#nobody has ever cooked me one of these in a way that's good

[itzphynix]

I think whoever invented chicken fried steak/country fried steak should be blown to shmithereens. Sorry you wanted to eat a chicken meal so bad, but why the hell did ya gotta ruin a perfectly good hunk o' beef over it?

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Seven x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader is insensitive and an asshole since they're also a supe working at vought, your powers are the exact same as Deadpool (even the skin condition), mention about killing, death, gore, r-pe, n@zis?!?!, alcohol, some intimacy (?). Also reader is gn!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the boys <3

HOMELANDER

This man hates you so fking much

Has tried to kill you multiple times, he tried lasering you, tearing you in half and even throwing you into the sky but you just always manage to come back like the damn plague

Eventually he gives up trying to kill you and just had to deal with the fact you'll be kept alive... just temporarily though... he's still looking for ways to kill you

However, your powers gave you dozens of advantages when around Homelander.

He can be having a meeting about something serious and everyone would be listening to him due to their fear towards him, then there's you who'd be doing your own thing and just shout out unrelated things like "Donald Trump just blocked me on Twitter!! HAH!! SUCK IT CORNFLACKS!!"

Everyone turning to you with startled expressions while Homelander simply rolls his eyes before continuing his presentation.

You are a complete nightmare to the PR team, that's why for interviews or any events, you'll always be paired up with Homelander so he can keep you under control and stop you from saying weird shit that could ruin the company's image.

"So Deadpool, how does it feel being in the Seven working alongside Homelander? You've been working together for almost 3 years now" A reporter would ask as you two are surrounded by screaming fans.

"Like I'm in the twilight series, not because of the fantasy but because I'm still waiting for the part where he impregnates me—"

"O-kay! That's enough, just silly ol' Deadpool with those inside jokes"

"You can tell in this eyes that he wants to fuck me right now. HE'S GONNA FUCK ME!!" You shouted as you're being dragged away by him.

Obviously when you had found out about his relationship with Stormfront, especially her background, you had to say some shit about it. Not giving the slightest care about the fact he could be grieving over her death.

He'll be in his room standing in front of the window and you'd just storm in, being as loud as possible.

"I can't believe you dated a N@zi!! Is it because I'm Jewish?!" Which may or may not be true, nobody knows your origin.

He may hate your guts but if he ever needs someone to help him do some dirty work, you're the person for the job, you never ask why or how, which could be the only thing he likes about you.

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't have such a big mouth, you'd be tolerable"

"All the people I've slept with have said otherwise"

Compatibility? 50%

STARLIGHT

Before she joined the Seven, she had an image of what kind of person you were, she just didn't know it was this worse.

When you found out she used to work at this Sunday School Church, you just haaaaad to say something about it.

"So like, you say that prayer always works, but every night I pray for my hair to grow and it never does. Do you think God has me blocked? How do I get unblock?"

"Uh..."

You two surprisingly get along without one wanting to slice the other's throat, except sometimes the things you say can really piss her off. Which is why when the company assigned her a new costume, she was trying her hardest to avoid you, but you found out anyways.

"Holy shit Starlight! Nice costume, is this your Miley Cyrus breakthrough? Girl power!"

Insert her groaning out of annoyance.

Again, the second you discovered she was dating a guy behind the death of Translucent, you were heartbroken :(

"Of course this happens right when my therapist gives up on me!"

Despite your behaviour, you pitied her when it was revealed that she was taken advantage of by The Deep, so like any good friend, you took revenge by cooking his friend octopus and eating it happily in front of him.

"Revenge does taste sweet" You'd say happily while Starlight just watches by the side, both grateful and horrified at your actions.

In my opinion, you would definitely be the person she goes to once she starts working with the boys, you'll always be providing whatever information that happens in the company for her to use.

It helps her worry less about getting anyone killed 'cause you literally can't die.

Compatibility? 60%

QUEEN MAEVE

You're half the reason why she rethinks about her life choices when she wakes up in the morning

Not because you're a handful (which you are) but because you're always paired together on missions

"Deadpool! The hostages!"

"OKAY! God... you act just like my drunk uncle"

Which is a joke/nickname you like to address her by because of her alcoholism (yikes)

Whenever the company needs you for something, half of the time she's the one assigned to search for you.

There was this one time she caught you trying to have Anika track down Kanye West's location, nobody knows what shenanigans you were up to.

Another thing to mention was that you two were chosen by the company to sing a Christmas song for the year's Christmas ceremony.

Just imagine during the bridge of the song, she's singing normally while you're completely going off, your high note so high you were sure you had Mariah Carey a run for her money.

Even though she finds you a lot to deal with, you're actually her buddy to train with.

Since you're very skilled with Katanas, she likes to practice her swordsmanship with you.

You like to tease or make fun of her everytime she fails to strike you which is good motivation for her to get better. Maybe you guys bring out the best of each other?

Last thing I'd like to add is when she was found out by the public that she was a lesbian (She's bi but you get the running joke), you had gifted her a t-shirt that says, 'Biggest Dick in Town'

Compatibility? 80%

THE DEEP

Your human punching bag

If Vought was a high school instead of a company, you'd be the bully and he'd be the nerd getting stuffed inside the locker room.

For example, Homelander could be confronting Starlight about her relationship with Hughie and everyone would just start raising their voices til you come in yelling "SHUT UP!" to the Deep who had not said a single thing during the entire time.

Just imagine him staring at you like 😐

To be honest you also ate his friend octopus so you guys are actually never getting the chance to make up.

"Look dude, I don't appreciate your tone"

"I don't appreciate your haircut either but we can't all get what we want"

You may be a crazy person but you weren't going to be okay with the fact he violates every woman he sees, so not only did you cook the octopus but you also called in a male stripper disguised as a woman just for him to celebrate on his birthday.

Just imagine him all happy when you tell him the news and later that night he'll run inside your room, completely pissed off at your act after finding out but you just laughed and said.

"Happy April Fools 😚!"

"That's next month dipshit!"

Also, you never understood his weird fantasies. He has a thing for sea animals??You've caught him multiple times either flirting or getting off to one. It was concerning even for you.

"From how many animals you've fucked, you might just turn from the ocean's 'Seaman' to 'Semen'." You joked which he did not find funny.

Maybe you messing with him could just be your way of getting along with him since you're the same with everybody else, it's just he has more flaws to poke fun of and he's sensitive about them.

Compatibility? 5%

A-Train

He thinks you're fucked up in the head.

Half of the shit that comes out of your mouth just has him reacting like in the GIF

Buuuuuut you're the one he always brings to the club because you always know ways to give the party life.

You've somehow even got on the wall of fame, a lovely portrait of you with your hands making out a heart.

Also, you know about his business with Compound V waaaaay before anyone else did. He's still grateful you didn't tell anyone.

Just like everyone else, you also enjoy messing with him except he's fast and constantly avoiding you.

"Hey A-Train, how much do you wanna bet that I can die faster than you?"

"Dude... seriously?"

You guys rarely get sent on missions together because you're always slowing him down, not basing off the fact he's fast but because you get easily sidetracked with other things.

"Alright, we're here now, how much C4 do we use?"

"Fuck math! Let's use all of 'em!"

You ended up detonating all of the C4 on you before he could object the idea, he was able to run out in time, your action nearly getting him killed while you ended up dead.

But it's fine you'll just grow back.

You know that race he has against Shockwave? You'd be at the VIP section standing near where Homelander and Queen Maeve is, waving your huge banner that has a picture of A-Train's face and yours pasted over a figure carrying the other in bridal style.

Compatibility? 55%

TRANSLUCENT

He makes people paranoid but you make him disgusted.

There was this one time he was bored so he snuck in your room to see what you were doing.

At first he was confused why you had so many cute plushies but then the more he explored your room, he realised your room is basically every collector's dream.

You even had a huge teddy bear in the corner of your dressing room.

The reason why he doesn't like to spy on you is because the last time he did, he saw you putting your hand in the blender, then proceeding to put your private part into it.

Never again, he thought, never again.

He doesn't need to witness you carry out your intrusive thoughts.

Surprising enough, you're close with his son, I'd like to think that after his death, you practically became the kid's godparent. Though you can be sort of a bad influence, leading up to how he is in Gen V.

You always tell him you hate kids but he thinks otherwise.

After all, he can read people well.

You guys like to pull pranks on each other since you guys like competing on who's more sneaky

There was this one time, you woke up to find your suit gone so you ended up walking around the building, completely naked and unfazed by people's stares.

It was when you walked around the corner that you found your suit worn by someone else, turns out it was Translucent under it.

"Why is it so fucking tight dude? How do you stay in this shit all day?"

"You get used to it"

Compatibility? 85%

BLACK NOIR

Lovers.

He doesn't mind your attitude because he actually can't say anything about it.

No seriously... he can't talk.

But hey he's got a good shoulder to cry on.

"I just... hffgh... I can't believe my album didn't surpass lady gaga's... She doesn't even know how to use Katanas like I do!" You'd let out a loud sob while he just stares at you for a while before placing a hand on your shoulder, patting you gently.

You know the scene where he's playing the piano for one of the company's party? You'll be laying down on top of it and singing in your usual overdramatic high pitched voice.

He finds your humour amusing so he always does this little head tilt like in the GIF when you say some weird shit while waiting for his response.

Since both of you are the only members of the Seven that wears a full body suit, obviously you had to try on his but since it was impossible to achieve that, you just had the company make a copy for you.

He'll be walking down the hallway doing his normal routine until he notises another person in his suit, the moment you speak and he realises its just you is when he let's his guard down.

"I just got some transplants done to my ass, that's why I look different"

You both are never sent on missions together 'cause you guys don't work well, pretty much nobody works well with him since he's the silent type.

Example, you two were hiding behind some crates ready to jump on the bad guys who were snucking in illegal drugs. He gestured for you to wait as he went to check again, only to turn back to see you gone.

"Marry Christmas motherfuckers!"

He heard your voice shout and he found you standing on top of the stacked crates, machine gun in hand and began shooting aimlessly.

He didn't even do anything but just watch until you ran out of bullets. However, multiple survived and began shooting at you so you ended running towards where he's hiding at.

"Yankee yankee!" You yelped.

You know the video of the two girls taking off their wigs to reveal that they're bald and they start bonding over it? I'd like to imagine that's you and Black Noir with the skin condition under the suits.

One more scenario I wanna add, you guys could be having a meeting but since you were bored and you always hated meetings, you'd draw a big heart on a piece of paper and show it to Black Noir from across the table. Surprisingly he'd draw a heart back to you.

You were overjoyed so you began to draw you and him doing it, doggy style. He stares at your doodle for a while before choosing to just focus on the meeting instead.

Compatibility? 90%

(This took a while cause I was on vacation)

[raerae2727]

When they blow up at you: multiple One Piece men x reader

You make them upset and they lose their temper + how they apologize

Includes: Ace, Kid, Law, Sanji, Crocodile, Doflamingo

GN! Reader, established relationship

Warnings: language, crocodile is neglectful and doffy is toxic, both reader and kid are lowkey toxic together, ace sanji and law’s parts are sweet tho💋

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Ace

He’s always pretty upbeat and tries not to show anger around you, but one day you make a joke that takes it too far. Your relationship had always been full of humor and you simply misunderstood what was acceptable to joke about and what wasn’t. You know you messed up when Ace goes quiet and puts his head down. You put your hand on his shoulder and frantically try to apologize, but he clearly isn’t having it as he stands and tries to walk away from you.

“Ace, wait! Listen!” You call as you try to pull him back, eager to explain yourself and properly apologize. He suddenly turns around and, in front of everyone, begins to lecture you.

“Why don’t you ever take anything seriously?”

Your guilt quickly turns to anger at the hypocrisy of Ace’s words. It always seemed to you that no joke was “too far” because of the way he so freely poked fun at you, your interests, and those you care about. How dare he pin this accusation on you?

“You’re the one who can’t take anything serious!” You respond, raising your voice louder than his.

He’s basically yelling when he responds, “At least I know where to draw the line!”

“What about all those times you made fun of me? Is it only an issue when I do it back?”

Everyone is staring at you two by this point, but all you can focus on is holding back tears when Ace yells, “I guess we just don’t go well together!” He slams his hand on the table, “Good luck finding someone else who’ll put up with you for as long as I have!”

Ashamed and heartbroken, you rush to your room and cry into your pillow. It feels like an eternity before you finally hear a knock on your door. You don’t respond but Ace opens it and lets himself in anyways, setting down his hat. He sits on the edge of your bed and breaks the silence with, “Good thing I stayed calm out there, right?”

Amazed that he still has the audacity to joke around, you sit up and scold, “Ace!”

He holds up his arms defensively. “Sorry, Sorry, I’m ready to talk about it if you are. And for the record, I love putting up with you.”

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Kid

Your relationship was always explosive because of your captain’s temper, but he must have already been on edge today because this was worse than usual. Killer wanted some rest so Kid is trying to make dinner for the crew, but he absolutely sucks at cooking. He refuses to listen to your advice and tension is growing as you continue to try and help.

“Stop being so controlling! I’m the captain here!”

The smell of burnt food is getting stronger, and you can’t help but take the pan off the burner yourself. “We’re hungry. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with just accepting help for once.” You try to keep your tone neutral to avoid a fight - which is clearly ineffective as Kid grabs you by the arm and pulls you outside of the kitchen.

“Why are you so set on embarrassing me in front of my crew!?” He shouts, gripping your shoulders.

You roll your eyes and speak calmly to make him feel like he’s overreacting. “It’s not that big of a deal. It would be more embarrassing if nobody was able to eat because your ego is too big to let me help.”

Kid is infamously bad with words, so he just responds by cursing and shoving you with much more force than intended. You go tumbling back until your head hits the wall and you fall to the floor. Kid looks shocked but before he can kneel down to help, you shoot up and shout, “What the fuck was that!?!”

“I don’t know!! Are you okay?” He yells back, panicked.

“No! I’m gonna tell Killer that you’re abusing me!” You scream, not realizing the whole ship can probably hear you two by now.

“No!” Kid responds fearfully, one-upping your volume and holding you in place by your shoulders again. “I swear I’ll always listen to you from now on! I promise! Please don’t tell on me, you know it was an accident!!”

Before you can scream back, the kitchen door swings open and you two stare at Killer like deer in headlights.

“Get in here and set the table. I knew you guys wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

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Law

Law always stretches himself too thin between working late, taking care of his crew, and making sure they don’t get themselves in too much trouble. He must have been losing a lot of sleep because of this, as he’s asking you to bring him his 4th cup of coffee today and it’s not even noon.

You tell him, “I don’t think I should do that, babe. I’m sorry. You should get some rest instead.” His under eye bags are especially dark today and his hair is messy.

“I have to get this done,” he responds calmly, though you can detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Can you at least get someone else to make it?”

When you go behind him and rub his shoulders, he sighs and leans back in his chair. He must be exhausted. “Please, babe?” He asks once more.

“Law, you of all people should know the importance of rest.”

He pulls away from your touch and crooks his neck to look in your eyes. “And you, of all people, should appreciate the work your captain does to keep this crew out of harm’s way.” He doesn’t yell, but the scolding tone of his voice hurts you more than yelling ever could. He stands up and walks to the kitchen, presumably to make his own coffee, and you follow behind. “Can’t you just give me some alone time for once?” He snaps.

You’re growing increasingly frustrated at Law’s stubborn attitude. “You need to rest! I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re putting your health at risk.”

“Sometimes,” he grabs you by the chin and leans in, “I have to make sacrifices for this crew. Be thankful.” You can’t help but start to tear up. His harsh words stung extra when he looked at you like that. Law lets go of you and his gaze softens when he realizes how upset he’s made you. The tone of the conversation immediately shifts. “Sorry, I-” he pauses, “I didn’t realize you cared that much.”

“Of course I care.” You cry. “I love you.” You pull him into a hug and he leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ll take a nap if you promise to stop crying.” He whispers, rubbing your back.

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Sanji

“Can you add a dash of salt to the soup, love?” Asks your boyfriend. He’s recently taken to including you while he cooks, which is an honor coming from someone who takes it so seriously. He’s gentle, patient, and excessively romantic with you in every aspect of the relationship, though sometimes finds himself being a bit more firm when cooking. You waltz across the kitchen, handing over him a knife, stirring a pot, or cleaning dishes for Sanji, whose hand finds your waist each time you pass. You dip your finger into the sauce he’s making and give it a taste.

“It’s good, maybe a bit bland though,” you comment.

“Noted, head chef,” he teases back playfully while accepting your criticism and adding more seasoning. When you go to take another taste, your elbow knocks over an inconveniently placed jar of olive oil, spilling it into the sauce and all over the counter.

“Shit! I’m sorry Sanji, I’ll clean it up.” He looks a bit disappointed, but gives you a soft smile and pat on the back.

“Don’t worry love, it happens,” his tone shifts to something more firm yet still gentle, “but we only have one jar left, so try to be a bit more careful for me in the future, yea?”

“It won’t happen again, promise.” Your mistake makes you shaky with nervousness because you know how seriously Sanji takes food waste. When you reach for a towel to clean up the oil, of course you accidentally knock over a pepper shaker. It falls to the ground and shatters, pepper corns bouncing all across the floor.

Panicked, you stutter out a pleading apology while you scramble to find a broom. “Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m so clumsy to-”

“How about you just leave the cooking to me.”

You look up, surprised at his stern voice. He doesn’t look back at you, just grips the handle of his mixing spoon angrily. Your heart drops into your stomach in shame.

“Go find someone else to help me clean up this mess, okay?” You can tell he’s trying his absolute hardest to contain his disappointment, but it’s still evident in his tone. You silently leave the kitchen, embarrassed tears stinging your eyes.

You try to calm yourself down in your room before dinner, you don’t want any of your crew mates to know about your humiliating mistakes. Not even five minutes after you had left the kitchen though, your door swings open. Sanji is on his knees with a bouquet of flowers and big puppy dog eyes looking up at you.

“I have no words to describe how sorry I am for getting upset at you. My anger was a bigger mistake than any amount of spilled food.” Your emotions quickly turn upside down and you laugh at the dramatic display.

“Sanji! I should be the one apologizing!” You run up to him and pull him into a tight hug. You reassure him, “It’s okay to get frustrated sometimes. I’m not mad!” He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes you tight.

Smelling the bouquet, you ask, “Where did you even get these?”

“I have a stash,” and you both burst into laughter.

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Crocodile

It seems like all he does is work, and you’re fed up with it. You get so bored sitting around in Crocodile’s mansion all day while he’s locked up in his office. Luckily, he left the door ajar today and you’ll be able to force him to give you the attention you deserve. You slink through the door and hoist yourself up onto the edge of his oversized desk.

“What.” He says gruffly, not looking up from his papers.

“I’m booored,” you whine, swinging your feet, “wanna go swimming?”

Crocodile sighs and rubs his temple in annoyance, still not looking up. “Go fetch me a drink and I’ll consider it.”

“No you won’t!” You argue, “you always say that!”

He slams a fist on the table and finally looks up to meet your eyes. “Maybe I would want to spend more time with you if you weren’t so whiny! Now go!”

You’re shocked and hurt by his unexpected anger and leave defeated, looking back one last time to see him continuing his work, seemingly unbothered.

Later that night, as you’re lying in bed reading, you hear the door softly creak open. Crocodile is holding an unopened expensive perfume with a ribbon tied around it.

“I know I haven’t had a lot of time for you lately, and I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting the gift on your nightstand and undoing his tie. “We’ll go swimming next week, I promise.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting into his robe.

As you drift off to sleep, you look at the various expensive gifts he’s gotten you as apologies, knowing he will never follow through with his promises.

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Doflamingo

Making Doflamingo angry is always the last thing you want to do, but his immature sense of entitlement can be infuriating. The two of you were watching the sunset by the poolside and discussing your latest reads while waiting on a servant to bring another bottle of wine. You didn’t notice how long it was taking until he brought it up.

“What’s taking that damn worm so long?” What’s so hard about fetching a bottle of wine?” The veins in his forehead started to bulge, a telltale sign of his annoyance.

You take his hand in yours and rub your thumb into his palm, trying desperately to keep him calm. “I’m sure it’ll be here soon, Doffy. Let’s not worry about it for now - keep telling me about your book.”

He could see right through you. Any attempt at influencing his emotions always only made it worse.

“Don’t baby me. This is an act of utter insolence and I don’t know why you expect me to tolerate it.” He slaps your hand away. “I’ll give that rat a piece of my mind once it gets here.” As much as you want to just leave it at that and enjoy the rest of your evening, your unrest with Doflamingo’s behavior has been growing for weeks and you speak before you can think.

“Can’t we just have one nice evening where you don’t have to abuse someone over the tiniest thing? It’s just some wine, we’ll live.” You’re terrified to see his frown turn into a wide grin as he starts to laugh.

“Have you forgotten who I am? Who you have the privilege of being close to?” With one sweep of his arm he knocks your glass off the table, shattering it and making you jump in fear. “Get out of my sight,” He hisses.

Offended by his quick switch-up, you bargain, “Doffy, can’t we just talk abou-”

“Out!” He yells. “And that’s Young Master to you!”

You scurry inside the palace, knowing things could get ugly if you chose to stick around. You wait all night for him to come knocking on your door with a superficial apology, even a passive aggressive one, but he never shows.

That petty man child was avoiding you. A whole week goes by before you even see his face. As you’re playing chess with Diamanté (who’s even more insufferable) to pass the time, you find yourself wishing you were with Doflamingo instead. As if on cue, he struts in and ruffles your hair from behind.

“What do you say we go share a drink together, just you and me, hm?” He muses, rubbing your shoulders as if he hadn’t just disappeared for a week. Your anger towards him subsides at his touch. You know you only feel this way because of his manipulative charm, but you let yourself love Doffy anyway.

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[mirrored-muse]

ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ | ꜱ.ꜱ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 702

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ꜱʜɪᴘᴍᴀɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀ/ɴ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ꜰɪᴄ, ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴏᴏɴ.. ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ, ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ! <3 ꜱᴇᴛ ɪɴ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

Dinner, if you can even call it that, is a half-burnt stew of mostly water, wild mushrooms, and something Natalie dragged back to camp that might’ve been a possum, You’re not sure and nobody cares enough to ask these days, as long as they’re getting fed.

You’re huddled near the fire, curled into your coat, trying not to shiver as you sip from the cracked metal cup Van passed to you. The food is barely warm anymore. Still better than nothing.

Across the fire, Shauna’s crouched low, turning the pot so the bottom doesn’t burn. She hasn’t eaten yet, she never does until everyone else has taken their share.

Everyone is quieter than usual tonight. Maybe it’s the cold, the tension from this morning’s failed hunting trip, or the fact that someone stole the last of the jerky rations. Again.

You’ve just finished the last sip of your share of the stew when Shauna’s voice cuts through the silence.

“You get enough to eat?”

It’s not sharp, not cold. Her voice is softer than anyone ever hears it. But it’s loud. Loud enough that everyone hears it.

Your stomach flips. “I’m fine,” you say, fast, eyes flicking to the others.

But the damage is already done.

Mari snorts from where she sits by the fire, not amused, but bitter. “Oh my God.”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, looking over the fire. “Really, Shauna? She gets a personal check-in now?”

You shrink a little, not liking the attention, but Shauna’s head snaps up.

“Yeah,” she says flatly, “she does.”

“Why?” Mari asks, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “We’re all starving. We all feel like shit. What makes her special?”

“She’s not whining all the time, for one,” Shauna shoots back, already halfway to full fire.

Van scoffs, but it’s Mari who pushes again. “You act like you’re this cold, untouchable badass, and then you’re over here playing nurse to your little girlfriend.”

Shauna straightens to her full height, arms crossed. “You jealous or something?”

Mari sits up. “No, I’m pissed that you hoard the best cuts for her and let the rest of us chew on bones.”

Shauna’s eyes flash with anger, her words harsh, a bite to each one. “I hunt it. I gut it. I clean it. So if I want to give her the good pieces, I will.”

“Why?” Akilah asks, not unkindly, but skeptical, Her voice soft. “You hate all of us.”

There’s a pause. You watch the fire flicker across Shauna’s face, watch her jaw tighten.

“Because she doesn’t look at me like I’m a monster.”

The girls go quiet. You can feel the air shift like everyone is holding their breath.

“She treats me like I’m human,” Shauna says, voice calmer now but no less deadly. “You all want me around when there’s something to cut up and cook, but the second I’m not useful, I don’t matter.”

No one says anything.

“She makes me feel like I still have a shred of my sanity left,” she adds, almost like she forgot she was speaking out loud. “So yeah. I’m gonna make sure she eats.”

You shift in your spot, heart in your throat. The others look away. Even Mari doesn’t know what to say.

Shauna turns to you, her face softer now. “You sure you’re good?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m good. Promise.”

And even though eyes are still on you, she crouches beside you, slipping something small from her coat pocket into your hand.

A piece of jerky.

Real jerky, Not the stringy bark you’ve all been rationing. You don’t know where she got it from, maybe she’d been saving it.

You look up at her, and she just shrugs like it’s nothing. Like it isn’t the most anyone’s given you in days.

She sits beside you, pulling the blanket off of one of your shoulders and pulling it over hers. Pulling it tighter around the both of you. Her knee presses against yours, her warmth sinking into your skin, warming you in a way the fire never could.

Nobody says a word the rest of the night. And no one asks questions next time she brings back something warm and makes sure you eat first.

[kennahjune]

ALRIGHT BUT

I’ve been having flustered Steve thoughts.

The Party has NEVER seen Steve flustered. Steve’s always the one flirting and no one ever flirts back anymore so Steve’s never actually flustered.

But then Eddie Munson comes slithering along and he flirts with everyone just cause he can but nobody’s flustered by his attempts because he’s not trying to actually fluster them.

But for some reason he really flusters Steve.

Eddie uses this to his advantage and actually puts forth effort when he flirts with Steve.

Steve is flustered, bashful, embarrassed. He’s twirling his hair and giggling and he does this thing where he taps his fingernails on his front teeth when he gets distracted.

The Party was NEVER seen Steve like this.

Not even Nancy when they were dating.

Steve has described what he was like when he was flustered to them, calling himself stupid and saying he acted like an idiot to try and get them to just lay off.

All anyone sees is an absolute sweetheart.

Steve blushes really bright, starting with his ears and it just travels down from there. And also he’s really bad at hiding his smiles and he smiles so BIG when Eddie flirts with him. Like you can see every tooth and his eyes crinkle so much they basically close and his nose scrunches up.

And Eddie fucking THRIVES in it.

Because NO ONE else gets Steve like that.

Eddie’s witnessed Steve flirting with the girls of Hawkins. Has seen them all flirt back with varying degrees of bluntness.

None of them have gotten Steve nearly half as flustered as Eddie has.

UNTIL.

Eddie has Steve come over to the trailer to hang out. Steve by some turn of events ends up cooking and making grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Wayne comes home right as Steve is playing everything and Steve is DISTRAUGHT. Like “no Wayne it’s alright, really. I can make you some to it’s ok I like cooking you’re really doing me a favor.”

So Steve makes Wayne a grilled cheese to and refuses to let Eddie eat until they can eat together.

So they’re all sitting and then they start eating. And obviously it was a damn good grilled cheese— Eddie knew Steve could cook but good GOD.

And then Wayne puts his grilled cheese down, looks between Steve and Eddie, and tells Eddie “If you don’t marry ‘im I’m adoptin ‘im.”

And Steve BEAMS.

It’s that same smile he gets when Eddie flirts with him and Eddie is only somewhat livid.

Cause he totally gets the rush of having Wayne compliment you for the first time. He’s just such an honest man.

And it goes from there that the only people who can fluster Steve are Eddie and Wayne (Eddie romantically and Wayne platonic-fatherly).

They both go out of their way to compliment him constantly just to see him smile like that :)))

Aaahhhhh this makes me so happy!!!!

[pukefactory]

︶꒦꒷ NOCTURNE COLLECTION ꒷꒦︶

ྐ✚ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Ken The Butcher X Reader

ྐ✚ Character(s): Ken The Butcher (The Gaslight District)

ྐ✚ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

ྐ✚ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

ྐ✚ Image Credits: @MemuroPage on Pinterest

꒷꒦ You met Ken the same way most people meet death—with a sharp hook around the ankle and the smell of blood in your throat. You weren’t supposed to be in the Whale Belly. You got lost. Or maybe something worse brought you there. But instead of slicing you open like a slab of meat, Ken squinted at your face, muttered something about “wrong time, wrong place,” and offered you a job as a server. With one condition: “You breathe a word to anyone, and I’ll use your ribs for soup stock.” You think that was his way of being sweet.

꒷꒦ Ken doesn’t do affection. He does inspection. He yells at you for not wearing gloves. Yells at you for talking to Mud. Yells at you when you slice onions wrong. “What’re you doin’, lettin’ yourself bleed like that? What if the virtues sniff it out, huh? You tryin’ to die?!” You never realized love could look like a hulking butcher shoving gauze against your palm with shaking hands. Like a man who screams because he doesn’t know how to cry.

꒷꒦ The moment he realizes he’s in love with you, he panics. He tears apart a whole freezer full of pork trying to cool down. What the hell is he supposed to do with this? You—this soft, living thing—liking him? Choosing him? That’s not normal. That’s not safe. So he does the only thing he knows how to: “Stay in the back. Don’t talk to nobody. Don’t look at Mud. Don’t breathe unless I say so.”…And when you do all that anyway, just to stay near him, he nearly bursts a vein.

꒷꒦ He takes “overprotective” to mythic levels. You tripped once and got scraped up. Within the hour, Ken had six gangsters lined up with broken kneecaps, screaming, “WHICH ONE OF YOU PUT A CRACK IN THE SIDEWALK?!” It was a pebble. Doesn’t matter. They’re still cemented to this day.

꒷꒦ He can’t bear to let you out of his sight, so he makes you a butcher’s apprentice. Now you’re stuck in the Whale Belly, learning how to clean knives while Ken critiques your slicing technique with the intensity of a drill sergeant. “No, no, you’re butcherin’ the cut wrong! And not in the good way! Look—like this, you see? Precise. Surgical. Delicate, like open-heart murder.” You can’t tell if he’s flirting or teaching, but either way, you’re sweating.

꒷꒦ When he thinks about the future, he sees red. Not in the angry way. In the wedding veil soaked in blood kind of way. He doesn’t think he deserves a happy ending, but sometimes he imagines one: you in some nice white piece (with a Kevlar vest underneath), him walking you down the aisle (or slaughterhouse hallway), Breadhead officiating. “I’m just sayin’, … if this dump ever goes quiet, and Mel don’t hate my guts, and I ain’t dead yet… maybe we find a chapel. Or a ditch. You pick.”

꒷꒦ He makes you breakfast every morning: eggs (not human), toast (slightly charred), and coffee so bitter it feels like chewing sin. He won’t let anyone else near your food. “You want cyanide in your pancakes? No? Then you eat what I cook.” You tell him it’s perfect every time. He grumbles. But he starts setting the table for two anyway.

꒷꒦ Ken doesn’t trust easily, but he gives you the key to the back freezer. No one has that key. Not even Breadhead. It’s where he keeps the real things. The sacred things. The broken things that still hurt. You found an old photo once—of a baby with a familiar curl in her hair, held by someone Ken tore out of the frame. He saw you holding it and went silent for the whole night. Next morning, he gave you a necklace made from a butcher’s hook. “Wear it. If the virtues come for you… you’ll swing before they do.”

꒷꒦ He doesn’t say “I love you.” He says “Don’t die.” He says it a lot. After arguments. Before raids. When you go to sleep. “Don’t die on me. Not before I do. Not before I finish what I started.” You don’t say anything back. You just hold his hand—scarred, raw, shaking—and hope it says enough.

꒷꒦ If anyone ever hurt you, there wouldn’t be a second time. There wouldn’t be a first time, not really—just a blip before Ken’s rage blotted out the sun. He’s not subtle. He doesn’t bluff. If someone touched a hair on your head, he’d go full monologue: “You touched somethin’ that didn’t belong to you. And now, I’m gonna peel you like garlic and use your spine as a meat skewer.” You asked once if he’d really go that far. He didn’t answer. Just wiped his hands, kissed your knuckles, and muttered, “Only if I’m feelin’ merciful.”

[cheriladycl01]

We make a mess - Max Verstappen x Reader Smut

Plot: You’ve been reading for too long and Max is getting needy …

Warnings: smut, messy sex, p in v, fingering, blowjob, ruined sofa etc 18+ mdni

You were just reading on the sofa like you normally did when Max streamed in your living room. You’d asked him so many times if he could move his set up into an office space but he refused saying the living was large enough for it all, which it was.

So whenever he streamed you found yourself tucked up on the sofa reading a book from your expansive library in the house.

The book you were currently reading was one of those that was so easy to get lost in and to sink into. To the point you hadn’t even noticed Max end his stream, start to cook food, make both of you a drink and come sit next to you on the sofa.

You were so engrossed in the current fantasy world and all the mysterious characters popping in and out that you hadn’t even heard Max attempt to ask you if you were ready for bed.

You hadn’t even realised he’d set the pasta he’d cooked for dinner in front of you and you’d eaten it whilst still reading.

“Baby?!” Max whines whilst shaking you making you pause on the line you’d just read.

“Huh?” You ask looking round noticing that there was no natural light coming in through the windows and it was just the city lights it Monaco at night.

“Holy shit Max what time is it?” You ask looking at him and placing the book mark in and putting the book down.

“Just gone half twelve” he says and you gasp. Max had started streaming at 7pm … has you really been reading for that long.

“You ignored me when I asked for you” he says with a grouchy and pouty look on his face.

“Baby! I’m so so sorry” you rush out and look awkwardly at him while trying not to laugh.

“You have given me no attention tonight! And I think you owe me” he suggest his voice getting an octave lower and a little more scratchy than usual.

“Max baby I’m sorry!” You cry out as he manhandles you flipping you over on the sofa so your on your elbows and knees, you chin resting on the fabricated arm of the sofa.

“No, you’ve done it now” he grins lightly smacking your ass before flipping up the skirt you were wearing. His hand runs along your thong strap, that going into the dip of your waist and down your lower back across before he lightly lifts it and snaps it against you.

“M-Max” you groan at your boyfriend trying to turn round and see him but he grabs the base of your neck forcing you more foreword into the sofa making you groan out as your knees start to give out.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He asks and you nod, your cheek squished.

He slowly rubs his hands down your hips before he gets to the bands of your underwear slowly pulling those down to leave you bare before him.

“So pretty, and so perfect. Look how wet you are already, and I’ve not even touched you. Gonna make a mess baby” he groans observing you. No matter how many times Max compliments you, or touches you, you won’t fail to become a blushing mess. You let out a small whine of appreciation as Max starts to use featherlight touches up your legs and to your inner thighs.

“Aw always so vocal” he sighs before reaching round supporting you by wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you up while his other arm comes round to your front to slowly rub circles on you clit, pulling all sorts of moans from you.

Max had a way of making you know that nobody else was ever going to be as good as he was.

Your hips start to stutter forward and a semi familiar feel starts to rise up the quicker Max rubs, pinches smacks and pulls at your clit and his dirty talking gets … dirtier.

“Max, gonna make a mess on the sofa” you cry out, feeling that one feeling that you know would end up with the sofa covered.

“No issue Schat, I can just buy a new one” he whispers in your ear biting against it before kissing along your jaw.

And shortly after, your squirting all over the sofa.

“Fuck Max, the sofa” you gasp and squirm as you feel the fabric dampen with the liquids shooting out.

You’d actually never squirted with anyone but Max and it was a feeling very different to that of your normal release, but one that was slowly becoming more and more familiar to you.

You’re left panting while Max starts to slowly, enter a finger into you, having you try and sink back onto it wanting him to create that incredible feeling again.

Two fingers are adding as he’s thrusting in and out, while he struggles to unbutton his own pants to release some pressure. He keeps up his pace the whole time, never stopping looking at you and the way your hips try to meet him with each thrust of his hand.

He gets his jeans undone, pulling them down along with his boxers pulling himself free. He was rock hard just from what he’d been doing to you, but he was now at the stage when you needed to feel some kind of release. Just a little bit of the pulsing pressure alleviated.

He starts to move his hand up and down his length with one hand while now scissoring his fingers inside of you.

He was sat leaning on the comfy back of the sofa, his head thrown back in pleasure cocked to the side to keep watching the way your body moves to meet Max’s fingers.

He didn’t anticipate just how worked up you’d made him while you were curled up on the sofa ignoring him, and he came unexpectedly quickly. As he felt that coil release he turned so he was jacking off towards you. White shooting out of his tip dripping onto your ass and down onto the sofa as you too reach your second climax of the evening.

“Max, I - I need a breather” you sigh, exhausted from your two heavy climaxes.

“Nope, whole way through baby. Wanna see that pretty face” he smiles as he flips you round so your on your back. Max knee you could go the whole way through, you’d done it before and he was confident you’d use the safe word if it really was too much for you.

And after a few moments of silence he takes that as his sign that you are in fact happy for him to continue.

It’s the first time you can fully feel the sofa and how sticky and wet it now is, covered in both your highs and it almost makes your cringe from the now cold feeling it gave.

Max’s hands come up your body, lifting your top off before taking off his pants fully and throwing his top next to yours on the floor.

“So beautiful my god” he says looking down at you. He spreads your thighs wider until you’ve wrapped your legs around him so the back of your heels dig into the little dips of his back.

He slides in with ease with how wet you are, bottoming out almost instantly. He sighs massaging your chest whilst slowly moving in and out, driving you insane.

“Max baby please faster” you beg looking up at him as he starts to run his thumb tantalising slow over your nipple.

“When you made me wait all night, just for a hello. I don’t think so baby” he says, not moving any quicker, lovingly thrusting in and out of you.

“MAXIE please” you gasp out as you feel something but you need more. You grip his shoulders pulling him closer to you, and kissing up his jaw and to his lips.

After yours words and actions he starts to speed up his movements, his grip going to your hips to angle them up, whilst a pillow is successfully slid underneath your back angling your hips up at the perfect angle where your mouth drops open like a fish.

“Eyes on me baby” he says looking over you, and you manage to keep your eyes on his as his hand comes down close to where the two of you are joined as one and he finds that spot that has you gasping in delight.

“That’s it, let go Schat” and with those words you were welcoming your third orgasm of the night. It’s fast and just as messy as your first, leaving you breathless as Max leans more of his body weight against you, his thrusts becoming sloppy before he joins you in his own ecstasy.

“Hopefully this will remind you to pay attention to me from now on?” He laughs, resting against you, exhausted from the physicality of what you’d just done.

“Mmmmmm” is all you can reply in between your ragged breathing.

You’d definitely not be so engrossed in your book next time. Or who knows maybe you would… and Mad Max would make a return … a little … teasing never hurt.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[helslastangel]

RANDOM ASTRO OBSERVATIONS #10

Nobody's safe. That's it. That's the disclaimer.

Libra Jupiter in 11th house can indicate having many opportunities in life that come through friendships and connections with others. People with this placement can often get very far in life simply because they talked to the right people at the right times. This is especially true if they also have Libra in their big 3 or Libra mercury.

Capricorn suns with Sagittarius mercury are surprisingly chill compared to the usual stoic reputation of Capricorn and energetic rep that Sagittarius has. My favorite friends and colleagues have this combination of placements and they are quite easy to get along with and fun to be around.

Very much like Virgo suns with Libra mercury, they can appear quiet and reserved at first, but become lively and chatty once they know you and have decided they like you. However unlike Virgo sun/Libra mercury people (who usually censor their words/tone and think out loud or form their opinions by talking through them first), not only are they a lot blunter (or straightforward, when older), they are more sure about where they stand, or certain of what they want to say on a topic before they say it.

Libra Mercury in the 11th house can have a lot of friends or just make and keep acquaintances very easily. These are the people who always "know a guy" or can say "my homegirl does that!" almost no matter what problem or need you have. They just know someone who can fix it. They are popular people, or at least seem that way to others.

They can sometimes appear to have a much larger network of friends and connections than they do, which is why many of them tend to either keep their friend/friend groups separate or may prefer to maintain superficial/lightweight connections with others over deeper and more intimate connections that would reveal more.

Capricorn Venus in 8th house people can go through a lot of one-sided relationships before landing the right person. They are probably the most caring and attentive of all the Venus sigs, but from my observations they are taken advantage of a lot and often treated very poorly by the majority of their partners.

My childhood friend has this placement (as well as a few of my relatives) and for over a decade I watched her pour so much love and care into men who ended up treating her like an afterthought. I never understood why, as she was very much what you'd think most males would consider wifey material.

She cooked, baked, was organized, and very clean. Motherly instincts intact, had a good job in healthcare and her own place. Knew how to kick back and have fun but could also be appropriately authoritative in the sense of managing a household. Like you could just tell she would be a firm yet loving mother, or even if she did not have kids, you could tell she would be the kind of wife where the husband could hand her his entire paycheck if he wanted and not have to worry for a second that she would blow it on anything foolish. Very capable and responsible woman. I used to get so angry at the way men would come into her life and enjoy all the things she would do for them, including having her manage their money. It was a bit surprising for me how quickly and easily men would put their finances in her hands, only for them to abruptly leave - usually for a woman who was chaotic and stressful too. I did not understand it then, and despite hearing all the talk about how men go for who they are passionate about even if they are the least productive, responsible, or capable person ever, I still don't get it now.

Capricorn in the 8th house can lead to a lot of situations where the native ends up handling other people's money because people can sense their stable energy and innate responsibility. But it can lead to the person feeling like they are nothing but a personal assistant or sentient savings account to others, and over time they can become (100% understandably) bitter if they do not meet someone genuine and kind in time to avoid this.

Aquarius in 6th house can have unusual or eccentric daily routines, or little quirks in the way they go about day to day tasks and responsibilities. I knew someone with this placement who could only brush his teeth in the morning and shower at night. He couldn't really bring himself to do it the other way around and would simply not do the thing at all that day if something disrupted that routine. He also had a job where his # of hours was consistent but his actual shift times weren't and he liked it that way "for the variety." He hated the thought of a schedule where he would have to arrive and leave at the same time every day.

Cancer Lilith in 1st house women can often run into situations where men string them along for a very, very long time. These men sense the stereotypical "nurturing/motherly" essence of Cancer but Cancer Lilith women display a unique twist on this essence where it is very clear to onlookers that her individuality and sense of self cannot be watered down or blended out into others.

Cancer Lilith 1H (and to a lesser extent Taurus Lilith 1H) women are the type who can have a husband, kids, work and manage the home without losing a single ounce of who they always were.

From my observations, they usually don't experience the fate many women meet, where they wake up one day and realize that they haven't even heard their first name in weeks because they're only remembered and referred to in terms of who they are to someone else ("Mom," "John's girlfriend," "Mr. Jones' wife").

Unfortunately, this rubs some men the wrong way, who will then subconsciously try to hang on to the parts of the Cancer Lilith women they like, while searching for other women who don't trigger their fear of women who retain their personality after marriage/children.

Gemini Sun Virgo Rising people can appear put-together and organized in public but could have very messy rooms or just have trouble keeping things in order at home.

People with Pisces in their 7th house might feel torn between going after people they are genuinely attracted to and people they perceive to be a better match, for whatever reason. They could also end up confusing the sense of security they feel with someone for love, or feeling more secure with someone than they should because of love.

Gemini Mars in 10th house does not mind going out of their comfort zone to further their career. They may even set aside their own values and morals if they believe that doing something will produce a good return on their investment (of time, effort, money, etc.).

Taurus Mercury in 9th house enjoys talking to people from other cultures about the foods they eat and what their daily routines and special/holiday ritual are like. They enjoy learning about other cultures on a more down-to-earth level, so they might be less interested in other philosophies and more into sensory differences.

Cancer Moon in 11th house identifies VERY strongly with their friend group and can become depressed or ill if there is too much discord between themselves and their friends, or between their friends with each other. They do not take kindly to any kind of abandonment from friends, real or imagined. If they decide you have left them or betrayed them one too many times, they will simply never speak to you again.

Virgo Mars people can be extremely picky when it comes to partners. One of my childhood friends has this placement and despite being a Sagittarius Sun & Mercury (along with having Venus in 9H), she barely has a romantic interest in anyone. She's not aromantic or asexual; she just gets the ick so easily that it is difficult for her to like anyone enough to date them for long. She didn't go into detail most of the time. She was the furthest from the kiss-and-tell kind of person, she would barely tell anyone even the name or age of anyone she was interested in, much less give details about her specific icks.

I tend to attract Virgo Mars people platonically and romantically quite often though, so I have other examples of the same trait.

My ex-husband is a Virgo sun with Virgo Mars and Leo Venus and the smallest things would throw him off. Like if I made scrambled eggs and all the pieces weren't perfectly yellow (if any got slightly browned, he would consider the entire pot as "burnt" and would ruin his day). If I did laundry and did not strictly separate the colors (I will wash black, dark grey, and bold colors clothes together. He will separate them all. I will wash off-white and very light grey or beige with white clothes. He would look at me crazy and ask me to just do a different household chore and leave the laundry to him. Hea

He also apparently got the ick from my frugality? Lol. I had cheap sneakers and dollar-store headphones when we first got together. A few weeks later he asked where I was and I told him I was at the mall with a friend. He showed up and wordlessly gave me brand-new Samsung Galaxy earbuds before driving home lmao. Then a couple weeks after that he bought me new AirMaxes and made it a point to tell me that my existing sneakers were so cheap. And that he got good ones for me in a style that "makes your feet look smaller." I guess my foot size was not to his liking. Lol. I'm almost 6 feet tall and wear size 9.5/10 women's shoes (for males reading this, that is around 8/8.5 in your sizes, so don't start, pls

A previous ex of mine (Cancer Sun) also had Virgo Mars (and Venus) but he had the opposite ick - he didn't like that I always wore nice jeans and blouses even if we were only going to Walmart or his friends' houses. Apparently, it was "off-putting" for him that I was "too fancy, never just dress down and look comfortable, even in the house." I was like... but I am comfortable? And he would be like, "Nah you're so fancy all the time, it's kinda weird, like do you even own any sweatpants? Your hair is never messy? It's like you're never just relaxed."

Um, as a Scorpio Venus/Jupiter, Libra Mercury person, messy hair will never be in the same room as comfortable for me but we are broken up for a reason, LOL.

Yeah Virgo Mars are just really, really picky. Idk how else to put it. They might be bothered by very different things, but they're all bothered in general! Love 'em regardless, they're also attentive and will know what you like and also what you need.

Leo Mars in 2nd house can have a hard time feeling satisfied with what they own or with their level of skill in certain areas. They don't usually express envy outwardly though. They will happily gas up their friends and colleagues, but implode on themselves in private.

They can have frequent pity parties or episodes of extreme self-loathing that only their closest friends or partners ever witness. It can be difficult to pull them out of these moods as they tend to feel like they either don't have enough or are not enough in some way.

Aquarius Eros men and masculine people are often attracted to women and feminine people with strong or eccentric personalities. They lust after the kinds of people who didn't even bother rocking the boat and jumped out to swim upstream and chill somewhere else.

However, unless they have Juno in Aquarius, Aquarius 7H or some other placements that support long-term relationships/marriages/longevity with unusual people or non-traditional elements, they eventually abandon such love interests for someone who fits better into societal expectations. Ask me how I know. :(

[kyxhiin]

Shazam Family confusing the JL and immortal Billy combo post! (The Shazam fam will only include Freddy, Mary, and Billy. Sorry guys)

The Shazam Family confuses the JL by alot. And by alot it means "Cap' what the hell, what do you mean she's still alive??? HALF OF HER BODY IS GONE!" kind of way. For instance

The JL are on a mission, fighting some alien made robots that can "harm" the shazam fam so they had to be extra careful with this one. Mary Marvel was punching down these robots easily with Captain, until one of them got her from behind and.. BLASTED HER UPPER HALF OFF??? Marvel held her half limp lower half body, but despite all the blood was hollow?

Captain Marvel: Oh.. That can not be good. *In a super calm voice that can only be compared to adding too much water when cooking instant noodles.*

All the JL if not most stopped what they were doing and looked at cap and now the completely if not all with a solemn expression with a tinge of disgust. Flash approaching him first because, he's the fastest.

Flash: Hey man.. Are you alright? *He said, knowing no medical care could save her. CAUSE HER UPPER HALF IS GONE!*

Captain Marvel getting up, throwing Mary Marvel on his shoulder his smile returning but not as big as before: Upsy daisy! Sorry flash didn't meant to worry you all, let me just get her fixed up and she'll be ready to go. I'll be taking the rest of the day off.

And just like that he speeds off into the distance, holding the body parts of what once was Mary Marvel. Everybody's expressing their condolences from the day before for Captain Marvel, all dressed in black (except batman, he's always dressed in black.) with condolences gifts like letters, money (wait does he even need money?), food, flowers, and other sorry gifts.

...

Wait.. Is that Cap? AND IS THAT MISS MARVEL???? WHAT THE #!$!#!@#!?

They all aprouch Cap and Mary and start talking. Why aren't they mentioning the day before? Why are they both acting like everything's okay! And just like that nobody talks about it ever again.

(Does this count as immortal Billy? Lol, if not I'll re-do it. But now to the Freddy part.)

Captain and Jr have been arguing, arguing alot because SOMEBODY ate somebody else's banana bread muffins. And here's a thing, Cap's nice and happy go lucky to everybody, literally everybody including the villains all the time except for.. his children (That's what the JL assumes, lmao.)

Captain with his hands doing the sock puppet thing while Jr was talking to him: Nananana, that's what you sound like right now. Just admit you ate my muffins!

Green Lantern approaching Captain cause he overheard some of the stuff they were saying to eachother. Nudging Marvel to get his attention: Dude, hey. I don't think you can say that to your son-

Jr immediately cutting in cause he heard what Hal said cause he refuses to be called in any shape or form being younger than Marvel (it's the only thing he has against that tractor of a man when he's in his Marvel form, let him have this): Hey! I'm his OLDER brother thank you very much!

He said, loud enough so everybody can hear it. And the JL just stop their conversations and what they were doing, Just to look at Cap and Jr.

.

Hi hi, hope you enjoyed this even though this is not my regular posting schedule!!.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ━━ Hot (In More Ways Than One)

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 9.9K

❀ ━ warnings: smut (scissoring, fingering, oral, car sex)

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: sooo the smut was not supposed to be that long but it is… also first time writing detailed hoops don’t know how to feel

IT’S GAME DAY.

South Carolina. Number one team in the country, undefeated, rolling through everyone like they’re a damn wrecking ball. And it’s not just that they’re good—Jo knows what good looks like. South Carolina is different. Big, long, fast, disciplined. Like a machine. The kind of team that doesn’t care how many banners are hanging in your gym or how loud your crowd is. They show up and beat you anyway.

Jo’s been thinking about it all week, if she’s honest. It’s been gnawing at her insides since they started prepping for it.

Now, she’s standing in the hallway outside the locker room at XL, not long before warmups are supposed to start, fidgeting with the chain looped around Paige’s neck. It’s her necklace—the one Paige got her for Christmas that’s meant to ease her anxiety. Ever since Jo gave it to her the first time, Paige has worn it during every game. Today, Jo’s fingers are twisting and tugging at it a little harder than usual as she fixes it.

She tries to tell herself it’s not that serious. Rankings don’t matter. She knows that. It’s about how you play this game, not the last one. Each week is different. Still, it’s hard to ignore the five next to UConn’s name. The fact that people—some of their own fans, even—have spent all week online doubting them. Doubting Jo, specifically.

Freshman sensation, my ass.

She’s not even that good.

If UConn was in the SEC, she’d be getting cooked every night.

She’s just Big East good, that’s it.

Jo knows better than to deep dive into Twitter the night before a game. She really does. But she was bored and Paige was already snoring, dead asleep next to Jo and Jo just couldn’t help herself. She opened the app. Scrolled through her TL. And, sure enough, there it was: a flood of opinions from people who probably haven’t played a competitive sport since fourth grade gym class.

She gets it—criticism comes with the territory. She signed up for it the second she committed to UConn. But it’s different now, standing here in the hallway with the weight of it all on her chest, anxiety poisoning her blood, fingers pulling at the chain around Paige’s neck like she might snap it.

Apparently, she’s not being very subtle.

“Hey,” Paige says, catching her hands in hers. Jo blinks up at her, a little startled. Paige’s hands are warm and steady and calloused, the way they always are. “You anxious?”

Jo shrugs automatically, glancing around like she doesn’t want anyone to hear. And no one will—the hallway’s vacant, everyone else in the locker room.

“Kinda,” she mumbles. “Maybe a little.”

Paige doesn’t say anything right away. She just holds Jo’s hands, squeezing them gently. Her thumbs brush over Jo’s knuckles in slow, grounding strokes. Jo lets herself lean into it for a second. Lets herself breathe.

“You’re ready for this,” Paige says, voice low and sure, like it’s not even a question. Like it’s a fact, the way gravity’s a fact. “You know you are.”

Jo chews the inside of her cheek, then nods. Sort of.

She wishes she could say it with more conviction. Wishes she could feel it in her gut the way Paige seems to. But that gnawing, coiled tho inside her—it doesn’t go away. It never really does. It just shifts under the weight of Paige’s words, not quite soothed but not spiraling either. Like maybe it’s at least listening.

“You’ve been locked in all week,” Paige says, quieter now, her eyes not leaving Jo’s face. They might as well imprint blue on her skin. “You’re the one who stayed after film and watched extra clips. You’re the one who’s been gettin’ up shots before and after every practice. You think that ain’t mean something?”

Jo huffs. Not dismissively, but because she hates how much she wants to believe it. How badly she needs to. And because it’s always like this—this mental tug-of-war between what she knows she’s done and what she fear still won’t be enough.

“They’re just…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to. Paige knows. That’s all she has to say. They’re just South Carolina. And, this season, they’re just that good. And Jo’s just a freshman, right?

Paige squeezes her hand again. “Yeah,” she says simply. “They’re good. So are we. So are you.”

It’s not overly dramatic, or preachy, or even that passionate. It’s just steady. Like Paige is telling her what time it is. Jo hates how much she needs that steadiness. Hates that she’s standing there, half-hiding in a hallway because she’s weak and her anxiety’s decided this game might actually kill her. (It won’t.)

She looks down at their hands—her own fingers still fidgeting slightly, twitchy and restless. The necklace glints faintly against Paige’s pale skin, the little pendant warm from where Jo had been gripping it.

“Twitter’s stupid,” Jo mutters finally, because it’s true and she shouldn’t have been doomscrolling last night. She wouldn’t be feeling this nervous if she hadn’t.

Paige lets out a long sigh, her grip tightening. “Were you actually on that shit?” she asks. Jo nods, a little guilty. Paige shakes her head, pressing a little closer, another long puff of air escaping her nose. “They don’t know you,” she says firmly, gaze boring into Jo’s. “They’re don’t see what I see every day. How you move. How much you care. How you want it more than anyone.”

Jo shifts her weight, shoulders pressed back against the hallway wall now, head tilted slightly. She tries to absorb that, to let it sink into her skin instead of bouncing off the armor she’s built up around herself. Because the thing is—Paige doesn’t really say stuff like this a lot. Not in this way. She jokes, she chirps, she’s sarcastic and dry and a little cocky and still somehow so kind in that way only Paige Bueckers can be. But when she’s serious, it hits. Deep. Carves a hole for itself.

Jo’s throat feels tight suddenly, like her body’s trying to keep her from saying anything else. She doesn’t know what to do with the constant warmth that folds into her chest around Paige—not the warm fuzzy kind, but the sharp, achy kind that comes from being really seen.

“I’m just nervous,” Jo says quietly. “Not really scared, necessarily. Just, like… jittery.”

Paige nods like that makes sense. “That’s a good sign,” she says. “Means you give a shit.”

Jo gives a half-smile. “You’d think by now I’d be better at hiding it.”

“I don’t want you to be,” Paige tells her. “I want you to use it.”

Jo exhales, finally letting herself lean forward. Paige steps in without hesitation, her arms looping loosely around Jo’s waist. Jo tucks her chin down against Paige’s shoulder for a second, the fabric of her warmup shirt muffling her breathing. She lets the noise of the arena beyond the tunnel fade into background static. It’s still quiet here in the hallway, just them and the faint thump of bass through the walls.

When Jo pulls back, Paige doesn’t let her go completely. Instead, she tilts her chin up and presses a soft kiss to Jo’s forehead. Her lips are soft, just a brush along Jo’s skin. Jo closes her eyes and lets it linger. It settles something in her.

Then—

“Yo!” Nika’s voice echoed sharply from inside the locker room, like she’s half out the door. Paige and Jo immediately spring away from each other at the sound of their teammates’ voice. “Let’s goooo! Warmups, Coach is callin’!”

Jo lets out a loud sigh as the blonde yells to Nika that they’re coming. Jo turns to the blonde, gives one last tug to the chain around her neck, just to center it.

It’s gonna be fine.

THE XL CENTER is loud. The air is thick with noise—band horns cutting through the sea of screaming fans, bass rattling the floorboards, whistles sharp, shoes squeaking loud against the hardwood during layup lines. This place moves. It breathes. Every inch of it pulses with tension and pride and electricity, a kind of storm that makes the floor feel like it might actually lift off the ground.

Paige is used to this. She’s lived this. But there’s something different about it when you’re not in uniform. When you’re watching it all happen from the bench, legs crossed in black joggers and a sideline warmup jacket, feeling your pulse rise without the relief of motion. She knows this role now—it’s not new anymore, and she’s not so resigned to it now—but it still stings sometimes, especially on nights like this. South Carolina. UConn’s biggest test of the season. If this were last year, two years ago, Paige would be on the floor, first possession, drawing the defense, setting the tone.

Now she’s sitting. Watching. Hoping.

It’s okay. She’s gotten good at it.

She leans back slightly in her seat as the teams line up for tip. Jo’s already out there—shoulders rolled back, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet next to Zia Cooke. Her stance is low. Her jaw is tight. Paige can tell just by the angle of Jo’s elbows that she’s still got nerves. Not panic—just pressure. That little edge of static in her muscles that doesn’t quite go away until the first shot falls. Paige knows that version of anxiety like her own shadow.

She slides her thumb along the edge of the necklace chain tucked just under her collar, barely visible beneath her zip-up. She fiddles with it the way Jo was earlier in the hallway, twisting the charm gently between two fingers like it’s a switch she can flip—good luck, good juju, good minutes for Jo. She closes her eyes for a second, just a beat, listening to the crowd swell around her, and thinks, Just breathe. Just play. You’re ready.

The ball goes up. Dorka jumps for the tip against Aliyah Boston and loses it clean. The Gamecocks control the first possession.

Paige sits forward, elbows on her knees.

Raven Johnson brings the ball up with pace, snapping a pass to Zia Cooke curling up from the wing. Dorka steps out on the switch, but Zia’s quick, knifing back toward the top of the key. She kicks it to Aliyah Boston on the left block, posting hard against Lili. It’s a smart, early look—South Carolina wants to set the tone physically, pound the paint—but Aaliyah holds her ground. She forces Aliyah to back down once, twice, and gets a hand in her face as the hook goes up.

The shot bounces off the rim.

Paige exhales, quick and quiet. Good stop.

Jo grabs the board—her second effort rebound, fighting off a reaching Saxton—and outlets to Nika, who’s already pushing up the far sideline. Paige’s eyes track Jo immediately. She’s not sprinting, exactly, but she’s not floating either. Her feet are where they need to be. She’s running hard enough to make herself available. That’s a good sign.

The transition fizzles out into half-court. Nika swings it to Lou, who dumps it in to Aaliyah on the short corner. South Carolina is switching everything, bodies flying, limbs everywhere. It’s a little bit of a mess.

Jo relocates behind the play, drifting left wing. Quiet. Still.

Paige sees it a second before it happens—Nika sees her. One quick snap pass to the perimeter. Jo catches in rhythm. Zia’s close but not close enough.

Jo rises. Releases.

The ball arcs high and pure, hangs there like it’s thinking about it, then swishes through clean.

Paige grins before she can stop herself, standing up with the bench to clap.

There you go.

Jo doesn’t flex or scream or pump her fist; that’s not her. She just turns and jogs back, face blank, focused. But Paige knows what that shot does for her. It’s like cracking open a window in her chest—just enough air to start breathing again.

South Carolina runs a counter set next possession—high screen-and-roll for Zia with Boston popping out. They get a decent look off it, but Zia’s midrange pull-up clanks off the back iron. Aubrey tips the rebound to herself, and UConn’s running again.

It’s not perfect. Dorka misses a bunny inside after a slick drop pass from Nika. Cardoso swats one of Lou’s floaters into the third row. The Gamecocks are huge, and their help-side defense collapses like a bear trap. But UConn doesn’t blink. They pass the ball sharp. They cut with purpose. And when Jo hits her second shot—a short pull-up after slipping a screen from Dorka—Paige catches the way her shoulders loosen as she backpedals. Not slumped, not tight. Just fluid.

The blonde adjusts the necklace again, tugging it once beneath her collar.

By the five-minute mark, the crowd’s roaring. UConn’s up seven. Jo’s got five. The momentum’s not just leaning their way—it’s sprinting. Nika dumps in a cross-court dime to Lou in the corner, and she drills it. Next trip down, Aaliyah muscles through Boston for a bucket and the foul. Paige nearly comes out of her seat.

And it’s loud. Like, deafening. It almost has the feel of a tournament game. Paige finds herself half shouting just to talk to Aubrey when she checks out.

Jo’s still out there, hands on her knees during a stoppage, sweat glinting on her forehead. She looks up toward the bench, just for a second, and Paige gives her the smallest nod. Jo gives her a tiny smile back.

When play resumes, South Carolina tries to settle. They slow it down, run a drag screen to get Zia isolated on Dorka—smart. She blows by and scores. But UConn comes right back. Jo draws two off a drive and flips it back out to Lou on the wing.

Three-ball. Splash.

Buzzer.

First quarter over.

UConn 25. South Carolina 14.

Jo’s got seven. A couple boards. An assist.

Good start. Paige claps the brunette on the back as she makes her way toward the bench and Jo nods, leaning into her subtly, a little too breathless to say much.

The second quarter is not as smooth.

It’s not like it unravels all at once. It bleeds out slowly—possession by possession, stop by missed stop—like a faucet dripping. Paige watches it happen from her usual seat on the bench, the necklace now a near-permanent fixture between her thumb and index finger, cool against her skin. She doesn’t even think about it anymore. Her hands go to it out of habit. A nervous tick. Jo really is rubbing off on her.

The energy inside XL hasn’t died completely, but it’s dimmed some. The volume dips in pockets. A missed box-out here, a turnover there. South Carolina’s starting to feel like what they are: big. Kamilla Cardoso gets two tip-ins in a row—one over Aaliyah, one over Dorka—and the bench drips with frustration. Zia Cooke finally starts to find rhythm, getting to her spots in the midrange and dragging Jo through screen after screen, and the longer the drought goes, the more Paige can feel some of the confidence leave the building.

Buckets aren’t coming easy now. UConn gets a few good looks—Jo has a slick hesitation that buys her an easy layup at the rim, and Lou hits a tough shot off a ball screen—but overall, it’s too many empty possessions. Too many forced threes. The offense starts to feel disjointed, like someone kicked a leg out from under the table and no one’s quite sure how to keep it from collapsing.

And the rebounding. Fuck, the rebounding. It’s not even close. Paige watches Cardoso and Boston carve out space like it’s theirs by birthright, and it is painfully obvious that UConn’s size disadvantage isn’t just theoretical. Jo grabs a rebound midway through the quarter—her fifth—and Paige makes a face without meaning to. Not because Jo can’t rebound. She can. She boxes out better than most guards. But when your 5’10 point guard has more boards than your starting frontcourt? That’s not a very good sign.

The scoreboard crawls back to even. Thirty-four apiece at the half.

The horn buzzes. The crowd murmurs. Paige stays sitting.

She hates halftime. Not because of the speech, or the adjustments, or even the tension. It’s because she has to sit still. She can’t jog down the tunnel with the rest of them and burn the edge off. Can’t get a few extra jumpers up. Can’t stretch her legs and feel her body work through the kinks. No, she walks in slowly, in her sweatsuit with the rest of the injured crew, clipboard already tucked under her arm, trying not to feel like the assistant coach she’s essentially become.

The locker room is tight and warm, crowded with bodies and sweat. Geno doesn’t even raise his voice at first. He doesn’t need to. The air already feels pressurized. Like everyone’s holding their breath waiting for the detonation. Paige takes her seat near the end of the bench, where she always does now, and Jo slides in beside her.

Paige watches Geno pace. His hands move with each point he makes—something about spacing, something about getting back in transition, something about “If I see another offensive rebound land in a black jersey’s hands, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.” There’s a clipboard slam somewhere in there, sharp enough to make Ines flinch. Paige listens. Kind of. But her eyes drift more often than not.

To Jo.

Jo’s got her elbows on her knees, head ducked, a towel slung loosely around her neck. Her jersey’s stuck to her back with sweat. Her skin is flushed and glistening and her hair’s starting to frizz a little where her ponytail meets her neck. Her chest rises and falls in steady, rhythmic pulls. She’s listening, locked in, nodding every so often. Her knee bounces occasionally, like she’s trying to fight off the nerves that were ready to consume her an hour ago.

Paige should look away.

She doesn’t.

God, she looks good right now, is what’s going through her head. And Paige isn’t fond of herself for thinking that. Because this isn’t exactly the right time. She’s got a whole game to survive on the sidelines, and her team is getting mauled on the boards, and the game is tied against the number one team in the country, and Jo is sitting six inches from her with flushed cheeks and sweat trailing down the curve of her neck, and—

Stop. Stop.

Paige drags her eyes back toward the front of the room, schooling her face into something neutral, something that looks like focus. Geno’s voice is rising now, pitching into that space just below yelling, and she nods along, hoping it’s enough to seem locked in.

Jo shifts beside her. Adjusts her towel, shifts her leg, leans back for a second. Their arms brush. Paige goes still, trying not to seem stupid in front of the whole team—who still doesn’t know.

Geno claps once, loud and final. “Play hard, play smart. Come on.”

The team nods. A chorus of “Yes, Coach,” and shuffling feet, and the scrape of folding chairs against the tile. Everyone stands. Jo walks towards the exit, but Paige catches her pinky carefully, subtly. Jo meets her eyes, gaze warm and brown. “You got it,” Paige mumbles, nodding a little. Jo squeezes Paige’s pinky and gives her a small nod of her own before disentangling their fingers and following the herd of teammates out of the locker room.

The third quarter isn’t as bad as the second, but it’s not good either.

UConn hangs in. They do. They scrap. They fight. They close out. Aaliyah gets a big-time putback early that wakes the crowd up a bit, and Lou hits a three off a pretty flare screen set by Dorka. Aubrey starts finding a rhythm too—drains one from the corner with a hand in her face and jogs back like she knew it was good the second it left her hands. It’s all enough to keep them in it. Keep them close.

Paige sits forward, elbows digging into her knees, body tense in that way that makes her shoulder blades pinch together and ache. The necklace is a familiar weight in her hand again, curled up tight like she’s willing it to transmit something through the air. Something like poise. Like clarity. Something Jo can feel.

Because Jo needs to fucking feel it.

Her shot won’t fall. Paige can tell from the first attempt—a wide-open pull-up jumper just outside the paint, one she usually drills. This time it clanks hard off the back rim and bounces long. It’s not the miss that gets to Paige. It’s the way she misses. Flat. Rushed. Jo’s mechanics are clean, but there’s no softness in it. No rhythm.

Jo doesn’t stop trying, though. That’s the thing. Paige watches her fight through it hard. She makes a strong drive down the left side and draws two defenders, then kicks to Lou for a shot that rims out, but the look is perfect. She whips a no-look pass to Aaliyah that gets the whole bench on their feet, and even though it ends in a blocked layup by Boston, Paige still lets out a low whistle because damn, the vision is there.

Jo’s rebounding like she’s six inches taller than she is. Paige counts two possessions where Jo out-leaps both Cardoso and Saxton to tip a board out to Nika. One time she hits the floor scrambling for a loose ball and comes up with it, and Paige catches herself halfway out of her seat, clapping hard, yelling.

Still, Jo’s scoreless in the quarter. That’s the truth of it. No points in ten minutes, and it’s not for lack of effort. Her shot just isn’t there right now, and Paige can feel how hard Jo’s trying not to let that get to her. Can see it in the way she squares her shoulders after each miss, the way she slaps her hands together like she’s reminding herself that she’s fine and needs to keep playing.

And she is playing. Hard.

But it’s not enough. Not when Aliyah Boston starts heating up.

Paige can’t pretend it doesn’t get under her skin—the way Boston operates like she owns the paint. First half, she was all boards and interior presence. A body, a force. But in the third, she starts scoring. And when Aliyah Boston starts scoring, there’s a problem. Midway through the quarter, she catches the ball on the right block, backs Dorka down with two brutal dribbles, and spins baseline for a reverse that makes the crowd groan and gasp all at once. It’s automatic. Clean.

And it keeps happening.

Another post-up. A face-up jumper at the elbow. A putback after two UConn players jump for the same defensive board and neither of them grab it.

By the time the buzzer sounds on the third, Boston has sixteen. Sixteen, after just three at the half.

The game is close. Close enough that no one’s panicking. But Paige knows—they’re losing ground.

She exhales slowly and stands from the bench, blinking against the overhead lights. Her knee pulses with phantom energy. It always does this during games like this. It’s like her body still wants to be in the fight, even though her minutes have been zero all season. Sometimes, she’s still not used to being stagnant. Not used to merely watching. Especially when Jo’s out there doing everything but scoring, and the team needs that scoring.

She glances down the bench, checks the stat sheet clipped to the clipboard beside her. Nine points. All from the first half. Four rebounds in the third alone, which brings Jo’s total to nine. Five assists. Only one turnover. A couple steals.

Not bad, but if they want to win, they need more.

Jo jogs toward the bench as the horn ends the quarter, head ducked slightly, jaw clenched. Not a pout, not defeat—just frustration she’s trying to mask. Contained and quiet. Paige knows that look. It’s the one Jo gets when she’s too locked in to say anything, when everything’s rolling around in her head and she hasn’t figured out where to file it yet.

She doesn’t start the fourth quarter, gets a breather. Once Geno’s done instructing, Jo drops onto the bench beside Paige, sweat beading down her temple, and the blonde instinctively reaches out—barely a touch, just her fingertips brushing against Jo’s hip. She keeps her eyes on the court, on Nika leading the offense, but she feels Jo shift slightly at the contact. Not away. Just acknowledging it.

Jo takes a sip of her water, exhales through her nose, still breathing heavier than usual. Not gassed, just… tight. Like every coil of muscle is waiting for the shot to fall, for the tide to turn.

Paige leans closer, voice low enough that it gets lost in the noise of the arena. “Don’t stop shooting,” she says, calm and sure like it’s fact, not encouragement. “They’re gon’ fall.”

Jo turns her head, eyes flicking to hers—and Paige sees it. The doubt. It’s faint, but it’s there. A small, sharp thing buried behind her lashes. And Paige feels something inside her push back against it, something fierce and protective and aching.

She taps the necklace at her collarbone with two fingers, then reaches forward and taps Jo’s chest—right above her heart. “You got it.”

Jo holds her gaze for a second longer, then nods. Just once. It’s small, but it’s enough.

The game resumes. Paige watches every second like it might split open. South Carolina opens the quarter hot—Zia Cooke drives baseline and kicks to Raven Johnson for a corner three that stings. Dorka answers with a turnaround jumper, and Aubrey gets a stop on the other end that brings the bench to their feet. But Paige is only half watching the court. Her focus is split, tilted slightly toward the girl next to her.

It takes less than two minutes before Geno waves Jo up.

Paige presses her palms together as the brunette stands, jogging to the scorer’s table.

And, as soon as she subs, everything changes.

First possession back, UConn runs a double drag screen for her. Dorka and Aaliyah both set it clean at the top, and Jo curls around tight, quick release from the wing—cash. Nothing but net.

Paige stands, heart somersaulting in her chest, her yell blending in with Azzi’s next to her.

The next trip down, Jo calls for the ball early. Nika gives it up without hesitation. Jo sizes up Raven Johnson, gives her a hard right jab step, then pulls up from the top of the key—again. Pure.

The bench starts buzzing. Amari turns and smacks Paige on the knee, says something over the roar of the crowd that Paige doesn’t even hear because she’s too busy watching Jo fall back on defense, chest rising, mouth parted in something like surprise, like relief.

She needed those, Paige knows that.

And they keep coming.

Jo hits a transition three off a pass from Nika that makes the XL Center explode. A moment later, she weaves through traffic and kisses a layup off the glass that forces South Carolina to call timeout. Jo doesn’t even glance at the bench as she jogs over—she’s locked in, living in that place Paige knows so well, the one where the world goes quiet and all that’s left is the rhythm of the game and the next opening.

Eighteen points in a single quarter. Paige watches them all fall.

Pull-up. Step-back. A fadeaway from the short corner that makes Geno laugh under his breath and throw his hands up like—finally. A heat check three with a defender in her face that rattles in and sends the arena into chaos.

And Jo doesn’t get too confident. Doesn’t start forcing shots just because they’re falling. She finds Aaliyah for a slip cut under the rim. She threads a bounce pass to Nika that earns a yell from Dorka at the top of the key. Her defense stays sharp—cuts off a drive, and rips the ball away from Saxton, an emphatic steal that leads to a fast break.

Paige can’t keep the pride from showing anymore. It pulses out of her in waves, warm and sharp and consuming. Her chest tightens when Jo grabs her tenth rebound of the night, double-double confirmed. She wants to yell (she does). Wants to run onto the court and throw her arms around her and say something like I told you so (she doesn’t; not yet).

And when the final buzzer sounds and UConn’s up three, Paige stands and claps with everyone else, heart pounding, ears ringing.

Job done.

Paige watches Jo jog toward the bench with the rest of the starters, face flushed, hair sticking to her forehead, mouth curled into a breathless, laughing grin—and Paige can’t help it. Her heart surges in her chest like it’s trying to leap into her throat.

She meets Jo halfway, slinging an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close. It looks casual enough—just teammates, just friends, just a star player proud of another. No one on the outside would think anything of it. But Paige knows how tightly she pulls Jo in, how deliberately she leans her cheek against Jo’s temple, how she lets her eyes flutter shut just for a second to soak in heat radiating off Jo’s skin.

Jo’s smiling. Not the kind of smile that’s out on for the cameras or the crowd, but the quiet, almost shy one that Paige only sees up close—one corner of her mouth curled up, nose scrunching slightly, her laugh caught halfway between her chest and her throat.

Paige leans in closer, voice low and meant for no one but Jo. “My fuckin’ national player of the year,” she murmurs, breath tickling the curve of Jo’s ear.

Jo lets out a small, incredulous huff and shoves her gently, like Paige’s words are ridiculous. Which, only a little. Realistically, Paige knows Jo probably won’t win it. She’ll be an All-American, no doubt, but Caitlin’s got the headlines, the logo threes that Geno would strangle his players over if anyone bothered trying, the scoring records that the media loses their mind over. But if Paige were a voter, she’d never hesitate. Jo would get her vote every time. She’s, in Paige’s personal, professional opinion, one of the most perfect basketball players she’s ever seen.

Jo moves toward the handshake line, and Paige falls in beside her. South Carolina’s players look hollowed out. Aliyah Boston doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Zia Cooke keeps her jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. They’ve just taken their first loss of the season, and Paige knows that particular sting all too well. She knows how the pressure sits heavier after perfection slips through your fingers, how every article starts asking what went wrong instead of what went right.

They’ll be fine. South Carolina always is. Undoubtedly, they’ll still be the number one overall seed going into the tournament, probably still the favorite to win it all. Paige isn’t naive. She knows tonight probably doesn’t change any of that. But for right now, that doesn’t really matter at all.

Because UConn beat them—thanks to Jo.

Paige wants to stay right next to her, wants to keep her hand on the small of Jo’s back, wants to keep sharing little whispers under the roar of the crowd. But Jo’s already being pulled away, swallowed up by a swarm of staffers and media people waving her over for postgame interviews.

And—of course—Celeste Sinclair is the one sticking a mini mic into Jo’s face.

Paige wrinkles her nose a little, watching them from a few feet back. She could go with the team, follow Dorka and Lou down the tunnel, let herself be swept up in the giddy rush of the win. But instead, she lingers, planted like a tree just outside the postgame chaos, arms crossed and weight shifted to one hip.

Celeste is asking Jo questions, eyes a little too sharp, smile a little too sugary. Like she’s trying too hard. Paige watches with a knot of irritation tightening in her gut, sharp and sour. Not because she gives a shit about Celeste (she doesn’t, she really doesn’t—Celeste was a distraction, a body, a mistake Paige repeated too many times over). But because of her body language and the way Jo looks next to her.

From where Paige is, she can’t tell what they’re saying. Jo seems to be answering the questions fine. But she’s all stiff, and her mouth isn’t curving up in the same way it did before. Her hands fight slightly at her sides, and she keeps shifting her weight between her feet, looking almost uneasy.

Paige hopes Celeste isn’t saying anything odd. She hopes Celeste hasn’t noticed anything. The redhead is around a lot, and, sometimes, Paige and Jo aren’t as good at hiding it as others.

It’s probably nothing. It’s probably just Celeste being annoying, per usual.

Finally, the interview ends, and Jo turns away, finding Paige. Paige immediately grins, stupidly, wide and real and probably too soft. She watches Jo jog toward her, expression already starting to shift, the uncomfortableness melting off her face like ice in sunlight. And Paige meets her halfway again, throwing her arm around Jo’s shoulder.

“You good?” she asks, subtly tilting her head backward toward Celeste as they walk through the tunnel.

“I’m fine,” Jo says. She looks back toward the redhead for a moment before shrugging. “She’s just kinda weird.”

Paige nods, not denying it. And as soon as they’re in the privacy of the empty hallway, she presses her lips to Jo’s temple and squeezes her a little. This is good; she’s proud, and she’s happy. And she’s certainly not letting Celeste Sinclair—of all people—to mess with that.

JO GRINDS DOWN on Paige’s hand, chasing after every flicker of pressure, every pulse of heat, every little bit of friction like it’s oxygen.

The air in the car is thick, too hot and too still, like they’ve created their own weather system in the cramped space. The windows are completely fogged over now, no shapes or outlines left outside, just the dull glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the blur.

Everything is quiet except for the sound of whir breathing, the low, wrecked sounds Jo keeps making.

That, and the obscene, wet sound of Paige’s fingers as they move, thrusting towards into Jo, slipping inside and then out, over and over again while Jo rides it out perfectly.

They’re parked in that weird little gravel turnout just past Ted’s, the one tucked behind a row of trees, hidden—it’s usually either a hookup spot or just an I-need-to-get-out-of-the-bar-for-a-minute zone. They’ve been here for maybe fifteen minutes—twenty? Time is kind of elastic right now. Paige isn’t drunk, and neither is Jo—they’re barely even tipsy, really. They split a High Noon inside, maybe had a shot or two, but both of them passed on the drinks after that. It wasn’t the same for the rest of the team; they’re all still in there, drunk as fuck, celebrating the win. But once Jo and Paige found Nika’s weed and promptly stole it, sneaking out the back entrance of Ted’s, it was over then.

Now, they’re in the drivers seat of Paige’s car, Jo in her lap. Paige’s fingers are still pumping, deep inside of Jo, working her at that steady pace that has Jo practically melting against her. Every thrust is slick and hot and so fucking perfect it’s half-driving Paige insane. Her whole body’s tense from it—from the pressure in her hand, the sweat beading on her back, the way Jo keeps whispering her name like it’s the only thing she remembers how to say.

“Fuck,” Paige breathes, her voice low and rough in that tight space between their mouths. Her forehead presses against Jo’s temple, her lips brushing the curve of Jo’s cheek as she speaks. “So perfect f’me, Joey. So—mmm—so fucking good.”

Jo whimpers, a tiny noise, breathy and broken. It spills right into Paige’s ear like a secret.

Sometimes it’s just air, sometimes it’s Paige’s name in this soft, almost pleading tone that wrecks her from the inside out.

Paige kisses Jo’s jaw blindly, teeth grazing skin, her fingers still thrusting inside Jo like she needs to feel every inch of her. And she does. She needs this—needs the heat of it, the stretch, the way Jo’s body reacts like it was made for Paige’s hands.

Jo’s legs are shaking a little now, thighs tightening around Paige’s waist, breath catching every other second like she’s barely hanging on.

Paige feels just as much of a mess. Her hand is cramping. Her hoodie is damp with sweat. Her whole arm is working on autopilot because her brain is fried—literally, from the weed, as well as being completely taken over by the way Jo sounds, the way she feels.

Paige bites gently at the underside of the brunette’s jaw, lips dragging along the flushed skin there. She keeps whispering to her, the words barely audible, but raw and real.

“Love the way you sound,” she murmurs, mouth grazing Jo’s throat. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. Always so good for me, Joey.”

Jo shudders. Her nails dig into the back of Paige’s hoodie, her breath stuttering like she’s getting close, nearly there. Paige angles her wrist, shifts her fingers upward slightly, and—yeah. That’s it. That’s the spot. She can feel the sponginess and she can hear Jo moan, soft and desperate. Her hips stutter down hard against Paige’s hand.

“Right there?” Paige mutters, her mouth still pressed to Jo’s cheek, her voice ragged. “Yeah? That feel good, baby?”

Jo nods frantically, whimpering something that sounds like please but could also be Paige, and at this point, Paige can’t tell the difference.

She presses her thumb to Jo’s clit, feels the way the girl twitches at it. And then she holds Jo’s hip tightly with her free hand, trying to steady her, trying to keep some kind of control—but it’s useless. Jo’s falling apart.

And Paige loves it.

There’s no one like Jo. Paige has been with a good amount of girls, but none of them have never come apart so sweetly, so trustingly, right in Paige’s arms. Jo’s so warm and soft and hers, and it’s fucking addictive.

Paige’s mouth moves on instinct, biting softly at Jo’s shoulder, then licking the mark like an apology she doesn’t mean.

“Can feel you,” she whispers, lips barely moving against Jo’s skin. “Fuck, Joey—can feel you clenchin’ on my fingers. You gonna cum?”

Jo sobs out a breath, a broken and beautiful sound. “Yeah,” she gasps. “Y-yeah, I’m—Paige, I’m—”

Paige turns her head, catching Jo in a kiss. It’s messy, open-mouthed, more tongue than anything, just trying to catch the sound before Jo makes it.

And Jo does.

She finishes with a soft, choked-off moan right into Paige’s mouth, her whole body trembling in Paige’s lap, thighs locking around her like a vice.

Paige doesn’t stop kissing her. She doesn’t stop moving her hand, either—not right away. She keeps her fingers inside, slow and gentle now, helping Jo ride it out, murmuring sweet nothings against her lips.

“So good f’me, Jo,” she mumbles.

Jo doesn’t reply, just breathes heavily, still catching up. Careful and slow, Paige slips her fingers out, like if she moves too fast she might break something. She leans back a little—not much, just enough to get a look at the girl before her.

Jo’s doe eyes are half-lidded, all hazy and soft and brown like syrup, and Paige’s heart does something weird in her chest. Her ribs tighten around the organ.

Jo, honest-to-God, looks wrecked. Her cheeks are flushed deep pink, mascara slightly running, lips kiss-swollen, hair a little messy and tangled. There’s this dazed look in her eyes, like she’s still not completely back yet, still floating a little. Partly from the blunt they shared on the walk to the car, mostly from the orgasm Paige just gave her.

The blonde doesn’t even realize she’s staring until Jo blinks slowly and tilts her head, all curious and pretty and quiet. Paige’s eyes flit over her features once more before lifting her hand, bringing her fingers to her mouth. Her eyes stay locked on Jo’s as she sucks the digits clean.

Jo’s lips part just slightly. Her breath catches.

“Fuck,” she whispers, like the word just slips out before she can even stop it.

And then she’s kissing Paige again—hard.

Paige groans into her mouth, one hand on Jo’s hip, the other slipping up under the back of her hoodie. Jo’s fingers curl into the hair at the bottom of Paige’s neck and tug.

“Back seat,” the brunette mumbles against her mouth, breathless and a little hoarse.

Paige nods, her eyes keeping a firm gaze on Jo’s lips.

Jo is the first to move, clumsy but quick, climbing into the back eagerly. Paige follows, her legs catching awkwardly for a second, her hoodie riding up. The car creaks a little as she shifts, but she doesn’t care.

The second she’s close enough, she’s back on top of Jo, and their mouths find each other again without even trying.

It’s quick, messy, almost frantic. There’s no rhythm or even really a pace to it anymore, just the kind of closeness that burns at the edges, a fever that makes Paige’s chest tight. She keeps chasing Jo’s mouth like it’s something she needs to survive, their tongues tangled, breath mingled.

She wants.

God, she wants so bad it aches.

She wants Jo in every way a person can want another person.

To feel her. To give her everything.

Her hands roam without direction—Jo’s hips, her thighs, her back under the hoodie, short nails dragging a little because Paige can’t help it. She’s trying to crawl inside her skin. That’s what it feels like.

Jo’s fingers reach for the waistband of Paige’s sweats, fumbling a little, not smooth at all, just high and needy. Paige would laugh if her whole body didn’t feel like it was short-circuiting. She helps, their hands brushing—too warm, too fast—and she pushes her sweatpants down with her boxers in one go, half-kicking them as they tangle around her calves.

Jo stares, eyes still glazed, and Paige doesn’t hesitate—she reaches for the waistband of Jo’s leggings now, fingers slipping underneath reverently. She pulls them down slowly, watching Jo’s breath stutter.

Once they’re off, Paige leans forward, mouth finding Jo’s again like it’s inevitable, like there’s no other option but kissing her. Jo’s lips part easily and Paige’s tongue slips through the seam. She sinks into the kiss, deeper this time, a little slower. It’s still messy—open-mouthed and warm, breathing each other in—but it’s not frenetic like before.

Paige doesn’t even really mean to do it—not yet, at least least. It just happens. Their legs shift. Tangled and bare and moving without much thought, trying to get closer. Jo’s thigh slides between Paige’s, and Paige’s hips instinctively roll forward and down—and their pussies brush.

And—fuck.

Jo gasps into her mouth, sharp and quiet and a little surprised, and Paige stills—just for a second, just long enough for her brain to catch up. Since that night after the Tennessee game, they’ve essentially done most general things. Ate each other, fingered each other, that stuff. But Paige had put this off—well, scissoring—because it’s different and Jo’s still learning and they’re both still figuring each other out.

And they’re in her car. Her car parked behind Ted’s, seats not entirely clean because of too many quick food runs with their teammates. Definitely not the best place for it. Not romantic, in any sense. Not private. Not anything enough.

But Jo’s not pulling away.

Instead, she exhales into Paige’s mouth, quiet and shaky, and mumbles, “Oh, mhm—that’s…” Her voice breaks off like she can’t even finish the thought.

Paige head spins. “Yeah,” she breathes out against Jo’s lips, barely even a word. More like a sound.

Their foreheads bump together, noses brushing, lips already slick and swollen from too many kisses that tasted more like hunger than sweetness. Paige’s hips roll forward without thought, just raw instinct driving her to move. She grinds down slow and hot against Jo, chasing every ounce of friction she can get, every slip-slide drag of Jo’s cunt against her own. The heat between them is unbearable already, thick and wet and pulsing.

Jo shifts, angling her hips up, and the change in pressure makes Paige stutter out a low, ruined sound she can’t even recognize as her own. Her hands slide under the hem of Jo’s hoodie, fingertips dragging across sweat-slick skin, until they find the curve of her waist. She grips hard, dragging Jo closer like she’s trying to fuse their bodies together, like the space between them is offensive even though it doesn’t exist anymore. She can feel everything—every twitch of Jo’s thigh, every flex of her stomach, the faint tremble in her breath.

There’s no rhythm yet, no real pace—just messy, frantic want building under their skin, a slow, grinding ache that pulses deeper with every pass of Paige’s hips. It’s clumsy, soaked, filthy in the most gorgeous way. Jo clutches at Paige’s hoodie with both hands, nails biting through the fabric, dragging her closer, closer still. Her breath comes in hot stutters against Paige’s cheek, and Paige loses track of everything but her—Jo’s mouth, parted and gasping; Jo’s body rolling up to meet every movement; Jo’s eyelids fluttering.

Paige feels gone already. Her sweatshirt is too hot, sticking to her back, her thighs already shaking from the tension coiled low in her stomach. Every time Jo moves under her, it sends a jolt through her, sparking against every nerve ending. Her breath is ragged and all she can feel is heat—between her legs, in Jo’s skin, in the press of their mouths as she kisses her again, desperate and deep and soaked in need.

“Joey,” she breathes, just her name, dragged out from the back of her throat.

Jo opens her eyes, barely, and the look she gives her—half-lidded, wrecked, desperate—makes Paige dizzy. There’s something so raw in it, something wide open and honest and burning, and Paige doesn’t want to look away. Can’t.

She kisses her again—deeper this time, messier, her teeth catching Jo’s bottom lip before their mouths slide together. Jo gasps into it, her hips jerking up, and suddenly they find it—that rhythm. Slow at first, then faster, harder, slicker. Jo hooks her leg around Paige’s waist, pulling her down, grinding up like she can’t stand the idea of any part of Paige not pressed against her.

The car is humid, suffocating. Their breath fogs the windows, and Paige’s hoodie clings to her like a second skin. Jo’s pussy is hot against her, soaked now from the way Paige is rocking against it, every drag of her clit along Jo’s sending a sharp pulse through her. It’s so wet that the sounds emitting are obscene.

Jo moans again, soft but wrecked, and Paige sees stars behind her eyes. “Shit,” she breathes, dropping her forehead against Jo’s. Her hand tightens on her hip. “Joey—fuck—”

The words collapse in her throat. She doesn’t have them anymore.

Jo’s mouth finds her neck, tongue dragging over her pulse before she bites, not hard, just enough to make Paige twitch. Her voice is a breathy plea, muffled against skin. “Don’t stop.”

Paige laughs and it sounds more of a sob than anything. “’M not. Fuckin’—can’t.”

She’d never stop—not with Jo moaning like that, not with the way their bodies are moving now, frantic and desperate, grinding together like they’re trying to crawl inside each other. Jo’s hands are everywhere—her back, her ass, her waist—gripping, dragging, pressing. Her nails catch skin and Paige groans, her hips bucking, every nerve ending lit up like she’s on fire.

Paige rides Jo’s pussy with intention now, chasing the pressure, chasing the wet drag that makes her breath shatter in her chest. They’re slick with each other at this point, and Paige can feel it—feel the way every movement builds and builds, her clit throbbing with every pass. Her lips crash into Jo’s again, and she moans into her mouth, swallowing every sound Jo makes.

Jo tips her head back, lips parted, chest rising and falling like she’s trying to breathe through it. Her eyes meet Paige’s and a whimper leaves the blonde’s lips at the sight.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” Paige murmurs.

Jo shudders. Her hands claw at Paige’s hoodie.

And Paige moves faster, grinding harder, chasing that edge now, chasing Jo’s heat and the ache in her own body. Her hand slips to Jo’s thigh again, guiding it just right, and her mouth drags across Jo’s jaw, her neck, behind her ear, pressing kisses.

“Feels so good,” Paige mumbles, her forehead pressed against Jo’s temple, breath ragged. “You feel so—good, baby… shit…”

Jo moans again—higher this time, strained and helpless—and Paige groans deep in her chest, her whole body jerking in response.

“Jo,” she breathes, kissing the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the curve of her throat. “Jo, baby—”

And then Jo’s voice cuts through the haze, cracked and frantic and whispering right into her ear: “F—fuck, P, I’m gonna come.”

Paige’s whole body tightens, and she feels her pussy throb at the words.

“Yeah?” she whispers, hand gripping Jo’s thigh tighter, her other hand sliding under Jo’s shirt to splay over her stomach. “Yeah, Joey? Right here with me?”

Jo nods, breath hitching, her hips jerking up again and again. “Don’t stop,” she gasps. “Please—please, just—”

“Fuck,” Paige groans, eyes fluttering shut. “I gotchu. I got you.”

She moves harder, faster, all pressure now. Her hips grind in tight, needy circles against Jo’s slick clit, chasing the last sliver of control she has. Their skin’s soaked. Their breath is all she can hear. Jo’s body bows under her, her mouth dropping open in a broken cry, fingers digging into Paige’s back like she needs something to hold onto or she’ll fall apart completely.

And Paige watches her fall—watches her finish, watches her shudder and gasp and moan her name like it’s fucking salvation or something.

And she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull away. She keeps moving, keeps pressing kisses to Jo’s temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Keeps whispering: “Perfect. So perfect. Look at you…”

Jo does—barely. Her eyes are glossy, unfocused, her lips parted in shock, in pleasure. Her breathing’s all uneven still—shaky exhales punched out against the thick air, her chest rising and falling like she’s been sprinting. Paige just stays there for a second, forehead pressed to Jo’s, noses brushing again, both of them soaked in sweat and each other.

Jo’s hand finds the back of her neck, fingers threading through damp blonde hair, and Paige kisses her again—soft this time, careful.

Jo lets out a little noise into it, all loose limbs and trembling sighs, and Paige’s heart nearly bursts from how sweet she sounds, how completely undone she looks. She thinks that maybe there’s nothing more beautiful than Jo right now—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised and swollen, her body still twitching under the aftermath.

And Paige—Paige should stop. Should slow down. Should let them both breathe.

But she can’t help herself.

Something low and aching tugs at her insides. Not just want—need. The kind of need that doesn’t come with logic, doesn’t come with breaks. It lives in her bones now, makes her restless, makes her mouth water.

Her kisses shift—pressing down the curve of Jo’s jaw, then lower, catching the rapid flutter of her pulse against her throat. Jo gasps softly, fingers still buried in Paige’s hair like she doesn’t want to let her go, even as Paige’s mouth keeps moving, lower, slowly growing hungrier.

Paige kisses across her collarbone, her sternum, the warm, sweat-slick skin just beneath the edge of her hoodie. She bunches the hem higher until Jo’s stomach is bare, all flushed and shaking and basically perfect.

Jo sucks in a breath. “P…” She sounds needy and exhausted at the same time.

“I know,” Paige murmurs, her voice rough. She looks up, meets her eyes. “I know, Jo. Just… let me. Please.”

And Jo doesn’t say anything. She stares down for a long moment, and Paige thinks that maybe she’ll tell her no, ask her to stop, say she can’t take any more. But then she just nods, lips parting on a shaky exhale, thighs tensing slightly where Paige’s hips are still pressed between them.

A small smile curls Paige’s lips and she kisses lower.

Her mouth moves like it’s tracing scripture—across the soft curve of Jo’s stomach, her hipbones, the dip right beneath her navel. Jo whines, a sound that sends heat tearing through Paige’s chest and stomach and core. She shifts down further between her thighs, her hands sliding up to settle at Jo’s waist, fingers pressing into warm skin like she’s trying to hold her still.

Jo’s legs part automatically, like instinct, and Paige settles between them like she belongs there—because she does. She swears she does. Ever since the first time she did this a couple weeks ago, she’s sworn a place she belongs in more. The smell of Jo—sweet and sharp and dizzying—hits Paige like a wave, and she thinks her eyes roll back just a little.

She kisses the inside of Jo’s thigh first—slow, wet, and open-mouthed, making Jo twitch and sigh above her. Her tongue traces the soft skin there, up and in, her nose brushing lightly across Jo’s clit on purpose just to watch her shiver.

“You’re kinda killin’ me,” Jo whispers.

Paige grins against her skin. “Good.”

And then—finally—she ducks her head lower, mouth dragging down, and Jo’s hips jump like she’s already too sensitive, already unable to handle it.

But Paige doesn’t stop. She’s not sure if she can.

She parts her with careful fingers, kisses her clit once—gentle, soft, careful—and Jo moans like it’s the end of the world. Her legs fall wider and Paige bites her lip a little at the sight. It’s then that the blonde licks into her—slow at first, almost exploratory, like she’s trying to memorize every part of how Jo tastes, how she moves, how she moans.

Paige groans low in her chest, almost involuntarily. “Mmm…” she mumbles, her voice all gravel, like it’s been torn up by the way Jo tastes on her tongue. “You’re so wet.”

Jo shudders, head tilting back against the car seat, one arm flung over her eyes, the other still tangled in Paige’s hair. Her hips roll again, not like she means to, just like her body can’t help it. She whimpers, soft and breathy. “P—God, your mouth…”

Paige hums at that, the vibration making Jo jolt. She grins against her, dragging her tongue up slowly, before circling in again—firmer now, licking like she’s starving, like there’s nothing else in the world that matters but this. But Jo. But the way she tastes, the way she shakes, the sounds she makes when Paige’s tongue hits just right.

Jo gasps. “Right there, shit—”

“I know,” Paige mumbles, not pulling away even for a second. Her hand slides up Jo’s thigh, firm and steady, holding her open, holding her still.

She eats like she means it—like it’s fucking devotion or something. Jo deserves it—she deserves fucking everything after that game she had today, not to mention the fact that she’s already two orgasms deep and still letting Paige go down on her in the back seat of her car.

Paige’s tongue works in tight, skilled circles along Jo’s clit, then flattens out, slow and broad, teasing her before she dives back in, messier now, letting her nose bump Jo’s skin, letting it get wet, sticky, perfect.

Jo starts to pant—high pitched gasps that end in little moans she probably doesn’t mean to let out. “P—fuck—fuck, that feels…”

“Yeah?” Paige pulls back just barely, just enough to murmur the words. Her lips are slick. Her chin’s wet. Her eyes look up, glazed with hunger but locked on Jo’s face. “That good for you?”

Jo lets out a strangled sound, hand fisting tighter in Paige’s hair. “Yes. Don’t fucking stop now—” she mutters, sounding frustrated.

“I’m not,” Paige whispers, mouth already returning to her. “Could do this all night.”

She definitely could. Because there’s something about the way Jo opens up to her like this—legs spread wide, hips rolling, thighs shaking. There’s no hiding or pretending, like Jo admitted she had to do a couple times with that stupid boy. No, here, with Paige, Jo is wrecked and raw and beautiful, and the blonde wants to ruin her a hundred more times just to see what else she can look like.

Jo arches when Paige adds her fingers again—just two, slow and slick, sliding in with no resistance. She’s soaked, tight, clenching around her already, and Paige groans again, hips rocking against the seat like she can’t help herself.

“Jesus Christ, Jo,” she mutters, fingers curling just enough to make Jo cry out. “Always so tight.”

Jo’s voice breaks on a moan, desperate now. “Oh my God, that feels—”

“I know,” Paige repeats. “I know, Joey.”

Jo makes this sound, like she’s trying to say something, but she can’t. Her head lolls to the side, her body jerking every time Paige curls her fingers just right, every time her tongue flicks in rhythm against her clit.

Paige can feel her getting closer—tighter, wetter, her moans climbing higher, sharper, almost panicked. Her thighs start to close around Paige’s head, shaking, trying to hold her there.

“Yes—yes, don’t stop, right there, fuck, I’m—” Jo stumbles out, the most vocal Paige has ever heard her, which makes sense since she’s still a little high and she’s already finished a couple times.

“You got it,” Paige tells her encouragingly. “Lemme feel it, just let it go.”

And Jo does—loud and shaking and nearly sobbing, her whole body locking up before it crashes down. Paige keeps going through it, tongue and fingers never letting up, mouth catching every twitch, every pulse, every broken cry. She rides it with her, dragging it out, until Jo’s pulling at her hair with trembling hands and saying her name like it’s the only word she remembers.

“Paige—Paige, I can’t,” she stutters.

And still, Paige doesn’t stop.

She slows, sure—lets her fingers slip out, eases the pressure of her mouth. But she doesn’t pull away. Not yet. She kisses the inside of Jo’s thigh again, soft this time, gentle now that the storm has passed.

Jo’s whole body is limp. Wrecked. Her hoodie’s pushed up around her ribs, her mascara’s entirely smudged, her leggings are still bunched at the bottom of her legs. Her lips are parted, and her eyes—when she finally opens them—look drunk on something that’s certainly not alcohol.

Paige crawls back up over her, settling between Jo’s legs. Her arms cage Jo in. Her lips find her cheek, her jaw, her mouth again—this kiss sweet now, reverent.

Jo breathes out a laugh—shaky and stunned. “You’re outta your mind.”

Paige smiles cheekily against her lips. “Only for you.”

Jo whimpers, hitting Paige’s arm lightly. “I think you broke me.”

Paige chuckles, soft and smug, brushing her knuckles along Jo’s jaw. “Nah. You’re still breathing.”

“Barely.”

“Hm. Guess I better stay right here then.” Paige leans in again, kisses her slow and full. “Keep you safe.”

Jo wraps her arms around her neck, pulling her in tight, their bodies still tangled and warm and pulsing with aftershocks. She buries her face in Paige’s shoulder, mumbling against her hoodie. “Don’t move.”

“Not goin’ anywhere,” Paige swears, lips pressed to Jo’s hair. “Promise.”

She doesn’t notice the way her phone dings with a text message up in the passenger seat. She doesn’t care.

[i-dared-myself]

Ninth member headcannons

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by anonymous: Heya there! ☺️ Could I maybe request being Stray Kids 9th member headcanons, please? Like, being the only female member and being with them since the beginning. 🤗 And one more detail: could you leave the reader's age unspecified or make her the maknae (sorry, but being a noona really isn't for me 😬). Take your time if you decide to write this, no pressure! 🥰

•When you first joined, Minho def scared you the most. There was just something about his intense gaze. You did warm up to him quickly, probs because you realized he’s a sweetheart.

•The first moment when you realized he wasn’t so bad was when he offered to spend a couple extra mins with you on a dance. You talked during it, and became close friends.

•Chan is such a sweetheart and is so nice about you being the only female member (sometimes he goes so out of his way for you, and you feel awkward) and is the biggest gentleman ever.

•You have a separate room, but it’s in no means your room, y’know? There’s always someone in there hanging out. Whether it’s Changbin hiding from the chaos of the dorms, or Jeongin just wanting to chat, your room has become a gathering space.

•Periods are marked on the shared calendar that hangs in the living room. You don’t do it and you have no idea who’s tracking your cycles, but it happens. Chan books concerts and events around your periods (much to the company’s displeasure) and it’s honestly a nightmare when they come around.

•You’re surprisingly quite pleasant while bleeding out of your vagina. As bad as the pain and other symptoms get, the others somehow are worse. Hyunjin gets sympathy pains like nobody’s business, and Felix checks in on you every fifteen mins to see that you’re good.

•It’s exhausting but exactly what you need. It’s annoying when Chan reads articles about periods and sees one mention of how the loss of blood can lead to anemia and starts cooking so much meat to give you.

•Like the house just becomes a carnivore’s paradise with how much there is. You eat it to make him happy, but when the nausea and the cravings come, Changbin manages to convince him to relent with it.

•Jisung and you giggle and gossip about everything. Hyunjin always has something to contribute to your little sessions and it’s become a Friday night ritual of making popcorn and “watching a movie”.

•Watching a movie stands for shit-talking people you dislike.

•Seungmin always seems to just appear in the room when JYP’s name comes up. Like legit no idea how he knows, but he has a radar for that stuff.

•One second he’s nowhere in sight, the next second he’s whispering in your ear about JYP’s mama. You really regret teaching him about yo mama jokes.

•Especially since he doesn’t really understand them and kinda just throws out English words he knows, so it usually just sounds like “Yo mama is pink dinosaur”.

•Everyone stares for a sec before you snort in amusement. That usually cracks Felix up, who starts giggling out a bunch of Australian words you don’t know, but makes Chan gasp.

•You probs have the filthiest mouth, and are always getting scolded for it. Changbin, Hyunjin, and Chan are always on your case. What if something slips out at a fan meet? What if you say a naughty word in a speech?

•Minho finds it hilarious and one time when you were singing, was whispering all the curses he knew into your ears. Chan was not happy with him afterwards, and you had a good laugh about it at Minho’s expense when he had to do the dishes for a week.

•Chores are evenly divided for the most part, but you refuse to eat any of their cooking. So you do a lot of that while they handle other things, or you order takeout.

•But after you saw them in a kitchen? You had nightmares about that for weeks. (Which Hyunjin laughed about but did stay up with you after). Every time they even mention wanting to try a new recipe, you shoo them away before they burn the place down.

•And for some reason, you have fucking fire drills. It’s not company-mandated, Chan just likes to be prepared. So you’ll be sleeping when all of a sudden your door bursts open and Jisung is screaming as shrill as he can “WEE-WOO WEE-WOOOOOOO” with his phone screen turned to red and he’s flashing it on and off.

•And you scream and chuck a pillow at him and it smacks him in the face. Then Changbin has to carry him out the door as Jisung whines about how hard you threw it. Chan has a clipboard of names and he checks everyone off the list.

•Then everyone realizes Seungmin was sleeping with his headphones on and didn’t come out.

•And somehow you draw the short straw and have to go in to save him. Jeongin starts mourning you as if it’s not a drill, and you have to go back inside and the whole thing is ridiculous because who does this?!?

•So you march back inside, past all the posters of fire that Felix printed out for these occasions(you swear there’s something else in those brownies) and shove Seungmin’s door open. You wrench off those headphones and startle him awake before pulling him back out to Chan.

•He’s pleased that it only took fifteen minutes for everyone to evacuate, and vaguely warns about a security drill that’s soon to happen.

•Jisung is probs the cuddliest, just because he’s not too worried about getting caught up in some scandalous dating rumour, but the others aren’t afraid to snuggle. Minho and Seungmin don’t outright ask for it, so you usually initiate, but absolutely don’t push you away.

•That one SKZ Code with the silk scarves? Yeah, you got tangled up in it pretty much immediately. All eight of them had to rescue you, and you barely made it out.

•Other than that, you’re pretty chill in those kinds of episodes. You generally stick with Jisung and Jeongin (the least buff/try-hards) and just enjoy yourself.

•One time, Changbin tried to start like a book club for some reason, even tho nobody has the time to read. You suspect it was a way for him to force you all to read his favourite book because after the first book was finished, the club mysteriously was shut down.

•Changbin doesn’t have any recollection of that when you bring it up, but you could have sworn it happened. Except Minho doesn’t remember it either, and now you’re like 60% sure it happened.

•Concerts are nerve-racking. You’re always anxious beforehand, but the others soothe you through it. Once you get out and you see the crowd of Stays, the nerves fade away.

•The night after a concert is usually a huge cuddle pile in Chan’s room. It’s an unofficial tradition that you can’t remember when it started, but you love it. It’s one of those moments that prove that the group loves you and that you’re all a family.

•One day after Hyunjin complains about running out of his favourite face wash, you go out to the store. You like seeing the other members happy. So he tags along to make sure you pick the right one, and Felix comes for the thrill of it as well.

•Then you’re being dragged into a back alley and there’s a dude with a ski-mask and a knife. You start hyperventilating and look around for help, but he grabs you before you can run away.

•Hyunjin is screaming and clawing at his own face dramatically, while Felix gets into a fighting position because of his black belts. He takes forever to actually fight the dude, spending about two minutes getting ready. You’re yelling at him because you’re about to die, and Hyunjin is shouting about not wanting to see blood everywhere.

•Then the guy rips his face-mask off, and it’s Minho. You slap his chest and collapse on the ground as you catch your breath. Felix slumps, disappointed he didn’t actually get to fight someone, and Hyunjin scowls.

•Chan steps out of nowhere and says you failed the security drill, and you plot his death. You’re pretty sure if you just get the drop on him from behind and like-

•Life with Stray Kids is pretty chill, although it does have its crazy moments. In the end tho you know they care and respect you, which makes all their quirks worth it.

[captainuranium543]

Ft headcanons nobody wanted part 2

-natsu will occasionally get genuinely jealous over his friends owning appliances for heating. Why should they need those things when they have him, if they just call him over her do a way better job then any of those stupid gadgets. He finds out gray owns a hair dryer and immediately becomes a jealous ex girlfriend. He confronts Lucy in her apartment one night acting so serious he she doesn't even get mad that he broke in, then just goes "care to explain this?" And puts a lighter on the table.

- Wendy is very very quiet. Creepily so. Not elaborating but I think you can imagine the kinds of situations this leads to.

- Mira's eyes glow in the dark and it creeps everyone the fuck out

- erza has the worst hoarding problem. Her dorm room is entirely piled floor to ceiling with boxes of meticulously organized random items she refuses to throw out for some reason

young Mira: "alright this is ridiculous why do you even have this"

Young erza: "say what you want but when you need 746 packets of Mcnolias sweet and sour sauce and find your supply baron I'll be laughing"

- levy is one of the few members of the guild who actively sought it out to join. Before fairy tail she was an orphan and a student studying magic. She left to join fairy tail to learn more about magic in general from real world experience.

- laki will sometimes build creepily realistic wooden statues of her guild mates and leave them around in inconspicuous places so when you find them they scare the shit out of you. Sometimes she hides them too well and it takes years to discover them.

- Lucy has actually written several unpublished novels and the only other person who's ever seen them is levy. Lucy thinks their crap but levy carefully annotates every single one.

- laxus used to occasionally be forced to go on jobs with erza and Mira when they were young both to help and to make sure they didn't kill each other and he hated it.

- I think I might have said this before but I firmly believe levy, Lucy, freed and jellal later on all form a book club because they love reading, the problem is they all have vastly different tastes in book so they can never decide what to read each week and usually just end up playing Scrabble and talking shit about their various teammates

"please guys trust me this one's good"

"I am NOT reading Colleen Hoover Lucy and that's final"

- this one's based on city hero but I personally believe erza and Erik find a shocking common ground over motorcycles. Erza likes vehicles in general and Erik took up bike racing as a hobby, since discovering this is the longest they've been able to be in the same room together without someone throwing a punch.

- Wendy visits lamia scale regularly still to hang out with chelia. she usually brings romeo and they all go out to do whatever dumb kid stuff they want. (Tbh I just like her having friends her own age)

-lucy sometimes randomly lets her rich girl's heritage show in random conversation and it's always jarring. You'll be having a normal chill convo with her and then she'll look you dead in the eyes and ask you what colour your personal carriage was growing up.

- Natsu is genuinely a really good cook he just has a terrible taste so nobody wants to eat his food. For reference he only ever cooks his food because he enjoys doing it to him it tastes fine either way.

- if you had asked the fairy tail guild who the scariest guild member was in early season 1 the answers would have been erza, guildarts, laxus etc all the usual suspects. Once season 2 starts however the answer is unanimous. It's juvia. Juvia is fucking terrifying when she gets mad. You don't realize how scary water can be until it's filling your lungs and as your vision blurs until all you can see is her merciless stare.

- Mira and freed can drink blood for demon reasons. gray can too after getting devil slayer but he thinks its gross. Surprisingly so can gajeel because of the high iron content.

- gray the type of guy who's bed has only the smallest thinnest blanket on his bed and usually it's on the ground cuz he gets too hot

- meanwhile erza is the type of girl to have so many pillows, blankets and plushies on her bed you wonder how she fucking sleeps in it. Mf has a NEST.

- Lucy isn't even surprised anymore when she finds people in her house, she doesn't know how they keep getting in and honestly she doesn't care anymore she's to tired to deal with it.

- freed plays a lot of really fucking weird instruments. Idk it just seems like something he would do.

- bixlow can speak most languages and it's always really surprising when he randomly says smth like "oh yea I can speak ancient nirvid no prob" like that's totally normal

- if laxus and freed ever did get together (in my heart it's cannon) evergreen and bixlow would be their biggest haters. Yea they love them and they're happy for them but also EW. GROSS. GET A ROOM.

[mirrored-muse]

ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ | ᴊ.ᴍ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 910

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Joel gets clingy in the kitchen while you’re making breakfast, and Sarah walks in just in time to be grossed out.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Joel Miller x reader

ᴀ/ɴ: no apocalypse au and break from the usual stuff, cause i’m getting burnt out on writing for YJ. 😔

The sun has barely made it past the horizon, peachy-pink light slipping through the cracks in the blinds and painting stripes across the tiled floor of the kitchen. The house is quiet, miraculously so, and you’re standing barefoot in front of the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand and nursing a cup of coffee in the other.

You’ve always liked the mornings. When the world’s still quiet and nobody needs anything from you yet. The house smells like coffee and butter and the faint trace of the laundry detergent Joel likes, the cheap stuff, fresh as mountain air or something corny like that. The pan sizzles as you pour the next circle of batter.

You don’t hear him at first, he’s too quiet for a man his size, but you feel it. The warm shape of him sneaking up behind you, arms sliding around your waist like nothing new. His chest presses into your back, solid and familiar.

“Mornin’ baby,” Joel mutters, voice still thick with sleep. “smells good in here.”

You smile without turning around, leaning into him just enough to feel how he exhales, slow and content. “Good morning to you too.”

“Was good ‘til I woke up alone,” he says, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand before tucking his chin over your shoulder. “Didn’t even leave a note.”

“You were snoring when I left,” you say, nudging him gently. “I figured waking you up would’ve been dangerous.”

Joel snorts. “I don’t snore.”

“You do. Loudly.”

“Mm..” His hands slide a little lower on your hips. “Can’t prove it.”

“I should start recording you.”

He huffs a laugh against your neck.

You set the spatula down and glance at him over your shoulder. “I love you. Even when you sound like a lawnmower in your sleep.”

That earns you one of his dry, lopsided smiles, the kind that pulls more on one side and softens the edges of him. He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then behind your ear, unhurried.

You roll your eyes. “Joel. I’m trying to cook.”

“Yeah? Feels like you’re tryin’ to kill me,” he says, voice low. “Standin’ here wearin’ my shirt, smellin’ like coffee and sugar and whatever it is you put in those pancakes that makes em’ taste so good. It’s cruel.”

You glance down. It is one of his shirts, soft with age, oversized, and hanging low on your pajama-covered thighs. You stole it a long time ago and never gave it back.

“Pretty sure it’s just flour and butter.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, kissing your neck again, “I’d do anything to keep you right here.”

You’re about to make a sarcastic comment, something snarky, maybe flirtier than it needs to be, but then—

“Seriously?” Sarah’s voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “Do y’all have to be gross before 8 a.m.?”

Joel doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t let go, either.

“Mornin’ to you too, sunshine,” he drawls, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

Sarah stares him down from the doorway, hoodie swallowing her frame, hair a frizzy mess. “You’re disgusting.”

Joel raises his brows like it’s the greatest compliment he’s ever received. “Good. Means I’m doin’ my job.”

You stifle a laugh and slide a pancake onto a plate. “Pancakes?”

She trudges over like she’s doing you a favor. “You encourage him,” she mutters to you, grabbing a fork.

“I heard that,” Joel says, finally letting go of you as he makes his way to the coffee pot. “And I’m hurt. Deeply.”

“Yeah? You’ll live.” Sarah says, slumping into a chair.

You hand her the plate and slide into your seat, watching as Joel pours himself coffee with all the grace of a man who’s half-awake and irritated that he’s not still in bed.

Sarah’s gaze flicks to him and then back to you.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask her.

“Would’ve been better if I didn’t hear Dad talking in his sleep through the wall.”

“I don’t talk in my sleep,” Joel says flatly, sitting beside you with a groan as he lowers himself into the chair.

Sarah doesn’t even look up. “You said ‘cordless impact driver’ four times. Real intense, too.”

Joel just shrugs, takes a sip of coffee and you snort, almost choking on your drink.

He shoots you a sideways glance and casually drops one hand to your thigh under the table, thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin. Always touching you, even if it’s just that.

The kitchen settles into that kind of soft, sleepy quiet, just forks on plates, the low hum of the fridge, and the comfort of shared space. You love mornings like this. Safe. Familiar.

Joel reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, giving you his full attention.“You doin’ okay today?”

You nod, leaning into the touch. “Yeah. You?”

He grunts. “Better now.”

Sarah makes a dramatic gagging noise. You nudge her under the table with your foot.

“What?” Joel says, unfazed. “I can’t be sweet?”

“Not before breakfast,” Sarah mutters, but she’s smirking into her glass of juice.

Joel leans over and kisses your cheek. “Look away then. This is grown folks’ business.”

Sarah rolls her eyes so hard you can hear it. “Disgusting.”

You smile and curl your fingers around his on your leg. Joel gives you a look, half fond, half long-suffering. You lean in, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. “Just wait til she brings someone home.”

[janeyseymour]

Like Other Girls

summary: melissa schemmenti has always been told to be like the other girls. she isn't.

WC: ~4.15k

also, me, craving validation, so pls lmk what u think bc my brain is NOT chillin rn 🥺

Melissa Schemmenti has always been tough. She’s always had a fire in her eyes that yearned for more than what life was giving her. From the time she was young, the girl knew that she had to be tough to survive. That’s how it works when you grow up with more siblings than you can count. And to be a Schemmenti, you had to be tough. 

But then as she began to blossom from a little girl to a young woman, things changed. Nobody wanted her to be tough anymore. No, now, she was expected to change her entire personality to fit what society wanted her to be: a soft, mild, meek little lady. Time and time again, she would be berated for being loud and rambunctious or for not giving half a damn what she looked like at the time. 

“Can you be quiet for two minutes?”

“Why can’t you be like other girls- sweet, quiet, polite?”

“If you spent time putting effort into your looks the way you spend your time yapping, maybe you’d actually have a boyfriend.”

“Just… stop caring so much. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

Most of those words were spoken by people the redhead truly cared about- namely, her mother. 

Theresa Schemmenti was a hard woman to get into good graces with, and it was far harder to stay on her good side. And as a woman with so many children, if Melissa was in her mother’s top five at the end of the day, she would call it a win.

And growing up with someone so opinionated about her being, those words began to ring true for the girl turning into a young woman.

And then came along Joe- the man who she would ultimately end up marrying and divorcing. But between him, their marriage, and the then blonde’s mother, Melissa made herself far smaller than she had to be- smaller than she truly was. Gone was the boisterous and hardheaded little girl, and in came a quiet, never one to speak her mind, woman.

As his girlfriend and wife, Melissa’s life consisted of teaching second grade, coming home to cook (a chore she’s never minded), cleaning, and acting as the perfect trophy wife for Joe. Melissa lost sight of herself. She didn’t even just lose sight of herself, she became the one person she never thought she would be nor wanted to be. 

But once she broke her marriage off, Melissa Schemmenti vowed to herself that she would change. She would never make herself small for a man or anybody else again. Gone was the blonde hair that her mother and Joe nearly insisted on her having, and in came the red hair that she would become famous for. Melissa Schemmenti found that her brain still operated in the way that it always had- thoughts coming a mile a minute, smart comments popping into her head at any given moment. But now, instead of having to bite her tongue, she was free to say what was on her mind. And she absolutely adored it.

Those who worked with Melissa at the time were used to the blonde, shy, quiet woman. When she came in louder than they had ever seen or heard her with the red hair and larger than life personality that she had once buried, it was safe to say that they were shocked. It was an adjustment period for those who knew her, but they loved her all the same. Barbara Howard found that she thought she liked the more outgoing and stubborn version of Melissa Schemmenti more- another strong independent woman in a sea of women who rarely spoke their minds.

Years and years pass by, and eventually, it’s just the dynamic work wives who are still left from all those years ago- although Mr. Johnson is still employed with the school as well. Teachers have come and gone, and for the first time in years, the second grade and kindergarten teachers think that they may have a core group who might stick around for longer than a year. 

So when you finally come around and begin to work at Abbott, it’s safe to say that Melissa Schemmenti is back to where she was when she was younger- loud, brash, outspoken and tough. Or at least that’s what you think.

On the outside, the woman that you’ve fallen for is a hard ass. But as you peel away at her layers, you find that she’s as soft and as fluffy as a marshmallow. And then you start to date her. And you find that for as hard as she plays, she’s… a lot more insecure than you thought she might be.

—

The two of you are walking through historical Philadelphia as a date, and you’ve come to find out that your now girlfriend is quite the history buff- at least when it comes to her city. In actuality, it’s both of your city. You continue to let her ramble on with all of her little fun facts and tidbits about the place that has your heart despite the fact that you already know most of the things. You nod along with a smile as your intertwined hands swing in between the two of you. But then something strange happens. She’s in the middle of a sentence about the Liberty Bell when she suddenly goes quiet. You turn to her with furrowed brows.

“Babe?”

Your girlfriend’s cheeks tint red. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you ask as you kiss her temple.

The nervous bite of the lip and shy shrug of the shoulders only have you more confused. “Just… I’m sorry I’m rambling. I know you already know most of this.”

“And?” you ask the redhead. “I love that you love our city so much. And I love hearing you talk about what you’re so passionate about.”

You see the look of confusion cross her face before she smiles at you in a way you’ve never seen- almost as if she’s nervous to be around you and speak like this.

“Keep going,” you encourage her. “I love hearing new facts about this city.” You refuse to tell her you already know everything she’s said.

With a bit of hesitation, she continues. You just continue to listen as intently as you can with a broad smile on your face.

It’s only later that you can tell something is still bothering her.

“Lis,” you sigh softly as you hold her that night in bed. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. What’s going on?”

Melissa turns to face you with a look that tells you you’re absolutely correct in that she’s thinking intently about something. “Nothin.”

You gently take her by the chin. “Babe, c’mon. I’m not dumb. I know something’s up.”

“Didn’t… didn’t you get annoyed when I wouldn’t stop talking today?”

You shake your head immediately. “No. I thought it was quite endearing, why?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs with a shrug of the shoulders. “I guess it’s just… I was always told to stay quiet as a teen and as a young adult… to be like other girls.”

“Well that’s not what I want,” you promise her quietly. “I want you- no one else.”

You can tell your girlfriend isn’t quite convinced, as she worries her lip between her teeth.

“Mel,” you force her to look you directly in the eye. “I don’t know what you were told growing up, but I don’t want the quiet woman. I want the woman who is who she is and isn’t afraid to speak her mind. The one who cares so much about what she loves and isn’t afraid to information dump on me. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. I don’t know who told you to make yourself smaller than you are, but that is not what I want. I want you, Melissa.”

Something in her mind clicks, and a relieved smile washes over her face. No longer are her brows furrowed in worry and confusion.

“You’re… amazing, you know that?” the redhead hums.

—

For the most part now, Melissa isn’t afraid to speak her mind. She freely spits out her thoughts on the things that she loves most. And it’s wonderful to see her comfortable around you.

But then budgeting issues come up, and she is far from soft spoken about it. The issues of women’s health care come to the light politically. Your girlfriend goes on tangent after tangent about it in the privacy of her house and your apartment. And then when you’re scrolling through social media one day, you see that there’s a march being organized on Broad Street. 

“Did you see this?” you turn your phone to face her.

Melissa hums as she reads. “That… that’s cool.”

You find it a bit odd that she doesn’t have more to say about it considering how passionate she is about women’s rights. But you let it slide.

The second grade teacher doesn’t bring it up again, although you do see her laptop the one day when she steps away to use the bathroom- a tab about the march.

Instead of confronting her about it, you simply smile and take a seat back on the couch. When she returns, you pull up an Instagram post about the march and approach the topic that way.

“Hun?”

“What’s up, mi amore?”

“How would you feel about going to the march with me?”

Melissa perks up immediately. “The women’s rights one?”

You nod with a smile on your face. “I think it would be good. And I know how passionate you are about it.”

When you expect your girlfriend to perk up even more and agree, she shrinks just slightly. You frown. “What?”

“I- I don’t wanna do it if you only are going to do it for me,” the redhead admits quietly as she plays with one of the rings on her finger.

You let out a soft sigh. “Baby, I want to go because I also believe in women’s rights. And I love that you are so passionate about this issue. If you weren’t, I might be a little concerned.”

You watch as those green eyes go from nervous to something you’ve only ever seen one other time- when Melissa was rambling about the history of Philadelphia. You know immediately that someone’s words, probably Theresa’s, are replaying in her head.

“Who said what?” you ask her softly as you wrap an arm around her.

Her head drops to your shoulder as she mutters out, “My ma always told me to stop caring so much… that it’s not that big of a deal about whatever I had big feelings about.”

You nearly feel your blood boil at that soft admission. You’ve yet to meet the opinionated woman, but there are some things that your girlfriend has told you about her mother that almost make you want to detest her.

“You’re allowed to care very strongly about things, especially issues as important as this one,” you promise her. “We’re going to this march, and we’re going to make our voices as loud as possible.”

Melissa only nods.

The two of you do end up going, with a few of your friends from work, adorned with big signs. Being in that crowd of women and those who also believe in women’s rights like that makes the two of you feel more empowered than you’ve ever felt. There’s something special in the air that day as the two of you make your voices heard loud and clear.

—

You knew the day would come that you would have to meet Theresa Schemmenti, but what you weren’t expecting was for your girlfriend to be far more nervous for you to meet her than yourself.

Melissa is up and out of bed far earlier than you expected. Actually, when you wake up, she’s already showered and standing in her towel in front of the closet trying to figure out an outfit to wear.

This is a far cry from what usually occurs on a lazy Sunday morning. Usually, you wake up in her arms and spend a much longer amount of time lounging in bed than you probably should.

“Honey?” you yawn out. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Getting ready for dinner with Ma,” she tells you.

“Lis, it’s… eight in the morning. We don’t have to be at her house until three.”

The redhead turns to face you, and she has that look again that tells you she’s about to tell you something her mom said that stuck with her.

“What did she tell you?” you ask knowingly.

“If I spent time putting effort into my looks the way I spend my time yapping, maybe I’d actually have a boyfriend,” Melissa relays quietly.

With a heavy sigh, you push the warm blankets off of you and go to wrap your arms around your girlfriend. You kiss her softly. “You are stunning no matter what. And… you don’t need a boyfriend when you have a girlfriend who loves you exactly the way that you are.”

She just looks into your eyes, searching for any hints of ingenuity.

“Melissa,” you mumble as you kiss her temple. “I love you for you. Every single bit of you.” You kiss her cheek, then her jawline, and you slowly make your way down until you reach the hem of the towel still wrapped around her.

It’s safe to say that your girlfriend doesn’t get dressed any time soon after your affirming words. But then you know that the two of you really do have to start getting ready… Melissa needs another shower after the morning that the two of you had.

Because of the time that you spent this morning back in bed… and then in the shower, your girlfriend doesn’t have the time to curl her hair the way that she was hoping to. It’s not that you care- her hair is stunning no matter how she wears it. And the shirt that she was hoping to wear over is dirty and has a stain on it from the other day in the classroom- she’s pissed.

“Baby,” you sigh as you kiss the slope of her neck softly. “You look beautiful no matter what. And besides, it’s just your mother.”

“That’s the problem,” Melissa huffs as she tries to find another shirt to wear. “It’s my mother, and she’s already going to have something to say about my hair and the few new wrinkles I have around my eyes… the less ammunition I can give her the better.”

You nod against her shoulder. “Okay, honey. But just… know that I love you for who you are- not for the way your hair is or the things you wear.”

“I know,” the redhead sighs quietly, and she does reach one hand back to affectionately pat the top of your head. “Thank you.”

“I’ll go downstairs and give you some time to get yourself ready, okay?” Melissa nods, you peck her cheek, and then you head downstairs and pray to God that Theresa doesn’t say anything to your girlfriend that will have you fighting like a Schemmenti. 

The drive there is quiet. You can tell that it’s taking everything in the woman next to you to not turn the car back around and opt for a nice night on the couch with you. You hold her hand and squeeze it gently every so often so that she knows you’re here for her. You aren’t going anywhere. 

Still when you pull into the driveway, you can practically feel the nerves radiating off of your girlfriend. With a few deep breaths, Melissa gets out of the car and leads you to the front door.

“It’s about time you got here,” Theresa greets the two of you brusquely. 

“I had to finish getting ready, Ma,” your girlfriend rolls her eyes as she hugs her mother and plants a quick kiss to her cheek.

“And you still couldn’t make your hair look presentable,” the matriarch of the family sighs heavily at the straight hair the second grade teacher is sporting. Then her eyes turn to you. “You must be the girlfriend.”

“Ma,” Melissa says in a warning tone.

“I thought you were fake when Melly didn’t bring you around until now,” Theresa states as she looks you up and down. “You clean up well, dear.”

“Thank you,” you blush slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” It’s… not necessarily a pleasure though. Based on how she greeted your girlfriend, you can’t say that she’s making a great first impression. 

The two of you are ushered in and greeted with a few bottles of wine already set out. Your girlfriend pours you a glass of white before pouring herself a glass of red.

“Still with the red wine, Melissa?” Theresa raises a brow.

You see the redhead fight the urge to roll her eyes. “You know white gives me a headache almost instantly, Ma.”

Dinner is set out on the table and as the three of you eat, topics are kept generally light. And then Theresa asks what the two of you have been up to.

“Still just teaching, Ma,” your girlfriend sighs. “Both of us are.”

“I still can’t believe you became a teacher.”

“Why don’t you give Kristen Marie shit for becoming a teacher?” Melissa asks, and you can tell this is an argument they’ve had before.

“Because when you took the job at Abbott, a poorly funded school, I figured it was a way to gain experience. But you’re still there while Kristen Marie is at that fabulous new charter school.”

“I- I also work at Abbott,” you cut in softly. “And Melissa is one of the best teachers we have there. She’s a vital part of the school and making sure that it stays afloat.”

“And how did you end up there, dear?” Theresa asks you with a lifted brow.

You smile. “I’ve always done better with the kids who need some extra love. Abbott is like home to me.”

The matriarch of the family gives you an impressed look. “That’s wonderful dear. Abbott is lucky to have you.”

You essentially had just given Melissa’s mother the same reasoning to work at Abbott as her daughter, and yet she approves of your choice? What the hell?

“Don’t you think Melly could’ve done better for herself though?”

“I think she’s done perfectly well for herself,” you state in a tone that is soft yet still leaves no room for argument.

Theresa hums in thought but doesn’t press any further on that issue. “And what else have the two of you been up to?”

Knowing that you may just stir the pot with this topic, you smile broadly. “We’ve been going to women’s rights movement marches when we can find them. I find that it’s extremely important for women like us to be using our voices to show that we care about such vital issues in our country at this point in time. And I love that my girlfriend is just as passionate about these issues that I am.”

“You would be right,” Theresa tells you through almost gritted teeth. “Although I do remember telling Melissa that those issues would be taken care of without the protests… that it wouldn’t much matter.”

“And they still haven’t been ‘taken care of’, Ma,” the redhead grumbles. “And they very do much matter. They won’t just affect me an’ Y/N, but our students as they grow. It’s important to show them that they have a voice and that it matters.”

The mother hums slowly. “I suppose you were just ahead of your time.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Melissa counters.

Theresa just shrugs.

Conversation comes to a bit of a lull after that, and you turn the topic back around to Theresa and her interests.

Somehow, it turns into fashion. And she’s offering Melissa to take a look at some of the jewelry that she owns but doesn’t wear much anymore.

“I figured I’d offer since you don’t seem to have much to wear other than those same three necklaces and the two rings.”

“I quite like how she looks everyday,” you defend your girlfriend. “She always looks gorgeous.”

“Still,” Theresa sighs heavily as she pushes herself away from the table. “Come take a look with me, Melly.”

Your girlfriend glances to you, and you nod with a smile, already standing to begin clearing off the table.

You’re in the middle of drying the dishes when the two of them make their way back down. Melissa has quite a few different accessories that she’s brought down, although she doesn’t look thrilled in the slightest. 

“Well,” Theresa prompts. “Show your girlfriend the different jewelry.”

The redhead just holds them up, looking less than enthused.

“Put them on, dear!” the matriarch grins. “Show her how pretty you can look when you’re quiet and dressed nicely.”

You can feel your own blood boil at the incessant need for Theresa to quiet Melissa. You look to her with nearly murderous eyes. 

“You know, I actually love Melissa just the way she is,” you cut in with fire. “I like the way that she’s smart and loud and outspoken and cares about things that are important. I love the way that she dresses and how she wants and styles herself the way that she wants. I think she’s perfect, just the way she is.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re just saying that.”

“I can assure you, Theresa,” you practically spit out. “I am not just saying that. I wish you would accept your daughter for who she is, because who she is is nothing short of a dream to me.”

With that, you drop the dish towel that you had previously been holding and make your way to your bag. You sling your bag over your shoulder before grabbing your girlfriend’s and taking her hand in your own. “I think perhaps it’s time that we head out for the night.”

Melissa begins to lead you out of the house before she drops your hand and whips around to face her mother once more. She sets the jewelry on the table and stares at her mother, a look of heartbreak and fury present. 

“Is it so horrific to you that someone might love me for who I really am?” Melissa asks her mother in a desperate tone. “Is it so awful that someone might like me for me, instead of this person that you so desperately wish I would be?” You hear her voice crack on the last word. 

Theresa flounders for words, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she tries to get her words out. When she finally does speak, Melissa simply holds up a hand.

“If you can’t find the words immediately to apologize, I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” your girlfriend sighs softly. She picks your hand back up and attempts to lead you out of the house once again, but you have to say something- anything to let Theresa know that you girlfriend is just what you want her to be.

“You know,” you say quietly. “When I was growing up, I never imagined myself getting together with someone that you so desperately want Melissa to be. I saw myself dating a strong woman- someone who could hold their own. Someone who wasn’t afraid to be themself and could own that. Your daughter… she’s everything I could have ever wanted. She cares so much, and so freely. She stands for all of the things that I do, and is somehow even more passionate than I am on those issues. She’s drop dead gorgeous no matter if she’s dressed to the nines to go to an event for the district or if we’re simply lounging on the couch in our sweatpants. I- I wouldn’t change her for anything.”

With that, you exit the house. And when the two of you do, the walk to the car is silent. The silence is only broken once you’ve pulled out of the driveway and have driven down the street. She sniffles, and your heart breaks. In one swift motion, you pull the car over and put it in park before looking over to her. Her green eyes somehow both shine and dull simultaneously, at it absolutely shatters you. You simply gather her in your arms the best you can given the arm rest is in your way. She just pushes you away gently, but she keeps her fingers intertwined with your own. Melissa gestures for you to continue driving, and so you pull away and in the direction of her house.

The only words she says to you as she unbuckles her seatbelt are, “Come in. Stay.”

And you can only oblige that simple request after what she’s been through tonight.

tags: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits 

[miaoua3]

(pairing: dino x f!reader)

based on that one video of vernon trying the food that dino made and immediately thinking it’s bad when vernon said that it’s chewy oh my baby how i love you

“babe? could you come here for a second?”, chan lets out from the kitchen, his voice sounding unsure and hesitant.

sensing that this is more than just a favour you could do for him, you get up and walk to where he’s standing in front of a stove.

looking at him expectedly, you smile “yes? what is it, love?”.

fidgeting with the spoon for a moment, he then takes a bit of a food from the pot, before he blows on it to cool it down. slowly bringing it to your mouth, he questions “could you try this and tell me how it tastes? i’m not sure if it’s all that up to your tastes.”

you just take ahold of his wrist before bringing the spoon in your mouth, choosing not to respond to his question and instead just do it.

you chew on it for a few seconds, eyebrows furrowing in concentration, trying to identify everything that he put in it.

hm, maybe a bit more salt would be good you think to yourself.

before you even have the time to open your mouth to sound your thoughts out loud, he interrupts you.

“i knew it, it tastes bad right? i’ll just throw it out a-and we can just order something-“.

sensing that he’s spiralling quickly, you immediately bring your hands to his cheeks and turn his head to yourself.

“hey, hey, hey, baby no, that’s not what i was going to say. i just thought that it could use a bit more salt but otherwise everything is fine, it tastes super yummy.”

chan just looks down to his feet that are fidgeting lightly. you look him with eyes full of pain before you move closer, leaning your forehead against his own so his eyes are forced to look at your own again.

“channie, my love, what is this about really? you know you don’t need to stress this much over some food. plus, you know that i would eat anything you’d make for me, because everything you make tastes divine.”

chan’s hands come to fiddle with the hem of your shirt, insecurity very visible on his face. you rub your thumbs against his soft cheeks as you wait for him to answer you.

after a minute, he finally quietly says “i know i’m not the best cook, so i just wanted to make you something as a way to improve my cooking skills, so you wouldn’t have to do it all the time, like you are doing at the moment…and what kind of boyfriend am i when i can’t even make anything that you like?…”.

your eyebrows furrow on their own as he continues to speak, heart breaking at how broken and sad his voice sounds.

deciding that you have heard enough, you bring his big and buff body down to your height, hugging him tightly as a way to reassure him.

you sigh before you start speaking against his ear “oh my love, you have to stop being so hard on yourself, baby. you know you are the best boyfriend there is, especially for me. you do so much for me, that i actually feel like i’m not doing enough for you. you are always there for me, you take care of me both emotionally and physically. i haven’t paid for anything ever since our third date, and you know how that makes me feel. the cooking…it’s the only thing i know i can do to repay you for being my perfect other half and for everything that you do. so it’s really not a problem for me.”, you pause so you can being his face in front of your own again. “you need to start believing me when i say that nobody could take care of me the way that you do, nor that i want them to…you are my soulmate, sweetheart, okay?”, you finish.

chan has to blink his tears away as he nods his head quickly before he hugs you tightly, hiding his face in your hair.

rubbing his back in comfort, you add “plus you shouldn’t be cooking according to my tastes, you know i like my food so salty, it gives me kidney stones.”, as a way to lighten up the mood.

and as he chuckles, you know that you’ve succeeded in doing it.

then again, if that hadn’t work, you would’ve tried another 200 different jokes, just to make him smile again.

because channie should only be smiling and be happy. because it’s what he deserves.

[only-lonely-star]

First Dates with Curtis Gang !! (HCs)

(These might sound a bit ‘inaccurate’ to some, but I personally think everyone would be a bit nervous/shy on a first date as well as being more soft. I mean, it’s a date with just the two of you, trying to look tough isn’t their biggest worry lol. I try to keep everything as accurate as possible. I also tried to keep these as gender neutral as possible but I am a cis fem so I can really only see scenarios through my own eyes. I’m trying!)

Warnings - Just fluff, how I think a first date situation with each member would go

Author’s Note - I GOT THREE FICS COOKED UP IN MY DRAFTS WHICH EXPLAINS MY INACTIVITY !! ENJOY 🫂

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Ponyboy

He would lose his mind trying to make everything perfect. I feel he’s not the type to ask someone out without being friends or at least acquaintances first, he has to know you. He needs to know some of your interests, things you dislike - basics. He’ll curate the date and try to incorporate things he knows you’re into to create better conversation.

He definitely thought he was going to get rejected when he first asked you on the date. He mentally rehearsed what he was going to say for at least a week until the date planned finally arrived. He purposefully tried to look his best that exact day to impress you further.

Ponyboy would sooo take you out on a movie date ☹️. He would go for someone who shares similar interests as him - the love for movies a big one on his checklist. He would save up to buy tickets for the both of you to look good instead of just sneaking in. He might even bum Darry of a few cents to ensure he had enough.

“So… how’s about we go see a movie tonight? Tickets for two, on me.”

He definitely smiled like a complete idiot after the question was posed, feeling embarrassed already.

His biggest accomplishment of the night would be to ‘subtly’ hold your hand. He’s too scared to straight up grab it, so he would try to work his hand towards yours as the movie progresses.

He felt more mature than usual. A first date with you was probably his first date ever so it was probably an even bigger deal to him than most.

Johnny

He had his eye on you for a good while before he finally found the right opportunity to ask you out. I can see him watching you from afar in class or somewhere during school, sitting there and drowning in admiration. He would give little side glances with a straight face so that nobody would think he was looking your way. He is Mr. Nonchalant at its finest 🙁🙏🏻

He would finally break it to Dallas he’s got the hots for “some kid at school” and ask how he should make a move. Obviously Dallas would tease him a bit, only to give him tips Johnny would never use. “You go up to ‘em, tell ‘em where the date is - introductions later. Add a little kiss on the cheek and there ya go.” Johnny would probably force a laugh or something and make a mental note to do the exact opposite.

HE WOULD ASK YOU TO A DINER !! I literally can’t stress this enough, Johnny needs to be able to be a listener at times and the speaker at others. He would strategically plan this shit out and eliminate any other ‘typical first dates’ besides going out to eat. Conversation gets awkward? He’s planning to shovel some food in so you feel obligated to talk more. This gives him a good opportunity to get to know you more and ask for your opinions on the food there, which flavor of milkshake you prefer best, or small talk about school and things you may have in common. He’s such an observer and he’ll find lots to talk about when it’s just you two.

Similar to Ponyboy, he was probably so worked up about thinking of asking you on the date. I can see him picking at that little area of skin beside his nails while he asks you, giving you a lopsided smile because he felt stupid. He’d try to think of some excuse to talk to you before asking you out.

“So I was thinking if you, y’know… wanna get something to eat later…? We could go to that diner if you’re up for it.”

He would literally not stop smiling when you accepted the offer. Johnny would do a good job at hiding the flustered feeling pretty well, but hiding a smile that big is hard for him.

I honestly don’t see him as the type to try to impress people. He is who he is and he wants someone who will actually be interested in his normal self. I don’t see him trying to fancy himself up or anything along those lines.

During the date he would try to sneak as many little glances as possible without trying to show it. Obviously he finds you attractive if he’s desperate enough to ask you out, but he doesn’t want to seem too obsessive.

He’d offer to walk you home and be the bigger person even though he doesn’t like to roam around alone at night anymore. He’d be a little hesitant, but he wants to feel protective of some sort and what better what to show it than walk you home and keep you safe?

Dallas

Surprisingly, if Dallas truly has interest for someone he won’t be so bitter about it. He can’t control how his own personality is perceived by others, but he’ll surely tone it down a bit just for your sake.

Social anxiety is afraid of Dallas. He’ll be in the middle of the most mundane task when he notices you. I can totally see him at a gas station, filling up Buck’s car, or attempting to steal some cigarettes from a corner store when he bumps into you. Unlike the others, I feel as if he goes solely off of looks before personality. He’s so raw and isn’t afraid to speak his mind.

His flirting style is a bit aggressive but it surprisingly works half the time - if the attraction is mutual of course. Dallas would say some corny pick up line or straight up call you some pet name before posing the question. He’s definitely the persistent type for sure. If you turn him down he’ll try and persuade his way into the date becoming an official plan.

“Damn, baby - I forgot all about our date tonight,” while proceeding to show he’s checking you out, no hesitation. While you’re over there confused out of your mind, he’ll laugh to himself and attempt to get you to play along.

“I’m serious. Be over at Buck Merril’s Roadhouse at ten.”

I can’t see him doing anything cutesy or romantic on a first date. He’s like the opposite from most, he’ll save the sweet stuff until he’s comfortable and knows he can be more vulnerable with you. His idea of a first date is something he would most likely do with friends.

Dallas would invite you over to lay down with him and get to know your personality better. He’s not so excited to know all of your interests and desires yet, but rather how you are as a person and your morals. He’d probably try to put on a movie in the background while inviting you to share a blunt in bed. He finds conversation to be what reels him in most, and he knows the best conversations flow when high.

He would be such a tease the entire night. He would let small comments slip, even small touches and gestures to help ease you into growing more comfortable with him. He’ll make it his goal to have you wanting more and more of him - hopefully leading to more dates to come.

Sodapop

He probably fell in love at first sight and immediately knew the two of you would have chemistry.

I just know he saw you at the DX and waltzed right up to you with that big, charming grin on his face.

Soda is definitely more bold when he asks somebody out because he knows he’s handsome. Anyone in their right mind wouldn’t reject him.

“Name is Soda, Sodapop actually,” while he proceeds to introduce himself to you and converse for a few minutes before asking the big question. I feel he’s such a friendly and kind person so he’d definitely be good at making interesting conversation and let it flow naturally before he even attempts to mention a date.

“We should totally see each other sometime. Like - soon.” followed up with a sweet smile while he waits for your response.

I feel like he’s such a family type of guy. He would have to make sure you love his friends as well as Ponyboy and Darry only because he sees them as brothers too. I feel like Soda would have a big hangout with the gang where he invites you and weasels his way into claiming it’s a ‘date’.

I think of something casual and fun like a bonfire where you all chit chat and make s’mores, huddled up against each other. This seems more of like a fall/winter type of date but HEAR ME OUT!!

So of course, you accept his offer and head over to his place where you meet the others and accompany them while sitting beside Soda.

He would for sure tell them about you before hand and try to make them get their act together because he feels as first dates are more important than others. Leaving a good first impression is vital. “Just be cool, we’re gonna have fun, don’t embarrass me this time... please?” with a cheesy ass smile to seal it in.

STOP BC SODAPOP IS SUCH A KISS GOODBYE TYPE OF PERSON !!

Soda would try to get all cuddly and shit by the fire the whole night, progressively getting more bold. He would start with small compliments and smiles, moving towards looping an arm around you, etc. By the end of the night he feels like he’s made enough progress to get a little goodbye kiss from you, even if it’s a small peck on the cheek.

“Aw, come on, no kiss?” as he gently places his hands on your upper arms.

Steve

Steve seems like such a sweet guy once you get past the whole ‘tough guy’ exterior he likes to keep up. He would definitely have to know you a bit before asking you out, so I think you would be somewhat friends with him previous to the big question.

He lovesss people with that natural spunk so I can see him taking you out to some party for kicks. Nothing crazy, but some small venue where music is bumping and the two of you can just share a good time without having to worry about much else.

OKAY SO Steve is definitely more of a bolder type of person when it comes to asking someone out. He’s not shy or nervous or anything - more so expectant.

He gets a bunch of attention from all kinds of customers at the DX although they usually rush to see Soda first.

He gets a lottt of tips from Soda on how to shoot his shot and not get flat out rejected.

Steve would probably have been crushing on you for a good while before making a move. I can see the two of you are engaging in the gang’s typical activities, hanging out or chit-chatting in the lot. Steve tries to subtly have some alone time with you when he executes the big question. I just know he asked Soda and/or Dallas to help distract the others 😭

He’ll try and keep his cool even though he’s beyond excited to finally spill it. I’m talking like clearing his throat and uncontrollably smiling seconds prior.

“What do you say to maybe goin’ to some party with me come this weekend?”

All goes accordingly and here comes the day of the date. He’ll try his absolute best to look spotless just to further impress you.

He would offer to pick you up and everything as he tries to seem like a gentleman.

Once you arrive, he would break the ice immediately and take you by the hand to dance, not caring enough to waste time being stuck in that awkward phase.

I just know he would get so flustered when you come in close contact or have some form of physical touch within a specific dance. Steve Randle is touch deprived. He loves that shit.

During upbeat songs he would actually kill it and own the dance floor with you with no shame whatsoever.

Whether it’s an upbeat and groovy song or a more slow one, he’d make the most of every moment with you and try to make this night one to remember in hopes you’ll want to go out again sometime soon.

Darrel

Darry would be the best boyfriend to ever exist, lemme tell you right now.

He’s definitely a big family guy as well, so it’s not surprising he would want someone who’s willing to commit and have intimate and vulnerable moments with.

Since he’s 20, I feel this is a time for him where people his age start to forget about having a stupid high school relationship and begin looking for a serious relationship.

I’m getting ‘friends throughout teenage years, lovers as young adults’ kind of vibes from Darry. The two of you most likely kept in contact and see each other here and there since senior year ended.

Darry would have mentally prepared himself to ask you out for a date at least a week in advance after noticing he’s caught feelings for his high school buddy.

He was most likely pacing around and trying to script out his lines before he finally gathered enough courage to call you. Since seeing each other face to face is harder to get around with work and watching out for his brothers, he resorts to calling you late at night when Soda and Ponyboy are asleep.

He wouldn’t stall or try to linger on about the topic, he would get straight to the point, just like ripping off a bandaid.

“Hey, it’s been a minute since I last saw you and everything. How does a date sound? I’ve been eyeing that restaurant downtown for a while…we might enjoy it.”

I know he would be giggling and smiling nonstop after you accepted his offer 😭

Come the day of the date, Darry had saved up enough to make a reservation at the somewhat fancy restaurant he mentioned on the phone call. (It’s canon that Darry would most likely be a soc if it weren’t for the gang so I’m envisioning this date based off of that.)

He would so give you his jacket/blazer before he sat down on his side of the table. I’m talking like wrapping it around your shoulder type of thing.

The restaurant is definitely more fancy than the usual diner he’d buy some cheap fast food from, but not fancy like some banquet. He would try and make everything run smoothly by planning it beforehand with the booking, nicer outfit, and picking you up to drive you there.

During the date he would sit and admire you from across the table as you awaited your food, loving the sound of your voice as you rambled on and on. He would’ve planned this whole thing out, trying to come up with a date where you could get to know one another without having to do much else. The point of the date is to talk, not have fun and goof around - but maybe catch up on life together.

Two-Bit

He isn’t one to settle down and usually goes after someone on a lonely night or just for kicks. When he does fancy someone for a long period of time, he makes sure you know it.

I get a lot of ‘friends with benefits’ kind of vibe from him because he seems to be the friendly type who can get along with pretty much anyone. Since he finds you attractive and a pleasure to be around, you settled for this weird arrangement.

Weeks into this situationship type of bond, he realized he may want more than a casual flirty friendship.

He’s definitely bold too, like BOLD.

Two-Bit wouldn’t be shy or anything when asking you. I think he would straight up say something blunt like “Let’s go on a date. Sound like fun?” And then proceed to list date ideas to you.

HE WOULD TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE FUN!!

I can see him taking you to a car show or something and being able to crack jokes and show off his knowledge on cars to you. He brings the good vibes and fun, so even if the date doesn’t sound too appealing to you, you’re guaranteed to have a good time with him.

At the show, Two-Bit would definitely gasp and fawn over every pretty car and continue on and on about the make, model, and how unique the style of it is. He would make small comments and flirtatious suggestions just to make you smile.

“Like that one? Imagine all the fun dates we could go in that!”

Y’all might flame me for this but I think he loves hugs 😭. By the end of the date he would initiate a semi-long hug and smile smugly while you caved in and hugged him right back.

Also gonna get flamed, but he would call you cute names and things super casually. In the middle of a sentence he’ll refer to you as “baby”, or “darling” even though the two of you aren’t dating.

He’s a sweetheart deep down and yall know it. He would go the extra mile when he genuinely likes somebody. He would act a gentleman and share his interests with you. HE CARES!!