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rememberwren · 6 months ago

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/•Harmless Fun•\

Exactly what it says on the tin. Established ghoap, bringing in fem!reader roommate. Poor writing. Reader has had any identifying features removed, but she owns a Ford Fiesta. Take that as you will. Just testing to see if there is interest in a lighthearted fun sexy fic like this. 🩶

“Remember. You’re desperate,” you muttered to yourself looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your tiny Ford Fiesta. The ink might as well still be fresh on the ad your roommate printed off for you (the perfect symbol of her guilt for moving back in with her boyfriend and forcing you to find a new apartment and new roommates in the first place).

The ad reads as thus: WANTED: ANY GENDER WELCOME to fill the second bedroom in a 2b/2ba 1290sq ft apartment. DOWNTOWN. In-building laundry. Utilities and rent split EVENLY amongst 3. NO FASCISTS, NO HOMOPHOBES.

It was the most promising ad you had seen after days of scouring the internet in your every spare moment (usually reserved for those moments when you were on break during shifts, feet and back aching, hating your life OR at the end of a long day when the post-sunset depression hit with all the force of a typhoon). Any two people who were against fascism and homophobia were alright in your book. As for the finer details—well. You were desperate. You were going to have to overlook any skeletons in their closets, as long as those skeletons weren’t literal.

I’m texting about the apartment downtown. Is this the right number?

Yeah, you’ve got it. Nice to text ya. You’re interested?

Very. Is there somewhere we could meet to discuss the details?

We don’t mind showing the apartment. Got a few others coming to see it as well. You cursed up a storm reading over that particular text, so much so that your roommate’s boyfriend knocked angrily on the thin walls separating your bedrooms. Scowling, you knocked back—a little too angry to be mistaken for conciliatory. You blamed that bastard for your troubles in the first place.

I’ll see it ASAP, if that’s okay.

Go-getter. How soon can you be here?

Which is how you found yourself in the parking lot of the building, hastily combing hairs back into place, hoping for some semblance of presentability. If only there was a way to hide the desperation in your eyes…

The apartment complex itself is everything you could have hoped for. It even has an indoor pool, which is a step up from the facilities offered at your own apartment. The rent is a little higher than what you were pulling at your old place, but you think you can manage it if you cut back on excess frivolities. And any joy. (Joy costs)

There’s a doorman even—an honest to god doorman! He instructs you on the way to the elevators, and you take them up to the top floor, feeling your ears pop from the change in altitude. By the time you’re standing in front of their door, your knees are knocking together, terrified of who you might be meeting. Even more terrified that they might not like you, that they might say no—

—and the door opens, shattering any expectation you have. The man standing there is undoubtedly, ungodly, unseemly, obscenely hot. His head nearly brushes the frame of the door, blond hair wild and mussed, like he’s just had the fuck of his life. He’s thick, too, muscles on muscles along his corded forearms, bared by the dark tee that stretches across his chest.

He is pale and dark eyed and frowning down at you so sternly that you are convinced you have knocked on the wrong door. God help you. It’s all an honest mistake—but then his gravelly, softly-accented voice says: “You’re here about the apartment?”

Your heart nearly stops. This is the person who owns the apartment? How could you be expected to live alongside this behemoth? Just as you are about to tuck tail and run, a hand grips the man’s shoulder and gently tugs him aside and another specimen—two of them! two!—appears. This one has his hair cropped in a Mohawk, his eyes a deep drown-worthy blue. A few inches shorter, he is just as impressive shape. He beams at you.

“Well!” he says, leaning on the door frame in a way that fetchingly shows off the cut muscles of his arm and chest. His voice is accented too, something rougher, different than the taller man’s. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Unless yer just a wee fascist.”

You blink. You had been thinking the very same. Your hackles rise on instinct, bristling in preemptive outrage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve had a type answering the ad,” the other man says dryly. “Johnny doesn’t mean nothing. Come in—if you’re still interested in the apartment.”

It crosses your mind that this is perhaps foolish: entering an apartment of strange men, regardless of how you had left the address with your roommate and specified a time to check in with her. But you’re desperate. So you slip in after them, Johnny making ample room for you to move past him in the doorway.

When you do, you smell his shower gel, something woodsy. You say a prayer that you aren’t drooling.

Your eyes roam over the open-concept apartment. The living room and kitchen are combined, larger than you might have imagined. It is homier, too, for a place where two men live: there are pictures along the walls, potted plants in the corners and on the desk, and an easel overlooking the balcony in the corner, an oil half-rendering of the view outside.

It is tidy. It smells nice. It is owned by two of the hottest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“I want it,” you blurt out.

Johnny laughs. “Sure ya do. Let us show you everything and then we’ll talk.”

You barely manage to contain your impatience as they lead you room to room. The guest room is empty, except for some boxes that Johnny hastily promises can be moved. The closets have no skeletons (you check). You would have your own bathroom. The more you see, the more convinced you are that this would be an ideal apartment regardless of who was offering it to you, but the frequent banter between the two men (Johnny and Simon you find out) is so entertaining and inviting that it’s hard not to feel like they want you—to be their third. Roommate that is.

After every nook and cranny of the apartment has been seen, they seat themselves on the loveseat and you on the adjacent armchair, your fingers interlaced like a businesswoman about to make the deal of her lifetime.

“I still want the room,” you admit. Johnny smiles, an expression that you sense comes easily to his face. His smile falls a little when you continue: “I just have one question. Why the vacancy?”

Simon takes a measured breath. The silence grows thick as they share a glance, communicating silently in a way that only two who have known each other—who have been through things with each other—can. At length, he says: “We’re ex-military. Disabled.”

That explained the cane Johnny had been using to move around the apartment.

“The benefits were excellent until recently, when we saw a generous…cut to our monthly pay.”

You frown. “That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”

Johnny gives a breathless little laugh. His hand comes down slowly to rest on Simon’s knee. You stare, unsure what you are seeing. “Well, it happens…when you get married.”

“That explains a lot,” your roommate says when you spill every little detail after driving home. By the time you arrive, her insufferable boyfriend is gone for the night (thank God) so it is just the two of you, like the good old days. “Namely why two men in a two bedroom apartment are looking for a roommate.”

“I didn’t even think of it,” you groan, palming at your eyes. “Am I homophobic?”

“No, just desperate and wishful,” she teases. She has no idea how accurate she is. It’s been years—literal years since you’ve been with anyone of substance. In the meantime, you’d been happy to settle for your fingers and your toys, but there was the occasional itch that only a cock could scratch in you. Figuratively. “This is a good thing though. The last thing you need is getting tangled up with your new roommates. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Instead I’ll be in the middle of their marital bliss. Or lack of, depending on the day,” you suggest dryly. But you aren’t even sure how much you believe your own words. Simon and Johnny said they had been together for nearly ten years, and more than their words, you had seen them with your own eyes—the way they gravitated to each other, the way their eyes were never far from each other. The way they roasted each other so good-naturedly. They seemed like a couple who were past their seven year itch, who had grown older and comfortable with each other. They seemed like they had their shit together.

Did it make you terrible that you still wanted to be pinned between them like a bug in a science project?

“Then tell them no,” she says, sitting on the edge of your bed. You see the guilt in her eyes, and it makes you just a little vindicated. Which makes you feel terrible. “You’ll find something. I promise. You could always stay with us until you do—“

“God no. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

You sigh. You nudge her with your foot. “Alright, out, I need to think.”

But it takes such little thought when Johnny (affectionately added to your phone) messages not ten minutes later.

I don’t want to rush ya, but another person asked to see the apartment. Should I show them?

No way, you text. That room is mine.

#ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #harmless fun

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0-therw-0-rldly · 3 months ago

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I’ll preface this by saying I’m not really a shipper. I just enjoy canon couples on TV Series/films.

Terms I’d like B*ddies to remove from their vocabulary because they don’t know how to use them correctly:

Media literacy: For a group that uses this term a lot you sure do misinterpret everything in this show.

Queerbaiting: Going to expand on this one. A show that’s already been pre established for having queer characters simply cannot queerbait.

Ship baiting: While sometimes you can argue that they could be doing that, that’s only if you look at the show in a very biased manner. You might think this is the case but the general audience doesn’t think the way you do.

Ship war: This isn’t a one tree hill situation where there was Team Brooke Vs. Team Peyton where the middle guy (Lucas Scott) had canonically been with both women. This is people not understanding fanon vs. canon and not being able to just watch the show. It’s like playing quarterback on Madden and thinking you could be better than Patrick Mahomes.

Plot device: everything’s a plot device. Move tf on.

Predator: You sound like crazy MAGA supporters calling everything regarding the LGBTQIA+ community as predatory. Sit down.

Co-parenting: I know this is a big one and discourse was brought up during the hiatus. Oliver and Ryan have loosely mentioned this years ago but it was never to be taken this seriously. Do y’all even know what co-parenting is or are you that big of a donut? Buck is someone who loves his best friend deeply and by extension, his kid too. Him taking care of him frequently does not make him a co-parent. Maybe he is a parental or uncle figure, but he isn’t a co-parent. Also, I swear y’all need to learn how a will works. He is a GODPARENT, not a GUARDIAN. Stfu.

Hag: This especially applies to women, but to say that someone 25-30+ is a hag for still being in fandoms or enjoying tv shows/films is inherently misogynistic. Men are never held to this much criticism for enjoying fictional media, but women aren’t allowed to?

Queer Coding: people of the same sex “looking at each other”, hugging, or having intimate moments all together doesn’t make them queer coded. It could mean that they just love each other that deeply platonically. While representation is amazing and just because you interpret a character as queer coded (just like my ship baiting comment) doesn’t mean others interpret it that way as well. In addition, network TV has stipulations, and also actors are allowed to decline storylines. Ryan has mentioned his character is heterosexual an abundance of times which means (at least for now) that he isn’t willing to go for this storyline.

Dead naming: Y’all construing the fact that Buck wants people like coworkers and some of his former love interests, to saying Evan is his dead name is inherently transphobic because do you even understand what a dead name is? Evan Buckley is shown as being fine with being called Evan by both Tommy and his sister. I’m pretty sure some of his love interests have called him Evan as well.

Fetishizing: You guys saw two hot guys who “looked at each other” and for 6 seasons have wanted nothing but to see those two make out with each other. Those of us who enjoy Tevan saw Buck giddy at the thought of Tommy and have wanted domestic fluff for them since.

Anything to do with racism, homophobia, and misogyny: I’ve seen the way you guys have conveniently weaponized Henren and by extension Aisha/Tracie when you didn’t get the Ryan/Oliver interview, don’t try to act like you’re morally superior. Not to mention wanting a canonically gay man to die in a show and not even holding those who use your ship name to write CSA fics accountable because you’re petty and want to throw hissy fits. Anyone looking at your comments as an outsider would think you’re homophobes and yes queer people can be homophobic.

I do hope you can expand your vocabulary. 🤍

#I swear y’all are just telling on yourselves for being idiots #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #911 show #tevan #abc 911 #lou ferrigno jr #911 #kinley #rants #anti buddie #anti bobs

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 5 months ago

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pairing: past wanda maximoff x fem!reader / present natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: When you see Wanda again after the secret relationship you shared during your college years, you realize the lasting impact she had on you. Haunted by flashbacks of your time together, you struggle to reconcile the memory of the Wanda you once knew with the woman she has become a decade later.

content warnings: angst, homophobia, a few homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia, heartbreak and grief, some smut, tragedy

word count: 7.1k+

Masterlist

A/N: This is heavily inspired by the song Us. By Gracie Abrams ft. Taylor Swift. I would recommend listening to it simply because it is a masterpiece and the foundation of this fic.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

The Secret of Us

“Babe, are you ready?”

Green eyes peek around the doorframe, delicate fingers working a dangling diamond studded earring through a slightly reddened ear. There’s a gentle smile on Natasha’s face, a strand escaping her perfectly curled hair and falling somewhat in front of her face. It brushes softly against her cheek, a sharp exhale moving it as a wince appears on her face.

“Here, let me,” you say, curling a single finger in her direction. You place your makeup brushes onto the vanity in front of you, your fingers gentle as you pluck the earring from Natasha’s hand.

It’s a beautiful piece. The golden metal is dainty, yet solid, woven into complex swirls that catch the dying rays of sunshine streaming in from your window. Your hands are careful, threading the earring through her skin like a seamstress, with confidence that comes from years of practice and love woven into each measured touch.

“Perfect,” you mutter. You both know you’re not just talking about the earring.

Natasha smirks at you, full of confidence that is only slightly contrasted by the pink flush rising to her cheeks. You laugh slightly, the sound low and full of warmth as you turn back towards the mirror.

Strong hands rest lightly on your shoulders as Natasha’s fingers firmly rub circles into your skin. You can feel the tight knots give away beneath her ministrations and sigh in relief as you brush highlighter onto the highest point of your cheekbones. Green eyes track your movements lazily, taking you in like it's the first time she’s seeing you. You find it quite romantic and tell her just as much.

“Well,” the bright smile on Natasha’s face shines through the word, “That was my goal, detka.”

A soft shove from you has Natasha’s hands wrapping around your own as she pulls you to your feet. You sway slightly, blinking against the headrush that comes from changing positions too quickly. Arms wrap around your waist as strong as the pull of gravity, unwavering and inevitable.

“You look beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her lips brushing yours.

“Compared to you, I am nothing.” The words flow from your lips easily, the truth of them lying comfortably under your skin, feeling like the steady weight of a cat curled up on your chest. You kiss away any protests, your tongue swiping against hers when she tries to speak.

“We should go,” Natasha manages to say, the words separated with the firm kisses she places against your lips. “We’re about to run late, and I know you hate it when people are inconsiderate with their timing.”

You nod against her, your hands squeezing her waist gently as you breathe deeply through your nose, unwilling to part your lips from hers.

“Sweetheart.”

Natasha’s tone is firm, her hand pressed against your sternum as she pushes you away. It's gentle, almost hesitant. You know that if you pressed back against it, she would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide. It's for that very reason that you don’t, not wanting to disrupt her carefully planned evening.

“Lead the way, my love.”

—

You find yourself hanging from Natasha’s arm, feeling every bit like a trophy. Shining, and put on the highest shelf, gazes sliding appreciatively over you before moving on to the next impressive thing. You wonder how long it will be before the dust begins to collect.

A man, standing close to your wife. His fingers twitch, his eyes glancing dismissively at you. He’s talking just a bit too loud for the short distance between him and Natasha, and you feel a white-hot rage rising before you take in the fake smile plastered across her face.

It's too wide, showing too many teeth and yet not enough at the same time. Her eyes are sharp, the soft crow’s feet that normally appear at the edges nowhere to be found. The pressure of her fingers against your waist grounds you, leaving you feeling every bit like a rock standing solidly against the crashing waves.

The man moves on, loses interest. You don’t mind. The memory of him is already floating away, being replaced by the soft look Natasha is sending your way. You feel shiny again, not a speck of dust in sight.

Dragging your eyes around the room, you let yourself get lost in the sea of bodies.

Natasha had brought you to some important work event. It was essentially a party, disguised under layers of professionalism in celebration of a multi-million dollar partnership with their rival company.

There was an undercurrent of tension, being slowly filtered into a sort of understanding and grudging respect. The alcohol probably helped.

A woman’s laughter rang around the room. The tension in the air shuddered and released its hold slightly.

You amend your statement. The alcohol definitely helped.

Lazily, you return your gaze to the room. Natasha is slowly walking you towards the center of the room, leading you with gentle touches at your waist. You feel every bit like a lamb, awkward with growing limbs as it is shepherded into a crowd.

Bouncing around the room, your eyes take in the multitude of people. Features start to blur together. A pointed nose, blue eyes almost hidden under thick eyeliner, shimmering dresses that catch the light and make your head spin.

Your eyes catch on brunette hair. Soft, flowing like a calm river on a warm summer's day.

Startling slightly, you blink, a memory dredging its way to the front of your brain like molten lava, slow and inevitable.

Brunette hair, falling effortlessly over strong shoulders. The scent of vanilla washing over you and enveloping you like a well-known embrace. Green eyes sparkling down at you as soft lips move. You focus, dragging your eyes away from the perfectly manicured nails softly brushing against your desk.

“Mind if I sit here?”

A feeble shake of your head, and rapid blinking as you attempt to return the moisture lost to wide-eyed staring back into your eyes.

She’s beautiful.

Her words are kind, a small smile seemingly locked into place on her lips as she regards you. Green eyes roam your face, lingering around your lips for just a second too long.

“I’m Wanda.”

The memory slams into your skull, reverberating painfully around as you feel an age-old, nearly forgotten crack in your heart reopen. It takes your breath away, the weight in your chest feeling like a paperweight, settling down on the last few pages of a story full of loss and anguish.

Natasha’s speaking to someone, her raspy voice filtering through your ears. It’s nothing like the cadence of melted butter you still sometimes hear in your dreams. It's different, better. You wonder when the lies will morph into a semblance of truth.

You take a deep breath, letting those thoughts slide back to where they belong. In the back of your mind, locked away and left to be forgotten. It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on the past, with its looming, crumbling chess pieces that dance around you in a game that you don’t quite understand the rules of.

“Ah, fuck.” Comes Natasha’s voice, the words mumbled directly in your ear.

You twist your head, shaking it free of cobwebs sticky with memory as you take in your wife. Her eyes are locked on something across the room, the faint furrow of her brows the only sign of displeasure etched on her face. Her lips are moving, mumbling something about an important blah blah man blah blah, rich and influential at her rival company blah blah…

Smiling slightly, you hide your amusement with practiced ease as you turn your gaze towards the man, no, a couple heading your way. Your eyes barely register the neatly parted blonde hair of a tall man, his eyes locked on Natasha with a calculating sort of look in them before your eyes slide over to the woman on his arm.

Fuck, indeed.

Your heartbeat rushes through your ears, a dull ringing cascading through them as you feel your breath catch. Everything has gone numb, or cold, or tingly. You’re not really sure. Everything is too much and the room is too hot even as goosebumps rise on the surface of your exposed flesh. You suddenly see yourself in a third-person view, your mind projecting outside your body as you go rigid at the sight of her.

Wanda Maximoff.

Green eyes, brighter and lighter than the ones you stared lovingly into at the altar. Her gaze flickers over to you, not fully meeting your eyes, a forced sort of dissonance playing out briefly on those perfect features before she focuses on Natasha.

Another memory slams into you, rising unbidden from the depths of your mind before you can stop it.

Soft laughter, echoing around the room before it's absorbed by the four walls surrounding you. Green eyes, smiling at you before returning their focus to the pen and paper in front of her.

Wanda writes something down, your eyes tracing the elegant script that flowed easily from her fingertips. Something scratches at the back of your mind, a tendril of something fond, warm. It feels like coming home, future impressions of familiarity beginning to take root.

“Let me see,” you’re saying, moving closer. Your hands reach for the book. No, it's a leather-bound journal. You’d picked them out earlier, after walking to the store with Wanda from your English literature class.

“No, oh my god,” Wanda was saying, giggles erupting from her as she half-heartedly wrestled the journal away from you. Her hand lands on your knee, her cheeks a little too flushed. It reminds you of the cherry she’d eaten earlier, licking the whipped cream from her milkshake off before smiling and sucking the fruit into her mouth.

Her hand stills, awkward and stiff for a moment. You don’t comment on it, shifting your body weight to be slightly closer to her. The warmth from her palm spreads through your body like a slow creek, new and small and promising bigger currents down the road.

“Let me read yours out loud and I’ll let you read mine,” you offer, taking her journal gently and placing yours in her lap.

“It’s just poetry,” the words flow from your lips, but you know it’s more than that. It’s the very contents of your soul, laid bare for her to see, wrapped under layers of grammar and careful wording. It’s a confession, it’s a sin, it’s something twisting and beautiful and as graceless as a newborn foal. Her eyes meet yours, your thoughts reflected back at you as her fingers twitch slightly on your knee.

Wanda’s hand takes your journal, those green eyes skimming the words as her lips move silently.

You don’t look away, you can’t look away. Her hair is falling over her shoulder, as delicate and soft as the words written before you. There’s a palpable tension in the air, low and thumping like a familiar heartbeat.

Green eyes, flickering back to you. Something behind them that you can’t interpret. You feel like she can see your every thought, the very contents of your being laid out before her as she analyzes each individual piece. It’s frightening and it’s intoxicating, and you look away.

You’re reading her words now, the sentences flowing and mashing together in your mind as you pluck the strings of her mind with your careful hands. It’s beautiful and well-written, layered with so many truths and lies that you can’t begin to interpret the true meaning of her sentences.

Something tingles at the base of your skull, warm and light as it blossoms through your head. Understanding. Or, the semblance of it.

You look up. Light green eyes stare back into yours. They’re captivating, and you wonder if they ever left. If she watched you the same way you did her, attempting to unravel her very being through carefully constructed lines and flowing script and words layered with meaning.

Those green eyes have the power to shatter you. You pick up your pen.

“So what is it that you do?” The man is speaking.

Your mind crashes back into the present, another hairline fracture appearing on the surface of your heart. You can practically feel it, the torment running deeper than the illusion the thin crack offers. It’s bone-aching, and you suddenly feel exhausted.

“I’m a copywriter,” Natasha answers, sounding casual. You can sense the clipped tone and undercurrent of frustration, and your hand gently traces circles against her wrist. “I graduated with a degree in English Literature.”

“Ah,” the man says, sounding every bit as pretentious as he looks. “My wife got a degree in that as well.”

Another crack, splintering into you. Your eyes flick down, catching the ring on Wanda’s finger. It’s shining and big, the diamonds glittering back at you, the mockery of it seeping into your soul. The meaning of it is every bit as surface level as what you assume Wanda’s feelings for this man are. You know better, she had told you just as much.

“I don’t think I’ll ever love a man in the way I’m meant to.”

You don’t have to ask what she means. You don’t respond, a gentle sigh escaping you as the weight of her head rests solidly on your shoulder. The clock on your nightstand blinks back at you, the numbers twinkling in the early morning. Pens and paper and journals are strewn around you, a poetry book facedown in your lap. Your voice had grown too tired from reading, but neither of you seemed to mind the comfortable silence stretching around the room.

Until now.

“I know,” you say. There are not many words you can speak.

It's simple. That’s a lie. It’s not, it’s complicated and it's painful and there’s nothing you can do to take that away from her. You wish you could. You would do anything to let Wanda’s soul have respite in your presence, to be unburdened from thoughts of sin and duty, to be able to finally breathe properly.

Soft fingers find your hand, tangling with your fingers almost hesitantly. Your palm slides easily against hers, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands fit like a jigsaw puzzle, feeling like the final piece as it clicks into place. Confusion and frustration sliding away as the picture finally makes sense.

“Poetry feels like prayer.” Wanda’s voice is quiet, and you know what she means. It feels holy, even with the words only spoken in the sublunary space of your dorm room. Her head twists on your shoulder, and you feel your gaze drawn to her like the inevitable magnetic pull of the earth. Her green eyes peer up at you. “Will you pray with me?”

Picking up the poetry book in your lap, you begin reading. Your thumb runs over the pages. Staring at the words in front of you, you wonder why they’re blurry. You realize later, after Wanda had fallen asleep from being lulled into comfort by your voice, that it had been unshed tears.

You let them fall.

“Yes,” Wanda is saying, and her voice is exactly the same as you’d remembered. She’s speaking, saying something about the university she’d attended and how she got her degree. The only thing you can focus on is the familiar lilt of her words, the smooth cadence you’ve memorized and seared into your brain.

It’s painful, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. Natasha’s hand moves slightly against your waist, and you blink. The man next to Wanda has his arms almost possessively around her shoulders, his hawkish eyes watching you.

You look away.

“Oh, you and my wife went to the same University,” Natasha says, trying to be helpful. You don’t appreciate it. Her words are genuine, but the statement falls short, a beat of awkward silence stretching into an eternity as you try to respond. What could you even say?

Yes. We did. I fell in love with the confident, full-of-life brunette who looked at me like I hung the moon, and I looked at her like she painted the stars just to give the moon some company. I loved her as easy as breathing, and now my lungs never feel full enough, my breaths labored and weighted with the words of love I breathed into her ear that I can’t take back, won’t take back.

Refuse to take back.

“We must have missed each other,” Wanda says, her eyes flashing in your direction, but not fully meeting yours. “It’s a big school.”

A polite smile plasters itself onto your face, too small and stiff to be sincere. Your heart clenches painfully, a small part of your mind begging Wanda to meet your eyes. God, it feels just like when you were at University.

Her husband’s fingers tighten slightly around her shoulder, pulling her further into his side. You wonder if Wanda feels like she’s suffocating yet. You hope not, you want her to breathe. To fill her lungs with light and hope and passion and… not whatever this is.

Another memory, sludging through your mind like a heavy foot through quicksand.

You don’t talk to Wanda much outside of class and the late-night poetry readings in your dorm. She blames it on her busy social life, being in a sorority is apparently no joke. You’ve learned to keep your head down when you see her in public, her eyes always lingering near you, but never fully meeting yours, too focused on the sorority sisters that always seem to surround her. Appearances are everything to her, you know that.

But god, it hurts.

It still doesn’t cut quite as deep as the weekend her parents came to visit.

Wanda had grown up the daughter of a pastor, a well-spoken man with a quiet, hidden-in-the-shadows wife. You’d watched from afar, noticing the small glances her mother would send her way, and the nervous twitching of her fingers as she adjusted Wanda's collar, or brushed a piece of invisible lint from her daughter's skirt.

Per usual, Wanda was nothing short of perfect. Her hair was perfectly curled, laying gently over her shoulders as the brunette strands glowed in the sunlight. She’d done her makeup just subtle enough to perfect her already dainty features, but not enough to rouse suspicion that she was promiscuous.

You’d watched her do her makeup many times, her hands perfecting the art. You wondered how much of her father’s influence and mother’s worry controlled the easy flick of her brush as it spread a light blush across her cheeks.

Tracing your gaze down her form, you glance back to the book in front of you. A poem glared up at you, the words swimming off the page as you remember the subtle curve of Wanda’s spine, her head bowed slightly as her father spoke into her ear.

Wanda was full of life, shining brightly and standing out amongst the rest of the population at this university. Or perhaps that was simply your own observation, after all, your entire waking moments were consumed by thoughts of her.

The point is, she wasn’t… docile. Or submissive, or meek like her posture suggests when her father lays a hand on her shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s gripping his fingers tightly or gently around her, but either way, Wanda doesn’t make a move to remove his hand.

She’s nodding, her head turning towards him. You can see her smiling easily at him, saying something back.

His hand returns to his side, and you hope that you imagine the slope of her mother’s shoulders relaxing. The way her fingers twitch towards her daughter, wanting to replace the feeling of his hand against her skin, but choosing to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear instead. Always deflecting her true intentions.

Wanda’s face turns towards her mother. You see the momentary look that passes between them, but you’re unable to interpret it from across the quad. The moment passes, and her mother returns her attention back to her husband. Always a faithful, obedient wife.

When Wanda and her parents pass by the table you’re seated at, she doesn’t spare you a second glance. Her green eyes are focused on some unimportant thing in the distance, her father’s lips moving near her ear again. You silently plead with her to look your way, to take solace in the silent comfort you can provide.

Her green eyes don’t meet yours. You feel a crack appear on your heart, and you swallow harshly as you stare blankly at the poetry in front of you. Shoving the crack down where you’ve displaced all the other ones, you begin to read.

The poem is a romantic one. Full of yearning and hope and unbridled passion. The only thing you can think about is how incredibly tragic it seems.

Natasha’s thumb is slowly moving, caressing your hip as she holds you loosely by her side. Not possessive, but not without care either. You’re grateful for the touch, and focus on it as Wanda’s husband continues to talk about… what is he talking about?

You don’t really care.

The version of Wanda that you knew and the woman you see in front of you clash in your mind, splintering your thoughts. You’re also aware of your wife beside you, and guilt creeps into your heart.

You chose Natasha. You’re happy with her, you stood across from her and declared your love and promised her that you would love her until the end of time. You intend to stand by that, to uphold your promise. Imagining a future without her seems impossible.

But you’d also imagined a future with Wanda once. It didn’t seem right to just ignore that. And it was impossible to keep the memories at bay. Not when she was standing before you for the first time in ten fucking years, with her perfect hair and her natural looking makeup and her light green eyes and the scent of vanilla washing over you and and and-

Breathing in, feeling the comforting scent of vanilla enveloping you in the strong embrace of a familiar lover. Wanda’s hair just beneath your nose, the silky strands brushing against your cheek and chin as you place a gentle kiss on her head.

Her arms are wrapped around you, her breaths even. You aren’t asleep, but you let her think that you are. It's easier for her to be herself when she thinks nobody is watching. Her fingers slowly dance along the exposed skin of your stomach, softly tracing nonsensical patterns against you as you feel your heart pound steadily.

A poetry book rests at your side, forgotten in the favor of holding her in your arms. You understand what all the poets mean, with their suffering and their longing written painstakingly on pages of crinkled paper beneath their ink-stained hands, as you hold Wanda gently against you. This moment feels too precious, too raw to ever be put into words, to write down for the world to see.

No, you’d much rather keep this moment pure and untouched, resting in your heart alongside the inevitability of Wanda Maximoff.

You can feel her in your soul. Or rather, maybe it’s your soul that’s bleeding and filling the space between you two. You hope that it is mixing with Wanda’s, filling the painful parts of her that she pushes down and cushioning them with warmth. Is it too much to hope that she’ll carry a part of you with her forever? Is it selfish to take the willing parts of her soul that bleed into yours and keep them there until they’re so ingrained in the fiber of your being that you would lose yourself if she took it back?

Maybe that's the true definition of love.

Natasha's hand grips you tightly, her fingers tense around your hip. Her eyes are locked on Wanda’s husband, his drawling voice grating your nerves. You risk a glance at Wanda, recognizing her blank look at the ground for what it is. Escape.

She used to tell you about the places she’d go inside her mind when life got to be too much for her. It sounded peaceful. She could be whoever she wanted inside her own head, without the pressure of her father or the quiet concern of her mother and the encompassing guilt that she was never making the right choices. You hope she's there right now, and return your gaze towards her husband.

“I mean,” Her husband's eyes are sharp, glinting dangerously at your wife. “It’s so nice that they allow so many… diverse individuals to work with your company.”

His eyes travel down her body before flicking over to you briefly.

“Is it hard to keep your lifestyle and work life separate?” he asks, and your blood boils. You see Wanda’s head lower further. “I imagine it's quite difficult to relate to your peers, with a secret like that.”

Natasha is seconds away from exploding, tearing him down with sharp words and securing her own termination in the same breath.

You find your voice, the quiet strength of your words surprising you. “I’ve been out and proud since I was in high school. I’ve never been ashamed of who I am. And neither is my wife.”

Wanda’s eyes cut sharply over to you, that specific shade of light green filling your vision.

“Why the fuck would you give this to me if you didn’t want me to interpret it that way?” You’re not yelling, you never would. Not at her. Never at Wanda. But you can feel the frustration leaking into each syllable, and you hate the way that Wanda’s shoulders seem to hunch in on themselves.

“I never meant for you to…” Wanda can’t continue, her eyes locked on the poetry book you’re clutching between your fingers.

“You never meant for me to fall in love with you?”

A flinch, green eyes staring at the carpet and gentle fingers clenched uselessly over the back of a chair. The words bounce around your dorm room, settling in with a tentative weariness.

“Why would you give me this poetry book about romance and passion and fighting for love if that’s not what you wanted me to think about you?” you set the book down on your desk, the pages flipping open. You can see the smudged ink of your annotations. That was a flaw of yours, always writing too fast as you try to keep up with the thoughts in your head.

“That’s not what I mean I-” Wanda’s eyes are locked on the book and you watch her swallow harshly. Her voice is shaky, her head bowed. You hate it, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better. “I can’t love you.”

“You don’t love me?”

“That’s not what I said.” Wanda’s voice is quiet.

Oh.

“You don’t understand,” Wanda has unshed tears in her eyes. You want to wipe them away, your fingers twitching, unsure if you’re allowed to anymore. “My family means everything to me.”

Oh.

The weight of tragedy settles in, burying itself deep within your bones and wrapping around your heart and squeezing. All of the cracks you’d smothered appear at once, splintering and creating new fractures with each labored pump of poisonous blood coursing through your body.

You finally understand what the poets mean. The metaphors and desperation, the weight of grief and longing and the way it sticks to your very soul like a parasite that you keep feeding and nurturing because the pain of forgetting is worse than the crushing travesty of remembering.

Wanda is talking, and for the first time, you’re not paying attention to her words. She’s saying something about her parents and financial dependence and them cutting her off and all you can hear is that she’s stuck and scared and trying to protect herself and you can’t choose her path for her.

It’s agony, it’s grief and it’s nothing like what you imagined as you innocently read the words scattered across the pages of your poetry book. It’s so much fucking worse. Wanda’s hand is on the doorknob of your dorm, her vanilla scent already fading from your walls as she looks at you with longing and grief and something devastating hidden and suppressed deep within her soul. You wonder if this will be the last time her green eyes ever look at you with genuine emotion shining through them.

You wonder if you’ll ever escape the numbing chill of loneliness that settles beneath your skin like an old friend.

Vision, you’d learned his name at some point during the conversation, seems at a loss for words for the first time since you’ve met him. His face is steadily reddening, the tips of his ears practically scarlet as you watch the hand on Wanda’s shoulder tighten.

“I’ve seen your name credited a lot, you must be very good at what you do.” Wanda’s voice is melodic, her words placating yet genuine. She’s mending the rift, her words an unspoken apology for her husband’s behavior as he stands sullen beside her.

Natasha smiles and begins speaking.

It’s strange, to see the woman you’re in love with talking with Wanda. There was a time when you thought you’d never find someone who made you feel the way Wanda did. You were convinced that your love would live and die with her.

Then, you met your wife.

Natasha was everything you could have ever hoped for. She loved you openly and proudly from the moment she met you. Her commitment to you had never waned, her gestures true and meanings genuine. You’d never trusted somebody more, never felt as comfortable with another person.

She stood by your side when others did not. She held you when you were sick, and stayed by your side when you were at your lowest. The day that you had married her was the best day of your life, and your vows were nothing short of pure truth. The green eyes that had looked at you from across the altar were vibrant and dark, your love for that shade of green far surpassing the one you’d loved all those years ago.

So why did it still hurt to think about Wanda?

If you had to choose. Right now, Natasha or Wanda, you knew you’d choose your wife in every lifetime. But that didn’t explain the splintering cracks reappearing on your heart the longer you stayed in Wanda’s presence.

Music rattles the floor, a plethora of swirling hues surrounding you. Your senses are dulled by the fiery liquor burning within your veins, your brain finally relaxing.

“Dude, come on don’t just stand there like a weirdo,” Kate pulls you away from the wall, spilling your cup in the process.

You both look down at it for a moment, before bursting into peals of laughter that leave you clutching her shoulder for support as she bends at the waist. Her dark hair falls neatly over her shoulders, her backward cap holding it in place.

The music drowns out most of your laughter, but you’re aware of the eyes on both you and Kate as you wipe tears from your eyes. She’s pulling you closer to the DJ, dancing sloppily with you. You can’t bring yourself to care about the people around you. There was one goal tonight, get absolutely sloshed at the local college bars and then pass out on Kate’s couch to forget about the whole thing.

“Who the fuck let the sloppy, drunk dykes in?”

Kate doesn’t hear the words, but you do. You turn to face the group near you, the liquor making you bold. It’s a bunch of sorority girls, with their skin-tight dresses and judging eyes watching you with caked-on mascara. Your heart drops when you see Wanda standing in the middle of them.

Your blood runs cold, a surge of sadness and fury sweeping through you. It’s confusing, but most of all, it’s fucking infuriating.

Behind you, Kate stumbles, her elbow knocking into your side. Your arms wrap around her, keeping her upright as she mumbles an apology in your ear. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wanda whisper something to one of the girls, their eyes on you and filled with mirthful laughter.

“You’re right, Wanda,” the girl says, loud enough for the whole group to hear. “These dyke sluts would probably jump on the nearest dick they could find, since nobody else wants to fuck them.”

The blood rushes to your ears, and Kate’s gasp reverberates around your skull. The bar seems quieter than before, and a multitude of eyes are on you and the blonde bitch in front of you is smirking like she just stole your favorite candy and Wanda is laughing and pointedly avoiding eye contact with you but her smile wavers slightly as her eyes grow sad for a split second before she remembers where she is and you’re so fucking mad and it all just seems so goddamn tragic and-

Your fist connects solidly with that stupid, smug smirk that the blonde girl proudly plasters on her face. There are gasps and Kate whooping loudly in your ear and arms wrapped around you and pulling you towards the door and alcohol making your head spin and fuck you’ve never felt more alive.

Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours. They’re filled with shock, but just before she turns away, you see a sliver of gratitude and the hint of an apology glimmering in their depths.

Needless to say, both you and Kate are banned from that bar.

Your wife is laughing. The echoes of mean laughter from Wanda and her sorority sisters fade into the background noise of your brain as you refocus on the conversation. Natasha’s soft chuckles bring a smile to your face before you can stop it, your lips turning up as you look at her.

She’s effortlessly pretty, her eyes crinkled slightly at the edges even as her gaze flickers warily over to Vision. Her arm is wrapped around your waist, solid yet unrestrictive.

Wanda’s eyes linger around the fingers that lightly draw circles against your hip. She seems to shake herself, eyes quickly moving back towards safer territory as she focuses on Natasha’s face. You don’t miss the fleeting expression of longing that flits across her face, her appearance seeming soul-crushingly tired for a mere moment before it smooths over in a way that speaks to years of practice.

You wonder if she’s remembering the same night that rises to the front of your mind. You try to combat it, to stay in the moment. Natasha's fingers squeeze your hips lovingly, and you descend into the memory with bone-deep guilt.

The concrete is cold beneath you, the wind picking up slightly and threading its way through your hair. You shiver, feeling Wanda adjust her body closer to yours. You’re aware of her heat spreading through you. Her hand fits seamlessly in yours, and you wonder when loving Wanda became as easy and inevitable as breathing.

“Do you think the poets compared their words to the stars?” Wanda asks.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, breathing in her vanilla scent. It’s hard to focus on her words when her body is pressed fully against yours, your left side burning with warmth and something else that you’re almost scared to identify.

Wanda chuckles, the sound heating your cheeks further.

“Well,” she pauses. That’s one of the things you love about her, how careful she is with her words. “Do you think they viewed their words, their poems, as unattainable yet beautiful and pure?”

You’re quiet. You can think of something that is also unattainable, pure and completely inevitable. It’s not poetry, and it’s not the glittering stars that take up your vision. She’s lying right beside you, her nose bright red from the wind and a future stretching out ahead of her that she is able to mold into something beautiful and something that is completely her own. If only she had the courage to do so. You hope she does.

“Of course they did. They’re poets,” you respond, and Wanda hums. “Do you feel that way?”

Wanda doesn’t respond, and that’s enough of an answer for you.

The silence stretches on, but it's comfortable. Wanda is shifting silently, more of her body pressing against you, the wind having died down a while ago, leaving no easy excuses for her leg pressed fully against yours.

“You wanna know what I think?” Wanda’s voice is quiet, yet firm.

Turning your head, you look at her. She looks back, her lips mere inches away from yours. You can feel the soft, warm breath escaping her lips and hitting your face as she speaks.

“I think that you’re like the stars,” Wanda begins, her green eyes sparkling at you. They glance down imperceptibly, almost too quickly for you to catch. You notice, of course you do. “You're incomparable, chemical almost.”

Wanda trails off, her eyes firmly focused on your lips. You understand, you always do.

“I can’t tell if you’re a curse or a miracle,” you whisper, feeling Wanda lean in. The tension vibrates palpably between your lips and hers. “But I don’t really care.”

Soft lips collide with yours, a seismic shift that causes your head to spin for a moment. It’s perfect and pure and something bordering on holiness and you find yourself never wanting to leave this moment. Then, Wanda’s lips are moving against yours and the heat inside you is rising and her hands are everywhere and you can’t get enough of her and-

Her moans feel almost reverent, stretching out into the minimal space between you as she arches herself closer to you. Her skin is pressed against yours, warm and alive and feeling every last bit like an all-consuming force that you gladly pull closer. Your fingers slip inside her easily, the feeling of her bringing tears to your eyes. You want to live in this moment forever, with the taste of her on your lips and her thighs impossibly soft around you, her head thrown back as she chants your name like a prayer.

You’ve never believed in God. But in this moment, you finally know what it truly means to worship.

A man’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Well, as lovely as it’s been to meet you…” Vision trails off, and Natasha simply raises an eyebrow.

“Thank you for the wonderful conversation,” Wanda’s smooth words cut in, another unspoken apology and excuse for her husband's behavior. “We should probably be leaving, it’s getting late.”

Green eyes glance at her husband, whether for permission or in reprimand, you can’t tell. Either way, it gets Vision to move, a firm head nod directed towards your wife before he’s striding towards the door, pulling Wanda with him.

She’s leaving. Again.

A final memory claws its way to the surface. You know this one. It's a memory that you’ve kept hidden in the deepest part of your brain, in a place full of sticky cobwebs and scarce lighting, meant to be forgotten.

It’s inevitable.

Wanda is almost at the exit, her husband's hand possessive against the small of her back. It speaks of ownership, of pride. You despise it. It’s nothing like the soft, loving touch of your wife’s hand against your waist.

The turn of a head and soft brunette waves falling gently around delicate, hunched shoulders. Soft skin, glowing slightly in the dim, red lighting of an exit sign. Green eyes, piercing yours in the same manner that they had all those years ago.

Your breath catches, lodging itself painfully in your throat. Or maybe it's just your chest, and what lies beneath the surface. A heart, with cracks all along the surface, squeezing painfully, the tension, the agony almost too much to bear.

A single tear slides down your cheek. You hear Natasha murmuring something in your ear, a gentle hand wiping your face dry.

There’s a mask sliding into place over those perfect features that you’d memorized a decade ago. Green eyes, light in shade, sliding past you as if you’re an insignificant, forgotten trophy on the highest shelf. And then she’s gone, out the door with only the faint scent of vanilla and a permanent memory etched into your mind.

The cracks splinter, and without warning, shatter completely.

“Pick up, pick up… please just… fucking. Ah, just, goddamnit pick up the fucking phone Wanda.”

You’re drunk, the phone feeling awkward and heavy in your hands. The sound of a dial tone beeping ricochets through your mind, and you clumsily jerk the phone away from your ear. Blearily, you take in the four previous calls you’ve made to Wanda.

One more try can’t hurt. Right?

You firmly press your finger against her name, the sound of your phone dialing her number washing over you. The tiny numbers in the corner of your screen read somewhere between one or two in the morning, but you don’t care. All you need is for Wanda to pick up.

A sound, different from before. You hear quiet breathing on the other side of the line.

God, you’ve missed that sound. The feeling of her head resting against your shoulder or chest as slow measured breaths fill the four walls of your dorm room. The small puffs of air hitting your skin when she shifted, burying her face in your neck.

You say as much, the words spilling out of you. You’re not sure if Wanda is listening, but you hope she is.

“Fuck, I- I just miss you so much. It feels like I’m dying every time I see you, and I can’t take your eyes avoiding mine anymore. I mean,” you hiccup, the sound pathetic even to your own ears. It doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you miss us?” you say, your voice quiet. The soft breaths on the other end of the line hitch, and you grasp at it. “I miss the flame of what we were, I don’t even really know what we were, but… I miss the small reign we had. Even if it was just in the space of my dorm room. I would go through the pain of you every day if it meant I could be close to you. I-”

You lose the words, the regret pouring through you as quickly as a flooding river. The words can’t escape fast enough.

“Do you regret us? I know we were a secret, and I was okay with that. I would have done anything, kept anything private, secret even, just to keep you in my life. You know that Wanda.” You draw a shaky breath. You hope that you don’t imagine the same type of breath on the other end of the line.

“Do you miss it?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks gently. You hear Wanda’s sharp, soft inhale. “Do you regret the secret of us?”

Click.

---

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato

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yuff7e · 5 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ we’re just friends !! ´ˎ˗

sfw + nsfw / fluff / angst

katsuki bakugo x male reader

an : (this is so old omg)

as you bobbed your head up and down katsuki stared at you with wide, glazed over eyes. his mouth was slightly agape and his hands were gripping the blanket he was sitting on, in a desperate attempt to keep the noises he was making stifled.

“fuck..” he breathed, picking up a hand and placing it on top of your head gently - gripping your hair. “you’re so… fucking good.” he grunted as he snapped his hips up against your face as you stuff your mouth down on him.

it didn’t take long for him to finish, he coiled over you - grabbing your head with both of his hands and steadily moving his hips into your mouth as he clenched his jaw. “oh god.. oh fuck.”

hearing katsuki moan was like heaven, you knew no one else was making him feel this way - just you. but another part of you silently regretted that, because katsuki wasn’t quite ready to admit that a man was taking all of his time and affection.

you didn’t think he was homophobic, definitely not. but you could tell he was uncomfortable afterwards, not wanting to look at you in the school hallways said enough. although your phone blowing up with messages said otherwise.

suddenly katsuki was in the bathroom, and you were left sitting on your knees in front of the bed - staring at the blanket infront of you. you weakly stood up, placing a hand on your knee as you rose and making your way to the bathroom doorway.

you see katsuki washing his hands, he turns to you and stares at you for a bit before speaking. “what?” “nothing.” you sigh, looking to the side. “it’s just..” before being able to finish your sentence, katsuki cuts you off.

“oh god! it’s always with the “it’s just..” “it’s just…!” what is it this time?” he mocks you irritatingly, moving his hands as he speaks. you stare at him unfazed, you’re used to his behavior by now but you still can’t help but be hurt by it.

once he finishes he looks at you with a small snarl, too tired to reply back you just sigh and turn the other way - walking back towards the bed where you go to pick up your keys and coat that were thrown around.

once you’re fully ready to leave katsuki grumbles a quick “you’re leaving?” but you’re already in front of the front door and turning the door knob. “yeah, tired.” is all you can muster before fully stepping outside and shutting the door behind you, not caring to say goodbye.

—

morning finally rolled around and you were up bright and early for first period, making it through the classroom doors you spotted your group. uraraka was speaking with deku and you send them a swift smile as you make your way towards them. “hey guys.”

uraraka smiles at you, “hey [name]!” deku just waves. as you’re speaking with them, you feel a not so unfamiliar gaze burning in the back of your skull. you wanted to turn, but you knew who it was.

hearing kirishima yelling at katsuki to “stay focused” as he was ranting about something new to his buddy, it wasnt new to you that he would consistently stare at you in every period. stalking what you were doing but whenever you try to engage with katsuki he’ll bat you away like you’re some kind of a deadly disease.

everyone knew you liked guys, it was more of an open thing for you. and when katsuki would push you away it hurt more knowing that he’s most likely pushing you away so he won’t be judged by being seen with you. you shake the feeling of his eyes on you off and you continue to engage in conversation with your friends before the teacher enters the room.

—

once lunch started, you made your way towards your table. it was next to katsuki’s group and you looked straight forward as you sat down infront of your friends, not daring to take a glance at katsukis table knowing he was looking at you.

lunch went by like normal, until (apparently) kaminari said something “annoying” and katsuki went off. you finally turned your head towards his table and you see katsuki standing up out of his chair bent over the table with his hands clutched in fists as he screams at kaminari for something.

soon enough the other kids of the academy had their phones whipped out and pointing at their table, huddling around it screaming “fight! fight!” katsuki had grabbed ahold of kaminaris jacket.

before things escalated further you quickly made your way towards katsuki, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him off of kaminari - standing in between the two in front of the table. “what the hell are you doing?” you ask, running a hand through your hair as you look back at kaminari with an apologetic look.

they knew you were friends with katsuki, and they didn’t think anything of it. the only person who had an issue with yalls relationship was katsuki bakugo himself. “why the fuck are you talking to me? get out of my way!” katsuki huffs aggressively before shoulder checking you out of the way.

you give up and walk away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as mina catches up to you from what she had just witnessed. “woah, that was pretty crazy.. everyone’s recording!” she tries to engage in conversation but you brush her off and apologize, “i have to go.” she looks at you for a second - clearly noticing the hurt expression on your face.

“okay, be safe!” she waves before jogging back towards the table and crowd of students.

—

it’s late at night and you’re laying in your dorm room scrolling on your phone, you’ve already seen all of the videos on instagram being posted. you aren’t surprised. katsuki continued to yell at kaminari once you left and didn’t stop, it didn’t escalate to anything further than that - so that’s good.

as you’re scrolling you get a small ping at the top of your screen, it’s katsuki. you sigh and roll over onto your back, staring at the message.

katsuki : “hey, can we talk?” 11:24pm

you hesitate before you open it, cringing slightly as you read it again once it’s opened. you quickly start to type, again, hesitating before you send.

[name] : “yeah, what about?” 11:25pm

katsuki : “you know what about.” 11:27pm

[name] : “no, i don’t. tell me.” 11:27pm

katsuki : “you were ignoring me all day today, you seriously think that’s okay??? and then pushing me away from kaminari??? you know how i feel about that.” 11:28pm

[name] : “sorry i was trying to help my friend.” 11:29pm

katsuki : “i don’t need help.” 11:29pm

[name] : “i’m not talking about you.” 11:30pm

katsuki : read 11:30pm

you wait for a response, and it never came. you’re sure what you had said hurt his feelings, but you didn’t really care. he’s hurt yours more than you can count. you begin to fidget with the sides of your phone case wondering why he isn’t responding, until you hear a banging sound on your front door do you realize.

you immediately jump out of your bed and run over to your front door, peeking out the peephole you see katsuki. his hair looked a mess and he also looked tired, he was wearing a grey puffy jacket and some sweatpants with slides - aggressively banging on the front door repeatedly until you open it.

he glares at you and grumbles “im not going to have this conversation over fucking text.” he shoves his way past you into your dorm, you shut the door and follow him into the living room. he sits down on the couch and rests his elbows on his legs, looking onto the floor. “okay.” you hesitantly reply, trying to get a good view of his face but failing as you stand across the room.

suddenly, he crashes his hands against his face and he goes stiff - you’re shocked as he begins to silently cry into his hands, wiping his tears away he looks back up at you. “do you not like me anymore?” he mumbles, he literally looks like his soul has been crushed - sliced in two. you stare at him, you swore he was joking but the moment you see his face you realize this is as real as it’s going to get.

“katsuki i..” you trail off, not wanting to hurt his feelings further but you couldn’t lie to him either. “i don’t know.” you cross your arms and look away, you couldn’t bare to look at his face. “what do you mean you don’t know? is it my attitude? fuck..!”

he puts his hands on his face again, digging into his eyes as he hiccups - you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this upset before, and it definitely makes you upset. “i’m sorry but i can’t keep doing this with you katsuki, i can’t just be some boy you’re experimenting with. you push me away every chance you get.” katsuki goes silent as he listens to you.

“i want something real.” you sigh, your arms are still crossed and you look at him again. “what i feel for you is so real, fucking raw. and that’s what scares me.” he whispers, he sounds defeated. you stare at him with wide eyes until you slowly walk towards him and sit next to him on the couch.

“then why don’t you show me that?” you whisper, silently putting a hand on his back. he stiffens again at the placement but slowly softens, looking at you. “i’ve never felt this way about anyone, and i never expected to feel this way about a.. boy.” he looks into your eyes and you can tell that he isn’t trying to hurt you he just doesn’t know how to express himself.

“you need to let yourself be free, the only person that’s holding back your feelings is you.” his eyes soften at your words, tears prickling at the corners and you can’t help but bring a thumb up to wipe them away as they slide down his cheeks. the corners of his mouth quiver and he reaches out to grab ahold of you but you stop him.

“you have to promise me something katsuki, you have to promise me you won’t push me away again. i can’t take anymore hurt.” your voice breaks as you try to keep his hand away from you but he pushes through and grabs your shirt, like a desperate attempt to keep you from vanishing into thin air.

“i won’t, please..” his voice cracks again and he grips your shirt tighter, “i thought you were done with me, i really do… like you. i want to.. be with you.” he crumbles under your touch as you smooth your hand across his back, tears forming in his eyes once again. “we’re going to be fine.” you add, smiling at him. “i’m glad we talked about this.. i really needed it. i want you katsuki.” the grip on your shirt loosened and katsuki sat up straight but didn’t move away from you.

“i promise i wont push you away anymore.” he looks to the floor and then back at you, “i promise.” “okay, now go back to your dorm. you need sleep.” katsuki sighed, rubbing a hand across his face as he stood. “right.” he grumbled, “i’ll see you tomorrow.” walking towards your front door he looks back at you once more before opening it and shutting it behind him, leaving you alone for the night.

—

it was the next morning and you had actually slept quite well, walking towards your first period you hear someone call your name. once you turn you see no other than the katsuki bakugo walking right towards you. you’re quite stunned to say the least but you remain calm. “hey, i’m walking you to first period.” he mumbles, walking past you waiting for you to catch up beside him.

once you do he doesn’t say another word, like he’s waiting for you to speak first. “oh, uh thanks.” you stumble over your words, embarrassed, you look away towards the wall. you can hear him chuckle and you glance back toward him, “what’s so funny?” “you.” he laughs again and you two have made it to the front doors.

“do you want me to walk in first so they don’t think we’re coming in together—“ before you could reply, he swiftly opened up the doors and kicked you in a little before him so that you both walked in together. your heart was beating so fast, you really couldn’t believe he was walking right beside you infront of everyone. your shoulders were touching!

you tried to hide your smile but you didn’t think it was working since there was definitely a prominent blush on your cheeks, he looked a little flushed too but mainly from embarrassment. “you can hang with us today alright? just come whenever.” he walks towards his group leaving you in the middle of the classroom, you turn to see deku and uraraka, along with lida.

uraraka notices your flushed expression and asks you what’s wrong, you brush it off as “no big deal” and continue on with conversation. eventually lunch rolls around and it’s time to eat, you look between the two tables - katsukis and your own.

you’re having a hard time deciding where to sit today, still pondering the question if katsuki will even let you sit with them. what if he had changed his mind? you start to feel a little insecure, so you decide to head towards your table. not even 2 steps away from where you’re seated a hand is placed on your shoulder, you turn to see who it is and it’s (again) none other than katsuki bakugo.

“what are you doing? i told you you could sit with us.” he asks, looking genuinely confused. “did i not?” your eyes widen for a second before quickly regaining posture, “yeah, yeah you did, sorry.” you look back at your table and they all giggle silently.

you sit down beside katsuki and you can feel his foot touching yours, it feels oddly more intimate than it should be and your cheeks flush a pink color, so do his but he looks down in order to hide it. kirishima is ranting again and kaminari and sero seem to be just fine, kaminari doesn’t look phased anymore, which makes you feel less guilty by embarrassing him while trying to stop katsuki.

you eat your food in silence and so does katsuki, not once looking up from his plate which makes you a little nervous. “is he agitated?” you think, kicking his foot as a signal to ask if he’s alright. he kicks it back harder which makes you choke on your food a little, you can see the corners of his mouth go up in a grin.

“you damn bastard.” you croak, hitting your chest with your fist in order to get the food down. kaminari and sero bust out laughing and kirishima smiles goofily, “haha what happened? what happened?” kirishima tugs on kaminaris shoulder and sero is hitting the table with his fist like he had just watched the funniest youtube video in the world.

it feels right to be sitting with them, and you can’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over you. you feel like you aren’t hiding anymore, and although you and katsuki aren’t technically “dating” and aren’t exactly “out” doesn’t mean it isn’t real. you feel his hand glide against yours underneath the table once you place it back down and you look at him with soft eyes.

you really could stay like this forever.

—

yipee i finished !! also, im taking mha requests !! so send em in !! i do female and male reader, but you can read more about that here vv

bye guys !! yr da bestest if u made it to the end !! ♡

#bakugo x male reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugo katuski #katsuki x male reader #mha #my hero academia #mha x reader #mha x male reader #my hero academy fanfiction #male reader #bakugo x m!reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #Spotify #yuff7e

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claireswhisperings · 4 months ago

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Morgan cheli being soo protective over y/n pls 🙏

threw her arms around my neck • show me how you do it

morgan cheli x girlfriend!reader

synopsis: while at a party celebrating a win, morgan can’t help but notice a guy getting touchy with you

warnings: men. a guy touching reader (arms, back, thighs), language and homophobic slurs/ideas

wc: 2.4k

a/n: my first request!! pls lmk any feedback you guys have, and enjoy!!

another absolutely flawless game played by uconns very own huskies, with an incredible 98 - 61 at the end of the night. the girls are still on fire after the game, dragging the whole team out to a party hosted at some frat house in honour of their victory.

morgan keeps your hand in hers as you all walk into the house, tightening her grip when you see how many people there are. it has to violate so many safety rules, but the ambience is fantastic. 2000s songs playing loudly, flashing colours, and the right amount of drinks, alcoholic and virgin are littered across any flat surface.

the girls agreed this was a much needed celebration, especially since it had been put on in their honour. cheers erupt from the partygoers closest as many students congratulate the girls on their win. you smile at morgan as two girls talk with her about how incredible she has been this season so far as a first year, and how eager they are to see her grow more.

her arm circles your waist, fingers drawing faint shapes on your exposed skin in a crop top as the group slowly walks towards the kitchen in hopes of finding drinks.

“how are you feeling baby?” you smile and ask morgan, as she hands you a newly opened can of coke.

she looks around for a quick second, still smiling from the interactions with other students congratulating her. “it’s so crazy!” she’s shouting over the loud music, the nostalgic sounds of rihanna floating between her pauses. “i can’t believe people really threw a party for us!”

you lean in to kiss her, pressing a quick “i’m so proud of you, you know that?” onto her lips, before you separate your lips from hers, and lean into her arms instead.

her eyes scan your face, and she’s leaning in to kiss you again, before azzis soft voice can be heard telling her that they should walk around in order to talk to some students who are fans.

morgan looks back at you with hesitation, almost telling azzi to leave with the team, but you stop her.

“nuh uh. this is your night, you have to talk to someone who isn’t your girlfriend tonight. enjoy the party! your party! i’ll be on the couch when you come back baby.” you press a kiss to her lips once more.

"alright, i'll see you in a little bit," you let out a small laugh at how excited she is at interacting with student fans of her and the team.

she skips a bit to where azzi is patiently waiting for you two lovebirds to separate, and turns to give you a small wave with a giant smile spread across her adorable face. you smile and scan your eyes over the scene of the party, suddenly missing your girlfriend's presence when you notice just how busy the house is, and how unfamiliar all the faces are.

a short lap around the floor sounds like a good idea, and you find yourself bumping into a girl from your history class, who is more than happy to chat with you about an upcoming project. from across the room, morgan can see you talking and laughing with a girl, smiling at how happy and comfortable you look.

"geez, you know she's not exactly going to disappear if you take your eyes off of her for two seconds," paige is quick to clock who her teammate is looking at, finding it amusing how morgan's eyes always seem to be drawn towards you.

“you are not one to talk,” morgan mumbles and spares a glance at azzi, whose waist paige is currently holding in order to keep the brunette stuck with her all night. paige’s teasing smile drops as she turns to continue walking around the house, dapping up a few guys as they all pass by.

you say bye to the classmate you’re speaking to, and continue moving slowly around the room, sipping your drink as you look around. you make eye contact with some guy standing in a doorway, giving him a polite smile as you walk past him. he looks you up and down as you pass, a slick smile growing on his face.

you’ve moved into the living room of the cramped frat house, and find the comfortable looking couch. two girls sit on one end, completely immersed in a conversation. you sit on the farthest side, pulling out your phone to scroll through it to pass time.

while too caught up on your phone, you don’t realize that the guy from the doorway had sat down next to you. his cold hand slides against your exposed thighs, making you jump, looking up from your phone. you cross your legs over one another, and his hand slides off your body.

“hey beautiful. haven’t seen you here before,” he offers you another smile that starts to make you more than a little uncomfortable. you scooch a little further into the armrest of the couch next to you, trying to distance yourself as much as you can from this man’s eyes and hands.

“uhh yeah, parties at these houses aren’t really my thing,” you say firmly, hoping your demeanour deters him, and he’ll walk away.

he doesn’t. typical of men.

“well, what is your thing?” he asks, arm extending to lay against the top of the couch behind you.

women is what runs through your mind. women who don’t reek of cheap cologne and hair gel.

“well right now, sitting alone on a couch sounds pretty damn tempting,” you’re calmly looking around, hoping to catch a glimpse of morgan to walk towards. she must not be in the same room right now.

his hand behind your head drifts down to stroke at the skin of your back. you move your arm to block his touches, missing how it felt when your girlfriend’s warm and comforting hands were there earlier. “you know, you look good tonight. your little shirt…this skirt…” his eyes drift down to your legs.

“yep.” you almost roll your eyes at his remarks.

he doesn’t seems to care that you have grown more and more uncomfortable, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and looking away from his as much as you can.

“well, you know where your clothes would look even better?” he’s leaning in more, awful breath fanning over your face.

“washing machine?” you quip. there’s a beat of silence as he’s no doubt thinking of what other vile comment to make.

“okay well as absolutely riveting with interaction was,” your voice is dripping in sarcasm, making the guy furrow his eyebrows in frustration, “i’m afraid i gotta go.” you get up, pacing the room for a second before finding an empty corner near the tv.

a presence shows up in front of you a second later, the air suddenly smelling worse than the party already made it.

“so. the fucks your problem? can’t take the compliments?” he’s becoming more angry, and you nervously look around the room, in hopes of seeing any of the girls on the team.

from where you’re standing, you can’t see jana and kk walking into the room, pulling a reluctant morgan in with them. it’s been 10 minutes without you, and she’s missing having you with her to talk to.

“girl can you stop moping around? you’ll see your girl in like 2 minutes. no need to keep pouting,” jana lets out a laugh at how sad morgan’s been looking since she left you.

“i’m sorry, i just haven’t seen her much with all the practices, and tonight was the first night in weeks i had her to myself,” morgan can’t help the whine in her voice.

kk rolls her eyes, softly pushing morgan to a trio of girls wearing husky jerseys, and holding sharpies. the girls are super sweet, taking about the plays during the game, and joking with the girls about the infamous lives they hold.

morgan glances around the room, seeing the couch in the middle. she bites her lip when she remembers you said you’d be waiting on the couch for her. her eyes drift around the room, landing on you standing in the corner.

what she sees is your leg bouncing with nerves and an uncomfortable look on your face as the guy leaning into the wall, and practically pins you there, is speaking to you. morgan’s eyebrows furrow as the five girls beside her continue their conversation. jana takes morgan’s arm, slowly pulling her to a larger group of girls to meet.

morgan’s eyes stay on you, observing you and the guy carefully, making sure you’re safe. you’re slowly moving away from the guy, but with the way morgan can see his eyes looking over you, she knows he won’t let you get far.

morgan gives the smallest amount of attention on the fans in front of her, trying to keep their interaction as positive as possible while she’s busy trying to kill the guy talking to you with her eyes.

kk slings an arm around morgan, pressing her cheek to hers to see where she’s looking. kk’s usual smile drops when she observes the scene of you and this guy.

the final straw for morgan comes when the guy presses his hand on your thigh. although you slap his hand away, morgan is pissed the fuck off at this point, and walks across the room to where you are.

“hey! the hell are you doing?” the familiar voice rings out from behind. morgan is starring daggers at the guy as she stands next to you, sliding her hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“i’m talking to a pretty girl. take your benchwarmer ass, and get the fuck away from us,” he tries to argue, trying to size up to her, and failing miserably.

she’s incredible on the court. a force on and off, she’d easily kick his ass, and you all know it.

“no. she’s my girlfriend, and i’m asking you to leave,” her voice is angry, and you and morgan know she won’t hesitate to turn this interaction physical if it called for it.

the same nauseating smile from earlier makes its way onto his face at her words. “oh shit, we got ourselves a pair of dykes. that’s a hell of a lot better than one girl. why don’t you give us a little show!” his hands inch towards you both, but morgan pulls the both of you back.

he’s even more persistent, and she shoves him away when one of his hands strokes your waist, and yells at him to fuck right off, before pushing him away from you.

he was right to know she’d kick his ass. morgan’s push sends him stumbling backwards. nearby party goers shove him away when he bumps into them, clearly grossed out by the comments he made to you and your girlfriend.

“fucking dykes, can’t even take goddamn compliments. stuck up bitches who can’t appreciate what little dick they get!” he shouts angrily, brushing himself off while he walks out of the room.

he passes by most of the team, who’s making their way into the room. ice shoves him a bit, causing him to stumble some more, eventually leaving the house and slamming the door behind him.

you take a deep breath, and morgan holds your hand as you walk towards the team and the fans who were staring at you with concern.

“you guys okay?” “we heard what happened!” “i’m sorry that guy was an ass.” “yeah i heard he’s done that to a lot of girls.”

it’s a whirlwind of questions and comforting words when you fill the girls in on what happened on the couch, and what he was saying and trying to do. morgan’s eyes stay on you the entire time, while she rubs your back soothingly to slow down your breathing.

some people that had overheard what went down with you and the guy, including some girls who had been waiting for signatures, offered their empathy and concern. many passed by and told you they hope you’re okay, before walking away to enjoy the rest of their night.

the music changes, and so does the energy of the team. after making sure you’re okay, several of the girls run to another room to take advantage of the party and dancing, wanting to fully celebrate their win. you and morgan trail behind them, laughing at their antics, and make your way to the kitchen again, grabbing two cups to get a drink of water.

“are you sure you’re okay?” morgan’s eyes bore into yours as her hands hold your waist, fingers drawing small shapes on your skin.

you’re reminded of how the guys hands felt on your waist, and you smile at how nice morgan’s feel on you. you nod, leaning up slightly to press a needed kiss on her soft lips.

she sighs into it, pulling you into a hug. although the music is loud, it feels like it’s just you two when she presses a kiss on your head, and whispers how sorry she is.

“baby it wasn’t your fault. he was some creepy guy, and you came and stopped him from continuing,” you pull back to look a her beautiful eyes. her face is contorted in sadness, and you stroke her cheek to ease the tension.

“i know, but i should have went over to you the second i saw you, and not waited. i’m sorry i didn’t help earlier.” there’s no point in arguing with her right now. but you’ll certainly try.

“i shouldn’t have stayed and talked to the other girls, he had you against a wall and i-,” she’s cut off when you press your lips against hers once more. your hands slightly bury themselves in her soft hair, playing with the hair between your fingers. morgan melts into the kiss, same as she always does.

“thank you for helping me. i don’t know what i did to deserve someone as perfect as you,” you whisper into the kiss.

she leans back to look you in the eyes. “believe me, i think the same thing about you every day.”

you lean your head into her chest, swaying the both of you slightly to the music. she presses a kiss to your head, mumbling a little “i love you.” a moment of comfortable silence passes, and you look back at her to kiss her again.

“you know, you look so gorgeous being all protective over me,” you laugh a little at the blush that spreads over her cheeks. her head ducks down to land in your neck, where she lets out a sheepish little “stop,” while giggling.

you feel her pepper your neck with kisses, making her way up your jaw and cheek, and finally looking into your eyes so she can lean down to kiss your lips.

#claires works #morgan cheli #morgan cheli x reader #morgan cheli fluff #uconn huskies #uconn #uconn wcbb #uconn x reader #uconn women’s basketball #wcbb

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hypertechnica · 3 months ago

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i’m going to make fiddauthor art with fidds wearing his wedding ring and you are NOT going to like it

big obligatory banner that says “cheating is bad don’t do it i just like stories with relationship drama”

closeted, internally homophobic gay men who are married with kids has to be the trope i’m weakest to. no person involved is escaping the despair brought on by a relationship built on a well intentioned, desperate lie, born out of a desire to be normal and good

he WANTED to love her so fucking badly. he felt no ill will towards her and he loves their son more than words can say. he thought the attraction, the way she felt about him, would come with time. it didn’t. he doesn’t want to hurt her yet was doomed to from the start, and he’s truly, truly sorry. this does not absolve him of anything whatsoever and she has the full right to never want to speak with him again. he lied! he pretended to feel the same when he never once felt anything but platonic affection! he’s been in love with someone else this whole fucking time! and their kid… he’s caught in the middle of it all, too young to understand why his father would hurt his family like this.

and then he disappears and never comes back. imagine you’re 5 and your dad goes to the middle of the woods with his buddy for science shit, all of the sudden your parents are yelling on the phone and signing papers, and then he goes MIA. for years.

imagine your husbands “buddy” was the one he was thinking of all this time, not you, never you. and the first chance he gets to run away from you, he takes, and you should have been suspicious by the rushed frenzy of it all, the phone calls getting shorter and shorter until it fizzles to nothing. he forgot to get you a christmas gift. he hand-made him two. there has to be something wrong with you, it has to be your fault. you wish you married the man he becomes when he’s in his presence.

he folded when you started questioning him directly - he’d been to neurotic to ever be a good liar. you thought he was the one. he thought you were nice.

by the time the divorce is finalized he’s different in a wrong way. confused, angry, forgetful, insane - if the giant homicidal robot pterodactyl you’ve been harassed by is any indication. (he’s had a bad habit of building homicidal robots when he’s mad since they met -engineer things- but it was never directed at her - thankfully it never actually does anything) he’s clearly abusing drugs - you’d feel bad if he hadn’t abandoned you with the burden of explaining why your son can’t see his father anymore.

it’s a rotten bit of your soul, but time heals you. you move on and no longer think of him. trust in your career. find a man who truly loves you with no motives attached. raise your kid to be a good man. and in a fashion not unlike shakespearean dramatic irony, this makes him move to gravity falls to find and take care of his father. you couldn’t care less what hee doing now, but damn it, it’s his father, what is the kid supposed to do? but its futile- he appears to have no remorse, hell, no memory of the incident in the first place. (this isn’t his fault but how are they supposed to know that?) so he grows bitter and cold just like his mother used to be.

imagine that.

all over a mans inability to do anything but live in denial. to force himself to live in a box and pine like a dying man over the right one at the wrong time, destined to crash and burn. to take denial to a new level- a cult, brain damaging radiation, a total ego death - just to take the edge off. take off that damn wedding ring

#gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #emma may dixon #tate mcgucket #fiddauthor #ignoring the fact that he’s never depicted wearing a wedding ring. i’m ignoring it #it’s late i hope this makes sense at all #i love fiddleford. i love making him more tragic than he already is #cw cheating #just in case #ik this interpretation isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but it KILLS me #emma may and tate are so underrated bc there was no room in the story for them #let me MAKE the room #i may draw them…#fiddleford hadron mcgucket #my writing #ford pines #implied but he is here. poor oblivious homewrecker #i think ford obviously knew and was apprehensive but yk. he’s already hiding shit from fidds anyways what’s one more sin #and then it all goes to hell of course because of a stupid fucking triangle thanks bill #dude if my wife and situationship both left me AND i thought my situationship was about to end the world with his own hubris #i would probably fold to the memory gun too

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mythtakens · 18 days ago

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already tired of talking about this so ready to move on actually but begging some people to look within and look at the past 7 months and at who stood to (literally) profit off of encouraging things. and who from the show was consistent about what the relationship was the whole time. if you put this much weight in the words of the only person who was accepting thousands of dollars of fan money to essentially make up headcanons and none at all in what the main actor in the equation and show runner told you from the beginning was the purpose of the story they were telling, something they remained consistent on telling you. something, I feel it has to be said… they without a doubt told HIM. and now you feel blindsided… well sorry I just don’t think that’s on them. months of claiming moral high ground while doing all the same ugly fandom shit, months of thinking you could get away with treating other fans however you wanted because you thought you were the special favorites, months of acting like an entire cast crew and network was paralyzingly afraid of buddie shippers and it affected everything they did and still do on their #1 show that costs millions of dollars an episode and it indicated nothing else, months of acting like using blatant racism and misogyny and lesbophobia/biphobia etc to defend this character from legitimate criticism was justified, months of calling anyone who recognized the plot device character as a plot device a homophobe regardless of what they were saying or if they were gay/queer themselves. and now you’re saying they didn’t develop them. he was used. well yes! that’s what it was FOR. it was always Buck’s story and Buck’s story isn’t finished. Oliver was endlessly consistent about that Tim was consistent about that. The show was consistent about that. The lack of consistency lies elsewhere.

#911 spoilers #i’ll tag this for drama if anyone wants idk

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lupinqs · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER THREE ━━ Falling out of Focus

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 4.5K

☆ ━ warnings: use of homophobic slur, underage drinking, smoking i think, tiny fist fight lol, more angst

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: so sorry i did not proof read this and it’s so dialogue heavy but here it is anyways and drama period

IF NOTHING can comfort Paige Bueckers, it’s usually a basketball court that she needs. It’s the place where she’s found solace nearly her whole life, at this point. The steady rhythm of the dribbling, the weight of the ball in her hands, the way her body moves practically on instinct with it now—all of it is usually enough to drown out the noise of the world. Apparently, not today. She feels like she’s playing in someone else’s body, like everything with her game is off. None of her shots fall, she turns the ball more than she assists, and, when, she shoots once more and the ball hits the rim, bouncing off again, she feels like she’s going to lose it.

Coach Cosgriff seems to feel the same way. “Paige! Come on!” his voice cuts, sharp and direct. Paige blinks, shaking her head a little to clear it, before getting back into the drill.

“Sorry, Coach,” she mumbles, forcing her feet to move. But it’s almost like neither her heart or head are in. The ball feels heavy, unwieldy, like it isn’t made for her hands anymore. She passes it to Taylor, who shoots her a worried look before continuing the play.

Paige can feel the eyes of her teammates on her, each glance a tiny needle pricking her skin. Normally, she’d thrive under the attention, but today, it’s suffocating. She feels like she’s spiraling, and she has no idea how to stop it. It isn’t just about basketball; it’s about fucking everything.

“Let’s run it again!” Coach calls, and Paige tries to push all thoughts that aren’t basketball out of her mind. But the harder she tries, the more insistent her brain becomes.

They run through the drill again, and—again—Paige finds herself a step behind. She’s supposed to cut to the basket, but her feet move too slowly, like they’re stuck in mud. Amaya passes her the ball, but Paige isn’t ready, and it slips through her fingers, skidding across the floor.

“Damnit,” Paige curses under her breath, running after it. She can feel her teammates’ frustration, their confusion, and she hates herself for being the cause of it.

“Paige, you good?” Maya asks as they pause for a water break. She’s careful not to sound accusatory, but Paige can hear the concern in her voice. “You’re not yourself today.”

“I’m fine,” Paige snaps, harsher than she intended. Maya blinks, taken aback, and Paige immediately feels guilty. “I’m just… off. It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” KK chimes in, wiping sweat from her forehead. “You can talk to us, you know.”

Paige forces a smile, but it feels all wrong on her face. “I’m good. Just needa get my head straight.”

The words feel empty even as she says them. How can she explain to her teammates without sounding pathetic and stupid that she’s acting this way over a girl? Obviously, it’s not just any girl—it’s Dani. But still. A girl is getting in the way of Paige and basketball and it’s frustrating her so fucking much. She hates it. She hates all of it. She hates that every time she closes her eyes, all she sees is Dani slipping further away from her, replaced by Beau Hudson’s smug, indifferent face?

“Alright, everyone, bring it in,” Coach Cosgriff calls, ending the break. “Let’s focus up and finish strong.”

Paige nods, but her focus is long gone. The rest of practice is a blur of missed shots, half-hearted passes, and growing frustration. When it finally ends, Paige doesn’t stick around to talk to anyone. She grabs her bag, mumbling something about having to study, and heads straight for the locker room.

In the quiet of the locker room, Paige finally allows herself to collapse on the bench. She buries her face in her hands, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes. She refuses to let them fall. Crying won’t change anything; it won’t bring Dani back to her, and it sure as hell won’t fix the gaping hole that seems to be growing in her chest.

Paige decides she needs a distraction. Something, anything, to take her mind off Dani, off the way everything’s falling apart.

—SO, a few days later, when Jalen texts Paige about a party, she doesn’t hesitate. She needs noise, people, a chance to drown out the thoughts that have cut off all her access to oxygen.

Paige can feel the bass of the music vibrating through the floorboards the moment she enters the house. The air is thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and the faint tang of weed lingering in the background. The place is packed—people spilling out into the backyard, others dancing in the living room, and even more just milling about with red solo cups in hand. It’s exactly what Paige needs—or, at least that’s what she tells herself.

Jalen and Thaliah walk in beside her, ready for a much-needed night out. Jalen has a grin plastered across his face, greeting people as they walk in, while Thaliah is more laid-back, scanning the crowd for familiar faces as she takes a hit from the pen in her hand. Paige, on the other hand, feels almost like she’s moving through fog—like the world is a few seconds behind her. But that’s the point of tonight, anyways. To blur the edges. To numb the ache that’s been gnawing at her ever since Dani pushed her away.

“Yo, you good, P?” Jalen’s voice cuts through her thoughts, his hand landing on her shoulder as they push their way toward the kitchen. He gives her a once-over, expression tinged with concern. “You don’t look like you’re feelin’ this.”

Paige forces a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “‘M fine,” she lies, grabbing a solo cup from the counter. “Just need a drink.”

Thaliah, pen still in hand, raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, though there’s a look exchanged between her and Jalen. Paige ignores it. She isn’t in the mood for questions, for concern. She just wants to forget. Wants to drown out the constant loop of thoughts running through her head—Dani with Beau, Dani avoiding her, Dani blocking her out. It all swirls in her chest, a storm she hasn’t been able to control for weeks now.

With that thought, Paige downs her first drink in one long gulp, barely wincing at the sharp taste of Vodka and God-knows-what mixed into it. The burn isn’t enough. She needs more.

Within the next hour, Paige makes her way through three more cups of whatever mix of alcohol they’re serving, the edge of her thoughts blurring with each one, head starting to swim pleasantly, the fog that she’s been chasing slowly starting to catch up to her. Jalen and Thaliah drink too, but not with the same reckless abandon. Even they have their limits, knowing when to pace themselves.

But Paige? She doesn’t quite care about limits tonight.

“Bro, slow down,” Thaliah says, eyeing Paige warily as she reaches for yet another cup. “We’re supposed to be having fun, not getting wasted in the first hour.”

Paige rolls her eyes, ignoring the warning. “I am having fun,” she shoots back, though even to her own ears, her voice sounds a little too sharp, a little too defensive. She takes another long sip from the cup, the world around her beginning to tilt slightly. It’s like floating—like nothing can touch her, and that’s exactly what she wants. No feelings. No thoughts. Just nothing.

Jalen watches her, his buzzed and carefree smile faltering as he nudges Thaliah. “Hey, maybe we should—”

“I’m fine!” Paige cuts in, louder than she means to. Her hand tightens around the cup as she glances at them both, the alcohol making her words slur slightly. “I’m fine, okay? I don’t need a babysitter. God.”

She turns away from them, her eyes scanning the room for something—anything—else to keep her occupied. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to think. She just wants to not feel for a while.

She spots a group of people in the corner of the room, most of them looking just as drunk as she feels. Without another word to her best friends, Paige drifts toward the group, her steps a little uneven as the alcohol works its way through her system.

Jalen watches her go, his eyebrows furrowed for a moment before he turns back to his conversation. “She’ll be fine,” he mumbles, though there’s a slight hesitation in his voice. He glances at Thaliah, who shrugs, clearly tipsy herself but sharing the same concern. Nevertheless, neither of them are quite in the best shape to intervene. Besides, they both know Paige well enough to understand that trying to stop her won’t do any good.

Paige finds herself wedged between two guys she barely knows, both of them laughing loudly about something she isn’t even listening to. It doesn’t matter. She’s laughing too, caught up in the haze of drunkenness, the weight of everything she’s been carrying slipping off her shoulders for just a moment.

“Yo, you good?” one of the guys asks, his words slurred and slow as he nudges her with his elbow. “You look like you’re having a real good time.”

Paige grins, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through her chest. “Yeah, I’m good. Real good.”

He sends her a matching grin in return before handing her another drink—something dark and strong—and, without thinking twice, she takes a long sip, the liquid burning as it goes down. She doesn’t care. All she wants is to keep the buzz going, to keep drowning out the thoughts that keep creeping back whenever she slows down.

Dani. Always fucking Dani.

Paige shakes her head, like she can physically push the thought away. She doesn’t want to think about her. Not about the way she’s pulled away, not about the way she’s acting like Paige doesn’t even exist, not about the way she’s with Beau now. Paige doesn’t want to think about any of it.

“Paige, what are you doing?” Thaliah’s voice breaks through the noise, and Paige blinks, realizing she’s wandered away from the group she was with, ending up near the back patio. Thaliah stands in the doorway, her arms crossed, a slightly exasperated but still concerned look on her face.

“Getting another drink,” Paige slurs, waving her empty cup like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Thaliah steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “Maybe you should chill for a minute. You’ve had, like, five already.”

Paige rolls her eyes again, turning away from her friend. “I’m fine, Thal. Seriously.”

Thaliah hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder toward Jalen, who’s still talking to a couple of people near the couch. She isn’t entirely sober herself, and her judgment is definitely a little clouded, but even she can see Paige practically spiraling.

“Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Thaliah affirms, her voice softer now.

“I won’t,” Paige mumbles, though she isn’t sure she means it.

Thaliah stares at her for a moment longer before sighing and heading back inside. Paige doesn’t look back. She wanders farther into the backyard, her footsteps a little less steady now. She finds a group of people near the fire pit, most of them drunk and talking over each other. She sits down on the edge of the bench, barely listening to their conversation as she takes another drink from the communal cooler.

Zoning out, she stares at the flames in the fire pit, the flickering light casting shadows on her face. It crackles, and she watches, the embers highlighting the dark air around her. Everything is a bit softer at the edges now, almost dreamlike, until something—or, rather someone—catches her eye.

A brunette girl sits down next to Paige, her face half-illuminated by the fire before them. She has softer features and warm eyes, as well as brown hair that falls around her shoulders in waves, light highlights coating it. Her cheeks are red with the unmistakable flush of alcohol. She glances at Paige, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of her lips. There’s something familiar about the girl, a feeling that tugs at Paige’s drunken mind. It takes her a second to place, but when she realizes why, her heart stumbles a bit: this girl reminds Paige of Dani.

The blonde blinks, her gaze instinctively drawn to the girl’s lips, her head swimming a little more than before.

“Hey,” the brunette slurs a little, her voice laced with the same inebriated giddiness that Paige feels. “I’m Delaney.”

“Delaney?” Paige echoes, feeling like she misheard for a second. She blinks again, her heart doing an unsteady flip at how similar the names Delaney and Dani sound to her. It throws her off for a moment, but not in the way she expects. Maybe it’s because she’s wasted, maybe it’s the loneliness she’s been burying, or maybe it’s just how much she misses her best friend. But somehow, Delaney seems all the more appealing to Paige because of it.

“Yeah,” Delaney giggles, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing against the blonde’s. “And you’re Paige Bueckers.”

Paige feels a smirk creep onto her lips. “You know who I am?” she asks, voice dipping lower, ego inflating slightly. She leans in a little, enough so the sides of their legs touch.

The blonde watches as Delaney’s gaze trails across her face and over her lips. “Everyone knows who you are,” the brunette murmurs. She pauses for a moment, her drunk smile widening slightly. “You’re hot.”

The heat rises in Paige’s chest at that, and she grins back, asking, “Oh, am I?”

Delaney rolls her eyes a little and Paige laughs. The air feels smaller now, like it’s just the two of them, cocooned in the haze of alcohol and tension. Delaney’s eyes sparkle as she stares at Paige, and without much more thought, they fall into a flirty back-and-forth, words blending into giggles and gentle touches that feel a little too familiar.

The brunette rests her hand on Paige’s knee, her fingers slowly trailing upward, and Paige doesn’t stop her. It’s easy. Too easy. Paige leans forward, her breath catching in her throat as their faces hover inches apart.

“You really are pretty,” Paige whispers, her eyes drifting to Delaney’s lips.

And before she knew it, the space between them disappears their lips crash together, the kiss hot and sloppy and fueled by too much alcohol. Paige kisses Delaney harder, trying to drown out the ache that’s been gnawing at her all summer—the same ache that Dani left behind when she cut Paige out of her life.

For a moment, it’s enough. Paige loses herself in the kiss, her hands sliding to Delaney’s waist, pulling her closer. Delaney’s hand is on Paige’s thigh again, this time higher, but the basketball player doesn’t stop her. The brunette tastes like cheap beer and something sweet, and Paige kisses her like it’s an escape.

But then, the sensation of being watched creeps up on her, sending a shiver down her spine. Paige pulls back a little, her breathing uneven and her lips swollen as her eyes darted around. She scans the yard and the back-end of the house, the shadows of people milling about. And then her gaze locks onto someone standing just by the back door.

Her stomach drops.

Dani.

Paige’s breath hitches as she stares at her. Dani’s watching her, her eyes dark and unreadable, arms crossed over her chest. Paige freezes, her heart pounding in her ears as she takes in the sight of her former best friend, looking so effortlessly gorgeous. She’s wearing jeans that fit her perfectly and a tank top that leaves little to the imagination and as soon as Paige’s eyes set on her, a familiar fire alights in her chest.

As soon as Dani realizes Paige has seen her, she looks away, turning her head and beginning to walk away from the back door as if she wasn’t watching at all. But Paige saw it. The tension in Dani’s jaw, the flicker of something in her eyes.

And suddenly, it’s like Paige is struck by lightning, jolted back into reality. What the hell is she doing?

“Shit,” Paige mutters, pushing herself away from Delaney, her heart racing. Delaney blinks in confusion, still dazed and flushed from the kiss.

“Wait—where are you going?” Delaney asks, her hand reaching for Paige’s arm.

“I—uh—I’ve gotta go,” Paige stammers, barely sparing her another glance before she’s up on her feet, leaving Delaney sitting there on the couch, confused and drunk. Paige barely feels a pang of guilt as she hurries toward Dani, the alcohol still swirling in her system, making her steps unsteady.

Paige stumbles inside the house, weaving her way through the crowd until she catches up to the Callan girl. She reaches out, grabbing Dani’s arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Dani, wait—” Paige’s words come out more frantic than she intends, her grip on Dani’s arm loosening when Dani turns to face her. Paige’s heart hammers in her chest as she struggles to form coherent thoughts. “I—I don’t know what’s going on, but can we just—”

Dani jerks her arm out of Paige’s grip, her face stony. “What do you want, Paige?”

“I don’t know!” Paige’s voice cracks, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t know, okay? I saw you staring at me, and then you—why were you even watching me with her?”

Dani’s expression remains cold, but Paige sees the way her fingers twitch at her sides. “I wasn’t watching.”

“That’s bullshit, Dani!” Paige’s voice raises an octave, her fists clenching as she fights to keep herself at bay. “You were staring at me. And her. Why?”

“No, I wasn’t!” Dani denies again, her voice sharp and biting. “It’s none of my business what—or who—you do at a party.”

Paige’s chest tightens at the bitterness in Dani’s words. She feels the sting of them like a slap to the face. “If you don’t care, then why are you acting like this? Why are you even here?”

“I’m here with Beau,” Dani says, her voice firm. “And I don’t care what you do. So, why don’t you go on back to making out with random girls, yeah?”

Paige’s breath catches in her throat, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. “God, you’re so full of shit,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You act like you don’t care, but you do. I know you do. Why can’t you just admit it, for fucks’ sake?”

They stare at each for a long moment, face-to-face in silence, anger and something else surrounding the air between them. But before either of them can say anything more, Beau appeared out of nowhere, stepping between them.

“Is there a problem here?” Beau asked, his eyes narrowing at Paige, his tone casual but the tension in his stance clear. He steps in front of Dani like a shield, glaring at Paige.

The blonde rolls her eyes at him, her frustration doubling. “No,” she snaps, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just having a conversation.”

Beau scoffs, his arms crossing over his chest. “Doesn’t look like much of a conversation to me. Looks like you’re harassing my girlfriend, Bueckers.”

Paige’s stomach churns at the word, the jealousy like a punch to the gut. It’s not unfamiliar at this point, but it still gives Paige the same effect. “Can’t you just fuck off?” she retorts with venom. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m her boyfriend, so, yeah, I think it does,” Beau argues, stepping closer to Paige, trying to intimidate her. But Paige isn’t scared of him, even in her drunken state. He may be more muscular—the football kind of body type—but she’s taller, a couple of inches on him, and she meets his challenge with a steady glare.

“I don’t give a shit what you think,” Paige bites out, stepping closer herself, their faces inches apart now. “But Dani and I? We have history. And you—” she jabs her finger into his chest, “are just a replacement.”

Beau’s face twists in anger, his hands balling into fists. “Watch your mouth, Bueckers.”

“Or what—” the blonde begins, but before she can get her words out completely, two figures are by her side, hands pulling her away slightly.

“Paige,” Thaliah mutters, trying to tug at her arm. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Jalen stands there too, shaking his head. “Yep, come on,” he says. And then he lets his gaze shift between Beau and Dani, glaring at the pair. “Neither of them are worth it.”

Paige’s jaw clenches, her eyes still locked on Dani’s, searching for anything that would tell her this isn’t over. But Dani won’t even look at her. She keeps her eyes trained on the floor, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, her whole body tense.

And so, Paige id about to turn around, to let Thaliah and Jalen pull her away, when she hears Beau’s voice again.

“It’s good you and her aren’t friends anymore,” Beau says loudly, looking directly at Dani. His next words are sharp and venomous. “Don’t want a dyke like her corrupting you.”

The world seems to freeze.

Paige’s heart stops. The word dyke echoes in her ears, and the blood drains from her face. She can feel the heat rising in her chest, the anger boiling over like a volcano about to erupt.

Even Dani’s head snaps up, her eyes wide with shock. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t defend Paige.

Without thinking, without even hesitating for a second, Paige turns and lunges at Beau, her fists flying before anyone can react.

Her first punch lands squarely on his jaw, sending him stumbling back. She feels pain erupt across her knuckles, and she shakes her hand for a moment. The shock on his face is almost satisfying—almost. But Paige doesn’t stop there. She she shoves him backwards now, hands at his chest, and he stumbles slightly.

“You fucking—” Beau starts, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Thaliah and Jalen are on her in an instant, pulling Paige back with more force now. Thaliah’s voice is almost panicked, trying to calm her down as Jalen stands between her and Beau, his hands outstretched like a human barrier. He glares at the Hudson boy, saying firmly, “Back the fuck up.”

“Paige, come on, it’s not worth it!” Thaliah’s practically shouting now, her grip on Paige’s arm tight.

“Let go of me!” Paige yells, her voice cracking with fury. She struggles against their hold, her eyes locked on Beau, who stands there, looking more shocked than anything. But there’s no fear in his eyes—only smugness, actually.

Beau wipes his mouth, glancing at the blood on his hand where her punch landed. He sneers. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Can’t handle the truth, can you?”

Paige’s vision blurs with anger, and she tries to lunge at him again, but Thaliah and Jalen hold her back.

Dani, who’s been frozen this whole time, finally speaks up. “Beau, just stop.”

Beau’s glances down at Dani, almost grinning. He clearly is enjoying the chaos he’s caused. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking, babe.”

Paige is done. She’s fucking done.

“Fuck you,” she spits at Beau, staring at him from behind Jalen. He just smirks back. And then she turns her attention to Dani, adding, “And, fuck you, too. You’re such a fucking coward, Dani.”

Paige rips her arm from Thaliah’s grasp, turning from the group and walking straight out of the house, wanting nothing more than to just go home.

THE DAYS that follow are a blur of basketball practices, classes, and restless nights. Paige tries to focus, tries to lose herself in the familiar routine, but nothing feels right. Every time she steps onto the court, her movements feel sluggish, disconnected. She’s there, but she isn’t really present. Her mind is elsewhere, stuck in a loop of memories and worries that she can’t escape.

Coach Cosgriff notices, of course. It would be impossible not to. Paige has always been the one to set the pace, to push herself and her teammates to be better. But now, she’s lagging behind, missing cues, and snapping at anyone who tries to point it out.

“Paige, my office. Now,” Coach says one afternoon after a particularly grueling practice.

Paige knows what’s coming, but she follows him without protest, dragging her feet as she walks. The other girls exchange glances but don’t say anything. They know better than to try to talk to her when she’s in one of these moods.

Coach’s office is small, cramped with old trophies and posters of past teams. He sits behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestures for Paige to sit down before him.

“What’s going on with you, Paige?” he asks, leaning forward, his tone soft but firm. “This isn’t like you. You’ve been off for weeks now. Is it school? Family? Whatever it is, you need to get it sorted, because it’s affecting your game.”

Paige looks down at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s… complicated,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Coach sighs, running a hand over his face. “Life is complicated, Paige. But you need to find a way to deal with it. You’re the leader of this team, and if you’re not focused, the others won’t be either.“

“I know,” Paige replies, her throat tight. “I’m sorry, Coach. I’m just… going through something right now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Coach offers, surprising Paige. He isn’t usually the type to get involved in his players’ personal lives, but Paige guesses he’s worried about how much this is affecting her performance.

Paige shakes her head, though. She couldn’t talk about it, not without breaking down, and she couldn’t afford to do that. Besides, it would be more embarrassing than anything to have to explain how much losing someone—that’s technically still there—has affected her. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”

Coach watches her for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. But you need to get your head back in the game, Paige. I can’t have you on the court if you’re not all there. Understand?”

“Yes, Coach,” Paige responds quickly, feeling the weight of his words settle on her shoulders.

“Take tonight off,” Coach says, surprising her again. “Clear your head, do whatever you need to do. But when you come back tomorrow, I need the Paige Bueckers I know back on that court. The season starts in less than a month, Paige.”

Paige nods, standing up to leave. “I’ll do my best, Coach.”

As she’s about to walk out the door, Coach Cosgriff stops her, saying, “Wait.” She turns, eyes curious as she meets his gaze, wondering what else he has to say. He offers a small smile, telling her, “I went through a tough time when I was your age, too. It’s difficult to be a teenager. But the best advice I was ever given is that whatever problem you’ve got going on—you gotta either drop it, forget it, and move on, or you fix it. I know it’s easier said than done, but it’s true.”

Paige lets the words sink in.

Drop it, forget it, move on.

Or fix it.

Fuck, she doesn’t know.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn huskies #wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #wlw #take me to church #hopkins p fic

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agaypanic · 8 months ago

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Is this how you request a fic? I have no idea but I’ll try. I’m craving Regina George content. Can you please write something where reader is apart of the plastics but she’s not mean like the rest of them and that’s why Regina likes her. When Cady shows up and Regina has an interest in cady it’s too make reader jealous but instead cady ends up liking reader who distances herself from the plastics and then Regina gets jealous and admits her feelings so reader doesn’t end up with cady. If that makes sense? Thank you!

Craving Your Attention (Regina George X Plastic!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Regina George is the queen of North Shore High and she doesn’t like to share her toys, even if she doesn’t really play with them.

A/N: kinda toxic!regina even tho thats not really a surprise. slight cady x reader, she likes you instead of aaron (also aaron doesn’t exist teehee). The girls arent homophobic bc cady tells gretchen she likes reader and regina ends up with reader (saying this bc idk if you’re gonna read this with 2004 regina or 2024 regina in mind, and obviously 2004 was a different time lmao) content warning for diet talk but it’s just part of one scene. Heavily relied on the mean girls (2004) script for this fic, so it's almost all written centered around Cady. all in third person which felt a lil weird to write because i usually write in second person lol idk if anyone’s gonna want a part 2 but imma lyk rn that im not planning on writing a part 2, mainly bc this took so painstakingly long

***

Everyone at North Shore High knew about Regina George. They’d be stupid not to. She was practically royalty.

A queen bee was nothing without her little worker bees. First was Karen Smith. She seemed to give a whole new meaning to the word ‘clueless,’ but she was friendly. In more ways than one.

Then there’s Gretchen Wieners. She was Regina’s eyes and ears, whether it was wanted or not. All she wanted to do was please her leader.

And finally, there was Y/n L/n. If any of the plastics were to be deemed approachable, it was her. She was Regina’s right-hand girl, maybe even a bit more than that. But no one ever brought that up.

But then Cady Heron came to North Shore.

“Is he bothering you?” Regina tilted her head as she looked at the redheaded girl and the familiar boy who was talking to her. Y/n, who was sitting next to Regina, looked up from her food in curiosity. Regina didn’t usually talk to anyone outside of the table during lunch. The girl made a nondescript noise, so Regina turned her attention to the boy. “Jason, why are you such a skeez?”

Jason rolled his eyes, but tried to seem polite.

“I’m just being friendly.”

“You were supposed to call me last night,” Gretchen pouted, looking over her shoulder at Jason.

“Jason.” Attention was brought back to Regina with the simple call of his name. She wore a sweet smile, which meant that Jason was probably about to get a bite taken out of him. “You do not come to a party at my house with Gretchen and then scam on some poor, innocent girl right in front of us three days later. She’s not interested.” Regina then turned to the redheaded girl. “Do you wanna have sex with him?”

She looked shocked, giving an immediate no.

“Good. So it’s settled.”

“You can go shave your back now,” Y/n finished, and the four plastics waved him off. Jason walked away, but not before muttering an insult to the girls.

“Good one,” Regina said quietly to Y/n, who couldn’t help but smile a bit at the small praise. Before she could reply, Regina’s eyes followed after the red-haired girl, who was now starting to walk away. “Wait.” The single word made her stop in her tracks and look back. “Sit down.”

Regina moved her hands, signaling Gretchen and Karen to move to the sides of the lunch bench to make room for this mystery girl. After some more encouragement, she sat down.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asked sweetly, trying to ease the girl’s nerves.

“Cady.”

“Why don’t I know you?” Regina asked, looking at Cady curiously.

“I’m new,” Cady replied. “I just moved here from Africa.”

“What?”

“I used to be home-schooled.”

“Wait. What?”

Cady took a second, wondering why Regina kept saying ‘what.’ She didn’t think it was that confusing.

“My mom taught me at home-”

“No, no.” Regina laughed. “I know what ‘home-school’ is; I’m not stupid. So, you’ve actually never been to a real school before?”

As she spoke, Regina leaned more and more forward towards Cady. And as the conversation continued, Y/n wondered why Regina was taking such an interest in her. Regina never cared about anyone who passed by, too involved in the latest gossip session Gretchen had started or in Y/n’s appearance. Not that Y/n really noticed that; she was busy thinking about Regina to see that Regina was thinking about her. Either way, she didn’t understand why the blonde was suddenly so fascinated by this new girl.

“You’re like, really pretty.”

Oh… That must be why.

Y/n seemed to tune the rest of the conversation out, too wrapped up in Regina’s compliment towards Cady and the bright smile she wore while giving it. She didn’t know why it bothered her. It’s not like Regina belonged to her. If anything, Y/n, along with the rest of the Plastics, belonged to Regina.

Even when Regina brought Gretchen and Karen in close to speak to them and Y/n, leaving Cady awkwardly leaning back to give them more privacy, Y/n didn’t care much to listen. The gist of the conversation was that they wanted Cady to sit with them at lunch for a week, something they had never considered doing with anyone else in this school.

“Okay.” Regina started as Gretchen and Karen relaxed back into their seats, and Cady leaned back in. “You should just know that we don’t do this a lot, so this is, like, a really huge deal. We wanna invite you to have lunch with us every day for the rest of the week.” Regina wore a grin that meant she was up to something, but Cady didn’t seem to decipher that, and the rest of the girls didn’t know what it meant.

“Oh, it’s okay—” Cady’s tone seemed to indicate that she was about to decline, but Regina interrupted her before she could.

“Coolness.” The bell rang, and Regina’s eyes darted over to Y/n before going back to Cady. Her mischievous smile remained present as she, Gretchen, and Karen grabbed their trays. “So we’ll see you tomorrow.”

The three Plastics stood up and left the table, leaving Y/n in a slight daze and Cady confused about what had just happened. Y/n suddenly looked around, realizing that her friends had left without her, but the new girl was still with her. She figured that she should say something before leaving her alone. She didn’t have to be mean or unpleasant just because Regina seemed to like Cady.

“On Wednesdays, we wear pink.” Y/n said it with a timid but sweet smile, trying to get over the revelation that the girl she loved was setting her sights on someone else. Her hand patted Cady’s a few times before she stood up and picked up her tray. “Welcome to North Shore.”

As Cady watched Y/n leave, and as Janis and Damian dragged the redhead away to interrogate her about her interaction with Regina, she couldn’t help but feel warm. Maybe public school wouldn’t be so bad.

***

The next day, Cady was slightly nervous to sit with the Plastics. She felt like a double spy. Janis and Damian were under the impression that Cady was doing it for them, to listen in on Regina’s secrets and relay them back to her friends so they could laugh at the pathetic and superficial nature of it all. And sure, that was the main reason she was sitting with the girls. But Cady also returned to the table so she could bask in a new light, Y/n.

But living in girl world came with a bunch of rules.

“You can’t wear a tank top two days in a row, and you can only wear your hair in a ponytail once a week. So…” Gretchen laughed lightly, seeming a little nervous for no reason as she looked at Cady, who was wearing her hair in a ponytail. “I guess you picked today. Oh! And we only wear jeans or track pants on Fridays.”

“Which totally blows in the winter,” Y/n muttered before sipping her Diet Coke.

“Now,” Gretchen started again, “if you break any of these rules, you can’t sit with us at lunch.” Cady seemed surprised, but Gretchen continued. “Not just you! Like, any of us. Okay, so, like, if I was wearing jeans today, I would be sitting over there with the art freaks.” She said it with a grimace, pointing over to a table a few feet away from the girls before looking back at Cady. “Oh, and we always vote before we ask someone to eat lunch with us, because you have to be considerate of the rest of the group. I mean, you wouldn’t buy a skirt without asking your friends first if it looks good on you.”

Everyone nodded except for Cady, who was processing all of these new rules she had to follow.

“I wouldn’t?”

“Right,” Gretchen said with a definitive nod. “And it’s the same with guys. Like, you may think you like someone, but you could be wrong.”

“One hundred twenty calories and forty-eight calories from fat,” Regina interrupted, reading a food bar that she had grabbed. She looked at her friends inquisitively. What percent is that?”

“Uh… forty-eight into one hundred and twenty?” Gretchen suggested, not really sure of herself.

“No, I don’t think so, Gretch,” Y/n said, trying to think of the correct answer.

“I’m only eating foods with less than thirty percent calories from fat.”

“It’s forty percent,” Cady said suddenly, proud that she was able to do the equation in her head. Everyone looked at her, expressions varying from impressed to confused. Cady suddenly felt the need to show her work. “Well, forty-eight over a hundred and twenty equals X over a hundred-”

“So then you cross multiply to get X!” Y/n finished off with a grin, thrilled that she knew what Cady was talking about. Cady smiled back at her with the same excited energy, although looking a little more subdued. Not only was this girl super pretty and friendly, but she also seemed decently smart. Maybe Janis was wrong about these girls.

“Whatever.” Regina looked at the two girls suspiciously. She tossed the food bar onto the table and stood up. “I’m getting cheese fries. Y/n, come with me.”

Taken back by the sudden command, Y/n stumbled out of her seat and followed Regina. Cady’s eyes followed her until she was out of sight, and she sighed quietly when she couldn’t catch a glimpse of the girl anymore.

“So!” Gretchen startled Cady with her enthusiastic voice and a hand on her shoulder. As she turned to look at her, Cady realized that Karen was also gone from the table. She must’ve gone to the bathroom or somewhere else. “Have you seen anyone you think is cute yet?”

Cady didn’t know how to answer. There was definitely one person that came to mind, but she didn’t know if she should say the name. Gretchen might react badly if Cady told her, which would most likely lead to her getting kicked out of the Plastics.

But at the same time, she didn’t want to lie.

“Well… there’s this one.. girl.” The last word was quiet and hesitant, but Gretchen picked up on it.

“Oh my gosh, who is it?” She asked excitedly. “Do you think it’s just like, a phase, or is it more serious?”

“I dunno.” Cady shrugged. “I haven’t known her too long to be sure.”

“Who is it?” Gretchen leaned forward in her seat, completely invested in Cady’s answer. It took the redhead a long moment of hesitancy to open her mouth.

“It’s Y/n…”

“No!” Gretchen straightened up, looking absolutely horrified. She looked around, ensuring none of the other girls were back yet. “You can’t like Y/n. Not only is she a part of the group, but… Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, and you’re, like, totally forbidden from ever bringing it up. But Regina is really possessive over Y/n. They’ve been best friends for, like, forever, and Regina chases off anyone who tries to so much as ask her out. And it’s not my place to say whether or not it’s more than friendship, but if I had to say something, there’s definitely something going on between them.” Gretchen took a much-needed breath, shaking her head slightly to clear her jumbled thoughts. “Look, the point is, you shouldn’t date friends. Especially Regina’s friends. But don’t worry, I’ll never tell Regina or Y/n what you said. It’ll be our little secret.”

Gretchen gave Cady a sweet smile, and that seemed to be the end of their little conversation. But for the next few days, Cady kept thinking about it.

She didn’t want to get on Regina’s bad side. That would mean no more things to tell Janis and Damian and no more seeing Y/n. And she also didn’t want to freak Y/n out. But just because Cady wasn’t allowed to like Y/n didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to look at her. Or think about her. Or talk to her.

A few days later, when Cady was with Janis and Damian at the mall, Janis asked when Cady would see Regina next. She said it felt weird to spy on her and that she didn’t want to do it anymore. And sure, it being weird was part of why she wanted to stop. But mainly, it was because Cady had started getting so distracted by Y/n that it was difficult to focus on Regina. Which was strange, because the blonde girl was so alluring. But Janis reassured Cady that Regina would never find out about her double agent status, that it would be their little secret.

So many secrets.

***

“Hello?” Cady held the phone up to her ear, wondering who was calling her at this late hour.

“I know your secret.” Cady stiffened at Regina’s voice coming through the speaker. She internally panicked, trying to figure out what to do. How did Regina figure out about Cady’s spying?

“Secret?” She decided that playing it cool was the better move. “What secret?”

“Gretchen told me that you like Y/n.” Cady relaxed at the fact that Regina had learned about her other secret, before freezing again. Right now, she wondered if it would be better if Regina knew about the spying. “I mean, I don’t care, do whatever you want.” Regina didn’t sound like she didn’t care, but Cady didn’t bring it up. “But let me just tell you something about Y/n: She’s, like, never gone on a date before. It’s not that she’s not pretty or anything, but no one’s ever really been good enough for her.”

“Oh?” What did this mean? Did Regina deem Cady good enough for Y/n after so many others tried and failed? Or was this a set-up?

Honestly, Cady was so happy for Regina’s blessing that she didn’t really care.

“I could talk to her for you, if you want.”

“Really? You would do that?”

“We’ve been friends since like, pretty much birth. I know exactly how to play it.” There was a moment of silence, and Cady could picture Regina picking at her nails. “But wait. Aren’t you mad at Gretchen for telling me? Because if you are, you can tell me. It was a really bitchy thing for her to do.”

“Yeah, it was pretty bitchy, but I’m not mad.” Cady was a little mad, but she didn’t feel like saying that. “I mean, it’s better she told you instead of Y/n. I dunno, I guess she just likes the attention.” Cady didn’t know why she said that last part, but it had just spilled out of her mouth.

“See, Gretch? I told you she’s not mad at you.” Cady was a bit confused, but then another voice spoke.

“I can’t believe you think I like attention!” There was a click, and Cady assumed the Gretchen had hung up. She had no idea she was even listening.

“Okay, love you. See you tomorrow!” Cady could hear Regina’s smile, and then there was another click followed by a dial tone, showing that Cady was now the only one on the line. She then hung up herself, processing the three-way call she had just survived.

And then after that, Cady realized that she had gotten Regina’s blessing to try to pursue Y/n.

***

“What day is it?” Y/n asked, looking down at her worksheet. She didn’t usually do homework at lunch, but lately, some of her classes had been kicking her ass.

“It’s October third,” Cady answered almost immediately, catching the suspicious eyes of Regina and Gretchen.

“Thanks, Cady,” Y/n said, looking up at the girl and giving her a sweet smile before returning to her paper.

“I dunno why you don’t just ask one of the Mathlete dorks to do it for you,” Regina said, looking over Y/n’s shoulder. “They’d probably even do it for free.”

“We’ve talked about this, Regina. If my teacher didn’t catch on, it would still totally bite me in the ass when I’d have to do a test all by myself.”

“You need help with math?” Cady asked, subtly leaning closer to Y/n. The girl looked at Cady, now completely distracted from her work.

“Yeah! I used to get it, but trig is crazy hard.” Y/n sighed, delicately rubbing at her tired eyes so she didn’t mess up her makeup. “I feel like I’m never gonna get it.”

“I can help you!” Cady said, excited over this opportunity. She had always excelled in mathematics, and now Y/n needs help with that exact subject? It seemed like fate.

“Really?” Both Y/n and Cady missed the slight glare that Regina was giving them.

“Oh right, Cady’s like, a total nerd.” They also chose to ignore Regina’s snide comment before sipping her Diet Coke.

“That would be amazing, Cady! Maybe I could come over after school today or something?”

Cady was about to say yes, a million times yes, but Regina butted in.

“Y/n, you’re coming over to my house today.” It didn’t really feel like Regina was reminding her of forgotten plans. Instead, it sounded like Regina was coming up with a reason for Y/n to be unavailable. Cady’s suspicions were confirmed by the confused look Y/n gave the blonde.

“I am?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… Well, how about tomorrow?”

“Perfect!” Cady spoke quickly and enthusiastically before Regina could say another word.

***

Over the next month or so, Cady tutored Y/n a few days every week. It quickly became their favorite part of their days. After helping with a few problems Y/n was stuck on, the two girls would get distracted by conversations about whatever they wanted to talk about. Neither of them felt the need to filter themselves in fear of being made fun of by one of the other Plastics, mainly Regina. Topics ranged from the latest gossip to future plans to their favorite things in media. If Cady had never heard of something Y/n brought up, which was the case nine times out of ten, the tutoring session would turn into a movie night or music party.

“Oh my gosh, so…” Y/n and Cady were in the middle of watching a chick flick that Cady had never seen when Y/n suddenly spoke. “I’m having a Halloween party at my place. We usually do it at Regina’s, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like doing it this year. Are you gonna come?”

“Yeah, sure.” Cady’s response made Y/n smile brightly, a sight that Cady could never get sick of.

“Awesome!” Y/n sat up from her slouched position, her excitement waking her up from her slightly tired state. “It’s a costume party, which’ll be a lot of fun. I can give you a flier with all the info tomorrow. Even though I know you’re invited, you need the flier to get in. It only admits one person, so don’t bring anyone else with you.”

“Grool.” Y/n blinked in slight confusion, and Cady realized what she had said. “I… I meant to say ‘cool,’ and then I started to say ‘great.’”

Y/n giggled, which made Cady’s cheeks heat up.

“Right. Well, grool.” The two laughed, and then Y/n looked down at her watch. “Oh my gosh, it’s so late. I should probably get going.” With the help of Cady, Y/n gathered her things. “See you tomorrow!” In a flash, Y/n kissed Cady’s cheek before walking out of the room and leaving Cady’s house. Cady’s cheeks felt like they were on fire, and she lightly touched the cheek Y/n had kissed.

***

One thing that no one told Cady was that on Halloween, many girls opted for very revealing costumes rather than actual costumes. So when she arrived at Y/n’s house, she stuck out like a sore thumb in her dead bride attire while her friends wore tight clothes and animal ears.

“Why are you so scary?” Gretchen asked with concern, looking at Cady’s appearance with wide eyes.

“It’s Halloween,” Cady said with a shrug, not knowing what the problem was.

Suddenly, a hand touched Cady’s arm, making her jump. But she quickly relaxed when she saw who was touching her.

“You came!” Y/n squealed, bringing Cady in for a hug. The redhead felt a bit flustered by the contact, plus seeing Y/n in her slightly revealing outfit. When they broke the embrace, Y/n held Cady by the shoulders, surveying her outfit. “And you’re a… zombie bride…?”

“An ‘ex-wife.’” Cady replied, using her fingers to air quote.

“Well, I love it.” Y/n finally let go of Cady, although she wouldn’t have been opposed if she kept holding onto her. “You want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Y/n squeezed Cady’s arm for a quick moment before turning around. She weaved her way through the crowd to get to the kitchen, where a shit load of different drinks were scattered on the counters. She started mixing a drink for Cady when she felt a presence behind her.

“What the hell is Cady wearing?” Regina asked, squinting to see Cady from across the room.

“She’s a zombie bride!”

“She looks like a freak.”

“Regina!” Y/n set down the bottle she was pouring and looked at the blonde. “Be nice.”

“Whatever.” Regina rolled her eyes, pushing her hair off her shoulder before leaning on the kitchen counter. “You know, you should probably be careful around her. She has a giant crush on you.”

“What?” Y/n’s eyes snapped to Regina, immediately curious. “How do you know?”

“She told me. She tells everybody. It’s kinda cute, to be honest. She’s like a little girl.” Regina laughed, and Y/n tilted her head and raised her brows, silently asking for more details. “Like, she writes ‘Y/n plus Cady’ and stuff like that all over her notebook. And she made this shirt that says ‘I heart Y/n’ and she wears it under all of her clothes.

“Oh, come on.” Y/n sighed and rolled her eyes, figuring Regina had been joking. “That’s not funny, Regina.”

“I’m serious! She’s, like, obsessed with you. And who can blame her?” Regina’s hand reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Y/n’s face. When Y/n looked at her friend, she was suddenly closer than before. “I mean, you’re gorgeous.”

“Regina.”

“If I’m being honest… I hate the way she looks at you.” Regina grabbed Y/n’s chin before she could look away, forcing them to maintain eye contact. “It makes me sick. She should know better than to think she has a chance with you.”

“What are you saying, Regina?” Y/n’s voice was barely a whisper, but the blonde heard her loud and clear despite being in a crowded room with blasting music and semi-drunk teenagers.

“I’m saying you’re mine, Y/n.” With every word, Regina inched closer and closer. “I don’t want you to be with Cady. Or with anyone else.”

Regina closed the small gap between her and Y/n’s lips, wrapping her arms around Y/n’s body to keep her close. After the wave of shock washed over her, Y/n reciprocated the kiss. Neither of them cared about any of the people around them watching. Including Cady, who watched from across the room with watery eyes and a breaking heart.

Cady had lost Y/n to a competition she didn’t even know she had. Y/n had finally gotten the girl she had been wanting for years after being kept at arm’s length away. And Regina had once again ruined someone else’s happiness for her own.

***

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