#it's been in my notes for a very long time

[ceramini]

✦ STRONG ENOUGH TO RUIN YOU

pairing 𐐪𐑂 gym instructor!sunghoon x afab!reader

word count 𐐪𐑂 approximately 1.2k words (dw im working on making my fics longer)

genre 𐐪𐑂 smut, slow burn, instructor/client tension, fluff, dom!sunghoon, MDNI 18+

synopsis ───── you sign up for personal training thinking it’ll be a harmless way to finally stay consistent. you didn’t expect sunghoon, your cocky, too-pretty, too-hands-on gym instructor who makes you forget how to breathe mid-stretch. what starts with harmless corrections and tension-filled check-ins quickly unravels into something you can’t control. or hide.

nini’s note 🗒️ this is like INCREDIBLY over due (in terms of posting for sunghoon despite him being my wrecker..), but I just saw those photos of sunghoon in the gym and my mind is running. im actually foaming at the mouth he is so fine and his arms are like so big I want him to choke me hard im not even lying also i like how all the enha writers are just going feral abt those pics, I’ve seen like 3 of these already 😭😭.. remember 2 enjoy responsibly + comments, likes & reblogs are very much appreciated <33

𓋜 if want to read something else, check out the ꕀ LIBRARY

You weren’t even supposed to pick him.

There were three trainers available when you signed up. All perfectly qualified, all recommended. You picked the one who didn’t have 40k followers on Instagram. The one who wasn’t always in the mirror with his shirt off. The one who didn’t look like a boyband idol who accidentally wandered into a squat rack.

So why the hell were you stuck with Park Sunghoon?

“Looks like you’re with me now,” he’d said that first day, smiling just a little too knowingly. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

You knew what that meant.

What you didn’t expect was how good he’d be at his job.

Firm, focused, never distracted, even when your breathing stuttered, even when his palm slid to your lower back and your brain short-circuited. He’d press your shoulders down, tap your thighs, adjust your grip with long, capable fingers. Always murmuring soft corrections like:

“Back straight, baby.”

“Stay with me.”

“Just like that. You’re getting better.”

He always said your name like it tasted sweet.

And now here you were, halfway through week five, sitting on the gym floor with your thighs trembling, heart in your throat, and his hand still on your waist.

“Need help stretching it out?” he says, voice low.

You should say no.

Instead, you nod.

You’re on your back. Hips tilted. One leg bent.

Sunghoon is kneeling beside you, gently moving your leg across your body as he leans over.

“Relax,” he murmurs, fingers firm on your outer thigh. “Let me guide you.”

You swear his voice gets lower every time he touches you. A slow, patient growl. You squeeze your eyes shut as the stretch deepens.

“Good girl,” he says suddenly. “Just breathe.”

Oh fuck.

You don’t know what part of your body clenches first.

“You always tense up when I say that,” he muses, amused.

You peek one eye open. He’s grinning. Smirking.

“I do not.”

“You do,” he says, stroking up your leg with his thumb. “But it’s okay. It’s cute.”

You shove his shoulder weakly. He doesn’t move an inch. You feel his grip tighten, just slightly.

“You know,” he says softly, “you’ve been a real good client. You always listen. Always do what I tell you.”

There’s a pause.

“Would you keep listening if I told you to spread your legs for me?”

Silence. Then—

You do.

Without a word. Breath shaking. Core throbbing.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I thought so.”

You’re up against the mirror.

His fingers are inside you.

Your cheek is pressed to the glass, the fog of your breath smudging your reflection. His body is flush behind you, strong, firm, solid, guiding your hips back into his hand, where he’s curling his fingers in slow, purposeful strokes.

“See how pretty you look?” he whispers, biting your ear. “Can you see how wet you are?”

You whimper. He speeds up.

You try to close your legs but he clicks his tongue.

“Ah—uh uh. Don’t run. Let me stretch you, baby.”

He spreads his fingers. You gasp.

“Already so tight,” he groans. “Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock. You gonna take me like a good girl?”

You nod frantically.

“You want me that bad?”

“Sunghoon, please—”

He leans forward, lips against your jaw.

“Beg.”

You’re already halfway gone. Voice cracked. Mind empty.

“Please fuck me. Please—need it so bad—I’ll be good—”

You cry out as his palm lands against your ass, sharp and quick.

He groans behind you.

“Then get on the bench.”

The workout bench is cold on your skin.

You’re bent over it now, cheek pressed to the padding, thighs parted the way he told you. Your leggings are halfway down, soaked through, your body still trembling from his fingers.

Sunghoon stands behind you, breathing heavy, a flush spreading down his chest, biceps flexing as he strokes himself, slow and hard.

“God, look at this fucking ass,” he growls, palming the curve of your hip. “You really let me do this here?”

You nod, whimpering. “Wanted you— wanted this—”

He leans over, lips brushing your shoulder. “You’ve been teasing me for weeks. Every time you show up in those tiny shorts, acting shy—”

His cock presses between your folds and you gasp, arching.

He slides it through your slick, groaning.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. All for me?”

You can barely answer. He slaps your ass again— not hard, just enough to make you flinch.

“Answer me, baby.”

“All—fuck—all for you, Hoon.”

You don’t even recognize your own voice. It’s high, messy. You’re already unraveling, and he hasn’t even put it in yet.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now take it.”

He sinks in slowly.

Not teasing, not fast, just… deep.

You both moan when he bottoms out. One hand grips your hip, the other slides under your stomach to press against your clit.

“You’re so tight,” he says against your spine, voice wrecked. “Fucking perfect.”

You cry out as he starts moving, steady thrusts, grinding into that spot that makes your knees buckle. His cock fills you completely, like it was made for you, and his abs brush your back every time he presses forward.

“Shit, you’re taking me so good—” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Let me ruin you, baby. Let me make you forget your own name.”

You do.

You can’t say anything but his name. Over and over again.

“Hoon—Hoon, please—please—”

He grabs your hair, pulling you back so you see your fucked-out reflection in the mirror.

“Look,” he growls. “That’s what I do to you. That’s what you look like when I fuck you dumb.”

You’re already crying a little, not from pain, but from the overwhelm. He notices, slows down just slightly.

“You okay?”

You nod frantically. “More—please don’t stop—need you—”

He wipes your tears with a shaky hand, eyes dark.

“Yeah? You want me to break you, baby?”

You say yes so fast he laughs, but it’s breathless, desperate, like he’s just as gone.

“Say it again.”

“Break me, Sunghoon.”

He grabs your wrists, pins them behind your back, and lets go.

You’re cock drunk by the time he starts whispering praise.

“Taking me so good—god, you were made for this.”

“Such a perfect little body—fuck, I’ve been dreaming of this.”

“Gonna cum for me? Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

You’re gone. You can’t stop shaking.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me. Make a mess.”

You do, hard. Loud. Full-body, leg-shaking, soul-leaving climax. You scream his name, you cry, your body locks up around his cock like it never wants to let go.

Sunghoon loses it.

“Fuck—fuckfuck—gonna fill you up, baby—shit—”

He buries himself to the hilt and cums hard, hips jerking, hands gripping you so tight you’ll probably bruise. You can feel him twitching inside you, groaning against your shoulder, dropping messy kisses onto your back as he rides out the wave.

He pulls out slow, hands still gentle, watching your cunt drip with his cum.

“Shit,” he says softly. “That was—fuck.”

You just lay there, legs spread, brain fried.

Sunghoon grabs a towel, wipes you clean, helps you sit up. He kisses your temple, holds your face in both hands.

“Was that okay?” he asks, genuinely.

You nod, tears still drying on your cheeks.

He kisses you again, soft this time. No smirk. No games.

“I’ll take care of you, okay?” he murmurs. “Even if this doesn’t mean anything. Even if it’s just once.”

You blink. “You think I’d let you hit raw and not mean it?”

He laughs, then kisses you again, and this one feels like a promise.

TAGLIST ───── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist @hoonprksung @eunvyue <3 you can join my taglist through this doc! —> here

[kxsagi]

HELLOOOO OK SO I JUST READ YOUR LATEST WRITING ABOUT READER LOVING FOOD AND I ABSOLUTELY DEVOURED THE WHOLE POST😋😋

so like now I've got an idea. what if now..it's a reader that eats less, like they don't like eating just because everyday they don't feel like it. and bllk boys being an athlete ofc prioritizes getting enough energy and nutrients from food so they ask the reader to eat more or prob they just learn how to cook for both. can I get this with isagi, kaiser, itoshi brothers, shidou, and karasu? THANK YOU SO MUCH AND BTW I CANT HELP BUT KEEP MENTIONING THAT I REALLY LOVE UR WRITING AND DONT FORGET TO REST WHEN NEEDED.

LOVE YOU!!!!!

“𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐟”

a/n: thank you so much!!! i'm getting emotional 😭😭😭 i'll rest when i need to and you do the same! love you!!! 🫶🏻

also side note, i really don’t promote unhealthy eating habits, and even if you don’t feel like eating, please make sure to eat and fuel your body because you deserve to be fed and feel good! 

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

he finds out on accident. 

you casually say something like “oh, i didn’t eat today either” when he asks what you had for lunch, and the word “either” shatters his entire worldview. 

“what do you mean ‘either’? wait… wait wait wait, how long has this been a thing?” 

the boy goes from concerned boyfriend to a TED Talk nutritionist in three seconds flat. 

immediately pulls out a color-coded meal tracker app to “make it more fun” like it’s a game. 

and he will absolutely start meal prepping with you. thinks it’s kind of romantic, actually. he’ll sit at your counter with a blender and go “if we blend chicken and spinach together, you get all the protein and fiber without having to chew anything! win-win!” 

his mission becomes “get you to eat three times a day like it’s the world cup final.” 

“love, i swear on blue lock, just take one bite of this or i’ll start crying.” 

kaiser michael

kaiser’s first instinct is to mock you. 

“you’re not eating again? what are you, a plant? photosynthesizing your way through life?” 

but deep down he’s worried sick. 

he notices the way you get tired easily and how your hands are cold even in summer. and while he’s a little dramatic, he does care. 

so he starts learning how to cook – secretly. because if you found out he was doing all this for you, you'd probably get flustered and avoid it. 

next thing you know, there’s a very flustered kaiser in your kitchen at 8 AM, shirtless, aggressively googling “how to make cute bento boxes that will guilt-trip your girlfriend into eating.” 

tries to act cool when he presents it to you. 

“eat it. i didn’t spend an hour making smiley-face eggs for you to skip breakfast again.” 

if you say “i’m not hungry,” he fake gasps and goes, “i see. you hate my cooking. okay. noted. i’ll go cry in the shower now.” 

itoshi rin

rin is not subtle. 

the moment he catches you skipping meals or brushing it off, he just squints and goes, “that’s not healthy.” 

he’ll start leaving little plates of cut-up fruit, protein bars, or drinks with a sticky note like “eat this. now.” 

very “acts like he doesn’t care, but is cooking rice in your kitchen at midnight because you haven’t eaten.” 

if he sees you get dizzy or tired, he will pick you up bridal style without saying a word and place you on the couch like you’re a sims character about to pass out. 

“you can’t just run on vibes. you’re not a ghost.” 

but the cutest part? he starts copying recipes from youtube cooking channels, awkwardly learning how to make tamagoyaki or miso soup just because it’s light but filling. 

and when you actually eat something he made? he looks away all flushed like, “whatever. just don’t starve. dumbass.” 

itoshi sae

sae finds out when you casually mention you haven’t had an appetite in a few days. 

he stops chewing mid-bite. slowly lowers his chopsticks. 

“what do you mean… ‘a few days’?” 

he’s horrified. in a calm, dead-eyed, big-brother-knows-best way. 

immediately texts rin like “this is why i have trust issues.” 

he doesn’t make a big deal of it, but the next day he shows up at your place with groceries. fancy ones. imported olive oil. cuts of salmon. actual saffron. 

he cooks gourmet meals like he’s on a michelin-starred revenge arc. 

“you don’t like eating? then i’ll make something so good you’ll change your mind.” 

he casually drops phrases like, “this has slow-digesting carbs and omega-3s, so you won’t feel heavy,” like he’s in your stomach. 

bonus: he cuts up the food into small bite sizes so you don’t get overwhelmed. he’s smooth with it too. 

“you’re eating this one. no negotiation.” 

shidou ryusei

shidou finds out and goes FULL PANIC. 

“HUH???? YOU’RE STARVING YOURSELF FOR FUN?????? BABE, DO YOU KNOW HOW FOOD WORKS???” 

he’s being dramatic, but he’s actually very worried. 

and of course, his version of helping is… weird. 

he decides to cook, which is already a disaster. man made cereal with hot sauce once. 

“i’m gonna feed you with so much protein you’ll turn into a meatball.” 

he tries to make you “protein bombs,” which are just weird mixes of peanut butter, tuna, and pre-workout powder. 

you gag. he calls you ungrateful. 

eventually, he settles on bribery: “eat this, and i’ll let you sit on my lap while i do squats. hell, i’ll do push-ups with you on my back. anything. just eat.” 

he’s so in-your-face affectionate it’s hard to say no. especially when he hugs you from behind and goes, “babe, seriously. you’re perfect. but i want you to have energy to sass me back, y’know? it’s not fun if you’re fainting mid-roast.” 

karasu tabito

karasu notices everything. 

you’re talking about your day and casually mention “i had water and a banana” and he does a full slow turn like, “sorry. that was your meal???” 

turns into mom friend energy immediately. 

he’s a little annoying about it in a loving way. 

“okay, but hear me out… what if you did eat something with actual nutrients? revolutionary, i know.” 

he’ll start showing up with smoothies and snacks unprompted. 

hand-feeds you fries on the couch. 

and he can cook. surprisingly well. 

“i made you a lil something. don’t get used to it, though. unless you want to. actually, yeah. get used to it.” 

jokes aside, he’s really gentle about it. when you explain that it’s more of a lack of appetite than anything serious, he doesn’t push – just offers small, frequent snacks and praise every time you eat. 

“good girl. finish that rice and i’ll let you wear my hoodie tonight.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[smartzelda]

Okay, so now that I've taken a metaphorical drag of my cigarette and stared off into the diatance for a while, I'm gonna unpack this piece by piece

ㅤ

"a new interesting queerbaiting offshoot is happening"

Hi, so (respectfully), what you've described here isn't a new phenomenon.

Let us for instance look upon House MD (2004), because I saw a couple people in the notes mention it.

House MD has background queer characters (as well as other minorities present) in its 8 seasons ("background" in this case referring to the cast that changes with the episodic nature of the A plotlines). Episode 4, "Maternity" aired in December 2004 and featured a lesbian couple who were soon to be parents.

Remy "Thirteen" Hadley was a main character who entered the show in episode 2 of season 4 in October 2007, and (though she would not remain a main character in every single season following) does make it past the series finale. While hints were given in the series prior (her actor gave an official statement as well), Thirteen was canonically confirmed to be bisexual in the show itself in Season 4 Episode 12, which aired in February 2008. Thirteen calls herself bisexual on multiple occassions during the show, dated Eric Foreman (one of the main male cast members) for a time, was allowed to be sexually interested/involved with both men and women, and closed out the show with a canonical girlfriend (thus making her a main character who is allowed to just be gay/queer).

And then, of course, we have Hilson (a pairing of two main characters that is a topic of queerbaiting discourse to this day). They're arguably the most popular gay pairing among fans, there are multiple jokes about them being gay for each other in the show itself, the actors did a "bromance" interview, one time they played something like gay chicken and had a false proposal scene, etc etc yadda yadda. There's a lot there to talk about. Point is, the pairing was popular, had good canon basis, seemed to be supported reading wise by Hugh Laurie (who played Gregory House), canon joked about them being a thing on multiple occassions, and ultimately the series closed out with the pairing being noncanon.

The topic of whether House MD is queerphobic or offensive in some ways with their handlings of their cast members/plots is an entirely separate topic of converation I don't plan to derail and discuss here. My point is that people who lived through it know just how homophobic the 2000s were, and the criteria of fitting the phenomenon denoted in the original post is having characters who were gay and allowed to be gay, as well as a popular pairing which was not explicitly canonized, which the show had. The show ended a full 3 years before gay marriage was fully legalized, and a year before it was legalized in New Jersey, where the show takes place.

This is a tv show that ran from 2004—2012 that fits the criteria of this "new queerbaiting offshoot", and I know there are multiple other similar examples (potentially even earlier ones).

ㅤ

"queerbaiting offshoot"

Okay, let me start by saying that I understand you're not saying that this phenomenon you've described is 1 to 1 the definition of what queerbaiting is.

However, it's the usage of the term in this manner that reminds me of my long held belief at this point that "queerbaiting" needs to go up on the shelf, and is ultimately why I've been trying to avoid queerbaiting discourse as often as I can.

Context, here, matters, and "queerbaiting" is a very specific phenomenon that involves a piece of media where (I am simplifying the explanation a bit here. To get a more accurate explanation than what is commonly used I suggest talking to veterans of the queer community) the relationship between two characters of the same gender is heavily hinted at or implied, but where the producers/creators involved have no intention to ever make it explicitly canon (often even punishing the audience through the ongoing narrative or deriding them within the media itself for ever considering the characters might be gay for each other). This allows the media to draw queer viewership without alienating the general cishet viewerbase. The defining factor that separates "queerbaiting" from "queercoding" is intent. And, in this day and age, it's often hard to prove that everyone involved in the creation of a piece of media is intentionally queerbaiting the audience as opposed to queercoding under the radar or trying to get in whatever their corporate overlords have allowed.

This is why the the context matters though.

Does your piece of media have no explicitly confirmed queer characters (outside of maybe one offs or stereotypes for the audience to laugh at)? Are there several hints in the media itself tying one or more of the main characters to queer culture while building up these characters of the same gender to be the most important people to each other? What you might have here is a case of queercoding. It's entirely possible the writer or writers are trying to get in what they can, but ultimately were not able to get the pairing canonized.

Does your piece of media have one or more explicitly canonical (not completely stereotype filled) queer character, but not confirm a romantic relationship between one of those characters and another main character of their same gender? This is not queerbaiting. Again, context matters.

In some of these cases, the media doesn't show any main characters getting long time romantic partners because it's not relevant to the narrative they're spinning. In some of these cases, some of the queer characters explicity enter relationships and some don't. Depending on the context, it could be a case of not every character entering a romantic relationship before the series end (which is something that is and should be normal. Not every character even in all cishet media ends the media dating someone. We shouldn't be setting the standard that all queer characters need to be in a permanent romantic relationship, or that they need this to be queer). It could also be a case of the queer character(s) having explicit sexual or romantic relationships onscreen, but the creators not choosing to (or not being allowed to) canonize a permanent pairing between that character and another main character.

Does your piece of media (whether it has canonical queer characters or not) have tease moments between a couple characters of the same gender? Maybe there's a moment where two characters suddenly get really close during an event, a joke is added in about them being gay for each other (which either causes the characters to defend themselves or brush off the comment as nothing while embarassed). Does this happen on the occasion with one or more pairings, but ultimately these moments are never followed up on or referenced again in any fashion like a one off deal? Then you may potentially be a victim of "ship baiting". Even media with canonical queer relationships between main characters can do this, and they sometimes spawn off secondary popular pairings for the two characters. There's no intent to canonize the pairing, sure, but it's a tongue in cheek thing. Ship baiting can be done with pairings involving any combination of genders, and it can be as malicious as queerbaiting, or as benign as creators deliberately leaving potential for their fans to have fun with in fandom about.

I wouldn't call the phenomenon you've described here an "offshoot" of queerbaiting, especially since (depending on the context) the phenomenon can be 1 to 1 applied to popular examples of media people assumed were queerbaiting before the creators confirmed they were queercoding.

Legend of Korra (considered a milestone for queer media (in the USA at least)) ended the series finale with Korra and Asami leaving for the spirit world together. Within the show itself, they do not kiss and them starting a relationship is not explicitly confirmed (this being because at that time the creators did as much as they could by allowing them to end the show together without being paired off with anyone else). It was later in the official comics that the characters were confirmed to have gotten married.

I also got into SPOP right before the final season dropped, and was privy to all the built up discourse before everyone had seen the final season. Though they managed to add in or confirm background queer relationships here and there over the course of the show (and are queer themself), Nate Stevenson had been accused of queerbaiting ships between the main characters pretty much until the end, as people debated over whether there would be a canon main queer pairing and what pairing it would be. Ultimately, despite the years of discourse, Catradora was canonized in the series finale (incl. an onscreen kiss between them), and Stevenson went on to say that he (like other milestone shows which came before) had to fight to get the relationship canonized. He did this partially by intentionally cementing the characters' relationship into the core of the show and building it to the point where canonization was the only answer.

There are more (often more apt) terms than "queerbait" out there for your usage. It's hard to prove that someone is intentionally queerbaiting these days, but it is more common than you'd think for a writer or writers to heavily queercode the cast members or a particular relationship to deal with a particular line drawn by their corporate (or in some cases even showrunner) overlords.

ㅤ

"it's just that the most popular fan pairing is NOT allowed to happen."

Hey, so if this was just an unintentional poor wording moment, no worries. You can assume I'm speaking in general as opposed to you specifically

But "most popular fan pairing" denotes something a bit different than, say, "most hinted at non-canon pairing". Other people have pointed this out on this post prior, but it is not actually a bad thing for creators to not canonize whatever the fandom thinks of as the best pairing.

We have to rid ourselves of this entitled "fans know best" attitude. It ultimately does not matter whether or not you personally believe you or someone else could have written a story/relationship better. Fandoms do not (and should not) get to determine a narrative's course. It is up to the writer(s) to decide the narrative they're to write and whether (or which exactly) relationships fit into the story they are telling.

We have a really big problem in the more queer sides of fandom right now where everything is getting accused of queerbaiting simply because the fans at large got invested in a character relationship, decided the pairing should be canon, and (no matter the circumstances surrounding the media'a creation, political environment, relevance, actual depth of canon potential) then the characters didn't kiss and it pissed them off.

Your investment in a fan pairing should not be entirely contingent on whether you are eventually "rewarded" for it by getting canonization and kisses. Fuck that. Fandom is not about solely indulging in things that "will be canon" and lashing out when things don't go your way. From the beginning till the end of time people will be getting obsessed with relationship dynamics between characters who won't canonically get together. It's unrealistic to expect that they should solely because a lot of people on the internet like the idea. Everything can't be queerbaiting. You have to get used to this.

And, as others have pointed out in the notes already, fandom is hardly trustworthy for deciding what should be canon. Sometimes the fans at large get it right, and the main queer fan pairing has a shit ton of basis in canon, fits the narrative, and on some occassions even becomes canon. However, sometimes the most popular canon pairing is like two guys who held hands once or had a kind of neat character dynamic. These are cases where fans attached onto the first hint of a main character pairing very very hard, and then (rather than update their thoughts and readings of the media as more characters and other even deeper relationships were developed) doubled down in asserting that their beloved main pairing is the only thing which can and should be canon. The fans do not always know what's best for the characters or narrative, and I would hate to live in a world where creators were forced to canonize anything their fans decided would make the story better (or their fans personally like).

Creators do not have to make a main fan pairing canon because it's popular. The lack of a canon confirmation for a pairing you like does not automatically mean the characters don't have feelings for each other in the canon or can never get together. You don't need your pairings to be canon to "prove" you were right about a media all along. It is a fact of life that a piece of media will have multiple readings that can be drawn from it, and it is normal to theorize and speculate on things that may never be explicitly confirmed. Embrace that.

ㅤ

"why? well maybe the writers just want u specifically dead"

I get that this is an intentional exaggeration (likely intended to match whatever pairing you're having thoughts and feelings about right now), but genuinely the only answer to "why" the phenomenon you've described occurs isn't that you're being queerbaited by people who hate you.

Like. There's not a 0% chance, I will admit, but it's still not the only explanation. I implore you to consider what else may be going on behind the scenes if the pairing in question genuinely has great basis in the canon (as per the earlier discussion on queerbaiting).

With that being said, this is the best answer I can provide in regards to the phenomenon you've described.

Everything is not as progressive as you seem to believe it is

As sad as it is, just because we can have background relationships or canon queer characters or a piece of media that revolves around a gay relationship does not mean the fight is over and that gay relationships are always acceptable in media now. We still to this day have creators fighting tooth and nail against executives to get canon/explicit/casual queerness in their public, more mainstream media. And just because someone managed to get this to happen does not mean all threats of corporate meddling are gone (and this is me talking about the USA. I haven't even touched on other countries' media.)

The sad truth is that we still live in a reality where media that is not up front about being a queer story from the getgo (such as a movie that is advertised to be about a gay romance at its core) is risky to confirm main queer relationships partway through. Corporations don't want to lose their mainstream cishet audience, and (to them) a "surprise" main gay pairing is something that will run too high a risk of losing them viewers and money. This is why so many main gay pairings are confirmed in the last second. And, on top of that, even media with casual queerness and canon queer relationships have had to deal with censorship around the world, because a company would rather erase or obscure queerness than potentially lose money. We even still deal with tv shows that are up front about their queerness, and that make companies loads of money and get them tons of views getting canceled for...no real discernible reason sometimes.

Yes. Yes it is absolutely possible for a piece of media with background queer rep or a canon gay/trans character to face roadblocks in making those relationships canon between main characters. Sometimes this is because the creators' hands were tied and they added in what they could. Sometimes the creators did this on purpose because they didn't feel canonization of that particular pairing would be right for their characters/narrative (either at this exact moment or in general). Sometimes a show runner has no intention of canonizing anything, but their writing team enjoys adding queercoding and making canon what they can.

It's not always queerbait.

a new interesting queerbaiting offshoot is happening where characters are allowed to be gay it's just that the most popular fan pairing is NOT allowed to happen. why ? well maybe the writers just want u specifically dead

[seat-safety-switch]

When you get older, you realize that most cleaning products are not very good at cleaning at all. Even though three-quarters of human existence consists of cleaning your house before people show up, the expensive and hazardous magic juices you buy from the store to help you do it are not really doing much at all.

Sure, they might make a stinky chemical smell that masks the natural cheese-like odour of your rapidly disintegrating surroundings. Maybe they sell a little device that puff-puffs some clouds of flower smell into your property periodically, just in case your cat doesn't know how to use the toilet. All this masks the problem. The only solution for really cleaning your house is to burn it down.

Now, I'm not advocating arson. The last thing this column wants to do is get in trouble with law enforcement. Firefighters are usually a lot sharper, too, and will catch onto a crime right away, because they didn't spend their entire education learning about different kinds of ways to threaten the cashier at Krispy Kreme into giving them some free Originals. No. I'm saying you should call the firefighters up and tell them to burn your house down for you.

Like my grandpa used to say, you learn a whole lot when your house is on fire. It's educational. All those firefighters will be really grateful for the opportunity, which could come in handy later if you get into a mess with the police. And once the place has been reduced to cinders and ashes (are those the same thing? Note to self, ask Siri later) you can build a whole new house that will be clean and not stink like old socks all the time. It's probably cheaper in the long run than giving Big Bleach $18 a bottle for "No Survivors" Brand Odour Eliminator Spray that makes your hands hurt.

[belovedcloud]

Video Games

pairing: brothers best friend! leon kennedy x fem! reader

✎ synopsis: you and your brother's best friend don't really get along, especially at night time when all your brother and leon do is bash games. a phone call erupts and your brother is gone - a confession goes south.

✎ notes: fucking hell, it has been so long since i have made any posts. i literally have had no motivation + i kinda fell out with resident evil + leon but i'm back into it for a bit! hopefully anyways, i hope you all like this - quite short and sweet but it has been in my drafts for months.

➤ WC: 2.9K

➤ CW: leon's a bit rude in the beginning but playful, pet names such as princess, baby etc. unprotected sex, fingering, having sex in someone else's bed.

At first, it was harmless name calling and what not. Nothing too serious between the two of you as your brother had introduced you to his best friend. His so called 'brother' he would call him. God knows how much you love hate him for meeting Leon. He was always such a pain in your ass.

Your disputes with him carried on ever since, he always liked to annoy you when he came to stay over in your brothers room. And for what? His whole existence was made to annoy you, you were certain of it. However, it wasn't helpful that he was the cutest boy you have ever seen. Leon's dirty blonde locks that he threw back regularly to get it out of his eyes. His lips that looked so soft - never once did you see him have cracked lips when he was giving you a remark.

His blue eyes was the thing that enchanted you the most. In most cases, harsh eye contact would be shared amongst you two after a session of bickering before either one of you stormed off.

So tonight, you weren't happy that your brother had planned a little sleepover with Leon. At their age you didn't know if it was embarrassing or cute for them to have a sleepover. Nonetheless, it wasn't like you could do anything about it. It was just a fact that you had to get over the situation and avoid Leon like the plague. That would be simple, right?

Hearing the front door slam shut, you could automatically tell who walked in - your feet were uncontrollable as you whisked down the stairs and saw Leon with his duffel bag.

"Are you sleeping over or moving in?" The snarky joke left your lips whilst you watched Leon take off his shoes, a small grunt leaving his mouth hearing your remark.

"Hm, I could move in if I wanted to... although maybe it wouldn't be a good option for the both of us princess." That damn nickname, every time he would get you with that nickname. His lips curled up slightly as he watched your eyes roll back to his response. However, Leon couldn't help but have his eyes travel over you. As much as he wanted to deny it, you were pretty. Very pretty in his eyes. He understood that it would be weird for him to flirt with you, since he was your brother's best friend but he couldn't help himself.

The air was beginning to thicken and with that, Leon made his way past you on the staircase; practically leaping as his feet went up 2 steps at a time. Oh whatever, it wasn't like you planned to see him again tonight.

Or so you thought.

It was those fucking video games that the two of them would bash every night. Peace? Not an option with your brother's screams and Leon's laughter echoing out the whole house. Even noise-cancelling headphones couldn't block them out. It was 1:12 AM.

With dissatisfaction in your step, your feet plod on the floors of your home - down the hallway towards the fated room that was causing the most ruckus known to man. The shimmering door handle was begging you to bust the door open. That's what you did.

"Can you both shut up and turn whatever you're playing down?!" A voice echoed through Leon's ears. It was none other but yours and all he could do in that moment was chuckle - you were cute like this. "Mind knocking next time?" Leon voiced out as your brother nodded to his statement, a teasing tone was laced in the question. Leon's eyes shot down to your bare legs, the hem of your shorts barely peeking as you wore an oversized shirt for comfort.

"Well could you mind turning down the volume? Every time I have to-" Your response was cut short due to a loud ringtone vibrating the room. Glancing down at the side table, your brother's phone was basically bouncing up and down as a random caller ID popped up.

"You still haven't changed that ringtone?" Leon joked, snickering hearing the music play - granting a "shut up!" getting backfired towards him as his best friend left the bedroom to answer the call.

Once your brother left the room, it became a bit awkward. Leon didn't feel like sitting on the floor with a deflated cushion anymore so he opted for the bed that rested against his back. His eyes glanced up to meet yours as he cut the silence short.

"We're all alone now huh?" Leon's small laugh soon turned into a smirk as she patted the empty spot on the bed beside him, wanting you to come closer to him. Or at least come into the room instead of just standing in the doorway. Hearing that teasing tone in his voice alone, you knew he was up to mischief.

"Hell no." You scoffed, crossing your arms tightly against your chest whilst looking at Leon with scrutiny in your eyes. "Oh come on, I don't bite. I swear!" He gave you a cheeky grin, his icy blue eyes shining under the lamp shade. "And besides, you know you want to." Leon added on, shuffling his body weight on the double-sized mattress emphasizing the bleak spot next to him.

It wouldn't hurt to sit next to him would it?

Leon watched intently as you sat down next to him, the way your thighs were squidgy against the sheets whilst you ruffled your shirt slightly. His eyes seemed to be entranced by you alone. How could a girl be so beautiful? Sure, he's seen pretty women before but you - you were different. You made his heartbeat rapid unlike any other girl had ever done. It was weird, crazy and honestly scary.

"What are you looking at?" Your voice reverberated in his ears, snapping him out of his trance. It was becoming obvious to him that he could not convince himself that he didn't like you. "You." A hushed whisper came out of his mouth, it was quick and swift but it was heard by the both of you. Shifting yourself to look at him properly, you could not see his face without his hair strands covering his eyes - averting themselves from you for once.

"Why?" A slight snort came out of your lips, making Leon scoff and shoot his head up. "I don't know and it's pissing me off." Eh? What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Pissing you off? Am I really that weird to look at?” Your voice mocked a sad tone; your eyes peered into his as Leon looked at you. There was no way you found yourself weird to look at, he was sure of it. 

“Beautiful.” Was all that Leon could fathom at that moment; it was all he could see in front of him. His lip trembled as the adjective whispered from deep within him – confusion flooded his body to why he was so emotional in this moment. He saw the way your pupils dilated so slightly, almost a shock horror to him. No words came from you, just tranquillity filled the air; it wasn’t awkward anymore. 

“You’re joking with me, right?” 

“Joking? Why would I joke about that?” 

With that, your hands crumpled the bedsheet that enveloped your body – a wave of longing bouncing between the both of you. This literally couldn’t have been happening at a worse time – you both in your brother’s room with an eerie sexual tension. You had to remind yourself; he’s your brother’s . best . friend. Although, it didn’t seem that Leon cared in this moment, the feeling of his hand approaching yours at a snail like speed. “What are you doing?” The semi-rough touch of his fingertips stopped you in your tracks, your eyes peering down at the scene in front of you. 

Almost in a nervous confession, Leon’s hand encircled your own – his face a tinge of red. “I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to finally realise that I do like you.” You genuinely couldn’t be okay in this situation. A confession from a guy you should supposedly hate yet, your heart yearns for. The lips of yours slightly part, your throat begging to be used to say your side. Shamelessly, a fat smile shone on his face – almost a laugh was about to blow. 

“What the hell are you smiling about?!” You yapped out, stuttering over your words, your head snapping right from his. That goofy grin of his, more or less scrutinising you due to highly strung you were. “You’re just cute, that’s all – you can’t even say anything in this.” A lazy chuckle left him, staring you down from your pretty face, down to your body – his icy blue eyes tracing over your legs all the way down to the socks you were wearing. 

Leon had continued to stare at you, but to pinpoint to where the staring occurred, he was eying your lips. Whatever lip balm you had used tonight still left them soft and plump. 

“Leon, we literally can’t... My brother is literally outside!” His hand spread across your mouth, stopping you from talking and making you look at him again. Leon was pressed up against you, another one of his signature laughs trespassed into the air – a mischievous look in his eyes. “He’s still going on about basketball or something, he won’t notice.” His mumbled whisper tickled your earlobe. Did you hear him correctly, or was he seriously being a dumbass? 

“I- Fine. One kiss.” You were stern in what you allowed in this situation, because there was no way you were going to allow your brother to see not just you, but Leon having sex on HIS bed. “Yes ma’am.” 

He didn’t hesitate; he never did when it came to something he craved to do. Leon’s lips on yours surprised you, they were soft – softer than you would have expected. However, you not disclaiming what type of kiss was allowed did prolong the action made between the both of you. As both of your lips collided, saliva was shared and sweet noises left between you two. Kisses soon turn into touches as your fingers manoeuvre around his  body; his arms pull you into him. The hold on you, possessive. 

“Thought you said one kiss, hm?” A smug smile spread on his face as he watched your lips pant slightly. Your fingertips had stopped moving, leaving themselves on his hardened chest. 

“Shut up.” 

One of Leon’s palms now had tapped his lap, indicating for you to straddle him. With a quick look at the closed door – your body automatically moves. Feeling your thighs straddle his own created more of a hard-on that begged for the tiniest amount of touch. Without struggle, his hands shifted to your waist; granting you permission to rock yourself onto him. Subconsciously, you do just that. Looking at the dingy clock, it was only 1:38 AM. It wasn’t long before your brother would come back. 

“I-” 

“Yeah, yeah I know – I would’ve preferred taking my time with you but seems like we gotta do this fast princess.” 

That same nickname you hated now turned into one that gave you shivers, the rasp in his voice now brings a desire that was unbeknownst to you. Shuddering from his touch, you feel Leon flip you onto the soft pillow his back was once on. He brings himself closer to you, close enough for your foreheads to touch. “Comfy?” His lovestruck eyes peer into yours, making your heart quicken to where all you can respond with is a shaky nod. 

Lifting the hem of your oversized shorts, Leon’s hands grope at your thighs, the edge of shorts teased his fingertips. “Pretty girl.” He had ached for you, he wanted to show you how he could treat you. Those same fingertips had led themselves to the crotch of the shorts; although not noticeable by sight, you had created a damp spot between your legs. 

“Excited? You like the way I talk to you.” His thumb pressed up against your bud, slight taps causing your legs to twitch. “Leon... Stop teasing.” A breathless chuckle left you, attempting to demand for something more than just some rubbing. 

“How about you give me the same treatment you give to those stupid games?” You exasperated out. 

“Hard then.” 

Leon’s gentle movements snapped into one of eagerness, his fingers pulling the crotch of the shorts to the side. “No panties?” He mumbled out, admiring the pretty sight in front of him. Without pausing his quick movements, his fingers slicked themselves with your wetness, rubbing up and down. Rapid breathing supported his fast fingers – the two of them sliding into you. 

Once again, Leon’s hand now plastered your mouth. “Mmph!” was all you could muster as he kissed your forehead. “No noise, or he really will know.” The demand Leon had wanted from you was a large one, his fingers curved inside whilst slowly thrusting in and out of you. He was good, too good when the pads of his fingertips hit that sweet g-spot. Something you could never do when you needed it most. An otherworldly sensation, nonetheless, with the boy you so believed you hated. Your head movements were erratic, signalling it wasn’t long before something drastic would happen. 

“Uh uh.” He murmured, removing his fingers and now only slightly rubbing your clit. Fuck, you were so concentrated on his face and fingers, your eyes hid themselves from the stiff boner making an imprint on his sweatpants. 

“See what you do to me?” Leon groaned quietly, quickly freeing his boxer-covered cock from his sweatpants – ensuring that no wet patch would stain his sweatpants. His pre-cum had already made itself visible on his boxers; he did not want your brother to see it on his pants though. Palming himself slowly, your eyes followed every hand movement he had demonstrated to you, alluring you with each pump that spilled the littlest amount of pre-cum. Completely pornographic. 

Leon’s head shot back to the closed door, before freeing his cock from his boxers. There laid a deep pink tip, glistening from his pre-cum. 

“Please.” Your hands tightening around his arms, begging to be fucked by him. It no longer was wanted but needed. He so selfishly had removed his fingers from inside your pussy, so it was at least right for him to fuck you. Right? 

“Patience baby.” Leon removed his thumb from your aching bud, now shocking it with each slap he made with his dick to your clit. A teasing bastard. “Come onnn.” You tutted, poking at his chest. “So needy.” 

It was easy for him to slide his cock in, the wetness from both you and him elicited a not so quiet moan. Leon’s solution in that was to share kisses with you once again. Sweet little kisses synchronised with both your bodies slapping against one another. Eye to eye, nose to nose, Leon looked at you, “Hard, you wanted it.” 

Third times the charm, his hand now covered your lips. The thrusts connected with loud clapping sounds whilst the bed creaked. No way in hell your brother would not hear this. Leon didn’t care. He was completely mesmerised, your thighs were slick, and his eyes beheld such lust and love. 

“Fuck princess, keep squeezing.” You peered your eyes open, seeing Leon’s head thrown back. The sheer sight already making you tighter than ever imaginable. No words could leave your mouth; you couldn’t talk back at him like you always did. Not at all when all your throat could conjure up was the muffled moans trying to escape the palm of Leon’s grasp on you. Yet; you didn’t mind. 

A deep breath echoed in your ears as Leon whipped his head back to look at you. “Oh, fuck, look at you.” The softness of his voice contrasted the hard slams made into your pussy. His hips snapping up and down – draining him of his late-night energy. 

His other hand removed itself from your waist, providing no support as your body jolted up and down – the oversized shirt now stretching to show a slight sketch of your chest – small movements of your tits bouncing. Leon’s thumb lazily rubbing your overstimulated, puffy clit. “Gonna make me cum, oh fuck, baby...” He hushed out, his thumb moving with the rhythm of his hips pumping. The only thing possible to you was to shudder in pleasure, reaching the point of an ethereal orgasm. 

Both of your bodies untensed, predominantly yours that lay tired as Leon pumped his cum all over your clit. Slapping the tip once again, making a low hum whilst kissing your temple. 

“Was that okay?” He whispered, grabbing the near-empty tissue box on the nightstand. Taking a few tissues in hand to wipe you. A bashful smile fanned out on your lips. “Mhm, just a little tired.” A yawn escaped you mid-sentence, looking at him dizzily. Leon had a gentle smile on his face, “cutie.” 

Footsteps could be heard from downstairs once you both came out of your lustful daze. 

Seems like the risk was worth it.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! thank u for reading :)

-> masterlist

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - part xvi

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader; past carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers, tbd

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

series: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v, part vi, part vii. part viii, part ix, part x, part xi, part xii, part xiii, part xiv, part xv, tbd.

bonus: one, two, three, four, five

a/n: sorry everyone, i got sick again!

July 11-12, 2025

[Excerpt: BBC Sport Commentary]

“And now, it’s Y/N L/N serving for the championship. Only three women have ever managed to win a Season Slam, and Y/N is well on her way to do so if she can hang on to her serve here. It's - oh, in the net. Her second serve hasn't been great on grass, but it's gotten her this far [...]

Oh and there it is! What a historic moment! Her first ever Wimbledon title, and what a beautiful way to win it. A great passing forehand that Sabalenka could've never reached in time. And what a terrible end for the Belarusian who's been so strong all year, who had an opportunity to win this match at the start. But it's L/N who fought her way back, and turned the momentum around.

Just look at the disbelief and joy on L/N's face, as she makes her way to her coaching team and family. Her parents, who are always incredibly nice, by the way. Who sometimes don't come because the nerves get too much, but who find the prospect of no family support 'way worse'. Her coach Kim Clijsters, whose best result here was a semi-final. Oh, and there's a long hug for her friends, including Lando Norris, Formula One Driver and currently leader of the World Championship as well himself. Now, she makes her way back down to the court -- oh and there's a cheeky wave at none other than Sebastian Stan -- where she will receive her trophy momentarily."

July 13 - 15, 2025

[Excerpt: Post-Win Interview with Y/N L/N]

"What an amazing turn-around! How did you manage to stay so focused?"

I didn't, ha! I think it's very clear that I lost my cool for a little at the start. But it was also a way for me to get those frustrations out and clear my head. You know, Roger Federer said that you are lucky to win 54% of the points you play. So I tried to tell myself - okay, it's just a point. It's just one point. That's always been my philosophy, but it's hard sometimes to stick to it. I'm lucky I found a way to do so when it mattered most.

"Grass has been historically a difficult surface for you, but this time you challenged yourself to also play doubles. How will you make sure that you're well rested to go for the hard-court season?"

Grass is definitely more challenging for me. It's more physical, more demanding. But I also kind of love that about it? It's why this was extra meaningful. And add to that the home crowd, it's magical. I gave it my all, but that also means I'm going to need to take some time to relax and switch off for a bit. Not super long, I'll be playing Cincinnati and I'm excited for that! But definitely will book a holiday before then.

"You haven't booked anything yet?"

Well, my sister's getting married first, and that's a location wedding already. But then I wasn't sure of course how I'd do at Wimbledon either - so I wanted to wait and see. It's going to be a last-minute decision, I fear."

"Maybe Romania? It'd be a great excuse to ask Sebastian Stan for some tips."

I think I'm happy to keep my celebrity crush just that - a celebrity crush.

[Excerpt: Transcription of YouTube Video "Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri Create a Summer Playlist"]

"Okay, so we're just about to head into our summer break, and we thought it'd be nice to leave you with some of our favourite tunes."

"Well, mostly mine, since Oscar has questionable taste."

"Just - it's niche," Oscar argues. Lando rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

"Sure. Start us off then, why don't you?"

"How about Life is a Highway by the Rascal Flatts? A little bit of country. A little bit of Cars, perfect for a summer roadtrip."

"Solid choice, let's add Running Around by Ely Oaks."

Oscar nods, then frowns as he tries to think of what should come next. "Alright, maybe - you like Lizzy McAlpine right? Do we need some slow songs?"

"I do like it, but maybe it's not very summery? Let me have a look at my own Spotify," Lando says as he whips out his phone, frowning in concentration.

"See, I might have niche tastes, but he's the real snob here," Oscar mutters. "He makes these elaborate playlists for his friends, then refuses to take their input."

"Oi, I heard that. See if I gift you another carefuly curated selection of hits," Lando chides, before turning back to the camera. "Okay, I recently listened to Talk by benny blanco and Selena Gomez."

"Never heard it, but I trust you. Maybe some Bad Bunny? That's good for summer right," Oscar asks with a shrug. Lando nods, smiling.

"Yeah, Osc. Straight from my playlist to yours. I'll also say All I Know by Rudimental and Khalid."

"Let's finish it off with Tate McRae's Just Keep Watching, a little Formula One film special," Oscar closes with a cheeky wink.

A/N: Roland Garros was a fucking fever dream this weekend. What a match between Coco and Aryna, and then again on Sunday between Jannik and Carlos!! Chef's kiss tennis. I know Carlos Alcaraz is a questionable character in this fic but please know that I actually adore him.

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

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[nebulousfishgills]

This works in college, too. I'm a habitual procrastinator, so when I hear the word "extension," that just gives me more time to breathe before I panic write essays three hours before they're due.

This past semester, one of my professors was kind about offering extensions, but put due date times at like... 4 PM? 2 PM? Some bullshit like that rather than the standard 11:59 PM deadline. And whether from undiagnosed ADHD or the state of the world making Political Sociology impossible to listen to, I would go into assignments with two or three sarcastic quotes from my professor I happened to zero in on and his very sparse slideshows (because the content is in the actual lecture, you see).

And for whatever reason, I refuse to take notes during any of my classes. My brain refuses to let me actually sit down, listen, and write notes. I've coasted through three years of college having written a total of maybe 2? Pages of actual notes? And yet I remain in good academic standing with a 3.0 GPA (which might've been higher had I not started out as a chem major and repeatedly slammed my head into walls failing tests, but that's besides the point). I never had gotten a C in my life prior to college, but after twelve years of academic pressure I've had to learn it's okay to fail sometimes (I'm still learning).

Back to my point, this particular paper had to be five pages long about... something, I don't remember. Five pages with absolutely nothing in the tank, a 4 PM deadline that I cut to a noon deadline because I had errands to run with friends I'd set up days prior. And with nothing but hopes and dreams and pure bullshit on my side, I wrote all those five pages in less than two hours.

I got a 78 on it and a note that said it was a brilliantly written essay, it just didn't entirely follow the prompt. The other two essays I wrote in that class (one five page, and an 8 page paper), and my final presentation, I got 89s across the board. With my own two hands and a brain full of bullshit. I didn't know what I was talking about half the time.

Or in another class where we had to write weekly reflections. I got a 22/25 on one of these papers with a note that said my professor could clearly see where I'd brought in knowledge from the textbook and used it well. Points lost for not citing the textbook...

...The textbook that I never bought or read a single page of. College textbooks are expensive and after my first semester of freshman year where I bought all of them and only used maybe one, I refuse to buy textbooks at all. Not second hand, not paying for pdfs. I wait until I'm certain I absolutely need it and then I scour the web for a less than legal upload (if our library doesn't have an online copy I can get easily). Remember, save for that first semester I've made it through classes with mostly As and Bs. Without textbooks.

You could subpoena my search history across all my devices, and not once have I even looked up ChatGPT or any other AI writing or image generating websites. My extremely lazy and heavy procrastination style of schoolwork without notes and playing Star Wars: The Old Republic instead of any actual study (because I find that studying psychs myself out and makes me overthink when my gut instinct is usually right anyways) is 100% authentically man made.

Education is bullshit, so you have to bullshit back. The world is bullshit, so you have to bullshit back. And it has to be your bullshit. You'll have to pry my man made, probably ADHD powered, bullshit out of my cold, dead hands. Put the generator down and use your fucking brain, even if what you produce sucks. It's still yours.

[stargirlfics]

omgggg ur writing for the pitt!!!! if u can, can u do nsfw hcs for robby?

When I say I’d let him bend me over and [redacted] I mean it! I do indeed have some improper thoughts about one (1) Michael Robinavitch to share xx

1.1k - warnings: smut, pussy eating/fingering, use of “good girl”, dirty talk

Robby is as touch starved and emotionally devastated as they come he would be soo unavailable in a relationship but like just let me love you sir please but I think when you finally are able to get through some of those walls, he can’t ever get enough.

Listen he’s going to melt into your hands any time you reach for him, he’s weak for your touch. Absolutely helpless. Down bad and never recovering!

Whether it’s an innocent nudge, snuggling up to him on the couch after a long day at the hospital or when your touch turns seductive and needy, pulling at his clothes, looking into those big, expressive eyes of his, pleading for him to feel you up just a little. 

You make him act like a fool when you get him in that mood. 

Every. Single. Time. 

So he shouldn’t be surprised when you have him stiff and aching in his pants from just some heavy eye contact but he has to take a deep breath to regain composure anyway. 

He’s watching you too, that’s something not to be mistaken about Robby. He’s so observant, always reading your emotions, your body language, always taking note of what you might be needing because he can’t ever turn the physician in him off but it makes him attentive and in turn your body responds to him so eagerly. 

That's the real reward for him, watching and feeling the affect he has on you, how he can make you squirm on the spot when he looks at you over his glasses and tells you, "Need you over here. Right now.” and there's that edge to his tone that will tell you everything you need to know. 

Loves pressing his face against your tummy or your hips and wrapping his arms around you for a moment before he lays you back to eat you out slow and intense, intending to savor all parts of you.

“You know I’ve been waiting to come home to this? Couldn’t stop thinking about you my entire shift.”

“Bet you’ve been thinking of getting fucked all day too, huh. And don’t lie, I can feel your pulse.” 

And when he’s smoothing a hand over his beard and moving in to open you up, taste the pretty, glistening folds before him…you’re moaning and grinding your hips already, hands flying to his hair and he’s smiling like he’s drunk when you tug at it. 

You’re soaked for him and he can’t stop pressing his mouth deeper against your pussy, his tongue thorough with every inch of you, he’s the kind of man that doesn’t rush things like this! 

His nose bumping against your clit and you’re seeing stars, the hungry and deep growls escaping from the sides of his lips making you breathless, desperate for more, for his teasing even though it drove you crazy but he’s already replacing those thoughts with slicked up fingers and sweet reassurances. 

Mikey absolutely talks you through it all too and I’m dying thinking of how he speaks at work, the skill and competency and knowledge there and maybe he was never very good or confident at relationships but he knows how to speak to you in a way that puts fire in your eyes so he leans into it full force.

How personal and intimate and intense it would probably be with you at home, so fucking gentle too. 

He won’t spare any of his words, he needs you to know what you do to him, how special you are and how much you keep him grounded and give him such bliss, he’s obsessed with making you feel good when he’s turned on. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. You got it, breathe for me, you’re doing so fucking well. Ohh just listen to that pretty pussy talking to me.” 

It’s hard to hide how much you want him and how his voice makes every cell in your body vibrate. 

“Just focus on me, baby. I know you can take this. Don’t want anything in that gorgeous head other than my voice, understand me?” 

When I say he’d have you pleading for a moment to catch your breath. And no worries if you can’t hold your legs apart or hold yourself up anymore, he’ll keep you steady against his chest, free hand supporting your weight. 

Hushing you sweetly when you cry out for him and reach for his hand that’s slick with your pleasure now, two fingers curling against that sweet spot inside you so expertly. His forearms flex in an effort to keep you from squirming too much and you’re whining his name again and again, cheeks hot from realizing how much you liked being caged in his hold. 

The reward for letting yourself receive what he wanted to give so eagerly and what you ached for so ardently was well worth it. 

You feel so reassured entrusting him with your body,  knowing he’d take care of you, evident in how he never takes his eyes off you for a moment, save to gaze down at where you’re joined so he could admire the sight. 

Michael never neglects to give attention to the rest of your body all while he keeps an earth shattering pace with his fingers and you’re sure that is the exact reason he’s always having to swallow your climbing whimpers and moans with gentle kisses that ground you enough to keep you relaxed as your orgasm approaches. 

The huff of his breath against your neck that gives you chills, how he grunts and growls his amusement at your pretty sounds, encouraging you to let go for him. 

“Mhm, I can feel you squeezing me. C’mon, let me feel you cream around my fingers…fuck…you’re being such a good girl.”

The praise is what really does you in while you try to remember how your limbs work and he’s soothing you with more kisses and a satisfied tilt to his smile, struck by how much you can tell he means it and it’s so filthy and only makes you want more the minute your breathing evens out. 

“Mikey…baby, please.” 

He never stood a chance, even before you asked so nicely, the naughty look in your eye and that blissed out expression on your face too sweet of plea to ignore. Not when he’d only just gotten a taste, dreaming of stretching you out on his thick cock next.

In his eyes, you deserve to feel that good all the time and he loves that he knows exactly how to bring you there. He’ll never tire of chasing your pleasure. 

—

Need him in the most feral way oh my god!! I just know he would give it to you so good! Hope you enjoyed this, please feel free to be feral in the reblogs 🥵

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Chapter 7

previous | chapter 7 | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (No use of y/n)

꩜ content warnings: smoking, weed, smut (finally)

꩜ WC: 11.7k

꩜ Author’s note: THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SMUT AND IM SO TERRIFIED PLZ… also thank u guys for the sweet comments and messages i’m over the moon grateful, this series is so special to me and it’s not even close to be done okay… y’all will get tired of my ass. Anyway enjoy the chapter love u happy pride month<3

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

"Wait, but when did you actually catch feelings for me, though?" you asked for what had to be the millionth time.

Honestly, Ellie didn’t mind repeating herself. If anything, she kind of loved it. The way you always wanted to hear it again, like replaying your favorite song over and over again. Every time she recalled it, she seemed to remember something new. Like the way your eyes lingered just a second too long on hers when you talked, or how your pinkies always seemed to find each other when you sat side by side. Small things. Things she could never forget.

September had slipped by quickly, and in the blink of an eye, October had arrived, trading warm evenings for cooler nights and scattering orange and brown leaves across the sidewalks. It had been a month since your first kiss, (Not like you were counting or whatever). A month of sleepovers, shared sweaters, tangled limbs, nonstop texting, and sneaking into the diner’s back office during your breaks for rushed makeout sessions. Maria had almost banned you from going back there altogether. Ellie had just grinned and said, “Worth the risk.”

“I’ve told you like, a hundred times,” she said now, clearly enjoying the way you whined for her to say it again.

The two of you were tangled up on her couch, limbs lazily thrown over each other. Ellie was supposed to be sorting through prints for her gallery, her best photos from the week. Some from your recent hangouts: walks in the park under trees turned orange, city crosswalks filled with motion blur, candids of you laughing or distracted, the occasional stray cat she couldn’t help but snap. She’d taken the gallery prep seriously. Of course she had to. But lately, it was like you kept happening to her, distracting and consuming in all the best, worst ways.

You sat curled up on the couch, legs tucked under yourself, a book open in your lap, rereading the same paragraph over and over. You weren’t even paying attention to the text. How were you supposed to focus when she looked like that? Her sleeves pushed up, veins visible along her tattooed forearm as she leaned over her table, elbows braced, studying the scattered prints.

“Your death stare is making it very hard for me to analyze these pictures,” she muttered without looking up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm. I can feel it burning a hole through my skull.”

“Can’t help it,” you said, smiling. “You’re too pretty.”

God, the way that made her chest flutter. She shook her head, hiding a tiny smile. Trying to play it cool, but she was already blushing hard. She gathered up the prints and slid them into a folder, then walked over and dropped her full body weight onto you with a dramatic sigh. Her favorite move. Full body crush, almost knocking the air out of your lungs. Face buried in your chest like she could inhale you and forget the gallery pressure altogether.

You didn’t mind. Not even a little. You stroked her hair slowly, gently, like she was fragile, like you knew how much she needed softness. You stayed like that for a while, Ellie breathing you in, inhaling your scent like the oxygen she needed to live, her eyes were closed as you ran your fingers through her hair.

Both of you spent more time together. Even more than before. On the rare day you didn’t hang out because your schedules didn’t align, it felt like a tragedy. Like someone had sent her off to war. It was all so giddy, high school-level giddy. You felt like a teenager again…sneaking out of the group hangs early just to be alone with her. Play-fighting over who had to hang up first. So many dates, even if Ellie still stubbornly insisted on calling them hangouts like it made a difference. You’d been doing the romantic shit before you even kissed.

“C’monnn, just wanna make sure you weren’t secretly foolin’ me or something.” You pouted again, that same little face that made Ellie’s knees weak every time.

Ellie groaned and buried her face deeper into your chest, voice muffled. “I mean, what haven’t I told you?” Then she tilted her face to look up at you, cheeks slightly red from being squished against you.

“When we met I was basically obsessed with you. But I told myself, ‘Don’t be a creep, Ellie. This is why you only have one friend. Stop being delusional.’” She paused, a little smile tugging at her lips. “But with you, everything felt different. Like I didn’t have to hide. Still, I was too stubborn to admit I liked you like that. Lived in constant denial.”

You watched her talk. Taking in every expression, you could study her mouth and eyes for hours and never get bored. The way her brow furrowed when she talked about feelings. The way her voice softened at the edges when she looked at you like this. You’d heard this story before, at least a dozen times. And still, it made something warm unravel in your chest.

“So that explains the flirting with random girls?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in mock interrogation.

She groaned. “I had to cope in some way, plus seeing all those guys hit on you at the diner kinda ripped me apart, but didn’t say anything.”

“I told you,” you said, crossing your arms, “I laugh when I’m nervous. Doesn’t mean I liked it. Plus, I flirted with you all the time. You were just too hard-headed to notice.”

Ellie grabbed the nearest cushion and tossed it at your face.

Which of course triggered a full-blown pillow war.

You wrestled and squealed and laughed until Ellie gave up and surrendered. You were breathless, Ellie’s limbs sprawled on the couch, with you sitting between her legs, flushed and grinning.

And then she grabbed your face, gently leaning in, still catching her breath and kissed you like she’d been waiting all day to do it.

You think about it all the time. How everything but still nothing changed after the kiss, like it was always meant to go this way. There was no big moment or sudden change. Just small things that added up to everything.

Ellie started picking you up after your late shifts, waiting out front in her beat up truck with the heater cranked and a hoodie in the passenger seat for you to throw on. She always claimed you looked better in her clothes, especially that faded blue hoodie, the one she kept pretending she didn’t miss when you “accidentally” took it home.

Your hangouts had shifted into something else. There wasn’t that quiet, aching longing hanging in the air anymore, not in the same way. After that night at your apartment, Ellie promised she’d take you on a date. A real one.

Like the kind you’d gush about in those cheesy movies you love, and what better place to live out a cliché than the fair…where the air was thick with fried grease and too-loud pop music, and where she finally had a decent excuse to hold your hand on the roller coasters.

Neon lights blinked in seizure-inducing patterns while kids screamed on rickety rides in the distance. Ellie had dragged you from booth to booth, fully committed to her vendetta against rigged carnival games.

“I swear this is the one,” she said, squinting at the line of wobbling bottles.

“You said that about the ring toss. And basketball. And the darts.”

Her eyes locked on the duck shooting booth. Yellow plastic ducks glided across a narrow trough, jerking mechanically as bubbles popped around them.

“Oh,” she said, eyes glinting. “This is my game.”

You trailed behind her as she calmly gave the booth guy a crumpled five, taking her jacket off and handing it over to you.

She rolled up the sleeves of her flannel, revealing her forearms, tattoo on full display, veins trailing down to her hands like thunders on a stormy night and took her place at the mounted water gun like it was a sniper rifle.

You blinked. “Oh my god.”

She leaned in. Tongue poking out slightly. Face unreadably focused. Hands gripping the water gun with total control, like she’d done this before, maybe in a past life. The light caught the curve of her jaw just right, and your brain short-circuited.

You started to feel as if you had been lit up in fire, was it hot in here?

Ellie didn’t speak. She just adjusted her stance a little, lips pursed, and let the water stream rip. One by one, the ducks fell, each hit perfectly in the center like she had memorized the timing and rhythm.

By the time the buzzer rang, Ellie had cleared the whole line.

You stared at her, wide eyed. “What the fuck,” you breathed.

Ellie blew imaginary smoke from the tip of the gun. “Told you. My game.”

You gaped. “Are you secretly, like… ex-military?”

“Duck assassin,” she replied coolly, already pointing to a shelf of prizes.

She chose the smallest one, a crooked little stuffed bear with lopsided button eyes and shoved it into your arms in exchange of her jacket, like it wasn’t a big deal, even though she was clearly suppressing a smug smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Uh-huh.” She bumped her shoulder into yours. “You like the bear though.”

You did. Stupidly so.

You held it to your chest and muttered, “Yeah I do.”

She was grinning like stupid, tossing her jacket over your shoulders like a shield, as she grabbed your hand and dragged you to the next game.

You still sleep with that bear sometimes. Not that you’d ever tell her.

Another time, it was the planetarium. This one had been your idea, half-jokingly, you didn’t expect much when you pitched it, just a casual “we could go to the planetarium or whatever,” but when the words fell out of your lips Ellie’s eyes gleamed like a kid on christmas morning.

“No way,” she’d said, practically bouncing. “I thought you weren’t into that kind of stuff?”

“Wanna go or no?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m in.”

She’d shown up five minutes early, hair still damp from a rushed shower, hoodie zipped up to her chin, smelling faintly like mint and laundry detergent. Her eyes were wide, childlike, curious, like she wasn’t totally sure what she was about to walk into but her pulse rushed from the thrill.

Inside, the lights dimmed. The dome lit up. Stars bloomed across the ceiling like someone had torn open the sky. Ellie tilted her head all the way back, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “This is… fucking sick.”

You were already watching her more than the ceiling.

“Knew you’d like it,” you said, voice low.

She didn’t even respond. Just stared upward, entranced, like the stars were spelling out something only she could read.

Halfway through the show, during some slow narration about galaxies forming, you felt her hand brush against yours on the shared armrest. A light graze. Just the backs of your fingers, hesitant at first. Then she slid her pinky over yours, this time more purposeful. Like it was no big gesture, but you felt like the sun was imploding inside of you.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t look at you, just linked your fingers together, her thumb tracing small circles over yours, soft and delicate.

Her voice stayed low the whole time, whispering random facts on your ear, with the sweetest tone, like she couldn’t help herself.

“Neptune’s winds are faster than the speed of sound,” she muttered. “Like… hypersonic. That’s insane.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, too distracted by the glint in her eye.

“And Jupiter’s Great Red Spot is a storm. Like a storm. It’s been raging for three hundred years and it’s big enough to fit Earth inside it, like—” she made a quiet whooshing sound, “—in one bite.”

Her hand squeezed yours a little. Like she got excited and forgot she was even holding you.

You nodded. “That’s… intense.”

She shot you a glance. “You’re not listening, are you?”

She could’ve told you the sun was made of hot dogs and you wouldn’t have noticed. You were too busy staring at her profile, glowing faintly blue under the artificial sky.

“Yeah, no sorry I got a bit lost, what did you say?”

Ellie smirked, a bit shy now. “Nothing.”

She leaned in slightly, placing a quick peck on the top of your head, breathing in your perfume, then turned away, but she saw the smile tug at your lips.

After the show, you walked out into the cool night air, fingers still brushing like they weren’t quite ready to let go.

“I’m not usually, like… a space person. But that was cool.” You said, as you walked out into the night.

Ellie bumped her shoulder into yours. “You’re a space person now. Deal with it.”

You gave her a look, maybe more earnest than you meant it to be. “Only because of you.”

She paused. Looking at you. Then shoved her hands in her hoodie pocket and looked away, clearly fighting a smile.

“Whatever,” she mumbled, ears a little pink. “You’re welcome.”

You both stood there for a second, silent.

But your favorite one was definitely the arcade date. You hadn’t planned it, it was just one of those random afternoons where Ellie showed up at the diner unannounced, leaning against the doorframe waiting for your shift to be over, with that smug little grin of hers.

“You busy?” she asked, truck keys twirling around her fingers.

You weren’t. Not even a little.

The drive was filled with chatter, windows rolled down, music loud, and Ellie’s hand tapping against the steering wheel, like she was playing the backup drums on whatever song was playing. You were both laughing, until you passed a neon sign that read ARCADE & PIZZA, you practically almost turned the wheel yourself.

“Wait Ellie turn around—pull over.”

Ellie flinched. “Okay okay— Jesus you scared me for a second.” You grinned, already unbuckling your seatbelt as Ellie pulled over the parking lot.

“I haven’t been to an arcade since I was like twelve I think” you said as you threw Ellie’s hoodie over your head.

“Wow. Nerd” she snorted, earning a small kick on her heel.

Inside, it smelled like childhood. Pizza and dusty carpets, it was oddly nostalgic. The place was loud, packed with kids and their parents, and a couple of teenagers. Neon lights were blindingly colorful, you felt like your twelve year old self again.

“Alright,” she said, cracking her knuckles dramatically. “Where the competition at?”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe over there, at Jason’s 9th birthday party.” you joked, pointing at the table surrounded by little kids.

Ellie scoffed, “Pffft, easy wins, where is the real competition at?" she glanced over at you.

Oh, you knew where this was going.

“Just say you want to get your ass kicked by me, Williams, not that hard.”

Her grin widened. “You’re on now. Loser pays for the winner’s pizza.”

“Deal.” Both of you squeezed your hands, like you were making some sort of business deal, but this was way more serious.

You didn’t know Ellie had a competitive streak until she practically shoved a 10-year-old out of the way to get to the skee-ball machine.

“Ellie,” you hissed. “You can’t just—”

“He was taking forever,” she snapped, already rolling the ball with deadly focus. “I got shit to prove.”

She won three games in a row.

“Okay, what the fuck,” you growled, staring at the air hockey scoreboard like it had insulted your ancestors. “You’re cheating. There’s no way.”

“You’re just bad,” she teased, throwing the small ball in the air and catching it with her hand. “Maybe I should give you lessons. Private ones.”

“Wow. Cocky.”

“I mean, I did just wipe the floor with you.”

“Oh yeah?” you leaned forward, tempting her, but then you turned around, spotting the motorcycle racing game. Two bikes. One screen. Destiny.

You dragged her over the machine, both mounted the fake bikes revving them like you’d trained your whole lives. Ellie leaned forward, focused her hands gripping the throttle. Her tongue poked out, focused. You knew that look.

Meanwhile you adjusted yourself on the seat, inserting the quarters on the coin slot, your back was slightly arched, causing your shirt to ride up a little and making the small dimples on your lower back visible. Ellie almost fell from her bike at the sight of that. And you weren’t even aware.

“It’s over for you Williams, prepare to eat dust.” you teased.

“You fucking wish.”

The countdown started and the game launched. You took the lead, she trailed behind you, both leaning into turns like you were actually swerving through a neon-lit city. At one moment, your eyes drifted toward Ellie’s arms, her forearm tattoo flexing, adorned by her pulsing veins from gripping the bike handle. God it was unfair—you almost forgot you were in a competition with her.

“Hey, eyes on the road,” she joked, but she was secretly enjoying your staring.

In the end? You won. Throwing your arms up in celebration. “HA. SUCK IT.”

Ellie blinked at the scoreboard in disbelief, “No. Rematch. Right now. My screen lagged.”

“Boohoo excuses are for losers.” you laughed so hard you almost fell off your bike.

The next stop was the dance machine.

Ellie looked skeptical. “I don’t know, dude…”

You were already dragging her by the hoodie. “Nope. No backing out. It’s fate.”

She rolled her eyes but followed. “If I break my ankle, I’m blaming you.”

The game started. The song was fast, the tiles lit up like a rave, and the both of you? Horrible dancers. Absolutely terrible.

You couldn’t stop laughing. Ellie missed the first five steps, almost fell twice, and kept yelling “this is a fucking death trap!” like the machine was out to get her.

But then, something shifted.

Halfway through, she got weirdly into it. Jaw set. Eyes sharp. She started nailing every step, stomping on the lit tiles like she was born in a dancing tournament. She even grabbed your waist at one point, spinning you into position like it was a choreographed number.

“Are you sabotaging me?” you shrieked.

“This is war,” she said, dead serious.

She won that round. You demanded a rematch. She won again.

“Okay,” you panted, doubled over. “You win this one.”

“Jealous.”

“You literally looked like you were summoning demons with your feet.”

“And?”

You played other games after that. Basketball hoops. Whack-a-mole. She tried to win you a prize at the claw machine and got so mad she almost kicked it.

But then— you saw it. The air hockey table.

You gasped. “Oh no.”

Ellie followed your gaze. “Oh yes.”

You both slammed quarters into the machine. Ellie narrowed her eyes, “I’m going to annihilate you.” she said.

You smirked. “You literally just lost the motorcycle race.”

Ellie sighed like a martyr. “Fine. But I’m not holding back.”

“You’ve never held back in your life.”

You both slid your coins in. The machine lit up with that familiar vvvvvmmm of the puck loading up. Ellie rolled her shoulders, cracked her knuckles, and positioned herself like she was about to defuse a bomb. You grabbed your paddle like it was a mortal weapon.

The puck dropped.

The first point? Yours. Quick and clean.

“Fuck yeah!” you whooped, lifting your arms.

Ellie pointed dramatically. “Beginner’s luck.”

The next round? She scored while you were still dancing from your previous win.

“Rude!” you cried.

“Focus up,” she said, eyes glinting.

You both got so intense. The puck clacked across the table like a bullet. Your knuckles started aching from the collisions. Ellie was muttering things like “calculated trajectory” and “this is physics, baby,” which was ridiculous and also extremely hot.

The score climbed. 4 to 4. 5 to 5. 6 to 6.

Final point.

She squinted at you over the rim of the table. “Winner gets a kiss.”

You blinked. “You just made that up.”

“So?”

“…Fair.”

The puck shot out again, and for a moment, everything slowed. Ellie lunged. You twisted your paddle. The puck bounced off the wall—

—and slid right into her goal.

You blinked. Slowly. Then looked up.

Victory.

Ellie just stood there, stunned. Paddle slack in her hand.

“I think you’re choking,” you said softly. “Want some victory soda?”

She groaned, dragging both hands down her face. “I hate this stupid game. This game is rigged. It’s broken.”

“You’re a bad loser, you know that?” you grinned, crossing your arms.

“Can I at least get a consolation prize?” she pouted, and gave her a small kiss on her cheek.

Those memories blurred together now. Warm and fast, like a highlight reel you couldn’t help but replay in your head. The way Ellie had looked at you in the planetarium, her face glowing with stars. The way her tongue poked out when she focused, sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp, and tattoo flexing. The way her hand gripped your waist during that stupid dance game, both of you laughing too hard to breathe.

You hadn’t slept together yet…not all the way, but the tension had started blooming between you in glances and lingering touches and shared hoodies, every moment a little more fragile. All of it, layered like sediment, the slow, quiet shift between friendship and whatever this had become.

Now, Ellie was lying on top of you like a human blanket, gallery prints long forgotten, the curve of her nose pressed into your chest. She was supposedly taking a break,though it had turned into her full-body flopping onto you with all the drama of someone who hadn’t slept in three days. You threaded your fingers through her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp the way you knew she liked. She let out a hum, breath slow and even against your collarbone.

“You’re supposed to be working on your gallery,” you reminded her softly, lips brushing the crown of her head.

“M’working,” she mumbled. “Just horizontally.”

“Ellie.”

She groaned into your chest. “Just five more minutes.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well now I mean it.”

You smiled despite yourself, thumb brushing over her temple. Her whole body was warm and heavy and tangled with yours, one of her legs slung over both of yours, her arm wrapped lazily around your waist. She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Ellie sighed dramatically, face still smushed into your chest. “Mmm. Don’t wanna do the gallery. Hate the gallery. Gallery sucks.”

You laughed. “You’re the one who’s been obsessing over it for weeks.”

“Yeah, but right now I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Laying on top of the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Very important.”

You rolled your eyes, heart doing the embarrassing flutter it always did when she said shit like that. You ran your fingers through her hair again, feeling her melt further into you.

There was a pause. Soft. Heavy.

Then Ellie looked up, that specific gleam in her eye that always meant trouble.

“What if we ditched this gallery prep bullshit for a little while?” she said.

You raised a brow. “And do what, exactly?”

“I dunno. Go for a drive. Kidnap a raccoon. Smoke a joint on the beach. Something not involving fluorescent lights and burn out.”

You bit your lip. Thinking about it. The clock blinked past 10 pm. The apartment was quiet. The weight of October air clung outside the windows, thick and chilly.

You sat up slightly. “Wait. Beach?”

Ellie grinned. “Beach.”

You both got up immediately, snatching your jackets and hoodies, slipping into your shoes in a rush. You grabbed your bag as Ellie tossed a blanket at you and snatched her keys before the two of you hurried out of the studio.

The windows were cracked. Your hair whipped around your face in the night wind. Ellie drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting absentmindedly on your thigh, her thumb tracing light circles over the fabric of your jeans.

She looked free, wind in her hair, face lit up by the passing headlights, radio humming low.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

The beach was mostly deserted, just the soft hum of the tide and the faraway glow of streetlights behind you. You hopped out of the truck, the sand sticking on your shoes damp beneath your feet.

Ellie tossed you her hoodie, hitting you straight to your face.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later,” she grinned.

You pulled it on without protest. It smelled like her cologne, warm and familiar. “Thanks.”

“Race you to the shore!” she shouted, already kicking off her boots.

“Wait!” you laughed, fumbling with your own shoes before taking off after her. Your bag bounced against your side with every step, slipping off your shoulder as you ran, breathless and giggling as the cold air filled your lungs.

At one point, Ellie turned suddenly and knocked you off balance, wrapping her arms around you as she spun you both around. You tumbled to the ground in a heap, landing right on top of her, both of you breathless, your cheeks flushed from the cold and the rush of it all.

You turned onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow as you looked at her.

“It’s… really nice out here.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, brushing the sand from her jeans as she stood. Then she held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

You slipped your fingers into hers without hesitation, like muscle memory. Like saying yes to her had always been easy.

The two of you wandered toward the water, the waves stretching out endlessly before you.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked, a light breeze brushing over your skin, carrying the scent of salt and earth. Ellie’s jeans were cuffed above her ankles, feet bare, toes sinking into the wet sand beside yours.

She was quiet for a while, and you didn’t rush her. The silence was soft between you, not heavy.

Then, almost like she was thinking out loud, she said, “I think I’m burnt out.”

You glanced over, watching her eyes follow the moonlit waves. “From the gallery?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s like… the more I try to prepare, the more it feels like I’m running on empty. Like I’m squeezing everything out of myself and there’s nothing left to give.” She gave a small laugh, dry and tired. “Kinda pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” you said gently. “You’ve been putting your whole heart into it. That’s a lot.”

Ellie didn’t answer right away. She just kept walking.

“Maybe,” you added after a beat, “you don’t need to squeeze anything out. Maybe you just need to breathe a little. Let yourself recharge.”

She looked at you then. Really looked at you. And something in her expression softened.

“Maybe some fresh air is exactly what you needed,” you said, nudging her shoulder lightly. “Who knows—maybe the ocean brings back your inspiration.”

But her inspiration was standing right in front of her, with wide eyes and a soft smile, that same smile that reassured her from her doubts and fears, that made her believe everything was gonna be alright.

Ellie snorted. “Yeah maybe.”

You kept walking a little farther until the sand grew softer and untouched, the sound of the waves a little gentler here. Ellie paused, scanning the area before she pulled the blanket out from where it had been tucked under her arm.

She laid it down carefully, smoothing it out before sinking onto it with a sigh. You sat beside her, legs crossed, watching as she leaned back on her hands and tilted her head toward the sky.

The stars were scattered and quiet tonight. The kind you could get lost staring at without realizing how much time had passed. A breeze passed over you both, cooler now, but comforting. Ellie’s arm brushed yours as she shifted slightly to get more comfortable.

The sound of the waves filled the silence between you, steady and calming. You both had your jeans cuffed, ankles cold and damp from the water. The blanket was barely big enough for two. Your knees were touching.

Ellie was rummaging through the pocket of her jacket with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Boom.”

She held up a perfectly rolled blunt between two fingers like she was revealing a magic trick.

You blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re gonna get me fired, you know that?”

“Please,” she scoffed, pulling out a lighter, “you can just live with me and be my muse forever. I’ll make you coffee in the mornings. Feed you clementines while you read on the couch.”

She lit the blunt, taking a painfully slow drag, and passed it to you. The smoke curled around her lips and you wanted nothing else but to press yours against hers.

“Muse salary probably sucks.”

“It does,” she admitted. “But the benefits include me and… me, and cuddling 24/7.”

“Wow. How could I resist.”

You took a hit, coughing just a little on the exhale. The haze settled slowly over your limbs, warmth spreading through your chest and cheeks. Time slipped a little sideways.

The blunt moved back and forth between you in a rhythm as natural as breathing. The stars were pinpricks above the ocean, shimmering, scattered, infinite.

Ellie leaned back on her elbows, gaze fixed on the sky. “You ever think about how the light we’re seeing from some of those stars started traveling toward us before the human brain even existed?”

You tilted your head toward her, confused, blinking slowly. “What?”

“Like… we’re looking at the past. Some of those stars could already be dead. We’re just seeing the ghost of them.”

You stared at her, momentarily forgetting about the blunt burning between your fingers.

“You’re literally the nerdiest person I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks. I try.”

The blunt burned lower in Ellie’s fingers, smoke curling around her jawline, eyes soft and half-lidded as she looked at you.

“You’re staring again.” Her voice was low and teasing but not like before. This wasn’t about calling you out. This was about pulling you in.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t even try.

“You look really pretty right now.”

Her brows raised a little, almost surprised. But she didn’t deflect it, didn’t joke it away this time. Just blinked, slowly, lips parting.

She kept going, voice soft and raspy from smoke and salt air. “And Earth moves through space at like, 67,000 miles per hour. Which means no matter what we do, even if we’re just sitting here, we’re still flying through the void. Isn’t that kind of fucked up?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at her. With her messy hair, jeans cuffed like a little boy, freckled face lit up in moonlight and awe. She looked like she belonged up there, with all the stars and the galaxies, floating above you like in a dream. And she kept gesturing toward the sky, completely unaware of the way her words made your ribs tighten.

You blinked slowly, a breath catching behind your teeth.

God. I’m really falling in love with her. Was all you could think about.

Not in the loud, crashing way. Not like the movies. No. This felt quieter. More dangerous. Like something blooming in the dark. Like the soft ache of knowing, really knowing…that if you let yourself, you’d never stop wanting her. Not just her body, not just her kisses. But her.

The way she got really quiet when she was focused. The way she always turned down the volume on her phone before coming into your apartment. How she knew the difference between your tired silence and your mad silence. How she never let your coffee go cold. The way she let you rest your head on her lap without making a big deal about it. The way she touched you like she didn’t realize she was doing it.

Something that always came back. The way she looked at you like maybe, just maybe, she already knew.

You passed the blunt back to her with a shaky hand, trying not to exhale your whole damn soul.

“You okay?” she asked, catching your eyes for a second too long.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to ground yourself. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

She smiled at you, all teeth and freckles and affection. And you were doomed.

You wanted to kiss her and tell her how far fucking gone you were, that she has already ruined you and there is no turning back. Instead, you just smiled, barely.

“You ever just… forget how good this feels?” Ellie asked quietly, her voice rough with honesty. “Like the world gets so loud, and you forget how simple it can be to just stop for a second?”

You turned your head, so you could look at her. “Yeah. I think we forget to stop because we’re scared everything will fall apart if we do.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, gentle and tired. “Yeah...”

You smiled faintly, the sound of the tide folding over itself again in the background. “Guess that’s what fresh air’s good for.”

Ellie huffed a small laugh through her nose, and without thinking, she reached for your hand in the space between you. Her fingers grazed yours before curling around them, warm and sure.

Neither of you said anything after that. You didn’t need to.

She took another drag and leaned her head back to stare at the sky. “Fuck man, I should’ve brought my camera, the view is unbelieveable,”

You sighed dramatically, then reached into your bag. “Oh, Ellie…”

She glanced over, puzzled, until you pulled out her camera and held it up triumphantly.

“No fucking way,” she laughed, sitting up straighter, her entire face lighting up. “You’re the best. Are you kidding me?”

“You think I don’t know you by now?” you said, handing it over. “I saw it sitting by your keys and figured you'd regret leaving it behind.”

She shook her head in disbelief, already adjusting the lens. “God, you’re unreal.”

You blushed, trying to play it cool, but it was impossible with the way she was looking at you—like you were some rare artifact she'd just unearthed.

Then she brought the viewfinder to her eye. “Don’t move.”

You froze. “What?”

“Stay like that,” she said, voice softer now, focused. “You look—just stay.”

The shutter clicked once. Twice. She shifted slightly, capturing you from another angle, then tilted the camera up toward the sky, the stars, the waves behind you. The sound of the shutter was rhythmic and careful, like she was trying to memorize every second.

She lowered the camera slowly, then looked at you again, really looked. The way the moonlight enhanced your features and the air blew your hair in all the right directions, like slow motion, she couldn’t hold herself back, she didn’t have to anymore.

Ellie leaned in, cupping your face in both hands, her thumbs brushing just beneath your cheekbones. Her touch was warm and steady, like she was grounding herself through you.

Then she kissed you. Firm and certain.

It wasn’t soft, not this time. It was hungry. Her lips moved against yours with purpose, urgency threading through every second. You melted into her touch instantly, your hands finding her waist and pulling her closer until there was no space left between you.

Her hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, her blunt abandoned somewhere in the sand beside you. And you kissed her back like you could bury the ache under your tongue and hope she didn’t feel the way you melted against her.

She tasted like weed, salt and chapstick and something inherently her. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of her jacket, clinging to her like she was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

When you shifted, she followed, leaning into you as the kiss deepened, her hand slipping to the back of your neck, thumb still grazing your skin like she couldn’t stop touching you.

You broke apart just long enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, your lips brushing as you smiled against her mouth.

She looked at you through half-lidded eyes, flushed and dazed. “You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmured. “It’s not fair.”

And when you finally pulled back, she didn’t move far, her forehead bumped gently against yours, eyes still closed. Neither of you said anything for a moment. You just breathed together.

“We should probably…” she whispered, voice hoarse, like she wasn’t sure where that sentence was going.

“Go home?” you offered, a little breathless, a little terrified.

Her eyes opened, hazy and low-lidded.

“Yeah. Home.”

But her fingers didn’t leave your cheek right away. And when you finally stood, brushing sand off your jeans, folding the blanket with shaking hands and adjusting your bag, you felt Ellie’s hand on your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned just in time for her to grab your waist and hoist you up with a laugh, throwing you over her shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Ellie!” you shrieked, kicking your legs, your fists beating half-heartedly against her back. “You’re gonna make me fall on my ass!”

“Relax,” she snorted. “I’ve got you.”

Your voice was muffled by your own laughter, face buried in the fabric of her jacket.

She finally set you down by the car, both of you breathless with laughter, your heart was still thudding from more than just the chaos. Her hand lingered at the small of your back as you climbed in, and you sat there for a second, staring out at the ocean one last time, still high from the weed and the kiss.

The car ride home was awfully quiet. But not the kind that meant nothing was happening. It was the kind of quiet that pulsed. That built up like crashing waves.

Ellie’s hand had been resting on your thigh the whole way. Her thumb traced slow, lazy circles into your skin over the fabric of your jeans, and the warmth of her touch was burning through you.

You shifted in your seat. Crossed and uncrossed your legs, then stilled, because the pressure of her hand there firm, warm, claiming, was making your brain short circuit.

The music was low. Just a beat, pulsing through the speakers. Her fingers flexed slightly against your thigh every time the bass dropped. You didn’t even know what song was playing. Neither of you said anything. But your skin was on fire, your mouth dry, and the only thing you could focus on was how badly you wanted her. Right here. Right now. And it was obvious, painfully, dangerously obvious…that she felt it too.

All you could think about was her mouth. The way she’d kissed you back on the beach. The way she tasted. The way her hand had cradled your jaw like you were precious and hers and ruinable all at once.

Your breath caught in your throat when her fingers squeezed your thigh a little, just enough. But she didn’t say anything. Just kept driving. Eyes focused on the road. Her lips parted, jaw set tight. Like she was holding herself back from something.

When she parked, neither of you moved.

A beat passed.

Then two.

And then you opened the door, heart hammering.

Ellie was behind you in a second, grabbing the blanket, your bag, the abandoned water bottle in the cupholder. And still, somehow, her hand found the small of your back as she guided you inside.

By the time she pushed open her apartment door, something had already shifted.

Because the second it clicked shut behind you…She dropped everything. Your bag hit the floor. The blanket was halfway off your arm when her hands grabbed your waist and yanked you in like she’d been starving.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud. Her lips found yours instantly. Messy, hot, urgent.

You gasped, one hand flying to her shoulder, the other tugging at her jacket like it offended you that she was still wearing it.

The weed still in your system made everything so much more intense. Her mouth, her scent, the drag of her hands over your waist. It was like every nerve in your body had been rewired just for her.

She kissed you like she was burning up, rushed, teeth knocking, too much tongue, but somehow that just made it better. Sloppier. Desperate.

You smiled against her mouth, and her hand immediately grabbed your jaw, angling your face the way she wanted.

Your fingers dug into her shoulders, dragging her closer. “Ellie—”

“Yeah?” Her voice was ragged. Her lips brushed your jaw. Your throat. Your collarbone.

“Your room—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. Because she kissed you again, like she already knew.

You both stumbled messily toward her room, laughter and breath tangled between kisses. Ellie’s fingers tightened around your hand, grounding herself in the feeling of your skin. Her head was spinning, not just from the weed but from the fact that this was real. You were here, touching her like you needed her.

She silently thanked herself for tidying up earlier, the faint scent of cedarwood and laundry detergent curling around the space like an invitation. There were no distractions. Just you, her, and the electric charge buzzing between every touch. You kicked off your shoes without thinking, and she was already guiding you back, hands firm at your waist as she gently eased you onto the bed. Her body followed, urgent, reverent, starved—lips crashing against yours like waves meeting the shore. You didn’t hesitate. You pulled her closer. She hovered for just a beat, eyes devouring the sight of you, flushed and waiting.

No lens could ever even come close to capturing the way her eyes saw you, the glistening on your face, with your pupils dilated and lips puffy, something holy worth waking up to, like a small prayer whispered before risking everything you got.

She didn’t waste any second, she was all over you, like smoke lingering in the air after you’d shared a cigarette. Intimate. Sharing the object that had been around your lips and hers, she always inhaled a little too hard, like maybe she could taste you through the nicotine filling her lungs.

But now she could have you. In this moment, she laid on top of you, and you were looking at her with those wide, doe eyes. And right now, nothing else in this room, or in this world, mattered. You were waiting for her just as much as she had waited for you.

Your fingers grazed her collarbone, tugging slightly at the fabric of her shirt, pulling her in, as if you’d die if you didn’t taste her in this second, like your life depended on it. She reciprocated, lips hungry—slow, memorizing the crevices of your mouth, giving you entrance to her own, tongues swirling around, slow dancing together.

Ellie cupped your face, her calloused fingertips rough against your tender skin, tickling your flushed cheeks. She trailed kisses from your lips to your jaw, her mouth hot and open tingling on every spot, you sat up slightly, and Ellie took it as her cue to lower her lips to your neck, warm breath hovering the flesh of your neck, as she left open mouth kisses, like she was trying to memorize the rhythm of your pulse with her lips.

Your hands were tangled on her auburn hair, fingers pulling softly with each kiss.

A small moan slipped past your lips, you tried to cover it by snuggling your face into Ellie’s neck, but she noticed.

And oh lord—she wanted to replay that little sound for the rest of her life.

Something shifted in her. Primal. She was starving for you. She needed to cover every inch of your skin with her mouth, trace a map across your body, taking note of every sweet spot that made you squirm under her.

God she was high on you, just by kissing. Pathetic.

You pulled back to look at her again, and the look she gave you?

Fuck. It was unraveling you.

Slowly, you pressed your lips to hers again, the kiss deepened. Messy, sloppy, perfect.

Hands roamed slow and lazy, tangled in fabric and hair, fingers trailing like they had nowhere else to be. Then, suddenly, the weight shifted. You felt an arm slide beneath your back, the other steadying you both. And before you could say something , Ellie pulled you up, lifted like you weighed nothing and settled you gently into her lap. Your thighs bracketed hers now, knees sinking into the bed, your lips still locked together.

Now both of you were chasing dominance with your tongues, breathy moans and low groans spilling between kisses. Ellie's hands rested on each side of your hips, gripping the soft flesh, digging her fingers into your skin.

Meanwhile you lowered your hands down to her stomach, slipping under her shirt. Her skin was warm and soft, so soft. You traced little circles with your fingertips as your hands traveled to her back.

Ellie broke the kiss for a second, catching her breath, and when her eyes met yours, she knew—

You needed her as much as she needed you.

She gave you a small nod— permission, and you took it as a welcome sign.

You lifted her shirt slowly, as if you were giving her the chance to say something, to stop you. But she didn’t. She raised her arms letting you tug it off completely and tossed it aside. Bare freckled skin now only framed by the black sports bra she wore, muscles tensing from the shyness she suddenly felt.

She followed immediately, helping you out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra. Ellie had been waiting for this moment since that night she’d accidentally caught a glimpse through your door. The image of your bare back, the strap of your bra. It had been burned into her memory ever since.

She was so caught up in that thought, she didn’t even realize when you shifted your weight completely and she was now the one lying beneath you, with your knees caging her hips.

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat, her hands instinctively settling on your clothed thighs. You could feel her heartbeat pounding beneath your palms, a steady drum that matched your own. She looked up at you like you were a miracle. Her pupils were blown, partly from you and from the weed, lips parted, and you could see the faintest tremble in her chest as she tried to keep her breathing even.

You dipped your head, brushing your lips over hers, soft and slow. A kiss like a secret. One she’d never tell anyone else but you. You pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes—her lashes fluttered, lips chasing yours, already missing the contact.

Her hands moved, skimming up your thighs, slipping under the hem of your bra strap. Her touch was reverent, like she didn’t quite believe this was real.

“You’re so…” she whispered, voice barely there, but the rest of the sentence vanished in your mouth as you kissed her again. Deeper this time, your tongue sliding past her lips, tasting her like she was something you needed to survive.

Your hips shifted, rocking forward just slightly, and the sound Ellie made.

Fuck.

A soft, breathless whimper was enough to make your head spin.

Her fingers dug into your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to her. You could feel her muscles tense beneath you, her body responding to every inch of you.

“Tell me this is real,” she breathed, voice cracking around the edges, raw and so full of need it made your chest ache.

“It’s real,” you whispered against her lips. “I’m here.”

You leaned down again, trailing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. Ellie let out a shaky exhale, her hands sliding up your back, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine.

You smiled, teeth grazing her collarbone. Ellie groaned softly, arching into you as your kisses grew messier, more urgent, like you were trying to mark her soul with your mouth. She let you take your time, let you explore her inch by inch like she was sacred territory.

When you sat up again, her hands followed your movement. One trailing along your ribs, the other cradling your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. The way she was looking at you then? Like you were starlight. Like she’d never let anyone else touch you the way she did.

You leaned into her touch and whispered, “You okay?”

Ellie nodded, eyes glassy, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile.

“Better than ever.” She looked completely undone, flushed cheeks, strands of hair sticking to her forehead, eyes drunk on the sight of you.

You leaned in slowly, like you were about to worship her. Your lips ghosted over hers, brushing once, twice, teasing. Cruel. And when you finally kissed her, it was all teeth and tongue, heat and hunger.

She groaned into your mouth, hands sliding up your sides and gripping your waist like she was trying to keep herself grounded to the moment. But she couldn’t, not while you were grinding down on her, slowly, hips rolling just enough to make her curse against your lips.

“Fuck—” she gasped, breaking the kiss as her head fell back into the pillow, exposing the long line of her neck.

You didn’t waste the opportunity.

You pressed your mouth to her throat, biting softly just below her jaw, then trailing your tongue over the spot like an apology. Her fingers slipped under the band of your bra, thumbs brushing over the underside of your breasts, breath coming out in shallow, desperate pants.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” she muttered, voice rough and broken.

You pulled back to look at her, lips wet and a little swollen, eyes hazy.

“Yeah?” you whispered, breath brushing her cheek. “What are you gonna do about it?”

That lit something in her. She sat up just enough to crash your mouths together again, teeth clashing, tongue tangling with yours in a messy, frantic kiss. One of her hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling your body harder against her lap, hips bucking up with zero shame.

You gasped into her mouth, nails dragging down her back, and Ellie cursed again. Low, and filthy.

“Can I?” she whispered into your mouth, hands moving to unclasp your bra, her voice trembling with restraint.

You let her—let her strip you bare, skin flushed and burning. She stared for a second, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, then she leaned forward and kissed the top of your breast, slowly, her mouth trailing lower. Her tongue flicked across your nipple and your head fell back with a moan, hips grinding down on instinct, desperate for friction.

Ellie groaned when she felt it, her hands grabbing your waist and helping you move, guiding you to rock against her in slow, aching circles.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice wrecked. “Just like that.”

Your hands tangled in her hair, tugging with each roll of your hips. Every kiss got sloppier, every sound louder, every breath more frantic. Ellie was everywhere—mouth on your chest, hands gripping your ass, hips thrusting up into you like she couldn’t fucking help it.

You felt drunk on her—on the heat, the pressure, the want of it all. And when she looked up at you again, eyes glassy, lips slick, it was over for you.

“I need you,” you said, barely audible, but it was enough.

Her hands stilled, holding you there. “You have me.”

Ellie was already breathless beneath you, her cheeks flushed, lips kissed swollen, chest rising and falling like she’d just run for miles, but it was nothing compared to what you were about to do to her.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against hers again, slower this time. A whisper of a kiss, soft and drawn out, like you were trying to memorize the way her mouth felt…like you had all the time in the world. And you did. This was yours. She was yours.

From her lips, your mouth began its descent, trailing to the edge of her jaw, to the spot just beneath her ear that made her inhale sharply. You kissed down her neck, stopping at the hollow of her throat to leave a lingering, open-mouthed kiss there. Your tongue grazed the skin, slow and warm. She whimpered, her hand instinctively gripping the sheets.

Your kisses continued down, over the curve of her collarbone, across the center of her chest. You mouthed over the black fabric of her sports bra, feeling the way her breath hitched when your teeth grazed her nipple through the fabric.

“Fuck,” she whispered, squirming slightly beneath you. “You’re—teasing.”

You didn’t say anything. You just smiled against her skin and kept going.

You pressed soft kisses down her stomach. Pausing just above her belly button, letting your breath tickle her skin. Every inch you touched left her gasping, her muscles twitching under your mouth. You looked up at her then, eyes locking with hers. She was already gone. Lips parted, gaze completely fixated on you.

Still not breaking eye contact, you reached the waistband of her pants. Your fingers toyed with the button, and you watched her nod without saying a word.

You undid them slowly, dragging them down her legs, eyes never leaving hers. She lifted her hips to help you, the soft hiss that left her lips making your thighs clench. You peeled them off, tossing them aside, leaving her in nothing but her dark boxers. The sight in front of you left you in awe, legs trembling, laid out just for you—was enough to make your core ache.

But you weren’t done yet.

You leaned in again, kissing along the sharp lines of her hips. One side, then the other. Slowly. Warmly. Her hands fisted the sheets, a sharp gasp escaping her lips when you mouthed at the sensitive skin right at the waistband, trailing down to place an open mouth kiss to the wet spot of her boxers. You looked up again—still holding her gaze, and hooked your fingers into the fabric.

“Okay?” you murmured.

She nodded quickly. “Yes. Fuck—please.”

Still keeping your eyes locked with hers, you reached for the waistband of her boxers and pulled them down, slow and careful, exposing her inch by inch. Ellie lifted her hips again, obedient and trembling, and you slid them down until she was bare in front of you.

You could’ve stopped just to stare. Her thighs were slightly parted, her breathing ragged, her tattoo curling along her forearm as she gripped the sheets. She looked like she could cry just from the anticipation.

You settled between her legs and let your fingers slide through her folds, wet, warm, already soaked. She gasped, hips jerking slightly.

“This all for me?” you asked, fingers teasing but not entering.

“Shut up,” she rasped, her voice thin, wrecked. “You know it is.”

You smirked, leaned in, and kissed her hip again, just to be cruel. Then, slowly, you pushed two fingers into her.

The way her mouth dropped open, the way her brows pinched like it physically hurt to feel this good, you never wanted to forget it. You curled your fingers just slightly, hitting the spot that made her whimper.

You kept your eyes on hers, and when her lips parted in another moan, you leaned in close, your voice a whisper. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

Ellie looked ruined with her hair spread across the pillow, hand covering her mouth now, trying to quiet the sounds that kept spilling out of her. But she couldn’t stop them. Not when you were fucking her this slow, this deep, your palm pressing against her clit with each thrust.

“Don’t hide,” you murmured. “I wanna hear you.”

You fucked her slow, deliberate, dragging your fingers in and out while your thumb circled her clit. Her hips moved with yours, chasing the friction, her thighs twitching with every movement.

“God—fuck, that’s it—don’t stop,” she breathed. Her voice was high, strained, like she was barely holding it together.

You sped up just slightly, enough to make her cry out. Her hands clutched your forearms now, nails digging leaving half crescent moons in your skin. She moaned again. Loud, desperate, and you knew she was close.

“Come on, Els,” you whispered. And somehow that made her walls clench harder against your fingers, pulsating with every thrust.You started speeding up, hitting just the right angle, her back arched and she choked on your name.

“I’m—fucking—fuck—” Her whole body tensed, then shattered. Back arching off the bed, head thrown back, a moan breaking open in her chest. You leaned in, kissing her as she came, swallowing her moans, keeping your rhythm until she was trembling beneath you. You only pulled out once her body stopped twitching. Then, with your eyes never leaving hers, you slipped your fingers into your mouth and licked them clean, savoring her orgasm

You grinned as you dragged your fingers out with that small “pop”.

Ellie choked on a gasp, eyes wide, pupils blown.

She didn’t waste a second.

After your little display and those fucking eyes locked on hers while you tasted her off your fingers…Ellie snapped. She rolled you onto your back like a rag doll, with a roughness that wasn’t aggressive, just desperate. Her mouth was on yours immediately, hands framing your jaw, tongue sliding in as if she couldn’t get deep enough.

“Mine,” she murmured, almost to herself, between kisses. “You’re fucking mine.”

Ellie hovered over you, flushed and breathing hard, her skin glistening, her eyes blown wide with lust and awe and something deeper—something that cracked you open just by looking at you like that. You were still panting from making her come apart on your fingers, but that didn’t stop her from slipping her hands under your thighs and flipping you onto your back, her mouth crashing against yours in a hungry, lingering kiss that tasted like heat and desperation.

“You think I’m gonna let you get away with that?” she rasped against your lips, her voice low and breathless. “No fucking way–”

Your breath caught. Your legs instinctively parted around her hips, your hands clutching at her arms, the muscles flexing beneath your fingers. Ellie leaned in, pressing kisses to your jaw, then your throat, open-mouthed and wet, letting her tongue drag along the curve of your neck.

You arched into her instinctively when her lips brushed your collarbone, then went lower. She kissed between your breasts, and you felt the cool air and her hot, roaming gaze, addicting.

“So pretty,” she murmured, her voice gone thick. “Fucking perfect.”

She wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, sucking slowly, letting her tongue flick over it before biting down just enough to make you gasp. Her hand came up to play with the other, thumb circling, pinching, teasing, until you were whining, thighs rubbing together beneath her.

And she wasn’t even close to done.

She switched sides, kissing the curve of your breast before giving the same treatment to the other nipple, slower this time, messier. Her teeth grazed your skin, and then she trailed lower…tongue dragging down your ribs, over your stomach, leaving tiny wet patches and hot breath in her wake.

But she didn’t rush. She took her time, leaving small hickeys on your chest, just above your heart, another on the soft swell beneath your breast, and one lower, just to the side of your belly button. She wanted to mark you, and she wanted you to feel it every time your shirt brushed against those spots later.

By the time she reached the waistband of your jeans, you were trembling.

She looked up at you from between your thighs, and fucking hell you could’ve just cummed at the sight of her beautiful green eyes looking at you like that, all desperate and needy, hands sliding to your hips.

“Still ok?” she smirked.

You could barely form words. Just a breathless, desperate nod.

She undid your jeans slowly, dragging the zipper down with purpose, fingers teasing at the waistband as she leaned in to kiss your lower belly, just above the fabric. You lifted your hips so she could tug them down, and she did—carefully, kissing every new inch of exposed skin. Your thighs, your inner knees, the dip just above your underwear. You were soaked already, and Ellie saw it, smelled it, her breath hitching.

“Fuck, look at you.”

She pressed a single kiss to the front of your panties, right over your clit. You whimpered, bucked into her mouth, and she just chuckled low, mouthing at the wet fabric. Her tongue dragged over it once, then again, leaving it wetter with her spit. Then she sucked at it, lightly, then harder right through the cloth, until you were gasping, your hips twitching beneath her grip.

“Tastes so fucking good, even through this.”

She hooked her fingers in the waistband and tugged them off in one smooth motion, tossing them aside without looking. Then she kissed your thigh again, and again, and again, until you were practically begging.

Then finally—finally, she spread you open with both hands and dove in.

Her tongue flattened against your pussy and dragged up in one slow, singular motion, like she wanted to study your body with her mouth. She moaned into you at the taste, low and guttural. Like it relieved something inside her. Her tongue flicked against your clit, soft and rhythmic, then she pulled back just long enough to spit on it, watching the mess drip and smear as she dove back in.

Your head fell back against the pillow.

“Ellie—fuck—”

She hummed again, arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you still, her face buried so deep you could feel her breath inside you. Her tongue teased your entrance, then pressed inside you, slow and firm, while the tip of her nose rubbed against your clit with every movement. Hitting just the right angle.

You gripped her hair hard—really hard. And she just groaned into your pussy like it made her wetter, grinding her own hips into the mattress while she fucked you stupid with her tongue and sucked your clit in between.

The tension coiled fast and hard in your stomach, your thighs beginning to tremble. Ellie felt it. And added two fingers without warning, curling them up just right, and doubled down with her tongue until you broke, cumming hard with a growly cry, hips jerking on her face, your hands pulling her impossibly closer.

But Ellie didn’t stop.

She didn’t even slow down.

She fucked you through it, licking up every drop, moaning into you like she’d drown there happily.

When she finally pulled back, her chin and lips were shining. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing heavy, pupils dark and starving. Then she crawled up your body and kissed you, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“Didn’t get enough,” she panted against your lips. “Need you again.”

You felt her hips roll down into yours, and then again, more intentional, needy. You looked down.

She was already grinding against you, bare now, both of your slick combining. Your thighs instinctively spread wider, and Ellie settled between them, her cunt sliding against yours, hot and sticky and so fucking wet.

You gasped. “Oh my God—”

The friction was instant. The way your clits brushed together made you both cry out. She grabbed your thigh, threw it over her hip, angling you just right. Then she started to move, grinding slow and deep, her forehead pressed against yours, her breath stuttering every time your bodies slipped perfectly together.

“Feels so fucking good,” she groaned. “Shit—you’re perfect—”

You couldn’t even respond. You were too caught up in it. In the slippery, desperate rub of her cunt on yours, the raw eye contact, the sweat and tension and whimpers she couldn’t hold back.

Your hands clutched her back, your legs wrapped around her waist, and you met every grind with one of your own. You were soaked, overstimulated, and yet completely insatiable.

Ellie’s voice cracked as she picked up the pace, her hips stuttering, her sounds getting louder, higher.

“You gonna come again with me?” she begged, voice strained. “Please—*fuck—*I wanna feel you come on me.”

You nodded frantically. You could already feel it—your second orgasm, rolling in fast. Your muscles tensed, your thighs clenched around her, and then—

You both came.

Harder than before. Together.

Her body collapsed onto yours, her face buried in your neck, both of you shaking and soaked and breathless.

The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the fan in the corner and the echo of your breaths slowly syncing again. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and skin, heat still clinging to both of you, but you’re not in a rush to pull away.

Ellie’s lying on her back, arm stretched out, inviting, and you settle into her side without thinking, thigh slung over her hip, your chest rising and falling against hers. Her skin is still warm. Damp in places. You let your fingers wander on her skin, tracing the soft, faded scars scattered across her stomach.

She doesn’t flinch.

Instead, her hand finds your waist, and she’s holding onto you like she needs the reassurance that you’re real. That you’re still here.

Your fingertip drags in slow circles, skimming across her ribs, then trailing down again, stopping to gently trace the outline of a small mark near her navel. You wonder where she got it. If it hurt. If she ever thought to tell you.

Still, neither of you says anything. You shift slightly, arm draped across her middle now, and your other hand finds her forearm, the ink there familiar beneath your touch. You trace the edge of her tattoo, carefully, like you’re memorizing it with your skin.

Ellie’s breathing deepens. You feel it in the way her chest rises under your cheek, the way her thumb starts brushing gentle lines across the bare of your back.

And then, softly, almost like a thought slipping out by accident, she finally speaks.

“You are the most beautiful girl on this planet—” A pause. A breath. “No. This universe.”

You scoff, letting your lips curve into a smirk against her skin.

“Pffft—You say that to every girl you sleep with?” you mumble, teasing, but your voice comes out quieter than you meant. Too full of feeling.

Ellie huffs a laugh, but you feel the shift in her body. She’s still smiling, but there’s something quieter behind it, more serious. Something heavy in her chest that she doesn’t quite let out yet.

“No girl has gotten lucky enough.”

You lift your head, just slightly, eyes meeting hers.

She’s not grinning. Not smirking.

She’s looking at you like she wants to kiss you all over again, but not in a way that’s messy or frantic or lustful.

She’s just there. Staring. Open. Soft.

And you don’t say anything back.

You just curl into her again, one hand resting on her chest where her heart is beating like a marching band, the rhythm of her palpitations calms you down. And she lets you stay there. Quiet. Wrapped in each other like neither of you know how to ask for more. Even though it’s already written all over your skin.

Sunlight slips lazily through the slats in the blinds, casting pale golden stripes across the tangled sheets. Ellie stirs, arm reaching out instinctively to the other side of the bed, but it’s empty now. Still warm, just barely. She blinks groggily, eyes adjusting to the morning light, her limbs heavy with sleep and muscle ache.

There’s a second where panic flickers through her.

Did you leave? Was everything just a dream?

But then she smells you on her pillow. Faint traces of your shampoo, your skin, your sweat from the night before, and the corner of her mouth tugs upward, soft and slow.

She turns her head and sees it.

A little piece of paper on her desk, scrawled in your handwriting.

“Headed to work. U looked too cute to wake up. Pass by the diner if ur not busy ;)”

Ellie stares at it for a minute, then flips onto her back, one arm thrown over her eyes as a smile overtakes her entire face. It’s the kind of smile she couldn’t hide even if she tried.

Stupid. Giddy. Lightheaded.

You.

Her mind plays it all back in bits, your mouth, your hands, your body pressed to hers like it had always belonged there. The way you looked at her like you were afraid to blink and miss her. The way you touched her, so safe and sure, like you were tracing art into her skin.

And now you were just… gone.

Gone, but not far.

Her eyes flutter open again. The note’s still there. The sheets are still messy. Her chest still feels full in that unfamiliar, aching way. She sighs, long and dreamy, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

When she finally sat up, her hair was a mess, body sore in the best way. The note is still clutched between her fingers, and she reads it once more for no reason other than the way it makes her stomach flip.

She stretches, smiling like an idiot, already thinking about what she’ll say when she sees you again. Already wondering how she’s supposed to act around you now. Already imagining the way your face lights up when she walks into the diner.

Had she mentioned how irrevocably fucked she was? So completely, irreversibly, stupidly fucked for you.

How she felt like she dug a grave for herself, how this would either be the best thing ever or the worst heartbreak of her entire fucking life. And she didn’t wanna think about it, because she’s scared as shit.

She’s scared of herself more than anyone.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

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[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 21

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual content (smut), cheating Wordcount: 6.9K A/C: happy paige hoops day :) happy dallas assketball day... :( anyway enjoy this and please send me reactions again!! they are VERY welcome (btw i will not be working on the next chapter until late next week because i’ll be busy with birthday stuff so don’t ask pls) (DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT CLAIMING IN THIS CHAPTER THAT AMERICA DOESN’T HAVE SQUIRRELS 😭 PLS BE FR the reason paige is like wtf is because the squirrels in hyde park are crazy ok bye)

-

London

My lips still taste like strawberries when my tongue darts out to wet them, nuzzling my nose into the soft cotton of the pale blue pillow underneath my head. Flashes of last night, tongues clashing, starving whimpers and desperate hands spin in my mind - and I can’t help the smile that forms in response. God must be on my side, in fact I know he is. Because last night I got to kiss the lips of the woman I had spent the last nine months hopelessly in love with.

“Mhm, morning beautiful,” I mumble, voice still gravelly with sleep. But there’s no response. Opening my eyes, I find I’m still in Izara’s bed. Good, it wasn’t a dream. The girl, however, is nowhere to be seen.

A panic sets in. A fear. I scared her away. It was too much. I misread the signs.

I stand up faster than my mind can follow when I see it. A note placed on the vanity, with handwriting that curls and loops the way Izara’s does. Pushing my glasses onto my face, I grab it.

Paige,

I didn’t dare to wake you, you looked so beautiful. I’m sure you’re exhausted and I want you to get some more rest. I left you a towel in the bathroom if you want to shower. I’ll be downstairs when you get up x

Izzie

The panic washes away as soon as it arrived, my fingers tracing the cursive letters. I looked beautiful? She seemed to think so. Fuck. I bite my lower lip to kill the grin on my face, sliding the note into my pocket. Checking the time I realise it is indeed almost midday, but I appreciate her concern. I did feel a lot less jetlagged than yesterday.

After a quick shower I get dressed into a matching light lavender Nike set of sweats and sweater - the only clothes I had the sense to pack to bring over. I glance at my reflection, the Tommy Hilfiger boxers peeking out of the sweatpants. I better pull these up, now is not the time to sag.

Finally, with wet hair and glasses, I make my way down the carpeted steps almost giddy to see her again. 

Izara’s laughter echoes all the way to the bottom of the stairs, and my heart nearly bursts. I stop by the last step, holding onto the railing covered with a garland. The corners of my mouth lift at the sound of her giggles. 

“Good morning,” Rohan’s deep voice surprises me, snapping me out of my Izara-induced trance. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, stirring what I assumed was tea.

“Good morning sir,” I answer. The man smiles, lifting his steaming cup. 

“Tea?” He asks,

“Oh, Ion drink tea really,” I admit, itching the back of my neck. He chuckles, nodding more to himself.

“I figured. I had a friend in my university days from America. Would drink a can of Coke instead every morning.”

I chuckle, following him into the living room, Izzie’s voice growing closer and closer. 

“Well, Ion do that either,” I joke. 

We reach the archway to find Kiran and Izara sitting on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper, the pile beside the girl neatly folded. Her green eyes twinkle as her manicured hands feel up the striped cashmere sweater on her lap. She’s still in her pajamas - a rare sight in the early afternoon.

“Ah, good morning Paige,” Mrs. Chopra who’s sitting on the couch already fully ready for the day in a knitted dress smiles politely. “I trust you slept well?”

That second, Izzie’s green eyes flicker up to me and a smile grows on her face.

“Hey,” she hums, biting down on her lower lip. Her voice is soft and smooth, laced with the secret of last night.

“Good morning,” I answer, breaking eye contact to look at Mrs. Chopra instead. “For sure, thanks for lettin’ me sleep.”

“Paige look!” Kiran says, waving a Timberwolves jersey around. I snatch it from his hands.

“You a fan of Ant? I ask, handing it back. He nods. “Let’s go to a game next time you come over.”

“Forreal?” Kiran asks, eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“Yeah, for sure,” I chuckle, glancing at the presents piled next to Izzie. Espresso machine, a black leather wallet, a silver Cartier necklace.

“Woah,” I say surprised, grabbing the jewelry box. I had never seen Izzie wear anything but gold. “Someone dropped some serious cash on this.”

“Jasper always wants to spoil her,” Mrs. Chopra gushes, standing up from her seat. Just hearing his name angered me - until I remembered I made out with his girlfriend last night and suddenly I felt better.

“What a gentleman.”

Rohan inches closer to me, covering his mouth with his hand. “He’s a pompous twat if you ask me,” he murmurs almost silently, loud enough just for me to hear. I try not to laugh, handing the box back.

“It’s pretty,” I smile. Izzie smiles back, but her eyes remain distant and distracted.

“Let me make you some breakfast Paige,” Mrs. Chopra says.

“Oh, that’s fine, I can just grab something myself,” I quickly say. The woman had been working tirelessly since yesterday to cater to everyone’s needs. It wasn’t hard to guess where Izzie got this quality from.

“Nonsense,” she waves me off, already headed to the kitchen. I almost go after her, but Izzie grabs my wrist, pulling me down to sit beside her.

“Just give up, there’s no use in arguing. Trust me,” she chuckles, her touch lingering against my skin. On top of the cashmere sweater, there’s a blue Tiffany box with a silver baby rattle inside.

“What’s this?” I whisper, fingers lifting it. The toy makes a soft clinking noise, singing with a delicate chime like rain tapping against a window.

Izara rolls her eyes and grabs it from me, hiding it underneath every other present. “Don’t ask,” she huffs, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“I won’t ask if you tell me,” I answer, confused.

Her green eyes meet mine as she lets out a frustrated sigh. “My mum,” she starts. “She got it for me. She said it would give me some ‘motivation’.”

I furrow my brows, letting out a chuckle when I realise what she means. “Motivation to get knocked up?”

“I suppose so,” she shakes her head, laughing too. But I can tell it bothers her. And I’m not sure if it’s because she’s reminded of Jasper and what she’ll have to do. Does she even want to do it still? I don’t know.

My worries melt away, however. Because Izzie grabs my hand and squeezes it underneath the cashmere sweater. 

“Here you go, it’s my Christmas morning specialty,” Mrs. Chopra emerges, handing me a plate of leftovers from last night. “And this once I’ll let someone eat in the living room since you are our guest.”

-

I’m staring into my wardrobe, clothes split into neutrals and colours hung up neatly on wooden hangers. Deep in thought, I tighten the silk robe around my body when there’s a gentle knock.

“I’m changing,” I say, but the door slides open anyway, Paige walks in, hand covering her glasses. I laugh, watching her close it behind her. She bumps into the corner of my vanity, hissing in pain.

“Open your eyes stupid,” I tell her with a giggle.

“Well Ion know if you’re naked or sumn,” she mumbles, but drops the hand.

“Like you would mind that,” I roll my eyes, grabbing a pair of flared yoga pants and a white turtleneck. 

Paige doesn’t answer, her eyes glued to me and my body. The white satin clings to my skin, sheer enough to reveal the lingerie underneath.

“Do you think this is a good fit for our walk?” I ask, laying the clothes out on the bed. But it’s dead silent. “Paige?”

Lifting my gaze, I see her watching me up and down, with a stupid blank look on her face. It sends a jolt through me, her flushed cheek and flustered expression.

“Hellooo?” I ask in a singy-songy voice, snapping her back to reality.

“Huh? - Oh what?” She asks dumbfounded. The trembling of her voice makes me want to straddle her and get her how I liked her. Begging.

I chuckle, glancing at the clothes. “Is this good?” I ask.

Mouth dry, Paige wets her lips and walks over to the bed. “Yeah, that’s good,” she murmurs absentmindedly. Oh I missed this.

“Okay,” I answer simply, and with a single tuck pull the robe open right before her eyes. The blonde gulps, covering the lower half of her face as she unashamedly lets her blue eyes travel downwards my body, taking in the thin satin fabric of my underwear and bra.

“Jesus,” she whispers, as I let the robe fall onto the floor.

“I’m just getting dressed,” I tease, turning to grab the clothes. But before I can her lips are already attacking me, hands wasting no time to squeeze and knead my ass. I whimper into her mouth and the girl takes advantage of that, her tongue clashing with mine. Demanding like she already owns me.

Suddenly I’m a puddle, holding onto her to stay upright. Paige runs her hand up and down my body, like she’s been starved of me. Just the mere touch of her hands is enough to have me wanting her.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” she moans into my mouth. God I know we shouldn’t. I should pull back. But I’m so weak and I haven’t felt pleasure like this since I left.

It doesn’t seem to be my choice, however. Footsteps approach the room, causing me to jump back and grab the robe from the floor, tying it in a rush as the doors to my room open.

”Are you girls ready? We’re about to le-” My dad stops mid-sentence, catching Paige hastily wiping her mouth and me still breathless and flushed. His eyes flicker from the blonde to me, back to the blonde again.

”Sorry, I didn’t interrupt someth-”

”No!” I yelp, my voice shrill. ”Not at all, I’m just getting dressed.”

My father clears his throat, lowering his gaze to the ground.

”Well, I’ll expect you downstairs in 20 minutes,” he smiles awkwardly, closing the door.

”I just need five!” I yell after him, but he’s already gone.

-

Hyde Park is covered in a white frost, left noticeably quieter than usual on Christmas Day. The bare trees are growing old, stood witness to generations of people among them - tourists and Londoners alike. Each exhale leaves silver fog behind it, the air crisp and cool. Yet I feel completely warm and nearly giddy. The Christmas spirit was getting to me I guess.

”Uh, Iz,” Paige murmurs and points to a squirrel, standing on a fence beside her and staring. ”Should I be scared?”

I let out a bright laugh that echoes around the desolate park, wrapping my arm around hers. 

”I’ll protect you,” I joke as we walk away from the squirrel that seems to follow after us, expecting a treat.

”Alright, remember that spider when we were in Chicago?” 

I do remember. I came out running from my hotel room, pounding on Paige’s door, screaming so hard an elderly couple came to check on me. Thankfully the blonde took care of that for me.

“Okay but a spider and a squirrel are entirely different,” I huff, watching my parents and Kiran walking 10 feet ahead of us as we trail back.

“Yeah, a squirrel could actually kill me,” she complains, eyeing the one walking behind us. 

“Wait, say squirrel again,” I demand, the word turning to mush in her mouth as she pronounces it. Very wrong, might I add.

“Yo, stop,” she groans. “It’s hard for me to say.”

I laugh. “Like jewelry?” 

Her mouth falls open as she takes offense to my words, nudging my side with her elbow. I let out a giggle and dodge her attack.

“Stop takin’ the piss,” Paige huffs.

“Oh my God, you used it right!” I squeal loud enough for my parents to glance back at the two of us. Bashfully I look down, laughing to myself.

“Yup, I’m a pro English speaker.”

“You weren’t before?” I ask. Paige laughs and pushes me off her side.

“Man, shut up.”

“Are you girls coming or just plan on giggling back there?” My mother’s voice cuts through the crisp winter air, bringing both our attention to how far back we had trailed. Like two misbehaving teenagers we scurry to them, leaving behind our own little bubble. 

As the gravel path crunches and scrapes against our shoes dragging on it, we’re met with a serene body of water - The Serpentine. Swans, geese and ducks alike are plentiful, following the few visitors besides us for a chance of a piece of bread or pastry. To me and every Londoner it was a normal sight, the swans shockingly tall and intimidating spreading their wings and getting a little too close. But not to the group of girls in front of us who squeal and run away. And apparently, not to Paige either.

“So the birds just run… Free?” She asks unsurely, carefully walking on the right side of me and creating a barrier between herself and the winged creatures.

“Yes, they’re quite fascinating. Don’t fear humans one bit,” my dad mutters as he walks on. Kiran squats down to eye-level with the birds, talking to them to catch their attention. But two geese are already keen on scaring the shit out of the blonde beside me, following after her.

“Iz, they gon’ eat me,” she whispers, taking hurried steps with her long legs to get away. It’s no use, the birds are already too fond of her and follow after. “Help me.”

I laugh easily, finding amusement in her fear. I could tell when it was lighthearted and when it was too serious to find funny. That’s how well I knew her.

“Paige, don’t be dramatic,” I complain but at that very moment one of the pair spreads its wings wide and flaps them at the blonde’s direction - and she lets out a squeal that’s loud enough to make my mother give her a dirty look I hope she misses.

“Help!” She yelps, jogging away. It’s no use. The birds follow. She was just as magnetic to them as she was to me.

“Stop running,” I groan and jog after her, shooing the geese away. She hides behind me, peeking over my shoulder until they’re far away for her to act nonchalant again.

“Yeah they obsessed with me,” she grins, dusting off her shoulders jokingly. “Can’t blame ‘em.”

I roll my eyes in response but in reality I want to laugh. “C’mon,” I tell the girl, pushing her forward on our walk. My mind is filling with ideas on the places I might show her here in London once we’re over these family responsibilities.

We walk past the old maple trees and it takes everything in me not to grab her hand. There’s a couple walking with a dog and a stroller and for a fleeting moment I imagine it’s us. I swear I can see it in my head like it’s real.

“You see those benches?” I ask Paige, pointing at the ones underneath a particularly large and tall tree with its bare branches twisting over the seat. She nods, her eyes following my hand. “I love sitting there just to read.”

Paige gives me this look that I can’t quite understand, but her eyes soften with it. 

“Remember when you used to read at our practice?” She asks gently. Somehow we’ve trailed into our own bubble again.

“I tried but you got me distracted. I barely finished a book when I was in Dallas.”

Paige chuckles and I can tell it pains her just as much not to wrap her arm around me and to kiss my forehead. I wish we could. Something about the cold weather and Hyde Park and the smell of the lake and the trees had me wanting her near.

The faint Christmas songs play on the radio as we drive home and I have to bite my lip not to lean on the blonde’s shoulder. We sit in the backseat like children, Paige, Kiran and me in the middle as I was the smallest, all red cheeks and cold hands.

“Hey,” Paige whispers into my ear, and I let her hot breath tickle my cheek. “I have like no boxers left I gotta go get sum clothes from my hotel.”

I nod in response, my stomach flipping at the idea of her spending another night. Leaving her hair, her scent, her weight on my mattress. 

“You wanna come with me?” She asks, and her knee presses into mine. I almost groan.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. 

Her and I call a cab the moment we get to the house, standing by the front steps and waiting for it to arrive. Something about having Paige here made me feel adolescent again, to see the girl leaning on the front gate like me and my friends used to after school to spend just a moment longer together. Though, I was such an anxious child and an even more anxious teenager. I don’t think adulthood has made me any more calm, but with her around everything felt better. My father's gloves on her hands dusting the frost off the hedges, still covered in white when we sit in the cab.

“I had to get the suite,” Paige murmurs as she taps the keycard against the door to unlock the hotel room with a quiet beep. “It was the only thing that wasn’t taken.”

She opens the door for me, letting me enter first. I could tell it was a suite from the fact that the space was split into multiple different rooms, the bedroom behind double doors and white balmoral panelling decorating the tall walls. It must have cost a fortune and still she had spent the night in my bed under my parents’ roof.

“Why aren’t we spending Christmas here?” I joke, opening the doors to find a large bed covered in white sheets, perfectly made. “Matter of fact, why would we even go back to mine.”

Paige chuckles and walks up behind me, her hand wrapping around my waist and palm pressing into my stomach. It reminds me of something that sends a jolt up my thighs.

“I got a feeling your parents wouldn’t like me stealing their daughter away on Christmas,” she teases into my ear, lips nearly grazing my skin. My breath hitches.

“Who cares, they’d understand if they saw these sheets,” I shake free from her touch, walking to the end of the bed. It was too overwhelming and I don’t know how long I could bear her touch if I had to talk to Jasper first.

The blonde walks to her suitcase, digging something out. “Sit down,” she orders and I do as she says. “Close your eyes.”

I close them, stomach flipping at the thoughts of what might happen. I hated surprises. I hear the blonde digging for something and then the approaching steps and her weight creating a dip in the mattress. She places something in my hands, something flat.

“Open.”

And I do. On my lap there’s a Cadbury chocolate bar, with a little ribbon wrapped around it. My eyes widen as I see it. My heart leaps. It means more than all the expensive rubbish Jasper got me.

“It’s not much I know,” Paige explains anxiously. “But I had to get you something. And I know you can get those everywhere here so it’s probably so dumb that I got that fo-”

Her sentence is interrupted with my lips attacking hers, my hands tucking on her low pony. She’s kissing me back feverishly. Her hands already pull on my jacket, pushing it off me. I let it drop to the ground, sitting up to straddle her. She invites me on her lap and it feels like home when her familiar hands rub up and down my back. At this moment there’s no Jasper, no Dallas or London or Christmas or family waiting. Only us.

The kiss is all tongue and teeth but neither of us seem to mind, too hungry for each other to care. When I pull back Paige’s lips are swollen and bruised, eyes watering behind the glasses. I reach to take them off but she stops me.

“Don’t,” she pants, her voice hoarse and deep. “I wanna see you.”

So I let her. I pull the white turtleneck off as she watches, licking her pink lips. Her hands grab the back of my head and pull me into a kiss. The chocolate bar is somewhere on the floor, only an afterthought. We kiss and kiss and kiss for what feels like hours, my body trembling and underwear dampening as our lips slick with spit glide against each other. I’m getting desperate, grinding my hips down on her. I haven’t wanted anyone this much ever before.

Paige’s hands dip underneath my leggings to knead the skin of my ass as she tries to push them off. I climb off of her, and staring into her hungry eyes I pull them down. We’re far too gone to stop now. I stand before her in a white satin lingerie set, but she is still fully clothed. That’s not right.

“Take your clothes off,” I command, watching the way her cheeks redden in response. It sends chills up and down my spine. She merely nods and scrambles on the bed to get the pale lavender Nike set off, leaving her sitting there in a pair of grey boxers and a sports bra and a stupid look on her face.

“I said take them off,” I murmur, though I’m already salivating at the sight of her like this. Those broad shoulders and a defined but soft stomach, those fucking arms, her thighs. God might never forgive me for the sinful things I have thought about in the last 5 months. Or what I’m about to do now.

“All of them.”

“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles, mouth ajar and eyes growing heavier in those glasses. When she obeys without hesitation, I feel a gush of wetness spilling out of me. I swallow hard. Paige undresses, first the sports bra. Her nipples harden against the chill air of the hotel room, goosebumps rising on her skin. Then, finally, her boxers are kicked off and she’s bare and naked and only herself in front of me. I can’t help but gasp.

I follow suit, not even considering the bright daylight or the open curtains. I don’t care. All I care about is her. I unbuckle my bra, letting it fall off. Paige’s eyes follow, dropping from my face to my breasts. Her mouth falls slack and she takes her hand between her legs. She’s already wet, the sounds coming from the way her fingers rub her pussy telling me so. I know she’s thought those sinful thoughts too.

My green eyes follow the movement of her fingers, suddenly starving. I kick off my damp underwear, leaving them somewhere on the floor. Paige watches, breath hitching in her throat as she rubs sloppy circles on her clit. I gush between my legs.

“C’mere,” she tells me hoarsely and I do as she says. I straddle her again, and Paige grabs my hand and drags it down between my own legs for me. I feel frustrated, hadn’t I done this enough while we were apart? Rubbed myself swollen and soaked just at the thought of her? But it’s a game and she wants to play it. And I want to do whatever she wants me to.

“Oh,” I sigh when my fingers make contact with my clit, and I throw my head back. But with her free hand Paige grabs my hair and forces my gaze back to her. Her brows are arching in pleasure.

“Paige,” I plead.

“Whatchu want mama?” She asks. She already knows, but she wants me to say it.

“You,” I moan, my slick covering my fingers. “Want to ride you.”

With a groan she shuffles back on the bed, and suddenly her glistening fingers are rubbing against my lips. I let my tongue flick over my lower lip. It tastes like her. Just as I remembered. My hand grabs her left leg and pulls it over my shoulder, chest heaving with need. I felt lightheaded, my body working before my mind could catch up.

I spread her pussy apart and slot myself against her, drool nearly dripping out of my mouth as I watch. The blonde watches too, bucking her hips closer. My cunt presses against hers, our clits brushing, and it’s over.

”Oh shit,” she groans, shutting her eyes. I moan too. God I had missed this. The way she shutters underneath me, the sound of her whimpers, how wet she gets - it’s all for me.

”Paige,” I gasp, leaning back for a better angle and holding onto her knee as I grind myself into her. We’re both wet and slick against each other. I’m dripping all over her almost embarrassingly. I forgot how good sex can feel.

”You look so sexy,” she hisses, grabbing onto my hips and pulling my core into her harder. Paige is desperate, already moaning and falling apart. She’s so beautiful, breathless and red in the face.

My tits bounce along with my movements, my clit dragging against hers deliciously. The coil in my abdomen tightens. I had been dreaming of this moment for months and it was so much better than I could ever imagine. I’m drowning in her.

”Fuck keep doing that,” Paige moans. My nails dig into the skin of her legs. ”Keep doing that, ma and I’ma nut.”

”Feel so good my love,” I whimper, eyes rolling back. My legs feel tired, the muscles burning but I don’t care.

”You like ridin’ me?”

I nod desperately. ”I love riding you.” My movements turn rapid and desperate as my high builds bigger and bigger.

”Yeah, ride that shit,” she hisses, other hand dragging from my hip upwards past my breast to my lips. My mouth parts for her and I wrap my lips around her fingers, a faint taste of her still on them.

I moan against her fingers, my tongue circling her digits as I keep grinding harder and faster, our wetness causing loud squelching sounds to emerge. Paige’s eyes roll back and her moans turn high pitched - she’s right there. Which is enough to get me there too.

With gasps and moans we both fall apart, my legs trembling with exhaustion but I keep going and going, riding out our highs. Paige is whimpering and grabbing me everywhere, back aching against the mattress. I can’t look away even when my orgasm hits. I waited far too long for this

”Goddamn,” Paige mutters as I slow down, chest heaving. I push my hair back as the girl pulls her fingers out of my mouth. I let her leg fall off my shoulder back to the mattress, ready to crash on top of her with exhaustion. But the blonde has other plans.

She wraps her hands around both my thighs, pulling me to her mouth. I’ve barely come down from my last climax when I realise what she’s doing.

”Paige, my legs,” I whine but her grip only tightens as I hover over her mouth. In every other setting I would feel embarrassed being this close and exposed to someone. But not her.

”Don’t worry mama,” she moans at the sight of me. Dripping and swollen, still throbbing. ”Just sit down.”

-

It’s heaven to taste her like this, to see her this close. I want to devour her, my tongue circling her clit. But she’s still hovering. Her legs shake around my face. At this point I don’t care if I can’t breathe.

”Baby I’ma need you to sit,” I mumble against her core. She shutters.

”Paige I-”

”I said sit the fuck down,” my voice is full of authority as I pull her down and suddenly her weight is on my face. I could drown in her and I just might. I’m sucking on her clit, hands kneading her perfect ass.

”Baby,” she gasps, her moans suddenly louder as she grabs hold of my hair. It hurts as she yanks it which only makes me buck my hips in the air. She tastes better than I remembered. I wanted to eat this pussy forever.

”Ride my face mama,” I murmur into her, laying my tongue flat. She’s too gone to resist, blindly following every order I give her. Grabbing my hair tighter she begins to grind her pussy against me, her clit nudging against my nose as my tongue dips inside her. She’s gushing all over. I was wrong, this is heaven.

”It’s my pussy,” I moan against her, my core throbbing just at the taste of her. ”Tell me.”

”It’s your pussy baby,” she whimpers, grinding harder and faster. I can barely breathe. ”It’s all yours.” To hear such sinful things coming out of her sweet mouth causes that familiar knot to build within me. And when I open my eyes the sight only makes me get closer - Izzie, leaning back and hair flowing in the air, breasts perked up and round as she grinds herself onto me. I want her like this forever.

”Fucking love this pussy, gonna be eatin’ this all day you feel me?” I murmur against her, my tongue slipping in her slick folds.

”Mmm baby whatever you want,” Iz cries out. ”Can have whatever you want.”

”That’s my girl,” I groan. My girl.

”It’s your pussy Paige.”

”I own you?” I pant out. I needed to hear it. The confirmation I had been dying for. She might date whoever, but her body and her mind are mine. They’ve always been mine.

She mewls and her body trembles. She wants it so bad. But she’s just so tired. 

”You own me,” she whimpers, her moans impossibly loud. I just hope the walls are soundproof enough - but then again, let everyone hear. Let the whole city know who Izara Chopra belongs to.

I grab hold of her legs to stop the movements that were turning frantic and sloppy. She lets out a moan of relief, holding onto my hair as I do the work for her. My jaw aches and my tongue is tired but I lap her up, her taste and the sounds of her mouth enough to get me moaning.

”Paige, I’m gonna cum,” she cries out, legs trembling around me. Those high pitched whimpers, fuck I forgot how good they sounded. My hand drags down to my clit. I’m soaked again.

”Cum on my face baby,” I murmur against her, having to rub my clit lightly only a few times to get my own climax to build. I never wanted to cum so bad - with her pussy on my face and her taste in my mouth.

”Oh shit, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she moans, tugging harder and harder. I can’t breathe. I don’t care. I feel the knot in my stomach build and build and build.

”Oh fuck,” Izzie cries out, grabbing the wall in front of her as she climaxes, gushing down my face. I drink her up, the taste of her overwhelming me as I cum too, forcing my eyes to stay open so I can watch her.

”Paige,” she sighs and I keep holding her down, lapping her wetness up. Iz squeals and pushes my hands off her with a laugh. ”Paige stop!”

”I dunno if I can,” I admit, not sure if it’s sweat or her that’s dripping down my neck.

She crashes beside me, trying to catch her breath. Her makeup is running down her cheeks and her black hair is knotted at her neck but she’s never looked so beautiful. How I missed seeing her this way.

We both know it’s not right. She’s not all mine really. There’s still Jasper, and a lot for us to figure out. But right now I don’t care. I pull her into me and smell her hair unashamedly.

”You got no idea how much I missed you,” I whisper into her. She meets my words with a kiss and I know she feels the same.

”Wanna lie here forever,” she murmurs into my skin. I almost melt, my heart jolts almost uncomfortably. The things I would give up for her, I hope she knows. I love her. Endlessly. Irrevocably. Forever.

The cruel sound of her phone buzzing on the ground cuts through the air. She scrambles to her feet like a baby deer, still shaking and naked.

”It’s my mom,” she groans. ”She’s asking why we’re taking so long and that Christmas dinner will be done soon.”

”Shit, what time is it?” I ask, getting up to get dressed. Iz watches, amused.

”Oh no, I’m not taking you back till you’ve showered gorgeous,” she tells me, snapping her fingers towards the bathroom. ”Chop chop.”

-

My legs still shake at Christmas dinner, a reminder of the sin shared by me and Paige. It doesn’t help when my father makes her sit right next to me, and her knee presses into me, the heat of her skin against mine only separated by the worn softness of her loose jeans.

A weird silence looms over the table as we eat, until my dad clears her throat.

”How nice to be just with family,” he says, taking a sip of his wine. Kiran laughs.

”Dad, Paige is here,” he points out. Paige and I chuckle too.

”Oh, right,” he says, eyes widening as they turn to her. ”I suppose I meant how nice for Jasper to be elsewhere.”

”Rohan!” My mother gasps, and for a fleeting second I think she might chuck a pig in a blanket at him. I’m surprised too. I knew he wasn’t fond of Jasper but I never realised how much he actually disapproved. Still, his name hits like a wave against the rocks on a shore.

”He’s a nice lad! Just a bit much sometimes,” my father defends. My mom is fuming.

”Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you,” she hisses, putting her cutlery down. ”You’re confusing poor Izzie.”

I put my cutlery down too, suddenly losing my appetite. I hated when they infantilized me, like I was a child so easy to manipulate.

”Could we not talk about this right now?” I ask, keeping a cool tone with effort.

”See,” my dad grins and leans back on his chair. ”She doesn’t want to talk about Jasper either.” He looks smugly at my mother.

It both frustrates and embarrasses me. Why did he have to do this now with Paige sitting beside me. I didn’t want her to see this. I didn’t know anything.

”Stop!” I yelp, making even Kiran put his food down. The silence that falls over is heavy, everyone’s eyes are on me.

I get up clearing my throat. ”Excuse me,” I murmur, my cheeks feeling hot. Ignoring my mother’s refusals, I walk out and straight to the living room, to the grand piano.

Swallowing my frustration, my fingers drag over the white keys, pressing down on each of them. Lazily I play the notes of Clair De Lune still found somewhere deep in my cortex from the piano lessons I took as a kid. I sit there for a while, in the twinkling light of the Christmas tree.

”I didn’t know you play,” Paige’s voice interrupts me, making me stop.

”I used to,” I admit, making space for her on the stool. There barely is any. I remember when Kiran and I were small enough to easily fit both of us.

”Keep playin’,” the blonde murmurs. She knows I’m not in a mood to talk about it. And I’m too upset to feel shy over my rusty skills. My fingers play the notes of Your Song, gently humming the melody. It’s almost impossible to stay focused under the burning gaze of the blonde beside me.

She merely watches as I play, the tension in the dining room a distant memory now. I consider kissing her. Until my father knocks on the archway, making me stop and Paige to drop her gaze.

”She’s some player huh,” he says as he walks closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. ”I always thought she could play professionally.”

”She’s the best,” Paige hums and her tone is so loving and gentle it makes my cheeks flush.

”Would you mind if I talk to my daughter just for a moment,” he asks. ”I’ll have her back to you in no time.”

”’Course,” Paige scrambles onto her feet but checks with me before leaving. I nod, letting her go. I move to the couch with him.

”Great kid,” he points towards the archway where Paige had disappeared just moments ago.

”Yeah,” I hum. ”The best.”

He stares at me with a strange look. Funny, you’d think that you know your parents through and through, every look and sound and their hidden meanings. But I have no idea what this particular gaze means.

”I wanted to apologize for my behaviour,” weird, he wasn’t one to apologize normally.

”It’s okay,” I smile dryly, playing with the hem of my knitted dress.

He scooches a little closer to me, like he’s about to tell me something important. I perk up, watching into his face. 

“You won’t understand until you’re a parent yourself,” he starts. “But all I want for you is happiness. Your mother too, though she has a strange way of showing it.”

I chuckle at his words.

“And if Jasper makes you happy, then I’m happy for you both.”

There’s a but coming.

“But,” there it is. “And maybe I’m wrong, but it doesn’t seem like he does.”

I clear my throat, dropping my gaze to my lap. I feel unsure of what to say. I know he’s right, but it’s different to say it outloud. To finally admit something I’ve known all along.

“That’s all,” he says, realising how flustered I got. “Just think about it,” he waves it off like he didn’t just have me nearly spiraling, grabbing a book from the coffee table and skimming through it. Until he puts it down again, avoiding my gaze.

“I’ve never seen you laugh so much or so loud since Paige came over,” he says with a lighthearted tone. But I have an inkling he means something else, something that makes my stomach churn. “You seem happy.”

Before I can answer, Kiran and mum barge into the room shifting the mood entirely. Of course, my mother ignored what happened in the dining room, like she ignored every problem.

“Love Actually time?” Kiran asks, taking a seat on the chair my father usually sits in.

“What’s Love Actually?” Paige asks as she enters the room too. Suddenly everything feels lighter.

“The best Christmas movie ever,” Kiran says. “We watch it every Christmas.”

“It is a British staple,” my mum chimes in. I make space for Paige in the corner of the couch as the movie starts playing. But my mind is elsewhere, somewhere between Jasper and my father’s words and the way my life might turn out. It’s enough to cause a headache, or maybe it’s the wine.

-

“Why are all these songs bangers?” I whisper to Izzie as we watch the movie. I’m fully invested, and happy to be included in something that felt like such an intimate family activity. A bowl of chocolate is being passed around, Rohan trying to hand it to his daughter mindlessly. But she won’t grab it.

Izzie’s dad leans forward and lets out a gentle laugh. “I think she’s asleep,” he whispers. And in that moment, to confirm his suspicions, her head lulls until it finds its home in the crook of my arm. I pray to God no one notices the way my cheeks turn bright pink.

“Yeah, I think so too,” I laugh, careful not to wake the girl up. Instead, almost instinctively, I wrap my arm around her and pull her in. It’s platonic enough to not seem suspicious. I think. Her scent lingers in the air, mixing with the Christmas tree sitting pretty in a corner. I want to have every Christmas like this.

The couch shifts slightly as Rohan gets up, his usually heavy steps light and careful. Grabbing a blanket from the edge of the chair, he walks over and tugs me and Izara under it. Mrs. Chopra turns, watchful from the opposite corner of the couch. Kiran looks too. But Rohan offers me a warm smile when my eyes meet his, and brushes a strand of Izzie’s hair off her face. She stirs, nuzzling her nose into me. But Rohan only smiles. And in that moment I know that he knows - and it feels like permission.

-

taglist: @lilpaigeyherbo @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@pb524830@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@avvwritesstufff@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges1vur@slut4uconnwbb@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omgimtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @enchantingesme @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paigebaby5 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife @nicebellee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @cowboybueckers

[nogodsinfoxholes]

Nicotine is insidious because the bad effects of it take a long time to build up. It seems fine and even all your health tests come back normal (or normal for you) for years. It could be ten years, twenty, thirty, then it hits. There’s no hangover and no significant feeling of “coming down”, there’s no crash, and the withdrawal is not *anywhere near* as horrible as withdrawal from other addictive drugs, and all it costs is 5-15 bucks to solve.

And it’s not like withdrawal makes addicts quit anyway (I know that well, I was a drug addict for nearly ten years). I didn’t start feeling any side effects — such as nausea — until a decade after smoking. It took my lungs and heart about that long too, and I already had asthma (personal gripe but when people say “I’ll never smoke because I have asthma/some illness” it’s 🙄 because it can depend how tolerable it is and you’d be surprised not only how easy it is to get addicted but what you’re willing to put up with once you are)

And, menthol is not addictive in itself but even the CDC declared smokers of menthol have a significantly harder time quitting and it causes more adverse health effects. Problem is you don’t really notice this either — the addition of the menthol is basically a “cover up” so you don’t feel any discomfort in your lungs or throat. It tastes better and is easier to smoke, making it more enjoyable and in turn, more addictive.

Many queer people smoke menthols, and companies even directly targeted ads of menthols to this group, along with black people and the mentally ill (Nicotine doesn’t help your anxiety and never will, at most it’s treating the anxiety of your nicotine levels dropping, or the actual action of smoking and just being able to take a smoke break can be calming).

Cigarettes and vaping are addictions of habit. Nicotine, as a stand alone substance, is not nearly as addictive, or destructive. But there aren’t really other ways to consume nicotine except for products to help you quit.

If you already use nicotine, an app I’d like to recommend is this one:

Smoke Free, an app that’s been peer reviewed. IDK how good the sub with sessions is because I never paid for it, but there’s a counter, there’s motivation, (like you can see how much money you’ve saved and if you smoke just a pack daily it’ll blow your mind), there’s lots of advice, a diary, etc.

To note, this app does approve of using vaping to help you quit initially (you don’t just trade tobacco for a vape and call it a day). It’s a topic of debate in these circles though. While vaping does remove a ton of harmful things in cigarettes, it has other risks, and you should never think it’s “safe” and never EVER start vaping if you don’t smoke.

Here’s a good link from Harvard and information about EVALI (e-vaping associated lung injury) but it does run down all the risks of vaping in general as well:

(Next is for those in the US, check your own country for this!)

If you’re very addicted and can’t seem to quit cold turkey or with patches/gum no matter how hard you try, and other meds are ineffective or you can’t take them (Chantix is one my doctor would not give to me due to my history of suicide attempts) then good news because there are two prescription nicotine products you can ask your doctor for!

I got the nasal spray myself:

A lot of insurances DO cover these now — although it took my doctor nearly a month to get coverage under my Medicare, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the same is the case for Medicaid, which many people are on!

I quit by vaping disposable vapes then using the nasal spray, and I’m still not out of the woods yet. My recommendation is during this time, before you drop it for good, is to start changing your habits and behavior slowly.

Like having a cigarette after sex or eating? Don’t.

Smoke in your car while driving? Stop doing that.

Have a smoke break at your job? Skip it.

Always need to pause during a movie to go smoke or can’t go the entire movie without one? Keep trying.

Roll tobacco into your joint? Stop!

(‘smoke’ here refers to vaping or any nicotine product. You get the idea! Try lots of distraction at first, or break a craving down in 15 minute segments. Or less. When I quit drugs I was literally going “I just need to make it through this minute…” Push yourself through to your set interval again and again instead of thinking of it in terms of quitting for good and it will help ease your anxiety some. Movement, especially repetitive movement like chores or playing a game were great distractions for me when it came to cigarettes.)

“Identifying your triggers” can feel pointless or even overwhelming at first (‘what DOESN’T make me want to use? lol’ but it’s important for this very reason — it’s hard as hell to simply avoid many of them). And never reward yourself for not vaping/smoking by… smoking or vaping. That doesn’t work. I’ve seen that advice before and uh, no.

I always see these posts and that’s great! But hopefully here’s some more information about the risks and reality of nicotine and smoking/vaping products + some help and advice for people currently using them.

Also, please do NOT use ADHD meds you’re not prescribed or more than prescribed to try to stop smoking. Or to avoid smoking! That may be setting you up for another life-destroying addiction (and — I’ll be blunt — stims made me want to smoke more so that method could end with you just using both, and drugs are what made me try cigarettes in the first place. It intensified the euphoria to me, and it’s pretty common to see drug addicts who use nicotine). But if you think you might have ADHD and some Addy (or similar) would help you day in and day out, then look into it! Hopefully the latter was what ^ meant.

if you’re a baby trans and you haven’t started smoking cigarettes or vaping yet don’t. it’s actually not that hot or interesting. It will just cause you ungodly frustrations and suffering and cost you a bunch of money and be next to impossible to quit

[lowkeyerror]

Perfect Woman

Yelena Belova x Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Notes: Requested, angst, fluff, domestic at times, Thunderbolts Spoilers, injuries, canon typical violence, probable misuse of medical jargon, you're Kate's sister

Summary: You're Kate’s older sister that moved away and became a doctor. Your mother's arrest has you moving back home to watch over Kate. The only thing is when you get back you find out that Kate is a member of a certin team of heroes.

An: Been working on this for awhile. I also just want to say I love you LA if you're out there stay safe and continue to stand up for what you believe in and Fuck ICE. (Argue with the wall if you disagree 🤷‍♀️)

Masterlist | Masterlist 2

Kate never shut up about her sister. Any chance the young Avenger had to mention you she did. Older, financially independent, and a doctor, you were someone she looked up to.

You had long moved out of New York before your mom’s arrest. The city felt too cramped, you wanted something more of a rural life. For a while you had it. The businesses of the of hospital life followed by quaint nights in your small suburban home.

It was very nice and very simple. At least until word of your mother’s arrest got back to you. Things quickly became complicated. You’d be going back to New York. It wasn’t something you’d have to debate. The thought of leaving Kate to deal with this on her own was enough for you to uproot the life you had built and start over again.

“You are anxious Kate Bishop. Your leg it’s going bounce, bounce, bounce. What is the matter?”

Kate avoids Yelena’s eyes, “She doesn't know about the whole Avengers thing.”

Yelena shrugs, “So, you tell her now.”

Kate shakes her head, “How? Hey, Y/n I know you moved back home because of me, but I dropped out of college to become an Avenger. Did you want to go see mom in prison?”

Yelena rolls her eyes, “Always with the dramatics Kate. Just be honest. The way you have described her, I’m sure she will understand. Plus, you sweeten the deal with that job offer at the tower. What is there to be upset about?”

“I just don't want her to be disappointed,” Kate sighs.

Kate and Yelena are waiting for you at the airport. They’d be taking you straight to the compound to get settled. So, it’s imperative that Kate decide what she’s going to tell you now.

“When I found out my sister was an Avenger I was surprised. I was worried and a little hurt that she didn’t tell me, but most of all I was proud. I was happy that she turned her life around and became a symbol for the people,” Yelena shares with Kate.

Yelena didn’t talk about Natasha a lot. There was a lot of pain that she still felt. So, when she did, Kate never took it lightly. The archer drew in a breath before nodding a few times.

“I understand.”

It’s about 15 minutes later, when Kate catches a glimpse of you at the airport. She stands abruptly and Yelena watches her with careful eyes.

“You see her?”

“I do.”

There’s something that keeps the brunette in her place. Yelena stands and drops a hand on Kate’s shoulder, “Then let’s go.”

Kate begins to walk towards you with Yelena by her side. Her strides are smaller than usual. Her entire body feels like it is vibrating.

“Kate,” you say her name when you spot her.

Whatever turmoil the young Avenger feels temporarily exits her system as she begins to run towards you. You stumble back as she wraps her arms around you tightly.

You place one hand in her hair and the other holds her against you. Honestly it had been quite a while since you’d seen each other in person. Part of you felt guilty for it.

“Missed you,” she whispers against you.

“I’m sorry for not visiting more often. I should’ve been here.”

She separates from you, “It’s not your fault. What mom did, we couldn’t have known.”

You sigh, “I know, I just hate that you had to go through that alone. I would’ve come sooner, but I had a lot to sort out before moving back here.”

“You didn’t have to come back,” Kate says.

You chuckle, “And leave you to deal with all of this on your own? I’d be the world’s worst sister.”

Kate clears her throat, “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay, but who is miss small, blonde, and silent? Best friend, co-worker, girlfriend?”

The blonde scrunches up her face, “Yelena.”

“Y/n, it’s nice to meet someone close to Kate. She’s never been one to connect with others."

Kate’s face heats at the notion, “Could you not embarrass me in front of her please?”

Yelena rolls her eyes, “Kate, in our first meeting I found out that you only owned 1 fork. Your sister has not embarrassed you any more in my eyes.”

“I like her, she’s funny,” you say regarding Yelena.

“Ok, enough of that,” Kate claps her hands together.

You laugh a little, “I’m only teasing Katie. Now what is it you want to tell me.”

The energy shifts when Kate looks into your eyes. There’s something more serious in the air. Kate takes in a large breath, readying herself. You wait patiently, though you have some nerves rising at this point.

“I’m an Avenger.”

You hold eye contact with her for a brief moment, but it falls apart when you start laughing.

Yelena and Kate share a look before turning their attention back to you.

“Good one. You’re an Avenger and I’m an astrophysicist,” you can feel the tears streaming from the corners of your eyes.

“Y/n, I’m not joking.”

Your laughter dies out slowly. You look at your sister and then Yelena, seeing neither of them laughing.

Your brow furrows and this time when you chuckle there’s an airy disbelief behind it, “ You’re being serious?”

Kate reaches for your hand, but you take a step back from her, “Y/n please just let me explain.”

“Explain it then,” your arms fold over your chest.

Right there in the airport Kate runs through how it all happened. From meeting Clint, to Kingpin, to your mom. She folds Yelena into her story describing how they were enemies but had since reconciled.

She skips over a few mundane months until she once again ran into Yelena. She described doing shadow work, but not under Valentina. The story gets complicated to follow in some parts with a lot of it revolving around some guy named Bob, and then all of a sudden she’s an Avenger.

“If you don’t believe her, we can show you the Wheaties,” Yelena chimes in when Kate finishes.

Kate glares at the blonde, “Ignore her. I’m sorry for not telling you. I just didn’t know when or how to bring it up.”

You run a hand through your hair, “So what does this mean Kate? For me, for us?”

Kate struggles to find the words. Yelena seeing the distress on her friend’s face decides to step in.

“It means you live at the tower with us. Kate has pulled some strings for you to work in our medical facilities,” Yelena answers your question.

You wanted to protest. This somehow seemed unfair. You had uprooted your life for this, and while it wasn’t necessarily a downgrade, it wasn’t what you signed up for. More than anything, you couldn’t believe that Kate would keep this from you. Yet one look at your sister, and you decide to at least pretend to be okay with it.

She looks like she could disappear from in front of you.

You put a hand on her shoulder, “Okay.”

Her head snaps up, “Okay?”

You pull her back into you, “Yes, but no more secrets. Now let’s go, I’m kind of tired.”

“Just like that?”

Yelena starts walking ahead, “Kate, let’s just listen to your sister and not question it.”

You nod, “Did I already say I like her?”

Kate grumbles, “Let’s go.”

Being back in the city took some getting used to. There were certain things you missed, the weather, the coffee, the hustle of it all. There was definitely no shortage of adrenaline rushes in the city. You also get to spend a little more time with Kate.

Emphasis on little.

The life of an Avenger is a busy one. The life of their medical staff feels even busier. It doesn't seem like there is a single mission where someone isn’t coming back injured. It isn’t always major, but they were always stubborn about it.

“It’s fine, it’s not that deep of a cut,” Bucky holds his face as he speaks.

“It could get infected, and you know you’ll pick at the scab if I don’t bandage it,” you argue already prepping to help the man.

He sighs, “You’re right.”

You clean the cut, “Of course, I’m right. Now be still.”

“Y/N WE HAVE A SITUATION!”

You sigh putting a bandage on Bucky when the rest of the Avengers run in, “What seems to be the- oh shit.”

“Bobby might’ve cut his finger a little,” Walker points at the blood soaked paper towels wrapped around Bob’s finger.

“A little? It’s hanging on by a thread John,” Ava rushes out.

Bucky moves out of your seat and Yelena nearly shoves Bob in.

You can see a haphazardly made tourniquet, “If it’s even remotely attached then this will be a lot easier.”

You can see them collectively affirm that it is still attached.

“I was just cooking dinner, and the knife slipped and…” the man began to ramble.

You meet his eyes, “It’s no big deal, I’ll get you your finger back in no time. Just need to see the damage, clean the wound and sew it back on. You think you can handle that?”

He nods, “No problem.”

He's probably the calmest of the group. You block out the chaos of the bunch as you begin to unwrap the gauze from his finger.

“I think I’m going to puke,” Kate watches mortified.

“One person can stay for moral support, but the rest of you have to wait outside,” you announce when you get a good look at his finger.

Yelena stays and the rest funnel out with light protest. She sits on Bob’s side holding his intact hand.

“No more knives for you,” Yelena says.

Bob protests and looks for you to help, “It was an accident.”

“Let the man live a little Yelena. He’s got to do something while you’re all out saving the world. He won’t be cutting off anymore fingers, but if he does I’m here to put him back together just like with the rest of you.”

Yelena relents, “Fine, but no knives until you’re healed.”

Bob looks at you again.

You shake your head, “That’s fair Bobby. I’m going to start the stitch it’s going to hurt a bit but it’ll be quick.”

He squirms a bit in discomfort as you reattach his finger. Once you’re done you wrap it and put it in a small brace.

“So Dr. Bishop what is the damage?”

You smile a bit, “They were being dramatic it’s not that bad. Luckily it was mostly your finger tip, so no damage to your bones or tendons. It’s a pretty superficial cut. Just come see me everyday for the next week or two so I can check the process. Don’t get it wet, I think that's it.”

“Thanks Y/n,” he stands awkwardly.

You pull him into a quick hug, “Any time Bobby.”

He exits and you expect the blonde to follow after him, but she doesn't.

“Not tired of us yet?”

You start to clean up the mess around you, “How could I ever get tired of The Avengers?”

“I don’t actually think it’s that hard.”

You chuckle at her words, “Well you must be used to the Avengers charm.”

“Charm? Are you sure you are without injury? Have you hit your head on something?”

You shrug, “Maybe you just need to come work in the med bay. They’re a lot nicer when you’re patching them up.”

She hums, “So you will teach me and then I can become your second in command.”

You give her a teasing look, “Kate tells me that you’re the best on the team when it comes to in the moment first aid.”

Yelena grows bashful, “Me? No.”

“I think the tourniquet was pretty good,” you comment.

Her hand finds the back of her neck, “It was a part of my training.”

“Always so impressive Lena. Is there anything you can’t do?” You give her a toothy grin.

She blushes at your compliment, “I can’t cook.”

“Maybe, I can teach you that instead. Bobby’s the only person who can actually cook on the team and with his injury, he won't be in the kitchen any time soon.”

Yelena nods, “We could… attempt to finish the dinner he started?”

You take her hand as you slip out of the room, “Follow me sous chef Belova.”

She let you drag her into the kitchen. The scene in front of you was comical. The remaining Avengers were staring at the ingredients and kitchen appliances with disdain as Bob tried to talk them through the steps.

You clap your hands together, grabbing their attention, “Everyone out, Lena and I will cook.”

Kate snorts, “She can’t cook.”

You glare at your sister, “None of you can.”

“I can cook,” Bob says.

You ruffle his hair a bit, “I know you can Bobby, but you’re the only one.”

“So she gets to stay because?” Walker questions.

“Because I’m cooking and I said so, unless you’d rather finish up here,” you arch an eyebrow.

Bucky is the first to put down something, “Let us know when it’s ready.”

Walker follows his lead, but not before looking between you and Yelena a few times, “Good luck.”

Ava leaves next, “I’ll have you know that I’m actually quite decent in the kitchen.”

Then Alexei, “Lena cooking is like taking down enemy, precision is everything. I have faith in you.”

Kate and Bob linger a bit longer than the others. Bob tells you the recipe and then departs with a smile. Kate on the other hand sticks around.

“Kate Bishop do you not trust my skills?” Yelena says dicing up the vegetables.

“Not particularly,” the brunette answers.

“Kate, be nice or get out,” you warn her.

Kate raises her hands in surrender, “Fine, but I think Walker had a valid question.”

You let out a sigh, “Lena asked to help, that’s why she gets to stay.”

Kate eyes the blonde, “Lena asked to stay? Interesting.”

“It really isn’t,” the blonde glares at the blonde.

Kate nods to herself, “I guess I’ll leave you guys to it then.”

“Bye Kate,” you respond.

She pauses her movements to stare at you. “Goodbye sister,” she turns to Yelena giving her the same intensity, “Goodbye best friend.”

Yelena squirms under the gaze, but mumbles a quick bye.

“Has she always been like that?”

You nod, “She’s always been a bit weird, but I prefer her that way. Means she’s regulating her emotions.”

Yelena nods in agreement, “I’ve seen how she gets when she’s in her head.”

“Our mom was always harder on her. She wanted Kate to be more… traditional than I was,” you frown.

Yelena gives you her full attention. You keep your focus on the food, but you can feel her gaze on you.

“In what way?”

You search for an answer, something less vulnerable, but you don’t find anything but the truth, “Someone more willing to conform to societal norms. A girl, a real one. Someone she could throw into dresses and skirts. A girl that loved dolls, and flowers, and boys. A girl that would settle for being a nurse instead of wanting to be a doctor.”

“You are a real girl; a woman. Clothes and hobbies are not what define girlhood. Femininity is only a small aspect of what it means to be a woman. You and Kate are strong-willed, brave, smart, and there’s beauty in that; in you.”

You shake your head with a small laugh, “Tell that to my mother.”

Yelena furrows her brow. The vegetables are forgotten as she makes her way to you over by the stove. You’re stirring some things in a pot. She grabs your wrist and turns off the burner.

“Yelena-”

“Do you think that I’m less than a woman because of my job?”

Your eyes widen a bit, “No Lena, I wouldn’t-”

“What about because I can’t have children biologically?”

“No.”

She tilts her head a bit, “Then because I don’t wear dresses, because I cut my hair short, and because of my affinity for foul language?”

“No, but it’s different,” you try to explain avoiding her gaze.

She gently tilts your chin so that you’re looking at her, “Are all of you Bishop’s this stubborn?”

“Yeah,” it’s a whisper from your lips; the proximity finally getting to you. Her skin is warm where it touches yours.

“You’re the perfect woman.”

Your breath hitches when the words leave her mouth. You watch as her eyes slowly drift to your lips before meeting your gaze.

“Hey guys is the food almost ready,” Bob entering the kitchen interrupts the moment.

Yelena takes in a soft breathe before turning to Bob, “Yeah we’re almost done.”

He looks a bit embarrassed when he speaks again, “Ok, just uh come get us when you’re- it’s done.”

You return your attention to the stove, putting a little space between Yelena and yourself, “For sure Bob.”

He smiles a bit before exiting the kitchen.

Yelena is only out of your space for a moment as she collects the vegetables and tosses them into the pot you’re tending to. She wordlessly leans against the counter eyeing you as you watch the soup. A few minutes pass by before you’re lifting a spoon from the pot.

“Taste,” you command, holding the spoon out to her.

She’s deliberate as she leans in to blow on the spoon before enclosing her mouth around it. She moans lightly when the flavor hits her tongue. You’re melting at the sound.

“It’s really good,” she praises.

You simply let out a satisfied hum in response.

Yelena eyes you, “Do you want to taste it?”

You sense there’s a double meaning to her words. It has a heat crawling from the base of your neck to the tip of your ears. You nod for a moment before finally saying, “Yes.”

When she steps into your space you don’t move. When her hand reaches to hold your face, you let her. Then when she pauses briefly, when her lips are centimeters from yours, you lean in.

Her lips are light and soft against yours. Delicate as she kisses you with just a hint of doubt and uncertainty. You can feel her breath labor against yours. It’s as if she’s fighting to contain herself. You meet her with the same softness, scared to end anything.

Yelena is the one to pull away. Her grin is teasing and lopsided, “How did it taste?”

You roll your eyes as your skin heats even more, “Much sweeter than I anticipated.”

From that moment on there was something between Yelena and yourself. It wasn’t long before you started dating officially. The team all knew even though you never officially told anyone other than Kate.

Your sister approved, but she did threaten the both you. She warned you against hurting her best friend and she threatened Yelena not to hurt you. It was pretty comical even though the archer was dead serious.

You loved being with Yelena. She wasn’t like anyone you had ever dated. Her level of care an attentiveness was something that you had never experienced before.

The only downside was how worried you got when she was working. You obviously cared for all the Avengers as they were like your family at this point. However when it came to Kate and Yelena, you were always extra on edge.

“What am I going to do with you and Kate gone?”

Kate has been on an undercover mission for about a week. You’ve only been allowed minimal contact with her and it’s taking a small toll on you. Now the team is sending Yelena on a separate mission. She doesn’t tell you all the details, but ensures it’s nothing complicated.

“I’ll only be gone a few hours and Kate’s coming home at the end of the week,” Yelena says climbing into bed.

You turn to face her, “I know but still.”

She senses your anxiety pulling you into her, “Come here.”

You squeal at her strength, “Lena.”

She smiles, “Everything will be okay detka. I promise.”

You curl farther into her, “Just try to come back in one piece.”

“And what if I want to visit the doctor’s office?”

You glare at her playfully, “Your doctor makes house calls. No injury necessary.”

“My doctor?”

You kiss the side of her neck, “Your doctor.”

“I guess I’ll have to update mu insurance,” she jokes.

“You sound like Alexei,” you mumble against her skin

She scoffs at you, “You are lucky you are so cute right now.”

You laugh at her words. It’s quiet after that. Neither of you are asleep, just soaking in the feeling of being together. You sigh lightly against her skin, your arms tighten around her.

“You’re going to be gone when I wake up?” You ask breaking the quiet.

“Probably,” Yelena looks at your relaxed figure.

“I’ll miss you.”

Yelena kisses your forehead, “I will miss you too.”

Those are your last words to each other as you succumb to slumber.

Yelena isn’t there when you wake up in the morning. It sours your mood, keeping you in bed longer than usual.

When you finally do get up, you find yourself dressing in one of her sweaters. Your feet pad against the floor as you travel to the kitchen of the tower.

“Missing her already?” Ava is the one to make the comment.

You give her a tired glare, “What gave it away?”

Ava shrugs, “Can’t tell if it’s the sweater or the absolute disdain on your face.”

“It’s easier when only one of them is gone. Now I have to worry about my girlfriend and my sister,” you say as you lazily prepare some cereal.

“The rest of us are here. How about we do some team bonding or something?”

You raise an eyebrow, “I’m not on the team? Plus since when are you willing to purposefully spend time with Walker and Alexei.”

“Y/n, don’t make me do that corny thing where I say we’re a family. It’s way too early for that.”

Her words make you chuckle, “Ok, I guess if everyone agrees then I don’t have a choice.”

“Let me round them up then,” she states and begins to exit the kitchen.

Not even a full ten minutes later you’re all gathered in the tv room. Everyone else matches your energy by dressing in comfortable clothes. You find yourself curled up on the couch next to Bob.

“So, what’re we watching?” Walker poses the question.

“I like the show with the tow trucks,” Alexei says first.

You nod, “I could watch some trash tv.”

“Didn’t they push the lady off a parking garage once?” Bucky mentions.

“Yep,” you and Alexei say at the same time.

So you sit there with the team, maybe a little too invested in the show. By the time you finish the first season, it feels like you are one with the couch.

“You guys want to play Uno?” Bob asks nonchalantly.

“We can play if you guys are ready to lose,” Walker starts speaking, “I’m undefeated in Uno.”

You scoff, “You expect us to believe you’ve never lost Uno.”

“Well yeah, because it’s the truth.”

Bucky smirks, “Only one way to find out then.”

You play a few rounds, Walker winning each time. The look on his face becomes more smug with each victory he claims under his belt.

“Ok, so how are you cheating?”

He looks at you with fake shock, “I’m not cheating I’m simply using strategy.”

Ava chimes in, “I say we check his cards at the start of the round.”

“Now that’s cheating,” Walker points out.

“Ok, this last round how about we just all gang up on him,” Alexei says.

“That’s also cheating,” Walker proclaims throwing his hands up.

“Perfectly legal,” Bucky says dealing out the cards.

It takes an absurd amount of time, but you guys band together to keep Walker from winning.

“Looks like Bob just handed you your first loss,” you say smugly.

“Does this even count?”

Bucky puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, “Oh it counts John.”

Everything is blissful until Bucky gets a notification. He shoots up from his seat expeditiously. The movement startles the rest of the team. He looks at everyone but you.

“We have to go. Now,” he’s rushing to suit up.

Everyone stands immediately.

“What happened?” Ava questions.

That’s when Bucky finally looks at you, “Yelena needs backup.”

You feel something inside you snap. Everything you had done to relax had been effectively forgotten with that one sentence.

“Is she okay?” Bob asks worry etched onto his features.

“We will bring her home,” Bucky promises not taking his eyes off of you.

Alexei doubles the sentiment, “I will make sure of it.”

You watch as they leave in the quinjet. Bob tries to comfort you, but it doesn’t work. You change out of your lazy clothes into your work attire.

Bob attempts to stop you, “Hey, we don’t know what’s going on. We don’t have to assume the worst.”

You just sigh, “I know, but even if she doesn’t have a scratch on her. I want to be the one to check her out. I’m going to prep some things.”

So you go to the med bay and prep the area for Yelena to return. You pace while you wait for her return.

When she arrives nothing is calm. You see your sister rushing into the medical facilities with Yelena in her arms. Her frantic movements sends the facility into a similar frenzy.

You’re rushing over as they put your girlfriend on the stretcher. She’s in bad shape, but you don’t cry.

“Let’s get her on the table, now,” you take charge of the situation.

Some of the staff looks at you with some worry.

“I said now,” you barely refrain from yelling.

Your words spring them into action. You follow to the operating room. In this situation no one questioned as you began to act as the head surgeon.

You are somewhere else as you asses the woman on the table. Everything you say and do is completely professional. It takes everything in you to be collected as you work. Your heart is screaming, but your hands are steady as you operate on her.

When it’s all said and done, she’s stable. The bruising and cuts that littered her body were superficial to the internal damage. Most of her ribs were broken, it was a miracle that none of her vital organs were punctured. However there was internal bleeding that needed to be stopped. On the outside her eye was swollen shut and her left leg was broken.

You can’t linger in the room that they end up putting Yelena in. You barely make it out of the med bay. In the hall you slide your back against the wall. It’s as if your legs collapse right under you.

Sobs hit you hard. There’s nothing you can do as you lose control of your breathing.

Kate comes across you first. She’s instantly kneeling down in front of you. She ignores the ache in her muscles as she does so.

“Y/n, can I touch you?”

At the sound of your sister’s voice you fling yourself into her arms. She hold you tightly and rubs your back.

“She’s going to be ok,” Kate says to you.

You nod against her, “I know. I made sure, I had to make sure.”

Your hands shake as you close your eyes, you can feel her blood against your skin. You open your eyes getting a blurry look at your sister. Your hand reaches up to her face.

“You’re hurt too.” The realization has you scrambling to your feet. “Is everyone else, okay? The team are they-”

She stands with you, “They’re okay. A little banged up but everyone has seen a doctor. We’re all okay.”

“How are you even here? I thought you had a mission?”

Kate nods, “I did. Yelena sent out the distress message and I was closer to her than the rest of the team. I made the decision to go after her.”

“Was she like that when you got there?”

Kate bites her lip to keep herself from crying , “ She was down but they didn't care, they were all over her. Then I showed up they diverted their attention to me. I was doing all I could to draw them away from her, but there were just so many of them. I was getting overwhelmed, I don't know how or when she got up but she did. We held them off until the team showed up. As soon as the last enemy was down, she just collapsed.”

You wrap your arms around her, “Oh Kate.”

Then she’s crying on your shoulder, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn't protect her. I should’ve been better.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you tell her no room for argument in your tone. You pull away to wipe the tears off of her face. “You did everything you could do. If you weren't there, I don't know if the others would've got to her in time.”

“Do you regret coming back?”

“I could never regret being here with you. This team is like the family I’ve always wanted. Yes, it’s hard when stuff like this happens, but Kate, I love you. I love this, all of it. I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure your sister.

She nods to herself, “You promise?”

“I promise. Now let me get a look at you,” you start to pull Kate into the med bay.

“I already saw a doctor.”

You shake your head, “I know, but this for peace of mind.”

She doesn’t say anything else, allowing you to check the other doctor’s work. She isn’t as nearly banged up as Yelena, but she’s still got some serious injuries going on. There’s some deep lacerations across her skin and some bruising around her ribs.

“Fit as a fiddle,” she says when you’re done.

“Nowhere near that,” you roll your eyes.

A knock on the door breaks the moment as someone enters the room. Bucky stands at the door looking timidly between the two of you. He can hardly look you in the eyes.

“Yelena is awake, she’s asking for you.”

“James,” you call him out. It forces him to look at you properly. “It’s okay.”

He hangs his head, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have sent her alone. I didn’t know.”

“Bucky, you couldn’t have known,” you reason with him.

“This won’t happen again, I swear on my life,” he says.

You put your hand on his shoulder, “You’re the Avengers, you get hurt sometimes.”

He nods, but you can tell he doesn’t fully believe it. Bucky doesn’t say anything else, instead opting to lead you toward Yelena.

The rest of the team stands outside of the blonde’s room. You give them a sad smile.

“She wants to see you first,” Alexei explains their position.

“Okay,” is all you manage to say.

When you go into the room, the blonde is sitting up. It almost looks like she’s digging her palms into her eyes. The sound of the door makes her head shoot up.

When she meets your eyes her features take on a lopsided smile. You can’t resist the urge to rush over to her. Your arms wrap around her delicately. You know any pressure would only hurt her.

Though you try to hold them back a few tears slip past your eyes. Yelena’s lips touch your forehead.

She whisper against it, “I’m here.”

“Thought I was going to lose you.”

She lets her smile grow, “I told you the staff at the med bay would never allow it.”

“And I told you, your doctor makes house calls,” you rebut.

“I just wanted to see them so much, a call wasn’t quick enough,” Yelena bluffs.

You arch an eyebrow, “Some doctor she is if you’re going through all this trouble.”

She looks at you earnestly, “I love her.”

You feel your heart start to hammer in your chest. Your eyes widen as you look at her, “You what?”

“I love you.”

You grab her face softly, but urgently. Your pull her closer to you fluidly. When your lips touch hers, you feel complete again. You try your best to restrain yourself, not wanting to hurt her.

“I love you too.”

She laughs a bit against your lips before wincing. You try to pull back but she doesn’t let you, “ You are perfect.”

You blush at her words, “Lena.”

“The perfect woman,” she doubles down.

“The drugs are finally hitting you,” you say barely containing your smile

She lays back down, staring at the ceiling, “They are, but that doesn’t make you any less perfect my love.”

“You’re the perfect one Lena,” you flip it on her.

It’s now her blushing, “Even with all my ailments? You think so?”

“Especially with your ailments.”

She grabs your hand placing a gentle kiss in the back, “Thank you. For fixing me up.“

“ Anytime and every time.”

You sit with her alone for a few more minutes before she allows everyone else in. They’re all timid as they offer the blonde apologies. She shakes them off, not blaming anyone except the aggressors.

She doesn’t let anyone leave until they all believe that they are not at fault. Yelena does what she does best, and lights up the room. Even in this state her attitude shines brightly through and unto others.

When the rest of the team exits, you stay. She scoots over in the hospital bed, and pats the seat next to her. You try to argue that it’s not good for her ribs or her leg, she ignores you. Yelena pulls you into the bed and snuggles against you.

You’re happy to feel her against you, sighing at the feeling of being close to her.

“I love you,” she mumbles against you.

You allow your eyes to close, deciding to fully relax in the presence of your girlfriend.

“I love you too.”

[tarotwithcherwi]

What Will Your Future Wedding Be Like?

🌙✨ Hello loves! I am cherwi & welcome to my very first tarot pick-a-card post. Today, we’re diving deep into the vibes of your future wedding. 💍🤍

I’m here to grow and share, so respectful feedback is super welcome! Let’s keep it kind and supportive—criticism, yes; disrespect, no. 💕 🙏

Note: This is a collective reading, take what resonates & leave what doesn’t. Take a deep breath & close your eyes. Try to pick one pile or two that you are the most drawn to…

PILE 1. PILE 2. PILE 3.

౨ৎ PILE I.

🎧 Songs: Ordinary —Alex Warren (wedding version) & Love Story —Taylor Swift

✧ Cards Pulled:

Seven of Swords, Six of Pentacles (rx)

Four of Swords (rx)

Two of Wands (rx), Eight of Pentacles, Ace of Swords (rx)

The Sun, The Hanged Man, Knight of Swords (rx)

Ten of Wands (rx)

Queen of Pentacles

The Devil (rx)

…

I got so emotional during this pile. So you, your spouse, or people at your wedding are going to be really emotional at the wedding; this is such a happy and loving moment. When I was shuffling for this group the cards came out so smooth, smoother than any other pile. There might be someone be saying “FINALLY.”

Because this wedding has been long awaited. Your wedding is a merge of two families, both families could have offered their support with wedding preparations or might have been so happy to witness your guys union. Your marriage, your love was rooted for, shipped even, maybe cried over.

I am envisioning a beautiful Catholic Church or chapel, cottage core greenery, lace, a white dress with a very long train, classy bun with pearls. This wedding is not a chill event. This is a wedding people have fought and prepared for. People have been praying, manifesting, crying in group chats about this love and preparing until midnight for. There may have been delays, but now it’s go-time. Everyone is buzzing with excitement.

Your spouse is absolutely floored by your beauty and appearance. The Sun shows they are glowing—maybe crying, laughing, and stunned by you. They had to surrender to loves timing and maybe there were doubts along the way but this wedding is reaffirmation of everything. They are not rushing this moment. From the moment you walk down the aisle, they want to slow time down; they want to memorize everything about this moment. Your genuine smile. Your dress. The way your eyes beam with happiness and tears.

You in this moment are finally putting the weight of planning, the pressure, the “will this happen?” fears. You feel relieved, open, and ready to receive the work you’ve done. At your wedding, you are enjoying, loving, and living in the moment. Your wedding venue is classy, timeless, luxurious in a grounded natural way. You’re near a garden estate, vineyard, or old chapel. The energy is mature, abundant, and feminine. Think lace, florals, hand tied bouquets, and maybe a family heirloom is involved.

A standout moment in your wedding could be the both of you releasing fears, insecurities, control, or karmic patterns. You guys are choosing love over fear. This wedding didn’t plan itself. There were decisions, sacrifices, late night tears. Maybe detours or years of distance. But, the Eight of Wheels says you kept working and kept hoping. Now, you guys aren’t just speaking truth and wishing for love, your living the hell out of it. This is the kind of wedding where people will sob before the ceremony even starts. The connection is so obviously real, the love is so pure and undeniable that it softens even the most cynical guest. There’s classical music playing while petals float in the breeze, your person looking at you like your the miracle and star they wished for. This pile is for the lovers who almost gave up love, but didn’t.

౨ৎ PILE II.

🎧 Songs: Love Story —Indila, If You Love Me for Me —Barbie, We Can’t Be Friends (Orchestral)—Ariana Grande

✧ Cards Pulled:

Death, Two of Cups (rx), Three of Pentacles

Five of Wands, Nine of Swords (rx), Eight of Pentacles (rx), The Devil

The Chariot (rx), The Fool

Knight of Cups (rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Swords (rx), Judgement (sideways)

King of Pentacles, Five of Swords

Queen of Wands (rx), The Lovers

…

OKAY. This wedding is giving luxury & glam. This is the type of wedding that is going to be extravagant and beautiful. I’m envisioning destination wedding, diamonds, fireworks, candle lights and soft ocean breeze. It’s romantic and cinematic quality. It could be a instagram worthy wedding so I wouldn’t be surprised by the guests hoarding the bathroom taking mirror selfies. This could be a coastal or international destination— someplace where the wind is cool and warm and the sunset like liquid gold as you hold hands with your spouse while walking the beach.

The family might have had opinions on the relationship or some drama, but it ends in awe of your wedding. You could have a huge diamond ring or unique ring. Perhaps the style of the wedding and venue is extra. I’m seeing a lot of diamonds and lace embroidery with pearls on the dress. There could be a lot of people at the wedding—you or the groom or both could have big families or could invite a lot of people. This wedding is quite cinematic—it’s like the K-drama finale or Bollywood wedding extravaganza—there could be a bit of drama behind the scenes regarding you guys or the wedding itself. It’s like tension and passion wrapped in bow. You guys are the type of couple who has worked hard on their relationship or on the future/legacy you want to build together. It’s giving power couple that have fought through some chaos, generational patterns, have rebuilt themselves for this union. For you guys, the wedding is a new chapter that is leaving the past behind. This isn’t some love story, it was earned by both.

Your spouse could have been through some rough patches in their life or even in the relationship or could have had internal battles. They could have wanted to rush healing, but they learned that real love is takes time and is built upon not burned through.

You on the other hand are taking a leap of faith. You may have hesitated at times unsure of where this relationship was going, but you chose to surrender and trust the process or path. You’ve learned to let go of needing control and just trust your intuition or the risk that followed to get into this union.

Someone (maybe your spouse) could have had this big moment during the wedding perhaps a speech, an action that shows you are their person, their only person. There might have been a little family tension that was bubbling under or maybe some guests that were raising their eyebrows, but the King of Wheels shows security. Your spouse chose you publicly and proudly. You might have dimmed your light in the past, felt unchosen, or told your “too much.” But this union mirrors back to you, this union was meant to happen even if some things didn’t go to plan. You and your spouse could mirror each other in many ways. While I was channeling for this reading clumps of cards were coming out. That told me there are A LOT of layers to this wedding/union maybe its expectation, secrets, karma, family, or love. But, this wedding is the wedding of the century, you guys are the couple that chose each other against odds and other people’s nosy expectations and opinions. 

౨ৎ PILE III.

🎧 Songs: Video Games—Lana Del Rey & My Love Mine All Mine—Mitsuki

✧ Cards Pulled:

Seven of Swords, Six of Pentacles (rx)

The Hermit, Eight of Pentacles

Three of Cups

Six of Wands (rx), The Devil (rx), Eight of Swords (rx), Three of Pentacles, Death (rx)

Ace of Wands, Five of Swords (rx), Six of Cups (rx)

Ten of Wands, King of Swords (rx), King of Pentacles, Two of Swords (rx), Strength (rx)

Page of Pentacles, Knight of Pentacles (rx)

…

Before I started this reading I had the belief that this was a super traditional pile, but there’s something interesting going on here. I was sensing traditional, but now there’s something more. It giving Hollywood classic, who eloped you know? Right off the bat, I thinking this is wedding happened in someone’s garden or someone’s house. If not that, it’s a small intimate place, like local church or chapel. The wedding reminds me of a ceremony under string lights and ivy green fences behind a family house. Or even a courthouse with matching rings and then a road trip at sunset, lol.

When it came time to shuffle for this group, the cards took forever to come out and when they did it was direct and intentional messages coming through. You guys communicate in a very mature and straightforward way, every word exchanged is intentional and honest. You guys are the type of couple that don’t say much, but your silences shared are charged—it’s telepathic. You guys are able to give each other one look across the room and the other just understands.

The wedding itself is very intentional not performative. You guys are inwardly focused nothing and no one causes you guys stress. You guys are not trying to impress anyone, it’s about the vows, the soul agreement, and your love.

Your spouse during the wedding is overtaken with joy, they are soft and glowing with the way they look at you. Their gaze at you is warm and cozy; you guys have finally found home in one another. At the wedding, there may be a small group of friends/family and they’re watching your spouse be more at peace than they’ve ever been. They have that beaming smile, starry eyes, glass of champagne, and a hand never leaving your waist.

You on the other hand feel freedom. Maybe you never felt truly seen before, but you feel happy. You likely have broken free of toxic cycles, relationships, or even self-doubt. But, now you have chosen to be with someone who wants to build something real with you. Death Rx. shows that you are still learning to let the old pain go, but this union helps hold you.

The wedding is at a unexpected location, or private. You guys chosen passion over the tradition so you guys could have eloped. Or the place could be tied to your childhood or some nostalgia. There’s something imperfect with the venue, like no one cares about looks. The wedding is real and raw. Think someone’s hair is out of place or soft rain sprinkling at unexpected times.

A stand out moment at your guys wedding could be someone breaking down emotionally, spiritually. Maybe one of you guys was unsure at first or when you guys first got together. Maybe there was fear of committing, but in that moment—maybe the vows or just a look —a wall breaks and you or they chooses the union. There might be divine masculine healing going on. One of you guys lets go of pride and the other silence. This union was a seed planted slowly with love. The journey might have not been flashy or fast, but it’s eternal and it’s been eternal. You are a couple that have been soulmates for many lifetimes, your relationship is karmic, but it’s comforting and healing. This could’ve been a relationship where one might’ve carried more baggage than the other or maybe one put more effort than the other, but in the end, you both help each other and carry the load together. Twin flame or soulmate vibes. You guys could have been arranged marriage in the past life, lol. This is a wedding that people who have gotten the chance to witness will talk about years later. It’s love that grows root not just vines—its steady, private, and eternal. It’s bittersweet and romantic in a way that most will not understand, but they don't have to because you do.

🔮 All readings and content © @tarotwithcherwi

Please don’t repost or copy without credit. Thank you!! 🙏💖

[ghostedgwen]

Hiii I adore ur James fic but we need more Moony! what if reader is Remus' childhood friend and they have been attached at the hip until he met the Marauders and once they've graduated she becomes a Potioneer and basically invents the Wolfsbane Potion and when he finds out it was invented by her they meet again and she admits she invented it for him could end up vaguely platonic but you can also make it full on Remus x reader up to you!! thanks!!xx!!!!

never too late | r.lupin

note : Hello anon, thank you for this lovely request!! Been thinking about this request a lot and finally got around to writing it while I was looking after my sick wife. Yall seem to enjoy my really long fics so here's 6k words for Remus <3

warnings : childhood friends drifting apart, some angst with comfort, mentions of Remus' werewolf struggles, Remus as a cane user, very very slow burn sorry

Remus was a childhood friend you slowly drifted apart with, he had the Marauders and you had Potion books. Years later, you did the impossible of inventing Wolfsbane Potion, he thought it was the best time to reach out.

You never thought Hogwarts would feel so far away from home.

The boat rocks gently under your legs as lanterns sway above the water, casting warm reflections across the lake. Around you, the other first years whisper excitedly, pointing at the silhouette of the castle glowing in the distance. But your eyes aren’t on the castle. They’re on the boy sitting across from you - Remus Lupin, your best friend since you were barely old enough to hold a wand.

He doesn’t speak. He rarely does when he's nervous. His fingers twist the sleeves of his robes, and the shadows under his eyes are darker than usual. Most people wouldn’t notice. But you do. You've always noticed things about Remus.

You grew up together in Whispermere, a quiet magical village tucked between a haunted wood and an old apothecary. The kind of place where magic hummed through the stones and gossip moved faster than broomsticks. There were never many children, so the two of you became a pair soinseparable, like a matched set of spellbooks.

When you were eight, you figured it out. The absences, the injuries, the nights when his house went silent and the air felt heavy with something unspoken. And one day, he finally admitted it.

“I’m a monster,” he whispered, curled on the floor of your room after the worst full moon you’d ever seen him return from.

You remember the rage that sparked in you. Not at him - never at him, but rather, at the world.

“You’re not a monster,” you said, voice steady even though your hands were shaking. “You’re just Remus. That’s enough.”

He didn’t believe it, not then. Maybe he still doesn’t, but you meant it.

You always have.

Now, as the boats drift toward the stone docks and the castle towers above you like a dream, your fingers brush against his. You squeeze gently, a silent reminder: I’m still here.

Inside, the Great Hall takes your breath away with its floating candles, enchanted ceiling, golden plates that shine even without food on them yet. It’s everything you imagined and more. Everything you have read paled in comparison.

Then names are called.

One by one, first years step forward, trembling under the Sorting Hat’s scrutiny.

And then -  “_______, _____”

You turn to Remus and try to smile, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Wish me luck,” you whisper.

He nods. “You don’t need it.”

You sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat drops onto your head, and immediately a voice purrs in your ear.

“Well, aren’t you an interesting one… Clever, sharp, fiercely loyal. Curious about everything. You’d do well in Hufflepuff. Maybe even Gryffindor... but no, you don’t just want to be brave. You need answers. You want to understand the why behind everything. And that, dear one, means only one thing…”

A pause. You feel the Hat probing something deeper.

“You’re thinking about someone else… the Lupin boy. Hmm. Very protective, I see.”

“He’s my best friend,” you think fiercely. “I want to stay close to him.”

The Hat chuckles, deep and amused. “A noble thought. But you’ll both need to grow. Apart, if you must. Don’t fear it. You’ll find your way.”

Then, aloud, it shouts: “RAVENCLAW!”

You slide off the stool, applause ringing in your ears. The Ravenclaw table welcomes you with warm smiles and curious glances. But your eyes scan the room, following Remus as he soon takes his turn.

The Hat takes longer this time. You bite your lip.

Then - “GRYFFINDOR!”

He looks toward you, unsure. You give him a thumbs-up and a grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You’d promised to stick together, but Hogwarts, it seems, had its own plans.

Weeks pass. You find your place among the Ravenclaws, high in their airy tower. You answer riddles to get into your common room and lose yourself in books, ancient spells, and strange magical theories. It suits you, in its way.

But you miss him.

You make time where you can - which is between classes, after curfew, beside the Black Lake under starlight. He’s always tired after the full moon, always quiet. You notice the fresh scars even when he tries to hide them under long sleeves.

You’re always the first to notice, you doubt there’s a detail you’d miss when it came to him. 

Then he makes new friends. James Potter. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew. Loud boys with loud laughs and even louder personalities. They’re always getting into trouble, always pulling Remus into it. And he lets them.

You don’t blame him. Not really. But sometimes, when you see him laughing with Sirius or whispering to James during class, something tightens in your chest.

They don’t know, not like you do, and they could never.

One evening, you meet him by the lake. You sit in silence, watching the ripples in the water. The moon is almost full.

“They don’t know, do they?” you ask, finally.

He flinches. “No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” he says quickly. Then softer, “I don’t want them to look at me and be afraid they’re sleeping with a monster.”

You nod, lips pressed together. “You’re not a monster, Rem, you don’t have to pretend either when you’re with me.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’m not pretending. I’m just… trying.”

“You’re still you, Remus,” you say. “And I still see you. Even when no one else does.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then, “Sometimes I think you see too much.”

“Someone has to.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment everything else fades - the Houses, the castle, the distance. He’s still the boy from Whispermere, hiding from the world in your attic, clutching your hand after the worst nights of his life.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Always.”

And in that moment, you know: it doesn’t matter what the Hat said, or where you sleep, or what friends you make. You’re still his anchor, and he’s still yours.

Even if the world tries to pull you apart, even if the moon rises and falls and tries to make him something else - you’ll always be there, reminding him of who he is.

Not a monster. Just Remus, and that’s more than enough.

You knew things would never be the same the moment you got sorted into different houses, but you hadn’t expected it to happen right in second year. The first-year, he was stuck to you somehow his budding friendship with his dorm mates.

Only, this year, it’s different. It happens slowly, the way most changes do. A missed lunch here, a half-written letter there. The space between you and Remus doesn’t appear all at once. It drips in like rain under a cracked window, which is quiet, subtle, and easy to ignore at first.

You tell yourself it’s normal. You’re in different houses. You have different classes, different friends. He has James, Sirius, and Peter now - boys who’ve somehow wrapped themselves around his days like ivy on stone. You’re happy he’s laughing more. You want him to have people.

Still, there are times it stings.

You see them in the courtyard, shoulders pressed together as they whisper about some prank or plan or whatever mischief they’re always knee-deep in. Remus laughs at something James says, head thrown back, the sound real and full and bright.

It should make you happy. It does, but only to some extent. You supposed it was childish, because you are a child, but sometimes, you wish he’d laugh like that with you again.

You still have your moments. After all, some things don’t change.

Full moons still come. And Remus still suffers.

He tells them he’s visiting his “sick mother” or going home for the weekends, but on weekdays he’ll just be sick and staying in the hospital wing. The Marauders, to their credit, don’t press. Not yet.

But you know the truth, you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out. Before Remus shines a light on that he so badly wishes wasn’t true.

You sneak out on those nights, Invisibility Cloak or not. Madam Pomfrey has stopped scolding you when she finds you curled in the chair beside his bed in the hospital wing. You’ve been doing this for years now, long before Hogwarts.

Sometimes you stay awake all night, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint shimmer of silver scars healing across his arms. Sometimes you just hold his hand and wait for the shaking to stop.

You bring chocolate, potions from your own stash, and books he pretends to be too tired to read but always opens the second you leave.

There is no miracle potion yet. Nothing to make it easier. But there was you, so you stay.

Because love - whatever kind of love this is - means showing up. Especially when it’s hard.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he tells you one morning, voice hoarse and broken around the edges.

You hand him a warm compress and raise an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”

“And you ignore it every time.”

“Because it’s a stupid thing to say.”

He lets out a dry laugh that turns into a cough. “I mean it. You’ve got other friends. Classes. You don’t need to spend your nights watching me bleed all over the bed.”

You sit beside him, brushing his hair back gently. “No, I don’t need to. I want to. That’s different.”

He doesn’t look at you. He’s gotten good at that lately. He used to always meet your eyes, no shame in that now that you have seen everything he had to offer. Hogwarts seemed to have changed a lot between you and him.

After a while, you ask, “Why don’t you tell them?”

He stiffens. “Tell who?”

“You know who. Potter, Black and Pettigrew. Your little chaos club.”

“They’re not - ” He stops, then sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Because if they find out, they’ll look at me differently. Or worse, they’ll stop looking at me at all.”

“You don’t know that.”

He meets your eyes then. “You don’t know what it’s like. To be this. To be something people fear.”

“No,” you say gently. “But I know what it’s like to watch someone I care about tear themselves apart for being something they can’t control.”

That shuts him up. He hates how you know exactly which words to use, what to say, how to say it. He hates how he can’t resist the warmth you offer, even at the tender age of 13, Remus knew that craving you and your comfort was not good.

He couldn’t depend on you so much. You’ve been enduring full moons with him since you both were 8, it would be too unfair to demand you keep doing it forever. Hogwarts is a new era, a new start. 

You squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to tell them now. But you can’t keep carrying this alone forever.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, softly: “I’m not carrying it alone.”

You smile at that. It’s the first real smile you’ve had in days, and right then and there - wall has barely built.

Still, the distance continues.

You write him notes in class and find them folded carefully in his bag later, but he rarely writes back. You sit by him at meals when you can, but more often he’s wedged between Sirius’ smirks and James’ flying stories.

He doesn’t mean to leave you behind. That’s what makes it harder.

Because he’s not cruel. Just… busy. Distracted, even. Caught in the glow of something new and good and easy, and you? You’re the constant. The one who patches him up in secret, who carries the burden he’s still too scared to share with anyone else.

You wonder sometimes what would happen if you stopped showing up, but you already know the answer. You never would, you could never do that to him.

One night, weeks after a particularly brutal full moon, you find him on the Astronomy Tower, arms crossed against the wind, eyes trained on the stars like they might have answers.

You step up beside him.

“They asked again,” he says without turning.

“About the absences?”

He nods.

“What did you say?”

“That I get migraines. Bad ones. I said I needed quiet.”

You lean against the wall beside him. “You think they bought it?”

He shrugs. “James looked like he wanted to argue. Sirius just nodded.”

“They’re not stupid, Remus. They’re going to figure it out eventually.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.”

You glance at him. “What then?”

He doesn’t answer.

You rest your chin on your arms. “They’re your friends. They care about you. Maybe they’d surprise you.”

He gives you a look, half amused, half broken. “You always believe the best in people.”

“No,” you say. “Just in you.”

He turns away, blinking hard. He tries not to think too much about it and you try to act like it never held much weight than intended.

You know he’s scared. You also know that trust doesn’t come easy when your entire life has been a series of closed doors and hidden scars. So you keep showing up.

In the quiet moments. In the hospital wing. In the spaces between his laughter with the Marauders and the silences that follow the moon. You stay.

Because even if he doesn’t say it, even if he forgets sometimes, you know he needs you.

The Marauders became legends long before you realized you’d been left behind.

It started innocently with little tricks, charmed ink, floating teacups in the Great Hall. But by fourth year, it was chaos on demand. James and Sirius led the charge, Peter cheered from the sidelines, and Remus followed behind with that half-smile he wore when he was trying not to be complicit.

He was never the loudest. But he was always there and you had no doubt that a majority of the pranks were his ideas with that brilliant imagination of his.

And you? You were somewhere else entirely.

You’d fallen in love with Potions during your third year. You were completely taken by it, it was constant - it was measured and specific, you will only go wrong if you do it wrong, you liked the assurance in that. The discipline of it, the balance. The quiet language of simmering and stillness. The way ingredients interacted like people. Some enhanced each other. Some repelled. Some needed careful handling or they’d break.

You understood that. You didn't mind the solitude. Not at first.

You still saw him, of course. Shared looks across the Great Hall. A nod in passing between classes. He still sought you out during full moons - less often now, but enough to remind you that something tethered you together, even if the rope frayed more each year.

Then came fifth year.

It was a brutal moon. You knew it before the term started. You’d read the cycle and seen how close the eclipse would fall. Too long in wolf form. Too little recovery time.

You were already waiting when Madam Pomfrey carried him in, bleeding and half-conscious, his leg at a wrong angle and the smell of blood in his clothes. He was fevered for days. You didn’t leave.

But when he finally woke, cane leaning beside his bed and the weight of reality setting into his body like cold iron, something inside him snapped.

You remember it too clearly.

“Remus,” you said, gently wrapping the bandage around his hip. “You’re going to need to rest for a while. Let your body catch up.”

He looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t get to say that.”

Your hands froze. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” he snapped, voice raw. “I don’t need you watching over me like some sad nursemaid waiting for the broken boy to fall apart. I don’t need your pity.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut bone.

You stood slowly, heart loud in your ears. “It’s not pity, Remus. It never was.”

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t then, he was too drunk on his pain to really consider you and your words, as well as his own.

You left without another word.

He apologized two days later. He limped to where you sat in the library, cane in hand, eyes rimmed with sleepless regret.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, quietly. “I was angry, and scared. Not at you… never at you.”

You nodded, nudging the empty seat beside you, which he took.

“I know,” you said.

And you did. You forgave him. Of course you did, it was hard not to when it was Remus. But the wound between you stayed, despite you forgiving him. It might have been the first real crack in the relationship that never fully went away.

You passed each other in the corridors and shared tired smiles. Sometimes, you sat beside each other in the hospital wing in silence, both knowing you’d never quite find your way back to where you’d been.

Seventh year came faster than you expected. Your N.E.W.T.s consumed you - Potions, Transfiguration, Transfiguration. You poured yourself into your studies like they were the only things still within your control.

Remus, meanwhile, was surrounded by noise. Always someone beside him, always laughing, always planning something with parchment and ink-stained hands. He was loved, admired even. And you were happy for him.

Throughout the years he grew to be a Remus that was nowhere near the one you knew. He got tattoos, piercings too and you would even see him smoke in the Gryffindor common room parties you’d be dragged into attending.

You never really spoke there, just exchanged greetings and then off you were to mingle with your usual circle while he stuck close to his Gryffindor lot.

Outside of common room parties, you spoke now and then. Swapped books, and would even shared tea on a rainy afternoon near the end of spring term. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the attic in Whispermere. It wasn’t late-night confessions or moonlit truths. It was… polite.

But sometimes, he’d look at you like he was remembering something. Something he thought he lost, and you’d smile gently, pretending not to feel it.

Graduation came not so long after.

You stood in a sea of students in dress robes and polished shoes. The sky was too blue. Your throat too tight. All you could think was: This is the end of something we forgot to finish.

After the ceremony, he found you standing alone by the edge of the courtyard, clutching your acceptance letter from the Potions Guild. It was everything you worked so hard for, yet you didn’t feel as accomplished.

“So,” he said, softly. “St. Mungo’s or lab work?”

You looked up at him. The sun caught his hair. He still leaned on the cane sometimes, out of habit more than need now.

“Both,” you said. “They offered me a hybrid apprenticeship. Field work and brewing. It’s… everything I wanted.”

He smiled, and it was real. “You deserve that. You always did.”

“What about you?” you asked. “Still planning to be underpaid and overworked for the Ministry?”

“Sadly,” he said, smirking. “I think that’s the werewolf-friendly career track.”

You both laughed, and it almost felt normal again.

Then came the pause. The one that wrapped around everything you hadn’t said for years. Seven years ago, he was yours - in all the ways that mattered, and yet he couldn’t be farther from that now.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice quieter. “I never told you that enough.”

You blinked hard. “You didn’t have to. I always knew.”

Another silence. This one longer. More final. You allowed yourself to sit through it no matter how much it stings.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For pulling away. For ruining what we had.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” you whispered. “We just… grew differently. That’s not anyone’s fault.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “Still. I never forgot what you were to me.”

You stepped forward, brushing his sleeve gently. “I’ll always be here, Remus. Maybe not beside you, but… you’ll never be alone. Not really.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things. Instead, he just said, “Thank you.”

And then he hugged you, arms around your shoulders, his chin in your hair. For a moment, you were kids again, hiding from storms, trading secrets, pretending the world couldn’t touch you.

Then you let go.

And you both walked into the rest of your lives.

Apart.

Not exactly best friends like you once were. But never strangers.

You hadn’t set out to cure werewolves. That was a lost cause.

In truth, you hadn’t even set out to be a name anyone outside a medical conference would know. All you ever wanted was to understand. To fix what broke, to ease what hurt.

Maybe it started with Remus - those early days at Hogwarts, when he’d stumble into the hospital wing torn apart by the moon. Maybe it was the way he tried to hide the pain, or the way he smiled like it cost him something. You’d sat beside his bed too many nights to count, watching him sleep with clenched fists and a furrowed brow.

You’d never forgotten the way he looked at you after his worst full moon - fifth year, cane by the bed, his voice sharp with shame.

"I don’t want your pity."

That stayed with you. Not as a wound, but a weight. A suffocating reminder.

So no, you hadn’t started out trying to change the world. You were just trying to make it a little easier for someone like him to live in it.

And somewhere along the way, you did.

St. Mungo’s had offered you an apprenticeship the summer after graduation. A split program which consisted of two days a week in the field and three in the Potions wing. You’d taken it eagerly, diving into your studies with the same quiet focus you’d had at Hogwarts.

But the moment you had freedom to choose your own research, you knew what your first project would be.

Lycanthropy.

The transformations. The injuries. The trauma.

The stigma.

There were no quick fixes, no clean solutions. The thing resisted almost everything. Existing treatments were garbage, if they were even treatments, almost none existed due to the image painted of werewolves in the wizarding society.

The werewolf's body changed, but the tragedy was in the mind. The slipping of identity. The violent erasure of the person inside.

So you studied. And you failed. And you studied more. And you kept failing.

You burned through ingredients, scorched cauldrons, collapsed more than one test dummy with unstable fumes. You didn’t care, you pushed on.

There were whispers around the lab. That you were obsessed. That you should focus on safer, more respectable branches of medicine. That lycanthropy was a curse and werewolves are scary creatures that kill without reason.

They said it wasn’t worth pursuing and their scrutiny almost drowned you.

But you remembered Remus. And that was reason enough too keep going, to keep fighting for a world that he won’t be pushing people away in fear that they’d see all the ugly and run away.

It took three years to get your first successful result.

By then you were twenty-one, exhausted, and running on tea and stubbornness. But the batch worked - just barely. It stabilized the subject’s mental state for nine full minutes during the transformation. Nine minutes of lucidity, control. Enough to test again.

You built from there.

Nine became fourteen. Fourteen became thirty. Eventually, you crossed the hour mark - and then something clicked.

It was monkshood. That had always been obvious. But it wasn’t the only key. It was how it mixed with valerian, how the infusion had to be added at exactly 74 degrees Celsius, how the brew had to be stirred counterclockwise before sunrise.

A thousand tiny details. None of them obvious. But together?

Together, they became the thing.

You cried when the final test subject looked up after the full moon and said, “I remember everything. I didn’t lose myself.”

It was a werewolf volunteer, a girl a bit older than you are named Lyka. She had short blonde hair that was curled in coils and her eyes were a piercing grey in colour, she was reserved and strong. She volunteered for the tests right away.

You think she also held out hope to see the future you had envisioned, so she endured the tests however dangerous they may be and you both pushed through and jumped over numerous hurdles.

She’s become somewhat of a friend to you all these years. You even trusted her with stories of Remus, of the boy who was behind everything you’ve been building towards.

And when the press finally got hold of the announcement, you didn’t hide. You didn’t let the hospital PR team bury your name in a headline. You stood in front of the flashbulbs and the questions and said clearly, proudly:

“My name is ______, and I created the Wolfsbane Potion.”

You didn’t stutter, nor did you blink once.

You just thought: Remus. I hope you see this.

He did.

Remus Lupin had not cried since he was seventeen.

Not when he’d graduated. Not when he’d buried his parents at the ripe age of 19. Not even when he’d broken up with someone who said she “couldn’t live with the risk.”

But he nearly cried in the Potter living room the moment he saw your face on the front page of The Daily Prophet.

It had been a peaceful morning. James and Lily’s home which happens to be Potter Manor was warm, lively with the sound of baby Harry’s hiccupy giggles and Sirius humming off-key in the kitchen. Remus had dropped by with a stack of paperwork and a worn copy of Beedle the Bard - a gift for Harry, who immediately drooled on it with affection.

They were laughing over tea when Peter stumbled in, windblown and pink-cheeked.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m late,” Peter said, shrugging off his cloak. “Weather’s foul. Couldn’t apparate in these weathers.”

He dropped a bundle of newspapers on the table, along with a bag of jam tarts. Remus reached for a tart without thinking, flipping the top newspaper toward him.

Peter, halfway through unwrapping a sweetroll, said casually, “Isn’t that your mate from school?”

Remus glanced down.

His hand stopped.

There you were - front and centre, smiling widely and proudly. Not some blurry byline photo or a profile sketch. A real picture, wand in one hand, flask of potion in the other, hair pulled back. Behind you was a cauldron bubbling away.

It was all too staged if he were being honest.

BREAKTHROUGH IN LYCANTHROPY TREATMENT: WOLFSBANE POTION CREATED BY FORMER HOGWARTS STUDENT

Remus’s heart kicked like it remembered how.

The article’s subhead read: ‘I wanted to create something that could preserve identity. Lycanthropy shouldn’t be a life sentence.’

He read your name, printed boldly beneath the headline. It was written in full. You had claimed it all.

Lily noticed first. “Remus?”

He didn’t look up.James tilted the paper so he could see. “Bloody hell. That’s _____, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. His voice was quiet.

Peter blinked. “Wait, you know her?” He barely remembers you from school.

“I grew up with her,” Remus replied. “We were friends. Best friends. For a long time.”

Sirius leaned against the table. “And now she’s apparently a genius.”

“She always was,” Remus murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He stepped outside soon after, briefly, to get some fresh air.

It had been four years. Four years since Hogwarts. Four years since you’d spoken beyond the occasional stiff letter or exchanged holiday greetings. You had gone and done the impossible.

You’d given people like him hope. You’d changed lives, and you’d done it without ever asking for praise or apology or permission. You had stood there, face lit by flashbulbs, and told the world that werewolves mattered.

That he mattered.

Remus laughed softly, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure whether to feel stunned or guilty. He hadn’t written in over a year. Hadn’t asked how you were. Hadn’t known the thing you were building in the dark would end up this… bright.

And still - he felt seen.

Even from across the silence.

He reread your quote at the bottom of the page, just above your signature:

“I don’t think we should be afraid to try  . Not when people are still suffering. Not when we can do better.”

You hadn’t named him. But Remus felt your words like they were spoken straight to him. Because he knew better, he knew you were speaking right to him.

Back inside, Sirius gave him a long look. “You alright, mate?”

Remus nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

He folded the paper carefully, tucking it beneath his arm. For a long time, he’d lived with the quiet grief of being forgotten. A side effect of his condition. Of fading away into the margins of other people’s stories.

But here you were, reshaping the narrative entirely.

You hadn’t just remembered him. You had remembered all of them - the ones who lived in the shadows, who never thought they’d be more than cautionary tales or footnotes in Ministry reports.

And maybe… just maybe… you’d done it for him. He stared down at your picture again, his smile quiet and unshakable.

“Godric’s beard,” James muttered behind him, reading the headline over his shoulder. “She really made a Wolfsbane Potion.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “That’s going to change everything.”

Remus didn’t speak, but in his chest, something shifted. A pressure he’d carried for years lightened. And somewhere deep down, he knew this wasn’t the end of the story. You were out there. Living, thriving, blazing a trail.

And for the first time in a long time, he found himself wanting to reach out, outside of obligation and nostalgia. Because something real had reignited between you.

It didn’t take long for Remus to find you.

The moment he saw your name on the front page of the Prophet, he knew it wouldn’t be enough just to read the article ten times, to keep the paper folded on his night stand like some relic. He needed to see you.

For the ache in his chest that hadn’t gone away since fifth year. The one he thought he could outgrow, bury beneath the pages of law books and Ministry memos. But there it was, alive and sharp and hopeful again.

So he asked around.

He was discreet, as always. But not shy.

You were easy to trace once he learned about your position at St. Mungo’s. The Potioneering Department kept strict visiting hours, but Remus had never been one to blindly follow signs that read Authorized Personnel Only. He lingered until your shift ended, until he saw you push through the ward doors with your satchel slung across your shoulder, hair messily pinned back, a smudge of something silvery at your temple.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

You stopped when you saw him.

The quiet stretched as you stared in disbelief. He took one step closer.

"Hi," he said.

Your breath hitched. "Remus."

He offered a careful smile, the kind that trembled at the edges. "I hope it’s alright. I didn’t want to owl. I thought maybe... maybe you wouldn’t answer."

You swallowed. You looked older, of course. Grown into yourself. But your eyes were still the same. He could see the traces of that little girl still as he watched your grown self scan him, he bet he must look different as well.

"I might not have," you admitted softly. "I’m glad you didn’t give me the choice."

That made him laugh. Not a loud one, but real. He looked down. "You really did it. You actually - "

"Yes."

"I don’t even know what to say."

You smiled faintly. "Then don’t. Let me."

He blinked as you stepped closer.

"I invented it for you," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "So you’d stop suffering the way you used to. That’s all it ever was. All I ever wanted."

Remus looked at you like you’d peeled the years back with a single sentence.

He didn’t hug you, despite desperately wanting to. He didn’t wanna offend you or cross boundaries.

He just said, very quietly, "Thank you."

And that was enough.

He started taking the Wolfsbane Potion a week later, full seven days leading up to the full moon.

You brewed it yourself, of course. There were still regulatory delays, red tape the Ministry insisted on. But you had your licence. You had your clearance. More importantly, you had him.

You gave it to him with a note attached: Sip slowly, or it’ll make your throat burn. Seven days, don’t miss it.

Remus made sure to drank every single day of the week leading up to the full moon. It was still painful. The bones still bent. The skin still pulled and tore and reshaped.

But he remained. He was still there.

He could remember the walls. The sounds. The feel of the floor. He didn’t thrash, didn’t bite himself raw, didn’t wake up choking on blood and dirt.

And when morning came, he cried.

You were there.

Sitting in the armchair beside the bed in his tiny flat, watching him with quiet concern and a cup of now-cold tea in your hand.

"You stayed," he rasped.

"Of course, I stayed."

He swallowed, throat dry. "You didn’t have to."

You raised an eyebrow. "Remus Lupin, I have stayed with you in worse states than this. Don’t be daft."

He huffed a weak laugh. Then he looked at you. His tired brown eyes meeting yours. You hadn’t slept. Your eyes were shadowed, your robe wrinkled. But you looked proud, and somewhat tender. And maybe a little scared.

"I always missed you," he said.

You stilled.

He continued, voice low. "Even when I didn’t say it. Even when we stopped writing. I never stopped thinking about you."

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

He sat up slowly, wincing. "I loved you, you know. Even back then."

"Remus - "

"I didn’t say anything because I was scared. Because I thought... if I ever hurt you, if I ever lost control, and it was you in the way - "

"I’ve known since we were eight."

He blinked.

You smiled sadly. "Of course I knew. I knew you loved me. I knew you were afraid. But if anyone was ever going to understand, Remus, it was always going to be me."

He looked down. His hands shook. "I just didn’t want to be the monster in your story."

You moved to sit beside him on the bed.

"You’ll never have to worry again," you whispered. "Because I found a way."

He looked at you, eyes glassy. "Thank you."

"You don’t have to thank me."

"I do. I don’t deserve it."

You snorted. "Remus Lupin, you deserve the bloody stars and the moon and the sun. But I can’t give you that. So instead... I give you the potion."

He stared at you, long and quiet. Then he reached out, cupped your face in one trembling hand, and kissed you.

It wasn’t perfect. It was cracked with tiredness and ache and too many lost years.

But it was real, so real that it undid all the distance that grew between you two all these years. You thought you had lost him 7 years ago, but he was still yours.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "Thank you for giving me something I can never pay back."

You hummed. "Buying me a drink would do."

He laughed against your skin. "I’ll buy you all the drinks in the world."

end. masterlist

[jellysmosh]

Feels Like Being in Love

Summary: As a camera operator at Smosh, you were accustomed to being invisible, preferring to be out of sight and blending into the background. But something seemed to shift when your crush started seeking you out to talk about things you also happened to be interested in.

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Tags: Fluff, mutual pining

Word count: 3.5k

Note: I’m used to writing from an extrovert’s pov (since I am one), so I was trying to write a more reserved, shyer reader… shout out to any of my introverted readers out there! Love you divas! Also, this was meant to be short, that didn’t really happen.

☆

Smosh was an insane place to work.

When you were hired, you did not expect to leave your comfort place behind the camera. As a camera operator, you worked closely with Brennan safely out of shot. However, every now and then, you had been convinced to get mic'd up and stand in front of the camera for various crew-involved videos. They were a lot of fun, especially the hide and seek videos and crew gauntlet TNTL’s. You were admittedly camera shy, you were not a trained actor and you had very little experience being anywhere besides behind the camera. You loved filming and photography, releasing the reins and becoming the subject being filmed was a different ballpark, it made you sweat and you became hyper aware of where you rested your hands. Generally, you were content mixing in with the crew, invisible amongst the other staff members.

Your favourite videos to film were for the games channel. They had an elevated level of chaos and had really helped you improve your handheld filming skills. Last time they played The Maury Game, you were huffing and puffing, locking in on chasing Angela around behind the set.

Another reason you loved filming games videos was working with the one and only Spencer Agnew. You didn’t have a crush on him, you just admired him and how amazing he was at his job. He was so experienced and knew what he was doing so well that he directed with ease. He would give you clear and detailed instructions, but also gave you liberty to make creative decisions. Brennan was happy as long as you didn’t break anything when you ran after cast members. Spencer easily commanded the room when filming games videos, it was so attractive seeing him in his element, like it came as easy to him as walking and talking.

Okay, so maybe you had a crush on him.

He was a brilliant director, friend, coworker, subject to film, just a great guy overall. How were you not meant to fall for him? His charming and funny on-camera persona was magnetic, and his usual sweet and slightly mild mannered self off-camera was even more attractive. You weren’t close enough to hang out much one-on-one, but whenever you spent time with him in a group, you could feel your eyes being drawn to him the entire time. He was so attractive, full of quick-witted sarcasm, a huge bank of niche references in his head, and all topped off with an infectious smile. You were screwed from the moment you met him, essentially.

☆

“Hey Y/N.”

You looked up from your laptop to the sound of Spencer’s voice. You nervously smiled as he walked over to you. You had made it to set a little early and was checking a couple emails before you finished setting up the equipment for the next Board AF shoot.

“Hi, Spencer”, you replied softly, worried your voice would shake if you spoke any louder. “I’ll finish setting up in a second, just replying to an email.”

“Oh”, he waved one hand dismissively, “no rush, we have plenty of time. Nobody else is going to arrive on set for another ten minutes.”

You just mutely nodded, kicking yourself for being so awkward. You weren’t sure how to respond since you didn’t normally chat with Spencer alone unless it was work related. You were used to blending in, mixing into the crowd of the crew. You hesitated before looking back down at your screen, trying to focus on typing out a reply as if you weren’t extremely conscious of the man sitting only a metre away from you. Just as you hit send, you became aware of the feeling of eyes on you. You slowly raised your head, scared of being wrong and him catching you staring like a creep. But when you looked up, he was already looking at you. You felt your face heat up immediately and the hair on the back of your neck stand up, you felt like a deer in headlights with his green eyes locking with yours.

You raised your eyebrows in question, “yes?”

“Nothing”, he replied casually, “I just noticed your shirt, it’s cool.”

You glanced down at your shirt, a graphic t-shirt you bought from one of your favourite bands, Wet Leg.

“Thank you”, you murmured bashfully, you were flattered by his compliment, “do you like Wet Leg?”

It felt like a strange question to say to someone out loud.

“Yeah!” He smiled brightly, it made you also smile subconsciously, it was contagious. “Their stuff’s really cool. I loved their new singles.”

You felt yourself perk up, you didn’t often talk about your personal interests with people at work outside of the camera operation team. It excited you that someone shared something in common with you. Especially since that person was Spencer.

“Oh my god, they’re so good”, you gushed before you could stop yourself, “I’m so excited for their upcoming album.”

He laughed and nodded in agreement. You two chatted about the band until other people started arriving on set and you had to finish fixing up the cameras in preparation for filming. That was the shortest ten minutes of your life.

You were done adjusting the cameras when the cast members all found their seats. You nodded at the other members of the crew, signalling you were ready to go. You glanced over your shoulder to where you knew Spencer was sitting, he looked up at the same time. You almost jumped at the sudden eye contact.

You offered him a small smile. He smiled back. You turned back to the camera in front of you, cheeks and ears burning.

☆

You had helped finish up the last shoot of the day, a Challenge Pit video that required a lot of different angles, so there was plenty of stuff to put away. You were packing up various bits of camera equipment, stepping back to scan the shelf to make sure everything was in the right spot.

“Hey Y/N.”

You jumped. It was the second time that week you had heard that voice say those words.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you”, he looked at you with that charming smile of his as he stepped into the storeroom.

“That’s alright”, the volume of your voice was just above a whisper. You couldn’t deny you felt a little flustered being in a secluded space with him. “What’s up?”

“Alex just informed me that you like Baccano!” He leaned against the wall, hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “I had to come talk to you about it. Such a good anime.”

You gasped. Baccano! was your favourite anime. You vaguely recalled mentioning it to Alex when they randomly asked you the question a while ago before scampering off, you assumed they were up to the usual strange games team antics, some kind of office survey maybe.

“Yeah, it’s so good!” You agreed with him, smiling. You fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt to calm your nerves, “you like it too? It’s a bit old but I really love it. It’s so fun to rewatch too.”

You felt your entire face flush at the way he was attentively listening to you. He had this open, observant expression every time he was closely listening to someone, and it made you a little anxious to have it directed at you.

“Yeah”, he mumbled, “I really like it.” His eyes lingered on you a little longer before breaking eye contact and casually scanning the room. “You have great taste in anime. I would know, of course. I am obviously the authority on good taste.”

That made you laugh, you leaned back as well, shoulders pressed against a pillar. You were overcompensating a bit, trying extra hard to look casual and cool when your heart was actually racing.

“You clearly are”, you responded, you gave him a close-lipped smile and a tilt of your head that you hoped looked curious and not like you were straining your neck awkwardly. “Do you have any recommendations for my next watch?”

“Ooh..”, he lifted his head to stare at the ceiling, clearly thinking hard. “Have you watched Erased?”

He glanced at you and when you shook your head, he grinned in that gorgeous, beautiful way he always did.

“You would love it. Maybe we could watch it together sometime?” He lowered his voice, the air between you felt warm, electric.

You started to spiral. Was that a genuine invitation? There was no way he was flirting with you, maybe he just wanted to hang out. Maybe he was the kind of person that liked to see his friends’ reactions when watching things he liked? The idea of hanging out with him made you sweat though, you needed at least a third person to buffer otherwise you would have a nervous breakdown. You felt like you were about to panic, he had to mean that in a purely platonic way, right? This did seem like a good chance to get to know him better but there was no way you could handle being alone with him. He was looking at you expectantly and you were totally overthinking.

“Yeah, maybe”, your voice cracked a little as you replied, nerves showing. “Uh, I gotta go”, you said bluntly, incredibly embarrassed and trying to escape as fast as humanly possible.

“Oh, okay…”, he replied in confusion as you quickly grabbed some of your belongings and scurried out the door. You didn’t look back as you power-walked down the hall.

Your fears won this round. You were a bit ashamed of your awkwardness, sure you had fumbled that social interaction miserably. You wondered if Spencer was disappointed in your response. You pushed the thought out of your head, just relieved to be out of that stuffy room with the object of your affections standing alone inside.

☆

You patted your pockets, making sure you had your keys and phone as you walked towards the office car park. You heard footsteps rapidly approaching behind you, as you turned to see who it was, you nervously grabbed the strap of your bag on instinct. As per usual, you braced yourself for the incoming social situation. And you were right to be nervous, because it was Spencer making his way towards you.

You had been avoiding him since the weird interaction in the camera equipment storeroom, only really staying anywhere near him when working. You had grown more worried and suspicious he may have realised you had feelings for him. It was pretty simple to deduce, in your opinion, you feared your reactions to him made it obvious.

“Hey Y/N.”

The way your name rolled off his tongue made you shiver. You couldn’t deny you loved it when he said it, being acknowledged by him was a curse and a blessing, it made you cripplingly nervous but incredibly happy. Spencer Agnew made your life agony.

“Hi”, you choked out, grip tightening on your bag. You looked down at your feet, kicking slightly at the concrete. You weren’t sure what to say to him and you could feel your face warming the longer he looked at you.

“Um”, he seemed to hesitate. You glanced up at him and was surprised to see he seemed a little bashful. “I, uh, I have something for you.”

Your eyes widened as he dug around in his bag. He got you something? A gift? Your heartbeat was so loud, you were certain he could hear it. When he turned back to you with a Smiski blind box in his hand, you were afraid your heart was going to beat right out of your chest for him to witness.

“A Smiski?” You felt yourself grin despite your nerves, “I love Smiskis!”

“Yeah, I got this one for free”, he replied sheepishly, “I noticed you had a few on your desk, so I thought you would appreciate it more than me.”

You accepted the present delicately, your cheeks reddened when you felt your fingers graze against his own. His hand was warm and soft, making it obvious how clammy yours was. Your instinct to run away was overshadowed by your excitement that Spencer had not only given you a Smiski, but also that he noticed you liked them. He had a way of making you feel seen when you had always thought you were invisible.

“Thank you, Spencer”, you said gratefully, “this is so sweet. Are you sure you don’t want it?”

He shook his head, “it’s all yours, it’s clear you want it. Look at that smile.”

You immediately flushed a deep red, your hand reflexively coming up to cover your face. You were mortified that he could clock how ecstatic you were. You just hoped he thought you were happy because of the Smiski itself and not because it was Spencer gifting it. The both of you laughed, you shyly looked down again, admiring the little box in your hand.

When you locked eyes again, you couldn’t read his expression. The eye contact alone made you feel like you were going crazy.

“Make sure you keep it front and centre on your desk”, he jokingly pointed at you like he was giving an order. It made you giggle. “I’ll be checking.”

“Yes sir”, you smiled at him, genuine. He made you nervous, but he also made you want to open up, be honest with him. That made you even more nervous.

“Good”, he put his hands in his pockets, satisfied, “so everytime you look down at him, it’ll remind you of me.”

Forget opening up, you were ready to sprint away, just absolutely leg it out of there. You took a step back from him, chuckling to cover up how much you were freaking out. He was clearly just playing around, being friendly, but did he know the effect he had on you? You had to leave before you sweat through your shirt.

“Seeyoutomorrow”, you sputtered out briskly before practically jogging to your car. You were desperate to get out of there.

You didn’t trust yourself to glance at him still standing in the same spot as you quickly pulled out of the car park, tires screeching.

☆

You heard a voice as you set your bag down at your desk.

“Hey Y/N.”

Oh crap, you weren’t ready to talk to Spencer yet. It was 9am and you had not emotionally prepared yourself. After the conversation you shared the previous afternoon, you were still on edge. You had thought about him practically all night, staring at the Smiski he gave you and lying awake, plagued by thoughts of his kind gestures, his adorable smile, and the way his fingers brushed against yours.

“Good morning, Spencer”, you replied politely, subconsciously fixing your hair as you turned to look at him.

He was extra cute today, no hat covering his bouncy curls and short sleeves showing his array of tattoos. He seemed a bit apprehensive today, breaking eye contact with you, staying a reasonable distance away.

“Can we talk for a second?” He looked around briefly before adding, “alone?”

Anxiety built up in your stomach. Alone. You nodded, silently hoping the floor would open up and eat you. Instead, you had to simply follow him to the currently empty break room. Talking to him had been happening a lot more often recently, and you were trying to act like you weren’t about to pee yourself like a shaking chihuahua every time. He chose a table to sit at and beckoned you over. You elected to sit on the chair opposite him, deciding it was safer for your trembling heart than sitting right next to him.

“You’re not in trouble, by the way”, he held his hands up. You let out a breath without thinking, you were glad he tried to quell your anxieties. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable over the past few days.”

That made you furrow your brow. You were exceedingly confused, what on earth was he talking about? He never made you uncomfortable, you were a highly strung ball of nerves but that had nothing to do with him.

“Uncomfortable?”

Seeing the clear confusion on your face, he continued, “well, I thought I completely messed up. Every single time I flirted with you, you immediately ran away every time.”

Your jaw dropped as Spencer’s cheeks reddened. What?

“Wait, wait- what?” You exclaimed, “flirting? What are you talking about?”

This time he looked confused. “You know, like the past few conversations we’ve had one-on-one?”

“You were flirting with me?” You could have sworn the room started spinning. Were you hearing him correctly?

“Yes”, he replied exasperatedly, “or, well, I was trying to. I thought you were trying to make it clear you weren’t interested.”

You gaped like a fish, you couldn’t recall anyone ever admitting to trying to flirt with you. How had you not picked up on the signs?

“Like with Wet Leg”, he continued, running a hand through his hair, “I only started listening to them because I had seen you wear that shirt before. They’re really good, don’t get me wrong, but I just wanted something to talk to you about. Something just between us.”

“Huh?” You thought your brain was about to short circuit.

“And with Baccano! … I admit I asked Alex to ask you what your favourite anime is”, he rocked back and forth on his heels slightly, “and then I binged it, I barely slept that night. But I was so keen to talk to you about it, I got restless.”

“What?” You placed your hands on the table, shocked at his admission.

“And the Smiski I gave you yesterday”, you held your breath while he confessed, “I lied. I didn’t get it for free, I was being a creep at your desk so I could figure out which line you hadn’t got yet and went out to find it so I could give you a present.”

“Why?” You felt faint.

“Because”, he shrugged nonchalantly, but his red cheeks gave him away, “I like you. I wanted you to notice me.”

You were a new level of flustered, your entire body was hot and you felt a little bit lightheaded. You pressed your two feet together under the table, confused, giddy, and scared of all this attention all at once.

“You’re silly”, you replied quietly. He leaned in to hear you clearer, hanging onto your every word. “How could I not notice you, Spencer?” You glanced at him shyly, “I never thought you would notice me, I don’t really stand out.”

“Are you kidding me?” He laughed breathily, “I could pick you out of a crowd of a million people with no problem.”

You locked eyes with him. You were overwhelmed in the best way possible. What you thought was a one-sided crush was actually reciprocated.

“I’ve liked you for ages now”, you blurted out, unable to hold it in anymore. You didn’t realise how filled with feelings you were until you were ready to spill it all out for him now. “I ran away from you because I was afraid you would realise and you didn’t feel the same.”

His gaze rested on you wordlessly for a beat, it looked like he was taking a minute to search for the right words.

“You’re the silly one”, he chuckled, scratching his beard, “how could I not feel that way about you? You’re amazing.”

You stared at each other silently for a moment before both bursting into excited giggles. You weren’t used to this feeling in your chest, like there was a firework ready to burst, shattering you into a hundred little sparks of every colour.

“I can’t believe you were paying such close attention to me”, you grinned at him mischievously, “I trust you enjoyed listening to good music and watching good anime?”

“Of course”, he nodded, “you have great taste. It just made me like you more.”

You didn’t think you could flush any darker. You didn’t feel brave enough to grab his hand, instead you slowly kicked your leg out until your foot was pressed up against his, he responded by gently pushing his foot back.

“Hey Spencer?” You weren’t sure if you could ever feel calm around him when he looked at you like that, eyes full of warmth and a small grin.

He hummed in response.

“If you forgive me for running away last time, and if you’ll still have me, I’d love to watch an anime with you sometime.”

And when he smiled at you like that, you were so glad you weren’t invisible to him.

☆

Note: I hope the shy readers relate to this… all my friends that like Smiskis are introverts, I couldn’t unsee that pattern once I noticed lol. And this might be a hidden ad for Wet Leg, I love them.

♡ masterlist

[seumyo]

museum dates with bf!tsukishima.

NOTE. oh, certified tsukishima luvr @solvisun for u <3

You hated museum dates. 

No, really—loathed them with a passion that only grew with every agonizing hour you spent trailing after your boyfriend through echoey halls and glass display cases. It wasn’t even that museums were boring. That wasn’t fair. You liked the exhibits, genuinely. The restoration work was incredible, the artifacts were fascinating, and it was kind of cute how your boyfriend lit up every time he got to explain something. Which was often.

Because Tsukishima Kei, your darling pain-in-the-ass boyfriend, worked part-time at the Sendai City Museum, and apparently that gave him a divine license to deliver play-by-play commentary like a snarky academic podcast with legs. Tall, spectacled legs. One with particular moles that even make a heart (not that you ever told a single soul, because you knew he would be after you if you did).

“So this piece,” he would say, already a few steps ahead, pointing casually at a weathered samurai armor set, “was from the late Edo period. See the difference in the breastplate design?”

You would squint through bleary, dry eyes, clutching your water bottle (which he somehow allowed—through sheer persuasion and outright begging on your knees) like it was your only link to life. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “Looks… shinier?”

Tsukishima turned to you, shrugging. “You didn’t even look.”

“I did!” you insisted. “I just… I’m not a samurai historian like you, Kei.”

“You should be grateful,” he said with mock arrogance, adjusting his glasses. “People pay for this kind of tour experience.”

“I’m paying,” you said, trudging after him. “With my soul.”

But you followed him anyway, like you always did. Through the samurai wing, the early Jōmon pottery, and the textile restoration gallery. He knew you were flagging when you started leaning on the handrails more, moving slower, and falling behind like a rebellious school kid on a class trip. You would never think that he thought you were awfully cute like this.

A true sadist in the making, really.

“Hey,” he called, halfway through the Meiji industrial section. “Are you dying?”

“I’ve been dead since the third hour,” you grunted. “My ghost is haunting your dumb little tour.”

Tsukishima turned to you, walking back a few paces with his hands in his coat pockets. “We’ve only been here two hours and forty minutes.”

“Time doesn’t pass normally in museums,” you said. “It’s like a black hole of walking and standing and standing and walking. And it’s too cold.”

He snorted, then took your hand. His palm was warm, steady. It feels perfect against yours. “Come on, we’re almost at the dinosaurs. You like the dinosaurs.” as if he’s talking to a child—trying to coax and/or motivate a reaction out of you.

“I like sitting.”

But you went with him anyway. Because, yeah, okay, you did like the dinosaurs. Not in a prehistoric nerd way, but in a watching-his-face-light-up-as-he-explains-how-paleontologists-determined-the-size-of-a-femur kind of way. It was kind of endearing, the way Tsukishima got subtly excited. His voice would go just a pitch higher, and he’d push his glasses up with his knuckle like he was restraining actual joy. 

“There,” he said, stopping in front of the towering fossil of a Futabasaurus. “That one’s my favorite. Native to Japan.”

You blinked up at the enormous skeleton, rubbing your shoulder. “Big,” you said.

“Articulate,” Tsukishima deadpanned.

You yawned, long and unashamed, before leaning into his side like your bones had turned to jelly. “If I die here,” you muttered, “bury me under the plesiosaur. Let my suffering be remembered.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m tired.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

You pulled back just enough to give him a weak glare. “I wanted to come. For you.”

He looked down at you, something shifting subtly in his expression. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m a very good girlfriend.”

“You just took pictures to post on your socials and barely listened to what I’ve been telling you.”

“I thought I could be one of those museum lovers—and academically inclined aesthetic girlies on Pinterest.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his thumb brushed lightly over your hand, how he slowed his pace after that. Maybe it was a little thing, but you noticed it. You always did.

By the time they left the museum, dusk had settled in, and your legs were practically jelly. You said nothing, just collapsed into the passenger seat of his car, and groaned like an elderly crypt keeper.

“You survived,” Tsukishima said, starting the engine.

“Barely.”

“Want to go again next weekend?”

“I will stab you with a fossil.”

-

So you were right.

A fever was heading straight to you after that whole museum date. Oh, and you felt like your body was boiling from the inside out.

You lay in bed, cocooned in three blankets and clutching a half-full water bottle like it was the only thing that could save you from ascending with the light. Your head was pounding, your skin too warm and too cold at the same time, and every time you tried to sit up, the world tilted sideways like you were on a carnival ride from hell.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You groaned and fumbled for it with the coordination of someone wearing oven mitts.

Grumpy [10:12AM]: How’s the museum hangover?

You didn’t reply immediately. It took real effort just to squint at the screen. Instead, you turned over with a muffled groan and tried to sleep again. You really had no energy to even quip even a single like emoji.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Twice. Thrice.

So maybe if your dorm was on fire, you really didn’t care right now.

You, still feverish and fuzzy-headed, dragged yourself to the door in a hoodie three sizes too big (which was definitely Tsukishima’s; his brows furrow in that accusatory expression whenever he sees you wearing it, but he decides to let you keep it because he isn’t a total jerk of a boyfriend, duh) and mismatched socks. You cracked it open and blinked blearily at the tall figure standing there with a plastic bag and an expression caught somewhere between concern and guilt.

“Kei?” you croaked.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, stepping inside before you could tell him not to.

“I’m sick.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

You swayed a little under his touch. “Told you I was dying.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You were already exhausted yesterday. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“Because I wanted to see you. And dinosaurs.”

Tsukishima let out a slow sigh, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter. “That’s stupid. I guess idiots really do get colds.”

“You dragged me across natural history for three hours. I’m not the stupid one.”

“I didn’t drag you.”

“You gave me a guided death march through time.”

He looked at you, arms crossed, then unfolded one to hand you a small bottle of sports drink. “Drink this.”

You took it, pouting. “You’re only being nice because you feel guilty.”

“Yes.”

You blinked at the bluntness.

Oh.

Oh?

“I feel extremely guilty,” he said flatly. “I thought you were just being dramatic.”

“I was being dramatic.”

“You also had a fever brewing, apparently. And I laughed at you. So now I’m going to cook you porridge and feel bad for the rest of the week.”

You blinked at him. Again. “…You’re going to cook?”

“Don’t look so alarmed.”

“I just… didn’t think I was hallucinating yet.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes and moved into your kitchen, already unpacking the bag. Rice, eggs, green onions, a tiny bottle of sesame oil, and some store-bought pudding cups.

“I wasn’t sure if you had groceries,” he muttered. “So I brought my own.”

You leaned your head against the wall, watching him, hugging (more like wanting to become one by just leaning into it) the cold surface to cool your temperature. Your throat was sore, your skin felt like it was in flames, but somehow you still found the energy to smile. Of course, you weren’t going to miss the chance of still being pretty in front of this man.

“You’re kind of sweet when you feel bad.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t. You’ll annoy me again by Thursday.”

He looked over his shoulder at you, deadpan. “Wednesday, probably.”

You chuckled weakly, then let out a sigh as you slid back into your bed, the bottle still in hand.

“You’re forgiven,” you called out hoarsely. “But next time we go to a museum…”

“I’ll bring a wheelchair?”

“Or a coffin.”

From the kitchen came a long-suffering sigh, followed by the sound of a pot hitting the stove.

But Tsukishima stayed. All day. Quietly watching over you with guilt etched between his brows and the same quiet steadiness he brought to everything.

And though you hated museum dates, truly and deeply, you didn’t really mind the fever. Not if it meant he’d look at you like that, hovering in your doorway with a bowl of too-thick porridge and a stubborn determination to take care of you. 

Worried boyfriend Tsukishima in your fever arc? Finally unlocked.

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