do you?” The girl drawled.

Jason was suddenly reminded of why he hated Tim Drake and Damian Wayne. They were goddamn insufferable, obnoxious, annoying, irresponsible teenagers.

Jason suddenly felt like he aged 20 years in an instant and wondered if this was what Dick felt like, being so old.

Roy patted him on the arm. “Want me to take care of this?”

Jason gestured for him to go ahead, already feeling a headache. Roy walked forward and smiled charmingly. “Hey, kiddo! So, it’s not a big deal that we got bumped into— happens all the time! But we just want to know where your parents are! And why you’re out in space! And how we’re going to get back to earth, since our shipped is now wrecked. You know what earth is, right? Earth is—”

“We know what earth is,” the same cursing teenager from earlier said with a snide tone, “We live there too.”

Roy and Jason blinked.

Then Jason spat, “Well, that doesn’t do us shit! We still have a wrecked spacecraft and we’re stuck here on this moon until you fix it! Don’t think you can just fly away! We’re stranded because of you brats!”

Kori then appeared out of the spacecraft and flew down to them all. The kids all immediately stopped, eyes wide in awe. She smiled and said, “Hello, children! Is there anyway you can help us? You did wreck our spacecraft after all.”

Immediately, in the most respectful tone Jason had ever heard, the two-faced brat from earlier then said, “I’m so sorry, miss. We didn’t think that anyone would be exploring this part of space out here, so we weren’t looking! We’re sorry. We don’t have the tools to fix it either.”

Jason’s entire face suddenly wanted to break out into the nastiest glare he could muster. So not only did this kid blatantly show favoritism to Kori (even if she was definitely super cool), he also couldn’t help at all despite the fact that he completely stranded them in space after being careless with a spaceship?

Kori frowned and they all shared a look. Now what? Jason could feel the migraine get more annoying and he almost wanted to pull out his gun just to kill some kids and feel better about his shitty fucking day, when the other teen, who had pulled away the feral brat, spoke up and said, “We can call Jazz!”

“Oh yeah! Jazz! Quick, Sam, call her up!”

Roy narrowed his eyes. “Who’s Jazz?”

“My big sister,” the brat said, “She’ll fix this.”

Great. Another annoying person who would only make his headache worse and possibly piss him off even further. However, just as he finished thinking this and sharing another annoyed look with Roy, a green portal opened up and a goddess stepped down.

She was tall, with a curvaceous figure wrapped in black and blue robes, as well as a fluffy cape around her shoulders. Her hair fell down over her back, colored red like fire and sunsets and calla lilies, and her face was that of a statue, carefully designed, crafted, and admired by all. She was so beautiful and picturesque that the air around her seemed to glow like a halo.

Just looking at her made Jason’s sorrows disappear.

She blinked her fluttering eyelashes over her turquoise eyes and then asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

Her voice was so angelic that Jason didn’t even feel his headache anymore.

“Nothing now that you’re here,” Jason said dreamily.

“Oh my god,” Roy said, hand over his mouth as he stared at Jason in shock. Even Kori looked shocked and amused.

The boy with black hair shared a disgusted look with his friends. “I thought that would’ve been my line.”

[dadsbongos]

one must imagine violet happy...

14 k words / warnings - cunnilingus, fingering, choking, strap on (vi giving), drinking your feelings, emotional detachment and flip-flopping, reader's ex is an offscreen 'Her', fem reader

summary - despite vi's (and yours) red flags, you like her so much you can't let go. you think you two can graduate from casual fling to dedicated relationship despite still grieving your exes...

it started out as being vi’s little rebound fuck:

After another win she's drinking and masquerading it as a celebration when there's a meek tap on her shoulder. Vi can barely feel the sheepish, fleeting contact through her thick jacket; but she can make out the sight of a figure right beside her. It's a little wiggly and fuzzy, melting into the background as the warm washes of alcohol begin buzzing beneath her skin.

Vi twirls on the stool, frowning at you, "Yeah?"

Her tone is vicious, full of snot and ridicule, eyes narrowed. Black shade smearing over her cheekbones from the influence of sweat. Similarly, her hair is sweat-slicked, unevenly dyed strands dewy against her temples.

"Uhm, Vi, right?" you clear your throat, leaning close because you're petrified she won't hear you.

"What?" she spits again, though cants toward you -unbalanced.

"Hey, so," your hands knot behind your back, forcing your chest to jut out. Gnawing your bottom lip and eyelashes batting up at her, "I'm kinda like your biggest fan..."

"Hah?" her jaw hangs open, an eye squinting at you in disbelief, "You fuckin' serious?"

"Super serious," you giggle in earnest, hoping maybe a bit more charm will make her hard exterior crack, "I think you're crazy out there."

Vi sighs, surely about to reject you when a hand lands on her shoulder -a brunette man shrugs at her, giving a tiny smile- and she visibly loosens. Shoulders slacking and creased brows smoothing. She turns toward you again.

Heart hammering between your ribs, you catch her gray eyes drifting from your pert face and over your chest and down your hips along your thighs. All sleazy like.

The man murmurs into her ear as she blatantly leers at you. Barely do you catch his advice over the thrumming music: have a little fun.

Vi nods against his tilted head and pats the stool beside her, "Alright, fangirl, hop on."

You've got to clench your bottom lip in razor teeth to withhold a squeal, nodding excitedly and bouncing up onto the seat. Swiveled to face her. Vi reaches boldly between your legs, grasping the chilled metal underside to yank your stool flush against hers. The sides clack, vibrating you in place.

“You drunk?” she slurs at you.

“Uh, no…”

“You want a drink?” she tosses a thumb over her shoulder, toward the shiny shelves of liquor jugs.

“Uh, sure!”

“You picky? What do you want?”

“Uh, whatever you’re having is fine!”

Vi’s brows raise, lips quirking in amusement, “Do you ever start a sentence without some moaning, sweetheart?”

Pushing your lips tight, you have to swallow down the ditzy ‘uhm’ rushing up your throat to refuse, “No! I’m normally super good at speaking.”

“Are you?”

You shrug, “I think so.”

Vi laughs -well more like a loose snicker but still!- and shakes her head at you, combing a wrapped hand through her patchy hair, “You that starstruck?”

“Are you kidding? You’re so cool,” you gush, hands falling to your knees. Squeezing around bone nervously, “I’m totally obsessed with watching you out there.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Ooh,” Vi’s fingers, calloused and bruising, so tenderly draw beneath the strap of your bra. Thumbing the extra frills along each edge and pausing at the bow nestled just above the cups, she pushes the minuscule ribbons up with a blunt nail. Bottom lip trapped between her teeth, “This is cute, cupcake.”

“Yeah!”

.

.

.

“Cupcake?” you giggle, a bit ditzy with confusion swirling with anticipation -clogging your throat.

“Uh-huh,” she hums, blinking stiffly. Steely eyes flocking up from your chest to your face before tumbling back down. Fat spilling over the thin fabric, jiggling with your every labored breath. Vi wraps her other arm around your back, swiftly unweaving the hook, “I gotta get this off you.”

Bending into her grasp, you let Vi greedily peel your bra off; eyes tearing into the way your breasts drop free. One hand cinching the loose lace and the other eagerly pawing at your chest. Pinching a nipple solely to hear you gasp.

“So cute,” her eyes have some faraway film over them regardless of how active her hands are at your bosom as if acting out instinctually, like how she’d brush her teeth or breathe without thought.

“Vi,” you whine, raising your hands toward her arms and burning your prints into her forearm. Searing over her joints and up her bicep before wringing around her neck. Tangling fingers into her hair, “You seem distracted…”

“A little,” she admits, looking up at you so dejectedly you’re almost compelled to avoid eye contact. It’s wrong to see her so welpy and limp in spirit; goes against everything you’ve sifted of her personality through watching her fights.

“Should I go?”

“Don’t…”

“Vi, I’m worried-!”

You yelp then as she wrangles you forward by the hips, plying the flesh carelessly. She surges forward, chapped lips against yours with heat -- chaste pecks a ruse of affection before she’s licking into your mouth. Sour beer invades your senses as she cups your cheek and brings you closer. The brush of her thumb along your cheekbone is jarringly tender.

“Don’t talk,” she grunts, flipping and backing you into her makeshift mattress.

The hand not hovering your face massages your bare thigh. She punches up onto her knees, gasping openly against your mouth before rushing a thigh into the gap. Spreading you open while grinding her knee on your mound. Her palm rounds the top of your thigh to dig the warm inside. Merely squeezing her way down, closer and closer toward the crease where leg meets pelvis until her thumb slips beneath the gusset of your panties. Gliding over where you’re hottest to circle your clit with the pooling juices.

Bucking into her digit makes her laugh openly into your mouth.

Hand fluttering down from your face, Vi draws clipped nails over your neck and traces the swell of your breast -traversing your ribs and stomach before she meets the band of your underwear. Another bow greets her and she laughs again, twiddling the velveteen ornament.

“Dressed up just for me, cupcake?”

When her eyes are shut, she can’t see you preparing to speak but she can feel it -- must be able to because before you can confirm that yes, yes, Vi, I did and I wanted you to see me and notice how the set matches it’s my only one she kisses you again. But somehow, someway you need her to know the truth; you moan as you return the wet smooch.

Frantically humping her palm, anxious to dip her long fingers inside you, with a swooning wordless mewl. Vi purposefully ignores the mindless need, ‘tsk’ vibrating through your lips -she leisurely snags and drags your panties down your thighs. Dark fabric wrinkling between her knuckles, which blister white while following the planes of your legs. Her patience lasts until your ankles, where she finally and appropriately rips the cloth free. Tossing it aside. Then pinning your knee aside with the freshly spare hand.

Vi’s lips leave yours, she sighs and leans back to watch herself fan your cunt open, “You even realize you’re clenching right now? Or are you so desperate I’m all you’re thinking about?”

“I just want you,” you wail, back bending up to jam your tits in her face.

“‘Course you do,” she tucks her face into the junction of your neck. Digging canines into your pulse and sucking a welt as unavoidable evidence you had her between your thighs.

You’d let her vacuum hickies all down your body -- she doesn’t even have to ask.

A ragged gasp barbs your lungs as Vi slips her middle finger into you, curling toward the pouch of your stomach. Crescending from slow drawls into solid pistons, pushing out whines and curses between your teeth. She slides a second finger in, thumb sloppily drawing up to your clit.

Suddenly she’s braced overhead, studying your pinched face with intent. Heaving like she’s the one getting fucked. Gray eyes nonstop racing between your sploshing cunt wrapped around her fingers up to your chest and into your teary lashes. The rough pad of her thumb slides distinct characters along your bud.

You could be delusional, or she could be carving her name into you.

The thought she is makes you seize-- then a hard shot through your gut forces your head back. Lips crowning an ‘o’-shape.

“Breathe, baby,” she coos, pushing against your tummy as she continues fingering you through each spasm, “Breathe for me.”

You do as she says, reaping a big deep breath just for her -- with padded air, you sing, “Oh, Vi!” whole body jittering.

“Good job, cupcake,” she lays an overly sentimental kiss on your forehead as you pant back to normality.

Eyes low, you fling hands out to greedily caress her firm stomach careening toward her chunky belt. Rough hands pause you, Vi shakes her head and cups your face again to kiss you hard, pressing you onto the stiff bed with her weight over yours.

“Just wanna fuck you, cupcake,” she groans, taking a snip from your bottom lip. It stings faintly but she’s pleased with herself so you just run your tongue over the sore.

Then, she slinks away. Shortly, only as far as her nightstand, but you're worming down the bed to sap up her heat again. Vi unleashes something jarring, though not unwelcomed. You watch in stunned silence while she unveils it: a shadowy magenta-hued dildo rigged into black leather. She locks eyes, raising a brow: you get it, this is your chance. If you don't want to get fucked, you should leave. Good for Vi, getting fucked was exactly what you were wanting when you approached her.

Vi presses your hips down on the bed flat. Every fluid thrust into you ends with a deep electric pop. Her fingers stretch out until the silky head of her strap taps her skin and then she speeds up until that tapping is a battering. Her back straightens as you wheeze a sweet sigh; leaning upright. Arm stiffening to cuff your throat, thumb affectionately scrubbing along your pulse. Spare hand grappling beneath your knee to widen the gap between your thighs.

Drilling into you, Vi manages to jolt you across her bed mat. And like a fly to honey, she chases -in a flurry to not leave your cunt too long before returning with a slam. Genuine groans and hums singe her throat: heat spiraling down her arm until your hips hop up toward her pelvis.

“Beautiful, baby,” she grunts, eyes fluttering back in her skull.

Skin slapping skin merges with the music of your wetness wailing around Vi. Firework displays of arousal beget more arousal -- watching her crinkle and fall over you makes you clench around her. Something about her borderline manic moans and drooling makes you feel like she somehow feels it.

Vi squeezes your throat before releasing your windpipe: now using both hands to swerve and press your thighs against your bouncing chest. Cock reaching mysteriously deeper. She folds your torso in half, squatting over you so there’s no escape from her dick. Every twitch away is easily overpowered. Her entire weight crashing into your soaked cunt.

Curses flicking between Vi’s clenched teeth when she finally pulses hard, hard into you. Sitting base deep and grinding, swishing back and forth as her eyes widen and glisten.

“Aw, fuck, baby,” she sounds a bit pathetic but the sounds more intoxicating than what you drank tonight, “Baby, baby, cupcake, so good!”

She lowers to kiss you. Once. Then twice. Then she pulls back to smile down at you. Sleepy and lopsided and hazed with serenity.

After precisely one second, she slowly pulls out. Very kindly massaging your thighs as she lowers both legs before rising from the bed.

Vi meanders toward the bathroom -- kitchen sink hissing to life soon after.

Hands unwound by your head and legs smeared across her bed, your chest thunders with each heave for air. Soft padded steps veer closer before pausing completely at the foot of the bedroom.

“Need a walk down?” Vi’s shoulder burdens the doorway, head tipped toward the frame.

Oh, were you being rude?

Maybe so…

“Yes,” you grunt, hips uncooperative as you slide off her lackluster bed. Vi does not rush over to cradle you off but watches with a satisfied smear. Fighting on your clothing, sans the bra flung somewhere over her shoulder, you eventually crash into Vi’s side.

“Trouble walking?”

“Shut up…”

Vi snorts, sympathetic enough to wring an arm around you. Brunting your weight as you both shuffle toward the door, cracking it open to an uncaring brisk wind. Shivering deeper into the burrow of her side, the cold emboldens you enough to wrap both arms around her waist. Borderline snuggling as she hefts you toward the stairs.

“Cold?” a question, you think. Vi says it with plain confidence. Not that she needed that confidence to declare something bare before her eyes. Sometimes when the sky is dark and a dog is barking, you just have to call them as they are.

You’re fucking freezing.

Wordlessly, Vi shrugs off her jacket -- red leather squeaking along her arms and over yours. Her eyes pounce over you, it could be predatory if you didn’t like it so much- before she ‘hmph’s, “You should keep that. I like it on you,” she jumbles you around easily, “Besides, you should start dressing warmer.”

“Are you telling me to cover up?”

She croons over your pout, blatantly looking down your low top -- nipples cutting through the thin fabric and soon-swelling lovebites on display, “Nope. Maybe a long-sleeve couldn’t hurt, though.”

“Oh?” a sudden stroke of genius (and desperation) lathes you, “And would you come give a second opinion?”

Tone lilting just enough to be casual, you could absolutely play this off as a joke! …but you’re not joking.

“If you want me to,” she shrugs.

No fucking way it worked.

“Yeah, really?” your entire point of cool and casual melts without restraint, an audibly nervous, bumpy chuckle flipping through your throat, “I’d -yeah- I’d like that.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“For sure,” you giggle, positively lightheaded.

“You got it from here?”

“Oh, yeah, I can get home…” when you glance her way, Vi’s eyes are over your shoulder. Her knuckles blistering around the banister, “I don’t live far, really.”

“Yeah?” her foot taps anxiously. You nod with a quiet ‘yeah, vi, promise’ and she returns the gesture. Then pats your padded shoulders, fingers tightening around familiar leather, “Jacket should be enough warning, anyway.”

“You’re just that big and bad?”

“Oh, yeah,” she mimics you, shooting a wink before turning up toward the steps, “Find me tomorrow if you’re serious about that little shopping trip.”

Oh God she’s turning away, she’s about to waltz right out and you know yourself. You know you’ll lose this spontaneous courage as soon as her back has faded up the stairs, so you blurt out:

“Uhm, actually!”

“Huh?”

“...do you want to stay the night at mine?”

Vi blinks herself from her stupor, tackling a single step down with the most conflicted confusion lashing her cheekbones. Rolling the proposal from one tooth, around the ring of her jaw, and finally swallowing, “You want me in your house?”

“I can make you breakfast,” you add, to avoid the accusation of being overtly domestic you then throw in a softening, “I have bread and eggs.”

Unthinkingly, she snubs a hand over her stomach -- merely mentioning food has her guts flipping. Phantom curls of toast twist into her nose, saliva gushing freshening her palette. Vi takes another step down, then another, and another, and she grabs your hand -yoinking you forward silently until you’re guiding her toward your apartment.

***

Wet heat. Feathered scratches. Someone’s mewling.

Oh, oh, oh God -it’s you.

Fingers are already knotting into sheets, hips quirking. Gut clenching.

Startling awake with a gasp, your back’s already sharpened upward. Head thrown back into the pillows and legs tossed over Vi’s shoulders. Thighs shaking around her ears. Instinctually, you try raising your hips from her maw- squirming up the thin mattress for relief- but Vi easily rakes you back down. Blunt nails shoveling into your hips, pushing down to keep you still.

Tongue parting your folds crudely, Vi revels in your apparent distress; blinking up at you slowly as you grapple a fistful of hair. She even has the gall to chuckle at you. Vibrations spiraling and fizzing out in the balls of your hips, but still just knowing it’s her makes your chest tighten. Another squeal tumbles out, tongue fighting its way into your cheek to no avail. Every attempt is halted swiftly with Vi lewdly, loudly, and unabashedly sucking syrupy cum from your hole.

Moaning for more, she swivels her face into your cunt before pulling back to flay a broad stroke over your clit. Circling the bud precisely just to hear your staggered huffs. Frustrated tears well in the corners of your eyes.

Palming her flushed forehead, your shuddering arm tries in vain to shove her away. Vi shakes her head into you again, scolding you with her eyes as she suckles your clit -- pulling away just to ‘tsk’,

“I’m trying to clean you up here, you know?”

An uneven puff of breath leaves you, chest jittering and head flinging limply, “‘s too much, Vi…”

“Too much?” she leans upon her elbows, wrapping an arm around your leg to push two fingers across your cunt, spreading you open and watching you clench around nothing, “But you’re still so wet, baby.”

“Yeah, you’re too much,” you manage to pant out, fractionally grateful for the break and partially wondering if it’d be too hypocritical to hump her shiny face now.

Vi mimics a frown, way dramatically downturning her lips, “Am I?” you nod, “So, should I stop?”

You bite your lip.

You shake your head.

“Aw, okay then,” she slaps your thigh, “Stop whining so much, yeah?”

Vi really is so mean to you.

***

First stop on your mental list is also the sole stop, so ideally, this trip would not last long. Of course, before you two make it far, you’re distracted:

“Nice comb, probably expensive,” Vi gruffs from over your shoulder. She saw and fully knew you were going the wrong way and said nothing, only followed with hunched shoulders and hands in her pockets. Mean glares passed onto leering men.

Squeaking in shock, you cradle the comb to your chest and pray it calms the rapid beating of your heart. Flipping the smooth darkwood in your hand, skimming your fingers along the teeth just to feel each fine spike.

“I can afford it,” you insist.

“You got a job?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Vi’s almost startled by your offense, raising her hands in surrender with a small shrug, “How am I supposed to know? You’re always on me.”

“What?” you pout dejectedly, “You got a problem with that?”

“Nah,” Vi snatches the comb from your hand before twining your fingers together, “I like having a pretty thing around,” she holds the tool up over your head before you can grab it, snickering as you try stretching over her to grab it back, “What do you do anyway?”

“Huh?”

“For work,” she kindly elbows you flat onto your feet, squeezing your hand as she guides you through the coagulated market, “What do you do?”

“I’m a waitress, kinda,” you quiet, leaning your face against her thick bicep. It’s warm against your face, skin soft regardless of her own career, “I open at Bombshells…”

“Didn’t know that place was open before night.”

“Our dancers don’t show up until then, yeah.”

“Slow, huh?”

“I mostly clean with the other girl.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Says you.”

“I’m fine as long as I win,” she grins wolfishly, canines glinting in the sunlight leaking from above. A honeyed glow cast over her faded dye, “Which I always do.”

Cheeks heating at the dichotomy between jagged danger and her big eyes and pretty face, your gaze darts away. Vi ghosts her lips over your temple, it could’ve been a kiss but you mostly just felt her smirking against you. Whenever an unfortunate head turns your way she fastens you deeper into her side, undoubtedly possessive. Terrible a trait as that is, especially given how the two of you aren’t official, you’re bewitched by the showmanship.

You assume it's a good thing: that she wants you.

When she leads you up to the vendor and uses her own coin to pay for your comb, your assumptions only sink deeper. You pray not into delusion, but you’re sure that possibility isn’t off the table.

“Take care of that thing,” she says with finality, as if you need the warning.

A wood so dark it burns red, strips of yellowish discolor vining diagonally along the middle. Shining in your palm with searing polish. You had a prettier comb when you were little -- a gold spine and black veneer, you carried it everywhere. Until you lost it. Losing that comb was hardly the worst thing in your life, especially at the time, although it was very beautiful and so pricey. This comb, if you lost this comb, you can only guess that the world itself would end.

Again cradling the comb against your chest, now with sincerity, you squeeze the hand Vi has wrapped around yours, “I think it’s my favorite.”

Vi laughs at you. Good-natured, you think. You hope.

She takes your hand in hers back on the way toward shirts all the same.

Vi occasionally has to redirect your sights back onto long-sleeves from tiny cut tops. You manage to pluck two that caught your eye and Vi’s little smirk and nod as she says, “you’ll have to model for me.” makes you weak in the knees.

And the downright perverse way her eyes crawl down your torso doesn’t help. She’s slouched back onto the bed, one thigh bouncing in frenzy.

“C’mere,” Vi slurs, raking you between her spread legs with hands on your hips.

“Vi!” you giggle, maybe a little more vapid than necessary, and try to balance yourself against her shoulders.

Without much concern or forethought, Vi is prying the shirt over your head. Mumbling to herself, just loud enough for you to catch snippets, desperate claws to see your skin. How much she misses it already. Calloused hands scar up from your sides to cradle your back while her lips tease down the swell of your breasts. Laving your nipples in broad tongue-strokes before softly tucking one in her mouth, cheeks hollowing. She croons around the bud as if it’s doing anything for her.

As she pops off, you catch the rouge caked into her cheeks. Webs of slobber stitching her swollen lips to your stiff nipple. Shining with saliva.

Then she’s pushing you away, a non-committed attempt at a kiss ghosts your lips before Vi is turning away. She clears her throat and pets through her hair.

“I’ve gotta get to the bar,” as if she can sense the wild request gushing up your gullet, she adds, “You should stay home and get some rest,” she must feel bad because she turns again to give you another chance at a kiss. Chaste and speedy before she’s darting out, “See you around, babe.”

Baffled as you are by her sudden disappearance, you’re equally -maybe even more- flattered by the pet name.

And in the quiet of her distance, you abruptly and sharply realize:

Oh, I didn’t go to work.

Oops.

Well, it’s too late now.

And the thought of finishing off what Vi started between your thighs sounds rich right about now. Your fingers may not be as satisfying but they’ve finished the job before, they can do it again.

Three sharp taps quake the door. Shrieking hinges shooting you alert. What are those odds? They must be good, right? Who else could be coming to your residence?

Did she forget something?

Does she miss you, too?

Skidding along the flat floor, a shirt hanging over your shoulders with skimpy panties beneath, you fling the door wide. Arms speared on either side, eager to wrap around the disheveled woman. You’re about to pile over her when your eyes hone on the face at your stoop.

Avont.

A grizzled man with wiry black hair curling around his jaw, bridging over his top lip, and connected to the slick-black ‘do of a proper undercity businessman.

“What happened?” oak eyes scrutinize you, scanning from your mussed hair to your bare legs, “Are you okay? You didn’t show.”

Ohhhhh maybe the boss you flaked on. That’s someone who might show up late at night, duh. Completely normal.

Well, fairly: it is normal when it’s Avont.

A faux sniffle schlucks up your nose easier than the throat-stabbing cough you force. Stumbling into the doorway with a very sudden, very apparent light-headedness, “I got- !” you silence yourself with another cough, forcing your voice down into the base of your chest, “Caught something… at that bar…”

Scoffing, Avont nods, “Big surprise. That place is nasty as shit. I keep tellin’ you stop going there,” here he goes again -you mentally retreat, planning the next ploy to aid your virus story, while he spiels, “You’re too nice for a gross ass place like that. No little crush is worth that black-eye waiting to happen! You need to listen to me, I was right about that girl and I’m right about that bar!”

Clearing your throat and shaking off both his lecture and the subtle jab at your dating history, you apologize softly and assure him, “I’ll be back on my feet soon…”

“Get rest, kid. I better not see your ass prancing in the lanes…”

Ugh, no faith. Like he thinks you’re a liar or something!

You feign a pained swallow and show a ‘thumbs up’. Nodding curtly. Shutting the door as he turns away. Returning to bed orgasm-less, and now dulled of all carnal heat upon the sight of your boss ]

***

Rising from bed provides a fresh ache, unrelated to the -still recovering- fingerprints scorched along your hips or the bite marks on your chest. This one curdles inside: above the vagina and below your throat. Acting more as a realization than a concrete feeling, one you think is meant to be stifled instead of acted upon. Not that self-awareness helps any.

Because whether it’s embarrassing or not, you’re itching to see Vi again. No amount of maturity or hindsight can pin that into a designated place. It rattles around, bowling one end of your stomach to the other like a wild hog until you’re shuffling out of bed. Intent on somehow finding those slate eyes on you again.

Skimping on work is something you’d be scolded for at home, which makes you thankful you’re not: you get to flee your house without a lecture on the importance of career dedication.

You planned on waiting before seeing Vi, you could picture it so well: you, posted at the bar by yourself in a cute little number with a drink you took one sip from. Lipstick around the rim. Lashes thick and batting over your shoulder as she approaches you for once.

All of that daydreaming is dashed as soon as you step foot inside.

Vi is already there. Black face paint thick around the eyes, strewn down her cheeks nearing the corners of her mouth -- black lipstick around there, too. Outgrown strands flattening out around her neck like oiled feathers. Individual pieces compiling to craft this perfect ego, some mask to make herself unattainable.

Always there. Always lingering. Always looking despite the danger ahead.

It makes you wonder what she serves. You want to know more. You need her to tell you, whisper it against your lips with her tongue in your mouth.

But she’s always there.

Does she live here or something?

Between strobing lights and swamped bodies, you manage to make out Vi’s stained silhouette. Ear cuffs shining back into your retinas.

Now you struggle with how to approach… should you be upfront? Should you tease from the sidelines and pray she notices?

Before you can formulate the most immaculate lie, Vi spots you in the faded crowd. Her eyebrows raise a smidge, a smoke visibly clearing from her gaze upon the sight of you. As if you could have no other prerogative than her (you don’t), she beckons you forward with two flicks of her middlemost fingers -- effectively eliminating the most awkward part of approaching her. Good!

Bounding toward the woman, you shyly tuck your hands at your hip and give a coy, “Hey, Vi…”

“What’re you doing here?”

Fuck!

“I’m here all the time,” not really a lie, just strategically subtracting the part where you come solely to catch glimpses of her beneath floodlights.

“Sure,” she pushes off the crackled counter, sliding back toward the door.

“I was just bored…” you admit glumly, reduced to a miserable, truthful goop beneath her glittering eyes, “Couldn’t think of anything but this place.”

Vi, naturally, chooses to pick on you, “You thinking of me?”

“Wha- ! Ugh, uh, no. Not really. Not even,” again, your bluffs disperse as simply as smoke with a mere flick of her eyes, “Just super bored.”

“Uh-huh,” she shrugs, jerking her head toward the back of the room, “You bored enough for a quickie in the bathroom? I gotta go out in ten for my first fight, need something to get my heart started.”

“First fight?”

“I get double-booked most nights, sweetpea.”

Your automatic reaction is to squeeze your thighs, feeling that slight nudge of fat ripe against your clit -- the friction. The resounding echo of your heartbeat against each rib bone. A dodgy snort racketing through your sinus, “You need to work on your nicknames.”

Vi’s initial response is to roll her eyes as if she could read the arousal off you like text -- her second response is to quietly mumble, “Forget that one from last night.”

Out of respect, you singularly nod and say nothing else, no matter how oddly the request strikes you.

And when Vi links an arm through yours, out of respect, you let her drag you into the bathroom. Spiked jacket collars dig into you as she crushes you toward the back wall -- rigging a janky lock last-minute; you’re not sure it ever clicked, and you’re also not sure that you care.

She keeps you pinned against the tile wall when you try slinking down her body. Vi ‘tsk’s in your face, nipping your neck, black fingernails already dipping beneath your waistband. Fluttering your bottoms down your thighs before whirling you around yet again. She slides onto the lidded toilet, legs spread wide. One thigh braised, muscle tense. She sits you on that thigh.

“Come on, baby,” she viciously swipes your cunt along her thumping thigh, swerving your hips by force. Rudely mimicking your pathetic whimpers back to you, airy, echoed “ah, ah, ah”s passing between sloppy kisses, “You gonna cum for me?”

Hard pressure and stroke against your clit has a ragged gasp raking through your chest, you spread your legs and wrangle hands into her jacket.

Then twisting those hands up toward her blackened hair. Vi has no sympathy, only pushing down harder and sliding you wetly over her skin.

“Come on, girl,” she moans quietly, “Give it to me. I need to watch you cum.”

Your gut twists at the desperate husk in her voice. Thighs quaking around hers. Nails snagging the nape of her neck.

She nudges up into you on each stroke, pressing her lips to yours.

“Uh- !” you gasp, knot blistering apart in your stomach.

“Yeah?”

“Hah…!”

“Uh-huh, baby,” she slowly releases your hips, allowing you to rut at your own pace while you come down from your orgasm.

“Oh, Vi…”

“Good girl,” she pecks your cheeks. Papping the black lipstick stains away kindly, “I needed that.”

Vi has enough decorum to help you yank up your clothes before shuffling you back out into the crowd.

Her thick jacket is laid over you. She pats the two-headed hound over your back with a playful shrug and chooses to not acknowledge the way you solely gaze at her chest beneath the wrap top. What a merciful and kind woman.

You slide your arms through the sleeves of the heavy jacket, letting Vi guide you via a hand just above your ass. Until you’re squishing through raised pews, not mumbling apologies quick enough for all the shoes you’re trampling. Too fast you’re moving in a space too dark.

“Here, baby,” Vi gruffs from behind you, shoving you as politely as possible onto the stone seat beside a man over thrice your size. She pats your padded shoulder and beams at the man while saying your name, then turns to you amongst the cheering crowd and says, “This is my friend! Just stick with him and nobody’ll fuck with you while I’m down there!”

Eagerly nodding along, you perk up as Vi leans down. One hand on your cheek and the other darting between the open drawls of her jacket -- not-so-subtly copping a squeeze of your tit -- pressing you with a soft, open-mouthed kiss. Then she hops down the pews vertically, carelessly shoving aside viewers. People scream after her in outrage but don’t change their bets on her win.

An elbow jutting into your side knocks you violently into Vi’s friend. Rather than become as upset as the patrons, he smiles down at you softly and slinks an arm around your back to keep you away from the rowdiness.

Lights dim, then shoot alive. Flashing down into the pit. Circling and circling like scavenger birds as a man rippling with black ink enters directly across from Vi.

You sit up seeing her. Eyes widening as if that could provide some higher definition sight of her.

The man keeps you upright among the thrashing throng. He has no room to say it, but the lovestruck haze on your face both terrifies and moves him. He prays for both yours and Vi’s sake that Vi is big enough with those muscles to dwarf her past. He’d love to put the idea of caution in your head, of a safe distance. But for one: the mob is shrieking, and two: your eyes are soaking wet with infatuation.

Even when Vi is making a man even bigger than himself spit out teeth and blood, you look down at her like she’s gifting a ribboned bouquet.

Post win, reveling in the coins freshly lining her pockets, Vi has you on her arm while her friend repeatedly gathers the bartender’s attention with his broader, taller stature.

Stares linger. Regular betters spotting this man with Vi is not unusual, but you are. A glaring lime green dot in the center of this portrait. Girls stray, syrupy voices sultry to lure Vi from her seat; yet it never works.

Her arm hooked around your waist tightens every time, screwing you into her side until your skin is basically glued against hers. If, at any point, you could be worried about her taking a different girl home: she quickly remedies that by how sparingly she diverts her attention from you.

It was always going to be you she takes home, and you were always going to say yes.

“This is cute,” Vi holds, between two fingers, your absolute embarrassment, “You carry this wherever you go?”

“Why are you riffling through my things?!”

You launch forward to rip your bag out of her lap and try snatching the comb from her fingers but she tosses it aside to wrench you forward. Both arms wrapping around your waist; wrapped hands with dried blood around the knuckles securing you against her.

“I trusted you…” you seethe, albeit non-seriously, and slap her shoulder, “I leave you alone for two seconds and you try teasing me.”

“It’s cute! You got a little reminder charm in your purse, it’s adorable,” when you only pout harder, Vi relents, “Sorry for betraying your trust while you pissed.”

“Ew, don’t say it like that…”

“So sensitive,” she lulls onto her back, bringing you with her so you’re fully nestled on her chest.

Grumbling protests into her bosom, you squeeze yourself around her. Throwing a leg over both of hers. Her blunt nails barely make an indent against your back as she draws lines and circles -and hearts you think?- along your spine. Despite her heavy-handedness and rough pads, the ministrations are incredibly soothing. So gentle and sweet that you find your lids drooping.

Heavy lashes beating down onto your cheeks. Breaths evening and slowing. A fragile yawn escapes your parted lips.

Just as your mind is leaking blank, you’re jostled.

“Alright,” she coughs awkwardly, clapping the fat of your ass until you’re shuffling upward, leaning upon your elbows. Lashes clumped by black dye beat up at you, she presses her lips with furrowed brows, “Let’s get you home.”

“At this hour?” you yawn.

Slipping out from beneath you, Vi is already stuffing her shoes back on. Carding long fingers through her tangled hair as she murmurs, “I’ll walk you.”

You don’t suppose that’s the warmest invitation, and so slink off Vi’s board of a bed.

Much of the creep towards your apartment is as silent as it is prolonged. Her silence could speak volumes if she wasn't so flagrantly dragging her feet, pointing into the smokey, unclear sky to attract your attention or pausing you at each sketchy corner to 'scope' rounding dangers. Patiently, you wait for her to tell you any of the multitude of thoughts she's withholding, but that doesn't come before she's clomping outside your door. "Well, sweets, looks like it's goodnight. Keep those bugs away, huh?" lame, yet charming. You wouldn't have imagined someone as made-up and scenic as Vi would have a shamelessly cringe bone in their body and yet she surprises you. You're desperate to see more.

She’s turning, she’s getting away. For some odd reason no matter how much time you siphon from her it is never enough.

“Wait, Vi!” you clap a hand over your mouth as soon as the call has left your mouth.

She quirks a brow at you silently.

“Uhm,” now you can’t retract it. Commit or die of embarrassment, “Are you hungry?”

Vi’s lips raise in disbelief, disbelief that suffocates itself with a confused smile, “I haven’t eaten.”

“Do you want to come in? I’ll make you something good.”

Vi, for an unbearable few seconds of stunted silence, contemplates the offer before shrugging. Face elongating in pure why not energy -- skimming your side as she slides into your apartment. Saddling your stove impatiently with big puppy eyes, just waiting until you follow in.

“I wanna have a special nickname for you…”

“Give me one, then.”

“How about…” you hum thoughtfully, “Red? Like the jacket?”

Vi tenses, then shakes her head wildly, “Too close to one I don’t like.”

“Uh, okay, then… uhm… ughhh, there’s not enough to work with… I don’t wanna just call you ‘V’, that feels so cheap.”

“Full name’s Violet, if you really want more ammo.”

“Violet,” you sing it so sweetly that it makes heat swoon to her cheeks -she almost clutches her palms over her face like a child at the realization- “What if I just call you that? Is that okay?”

The blush is immediately overwritten by a heinous cackle, “That’s the exact opposite of a nickname.”

“Yeah, but it’s just as special because only I’ll call you that. It’s a name-extender, or something.”

“Uh-huh, or something,” when you don’t retort, instead just blinking up at her bashfully, Vi tilts her head sardonically, “Yes?”

“Do I get a nickname, too?”

“Oh, yeah, let’s go. How about ‘princess’?”

“No! It has to be related to me!”

“You don’t see how ‘princess’ is related to you?” brattishly, you shake your head and Vi rolls her eyes (albeit not with any malintent), “Alright, then… Pumpkin? Candy lady? Sweet girl?”

The last one makes you clench and rub your thighs, but you press that down, down, down and pretend to be normal.

“Why are all my nicknames so ‘sweets’ related?”

She answers, or instead dodges, your question with another one, “How can you sit there and be so nice all the time anyway?”

“I don’t know, it just feels better than being spiteful.”

“Okay, well. Sometimes you have to be.”

“Yeah! I didn’t mean anything by it… just, for me. Right? I didn’t mean anything.”

Vi doesn’t seem to buy it, which is confusing because you don’t think you ever gave her a reason to think you would lie.

“Where are you from?” her gaze narrows.

“Huh? How does that matter?”

“Where were you born?”

“Vi, if you just want someone to be mad at you then why are you with me?” sensing she won’t drop the topic anytime soon, you sigh and answer with great hesitance, “Piltover. I moved here when I was sixteen.”

“Why?”

Her questioning makes your skin crawl. You don’t like her sneer. You don’t like thinking about your past. And you don’t want to explain yourself to someone you thought would understand.

“A girlfriend,” you try to wave the answer away beneath the pan’s sizzle, but Vi catches it.

“You moved down here?” you hum and nod passively, praying she’d only drop the subject, but instead she scoffs, “She was stupid to not move over.”

“She had a family to take care of…”

“She could’ve moved them all.”

“Why does it matter?” you move the pan and swing around after stifling the stove, hands clutching your counter and sights rounding with juicy globs of upset. You already know why it matters. You heard it two years ago and you’re reading it in the displeased lines of Vi’s scowl.

“You don’t belong down here,” she speaks so casually.

“I belong wherever I want.”

“Not down here.”

“Not with you?”

Vi inhales slowly, eyes fluttering shut and arms folding, “Come on, you know that’s-!“

“No, you come on! That’s what you’re saying!” you wail, pushing into the rusting stove when Vi steps closer, “That’s what you’re thinking. That’s why you’re saying all this, right? Why else would you care so much about shit I don’t even think about.”

Vi approaches, hands uncomfortably stuffed into her pockets, “I just can’t understand not being angry about anything.”

“That’s not because you’re from Zaun, that’s because your life was hard.”

“My life is hard because I’m from Zaun,” she bites, “I had a little stay topside, and it was still shit for me.”

Again, you can read what she’s thinking. The sudden crease between her brows says it all -- that vengeful twinge and aggravated quirk of her lips. And again, your heart tells you with fiery anguish that you must hear her confirm it verbally,

“Why were you in Piltover?”

Vi looks down at you over the bridge of her nose, “For a girlfriend.”

Staring each other down with only the rocking of your unsteady body against the stove droning through your apartment. You frown while Vi smiles cruelly. She wants you to say it back. You didn’t belong there. She wants you to bang the pan in her face.

“I’m sorry it was so shit for you,” you cough between bulbing sobs, and the urge to spit them out only grows when Vi is visibly disappointed in your response, “If you’re looking for a fight then you should go back to your own place.”

Vi leans back into the counter opposite you. Arms coming up to fold across her chest. She burns thumb and forefinger into her eyes, then massages her brow and trails across to her temple, “You’re so sweet.”

A mirthless laugh scatters from your deflated self, “Like sugar?”

“Yeah…” she sniffs and clears her throat, “Like sugar.”

Foolishly, you allow the disagreement to settle over her stunted compliment(?), “I still don’t like that. You sound like some hounding drunk.”

“It’s all I got.”

“We should work on your nicknaming skills, Violet.”

“Yeah, whatever ‘name-extender’.”

***

Waking up hours earlier than your routine calls for does not suit you finely. But, alas, you do it for Violet. Violet.

Gorgeous name for such a rugged girl. Her scarred lip and gnarly dye-job don’t scream ‘fragile lavender flowers’. Sometimes there are things you can connect Violet to violets over: soft, round eyes and flushing skin and the taste of her lips. Violet. You roll the name between your brain-folds -- like a marble through grout, contemplating the history behind it. Has she always preferred Vi? When did that nickname sprout? Why is it tattooed on her cheek? Would she let you kiss her tattoo? Would she let you moan Violet when she’s inside you?

For the tenth time this morning, you shoot the clock a deadly scathe. Half past ten.

No longer satiated passing time examining her name, you stand to swing the door and survey your floor. Clean of any body, let alone the significant profile Vi provides.

Vi never struck you as a punctual person, definitely seeming the type to be fashionably late even to her own party, but this was grating. Surely she didn’t choke on vomit in the middle of the night, right?

Momentarily, you feel inspired to burst out and give chase: rush to her studio and cradle whatever hungover pieces remain. Then comes the concern: what if she comes here, and you’re out trying to hunt her down?

To avoid creating a complicated circle, you stay plopped on your couch with your elbows stabbed into your knees and your face hanging into your palms. Every time sleepiness creeps over you, dizzying your head or yanking your lids, you’re shocked awake with anxiety: what if she knocks and you don’t hear it?

To avoid inconveniencing Vi, you stay wide awake on your couch. For uninterrupted hours.

Until you’re forced to rise upon the realization that the sun has crashed beneath the horizon. Indigo glows of nighttime bruise your carpet through dusty windows. Slowly waking, the moon yawns behind a veil of thick smoke. Discoloring it to a vague yellow-ish-green-ish.

You’re a very punctual person. Vi tells you a time, and you find a way to be there two minutes early. So ideally, when she said she’d be showing off at 21:00- you would’ve caught her in the ring.

After elbowing toward the front, hands clasped around the top rail to haul you up high above the fighting -eyes wide to peek at Vi’s rough physique and soft face up close. Only to find two burly men duking in the center. Teeth and blood splattered across the chipped floor.

Bathroom, perhaps?

Shuffling around the edge of the room, you budge toward the back where a single light flickers above the sign with missing letters spelling: RE R O

All you find in the bathroom is another hot couple sweating and moaning in a broken-lock stall. Too caught in their rambunctious whirl of passion, neither pays you any mind before you gather the wherewithal to duck out and slam the door.

Between flashes of light and thumping music, you make out that none of the faces in the crowd are Vi.

Outside, then?

Maybe?

You dash outside, cutting between sweat-slick bodies until the cold air greets you. Music muffled behind steel walls and cigarette smoke curdling around unfamiliar faces. Kiramman banners reflect sickly green beneath the street lamps. They don’t swing in the faint billowing wind; stiff material snaking in jagged lines that hide trashed gutters. A girl with long hair stands in the center, shouting and hugging a boy shorter than her -- you would bet she reeks of Zaun’s finest.

Outside was no luck, you twirl vapidly in the street -as if Vi is standing just out of sight to tease you. Then you find the flight up to her apartment: if Vi’s nowhere, she must be up there.

Bracing the trek two steps at a time, you find a conflicting hint to Vi’s whereabouts.

Coming down the same stairs is the big man Vi usually slinks around with, brushing off his hands with an unbuttoned coat and flushed cheeks. You typically think so kindly of this stranger, but whether it's the swollen concern or aching longing you’re quickly assuming the worst of him. Marching up and pushing him back (rather, he’s polite enough to pretend you forced him back).

He stares down at you with lidded eyes. Bloodshot with heavy bags. He’s frowning.

“What’d you do with her?” despite the comically obvious size difference, you shove at the man’s broad chest with both hands. Face twisted up at him and teeth bared, “I thought you were her friend!”

He merely throws a hand toward the stairs, moving aside for you to fly up the steps and throw yourself into her door. Roughly jerking the knob, finding it unlocked for any passerby, and flinging yourself inside with a panicked call,

“Vi?!”

The door clicks shut behind you, and the sullen strange man stalks away.

“Shhh!”

On her side -eyes clenched and legs twisted around one another with both arms flopped out on opposite sides- Vi is thrown into bed. She looks like she got dumped off by a truck and decided moving wasn’t worth the struggle. You imagine she’s feeling that way, too, if the clattering bottles you kick over when trying to enter are any indication. Her teeth bared with the dangerous shush.

An empty brown glass rolls into an empty green one and the dying orange sun makes them glitter into each other. Cautious to not make too much noise, you step over the two bottles and creak her door shut. A black bucket is beside her bed, angled beneath her face (for easy puking, you imagine). Several more emptied bottles marble the floor, and with the new vantage point inside her room, you spot a bottle on its side spewing bubbly beer. No doubt already soaking into the floorboards.

“Oh, Vi…” you husk, ambling through her maze to pick up the abandoned glass. Setting it on her side table and searching for anything to mop up the impending stain.

Your attention is speedily diverted.

“Don’t,” she spits, eyes still crinkled shut.

“Hmm?” you hum, inching forward to gently card hair from her face. It’s a tad too pliant, not so much soft as it is greasy, “‘Don’t’ what?”

“Say that… my name,” you could’ve laughed if she didn’t sound so deadly serious, “‘Oh, Vi’ like you give a shit…”

“I do,” you hope that regardless of your hushed tone, the firmness behind it is all the assurance she needs, “Vi, I care,” she doesn’t reply to that, instead groaning and leaning her head further off the edge of the bed. You silently adjust the puke bucket so it’s closer to her gaping mouth, “Vi, we should shower.”

“‘m fucked up, babe.”

“I can see the alcohol, Vi.”

“Sure…”

“Are you okay to stand?”

“You’re serious about a bath?”

“Super,” you comb through her fringe, “You’ll feel better afterward. All nice and clean, and then you can pass out all you want.”

“I don’t wanna stand,” she huffs.

“Then I’ll wash you.”

She snorts. Then shrugs, “Pick me up, then.”

Standing, you preemptively remove your thin shirt and shorts before cautiously hauling Vi into a sit. Looping one of her arms around your shoulder and dragging her into the bathroom. Vi silently lets you lay her in her itty bitty tub and twist on the water.

“Is it too cold?”

She remains silent. So you assume she’s fine.

As you tip her head, scaling water over matted black knots and scrubbing pigment straight off her neck with gentle ministrations -Vi is leering through the corner of her eye.

“You stripped,” she notices.

“I did,” you scratch soap into her discolored hair, “Should I throw on a towel or something?”

“No,” Vi leans back into your hands, a soft moan escaping as you massage her scalp, “Bath and a show. I like it.”

“I just didn’t want you ruining my clothes. You look like a splasher.”

“It’s water.”

“Yeah, bathwater.”

Vi laughs quietly, proving your point with a flick of her wrist and sending a small sploosh of water up into your chest. Powder blue eyes locked on the way your breasts bounce in your bra as you flinch away, then how they jiggle when you try scolding her,

“Vi!”

“You should walk around like this more often,” she grins up at you.

“Whatever,” you try hiding your face in your arm.

“Yeah,” one of her hands dips out of the water to flip your tit, giggling maniacally as you screech and retch back, “Whatever, huh? Listen when I talk, babe.”

Standing abruptly at the new title of ‘babe’, you shudder and shake out the nerves bottling in your gut, “I might as well join you if you’re gonna soak me.”

“You should,” Vi spreads her legs while leaning back, making an obvious gap for you to fill. Rapping her knuckles against the side of the cramped tub, “I’ll treat you real nice in here.”

“Liar,” you smother your humiliation beneath indignation, then a thin spread of frustration, “You’re getting pruney, let me finish washing you.”

“What if I wanna wash you?”

“Do you? Or do you just want me in the water?”

Vi shrugs playfully, a drunken smile on her face, “Never tell.”

“Okay, Vi,” you roll your eyes, rinsing suds from her hair and watching as the water browns beneath her.

Her skin gleams beneath the shoddy yellow lights now, and you can clearly make out each intricate line in the tattoo going down her spine. Branching off either arm and licking up her neck. Outgrown hair hides some of the neck detail.

“When’s the last time you got a cut?” you wonder aloud. Not really expecting a response.

Vi stiffens, arms locking around her bent knees, eyes unfocused and breath heavy as she answers, “Couple months now.”

Patting Vi’s shoulder into a rise, you unplug the tub before assisting Vi out. She trips over herself and just snickers as you scramble to keep her upright. Vi yawns while you lead her toward her makeshift bed with both hands. Kicking aside empty liquor bottles as you do.

“Wanna get dressed for bed? Or total commando?”

“Naked,” she stumbles up, caught by diligent hands and escorted back onto her stiff, patchwork mats, “Thanks.”

“Hm? Uh, oh, sure. I don’t mind.”

“Okay…”

Despite technically fulfilling her request: you feel guilty leaving Vi there, bare to the sprawling draft on a thin mosaic of lumpy cots. She curls tightly, spiraling around herself with her clasped hands as a pillow. Heart drowning in stomach acid, you sigh and drop onto your knees,

“Vi, don’t you have a blanket around here somewhere?”

She mumbles something and flings an arm straight out, a single finger pointed straight toward the boarded floor. Crouching beneath the bed frame, you reach out blindly into the dark undercarriage; fully unaware there was even enough space down here to fit something. After uncarefully scrounging for all of two seconds, you find bundled fabric. Absolutely not soft enough to be a genuine thread blanket, even from the fissures.

The material itself is… off. Thin, sure, but almost plastic-esque. Not vinyl. Not a sheet.

Yanking the cloth out and flattening it across your lap. No matter how dark Vi’s room grew with the sunlight’s decline, you could make out that boorish symbol anywhere. Hard lines stacked into the most offensive polygon you’ve ever seen;

A Kiramman crest flag.

Did she just rip it from a post? Surely with all she wins, she could’ve gotten something more… well, like a blanket.

“Vi, you can’t wear this, it won’t keep you warm…”

She snores and twists away from you. Jet-black ink staring you in the face, now. Swaying with her breath, but otherwise motionless: perfect opportunity to scan down her spine. Because that’s where her tattoo sits, of course.

Hard rectangular blocks, exceptionally round, screw-like joints and gear types at either shoulder. Never before could you conflate Vi with mechanics because everything about her is so hot.

Blood and skin. Layered hair. Bloodshot eyes. Pink lips. A heartbeat. Flaying lashes.

Perhaps that’s an old part of her. Locked away behind the years since she got the tattoo done. Maybe she doesn’t even remember what the meaning is.

What if it just looks cool?

Slammed out of your thoughts, Vi rolls around again with a strung-out huff. Now a silvering scar denting her top lip stares you in the face. A nose ring glints just to the left, teasing you to stick around. You see both so much better without those black shades she packs on before each rumble. For as much as you adore the hardened painting, you think she’s prettier like this. You catch the roundness of her cheeks better. The wideness of her eyes. Her collarbones.

You inhale slowly and stumble back into a stand. Hands shaking at the sudden, frightening swell of affection.

You should probably go.

Vi shivers, big eyes clenching tight and burly arms roping around herself for cover.

Dropping into a speedy squat, you snatch the Kiramman flag and splay it across her although it does your heart no favors. Still unpleasantly contracting.

She could get sick…

She’s doused by moldy colors. Surely the material is scratchy, too.

“At least I know what’s watching me…” rouses you from the fresh concern.

“Huh?”

“Can’t sleep like this,” Vi laughs, stifling it in the hull of her throat before rolling to sit up. Staring up at you tiredly, “Felt like I was being watched.”

“Oh, I guess I was… I wasn’t, I mean- not like that,” you groan, scrubbing exasperation from your tense eyes, “I don’t wanna hurt you, Vi.”

“Comforting.”

“Just worried… you’ll get sick, you know?”

Vi pushes off to stand, smirking when your eyes momentarily sink toward her chest -- she pinches your cheek, “Cute.”

Shirking a stringy black top and boxers on, Vi snags the flag -and kicks it back beneath her bed before assuring you, “I’ll find something else, okay?”

“Okay…”

Striding past you, Vi opens her door and knocks her head into the frame before gesturing you through, “Ladies first.”

You chuckle, good-naturedly rolling your eyes and flouncing out of her apartment, “You’re a lady, too.”

“Mhmm,” she shuts it behind you both -impulsively going to jam her hands in pockets until she realizes there are none there. She says nothing but leads you toward the wide staircase, “Not like you, though. Coming all this way for me… Undercity’s finest.”

“Not even,” you’re glowing beneath the praise. Goofy smiling and cheeks heated. So you intentionally stray a few steps behind, so she cannot see you.

As you dust the final step, looking out into the narrow alleys -flaying Kiramman flags mystifying the space, so crowded together you can no longer see between them as the wind raises each flap- you realize you have a longer way to go.

Vi must come to the same conclusion simultaneously. Already staring down at you when you peek toward her.

Her mouth opens, lips faintly stained blue around the ridges and smears of black lingering beneath her lashes. Vi’s eyes trace you, hands shaking at her sides. Then she sighs, eyes blinking half a second apart, “I might be too drunk to walk you home, sugar.”

Knowing she’s inebriated gives you an edge -knowing that perhaps tomorrow her head will pound so hard she won’t remember this conversation- you straighten your shoulders, “Then why don’t I stay the night?”

Blinking down at you, drowsy lashes hanging for a moment, Vi hums thoughtfully even though you can see the rejection already in her face, “You shouldn’t…” eyes sliding away from you, “You won’t get much sleep…” she laughs at herself before bumbling out, “the mattress is uncomfortable.”

“Huh,” you twist uncomfortably, an overbearing and embarrassing tension rising as you battle uphill to get back into that apartment, “I’ll miss you then.”

“Stay safe, sugar,” she soothes a hand up your arm before slinking away. Overly cool and completely unbothered, she has to white-knuckle the rail as she climbs back toward her lonely studio apartment.

A biting wind slithers up your back.

You forgot Vi’s jacket at home.

***

Technically, there was no plan to see each other again.

That doesn’t mean you want to any less.

Work is disinteresting and despite living here for coming to eight years, you have yet to establish a social circle independent of work or… Her. Who shall not be named.

The most social stimulation you’ve had today was another knock-switcharoo incident. Flurrying toward the sound, expecting Vi to be leaning there with her muscles and soft lips, you opened the door to find your next-door neighbor with a crooked smile. She held out a silver key and asked you to keep it because it’s a new copy and I don’t trust myself with the duplicate….

That was two hours after you woke up. Many more have passed since then.

A momentary pass of awareness scoops you up: is everyone right? That you don’t belong here? Should you go back home? Would that help you re-grow your spine, would that re-inspire your social battery? Would that alleviate the doubts still gnawing at you with Her teeth?

But then you wouldn’t get to see Vi if you moved back home…

Maybe you shouldn’t.

You sit at home. You don’t know what to do with yourself alone except for craving Violet.

Antsy for something to do, you resolve to rid yourself of the last fossil from two years ago: throwing apart the cabinets above your speckled stove, nearly tearing one door from its hinges. Sparkling from the back, unhidden, is a bottle you haven’t touched since She stormed out of your apartment. Leaving you with a two-bedroom to hemorrhage money over while her things slowly disappeared overnight. Its waxy red neck shivers for warmth, and your palm is awfully sweaty -- it needs something cold to wrap around.

Thrilled spines pierce along your spine and into the arm you’re extending for the bottle. Amber liquid swirls kindly at you, calling your name with such foreign affection that you have no choice but to politely reciprocate. Unscrewing the cap and abandoning it into the garbage. Swigging like water until your throat burns, then you drink more to pacify the sting.

Once your belly is buzzing and hot, and any thought past breathing is too hard for your head to compute: you decide you’re in perfect condition to get out of your stuffy apartment.

After all, don’t you deserve it?

You’ve been locked away too long, you should get out. You should dress up. You should keep the bottle with you as you get dolled up. And you should roam deep into the inner city. For no specific reason except that’s usually where the excitement thrives. Your ex taught you that.

Deep in a cardboard box buried in the back of your closet is a matching set. Your only one. You only wore it twice.

Black thread is thickest in the outline: straps and cups, then a sheer mesh. Wine tinted over your flesh and purple bows on either bra strap, right at the pit of your arm, and over the front of your panties. Vi loved it the first time, she’ll have to love it again. It’ll remind her of that first night: the heat, the passion, she could’ve eaten you alive and it was enchanting.

Over that, you tug a pink dress. Short to let your legs breathe. Hugging around your hips and chest. Simple enough to be unassuming as a slip dress, but undoubtedly tempting for someone like Vi.

When did this abrupt outing become about Vi?

…you don’t remember…

You don’t care too much, either.

A dangerous walk to the pit is nothing to your drunken mind. Determined with nothing but soot in your hands, dust blowing out of your fists without you realizing.

Vi doesn’t notice you with her back turned. She’s alone and hunched over the counter with a vice grip around a glass bottle. Her cheeks are rosy and the glass has only been dug into a fifth of the way. You approach, and she must catch your glinting smile in her peripherals because her head glides your way.

Releasing the bottle, Vi tilts her head onto her newly spare hand while reaching out for you with the other. Fondly, she massages the back of your hand with her thumb -- settling you onto the stool beside her and tugging you flush into her side. She pats your thigh and cups your cheek.

Vi snickers, drawing a thumb beneath your bottom lip and swiping up-away from the corner. Only once you see the crimson smear on her skin do you realize she was cleaning up drooping lipstick. What a romantic…

“You look like me, sugar,” she says strangely. Not happy. Not sad. Just quiet. And her face betrays nothing at all.

“Are you happy to see me?”

“You drink before showing up?”

Her question flies out so quickly it doesn’t occur to you that she completely dodged your own.

“Can you tell?”

She nods, “Hard not to when I can smell it.”

“Augh…”

“You’re still cute,” she promises and swings back her next drink. Dragging the back of her hand across her jaw to catch sour dribbles, “I just have to catch up now.”

Before she can poke even a little, you’re clawing an open hole through your stomach. Guts piling onto the counter in front of her. An earnest glow overtaking your face, and a desperate rag choking your sweet tone, “Vi, I missed you.”

“Did you?” she swallows another shot from the bottle.

“I want you totally, Vi.”

“Do you?”

Now she looks at you again. Your face is spared two seconds before her steely eyes drop toward your cleavage. Elated with having her stare on you again, you don’t catch the pure carnality electrifying her. Raw desire infects her sloppy judgment when she nods.

“I want you too, sugar.”

“Seriously?” despite all your dreams, you hadn’t thought she would agree. Preparing yourself for the utter worst, now you don’t know what to do as she hops down (stealing the whole bottle with her, you notice).

“What else would you be doing here?” she grins up at you from your perch on the stool, “Now come on, are you gonna sit here and make me go home alone?”

She already knows, you can tell by that smarmy lilt in her voice, she must know that isn’t what you came here for.

Taking her offered hand is natural. Medical wrap comfortably fitting into the grooves of your clasp. When you trip over the first step, she dramatically sweeps you up into her arms. Barking a laugh when you scream and curl both arms around her neck in panic, legs tightening and smacking against her clavicle. Regardless of her not being winded or in any detectable pain, you rush to kiss her cheek and spew apologies.

“I’m tough, sugar, don’t be sorry,” she carries you up the steps, “Feel free to keep kissing me though.”

So you do.

Red lip print after red lip print, overlapping and staining her pale cheek. Mingling and murkying with her long-drawn eye makeup. And when you sear your lips against her jaw you see that black shades over some of the red.

As a test, you kiss down her neck and again: black in red. She stained you, too.

It makes you giddier than it should, but you blame it on the alcohol and not your festering obsession.

Vi lets you off after kicking her door open, finding plenty of joy in how you -again- squeal in shock and cling tighter to her. Bonking your forehead against her. Her laugh is so full of fluff, delighted by your dread -she still sounds so pretty. She kneels to unclasp your shoes and slips you out of them with black tar kisses on your knees and shins.

Unlooping the straps of your slip until it bleeds onto the floor: pooling around your ankles. You hop out of it without a second thought.

Kicking off her own shoes, Vi slides her hands over your neck and smooches both cheeks -- grinning broadly with bloodshot eyes at the sight of her lips printed on your skin.

With the door open, you feel free. Unhidden. A bottle about to be chugged. Her hands on your neck, so warm and so gentle. You feel buzzy in your belly and overwhelmed by endearment, you pry your ribs back to expose a still-beating heart. Vi can take it. She should take it.

“I think I love you, Vi.”

Hands tighten around your throat before snaking off, fastening at her sides. Red eyes come alight like she didn’t just carry you up the stairs and kiss your legs, “What?”

“I’m - I mean, uh… I… I want you, I want us…” your shoulders slump, brows furrowing, “I thought…”

“You thought?” she prods, eyes wide and chest erratically pumping. Each breath a gunshot.

“I just thought…”

“Thought what?” she spits, glare spearing you against her bedroom wall, the radiating chill washing your back keeps you stiff, “What could you possibly have thought this was?”

“Uh,” you lull, shoulders rising toward your ears and eyes drooping onto the floor, “uh,” you hesitate and let your arms flop out on both sides, “uh…”

“God!” she scoffs, and it teeters off into a snaking laugh by the end, “Do you ever start a thought without moaning?” Vi shakes her head, eyes cutting aside -toward her cracked mirror, “What did you think I was gonna be for you? What you were for me?” she looks back onto you, low and angry. She’s never looked at you like that, “You can’t be that dumb.”

“Oh,” your chin falls into your collarbones, eyes pointed onto your socked feet and beginning to sting. Hands come up belatedly and curl around yourself, “...oh…”

Vi steps back and collapses on her bed. It creaks beneath her. She isn’t looking at you. You’re not looking at her.

Instead, you’re focused on your clothes strewn over her floor. A baby pink slip you ripped from the lanes -a thin film of soot caked into the fabric- and Vi’s old red jacket. A toppled pair of flats with the soles beginning to poke through the bottom kicked by her door. An unfortunate glance cast toward her mirror confirms the lipstick you wore is now smudged sideways. Hair mussed and whole body constricting to hide itself.

Vi stares at the floor. You feel so stupid.

“Was I actually just sex to you?” you finally ask. A whisper into the buzzing coffin.

Like a nail beneath the hammer, Vi answers, “What else could you have been?”

Maybe her girlfriend.

You don’t suggest that. You just nod. You step back into your dress, pulling each thin strap slowly around the curve of your shoulders. She says nothing. It’s so quiet you can hear the extra step it takes for you to skip over her old jacket and slip each shoe back on.

Fingers tighten around the brass knob, twisting until it squeaks and pops out of frame.

“It’s weird to leave your place without you walking me down,” you whisper, gaze hooking back just to see if she’ll flinch. Vi remains static, bent over herself on the bed.

“You’re still upright,” she mutters, voice low and strapped with razor wire.

“I tried really hard to look nice, Vi.”

She shivers as her name crawls off your tongue, tucking her head down and away from sight. You’re not sure what else you expected. She obviously wants you out, yet you stand just to delay the inevitable. You’ve never spent the night before, that won’t change because you confess how pathetic you are for her.

Leaving feels wrong, staying is wrong.

You step out slowly, as if to taunt Vi into grabbing your hips and yanking you into her chest. As if she would.

“Goodnight, Vi.”

A stiff, low nod is all you get. And the only evidence that’s what you even got was the rustle of tarred hair flapping.

Sliding the door shut behind you, you pull the knob hard to ensure it surely shut. Silently stepping back, you coil around yourself upon a sweeping breeze; peeled eyes set on that dilapidated door. No shuffling, no screaming, no banging. Vi sits on her bed, then, and quietly forgets you were ever there. But you can’t stop thinking about it.

Feet dragging down each step and an unsteady hand clutching the rail. Sniffling. Reconsidering everything you said, every spot in her room you looked too closely at, how you didn’t rush to touch her -hug her, hold her, soothe her. Wondering if maybe had you kept your mouth shut tonight then she could’ve fallen for you, that maybe all she needed was more time. After tonight, she could’ve been yours, right? She just needed time, now she wants nothing to do with you.

But you keep hoping she’ll run down after you. She should be tripping over herself, racing the wind, and skipping three steps at a time to scoop you into her big arms.

A nasty, soaked hiccup chokes you. Cupping a hand over your mouth stifles nothing, but it does make you light-headed with the sudden lack of oxygen. Maybe if you pass out now she’ll find you and feel so bad she just takes you with her anyway.

Or maybe someone else will find you and feel so much pity they stomp you out right there.

Either way, you would have been saved from the humiliating task of blubbering all the way home by yourself.

Only once you’ve stripped and kicked off your shoes do you realize -you left a comb on Vi’s bedside table. Your favorite one. And your favorite bra, too, was thrown somewhere across her bedroom. With much hesitation and more regret, you swallow the fact you’re never seeing either again and climb into bed.

Steely cold sheets slither over your skin, flatly covering with no comfort -- and surely no softness. Despite the conditions, your eyes close and you clasp your hands over your chest, rolled up tight on your side. Never before has your breathing sounded so lonely, ravaged by a swelling throat with lungs knotting around your heart. Slowly unballing your fists, smushing them flat over your eyes just to catch the dripping wetness.

Maybe if you collect it all, and show the swirling cups to Vi she’ll let you stay and cry for her a little bit more.

Or maybe she’d just shut the door in your face.

***

Nights are long. You sleep to get to morning and sleep some more to ignore the day. Tempting is the bottle, but then you'd be flat broke and with all those sick days recently you doubt your boss will be thrilled to keep you around on tough times.

Rolling out of bed for a shift feels how you'd imagine a glass blade dragging over your face feels. Dramatic, possibly, but if someone could bare their palms around your every thought then they'd know the comparison was real. Much dread fills you, so full and so bloated with trepidation that you could spew it out unto neighbors as you walk.

A blinking red sign awaits overhead. Few letters are stubborn enough to remain lit the four minutes you spend procrastinating outside. The rest flicker without remorse, spelling a stuttered and ill-aged: BOM S

Deciding to brave a striding entrance rather than being dragged in by your glaring coworker, you finally push open the cracked glass door. Fingerprints and blood smears of varying degrees of dryness paint the exterior. No new faces decorate the floor: a promise that you still have a position. After all, not many are bustling to work at the poorly managed, poorly budgeted titty bar.

Skidding past the curious and agitated faces of coworkers, you veer into the back room. Pleased to find your locker intact and untouched.

Your name plated across a dinky silver tag with a crooked back pin is still stitched into place over the heart of your black apron. Which smells as clean as you left it. Same with your tiny black shorts and low-cut top. Shucking on the minimalist uniform, you speedily whip out onto the floor and ignore the incredulous stare of your fellow opening girl.

Levaya storms your way while the floor is still empty, an uneasy morning dust still coating each table. Sticky beer clicking your heels into place on the floor. Monte is still at the bar area, wiping the counter before getting to any part of the restaurant used at this time of day - which makes total sense, of course.

Her red lips are twisted furiously, though the pinch in her eyebrows unveils deep concern, “Where have you been? We thought you died!”

“I was sick. Really out of it.”

Scoffing, she rolls her eyes, “You’re always out of it. Just tell Avont before your story changes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you watch her storm off, “whatever.”

Mornings at Bombshells are never, ever busy enough to justify having two servers on staff -- you doubt there was a sudden influx of patrons before afternoon that has Levaya salty. If anything she must have just been so concerned she gave herself a stress headache, as if that’s your fault.

In any case, you end up outside Avont’s office before the first hour of your shift ends. His name is seared into a rusty board, too thin to be the plaque he insists it is. You knock out of courtesy before simply opening the door, which is never locked because there is no lock. He blew that budget on the front door, a smarter venture given the location.

Avont sighs when he sees you, “Where’ve you been?”

“I was sick, real loopy. Couldn’t tell time, kept falling in and out of sleep.”

“Right, m’kay,” he scrawls -you assume that excuse- in the corner of a paper before waving a hand to shoo you out. As you’re trying to exit, you swear he mutters, “Hope it was worth it…”

The wish makes you swallow hard, and gaze upon the hollow chairs -ghostly tables. Were you better off here than out in the pits?

Levaya palms your shoulder, warm skin on warm skin, she tilts her head, “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You’re usually spacey, but not this bad.”

“Uh,” you clear your throat -you should start thinking without moaning, apparently it’s scathing- “Fine. I'm fine.”

Snapping catches both of your attention, Monte holding out a bucket and two rags. A silent prod if you got time to lean, you got time to clean -- which usually doesn’t bother you, after all, you could’ve moved to the night shift when people actually show up if cleaning bothered you. But right now you’re almost too devastated just standing, let alone scrubbing and soaping.

“Technically,” Levaya seethes, “One of us should be at the host stand,” she snatches the harder job up right in front of your eyes and waves the rag at you like you’re a child, “And you owe me, so you have to take it! No arguing!”

You don’t get to open your mouth before she’s whipping you in the ass with the rag.

So you quietly meander to the so-called ‘host stand’ which is just leaning against the peeling wallpaper and waving at bypassing citizens. Nobody stops in. Nobody ever does since Avont axed the cheap lunch specials. Why would anybody stop into a place like this without dancers otherwise?

Why would someone go where they aren’t fulfilled?

Why do you stay in the undercity?

Levaya swears at a chunk of dried gum beneath a table. Monte laughs. Avont waves papers in his office.

Your name is shot from Avont’s cracked doorway, he flaps a clipboard at you, “You have to sign these!” when you don’t jump up from the wall, he grumbles, “For your sick days, kid, let’s go!”

Waltzing out of Avon’t office provides the kind of show you’ve missed at Bombshells since moving to the morning crew. Shouting. Angry shouting.

.

.

.

Levaya is wringing her grayed rag with fury, mouth similarly twisted as she glares upward, “Get out! I don’t know who you think you are, but she’s not here! And if you don’t get out now, I’ll make you!”

Rarely do you see the dark-haired woman so enraged. So you eagerly round the corner to peek at her opponent to find-

Violet.

Completely pliant to the person screaming in her face. Dormant in a corpse way. Eyes low and fingers knotted kindly although she doesn’t seem to be listening at all.

“Get! Out!” Levaya whacks Vi in the arm.

The woman flinches, glaring down at your coworker but otherwise still. Pale gaze warping around the floor just to find you.

“Vi…?”

She finds you.

Levaya scoffs your name, “Come on!”

You wonder how she knows you so well.

“We should talk outside,” you rush over, pushing Vi around and forward by the shoulder. She moves easier than water, entirely soft beneath your fingertips. Nothing like the stonewall woman you’ve known.

“Good friend,” Vi mutters as soon as the glass doors clink shut.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was drunk last night…”

“You were drunk a lot of nights.”

Vi sighs through her nose. Eyes scrunching shut. Her hands are tight in her pockets.

“But last night, I wasn’t. I didn’t,” she groans, “I wasn’t thinking last night. I got scared.”

“You got scared?”

“I got scared,” she confirms, “And it wasn’t you, it’s everything behind you. It’s topside.”

“I don’t live there, there’s nothing for me up there,” or down here, but you don’t say that, “I can’t be loyal to a place I left.”

“It’s not about loyalty,” Vi lets the statement linger so long you almost start a refusal when she bursts out with, “Last time I had a topside girl, my spirit was crushed. I just don’t want to be that way again. Blinded and unsure, it’s not good,” she gestures to herself as if to add humor but it truly just makes you sad, “You’ve seen the results.”

“I like you, Vi, I like what I see. You treat yourself like a chore forced onto me, but if I didn’t want to be with you then I wouldn’t be,” such generic statements make you nauseous, but it’s the single truest thing you could think to say. The most honest you can be is in those blanket statements.

Vi’s eyes soften, self-loathing dissolving into something much more passionate. She looks down at you sweetly, though her thoughts are anything but: you’re so pretty she wants to choke herself and so kind she wants to pluck out her own eye. You’re terrifying because she knows she could fall for you, and you don’t belong with her.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Vi.”

And yet you’re so concerned with how she feels.

“I don’t wanna hurt you either,” she lets out her pocketed hands just to ball them at her sides, shaky with frustration and red hot need, “I just want you around. Everything’s boring when you’re gone. And your apartment is more comfortable than mine now,” frantically, she cards a hand through her hair and wets her lips, “Or maybe it’s just you because I swear the one time I could lay on my shitty bed without a backache was when you were in it.”

“Why push me away, then?”

“I was scared. But I’m more scared of never seeing you again,” she palms the back of her neck, almost shyly, and nudges her head toward the glass doors, “So, can I see you again?”

“You wanna watch me work for the next six hours? Nothing happens on mornings…”

“But you’ll be here, sugar,” she beams, you can tell she’s trying to be suave but it all cracks into unadulterated glee as you nod.

“Well, I guess you’ll be my first customer…”

“What an honor, I’m sure the service will be great.”

“The best.”

“For some reason, I doubt that,” Vi entwines a shaky hand with yours, dragging you toward Bombshells. Re-entering, but now, you think- you plainly assume- as a couple.

If not, then at this point, what the fuck else could you possibly be?

tagging people i thought would be interested:

@wowcatboys + @ch6douin + @deathrose36 + @opoyend + @fortheharbingers ? *metal on metal screeching sound* maybe y'all?

[amirasainz]

I have a request for Lando Norris x Sister!reader where she gets cheated on. Please🫶🏻 I love your writing

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Big Brother to the Rescue

The paddock was buzzing with activity, fans cheering and cameras clicking as drivers moved between interviews and meetings. It was a typical race weekend—hectic, thrilling, and intense. But for Yn, none of it seemed to matter.

She walked beside Lando, her older brother, keeping her head down. Normally, she loved being at the Grand Prix. She’d tease Lando about his starts, laugh at his banter with the other drivers, and soak in the high-energy atmosphere. But today, her heart felt heavy.

Lando, always in tune with her moods, glanced down at her and frowned. “You’re too quiet,” he said as they reached the McLaren hospitality area. “This isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

Yn sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

That was all it took for Lando’s protective instincts to kick in. “Oh, you’re definitely talking about it. Did something happen? Who do I need to fight?”

Yn couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at his immediate leap to violence. “It’s nothing. Just...my boyfriend cheated on me.”

Lando froze mid-step. He turned to her, his expression shifting from shock to anger. “He what?”

“Cheated,” Yn repeated, her voice cracking slightly. “With some girl he met at a party. I found out yesterday.”

Lando clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “That absolute—” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “Okay. First of all, you don’t deserve that. Second, I’m going to make sure you’re okay. And third, if I ever see him, he’s toast.”

Yn smiled faintly at his overprotective tone. “Thanks, Lan. But I don’t think anything can cheer me up right now.”

Lando wasn’t having it. “Challenge accepted.”

---

Throughout the morning, Lando hovered around her like a mother hen. He brought her tea, her favorite snacks, and even a McLaren hoodie to keep her warm. The other drivers began to notice.

“Why is Yn so quiet today?” Carlos asked, walking over to where she sat with her tea. “You’re usually giving Lando a hard time.”

“She’s going through something,” Lando replied, his tone making it clear the topic was off-limits. He wrapped an arm around Yn’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “But don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. He ruffled Yn’s hair affectionately before heading off.

A little while later, Charles and Pierre stopped by. “Yn, you’re not smiling,” Charles said, crouching down to her eye level. “That’s illegal. Lando, what have you done?”

“For once, it’s not my fault,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “She’s just—she’s sad. Leave her alone.”

Pierre, never one to resist a joke, smirked. “Do you need us to scare someone off? We’re good at that.”

“I can scare people off just fine,” Lando said firmly. “Thanks.”

Yn managed a small laugh, which made Charles and Pierre exchange victorious looks.

---

Later, when Ollie came by, he took one look at Yn and immediately tried to lighten the mood. “I’ve got an idea,” he announced, sitting down beside her. “What if I became your new boyfriend? I’d treat you like a queen.”

Yn laughed for the first time all day, the sound catching Lando’s attention from across the room. He walked over, arms crossed.

“Really, Ollie?” Lando said, glaring at his friend. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“What?” Ollie said, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, I’d be an upgrade.”

Yn shook her head, still giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, but effective,” Ollie said, winking at her.

Lando wasn’t amused. “Stick to racing, mate.”

Ollie shrugged and walked off, leaving Yn smiling. “He’s an idiot,” she said, leaning her head on Lando’s shoulder.

“True,” Lando agreed. “But if it made you laugh, I’ll allow it.”

---

As the day wore on, Lando continued to dote on Yn. He handed her tissues when she teared up, reminded her to drink water, and even skipped a strategy meeting to sit with her in the quiet corner of the hospitality area.

“You know,” Yn said softly, “you’re a really good brother.”

“Obviously,” Lando replied with a smirk. “But thanks. And for real, Yn, don’t let that guy make you feel like you’re not enough. He’s the idiot, not you.”

Yn sniffled and smiled up at him. “You’re the best.”

“Duh,” Lando said, pulling her into a hug. “Now, what do you say we watch the race together? I’ll dedicate my first overtake to you.”

Yn laughed, feeling lighter than she had all day. “Deal.”

By the time the sun set over the paddock, Yn was back to herself, and it was all thanks to Lando—her overprotective, slightly annoying, but always reliable big brother.

[kurokawaia]

RIGHT HERE 彡 Izana Kurokawa

WC; 1.3k+ | !MDNI! 18+ | TW/CW :: tenjiku! izana, x fem! reader, afab, reader is wearing a skirt, club setting, alcohol, suggestive, izana is quite handsy, pet names 'mahal' 'princess' 'baby', voyeurism?? hickies, readers first time in receiving a hickey, reader is timid and shy, possessiveness mention + more

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 :: it's your first time relationship with Izana, you know that he's relatively experienced, and he knows that you are not. Despite Izana being quite the dominant person, he's taking it slow with you. However, you should've kept your mouth shut and waited until the two of you were home.

m.list | tokyo revengers m.list

You've been here for a couple hours and Izana hasn't pressured you to do a single thing in the club. He knows that it's a dangerous place to be in when you're a woman, and being as sweet and pretty as you, he is not going to leave your side.

Izana doesn't mind staying seated with you on the red velvet longue because your all tucked up against him, his arm over your shoulder while he holds a glass of whiskey on the other. It's not hot or stuffy in here, in fact, it's quite chilly due to the air-con blasting on full, so Izana as donned his leather jacket around your shoulders.

The other members of Tenjiku where everywhere, on the dance floor, directly at the bar or flirting with the waitresses. The only people who weren't, were you and Izana who were watching from the VIP floor upstairs, along with Kakucho who was sitting on the couch horizontal from us to the side.

Kakucho wasn't really paying attention, he was quite engrossed on his phone. You wondered how he even got into the club, due to how he was fourteen going on fifteen, but Izana is quite influential and he follows Izana around everywhere.

However, you weren't paying attention to anything apart from Izana and the sensual music being blasted through the speakers. Your right leg was placed over Izana's left while his arm tightens around your shoulder and you sigh in contentment.

You know that Izana is possessive of you and his actions show that, he makes sure everybody knows who you belong to, so you'll always be safe. Although, there's been a thought running through your head the entire night, you'll nibble on your glosses bottom lip while fiddling with the hem of your short skirt.

Of course, Izana noticed the moment you started doing it, but he didn't want to pry you too much, simply just engaging in normal conversation with you. But, now? he really wants to know, you've been like this for hours and it's really riling him up.

He's motived how your cheeks flushed whenever you looked up directly up at him while speaking and he knows you have something you want to say, something dirty.

"What's with you, mahal? You've been acting strange all night," Izana hums after drinking the last of the whiskey in the crystal glass before he places it down on the table, his head moving to face yours.

You shake your head quickly, placing a hand on his exposed chest as your curl over into him and you instantly regret doing that because his toned upper body looks really good. Especially in a button down black shirt which was buttoned down quite a bit.

"It’s nothing! I’m fine," you protest with a gentle smile.

Izana lets a smirk cross his lips as his hand squeezes your waist every now and then, his purple iris' glint in satisfaction when he sees you beginning to unravel. "You're a terrible liar, mahal. Spill it."

You take a deep breath while gazing down, looking away from him. "It’s just... there’s something I want to ask, but it’s kind of... embarrassing."

"Oh? Embarrassing?" he teases, lips grazing just below your ear and your heart begins to pound in your chest. "You've really got me curious now."

"It’s not a big deal or anything! I just thought... maybe you could—" you stop mid-sentence, you bury your face into the side of his chest. "Never mind, it’s stupid."

Izana leans back into the soft velvet, and he cups your chin, amusement is evident on his face, specifically his lips, he is enjoying this. "Don't do that, baby. Tell me. Whatever it is, I promise I won't laugh."

But the way he said he wouldn't laugh made you believe otherwise. "I was wondering if... if you could... give me a hickey."

Izana blinks in shock for a few moments, you've never been this forward with him, it's always Izana guessing what you want and 10 times out of 10 he is correct. However, this was a shock to him.

"A hickey, huh?" he replies, his voice low as he whispers sensually in your ear. "So... that's what's been going through that pretty head of yours."

"I just thought it might be... I mean, I trust you, and... I’ve never had one before," you stumble over your words, trying to keep your composure but the way you are pressed so tightly against him and how hot is breath is to your skin... "But if you think it’s dumb, I—"

Izana cuts you off with a soft chuckle, his hand tilting your chin up so you can meet his gaze. "You think I’d let you ask me something like that and call it dumb?" his voice still in that teasing tone. "If you want one, mahal, I’ll make sure you never forget it."

"R-Right here?" you ask in disbelief. "Maybe we should wait until we get-"

You cut yourself off when you see the look in Izana's eyes, primal and need. It makes sense, this will be the most he has ever done with you and he's going feral, he's going to mark you up, everyone will know who you belong to and that you're taken.

A shaky breath leaves your mouth while butterflies stir in your tummy and lower abdomen. He's sitting there studying every square inch of your body, purple eyes gazing over your neck, your flushed cheeks.

Izana's fingers lightly trace your jawline, sending shivers throughout your body. This did nothing to quench the arousal you felt pooling in your underwear.

"You're so nervous, mahal," he coos in a low voice, his thumb playing with your bottom lip. "You asked for this, didn't you?"

You nod, your breath hitching as he leans closer, his warm breath fanning against your neck. He chuckles softly, and the sound is smooth.

Izana's lips touch your below your ear trailing to the dip of your neck before slowly trailing back up and you knew he could feel your heart pounding beneath your flesh. And he could, he was resisting the urge to take you right there and then on the couch, but he couldn't, he's promised himself to take it slow, just for you.

"Relax," he hums. "I'll take care of you, mahal."

He presses his lips against the side of your neck, soft at first, leaving a trail of kisses as he searches for the perfect spot. When he finds it—you whimper—just below your ear—he smirks against your skin before pressing harder, his lips tugging gently as his teeth graze the surface.

The sensation makes you gasp, you breath so heavily in his ear, whimpers mingling in, your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt.

Izana’s grin widens, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That’s it. Just stay still for me, mahal."

He works slowly, almost lazily, his lips and tongue leaving warmth and a faint ache that makes your head spin. He pulls back briefly, his eyes flicking to the mark before he leans in kissing your neck around the red mark gently while squeezing your thigh.

Your cheeks are flushed red and your heart continues to beat fast, not slowing down. Izana cups your jaw, tilting your chin up so you meet his gaze.

"Perfect. Now you have something to show off that your mine" he murmurs before his eyes flutter shut and place a kiss to your lips, pulling away he smirks gently.

You can’t meet his gaze, your face burning, and he chuckles, pulling you closer so you’re tucked against his chest.

"You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?" Izana chuckles. A few moments pass before he begins to stroke your hair down and he leans his head down to your ear. "But don’t get shy now, mahal. I’m not done with you yet. I'm thinking about all the things I'm going to say to you, what I'm going to do to you when we get home."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | tokyo revengers m.list

that last sentence was a chase atlantic reference to their song triggered, if any of you cared to know...

[fackeraccount]

hi I’m not sure if I’m doing this right because I did read your request rules thingy and I hope I’m not crossing any boundaries but I was wondering if you could write for zayne a miscommunication troupe,you could have the creative freedom of choosing whatever but I’m a sucker for angst where they have to fight to get us back type of stuff lol ! if you see this I hope you’re having a good day and if you write this then thank you so much !!

Yes ofc I can! I'm not really an angst girlie but I'll try my best!!

Pairing: Zayne x Gn reader

Tw: Miscommunication, angst, fighting, blood, wounds, concussion, hospital, will they stay together?, break up?, mentions of y/n

There was a constant beeping noise ringing in your ears. The noise was loud but familiar and you realized it was a heart monitor meaning you were in the hospital.

You opened your eyes, squinting through the harsh light. You brought your hand up to block out the light only the feel something in your arm. Looking down, you saw a small tube which lead to an IV bag to your side.

Looking back up, you saw a nurse moving around. She was checking your vitals when she looked up, seeing you awake.

She smiled and said, "Oh, your awake. I'll go call Dr. Zayne for you,"

She left pretty quickly and you sighed. Getting injured is normal but the real problem was Zayne wasn't informed about the mission and now you come to the hospital with a large wound on your side and a concussion.

Zayne stepped through the door, and you could immediately tell there was something wrong. His eyes held no warmth in them anymore and you could tell that this was the inevitable consequences of your actions.

"Are you feeling any pain on your left side or your head?" Zayne spoke, his tone professional, as if you were a mere patient.

"No," You answered, "I can tell it's there but I can't feel it."

"Mhm, that's good. The pain killers are still in effect," He replied while changing you IV bag.

"Alright, you're all good. I'll come check on you later."

Before you could reply, he left, not speaking to you at all.

For the next few days, it continued like this. Zayne would come check on you twice a day but always acted like he didn't know you besides being a patient.

The week after, you were discharged and put on house rest by the doctors so you sat at home, doing absolutely nothing. You just said at home for that week, cleaning up everything you left while on your mission.

You thought about why Zayne would ignore you, I mean, you understood that you forgot to tell him about your mission but he wouldn't ignore you for weeks because of that.

That mission of yours really was dangerous to do on your own but you did.

It was a three day long mission to kill wanderers on the outskirts of Linkon city.

You had fought until one had snuck up on you from behind and slashed you side. You quickly finish them off before the blood loss made you sluggish. Soon after though, you fainted and hit you head on a rock, leaving you with a concussion.

You heard your phone ring from your room while you were cleaning up, bringing you out of your thoughts. You stood up and walked towards your phone and answered without looking at the call ID.

"Hello?"

"Y/n"

"Oh, Zayne! How are you?"

"I'm fine, I just need to tell you something"

"And that is?"

"Well, I think you and I should take a break"

"Wait what? Why?"

"Clearly, I'm not trustworthy enough for you to tell me about you missions but Xavier is"

"Xavier? I just needed someone to take care of my house so I just asked him before I left"

"See that's the thing. You don't tell me about a mission and I find you in the hospital. I realized that you were gone so I came to your house to check on you. Come to find out, he was holding it and knew about your mission."

"Zayne-"

"Let me finish. I know that he's your partner but what if you never came back? What if you'd d-died on that mission? Would I ever know? Think"

"Oh" He was crying, you could hear the small sniffles and the hitch in his voice.

"Yea, so I need to step down and maybe once you've fixed your issues we can try to fix this but you've broken my trust in you. If this continues like this, one day, I'll find out your... dead by someone else without even knowing you left"

As soon as he said that he ended the call. You stood there, frozen, tears streaming down your face without you realizing it.

Zayne had broken up with you and it was all your fault. Your knees buckled and you fell to the ground crying. The tears flooded down your face and you couldn't do anything to stop them.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid! It's all your fault! You have no one to blame but yourself!"

You insulted yourself all day crying, and screaming, but that wouldn't bring Zayne back.

The rest of the week, you spent crying, curled in your bed, barely standing up to eat. Soon enough, you heard a knock on your door.

Standing up sluggishly, you walked towards your door and opened it to see Zayne. He walked in and closed the door behind him.

"Oh. Why are you here?" You asked.

"I came to apologize, I blamed you without even letting you explain and I'm sorry. I jumped to conclusions," he answered.

You sighed and spoke, "No, you were right, I broke your trust, but you also broke mine. I forgot to tell you and I understand that, but you can't just jump to conclusions. So, no we won't get back together until you can trust me again, and I can trust you. Right now, we're just friends again."

He nodded, "I understand that. I just came to apologize first."

He left and you closed the door, sighing.

The next few weeks, Zayne kept doing anything to fix that broken trust. He first took you out twice a week, sent coffee to your office every morning, and even sent you flowers.

You knew he was trying and honestly, it was working. Even though you were still hurt, he was trying and that's all that mattered to you.

Part 2?? Maybe, maybe not 😝

[mattsmiddlepartt]

Late-night distractions

Warnings: fluff, teasing.

!nerd reader × !popular chris!

"You’ve been at this for hours," Chris said, his voice breaking the quiet of your room. He was sprawled across your bed, one hand dangling off the side as he watched you work.

"I’m almost done," you promised, not looking up from the page you were highlighting.

"You said that an hour ago," he teased, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "You know, normal people take breaks, right?"

You paused, finally glancing at him over your shoulder. He was giving you that lopsided grin that always made it hard to stay focused. "I’m not normal, though. I’m me."

"Yeah, you’re you," he said, sliding off the bed and padding over to you. "But even geniuses need to breathe."

Chris leaned against the desk, arms crossed as he looked down at your notes. His brow furrowed dramatically, and he squinted at the page. "This might as well be in another language. How do you even understand this?"

"Because I like it," you said, leaning back in your chair with a small smile.

"Of course, you do," he said, his tone teasing but affectionate. "You’re the smartest person I know. And also the most stubborn."

"Stubborn?" you asked, feigning offense.

"Yep," he said, popping the “p.” Then, before you could argue, he reached over and gently closed your book. "Break time. No arguments."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Chris gave you a look that was more playful than serious. "Come on, just for a little while," he coaxed. "You’re already brilliant. Another ten minutes won’t make or break it."

"Fine," you relented with a sigh, letting him pull you out of your chair.

Chris grinned triumphantly as he guided you toward the bed. "I’m not saying you need to ditch the whole nerd thing, but maybe the world won’t end if you hang out with your boyfriend for a bit."

"Maybe," you teased, letting him flop down beside you.

Chris wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer. "See? You’re already getting the hang of this whole ‘relaxing’ thing. I’m a great influence."

You laughed, resting your head on his chest. "If you say so."

"And for the record," he added, his voice quieter now, "you’re way more fun than any Friday night party. Even with the nerdy stuff."

You smiled, your heart warm as his hand lazily traced patterns on your arm. Maybe taking a break wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Taggies!: @chasekeithh @stvrnioloslvt @bernardsbendystraws @muwapsturniolo @sweetshuga @sophiabirlemm @nicksbestie @noturlocallily777 @neiimaaa @nick-sturniolo @chrisshands @chrissturniolodailysluts @chrisfavoritewhore @chrissturnioloo

( if you don't wanna be tagged tell me! ♡ )

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER ELEVEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l

warnings angst, allusions to sex, more julian mentions

kalena speakss 🪽! yall will hate me and thank me for this chapter, sorry :(

July 2025 — Hartford, Connecticut 

“Nuh uh! I’m standing next to Boogers, she was my senior!”

“She was everyone’s senior, she was here for too damn long.” Sarah responds, making the bunch of my former teammates laugh.

I don’t even bother to fight back. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss these girls until I was across the country. Connecticut has become home to me, five years of lessons and friendships that I’ll hold into forever. It’s my first time back in Connecticut since the national championship, and the feeling is unreal.

The amount of UConn jerseys is unreal, cheers each time I checked in, after every shot. It became normal to me, loudest crowds in LA, then Minnesota, and now Connecticut. My third home.

We all stand at center court at Mohegan Sun, all of my former teammates excluding Aubrey who’s in New York and Kaitlyn who’s in San Francisco.

We take the picture and everyone disperses, breaking into a multitude of conversations.

“So, we going out tonight? Like old times?” Ice is beaming at me, a smile fitting her face as she tugs me down with an arm around my neck. 

I chuckle. “I’m too damn old to be showing up at Ted’s again.” I mutter. My shoes squeak against the hardwood with each step I take to get out of her hold.

“No, not Ted’s, a different— that doesn’t matter. You coming? Please?”

I nod, tugging on the gatorade towel that accumulates the sweat around my neck. “Cam’s coming too.”

“Perfect! The more the merrier.”

—

The more the merrier was right.

The club was loud and fucking packed, from athletes to college kids, anyone that you could imagine. My leg bounces along to the music playing while Allie and Azzi talk about God knows what a few feet in front of me. The beer I’m drinking glides down my throat while I look around.

“This place is jumpin’.” I murmur to Caroline next to me.

She nods, the hair that frames her face swinging over her shoulder as she looks at me. “I know. Maybe you can get some play tonight.”

“You think I’m not gettin’ any in LA?” I laugh, taking another swig.

“I know you’re not getting any. I have my sources.”

I roll my eyes, spinning back around in my bar stool for another drink. 

There was definitely enough alcohol in my system. Tequila burning in my chest and a couple beers downed as well. I’m well beyond thinking straight, which to me is fine since we don’t play again for another two days.

“Lemme get a dirty shirley.” I tell the nice bartender who’s probably cringing at my alcohol breath.

“Can I get one of those too? And two shots of vanilla crown, please?”

The voice literally makes me freeze.

I know it well, so well, that I’m not even surprised when I look to my right and Nyla sits there with a smile towards the bartender. I haven’t seen her in what feels like years, even if the last time was in Tampa during the tourney.

She looks good. I mean, she always does. It’s why I let her walk all over me for so long. Why I kept going back no matter how much it hurt.

Nyla wears a blue corset top, it contrasts beautifully with her brown skin and cups her breasts in a way that drags my eyes down to them. Sober, I wouldn’t have paid her any mind. But right now my head is spinning and I can’t help it.

“Good to see you.” She feeds me a tight lipped smile.

I look over my shoulder at Caroline, who is no longer paying any attention to me.

“You look good, Ny.” I say through squinted eyes.

The bartender slides my drink to me over the table, her’s as well. And when Nyla picks up her drink, and her lips purse around the small black straw, my mind immediately goes to Maraye.

I haven’t thought about her in a while, not since she left my apartment. Yet, the second I look at Nyla I think of her. The way her hands, done up with pretty french tips, would wrap around the glass cup. Or the way she smiled at me when I bought her a drink that night in Atlanta.

I turn away, feeling the wood of the bar dug into my back as I watch Allie, and now Cameron and Caroline. They’re inebriated, definitely more than me, and dancing freely to Teenage Dream by Katy Perry. 

“You don’t wanna talk?”

“What’s there to talk about, Nyla.” The statement navigates through the air, and the second it reaches her ears she huffs.

“You’ve never been good at talking about things.” Nyla laughs.

I’m quick to scoff and take another hefty gulp of my shirley. “I’ve always been good at that. You just don’t seem to listen to me.”

We sit in an uncomfortable silence, her heal taps against the tiled floor in a rhythm I wish would stop.

“We should talk, P. About Tampa, about everything. You ghosted me the morning after.”

“And you ghosted me after I told you I had feelings for you.” I returned. “It was forever ago, Nyla. Move on.”

I see her down one of her shots before slamming the small glass down on the counter. She takes in a sharp breath of air, swiveling in her chair to look at me. Nyla’s upset. 

So many months of me getting angry, then realizing how badly I need her, then going right back. Countless times spent having sex with her rather than realizing how much I was letting myself go by just being around her.

She ruined me, and now that I’m not falling for it, she’s upset.

“Why’re you being such an ass about this?” She yells, the music drowns out the noise but I can still make out the bass in her voice. “It’s that bitch in LA, huh? That’s why you can’t talk to me?”

“Watch your fucking mouth.” I snap almost instantly.

It’s too often that I forget that Maraye and I aren’t the only two people in the world. That everyone around us still sees the way we look at each other or act around one another. 

We co-exist with everyone else. They are also affected by the shit we do. The things we say.

The way we kiss each other.

“Oh so she is your girlfriend?”

“You’on’t get to be mad about shit. I’m setting boundaries with you.” I say, refusing to bring Raye’s name up again and make things worse. I care about Maraye, obviously, and if I had to hear a girl who literally ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it repeatedly call her out of her name again, I might get suspended.

I finish what’s left of my vodka filled drink, mouth tasting of grenadine and tingling faintly from the sprite. 

“I want you, P. Y’know that.” Nyla hums. She’s so damn sadistic. She knows the exact way to get under my skin all the while turning my brain to mush for her.

“No you don’t.” I scoff. “You don’t know what you want, Ny. That’s why I ended all this shit.” 

This conversation is entirely reminiscent of the one I had with Raye earlier this week. Which makes me think that she didn’t do anything about the pressing Julian-situation.

Then I’m getting angry all over again. Pissed off that not only is the girl that I want is probably at home pillow talking her boyfriend, but that the girl I once was fucking helpless over is sitting in front of me telling me everything I want to hear from her. Not her–Nyla, her–Maraye.

Even though I have on shorts and t-shirt, my body still feels like I’m on fire as if I was wearing a full snow suit. The alcohol and combined anger has my brain running in laps, from Maraye to Nyla to the fucking flight I have to be on time for in the morning.

And it’s hard to keep it all intact with the way Nyla fucking looks at me. Like she hates me but there’s still a glint in her eye that reminds me of the first time we met. When I saw her in the stands sophomore year, her hair was short and brown with blonde streaks. She was everything then.

“Paige.”

“No, Nyla.”

But now, I don't even recognize her. Her voice sounds like a fever dream, or a fragment of my imagination.

“I can fix this.”

Her hand rests on my knee. I should jump or push her away but I just stare at it like an idiot.

My legs spread apart subconsciously, welcoming her between them. And I am an idiot, allowing her to stand in this place that I have decided belongs to Maraye. 

“Lemme fix it, P. Like old times.”

We’re at eye level like this. Her hand trailing up my thigh and to my shoulder. I need to push her away. Tell her to get off me, and then head back to the hotel. By myself.

But I can’t.

For whatever damn reason. I can’t.

—

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California 

I rock awkwardly on my heels, bottom lip tucked between my teeth so tight it might bleed.

My heart beats rapidly in my chest while I wait for the door to swing open. I can hear the hum of the air conditioning system blow through the hallway and the sound of my breaths coming out heavy and ragged.

The lock click echos when the door finally does pull open and there he stands. Hand stuffed in the pocket of his black dress pants. 

It’s crazy, that just months ago I was head over heels over this man. The sight of him like this would’ve sent me into orbit, but now it’s like he’s just here. Just another person in my world.

“We need to talk.” I stutter, eyes glued to him.

“Yeah.” Julian responds, turning around and walking into his apartment. He doesn’t close the door, leaving it open for me to follow him, I do so not forgetting to lock it behind me. 

“This needa be quick. I got a meeting.” He murmurs as we approach his bedroom. 

I haven’t been here in forever, and that’s totally and completely my own fault. I’ve been so damn avoidant. Sure I was always working, but I made time in my day to go see Paige or Rickea or my sister. But with Julian I just chose not to.

“That’s fine.” I say. “We uh, Ion think this is working, Ju.”

He hums, nodding and throwing on a button up shirt over his wife beater shirt.

I don’t even think he’s surprised, more content with the result. Like he expected this the second I rang his doorbell. Maybe even earlier than that.

“Damn.” It’s not a disappointing damn, quite the opposite actually.

“I’m sorry. I just— I can’t give you what you want. We’re one opposite ends of life right now, and I don’t wanna hurt you. Really.”

I don’t know how much is the truth and how much is meant to be a lie to get him to not talk about our last argument. I know I can’t give him what he needs, it’s not because of my alleged time management struggles. 

My heart wasn’t in it. Even if it wasn’t for Paige, I’d be calling it quits because I’m not into him the way I should be. She taught me that. The lengths I’d go to for someone I had feelings for, I simply don’t think I could do for him.

“That’s it? Y’just can’t make time for me?”

I huff at the undertone of his voice.

“Nah, this isn’t me arguing. You really think that?”

I nod. “Among other things, yes.” I can’t look at him. Because even though I think he doesn’t, Julian knows me well. He knows my tells and the way I react under pressure. “You deserve better than me, Julian.”

His cologne burns through the air when he sprits it out across his skin. I’m sure that the second I leave, that damned scent would be ingrained into my mind forever, I’d never forget it.

“And this has nothing to do with her?” 

Julian doesn’t look away from me for a second, staring holes into my soul that make me feel naked. My hands sweat, and I stuff them in the back pockets of my jeans.

I’d be dumb to stand here and keep lying. I’m already an idiot for thinking that everything would be peaches and cream after this. So I take a breath of air, which basically confirms any doubts Julian has running in his head.

“I— Ju.”

“I fuckin’ knew it. You sleepin’ with her?”

“No. No, Ju. She just— it’s so easy to be myself around her, and I feel like I'm always fighting to be myself with you.” I explain, partially trying to save my ass. “I dunno.”

“So that’s it. You cheat on me and think shit just gonna work out with her?”

“All I can control is this. We aren’t working, so we’re breaking up. That’s it, Julian.” I say, fully aware of how disgusted he looks with me right now.

Never in a million years did I think this shit could happen to me. I’m so conflicted, I don’t deserve whatever happy ending may come with Paige. I don’t deserve his forgiveness either, that’s for damn sure.

“Whatever.” Julian shrugs, walking out of the room with his shoes in hand. I follow behind him, trying to meditate the situation any way I can. It doesn’t work, as I expected.

He trots to the door, unlocking it again and pulling it open. He stands in the doorway, looking at me expectantly. His height looms over me as he waits.

Words form on my tongue and instantly die there. I shut my mouth, slipping through the corridor and hearing it slam behind me.

And for a brief second, I feel good. Like everything is going the way it’s supposed to.

Then the reality of it all hits me, and I feel like I want to run into a wall.

—

July 2025 — Hartford, Connecticut

My heartbeat rings in my ears while I make an attempt to catch my breath. 

Nyla lays next to me, sweaty and naked, and months ago I would’ve been completely enamored by the sight. But now I’m just fucking disgusted.

She’s gorgeous, always has been. That’s not the issue.

The issue is her lips don’t taste like that vanilla sweet cream I would always taste after being with Raye. It’s almost bitter, just pure alcohol.

I eagerly throw my legs off the side of the bed. We’re at her apartment, not too far from my hotel. I feel her stare into my back, piercing through me and suddenly I’m well aware of my own nakedness. I toss my bra followed by my shirt over my head before picking up my boxers and putting them on too. The bed shifts, dipping slightly before I feel her hand on my arms.

The events of the last hour have sobered me up tremendously, her hands that once were burning hot to the touch are suddenly freezing. Almost dead.

“Where you goin’?” Nyla asks. Her voice is raspy from the screaming of my name. It should make me feel good, as it always seems to no matter who I’m with.

This time it doesn’t.

I shrug her off of me standing up from the bed and searching for the rest of my clothes. My shorts, socks, shoes all scattered somewhere. I threw the hair tie that kept my hair in a ponytail somewhere too, and Nyla was definitely crazy enough to use it to make a clone of myself.

“Paige, I said—”

“I heard what you said. I’m getttin’ the fuck outta here.”

“You’re not doing this shit again.” She grumbles, pulling on her panties and trying to chase after me. Nyla grabs my arm as she spins me around, looking up at me while I stare up at the ceiling in an attempt to avoid her tits in my face.

“This was a mistake.” I explain, pushing her off of me and finally putting on my shorts. My shoes follow. “You and me are fuckin’ done. Ion know how many times I gotta say that for it to click in your damn head.”

“‘Cause you say shit like that and then come crawling right back!” She’s yelling now, and I can only imagine how irritated her neighbors have become with us. “You wanna act like you didn’t just fuck me? Or that you didn’t tell me you missed me.”

“I’m fucking drunk! That’s the only reason why I do any of this shit with you.” I yell, back. “Ion want shit to do with you, Nyla. I’m moving on.”

“Moving onto that ho, in LA? Is she better than me?”

“You got one more fuckin’ time to—” I cut myself off with a heavy breath, shaking my head and grabbing the rest of my belongings off her nightstand. “Get over it. We’re done. This is never, and I mean never, fuckin’ happening again.” I muse. I’m quick to rush out of the apartment, phone in hand, while I shut the door.

I feel dirty. Like I just committed a fucking felony and was on the run. 

The cool air finally hits me like a breath of fresh air when I finally touch the streets. My hotel wasn’t far, a block, maybe more, away.

I’m ashamed of myself, for going back to Nyla and falling for her dumbass words as if they meant something. They never did. 

Then it hits me.

Maraye.

I nearly stop in the middle of the street before picking up my pace and walking into the hotel building.

God knows what decision she’s made. She could be with Julian right now telling him everything he wants to hear. Or she could be waiting for me. To call her, to text her, to tell her that I miss her.

And believe it or not, I do. I fucking miss her crazy. Her voice and those gorgeous fucking eyes. The way she listens to me like I’m the only person left on Earth, like it’s just me and her. I miss her smell, the Chanel no.5 combined with some vanilla body spray that she almost always seemed to have on, that permanently left its mark on my nose and my soul. Everything about her being, I miss it like crazy.

I’m in the elevator, the hum of the gears and the corny ass elevator music that plays only leaves me with my thoughts. Feelings of disparity and fucking anger.

How could I be so stupid. All it took was a few drinks and a fucking glare and now I’ve made arguably the biggest mistake of my life.

My phone starts ringing when I pull out my key card. I stand in the hallway, flipping the device over and staring at it.

Her name, in bright and bold font with the anatomical heart emoji next to it. It’s so intimate, an emoji that I think I’ve only ever used in correspondence with her. The picture is recent, I changed it after she left my place that night. It’s the two of us seated on my couch, her head resting on my shoulder with her lips in that cute pout she does in almost all her photos. My eyes are red from sleep but I still keep a nose-scrunched smile on my face.

I catch myself just standing there, looking at her looking at me until the call goes to voicemail.

I’m glad that it does, because I know that if I were to pick up the phone and hear her voice as she talks I might break down.

I unlock the door, kicking my shoes off the minute the door closes. I rest my back against it, head tossed onto the white painted portal. 

Then my phone buzzes again.

i miss you. call me in the morning k?

I fucked up. Fucked it all up.

[winchesterwild78]

An Unexpected Friendship pt 6

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, Jensen’s children

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: language, injury, hospital stay, angst, mention of masturbation and pornography

A/N: This is a short story written in collaboration with @cheekygirl2309.

This chapter is a bit of a roller coaster. You all know how I like to sprinkle in some angst. Please enjoy. 😀

No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Written and edited fast-please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

Jensen was true to his word. He would call and FaceTime every night. He had only been gone about a week and I was missing him like crazy. After the kids said their good nights and I got them in bed I called him back. 

I crawled in our shared bed as he sat on his couch in his trailer. “I miss you so much, Y/N. I wish I was laying in that bed with you right now.” I smiled softly, trying to hide the pain I was feeling. I missed him too. When the kids were awake everything was fine, but when the house was quiet, that was the time I missed him the most. 

“I miss you too, baby. Just a few more weeks.” I smiled. “How’s Jazzy doing? She looked a little sad tonight.” Jensen asked. I sat for a second trying to choose my words carefully. How could I tell him she was still missing him to the point she would lay on the couch in his office. I’ve found her in there almost every morning, sleeping in a ball clutching Braveheart tightly.

“She’s still adjusting. I promise she’ll be okay.” I couldn’t look at the screen. I didn’t want him to see the tears that pricked my eyes. Jensen noticed, though. “Darlin’, please talk to me. You can’t even look at the camera. What’s going on?” 

I took a shaky, deep breath, “She just misses you so much. Hell, we all do. I’ve found her in your office the past few mornings. She sneaks in there at night and sleeps on your couch with Braveheart. When I asked her why, she said it’s to be close to you. I’m not sure how to help her navigate this when I’m feeling it too. I’m sorry Jensen, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. You’re doing your job and supporting the family. I should be strong enough to handle my sadness and help the kids through theirs.” 

The tears started to fall but I quickly wiped them away. “Baby, it’s okay. God I wish I was there to hold you, all of you. It’s hard to be apart. What she’s doing is perfectly normal. JJ used to lay in my closet with some of my shirts pulled down to her when she was little.” 

I wiped my face, “Jens, tell me about filming. How is it going, being back in Toronto?” Jensen smiled softly, he knew I was trying to push the feelings that were rooted deep in my soul away. “It feels pretty good actually. The cast and crew are always so amazing. It’s not everyday you join an established show and fall right in rhythm with them. It’s great. Karl says hello by the way.” 

“What?” I almost choked. “Yeah I showed him your pictures and he said you were beautiful.” My eyes went wide, “Jensen, did you show him those pictures?!” Jensen’s head flew backwards as he let out a deep, hearty laugh, “No darlin’, those are for me only. I showed him your Instagram and the pictures I have on my phone. I showed him the pictures of all of our babies.” 

I smiled, “Yeah, we do have some cute kiddos.” I chuckled. 

We sat in silence for a minute. I nervously bit my lip. It was getting late for me and I needed to go to sleep, but I really didn’t want to say goodbye to him. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Jensen called softly. “It’s getting late there. I’m sure you’re exhausted. Why don’t we call it a night?” I took a deep breath and let it out, “You’re probably right, but I don’t want to say goodbye yet. God, I miss you so much, Jensen. I don’t know how to navigate this. I feel like I just got you in my life and now you’re gone.” 

I let out a sob. Jensen’s eyes stung with the tears that formed. “I know, baby. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you, with all of you. I can’t be in two places at one time. If I could I would be.” 

I saw a tear fall from his eyes and it caused me to cry harder. It broke his heart to see me cry, and it broke mine to see him cry. “I’m sorry, Jensen.” I kept saying it over and over again. 

There was a knock on his trailer door and I heard him talking to a woman off camera. He looked off camera and then back at me, “Darlin’ I have to go. They are calling me back to set.” I nodded, “Okay, I love you, Jensen.” “I love you too, Y/N.” Then the call ended. 

I laid down and cried myself to sleep. Jensen went back to set and continued filming. 

Back on set his head was filled with the thoughts and images of me and the kids missing him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw my tear stained face. The image of Jazzy laying in his office broke his heart. 

He was so consumed by the thoughts in his head he didn’t see he missed his mark and he didn’t say his line. 

“Cut! Jensen, you okay man? It seems like your head isn’t here tonight. Is everything okay at home?” The director asked from behind the camera. “Yeah, sorry.” 

Jensen took a deep breath and pushed all his thoughts down and continued with the scene. When the director finally called cut for the night, Jensen was mentally and physically exhausted. 

He opted to stay in his trailer for the night instead of going back to the apartment. Once in his trailer he slipped out of his boots, and went to grab a change of clothes from his bag. When he pulled a shirt out, Jazzy’s bunny fell out. His heart warmed, and then a wave of guilt and sadness washed over him. 

Jensen took a shower and climbed in his bed. He laid down and rolled to his side, staring at the pictures of me, and the kids. For the first time ever in his career, Jensen wanted to be home and not on set. He sent me a text even though he knew I was asleep.

Jensen: Hey babe. I just wanted to send you a quick text and say how much I miss you and love you. We’ve wrapped for the night and I’m in bed. Good night my love, sleep well.

Jensen set his phone down and started to close his eyes when something caught his attention. He saw Jazzy’s bunny laying on the top of his bag. He smiled, climbed out of bed and grabbed it. Placing it softly on the pillow next to him he grabbed his phone quickly and took a picture. It was of him with the bunny next to his head. He sent it to me for Jazzy.

Jensen: *1 image attached* Mr Bunny and I are hanging out, Thanks Jazzy! ���

Jensen closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning when I woke up I saw the texts from Jensen. I loved the picture he sent, his smile bright, but I could tell by the look in his eye he was feeling a little sad. 

I got the kids up and ready for school, showing them the picture of Jensen. Jazzy was excited and wanted me to send Jensen a picture of her with Braveheart, so I did. 

After the kids were at school, Gen and I went to the spa, and out to lunch. She helped me navigate some of my feelings of sadness and loneliness. “It gets easier, I promise. Being with the boys is worth the little separations here and there. Jensen loves with every fiber of his being. If he loves you then he’s completely in, and girl, I know he loves you. He wouldn’t have gotten a tattoo of your daughter if he didn’t. Just be honest with him about how you’re feeling, don’t keep it in, and don’t shut him out. The two of you will get through this.” She softly touched my hand. 

“Thank you, Gen. This is all just so new and I wasn’t expecting to be in love this quickly. When you start a new relationship you want to spend so much time together, but with Jensen, we are spending a month apart already. I’m just worried he’ll change his mind while he’s gone.” 

“Oh sweetie, he’s not going to change his mind. He loves you and Jazmyne so much.” I nodded as our lunch arrived. We continued talking about the early years of Supernatural and how she and Jared fell in love quickly. “I bet it was crazy being on set with those two.” I laughed.

“Oh yeah, they were always playing pranks on each other. When Jensen found out Jared liked me, he encouraged him to pursue me, and the rest is history.”

Just as we were wrapping up lunch my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and softly gasped,Toronto General Hospital. 

“Hello?” “Yes, hello I’m calling for Ms. Y/L/N. This is Amy from Toronto General Hospital.” “Um, this is her.” “Ms Y/L/N, you’re listed as Jensen Ackles’ emergency contact. I’m afraid he’s been in an accident and is currently in surgery. Is there any way you can get to the hospital?”

“Oh my god, is he okay? I’m in Texas, so it would take me a while. Oh god, is he okay?” I felt my heart rate pick up, panic was rising in my chest and the tears started flowing. “He’s in surgery, that’s all I know right now.” “Okay, um, let me see about getting a flight.” I hung up and cried. I told Gen what happened. She paid the bill and we left and headed for her house. 

“Hey, Jared. Y/N just got a phone call from the hospital in Toronto. Jensen is in surgery. There’s been an accident. We need to get her there quickly. Yes, thank you baby. We are on our way.”

I cried and tried to focus on getting to Jensen. Gen took my hand, “It’s okay sweetie, we are gonna get you to him.” “Gen I can’t lose another person I love. I can’t go through that again.” “You’re not going to, Y/N.” 

We pulled up at Gen and Jared’s house and got out. Jared greeted us at the door and pulled me in tight for a hug. “I called Clif and apparently there was an accident on set. Jensen had been distracted and didn’t see the ledge and fell. He hit his head, broke a few ribs and broke his leg. He’s currently in surgery to repair his leg.” I gasped, “Oh my god, Gen. This is my fault. He was distracted because of me.” “Shh, no, sweetie. This isn’t your fault. Let’s focus on getting you to him.” 

Jared booked the first flight out for Gen and I. We decided he would keep all the kids while Gen went with me to the hospital. I kissed the kids goodbye and told them they would be coming soon. I just needed to get there and make sure they would be okay to see him.

Jazzy was crying, saying she knew Daddy Jensen wasn’t coming home. It broke my heart, “Shh, no baby. He is coming home. He just got hurt and needs me to get better. I promise baby girl you four are going to be coming in the next day or two. Auntie Nichole is going to come help Jared get you guys up there.” 

I kissed her and the other three goodbye, thanked Jared and headed out to the airport with Gen. A few hours later we were landing and heading towards the hospital. 

My leg bounced all the way to the hospital. Gen did her best to keep me calm, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than getting to him. Walking into the hospital a large, bald man approached Gen and I. It was Clif. He pulled Gen into a hug and extended his hand to me. “You must be Y/N. Jensen has told me all about you and your sweet girl, Jazzy. Come with me, sweetie and I’ll take you to him. He’s out of surgery and in recovery.”

I nodded and walked down the hallway with him. As we got to Jensen’s room I felt my stomach flip. I thought I was going to throw up and pass out right there. My breath caught in my throat as my chest tightened. I took a deep breath before pushing open the door. 

The light above his bed cast a soft glow in the room. I gasped when I saw him. He was pale, had a nose cannula, his leg in a cast and up in a sling, and the monitor connected to him let out a soft beep as it monitored his heart. 

I slowly walked in the room and sat in the chair beside him. I softly took his hand in mine. “I’m here baby. Oh Jens, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I promise you we will get through this. Once you’re better we will figure out how to navigate your schedule together.” 

As I leaned in to place a soft kiss on his cheek a nurse came in to check on him. “Oh, hello. You must be Mrs. Ackles. I’m his nurse, Abby.” “Hi, no, I’m not his wife, I’m his girlfriend.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed you were. I apologize.” “It’s okay. Do you know when he might wake up?” “Well, it just depends when the medication wears off from surgery. He’s on some heavy pain medication too, so that could be keeping him asleep.” 

I nodded as I watched her check his vitals and check on him. She smiled at me and before she left she told me if I needed anything to let her know. I nodded and thanked her. 

Gen came in to see Jensen and to give Jared an update. We decided to keep the kids away until Jensen regained consciousness. Clif took Gen to the hotel as I stayed by Jensen’s side. Clif tried to convince me to leave, but I told him no. 

The nursing staff was amazing. Abby came in and showed me how the recliner actually became a twin bed. She brought me a pillow and blankets so I could get some sleep. 

The steady beeping of the heart monitor lulled me to sleep. Even though Jensen was lying next to me hurt, this was the first time in over a week I actually got some sleep. Knowing he was right beside me brought me some comfort. 

The light from the sun filtered through the curtains. I was woken up by someone calling my name. When my eyes adjusted, I looked over and saw the most beautiful green eyes looking at me. 

I sat up quickly and leaped out of the bed. “Jensen! Oh my god, you’re awake.” I kissed his lips softly. “Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here?” “Seriously, did you think I wouldn’t come? The hospital called me and told me you were in an accident. Gen came with me. Jared and Nichole have the kids.” 

Jensen touched my face softly, “I’m glad you’re here. God I’m so clumsy. I can’t believe I fell.” “Jens, it’s my fault you were so distracted. I should have done a better job at holding in my emotions. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, shh, no. This isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident. So do you have any idea what the damage is?” “Yeah, you have a concussion, some broken ribs and a broken leg. You just had surgery to fix it. You’re going to be out for a while.” 

Jensen ran his hands through his hair, “Fuck! Now this is going to slow down filming. I need to call Kripke.” “Jensen, honey, stop. It’s okay. I will call him and update him. You rest. We need you better so I can get the kids here to see you. They are worried sick.” 

Jensen sighed and relaxed back into the bed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I leaned down and kissed his lips, he pulled me further in and deepened the kiss. 

“Damn I missed you.” He said as we pulled apart. “I missed you too, Jens.” 

A few hours later I had gotten in touch with Eric and he said he would just adjust the filming schedule. He said any scenes without Jensen would be filmed first and then when Jensen was cleared he would move forward with his scenes. Jensen seemed relieved with the adjustment. “I hope they let me out of here soon. I hate hospitals.” I touched his arms, “I know baby, but I want you to stay here as long as you need to so you can get better.”

“So are the kids going to come or are they going to stay in Texas?” “Well, I wanted them to stay until we knew you were okay and awake. I didn’t want the kids to see you unconscious. I figured it would scare all of them, heck it scared me.” 

The next few days Jensen slowly recovered more and we decided it was time to bring the kids in. Jared, and Nichole flew in with all the kids and brought them to the hospital. I met them in the waiting room. We could only take a few people back at a time, so Gen, and Nichole stayed with the other kids while Jared and I  took JJ, Arrow, Zeppelin and Jazzy back.

“Now guys, Daddy isn’t able to lift you guys up, and if you want to hug him you have to be gentle, okay. He might look tired, but he’s okay. Are you four ready?” I asked, looking at the children. They nodded their heads yes. 

When we walked in the kids were very quiet, taking in the scene in front of them. All four of them looked at Jensen and then at me with tears in their eyes. Jensen spoke, cutting the silence, “Hey guys. I’ve missed you four so much. Come give me a hug.” He lifted his arms slightly. 

I picked the kids up one at a time to gently hug him. When it was Jazzy’s turn she hesitated at first. “It’s okay baby. You don’t have to give him a hug if you don’t want to.” Her beautiful eyes looked up at me, tears slowly filling them. Then she whispered, “I do, I just don’t want to hurt Daddy Jensen.” “You won't, baby, I promise. If you’re not ready to hug him yet, that’s perfectly fine. Daddy understands.” 

Jensen’s breath hitched. That was the first time you referred to him as her daddy and not Daddy Jensen. He loved the sound of it. 

Jazzy sat down with the other three and just stared. Jensen and I talked to them about what happened, and how it was an accident, but he was going to be okay.

“So guys, I’m going to be home sooner than we thought, but I can’t do much so I’m counting on you four to help out.” The four children eagerly agreed. 

*Time Jump-1 1/2 weeks at home*

“Alright you four, let’s get you guys to school. Say goodbye to daddy and grab your bags.” I called from the kitchen. I heard giggles and Jensen’s laugh. It melted my heart. Since his accident I barely heard it, so when I did it was the most beautiful sound in the world. 

I noticed since Jensen’s accident his frustration and depression was starting to get worse. It scared me, because it seemed like he was starting to retreat into himself. 

After getting the kids off to school I decided to stop at the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner. I was going to make Jensen’s favorite dish to help lift his spirits. 

When I got home I noticed the house was quiet. I put the groceries away and walked upstairs towards mine and Jensen’s room. As I got closer to the room I heard grunts and whispers. 

My breath caught in my throat as I opened the bedroom door. I saw the movement of the blanket first, then I saw Jensen’s face. His eyes were closed, teeth biting his lip and I could hear the moans from him and his phone. 

The floor under my feet creaked as I stood frozen in place. A mixture of embarrassment, hurt and anger flooded through me. Jensen’s eyes shot open and his reaction to seeing me standing there while he pleasured himself was not what I expected. 

“Don’t you fucking knock!?” He growled as he adjusted himself and turned off the porn he was watching. “I, um, I’m sorry.” I quickly turned on my heels and bounded down the stairs. Hot tears fell from my eyes. 

My heart breaking with each step, his words, the scene playing over in my head. I had tried so many times since he came home to be intimate with him. I offered to help him, but each time I was met with “I’m tired”, or “I don’t think it’s a good idea”, or “It wouldn’t be fair to you for me to just get off”. Each excuse was like a red hot poker to the chest. 

I sat on the couch crying. Trying to make sense of why he would want to get himself off when he had me. Then it hit me, he doesn’t want me anymore. Deep down he really does blame me for the accident. 

My timer on my phone went off, pulling me from my thoughts. It was time to take him something to eat so he could take his medicine. I didn’t know how I was going to face him after what happened.

I took a steading breath, grabbed his food and medicine and made my way to the room. I knocked. No answer. I knocked louder. Still no answer. This time I knocked and called his name. “What?!” He yelled through gritted teeth. “I have your food and medicine, can I come in?” 

I pushed open the door and saw him sitting against the headboard, scrolling on his phone. “Where would you like me to put the tray, Jensen?” “Probably somewhere where I can reach it, Y/N.”

Him calling my name like he did caused another crack in my heart to form. His tone was cold and distant. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just nodded and placed the tray on the bed.

I started to gather the laundry from the room and noticed he kept letting out loud, frustrated sighs. “Jensen, is everything okay?” I asked softly. “Just peachy.” “Are you sure, because you keep sighing loudly and you’ve been really short with me.” “I told you I was fine, Jesus! What do you expect me to be fine with the fact you walked into my bedroom without knocking and I couldn’t even finish?!” 

I gasped softly, “I’m sorry. I thought this was our bedroom. I was mistaken.” I whispered, then I turned, leaving the clothes in a pile and left the room. 

Everything was just off and I had no idea what to do. His words, his tone, dripping with venom. Almost like he hated me, like he couldn’t stand to look at me anymore. I was the reason, my daughter was the reason his career was on hold. 

I grabbed my phone and went on the back porch. I called the local hospital and asked if they could point me in the direction of any private duty nurses who could help me. They gave me the name and number of a local agency that specializes in celebrities or important people. I called and scheduled an appointment for an hour from then. 

I went to the appointment and hired them to help. I explained everything with Jensen’s condition and told them it was just a lot for me, to keep up with everything he needed and taking care of four children. They signed NDAs and the first nurse said she could come by in about an hour. I thanked them and left. 

When I got in my car my phone went off with a text.

Jensen: Whiskey

One word was all he sent. I didn’t know how to respond, so I ignored it. Then the next text came in.

Jensen: Now

I was taken back by his texts. Jensen had never spoken to me the way he was and he was breaking my heart. I tried to keep Jared and Gen out of this, but I didn’t know what else to do. Nichole could be a sympathetic ear, but she didn’t know Jensen. They did and maybe they could shed some light on his behavior. 

Me: (to Jared) hey, can you and Gen come by the house. I need to talk to you.

Jared: Sure! We will be there soon.

As I pulled in the driveway, Jared and Gen were too. I climbed out of the car and as soon as Jared pulled me into a hug I collapsed into a sobbing mess. I told them everything that happened, how he was talking to me and treating me, and about the nurses.

“You know what, no, he doesn’t get to treat you like this. Where the hell is he?” Jared was furious. “He’s in the bedroom, but please just wait.” I said softly. Jared touched my arm, “Y/N, he can’t treat you like this. I get he’s mad, but he doesn’t have the right to take it out on you. I’ll wait if that’s what you want.”

“I do, the nurse will be here soon, and I don’t want more tension than necessary.” Jared chuckled a little, “I love that you hired nurses. He’s going to realize what a good thing he had with you taking care of him.” 

A few minutes later the doorbell rang. I opened the door to see a middle aged woman in scrubs standing there. She smiled brightly, and she had kind eyes. “Hello, my name is Terri. I was sent by the agency to help with Mr. Ackles. Are you Mrs Ackles?” “Hi, Terri, nice to meet you, no I’m not Mrs. Ackles. She passed away a few years ago. You can call me Y/N.” She extended her hand, “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to meet you. May I come in?” I stepped to the side and nodded. 

“Terri, this is Jared and Gen Padalecki. Mr. Ackles’ best friends. They might be here from time to time, so you may run into them again.” Terri extended her hand and smiled, “Nice to meet you two, I’m a huge fan, but I promise that will not interfere with my job. May I see Mr. Ackles so I can access his level of need?” 

I nodded. Jared touched my arm, “Let me take her up there.” He said. I agreed, but I was close behind. 

Terri, Jared, Gen and I walked upstairs. Gen and I stayed back, out of sight. Jared knocked on the door, “Hey Jens, it’s me man. Can I come in?” Jensen’s tone was light when talking to Jared, it hurt. “Yeah, man come on. Since when do you knock?” Jensen asked as Jared walked in. 

“Jensen, this is Terri. She’s going to be your private duty nurse to help with your recovery.” Jensen’s eyes went wide. He realized you’d hired a nurse because of the way he had treated you. Guilt filled his heart. With a smile on his face he greeted Terri warmly. 

Terri began her assessment and sat talking to Jensen for about an hour. When she came back downstairs she had a soft smile on her face, but her eyes showed worry. “So I’m going to be honest with you. His recovery isn’t just physical. He’s got some emotional scars too. I can see he’s slipping into depression. Jensen is going to need all of you in his corner to help him. He told me he had been a little snippy with you, (She pointed at me) and how much he regretted that. His anger, his depression and feelings of despair are completely normal, especially for someone who’s drive to provide is as high as his. Just be patient with him, and when he pushes you away, stand firm.” 

I nodded as the tears fell. My heart ached and I wasn’t sure how to navigate this. I know he would never hurt me like Robert did, but his words and actions towards me stung worse than when Robert beat me. The man who rescued me, who I love deeply, was pushing me away, and I didn’t know how to pull him back to me. That scared the hell out of me.

A few hours later when it was time for bed, I knocked softly on the bedroom door. Jensen didn’t answer. I pushed open the door and heard soft snores coming from his slightly opened mouth. 

I went into the bathroom and got ready for bed. When I came out I started to leave the room and Jensen’s voice broke the silence. “Are you not coming to bed?” I froze, my hand on the doorknob, “I’m going to sleep in the guestroom. I don’t think us sharing a bed in your room is a good idea anymore. Good night, Jensen.” 

Before I could change my mind or he said another thing I left the room. Softly closing the door behind me. The sound of the click was like a knife through my heart. 

Jensen laid on the bed replaying my words, “I’m going to sleep in the guestroom. I don’t think us sharing a bed in your room is a good idea anymore.” He ran his hands down his face in frustration. He pushed you away and those walls he so carefully removed, built back up. 

I climbed in the guest bed. It was cold and lonely. I missed the warmth of Jensen laying next to me. His strong arms wrapped around me. I missed the love we made, his lips on mine. I was losing him and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I cried into the pillow. The soft material was soaking up each tear and muffling each sob. 

I was losing the love of my life and had no idea how to fix it, to fix us. Maybe Jazzy and I should just leave. I know it would be hard on her for a while, but I can’t stay where I’m not wanted. The chasm between Jensen and I, growing ever wider, with no end in sight. Jensen and I both stared at the ceilings in our rooms. Neither one of us knowing how to fix this, but both of us wanting to. Two very clueless people, still deeply in love, not knowing how to navigate the hurt and raw emotions the injury caused. 

Jensen knew he messed up, and the guilt was weighing on him. He had to figure out how to make this right before it was too late, if it wasn’t already too late. Before he fell asleep he whispered into the air, “I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” Before I fell asleep I whispered into the air, “I love you, Jensen. I’m so sorry.” 

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@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75 

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7

[justmeinadaze]

Not Alone Part 2 (Medication)(Eddie X You)

A/N: This is what I mentioned writing the other night and is a part to this ask here.

I want to say that I have had so many experiences with medications since I was diagnosed with my mental health issues in 2016. I had watched it help people like myself after so many trials and errors and I've watched it hurt people to their core. I've been physically hurt to the point where I was vomiting and curled up on the bathroom floor. I've had pills that messed with my brain chemistry to the point a friend found me sobbing on the floor terrified I was going to die. All that fun stuff and to be honest the worst part was no feeling heard.

I would tell doctors how much pain I was in and they would tell me it was normal. After a couple of days I would tell them something wasn't right and I was told to give it more time. It wasn't until 2019 I finally found a doctor who worked with me and realized that my brain and stomach are extremely sensitive to meds and we have to start on the lowest doses first before moving up. Ive been on my current set of pills since then and it's changed my life.

Of course, mental health meds don't fix everything and I was suggested a vitamin that help with calming your mind. Yesterday, I took and what the reader feels about her quiet mind is how I felt. I didn't know what to do with myself. Honestly, I just wanted to be held and told everything is ok.

But yeah, my advise to you is trust your gut. If you want to take medication and notice somethings off voice your concern. If you don't like what a drug does or how it affects you, say something. DO NOT let a doctor walk all over you. If I've learned anything over the last few years, it's that all doctors are human and like humans...they make mistakes and can be assholes.

Warnings: Mentions of mental health concerns, details on medication symptoms (tummy ache, vomiting, change in personality, quiet mind), feels of "being a bother" More then anything this is Eddie taking care of you and him making sure you're ok. Mr. White Knight <3.

Word Count: 1579

“Ok and what should we be on the lookout for?”, Eddie asks as his hand remains intertwined with yours. 

The doctor you had just met at the insistence of your family heavily exhaled as your boyfriend asked him another question that seemed to annoy him. 

“Look, Mr. Munson, she’s going to be fine. This medication helps so many people to be relaxed and quiet their mind. At most, she’ll be so relaxed that you both will get a good night’s sleep. Now, I do have other patients waiting.”

As he begins to walk the door, the metalhead starts to follow before you grab his elbow and pull him back. 

“Stop it, freak.”, you tease as he tosses you a smile back. 

“Hey, I just want to know that you’re safe. I don’t like seeing you in pain or anything. I know your depression tells you no one cares but I do.”

Beaming up at him, you pull his lips to yours as he wraps his arms around you to hug you to his chest. 

***

“Y/N? How are you feeling so far, baby?”

It had been about an hour since you took the antidepressant the doctor recommended and Eddie noticed within 5 minutes of taking it your entire body language changed. You seemed…heavier…as if there was a weight baring down on you and folding your frame. 

His careful eyes followed you around the trailer as you silently grabbed a water bottle and sat cross legged on the couch to watch tv. The thing was…he could tell in your eyes that you weren’t really paying attention. You seemed to be looking through the tv instead of comprehending anything going on. 

“I’m…I’m ok.”

“Can you give me more than that, please?”, Eddie asked as he sat down beside you.

“I’m…calm. I don’t feel anything really. Like…I’m relaxed but…I kind of just want to curl up into a ball.”, you mumble raising another red flag in his brain. 

“Why is that do you think?”

“It’s going to sound dumb.”, you sigh as you hang your head. 

“Hey.”, he coos as his fingers lift your chin. “Nothing you say is dumb to me. I’m a freak remember?”

Eddie smirks at the sound of your laugh but even that sounds out of place. This particular metalhead was never a fan of medication. He believed it worked and helped people but in his experience it made things worse. His uncle once tried to put him on ADHD medication when he was a boy and promptly took him off it when he noticed his nephew’s personality completely change. In later years, weed helped calm him down along with his music and creating a campaign for Hellfire. 

You had told him once, you struggled with finding your purpose. Your family made you believe that paying bills and working a desk job is normal. It’s the only thing in realty that was attainable.

With him, he showed you a new world that you absolutely loved and encouraged you to try new things like writing or learning an instrument for yourself. Since you had started seeing him, you felt like someone cared and put you first, constantly making you feel wanted and seen. 

Throughout your time together, he watched a personality unfold that made him fall more in love with you every day and truth be told he was terrified that medication would strip that away but if it could help you be happy and achieve your dreams than he was open to the idea.  

“My mind…has never been quiet. As far as I can remember something’s been…buzzing around in there, you know? This…this scares me…I don’t know…what to do with the silence.”

Eddie’s heart cracks listening to your explanation as he pets your head and kisses your temple. 

“Well, sweetheart, things will never be silent with me as your boyfriend.”

Giggling, you crawl into his lap and melt into his embrace as he softly plays with your hair.

***

Three hours later the energy changed as you felt a pain in your stomach you had never felt before. Rushing to the bathroom, you threw up over and over again as Eddie held your hair back. 

“Everything’s ok, baby.”, he whispered before turning his attention to the phone next to his ear. “No, I don’t fucking care that he’s not there! Then give me another fucking doctor to talk to. My girlfriend hasn’t stopped throwing up in the last thirty minutes. I refuse to believe that’s fucking normal!”

“Look, sir, there’s nothing we can do about it over the phone and like I said with mental health medication, it is common for it to cause the symptoms she’s experiencing. After a while, they will go away.”

“What is ‘a while’?”

“Usually after 2 weeks, your body gets used to the—”

“Oh, hell no! You’re saying she’s going to be in this much pain for that long?! What about her job, her life, her fucking sanity!? Aren’t these pills supposed to help with the depression!? How does that help!?”

“Eddie…”, you cry as you try to reach for his arm to calm him down. 

“Listen, we have an opening for you to see her doctor tomorrow morning. Bring her in and we can take a look.”

“Yeah we’ll do that.”, he sasses before hanging up the phone. “Here, sweetheart. Drink some of this water and then we’ll go lay down ok?”

“I’m sorry.”, you sob causing him to grab a tissue to wipe your eyes. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for—”

“I’m causing problems. I’m making things difficult for you—”

“No, baby, No. Listen to me, Y/N. The only thing that’s difficult for me is watching you hurt like this. I knew that fucker wasn’t taking you seriously. I swear to God when we get in there tomorrow—”

“Please…I just wanna lay down.”

Nodding, Eddie careful lifts you and lays you in his bed, bringing the covers up over your frame. After placing a trashcan by the bed and the water on his nightstand, he crawls in behind you and pulls you into his arms, gently kissing your shoulder as he listens to your breath. 

***

“Alright, Miss Y/L/N, now I heard you were having some symptoms in regard to the medication and—”

“She’s not taking that bullshit anymore. Check her over and make sure she’s not dehydrated or needs a hospital and then you can fuck off.”, Eddie growled from his place in front of you like the protector he was. 

“Listen there’s no need for—”

“There’s a huge fucking need. She came to you for help and you just toss any drug at her without really speaking to her about her history?! You didn’t properly warn her about the side effects. Trust me, the most that happened wasn’t ‘a good night’s sleep’. She threw up half the fucking night and sobbed in arms. Do you know what that’s like?! Having someone you love being in pain and feel so fucking helpless?!”

The doctor cleared his throat as he sighed. 

“She said it calmed her mind but to an extent she didn’t know how to handle. You don’t just thrust someone into that. You have to ease them in so they don’t get overwhelmed. You should know that…or did years in medical school strip you have your humanity and common fucking sense?”

“Let, um, let me look her over here.”

Eddie’s intense eyes watched the doctor as he checked you out and you confirmed you felt better since you didn’t take the pill again for day 2. 

“She seems fine and one day on the drug won’t hurt her mentally. I recommend a day to rest and then she’ll be as she was.”

The metalhead, seemingly satisfied with his answer, took you in his arms and gently placed you on the tile. 

“I’m not trying to be a dick, doctor. She’s been through so much already and all by herself. Lord knows I’m not perfect but if I can help her I will. You dropped the ball here, sir, and I hope you don’t again.”

***

“Thank you.”, you murmur as your arms wrap tighter around him while you both lay in bed listening to the music and the rain outside. “For standing up for me. My family and doctors always treat me like I’m being overdramatic.”

“No, baby, you’re not. You deserve to be heard. My mom’s medication used to make her sick all the time and she would brush it off saying it was part of the process. I know they helped her with her pain but…”

“Will you help me look into maybe some alternatives? Something that can help me without changing or hurting me? Or maybe we can find a doctor that will work with me…”

“Of course, sweetheart.”, he coos as he kisses your forehead. “You’re not an inconvenience or a problem by the way. You say that a lot when you’re low. I really do like helping you and or taking care of you. You’ve always been there for me and I see how you are with other people including some that don’t deserve your kindness. You deserve to have someone help you take the reins from time to time.”

“What did I do to deserve you, Eddie Munson?”, you smile up at him. 

His chest vibrates as he laughs and grins down at you. 

“I don’t know. Probably some voodoo chant or dance or something.” 

##########

Eddie Asks

[i-love-ptv]

Family Reunion Whenever I’m Home ᓚᘏᗢ

Pairing: Boyfriend!JJ Maybank x Witch!Girlfriend!Reader

Based on the prompt: “Wait, wait, wait! What are you doing?” “What? I need to heat up the potion.” “In the microwave?” (another pinterest prompt, ik guys..)

Wc: 1,661

Fluff—Thanksgiving diner!! JJ gets a boner but no smut or anything like that!

An: First off, HI GUYS!!! thought i’d put this out for yall cause i think it’s cute, better than thanksgiving (i hate thanksgiving sorry) so ya!!

also!!!!! reader is written to kind-of be like a fairytail witch? i’m not super like, educated on witchcraft n all that jazz, so i tried to make sure it wouldn’t offend anyone in any way!! (lmk if there’s any problems i love you all)

Feedback is always appreciated and welcomed!! xoxo

“JJ, they’re almost here! Hurry up and set the table!” You giggle as JJ pressed another kiss to the crook of your neck.

“‘S fine…I’m sure they’ll be willin’ to help anyways.” JJ murmurs against your cold skin.

November 28th; Thanksgiving. The day where you get together with your friends and family, and spend the day together sharing thanks, food, and laughs.

Hence why the pogues, alongside the soon-to-be born baby pogue, are coming over to your and JJ’s shared home for dinner.

You’ve been cooking all day, finishing up what you didn’t yesterday, with no help from JJ of course.

It’s not like he didn’t offer, he definitely tried to take ahold of your cooking spoon.

…Which resulted in a swat sent to his hand.

You “banished” —JJ’s words, not yours, to clean the house while you cooked. It’s very apparent that JJ can’t cook to save his life, you also can’t rely on him to get a real meal in his system, or anything healthy.

You still think about the time where he ate moldy bread to this very day.

Thankfully, the rest of the pogues agreed to bring food as well, so you didn’t have to make much; the only problem is, they’re arriving soon and for some reason, the table is still not set.

Your boyfriend's hands continue to wander down your body, which doesn’t help your growing irritation. Not necessarily at him, but at the lack of acknowledgement to your pleas.

“Jackson,” You speak lowly, immediately catching JJ’s attention. You’re using that voice that’ll make him do anything you please in a heartbeat. He’s obsessed with the fact that his normally soft-spoken girl can straighten him out.

You continue, “Can you set the table for me, baby?” JJ breaks away, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course…” He mutters before turning around to the table. You start to feel bad, but all your feelings of guilt disappear once you notice the pink tint on his cheeks and the ever-growing boner he’s sporting.

“God, Jay. I mean, what the hell?”

The golden-haired boy puts his hands up as his mouth practically hits the floor.

“Well, what do you expect?! My super hot, witch girlfriend gets all stern with me, and-and you expect me not to feel some ‘typa way?!” JJ exclaims.

You roll your eyes at his antics, but your attention is drawn elsewhere when you notice your cat lurking on the counter.

“Down! Get down, Lottie!” You half-heartedly yelp, making a ‘shoo’ motion towards her; her wide eyes merely bore back at you.

You grab her then hear your doorbell ring, which makes the three of you jump, Lottie ends up wandering away.

“Go fix that, Jay.” You’re moving quickly, mainly to distract yourself from looking at the boy you’ve grown to love. You know that one glance will start something that neither of you are able to finish.

JJ hobbles off to your shared bathroom, murmuring curse words under his breath as you reach the door.

When it opens, Sarah pushes her way through first—well, her bump does.

“Oh my gosh! I’ve missed you so much!” She yells, making you wince, but your smile never leaves your lips. It’s an awkward hug for sure, but neither of you mind.

John B comes through next, sheepishly. He lets out a “sorry about her” while he adjusts the pan in his hands.

“Uh, where do you want me to put this?” John B asks, his eyes lingering on the half-set table.

You purse your lips, taking one between your teeth, “On the counter is fine for now.”

“—Please don’t drop it…” “I’m not going to drop it!” You hear shouts coming from the front lawn. You wobble your way over with Sarah still latched onto you when you see Cleo and Pope walking towards you.

Pope’s carrying what you assume is mac and cheese, and Cleo holds a ham, which is rather big in her hands.

They greet you both warmly, to which you reply timidly. It’s not that you had any problem with them, quite the opposite! But the only person to really get you out of your shell was JJ. Kie claims that it’s probably because he was your “first love” since the beginning.

Speaking of her, Kiara, alongside her girlfriend Monica, is walking up to your door with a dazzling grin. Everyone exchanges kind words; the boys offer to set the table, making you accept their act of service almost immediately.

“Mmm, it smells so good Bats!” Sarah groans, wafting the air, Kiara agrees with her.

“Where’s rude boy?” Cleo asks with a smirk. But before you could respond, JJ comes out of the bedroom with his arms stretched out wide.

“Right here, howdy y’all!” JJ nearly throws himself at the pogues, welcoming them all in a group hug.

“Hey, Jay?”

“Yeah B?” JJ turns to the brunette.

“Your fly’s down, bud.” John B snickers, then pats JJ on the back, leaving JJ fumbling with his pants with his ears burning red.

Boisterous laughter rings throughout the halls of the cluttered but cozy home; the table’s been set, the food is ready, and everyone’s in place to eat.

Pope’s rambling on about god knows what as of right now, so you take the opportunity to head to the kitchen undetected.

JJ can hardly hear over the [somewhat] playful screaming match between John B and Kiara. But faintly, he can hear the sound of bottles and pots clanging about in the kitchen.

He gets up from his seat, and JJ’s nearly tip-toeing over. He hears a few mumbled curse words followed by a few clicks and beeps.

JJ sees you: his sweet, gentle, oblivious, spell-casting lover. —And soon to be wife. Your frame blocks his view of what you’re standing in front of, but JJ can easily identify the low humming coming from the microwave.

You take a step back, making JJ take one forward towards you. Your hands are cupped together but remain low in front of you, and he can just barely make out the sight of you looking fondly into the lit up glass.

JJ looks over your shoulder, and his charming smile fades as he sees the glass bottle filled with a liquid he can’t even distinguish spinning slowly in circles.

“Wait, wait, wait! What are you doing?” JJ whisper-shouts.

You jump at the unexpected hands placed on your shoulder, letting out a gasp as you turn around.

You blink at him all doe-like, and JJ feels his resolve slipping all ready. “What? I need to heat up the potion.”

“In the microwave? Really, baby?” JJ tilts his head at you, it reminds you of a puppy-dog. His warm hands continue to rub up and down on your sleeve-covered arms.

“…Well, we haven’t been able to fully unpack all of my stuff, remember? You’ve been busy with work this week.” Your confusion never leaves your face. That’s when JJ remembers.

JJ and you have finally moved in together; meaning no more bed hopping between the chateau and your parents’ house. Everything’s been unpacked and placed carefully throughout the small house, except for your cauldron; alongside your books, bowls, daggers, and pretty much all of your stuff unfortunately.

JJ’s guilt is crawling up his throat; you had reassured him several times that you didn’t mind, and it wasn’t a pressing matter. But when you’re looking at him so sweetly, and your obliviousness to the situation rings deep, JJ’s heart can’t help but feel a pang.

You tear your eyes away from the boy once you hear the ‘beep, beep, beep’ from the rickety appliance.

You grab the bottle out of the microwave, and hold it so that it’s leveled with JJ’s eyes. Now that he can get a good look at it, JJ takes in its appearance. The liquid is somewhat of a sage green color (JJ barely even knows what that is), and it has some floating bits inside, but it doesn’t look nearly as gnarly as some of the other things you’ve concocted.

“Do ya think Sarah would drink this if I asked her to? It’s an elixir made to help and protect her and the baby. I’m not very worried about John B.” JJ swears he’s listening, honestly! He is! But at the same time, he’s really only focusing on the cute scrunch your face is making and your curious eyes.

You look at him awaiting an answer, “Mmm, how about we wait a little bit before we start giving Sarah all your fancy potions, huh cupcake?”

JJ’s flashing that grin at you that makes you weak in the knees, and all you can do is pout at him.

“Awee..Okay,” you drag out, your voice remains hushed.

JJ takes your hand in his, and you let him guide you to the table, where you’re met with boasting and a few questions directed from John B of course.

JJ pulls your chair out for you, and then sits himself right beside you, even going as far as to scoot his wooden chair even closer to yours. You both are sitting so close that your thighs are smushed together, and you find yourself craving it; craving his warmth.

“So were you guys boning in there or what?” There's a chorus of “John B!”’s and “oh my god”’s let out amongst the entire group. You cover your face and cower into JJ’s side.

“Alright, shut up man!” JJ yells, but you know there’s no form of malice in it.

You let out a giggle once you uncover your eyes and see Kiara and John B going back and forth once more; Pope and Cleo also jumping in from time to time. JJ looks down at you: leaning on him, with a bright smile on your face, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride.

This was his family, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

[letmeoutofthebasementt]

Hyunjin Jealousy

SKZ Jealousy series pt. 4: (when they're in a serious relationship do they get jealous at all? What makes them jealous if they get jealous? How do they act in a relationship? What's their response/behavior when jealous? How do they handle it?)

He’s jealous. EXTREMELY jealous. He is jealousy. Jealousy is him. Him and jealousy are like Bonnie and Clyde but more destructive and even CLOSER.

First off, this man is sensitive. He’s sensitive and he’s very emotionally mature since he’s been so in-tune with them all his life until he’s not. Until all of a sudden he’s having an existential crisis because his partner touched Chan’s arm so naturally the only sensible response is to end Chan’s entire bloodline. I’m exaggerating but you get the picture.

He gets very irrational when jealous. His jealousy stems from insecurity, pride, and being easily overwhelmed. He doesn’t like being jealous so he acts like he’s not. He puts up this facade of “Oh, you want my partner? Try and take them.” But inwardly he’s having an entire panic attack.

He’s also just very territorial and possessive on top of that which strokes the flames.

When he’s jealous he’s emotional. When he’s feeling territorial he gets jealous. When he’s feeling possessive he gets jealous. When he’s emotional he’s angry. When he gets angry he shows that D1 crashout I know for a fact is in there somewhere.

(Me and my bsf have decided Han is the Baby Kia to his Kendrick. If you get it you get it.)

He gets DEEPLY jealous. I’m talking this impacts his SOUL. When he gets jealous.

Oddly enough, when he gets jealous everything clears. He’s never patient. He’s not a patient person. But his jealousy is very patient. His territorial and possessiveness are all Aries. All mars. Fiery and loud and bright and quick to flare up but quick to go out.

But his jealousy? It’s an entirely different story. His jealousy is all Pisces and water and even has some Scorpio influences due to a few of his placements. His jealousy is quiet and all consuming.

He’s smart with his jealousy. Manipulative even.

Like oh, he sees his partner having a little too much fun with another guy. Laughing too much at their jokes and touching their arm a little too long during conversation.

So naturally, he comes up and doesn’t make it obvious he cares. If anything, it’s the opposite. He acts like everything’s fine and he’s confident and he doesn’t care. But he says little things.

Like “Oh, I didn’t know you were into charity now. Giving out free laughs for those who can’t work for them.” Or some BS like that in his S/O’s ear and they’re just like “😃😄😃”.

He’s very passive aggressive with the other person. He latches onto each insecurity he can sense and batters them in the nicest way possible.

Then he slowly gets worse and worse. Like; “You’re so brave for never succumbing to beauty standards. Like, you never got those braces you need so much. Or shaved your unibrow.”

He doesn’t act bothered. But he is bothered. Very bothered. He just smiles and laughs as if nothings wrong and he’s confident and normal and calm. But inside he’s a mess.

I think he’s particularly graceful when jealous. All ethereal and princely in a way that makes the other person feel like a worthless bum in comparison. And he knows it.

He tells himself that.

He tells himself he’s perfect and the best, and he’s obviously better than this person so really they’re not a threat. But he’s threatened. Because he’s insecure. Because he’s so scared of losing his partner to someone else. And that’s where all his jealousy stems back to.

His possessiveness and territorial ness are his nature. There’s no real root because they just are. His jealousy is a defense mechanism and a result of other things.

He gives them chances though. Opportunities to try to sway his partner. To prove he’s better even though he’s not sure himself and the entire time he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Jealousy exhausts him. He doesn’t like it. But he’s helpless to stop it. Hell, it actively makes him feel helpless. Jealousy makes him sad, borderline depressed even. And after he’s in that situation he probably cries a lot.

A lot.

He hates being put in situations like those.

He also gets horny. This isn’t even just me saying stuff the cards and the stars have spoken he gets so fucking horny. Jealous sex is a thing. Honestly, with Hyunjin there’s sex for everything at this point the little shit but that’s not the point we’re not getting into that today.

He has a lot of self-pity during and after getting jealous. He’ll blame his partner regardless of if it’s their fault. And he will DURING the…Devil’s tango too. Is it still slut shaming if it comes out as sexy degradation? Yes. And he’s a D1 slut shamer when he’s jealous.

Definitely a conspiracy theorist when jealous.

And more sex with these cards. Trying to keep this PG-13 at least but Hyunjin’s a little special. Still love him though.

He also has a weird jealousy fantasy I’m not gonna think about the implications of let alone get into.

Definitely anxious attachment style.

The type to send a “Damn what position y’all in?” Text if you leave him on delivered for too long except he genuinely means it.

He thinks it’s intuition. It’s just anxiety.

Also sucks up to his S/O after getting jealous.

He gets jealous over everything. No one thing in particular, but just… Everything. He gets jealous quick and like I’ve said he gets aggressively jealous.

Jealousy definitely starts a lot of arguments. He says cruel things, gets cruel things said back.

Also did I mention he’s a D1 crashout? I know FOR A FACT if he catches his partner cheating or even getting like fondled he is CRASHING. OUT.

But that’s for another day

May the force be with you if you have the misfortune of being the cause of a crashout.

[moonperil6]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Four: The Scary Part? He's Tiny

Prev/Next

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 763

You stood at the helm of the ship, next to Eurylochus, who kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He’s rather awful at judging that.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, turning to him.

“What?”

“You keep looking at me weirdly.”

Eurylochus hummed, debating whether or not to tell the truth. He settled with telling half of it.

He shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe you in the slightest.”

Eurylochus was saved from having to try and stutter out an excuse by Polites, who sprinted up to you, barely acknowledging the second in command’s presence with a small nod as he turned to you.

Polites’s glasses kept slipping off his nose and he continued to adjust them as he spoke. “There’s an island- Ody thinks it might be- what the lotus eaters were- talking… about.”

You blinked. “Oh,” was all you said.

Polites raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” He demanded. “That’s the first thing you think to say?” You shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Eurylochus snorted in amusement and Polites narrowed his eyes mockingly at his friend.

Then the world seemed to move in slow motion. Eurylochus was speaking to you, but you couldn’t hear a word he was saying. You yourself seemed to move fine; you could shake out the stiffness in your arms and legs in normal time. You snapped your fingers in front of Polites’s face, but you didn’t get a reaction.

You heard laughter from above your head, and you looked upward.

“Reveal yourself,” you ordered.

“Hm… I don’t think I will.”

You smirked. “I meant, please reveal yourself, Lord Hermes.”

A handsome yet short man appeared before you. He had a mop of curly light brown hair and a black mask covering his eyes. The snakes that were curled around his staff flicked their tongues at you as the tiny wings on his sandals flapped. “How did you-” He looked down at himself in surprise and yelped. 

He gave you a reproachful look. “Please don’t do that again, little lady,” he said, shaking his caduceus at you.

You crossed your arms. “Hello, Lord Hermes. Please stop stalking me.”

Hermes giggled and glided around you, studying your stance and scars. “Now, now,” he chided. “You shouldn’t talk to a potential patron like that!”

You raised your eyebrows. “Patron?” You asked, unable to keep the skepticism from your voice.

“Oh, yes.” Hermes came to a stop in front of you, still hovering a few feet above the ground. “I’ve been watching you for quite some time, Y/N of Ithaca.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that part. Your voice in my head and all.”

Hermes laughed again. “Ooooh. Quick-thinker, too, I see.” The tips of his sandals skimmed the deck of the ship as he looked at you thoughtfully. “I think of myself as lucky to have reached you first, before any other god could offer to be your mentor.”

You blinked.

“Come on,” the god urged. “I’m sure Odysseus has told you of his own mentor, Athena? Shame she abandoned him.”

“I-I…” You couldn’t finish, your mind skimming through the possibilities of how this could end. “What could you offer? Why should I not wait for a different god or goddess like Ares or Artemis?”

“So glad you asked!” Hermes beamed. “I am the god of thieves. I will teach you how to steal more than objects in the heat of the moment. I will teach you how to detangle hidden meanings and important information from the most confusing of sentences.”

You tilted your head slightly. That skill sounded useful.

“I am the god of travelers,” he continued. “I can aid you in your journey home.”

“I am the god of speed. I can train you so hard, you’ll have more stamina than any man. You’ll be as fast as Achilles was.”

“I am the god of language, and I can teach you the skill of negotiating-”

“Let me sleep on it,” you interrupted.

“Oh.” Hermes gave you a sad smile. “You won’t be sleeping tonight.”

“What do you-”

Suddenly everything sped up, leaving you stumbling. Eurylochus grabbed your shoulders to steady you. You could feel Polites’s concerned gaze on your back as you grabbed Eurylochus’s forearms in an attempt to make the world stop spinning.

“Whoa,” Eurylochus said as you swayed slightly. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to slump forward.

“I forgot about how fragile mortals are,” Hermes giggled inside your head. “You might be having that sleep earlier than either of us expected.”

Then you blacked out.

[dragon-gem]

… I was inspired okay.

—

Zane shifted in his seat, discomfort mixing with anxiety inside of him. I wish this was over with already.

It was only him and Pixal today. The others were off doing other things, and although he’d offered to join them, she had been insistent.

You haven’t undergone any maintenance in 60 years, Zane. You must slow down for one moment so I can assess your systems.

Except that he didn’t want to slow down, didn’t want to think too hard about all those years. Slowing down meant having time to consider. Slowing down meant allowing the guilt to consume him.

Zane had never wanted to erase his own memory so badly as he had in the last few weeks.

“I will be as quick as I can, I promise.” Pixal glanced over at him and smiled, her green eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lights of the garage.

“I know. I’ve just been putting it off.” Zane forced himself to sit still as she came over, putting a hand over his chest compartment before pressing the button to open it. “I feel fine, you know.”

“I am sure you do. But that amount of time without maintenance must have been difficult on your circuits. I’m just going to assess the damage and what repairs will need to be done.”

He laid back so she could see, staring up at the stone ceiling. “It… was a bit of time, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Pixal stopped, her voice filled with… was that hesitation? “Zane, did your internal heater stop functioning?”

“I usually have no need of it. My temperature gauge is a bit off, but beyond that…” Zane stopped, glancing over at her. “Why do you ask?”

“There is… ice.”

“What?”

“You have ice coating your circuits,” she clarified, her eyes finally meeting his. “Have you been running slower than normal?”

“Maybe? I haven’t noticed. How bad is it?”

Pixal sighed. “I have to run a full diagnostic. Zane, I’ve never seen your powers affect you like this.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, letting her plug him into the computer and blinking at the flow of information that came across his vision. Mission reports, blueprints, information from all over Ninjago City…

It was dizzying. He never liked being online— conscious when he was plugged into the computers.

Zane shut his eyes, blocking the flow. “I wasn’t myself, Pixal. I couldn’t control my abilities. I…” I did horrible things, my love. So many terrible things. I don’t even want to tell you about them because I know you’ll despise me.

I despise myself. I didn’t protect anyone. All I did was destroy.

Pixal must have sensed his thoughts, because she put a hand on his shoulder. “You must not blame yourself, Zane. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was. I shouldn’t have been so corruptible, shouldn’t have allowed my powers to be used that way.” He shuddered. “I remember it all, Pixal. Every moment. Every person I froze. Every scream… I have violated my base code.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, a warmth filtering through him as she turned on his internal heater. How long had it been since he’d turned that on? It must have turned off at some point while he was—

No, best not to dwell on it.

“I refuse to believe it was your fault.” Pixal finally said. “Look at me, Zane.”

He opened his eyes, focusing on her face. Every line, every carefully smoothed out bump and scratch. She was familiar to him, as familiar as his powers had been.

At least up until he had used them only to terrorize and destroy for 60 years. Now, he could hardly recognize himself.

Pixal smiled, touching his cheek gently. “I don’t blame you for what happened, Zane. None of us do.”

“I am a monster, Pixal,” Zane whispered, hating the words as soon as they fell from his mouth. “I ki—“

“No. It wasn’t you.”

“It was my hands. My powers. I should have tried to fight it, I should have at least tried to resist the scroll.”

“You did. You almost hurt Lloyd, and you didn’t do it, remember?”

“Because he said my name. If he hadn’t…”

“Lloyd is fine. The people of the Never Realm will be fine. It is you I am worried about.”

Zane fell silent, watching as her attention turned back to his frost bitten insides. “I was the Ice Emperor longer than I’ve been a ninja, you know. I’m older than you now. Much older.”

“I know, but you’ve always been older than me. You are the outdated model, remember?” Pixal’s tone was teasing, but even he caught the undercurrent of sadness. She doesn’t like this any more than I do.

“Not to worry, Zane, I’ve always liked older men.” Pixal smiled at him before looking down again, her fingers stilling their repairs. “I only wish I had been able to do something to stop this from happening to you.”

He shook his head. “I would have only hurt you, Pixal. I don’t want that— I’ve never wanted that.”

Pixal pressed a button on the computer, and the dizzying spread of information finally stopped scrolling across his vision. Thank the FSM. “I would do anything to get you back, Zane. Fate seems to enjoy separating us, and I am beginning to get tired of it.”

Zane managed a smile. “Perhaps this will be the last time.”

“One can only hope.”

Silence fell over the two of them as she continued to work, more of a comfortable silence than anything else.

Maybe it wasn’t truly the act of forgetting that I wanted, he mused, staring up at the ceiling once again. Maybe it is the privilege of being able to cry.

YOU KNOW WHAT I WOULD'VE LOVED TO SEE? THE IMPACT OF ZANE BEING THE ICE EMPEROR FOR 60 YEARS.

HE WAS THE ICE EMPEROR LONGER THAN HE'S BEEN A NINJA.

HE KILLED ALMOST ALL OF THE YETIS. HE FROZE THE FORMLING VILLAGE. HE CORRUPTED THE SAMURAI. All of that goes against his base directive - to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

I NEED to see the emotional impact on Zane, and eventually the rest of the team. Bonus points if it comes with seeing the impact on Zane's body, since he definitely didn't get any maintenance in his time in the Never-Realm.

[justkillingthyme]

I have eleven requests left to go…