#is there a better way to explain that? idk

[makingshortstorieslong]

A little zine about how I (still) have trouble saying the word aromantic.

I've never made a zine before! I was inspired to try it because @queerliblib mentioned a zine making night in an email. That hasn't happened yet - its on June 26th - but once I had the idea, I couldn't wait, lol. It was nice to put something down on paper and have the finished product to hold onto.

Image descriptions under the cut:

Page 1: Three tiny speech bubbles say: "Do you have a bf? Do you like anyone? What's your type?" A big speech bubble says, "Oh, I don't date." The big speech bubble comes from a heart colored like the aromantic flag. 

Page 2 says: I could say: "Actually, I'm... ...aromantic." ...aro." ...aromantic asexual." ...aroace."

Page 3 says: But there are a few problems:

aromantic: Has been misheard as "A Romantic".

aro: Opaque if you don't already know the term.

aromantic asexual: A mouthful! And sounds...scientific?

aroace: shares The Big Problem: it may require a vocabulary lesson!

Page 4 says: It doesn't actually come up too often! Which is fine. My coworkers, my neighbors, and strangers don't need to know I'm aroace. I just wish I could say it sincerely when I do want someone to know. 

Page 5 says: I always have to smile - laugh - hedge. "Oh, well, actually, I'm kind of like, aromantic? Basically just not interested."

It's been more than 8 years since the first time I said it out loud!  I'm certain of it, but I still can't say it like I mean it!

Page 6 says: The most memorable time I said "I don't date" the guy I was talking to asked "Oh are you asexual?" and I said "Yeah, actually. And aromantic." And we moved on.

That was nice. 

Page 7 says:

The times I've lead with "I'm aromantic" -- well, there's only one I really remember:

"I didn't use to think that was a real thing." 

Other than that time -- even if I use the word, I always explain what it means first! 

Page 8 says: I just hope that one day I'll feel like I can say, simply, confidently: "I'm aromantic" and "I'm aroace."

The words "I'm aromantic" are big and dark green, the color of the top stripe of the aromantic flag. The words "I'm aroace" are big and bright orange, the color of the top stripe of the aroace flag. Three hearts below the words are colored to look like the aromantic, aroace, and asexual flags. 

[vamptizm]

SNOOZE — p. bueckers ix.

pairing: paige bueckers x soraya mensima (oc)

synopsis: rookie paige bueckers enters the league with confidence, charm, and a bad habit of gravitating toward things she shouldn’t want— like soraya mensima, the wings’ respected star and reluctant heartbreaker. soraya’s been here longer, knows better, and refuses to let lines blur... even as paige keeps rewriting them with every smile.

warnings: fluff? sprinkles of domestic shit. sexual content/smut. idk what else.

word count: 7590

notes: live reactions and reblogs are more appreciated than just likes cuz i actually put my sweat and tears into this through a writing slump just for u guys

masterlist

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

The morning came way too slow for Paige.

She’d barely slept. Just tossed and turned in her hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of last night on an endless loop. She could still feel Soraya’s lips on hers. Still taste her, like it was haunting her. The faint scent of her shampoo, that warm and expensive perfume she wore lingering in the air between them, and the way Soraya’s skin had felt under her fingertips. The way her breath had hitched when Paige’s hands roamed her body.

Everything about Soraya pulled her in like gravity and the more she pushed her away, the harder Paige wanted to close the distance.

By the time they’d gathered in the lobby to check out, Paige was running on little sleep. The moment she saw Soraya step out of the elevator, something tightened low in her stomach.

Their eyes met, just briefly at first. Then again and again. Sometimes one of them broke it quickly, other times their gazes held longer than they probably should have.

Soraya’s stomach twisted with slight wariness. Had anyone noticed? Had any of their teammates somehow seen the way she had barely pulled Paige inside her hotel room doorway the night before? Had they seen thr way she had kissed Paige like she’d been starving for it? She doubted it. Or at least she hoped so.

She wasn’t ready for curious glances, or whispered questions, or judgment that she knew was just in her head. Not from teammates she barely even knew yet and not when she wasn’t even sure how to explain it to herself. Soraya had no idea what she was even doing.

By the time they loaded onto the bus, Soraya walked past Paige with a glance so subtle it could have been missed entirely. Her face was unreadable as she slipped into a seat beside Maddy, who was already sitting quietly near the back of the bus. Maddy had always been calm, steady and constant, not loud and energetic like some of their other teammates. She wasn’t intrusive, just easy and Soraya appreciated that. They’d entered this league together, fresh meat in a highly competitive world, navigating it side by side. That kind of natural bond didn’t need constant conversation to uphold.

Paige sat two rows ahead of them. She couldn’t resist the urge. As the bus doors shut close and the vehicle rolled forward, she shifted slightly in her seat, looking over her shoulder just enough to steal a glance at the older girl.

Soraya was sitting there, bare faced and effortlessly beautiful in her dallas wings hoodie, plain grey sweats hiding her legs. The cool air of the Minnesotan morning hadn’t caught her off guard, she had dressed for it, knowing it’d be different from the dallas heat.

Paige’s throat dried. God, even like this—no makeup, no heels, no glimmering dress— she was still so fucking beautiful. But shr didn’t let herself stare for long. She turned her head back toward the window, the road and landscape blurring as the bus drove towards the airport.

Soraya, who was fully aware of the glance, had been looking down at her phone, feigning disinterest. But she’d felt the burn of those blue eyes on her. She always did.

At the airport, as Soraya stepped off the bus to grab her suitcase, Paige was faster. She pulled it out of the trunk before Soraya could even reach for it.

For a second, she hesitated. She almost kept it in her hand. Almost offered to carry it all the way through the airport, but thought better of it. It was too much and too obvious. The last thing she wanted was to make Soraya pull away again.

She held it out instead. “Here.”

Soraya took it with a small, polite smile. Barely noticeable, but there. And Paige felt stupidly proud of herself for earning it.

The walk through security went by quick. Charter flights meant no crowds, no chaos. One of the few perks they only recently gained.

When they boarded the plane, Soraya reached up to store her carry-on. Once again, Paige stepped in before she could. She stepped in smoothly, taking the bag from Soraya’s hands and pushing it up into place. As she did, her top lifted slightly, exposing a glimpse of her stomach and the v-line cutting down beneath her waistband.

Soraya’s eyes flicked there involuntarily, a quick glance she couldn’t stop in time.

And Paige had caught her. She turned her head with perfect timing, catching Soraya’s stare dead on. The corner of her mouth curved into a knowing smirk that made Soraya snap her gaze away almost immediately, pretending to adjust her hoodie.

They settled into their seats soon after, the plane eventually lifting into the sky. Soraya tried to focus on her phone, but her legs itched to move. After about half an hour, she finally unbuckled her belt and stood to stretch. It was more of an excuse than actual discomfort, if she was being honest.

But instead of returning to her seat, she casually dropped into the empty spot next to her rookie.

Paige glanced sideways at her, eyebrows raised just slightly. She didn’t say anything right away, just waited.

Soraya nodded toward the iPad resting on Paige’s lap, earbuds in her hand. “What are you watching?”

“Grey’s Anatomy,” Paige answered, still watching her like she was waiting for the catch.

Soraya nodded again, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp, almost teasing. “Never seen it. Is it good?”

Paige blinked. “Are you serious right now?”

Soraya tilted her head a little, meeting her gaze fully. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

The deadpan delivery nearly made Paige shiver. ‘God, she’s so hot when she does that.’ The stoic face, the steady eye contact—it was enough to knock the breath right out of her.

Paige let out a quiet breath, trying to ground herself. “Well. You’re watching it now.” She paused, before adding, “I’m rewatching season one, so you’re not missing much.”

Soraya surprised her by simply nodding. “Okay.”

That one word sent a tiny jolt through Paige’s chest. The blonde fought the urge to smile too wide. She hadn’t expected her to stay. Or to give in so easily. She tried not to let the surprise show, simply queued up the first episode instead of resuming where she left off. Somewhere in her mind, she wanted Soraya to have the full experience. She wanted to share something—even if it was just a stupid TV show—for as long as she was allowed to have her close.

For the next hour or so, they sat side by side, Paige softly explaining plot points whenever Soraya leaned in with a quiet question. Eventually, neither of them said much. The show played, the plane hummed quietly around them, and the world outside blurred into nothing.

At some point, Soraya’s head naturally fell against Paige’s shoulder. And not long after, Paige’s head rested lightly on top of hers.

They both drifted off like that. The shared earbuds connecting them, breaths slow and even, bodies leaning into each other.

Most of the team remained disinterested. Minding their own business, chatting softly or dozing off.

Except for Dijonai, Arike and NaLyssa. All three of them exchanged subtle looks from their own seats, silent but fully clocking the scene playing out in front of them.

Soraya Mensima loved to stir the pot.

Quite literally.

And, here she was, arm working in aggressive circular motions as she near to pounded the cassava and unripe plantain mixture into a firm paste.

Soraya couldn’t remember the last time she’d truly rested. The last time she’d gotten more than 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep. The last time she hadn’t had a nightmare or dreams that didn’t leave her feeling uneasy and uncomfortable after waking up.

Her head throbbed, her muscles ached and she could swear that her brain was starting to lag and fog. It was as if nothing made sense, but everything did make sense simultaneously.

But instead of lying down in bed next to her cat that was wholesomely purring for once—letting Soraya know how much she’d missed her the past couple days—she stood in front of her stove.

The scent of spices curled around the kitchen, warm and familiar. Almost comforting. She’d only attempted making ghanaian fufu once, and that was several years ago. By the time she’d finished, her arms ached and her stomach was growling so loud, her family could hear it from outside the kitchen.

It was one of those days, where your heart and soul ached for the past. Where nostalgia knocked at your door and you struggled to open the door for it. To invite it in and embrace it.

Growing up with an algerian mother, and a ghanaian father who passed away before Soraya could form a genuine bond with him, the girl had always felt like she’d been robbed of half of her. The other half of her identity, and not just in the form of a parent, but the culture as well.

Moving to the west had only intensified that feeling.

She never fully belonged anywhere—never fit in. Torn in half, it was as if no side truly claimed and embraced her. Always in the middle.

Though, she wore it with pride. Both of her identities. There wasn’t a time where Soraya Mensima wasn’t utterly proud of where she came from, how she was raised and how hard she’d worked to make it where she was today.

By the time Soraya was done, the kitchen was a mess.

Sticky pots and dirty pans in the sink, red sauce on the marble counter and splattered on the floor tiles from the wooden spoon falling a few times too many. Soraya couldn’t help but sigh as she lowered herself and got on her knees to wipe the ground with a wet kitchen towel. Sighed even louder while rinsing the dirty dishes and tossing them into her dishwasher.

Soraya ignored the way her head spun faster than she was used to, and the way her vision blurred for a few seconds too long. ‘I just need some cold water’ she told herself.

But as she moved towards the fridge and her knees buckled under her, she tightly curled her hand around the handle of her fridge, regaining balance. She blinked rapidly, but it only did little to restore her clear vision.

It wasn’t until Soraya fully sat on the cold floor, propping her upper half up with the flat of her palms and taking deep breaths, before she felt confident enough to lift herself up again.

Soraya shook it off the moment she was back onto her feet, pouring herself a cold cup of water with extra ice cubes, which she quickly chugged down.

She simply chalked it down to her hypothyroidism. It wasn’t the first time it decided to mess with her unannounced, throwing her off balance and bed-ridding her for the rest of the day. And it wouldn’t be the last, that’s something she was sure of.

A short while later as Soraya sat on her couch to restore her energy and coordination, she suddenly became painfully aware of the two big pots on top of her stove. Even more so, the emptiness and loneliness that lingered around her, haunting the apartment like a ghost that vowed to stay. She’d made so much food that she barely had the appetite for just for the sake of nostalgia and now it sat there—overwhelming and prominent.

Soraya thought about it for a little. Let every emotion flow through her—every thought, every urge, every feeling.

And eventually, her hand trailed towards the phone that lay beside her on the velvet couch. She scrolled through her contacts, somehow convincing herself that it’d be quicker and easier than the ‘hassle’ of typing the contact name into her search bar, and internally cursed at how many numbers she’d accumulated throughout the years.

Managers, coaches, teammates, friends, business partners and only a few relatives. Most of those numbers remained untouched, collecting dust in her contacts list.

Finally, her eyes landed on the one she’d been searching for all along.

Soraya remembered exactly when she’d changed the girl’s self assigned contact name. It wasn’t long after Paige had left her apartment. Soraya hadn’t even waited for the body to turn cold before she replaced the silly nickname and emoji with her full government name.

She thought it’d help. Help her compartmentalize, help her remember that their bond was meant to be professional—but that didn’t seem to work.

With a shaky thumb and hesitance that was near to suffocating her, Soraya pressed down on the call button, and she tried to steady her breathing as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Thri—

“Hello?” A husky voice rang through the other line, snapping Soraya out of it.

She could feel her heart rate picking up for no real reason, other than the fact that Paige had answered her call so quickly. As if she’d been anticipating it.

“Uh, hey.” Soraya breathed out, her tone soft and airy. She hadn’t figured out what else to say yet.

“What’s up?” The sleep in Paige’s voice was evident, and Soraya wasn’t sure how she hadn’t picked up on the moment the girl spoke.

“Were you taking a nap?” She asked.

Paige only hummed in response.

“Oh, fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you; it’s okay, go back to sleep.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Needed to get up anyway, so I should thank you,” Paige chuckled lowly, “So, what’s up? Why did you call?”

Soraya couldn’t help but be distracted by the rasp in her voice. ‘Is this what she sounds like every morning when she wakes up?’. She quickly shook those thoughts off.

“I called because,” the older girl trailed off, trying to find the words. Why was she so nervous around Paige all of a sudden? It made no sense to her. Just 48 hours prior to this she was grinding against her and making out with her, and now she couldn’t even properly speak her mind.

Soraya took a deep breath, hoping to ground herself before she continued. “I made too much food without realizing and to be honest, I don’t think I can nor do I wanna eat all of this by myself.”

It was quiet for a few seconds, enough to fill Soraya with doubt and regret.

But then Paige spoke again, “Are you inviting me over for dinner?”

Soraya could practically hear the smirk in her voice and she sighed in dramatic defeat. “I guess. But I made fufu, so if you can’t handle spicy food, don’t come.”

Paige was already sitting up in her bed, “Oh, I can handle it. Trust. I’ll be there in 20.”

“Cool.” The brunette replied with faux nonchalance.

And as they both hung up, neither of them could fight the smiles tugging at the corners of their mouth.

Soraya stayed curled up on the couch, still feeling the exhaustion linger in her bones. The dizziness had dulled, but a faint haze still clung to her head. Not enough to knock her down, but just enough to keep her aware of how much her body was begging her to slow down.

What was supposed to be a quick twenty minutes felt like an hour by the time the chime on the wall finally rang. She sat up with a quiet sigh, slipping her feet into her fuzzy slides before shuffling toward the door.

Leaning forward, she pressed the intercom button. “Hello?”

“You gonna let me up or what? I look like a creep standing here while your neighbors are watching me,” Paige’s voice crackled through the speaker, laced with playful impatience.

A quiet chuckle escaped Soraya. “Yeah, alright, drama queen. They’re not gonna eat you.”

“Probably not,” Paige shot back without missing a beat, “but I’m tryna come up and eat.”

Soraya shook her head, biting back a grin as she buzzed her in, unlocking the building door before she stepped back. Being on the second highest floor, she knew it’d take a minute or two before Paige made it up.

Eventually, the doorbell rang—three quick chimes in a row. She frowned slightly at the pattern, taking notice of it instantly.

Her heart gave a small, involuntary kick. She drew in a breath, steadying herself before reaching for the handle and pulling the door open.

The door inched open, revealing Paige dressed in a simple, grey two piece sweatsuit and her golden hair tied into her signature bun.

Soraya had no clue how to greet her. Should she hug her? Did she even want to hug her? Or should she just step aside and make space for Paige to enter? Despite being in control here, she didn’t necessarily feel like she was. Not with her.

“Come in.” She stepped aside, choosing the safest option.

Paige stepped inside with a small grin, ignoring the way her heart skipped for a reason she didn’t care to analyze. Being in Soraya’s apartment again after everything felt strange, and too unfamiliar in its familiarity. Her gaze briefly landed on the deep green velvet couch, but she quickly looked away before the memory could fully creep in and turn her cheeks warm.

“Looks just like how I left it,” Paige said, tucking her hands into her pockets in an attempt to ease whatever tension might’ve been hanging between them.

Soraya rolled her eyes lightly, almost amused. “Yup. It’s been like... a few weeks, tops.”

“Felt like years.” Paige shrugged. She wasn’t just talking about being in Soraya’s apartment. She meant being part of her life—the little parts of her day outside of basketball. Driving her around. Looking out for her. She missed all of it more than she’d admit.

And Soraya caught that. How could she not? There was a small, familiar pang in her chest before she cleared her throat and took a slow breath through her nose. “You hungry?”

Paige let out a quiet laugh, amused by the question, as if she hadn’t rushed over the moment Soraya called. It wasn’t just about the food—God, it wasn’t just that. She missed her. Missed being around her, missed the comfort of whatever fragile thing they’d started building before it started slipping through her fingers like dry sand.

“Just a little,” Paige teased, pulling one hand out of her pocket to hold up her thumb and index finger, leaving a small gap between them.

Soraya chuckled quietly again, but this time, her eyes never left the blonde. “I gotchu.”

Soraya stood at the stove, gently reheating the spicy stew that had gone lukewarm after sitting untouched for over an hour. The rich aroma filled the small kitchen.

Paige, who’d originally settled onto the couch, found herself getting up after just a few minutes. She couldn’t sit there—not with the flood of memories pressing in, like an old movie reel spinning too fast. She needed a distraction. And she needed to be near Soraya.

“Can I help?” Paige asked softly, stepping into the kitchen. She came up behind Soraya, standing a little too close. Close enough to catch the warm notes of her perfume even through the heavy scent of simmering spices.

Startled by the proximity, Soraya glanced over her shoulder, blinking. “No, it’s okay. You can just sit until I call you.”

But Paige only shook her head. “Nah, I wanna help. Tell me what to do.”

Two simple sentences. But somehow, they made Soraya’s skin prickle with heat. Not from the stove, but from Paige’s quiet insistence and her closeness. She swallowed, trying to steady her breath.

“Uh, alright… You can set the table and grab whatever you want to drink from the fridge.”

She didn’t exhale until Paige finally stepped away toward the fridge, giving her some much needed space to breathe.

As Paige opened the fridge door, her voice lifted with sudden excitement. “Wait, is that Shirley Temple?”

Soraya glanced over, humming with a nod before turning her attention back to the stew.

Paige grinned wide, rubbing her hands together like a kid in a candy store as she pulled the large pitcher of rosy pink soda out and placed it on the table. She started exploring the cabinets for plates, cups, and utensils, opening the wrong ones more than once, prompting Soraya to redirect her with a soft chuckle each time.

The kitchen filled with the soft clinking of dishes, light laughter, and low conversation. The whole scene felt oddly domestic and natural. Like something they’d done a hundred times before.

Once the table was finally set, Soraya carried the heavy pot over and gently placed it in the center. The deep red stew shimmered beneath the warm lights, the aroma richer than ever.

“Hold on,” Soraya paused, spinning back toward the counter. “We’re forgetting something.”

She returned with two small bowls of water, placing one next to each plate.

Paige blinked at them, brows drawing together. “What’s that for?”

“It’s to dip your fingers in,” Soraya explained, a small laugh escaping as she sat down. “This is probably gonna get a little messy. Not exactly the best thing to eat on a first date.”

There was a beat of silence before Paige tilted her head, voice calm but deliberate. “Is this a date?”

The question landed heavier than it should have, making Soraya freeze for a split second. Her face grew warm, but she pushed it down, brushing it off with a shake of her head, trying to sound unaffected. “No… I’m just saying.”

Paige nodded, trying to mask the brief flicker of disappointment as she pulled out her chair and sat down across from her.

And for a moment, the only sound between them was the quiet clinking of silverware and the gentle bubbling of stew.

They sat across from each other, plates full, steam rising from the deep red stew. Soraya reached for her own portion of fufu, expertly pinching a small piece between her fingers and rolling it into a neat little ball before dipping it into the stew. She lifted it to her mouth effortlessly, glancing up to see Paige watching her movements like she was studying for an exam.

Paige furrowed her brows, trying to mimic what she’d just seen. She grabbed a bit of the soft pounded fufu, but it stuck awkwardly to her fingers, refusing to roll into anything remotely round.

“Like this?” she asked, her voice tinged with hesitant amusement, holding up a lumpy, uneven piece that flopped slightly in her hand.

Soraya bit back a grin. “You’re getting there.”

Paige let out a breathy laugh, determined. She tried again, this time managing a slightly better shape before dipping it into the stew. She raised it to her mouth with a bit too much caution, but finally took the first bite.

For a moment, all seemed well. She even hummed in appreciation. “Damn. That’s really good.”

But then it hit her.

The spice snuck up like an ambush—warming her tongue, then setting it ablaze. Her eyes widened slightly as the heat bloomed across her mouth and crept up to her cheeks. She blinked, swallowing hard, trying to keep her expression neutral.

Soraya watched it all unfold with amusement she couldn’t be bothered to hide. She saw the way Paige’s nose twitched like it was threatening to run, the way her face flushed a shade deeper, her eyes beginning to glisten. She was trying so hard not to break.

“You good over there?” Soraya asked, her tone light but teasing.

“I’m great,” Paige managed, forcing a grin. “It’s… a little spicier than I expected, but it’s fine. I got this.”

She quickly reached for her glass of Shirley Temple, taking a big sip. But the carbonation only made it worse, bubbling and prickling against her already burning tongue. Paige closed her eyes briefly, trying to play it cool, but Soraya caught the little stifled cough that followed.

That was it. Soraya couldn’t hold back any longer. She let out a soft, melodic laugh, shaking her head. “You’re really thuggin’ it out, huh?”

Paige laughed too, the tension easing between them as they both dissolved into giggles.

“It’s too good to stop,” Paige said, her voice slightly strained but genuine. “I didn’t come all the way here to tap out. My taste buds just need to toughen up a little, that’s all.”

Soraya’s heart softened, watching her push through, all to impress her—though she never would’ve been offended if Paige had stopped after the first bite.

“You know,” Soraya smiled, “you don’t gotta prove anything to me.”

“I know,” Paige said, eyes locking with hers for a brief moment that felt a little heavier than before. “But I kinda want to anyway.”

Soraya tried to bite back another smile.

When they finished eating, Soraya moved to start clearing the table, but Paige was already one step ahead of her, stacking the plates.

“I got it,” Paige said simply.

“You don’t have to—” Soraya started.

“I want to.”

There was no room for argument in her tone. Not forceful, but firm enough. Paige took the dishes to the sink, rolling up the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

Soraya leaned against the counter, watching her for a moment. “You sure?”

Paige glanced over her shoulder with a faint grin. “Sit down.”

Soraya let out a quiet breath, almost smiling. She grabbed her drink and retreated to the couch, watching Paige from across the room.

The running water filled the quiet, punctuated by the soft clinking of plates. Paige moved carefully, almost focused, as if washing dishes was some kind of offering. A small, gentle way to take care of Soraya.

Soraya studied the scene from her spot, her head resting against the back of the couch. The simple domesticity of it made her chest feel warmer than she expected.

“You’re doing them too slow,” she called out quietly after a minute.

“I’m being thorough.” Paige didn’t look back, but Soraya could hear the smile in her voice.

Soraya chuckled under her breath.

The water shut off. Paige dried her hands and finally turned around, her expression prideful. “Done.”

Soraya raised her glass slightly, half in thanks. “They better be squeaky clean.”

Paige’s smile lingered, softer now. “They are. Trust.”

Eventually they both stood in front of the door, Paige grabbing her car keys and slipping back into her shoes.

In all honesty, Soraya didn’t want her to leave so soon. But it was getting late, the sun had long set and tomorrow was a new day of hard work. She’d get to see her again soon.

“Alright, well… Drive safe, ‘kay?” Soraya’s voice came out softer than expected. Warmer.

And Paige didn’t miss it.

“I will, don’t worry.” She smiled, glancing at Soraya with gentle eyes. “Alright… I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Soraya nodded, but instead of stepping back, she took a small step forward. Before Paige could process it, Soraya’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug.

Paige froze for half a second, caught off guard. But then her body eased into it, arms instinctively sliding around Soraya’s waist. She inhaled the familiar scent of her perfume, her pulse quickening.

The hug lingered a few seconds too long to be casual. To not mean something to both of them.

When Soraya finally pulled back, her hands lightly brushing down Paige’s arms, she offered a tiny smile. “Goodnight.”

Paige could only nod, barely finding her voice. “Night.”

Her heart was still hammering as she stepped into the hallway, the soft click of the door behind her echoing louder than it should’ve.

Most of the other teammates had already gone home to their partners, pets and the comfort of their own paces.

Soraya, however, wasn’t one of them.

She remained, occupying the weight room, training just as hard as she’d done ever since practice started early in the morning. It had to have been around seven in the afternoon, maybe six. She’d lost track a while ago.

Though, she wasn’t by herself.

Paige tried to focus on her own set, pressing the dumbbells up in steady reps, but her attention kept slipping.

The rookie couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting towards Soraya, eyes locked on the girl’s form as she lowered herself into squats. Hands tightly curled around the barbell that was propped on top of her shoulders, elbows tucked correctly. Her form was one of the best ones that Paige had seen so far.

And every time Soraya lowered her body, Paige couldn’t help but let her gaze trails towards the curve of her ass.

’Focus, you horny fuck.’ She’d tried to snap herself out of it. But that proved to be hard when every time Soraya came up from her barbell squats, a quiet exhale left her lips—almost like a soft groan—and even though her headphones blocked out most of the weight room noise, Paige couldn’t unhear it. Couldn’t unsee the way Soraya’s body moved, strong yet fluid, her form flawless.

It was starting to make her head spin.

“Psst. Paige.”

Her gaze snapped up, locking with Soraya’s, who was already looking at her from across the room with a small smirk.

“Can you spot me? I wanna bench press,” Soraya called, setting her barbell back into place.

“Yeah, sure,” Paige answered immediately, getting up and making her way over. As she stood behind Soraya while she settled onto the bench, Paige teased, “Pretty sure you’ll be fine without me.”

Soraya let out a quiet chuckle, hands curling around the barbell. “Probably. But I’m tryna challenge myself today. Better safe than sorry.”

Paige nodded, watching carefully as Soraya started her first set with two 25 pound plates on each side. The bar moved smoothly and effortless.

“Can you add another two 25s?” Soraya asked after racking the bar again.

Without question, Paige grabbed the plates and loaded them on, trying her best not to stare at how Soraya’s chest rose and fell under her snug sports bra. She blinked quickly, redirecting her attention.

Soraya lifted the bar again, lowering and pressing it without any real strain. Paige couldn’t help but shake her head.

“Two more,” Soraya said, exhaling.

Paige’s brows drew together. “You sure?”

“Mhm,” Soraya hummed. “I usually do 170. But like I said, I wanna push it today.”

Paige hesitated briefly, but nodded. “Whatever you want.”

She added the last pair of 25s, bringing the total up to 200 pounds. As Soraya arched her back and gripped the bar, Paige positioned her hands close, hovering just above the barbell, fully locked in.

Soraya lowered the bar slowly. A deep groan rumbled from her chest as she pressed it back up, her arms visibly trembling now. Her eyes squeezed shut, muscles tense with effort. Paige was hyper aware of every second. The bar, her breathing, the way Soraya’s body strained beneath the weight. And yet, somehow, her mind kept drifting places it shouldn’t.

After a couple more reps, Soraya racked the bar with a controlled exhale, a wide grin spreading across her flushed face. She sat up, turning to Paige with bright eyes.

“What did I say?” she teased, giving Paige a light smack to the stomach with the back of her hand.

Paige laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Yeah, alright, alright. You did good.” The pride in her voice was obvious, and Soraya felt her chest warm at the sound of it.

“Your wanna switch?” Soraya asked, tilting her head, and Paige nodded.

Soraya stood behind Paige at the bench, watching her lower the weights back down to 150 before taking Soraya’s place as she gripped the barbell and began her set. The heavy weight moved smoothly in her hands, barely testing her. Soraya licked her lips without realizing, tracking every controlled motion as Paige pressed the bar up and down with steady breaths.

Eventually, Paige set the bar back into place and turned her head toward Soraya, still lying flat against the bench.

“C’mere.”

Soraya didn’t hesitate, stepping around to stand beside her.

Paige’s gaze swept up her figure before landing on her eyes. “Can I lift you instead?” she asked, voice dripping with teasing confidence.

Soraya raised an amused brow, a grin threatening her lips. “What’s wrong with the barbell?”

“Not good enough,” Paige replied, fully smirking now. “I’d enjoy bench pressing your pretty ass a lot more.” She licked her lips slowly, eyes shamelessly tracing Soraya from head to toe.

Soraya felt her heart pick up, heat spreading beneath her skin as she fought the smirk on her own face. With a quiet breath, she echoed Paige’s words from the day before, “Whatever you want.”

She stepped in closer, standing right by the bench, already crossing her arms over her chest. Paige didn’t waste a second, placing one hand against Soraya’s stomach, the other just above her knees and carefully adjusting her hold before smoothly lifting her off the ground.

Soraya let out a surprised little laugh as Paige settled her weight horizontally across her hands, belly down. “Okay, okay—” she giggled as Paige began to lift and lower her steadily, as if she weighed nothing.

Every time she was pushed upward, Soraya caught fleeting glimpses of Paige’s smirking face below her, eyes sparkling with amusement and something warmer. Then she shot her a cocky, playful wink. Soraya rolled her eyes with a breathy chuckle, but she couldn’t fight the heat low in her stomach.

Suddenly Paige picked up the pace, pressing her up a little faster.

“Paige—!” Soraya squealed, half laughing, half shrieking.

“You’re light,” Paige said, grinning wide, the weight of her gaze almost heavier than her hands. “Could do this all day.”

Shortly after, Paige lowered Soraya back down slowly, but instead of fully letting go, she let Soraya land softly onto her lap. The gentle drop sent a small shock through Soraya, who let out another breathless giggle, now straddling Paige’s thighs.

Paige’s hands remained steady on her hips, fingers curling just slightly as their eyes met for a lingering beat. Neither of them spoke, there wasn’t much to say when the air between them was already thick enough to speak for itself.

Then Paige’s voice cut through, low and velvety. “Actually,” she tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Sit on the bar.”

Soraya blinked, caught off guard. “The bar?”

Paige smirked, nodding toward the bench press. “Yeah. Facing me.”

The request alone made Soraya’s lower stomach flutter. A faint blush crept up her neck, but she didn’t hesitate for long. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured under her breath, shaking her head with a breathy laugh as she removed the weight plates and climbed carefully over Paige’s head.

Paige adjusted herself, letting Soraya swing one leg over, then the other, until she was perched carefully on top of the barbell, her thighs spread as she faced Paige directly. Her hands found the sides of the machine to steady herself, heart pounding as she tried to fight the flustered grin threatening her lips.

“Ready?” Paige asked, already curling her hands under Soraya’s thighs, gripping her gently but firmly.

Soraya bit her lip, nodding once. “Don’t drop me.”

“Never.” Paige’s smirk was impossibly smug as she lifted Soraya off the bar with ease.

The rhythm was slow at first. Soraya rising and lowering in steady motions, her hands gripping the frame, head tilted slightly downward, eyes flickering between the way Paige’s arms flexed beneath her and the steady pull of Paige’s gaze locked directly on her.

With every upward press, Paige’s face was nearly flush against Soraya’s core, her breath ghosting against the thin material of Soraya’s shorts. Every descent brought the plush of Soraya’s ass down softly against Paige’s chest, the warm pressure of their bodies meeting in ways that drove both of them crazy.

The tension tightened between them with each motion. Soraya’s thighs tried to instinctively squeeze slightly the closer she came down, her breath hitching faintly every time Paige’s face hovered inches from her heat.

Paige licked her lips slowly, blue eyes darkening with each controlled lift. “You’re so much better than any barbell,” she muttered under her breath, the weight of her voice sending shivers through Soraya’s already burning body.

Soraya’s hands clenched tighter against the machine as her breathing grew uneven. “Yeah, I can tell.” Her voice came out quieter than intended, shaky with the warmth spreading through her like wildfire.

Paige didn’t respond this time, only smirked and pressed her up again, letting the silence between them pulse with electric heat.

The blonde gently helped Soraya back onto the floor, releasing her grip as she let her catch her balance. She sat up straight, head tilted slightly to look up at Soraya, who was already gazing down at her.

The silence between them was charged. Their eyes locked, and it was as if they were having a full conversation without saying a single word. There was no playfulness this time, only raw heat, a silent exchange of permission and want.

Paige’s hands slid back up, curling around Soraya’s hips, slowly tugging her closer until she was standing between her spread legs. Her voice was soft, almost dreamlike. “Wanna kiss you.”

The words barely hung in the air, thick with desire.

Soraya’s pulse quickened. She told herself this was the moment she should step away, that she should stop it before it escalated into yet another thing they couldn’t take back. But the longer Paige looked up at her like that—those flushed cheeks, darkened eyes, lips parted—the less she cared.

Her hands found Paige’s shoulders, grounding herself. “Yeah? How bad?” she whispered, voice breathy, teasing, testing.

Paige’s smirk was slow and hungry, her grip on Soraya’s hips firming slightly. “So fucking bad.”

Soraya swallowed, eyes flickering over Paige’s face, drinking in every detail like she was trying to memorize her. ’God, why did she have to be so beautiful?’

A quiet curse slipped from her lips. Fuck it.

She leaned down, one hand sliding to Paige’s jaw, tilting her chin up before finally closing the small space between them. Their mouths met. Slow at first, tender, but it didn’t take long before it deepened, turning messier, hungrier. Like they both had been waiting for this too long.

Soraya climbed into Paige’s lap without breaking the kiss, straddling her thighs, pressing herself closer. Paige groaned softly, hands gliding over Soraya’s back, up her spine, tracing her body like she couldn’t get enough of touching her.

Their kisses grew more desperate, open mouthed and breathless. Paige sighed into Soraya’s mouth as Soraya tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of her neck, earning a low hum from the blonde.

The weight room, the world, everything else faded behind the heat of their bodies pressed together, the taste of each other’s lips, the heavy sound of their breathing filling the quiet space.

Paige's lips never left Soraya’s as her hands slid lower, gripping beneath her thighs before lifting her with ease. Soraya instinctively wrapped her legs around Paige’s waist, gasping softly as she was pinned against the nearest wall, the cold surface biting against her back.

The gasp was all Paige needed. She deepened the kiss instantly, tongue slipping in to meet Soraya’s, their mouths moving together in a hungry, messy rhythm. Every moan, every quiet breath was swallowed between them.

Paige’s grip tightened, grounding Soraya against the wall as their kiss grew filthier, needier. Soraya’s fingers curled tighter behind Paige’s neck, but after a few desperate minutes, she let one hand fall. She tapped against Paige’s forearm, breath shaky, before tugging lightly at her wrist—wordlessly asking.

Paige understood immediately. Her hand shifted, pressing firmer into Soraya’s backside to hold her steady as she slipped her free hand between their bodies.

Her fingertips ghosted over Soraya’s gym shorts, teasing, barely touching. Soraya’s breath hitched, her lips parting as she buried her forehead briefly against Paige’s.

Paige’s voice came out low, cocky, and breathless against her ear. “Right here?”

Soraya let out a soft breath, nodding faintly. “Don’t make me say it.”

That made Paige grin against her mouth. Her hand pressed fully now, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over Soraya’s clothed core, feeling the heat radiating through the thin fabric. Soraya’s hips rolled against the movement automatically, breathing heavy, her grip tightening in Paige’s hair.

“Fuck—” Soraya whispered brokenly, her voice hitching as Paige’s fingers pressed a little harder, slow but torturously steady.

The weight room felt too quiet now—except for the sounds of their breath, their lips, and the soft friction between Paige’s hand and Soraya’s desperate body.

Neither one cared who might walk in.

Paige’s fingers kept their torturously slow rhythm over Soraya’s shorts until she couldn’t take it anymore. Not when she felt how wet the fabric was beneath her hand. Her breathing came out shallow, her own arousal buzzing through her veins like static.

“Damn, you’re soaked,” Paige murmured into Soraya’s ear, lips brushing against the shell of it. The teasing lilt in her voice sent a full body shiver through Soraya.

Instead of getting flustered or shutting her down, Soraya met her gaze. Steady, burning and completely unashamed. She nodded, biting her lower lip before she whispered, “Mhm. For you.”

The answer made Paige’s head spin. Her cocky smirk faltered for a second under the weight of how much that turned her on.

Without another word, Paige’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of Soraya’s shorts, past the thin line of her panties, finally meeting her bare, dripping heat. Her fingers slid through the wetness, exhaling sharply as her fingertips glided over her folds.

“Fuck,” Paige breathed, her voice rough. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Soraya just smiled faintly, a low breath escaping her as she clung to Paige’s shoulders.

That was all Paige needed. She let two fingers slip inside her in one smooth motion, burying them to the last knuckle. Soraya gasped sharply, her head tipping back against the wall. Paige’s thumb found her clit easily, starting small, tight circles as her fingers began to pump in and out, slow at first but gradually building a rhythm.

“Fuck, look at you,” Paige whispered, watching the way her body reacted with every movement. “So fucking perfect.”

Her words were filled with reverence, like Paige was dead set on worshiping her right there against the wall. Every roll of her wrist was deliberate, calculated, like she had something to prove—and she did.

She wanted to ruin Soraya. She wanted to make her crave it. To make sure that after tonight, Soraya wouldn’t be able to look at her without remembering this.

Soraya’s breathing grew shakier, her hips moving involuntarily to meet Paige’s hand as the pleasure started to build fast and hot. “Don’t stop—” she exhaled, breath hitching.

Paige leaned in, lips brushing against Soraya’s jaw as her fingers curled. “I won’t. Not ‘til you come for me, mama.”

Soraya whimpered softly, the coil in her stomach tightening dangerously with every pass of Paige’s thumb, her legs trembling slightly around Paige’s waist as the pressure built.

And Paige could feel how close she was. How badly her body wanted to give in.

“C’mon, baby,” Paige whispered against her lips. “I gotchu.”

The rope finally snapped, Soraya’s body jerking against the wall as she came with a breathless cry, her nails digging into Paige’s shoulders. Paige held her through it, never slowing her hand until Soraya fully unraveled in her arms.

When Soraya finally sagged against her, limp and breathless, Paige pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her temple, her chest heaving.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. But when Soraya finally managed to look down at her, eyes still hazy, she whispered with a small, teasing grin.

“…you might actually kill me.”

Paige grinned back up at her, utterly wrecked in the best way. “Not yet.”

Soraya was still catching her breath, heart pounding against her ribcage, but her lips found Paige’s again, slow and hungry. Desperate for more. Her voice came out as a breathy mumble against the blonde’s mouth.

“Wanna do you right too…” she whispered, fingers lightly tugging at Paige’s waistband, making her intentions very clear.

Paige was all for it. Her lips curved into a smirk against Soraya’s, hands gripping her waist tighter. “Yeah?” she breathed, voice low and eager, “Right here?”

But before anything else could happen, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly from outside the weight room. Both of them froze.

Paige reluctantly set Soraya back down on her feet, still steadying her by the hips as they both listened for a moment, holding their breath with hidden smiles on their faces. The footsteps grew distant again, but the interruption had already sobered them slightly.

Soraya cleared her throat softly, stepping back just enough to put a bit of space between them in case anyone walked in unexpectedly.

Paige let out a soft chuckle, still looking at her with hooded eyes. “Already running away from me?” she teased, voice dripping with playfulness.

Soraya rolled her eyes, lips curling into a faux annoyed grin. “Shut the fuck up”

With the heat still simmering between them, they eventually made their way out of the weight room, stealing one last long hug before parting ways in the parking lot.

Paige followed Soraya to her car, standing back as she made sure Soraya got in safely and drove off. Only then did she head toward her own car, the smirk still tugging at her lips as she climbed inside, her mind replaying every second of what just happened as she finally drove off into the night.

extended taglist 🐆 — @thelightknight21 @private-but-not-a-secret @angryflowerwitch @jieysiee @angelliicc @paigebaby5 @ttytttt-gndgnvbm @syraxbigfanfr @forward1212 @niya500 @wosolipa @enchantingesme @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @ksimsplayer @hggbiijj @pupbistro

[weemssapphic]

hello hello hello, i don’t know if your requests are open but listen

okay, imagine larissa while she’s pleasuring an other woman who is on her lap and has her front pressed to larissa’s

reader passes in front of the door where they are doing it and she hears some moans, she slowly opens the doors, just a few inches so that she can observe the scene

larissa makes eye contact with her, she doesn’t stop, no no, she keeps going and going, she brings the other woman over the edge while constantly keeping eye contact with the reader and smirking while the two women moans in each other ears

reader then realizes how wrong the situation is and go back to her room but she isn’t aware of larissa who followed her and i don’t know the rest is up to you💀 if you will ever want to write this, i understand if you don’t like it, it’s pure smut with feelings at te end? or maybe no feelings at all but just friends with benefits? idk change whatever u want!!

-xoxo dear

i love all your fics so much and ily too!

a/n: another older request that i never got to finishing as i start on some newer ones! i'm so sorry but i hope you like it and thank you sooo much, ily!!!

watching her (nsfw)

words: ~3.7k | ao3 link in title accidental voyeurism, slutty!Larissa, slightly dubious power dynamics - enjoy!

Insomnia is slowly driving you mad. It’s been at least a week since you last got more than 4 solid hours of sleep in a row and you’ve taken to restlessly wandering the corridors of Nevermore in an attempt to tire yourself out. 

Last night, you bumped into Principal Weems on your little walk, as she’d been on her way back to her quarters after being out. It had been late, sure, but you hadn’t questioned it — the woman was allowed to have a life outside of Nevermore, after all. She’d invited you back to her office for a nightcap, you’d talked for a bit, laughed even — she’d insisted you call her Larissa and stop with the formalities, it had made you blush and stutter like a fool. 

She’d said you could come by again sometime if you still found yourself plagued by sleepless nights, that she often stayed up late working and could use the company. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t call on her again, she was probably just being nice, you didn’t want to bother her — but, well… why not?

Your feet carry you towards Principal Weems’s — Larissa’s — office and you knock gently, afraid of disturbing her. The door swings open at your knock, it hadn’t been closed properly, and you stare at it, perplexed.

“Larissa?” you call out, peeking your head into the office. 

Silence.

The room is dark, the last embers dying in the fireplace — clearly she’d already retired to her quarters. You should leave… but she should know that her office is unlocked, you have a feeling she wouldn’t like that. 

Her quarters are connected to her office by a door at the far end and you make your way towards it — you’ll just knock, politely explain that you found the door to her office open, and then leave again. Surely she’d be grateful that you told her. 

As you approach the door to her quarters, you find that this one is ajar as well — and, before you have a chance to decide whether or not to knock, the most pornographic moan you’ve ever heard in your life reaches your ears.

All of the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks and you freeze in place — was Larissa masturbating? Having sex? There’s another moan, a little quieter than the first, but it sounds close, and you know you should turn around and leave but against your better judgement you lean towards the door and place your ear against it and it opens just a few inches more, so that you’re able to peer through the crack.

It feels like a hummingbird has been trapped in your chest, and even eating sand couldn’t make your mouth feel drier.

The door opens into a small sitting room, with a sofa that faces it, and sitting on that sofa is none other than Larissa herself — with a naked woman on her lap, whose back is to you. Larissa seems to be wearing lingerie, it’s hard to tell from the angle, but it’s more of her than you’ve ever seen before, her long legs spread to accommodate the other woman’s petite frame, one hand on the woman’s hip and the other hand disappearing between their bodies.

The two women are kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths. Larissa’s moans are the softer, quieter ones, and the sound makes it feel as though your whole body is suddenly on fire. Your lips feel chapped, you lick them in vain, you realize you haven’t been breathing. You know you should turn away, sneak back to your own quarters before you get caught, but your legs feel like jell-o and you’re certain that if you tried to take so much as one step, your knees would give out and you’d collapse on the spot.

Then Larissa breaks the kiss, nips at the woman’s earlobe — she tilts her head with a moan and Larissa opens her eyes and looks right in your direction and you almost do collapse on the spot, suddenly feeling more than a little lightheaded, your stomach sinking.

You brace yourself, ready for Larissa to stop everything, to come over and berate you, to unleash her fury on you and send you packing. Her eyes bore into your own, pupils so blown that barely a sliver of blue is visible, and you can’t look away no matter how hard you will yourself to. 

But nothing happens. Larissa’s lips stay firmly attached to the other woman’s neck, her shoulder flexes as her arm appears to move with even more urgency — it’s hard to see from where you’re stood but from the obscene noises that reach your ears, you can only assume that Larissa is buried knuckle deep in this woman’s cunt.

Obscenities begin to spill from her lips as she bucks against Larissa, none the wiser to the audience half-hidden behind the door. Her back arches and flexes and the tendons in her neck stretch as Larissa’s lips assault her pulse point, as Larissa digs her teeth into the smooth flesh, all the while keeping her eyes on you.

You can almost see a hint of a smirk on Larissa’s lips as she brings the other woman over the edge, holding her firmly against herself as she trembles and moans in pure, unadulterated ecstasy. It’s as if Larissa is getting off on having you watch her, her cheeks adorned with a rosy flush and her eyes hooded.

It’s almost too much for you to handle. This is so wrong, not only walking in on your boss during sex but staying and watching like a voyeur. You shouldn’t be here — even if Larissa hasn’t acknowledged you yet, you’re certain that you’ll be fired by morning, when she finally comes to her senses.

You stumble back from the door, moans continuing to spill through the crack. Your foot catches on the corner of a rug and you have to catch yourself on Larissa’s desk — the action snaps you firmly back to reality and you slip out of Larissa’s office as quietly as you can. 

Once you’re in the hallway your feet pick up speed, pure adrenaline carrying you back to your own quarters. You’re grateful that it’s the middle of the night and no one is around, surely people would question why you’re sprinting through the halls as if you’re being chased. You don’t stop until you’ve slammed and locked the door to your quarters behind you, and then your knees give out and you sink to the floor.

The thing is, you like Larissa — a lot more than you should. You probably shouldn’t have even taken the job in the first place, seeing as your crush started during your very first interview for the position. Until now, though, it’s been fairly easy to suppress your feelings. You truly don’t interact with Larissa that much, most of your time is spent with your students and working. Only now, you have no idea how you’re ever going to be able to face Larissa again.

One question gnaws at you, and the more you think about it, the more your stomach sinks. Why didn’t Larissa stop what she was doing? Why did she let you watch, why did it seem like she wanted you to watch? Was it because she has some sort of voyeurism kink? Or was it, perhaps, because she has some sort of feelings for you, too? 

You scoff at yourself — the thought of Larissa Weems finding you desirable is utterly absurd. Plus, if she did have feelings for you, why would she be fucking someone else? Tears begin to blur your vision, spilling down your cheeks, and you press your face against your knees, losing sense of time as you try (and fail) to reign in your emotions.

A gentle knock at your door rips you from your misery, and you realize that you’re still sitting on the floor. Your knees pop as you stand and you quickly wipe at your eyes with your sleeves, trying to make it look like you haven’t been sobbing. Your heart hammers in your chest as you reach for the door handle, wondering who could be calling on you — perhaps another teacher who heard you crying? Or maybe a student needs help?

Oh. 

Oh. 

It’s Larissa.

She stands tall in front of you, looking down at you in a way you’ve never seen before. She doesn’t appear to be angry — on the contrary, there’s a small, playful smile on her lips and her cheeks are flushed a gorgeous shade of pink. She’s dressed, though a bit haphazardly, and a few baby hairs peek out of her updo at her forehead.

“I thought you’d still be awake,” she says, her voice a low purr, and you’re certain your face is as red as a tomato, a lump growing in your throat. You wonder if she’s being sweet on purpose to lull you into a false sense of security, but you quickly shake the thought from your head — that isn’t like her.

Your voice fails you so you nod meekly instead, and that little act of submission turns Larissa’s smile into a smirk.

“Are you alright, darling? You don’t look very well…” Her tone is light and teasing but her eyebrows crease a bit as her eyes track the dried trails of your tears down your cheeks. You nod again, wiping at your cheeks with your sleeve, certain you’ve never looked more pathetic in your life.

“I’m fine,” you lie, the tremble in your voice giving you away, and Larissa cups your cheek, her thumb grazing across your lower lip and sending a spark down your spine — your accompanying shiver doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Was that a bit too much for you, my dear?” she coos, and your breath stutters in your chest as images that you’re trying to suppress come flooding back to you.

“I-I just…” You don’t know what to say. Is Larissa looking for an explanation? An apology? Why did she follow you? Why is she touching you?

“I’m not upset with you, darling,” she reassures you, her tone soft. So you’re not in trouble, but this is uncharted territory all the same. She takes a step towards you, backing you into your quarters, and closes the door behind herself. “Why don’t we have a seat, hm?”

Her gaze flickers to your bed and you can only nod dumbly as you let her lead you towards it with a hand on the small of your back, taking a seat beside you. Her thigh is touching yours, her body heat radiating off of her, and you swear you can smell the sex on her, and it’s making it hard to think.

“Why did you come to my quarters?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep again,” you admit quietly, clasping your hands in your lap and looking down at them to keep yourself from doing something you’ll regret. “Larissa, I-I swear, I didn’t mean to walk in on you, it’s just your office door was unlocked and I–”

“I was hoping you’d come by tonight.”

Larissa’s admission knocks the wind right out of you, and you can’t help but to look up at her, struck dumb by the amusement on her face. “Y-you were?” You hate how breathy your voice has gotten, a spark of hope and something more primal sprouting in your abdomen, but your brows knit together in confusion as you try to make sense of the situation you’ve found yourself in. “But what about that other woman?”

“Just a friend,” Larissa says casually, shrugging. 

“A… friend? Does she know you’re here?”

Larissa smirks. “She does.” Her gaze drops slowly, deliberately to your lips, turning your core to molten lava.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Larissa mocks, and your face turns crimson. She reaches into your lap and takes your hand in her own, stopping your fidgeting. “Tell me you want me to leave and I will.”

“I… can’t do that,” you admit, unable to hear your own voice over the hammering of your heart in your ears.

At that, Larissa takes your hand and places it on her own waist, then kicks her heels off and adjusts herself on the bed so that she’s slowly pushing you backwards until you’re lying flat on your back and she’s hovering over you. “Do you want this as much as I do?” she asks, her gaze flickering between each of your eyes, and you almost don’t answer because you’re so distracted by how soft and right her hip feels beneath your hand. 

“I don’t know how much you want this…” You swallow thickly and Larissa chuckles, the sound like music to your ears. “B-but yeah, I want this.”

Larissa shifts her weight onto one arm, her other hand running through your hair until it reaches your jaw. She hooks one finger below your chin and tilts it up, pressing her lips gently to yours and pressing the length of her body against you.

Her lips are just as soft as you’d pictured them to be (and it’s something you’d daydreamed about often) and your heart is beating so fast you think you might actually be having a heart attack. It takes you a moment to start kissing her back and, when you do, you reach up tentatively to cup her cheeks. The action spurs Larissa on and she flicks her tongue against your lips, silently begging you to part them — you do, without a second thought, unable to stifle the moan that rips from your chest as her tongue tangles with your own.

It’s easy to get lost in a woman like Larissa. Her mouth is hot and wet and tastes like red wine and lipstick, and her body is warm and soft and smells like tuberose and vanilla. She’s got a way of enveloping your senses so that nothing else exists in that moment apart from her, and you’re powerless to stop her — not that you would ever want to. 

She bends her leg and intertwines it with yours, sliding her hand along your jaw and into your hair, her fingers curling behind your ear as she deepens the kiss. The most sinful little sighs and moans spill from her mouth directly into yours, making you soak through your underwear faster than the best audio porn you’ve ever heard.

You think you might be having the same effect on Larissa, because you feel her shudder against you, her hand tightening in your hair as her knee inches towards your center. “I like the way you taste,” she mumbles against your lips, her tongue delving deeper into your mouth. 

“Same,” you murmur, rather pathetically, and Larissa chuckles, nipping playfully at your lower lip — then her knee presses against your core through your trousers, making you gasp. Your head falls back against the pillow and Larissa takes the opportunity to cover your neck in kisses and little bites. Her knee grinds against your cunt and, from this angle, you feel the warmth radiating from her own crotch against your thigh. “Larissa, p-please…”

“Please? Please what?” she teases, pulling back just in time to watch your face turn red, your lips parting but no words coming out. “May I take this off?” she asks, giving the hem of your shirt a gentle tug, clearly realizing she’s not going to get a coherent answer out of you, and you nod eagerly. 

Larissa’s hand is warm against your stomach and your abs contract as her fingers slide up your torso, pulling your shirt along with them and revealing more and more of your body to her. She pushes your shirt over your breasts and you help her to tug it off the rest of the way, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Your bra soon follows, Larissa’s fingers getting to work on the clasp and wasting no time in getting you naked. Her lips replace her hands, nipping at the swell of your breasts, leaving little red marks and tiny bruises, marking you as her own.

“Aren’t you just stunning?” she murmurs as she kisses her way down the center of your abdomen, her hands molding against the curve of your waist, her breath tickling your skin and making every hair on your body stand on end.

You start to squirm as she gets closer and closer to the hem of your trousers, and you feel her smirk against your lower belly as she hooks her fingers beneath the waistband and starts to tug, her lips following your trousers as they get pulled down, then discarded. 

“You’re so wet,” she coos — your cheeks are aflame as you shift your hips slightly and feel how you’ve soaked through your underwear, and then Larissa speaks again and you feel you may combust on the spot. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, darling, you’re not the only one…”

Larissa sits up, unbuttoning the front of her dress — her breasts spill out of their constraints and you realize she’s come here without a bra on. You shiver. She frees her arms from the dress and tugs it down her body, over the soft swell of her lower belly, her hips, shifting to the side to pull it down her legs and toss it aside, along with her underwear, which join the heap of clothing on the floor. In the dim light of your bedroom, you can see her pale inner thighs glisten with the evidence of her arousal, the smell of her growing stronger with no more barriers in place.

“Now, where were we…” she teases, lowering herself again so that her face is level with your cunt. She presses her lips to your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need her most, and you struggle to keep yourself from bucking your hips against her face. You pray she doesn’t notice this but of course she does — she chuckles, her breath hitting the cool, wet spot at the center of your underwear and making you clench. “Patience, darling.” 

“S-sorry,” you mumble, fisting at the sheets to have something to do with your hands, to keep yourself from squirming and fidgeting as Larissa pulls your underwear down your thighs and then wraps her arms around them, giving you a little tug to get you just where she wants you.

A moan spills from your lips, so guttural that you hardly recognize it as your own, as Larissa runs her tongue up the length of your pussy. She mumbles something about how you taste but her voice is muffled against you and you can’t really focus on what she’s saying anyway as all the blood in your body rushes to your cunt.

You feel your knees bend of their own accord, your body opening itself to Larissa, seeking more of the pleasure she’s giving you. Her tongue dips inside of you, deeper, deeper, fuck, her tongue is long, she fucks you with it nice and slow, thorough, taking her time. When she moans it seems to vibrate throughout your entire body, you bite down on your lip so hard that you draw blood.

It’s clear now why that other woman was moaning so hard — Larissa knows just which buttons to press. Your thighs are already trembling as she thrusts her tongue inside of you, and then she circles your clit with her thumb and you see stars. You want to watch her so badly, you’ve fantasized about this moment and, if the last thing you ever saw was Larissa’s silky blonde hair bobbing between your thighs, you’d die the happiest person on the planet. But it’s so hard to keep your eyes open, every muscle in your body clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm just a little while longer.

You don’t consciously remember moving your hands but they’re in Larissa’s hair now, gripping so desperately that you’re probably hurting her — though, if you are, she doesn’t let on. She doubles down, letting you push her head against your cunt, her thumb against your clit, and you finally can’t take it anymore — your body tenses as your orgasm washes over you, the most satisfying release you’ve ever felt.

Larissa stays in position as you ride out your high and even after, gently and thoroughly cleaning you up with her tongue until you whine and twitch away from her, too sensitive to continue. She releases your legs from her hold, crawling up your body and lowering herself beside you, curling one arm around you and pulling you into her side. You rest your head against her chest, your breathing slowly synching with hers, her heartbeat helping you to regulate your own. You’re sweaty and your cheek sticks to the top of her breast but she doesn’t seem to mind, just runs her fingertips up and down your arm as you come back down to earth.

“You said you wanted this,” she says after a while, her voice quiet and contemplative in the silence of your room.

You grunt in response, still feeling a little dazed.

“Since when?”

A blush spreads across your face, you’re sure Larissa can feel the sudden heat from your cheek against her skin. You can’t believe you’re about to confess to Larissa how long you’ve liked her — but then again you can’t believe she’s just eaten you out either. “I think since I first met you, actually,” you murmur, preparing yourself for a negative reaction.

Larissa laughs, her chest rumbling beneath your head. “That’s quite a long time… though my answer wouldn’t be much better.” That alone makes your heart pound but then Larissa continues speaking and your ears start to ring. “Though I think if I’m being honest, I want a little more than just this.” 

“What do you want?” you whisper, trying desperately to keep your hope at bay. You steal a glance at Larissa’s face and, even though it’s hard to tell from the angle, you swear she has a small smile on her face.

“More than just sex, I mean,” she starts, her fingertips still tracing patterns against your bare arm. “I’d like to take you out, get to know you better… spoil you a little, perhaps.” There’s a trace of teasing humor in her voice, mixed with a vulnerability that you’ve never seen from her before. You nuzzle your face against her neck, your heart in your throat, your voice hoarse when you reply.

“That’s what I want, too…” 

Larissa presses her lips to your head and hums softly. “Then I suppose I’d like to know if you’re free this Friday evening, and if I could take you out to dinner?”

“Yes, Larissa…” You prop yourself up so that you can look her in the eye. “Yes, I would love to go out to dinner with you.” Pausing, you reach out to tuck a strand of Larissa’s hair behind her ear, your cheeks warming and your heart thrumming in your chest as you prepare to be brave. You take a deep breath. “But… for now… let me return the favor?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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[lowkey-loki245]

(First off, this isn't my original idea, idk who i read this from) So it actually makes a lot of sense why Jax doesn't curse. A lot of what Jax does is to give himself the illusion of control. He's a menace because he can be. He breaks rules and is awful because he can be. He's this way because he's not supposed to act this way, meaning that he has control. But cursing is one of the things that has a hard set limit. You curse, you get censored no matter what. It breaks the illusion of control. So he doesn't curse at all.

I like to think that he always had this habit of trying to feel in control, but it wasn't that bad until he lost Ribbit (his abstracted friend). Death (that's basically what abstraction is for the digital circus) can really make you feel out of control, so Jax leaned extra hard into trying to feel in control. Which included taking pranks too far, being crueler, prioritizing his need for control over others need for a friend. I don't think when the series started and when Ribbit abstracted has that much time in between (I've been headcanoning that it's only been 3 months), so Jax was still un the depths of this behavior when Pomni joined. It explains why it seems like the other aren't entirely used to Jax behavior quite yet. They kinda expect it, but they don't know the motions of it yet. And now, with Pomni, he's kinda chilling out. I know things are gonna get worse before they get better, but I'm excited to see how Jax gets better.

Edit: I found the post that gave me the idea for the first paragraph.

Figured I'd tally up the amount of swears that have happened in The Amazing Digital Circus so far... Pomni's panicked test-swears at the beginning definitely skew it but here we go :)

Also I'm shocked there was no swearing in the McDonalds lmao, how do you go working in customer service a whole day without doing that at least once

[dearceleste]

astro obs pt 4

hey guys! Trying to be consistent for a bit ha! This is an old draft, hope you like it!

ps: these are my observations of what I “personally” found beautiful in charts of people I like! What I find beautiful you may not and it’s ok! I originally added pictures and celebrity examples but chose to remove them instead for some reasons;))

Venus conjuct Rahu in 1st/5th/10th house (Sidereal)

hypnotising beauty! Siren like, the one you get lost in! Extra points if Venus is in Pisces , Libra or Sagittarius

Pluto or Uranus in 2nd house

they have something very striking about their eyes! Usually sharp inner corners and contoured eyes/dark circles, almost intoxicated! Pluto here usually gives very striking dark colour while Uranus gives rather striking colours, personal observation lol

Venus in Virgo in angular houses, Virgo Rising (both sidereal and tropical)

Clean, appealing beauty! So well kept and clean, very striking and very youthful looking! High cheekbones or some very special angular face shape. Sharp eyes and/or jaw

Venus in Sagittarius or Neptune in 1st house

Doll beauty, beauty that is youthful and optimistic! Very charming and dove like! I have somehow seen the usual doe eyes, soft face and a relaxing, setting sun kind of beauty in these people!

Venus in Capricorn (well aspected + earth rising)

modelesque (idk if that’s a word lol) kind of beauty. Very steady appearance, a resting bad b face, feels out of reach or way too good for the people types!

Sun in Aries/Libra/Leo/Taurus (both sidereal and tropical)

very feminine or female appealing beauty! Usually very noticeable even from afar. People may find you very charming

Venus aspecting Jupiter

big facial features, big eyes and big smile and very golden aura! I don’t know why but these people almost have a dreamy appearance as if their appearance is almost blurred no matted how they look!

Venus/Moon in Pisces or positive Venus Moon aspects

Pretty when I cry type of beauty! Very big, watery, dreamy eyes usual downturned, eyes that seem deep and emotional

Sagittarius Risings (both sidereal and tropical)

I think the beauty differs based on people to people but they are so beautiful, they have some unique facial symmetry or proportionate! Usually a glowy skin! Very approachable, welcoming beauty!

Moon/Venus in Swati or Pushya

Very captivating especially! A beauty you get lost in, water like almost! These people have a very good ability to mirror people, have a presence of making you so seen and understood that I feel is part of the charm! Big eyes or watery, deep eyes.

A well placed/exalted Mars

you may argue well they aren’t conventionally beautiful or very approachable but they are usually very striking and confident given other placements support!

Of course, Venus Risings. I don’t even have to explain lol

Ok one last thing! Look at the inner planets to make better sense

Mercury/Saturn type of beauty is usually very proportionate, striking and posing. Fine wine types.

Moon/Jupiter type of beauty is very doll like, compassionate and almost first love like! Big features that reflect and show emotions.

Sun/Mars type of beauty is rather fierce and confident, more aura based, very sharp! Attention catching

Positive aspects to NN in angular houses usually give a beauty that usually appeals people regardless and just amplifies the effect of the other conjuncting planet.

ps! Next time a post through beauty asteroids they’re even better! lmk if you’d want that!

xx

[jessiso]

"Checkmate"

A criminal minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary

You mention you’ve never played chess, so Spencer sets up a cozy night to teach you. Between snacks, shy glances, and spilled pieces, the game turns into something sweeter.

cw: no content warnings unless you hate chess idk.

wc: 2,197

...

The comment had been casual, something you barely even thought about as you said it — a passing remark over lukewarm coffee and half-eaten muffins at the BAU break room table.

"I've actually never learned how to play chess."

Spencer had paused mid-sip of his tea, blinking at you like you'd just told him gravity was a myth.

His brow furrowed, mouth open slightly as if ready to object. But instead, he'd only nodded slowly, eyes lit with something curious and quietly delighted.

That was three days ago.

Now, you were sitting cross-legged on a blanket in the middle of Spencer Reid’s living room, surrounded by mismatched pillows, a tray of crackers and grapes between you, and a worn chessboard neatly set up in front of you.

"Okay, so..." Spencer cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he sat across from you, mirroring your posture. "Chess dates back to around the 6th century in India, originally known as chaturanga. It spread through Persia, then to the Islamic world, and finally to Europe. The modern rules began to solidify in Spain during the 15th century—"

You grinned softly, chin resting on your hand as you watched him gesture with quick, birdlike hands, clearly trying not to talk too fast and failing adorably.

"You can stop me if I’m rambling," he added suddenly, voice going up half a pitch. "I just— I mean, it’s a really interesting game, and the psychology of it is, uh… fascinating."

“I like hearing you talk about it,” you said before you could think better of it.

He stilled. His fingers hovered mid-air above a pawn, and the tips of his ears flushed pink. “Oh. Well. Thanks. I guess.”

You smiled and looked down at the board before he caught you staring at how sweetly he ducked his head.

"I figured it'd be nice to teach you here," he added, gesturing at the spread he’d created — complete with a thermos of hot chocolate and a candle flickering quietly on the windowsill. "Less intimidating than a real board in public, you know? Less, uh, competitive."

"Yeah, I think I’d cry if someone crushed me in three moves."

Spencer gave a soft laugh, eyes crinkling. “Then you’ll be safe with me. I’ll go easy.”

You raised a brow. “Are you capable of going easy?”

His lips quirked in a shy, sheepish little smile. “Not really.”

And so the lesson began — slowly, carefully, with him explaining the movement of each piece with reverence, as if the knight was a sacred artifact and not a tiny plastic horse.

You listened, genuinely intrigued, though most of your focus was on how he lit up when he talked about strategy.

You couldn’t help noticing the way he occasionally tugged his sweater sleeves over his hands, or how he bit his lower lip whenever he had to explain something twice.

You weren’t used to this version of him — off-duty, not reciting facts to a serial killer, not under fluorescent lights in a government building.

He was gentler here, softer, a little more vulnerable, though he still threw out facts like:

"The Shannon number is the lower bound of the game-tree complexity of chess. It’s approximately 10¹²⁰ possible game variations."

You pretended to gasp. “How will I ever win?”

“You probably won’t,” he replied cheerfully, then blanched. “I didn’t mean that in a— it’s not that I think you’re not smart, it’s just— the odds— statistically— I—”

“I’m kidding, Spencer,” you giggled, bumping your knee against his. He relaxed, biting down a laugh, and your heart warmed at the sound.

Half an hour in, you were playing your first real game, Spencer coaching you with patience that only a genius could manage.

You were actually doing better than expected. Still, you were losing — every piece you moved, Spencer countered with ease, the game inching toward an inevitable end.

That’s when you had an idea.

With exaggerated clumsiness, you reached for a bishop and “accidentally” elbowed half the board. Pieces clattered to the floor — pawns rolling under the coffee table, a rook spinning toward Spencer’s socked foot.

“Oh no,” you said, not even bothering to sound convincing.

Spencer blinked in horror, then confusion… then let out the smallest, most delighted giggle you’d ever heard.

You froze.

His face went red. He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, like the sound had escaped against his will.

“Did you just giggle?”

“No,” he mumbled behind his palm.

You laughed — really laughed — as you began collecting the pieces. He joined in, still shy, still clearly embarrassed, but there was something else there now. Something warm and open.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused softly, nudging your foot.

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. “Because I thought it might make you laugh... and I'm a sore loser"

He looked at you for a moment — really looked — then gave you a shy, crooked smile.

“You’re really sweet,” he said, voice quiet.

You suddenly felt warm all over. “So are you.”

There was a pause. A long, gentle, heartbeat-pounding pause.

“I like this,” he said. “Being here. With you.”

“Me too.”

He ducked his head again, then looked back at the scattered board. “Do you want to reset the pieces?”

“Only if you promise not to beat me in five moves.”

“I’ll do my best to let you win.”

“Liar.”

Spencer laughed again, this time a little longer, a little freer, his head tilting slightly as his eyes met yours through the flicker of candlelight.

The grin on his face lingered even after the sound faded, like he’d forgotten to pull it back in.

“I’m not lying,” he said. “I just… I might have a hard time letting you win because I get really into it, even when I don’t mean to. It’s—um—kind of a reflex.” He tapped his temple. “My brain gets ahead of me.”

You smiled at that — at the idea of his brilliant, racing thoughts struggling to be gentle, struggling to slow down for your sake.

“I like that about you,” you said, your voice quieter now.

His brows lifted, and his mouth opened like he wanted to respond right away but couldn’t quite decide how.

“Which part?” he asked.

“All of it,” you said, and it was suddenly harder to look at him directly. “The way you care. How you think about everything. How you want to teach instead of just show off."

You peeked up at him, and he was looking down at your hand again — still resting close to his on the edge of the board.

“I’m really glad you said yes to this,” he said softly. “I wasn’t sure if it would be… too much. Too nerdy. Too… me.”

You shifted a little closer, your knee brushing against his. “I’m here because it’s you.”

His breath caught, just barely. You could see the faintest color rise in his cheeks again.

It was quiet for a moment.

Peaceful. That kind of silence that only happens when something important is hanging in the air between two people, waiting for one of them to reach out and touch it.

Then, in the smallest movement, Spencer turned his hand over and let his fingers brush against yours.

You felt the invitation before you even saw it, and you curled your fingers into his gently.

His palm was warm. A little nervous. So was yours.

“I don’t really—do this a lot,” he murmured, not looking up. “I’m not good at… flirting. Or—whatever this is. But I really like being with you. Even if we’re just knocking over pawns and… sharing grapes.”

You laughed quietly, ducking your head. “I’m not good at it either.”

“Then maybe we can just be bad at it together?”

You looked up and found him already watching you — eyes soft, unsure, but so full of hope it made your chest ache.

You nodded, smiling through the warmth in your cheeks. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And he smiled — really smiled — the kind of smile that crinkled his eyes and made him look younger, lighter. He squeezed your hand a little, like he was grounding himself in the moment.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Then… let’s finish this game. And maybe afterward we can, um…” His eyes flicked down to your joined hands again, a little more daring now.

"Watch a movie? Or just… talk more?”

“I’d love that,” you said. “But only if you promise not to use the chessboard as a metaphor for emotional strategy.”

“I make no promises,” he said, teasing, and for a second — just a second — the shy awkwardness between you shimmered into something a little bolder.

Like maybe this was going to be something worth learning together — slow, patient, deliberate.

Like chess. But warmer.

Spencer reached over and began resetting the pieces with careful precision, murmuring to himself as he arranged the pawns in perfect formation.

You helped, scooting closer until your knees were nearly touching his.

“This time,” you said, “I’m taking you down.”

“Statistically improbable,” he replied, flashing you a teasing glance, “but I admire the confidence.”

You stuck your tongue out at him — immature, maybe, but worth it for the startled, boyish laugh that escaped his lips.

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize the moment. It made your stomach flip.

The game began again — slower this time. Spencer didn’t rush you, didn’t take advantage when you made a questionable move.

He made a few errors himself, and you caught him once or twice smirking like he wanted you to win.

“Did you just let me take your queen?” you asked, squinting at the board.

Spencer glanced down, expression innocent. “Did I?”

“Spencer.”

He held his hands up, biting back a smile. “Maybe. Just a little. But you looked really proud of that move, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt too big for your chest.

Eventually, your pieces dwindled again, and the game tilted back in his favor — but neither of you seemed to care anymore.

Your postures had relaxed, legs stretched out, backs propped up against a wall of pillows. The hot chocolate was nearly gone, the candle still flickering low, casting golden light over the game you both quietly abandoned.

The board sat between you, forgotten.

You leaned back with a soft sigh, pulling your knees up to your chest and tucking your chin against them. Spencer mirrored you a moment later, his long legs folding at awkward angles as he settled closer on the blanket, shoulder just inches from yours.

“I used to play by myself when I was a kid,” he said suddenly, voice low and thoughtful. “It was the only way to practice. I’d play both sides and try to out-think myself. I didn’t realize how lonely that was until I had someone to play with.”

You turned your head to look at him. “I’m really glad it was me.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

A beat passed. The quiet settled between you again, not heavy — just full. Full of words neither of you had said yet.

Eventually, you lay back on the cushions, sighing contentedly. “I think I’m better at laying around after chess than actually playing chess.”

Spencer laughed gently, lying back beside you.

“That’s a valid skill. Highly underrated.”

You turned your head toward him on instinct, only to find him already watching you.

His gaze was soft, full of that same wonder from earlier — like he still couldn’t quite believe you were here.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he. You just… looked.

And then, slowly, as if testing gravity, his hand inched closer to yours again on the blanket.

You met him halfway, fingertips brushing, then tangling gently.

His thumb skimmed the back of your hand, shy but steady.

Your heart fluttered wildly.

“Can I—?” he started, then hesitated, licking his lips. “Is it okay if I…?”

You nodded before he could finish. “Yes.”

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could lean over you. His curls fell into his face, and he ducked his head in that shy, sweet way he always did — like he was still afraid of taking up space. But his eyes stayed on yours, wide and vulnerable.

Then, with an almost trembling kind of care, he kissed you.

It was soft. Barely there at first — just a brush of lips, more like a question than a statement. But when you leaned up into it, kissed him back, Spencer exhaled like it was the first full breath he’d taken all night.

You kissed again, deeper now but still gentle, still hesitant in that way that only first kisses can be.

His hand cupped your jaw, thumb skimming your cheek like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t anchor you there.

When you finally parted, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out the smallest, happiest laugh.

“I’ve never kissed anyone after losing a chess game,” you murmured.

He smiled, eyes closed. “Then I think we both win.”

[tiramiiswu]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Invincible x Tharja!Reader

✦ masterlist || next ✦ imagine: mark with a dark mage reader inspired by tharja from fire emblem awakening, aka mark and the freak who follows him everywhere they possibly can and casts curses on people who inconvenience them ✦ pairings: mark grayson x tharja!reader ✦ warnings: slight yandere behavior, stalking, reader is a little freak sometimes ✦ a/n: the inevitable tharja!reader imagine i keep babbling about :3 i love my wife she's so silly 💞😊also sorry if this jumps around a lot i like, worked on this infrequently and mostly whenever a brain worm started wriggling i had to get it out of my system i dont really know when to stop

✦ you might be into him because he's attractive or maybe you're just fascinated by his strength or general trauma spiral, sometimes you just follow him like a little stalker because you find him so fascinating for some reason

✦ you like the way you are for sure, it's less so that you don't see anything wrong with your behavior (you're definitely aware enough to know what you're doing is odd) and more so like, this is kind of just how you are and you don’t really see a point in changing

✦ but if mark ever mentioned like her creepy stalker/dark mage behavior being weird or wishing you were like more normal you would both like, understand you needs to change your approach but also lack the social clues to do this in a way that isnt fucking insane

✦ like you don't really understand that he finds you weird, that your tendencies to stalk him and watch him when you think he isn't paying attention, you just think your approach is wrong and that you should try to be As Normal As Possible (in the most bizarre fashion)

✦ you're usually pretty gloomy and monotone so you try to sound and act generally cheerier and upbeat but also uh, you tend to say a lot of weird things

✦ like your phrasing is just kind of Off and Weirdly iterated, you sound old fashioned but in a like, medieval sense

✦ Like you start to greet him specifically with “how fare you” and “good morrow sir” and say “huzzah!” at the end of some of your sentences and none of it sounds right, like it’s just odd and archaic sounding and Extremely Unlike You

✦ At some point mark is even more weirded out by your attempts at being normal that he just, straight up asks you to go back to the way you were before he decided he can put up with your usual strange, gloomy self better than this friendlier side of you

✦ mark starts to notice when tharja!reader is stalking him, it’s never inherently malevolent or out to get him or his loved ones, you're just like, creepy in general

✦ he doesnt have to worry about you trying to hurt him despite your past as a goon of some bigger, more threatening villain

✦ you're reformed and relatively loyal to him and the guardians (at least up until the team splits, then it's pretty clear that you're only really following where he goes)

✦ you're mostly just a lurker

✦ you're fascinated with him in a way you can’t specifically explain, but you fully believe you were destined to meet and tends to speak to him like the two of you are star crossed lovers of some kind

✦ idk if you'd like, go as far as following him to his house that’s insane work even for you, but at places like the gda or the guardian's hq and even during some of his assignments at some point mark would just start to feel you staring at him from somewhere behind him or within the vicinity

✦ you really aren't being that slick with it tbh

✦ yes sometimes you're peering around corners and watching him without him knowing but sometimes someone can just, walk up to see what you're doing and it’s clear as day just watching mark do Literally Anything

✦ you always manage to appear when he’s in the middle of doing something, even if he’s with company

✦ whether it’s walking in to ask cecil a question during one of his training sessions or even just suddenly appearing during casual conversations he’s having with the guardians

✦ it becomes very evident to everyone that you're always going to be lurking somewhere nearby if mark is there

✦ at some point it might become like? comforting? (at least in a stockholm syndrome kind of way)

✦ you become more reliable in combat if you can manage to keep up with him somehow (you're mostly grounded and you don't have very great stamina tbh but you can manage on your own) you do well to watch his flank if you're not in immediate danger, glass cannon and all depending on your opponent’s resistance to magic

✦ but like idk tharja!reader’s head over heels in love with him and isnt opposed to lending an ear or a shoulder to cry on, you just aren’t exactly the first person you’d think to turn to for comfort

✦ i think he’s keeping you at an arm’s length because regardless you're fucking weird but like

✦ idk i want them to have their tharja/robin moment where after getting used to your antics and somewhat comfortable at the idea of you watching over him/taking care of him he feels you watching again and like

✦ reaches out and pulls around the corner you're hiding behind just like, “i mean, i guess an easier way for you to keep doing all this is to just keep you by my side forever or something”

✦ but for now instead of marrying you he'll just like, ask you out on a date

✦ and while you would accept this bc you were almost like? waiting for it, in very tharja fashion you would just be like, “hm, this is wrong, turn back around” and make him ask you again (you still said yes dw)

✦ you're not actually used to him like, looking at you directly

✦ he thinks it's kind of cute in a way that you get kind of shy when he's actually speaking to you face to face

✦ he notices you actually don’t like making eye contact with a lot of people in general, it’s rare to see you actually speak to someone while looking at them dead in the eyes you tend to look down or generally avert your gaze to focus on something else during conversations

✦ cecil probably couldve had you on a tighter leash if he started letting you monitor the graysons with him

✦ 10/10 if someone gave you the job you’d dedicate enough of your time away from studying dark magic and worshiping the fell god to stalk mark on a government paycheck

✦ that’s implying you even like cecil tbh

✦ you honestly couldnt care less what he actually wants to get out of it, you barely listen to him most of the time you're on parole anyway

✦ tbh you could develop a much better hex to keep tabs on mark and his family than whatever cecil’s system is, you just likes doing it yourself

✦ when mark isn’t there for you to shadow? you're holed up in some quiet dark room to practice your dark magic

✦ whether it be studying old texts of rituals and curses or just like, practicing a hex that can change the color of her curtains temporarily

✦ because you're not just practicing spells that are for combat, you're practicing minor hexes for simply just convenience’s sake, or

✦ like yeah you can cast a spell that has to inflict pain onto someone else to replenish your strength and stamina, sure you can sap the life force of another person to heal your wounds or trap someone in a pool of corrosive mire from a few yards away

✦ but what do you actually practice and study the most in you spare time?

✦ developing a new spell to relieve the aches and pains in you feet after you walk in heels, or a hex to help regulate your body temperature just enough to avoid shivering or feeling that prickling sensation from the room being just a bit too warm, sometimes it's just developing a quick charm to take your makeup off at the end of the night because you just couldn't be bothered to go through your whole routine that night

✦ you aren't always trying to cause harm

✦ well, okay except when you're trying to get out of having to see cecil because you Really Don’t Feel Like It and decide to put a curse on him so he gets sick or mildly injured so you can miss your meeting (this has caused him to add more time to whatever deal the two of you made in relation to not sending you to jail)

✦ like not enough to leave him severely harmed of course but like, leave him with a bad cold or maybe like a sprained ankle

✦ something that inconveniences him so he can reschedule and so you can just go back to your books or so you can watch mark in person

✦ this goes for quite a few of the guardians actually

✦ like i mentioned before you'd probably be a reformed villain, like not actually reformed like you had a change of heart and suddenly wanted to do good

✦ but because the villain you worked for was about to get apprehended or killed and you switched teams because you realized you were on the losing side and decided throwing your life away for some crazy mf who doesn't care about you wasn't worth it

✦ you're still not opposed to killing someone if you need to, mark didn’t approve of it though so you've been reeling in your more lethal spells (which was uh, most of them if you're being honest)

✦ it’s taken a bit but you're gradually starting to become more merciful and sparing your opponents from severe bodily harm in an attempt to gain mark’s approval

✦ you'd offer your help to anyone besides mark almost begrudgingly

✦ like you asked for this tbh

✦ you agreed to join the side of the good guys maybe even the gda with some deal with cecil or whatever sure, but you're not going out of your way to interact with your new "teammates"

✦ they always manage to find a way to butt into your business somehow, like you just cant escape them

✦ at some point it's like you're stuck being their therapist at times

✦ like there's something about you that makes people just kind of talk out loud about their problems around you or the universe just has the most impeccable comedic timing when it comes to you walking into a room when someone has a personal issue

✦ like you don't know how to make it any more clear how much you don't really care but like, for whatever reason you decide to offer your assistance (probably just to get them to stop talking)

✦ your methods would be fucking wild and unconventional as hell tho

✦ like oh, mark is still traumatized and conflicted over his feelings about his dad trying to conquer the earth? simple, you’ll just spend a couple of days working on like a whole ritual or concoct some elaborate spell or curse to place on him that will erase his memories of his dad entirely to get rid of the source of the problem like??

✦ it could definitely be a plausible solution (you had the courtesy of offering it to him and waiting for permission to use that spell and he definitely said no ofc) but who the fuck would think of that first???

✦ honestly you'd probably get along with robot decently well

✦ like who else would tharja!reader find kinship with than the fucking weirdo who literally stole his coworker's dna to seem more appealing to his crush? what a fucking freak (you definitely wondered if mark would like you more if you suddenly became ginger or something)

✦ tharja!reader likes to pretend that they're not interested in forming bonds and attachments with others except for mark, but he’s seen how you sit and observe people before offering a solution to their problems

✦ you don’t actively seek out friendship with anyone but he sees how much you try to just like, exist, to prove yourself as trustworthy to the other heroes who hold you at an arm’s length

✦ you tend to be othered due to your track record being a former villain, or because your personality isn’t the most approachable and how you're kind of off putting because your hobbies are strange and how your solutions to problems are extreme at times

✦ like he sees how you get defensive when you think they question your loyalty or judge your practices

✦ you have a tendency to get catty or make snide comments either at others or say something self deprecating about yourself to make a point

✦ you tend to shrug it off as just being honest or realistic, but it’s apparent that it’s starting to get under your skin how much you get treated like a time bomb

✦ he genuinely considers for a moment that you might’ve cursed him

✦ you didn’t btw however everyone definitely thinks you did based on the fact that mark is? actually looking for you now? like willingly?? what the fuck??

✦ like he just cannot stop thinking about you it’s genuinely driving him mad like at first it was because yeah you’re always near him or watching him ofc he’s going to think about you constantly you never leave him alone

✦ but now he’s like, up at night thinking of you sometimes, maybe hugging his pillow to his chest and kicking his feet a little

✦ at some point you aren’t even there and he passes by a shop that has like pretty notebooks or like a black cat or crow plushie in the window and he thinks about you or how you would probably like something like it and maybe he even buys it for himself

✦ if mark ever feels like tharja!reader is like, trustworthy or loyal enough to him (with some stipulations) he might introduce you to his family

✦ you would oddly be mostly disinterested in his family but like, hey, a win’s a win you gets to go to his house and lurk in his room, life is good

✦ depending on when you're invited over mark doesn’t have to worry much about you reporting back to cecil about oliver because you're like

✦ actively avoiding the kid

✦ you look at him like he’s a little creature

✦ like not specifically because he’s an alien or because his skin is purple, but because he’s a child

✦ you don't want any of his kiddy germs on you

✦ mark thinks it’s funny how much you stiffen up when oliver walks over to you

✦ like the way you shuffle further away from him when sitting on the couch and the little sounds of panic/defeat you make when inevitably little toddler oliver corners you and starts like patting your leg or trying to crawl or climb over you

✦ you look so miffed by oliver being curious it's so silly

✦ sometimes you make a minor illusion of like a butterfly or some small glowing image to lure him away so you can escape, or just so he won't hover around you when you're trying to converse with mark or debbie (the graysons finding your efforts to entertain oliver quite silly and endearing in an odd way)

✦ mark pretends not to see you working quietly on making an amulet that can help disguise oliver/change his appearance with a transmog to help debbie save money on whatever foundation or face paint she uses to hide his alien skin

✦ he thinks it’s cute that when oliver’s still pretty young you tend to talk to him like he’s an adult, seeing you holding your amulet up to him and with a rather serious frown explaining to the boy the importance of keeping the pendant unharmed and intact in order for the enchantment to work

✦ the sigh you let out when he inevitably ends up teething on the pendant before giving him the ever so slightly affectionate tug on his cheek is something mark thinks about quite often after that

✦ you don't particularly like being touched by people, but with mark? you're like a cat, you slink around and start to cling to his side or creep up behind him and just sort of like, press into his back and hold onto his waist or shoulders

✦ neither of you have really noticed yet but the two of you both sort of take turns like, watching the other sleep when you're together

✦ whether it be looming over him when he's napping or staring at his face when the two of you fall asleep side by side, you find the peaceful, helpless look on his face when he's vulnerable just oh so mesmerizing

✦ on the other hand whenever you actually managed to fall asleep first beside or on top of him (or sometimes when he finds you slumped over your books, a hex dancing along your fingers to your pen to scrawl across your notes while snoozing in your chair) mark can’t help but find the relaxed expression on your face so… enchanting

✦ it’s corny mark’s so fucking corny but genuinely it’s like you put a spell on him

✦ which tbh is highly probable, like sometimes you put a hex on him during combat to spike his adrenaline for a few seconds or block a pain receptor or two every now and then (maybe even crank up his libido or something idk whatever this little freak wants)

✦ but this time you definitely didn’t do that

✦ last minute addendum mostly unrelated to that last part but this now implies the existence of noire whose father is mark

✦ and that her like bipolar mood swings/personality switches are being influenced by fucking viltrumite genetic strength,,,,,, girl is gonna get a crit and shout “blood and thunder!” and rip a man in half omg

✦ i think they’ve created a monster and by they i ofc mean me this might get a pin put in it i will be scheming about father candidate mark now

[beetle-ze-bub]

I have this Au idea based on The Deal by Mitski cause for whatever that feels like a Stan Pines song and I can't fully explain why.

Anyways, basically, during Stan's drifter days he stays in some pretty unusual places with more than a few weird characters. So, at some point or another, he somehow hears about this deal you can make with the Night itself. Midnight, walk alone, etc, etc. Just like the song.

Stan has never been one to believe, or even just be interested in spirituality or magic or whatever; that was his brother. But he decides to keep the story in his back pocket, if for no other reason than to have an interesting story to tell people.

But maybe at some point when he's feeling like he's at rock bottom, after something especially bad happened (idk the Tijuana incident or the trunk, or losing his kidney, something like that) – and/or while drunk – he decides, 'Fuck it, I got nothing else to lose', and decides to try the deal just for the sake of it. The worst that could happen is nothing, right?

Like in the song, he tries to give away his soul, because he really is pretty sick of all the hurting and the pain and shit. Also reasoning that, since nothing will likely happen, he might as well go big.

This is where it diverges from the song somewhat. Because for what he'd take I think it'd depend.

If he was drunk and/or in an especially bad spot, I wouldn't be surprised if he said, like the song did, he would only take the consequences. But, at the same time, I think he knows enough about bad deals to realize that if – on the very off chance this is real – he's giving his soul away, it should at least be for something good. Maybe he'd ask to get Rico off his back, or for that million dollars, or make it so he never broke Ford’s project (though I feel like this isn't likely as even in its divine grace, the Night can not change the past. Maybe Stan would even get a feeling somehow, as though the Night tells him this.), or even just to keep Ford safe and/or happy. Idk rn, but yeah.

After the deal is struck, Stan feels lighter somehow. Like something is missing. It's not bad that it's gone. It's not good either. It's just missing.

He'd probably still have the same talk with the bird, but after that I feel like he'd keep drifting across the country. Not out of a need to escape, or hit his big break, but just instinct. Habit.

He'd probably still call his mom, but it's almost professional in how he talks to her, clinical. There's no attachment there, really. He loves her, or at least likes her, to some degree. But it's muffled and smothered, and so, so quiet that he can't make out the sound of it anymore. Like a soft tap at the back of his brain, so light he can hardly recognize it happened. He can't say for sure whether he'd feel much if something happened to her.

Maybe Ford, depending on what Stan wished for, suddenly finds the night welcoming. Something caring and kind and protective of him in a way he can't really explain. Obviously it can't be, it's the night; just a time of day. It's not doing anything. But he still can't help but feel that way.

Or maybe even his life has suddenly gotten so much better. He's suddenly been offered a bunch of grants, people are vying for his research or his reviews of their work. He's being offered hundreds of prestigious positions and people are dying to have him give interviews or lectures. And while Ford is obviously ecstatic, and riding the high of all this praise and his accomplishments being recognized and getting everything he's ever wanted (what about his brother?), he can't exactly… remember, what he accomplished or published that got him all this attention.

But that doesn't matter! He's sure it'll come to him! He's just too focused on his now busy schedule, that's why he forgot. After that he has to get back to his current anomaly research too. But he's sure it'll come to him in time.

Again, depending on what Stan wished for exactly, and even what time he made the wish, maybe Ford sends the postcard to Stan again; whether it's about Bill or something else, idk. But when Stan comes something's wrong. It looks like Stan, talks relatively like Stan.

But he's empty. As though he's been drained of everything Ford remembers made Stan Stan. He was ready for a hot-headed, angry brother. Not this… shell.

If Ford still opened the door with his crossbow, he would be visibly surprised, sure. His eyes widened, his mouth opened in shock, he even took a step or 2 back. But there was no scream. There was no snarky comment or angry blow up at his behavior. If Ford still shone a light in his eyes Stan still pushed him off him and frowned, but he only said “Stop that.” in a mildly upset voice. When Ford apologized Stan said “It's fine”.

…And that was it. No biting remarks or angry glares. Just an awkward silence as Ford stared at this facsimile of his brother.

When he tells Stan he has to show him something he wouldn't believe, he only asks “What is it?” Even when staring the portal down, while, again, he is shocked. It's only in the generic way you'd see in something like a stock photo, or some guide book on emotions. Only in the basest, least-effort way you could get someone to understand you were displaying shock.

Because that's what it felt like, Ford realizes. A display. Like the emotions weren't real. Or if they were, they were so shallow that might as well be. The display wouldn't even last long. The briefest of flashes before fizzling out unceremoniously and disappearing completely.

Idk maybe something something, Ford finds out what happened somehow, goes bird hunting in some fairytale, fae esque trial of character way or something. My main idea was the Stan making the deal and the empty birdcage Stan that comes as a result.

[slycooperconfessions]

"Sometimes I wonder if Interpol realizes that they are actually better off if Sly is never arrested. No, think about it. Nearly every time Sly and the gang has defeated one of the bosses in the game that boss gets arrested by Inspector Fox. Most of these guys are extremely dangerous and a threat to public safety too. And Sly and the gang aren't really ever that much of a threat to public safety given that they never target any one innocent and only go after criminals…why would they invest so much into catching him and his gang? In fact, the Cooper gang targeting someone is honestly a major red flag that should clue Interpol in the fact that something is fishy. It'd also explain how Sly was able to pull of that amnesia stunt with the rest of Interpol, some higher up must of known what he was trying to do and just went with it. It's kinda funny to reinterpret the story."

Confessed by: freelance-magic

(Totally unrelated but did this shot do anything to any younglings playing the game way back when? Idk whatever, happy Pride. ~Mod)

[cxce15]

Here are some basic or non basic idk what to call them but ideas for snotlout fics because my mind is going insane and I can't write for literal shit 😄

( smut is okay to add if you think it's fits into the story )

1. A more shy/introverted reader with the usual overly confident/extroverted snotlout

2. Enemies to lovers ( always will be my favorite trope )

3. I feel like this is similar to number one but not necessarily. But a reader snotlout doesn't notice at first who is pining after him silently or publicly whichever one and then gives up and tries to move on right when snotlout finally notices them / or snotlout always noticed reader but is just being snotlout

4. Don't have a plot for this one but a reader with powers and they hide them from him and Berk in general. And maybe even try to leave Berk to protect the people ( snotlout really ) but he finds out and writers figure out the rest

5. I read one like this but a fic where reader leaves Berk. For what yall can figure that out but they leave Berk, they leave snotlout for whatever reason and it's just them figuring out that they really need each other

6. Reader is a total bad badass viking warrior and snotlout is just waiting on them hand and foot like this man is just worshipping the ground the reader walks on

7. Reader is also apart of group like snotlout and the gang and it's just the both of them introducing the groups to one another after they start dating or even before since they're gonna be spending a lot of time together anyway

8. A reader who is kinda mysterious and seen as scary but in reality is insanely sweet people just judge them because of how they present themselves ( i read something similar to this )

9. A reader who hookfang loves and spends time with pretty often. Even leaving snotlout to search for him sometimes since he dissappears with reader

10. A reader who is deathly afraid of dragons even after the war and the one that scares them the most is the Monstorus Nightmare

11. Reader's friend is into Fishlegs and the same way around so reader and Snotlout are playing wingmen for both and end up falling for each other in the process

12. Fake dating

I was able to come up with multiple ideas ( they might be written terribly but I trust fanfic writers will come through and bring these visions to life a lot better than I explained them ) I might make more of these

Also fics can be any gender yall feel these are written for the people okay let's make everyone feel welcome and enjoy snotlout together

- Part 2

[poisonedfate]

it very much hasn’t healed yet but! here’s the merlin tattoo i’ve been talking about:

bit of an odd angle on this (who knew that taking a pic of my knee would be so hard), so it looks a little wonkier than it actually is, though the reference i chose was like an older looking coin, one that didn’t necessarily resemble a real one, especially not one you would see now, since it wouldn’t have matched my style.

we ended up going for an ‘ornament’, or rather a variation of one, seen in architecture and one that remind me of spears and sword ends etc. for the other side we chose to reference butterfly wings, but, because i wanted it to match/mirror the other, it ended up looking more like a flower in my opinion, which i think is quite cool (nothing if not a big sucker for things that can be seen in different ways).

(overall very happy with it and am still seriously considering just getting a dragon tattoo on its own, i have half a zoo on my body at this point, i might as well continue the theme)

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[chloesimaginationthings]

How Jeremy Fitzgerald survived the FNAF bite

[keferon]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN "THE SPARK IS GIVING THE BOYFRIEND CANCER"??????

I'm rolling with the idea from idw about "Cybertronian energy being radioactive to humans"

In the Sins of the wreckers it revealed that Verity(human) is dying because Cybertronian energy gave her cancer. It wasn't only spark energy though, it was also Aequitas. But still. Hanging out with the Wreckers was slowly damaging her health.

[ber--32]

the fact that the moment kyoko realized sayaka was unsaveable was when Oktavia hurt madoka is so much sadder when you remember kyoko's dad was violent to her mom when he was going insane

[ganondoodle]

wont have time to work on anything for a few days probably, so uh, since i love reading comments/tags of people sharing their experiences- as part of the preparation for the totk rant script i got another question to ask :3

if you dont like tears of the kingdom, was there a moment that "broke" you, as in, the moment you knew this game is worse than you thought/hoped, and if so what was it?

personally, while i was suspicious after seeing its last trailer, i told myself its just me again and i kept up my hopes for a long time into my playthrough- its hard to point to a specific point since it was a growing feeling of something being off, things didnt make sense and i ever so more wondered how they would pull this all together (they didnt)- i do think the moment i stopped being in denial about it was when i found the shrine of life, the beginning of botw, and found .. nothing, a dingy cave practically licked clean of any traces of the shiekah tech like it never existed, instead of the medical bed a pathetic puddle of water that healed you, no one caring at all, like it actually never happened- i felt like the game pointed and laughed at me for caring about botw, pretty sure i was struggeling to keep it together on stream bc it forced me to realize this game truly is everything i hoped it wouldnt be, even if that sounds a little weird, at that time zelda and especially botw was so much more important to me, a passion for the franchise this game really did end up killing.