#this is based on a conversation with a friend

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 12

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

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Summary: You and Michael have an honest conversation about your insecurities and expectations. The sexual tension comes to a head.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: this chapter was not as fleshed out in my outline as the others lol sorry it took so long! Thank you for all the likes, comments and reblogs💜💜

note to self: need to up the word count? add smut lol

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: age gap, mild angst, foul language, mild jealous!Robby, fluff, SMUT (MINORS DNI), afab!reader, fingering, p in v, light praise kink, pet names (sweetheart, honey, baby)

not beta read

In the dates that followed, a contentment settled. You felt like you would be able to forgive him for the harsh words he had hurled at you, and build the relationship based on mutual trust in time. You took it slow, usually going to restaurants or the museum, and he only ever kissed you goodnight, though he always lingered just enough to steal another.

Days bled into weeks, dates into quiet nights in. The holidays came and went, though you spent them separately. Michael worked several holiday shifts, while you spent time with friends and family. “Next year, we’ll spend them together.” and that was good enough.

Marsi kept pressing to meet him, which Erin would echo, and it became increasingly difficult to fend them off. You were enjoying your time with Michael, and did not want to rush anything. The feelings twisting around in your chest had other plans, however, tangling deeper with every day you spent together.

Michael paid for your utilities that month, as “a late holiday gift” and then paid for the CPA review course as “a graduation gift”. He then splurged and took you out to the fanciest restaurant in Pittsburgh, to celebrate.

It made you feel like you were taking advantage of him, but part of you also felt massive relief that those bills weren’t on your shoulders. It also stirred something in your stomach at being spoiled, something you had not quite experienced before.

“I appreciate it a lot, Mike, just…” You sighed, flipping the chicken in the pan.

He watched you expectantly, setting his wine glass onto the counter.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

He smiled gently, “I know that, trust me. I paid off my loans some years ago, so I understand how stressful it can be. If I can help, I want to.”

“Thank you.” You said softly, “Feels like something a boyfriend might do…”

“Aren’t I?”

You looked over at him in surprise, blinking a few times. “I knew we were exclusive, I just didn’t realize we had given it a name yet.”

He cupped her cheek, “Then, would you like to make this official and be my girlfriend?”

Your cheeks heated, and you grinned at him, looking at him through you eyelashes. This still felt slow, easy, but the title made you feel more secure. It felt like a breath of relief.

“I’d like that a lot, yeah.”

“Label or not, it’s you and me?”

“You and me.” You agreed. “But I like the label.”

He smiled, “Me too.”

He leaned down to capture your lips and you savored the kiss, tasting the wine on his tongue. He ran a thumb over your cheek before pulling away.

It was easy enough to guess how Marsi had tricked you into meeting Michael. An offhanded comment about going to a bar with Michael, and a coy, “have fun!”, and then there they were in the bar waiting for you.

You paused at the door, Michael nearly walking into the back of you.

His hand found your arm, “You alright?”

“Well fuck me.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to say this in advance: I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

Erin approached first, “So you must be Michael.”

Michael’s eyes looked over to Erin, taking in her smirk and carefree expression, though her eyes were subtly assessing him. Marsi, next to her, was being less subtle.

“Michael, these are my friends, Erin and Marsi.” You introduced, looking up at Michael with an apologetic smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Erin grinned back at you.

Michael offered a careful smile, “Nice to meet you.”

Marsi hummed, while Erin clapped her hands together.

“So glad you’re here! Drink?” Erin grabbed your hand and pulled you to the bar.

Michael followed dutifully.

“What the hell, Erin?” You hissed lowly. “I mean, seriously?”

Erin smiled innocently, blinking her eyes at her, “What? We like this bar too, you know.”

You groaned, “You completely blindsided me. He deserved a warning.”

Marsi scoffed, “He’ll be just fine.”

You let out a long breath of air, and ordered a drink. Michael slid in beside you, ordering a beer.

You leaned in to Michael to whisper, “This was not my idea, I’m sorry.”

He smiled easily, “Don’t fret. I’m glad I’m able to meet some of your friends.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

“Not at all, I’m your boyfriend. I expected to meet them soon, anyways. We can plan something with some of my…friends, if that makes you feel better.” He offered.

Butterflies filled your stomach, nerves rattling around your bloodstream, but you nodded. “Yeah, yes, please.”

He smiled.

—

Erin and Marsi were pleasant — though Marsi was not-so-subtly grilling him. Each question made you hide behind your hand, mouthing “I’m sorry” to him. He brushed it off and grabbed your hand.

With his hand on your lower back, he began to notice the eyes. It made him bristle, removing his hands from your skin. You noticed his shift in mood easily, raising a simple eyebrow to ask what your were likely thinking. He only offered a small smile to answer that he was fine.

He was not fine. It felt like the bubble around them had finally burst — letting in all the outside judgements that had been lingering the entire time. He tried not to care, but it made him self conscious. You were very clearly younger than him, even in the low lighting of the bar, and he could feel other men circling like sharks.

When you excused yourself to get another drink at the bar, Erin and Marsi departed to dance, and heat rose to his cheeks. He felt out of his depth, sipping his beer at the table they had secured, alone and yet, completely occupied by his racing mind.

Could he truly do this to you? Tie you to him and ruin your youth? He always tried to be a gentleman, but wasn’t the noble thing to do to let you go? His stomach churned, mind and heart battling it out.

He wanted you, in every way a man could want a woman, for as long as you would have him. The warm, fuzzy feeling swaying around his chest made a hard fight against the guilty, self deprecating thoughts.

They all screeched to a halt when a man approached you at the bar, hand on you back to whisper something to you. He watched, frozen to his chair, as you scrunched your nose at him, shifting out of his hold.

How could he blame the man? You were gorgeous. Stunning. Beautiful in mind and body. Smart, so incredibly smart, with a laugh that eased all the haunting feelings in his chest.

Your eyes meeting his across the bar and he was out of his seat, making his way over to you. Your eyes softened when he approached, the man’s back still facing him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Michael said, getting his attention.

The man only glanced sideways at Michael, “Get lost, old man. Trying to have a conversation here.”

“That’s my boyfriend, asshole.” You snapped before Michael could even open his mouth again.

Michael smirked, looking back at the man. His voice lowered closer to something dangerous, “She likes her space, so disrespectfully, you get lost.”

The man raised a questioning eyebrow at you, disbelief flashing across his features, before he must’ve decided it wasn’t worth it. Michael slid closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Was that jealousy?” You asked with a playful eyebrow raise, sipping your drink. “Can’t say I hated it — it was kinda hot — but, still. I could’ve handled that. I’ve chosen you. Random men aren’t going to be able to change that.”

“Kinda hot?” He raised a teasing eyebrow.

You chuckled, “Of course that's what you got out of what I said.”

“No, no, I heard you. Just wanna revisit that bit.”

You rolled your eyes playfully.

He pulled you close and kissed the top of your head. “Just want everyone here to know you’re mine. Even if they judge us.”

You flustered, and your mouth opened and closed several times. He noted how those words made you fluster, and tucked it away for another day.

“I want you, Mike. I know people are gonna look at us, and yeah, I don’t love that. But I can’t let that stop me from being happy, you know? You make me happy.”

He blinked, searching your eyes, “They’re never going to stop.”

“You said you wanted everyone to know I was yours.” You swallowed, eyes flicking between his. “I want everyone to know you’re mine, too.”

He smiled, kissing your lips in more than just a fleeting meeting of mouths. It was passionate, and made the blood rush down.

“So we might as well get used to it, or ignore it.” You breathed against his lips. “I want to be here, with you. No one else.”

“You and me against the world, then?”

“You and me.” You confirmed.

—

Over dinner one night, you were twisting the pasta on your fork, your focus was clearly elsewhere.

“You okay?”

You looked back up at him and smiled, “I forgive you. Thank you for giving me the time to.”

He blinked, swallowing his food. He reached across the table and grabbed your hand.

“Thank you.”

Sometime after dinner on the quiet night in, you found your way to Michael’s lap, exploring further than you had gone together. You straddled him, hands on each side of his face, kissing him deeply while his hands explored the skin around your waist. When your lips parted, Michael’s pupils had blown wide, black devouring the brown of his iris. He was taking deep breaths, watching you intently.

You moved your lips to kiss down his neck and his hips jerked up just enough to elicit a whine from your mouth.

Your eyes found each other again, testing, teasing, tentative. Your fingers fiddled with the gold chain near the back of his neck, the other going to his chest where his shirt separated you.

“We can call it here—”

“Do you want to?” You asked, eyes trying to read his expression.

“No.” It sounded mildly strangled. “But we can, if you’re not comfortable. I want to do this right.”

“Michael, I want you. This feels right.”

His eyes darkened, hands tightening around your hips. His lips were back on yours, greedy, hungry, and your tongue darted into his mouth. You swallowed his moan, hips moving in search of friction.

Leaning forward slightly, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he stood up. You squealed, wrapping your legs around his hips to hold onto him. He had his hands on the back of your thighs, keeping you from falling, as he made the journey to his room.

“Michael—!” was more surprise than protest.

He grinned against your mouth, moving into his bedroom. You would have taken the room in, if it weren’t for Michael distracting you completely. He leaned down to plop you onto the bed, and you instinctively reached back up for him.

Michael was looking down at you with a smile that reached his eyes, soft and serene. He kissed you lightly, and you scooted back on the bed, pulling him with you. He settled between your legs, breath hot against your neck, kissing down the column of your throat and making you whine again.

Your hips moved up to gain some friction, making him suck on the skin at the base of your throat at the juncture of your collarbone. You gripped the hair at the back of his neck, trying to keep hold of your senses.

Michael moved to sit back on his haunches, removing his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. A rush of excitement flooded your chest, and you sat up enough to remove your blouse. With your bra, Michael pulled off your pants until they each were only left in your underwear.

When he got back down to kiss you, the heat of him between your legs made your head grow hazy, consumed with him him him. The smell of vanilla and sandalwood filling your nose, the taste of him on your tongue and his large, warm hands exploring your body.

His hand gripped your thigh and squeezed your flesh, and with his tongue back in your mouth, the rest of the world fell away.

Michael kissed over your shoulder, one hand slipping between you until it met your panties.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.” You choked out, his fingers slipping underneath the fabric to meet the wet heat.

He gathered a bit of your slick before rubbing soft circles on your clit, making your jolt, a moan escaping. He kissed back up your throat and across your jaw, beard tickling your skin. His fingers moved in a steady motion and heat pooled low.

“Want to feel you.” You mustered, grabbing at his biceps, thoughts going feral at the feel of them flexing beneath your hold.

“I’m in no rush tonight, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

When one of his fingers slipped inside, you lost the meaning of patience, eyes screwed tight. He curled it expertly upwards, rubbing against that delicious spot inside you, making you mewl. His thumb kept its pace on your clit.

“Michael.” You ground out, trying to remember to breathe. “That feels so good.”

He hummed against your throat, kissing your skin. He added another finger, and heat built up, licking up your abdomen. You felt that coil tighten, like a rubber band being pulled taut.

“Please.” You begged, panting slightly, one hand still on his bicep, while the other gripped tightly to his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, come on.” His lips met yours.

You moaned when he added a little pressure to his thumb, that burning ecstasy just within reach. Trying to breathe, it was that all consuming feeling of him everywhere that kept you tethered. Your eyes met, and your orgasm came swiftly, the rubber band snapping. You gripped him tightly, squeezing your hands on his shoulders as several lewd moans left your mouth.

“So good, sweetheart.” He kissed your cheek, not letting up.

It quickly became over sensitive, and you reached down to grab his wrist to stop him.

“Fuck.” You let out with a smile, followed by a whine when he removed his fingers.

His fingers glistened and he held your gaze as he stuck them into his mouth, sucking on them. You felt your pupils dilate, a pulse starting again between your thighs as the desire for him heightened again. You had such an urge to get your mouth on him.

“Taste so good, sweetheart — can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”

Your hum was dangerously close to a whine, “Need you now. Please.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

“Michael. Do you want me to beg for it?” You asked, hands on either side of his face, fingers on the back of his head in his hair.

A sly smirk grew on his lips, “It could be arranged.”

You groaned, throwing your head back on the pillow, making him chuckle lightly.

“Maybe another time, then.” He said, kissing up your torso, stopping to pay attention to your nipples.

He took a peaked nipple into his mouth and your fingers found his hair, a whimper escaping. His tongue rolled over the bud, before sucking hard and moving to give the other his attention. His hand moved to the one he had just left, rolling it between his fingers. It sent sparks straight to your core, walls clenching around nothing. A few breathless moans left your mouth, lips parted as your eyes closed, relishing in his attentions.

Need pulsed through your system, throbbing with want and driving you mad. Red tinted lust clouded your mind, hot and heavy, driven by his skilled fingers and hot mouth.

“I need your cock, Mike…fuck—please.”

He groaned against you, adjusting his hips and you eyes fluttered at the weight of him. His eyes met yours and you could see he was torn between worshipping you and taking his time to unravel you again slowly, and fully just submitting to the desire.

It seemed to be a conundrum you were both stuck between: wanting to savor the moment and throwing patience out the window. Though you had abandoned patience as soon as he got his hands on you, but you also knew you did not want to rush something you had been thinking about for ages.

Making the decision, you moved one hand to the band of his boxers, slipping underneath and a gasp stuck in your throat when you wrapped your hand around his length. He stilled and savored your hand on him, his eyes closing.

You pumped a few times, and Michael shifted to pull his boxers completely off, revealing his hardened length to you. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at the sight of it — big enough to elicit excitement and not fear, girthy without being too much, a nest of brown curls at the base. Your thoughts spiraled, pussy clenching again around nothing.

Reaching for the nightstand, Michael pulled out a condom, and put it on quickly, without fanfare. Once it was rolled to the base of him, he slotted himself between your spread legs, kissing your jaw and cheeks before pecking a few to your lips.

You gripped his shoulders when he ran the tip through your folds, stopping to add a bit of pressure to your clit. He ran the bottom of his cock over your clit until tears gathered at the corner of your eyes — half from overstimulation, half desperation.

He lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in the blunt head of his cock in slowly. You sucked in a shallow breath, tightening your grip on him. A groan echoed low in his throat, eyes closed, forehead resting on yours as he drove in deeper. He let out a long breath, grabbed one of your thighs and pulled it up to his hip. He then steadied himself with both forearms at either side of her head, hips fully meeting yours.

The kiss he captured was deeply passionate, and you wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to you. You reveled in his weight on you, and the stretch of him between your legs. Devine and adding to the aching heat in your core. You wrapped your legs fully around him, criss-crossing your feet at the small of his back, which gained a tiny moan from Michael.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you feel so good, sweetheart.” He said, burying his face in your neck, still holding still.

Your back arched slightly at the praise, clenching around him, a curse slipping past your lips. “Oh my—Mike.”

“Don’t—” he choked, “—fuck, you keep doing that and I’m not going to last.”

“Can’t help it—feels so good.” You whispered, trying to keep your from clenching again at the sound of his husky undertones.

“I know, honey, I know.”

He took a long moment without moving, instead looking into your eyes with an intimacy that spread warmth down your spine and made your heart race.

When he started moving, it was slow, deliberate, each thrust a vow, a phrase they had not yet been said. Moving out just enough before moving back in at a languid pace, the long drag of his hips filled your lower belly with heat. It felt like words had been stolen from your lips, staring wide-eyed up at him and treasuring the way his eyes held steady, filled with equal parts adoration and desire.

Reaching between them again, his thumb met your clit and he rubbed a slow circle. Searing heat flooded your bloodstream, and you throbbed around him. You panted out soft breaths of air, swallowing thickly before leaning up to kiss his lips.

The rhythm grew steady, and each drag of his hips felt more lovely than the last. Filling so full of him, all of your senses clouded with his smell, his taste, his touch, and it made everything more delicious, more divine, until he was every thought in your head.

The coil started tightening again, and you moaned. You thought you might never have your fill of him. With each snap of his hips, you then knew with certainty that you would never get enough. He brushed the spongy spot inside you that had you tensing, curling your toes, sinful noises rolling off your tongue without permission.

The familiar euphoria started expanding low in your belly, your eyes hooded with pleasure that was nearly overwhelming. The perfect feeling of him, being so stuffed full — there were no words for it.

"You're mine. Say it." He whispered huskily, eyes on yours.

The words traveled right to your core. "Yours, Michael. All yours."

The kiss he met your lips with was greedy, like he was devouring the words, roughly taking in your bottom lip. Hands in his hair, you gave it all to him.

Michael’s face scrunched up as pleasure must have been spreading through his system, though his kisses were still slow and controlled.

Feeling the edge of your release, you felt like you never wanted it to end, even at the cusp of your second orgasm. You wanted to savor it. Though with each thrust in and out, you fell into a desperation to feel the crashing wave of heat, clinging to him.

It felt overly indulgent to approach your second climax of the night, and you knew he was going to spoil you in every way he could.

“Mike—ohmygod—I’m—” you cried out, gripping his shoulders like your life depended on it.

“That’s it—I can feel that you’re close, sweetheart. I wanna feel it, give it to me, come on.” He encouraged, tone breathy in your ear.

He moved the hand from between them to intertwine their fingers beside your head, and replaced it with his other hand without missing a beat, not leaving you wanting for long. He added pressure with the pad of his thumb, and your thoughts stalled out. Just burning pleasure in your core, echoing outwards.

“Can feel you getting tight—fuck, sweetheart—come on my cock for me, come on.”

A high pitched whine left your lips, and everything tightened — your grip, your legs around his waist, your pussy clenching making him gasp and groan, your whole body tensing.

His low hiss of your name threw you over the edge, sending your hurtling into the white-hot heat that was all-consuming. The coil snapped and fire exploded through your system, all your resolve shattering. Your eyes screwed shut, pussy pulsing around him while he fucked you through it.

A mix of his name and incoherent moans came from your lips, scorching heat overcoming every nerve. It kept rolling as his hips kept moving and you sucked in a deep breath, as he whispered soft praises in your ear. You panted, trying to catch your breath — you felt like you were floating above your body, pleasure stinging every nerve until it slowly started ebbing away.

“Mike—oh!” Your back arched again, feeling his skin flush against your, as his cock continued to drive into you. “You feel so good, baby.”

“Yeah? Like being full of me?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted, each word matching with each thrust into your wet heat.

His new pace was faster, making stars dance behind your eyes, his grunts and groans making you unconsciously pulse around him. He moved his hand from between your legs to beside you, moving up just enough to stare down at you. Pleasure started contorting his face, your name on his tongue.

His forehead met yours, panting, each snap of his hips growing sloppy.

“Mmm love being so full of you, Mike. You feel so good.”

Michael kissed you, unfocused and messy, moaning into your mouth as his orgasm overcame him. His hips stuttered until they stopped, and the feeling pulled a final low moan from your lips.

He heaved a few breaths, your chest rising and falling in time with his. He met your eyes and smiled.

When he pulled out, it left you feeling empty, but you slipped to his side after he discarded the condom. He wrapped an arm around you, kissing your forehead. You traced tiny shapes along his chest, feeling so full of an emotion you did not yet want to name, but it thrummed just beneath the surface.

“I’m falling in love with you.” He said quietly, like it was a secret.

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “I’ve been falling for you, too.”

Michael’s face lit up and he leaned down to kiss you tenderly.

“You and me?”

“You and me.”

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

Gimme that man

Didn’t realize how expensive it was to be a CPA after graduating with your masters lol, Robby you’re a real one

[migmigbigboy]

based on a real conversation I had with a friend

[purplereina11]

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 8

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

Mariona’s gaze flicked to Liv, like maybe she expected a lifeline. But Liv just sipped her drink, watching you carefully now, all traces of smugness gone. Maya muttered something under her breath and busied herself with rearranging the olives on her plate—clearly not wanting to get involved.

“Okay,” Mariona said cautiously, setting her glass down. “Maybe that came out wrong.”

“No, it came out loud and clear,” you said, keeping your voice even, detached—because if you didn’t, the heat building behind your ribs might crack you wide open.

She shifted in her seat, tapping her fingers against the side of her glass. “I’m not defending it. I just think… she doesn’t know how to deal with you.”

You scoffed. “What, like I’m some kind of puzzle?”

“More like… a live wire,” Maya mumbled, not looking up.

You glanced at her, but she still wouldn’t meet your eyes. The table had turned heavy now, air thick and humming with things unsaid.

Liv finally leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in her palm. “So what’s your play then?” she asked, tone too casual to be innocent.

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean, now that I know she’s been stringing Vicky along to make me jealous?”

“Mhmm,” Liv nodded, swirling her wine.

"I've just followed and commented on Albas latest bikini post"

Mariona groaned immediately, dragging both hands down her face before burying it in her palms. “No. No no no—you didn’t. Oh, come on,” she muttered, muffled by her hands. “You did not.”

You leaned back against the booth, arms crossed, the tiniest edge of a smirk curling at your lips. “I did. Fire emoji and the one with the face is drooling and all”

Liv’s jaw actually dropped for a second before she burst out laughing. “You’re evil.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, taking a sip of your drink.

Mariona finally lifted her head, eyes wide. “Alba? Really? Of all people? You couldn’t have picked someone slightly less… personal?”

Maya looked up sharply, then blinked like she’d just caught up to the conversation. “Wait—Alba Alba? Are you serious right now? That’s her sister”

You nodded, raising your glass. “I’m aware,” you said, voice flat. “She wanted a reaction? She’s about to get one.”

Liv looked downright gleeful now. “Oh, this is gonna be so messy. I’m obsessed.”

“Please don’t encourage this,” Mariona muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face again. “Alexia’s going to see that and lose her entire mind.”

“That’s kind of the point,” you replied, voice cool. “She wants to play games? Let’s play.”

Maya shook her head. “You are poking a very emotionally unstable bear.”

“She poked first,” you said flatly. “She just didn’t expect me to poke back with claws.”

Liv raised her brows and leaned in like she was watching a car crash in slow motion—equal parts horror and fascination. “So what was the comment?”

You smiled, all teeth now. “She posted a bikini photo, her caption sun hits different lately” you dropped your phone to the table, "I commented Guess it does. Damn. Drool emoji Flame emoji"

Mariona smacked her forehead against the table with a thud. “That’s worse than I thought.”

“That’s perfect,” Liv corrected

Maya let out a long, slow exhale and leaned back. “You’re both insane.”

You didn’t disagree.

Because the game had changed now. And somewhere across the city, Alexia was probably staring at her phone, trying very hard not to throw it across the room.

--

The comment had been live for less than a couple of hours. Just enough time for you to scroll past it, toss your phone aside onto your sofa back home, and tell yourself you didn’t care. That it didn’t mean anything. Except… it did.

Because the moment you refreshed your feed and saw Alexia had viewed your story—the one you posted from dinner with Liv, Maya, and Mariona, all smiles and full glasses—it was clear she could of seen the comment too. Of course she had. It was Alba’s post. There was no not seeing it. You leaned back against the cushions, ice back on your ankle, tension thrumming just beneath your skin. You weren’t sure if you were satisfied, or anxious, or just bracing for impact.

It didn’t take long. Your phone buzzed with a text.

Alexia: Really?

Just that. No punctuation. No context. You didn’t reply right away. Let it sit. Let her squirm.

Then another.

Alexia: You’re flirting with my sister now?

You stared at it. And smiled. You tapped out a reply, slow and deliberate:

You: Not flirting. Just appreciating the view. 😏

The bubble popped up instantly, like she was ready to go off— Then it vanished. A minute later, it buzzed again.

Alexia: Don’t play games with me.

You stared at the message, pulse ticking in your jaw. The nerve. You typed without thinking.

You: Funny. I could’ve sworn that’s all you’ve been doing.

There was a long pause. You could feel her reading it, re-reading it, trying to figure out whether to respond or throw her phone.

And then—another text.

Alexia: We need to talk. In person.

You didn’t respond. You just locked your phone, tossed it on the coffee table again, and let the message hang in the air like smoke. She wanted to talk? Fine. But this time, it would be on your terms.

You didn’t answer her text. Not that night. Not the next morning. You didn’t ignore it out of spite—well, not entirely. It was more about holding the upper hand for once. About not jumping the second Alexia snapped her fingers, not folding just because she decided now was the time she wanted to talk. She’d been the one playing games. She’d been the one walking out. Let her sit in the silence for once.

You spent most of the next day with your foot elevated, rehabbing like a professional, and pretending not to check your phone every ten minutes. You weren’t waiting for her to text again.

But by early evening, as the sky turned pink through your window, your phone buzzed with a name you’d been expecting. Not a text this time. A call. Alexia. You let it ring. And ring. And then—picked up. “…Hello?”

Her voice was tight. Controlled. But not cold. “Are you home?”

You looked around your quiet apartment, tension already gathering in your chest. “Why?”

“I’m downstairs.” Of course she was.

You exhaled through your nose, pressed the bridge of it with your fingers. “You can’t keep showing up every time you don’t like something I do.”

“Then stop doing things to get a reaction,” she shot back.

You almost smiled. Almost. “Touché.”

Silence stretched on the line. Like she was pondering what you knew, then “Please just… can I come up?”

You didn’t answer. You buzzed her in. A few minutes later, there was a knock. You opened the door slowly. There she was. Hoodie. No makeup. Fire already burning in her eyes. 

She stepped in like a storm, brushing past you without waiting to be asked. “You seriously commented that on Alba’s post?” she snapped, turning back to face you as the door clicked shut.

You leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “You’re still on that?”

“Yes, I’m still on that. What the hell were you thinking?”

You laughed—sharp, tired, bitter. “Maybe I was thinking about how it felt watching you parade your ex around while pretending I don’t exist.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not what that was.”

“Oh, come on,” you snapped, stepping forward. “You didn’t want her. You just wanted to see how fast I’d react when she showed up at your door.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is true, Alexia?” you fired back, voice rising. “That we only work when we’re naked and fucking? That this only makes sense when you’re crawling into my bed, and everything else gets swept under the rug?”

She flinched. “Don’t twist this like I’m the only one playing games.”

“Right, because you showing up every time we fight to remind me how good it is in bed—that’s not a game?”

“I didn’t come here to sleep with you,” she shot back.

“No?” you scoffed. “Then why are we shouting in my living room again? What are we even doing, Alexia?”

She stepped closer. Too close. “I don’t know!” And then—she grabbed your face and kissed you. Hard. Fierce. Like a fuse had been lit inside her. It hit you like a wave—heat, anger, heartbreak, all tangled together. Her hands were desperate, her mouth familiar and wild against yours, like if she kissed you hard enough, she could silence all the things she didn’t want to say.

But you didn’t melt this time. You pushed her back, panting, hands still gripping her wrists. “What the hell are you doing?” you demanded, heart hammering.

Alexia stood there, flushed, lips parted, chest rising and falling. And then she said, bitter and breathless, “Isn’t this what we do now? Fight. Fuck. Repeat.” The words hung between you like a slap.

You stood there, staring at her—your pulse still pounding from the kiss, from the heat of the argument, from everything. The air between you was heavy, volatile, laced with something that felt just as dangerous as it did familiar. You blinked slowly, jaw tight. Then, your voice came low. Calm—but cutting. “So you did come over to fuck.”

Alexia didn’t flinch. She looked at you square in the face, jaw set, defiant. “No.” Then she took a breath and said something that made your stomach twist.

You stepped back, finally. Put space between you and the fire still burning in her eyes. “I’m not gonna keep doing this,” you said. “I’m not gonna keep letting you walk in here like this place—and I—belong to you.”

Alexia’s shoulders tensed as you stepped back. Her jaw clenched like she was holding herself together by a thread. You could see the flicker in her eyes—anger, guilt, something else trying to break through. She glanced away for a second, just enough to give herself time to reset, and then levelled you with a look.

“So this is what we’re doing now?” she asked, her voice sharp, wounded. “Dragging my sister into this? You really think Alba deserves to get caught in your mess just because you’re pissed at me?”

You laughed again—this time quieter, rougher. “My mess? That’s rich coming from you. Don’t act like you’re suddenly the moral compass here.”

Alexia’s expression twisted. “This isn’t about morality. It’s about respect. You don’t use people like that.”

“Oh please,” you snapped. “Like you didn’t pull the same stunt with Vicky.”

She blinked, caught off guard for just a second. Then her face hardened. “That’s not the same.”

“The hell it’s not,” you said, stepping forward again, voice rising. “You didn’t give a damn about Vicky. You just wanted me to see her, to wonder, to burn. And you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Alexia scoffed, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe you were saying it. “You’re paranoid.”

You grinned, sharp and cold. “What? Didn’t think I’d figure it out?” You tilted your head slightly, letting the smugness cut through your voice. “I’m not stupid, Alexia.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. You could see the words behind her eyes, the ones she wanted to hurl but knew would do real damage. And then—there it was. That flicker of guilt again. That flash of you-caught-me-even-if-I-hate-it.

She crossed her arms tight across her chest, like she could hold it all in. “You’re twisting everything.”

“No,” you said, your tone low now, calm like before the crack of thunder. “I’m just done pretending I don’t see the games.”

Her breath hitched, barely, but enough. Enough to let you know you’d struck something real. “You think this gives you the high ground?” she asked, voice steady but glass-thin. “Using Alba to hit back at me? That doesn’t make you right. It just makes you petty.”

You shrugged, the smirk still playing at the corners of your mouth. “And you showing up uninvited, starting fights, kissing me like you’re still allowed to? That’s what—mature?”

Alexia’s jaw twitched. “I came here to talk.”

“No,” you said, walking past her now, not even looking at her. “You came here to win. Like you always do. You just didn’t expect me to stop playing.”

She didn’t follow you right away. Didn’t speak. Just stood there in the silence, like she was trying to figure out what to do now that the script had changed.

When you turned back to face her, she was staring at the floor, hands fists at her sides. “I’m not your punching bag,” you said simply. “And I’m sure as hell not your backup plan when you get bored.”

Alexia looked up then, eyes rimmed red, but the fire hadn’t left. “You think I’m bored of you?”

“I think you don’t know what the hell you want,” you said. “And I’m done paying the price for your confusion.”

There was a long pause. Just breathing. Just tension. Then Alexia said, almost too quietly, “I don’t want to lose you.”

You looked at her for a long second, heart aching against your better judgment. But your voice was firm when you answered. “You never had me”

Alexia didn’t move, but her voice came sharp, slicing through the space between you like it hurt her just to say it. “So it was just sex for you?” she asked, her tone raw, cracking at the edges. “You never considered me a friend?”

You froze. That question—of all the things she could’ve said, that one knocked the wind out of you for a second. Not because it surprised you, but because you knew how badly she needed the answer to be no.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck, eyes drifting to the wall like it would offer you a way out of this moment. But there wasn’t one. Not anymore.

“Alexia…” you started, voice low. You shook your head. “You’re not just some hookup, alright? You never were.”

“Then why do you treat me like one?” she snapped, stepping forward again. “Why does everything have to turn into this tug-of-war where we’re always trying to hurt each other more than the last time?”

“Because you started playing games with feelings,” you shot back. “Because one minute I’m the person you can’t live without here by the fucking minute and the next I’m a ghost until you get bored or lonely or jealous enough to remember I exist. Or horny enough because apparently your girlfriend can’t fuck you right”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, you’re not fair,” you cut her off. “You show up like a hurricane, wreck everything, then act surprised when I stop trying to be your friend.”

Alexia blinked, but stayed rooted. “I wasn’t trying to wreck anything. I just… I didn’t know how to be around you without wanting more.”

That hung there. Real. Vulnerable. Too late. You took a breath, slow and shaky. “And you thought dragging your ex around, sleeping with me, then ghosting, then showing up again to fight and fuck, was better than saying that?”

“I was scared,” she said quietly.

“So was I,” you admitted. “Still am. But I didn’t lie about what this meant to me. I didn’t hide behind my ex, or silence.”

Her lips parted. She looked like she might cry, but you both knew she wouldn’t let herself. That wasn’t her style. She’d storm out first. Slam a door. Set a fire. “I just wanted you to see me,” she said, almost a whisper.

You met her eyes. “I always did. With your ex in tow. It didn’t draw me in Alexia, it pushed me away, I’m no ones second choice.”

The silence that followed wasn’t angry anymore. It wasn’t loud. It was tired. Heavy with the weight of everything said and unsaid over months, maybe years. Alexia looked around the room like it wasn’t hers to be in anymore. Like she was already halfway gone.

Then you said, barely above a breath, “Go home, I’m sure your girlfriend is wondering where you are.” And that, finally, broke something in her. Not visibly. No tears. No dramatic collapse. Just the smallest retreat in her eyes. A quiet surrender.

She walked past you, slow, like each step cost her something. At the door, she paused, her hand on the knob.

“She isn’t my girlfriend,” she said, without looking back. You didn’t answer. You’d heard it all before. She opened the door. And this time, she didn’t look back.

--

It wasn’t the call you’d hoped for.

You sat at the far end of the practice facility, ankle still taped from your last session, phone pressed to your ear, tension riding your spine like armour. Your agent’s voice filtered through the line—calm, clear, but laced with the kind of tone you’d learned to expect when news wasn’t good.

“They’re lowballing you,” she said bluntly. “Again.”

You didn’t respond right away, just stared through the tall windows as your teammates warmed up on the court. Barcelona’s logo shone from the centre, bold and clean, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like it belonged to you. “Tell me the number,” you said finally.

She did.

You clenched your jaw. “That’s less than I’m on now.”

“I know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, leaning forward to press your elbows to your knees. “After everything?”

“They’re banking on your loyalty,” she said. “On the hype around the league title. On the connection you’ve built here. But they’re not backing that belief up financially. They’re assuming you’ll stay because of the badge.”

You stared at the floor, voice low. “And the WNBA offers?”

There was a pause. Then, “Big. Real big.”

You knew what she meant. Endorsements. Cities that would roll out the red carpet. A league where you could own your moment instead of constantly proving you deserved it.

“You’d be a franchise face,” she said. “They’re not treating you like a project. They’re treating you like a star.”

The weight of it sat heavy on your chest. “I need time,” you said, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have much,” your agent replied. “Deadline’s closing in. You have to start asking yourself what you want this next phase of your career to look like—and who’s going to actually help you get there.”

The call ended, but the pressure didn’t.

You sat there, still as the court buzzed on the other side of the glass. The sound of bouncing balls and shouted plays was distant, like another world.

And you knew it wasn’t just about Barcelona anymore.

It was about whether you were willing to stay somewhere that didn’t value you the way you’d proven you deserved to be. And, whether the person who made this place feel like home... Would still be around if you chose to stay

--

You weren’t expecting to run into anyone—let alone her.

It was early evening, the kind of golden hour where the streets of the city felt a little softer around the edges, like they were pretending not to know the weight of your thoughts. You’d just ducked into a small café near the edge of Parc de la Ciutadella, hoodie up, ankle still a bit stiff, sunglasses on despite the fading sun. You weren’t hiding exactly. Just… trying not to be seen.

And that’s when you saw them.

Alba. And her mother.

You nearly turned on your heel. But Alba had already clocked you.

Her lips curled into a grin, mischievous and amused. “Well look who it is,” she said, stepping out from the café doorway, iced coffee in hand. “If it isn’t Barcelona’s most unbothered heartbreaker.”

Her mother glanced up from rummaging through her purse, then gave you a polite smile—tight, knowing. You managed an awkward wave.

“Hi, Mrs. Putellas,” you said.

Alba's mom nodded, but didn’t linger. “I’ll be inside,” she told Alba quietly, giving her a look that said behave. Then she disappeared through the café doors, leaving you alone with the one person who definitely should’ve hated you right now… but didn’t.

Alba cocked her head, sipping her drink like she wasn’t the sister of the person you’d emotionally lit on fire just a day ago. “So… the bikini comment? Really?”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Look, I didn’t—”

“I loved it,” she said with a laugh, cutting you off. “Bold. Reckless. Hot, honestly. You really had her pressed, huh?”

You blinked. “Wait… you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m definitely judging you,” she smirked. “But also? I’ve been waiting for someone to knock her off her high horse for years. You just… chose chaos. And me. Which was… weird. But iconic.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, tension easing just a bit.

But then Alba’s smile faded, just enough for the shift in tone to land.

“Look,” she said, taking a step closer, voice dropping. “I’m not here to tell you what to do with Alexia. She’s a grown woman. And stubborn as hell. But she’s not built for this kind of back-and-forth. You’re breaking her.”

You stiffened, lips pressing together.

Alba raised an eyebrow. “She hasn’t slept. Barely speaks. She’s spinning. And she’s not good at not being in control, so… you’ve got her all twisted up. Just—if you’re done, be done. If you’re not… stop dragging it out. Put her out of her misery.”

You looked down at your hands, at the cup between them, cold now. “It’s not that simple.”

Alba crossed her arms, expression unimpressed. “Why not?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Because I don’t know what I’m doing. With anything. My contract’s up, they’re lowballing me, I’ve got offers from the W, and I don’t even know what country I’m gonna be in three months from now.”

Alba’s face softened, just a little. “Okay… but what does that have to do with her?”

“I can’t settle her,” you said quietly. “Not when I don’t even know where I’m going next. Not when my life’s about to change.”

She looked at you for a long moment. Then: “So let her go.”

You blinked.

“She’s not good at waiting,” Alba said. “And she definitely isn’t good at wondering. So if you’re not gonna stay, don’t leave the door open. Don’t give her just enough to hope.”

You looked out toward the street, where the lights were just starting to flicker on. “Maybe she should just go back to Vicky,” you muttered. “She’s clearly not done with her if she’s still keeping her around.”

Alba made a face. “Vicky was a move. A dumb one. A calculated, emotionally stunted, classic Alexia move. But trust me… that ship’s already sunk.”

You looked at her again, surprised by the certainty in her tone.

She rolled her eyes. “I know my sister. And whatever you two had? Have? It’s way deeper than anything she ever had with Vicky.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

Alba sighed, tilting her head. “I’m not saying you have to be with her. But you do have to stop screwing her up just to make a point. You’re not the only one hurting.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“Then stop doing it on purpose,” she said simply.

The café door swung open behind her. Her mother poked her head out, lifting a brow. Alba waved her off.

Then she looked back at you, softer now. “You don’t have to fix her,” she said. “Just stop breaking her.”

And with that, she walked away.

Leaving you there, holding the weight of her words in your hands like something fragile and sharp all at once.

--

You didn’t plan on going to her place. You didn’t even know why your feet took you there—why, after that conversation with Alba, after every reason not to show up, you still found yourself in front of her door.

You stood there for a moment, hand hovering just above the buzzer, heart pounding with something tangled—regret, anger, desire, confusion. You were supposed to be thinking clearly. You weren’t supposed to want this again.

But then the door opened.

She must’ve seen you through the peephole, or maybe she’d just known. Like always.

Alexia stood there in sweats, hair up, no makeup, just socks on her feet and that storm still brewing behind her eyes. But it wasn’t angry this time. It was… bare.

And whatever words you thought you had prepared—about closure, about space, about not playing games anymore—they vanished.

Because the second your eyes locked, something cracked open between you like lightning splitting the air.

And then you were kissing.

Hard. Sudden. Like gravity had tilted toward each other and neither of you could fight it this time.

Her hand was in your hair, your arms pulling her closer, mouths crashing like waves after a long drought. She tugged you inside, the door slamming behind you, your backs hitting walls, fingers fisting in clothes, breathless and messy and urgent.

You didn’t speak. Not yet. Words would only get in the way.

It wasn’t about revenge or winning. Not this time.

It was about every unsaid word. Every night you didn’t text back. Every morning she woke up and didn’t find you there. It was months of silence and hurt and want and love, all bleeding into this one chaotic, desperate, perfectly ruined kiss.

She broke away just long enough to breathe, her forehead resting against yours, lips swollen, eyes wide with something that felt like surrender.

Her hands found the hem of your shirt like they’d been there a thousand times—and maybe they had. Maybe muscle memory knew what the mind was too hesitant to admit.

The kiss deepened, slowed, sharpened. Her fingers brushed under the cotton, knuckles grazing your skin with a reverence that only made the heat rise faster. She pulled back just enough to look at you, wordless question in her eyes, like she needed you to stop her if this wasn’t where it should go.

You didn’t.

So she lifted your shirt slowly, fingers brushing up your spine, and tugged it over your head. Her breath caught—just slightly—when she saw the bra beneath it. She didn’t hesitate this time. Not with you. Her fingers found the clasp, unhooked it like a secret she still remembered, and slipped the straps down your arms. It hit the floor soft.

You backed into the table behind you as she stepped forward, pressing her palms flat against your bare ribs like she was grounding herself, like the truth lived under your skin. The wood was cool against your thighs when you leaned, half-sitting on the edge, her body slotting between your legs as if the space had always been made for her.

She kissed your collarbone, slow and aching, like the apology she couldn’t quite say out loud. Then lower. Then lower.

Your hands threaded into her hair, tilting her back up to face you, foreheads brushing again.

No one spoke.

Because this wasn’t just about sex, and it never had been.

It was about everything that burned between you—words unsaid, time wasted, love that never got the chance to settle long enough to be safe.

And now, here, under dim lights and the shadow of something you couldn’t name, it all came spilling out in touch, in breath, in the way she looked at you like she still wanted every version of you, even the one that walked away.

You weren’t sure where this was going. But for now, you let yourself fall into her hands like maybe—for once—it didn’t have to be war.

Her hands were already working at your shorts, dragging her fingertips along your skin like a tease before she gave the softest instruction, “Lift for me.”

You did, and in one smooth motion, she pulled your shorts and underwear down together, dragging them past your thighs like she had all the time in the world. Your pulse thrummed, your breath shallow as she trailed kisses down your stomach. Her presence between your legs, electric. She pulled a chair up like it was a throne, sat down slow and confident, resting her hands on your knees before gently pushing them apart.

Comfortable. Controlled. Completely focused on you. What came next wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was methodical.

With your eyes closed and your breath coming in short, ragged gasps in anticipation, you felt Alexia's breath on your thighs before her tongue met your skin. She took her time, kissing and licking, leaving a trail of heat and anticipation as she moved closer to where you most wanted her. Each brush of her lips made your legs quiver, your body begging for more. When she finally reached the juncture between your thighs, you felt the softness of her tongue part your folds, the wetness of her mouth pressing against your clit.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you lay back against her cool dining table, and Alexia's eyes lifted to watch you, filled with a dark hunger that matched your own. She didn't say anything, but you knew she was watching your every reaction, savouring every little sound you made. You felt her hand slide up your inner thigh, her fingers curling gently before sliding inside you. The sensation was overwhelming—the warmth of her mouth, the slickness of her tongue, the pressure of her fingers. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

You, unable to form coherent words as she began to move her tongue in slow, deliberate circles, her fingers curling and uncurling inside you. The tension grew, coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke.

The tension hung in the air, thick with desire. You could only moan again, your voice lost to the pleasure she was giving you. Your moans was all the answer she needed, and she redoubled her efforts, her tongue moving faster, her fingers pressing deeper, until you were writhing on the table.

Your eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling as you felt Alexia's other hand join in, her fingers sliding over your breast in perfect rhythm with her mouth. The sensation was intense, the pleasure so sharp it was almost painful. Her eyes remained on your face, a silent conversation passing between her, and you knew she wouldn't stop until you were begging for release.

"Please," you finally whispered, the word barely audible. "Don't stop" You breathe before moaning again, "'m gonna come"

Alexia's smile grew, and she took your clit between her lips, sucking gently as her fingers danced around it, playing you like an instrument. The combination was exquisite, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge of something incredible.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, and you arched your back, crying out as pleasure surged through every inch of your body. Alexia didn't miss a beat, her mouth and hands moving in sync, drawing out the sensation until it was all you could do to stay still.

As the aftershocks of your climax began to subside, Alexia, her cheeks flushed and her eyes gleaming with satisfaction, she kissed the inside of your thigh, her thumb brushing over your clit one last time before she sat back in the chair, her gaze never leaving yours.

You watched as she licked her lips, savouring the taste of you. Her hands remained on you, trailing up your legs to your hips, then up over your stomach to cup your breasts. She massaged them gently, her thumbs flicking over the hardened peaks of your nipples. Your breath hitched at the contact, the sensation still so intense.

Alexia's eyes studied you, watching your chest rise and fall as you tried to regain your breath. She leaned in closer, her hot breath fanning over your skin as she whispered, "You're so beautiful when you come."

The compliment sent a fresh wave of warmth through you, making your cheeks burn even more.

Alexia’s gaze flicked up to meet yours again, she leaned in closer, her breath tickling your skin as she kissed your inner thigh. Her hands didn’t stop moving—they slid down to your thighs, her thumbs brushing against your inner thighs before moving up again.

The tension in the room grew thick, the air charged with unspoken need.

Her eyes remained on her hands as they continued their journey, tracing the lines of your body as if committing them to memory. She watched the way your skin responded to her touch—how it goose bumped when she grazed you with her nails, how your breathing hitched when she applied just the right amount of pressure.

And all the while, still she watched you—your face, your chest, the way your stomach muscles tightened and released with each breath. She took in every little reaction, storing them away for later, like a treasure trove of secrets only she had the map to.

The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the occasional sigh or gasp escaping your lips. It was all you could focus on—her hands, her eyes, the way she seemed to be worshipping you with every gentle caress.

She gently took your leg off her shoulder, "You want a drink?"

You swallowed as reality struck again, "..Please"

Alexia helped you sit upright, her hands lingering at your waist for just a second longer than necessary before she stepped back, brushing loose strands of hair behind her ears like she needed something to do with her hands.

“I’ve got that citrus sparkling water you like,” she said casually, already walking to the fridge, like you hadn’t just shattered all the walls between you moments ago.

You slid off the table carefully, legs still a little shaky, your pulse still a quiet thrum under your skin. You pulled your shirt back over your head slowly—mechanically—suddenly aware of how exposed you still felt, even clothed.

“Thanks,” you said, voice low.

She handed you the drink without looking at you for too long. You both avoided eye contact, like maybe eye contact would break the illusion that this was normal. That it hadn’t just been something. That there wasn’t still a conversation looming between the two of you, thick and heavy, sitting in the room like another person.

You leaned against the kitchen counter while she busied herself at the sink, rinsing out a glass she didn’t end up using.

“So,” she said after a beat, still not facing you. “You, uh… you’re still taping the ankle?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Trainer said another week of low load before I can really test it.”

“Right. Good.”

You both sipped at your drinks like they were shields. Like carbonation could fill the silence instead of words.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

Alexia sighed, setting her glass down on the counter. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said. “That we can do… that”—she gestured vaguely toward the table—“but still not know how to talk without tearing each other apart.”

You gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah. It’s almost like we’re better at pretending nothing happened.”

There was a pause. Then she nodded. “Almost.”

It wasn’t cold between you now. Just... quieter. Muted. Like a song you both knew by heart, but no longer wanted to sing out loud. You weren’t angry. She wasn’t either. But you were both tired. And maybe, a little afraid.

Alexia turned to you again, leaning her hip against the counter. “So. What now?”

You looked at her, really looked, and the answer sat heavy on your tongue, but didn’t make it past your lips.

“I don’t know,” you said instead.

You both stood there, side by side in a kitchen that had known heat and heartbreak, your shoulders just close enough to brush if one of you shifted an inch. But you didn’t. Neither of you did.

You finished your drink, set it on the counter with a soft clink, and reached for your jacket. “I should probably go,” you said.

Alexia didn’t stop you. She didn’t ask you to stay. She just nodded again, like she’d already expected that answer.

You walked to the door, hand on the knob, then paused. Glanced back. Her eyes met yours.

“Thanks,” you said.

“For what?” she asked, voice quiet.

You thought about it for a second. Then: “I don't know, the orgasm I guess”

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t look away, either. “Welcome.”

And with that, you opened the door and stepped into the night. Not sure if you were walking away… or just buying time before you turned around again.

[kyuuppi]

private server (1/?)

Pairing: Kenma x reader (she/her)

Tags: slow burn (?), internet friends to lovers, reader is a corporate slave with social anxiety, Kenma is a bit sassy and bad with feelings, lots of game references (Minecraft, DBD, Marvel Rivals, etc.), vtuber stereotypes, modern au

Words: 2.7k

Every 7pm after work, you boot up your old laptop and log onto Discord, where you begin a voice call in the private server only the two of you share. Kenma seems to have a natural sense for what you want to play just by hearing your tone when you greet him.

On your good nights, he allows you to practice duoing in the FPS games he’s known for playing. He takes on the role of support without a single complaint while you play DPS, regardless of how badly you feed. If anyone on the enemy team calls out your poor performance, Kenma makes it a point to repeatedly kill them in the most triggering ways.

On the nights you come on exhausted from a rough day at work, Kenma wordlessly boots up Stardew Valley or Minecraft, allowing the two of you to relax to the soundtrack in a comfortable silence.

Something about his quiet presence always eases your mind, and more often than not, you find yourself rambling about the things on your mind while the two of you play. The annoying habits of your coworkers, your biggest fears, the new dressing you tried on your salad at lunch–you end up eventually spilling everything to him while he quietly listens, occasionally making a soft hum or comment that lets you know he’s still there. 

In the beginning, you always worried that you were talking too much and boring this famous internet celebrity with the inconsequential details of your boring life. The moment you realized you were ranting, you’d suddenly cut yourself off with an embarrassed apology.

But that’s when Kenma would surprise you the most–rather than allowing the call to fall into the silence he seemed so comfortable with, he would ask a question so specific, and often related to a past bit of information you forgot you even told him, that it becomes clear he was listening to every word from the beginning. 

It was one of the things that made you realize you liked him more than you should. 

Kenma’s calm disposition had you confiding in him about thoughts you hadn’t even told your best friends, and he never made you feel judged or insignificant for them. Although he almost never started conversations, he always answered any questions you asked with a level of openness that surprised you, like he trusted you just as much as you trusted him. 

Even if–per the extensive searches you did on Twitter, Reddit, and even 4chan–you were 97% sure Kenma was single, you doubted he was interested in dating anyone, let alone dating someone like you who seemed to live in a completely different reality from him.

As your feelings developed, you spent more time than you’d like to admit imagining what type of partner would suit Kenma.

Of course, they would have to be someone with extensive video game knowledge who could match his own. Probably a professional gamer or maybe someone who worked in the industry. The long-haired gamer girls with high-pitched voices and hyper-pink bedrooms who frequently appear in your feed came to mind. All of them had dedicated fan bases full of men and women alike praising their good looks and fun personalities. Many were more than just pretty faces but also great gamers–certainly much better than you in nearly every metric. 

But somehow you struggled to picture Kenma–who spoke in soft low tones and wore the same black hoodie nearly every stream–dating any of them. 

You had considered some VTubers as well – you knew Kenma was mutuals with several big names and occasionally retweeted their merch drops. But that theory died after one particular conversation you had with Kenma over a casual Minecraft session. Feeling particularly insecure, you asked him about his thoughts on a trending busty bunny VTuber all your male coworkers had been chattering about over lunch, to which he responded with a deadpan, “she’s probably just another middle-aged man catfishing simps like most of them are.”  

The only remaining option you could see was some mystery person he knew in real life–perhaps a childhood friend or another streamer who mutually agreed to keep the relationship private.

In one of the rare times Kenma spoke to you about the people he knows in real life, he mentioned an “annoying” childhood friend who is always coming over to his house uninvited and an old rival from high school who now plays professional volleyball in Brazil. While you questioned the likeliness of such a long distance relationship between a professional athlete and a famous streamer, the fondness with which Kenma spoke of him made your chest feel hot with envy. For your own sake, you stopped contemplating Kenma’s romantic life after that and resigned yourself to just savoring the few hours of his time you get every night. 

The first shift in your friendship began in late April.

As a result of one of your coworkers falling sick with the flu, your supervisor assigned you to a cross-country business trip at the last minute. The abrupt shift in responsibilities from you background role in information management to direct client contact overwhelmed you and your usual routine with your internet crush was the last thing on your mind as you raced to pack an overnight suitcase and research clients you had never dealt with before. 

For the first time since you began talking to Kenma three months ago, you missed a gaming session without so much as a message. 

The trip ended up being busier than you had expected even with the support of your coworker who patiently led you through some of the more complicated business etiquette.

By the time you reached your hotel room late that first night, you were exhausted. Still, you had attempted to install the Discord app on your phone to at least give Kenma an apology for your absence. Discord was the only way contact information the two of you had of each other and up until now you had even preferred it that way, You were very intentional in keeping your Twitter where you retweet rather spicy anime fanart and K-pop idol abs top secret from him–not that his verified account with 300k followers would ever follow you back in the first place. 

However, the spotty hotel WiFi proved incompatible with Discord’s large file size, and you gave up after half an hour, stuck at 3% downloaded.  As you closed your heavy eyelids for the night, you mentally assured yourself that Kenma would understand your sudden absence–he is incredibly busy most of the day with his own business and recently complained about an upcoming collaboration with a famous clothing brand that has been demanding a large chunk of his time. He might be so busy himself that he doesn’t even notice you’re gone.

With that thought in mind, you drift out of consciousness to get a few hours of rest before your morning meetings. 

Three days later–two days longer than planned due to a misplaced thumbdrive and storm weather delaying flights–you find yourself finally on the familiar last train back to your apartment.

You twist your ankle restlessly in your work shoes, heels aching from being on your feet for the better part of the week. You utilize the half hour of freetime to finally check your socials. Several unopened emails from online shop subscriptions sat at the top of your personal email inbox, a few life updates from your friends in your texts, and an upcoming world tour from your favorite idols on Twitter. You make a mental note to respond to a group chat about everyone’s availability for the next “charcuterie board night” tomorrow morning. 

The last app you check is Instagram, expecting the usual posts from your college friends on vacations abroad or getting engaged that usually fill you with a sense of envy you don’t like to dwell on. You’re slightly surprised to see the note of a follow request and subsequent new message request in your DMs. You expect the usual influencer scam or sugar daddy bot expressing “interest in your page”. Instead, you see a very brief set of messages from a profile with no picture.

19:42 @ kodzu_ken2: hey this is kenma from discord

Your heart flutters despite yourself as you keep reading.

19:43 @ kodzu_ken2: u havent been online in a while…r u ok?

20:01 @ kodzu_ken2: we dont have to play ofc, we can just talk if ur tired

20:06 @ kodzu_ken2: or if u dnt wanna talk we can just b quiet in call

Kodzuken does not have an official Instagram–you know that for a fact because it was one of the first places you tried to follow him when a clip of his streams first came across your feed. And even if he did, you never shared your own Instagram handle with him so there was no way for him to follow you as your Discord name was completely different.

You tap on the default grey profile picture to his page and it is empty as expected. His bio and name are both left blank with 0 posts, 0 followers, and 0 following–evidence of a brand new profile.

In any other circumstance you would think it was a scam–perhaps one of the thousands of unofficial “kodzuken” pages on Instagram posting fanart and meme edits of the man. But the way of typing–from the shorthand to the word choice are so clearly the Kenma you’ve spent the past 3 months talking to. Moreover, your absence from your regular game sessions is something only Kenma would know about–not even your closest friends know that you’ve secretly been hanging out with a famous steamer. 

You’re typing back a reply before you realize it. 

22:46 @ yn_tofu: Hi Ken!! Sorry I didn’t message you sooner, I got forced into a business trip last minute at work 😵‍💫 I just got back to Tokyo a few hours ago

You nearly drop your phone when the message status immediately changes to “Read.”

@ kodzu_ken2 is typing…

22:47 @ kodzu_ken2: its ok 

You chuckle quietly at how Kenma his brief response is. An elderly man seated across from you shoots you an odd look before going back to his novel. 

22:47 @ kodzu_ken2: do u wanna play tonight?

Startled, you glance up at the information panel above the train door.  Five more stops until your station–then the trek to your apartment with a suitcase–even if you speed walk it’ll take at least another half hour until you’re seated in front of your computer. Your sessions with Kenma are usually well over by then–you finishing your night routine to prepare for bed then work the next day and Kenma starting his regular nighttime streaming session. Your chest clenches in preemptive disappointment.

22:49 @ yn_tofu: I would love to but I won’t be home for another 30 min 😭 

22:49 @ kodzu_ken2: thats ok. ill wait for u

You barely muffle a frustrated screech at how your heart skips a beat over the last sentence. The old man pointedly shoots you a glare before standing as the train comes to a stop. He shuffles off and the train doors shutter closed behind him as you clumsily type your reply. 

22:50 @ yn_tofu: Are you sure??? Don’t you start streaming around that time? I don’t wanna make you late or anything… ;;

22:51 @ kodzu_ken2: my stream is cancelled today

Cancelled? You feel your brows knit in concern as the train jolts to a start. It is rare that Kodzuken cancels a stream–in fact you can’t recall a single instance since you’ve known him. He generally plans his schedules several weeks in advance, posting the upcoming month’s schedule on the last Friday of the month without fail. When he takes vacations–like the time he told you he was going to Brazil to see his friend’s volleyball tournament, your brain mercilessly reminds you–he still streams for at least an hour from his temporary lodging.

22:51 @ yn_tofu: Oh no, did something happen? :( 

22:52 @ yn_tofu: I thought this week you’re playing that new Marvel Rivals game everyone requested…

As the train rolls to another stop you absently realize he’s taking a little longer to reply now. That’s fine of course–you’re just one of his many fans, maybe a casual Discord friend at best. He’s under no obligation to reply right away. 

22:56 @ kodzu_ken2: no, just dnt feel like it today. ill make up for it tomorrow

22:57 @ yn_tofu: Oh yeah? How do you plan to do that?

22:57 @ yn_tofu: Are you gonna finally do that Nagi from Blue Lock cosplay all your fans have been begging for? :p 

22:57 @ kodzu_ken2: ew no way in hell

22:58 @ kodzu_ken2: ill just spam that venom twerking emote in lobby. pretty sure thts the only reason ppl wanted me to stream tht game anyway 😐

You laugh out loud at both Kenma’s rare use of emoji and the mental image of him, blank-faced, spamming the infamous twerking emote in a stream while his chat goes crazy. 

22:58 @ yn_tofu: Idk kinda sus that was your first thought, Ken 🤨

22:58 @ yn_tofu: Its okay to admit you like Venom’s ass, this is a safe space 🫶

22:59 @ kodzu_ken2: i just gagged

22:59 @ kodzu_ken2: im not like u, i dont buy dlc just to stare at charas asses all game

23:00 @ yn_tofu: Omg I told you I did NOT buy Pyramid Head for his ass!! He is actually a really good killer…

23:00 @ kodzu_ken2: idk kinda sus that he was your first thought 🤨

23:00 @ yn_tofu: I hope you remember this convo when I’m kicking your ass in Smash in 20 min >:(

“Now arriving at Asakusabashi Station. The doors on the right side will open.”

The call of your station on the speakers jolts you out of your conversation and you scramble to gather your bags as the train doors open. 

Even rolling a stuffed suitcase and wearing heels you reach your apartment in record time, eager to hear Kenma’s voice for the first time in three days. Stripping off the top layers of your business suit, you don’t bother unpacking anything and just leave your bags, blazer, and shoes in a pile at the front door before taking the three steps to get to the desk next to your bed. 

You tap your bare foot impatiently while the fans of your ancient laptop loudly whirl to life. For once Discord seems not to require an update to open and you click the call button next to Kenma’s name without hesitation. 

He picks up in the first ring. 

“Hi,” you greet into your headset. You aren’t sure if it's from the excitement of talking to Kenma or the three flights of stairs you just hiked up but your voice sounds embarrassingly breathy to your own ears. 

“Hey,” he replies as coolly as usual. The familiar sounds of buttons click faintly in his background. Your chest feels warm and a tension you didn’t know you had leaves your shoulders as you relax into your swivel chair. 

“On my trip I saw some really cool architecture–Kyushu kinda looks like how I imagine Germany–anyway, I was thinking we can make a little cathedral for that empty space in our minecraft world we were talking about last week–”

“We can do that later.”

You bite your tongue, caught off guard by the abrupt dismissal. Wasn’t he the one who asked you to play with him tonight? Did you misunderstand something?

“Is your Switch charged?” He asks.

Said device sits conveniently plugged in at the corner of your desk when you glance over. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Hurry up and log on then. I heard someone is planning to ‘kick my ass in Smash’ tonight and there’s a new Robin combo I’ve been wanting to test out,” Kenma drawls.

You can practically feel the smirk in his voice and you loudly groan as you reach for your Switch and mentally prepare for the inevitable slaughter.

a/n: Thank you for reading!! This is the first thing I've written in like a year ?? so ik its prob not great. :,,) When I start writing I usually just start with one scene and see where it goes then think of what character would fit the writing best but it almost always ends up being Kenma LOL. I fear he is truly my default.

[synthient]

[15 days of solitary isolation with a bunch of corpses] [10 minutes ago you were sitting on a box staring at the rotting remains of your best friend, who you killed] [like 10 minutes before that you cut your wrist smashing every mirror in the facility so you didn't have to look yourself in the eye] [can't let anyone know you've formed some kind of psychic symbiosis with a mystery alien, which granted you emotion-based Throw Em At A Wall Til They Die powers that are only sorta-maybe-sometimes under your control, or you'll get shot in the head] [this fucking guy is now having a "you can talk over the dog's head as long as you don't say the word treat" conversation right in front of you] [still have to come off as the Cute enough kind of disabled for your life to be worth saving]: I can still lip read :) :) :) :)

"Please, don't turn your back on me" has such a layered meaning. Aliss is begging for these people to not give up on her, but also not to use her disability against her.

[herebelionz]

*arguing*

Sanji: And you and your fucking huge chest! I hope you suffocate in them one day!

Zoro: That would be a cool way to die

Sanji: ...

Sanji: Visibly his pecs has started to eat at his brain

Zoro: *smirking* You'll tell them

[choppedflowermuffinchild]

“can I rizz you from the dead”

—Jedidiah

[m4rs-ex3]

Mars do you you have any rayllum wedding/propsal headcanons... share them or explode in this instant

you're probably dust by now but sure

they'd definitely talked about it before - and they had barely needed to, because they'd known it was happening since the (secondary) beginning - but only in a "we're definitely both ready but it'll happen when it happens" way, at least in part because they both secretly wanted a proper proposal.

of course, callum immediately decided he would be doing just that. although it took a while to a) get the perfect opportunity and b) work up the confidence to propose the idea (in a different way) to ethari.

after spitting it out awkwardly and getting a spine-breaking hug, they immediately get to work on designing. the one time rayla manages to catch ethari alone during the trip, however...

she's not quite as upfront about it, but she definitely implies she's thinking of doing the exact same thing.

ethari is caught very off guard, and has to desperately try to casually reject that. he tells callum who also freaks out, but he ends up spending the next month or so doing the same thing: subtly implying that now now is actually not the best time to keep her away from the idea. since rayla is always way more unsure of things, this works pretty well (maybe a little too well, as while he tried his absolute best to not hurt her, she ends up feeling a bit bummed out anyway because Mental Illness will do that.)

but she doesn't have to feel uneasy for long

i can't say i have a concrete vision as to how it happens, because there are just too many options!!! maybe it's that little ledge in the silvergrove where he told her he wanted a life with her for the first time. maybe he takes her to the base of that giant tree with a beautiful view at sunset where he gets to say that their whole relationship has been a bumpy ride. maybe it's the moon nexus, watching the moon fill the lake in the place where she left, where she now gets to promise she'll never leave again. i'm kind of OBSESSED with @raayllum's speculative s7 ficlet where he proposes on a boat by continuing Five Questions - which could still work!! he probably reunites his choir and all.

anyhow, he ends up taking her by the hands and going on a long, long spiel about how much he loves her (which doesn't really set off any alarms, because he does that every damn day [although he's oddly nervous about it...]), before he pulls out an ornate little box and looks up at her with the most lovesick eyes and she doesn't even let him get a word out before she pounces on him.

she's already crying uncontrollably, smiling ear-to-ear while she hugs him around the neck, but it then occurs to her she might have gotten a little ahead of herself. suddenly terrified, she pulls back to find him stunned and flushed and she's frantically asking y-you were asking me to marry you, right? when he starts laughing and confirming her assumption. after they both manage to break through the adrenaline-fueled fit of laughter, he properly pops the question and she tells him yes, callum. of course with a smile that hurts her face and her heart more full of love than she ever thought possible.

after a bit of making out he remembers oh yeah, the box! he presents to her a pair of the most gorgeous horn cuffs in all of xadia, embedded with two sky sapphires.

(at some point before the wedding, rayla asks ethari to make callum his own engagement jewelry - an earring with a coordinating moon opal. callum is admittedly surprised [it's an elf thing after all] but doesn't hesitate for a moment in happily accepting [he still makes rayla hold his hand when he gets it pierced, though.])

telling people doesn't really feel like that big of a thing because it's them but then again... it's THEM so it is a big deal

they don't have a formal announcement for anyone; they decide to start casually dropping it into conversation with their friends. they teasingly tell soren he can be the flower girl at their wedding, he just says aww thank you while corvus just stares, mouth agape, nudges soren, who does the math lady meme for like a minute before it clicks. callum asks harrow if they still have sarai's veil, harrow's eyes instantly go wide and teary. ez (the first one they tell, of course) asks what they did last night, they say oh, you know, got engaged. ez hugs them both, as excited as if it were his own wedding, so proud of his brother and so happy to have his sister.

they hold off on telling opeli until she figures it out herself. she only notices something's different when callum gets his earring, and is livid that they didn't tell her (she's very happy for them, of course). she immediately throws an engagement party.

full-blown wedding planning is a bit of a rude awakening; rayla gets stressed being the center of attention, not to mention how unnatural it feels to be anything close to a bride. callum doesn't mind, but hates seeing rayla so uncomfortable. but every time they get time alone they're reminded what this is all for, how worth it it is.

(thankfully they get plenty of extra help from the Royal Wedding Planner Council - ez, queens aanya, janai, and amaya, gren and kazi, opeli, ethari, and terry [he does the flowers])

like the engagement, there's far too many good options for the wedding for me to have a concrete vision of how or where. maybe a moonshadow forest wedding where the bioluminescence and string lights keep away the mist. a wedding just outside of evrkynd where the setting sun shimmers off the city's buildings. the banther lodge where they can watch the stars before retiring to their warm home-away-from-home. who's to say???

they break the no-see rule (rayla thought it was a stupid human tradition, anyway) several times throughout the day, sneaking away before they have to start getting ready so they can sit together and decompress. rayla has fun with a no-kissing rule, though

ez, soren, harrow, runaan, and ethari all pay a visit at some point to both their dressing rooms for heartfelt moments. rayla's makeup needs serious fixing by the time they're ready

they both get some special ceremonial henna tattoos and small braids. callum hand embroiders both of their clothing (he made SURE he was concealing as much of rayla's dress as possible apart from the sections he was doing) with some subtle little design motifs - the moon, wind and lightning, waves, lotus petals, feathers and wings, stars and constellations - for only them to see and appreciate

callum insists on having a first look, maintaining that the sight of her will make him incapable of participating in the ceremony. it was a good call; when he sees her, he nearly collapses. it's extra difficult to have to separate and resist the urge to go back to their suite immediately

lira is the flower girl, zym and stella are the ring bearers. i'm gonna let y'all fight in the notes about who officiates

between potential cultural differences and the already-kinda-weird practice of giving away, i like to imagine that callum comes to meet rayla at the end of the aisle and lead her the rest of the way. they're already quietly joking with each other by the time they make it to the altar.

it's a small reception and an even smaller ceremony. despite the fact that they never shy away from loving each other in public, something this special feels like it should be just for them and their loved ones. no one else will ever be able to understand how much they love each other, anyway

the vows are equally modest. if they said all they had to say then everyone would starve to death before they were done. they cover the important things, though; his truth, his guiding star, her heart, her sacred promise, their best friend, the loves of their lives.

in addition to the engagement jewelry, they get wedding bands. the real question is if rayla wears hers on her last finger and callum's ring, or if they both do the middle fingers for symmetry.

the reception is surprisingly serene; the final duty of the RWPC is to make sure they can entertain people long enough for callum and rayla to get plenty of time to themselves. there's a consistent supply of moonberry jelly tarts for everyone.

they sneak off maybe a little sooner then they should, initially with their friends so they can mess around with each other like they're all kids again. eventually they properly, finally, get one another to themselves. callum insists on bridal-carrying her.

they don't have a plan for their honeymoon. they simply set off on an adventure, one where they're not on a mission to save the world, and go wherever they want for however long they want

they immediately make it a habit to proudly refer to each other as my husband and my wife with great frequency.

but those are just some ideas idk

[dietplant1]

THE IDOL'S ASSISTANT AU IS HERE!

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

Welcome to the Idol's Assistant AU, or SMG4:IA-AU for short! Here, all basic information will be shared, and the post is put under its own tag for easy access. If you wanna learn about my silly little AU, check out the QnA below!

Q: What IS the Idol's Assistant AU?

A: The IA-AU is my own take on a possible redemption arc for Mr. Puzzles as well as speculation for what the future holds, taking place in the aftermath of Mr. Puzzles being released from the facility and finding a job as an assistant. He's a bit of a shell of who he used to be-- drowning in guilt, on probation indefinitely, and awkwardly maneuvering social situations with his coworkers-- But he has the support of his bubbly employer to keep him going. If only he didn't have that pesky plumber bothering him each step of the way...

-

Q: Who are all the other characters on the poster?

A: Those are all of Mr. Puzzles' coworkers and his boss! We have--

Kotone: The TV head in the background, Puzzles' boss, and the idol in the title! Kotone is a fun and hyper jpop idol heavily based off of popular characters like Hatsune Miku. She was originally created by an inventor to entertain rich nobles, but after many years she has made it her goal to make as many smiles as she can. Sure, she's a bit naive and seen as crazy for hiring a 'lunatic' like Puzzles, but she bets her wires that he is full of potential!

Passionfruit: The girl with the space buns, and the designer behind all of Kotone's costumes! She's a bit clumsy and awkward and doesn't really know how to feel about Puzzles, however she is willing to give him a chance thanks to Kotone's confidence in him. Passion and Puzzles have to work together often, anyways, since Passion has to tell him whenever she needs more supplies.

Raven: The yellow-eyed cat and the security guard of the studio! Raven acts as the protector of all employees present and, while being the biggest skeptic of Mr. Puzzles initially, soon puts him under her scope as well and ensures he doesn't overwork himself too much. She's also Kotone's bodyguard at all events and is her wife. Lesbians ✨

Nimbus Cloud: The cloud guy on the far left, and Kotone's choreographer! He's sort of in the middle between Raven and Passionfruit on the skepticism scale, and also acts a sassy voice of reason that brings Mr. Puzzles back to reality. The two men clash at times due to similar yet different attitudes, however their bond becomes one of the strongest within the music studio. Kotone's official social medias are a two person project between them.

-

Q: Are SMG4 and his friends involved at all?

A: Yes! Mr. Puzzles is forced to encounter them both individually and as a group multiple times. Whether it be when he's out running errands or accompanying Kotone to an event, he simply can't seem to avoid the crew for more than a week or two. It only gets worse whenever he notices that Mario has begun to follow him and attempt to strike conversations with him. Mr. Puzzles has no idea why he's being so friendly when it used to be an on sight brawl before, with his frustrations building further as he begins to enjoy their run-ins with each other.

Another important thing to note is that Kotone eventually gets a gig at the Showgrounds for a small music festival SMG4 decided to host. That is when the crew learns about Mr. Puzzles' job, and it is the first time he has entered the Showgrounds in years. He hates every single second of it and yet he bites his tongue because Kotone is a huge SMG4 fangirl, meaning her dreams are coming true. He will gladly allow the pointed stares of SMG4 and Co. if it means that the first person to truly give him a chance is happy.

-

Q: Do I smell Marware?

A: Yes. Yes you do. This bad boy has Marware and Bowuigi and SMG34 all in one neat n' gay package.

-

Q: What if I have a question and it isn't on here?

A: You can ask questions in my ask box, or comment here! I'd love to answer any questions anyone may have!

[fandomnoire]

book by its cover

do y'all remember this poll? and then this one?

you voted stanford era art donaldson as your #1 love and i listened 🫡 so here by popular demand, a stanford!art x reader oneshot. 1.7k words. some swearing, no smut (but we could change that....)

You’re straddling a stool in a sea of used books, halfway through reorganizing the shelf before you when you hear a voice behind you: “I need help.”

“Yeah, I know,” you deadpan without turning around, the voice all too familiar to you.

“Oof – you wound me.”

You can hear the lopsided grin in his voice and you’re willing to bet money that he’s standing there in a backwards cap with his hand over his heart for dramatic effect. You’re slow to turn but still remind yourself to grab an extra piece of chocolate from the stash at the front desk when you find that you’re right.

“Art Donaldson,” you greet him, always ‘first name, surname’ as if he’s a business associate and not your ex-coworker’s ex-boyfriend. Your brow furrows in mock confusion. “Are you lost? Abercrombie & Fitch is around the corner.”

“Ha-ha,” he deadpans. “Maybe I’m in here for a book.”

“You can read?!” you exclaim. The bookstore is small but it’s hardly empty and a silver-haired customer down the aisle from the two of you snickers softly. Maybe the Agatha Christie novel in her hand is a hoot but you’re going to take credit for her amusement today, especially since the sound makes Art’s face blush to the tips of his ears – though you notice his smile doesn’t fade, it just seems to go a little. . .dreamy.

You and Art should have never even met, to be honest. You’re a student at Foothills Community College, trying to stack money and pass your gen eds before transferring to Berkeley; Art is - you can only assume - a minor tennis god based on the way you’ve seen his face on signs in local shop windows and pennants waved in the air by his ex-girlfriend and college tennis fans alike.

You bend sideways on the chair for another stack of books, turning away from him to signal that your attention is split 60-40 between your job and his visit. “I thought it was all tennis balls and tennis skirts with you – speaking of: Emma’s not here.”

“Yeah, I know.” He at least has the decency to look ashamed, ducking his head and raising a hand to squeeze the back of his neck.

You don’t know the specifics of their relationship or its downfall (though you have your theories); all you know for sure is that Art had spent three weeks at the start of the semester lurking around shelves and pretending to read from various books while his blue eyes stayed trained on the cash register where you were training Emma. You had watched him begin to approach only to abort the mission twice before it had become so painfully awkward to watch that you had excused yourself to the breakroom just to get away. By the time you returned to the front, the space in front of the cash register was empty and the only clue that Emma and Art were still somewhere in the bookstore was the sound of giggles and lowly murmured conversation. After that, Emma had introduced the two of you and then spent her every shift mooning over him and telling you every little detail about Art (He’s captain of the tennis team! He’s basically King of Frat Row! The theme to The Fox and the Hound makes him cry! He’s not like other boys!) – until last week when she had come in sullen, teary-eyed, and uncharacteristically reticent. You didn’t have to be a Stanford-level student to know why.

It was unfair, you knew, to have already judged and dismissed Art immediately upon meeting him but you can’t help but to look at him and see every blonde-haired, blue-eyed white boy in a backwards cap with an easy smile that you’ve met before. And his unceremonious dumping of Emma only enforces that. Not that Emma was your friend, she hadn’t even texted back when you had tried to check in, but it was the principle of it, the feminism of it. If some frat boy asshole gets over on one of you, he’s getting over on all of you! And God has sent you as karma.

You stand, stretch slightly as you appraise him. He only moves back out of your space by a fraction of an inch and this close to him, you see that there’s a wedge of brown in the blue iris of his right eye as he tracks your movements and it only makes his gaze seem a little sharper, like he’s seeing something you haven’t agreed to show. You don’t like that. He smells of something soft and masculine – saltwater and lavender, amber and cedarwood. For a split second, you understand Emma’s previous obsession – you like that even less.

Then you see her red-rimmed eyes in your mind’s eye and frown.

Spell broken.

The silver-haired mystery lover catches your attention and you dutifully leave your stacked book piles to ring her up at the cash register. That doesn’t stop Art from lingering at another shelf until the transaction is complete and the tinkling of bells over the shop door signal that the two of you are alone again, but you’re thankful to at least have the thick front counter between the two of you when he approaches again. His shoulders are squared and he seems more determined this time.

He reaches into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out two thin rectangles of paper. “See these?” Your eyes move over them, reading even as he continues “Two tickets to the Arctic Monkeys.”

“Wow.” Your brows go up. “You actually have good taste in music.” He seems to preen under the compliment. Not that you care, of course. . .but honestly? You’re so fucking jealous. The closest show is the one he’s holding front row tickets to - five hours away in LA. And they had all sold out in the first hour of being released. You shift your weight behind the desk, lips pursed. You know what this is now: he’s come here to ask you to plead his case to Emma, to tell her about the concert tickets and the trip to LA. He probably drives a Jeep and they’ll probably go the scenic route with Emma’s hair blowing in the wind while you’re here sneezing out dust and consoling your boss for the umpteenth time that there’s no way that people are going to prefer the Kindle to a physical book.

He’s continuing on, but you cut him off, shaking your head. “Listen – you’re wasting your time telling me this.” He stops speaking, mouth still open mid-sentence. “This is about Emma, right?” He hesitates. You roll your eyes. “I haven’t seen her and I don’t talk to her like that so I can’t ask her to call you or tell her that you want t– “

“I’m not trying to take Emma.” He speaks over you quickly. “I’m trying to take you.”

You reel back slightly, obviously caught off guard. “What?”

He revels in rendering you speechless; you can see it in the bastard’s smug smile. “I said: I’m trying to take you. I know you like them,” he shrugs. “You were wearing one of their shirts.“

Your brain is working overtime to make sense of what the fuck is happening right now. “I-I can’t go with you to a concert,” you stammer, eyes narrowed suspiciously, though you’d have the same reaction if Art Donaldson asked you just to go down the street with him. You hadn’t even realized you were on his radar like that – not that this is like that (. . .right?).

“Why not?” he challenges without hesitation.

You huff and scoff and shift behind the counter. “It would seem like a date,” you point out as if explaining something incredibly obvious to a thick-headed child.

“It would be a date,” he nods, confidence and bravado back in full-force now that he sees that he’s knocked you off-kilter with his advances, even if it’s only momentary.

“HA!” you let out a loud, sardonic laugh, snatching up a stack of books you don’t actually need and making your way along the counter, preparing to round it. “You’re not my type.”

“What’s your type?” he asks, following along down the other side.

“Tortured artists.”

“I’m tortured,” he insists and he looks so earnest when he says it that it’s almost comical, like he’s willing to say anything, do anything to get you to agree to go with him.

“Awww, are you?” you coo mockingly with a feigned pout. “What happened? You lost your puka shell necklace in the ocean? Axe stopped making your favorite body spray?”

Every time you insult him, Art’s smile seems to grow a little more and you want to tell him that this is not banter, you are not flirting –  you are not interested in him! – but then he’s there with a sun-freckled arm flung out to block you from disappearing down the aisle of books.  You try to step to his other side only for him to throw out his other arm while pleading. You think your only other option is hitting him somewhere soft, but then. . . “What? Did the spell wear off with Emma? You got bored? Back at the scene of the crime for new victims?

Art blinks, caught, but he recovers fast. “Emma and I are cool. We just. . .have different worldviews.”

“Uh-huh: she wanted her name in hearts all over your notebooks and you wanted to fuck and run. Now you think I’m here like Boo Boo the Fool to be your rebound?”

“No.” His answer is immediate, even as his brow furrowed in confusion about what a BooBoo the Fool was. “Not even close.” His voice is low. His gaze flickers down to your frowning mouth and then up to your eyes again. “I don’t want a rebound,” he murmurs, voice low. “I just. . .wanna take you out.” He shrugs a shoulder, taking another step in so you take another step back. “Doesn’t have to be the show – I’ll give you both tickets and you can take whoever you want if you just say you’ll go out with me this weekend.”

“That would be stupid,” you insist, heart hammering as you feel the shelf behind you and realize there’s nowhere to run but into him.

“I’ll be stupid,” he nods with his sideways grin. “If that’s what you want.”

And as the idea of female solidarity for Emma leaves your mind, you wonder if Boo Boo wears a clown wig or a jester’s hat.

[enbysiriusblack]

based on this post by @in-flvx

It was a common area of gossip for the girls. Lily had heard it a million times, always the same complaints or said through bouts of giggles whenever the two boys acted in a less than platonic manner.

Everytime a girl would come back from a date with one of them, it was always the first sentence said when she returned to her friends, always the same annoyed face and the same exact words.

'Who brings their friend on a date?'

So as Lily made her way down the stairs and reached the door where they planned to meet, she startled slightly to see only James there, with Sirius nowhere to be found.

"Hey", James locked eyes with her, "You look gorgeous, ready to go?"

Lily glanced around slightly, wondering where exactly Sirius was, "Oh, sure."

James grinned, nervously palming his hand through his hair as they began the walk down to Hogsmeade.

Lily glanced back to the castle and couldn't help but ask.

She turned to James, "Did Sirius go down early?"

"No, he's back at the castle."

"Oh, he's coming later?"

"No."

Lily frowned in confusion, looking back up to the castle again. Surely Sirius would be joining them, or at least have some valid reason for not being able to make it.

"Did he get stuck in detention?"

James looked at her weirdly before slowly shaking his head, "Um, no."

"... Is he ill?"

"What? No", James stuffed his hands in his pocket, feeling a bit jealous all of a sudden, "Why do you keep asking about Sirius?"

"I just thought-" She began before shaking her head, "It's fine. Don't worry about it. Let's just enjoy our date."

James smiled waringly, and the conversation began to ease into a variety of topics from muggle sports to an essay due next week to embarrasing stories of them as kids. It was only their food at Puddifoot's was served that the topic of Sirius came up again.

"Oh Merlin", Bertha Jorkins appeared at their table, seeming to be the only one in the cafe that had gone there when not on a date, "Where's Sirius Black?"

"What?" James narrowed his eyes at her.

Lily tried to smile politely at Bertha, "It's just us today."

"We're on a date so can you leave", James folded his arms, leaning back in his seat.

"Don't be rude", Lily bit her smile back before turning to Bertha again, "Though if you wouldn't mind-"

"Oh sure, sorry", Bertha smiled, not making a move to leave, "Is Black ill or something, though?"

"He's fine", James huffed, "We're on a date so were hoping to be left alone", he looked pointedly at Bertha.

Bertha gasped, shocked, "Merlin, you went on a date alone."

She left the cafe quickly, likely to tell as many people as she could.

"What was that?" James murmured.

"Well, it's sort of a common area of talk, about how you and Sirius are always together, even when one of you is on a date."

"What?"

Lily shrugged, "It's why I was asking about him earlier, when we planned the date, I assumed Sirius would be a part of it."

"You... wanted that?"

Lily bit her lip in thought before replying, "Kinda. Well, I sort of thought you and Sirius were already... a thing. You two are always together, you share everything. You're a package deal, so I thought that meant you'd be a package deal in dating too."

"Oh."

"But I'm completely fine if it's not like that between you two? If our relationship will be just us then I'm perfectly happy with that."

"But... you'd be open to me and Sirius? You'd actually want him with us places?"

"Yes, but if you don't want that then-"

"I could date you without being seperated from Sirius?"

Lily huffed a laugh, "Of course."

James glanced at her in awe for a moment before pulling out a mirror.

"You're checking how you look now?" Lily frowned, leaning over the table.

"Sirius Black", James spoke into it to Lily's bewilderment.

Lily leaned further over the table, staring at the table, as Sirius' face suddenly replaced James' own.

"Lily already ditched you, did she?"

Lily tilted the mirror in James' hands towards her, "Actually we're having a wonderful time. But how on earth do these telephone picture mirrors work?"

"Magic, Evans", Sirius shrugged.

"Telephone picture mirrors?" James parroted back in question, "Anyway, what are you up to, Mate?"

Sirius furrowed his brows, but answered after a moment, "Just hanging out with Pete and Remus, they're playing chess and I'm meant to play the winner."

"So Peter", James nodded, "Well, how do you feel about ditching that and coming down here?"

Sirius frowned, "What, to sit in the three broomsticks, chat to Rosmerta, and try to shake off all the girls wanting a date or quick snog?"

"No, hang out with us!" Lily leaned over to the mirror again.

Sirius blinked, "What?"

"Come down and join us", James grinned.

"You're on a date."

"Since when has that stopped us from being together?"

Sirius glanced up to where Lily's face was hovering before looking back at James with a small frown, "I know that but, it's Lily."

"What, I'm different to the other girls you two have dated?"

The two boys looked at her as if she had said something incredibly stupid.

James coughed, looking back to the mirror, "Look, Lily thought you were coming on the date."

"Oh?" Sirius smirked, slightly.

Lily glared at him, "You and James are supposed to be a package deal, are you not?"

"I guess", he shrugged.

"Well, I want the whole package so get your arse down here, please."

"You heard her", James had a wide smile on his face.

"I'm on my way", Sirius' face blurred slightly as he got up, "Are you in Puddifoots? I know you two are disgustingly romantic but I'm not sure I can handle sitting in a place like that."

"We'll be finished by the time you get here and we could go for a walk or something, it's quite nice out."

"Sounds good."

James pocketed the mirror and turned to Lily.

"I feel like every dream I've had has just come true."

Lily laughed, "Oh, you've just become a pro quidditch player have you?"

James grinned, "Well, okay. The dreams that matter the most."

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀꜱ 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 (양정인)

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

summary: loosely based off of strangers by kenya grace

tags/warnings: suggestive (kissing in car) kinda angsty, no good ending

a/n: hihi guys!! i think yall have noticed that i haven't been as active on here anymore sigh. atp its basically js bc i used to write based off of what i wanted to happen, but now its more like im actually experiencing it with my gf, so its kinda different for me!! its also bc ive js been talking to my friends mostly recently 😭😭 so yep!! (on discord tho add so_dxnbi if u want to talk 😋! also i might not be active during the summer so this will be one of the many oneshots and stories i have prepped to come out over the summer <3 tysm for patience!! love you guys <3

also sorry for the kinda bad ending sigh 😓

credits to @hyuneskkami for the dividers

masterlist!

You never thought you’d end up here. In the backseat of his car, the world outside reduced to a blur of neon lights and rain streaking across the windows. His hands are everywhere, touching your skin, pulling you closer, leaving a trail of heat that’s impossible to ignore. Your breaths are shallow, uneven, caught somewhere between urgency and uncertainty. It’s messy, fast, and you know it’s never going to last. But in that moment, it doesn’t matter.

You had been strangers once. You never imagined it would go this far. But here you are, both lost in the feeling of each other, and yet… it feels like you’re miles apart.

ᡣ𐭩

It all started when you didn’t expect it.

You remember the night you first met him. It was one of those nights where you had no plans, no real intentions. The party was loud, a blur of faces and music that pulsed through the walls. You didn’t even know why you were there. Maybe it was because your friends had dragged you along, or maybe it was because you were just looking for something—something to fill the quiet spaces inside of you.

The first time you saw him, he wasn’t anything special—just another guy among many. Tall, dark hair, a smile that you couldn’t quite place. But when you bumped into him, spilling your drink all over his shirt, you immediately froze, mortified.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, fumbling for your words, trying to wipe the spill from his chest.

He laughed. Softly. “It’s fine, really. No harm done.”

His eyes were warm, and for a brief moment, you felt like he was the only person in the room. You barely noticed the music anymore. There was something about the way he looked at you that made everything else fade into the background.

“I’m Jeongin,” he said, offering you a hand.

You introduced yourself, and that was it. A simple exchange of names. But there was something about him, a kind of energy that lingered after the conversation ended. You didn’t think much of it at the time, just another stranger in a sea of faces.

ᡣ𐭩

But things have a way of changing, don’t they?

The first few weeks after the party, you didn’t think much about Jeongin. He was just another person in your life. You’d pass by him in the hallways, maybe exchange a quick smile, but that was it. But then, one evening, you ran into him in the library. He was sitting alone, flipping through a book, looking more relaxed than you had ever seen him before.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

He glanced up, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Hey! Just studying. Want to join?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but you nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

You sat beside him, the quiet of the library settling around you as the minutes stretched into hours. At first, it was just small talk—talking about assignments, the classes you shared. But before long, the conversation shifted. You found yourself laughing at his jokes, talking about things you’d never shared with anyone elseyour hopes, your fears, your childhood memories.

It was easy. Too easy.

And that’s when you started noticing him more. Not just his smile or the way he made you laugh, but the way he made you feel—like you mattered. Like you weren’t just a passing thought in his life. You started texting him more, meeting up for coffee after class, spending your weekends together in a way that felt so natural, so right.

You didn’t think much about it at first. He was just a friend, right? But even then, you could feel something shifting between you both, something you couldn’t name, something that made your heart beat a little faster every time he looked at you.

ᡣ𐭩

The moment it happened, you didn’t even see it coming.

One evening, it was just the two of you—sitting on the balcony at his apartment, the city lights flickering in the distance. You’d just finished dinner, and the conversation had slowly shifted to more personal things, things you had never dared to say aloud before.

“I think you’re one of the few people who actually listens when I talk,” Jeongin had said, his voice quieter than usual, his eyes soft.

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’m always listening.”

He was looking at you differently now, his gaze more intense, more focused. The space between you seemed to shrink, and your chest tightened. You wanted to say something, anything, but your words caught in your throat.

You felt his hand brush yours, and it was like the world stopped. Your breath hitched as he leaned in slowly, hesitating just a moment before his lips met yours.

The kiss was everything you didn’t know you needed. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just the overwhelming rush of wanting and being wanted. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer, and you responded eagerly, the taste of him lingering on your lips.

But even in that kiss, you could sense something shifting inside of you—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. You were both crossing a line, one you weren’t sure you could come back from.

The next few days passed in a haze, the thrill of being with him clouding your thoughts. You were officially more than friends, but neither of you spoke about it. It felt like an unspoken agreement between the two of you—no labels, no expectations, just the feelings that both of you kept buried deep down.

But it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show.

ᡣ𐭩

It was one of those nights when everything felt a little too much. The air was thick with tension, and the heavy weight of unspoken words hung between you both. You were both drunk, but there was a certain clarity in the way you looked at him.

You’d been out with friends at a club, and now you were in his car, parked in an empty lot, the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. His hand was on your leg, drawing lazy circles on your skin. He was leaning close, his breath warm against your neck, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. You needed him.

You let him kiss you again, this time deeper, more desperate. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your back, your thigh. You could feel the heat building between you both, the need, the desperation, as if this moment was the only thing that mattered.

In the backseat, it was all about chasing that feeling—the feeling of being wanted, of being seen. His lips were on your neck, his body pressed against yours, and you could feel every inch of him.

It was reckless. It was messy. But it was you both searching for something—something you couldn't name, something you couldn’t hold onto.

But even in that moment, you knew it wouldn’t last.

ᡣ𐭩

Things between you both became complicated after that night. The chemistry, the passion—it was always intense, but it wasn’t enough to keep the distance from growing. Jeongin pulled away more and more, his texts shorter, his responses slower. You tried to ignore it, but the cracks were undeniable.

You wanted to talk about it, to ask him where you stood, but every time you tried, he’d shut you down with a simple excuse—“I’m busy,” or “I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

But you knew. You knew what was happening.

One evening, you sat in his apartment, the silence between you unbearable. You couldn’t ignore the distance anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jeongin,” you said, your voice trembling despite yourself. “I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” you gestured between you both, your hands shaking. “This… whatever this is. I can’t keep doing this if you’re not here with me. You’re not really here, Jeongin. Not anymore.”

There was a long pause. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Maybe I’m not, then.”

That was it. No apology, no fight. Just a simple acknowledgment that you both knew things weren’t working. You both had been drifting for so long, it was only a matter of time before it ended.

ᡣ𐭩

After the breakup, you tried to move on. You went to class, you hung out with friends, you kept yourself busy. But every time you saw him—whether on campus or in passing—there was a part of you that ached.

He didn’t reach out, and neither did you. The silence between you was louder than anything you could say.

Months passed. You both moved in different circles, but every once in a while, you’d catch a glimpse of him. He never looked at you the same way again. He never even looked at you at all.

You were strangers again.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

You never saw him again after that day at the coffee shop. He was just another face in the crowd, another memory.

A stranger.

hope yall enjoyed <33

todays playlist....

bills by enhypen, dadada by mad tsai, like by bts, feelings by lauv, love scenario by ikon, voices by stray kids, banana shake by hus, busy woman by sabrina carpenter, bed chem by sabrina carpenter, feels like summer by childish gambino, butterflies by stray kids, run bts by bts, mama said by kickflip, ssick by stray kids, drama by aespa, deer hunter by &team, like that by doja cat and gucci mane, start a war by jennie, fall in love again by p1harmony

*bold is explicit*

taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @hyuneskkami @hvseunq143 (im pretty sure i missed somebody 😭😭)

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

[greennoobartist]

I seem to have acquired another question on your LGBTQ stance, if your ok answering, I know you said that you said you were gonna make a separate post answering my comment but I have more now 😭. So, do you think that there is anything morally wrong with being gay? or was it really just past experiences that made you push them away? Do you even think this should be a conversation and people should just mind their own dang business and respect if you say that you don't support something.

Alright, here I am. Sorry for the wait, but I wanted to give it my fullest for this question. I'll now address everything in detail!

Note: my LGBTQ stance is a lot connected to my religion, so all religious stuff will be colored in violet. If you're not fine with religious talk, especially religion that isn't Christianity, i suggest you skip violet colored paragraphs, but I can't promise that my stance will make sense if you do so.

With that being said, let's do this...

In my honest opinion, saying that i support LGBT is a strong term. I mean the term "support" is a bit like off, to word it that way. I cannot say that I support it, but the closest description would be respect it? Im not sure if even that can be near my stance. Just as mentioned above, my stance on LGBT is a lot, and actually completely, based on my religion. When it comes to my gender and sexuality, i completely lean on my religion for its guidance and orders.

In my religion, being LGBT is actually prohibited. That includes being transgender and/or genderfluid. Any adjustments to one's gender or sexuality is prohibited. In the religion i believe in, the only permitted option for one is to be cisgender and straight, which explains why i am so. Any changes to one's naturally given gender and sexuality is prohibited. Of course now, im only saying this for my religion, im not trying to be pushy, im only trying to explain my stance.

So, that explains why im cis and straight. Now supporting others in such act is also prohibited. Although, my religion is also about being respectful and kind to every soul Allah, s.w.t., brought to the World, so now being pushy and causing harm to someone different than me would also be a big mistake. What I'm trying to say is, no, i don't support it and i won't be encouraging it, my religion isn't allowing me to and I'm a religious person, so I'm not supporting it and I'm not the part of it, but I'll be respectful and kind towards such people.

Vidow?... This doesn't do with my religion at all, I really can't see them as anything more than best friends, really. I understand that the majority of the fandom ships them, but I don't. Do i care? Well, i can't change it. So, the only thing I care about when it comes to Vidow is that people accept and don't hate me because of my opinion. Another thing I care about is that my content I'll make for them isn't tagged and labeled as romantic Vidow. That's actually it. I can't change the majority of the fandom, so I don't care that much, i just want my opinion to be respected. I think im not asking for much.

About people praying on children when it comes to LGBT, yeah I also noticed that, and I really don't know what to say about that. I really find it annoying when people disrespect straight people and when they push LGBT into others, especially children. That's just not okay. I will respect it since I can't change your opinions and views, but don't push it into me. And into children? That's just low. I don't know anymore if I can label as a child anymore, depends on what we count as a child, but either way it's disrespectful to force people into anything, not just LGBT. Im afraid that continuing here would just cause a conflict since this could really be discussed into really really deeply, so ill leave it here to avoid any conflict.

Do I find anything morally wrong about being gay? Or is it just my past experiences that made me push them away? To be sincerely honest, it's both my experiences and my religion. When it comes to finding it morally wrong or not, that is completely dependent on my religion! Which says that yes, there is something wrong about being so. But again, my stance on LGBT is purely relying on my religion, so if you're not fine with my stance, then you're not fine with my religion either. And my stance is 90% everything that my religion says, not my personal opinions. I'm not trying to offend anyone, I'm sharing the point of view of my religion, which I oblige to follow since my religion is my personal life decision. Me, personally, find being gay more unusual, probably since I didn't get used to being with such people and didn't have much opportunities in the past to interact with such individuals. I'm doing my best to be respectful, but my opinion stands.

For the last, i find it completely pointless to argue or to make a conversation about it. Everyone has their own opinions, so in my view, arguing over it is just purely pointless. Pushing your opinions into someone else or trying to prove why your opinion is correct just rises conflict and misunderstandings. It's not worth it. I find it fine to ask someone to explain their stance on why do they think so or to ask to confirm someone's opinion, but I honestly think that everyone should mind their own business and respect everyone's opinions, no matter how different they are. Why making conflicts? It's just not worth it. We just get nowhere. In fact, we might break friendships because of such. Sincerely, i really want people to not fuss over it that much and for everyone to focus on themselves and respect others. Asking questions and being curious is great, but being disrespectful and harmful is not.

To make my stance even clearer if it isn't clear what's my religion: I'm a Muslim. My religion is Islam. Islam doesn't allow any adjustments to one's naturally given gender and sexuality that was bestowed upon by The One and Only, The Almighty Allah. My stance on LGBT is purely on how prophet Muhammad, p.b.u.h., adviced and on how Allah The Almighty ordered. With respectful sincerity, I'm not changing my opinions.

For closing and as a note: If there is anyone who isn't fine with my opinion or religion, feel free to leave and block me and do whatever you want. I'm not going to force anyone to support me. I don't mind anyone blocking me or ignoring me after such addresses. I really don't mind. Don't hesitate, don't think it'll hurt me. If you're not fine with my opinions and religion, feel free to leave. I don't need anyone to disrespect me and hate me.

Huge thanks to everyone who gave their time to read through this. I really appreciate it and I hope that this cleared everything.

[achernarlupin]

My Marauders Designs

First of all these are kinda just some sketches so I can get a grip on how I think they would have looked.. vaguely cannon less so with some but who gaf

Sirius

I think I struggled most with Sirius because I could never really pin down what was meant when people would call his face ‘aristocratic’ but I settled on a mix between Kate Moss and the boy I had a crush on in 4th year.. I was completely obsessed with him and would draw him in my sketchbook during class but alas he was excruciating straight and eventually got a girlfriend too. Anyway his face was always quite gaunt like he hadn’t eaten and his eyes were sunken but in this kind of elegant way.. like a wind would blow him over. He never had very long hair but he had thin black curls that were very floating which I think suits Sirius well. I think he turned out alright all things considered

James

I could always picture James quite easily in my head for some reason. A disarmingly good looking guy who you would hate on principle because of how easy he seemingly has it but as soon as you have a conversation your under his spell too tripping over your feet to get his attention. His hair would be mostly soft waves but every so often he’s get a clump that’s pin straight or curled into little ringlets.

Peter

I’m still not sure with my Peter.. I think I might have made his face a bit soft. I think he’s pretty hard to pin down as a character but to me I think he’s just a coward. Ratting your friends out isn’t some act of defiance but the road of leat resistance but idk I think I need to read up more on his character. I mainly based my Peter off tcoptp I haven’t really made up my mind on how I feel about the fic as a whole but its probably got my favourite Peter.. I think having a twin really fits him and the comparisons between the brothers really highlight Peters shortcomings for me… I am a bit delusional when it comes to Peter I’m afraid I just prefer him as a regular dude.. especially when the traitor plots seem so shoehorned in sometimes

Remus

I think it’s funny how hard people find lupin to characterise especially since he’s the marauder we spend the most time with. It definitely has something to do with how seemingly contradictory his personality and werewolfisms are.. personally I prefer is when Remus is a bit odd and awkward I’d imagine her very good at speaking to people older than him from being homeschooled most of his life but kind of inept and a bit obnoxious when it came to kids his age. He would probably be kind of ignorant of how most things work in practice ( hiding it desperately like most kids so) but have knowledge of most things muggle and magic in theory. Sorry I love ranting about Remus I’ll tell you about his actual design. I thought he’d have slightly wavy hair like an in between James and Sirius. I didn’t draw them on but I image he has had reading glasses since he was very young, probably keeping then on him at all times. I’m still not sure about the scars or how I drew them but they would probably be more discreet like something you would have to be closer to notice but not nearly as subtle as when he is a teacher. His skin has a bit more warmth than Sirius since he actually leaves his house in the summer.

I will stop ranting about Remus or I will never stop hope you like my designs :) feel free to use with credit if you want. And reblog if you have other ideas about their designs..this is like my second post on this account so I doubt it will get that far but yea :-) here is the full sketches

[my-anndreamer]

BreakBee short story.

This is a short story about what happened after the events of the third season of ES. And what happened in the relationship between Bumblebee and Breakdown Bumblebee found out about her pregnancy even before Malto locked the Decepticons in the dome. Bee reported his condition to Breakdown as soon as they met again under the dome.

Breakdown was scared and did not know what to do, he did not want to leave Bumblebee to raise their sparkling alone, but he could not leave his family.

And he could not take Bumblebee either, because he began to think about his words at the race. "How do you know that Cybertron is alive?". Break thought that if it was true, if Cybertron was dead, then what was the point of taking Bee with him so that he would give birth to their sparkling in the middle of space in a spaceship and understand that it had nowhere to live and could die? Breakdown did not want such risks.

Therefore, when it came time to choose whether to stay on Earth or go to Cybertron, he chose the latter, leaving the pregnant Bumblebee on Earth.

Optimus didn't want to tell Bumblebee about this, because he didn't want him to lose the sparkling due to a strong emotional outburst, but unfortunately, Bee was infected with the Hate Plague by that time.

The Hate Virus unfortunately affected at sparkling in the spark chamber, and after recovering, Bee felt a stabbing pain in the spark, which meant the early separation of the spark of the sparkling from the spark of the carrier (it was then that everyone learned that Bee is carrying ). Megatron with the search team set off to look for Ratchet for the individual signal, access to which Bee had given him.

Meanwhile, on the spaceship that was moving to Cybertron, the Breakdown spark did not give him peace, it hurt and he was tormented by conscience and doubts, in addition, his schizophrenia returned, and objects spoke to him that cursed at him, said that he was a terrible father, a worthless weakling, and the like. Schizophrenia led to uncontrollable anger and Breakdown broke everything he saw. Soundwave caught this picture and barely calmed the psychotic Stunticon. After a frank conversation, Soundwave gave advice to Breakdown to listen to what the spark told him, and while he was walking to the command post, he deliberately said that all evacuation ships were can headed directly to Earth.

After some time, the ship sounded the signal to detach the evacuation ship.

Soundwave: proud smile

The evacuation ship in which Breakdown was literally crashed into a rock, tearing off Break's leg during the fall and falling into stasis, because he had not recharged for a long time and already understood little and was like a zombie(this was probably the reason for the emergency landing). Fortunately, Jawbreaker, who was on patrol, found him and brought him to the Autobot base.

At the Autobot base, Breakdown was repaired, but locked in prison, Bumblebee recovered, Ratchet was able to save both him and the sparkling in time.

After the recovery, Bumblebee himself went to the prison to talk to Breakdown, after a difficult and emotional conversation, Bee persuaded Optimus to release Stunticon but on the condition that he would wear restraining shackles (which do not allow him to transform). And so they did, Breakdown was free with his beloved bot, but could not transform.

While Bee could transform, the Autobots began searching for their friends to restore the space bridge, at this moment Prowl reunited with his sons, who he had not seen for many years. And Cliffjumper almost killed Breakdown three times, and Octantis also joined his brother. (Poor Breakdown)

The shackles were removed from Breakdown when Bee could no longer transform, and his belly began to grow, and he needed protection. Break was constantly with Bee and could protect him.

(There was supposed to be some cute BreakBee sketch here, but I'm tired so here's cute Bee)

[badmilkk]

How do you think Pony or Darry (or maybe the whole gang) would react if Soda and Two-Bit let their relationship out of the closet

They seem like they're closeted because homophobes yk

I'm so glad you asked me that because I have a whole structured timeline about their relationship based on my headcanons. This is a bit of a long post but I don't caaare... There are drawings at the end anyways. (Comments are appreciated)

Their relationship is post-canon, so Dally and Johnny are sadly dead. They started getting closer after Sandy left Soda. Darry was really busy at work, Pony hung out very often with his new group (Curly and Scout and more random characters I guess XD), and Steve was taking his relationship with Evie very seriously after seeing how badly things went for Soda, so these two started to get together since they were a bit lonely. Two-Bit had liked Soda for a long time, but he obviously kept it all a secret and would occasionally hook up with some girl as a way to disguise it and to distract himself, thinking he would forget him that way. But well, that didn't happen lol. Soda started to like Two-Bit after Two didn't gave damn about anything and began to half-flirt with him and have very strange acts of kindness and courtesy. At first, he didn't understand his feelings, but then, looking back, he understood everything. He had already suspected that he liked guys for a few years but hadn't stopped to think about it, plus, back then he had internalized homophobia 😔. Things started to happen between them one night when they were half-drunk after some party or something and they kissed. The next day, unfortunately, they both remembered and started avoiding each other out of embarrassment until Soda had a talk with him and told him that their relationship was wrong and that they should stay away for the good of both of them. Two-Bit was super depressed because he was very much in love but he listened to him and they were like that for a few weeks. They avoided each other while hiding it from everyone and acting like nothing was wrong. Everything exploded one day when Two-Bit finally spoke to him and they had a long conversation where they were honest with each other on the rooftop of the Curtis' house (for some reason??) and they confessed their feelings and blah blah blah... But there was no kiss!! They just hugged and that was it because that was still something new for them hehe. During the following days, they half-avoided each other because they were very nervous, but they would steal glances or touch hands, or sometimes Two-Bit would take advantage and start flirting with Soda. Until finally one night Soda snuck into Two-Bit's room through the window, they hung out, and they had their first official kiss without alcohol involved. Some nights when Pony had a sleepover with Scout in his room (this is another ship I like a lot), Soda would sleep in his old room, and taking advantage of this, Two-Bit would sneak in through the window and spend time or the night with him. Sometimes Soda has also snuck out to spend the night at his place. They started going on dates. Pony once caught them in a too affectionate situation 🫢🤨 when they thought no one was around and started to overthink it but kept it a secret. Then things started to fall into place and he already assumed that those two were at least friends with benefits.

When Soda (and Steve) went to war, in my head it was like a year and a half or so until they returned. Well, there was a time when they stopped receiving letters from both Soda and Steve and everyone assumed the worst, thinking they might have died. In a moment of weakness (and maybe a little drunk), Two-Bit confessed to Darry and Pony that he was dating Soda. Darry took it really badly and Pony finally confirmed his theory, and although he took it a little badly, he tried to show his best support (remember the homophobia of the 60s aaaa). Darry didn't want to talk to Two-Bit anymore ☹️. Upon returning home from Vietnam, the only one who knew they were coming back was Darry, as he kept it as a surprise after some phone calls with Soda. First, they reunited with Pony. Later, he told Soda that he already knew about his relationship and they had a little chat, but everything was fine because Pony understood that as long as they were happy and didn't hurt anyone, it shouldn't bother him that they were two men together. The next day, Pony accompanied Soda to Two-Bit's house and they had a super cute reunion. Time passed and Darry tried to soften up but it was very difficult for him. He fought with Soda many times about this because it was a huge shock, but over time he got used to it, "forgave" them, and accepted their relationship (what choice did he have XD). Steve was more of the same. He ended up finding out because Soda told him and they argued a lot too. He was hurt for being the last to find out blah blah blah there were problems blah blah blah homophobia of the time blah blah blah but Darry and Pony talked to him and made him see reason. Everyone got used to it and finally they were all happy!!! Although, of course, they couldn't act like boyfriends in front of other people, and they also don't really like being too close when they are around the gang. I couldn't tell you how long their relationship lasts, but for some reason, I feel like they don't end up staying together in the distant future.