#that kind of immaturity is expected sometimes

[dirtyl0ver]

hii idk if you take request… but if you do can you please write masky x y/n x hoodie or maybe their headcanons 🙏

Omfg the timing. I'm literally in the process of writing a Masky x Reader x Hoodie raunchy ass threesome as we speak 💀🙏 Will be posting it this weekend probably, but in the meantime, here's some Brian headcanons. (Tim headcanons incoming asap)

Brian Thomas/Hoodie Headcanons

Appearance

Brian is tall in a way that feels imposing rather than just noticeable, he fills up space without even trying. Probably around 6'2. He’s built like someone who’s done hard labor most of his life - strong shoulders, wide chest, and arms that look like they could throw someone across a room if he felt like it. He doesn’t bulk up to show off. This is natural, functional strength

His hair is a dirty, dark blonde, the kind that looks more brown in certain lighting, especially when it’s damp with sweat or rain. He keeps it short, neat enough that it doesn’t get in the way, but long enough to rake his fingers through when he’s thinking

His jawline is sharp, and you can sometimes get the sense that his face never quite learned how to soften. There’s tension in his mouth even when he’s relaxed, like he’s always holding something back. He’s not always frowning, but he looks serious even when he’s not trying to

He’s always dressed in practical layers - dark hoodies, flannel overshirts, faded jeans that fit too well, and jackets with deep pockets. His boots are well-worn but taken care of, like everything else he owns

He’s got scars. Across his knuckles, on his forearms, one near the corner of his jaw. Old ones, faded white. Whatever caused them, you get the feeling they weren’t accidents

There’s something clean-cut about him under the grime. He might go days without shaving, but when he does clean up, you can tell - underneath it all, there’s a man who was probably raised to iron his shirt and tuck it

General Behavior

Brian doesn’t waste words. He’s the type who communicates in glances, nods, silence that carries weight. You learn to pay attention, to read his body language, and when he does speak, you don’t want to miss it

Calm, collected, and deliberate. He doesn’t rush or panic. There’s a steady rhythm to the way he moves and acts, like he’s always in control, even when things go sideways

He carries himself with this quiet kind of authority, the kind that makes louder people shrink a little without knowing why. He’s not bossy or arrogant, he just expects to be listened to. And when he isn’t, he makes it known without raising his voice

He was raised on rules, strict ones. I imagine him coming from a religious household, probably Baptist or something similar. Church every week, meals at the table, prayers before bed. It left him with a kind of moral rigidity, even if his line of work now contradicts half of it

That upbringing stuck in ways he probably doesn’t even realize. He says “sir” and “ma’am” without thinking. He stands when someone enters the room. He notices when others don’t

He doesn’t like unnecessary noise or chaos. Loud people, messy spaces, open conflict - it grates on him. He likes things in order

That said, he’s not afraid of conflict. Not even close. When it comes, he handles it with brutal efficiency. If someone steps out of line, he moves. Quickly, decisively, and in a way that makes people think twice about ever crossing him again

Tim is his closest ally - his brother in all but blood. They’ve seen each other at their absolute worst, and Brian never judges him for it. Even when they butt heads (and they do, sometimes harshly), Brian is solid in his loyalty. He trusts Tim’s instincts, and when he doesn’t, he holds space for the disagreement without turning cold. He’s one of the few people Brian will actually talk things through with

He has very little tolerance for bullshit, especially from the more loud creeps. He finds most of them immature at best, unhinged liabilities at worst. Jeff grates on his nerves more than he thought humanly possible, and Ben is lucky Brian doesn’t punt him out a window every time he opens his mouth

Random Details

Grew up in a house where affection wasn’t really shown, only expected in the form of obedience. That stuck with him - he doesn’t say “I love you” He shows it, in practical, unspoken ways

Has a strong sense of personal responsibility. If something goes wrong and he was anywhere near it, he carries it - even if no one blames him

He loves driving - not just the act of it, but everything around it. His truck is his pride and joy - old, a little beat up, but meticulously maintained. He knows every sound it makes, every rattle and hum. Driving clears his head. Makes him feel free

He has a thing for firearms - using them, understanding them. He can disassemble, clean, and reassemble his weapons in the dark. He handles them like extensions of himself, with a reverence most people wouldn’t expect

Keeps a small, leather-bound Bible in the glove box of his truck. It’s not about belief, really. It’s just a reminder of where he came from. Sometimes he flips through it, but never for long

Listens to music that’s all grit and story, stuff like Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Springsteen, early grunge. He likes songs that feel worn in, songs with weight. But every now and then, when his guard’s down or someone starts getting under his skin in the right way, you’ll catch him playing The Beach Boys. There's something about the warmth in those harmonies that sneaks out of him when he's starting to feel something real

He doesn’t open up easily. He doesn’t know how. He was never taught how to say things like “I’m scared” or “I need help”

When he does trust someone, it’s quiet but unshakable. He’ll back them without question. Show up without being asked. He might not say the words, but he’ll prove them again and again

Smokes sometimes, cheap cigarettes, mostly when he’s stressed or alone

When it comes to girls, he has a deep appreciation for feminine presentation. Dresses, skirts, heels, soft makeup, painted nails - he notices everything, and it gets to him in ways he’d never admit out loud. Bonus points if you're fidgeting with the hem of your skirt or adjusting a strap - he notices that too

There’s something old-fashioned in how he views femininity - not in a restrictive way, but reverent. He doesn’t want to control it, he wants to witness it, protect it, worship it in private. Especially if it’s paired with a little shyness

NSFW (18+)

Brian is dominant, no question. But he's not loud or aggressive. It’s in the way he holds eye contact while undoing your clothes, the way his hands don’t hesitate, the way he waits for you to squirm before touching you again

He’s very into girls who are flustered, a little shy, maybe even inexperienced. The way you bite your lip, avoid his eyes, squirm under his stare - he loves it. Vulnerability means something to him

He moves slow. Deliberate. He takes his time exploring you, watching how your body reacts to every touch, every whisper. He memorizes you in pieces - where you gasp, where you tense, what makes you come undone

He loves teasing. The kind that feels like worship and punishment all at once. Dragging his fingers along the inside of your thigh just to stop right before he reaches where you need him most. Pressing his lips just under your ear and whispering, “That’s not where you want me, is it?”

Eye contact is big. He watches you the entire time - every expression, every breath, every stutter in your voice. If you try to look away, he’ll gently tilt your chin back toward him with two fingers and wait until your eyes meet his again

Doesn’t talk much during sex, but what he says is sharp, controlled, and effective. Things like “You can take it” “Eyes on me” “Good girl” “That’s it”. Words that stick in your head long after

His touch is firm, grounding. A hand on your lower back, fingers gripping your jaw, a palm splayed across your stomach to keep you in place

Big on control. Not just physical, but emotional. He wants to see you fall apart slowly, with intention. He wants to pull reactions from you

He’s into overstimulation. He loves watching you squirm under his hands when your body’s already gone soft from the first orgasm and he’s still going. One hand on your throat, the other between your legs, voice quiet and coaxing: “You can give me one more.”

If he gives you aftercare, it's quiet and simple. He wipes you down, helps you dress, maybe wraps you in his hoodie without saying a word. Then he sits nearby, close enough to touch, but without saying much

[shallowseeker]

I'm breaking this one out by itself because it's a little funny.

*Dean's phone rings*

*Dean answers without looking*

*Dean proceeds to yell at Cas*

Ah, right. What could possible be so important?

/////

Sam goes on to tell Dean that *drumroll* Sam is Lucifer's true vessel.

WOW! Scary!

DEAN: *sarcastically* Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh Sammy? SAM: That's it? That's your response?

It's... completely lost on Sam, though… the REASON for Dean's sarcasm here.

See. It's this: now that Sam's found out that HE'S a vessel, he's in his car with an absolute FIRE lit under his goddamned tail, EAGER to get back in and fight.

Sam.

SAMMY.

🤦🤦🤦🤦

Dean throws a hint.

DEAN: *sarcastically again* I guess I'm a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point. SAM: Well what are we gonna do about it?

And Sam... still doesn't get it.

Sigh.

Here's the thing. Sam wasn't panicking when they learned that Dean was a vessel. (Only Cas and Bobby were panicked and stressed. They were mean, but they were at least aware of the reality of things.)

But Sam.

Yes, Sam was going through things, struggling with things, and sure, taking time to go through things is okay. But on the other hand, it definitely still hurts that Sam wasn't insisting on staying in the fight on Dean's behalf, to protect Dean from becoming a vessel.

But now that Sam's learned that he's a vessel too?

Boom.

It's not even that, though. It's this whole conversation.

Because what's missing here? Empathy for Dean's plight.

Sam doesn't realize that this is why he's perpetually at... the kids' table. This right here.

In this whole conversation, Sam is eaten up with ranting about his own feelings, about how he's sick of being a puppet, and how he's going to hunt Lucifer down and gain redemption.

Sam's all about "how he can do this," how he's "gonna prove it to you."

It makes him seem a lot younger than he is.

....

There's no acknowledgment of how helpless Dean must have been feeling all this time, knowing that he's been targeted by an archangel, about how scary this whole thing is.

Hell, even Cas acknowledged Dean's fears re: Michael.

I mean: He did it in his Cas way, but it still acknowledged the enormity of the fear.

Cas:

///

Meanwhile, Sam back in 5x01, right after DEAN learned about being Michael's vessel was pretty much: Geez, why is everyone so cranky and stressed?

🥺 Dean, what do you mean that you didn't mean your pep talk to Bobby? Whaaaat? Why not? 🥺

///

....

And the thing is. Not "getting it"? That's understandable. But this conversation is just... devoid of support for Dean.

“We’re not stronger when we’re together, Sam.”

And they're not. (Not here, anyway.)

Sam's zapping all the strength for himself.

When they've been together lately, Dean is the big brother who lends support, and Sam isn't giving anything back. Sam's out to prove himself, not to support others.

And they tell older siblings and parents to be patient, to let them learn, to step back and forgive, to be "a soft place to land."

That's hard to do. And it's exhausting.

And aside// Sam's apology to (demon) Bobby was SO MUCH NICER. Sam, where is this humility and energy for other people????

SAM: No, actually. Bobby, this is all my fault. I'm sorry. Lilith did not break the final seal. Lilith was the final seal. I killed her, and I set Lucifer free. You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, but I didn't listen. I brought this on. I'm sorry.

[astrolook]

❤️‍🔥Synastry Observations - Are They The One or Just Passing Through? 🔗

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you more and leave the rest. Lemme know in the comments if it hits home!

If you’re wondering whether someone might be "the one" for you or not, check where their 7th lord and Venus (for a wife), or Jupiter (for a husband), falls in your chart.

The 7th lord shows their relationship mindset and whether long-term commitment with you is likely to work. Check where their 7th lord is falling in your chart, along with its aspects.

Their 1st lord in your chart shows how they naturally behave toward you. This can be learned through where their 1st lord lands in your chart, along with its aspects.

Venus = wife indicator in a man’s chart; Jupiter = husband indicator in a woman’s chart.

Their 5th lord in your chart (and its aspects) shows how they might be as a parent and their potential parenting dynamic with you. These placements reveal how serious they might be, what kind of partner they are, and whether your lives actually align long-term.

Their 7th lord in your chart:

Their 7th lord in ur 1st - You ARE their type. No guessing, no mixed signals. It shows. It’s “I could see a future with you” energy. Even if you're not their usual type, you become their exception. You trigger their desire to settle down or lock something in. If it doesn't work out, they’ll probably compare others to you for a while. They treat you like you matter and you just check most of their boxes. They could put pressure on you to be “ready” even if you’re not. They would woo or chase you. Will keep tabs on you. In public, they act like you’re already theirs. Publicly claim you with touch, eye contact, and presence. Very visible couple energy and people would notice the chemistry.

Their 7th lord in ur 2nd - They see stability in you or at least, they want it from you. You feel like someone they could build a life with. Comfort is the hook. It’s “I want to keep you” energy. You might feel like they expect you to provide something, whether it's emotional, financial, or physical. They might become possessive without realizing it. If it’s one-sided, you’ll feel used either emotionally or materially. They may try to “secure” you before truly connecting. You might feel safe or stuck, depending on your own chart. There's a sense of “I want to have all of you” literally. In public, they treat you like their person through small, steady gestures. Think hand on your back/ shoulder/ hip, picking up the check, always close by.

Their 7th lord in ur 3rd - They feel drawn to your mind and their attraction towards you is beyond appearance. You might become their go-to person for random thoughts and late-night talks. The connection starts light but can get emotionally loaded fast. They flirt through words. Texts, jokes, side comments, etc and that’s their way in. If one-sided, you’ll feel like their emotional dumping site. They romanticize your tone, your humor, the way you speak. Can ghost you out of nowhere if you're not on the same wavelength. If it ends, they’ll still lurk by liking your posts, watching your stories, saying nothing.

Their 7th lord in ur 4th - They feel emotionally safe around you way too fast. You remind them of home sometimes in a comforting way, sometimes in a triggering one. They might start talking about deep personal stuff out of nowhere. If mutual, the bond feels warm, familiar, and deeply personal. If one-sided, you’ll feel emotionally responsible for their mess. You might notice them trying to insert themselves into your routines or family stuff early. If they’re emotionally immature, they’ll act like a victim when things shift. If it doesn’t work, it feels like a breakup with your own peace.

Their 7th lord in ur 5th - They might see you as the father/mother of their children. Can see you as child-like or they can be that way towards you. If one-sided, you might feel they used you for just an ego boost or to keep a score. They may try to woo or chase you. Even if they’re emotionally reserved, you pull out their playful, flirty, affectionate side. You might notice them getting possessive when they’re not getting enough attention back or backing off completely if the energy stops feeling exciting. In public, they want to show you off.

Their 7th lord in ur 6th - They are drawn to how you carry yourself under pressure. They show interest by doing things for you or offering help, not through big romantic gestures. It can feel sweet at first, but over time, you might notice a subtle pressure to perform or “keep it together” for them. You become the reliable one, the one who holds it down. If it’s mutual, the bond feels steady and loyal. If it’s one-sided, you’ll start feeling like their emotional support system, not their partner. Quiet tension builds when effort isn’t returned. It’s love through labor, and that can either ground the connection or wear it out. In public, they help carry your bag, pick you up at work or drop you off, and remember your schedule.

Their 7th lord in ur 7th - They see you as "the one". They show up already “partnered” in their mind. It’s giving a default commitment. It’s not casual. Even if you try, something about it feels official. You bring out their relationship side even if they weren’t looking for it. If they're immature, they might project ideal partner expectations on you too fast. They may test you to see if you match their ideal. In public, you both give off perfect pair vibes to others and people would respect you both.

Their 7th lord in ur 8th - They want access to you, like all of you. They get emotionally attached fast, even if they pretend they’re not. You may feel both desired and slightly exposed around them. You might feel like they want control, even if they frame it as “just caring.” It can get toxic, and you won't realize it until it's too late. Secrets come out, willingly or not. The sexual tension is crazy. It’s there even when nothing physical happens. They’ll either bring you closer to your shadow work or pull you into theirs. When it’s real and healthy, it feels like love meets rebirth. When it’s not, it drains your soul. In public, they can be low-key and people can def see the sexual tension between you both.

Their 7th lord in ur 9th - You might feel like a muse to them. They romanticize the idea of growing with you. If mutual, the connection feels freeing, future-focused, and full of potential. If one-sided, they might put you on a pedestal as their “escape.” Long-distance, cultural, or lifestyle gaps are common with this overlay. A partner in evolution. In public, you both give off travel couple vibes or the nerdy couple.

Their 7th lord in ur 10th - They see you as someone they can publicly claim, like status matters here. You come off as “partner goals” to them, whether you’re trying or not. You might feel like they’re into the idea of you more than the real you. They could treat you like a trophy or someone who boosts their rep. If mutual, you feel like a power couple together. If one-sided, you might feel used or put on display. Respect matters just as much as affection here, maybe more. If it ends, it’s not just a breakup, it’s a hit to their image. Their career can take a hit too. They def wanna show you off and would feel proud to be seen with you. In public, they show you off with pride. People might see you both as a "power couple".

Their 7th lord in ur 11th - They see you as their "partner in crime". They romanticize how accepted and understood they feel around you. Feelings grow through shared interests, group chats, and inside jokes. If mutual, it’s that “my best friend is also my person” type of love. If one-sided, they’ll hover in your orbit, hoping you catch on. The line between friend and partner gets blurry fast. When it ends, it’s still hard to fully let go as the friendship keeps echoing. In public, you look like best friends who also hook up. They act easygoing and proud of you, but not possessive.

Their 7th lord in ur 12th - They feel drawn to you without knowing why and it’s an unconscious attraction. The connection feels private, hidden, or impossible to explain. You might feel like they see a side of you no one else does. If mutual, it’s telepathic. You feel each other’s moods without speaking. Boundaries blur emotionally, spiritually, and sometimes physically. They can disappear emotionally just as fast as they appeared. Feels karmic like you’ve met before or have unfinished business. Love here is felt more than acted on and that can be painful. In public, people don’t really get your dynamic. People never would have imagined you both would end up together.

💌For readings, check out my pinned post for pricing! ✨💌🪐

[azzibuckets]

reputation, or, all the ways i’ve loved you

or, love is immature and heady and new and blissful and hard and exhausting and it might kill you but in the end—love endures.

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige and azzi in various stages of love, as told through reputation by taylor swift

a/n: as a celebration for 3k followers, here’s my longest fic yet! don’t know if this style is for me so we’ll see if i ever write a long one again lol. nevertheless, i hope you guys enjoy :)

word count: 9k

masterlist | oneshots masterlist

⋆⑅˚₊ i. dancing with our hands tied - i loved you in secret / first sight, yeah, we love without reason

July 2018

Out of all the things Azzi Fudd expected her father to do after telling him the big news, laughing was probably last on the list. Actually, scratch that — it wasn’t even on the list to begin with, because what kind of father takes their child’s health as a joke? Certainly not Tim, who’s forced Azzi to take her daily vitamin gummies for as long as she can remember, the nasty ones that taste too sour to resemble the Trolli eggs they’re supposed to be a dupe of.

But here is Tim Fudd, the man who raised her, lines crinkling around his eyes as he guffaws so loud he starts pounding his own chest. Azzi would be worried for his lack of oxygen if she wasn’t so incredulously offended. “Dad? Did you hear what I said?”

“Oh, I heard you.” Tim pauses to take a breath before starting to laugh again, tears slowly beginning to form at the corner of his eyes.

“What’s so funny, then?” Azzi questions snarkily, hands on her hips in the perfect pose of sassy teenage indignance.

“Azzi, honey.” Tim straightens up as his breathing ebbs back to normal. He moves to place a comforting hand on Azzi’s shoulder, but she jerks away, not at all in the mood for his antics. “You’re not sick,” he says gently. “I think you might have something else.”

Azzi wrinkles her nose, running through all the meticulous shelves of research stored in her mind. She’d gone through every possibility on the Internet, taking methodical notes on every potential disorder, anamoly, or illness that could be afflicting her body. She'd been pretty sure she’d scoured them all, but maybe she had missed something in her overzealousness. “You’re saying I didn’t get a hypoglycemic episode?”

“Sweetie, do you even know what hypoglycemic means?”

Azzi opens her mouth to answer, wanting to say that she does, in fact, know that hypoglycemia is an indicator of low glucose levels in the blood, and that if left untreated, her bodily functions will not have enough energy to continue, and her organs will fail, and she will die a long and painful death, and her understanding of the word hypoglycemic makes it all the more astounding as to why her dad won't take her illness seriously, but before she can can even begin her tirade, her dad winces and puts up a palm. “Actually, never mind. I don’t want to hear all about your self diagnosis, as funny as it is.”

“It’s not a self diagnosis if everyone on the Internet says I have all the symptoms of hypoglycemia!” Azzi argues, but even she knows the argument is weak.

Tim massages his forehead, lips twitching with the exertion of holding back a second round of laughter. “And what did you say your symptoms were again, hon?”

“Excessive sweating, even when I’m like, standing still and it’s 60 degrees out. And dizziness. And my fingers start to shake sometimes! Difficulty concentrating, and tingling lips.” Azzi lists them out on her fingers, smiling triumphantly when she’s finished. Take that, Dad.

“Mm.” Tim rubs his chin in thought. “And when exactly do you experience these symptoms?”

“Well, the last time I can remember is when I was hanging out with Paige at Grandma’s on Wednesday.”

Tim coughs into his arm, loud, and it sounds suspiciously like a wheeze. Azzi squints at him, suspicion written across her face. After recovering, he prods, “Do you remember any of the other times this has happened?”

“I don’t know, I can’t think specifically. It happens a lot. Umm…” Azzi thinks back. “Maybe last week, at the fair? I’m trying to remember.” She closes her eyes, trying to prompt memories of that airy feeling in her head, the rollercoaster in her tummy, the buzz in her chest that had started the car ride over to the fair, right around when they’d picked Paige and her brother up.

It had gotten increasingly worse as the day went on, peaking during the afternoon when they’d been on the bumper cars. She’d been squished into the same car as Paige, the car offering only a very small seat to service two basketball players suffering from summer growth spurts, all long limbs and awkward lank. As a result, the sides of their feet and thighs and arms had been touching and overlapping—Paige almost fell into Azzi’s lap when Jose crashed into them especially hard, golden hair spilling across Azzi’s face and pale hands landing on her thighs. She remembers the smell of fruity shampoo and the feeling of feathery strands tickling her cheeks making her even dizzier than bumper car itself, her nerve endings lighting up, every point on her skin ultra sensitive as sweat had started to pool in her armpits and in the palms of her head. And when Paige's palms had rubbed up and down on her thighs — God. She'd almost died.

Azzi shudders at the memory and opens her eyes. “Yeah, definitely at the fair.”

“The fair?” Tim cocks an eyebrow. “You mean, the fair we went to last week?”

“Yes, Dad, that’s what I said,” Azzi responds, growing increasingly frustrated.

“The fair we went to with Paige and Drew?”

“Yeah.” Azzi crosses her arms in defiance. “Is that supposed to be relevant?”

Tim makes an unncommital sound in his throat. “So you’re saying you don’t get any of these symptoms, say, at home?“

“Well…” Azzi purses her lips. “I guess recently I've been having difficulty concentrating all the time. Wherever I’m like, at home or school or whatever.”

“What makes it hard to concentrate?” Tim cocks his head in genuine curiosity. “What’re you thinking about?”

Azzi doesn’t have a ready answer. What does she think about? She tries to draw from her memory again, but gets distracted by the sort of hilarious, muddled irony of trying to think about what’re you usually thinking about. Then she realizes she’s making an expression again, the expression Paige has coined as her “thinky face” whenever she’s trying really hard to work out a homework problem or come up with an outfit to wear. The first time Paige had mentioned it, Azzi had frowned at her. “I don’t have a thinky face,” she’d replied.

“Oh, you totally do,” Paige said, glee written across her face — her typical attitude whenever she gets to argue with Azzi about something and be right.

“No, I don’t,” Azzi argued, but she’s already accepted that it’s a useless fight. It always is with Paige, who's stubborn and hard-headed and so much like Azzi that she looks at her best friend sometimes and think she's found her soulmate. Platonic soulmate, of course.

Paige smirked at her. “Azzi Fudd so has a thinky face.” She leaned in closer, so close that Azzi could see the glimmer in the deep blue of her eyes and the way her long lashes fluttered. “It’s okay, though, I think it’s pretty cute.” Then she’d pulled back and started talking about some stupid NBA game she’d watched recently, a topic Azzi usually tuned out anyways but this time especially didn’t pay any attention to because she was too disarmed by the fact that Paige had just called her cute. It shouldn’t have felt weird; her friends at school and her teammates called her beautiful and cute and adjectives much more crazy all the time, but still. There again went that same dry feeling in her throat.

“Azzi?”

Azzi blinks as she’s pulled back to the present. “Huh?”

“Maybe you are really sick.” Tim sends her a weary look. “But I just asked you what you usually think about, remember? Do you have an answer?”

“No." Azzi shakes her head grimly. "I couldn’t remember.”

Tim is the one to squint in disbelief this time. “Honey, what were you just thinking about? That’s probably it.”

“Oh, Paige? I was thinking about something she told me the other day. But it’s nothing. Before I was trying to remember, but I couldn’t think—" She’s cut off with an uncomfortable realization that’s starting to dawn in her as a very, very large pit balloons in the bottom of her tummy and begins to ache.

And at the same time this horrible understanding is beginning to come to light in the back of Azzi’s brain, Jose stands up from where he’d been sitting on the couch, watching TV. “You’re stupid, Azzi,” he snickers as he walks by them to grab a snack. “I’m only twelve and even I know you’re not sick.”

“Shut up, Jose,” Azzi replies back angrily, still staring at her hands — the very same hands that had held Paige's, and trembled and moistened in sweaty nervousness. No.

Jose, her little twerp of a brother, sticks his tongue out. “Your lips aren’t tingling from hypoguyseema, dummy.”

“Hypoglycemia,” Tim supplies unhelpfully.

“Your lips are tingling because you wanna make out with Paigey.” And the words don’t really register in Azzi’s heads, not right away at least, she honestly only reaches out to slap Jose from her instinctive, older sisterly awareness that he's being an annoying smart ass like usual, but still he runs away, out of her grasp, singing obnoxiously at the top of his lungs, “Paige and Azzi sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-"

“Shut up, Jose!” She picks up a pillow from the couch and chucks it at him, narrowly missing his retreating figure and instead hitting a vase that slowly toddles in places before falling to the ground with a dramatic crash.

“Azzi, you know we don’t throw things in the house for a reason,” Tim reprimands, exasperated at the childish scene in front of him, but when he turns to look at his daughter, her head is in her hands and her shoulders are shaking.

Tim has loved Azzi since he’s met her as a bumbling little toddler who instantly attached to his hip. He knows Azzi is sweet and sensitive and soft, a girl who has the gift of easily picking up on others' emotions but also is vulnerable to having her own shaken up. So he bites his tongue and makes a mental note to resolve the sibling conflict later. Right now, his daughter needs him; without a word, he collects Azzi into his arms and lets her tears fall on his shirt sleeve.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” and he doesn’t have to say anything else for Azzi to understand he’s not just talking about now — that this shocking and indescribable feeling that Azzi has only been able to name now, is okay, that Azzi, for who she is, is okay.

And yes, Azzi is able to name the feeling, but yet she buries it under her skin. Just because she realizes she has a crush on Paige doesn’t mean she has to act like it — and it especially doesn’t mean Paige, who definitely doesn't like her like that, has to know, she reminds herself.

And although the "illness" never goes away, although she never stops being nervous, and her fingers never stop trembling at least a little when Paige kisses her goodbye on the cheek, Azzi becomes really good at acting. Really good. At first, she couldn't sleep at night, overwrought with anxiety because no matter how good she became at pretending, Jose and her family have never been the best at keeping secrets. But she finds a way to control it definitely not by threatening to take away and sell her brother’s gaming console if she ever hears a peep about how much she damningly wants to kiss Paige, and time passes, and Azzi turns 17, and it’s been two years of knowing Paige, and she thinks that she might be a little bit in love at this point.

She knows how her crush started: an infatuation at camp, impressed by the white girl's agility and speed on the court, the ease and practiced experience with which she directed the team on the court, turning them from a group of girls who'd never played together before into one that worked the ball seamlessly to a gold medal. Of course, in the very beginning, she'd always been hyper-aware of the fact that Paige was just so pretty, a mischievous smirk ever present on pretty pink lips that looked too soft, eyes always bright and hair, even when messy, like a halo around her face.

Then Paige had decided to come into Azzi’s life and do things like go with her family to the fair, and the infatuation had turned into something closely resembling love. And it's not like there weren't many other things that made Azzi fall so fast and so dangerously, like how kind Paige was to the JV girls on her high school team even when they could barely shoot free throws, to the way she was so freely open about her adoration for Azzi, always having to saying something about good she thought Azzi looked.

It was safe to say that Paige had wormed her way into her team then her life then her family then her heart, settling in there like it was home and she’d always belonged there. Paige was someone who could make her laugh, but was always up to talk about serious things, and also was just so sweet to Azzi. Azzi had never met someone who had been all of those things, and now she was positively enthralled. So, even at age 15, even at age 16, and 17, Azzi is completely and utterly fucked.

⋆⑅˚₊ ii. dress - all of this silence and patience / pining in anticipation

April 2019

Azzi hadn’t planned on going to prom.

It was only her junior prom, anyways, and it happened to be the same time Paige was coming to visit, which meant she was going to be booked and busy. Her friends had pushed her to go, but how could she tell them she’d rather be with Paige, playing 1v1 in an empty gym where they always guarded a little too close, hands fisting shirts, always with. heavy breaths into the back’s of each other’s necks and fingers skimming palms?

But then James had made her a poster, standing at her front door with a big smile on his face and flowers in one hand. And she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings, and what did she have to lose? James was nice, and cute enough. His hands were soft and Azzi didn’t mind holding them.

Which is how Azzi finds herself at the Lincoln Memorial, walking painstakingly up the steps in her tight heels. Her mom had gotten a makeup artist to come doll her up, and it’s her first time wearing eyeliner, or any eye makeup at all. She thinks she could get used to this smoky look, the way her lashes look full and dark. It’s not often she gets to express her feminine side, with basketball taking almost all of her waking minutes - she hasn’t ever gone to homecoming or any other dance, and sweats and her shirts are typically her go to outfit. So she admits that this wasn’t a terrible idea, to get dressed up and pretty for once. It certainly helped being able to watch Paige’s reaction (all blushes and wide eyes, thank you very much) when she’d stepped out of the bathroom, glimmering and gilded in a shiny dress that slotted open to show the rich brown of her thigh.

Azzi knew that Paige found her attractive. And although she’s spent years wishing such an attraction went beyond a nere appreciation of her body and her face, she’s long accepted the fact that the love Paige has for her is purely platonic. Strong and steady, sure, but heartbreakingly platonic. Still, Azzi, gets a kick out of making Paige nervous.

Azzi winces as she stumbles for the fifth time, the sole of her foot throbbing and screaming to be let out of the confines of her heels.

“I told you you should’ve brought sneakers and carried your heels,” Pige says from behind her, and Azzi fights the urge to turn around and throttle her. Usually, her best friend would usually offer to do that for her, but Azzi can tell she’s using this opportunity to try and test James — and by the shit-eating smirk on Paige's face, Azzi knows that failing would be generous to describe how he's doing.

Azzi glances beside her and places her hand on her mouth to stifle a giggle. Paige sticks out like a sore thumb as she walks casually behind them, hands stuffed into her Nike sweats. She’s wearing her bright pink EYBL sweater, her hair slightly messy from lying around all day, but she still looks confident as ever, totally unperturbed by the long gowns and tuxedos surrounding her.

“Alright, smile!” Tim and Katie hold up five different cameras, capturing about a million different angles of the group of teens. Paige stands next to them, watching as they pose, but it doesn't take long before she begins to grow bored. “Why am I even here?” Azzi hears her complain quietly to her parents.

“Because when you stay with us, you’re part of our family, and being part of the family means coming to support each other in big moments," Katie reminds her, ruffling Paige's hair.

“Big moments, my ass,” Paige says under her breath as to goes to carefully fix her hair. “I’ve never even been to prom. It can’t be that good.”

“Paige.” Katie sends her a warning glare, effectively shutting her up. Paige has a very comfortable relationship with Tim and Katie, they're basically a second set of parents for her, but she knows her limits.

“Be a good sport, kid.” Tim adds, and claps her on the back. With a long and drawn-out sigh, Paige follows begrudgingly as they move from place to place to take more pictures, hands staying in her pockets and face remaining indifferent.

“Alright Paige, get in there!” Katie puts her camera down to encourage Paige with a nod.

“I’m not even dressed nice,” Paige grumbles, but she sidles in anyways, hand hovering hesitantly over Azzi's side before brushing down her back and finally settling firmly on her hip. The dark haired girl finds herself leaning away from James and into Paige’s touch, her hand burning into Azzi's skin even through the layers of her dress.

“One of you two alone?” Tim asks, a teasing smile on his face. Azzi narrows her eyes at him.

“Aw, you don’t want one with me?” Paige grins, her tone light as she starts to leave.

“No, I do, wait,” Azzi stumbles over her words, flustered, as Tim starts to laugh into his hands. She reaches for the blonde’s hand and tugs her back to her side where she belongs. “My dad’s just being annoying.”

James steps out, and Paige immediately relaxes, head naturally tilting towards Azzi's as they both smile for the cameras. “Aight, I think that’s good,” Paige says after another round of photos and cooing by Azzi’s parents. She takes a step back, shoving her hands back into her pocket as her eyes skim Azzi’s body. Azzi meets her eyes once they come back up, and she wills Paige to say something, anything, but the blonde only swallows hard before looking away.

“Az, I’m gonna go with your dad to get the car,” James tells her. “You good going with your mom back home? I’ll be there to pick you up in like, half an hour.”

The car ride back to her house is silent. Paige picks at her cuticles, while Azzi sits ramrod straight in her seat, not wanting to mess up her hair or wrinkle her dress. When her mom pulls into the driveway, she reaches over and pinches Paige’s side. “Can you stay for a sec? I wanna talk.”

Paige, who had been already attempting to get out of the car, sits back down into her seat, eyebrows raised in a question. Azzi doesn’t speak yet, and their breathing is the only sound in the car. Paige crosses then uncrosses her legs, peeking at Azzi before returning her gaze outside the window, clearly impatient for the younger girl to begin talking.

Azzi fingers a strand of her hair. “Do you think I look pretty?”

Paige’s lips quirk at the question. “That was not what I was expecting you to say.”

“What were you expecting me to say?” Azzi asks, slightly defensive.

“Nothing,” Paige replies too quickly, but Azzi senses a tinge of relief in her tone. She shifts in her seat, edging slightly closer as she examines Azzi’s face. Her knee accidentally bumps into Azzi's ribs. Azzi hates when her best friend starts looking at her with her full attention. The heavy weight of blue eyes always causes her heart to flutter, and she begins to squirm self-consciously under her gaze. “Stop that.”

“You asked me if I thought you were pretty,” Paige retorts. “Can’t blame me for looking.”

God, she’s so annoying. Azzi pushes her, but Paige catches her hand, sandwiching it between her own and bringing it captive to her lips. “Of course I think you look pretty, Az,” Paige laughs. She presses a single small kiss to her knuckles. “You know I do.”

“Well, you didn’t compliment me tonight, and you always do.” Azzi ducks her head as she feels the warmth in her cheeks give her away. Damn it.

“Always want my validation, huh,” Paige teases, trying to meet her eyes, but Azzi looks away still, stubborn as always, and her expression sombers. “You look gorgeous, Azzi, seriously. I mean, you’re always gorgeous,” Paige tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, but Azzi’s not sure there was even a flyaway to begin with, so Paige ends up just ghosting her fingers down from her temple to her chin. “But…” her gaze falls down, and her eyes alone say enough words to finish her sentence and a thousand more. Paige leans in, eyes half lidded, and Azzi shuts her eyes, preparing for the usual affectionate kiss on the cheek. She shudders when she feels lips on her neck instead, at the soft spot below her ear, lingering for a few seconds before it’s gone all too soon. Deep, unguarded heat blooms from that spot, spreading from her neck to her chest.

Azzi realizes they’re still holding hands, and she gives Paige's fingers a squeeze for the hell of it. Encouraged, Paige moves in even closer, hands moving to the headrest for support. Azzi is caged in by Paige’s arms, and Azzi sort of likes it, and she sort of wants Paige to start kissing down her neck like in the movies, maybe leaving a mark or two, but she’s met only with a kiss on her cheek, right near the corner of her mouth, so close that if she’d moved to the right just a couple millimeters their lips would’ve touched.

Paige’s lips part just a bit, her tongue poking out to lick her bottom lip. Her breathing whistles out unevenly. “Have fun tonight, Azzi,” she says, eyes flicking down, and Azzi swears they pause at her lips. She pops the door open and slides out, walking slowly back inside all cool and collected, like she didn’t just leave Azzi absolutely ruined from just two kisses.

Azzi bangs her head against the headrest, perfect hair be gone, and groans.

༉‧₊˚✧

When she finally gets back home, hair messy from dancing, calves sore from jumping around, Azzi is just a little tipsy, softened at the edges. Most of the effects from pre-gaming with her friends have worn off by now, and all she feels is the loose warmth in her chest, a warmth that floods down to her toes when she opens her bedroom door and sees a lump on her bed. Blonde hair peeks out from beneath her purple blanket. Azzi giggles when she lifts it and sees Paige with her mouth ajar, snoring away. Her glasses are perched messily on her nose, laptop on her thighs still open. She takes a quick picture for blackmail purposes before grabbing her pajamas to go change.

Azzi blames the alcohol for the way she can’t stop smiling to herself the whole way to the bathroom. It’s been a hectic day, and the thought of being able to curl up in bed with her best friend, being able to soak in the warmth of her body heat and bury her face into her neck and finally relax, gives her more satisfaction than she’d like to admit.

By the time Azzi has finished getting ready for bed, Paige, constantly moving while awake and in her sleep, has sprawled out in the center of the mattress. Azzi climbs in gingerly, but despite her best efforts not to disturb the older girl, she stirs.

“Azzi?” The blonde rolls over and snuggles into a pillow before she seemingly remembers where she is and shoots up in bed, looking as startled as a deer caught in headlights.

Azzi can’t help but snicker. “Yeah?”

Paige blinks groggily at her, clearly needing a moment to get her bearings. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep in here.” She fidgets with the end of her shirt, almost as if she’s embarrassed to have been caught in Azzi’s bed like this, and Azzi gets a sudden surge of cuteness aggression.

Deciding not to turn it into a big deal (she'd never want to scare Paige away from sleeping in her bed, God knows how much she loves it） out of the goodness of her heart, and the sore muscles in her body telling her to just sleep, Azzi says quietly, “You don’t have to go.” She pulls the comforter over her chest as she watches Paige breathe heavily, her shoulders and back flexing in her hunched over position.

A moment of silence passes before Paige responds. “Okay.” Lying back down is an awkward process, actions hesitant as the older girl overthinks where to go. She finds the very edge of the bed, arms pinned to her sides as she stares directly up at the ceiling. And it’s not like Paige and Azzi have never slept in the same bed, but they’ve never intentionally slept together, limbs intertwining only in the dark of night when they pretend to be asleep and ending when one of them wakes up first in the morning and is able to separate themselves before they have to deal with the awkward ordeal of waking up snuggling. Neither of them have ever really considered the fact that it shouldn’t be awkward for people who are really just friends to cuddle—but for them, it always has been, even the slightest of touches meaning too much and too little.

So Azzi waits for Paige to settle into bed and close her eyes before she takes the initiative to scoot closer in. She pauses a little when her best friend stiffens, and starts to regret maybe overstepping. But then Paige reaches out for her. She stares at the ceiling, not looking at Azzi, but her hand tugs Azzi’s wrist, bringing her closer until she’s fully curling into Paige’s chest. Paige's arm falls around her shoulders a little awkwardly. But she's warm, her chest solid, and Azzi thinks it's perfect.

Azzi has almost drifted fully into unconciousness when Paige whispers, “How was prom?” Her lips graze Azzi’s temple as she speaks into her hair, and Azzi shudders at the feeling.

“It was fine.” She presses her forehead sleepily to Paige’s neck, skin against skin, feeling her pulse thrum steadily. The fresh scent of Paige's deodorant and body wash is simple, a thousand times familiar, but still her favorite in the world. “Missed you,” Azzi admits, the tenderness in her own voice making her cringe a little.

Paige squeezes her closer in. “Missed you more." Her thumb caresses the younger girl's jawline, soothing her to sleep. "Maybe next year will be more fun.”

Azzi doesn’t say that prom was only fine because she could only think about Paige the entire time, and that things probably wouldn't change in a year if they hadn't for the past three. She only hums softly in response.

“Good night.” Paige drops a kiss on her hairline, so briefly and so casually that Azzi almost misses it.

“Night.” Azzi snuggles closer in, heart racing, and she sleeps.

⋆⑅˚₊ iii. so it goes - i'm yours to keep and i'm yours to lose

May 2020

Paige knows before it happens.

It was hard not to. Azzi had been acting distant all week, smiles tight and eyes a little less shiny whenever she’d spoken to Paige. The blonde had just assumed it was because she was having a hard time saying goodbye—what she didn't know was that Azzi was saying goodbye in more ways than one.

The morning of, Paige is the last in the house to wake up. She pads downstairs, still in her pajamas, to find her family and Azzi at the table, eating waffles. Drew is babbling about dinosaurs or something, whipped cream all over his nose and chin, while her dad mans the waffle maker and her step-mom packs a bag of snacks. Azzi is sitting next to Drew, cross-legged and domestic while feeding him between bites of her own food, and it strikes a feeling within Paige she can’t quite place yet.

“Good morning to my two favorite people,” she crows, her volume much too loud for 9 in the morning as seen by the winces on everyone’s faces. She throws one arm each around her little brother and best friend, pulling them in for a group hug, and she finds a hint of the old, familiar softness in Azzi’s eyes before it’s quickly replaced by the distant, guarded expression she’s been wearing for too long. Paige’s stomach heaves a little, but then Drew smears some whipped cream on her nose, eliciting a tickle war, and like usual, the feeling gets pushed to the side.

“Paige, there’s a stack of waffles for you on the table. Try to eat pretty quick because we have to leave soon,” her dad motions for her to sit down, and Paige dutifully obeys. Her eyes light up when she sees the bottle of syrup, and she proceeds to grab it eagerly before drizzling a concerning amount onto her breakfast.

“Paige, you’re gonna make yourself sick,” Azzi reprimands, but Paige only kicks her hard under the table before digging in.

“I’m packing some food for your plane ride,” her step-mom says. “Do you want Slim Jims or apple slices as snack?”

“Can I have both?”

“You only have room for one.”

Decisions, decisions. “Slim Jims.”

Azzi wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Hey,” she says quietly when the adults fall back into their own conversation. “I need to talk to you before you leave.”

“Oh yeah, I was gonna talk to you anyways. I needed to tell you something.” Paige was going to give Azzi the letter she wrote a couple weeks ago. She’d written and rewritten it only about a hundred times, then copied the final letter to fancy card stock paper in her best hand-writing, even adding a couple quick sketches of flowers and rainbows and hearts. It looked pretty awesome, if she did say so herself. Anddddd it also said a bunch of things she wasn’t ready to say out loud, so Paige’s current plan was to say her good-bye before shoving the card in Azzi’s hands as the last thing she’d do before jumping in the car and leaving. And then she’d spend the entire plane ride with her dad going batshit crazy thinking about Azzi reading it.

But still, it would be worth it. Paige was so sure Azzi felt the same — how could she not? She felt the way Azzi’s heart rate picked up whenever they touched, knew the way Azzi looked at her when she thought she wasn’t looking wasn’t normal for just best friends, especially since summer, when everything had between them had changed. It had started off with a kiss, and quickly evolved to something messy and tangled between the two of them that they’d labeled as “friends with benefits”, a label that Paige thought did their dynamic injustice. But still, it had been four years of knowing each other and almost a year of being more, and Paige was finally ready to let Azzi know. No more friends with benefits — girlfriends.

But Paige, so caught up in her thoughts, doesn’t see Azzi’s face drop, the younger girl’s tendency to overthink clearly leading her own train of thought. So she continues to eat her waffles in blissful ignorance as Azzi sits back quietly.

༉‧₊˚✧

“I’m just so ready, ya know?” Paige tosses her charger in the backpack. “I think that’s everything on my packing list,” she muses to herself quietly, gaze sweeping around the room with an air of finality. Then she looks up at Azzi and smiles. “The college experience, the whole nine yards.” She takes a seat on her bed and pats the spot next to her, indicating for the dark haired girl to sit with her. “Even though there’s still COVID and I won’t be able to do the really fun stuff—" she imagines playing in front of a sold out crowd at Gampel, and the smile on her face dims just a little at the feeling of missing out, “—still, I’m just so excited. I can’t stop like, bouncing around. You get it, right?” She flops down on the bed, hands folding behind her head as she closes her eyes and imagines it all.

Azzi is silent beside her, still sitting upright. Paige can’t see her face, so she nudges her knee. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Azzi’s voice is unsteady. “I get it.”

Paige opens her eyes and sits back up. “Bro, are you good? I didn't wanna say anything, but you’ve been kinda acting weird lately.”

“Listen,” Azzi says. She’s fiddling with a loose thread on her sweats, and Paige swears her fingers are shaking. “I know we haven’t really talked about it directly, but–" she takes a deep breath to steady her voice, “I want it to be clear between the two of us. Clean cut, you know?”

“Clean cut?” Paige echoes, lost.

“Yeah. No messy stuff and wondering what we are. So that you can go do your own thing at college, without feeling bad or- or like you owe me anything,” her words trail off into a gasp, “and I can do mine.”

Paige is even more lost. “Azzi, what are you talking about?”

Azzi bites her bottom lip, her nervous tic. “I’m saying that we should end this — whatever this is. Friends with benefits, casually sleeping together, whatever you wanna call it." She inhales sharply. "It’s probably the best for both of us.”

Immediately, she hones in on the word casual. Casual? Paige had never thought that whatever they had going on was a casual thing. Maybe unknown, unfamiliar, new—but never casual. She thought it was the most sacred thing in the world. A bitter taste forms at the base of her throat when she realizes that maybe she’s read it wrong all along. But Paige would never want to pressure Azzi into something she doesn't want. “So you’re saying - you’re saying you wanna end this?”

“Yeah." Azzi finally turns her head to her, and her face is marked by tear tracks. "You know, for your college experience. And for me.”

Devastation.

That's the only word Paige can think of that comes even close to what she's feeling right now.

She feels numb, and stupid, and god. How could she ever been so foolish to think that Azzi could like her back? Could want Paige in the same, aching, all-consuming, nonsensical way that she wanted Azzi? She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out but a broken "Okay."

“Okay?” Azzi sounds incredulous before she shakes her head and catches herself. Clearing her throat, she mumbles, “So, um, we good?”

Paige is thrown. Completely, utterly thrown. “Yeah, we’re good. I guess.”

Her dad calls for her downstairs, and when she stands it seems like she’s watching herself move in third person. “Well, thanks for visiting this past week and saying goodbye. I had fun.” Her tone is strangely flat, void of any emotion, unrecognizable even to herself. But when your heart has just gotten broken before it had to chance to even beat, how can self-preservation allow you to be on anything but auto-pilot?

“Yeah, me too.” Azzi sounds defeated, and Paige wonders if it’s because she’d felt trapped this entire week, had hated whenever Paige had pulled her aside for a quick kiss. The mere thought of Azzi feeling uncomfortable around her makes her nauseous with guilt.

So, Paige does the only thing she knows how to do. She shoulders on her backpack, but her suitcase and duffel bags are already in the trunk, so she doesn’t have anywhere to put her hands, and they hang limply by her side. She doesn’t even know if she should give Azzi a hug. “We’re still…we’re still best friends right?”

“Of course.” The smile Azzi flashes is meant to be reassuring, but the way it doesn’t reach her eyes makes it anything but. “I’ll come visit you soon,” she adds as an after-thought, seemingly wanting to remedy the situation, but Paige doesn’t even hear her, already leaving before she can finish her sentence. Having to stay any longer, having to look and let go of the sight of Azzi in her bed, in her room, in her home, would make her break down on the spot.

So Paige leaves without really saying good-bye, and she cries the entire plane ride to Connecticut.

⋆⑅˚₊

Azzi: just said goodbye to paige

Azzi: my flight's in a couple hours

Azzi: see you soon

Azzi finishes texting her parents before shutting her phone off and snuggling deeper into Paige's blankets. Everything had turned out so different than she'd expected a week ago. She'd came to Minnesota eager to spend a few days with her best friend before sending her off to college, with this persistent, nagging hope in the back of her brain that maybe this would be the moment where she could finally tell Paige about her feelings.

Then the moment she'd arrived at the Bueckers' home, Paige had started going on about how excited she was for the college experience. She hadn't said it explicitly — no, Paige was too kind to tell Azzi directly, but Azzi knew everything her best friend couldn't say. That she wanted to end these things, because she wanted other, better things: other girls, other people, other relationships.

And besides, letting go of Paige now is the only way to save herself in the future, Azzi reasons to herself. Being stuck in this weird limbo of being her best friend who also kisses her would only make it so much harder to see and hear about Paige with other girls in Connecticut. It was better to snap it in half now, while she still could, to leave her pride somewhat intact so that she wasn't hanging onto Paige while Paige was trying to shake her off.

Azzi had ended it before Paige could, and that was that.

⋆⑅˚₊ iv. dress - say my name and everything just stops / i don’t want you like a best friend

February 2022

“I’m gonna go hang out with Kiki after this.” The corner of Paige’s mouth twitches when Azzi stiffens in her arms.

“Oh, okay.”

Paige drums her fingers against Azzi's waist. “Just wanted to let you know.”

“Well, now I know.“ Azzi sidles out of her arms harshly. “Gonna go pee.”

The deeply entrenched lingers of doubt becomes to crawl in her mind again when Azzi leaves, but unlike a year ago, when Paige had left her house for the airport in tears, she has experience. Experience in reading people and picking up when they show all the tell-tale signs of a crush: the flush of cheeks, the stuttering whenever Paige flirts a little too hard, the way she subconsciously leans into her touch whenever they’re sitting next to each other. And the signs of jealousy — all the signs she sees in herself whenever Azzi talks to anyone but her. And honestly, even if Paige didn’t know for sure, it’s getting to a point where she can no longer ignore the tension between them. Ever since Azzi has joined her at UConn, even though they haven’t slept together, per se, their relationship has been more than when they were; the press of mouths to cheeks that linger longer than necessary, the grinding at Ted’s that start before either of them are really drunk but pretend to be for the sake of forgetting. And, in all honesty, Paige really can’t see Azzi talking to another asshat. Hence, their current situation.

When Azzi comes back, oversized shirt wet with the stains of washed hands, Paige has finished gathering up her courage again. Azzi makes a point of sitting down far out of reach at the other end of the couch instead of returning to Paige’s arms. Definitely jealous, she thinks to herself.

“Might take her out to a nice dinner or something,” Paige says, picking up right where she left off. Then she decides why not be more of an annoying shit, and asks, “Actually, can I borrow your car?”

Azzi’s eye twitches. “What do you need my car for?” She does a damn good job of forcing her tone into one of disinterest and indifference, but from the way her jaw ticks, Paige knows she’s anything but.

“Mine’s low on gas and the restaurant I wanna go to is far. Wanna give her princess treatment, you know?”

The younger girl is positively scowling now, eyes in slits as she channels all her anger into glaring at the TV. “And why are you telling me all of this?”

Paige scoots next to Azzi and throws an arm around her shoulder. Time to make her move. Tracing circles on her shoulder with a finger, she says slowly, “Because I wanted to see your reaction.”

“My reaction?”

Her laugh comes out breathy. “Azzi, I can tell that you’re jealous.”

Her best friend’s eyes close briefly, and Paige’s heart drops a beat. Reading Azzi has always came naturally to her, pure intuition for someone she’s always in sync with. Not to brag, but she’s perfected knowing exactly how to push Azzi and where her boundaries are, but this time maybe she’d gone too far. Paige is two seconds away from apologizing until the dark haired girl opens her eyes again and says firmly, “I’m not jealous.”

No turning back now. “No?”

“I’m really not.”

“So if I took your car, and went to pick her up, with a bouquet of flowers, maybe even some chocolate, and took her to a fancy restaurant…you wouldn’t mind at all?”

A strangled sound leaves Azzi’s mouth, so quiet Paige almost misses it. “Not at all.”

“And if I took her back to her house-“ Paige’s voice drops a note, all husky and raspy, “and I took her to her bedroom, and I kissed her-“

“Paige-”

“And I touched her-,”

“Paige, stop.” Azzi’s chest heaves. Paige looks away, trying not to get sidetracked by the way her tiny tank top dips on her cleavage and leaves a little too much to the imagination. The younger girl shrugs Paige’s arm off her shoulders and stands up, backing away as if being any closer to her will make her explode. “Fine, you win. You know I’m jealous.”

Paige’s smile is triumphant. “That’s all you all had to say, baby.”

Scoffing, Azzi turns around and marches into her room, but Paige is quick to follow. “I’m not hanging out with Kiki after this,”she says, breathing down Azzi’s neck as she almost steps on her heels, but her best friend speeds up. “I haven’t hung out with Kiki since before you got here.”

“So?”

“So,” Paige emphasizes, and realizing she has only about five seconds before Azzi reaches her room and slams the door in her face for being, she admits, sort of an asshole, she says all in one breath, “I-wanted-to-make-sure-you-felt-the-same-because-I-have-feelings-for-you-and-I’ve-had-them-for-a-while-and-I-really-want-to-take-you-on-a-proper-date-and-hopefully-become-your-girlfriend-because-I-don’t-wan’t-you-like-a-best-friend-and-I-honestly-go-crazy-thinking-about-you-with-anyone-but-me-but-if-you-don’t-feel-ready-for-more-yet-then-it’s-okay.” She’s panting by the time she finishes and doesn’t realize that Azzi has fully stopped in her tracks before she’s stumbling over her feet and crashing into her, sending the both of them falling to the ground.

Somehow they both end up with their backs against the carpet, looking up at the ceiling. Azzi is still breathing hard next to her, from speed walking or falling or from Paige getting on her nerves, Paige isn’t sure which, but she waits patiently for her response, trying to ignore the stupid noise in her head saying maybe your dumbass got it all wrong again.

Finally, finally, after what seems like ten minutes, Azzi opens her mouth. “You’re stupid,” is all she says, then she rolls over and kisses Paige on the mouth.

Not what Paige was expecting after her grand love confession, but the plumpness of Azzi’s bottom lip captured in between hers makes it hard to complain about anything at all.

They kiss for twenty minutes, or maybe forty. Paige loses track of time, and honestly, she could do this forever without getting tired, but she came to Azzi's apartment tonight with a game plan, and she has to stick with it, so she pushes her best friend away a little to end their 10/10 makeout session.

Smoothing the frizz of Azzi’s hair back with her palm, she whispers, “I’m gonna take you on a date, okay?”

Azzi grins and kisses her forehead. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow. Are you free?”

Azzi moves to her cheek, tongue leaving wet trails on her face. “Don’t act like you don’t know my schedule.”

“Okay then. Tomorrow at six.” Paige traces the dimple of Azzi’s smile with the pad of her thumb, memorizing the indentation she loves so much. “That was lowkey easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Making my life hell for the past twenty minutes was easier than you thought?” Azzi bites down hard on Paige bottom lip, teeth scraping into her soft skin, and the blonde winces.

“Sorry,” she replies unapologetically. “Just had to make sure. Plus, you’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Azzi smirks against her mouth. “’I go crazy thinking about you with anyone but me,’” she mimics in a high pitched tone.

“Who you tryna be?” Paige grumbles, but there’s no heat in her voice.

⋆⑅˚₊ v. don’t blame me - i get so high, oh, every time you’re loving me

“It’s too early in the goddamn morning for you to be cheesin like this,” Nika complains as they stretch out on the cold floor of the gym.

Paige grabs her foot and leans toward it, shaking out the stiffness in her hamstrings and calves. “You’re just jealous I got a hot date and you don’t,” she responds, unable to take the grin off her face.

Nika grimaces. “Please never say that ever again.”

“Who’s this hot date?” Azzi plops down next to them, her thigh brushing Paige’s as she extends her knee, and Paige shivers.

Nika mimes putting a finger down her throat, and Paige waves her off. “Only the prettiest girl in the world," she says, not giving a shit about how cheesy the words coming out of her mouth sound.

Azzi wrinkles her nose, but her eyes shine with affection. “Have I told you you’re stupid?” She slides her hand over Paige’s, giving it a quick squeeze before moving it as quickly as it came.

“Only a couple of times.” Paige takes a swift search around for prying eyes before leaning in close to Azzi. “Just to be clear,” she whispers, “you like me? Like, like like me?”

“I feel like we're in middle school again, but to answer your question, last I heard of, yeah,” Azzi says, a smile threatening her lips. “Unless anything has changed since ten hours ago?”

“Nahh, nothin.” Paige gives Azzi’s earlobe a quick nip. “'Cept for the fact that I’m nervous as hell thinking about tonight.”

Azzi giggles at the ticklish feeling before CD steps into the gym, clapping her hands and directing the girls to start warming up. Paige sends her a wink before jogging to the front to take charge.

⋆⑅˚₊

They’re the last ones in the locker room, and Paige waits only a few seconds after the last of their teammates leave before she’s pushing Azzi against the wall and and kissing her. Paige’s cheeks are flushed and rosy from practice, hair coming loose from her bun and wild strands framing her face, and Azzi drinks it all in.

“Look so fuckin good just practicing, it’s unfair,” Paige mumbles in breaths, unable to keep her mouth away from Azzi’s for too long. Her hand wanders down Azzi’s back, fisting up her jersey to stroke the bare softness of her waist before trailing down to cup the swell of her ass. She squeezes hard, and Azzi moans into her mouth, a little breathy sound that drives Paige absolutely feral. It’s only when a door bangs outside that they realize how incriminating they’d look if someone walked in, and they separate, gasping.

“We should probably go,” Azzi breathes out, unable to take her eyes off the swollen wetness of her best friend’s lips.

“Probably,” Paige agrees. Then she takes off her jersey, movements slow and sensual. Her shirt rides up in the process, giving Azzi a glimpse of milky white skin and muscled abs, and Azzi really can’t blame herself for what she does next, not when Paige looks like that.

⋆⑅˚₊ vi. new year’s day - but i stay when you’re lost and i’m scared and you’re turning away

August 2025

Paige wakes up to three missed phone calls. She’s only able to swipe up and see that they’re all from Azzi before her phone immediately dies. She curses. Worst fucking timing in the world. She rushes to plug her charger in, tapping the black screen aggressively as if it’ll make it turn on any after. Her head still pounds from the chaos of the night before, her mouth dry and gross. She’s not sure if she even brushed her teeth after coming home from the club, the way her breath still stinks of alcohol.

She thinks about finally getting up to take or shower or do anything that’ll make her feel less disgusting but then finally, finally, her phone comes back to life. Her hearts starts pounding harder when she’d realized she’d missed not just three calls, but a series of texts.

11:45 PM

Missed call from Azzi

Missed call from Azzi

Azzi: hey u good?

Azzi: lmk if u need a minute

11:58 PM

Azzi: lmao did u forget

12:10 AM

Missed call from Azzi

Azzi: seriously paige

Azzi: at the fucking club again

12:22 AM

Azzi: call me when ur up

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Paige squeezes her eyes shut. She can’t even really remember last night—it’s a blur of hazy smoke, one too many shots, and bassy music thumping so loud she swore her eardrums almost burst. But after the win at home, that much needed win, when the team had started making plans to celebrate, Arike promising that drinks were on her, she’d told Azzi that she needed to cancel their previously scheduled Facetime for that night. Didn’t she?

She scrolls down, heart ricocheting in her chest when she sees the unsent text in her message bar. She must have exited it out or closed her phone before she could’ve pressed send. Cursing under her breath, Paige slides on her glasses and calls Azzi.

The phone rings three times before it’s answered. “Hello?” Azzi’s voice comes out dry and scratchy. She sounds like she’s just woken up, or is sick, or maybe a mixture of both.

“Baby, hey.” Paige runs a hand through her hair but gives up when it gets tangled in a knot. “I’m so sorry about last night. I meant to text you and I forgot to press send and there was a ton of shit happening at once. I should’ve double checked that it sent, and I’m- I’m sorry.” Paige isn’t sure what to do but keep apologizing, but she's only greeted with silence on the other end. After a couple of beats, she says hesitantly, “Azzi?”

Her girlfriend exhales slowly on the other end, the tell-tale sign that she’s trying really hard not to lose her patience. Not a good sign. “Okay.”

“Just...okay?” Paige repeats, slightly confused at the lack of anger or really any emotion at all in her tone.

There’s rustling on the other end of the line before Azzi’s voice comes out clearer and louder. “What do you want me to say?”

“I - I don’t know. Are you mad?” Because Azzi isn’t yelling at her, or saying anything in particular, just sounds resigned, and Paige doesn’t know what to do with that. She’d rather Azzi show any kind of emotion than this. She can't read this. She can't navigate this.

“Christ, Paige, you’re so dense sometimes.”

“You have every right to be mad with me, but I don’t know, you sound—”

“You think I want to be mad at you? You think I wanna spend one of our, what, four phone calls a week arguing with you? Fuck.” There it is.

Paige rubs her temples. “I know.”

“I’m not tryna be your clingy girlfriend from home,” Azzi continues. “Trust me, I’m really fucking not. Ever since you left I’ve been trying to respect your new life, your new schedule, letting you have space to enjoy your rookie year without having to feel suffocated. But please, please tell me I’m not insane for thinking that it’s unreasonable for you to cancel a call not even for basketball, but for shit like partying at a club?” Azzi pauses. “Honestly, I feel like I’m the one initiating our conversations most of the times. It’s like you’re putting in zero effort.”

“I understand that you’re mad but it’s a little ridiculous of you to just say I never put in any effort, Azzi.” Paige has never lashed out like this, never spoken to Azzi in this tone that sounds like anger and bitterness and exasperation fighting over each other to be heard, but Azzi's words strike something deep inside of her that hurts. “You think I like being this busy, this exhausted, having this little free time to talk more than a couple of hours? Throughout everything I’ve been trying to make you feel like a priority because god, Azzi, you are, I love you so much, and it hurts that you think I’m not even trying.” Her voice chokes an embarrasing amount on the last word, and she tosses her phone on her pillow to run her hands over her face in an effort to collect herself.

“Oh, my bad, Paige. Sorry for being such a burden and an inconvenience in your busy life,” Azzi spits out bitterly.

Paige can't help but jump to her own defense. “You didn’t even wanna come down to Dallas last month when you were free. And it's not like I can go up to you. If one of is putting in less effort, Azzi, it's sure as hell not me.”

“We had pre-season workouts, Paige, you know that.”

“I also know that they’re not mandatory and it wouldn’t have killed you to missed one. You could’ve worked out with me down here.” Somewhere deep inside, Paige knows she's being unreasonable, that Azzi has never asked her to skip practice for her and so neither should she, but she remembers the hurt that had coiled in her stomach, dark and tangled, when Azzi had refused to come down for even just a couple of days after not having seen each other in almost three weeks. If it had been her, she would’ve taken the first flight, Paige thinks, and it hadn’t taken much to spiral down the rabbit-hole of doubts—that Azzi didn’t miss her the same way she did, that Azzi was perfectly fine living her life in Storrs while Paige lived hers in Dallas, that Azzi didn’t care enough about Paige to want to visit her again. And when she’d been scrolling on Tiktok, seen videos of her girlfriend with her teammates that weekend, laughing and smiling with them when it could’ve been her—the spiral had turned into something much worse in her mind.

“So you expect me to drop everything for you but when it’s your turn to actually do something, to, I don't know, call me first for once, all of a sudden you’re too busy and tired?” Azzi accuses.

“That’s not even what I said!" Paige argues. "And I don't call first because I know you always call at a set time. Why are we even keeping track of who calls who first? If we're resorting to this, what's even the point?"

“What’s the point?” Azzi’s voice trembles. “What’s the point of this relationship, you mean?”

No, no, no. “Come on, Az, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Paige pleads.

“You asked me what the point of our relationship was, Paige, don’t scramble now.”

“Because apparently you think it’s all one sided! And you’ve clearly been feeling like this for a while!” Paige swears under her breath. “How long have you been resenting me for this? Thinking that I don’t care about you, that I don’t care about us?”

“Don’t yell at me!”

“I’m not yelling!” Paige pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to get herself to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down. “Az, I’m sorry about last night, okay? I really am. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

“It’s not even about last night!” Azzi explodes. “How are you still not getting that?”

Seeing the time on her watch, Paige grits her teeth. “This conversation isn’t getting anywhere and I have practice. Can we talk later?”

“It’s always later with you.” Azzi’s voice is oddly high pitched, strained as if she’s trying to hide something, and Paige realizes that she’s probably crying. Fuck. She hates this, the distance, the ease of throwing angry accusations over the phone when you can’t see their face crumble from the impact of what you've done. Azzi sniffs. “Whatever. We’ll talk after. Call me when you’re done.”

“Okay.” Paige opens her mouth to say one more thing, but the line ends before she can. Fuck. She throws her phone on the bed, but it slides off the mattress and tumbles to the ground with a smack. Picking it up, she sees two cracks running through the screen. It looks almost as ugly as she feels inside.

Perfect. It’s 7 AM and her day already sucks.

As soon as practice is over, she shoots Azzi a text.

Paige: done for the day, lmk when ur free

Read

She checks her phone for the next couple of hours, waiting for a response, but to no avail.

Paige: are u really ignoring my texts

Paige: lmfao thought we left this petty shit back in high school

Paige: u said u wanted to talk and now u don’t want to?? i really don’t know what u even want from me

Azzi calls her a couple minutes later.

“That’s how I feel,” Azzi says tightly. “That’s how I felt last night, when I stayed up until 12:30 waiting for you to call.”

“Aight, next time tell me if you’re gonna call just to pick a fight, ‘cause then I won’t fuckin pick up,” Paige fires back, and she knows before she says it that it'll just make everything worse, but shit, she's so tired of arguing, for having to walk on eggshells whenever they talk, and she knows Azzi is too. And she's been in a terrifically awful mood all day, going stir crazy at her girlfriend's lack of response to her texts; she wants to resolve it more than anything, to make everything okay again, yet it seems like Azzi is holding onto that anger for her and she doesn’t know why.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, I don’t even know why I miss you," Azzi says scathingly. "Honestly, maybe we should take a break. This clearly isn’t working.” And those words are so sudden, so heavy and unexpected, that Paige can only fall silent in response.

Breathing hard, Paige touches her cheeks. She’s never been a crier, but all of a sudden the sleeve of her sweater is damp and her vision is blurring and her head is spinning.

“Paige?” Azzi says her name softly and regretfully.

“Yeah,” she says numbly into the phone, pretending as if Azzi suggesting a break—Azzi, in effect, wanting to end things—didn't just crush everything inside of her.

A sob comes out over the line. “I - I just miss you and I just said a bunch of shit that I didn’t mean and I feel so horrible. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Paige swipes angrily at her eyes, willing the tears to stop flowing. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Then Azzi whimpers, a small and deadly sound that pierces right through Paige’s heart, and despite everything, she just wants to reach through the phone and hold her. “I don’t wanna take a break. I love you, and I’m not used to fighting with you, and I just want you to be here.”

Paige is quiet for a moment, head swimming. “I’m sorry too. Listen, it’s late. Let’s just sleep on it and talk tomorrow, okay? When we both have clearer heads.” Paige would never call their relationship fragile, she feels like that would be a disservice to their years of fighting for each other, but it’s definitely not in a good place right now. And she's so consumed by her anger she’s not sure what might come out of her mouth if they keep going at it, and she doesn’t want to risk it.

"I love you," Azzi speaks quietly. Paige closes her eyes, turning the words over in her mind as a reminder. She loves you. You love her. That’s all that matters. "More than anything or anyone in this world, I love you."

"I know." Paige’s voice trembles. "I love you too."

The call ends, and Paige has never in her life felt this helpless; the only thing she can do from a million miles away is stare listlessly at the black screen on her phone. The two of them have always had their arguments, but it would always be resolved within a couple of days. Now, the distance makes it so much more complicated, because it had been easy—too easy to say all those things to Azzi that she really didn't mean. She supposes they both took part in it, intentionally calling instead of Facetiming so they could avoid dealing with the fallout or taking accountability by blaming it on the emotional and physical barriers separating them.

Christ. Paige reaches for the jar of melatonin on her bedside table. She's gonna need double the dose tonight.

⋆⑅˚₊

Azzi doesn't know what came over her.

Maybe it had been from the pure exhaustion of the past few months. Living in Storrs is like being surrounded by constant reminders of Paige—in Werth, in Gampel, even in her own fucking dorm. And she's always been stable and secure in their relationship, but it still hurts only being able to hear about Paige's new life without really being a part of it.

Then she'd gone and suggested a break, quite possibly the dumbest thing she's ever said, and for an agonizing second of silence over the phone, she'd been scared that Paige would agree, that Paige would say, maybe this is best for us, and end it all right then and there.

But she hadn't, and Azzi had apologized, but she knew it had done nothing to fix the impact of her words.

Which is why it's 2 AM, but she's still up, looking at flights to Los Angeles on her laptop. Paige has a game against the Sparks, and she can only stay for one day, so she's searching for tickets that will allow her to arrive right before the game and leave the early morning after.

Bingo. A last minute flight that leaves in six hours. Azzi calculates the timing in her head; the plane ride is 8 hours but LA is 3 hours behind, meaning she'll arrive at around 1 pm PST. It'll be too late by then to catch Paige before the game, and she wouldn't want to distract her anyways, so she'll have a few hours to make it to the game, watch, before hopefully having the chance to talk to Paige that night before both of them have to leave for their own cities. Azzi completes the purchase, then starts to pack her backpack.

LA is sunny and warm, and uplifts Azzi's spirits just a little. She takes an Uber to a restaurant to get some food in her stomach before taking another Uber to Crypto Arena. She wasn't able to secure a very good seat, so she pulls her hoodie tight over her head and hopes that the cameras don't see her. With red-rimmed eyes and deep bags under them, she looks worse for wear, and the last thing she wants to do is to be displayed on the big screen for everyone to see.

The first three quarters fly in a flash; Paige has a rocky start before she picks Rickea's pocket late in the second and scores, setting off her momentum for a solid 14 points by the end of the third. Azzi has always loved watching Paige play, but this is only the fourth or fifth time she's gotten to watch her girlfriend play professionally, but she's still in awe of how Paige moves so naturally on the court, already a leader on both ends despite being a rookie.

Azzi is on her phone during the break when the crowd starts to cheer. Looking up at the commotion, she fights the urge to groan when she sees herself on the screen, looking confused as hell. Contorting her face into a smile, she awkwardly waves and flashes a thumbs up before the cameras thankfully pan towards a celebrity across the arena.

Then she sees Paige, who had by some chance saw Azzi on the screen. The blonde is searching the arena, hands on her waist as her eyes sweep the crowds. Her mouth is tight, set into a firm line, body posture rigid, before one of the assistant coaches taps her on the shoulder and redirects her attention to Chris.

As soon as the game is over, Paige is walking around the court, evidently still scanning the arena for her. Knowing that the older girl doesn't have her phone, Azzi makes her way down the stairs, a task made much slower by her compression boot. Finally, she makes it down, but then she's stopped by a security guard who raises a brow at her.

"Hey, Azzi!" A familiar voice rings out, and there's Cameron, eyes bright as she makes her way through the throng of people on the court. She motions for the security guard to let her through the rope, and Azzi slips in. Wrong blonde, but still, Azzi is glad to see her.

"Cam! It's nice to see you," Azzi greets, pulling in the taller girl for a hug. "Looking good back on the court."

"Thank you, thank you." Cameron brushes off her jersey in faux humility. "Still getting used to it but it feels really good."

Azzi knows all too well what returning to the game feels like after an ACL, so she smiles sympathetically at her old friend.

"What brings you to LA?" The older girl leans in conspiratorially. "Here to see your girl?" Cameron is one of few people who'd witnessed the birth of their friendship into something more, and usually Azzi would be laughing with her, but the bleakness of it all makes her only have the strength to offer a weak smile and a "Yeah."

"Azzi." The two of them turn around and see Paige, who still looks slightly confused as she moves quickly towards the two of them. Azzi takes in her girlfriend, her hair falling apart from her bun, sweat beading on her chest and neck. Unsure of what to say or do, they look at each other for a second before Paige reaches out for a hug, both of them stiff before they fall into the familiarity of each other's arms. Azzi nuzzles her head into her girlfriend's neck, not caring that her cheeks come away damp from Paige's sweat. She'd missed Paige, terribly so.

Paige is caught up in staring at Azzi when they separate before she seemingly registers that there's a third person. "Hey, Cam," she says, dapping her up.

"Paige," Cameron pats her on the back. "Gave us hell tonight." Paige chuckles, and the two players pull apart, but Paige's gaze quickly returns to examining Azzi. Cameron looks between the two of them, observant as ever, and raises an eyebrow at the tension she senses hanging in the air. "Oookay. Well, I gotta go now, but it was nice seeing the both of you. Enjoy LA, Azzi. Good game, P."

"Yeah, you too," Paige says distractedly. "It's nice having you back on the court."

Then Paige and Azzi are alone, but not really alone because they're surrounded by athletes and media and fans and more than a couple of cameras pointed at them. Paige seems to pick up on the cameras too, when she reaches for Azzi's hand, then draws back, overthinking her actions. "Let's, uh, go to my car?" she suggests. "We can talk?"

Azzi nods, and they fall into step back to the locker room. They're silent as they walk, neither really knowing what to say, until a familiar curly-headed face intercepts them in the hall. "Paige," Rae Burrell intones, a smirk on her face, "Nice to see you." Azzi immediately tenses up, slowing down in her steps, but Paige's hand moves to the small of her back, a quiet reassurance, as she guides them along, trying to move past the Spark. "Rae," she acknowledges with a mere nod.

"Azzi, fancy seeing you here. How you doing?" Rae asks, all sugar and sweetness as she starts walking beside them.

"Just peachy," Azzi drawls. Her hand lands meaningfully on Paige's bicep, firm and smooth under her hand, and she draws her girlfriend closer. Paige wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her temple without even sparing a glance at Rae, and even though there's a million things they need to work through, though apologies are needed and solutions must be made, Azzi knows that through it all, they are the surest thing in the world.

Finally getting the hint, Rae nods. "Alright, see y'all around," she mutters, an ugly frown on her face as she ducks into a side room.

"She doesn't give up, does she?" Azzi grumbles, hand falling from Paige's arm when she realizes that the older girl is likely still angry from last night. But Paige grabs her hand and brings it back, an apology that's silent and the first of many, and squeezes her closer.

"No, she doesn't," Paige affirms. They've reached the locker room, and Paige lingers for a moment before going inside. She pulls Azzi in by the waist and presses their foreheads together. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Only for today," Azzi says, and disappointment fills Paige's eyes before the events of the night before flash in her mind. "It's good," the older girl responds gently. "You're traveling sixteen hours just to be here for a few, and I appreciate it."

"I'm sorry," Azzi says, the apology tumbling out of her mouth. The need for Paige to know how much she regrets everything is too much to bear, and she starts to continue apologizing, but she's shut up by Paige's mouth suddenly on hers, moving softly, intentionally, urgently, perfectly. Her lips are so, so soft, and Azzi has missed this so bad.

Paige gives her one last kiss, forceful and emphatic, before looking at her, soft and sweet. Azzi exhales. They're gonna be okay.

[ravensmurdock]

innocence

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

warnings: age difference, implied daddy issues, freudian, impact play, no actual smut, thigh riding, oral fixation, reader calls him dad, mean!matt

matt likes to believe he's a patient man. many times he is, really, he is. except when you're running your mouth, or putting yourself in danger. in moments like those, when his patience is hanging on by a mere thread, you place yourself strategically on his lap and pout and pout— hoping to lessen your punishment.

it's his fault, really. you're too young for him, a little immature. what more can he expect from a 20 year old? what more can he expect from a curious, bright eyed intern who is always following him around like a pet? it's always 'mr. murdock this, mr. murdock that,' can he blame you? no. the fault is on him, for not being able to resist your charms. you never tried to be subtle either— he could quite literally hear your heartbeat rise whenever his voice would get too low while closing, when his smirk would get too cocky. he's sure if he could see, he'd be met with you constantly trying to shove your cleavage in his face. which, he would never complain about.

but he does feel like a dirty old man sometimes. he's had his own moral conflicts— deep into the night when you're pressed into his side, and all he can think is, 'im a fucking cradlerobber, tainting her innocence, corrupting her mind, devouring a little girl like a mad man with no self control—'

and the moment you mumble sleepily against his neck, those thoughts vanish and he's immediately pulling you closer.

he doesn't realize how much your age gap does for you. how the greys in his beard shine when he rises from between your legs, chin covered in your slick. how his strong, protective arms make you feel safe like nothing ever could. how his care taking tendencies are almost fatherly in nature, making you forget all about your own bad experiences with your own father. the rasp in his voice when he scolds you for being reckless, too curious, too presumptuous— it hits the right spots. makes you want to provoke him more. which is exactly what put you in this position.

you'd followed him down to an important meeting— one he specifically told you to stay away from, and you ended up witnessing him break the guy's hand. your heartbeat was indication enough, but it was your gasp that truly got his attention— his head snapping up in warning and you running away almost immediately.

catching you wasn't hard, and you weren't running because you were scared of him hurting you— you were scared of disappointing him. which is exactly what you did. and now you're here, pressed against his chest, his fingers gently massaging your scalp.

"what did i tell you, hm?" he asks, voice low, almost mocking. his hand suddenly tightens into a fist— yanking your head back by the hair. you whimper, eyes tearing up at the sting. you try to search for any mercy in his features— but his glasses stay as a barrier between your eyes and you sniffle.

"sorry," you mumble softly, gently caressing his chest, "i should've listened—"

"oh yeah, you should've." he agrees, a small smirk on his face, "but you didn't. you never do. all my little darling does is listen to herself and piss me off. do you want me to hurt you?"

"no!" you shake your head, desperately leaning forward to bury your head in his chest. he presses you closer, and you deeply inhale the comforting smell of his cologne. scratch your cheek against his beard like a cat. there's something so oddly comforting about this, even when you know he's mad at you. something about it is making your brain feel fuzzy— a kind of feeling that can only come from a grown, mature man. maybe that's what prompts you to mumble your next words, hoping to soften the blow of his wrath.

"pleeeaaase, dad." you whine, voice soft. he tenses under your body, and you immediately feel scared. you don't actually want to make him uncomfortable, you hope it doesn't. his chest rumbles with a chuckle.

"oh that one's new," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, "is that supposed to make me feel sympathetic? you think i'm your father, baby?"

shit.

your heartbeat rises again, and he hears it. loud and clear. there's been a bit of a dynamic between you two, but you've never said something so directly out loud. and neither has he. but the 'father,' that's what gets you. and he hears the hitch in your breath, and the smirk that appears on his face is downright evil.

"oh you like that, huh?" he pulls your head back again, grabs your jaw. makes your lips pucker up. "is that what you want? you want me to be your father? you want dad to punish you?"

"fuck—" you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut. he thumbs your bottom lip, and your mouth snaps open. he slips his thumb into your mouth and you suck, head feeling fuzzy. your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and it makes him moan.

"my stupid girl," he huffs with a chuckle, pulling his thumb out. you chase his hand with a whine, "what will i do with you?"

he presses your mouths together and you moan into his, crumbling in his arms. you're relieved that it worked, you won't get punished. as you pull away for air, his hand pulls back and smacks you across the face— making you gasp. you look back at him, wide eyed, and there's not one bit of remorse on his face. your cheek stings, the skin there feels hot. you're more in shock than you're hurt. he pulls his hand back again and you flinch. he chuckles, lowering his hand to your thigh.

"you're gonna make yourself cum on my thigh," he says calmly, but you can sense the threat behind his words. his thumb gently rubs against your skin. "and if you fail, dad will hit you again. you don't want that, do you?"

your lips wobble and you sniffle, nodding. your hips begin to move on their own, albeit messily. and you hope you don't disappoint him again.

it's going to be a long night.

for matt fans, girls with daddy issues and murdock circle

@deermurdock @fairymurdock @foxmurdock @https-murdock @jellyfishmurdock @kit-murdock2 @bunmurdock @lambmurdock @parker-murdock @pupmurdock @sirenmurdock @starmurdock @swanmurdock @moth-murdock @bumblebeemurdock @mewmurdock @froggy-murdock @sharkymurdock

[kooppss]

Bad Decisions

Sexy Disasters With Feelings series masterlist

Congrats! It’s a series!👶🏻 Things are starting to get messy—or messier than they already were. But don’t expect too much from these two; they’re still idiots. They keep playing games. A different game? Maybe.

warnings: cursing, immature behavior.

Word count: 2.8k

Fucking hell. 

How the hell did you find yourself in this situation? 

Ever since Jungkook told you he’s ‘thirsty’ for you, the fuck that means, you’ve done all you could to avoid him. It’s been a couple of days, and right now, you’re hiding in your room like you’re twelve.

Absolutely embarrassing. 

Your friends had told you it’s a bad idea to move in with the hot fuckboy. That it can’t end well. But you were determined it’ll be fine.

Stupid stupid stupid.

In your defense, it’s not easy to find a nice place at a good location with a decent price. The apartment is old and small, but it’s kept in good condition, and Jungkook is surprisingly clean and organized. 

Also, you felt like changing your environment after living with female roommates for the last couple of years. And with your limited budget, it felt like an opportunity you can’t miss.

So you went for it.

Of course, you found Jungkook attractive. And, of course, it was obvious from the moment you met him that he was a classic fuckboy. But you thought you had an unspoken agreement between the two of you—that hooking up would be a bad idea. That the relationship should stay completely platonic.

In the beginning, it seemed to work. You caught Jungkook checking you here and there, and it’s not like you cared. 

Well, maybe you were a little flattered. Just a little. 

But overall, you kept a coldish-friendly relationship. 

With time, you did get closer; you hung around with his friends, and he with yours. Sometimes, you spend the evening sharing dinners and watching TV together. But it wasn’t anything more than that. 

That was true until recently. Something has changed. 

Jungkook is more flirty and daring. It’s no longer a simple roommate friendliness. It’s teasing and smirking. Going around shirtless and throwing compliments. Saying he’s ‘thirsty.’

God, what he wants from you?

What twisted game he’s playing?

Doesn’t he know you can’t afford to lose this place? That it’ll crush your big-girl-handling-it-all-by-herself dream? 

That little shit. 

And it’s not like you’re looking to get involved with the poster child of being a fuckboy. You’re past your college years, and you learned your lessons. You’re not looking for this kind of drama in your life. You’re over playing with boys; you need to find a man. 

And Jungkook isn’t one. 

Oh, god.

Who are you kidding with this pathetic monologue?

Like you didn’t play right into his stupid game.

What are you talking about wanting a ‘man’ but entertaining Jungkook’s childish games? 

What the hell were you thinking? Playing along with his teasing? Where did you think it’ll lead you? To hell?

What good did it do to post that picture? 

You knew he was checking your profile. He made sure of it.

You know he knows that you know. 

And now, here you are, hiding in your room, like a scardey cat.

When you finished showering, you heard Jungkook return to the apartment and ran directly to your room. 

You heard him taking a shower, and now you can hear him in the kitchen. You smell something cooking. Fuck, it smells good, and you're hungry. Stupid Jungkook and his stupid cooking skills. 

He’ll share it with you if you’ll go out there.

Should you risk it and go out of your hideout, or should you starve to death? 

Death doesn’t sound like the worst option, actually. 

Your stomach growls. 

Shit. 

Maybe he’ll finish eating and go to bed, and he’ll leave you some leftovers, and you won’t have to die because you refuse to fuck another fuckboy.

You try to listen closely. Are you having hunger hallucinations, or do you actually hear another voice? 

You hear a loud laugh, definitely not Jungkook’s laugh. But it’s a guy’s laugh, for sure. 

Your stomach growls even louder, and you start to feel nauseous. Maybe going out now, when there’s a third person with you, is relatively safe. It’s not like he can do something when there’s another person there, right? Also, if he is having friends over, he’ll not be going to his room anytime soon. So unless you’re still considering death, you have to eat. 

And you think you are really going to die. And it’ll be embarrassing that he’ll find you dead in your room. What will the headline be?

‘Death by starvation; the unknown dangers of fuckboys’

Hell no. 

You brave yourself and go to the kitchen. 

Jungkook is standing by the stoves, steering something that smells delicious. From a brief look, it looks like some kind of fried rice concoction. Leaning on the counter by his side, you see his friend Hoseok, Hobi. His friend from college. He’s a friendly, handsome guy with a beautiful smile and a contagious laugh. You’re always unsure if he’s flirting with you or just extra friendly because you’re Jungkook’s roommate. He spots you and jumps to hug you, “Y/n! Long time no see. How are you?” You take a step back from his hug and see Jungkook looking over his shoulder with a smirk. 

That little shit. 

You want to punch his stupid face. But you ignore him instead; you’re not going to play with him any longer. 

“I’m good. Same old shit. How are you?” you ask Hobi with a smile. 

“I’m awesome. I just got back from a trip to Mexico. It was amazing. You should definitely go there. Have you ever been to Mexico?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer as he continues to talk. “The beaches there are amazing on another level. But it was so hot. On the first day, I got completely sunburned. I looked like a tomato the whole time.” He’s laughing while fishing his phone to show you the pictures. 

It does look amazing, and he is comically red in the photos. You definitely don’t have the funds to travel to Mexico anytime soon. Yet, it’s nice to dream. Maybe one day. 

He scrolls past his photos and gets to a picture of a nice apartment. A really nice apartment. 

“Is this your new place?” you look up at him as you ask. 

He nods enthusiastly, “Yes, I just moved in. You should come over sometime.” And there’s something teasing in his voice. 

Before you can answer, Jungkook abruptly says, “Are you eating with us?” in a too-loud voice while he’s watching you. His nostrils are flared and he clutches the wooden spoon with unnecessary strength.

Oh.

He’s mad. 

He didn’t like Hobi making a move. That’s nice..

Nope. 

No. 

No way. You said you’re not playing this game. 

Instead, you answer plainly, “If there’s enough for me, yeah, sure.” Like you didn’t just come out of your hideout just for the food. Like he doesn’t know it as well.

Hobi is looking a little taken aback by Jungkook’s reaction. His eyes shift between you and Jungkook like he's trying to figure out something. But there’s nothing to figure out because nothing is going on.

Nothing at all. 

Jungkook nods. He scolds his features into a calm expression and says in a more normal tone, “It’ll be ready in a few minutes. Take some bowls to the living room?” 

You silently move to the cabinet to grab three bowls and give them to Hobi before moving to take some spoons. 

You sit beside Hobi on the couch as he looks for something to watch while you eat.

He chooses some reality dating show he says is a ‘must watch,’ and he starts the episode before Jungkook returns, saying with a smile, “It’s not his thing anyway.” 

You laugh because, of course, Jungkook will think he’s too manly to watch something like that. 

After a few minutes, Jungkook comes to the living room with a steaming pot. He places it on the coffee table, takes one bowl, and pours a portion. You lean forward to serve yourself when he hands you the bowl he prepared. It takes you a moment to respond, but you take it as he shoves it into your hands. He then makes another bowl and hands it to Hobi before sitting on your other side with his own plate. 

Hobi stands up and says, “I forgot the beer. Who want some?” You nod, and he goes into the kitchen. 

You take a first bite of the food, and you don’t know if it’s because you're so hungry, but it’s fucking amazing. You let out an embarrassing moan, and you say, “fuck, this is so good.” 

Before you understand your mistake, you see Jungkook smiling by your side. But it’s not his infuriating smirk or a teasing grin. It’s a genuine, almost boyish smile. He looks so different, so soft like that. Big eyes sparkling with joy. You quickly avert your eyes down to your bowl. Because it does something to you. You feel your stomach moving, and you hope it’s from hunger. 

“Thank you,” he says, and again, it’s not teasing like you expect. He just sounds happy. He sounds pleased. And you don’t know what to do with that. He softly continues, “I can teach you how to make it.” 

What the fuck is going on? 

Before you can replay, Hobi returns with the beer.

You all sit and eat, watching the show. While you and Hobi place bets on who will end up together, Jungkook complains that the show is stupid, and ‘Who the fuck is going to reality show to find love?’ Valid point, but he just doesn’t get the pure joy of judging others’ mistakes. At least he is back to his usual self, which is better, safer. 

When you all finish eating, the guys choose a game to play. 

“Is it okay with you?” Jungkook asks you. 

You look at him, frowning. The question surprises you because why does he care? They can do whatever they want. 

“We can watch something if you don’t feel like it,” he continues before you answer. 

WTF? 

“I’m not really a gamer, but I don’t mind. I can watch you lose.” 

Jungkook giggles, and again, it’s not his usual cocky chuckle. It’s a cute giggle. 

Ah?

Jungkook? Cute?

A description you never thought you’ll use for him. That you shouldn’t use.

“Come on, I’ll show you how to play,” he nudges you with his elbow. Before he says with a smirk, “so I can beat your ass.” 

Aaaand he returns to his usual annoying self. Good.

Hobi burst laughing, reminding you he’s still there, “Just choose already who I beat first, you losers.” 

“In your dreams, Hoba,” Jungkook says as he sets up a match. 

They’re playing a Dragon Ball one-on-one fighting game. They play a few rounds before Jungkook insists you join them. He shows you how to play, but you fail miserably. Not managing to win a single game after the first mercy round. 

It’s still fun. 

You trash-talk each other, even if yours is void of substance. 

After another round you lose to Hobi; there’s a knock. Jungkook goes to open the door and returns with Jimin.

Jimin comes to the living room while Jungkook goes to the kitchen to bring him a beer. 

“Y/n! Good to see you,” Jimin greets you with a hug. He’s also Jungkook’s friend from college. Probably your favorite one. He is cute and flirty.

And completely gay. 

“What are you doing with these two losers?” he asks as he takes the seat beside you. You giggle when Jungkook returns, putting the beer on the table as he answers in your place, “Lossing miserably,” looking at you with his annoying smirk. 

You flip him off, “Fuck you.”

He flops on the armchair, taking a sip from his beer. 

“You wish,” he says with a pleased smirk. 

You roll your eyes, making a disgusted sound, “Eugh, I wouldn’t touch you with a stick.” 

Jungkook and Hobi laugh, and Jimin squeezes your shoulders, “Cuties.” 

You give him a death glare and shrug him off, “Fuck you too.” 

He leans back onto the sofa, taking a long sip. “No thanks, I just did,” he says with a huge smile.

You make a more dramatic, disgusted sound, and you shiver. “Ewe, don’t spread your STDs on me,” you say as you dust the imaginary diseases off your shoulders. 

“Don’t be sour because you’re jealous,” Jungkook says. 

You could strangle him, you swear. 

You squint your eyes at him, and he returns a fake glare at you, but he’s still smiling. 

“From the bottom of my heart, fuck you,” you bark at him. 

He leans forward in his chair, looking at you with a growing smirk, “From the bottom of my ass, you wish.” 

Jimin grabs the controller from your hands. “Okay, love birds. What are we playing?” and he starts another match. 

After a few more rounds and some more losing, Jungkook stretches and gets up, “Who wants another beer?” Both you and Hobi ask for another, and he goes to the kitchen. Jimin gets up as well, “I’ll come help.” 

“So, are you seeing someone?” Hoseok asks when Jungkook and Jimin are out of earshot. 

You turn to look at him, and you realize he’s sitting close. Closer than before. 

His gaze is intense on you, making you stutter a little when you answer, “N-No.”

He nods several times, like he’s processing, and then continues, “Is there something going between you and your roomie?” He asks with a smirk. 

“Jungkook?” you ask with a scoff. “No,” you add fast, firmly. Hoping you sound confident rather than guilty. 

He tilts his head to the side, keeping his gaze on you, challenging you. His tone is borderline mocking. “Sure ‘bout that?” 

You thought you liked Hobi, but you guess he’s still Jungkook’s friend. Something has to be fucked up about him. 

“Yeah?” you give a disgusted look. Because frankly? It’s disgusting, assuming you’re involved in any way with Jungkook. 

He straightens his head, smiling wider but without losing the teasing spark of it. He leans even closer, and you can smell his expensive cologne and the beer in his breath.

“So you definitely should come over to my place sometime.” 

Before you can answer, Jungkook comes from behind you, forcefully shoving a beer into Hobi's hands and practically pushing him back. You don’t know what he heard, but he doesn’t seem pleased. On the other hand, Hobi looks delighted. Saying a mocking “Thanks, Kook” as he sips. 

Jimin is placing a beer on the table in front of you, barely stifling a giggle. You say a quiet “Thanks.” This time, Jimin sits on the armchair as Jungkook takes the seat beside you. 

Hobi and Jimin exchange a look, while Jungkook pouts, looking annoyed. He takes the controller from the table and starts another match without saying a word. You don’t know how to read this situation. There’s tension in the room you’re not sure how to handle. So you ignore it, focusing on the game and drinking until it dissolves. 

When the hours pass, you don’t know how, but Jungkook gets closer and closer to your side. Until his thigh is touching your bare leg. The warmth that comes out of him makes you notice that you’re cold, even with the alcohol in your blood. You can lean closer to him and let his body warm you… 

NO.

What the hell are you thinking?

Treacherous thoughts. Get a grip girl.

You stand up abruptly. Feeling everyone’s eyes on you. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you say as you leave the room. 

You go to your room first, shutting the door behind you. You lean against the wall eyes shut, your hands clutch into fists on your hips. You take deep, relaxing breaths. You remind yourself that you decided you won’t fold into Jungkook teasing. That you’ll keep your distance. You will definitely not snuggle into his warm, solid, broad body…. 

NO.

You’re not going to go down this path. No fucking way. 

You take the bottle from beside your bed, drinking the remaining water. You need to sober up. Not so much from the alcohol; you drank only a couple of beers. But from his presence after you avoided him for days. It is like it affects you more now. Do you really have such a short memory? Do you need a reminder he’s an insufferable prick? 

You take a hoodie from your closet and go to the bathroom. There, you wash your face and give yourself a little get-your-shit-together pep-talk before going back to the living room. 

When you return, you hear the boys chatting, but as soon as you step into the living room, the room goes silent. It’s awkward. No one is playing anything now, and everyone looks tense. What happened? You quietly return to your seat, reaching for the controller on the couch beside Jungkook.

“Anyone up for another round?” you ask, trying to break the silence.

Jimin clears his throat. “Sure.” Hobi stands up to grab more beers, and you resume playing, pretending like nothing’s wrong.

Not long after, everyone starts to feel tired. Hobi orders an Uber for himself and Jimin. As Jungkook walks them to the door, you gather the empty bottles and head to the kitchen to load the dirty dishes into the sink.

Big mistake.

Huge.

You should have just gone straight to your room and locked the door. Because when you turn around, there’s Jungkook, leaning casually against the kitchen door. He gives you a smirk that can’t possibly mean anything good and asks—

“Had fun tonight?”

Back to series masterlist

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' ⟡ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟹

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters'. your first day goes very poorly . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 5.1k

⟢ warnings: there is talk about the reader's previous hostile home environment, although it's not pictured. walburga black is implied to be mentally unstable. a theme here is the lasting impact growing up in that environment has on a person: reader fears becoming like her parents, longs for a more loving environment, doesn't handle her emotions very well, and picks fights. both anger and sadness are dealt with unhealthily by different characters. if there is anything i should add here, please please let me know.

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ part 4 ⟡ masterlist

note: well! yikes! angst! i'm not sure i like the vision but i’m trying to remind myself this is a hobby and doesn’t have to be perfect <3

“A walk?” You questioned with a raspy voice.

“Mhm,” James nodded, “Just around the yard. Think it’ll help you feel better.”

You let James lead you to the back door, hand and hand. When he opened it, you discovered that “yard” was a bit of an understatement. The Potters’ property was larger than you knew— enormous, really. Lush garden beds thrived nearest to the house, and the grassy green beyond was surely where James practiced quidditch over the summers. The large trees scattered around the outskirts of the property made you picture a younger James climbing them.

James led you into the grassy landscape, taking notice of your awestricken expression as your eyes fall on Euphemia’s garden.

“I knew you’d like it out here.”

“It’s beautiful,” you mused, stopping to admire a bed of flowers. James dipped down and plucked one from the ground.

He fit it behind your ear and winked, “Don’t tell my mum.”

You frowned, reaching up to remove the flower from your hair. You twirled it inbetween your fingers.

“Your mum must think so poorly of me now,” you muttered, staring down at the flower.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“The first thing Sirius and I did after we were invited to stay is have a screaming match in the dining room. We sure know how to make ourselves feel at home,” you laughed bitterly. “And now she knows we’re together. Didn’t even get to properly tell her. I can’t imagine what she thinks of me.”

“Hey, look at me.” James said in a stern but gentle voice. You wonder how all the Potters can sound so kind even when they’re working up to a lecture.

You peered up through your eyelashes. James sported a pretty smile, and that alone made you feel a little better.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said, “My mum’s not one to jump to any conclusions. She trusts me, alright? And don't worry about your fight with Sirius. No one's expecting this to be easy for you. For either of you."

James continued, “Besides, we all let our emotions get the best of us sometimes, yeah? We’re human. My parents will understand.”

James could tell you over and over again that it’s okay to be angry and it’s okay to slip up, but you didn’t think any amount of it would ever make it feel okay. You wondered how he could even believe it.

It surprised you, actually, how mature and level-headed James could be. We’re human so it’s just okay if our emotions get the best of us sometimes? Who actually thinks like that?

At your house, you had to be nothing short of perfect at all times. Now that you’ve seen Fleamont and Euphemia in parent mode, you can see where James learned it all. You never had anything like that, and it was difficult to wrap your mind around it.

Especially because it wasn’t too long ago that James was one of Hogwarts’ biggest trouble makers—his pranks were the epitome of immature. Evidently, he's grown up a lot recently.

Stupidly, you felt bitter about it. Which was completely absurd, you thought. Because surely you were not jealous of your boyfriend because he learned how to regulate his emotions better than you did. Because he was growing up, maturing? And you… well you don’t know what you’re doing. You felt stuck, like you’d always be a scared little kid who needs her older brothers’ no matter how old you got.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said, not really knowing what else to say. You were compelled to change the subject, “I’m worried about Regulus.”

“I know,” James began leading you around the garden again. You dropped the flower back where it came from, not wanting to be caught red handed with a freshly murdered flower from Effie’s garden.

“We have to get him out of there,” you sighed.

James looked at you through the corner of his eye. Apprehensively, he said, “From what Sirius told me, you guys barely got out of there.”

“Yeah, so we’ll need a really good plan so that we don’t get caught.”

James turned his head to look straight at you. He looked at you like you had two heads.

“What, you want to break him out or something? You want to go back there?”

“We have to. Regulus–“

“Regulus made his choice.” James interrupted warily.

You felt your heart sink into your stomach, “Please, not you too.”

“You heard what Sirius said. Regulus was given the option, and he chose to stay behind,” James tried to reason.

James knew how much your twin meant to you, it wasn't a surprise that you'd be worried about him. But to go back to that house? That was a step too far for his comfort. The moment that Sirius admitted exactly what his mother had done to him, James knew he'd never let either of you near her again. Something must've snapped in Walburga Black— she has been teetering on the edge for years, but she has unmistakably gone from being a cruel mother to an outright unstable woman.

The though of Regulus still being around her made him sick. Even though James didn't know him that well, he still found himself caring about him. It was likely an extension of your love for Regulus manifesting in James, who cared for you so deeply that your concerns became his. But that's just it— you're the one who he really cared for. Above all else, it's you he wanted to protect.

“He did not choose to stay behind,” you raised your voice, offended that James could ever think so.

“Love...”

James didn't mean to, but he looked at you with pity in his eyes, as if he thought you were in denial.

Anger flared up in your chest when you registered his expression, “No, don’t do that. Just because Sirius said so doesn’t mean it’s true. Regulus wouldn’t just choose them over us. Sirius– he doesn't have his facts straight.”

James didn’t say anything. What could he? It sounded like you were implying that Sirius was lying and James knew Sirius wouldn't do that.

For the record, you didn't think Sirius would lie either. But he was absolutely capable of missing something.

“You don’t believe me,” your mouth hung open after your words.

“It’s not that.” James rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, “I believe you, but I believe Sirius too. And Sirius said that Regulus refused to come. Whatever the reason, that's the choice he made. I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger for a– a lost cause.”

His words stopped you in your tracks.

“A lost cause?"

You had never been so affronted by James. He might not know Regulus nearly as well as he knows you or Sirius, but the fact that he could easily tag him as a lost cause was unbelievable.

"Don’t be an idiot, James. How could you say that?”

James had kept walking for a couple more paces, so he had to turn to face you. He tried to cover the way the venom in your voice made him flinch.

“You can’t force him to leave,” he said, sounding as understanding as he could muster, but he needed to get through to you.

Phantom alarm bells were ringing in his ears, his desperation for you to hear him growing. You were stubborn and you'd do anything for your brothers, James knows this all to well. But not this. He couldn't let you do this. He wouldn't let you go back there.

“Merlin, you’re siding with Sirius!” you accused, giving in to the anger burning in your chest.

James tried to remain calm as he spoke.

“I’m not siding with anyone.”

“Yes, you are! How could I be so stupid? Of course you’d choose Sirius over me!"

James features twist in anguish, "Love–"

"This is what I get for falling for my brother’s best friend. When there's a choice, it will always be him, won’t it?” You spat, glaring at James in a way that almost knocked him off his feet.

He was completely taken aback; you two had never fought like this. He tried to take some semblance of control over the situation, “Okay, you’re angry right now, and that’s okay–“

“Oh, would you stop that!” you shouted. A small part of you hoped the sound wouldn’t travel back to the house, but a bigger part of you was consumed with a growing rage. That part didn’t seem to care.

“Stop what?” James knitted his brows.

“Being some master of emotions all of a sudden! I’m accusing you of picking Sirius over me! I’m raising my voice at you! I’m calling you names! Why won’t you fight back? Yell at me, do something!”

James took a deep breath, “I’m not going to do that.”

He sounded completely calm and collected. Somehow, that pissed you off.

“Oh, you’re so perfect, aren’t you?”

“What?” James felt like he was going crazy, unable to decipher what he could possibly be doing wrong.

“Perfect James Potter, wouldn’t hurt a fly these days! You could never–! never lose your cool, could you?” you shouted.

James gaped at you. He couldn't be mad even if we wanted to; he was just confused. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? You yourself didn’t even seem to know what you were saying, your words tumbling out awkwardly as you said things even you knew weren’t true.

It’s not like James never lost the reign on his emotions. He throws his quidditch gear around when he loses a match, he can’t control his frustration when he doesn’t do well in class, he isolates himself when he’s sad instead facing it, he does a whole lot of things that he’s not proud of.

And you’ve seen it all before, but for some reason, you’ve chosen not to remember those moments. All you can think about is how you were so angry and scared, and he was so understanding and level-headed. And how you grew up with screaming matches and unfair punishments, and he probably got to grow up with calm discussions and soft spoken apologies. And it all felt so unfair.

“Are you–? Sorry, you're mad at me because I'm not getting mad at you? I’m sorry, I guess?”

“I don’t want you to be sorry I want you to yell at me! Be mad at me, fight with me!” You felt the familiar sensation of tears welling up in your eyes.

James looked shellshocked. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to deal with you like this, he’s never seen this before. Sure, sometimes you bicker— all couples do— but this was reaching an uncharted territory.

"I'm not going to yell at you for wanting to keep your brother safe–"

"Then yell at me because you think I'm naive for thinking I can get him out of there. Fight with me because I think you're an idiot for thinking Regulus is a lost cause!"

You were trying to rile him up, James knew this, and he so badly wanted to not let if affect him. Not because it was making him angry, no, it was making him sad.

But he couldn't fight it.

And James always does the same thing when he's sad.

“I think we need to take a step back from this conversation. Why don’t we go inside?” James offered.

He sounded like he stole that line from some therapist's book on navigating conflict. It made you want to scream.

“You go inside! I’m going to keep walking.” You pushed past him, deliberately letting your shoulder collide with his as you stormed away.

James let the blow knock him back a step, too thrown off to do anything else. He listened to your receding footsteps and he wanted to be the type of boyfriend who runs after you when you’re upset. Who holds you and listens to you until you can work out the problem. Instead—

“Just stay by the house, okay?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, whatever.”

A few hot angry tears slid down your face. You aggressively wiped them away and willed any more tears to dry up. You were tired of crying.

You stomped around the gardens and grass, thinking of Regulus and how he deserved better than siblings who left him behind to find refuge with a boy who wouldn't think twice about rescuing him too.

Leaving that house was something you'd always dreamed of. But you had imagined both of your brothers by your side. No one was ever supposed to be abandoned.

Sirius just didn’t understand how horrible being alone in that house was. You and Regulus had already experienced a taste of it when he went off to Hogwarts a year before you two. Not to mention, Sirius was always the strongest of you, so without him, navigating that house was a whole new terrain.

Maybe that’s what Sirius senses is different about your relationship with Regulus. Those nine months were probably the worst of your life, and Reg is who you went through them with.

And maybe that's why you were so adamant that Regulus can’t be left there alone while everyone else seems ready to abandon all hope. Your parents had never been more furious than when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor all those years ago. You suspected that they would be worse, angrier than ever after the departure Sirius orchestrated for you and him. You couldn’t let Regulus face that alone.

Somewhere along the line, worry for Regulus took precedence over the anger that held your gentle love for James hostage. By the time you came to a large trees on the outskirts of the lawn, the anger from the previous argument had simmered.

As you plopped down in the dirt and sat against its trunk, you tried not to be annoyed that taking a step away from that conversation really worked.

You took in your surroundings to distract yourself. It was to no avail, as a nearby shed caught your eye. Through its open window, you could see James’ broom and other quidditch gear.

“You idiot,” you chastised yourself aloud. You let your head fall into your hands as a million nasty thoughts about yourself raced through your mind, the most prominent being you’re just like your mother.

It was just like her to pick fights. You couldn’t breathe in that house without her telling you that you were doing it wrong. She always found something to yell at you for.

How could I act like that, you winced as you recalled the fight you just walked away from.

Poor James, who you yelled at for not being mad at you. It really was just like her to get upset over something so irrational. You felt ill over the similarity, and you were overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom.

You couldn't let yourself be doomed to your parents' fate. You wanted to be kind, reasonable, rational. So, what wouldn't they do in this situation?

A safe assumption would be that they wouldn't feel bad, so you're already on the right track it seems.

They also wouldn't apologize.

Okay, yeah. Apologize. You could apologize.

You have to apologize.

Just go apologize.

But you just couldn’t get yourself to move. You were frozen in shame for your behavior, the only movement was the rise and fall of your chest from your labored breath.

James Potter did not like feeling sad. It was unsettling, uncomfortable, so utterly unlike him.

Whenever it happened, he tried to hide from it. He'd lock himself away somewhere before he'd dare face it head on— or admit that it's there at all.

The last time he was sad, he let himself fall asleep in the common room just so he wouldn't have to face his friends back at his dorm. And when his childhood pet died, he didn't mention it for months, only alerting his friends to his cat's passing when Peter asked how old his cat was again.

It's not that James thought there was anything wrong with being sad. He definitely didn't believe in any of that nonsense that real men don't cry. In fact, he was always the first to offer his shoulder if any of his friends were upset, back pats and let-it-all-outs at the ready.

But when it was him, when he was the one with the lump in his throat and a pit in his stomach, he couldn't handle sadness anymore. It made him feel vulnerable, and he wanted to be the strong one, the brave one. The one who lights up a room with the force of the sun and brings humor and fun into everyone's days.

So, when he couldn't be that, he'd rather be alone. He'd rather sit isolated in a dimly lit room where the darkness can't touch anyone but himself.

His bed creaked under his weight as he shifted in place, the only movement he has made in several minutes.

He was trying to be still and let his mind focus on nothing but his breathing. He was especially trying not to think of your argument.

He counted out his inhales and exhales, just as he had learned years ago in divination class.

James took divination for one year only. It wasn't for him, but one thing from that class did stick with him— the lesson on mindfulness. Something about mediation and a clear head opening your mind to frequencies you may not normally be able to comprehend.

James wasn't sure about all that, but he quite liked the calmness of the exercise they did in class that day, even if he felt a bit silly doing it.

He finds himself repeating the meditation from that class when he's down. He much prefers a clear head to one with racing thoughts that give him that choked up feeling in his throat.

He was broken out of his feeble attempt at a meditative state when there was a knock at his door.

Hope swelled in his stomach. Maybe you've come to talk. Maybe he could smooth things over with you. And then he could stop feeling like this.

He tried not to look disappointed when Sirius walked through the door.

Sirius gave James a once over as the door clicked shut behind him, "What's wrong with you?"

"Me?" James forced a chuckle, "Nothing's wrong with me."

"You're sitting at the foot of your bed, starin' at the floor, shoulders slumped," Sirius' hand swept towards James' hunched form, "I know what upset looks like, Prongs."

"I'm not upset," James insisted still, "I'm just thinking. Is being lost in thought a crime these days?"

Sirius shrugged, plopping down on the bed next to James. His legs hung over the edge as he let his back hit the sheets, his arms sprawled at his sides.

James listened as Sirius puffed out a long, exhausted breath.

"You alright?" James asked, not bothering to look back, letting his sad eyes remain fixed on the floor.

"Ah, I see. Worried about me, are you?" Sirius guessed.

James seized the opportunity to excuse his demeanor. Besides, he wanted to talk about what Sirius had said earlier anyway.

"You did have a pretty nasty spat with your sister. And then you nearly collapsed."

There's a lull in the conversation for a moment as Sirius thinks.

"Your parents fixed me right up again. Gave me some nasty potion to help with the dizziness. Tasted like sewage but 'm good as new. They're off now, by the way, picking up some herbs they want to steep and feed me for these spasms I keep having in my hands."

James winced. Spasms, a potential side effect of being under the Cruciatus Curse.

"Sirius... about what you said happened. Your mother–"

"I don't want to talk about that," Sirius spoke quietly, somberly.

After a moment, Sirius added, "I don't want to think about any of them ever again."

James felt a pang in his heart, knowing Regulus was included in 'them'. You wouldn't have stood for it if you'd heard Sirius say that.

James' mind wanders back to your earlier argument, his earlier attempts to avoid these thoughts futile now. You were so adamant that you needed to go back for Regulus, ready to dive into some sort of escape plan, and that still scared the hell out of James.

He considered telling Sirius about what you wanted to do. One on hand, he knew Sirius would be on board with keeping you the hell away from there— keeping you safe. On the other hand, it felt like tattling on you to your brother.

James thought about the betrayal written across your face earlier. How hurt you were when you suspected James was choosing to believe Sirius over you. Confiding in Sirius now would surely, surely make it worse. And James didn't want to hurt you.

And yet—

"Thing is... I have to talk to you about something. About your sister... and about Regulus."

A flinch finally broke you out of your statue-like state when a sudden and distinct fluttering sounded above you. You expected to see any mundane bird when you looked up, but there was nothing there. You leaned around the tree to try to locate the source.

Instead of any random creature of flight, it was a familiar owl. And he was not in the tree, rather next to it, in a designated perch located on the other side of the thick trunk.

"Oh. Hello," you greeted the owl. He stared at you blankly, of course.

You've met this owl before. His name was Glory. You didn't know why, but James had named him, and you supposed that it was a name that James would have thought of.

You've received countless letters from James, all delivered by Glory. There were the long ones, which you mostly received during the times you were apart. Glory was good at discretely delivering them to your window. And if James also had mail for Sirius, he knew to deliver yours first.

James was always checking up on you over the holidays, making sure you were okay and telling you stories of his own time at home that would take your mind off of whatever horrible things were going on at Grimmauld Place.

When you were together, back at Hogwarts, James still sent you little notes whenever you weren't near. He knew how much you loved receiving notes from him, so he made it a habit. He would send notes about things he saw that reminded him of you, expressions of how much he missed you even if he'd seen you mere hours prior, declarations of love that he couldn't keep inside until the next time he'd be alone with you.

Oh, your sweet boy.

"I really messed up, didn't I?" You asked Glory. You chided yourself for continuing to try to talk to an owl. Not that owls weren’t smart. In fact, they were very intelligent, especially the magical sort. Glory could understand you, but it’s not like he had the ability to respond. 

You imagined that Glory would tell you that you messed up big time if he did, though.

You pushed yourself up to your feet, wiping dirt and twigs off your pants when you rose. As you walked back towards the house, you wondered if your mother ever felt sorry like this, if she ever wanted to apologize sometimes. Surely, at some point she did. James' words come back to you about how we're all human, and you want to believe that maybe there was a memory lost in your mind of her apologizing to you.

You'd have been a wide-eyed little kid at the time, snot-nosed and teary-eyed after she yelled at you for spilling milk or leaving a toy in the middle of the floor. She'd wrap her arms around you and apologize for raising her voice. Then she'd shush and coo soothingly until your tears dried up and you could show her all of your baby teeth in a wide grin.

It was unnatural, the image of her in your mind like that, but your heart burned for it to be real. As sick as it was, you still yearned for your mother's love, even if it was a thing of the past.

Maybe your house really was a poison. Because if she had ever been gentle, one way or another, Walburga Black got colder and harsher over the years. She spiraled so deep into darkness that she seemed to want to be cruel. After all, to cast the Cruciatus Curse, you do have to really want it.

Each step you took was invigorated with a new sense of determination. Apologizing to James now, owning up to your mistake, it was only the first step of doing everything in your power to never be anything like that woman.

It felt like no time passed at all by the time you arrived outside of James' door. You didn't feel ready to face him, but you raised your fist anyway. Just when knuckles were about to meet wood, you heard a muffled voice from inside.

"What do you think?" James' voice asked softly. Then, after a beat of silence, "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, James, I heard you," Sirius said. He had that far away kind of tone in his voice he gets when he's trying to distance himself from his emotions.

"And?"

"And I'm bloody tired of talking about him!" Sirius barked. Even from the safety of the other side of the door, you flinched.

"She doesn't get it. She'll never get it because it's him," your brother continued. "If she had known he wasn't coming she probably wouldn't be here either. If it's a choice, it'll be him over me in a heartbeat. He could've done the bloody spell on me himself and she'd still choose him. Merlin, she could've done the bloody spell if he asked her to."

If felt like the wind was knocked out of you. You bit your tongue until you drew blood, fighting the urge to cry out, as if Sirius' words physically wounded you.

Rationally, you knew that Sirius was just angry, that he didn't mean it. But the rational side of your brain hasn't been winning many battles today.

You vaguely heard James tell Sirius not to say things like that as you backed away from his door until you met the wall behind you with a thump.

There was silence from inside James' room for mere seconds before the door was ripped open. Sirius stood in the doorway, James behind him. You couldn't read your brother's expression, there barely was one. How typical of him to hide behind a blank stare.

You, however, were wide eyed with a hand clamped over your mouth, leaning against the wall behind you, sure you'd collapse without its support.

Sirius began to say your name and suddenly your hand was gone and the words were tumbling from your lips.

"How could you say that?" Your voice was strained, "I wouldn't ever do that– He wouldn't ever do that!"

Sirius' eyes bore into yours but he didn't say anything. You wished you could tell what he was thinking under that stupid mask of his.

"I shouldn't have to tell you over and over again that I love you both. You are both my brothers, you both mean the world to me. It's so irrational and– and foolish to worry about a choice that I'd never–"

You cut yourself off. The irony of being so hurt by Sirius' words were not lost on you. You had only just been accusing James of choosing Sirius over yourself.

"No, that's not true," Sirius bit back, "because that choice is upon you now. So, go ahead. Let's see if you can surprise me."

"What?"

"Choose me, stay here where it's safe. Choose Regulus, go right ahead and try to be his jailbreak. But when you can't convince him to leave, when he refuses, I won't be surprised when you choose to stay there too."

Your eyes flashed to James, who looks way too shameful for you to not put two and two together. You were conflicted; feelings of regret over accusing James of choosing Sirius over you were mixing with feelings of betrayal that James had ran right to Sirius with your words.

You'd let the guilt and betrayal sink in and shred you to pieces later. You had Sirius to deal with first.

"What is wrong with you?" you hissed. "How could you be so dim? Wanting our brother to be safe does not mean I'm choosing him over you."

"Color me unsurprised!" Sirius yelled, looking smug.

Your eyes began to burn, "Fuck you, Sirius!"

James tries to interrupt, "Er, hey, maybe we should–"

"Don't you dare tell me we need to take a step back from this conversation, James!"

James' mouth clamped shut.

"Don't yell at him!" Sirius squawks.

"You want to talk about choosing one person over another? Let's talk about it. Don't pretend you haven't given up on Regulus ever since you met his shiny new replacement!"

You'd feel real shitty about saying that in front of James later; the look on his face at your words was already burned into your memory.

"Don't turn this on me!" Sirius shouted.

"You're such a hypocrite. And an imbecile for thinking I care about you any less than Regulus. Of course I care about you both the same. And you may not believe it, but Regulus cares about you too!"

"That's–"

"I don't want to hear it," you interrupted, "I'm done. Say it James."

James looked like a deer in headlights, "What?"

"Say the thing!" you shouted.

"We need to take a step back from this conversation?"

Your arms flew up, gesturing towards James as you stared Sirius down with an exasperated look on your face. Your brother scoffed and stormed down the hall, disappearing to anywhere else in the Potters' home.

For a moment it was just you and James in the hall. Your eyes met and he looked anguished and far too apologetic. You knew that you were supposed to be the apologetic one, and you felt your heart begging you to let the sorrys loose.

It was too bad that the betrayal started settling in before the guilt.

"Sirius was right before. You are a snitch."

With that, you slipped back into your room and let the door slam shut behind you.

James remained in the hall for a moment longer, not knowing who to follow. He should follow one of you.

Instead, he decided to retreat back to his bedroom.

James wanted to be alone again.

next part

[mikeypubes]

drop the Mikey Sano headcanons magic man and my life is yours 🙏🙏

(Please and thank you 😌)

*ೃ༄ sano manjiro relationship headcanons .ೃ࿐

[ Note: now how did you know i was already writing this... 🤨 but i hope you enjoy this love 🥰 ]

°˖✧✿✧˖°

SFW

i don’t think he realized his feelings immediately, but he wouldn’t be totally clueless either

draken definitely worked wonders to get you guys together, and he's always making the tough decisions for you guys’ relationship because God knows Mikey can’t 🤗

he won’t confess until he’s totally sure you like him back, and even then, he’s not gonna tell you how he feels, he’ll just go “wanna be my girlfriend 😎” and try to play it off cool

now you’re basically just his buddy that he gropes occasionally

when he gets comfortable around you, his immensely childish and immature side comes out

he’s gonna drag you into his pranks, he’s always go to cafes and eat with you, he’s always and I mean ALWAYS sleeping over at your house. It's not your house, it’s his

he sprawls all over your bed like it belongs to him after dirtying it with snacks and throwing around bike magazines

he does not give two fucks about privacy, if he wants to do anything to you, you best bet he's gonna do it right in front of all of God’s creations

his ways of showing love include: back hugs, cheek kisses, sleeping on your lap, pouting all the time and demanding attention and kisses, taking you out on motorcycle rides at night, and making you do dumb shit with him

he has really rare moments where he’s so genuine and quiet and he does something sensual and romantic

like you guys are standing on a bridge at night with his motorcycle parked on the side and he has one of his moments where he just stares out at the sky in silence

then he's gonna look over at you and tells you something he's never told anyone before or press a soft kiss to your lips 🫦

but don't get too excited, because he will NAWT remember anniversaries or birthdays 😜

draken has to bring it up for him to remember to get you a present

now this man gets jealous a LOT. it's not serious jealousy where he deadass thinks you’re gonna leave him, it’s just petty possessiveness

if you start laughing a bit too much with some other guy, he's just gonna 🤨 and start ignoring you till you kiss his feet basically

he’s really protective, though. he’s affiliated with gangs and he has a TON of enemies, so he’s gonna go to far lengths to make sure you’re always safe

if you’re not, well… I think we all know what would go on lololol

all of the toman captains know you very well thanks to Mikey's not-so-discreet displays of affection, and the extra members are always warned not to lay a finger on you

mikey really wanted you and his best friends to get along together, and it made him so relieved when you did. You guys hang out at cafes, go on motorcycle rides, sometimes he brings you along to Toman meetings, if you really begged

ok this is so random but him and his gf would lowkey have conversations with like one in the bathroom shitting and the other talking outside the door

on the not-so-green-flag side, dating him is kind of exhausting

like he'd be childish 99% of the time but then he doesn't show the very emotional and dark sides of him at all, so when he's not feeling okay, he'll put a wall between you guys and you'd have no clue wtf is even going on

and at some point he's gonna try to keep you away from him if he feels that he can't control himself anymore

you have to be cognitively empathetic basically if you wanna have a shred of emotional intimacy, and he would dodge your attempts so constantly it's tiring

he's so high maintenance lowkey and if you're not into physical affection you're doomed

he would expect you to have snacks at your disposal and he'd constantly steal your food and drinks

he does NOT notice physical changes in you

you could get your nails done, change your entire wardrobe, change your perfume, and cut your hair and he'd be like "what do you mean smt changed"

but if your mood changes a small tiny bit, he'd try his hardest to make you laugh again

one day, you had a place you were getting ready to go to and he insisted on doing your hair and it turned out like chopped shit

you're gonna get into arguments a LOT so be prepared ! he's lowkey a total shithead when it comes to that

like he'd ignore you and act annoying but then he'd acc start missing you a lot and apologize once you two are alone

he would really try to make you happy and content, he'd hate seeing you upset

and your relationship would improve a lot the more you two grow up because I can see grown up Mikey being much more responsible and uh... put together? He wouldn't do anything that annoys you seriously

like as teenagers, he would be really childish, he might ogle at other girls sometimes (he wouldn't cheat though !), get into a lot of arguments with you because he's just irresponsible

NSFW

his libido was probably not that high before you guys started dating, like he'd probably jerk off twice or three times a week

after you started dating is a whole other topic though...

he cannot keep his mind un-dirty

if you bend over, you should expect him to grab your butt or stare at it at the very least

if you hug him, his mind and eyes are gonna be on ONE thing only 😁

if you kiss him, 9 times outta 10, it's gonna escalate

doesn't let you shower alone

you guys are gonna hate me for this but he's lowkey still gonna watch porn and read mags even after dating 😭

he definitely asked you to watch porn with him 😀

he'd even have a specific preference, like he would like girls with big boobs and nice thighs, really soft skin but he wouldn't like the girl toooo skinny, and he probably prefers long hair, bonus if it's blonde or brown

and he wouldn't understand why you're mad about it, like he'd think it's a joke until you slap him

(talking about slaps, he definitely gets a lot of those in this relationship 👍)

if he ever stops the porn stuff, he'll have to replace it with a lot of... uh, action !

and he wouldn't give a SHIT where y'all do it as long as you do it

you guys definitely did it at school more than once when you were skipping class in a storage room or some shit

he'd deffff like receiving more than giving

i'm so sorry but he definitely enjoys blowjobs the most, and he'd grip your hair and choke you on it

he'd apologize later but does it again every time

he would have his arms behind his head or playing a video game as you suck him off !

he'd try eating you out and the first time, he was TERRIBLE but then slowly got better at it

when he's in the mood, he's merciless like he'll keep going till you're crying

omg this is really embarrassing to write

°˖✧✿✧˖°

[amillionideas]

Ginny Weasley

Ginny is such a fascinating character when you peel back her layers: beneath her bold, confident exterior is a girl fighting to carve out her own identity in a family where it’s easy to get lost. Being the youngest and the only girl in a family full of loud, opinionated boys? That’s a battle for space, for attention, for agency. And the way she navigates that pressure (sometimes through defiance, sometimes through sharpness) reveals both her strength and her wounds.

The Weight of Being "The Only Girl"

Ginny grows up in a household where gender roles, while never explicitly rigid, definitely shape how she is treated. Her mother dotes on her and clearly wants to protect her in a way she doesn’t with the boys. Molly’s love is fierce, but also stifling, especially for someone as independent as Ginny. Imagine how frustrating that must be when all your brothers are given more freedom while you’re constantly being watched.

This is a girl who grew up watching her brothers play Quidditch but was never invited to join them. She had to sneak out and practice on her own. Even from an early age, Ginny learned that if she wanted something, she had to take it for herself, no one was going to offer her a seat at the table.

And that kind of environment breeds a specific kind of defiance: I will not be ignored.

Why She’s So Sharp with Ron

Her relationship with Ron is especially charged because, in many ways, they’re both fighting for the same thing: respect. Ron feels like the overshadowed youngest brother, constantly compared to the successful older ones. Ginny feels like the invisible baby sister, struggling to be seen as more than a fragile little girl. When those frustrations collide? Fireworks.

• Ginny’s Insults to Ron: There’s a meanness in how Ginny talks to Ron sometimes, calling him immature, mocking his romantic failures. But isn’t that rooted in her own frustration? She sees herself as stronger and more mature because she’s had to grow up faster under the weight of being underestimated. To Ginny, Ron represents everything she’s trying not to be: uncertain, insecure, and overshadowed. Maybe tearing him down is her way of asserting her own independence.

• Ron’s Dismissiveness of Ginny: On the flip side, Ron tends to treat Ginny like a child long after she’s proven she isn’t one. He’s protective in a way that’s both loving and condescending. From Ginny’s perspective, it must feel infuriating, especially when she’s lived through things (like the Chamber of Secrets) that none of them fully understand.

Their friction isn’t just sibling rivalry, it’s a fight for autonomy, for recognition. They’re both clawing to be seen as themselves, not as the roles their family casts them in.

Her Distance from the Older Brothers

Ginny’s relationship with Bill, Charlie, and Percy is more distant, partly because they were already grown or gone by the time she came into her own, but also because she probably felt like she had to perform around them.

• Bill and Charlie: They’re the “cool, successful” older brothers, and it’s easy to imagine Ginny hiding parts of herself when they’re around. She likely admires them but knows they don’t see her fully. With them, she probably leans into the role of the “feisty little sister”, a persona that is real, but not the whole truth.

• Percy: This relationship is particularly interesting because, in some ways, Ginny might understand Percy more than the others. Both of them want to be taken seriously in a family that doesn’t always make room for that. But where Percy chose rules and ambition to carve out his identity, Ginny chose rebellion and strength. You could imagine her feeling a mix of pity and judgment toward him, maybe she sees his rigidness as a cautionary tale.

Molly’s Suffocating Expectations

Molly’s love for Ginny is intense. As her only daughter, Ginny represents all of Molly’s hopes and all of her fears. There’s a sense that Molly wants to protect Ginny in a way that feels both maternal and controlling.

• Overprotection After the Chamber: After Ginny’s trauma in her first year, I imagine Molly becomes even more protective. But for someone as strong-willed as Ginny, that kind of coddling feels like a prison. It probably explains a lot about why Ginny pushes boundaries, dating older boys, joining the DA, fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts. She needs to reclaim her power after losing it so completely to Tom Riddle.

• The “Perfect Daughter” Ideal: Molly also likely has a vision of who Ginny should b (kind, ladylike, the future wife and mother) and Ginny pushes against that every chance she gets. Her boldness, her sarcasm, her refusal to be "sweet" in a conventional sense is a direct rejection of Molly’s expectations.

I imagine Ginny feels both loved and trapped by her mother. She’s proud to be a Weasley but unwilling to be defined by her family’s image.

Ginny’s Hard Edges – A Defense Mechanism

A lot of Ginny’s harshness, especially toward her brothers, can be read as self-defense. She’s had to be tough to survive:

• The Chamber of Secrets: Ginny’s first year is marked by profound isolation and violation. No one, not her family, not even Harry, really understands what she went through. That trauma likely shapes her fierce independence. She won’t let herself be vulnerable like that again.

• Living in the Shadows: Imagine being the seventh Weasley. By the time Ginny reaches Hogwarts, every teacher, every student has already met a Weasley sibling. She’s probably constantly compared: to Bill’s brilliance, Charlie’s bravery, Percy’s ambition, the twins’ humor, Ron’s friendship with Harry. Being tough, being bold, and refusing to conform is her way of saying: I am not just another Weasley.

Why This Makes Her Relationships More Complex

Ginny’s complexities make her relationships richer and more meaningful:

• Her Love for Harry: With Harry, Ginny starts as an infatuated child but grows into an equal partner. Part of why she doesn’t coddle or chase him is because she’s tired of being dismissed herself, she refuses to play the role of "adoring girlfriend." She demands to be seen as an equal, not a prize.

• Her Bond with Fred and George: They treat her with the most respect, maybe because they also reject the family’s rigid roles. But even here, Ginny’s wit is a weapon. She has to be sharp to survive their teasing. In some ways, her humor is an armor she learned from them.

• Her Loyalty to the Family: For all her rebellion, Ginny loves her family fiercely. She stays and fights in the DA. She risks her life in the Battle of Hogwarts. She pushes back against her family’s labels not because she doesn’t love them, but because she wants them to love the real her.

The Heart of Ginny’s Story

At its core, Ginny’s arc is about fighting to be herself in a family where it’s easy to be swallowed whole. She’s bold because she has to be. She’s sharp because the world won’t make space for her softness. And beneath all that fire? A girl who wants to be loved for who she truly is, not the image others impose on her.

And maybe that’s why she’s so fascinating because in her struggle to be heard, we see both her strength and her vulnerability

[caramelarrowswife]

if you're still taking requests for purecacao, can you pretty please write more jealous dark cacao?? (only if you want!!)

THIN ICE

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Pure Vanilla Cookie’s kindness is not inexhaustible. Sometimes, he excuses himself from the public to retire to his room in the castle, and the doors lock for an hour or so. During those times, nobody is allowed to disturb him, not even his husband..

So why in the world was this.. this Vanillian premier allowed to visit him?

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Dark Cacao Cookie sat on a chair outside of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s room, reading the scroll in his hands. The monarch of the Vanilla Kingdom had one of those days; a day where every word, every touch, every breath on his face felt overstimulating, and he had to lock himself away.

Dark Cacao understood all too well, of course, and had learned to respect his partner’s wishes over the decades. He could still feel the pain in his bones from when he was banished to the couch for intruding on Pure Vanilla’s alone time…

Pure Vanilla’s servants (or friends, as he insisted on calling them) had been so polite as to offer Dark Cacao a chair as he tried to get his work done. It was a little difficult concentrating in the Vanillian castle, with all its sweet smells and bright colours, but he would manage. For his husband.

Dark Cacao was disturbed from his work when a cookie passed him, a hand raised to knock on Pure Vanilla’s door.

“I would not, were I in your place,” Dark Cacao said, not looking up from his paper.

“Oh, it’s okay,” the other cookie smiled. “His Majesty asked for me.”

This got Dark Cacao’s attention.

He looked up curiously, studying the cookie in front of him. He had short, blonde hair that curled up to his ears. Blue eyes shone brightly, familiar in a way Dark Cacao couldn’t place. His robes were similar to Pure Vanilla’s coat, and a white cloak was attached to the stranger’s shoulders.

“I doubt it,” Dark Cacao replied. “Who might you be, if I may..?”

“My name is Premier Custard Cream Cookie,” the other said. “Now, please, I would hate to make Pure Vanilla Cookie wait any longer.”

Dark Cacao scoffed to himself as the cookie –Premier Custard Cream Cookie, apparently, horribly long name– entered Pure Vanilla’s chamber, expecting him to be sent away immediately…

The scroll nearly tore in his hands when the newcomer was instead met with excitement.

Dark Cacao stood up slowly, eyes darkening slightly.

Okay. If this is how it is.

So Dark Cacao Cookie, Pure Vanilla’s god-damned husband, couldn’t bother him, but one of his premier’s could? Okay. Fine. If that was how it was.

Dark Cacao stalked off angrily, subconsciously crumpling the paper in his hand.

In hindsight, he knew he was being silly. Getting this upset over such a small incident was childish, immature. But he just couldn’t help it.

Over the next couple days, Dark Cacao noticed Premier Custard Cream a lot more. He’d be at court meetings, he would smile at Pure Vanilla in the town square, he would coincidentally show up in Pure Vanilla’s garden…

It drove Dark Cacao mad.

At the moment, he was silently watching the many photos in the halls of the Vanilla Castle – one in particular, actually.

It was an old picture, Dark Cacao guessed it to be around fifty years old. There were only two people on it; his dear Pure Vanilla Cookie, and his new-found nemesis.

They stood quite close on the yellowed photograph, one of Pure Vanilla’s arms around Premier Custard Cream’s shoulders as the latter held a freshly-baked baby dough.

Unease churned in the bit of Dark Cacao’s stomach as he realised he didn’t actually know what Pure Vanilla had been up to in the years where Dark Cacao thought him to be lost, after Dark Enchantress Cookie’s attack.

What if he had found someone else to keep him company? Premier Custard Cream seemed a lot more pleasant than Dark Cacao.

The king was painfully reminded of his own shortcomings.. he lost himself in his work, and he probably didn’t give Pure Vanilla enough attention. He was too cold, too strict, too stoic. He never really did any big gestures, aside from the occasional flowers and walks through the forest.

Premier Custard Cream probably gave him chocolates twice a week.

Dark Cacao played with the hem of his long sleeves, eyebrows furrowed. His conscious mind knew Pure Vanilla would never do such a thing. He was loyal, through and through.

In his unconscious mind, something stirred.

Dark Cacao’s resolve broke a week later, just as Premier Custard Cream stood up from the bench he and Pure Vanilla had been sitting on, walking off. Dark Cacao took his place.

Pure Vanilla's smile faded slightly as he felt something was off, turning his head to face his husband. He couldn’t see, so he had only gotten better at one’s emotions, especially if they were as close to him as Dark Cacao.

“Are you alright, my dear..?” Pure Vanilla asked, putting his hand on top of Dark Cacao’s bigger one. “You seem tense.”

Dark Cacao was quiet for a few moments, his free hand drumming on the bench timidly, before finally answering.

“If there is something you want to tell me, please do it now.”

Pure Vanilla’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Not as far as I know.”

“I won’t get upset,” Dark Cacao said. “I promise. Just tell me.”

“Is this about the books I took from your library..?” Pure Vanilla asked carefully.

Dark Cacao frowned at him. “The what?”

“Nothing,” Pure Vanilla said quickly, giving his husband’s hand a quick squeeze before continuing. “If something is bothering you, please do tell me – you always get so grumpy when you bottle your feelings up for too long.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“It’s.. about that man you’ve been seeing lately,” Dark Cacao admitted. “Premier Custard Cream Cookie.”

“Oh, yes!” Pure Vanilla’s face brightened up like Dark Cacao told him he won a million coins. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

Dark Cacao pulled his hand away from Pure Vanilla’s. “Ah. It’s like that.”

“‘Like that’?” Pure Vanilla parroted, frowning as Dark Cacao stood up. “My love, what are you talking about?”

“You’re very excited to see him. More than me.”

Pure Vanilla let out a chuckle. “Well, yes, but that is because I haven’t seen him in so long.”

“So you admit it..?” Dark Cacao asked quietly.

“Admit that I’ve missed him? Why, yes, of course. My sister is always so worried about her only son, I rarely get to see him!” Pure Vanilla chattered cheerfully. “Last time I saw him, he was just a wee boy, up to my knee…”

The rest of Pure Vanilla’s story was lost to Dark Cacao as he simply stared at the healer.

“Sister?” He repeated, cutting of Pure Vanilla’s story about the boy wanting to become a pirate at first. “That cookie- is your nephew?”

“Why, yes, of course, what did you think?”

Dark Cacao said nothing, but he did sit down next to him. “..Nothing.”

Pure Vanilla’s eyes shot open when he realised what had bothered his husband.

“You thought I loved him!”

Dark Cacao’s cheeks flushed a slight red as he sputtered for a defence. “Well- You seemed so close! You let him in your room!”

“You thought I was being unfaithful!” Pure Vanilla cried out, leaning against his poor husband as his mouth quivered with barely held in laughter. “I will be telling him this, my dear.”

“You will not.”

“Oh, yes I will!~”

Dark Cacao grumbled something under his breath (something Pure Vanilla was glad young Dark Choco hadn’t picked up yet), avoiding his husband’s unseeing gaze. The healer intertwined their hands, a smile on his face as he pressed a small kiss to Dark Cacao’s cheek. “You silly man.”

Dark Cacao did not pull away.

[talesfromawannabewriter]

The First Anti-Christ

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

(excuse me for the long prologue)

Anti Christ, the child of the fallen one, the devil. Everyone knows of the name and what it means. However, they don’t know of WHO that child is do they? Everyone thinks that the child will make themselves known as they bring on the end of humanity. What people don’t realize is that the anti-Christ has already walked upon the Earth.

In fact he was the first to be born on the planet. You see he was one of the very first humans. The very first child and son of the mother of humanity, Adam the first omega. His name was Cain.

Now many must be wondering on how this came to be. Why did it happen. How and why did the first omega manage to give birth to the fallen one’s offspring. All will be explained here, in this story.

A long, long, long, time ago when the Earth was still young the creator of it had decided on what its final inhabitants would be. They were called humans, the very first of their kind. He made them into something special. With their names came their designations.

Lilith the first woman and alpha

Adam the first man and omega

He made the two to be companions, to watch over another as one would for a friend or as he hoped like siblings. However, his other creations had other plans. While the Lord was busy attending to his purpose of watching over the universe. The other creations, the angels went down to the humans and they told the two that they were more than just companions. They told them that they were mates and they would bring forth true humanity.

Both were confused and asked how? The angels told them that once a month Adam’s womb would welcome Lilith’s seed and instructed him for when the time came for Adam to lay on his back and to spread his legs for his mate. When they heard of this both were rather disgusted by it. They hadn’t known each other for long but they simply weren’t compatible in that way. They couldn’t even bother to be friends for they both had too many differences that often clashed with each other.

While Adam was energetic and outgoing, Lilith was reserved and careful. It would often cause arguments from the two, especially when it came to their duties. Their first duties, of naming and caring for everything in the garden. Lilith thought Adam to be immature. Adam thought Lilith to be demanding. Both seemed to think that nothing was ever good enough for each person. One thing they both could agree on is that they did not wish to be mates.

Still Adam did not wish to upset the angels and simply bowed his head and nodded submissively. They began to explain other sets of rules that both were to follow. Lilith as the alpha was to always provide and care for her omega. Adam as the omega was to always follow her way and submit to his alpha. Both were to bring children into this world.

Lilith would become the father of humanity. While Adam would become the mother of humanity.

Lilith, disgusted at the thought, disagreed wholeheartedly. She fled from the garden and away from the omega. Hoping to never set another foot in there again. She was found by someone, an angel of the Lord himself, whom she would soon call a friend and sometime after that a husband. Though she didn’t trust him at first she eventually told the angel of why she ran from paradise.

The angel was shocked and confused. Why would his siblings do that? Why would they mess with his Father’s creations that way? He wanted so badly to go up there and tell his Father of what they had done to Lilith. He knew that they would somehow find a way to pin the blame onto him.

That is why he came up with a new plan. To meet and talk to Lilith’s supposed mate. What he didn’t know at the time was that the omega was actually his true mate.

He crept into the garden, careful not to aware the elders of his presence. What awaited him in the garden was not what he expected. A true beauty, one that took his breath away. Though he had thought Lilith to be pretty. She was nothing compared to Adam.

His soft brown hair, honeyed eyes that sparkled, and tan skin that was splattered by freckles. His Lucious curves was enough to drive him insane. The angel managed to open his mouth and introduced himself. His name was Lucifer, the angel of light and God’s most favored son.

[paperlifted]

Actually, the other turtle age-related hill I will die on is that I like that the 2k3 brothers seem a bit 'old' for 15/16yos.

Like there are still flaws in the portrayal. I get it. They were voiced by adult men (one of whom is very gravelly and yet, alas, perfect) and came out of an era where the writing of teenagers could undeniably get a bit Hello Fellow Kids at times. I'm not defending every choice that was made.

But overall I really like the vibe, and I think it makes sense for their situation! 2k3 commits to the fact that they are mutants who have been in hiding for most of their lives - no other family, no network of close friends, no society or government to fall back on. There weren't babysitters available when Splinter had to leave the kids alone to go foraging; they had to be responsible for one another from a young age, and as soon as they were able to contribute to the household then he had them out there completing them with him, because those chores needed to happen if they were all to survive. If ever he was ill or injured, they had to find a way to manage. Their playground was a spacious sewer with all sorts of hazards littered through it, and if something went wrong without Splinter in earshot - and we know it did! - then they simply had to step up and deal.

On top of that, they haven't had any peers to shape their interests and behaviours - they obviously model themselves here and there off what they've seen on TV, or read in a book, or witnessed on the streets, but their primary human contact prior to April seems to have been the homeless community. The internet was a different beast back then; they didn't have the same convenient exposure to all quarters of the world through an easily-obtained handheld device. They weren't hanging out with long-distance friends and learning to be normal teens on Tumblr.

Of course they seem more like college-aged young adults than high school sophomores! They're still kids, but their youth mostly shows through in the ways they're each still figuring out their own self-identities: sorting through personal biases, learning how to deal with emotional peaks and troughs, exploring where they stand in the context of the wider world they've been denied for so long.

And, yeah, in the ways they're sometimes just kind of short-sighted or gross or fascinated by something totally age appropriate. They're mature for their age, but they don't escape every trap of immaturity by any means. Which is a good thing!

Expecting them to be teens like any other teen rings more unrealistically to me. The MNT part is just as big a part of who they are as the first T.

[hrizantemy]

I don’t know if anyone’s thought of this, but something that’s always intrigued me about A Court of Thorns and Roses is the way faeries age—and how deeply underexplored that concept is in terms of actual behavior. In Prythian, we’re told multiple times that faeries live for centuries, sometimes thousands of years, and yet, when it comes to their emotional, social, and psychological development, the series often maps mortal expectations onto them—especially regarding maturity. And that raises a lot of questions.

In human society, we have a clear (albeit socially constructed) marker for adulthood—18. In most countries, that’s the legal threshold where you’re considered mature enough to vote, join the military, sign contracts, or be held accountable under the law. But let’s be real: biologically and developmentally, most 18-year-olds are still maturing. The brain doesn’t finish developing until the mid-20s, and emotional regulation, impulse control, and long-term planning all sharpen much later. Even historically, this line was blurry. In medieval and early modern Europe, for example, girls were often married at 12 or 14, and boys were deemed men as soon as they could wield a sword or work a field. These standards weren’t based on actual maturity, but on survival, labor, and social structure. Meanwhile, in Ancient Rome or Greece, concepts of adulthood varied dramatically across gender, class, and region. What’s “adult” has never been as fixed as we like to pretend.

So how does that translate to fae?

We’re told in ACOTAR that faeries age incredibly slowly. A fae in their eighties or nineties might still be considered a child. But what does that mean in practice? What does a “childhood” that stretches over a century look like?

And more importantly—why don’t we ever see it?

The series tends to write younger fae (like the priestesses, or various High Fae we meet) with the emotional maturity of seasoned adults. Even Feyre, once she becomes fae, is immediately treated as psychologically equal to people like Rhysand, who’s literally over 500 years old. Yet logically, if an 80-year-old fae is the equivalent of, say, a 12-year-old human, then someone in their 50s or 60s should be acting like a moody tween. Immature, impulsive, maybe precocious, yes—but still fundamentally not an adult. Still learning about identity, morality, boundaries. And that opens the door for some deeply rich storytelling that just isn’t there.

I would have loved to see fae in their 50s and 60s behaving like children. Not just in an “innocent and wide-eyed” way, but in all the messy, intense, emotionally volatile ways children are. Think of a 60-year-old fae noble throwing a tantrum in court because someone slighted them. Imagine how layered a dynamic it would be if Nesta or Feyre met a fae who looked thirty but acted like a six-year-old—playful, emotional, deeply curious, easily hurt.

It’s not just about making the world feel more real—it’s about the consequences of immortality. If you live for a thousand years, then why wouldn’t a century-long adolescence exist? And how does that warp power structures, especially when you consider people like Rhysand or Cassian potentially having lovers who, in human years, are still literal children?

This kind of worldbuilding matters. It forces us to examine the ethics of power, of emotional development, of autonomy. It also invites more nuanced conversations around trauma, healing, and time. A mortal girl suffering trauma at twenty might be expected to “move on” within a few years. But for a fae, what does that look like when five years is barely a blink? Are young fae punished for childish mistakes because they “should know better,” or are they protected under fae law until their first century is complete?

Ultimately, I wish the series had leaned into this more. There’s so much potential for complexity, for culture, for age-based customs that aren’t mapped onto human standards. The real tragedy isn’t that the fae are inhuman—it’s that, too often, the narrative forgets to let them act like it.

[shocked-collar]

ok but AU where Strade was never killed but he was somehow paralyzed from the legs down in the scuffle with MC. Ren still plays out as if he had died, taking control of the entire household now that Strade lacks the movement necessary to maintain it the way he did before, and he gets to actively watch his little man go from a small, frail little pup straight into Fox. Eventually Strade begins to lose himself, as even though Ren's hand will always be more merciful than his own was, it's still nothing short of agonizing. At first, Ren is still very immature, so he often finds himself locking Strade in literal closets when he needs to dish out discipline or remind him who's in control now, but it eventually gets easier to raise a hand or take a knife to him. He even gets him a wheelchair early on. Not that he ever helps him down the stairs, but still.

Let it be known, Strade losing mobility in his legs is not a punishment. It's not a punishment, it's not karma, it's just a what-if. If Strade were to rely on Ren, could he trust him?

For the first two days perhaps.

But now he's a 70~ year old, weak, practically malnourished man with overgrown, ratty hair, reminiscing on how loud and powerful he used to be, nestling into the hip that's been given to him for comfort, feeling a sharp hand scratch his scalp as they look out the window together. Together, as they have always been, through everything. Just like this. Even way back at the bar, Strade unknowingly adopting his solace, his caretaker, his downfall, now knowing almost nothing but him, a day he fantasizes about jumping back to sometimes.

"You smell awful." The fox comments, continuing to pet and cuddle his paperweight. "Didn't I bathe you recently? Are you not using all those spray-on deodorants I've gotten you at the very least?"

He receives no response. Strade finds it easier that way. In a world of Fox having it his way, this is the one thing he can control.

The older man felt a cold wave as the fox removed his claws. "You really need to take better care of yourself. Look at you.. Skin and bones, rolling around my home smelling like shit... Though I should expect this much decency from you by now." He began to trail away, finding a seat of his own and plopping down, taking a cup from the small table beside it. "Were always a... pampered little thing, weren't you? Every beck and call, ha~!"

Strade wanted to disappear. Wanted to sink so far into his worn chair it would swallow him whole. Wanted to vanish into thin air, wanted to die right here. Ren is entering one of his fits again. Where he just goes on and on and on about their earlier dynamic, and how much of a fucking idiot he is to have gotten himself hurt. It's exhausting for a man whose first love is his ego.

There wasn’t very much that scared Strade. But the first time he came to the realization that Ren looks at him the same way he looks at his ‘products’ was definitely a moment that dragged his stomach to his feet. In an AU where Fox never had to handle the loss, the devastation, the hole left in his heart and the need to fill it, he found that Strade is now… kind of a tumor. Something he got used to. Something Ren, as Fox, is not able to appreciate, like a Fox who suffered Strade’s absence when he wasn’t ready would.

Not anymore.

They both died a long time ago.

[ferigrievous]

what they look for in a partner . ⋆˚࿔

bokuto ; looks for someone patient. they dont have to be a gentle soul or softspoken, they just have to be able to be patient enough to handle, and maybe even match his energy. his energy is relentless, his moods unpredictable, and he needs someone who won’t get tired of him. someone who knows how to handle his highs and lows.

akaashi ; looks for someone who is emotionally intelligent. as much as he loves bokuto, he doesnt think he could handle living the rest of his life with someone as unpredictable and sometimes immature as him. its tiring, and it gets to a point sometimes, but he tolerates it because its him. he spends so much of his time managing other people’s emotions that he needs a partner who he doesnt have to do the same.

aone ; looks for someone gentle. he knows he looks intimidating, knows people expect him to be cold, so he wants a partner who sees past that. someone who speaks softly but means everything they say, who never makes him feel like he has to change to be understood. they dont have to be a saint, they just have to be kind when it matters.

koganegawa ; looks for someone encouraging. he’s constantly trying to improve, and he needs someone who believes in him even when he’s struggling. someone who won’t laugh when he fails, who sees his effort and reminds him that it’s enough. also wants someone, like bokuto, that can match his energy.

daishou ; looks for someone who is loyal. he doesnt want to be anyones second choice. needs someone who is all in, who doesnt question if they really mean what they say. doesnt really care if theyre gentle or if theyre equally as sharp as he is, as long as he knows in his heart that they wont leave without reason.

sakusa ; looks for someone consistent. he hates unpredictability, hates people who change their mind too easily—he needs someone steady. someone who doesn’t try to push him out of his comfort zone but understands the small ways he shows affection. wants a relationship that feels like he knows where home is.

terushima ; looks for someone fun. he doesn’t want anything boring, doesn’t want someone who takes life too seriously—he needs excitement. someone who says yes to spontaneous adventures, who can match his energy and keep up with his wild ideas.

ukai ; looks for someone mature. he wouldnt mind someone a little unpredictable and a little childish, but he couldnt be with someone who is mucking about all the time. he’s almost in his thirties, and while he hasnt lost his spark, he’s too old to be playing around. would prefer someone who isnt cookie cutter, though, and would prefer someone who is alternative.

takeda ; looks for someone understanding. he knows he isn’t the strongest or the fastest, but he loves fiercely, and he needs someone who sees that. someone who doesn’t expect perfection, who believes in effort over natural talent. when he loves, he loves fully, and he couldnt handle someone who doesnt give as much effort into a relationship as he does.

[beneathsilverstars]

Hello, there! So, in the secret passage, we learn that Odile had a “hate-crush,” so how do you think it went? (I am an aro Odile believer—)

And, second question, do you think the implication that Bonnie has no friends is one of the reasons they act the way they do? (Besides not having memories of their parents, which definitively would mess a kid up, even if it’s for the best.) I feel there is more to Bonnie’s character than it seems, I just don’t know how to word it properly, sorry.

(answered the first part here)

Bonnie's really interesting, because in some ways they're a very well-written child character, but it's like... sometimes they seem like a well-written 12 year old and sometimes they seem like a well-written 7 year old? Which makes sense, because id5 has said they don't know a lot about kids — it seems she has good intuition for the emotional arc on account of children are obviously just people who haven't had a lot of practice yet, but she isn't familiar with the like, developmental milestone timelines. But! Hey! There are plenty of reasons for kids to be behind average in various areas! So we can absolutely run with some Watsonian theories here.

Tbh I need to replay the game with this topic in mind bc I'm starting to forget exactly which Bonnie moments struck me as pre-preteen. But one of the big ones is that the amount and type of words they have trouble pronouncing is more what I'd expect from a 4-5 year old; my 5 year old recently took a couple tries to get "onigiri" right, but I can't remember the last time she mispronounced something before that. So I think Bonnie might have some kind of language or auditory processing issues, or maybe Nille (or the whole region they're from) speak a different language more often than Vaugardian or something.

Bonnie doesn't mention any friends, but they also barely mention Nille, so maybe they don't have any but maybe they just don't want to think about anyone from Bambouche. But I like to say they don't have any because no one in this party does! Family, acquaintances, coworkers or classmates, but no true close friends. And it would just makes sense, y'know? Bonnie and Nille were newcomers in a small village, which isn't a status you shake easily, especially when you're weird in other ways. And there's no way Bonnie wouldn't have been weird at first — whatever age they were when Nille ran away with them, they would've been behind in social-emotional skills. And once you're the weird kid, you don't get as many chances to socialize, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Even if people were perfectly nice, it makes a difference to be the person who hasn't been good friends with everyone else since preschool.

But that's just peer relationships — by canon I think Bonnie has pretty well caught up on general emotional skills. They're dealing with several very traumatizing situations and handling them surprisingly well! Preteens are known for being a bit angry and angsty, I'm not gonna hold it against them when they react that way to their friend/idol losing a whole eye right in front of them. (This is why I think Nille must have done some therapy and gotten pretty damn good at emotional regulation, if she's raised such a well-regulated and reasonable kid, despite everything.)

And actually, their relative maturity in some ways coulda kinda work hand-in-hand with their relative immaturity in other ways, when it comes to a lack of friendships. It's just another way of being weird, y'know? (<- my "autistic kid who ends up hanging out with adults because they don't vibe with their peers" bonnie agenda)

Overall, though, I feel like we do know a little less about Bonnie than anyone else... Their friend quest is about their relationship with Siffrin, so it doesn't give as much backstory context as everyone else's. And they joined the party because Siffrin found them half-dead, so we don't get the same information about what motivates them as we do with Isabeau and Odile. I think I extrapolate a lot of my Bonnie headcanons/characterizations just from the general themes and trends of ISAT. And then some of it is intertwined with my Nille analysis — the way kids act tells you a lot about how they were raised, and the way kids were raised obviously affects how they act. (Here's some of my more-specific thoughts about that with Bonnie.)