#of feeling like these are some of my favorite games with some of my favorite stories

[honeyslibrary]

Native Tongue | Nico Hischier

Pairing; Nico Hischier x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Smut, cursing? (can’t remember lol), fluff, established relationship, edited once

Summary; Reader asks Nico to teach her some Swiss German

Word Count; 4.6k

Authors Note: This is so simple and the smut is more rushed than I’d like but I still love this so much. This was my first time writing for Nico and I’d say I did pretty okay? Translations are from Google so hopefully those aren’t too butchered 🙏🏽 Love you guys!! Accepting requests for Nico pls send if you have any 🩵🩵 -Honey

P.S: Scrolling Pinterest to find pics for the title/cover and oh my God is he beautiful. The brown eyes and dimples combo will do it every time I’m actually giggling at work I want him sooooo badly

The soft glow of a bedside lamp cast shadows across Nico's apartment, the warm light complementing the muted tones of his bedroom. Outside, Newark was alive with its usual evening bustle, but inside, time seemed to slow to a gentle rhythm. It was one of those rare off nights during the season. No game, no travel, just time to breathe.

You had been dating Nico Hischier for just over three weeks now. Everything still carried that new relationship electricity: the flutter in your stomach when he texted, the warmth that spread through your chest when he smiled at you across a room, the way his Swiss accent thickened when he was tired or excited.

Tonight was simple. No fancy dinner reservations or planned activities, just you and him, lying on his bed, shoulders touching, talking about anything that crossed your minds. The conversation flowed easily between you, jumping from childhood memories to favorite movies to plans for the upcoming weekend.

His hand was resting in yours, and you traced the lines of his palm with your fingertips, feeling the calluses that told stories of countless hours gripping a hockey stick. These were the hands that had cradled pucks, won face-offs, and occasionally, thrown punches in defense of teammates. Now, they were relaxed in yours, trusting.

"Does this feel good?" you asked, pressing your thumb into the center of his palm in small, circular motions.

He hummed in contentment. "Very. Where did you learn to do this?"

"I had a friend who was a massage therapist. She taught me a few things." You continued working on his hand, moving to his fingers, gently pulling and stretching each one. "Hockey players need hand massages, right? All that stick handling."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "It's not something we talk about, but yes. Hands, wrists... they take a beating."

"Well, consider this a service to the Devils, then. I'm helping maintain their captain."

His smile was visible even in your peripheral vision. "Very thoughtful of you."

You both fell quiet for a moment, comfortable in the silence. The soft whirr of the heating system provided a gentle backdrop to your thoughts. Outside, a car horn honked, distant and unimportant.

"Can I ask you something?" you said finally, your voice soft in the dimly lit room.

"Anything."

"Would you teach me some Swiss German? Just a few phrases?"

Nico turned his head to look at you, his expression curious. "Really? Why?"

You shrugged, still focused on massaging his hand. "I don't know. It's part of who you are. I want to know all parts of you." You paused, suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable. "Plus, I think it sounds beautiful when you speak it."

He was quiet for a moment, and you worried you'd said something wrong. But when you finally looked at him, his eyes were soft with an emotion you couldn't quite name.

"That's... no one has ever asked me that before." He shifted to face you better. "What would you like to learn?"

You grinned, excited. "Start with the basics? Hello, goodbye, thank you?"

Nico nodded, looking thoughtful. "Alright. So, 'hello' is 'grüezi' in Swiss German."

"Grüezi," you repeated, the unfamiliar word clumsy on your tongue.

His smile widened. "Not bad for a first try. Try again, but it's more like... 'GRÜE-tzi' with emphasis on the first part."

"Grüezi," you attempted again, trying to mimic his pronunciation.

"Better! Now, 'goodbye' can be 'uf widerluege'."

You laughed. "That's a mouthful. Uf... wider..."

"Widerluege," he finished, his voice patient. "It literally means 'until we see each other again'."

"That's actually beautiful. Uf widerluege," you tried, the words feeling foreign but fascinating on your lips.

"And 'thank you' is 'merci vielmal'."

"That sounds part French!"

Nico nodded. "Swiss German borrows from many languages. We're surrounded by different cultures."

"Merci vielmal," you said, feeling proud when his eyes lit up at your decent pronunciation.

"Perfect! You're a natural."

The praise warmed you. "What else can you teach me?"

Nico thought for a moment. "How about... 'I like you'? That's 'Ich mag dich'."

"Ich mag dich," you repeated, looking directly into his eyes as you said it.

Something shifted in his expression, his eyes darkening slightly. "Very good."

"And how would you say 'I really like you'?" you asked, your voice dropping to just above a whisper.

"Ich mag dich würklich sehr," he replied, his voice equally soft.

You repeated the phrase slowly, "Ich mag dich würklich sehr."

His eyes never left yours as you spoke, and you noticed the way his breathing seemed to have quickened slightly. Feeling emboldened, you placed his hand down and shifted to face him fully.

"What about..." you hesitated, "how would you say 'kiss me'?"

The atmosphere in the room changed, charged with unspoken tension. Nico's eyes dropped to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again.

"Küss mich," he said, his accent thicker than before.

"Küss mich," you whispered.

He didn't move immediately, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as his lips met yours in a soft, questioning kiss.

When he pulled back, his expression was serious, almost lustful. "Say something else," he requested, his voice rougher than before.

"What should I say?"

"Anything," he replied. "Just... in Swiss German."

You cast your mind back to the phrases he'd taught you, feeling a strange power in knowing how much it affected him to hear you speak his native language.

"Grüezi," you said softly, watching his reaction. "Ich mag dich würklich sehr."

His exhale was shaky. "Again," he whispered.

"Küss mich," you repeated, more confidently this time.

He closed the distance between you once more, this kiss deeper, more certain. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you responded eagerly, your own hand coming to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your palm.

When you separated, both of you were breathing harder. The look in his eyes was intense, almost vulnerable in its honesty.

"You have no idea what it does to me," he admitted, his voice low, "hearing you speak my language."

"I think I'm getting an idea," you replied with a small smile. "How do you say 'I want you'?"

His eyes darkened further. "Ich will dich."

"Ich will dich," you repeated, maintaining eye contact.

A soft groan escaped him. "Your pronunciation is terrible," he said, but his tone was affectionate, teasing.

"Then teach me," you challenged, shifting closer to him.

"Say it again," he instructed, his hand now resting on your waist.

"Ich will dich."

"The 'ch' is deeper, from the back of your throat," he explained, his fingers drawing small circles on your hip.

You tried again, inadvertently making the same mistake.

He shook his head, a smile playing at his lips despite the intensity in his eyes. "No, listen to me. Ich."

"Ich," you repeated, still not quite getting it right.

"Here," he said, bringing his hand up to touch your throat gently. "You feel it here when you say it correctly."

You tried again, focusing on the sensation under his fingertips.

"Better," he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now the whole phrase."

"Ich will dich."

"Perfect," he whispered, and then his lips were on yours again, more urgent this time, his hand sliding from your throat to your hair, fingers tangling in it as he pulled you closer.

You responded in kind, your hand moving up his chest to his shoulder, then to the back of his neck, feeling the short hairs there. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking entrance, which you granted readily, a small sound of pleasure escaping you.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath. "How do you say 'beautiful'?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Schön," he replied, equally quiet.

"Du bist schön," you attempted, guessing at the structure.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise before crinkling at the corners with his smile. "That's right. You're learning quickly."

"I have a good teacher," you replied, running your fingers lightly through his hair.

He closed his eyes briefly at your touch, then opened them again, his gaze intense. "It's strange," he said softly.

"What is?" you asked, still running your fingers through his hair.

"Hearing someone speak my language... it's like hearing a piece of home." He caught your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. "Especially someone I care about."

The tenderness in his gesture made your heart flutter. "Even if my pronunciation is terrible?"

"Especially then," he laughed softly. "It's... I don't know how to explain it. When you speak English, you're just you. But when you try to speak Swiss German..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "It's like you're reaching for a part of me that not many people here get to see."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "I want to see all parts of you, Nico."

His eyes darkened at that, and he shifted slightly, bringing himself closer to you. "Say it again," he murmured.

"What?"

"Ich will dich," he prompted.

You repeated the phrase, trying your best to match his pronunciation, "Ich will dich."

A small groan escaped him, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, more urgent than before. His hand moved to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek as his tongue sought entrance, which you granted eagerly.

When you broke apart, both breathing heavily, there was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes. "I don't know why it affects me so much," he admitted. "Hearing you speak Swiss German. It just... does something to me."

You smiled, feeling a surge of power at the knowledge. "Then I should probably keep practicing," you said, your tone deliberately innocent even as you shifted closer, eliminating the last bit of space between your bodies.

"Absolutely," he agreed, his hand moving to your waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. "It's important to practice."

"Küss mich," you whispered, remembering the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

He didn't need to be told twice, his lips finding yours again as his hand splayed across your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body through your clothes, the solid strength of him as he held you.

"One more phrase," you breathed when you separated for air. "How do you say 'I want you to touch me'?"

His eyes, already dark with desire, seemed to grow even more intense. "Ich will, dass du mich berührst," he replied, his accent thicker than usual.

You tried to repeat it, stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds, and he smiled, the expression somehow both tender and predatory.

"Close enough," he murmured, and then his hand was moving, tracing a path up your side with deliberate slowness.

"And how do you say 'don't stop'?" you asked, your voice catching as his fingers traced patterns on your skin.

"Hör nicht auf," he told you, watching your face intently.

"Hör nicht auf," you repeated, the words turning into a soft gasp as his touch became more purposeful.

His hand slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs tantalizingly slow. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent shivers down your spine, each touch igniting something deep within you. His eyes remained fixed on yours, gauging your reactions, seeming to find satisfaction in every small catch of your breath.

"Another phrase?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that you could feel through his chest where it pressed against yours.

You nodded, not trusting your voice as his thumb traced lazy circles just below the underwire of your bra.

"How about 'please'?" you managed, your voice slightly unsteady.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "Bitte."

"Bitte," you echoed, the word barely audible.

Something flashed in his eyes. Hunger, affection, and something deeper that made your heart race. "Say it again," he instructed, his hand stilling its movement.

You understood his game immediately. "Bitte," you repeated, more urgently this time.

His smile widened slightly, satisfaction evident in his expression as his hand resumed its exploration, this time venturing higher. His touch was confident but gentle, asking permission without words.

"Yes," you breathed, answering his unspoken question.

And then his mouth was on yours again, hot and demanding, as his hand finally moved to cup your breast over your bra. You arched into his touch, a small moan escaping into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, his kiss deepening as his thumb brushed over the fabric covering your nipple.

Your own hands weren't idle, moving to explore the firm planes of his chest through his t-shirt. You could feel the defined muscles beneath the soft cotton, the result of years of athletic training. Feeling emboldened, you tugged at the hem, silently asking for permission to remove it.

Nico broke the kiss long enough to help you, sitting up slightly and pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion before tossing it aside. You took a moment to admire him: the broad shoulders, the lean muscle, the scattered freckles across his skin that you'd never noticed before.

"Schön," you said softly, using one of the few words he'd called you that seemed appropriate.

His expression softened at your use of his language. "That's my line," he replied, reaching to touch your face with gentle fingers. "Du bist wunderschön."

"What does that mean?" you asked, leaning into his touch.

"You are beautiful," he translated, his eyes never leaving yours.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion. You leaned forward to press your lips to his collarbone, then moved higher to the sensitive spot just beneath his ear that you'd discovered during your earlier make-out sessions. He inhaled sharply, his hand moving to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

"Your turn," he murmured, tugging lightly at the bottom of your shirt.

You nodded, allowing him to help you remove it. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps on your newly exposed skin, but they were quickly replaced by warmth as Nico's hands moved to your waist, drawing you closer again.

His kisses became more insistent, trailing from your lips to your jaw, then down your neck. You tilted your head to give him better access, sighing with pleasure as he found a particularly sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.

"How do you say 'more'?" you asked breathlessly.

"Meh," he replied against your skin, the word followed by a gentle nip that made you gasp.

"Meh," you repeated, and felt him smile against your neck before he continued his exploration, his mouth moving lower to the swell of your breasts above your bra.

His hands found the clasp of your bra, but he paused, looking up to meet your eyes. "Is this okay?" he asked, suddenly serious.

You appreciated his care, his constant checking in. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him, his consideration, his respect, his unwillingness to assume.

"Yes," you nodded, adding with a small smile, "Ja."

He unhooked your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your arms and setting it aside. There was reverence in his gaze as he looked at you, his hands coming up to cup your breasts with gentle pressure.

"Beautiful," he whispered, this time in English.

You felt a flush spread across your chest and up to your cheeks, but there was no embarrassment in it, only warmth at the naked admiration in his eyes. He lowered his head, replacing one of his hands with his mouth, and you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

His tongue circled your nipple before taking it between his lips, the gentle suction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your hand moved to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, encouraging him.

"Nico," you breathed, his name a prayer on your lips.

He hummed in response, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. His free hand wasn't idle, moving to give your other breast equal attention, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak in rhythm with his mouth.

The dual stimulation was intoxicating, but you wanted more. Your hands moved down his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath warm skin as he moved. You traced the ridge of his spine, then moved lower, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

He lifted his head from your breast, eyes dark with desire as they met yours. "Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough.

You considered using one of the Swiss German phrases he'd taught you, but in this moment, you wanted complete clarity. "I want to feel you," you said simply. "All of you."

His expression grew serious, though the hunger in his eyes didn't diminish. "Are you sure? We don't have to rush anything."

The care in his question made your heart swell. Three weeks wasn't a very long time, but in those weeks, you'd spent nearly every free moment that he had together. You'd talked for hours, shared meals, watched games, exchanged stories about your lives. There had been countless kisses, increasingly heated make-out sessions, but you'd both been content to take things slowly. Until now.

"I'm sure," you nodded, reaching up to touch his face. "I want this. I want you."

He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, the gesture unexpectedly tender amidst the heat of the moment. "I want you too," he replied, his accent thicker than usual with emotion. "But we go at your pace, okay? You tell me if you want to stop, anytime."

"I will," you promised.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, then leaned down to capture your lips again. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, more deliberate. His hands moved to your waist, then lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He looked at you again, a silent question, and you nodded.

With careful movements, he unbuttoned your jeans and helped you shimmy out of them, leaving you in just your underwear. His eyes traveled over your body with appreciation, but there was also something protective in his gaze.

"Your turn," you said, reaching for the drawstring of his sweatpants.

He helped you, pushing them down and kicking them off. Now both of you were down to your underwear, the thin fabrics the only barrier between you. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against your thigh, and the knowledge that you affected him so strongly was intoxicating.

His hand moved to your hip, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "May I?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Please," you nodded, adding with a small smile, "Bitte."

The corner of his mouth quirked up at your use of Swiss German. Slowly, maintaining eye contact, he slid your underwear down your legs, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin. Once they were removed, he took a moment just to look at you, his expression a mix of desire and something that looked remarkably like awe.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, shaking his head slightly as if in disbelief. "I don't know what I did to deserve this."

"You're just you," you replied simply, reaching for him. "That's more than enough."

He came willingly into your arms, his body covering yours, the weight of him a delicious pressure. You could feel every inch where your skin touched his, chest to chest, hip to hip, legs tangled together. His hand moved between your bodies, fingers tracing patterns on your stomach, then lower, seeking permission in your eyes before venturing further.

You nodded, your breath catching as his fingers found your core, exploring with gentle curiosity. He watched your face intently, learning what made your breath hitch, what made your back arch, what drew sounds of pleasure from your throat.

"Küss mich," you whispered, remembering the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

His eyes darkened at your use of his language, and he leaned down to comply, his kiss hungry and deep as his fingers continued their skilled movements. You were lost in sensation, the world narrowing to just this, his touch, his taste, the weight of him above you.

When he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes were serious. "Do you want to continue?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

"Yes," you nodded without hesitation. "Do you have...?"

"Protection? Yes," he confirmed, reaching toward the nightstand drawer.

You took the opportunity to help him remove his boxers, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of him fully naked. He was beautiful. All lean muscle and smooth skin, his body a testament to years of athletic discipline.

He retrieved a condom from the drawer, and you watched as he rolled it on with practiced movements. Then he was hovering over you again, his weight supported on his forearms on either side of your head, his eyes searching yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked one more time, his voice gentle.

The care in his question made your heart swell. "I'm sure," you nodded, reaching up to touch his face. "Ich will dich," you added, using the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

A groan escaped him at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you deeply as he positioned himself. "Tell me if you need me to stop," he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he began to push forward, entering you with carefully slow. The sensation was intense, and you focused on your breathing, on relaxing, on the feeling of him gradually filling you.

When he was fully seated, he paused, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing as uneven as your own. "Okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice despite the strain of holding still.

"More than okay," you assured him, shifting your hips slightly to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "You can move."

He started slowly, with gentle, measured thrusts that allowed both of you to adjust to the sensation. His eyes never left yours, watching for any sign of discomfort, but all he would find was pleasure building with each movement.

Gradually, as your body relaxed and welcomed him, his pace increased. Your hands moved to his back, feeling the play of muscles as he moved above you, within you. The room filled with the sounds of your combined breathing, occasional moans, and the rustle of sheets.

"Okay?" he asked again, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control.

"Yes," you gasped, arching to meet his thrusts. "Don't stop—Hör nicht auf."

His rhythm faltered momentarily at your use of Swiss German, a groan escaping him. "You're killing me," he muttered, but there was affection in his tone beneath the desire.

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly stars exploded behind your eyelids as he hit a spot deep within you that sent pleasure coursing through your veins. "There," you breathed, "right there."

Understanding immediately, he maintained the angle, his thrusts becoming more purposeful. One of his hands moved between your bodies, finding the bundle of nerves at your center, circling with just the right pressure.

The dual stimulation was overwhelming, pleasure building rapidly within you. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, every muscle tightening in anticipation.

"Nico," you gasped, feeling the tension coiling tighter.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice strained but reassuring. "Let go. I want to see you."

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips and fingers, pushed you over the edge. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body arching against his as you cried out his name. He worked you through it, his movements slowing but not stopping, prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible.

As you came down from your high, you became aware of his still-rigid length inside you, of the tension in his muscles as he held himself in check. You reached up to touch his face, bringing his eyes to meet yours.

"Your turn," you said softly, clenching around him.

A groan tore from his throat, his control visibly slipping. "Are you sure? I can—"

"I want to feel you," you cut him off, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Let go."

Something in your eyes must have convinced him, because with a shuddering breath, he began to move again, his rhythm more urgent now. You watched his face, fascinated by the play of emotions: pleasure, concentration, and something deeper that made your heart race.

His movements became more erratic, his breathing harsh, and you knew he was close. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down so that your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest.

"Ich will dich," you whispered in his ear, remembering how strongly he'd reacted to you speaking his language earlier.

The effect was immediate. He groaned, deep and guttural, his hips jerking against yours as he found his release. You held him through it, hands stroking his back, murmuring encouragement as he shuddered above you.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you moved, content to stay connected, his weight a pleasant pressure, his breath warm against your neck. Finally, he shifted, carefully separating from you and moving to dispose of the condom in the bathroom.

When he returned, he immediately gathered you back into his arms, pulling the rumpled sheets over both of your cooling bodies. You settled against his chest, listening to the gradually slowing beat of his heart, feeling utterly content.

"Are you okay?" he asked after a while, his voice soft in the dim room.

You nodded against his chest. "More than okay."

His hand moved to stroke your hair, gentle and soothing. "That was..." he seemed to search for the right word.

"Amazing?" you supplied, tilting your head to look at him.

He smiled, the expression soft and genuine. "Amazing," he agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "But I meant what happened between us. It's not just physical for me."

The vulnerability in his admission made your heart swell. "It's not just physical for me either," you assured him, reaching up to touch his face. "I really care about you, Nico."

His eyes softened at your words. "I care about you too," he replied, his accent thicker with emotion. "Very much."

You settled back against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. Outside, Newark continued its evening bustle, car horns honking and sirens wailing in the distance. But in here, in the soft glow of Edison bulbs, there was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and newfound intimacy.

"Teach me one more phrase," you murmured, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

"What would you like to know?" he asked, his voice rumbling beneath your ear.

You thought for a moment. "How do you say 'stay with me'?"

He was quiet for a beat, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Blieb bi mir."

You repeated it, looking up to meet his eyes as you did. "Blieb bi mir."

His expression was tender as he looked down at you. "As long as you'll have me," he promised, pulling you closer.

My Patreon, where you can find exclusive fics not posted anywhere else: HERE

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

I know I’m asking a lot but we need brat reader and modern remmick headcanons

Brat Reader x Modern Remmick Headcanons

You live to test Remmick’s patience, rolling your eyes at his orders, giving him cheeky comebacks, and deliberately ignoring his warnings just to see that flicker of darkness in his gaze. He finds it both infuriating and exhilarating—he always did like a challenge.

When you get particularly bratty, Remmick doesn’t shout or argue. Instead, he goes quiet, watching you with that predatory stillness. It drives you insane, his lack of reaction making you act out more, desperate to pull any sort of response from him.

Remmick is patient up to a point, but once you cross that line, he doesn’t hold back. His punishments are always tailored to you—denying touch, teasing until you beg, making you work for every inch of relief. He loves watching you crumble, that bratty façade melting away.

You love to flirt with danger, pushing him right up to the edge before retreating. A sly smirk, a whispered taunt—anything to watch his jaw clench. But he always catches you, pinning you against the nearest surface, his voice low and dripping with menace as he reminds you exactly who’s in charge.

Sometimes, just to rile him up, you’ll mimic his strict tone or roll your eyes when he gives you that dark, commanding look. “Yes, sir,” you’ll say sarcastically, only for him to pin you down, hands gripping your wrists as he murmurs, “You’ll be saying that properly soon enough.”

Remmick sees your brattiness as a challenge—a game of dominance and submission that he always wins. He takes his time, unraveling you bit by bit, stripping away that defiance until you’re soft and pliant beneath him.

Despite his intensity, Remmick is surprisingly tender afterward. He’ll brush your hair back, whispering praises and pressing soft kisses to your skin. “My little hellion,” he murmurs, a hint of pride in his voice. “You really think you can outlast me?”

Remmick loves nothing more than surprising you, especially when you’re in the middle of some sassy remark. One minute you’re smirking at him, the next you’re pinned against the wall, his breath hot against your ear. “Keep it up, and I’ll give you something to really whine about.”

You know you’ve pushed him far enough when that slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. It’s the only warning you get before he’s on you, all teasing and mockery forgotten as he drags every last bit of submission from you.

Remmick believes in consequences. If you’ve been mouthing off or deliberately testing him, he makes it his mission to remind you exactly who’s in control. His favorite method? Holding you in place, one hand firm around your throat while the other drags pleasure out of you so slowly it borders on torture. He won’t let you finish until you’re begging, apologies tumbling from your lips.

If you’ve been especially bratty, he’ll make sure you regret it. You’ll be pinned down, wrists locked above your head as he takes his time—again and again—until you’re a trembling, whimpering mess. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he’ll purr, voice dripping with condescension. “Not so mouthy now, are you?”

Remmick is a master of edging. He’ll bring you right to the brink, only to pull back with that smug smirk. You’ll claw at him, hips desperate for friction, but he just chuckles darkly. “Brats don’t get to finish until I say so.”

When you’re feeling defiant, Remmick makes you work for it. He’ll sit back, arms crossed, and watch you squirm. “Come on, use that sharp little tongue of yours for something useful. Ask me properly, and maybe I’ll be generous.” And you know damn well he won’t lift a finger until you do.

Remmick’s hands are always on you, whether it’s a possessive grip around your waist or a firm hand on the back of your neck. He likes to remind you who you belong to, especially after you’ve been a little too mouthy.

Remmick has a sadistic streak that flares up when you push him too far. He’ll take you apart slowly, methodically, until your body is shaking and your voice is hoarse from screaming his name. “Look at you,” he’ll murmur with dark pride. “My pretty little mess.”

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 7

Theme: jealous homoerotic friendship angst

A/N: actually not sure how i feel about this chapter, got done writing it and wanted to scrap the whole thing, just don't feel like it's my best... but i said i would get a chapter out tonight and it does move plot along so I won't do that to you guys, hopefully it'll still be a fun read... and for those wondering, there is no box/gift reveal this chapter lol

WC: 5.2K

Warnings: angst

**** Chapter 7 ****

Word traveled fast on campus.

Faster than she expected. Faster than felt possible, honestly, considering no one actually saw her kiss anyone or leave with anyone or do anything remotely scandalous that night at Ted’s. But apparently, all it took a few drinks and Lexi Reyes showing off her biceps in a crop top for the entire women’s sports community to suddenly decide Azzi Fudd was having a queer awakening.

(Which—fair. But still.)

She hadn’t even been flirting that hard. At least, she didn’t think she had. It was mostly laughing. And leaning a little too close during darts. And maybe touching Lexi’s arm once. Twice, tops.

Not her fault Lexi had great arms. Or that she laughed in a way that made it feel like the whole room fell away for a second.

What surprised her most was how fast people picked up on it—like there had been this collective pause around her lately, everyone waiting for her to catch up to herself. Like they all knew before she did.

Even more surprising?

She didn’t hate it.

It was terrifying, yeah. And weird. And definitely not something she’d ever pictured herself navigating at the start of the school year. But still, for the first time in a long time, Azzi felt like she was actually herself. Not Paige’s maybe. Not someone’s favorite sharpshooter. Not the girl everyone expected to smile and nod and keep her head down.

Just… her.

Fully. Honestly. Finally.

And if some girls were suddenly smiling at her in the dining hall or sliding into her DMs with sparkly emojis and suspiciously well-lit selfies—well. That was new, too.

But not bad.

She spotted Lexi outside the dining hall, leaning against the brick wall like she had nothing better to do. Hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked dangerous in that annoyingly casual way she always did—like a dare and a joke at the same time.

Azzi had meant to just say hey. Keep it simple.

But Lexi fell into step beside her, bumping her shoulder lightly.

“Oh look,” she said, grinning. “There’s the sharpshooter.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” Lexi said. “You started it at Ted’s.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She just shook her head—and didn’t move when their arms brushed again.

She was still getting used to this. Not the flirting exactly—though that was definitely new. But the feeling that she could take up space. Laugh a little louder. Be looked at and not shrink under it. That she could like the attention and not feel guilty about it.

And weirdly, it was showing up in her game.

She’d been playing better. Looser. More confident. Not reckless—but unafraid.

Coach had noticed. Her teammates had, too. Even her shot felt different—like it had more air behind it. Like she trusted it to land.

It wasn’t about Lexi. Not really. But something had cracked open in her this season. Like she’d stopped waiting for permission to become whoever she already was.

She didn’t know what that meant yet. Or where it was heading.

But today, right now, it felt good.

Paige

It was the kind of night that felt like a dare.

Bright lights, sticky floors, a faint smell of feet and nacho cheese in the air—and Paige, somehow, was standing in the middle of all of it, wondering how her life had managed to spiral into this specific flavor of awkward.

Kathryn was perched on the edge of the plastic seat beside her, legs crossed, her lip gloss catching the overhead lights every time she laughed. Lexi was halfway through a monologue about why no one should ever bowl with bumpers past the age of ten. And Azzi—Azzi was off to the side, lacing up her shoes like they were her sworn enemy.

One big happy group outing.

If your definition of “happy” included unresolved history, romantic confusion, and exactly one person (Paige) having a slow-burn existential crisis behind her carefully neutral facial expression.

"You're up, Bueckers," Lexi said, nudging her with the side of her sneaker. “Try not to embarrass your lineage.”

"She's got this," Kathryn added, soft and encouraging, which only made Paige feel worse for absolutely not having this.

Paige stood, adjusted the sleeves of her hoodie like they were armor, and picked up a ball that looked radioactive under the neon lights. It was green. Shiny. Slightly chipped. She was pretty sure it was judging her.

Behind her, someone laughed. She didn’t know who. She didn’t look back.

You are a grown adult woman. You are fine. It’s just bowling, she told herself, which was objectively a lie, because nothing about this was fine.

The ball hit the gutter like it had been magnetized to failure.

Lexi let out a cackle so sharp it echoed. "Daaaaang. You sure you a D1 athlete?"

Kathryn laughed too, trying to soften the blow with a quiet, "It’s okay, babe," but Paige was already smiling too hard, the way you do when you're two seconds from spiraling and need everyone to think you’re okay.

Azzi clapped once, the way you do when someone drops a fork in the cafeteria and you’re pretending it was impressive.

Paige turned around and gave a little bow. “Your applause means the world to me.”

Then she sat down too hard on the bench and let the noise blur around her for a second. The music, the pins crashing down in the next lane. Her palms were warm. Her stomach was off. She could feel herself slipping into that familiar Paige place: where everything was technically fine, but also not at all.

She reached for her drink. Drank too fast. Let the carbonation sting.

She could’ve been in sweatpants, curled up in bed, halfway through a bag of TruFru and watching whatever basketball game was on that night. Instead, she was here—trapped in a four-person fever dream that felt suspiciously like a double date, with the girl she likes, the girl she never really got over, and Lexi, who was somehow the most annoying person she’s ever met.

There was only one logical explanation, and it started, unfortunately, with lunch.

****

It was supposed to be a normal lunch.

Not “normal” like her schedule had ever actually been normal, but still—she was aiming for predictable. Grilled cheese, a corner booth, and maybe a half-finished reading assignment if she didn’t get too distracted people-watching.

Kathryn was already there when Paige arrived, smoothie in hand, lips pink from whatever fancy berry mix she liked lately. She greeted her with a smile and a granola bar, sliding it across the table like they’d been doing this forever. Easy. No pressure. Just... something.

And then, just as Paige was starting to relax—starting to think maybe this really could be easy—Kathryn’s expression changed.

She was mid-sip of her smoothie when she said, “Oh hey,” lifting her hand in a small wave, casual and sunny.

Paige turned, and immediately regretted it.

Lexi. Carrying a tray that held two cookies and absolutely nothing else. Talking too loud, grinning like she owned the building.

And right behind her, Azzi.

Hair still damp from practice. White t-shirt, no sleeves, headphones hanging around her neck like they belonged there more than she did.

Azzi saw them. Saw her. And didn’t even blink.

She looked away like Paige was just... scenery.

Lexi, on the other hand, lit up like someone had just rolled out a red carpet.

“Well well well,” she said, zeroing in on their table. “This looks exclusive.”

Paige tried not to wince. “It’s soup.”

It was, in fact, tomato basil. And it had gone cold.

Lexi slid into the booth before anyone had a chance to stop her.

Paige had maybe spoken five words to her before today—most of them at post-game mixers or passing in the hallway, and at least one of them had been “huh?”—but apparently that was enough to get promoted to group lunch status.

Kathryn smiled like this was completely normal. “You guys want to sit?”

No. Not really.

Azzi hesitated for half a second, then slid into the spot next to Lexi without a word. Paige’s stomach did something deeply unhelpful.

She forced her eyes back to her tray. Soup. Salad. Not the girl who used to kiss her like it meant something and was now sharing a bench with the human version of an Instagram caption that said “it’s giving chaos.”

She pushed a crouton around her plate. “Wait—do you guys know each other?”

Kathryn looked up, casual but a little too measured.

“Kind of. She used to hang out with… some of the girls on my team.”

There it was. That slight pause. Just long enough to mean something.

“Oh,” Paige said, trying to keep her voice level. “Right…”

Kathryn nodded slowly, like she was editing the sentence in real time. “Yeah. The soccer and softball teams are kind of… close.”

Close.

Paige didn’t miss the pause.

Or the way Lexi smirked just a little into her straw.

She didn’t say more. She didn’t need to.

And Paige didn’t press, even though a dozen questions sprang to mind immediately—like who, and when, and why Lexi. But she just nodded, like this didn’t bother her. Like she wasn’t suddenly remembering Azzi at Ted’s, laughing too hard at something Lexi said and leaning in like her body forgot who it used to belong to.

Lexi took a loud sip from her straw and kicked her feet up onto the seat rung under the table. Paige tried not to roll her eyes so hard they got stuck.

It was fine. Everything was fine. They were just four people having lunch. In a sitcom. Written by Satan.

She was in the middle of composing a mental monologue about how maybe the world was, in fact, conspiring against her—complete with a soundtrack and opening credits—when Lexi cut through it with her mouth half-full of cookie.

“So. How’s the knee?”

Paige blinked. “Still attached.”

“Good start.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Or to Lexi in general, honestly. The girl had the energy of a cracked open soda can—bubbly, unpredictable, maybe about to explode.

“You doing pool workouts yet?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Twice a week.”

Lexi leaned back, satisfied. “So you’re mobile. Which means you can bowl.”

There it was. The curveball.

Before Paige could say anything, Kathryn chimed in, bright and interested. “Wait—what bowling?”

“There’s some school thing tonight,” Lexi said, licking cookie crumbs off her thumb. “Look—” she tapped the laminated sign propped up in the middle of the table, like it had been there the whole time. “Free games, bad pizza, excellent people-watching. Theme’s glow-in-the-dark or something. There’s a cartoon bowling pin wearing sunglasses, so you know it’s legit.

Kathryn perked up. “That sounds kind of amazing.”

And Paige could feel it happening, like a slow-motion car crash—Kathryn looking at her with that easy, open smile, Lexi already half-inviting herself again, and Azzi just sitting there. Not saying anything. Not even looking at her.

Lexi grinned. “You should come. Show off those rehab reflexes.”

It was a joke, kind of. But also a challenge.

Before Paige could answer, Azzi spoke for the first time in a while—voice low, dry, just a little sharp around the edges. “I don’t know if bowling counts as PT-approved.”

It wasn’t rude. But it wasn’t nothing either.

And Paige, who had been doing a decent job of keeping it together, suddenly felt like she couldn’t remember how to hold a spoon.

Kathryn nudged her knee under the table. “It could be fun. We should all go.”

And just like that, Paige was cornered.

All of her instincts screamed no. But Kathryn was still smiling, hopeful, unaware. Lexi was waiting. And Azzi—Azzi was now staring directly at her, expression unreadable, like this was a test Paige didn’t study for.

She swallowed. “Sure. That could be... chill.”

“Sweet,” Lexi said, finishing her cookie like this was the most casual conversation in the world. “Athlete bonding, plus weird shoes. What more could you want?”

Azzi reached for her water. Didn’t speak. But her jaw tightened just enough to make Paige want to crawl under the table.

She stirred her soup. It still hadn’t gotten any warmer.

****

Paige’s second frame went only slightly better than the first. One pin. It wobbled dramatically, as if weighing its options, then decided to stay standing just to humiliate her. 

Kathryn clapped in support. Azzi didn’t even pretend to look.

And Lexi?

Lexi stepped up to the lane like she’d just been personally invited to save bowling as a sport. Her socks didn’t match. Her wind-up was dramatic. Her throw was perfect.

Strike.

Because of course it was.

She turned around like she expected a standing ovation. “It’s a gift,” she said, as if she’d just cured world hunger with her thumb and middle finger placement.

Paige stared at the pins and thought about crying. Or leaving. Or maybe starting a petition to outlaw bowling altogether.

Instead, she muttered, “It’s a fluke.”

Lexi beamed. “You wish.”

When it came back around to her turn, Paige adjusted her grip on her neon green ball, which now felt like it weighed twelve hundred pounds and also possibly hated her.

“Try aiming at the pins this time,” Lexi called out, grinning.

Kathryn giggled. Azzi said nothing.

Paige smiled without turning around. “You know what’s wild? I don’t remember asking for commentary.”

“Sorry,” Lexi said, absolutely not sorry. “I just assumed the brace was cutting off circulation to your strategy.”

Paige rolled.

One pin. 

That’s it. 

Lexi laughed so hard she leaned into Azzi for support. Azzi didn’t even flinch.

It wasn’t the laughter that got to her—it was the leaning. Like it was casual. Like that kind of closeness came easy now. Like Paige hadn’t spent months trying to forget what Azzi’s shoulder felt like under her hand.

She walked back to the table, trying not to make a face. Her competitive side—usually fun, usually harmless—was starting to melt into something else entirely. Something messier. Something that looked a lot like losing control.

Kathryn handed her a water bottle with a sweet, encouraging look that made Paige want to scream. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m doing something,” Paige said, too brightly, twisting the cap open like it had personally wronged her.

Lexi slid into the seat next to her, looking like the human embodiment of the words so what if I’m the villain. She stretched her arms overhead, popped her knuckles, and smiled.

“You know,” she said, voice lazy and a little too smug, ““All that hype and you can’t land a strike?”

Paige stared at her. “I will literally pour this water on you.”

Lexi grinned wider. “Bet you miss.”

And the worst part—the actual worst part—was that Paige could hear herself in Lexi. The sarcasm, the smugness, the let-me-poke-you-until-you-break tone. It was like talking to a funhouse mirror version of herself, one with better hair and a lot less shame.

It was infuriating.

And Azzi wasn’t just sitting there anymore—she was leaning in now, elbow on the table, eyes locked on Lexi like whatever she was saying was actually interesting. Her smile was soft. Lazy. The kind that unfolded slowly. The kind Paige knew better than anyone.

Lexi said something dumb—Paige could just tell by the way she gestured—and Azzi laughed. For real. Head tilted, chin tucked, laugh lighting up her whole face.

Then Lexi nudged her knee under the table, and Azzi didn’t even flinch.

She smiled wider.

Paige felt something low in her stomach twist.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. This wasn’t anything. It wasn’t like Azzi was doing it to her. But still. She sat there, watching the two of them flirt like it was effortless, like Paige hadn’t ever mattered. Like she hadn’t ever been the one Azzi smiled at like that.

And suddenly the room felt smaller. Too warm. Too loud.

Like she couldn’t breathe in it anymore.

Lexi bowled again. Another strike.

Because apparently God was off duty tonight.

Paige clapped, slow and sarcastic. “Wow. So impressive.”

“You’re jealous,” Lexi said, tossing her hair like this was a shampoo commercial.

“I’m disturbed,” Paige shot back. “There’s a difference.”

Kathryn snorted into her drink. Azzi didn’t look up, but Paige caught the subtle curve of her mouth—like she was smiling, but didn’t want anyone to see. 

Kathryn went next. She bowled with the exact same energy she did everything else—with effort, but no real strategy. She sort of lobbed the ball like it was a casual suggestion to the pins. A few fell. She fist-pumped like she’d won gold.

“You’re consistent,” Lexi called. “Mediocre, but consistent.”

Kathryn flipped her off with two fingers and a grin. Azzi actually laughed at that—out loud. It was quiet, but it felt like thunder in Paige’s ears. She leaned into Paige’s shoulder. “You’re up, Az.”

Azzi stood, quiet, unreadable. Her expression didn’t change, but Paige swore she could feel something tighten in the air. Azzi stepped into the lane, smooth and unfazed, and launched the ball with a clean snap of her wrist. Seven pins dropped like it was nothing.

“Okay, calm down, showoff,” Lexi said, grinning. “Trying to make us all look bad?”

Azzi didn’t even hesitate. “You’re just mad I look better doing it.”

Lexi leaned back, slow and deliberate, eyes trailing over Azzi like she was sizing her up—or unwrapping a present. “I mean… if you’re trying to distract me, it’s working.”

Paige blinked like she was trying to reset the entire simulation.

Azzi just smiled—small, but real. Dangerous.

Then she sat back down like she hadn’t just casually lit Paige’s entire nervous system on fire.

Paige stared straight ahead, pretending to care deeply about the bowling scoreboard, which at this point felt more like a list of personal failures than a fun team activity.

She told herself it wasn’t a big deal. That Lexi flirted with everyone. That Azzi probably didn’t even realize what she was doing. That none of it mattered.

Which was all true, technically. And yet, she was gripping her drink so hard it creaked.

It wasn’t the flirting. Not really. It was the ease of it. The fact that Azzi never used to do that with anyone else. That Paige had spent months thinking she was the only girl Azzi looked at like that.

And now it was Lexi. With her shiny hair and stupid jokes and smug little grin.

When it was her turn again, Paige stood without saying a word. She breathed in, squared her shoulders, and tried—desperately—to remember what it felt like to not care.

Spoiler: she couldn’t.

She bowled.

The ball veered left at the last second—like it had a personal vendetta—and clipped one lonely pin.

One.

Again.

The sound it made wasn’t even satisfying. Just a sad little thunk, like the bowling alley itself was tired of her.

Paige stared at the lane like it had betrayed her. Like maybe the problem wasn’t her form, but the floor. Or the laws of physics. Or whoever decided they should go bowling in the first place.

She wanted to scream. Or throw the ball through the neon scoreboard. Or teleport to a different planet where no one had ever heard of Lexi Reyes and Azzi Fudd didn’t smile at other girls like that.

Instead, she turned around, smile tight, hands clenched, pretending she was still a normal person and not one bad frame away from emotionally combusting in front of everyone she was trying not to care about.

Lexi was already grinning. “I mean… it’s giving consistency.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “It’s giving shut up.”

Azzi laughed. Not a small one, either. It was full and easy and bright in a way that made Paige’s chest feel tight. Like she was watching something she used to be part of from the other side of the glass.

There was no biting the inside of her cheek. No holding it in. Just Azzi, laughing like she didn’t owe anyone anything. Like this night wasn’t tangled up in anything else.

Paige looked away. Too late.

Because the sound of it had already sunk in.

And something in her just snapped.

The words came out cold and too loud, sharper than she meant, but not sharp enough to stop herself:

“At least I’m not trying to sleep my way through the athletic department.”

Silence.

Real silence. The kind that sucks the air out of your lungs and makes the room feel ten degrees colder.

It landed like a slap. Like glass breaking on tile. Fast. Final. Shattering.

Lexi blinked, frozen mid-step like someone had hit pause on her whole personality.

Azzi straightened, slow. Not defensive. Not angry. Just… still. And staring.

Kathryn looked like she’d just swallowed her own tongue. Her hand curled around her cup too tightly, eyes wide and searching Paige’s face like she was trying to figure out if this was a joke. If any of it was.

Paige couldn’t move. Her hand was still hanging in the air, like maybe if she stood still enough, time would give her a do-over. A minute back. A second. Anything.

But no one laughed.

Not even Lexi.

Paige stood there, every inch of her burning, and—because she couldn’t help herself—added,

“Yeah, I caught the whole softball-soccer comment earlier. I get it.”

Eventually, she tilted her head and said, “Wow. Okay.”

No venom. No sass. Just three syllables that cracked Paige’s stomach open.

Azzi didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her eyes were like ice.

Kathryn started fixing a napkin that didn’t need fixing. Tearing the edge. Smoothing it. Tearing it again.

And Paige—still frozen, still burning—felt the regret crawl under her skin like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for this exact moment to move in.

No one said anything. No one looked at her.

And somehow, that was worse than yelling. Worse than judgment. The silence felt like someone had turned her inside out and left her there, blinking under fluorescent lights.

She didn’t sit back down.

Didn’t say a word.

Just grabbed her soda can with a shaky hand and muttered something about needing air—though she wasn’t sure anyone heard it, or believed her.

No one followed her. Not right away.

She left her rented shoes half-laced under the table. Left her pride somewhere between the lane and the moment her mouth opened. Left whatever this night was supposed to be in a heap at her feet.

The music kept playing. The pins kept falling. But Paige was already out the door.

The door thudded shut behind her, and Paige didn’t stop walking until she hit the edge of the parking lot—just far enough that she couldn’t hear the music anymore. Just far enough that she could pretend the night hadn’t happened.

Her breath came out too fast. Too sharp. Her heart was still in lane seven, thrashing around like it wanted to climb out of her chest.

She leaned against a lamppost and stared up at the sky like it could give her an answer. It didn’t. It was just black and cold and uncaring, like the rest of the world.

Her palms were clammy. Her throat was tight. And all she could hear—over and over—was her own voice saying the worst possible thing at the worst possible time.

At least I’m not trying to sleep my way through the athletic department.

God. She hated herself a little bit.

Footsteps echoed behind her, quick and hesitant.

“Paige.”

She closed her eyes. Pretended she hadn’t heard.

For a second, she'd let herself hope it was Azzi. The sound of footsteps behind her, the way her name came soft and unsure—her brain reached for Azzi before it even made sense to. But it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.

Kathryn’s voice came again, softer now. “Are you okay?”

Paige let out a breath that wanted to be a laugh. “Totally. Peak mental health. Five stars.”

She didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Because if she did, she’d have to acknowledge the part of her that actually cared about Kathryn’s answer.

Kathryn stopped a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket. “What was that back there?”

Paige shrugged, arms crossed tight across her chest. “What was what?”

Kathryn raised her eyebrows, like—Really? “You basically called Lexi a—what? A player? A slut? I don’t even know. It didn’t feel like a joke.”

“It was a joke,” Paige said, biting off the words.

“It didn’t sound like one.”

Paige looked off toward the road, toward anywhere but Kathryn’s face. “Maybe she should learn how to take one.”

Kathryn stepped closer, her voice rising a little. “Seriously? That’s your defense?”

Paige could feel the heat rising again. In her cheeks. Her chest. Her fists. She was embarrassed and cornered and mad about both.

“Why are you even mad at me right now? It’s not like I said it about you.”

Kathryn blinked like she couldn’t believe she had to explain this. “I’m not mad. I’m just... confused. It came out of nowhere.”

It didn’t come out of nowhere.

It came from Ted’s. From Lexi’s arm around Azzi. From the way Azzi laughed like Paige hadn’t existed first.

It came from watching them all night and feeling like the floor was tilting underneath her. From pretending it didn’t bother her. 

But Paige didn’t say any of that.

Instead, she shrugged again, like it didn’t matter. “Lexi bugs me.”

Kathryn frowned. “Because she flirts with people?”

“Because she flirts with everyone.”

“So?”

“It’s annoying,” Paige muttered.

“To you,” Kathryn said again, more firmly now. “But she’s never been anything but nice to me. She’s actually funny. And smart. And, I don’t know—fun? I don’t get it.”

Paige clenched her jaw. “She’s just one of those people who needs to be liked by everyone.”

Kathryn tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “You don’t?”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it again. She was spinning now—circling the truth like a drain but refusing to fall in.

I can’t stand the way she looks at Azzi. I hate that she’s effortless and charming and takes up space like she belongs in every room. I hate that Azzi let her in.

But she swallowed all of it. Let it burn her tongue instead of the air.

“She just rubs me the wrong way, okay?”

Kathryn studied her for a second, arms still crossed. Her expression softened, just a little. “Is this... like, a best friend thing?”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Kathryn said, shrugging one shoulder. “You and Azzi are close. Maybe you’re just... protective of her?”

She said it gently. Not accusing. Like she was trying to give Paige an out. An explanation that made everything make sense.

Paige could’ve said yes. Could’ve laughed and leaned into it. Could’ve said, Yeah, totally. Azzi’s like my little sister. I just don’t want her getting caught up with someone who’s gonna break her heart.

But her throat felt tight.

And all that came out was: “Maybe.”

Kathryn nodded slowly, but something behind her eyes flickered. Like she didn’t quite buy it—but didn’t want to press. Didn’t want to turn this moment into something Paige wasn’t ready for.

And Paige? She let the silence stretch between them, arms still folded, heart still hammering.

Because if she said any more, she knew exactly what would come out. And it wouldn’t be maybe.

Azzi

She didn’t see it coming. Not like that.

Sure, Paige had been weird all night. Tense in that way only she could pull off—smiling too much, talking too fast, pretending bowling was fun instead of some slow-motion torture chamber of feelings no one wanted to talk about.

But still. She hadn’t expected that.

At least I’m not trying to sleep my way through the athletic department.

It landed like a brick dropped in the middle of the lane. Loud. Off-topic. Weirdly theatrical.

Azzi didn’t flinch. She didn’t feel hurt, exactly. She felt... confused.

She sat back in her chair, blinking like she’d just walked into the middle of a conversation she wasn’t invited to.

It wasn’t about her. She knew that much.

It was about Lexi. And Lexi hadn’t done anything Paige hadn’t done herself a hundred times—teasing, showing off, working a room like it owed her something.

Honestly, the more Azzi thought about it, the more obvious it seemed:

Paige probably just didn’t like Lexi because they were kind of the same. Loud. Confident. A little extra. People who said too much and felt even more and made it everyone’s problem.

Azzi could understand that. She could even laugh at it.

Because if Paige’s outburst had been something else—if it had been jealousy, if it meant Paige still cared—well, that would’ve changed everything. That would’ve cracked something open Azzi wasn’t sure she was strong enough to hold.

But she didn’t let herself go there.

Because Paige was happy now. With Kathryn. With sweet texts and forehead kisses and that obnoxious “babe” that she said without thinking.

Because Paige had set boundaries. She’d closed the door—gently, but clearly. During that talk, in that dim hallway, with that look that said don’t wait for me.

Because Paige never said anything about the birthday gift. Never even acknowledged it.

Azzi had spent too long imagining how she might. A glance. A smile. A thanks whispered during warmups.

But nothing ever came. Just silence. Just space.

And Azzi respected it. She had to.

So no, she wasn’t going to read too much into tonight. She wasn’t going to assign meaning to a moment that might’ve just been Paige being dramatic and cracked around the edges.

She wasn’t going to hope.

And anyway, she hadn’t even wanted to come.

Bowling hadn’t sounded appealing—neon lights, themed pizza, four-person awkwardness. But Paige had said yes. Paige had nodded when Kathryn looked at her like she wanted this night to be cute, and easy, and couple-coded. And Azzi had seen that. The way Paige agreed like she didn’t really want to—but wanted Kathryn to want her to.

So Azzi said yes too. Because showing up felt like the right thing to do. Because if Paige could be cool about it, then so could she.

Lexi let out a breath beside her—half-laugh, half sigh. “Okay then.”

Kathryn said nothing. Just stared at her lap like maybe it held the answers.

And Azzi just... sat there.

Her ball was still on the return rack. The pins still standing. The game still going.

But she didn’t feel like playing anymore.

She rested her elbows on her knees and stared at the floor.

And even though she didn’t say it out loud, she could feel it deep in her chest—tight and quiet and real:

Whatever that was... it didn’t feel over.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° what are you doing to me now?

( michael kaiser x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — wrote this bc of this thought and this ask . ( i got carried away, prob doesn't even flow )

♡ word count — 5.4k

♡ content — College AU!, all characters are 18+ (21), Kaiser is a jerk, kaiser and isagi both play on the university's soccer team. YES they still hate each other, tutor! reader, some cussing, pregnancy mentioned (once), isagi and reader are best friends, fem! reader, could be gn but fem! bodied reader, heavily based on OTH haley and nathan's relationship, fluff, nicknames 'tutor girl' and 'my girl' used

♡ synopsis — you only started tutoring michael kaiser so he would leave isagi alone, but now you're starting to feel like it's more.

── .✦ i never could have seen you coming, i think you're everything i've wanted

The tutoring center always smelled faintly of coffee and stress.

You’d carved out your corner near the back, tucked between a wall of dusty anthologies and a window that barely opened.

It was quiet there, undisturbed — a pocket of peace in the chaos of campus life. Tuesdays were your favorite.

You had Yoichi, a venti iced coffee, and a stack of highlighters in your favorite shades.

Routine.

Comfortable.

“Okay,” you said, tapping your pen gently on his notebook. “What’s the limit as x approaches infinity?”

Yoichi groaned like you’d asked him to recite Shakespeare backwards. “I swear this made more sense last night.”

You bit back a smile. “Because last night, you let me explain it to you without making faces.”

“I don’t make faces—”

“You do. You look like you’re in pain.”

“I am in pain,” he argued. “This class is actually trying to kill me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you said, still grinning.

That’s when it happened.

A shift in the air. A low ripple of murmurs. The kind of disturbance that came with someone too loud, too confident, too seen. Your eyes flicked up, instinctively, and froze when they landed on the cause.

Michael Kaiser.

He walked in like the room belonged to him — chin high, hair tousled, blue eyes sharp and scanning. His uniform jacket hung off his frame like a tailored threat, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off the tattoos you tried very hard not to look at. Not that he noticed you.

Until he did.

Until he noticed Isagi.

Then you.

You didn’t like the way he smiled — all ego, all teeth.

And worst of all, calculated.

He didn’t approach you that day. Just walked past slowly, a predator pretending to be casual, before choosing a desk three rows down.

You felt his eyes every now and then, lingering like smoke.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You were here to help Yoichi.

Whatever game Kaiser was playing, you weren’t signing up for it.

But Michael Kaiser had a way of turning no into a challenge.

It was the next day — gray skies, your hands full of books — when you heard the voice behind you.

“Hey, tutor girl.”

You turned slowly. “Please don’t call me that.”

Michael Kaiser stood there with his usual smirk, walking backwards to keep up with you.

“You don’t even know my name,” you said, dryly.

“Don’t need to,” he replied easily. “Everyone knows who you are. You’re the genius who babysits Isagi through every core class.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you’re trying to insult me, you’re going to have to do better.”

“Oh, I’m not insulting you,” he said, mock-offended. “I respect your work. That’s why I’m here. I need a tutor.”

You stopped walking. “You’re serious?”

“Deathly.”

“And you want me?”

“You’re the best,” he said simply, with a shrug. “And I’m drowning. My coach is two bad grades away from benching me, and if I don’t fix this, I’ll get benched during qualifiers.”

“So this is desperation.”

“Exactly.”

You stared at him, arms crossing. “Then go ask someone else.”

His expression didn’t falter. “Can’t. Already tried. They're all scared of me.”

You gave him a look. “And you think I’m not?”

“I think you’re smarter than that.”

You blinked. Okay. That was... not the response you were expecting.

Then he leaned in, just a little, voice lower. “Tutor me, and I’ll leave Isagi alone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No more trash talk. No more cheap shots during practice. I’ll stop getting in his head. You help me pass, and he gets peace.”

You hated how tempting that sounded. 

You’d seen Yoichi’s mood spiral every time Kaiser made a comment, took a jab, twisted the knife just right. 

You weren’t blind. You knew what kind of war the two of them waged on and off the pitch.

“This isn’t some bribe,” you warned. “If you so much as look at him wrong—”

“Cross my heart,” he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest.

You stared at him for a long moment. “One hour. Twice a week. That’s it.”

“Knew I could count on you, tutor girl.”

“Call me that again and I’ll flunk you on purpose.”

He grinned, triumphant, like he’d won the best prize of all.

And that made you hate him a little more.

Michael Kaiser didn’t act like someone who needed help.

He sprawled across the library table like he was at home, foot bouncing, pencil in his mouth, looking up at the ceiling like he could will the answers down.

You tried not to look at the way his shirt bunched around his arms, or how he chewed on his pencil when he was stuck.

“It’s a miracle you’re passing,” you muttered.

“That’s all you, baby,” he replied, voice muffled by the pencil.

You threw a highlighter at him. “Stop calling me that.”

“You’re no fun,” he said, dodging it with a grin. “But seriously. You’re good at this.”

You paused. That wasn’t sarcasm. It was... weirdly sincere.

“Thanks,” you said, cautiously.

A beat of silence. A rare one.

Then you looked up and froze.

Isagi.

Standing at the end of the row, arms stiff at his sides. His eyes darted from you to Kaiser and back.

Nothing was happening — no touching, no laughing, no whispered secrets. But still, your stomach dropped.

“Yoichi—” you stood quickly, knocking your chair back.

“This guy?” Isagi cut you off, voice low. “Anyone but him.”

“We’re not— I’m his tutor,” you said, trying to close the distance. “That’s all.”

Kaiser watched with interest, head tilted, lips twitching like he wanted to say something.

“God,” Isagi muttered, looking away. “Go find someone else, you prick.”

“Well, I quite—” Kaiser started, but Isagi stepped forward, finger pointed hard against your chest.

“I thought you were smarter,” he snapped. The words hit harder than they should.

You watched him turn and walk away, tension bleeding into every step. And then there was silence.

You didn’t realize you were shaking until Kaiser stood up, gently pulling the chair upright.

“He’s got a flair for the dramatic,” he said, quietly.

You didn’t answer.

Because the worst part wasn’t what Isagi said.

It was the tiny, traitorous part of you that wasn’t sure he was wrong.

You didn’t mean to lose Isagi.

It just… happened.

One day, you were laughing over half-priced pastries and solving calculus proofs over FaceTime, and the next — you were passing each other like strangers.

You kept waiting for it to go back to normal.

For him to sit in your usual spot in seminar, for him to send you a link to some dumb meme at midnight.

But every time you reached out, even in silence, he recoiled.

Like you’d betrayed him.

And maybe, in his eyes, you had.

Because Michael Kaiser wasn’t just anyone. He was Isagi’s rival. His irritant. His shadow. You knew this. You’d seen the fire between them on the field — the teeth-gritted remarks, the way they pushed each other past the edge, the way neither of them ever backed down.

So maybe sitting beside Kaiser, laughing quietly during a tutoring session, was the final straw.

But you never meant for it to be like this.

A week passed. Then another.

Your texts stayed unread. Your usual seat in seminar stayed empty. You stopped bringing two coffees in the morning. And the ache — the dull, pressing kind — lodged itself in your chest like something unfinished.

But Michael Kaiser stayed.

He showed up on time. He took notes. Sometimes he even tried. It was strange, the way he began to settle into the space Yoichi had left behind. Not replacing him — that wasn’t possible — but filling something. The walks after tutoring, the shared silence while flipping pages, the way he sometimes brought snacks and pretended he didn’t.

The problem was: it started feeling easy. Not in the way it had with Yoichi. But in a new, unexpected way.

And that scared you more than you wanted to admit.

It was a Thursday.

Gray skies again, soft rain tapping the windows. You were both seated at the same table as always, your books stacked neatly in front of you, your notes open and highlighted. Kaiser was tapping his pencil — not anxiously, just rhythmically — like he was thinking.

You weren’t.

You were spiraling.

The silence stretched too long. The ache in your chest was louder than ever. Your mouth moved before you had the chance to stop it.

“I can’t tutor you anymore.”

The words landed softly, like snowfall. But they cut deep.

Kaiser blinked, slowly. “What?”

You inhaled, then shook your head. “I just— I can’t do this.”

“Did I do something?” he asked, frowning for real this time. No teasing. No smugness. Just confusion. “Because if this is about the derivatives test, I told you I studied—”

“It’s not that.”

You stood up, then sat back down, palms pressed to your thighs. Your voice cracked before you could steady it. “It’s Isagi.”

His eyes flickered. “What about him?”

“We’ve been best friends since high school,” you said, quietly. “He was there for me when everything else wasn’t. When I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. He believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself.”

Kaiser was still now. No tapping. No shifting.

“And now he won’t even look at me,” you continued. “He avoids me. Takes different routes to class. Won’t answer my messages. And it’s because of this. Because of you.”

You didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation. But it hung in the air like one.

Kaiser’s gaze dropped for a moment. Then he looked up, something raw in his voice.

“I need you.”

You blinked. “You’re passing now. I mean—”

“Only because of you,” he said, quiet but firm. “You think I give a shit about tutors? About studying? I could’ve coasted through this semester like I’ve done every other one. But you— you made it impossible to just sit back and let myself fail.”

You swallowed hard.

“You made me try. And I don’t do that for anyone.”

There was something so unguarded about him in that moment, it knocked the breath from your lungs.

“But this… this thing between you and Isagi,” you murmured, the words trembling now, “it matters. He matters. I don’t want to keep choosing someone who makes him hate me.”

“I’m not asking you to choose,” Kaiser said, softer this time. “I’m just asking you to stay.”

You stared at him. At the quiet plea buried in his voice. At the way his usual arrogance had melted, just for a moment.

And the worst part?

You wanted to.

You wanted to believe that Isagi would come around. That this mess would untangle itself. That friendships as old as yours didn’t just dissolve over misunderstandings and misplaced loyalty.

Maybe that was foolish.

But somehow, sitting there with Kaiser watching you like the world would shift if you walked away — it felt like something worth holding onto.

So you nodded.

“I’ll stay,” you said.

And weirdly, that felt like the beginning of something.

Not a replacement.

But a new page.

It had been almost a month.

Four weeks. Twenty-eight days. Nearly 672 hours since Yoichi Isagi last looked you in the eye.

And maybe that made you dramatic. Maybe it made you sensitive. But when someone had been your best friend since you were sixteen — when they’d held your hand through breakups, failed exams, breakdowns and birthdays — their silence was louder than anything else.

You waited.

You gave him time.

But it was clear now that if you didn’t do something, you’d lose him entirely.

And you weren’t ready for that. Not yet. Not ever.

So you did the only rational thing a desperate, emotionally volatile girl could do when she knew her best friend’s post-training routine like the back of her hand.

You marched straight into the men’s locker room.

The sound of your sneakers hitting tile echoed like a war drum.

Conversation halted.

Steam curled from the showers in thick clouds, and you were immediately met with a variety of reactions: screams, curses, frantic scrambling for towels. A few guys dove behind lockers like it was enemy fire. One or two stared at you in stunned silence, not even attempting to cover themselves — and you tried really hard not to look.

Really hard.

“Jesus Christ!” someone yelled.

“Yo— what the hell, are you lost?!”

You ignored them, eyes scanning the rows of bodies and benches and half-zipped bags until you saw him.

Isagi Yoichi. Pulling a shirt over his head, still damp from the shower, hair messy, body tensed like he’d heard a ghost.

Perfect.

You stomped toward him, rage in your throat, grief in your heart, and grabbed the hem of his shirt mid-motion — trapping him inside it.

“Sorry, boys! Just need to borrow him!” you announced, flashing a tight smile over your shoulder.

Then you yanked him — quite literally — out of the locker room.

Isagi stumbled behind you like a hostage, half shirted, half stunned, and entirely too quiet.

You didn’t let go until you hit the hallway, just outside the doors. And by then, he’d managed to finally pull the shirt down over his torso.

His eyes found yours immediately. Wide. Angry.

“What the hell?!” he snapped.

You crossed your arms, glaring. “Stop avoiding me.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh, bullshit, Yoichi!” you shouted. “You switched seats in every single class, you take the longest damn route to lecture, and I haven’t heard your voice in weeks—”

“Well then stop hanging out with him!” he shouted back, louder than you expected.

The hallway went silent.

The ‘him’ hung between you like smoke. You didn’t have to ask. He meant Kaiser.

Of course he did.

Your mouth opened, defensive, too fast. “You don’t—”

“Know him like you do?” he shot back, bitter. “Whatever. I don’t need to. I know he’s a good-for-nothing bastard who—”

“He’s not like that with me!” you snapped, voice cracking halfway through.

That stopped him.

Isagi stared at you.

Really looked at you.

You were flushed, chest heaving, eyes glassy with everything you hadn’t said in a month. And maybe it wasn’t even about Kaiser anymore. 

Maybe it was about the way your heart ached every time you passed an empty seat or an unread message. 

About the fact that you still poured two coffees every morning out of habit.

“...You can’t be serious,” he said softly, like the words hurt him.

You stared. “What?”

“What now, Yoichi? What can’t I—”

He cut you off.

“You like him,” he said, breathless. “For fuck’s sake, you like Michael Kaiser.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

But the words didn’t come.

Because suddenly, maybe you did. 

Maybe it wasn’t love, but it wasn’t nothing. 

Maybe it was the way he made you feel seen. 

The way he paid attention. 

The way he told you he needed you, and for once, meant it.

“I never…” you tried, but your voice cracked on the first syllable.

You blinked hard. The tears were right there, balancing like glass.

“I just…” you swallowed, “…I just want us to be okay again.”

Isagi exhaled.

Long and slow.

His face softened, but only just. You could still see the hurt underneath — the cracks that hadn’t healed, the disappointment lodged in his chest like a splinter.

And for a moment, you thought he’d say something awful. Or maybe something kind.

But instead, he gave you neither.

Just a quiet, “...Just be careful.”

That was it.

He turned and walked back inside, not sparing you another glance.

The door swung shut behind him, leaving you alone in the silence.

Not forgiven.

Not forgotten.

But maybe, maybe, not entirely abandoned either.

And for now, you’d take that.

You had been avoiding him.

Kaiser.

Like he was a loaded weapon and you were one wrong look away from pulling the trigger.

It started with skipping a week of tutoring — a text sent an hour before your usual meeting time, saying something vague about being busy. 

Then another. 

Then another. 

Eventually, you just stopped answering altogether.

You didn’t go near the library.

You didn’t walk past the fields.

You even rerouted your entire morning routine just to make sure you wouldn’t see that flash of blond across the quad.

Because you couldn’t look at him. Not after what Isagi had said — no, what you had practically confirmed.

You like him. For fuck’s sake, you like Michael Kaiser.

The words still echoed in your head when it was quiet.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure he was wrong.

Which made this all so much harder. You weren’t trying to hurt Kaiser. But avoiding him — pushing him away — felt easier than admitting how tangled things had gotten inside you.

But when the results of his next test were on the line…

You couldn’t just ghost him completely.

Which is how you ended up here, in the farthest, emptiest corner of the library, sitting stiffly at a table with a strangely large amount of space between you. Distance you made sure was there.

The silence was… unbearable.

Your head was down, eyes scanning the same sentence for the third time, and you were halfway through pretending to care about an algebraic equation when he finally broke it.

“I missed you.”

You froze.

“What?” you practically yelped — voice far too loud for a library. It echoed back at you in betrayal.

Kaiser laughed, and God, even with a full foot and a half between you, his laugh had a chokehold on you. Like it reached out and grabbed your ribs and squeezed.

“I said,” he repeated, a smirk tugging at his lips as he scratched something off his paper, “I missed you. Where’d you go?”

You blinked. Your mouth opened, but your brain was still buffering.

“Oh, I just—”

But what excuse could you even give?

Sorry, my best friend kind of exploded my entire emotional world and now I’m avoiding you because I think I actually might like you and it scares me more than I thought possible.

Not exactly tutoring-appropriate.

You opened your mouth again, but nothing came out.

That’s when he spoke again.

“My dad used to get quiet before he got really angry.”

Your eyes snapped up.

He wasn’t looking at his notes anymore. He was looking at you. Head tilted slightly, mouth pulled into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I don’t like silence,” he said quietly. “Talk to me.”

The request didn’t sound like a demand.

It sounded like a plea.

And you… you couldn’t look away.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself.

He stared for a second longer, expression unreadable — and then the smile turned real. Gentle. Bright enough to make your chest ache.

“You’re cute when you’re shy, you know that?”

Your jaw dropped half a second before you remembered how to close it.

But before you could sputter a protest, he reached across the table, grabbing the workbook from your hands and flipping it back to a problem he’d half-scribbled through.

“So how do you do this one again?”

You blinked.

Twice.

Because that was it. Just like that, he’d let you off the hook. No push. No interrogation. No emotional ambush. 

He’d just asked you to talk, heard what you could give, and met you where you were.

The smallest thing. But it hit like a truck.

Because Michael Kaiser was supposed to be cocky. Confident. Self-serving.

But this version of him — the one who missed you, who laughed when you yelled, who told you things about his dad of all people — he was soft. Kind in ways you didn’t expect.

You stared at the worksheet in front of you, eyes glazed over, heartbeat loud in your ears.

He didn’t know it.

But you were dangerously close to falling in love with him.

God help you.

Because at this rate, Michael Kaiser was going to be the death of you.

It was already dark by the time the two of you packed up your things.

Kaiser slung his bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing, waiting as you slowly gathered your books — still trying to steady the pulse in your throat that hadn’t quite calmed down since the moment he smiled at you across that table.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said casually, like it wasn’t the most dangerous sentence you’d ever heard in your life.

You blinked. “You… don’t have to.”

“I know,” he replied, already heading toward the exit, glancing back with that trademark smirk. “But I want to.”

Of course he does, you thought as you followed him out into the quiet campus night. Of course he wants to.

The air was crisp, carrying that subtle warmth of spring trying to break through the last grip of winter. The sidewalk gleamed slightly under the streetlamps. You walked slowly — side by side — not touching, but close enough that you could feel the shape of him beside you.

And strangely… it didn’t feel tense.

It felt easy.

He talked about the weird German sitcom his roommate liked to blast every morning before practice. You talked about the TA who always had something passive-aggressive to say about your notes. 

He laughed. You rolled your eyes. 

He asked you why you always wore two rings on one finger. You asked him if he ever got sick of all the attention. 

He hesitated before saying, “Yeah. Sometimes.”

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t flirty.

It was soft. Domestic. Like something you’d done a thousand times before — even though you hadn’t.

You glanced up at him while he was mid-sentence — something about being forced to join a karaoke night he definitely did not sign up for — and you caught it.

The way he looked at you.

Not like he was looking at you. Like he was seeing you.

Like he had been this whole time.

You quickly looked away, heart climbing into your throat. You were close now. Your dorm building just down the path. You should say something. You should end the night.

But your mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

He stopped walking first.

You were at the steps of your building. Just the two of you now. The world unusually quiet.

“Well,” you said, clutching your books a little too tightly. “Thanks for walking me back.”

He nodded slowly. His hands were in his pockets now, but his eyes were still on you. Intense. Steady. Gentle in a way that made your knees weak.

“Of course,” he murmured.

“I guess I’ll—”

You didn’t even finish the sentence.

He leaned in.

Softly. Without warning.

And kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t demanding. Just his lips meeting yours, warm and slow, like he had all the time in the world to figure out exactly how you tasted.

And you…

You didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

The kiss lingered, something sweet and aching and impossibly quiet blooming in your chest. You could feel the heat of his palm against the side of your neck — you didn’t even remember him reaching for you — fingers gentle, almost reverent, like he was afraid you’d pull away.

But you didn’t.

Because all you could think about was how good it felt.

And how terrifying that was.

When he finally pulled back — just enough to breathe — his forehead rested against yours, your noses still brushing, eyes closed.

“You didn’t run,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You opened your eyes.

“Didn’t want to,” you whispered back.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Good. Because I think I’d chase you.”

That made you smile — involuntarily, too wide and too real. He grinned back, the kind of smile that could level a room.

You didn’t say good night.

You didn’t have to.

You just turned and stepped into the dorm building, one shaky breath at a time, hands trembling, lips still tingling.

And once you were inside your room — door shut, back against the wood — you touched your mouth with your fingertips, like you couldn’t believe it had happened.

Michael Kaiser kissed you.

And you kissed him back.

And somewhere, tucked beneath the adrenaline and confusion and guilt, a quiet little truth stirred in your chest:

You didn’t regret it.

Not one bit.

The moment you saw Isagi, you knew this was going to go horribly.

He was already sitting at the little corner table you always claimed at the café near campus, a half-empty cup of coffee in front of him and his hair still damp from a morning shower. 

He gave you a tired smile as you slid into the seat across from him.

“You look weird,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I kissed him.”

You didn’t mean to say it.

Really.

But your brain short-circuited the moment you saw him, your guilt bubbling to the surface like it always did when it came to Yoichi. And before he could even blink, you said it — voice too loud, too fast, crashing into the quiet atmosphere of the café like a poorly thrown brick.

Isagi choked.

His mouth practically exploded his coffee back into the cup, some of it splashing out and hitting the table. A few drops even hit your notes. You flinched as he coughed, wiping at his mouth with a napkin and staring at you like you’d just told him you were moving to Mars.

“You what?”

“I mean—he kissed me!” you corrected, hands flying up as if to defend yourself. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“And you let him?” he sputtered.

You froze.

“Well… yeah.”

There was a moment of silence so thick you could practically feel it squeezing your lungs.

Isagi stared at you. His jaw tensed. His eyebrows twitched upward. And in that one painfully long look, you knew exactly what he was thinking:

I love you, but I genuinely do not understand how you’ve survived this long.

“I didn’t plan it, Yoichi,” you tried again, your voice softer now. “It just… kind of happened.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Right. ‘Kind of happened.’ Like when you ‘kind of happened’ to flood your dorm bathroom freshman year or ‘kind of happened’ to adopt that stray cat and hide it in your closet for two weeks.”

“Okay, first of all, Pumpkin needed a place to stay. And second, this is different.”

“How?” he asked flatly.

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

Then whispered, “It felt real.”

That caught him off guard.

He blinked, some of the sarcasm slipping off his face like a mask.

“Real?” he echoed.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper now. “I don’t know what it means yet. But when he kissed me, I didn’t feel confused. I didn’t even feel scared. It was like… everything stopped for a second.”

Isagi looked down at the mess on the table. He dragged his thumb across a coffee droplet absently.

“I just want you to be okay,” he said, quieter than before.

“I know.”

“And I want you to be sure. Because Michael Kaiser? He’s not like me.”

“I know that too.”

He met your eyes.

“And you’re still gonna fall for him?”

You hesitated.

Then: “I think I already have.”

He looked at you like he wanted to shake some sense into you and pull you into a hug at the same time. A sigh escaped him — long and tired and full of the kind of affection that doesn’t just vanish because of a boy.

“God,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “You’re going to break your own heart.”

You smiled weakly. “Maybe. But I think I’d rather try than spend the rest of my life wondering.”

He didn’t say anything right away.

Then, finally, after a beat too long: “You’re still paying for my coffee.”

You snorted. “I just emotionally traumatized you, and you’re charging me for caffeine?”

“I should charge you for emotional labor.”

You threw a napkin at him. He laughed — reluctantly, but he did — and it eased the ache in your chest a little.

He was still upset. Still hurt. Still not okay with it.

But he wasn’t gone.

And maybe that was enough for now.

It started with a hand on your lower back.

Just light enough to be polite, just firm enough to make a statement.

The university was holding some stupid post-match celebration — another win for the soccer team, another excuse for half the campus to drink and pretend they knew anything about offside rules. 

You hadn’t even planned on coming. But Isagi had sent a dozen texts begging you to show up and his friend Nagi mumbled something about “free food,” and before you knew it, you were standing in a crowded lounge in jeans and a hoodie, nursing a soda, when Michael Kaiser found you.

He didn’t say hi.

Just that hand on your back, followed by a whisper of breath near your ear.

“You look good.”

You froze. “Kaiser—”

“Michael,” he corrected, low and smooth. “If I’m gonna be yours, you better start using my name.”

You turned, ready to hit him with some witty rebuttal — but then you saw the way people were watching.

Not at you. At him.

And more specifically, at him with you.

It wasn’t just that he was standing close. It was the way he tilted his body toward you, the quiet confidence in his touch, the little smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing. You felt heat crawl up your neck.

“Kaiser, what are you doing?” you hissed.

He just blinked, that lazy grin still on his face. “Introducing you.”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but he was talking to one of his teammates. A midfielder, maybe? You barely remembered his name. But Kaiser nodded toward you like it was obvious.

“This is my girl.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Your girl?”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. Loud. Too loud. The guy he was talking to blinked and made a weird exit, clearly sensing the storm approaching.

Kaiser turned back to you with that same maddening smile. “Well, yeah. I—”

“Since when?”

He paused.

“…Since I kissed you?”

You gawked at him. “You oaf, you kinda have to ask.”

He looked genuinely confused. “Ask what?”

You folded your arms. “Ask me to be your girlfriend, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“…Do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

You stared.

“That’s it? That’s your big follow-up to claiming me like some high school jock in a romcom?”

“Well,” he said, voice slow and amused, “you are standing at my game-day party, drinking soda like a nervous little housewife while wearing my hoodie.”

You looked down.

It was his hoodie. You hadn’t even realized you’d grabbed it from your dorm before heading out. The sleeves were too long, and it still smelled like his cologne.

Your face flushed. “That doesn’t count—”

He leaned in.

Closer.

That smirk softened into something less smug. Something more real.

“I’ll ask you properly if you want. Flowers, kneeling, the whole nine yards. But either way,” he murmured, voice dipping just for you, “you’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then you whispered, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend,” you muttered, half hiding your face in your sleeve.

Kaiser grinned, wide and brilliant.

He tugged you forward just a little by the hoodie strings and kissed your forehead like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Good,” he said. “Now the whole world knows.”

You were still standing in the bathroom, feet cold against the tile, hands gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you on this planet.

You and Kaiser had been together for eight months now, even sharing an apartment for your senior years of university.

And because timing is the cruelest and most theatrical of all forces—you heard the door crash open.

“I have news!” came the all-too-familiar, all-too-loud voice of Michael Kaiser echoing through your shared apartment like a firework set off indoors.

You stepped out of the bathroom slowly, like you were walking into a dream, or maybe a trap.

Kaiser was already kicking off his sneakers, practically vibrating with excitement, one hand still holding his phone. 

His grin was blinding—boyish, wild, the kind of smile that once made you think he could never be serious about anything.

He looked up and saw you, and the joy in his face grew tenfold.

“I’m going to Bastard München!”

Oh.

“I’m pregnant,” you said.

Oh.

wrote this from 3AM to 5AM be nice with how bad it is.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

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[sebmindbreak]

hi!! If it’s okay could I request yandere Chance X reader headcanons?

YESSSS OFC!

WARNING : these headcanons contains dark themes!! Like isolation, possessiveness , and obsession! And small dub-con (nothing sexual!)

ANYWAYS

Headcanons!

TITLE : gambling your luck!

Platonic Headcanons

Chance never really cared for others in the hideout. People came and went, died and revived, bickered and fell apart. But then you came along when you gotten forsaken.

You were different. They didn’t know why, not at first, but they were watching you more than they realized. Quietly observing how you acted, what you liked to eat, what rounds made you nervous.

If you were ever upset or overwhelmed, Chance would be the only one who could get you to calm down not because you trusted them fully, but because they always knew what to say to ground you.

Spade, their spoiled little bunny, was suspicious of you at first. But when even he let you pet him without trying to bite, Chance took it as a sign.

They'd never admit it, but they started tweaking parts of the casino in your favor lowering the difficulty of some machines, stacking prizes, slipping your favorite snack onto the bar.

First Meeting Headcanons

You had been limping from a rough round, covered in dirt and bruises, and had ended up collapsing right by the edge of Chance’s casino.

They thought you were just another wrecked player, but when you groaned and tried to stand anyway, they tilted their head. “You got fire in you,” they mumbled under their breath.

Instead of helping you right away, they watched curious. Would you cry? Break down? Instead, you cursed under your breath and dragged yourself up. That’s when they stepped in.

“Alright, alright. I like a fighter, but don’t break yourself for my entertainment.” They offered you a hand. You took it.

From then on, Chance couldn’t stop thinking about you. That pain in your eyes. That grit in your teeth.

Getting Along Headcanons

You kept showing up to the casino, and at first they joked you were addicted to the slots. But deep down, they were thrilled.

Chance would start off teasing: “Back so soon? Missed me?” but gradually, their tone softened.

You started talking. About trivial things. Your favorite rounds, the ones you hated. You complained about other survivors and they’d grin: “They don’t see how special you are, huh?”

They’d subtly shift patrons away so the booth next to them was always open. And if you were ever scared or stressed? They’d find you, every time. Like they had radar for your emotions.

They began to think: You belong here. With me. You just don’t know it yet.

Realizing They Have Feelings

It happened when you got too close to another survivor. Chance didn’t like them too charming, too interested in you.

You had smiled at that other person. Laughed.

That’s when it hit them. This twisting, nasty feeling in their gut. It was more than possessive. It was rage.

But they didn’t show it. Not right away.

Instead, they started fantasizing about locking the doors. About isolating the two of you. About making you see that no one else could love you like they could.

It wasn’t “falling in love.” It was claiming you in their heart.

How They Confess

You were in their casino late at night. The music was low, lights dimmed. You were playing a card game when they sat beside you, uncharacteristically quiet.

You looked up, and they were already watching you. Close. Intense.

“You know I’ve seen hundreds of people walk through here. Win. Lose. Cry. Bleed.” They said, voice low. “But you? You make me wanna flip the table and steal the prize.”

You blinked, confused. That’s when they leaned in.

“You're mine, sweetheart. You just don’t realize how long you’ve belonged to me.”

And if you laughed or thought it was a joke? They’d smile too but their eyes would be deadly serious.

If you said yes , they would eternally scream , knowing you were fully theirs now.

Romantic Headcanons

Chance is obsessive. Sweet, but possessive in a terrifyingly gentle way. They never yell, but their eyes say everything.

You always have the best seat in the house, the coziest blanket, the richest food. Why? Because you're theirs.

They love spoiling you with gold, sweets, and praise“Look at you, so pretty and MINE.”

If another survivor so much as flirts with you, Chance will appear like smoke: “Didn’t know we were sharing.” And then? That person is mysteriously avoiding you for days.

When you sleep, Chance keeps you in their lap, stroking your hair like a prized possession. Spade curls up too, tolerating your presence solely because Chance adores you.

You belong to them. Mind, body, and soul. And if you ever try to leave? Well Chance will simply have to fix that.

If You Say "No"

When you first reject them whether gently or firmly Chance laughs.

Not a mean laugh. More like a “you’re joking, right?” laugh.

“C’mon, babe… Don’t be shy.”

They think you're teasing them, playing hard to get.

But when you show you're serious when you walk away, ignore them, or say you just “don’t feel the same”? That’s when something switches in them.

Their smile drops.

Their usual teasing tone fades into something colder. Quieter. Too calm.

“I don’t think you get it. You’re already mine.”

How Far Would They Go to Keep You?

Emotional manipulation is their first weapon.

“I gave you everything. No one else will treat you the way I do.”

They’ll guilt you. Make you feel like leaving them is betrayal.

And they’ll always twist it to sound like love:

“I’m just trying to protect you. Why are you hurting me?”

If guilt doesn’t work, they isolate you.

Chance begins “coincidentally” showing up whenever you try to interact with others.

Survivors who get too close to you? Suddenly they’re busy. Or scared. Or… missing.

The hideout becomes smaller. Colder. Until the only person left to lean on is Chance.

Physical containment comes last. But it will come.

One day, the casino doors don’t open.

Your room in the hideout is locked from the outside.

Chance sits nearby, shuffling cards, watching you from the candlelight. Calm. Smiling.

“You’ll understand soon. You’ll thank me. I know what’s best for you.”

The more you reject them, the worse their obsession becomes. You saying “no” doesn't repel them it challenges them.

To Chance, love is a gamble but they’re always willing to raise the stakes.

They never scream, never rage. But their control is terrifying.

“It’s okay, doll. You’ll love me. You just need time. And I’ve got all the time in the world.”

They’ll pamper you like royalty even while you’re trapped.

Feeding you sweets, brushing your hair, playing slow jazz while they sit on the couch with you in their arms.

“You don’t need to talk. Just stay here. Just breathe. That’s all I want.”

They’d kill to keep you.

And they'd still kiss your forehead afterward like nothing ever happened.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!

I love yandere characters.. >u<

[yapperblacksky]

AYYYYYY

THIS FIC HAS TAKEN OVER MY MIND AND I NEEDED TO DRAW HIM

That damn skeleton, i was not planning to get back to tumblr, his existence made me get back

Go check out @teenyagent fic it is GOOD

[elkattacks]

I've been talking to my friend about Solas again (always). This is the friend who got me into Dragon Age- she spent years slowly suggesting it. Good on her. Anyway, I was unspoiled going into Inquisition. She told me if I was unsure about who to romance she suggests Solas, it's fun she says. Ok.. really? He seems boring.. and Cassandra is right there? Turns out Cassandra is straight (big sigh) so ok, I'll try the romance with the guy who already pissed me off a bit with his opinions on the Dalish..

And I fell pretty hard. The mystery.. what is going on with this guy? Why can I never guess what his opinions will be? It's hidden depths on hidden depths with this guy. And then he's got you. I mean, also the Welsh accent, that helps too.

I take him to Halamshiral and I'm snickering to myself because I think he's going to *hate* it and he's going to have some funny lines about how much he hates this. They call him my elven serving man? Oh boy, I'll never hear the end of this. And then I'm blindsided by the "sexy man lean" and he seems tipsy and the "power, intrigue, danger, and sex" line. Jaw on the floor surprised by this behavior. Why does he seem like he's in his element?

Then after Adament he's so mad about the Grey Wardens? But won't really elaborate? The heck man??

We go to the Temple of Mythal and my poor Inquisitor's world is even further turned upside down. What even is happening anymore? And then of course I run to Solas back at the rotunda to talk about all this and he's mad about the Well but like.. we had no good choices? What do you even want?

But now we're going on a romantic date?!? This is amazing! Beautiful, this is so sweet! Holding hands on a moonlight stroll?? Never been so into this. And then utter whiplash.. what is happening.. this come out of left field why are we breaking up?? Is it because I didn't let you remove the tattoos? Crying.

Utter devastation. But we have to finish this. All will be clear when this is over? Alright man, gotta push through then. He goes back to calling you "Inquisitor" the pain..

And the game ends and you go back to your room. Nothing is made clear. There's no note?? I was expecting a note at least.. something. He said.. utter desolation. Post credits scene- Mythal calls him "Dread wolf".. why would she do that? Hilarious. ???

Now, I'm lucky, and I didn't play until 2021 so the next day I can go right into the masterpiece that is Tresspasser. And I spend like 15 hours in increasing amounts of pain, anxiety and dread. And just.. basically none of my questions are answered, it's still beautiful and tragic and why is he even hotter??

And I've never gotten over it. Inquisition is my favorite still even if it feels so bittersweet every time I play it.

[goooofy-goooober1121]

TWST Boys and 2010s Childhood Things

Source: I grew up during the 2010s

Ask box is open! Please Feel free to Request!

Reblogs are always appreciated!! <3

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

Magic Treehouse books

Like idk if they're specifically 2010s things but I remember those being insanely popular when I was in elementary

If I remember correctly Jack was the levelheaded one so automatically he was Riddle's favorite character

Got frustrated with Annie a million times over for being impulsive

His favorites were definitely the "Learning From Heroes" books and I think his favorite out of those would be To the Future, Ben Franklin

Probably pretended that if he had a Magic Treehouse he would go back to the past to meet the Queen of Hearts

Trey Clover

Easy Bake Oven

OR

Those toothbrushes that would "play music in your head" while you brushed by vibration patterns

Tooth Tunes I think is what they're called?

I don't see why it can't be both

Definitely gets the Justin Bieber ones

Also somehow really skilled with the Easy Bake Oven????

Cater Diamond

Vine and Musical.ly

Was probably behind all those "RIP Vine" YouTube videos

Definitely had hundreds of those Musical.ly lip sync videos

Lowkey probably pretty big on Vine

Quotes vines ALL. THE. TIME.

He memorized all the sounds on Musical.ly

Ace Trappola

The FNAF Kid to Deuce's Minecraft Kid

Loredumps FNAF like it's his holy bible

This reminds me this one time I was doing health screenings at an elementary school for my high school's medical academy course

And I was supposed to check the vision of this one kid but he came up to me and was like

"do you like FNAF"

and I was like yeah I played it all the time and he just went OFF about how he loved Springtrap/Golden Freddy and all the lore and stuff

It was a very good conversation

I'm glad to know that today's children are not totally lost

Anyways storytime over that was Ace coded 100%

Also probably had those dumbass shirts like "I could be GAMING right now 🎮‼️"

Deuce Spade

The Minecraft Kid to Ace's FNAF Kid

Was deathly afraid of Herobrine

Tried to build the Herobrine summoning shrine (he saw a fake YouTube video) anyways

Also definitely tried to build the Aether portal

Wore Minecraft shirts religiously

Probably had a foam diamond sword at some point

Knows every Minecraft parody song by heart

Big fan of Stampy Cat and DanTDM

Probably got a virus downloading Minecraft mods

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar

Ipod touch/early iphones

Specifically just for music

LOVED to wear earbuds all the time

Will never admit it but he was a huge Bruno Mars listener

Idk why it just feels right

"The Lazy Song" became his anthem

Also consider: Animal Jam

Edgy ass lion or tiger avatar

He's rich so he was a member from day 1

Ran kingdom roleplays where he gets to be king always

Has every spiked collar under the sun and rubs it in people's faces

Ruggie Bucchi

He's a Nickelodeon kid

Spongebob (I know it's from before the 2010s but like it was still running and good during the 2010s so I'm including it)

Watched Victorious and iCarly religiously

Got WAY TOO INVESTED

Cried when Tori got stuck in that prison overseas and had to sing Michael Jackson songs to get out

Also really loved those old Goldfish commercials with the storylines

Jack Howl

Anything from the Razor brand

I'm talking scooters and bicycles

ESPECIALLY THE FLASHRIDER 360.

GIRL

THOSE WERE SO FUN

He thought he was the coolest kid on the block riding a tricycle that spun around and shot sparks out of it if you pulled a lever

Outdoors kid for sure

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto

Shopkins.

And I'm not talking about just a few.

BROTHER HAD A MONOPOLY.

King of trading Shopkins on the playground

Probably had all the ultra rare sparkly ones

Actually any collectable item was his and posted up in his little black market

LPS, Calico Critters, Pokemon cards, toy erasers...

Probably ran a whole shop, scrutinizing every single item offered to him for trade and drawing up "no take-backs" contracts

Floyd Leech

"Dank Memes" and ASDF movies

Somebody please take YouTube from him

EVERY WORD OUT OF HIS MOUTH IS A QUOTE FROM EITHER

It's like decoding a language that only he knows

Blasts 360 No Scope type shit

Huge fan of dubstep music

Fidget spinners too. Can't take him anywhere without hearing one whirring in his hand

Jade Leech

Chia pets and bug farms

I know chia pets were from like the 80s but they were still big in the 2010s

And as for bug farms he probably bought the ladybug farm and the butterfly farm

Cried when he had to let them go

Probably at some point had the Obama Chia Pet

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim

The Wii.

ADORED Wii Sports and Kirby

Probably hurt himself trying to mimic the Kirby victory dance LMFAO

Also a big Mario fan

Probably forced Jamil to be Luigi while he went as Mario for Halloween

He gives me really big nintendo vibes ngl

A lot of light up sketchers

OH GOD HEELIES

Jamil starts growing grays at the ripe age of seven watching him roll down the halls

Jamil Viper

Just Dance and Cooking Mama

Uses Kalim's Wii to play both

Has gotten perfect scores on every Just Dance level ever

Uses Cooking Mama to get new recipe ideas

Big Smule fan too

Likes their piano game and the singing game

Jamil Viper breaks it down to Ra Ra Rasputin flawlessly

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit

Rainbow Loom and Hot Huez Hair Chalk.

Brags to EVERYONE when he figures out fishtail looms

Has a Rainbow Loom bracelet for every occasion

Uses the hair chalk to color his hair whenever he feels like it

(That's where the purple in his hair comes from LMFAO)

So many chokers.

So many skinny jeans.

Also a massive Movie Star Planet player

Rook Hunt

Anything nerf

Anywhere he went, nerf darts followed

Definitely had the bow and arrow nerf

Probably kept a nerf super soaker in reserve for hotter months

SCARY good at aiming them too. Never missed a shot

Probably has crates of nerf darts "just in case"

ITS NERF OR NOTHING

Epel Felmier

Big fan of Diary of a Wimpy Kid

HATES Manny and gets secondhand embarrassment from Susan Heffley

His favorite is probably either Rodrick Rules or The Last Straw

Someone once convinced him that the Cheese Touch was real and he was never the same

Doesn't know if he hates Rodrick or wants to be like him

Relates to Greg (just not on the, yk, being a horrible person front)

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud

Club Penguin, Wizard 101, and Poptropica. Possibly Habbo Hotel too tbh

Hacked his version of Pokemon Go so that he didn't actually have to leave his house

Gaming Legend tbh

Probably ranked in the top ten on every server he got on

Had a million puffles and was a black belt in the Club Penguin martial arts minigames

Had a secret tumblr account at the PEAK of fandom culture and got really popular off it

Probably makes sad AMVs to like My Little Pony or something

Ortho Shroud

Slime.

Slime FIEND.

Unironically searched up "how to make slime no glue no borax"

His favorite is crunchy slime

But fluffy slime is a close second

Also I think he was a big fan of Kidz Bop

Had an earth shattering revelation when he first listened to the ACTUAL songs that Kidz Bop covered

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia

Talking Tom/Pou/Clumsy Ninja type games

"Lilia the little creature mocks me."

Cares for each and every one of them like they're his actual children

Probably has a spreadsheet of care times

Feels guilty whenever he taps on the screen and accidentally triggers the "You just smacked your virtual cat in the face" animation

Lilia Vanrouge

A mix of 2010s mom and internet culture

On one hand he LOVES to play Candy Crush

You look over at him and he's locked in on level 190282938

On the other his entire playlist is nightcore

Also I think he'd be way into Nyan Cat

Has a DeviantArt account (take that as you will)

Silver Vanrouge

Pillow Pets.

PILLOW PETS.

Idk if they sell them anymore but he definitely has a pillow pets blanket

His favorite Pillow Pet is a sheep

I also see him really liking Beanie Babies

He has a collection

Sebek Zigvolt

Ninjago, Bionicles, and Beyblades

Idolized Kai from Ninjago for sure

Had too many Bionicles to count

Pretended he was a Bionicle on the playground and has most definitely attempted Spinjitsu

Challenges EVERYONE to Beyblade battles.

You can't escape.

Carries his best Beyblades with him just in case

BEYBLADE BEYBLADE LET IT RIP

[discountlittlebro]

It’s a game they play, a game between brothers who have long left behind the life of secrecy. Their parents aren’t outside the door, they aren’t sleeping one room over or pacing the halls, but it’s part of the pretend. The fun. It’s big brothers favorite game and his little brother loves nothing more than to indulge him.

“Shhh ma petite étoile…you’re being so loud. You wouldn’t want maman et papa to hear us, would you?” He’s whispering, and there’s amusement in his voice at the empty threat of being caught.

And his little brother, a contradiction of himself being made of honey and spice, feeds into his brothers little game. He knows what he wants, how to give it to him. Every word, every sound that leaves his plump pink lips, it’s like a siren call. Soft and alluring but unsure if it’s leading you towards heavens gates or hells.

“M’ all tingly, big brother. All empty…need something…need ta bite…s'il te plaît” it should be a sin for his little brother to sound this good, it is a sin. He’s going to be devoured by flame, the same way he devours the boy beneath him.

“ma bite? Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t know what that means…petit amoureux, who teaches you to say such filthy things?”

Big brothers thumb is pressing between his lips, pressing down on his tongue and making him whine. They both know he’s said much worse, had much worse on his tongue than some dirty words. But he’ll let his big brother play out this fantasy. He can play innocent, sweet, a lamb being lead to slaughter. And when his fingers curl inside him, pressing against that sensitive, sponge he sees stars. He sees God, and it’s his brothers face grinning down at him.

“Have I failed you? To keep you pure?” Questions he can’t answer, not with his brother holding his jaw open like this. He kisses him like this, shoving his tongue the in his mouth and over his thumb, refusing his brother the pleasure of a real kiss. It’s maddening, it sends his head spinning and his body aflame. It’s hard to keep up the act when all he wants to do is show his big brother how good he can make him feel, but he’s supposed to be playing inexperienced.

He wraps his lips around his thumb when he finally pulls away for a breath, sucks him down and stares up at him with doe eyes. There’s no hard trying to pretend he’s not prey, that he’s not caught. He begs his brother for mercy in his mind, begs him to fuck him full and proper like a whore already.

“So needy…so desperate…you’ll get yours. Just play pretty for me alittle longer…play my sweet boy just a moment more. And I’ll soothe that ache inside of you, that sin that burns in you.”

The youngest can’t help himself, he’s pretty but sharp. So when he pulls his brothers thumb from his mouth it’s only to remind him.

“You are the one who buried that sin inside me, grand frère. Too afraid to carry it yourself, you buried it inside me the same night you did your cock. If I’m tainted, it’s at your hand.”

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

I feel like shit for sending you story ideas while you're so swamped at work I'm so sorry but if you have time in the (waaaay) future(!!!) could you add to the list a little blurb of ace and gunnar comforting willy after todays loss? maybe some rough sex to ease his pain...?

oh gosh, don’t apologise or feel bad! i love thinking/writing about these guys and i just get to the prompts and blurbs when i get a chance 😊 brutal loss for the leafs and also for willy’s playoff beard, i’ll miss the facial hair 😭

you know the game is going to be a heartbreaker once the panthers go up 4-1, even though you try and keep positive as you watch

but in the end, it’s not enough and the fans are rowdy and restless, angry in a way that you can’t quite blame them for even as your heart breaks for willy and the boys. gunnar’s asleep in the carrier strapped to your chest and you and the nylanders are quiet as the boys give a final salute on the ice and disappear down the tunnel

“i’m going to stay and wait for him,” you tell willy’s parents and sister, swaying slightly to keep gunnar asleep. you’re not sure what kind of mood willy is going to be in, but you don’t want to leave him to get home alone. last year was different, he want quiet on you and you let him. this year, his pain is your pain

camilla kisses your cheek before she heads out, “tell willy we love him”

you promise that you will and they head out back to willy’s place where they’ve been staying. you hang around with some of the other wags, the mood in the family room somber and anxious

“hey,” willy’s jaw is tight when you finally get to see him after media availabilities. he’s damp from his shower and his suit is rumpled, his face a picture of misery.

“hi,” you accept the kiss he plants on your lips and squeeze his bicep when he works the straps of the carrier to take gunnar into his arms. the baby is still asleep, but cuddles up to willy easily and you can see willy’s shoulders loosen with gunnar in his arms. he kisses the top of the baby’s head, his little butt resting on willy’s forearm

“that sucked,” he says succinctly, reaching for your hand to hold while you walk out to his car. you squeeze his fingers in support

“yeah, it did,” you agree. there’s not much more to say. a devastating game seven loss to the reigning champs after taking game six down in florida is probably the worst way the series could’ve ended and you know willy’s furious with himself for his inability to get on the scoresheet. he rests his cheek against the top of gunnar’s head and you hope that some baby cuddles will be enough for right now, to help willy not get too down on himself and the effort

“your parents say they love you,” you murmur, watching him put gunnar in his car seat. “they’re back at your place.”

willy sighs and brushes a hand over gunnar’s head, ruffling the platinum hair and making it stick straight up with static. he smiles faintly at the sleeping baby and turns back to you, pulling you close and kissing your forehead. “good, we’re going to your place then. i just want to be with you and g,” he says lowly.

“g’s asleep,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

“even better, alone time with my favorite girl,” he teases back, laughing faintly. it’s not his usual laughter and there’s more than a little melancholic anger in the sound, but you’re glad that he’s at least feeling good enough to tease you

back home, willy handles gunnar, getting him out of his leafs’ gear and into a sleeper, bouncing him back to sleep when he stirs, and cuddling him tight before settling him in the crib. you watch from the doorway while willy rests one big hand on the baby’s stomach, keeping him soothed and settled. the slope of willy’s shoulders is clearly one of defeat, his head hanging while he watches gunnar sleep.

there are platitudes and condolences and meaningless words you could say to fill the silence, but to your boyfriend, anything less than lifting the cup is a failure and the way the team went out this year makes it even worse.

“how can i help?” you ask quietly, once willy’s closed the nursery door behind him and is leaning against the wall.

he scrubs a hand over his face, palm scraping over his beard in the quiet hallway. it’s so late, and he looks exhausted, but something tells you neither one of you will be able to sleep tonight.

“can i just,” he pauses and lets out a grumble from the back of his throat before cradling your face in one smooth move and kissing you hungrily. his teeth clack against yours, beard chafing your cheeks and chin, but the kiss is desperate, feral. he bites at your lower lip and you moan into his mouth, grabbing onto the lapels of his suit jacket to keep yourself upright on wobbly knees. a flood of heat soaks between your legs, pleasure coiling low in your belly with each stroke of willy’s tongue against yours.

he shifts and inserts his thighs between your legs, encouraging you to grind down on the flexed muscle with pressure on your clit. you whimper into his mouth and grind down, gasping for air and breaking the kiss. willy’s mouth is on your neck, his hands gliding down to cup at your breasts. he kneads and squeezes, knowing the stimulation will make you leak, but not caring

“take…” you’re breathless, heated from the inside out, “take what you need, willy.”

“love you, my ace, my girl,” he mumbles into your skin. “best thing to ever happen to me, you and gunnar.”

he’s got you stripped bare and positioned on your hands and knees on the bed before you can blink, ass up and cunt soaked and ready for him. you peer over your shoulder to watch him choke his cock in his fist, the tip red and leaking when it disappears into his grip.

tonight’s not for you, it’s for willy. he needs to get the disappointment and anger from the loss out of his system and you’re the perfect vessel for his frustrations.

willy checks with you once, before he slides his cock into your cunt roughly, to make sure that you’re okay. off of your nod, he’s unleashed, taking what he needs from you. his hips meet your ass with bruising force as he pounds into you, fingers tight on your hips to keep himself steady

you gasp his name with each thrust, the head of his cock hitting deep inside of you, the bare heat of him scorching

“perfect fucking ass, tight little cunt,” he’s groaning and grunting over you, kneading one ass cheek with a strong hand, dipping his fingers against the clenched ring of muscle between your cheeks. his balls slap against your clit and you wail, dropping down onto your forearms and changing the angle for him to fuck into you

his cock is thick and hard and throbbing and you come around him, leaking arousal down the shaft and coating his stomach and thighs as he fucks in and out of you. it’s a mess of fluids, your tits leaking everywhere too, his come mixing with everything as as he spills into you with a bitten off curse

“i love you, fuck, i love you,” he says, nearly incoherent. sweat drips off his face and onto your back and you barely have a minute to catch your breath before willy is flipping you onto your back and shoving his fingers into the messy clutch of your cunt. the squelching noise is obscene and the pressure of three fingers stretching you out is making you squirm and wiggle from overstimulation

willy pins you in place with one hand on your hip and ducks his head to pay attention to your tits, nipping and sucking at your swollen nipples, circling his tongue over the pebble buds until you’re pushing at his face to get some relief. his beard chafes against your sensitive skin and when he lifts his head, there are drops of breast milk clinging to the coarse blonde hairs.

“taste so fucking sweet, ace,” he grins, shit-eating, at you. a strand of hair flops over his forehead and he presses his thumb to your clit so hard it makes you scream.

“shhh,” he teases, withdrawing his fingers from your cunt and licking up the mess off his palm before it can drip down his wrist. “gonna wake the baby. if you can’t be quiet, i’m going to have to fill that mouth of yours.”

your legs are trembling, your body covered in sweat and come and breast milk, and still, you want more, want him to take what he needs to get rid of that cloud of disappointment in his eyes.

“do it,” you whisper, reaching down with a shaking hand to wrap your fingers around his cock. it’s half-hard and slick with your combined releases, thickening as you stroke him.

willy chuckles and shifts so he’s sitting against the headboard and you can settle in between his legs, running your hands over his thick thighs before leaning in and sucking the tip of his cock into your mouth. he groans when you flatten your tongue over the leaking slit, hollowing your cheeks and taking another inch of him down. his hands find your hair, tangling in the strands as you get to work, sucking and licking his cock until it’s fully hard in your mouth. you scrape your nails through the trail of hair on his stomach, feeling the muscles jump and bunch under your fingers

incoherent babbling spills from his lips as you suck him down deeper, the head of his cock bumping against the back of your throat, your hands cupping and rolling his balls. you him around his length and it doesn’t take much more for him to come in your mouth with a shout of your name

you swallow, come leaking out of the corner of your lips, too much to swallow it all

and then you’re boneless over his lap, cheek pressed to his thigh, fingers stroking lazily at his softening cock while willy traces the slope of your nose.

“too fucking good to me,” he mumbles, sliding down on the sheets and dragging you up so you’re sprawled over his chest and he can kiss you, letting his hands splay over your back and glide down to cup your ass.

“proud of you,” you whisper back, kissing his cheek and the top of his nose and the point of his chin. “every single day, i’m so proud of you”

he scoffs a little, but kisses your sweaty hairline and says, “thanks, ace” anyway

you know not to push him, you’ve said what you needed to say for tonight and willy’s gotten what he needed from you.

“gunnar’s going to get hungry soon,” you remind him in a quiet, tired whisper, sticky and sweaty and sated.

“better get all cleaned up then,” he chuckles and maneuvers you into the shower, where he eats you out and cleans you up, leaving a hickey on your inner thigh

somehow, while you’re changing, willy swaps out the sheets for clean ones and retrieves a sleepy, half-awake gunnar from his crib. you crawl into bed with both boys, leaning against willy’s bare chest while gunnar latches onto your nipple, one tiny, chubby hand splayed over the swell of your breast

willy’s got one arm around your shoulder and the other hand cupping the back of gunnar’s head while he watches the baby eat. you tip your head to rest on his shoulder and it’s quiet, peaceful

“it’s crazy,” willy mumbles, breaking the silence, “he has no idea what happened tonight.”

“nope,” you agree, “he just knows that when he wakes up in the morning, daddy’s going to be right there for him.”

he hums and strokes his thumb over the top of gunnar’s head.

“and he’s going to love you, no matter what,” you add, “just like me.”

willy kisses the top of your head and after that, it’s quiet but for the soft noises gunnar makes as he eats, the wide open unknown of the off season in front of you

[jung-koook]

CREATOR TAG GAME — post some gifs before and after colouring! thank you so much for tagging me @jkvjimin and @jjungkkook ♡

this is my favorite tag game ♡ I just love seeing everyone's before and after but because of how busy my year has been, I forgot to post it. even with that, there are so many sweet people who are always tagging me in these game tags and I get so emotional knowing that some people still remember me here for these things. I've been thinking a lot about what my trajectory here will be like after bangtan returns. being here posting about them is something I love but because I don't have much time for it, I feel like I'm "missing" something. if you've been here since the beginning, you know that I literally made gifs of everything and since I'm no longer doing this crazy thing of making gifs of all the content, I feel like I'm not delivering much on this blog. it's a strange feeling that I can't quite put out there in a clear way.

now here we go, here is the before and after of my gifs that I've already posted. even though I'm busy, making gifs of bangtan is still one of my favorite things. ♡ (I was going to post the links to the original sets but there are so many and I'm lazy;;)

tagging some people who I think haven't done it yet and who always remember me for these games: @heybaetae, @btsjk-biased, @yooboobies, @kimtaegis, @joonie, @namchyoon, @taee, @cordiallyfuturedwight, @taehyunghobi, @thatgoddamngingerundercut ♡ (only if you want to!)

[swoomoo]

"I don't like Malkavians because the mental illness stuff makes me uncomfortable". Oh the incest, torture, noncon, necrophilia, mind control, racism, homophobia, gore, homicide, abuse doesn't bother you? "but we shouldn't make light of that subject" We shouldn't make light of any of these subjects but if you argue that incest is okay because 'gothic horror' then get upset that someone made a malkavian inspired by elements of a real mental illness then I'm not sure what to say to you. People like clans they can connect to. Several trans people I know really like the Tzimisce because they can connect to the concept of molding the flesh into something they want to become. It's magical and it's okay. Some people like Malkavians because they like connecting to a character that has to navigate unlife with a unique condition that others often don't take seriously.

Malkavians are my favorite clan, but I and I know several other people who are scared to play them because malk players get bullied by the community when they come up with any derangement that isn't quirky random uwu smol and it's why you end up with so many fish-malk players. btw literally in the corebook for v5 (pg 76)

"All Malkavians suffer mental illness following the Embrace sometimes accentuating an existing condition, other times adding a new dimension to their instability." "As a rule, no other Kindred feels completely comfortable around a known Malkavian, often viewing them as unpredictable maniacs whose flashes of insight are rarely worth the fits of insanity."

The entire clan in lore has made others uncomfortable since its conception. If you're uncomfortable with mental illness there are much much darker themes the game addresses and I'm not sure WoD is the best setting for you.

[takaraphoenix]

@eyayah234 I have... no idea why your ask doesn't show up in my inbox and is just ~gone~ when I click on the "answer" link in my mail notification, but sure, let's do this the more complicated way xD

Thanks for playing!! ^^

2. Favorite canon scene between them?

The vault figuring out in season 3A. The way they finish each other's thoughts, how seamless they work together and just know how the other thinks, hell even how they stand facing each other, touching, as they tell Scott about the vault, finishing each other's sentences. It's, this is Steter at its essence to me.

5. Biggest in-universe supporter of the ship?

ERICA!! I have, for reasons I can't name, decided Erica is the captain of the Peter Hale fanclub and of course does she adore her Batman. So she is rooting for them the most!!

7. Who do each of them tell first about the relationship?

I don't think Peter would tell anyone. Well, maybe Malia, if we are around season 4-ish in time. Little heads up. But otherwise he doesn't really care about sharing this with anyone, it's all his.

Stiles would tell Erica first. Because he knows she is the most open to the idea of Peter, in general. Scott and Peter's past makes Stiles feel like he needs to mentally prepare before he can tell Scott. And his dad, uh, well, the whole gun-owning and being sheriff, you know.

14. How did their family take the news of their relationship?

Oh, Derek is gonna do so much growling and threatening of Peter. Depending on it, there might be some minor physical violence.

Cora mocks them to no end.

Malia doesn't really care, she just wants Stiles to be happy.

The sheriff, I prefer does not have a leg to stand on because considering Noah's actor's age (and... he really doesn't pass as that much younger), there ought to be a 10 year age gap between him and Claudia too. And I also like for Peter to earn his respect before the relationship reveal so Noah is begrudgingly accepting. As long as Stiles is happy, otherwise he will get wolfsbane bullets from Chris Argent.

Ship Ask Game

[twst-aceofhearts]

Please please please anything with Trey 🙏🙏🙏

Bake It 'Til You Make It

𝖆/𝖓: subtle foreshadowinging & these are not the real names of trey's siblings

𝖙𝖜: shit baked goods

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: trey x reader

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘: 1189

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @oya-oya-okay @writingattemptsxx

It all started with a cupcake. Or rather, your attempt at baking one.

“You tried to make this?” Trey had asked cautiously, poking the sunken, slightly charred muffin in your hands.

“Rude,” you huffed. “I slaved over a hot oven for—”

Trey took a bite. His eyes widened.

You beamed. “See? Not that bad!”

“It’s... crunchy,” he said, after a long pause.

“I didn’t mean for it to be.” You sighed dramatically. “Some of us don’t have years of experience working in a family-run bakery.”

Trey chuckled—and that, somehow, spiraled into this: you, on a crowded train, hurtling toward the Clover family bakery for the first time.

You had known Trey Clover as the calm, collected vice housewarden of Heartslabyul who could defuse a Riddle Tantrum™ like a pro and whip up pastries that made grown men cry. But meeting his family was a whole other level of nervous.

“What if they don’t like me?” you asked as the train slowed.

“They will.”

“What if they think I’m a walking disaster? Which, to be fair, is accurate.”

“They won’t.”

“What if your siblings throw flour at me?”

“That one’s... likely.”

The Clover Bakery sat on a sunny street corner, with checkered curtains in the windows and a little bell that jingled as you stepped inside. Warm vanilla and sugar greeted you like an old friend, along with the sounds of organized chaos.

“TREY’S HOME!” someone shrieked from the back. A blur of motion—short, fast, and feral—raced past the counter and launched into Trey’s stomach with a “WHUMP.”

“Hi to you too, Lena,” he grunted, hugging the little girl back.

Another kid, older but clearly related, peeked around the flour sacks.

“You’re early,” said a boy about twelve, squinting at Trey. “Who’s that?”

You waved. “I come in peace.”

Lena squinted. “You brought a girl.”

The declaration echoed through the bakery like a shout in a canyon.

A head popped out from the kitchen doorway. “What did you just say?”

Trey’s mom stepped into view, wiping her hands on a flour-covered apron. Her face lit up. “Oh! You must be [Name]! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You smiled nervously. “All good things, I hope.”

She enveloped you in a flour-dusted hug. “Only sweet things.”

Trey's dad appeared next, bearded and grinning. “So, you’re the one who finally got Trey to bring someone home. Good job.”

“Dad,” Trey muttered, cheeks pink.

After a tour of the bakery (“That’s the mixing station; don’t touch the egg beater, it’s sentient”), you were given a spare apron and plopped at the kitchen counter between Trey’s two siblings: Lena, who had already stolen your phone to play games, and Miles, who kept pretending he wasn’t fascinated by your dorm life stories.

“You know Trey has a fan club at NRC, right?” you said, elbowing the older brother.

Miles looked horrified. “He what?”

“Please stop,” Trey groaned, hands deep in dough.

Lena poked your sleeve. “Do you like him?”

You blinked. “Well, I am dating him.”

She squinted. “That’s not what I asked.”

You stared at her. “Are you five or fifty?”

“Eight,” she said proudly. “And I know about crushes.”

Across the room, Trey snorted so hard he dropped a rolling pin.

Lunch was a whirlwind of grilled cheese, tomato soup, and deep familial interrogation.

“What’s your favorite cake flavor?” asked Trey’s mom.

“Chocolate, I think—”

“Wrong. It’s lemon poppyseed,” Lena interrupted. “That’s what Trey always picks.”

Trey buried his face in his hands.

“Any food allergies?” his dad asked.

“Nope—oh wait. Raw celery makes my mouth feel like a cactus.”

“You... okay,” said Miles, scribbling something in a notebook. “I’m keeping a dossier.”

You leaned toward Trey and whispered, “Help me.”

He just smiled like the traitor he was.

The real chaos started when someone—probably Lena—shouted: “Let’s do a bake-off!”

“I like this idea,” said Mrs. Clover, eyes sparkling.

“Nope,” Trey said immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes,” Lena insisted, shaking your arm. “You versus Trey. It’s perfect!”

“Oh no,” you said. “You don’t want that. Last time I baked, I summoned a demon. It asked to be put out of its misery.”

“I’ll coach them,” Trey said, resigned.

“Not the same!” Lena pouted.

“You know what?” you said, standing up dramatically. “Let’s do this. I accept the challenge. Flour me up, baby.”

Trey sighed. “We’re going to need an extra fire extinguisher.”

ROUND ONE: COOKIE CHAOS

The challenge? Classic chocolate chip.

Trey worked like a professional, of course—no measurements needed, everything instinctual. His dough looked soft, heavenly, and ethically superior.

Yours, however, was... more experimental.

“What did you do?” Miles whispered, staring into your mixing bowl.

“I followed the recipe loosely,” you said. “And I added cinnamon. For flair.”

“It’s gray.”

“Creativity isn’t always pretty.”

You dropped spoonfuls onto the tray and popped them in the oven. “May the odds be ever in your flavor.”

Trey’s cookies came out golden and melty. Yours came out like... hockey pucks.

“Crunchy again,” Trey said diplomatically, chewing slowly.

Lena spit hers out into a napkin. “It tastes like betrayal.”

Your heart sank—until Trey kissed your flour-smudged cheek and whispered, “At least it’s not poisoned.”

You beamed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

ROUND TWO: CUPCAKE SMACKDOWN

“I shall redeem myself,” you declared, wielding a whisk like a sword.

Miles whispered to Trey, “Are you sure they’re safe in the kitchen?”

“No,” said Trey. “But I love them anyway.”

You tried a lemon zest recipe this time—mainly because it reminded you of Trey. Soft-spoken, sweet, and slightly tart.

When the cupcakes rose in the oven—actually rose—you nearly cried.

Trey’s batch, meanwhile, looked perfect as usual. You decorated yours with sloppy hearts and uneven icing. His looked like they belonged in a magazine.

“I made mine with love,” you said proudly.

Trey smiled. “And probably baking soda instead of sugar.”

“...No comment.”

Lena, now the self-declared judge, took her job very seriously.

“I award Trey a score of nine out of ten. Moist. Flavorful. Classic.”

Trey bowed dramatically.

She bit into yours. “Hmm. Texture: questionable. Icing: kinda goopy. But...”

You held your breath.

“It makes me happy.” She grinned. “Ten out of ten.”

You fist-pumped. Trey looked genuinely stunned.

“I lost?”

“Love wins!” you shouted. “Take that, baking royalty!”

He leaned over, brushing your cheek again. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You smirked. “And humble.”

That night, after helping clean up a flour explosion in the kitchen (you were 80% sure it was Lena’s fault), you and Trey finally got a moment of peace on the back porch.

The stars above were quiet. The bakery smelled of cooling bread and vanilla. Trey wrapped an arm around your waist and sighed, leaning his head against yours.

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

“My family really likes you.”

“Even Lena?”

“Especially Lena. She’s already planning our wedding.”

You choked. “WHAT.”

“Kidding,” he said, laughing as you flailed. “But... I’m glad you came. Really.”

You looked up at him—kind, gentle, warm-hearted Trey Clover—and smiled.

“Me too.”

Then he kissed you, softly, with powdered sugar still lingering on your lips.

Love, as it turns out, is just sugar, spice, and a bit of chaos.

credit to @cafekitsune for divider

[saurongorthaur9]

Sooo...I woke up to a crap ton of negativity in the ROP/TROP fandom tag. I don't want to get involved at all, but I DO want to see the fandom being a thriving, happy place. So here's a positivity tag game I'd like to offer for anyone who'd like to contribute.

RULES

Tag 3 (or more!) people who you admire or enjoy in the fandom and write a short 1-2 sentences about why you admire them. The tagged people then reblog with 3 or more people they admire/enjoy and so on.

@queenmeriadoc & @helenvader For organizing all sorts of fun fandom events and themed weeks! Even though I don't usually have time to participate, I love seeing the events and everyone's resulting creativity.

@hellofeanor For your amazing Annatar cosplay that makes me drool with envy and appreciation whenever I see it because it is my DREAM to be that good at cosplay some day.

@a-bungle For your stunning fandom art that makes me catch my breath and smash the reblog button every time I see it.

@artesdaterramediaby-kithkerulin For your amazing Haladriel art that makes me grin like an idiot (and also smash the reblog button) every time I see it.

@samiaescorcio15 For your soft and lovely art that makes me feel all warm and fluffy and happy. (And I can't WAIT to get my order of your stickers :D:D:D)

@sauronsgianthands For your hilarious tags and comments that I love to see on other people's posts.

@sauron-the-sexy For your wonderful (and very sexy) gifs of our favorite diabolical Dark Lord.

@baddybaddyadardaddy For seeing all the love and positivity you spread about our favorite Uruk Daddy.

Additional tags: anyone who wants to join in spreading some positivity around the fandom!

[wistericaine]

alt account | harry potter

harry potter x reader | fluff | wc: 807

summary: harry builds rapport with you before asking for a collab

You had started your YouTube channel to help you cope with moving to a completely new area. The move from living at Hogwarts to the real world had been shocking to say the least, one that had shaken you to the marrow of your bones. Hogwarts had been your home for as long as you could remember—yet now you were forced to come to reality and the fact you had to move away.

So you started vlogging.

You had started with your apartment hunt. Looking through different floor plans and eventually deciding on a small yet cozy one that fit your budget. You went shopping and talked about contracts and your struggles with the modern world, all of it fitting into half an hour vlogs that you posted twice a week.

The comments and subscribers were understanding of your journey, surprisingly, with a lot of them commenting supportive things or general advice within the comments. You were proud of the life that you had built, of the community you had inspired to form and the things that you had been able to achieve for yourself.

You also felt rather happy whenever one specific account commented. 

@ livingone • 2 mins ago Really enjoyed today’s video! I love the wallpaper that you chose for the backsplash, I think it looked especially nice in the sunrise too. You could try and add some plants to your house to match the backsplash. Unless you plan on getting a cat. Don’t get plants if you’re gonna get a cat.

@ minniesfav • 1 min ago thank you lovely! i’m not planning on getting a cat just yet cause i doubt i could take care of it, but i will definitely be adding plants soon!!

Your top commenter—‘livingone’—was a rather unique case. They commenced on every single one of your videos, sometimes multiple, ever since you started your account. They also quite reminded you of a YouTuber that you quite liked.

@ TheBoyWhoLived was a gaming channel that streamed weekly, though he did vlogs and other challenges too. He talked and commented in a much similar format to your top commentator, even down to specific sentence structuring. 

But no matter your suspicions, you couldn't confirm much. It wasn’t like you could reach your head through and see who was typing. Meaning that you were stuck with nothing but just the username. 

@ livingone • 5 mins ago So glad that you got into playing DBD, that’s one of my favorite games! You might want to work on your stealth and screaming just a little bit, but I think that you did a good job nonetheless!

@ minniesfav • 3 min ago thank you again lovely! i tried super hard, not my fault the killers are scary

@ livingone • 2 mins ago You just gotta get used to it is all

@ livingone • 10 mins ago You did the plants! I’m surprised that you chose mint, that was my first choice for a house plant too. They always make the house smell rather nice, if that’s something that helps you keep them alive

@ minniesfav • 5 min ago hi again lovely! My apartment already smells so much better thanks to this mint, and ill def need to get some more soon honestly. thanks for commenting!

@ livingone • 5 mins ago Your pasta near the end looks absolutely delicious. I would so give you one of my grandma’s chicken pasta recipes if she would let me, but she would murder me if I give it to you. Hopefully the brainwaves that I’m sending your way gift you the knowledge I am holding.

@ minniesfav • 3 min ago aw, thank you lovely! im most definitely feeling your brainwaves, yes yes indeed

@ livingone • 2 mins ago Good, because I’m sending them super hard. 

Harry chuckled quietly as he posted the next comment, quite enjoying the replies that you had given him over the past few months. He knew that you had most likely recognized him by username alone, but he also found it quite funny that you had given him the nickname lovely. 

He decided to reach out to you for a collab. 

Which had turned into the two of you messaging. For months. Then the back and forth messaging turned into calls, and from calls to the physical hangout that you were having right now.

“Oh, you sneaky bastard!” you laughed out loud at him. “I knew it!”

“How could you possibly know?” he laughed at you, leaning back on his sofa.

You shrugged. “You just texted similarly. Should’ve lowercase your letters.”

“They don’t look right when I do them!” he spat out, finishing the last of his drink before leaning forward in his seat. “Did you actually know that it was me?”

You shrugged and winked at him. “Maybe."

thank you so much for reading! small drabble for youtuber harry yet again because im about to head to bed. i loved writing the comments but i hated trying to figure out the formatting, though i think that i did a good job! hopefully you enjoy! <3

© wistericaine 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs + comments are so very appreciated! have a lovely day, love!