#this guy in the train was like I hope you make it

[punkitt-is-here]

Hi, I'm genuinely looking for an explanation here and not looking for an argument /srs

Can you explain how calling a transfem a TERF for spreading ideology that I genuinely assumed was included in the definition of TERFism is othering ? Not to be that guy, but I'm autistic and I'm having a very hard time connecting the points you're making, and I genuinely want to learn and understand what you're saying /gen

Again, I do hope this doesn't come off as hostile, I am genuinely trying to learn and understand better, and I want to be able to fix misconceptions about what a TERF is in my own mind, and I haven't seen anyone bring this point up before /gen

You absolutely do not have to answer this, but I hope you have a fabulous rest of your day, and I do apologize for what I said, as it wasn't necessary for me to comment on the situation.

Yeah totally! Okay, I got a lot of this from Ibram X. Kendi's "How to be Antiracist"* where he talks about describing "racist" as an identity means that hardly anyone is going to ever "identify" with it, even if they are a racist. It's much more helpful to talk about actions being racist or anti-racist. Someone committing racist acts speaks far more to the vulnerability of anyone to cause harm, rather than it being something ONLY reserved for someone with the identity of "racist". For example, Clarence Thomas, a black man, has done untold amounts of harm to the black population in the US. If we subscribe to the "oh, (X) can't be racist, they are (a minority)" train of thought, it means people are less likely to understand that Clarence Thomas commits racist acts. In the same way, describing yourself as an anti-racist is not enough, as it can let people be comfortable with racist actions because they think "oh, I'm an anti-racist, I can't commit acts of racial harm." That's why it's more helpful to describe acts as racist and anti-racist rather than framing them as identities.

In a similar way, describing someone as the label of "TERF" can have a similar effect. Because it's specifically a label centered around being anti-trans, transgender people of all kinds will easily assume they cannot be transphobic, because the label of TERF is ideologically opposed to their existence. It invites ridicule rather than introspection. By saying actions can be transphobic, I think it helps a lot more because it's easier to understand that trans people can be transphobic. For example, Blaire White is right there. Despite being a trans woman, she is actively doing transphobic acts. By calling out an action as transphobic rather than describing someone as a "TERF", it helps fight back against the idea that being trans means you cannot be transphobic. For a super duper simple example, I can step on my dogs tail, but it doesn't mean I hate dogs, it means I committed an act of harm against my dog. Describing me as a dog-hater when I LOVE dogs would invite ridicule more than it would a tendency to watch my step when my dog is in the house. I hope this makes sense!

*I'm not trying to say the Black and Trans experience is exactly the same, just that like any oppressed group, there is a lot of overlap in tactics and thinking, especially for people who are Black and Trans. Reading about other groups can really give you a ton of helpful insight on how to work within your own identity!

[wandanatrules]

Can you do g!p WandaNat fighting over reader but they just agreed with each other to take reader at the same time at a college party.

Three’s A Party

Hi guys! Thank you to all those that sent requests, please keep them coming. I kind of took this one loosely. I didn’t do the threesome part but if enough of you guys comment saying you want it I will write a part two!! I didn’t really feel like proofreading it (sorry it’s kinda ass).

word count: 1.8k

pairing: Beefy popular g!p Nat x Nerdy beefy g!p Wanda x cheerleader fem reader

warnings: smut, nat and wanda have penises, cursing, name calling, oral, drunkenness, penetration, foul language, dirty talk, roughness, voyuerism, potential threesome, slight angst, (let me know if I missed anything!)

“Tonight is the night I am finally gonna bag y/n. I can’t wait, she’s been catching my eye for a while now, being the only girl who hasn’t thrown herself on me.”, Natasha said, while looking in the mirror and making her final touches before the party.

Wanda’s head popped up at Natasha’s words. “Wait, what do you mean? I was gonna try to talk to y/n tonight.” 

“Wait damn Wans I had no idea you were into y/n like that. I guess the best one wins.”, Natasha said with a friendly nudge on the shoulder before heading out the door of their shared apartment.

The best friends arrived at the party together in Natasha’s car, immediately being swarmed by girls, Natasha in particular. Being the star basketball player and wrestler at their college, makes Natasha perfectly built with a figure that is to die for.

Wanda on the other hand was your typical nerd. While she does have an incredible physique herself due to her tendency to workout and strength train when she’s stressed, her focus on her studies keeps any attention away from her. 

And you were just the typical popular cheerleader, who just so happened to be very familiar with Natasha. You were always in the front cheering her on in her sports and congratulating her on her wins. While you tried to make it obvious you want her it seems as though she is always distracted by the hundreds of girls waking up in her bed. But tonight you were determined to be the last one to be in her bed.

Across the floor of the party you saw the pair chatting while sipping on their respective drinks. Natasha was wearing a black wife beater with a loose pair of carpenter pants and a black leather jacket. Her thick red hair was cascading down in full waves. She was talking with a shorter redhead who you didn’t know but had seen her with a couple times but it never seemed to be romantically, so you weren’t threatened.  

“Okay fine only because you’re my best friend. I'll back off and I'll let you talk to her first, but if she’s not feeling you I'll shoot my shot. Okay?” Natasha said as she saw you looking in their direction getting ready to come over.

Wanda sighed, that’s not what she was hoping to hear. The truth is that she lied about wanting to talk to you. She only said that to keep Natasha from talking to you, so she could talk to Natasha. Yeah she talks to Natasha everyday but she wants Natasha to talk to her the way she talks to the millions of girls in her bed every night.

”Hey y/n it’s good to see you again.”, Natasha said as she wrapped her hands around your waist in a tight intimate hug. Wanda bites her lip holding back a growl at the sight.

”Oh my god natty, you are so strong i bet you could pick me up and squat me.” You said with a flirty grab to her bicep and your classic bambi eyes.

”I probably could, hopefully I see you next time I'm in the weight room. But um I don't think you met my friend Wanda.” Natasha said while pointing you in the direction of a shorter redhead with a nice build as well. 

“Oh hey Wanda nice to meet you, I'm y/n”, you said hurriedly and dismissively, not interested in talking to anyone but Natasha at the moment. 

“What are you drinking Natty? Why haven’t you gotten me a drink yet?” You said teasingly, taking her drink and making a show of putting your mouth to the tip of the bottle. 

“Yeah go ahead Nat buy her a drink I'll be fine.” Wanda said, waving you both off.

”Are you sure?” Natasha mouthed before you pulled her away.

Wanda nodded her head before going off to find something stronger for herself to drown her sorrows. 

“Alright let’s cut to the chase natty, do you not think i’m pretty?” You said scooting closer to her on the couch you two ended up on.

”What y/n I think you are absolutely gorgeous baby.” She said putting your hair behind your ear. 

“Okay well then i want you to take me somewhere and show me just how gorgeous you think I am. Okay natty?” You said in her ear before she shot up and led you out the room by your wrist.

The two of you wandered down the halls of the frat house, before stumbling into the first empty room. She closed the door and pushed you up against it putting her lips on yours in a rough kiss. Parting your lips, she let her tongue lazily roam around the inside of your mouth. 

“mmhm” you moaned into the kiss, before pulling away for air. While you were catching your breath she moved to kissing your neck and sucking a hickey right onto your pulse point making you moan even louder.

”mhm can I take this off baby.” She said while tugging on the fabric of your dress.

”Yes please take me to the bed.” you replied while she tore your dress off and threw you on the mattress.

“No bra baby? I knew you were a slut.” She said while grabbing handfuls of one breast and popping the other into her hot mouth, giving you pleasure that no man has ever made you feel. 

“Please take your clothes off too, natty. I want to see you.” You whined as she pulled back from your breast with a trail of spit before wiping her mouth and standing up. She threw her jacket across the room and stepped out of her pants, making a show of slowly unbuttoning her shirt so you could see her incredibly defined abs. 

You got on your knees and moved towards the end of the bed, impatiently ripping the rest of the shirt off. She laughed while discarding her bra, leaving her in only her boxers.

You reached out to grab her bulge. “ I wonder if it’s as big as all the girls say it is.” You say looking up at her while gently massaging the bulge.

”Only one way to find out I guess.” She said with a smirk gesturing for you to take the boxers off. 

You reached up and pulled the waistband down, eyes widening when her seemingly foot long penis popped out and hit you in the face.

” Wow and it’s thick too.” You giggled while looking up at her and jerking it between your hand spreading the precum along the length.

”Go ahead and see how it tastes.” She said grabbing a handful of your hair to pull your mouth on her dick. “mmhm just like that baby.”

She slowly starts to move her hips, thrusting herself down your throat. She tastes better than any man you’ve ever sucked, most likely a result of her diet and exercise.

”Shit, I can tell you’re a fucking professional, i’m gonna have to keep you for myself.”

You take your mouth off and continue to jerk her off while you look up and nod fervently, hearing exactly what you wanted to hear. 

“I’m real close, are you gonna be a good girl and swallow it or do you want me to punish you?” She said, increasing the intensity behind her thrusts. 

“No please I want it so bad, natty.” You said sucking the life out of her before she released her load down your throat. “very tasty” you said after swallowing it all and wiping your mouth. 

“Oh my god, where did you learn that? Hopefully you won’t be disappointed when I return the favor.” She said pushing you back on the bed, while pulling your panties down your legs.

She hovered over you and kissed you on the lips, before kissing her way down paying special attention to your breasts again. When she finally made it to your cunt she licked a stripe through the wetness, groaning at the taste.

”You are so wet, baby. It tastes so sweet.” She said looking into your eyes with a smile. 

“Please natty, it’s aching so bad.” You begged for her to continue.

”Don’t worry baby. I got you.” She licked her way through your cunt again circling your clit. Latching on, she takes two of her fingers and rubs them through your wetness before inserting them. She furiously sucks your clit into her mouth while curling her fingers, pistoning them into your cunt.

”Damn you are so tight I can’t wait to feel myself inside you.” She said while watching your cunt swallowing her fingers.

”Ugh i’m so close, natty please.” You said ready to let go.

”Go ahead and cum for me then.” She said while furiously rubbing your clit, before you inevitably let go.

A hot gush of liquid squirted out of your cunt hitting Natasha in the face. Smiling, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to catch your arousal.

”Oh that was so hot I got to get you to do that again. I never pegged you as a squirter though.”

”No one has ever made me do that before, but it felt so good.” You said with a goofy grin trying to catch your breath. 

“It was my pleasure, plus you taste delicious.” Natasha said before kissing you on the mouth, sticking her tongue in your mouth so you could taste yourself. 

“I know you’re still hard, I don’t think I need to beg you to fuck me. Do I?” You said pulling back and looking up at her. 

“Such a slut, I'm gonna teach you to watch your mouth.” She said, flipping you over and pulling you into your hands and knees. 

She slaps your ass and spits onto your cunt, before slipping in and bottoming out on the first thrust. 

“I knew you were gonna feel incredible, so fucking tight.” She moans while continuously slapping your ass. Speeding up her thrusts with so much intensity that the bed keeps knocking against the headboard.

”You fuck me so good natty, you’re so big.” You moan with a heavy breath, reaching back to feel her. 

“Are you on the pill? I don’t want to waste my load on your ass. I need to cum inside.” 

“Yes please I am cum inside me.” You begged.

Walking down the hallway of the frat house Wanda was stupidly drunk wanting to find somewhere to relax, because she figured Nat, the unrequited love of her life, had left her. Stumbling into the first room she saw, she slightly cracked open the door and was met with a heartbreaking sight. But she couldn’t help but watch. 

After a while of thrusting, Natasha felt this weird sensation of being watched, so she turned around and caught a glimpse of Wanda peeking through the door. She laughed to herself, not expecting Wanda to be such a perv. 

With a smirk she asked, “Have you ever had a threesome, y/n?”

”Yes I love being used by two people at once.” You said with a moan. 

“Okay. Come on in Wanda, I don’t mind sharing.” She said before hearing the door creak the rest of the way open. 

comment if you want a pt. 2!! 

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

The Locker Room Horizontal Tango. | Touya x Reader Imagine 🌶

UA Hero Course Touya x Support Course Y/N

Synopsis: An AU where Touya Todoroki is the top of the Hero Course at UA. He's hot, untouchable and and an absolute player - or so you think. The Reader is in the Support Course and often works on Touya's support gear and hero suit. After months of flirting back and forth, Touya initiates ridiculously steamy sex in the UA gym locker room. The sex is hot, but it seems he may have more than just fucking on his mind...

The shower is filled with steam - blending seamlessly with Touya's snow white hair. He's positioned the shower head so that the steam of scalding water is tilted away from you both. The stall is comfortably warm, and droplets of hot water still manage to splash random parts of your body as Touya positions you - hands against the warm tile walls and ass up towards him. He bends you over and makes sure you have good footing on the shiny tile floor before he strokes at your entrance with his cock. You gasp and the sensation - his wet tip gliding against your clit once, twice, three times, aaaand...

"Fuck, Touya!"

He doesn't take his time when he slides inside of you. He just starts moving. You weren't expecting him to move so quickly, but it doesn't really matter because your pussy has been soaking wet since he made eyes at you across the gym from his bench.

"Slow down, Jesus Christ." You manage to choke out as he pistons his hips and thrusts into you without warning. You feel so full and the stretch is absolutely delicious, but you want him to take his time. You want him to take you apart as meticulously as he promised he would in your Instagram DMs the night before.

"No can do, doll. Gotta be quick - we can't get caught like this." He says casually, but you can hear him straining to keep his voice even.

Hooking up in the UA gym locker room showers is definitely an expulsion-worthy offense. So, yeah, he's probably right. Gotta keep this short and sweet.

You throw your hips back and flex your pelvic muscles around his hard cock, and you hear him hiss out a curse in reply.

"Shit."

"I can play dirty, too." You smirk.

"Yeah. Okay. Sure." You hear the grin in his voice as he gives you a deep thrust and brings down his palm flat across the meat of your ass. It's not a hard slap - in fact, it barely makes a noise. But the sheer act of him smaking you around pushes you off the deep end. He's so fucking hot and so totally out of your league.

He slides his hands up to grip your hips so he can pick up the pace even more.

"Ever have a cock this good, doll face? I bet you haven't." He teases, getting comfortable as he gets a good feel for your pussy. "Your such a studious little slut. Always updating my costume. Don't think I didn't notice what you did to my jumpsuit...you made it so tight on my fucking ass I can barely get it on." He wanders a hand to your left cheek and squeezes hard. You yelp at the sensation. "Yeah, that's how I feel every goddamn time I need to suit up for training now. Sucks, doesn't it?" He squeezes your butt again, more softly this time. He slows down his pace a bit, then gives you a single hard thrust. Jesus, his dick is going to split you in two. "Consider this punishment."

You groan. You were hoping he'd notice that little modification...

"An ass like that needs to be accentuated." You whimper out under your breath. "It was my duty as a support specialist to make your pants less baggy to show off that juicy peach."

"You fucking little minx." Touya is laughing out loud. You peer back over his shoulder and see him smiling down at you, eyes genuinely happy. You've never seen his expression so unguarded before - he's always scowling or looking devastatingly mischievous. But right now he just looks like a guy who's having fun.

"Oh, you wanna make eye contact?" He asks, and it's a genuine question. He's not joking around or mocking you. You nod dumbly as his hips still. His cock sits inside you for a moment, motionless except for a small twitch of arousal. "Alright, lemme figure this out." He pulls out slowly. Your pussy pulses with need when he's gone, empty and desperate for hero course cock.

He uses his big, strong hands to pull you upright, resting them gently at your hips. You stand there, staring at the tiled shower wall with your back to him. You feel hot all over as you feel his hungry eyes on your ass, your back, your shoulders. He's only ever seen you in a mechanic jumpsuit in the Support Course lab or in your school uniform. This is the most of you he's ever seen - and he loves it.

He slowly moves his hands upwards to run appreciatively up your curves, skin sliding easily across your shower-damp skin.

"Fucking gorgeous." He breathes out, pulling you flush against him. You yelp in surprise as you feel his hard cock erect against your bare ass, his muscled stomach and chest slick against your back. He brings his hands up, up, up and scoops at your breasts. "I've had my eyes on these for a while." He squeezes at your tits, bringing his thumbs to circle your pert nipples. You let out a tiny moan of pleasure.

"That feel good?" He whispers, bending his neck so that his breath ghosts along the shell of your ear. "You like it when I play with your tits? Answer me, sweetheart. Tell me what you like."

He's being gentle now, and you're unsure about it. It's a complete departure from what you were expecting, from the hard fucking he was just so confidently dishing out.

"I can keep going hard for you, or we can slow things down." He offers up. You weren't expecting that. "Come on, tell me what you want." He squeezes your breasts lightly, eliciting a shiver throughout your body.

"Y-yeah. I like it when you touch my tits." You breathe out under your breath. You try to remember where you are - it's a Saturday afternoon and the men's locker room showers are likely to get quite busy soon as your classmates finish their workouts. You can't afford to be heard.

"Then I'll keep doing it." Touya says, fondling your breasts with the confidence you'd expect of the sex god of Class 3B. He pinches at your nipples in the most deliciously sinful way as he plants a hot kiss to your flushed neck. "And how would you like it if I touched riiiiight..." He lets his right hand wander down the expanse of your stomach and waist, dipping a long finger towards your pussy. "here?" He finds your clit and begins to circle it slowly.

"Oh!" You try to keep your voice low and fail as you squeak out an embarrassingly shrill moan. "Yeah. Yeah I like that, too." He continues to play with your clit - he's so confident and experienced and it all feels so. damn. good. You wish it would never end. You wish you were more articulate during sex. You wish that Touya fucking loves you as much as he loves fucking. But your pussy clenches needily, desperate to be filled back up. A greater woman would enjoy the attention and focus on the sensations of the top Hero Course student's capable hands on them. But you're not a greater woman. You're fucking horny and cock hungry.

"Please, Touya. Fuck me?" You whine out, grinding your ass against his hard cock. He laughs into your ear, planting a kiss on your cheek before he steps backwards and away from you. He releases his grip on your boob and pussy.

"Yeah, I'll give you what you need babygirl. Let's get you that eye contact, too." He turns you around and in an instant has you pressed against the warm tiled wall. His body melts into yours and he leans down to press your lips together as well, his hot mouth inviting and soft. Your eyes flutter shut as you kiss him back, pressing years of want into the hot slide of your lips. You've been lusting after him since first year. Every time he asks for modifications to his hero costume you make sure you get assigned to his case so you have an excuse to talk with him, tease him, make him laugh...you've always hoped and prayed that he'd want you just as badly. But this is Touya Todoroki, the guy who's managed to simultaneously be the school's bad boy and top of his class. He has his choice of literally anyone at UA, regardless of gender. Why would he ever choose you?

Your brain slyly slurs out: "Well he's certainly choosing you right now, isn't he?"

Yes indeed - here you are, on the receiving end of Touya's amazing tounge as he deepens the kiss and grabs at your hips with greedy hands. His cock is hard against your belly, twitching with desire.

He breaks the kiss for a moment to whisper "Touch me, Y/N." before sealing your lips back to his in another electrifying kiss. You bring your shaking hands up and around his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles of his back and neck before deciding to explore his chest. You slide your hands between your bodies, placing your open palms against his hard pecs. You drag your hands slowly, slowly down his rippling abs and stomach and he groans into your mouth at the contact.

You continue to kiss him, the rhythm of your lips becoming increasingly erratic when your hand brushes against his throbbing erection. You try to stay confident as you wrap your dexterous mechanic hand around the base of his cock, shocked at how big he is. He's sticky - a mixture of precum and slick from being inside of you. Goddamn this is so fucking hot. You try not to get caught up in your head as you move to slowly jerk him off, your hand sliding from base to tip in a smooth motion. He breathes in sharply and breaks away from your mouth, burying his face into your neck as your hand glazes over the tip of his cock. You gain some confidence and slide your hand back down to the base. His breath becomes ragged as you work at him, paying extra special attention to the tip of his dick.

"God." He breathes out, his hips lightly bucking to urge you on. "If I had known you'd be this good to me, I would have fucked you a long time ago. I've always wanted to bend you over that stupid help desk counter at the Support Course Lab. Wanted to strip you out of that stupid neon orange mechanic jumpsuit you're always wearing." He's grumbling nonsense into your neck as you pick up the pace, putting all of your energy into giving him a great handjob. "Ah! Ah! I'm gonna need you to stop that, beautiful."

You slide your hand off of his dick and he plants a soft kiss into your neck before pulling away from you. He stares down at you with an incredulous look in his piercing blue eyes, chest rising and falling heavily. "Fuck, the things you do to me." He whispers through full lips, his eyes darting down to your tits and then back up to meet your eyes. Your stomach does a little somersault at all the keen attention he's giving you. Is there a chance...that he actually likes you?

He reaches down between you and spins his fingertip against your clit again, causing your pussy to throb hungrily.

"Let's get you taken care of." He breathes out quietly, his face a breath away from your own. He taps at your clit again and smirks as you shift your body towards him needily, desperate for him to provide some sort of relief to your aching pussy. You look up at him with pleading eyes.

"Yeah, I could really use your cock right now." You say in a desperate, slutty sort of voice. It's a voice that even you are surprised to hear coming out of your mouth. Touya gives you another genuine laugh and you find yourself entranced by the sound.

"Don't worry, I've got you." He scoops up your right leg and positions it so that your knee presses against your chest. He presses your bodies back against eachother and uses his free hand to push the head of his cock to your entrance.

This time, he takes it slow. This time, he makes sure you feel every fucking inch of him slide into you. He stares into your wide eyes with his own shockingly bright eyes, desperate to see every emotion that flickers across your face as you take his thick cock.

You moan as he bottoms out inside of you, your body is thrilled to be full and stretched like this. Fuck. If he asked, you'd be his little slut til the end of time.

But the vibe has shifted - it's no longer hot and heavy and desperate.

No, in this new position, Touya is fucking worshiping your body with every stroke. His eyes are laser focused on your face, his lips parted as he lets out these tiny sighs of pleasure with each thrust. He presses your knee up a bit more so he can get a better angle, shifting his hips from side to side so that he can get as much of his cock inside of you as possible.

You have no idea what to do or say, you've never had someone's attention this laser focused on you during sex. You feel like you'll combust under his gaze, under his touch. His cock feels so fucking good inside of your tight heat - the gentle way he's dragging it backwards before lightly thrusting it back inside is absolute heaven. He keeps up a steady pace for a few moments before he dips his head so he can bury it back into your neck. His arms wrap around you and he pulls you into his chest, your knee pressed between your two bodies as he continues to fuck into you softly.

Your so overwhelmed with the magic of it all you keep forgetting to breathe. You feel so comfortable pressed against him like this, his cock buried in you as far as it will go. Your orgasm builds with each thrust, a tense coiling of golden ichor in your core.

Touya seems to feel the same because he picks up the pace, groaning quietly into the soft flesh of your neck with every rut. "Fuck this pussy is good Y/N." He flexes into you, the tip of his cock hitting a gloriously deep spot inside of you. You feel your legs start to shake with the pleasure of it all.

"Touya. Touya. I think I'm gonna..."

"Yeah baby? Can you cum for me, pretty girl?" He moans into your skin, pressing wet kisses to the place where your neck and shoulder meet. Baby? Pretty Girl? Fuck.

The pet names drive you over the edge and you cum hard around his cock. Your pussy flexes and flares and absolutely consumes him as he fucks up into you.

"Oh fuck baby. Fuck Yeah. Shit." Touya mutters a string of expletives appreciatively as he feels your cunt flutter and squeeze around him as you cream. He slides his hands down to your waist and helps you ride out your orgasm with stuttering hips. Your gummy walls try to milk him for his baby batter and you feel his breath hitch. The tail end of your orgasm slips away, leaving you a twitching mess in its wake.

"Shit. Baby. Shit. I'm gonna cum." Touya breathes, thrusting into you hard before quickly scrambling to pull out of your slick heat. Your leg drops to the ground as he takes a quick step away, splattering your stomach with thick cum as he barely makes it out in time. You lean back into the shower tile, catching your breath as Touya stares at you with wide, fucked out eyes. He rubs out the last waves of his orgasm, dick quickly going soft in his hand as he stares at your gorgeous, shaky body.

"Woah." He breathes, releasing his hold on his cock and straightening up to stand. He runs his hands through sex-wild white hair, laughing a bit as he comes back to himself.

"Yeah, woah." You slide down to sit on the floor, absolutely exhausted and caught up in the afterglow of the best fuck you've ever had. You close your eyes and drop your head back against the wall and breathe in deeply, your breasts bouncing with the effort of it.

After a moment, he joins you, knocking his bare knee against your own.

The shower is still going next to you both, droplets of hot water bouncing off the tile floor and clinging to your skin in small splashes.

"Would you be up for doing that again sometime?" He asks, voice open and eager.

You crack open an eye and look over at him, bewildered.

"Seriously?" You say, not even bothering to hide the surprise in your voice.

Yeah, when Touya started sexting you via Instagram late last night you were hoping for a good hot fuck. But that was it. You know Touya's reputation, and you know he doesn't sleep with anyone more than once. Plus - he's wayyy out of your league. He's a hot shot future hero and you're the kind of side character who's always behind the scenes. Most of the hero course students barely notice you, even when you help with their support gear. You're not a main character, you're just a face in the crowd.

"Did you hear anything I was saying before?" Touya laughs incredulously. "We've been friends for like three years, haven't we? Ever since you started working on my support gear in our first year."

It's true that the two of you have been known to chat and discuss his support gear. You'll even grab lunch together every few weeks to chat through shared course work and the general UA curriculum. But this whole time you thought he was just buttering you up so you'd do your best when working on his hero gear. You're friendly with him, sure. You're friendly with a lot of people. It's part of being in Support - customer service and that sort of thing.

Hold on.

You think back to all of the memes he's sent you on Instagram, the times he's waved to you in the hall. The extra hours he's spent chatting with you while you tinkered with his support gear in the lab, the times he's snuck you extra sweets from Lunch Rush as a thank you for the suit modifications. Holy shit. You've been putting this guy on a fucking pedestal and this whole entire time he's been...trying to make you his friend!?

You give him a surprised look, eyebrows raised. Your mouth is trying to find words but you're at an utter loss.

"Y/N. You can't be serious. I've been trying to get your attention for literal months." He's giving you a look of bafflement. "I've been flirting with you forever. Like...every time I come to the Lab. My support gear has been working perfectly all year, didn't you notice that the cuff to my gloves kept breaking in the same spot? I literally have been taking it apart with a screwdriver every other week for an excuse to come back to the Lab to talk to you."

"Huh!?" Your brain is crashing out as it scrambles to think back to all the times Touya would show up to the Lab, sheepishly grinning as he showed you the latest way he's managed to break his support gear "during training."

"Y/N." Touya shakes his head in disbelief, then throws back his head and laughs - illicit locker room hookup be damned. You can't help but start laughing with him. "Come here." He stands up and hauls you to your feet.

The showers in the locker room are private and broken into two sections - a tiny curtained changing area that leads into the larger shower space. He opens the shower curtain to the cramped changing area to grab his gym bag. He unzips it and pulls out a washcloth alongside a ziplock bag filled with toiletries. He ducks back into the shower area where you're standing awkwardly, completely naked and still sticky from sex.

He reaches behind you to adjust the shower head so that it's back in place, and gently pushes you under the warm water. You feel your muscles relaxing under the hot steamy flow. You close your eyes and tilt your head back to wet your hair. You're exhausted and feeling such a complex mix of emotions - nerves at how you'll escape the men's locker room undetected, delight at the orgasm you've just shared with the hottest guy at UA, and surprise and excitement that Touya has been trying to pursue you all this time.

You let out a small "eep!" of surprise as you feel Touya slot himself behind you. He wraps his muscled arms around your body and squeezes you in a brief hug, before sliding a thick bar of soap across the plush skin of your stomach.

"Let's get you cleaned up." He says quietly, his voice a tickle in your ear as he dips to kiss your neck. He slowly soaps you up, bubbles of suds glinting across your skin in the low florescent light of the school shower. He touches you like you're something valuable, something to be cherished. It makes your heart feel like you might explode.

In a few minutes, you're squeaky clean. You've used some of the shampoo from the shower's soap dispenser to lather at your hair, and Touya's made short work of your body with soap and a washcloth. But he doesn't stop there. He kneads at your sore shoulder muscles under the hot water, laughing softly when you arch into his gentle touch. Who would have thought that Touya would be the king of aftercare!?

It's a quiet, intimate thing to be touched by Touya in this way. Even in your wildest Touya fantasies, you never let yourself dream that a post-coital Touya could be so sweet. You've only heard rumors of his reputation as a heartbreaker - he's always fucking and leaving. You don't even realize that you've said this aloud to him until he pauses in his gentle massage at the nape of your neck.

"Huh. Yeah that's a fair concern. Well...think of it this way. I have a lot of fuckin' goals. I want to be number one at school. I want to be the number one hero once we graduate. I've never had time for relationships or feelings or shit - but sex is fun. I tell everyone before I sleep with them not to expect anything more than a good fuck. It's not like I'm purposefully running around 'breaking hearts.' I'm upfront about what I want and what I can give."

"But..." You're not sure if you want to be having this discussion, you don't want to set yourself up for disappointment. You're confused about this whole situation and what it means. "You didn't tell me that. You didn't tell me not to expect anything more than sex. That's fine, though. I assumed this would just be a quick one-off thing." You say, sighing as he resumes rolling out your muscles with his capable fingers.

"Y/N." He huffs out a laugh, squeezing at your shoulders lightly. "I already said I want to do this again with you. In fact...Y/N I want to fucking date you. School schedule and hero shit be damed." He wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you against him. You feel the hard planes of his chest muscles naked against the skin of your back. You're covered in goosebumps at the skin-to-skin contact and at his unbelievable words. "I thought I've made it clear to you - I'm interested. I'm invested. I have been for a while." He sucks in a breath, and you realize that he's pitching you. This idiot is trying to convince you to let him date you. This is real insanity hours now - there's no way in a thousand years that you would have seen this coming.

Touya nuzzles his pointed, aristocratic face into your shoulder. The hot water continues to pour from the shower head, drenching you both in warmth. Your mind races - Touya Todoroki wants to date you!? Maybe you aren't just a face in the crowd, after all. You stay silent as you mull it all over. He fills the airspace the best he can: "I can't promise you I'll be any good at this relationship stuff...I've never done it before. But if you'll have me, I'll try to be the best damn boyfriend I can. Think about it - Touya Todoroki, number one in the class. Number one in your heart. Number one boyfriend. Has a nice ring to it, yeah?" He laughs, and once again it's that clear, unguarded sound that makes your heart squeeze.

"I'd like that." Is all you can manage to say. You're so overwhelmed - thoughts and question buzzing around in your head like a hive of angry bees. Loud bees. "I'm gonna need a hot minute to process all of this." Your legs are still shaky and you are starting to feel dehydrated. You want to go lay down in your bed for a while and just think about it all.

"Take your time, beautiful." Touya sounds pleased as he plants another smooch on your cheek. "We're in no rush. I texted all of the guys to steer clear of the locker room for another half hour."

"What!?" You say, incredulous. You had thought this was a super secret sexy hookup that no one would ever know about.

"Yeah, well, I didn't want us to be interrupted. And everyone owes me a favor from when I got training cancelled last week by accidentally setting Gym C on fire."

"So everyone knows that you and I are...?"

You don't need to look at Touya to know he's got that wicked grin plastered to his face - the one that shows off his mischievous dimples. "Hey, I didn't explicitly say what we would be doing...but..." He shrugs, all cocky confidence. "I think it was pretty easy for them to read between the lines."

"Touya Todoroki." You admonish, stepping out and away from him so you can turn around and deliver a light smack to his chest. "You are an absolute menace."

His bright teeth sparkle in the lowlight and you're stricken by how damn pretty he is.

"Yeah, yeah." He says, reaching to grab your bare hips and pull you towards him. He dips his head down so he's a breath away from your lips. "Let me show you just how menacing I can be, sweetheart." He kisses you, and it's as if your lips are magnetic the way they are pulled back to his over and over.

Touya Todoroki, Number One Boyfriend.

Huh. You kind of like the sound of that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note:

Hope you liked this lil Touya x Reader fic! I'm really on a Touya kick right now...

I really like to think of Touya as misunderstood, esp in this AU. He talks a big game and he seems like he has his shit together, but he's actually a big softie with feelings™. Touya would so totally pine after someone for years before making a big dramatic move to try and capture their feelings. In this particular AU, Touya knows he's good at sex and it's much easier for him to open up once he's kind of shown the reader what he's bringing to the table (physically, at least). Anyways, hope you enjoyed! More Touya fics on the way because I can't stop thinking about this idiot.

Linking my other Touya-centric fics below :)

Dabi x Hawks

Bed Chem. | Dabi x Hawks 🌶🔥🦅

Dabi x Reader

Unexpected Flames | Dabi/Touya x Reader

Staples. | Dabi/Touya x Reader 🔥🔞

Game On. | Touya x Reader Imagine 🌶

🔥 My Master List 🔥

XOXO,

Red Riot Unbreakable Heart

[coolemmasulivan2]

There For You

Pairing: Mason Mount x Physician!Reader

Summary: You’re a physician at the club who’s grown close to Mason. However, after he suffers another injury, he begins to distance himself, leaving you confused and unsure of how to help him.

Word count: 2729

I'll be there when you need me most I'll be there if you're ever alone Together, we can grow old I can't leave you

It was your first day back at the training camp after two weeks off, and your stomach twisted in pain as you scanned the list of injured players and Mason’s name was at the top.

You hated seeing his name there. He’d been through so much already, and every setback felt like life was testing him a little too harshly. Ever since moving to the club, he’d spent more time in your office than any player should. It seemed like he couldn’t catch a break.

In those long hours spent tending to his injuries and working on his recovery plans, the two of you had built a beautiful friendship, not because he was a regular in your office, but because of who he was.

Even when he was hurting, Mason had a way of lightening the mood. He always managed a smile. It was the kind of smile that said, I’ll get through this. Somehow, I always do.

Maybe that’s why, little by little, you’d fallen for him. It wasn’t just his courage or his never-quit attitude, it was the way he smiled, even when life knocked him down.

The night before, you had watched the game against City, and you didn’t need to be there in person to know it had happened again. The moment you saw Mason sitting on the field, head down in defeat, your heart broke for him.

"No! Bloody hell! Someone get this guy to a witch." Your dad shouted at the TV, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Someone’s playing with his voodoo doll!"

"Dad!" You called out, shooting him a look as your little nephew that was Mason's fan sank on the sofa.

"What? It’s true!" He replied, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The United scarf around his neck swayed as he turned back to the screen. "The guy’s got more than bad luck."

You opened the door and stepped into the medical office. Mason was already sitting on the examination bed, his head down, eyes fixed on his hands as they opened and closed into tight fists.

"Hey, Mason!" You greeted softly.

His head shot up, his expression briefly surprised. "Hey!" He said, his voice deeper than usual. He didn’t smile like he normally did. "I thought you were still on holiday."

"They don't let me have three weeks off during the Premier League." You said with a small chuckle as you pulled on a pair of blue gloves. "And it’s a good thing they don't Let's have a look?"

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and laid back on the bed, stretching out his legs.

As you started examining his leg, you kept your tone light, hoping to break through his mood. "You've been through worse, right? I mean, you're basically indestructible at this point." That earned you nothing. No laugh, no smile, not even a glance. Just silence.

You focused on your work, carefully testing for swelling and tender areas. Mason didn't flinch, didn't make a sound, but the tension in his jaw told you everything you needed to know.

You sighed softly, stepping back. "Okay."

"It's bad, isn't it?" He asked, his tone clipped, as though he already knew the answer.

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. "It's not great." You admitted, keeping your voice steady. "The scans will give us the full picture, but you'll need to rest for a few weeks, at least."

At that, Mason let out a short, bitter laugh. "A few weeks. Of course." He shook his head and sat up, his movements stiff and frustrated.

"I know it's frustrating." You said gently, trying to reach him. "But we'll make sure you heal properly, and you'll come back even stronger. You've done it before."

"Yeah." He said flatly, his tone ice-cold. "And look where that got me."

The sharpness of his words stung, catching you off guard. You glanced up, meeting his gaze. His face was hard, his usual warmth replaced with a wall of indifference.

"You're allowed to be upset." You said softly. "This is a tough break, but it's not the end. You're one of the strongest people I know, Mason."

He let out a small, humorless smile that never reached his eyes. "Thanks for the pep talk." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll add it to my collection."

Before you could respond, Mason pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his phone from the desk and walked out of the office without a second glance.

You stood there, speechless, the weight of his frustration and pain settling heavily in the room.

"So, he just left?" Your best friend asked, setting her beer down on the table with a thud.

"Yeah!" You said, still in disbelief. "I mean… I get it. He's angry and frustrated with everything going on, but I... I was just trying to help him." You took a long sip of your beer, then lowered your voice to a whisper. "I just want to help him."

Your friend gave you a knowing smile, leaning back in her chair. "You're so down bad for him."

You groaned, running your hands through your hair. "I know."

You groaned, running your hands through your hair. "I know."

Your friend chuckled. "Honestly, I don't blame you. The guy's gorgeous. Moody, apparently, but gorgeous."

"It's not just that. It's… He's been through so much, and he still manages to stay so positive. He works harder than anyone I've ever seen. He deserves more than this."

"And yet, he shut you out."

"Yeah." You sighed, slumping back in your chair. "I don’t think it's personal. I think he's just… overwhelmed. But it still stung, you know? We've talked so much before. I thought I..." You paused, trying to find the words. "I thought I could be someone he leaned on."

Your friend reached across the table, squeezing your hand. "He will, eventually. Sometimes guys like him need time. Doesn't mean you're not important to him."

You gave her a grateful look. "I hope you're right."

The next morning, you were in your office early, sipping coffee and organizing your notes. You had barely slept, your mind replaying the tension with Mason over and over.

With a sigh, you shook off the memory and focused on the task at hand, jotting down follow-up plans for a few players. The knock on your door startled you.

"Come in!" You called, glancing up.

Your coworker, James, stepped in, clipboard in hand. "Morning." He said, his tone casual but hesitant, like he was bracing himself for something.

"Morning." You replied, eyeing him curiously. "What's up?"

He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh… just wanted to give you a heads-up. Mason requested to transfer to me for his treatment plan."

You froze. "What?"

James gave a small shrug. "He asked me this morning. Said he wanted to switch."

"Why?" You asked, the word coming out sharper than you intended.

"I don't know." James said carefully "He didn't say much, just that he thought it would be better for him."

You stared at him, stunned. "Better for him? I don't understand. Why would he…" You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

James sighed. "Look, I didn't want to get into it. I know you two are friends, you have a close relationship, but If you want to know why, you're going to have to ask him."

For a moment, you just sat there, trying to make sense of what you’d just heard.

"I see." You said finally, your voice quieter now. "Thanks for letting me know, James."

James gave you a sympathetic look. "Hey, don't take it personally, okay? He's going through a lot. You know how players can get when they're injured. It's probably just his way of dealing with it."

"Yeah." You murmured, forcing a small smile. "I get it."

But as James left, you found yourself staring at your desk, Mason’s name at the top of your notes. Why didn’t he want your help anymore?

Mason was sitting on the bench in the locker room, phone in hand, as he responded to a text from his brother. He barely looked up when Bruno walked in.

"Hey!" Bruno said casually, shrugging off his jacket with an air of ease.

"Hey!" Mason replied, his eyes still glued to his phone. "How was training?"

Bruno snorted, tugging on a clean shirt. "Good." He said shortly, clearly uninterested in lingering on the topic. Instead, he glanced over at Mason. "James told me you switched to him for physio."

Mason shrugged, leaning back. "Yeah. Figured it's better this way."

Bruno raised an eyebrow as he sat down, pulling off his trainers. "Better for you or for her?" His tone was light, but his words hit home.

Mason's jaw tightened as he turned to look at Bruno. "What?"

"You and Y/n seemed close." Bruno said. "She's solid, actually gives a crap about us, which, let's be real, doesn't happen every day."

"James is solid too."

Bruno held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, she might be wondering why you're icing her out." Mason didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Bruno sighed as he stood, slinging his towel over his shoulder. "Whatever you're running from, just make sure you're not pushing the wrong people away, mate."

Mason stayed silent, the weight of Bruno's words settling over him. He kept his head down, listening to the sound of Bruno's footsteps as he disappeared toward the showers.

A week had passed, and you still hadn't managed to speak to Mason in person. You'd tried texting him multiple times, asking if something was wrong, if you'd upset him somehow, but he always left you on read.

Today, you were determined to put an end to the silence. It was your day off, but you knew Mason would be at the camp. So, you drove there, parking directly in front of his car and waiting.

As usual, Mason was one of the last to leave, even though he hadn't been training with the team. He emerged from the building, his bag over his shoulder and his coat zipped all the way up against the cold, as he made his way toward his car.

You took a deep breath and stepped out of your car. He didn't notice you at first, his focus elsewhere, but as you moved closer, emerging from the shadows, he froze on his tracks.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there under the dim parking lot lights.

You suddenly felt nervous and exposed. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Slowly, both of you began to move, closing the distance until you were close enough to reach out and touch him.

"Hi?" You shot back. An avalanche of words was threatening to tumble out. "That's it? That's all you've got to say? Hi?" Mason opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance. "No, Mason, I don't want your 'Hi.' I want answers. I want to know why. Why did you ask to be transferred to James? Why have you been ignoring me?" You kept going, every bottled-up thought spilling out. Mason stood there, silent, his gaze fixed on you. Even in anger, you were still cute. "Mason?" You demanded, pulling him out of his trance.

He blinked, suddenly lifting his eyes from your lips to meet yours. "What?"

You shook your head, letting out a sigh. "Have I done something wrong?"

Mason's swallowed hard, his gaze breaking away from yours. "You haven't done anything wrong, Y/n!" He said quietly.

Your chest tightened at his words. "Then why?" Your voice cracked, trembling under the weight of your emotions. "I thought we were friends, Mason."

Mason let out a sarcastic chuckle. "That's the problem!"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What?"

"I-- I don't want to be your friend." He said, his voice just enough to make you freeze. "I don't want to be your friend because I want to be so much more! I want to be the one who carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the sofa. I want to be the one you ask to open jars, the one whose hoodies you steal. I want to be the person who holds you when you cry and makes you laugh when you need it. I want to take care of you—not the other way around." His words knocked the wind out of you.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You weren't one to be left speechless, but somehow Mason had managed it.

"I... do you like me?" You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mason bit his lip, almost nervously. "Was that not obvious?"

"But… why would you push me away? Wait--" Your eyes widened. "Did you do this because you were my patient?"

Mason let out a long sigh, his breath visible in the chilly Manchester air. "I'm tired, Y/n." He said, his voice low and pained. "You've seen me at my worst since the day we met. And I hate that. I hate that you've only ever seen this version of me: the injured, broken version."

"Mase--"

"No!" He interrupted, his voice cracking. "I feel like everything's going wrong. I feel like I’m failing as a footballer, as a person. And I hate that all you've seen is that failure."

You reached for him, your hands trembling as they rested on his arms. "Mason, listen to me." You said firmly. "The last thing I see you as is a failure." He turned his face away, but you cupped his face, gently forcing him to meet your gaze. "You’re the strongest, most hardworking person I know. Maybe you’ve had more setbacks than most, but you work three times harder than anyone else. I’m your physician, yes, but I’m also your friend. And I just want to help you. I want to be there for you, no matter what."

For a moment, he looked at you like you had hung the moon and stars. His hand rose hesitantly, cupping your cheek as if he were afraid you might disappear.

Slowly, his face leaned closer to yours, his lips brushing yours gently. When you didn’t pull away, your lips parted, and he kissed you.

The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, then deeper, carrying the weight of everything unsaid until now. For that moment, there was no cold air, no frustration, no confusion, just the warmth of his lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart, your breaths mingled in the frosty air. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read you.

"I'm sorry." Mason whispered.

"For what?" You asked softly.

"For pushing you away. For being such a mess." He admitted, his eyes dropping to the ground. "You deserve someone who's got it all together, not someone who's barely holding on."

You shook your head. "Mason, no one has it all together. We're all just doing our best. And you're not a mess, you're human. You're allowed to feel frustrated, to have bad days. But you don't have to go through it alone."

"You make me want to be better." He said quietly.

"And you make me want to fight harder." You replied with a shy smile.

He pulled you into a tight embrace and you burried your face in his neck. The weight of his struggles seemed to melt away. The two of you stood there for a while, wrapped in each other's arms. When you pulled apart, he looked down at you and smiled.

You gave him a gentle smile, tucking your hands into your pockets, suddenly feeling shy. "So… go home, rest, and we'll talk... tomorrow? Properly this time."

"Properly." He repeated with a nod.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The night air was cold, but the warmth of the moment made it easy to ignore. Finally, you took a small step back as you said goodbye, offering him one last glance before turning to leave.

"Y/n." His voice stopped you in your tracks.

You turned. "Yes?"

He hesitated. "Do you… do you want to have dinner? Like... today!"

A smile spread across your face. "I'd love that."

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 9 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

“You didn’t!” Tara laughs happily and continues unwrapping the gift I got her which is a vintage video camera.

I figured she’d like it because she wants to be a film major and judging by her reaction, she does.

She woke me a couple of minutes ago by literally sitting on me, wishing me a Merry Christmas before shoving a present for me in my face.

I haven’t opened it yet because I wanted to see her reaction to my present first, and also because I want Sam to be there when I open it because it’s from both of them.

Tara finishes unwrapping and takes the camera out of its box, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is so cool.”

She inspects it from all angles and turns it on while I watch, happy that she likes it.

“You guys started without me?”

Sam’s voice makes me look over my shoulder and when I see her standing in the doorway of her room with a pout and sleep mussed hair, I smile and get up, stretching.

“Tara did, but don’t worry. You haven’t missed much so far.”

Sam huffs, but I can tell she’s not really annoyed. She makes her way over to us and plops down on the couch, running her fingers through her tangled hair in an attempt to tame it a little.

It looks like she’s still half asleep and I can’t help but think how adorable she looks like this, wearing faded gray sweatpants and an oversized black shirt.

The memory of her putting a blanket over me last night is still fresh in my mind, and I make a mental note to finally talk to her once we’re alone.

Tara fumbles around with the camera and moves to her sister’s side to show her what I got her. Sam seems impressed and she asks Tara to try and film something and while the two of them are busy figuring out how the camera works I pull off my hoodie.

I’ve been hot since I woke up, but I haven’t had a chance to take it off until now.

“Damn, Y/N,” Tara comments.

I raise an eyebrow as I pull my shirt, which rode up, back down over my stomach. “Huh?”

The camera momentarily forgotten in her hands, Tara wiggles her eyebrows suggestively while gesturing at me. “Someone’s been working out.”

My eyes widen in surprise before embarrassment washes over me.

It’s true, I’ve been working out like crazy since getting back on my feet, and I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been now that playing hockey is my literal job, but I usually don’t like to show it off and I really didn’t mean to expose myself like that just now.

“I mean, do they feed you steroids in Boston, or what?” Tara teases with a smirk.

“No they don’t, shut up,” I fire back weakly, tossing the hoodie at her face.

She catches it in time before it hits her and puts it down next to her, her smirk still present. “I’m just sayin’.”

I roll my eyes and scratch the back of my neck, hoping my cheeks aren’t all too red. “Yeah, whatever. Thanks.”

Tara chuckles and I go to take a seat on the couch next to her when I notice the way Sam’s uncharacteristically quiet.

I glance at her, worried that something might be wrong, but what I see makes my heart swoop in my chest instead.

Her eyes are trained on her fumbling hands in her lap, the tips of her ears are red, and she keeps swallowing thickly. In short, she’s flustered and the fact that it’s because my shirt rode up makes my heart beat faster and makes me feel like it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Not wanting to embarrass her though, I don’t comment on it and take a seat, gesturing for Tara to hand me the other gift on top of my bag.

“This one’s for you,” I say to Sam once Tara has given it to me and the way Sam’s brown eyes widen in surprise makes me chuckle softly. “What? You thought I wouldn’t get you anything?”

“N-No, I just— That’s not,” she stammers, clearing her throat and looking down for a moment before looking back up with a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I hand it to her and try not to let it show that a shiver runs up my spine when her finger brush against mine.

Tara puts her camera down and together we watch Sam unwrap the flat, palm-sized box. She shoots me a questioning look, realizing it’s a black jewlery box, but I don’t say anything. I just smile and encourage her to open it with a wave of my hand.

Tara looks at me with a knowing smile and I smile back, loving the way Sam gasps in disbelief when her eyes land on the gold necklace on display inside the box.

“Do you like it?” I ask and the way Sam’s eyes shine when she looks up is answer enough.

Even so, she nods vigorously, her eyes darting back and forth between me and the necklace. “I love it, b-but how did you—?”

I shrug, feigning ignorance, and Tara does her best to hide her smile by busying herself with her camera again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say. “I just saw this and thought you’d like it.”

Sam chuckles incredulously and a, “Liar” slips past her lips, but she doesn’t ask how I knew about it again. Instead she looks back at the necklace, her finger brushing over the sun symbol engraved in the round pendant before taking it out and turning to me with a vulnerable expression. “Put it on me?”

I nod timidly, suddenly feeling shy and doing my best to ignore the questioning look Tara shoots at me before taking the necklace from Sam.

She shifts on the couch so her back is turned to me, and gathers her hair in a ponytail, exposing her neck to me.

I force myself to breathe normally at the sight, wanting nothing more than to press a kiss to it, and put the necklace around her neck.

“Thank you.” Sam lets go of her hair again and turns back around, touching the pendant for a moment before hugging me.

I hug her back and this time I don’t stop myself from pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. It makes her tighten her arms around my neck before pulling back.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” Tara says, grabbing my present and throwing it in my lap.

I chuckle and shoot Sam one last smile, getting to work on unwrapping my own present.

It’s turns out to be a jewelry box as well, but it’s smaller than Sam’s and when I open it and see what’s inside, I immediately feel tears prick my eyes.

It’s a gold bracelet with my parents’ initials engraved in it in their handwriting.

I swallow thickly and look up to find Sam and Tara watching me hopefully.

“Guys. . . This is—“ I clear my throat and blink my tears away, “—This is beautiful. Thank you.”

The two sisters exhale, relieved, and Tara is quick to climb over Sam to put the bracelet on my wrist.

“There. . . Now you’ll always have a part of your parents with you,” she says, adding, “It was Sam’s idea.”

I rub my eyes to get rid of any more tears and kiss the top of her head before looking at Sam over her shoulder. “Thank you. Really. It means a lot to me.”

I love it. I absolutely love it, but the fact that it was Sam’s idea makes it extra special.

The two of them really are my family, and I just know that if my parents could see us now they’d be glad that we all found our way back to each other.

“So, how are Liam and Paige?” Tara asks over breakfast.

After we exchanged a few more presents we all got ready for the day and made breakfast together. Sam did most of the cooking since she decided we were having pancakes, but Tara and I l cut some fruits, made coffee, and set the table.

“Good.” I say after swallowing the sip of coffee I just took. “Liam just moved to New York and Paige moved to Portland, but they’re both here for the holidays to visit their parents.”

“Paige moved to Portland?” Tara asks with a raised eyebrow. “Why not New York, like Liam?”

Sam hums in agreement and I take another bite of my pancakes before answering, “Because her girlfriend lives in Portland. They’ve been doing long distance for over two years and they were sick of never seeing each other, so they decided to move in together.”

“Hmm, alright. Makes sense,” Tara says, ready to move on, but Sam snorts and stabs a piece of strawberry with her fork, saying, “Yeah, good for them. . . I’d never do long distance.”

I freeze, but no one notices and Sam goes on, unfazed. “I mean, only being able to see each other five or six times a year, maybe even less? Yeah, no thank you.”

Tara shrugs, obviously not caring, but I stay still, feeling like the rug’s just been pulled out from under me.

I live in Boston and Sam lives here. . . Even if she had feelings for me, she’d never want to be in a relationship with me. She just made that perfectly clear.

The realization feels like a punch to my stomach and I no longer feel like eating, completely drowning out Tara’s voice when she changes the subject.

Sam will never be with me, so it doesn’t matter how she feels about me. It doesn’t matter how I feel about her.

I set down my fork and get up, feeling like I’m in a trance.

Tara and Sam stop talking at the abruptness of my movement, their eyebrows furrowing, and before they can ask what I’m doing I mumble, “I’m going to take a shower, I’m a little cold.“

I’m neither cold, nor do I need a shower, but I need a moment to control my emotions and hide how much what Sam just said hurt me, so I go to my bag to grab a fresh set of clothes.

“Y/N. . .?” Tara asks hesitantly, but I don’t answer. I just go to the bathroom, lock the door behind me and get into the shower.

Sam doesn’t owe me anything. I know that, but what she said hurt and made me realize that the hope I had of ever being with her was futile.

All along, it was futile. We’ll never be together and she’ll never see me the way I see her.

Maybe I should try to move on. . .

A tear rolls down my cheek and I don’t bother wiping it away because the stream of the shower washes it away a moment later.

When I get out of the bathroom, the apartment is quiet and at first I think no one’s home, but then I sport Tara on the couch, figuring out how to work her new camera.

Sam is nowhere to be seen, but the table has been cleared and the dishwasher is running so she can’t be far.

“Hey, Sprout,” I say quietly, taking a seat next to her. “You good?”

Tara looks up and the way her eyes soften at the sight of me makes me wonder if my inner turmoil is really that obvious.

“Sam went out to get some snacks for when Mindy and Chad come over,” she says which makes me frown.

“I. . . didn’t ask,” I say tentatively, not wanting to offend her.

Tara just sighs and puts the camera down, turning to me with her lips pulled into a frown. “No, you didn’t, but I know you.”

That makes me smile nervously. “What are you talking about?”

Tara’s shoulders sag and she wordlessly moves to my side, resting her head on my shoulder and hugging my arm to her chest. “I know you like Sam, Y/N. I’ve known since the day she left. You weren’t just sad because your best friend left. . . You were heartbroken.”

I swallow thickly. I’ve always made it a point not to lie to Tara, so I’m not going to start now by denying anything. I don’t know what to say though, so I stay silent and sink back into the couch, letting my cheek rest against the top of her head.

“I know what she said about the whole long distance thing really bummed you out, but I don’t think she even realizes what it meant to you when she said it,” Tara whispers. “She can be a little. . . insensitive sometimes, but. . . I see the way she looks at you, Y/N, and all I can ask of you is that you don’t give up on her just yet.”

I sigh and nudge Tara’s knee with my own. “Easier said than done, Sprout.”

Tara sighs as well and squeezes my arm. “I know.”

Silence settles over us for a couple of moments until I remember something I’ve been meaning to tell Tara for a while now.

“Tara?”

“Yeah?”

“While we’re being honest I just want to say I’m sorry for how things turned out with you and Amber. I know you liked her.”

Like me, she doesn’t deny anything. She just holds my arm tighter and plays with the fabric of my sleeve.

_______________________________________________

Very short chapter, but it was necessary before we dive into the plot of the sixth movie next chapter.

Hope you all enjoyed it!

Next chapter is definitely going to be longer, I promise, but it’s going to take some time to write.

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(new chapters might come later than usual bc my friend went missing and I’m trying to find them, but I hope you guys enjoy this own! i tried switching it up and giving a few different perspectives, and there’s also a lot of seemingly hypocritical and paradoxical emotions, but this isn’t just me forgetting what I made my characters feel earlier, I just think they’d have a large mix and range of feelings)

(edit: my missing friend was found, don’t have any more details but I know they’re safe at least)

tw: panic attack?, zoning out, jealousy, almost distressing, mentions of abuse, tomato soup (ew), more abuse, just a bit of comfort (not rlly tho)

“Where’s—“

“Hush.”

Ghost’s words were quickly cut off with Price’s finger to his lips as he stood outside the door, your door, looking through the thin mesh wired window that proceed the tiniest glance in.

Simon had been looking for Johnny since morning. Soap wasn’t bound to his bed anymore, but that didn’t mean he needed to be all up and about. He was still technically at risk for PTSD episodes, panic attacks, confusion, hell, even the thought of him having to go through that alone was enough to make Ghost nervous.

But curiosity struck him like a train when he saw Price staring so intently through that window. All he expected was you laying there, hiding, still affected by the strange mental state you were in.

However, as he moved closer, he caught the tiniest whiff of it through the door. Underneath Price’s scent, a bittersweet mix of jealousy and guilt, was Johnny’s. In that room.

And Simon should’ve felt happy for the way Johnny’s scent had lost that bitter edge that seemed to have been there since the beginning of his recovery, but all he felt was something building up in his chest, something he thought had left a long, long time ago. Price moved out of the way, a glint of emotion in his eyes as he went to walk down the hallway, his posture stiff and tense.

He looked through the window, the dimly lit room showing Johnny and their alpha curled up on the floor. Simon’s first thought was that Johnny shouldn’t have been on the floor like that, that he might rip a stitch, that he could get cold and that protective urge to provide and keep him safe and warm. An urge, an instinct he’d smothered years ago, had tortured out of him in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Ukraine years ago.

You were nearly shivering, just barely not because of Johnny, the weakness that was his strong instincts taking over and making him curl up around you in disregard for his own health.

Soap had always had the strongest instincts, never tried to smother them, never been ashamed of his urge to keep his team safe and care for them, make food for them, nest with them. Ghost had never understood it.

His father had been an insecure beta, always angry, always drinking to distract himself from how he felt displaced in society, with no instincts, heats, or ruts for himself. He’d resented his own nature, breaking apart the pack of the family, cruel punishment for any showing of instincts, spewing about how it was weakness.

Price had spent years undoing that ideology, countless gifts, courting for years, and it still lingered.

Feeling an anger terrifyingly similar to what he’d always imagined his father must’ve felt build in his chest, he went to walk off. Johnny would be fine. You would be fine. It wasn’t like he cared. He didn’t want to court you, didn’t want you in their nest. Sure, he felt a bit bad, you’d gotten into this whole state because of him, but the others would handle all the emotional instinctual bullshit.

They always did.

~

John’s eyes skimmed over the paperwork on his desk, trying not to notice the voice in the back of his mind, his omega whispering to him.

“It’s going to fall apart.”

No, it wouldn’t. Their pack had been established for years now, long before you’d ever arrived. One single incident surely wasn’t enough to make it fall apart, even if he felt the bonds fraying more every day, with every cold night spent in his office while the others were in the nest.

Except Johnny.

Poisonous, intoxicating words slipped from the back of his mind and slowly moved to the forefront as he got more distracted from his paperwork, from reality. Words blurred as he closed his eyes, sighing while he rubbed them.

“Your fault.”

It whispered.

It wasn’t his fault, was it? He’d let the alpha into their pack, tried telling his men everything would be fine, despite his own doubts. Maybe they’d noticed the cracks in his usual confidence on decisions and slipped into them. Maybe he had failed them.

God knows he’d definitely failed you.

“Shut it,”

He muttered under his breath, hand coming to rest on his forehead, his arm braced against his desk.

They didn’t shut it. His omega refused to shut it, bullying its way to the forefront of his mind, sowing insecurities everywhere it could.

He could’ve done better. Done more to keep you comfortable, keep you satisfied and content, invited you to the nest, welcomed you to the pack. But he’d chosen to be bitter and think more about Soap’s absence than your presence, living in the past, and the version of the future he’d wanted.

He had failed you as an omega. He had been the leader of the pack; leading everyone else to reject you as well, influencing their decisions and feelings, even if indirectly.

Your condition was his fault.

Now his entire team had to bear the consequences of his actions.

He wasn’t cut out to be a leader.

Maybe he should just—

“John?”

His eyes jolted back open, back to his office as his omega reluctantly retreated with a hiss, leaving him reeling as he tried to pull himself together.

Laswell opened the door up, giving him a questioning look and holding files in her hand, her MacBook in the other.

“Ah, Laswell. What is it?”

He asked, rubbing his hand over his face, knowing there was probably a red mark on his forehead from the pressure his hand had had on it for so long. His arm was a bit red from being pressed against the desk for long.

He glanced to the clock.

Twenty minutes had passed.

“I knocked about 3 times,”

She said with a raised eyebrow, moving to sit on the chair in front of his desk. He sighed, trying to think of some excuse as he blinked away the welling of emotion in his eyes.

“Just…distracted, is all.”

She let out a hum, not seeming surprised. She set the folders down, sliding them across the desk to him.

“There’s the background info you asked for. Their files were hard to pull, but we got them.”

He gleaned over most of it, name, age, weight, gender, scores and health test results, until he got to the section of conditions.

Most of it was blacked out with what he could smell being a sharpie, probably recently considering how strong it was. Whoever had given these to Laswell hadn’t wanted them to know a few things, probably assuming Price would discharge them if he saw anything wrong.

History of Abuse — caution around domineering omegas*

Was written in a sloppy handwriting Price could hardly read. The history of abuse didn’t surprise Price, it probably wouldn’t with anyone else in the pack. But why send you to them, then? A pack of 4 very dominant omegas. It was a paradox in and of itself.

Shock Therapy? — ask Kames*

That was more of a surprise. Shock therapy was outdated, and he wasn’t sure whether it was implying that you’d gone through it in the past, or that it was a potential treatment plan. Who was Kames?

Scent gland — looks scarred, ask Kames about that too (no scent=good?)

He’d noticed it in the beginning. Your fucked up scent gland. Simon had a similar one, making his scent hardly even noticeable. Probably the reason why when you’d asked how he covered the gunpowder in his scent, he’d yanked you down, either offended or annoyed, trying to make you realize he didn’t have a scent.

Originally, Price had assumed it was the gunpowder or Simon’s faint omega scent that had set you off, but with a bit more information, he realized it might’ve been the motion of the action.

A forceful scenting.

And if you’d been a victim of abuse, then it could have been quite the reminder.

He let out a hefty sigh, glancing up at Laswell, knowing he’d have to tell his boys about this and that they wouldn’t be happy.

~

“They fuckin’ what?”

As expected, they weren’t happy. Ghost was sitting silently, brooding per usual. Soap was cursing everything to ever exist. And Gaz had this feral look in his eye. Of course they all hated the thought of an alpha being abused, but it was personal for Gaz, given he had Alpha sisters. He had an almost direct view into how messed up the system was. How cruel it was towards alpha’s.

“Give me a name an’ I’ll focken—“

“This is all we know right now. All we can do is focus on rehabilitating them.”

Gaz had remained silent, anger brewing in his gut into a nasty, bitter stew that would consume him if he continued letting his emotions add more ingredients to the pot.

He took a deep breath.

And he didn’t let it go, no, he would find the bastard that did this to you, but he would keep calm for now. Being angry wouldn’t make anything better.

“I’ll go get them some food.”

He said quietly, getting up from his chair, pushing it in, trying to relax his tense muscles as he walked to the canteen, passing fellow soldiers, giving the proper hello’s, nods, and salutes if he had to.

It seemed like a blur as he entered the large lunchroom, walking to the chef and asking for a bowl of soup, whatever they had on hand. He wasn’t exactly sure what you liked; but since you didn’t seem to be in a talking mood he’d figure it out through trial and error.

It was only his second day of doing this, but it was the thought that counted.

The chef passed him a bowl of what looked to be some sort of creamy tomato soup, and after sticking his finger in, he decided it was warm enough and nodded his thanks before walking to your room.

He knocked quietly first, not wanting to startle you, before opening the door up just barely enough for him to squeeze in.

Ever since Soap had spent a night cuddling with you, you’d at least moved from under the bed to the floor on top of a mattress and some blankets. Better than nothing, in his eyes.

Your eyes were on him as soon as he entered the room, he could tell despite his eyes not having adjusted to the darkness yet.

“I brought you food, thought you might be hungry.”

He tried speaking in a soothing tone, or at least one that hookups in the past had said was soothing. Kyle approached you cautiously like one might a wild animal, sitting on the outside of your ‘nest’ which you’d made to mimic an omega’s.

His heart ached.

Truly, he wanted to ditch any personal space and grab you, hold you and coo to you for hours, keep you from being distressed, but he knew that would throw away any progress he’d made.

Setting the tomato soup bowl on the edge of the mattress, he watched as you glanced at it, then didn’t seem interested, only sitting up the tiniest bit with your back against the now mattress-less frame of your bed.

“You need to eat, look, it’s good.”

He said, taking his own spoonful and eating a bit, trying not to cringe. Kyle had always hated tomato soup, even his own mother’s recipe hadn’t tasted like anything more than mushy baby food to him, but you had to eat. Being as tall and muscular as you were, if you didn’t get at least one meal a day could very well starve.

Your narrowed eyes pinned him down as he took another spoonful of the soup and offered it to you, holding the spoon to your mouth.

For a moment, Kyle thought you might slap it away or just throw the bowl at him. He wouldn’t protest if you did.

But instead, you opened your mouth, taking a bite of the soup. He saw the cringe in your eyes, as well, when you tasted it, but you swallowed despite it. He’d fall out of a helicopter ten times over just to see you eating after so much protest and refusal yesterday.

As he lifted the spoon again, and you took another bite, he got the feeling that you weren’t doing this because you wanted to, simply for the fact that every instinct in your body told you to keep your omega happy, even in spite of your own feelings.

And Gaz didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[hauntedestheart]

A Business Investment (FxM Body Swap)

Another story from the world of business.

Mason McKinley was sure he was going to be a famous actor someday- he just needed the world to realize it.

Growing up in his small midwestern hometown where he was the hottest guy around, it had felt like being the star was his birthright. He'd netted the lead in every school play since elementary school, modelled for local catalogues, even won homecoming AND prom king. 6'4'', a killer jawline, luscious blonde hair and bright blue eyes, literally the poster boy for the local gym… how could Kentucky not be in the palm of his hand? All he had to do was wear a nice tight shirt that showed off his muscles and flash that pretty smile of his and anything he wanted fell into his lap.

It didn't take long for Hollywood to give him a reality check- turned out that Mason was not actually a very good actor, and once he was up against talented dreamboats rather than the wimps in drama club, his star came crashing down to earth.

After six years in the business and his claims to fame were a handful of minor background roles in some long running procedurals, some poorly reviewed theatre, and an embarrassing ad spot for STD testing that everyone back home was still making fun of him for.

In the small pond he'd been biggest fish around, but out in the ocean? He floundered.

While he was waiting for his big break, Mason needed a survival job, and thanks to some other actor friends he'd gotten employed as an attendant at an expensive country club. The young actor hoped that one day a big shot producer would come in, see him, and cast him on the spot, but since that hadn't happened yet he spent his days fetching water bottles and chasing after lost tennis balls. Not exactly his Hollywood dream.

Still, the tight white shorts of the uniform made his ass look amazing and if he flirted with the wealthy old clientele of the club, he took home a killing in tips. Being a corn fed midwestern hunk made him "exotic" to rich out-of-touch Californians, and Mason had no qualms about debasing himself a bit for some cash. A little wink here, a flex there, a look the other way when someone got a little handsy… it paid the bills.

He had his limits though.

"Yoo-hoo!" A shrill voice rang out across the tennis court and Mason winced- luckily his acting skills allowed him to smooth the disgust from his face before he turned around to greet the plump middle aged woman who had materialized beside him.

"It's good to see you again Ms. Grant," he lied through his pretty white teeth, and he was feeling generous so he threw in an extra lie for free. "You look lovely today. Is your hair different?"

It was a stupid question- as the head of some kind of beauty company the woman was always changing her look, in this case from a dark black perm to a platinum blonde bob -but Ms. Grant still let out a surprised gasp and tilted her head side to side as if she were modelling the latest fashion. It was not a good look, but Mason dug deep into his Stanislavski training and managed to keep a smile on his face.

"You like? I just had it done. I think it makes me look younger, don't you? If you're not careful, one of these days I'm going to snap you up!" Ms. Grant threw her head back and let out a stage giggle, and Mason bit his tongue so he wouldn't burst out laughing himself. An attempt at a seductive expression appeared on her face and she 'casually' reached over and gave Mason's bicep a less-than-innocent pat. "And please, I've told you a million times, call me Seraphina."

Your name is Susan, Mason thought. "Of course Seraphina," Mason said.

Her hand was still on his arm, one thumb trailing idly over the curve of his muscles, and Mason gave a polite nod before escaping to ready some equipment, peeking over his shoulder to confirm that Ms. Grant was staring at his tight butt when he bent over to pick up some tennis rackets. He smirked and made sure to arch his back to give her a little show before he straightened up- it never hurt to keep the clients happy.

Ms. Grant honestly wasn't that bad, but she was a herald of destruction, because if she was here, then The California Business Women's Association weren't far behind.

The California Business Women's Association was supposed to be an organization for high powered business women looking to network, but the meetings were really just an excuse for rich bitches to brag about their success and tear each other down… with a smile, of course. Mason thought of them as the Real Housewives of the Wall Street (never mind that Wall Street was on the far coast) and while he got a sick pleasure out of observing their gossip and backstabbing, they were one of his least favorite groups to work with.

Normally a hot piece of meat like Mason could make a killing off of a bunch of mostly single women over thirty, but Dominique Banks (pharmaceuticals CEO and undisputed alpha bitch of the group) made it damn near impossible for him to schmooze. A very public divorce several years ago had made Dominique into something of a misandrist and now she did her best to chastise and shame the other women whenever they tried to engage in any talk of men, let alone flirt with the cute hunk bringing them their towels.

(Mason assumed that was why Ms. Grant showed up early to objectify him as much as possible before Dominique was there to judge her for it.)

Dominique herself descended on the court a minute later with the rest of the ladies in tow, and soon the court was filled with women in expensive active gear (some with the tags still on) milling about and pretending to warm up for a few rounds of low intensity tennis. Mason busied himself offering to take care of coats and bags while also doing his best to eavesdrop on the latest gossip.

Currently, Dominique was complaining to a trio of women about a member of the group who seemed to be running late.

"I think it's irresponsible of her to be so tardy," Dominique said, pushing deeper into an impressive lunge- she was one of the few in the group who actually kept up with her personal trainer despite a busy schedule, something she loved to lord over the other women. "I'm starting to question if she should even be a member of the CBWA."

"Maybe she had a work emergency?" one of her companions offered, watching with mild interest as Dominique stretched her calves. "She did just get that big promotion."

"'Big promotion?'" Dominique scoffed and turned her nose up. "Be serious Lucille, she's a middle manager whose office happens to be on the top floor… or a few floors down from it I suppose." The shade drew a small titter out of the other women, and Dominique smirked. "We all have demanding jobs, but we still make time every month to come to these meetings because it's important for us to connect as women in the male-dominated professional world. We're a sisterhood! If we don't look out for each other, who will? Which is exactly why we need to make an example of her."

Mason had a pretty good idea who they were talking about. There was only one woman in the group who Dominique couldn't stand- coincidentally the only woman in the group who ever stood up to her. But before the young man could search the group for a head of red hair to see if he was correct, a voice boomed out, and everyone's eyes were drawn to a newcomer who was making their way onto the court.

"Sorry I'm late ladies!"

Like a scene from a movie, sauntering across the green pavement was one of the hottest guys Mason had ever seen. He was brown skinned with carefully coiffed black hair and the kind of face that Mason usually only saw in the castings for his modelling gigs- a striking appearance enhanced by the way his eyes burned an unnaturally bright, electric blue. Tall and broad, the tight grey jacket he wore did little to disguise the bulk of his build… and if the fit of his compression shorts was to be believed, he'd brought his own tennis balls to the court.

Mason's jaw dropped, and he nearly dropped a basket of tennis balls with it before he gathered his senses and caught himself at the last second. The sexy stranger wasn't on staff (Mason would have heard if such an Adonis had been hired) but most of the members of the country club were old and gross, so who was this guy? A private trainer hired by a client? A socialite's new trophy husband? Some Middle Eastern prince?

"Thanks for waiting," the man said, making his way towards the benches with a fancy (seemingly brand new) equipment bag bouncing on his hip. "It's been so busy at work with the new startup we're launching, but I managed to move some things around to make room at the last minute."

Mystery stud unzipped his jacket as he walked and stowed it in the bag, revealing a tight grey top that bared huge, muscular arms, and was cut just low enough to allow a tasteful peek of his furry pecs. He looked down at himself and then tugged on his shirt, adjusting it so that it showed even more of his ample chest, which he made bounce a few times. A satisfied little smile came to his full lips at the sight, and when he looked back up at the CBWA, it seemed like half of the organization swooned.

Mason was feeling a little weak in the knees himself, but as much as he'd rather drool over the guy, he did technically have a job to do. He in front of the man and held a hand out, stopping the newcomer before he could join the cluster of speechless businesswomen. "Uh, excuse me sir, this court has been booked for private use by a group already."

"I'm aware," the man gave a chuckle (he was looking at Mason like he thought Mason was an idiot, but somehow, condescension was a good look on him) and tossed his curly black hair. "And I'm a member of the group- Terry Walker. Some of my eggheads at the lab cooked up a new kind of body transferal device and I've been experimenting with it in the workplace. Didn't have time to switch back before the meeting, so I figured, why the hell not?" He winked and thumped a fist into his meaty pecs a few times. "Take the thing out for a spin."

"Oh, body swapping! I think I read something about that!" Ms. Grant exclaimed, and several of the other woman in the group murmured their agreement. Mason had a hazy recollection of getting a note from his boss about something that morning, probably this, but he was saved from having to apologize when Dominique shoved him out of the way.

"You are not Terry Walker," the woman snapped, squaring her legs and and raising her chin like a lioness preparing to protect her territory. "What the hell kind of stunt is this? Did Terry hire a stripper as some kind of joke?"

The man laughed a warm, rich laugh. "You're not the first person to say that but no, believe it or not I borrowed this body from one of the guys who works in my lab. Tariq or something like that? I can never keep track of these things." He kept an easy smile on his face and shrugged his broad shoulders, intentionally stretching his shoulders back to bare his impressive wingspan. "And I'm the real deal- they wouldn't have let me in if I couldn't prove it. I look good, right ladies?"

The man's arms came up into a double bicep flex and Mason didn't know if he should be jealous of the man's muscles (those peaks) or massively turned on by them. The women were having less trouble deciding what to do and many of them were beginning to to swoon, only to straighten their spines when Dominique shot them a withering look out of the corner of her eye.

She turned back around and drew herself up to her full height (she was the tallest woman of the group, but this man had several inches on her and it was clearly grinding her gears) and jabbed a finger at the alleged impostor.

"You can't seriously expect us to believe this nonsense," she scoffed, drawing a chorus of murmurs from the flock of ladies behind her.

A sly smile came to the man's lips. "What do you mean? This is that exciting new project that I've been working on that I posted about it in the organization's official Slack, remember?" One of his bushy eyebrows shot up and he eyed Dominique pointedly. "You've been reading the Slack, haven't you Dominique? I seem to recall you saying it's so important to stay updated- but I guess you've probably been too busy lately to keep up with what's going on with your CBWA sisters. All those patent lawsuits and meetings about alimony must take up so much of your time!"

The vicious barb made several of the women gasp, and even Mason felt a chill run down his spine. In the corner of Dominique's forehead, a vein was throbbing like it was about to burst, but the rest of her expression was frighteningly neutral. Then, her lips pressed into a snarl that tried to pass as a smile.

"Yes, it can be so time consuming being being the head of a company," Dominique said, voice dripping with venom. "You're so lucky you don't have to deal with all that stress Terry. And don't worry yourself about my alimony, I'm just glad I was at least married once unlike-"

The woman realized her mistake too late, and Terry Walker smirked triumphantly.

"No comment on the patent lawsuits?" Walker added, just to salt the wound, and then she brushed past Mason (who shivered at the momentary contact with her large, solid body) and flung her bag down on the benches.

She bent down to rifle through it, giving everyone an eyeful of the tight, muscular male ass that was just barely concealed by her tight grey tennis shorts, and Mason clocked a subtle arch in her back. It was the same trick Mason used to make his butt look juicier when he was hustling for tips, and now that he was on the receiving end of it, he understood why it worked. Mason wasn't ashamed of his own ass (quite the opposite actually), but thought if he had that thing, he'd be unstoppable.

The other women converged on Terry like flies on honey, buzzing about as they all tried to get her attention.

"How did you-" "Look at that-" "So do you really have a-" "I NEED to-" "When is it-" "You have to got to let-" "Where the hell did you find-" "Please can I feel-"

The gaggle of women were all talking at once, making it difficult to make out any one question, but Mason didn't need a transcript to understand what the main topic of discussion was. Everyone was fascinated by the body Walker had borrowed, and who could blame them? A tall, handsome, muscular man with bronze skin and piercing unnaturally electric blue eyes… Mason was half tempted to dive into the crowd himself to get a closer look.

Terry, for her part, was taking the onslaught in stride, basking in the attention and tossing out answers where she could. But her new body did most of the talking as she flexed one of her huge arms in response to someone's question, bouncing the bicep up and down like a softball. She generously leaned down and extended the arm, giving the other women a chance to feel, which they all instantly took advantage of, practically hanging off of the muscled limb like it was a jungle gym.

"Okay, that's ENOUGH ladies!" Dominique snapped- or rather clapped, several times, loudly. All eyes turned to her and the women cowed, drifting away from the hunky man in their midst and falling back into line. After a tense moment of silence, Dominique raised her voice again. "Now, since we're finally all here, are we just going to stand around talking, or are we going to play?" She hefted her tennis racket over her shoulder like it was a weapon and waved her hand at the group. "We'll start off with pairs, everyone partner up."

Pandemonium ensued as all of the women scrambled to grab Terry by the arm, and Dominique was practically steaming.

"Never mind, we're doing singles."

---

Terry trounced the others, of course.

Using the body of a ripped athletic young man in the prime of his life gave her a significant advantage, but perhaps her opponents would have stood a better chance if they hadn't been so distracted staring at the ostentatious mass of flesh that was bouncing around in her loose tennis shorts as she bounded around the court. More than one match had been lost before it began when Terry's opponent's eyes were so trained on the way that hefty bulge jumped when she did that they completely missed her serving them the ball.

The sight of Terry's borrowed body on the court was a sight to behold, all muscle and bronzed skin. The shorts she had selected were shamelessly short, baring as much of the young man's strong, thick thighs as could be considered decent, and those powerful legs pumped like pistons as she used them to dart around the court- the constant action caused the shorts to ride up further as the games went along until they were being devoured by his massive ass cheeks.

Mason found himself mesmerized by the way her body's hairy pecs, which heaved up and down beneath her shirt as she ran, and it was almost funny how on a court full of women, it was the man's chest that was bouncing the most. This only became more noticeable as the matches wore on and her masculine body became sweatier and sweatier, soaking the thin gray fabric of her shirt until it began to cling to her flesh and highlight just how muscular the body she'd brought for the day was.

After an intense final showdown between Terry and Dominique (during which Dominique had been unable to score a single point, resulting her throwing down her racket and screaming at Mason for something or other), the women retreated to the outdoor lounge area where couches and tables were shaded by umbrellas, and Mason did his best to eavesdrop as he served them drinks.

"It's just been incredible ladies," Terry was telling them. The couches were arranged in a "U" shape and she sat at the direct center, leaned back with her muscular arms folded behind her head to give everyone a view of her hairy armpits. Legs sprawled wide of course, just to draw eyes to the heavy bulge that sat between her legs. "I mean we all know how hard it is for women in the workplace, but I still wasn't ready for how much easier it would be as a man! I've started swapping into a male body for all of my meetings and they've never gone smoother."

"You see, men are animals," she continued, snapping her fingers at Mason to bring her a drink. "And animals respect an alpha. That's why they have all of these stupid male rituals- handshakes and bourbon and cigars and all that. When I walk into a boardroom and I'm the tallest, the strongest…" Terry's eyes glanced down suggestively towards her bulging crotch. "the biggest, then men have to listen to me. It's almost disgusting how simple it is."

"Don't you think that kind of thinking undermines the work that we do here at this organization?" Dominique chimed in. Not to be outdone, she'd pulled up a chair so she could sit at the opening of the "U" opposite Terry, and she glared across the space at the smiling male bodied woman. "How are men supposed to learn to respect us when we act like the only way to get ahead is to become one of them? We're supposed to be empowering women, and you're jumping ship like a rat."

"I'm feeling pretty empowered right now actually." Terry slipped one of the arms out from behind her head and flexed it, bouncing the thick bicep up and down a few times, drawing a chorus of giggles from the assembled women, and Dominique frowned. A cocky smile crossed Terry's borrowed face and her sparkling blue eyes glittered in the light, and she casually rubbed at the thin layer of stubble that was starting to sprout on her chiseled jawline. Slowly, as she spoke, her hands began drifting down the masculine body she had rented.

"You do bring up a good point Dominique- I have no intention of becoming a man full-time, this body is just temporary. I'm a woman through and through, but if I can take advantage of the privileges of being a man to get ahead, why wouldn't I? Men only understand power and they won't respect us until we have it. They say, talk softly and carry a big stick, and this…" Terry's hands had reached her crotch and she grabbed at it, hefting the bulge up and down a few times. Everyone was mesmerized. "This is my stick. Today, I'm blending in with the boys' club. Tomorrow? I own it."

Mason was starting to get hard in his own shorts at this point, and he cursed, sticking his fingers into his pockets and trying to adjust himself so it was less obvious.

(A bit of bulge was good for business but standing in front of all those women with a full blown erection was just embarrassing.)

A bit flustered, he dutifully marched over to Terry and handed her the drink she had requested earlier- she didn't thank him, but she did throw him a wink, and it was so sexy on that guy's face that Mason felt his cock twitch. From the way the other women were staring, he was sure they had all noticed, and he jogged off with a red face.

"And there are recreational uses for a male body," Terry commented, stroking herself as she watched Mason's ass bouncing away. "Obviously."

"Walker, that is highly inappropriate!" Dominique slammed her glass down on the table in front of her, splashing orange liquid everywhere. "Sexual harassment is a serious issue, and furthermore, this is a professional organization. Nobody wants to hear about that!"

"Shut up, yes we do!" Ms. Grant shouted, and Dominique was so caught by surprise that her mouth snapped shut. All of the women turned away from her and leaned in towards Terry, ready to hang on her every word. "Give us all the details Terry."

Terry took a sip of her drink, milking the anticipation. As Mason busied himself wiping up Dominique's mess, he kept his eyes trained on Terry- the straw Mason had given her was a larger one usually reserved for boba, but he'd felt a burning need to see what those plush lips looked like curled up and sucking on something thick. The sight did not disappoint, nor did it help calm his pesky erection.

Finally, Walker spoke. "Well… you all remember Marcos, right?"

"Your pool boy?" Ms. Grant gasped, and all of the women burst out into a titter of excitement. The handsome young man had been something of a celebrity for the group ever since they'd had a mixer at Walker's house, and they were always asking her for updates. "You didn't!"

"Oh I did," Terry smirked and popped her pecs cockily. "Quite a few times actually. I never thought I'd get the chance- I just kept him on the payroll because he was pretty to look at -but it turns out he was very attracted to this body. He was begging for my cock and I…" Her hips shifted, a long, lazy thrust into the air, and the outline of the long and thick cock in question made itself known- she was getting hard. "I was happy to give him what he wanted."

"Haven't studies shown that the male orgasm is less intense than the female orgasm?" Dominique cut in, trying to land another barb, but Terry just shrugged her off.

"It felt pretty good to me when I was fucking a sexy twenty-six year old," Terry's hands were on her crotch, and everyone's eyes were glued to it as well as she began to stroke herself up and down through the thin fabric. Her borrowed voice, warm and rich, dropped to a husky growl. "But the appeal is in more than just the orgasm, it's the experience. It's about getting to be the one on top and in charge. I've been fucked by so many men in my life that getting to be the one doing the fucking was goddamn cathartic- and it isn't like some plastic strap-on, I got to use eight inches of top of the line cock to do the job."

"And these muscles!" Wrenching one hand away from her nethers, she shoved it roughly beneath her shirt, the fabric riding up and offering a peak of her host's sculpted brown torso as she groped one of his pecs. From the way her fingers were moving beneath the fabric, she seemed to be tweaking one of his nipples. "FUCK this guy is so goddamned strong! I'M so strong! I threw him around like a ragdoll and he thanked me for it, he sucked on my tits and begged me to manhandle him. I was the man. I was in control."

"Fuck!" A masculine grunt escaped her lips, and she began to stroke herself harder. Now fully hard, the tip of her cock was peeking out of the waistband of her shorts (allowing everyone to see that her host was in fact, circumcised) and it bobbed up and down as she thrust into her own hand. "There's something incredibly… visceral about being able to shove yourself inside of a man, I wouldn't even begin to know how to describe it. But it feels incredible. It feels… it feels…"

And then the rest of the sentence was a wordless roar of pleasure as she ejaculated, grinding her hand up and down the length of her shaft like a man possessed… which in a sense is exactly what she was. The mushroom head of her borrowed penis throbbed as it spewed out an impressive load of semen, staining her shirt, her face, even splattering onto the cushions next to her and the table before her, and she slumped back onto the cushions in a heap. Panting, her huge chest heaved up and down, and she waved at Mason.

Like everyone else in attendance, he stared dumbly at the debauched man in front of him for a moment until he remembered his job and realized what she wanted- usually the towels were only for sweat, but he supposed they'd work just as well for cum. But when he offered her one, she just rolled her electric blue eyes and stripped her shirt off, leading to a chorus of gasps as her borrowed body's furry muscles were fully unveiled. Wordlessly, she gestured to the mess that dotted her torso.

Mason's mouth was suddenly dry but he didn't dare swallow- swallowing was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about in this particular moment. He felt the heavy eyes of the entire CBWA on him as he dropped to his knees in front of the strapping male figure, and the young actor had been in Hollywood long enough to recognize when he was being asked to play a role.

And he had auditioned for enough productions that were basically soft-core porn to know how to play this one.

He casually ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing his golden locks, and plastered a smile on his face as he peeked up at Terry, looking for all the world like an innocent wide eyed farm boy eager to serve like no one was watching. White spunk was already starting to dry in the forest of chest hair so Mason doused his towel with water from a glass on the table to better scrub it out, meaning there was just a thin sheet of wet fabric between his hands and the perfectly sculpted body that Terry Walker had claimed for the day, so it didn't take much acting for Mason behave like he was turned on.

The young actor cheated out and angled his torso slightly so the horde of horny businesswomen watching could get a good view of his own muscular torso as he worked, perversely eager to remind his clients that there was more than one stud on the court that day. He took his time working Terry's pecs, squeezing them slightly under the guise of scraping out some particularly hard to remove spunk, and then worked his way down to her abs, digging his fingers into the crags of her six pack to make sure he got out every little speck.

And when he reached the waistband of her shorts, he let his fingers drift along the deep v of muscle that vanished beneath, teasing everyone that he might go deeper, before he reluctantly pulled himself back.

Drawing up to his feet, he dusted his knees off, and then he noticed Walker's drink- semen dotted the rim of the glass and a thin layer of white was laying atop the liquid inside. He reached for it to take it away, but Walker stopped him. She grabbed the drink herself and slowly, deliberately, licked the rim, then downed the remainder of the glass in one swallow. Only then did she let him walk away.

Terry, shirtless and smug, smiled at the other women of the CBWA, who sat there speechless. Mouths were hanging open, some of them were fanning themselves, Ms. Grant's right hand was tucked beneath her skirt, and an unexpected voice broke the silence.

"How can I try that out?" Dominique asked, her voice strained and almost desperate, and then the floodgates opened and all of the other woman began chattering. Terry lifted up a hand and everyone went silent.

"Well as luck would have it, I'm actually starting my own company to distribute this particular service, and we're working on acquiring some seed funding." A bushy eyebrow raised. "I don't suppose any of you ladies would be interested?"

"You want our money?" One of the women asked, and Terry shrugged.

"I'm offering you all an investment opportunity. Isn't that the point of this group? To uplift each other?" She smiled across the table at Dominique, who for once kept her mouth shut and bowed her head. Terry sniffed triumphantly. "But I promise that this is a surefire win. Anyone interested can message me and I can set up an appointment so you can test the technology yourself- I'm sure the experience will uplift you like nothing else."

At that, she rose to her feet, allowing everyone to see that her tenacious rental dick was already half-hard again.

"Feel free to bring your own boys too, we've got lawyers and payment plans already drafted up. Pick someone you wanna be, and we can make it happen."

Then she walked away, her exit an unofficial signal to the other women that the meeting was now over, and everyone began to disperse. The women were abuzz with excitement, but Mason kept his eyes trained on Terry Walker as she sauntered off, eager to get one last look at her borrowed body's incredible ass.

What, he wondered to himself, would these meetings look like if the entire CBWA hopped on the same train as her? Mason imagined the tennis court full of ripped, shirtless men, frolicking about playing tennis in little shorts. It was such a pleasant image that it almost made up for the fact that he'd received no tips that day.

Shit, he thought to himself, crashing back to Earth as he remembered the rent payment he had due in a few days.

"Yoo-hoo!" A shrill voice rang out, and Mason saw Ms. Grant walking over towards him. She was wiping one of her hands on her skirt, and there was hunger in her eyes. "Dear, could we talk for a moment?"

Mason's stomach sank- he had an idea what she was going to ask him about. And unfortunately, he knew what his answer would be too.

[uconnwbbcrashout]

last winter break

chapter iii: “i think i’m gonna kiss you”

paige x azzi

word count: 6.5k

content: swearing, some fluffy banter, and a healthy dose of angst

chapter list: here

author’s notes: after a long wait, it’s finally here!! i wanna apologize for the 100th time for how long this took me to write. as you can tell by the word count compared to chapters i & ii, this one kinda got out of hand. but i'm happy w/ how it turned out and i hope it's worth the wait!! :) enjoy!

Winter 2022-2023

AZ: hey, i saw the news

AZ: about your acl i mean

AZ: i hope you’re doing okay p

p (IGNORE): thanks. good as i can be yk

p (IGNORE): surgery went well and all

p (IGNORE): but hey

p (IGNORE): delayed not denied right ?

changed user’s contact name to “p”

AZ: right

AZ: you’ll be okay

AZ: i know it

p: i hope youre right

*****

p: did you see the schedule

p: we play you guys

p: dec 11

p: well i wont be but

AZ: i did!!

AZ: you guys don’t stand a chance btw

p: damn way to kick a girl while shes down az

AZ: sorry?

*****

AZ: happy birthday paige

AZ: you’re so old

p: shut up

p: thank you azzi

*****

p: happy bday az

p: yOu’Re sO oLd

AZ: ok i had that coming

AZ: but thank you :)

*****

p: just saw the clip

p: hope you and your knee are ok <3

p: rest up azzi

AZ: thanks p

AZ: looks like we’re both gonna be on the bench next week

AZ: we’re still beating you guys though

p: well see bout that

*****

AZ: told you so

p: i couldnt even play bro

AZ: and i could??

p: whatever

p: we beatin you in march idc

AZ: sure p sure

*****

Azzi sighs, stretching her thumbs again where they hover over the keyboard on her phone. She’s laid out on her parents’ couch, legs propped up on a pillow, feeling utterly ridiculous as she tries to muster up the courage to send a text to Paige. She scrolls back up through their conversations from the past few months for what must be the eighth time today, overanalyzing every word.

It shouldn’t be this difficult, really—it’s hardly the first time this year that she’s been the one to reach out and text Paige. And she’s literally just trying to ask her if she’s going to a party. It’s an extremely low stakes conversation topic.

And yet here she is, practically ripping her hair out at the thought of pressing "send."

In all honesty, it’s a pretty good way to sum up what this year has been—so much more difficult than it ever needed to be.

And to say it’s been a weird fucking year would be an understatement.

After a disappointing tournament run in March, Maryland’s team changes significantly, so much so that Azzi has a hard time keeping track of it all. Graduations, transfers out, transfers in, new freshman—they're basically an entirely new team by the time the season starts up again in the fall.

And then she meets a girl, Maya, late one night in February when she’s cramming for an exam in the student union. She’s on the track team—a sprinter—tall, and devastatingly pretty. She’s unwaveringly confident, too, sitting across the empty table from Azzi and striking up a conversation with her easily. They end up talking for so long that night that the cleaning staff have to kick them out.

Things just click after that.

It's nice. It’s safe. It’s fun.

It’s sneaking into team housing well past curfew. It’s study dates at their favorite coffee shop on campus. It’s stolen hoodies and cold winter nights, huddled together for heat. It’s good luck kisses and lingering hugs before away games or meets. It’s late-night FaceTimes when there’s hundreds of miles separating them. It’s flower bouquets and greeting cards left on kitchen counters.

It’s something that feels a lot like the beginning stages of love.

And, above all, it makes Azzi happy.

There’s just one persistent, unavoidable problem—there's never enough time. Differing practice schedules. Basketball games and track meets. Press conferences and weight training. Midterms and March Madness. Conference championships and long flights across the country.

And it’s unfortunate, really, because a big part of Azzi thinks things could’ve been different. That maybe in another life—one where they met at a different time—things might have stuck. Things might have been long-term, could have worked out.

But in this life, they don’t.

After that it’s fairly quiet. Some random hookups here and there over the summer. A couple dates that fizzle out by the end of the night.

In the end, nothing she really regrets, but nothing that's as real as those few months were with Maya.

And then she reinjures her knee in December, forcing her to be sidelined. An unfortunately familiar seat on the bench with her name on it.

And then, of course, there's this weird situation with Paige. One that Azzi herself more or less created when she first reached out in August after Paige tore her ACL. It isn't like texting a stranger, but it also isn't like texting the old best friend she once knew. It's something in between, some strange acquaintance-like relationship that leaves Azzi entirely confused as to what she should or shouldn’t say.

Even if it is a bit strange, and maybe not quite ideal, she has to admit that it's still nice to have Paige back in some capacity. And enough time has passed, enough people have come and gone, that Azzi's just starting to warm up to the idea of someday calling Paige her friend again. Just a little bit.

Oh, and maybe Azzi also still finds her to be incredibly attractive.

But that's hardly relevant.

Her phone vibrates in her hand, catching her so off guard that she nearly drops it on her face. Her heart starts pounding in her ears, her stomach fluttering with anticipation—

Damn, it’s just from Diamond.

Azzi groans, clicking the notification.

diamond: you text her yet

Azzi rolls her eyes at her friend’s impatience.

AZ: almost

diamond: you’re actually killing me here

diamond: gimme her number

diamond: i'm gonna text her if you don’t

AZ: absolutely not

AZ: i regret telling you anything

diamond: no you don’t

diamond: now quit stalling and text. her.

AZ: oh my god FINE

Azzi swipes out of their conversation and taps back into her one with Paige.

Here goes nothing.

AZ: hey, you going to that stupid party again this year?

She turns her phone off immediately and slams it face down into the couch cushions, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

Her phone chimes not more than 30 seconds later, and Azzi half expects it to be another text from Diamond asking for updates.

But it isn’t.

p: yo

p: the one at that football players house??

p: maybe. ion know yet

“Oh my God,” she mutters, fingers already flying over her keyboard.

AZ: dude

AZ: it’s literally tomorrow

AZ: how do you not know

p: dude

p: ima busy person

p: my time is valuable yk

p: wbu tho

Azzi tries to fight the smile that’s forming on her face. She thinks for a minute, deciding to answer honestly.

AZ: i was thinking about it

Azzi watches with bated breath as the three dots on the screen disappear and reappear several times.

p: then maybe i will

Azzi sighs, closing her eyes and pressing the side of her phone into her forehead.

I’m never getting a straight answer out of her, she concedes.

*****

If anyone were to ask Azzi, she would argue that a cropped cami tank top with a pair of ripped jeans is perfectly reasonable attire for a casual house party in early January. The below-freezing temperatures are simply irrelevant.

It, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Paige is likely to show up tonight. Azzi doesn’t think about how Paige had hugged her from behind and mumbled, “Looks so good, baby,” the last time she wore this shirt in front of her. She also doesn’t think about how Paige always seems especially distracted when she wears her hair up in a bun like this, blue eyes constantly straying to the lines of Azzi’s neck and collarbones.

She absolutely does not, under any circumstances, think about that. At all.

Azzi just likes to feel and look good is all. She’s got the former down easily, and she thinks she’s managed the latter, too, if the number of people who have come up to her tonight is any indication. Guys, girls, people she recognized and people she didn’t—it didn’t really seem to matter. It felt like there was an endless stream of drinks being offered, numbers trying to be given out, and suggestive conversations directed at her. It was flattering, sure, but none of them had the right tint of blonde hair, the exact shade of blue eyes, the correct build of muscle she had been searching for all night.

She downs the last of her drink, crushing the plastic cup in her hands and tossing it in the trash can behind her. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, checking the time. No texts.

Lifting a hand up to rub at her eye, she yawns and scans the room one more time, debating whether she should just call it a night at this point.

And then she feels it—the soft graze of fingers along her lower back, just above the waistband of her jeans. A warm, featherlight touch, then the familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood and a low voice in her ear.

“Azzi.”

She spins towards her quickly, her breath catching in her throat at the proximity of Paige’s face to hers, just inches away. Azzi leans back a bit, mostly to give herself a chance to breathe, and feels the hand on her lower back slide to lightly press on the side of her hip.

Azzi drags her eyes over Paige then, unable to help herself, taking in the tech fleece pants hanging low on her hips and the black fitted T-shirt straining against the muscles in her arms. Azzi’s a bit surprised to see that she’s wearing her glasses—it’s not something she does very often. Paige is smirking, her blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and Azzi swears she must have gotten taller since the last time she saw her.

She manages to catch her breath for a moment, flashing a smile that she hopes doesn’t reveal the nerves that she’s feeling. “Hi, Paige.”

Neither of them seems to know what to do after that because, honestly, what are you supposed to do in this type of situation?

To Azzi’s surprise, Paige makes the first move, stepping into Azzi’s space and snaking her other arm gently around Azzi’s waist. It takes Azzi a few seconds to respond before she leans into Paige and circles her arms around her shoulders. Azzi’s heart rate picks up even more when she feels Paige’s breath being released heavily against her, the tension leaving her shoulders.

“This okay?” Paige asks, her breath hot against the outside of Azzi’s ear. Azzi hums in agreement, settling her head to rest on Paige’s shoulder.

It probably should be awkward, and it is for just a second or two, but muscle memory kicks in and it ends up being more comforting than anything. It’s a hug after all, something they’ve done probably hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the years.

They could be there for a few seconds or a few minutes—Azzi really isn’t sure. At some point she feels someone bump into her as they walk by and that snaps her out of it, makes her realize that they are still at this party and people are definitely looking. She takes a step back and clears her throat, patting Paige’s shoulder once before dropping her arms to her sides.

“You look good, P,” Azzi admits, smiling softly.

Paige coughs and looks over her shoulder for a second before turning back to face her and—

Is she blushing?

She coughs again before saying, “Thanks. You do too, Az.”

Azzi smiles appreciatively, looking down at her hands. “Couple people here seemed to think so, too.”

Paige chuckles. “Yeah, saw ‘em all lined up for you.”

“You been talking to anyone else here?”

“Nah, not really,” Paige replies, waving her hand, and Azzi glances up to meet her eyes. Paige shrugs. “Only really came here for one person, you know?”

Azzi doesn’t have to ask her who that person is—the way Paige’s eyes are trailing across her face tells her everything she needs to know.

“Is that so?” Azzi crosses her arms in front of her, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Mhm.” Paige glances around the room before leaning into Azzi’s space again. “Hey, wanna get outta here? We can go somewhere else or somethin’.”

“I guess I can swing that,” Azzi agrees, hoping she comes across as indifferent as possible.

“Aight, cool.” Paige pats her pockets, searching for her keys. “You take your car here?”

Azzi shakes her head. “No, I walked.”

Paige raises an eyebrow at her, an incredulous look on her face. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” Azzi tries again, patting her own pockets to prove that they're empty.

“You walked here,” Paige repeats, still disbelieving. “In this weather.”

“It was only, like, 20 minutes.”

“There’s no way.”

“It’s better for the environment!”

“You’re insane.”

“Oh my God, can we just take your car or not?” Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Always the passenger princess.” Paige remarks, looking smug. “But, yeah, let’s go.” Paige beckons for Azzi to follow her to the coatrack. Paige holds the door open as they pull on their coats, both of the waving their hands over their shoulders as some people call out to them.

The short walk to Paige’s car is quiet, the occasional crunch of footsteps on snow the only sound. Azzi slips into the passenger seat and clicks her seat belt on, watching as Paige does the same in the driver’s seat. Paige drums her fingers quietly on the steering wheel, and Azzi glances out the window to look back at the house they just came from.

“So, uh, where to?” Paige asks, breaking the silence.

Azzi thinks for a moment before turning to Paige with a grin.

“Slushies?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

*****

“There’s just no way he said that,” Azzi giggles, readjusting her feet where they rest on Paige’s dashboard. They’re parked outside of Azzi’s parents’ house, heat blasting through the vents, SZA playing softly through the speakers, conversation flowing freely, half-drunken slushies melted and abandoned in the cupholders between them.

“I swear it’s true!” Paige promises.

“He for real told you that you have ‘the shittiest shooting form he’s ever fucking seen’?”

“On God, he did,” Paige laughs, running a hand through her hair. “Coach can be ruthless when he’s pissed off, man.”

“And you wanted me to come to UConn because?”

“Oh, c'mon, Az. You know no one can stay mad at you.” Paige reaches out and pokes at Azzi’s cheek. “Not with that face.”

Azzi pushes her hand away, flustered. “Shut up, P.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Whatever.”

A comfortable silence stretches on then, the two of them taking a moment to enjoy each other’s presence.

Azzi glances down at her watch. “I should probably get going,” she admits regretfully, turning around and rummaging in the backseat for her coat.

“Lemme pull up for you,” Paige insists, putting the car in drive and turning into the driveway.

She feels Paige put the car in park again just as she manages to find her jacket. “Thanks,” Azzi starts, pulling the door handle—

It’s locked.

What the hell?

Azzi yanks on it twice to be sure before turning to level her a stare. There’s a mischievous glint in Paige's eye that she doesn't trust. “So, are you letting me out or what?”

Paige keeps smiling widely at her, not moving or saying anything.

“Paige.”

Azzi watches Paige nod her head towards the front of the house, and Azzi follows the motion to see Curry and Stewie poking their heads through the curtains, their barks echoing off the window. Azzi shakes her head and glances back at Paige. “What is it?”

Paige shrugs, bringing her hands up to rest on the wheel again. “You gotta at least let me see my kids, Azzi.”

“Are you inviting yourself inside my house?” Azzi feels her eye twitching.

“Please,” Paige begs, and then she honest to God pouts at Azzi. “Think I’m due a visitation.”

“You are actually so annoying.” Azzi leans her head against the cool glass of the car window, closing her eyes.

“Is that a yes?” Paige asks, her voice lifting excitedly.

“It will be if you unlock this.” Azzi pulls on the door handle repeatedly.

“Ha, let’s go!” Paige exclaims, pressing the "unlock" button immediately and sprinting out of the car. She’s on the front porch and jumping in place before Azzi even has the chance to close the car door behind her.

“Alright, chill out,” Azzi mutters, brushing past her and turning the key into the lock. Paige pushes the door open the rest of the way and stumbles through the doorframe, kicking her shoes off. She makes it about five feet into the house before she drops to her knees and starts petting and hugging the two dogs racing around her.

Azzi locks the door behind her, and she can’t help the smile that overtakes her face when she sees Paige laid out on the ground, Stewie and Curry clambering over her to lick her face.

“My kids,” Paige coos, cradling Stewie in one arm and scratching Curry’s chin with her other hand. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s home now.”

Shaking her head, Azzi tears her eyes away from the scene and flops onto the couch. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and makes herself comfortable.

Paige stands up after a few minutes and stretches her arms above her head, groaning dramatically. Azzi catches a glimpse of her shirt riding up and her boxers peeking out before she pulls her phone closer to her face, fighting the heat creeping up on her cheeks. Paige doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she luckily doesn’t say anything about it. She moves to peek her head in the kitchen and the hallway before she reenters the living room.

“Nobody home?” Paige asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Azzi grabs a throw pillow off the couch and hurls it at her, but Paige catches it easily. “Stop. They went to a family holiday party thing I think.”

“And how the hell did you get outta goin’ to that?” Azzi feels the couch shake as Paige hops over the back of it and settles in across from her.

She puts her phone down and looks at Paige more fully then. “Like you said, no one can say no to this,” she explains, flashing her signature dimpled smile and pointing at it with both hands.

“I was jokin’ when I said that,” Azzi thinks she hears Paige grumble as she hugs the pillow she’s still holding to her chest.

Azzi goes back to scrolling on her phone, and she sees Paige throw the pillow up in the air and catch it a few times in her periphery.

She hears a heavy sigh, but she ignores it, opting to respond to a few texts from her teammates instead.

Then there’s another sigh, somehow more emphatic than the last, and the push of a foot against her own.

“Azzi.”

Maybe if I ignore her for long enough, she’ll stop, Azzi considers.

“Azzi.”

Just pretend you don’t hear her.

“Azzi Fudd.”

When has that ever actually worked, though?

“Azzi, please.”

Oh my fucking God, why did I let her in my house?

She clicks her phone off and drops it at her side, glaring daggers at Paige. “What?”

“Dude, I’m bored,” Paige complains.

“Dude, you literally do not have to be here,” Azzi points out.

“Entertain me, please.” Paige is practically begging now. “Aren’t you supposed to do that for your guests?”

Azzi closes her eyes and throws an arm over her face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re extremely annoying?”

“Yeah, you. Multiple times today, actually.”

“I was so right about that.”

“Okay, but can we do somethin’?” Paige asks again, kicking at her foot. Azzi kicks back, sliding her arm off her face.

“2K?” she suggests, gesturing to the controllers on the coffee table.

Paige’s eyes light up and she’s up in a flash, grabbing the remote to turn the TV on. “Fuck yes. Imma be the Lynx, though.”

“Whatever you want.”

*****

“Damn, you letting me win now, Paige?”

“Bro, ‘course not.”

“What’s your excuse this time?”

“Not my fault you keep distractin’ me, Az.”

“Not my fault you can’t keep your eyes off me, P.”

“Shut up. One more, I swear. Then we can quit.”

“Only if you win though, right?”

“Bro, just play.”

“Fine.”

*****

It’s many, many, games later—the clock on the wall having ticked over to the A.M. hours long ago—before Azzi has to tap out, eyes bleary and energy drained.

“Alright, I’m done,” Azzi sighs, tossing the controller on the coffee table and standing up slowly to stretch her back.

“Finally givin’ up?” Paige challenges, raising her eyebrows at her. Amazingly, somehow, she doesn’t look tired in the slightest.

“No, I’m not 'giving up.' I’ll literally fall asleep if we play one more.”

“If you say so.”

“Paige,” Azzi whines, pouting at her. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Aight, let’s be done then,” Paige agrees, setting her controller aside and standing up to stretch out.

“Are you awake enough to drive home?” Azzi questions.

“Me? Imma be just fine,” Paige assures her, moving toward the door. She bends down to pick up her shoes and pulls the curtain aside with a finger to peer outside. “Yeah, it’s no problem—oh, shit.”

Azzi strides over, reaching for the curtain to open it. “What is it?”

“Uh, well,” Paige starts, voice slightly muffled behind the thick fabric. “There’s a—”

Azzi grabs hold of the curtains, yanking them away to reveal the scene outside. Her jaw drops.

“—blizzard,” Paige finishes.

A fresh layer of snow, several inches deep, covers the ground. The wind lifts it up, blowing it around wildly, creating near whiteout conditions. Azzi can barely see Paige’s car parked in the driveway, a mere ten feet away.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Azzi mutters, staring disbelievingly out the window.

Paige furrows her brow, seeming to think something over for a minute. “Nah, I’ll still drive home.” She sits down on the recliner, untying the laces on her shoe.

“Like hell you will,” Azzi scoffs.

Paige looks up at her, pausing her movements. “Bro, chill. It’s, like, a couple blocks.”

But Azzi is persistent, moving to guard the door, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not letting you go out in that.”

“I can drive slow.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of that,” Azzi retorts, readjusting her arms. “Just stay, please. It’s too dangerous.”

“If you’re sure,” Paige concedes, tossing her sneakers behind her.

“I am.”

“Cool,” Paige stands, stretching her arms again. “I got the couch then.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, punches Paige’s shoulder playfully. “Don’t be stupid, P.”

Paige brings up a hand to rub at the spot Azzi hit, wincing in mock hurt. “Ow. Stupid ‘bout what?”

“You can just sleep in my bed. You are a guest after all,” Azzi points out, referring back to what Paige had said earlier.

Paige wiggles her eyebrows for the second time tonight, and Azzi considers punching her again, harder this time. “You want me that bad, huh?”

“Oh my God, stop. Look, I’ll take the couch, you take the bed? That fine?” Azzi offers, rubbing at her eyes.

“That’s dumb. You’re not gonna sleep in your own bed?”

Azzi throws her arms up in the air exasperatedly. “What do you suggest then?”

“I’on see why we can’t both just sleep in the bed,” Paige shrugs, not really meeting Azzi’s eyes.

How the hell did we get here?

“Whatever, sure,” Azzi relents, even though every fiber of her being is urging her to do the exact opposite. “I’m too tired for this. My family is gonna be home soon and I wanna sleep at least a little before they barge in.” She turns away and starts dragging her feet down the hallway to her room, hearing Paige padding quietly behind her. She pushes the door open with her shoulder and immediately goes to her closet, searching for something more comfortable to change into.

In the corner of her eye she spots Paige, shuffling about the room, eyes roaming over her pink bed sheets, the assortment of unicorn stuffed animals on her desk, the rainbow decals on her mirror. “Haven’t really changed much, huh?

Azzi grabs a pair of fleece pajama pants and a T-shirt, chuckling. “I don’t exactly live here anymore.”

“Good point.” Paige nods her head, running a finger along Azzi’s trophy shelf. Her eyes spot one item in particular and she takes it off the shelf. She flips the medal over to study the engraving on the back. “‘2018 Minnesota State Tournament: Class AAAA Champions’,” she reads with a scowl on her face. “Still can’t believe you guys beat us.”

Azzi walks up to her and snatches the medal from her, setting it back in its place. “Still can’t believe you’re not over it. This was, like, five years ago.”

“Aw, c’mon now. That last foul call was bullshit and you know it,” Paige grumbles.

“I think you’re just mad I dropped 30 points on your ass,” Azzi teases.

Paige frowns, crossing her arms. “No one was helpin’ me on defense.”

“Uh huh. Look, I’m gonna get dressed and stuff,” Azzi calls over her shoulder on her way to the bathroom. She pauses in the doorway and points a finger at Paige accusingly. “No touching anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paige promises with a mock salute.

Azzi changes into her pajamas and gets ready for bed as quickly as her fatigued body will allow, which is to say not very quickly at all. By the time she’s done, she’s so drained that she’s sluggishly dragging her body back to her room.

She’s rounding the corner into her room, dirty clothes from the party in hand, when she happens to look up. She chokes on air, clothing falling out of her hands, and stumbles to regain her balance.

Paige is sprawled out on her bed, hair splaying across her pillows, the light of her phone screen lighting up her face.

But none of that is the issue here.

The issue here is that Paige is wearing a sports bra and pair of boxers and that’s it.

The lines of her hips are visible, her abs pulled taut, and Azzi suddenly feels like she needs to cover her eyes, unless she wants to start choking on air again. “What the fuck are you doing?” she squeaks out, hands covering her face.

She hears Paige laugh. “It’s hot as hell in here. I’on know why you keep the temp at, like, 75 degrees all the time.”

“So you had to take your clothes off?”

“It’s nothin’ you haven’t seen before anyways.”

“Paige.”

“Azzi.”

Azzi leans against the wall, dropping her hands from her face but keeping her eyes screwed tightly shut. “Can you—God, can you at least put a shirt on or something?”

I’m not sleeping a wink tonight if she doesn’t.

She hears the bed creak slightly and assumes Paige must be sitting up now. “If I gotta.”

Azzi takes that as agreement and blindly feels her way to her closet, searching for the closest T-shirt she can find and pulling it off the hanger. She tosses it behind her in the direction of the bed.

“Okay, Imma get ready too then, I guess,” Paige is saying, the sound of her footsteps becoming more distant as she exits the room.

Azzi expels all the air out of her lungs, finally allowing herself to open her eyes. With shaky legs she makes her way to the bed, tucking herself under the covers. She takes a few more steadying breaths.

Pull it together, Fudd.

Paige is back sooner than Azzi is ready for her to be, but she stops a few feet into the room and gestures at her shirt. “This funny to you or somethin’?”

Azzi takes a moment to actually look at the shirt she unknowingly picked out for Paige and barks out a laugh, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

The shirt has "St. John’s – State Champs" written across the chest in bold letters, her old high school’s logo below it.

“Okay, I promise I didn’t mean to pick that one,” Azzi swears, unable to contain her laughter.

“I’on believe you,” Paige grunts, sliding into the empty side of the bed. “You know I’d get beat up if anyone saw me wearin’ this, right?”

“Good thing it’s just me then, huh?”

“Guess so,” Paige grumbles, pulling the sheets up to her chin.

“Don’t worry,” Azzi says, smirking. “Your secret is safe with me, Cadet.”

Paige glares at her before rolling over and turning her back to Azzi. “I’m actually done talkin’ to you. Night.”

Azzi turns her bedside lamp off, encasing the room in darkness, save for a few bands of a dim streetlight poking through her blinds. “Night,” she echoes, settling to lay on her back.

She wills herself to sleep then, waiting for the exhaustion she’s been feeling for the past few hours to finally take over.

It doesn’t come.

It shouldn’t be this difficult.

But Azzi’s mind is racing, all thoughts on her former best friend stretched out beside her. Paige, lying in her childhood bed, clad in one of Azzi’s old basketball T-shirts and a pair of boxers, the warmth radiating from her enough to scorch Azzi’s skin even from half a foot away.

“Hey, P?” Azzi whispers, her gaze still glued to the ceiling.

She sees movement in her periphery, Paige angling her head back slightly in her direction. “Hm?”

Azzi swallows hard, attempting to dislodge the lump forming in her throat.

There’s been one question turning itself over and over in her mind all day. A thought that wouldn’t leave her head no matter how hard she tried to shake it out.

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Did you have a New Year’s kiss this year?” she hears herself ask.

Everything is silent then, and Azzi can’t think of many other times in her life where she’s felt as vulnerable as she does now.

The quietness stretches on for an agonizingly long amount of time. It lasts for so long, in fact, that part of Azzi begins to wonder if Paige might have fallen asleep.

“Nah,” Paige mumbles, breaking the silence. She turns fully back onto her side to face Azzi, resting her hands together underneath her head. Azzi feels her heavy stare piercing through the darkness and shivers. “You?”

Azzi shakes her head, sighs, “Me neither.”

She moves to face Paige, mirroring her position, her heartbeat thumping wildly in her ears.

Azzi wets her lips, locks her eyes onto Paige’s.

Fuck it.

“Did you want to have one?” she breathes out.

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting. Maybe for Paige to shove her playfully or smile at her or something like that.

But Paige brings her bottom lip into her mouth, waits a beat, then nods her head.

Oh.

She wants this, too.

Azzi isn’t sure which of them is leaning in, but suddenly Paige’s face is just inches from her own, her breath warm against Azzi’s lips.

“Are you sure?” Paige whispers.

Am I sure I want this?

Absolutely.

Am I sure we should be doing this?

Well...

Despite her doubts, Azzi swallows and nods her head.

Paige is the one to close the gap between them, hesitant, at first, and gentle, just the soft press of her lips against Azzi’s own. A tentative reunion, two aching souls finally coming back home to each other.

And then the kiss turns needy, hungry, and Paige is bringing a hand up to cup her face, sliding the other down to Azzi’s waist. Azzi does the same, tugs slightly to bring Paige to hover slightly over her. Paige is kissing her hard now, pressing her into the bed, exhaling heavily, making Azzi’s heart flutter uncontrollably.

Azzi makes a decision then, pulls back just slightly and uses her tongue to part Paige’s lips, shivering when she feels Paige sigh against her mouth. The action seems to spur Paige on further because she’s shifting again, slipping her leg in between Azzi’s, applying just a hint of pressure, building up a low heat there.

Paige is relentless, kissing her with such fervor that it makes her head spin. Azzi feels a thumb dip below the waistband of her pants, caressing against her hip, and for some reason that snaps Azzi out of the dizzy haze she's found herself trapped in.

Azzi breaks the kiss, lightheaded, because if she doesn't do it now she thinks they might never stop.

Paige rests their foreheads together for a moment. She leans back, shifts her body off Azzi’s, her pupils blown out and her chest heaving.

“There,” Azzi hears herself say, breath uneven. “Happy New Year.” Then she rolls away from Paige, heartbeat still erratic in her ears, shaking hands pulling the covers back over herself.

She feels the bed shift a minute later as Paige wordlessly turns away from her.

Azzi brings her fingers up to touch her mouth, the sensation still lingering there.

It’s hours before sleep finally finds her.

*****

Azzi wakes to the afternoon sunlight hitting her square in the face, and she pulls a pillow over her head to block it out. Groaning, she blindly sticks an arm out beside her, feeling for a warm body next to her to shake awake.

Her hand comes up empty.

She shoots up in her bed, panic swarming her as she scans across the empty room. Her chest tightens, her throat constricts.

Fuck, she’s gone.

Tears are just starting to prick at the corner of her eyes when the sound of boisterous laughter bounces off the walls of the hallway.

Curious, Azzi follows the sound, finding its source relatively quickly.

The sight is strange enough to raise Azzi’s eyebrows—her dad and Paige, seated on opposite sides of the dining table, laughing over empty breakfast plates.

Paige notices her first, nodding her chin towards her in acknowledgement. “Hey, Az.” She pats the chair next to her. “Sit.”

Azzi doesn’t move, eyes moving skeptically between her dad and Paige. “Hi. What are you guys talking about?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” her dad says, but the snickering between the two of them afterwards is saying something completely different.

“This.” Azzi points a finger back and forth between the two of them. “This I don’t like.”

“C’mon, we’re just messin’,” Paige assures, still grinning devilishly.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Azzi responds sarcastically, opening the fridge door and sticking her head in it, searching for something to settle her rumbling stomach. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Packing, I guess?” Paige replies.

Azzi picks her head up at that and closes the fridge. “Huh, why?”

“Got a flight to Connecticut in the mornin',” Paige shrugs, and Azzi’s heart drops to her stomach.

“You do?” she asks, failing to keep the sadness from creeping into her voice.

Paige looks apologetic, casting her eyes downward. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Forgot to mention it. Speakin’ of, I should head on out soon.” She stands, putting her dishes in the sink before clapping Azzi’s dad on the back. “Good to see you as always, Tim.”

He smiles up at her fondly. “You too, Paige.”

“Imma grab my stuff,” Paige says, brushing past Azzi into the living room. Azzi moves on autopilot, trailing behind her.

It takes Paige all of three seconds to get ready, having only really come here with her phone and the clothes she wore yesterday, which she must have changed back into at some point. Azzi watches her pull her sneakers on, shrug into her jacket.

“Guess this it then,” Paige starts, eyes looking anywhere but at Azzi.

Azzi wrings her hands together, trying to figure out where to go from here. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll see you around then, P.”

Azzi is going to leave it at that, moving her arms to give Paige a quick hug, but then Paige is grabbing her arm and pulling her in closer, lowering her voice. “Don't we need to talk 'bout somethin'?”

“Last time you said that you broke up with me.” Azzi pries Paige’s fingers off her arm.

Paige bristles at that, rubbing at the back of her neck nervously. “Okay, but still. We need to talk.”

“About?” Azzi asks, even though she already knows where this conversation is going. She looks at Paige expectantly.

“We kissed, Azzi. You don’t think we should talk ‘bout that?” There’s a crease between her eyebrows. “I mean, like, what does it mean, you know?”

There are two ways Azzi can play this. She can be honest, tell Paige that she lost hours of sleep over it, that it’s the only thing she’s thought about since she woke up, that it shifted her world off its axis. Can tell her that all those feelings she tried to push down have risen rapidly back to the surface, demanding all of her attention. Can lay it all out in front of them, knowing it could be months before the next time they see each other again.

And then there’s a second option.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Azzi is saying, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.

Maybe it's time for the ball to be in Paige's court now.

Paige shakes her head exaggeratedly, her face screwed up in utter confusion. “It doesn’t?”

“Not unless we want it to,” Azzi continues, making her expression as unreadable as possible.

“Well, do you?”

Azzi hums noncommittally, looking down at her nails. “Probably easier if we just forget about it, right? I mean, it was only one kiss.”

There’s conflict painted clear across Paige’s face, her mouth opening and closing several times like she can’t quite figure out how she’s supposed to respond to that. She bites her lip hard, so hard that Azzi is a little concerned that she’s about to draw blood.

“I—I, uh,” she stutters, and Azzi can’t remember the last time she saw her look this flustered. “No, yeah. For sure. Just a kiss.” She nods her head once, like she’s trying to convince herself.

“Good, I’m glad we agree,” Azzi replies, even if she doesn’t really mean it.

Paige scratches at the back of her neck again, clearly not anticipating the conversation to go like this. “Yeah. So...maybe I’ll see you in March or somethin’?” She offers a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

Azzi shrugs. “Maybe you will.”

*****

She doesn’t.

[xhazzz]

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Bagman

warnings: none.

summary: the cute blonde pilot trying to get your number. and you’re Maverick’s daughter, btw.

a/n: hi to anyone who’s reading this, its my first post so i hope you like it. This might be the first part to a small serie about how you and hangman fall in love. Anyway, enjoy. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIST LENGUAGE, so feel free to correct me if there’s anything wrong :)

READER’S POV:

Being back home felt strange, like traveling back in time. I remembered how, when I was a kid, my dad and Uncle Goose would sit Bradley and me on the piano and play and sing for hours. Now, here I was, standing behind the bar helping Penny on a busy night.

The Hard Deck was packed—classic for a Friday night. The jukebox music blended with the chatter of the crowd. The place had been full of naval aviators for over an hour, most of them still in uniform, using it as a strategy to attract women. I recognized a few faces—besides Bradley’s—since I had snooped through my dad’s files on the pilots he’d be training.

“What do I have to do to get the pretty girl behind the bar to give me another round?” one of the pilots asked, leaning his elbow on the bar and placing his empty beer bottles in front of me.

“Maybe you just need to ask nicely,” I said with a smile, grabbing the bottles to swap them for fresh ones. His uniform tag read “Seresin”. He was one of my dad’s squadron members. I wouldn’t deny it—he was very attractive: blond, green eyes, and every bit the charming prince. “Here you go, handsome.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, taking the beers but staying put, leaning against the bar more comfortably. “And if I wanted your number, would I just have to ask nicely for that, too?”

“Is that the line you use on all the girls?” I teased, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You think I’m one of those guys?” he said, pretending to be offended as he took a sip of his beer, never breaking eye contact. “Ouch.”

“I know pilots. You all pretend to be charming and different from the rest,” I replied with a sigh, wiping the bar with a rag. “You think you’re irresistible and that every girl falls for you—even with a stupid mustache, like Rooster’s.”

He glanced over, laughing, and spotted Rooster playing pool with the other pilots.

“The problem is, you’ve only met Chicken. I’m way better than him,” he said, making me pause and lean on the bar in front of him. Bradley had already told me about him.

“You must be Bagman,” I said, laughing.

“Hangman, sweetheart,” he corrected instantly, winking. Okay, he was very attractive. “How do you know my callsign?”

“Oh, trust me, I know way more than you think,” I said, winking back before turning to serve some other guys who had come up to the bar for refills.

It took me about five minutes to serve everyone, and the whole time, I could feel his eyes on me as he sipped his beer, patiently waiting for me to finish.

“So, since you know who I am, maybe you could reconsider giving me your number,” he said, leaning closer from the other side of the bar.

“I don’t know. I don’t think you’re ready for it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad walk in and head straight for the bar to take a seat.

“Hey, darlin’. You know my usual,” my dad said with a smile.

I started preparing his whiskey the way he liked it, aware that Hangman was still waiting at the bar.

“I think I’m more than ready. It’s not every day I meet a gorgeous girl like you,” Hangman said. “All I’m asking for is your number—or at least let me buy you a drink.”

I laughed, shaking my head. Poor guy had no idea what he was in for. I garnished my dad’s glass with a slice of lemon and set it in front of him.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

“No problem, Dad,” I replied, turning to face the blond pilot with my arms crossed. He took a sip of his beer and nearly choked.

“Dad?” he asked, glancing between me and my father.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” my dad asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“No, sir.”, he replied, pressing his lips together.

“Then you’d better keep your fake charm away from my daughter,” my dad added.

I burst out laughing and leaned over to swap out the pilot’s beer.

“I told you, you weren’t ready for my number,” I said with a smirk before walking away to serve someone else. After saying goodnight to my dad, Hangman finally moved over to the pool table where Rooster and the others were.

“Poor guy, Dad. You scared him,” I said, approaching my father.

“I don’t care. No one’s good enough for my little girl,” he said, rubbing my arm affectionately. “Besides, if he’s really interested, he’ll have to work for it.”

The rest of the night passed quietly, picking up glasses and serving drinks until Penny told me I could clock out. Every now and then, I caught the blond pilot glancing my way, and I couldn’t deny I felt a little disappointed when he backed off after realizing my dad would be his coach. Maybe he was a jerk, like Bradley said.

After saying goodbye to Penny and my dad, I grabbed my denim jacket and stepped out of the Hard Deck. My ears welcomed the silence after the noise inside. As I walked toward the street, I heard someone coming out behind me.

“Hey, wait,” Hangman called out. “Have you reconsidered giving me your number?”

“You never quit, do you?” I laughed, crossing my arms.

“Not when it comes to the prettiest girl in the bar,” he said, mimicking my stance and stepping closer.

“You don’t even know my name—and I don’t really know yours, either, Bagman.”

“Hangman. And it’s Jake,” he said, closing the distance between us and extending his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Jake,” I said, shaking his hand. Mine was noticeably smaller than his, but they fit perfectly.

“Now that we’re properly introduced…” he started, still holding my hand.

“If you figure out my name, maybe I’ll give you my number,” I teased, pulling my hand away. “Goodnight, Jake.”

I took a few steps away and glanced back at him. He stood there, shaking his head and laughing softly, hands on his hips.

“Hope you’re free tomorrow night, sweetheart,” he called out loud enough for me to hear as I walked away.

“We’ll see, Bagman,” I replied.

__________________________________________________________

JAKE’S POV:

“Give me 200 more, Hangman,” Maverick shouted with a grin on his face, standing in front of me. This man was enjoying himself.

“What’s up with you, man?” Fanboy asked after finishing his push-ups. “Is it because of that girl last night? The one who didn’t give you her number?”

“She’s not just any girl, dude,” I replied between sets. “She’s Mav’s daughter.”

“No way,” my friend said, laughing. “Maverick’s daughter is what’s got you so distracted today?”

“Shut your mouth,” I muttered, noticing Rooster laughing at me from a distance.

By the end of the day’s training, we were all in the locker room, peeling off our flight suits. While everyone else was chatting about who should buy drinks tonight, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not just because I didn’t get her number—though, to be honest, that didn’t happen to me often—but because she was truly stunning. I knew that the more I saw her behind the Hard Deck bar, the more she’d catch my attention.

“So, Hangman… last night you met Daddy’s little girl,” Rooster teased as he pulled on a clean T-shirt, followed by one of his ridiculous Hawaiian shirts. “Must be the first girl who didn’t fall at your feet.”

“Don’t start, Chicken,” I shot back, slamming my locker shut and leaning against it, arms crossed. “I’m sure that happens to you all the time.”

“You wish,” he said. “At least I can call her whenever I want.”

Rooster closed his locker and started walking out of the room.

“Don’t you dare, Bradshaw. I saw her first,” I said, following after him.

“God, how old are you? Eight? What is this, ‘I saw her first’?”

“Shut up, will you?” I sighed. “I can’t deny I’ve been thinking about her all day, and I don’t even know her name. But you, my friend, are going to help me.”

I threw an arm around his shoulders playfully, and he shrugged me off, pushing me away.

“So now we’re friends?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Y/N would never go for you anyway.”

“Y/N,” I repeated, biting the inside of my cheek with a grin. “Even her name is cute.”

“She’s not going to be one of your one-night stands, got it, Bagman?” Rooster said, walking toward the exit again.

“Come on, Bradshaw, I just want to take her out to dinner,” I said, trailing after him.

“Why don’t you ask Mav for her number? I’m sure he’d be thrilled to give it to you.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Chicken. I’ll buy you a drink too if that’s what you want.”

Bradley let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll buy all my drinks this week, and I’ll give you her number,” he said, challenging me.

“You’re insane. I’m not paying for all your drinking this week.”

“Then I’ll call her and ask her out myself,” he said, pulling out the keys to his old Bronco and heading toward it.

Was it worth paying this idiot for Y/N’s number? Even knowing she might turn me down again—and that her dad would punish me in every damn training session? Screw it. I’d take the risk.

“Deal,” I said, catching up to him at his truck.

“What?” Rooster asked, incredulous.

“I’ll cover your tab this week, as long as you give me her number and stay out of my way, Chicken.”

The idiot just laughed, pulling out his phone and typing on it. Seconds later, I got a notification—he’d sent me her contact info.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Bagman,” he said, climbing into his truck. “And just so you know, I wasn’t planning on asking her out. She’s like a sister to me, you idiot.”

“You’re an asshole, Bradshaw,” I shouted as he drove off.

______________________________________________________

READER’S POV:

I had just gotten out of the shower when my phone started ringing. “Unknown number.”

“Hello?” I answered, putting it on speaker while wrapping myself in a towel.

“Hi, Y/N,” said a voice on the other end. It was the blonde pilot from the Hard Deck.

“How did you get my number, Bagman?”

“It’s Jake to you, sweetheart,” he said. Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew he had that stupid grin on his face. “So, are you finally going to let me take you to dinner?”

“Don’t you ever get tired?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“Not when it comes to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

I laughed and stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“Pick me up in 30 minutes. I’ll send you the address,” I said, smiling.

“At your service, ma’am..” he replied, and I hung up.

It was just dinner with Hangman. What could possibly go wrong?

[whore-ibly-hot]

Hello and Happy Holidays to you! I've been a lurker of this blog and I just gotta say that your Boarding School Series heals me, my crops are thriving, skin cleared, grades immaculate, all that- /pos

I hope asking for some info about the teaching staff would be okay? Regardless of if its general or a little more specific, what are each of the staff member's envisioned future with the reader? (Staring [dis]respectfully at all of them)

LETS GOOOOO! The crops are looking good, my anons won't starve! Now let's see....

Mr. Burton: As far as what he sees for him and the reader, he wants to get back into the art scene. Maybe not through his own work, but as a dealer or even a critic. He doesn't want a huge mansion, to much upkeep, but a nice studio in a big city sounds just perfect. He wants you sitting pretty by his side, his muse for paintings and photos. Of course, he'd never display or seel that art, it's a personal passion project. He wouldn't necessarily want kids, but would be 'meh' if not a little annoyed if some came along. Still, the idea of raising a prodigy... He's also the kind of guy to refuse to get a pet but gets very attached to whatever animal you move in with. A kitten? He's using its paws to make those dumb little cat paw paintings online? A dog? He's training it to bring him the brushes and gouache.

Coach Koslov: He loves coaching, the schools athletics department is thriving, and he's happy working with star athletes. However, he wants you away from here. It's simply not healthy, all these boys. You need a man, him. He's got a big home, from his days of being an athlete and olympian, for galas and parties. However, it's long empty now. He'd love to bring life into the home again, get you, and two big ass dogs. He goes for runs frequently, and he would love a pair of bruisers to take on walks but cuddle and love all the same. Children? He worries he's too old for them, but if you insist, he'd get through it and realize how much he wants them. An orthodox Russian wedding, even though he's not religious it's a cultural thing. He'd be a doting dad, the kind to strap the baby to his chest before a run. He's also one of the dad who insist on swim training for the babies safety but sobsnwhen the instructor pushes them in the pool. Little league? Hell yeah.

Critch: He's a simple man, he likes quiet nights of reading at home, and a clean home with a cup of warm tea. He'd want to be traditional, marrying you in a pretty white dress, regardless of your gender, carrying you over that threshold and making you his. Hes expect you to cook and clean, again, regardless of gender, but in return he'd spoil you with travel to luxury places and home upgrades. Experiences, not pointless material items, as he explains to you. He has no pets of his own, but he's a frequent bird feeder oddly enough. Finds it relaxing. He's far to old to want to have a child with you, but he is one for discipline and creating a better, 'proper', future for someone, so he wouldn't be against adopting someone, just older than a toddler.

Kory Koffman: I made a post about Kory already, but to summarize he wants a nice home with plenty of kids, who he can teach and nuture. He's very focused on giving them a life he didn't have, one where he was lonely and outcasted from other kids. Luckily, he always had his mother's love, and he wants his kids to experience that too. He'd be a great dad, saving up the moment you even mention kids to get a bigger home. He'd love a cat, someone snuggle to curl up on his lap while he reads. Or a fish tank with native fish, he loves the sound of running water.

Mr. Murphy: He's the kind of guy who wants a big ol' house outside of city limits, a farmhouse with land for a couple chickens, maybe goats, and a forest nearby for good hunting and fishing. He comes from a big happy family, all boys, and he wants a huge wedding despite not being one for pageantry. You're special, you've made an impact on him and you deserve a grand wedding. Once your married, he'd want a housewife to; like his mama. Cooking and cleaning while he works, coming home and kissing you while helping you finish a stew. Then laying in bed, maybe taking a roll in the hay. Sounds perfect. He'd go to the shelter with you for a big dog, but somehow leave with the oldest, crustiest senior dog they had. He knows what it's like to feel insecure about being past your prime, seen as gruff and not worth someone's time. It hurts him, so know you've got a rickety little yelper scurrying around the house and laying on his daddy's lap. He wants kids, as many as possible to fill up that farm house of his, but i can sense he's a bit of a girl dad. Family camping trips are frequent, he wants his kiddos as interested in nature as he is, not just how to hunt and kill, but to appreciate it.

[ohmybueckers]

Never Strangers: Chapter Two

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: drinking, author who is terrible about being consistent with tenses, incredibly down bad main characters (be gentle with Paige and Maya guys, the first love WLW situationship breakup is ROUGH)

Authors note: Not sure exactly how I feel about this chapter, but I feel like it gives a decent amount of context. Prepare for more flashbacks next chapter. Also this is highkey not proofread so … approach with caution there.

August 26, 2023

The drive from Stamford to Storrs is about two hours, traffic permitting. My mom waits approximately 20 minutes before she begins the inevitable interrogation session into the state of my life. More specifically, the train wreck it has become.

“You know, I really think you should consider rejoining mock trial. You loved it for so long, and look how many friends you made.” She rambles, her eyes never leaving I-95. “You probably would have never met Brooke if you hadn’t joined mock trial.”

Brooke and I met as co-counselors at a mock trial summer intensive for high schoolers at Yale the summer after my freshman year of college. Turns out trying to keep track of a bunch of hormonal fifteen year olds is a bonding experience like no other. She quickly became my formerly long-distance best friend and very soon-to-be roommate. 

“I told you, I’ll check it out when I get there.” I say, half telling the truth and half just trying to get her to change the subject. Clearly, my attempt was failing.

“I just want to make sure you’re making the most of college. I know University of Minnesota was not your thing, but I want you to find your why when it comes to Connecticut.”

I sighed. One of the perks of having a therapist as a mother is that you always have someone to listen to your petty problems without judgement. The downside is that she’s always trying to dig deeper, even when I really do not want to. “My why is being close to you. Plus, UConn is close enough to New York.”

“And close to Paige.” This remark nearly makes me choke.

“Mom!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She quickly apologizes, though knowing her she knew damn well what kind of reaction she would receive. I never told her full details of what actually went down between us - maybe because I thought it would be too embarrassing, or maybe because I knew that if she ended up in my mom’s bad graces, there was no coming back from that. All she knew is that at one point we were friends, then we were more than friends, and then things got messed up and we don’t talk anymore. She also knows that I really don’t like talking about it with her. “Does she know you’re coming?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, I didn’t tell her.” 

The last text I had sent Paige was shortly after the basketball player announced she tore her ACL. Despite the tension between us, it felt wrong to say nothing in these circumstances. Basketball was Paige’s world, and I couldn’t even fathom the grief she must have felt. I received a “thank you maya, i hope you’re doing well. miss u” in return. It took everything in me not to call the blonde after reading the last five letters. 

Thankfully, my moms line of questioning ends there, and she returns to the driving playlist we made together the night before, an eclectic mix of 80’s hits with the occasional R&B ballad. Occasionally I hear her sing along, letting the crack of fresh air from the car window flow through her almost-black hair. Some people say I’m basically her twin: same dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and short stature. I just wish I got a fraction of her curves.

The rest of the car ride, I alternate between reading the newest Emily Henry book and messaging Brooke, who has been sending me updates on our new apartment. She moved into a couple of days ago while my mom and I were still on our girls trip to New York City, and her texts ranged from “ill give you the room with the ensuite bathroom if i can have the bigger room” (deal) to “our neighbors are FINE” (knowing her taste in men, doubtful). 

After what feels like too long in the car (maybe I never actually got over my tendency to get carsick), we pull into a lot. there it is: My new apartment, a small building surrounded by others similar to it and tall trees, still wrapped in vibrant green hues untouched by the incoming fall. I hear a yell from across the lot as I step out, but I’m so overwhelmed by the new sensations in Storrs that it takes my brain a moment to process that the tall figure running across the lot with a truly impressive speed was my best friend.

Brooke barrels towards me, wrapping me in a hug that nearly tips me over. “About time you got here!” She grabs my shoulders, her white acrylics a comfortably familiar sensation on my skin, before turning to my mom with her award-winning smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I’m Brooke. Wow, you could have convinced me you two were sisters. You’re gonna have to give me your skincare routine before you leave.” She gestures to my mom, who giggles. I can tell that her day has been made.

I will never fail to tell Brooke Jones that she is perhaps the most charismatic person I have ever met. When I’m in Mock Trial, I will fight to make my voice heard. Outside of the courtroom, however, I tend to lean on the more reserved side. On the first day of counselor training, it was as if she could sniff out how nervous I was and made it her personal mission to befriend me. And one thing about Brooke: she will make you talk. Somehow I don’t mind it as much when I’m with her. 

So it’s a great sight when Brooke and my mom trail ahead of me, hands filled with various decor items and chatting (I think I hear one of them mention bringing out photos of me in seventh grade, an action I know I will have to intercept later for my own sanity).  

About three hours later, with the hard work of the three of us supplemented by SZA’s discography, my space is set up just enough to where I can sleep comfortably for the next few nights. Brooke pulls my mom in first, after getting her phone number “for emergencies”. Next, it’s my turn. 

“Alright, you know what I’m about to say.”

“We’re not going to throw a party, I know you’re worried about the security deposit.” Behind my mom’s shoulder, I could see Brooke’s brows furrow as she mouthed don’t promise that. 

“No, I meant have fun. Take risks. Find your why,” She grabs my shoulders at the last word for emphasis, and it’s hard to believe that this is my real life and not some after school motivational special. 

We embrace one last time. Despite her cheesy moments, I am reminded just how much I’m going to miss seeing my mom every day. After three years of being in closer proximity to my dad, it was nice to spend the summer in Stamford, my days filled with NYT crossword games by the water and day trips into New York City. This summer solidified that it didn’t even need to be Boston - I was just happier on the east coast. 

“I like your mom, she’s sweet.” I hear Brooke say as we watch the white Toyota leave the parking lot from our third floor window. Our view is perfect, and I picture what it will be like to watch the leaves change from it as the semester goes on. It makes the last few hours of lugging furniture and suitcases up flights of stairs worth it.

“I love her when she’s not trying to psychoanalyze every decision I make,” I chuckle, moving to continue unpacking some miscellaneous items in the kitchen.

Brooke follows me. “Is that what that whole ‘find your why’ thing was about?” 

“Got a whole interrogation in the car. Everyone in my family thinks I’m having some sort of crisis,” I place a stack of plates (a gift from my mom’s boyfriend) in a cabinet. “She even suggested I came here for Paige.”

Brooke stands there, her lips falling into a flat line. She is taking far too long to respond for my preference. My jaw falls, eyes widening. “Stop.”

Brooke lifts her hands in surrender. “Ok, I would be lying if I said it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

My head falls into my hand, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose as my eyes shut. “I swear to god, why does everyone think I chose to go to UConn because of Paige?”

“Maybe because other people definitely have.” Ok, Brooke does have a point. While I have done everything in my power to not think about the blonde, everyone else has been increasingly trying to get in her orbit. I’ve even seen a handful of edits made for her in the past few months as people anticipate her first season back from her injury.

I shake my head. “I’m not that dumb. I’m here for-“

“In-state tuition and to be closer to me and your mom, I know.” Brooke finishes, coming around to wrap one arm around me. It’s her way to both apologize and check in on me. While I appreciate the gesture, a small part of me feels guilty - like I have gotten use to people extending pity to me for one reason or another: my parent’s divorce, the move to Minnesota, Paige, transferring schools. It gets to a point where I just want to win at something.

I lean into her embrace, smelling the citrus in her hair product. “I know I was down bad for a while, but I promise I’m fine.”

I feel Brooke nod above me. “Good, because she’s kinda everywhere on campus. Even if you don’t run into her, people don’t shut up about her.” This was to be expected, a fact I have been preparing myself for months for. I decided it’s just something I’m going to have to get used to, like many things in life.

“Well, why don’t we shut up about Paige and order some food. I’m starving,” I exclaim, moving towards my phone to pull up Doordash. Perhaps my first win can be proving to people that I can thrive at UConn and absolutely not fixate on Paige Bueckers. 

“Okay, okay. You good if we invite my cousin Adria to come over too? She’s chill I swear.” I remember Brooke telling me about Adria last summer, how she was entering her freshman year at `UConn at the time. I nod in agreement, excited to host my first get together in my new space. 

////

Just an hour and a half later, the three of us are sat in the sparsely furnished living room, eating pad thai surrounded by a large collection of boxes. Upon one look at Adria when she stepped through our front door, I could tell her and Brooke were related: both had the same long legs, clear deep complexion and white smiles that looked like they belonged on billboards. Where they differed was in dress: while Brooke wore the same blue sweat set that she helped me unpack in, Adria was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a boho white tank top, a cascade of black and blonde braids down her back and an “A” necklace around her neck. 

Adria is only a sophomore, and yet from the first hour I have known her she appears far more put together than I was at this time last year. It’s evident in the way she talks about her pre-professional sorority, or in the way she talks about getting ahead of internship applications for the next summer. It would almost be irritating if she wasn’t also so charming.

“So what brought you to UConn?” Adria asks me from the other end of the couch. 

“Well, I tried U of M. My dad and his new girlfri… new wife,” The correction felt bitter on my tongue in a way that made me feel guilty. “They live out there, so I got in-state. It just wasn’t for me. I decided to transfer here just in case I still want to go to law school, since my mom lives in-state and I don’t want to go further in debt than I need to.”

“What do you mean if you still want to go to law school?” Brooke questions, her face incredulous. “Wasn’t that your whole plan since you were in, like, fourth grade?”

I love Brooke with everything in me, on the deepest platonic soulmate level there is. I tell her everything - except for the fact that I don’t know if I still want to practice law outside of college. I guess if I said it out loud to her, the girl who I once dreamed of going to law school with, practicing in the same city with before opening a shared practice, it would become more real: that I was seemingly blowing up all I’ve known with no plan B. She already thinks me dropping mock trial is some sign of an incoming mental breakdown.

“I’m just… exploring all of my options.” I muster, though from the furrow in Adria’s brow it must not be as believable as I would have hoped. Judging by the way Brooke’s shoulders appeared to relax, however, it at least worked on her. Eager to switch the attention off of myself, I turn to the younger girl once more. “Adria, what are you studying?”

“I’m kinesiology, trying to become a physical therapist. Maybe do some athletic training?”

Brooke chokes back a laugh, waving her hand. “She’s just saying that because she’s fucking someone on the basketball team.”

If there’s one similarity between Adria and I, it’s the way both of our jaws drop at Brooke’s candor. Her cousin seems particularly taken off guard, throwing her hands up with a, “Jesus Christ, Brooke!”

I can’t help but laugh at the dynamic. “Who is he?”

“She’s on the women’s team.” The word she rings in my ears as my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. I’m literally a lesbian, I thought she was above assuming sexuality based on looks after having it done to me throughout the summer by daddy’s money frat guys in Stamford.  Adria scratched the back of her neck, her cheeks flushing. “Um, KK Arnold?” 

I’ve only seen the name in passing, during a late night scan of the women’s basketball roster that I would never admit to. KK was the new recruit from Wisconsin to my memory … or was it Indiana? 

“She got a job with athletics over the summer. Somehow her and KK crossed paths and they’ve been hooking up since.” Brooke took a bite of her noodles between sentences, filling in the gaps that Adria left. 

“We haven’t even had sex, chill.” Adria held a hand up to her sister, but the shy look never left her face. “KK’s nice though. I think I could really like her, which totally sucks because basketball players aren’t exactly the relationship type.”

“Looks like you both have the same type.” Brooke says through another bite.

Silence falls on the room, followed by a confused “What?” from Adria. 

A part of me wants to be frustrated with Brooke for bringing it up - the last thing I want is to be known at UConn as just a girl who got with the basketball star. However, Adria seems like a kind person, and she did just confide in me about KK. Part of me feels like I owe her an explanation in some sick way. With a sigh, I give her the context. “Brooke is giving me shit because a long time ago, in high school, I kinda had a thing with Paige Bueckers.”

The younger girl looks at me for a beat as if she can’t believe the words that just came out of my mouth. Once she gets a minute to reboot, she explodes “Like Paige Bueckers Paige Bueckers?Holy shit!”

“Don’t say anything, it was a really, really long time ago,” I plea, recognizing that she was acquainted to one of her teammates. Oh god, the last thing I need is KK telling Paige that her … whatever Adria was … told her that her sister’s friend is still hung up on her or something.

“I won’t, I promise.” Adria holds both hands up, a move that must be genetic. “You’re not gonna hit her up now that you’re on her campus?”

“Yeah, I’ll pass,” I say, taking a bite of my own food. I try to ignore the way my stomach flips at how Adria claimed the entirety of University of Connecticut as belonging to Paige somehow. As if there was no room for me. “She may be great at basketball, but that girl does not do emotions.”

“Well, I’m not exactly surprised.” Adria shrugs. My head snaps back up, and Brooke shoots her cousin a pointed look.

“What do you mean?”

Adria continues, “I mean, its not a secret Paige kinda has a reputation here.”

So much for not fixating on Paige Bueckers. My mind races as I ask, “What kind of reputation?” although based on her tone and the context, I can make my own educated guesses. 

“She just gets with a lot of girls on campus.” Adria speaks slowly, her expression somehow guilty. “My freshman year roommates friend got with her. Said she slept with her one night and never talked to her again.”

It’s not like I had no clue that Paige had no issue moving on from me once she got to Storrs. For one, she didn’t seem to have an issue doing such a thing when we were together in the first place. She had also heard rumors through the grapevine at school during her senior year, with people saying that they knew someone whose sister was friends with someone who got with Paige or some outlandish connection like that. Hearing confirmation from someone in Storrs somehow made it more confirmed in my mind. That all Paige wants is to kiss as many girls as possible, touch as many girls as possible, fuck as many girls as possible. Maybe that’s why she started acting so cold and things fell apart. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t enough for her, I can’t help my mind from thinking bitterly. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” I force myself to breeze past the conversation, knowing that I cannot dwell on the past again. After a year or two of trying to figure out where everything went wrong, I have long since realized that there is nothing else to decode. I preferred to think of Paige as a painful memory that I’ve locked far, far away - it was just easier that way. “Who wants to watch a show?”

“You good, Maya?” Brooke asks, a small smile on her face. I know she feels guilty for bringing it up in the first place. But really, I have no reason to be mad: I was the one who ended things, and years ago at that. Being hung up over Paige Bueckers was ridiculous at this point.

“Yeah.” I answer, my voice more sharp than I intended. Fuck. Shaking my head as if to shake off any sort of doubts in their mind, I smile as I stand and walk towards the kitchen. “Believe me when I say I do not care what that girl does. She can do what she wants, and so can I. And what I want right now is to drink some prosecco and watch the Bachelorette.”

The sight of me pulling out the bottle of wine seems to strip Brooke of her doubts, because she agrees with a “Hell yeah, lets do it.”

Thankfully, once the TV is on we all settle into a groove of gossiping about strangers on our TV, not the very real people in our lives. Brooke in particular is enthralled, even though I had to beg her for weeks last summer to give the show a try. Even Adria chimes in as the two contestants cry over these men with a yell of “stand the fuck up!” I am quickly reminded in this moment that these two girls are, in fact, related. At one point in the night, Adria whips out her phone and snaps a photo of Brooke and I, grinning under a pile of throw blankets with our wine glasses in hand, an act I fail to question. After all, she had been checking her phone sporadically throughout the night.

Soon enough, we catch up on the past two episodes, our heads buzzing with the wine we consumed and our eyes struggling to stay awake as we say our goodbyes for the night. Adria pulls me into a hug, my head surrounded by the scent of her vanilla perfume as she whispers, “I’m so sorry about saying that stuff about Paige. You should know you… you absolutely did not deserve that shit, whatever she did. For the record, I think you’re awesome and that its completely her loss.”

I smile, happy to hear her words even if this is just a wine happy trail of thought. “It’s okay, Adria, I promise. It was so good to finally meet you.”

Brooke walks her out, and I can barely make it through brushing my teeth and washing my face before collapsing on my bed. The mattress is not the best quality and Amazon still says my mattress topper won’t be here for a few days, but I drift off easily, my thoughts filled with nothing except gratitude for my first night in Storrs and eager for my new start.

It’s safe to say this feeling does not extend in the morning, when I am awoken by the sun blazing through my window. My mouth is dry as I reach for my phone, eager to check the time and groaning when I see it is only 7AM. My groan is not audible for long, though, as I am quickly silenced by my most recent notification. One that has been awaiting me since 12:37AM.

Paige (DO NOT CALL): You go to UConn now???

August 26, 2023

“Go, go, go… Let’s fucking go Dorka!” I yell, watching as my old teammate scored in a game against the Liberty. It’s the Saturday night before the start of classes, and while the streets of Storrs are filled with people on their first night out of the semester, my teammates and I have all been moved into our current apartments for a little over two months. When your summer breaks are filled with workouts on campus mixed with brief vacations or visits home, that first night out doesn’t exactly carry the same novelty.

Which is why some of us were sat in Nika and Azzi’s living room, game on the TV as the two hosts prepare whatever alcoholic beverage they are subjecting us to from the kitchen separated by a counter. Three of our freshmen sit in the room with us: Ashlynn is on the floor, Ice is right above her on the couch with Aaliyah and Aubrey, and KK is next to me, typing hurriedly on her phone. Being one of the oldest players this year, I feel it’s especially important for me to get to know them - not just how they play, but who they actually are off the court.

“If UConn gets me playing like that,” Ice gestures to the TV, “I’ll know I made the right decision.”

“No turning back now.” Aubrey clapped her on the back, an over exaggerated grin on her face, which Ice responded to by shoving her off playfully. Ashlynn giggles, but doesn’t respond beyond that. It’s not abnormal for her to be quiet - what is abnormal is how silent KK is, her phone apparently more interesting than any of us. Aubrey seems to notice too, because she calls over to her.

“Hey KK, what did you think of that play?” No response. The typically extroverted girl has her chin in her hand, still staring at the screen in her other hand. Ice grabs the nearest pillow to her and throws it at the girl, prompting a jolt and a startled “What?” from KK and a “Ay, cut it out!” from Nika across the counter as she stirs a pitcher of God knows what.

“Bruh, KK, you’re not even watching,” I roll my eyes.

“Probably busy texting her girl,” Aaliyah mutters, although clearly she wasn’t trying that hard to be quiet. Hold up … her girl? Now the entire room quickly turns away from the game and to the freshman, who sits up from her slouched position with a death glare.

“I told you that in private.”

“Yo what? KK, you’ve been on campus for, like, five seconds,” Nika pops in the room.

“Clearly that’s all she needs,” Ice shrugs, earning her the same pillow thrown right back at her.

“Y’all suck,” KK slumps back into the couch, crossing her arms with a slight pout. I feel bad, wondering if we’ve been too hard on the teasing.

“Ok c’mon, we’ll stop. Let’s see her.” I gesture her to bring her phone closer to me, an act that she ignores for now.

“She’s not even my girl,” she mumbles.

“Do you want her to be?” Nika asks, eyebrows raised as she steps closer. All of us watch as KK bites her bottom lip, looking down at her sneakers. Hold on… she’s blushing. I may have only known the girl for two months, but i’ve never seen her do that before.

“Holy shit,” Nika exclaims. “KK’s a lover girl.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, just surprising is all,” Aaliyah clarifies, “not many freshmen are too into settling down.”

I notice Aaliyah, Nika, and Aubrey turn to face me, their stares deadpan. “What are you lookin’ at me for?” I exclaim, pointing at my chest. The heat rising to my face reveals that it’s no secret, even to me.

“What do you think?” Azzi calls from the next room. I sigh.

It’s no secret among the team (or anyone, really) that I had a pretty… entertaining first two years at UConn. Once COVID restrictions began lifting and the team was able to see other people outside of other players, some of the older players made it their mission to show the younger ones what they had been missing, one of those things being who they were missing. Honestly, it’s what I thought I needed at the time: being trapped in my dorm the majority of the time I wasn’t in practice gave me a lot of time to think, and with thinking came regret. More than once I jolted up in my bed in the middle of the night, dreams of dark hair, tanned skin, and that laugh replaying in my mind. It was torture.

Being in a different girl’s bed every weekend silenced it, just momentarily. Some people viewed me as a player who got off on getting any girl she wanted. The guilt of it finally caught up to me at the beginning of my sophomore year, when I thought about all of the girls I hurt, the ones who thought I wanted more than just one or two nights. It just reinforced my worst fear about myself: I was a womanizer who was incapable of caring about anything aside from basketball. 

“Aight aight,” I surrender, shifting my attention back to KK. “We not talking about me right now. Let’s see her.”

KK unlocked her phone, typing a username into the search bar before handing the phone off to me. Nika and Ice were quickly at my side, craning their necks to see a peek. The girl (Adria Taylor, I discover from her bio) is tall, with deep skin and long braids going down her back.

“She’s so pretty!” Nika gushes, and I would have to agree.

Ice, unable to resist the pink circle surrounding Adria’s profile photo, taps on the waiting story before KK can protest. The phone illuminates with a photo of two girls smiling on a couch, captioned “first night back” with a heart and a couple of mentions, presumably her friends handles. I don’t even need to take a look at what is written, however, because my eyes seem to have zeroed in on the girl further from the camera, and my mouth seems to go dry. It can’t be, but it is.

Because the girl in the photo is Maya. 

“Holy fuck.”

I don’t even realize I’ve said it until the three girls turn to look at me, confusion laced in their faces. “What?” Nika asks, concern evident. My heart is racing at a million miles an hour and my hands suddenly feel impossibly sweaty, but I refuse to reveal myself to them. 

I fake a cough, covering it with one hand while the other goes to scratch the back of my neck. “Uh, nothing. Thought I saw something but um,” Suddenly the sight of my lap clad in Nike tech sweats is the most interesting sight in the world. “She’s cute, KK.”

Almost like some sort of angel sent to save me, Azzi appears with a tray full of drinks that are a bright pink color and look entirely too sweet. “Drink it slowly guys, I’m not really sure I measured correctly.” She looks embarrassed at the admission, passing them around the room. Upon my first sip, I wince. Yep, definitely not too sweet. Will I still drink it? Yes. It would be a shame to let a perfectly good drink go to waste, and I now have something to run from tonight.

We continue watching the game, or at least I am. During commercials I spark conversations with anyone who will listen, including asking Ashlynn about some country concert she went to with her parents over the summer. I don’t even really listen to country, but it was nice to see the typically shy girl light up over something. Plus, it gave me an excuse not to think too hard.

Truthfully by the end of the night I was fucking hammered, not bothering to keep track of how many shots I chased down after whatever concoction Nika and Azzi made. Everyone in the room knew it too, to the point where Nika took it upon herself to walk me back to my apartment once the game ended, even though I only lived one floor down and KK and Aubrey were both still at her apartment. 

After I promised her I would chug some water before bed and take the pain reliever she laid out for me in the morning, she agreed to leave and let me go rest. I collapsed in my bed, which suddenly felt like the most comfortable place I had ever been. My brain, on the other hand, was providing anything but comfort running at around 100 miles an hour. Unable to resist, I look up Adria’s profile on my account, clicking the story. Sober me probably would have thought about how it would look if I showed up in her profile views, but drunk me clearly didn’t care enough. 

Sure enough, she’s sat there with a glass of wine in her hands. My heart jumps as I realize that she’s still just as beautiful as she was when I first met her, just more grown up this time. Her face is all defined cheekbones, glistening eyes, and a smile - God, that smile, that never failed to brighten my day if it was directed at me. It’s been a while since I’ve glanced at her profile - though we still follow each other, she barely ever posts and I don’t remember the last time she’s interacted with anything I’ve posted. Viewing her profile is reserved for nights where I’m filled with just enough delusion to convince myself it’s a good idea. Nope, never is. 

The girl next to her (Brooke, I assume from the tag) is leaning into her slightly in a way that makes my stomach flip. She’s not entirely unfamiliar to me - I’ve definitely seen her in a photo dump by Maya last summer. A part of me wonders if that’s the next girl that gets to treat her the way I should have. What if she came to UConn for her, I think. Nope. Can’t do that. Maya hasn’t been mine, not for a while.

The urge to reach out has died down through the years, going from entirely unbearable at times to more of a constant dull itch that I feel as though I can’t ever scratch. Her texting me after my ACL tear last summer provided temporary relief. I mean, it had to say something that she cared enough to show that she cared. A person that hates me wouldn’t do that.

But then, she never responded to my reply. A person that hates me would do that.

So yeah, there is nothing I want more in this world than to text Maya one last time, just to tell her I’m sorry. That I still think about the way I treated her, and how I’ve been too afraid to be with another girl since I’m worried I’ll do the same thing. That I know I don’t deserve her, not even platonically, but feelings aside I miss being around her. I wish we could be friends again, or acquaintances who occasionally text each other on birthdays and holidays, or something. At the very least, I want her to know I’m sorry.

But beyond everything, I want her to be happy. And if me not talking to her makes her happy, as stated the last time I saw her physically where she stated she “just needed time”, I was willing to suffer through that.

Somehow knowing she could be anywhere right now, even just a short walk away, made the suffering unbearable right now, in a way that I hadn’t felt since freshman year. 

Blame it on the alcohol, or the picture, or whatever you like. Doesn’t change the fact that I opened my contacts in search for one particular one. Doesn’t change the five word text I sent that took an embarrassingly long time to think of. And it doesn’t change how my fingers pressed send before any other doubts could enter my brain. Putting my phone on do not disturb, I plug it in and turn off my lights, deciding that chugging water can wait until tomorrow. For now, I need to sleep off everything I’ve seen tonight and the memory of what I just did. 

[sugarushwriting]

ot7 vampire — human blood bank

s2, p10

adult content featured

this may or may not be a sneak preview into a spinoff involving skz 😊

this is the last part! i had started writing a part 11 and last part but couldn’t figure it out so human blood bank, s2 ends here! — [not proof read]

you were in awe at this world around you. it’s almost like you’ve stepped into a new dimension. dark and gloomy, but inviting. castles lined up, feeling like an academy of some sort. like a boarding school.

you’ve been here a few hours, chan giving you a tour of the most important parts. jay annoyed behind him that your attention is all on chan and his clan.

you’ve seen the workout and defense trainings ran by leader of the guards and protectors, seo changbin. he was a buff guy and you couldn’t help but poke at his bicep. lee minho, vampire you have accustomed to, helps out with the classes as well.

you’ve seen the class led by lee felix, healer and fairy. he teaches medicine and support on how to help others that are hurt.

han jisung, werewolf, and kim seungmin, vampire, run a music class for fun. you’ve also learned they’re both part sirens which is why their voices are so entrancing.

hyunjin teaches fencing and classes involving weapons with chan at times.

“what about jeongin?” you asked.

“he just does whatever. makes sure the newbies stay out of trouble.”

“maybe ni-ki should’ve came here.” you said.

you, jay, and sunghoon followed chan up to the main castle. “is this your house?” you asked in awe.

“something like that. not my main, personal home. that, no one will see other than my inner circle.” chan explained

“why? have a torture chamber or something?” you snickered as a joke but chan turned to you with a straight face, then a smirk.

“maybe.”

you stood still as the three walked ahead of you. “coming sweetheart?” chan asked.

jay’s eyes were twitching. sunghoon was internally laughing knowing chan was teasing jay on purpose. jay wouldn’t dare try and fight chan. not with his inner 7 around him. heck, chan doesn’t even need assistance.

“where’s ni-ki, eunchae, and the others?”

“probably with jeongin creating mischief.” chan replied. “anyway, why don’t you come into my office.”

chan opened the door to a huge ass office, lined with books on books. “are these readable?”

“yes. but not fun to read.”

“what do you mean?” you asked curiously.

“it’s mainly history. century old history.”

“eh, i’ll find a way to enjoy it while you men figure out how to make sure i don’t die.” you said and frowned towards jay.

hours later, as the three discussed, you were engaged in the mountains of century old books. learning more about the mythical creatures that surround you. learning about hierarchy. learning in this world, things aren’t black and white, and almost everything has a consequence.

learning about bang chan. if he was destined to mate, where’s his love? you bit your lip, as you read on in the book hoping to find something.

your inner nosy self came about, and you decided to go to chan’s desk as the men were out trying to find a powerful witch or warlock. saying something about the most powerful was giselle with the aespa sisters. they left you behind so you wouldn’t run your energy down.

bingo. you found a journal. multiple actually. the most recent from 1912!? the earliest from 1827. fuck, how old is chan?

“he’s very old. and doesn’t like people meddling in his personal things.” you whipped around seeing seungmin.

“how’d you know—?”

“i can read your mind.” he smiled widely. “now put the journals back before he kills all of us.”

you swallowed but complied. “do you know about chan’s love life?” you began asking but seungmin turned around. you ended up following him.

“oh, the pup is following.” he sighed.

“please! i read alpha males could possibly die without a mate? what about chan? he gives alpha vibes but i have never seen him with someone.” you rattled off.

“that’s not my business to tell.”

“aw come on seungmin! you seem like the type that likes to gossip!”

“you have me incorrect.”

you stood in your spot and pouted. “please?”

“why don’t you just ask me if you’re so curious?” you heard chan speak from behind you.

there he stood with jay and sunghoon, with another woman with a hood up. she removed her hood, revealing her long dark hair.

she walked up to you, no words, and grabbed your hand, hers cold as ice. “she’s weakening. we don’t have anymore time.” the woman turned her head to the men behind her. “we’ll have to go against the ritual and moon. beg for forgiveness.”

“you heard her!” sunghoon snapped. “you’ll be begging on your knees for forgiveness dumbass!” sunghoon snarked to jay.

“chan, do you have an empty space we won’t be bothered? possibly an atreum?” chan nodded. “great, i will beckon giselle, winter, and karina to come quick. gather felix and have him come as well.”

“who are you?” you asked, wondering who was this woman with ice cold hands.

“im ning-ning.”

you paced in the office of chan’s as you waited for the girls—witches—to finish setting up.

you did feel weaker. you felt as if you were losing a part of yourself.

“if you keep pacing, you’ll weaken yourself even more.” chan sighed.

you stopped, turned to him, and asked, “what happened to your love? your mate, if you all still call them that?”

chan’s heart sped thinking about his past lover. it still hurt, even centuries later. “she was killed by an enemy. a hunter.”

you took in a deep breath. “oh my goodness, chan—,”

he nodded. “yeah, it still hurts, but im okay.”

“everyone deserves a second chance at love! have you tried? what do you do when you know—you get the itch you need to scratch?”

chan chuckled. “i have a hand.”

“oh, well, uh,”

“and i will have a second chance. she may have passed on, but im just waiting for her to come back to me.”

“come back as in?”

“yes reincarnation.”

you smiled, but just then, your hand went to clutch your chest in staggering pain. a quick frown came on your lips. you heard voices around you but couldn’t make them out or what they were saying. some voices even seem distant. like not on this earth.

suddenly, you started coughing up blood uncontrollably, falling to your knees on the ground.

again, deep screams came from around you. panic. crying. yelling. footsteps. your vision became blurry. white. you couldn’t see anything.

maybe you screamed. you at least tried to, anyway. your neck burned. the mark burned. your whole body felt on fire.

“please. please. please.” you mumbled out. you didn’t want to die. you didn’t want to forget your boys.

“43 fucking hours!” jay yelled, throwing a glass cup, full of whiskey at the wall. “she hasn’t woken up in 43 hours!”

“all because of you.” ni-ki snickered.

“would you relax? the good thing she isn’t dead! the aespa sisters and felix are keeping a close eye on her.” sunghoon stated.

“fuck!” jay tugged at his hair.

all 7 of your boys were gathered in chan’s office, talking about what happened. your body got so weak, you had less time than anticipated. they had rushed you to the atreum where the aespa sisters had candles, herbs, and other things sitting around your body. hoping the earth, moon, would heal you. forgive jay for his sins against authority.

sunghoon was right. you weren’t dead, but you weren’t exactly alive either. you were in the in between. it was up to you, your soul, your ancestors to choose the path you either continue to take or change.

“what if she becomes a hunter?” sunoo spoke up.

“oh please she can barely stand up right, let alone try to kill one of us.” ni-ki teased. he was trying to ease the tension of everyone. they understood where he was coming from, but it was hard.

“why don’t you all go to the dining hall and find some food? something other than blood.” minho suggested. “all of you.” he narrowed his eyes at jay and sunghoon.

“sitting here worrying isn’t going to make the situation any better.” seungmin added in. “let’s go, i’ll take you where we eat.”

reluctantly all 7 of them followed seungmin and minho, leaving chan behind with changbin and hyunjin.

just as the boys left, giselle came into the room. “she’s alert, but confused.”

“her path?”

“still unclear, but looks like she won’t be a hunter.”

“could she become a witch?” changbin asked, cracking his knuckles.

giselle sighed. “still unclear.”

karina came beside giselle and they shared a look.

“what?” chan asked.

“we think it’ll be best for the ultimate vampire to try and feed her his blood.”

“you mean me?” chan asked with a squeak and pointed to himself. jay would not go for that.

karina added, “you would be the last resort, yes. but we were thinking of starting out with ni-ki. he is a special vampire. their bond is different than hers with the other guys.”

hyunjin asked nervously, “would she be turned into a vampire? i know her bloodline may prevent her from, but could that be so twice in a row?”

giselle then added, “we don’t know, but it’s best we try.”

chan through his mind asked jeongin to bring ni-ki back to the main castle as soon as possible and to not alert any of the others. chan could trust jeongin will make up an excuse of wanting to play a prank.

in no time, jeongin and ni-ki arrived back at the main castle, and was told of the witches plans.

ni-ki hesitated, but would do anything to protect you. he found the four witches and felix surrounding you in the atreum, chan and his guys right outside the door.

felix handed ni-ki a sharp knife, as winter talked ni-ki through feeding you.

with ease, he cut himself, and held his forearm against your lips as his blood dripped into your mouth. since you weren’t be turned, you didn’t latch on like most would.

your eyes fluttered open, turning red for a quick second before they went back to normal. ni-ki removed his forearm, felix immediately tending to you.

suddenly you got the most painful headache, grabbing your forehead. ni-ki felt the same. “fuck!”

“now your imprint with ni-ki has saved you.”

ni-ki and you whipped your head to the witches. “im—imprint?” you stuttered out.

ni-ki looked at you in disgust. you looked back at him with equal disgust.

“remove that look off your face, you turd!”

“im fucking imprinted with her?” ni-ki asked in disbelief. the girls and felix exchanged looks then laughs. “i want a redo.”

“it was either imprinting with ni-ki or chan.” winter explained.

“i would’ve rather taken my chances imprinting with chan!”

after your strength came back within a few minutes, you all walked out to the big room where chan, jeongin, hyunjin, and changbin waited.

“wait until jay finds out i imprinted with you.” ni-ki sighed. little did he know, they had just walked through the door.

“you did what!” jay yelled. the mark on your neck was healed and gone, yet your smell was still strong of jay’s clan.

“i just saved your human blood bank, you’re welcome!” ni-ki said.

chan explained that the imprint between you and ni-ki were out of protection not romantic feelings. chan had also explained with this, senses are heightened even more.

“you mean—,”

you groaned, “don’t tell me this fucker will be able to hear me doing the dirty!”

[fansplaining]

Hello! I just read your article Endless Appetite for Fanfiction. It was very good, and touched on a lot of problems we are faced with in this era of media exploitation. And I agree! There are so many threats! But I do think the future is still in our hands. As the producers and curators of the fandom, we get to steer our audience and peers in the direction we want it to go. Mostly by sticking to our guns and continuing to function as normal, and to teach newcomers the way of the land! We can write PSA's, do disclaimers, continue writing fic the way we want to, comment on each other's work, maintain visible fandom friendships, etc. There are so many things we can do! As long as we want deep connections to the work and each other ( which is why we are doing this in the first place), they can't take anything from us. If anything, we are more established than ever. Anyway, there is hope. <3

Aw, thank you so much for the lovely message, anon! That's this article, if someone still hasn't managed to see it haha.

I definitely agree that we should keep doing all the stuff you've beautifully articulated. Sometimes I feel that as fans and fic writers, there's not much more we can do: so much of this is about external forces we can't control.

As a journalist, I do feel like I have a little more in my arsenal—like reporting on the for-profit fic binding in a mainstream publication, which definitely brought it to the attention of people outside fandom. With these recent AI grifters, they capitulated pretty quickly when fandom pushed back, but I worry the next guy will be a bit more pro, or a bit more uncaring about public outcry. Legally, we do have rights here, but we're decentralized, and unlike Disney etc, an individual fan doesn't have a team of lawyers that can sit on Etsy or wherever, constantly issuing DMCA claims—let alone bring a lawsuit.

Then I think, I'm a fan and a journalist, and so many fandom people have professional skills that can help here. The OTW exists because trained pros—librarians, developers, lawyers—have donated their skills over the years. But they can't be the single centralized group in transformative fandom, and I often worry that many people treat them that way. It's partly why I've been excited to work with the EFF recently, since they're interested in being another transformative fandom advocate. But I also think there's room for much, much more.

So I do have some hope on the external side—it's hard to see what shape our pushback will take, but I know there are tons of fans who will push back! Within fandom itself, it's just as you say: we can make our spaces vibrant and welcoming and meaningful, and we can keep creating and sharing with people in those spaces. I have zero plans to stop writing and publishing fic, no matter how many jackasses swoop in and try to profit off it. And I'm grateful that so many of my fellow fans feel the same way.

Thanks again for your message—I really appreciate it. <3

[lots-of-sun]

A/n: This is a requested piece, thank you so much for it and I really hope you enjoy! Also, I apologize that this took so long to get out, I've been busy with a lot of work at the moment.

@starheadsstuff: Hello i am here to propose a request about our boy Izaki Shun in the Crows Zero II. Not much people write about them and i saw you we're taking request so here i am !!

Izaki Shun x Fem!Reader

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS

The rhythmic sound of the train tracks is almost expected, the same noise I'd heard for as long as I can remember. It rocks and squeaks slightly with age, the district not having enough funds to get a newer model. No one really take this train anymore, it's off the main routes and most don't put in the effort to take a scenic ride on the outskirts of the city. But that's what I like, no one's ever there to bother me. Well that was until six months ago.

He'd shown up on a hot summer afternoon, looking confused at the empty train. It'd only been two stops since mine, having just finished school for the day. His gaze was calculated, looking down towards where I sat, then back the other way. I'd looked away when his gaze brushed over me, my mind suddenly finding the window interesting. A seat by the lengthy windows, far from where I'd sat, was where he chose to sit. The entire ride until my stop, he barely made a noise and had his eyes glued to the scenery that passed by, he was like a statue. After that ride, I didn't see him for a few days and I almost forgot about him completely. Until he showed up again. This time when he stepped into the again empty car, he spoke.

"Is this a ghost train or something?" He had asked, a short chuckle leaving his mouth.

"Or something" I responded with a small smile. He'd returned it before taking the same seat he did last time.

It went on like that for months, small conversation that lead into him moving to closer seats. Then it was full conversations and sitting in the same booth as me. Now it's like routine for him to take this train, talk for the thirty minute ride until I get off and repeat the same process the next day. There was no denying he was strategic and nice and... attractive. We'd gotten close over the months and I had to admit, it was pleasant having someone to talk to.

Today wasn't much different from any other and as I sat down on that worn seat I'd sat in for years, I felt myself relax a bit. It was normal for me to feel at ease on this always vacant train, but as of late, as we approach his stop, I grow nervous. Do I look good today? Is my hair a mess? What if my clothes are dirty and I just can't tell?

A flurry of shallow doubt comes on, even when I'm sure he wouldn't notice even if I was in absolute disarray. Would he even care? Does he care? A heat rises to my cheeks at the thought of my unsure feelings being somewhat reciprocated.

The trains breaks screech, signaling the stop is here already. Suddenly I find myself fixing my hair quickly, restraining myself from fiddling any more than I already am. The slight hiss of the door opening and the sound of heavy sneakers is the only sound that draws my attention to the entrance. And there he is, taking calm strikes towards where I'm sat, his usual small smile plastered on his lips.

"Hey, Train Guy, what sensational stories to do have for me today?" My tone is beyond sarcastic, a smile making its way onto my face. He'd told me about many instances that have happened at Suzuran, bloody fights, the hierarchy, his goals. They were all very entertaining.

"I told you already, my name is Izaki. And not much, Genji's doing my head in" His answer is delivered casually as he slips into the seat in front of me, the train beginning to move.

"So the usual then?" I respond with a smirk. His only reaction is a short nod and an equally as wide smirk that mirrors mine. A short silence stretches on between us before he decids to speak.

"How's school?" His question is short, but genuine and he clears his throat afterwards, like it was hard for him to say. I narrow my eyes slightly at him, trying to read him. He'd never really had trouble saying what he wanted.

"It's good, exams are over finally so I'm basically free for the rest of the term" I answer with a tone of relief, enjoying the thought of no more stressful papers to complete.

He again nods shortly, looking out the window at the passing environment, while I watch his side profile. God, he's so handsome. I wonder what he might be thinking right now, where his mind has escaped to. The gentle sway of the train's movement is calming and I try not to stare too much.

"Still no boyfriend?" He asks suddenly, his voice inquisitive. It catches me so off guard I almost choke on my own spit.

"Uh- No, definitely not" My voice shakes slightly with nervousness, who the hell asks that out of the blue?

"Good" The one word answer pushes me further into shock, I keep my eyes on him as he turns his head to face me again. And he looks pleased, an expression I don't see him wear often. "Because I want you to be mine"

It's blunt and leaves my mouth agape, my mind struggles to process his words without malfunctioning. I close my mouth finally, looking down at my lap with heated cheeks.

"You shouldn't joke about that" I say softly, deflecting his obvious confession. I can feel his eyes on me and I keep my gaze away.

"I'm not joking, but I will understand if I'm not who you want" His voice is lowered, like he's trying to calm me.

"I do want you- you just can't be so blunt all the time" I respond, finally looking up at him. There's a wide smile that sits on his face, like this is the happiest moment of his life. I can't help but mirror his expression.

"Being blunt is easier than beating around the bush" He says conclusively, this time keeping his eyes on me and I can't seem to break away from his gaze either.

I give a small nod, it's the only reply I can muster. The rest of that train ride was a sort of bliss, the kind that follows a tense moment. We discuss where we should go for a date and he slips in a few jokes, meant for someone who's more than just his friend. And for once, I'm glad to not be the only one on this train.

[librideluna]

HARRY UPDATE!

The trains aren’t riding for at least 2 hours, so we very sweetly asked a mom, who is now bringing us to a station halfway. OUR SAVIOR.

We have texted family for a bed if we don’t get back.

But we’re going, we will see him, I WILL BE THERE.

[sluckythewizard]

YOU JUST HƎARD IT FROM [HIS MOUTH] FOR SURƎ!!!