#maybe for the first time or maybe just because he can

[buckysleftbicep]

right this time 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: bad date, jerk behaviour from said bad date (not bucky, never bucky, he's a sweetheart)

summary: after a disappointing date, bucky decides to show you what a proper date should be like. based on this request

word count: 2.2k

author's note: i love, love this request, soft!bucky will always be my weakness. love you guys and stay safe out there!

You could already feel the headache blooming behind your eyes by the time he said, “Oh, you don’t mind paying, right?”

He said it like it was nothing. Like asking the time. Like it wasn’t already the second time you had pulled out your wallet tonight.

You stood at the counter, nodding stiffly in your carefully chosen outfit, the one you’d debated over, hoping it struck the right balance of effortless and cute.

Beside you, Dylan barely glanced up from his phone. He rattled off an order without looking at you, or the menu. The most expensive combo on the board, with extra toppings and a drink, then added, “And large curly fries. Thanks, babe.”

You paid. Not because you wanted to. Because the alternative—arguing in front of a line of strangers under fluorescent lights sounded even worse.

The restaurant wasn’t charming. It was loud, crowded, and sticky. One overhead light buzzed and flickered every few seconds, just enough to make your eyes hurt.

Dylan slid into the booth across from you and immediately launched into a monologue, about his job, his bench press max, and the supplements he was “thinking of selling on tiktok.”

He didn’t ask you a single question.

Somewhere between his story about getting banned from a gym “for being too intense” and the fourth time he called himself an “alpha,” he showed you a blurry photo of his car. Then one of his abs.

You tried to smile. Tried to stay polite. Tried to find something redeeming.

But then he started in on his ex—how she was “too emotional,” how he was “so done with drama,” and how he liked girls who were “chill, you know? The low-maintenance kind.”

You stared at your plate, appetite long gone.

Afterward, he dragged you to a movie you didn’t pick, barely noticed you during the previews, and spent the first twenty minutes whispering unsolicited commentary about the actresses.

“Hot, but too skinny,” he said more than once.

When you finally tried to reply, he shushed you. Loudly.

You sat through the rest of it in silence, wondering when exactly the night had started to feel like a mistake. Maybe from the moment he said “you free fri?” without even using your name.

By the time the credits rolled, your shoulders were tight, your patience was gone, and you’d barely spoken a full sentence that wasn’t met with a shrug.

He looked at you then, slightly annoyed, like you were the one who’d ruined the vibe.

And just to really finish it off, when the parking machine spit out the total, he patted his jeans with mock surprise and said, “Crap, still no wallet. Can you…?”

You paid. Again.

He didn’t even say thank you.

You went home quiet, heels clicking against pavement, the weight of disappointment sitting like lead in your chest. You’d planned for butterflies.

Instead, you got a stomachache and a receipt.

You hadn’t planned on telling anyone about the date. Honestly, you just wanted to forget it. Bury it somewhere behind your laundry pile and pretend it never happened.

It felt embarrassing, like you’d walked straight into something you should’ve seen coming. And maybe part of you had. But god, some part of you had hoped, just for once, that someone would surprise you. In a good way. And this date was anything but.

Yelena asked how it went the next morning. Just a casual message. “So? How was it?”

You considered ignoring her. Then sighed and typed a reply. Quick. Blunt. No flourishes.

“Paid for everything. Talked about himself. Rated actresses. Didn’t even say thank you.”

It took her barely ten seconds to respond.

“I’m telling Barnes”

You let out a groan and dropped your phone onto the bed.

Of course she was, he was your best friend after all.

The knock came just after sunset, soft, unhurried and almost unsure.

You weren’t expecting anyone. But the moment you heard it, you somehow already knew.

You opened the door, and there he was, Bucky, standing on your front step in a fitted black tactical tee, sleeves hugging his arms just enough to remind you he never really knew how not to look ready for a mission.

His hair was tucked neatly behind his ears, a few strands falling loose across his forehead, and his expression was all soft concern. He looked comfortable, calm, like someone who knew how to carry the weight of the world but had left it all behind just to check on you.

In one hand, he held a brown paper bag. In the other, your favorite drink, the lid slightly fogged over from the cold.

And when he smiled at you, it was the gentlest thing in the world.

“Hey,” he said gently, offering the smallest smile. “I brought cinnamon rolls.”

You blinked at him, surprised, but didn’t hesitate. You stepped aside to let him in, and he moved carefully, quiet steps, easy presence almost as if he knew you were still holding something fragile in your chest and didn’t want to make it worse.

He placed the bag on your study table, then turned back to you with a softness that made your ribs ache.

“Yelena filled me in,” he said, voice low. “I heard the date didn’t exactly go great.”

You huffed a dry laugh and folded your arms, leaning against the back of your couch. “That’s one way to put it.”

He nodded, not pushing, not prying. Just listening.

“I’m sorry he made you feel like that, doll” Bucky said after a pause. “Like you weren’t worth the effort.”

The words hit somewhere you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge. You looked down at your hands, suddenly too aware of how tightly your fingers were laced together.

“I don’t know why I let it get to me,” you murmured. “It was just one night and some guy.”

“It’s not about one night,” he said, quietly but firmly. “It’s the way he treated you. You deserve someone who shows up. Who sees you, someone who tries.

You looked up. And he was already looking at you.

Steady, present and kind.

There was a silence that stretched between the both of you, comfortable, not tense. Like neither of you needed to fill it with anything unnecessary.

Then he cleared his throat, nervousness flickering in his expression.

“I, uh… I was thinking,” he said slowly, “maybe I could take you out sometime.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, only if you want to. No pressure. I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “I’d like to show you what it’s actually supposed to feel like. A date, I mean.”

Your heart gave a small, startled flutter. Not because he asked, but because it felt different this time—genuine. No pressure, no performance. Just quiet sincerity.

He meant it. That was the difference.

You exhaled, the tension leaving your shoulders like a slow breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

“You don’t have to fix anything, Buck.”

He met your eyes again, unwavering. “I’m not trying to. I just want to be around you. That’s all.”

And somehow, that felt like everything.

You smiled, soft but real. “Okay.”

His whole face lit up, barely, but enough. Like the sun peeking out after a long stretch of grey.

The next evening, Bucky picked you up right at six.

He rolled up on his motorbike—sleek, black, and already rumbling softly beneath him. He swung off and pulled off his helmet, that familiar smile tugging at his lips.

“You said you liked the wind in your hair,” he said, handing you a second helmet. “Figured we’d start the night right.”

You took it with a grin, nerves and excitement tangling in your stomach.

He stepped closer, reached out gently, and began adjusting the straps under your chin—careful, precise, but somehow impossibly tender. His fingers brushed just beneath your jaw, and when he looked up to check the fit, he was close—close enough to smell the hint of his cologne, warm and clean, like cedarwood and something familiar you couldn’t name.

“Too tight?” he murmured.

You shook your head, voice lost somewhere in your throat. “It’s perfect.”

He helped you swing onto the bike, his hand on yours steadying you as you climbed on behind him. And when you settled, you hesitated for only a second before wrapping your arms around his waist.

His body was solid beneath you, warm even through the cotton of his black tactical tee. You felt him breathe once, deeply, before his hand found yours and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Hold on tight,” he said over his shoulder, and the words felt less like a warning and more like an invitation.

He pulled away from the curb, and you tucked your face into the space between his shoulder blades, the wind rushing past your legs as the bike hummed beneath you. The world blurred in gold and shadow, and all you could do was hold on and try not to smile too hard against his back.

You weren’t sure where he was taking you.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t mind not knowing.

You expected maybe a quiet restaurant. Maybe a movie that didn’t make you want to gnaw through your seat or chew grass. Something safe, predictable.

But what you got instead was entirely different.

He drove you out of the city, down winding backroads lined with trees still clinging to the last golden scraps of autumn. The air was crisp, soft-edged, full of that late-day hush the world sometimes offers just before the light disappears.

After a while, he pulled into a gravel turnout near a small, wooded park. You glanced at him, confused, but he just smiled and turned off the ignition.

“Trust me,” he said.

You followed him up a narrow trail, the path crunching beneath your shoes. Leaves stirred beneath your steps, and ahead, tucked just out of sight from the road, was a clearing bathed in the last touches of daylight.

Tiny string lights had been hung from low branches, their warm glow flickering gently in the growing dusk.

You blinked, unsure what to say.

He unclipped a bundle from the rear of his bike, and pulled out a folded picnic blanket, a small cooler, and a speaker tucked under one arm. Everything looked like it had been thought through, not fancy, not showy, but thoughtful.

“I figured you probably had enough of restaurants for a while,” he said, his voice light with something just shy of nervous. “Hope you’re okay with something quieter.”

Your chest warmed instantly. “This is… really nice,” you said softly, eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Bucky.”

His smile deepened, and you caught the faintest hint of colour rising in his cheeks.

He laid everything out in the center of the clearing, the softest blanket, a pair of cushions, sandwiches he had made himself (cut diagonally, because you once had a debate with Walker about how sandwiches tasted better when they were cut that way), a thermos full of warm coffee and a little container of shortbread cookies, the same kind you always looked at when you went to the market together, but never bought.

You sat beneath the lights, the world soft and golden around you, the rustle of wind through the trees the only thing breaking the silence.

Bucky was thoughtful in ways that didn’t need to be loud, quietly showing up with the kind of care that made your heart ache in the best way.

He didn’t try to impress you. He didn’t talk over you. He didn’t steer the conversation toward himself. He asked you about your week. Your favourite childhood memory. What you’d been reading lately. What song had been stuck in your head.

And he listened, oh, he really listened

He remembered things you didn’t even realise you had said. Little things. Quiet things that you had mentioned in passing. He wove them back into conversation gently, like handing you small gifts wrapped in ease and attention.

When you had asked about his life in the ’40s, he didn’t hesitate, just smiled, a little nostalgic, and told you stories like they were memories he had kept safe just for this moment.

You laughed more than you had in weeks. Not polite laughter, real laughter. The kind that filled your chest and made you forget about the rest of the world for a little while.

When the food was gone and the sky had faded into that soft in-between of night and not-quite-night, Bucky pulled out the speaker and played a playlist with songs you had mentioned liking—cozy, easy songs.

Then, without a word, he held out his hand to you.

“Dance with me?” he asked, voice so quiet it could have disappeared into the trees.

And you took it.

Because there was no reason not to.

You danced under the lights, slow and unhurried, the breeze tugging gently at your sleeves. His hand rested warm and steady on your back. Yours fit perfectly in his, like it had always known its place there.

At some point, your head found his shoulder. His cheek came to rest lightly against your hair, and he held you just a little closer.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

Because this, this felt like something good. Something simple, something true.

It felt like safety. Like quiet, like someone had finally shown up just to be there with you.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe this wasn’t just a nice night.

Maybe it was the beginning of something that finally felt right.

a/n: and to anyone who has been on a bad date, i hope this helped!

[xoxojisu]

thinking abt being scared to be too clingy w katsuki...

"jisu you seem like you think abt being too clingy a LOT. didn't you just recently write this fic and that fic that are basically the exact same prompt?" no you can sybau.

you’re standing in the doorway of his dorm, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

he’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, legs spread just enough to be inviting without trying. hoodie half-zipped, sweats hanging low on his hips, phone in one hand, completely relaxed.

you are not.

you want to sit with him. in his lap. be tucked in, held tight, kissed maybe once or twice until you melt into him like sugar in hot tea.

but your feet don’t move.

you feel like if you climb into his space first, it’ll make it obvious how badly you want it. how you’ve been thinking about it all day. how when you woke up this morning, a part of you was already aching for his arms.

and what if he doesn’t want that right now?

what if he’s tired, or busy, or just not feeling it?

you shift from foot to foot.

his eyes flick up for only a second before going back to his phone.

“you comin’ in or just gonna stand there lookin’ like an idiot?”

your cheeks flush a little.

“shut up.”

he hums. doesn’t banter. just sets his phone aside, like, completely, not even face-up, and looks at you properly now. tilts his head a little.

and you see it. the way his gaze softens. the way his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile, because if he does, the world will probably collapse or something.

he opens his arms. slow, easy.

“c'mere.”

you hesitate. not because you don’t want to. but because you do, and that’s the part that always scares you. you want him so much. you love him with your whole heart and soul and would spend every second being close with him if you could. but does he? are you being too much? too clingy? your own insecurity and self-doubt eats at you.

he catches that in your face. always does. so he adds, voice lower now:

“c’mon, sweetheart. don’t make me ask twice.”

maybe the nickname does it. or maybe it's his tone, or the look in his eyes. either way, it does you over.

you pad over quietly, still a little unsure, until you’re standing between his knees. he reaches for your hips, not rough like how he does most things, but careful, like he doesn’t want to rush you.

“lemme hold you, yeah?”

you nod.

and that’s it.

he pulls you in, smooth and easy, guiding you into his lap like you’ve always belonged there. one arm wraps firm around your lower back. the other slides up under your hoodie to settle warm against your spine.

he exhales deep, like tension he didn’t even notice was there just fell out of his chest.

“fuck. there you are.”

you melt.

your face tucks into his neck. your arms go around his shoulders. your whole body curls up like it knows exactly how to fit against him now. no more guessing. no more hovering.

he rubs your back, slow and steady, fingers dragging ticklishly but soothingly along skin.

“you don’t gotta wait for me to say it every time,” he mumbles into your hair.

“if you want this, just take it. always want you close.”

you nod against his neck, lips brushing warm against his pulse.

and he holds you tighter, just for a moment, like he needs to be sure you believe it.

you do.

masterlist

[bronzealchemy]

part 1, part 2, part 3

⋆. 𐙚˚ you’re keeping your distance from gideon … but he’s not having it

after the anniversary of calebs death, you kept your distance from gideon. the image of those petals on the bed were too present in your mind. there was no logical explanation for this. suddenly, a „what if“ awoke in your mind. what if … no, you couldn’t even finish the thought. instead, you fully focused on your work. you investigated wanderers, fought fight after fight until every bone in your body ached. and for the first time since the explosion, you accepted the invitation of your colleagues from the association and went to a bar with them. taras smile shone in the flickering lights, nero had surprisingly good dance moves, and simone urged you to take shots with her. tara pulled you on the dance floor and you let loose. you twirled around, again and again, and then … there it was again. 

the shadowy figure.

right there, across the bar. 

you stopped in your tracks, in the middle of the dance floor. 

someone walked in front of the dark figure and when that person crossed … the shadowy figure was gone.

„no!“, you exclaimed. you stalked across the bar, right to the spot where that person just had stood. then you took a right, in direction of the emergency exit. you were almost at the door when someone grabbed your arm. you inhaled sharply, as you lifted your gaze and saw directly into … gideons dark eyes.

„what the hell are you doing?“ his deep voice was laced with something you were too familiar with: unimaginable pain. 

„I’m spending time with my friends.“

he furrowed his brows. „I mean what are you doing with me? you’re ignoring me.“ 

you took a shaky breath. „we can’t keep doing this, gideon. it’s not fair.“

„to whom?“ he took a step towards you. then another, while you walked back and your back hit the wall. he propped his arm next to your face. „is this about caleb?“

hearing his name still hurt. especially now, that your guilty conscience was eating away at your insides. but gideon deserved the truth, so you whispered: „yes.“

he scoffed. „I know you miss him. I do, too. but us keeping the distance won’t bring him back, okay? so don’t shut me out.“

you shook your head. „what about the petals?“

he blinked. „the what?“

„the petals on your bed. after our last night together.“ you immediately left after you saw them, so scared all of a sudden that fight or flight kicked in. 

„I have no idea what you’re talking about.“ 

your pulse quickened. „there were petals on your bed and all over the floor. the same petals of the bouquet we left at calebs grave.“ 

gideons brows furrowed even further. he took a deep breath. then he came closer. „baby, we’re both going through a horrible time, yeah? I know that. and sometimes … I still see things. I see caleb playing basketball on the field when I’m playing with our friends. I can sometimes feel his presence when I’m working. but my mind keeps playing tricks on me. and I think grief is making you see things too.“ 

you inhaled deeply, pondering on his words. maybe … you were imagining things. because you missed caleb so desperately that your mind was making things up that awoke hope in you that the explosion only was a nightmare. 

„I don’t know what’s happening to me, gideon“, you whispered and leaned forward, until your forehead was leaning against his chest. his arms closed around you, embracing you in his warmth. 

„nothing’s wrong with you, baby. that’s just part of grief. spending time with you helped me. I found solace in you. metaphorically and physically, if you catch my drift.“ 

that made you snort. you hit his shoulder half heartedly. „you‘re stupid.“

he grinned. „I’m just being honest. also, I miss you in my bed.“ he pushed a strand of hair out of your face. 

„I miss you too“, you admitted. he got closer, pinning you against the wall, and something flipped in your stomach.

„I missed you. you missed me.“ his mouth wandered over your jaw, down to your neck. he pressed his lips right where your pulse thrummed. „does this mean you’ll come back to my place tonight?“

you shook your head. 

„no? that’s okay.“ he backed away slowly, but you grabbed him and tugged him into the nearest restroom. after you closed the door behind the two of you, you stared at him, suddenly almost shy. 

„if you want me, you’ll have to beg me, baby“, he murmured, leaning against the doorframe. „I won’t start anything until you do that.“ 

heat flushed your cheeks. „I want you.“

„you left me alone. and now you want me back?“ 

„I do.“ 

you reached for him, but he shook his head, smirking. „say it again.“

„I want you, gideon.“ he closed his eyes when you said his name. „please. please let me forget.“ 

„not this time.“ he made a step towards you, grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling ever so slightly, until you looked up to him. the insides of your mouth felt dry, when he came so close to you you could feel his breath. „I won’t make you forget. you’ll remember every fucking second of me making you scream.“ that was the last thing he said, before he crushed his mouth to yours. 

the two of you were colliding. suddenly your back was pressed against the little cabin door, as gideon was pulling your underwear down, while you were freeing his hard length from his pants, stroking him. he got on his knees after a short moment, pushing your skirt up, pressing his mouth down on your clit, sucking hard. 

„fuck“, you exclaimed, as he was licking you like a man starved. it didn’t take long for you to pant, the passion rising higher and higher, but then … he stopped. just for him to turn you around and entering you in one swift motion. you let out a loud gasp, feeling all of him inside you.

„I need you to realize“, he said, accentuating every single word with a hard thrust, „that this is inevitable.“ he grabbed your hair again, pulling your head back so you had to look into his dark eyes. his other hand came around your body to find your aching soft spot once more. you moaned, as he fucked you faster. every single inch of your body belonged to him in that moment. 

„do you understand, baby?“, he murmured into your ear. „do you feel this?“

„yes!“, you exclaimed. „yes, fuck, gideon. deeper. please deeper.“

he fulfilled your wish, going so deep it was on the brink of pain. and he was right. this felt inevitable. like both of you belonged right here, together. the climax washed over you so fiercely it almost brought you to your knees. gideon was the one holding you upright, pumping slowly inside you, savoring every second of this, while you closed your eyes and only felt bliss.

that was until you smelled it. 

the pungent smell of smoke. 

[acid-ixx]

pick me, choose me, mark me! (masochistic bottom yandere! batfam x feral top alpha reader).

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— og post ! ; ao3 link !

a/n: sorry for the spam guys, but tumblr won't filter out the most debauched thing yet they hide my content instead and it makes me sad like i don't want all my hard work to be just buried yk? :( anyways, fic under the read more for those who hasn't seen it yet. sorry again for the repost, i'm just really hurt over the censoring, i won't stand for it, it admittedly made me down in the dumps.

look, i'm just saying that in an omegaverse scenario, where you're the alpha and you go to the same uni as tim drake, a well known and respected omega, where you're a good friend of his: not too close in your eyes, study buddies, maybe, but you're not attracted to him, but it's still in your natural instincts to drive away other alphas despite the omega being capable enough of defending himself. because you're noble, always protecting him by shielding him away from those other vile alphas trying to force themselves on him— and he likes that feeling of protection from you, wants something more out of it.

and he knows that beneath those dull eyes of yours, beneath your willingness to hold back at the scent of omegas in heat, his family is well aware of your darker fantasies. he sees the way you pin down other alphas, how your knees would press up so close to their crotches as you release a growl from your throat, how your muscles would flex and how your teeth would bite on your lower lips to control your raging desire to pin down an omega in heat.

it's an unspoken rule that you've the qualities to rule a pack, strong enough to subdue every other alphas with your unbridled rage and sharp teeth, feral enough to dick down any willing omegas who wants to be well-bred with your knot (he's a willing omega, he wants to be filled by you, wants to know what it's like to be smothered with the scent of your sweat, saliva, and any emissions released from your body).

so i propose the idea that tim would do everything in his waking days, with the guidance of his family, to make any necessary sacrifices in his schedule just so that he could time your monthly ruts and have you be attracted to his pheromones. he'll secretly shove his family's belongings inside your locker just to get you used to their scent, dick, jason and damian take turns to sneak into your home to steal your dirty laundry, your used jackets and pants, buried deep beneath your cabinets, just so that they could smother their nose into it, try to lick at any remaining sweat that clung to the fabrics.

you best believe that they're possessive over your things. even a beta like dick couldn't help but claim your jackets just to wear it for himself. damian, who's all talk about placing himself high above a pedestal as an alpha, seems way too eager to spend a minute or five scenting himself up with your blankets and arguing with jason over the comms on who you get to mark first— as if tim would let them be marked by his alpha.

tim is the luckiest to hit the jackpot though. he could just borrow your clothes after pe classes with the excuse that he forgot to bring a spare, then pretend to clumsily forget to return it to you because he's all too busy shoving it deep in his throat. every time you strip yourself half naked in the shower rooms, he's already had his head peeking by the doors with a camera in hand and a boner down under. every little action of yours done in campus is accompanied by the click of a camera and an all too excitable omega who touches himself to the thought of what your jagged hands could do to his body.

(and god, tim, who loves to hump into your stolen underwear can only provide himself so much pleasure, his heat wants him all marked up by you but you're just so oblivious to his ministrations. to his obvious need to share a nest with you. the family wants you too, jason's been snappy lately and dick is so close to convincing bruce that they all just collectively kidnap you if you weren't so dedicated in your academics).

the only thing holding them back is that you're known to be not like the other alphas. you don't shove your scent into most unwilling nostrils, your momma raised you right, you drink suppressants to keep you on the low, you do just enough to respect the boundaries of every omega who passed by your way, and you're a smart fella, easily picking up on most omegas who only try to befriend you for the intentions of dating you or having a quick fuck (damian makes a mental note to eliminate every known competition, he despises how those lowly beings slot themselves right beside you and think they deserve to be marked up. the others and most especially tim shares that sentiment)— the only reason tim is the sole exception to your friend group filled with betas is because he has enough self respect, at least, that's what he's convinced you to believe.

you're not aware of the trackers littered in every corner of your belongings. you're not aware of the cameras hidden in your apartment as the family entertains themselves just watching you break another toy of yours because you're too big for just a measley fleshlight, they watch you rip another blanket with your pointed teeth that snaggles into the sheets, fantasizing what it's like to have someone crying and begging for you to stop thrusting your knot right beneath you. bruce has to control the pack from breaking into your apartment just for them to offer that you claim them instead, he makes them cycle between steak outs, focus on something else, because he can immediately sense their heads turning to the direction of where your house is— and yet even an omega like him can't deny how tempting it is to share a nest with you as he secretly saves all the files of you pleasuring yourself in a drive he's going to watch repeatedly once patrol hours are over.

thinking about how the months would stretch and you slowly notice the shift in demeanor with tim. suddenly, instead of reviewing in cafes with other friends or simply visiting the library together, he'll invite you all too eagerly to the manor, in due excuse of wanting to study with you alone since he says he prefers a quieter environment. you accept, only because you feel the risk of losing yourself amidst the familiar scents scattered all over your life, on the newer scents on your clothes making your mind go crazy; only because you can't deny how tempting it is to fuck your supposed friend on top of a creaking table, in public for all the eyes to see— so your excuse to study with him alone, in an entirely alien environment where his family are there to monitor your sessions meant you'd have to be on your best behavior.

except the moment you step inside the gothic manor, your nostrils are hit with a multitude of familiar scents. bruce wayne, the omega philanthropist known to love caring for children, who greets you at the door with a gentle smile and expectant eyes, smells of fresh vanilla, cashmere and faint lavender, as he steps to the side and all-too eagerly confesses you that he's been waiting for the moment that tim's closest friend visits his home. like most omegas do, you can only describe the man's scent as soft and nurturing, natural traits for an omega, obviously, as he almost ushers you — a hand resting comfortably on your back, you don't feel his palms rubbing up and down your spine like he's known the feel of it from the start — and your... friend to the library if not for tim insisting that you'll both be heading off to his room instead.

you don't question why he specifically wanted you alone, though, because you swore you smelled the same, imposing vanilla on your damn sweaters.

but when you look to your right, eyebrows raised in curiosity at the whistling omega, he only reciprocates with a shrug and tells you that you should both already head upstairs since there's not much daylight left and that he wants to consume as much knowledge as he can in one sitting.

such a cunning scum he is.

for when you entered the room, stepped inside and dropped your bag to a nearby corner, your nose immediately picked up on the smell of freshly baked cocoa, sweet caramel, and the same, damn fruity scent of zesti cola.

your vision fogs all too quickly, fury an all too intimate feeling rising to your chest.

"tim, you fuckin' vixen—!"

you pin him down on his well nested bed the moment the waft of his room's familiar scent hit the air. you growl, too dizzy on the hazy realization that it was him and his family who's been scenting themselves all over your things all along, you can even smell your own scent in this room. your clothes, your jewelry, even your damn notebooks, they reek of sandalwood, lavenders, musk, vanilla— scent which all don't mix well, all you've individually sensed in all your different items. your underwear is stained with tim's sweat, you realize as you snarl between the vast, unmarked space of tim's neck.

and you should've, you could've held yourself back, but the timing was perfect, you've forgotten to take your suppressants because tim was rushing you; yet his legs are wrapped around you, you feel your own sizable crotch rubbed in between his own hard ones. he's tempting you, inviting you to stake your claim on his clean skin, as he releases a shaky breath right on your ears. his lithe waist is a perfect slot right in your palms, and those stupid, wide eyes are too expectant, too inviting to even deny the lack of surprise, like he's predicted this reaction— like he knows that underneath that false, caring exterior of yours is an alpha that wants to claim, and claim and claim until his skin knows the imprint of your teeth against his.

"mmph, c'mon..." he calls out your name, rubs himself shamelessly against your soiled underwear, takes your cold, unforgiving fingers to cop a feel around his areolas. lidded, deep blue eyes and raw, bitten lips, a red flush overtakes his body; an picture perfect canvas of an entirely submissive omega is right beneath you, inviting you two to fuck like the shameless animals you both are.

proclaiming to you, without words, without thought, that he's yours the entire night.

yours to breed, yours to fuck deep into the mattress until he memorizes the shape of your knot by the end of it all.

you don't remember when or how it happened, how you're both wearing almost nothing but the underwear blocking tim from fully seeing your own rock hard boner, but he's too hungry on want, on the need to have it shoved far deep in his throat and you're too drunk on the hazy desires to have an actual, warm cavern wrapped around you right now.

he whines a bit louder, you can smell the pre oozing and dribbling on his own briefs. he smells so pure, so delicious, so ready to be claimed that you just...

you lick at his clavicle until your tongue reaches into the perfect spot on his neck, devoid of any alpha's mark. you feel the boy shiver under you, feel the way his arms snake around your neck as his feet push back at your underwear until it drops at right your ankles, where you can hear his breath hitch at the sight of your own dick rubbing against his clothed boner.

he moans, pulling his hips up, and you snarl at his impatience, pull his body up in one, quick swipe, like the strong alpha you are, and rip away at his own underwear.

and he's drooling at your display of strength, his smaller thighs wrap around your waist until his puckered hole slots itself perfectly on your tip, you feel the slick dribbling down, feel the natural slip of your dick sliding inside of him.

he's all lubed up, this fucker prepared himself for this. but there's no condom in sight, no damn contraceptive the longer you look around. the truth lies in plain sight: he wants to be bred, he wants to take you raw.

as if sensing your thoughts, as if he doesn't want your attention on anything but him, he voices himself out, calling your name.

"don't lie to me... i know you want this," his palms cup your cheeks, gently prying your head to look at his straight at the eyes, "i know you want me. you picked me, you chose me, didn't you...?"

he pushes his hips upwards, pushes deeper, memorizing every vein stretching his hole— except his attempts are futile the moment he feels you pin his body down, he nearly releases an aching cry when he senses the lack of dick inside him.

he almost begs, almost.

"puh-PLEASE—!" he almost begs, if not for your immediate, hard thrust, a loud plap echoes throughout the empty room. if not for you shoving your dick in his slicked up hole in one quick motion, maybe he could've mustered up another word. but you've dicked him down, rendered him thoughtless and wordless, dumbing the omega down until he's subdued with only breathless moans.

"fu-fuck! oouh—" whispering under his breath, you only snarl in response, feeling him squeeze you in. this is better than any toy you've destroyed, he was warm and aching and you were hungry to just take him all.

tim drake is the picture perfect omega. it was no wonder why so many alphas fight themselves to the death to even grab a sniff of his own sweat, you've told yourself you only let yourself become friends with him because it was your duty to protect the weak, but fuck. you knew deep down, you were as dirty as all the others, maybe even worse, maybe even the worst as the sight of the debauched, snotty, drooling mess underneath you made you way harder, made your diluted eyes take in his writhing body, made you thrust in just a bit harder just to hear that high pitched moan escape from his wrecked throat.

his mouth would feel so good wrapped around your dick, it'll feel so nice to just slide it deeper and deeper until it reaches the back of his throat, and oh, you'll make him hold his breath until he has to scratch at your thighs, until salty tears escape those stupid, wide eyes of his, just to beg you for even the smallest intake of air.

next time, you think. there will be a next time.

for now, your steady pace is enough to induce pleasured tears dribbling down his cheeks. you snap harder, he squeals. he's cute, cute but disgusting. but you're worse, you wish you weren't but it's natural. you try to be soft, though, as your dominant hand swipe away the hair clinging on his sweaty forehead. you lean in, ignoring how tim shivers in delight as his nose gets a closer whiff of your scent, and softly kiss his cheeks.

softly, but that doesn't stop his disappointed, little sigh. you could only stare back in disbelief as his thighs pull your hips closer.

more tears escape his shaky eyes, hiccups escape his quivering lips.

"show me how much you love me..." he whispers, taking your mouth in his, biting your lower lips just so his tongue could get a taste of your saliva mixing with his. in response, you collect you spit and let it dribble down to his awaiting mouth, and god, he moans when the liquid meets his tongue, swallowing your spit with due diligence, like it is his ambrosia. and he sobs at the overestimation of having to feel, taste, and breath every living part of you.

"i love you, i love you, i— ah! i love you—!"yet it doesn't stop you from thrusting, doesn't stop you from wanting more as you stop kissing him, making your way towards his neck, tongue licking and sucking his skin until it's sullen with ugly love marks. he only responds with thoughtless whines, dissatisfied pleas at your teasing, at your refusal to just bite his skin and to just— mark him already.

you feel the rise of a familiar knot on the base of your dick, and with just how louder and louder tim has been moaning — you're sure that his pleas and the heavy creak of the bed can be heard from outside his door, you hope it does, you hope his family hears just how much this freak loves being bred — you know he's close, his dick is practically oozing with salty, watery precome, and his little whole is weeping with slick. your ears can pick up the plaps, how well your cock slides in and out of him to an unstable rhythm.

and yet he's crying, he's crying because throughout it all, your mark still isn't on him. his alpha still hasn't staked their claim on him and he feels so ashamed, so desperate to relieve that empty ache on the skin of his neck that begs to be pierced by your sharp teeth.

"— muh- mark- ah!"

"puh- LEASE! please, please, please, alpha, please—!

and he begs the moment he felt a thread snap, when you palm his throat, squeeze his dainty neck until all he could do was wheeze, until you let go when you see his reddened lips turn purple, and he releases a shout as ropes of cum escape his violently flushed dick.

he begs with incomprehensible requests, sucks in a breath whilst you accompany his moans with a growl when he feels your knot was slowly but surely becoming bigger and bigger inside him as your thrusts slowed, as you try your best to move despite the overstimulation riddling his body.

slowly, until your bodies are locked together, tim unable to move from right beneath you as his hole adjusts to the considerably large knot, until he swore you two are one, until your eyes shut in bliss when you felt your warm cum staining his insides. through both your hazy zenith, through his breathless panting and desperate intakes of air, tim still isn't satisfied.

and he'll only be satisfied if, no, once he's utterly sure he's yours and you're his.

he musters up the last of his strength, shifts his little hips seductively just so he could feel that strong knot pinning him to you, and stares at you with dazzling eyes, shimmering with fresh reserves of tears.

and just like how he's manipulated you to fuck him the moment you've stepped inside the room, he makes sure his quivering voice was as sultry as the taste of his sweat, as inviting as the nest he's been preparing for months.

he pouts, bites his lips, and licks at your warm ears as he whispers four, shaky words:

"mark me, my alpha."

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 17

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T (soon) ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, hints at jjpope, jealousy and possessive rafe, tension and angst, FLUFF

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ at bulk & bloom, rafe fought off suggestive thoughts while you two had some teasing back and forth. later at barry's pawn shop, he told you to stay in the car, but the silent treatment made him give in. inside, rafe got tense when he saw you and barry knew each other. it quickly became clear barry had the upper hand. while rafe was sent to the backroom, barry warned you not to trust him, which triggered a spiral: what if rafe only saw you as a dispensable toy? back in the car, rafe confronted you about barry threatening him, but your passive replies made things worse. frustrated, he eventually admitted he liked spending time with you and wasn’t trying to mess with your head but he still likes the idea of getting to bend you over. you explained how mixed signals make you anxious, and that you needed clarity to feel safe. after some back and forth, you both agreed this could be a friendship. when cara called, you asked rafe to drop you off. he hid his disappointment but offered to pick you up later, quietly worried that sarah might pull you away from him.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10.6k+ (oopsie again)

✿ A / N ✿ whew. another super long-ass chapter. a lot is happening here, lots of jumping back and forth but i really wanted to squeeze it all in so i wouldn't need another "saturday" chapter. maybe this whole thing feels a little rushed (especially the very end, sorry for that) or floppy but i srsly wanted to finish it today so you guys wouldn't need to wait for another day but i guess it will have to do. anyway, I SCREAMED AND GIGGLED AT THE ENDING SO PLS LMK WHAT YOU GUYS THINK. enjoy <3

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // S A T U R D A Y 2 : 3 0 P M

You had literally just a few seconds between the moment Rafe dropped you off and the moment Cara immediately descended on you with Diggory and dragged you to the beach, where a group of energetic Pogues greeted you.

But in those few seconds? Your brain had already gone absolutely haywire and it was all Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, Rafe.

Because holy fucking shit, today? Those not even three hours you'd spent with him? Jesus fucking Christ, that was—what—like, no seriously, what???

Just what. That summed it up pretty well.

Rafe, who'd shown up unannounced at your house to drop off your bag and had had lunch with your family. Rafe, who then willingly dragged you out to hang out (okay, under the pretense of sobering you up, but like, STILL). Rafe, who had almost gone for your throat in Barry’s pawn shop just for knowing Barry. Rafe, who'd actually tried to help pull you out of that goddamn spiral in your head. Rafe, who somehow had a shocking amount of patience for your absolutely deranged overthinking episode (seriously, you needed to tell Barry never to say shit like that again, even if he meant well).

FUCKING RAFE, who said he LIKED hanging out with you AND HOLY SHIT was down to sleep with you if you gave him the green light LIKE JESUS CHRIST I’M SORRY WHAT IS HAPPENING???

Just. Rafe.

Oh, and Rafe, who’d also offered to PICK YOU UP LATER LIKE GUYS WTF WHAT UNIVERSE ARE WE IN?! Because it sure as hell wasn’t the one you knew.

Some real life Marvel Multiverse Quantumjump shit must’ve gone down, because this? This day? THIS RIGHT HERE? RAFE!?!?!?!

Nope.

Just no. How? What?!?

This dude had turned your entire brain inside out with a single conversation like CAN WE JUMP BACK TO RAFE GENUINELY WANTING TO FUCK YOU LIKE HELLOOO??????

Like for real now. The fact that you’d even managed to finish that conversation? And without having a full-blown panic attack after what he'd admitted? Remarkable.

Because your brain hadn’t just short-circuit after that, it was shattered. LIKE YOUR FUCKING CRUSH BEING SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO YOU I MEAN??

WHAT.

Nah, that hadn’t even been you in that conversation. No way. Your body must’ve switched to passive flight mode or autopilot or something because you, just a few days ago, would’ve freaked out so hard you'd have launched yourself into another dimension.

Oh. Hah. Funny. Apparently, you had.

Holy shit, seriously.

But again, you didn’t really get the chance to process any of that truly. No time to spiral, because one, your serotonin levels were sky-high just from how absurdly patient Rafe had been with you today—like, fuck, that alone had made you fall even harder for him.

And two, you’d barely managed to half-say goodbye to him when Cara was already there waiting with her terrier at the parking lot, pulling you into a hug with the biggest, smirkiest smile in the world.

And then she started absolutely blasting you with questions. First one being: “Did you make out?” followed by “What did you guys even do?”, “Why were you hanging out in the first place?”, and “How big is his dick?”

Uhm yeah, that didn’t exactly help your already overloaded brain.

You tried catching your breath after she let go of you with a, “Wait—did I just interrupt something between you two?”

You just shook your head with a smile. “Probably better that you called, otherwise I might’ve actually exploded.”

“Okay, now I seriously need to know what the fuck you two were up to,” she said, eyeing you like a dog begging for treats.

A tired chuckle escaped your lips. “I think we’ll need a separate meeting for that. Wouldn’t wanna keep your loverboy waiting.”

After a bit of back and forth with her saying “His ass can wait” and you insisting “Actually, I need the distraction,” she finally gave in and led you across the parking lot, over the dunes, to a shady little spot where probably the last people Rafe would want to see you with were waiting.

His sister and Pogues.

Well. Good thing you hadn’t been specific about who exactly you were meeting up with. And thank god he hadn’t asked. Otherwise, you probably would’ve had to listen to a whole speech about why you shouldn’t be hanging out with that kind of scum (let’s not forget, last week in Econ he'd said he’d rather shoot himself than hang out with a Pogue, so yeah, that said enough).

ANYWAY. Whew.

You had barely a millisecond to breathe before Cara threw you right into the next interaction.

“Tadaaa, everyone, meet Y/N,” Cara said with a dramatic hand flourish as you arrived at the shady spot.

With an awkward wave and a smiling “Hi,” you greeted the three girls lounging on towels under a sun umbrella, who all perked up with visible curiosity.

You recognized Kiara Carrera: She’d gone to Kildare Academy for a year, a grade below you, and also lived in the 8. Cleo Nash you vaguely remembered from bonfire parties. And of course, you knew Sarah, both from around and, well…from that little awkward encounter on Wednesday at Tannyhill.

All three of them eyed you curiously and with varying levels of friendliness. Sarah had that big warm smile she’d greeted you with the first time. Cleo looked like she could murder someone if she felt like it, but even her smile had something soft about it, like running your hand along the dull side of a blade.

Only Kiara seemed a little... you didn’t even know how to describe it. Not cold or distant, just... cautious.

“Hey,” Sarah said, patting the towel next to her. “Come sit down. Nice seeing you again.”

God, why did this feel so awkward? You were a year older than the three of them and yet, this was just... weirdly uncomfortable.

Still, you sat down cross-legged with an awkward, “Thanks, good to see you too,” as Cara plopped down beside you. And oh no, judging by the way all four of them were now staring at you…

You shot Cara a what-did-you-tell-them-about-me-and-Rafe look, and she just gave you an innocent little grin that said, Nothing, I swear.

In response, you shot her a telepathic I’m gonna kill you.

“I hope Rafe didn’t throw a fit when he dropped you off,” Sarah said with a smirk. “Actually, I’m kinda surprised he even let you come hang out with us.”

Kiara gave a wide-eyed Yep-nod.

Welp…

You chuckled awkwardly. “I kinda... didn’t tell him who'd be here.”

Sarah raised her brows, still smirking. “And he seriously didn’t kick you out?”

“No?” You blinked, an embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. “I mean... he even offered to pick me up later.”

Cara shrieked beside you (Kiara flinched with a “Shit”). “WHAT.”

Sarah chuckled. “Okay, now I’m even more surprised. He knows I hang out here all the time. Literally calls it the rat hole.”

Um…

“A lot of people hang out here,” Cleo said with a shrug.

Kiara scoffed. “It’s Rafe. Are we sure he’s not hiding behind some dune waiting to jump us?”

O-kay. What kind of picture did she have of him?

“More like he’s hiding to spy on the love of his life,” Cara said, and you immediately wanted to dig a hole in the sand and die inside it.

Cleo and Sarah chuckled. Only Kiara raised a brow, eyeing you in disbelief. “And you willingly hang out with him? Like, he’s not forcing you?”

“I... yeah, he’s...” you started, but honestly, what were you supposed to say? An idiot, an asshole, intense, a lot, a total dumbass. No, you said what you always said in situations like this. “Nice.”

Kiara blinked at you like you’d just announced World War Three. She curled her lips and furrowed her brows. “Are we talking about the same Rafe Cameron or...?”

“Kie,” Cleo muttered with an eye roll and a chuckle.

Kiara lifted her hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, ‘nice’ wouldn’t be my first choice of words to describe Rafe Cameron.” She raised her brows. “More like brazen or, I don’t know, ruthless. No offense, Sarah.”

“Nah, that sounds like my brother,” Sarah replied with a smile but then turned toward you again, eyes a little more curious now. “Okay, stupid question, but... have you two, y’know…?”

“God, Sarah,” Cleo groaned.

PLEASE.

Camerons clearly had a gene that made any situation instantly awkward.

With flushed cheeks, you shook your head and fidgeted with the strap of your bag in your lap. “Um... no.”

What did that even have to do with anything?

“Interesting,” was all Sarah said, a big grin on her face. “And you’re not, like, a witch or something?”

Literally what.

"Excuse me?" Cara raised her brows in mock offense and gestured at you with both hands. “Do you see that radiant aura? Of course he’s obsessed. No spell needed.”

“Okay, shouldn’t we be asking if he’s the one casting spells on her?” Kiara muttered, frowning. Then she turned to you directly. “I seriously can’t believe someone like you actually enjoys being around him.”

Somehow that was kind of offensive… but also weirdly sweet?

“Who’s hanging out with who?” A dripping, shirtless John B appeared by your little towel circle, surfboard tucked under his arm. A few steps behind him, JJ Maybank and Pope Heyward wandered up too, bumping shoulders and laughing about something.

Also: shirtless… and wet…

Jesus Christ.

“Y/N and Rafe,” Sarah said, glancing up at him with a sweet smile.

John B nodded with an Ahhhh expression like he already knew about it, like, ??? Then he looked at you with a smile and gave a casual wave. “Oh yeah, hey. And he’s not holding you at gunpoint for this?”

“Thank you,” Kiara said, pointing to John B.

“Wait, who��s holding who at gunpoint?” JJ dropped his surfboard in the sand next to you all and planted his hands on his hips. His gaze finally landed on you, eyebrows shooting up with a grin. “Wild day when two Kooks voluntarily show up in the Cut. What is this—the Purge?”

“Three, actually,” Cara said, giving him a cheeky look. “If you count Rafe.”

Now Pope was the one looking confused. “Rafe was here?”

“Not with us, dumbass,” Cleo said, then pointed at you. “With Y/N.”

Can someone just shoot me? Shotgun, sniper, I genuinely don’t care.

Pope turned to you, gave a slightly awkward smile and a little wave.

OMG A FELLOW SHY GUY.

You smiled back and gave him a small wave in return and wow, it didn’t even feel awkward. One fellow introvert was all it took to help you shake your own nervous energy.

“Yeah, we just haven’t figured out yet if Rafe put a spell on her or if it’s the other way around,” Kiara said. “My money’s on the first one.”

“Nah, I’m going with the second,” John B replied, with Cleo and Sarah nodding in agreement.

“How about he’s just smitten with her,” Cara said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

JJ squinted, tilting his head. “Mmm, not sure. Rafe’s nuts. Wouldn’t shock me if he’s doing some voodoo shit in his room.”

Okay, what was going on between Rafe and these people, like seriously?

Pope let out a scoff. “Don’t tell me you actually believe in witchcraft.”

“I believe in anything until I’m proven wrong,” JJ said with a shrug, gesturing to you. “And a nice girl willingly hanging out with Rafe?” He shook his head, lips curling. “That’s gotta be some supernatural stuff.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, amused. “Not sure about that.”

“Guys, it’s simple,” Cara said like she hadn’t just met these people three hours ago. “He’s just head over heels for her.”

OKAYYY, THAT’S ENOUGH.

You barely knew like 90% of the people here and this was not the first impression you wanted—hanging out with Rafe being your entire personality. You hadn’t even properly introduced yourself yet.

“Yeah, um… can we maybe just…” you said with a sheepish smile.

Kiara nodded. “Yes. Please.”

"I don’t know about you guys, but I could go for a snack," John B said, and everyone seemed to agree.

"Bob’s Iceshack?" JJ asked.

John B shut his eyes, lips escaping a delighted Mmmm. “You get me, bro.”

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"So, why exactly did you want me to come here again?" you asked Cara, washing your hands in the restroom of Bob’s Iceshack.

After placing your orders at the beachside café, the others had already snagged a spot out on the wooden balcony, but you’d shot Cara a more-or-less telepathic signal (aka a gentle kick to the foot) that you needed a quick minute with her.

On the phone, she'd said she needed backup because of JJ but hadn’t said exactly why. And yeah, to be fair, Rafe was kind of right—what did Cara ever need backup for in a situation like that? Especially from you, of all people???

Especially when the sexual tension between her and JJ was practically leaking off the walls. All those two needed was a room and the rest would just... happen. Shit, they probably didn't even need that.

Cara furrowed her brows. "I’ve been thinking..."

Uh-oh. That could mean anything, from I’m becoming a nun to I’m buying a crocodile and starting a family of five. Today.

“Mmh-hmm,” you hummed, in that high-pitched danger incoming tone, pressing your lips together and raising your brows as you dried your hands.

Cara sighed. "Okay, JJ's cool. He’s really hot, funny, and also kinda got this soft side. Oh, and did I mention, he’s really hot."

You nodded. "Uh-huh, loud and clear."

"And like, I know I could end up in his bed tonight if I wanted to," she said, drying her hands too. "God, the things he could do to me... I’d let him explore every direction on the compass with me, like full-on—"

"Okay, too much information."

Cara wrinkled her nose. "But the thing is... I don’t know. Now that the opportunity is right there, like literally one move away..." She gave you a look like she’d just tasted something weird and couldn’t decide if she liked it. "...I kinda don’t want it anymore?"

Oh!

That’s...

Not surprising at all.

You let out an amused chuckle, which earned you a stunned look from Cara.

"What?" she asked, genuinely flabbergasted. "I’m serious. My whole body is screaming for this guy, but my head’s just like, ugh, I don’t know, it’s pulling in another direction." She widened her eyes. "I think I’m getting sick."

"Orrrr," you said with a big grin, "That other direction is called Topper Thornton."

Cara blinked.

You chuckled again. "I mean... it’s kinda obvious he likes you. And you like him too, judging by how close you two were last night."

"Trust me, I KNOW he likes me. I could see the little hearts in his eyes every time he looked at me," she said dryly. "But like... it’s Topper."

You laughed. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you almost hook up with him a few weeks ago before he chickened out? And weren’t you the one always preaching how sweet and nice he is?"

Cara’s face twisted into a dramatic frown. "Yeah, I mean, he really is sweet. We texted forever last night, but—"

"Define forever?"

"7 a.m."

Jesus Christ.

"Girl. Connect the dots."

Cara made a tortured face. "Ughhh, I don’t wanna."

"Think of it this way," you said, chuckling. "Baddie and simp duo."

Cara burst into laughter, a soft pink tinting her cheeks. "Great. Now I just want him for the trope."

You both started laughing.

"So what now? Do I spend one night in JJ’s Wonderland and then circle back to Topper?" Cara asked, raising her brows, real frustration in her voice.

You shrugged. "I dunno. I support you either way. Just trust your gut."

"Girl, my gut’s telling me to ditch all men and marry you instead."

You scoffed. "Would be the easiest route."

"The smartest one," Cara corrected, then gave you a playful smile. "But I wouldn’t want to snatch Rafe’s future wife right from under his nose."

You made a tsk sound. "Pretty sure he doesn’t see it that way."

"Oh, I’m sure he does. I can already hear the wedding bells," Cara replied, clasping her hands together like she was already planning the ceremony.

Jesus. If she was already talking like this, she was going to absolutely lose her mind when you told her about today.

But honestly, you hadn’t even processed it yourself: Rafe Cameron being down to hook up with you? Like... let’s be real, you were probably never going to be ready to process that. So, for now, you just shoved it into a deep, deep mental box.

So instead, you just said, "Okay, we should really get back before everyone thinks we both have parallel diarrhea."

Cara raised a brow. "Girl, have you seen us together? They’re way more likely to think we’re making out in here."

"Oh, speaking of," you said, grabbing your bag and glancing at her. "Am I crazy or are JJ and Pope giving—"

"Yep."

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"Hey, why aren’t we tagged?" JJ asked, genuinely offended, holding up his phone screen.

Sarah chuckled. "Because the picture’s only of our drinks."

"Cold," Pope said, and John B nodded in agreement.

"Y’all need to chill your balls," Cara said while filling a little water bowl for Dig. "Everyone knows you’re just the accessories to these hot baddies. No need to tag you separately."

All the girls chuckled in amusement.

"Ouch," John B said with a suppressed smile, giving JJ a pat on the shoulder. "Come on, man, clearly we’re not wanted here."

Sarah laughed, and Kiara nodded along.

"Pope is," Cara noted. "He’s the only one of you who hasn’t made me lose brain cells with the stuff he says."

And fucking Pope smiled all flustered and awkward and honestly, it was like looking into a mirror. "Trying my best."

"Whoa, nope, thanks," JJ said, grabbing Pope by the shoulders and pretending to pull him away from your group, narrowing his eyes at Cara. "Careful, man. Those are Kook compliments. Blink once and she’s got her claws in you like some Fury."

"Sounds like your wildest fantasy," Cara shot back, sipping her Corona.

Yep. She had clearly chosen to enter JJ’s Wonderland tonight.

"Geez, get a room," Kiara said, eyeing them in fake disgust.

JJ scoffed with a crooked grin. "Meh, maybe later," he said, then guided Pope away from the table by his shoulders.

"Alright, you girls have fun," John B said with a smile, giving Sarah’s shoulder a soft squeeze and planting a quick kiss on her cheek before heading down the stairs toward the beach.

God, those two were actual relationship goals. Each of them alone was already Golden Retriever energy, but together? Just... pls adopt me.

Cara clearly felt the same way. "Can you two please get married already?"

Alright, second time within minutes that Cara had brought up marriage. Like, at this point it was painfully obvious that Topper had her thinking about some things.

Sarah chuckled. "You wanna be a bridesmaid?"

Okay, real talk—how long had they known each other now? Two, maybe four hours at most? How the fuck were we already at personal wedding invites?

Cara’s friendship game? Not to be underestimated.

"Fuck yeah," she said with a nod. "I’ll be the damn church bench if I have to."

You all laughed.

"Honestly," Cleo said with a smirk, sipping on her passionfruit lemonade, "every time I saw you and Y/N, I thought you were typical Kook princesses." She chuckled. "Cara’s got the whole shiny blonde hair, heels at a beach party vibe, and she looks like she’d throw hands with a bitch given the right reason."

"Hey, I don’t need a reason," Cara chimed in, smiling proudly.

Cleo nodded, grinning. "Yeah, thanks for proving my point." Then she looked over at you, her smile deepening. "And you? Shit, you’ve got that Death Star stare, like you know something about me I don’t, plus this whole don’t-talk-to-me energy."

You smiled awkwardly. "Yeah... more like my awkward stare and help-I-have-social-anxiety please-don’t-talk-to-me energy."

"Yeah, that’s more accurate," Cara said, raising her brows at Cleo. "So, what you’re saying is: We give off major baddie vibes."

Cleo shrugged, amused. "That and cool girl vibes."

"These Kook-Pogue stereotypes are bullshit anyway," Kiara chimed in, making a face. "Just like there are bitchy Kooks, there are bitchy Pogues. And just like there are hardworking Pogues, there are hardworking Kooks too."

You immediately thought of your parents and nodded. "Guess it’s always easier to judge than to meet somewhere in the middle."

"Whoa, okay, people," Cleo said, laughing. "I wasn’t trying to throw stereotypes around. I just meant, yeah, that judging people by looks or whatever is stupid when you don’t even know them."

Your phone buzzed in your bag. While still half-listening to the conversation, you took a quick glance at the notification.

And your heart dropped.

Is this guy actually crazy?

"...all the patriarchy’s fault and—wait, where are you going?" Cara stopped mid political rant, eyeing you as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

Feeling your cheeks heat up like you’d just been caught doing something you shouldn’t, you gave an awkward smile. "Oh, I, um... I’m just gonna grab a water. Be right back."

Judging by their expressions, they all knew what was really going on, but they just nodded, giggling and stifling their smiles.

"Tell Rafe I said hi!" Sarah called after you.

Fucking Camerons, man.

Heart thundering in your chest, you thanked Bob for the glass of water and let your phone plop back into your bag.

Okay, so… like, sure, you and Rafe had gotten to some kind of mutual understanding earlier—basically that you enjoyed each other’s company—but holy hell, the fact that he wanted to pick you up just an hour after dropping you off?

Right. Three possible reasons here:

He didn’t like that you were hanging out with Sarah and Pogues, considering his weird dynamic with his sister and the general class war in his head.

Rafe Cameron was actually clingy with people he liked. At least in private. You had skimmed some of his chat with Kelce, and they seemed really close. And honestly? Last night after your balcony talk, he’d stayed glued to your side until the very end. Like—shit—he probably would’ve followed you into the bathroom if you hadn’t giggled and told him to play bouncer instead.

Barry had been right and Rafe was possessive. Okay, no, not like in a throw-you-into-a-psychological-horror-movie way. Not like a dog with a chew toy either. More like... a kid who couldn’t stand seeing his mom give the baby sibling more attention. Ugh, okay, gross metaphor. You weren’t his mom. But your brain wasn’t coming up with anything better right now.

So yeah. Option one seemed the most realistic, but your gut told you there was probably some truth in the other two as well. Otherwise, your brain wouldn’t have gone there in the first place.

God, where was that positive thinking system you’d come up with on Thursday?

Okay, let’s try that:

Maybe he just really likes spending time with me and he’s excited about the idea of having a new friend, so he’s just a little too eager to hang out again.

Ha. Yeah. Sure.

YES, SURE. DUDE. HELLO??? He literally said he liked you, that he enjoyed being around you, and that he was open to some kind of friendship.

Seriously, how much clearer did your brain need it spelled out? (Also, why did you hear this in Rafe’s voice—help.)

ANYWAY. Time to head back.

“Damn, that must’ve been some really good water you got there, judging by that smile,” Cleo said with a smirk as you returned to the table.

Sarah giggled. “Also took you quite a while for just water.”

“Can’t blame her,” Cara added, grinning. “That water’s got some very visible attributes we clearly don’t.”

Kiara sighed, half exasperated, half amused. “We’re never gonna pass the Bechdel test.”

Your cheeks burned as you sat back down, cradling your glass. “Yeah, sooo... I’m heading out around seven-thirty.”

“You and the water got a date?” Cleo raised her brows with a smirk.

Cara went one further. “You and the water better use protection.”

Your brows knit in hot-faced disbelief as Cleo and Sarah burst out laughing.

Kiara just curled her lips. “Blink three times if you need help.”

Jesus Christ.

“I—no,” you said, laughing in embarrassment. “He’s just picking me up and then I don’t know, probably driving me home.”

Cara rolled her eyes. “Sweetie, we all know damn well that’s not what’s gonna happen.”

“And if it is,” Cleo added, “he can turn his ass right back around. Taking you from us just to drop you at home? Disrespect.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Kiara said dryly.

The way she always talked about him made you think there was some history there. Just... what kind?

“No,” Sarah said with a chuckle. “If that was his goal, he’d already be here. My brother doesn’t have the patience to wait for stuff like that.”

If you only knew.

“Okay, I appreciate you guys cheering this on—or well, not cheering, in Kiara’s case,” you added with a side-smile. “But honestly, this whole topic is frying my brain a little, so if we could shift the gears? That’d be amazing.”

Sarah smiled gently. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to push. It’s just, my brother never puts in effort with any girl. I mean, Wheezie’s kind of the exception, but other than that?” She shrugged. “He takes whatever falls into his lap. Anything more would be too much work. But with you? I don’t know.” She tilted her head, almost fascinated. “It’s like he’s chasing you. Even if he doesn’t realize it.”

“Duh.” Cara gestured toward you. “Have you seen her?”

Sarah chuckled. “Of course, Y/N’s gorgeous.” You could feel the heat crawl up your neck. “But I don’t think you guys realize how unusual it is for Rafe to spend time with a girl and not try to hook up with her. He’s never been into relationships. But now—"

“Oh—um, no. No.” You cut her off, laughing awkwardly and shaking your head like your life depended on it. “That’s not—like, no. This is more of a friendship thingy.”

They all looked at you. Deadpan.

Kiara was the first to speak, brows raised in disbelief. “Yeah, no, trust me. Rafe doesn’t do female friends.”

Sarah also shook her head, but before she could say anything, you raised your hands like you were waving off the whole convo. That tiny little sentence from Barry earlier had already sent you spiraling enough for one day. You didn’t need a rerun.

Especially not after you'd just talked things through with Rafe and nearly driven him to the brink of insanity.

“Please. Seriously, I appreciate your concern and support and everything, but I’m actually really okay with how things are right now,” you said with another nervous laugh. “I mean, I...who even says I’m interested in him like that?”

Another round of flat stares.

Yikes.

You eyed Cara, but she just raised her hands. “All I said was that Rafe dropped you off and you'd come to hang out with us.”

“A girl willingly sticking around to hang out with my brother?” Sarah said, feigning innocence. “I just put one and two together.”

“And girl, them numbers are loud,” Cleo added, clearly entertained.

Alright. If everyone already clocked that you had a crush on Rafe...how the hell had he not picked up on it yet?

Oh. Oh no. Or what if he had?

Jesus fucking Christ WHAT IF HE—

“Okay, I can literally see the gears turning in your head,” Cara said. "And the drinks are empty, so let’s go stretch our legs and hit the beach.”

And that was exactly why this queen was your bestie.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Huh, you're leaving already?" JJ asked as you slung your bag over your shoulder. "Gotta hit the hay or what?"

You’d all regrouped with the guys back in the shady spot on the beach. And honestly? You’d just hung out, chatted, laughed, Cara, Cleo, and JJ had shared a joint, and it had actually been really fun.

They’d welcomed you right in, super chill and easygoing, and the dynamic between them all felt like a little mini family. It was kind of adorable.

But now it was almost 7:30 p.m. and well, you’d promised Rafe to dip at this time.

You smiled a bit awkwardly. “No, I just…” Am getting picked up by the guy you all seem to hate. “…I already had plans for tonight,” you decided to go with.

“It’s fine, you can say his name,” John B said, grinning as he took a sip of his beer. “He’s not, like, the Darth Vader.”

Cleo raised an eyebrow. “Wrong franchise, dude. You mean the Dark Lord.”

Everyone laughed in unison.

“Okay, okay,” Cara said. “We promised her we’d drop the subject.” She stood up and helped you to your feet. “Now chop chop, Cinderella’s got a carriage to catch.”

She gave you a tight squeeze goodbye, grinning wide, which of course triggered a whole wave of hugs.

First Sarah, who jumped up next and hugged you warmly with a “Have fun, see you soon,” then Cleo and Kie, who added a good-natured “Don’t let him get away with any crap,” and JJ, who patted your shoulder and told you, “Protection first, fun second,” and finally Pope and John B, who said, “Take care and we’ll probably see you tomorrow, yeah? You guys are coming, right?”

Oh right, the open-air movie night.

Cara nodded for both of you. “Absolutely.”

“Want us to pick you up?” John B offered.

“Uh-huh, we’ll sort that out tomorrow,” Cara said, already nudging you away from the group.

With one last smile and a wave, you turned and headed back over the dunes toward the parking lot where Rafe had dropped you off.

Whew. Another wild chapter of today officially crossed off the list.

Now that you actually had a moment to yourself—no one talking your ear off or asking about Rafe—you finally had time to think.

Except… you couldn’t.

No thoughts. Head empty.

No energy left whatsoever. And no, that wasn’t really the Pogues’ fault. God no, they were all basically drama-free, free-spirited serotonin boosters. But the day itself had just been a lot.

And your body? Still recovering from last night and probably processing the final fragments of your hangover.

And the worst and best part? No time to exhale, because Rafe was already there, waiting with his black Benz in the parking lot, the setting sun throwing golden glints off the sleek surface.

Only when you got to the passenger side did you catch your reflection and realize you were grinning like an absolute idiot.

Already hit my peak craziness today, can’t get any worse, you thought as you climbed into the car with a cheerful, “Hi.”

Fuck. Every single time, it hit you again. Those painfully blue eyes of his. Then the scent of his cologne, the now-familiar smell of his car, that slightly unbuttoned polo shirt, and—oh. He was wearing his hair in curtain bangs style again.

He’d had it like that this morning too, now that you thought about it. But you were only really noticing it now that your head was clear enough to focus.

“What’s with the smile?” he asked, raising an amused brow and turning down the volume on the Kendrick Lamar track playing through the speakers.

You shook your head, still smiling. “Nothing, it’s just…” You glanced at his hair. “Too lazy for the slick back today?”

Rafe scoffed and started the car. “Nah, just taking a girl’s advice.”

YOU. HE MEANT YOU. OMG.

No way. Had he actually taken your little compliment from last night to heart? When you'd said curtain bangs suited him more than his usual style?

For some reason, that made your heart race fast.

“You take advice?” you teased, trying to play it cool despite the adrenaline spike. “Wow. That’s a first.”

To your surprise, he didn’t laugh or clap back with something snarky. No, he actually furrowed his brow, let out a bitter scoff, and pulled out of the lot. “Looks like Sarah and her little loser friends are already rubbing off on you.”

You blinked. Was he serious right now?

“Yeah, well I was joking,” you replied flatly.

Rafe glanced at you for a second. There was something—hesitation, maybe—in his eyes. “Yeah, some really funny joke, hanging out with people like that.”

Okay. Seriously? Fuck. That.

You were not in the mood for this bullshit right now.

“Okay, wait no,” you said, turning your body to face him fully, “I don’t know what your problem is with them or your sister, as a matter of fact, but keep me out of it. And, just so we’re clear: I can hang out with whoever I want, regardless of how you feel about them. Plus, if you’re gearing up for some kind of confrontation or Pogues-are-scum lecture, let me out of the car right now. I’ll go back to said ‘losers.’” You made exaggerated air quotes.

“And also,” you raised your eyebrows, more amused than angry now, “did you seriously just call me a loser?”

Now it was Rafe who blinked, clearly thrown off, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he threw you a very dry side-eye.

And as good as it felt to have said all that, to shut him down before the confrontation even had a chance to erupt, part of you couldn’t help but hope he wouldn’t actually start a fight now.

Not now, not when things between you were going so well. When you were at the peak of your… getting-to-know-each-other-project-partner-acquaintanceship.

Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don’t blow up now.

“Shit, do I look like someone who hangs out with losers?” he finally said, and although he sounded tense—like, tense enough to physically restrain himself from crashing the car—there was an amused undertone to his voice.

Translated from moody-Rafe-speak, that probably meant something like: You’re not a loser. I didn’t mean it like that.

You let out a breath, but your voice stayed firm. “Well, apparently I do. And clearly, that bothers you.”

“Shit, yeah, I mean, why are you hanging out with my sister?” he asked, shrugging in irritation. “That’s weird as fuck.”

You shook your head, already irritated. “And what exactly is so weird about that?”

That seemed to make him think for a second. Maybe you should piss him off more often, then he’d actually start using his brain.

“I don’t know, it just is, okay?” he snapped back, somehow sounding both soft and frustrated.

You just stared at him, completely deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Rafe scoffed. “Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me.”

“Okay, you wanna know what’s weird?” you said, raising your brows and gesturing toward yourself. “Telling me who I can and can’t hang out with. That’s weird. You’re not my dad, you’re not my mom. And I don’t even take that kinda shit from them.”

Rafe furrowed his brows like you were the crazy one. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not telling you what to do, I’m questioning your judgment.”

“What fucking judgment?” you snapped back. “They’re just normal people. And one of them happens to be your own sister. How can you talk about her like that?”

And now the craziest part: Rafe was clearly tense and worked up. It was obvious he didn’t like that you’d hung out with Pogues today, that you got along with Sarah. Like, he wanted so badly to keep picking at you, to criticize you, throw some kind of blame your way.

But all he did was exhale sharply, clench his jaw tight, and mutter, “Shit. I’m not in the mood for this shit right now.”

Okay. Something was definitely off. Rafe Cameron… backing out of a confrontation? Nah. Universe must’ve glitched.

“No, I want to know why it bothers you,” you pushed, surprised by your own willingness to keep going, considering this was probably playing with fire. “I mean, I think your sister’s cool. Shouldn’t that… I don't know make you happy or something?”

Rafe scowled. “Fucking great, you two are besties now.”

Oh my God. This was starting to sound an awful lot like theory #3 from earlier: Rafe being lowkey possessive.

“Cara is my best friend,” you said calmly, though really, you were just trying to outsmart the spiral slowly forming in your head by faking some semblance of calm, “but yeah, Sarah’s probably a great friend, too.”

Rafe clenched his jaw so tight, you could see a vein popping in his neck. His chest rose and fell like he was trying hard—really hard—not to lose it.

But despite the tension, he looked a little lost, like he didn’t know what to say. Hesitant. Unsure. And somehow, that clawed at your chest. He’d been so patient with your spiral earlier, so maybe it was your turn to meet him halfway when he had his little moody episode.

“I’m just trying to understand why this is hitting a nerve,” you said softly. “I mean, Sarah seems really nice and kind to me. But maybe she’s different around you. Of course, that’s not really my place to—”

“She’s a greedy bitch, okay?” Rafe snapped, his tone almost hateful, eyes fixed on the road ahead with shocking intensity. Then he glanced at you—pure rage flickering in his eyes. “She sticks her curios nose into everything, always has to be faster, smarter, better than everyone else.” He shook his head, eyes darting forward again. “And everyone treats her like some fucking princess, like she’s royalty or some shit, just for batting her damn lashes. Even at home.”

His voice had taken on a dangerously sharp edge. Visibly agitated, he jabbed a finger at his own chest. “I’m the one driving Wheezie around. I’m the one who listens to Rose’s bullshit. I’m the one who’s always backing Dad. I’m the one who deserves the kind of shit Sarah gets handed for free. But no one fucking sees that. Everyone’s too blinded by her fake charm and smiles.”

His face, already twisted with emotion, looked almost pained with the bruise still visible on his cheek. “Every fucking person in my life she tries to turn against me or pull over to her side. Dad. Wheezie. Fucking Topper, once. And now you,” he said, gesturing to you in one swift, bitter motion. “And I’m so fucking sick of her always getting away with it.”

The frustration and bitterness that followed cracked in his voice. “Every time she’s about to fall, there’s always some fucker there to catch her.” His brows twitched, and then his eyes finally locked with yours—sharp, bitter, and frustrated. “And I’m just so fucking sick of being the only one who sees through her bullshit.”

You were stunned. Completely thrown off by the sheer weight of what had just spilled out of him. All the anger, the bitterness, the jealousy but underneath it all, what you really heard was desperation. Frustration. A fear of being left behind. And maybe a deep-rooted sense of not being good enough.

And if you had to guess… the root of it all wasn’t really Sarah.

It was Ward Cameron.

Because no matter how hard he tried to pin the blame on his sister, something about the way he spoke… it didn’t feel like she was the real issue.

You didn’t know what went on behind closed doors, of course, but your gut told you: His dad was the reason Rafe was like this.

The way he always talked about his dad, like Ward was some flawless, perfect man. The way Rafe instantly tensed whenever his father was even mentioned. The way he’d completely flipped into submissive mode when talking to a male authority figure—like your dad—calling him sir, being polite to the point it was almost… eerie.

And then, of course, the way he couldn’t hold a normal conversation without posturing, getting defensive, or misinterpreting every neutral word as an attack. Like he literally didn’t know how to express a single honest feeling.

Like that had to be the result of some kind of suppressed trauma.

And this? Rafe voicing his frustration out loud? To you?

That made your heart ache for this angry, wounded boy who maybe wasn’t so stupid after all. Just bitter. And broken.

And as much as you wanted to tell him that Sarah wasn’t the real problem, that he needed to take a long, hard look at his dad, open his damn eyes—it would’ve been pointless.

His hate, his bitterness toward Sarah ran deep. Too deep for you to reach right now.

So you tried a different approach.

Because what he really seemed to ache for was to feel seen. Maybe the only thing you could do right now was acknowledge that.

“If I’d rather hang out with Sarah, I wouldn’t be here right now,” you said softly, heart pounding so loud it nearly drowned your own words.

Rafe's brows twitched like he was weighing the truth in your words, but then he shook his head bitterly, eyes fixed on the slowly darkening road. "You don't fucking get it. That invite to her stupid little hangout was just the start of her bullshit. She always gets what she wants, eventually." He scoffed. "You already jumped at the first chance she gave you."

Let's add Theory #4: Rafe being scared of abandonment.

You fidgeted with your fingers in your lap, taking a slow breath in. This wasn’t just playing with fire—this felt like walking across a paper-thin glass dome, already cracking beneath your feet, threatening to shatter and drag you down at any second.

"But Sarah wasn’t the one who called me or asked me to come," you reminded him softly. "Cara wanted me there. She needed advice about JJ. If she hadn’t needed my help, I wouldn’t have asked you to drop me off." A small, almost amused chuckle slipped from your lips. “Not after driving you this close to insanity.”

That seemed to ease some of the tension in his body.

With a stern look, he muttered, "She's chasing fucking Maybank? Of all the shitty-ass Pogue rats, she chooses him?"

You laughed at the dry amusement in his tone and how quickly his demeanor had shifted. "Yeah, but I doubt it'll turn into a long-term thingy. Topper kinda flipped all her principles upside down."

Rafe didn’t respond. He just kept staring ahead, a stormy mix of exhaustion, confusion, and frustration in his eyes.

It was strange seeing him shut down like this, considering he was always the one with the cocky remarks and sharp comebacks. But right now? He felt like a wolf shedding his skin to reveal the sheep underneath.

“If what’s got you scared is—” you started, but he cut you off immediately.

"I'm not fucking scared, alright?" he snapped. "I’m just not in the mood to waste my fucking time on someone who’s already dancing to Sarah’s tune."

In other words: he was scared.

You eyed his harsh profile, your gaze soft. “Okay, but I don’t get why you'd even think that. I mean, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“The fuck do I know,” Rafe muttered, voice tinged with visible frustration. “Why’d you stay over there then, huh? Or did Sarah send you to spy on me?”

Paranoid too. Fantastic.

An amused smile tugged at your lips. “Well, for starters, Cara was there, and I’d already promised her we’d hang out today anyway. So I figured I might as well knock that out." You toyed with the strap of your bag. “And, even if you don’t want to hear it—or won’t get it—I actually thought the people there were… nice. Welcoming even. To me, at least.”

Rafe looked about two seconds away from pulling over and kicking you out of the car, so you hurried on: “But as friendly as they were… they’re also a lot. Like, imagine a room full of Caras, Kelces, and Toppers all at once,” you said with a soft chuckle. “Sure, it’s fun in small doses. But for someone like me? That's exhausting.”

The car came to a stop at a red light, but Rafe didn’t meet your gaze—just kept staring straight ahead, uncertainty written all over his face. A heavy silence settled in the car.

"And this right here?" you continued, your voice suddenly quiet. "This is like a welcome escape."

Only the soft hum of the engine and the loud pounding of your heart filled the air as you waited for his reply.

The light turned green, casting a glow across the car’s hood but Rafe didn’t move the car. In the side mirror you only spotted an empty road behind you.

Rafe's eyes finally met yours, and for some reason, with that bruise on his face and the exhaustion in his gaze, he looked wrecked. Completely worn down, like he didn’t even have the energy to snap back.

“See, that’s the thing,” he said flatly, his usual fire missing. He gestured vaguely to his chest. “I don’t want the doll Sarah tosses away after she breaks it.”

That sounded a hell of a lot like I’m sick of being everyone’s second choice.

Jesus. This boy had issues so deeply tangled it made your chest ache. All you wanted in that moment was to hug him.

“Good thing I’m not a doll, then,” you said with a soft chuckle. “And maybe I worded that badly. I didn’t mean it like I’m just using this,”you motioned between the two of you,“as some kind of doormat.”

You tilted your head slightly, tapping your finger against your temple as the light turned red again. “That would be a shitty move, especially considering I recently just mentally added you to my friend book today.”

And just like that, the hard edge in Rafe’s face melted. His crooked smile crept back, and the heavy storm cloud hanging over you both finally drifted on. “Shit, you actually did that?”

Was that really all he needed? A little acknowledgment? Some reassurance? It was almost like you both carried the same core issues, just rooted differently.

You smiled wide and shrugged. “Your folder idea wasn’t bad not gonna lie, but that felt a bit too impersonal for me.”

Rafe scoffed, amused, and god, your heart flipped at that familiar sound. “Thinking about it, maybe Sarah can have you,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Your crazy ass would fit right into her fucked-up group.”

A laugh burst from your lips. “You can still turn around.”

His brows twitched, a flicker of irritation in his eyes.

Oh god—no way he thought you actually meant that.

So you quickly added, “But I’d much rather stay here.”

Rafe held your gaze for a moment, his expression still harsh, but the green traffic light seemed to soften the sharp lines of his face at just the right angles.

Funny enough, he actually did remind you of a Doberman—sharp, alert, a little intimidating, but really just an anxious soul underneath.

A loud, grating honk made both of you jump.

“Holy shit,” you laughed, startled, pressing a hand to your chest.

Rafe glanced up at the rearview mirror, scowling. “Fucking Pogue in his shitty-ass truck.”

“Just drive, please,” you said, half-nervous, half-amused, glancing through the rear window. “That guy actually does not look friendly.”

Rafe let out an amused breath as he finally started moving the Benz. "Guess there’s still a little bit of reason left in that crazy head of yours."

And just like that, the energy between you two was back to normal. Or, well—as normal as it could be, considering neither of you was exactly normal. You had a full-blown overthinking-spiral problem, while Rafe... yeah, let’s not even try to unpack those issues.

Still, that one moment where he’d let out some of his frustration—even if it had been aimed at his poor sister—only made the pull you already felt toward him even stronger.

It was like, every day, he peeled back another layer of himself. Compared to the beginning of the week? Holy fuck, that was a completely different ball game.

Where you’d been anxious as hell just riding shotgun to Kelce’s place on Tuesday, now you felt this calm, this ease around him. Rafe had started out as nothing more than an intimidating crush but now? He was just a guy, carrying way too much unprocessed shit, trying to bottle it up in public.

And despite the absolute oceans of differences between the two of you, despite constantly arguing, snapping at each other, and testing each other’s patience daily—somehow, it worked.

He shut down your overthinking, and you drove him fucking insane. Nah, just kidding. (Actually… not really.) You helped him be real, humbled his cocky ass now and then.

And maybe that’s why this weird project-partner-acquaintance-kinda-friends-now-ship was working for both of you.

OKAY GIRL, that’s enough thinking for today, damn. Just chill out already.

And you did.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, letting the moon and stars take center stage. Rafe was just cruising around the Outer Banks without any real plan. Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole played in the background, and at some point he even tossed you his phone to pick songs yourself. You caught him tapping his finger to the beat of Tame Impala and Suki Waterhouse, even though he had the audacity to call it “depressed emo girl music.”

Other than that, the two of you just vibed. Rafe bitched about Kelce and Topper, you both talked shit about Chris Reid and Ruthie, and you rambled on about some design ideas for your school project and how to execute them in collage form, until Rafe had had enough of the school talk and, surprisingly, steered the convo back toward your little beach hangout earlier.

You could tell he was physically restraining himself from crashing out, but he still nodded, showed some (fake) genuine interest, and only threw in a couple minor passive-aggressive comments.

Another small win.

Around ten, you both got the munchies. After going back and forth way too long, you finally insisted on McDonalds.

Rafe nearly cried (no joke) as he squeezed his massive Benz into the way-too-narrow drive-thru lane. Then he almost had a full-blown breakdown when the cashier handed him your milkshake without a lid—because God forbid his precious seats got dirty. Luckily, the lady was kind enough to give him one before the panic attack fully set in.

And once you were in the car? He opened every window and door to eat—because, apparently, the fabric seats were at risk of absorbing “that garbage smell.”

Jesus Christ, this guy was a drama queen.

“You know,” you said, laughing as you daintily picked up a fry, still not over the fact that he actually paid for your order too, “we could’ve just eaten inside.”

Rafe just scoffed as he layered, like, seven hundred napkins across his lap. “It’s bad enough I even showed up here. No way in hell I’m letting anyone see me inside that cracked-out hellhole.”

You seriously doubted anyone gave a single fuck that Rafe Cameron was picking up 9-piece nuggets and a Big Mac meal on a Saturday night at McDonald’s, but sure—let’s not ruin his illusion.

He then frantically gathered every single piece of trash and had you throw it out so no one would catch him in the act.

Then the car just sat there, windows wide open, for ten whole minutes to “air out the cursed stench,” before he finally drove off again.

About an hour later, around 11, a heavy wave of sleepiness hit you. You’d barely slept the night before and had spent half the day with a lingering hangover. Tomorrow, you at least wanted to feel like a semi-functional human.

So yeah, you decided to call it a day.

Rafe looked mildly offended, but truth be told, he seemed ready to pass out too. That didn’t stop him from taking the longest, most unnecessary detour ever (clingy Rafe confirmed) before finally pulling into your parents’ driveway half an hour later.

“Thanks for the ride. And the food,” you said when the engine shut off and everything went quiet.

Rafe let out a breath, half amused. “Pretty sure you can’t even legally call that crap food.”

“You sure didn’t hesitate with those nuggets, though,” you teased, smiling.

“Protein,” was all he mumbled in response.

You laughed softly. “Sure.” Then unbuckled and slung your bag over your shoulder. “Okay, well... uh... I guess I’ll...” OH GOD WHAT WERE YOU SUPPOSED TO SAY.

Last night you’d been absolutely wasted so you hadn’t given a single shit, but now??? Awkward silence GO.

“Wait, I’ll get the door,” Rafe mumbled, unbuckling too. “Don’t want your dad kicking my ass because I didn’t open it for you.”

You looked at him in disbelief, amused. “He’s definitely already asleep.”

Rafe opened his door with a frown. “Not risking another fucking bruise.”

You felt this weird, fluttery feeling in your chest and stomach as he walked over to your side and actually opened the door for you. Clutching your bag strap, you got out with a quiet, “Thanks.”

With a soft thud, Rafe shut the car door behind you.

“So,” Rafe said flatly, “do I have a sniper’s red dot on my forehead yet?”

You chuckled. “He was a combat medic, not a sniper.”

“And now chief physician,” Rafe said deadpan. “Pretty sure he’s got some shady connections and could get my doctor to prescribe me something lethal.”

You laughed again. “Alright, I better head inside before you start spouting more half-asleep conspiracy theories.”

“I’m wide awake,” he chuckled. “You need me to walk you to the door or you got this?”

You glanced at the door and nodded, your brows furrowed. “Dunno, what if some Pogue’s lurking behind the bushes?”

Rafe let out a dry “Fucking hilarious,” and then PUT HIS HAND ON YOUR BACK TO GENTLY STEER YOU TOWARD THE DOOR.

ALARM ALARM ALARM ALARM.

Exactly six steps later, he dropped his hand. “I’m not tucking you in though,” he said, and of course added with a crooked grin, “Unless you’re scared of sleeping alone.”

UM. HELPPPPPPPPPP.

A half-embarrassed, half-anxious laugh escaped your throat, your chest and neck heating up, and you shook your head. “I think I’ll manage, thanks.”

“Aight,” he said. And then—something shifted in his usual cocky posture. It could almost be interpreted as hesitation. Or nerves.

Okay, guess you had to say something now.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” you said, amused.

“Nah, I just…” He scratched his chin, his face twisting into a grimace. “I went to the gas station earlier after I dropped you off. Had to fill up my car.”

You nodded. “Sounds like something you’d do at a gas station.”

Rafe let out a shaky breath, followed by a “No shit, smartass,” the corner of his mouth twitching up in the faintest smile. “Okay, I just—when I was at the checkout, you know how they always have those shelves full of random dumb crap?”

“Gas station core,” you replied deadpan, trying to mask the way your nerves were absolutely going crazy, BECAUSE RAFE BEING NERVOUS ONLY MADE YOU TEN TIMES MORE NERVOUS.

Rafe looked at you with furrowed brows. “Yeah, and they had that dumb horse merch, that—what’s it called, that damn cartoon?”

“My Little Pony?”

He nodded impatiently. “Yeah, maybe. Whatever.” His hand slipped into his pocket. Then he pulled out a palm-sized yellow-pink plastic bag. “Anyway, figured your fucked-up brain might need this. All that stuff you said earlier about needing clarity and shit like that.”

He held it out to you, a smile on his face that didn’t quite match his usual cockiness. “Didn’t craft it myself though, but guess it’ll do.”

[system shutting down, please consider doing a backup]

…

DBJKHKSUEGFBVMLCDMCDJVGFSDWODJFDNCJKFLSÖ;XNAAGHDFSMDS;KMKSXKDWHATWHATWHATWHATWHAT

WHAT.

Your heart was pounding, nerves threatening to explode, adrenaline ready to hand you a goddamn stroke.

THIS. OH MY FUCKING GOD.

You probably looked like a complete idiot—lips slightly parted, eyes wide, just straight up staring at the thing in his hand.

You had no idea what to say or do. Despite the crooked smile on his face, Rafe looked way too serious for this to be a joke.

“Shit, take it already. I can see the minions in your head running around in panic,” he said and basically forced the bag into your hands.

You took it and stared, baffled. A smiley Fluttershy was printed on the front, surrounded by pastel pink hearts and yellow stars. And right under the big-ass MLP logo, in bold letters, it said: “Friendship Bracelet for the Fluttershy in your life.”

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP EXPLODING DYING REBOOTING.

MENTALLY JUMPING OFF A CLIFF.

Actually physically vibrating.

Okay. Okay. You needed to get a grip before you actually combusted or—holy shit—started crying for absolutely no reason.

Your eyes met his again, adrenaline surging through every damn corner of your body. “That’s... I don’t even... thank you, that’s really sweet.”

“Jesus, please don’t thank me for spending money on that shit,” he scoffed, stepping closer, his finger tapping the plastic. “And look, it says ‘friendship bracelet’. Not ‘I’m-trying-to-get-in-your-pants-or-use-you-for-a-hookup bracelet’.”

His intense blue eyes locked onto yours, and holy shit HE WAS CLOSE CLOSE. He tapped his own head. “That clear enough for your crazy brain? Or is there still some stupid little minion in there running his mouth? ‘Cause if so, I’ll knock the little shit out myself.”

Even though you were massively taken aback by this incredibly and unexpectedly sweet gesture, you somehow managed a laugh. “No, I think that should do it.”

Rafe let out a strained breath. “Jesus Christ. Fucking finally.”

You smiled, cheeks hot. “Where’s yours?”

“What?”

“Your bracelet,” you said, amused at his baffled expression. “Friendship bracelets only make sense if both people wear them.”

Rafe gave you a blank stare. “Shit. Wait, what? You actually wanna wear that?”

“Yeah, why not?” you chuckled. “You bought it for me, might as well put it to use.”

Rafe scoffed. “That crap didn’t even cost five dollars.”

“And?”

“And it was clearly just meant to make a point. Didn’t actually expect you wanting to wear that shit."

“Okay well, let me at least see what it looks like,” you said, tearing the little bag open.

And—holy shit.

You’d expected some hideous, oversaturated, cringey kid bracelet with plastic hearts and cursed Fluttershy charms but this was actually ridiculously cute. And definitely not sized for a child’s wrist.

A silver chain with pastel-colored hearts, flowers, and beads dangled between little silver charms: a butterfly, a key—OH MY GOD.

“It’s cute,” you said, grinning as you looked at him. “I like it.”

Rafe scowled dramatically, raising a brow. “Lemme guess, you want me to put it on for you.”

DKFJHSDHFBVJDLNSKADNVJSDFKLS YES PLEASE.

“That’d be nice,” you said quietly, handing him the bracelet.

You held out your arm, and Rafe stepped even closer, wrapping the bracelet around your wrist from underneath. His fingers brushed against your skin as he clumsily fumbled with the clasp, his expression focused like he was defusing a bomb.

You couldn’t even laugh at how badly he was struggling with a literal children’s bracelet because your heart was pounding so loud, your breathing had basically stopped because you could feel his warm breath on your wrist.

“Fucking hell, what is this shitty-ass clasp,” he muttered, brows pulled together in frustration. But finally he managed to close it, letting out a breath like he’d just survived a 24-hour brain surgery.

“Thanks,” you said as he stepped back, your eyes dropping to the bracelet and the tiny little charms dangling from it. You were smiling like an idiot. “It’s actually really pretty.”

Rafe looked at you like he was now absolutely convinced you belonged in the ‘mentally unstable’ section. “Shit, well, I guess as long as it spares me from another long-ass conversation.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Maybe on that topic, but I can’t make any promises in general.”

“Aight,” he said, making a hush motion with his hand. “Better get inside before I regret buying that crap.”

“Okay,” you said, probably still grinning like a dumb idiot. And then—you took a step forward, courage powered by a serotonin overdose, and hoped to EVERYTHING ABOVE he would catch the signal and not turn this into the most awkward goodbye of your life.

AND HE GOT IT.

Rafe stepped forward too, immediately wrapping his arms around you. Your own found their way around his neck. The little bracelet jingled between you, and you actually giggled like a total idiot because of this. This was everything and more.

His warm body pressed against yours, the scent of his cologne, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back—SJDHAKJDHKDJWH.

When you both pulled away, you were smiling at each other like two hopelessly dumb idiots. And of course, this dumb idiot in particular had to ruin it with some stupid comment.

Rafe nodded toward your wrist. “Try not to think about me when you—”

“Mh-hm, good night.”

He laughed, boyish and smug. “Aight. Sweet dreams.”

With that, he turned around, and you let out the most tension-filled breath of your entire life. Because what. the actual. fuck. Like--

“Oh, and you’re coming tomorrow, right?”

You looked up while digging for your keys. “What?”

“That shitty-ass open air thing,” Rafe said. “Topper’s driving, so you can get wasted again if you want.”

Oh. Now it was fine that you were riding with Topper? This guy made zero sense.

“Um, yeah... can we discuss that tomorrow?” you asked with a sheepish smile. “I still have to check in with Cara.”

Rafe’s brows twitched, but he nodded.

You exchanged one last round of goodnights, and finally—finally—you made it into your house. Without overthinking, you went straight to your room, shut the door, and collapsed onto your bed with the biggest motherfucking grin on your face.

And without even letting yourself process what kind of batshit insane day this had been, you knew you had to text Cara. Or rather, send a voice memo. And then tomorrow morning you’d have to suffer through like a thousand delusional, chaotic messages in response.

But when you opened your messaging app, a final (hopefully final) surprise of the day was already waiting for you.

You sighed, now LITERALLY completely finished for today. But just as you were about to switch your phone to airplane mode and get ready for bed—this:

You immediately put your phone into airplane mode, shut that thing off and tossed it onto your nightstand. Then you quickly got into your pyjama set, brushed your teeth and hurried back into bed.

Tucking yourself comfortably into the blankets, you force-shut your eyes and tried to ignore your thundering heart.

Your head was FULL. Like it had reached maximum capacity and workload today. AND NOW RAFE WAS BACK AGAIN WITH HIS CHEEKY LITTLE MESSAGES AND THAT CRAZILY GOOD LOOKING MIRROR SELFIE, GOOD HEAVENS HELP ME.

And that after he'd claimed--

NOPE. NO SPIRALING NOW. No overthinking, no questioning, no coming up with theories.

Absolutely not.

Rafe’s a flirty guy. He literally said so himself. And he was right, flirting didn't have to lead to anything. Plus, he just gifted you a freaking friendship bracelet like twenty minutes ago. So you’re not going to ruin your happy little bubble again.

That’s it for today. Tomorrow you’ll have plenty of time for unnecessary mental gymnastics and whatnot.

Brain, shut up now. Good night.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T (soon) ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[zarasu]

If you just wanted to express your thoughts, feel free to ignore this, but I'm gonna add my two cents.

I think starting new isn't really about discovering some big, hidden talent or discovering your true purpose in life. In fact, most people don't change their jobs or start new because they found their calling.

We had a retired older woman start as a cashier at my workplace a while ago because she simply wanted to earn some extra money. She was doing something different before, I don't know what, but suddenly she was faced with a lot of new challenges. But more than that, she discovered how nice the team was and found a lot of new acquaintances and friends there. She got to know the trials and tribulations of working in customer service and discovered something new.

At the hospital my mom works at, an older guy started working as a doctor. He started studying medicine when he was 40. It wasn't a big calling there either, he just was interested in it and then decided to go through with it.

My dad's office hired a woman in her late thirties who had only ever been a stay at home mom up to this point. She was really nervous the first few months, but slowly started gaining confidence as time went on.

My point is, none of these people are special in any way. They started something new because of some circumstances in their life or because they didn't have anything better to do. But, because they did, they're learning new things, they're growing and changing and becoming bigger.

In the end, I don't think life is really anything other than tending to your plants (or killing them), maybe having a pet or two, looking at pretty flowers and driving just slightly over the speed limit while listening to your favourite music. A famous musician's life isn't better or more special than your average cashier's life. They both just do their work and then listen to music and water their plants, and so on.

They're different, it's true. But then, so are the lives of a teacher and a construction worker. Starting anew isn't really about becoming better, it's really just about trying something different. And you don't need to be especially talented or gifted to do that. You can enjoy the different sides life has to offer just by making a bit of a change.

Anyway, this is just me rambling, but I think it's the little things that make life special and you don't have to be a visionary or a genius to appreciate those, you can just be a normal person.

everyone says you can always restart. that your future isn't forgotten, just sort of misplaced. they name actors and singers and authors who started at 46, 59. they cite chappell roan's 10 years. they tell you to push and push, that some day you'll open a door and the truth will be behind it.

but what if you aren't a celebrity in sheep's clothing. what if you're just a normal person. most people aren't exceptionally talented or else talent wouldn't be exceptional - right? what if you're just another median person; not ever startlingly bad nor terrifyingly good.

you put the shopping carts back and you walk your dog and you write poems on the internet. you have grown a plant or two; killed a few others. you did okay, overall, and you've been okay most of your life. not valedictorian, but you were a smart kid. you had some hard knocks, but you got up again. your life is just - average. you probably will never sing onstage at coachella. most of the time you are at peace with that - someone needs to drive the speed limit. life isn't about extraordinary circumstances, it's just about building a life you love and figuring out how to live in it.

but you would like to feel as if you'd found "the answer." everyone else seems to have some kind of talent they are born nesting in - and meanwhile you just exist. is that why you cycle through crafts and hobbies and activities like a roulette wheel? are you waiting for the moment where it turns out - all this time, you've been a visionary. a genius. all this time, you were special. even you: someone who has-never-been.

crawling up your throat: something bitter and savage. not quite a feeling of wasted potential. after all, you need to first have potential in order to waste it.

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Reverse Blossom (Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Poison Ivy‘s Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 4

A/N: i‘m back from my trip!! And seeing elephants for the first time was amazing!! Also I want to thank all of you guys for your love and support 🩷. I will answer all of you now. By the way my inbox is open for asks, request, anything!! I have the next 4 chapters of blossom reverse already prepared just need to edit them:) also if you want to be on he taglist the post is here.

I decided to give Y/N green eyes since she is the daughter of Poison Ivy, but if that bothers you try to imagine them as a different eye color. In a few chapter she will be wearing contact lenses.

He remembered the first time he met her.

It had been late. The manor was quiet. Bruce and Alfred had just returned from Gotham’s south ward, where Pamela Isley had finally been subdued—again. But this time, she’d left something behind.

Or rather, someone.

A toddler. Two years old. Big green doe eyes. Wrapped in a pale green cardigan and a layer of silence.

She stood behind Alfred’s leg, clinging to the fabric with both hands. Dirt smudged her face. Vines clung to her shoes like they didn’t want to let go.

He hadn’t known what to say at first.

But then she looked up at him—eyes wide, curious, cautious. He felt his heart soar.

He crouched.

Soft smile. Gentle voice.

“Hey there, Little Flower.”

She blinked, then giggled.

That was it. That was her name. “My Little Flower.”

The one who would follow him for years to come.

⸻

A few weeks after that, everything changed.

Bruce got stricter. Patrols got longer. Dick’s time at the manor became fragmented. Split between being Robin and trying to figure out who he was outside of the mask.

And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, she kept growing.

She started knocking on his door with drawings.

“Dicky, do you wanna see what I made?”

“Can you help me with this book? It’s about flowers and I thought you’d like it.”

“Do you have time for me today?”

And every time, it was—

“Not now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Busy.”

Always busy. Always trying to protect Gotham.

Trying to live up to Bruce.

Trying to survive the weight of the Bat.

And then Jason died.

And the manor stopped feeling like a home.

Dick left. Blüdhaven became his distraction. His escape.

He told himself he was doing it for his own mental health. That Bruce was spiraling and Gotham was suffocating and—

And she was fine.

Alfred was there. Bruce would keep her safe.

He had no idea she’d wait for him to come back everyday.

No idea she started leaving her drawings at his door instead of knocking.

(Y/N)

She’d stopped knocking after the the tenth “maybe next time.”

She’d stopped drawing for him after the 20th.

She told herself it was okay.

Dick was busy. He was Robin. He had villains to fight. Gotham to protect.

She was just the quiet girl in the hallway with too many flowers in her hands.

If he wanted to spend time with her—he would.

That’s what she believed.

Until Tim came.

And Dick was there. Teaching him, praising him, sparring with him in the cave while she sat on the stairs with a book in her lap and a smile she kept forcing to stay in place.

Until Damian came.

And suddenly Dick was everywhere.

Taking him to movies.

Letting him win at arcade games.

Buying him snacks.

Sparring, laughing, teaching.

She’d ask:

“Can I come too?”

“Maybe next time.”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

But there was never a next time.

One night, she and Damian fought. Badly.

She didn’t want to remember what he said. Or how he made her cry.

But what hurt more was when Dick had found them—

And scolded her.

“What did you do to set him off, Little Flower?”

“He’s still adjusting. Try to be patient.”

She had just stood there.

Her hands were scratched. Her lip was bleeding.

Damian hadn’t even apologized.

And Dick hadn’t asked what happened. Didn’t care if she was fine. No one had.

He just assumed.

Because she was always the easy one. The quiet one.

The one who could be told “next time.”

(Dick)

He remembered now.

Her outside the cave door. Watching while he trained Damian.

Sitting crisscross on the hallway floor, pretending to read while her eyes never left him.

Waving at him from the garden window when he pulled out of the driveway.

He remembered saying “I’ll make it up to you.”

And then never did.

Maybe he hadn’t ignored her out of malice.

Maybe it was fear.

She was soft.

Delicate.

Too sweet for the blood-soaked world they all lived in.

He told himself he was protecting her by keeping her out of it.

But now…

Now she was disappearing before his eyes.

He stood alone in her room a while longer.

Just breathing.

The air smelled faintly like soil and old petals. The kind of smell that came from a garden that hadn’t been touched in too long.

He looked at the empty desk.

The clean corners.

The lifeless gray sheets.

His hands curled into fists—then relaxed.

“She’s still the same girl,” he told himself.

Just quieter. Just older. Just waiting for him to show up again.

He could make this right.

He just had to be present now.

He’d take her out this weekend.

To the movies. Or the bookstore—she used to love stories about mythical plants.

He could show her around Blüdhaven, take her for ice cream, walk her through the park.

Anything she wanted.

He’d ask what music she listened to now.

What books she liked.

If she still knew how to braid flower crowns.

He’d be a good brother this time.

The good brother.

Because she was still his Little Flower.

And she hadn’t wilted.

Not really.

Not yet.

He just had to reach her in time.

_____

The cafeteria buzzed with laughter and noise, trays clattering and chairs scraping against tile. Y/N walked in with a calmness that looked effortless—but only because she’d mastered it.

Her hair was pinned back neatly today. A soft cardigan over her uniform hugged her shoulders. Her smile was sweet, polite. The kind that melted teachers and made her friends giggle and call her “an angel.”

It wasn’t real.

But no one here needed to know that.

⸻

She spotted Damian at his usual table across the courtyard—half-shaded, slightly elevated, surrounded by boys who wore smugness like an accessory.

She hadn’t approached him in almost a month.

Not since she came back.

And even now, it twisted something sharp in her chest.

But she needed a cover.

She needed someone to relay the lie.

⸻

“Wayne,” one of his classmates grinned, nudging Damian with a cocky elbow. “Look who it is. Thought your baby sister forgot we existed.”

Damian looked up lazily, already annoyed—until his eyes landed on her.

For half a second, his face flickered.

Surprise.

Then nothing.

Just that familiar sneer curling on his lips.

She stood in front of the table with her hands folded in front of her skirt, like a model student waiting to speak.

Her smile was gentle. Practiced.

Too practiced.

“Hi, Damian,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t answer at first.

His eyes ran over her.

Slow. Quiet. Calculating.

Her tone was too even.

Her smile too polite.

She wasn’t trying to sit. Wasn’t looking at him with adoration like she used to.

He didn’t like it.

She cleared her throat lightly, still smiling.

“I have an after-school activity today. For a group project. I’ll be back by seven or eight, but I’m going with a few friends, so I don’t need Alfred to pick me up.”

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

“That’s it?” he said finally, voice flat.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded sweetly. “Just let Alfred know for me, please?”

There was a pause.

“You’re lying.”

The words were quiet. Not loud enough for the others to hear. Just for her.

Her smile didn’t waver. Although her heart stopped. She has always been a bad liar and Damian had always been too clever.

“Please,” she repeated. “Tell him?”

He stared at her.

She stared back.

And that was when it really hit him.

She wasn’t asking like she used to.

Not with hope. Not with that little-girl eagerness she used to wrap around him like a ribbon.

She was just… managing him.

Like one more problem to solve.

His jaw clenched.

"Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever. I’ll tell him.”

She beamed—too perfect—and turned without another word.

He watched her walk away.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t smile or thank him. Didn’t hesitate.

Just floated back to her group like she had never been at his table at all.

His classmates cracked a few jokes, tossed around stupid theories—“You think she’s got a secret boyfriend?” “Maybe she finally got tired of the prince of darkness”—but Damian barely heard them.

His eyes didn’t leave her.

Not for a second.

She was hiding something.

He didn’t know what.

But it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

There had always been a softness about her that grated on him.

But now that it was gone?

He found himself trying to figure out where it had gone.

And who had taken it.

She left the building last.

Her friends waved at her from the school gates, their usual chorus of laughter and affection echoing behind her.

“See you tomorrow, babe!”

“Text me the homework!”

“Don’t forget your scarf!”

Y/N smiled, waved, nodded.

Every move was practiced.

Perfect.

Painless.

She slipped the scarf higher up her neck once she turned the corner, tucking her hair into the collar and pulling the fabric loosely over her head like a hood. She walked fast. Quiet. Unseen.

By the time she reached the end of the block, her expression was gone.

Fear. Nervousness.

The bus ride took fifty-seven minutes.

She sat near the back, eyes low, hands folded around the burner phone she had bought with the cash Alfred had given her for food to buy for herself on her birthdays. She never did buy herself food.

The phone’s battery died somewhere around Midtown, but she knew the route by heart already.

She watched the buildings change.

From clean stone and glass to chipped bricks and graffiti-covered fences.

The bus hissed to a stop at the corner of 57th and Arlen.

She got off.

The sidewalk was cracked. A neon sign flickered overhead in a language she didn’t recognize. A man stood outside a liquor store with three missing teeth and a cigarette barely lit.

She kept walking.

The address was scrawled on the inside of her wrist in faded pen.

The building was narrow. Old. Smelled faintly of mildew and paint thinner. But it had three locks on every door and no visible mold, so that already made it better than some others she’d seen online.

She rang the buzzer.

A moment later, an older man—mid-sixties, gray hair slicked back, jacket too big—opened the lobby door with a metal key in hand and a clipboard under his arm.

He stared at her.

“You… uh…” His eyes flicked up and down. Surprised. “You’re the one who scheduled the 4:30 appointment?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, adjusting the scarf and deepening her voice just a little. “I’m Emilia—Emilia Forenzi. I am… exchange student. From Italy.”

The man blinked.

Her accent was soft, light, vaguely musical. A touch of Rome, stolen from too many foreign films.

“You’re Italian?” he asked, skeptical.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I study here. I am almost eighteen. I know I look young, but it’s normal. In Italy, we… age well.”

“…Right.”

She smiled, sweet and slightly nervous. “May I see the apartment, please?”

He looked down at the clipboard, then back up. Something in her tone—her posture—seemed to relax him. Soften him.

“Fine. Come in. But I usually don’t deal with minors, alright? No funny business.”

“I understand.”

She followed him up three flights of stairs.

The apartment was small.

One room. Tiny kitchen. Cracked tile in the bathroom. Rust along the radiator. A smell of something faintly sweet and rotten in the walls.

But the window opened.

The lock worked.

The shower had water pressure.

It was… doable.

“Like I said,” the landlord muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he handed her a small application form, “this neighborhood’s not too bad if you keep your head down. But it’s still Gotham. You get a pretty girl living alone, some eyes are gonna notice.”

She swallowed. “I can handle.”

He looked at her again. “You sure you’re almost eighteen?”

“Yes,” she said immediately.

“You don’t got ID?”

“In Italy,” she lied. “I forgot to renew it before flight.”

“Uh-huh.” He frowned.

Then handed her a pen.

"You’ll need a signature. From a parent or guardian. Permission form, you understand? Legal reasons.”

She froze.

The air felt suddenly too cold.

“…P-permission?” she repeated.

“Yeah.” He gave her a look. “You’re a minor. No signature, no keys. Especially not in a place like this.”

She stared at the form.

Blank lines. Parent signature. Emergency contact.

All the things she didn’t have.

All the things she couldn’t ask for.

Her hands tightened on the pen.

“…I—I will get it,” she said softly.

The man nodded. “Alright. You get that, bring it back here. I’ll hold the place till the end of the week. But no signature? I can’t help you.”

She nodded again.

But her chest was hollow.

The girl smiled at the man and said her goodbyes. Not missing the worried frown he sends her.

As she walked back down the stairs, scarf tight around her throat and hands curled into fists inside her sleeves, she realized her pulse was shaking.

She had no one to sign for her.

She had no one to ask.

____

Damian Wayne | The Manor |

The main hallway was quiet when Damian walked in, dropping his bag onto the bench near the entrance.

The manor always had a certain weight to it after sunset—an old, cavernous silence that clung to the walls like shadows. But today, something felt off.

More than usual.

⸻

He tugged at his uniform blazer, unbuttoned it, and turned the corner—only to pause at the top of the main staircase.

Someone was standing at the bottom.

Dick.

“…What are you doing here?” Damian asked, tone flat.

His brother was leaning on the bannister like he’d been waiting for someone. His hair was slightly messy, still in his travel jacket, eyes distant and too focused for someone just home from Blüdhaven.

Dick looked up, blinking as if only just realizing Damian had spoken.

“…Hey.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Damian rolled his eyes and descended the stairs. “I live here.”

“Yeah, well… I’m visiting.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “You never just visit. You’re either gone or calling Alfred at 3 a.m. for muscle cream.”

Dick gave a weak smile but didn’t defend himself.

He was still watching the front doors.

Still waiting.

Damian paused halfway down.

“Who are you waiting for?”

“Y/N.”

Damian blinked. “…Why?”

Dick scratched the back of his neck, his smile faltering. “Just… thought I’d talk to her. Spend some time. I stopped by her room earlier. You know, just… realized I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Damian tilted his head slightly. “She’s not here.”

“I can see that.”

“She said she has a school project. After school thing. With her friends.”

Dick frowned. “That so?”

“That’s what she told me,” Damian said coolly, but something in his voice betrayed the fact that he didn’t fully believe it.

And Dick caught it.

“…You sound like you don’t buy it.”

Damian didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked past him toward the kitchen.

Dick turned, following him with a look.

“She used to come home straight after school, right?” he asked. “She’s not the type to hang around malls or… sneak out.”

Damian stopped. His jaw tensed.

“She doesn’t lie,” he said.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “But she did.”

Damian didn’t respond.

⸻

It was 6:56 now.

Dick checked the clock.

Still no sign of her.

And the longer the minutes ticked by, the more wrong it felt.

He didn’t want to be dramatic. Didn’t want to jump into full protective-mode. But something about it nagged at him.

She always came straight home after school.

She always told Alfred where she was.

And now?

“Maybe we should check in,” Dick said quietly.

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

But his eyes darkened.

_____

Her fingers were stiff by the time she reached the manor gates.

The walk from the bus stop had been longer than she remembered—colder too. The wind had picked up along the hillside, numbing her ears and flushing her cheeks, and even though the streets had mostly emptied by that hour, she had kept her scarf high and her head down.

The apartment application was folded tightly in her backpack, zipped into the inner lining where no one could see. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she’d left the landlord’s office. Even now, it beat against her ribs like it didn’t know she was safe yet.

She gripped her key in cold fingers and slipped it into the lock.

The manor door creaked open.

Warm air met her instantly. Familiar. Scented with faint woodsmoke and something rich from the kitchen. Maybe Alfred had made stew.

She exhaled, stepping in—

And froze.

At the top of the stairs, they were waiting.

Dick and Damian.

Both standing.

Both silent.

Damian leaned slightly on the banister, arms crossed. His expression unreadable, sharp eyes fixed on her like they were dissecting the very air she brought in with her.

Dick stood taller, hands in the pockets of his jacket, brows pulled in a worried line. Not angry. Just… tense. Focused.

Like they were both watching for something.

Her heart jumped.

She hadn’t expected to see him.

Dick.

Not yet.

Not this soon.

In the previous timeline, he hadn’t returned from Blüdhaven for months. By the time he had, she would have already faded into the walls. By then, he didn’t notice her until it was too late.

So when she looked up the stairs and saw him standing there beside Damian—older, taller, all soft concern wrapped in blue and black—her breath caught.

And then—

“My Little Flower.”

Her body jolted. Eyes wide.

That name. That name that hadn’t passed his lips in years.

She flinched before she could stop herself.

Dick’s brow creased. “Hey—what’s wrong?”

She shook her head quickly, lips tugging into a reflexive smile. “Nothing. I just didn’t know you were home.”

“I just got in. Wanted to surprise everyone.” His voice dipped softer. “Especially you.”

That made her stomach twist.

He hadn’t said that in years either. Not even before she died. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t even spoken that softly with her in years.

Dick came down a few steps.

Damian followed silently, slower, more calculated in his movements. His arms weren’t crossed anymore. His hands were at his sides, but stiff—ready.

“Where were you?” Dick asked gently, the kind of warmth that would’ve made her melt when she was younger. Or if she was her true fourteen-year-old self.

She swallowed. “I told Damian earlier—group project. We were at a friend’s house. We lost track of time.”

Damian’s eyes sharpened.

He took another step.

“You don’t do group projects,” he said flatly.

She looked at him.

“I do, actually. For history class. Ms. Varela assigned one yesterday.”

“Who?” Dick asked, tilting his head.

“Uh… Maya,” she said. “Her name’s Maya. She lives near Gotham Heights.”

Damian’s stare was unrelenting.

“You didn’t mention that earlier.”

“I forgot,” she said quickly. “I was rushing.”

“Which Maya?” he asked. “Last name.”

YN hesitated.

Too long.

“Rossi,” she said.

Another lie.

Another crack in the glass.

Dick’s smile was still there, but it looked strained now. Forced. He was trying to believe her. He wanted to. His little flower would never lie to him.

But his eyes flicked to Damian for a second—and that moment said more than anything.

They didn’t believe her.

She felt it like heat crawling up her neck.

“I texted you,” Dick said. “We tried to call.”

“I didn’t see,” she replied, pulling her bag closer. “Phone died on the bus.”

“You took a bus?” Damian asked.

“Yeah. It was fine.”

“That area’s not fine,” he said, voice sharper now. “If you were really near Gotham Heights, you shouldn’t be walking around alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“Then tell me where exactly you were. Street. Building number.”

She hesitated again.

The silence was too long.

“I don’t remember the street,” she said. “We just followed Maya from school.”

Damian stepped closer.

He was still a full step below her on the staircase, but somehow he still felt like he was looking down on her. Maybe due their height difference.

“You’re lying,” he said, quiet, razor-sharp.

Her breath caught.

Dick’s hand rested lightly on her slender shoulder. “Hey, let’s not jump on her. Maybe she’s just tired. It’s been a long day.”

But even his voice had changed now. The warmth was still there—but underneath, there was a thread of doubt. Of tension.

They weren’t backing down.

They were watching.

And she knew—if she gave them one more chance to press harder—

They’d start digging.

She smiled again. Soft. Rehearsed.

“I’ll go change. I still have some homework to finish.”

She stepped past them before they could answer. And neither of them moved.

But their eyes never left her.

She shut the door behind her faster than she meant to.

Click.

Locked.

She didn’t usually lock her door.

But everything was too much.

Her pulse was still high. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she set her bag down and crossed to her desk.

The room smelled like earth and blooming flowers. Familiar. Safe.

But wrong now.

Everything was wrong.

⸻

She plugged in her phone, the screen flickering back to life after a few long seconds.

Six missed calls.

Three messages from Dick:

hey, just checking in ☀️ you good?

miss you, little flower 💙

come talk to me when you’re home? 🍯🌼

Her stomach turned.

He hadn’t texted her in years. Not even once during the worst of it.

He used to leave her on read for days, weeks.

And now—he was texting her with emojis?

He was calling her Little Flower again like it hadn’t been buried years ago with every broken promise.

For a moment—just a moment—her heart ached.

Because maybe… maybe this was what she’d wanted back then.

Just a message. Just a moment of attention.

Just a brother who remembered her.

But it was too late.

And it felt wrong.

She didn’t know what was changing the past.

Or why they were suddenly looking at her again.

But it wasn’t for the right reasons.

It wasn’t love. Not really.

It was something else.

Something colder.

Something that made her skin prickle even when they smiled.

She stared at the screen a few seconds longer, then set it facedown.

Her mind was still spiraling.

What if they started tracking her phone?

What if they were already suspicious?

What if they tried to dig?

She stood and moved to her door.

Unlocked it just enough to open it a crack.

Alfred was walking past with a tray, heading toward the dining room.

“Sweetheart?” he asked, pausing when he saw her. “You’re not coming down?”

She gave him a soft, tired smile.

“I still have to finish that group project,” she said.

Alfred hesitated. His eyes searched her face, gentle and a little too knowing.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Shall I bring your dinner up, then?”

"Please.”

He gave her a little nod.

And left.

⸻

The dining room was set.

Empty seat at the end of the table.

Same as always.

Dick sat quietly across from Damian. Neither of them had touched their food yet.

Their eyes met once.

And something passed between them.

Not words.

Not questions.

Just quiet understanding.

They were both thinking the same thing:

She was hiding something.

And they were going to find out what it was.

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[science-hoes]

how would they ask you to choke them during sex 👀

Ooooooh, I hadn’t really thought about that before but I loved brainstorming for my boys. Please follow the arrow for headcanons for Charlie Reid, Pope Cody, Jack Abbot, and Michael Robinavitch ⬇️

Charlie doesn’t really ask you to choke him, not because he wants you to. Usually it’s his large hand around your throat, thumb brushing against the ridges of your cricoid cartilage, applying pressure when he wants to hear you gasp. But he sees the way you’re looking at him when you’re riding him, a rare position for the two of you. “Why don’t you wrap those pretty fingers around my neck, baby girl? I know you want to.” Your manicured nails, paid for by him, gently dig into the sides of his throat. He gives you a devilish smile, air just a bit constricted, as he guides your hips against his. “Come on, I won’t break. Squeeze a little harder than that.” And when you do, you can hear the wheeze of his breaths trying to move through his trachea. Just the sight of him, letting you hold power for just a minute, makes you come on his cock, your grip tightening even more around his neck until you regain your wits. The sudden surge of oxygen makes him high enough to lose control and come with unprecedented force, and you could feel it inside you as the ropes of cum painted your walls. Maybe he does want you to choke him from now own.

Pope needs you to choke him. He needs it so bad. Especially after running a job with his brothers, maybe if he hurts someone. He knows he’s done wrong, and he knows he should be punished for it. He gets underneath you, guides you to straddle his lap, and keeps his hand on your wrist as you grasp his neck. “Need it tighter.” You’re careful to not hurt him, but it makes him feel better. You tell him what a good boy he’s been to you, how good he makes you feel, how happy he makes you. “I love you.” His voice is pathetic, broken, and strangled, just barely slipping through your clutch on his throat. When he comes, and he comes first only when you choke him, his groans are blocked by your hand until you loosen your grip. Fingernail curves are left indented in his skin, and he loves it. Loves it so much that he eats you out to make up for coming first.

Jack is teaching you how to do a cricothyrotomy during his free time on a practice dummy in the skills lab. When you complain that the practice dummies are nothing like the real thing, he turns to you, grabs your wrist, and brings it to his throat. “Find the cricothyroid membrane.” Your fingers brush against the anatomy of his neck, pushing gently until you recognize the cartilage boundaries. Your hand squeezes his a little around his neck, thumb pushing into the membrane to mark its spot. He doesn’t admit it then, but it turned him on more than it should. When you’re riding him later, impossibly close to coming, you feel him snatch your wrist again, eyes dark with lust. “Find the membrane for me, doll.” The pretty sounds he makes when you squeeze on his throat, thumb pushing into his airway, that’s enough to send you and him over the edge.

Robby disguises the choking as education, like it was his plan the entire time. He’s testing you on the anatomy of the throat, letting you palpate every muscle and cartilage bump on his throat, all while you’re straddling him on the couch, filled with his cock. “Push your thumb there.” When you do, it closes of his airway just enough. His cock twitched inside you as he struggles to inhale, his mouth falling open in ecstasy. “What do you feel?” When you answer with thyroid cartilage, he rewards you with a roll of his hips. Your grip grows stronger as he begins to work your toward your orgasm. He’s flushed beyond belief, the redness traveling from his chest, up his neck, to his forehead. He looks so pretty when he’s not in control, letting you take the reins, not having to worry about being the one in power for the first time all day.

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . VOICEMAILS

WARNINGS : ANGST. SLIGHT CRYING. HURT NO COMFORT (?). PLOT TWIST (?).

it was a habit—the way matt would pick up his phone everyday and call you. even if you never responded to him, he was more than okay with that. he just liked having someone there to listen to him.

and really this week was no different.

START VOICEMAILS - remaining - *7*

*beep*

“hi!—sorry i can’t come to the phone right now, you know how life can get. but just leave a message and i’ll get back to ya! love you!”

*beep*

Monday - 3:12 pm

Voicemail #1 :

“hey sweetheart, i just left the grocery store and got your favorite cereal,” he pauses, laughing softly to himself. “i don’t know why you ever liked it, it didn’t even taste right, but..i don’t know why i keep buying it even though i know i’m never going to eat it. it’s a habit i guess,” he lets out a small sigh running his fingers through his hair. “maybe i just like pretending you’ll come around and steal the last bowl again..”

there’s silence on the line for a moment, matt’s breathing filtering in before he spoke again.

“call me when you get this, okay?”

Tuesday - 11:46 pm

voicemail #2 :

“i can’t sleep. the apartment’s been too quiet recently, more than normal. do you remember that creaky floorboard in our hallway? yeah? well i keep stepping on it by accident, and it freaks me out every time even though i know it’s there,” he laughs to himself, at just how silly he sounds saying that. “you used to tease me about it every time. pretty sure you even doubled over to the floor once after i screamed like a girl one night.”

suddenly he paused at the memory, he could feel his head starting to swim.

“miss hearing your voice. miss everything. call me when you can.”

Wednesday - 5:07 pm

voicemail #3 -

“work was fucking hell today. chris tried to prank me by messing with my camera settings again, and I nearly threw him out a window,” he paused, allowing himself to take a few deep breaths at the thought of his brother. he exhales before speaking, “you’d have loved it. you always said I needed to get better at standing up for myself, or really speaking my mind.”

he exhales a laugh, but it’s quiet.

“i’m sorry this isn’t as long..but, i stood up for myself today. thought you’d be proud—i love you and thank you.”

Thursday - 9:21 am

voicemail #4 -

“i saw a girl with your jacket today. the one with the patches and the paint on the sleeve—i thought it was you and almost ran after her.” he took a deep breath, sniffling. “though i stopped myself in my tracks. because really i shouldn’t be bothering with it”

there was a long pause. then, his voice came quieter than before.

“i wish i had really…just to see your face one more time, even if it wasn’t really you.”

Friday – 1:33 pm

voicemail #5 -

“It’s been… how long now?” he sighs quietly, feeling the way his face goes hot. “i stopped counting honestly..it doesn’t feel right. time doesn’t move the same when you’re not here. it’s like it got stuck on that day and never wanted to progress.”

a sniffle. silence for a few seconds, then a quick breath.

“anyway. i’m rambling again. i’ll call you tomorrow, okay? like always, i promise.”

Saturday – 6:45 PM

voicemail #6 -

“remember that little bookstore you loved? they’re closing down…I was able to though before hand and bought that poetry book you kept picking up but never brought yourself to buy. it’s sitting on your nightstand. still has the receipt in it.”

he breathes in like he’s trying not to cry—cause god—he really was trying to hold on for you.

a few small sobs and sniffles are caught on the microphone. “i’m scared I’m forgetting your voice.”

Sunday – 10:00 am

he doesn’t leave a voicemail today.

not at first anyways. he’s walking through the quiet apartment—his phone to his ear as he scans the walls of everything that was yours—before he then ends the call. and suddenly he’s standing in front of the shelf in the corner of the room when he shifts his gaze up from the floor.

the one lined with polaroids, bracelets, your favorite candle—

and

a ceramic urn with your name etched in soft gold.

and next to it—your phone still sits propped upright beside it. the screen’s dark and the battery’s long been dead. matt stares at it for a while, knowing just how many messages he’s sent to you since you’ve been gone.

slowly, matt presses the call button again, bringing his hand up to his ear as his other hand reaches out to trace the pictures of you and him—and leaves one more voicemail.

Sunday – 10:06 AM

voicemail #7 :

“hey, angel. i know you can’t answer these—I know that. i know that every time i pick up my phone and dial your name,” he sucks in a sharp breath, biting his teeth into his lower lip to stop the sobs from spilling past his lips. “i hope you’re happy up there..wherever you are. and happy 6 years my love—i can’t wait to have you in my arms again.”

another broken breath slipped from him. and a pause full of everything he never got to say to you—never got to marry you.

“but.. i’m gonna keep calling anyway. you don’t have to hear me to know i’m still here for you—it’s forever right? i promised you that.”

his voice cracks just a little—his walls about to crumble the longer he stays on the line. but he couldn’t help the cry that left him as he said the last few words he’d never get to hear from you again.

“i love you so much…and i’ll talk to you tomorrow baby.”

END VOICEMAILS - remaining -*0*

a/n : my version of the voicemails :)

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Never Been Kissed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: You've never been one to kiss and tell.

A.N. - This one is for all my The Prophecy Girlies... also known as the most self indulgent thing I've ever written.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

"Come on," Sam coaxes. "Tell us or take a drink."

You swipe up the shot set before you, downing it without so much as a wince. You cross your arms, keeping your chin defiantly raised as you settle further into the couch, "I'm not telling you anything."

“Boo,” Sam playfully heckles, his drink sloshing in his hand. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal. Just tell us.”

“Absolutely not, I already took the damn drink.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, refusing to back down, “Unless it was someone here?”

“Oh my God.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Sam, I did not hook up with anyone in this room.”

“Yes!” Sam teases. “That explains everything! That’s why you drank!”

“Or maybe I just don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’ve been drinking all night. And there’s only one reason you won’t tell us anything - because it’s someone in this very room!”

“Settle down, Sherlock,” Bucky cajoles.

You swipe the glass from Sam's loose grip, “You’re drunk, Sam.”

Sam boops your nose, swiping the glass back, “I’m not the one that’s been drinking for every question.”

“And yet, I'm still not nearly as drunk as you are," you shoot back, setting your drink on the table. You pat Bucky's shoulder, standing up from the couch, "And now, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, children.”

“Come on,” Sam drunkenly whines. “Don’t be a sore loser!”

“I have a debrief first thing, and I’m the only one of you assholes that won’t need to be carried to my room.”

Sam shouts after you, “Boo!”

Not a moment later, you feel a warm hand tap your shoulder, “Hey, wait up! I’ll walk you up.”

“Oh, sure.”

As you walk together, Bucky leans in conspiratorially, “So… now that it’s just us… Who was it?”

You groan, “Not you too.”

“Come on! It’s me! You can tell me!” Bucky cajoles.

“It’s none of your business.”

"I’m not asking for details. I just wanna know."

"You’re pushy when you’ve been drinking that Asgardian stuff, you know that?"

"Come on. It really can't be that bad. I probably don't even know the guy... unless I do?"

You hold his gaze for a moment, silently pleading with him to just drop it, "Bucky... enough."

"Was it Sam? Steve? Come on, I won't judge you if it was."

"Bucky, stop."

"Come on, just tell me!"

"No! Now drop it!" you snap.

Bucky freezes, his eyes widening, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

You start to storm off, tossing a sharp retort over your shoulder, "Maybe not to you."

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He jogs after you, resting his warm, gentle hand on your forearm to stop you, "Really. You don't have to tell me. I was just being a dick. You’re right, it’s none of my business."

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the guilt pooling in the pit of your stomach for yelling at Bucky. "I can't tell you."

His brows furrow, "What?"

This was it. This was when everyone found out your deep, dark, embarrassing secret. You take another deep breath, bracing yourself for Bucky’s laughter and ridicule, "I can't tell you... because it hasn't happened yet."

His worry and confusion only compounds. His neck cranes slightly, almost like he believes his super solider hearing failing him is more plausible than your complete and total inexperience, "What?"

You take another massive breath, your cheeks heating, "I've never - it never happened for me."

“Huh?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

"Wait, wait, but earlier - earlier Natasha asked you about your first time. You said - you said it happened later than people might think."

You couldn’t believe he really wasn’t getting it. It was something you had come to accept about yourself. There was just something fundamentally wrong with you. Something not quite right. Something unloveable - at least in the romantic sense.

Shame heats your face, and you have to clench your fists in some hopeless attempt to keep it together in front of Bucky.

You try to shrug as casually as you can, "It's not technically a lie. Most people don't think someone can make it this long without your first kiss happening."

“Wait, wait.” If he was struggling to understand before, this may have just broken him. “You haven’t had your first kiss?”

You swallow the knot in your throat, hoping the word doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels, “No.”

Your shoulders sharply rise with a forced intake of breath as you wait for it. You wait for the litany of platitudes. The halfhearted consolations and excuses.

While you’d never told anyone about this missed rite of passage, you had mistakenly confided in a select few. You never said too much. Never said that you hadn’t ever been kissed. You usually offered something offhanded about not really dating much.

They didn’t need to know just how deep your inexperience ran. It didn’t matter anyway. The response was always the same. Some surface level words of comfort or dismissal.

You could practically hear the words falling from Bucky’s lips.

'It'll happen when you least expect it.'

'You just have to stop looking.'

'Put yourself out there.'

'You should lower your standards.'

'You're not missing out on much.'

The words you know all too well never come.

He chews on his bottom lip, his own mental turmoil as clear as day on his face. He didn’t know what to say and that was clear. He opens his mouth and your brace yourself for impact.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You freeze, a little shocked by his response. “Don’t be.”

“No, no, I was being a dick and pushing you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with. I should understand that better than anyone else here.”

“I just - I don’t really tell people. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” you scoff, a little too defensive. “It’s a little embarrassing. I’m a grown ass woman that’s never been kissed. I’m a grown woman that no one’s ever show the least bit of interest in.”

His hands stop mid air, “I’m sorry, what?”

“What?”

He quirks an incredulous brow, “No one’s shown interest?”

“No…”

His entire head twists with disbelief, “No one? Really?”

“I’ve never even been asked on a date before,” you confess.

“What?”

“Will you quit saying that?”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just a little hard to believe.”

You can't help but roll your eyes, “Why is that hard to believe?”

“Because it’s you! Look at you! Someone must’ve shown interest at some point.”

You try to shrug it off again, desperately hoping that Bucky doesn’t see how much this actually does hurt, “No. It’s always just been me.”

“Not even like a schoolyard crush or something?”

“Well, I had crushes, sure. That doesn’t mean that anyone had them on me.” Bucky’s face remains frozen in that confused, disbelieving grimace for a beat too long after you’ve finished speaking that you feel desperate to paper over the emotional cracks. It’s fine. That’s what you’ve told yourself your entire life, and that’s exactly what you’ll tell him, “Listen, I’m fine with it now. I’ve come to terms with it. I’m content. Maybe romance just isn’t in-“

“Can I kiss you?”

Now, it was your turn to look confused and taken aback, “What?”

“Can I?” he offers again, his eyes flicker to your lips so quickly you can’t be sure you didn’t just imagine it. “Kiss you?”

You immediately begin to backtrack, taking a half step back to put some distance between the two that seems to shrink with every passing moment, “Bucky, you really don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?”

Your eyebrows pull together in disbelief. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His answer is so immediate and reflexive it’s hard not to believe him. “I want to. Please.”

His whispered ‘please’ is your undoing. You nod ever so slightly, your voice nothing but a choked whisper, “I won’t be good at it.”

“I don’t believe that.” At this point, he’s staring at your lips more than anything else. His flesh hand raises to your cheek, softly cupping it. “Just relax.”

Your breathing comes faster as his breath dances across your cheeks, “Bucky…”

“I want you to remember this.” You’re not sure he meant to say that out loud, but the words sent a pleasantly unfamiliar shudder down your spine.

And without another word, his lips gently brush yours. For a long moment, you just stand there, not moving an inch. Until your hand moves of its own accord to rest on his chest. It slowly trails up his shoulder and down to the nape of his neck. Your mouth hesitantly moves against his, slowly becoming more relaxed with each little breathy sound he pulls from you.

It feels like forever and a split second all at once. Especially when he slowly drags his lips away from yours. As he pulls away, he licks his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you while it still lingers on his lips.

He rest his head against yours for a long moment. His lips are puffy and glistening under the low light of the Compound hallway, “There. Now, you’ve been kissed.”

AnonymityIsFun MasterlistBucky Barnes Masterlist

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarnes @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064 @michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @withyoutilltheendoftheline @the-photo-hoe @rae-nna @sarachabeans1@double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep @lunaalovesyouu @daisy-loves-bucky@roseproseposts @theoraekenslover@king814318 @maybesomedaytho @carlie-babes99 @sunshinechikin @as-white-as-snow-love @melala1030 @badasswlthafatass @armystay89 @multiversefanfics @cherrysscinema @breathlesspieceofdeath @ravenn-darkholme @bxckybxrnes24 @guiltyasreid @bellabarnes1378 @blithecapricorn @mrsnikstan @marvelatthem @capswife @1-akira-2 @generalmoonpolice

[theonottsbxtch]

MISSION PISS OFF YOUR BROTHER | LN4

an: this was also a 2k celly thing i forgot to write/post i apolgise. enjoy a crack fic lol

wc: 585

request: can I please get a crack fic of lando and piastri!reader getting caught (I’m tryna thing of something outlandish here) stealing Oscar’s helmets or even something as petty as his water bottle just for fun and to get a reaction out of him 😭😭 and then obviously returning them lol

It started, as most stupid ideas did, in the McLaren motorhome kitchen at approximately half past bored.

Lando was leaning against the counter, sipping a sweet iced coffee he didn’t even like, and she was sitting on the worktop like she owned the place, legs swinging, staring into the fridge with the kind of intensity usually reserved for pit strategies.

"Do you reckon he’d notice?” she asked, head tilting. “If his bottle's missing?"

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Oscar?"

She gave a solemn nod. “He’s got that one he always uses. The white one. Bit scratched at the bottom. If I took it, he’d spiral.”

There was a pause, long enough to pretend they were considering not doing it, and then Lando grinned. “What if we take it... and leave clues. Like a ransom.”

She gasped, eyes lighting up. “With photos. Mysterious locations. Emotional manipulation.”

“You’re sick,” he said, admiringly. “Let’s do it.”

The first disappearance went unnoticed.

They’d expected a full investigation, maybe even a team-wide email. Instead, Oscar simply grabbed a different bottle and carried on like an emotionally stable person. Rude.

So they escalated.

Next to go: the helmet. Not his main one, obviously, they weren’t lunatics. But one of the perfectly-polished, display-only helmets that sat proudly in his driver’s room like a shrine to aerodynamic symmetry.

She stuffed it into a McLaren tote bag. Lando filmed it. He provided the soundtrack, mission: impossible theme hummed very badly.

They left a note behind. If you ever want to see your lid again, bring three oat biscuits and an honest compliment to Bay 3. No funny business.

By the time Oscar walked in and discovered it missing, Lando and she were hiding behind a storage crate nearby, watching on the CCTV screen above their heads like two deeply unserious goblins.

He stared at the note.

He blinked.

Then, slowly, he turned and said, “Are you two, are you actually mental?”

Lando almost gave them away by snorting.

Oscar didn’t follow the instructions, of course. He didn’t negotiate with helmet terrorists. So, naturally, they upped the ante again.

Helmet selfies began to appear around the garage. One of her wearing it while dramatically holding a banana like a gun. One of Lando pretending to cry while holding a sign: "He just wanted to race :("

They even Photoshopped one of the helmet in a bubble bath. It was disturbing. Artistic, but disturbing.

Oscar's eye twitched when he saw it.

"Right. I'm done." He stood up mid-lunch and declared, “I want my bloody helmet back. I don’t care if I have to call Zak.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Lando said, emerging from behind a curtain with the most guilty face imaginable.

Oscar pointed at him like he was summoning thunder. “Try me.”

Eventually, they returned everything.

The helmet was pristine. The water bottle had only a little glitter in it. Barely noticeable.

“Why do I let you in my life?” Oscar muttered as he inspected his things like they might be booby-trapped.

She beamed at him. “Because I’m family, and Lando’s too fast to catch.”

“That’s not even.” He stopped, looked at the bottle again. “Is this… lavender-scented?”

She shrugged. “Therapeutic.”

Oscar sighed the long, pained sigh of someone who realised this was his reality now.

Lando, who had somehow managed to stick googly eyes on the side of Oscar’s helmet mid-conversation, high-fived her behind his back.

It was, they decided, a mission well executed.

As Oscar has still not found the banana photo taped inside his locker.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine@obxstiles @dongyeonssimp @gr4cier4cie

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 11

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 7.7k

warning: language, injury

hey guysss heres chap 11 !! sorry for a bit of a delay as ive been sick with a fever 😭 ntm to say other than it's not edited. lmk what u guys think !! hope u guys enjoy 😽🫶🏽

‼️‼️this wasn’t edited

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Paige slumped into her seat by the window, the duffel dropping to the floor by her feet. Caroline scooted in beside her, stretching her long legs out, while Aubrey claimed the other corner of the last row, pulling up her hood and immediately nestling against the window like she was prepping for hibernation.

Paige pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and quickly opened her messages.

Paige: js sat down

Paige: alrdy missing u a lil too much 😅

A beat later, the typing bubble appeared. Paige blikned down at it, her stomach fluttering.

Azzi: im still standing outside like an idiot

Azzi:  miss you alrdy too 

Azzi: stay safe ‘lover girl’

Paige’s face flushed, and she turned slightly toward the window to hide it.

Caroline leaned in and nudged her with her elbow. “So… what exactly did I walk in on back there when I yelled your name ?”

Paige didn’t answer at first, just grinned quietly and kept looking at her phone.

Aubrey snorted from her side. “Please. You saw her. She was two seconds away from proposing to Azzi in the bushes.”

Paige groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat dramatically. “Bruhhhh can you not ?”

Caroline smirked. “We’re just saying, that looked like a goodbye scene straight out of a movie.”

“She kissed your cheek,” Aubrey added.

“And you looked like you forgot how to breathe after,” Caroline chimed in.

Paige threw a hand over her face. “Oh my god. I hate both of you.”

Caroline grinned. “Anywayss, I have a question.”

“No,” Paige said automatically.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say !”

“I know.”

Caroline ignored her. “When are you going to actually ask her out ?”

Aubrey perked up. “Yea, I’ve been wondering that too. Especially after what happened today…”

Paige groaned louder. “Don’t bring it up.”

“What ?” Aubrey feigned innocence. “The part where prof casually called Azzi your girlfriend ? That part ?”

Caroline laughed. “I swear he didn’t even blink. He just said it like it was common knowledge.”

“Because it kind of is,” Aubrey added.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Paige muttered, covering her face again.

They all laughed and Paige let the moment settle. The truth was, she didn’t mind the teasing. Because under it all, there was something warm and real growing in her chest, something that didn’t feel one-sided anymore.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Paige mumbled, half-heartedly.

“Yet,” Caroline and Aubrey said in unison.

Paige glared at both of them. “Can I breathe for like five mins ?”

“You can breathe after you grow a spine and ask her out,” Caroline said.

“I’m working on it,” Paige said, quieter now, eyes back on her phone.

A new message buzzed through.

Azzi: u better kill it this weekend. 

Azzi: but also come back asap 🫠 

Azzi: sitting on the couch is gonna feel weirdly quiet without u

Paige smiled to herself, thumbs hovering over the screen before she typed:

Paige: weirdly quiet huh ? 

Paige: sounds like someone is getting used to having me around 🥹

The typing bubble popped up almost instantly.

Azzi: maybe i am. 

Azzi: dont make me admit it twice 🙄

Paige’s heart stuttered. She read the message twice, then 3 times, before tucking her phone into her pocket and exhaling a long, slow breath.

“What ?” Caroline asked, noticing the look on her face.

“Nothing,” Paige said, lips curling despite herself. “Just… maybe I’ll ask her when I get back.”

Aubrey let out a slow, exaggerated clap. “Growth.”

Caroline threw an arm around her shoulder. “Finally. Took like five years.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but her smile never left.

She didn’t feel nervous anymore. She felt ready. Well, mostly.

She let out a quiet sigh, tilting her head back against the window again. “Ok, but like… real talk ? I lowkey wanna kiss her so bad sometimes, it’s patheticn.”

Caroline snorted. “Lowkey ?”

“I’m serious,” Paige groaned. “Every time we’re close I just… I pussy out. Like full body shutdown. Brain empty, confidence gone, nothing left but static.”

Aubrey cracked a grin. “Just say you wanna fuck her too while your at it.”

Paige sat up straight, face blazing. “No ! I mean—what ?! No !”

Aubrey held up her hands, laughing. “Relax, it's a joke.”

Caroline was wheezing. “God, your face. That was amazing.”

“Yea, it’s because I don’t wanna—” Paige stopped herself, fumbled for words, then covered her face again. “Bruh, I’m just gonna not say anything about that.”

The laughter softened a bit. Caroline shot her a sideways look, gentler this time. “Anyways, stop overthinking it. If you feel it and you think she does too, just don’t wait forever.”

Aubrey stretched out, grinning. “Yea. Worst case scenario, she beats you to it and you end up the nervous mess.”

Paige groaned. “Perfect. Encouraging and embarrassing.”

But underneath the teasing, something settled in her chest. Maybe this time, she really was ready to stop holding back.

—------------------------------------------

The team dinner that night after they landed in Knoxville had finally wrapped up, the noise of laughter and clinking plates fading as Paige slipped back into the quiet of her dorm room. KK and Ice were sprawled on the couch, scrolling through their phones, while Paige tossed her jacket on the bed and pulled out her phone.

She thumbed open her messages, her fingers hovering for a moment before typing.

Paige: heyyy dinner was pre wild with the way kk was trying to steal the last pizza slice off ice

A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.

Azzi: 😭 sounds like a disaster

Azzi: hope ice survived the invasion

Paige smiled, then glanced at KK and Ice.

“Hey, you guys gonna keep sitting there or go to annoy the others ?” she asked.

KK stretched and smirked. “Damn right. We’re gonna go stir up trouble with the others. They’re probably bored without us.”

Ice grinned. “Catch us later, peace out.”

They got up, grabbing jackets and tossing a “Later, P boogers !” over their shoulders as they headed out.

Paige settled back on her bed, fingers itching to type again. She paused, then went for it.

Paige: wann ft ? 

Paige: i kinda wanna see ur pretty face before i knock out

Her heart skipped when the typing bubble popped up almost immediately.

Azzi: nawww sure 🤭

Azzi: lemme js find my charger 

Paige grinned, already imagining that smile lighting up her screen.

The Facetime screen connected with a quiet ding, and Paige propped her phone up against her pillow, settling back as Azzi appeared.

Azzi was curled up on her bed, wearing a loose tank top and soft grey pj pants, her hair tossed up into a messy bun that somehow looked effortlessly perfect. A pair of glasses perched on her nose as she adjusted her charger.

Paige blinked. Her brain stalled for a second.

“Hey P,” Azzi said, voice warm and casual as she sat back and pulled her blanket over her lap.

Paige smiled a beat late. “Hey.”

“You good ?” Azzi asked, 1 eyebrow raising behind her glasses.

Paige cleared her throat, shifting slightly against the headboard. “Yeayea, just… tired. Long day.”

Azzi gave her a look that said uh huh, sure, but didn’t press.

Paige reached for her water bottle, more for something to do than out of thirst. Her fingers fidgeted with the cap. She couldn’t stop looking at Azzi. Something about the way her collarbone peeked out from the tank top, the lazy slouch of her posture, her bare legs tucked under her—it was casual, normal, completely innocent.

But Paige’s thoughts were anything but.

She tapped the edge of the bottle nervously. “You look pre comfortable.”

Azzi glanced down at herself, then back up with a small grin. “It’s pajama hour. You know how it is.”

“Right,” Paige mumbled. Her eyes dipped for a second too long before she looked away quickly, pressing the cold water bottle to her cheek like it might ground her.

Azzi tilted her head. “What time’s final practice tomorrow ?”

“Uh—” Paige blinked. “Eight I think—Oh wait, nine. Then a quick film right after.”

Azzi nodded, shifting her weight and adjusting the blanket again. “And the game’s Sunday, right ?”

“Yea. Early.” Paige tapped her knee restlessly. “We’ll head straight to the airport after. Should be back on campus around like… nine or ten-ish ?”

Azzi’s expression softened. “So I get you back Sunday night ?”

That made Paige smile, even as her stomach flipped. “Yep. Lucky you.”

Azzi smirked. “Lucky me.”

There was a small pause. Paige chewed her lip, trying not to stare too hard at the soft lines of Azzi’s neck or the way her glasses kept slipping down her nose only for her to push them back up with one finger.

It was stupid how hot she looked while doing absolutely nothing. Just existing.

“Hey,” Azzi said suddenly, her tone light but curious. “You sure you’re ok ?”

Paige blinked again. “What ?”

“You’re just… fidgety. More than usual. Did you drink like four gatorades at dinner or something ?”

Paige let out a sharp laugh, then immediately regretted it. “No, I—I’m just tired. Brain fried. Also KK dared me to eat a pepperoni slice with ranch and chocolate syrup on it, so I might still be recovering.”

Azzi winced. “That’s foul.”

“Yea, she’s a menace.” Paige shifted again, tugging her hoodie sleeve over her hand. “Anyway, I’m just kinda out of it.”

Azzi hummed, still watching her. “Well, I’m glad you called.”

“Yea ?” Paige asked, quieter now.

Azzi nodded. “It’s nice. Seeing your face. I feel like I haven’t really seen you in days.”

Paige’s throat tightened. “Same.”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt like the kind that only happened when 2 people were a little too aware of each other.

Azzi glanced down at something in her lap and then looked up again, blinking slowly. “You should sleep soon tho. Big weekend ahead.”

Paige exhaled. “I know.”

“You’re gonna kill it,” Azzi said firmly. “Like, I have zero doubts. I wish I could’ve come.”

Paige smiled faintly. “Me too.”

There was another pause, softer this time. Azzi yawned quietly, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. The movement made her tank top slip slightly off 1 shoulder. Paige’s eyes darted away instantly.

Focus. You’re just friends. You’re not allowed to think about kissing her. Or holding her. Or—

Azzi’s voice broke through her thoughts again. “Alright, lover girl. You should get some sleep.”

Paige froze, then narrowed her eyes. “You did not just call me that again.”

Azzi grinned. “I absolutely did.”

“Disrespectful.”

“Affectionate.”

Paige couldn’t stop smiling even as she groaned and dragged a pillow over her face. “Ok, goodnight before I combust.”

Azzi laughed. “Night, Paige.”

“Wait—”

Azzi raised her brows. “Yea ?”

Paige peeked out from the pillow, cheeks pink. “Thanks for answering. I… kinda needed that.”

Azzi’s expression softened again. “You don’t have to thank me. I always want to see you.”

Paige swallowed.

“Goodnight for real,” Azzi said, almost in a whisper now.

“Night,” Paige echoed.

The screen went dark, but Azzi’s image lingered behind Paige’s eyes like a brand.

That tank top. Those glasses. The way her voice dipped when she said goodnight.

Paige groaned softly and flopped fully onto her back, draping her arm across her eyes like it might shut her brain off. It didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse.

Her mind wandered back to how Azzi looked on that screen. The low lighting. That lazy grin. The way her tank top slipped off her shoulder like gravity itself was teasing Paige. And the glasses ? Unfair.

She shouldn’t be thinking about how warm Azzi’s skin probably was under that blanket. Or how soft her lips looked. Or what it might feel like to have Azzi curled up next to her in real life instead of on a screen.

Paige squeezed her eyes shut, dragging her hands down her face.

Get it together, P

She turned over, yanking her blanket up, as if hiding under it might smother the thoughts threatening to spiral. Her stomach was tight with heat and longing, a low buzz under her skin that made her feel restless and kind of insane.

She flipped again. Huffed into her pillow. Tried counting down from 10.

She made it to 7.

And then—

The hotel room door swung open with a loud click, and KK’s voice burst into the quiet.

“P BOOGERSSSS ! You still alive in here ?”

Paige practically jolted off the bed, heart slamming as she shoved her phone under her pillow and sat up like she hadn’t just been having thoughts she shouldn’t be having.

Ice followed behind, holding a half-finished smoothie and kicking off her crocs. “Damn, she really was gonna fall asleep without us.”

KK flopped onto the other bed dramatically. “You facetiming someone ?” she asked, eyeing Paige’s slightly rumplef blanket and pink-tinted cheeks with too much interest.

“No,” Paige said too quickly. “Just… laying down.”

Ice smirked but didn’t say anything, already scrolling through her phone as she pulled her hoodie off.

KK raised an eyebrow. “Right. Totally laying down and not thinking about someone.”

Paige threw a pillow at her. “Shut up.”

KK laughed, muffled behind the pillow now clutched to her chest. “I’m just saying.”

Paige shook her head, trying to keep her face neutral even as her heart still raced from both the Azzi thoughts and the sudden intrusion.

The girls settled down eventually—Ice plugging in her charger, KK kicking her legs under the covers and the lights went out with a soft click.

Paige turned toward the wall, blanket pulled high, letting the cool fabric soothe her skin.

Her pulse slowed, her body finally settling, the storm in her head dulling to a quiet ache.

Azzi’s voice still echoed in the back of her mind, soft and close.

I always want to see you.

Paige exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.

She let herself fall into sleep with that sentence cradled against her chest like a secret.

—------------------------------------------

The next morning, Paige’s phone buzzed quietly beside her bed. She blinked awake and smiled when she saw Azzi’s name glowing on the screen.

Azzi: morning p💗

Azzi: did u end up sleeping straight away ?

Paige smirked, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Paige: morning az💗

Paige: js stayed up for a few more mins thinking abt some stuff 🙃

Azzi: mhmmm sameeeee 😭

They kept texting between breakfast, break, and before Paige’s practice, lil messages popped up such as a quick joke, a reminder to drink water, and a few goofy selfies.

Later, after practice, Paige found herself scrolling through Azzi’s messages during downtime, the corners of her mouth tugging up at every text.

Finally, unable to resist, she typed out:

Paige: i miss u azziiiiiiiiiii poo poo

The reply came almost instantly:

Azzi: i miss u too paigeeeeeeeeyyy pee pee

Paige’s chest warmed with a quiet joy. She wasn’t sure how this whole thing had happened but she didn’t want to question it. Instead, she let herself enjoy it.

That afternoon, while wandering around Knoxville with a few of the girls, Paige’s eyes caught something colourful behind a shop window. A gigantic stuffed unicorn, its pastel pink mane, Azzi's favourite colour, shimmering faintly under the sun, stared back at her with oversized, glittering eyes.

Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture, then sent it to Azzi with a message:

Paige: this giant majestical beast of a unicorn reminds me of u 

Paige: too magical for words

Her phone buzzed quickly:

Azzi: NAWWWWW THATS ADORABLE🥹

Azzi: + ure impossible🫠

Paige smiled, then slipped inside the shop while the others continued chatting outside. She paid for the unicorn quietly, tucking the receipt in her pocket. It would be a surprise for Azzi—something sweet and silly she could bring when she returned back to Storrs.

—------------------------------------------

By the time dinner was over and the team had trickled back to their rooms, Paige had changed into her favorite green pj pants and a black nike sports bra as the room was a little humid, and she couldn’t be bothered with a shirt. Her hair was still damp from the shower as she crawled into bed, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warm air.

KK was in the corner chair with airpods in, humming along to some song, and Ice was already passed out, hood up and blanket over her head.

Paige reached for her phone. 

Paige: u up ?

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Azzi: always

Azzi: everything alr ?

Paige grinned, thumb hovering for a second before she typed again.

Paige: i js wanna talk to u

Paige: if ur not too tired obviously

There was a pause this time, longer than usual, and then—

Azzi: ofc js gimme 2 mins

Azzi: ft ?

Paige’s stomach did that stupid thing again.

She typed back:

Paige: yes pls

Paige glanced over at KK

“KK,” Paige said, low but firm.

KK looked up, pulling an airpod out.

“I’m about to be on a call,” Paige said, stretching her legs out and crossing one ankle over the other. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

KK grinned immediately. “Define stupid.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “KK.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Don’t start,” Paige warned, holding up a finger just as her phone rang with the incoming facetime. Her stomach flipped as she tapped her screen to answer.

Azzi’s face filled the screen, her curls were tied up messily, skin glowing, sweatshirt slightly slipping off 1 shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, voice a little raspy, eyes immediately locking on Paige.

Azzi had fully intended to say more. Something casual. Chill. Maybe a sarcastic comment. But her brain short-circuited the second she took in the sight before her.

Paige, leaning back against her pillows in those familiar green pj pants, the waistband riding low on her hips. Sports bra hugging her just right. Skin still a bit wey from her shower. Collarbone and shoulder blades defined, arms resting behind her head like she didn’t even know what she looked like right now.

Azzi blinked. “Um.”

“You good ?” Paige asked, eyes twinkling, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She knew.

“Yea,” Azzi cleared her throat, shifting slightly on her bed. “Just—long day and that.”

“Mhmmmmmm,” Paige said, smug as hell.

Azzi was about to retaliate with some smartass comeback when KK launched herself across the room and popped into frame behind Paige grinning.

“HEY GIRLYYYY.” KK yelled, nearly knocking Paige’s phone out of her hands. “Wus good ?”

Azzi laughed, recovering fast. “What are you doing ?”

“I just had to come say hey,” KK said, like it was her duty. Then, without even pausing for air, she turned to Azzi with a wicked glint in her eye. “Yo, did Paigey here tell you what she said earlier ? To me and Ice ?”

Paige froze. “KK, shut the fuck up—”

“She was staring at one of your ig posts like she was in heat,” KK continued gleefully, ignoring Paige completely. “She said—‘How is she real, like be fucking serious. She’s actually so fine it pisses me off.’”

“Kamorea.”

Azzi blinked fast. “Wait, what ?”

“Oh, and then Ice was like, ‘She’s so obsessed she’d legally change her last name without even dating her,’ and Paige just groaned and rolled off the bed like she couldn’t take it.”

“You’re actually gonna die,” Paige muttered, reaching for her pillow.

“Oh nonono,” KK said, backing up but laughing hysterically. “The world deserves to know the truth. You’re so gone for her—OH SHIT !”

Paige had flung her pillow with precise aim, hitting KK square in the face. But KK just doubled over, cackling.

Across the room, a muffled groan came from under the blanket.

“You idiots are too fucking loud,” Ice said, voice groggy.

KK whipped around. “Ice ! Back me up ! Tell Azzi what Paige said earlier.”

Ice pushed her hood back with a dramatic sigh, rubbing her eyes. “Paige said Azzi looked so good it made her want to walk into traffic.”

“What the fuck,” Paige said, propping her phone onto the bedside table as she lunged at KK.

Azzi burst out laughing, nearly dropping her own phone as the chaos on Paige’s end escalated instantly. Paige tackled KK to the floor, both of them shouting and wrestling, tangled in limbs and blankets and limbs.

“Take it back !” Paige yelled, straddling KK and trying to pin her down.

“NEVER,” KK wheezed, laughing uncontrollably. “THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE—PAIGE, STOP—I’M TICKLISH !”

Paige took full advantage, fingers jabbing at KK’s sides mercilessly. “Say you’re lying.”

“I CAN’T—YOU DID SAY IT—FUCKEN STOP—ICE HELP ME !”

And because Ice was Ice, she stood up, stretched like she had all the time in the world, and said, “Yea, ok,” before walking over and joining the pile. She plopped down on KK’s legs and poked at her ribs while Paige continued her tickle attack.

The 3 of them were a mess on the floor—yelling, laughing, tangled up like idiots.

Meanwhile, Azzi had flopped onto her back from laughing so hard, the phone now propped up against her pillow as she watched the absolute trainwreck unfold on the screen.

But in between fits of laughter, her eyes kept drifting. Kept finding Paige.

The way the hotel light hit warm and low, casting soft shadows on her. Her back arched slightly as she wrestled KK, the definition in her arms and abs on full, distracting display. Her cheeks flushed from laughing, from moving. 

And Azzi. 

She was not ok.

She was laughing, sure, but also not at all paying attention to anything KK or Ice were yelling now. Her face was warm, throat tight, and she had to actually look away from the screen for a second to collect herself.

When she looked back, Paige had finally pinned KK down and was breathless from laughing, hair a mess and a wide grin on her face.

Azzi swallowed.

“You guys are so dumb,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray how flustered she actually was.

Paige leaned back onto her heels, pushing hair out of her face, and grinned at her. “And yet you still called.”

Azzi shook her head, cheeks aching from smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re hot,” Paige said without missing a beat.

Then, almost immediately, her confidence cracked just a little. “Wait—shit, I didn’t mea—”

KK screamed. “SHE ADMITTED IT—”

“SHUT. UP.” Paige grabbed the pillow again.

Azzi just laughed harder, covering her face with her hand as KK yelped and Ice casually sidestepped the next flying pillow.

—------------------------------------------

After a while, Paige finally sat back on the bed, still catching her breath, hair wild and cheeks flushed from the fight. KK and Ice were still grinning like idiots, exchanging glances.

Azzi wiped a tear of laughter from her eye and shook her head. “You guys are terrible.”

KK grinned. “Hey, we’re just the entertainment. Don’t blame us.”

Ice nodded solemnly. “Yurrr, somebody’s gotta keep the mood light before you two decide to get all sappy n thsat.”

Paige shot them a mock glare but couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She glanced back at the screen, catching Azzi’s eyes again.

“So,” Paige said, trying to sound casual but failing, “whatchu wanna talk about ?”

Azzi smiled, cheeks pink. “I dunno. Just… stuff. How your day went. How you’re gonna annihilate that game tomorrow.”

Paige rolled her eyes but felt her chest swell a little. “Stop buttering me up. I’m already feeling the pressure.”

“Good,” Azzi teased. “Means you care.”

They talked quietly for a while, sharing dumb stories from the day, swapping low-key jokes, and just… existing in the comfortable silence between words.

KK’s voice cut through softly from behind Paige. “Hey, Azzi, you hearing this? Paige is basically melting over you.”

Ice snorted. “Dude, they’re basically a puddle over there.”

Azzi laughed. “You two are awful.”

Paige laughed too, then looked back at Azzi, her smile a little softer now.

“You should sleep,” Azzi said gently. “Big day tomorrow. Gotta show out.”

Paige smirked. “I will. Eventually.”

Azzi gave her a look. “No scheming. Just sleep, ok ?”

“Bossy,” Paige teased, but her voice was warm.

Azzi grinned. “Only cause I care.”

Paige’s heart did a tiny flip. “Ight. I’ll go to sleep. Promise.”

“Good,” Azzi said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Night P. You’re gonna kill it tomorrow.”

“Night Az,” Paige said, voice quieter now. “Thanks.”

Azzi ended the call leaving Paige smiling at the quiet glow of it, the room finally still.

KK poked Paige’s side, smirking. “You’re blushing.”

“Piss off, KK,” Paige muttered, but the smile didn’t leave her face.

Ice stretched and yawned dramatically. “Alrightyyyy, I’m out.”

KK threw an arm around Paige’s shoulders. “Same. Let’s get our beauty sleep, girly pops.”

Paige rolled onto her side, sighing. “Yea. Goodnight you assholes.”

“Night Paigeyyy,” KK and Ice chorused, already pulling their blankets up as they all driftrd off to sleep.

—------------------------------------------

The room was quiet, the kind of stillness that came in the early morning. The ac hummed softly, and Ice’s light snoring filled the space like background noise.

Paige blinked awake slowly, groggy and warm under the covers. For a second, she just laid there, listening to the stillness.

Then she reached for her phone, screen lighting up instantly with a few unread notifications. 1 at the top stood out.

Azzi: morning superstar 💗

Azzi: go be great tdy 

Paige stared at it for a second, then buried her face in her pillow with a muffled groan and a grin so big it hurt.

She rolled over, thumbs flying.

Paige: morning az 💗

Paige: u rlly tryna make me soft before a game huh

Paige: it’s working btw

Azzi’s typing bubble popped up almost immediately.

Azzi: naww 😭 

Azzi: wellllll u better cook smth up 

Paige laughed quietly, the nerves from earlier already starting to ease into something steadier. She stretched once, then tossed the blanket off and sat up, already feeling more awake.

Behind her, KK cracked 1 eye open. “Lemme guess. The bae texted you.”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbled, but she didn’t deny it.

Ice rolled over. “Better get moving, game day. Time to be that dawg.”

Paige grinned, already heading for her bag. “Damn right.”

—------------------------------------------

The team had just finished warming up and was now huddled in the locker room, 5 mins before tip-off.

Paige slid her phone quietly out of her bag, careful to keep it hidden from coach and her teammates. Her thumb flicked open the screen.

A new message from Azzi lit up the screen:

Azzi: goodluck p 💗

Azzi:  rdy to watch u cook :)

Attached was a photo of her ipad propped up against her pillow, the commentators of the game and clear—Tennessee Lady Vols vs. Uconn.

Paige smiled, heart kicking up a notch. She typed back fast:

Paige: thank u az 💗

Paige: i will try my best 🙂‍↕️

Paige tucked the phone away, took a deep breath, and looked around at her teammates. Time to bring everything she had.

—------------------------------------------

The buzzer sounded sharp and final as the starting 5 stepped onto the court. The energy inside Thompson-Boling Arena was intense—orange everywhere, the Tennessee crowd loud and relentless. But Paige didn’t flinch. She bounced on her toes, laser-focused, eyes scanning the court.

The ball went up, Jana slapped it back cleanly, and Uconn took the first possesssiob.

Paige caught the ball from Kaitlyn and immediately pushed. Tennessee set up quick, but Paige hesitated only for a second before attacking the right side. 1 hard dribble, crossover left which made the defender bite and Paige glided past her into the lane.

Eurostep. Bucket.

First 2 points on the board.

The next few minutes were a blur of high-level basketball. Tennessee punched back hard. Their guards were quick, aggressive. Their bigs boxed out relentlessly. But Uconn held their ground, moving like a unit.

Ashlynn hit a smooth corner 3 off a drive-and-kick from Kaitlyn.

Sarah snagged a tough offensive board and put it back with authority.

Jana swatted a post-up layup into the stands.

And Paige ? Paige was locked in.

She drove baseline and finished with a reverse.

She pulled up off a screen and drained a smooth midrange.

She stripped a pass clean and went coast to coast, finishing through contact for the and-1.

By the end of the first quarter, it was tied 19–19.

In the second, Tennessee started to press. Their guard picked Paige up full court, trying to wear her down. But Paige didn’t panic. She used her handle like a weapon—tight and quick.

Behind-the-back, change of pace, then a no-look pass to Ice who subbed in for the finish.

In their next possession, Paige hit Kaitlyn on a cut with a bounce pass so sharp it split 2 defenders.

The crowd was loud, but Paige was louder with her game. She scored again on a step-back 3 with a defender draped on her. Net barely moved.

Still, Tennessee wouldn’t go away.

They ran the floor. Hit back-to-back 3s. Got physical inside. At halftime, it was neck-and-neck: 37–36, Uconn up by 1.

In the locker room, everyone was dripping sweat and adrenaline, gulping water and breathing heavy. Paige sat, towel draped over her shoulders, staring down at her shoes for a second before glancing at the screen of her phone. No new message from Azzi this time, but just knowing she was probably busy watching ?

That was enough.

She stood, tossed the towel aside, and looked around. “We got this,” she said simply. Her voice didn’t have to rise. They all felt it.

In the third, Paige came out firing.

She hit a 3 on the first possession, then found Caroline who was now on, trailing for another 3. Uconn built a small lead, but Tennessee clawed right back, feeding their post and pushing transition. The crowd roared with every bucket.

Still, Paige didn’t blink.

The fourth quarter started 59–59.

Every possession mattered now. Every cut. Every switch. Every box out.

—------------------------------------------

Azzi sat cross-legged on her bed, blanket wrapped loosely around her waist, ipad balanced on a pillow in front of her. The stream was clear, commentators in full swing, and the arena noise roaring through her airpods like she was courtside. Her heart pounded with every play. Paige was everywhere, lighting it up, finding teammates, talking on defense. She looked locked in.

Azzi couldn’t stop smiling.

She watched as Paige threaded another pass through traffic, then hit a pull-up jumper like it was nothing. “Let’s go,” Azzi whispered to herself, biting her lip as she stared at the screen.

When the third quarter ended, she stretched her arms overhead, exhaling. “You’re killing it, P,” she muttered like Paige could hear her.

But then midway through the fourth—everything shifted.

Paige caught an outlet pass and took off in transition. She cut right, planted hard and crumpled.

The stream cut to a different camera for a beat, but Azzi had seen it. Paige grabbing her ankle. Wincing. Staying down.

Azzi’s heart dropped.

“Nonono—” she whispered, sitting upright now, her hand flying to her mouth. The broadcast cut back to Paige being helped up by trainers, limping slightly, jaw clenched. She wasn’t putting full weight on it. Azzi could see the pain and the frustration on her face.

Paige didn’t return to the game.

Azzi didn’t even register the rest of the fourth. Tennessee went on a run. Uconn looked shaken. 

Final score: 74–68. Tennessee win.

The buzzer sounded, but Azzi’s attention was on her phone now, thumbs flying.

Azzi: what happened ???

Azzi: r u alr  ???

Azzi: paige PLEASEEEEEEE text me when u can

Azzi: im so sorry abt the game as well

Azzi: but fk that cs i needa know if ur ok ??

No response.

Azzi sat there frozen, refreshing the messages, staring at the read receipt that never came. She paced her room, then tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

Half an hour passed. An hour.

Then just as she sat down again, her phone lit up. Incoming call: Paige.

Azzi snatched it up. “Paige ?!”

There was a pause, then Paige’s voice came through which was soft and a lil scratchy.

“Hey.”

“Are you ok ? I was freaking out—what happened ?”

Paige sighed on the other end. “It’s just a rolled ankle. Not bad. Swollen, yea, but the trainer thinks it’s minor. I just… couldn’t go back in.”

Azzi exhaled, heart still in her throat. “I was so worried. You didn’t text. I thought—God, I thought it was worse.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” A pause. “I just… needed a min.”

Azzi could hear the weight in her voice—the frustration, the sting. “No need to apologise P. I get it. You played your heart out. That loss wasn’t on you.”

“I still feel like shit,” Paige admitted. “I hate being on the bench. I hate watching us lose. And now this ankle’s gonna be a thing for who knows how long…”

Azzi was quiet for a second, then said gently, “Where are you now ?”

“Back of the bus. Heading to the airport.”

“You by yourself ?”

“Yea. Wanted space.”

There was a pause on the other end—then, Paige’s voice, barely above a whisper:

“Can I come straight to yours when I get back ?”

Azzi didn’t even let her finish the sentence.

“Of course,” she said. “Always.”

There was another silence, but this one felt different. Calmer.

“I’ll see you soon,” Paige said.

Azzi nodded, even though Paige couldn’t see it. “I’ll be up.”

—------------------------------------------

The bus rolled quietly into Storrs later that night, headlights cutting through the dark as the team filed off 1 by 1, tired and low after the tough loss. Paige stayed close to the back, wincing slightly as she shifted weight off her injured ankle.

Aubrey and Caroline caught up to her as she gathered her things, their expressions softening when they saw the way Paige moved carefully.

“Hey, we got you,” Aubrey said, stepping forward with a warm smile. “Let us carry your stuff.”

Caroline nodded, already reaching for Paige’s duffle bag. “And what’s that for ?” she asked, gently lifting the oversized, sparkly unicorn plush peeking out from the top.

Paige hesitated, then gave a small, tired smile. “It’s a gift for Azzi.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Caroline. “Azzi ? Oh, ok. That’s sweet.”

Paige shrugged, “Yea. I’m actually heading to her dorm, if that’s cool.”

“Totally,” Caroline said, slipping the duffle onto her shoulder. “We’ll help you get there before we head to ours.”

The 3 of them stepped out into the cool night air, the campus mostly quiet except for the gentle souns of the breeze through the trees. Paige leaned a little on Caroline as they walked toward the dorms, her ankle throbbing but manageable.

When they reached Azzi’s building, Aubrey smiled again. “Alright, P, we’ll drop this off with you. You sure you’re good ?”

Paige nodded, cheeks flushed from the day and the long ride. “Yea. Thanks for helping.”

Caroline and Aubrey gave her supportive grins before heading off to their own dorms, leaving Paige standing at Azzi’s door with her duffle and the giant unicorn tucked under her arm.

Paige shifted the weight of the unicorn in her arms and pulled out her phone, fingers moving quickly.

Paige: im outside your door :)

A second later, the door opened.

Azzi stood there in a hoodie and shorts, eyes immediately locking onto Paige and then the massive, glittery unicorn she was holding out like some kind of ridiculous offering.

“What— ?” Azzi blinked, then laughed in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Paige said, her voice low and a little sheepish, lips twitching into a tired smile. 

Azzi reached out and took the unicorn like it was made of glass, hugging it close to her chest. “This is… insane. And perfect. Thank you. Seriously.”

She glanced down at Paige’s ankle, the compression wrap still snug with some ice, and then quickly stepped aside. “Come in.”

Paige stepped past her, limping slightly, and Azzi followed, grabbing the duffle bag from her shoulder without a word.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Azzi turned and wrapped her arms around Paige.

Azzi’s chin tucked over Paige’s shoulder, Paige burying her face into Azzi’s neck. They didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just stood there, breathing in each other’s presence.

“I missed you,” Azzi whispered.

Paige’s fingers curled into the back of Azzi’s hoodie. “Missed you too.”

They pulled back only slightly, still close.

“I was so worried,” Azzi said softly, brushing a strand of hair from Paige’s face. “When you went down… I couldn’t think straight.”

“I’m ok,” Paige murmured. “Just needed to see you.”

Azzi nodded, eyes shining, then motioned gently toward the bed. “Come on. Get off that ankle.”

Paige made her way over slowly, lowering herself down onto Azzi’s bed and leaning back against the headboard, legs stretched out, ankle elevated on a small pillow. Azzi adjusted it carefully, eyes focused.

“Imma grab a new ice pack,” she said, already heading for the mini freezer.

“Thanks,” Paige said, her voice quieter now, the exhaustion catching up with her as she finally let herself relax in the place she’d wanted to be all day.

Azzi came back a moment later, a fresh ice pack wrapped in a towel. She knelt at the foot of the bed, gently replacing the old one on Paige’s ankle.

Azzi stayed there a moment longer, her hand lingering on the new ice pack, like letting go too soon might make Paige wince again. Then quietly, she stood and climbed up onto the bed, easing in beside Paige with a quiet sigh.

She leaned back against the headboard just like Paige, their shoulders brushing, the soft rustle of blankets settling around them. Without a word, Paige lifted her arm, and Azzi tucked into her side like she belonged there, resting her head gently against Paige’s shoulder.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The room was dim and quiet, lit only by Azzi’s desk lamp, casting a soft glow over the unicorn now perched on her chair.

Paige was the first to break the silence, voice low. “We should’ve won that game.”

Azzi nodded lightly against her. “You were unreal, though. The way you moved and hit those jumpers, ran the offense… it was all you. Everyone saw it.”

Paige gave a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Doesn’t mean much if we lose.”

“It does to me,” Azzi murmured, lifting her head just enough to look up at her. “You were locked in tonight. It was—God, it was so good to watch.”

Paige’s jaw tensed. “I felt it too. Like, I could feel the rhythm of the game. And then…” She trailed off, glancing down at the bandaged ankle. “I planted wrong. One second I’m flying, next second I’m on the floor.”

Azzi was quiet for a beat, then said softly, “When you didn’t get up, my stomach dropped. I thought—I don’t know. I was just really scared.”

Paige looked over, eyes catching on the concern still etched into Azzi’s face.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know,” Azzi whispered. “But it’s you. You’re not supposed to be the one getting hurt. You’re the one who gets back up.”

Paige turned her face away, voice cracking just slightly. “I hate that I couldn’t finish.”

“You gave everything you had,” Azzi said, reaching for her hand and intertwining their fingers, thumb tracing gently along Paige’s knuckles. “No one who watched that game would say you didn’t.”

Paige leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. “I just wanted to win.”

Azzi squeezed her hand. “I know.”

They sat in silence again, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

Then, quietly, Azzi whispered, “You’re here now. That’s all I wanted tonight.”

Paige opened her eyes, turning to her.

She tightened her arm around Azzi’s shoulders, pulling her a little closer.

“Me too.”

The room stayed quiet.

Azzi stayed tucked into her side, her weight warm and grounding, her head resting just below Paige’s collarbone. Their fingers were still laced together, and Paige could feel the slow, steady rhythm of Azzi’s thumb brushing over hers, over and over like it was the only thing keeping them both tethered to the moment.

But Paige’s mind wasn’t still.

It was spinning—softly, slowly, with a kind of ache that sat somewhere between fear and wanting.

She could feel it rising, curling in her chest, in her throat.

The urge to make a move on her.

She didn’t know when it started. Maybe it had been building since that first night Azzi pulled her into a hug that lingered a second too long. Or maybe since the facetime call, when Azzi’s voice softened just for her. Or maybe it was this exact second, when everything felt a little cracked open and unguarded.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, so loud she was almost sure Azzi could hear it.

She glanced down.

Azzi was looking ahead, quiet and calm, completely still against her.

And beautiful. Not in the way people always said it like a compliment, but in a way that made Paige’s breath catch, like Azzi was the only thing in the room that felt real.

Paige lifted her hand free from Azzi's grasp slowly, hesitating only for a heartbeat before brushing her fingers under Azzi’s chin.

Azzi turned her face up at the touch, eyes meeting Paige’s.

Something shifted.

A silent, slow gravity pulling them in.

Paige leaned down just a little, her hand guiding Azzi’s face toward her. Azzi didn’t resist as she leaned  too, just as slowly, her eyes flicking down to Paige’s lips, breath catching.

There was a pause and then they met.

Soft.

Paige’s lips brushed against Azzi’s like she was testing the edge of something she wasn’t sure she deserved. Azzi melted into it instantly, her hand coming up to rest lightly on Paige’s chest, right over her heart feeling the way it raced beneath her palm.

The kiss deepened gently, their mouths moving in quiet sync, slow and warm and aching with everything they hadn’t said. Azzi’s lips parted slightly, and Paige followed her lead, her tongue just barely slipping past the edge, tasting her—soft, patient, nothing rushed.

Azzi sighed softly into her mouth, a small sound that made Paige’s whole body pulse.

They stayed like that, kissing in slow rhythm, breaths mingling, hearts loud in their chests.

When they finally parted, it wasn’t sudden. Just a slow, natural pull away, foreheads nearly touching.

Neither of them spoke.

Azzi smiled first—just a tiny, breathless curve of her lips.

Paige smiled back, eyes soft, thumb still brushing along Azzi’s cheek.

Azzi then tucked herself back against Paige as they intertwined their hands again and they just sat there in the stillness, pressed close, eyes shining, lips swollen and hearts steady in the quiet hum of something new.

Paige swallowed once, her eyes flicking down to their intertwined hands. Her thumb rubbed lightly along Azzi’s again, slower this time, almost nervous.

“I never really told you…” Paige’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I kept telling myself it was nothing. That you were just a friend, or my tutor… someone I could lean on.”

Azzi’s eyes stayed fixed on hers, patient and steady.

“But… I think I’ve felt something more for a while,” Paige admitted, the weight of the truth loosening from her chest. “I tried to ignore it. I thought maybe it was just me, or that it would pass.”

Azzi’s lips curved into a soft, understanding smile. “You’re not alone,” she said quietly. “I’ve been feeling it too. More than I wanted to admit.”

Paige’s heart skipped, the tension breaking in a fragile kind of relief.

“So… maybe,” Paige said, breath catching a little, “maybe we should stop pretending this is just friendship. What do you think about… going on a date ? Like, really going out ?”

Azzi’s smile widened, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I think that sounds perfect.”

They both laughed softly, a mix of nervousness and happiness blooming between them.

Before they could say more, Paige reached up, cupping Azzi’s face, and kissed her agin slowly and tenderly.

Azzi leaned into it, returning the kiss with the same gentle warmth. 

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads brushing, Paige let out a small, sheepish breath of a laugh. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I probably should’ve saved the first kiss for after the date.”

Azzi smiled, her voice soft. “It’s ok, I’m glad you didn’t.”

Their smiles lingered, quiet and full.

Then Azzi shifted just slightly, her voice a low whisper against Paige’s skin.

“Wait—before we fall asleep,” she said, pulling back with a small smile. “I gotta take a picture. For the memories. First kiss deserves some documentation.”

Paige blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Azzi was already slipping off the bed, grabbing her camera from the shelf by her desk. “Cmon,” she said, eyes gleaming as she held it up, walking back toward the bed. “We’re doing two. So we each get one.”

Paige rolled her eyes affectionately, but sat up straighter as Azzi climbed back beside her, camera held out in 1 hand as she leaned in again.

Their lips met just as the first flash went off—soft and smiling into the kiss, the moment sealed in light.

They kissed again for the second photo, slower this time, just as full of warmth. Azzi clicked the shutter and they parted again, both of them breathless with quiet laughter as the second polaroid whirred out of the camera.

A few minutes later, once the pictures had developed, Azzi grabbed a pink gel pen from her desk drawer and took 1 of the prints carefully in her hands.

She wrote the date in tiny numbers at the bottom of the polaroid’s border.

Then, she stood in front of her combo board in front of her desk, where other polaroids were already pinned—all of them including Paige.

She added the new 1 right next to them. The kiss. The beginning.

Paige watched from the bed, quiet, something soft blooming in her chest.

Azzi turned back to her with a grin, holding out the other photo. “Yours to keep.”

Paige took it, smiling down at the image in her hand. Then she looked up at Azzi.

“Thanks Az,” she whispered.

They crawled under the covers together, lights dimming, the world softening as they both drifted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[hawkins-batman]

Let's Talk About Noah Schnapp

In light of everything that's happened in the last few days—namely Netflix releasing its first teaser for Stranger Things Season 5—many are returning to Stranger Things spaces online here and elsewhere for the first time in months. Maybe years. So, it's time to have this conversation again, because many people weren't here when some of us were having this conversation in the lull between content; and we're due for an update.

Buckle up—this is going to be long. I intend for this to be a mega post on the whole situation in so far as I can cover it, with receipts and screenshots.

The Conversation Around Noah

Put bluntly—the vitriol around Noah Schnapp has become dangerously insane. It's been that way for 2 years, but the renewed spotlight on Stranger Things, especially as Noah is set to take center stage in a Will Byers-centric season, has revived some of the worst elements of the conversation.

"What do you mean?", you may be asking. Well, I think it might just be better to show you:

This is just a sampling. If I showed you every tweet — every post — every video I've seen with this rhetoric, I'd need another medium to do it. A tumblr blog alone couldn't contain it all. But I take it you see my point now.

How Did Things Get This Way?

There are people on this app and on #that app who will say this behavior/treatment is warranted. They'll tell you that Noah is a "genocide supporter." That he "cheered for the deaths of Palestinian babies." That he "celebrated as people were being murdered." But none of this is true.

As a reminder, this was what Noah actually said—his very first comments on the matter—right after the Hamas attack that happened on October 7, 2023:

Important to note:

"...we will hope and pray for safety, justice, liberation, and self determination in Palestine."

and

"...we will say a Jewish prayer for peace for all Israelis and Palestinians."

That is the literal antithesis of support for a genocide or the wholesale slaughter of anyone.

The very next thing to happen was the infamous "sticker video" about which the most lies have been told, so let's debunk them one by one:

He did not make the stickers.

He did not wear the stickers.

He did not hand out the stickers.

He did not hold up the stickers.

He did not even touch the stickers.

He did not post the video on any social anywhere.

I've posted a pair of screenshots here that give you the gist in lieu of the video itself, but you can Google the video and watch the entire thing to see that I'm telling the truth.

What actually happened was that Noah was taken to a restaurant by a pair of influencers who were his guides while on a school-sponsored trip to Israel. Both were significantly older than him, were responsible for the video in question, were the only ones in it (aside from the waitress) to actually touch the stickers in question... and yet? Noah bore the brunt of the hate that ensued. When the backlash came, they abandoned him and left him to the wolves. (And perhaps because of that, he no longer associates with either one of them, nor follows any related social media accounts—all of which he was required to follow in the first place as terms of going on the trip through his school.)

Noah had just come out of the closet earlier that year and was 18 years-old. He would only turn 19 years-old in the ensuing weeks.

He has addressed these events several times. Most famous was the TikTok that he made explaining his actual position (that he doesn't want anyone, Palestinian or Israeli, to die). Less famous were remarks he made to fans on Snapchat:

I'll post his remarks here for those who can't read the text:

Hey guys! I appreciate you reaching out. To give you context, I did not post this language or this sticker. I was at breakfast with friends, it happened to be an Israeli cafe, and a girl was handing out stickers. Someone photographed me and posted and tagged me. As you guys know better than most people, social media can be used however people want to use it. I understand the weight of the situation and take it very seriously. I have friends of friends who are currently being held hostage in Gaza right now. My friends kids were killed in the massacre at the Israeli music festival. Standing up against this terrorism is important to me and why I made my statement after the attack. As one of the only few Jewish people with a platform, I absolutely think it's important to share my message about hatred for Jews around the world right now. However, everyone online is obviously twisting everything and saying I support genocide and am Islamophobic which is obviously entirely false and never have I stated either of those things. Seeing what is happening to the innocent people in Palestine pains me so much and I wish it would stop. I fully support everyone in Palestine as I said in my post on Instagram. One of my best friends in college is Palestinian and we talk about this issue allllll the time and agree on most things. I think people on social media are just animalistic right now so it's hard to even chime in because they just rip me apart so now I'm staying out of it.

I'll let that stand on it's own. I think it provides the context behind his remarks, the situation with the video/stickers, and his actual views versus how social media portrays his views. It also explains why he hasn't said anything else in almost 2 years.

The key takeaway: He was speaking out against antisemitism and the attack on Jewish people on October 7 and he supports an end to what is happening in Gaza and fully supports Palestinians. He literally says it.

And this support, by the way, has been corroborated by his own actions and the word of mouth from Palestinian organizations he has contributed to:

What Has Happened Since?

It would be easier to list the things that haven't happened; but I'll try anyways:

Noah has been called antisemitic slurs; gay slurs and targeted with gay stereotypes; been compared to antisemitic caricatures; he's been threatened with death and had posts go viral fantasizing about his brutal murder; his family has been threatened; he's been threatened with rape and sexual abuse; there are massive accounts on Twitter that doxxed his location while he was filming Season 5—particularly targeting him when he was alone; he's been hacked, had personal pictures leaked; he's had lies spread about his treatment of his cast mates (all of whom have spoken out and said that they've loved him at some point since, making these claims unequivocally false.

Here are a few examples:

Again, I can only post a sample. I hope that sample is enough to get the message across.

It's hard to overstate how cataclysmic this has been. Obviously, he's recovered and healed a lot since the initial incident; but the damage done needs to be acknowledged. These attacks drove him into a dark place by his own admission. He talked about needing therapy on his (now deleted) private spam TikTok account. And they are starting up yet again.

And Then There's the Fandom

The Stranger Things fandom in the wake of all this has been an irritating place to be. Not just because of the above behavior but because of the blanket hypocrisy.

The shipping sub-fandoms in particular have been rank with antisemitism and homophobia—even the Byler fandom, which is predominantly queer. People have:

A) Taken pre-Stranger Things photos—like his baby pictures or pictures with his family—to use as part of their content, their profile pictures, their banners, their fan art, their fan edits, etc.—violating his and his family's privacy for "Will" all while calling him "ugly," a "fag," and lobbing the above-listed threats at him. B) Tried to recast him with a fan cast. These fan casts are almost never Jewish actors, you'll notice. In fact, there's someone on this very app that recast Will Byers as himself. This is gross and absurd. Will Byers is intrinsically tied to Noah Schnapp. Tied to his identities as a Jewish person and a gay man. Tied to his experiences being a character he helped bring to life during his formative years. C) Persist in stanning or support his cast mates despite the fact that they continue to associate with him. This, in particular, is gross hypocrisy. If you're going to be mad at Noah Schnapp for being in a restaurant around stickers you object to—guilt by proximity/association, in other words—those SAME standards should apply to his cast mates, who continue to hang out with him outside of work, state that they love him, and post him on their social medias. I have a whole post about that here.

Instead, the cast is continually afforded blanket immunity while he is singularly targeted for continued abuse and harassment.

It should give the fandom some pause that openly pro-Palestine actors like Maya Hawke not only continue to hang out with him; but in her Instagram story, even stated that she misses it (check the link above for a screenshot of said story). She wouldn't do that if she thought he somehow supported mass-murder; and she knows him way better than any one reading this blog. That goes for the rest of them, too.

They know him better than you. They know his moral compass and what he believes. And they haven't abandoned him and obviously aren't going to. So, are you going to stick to your guns and apply your anger evenly; or maybe consider that you don't have the full picture?

So, Why Care?

I get this in my Asks so often. "Why do you care?" "He's a celebrity." "He don't know you." "He's not your pookie."

I know. It's not about that.

Yes, full disclosure, I am obviously a fan of Noah's. Have been since the show started. And no it's not because I'm gay and he's gay or because he plays my favorite character in Stranger Things.

Like many of his fans, I've spent the last decade seeing his lives on Instagram and TikTok, seeing his fan interactions, watching his vlogs and videos, and I've come to respect him as a human being quite apart from Will Byers or his role as an actor. Fundamentally, I really believe he is a kind and caring human being. The word of mouth from everyone who knows or has met him bares this out—and, yes, he's even been kind to me in the few conversations we've had.

This is only one example from Instagram during The First Shadow premiere this year; but I think it encapsulates what I like about Noah most. He's kind. He goes out of his way to be kind. He does things he doesn't have to do, contractually or just in general, for the sake of being kind. He always has been.

He's also stood up for a plethora of causes. Black Lives Matters, trans rights, the rights of women. He's known to be his cast mates' biggest supporter—and they'll tell you as much, too.

But quite apart from my personal feelings about him and more importantly: this is wrong.

Antisemitism is wrong. Homophobia is wrong. Both kill. Still, to this day. As I am sitting in my kitchen writing this, the news just broke that an Indigenous gay man and a celebrity was shot dead in front of his husband—after having his home burned down and dogs burned alive—in the United States. Yesterday, news broke that a gathering of peaceful Jewish protesters (which included children and the elderly) demanding the release of hostages still held by Hamas was firebombed in Colorado. Luckily, they all survived, but six people were injured in that attack.

Violence and bigotry are ascendent everywhere right now. Minority communities are being targeted. Normalizing the behavior I've described and shown above kills marginalized people. Regardless of your feeling about Noah as a person or celebrity, normalizing the violent and bigoted remarks, tweets, and behavior towards him harms Jewish and LGBTQIA+ people—all of us.

And just as an example of that, I give you the treatment Finn Wolfhard is now receiving just for the "crime" of shaving his head and being deemed no longer conventionally attractive by the fandom:

Yes, the general audience found out about Finn's Jewish heritage and now he's a target, too.

And this fandom is at fault for it.

You cannot normalize bigotry towards one person and expect it to stay contained to that one person. It will always harm everyone in that community. Finn Wolfhard—or any other actor/actress—being your favorite is not going to spare him from the consequences of a discourse you started.

ALL antisemitism and ALL homophobia needs to be called out. The people who insist it's okay that they do that for ANY reason—regardless of if they themselves are LGBTQIA+ or not—need to be ejected from the fandom and never let back in.

Noah Schnapp is a human being. He does not deserve this treatment. No one does. No one is saying you have to like him or even care about him. But you SHOULD care that this is how he's being treated and the impact it is having on others. The impact on Jewish people. The impact on queer people. Standing up and saying that does not mean you support genocide or murder or bigotry of any kind. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I am a person with left-leaning values. I'm tired of those values being spat on and dragged through the mud by people who think THIS is activism or is in any way helping a cause. It's not. All it is doing is perpetuating harm on a real person and real communities—queer and Jewish alike. And it needs to stop.

Related Blogs:

I've compiled some related blogs that expand on other elements of the situation that I've mentioned above in greater detail. This post was already long enough. I'll be updating this as more content comes out.

Examples of Noah’s Support for Gaza and Palestine (by @nymphus-fan-account)

The Evolution of a Lie

No, the Stranger Things Cast Does Not Hate Noah Schnapp

Lyric Vault’s Obsession with Noah Schnapp

[palephilosopherautomaton]

Title: Slipstream

You’d think finishing a decades-long dream project — a fully functional, skin-tight power armor that folds into a pocket dimension when not worn — would come with some kind of celebration. Champagne. A parade. Maybe just a quiet, satisfied sigh.

But no. Here I am, hiding in the back of a rust-slick storage container two blocks from a black-market tech hub in Kowloon’s subterranean district, trying to figure out how to keep the military-industrial complex — or more specifically, my father — from finding out I just made something that could rewrite the rules of warfare.

I call it Slipstream. Not just a name. It's a system. Fabric-thin, zero bulk, and bonded to the user on a quantum signature level. You don't wear it. You become it. Nanothreads hold your body in place across microfractures in spacetime, drawing kinetic power from dimensional instability. Translation: you hit harder, run faster, and shrug off bullets like they’re spitballs. And it vanishes on command. No need for a suit locker, a jetpack, or even clothes, technically.

It should be revolutionary. But I can’t patent it. Not without alerting every alphabet agency this side of the Mariana Trench. And my father — Colonel Isaac Rembrandt — would love to get his callused hands on it. Not because he’d understand it. Because he doesn’t need to. He just sees something that makes soldiers harder to kill. To him, that’s always a win.

Never mind that I started this project in rebellion. That every line of code, every alloy fusion and spatial rift calibration was one long "fuck you" to the man who said I’d never be anything more than his legacy.

So now I’m stuck. I’ve got:

A prototype suit keyed to my DNA and nervous system;

A semi-legal dimensional stabilizer embedded in my spine;

And a price on my head from at least two clients I ghosted while sourcing materials.

Time to get creative.

Plan A: Sell the concept anonymously to private buyers via quantum-encrypted dark channels. Problem? The tech's too exotic. Anyone rich enough to afford it is connected enough to trace it back. The power signature alone narrows the origin to a handful of labs — and my fingerprints are everywhere in the quantum resonance.

Plan B: Create a decoy version — bloated, chunky, and crude. Sell that as a “work-in-progress.” Let buyers underestimate the potential. Meanwhile, slowly trickle improved versions under fake identities and shell corps. Draw it out over years. Problem? I don’t have years. My father’s people are sniffing around my old lab already.

Plan C: Test it in the wild. Not for war. For spectacle. Underground fight rings. Urban stunt leagues. Maybe even viral superhero-style media appearances. Hide in plain sight. Let the legend grow until people want the myth, not the tech. And myths are easier to control than blueprints.

So, tonight’s trial run.

I’ve dropped into Neo-Saigon’s overcity sprawl. A dense thicket of neon wires, plastic rain, and rooftops buzzing with drone traffic. My suit hums in my bones — no boot-up sequence, no UI. It just is.

A local gang is moving stolen anti-grav cores. Nothing I care about, except they’re guarded by mercs using exo-rigs — outdated, but mean. Enough to sell a story.

I leap. Ten meters forward, half a second. The slipstream catches, rips spacetime around me into a blur of violet trails. I hit the first rig in mid-air, my palm flat against the armor’s chest. The kinetic feedback bends the metal inward like it’s paper. The merc crumples.

I vanish before his partner can scream. Reappear behind her. A whisper of movement, and she’s unconscious, her weapon clattering against the rooftop.

The whole thing takes twelve seconds.

Now, the feeds light up. Amateur drone footage. Shaky-cam thrillers. A silhouette — faceless, frictionless, fast beyond logic. The net names me “Phantom Vector.” Not my choice, but it’ll work.

I vanish again, back into the shadows.

Slipstream is online.

And if my father ever sees me?

He’ll just see another ghost on the battlefield. One he can’t catch. One that got away.

Let’s see how long I can stay ahead.

You're a genius inventor whose dad is military, and forced you into it. After a decade of work on the side, you've managed to make 'skin tight' power armour. Only, it uses dimensional fuckery. You're now trying to find a way to sell it that won't get back to your dad.

[liminalmemories21]

This prompt list is great! I can see so many of them going in different directions. How about #90, “Why didn't you tell me?”

@cecilyv and I are working our way slowly down the list. All these prompts were great. Thank you to everyone!

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He finds out Eddie's moving back to LA, and that Evan is homeless, and that holy shit had he not needed to be jealous of Eddie, all within two minutes of gathering up the nerve to knock on Evan’s door. It's a lot to take in.

Tommy takes a deep breath, knocks on Evan’s door. Waits what feels like an interminable amount of time before the door creaks open and Chris' face appears in the crack. His suspicious look transforms into one of his giant grins, “Tommy!” The smile that creeps across his own face matches Chris’. 

He really had missed the kid but definitely hadn’t been expecting him.  “Uh.  Hi.”

Chris leans on the door jamb.  “Are you looking for Buck?”

He scratches his neck.  “Yes?”  Didn’t actually mean that to come out as a question, but –

Chris helps him out.  “Dad got his job at the 118 back.”  Adds unnecessarily.  “We moved back.”

He peers past Chris into the house, and it’s Eddie’s furniture, Eddie’s layout again.  “Right.  Makes sense.”  Except he knows Evan had given up the lease on this loft, so where– “Do you know where Evan is living now?”

Chris shakes his head.  “Not sure.”  Glances back into the house, and then leans in to say more quietly, like he doesn’t want Eddie to hear what he’s about to say, and Tommy has no idea what that means.  “He hasn’t been around much since we moved back.  I think maybe he and Dad had a fight?”  He looks at Tommy like he expects Tommy to know more, but he doesn’t.

He’s had the occasional text from Evan since the helicopter ride, since the funeral.  Had the feeling Evan was checking in on him, checking up on him, making sure he was okay.  Hadn’t really known how to respond, which was kind of why he was here now.  Figured that he might do better in person, or at least it would be harder to leave Evan on read if he was here, in front of him.

He shakes his head, and Chris looks disappointed in him, which thanks, he already kind of felt like a heel.  Has to shift his gaze upwards when Eddie appears behind Chris.

“Hey.  Chris was just telling me you moved back.”  Eddie makes a noise that approximates agreement.  “And you moved back in.”  It’s a statement, but also a question.

Eddie shrugs.  “Buck was just subletting.  House was set up for me and Chris.  Made sense.”

Right, except for the part where Evan gave up his loft to move here.  “Sure,” he says blandly.  “Any idea where Evan is now?”

Eddie shakes his head.  “I wasn’t invited to the housewarming.”

Ooookay then.  He’s not touching that one.  Backtracks to his truck.  Considers his options.  He could just call Evan.  That would be the sane and mature thing to do.  He calls Howie instead.

“So, Eddie’s back.”

There’s the sound of a fussy baby in the background, and Howie sounds frazzled.  “Yeah.  Couple weeks now.”

“Any idea where I can find Evan?  Since apparently Eddie kicked him out when he moved back?”

That brings Howie up short, and he’d apologize, except for how he kind of doesn’t want to.  There’s a pause.  “I’m not actually sure,” is what he finally says, and Tommy wants to grind his teeth.  “Hang on, Maddie will know.”

Maddie does not in fact know.  He’s going to give her – and maybe Howie by extension – a pass if only because they have a newborn at home.  

Calls Hen and gets the same pause, and then admission that she doesn’t know.  His dentist is going to have words with him the next time he goes in for a cleaning, but he can’t unclench his jaw. .

Doesn’t actually have Ravi’s number, which means he has to put on his big boy pants and actually call Evan.  Who picks up on the first ring.  “Tommy?”

He’d told Evan, ‘you call, I’ll always pick up;’ hadn’t been sure it would work the other way around.  Had never tested the theory until now.  And he’s been silent too long because Evan sounds a little worried when he says, “Tommy?” again.  “You okay?”

He should say something normal.  Instead he says, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s a pause, and then a cautious.  “Tell you what?”

“That you’re homeless.”

There’s another pause.  “I’m not?  Homeless?  Or well, I guess technically I am kind of.  But, I’m not like living out of my car.”  Gives a half laugh.  “I think I’m too old to do that again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again.

There’s a silence long enough that he doesn’t think Evan is going to answer.  Then, “Everyone’s got their own shit going on. They didn’t need my drama too.”  Tommy opens his mouth, to interrupt, to tell him that he does, but Evan plows on, doing that half laugh that’s definitely false. “You didn’t either. You-- You’re not signed up for that anymore.” He huffs, Tommy can picture him waving his hand to dismiss the idea that it’s important. “ It’s not even interesting drama.  Nobody wants to hear about apartment hunting in LA.”

“I do,” he says promptly.

“Oh,” Evan says softly, like Tommy’s surprised him.  “Uh, really?”

“Really,” he says firmly.  Bites down on saying, ‘I always want to talk to you, I miss listening to you talk about whatever you’ve been reading.  I miss you.’

“Oh,” Evan says again, and still sounds surprised.  “Umm.  I was actually going to look at an apartment this afternoon – I think my realtor hates me, I keep not liking anything she shows me.”  There’s a pause and Tommy’s not sure what’s coming next.  Waits.  Tries not to feel too eager.  “Would you, uh, want to come with me?”

He says yes before Evan can hedge the question, or take it back, or say something that will make Tommy feel slightly homicidal towards Evan’s friends and family.

“That eager to see my apartment drama first hand?” Evan says, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice now.

“Yes,” he says dryly.  “I cannot wait to witness the battle between millennial gray and boomer beige.”  He’s not even really joking, but it feels like a win when Evan laughs.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Okay but I want a post-Spyral fic like

The one where Nightwing flinches whenever Batman raises a hand

Dick is just always convinced that Bruce is going to hit him. That if Dick does something he doesn’t agree with, he’ll hit him to get him back in line. He gets nervous when Bruce raises his voice, in and out of costume. He rarely visits the manor, because his brothers are all mad at him anyway and think that Dick willingly faked death. They don’t even know that he actually died. They don’t understand why Dick can hardly eat solid food and why he can’t swallow pills at all anymore without having a panic attack.

The only one who wants to be around him anymore is Damian. Damian is the only one who doesn’t call him a liar, who isn’t mad at him. Damian misses him, visits him in Blüdhaven all the time, tells the others off whenever they start complaining or saying mean things about Dick.

And Dick takes Damian out for ice cream mostly when he visits, because he can let the ice cream melt on his tongue, he doesn’t have to swallow it while it’s still hard. Dick practically lives off of soup and smoothies and cereal that’s soaked in milk so long it becomes a soggy slop. Whenever he attends dinner at the manor (and it rarely happens these days, only when Damian really begs), he picks at his food and pushes it around his plate. Damian is the only one who realizes he’s not actually eating. And Alfred, of course, but Alfred knows the truth, and he just doesn’t know how to help, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to it if it will make Dick upset.

Dick relies heavily on the OG Titans, who all rally around him, because they’re the only ones Dick tells the whole story too. And none of them ever really liked Bruce all that much, they all saw the bruises Dick used to show up to the tower with after spending time with the Bat.

When Jason asks in a snarky voice why Roy is still hanging around with Dick after everything he did, Roy shuts it down quick.

“He’s my friend,” Roy says defensively. “And I know how shitty of a dad Bruce is, so I won’t buy into whatever story he told the rest of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason demands.

“Why don’t you ask Dick yourself?”

Jason forgot that Roy was Dick’s friend first, that they have a whole history Jason will never know the entirety of. But calling Bruce a shitty dad? He knew the OG Titans didn’t like Batman, but he never knew the full reason why. He’d never really asked. Maybe it was time to.

And maybe he and Tim show up to Dick’s apartment unannounced one day, but Dick is having a bad day. He’s been having a few bad days, and Donna has been staying with him because the others are all worried about him. And they find their brother practically catatonic on the floor of his apartment living room being held tightly by Donna, who’s rocking him and whispering stories in his ear from when they were young and reckless and ridiculous. Garth is in the kitchen making soup, because they all know Dick won’t eat anything else right now, if he’ll be able to keep anything down at all. Roy and Wally aren’t there, the boys all take turns staying with Donna in shifts. They try to get Donna in on the rotation, but she refuses to leave Dick’s side until he’s better.

“Get out,” she hisses at them quietly, glaring at them as they stand in the doorway. “He’s in no mood to see you right now.”

“What right do you have-”

“We’re the Wonder Twins, remember?” she asks, her voice full of snark. “I have every right.”

Garth turns the stove down and covers the pot, then goes to escort them out of the building.

“He’s having an episode,” he tells them gently. “He wouldn’t want you to see him like that.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Tim asks.

“That’s for him to decide if he wants to tell you, not me. Just go home. Please.” But before they leave, Garth gives them a hard look. “But you’ve given him nothing but grief since he came back. Don’t expect him to open up right away.”

“He lied to us!”

“Did he?” Garth asks them, and it makes them both falter. “Or did someone else lie about him to you?”

The two look at each other before turning back to Garth, who rolls his eyes.

“There’s a reason the original Titans could never stand Batman,” Garth tells them, letting out a huff of a laugh. “Maybe start there.”

What happens after that? No idea! I just like the angst of it all.