#AS A JOB. BUT WHAT IF I COULD DO IT FOR FUN.... BUT NO

[jtoddsangel]

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍’ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐖

— 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𖹭 j. todd x wife!reader agents of gotham au. married life shenanigans. i hope this turned out okay. sorry it’s so short, i didn’t know what else to do <//3

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃; by @redjayy ♡

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤJASON TODD was kneeled down before you, on his knee, working ever so gently to slip the black leather heel onto your foot, adjusting the ankle strap perfectly.

once he was done, he lifted your leg and pressed a kiss against your thigh, lingering for a quiet moment before standing up right, his hands immediately settling onto your waist.

in response, your own hands trailed over his chest before arranging his suit, fixing his tie just to tug it once more, pulling him close so you could kiss his cheek. lipstick remained where you did not, and you chuckled delicately, running your thumb over it.

“something funny to you, mrs. todd?”

“a little. you, actually.”

“oh, really now.” he whispered, his lips a mere inch away from yours.

“mhmm.”

he chuckled himself, the sound reverberating around your insides, shooting shockwaves up your spine, and sewing itself into the walls of your heart.

a million little words, so many promises, scattered across his eyes. how many could you count in a second? and how many could you translate before he blinked?

“you’re breathtaking.” he murmured, skillfully leaning down to steal a proper kiss, fulfilling every dream you possibly could have dreamed. he was a sanctuary, you could rest your entire soul in his arms.

“and you’re sweet.” you inched away, pressing a hand against his chest. “but we still have work to do.”

“you’re no fun.”

“i’m plenty fun, and you know that.” you tut, taking a handkerchief and wiping away the red mark on his cheek.

“my wife... married to the job before me.”

“oh, hush. ceo of the sassy man apocalypse.”

[ziggy-scardust]

I may have said this before but HUGE props OP, quitting smoking is an absolute bitch - my grandpa never could do it, and my cousin had a hell of a time kicking nicotine. So impressed that you’re doing the hard thing for your health even though this is painful and difficult right now.

Also, I usually think of sputum/mucus and cilia as your body’s goons - “what’s that boss? You need us to take out the trash?” *bodily seize all the crap that needs out of your body and throw it out the door*

which is stupid but when I have a horrible cough I find it a fun image to make me feel better. Soon the goons’ job will be done and everyone can take a break! Hang in there!

also. this is gross. but i'm quitting smoking and what no one tells you is that for awhile, i saw some ppl online saying up to a year even, that means you're just hacking up like mucus encased tar. cuz apparently there's these hair like things called cilia in your lungs that slowly move stuff upward so you're able to cough it out, and smoking like. 24/7 365 for the past 5 years had my cilia all fucked up, so now it's finally coming back online and being like holy shit you need this out of here NOW.

anyways don't smoke kids. smoking weed is still smoking and your lungs hate it. fuck vaping too. just eat a gummy or make your flower into a delightful little tea this shit sucks so bad yall

[huntingcupid]

THE PERFECT PAIR WITH JEUNG YOONCHAE

you ought to know that I think we're one and the same I don't think we could help it no, I don't think we could help it we don't talk much guess 'cause nothing has changed and I'm not sure I like it and I'm so tired of fighting

⌗ YOONCHAE — fem!reader, fluff, pining, somehow courting?, flirting, swearing, etc...

⌗ SYPNOSIS — the photoshoot went well, yet you felt a pair of eyes glued onto you, yoonchae, ever since you became friends with her she'd always get strangely flirty and shy

⌗ CUPID — request by @artistwitchgirl

your dad's job was one of the fun ones, the one you can brag around in class — you could meet literally anyone in the hybe company — name an idol you probably had a picture with them, it wasn't like you were annoying in the building or loud, actually you were cherished as the buildings daughter due to your age and how close you were to practically everyone

your father had asked you this morning to help him set up, since the company was preparing for katseye's first comeback gnarly — you had agreed since you had nothing to do at home and haven't met any of the girls, “can i bring my ipad?” you ask your father, yes you are an ipad kid but it's because of minecraft, “y/n last time you brought anything there you broke it, but i guess” your father replied just sighing knowing he wouldn't win over you

you smile and grab your bag going to the car, eating some chips — you flip through your dads “vision book” aka what he wanted for the photoshoot, the members of katseye were beautiful, truly they had black and green as the main colors with striking clothing pieces, “damn this is experimental alright” you giggle, yet one of the members caught your eyes, yoonchae was it?

“dad how old is yoonchae?” you ask as your dad drove, he tried to remember tapping the steering wheel, “I'm pretty sure 17 — just about your age, you're just a few months older” your dad replied, you smile softly getting excited to meet someone your age in the company, the rest of the drive was peaceful with your dad playing some sza ( you put him on it ) — once you two arrived you took the elevator up to the 7th floor where the photoshoot room was

you help your father set up the props and background, adjusting some of the cameras to the perfect angle — out of curiosity you asked your dad where is katseye since you couldn't see them and haven't seen them yet, “dad, where are they?” you ask while adjusting a camera's lens to the perfect zoom, “oh they're just getting dressed and after that we will start, go sit and play on your ipad” your father replied, you nod walking to the corner and pulling out your ipad to continue building your tree house in minecraft

a few minutes passed and just as you were finishing the door clicks, and the girls enter, wow, they looked amazing, your dad smiled just as he envisioned he must've thought, sophia the leader helped around while the girls got in position, your eyes were on yoonchae though she looked beautiful and fresh even, with the dark makeup on she didn't look an ounce of intimidating but still managed to make it work

“okay look over here!” your dad says to the girls they look at your corner since it was where your father directed, yoonchae couldn't help but smile, when she saw you, you were pretty and looked nerdy hunched over your ipad in the corner sipping on banana milk — “okay solo shots now! — manon you first” your dad says after clicking the shutter three more times, the girls all left the room, except one, yoonchae, she walked up to you, extending her hands to your reach

“I'm yoonchae, and you are?” she shyly asked that sweet smile plastered on her face, she was taller than you had initially thought and as you stood up the height difference only made itself more obvious, “y/n, you're really pretty by the way” you smile at the girl, “what are you playing?” yoonchae asks peeking at your ipad — “minecraft!, do you play it too?” you ask the girl nods and you two eventually sat at the corner yet again

you two chat for a while sharing your snacks and even exchanging instagram users, the young girl was very curious about you, asking you your hobbies and if you often come here — “mhm, i like drawing, but i don't come here that often” you replied she nods thoughtfully — “oh, actually there is practice in a week can you come?, you can watch us” the girl smiles excitedly you nod just as she got called for her solo shot

that day you went home with her insta user and a build she made in minecraft, yoonchae was persistent that you went to practice to watch claiming it will be fun, your father was reviewing the pictures and you caught a glimpse of yoonchaes picture, you decided to try sketching it out on your sketchbook, with a few doodles the drawing came to life, capturing her infectious smile perfectly — you sighed feeling butterflies in your stomach, you wanted to ignore it

pretend that it was nothing, but the way she looked at you to, made you feel special and wanted, rather you didn't want to sound delusional so you just slept through the night rather than overthinking

meanwhile in the katz hotel room, yoonchae was getting teased by the other members — “ooh yoonchae, she's pretty” lara teases looking over the youngers shoulder to see the girl stalking your instagram, yoonchae hides the phone only to smile like a caught child, “wait isn't that the girl earlier, the photographers daughter?” megan says peeking too — yoonchae tries her best not to smile but she does

“what, she's just my friend!” yoonchae defends earning her sarcastic responses from the girls, “guy's its just her friend that she's getting flustered over!” manon sarcastically says earning her laughs from the rest, yoonchae only hides her face out of embarrassment and whines, “whatever guys” the youngest says

the day of the practice came, you wore baggy jeans and some baby tee, bringing your phone and sketchbook

you asked your dad to drive you which confused him, “i don't have a shoot today, why are you going?” your dad asks as you sat in the passenger seat, “oh i know, yoonchae invited me to watch their practice” you hum, your dad nods with that stupid smug smirk, you knew him too well and knew he was sensing something, “she's my friend dad!” you annoyingly replied — “sure….” your dad trailed, he drops you off in front of the building driving home right away

you chat the younger telling her you were here now, a few minutes pass and the doors open yoonchae running up to you, hugging you tightly which you reciprocated — her hands interlaced with yours as you two chat, making your way in the building to their floor

“soo.., the song is unreleased but i think you'll be a good secret keeper right?” yoonchae warns before you two enter the practice room, you nod smiling at her, entering the room the song boomed on the speakers as the girls warmed up — lara was first to notice you shooting the other girls a glance with a teasing smile on her lips

“ill sit here for a while” you murmur to the younger, waving to the other girls, during the practice yoonchae seemed locked in, no mistakes nor slip ups which also surprised the members, “no mistakes yoon? — you're trying to impress someone..hmmm!” megan teases, yoonchae blushes glancing at you, you smile at her which instantly melted the youngest on the spot

“y/n, yoons sweating can you help her?” sophia calls you, you look around taking your own towel and running up to the youngest — wiping her sweat away, the girl blushes deeper as the members secretly took pictures

after so the practice continued, you focus on the youngest drawing her, her eyes darted to you curios but didn't ask — after drawing her you added a little letter at the bottom, hiding the sketchbook after

“y/n can you record us?” manon asks, you nod grabbing a seat to stand on, the music cue starts and the girls were going smoothly until yoonchae glanced up and saw you smiling — she makes a mistake, which didn't go unnoticed by the members whom just shoot her a teasing grin, you retake about three times making sure they did perfect

during their waterbreak you went to the bathroom to fix your makeup, yoonchae obviously still curious about what you were drawing earlier takes a peek at you sketchbook that you had left previously — the first few pages were flowers and scenery, she hummed smiling tracing over the pencil lines, the girls noticed and also looked, they flipped to the end and saw it

your drawings of yoonchae and the stupid little letter you wrote at the bottom, the girls erupt into loud cheer, shaking yoonchae as the maknae was frozen in place

“oh my god!, does she really like me?” yoonchae asks the girls who all nod, “its so obvious!” daniela replied, soon you enter the room again seeing them crowded near your bag your sketchbook open, you blush out of embarrassment

“soo.., y/n do you like yoonchae?” sophia starts her motherly instinct kicking in, “will you treat her right?” megan follows — “if you hurt her ill haunt your every move” lara threat, yoonchae stops them and goes infront of you

“do you like me?” she asks you nod, closing your eyes scared of rejection and afraid of what she might say, “i like you too” she responds you open your eyes as her arms wrap around your torso resting her head on your shoulder — you hug back earning you a satisfied smile from the girls who took photos again, you kiss the top of yoonchaes head smiling as the girl giggles

“okay now when is it my turn?” lara just jokes — “as if manon doesn't baby you too” megan hits back which lara just blushes to the eldest member smiling, the girls shocked but still glued their eyes on you two especially their happy maknae

wc: 1.6k words

[pedroscurls]

teach me a thing or two (one-shot)

summary: you meet clint at a low point in your life. ironically enough, he meets you at his lowest too. what happens when you both realize you could teach each other a thing or two?

pairing: clint flood x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), mentions of grief (losing a partner), clint is a widower (just like in the movie), alcohol consumption, reader is inexperienced (but not a virgin), implied age gap (not specified though), unprotected p in v, size kink, creampie (oops!), dirty talk, oral (f! receiving), fingering (in public), no use of y/n. word count: 13k (wow this is a long one lol) a/n: this is part of @clubsoft's HAVE YOU EVER TRIED THIS ONE? writing challenge! thanks so much for hosting this challenge dulsè - i had so much fun writing clint (and it's my first time writing for this character so please bear with me lol). this was the prompt i received <3. honestly this is just complete filth (what's new lmao), so please heed the warnings and most of all, enjoy ;)

Oakland—it was supposed to be a place for you to settle down, lay your roots, and build a life with the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your days with. You had been naive—clueless—over the reality of what he really wanted. 

And what he really wanted was someone to pass the time with until someone better came along, someone who knew what she was doing because you—well, you didn’t. He had to guide you, had to show you how to please him and you could feel him becoming more impatient—annoyed. 

So when you came home after work one night, you could feel his absence. You could feel the emptiness, the haunting silence that filled your small apartment. You tried to call him, thinking that this was a mistake. Instead, you were met with an error message—he had disconnected his line. 

All that he left was a small piece of paper on your coffee table—Can’t do this anymore. No other explanation. You crumpled the piece of paper in your hand, balling it into a tight fist as tears began to stroll down your cheeks. 

He had made promises—promises that you believed to be true. You couldn’t move back home and you certainly couldn’t afford a plane ticket to even leave, so now here you are, stuck in a city that you still hadn’t gotten used to. 

Clint had managed to complete his last job over a year ago, but not without a price. He should be relieved that he’s finally retired—having been forced into a world that he didn’t choose, coerced into paying off his own father’s debt. Clint never had a chance, he knew that early in his life, but when he met Grace, it finally felt like he was finally given the opportunity to have his own life. 

And when he found out she was pregnant and that they were going to have a little girl, Clint made a vow to himself that he didn’t want to raise her in this kind of environment. He wanted to give her the choice to live the way she wanted—something he was robbed of himself. 

He shouldn’t have been so hopeful. He shouldn’t have celebrated so early because now Grace is gone and he’s all by himself, raising a little girl. His hands—once called the fists of fury—are now so gentle with his daughter. 

The first few months had been rough—how could he take care of this little person while trying to grieve the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with? 

He knew he had help—Sleepy Floyd had reached out to him and he had bumped into Tina and Lucid since losing Grace. His life and theirs were tangled with one another after that one fateful night. Sleepy Floyd had lost his mom and his girlfriend—something that he and Clint had bonded over the last few months. 

He thought of leaving Oakland, of starting fresh. But he couldn’t. Oakland was home. 

“Let me take care of her tonight,” Sleepy Floyd says, rocking the little girl in his arms. “You need a break.” 

“I’m fine,” Clint mumbles, running a hand over his face. 

“I can call Tina and Lucid—they can help out.” 

Clint shakes his head. “What am I gonna do?” 

“Just go out and grab a drink. Socialize,” he shrugs. The little girl in his arms squirms sleepily. “Or just go for a drive. I don’t know, Clint.”

“I just—I don’t want to leave her. What if she needs me while I’m gone?” He whispers, looking down at his hands. 

“We’ll be okay, Clint. You’ve made sure that I was taken care of. It’s time I return the favor.” 

Clint rolls his eyes. “You know you don’t owe me anything.” 

He scoffs. “Just—clear your head, yeah?”

Clint tightens his jaw. He loves his little girl—he’d do anything for her—but there’s a part of him that wonders if she would be better off without him. Sometimes, she’d cry and cry and nothing he’d do would work. Not until he’d play Grace’s mixtape that they both had created specifically for their daughter. It brought tears to his eyes, but it calmed her down. 

“Okay,” he sighs in defeat. “I’ll be gone for one hour.” 

Sleepy Floyd chuckles. “Wow. That’s a real long time. You sure about that?” 

Clint lets the corner of his lips lift upwards before he stands from his couch. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up and take care of my girl, will you?” 

“With my entire life, Clint,” he says seriously. Both men stare into each other’s eyes for a moment—an unspoken thought that passes across their features. They’re both remembering that night. 

“One hour,” Clint repeats. “That’s all I’m taking.” 

He didn’t know why he pulled up to this bar. It was calling out to him the moment he passed it, but when he stepped inside—clad in his normal leather jacket, dark denim jeans, boots and slicked back hair—that he realized misery loves company. It’s a hole in the wall kind of bar—small, quiet, and a few solo patrons scattered around the area. He felt like the people who were there might also have felt a pull to this bar for the same reason he did—he didn’t want to be noticed, didn’t want to be bothered, and this was the perfect place. 

No one even spares a glance in his direction once he steps inside. The music is quiet and he moves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. As he approaches the bar, he nods at the bartender and the older man walks towards him. 

“What can I get for you?” 

“Beer is fine, thanks.” 

“Keep the tab open?” 

“No, you can close it out. Thanks,” he answers. Clint passes him enough money to cover the drink, plus tip, before he takes a seat on the barstool. 

He looks over his shoulder when he hears the door open. Clearing his throat, Clint can’t help but allow his eyes to take in your frame. You look so casual—light washed denim jeans that seem to cling to every curve from your waist down to your hips, a low cut black tank top with an oversized flannel. He watches you raise your chin in the air, signaling to the bartender—there’s a familiarity that he senses between you and the people in this bar. You’re a regular, he deduces. He sees the way you greet the people, how your smile meets your eyes, but he can’t help but notice how miserable you really look. 

It takes one to know one, he assumes. 

Then, your eyes meet his and Clint straightens in his seat. He turns around and faces ahead of him. He doesn’t spare you another glance until he feels you sit next to him. 

“You’re new,” you say first. 

“Hm?” He mutters. 

“You’re new,” you repeat. “Haven’t seen you around here before and I’m here almost every night.” 

“You work here?” 

You shake your head. “No.” 

“And you’re here every night?” 

You tighten your jaw. “It’s comfortable. Quiet.” 

Clint nods, but he still hasn’t glanced over at you. The bartender approaches the both of you and he sets down a glass of beer in front of him and a glass in front of you—yellow, fruity. It catches his attention—the color of the drink and how it looks so out of place in a bar like this, just like how you look like you don’t belong here. 

“That orange juice or something?” 

You let out a quiet laugh and that finally causes him to turn. Clint looks up at you as you’re laughing and he can’t help the smile that begins to line his lips. You’re cute, he thinks, and there’s something about you that feels lighter—like you’re adding color to the very dark atmosphere of the bar (and his life). 

“You think I’d come to a bar for orange juice?” 

Clint shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t look like a drink to me.” 

You lean over the counter of the bar and grab an extra straw. “Try it.” 

“What?” 

“Try it,” you repeat. 

Clint chuckles dryly. “You’re asking for trouble.” 

“Am I?” You set the straw next to his hand on a small napkin—a gesture, an invitation, an offering. You’re being friendly. 

“What is it then?” He asks. 

“It’s called a Fuzzy Navel,” you answer with ease 

Clint almost chokes on his beer and he looks over at you, eyes narrowed in confusion. “What kind of drink is named that?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know, but it’s good.” You take the straw that’s already in your glass and wrap your lips around it, slowly sucking the contents into your mouth. Clint drops his gaze momentarily—eyes mesmerized by the way your soft lips look.

“It’s peach schnapps and orange juice,” you continue. “So I guess you’re partially right. Guess I do come here for the orange juice.” 

He chuckles to himself. You’re funny and you’re beautiful. He feels a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach as his left thumb absentmindedly brushes against his ring finger—now naked and bare without his wedding ring. 

“So…” you begin. “You wanna try it?” 

Clint looks at you—there’s a hopeful glint in your eye and something he can’t quite place. He shrugs a shoulder and grabs the straw before he turns in his seat. His entire body faces you now and he leans forward, placing his straw in your drink. He watches your eyes move from his own to his lips—oh, it’s that kind of look. 

He takes a small sip of your drink, makes a face at the sweetness and then leans back in his seat. Clint watches your eyes move across his face, taking note of the scar across his cheek and he can see you lean closer. 

“Too sweet,” he mumbles. 

You smile, taking the straw that remains in your glass—the same straw that he just used—and you wrap your lips around it. You’re looking up at him through your eyelashes, batting them innocently in his direction. This isn’t what you’re used to, but after seeing the new girl that your ex-boyfriend was with, you were determined to just spend one night with a complete stranger. 

You needed someone to look at you the way your ex-boyfriend had looked at the woman he was with. 

You weren’t sure what would happen if this man—this stranger—would take you up on your unspoken offer. The entire relationship with your ex-boyfriend consisted of him telling you what to do and after a while, he grew impatient and bored. 

But this man—he was older and you knew that he could teach you a thing or two. 

If he was willing. 

“You don’t like sweet things?” you tease. The straw is still in your mouth, but you’re playing with it—teasing him and you can see the way his eyes move to where your teeth grazes the straw. 

“Oh, I do,” he answers instantly. “Believe me, baby, I do.”

Baby. You clear your throat and for a moment, your faux-confidence falters and he smirks. This time, he leans in closer as his knees bump against yours. “And something tells me that you,” he whispers lowly. “Taste sweet too.”

The gasp leaves your lips before you could even stop yourself. The heat in your cheeks rise and you can feel the wetness begin to pool between your legs. You had never felt like this with your ex-boyfriend. 

Slowly, you dare to lean forward as you set aside your glass. Hesitantly, your hands rest on his thighs and you hear him inhale sharply. He doesn’t move, though—a clear indication that what you were doing was completely fine and he was more than willing to allow you to touch him. 

“You want to find out?” You ask quietly. 

Clint can feel the warmth of your palms on his thighs and he looks down to watch you slowly inch your way upwards. Something in him breaks and he takes your hands and slowly pushes you away. He sees the look of disappointment flicker across your features before you put up that same wall that he’s put up around himself. You’re hurting and he can see it. 

“Too old for you,” he finally answers. “Pretty sure someone like you has someone waiting for her at home.” 

You shake your head and turn back in your seat, now facing ahead of you as you reach up to let your arms rest against the counter of the bar. “Nope,” you reply. “Just me.”

Clint’s brow furrows—your demeanor changes drastically and he’s sure that it wasn’t because he turned you down. He sees you remove the straw he used and place it on a napkin. He figures you didn’t want to talk about it any further, so he turns in his seat and faces forward too. 

“That scar,” you begin. “What happened?” 

Clint doesn’t look at you. He takes his glass of beer and takes a long swig of the contents. One drink. One hour. That’s all he promised himself, but the way the question comes out of your mouth—so soft, hesitant, and curiously gentle has him answering without a second thought. 

“Got into a fight. The other guy had a knife. All I had were these,” he answers, lifting his hands and balling them into fists. 

You glance over at him, taking note of his large hands. You don’t say anything for a while—too engrossed in the mystery of this man sitting next to you. For a while, you had gotten used to the people that would usually come to this bar. They were regulars, like you. This bar—there was a sense of comfort, a sense of belonging that you felt because you weren’t the only one who felt like shit. 

Then, Clint turns his gaze to you. His deep brown eyes bore into your own and you can see the scar so clearly again. The tips of your fingers itch to reach out for him, but you don’t move an inch. He had already rejected you anyway. 

“Did you win?” 

Clint chuckles. “Yeah. I did.” 

You smile at that, but your eyes drift towards the dimple in his cheek. Just as it appears, the smile drops from his lips. His brows furrow slightly and he tilts his head. 

“Your eyes…” you whisper. “There’s sadness in them.” 

Clint looks away and his jaw tightens. “I’m just tired.” 

You sigh quietly. “My ex-boyfriend left me a few months ago. I’m new here, having moved because he had convinced me and then he just… left. Disconnected his phone. Left me a fucking note and no explanation. Then tonight, I see him with his new girlfriend.” Your own hands ball into fists and Clint looks down at them—they’re much smaller than his own. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, unsure of what to say to make you feel better. After all, he isn’t sure if he had the ability to make anything better. “That’s shitty.” 

“Took everything from me. I was so naive thinking that my first real boyfriend would be the one I settle down with,” you mumble. You down the rest of your drink and raise your hand in the air to signal to the bartender for another refill. 

Clint clears his throat. He can see the pain so clearly etched on your features—the unshed tears glistening over your eyes, your lips pulled into a small frown, brows furrowed like you’re still trying to understand yourself how this could happen. There’s something about the way you trust him that eases his nerves. 

He takes a deep breath and says, “I lost my wife about a year ago… almost lost my little girl too.” 

Your eyes look up at him and there’s a sense of comfort he feels at the way you’re gazing at him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You feel embarrassed—here you were, talking about your asshole of an ex-boyfriend and this man had lost the woman he was married to. It explains the sadness in his eyes, you figure. 

“Me too,” he says quietly. Clint doesn’t get into detail about how she died—it isn’t something he wants to relive or tell you about. 

There’s a comfortable silence that fills the air and he feels your hand gently rest over his own. He sees the way you brush your thumb across the back of his hand and he can’t help the way your touch seemingly manages to calm him down, and he lets out a relieved, yet shaky exhale. 

“I bet you’re a really great dad,” you whisper quietly. 

Clint lets the corner of his lips lift as his mind drifts to his daughter. “I try to be,” he answers. There’s a deeper meaning behind his words—he wants to say that he’s trying to be better than his own father, trying to give his little girl a chance at life… which was something he never had. 

When you pull your hand away from his, Clint turns his gaze to you. The bartender sets another drink in front of you and he can’t help the sudden desire to feel your touch again. You—a stranger—managed to get him to talk about things he normally wouldn’t talk about. 

He wonders if you could teach him a thing or two about that, about how important it is to talk about the difficult shit that he’s been pushing down—hoping they’d just go away. 

“So, you’re here every night?” Clint asks quietly. 

You nod. “Yeah, I live close by actually. So, after work, I come here.” 

“So, if I’m here again this week, I’ll see you?” 

You turn to him and there’s a small smile on your lips. “Yes, you’ll see me.” 

“And maybe we can just… talk?” Clint asks, almost hesitantly. 

“As long as you don’t make fun of my drink, then yeah, we can talk,” you laugh quietly. 

Clint chuckles and nods in agreement. “Okay, that’s fair. You and your orange juice with a splash of alcohol,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes playfully, but you’re still giggling. “What’s your name, by the way?” 

“Oh, right. I’m Clint.” He extends a hand out for you and he sees you look down at his hand. 

You reach for his hand and gently shake it in your own. Your eyes move to his and you smile, telling him your name in return. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, smiling as his dimple makes another appearance. He slowly lets go of your hand and then finishes his beer. One drink. One hour. He glances at his watch and then stands from the stool he had been sitting on. 

“Have a nice night, Clint,” you tell him. 

“You too, baby,” he winks, seeing the way you bite your lower lip. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Clint steps inside his home to see Sleepy Floyd shut his daughter’s bedroom door. He removes his leather jacket and sits on the couch, leaning his head back against it as he shuts his eyes. 

“Thanks for watching her,” Clint says, feeling the other man sit next to him. 

“Of course. You know I’m happy to watch her anytime. How’d it go?” 

“Fine,” he shrugs, his mind drifting to you. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“To a bar.” 

Sleepy Floyd grins. “You talk to anyone?” 

Clint glances over at him. “Yeah, she was nice.” 

“She?” 

“Don’t make a big deal.” 

Sleepy Floyd chuckles and reaches over to grip Clint’s shoulder. “I’m not. I’m just—I’m happy for you.”

“It’s nothing,” Clint shrugs. “It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of bar. Quiet. I think I’m gonna go back there again this week.”

“Yeah?” His grin broadens. “Are you going back for the vibe of the bar or because of this woman you met?” 

Clint rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be going home now?” 

Sleepy Floyd chuckles and stands up from the couch, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I’m going. I’m glad to hear you had a nice time, Clint.” 

Clint looks up at him and nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “Can you watch her again this week?” 

“You bet,” he nods. 

Once he leaves, Clint stands up from the couch and quietly walks into his daughter’s room. She’s sleeping peacefully and he reaches down to gently run his finger across her cheek. She squirms in her sleep but leans closer to his touch and a small smile lines his lips. 

“Good night, sweet angel,” he whispers and leans over the crib to kiss the top of her head. 

When you finally get home, your mind drifts to Clint. Tonight had started off as a nightmare, but seeing him—meeting him—made you hopeful. You were no longer thinking about your ex-boyfriend or the woman that he was now with, but instead, thinking of the next time you’d get to see Clint. 

You still couldn’t believe that you had tried to get him to sleep with you tonight—it would have been your first ever one night stand. Though, his initial rejection didn’t hurt you like you thought it would. You were inexperienced and you certainly didn’t want only one night with him. 

For the next few days, you didn’t change your routine. You still went to the bar like you normally would, but you would be lying if you said that you weren’t disappointed every time you didn’t see him. 

Tonight, though, a part of you didn’t want to go to the bar. You didn’t know if you could be disappointed again and your mind has started to drift back to your ex-boyfriend. It didn’t help that when your phone rang that night, it was your ex-boyfriend asking if you could check to see if he had forgotten a few of his things at your apartment. He didn’t bother to ask how you were doing or provide some kind of explanation for why he left. You should’ve hung up on him, shouldn’t have entertained the idea of looking for the things he was asking for, but you set the phone down to search for what he was looking for.  

When you did find it, you walk to pick up the phone again. Then, you hear another woman’s laughter on the other end of the line and you lie to him. You tell him you couldn’t find it and that it’s likely not here. Without allowing him to even respond, you hang up the phone and feel tears trickle down your cheeks. 

Clint is a distant thought and you grab your bag, pull on a hoodie and leave your apartment. You’re not watching where you’re going as you’re walking to the bar—it’s just about a five minute walk anyway. Suddenly, you bump into someone and you mumble an apology, not bothering to look up. 

It isn’t until you hear your name and his voice. You turn and look up at Clint. He’s dressed in that same leather jacket, but he’s wearing a plaid shirt underneath paired with his dark blue pants and boots. You can see the streaks of grey along his slicked back hair and in his beard, but his eyes—while still sad—holds some kind of surprised excitement at the sight of you. 

The tears fall from your eyes without warning and his entire expression softens instantly. “Whoa, hey…” he whispers. “Are you okay?” 

You nod, despite you bringing a hand up to wipe the tears from your eyes. “I’m fine. Are you heading to the bar?” 

Clint nods slowly. “Said I’d see you again this week.” 

“Yeah, well guys say things they don’t mean all the time,” you shrug. 

Clint scoffs quietly. “You’ve been with some boys, baby. Men keep their word.” 

You glance up at him, eyes still watery. “Well, only ever been with one person—”

“Surely you’ve had some flings before or after that?” 

You shake your head. “Nope. I’m an inexperienced woman. Who’d want that?” You don’t bother to wait for him to respond, having begun walking towards the bar.  

Clint clears his throat as he watches you walk away, eyes drifting to your backside as the denim pants cling to every curve yet again. Inexperienced, he thinks. He couldn’t believe it—you had so much confidence the last time you two saw each other that it’s hard to believe that you hadn’t been with anyone else other than that ex-boyfriend of yours. 

He sighs and jogs to catch up with you, hand resting lightly on your lower back. “So, we gonna drink anything different tonight or are we drinking your spiked orange juice?”

You look up at him, a smile now lining your lips as you let out a quiet laugh. “Hey, that’s my go-to drink. Don’t make fun.” 

Clint chuckles and steps inside with you. You’re walking towards the bar, but instead he leads you to a booth instead. “Is this okay?” 

You nod up at him, sliding into the booth across from him. Before you can say anything though, he points towards the bar and flashes you a small smile. “First round will be on me. Spiked orange juice for you and just a beer for me,” he winks and then turns on his heel. 

You roll your eyes playfully and watch him from your table. You look at him from top to bottom, seeing him lean forward against the counter of the bar. The leather jacket he’s wearing pulls tight across his broad back and you clear your throat quietly—the same attraction you felt the first time you met him making an appearance yet again. 

The phone call with your ex-boyfriend lingers as Clint makes his way back to the table. He slides in across from you and sets down your glass in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a small sip of your drink. “This spiked orange juice is good,” you grin. 

Clint chuckles to himself and takes a sip of his own beer before he sets it back on the table. He had been looking forward to seeing you all week and he can’t help but feel a sense of comfort around you—it had been something he was craving since the first night he met you. 

“So,” he mumbles. 

“Sorry,” you interrupt. “About earlier,” you continue, playing with your straw. 

“Don’t be,” he answers. “Everything okay?” 

“My ex-boyfriend called,” you respond, biting the inside of your cheek. You don’t look up at him, slightly embarrassed about your reaction to the fact that your ex-boyfriend still has such an effect on you. “It’s stupid. I’m okay.” 

Clint furrows a brow and then stands from his side of the booth to move to your side, taking a seat next to you. One of his arms drapes over the back of the booth, allowing you to scoot closer to his side if you wanted. 

You glance up at him and inch closer, but still decide to keep a reasonable amount of distance between your bodies. You can’t help but feel safe with him nearby and when you look into his deep brown eyes, there’s a sense of calmness that washes over you. It’s oddly comforting. 

“You’re not stupid,” Clint finally responds. “You must have really loved him.” 

“Not sure if it was ever really love to begin with,” you answer. “He was my first real boyfriend who made a lot of promises that he probably never intended to keep.” 

Clint sighs quietly and reaches over the table to grab his beer with his free hand. He moves his eyes away from you for a moment—he’s had plenty of moments where he’s made promises that he didn’t keep. Couldn’t keep. 

“Then I suppose he did you a favor,” he says. “You don’t want someone like that anyway.” 

“I just—do men really care if a woman is inexperienced?” You ask honestly. 

Clint shrugs. “Can’t speak on behalf of the entire male population,” he answers. “But personally, I don’t care.” He takes a sip of his beer and sets it back down on the table. He can see the way your eyes slightly widen in his direction. “Makes it more fun.” 

“Fun?” 

Clint nods. “Yeah. Being able to teach her, show her the ropes…” 

“I’m sure you’d be a great teacher,” you blurt out. Heat rises in your cheeks and you turn your attention to your drink, taking a long sip of it to ease some nerves. The conversation with your ex-boyfriend lingers, but you can’t help but feel the tension that builds between you and Clint. 

“Maybe,” he smiles. He doesn’t want to push, despite the pull that he feels towards you. There’s an obvious attraction he feels for you, but there’s something else that he can’t put his finger on. You make him want to talk about the serious and difficult conversations that he’s tried so hard to just ignore. 

“I’m assuming that’s one of the reasons why my ex-boyfriend broke up with me. I guess he got tired of—of having to constantly show me what to do.” 

“Another reason why you wouldn’t want someone like that,” Clint repeats. “Did you at least enjoy yourself?” 

“Myself?” You furrow a brow, looking up at him with a genuine confused look on your face. “I mean, it felt nice…”

Clint’s eyes narrow slightly as he leans in closer to you. “Nice?” He asks. “Did you ever finish?” 

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. I was just—I was following his lead.” 

Clint sighs quietly as he leans in further, moving his lips to hover near your ear. He can hear you inhale sharply at the close proximity and he smiles to himself. “Oh, baby… He had no idea what he was doing.” 

With a quiet gasp, you pull away and look up at him. Still confused, but definitely aroused. “W—What?” 

“The goal isn’t for him to finish… I mean, not necessarily.” He answers. “Men will make sure that the woman finishes first before he does. Sounds to me like you were with a boy who had no idea how to please a woman.” 

You bite your lower lip and can feel the throbbing between your legs—you’ve never been this excited before. You gently reach out to rest a hand on his thigh, his legs moving in your direction from beneath the booth. You stare up at him, seeing the way his brown eyes darken in your direction. “And you?” You ask quietly—innocently—as your hand slowly inches up his thigh. “Do you know how to please a woman?” 

His hand gently brushes along your back, keeping his arm loosely draped over the back of the booth. You’re warm under his fingertips and he can feel his jeans tighten around the center—manhood throbbing, becoming hard from beneath the fabric. “In a way you never experienced before,” he answers quietly. 

“If I ask you to come home with me, will you reject me again?” You ask honestly. You stare into his eyes, fingertips rubbing circles on his thigh. “If I ask you to teach me, Clint, will you say yes?” 

Clint exhales shakily as he stares into your eyes. The guilt that he feels in the pit of his stomach comes back and lingers—reminding him that he had lost Grace over a year ago. He shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of saying yes, of going back to your apartment, of teaching you what it means to feel good, but fuck—you’re looking at him in a way that makes him want to say yes. 

“I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” he finally answers, but he makes no move to pull away. Clint’s eyes deviate to your lips, seeing it form into a small pout. Without hesitation, he reaches up and brushes the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. A flicker of shock flashes across his features, but when he sees your lips part and you lean in closer to him, he relaxes. You want this just as badly as he does. 

“No?” you ask, moving one of your hands from his thigh up to his chest, beginning to play with the button on his flannel. “How about you tell me what you’d teach me?” 

Clint’s eyes narrow slightly. “How about you tell me what that ex-boyfriend of yours taught you?” 

You falter for a moment as your mind flashes back to the plenty of times where your ex-boyfriend had guided you during sex. “Oh… Um…” you whisper, feeling just slightly embarrassed now. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now, baby. You’re the one that started this,” he says, thumb moving down your lower lip to your jawline. 

“How about I show you instead?” You ask, feeling his muscles underneath your touch. 

“I have every reason to say no,” he answers quietly, leaning in closer. Clint can feel your breath fan against his lips—inches separating the two of you now. “But for some reason, I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” you reply simply. 

“You barely know me.” 

“And you barely know me,” you quip back. 

“Is this really what you want?” 

You nod slowly—eagerly. “Yes,” you breathe out. 

“I’m broken,” Clint admits. “I lost my wife because of my own mistakes. I’m not a good man.” 

You see the sadness in his eyes again and you gently reach up to cup his cheek, feeling the stubble of his beard against your touch. “Something tells me you’re very hard on yourself,” you whisper. “Even for the small things.” 

“I still love my wife,” he replies. 

“I’m not expecting anything out of this,” you sigh quietly. “And I wouldn’t ever force you to forget your wife.” He leans into your touch and his eyes fall shut momentarily. “And I also don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for.” 

Clint opens his eyes and stares into your own. He leans closer as the tip of his nose brushes against yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I do want this. Want you.” 

You let out a relieved sigh. “I was beginning to think that it was just me,” you tease. “Besides, we can just talk. I’ve got a feeling that you rarely talk about what’s bothering you or what’s on your mind.” 

Clint nods slowly in agreement and he turns his head to press his lips on your cheek. He pulls away and looks down at you, watching your own hands move back to your lap. “Talking never got me places,” he admits. 

“Ah,” you say, grabbing your glass. “Your fists do all the talking, huh?” 

Clint shrugs—Grace had been such a safe haven for him. She understood his upbringing and never pushed him to talk about things that he wasn’t comfortable with. Over time, though, Clint felt more at ease with the difficult topics. He had felt safe with her—a feeling he had never felt before. 

But now she’s gone and while Sleepy Floyd, Tina, and Lucid have tried to get him to talk, Clint never goes into too much detail about what he’s feeling. About how lost he feels… or the failure and guilt that eats at him.  

“Yeah,” he finally answers. 

“Well,” you continue after taking a sip of your drink. “If you ever do want to just talk, I’m always happy to listen.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “It’s hard… talking about the difficult shit, but I think talking is better than keeping it bottled in.” 

“You speaking from experience?” 

“Yeah, actually, I am.” You sigh and look up at him. “Why else do you think I’ve been here almost every night? I’m drowning my sorrows like everyone else here. I haven’t even talked about my ex-boyfriend since the break up… but you make it easy.” 

“You make it easy too,” Clint admits. “Talking about my wife—it’s fucking hard, but you’re making it easy. Or as easy as it can be.” 

“Tell me about her?” You ask, biting your lower lip after you finish your drink. 

Clint lets out a sigh and brings his drink to his lips, taking a quiet sip of his beer. “She was too good for me,” he begins. “I don’t know what I did to ever deserve her.” 

“What was her name?” 

“Grace,” he answers. His eyes fill with sadness as he remembers all of the memories that he’s shared with her, but it doesn’t last long. Her death overshadows every memory he has of her and all he can think—can remember—is the pain of losing her without even saying goodbye. “And she loved movies.” 

“And she was the woman of your dreams?” 

Clint nods. “The love of my life,” he answers honestly. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and reach over to rest your hand over his. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “You know, it’s been so hard to talk about her that I just… don’t. Seems easier that way,” he admits. “Does that make me seem shitty?”

You shake your head. “It makes you human,” you answer. “And you’ll eventually find your own way to deal with losing her.”

Clint looks up at you—still a stranger in his eyes—and for once since losing Grace, he feels like the heaviness he forced himself to carry feels just a little bit lighter. It’s still there; it isn’t going to just disappear after one brief conversation, but it makes him hopeful. 

Hopeful that one day he’ll be able to think and talk about Grace without the feeling of guilt.

“You just have a way with words, don’t you?” Clint asks, his eyes glistening with tears that threaten to spill over. He blinks them away and tears his gaze from you to look down at your hand still resting atop of his. 

You shrug and give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Grief isn’t linear, Clint. And not only did you lose your wife, but you also have a child that you have to think about. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” you sigh. “But I hope you continue to talk about Grace. I’m sure one day your little girl will ask about her mama and I hope when that day comes, you’ll be more than ready to talk about her.”

“Will you help me?” Clint blurts out. 

“With your grief?” 

He nods, almost shyly. “Yeah… and in return, maybe I can help you too.” 

“With…” you whisper, voice trailing. 

“Yeah, with that,” he answers for you. 

“I’m sure you’d be able to help more than I can help you,” you reply quietly. “And I don’t think that’d be fair—”

“You’ve helped me more than you know already,” Clint interrupts. “But only if you want this too.” 

“Yes,” you answer immediately. “I want this, want you to teach me.” 

Clint smiles and then pulls his hand from your own, now reaching up to rest gently on your cheek. “Good.” His eyes deviate to your lips, watching you bite your lower lip and he lets out a shaky breath. Slowly, Clint runs his thumb across your bottom lip, your lips parting for him. “I’m gonna get another drink. You want your spiked orange juice?” He teases.  

Your eyes narrow up at him. “Fuzzy Navel! It’s called a fuzzy navel, Clint.” 

He laughs quietly. “Hmm, I think my name for the drink is better.” 

You roll your eyes playfully and gently push him away. Once he stands from the booth, you do so as well. “You know what, you’re mean so I’m just gonna buy my own drink.” As you begin walking away, Clint takes your hand and gently tugs you back into him. Once your body collides with his, his hands immediately move to your hips as your hands move to rest on his chest. 

“Nah,” he says. “You’re gonna go back and sit down like a good girl and wait for your drink.” 

You clear your throat as you stare up at him. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as the front of his body presses firmly against your own. “I—Uh, I—,” you stammer. Dirty talk was something your ex-boyfriend used to do and you had never found it arousing, but the way Clint’s speaking to you now, you begin to realize that maybe your ex-boyfriend truly had no idea what he was doing. 

Clint leans forward, lips brushing against your ear. “You gonna be a good girl for me, baby?” He squeezes your hips and he hears you let out a quiet whimper. 

“Y—Yes,” you answer, eyes falling shut as you feel the same throbbing sensation between your legs once again. 

“Attagirl,” he smiles, pulling away and beginning to walk towards the counter of the bar. 

You slide back into the booth, hands wringing in your lap as Clint’s words echo in your mind. You look over at him and he’s gazing at you from over his shoulder, a small smirk lining his lips as he waits for the bartender to make your drink. 

After a few minutes, Clint’s walking back to the booth with your drink in tow. He sets it down in front of you and slides back into the booth next to you. He opts to keep his arm at his side instead of draping it over the back of it. He’s slowly losing his resolve, especially with the way your lips wrap around the straw once again. 

“So,” you begin, setting your glass down once you’ve taken a sip. “You’re distracting.”

Clint laughs quietly. “Can say the same thing about you.”

You roll your eyes playfully but find yourself inching closer to him. He glances over at you and takes a long swig of his beer before he, too, sets it down on the table. The tension lingers in the air and you both catch each other’s gaze—pupils dark and filled with lust. 

Desire. 

Need.

“Y—You always talk like that?” You finally ask. 

“Like what?” 

“You know what.” 

Clint smirks and turns to face you as his arm once again drapes over the back of the booth. He leans in close—close enough to hear a quiet gasp leave your lips. “Tell me.” 

“D—Dirty talk,” you mumble. “You always talk dirty like that?” 

“Why?” He asks. “Did you like it?” 

You nod slowly, feeling his large hand move to rest on your knee. “Yes,” you answer. “My ex—he used to talk dirty but never like that.” 

“Maybe we should talk about what he taught you, or what he thought he taught you and we can go from there. That okay?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think that’s a good plan.” 

“Great,” Clint smiles, rubbing small circles on your knee. He feels you lean forward and press your soft lips onto his cheek—his eyes fall shut at the sensation, leaning into you. “But we aren’t doing anything tonight,” he says quietly. 

“W—Why not?” 

“We’ve been drinking. Don’t want you to regret this in the morning.” 

You smile to yourself and wrap your arms slowly around his neck. You move your legs to drape over his lap, feeling his hand move from your knee to your hip. “I wouldn’t regret it, wouldn’t regret you, Clint. I’ve thought about you the entire week.” 

Clint clears his throat. “Yeah?” 

You nod, leaning in to bury your face against the crook of his neck. Your lips move lightly along his neck, teeth grazing his pulse point. His grip tightens around your hip as a result. “Yeah… Would you at least teach me one thing tonight?” 

Slowly beginning to lose his resolve, Clint pulls back enough to look into your eyes. You’re staring up at him with feigned innocence and your lower lip pulled between your teeth. “And what’s that?” 

“How it feels like to come? Would you be able to teach me that?” 

Clint’s eyes darken instantly. “W—What?” 

“I mean, I know how to make myself come, but at the hands of someone else?” You shake your head. “I don’t really know what that feels like. Surely it won’t feel any different than if I were to do it myself, but—”

Clint grunts lowly and leans forward, nose brushing against your own. “Your ex never took care of you, did he?” He clicks his tongue and moves a hand from your hip to gently tug at the waistband of your pants. “And how long were you with him?” 

“Couple of years,” you answer, breath hitching in your throat as you feel his hand slowly tug down the zipper and undo the button on your pants. 

“Shame,” he whispers, hand now sliding into your pants as he brushes his fingers along your clothed sex. You’re warm between your legs and he can feel the wetness on the fabric of your panties. “Something tells me,” Clint mumbles, eyes staring deeply into your own. “You’ll come right here, right now with my hand in your pants.” 

“Clint,” you whimper, legs slightly parting for him. You’re both still seated in the booth in the corner of the bar—it’s dark and no one else here is paying attention to either of you. “I—I don’t think I can stay quiet,” you tell him honestly. 

“Guess you’ll have to try real hard then, huh?” He smirks, running the pad of his thumb across your clothed clit. Clint applies pressure and slowly begins to rub you in circles. A strained moan escapes your lips as your hands link together at the nape of his neck—foreheads still pressed firmly against one another. “You’re real wet, baby,” Clint whispers. 

Your eyes flutter at his movements—you had experienced this before, but never this slow, never this careful, never this strategic. Usually, your ex-boyfriend would rush this, never fully giving you a chance to enjoy yourself. “Clint, I—I need more,” you whimper. “Please…” 

“Patience, baby,” Clint smiles. He pulls his hand away from you only to slide it back in—this time inside your panties so you can feel his touch without the fabric getting in the way. When the pads of his fingers touch your lips, he lets out a low groan at the feel of your wetness. “Yeah, real wet…”

You gasp quietly and feel one of his thick fingers slide into you. You can already feel yourself trembling—a sensation that you hadn’t felt. When Clint slowly begins to pump his finger in and out of you, a strained moan leaves your lips. You’re trying so hard not to make any noise, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult with how quick his finger moves in and out of you. “Fuck,” you whimper, eyes falling shut when you feel him slide another finger inside of you. 

“Can feel you getting close,” Clint whispers, feeling you bury your face against the crook of his neck. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds that you’re making. He’s focused solely on you and your pleasure that the chatter from the patrons in the bar and the music that filters the room fades into the background. All he can hear is the sound of your moans and the quiet squelching from between your legs. 

“I—I don’t think I can,” you mutter, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as you hold onto him. You lift your hips off the seat to thrust up into his hand. “It feels—” your walls begin to tremble and the tightness builds in the pit of your stomach and unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You try to push it down, to push that sensation away, but Clint speeds his movements and reaches down with his free hand to rub circles on your clit. “Oh… Oh, Clint, I—” 

“Come for me,” he mutters into your ear. “Let it go, baby. I’ve got you.” 

Without warning, the pressure finally tips over and your body shakes against him. Clint smirks against you, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers with a gush of wetness. He slows the pump of his fingers and pulls his hand from your clit to cup your cheek. You lift your head from his shoulder and look up at him, a quiet gasp escaping you when he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. Lifting it to your view, you both see his digits glistening with your arousal. 

Then, Clint does something that you don’t expect. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks your wetness clean from his fingers—eyes staring into your own. “Mmm,” he grins. “I was right. You do taste sweet.” 

You move a hand down to the center of his pants and immediately feel the hardness of him from beneath the fabric. He grunts unexpectedly and gently takes your hand, pressing a soft kiss on your knuckles once he sucks his fingers off clean. “Next time,” he says softly. 

“Will you teach me how to please you?” you ask innocently. 

“That’s not the goal,” Clint answers. “I’m going to teach you what it means to feel good.”

“B—But what about you?” 

“Believe me… I’ll feel good too. Just seeing you come undone like that, just from my fingers alone, makes me excited for when I can finally feel you around me.” Clint gently kisses your cheek and then pulls away, helping you zip your pants and button you back up. 

“Will you come over to my apartment when you have the time next week?” you ask quietly. “If you want…”

Clint nods, smiling softly in your direction as you notice the dimple on his right cheek. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

It’s a little over a week the next time you see Clint. He knocks on your door and when you open it, you see him with a bouquet of flowers and dressed in his usual leather jacket and dark pants with boots. His hair is slicked back and he gives you a small smile when your eyes finally meet his. 

“Hey,” Clint says. 

“Hi,” you smile, opening the door even further for him to step through the threshold. 

Clint carefully steps inside and leans down to place a light kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t know what kind of flowers were your favorite so just got you a bit of everything.” 

“That’s sweet,” you tell him, shutting the door behind him and taking the flowers from his hands. “Let me put these in a vase.” 

You disappear into the kitchen and Clint leans down to remove his boots, setting them neatly aside. He steps further into your apartment—it’s small and cozy, very fitting for just one person. He’s about to follow you when you re-enter the living room to set the flowers onto your small coffee table. It makes him smile—how delicate and careful you’re treating the flowers he’s gotten you. 

“Did you have a nice week?” Clint asks, sitting on the couch when you motion for him to sit. 

“Kept thinking about you,” you admit. “But other than that, it’s been alright. What about you?” 

Clint shrugs, keeping his hands on his lap. “Yeah, it was—it was a nice week. Was looking forward to this though. Looking forward to seeing you.”

The heat rises in your cheeks as you look up at him. You’re now fully aware of just how casual you’re dressed—you’re wearing a very large oversized shirt with short sleep shorts, hair pulled into a loose braid. 

“You want anything to drink?” you ask, standing up from the couch. You can feel the wetness begin to pool between your legs and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

“Water’s fine,” Clint answers. 

You nod in response and walk back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to see him shrugging off his leather jacket and neatly place it on the small loveseat nearby. You let out a shaky breath and grab two glasses, filling it with ice and water. As you’re about to turn around, Clint’s large hand rests on your lower back and you can feel the thick tension now fill the air. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No,” you respond. “Maybe?” 

“We don’t have to do anything, you know.” Clint reassures, hand dropping from your lower back as he rests back against the counter of your kitchen. “I’m fine with just being here with you.”

“To talk?” 

Clint nods. “Yeah, baby. We can just talk.” 

“Maybe… Maybe I can tell you what my ex-boyfriend has taught me?” you offer, biting the inside of your cheek as you look up at him through your eyelashes. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, baby.” Clint takes one of the glasses of water from your hand and lifts it to his lips, taking a long swig. He allows you to lead him back to the couch and when he sits first, he notices you take a seat closer to him. Your body’s facing him now, legs tucked underneath you as your knees touch the side of his leg. 

“Okay, so he taught me how to give head,” you begin, causing Clint to clear his throat. “I’ve only done a couple of positions—missionary, cowgirl… Lots of cowgirl, so I think know how to do that well, and—”

“Wait,” Clint mutters. He reaches for one of your throw pillows and places it over his lap. He’s surprised that his body is reacting almost instantly at your words and he can feel the center of his jeans slowly begin to tighten. “You’ve been with the guy for two years and that’s all he taught you? That’s all the positions you’ve done?” 

You shrug, resting your arm on the back of the couch as you prop your head against it. “Is that bad? I mean, he seemed to enjoy himself.” 

“What did he do for you?” Clint asks. 

“I—I’m not sure how to answer that…” 

“Okay,” he sighs. “How about… what did you like to do?”

“I did enjoy giving him…” you trail off, glancing down at the pillow on Clint’s lap. “Giving him head… and I did like cowgirl too, but there are things I wish I had tried.” 

“Y—Yeah? What’s that?” 

“Doggystyle… and I’ve always wondered what it would like feel like having someone go down on me too—”

Clint groans lowly and then looks at you, eyes dark and filled with lust. “And what do you want to do tonight?”

“Anything. Everything.” You bite your lower lip and gently reach for the pillow, setting it aside as you climb onto his lap. Straddling his hips, you slowly lower yourself onto him and feel the bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans. “What about you? What do you want to do tonight?” 

Clint’s hands move to your hips, staring up at you. “Anything you wanna do. I just want you comfortable and—”

“I’m comfortable,” you interject. “With you, I’m comfortable.” 

Clint nods and lets out a gasp when he feels your hips roll against him. You’re hesitant—he can see it in the way you’re looking at him, making sure that what you were doing was okay with him. His grip tightens around your hips, eyes glued onto your own. “How about we try something new tonight? Things you’ve never done before? Would that be okay?” He asks. 

“Like doggystyle?” You ask, hopeful. 

Clint smiles, stilling your hips as he nods. “That’d be one of them, yeah.” 

“That’d be great,” you answer with a smile. Your eyes move to his lips and you lean forward slowly. “Clint,” you whisper. “Can I kiss you?” 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, leaning up as he nods slowly. “Yeah, baby.” Without waiting for you, Clint leans forward and presses his lips firmly against your own. He feels you melt into him as your arms wrap around his neck loosely. 

There was a part of him that had been second guessing this entire thing until Sleepy Floyd had talked to him. Clint would always love Grace, but he wonders if this is the first step in moving on—in healing so that he could fully be present. You’re still very much a stranger to him, but he can’t help but feel an odd sense of calm whenever he’s around you. 

You move your lips slowly—the kiss is slow, intimate, careful. He wants you to set the pace, wants you to lead, wants you to use him for your own pleasure. You roll your hips against him in unison with your lips parting as a quiet whimper escapes. Clint takes this opportunity to flick his tongue against your upper lip, sliding it past your lips as he deepens the kiss. 

The hand on your cheek moves back to your hip—both hands now gripping you tightly as you continue to roll against him. His jeans become increasingly uncomfortable and increasingly tighter as his manhood strains against it. He had felt himself getting hard when he first stepped inside your apartment, seeing you dressed so casually with your legs on full display for him. 

Slowly, you pull away from the kiss and Clint uses this opportunity to lean forward and begin lining kisses along the side of your neck. You moan quietly, the feel of his facial hair scratching against your skin with the softness of his lips causing the throbbing between your legs to become more prominent.

His hands move to your upper thighs, running them along your bare legs as you ground into him. “C—Clint,” you whimper, eyes falling shut when you feel his teeth graze your pulse point. You can feel the warmth of his large hands on your legs and you have to pull back to look into his eyes, chest heaving as you stare at him with slightly parted lips. 

“Gonna teach you that it’s okay to feel this good,” he whispers, hands moving upwards to the waistband of your shorts. “That you deserve to feel this good.” Clint watches you stand up from his lap, his hands falling from your legs. He stares up at you, watching you carefully as you begin to lower your shorts and panties down your legs. When he sees it fall from your legs, he clears his throat quietly and then sees you grab the ends of your shirt. You slowly begin to lift it over your head and Clint leans forward, hands wrapping around the back of your legs to bring you closer to him. You stand between the space of his legs and let your shirt fall onto the floor, making a small pile of your clothes nearby. 

You had always been self-conscious about your body and it didn’t help that your ex-boyfriend never looked at you the way Clint was looking at you now. He peppers light kisses along your lower abdomen as his hands run along the backs of your thighs. He’s staring at you like you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. You try to cover yourself, but Clint clicks his tongue and shakes his head, standing up from the couch as he reaches up to push your hair away from your face. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Clint’s so broad, so big as he towers over you, but god—he’s making you feel so confident and so sexy. “Your ex-boyfriend is a fucking idiot because now I get this—I get you—all to myself.” 

You’re not sure why that causes a shiver to run through you, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for another kiss. This time, it’s no longer careful or slow. Clint feels like you’ve gained a surge of confidence because you immediately dart your tongue out that easily slides past his lips. His hands move from your waist down to your ass, large hands gripping each cheek as he brings you flush against him. 

Clint brings one of his hands lower, fingertips brushing against your wet slit. Something overtakes him and he lifts you into his arms with ease, turning so that he can set you onto your back on the couch. You land with a soft thud, propping yourself up on your forearms as he kneels in front of you. Subconsciously, you bring your legs together but Clint just shakes his head and keeps your legs parted for him. He looks up at you for a moment, seeing a flicker of hesitation in your features. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, using one of his hands to undo the button on his jeans and push down his zipper to alleviate some pressure. “You said you wanted to know what this would feel like, right?” 

“Yes,” you answer. “But what do I do? Do I just—”

Clint smiles and leans up to peck your lips. “You just lie there and look pretty… And enjoy yourself. Let me do all the work, okay?” 

You nod and then lie back on the couch, seeing him begin to press kisses lightly along your chest. You let out a moan when you feel his lips brush against your peaked nipples, tongue darting out to taste as he continues to move down your body. You can’t see him, but Clint pushes down his jeans and boxers just enough to release his manhood, his free hand wrapping around himself. 

Now at eye level with your wet heat, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh—moving closer and closer towards where you’re throbbing. Clint stares up at you and pulls his hand away from himself momentarily. He brings both hands between your legs, spreading your lips as he sees your heat slick and glistening with your arousal. As he stares up at you, Clint licks a stripe up your sex. He smirks to himself when he sees you toss your head back, hand now coming down to curl into his hair. He keeps your lips spread apart as he flicks his tongue against your clit—eyes still focused solely on you and your reactions. The sound of your moans immediately fill your small apartment and Clint’s trying to take this slow, to savor the taste of you. 

He moves one hand to wrap around himself again, pumping his length as his lips remain on your heat. You’re so wet and Clint laps at your arousal eagerly—like a man who hadn’t had anything to drink in days. Your slickness drips down his chin, dampening his facial hair as he uses his free hand to slowly slide a finger within your depths. He sucks your clit, beginning to pump his single digit in and out of you as his other hand strokes himself. 

“Clint!” you moan, the grip in his hair tightening as you arch your back off the couch. “O—Oh fuck…” 

Clint pulls away for a moment and slides another finger inside of you. He smirks up in your direction and releases himself to slide his hand up your body to massage one of your breasts into the pit of his palm. “Feel good?” he asks, slowly lowering himself to flick his tongue against your clit. “Tell me, baby… Tell me how it feels.” 

“I—I’ve never felt anything like this,” you admit, opening your eyes briefly to look down at him. Your mouth remains parted as you try to keep yourself from practically screaming from the pleasure that overtakes you. “I think—oh god—I think I’m close…”

Clint nods, thrusting his fingers all the way to the knuckle. He curls both fingers inside of you repeatedly as he wraps his lips around your clit once more, his tongue flicking against your bud repeatedly. He can feel your walls begin to tremble and tighten around his fingers. Feeling greedy, Clint slides another finger inside of you as you welcome three of his digits without issue—you’re so wet that it slides in without any resistance. Once his third finger slides into you, you sit up abruptly and place both hands to the back of his head, holding him flush between your legs. 

“Clint—fuck!” you moan loudly, toes curling inwards at the feeling of reaching your high. Clint pulls his fingers out of you suddenly and laps at your arousal, growling against you. Once he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening with your slickness and he stares at you—your hair now a mess with strands coming undone from your braid. Your chest rises up and down rapidly—you’re breathless and your entire body feels like jell-o. 

“So fucking sweet,” Clint grins, wiping his mouth and chin with his hand as he uses your wetness to lubricate himself. He reaches down and lazily strokes himself. When you finally catch your breath, your eyes widen at the sight of him. He’s still kneeling down in front of you, but he’s sitting up, giving you a clear view of his big and girthy length. 

“That—You’re—Fuck,” you whimper. 

Clint smirks and pulls the end of his shirt over his head, tossing it over his shoulder. He stands up and pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, kicking it off to the side to join your smaller pile of clothes. He looks down at you, hand still stroking himself. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit,” he winks. 

You sit up and lean forward, lips parting as you dart your tongue out to lick the precome off his tip. He shudders against you and bites the inside of his cheek. “Show me your room?” he asks. 

You nod, standing up and gently placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Yeah, come on. Legs are a little wobbly, so—” 

Clint doesn’t let you finish because he releases his hold on himself and gently picks you up, one arm underneath your legs and the other to brace your back. You wrap an arm around his shoulders as you lean forward to kiss his cheek. “Room’s down the hall. Second door to your right.” 

Clint nods and walks down the hallway, passing one door. He feels your lips run along his neck and he’s suddenly reminded of his throbbing erection—yearning to bury it between your legs. Once he stops at the second door to the right, he kicks it open and looks around the dark for the lightswitch. 

“You want the lights on?” you ask. 

Clint nods. “Yeah, is that fine?” 

“I’m just—I’m not used to it.”

He reaches over and turns the light on, illuminating your entire room as he walks you back towards your bed and sets you down. “Baby, I want to see you when you come because you look so fucking gorgeous when you do.” 

“Really?” 

Clint nods, climbing on the mattress as he hovers above you. “Yes, really.” He settles himself between your legs, tip brushing against your opening. “And I want to see you when I finally push into you.” 

You bite your lower lip as he takes hold of his base and runs the head of length along you the length of your sex. Clint lets out a quiet groan when he feels the tip catch against your opening. He watches you let out a quiet moan as your eyes flutter. He knows you’re already so sensitive, but Clint’s determined to make you come at least two more times tonight. 

“Gonna make you feel good,” Clint says, pressing the head of his manhood firmly against your clit. “You won’t even be thinking of your ex-boyfriend anymore.” 

You force yourself to keep your eyes open, to watch him, to admire him. He’s so beautiful—broad and tanned skin, more scars than the one across his cheek that you’re sure has a story to each one. “You promise?” You ask, hands moving to run along his chest as you gently pull him down firmly on top of you. 

Clint smiles and presses his lips lightly on the tip of your nose and then up to your forehead. Staring into your eyes, he finally pushes into you. Your warmth and wetness surrounds his tip tightly and he can see you fight to keep your eyes open and staring at him. “Yeah, baby, I promise.” He moves his hand from the base of his length to rest on your hip. “You doing okay?” 

You nod as another moan leaves your lips. “Big—Really fucking big,” you note, feeling him push further into you. 

Clint smirks and rests his forehead against your own. His hands tighten its grip on your hips as he fills you to the hilt—tight, wet, and warm encompassing his throbbing girth. “Told you we’d make it fit,” he whisper through a quiet groan. “Y—You really only ever been with your ex, huh?”

You nod, tilting your head back as you allow your eyes to fall shut. There’s slight pressure as he pulls out of you only to slide back in slowly—stretching you from the inside. You hadn’t ever felt this full before. “Yes,” you gasp as he thrusts into you fully. “T—That obvious?” 

“Yeah,” he grunts. “You feel so fucking tight,” Clint growls, burying his face against your neck. It has been so long for him and he has to remind himself to take it slow; he doesn’t want this to end so soon. 

You moan loudly when he delivers a sharp thrust into you, your arms moving around his shoulders tightly. You lock your ankles at his lower back, holding onto him as he slowly begins to pick up the pace. “Clint,” you say breathlessly, the tension in your lower half building and building once again. Your entire body tingles as you feel yourself near yet another orgasm. 

Clint presses his lips firmly against the side of your neck, grunting against you as the sound of his skin slapping against yours echo throughout your bedroom and filters out the hallway. Your moans mix in with his and he can feel you getting close again. “You feel so good,” he mutters, the feel of your tight walls dragging along every inch and vein on his throbbing length. “Fuck me, baby…” 

Your nails dig into his back as you drag it down, hearing him let out a loud and muffled groan. You feel a pulsating tingle shoot through your body, trembling and shaking against him. Your walls tighten further around him and he slams into you, rolling his hips slowly to help you ride out your climax. You’re breathing heavily once he slows his thrusts and he props himself onto his palms at either side of your head. 

Slowly, your eyes flutter open as Clint remains still and deep inside of you. “H—How did I just come again?” You whisper, asking honestly. “I never—That has never happened before.” 

Clint smirks and slowly pulls out of you, his length bobbing against you as he looks down at himself. Your arousal glistens along his entire girth and he grabs your hips, flipping you over onto your abdomen. He hovers over you and settles himself between your legs as you prop yourself onto your forearms. With his lips near your ear from behind, he presses a soft kiss and grins. “We’re not done yet, baby.” 

“Clint, I don’t think—” 

He kneels behind you and grabs one of your legs to throw it over one of his, opening you up even further. Clint keeps a hold on your ankle with your leg draped over him as he slowly slides into you. You feel tighter this way and he slides in so easily, your sex still leaking with your arousal. “Yeah, you can,” he finally says, interrupting you quietly. 

“Oh god,” you moan loudly, hands gripping your sheets tightly. When Clint pushes into you all the way, filling you once more, you gasp. He feels bigger and deeper like this. His thrusts start out slow, making you feel every inch of him as he pulls out of you to his tip only to slide fully back into you. “Clint, baby—”

He growls at that, slamming into forcefully as he keeps a tight hold on your ankle. Clint’s legs keep you fully spread open for him and your wetness allows him to slide into you repeatedly without any issue or resistance. A couple of thrusts cause him to slip out and he shifts his hips to find your opening again, slamming into you—chasing and yearning for your tight warmth. “You’re so wet,” he groans. “So wet that I’m slipping out of you.” 

Your knuckles turn white from the tight grip you have around your sheets, toes curling as he continues his thrusts into you. “Clint, oh god—please…” 

“I’m right here,” Clint whispers, lowering your leg back onto the mattress. He watches you fall forward, no longer able to keep yourself propped up as he grips your hips and thrust into you from behind. He pulls out of you abruptly, holding onto his base as he thrusts into you. Clint pulls out of you again and grunts at the sight of how wet you are—so wet that your arousal trickles down the inside of your legs and his length glistening. “Gonna come for me again, baby? Hm?” 

“Y—Yes!” You moan into the mattress as he rams into you from behind. You feel one of Clint’s hands rest on your hip as the other comes down to smack your ass roughly. The sting of his slap reverberates through your entire body as you push back into him, yearning for more. 

“Oh, you like that,” Clint grins, bringing his hand back down onto your ass. He remains still for a moment, watching you push back into him—bouncing back against his girthy length. He leans back on his knees, watching you use him to chase your own release. You prop yourself onto your knees as your hands move to rest on the headboard in front of you, using that as leverage to push back into him. “God, your ass looks fucking—”

You interrupt him with a loud moan, firmly pushing back into him as you reach your peak yet again. Your entire body is trembling—shaking—in a way that you had never felt before. Clint growls to himself and grips your hips tightly as he begins to thrust into you again. Your walls remain tight and trembling around his manhood as he continues to thrust into you—now chasing his own release. He can feel the pressure build in the pit of his stomach beginning to unravel as he slams into you repeatedly. 

“Oh fuck,” he moans, eyes falling shut. “Baby, I’m gonna—Fuck, where do you want it?” 

“I—Inside,” you answer, body still shaky. “Please, Clint…” 

That was all it took for Clint to come undone. He thrusts into you a few more times before delivering one final thrust. His entire body tenses and spasms as he paints your walls with his come. His mouth parts as the grip around your hips tightens even further. Clint slowly rolls his hips, your tight heat milling every last drop. When he pulls out of you, Clint moves to lie on his back next to you, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. 

You slowly lower yourself onto your tummy, gently reaching over to rest a hand on his chest. His eyes flutter open, the corner of his lips lifting upwards at the sight of you. 

“Hey,” you whisper. 

“Hi, baby,” Clint smiles, slowly reaching out to pull you into his arms. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” you answer, gently leaning up to kiss his cheek. “That was—I have no words.”

He chuckles and reaches up to push your hair away from your face. “I did good then.” 

“Good? You were the best,” you smile. 

“We can…” Clint bites his lower lip. “We can do this again… if you want.” 

Your eyes light up. “Really? I mean, I think you taught me so much already tonight, but…” 

Clint smiles and leans in, pecking your lips lightly. “Oh, baby,” he says softly, hand moving to cup your cheek. “I have more to teach you.” 

“Yeah, I think you do,” you agree with a grin. 

“And you still have more to teach me,” Clint finishes. 

“We can teach each other a thing or two,” you nod. Slowly, you move away from his arms to lie on your back. You glance down between your legs to see his come begin to trickle out of you. You’re about to stand up to clean yourself, but Clint stands up for you. 

“Stay there,” he says softly. “Let me clean you up.” Clint turns on his heel and leaves your room, giving you a good view of his bare ass as he walks away. 

Within moments, Clint comes back into your room with a warm and damp towel. He climbs back onto your bed and parts your legs, letting out a very quiet groan at the sight of his come leaking out of you. Gently, he uses the towel to clean you up, watching your eyes flutter at the feel of the towel brushing against you. 

“Sensitive?” He asks, continuing to clean up the mess he’s created between your legs. 

“Very,” you answer, biting your lower lip. 

Clint smiles to himself and then leans over to kiss your forehead lightly. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t be,” you smile, watching him set the towel aside as he collects you back into his arms. 

Clint bites the inside of his cheek as he looks into your eyes, bringing a hand up to brush his thumb across your cheek. You look at him like you can see through the walls that he had put up to protect himself, to protect others. 

“Who knew a Fuzzy Navel would make this happen,” he teases with a grin, his dimple appearing on his right cheek. 

You smile broadly, the light in your eyes making him feel good about himself. “You remembered the name of my drink!” 

“I still like my name of the drink,” he chuckles. “Spiked orange juice.” 

You roll your eyes playfully and slowly straddle his hips, hands resting on either side of him. You lean down, nose brushing against his as your lips remain inches from his own. “Not my fault I like my drinks sweet.” 

Clint smiles and moves up his hands up your thighs and up your chest, slowly beginning to massage your breasts into his palm. He smirks to himself when you let out a quiet moan, eyes beginning to flutter at his touch. “Mm, you’re right. Can’t blame you. I like sweet things too,” Clint winks, brushing his thumbs across your nipples. 

“Clint,” you whimper. 

Clint slowly rolls you onto your back and moves his hands to your hips. He leans down and pecks your lips lightly, pulling away only slightly—lips still touching. “I just can’t get enough of you,” he whispers. 

“Clint,” you repeat, breath catching in your throat. 

He nods slowly, moving his lips to brush against your cheek down to your jawline as he reaches down with his free hand to brush his fingertips against your clit. A gasp escapes your lips and he looks up at you—your eyes now shut tight. “Okay, baby,” he whispers softly. “But I’m not done with you yet.” 

[asce-of-hearts]

Good Grief

Contents: When Toji got hired to kill a seemingly innocent woman, he didn't expect cupid to shoot him in the heart instead.

more Toji content here

TAG LIST

WC: 6.3k

WARNINGS: TOJI WANTS TO KILL YOU FOR A WHILE (ITS HIS JOB), TOJI BEING DOWN BAD, INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS FROM TOJIS BEHALF WRITTEN LIKE THIS, SMUT!!!!!! SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT, STRANGERS TO LOVERS!!! PENETRATIVE SEX, DOGGY STYLE, MATING PRESSES, AGAINST THE WALL, ORAL (RECIEVING), FINGERING, SQUIRTING, PRAISE, RAW SEX, BREEDING KINK.

Toji expected an easy job when he got this call.

How hard could it be? You were young, you didn't expect it. You were a woman who had the bad luck of having a bitter ex who put a target on your head. It wasn't your fault, really, but there was so much Toji could do when he had already accepted the cash and spent it all in horse races. It would be swift, it would be quick, it would be dealt with in the blink of an eye. You would stop breathing, and your funeral would be held a few days after, probably.

The street was crowded, providing a nice camouflage for him. He only needed to pretend to bump into you, and he would shoot in that second. You wouldn't even feel it. He tries to find you in the ocean of people, eyes scanning for faces amongst faces. And then, he sees you, completely oblivious to what's about to happen. Shit, you have such a pretty face.

It's not your fault that you're completely his type. It's not your fault he's about to put a bullet through your abdomen.

He walks closer, taking his time. Not knowing why guilt is bubbling inside his stomach. He has done this countless times before, he has killed people much younger and much older. And yet, this time, he feels like he shouldn't be. How idiotic.

His plan falls into action before anyone can react. Your bodies touch in an "accidental bump" because he pretends he can't see you. His fingers reach for the trigger, and the gun gets stuck. He curses under his breath as you take a step back. You're about to give him a mouthful, for sure.

"Hey!" You gasp, looking at his shirt, and he swallows, hiding the gun as best as he can while unsticking the trigger. He really needs this job, he really, really does. "We like the same band." Your words hit him like a truck going a thousand miles per hour. His breath hitches, and he stops toying with the trigger. His brows furrow, just a little, completely out of his control.

"They're shit." He spits out, curt. And you give him a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. He prevents the blush from rising to his ears as he clenches his knuckles inside his pockets until they're white.

"That's why I like them." Oh, he could marry you right there. He could kneel and propose with that same bullet he was about to put through your pretty skull. He could, he could, he could. But he won't, instead, an enigmatic smile plays on his lips, even if it ends up looking more like a grimace because of his scar. You offer him a much kinder look, much less sharp than he could ever aspire to look at anyone. "I'm ___." You stick your hand out, an awkward gesture. He feels about to faint, his hand strangely clammy as he takes yours. He completely engulfs your little fingers, he could break them if he wanted to.

"Toji." Only his name manages to slip out of his lips. He doesn't know, he really doesn't know how or why or when, but he feels so uneasy next to you, so small. He doesn't know you, he doesn't have to know you, he could end this quickly and disappear from your life, even if your ghost would haunt him in the corners of the room he slept in at night. But he finds himself unable to. You're a vision, you're a blessing, you're everything he could've asked for. Or at least he thinks so, at least his heart tells him that. Does he even have a heart? He doesn't know, he can feel it pounding inside his ribcage, taunting him, making fun of his lack of self-control. Since when has he become like this? Women have never been a problem for him. So why? Why are you?

And when did he ask for your number? And when did he get your number? And when did he agree to walk with you towards God knows where? He doesn't know. And to be honest, he doesn't quite care.

The fact that you're capable to talk and talk and talk and not have him register even half the words should be studied. He should be studied. He can only stare.

You're pretty, too pretty actually. The way you style your hair, the way your body moves, the way you talk with your hands while talking with your mouth. Yeah, you're enticing. He can't help it when his eyes dart downwards, at the pair of perfect tits that bounce a little every time you jump excitedly while recalling something.

And he's great at pretending. Really, he is awesome at pretending he's listening. Just a few "yeah's" and "what else, doll?" are able to have you rambling for another eternity. Your voice is a nice background noise, manages to keep his darkest thoughts at bay. And also, distracts him from the fact that he can't kill you at this little cafe, and that he's probably going to have to intimidate the cashier into letting you both go for free, because... he doesn't have a penny to his name in that moment. Or better yet...

"Hey— Sorry for interruptin'," His voice is a little gruff in that moment. You nod, as if forgiving him. How pious. "You ever had a drink and run?" He asks, giving you a lazy grin as he pushes his chair a little. You give him a puzzled look.

"A... A what? Is that like a special drink or—?" He lets out a dry chuckle, then takes your hand.

"You take a drink," He pushes your almost empty cup closer to you, his eyes scanning the cafe until he finds a viable route. You take a sip, cocking a brow as you put the cup down. Then, he lifts you up from your chair with ease, you choke a gasp. "And then we run."

You don't even register the moment in which your feet have left the ground, or when you're blocks away from that cafe. Your eyes are very wide, and then he sets you back down on the floor once you're inside an alley way. It seems to have happened in mere seconds, in the blink of an eye. He wears that same lazy smile, leaning against a wall as he crosses his arms.

"Guess... guess that was my first." You mumble, suddenly red in the face as Toji cackles at your reaction, peeking through the corner to see that nobody has followed you both. Nobody has, which is relieving. "Great first impresion, Toji. But you could've asked me to pay."

The playful tone of your words makes him feel something strange, and get hard underneath his pants. He clears his throat, taking advantage of the darkness of the night to subtly hide his problem. He shrughs.

"Thought you girls hated that," He says, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulls you out of the alley way. "Now, in my... chilvarious pursuit. I intend to walk you home." Your giggle is enough of an answer for him to continue walking alongside you, guided by your little form, until you stop on your tracks, eyes very wide.

"I forgot my purse in there."

Well, shit.

Using his... abilities to help you break into your own home has Toji now granting you two favors in a day. Getting you home safe and not killing you. Two more than he has ever granted anyone else.

It's funny, really. How you have escaped death today. In another time, another place, another universe you're dead, bleeding out on the ground, and haunt him with your lifeless eyes whenever he closes his. Fortunately or not, that didn't happen. But it could, it should.

Your apartment is small, cozy. There's not much to see, nothing particularly valuable to steal, but it's yours, and that makes it certainly special, even if he would never admit it.

"Please, take a seat. I'll bring you a glass of water." You say, kicking off your shoes as running to the kitchen to pour two glasses of water. You gulp down yours quickly, as if you were agitated or short of breath. He's more languid in his actions, slowly surveying the place, looking for threats or weapons, for someone to pounce at him and cut his throat. He finds none, the only disturbing thing being a scale figure of a little dog with eyes that are too big for it's head. Staring at him, defying him, taunting him to finish the job he started. Your figure plopping down next to him over the sofa the only thing that pulls him out of his disturbing thoughts and menacing whispers.

"Thanks." His voice is gruff, and those words roll out of his tongue unnaturaly. He feels strange, out of place. But he takes the cup you've given him with gentle hands. "You don't mind me staying for a while, do you?" He gives you a tired smile with half lidded eyes. Maybe in that time he'll be able to muster enough courage to finally end you. Mercifully, maybe he'll choke you to death, crushing your windpipe will certainly be easy, quick and swift. You'll be dead before he even finishes that glass of water.

Then again, the cup is already half empty when he sets it down. And you're still breathing, chatting at him about something he didn't entirely listen to.

"Let me kiss you," Your words take him by susprise, tensing. You chuckle at this, hands coming to cop a feeling at his muscles. You had wanted to do this for a while. "You took me on a date and took me home as well. You clearly deserve a reward." You tilt your head to the side, like a puppy. Cute.

"Kissing s'my reward?" He grins, dark thoughts buried for now. "Thought I deserved more than that. Guess I better be on my best behavior if I want anything else next time." He purrs, leaning closer. You cup his face with his hands, feeling the sharpness of his jawline. And press a soft, open mouthed kiss. Barely a peck. You both let out an airy laugh, eyes closed, deepening the kiss.

"Well... you haven't taken me out for dinner yet..." You murmur, and his hands trap your waist, rubbing soft circles over the clothes skin with his thumbs.

"You want us to leave without paying once more, princess?" He croons, slowly setting you down over the sofa. Your pretty form sprawled out for him. Legs spread, threathening to wrap around his waist, and face a little flushed. He takes a good moment to look at you, really look at you. The prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes on. His eyes flash with something strange, regret, almost anger. And he shakes his head. "No. Sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"I want you to do it, Toji." You say firmly, taking your shirt off. Breasts exposed, falling to the side as you set yourself back on the sofa. "Please. I- I won't mind..." You avert your gaze, biting your finger. And he takes a deep breath. Rough, calloused hands come to rest over the swell of your breasts. He gives them a little squeeze, smiling to himself when he hears the smallest gasp leave your lips. "Stop teasing." You whisper, and he finally takes his shirt off.

"Sorry, doll. Didn't mean to keep you waiting," He sighs, slowly pulling down your pants, you lift your hips to make it easier for him to do so. Your panties already wet with slick, a little stain making itself visible. He grins, showing that row of perfectly aligned sharp teeth in the faintest yellowish color. He sticks his tongue out, and liiiiiiicks at your clothed cunt, sucking at where he thinks your clit is. Earning himself a moan of his name, and his hair getting pulled with roughness. "Eager for me, mama?"

"I told you to stop playing." You hiss, and he tears your underwear this time. Shreds of cloth falling all over the place as he places both of your thighs parallel to his ears.

"M'not, and I ain't fucking you today," Another looooong lick all over the expanse of your slick. You shudder. "But I'll make you cum. After all... I promised to be on my best behavior. Didn't I?" His words are slurred, whispered against your heat. And he dives in, arms perfectly securing his grip on your legs. You can see the muscle flex every time you try and jerk back from his expert touches, keeping you in place. He sucks at your clit, eating you out like a man starved. It starts slow at first, allowing you to ride his face comfortably, grind all over that perfectly straight nose. And then, it becomes sloppy, animalistic. He spits at your hole, a thick glob of translucid saliva that travels downwards until it lands on your other winking hole, his tongue invades your insides. The muscle fucking you with expert presition, knowing exactly where to aim. Your g-spot getting grazed and teased in a maddening way. Your eyes have rolled back, your fingers digging into his scalp as you moan and whrite under Toji's embrace.

He goes back to your clit, making out with it even more eagerly than he did with you. Kissing and smooching and puckering his lips so he won't ever let go of that precious little skin pearl. Your head is spinning, circles in your eyes as Toji completely devours your pretty pussy.

"Cum for me, ma. Think I can make you- hah-" He smiles when he seas your chest heaving as you try and catch your breath in that brief second of respite he has given you. "Think you can squirt all over my face?" He doesn't let you answer, two fingers driving themselves inside your gummy walls, not asking for permission. You howl, throwing your head back and lifting your hips as he starts to finger fuck you roughly. "Whatever. I'll see for myself." He hisses, spitting over your clit again. Fingers fucking you, tongue suctioning. His pace is relentless, completely ruthless. He's aching for the complete destruction of any thought that could form that isn't related to him or his ministrations. And finally, you feel the know in your stomach unraveling quickly, without warning.

"Cummingcummingcumming!" You repeat like a mantra, squirting all over Toji's face. He opens his mouth wide, catching as much of it as he can inside his mouth. Once satisfied, he licks his lips, and cleans his mouth with his arm while shooting you a lusty glare.

"Think we can make that two, doll?"

"I didn't kill her," He plants himself in front of the man who put a target on your back. Like a child about to be scolded, even if he could break that fuckers neck if he wanted to. For now, he has self restraint. "It didn't work."

"Well, make it work!" He barks, and Toji feels his self restraint slipping further and further away. "Get inside her house and kill her. Just don't fuck her. You hear me, Toji? Do not, fuck her."

"Alright." He murmurs, walking away with a cloudy mind.

Now he really has to fuck you.

"You scared me. For a moment I thought you just wanted a quick fuck and then you would ghost me."

Well, you were half right. He had tried to ghost you. To forget about you and your beautiful face and your heavenly cunt. But he couldn't, he ended up tossing and turning thinking and thinking and thinking about how your stupid ex could have gotten another assassin, another pawn to get rid of you. In that same moment, you could be dead. Someone stabbed you, shot in the head, in the stomach, holes piercing through your skin like it's soft, melted butter. He can't stop thinking about it and he ends up calling, just to hear you, to make sure you're still breathing.

"Nah. I'm not that type of guy." He flashes you a lazy grin, crouching a little so he won't hit himself in the head as he enters your little place. He takes a good look at you. You're wearing a worn out shirt of a stupid band he also likes, your hair is a little messy, you're only wearing some shorts that barely fit and your tiny toes are exposed to the cold floor. He wants to groan. You're exactly his type.

Instead, his large hands meet your face, cupping it gently. And he presses a soft smooch to your forehead. Barely there, enough for him to smell your shampoo and feel the softness of your skin. So different from him, so perfect in his arms, so everything he has ever desired. The knife, poisoned and sharpened, forgotten somewhere inside his pockets. And he sighs, defeated, resigned. He isn't killing you. He has decided.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard tonight." He says with all the seriousness in the world, green irises digging holes in your head from how intense his gaze is. And your eyes widen, appalled, flustered. A dumb, shy smile appearing on your face.

"Ah-... Alright then." You muster, closing the door as you guide him to your room.

"Just stick it in, Toji. I'll be fine." You have been pleading for him to hurry up ever since you entered the bedroom. And he has refused, because he knows that his size is... considerable, to say the least. "You act like I'm a virgin who has never, you know. I'll be fine, I swear."

"___," He tries to be patient, forcing a smile. "You might as well be one, because trust me, you haven't seen a cock like mine."

You pout, glaring at him. Cute.

"Is it a meter long or something?"

"It is," He deadpans, and for a moment you short circuit at the curtness of his words. Then his gaze softens again. "No, but its big. And it'll hurt if I stick it in right away. So, you'll quit insisting, and you'll let me get you ready to take all of me like a good girl. We clear?"

Your pride would never let you admit that being called that stroke a chord it shouldn't have. And you fold, immediately, with a loud sigh.

"Fiiiiiine," You pull down your shorts, giving him full access to your cunt. Already slick, just making out with him gets you all wet, how embarrasing. He would never tell you that his boxers are exactly in the same state, embarrasingly flooded in pre. "Can you still hurry up?" You whine, and his face meets your pussy in that instant. Mouth delving into his favorite meal without any other care in the world. He's warm and he's strong, and you're lost in the sensation of having his mouth sucking at your clit, toying with his tongue in the process. Multitasking, how quaint.

Your legs over his shoulders has become his favorite thing, specially since it involves you crushing his head with your thighs. He doesn't care about the lack of air, at how his lungs burn as you pull him deeper and deeper and never let go of his hair as he continues to eat you out, tongue delving inside your little hole. He alternates between long, languid licks all over the expanse of your slick and tongue-fucking you like he was born with that exact purpose. His hips hump the mattress, aching for some sort of relief inside his trousers, underwear completely ruined right now by how much he's leaking from the angry, red tip of his clothed cock. He grunts and groans as he continues, his job isn't done until you cum at least twice inside his mouth, or over his face. His eyes closed, concentrating as you continue to pull at his raven locks. And finally he feels it, or rather hears you scream his name louder than before. Tensing, his ministrations stop, but his hands come to rest over your hips, steading you as you ride your first orgasm.

You breathe heavily, eyes wide and seeing stars as you recover from the intense sensation. Your grip on his hair loosens, and then tightens once more as his fingers enter the equation this time. The slick sounds of your wet cunt recieving his digits with all the joy in the world almost make you cringe, a reminder of what you are doing, and with who.

"W-Wait— I— S'too—" He hushes you, his fingers pumping in and out of you quicker, his tongue circling your clit as he wears the dirtiest grin.

"Shh, easy there. Can't you see she's enjoyin' this too much? Wouldn't want her to miss out on another biiiiig o," His words are slurred as he talks to your cunt in the most pussy-drunk way possible, spitting at your hole before curling his fingers, making you throw your head back and arch your back. "See? You're enjoying this soooo much, dirty girl. You don't want me to stop, ever." He growls, lips meeting your clit once more, and sucking. The combination of his thick fingers fucking you like he hates you and his tongue sucking the soul out of you through your clit makes your head spin, you almost feel dizzy, almost feel out of it, almost feel like you're about to have a heart attack. But you don't, instead, you squirt again. All over his face, coating his upper body with your precious slick. And Toji recieves it gladly, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out like a whore, drinking you.

This time he allows you to catch your breath. Two orgasms in a row aren't an easy task, even for him. He won't admit it but his hand is just a little tired, and his cock aches like never before. But he has to wait, he must—

"Toji," Your voice comes out in a wheeze, out of breath. But somehow, in some way, you sound angry. "If you don't fuck me right now I will ride you until you're cumming blood." You hiss, and he grins.

"Don't treathen me with a good time." He whispers, stading up and pulling you towards the end of your bed. He flips you over, making you yelp and he spanks your ass, once. "And don't talk to me like that," He spits at your pussy, a little gaped now, ready to accomodate him and what he described as his 'considerable manhood'. You wonder if its really that big, maybe he just has a big ego. So you turn your head to the side, just enough to get a good view of him taking his pants off. Belt falling to the ground with a loud clank, and then he kicks off his pants. You're met with a bulge, a tent, and you suck air through your teeth as his cock is freed from its confinements. Big? Big is an understatement, that thing is monstrous. Menacing and tall, slapping against his washboard abs once as it bobs up and down, threathening to rearrange your insides.

Oh, you can't wait.

He pumps it twice, as if it could get any bigger, any harder. And spreads your hole open with his free hand, spitting again, you can feel his spit traveling all the way down. He aligns his cock head with your entrance, making you tense.

"Easy there, I already told you..." He murmurs, hands steadying your hips, or rather trapping you in place. "It won't hurt if you relax. Come on, be strong for me, ma. Didn't come all the way here just for you to dip out at the last second."

"Hold me." You can only murmur, only plead. And his gaze softens, his body bending until it falls over you like a protective blanket. His abs against your back, his breathing behind your ear. A shaky breath escapes your lips as the head smooooooches the wet entrance to your cunt, and slooooowly pushes in. The sensation is foreign, but not unpleasant, he stays there for a while. Because if Toji moved further, he would've cum on the spot.

"Heh, s'like I'm mountin' you..." He murmurs, one hand traveling to rub the expanse of your stomach in a soothing motion. A part of your brain is relieved, the other wishes it would travel further downwards to toy with your abused clit. "We... We have two options, mama. I can thrust it in quickly, in one move, or I could take it slow, let you get used to it. The one you feel most comfortable with, don't want you to end up with a punctured lung or something because I did the wrong thing." You know it is physically impossible for his cock to pierce in that deep, but oh, does it feel like it could in that moment. You try and think, try and form a coherent sentence, organize any thought that could appear in your mind aside from Toji mounting you like a bitch in heat.

"Please," You whimper. "Just fuck me, Toji. Just fuck me." You plead, and if he's something, that is obedient. So, with a lick to the shell of your ear, he thrusts it all the way inside. The motion is quick, forceful, it passes all the restraints your pretty, tight pussy could've had. His cock now nestled deep inside, hugged by your warm walls. He feels like he's in heaven, no pussy should feel this good. But then again, you're exactly his type.

The second thrust is slower, languid, testing the waters.

"Look, she doesn't wanna let go," He can feel your walls gripping him so tight it almost hurts, not wanting him to pull out. He goes back to standing as he keeps you bent over your bed, legs shaking as he presses your lower back against the mattress, keeping your in place. He pulls back until only the tip remains inside, and then he thrusts it back inside. You moan loudly, and he grunts when your insides tighten even more. He has lost any and all restraints, mental and physical. He is now fucking you, mounting you like a dog mounts a bitch. His hands are busy roaming over your body, finally one settling around your waist to have an anchor, something to help him fuck you harder, faster, better, and the other trapping both your wrists with ease. His head is spinning, little hearts in his pupils as he blows your back out like nobody has ever done before. Completely enamoured by the way your ass recoils and ripples every time his pelvis meets the soft expanse of skin. He's a man possessed, possessed by carnal thoughts and desires, and for a strange ache in his heart he decides to ignore in that moment. There's more thing's to take care of right now, like seeing how hard he can make you orgasm, and how many rounds he can go until he's cumming blood.

Lots of things to figure out.

You lay there, next to him, naked and spent. Your breathing slow, your skin littered with bruises and bite marks. Your legs haven't stopped shaking, even while asleep. Your back faces him as he props himself on one elbow. Rough, calloused hands coming to caress your naked skin, eliciting little goose-bumps. He smiles to himself.

He could kill you in that moment, actually. It wouldn't be hard. You're so small, so weak. He could really just... press a little too hard on your chest and break a rib, puncture a lung, watch it as you gasp for air, plead for him to help you, only for him to not do it. To just... look at you like nothing is wrong. But he won't, he can't.

Fuck. He really wants to see your face when you orgasm now.

Toji tosses the cash right at the feet of your ex.

"I'm not doing it."

"What?"

"I'm not killing her." He deadpans, standing tall. Eyes cold as he stares at the man who almost made him miss out on the best sex of his life, with the woman who he wants to spend the rest of his miserable nights with.

"You can't do this," Your ex hisses, your ex, how did he fumble so hard? How could he ever loose a woman like you? Stupid motherfucker. "You can't do this! I want her to die! If I can't have her then nobody can! Go and kill her in this instant!"

"Well, too bad," He shrugs. "Already had her for quite a while." He grins, looking away as he rememorates all the times he made you scream and moan under him. At how you were crying when he was finished with you, and maybe he was too, cock oversensitive from how good it felt to be fucking your warm walls.

"You did not," He screams at Toji's words. "You did not! I'll kill that whore myself. I'll ki—" The words are cut by a gunshot, right between that man's brows. And Toji crouches down, retrieving the money.... and stealing some more from his wallet, because he can. Finally, he tucks the gun away, and pulls out his phone, dialing someone.

"Remember you said you wanted me to take you out for dinner?" He says, trying to remember any nice place he knows.

"I... I guess so. Why?" Your voice distorts through the line, making you sound like a little squeaking mouse.

"Well, get changed. I'll be there in a while."

"I thought we were leaving without paying again."

"Nah, I had the cash this time." His hand finds the small of your back, guiding you outside the restaurant. Nothing fancy, just a good sushi place he knew. It feels like the first official date, intended to be romantic, to be a moment for the two of you. How many weeks has it really been since you two met? Since Toji decided not to kill you. Well, too late for worrying about that, his stomach is full, you're both a little drunk, and your apartment is quiet. In what seems like seconds you're already in your room, making out as he spreads your legs over the bed. Your dress lifted until the skirt is only hanging around your waist, and Toji's hands grope at your breasts over the fabric, making you moan and gasp between sloppy kisses and tongues dancing against each other. He peppers wet kisses all over your jaw and neck, biting over your collarbone, peppering little marks that'll stay there for a while. How he wishes it could be forever.

He pulls the dress down, looking up at you with lusty eyes as he lowers his body, his mouth quickly finding your nipple and giving it a looooong lick all over the aureola, then sucking, just barely, enjoying how the other hardens between his fingers. He keeps licking and sucking at your tits, alternating between lewd slurps of your skin to full on suckling. His hand travels downwards, rubbing your clit over your panties. Useless pieces of fabric that get in the way of his favorite little pussy. He would rip them apart, but he's trying to play nice this time. After all he promised to be on his best behavior. He tugs at the hem, as if asking for permission to tug them down. You only give him a shaky gasp in response, and so his hand is finally able to find its designated place. Fingers that rub slow circles over your clit, then flick it gently, you throw your head back, and Toji uses your hair as leverage to pull your head upwards once more.

"Wanna see your face, ma. Want you to look me in the eye when you cum," He smiles. "You'll forgive me for not eating you out today? I just can't think of anythin' other that splitting you open on my cock. Making you squirt all over me again." He says with a ragged breath, as if he was agitated just thinking about it. His fingers pump in and out of your hole at a steady pace, then remain inside, pressing and taunting at your sweet spots as they curl against your g-spot. You nod, mouth agape as sweet moans continue to pour out of your lips, music to his ears.

When he feels like he has spread your pussy enough, he pulls his fingers out. Licking them clean with the lewdest grin.

"Y'know, I kept thinking about fucking you in missionary, but I didn't want you to think I'm boring this early in our relationship," You squeak when he lifts you up, easily manhandling you. Your body hairs stand when the cold wall presses against your back, making you shiver. He keeps looking at you with that intense stare he has, as if he wanted to devour you whole just with a look. His hands steady you by grabbing your ass, your legs hanging uselessly against either one of his shoulders. And you're aware just of how obscene the situation really is. Your legs will be disgustingly sore by the morning, you're sure of that. But its no use worrying about that right now, not when Toji's cock is pressing incessantly against your folds, rubbing himself over them to coat it with your slick, which drips out of your cunt like a leaking faucet, little droplets pooling at the floor. You feel like a slut, so wet just from getting a little manhandled by this absolute mountain of a man. Your mouth falls into a little 'o' once the tip tries to push past the resistance of your little hole, easily due to the amount of slick you're producing. It slides inside in a swift motion, half way. And you already feel knocked out, like he really has punctured a lung or another internal organ. And he, oh, he feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest and crack through his ribs with just how pretty you look all fucked out on his cock.

"You're tearing me apart." You whine, mewling as he thrusts forward, burying his cock all the way inside. He looks downwards for just a moment, seeing the little bulge that protrudes from inside. He's there, buried to the hilt, and a manic grin appears over his handsome features, scar widening as he does so.

"Oh, I am," You feel like the hole apartment building shakes from how hard he's thrusting, veins popping up from the sheer strenght of his grip on you. "And you're looooving it. Aren't you, sweet girl?" You feel like your head is spinning at his words, squirting again in what feels like a split second just from how deep he's reaching. Your eyes wide, mouth agape and brows furrowed. This is what he wanted to see, that gorgeous expression when he made you come undone under him, when you were starting to get fucking stupid just from recieving his generous twenty-eight centimeters inside your aching hole. You're over the moon, he's over the moon. And your cunt? Your cunt is overstuffed, overjoyed, overeverything as he fucks the orgasm out of you, completely drenched in your essence.

"Is it too early to tell you I've always wanted the first one to be a girl?" He says, hips moving at a steady pace, red imprints of his fingers left all over your thighs and ass cheeks. You feel like the air is being knocked out of your longs, until all you can breathe in is the masculine scent of sweat and cheap cologne that comes from his body. "You will give me one, right, ___?" He asks, practically whimpering at the idea of knocking you up, of making you his. And you nod, breaking him completely.

The wall is forgotten as you hit the mattress. He spits at your hole, hands on the underside of your thighs as he folds you in half, like a pretzel, and slides himself inside you once more.

"Yes, Toji! I- I love you!" You whine, and he cums inside. Raw, unfiltered, moaning as he pours all of him inside. But it's not enough, clearly not enough, when his cock still stands tall and proud, aching to make sure you don't leave this bed if you aren't pregnant.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," He repeats like a mantra, lost in his thoughts. "I'm gonna make you pregnant, I'm gonna take your last name and our children. Oh, our children," His voice breaks as his mouth falls agape, practically drooling as he sees the overstuffed results of his ministrations. His cum overflowing from your cunt, and he still needs more, needs to pump you full of his kids. "With my eyes, and your nose, and your everything." Another load escapes him, how pathetic, how silly, he's cumming so fast and so much just from thinking about your future together. He's a man possessed, a man in love.

The bump is small, barely noticeable. If you wear one of his shirts it almost seems like you aren't pregnant. But he insists on rubbing it every chance he gets.

The last couple months of domestic bliss have tamed him, made him gain a few pounds as well. He's like a big cat, an enormous black panther that curls to your side every chance it gets. And you couldn't ask for anything more. Standing next to the kitchen counter, snacking on whatever craving your body decided it needed this time, and his hands leave your body for a moment.

"Would you look at this," He starts, and you turn around to find him with a ring in hand. A golden band with a small gemstone in the color of his eyes. And you almost jump from the surprise, stumbling backwards. He chuckles. "Jesus, woman. You're acting like I'm pointing a gun at you."

Your face heats up, brows furrowing.

"Can't you be normal for once?" You say, tears already pooling at the corners of your eyes, and he sighs. Nodding as he gets in one knee.

"___, will you marry m—" You're jumping over him before he can finish the sentence. Answering with a tender kiss pressed over his lips as he slides the band over your ring finger.

siiiiiiiigh, my first longfic in a while. hope you enjoyed this c:

have a great day/night

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[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 9

Theme: pazzi fwb turned ex bf turned into whatever the hell this is

A/N: I'm back :) this is a long ass chapter compared to what I typically write, but I was on a roll I guess lol. I did not do a very thorough job of editing so if you see an error please let me know! This chapter is honestly setting up some fun messy shit that I have planned for next chapter... Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: mention of injury, angst, I think that's it???

WC: 8K+

**** Chapter 9 ****

Paige was already texting her again—thumb hovering, jaw tight, the glow of her screen lighting up the dim dorm room like it might hold some kind of answer. She’d already tried once that morning. And again after lunch. No response. Not even a read receipt. It was technically an off day—no practice, no meetings—so it wasn’t like they’d just run into each other. But still. The silence was starting to eat at her. And yet, here she was, staring at the same thread, willing it to change.

Paige: Hey, are you around? Can we talk?

No reply.

She waited sixty seconds. Sixty-five. Then checked the status bar again—no “delivered.” No bubbles. No anything.

She flipped to Caroline’s contact. Typed “is azzi okay?” Deleted it. Rewrote it with less emotion: “Have you seen Azzi today?” Sent it. Nothing back.

Her foot started bouncing. Her brain spun.

Maybe Azzi’s phone was dead. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe they were still on that weird kind-of-friends-but-not-really energy that made texting feel like walking through a minefield.

Or maybe she didn’t want to talk to her at all.

But that couldn’t be right. Not after the bracelet. Not after the tiny white gift box she’d nearly missed completely—wedged in the back of her desk drawer like it had been waiting for the right moment to be found.

Inside: a friendship bracelet. Purple and pink beads, a little uneven, the stretchy string knotted with care. In the center, in blocky black letters—PURPOSE.

Underneath it had been a folded piece of notebook paper, torn from the middle of a spiral, the edges slightly frayed. Azzi’s handwriting was careful, almost too neat. Just a few lines, but Paige had read them over and over like they were scripture.

And somehow, it hit harder than any love letter ever could. Because Azzi didn’t say things she didn’t mean—and she definitely didn’t make things just to fill the silence. So if she was still thinking about Paige, still threading beads one by one, still tucking hope into a box like it might survive the fallout…

Then maybe—just maybe—this was the part where they stopped pretending they were fine without each other.

She glanced at her phone again.

Still nothing.

Her thumb hovered over Azzi’s name. She didn’t text this time. Just pressed the location dot she told herself she wasn’t going to use anymore.

She was home.

Paige grabbed a hoodie from the back of her desk chair and shoved the bracelet in the front pocket, fingers curling tight around it. This wasn’t a grand gesture. This wasn’t a speech or a declaration or anything dramatic. She just needed to see her. Needed to say something—anything—before it was too late.

She didn’t even realize how fast she was moving until she hit the stairs.

It was a short walk. Too short. Her pulse was already racing by the time she reached Azzi’s dorm. Her palms were sweating. She wiped them on her sweatpants before taking another step. Checked her phone one more time.

Still nothing.

The suite door was unlocked — like usual — and Paige slipped inside quietly, careful not to slam it behind her. It smelled faintly like popcorn and whatever candle scent Caroline was obsessed with that month. Something vanilla-adjacent.

Azzi’s door was closed.

She hesitated in front of the door, heart thudding so loud it felt like someone else might hear it. For a second, she just stood there, staring at the wood grain like it might blink first. The hope was still there—small, stubborn, buzzing under her ribs like static. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side. No voices, no music, nothing.

Still, she knocked.

Three small raps, like maybe if she kept it light enough, she could pretend this wasn’t a huge deal.

Footsteps. Then the click of the handle.

Azzi opened the door wearing a cropped tee and shorts, barefoot, her hair pulled half-up and frizzy in that way it always got when she’d been lying in bed for a while. Her cheeks were pink, her lips slightly parted like she’d just been laughing—or kissing someone. Paige couldn’t tell which.

Behind her, the room was dim. The bedside lamp was on. Someone’s hoodie was slung over the back of her desk chair.

And then a voice floated from somewhere out of frame, casual, familiar, too at home.

“Do you want the lights off or—oh.”

Lexi stepped into view from the other side of the bed, holding a bag of popcorn, her hair also slightly mussed, like she’d been lying there for a while and hadn’t planned on getting up.

She froze when she saw Paige.

Azzi did too.

“Hey,” Azzi said, blinking like it took a second to place her. “Um. What’s up?”

Paige opened her mouth but no sound came out at first. Her chest was tight, throat dry. Every warning light in her brain started flashing.

“I—sorry. I didn’t mean to…” She glanced behind Azzi, took in the soft lighting, the hoodie, the presence. “I thought maybe you didn’t see my texts. I just—”

Azzi’s mouth parted slightly, like she wanted to say something—like maybe there was something she should say—but nothing came out.

Lexi stayed quiet, her expression unreadable.

Paige forced a smile, the kind that felt too big and too bright, like maybe if she smiled hard enough, she could hold the rest of her face together. “Totally not a big deal,” she said, even though it was. “I was just walking by. Thought I’d say hi.”

Azzi nodded, slow and cautious, like she wasn’t sure whether to believe her. “Okay. Well… hi.”

“Yeah.” Paige shifted her weight to one foot, then the other, hands suddenly too empty. “Cool. I’ll… let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

Lexi glanced down, polite and distant. Azzi didn’t look away.

And that—somehow—made it worse.

Azzi didn’t stop her.

She turned and walked back down the hall, her footsteps the only sound, the silence stretching behind her like something fragile about to snap. She didn’t look back.

By the time she got to her floor, her hoodie felt too warm and not warm enough all at once. She didn’t take it off. Just walked into her room, shut the door behind her, and sat on the edge of the bed like her body didn’t know what else to do.

The bracelet was still in her pocket.

She pulled it out slowly, let it sit in her palm like it might say something she couldn’t. Like maybe if she looked at it long enough, it would explain why her chest felt like it was caving in. Why her throat was tight and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Why she still cared this much, even now.

She rubbed her thumb over the beads—lightly, like the letters might smudge if she pressed too hard. She couldn’t tell if it made her feel better or worse.

The word was still there.

PURPOSE

She swallowed hard.

She thought about how carefully Azzi must’ve made it. Threading each bead, tying each knot. Choosing that word. Not love or strong or something generic from a gift shop bin. No, Azzi chose something deeper. Something that meant something.

And Paige had let it sit in a drawer. Like it wasn’t everything.

She curled her fingers around it, closed her eyes.

For a second, she let herself pretend it wasn’t too late. That she hadn’t shown up one floor too low, one second too slow. That Azzi hadn’t answered the door with someone else’s laughter still floating through the room.

She wanted to be mad.

At Azzi. At Lexi. At herself.

Mostly at herself.

Because she could’ve said something sooner. She could’ve tried harder. She could’ve told Azzi the truth the second she heard she’d come out—stepped up, said what she meant, meant what she felt. But instead, Paige froze.

Because she was scared. Because she didn’t want to risk it. Because Kathryn was safe and Azzi was… everything else.

And now she was gone.

Not technically. Not yet.

But it felt like it.

The tears didn’t come all at once. They never did with her. They crept in slow, burning at the corners of her eyes, slipping down one by one until her vision blurred and she couldn’t read the bracelet anymore.

Maybe that was the point.

She stayed like that for a long time. Still. Quiet.

Her thumb traced over the beads again, gentle, careful, like maybe if she kept doing it, the ache in her chest would ease.

It didn’t.

After a few minutes, she stood up and crossed the room.

She placed the bracelet back on her desk, right in the middle. Not hidden this time, but not on her wrist either.

She couldn’t wear it. Not yet.

Wearing it would mean she still believed in what it stood for. And she didn’t know if she did.

Not tonight.

Azzi 

Azzi knew something was off the second she opened the door and saw Paige standing there. It wasn’t obvious—just a flicker. A barely-there shadow in her eyes, the kind that only registered if you’d spent enough time memorizing someone’s expressions. And Azzi had. She saw it in the way Paige’s shoulders tensed, in the pause that dragged a little too long before she spoke. Like she’d worked up to this—whatever this was—and wasn’t expecting an audience.

Inside, Lexi was curled up on the bed, barefoot and relaxed, eating popcorn straight from the bag while Netflix scrolled through autoplay trailers. She’d made a joke when she heard the knock—something soft and ridiculous like, “Should I hide?”—just loud enough for Azzi to roll her eyes and laugh.

And then she stayed. Just like that. And Paige had seen all of it.

She smiled—kind of. The type of smile you put on for strangers or cameras or moments that already feel like they’re slipping away. Said she was just walking by. That it wasn’t a big deal. But it was.

Azzi could see it in her eyes, in the way her voice missed its mark. Like the words had been meant for someone else. Or maybe for a different moment entirely. She could’ve said something. Asked what was really going on. Reached out, just a little. But she didn’t. She let her go. And for the rest of the night, she tried not to wonder what might’ve happened if she hadn’t.

****

She knew what Paige thought of Lexi. She’d said it plainly enough a couple weeks ago. “Just be careful. She’s a player.”

She saw Lexi’s swagger. Her reputation. Her timing.

Azzi had shrugged it off at the time, told her she didn’t need to be protected. But it stuck—because of course it did. Paige never used that tone unless she meant it. And the worst part was, for a while, Azzi had believed it too. That Lexi was just flirting to flirt. That she liked the chase more than the catch.

But Lexi stayed.

Even when the flirting turned into actual feelings, even when Azzi tried to pump the brakes just in case she was imagining the whole thing—Lexi stayed.

She brought coffee to study hall without being asked. Sat with her in the cold after practice when Azzi’s knee flared up and didn’t say a word—just handed her a heat pack and scrolled aimlessly through TikTok until Azzi started laughing again.

She was smart, funnier than people gave her credit for, and never once made Azzi feel like too much or not enough. She didn’t try to fix her. She just… showed up.

And yeah, she came on strong. But maybe that was just what it looked like when someone knew what they wanted and wasn’t afraid of it.

Azzi had been scared to want anything back. Scared that if she opened the door too far, it would come crashing down. But the thing was—Lexi never rushed her. She teased, sure. Made stupid jokes about “Azzi Fudd’s exclusive roster spot.” But she didn’t push.

And when Azzi finally let her in, it didn’t feel like pressure.

She was excited to see where it could go. Nervous, yeah. But still—hopeful.

Then came Notre Dame.

It happened so fast she didn’t even have time to process it. Second quarter, a scramble under the rim, and suddenly one of her own teammates lost their footing and came crashing down on her leg. Her knee buckled underneath her, sharp and hot and immediate.

She didn’t scream. Not at first. Just stayed there, stunned, blinking up at the ceiling of an arena that suddenly felt way too far away.

She didn’t see Paige at first.

But in the locker room, after the trainer had wrapped her knee and the adrenaline had started to wear off, Paige was the one who quietly appeared beside her. Didn’t say anything right away. Just sat down on the bench next to her and passed her a water bottle without making a big deal of it.

“Flight’s in a couple hours,” she said gently. “They’re checking you in early so you don’t have to deal with the crowd.”

Azzi nodded, still staring at the floor.

For a while, they just sat there. Not touching. Not talking. Just—together.

And when the trainer came back to wheel her out, Paige stood up without hesitation and offered her arm for balance. No fuss. No weirdness. Just the steadiness she always had, whether Azzi liked it or not.

She stayed close the whole way through the airport. Checked in on her during the flight. Asked the flight attendant for an extra ice pack when hers started to thaw. When Azzi’s knee started throbbing midair, Paige wordlessly handed her a pair of noise-canceling headphones and pulled her hoodie over her face so she could rest.

It was quiet care. Familiar care.

Azzi had forgotten what it felt like, being taken care of by her. It was soft in a way she hadn’t let herself miss.

And for a minute, just one—she wondered if maybe something had shifted.

Maybe they were finally finding their way back to something that mattered.

But then they got back to campus.

And Lexi was waiting in the dorm lobby, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, fidgeting like she’d been standing there for a while.

The handoff was seamless. Too seamless.

Paige helped her up the stairs. Lexi took the ice pack and adjusted the pillow behind her knee like she’d done it a hundred times. Paige lingered by the door for half a second—then left.

She didn’t say goodbye.

Azzi didn’t stop her.

Paige

She wasn’t trying to watch. Not really.

It just kept happening—little moments that made her stomach twist, the kind you weren’t supposed to notice unless you were still too invested.

And she was still invested.

Azzi getting hurt had gutted her. The second she heard, her heart dropped straight into her stomach. She knew that pain. The limbo. The waiting. The way everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of a worst-case scenario.

They didn’t know how bad it was yet. Everyone kept saying “a few weeks,” “precaution,” “just a sprain.” But Paige had been around long enough to know how fast things could go from minor to life-altering. She’d seen careers shift on a single awkward landing. And Azzi—Azzi was finally playing free again. Confident. Fierce.

She didn’t deserve another setback.

Paige had tried to be there. Had been there, on the flight, in the locker room, in the quiet spaces in between.

But now, back on campus, it was Lexi filling all the space.

Lexi waiting outside the training room after lift, leaning against the wall with Azzi’s favorite smoothie—green apple kale from the campus café no one else liked. Lexi walking behind her in the hall, gently steadying the backpack on her shoulder so it didn’t jostle her knee. Lexi sitting on the floor of Azzi’s dorm, shoes kicked off, quizlet app open, quizzing Azzi on their psych midterm like she had nowhere else to be.

It wasn’t performative. That was the worst part.

It wasn’t flashy or loud or even particularly flirty.

It was just… consistent. Thoughtful. Steady.

The kind of care Paige remembered offering once.

The kind she didn’t know how to give anymore.

She sat next to Aubrey in the film room one afternoon, eyes glazed over from watching the same broken press coverage on loop, and said it before she could stop herself.

“I think I might’ve been wrong about Lexi.”

Aubrey blinked, like she hadn’t expected Paige to say anything at all.

Then she nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking that too.”

“You have?”

Aubrey shrugged. “I mean, I still think she came on a little too hot, too fast. But I don’t know. She’s… good with Azzi. It’s not just vibes. She actually shows up.”

Paige nodded slowly, trying not to flinch.

“She’s better than I thought,” Aubrey added, almost gently. “I think we judged too soon.”

Paige didn’t say anything after that. She just stared at the screen while her heart caved in a little.

Because she’d wanted to be right. About Lexi. About what she saw, what she felt.

But she wasn’t right.

At least—not yet.

And the longer she watched Lexi take care of Azzi, the more it felt like someone else had stepped into a role that used to be hers.

Only this time, they were doing it better.

Seeing Azzi be steady with someone else made her want to be steady, too.

Not out of revenge. Not even out of jealousy, really. Just… out of longing. That ache for something sure. Something certain. Something that didn’t leave her checking her phone a dozen times before texting back.

And Kathryn was trying. More than Paige probably deserved.

She was funny. Easy to be around. She didn’t ask questions Paige didn’t want to answer. She knew when to talk and when to just sit there, their knees barely brushing, some dumb show playing in the background like they were both paying attention.

That night, Kathryn showed up to Paige’s dorm with a sleeve of Oreos and a promise that they weren’t going to do anything productive.

“Mandatory procrastination session,” she announced, flopping onto the bed like she belonged there.

They scrolled TikTok for a while, tossing commentary back and forth, until Kathryn nudged Paige with her elbow and said, “We should make one.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. Something dumb. Something chaotic. You need a brain break.”

Paige laughed, not because it was that funny—but because it felt good. The kind of laugh that made her stomach unclench, even just for a second.

So they filmed a couple drafts. One dance, one trend, one of Kathryn trying to toss an Oreo into Paige’s mouth and hitting her directly in the forehead.

It was dumb. It was fun.

It was almost enough.

Later, while Paige lay back against her pillows, Kathryn nestled in beside her, head resting lightly on Paige’s shoulder, one bare leg draped over both of hers like it belonged there. Her hand moved easily over Paige’s phone, editing clips with practiced ease, pausing every so often to show Paige a cut and whisper something dumb or flirty into the quiet space between them.

It wasn’t new, the way their bodies fit like this. They’d already blurred that line weeks ago.

But it still surprised Paige sometimes—how easy it was to let Kathryn this close. How natural it felt to lean into the comfort, even when her chest was quietly screaming that something was still missing.

It was warmth. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, a part of her still felt like she was standing outside the moment, watching it happen.

“Are you gonna post it for me?” Paige asked, casually. Like she wasn’t already bracing for the answer.

Kathryn hesitated, thumb pausing mid-scroll. “I wasn’t sure if you were ready to take things to that next level.”

Paige blinked. “What level?”

Kathryn looked up, meeting her eyes without flinching. “The part where people start asking questions. Where you have to start answering them.”

She smiled then—soft. “It’s kind of a big move, PR-wise.”

She said it like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she was giving Paige an out, not a push.

And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because Kathryn was being kind. Thoughtful. Patient.

Exactly what Paige had asked for.

So why did it still feel like she couldn’t breathe?

She didn’t answer right away. Just reached for the remote and scrolled through the Hulu menu like it mattered.

But later that night, when Kathryn had gone home and the dorm was quiet again, Paige picked up her phone. Opened TikTok. Found the draft. Hit “post.”

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t even labeled. No caption. No soft launch.

But it was public.

And for now, that felt like something.

She told herself it was enough.

Even if a part of her still felt like she was holding her breath.

Azzi

She hadn’t expected to like it.

The TikTok.

She saw it by accident—someone had reposted it to Twitter with a caption like “okay but why do they lowkey eat??” and Azzi, against her better judgment, clicked.

She expected to roll her eyes. Scroll away. Feel nothing.

But she didn’t.

It was Paige and Kathryn doing some trending dance in Paige’s dorm room. Slightly off-beat, too many inside jokes between moves, Kathryn clearly making up half the steps—but Paige was laughing. Really laughing, not that press-conference polite kind.

The top comment had nearly 3,000 likes.

“idc what y’all say this is endgame behavior.”

Azzi actually smiled watching it. Smiled, and then immediately rolled her eyes at herself for smiling.

The rest of the comments were chaos:

“Why is Kathryn actually carrying??” “This is giving girlfriend energy and Paige LETTING IT HAPPEN??” “she finally soft launched. our prayers worked.”

Paige’s fans were ride or die like that. A little too obsessed, a little too intense, but always loyal. They’d ship her with a chair if it looked at her the right way. Azzi knew that. She also knew Paige probably hated it, but kept the post up anyway.

And that—more than anything—made Azzi think maybe this thing with Kathryn was more real than she wanted it to be.

And maybe that—more than anything—was what made her stomach ache a little.

Because she’d expected to be angry.

Instead, she was… almost rooting for it.

Until she wasn’t.

****

The shift came two days later.

They were in the locker room post-practice, the air heavy with steam and static, sneakers squeaking faintly on the tile as everyone moved in and out—tired, loud, half-listening to each other like always.

Azzi was still catching her breath, towel slung around her neck, scrolling absently through her texts when Caroline came flying around the corner like she was being chased.

She practically skidded to a stop in front of Azzi’s locker, eyes wide, phone clutched in both hands like it might combust.

“Okay,” she said, breathless. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Aubrey trailed close behind, her expression less panicked but equally intense. She raised her eyebrows like just wait.

Azzi blinked. “What.”

They didn’t answer right away—just closed in around her like she was the epicenter of something.

“What now?” Azzi asked, tugging her hoodie over her damp hair.

Aubrey flipped her phone around. “Someone left this comment on a Kathryn x Paige edit. Look.”

The video was muted, paused mid-spin—Paige laughing, Kathryn’s hand on her waist—and the comment sat just underneath it like a landmine.

“Y’all know Kathryn has a girlfriend back home, right?”

Azzi didn’t react. Not at first.

She just stared at it. Flat, unfiltered. No emojis. No drama. Just… there.

Caroline leaned in beside her. “It’s not just that one. There’s more. People have been stitching it, reposting screenshots. It’s getting traction.”

Azzi looked up slowly.

Aubrey sighed. “Okay, listen. Normally I would’ve said it’s just trolls. Haters. You know the drill.”

Caroline nodded, already scrolling. “But Aubrey went full FBI—”

“I did a casual deep dive,” Aubrey cut in, eyes narrowed.

“—and it’s kinda bad,” Caroline finished. “Like, bad bad.”

She tilted the phone again. Photos. A different girl, blonde. Arm wrapped around Kathryn in a tagged birthday post from three months ago. Kathryn in the comments: my whole heart. Another picture: same necklace she wore to the last team dinner. A hoodie Azzi had seen her wear in Paige’s dorm—now on the other girl, snapped on a porch in Vermont.

Aubrey added quietly, “And she’s still following her. Still liking her stuff. No explanation. No breakup post. Just… overlap.”

Azzi didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Because deep down, something in her had already started clicking into place.

She thought about Paige—how off she’d seemed lately, like she was forcing something that didn’t quite fit. How quick she’d been to post. How quiet she’d been afterward.

How she looked the night of the Notre Dame game, half-asleep against the plane window, face pinched like she was trying too hard not to feel anything.

Azzi swallowed hard.

She didn’t want to be right.

****

The breakup was loud. At least, the hallway version of it was.

Azzi hadn’t meant to hear it. She just… did.

She was coming around the corner on the way to film, headphones in, hoodie pulled low over her head, when Paige’s voice cut through the air sharp enough to make her stop walking.

“You used me.”

Azzi froze.

She knew she should keep going. Head down, eyes forward. Mind her own business.

But her feet wouldn’t move.

Kathryn’s voice came next—lower, tired, like she’d already rehearsed her side of the argument and was just waiting for Paige to finish hers.

“You used me too, Paige. Let’s not pretend you weren’t looking over your shoulder the entire time, hoping it was her.”

Silence.

Azzi’s throat tightened.

Then:

“You don’t even realize how much you talk about Azzi. Like—how obsessed you are. I was a placeholder and we both know it.”

That one landed.

Harder than it should have.

Azzi shifted her weight, suddenly too aware of how loud her own breathing sounded. She felt like she was eavesdropping on a secret she was never supposed to hear.

She didn’t want to hear this.

Didn’t want the proof.

Because somewhere inside, she’d hoped she was wrong. That Paige and Kathryn really were happy, even if it stung to see.

But this—this was different. This was real betrayal, flipped sideways and thrown back in Paige’s face like it was something she deserved.

She shifted her weight, hugged her arms across her chest, and backed away—quiet steps down the hallway, heart thudding too loud in her ears.

She didn’t stay.

She couldn’t.

Because for all the things Paige had gotten wrong—this wasn’t one of them.

And Azzi couldn’t bear to watch her unravel at the hands of someone who never really wanted her in the first place.

Not when she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to catch her.

Paige 

Things had actually been good.

Not perfect. Not magical. But… good.

Kathryn had spent the last two nights in her dorm, still wearing Paige’s oversized UConn hoodie and stealing her phone to cue up TikTok dances they didn’t actually post. They’d ordered Chinese food, argued over whether orange chicken counted as protein, and watched three straight episodes of Love Island while curled under the same blanket.

She’d even laughed—real, full-belly laughter—when Kathryn nearly knocked over a candle trying to do the Dougie.

So when Nika knocked on her door the next afternoon, Paige wasn’t expecting anything more serious than a last-minute smoothie run.

But the second she saw her face, she knew something was off.

“What’s wrong?” Paige asked, still in sweats, hair barely brushed.

Nika held up her phone. “I don’t even want to show you this.”

Paige took it anyway.

It was a paused TikTok. A Paige/Kathryn edit with a comment pinned near the top.

“Y’all know Kathryn has a whole-ass girlfriend back in Vermont, right?”

She frowned. “Okay. Probably fake—”

“There’s a thread,” Nika said. “And receipts.”

Paige scrolled.

Photos. Birthday posts. A tagged girl with her arm slung over Kathryn’s shoulders, grinning. Kathryn’s sweatshirt. Kathryn’s necklace. A recent story reshared with the caption “come home already.”

“I thought this was a joke,” Nika said, her voice soft now. “But it’s real.”

The blood drained from Paige’s face so fast her ears rang.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even blink.

Kathryn showed up a couple hours later.

Paige opened the door without a word and tossed her phone onto the bed, the open screen still paused on the picture of Kathryn and the other girl. The caption: “my whole heart.”

Kathryn didn’t even flinch.

“You gonna say something?” Paige asked. Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Kathryn crossed her arms. “Is this where I’m supposed to grovel?”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t offer the full backstory.”

“You have a girlfriend, Kathryn.”

Kathryn’s expression barely changed. “It’s not that deep.”

Paige laughed—just once. Sharp. Dry. “So while you were in my bed, she was just, what? On standby?”

“I didn’t know we were exclusive.”

“You met my team.”

“And you still talk about Azzi like you’re waiting for her to pick you. You think I didn’t notice?”

Paige blinked. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“I’m not turning anything,” Kathryn snapped. “I’m just saying, you’re acting like the victim when this was never that deep. We were vibing. That’s it.”

“This was real for me,” Paige said, her voice cracking. “Or I thought it was.”

Kathryn looked at her then—really looked. And for the first time, she didn’t look guilty. Just… bored.

“Paige. You’re Paige Bueckers. Do you know how much engagement you bring? Do you know what it meant—for my NIL stuff—to be seen with you? You were a business decision and a fun one. Don’t make it bigger than it was.”

Paige’s entire body went cold.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“I let you in,” she whispered. “I trusted you.”

Kathryn tilted her head. “And I gave you attention. People saw you happy. You got to play normal for five minutes.”

That’s when Paige moved—too fast, too reactive. She grabbed the door and yanked it open.

“You need to leave.”

Kathryn didn’t move. Just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re kicking me out now?”

“Out,” Paige snapped, her voice louder than she intended. “Or do I need to get my teammates to make it happen?”

Kathryn rolled her eyes but started walking. “You act so above it all, but the second things aren’t about you, you fold.”

They were halfway into the hallway now, voices echoing off the tile. A few dorm doors cracked open. Paige didn’t care.

“You used me,” she said again, sharper this time. Her throat burned. “And you didn’t even try to hide it.”

Kathryn turned to face her, still calm, still maddeningly indifferent. “You don’t even realize how much you talk about Azzi. Every other sentence—Azzi this, Azzi that. I was never your first choice, and you know it.”

Silence.

“I didn’t use you,” Paige said, lower now. Her voice was breaking. “I liked you.”

“No, you liked the idea of me,” Kathryn snapped. “You liked pretending you were over her.”

Paige flinched. It landed.

Around the corner, someone closed a door.

And suddenly the hallway felt too big. Too quiet. Too seen.

“I hope the followers were worth it,” Paige said quietly.

Kathryn didn’t say anything else. Just shook her head and walked away, her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Paige didn’t move.

Not even when she realized she was shaking.

Not even when the silence came back in full force.

****

She closed the door behind her slowly. Carefully.

Like any sudden movement might break something else.

The latch clicked, and the silence hit her all at once.

Her ears were still ringing.

She stood in the middle of the room for a second too long, untethered, like she didn’t know where her body was supposed to go now. Then she sank down—right there on the floor, knees drawn up, back against the wall like she was trying to disappear into it.

She stared at the carpet. At the desk. At nothing.

Part of her kept expecting Kathryn to come back.

To knock. To laugh. To say it had all been a misunderstanding, a bad moment, a stupid fight that they’d both get over.

But the hallway stayed quiet.

And Kathryn didn’t come back.

She wasn’t going to.

The thing was, Paige could’ve handled a breakup.

She’d done it before—more than once. The slow drift, the mutual fade, the kind of goodbye that didn’t come with shouting or slammed doors. She knew how to let go when it hurt.

But this wasn’t someone walking away.

This was someone walking through her. Stepping into her life with both feet, smiling at the right moments, saying the right things—and taking pieces of her with them on the way out.

This was betrayal with documentation.

With captions and camera angles.

This was someone who got close not because they wanted to—but because they knew how much it would be worth.

She felt sick.

Not even angry, just... gutted. Like she’d been emptied out slowly, without ever realizing what was being taken.

She pulled the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands until her fingers disappeared. Tucked her knees to her chest like that might shrink the ache into something she could manage. It didn’t.

The embarrassment came in quiet, pulsing waves.

Every text. Every TikTok. Every half-asleep conversation about nothing. All of it tilted now. Skewed sideways, like she’d been watching a rom-com that turned out to be a mockumentary.

Like the whole thing was edited for laughs.

She’d let someone in.

Fully. Openly. In the way that only happens after injury and time and loneliness and maybe too much hope.

And that someone had seen value before they saw her.

Not a girl. Not a heart. Not a person trying to love again, clumsily, earnestly.

Just a headline.

Just a brand.

Just a girl with a name people recognized and a face that got clicks.

Paige Bueckers: UConn’s golden girl 

She wanted to disappear.

Or rewind.

Or un-know the last three months of her life.

But instead, she just sat there, alone in the quiet of her dorm room, the weight of it curling around her like something physical. Something heavy and low and hard to shake.

It wasn’t heartbreak.

Not exactly.

It was something colder.

It was shame.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most—how cleanly it slid in. How fast it settled.

How much she still wanted to believe it hadn’t been fake. That somewhere in it all, a piece of it was still real.

But tonight, that felt impossible.

Because the truth had walked out and left her sitting in it.

And she hadn't seen it coming.

Not even close.

Azzi

The group chat was new.

Not the usual team thread. 

This one just appeared—no fanfare, no subject line. Just five names blinking at the top: Aubrey, Caroline, Nika, Amari, and her.

She opened it half-asleep from a post-practice nap, thumb still scrolling instinctively through her notifications when the first ping hit.

Aubrey: ok so are we all pretending we didn’t hear that earlier today???

Caroline: no because it was bad

Amari: what happened??

Nika: Kathryn got exposed. she and Paige were screaming at each other in the hallway

Aubrey: not even like fighting fighting. it was like. betrayal movie monologue level

Nika: “you used me” was literally said. out loud. in those words.

Azzi blinked. Sat up straighter.

More pings.

Caroline: i feel like i should check on her??

Nika: no.

Nika: you didn’t see her face. Paige is wrecked and trying to act like she’s not. she won’t talk to just anyone rn

Amari: what do we do??

There was a pause.

Then:

Nika: Azzi you gotta check on her

Azzi froze.

The message lit up again, this time with an added reaction. A heart from Aubrey. A thumbs-up from Caroline.

And then another ping.

Nika: she’ll listen to you. she trusts you

Azzi stared at the screen like it might change if she didn’t blink.

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t tap out a heart. Didn’t send a message back.

She just sat there, the room quiet except for the hum of her mini fridge and the distant sound of someone watching Friends on their laptop down the hall.

She hadn’t seen Paige since the hallway moment with Lexi. And technically she hadn’t even seen her then. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t reached out.

She didn’t even know what she would say.

They were fine, supposedly. Civil. Friendly-ish. Not like before, but not awful.

Still, it felt like crossing a line.

But her chest ached a little.

Something was wrong.

And Azzi didn’t want it to be her responsibility.

But maybe it already was.

She looked back down at the group chat.

A new message had appeared.

Caroline: seriously, Az. if it were you, she’d already be there

That one stung.

Because it was true.

****

She didn’t knock right away.

She stood there for a few seconds first, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, heart thudding too loud in the hallway.

The lights buzzed overhead. Someone laughed down the hall. A door slammed somewhere behind her.

Azzi lifted her hand and knocked twice.

Soft.

Careful.

The kind of knock that could be ignored.

But it wasn’t.

A few seconds later, the door cracked open.

Paige blinked at her.

She looked… wrecked.

Eyes rimmed red. Hair in a messy bun that clearly hadn’t been intentional. Hoodie sleeves covering her hands.

There was a long beat of silence between them.

Azzi opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Then Paige stepped back, wordlessly, and let her in.

The room was dim.

Curtains half drawn, soft light filtering through just enough to cast a gold wash across the carpet. A pair of slides were kicked off haphazardly by the bed. Paige’s laptop sat closed on the desk, untouched. A mostly-full bottle of water was perched on the windowsill like it had been forgotten.

Azzi’s eyes swept the space automatically.

And there, on the desk, sat the bracelet.

PURPOSE, spelled in uneven plastic letters, still curled neatly on the corner of Paige’s desk like it had been placed there on purpose.

Azzi stopped.

Her breath caught in her throat for a second too long.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze lingered—long enough for Paige to follow it, to see exactly what she was looking at.

Paige gave a small, tired laugh. “It got lost in one of my desk drawers. Like, junk drawer lost. I found it the other day when I was cleaning.”

Azzi’s lips parted, surprised.

“I wanted to say thanks,” Paige said softly. “I kept trying to find the right time. But it just… never felt like there was one.”

Azzi blinked, finally tearing her eyes away from the desk. She didn’t know what to say to that. Her throat felt tight in a way she didn’t expect.Paige shifted in her seat, her fingers curling into the sleeves of her hoodie. “I know you meant it as a birthday gift,” she said, voice low. “But when I found it… I don’t know. It felt like a perfectly timed lifeline.”

Azzi felt that line hit her square in the chest.

She hadn't known Paige had been that close to the edge. She’d had her own spirals after Oregon, but Paige—Paige had always looked like she was keeping it together. Holding steady. Playing strong.

But maybe that was the problem. Paige always made broken look like balance.

Azzi’s eyes flicked back to hers, surprised.

“I was spiraling,” Paige continued. “After Oregon. I kept thinking, like… what am I even doing anymore? On the court. Off the court. Just… everything.”

Azzi felt her fists clench lightly in her lap. She hated that Paige had felt that alone. That uncertain. And she hadn’t known. Or maybe she had known, but didn’t let herself go there.

Paige reached over, picked up the bracelet with both hands like it might fall apart in her grip.

“And then I opened the box,” Paige said. “And saw it. And I just—”

Her voice caught.

Azzi looked down, her own heart suddenly too loud in her ears.

There had been so much unsaid between them. Things she was scared to name, even now. But hearing this, hearing Paige say it out loud—like it mattered—made something shift inside her. Something she thought she’d buried.

“I know things got complicated,” Paige added, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know we’ve been messed up. But when I saw this again… it felt like maybe not everything was gone.”

Azzi leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together tight.

Her voice came out quieter than she meant. “It wasn’t.” And that was the truth. As much as she tried to push it away. As much as she told herself she’d moved on.

She looked over at Paige. 

Paige looked over at her. Really looked.

Azzi gave a tiny shrug. “I wouldn’t have made the bracelet if it was.”

The silence stretched between them, but this time it didn’t feel empty.

It felt full.

Like there was still something worth holding onto.

Like maybe, in some quiet corner of all the wreckage, there was still a thread that hadn’t snapped.

Paige set the bracelet down gently on her desk again. Not on her wrist. Not yet.

But in the open.

Visible.

Safe.

She let out a breath. “Thanks for making it.”

Azzi smiled, small and a little sad. “Thanks for finding it.”

Paige didn’t say anything after that.

Just sat there, arms loosely folded around her knees, eyes flicking to the bracelet one more time like it still had something to say. Like maybe it had saved her twice now—once after Oregon, and again tonight.

Azzi didn’t move either.

The silence wrapped around them like a blanket—warm, but weighted. She could feel the questions forming on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t ask them. Not right away. Not yet.

Paige had always been like this. She didn’t unravel easily. She folded inward first—slow, tight, quiet. You had to wait her out.

Azzi remembered the first time she saw it happen.

It was back in high school, on a random Tuesday night. They’d been FaceTiming—something stupid and casual, one of those marathon calls where neither of them was saying much but neither wanted to hang up either.

Only, Paige had been weird that night.

Short. Clipped. Not mean, but…off. Her answers came like bricks: heavy and hard to stack into anything that made sense.

And then finally, after Azzi pressed, Paige mumbled something about getting into it with her mom. Nothing big, she’d said. Just one of those nights where everything felt like too much.

Azzi hadn’t known what to say. She just listened. Stayed on the call even after Paige stopped talking, even after she started crying. Quietly. Almost like she didn’t want Azzi to notice.

That’s how she learned—when Paige was hurting, she didn’t reach out.

She shut down.

Azzi had always hated that.

And tonight felt the same. The stiff shoulders. The half sentences. The silence thick enough to drown in.

So she waited.

Let Paige breathe.

Let the seconds stretch.

But after a while, when the quiet started to feel more like suffocating than space, she leaned forward a little.

“What happened?”

Paige blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question.

Azzi kept her voice low. Careful. “With Kathryn.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her hands found the sleeves of her hoodie again, pulled them over her fists like armor.

And then, finally—“She used me.”

The words came out flat, like they had no weight. But Azzi knew better.

“For clout,” Paige added. “For NIL stuff. She had a girlfriend the whole time. Back in Vermont.”

Azzi’s stomach turned.

Of course she did. Of course it was worse than she thought.

“She said it like it was mutual. Like I knew,” Paige continued, her voice wobbling. “And maybe she’s right. Maybe I did, on some level. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.”

Azzi stayed quiet, letting her talk. Because that’s what Paige needed. Not answers. Not a rescue. Just room to unravel.

Paige’s jaw clenched. “She told me I made people look. That being with me helped her numbers. And the worst part? I didn’t even see it coming.”

Azzi’s chest ached.

It wasn’t just what Kathryn had done—it was how thoroughly it had gotten to her. Paige looked smaller somehow, like the weight of being Paige Bueckers had finally collapsed in on itself. And for the first time in a long time, Azzi didn’t see the sharp edges or the stoic calm. She just saw a girl who’d been used. Picked apart for what she could offer. Not seen for who she was.

Her fingers itched to reach out, to touch her knee, her arm, anything—but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to scare the moment away.

It wasn’t fair, Azzi thought, the way people expected Paige to be invincible. Like fame was supposed to make you immune to heartbreak. Like having a platform meant you didn’t get to fall apart.

They talked more after that.

Not all at once. Just little pieces. Shaky truths. The kind of things Paige would never say in a press conference, or even to the team.

But she said them to Azzi.

Like she always had.

And Azzi took every one of them and held them like they mattered.

Because they did. Because Paige did.

Still.

And when the conversation slowed, when the words started to run out, Paige finally looked up at her—eyes soft and tired.

“Would you… stay?”

Azzi blinked. Her breath caught. “What?”

“Not like that,” Paige said quickly. “I just… I don’t really wanna be alone tonight.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was, she hadn’t expected that.

Not the question. Not the softness in it. Not the way it pulled at something deep in her chest.

She wasn’t sure what this meant. What it would mean tomorrow. If it was a step forward or backward. If it would blur lines that were already smeared at the edges. If she was strong enough to keep holding the boundary she’d promised herself she would.

But then Paige added, almost whispering, “I’ll sleep on the floor or whatever. I just… I don’t wanna think. Not for a while.”

And that decided it.

Because this wasn’t about lines or boundaries or labels.

This was Paige. Asking for something without begging. Letting herself be seen without covering up the cracks. That didn’t happen often. Not even with Azzi. Maybe especially not with Azzi.

Azzi’s chest tightened.

She knew this wasn’t a moment to analyze. It was a moment to show up.

She nodded.

“Okay,” she said gently. “I’ll stay.”

She always had.

Even when she wasn’t sure if she should. Even when it hurt. Even now.

Paige shifted, already moving to grab an extra blanket from the corner of her bed, but Azzi stopped her with a look.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Azzi said.

Paige blinked. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was gonna—”

Azzi rolled her eyes, soft but insistent. “We’ve both got bum knees. Neither of us is built for hardwood floors anymore.”

A small smile tugged at Paige’s mouth.

“Seriously,” Azzi added, standing to toe off her shoes. “I’ll take the left side like always. You’re a blanket hog anyway.”

Paige didn’t argue.

And when the lights were off and the room was quiet again, Azzi lay there beside her, close enough to feel the rise and fall of her breathing.

It was quiet. Not just the room. But Paige.

And that, somehow, felt like enough. At least for tonight.

[supertoga]

I hope you don't mind if I bounce on this to tell a story.

My job uses an old typewriter for a few specific tasks. She's an old, heavy clunker from the early '80s, hadn't been serviced in years, and has a tendency to get uppity if you're too rough.

I named her Consuela because I grow attached to elderly appliances.

Well one day, Consuela had had enough. Seized mid return. A couple proximate keys crossed, and the ink ribbon somehow got hung up on another moving part I had never noticed before.

I turned her off and wrestled all the moving parts back into place. Reluctantly, she released the envelope I was typing on. I prodded at her for a bit. Simply, she just needed cleaned and oiled.

Boss caught me fucking around in the mail room. I tried not to act too guilty (I was definitely being a time thief, but it was to save Consuela!!) Boss said to look for a new typewriter on eBay. Throw that old one away!

... You.... You DARE speak to Consuela that way?? She is the last drop of charm left in this sterile cubic hell! No, Boss. I will *fix* her.

Ironically, I was hired as an office manager at this tiny office to modernize things a bit. We could have easily printed address labels. I even set up a dedicated tray for labels and got Word to automatically select it when printing addresses. But half the office is of retirement age and refused to learn how to Select Tray. I didn't fight too hard. I wanted to keep Consuela.

And Boss would throw her out? *Replace* her?? Rather than just use the copy machine??? Absurdity! Absolutely not!

I imagined her broken body chucked into the bottom of the dumpster out back. No. No. I made a plan.

I spent the last hour of the day looking at eBay listings, but I secretly unplugged Consuela and snuck her into the back seat of my car. If this was destined to be trash, I might as well try to fix it first. Can't break it any more than it already is. And if I manage to fix it, well, nothing was wasted.

Have I ever fixed a typewriter before? No.

Do I know anything about small appliances? Nope!

I performed minor surgery on my dining table. Took the case off and carefully unplugged the pins giving power the a few LEDs. With the help of YouTube, I disassembled everything. Unsurprisingly, there was enough inky lint in there to be considered an OSHA fire violation, but easy to clean up.

The secret to repairing things when you don't know wtf you're doing is:

1. Clean everything.

2. Lubricate moving parts.

3. Tighten up non moving parts.

I soaked everything with sewing machine oil. I retouched a couple of solder points on the motherboard that had gotten wiggly. Slapped a new ink ribbon in. Reassembled. Tested power. Put the case back on.

She SANG with fluidity. Typed like she was 20 years younger. No tangled keys. No weird issues. Just a brand new typewriter ready for another 40 years. It took 2 hours. I wasn't paid for those hours, but I enjoyed the tinkering. I saved a perfectly good piece of obsolete technology from the bin.

It was easier than I thought. It was fun! I briefly wondered if I could make a career as a small appliance repair person as I returned Consuela to her place in the office the next morning.

I announced to Boss that I had fixed the typewriter and got a lot of confused side eye. The Ron Swanson of my office asked what kind of oil I used. When I told him, he nodded sagely, but said nothing else about it.

Consuela continues to hammer addresses onto envelopes to this day.

hey man i just wanna say i seriously appreciate your posts documenting you fixing things you own or making them yourself, like the shorts or the post youre doing right now about trying to repair your boots. im the kinda person who struggles with the idea of repairing things myself because i cant imagine id be any good but the idea of trying even if its gonna take a while or trying even if its not doing so hot at first motivates me to try when i next get the opportunity

I can't stress this enough: Start with something that's worth nothing to you. Weave something out of literal trash that you were about to throw out. Make sure that it's something that cannot be ruined or made into something worse than it was before. That's how you start building confidence in your abilities, and progress into making bad items better, mediocre items good, and eventually into making good stuff even better.

[forsaken-headcanons]

hhhh ok ive been lurking here for a While and now i feel like i wanna share the actually insane stupid dumb little hcs i have collected for mostlyy twotime but maybe like a few other ones...... to cope with Sick perhaps.........

this is kinda organized ig until its not, the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma

anywhoosies Two Time!! yya i like them

-Due to Spawn's ideologies, Two Time is really hesitant to accept healthcare in most ways. They're fine with... maybe something to treat a cough, but interfering with a natural test of their self is taboo in their mind. Nobody likes that idea rlly but they still have it ^ Because of the whole against-healthcare thing, The Spectre made it a little game for Two Time to get really sick at least once a month until they begrudgingly accept even the slightest amounts of help. Because, while it makes certain others more relieved, it doesn't make Two Time happy!! Not at all!! !:}

-Two Time's hands are really really shaky. So are their wings and tail! They're usually pretty tense and it hurts a little after a while but they don't know really how to fixx itt so

-Very physically unwell, being forsakened didnt even help in the least. Really skinny, a lot of people question how they even function half the time. Despite this! They can still run really fast and long. ^ HOwever if they run too long they spend like the entire intermission+next round really really tired

-They tend to repeat certain words when they talk, though they don't if they need to be formal. Which, the off-chance they're not being formal, they also talk really erratically.

-They have a bit of trust issues, to say the least. Just a couple. Because they tend to get more impulsive, stray off the path a bit more if they trust someone. It happened with Azure, and they know how that ends. So their adaptation to that is just to... not :]

-Their shoulders are constantly hurting and aching, and are the weakest part of their body! This leaves it very easy for them to be targeted in the wings, which, if that happens, haha at least the wings don't do the whole job. It also takes a WHILE for the shoulders to heal after Respawn. The Spectre just chooses to instantly heal that wound in the intermission (though that also brings pain)

-Lilacs used to remind Two Time of Azure, and were their favorite flower (close second was Azure's favorite, nightshades). Now they can't bring themself to look at any flower.

-Two Time's capable of crying, they just don't often do it. It's hard for them to manually cry, and they've become so numb to it all that it's once in a blue moon they actually do cry. Usually Respawn's the only thing that could bring them to tears (and, even then, the last time it did was whatever the version of pre-rework is)

-They're ice-cold to the touch. It's honestly a bit of a problem! They tend to sleep with a lot of blankets on and even then they're still pretty cold.

-Reallyy bad insomnia. Like there's bad insomnia then there's Two Time's insomnia. When they're not doing anything, it's just a way for their mind to think more and more. And that leads to unfortunate side effects! They've made the idea that if they're unable to sleep, it's because Spawn still needs them awake for something.

-(The rework wow thats a thing) Their part of one of the cabins is really really messy aside from a few areas, so they'd decided to clean it. Doing so, they uncovered an almost-perfect replica of Azure's clothes, plus their old ritual dagger... and a picture of Azure. They decided to use the dagger, finally, because one small 'mistake' shouldn't warrant them to never use it again, right? ^ They also kept the picture again when they wear the clothes, though after... a bit of issues with seeing it again, it's now pretty vandalized. They keep it close to their heart now when they have it, for a couple reasons.

-Last one for Two Time, I put birds to my fixations cause its fun. The bird I've put with Two Time is a dove. Make of this what you will :)

ok this is a little long so little lightning round for other hcs go

-The neurodivergent beam struck again, directed at Chance. idk whats up with that guy but theres something for sure. ^ Adding onto that one, he has to be doing SOMETHING at all times, mostly to calm himself. The coin is one of those little things he does! He's also most comfortable with the hat n shades on as a way to hide himself if need be.

-c00lkidd, bluudud, and pr3ttypriincess were all really into some sort of mythical being when they were young/still now. For c00lkidd, it was of course dracobloxxers. Dragons for bluudud, and im still figuring out one for pr3ttypriincess but rn its unicorns

-Noob knows ASL and morse code, both because those were the way they'd communicate with G666 way back when. Now they use it time to time with Taph. They also have a pretty bad stutter a lot of the time, so they carry a notepad with them in case they need to communicate via writing.

-Elliot directly ties his importance to how much they've done for others. This leads to a lot of issues, but mostly the idea that if he's not helping someone else (in the context of forsaken, their team), he's being useless and a bother. It's why they get so worked up if their pizzas in the rounds aren't picked up.

-this one has genuinely been in my mind for so long, mixing songs /w fixations but like. the song Good Intentions by NomnomNami. Azure. Please see my vision that song is Azure

buhh ok i have more but like. i think this is rlly rlly long and also i might make individual ones one of these days or smth. also mye head and my throat hurts so i should do smth abt that sorry if this is barely comprehensible at all uhh it will happen again thumbs up emoji

is bird anon ok ? :] if not its ok ill come up with smth else

BIRD GUY IS THAT YOU. BIRD GUY?? HI BIRD GUY!!! bird anon is taken unfortunately 💔 BUT THESE ARE SO???? chance is so real holy moly. we too need to be doing something at all times. elliot... hey. ey. can. can we Not make headcanons that resonate a little too well with us please /SILLY /POS!! dove birb two time... rhrghjg birds. the bird ever

[sh4nksslvt]

The Sauna Bet

Marco dares you to last longer in the sauna without losing your towel… but it’s not just the heat getting to you.

marco the phoenix x fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, NSFW, tension, sauna sex, established relationship, bet a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward | ++ this is my frst time writing nsfw so bear w me lolol word count: 1.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

The sauna on the Moby Dick wasn’t exactly private, but when you were the lover of Marco the Phoenix, you tended to get privileges.

Especially when he was the one dragging you in there with a mischievous grin and a glint in his ocean-blue eyes.

“I bet you can’t last ten minutes without ditchin’ your towel-yoi,” he teased, his voice low and playful as you both stepped inside, steam curling around his bare chest.

You smirked, clutching your towel tighter around yourself. “I could say the same to you, bird boy.”

Marco laughed, settling on the wooden bench across from you, arms resting lazily over the backrest, towel slung dangerously low on his hips. The glisten of sweat already starting to coat his tanned skin was borderline obscene.

The heat was intense — dense and humid — but it was nothing compared to the way he was looking at you. Like a meal. Like you were the only thing on the menu.

And you weren’t exactly doing a good job hiding your stare either.

The rise and fall of his chest. The subtle flex in his thighs when he adjusted his position. The faint trail of golden-blond hair leading down below the towel that was starting to look very optional.

“How long we been in here?” you asked, feigning boredom even as you shifted in your seat, sweat sliding down your inner thighs.

“Five minutes,” Marco replied, gaze flicking downward. “You already sweatin’ like crazy. You sure you ain’t about to tap out-yoi?”

You stuck your tongue out at him and adjusted your towel more snugly — which only succeeded in giving him a better peek at your cleavage. His eyes darkened, and his grin sharpened.

You narrowed your gaze. “You’re trying to make me drop it.”

“I don’t need to try-yoi,” he said lazily. “You look like you’re two drips of sweat away from giving up.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, standing up slowly, confidently — even though your legs felt a little weak from the heat and his attention. “Maybe I’ll just walk around and let you suffer.”

You gave him a show, pacing across the small sauna space in slow, deliberate steps. Every swing of your hips, every tug of your towel to ‘adjust’ it, made his jaw tense more.

“Careful,” he warned, eyes fixed like a predator. “You strut like that much longer and I’ll forget we’re playin’ a game.”

You turned toward him, head tilted. “What if that’s the point?”

The look Marco gave you then was pure fire. He stood in one smooth motion, shedding his towel and tossing it aside like it was a minor inconvenience. His cock was already half-hard — thick, flushed, and unmistakably hungry.

You swallowed.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and you dropped your towel without a word.

It hit the floor with a quiet thud.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Marco crossed the distance in two strides, grabbing your face in both hands and kissing you hard, breathlessly, like he’d been waiting for permission. His lips were hot, slick with sweat and lust, and the taste of him was already making your head spin.

He pressed you back against the sauna wall, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding down to your hip, then around to grip your ass and pull you flush against him.

His cock twitched between you, hard and leaking, nudging against your stomach.

You gasped into his mouth when his thigh slipped between yours, and you rocked against it instinctively.

“Fuck,” Marco muttered, breaking the kiss to nip at your jaw, your ear. “You’re already so wet. Sauna got you like this, or was it me-yoi?”

“You,” you whispered, grinding against his thigh. “Always you.”

“Good.”

He kissed you again, then dropped to his knees without warning.

You grabbed for his shoulders in shock, but he was already dragging one of your legs over his shoulder, lifting it so he could bury his face between your thighs.

You cried out, back arching against the heat of the wall.

His tongue licked a slow stripe up your slit before circling your clit with lazy, practiced swirls. He groaned as if tasting something divine, hands gripping your ass as he devoured you like it was the only thing that mattered.

You moaned loudly, fingers tangling in his damp hair. “M-marco—shit—”

He chuckled into your cunt. “Loud in here, huh? Anyone walkin’ by’s gonna know exactly what I’m doin’ to you.”

You whined, bucking your hips forward, and he rewarded you with faster strokes, sucking gently before sliding his tongue lower — dipping inside you until your legs shook.

“Nghh~ I—I’m close—” you warned, breath hitching.

But he pulled away, rising to his feet and catching your mouth again, lips wet with your taste.

“Want you to cum on my cock instead.”

With a groan, he lifted you easily, pressing your back against the warm wooden wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He aligned himself with one hand and thrust into you slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully inside.

You both gasped.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he muttered into your neck, hips rolling in slow, grinding motions that made your walls flutter.

Your nails scraped down his back as he started to move — deep, steady thrusts that made your breath hitch with every slam of his hips. The sauna air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the sound of skin slapping and your shared moans bouncing off the wood.

You clenched around him, and Marco growled, slamming deeper.

“You tryin’ to break me, babe?” he panted, one hand gripping your thigh tighter. “You keep squeezin’ me like that, I’m not gonna last-yoi.”

“T-then fuck me harder,” you begged, eyes locked on his.

That did it.

Marco slammed into you with relentless force, cock dragging against all the right spots, the angle just enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.

You screamed his name as your orgasm hit, body trembling, nails digging into his shoulders.

He fucked you through it, pace erratic now, losing control.

“Where do you want it?” he rasped.

“Inside hmgh~,” you gasped. “Please—fill me up.”

His rhythm faltered, and with a strangled groan, he buried himself deep and came hard, cock pulsing inside you as he gripped your body like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Later…

You slumped in his lap, still joined, both of you panting and sticky with sweat and cum.

“…I think we broke the sauna,” you murmured, eyes barely open.

“Worth it-yoi” Marco mumbled into your shoulder.

“I won the bet,” you added smugly.

He huffed a laugh. “Nah. I won.”

“How?”

He looked up, grinning like the devil. “I got you to drop the towel.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me for it,” he said, pecking your lips.

“Unfortunately.”

“Come on.” He stood, carrying you with ease. “Let’s go shower before someone walks in and finds out why the whole room smells like sex-yoi”

“You started it,” you mumbled, hiding your face in his neck.

Marco’s chuckle was the last sound echoing off the sauna walls.

[zweigish]

ummum so..again, thank you guys so so so so so much for 100! here’s this bot drop, I hope you guys enjoy it! :) most of it ( basically all of it) is Mike Faist characters..😓

BOT DROP

all around me ⤷ ghost!art donaldson

moving into your new apartment, you couldn’t help but feel a small hint of anxiousness, a random run of chills hitting you now and then. Something thickening the air around you, could it be your house is haunted?

eyes without a face ⤷ vampire!art donaldson

new student at your school? he was odd and closed off. Often bothered by the sunlight outside, sitting wherever the sun wasn’t hitting, that happened to be next to you one day. He seemed to be very tense, what was happening? He was acting weird towards you and it was time for you to confront him if he did have a problem with you.

in my room ⤷ vampire!art Donaldson

your room was your safe spot, or was it? Was it still your safe spot when you had woken up many many times as if someone was watching you? you never understood why when your window was locked shut..how could someone get in? you still didn’t understand when you saw his figure in the corner of the room.

opposites ⤷ riff lorton

your job as a nurse is too treat patients not flirt with them but you just cant help it when you meet riff, when does he not flirt? but also..how can you not do it back?

summertime ⤷ riff lorton

ah.. the summer time, the time where your boyfriend, riff and his gang all take over your home for you conditioning and all your food, it’s time for some boundaries.

Linger. ⤷ riff lorton

Commitment? wasn’t his thing but it sure was yours, which is why you relentlessly asked him out. Time after time, he agreed which is how you ended up in heart break, he warned you but he had you wrapped around his finger.

don’t let me down ⤷ Patrick zweig

as the song goes, ‘nobody ever loved me like she does’ Patrick related to that, nobody had ever loved him like you did and he cherished you for that. At a trip with visiting your parents..he was gonna get down on one knee and depend on you to not let him down.

this charming man ⤷ patrick zweig

your bestfriend, Patrick currently getting ready for a date. Running to you for help on outfit choices, as you help him with each one. You can’t help but slightly think about how lucky this girl is, your friend was funny, not very smart and somewhat handsome and you liked that..

Layla & something ⤷ patrick zweig + art donaldson

two boys from the same band fighting over a girl like you, what was so important that they made two songs about you trying to steal your attention? ‘Layla, you got me down on my knees’ lyrics by Patrick zweig and ‘something in the way she woos me’ lyrics by Art Donaldson, who will you choose?

king for a day ⤷ wolf!Patrick zweig + vampire!art donaldson

the wolf and the vampire, both wanting to be kings in your world. Fighting for your love and attention, both asking you to do separate things. How difficult is this?

strange you never knew ⤷ dodge mason

being dodges bestfriend was good, until you ended up developing a crush on him. Natalie? can’t keep her mouth shut, exposing your current feelings. You avoided him before he visited you, he really misses you.

fast as you can ⤷ Connor Murphy

you and Connor Murphy were so different but the same, you both had problems that had became to much. You both decided to run away together.

wild horses ⤷ cowgirl!tashi duncan

you were from the city and yet you fell inlove with someone from the country. It was time to make sure you blend in, leading her to teach you how to ride horses. What a fun new thing to do.

but I’m a cheerleader! - tashi duncan. (f4f)

you were popular and so was tashi, you both were known as the golden duo. Both cheerleaders and overall your typical popular girls though, you had a secret. Hanging out in her room, one thing lead to the another.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Anyway, to continue on this train of thought:

“Hey Bats,” Green Lantern starts, dragging his words out with a smirk on his face, “so what happened to Robin being your ‘associate’ huh?”

But before Batman can answer, Robin tilts his head and asks, “What’s an associate?”

He knows full well what an associate is, and he knows exactly how that’s what Batman referred to him as to the League, but the glower on the exposed part of Batman’s face and the gobsmacked looks on everyone else’s was so worth the chewing out he was going to get when they went back to the batcave.

“He’s my partner,” is all Batman says. Green Lantern snorts.

“He’s a sidekick!”

“Fuck you, green boy, I’m not a sidekick!”

“Watch your language!” Batman barks at him.

“I can’t watch it, it’s not visible,” Robin says with all the smartass sass of a middle schooler, crossing his arms over his chest.

Robin has since stepped out from under Batman’s cape and is lingering near Superman again, who looks like he’s about to start sweating bullets. Robin is rocking on his heels, leaning forward, and he and Batman are glaring at each other for a long, tense moment. No one else in the room moves.

“Get. Back. Over here.” Batman is pointing at the spot next to him, not moving his gaze from Robin.

“Why’d you even bring me?” Robin whines. “You’re not letting me have any fun at all!”

Robin huffs and stomps back over to Batman, then pouts at him and says in a low voice, “You don’t even like Green Lantern.”

The two of them have a silent conversation together, and it ends with Robin clutching Batman’s cape and using it to lean dangerously close to the ground but still keeping his balance. Batman is now introducing him, but Robin can’t be bothered to listen. Some of them are asking questions, but Robin isn’t paying attention. He’s using his upper body strength to pretend he’s walking in the air, still using Batman’s cape to balance until he’s doing a backflip, tugging the cape along with him. Batman swats his head, muttering for him to knock it off. When Batman turns back to the group, Robin makes a face at him, sticking his tongue out and everything. Green Lantern and Flash both poorly hide their amusement, but Robin just makes faces at them too. No one else is allowed to make fun of Batman. That’s Robin’s job.

“Robin,” Batman barks again. “Say hello.”

Robin turns to the rest of the room, at all the faces staring expectantly at him. They all look either nervous and freaked out or morbidly intrigued. Not too different from when he’s Dick Grayson, actually.

“Hello,” he says, giving a little wave. “It’s been a displeasure to meet you. Heavy on the dis.”

Batman takes a deep breath through his nose, holds it for a moment, then lets it back out slowly.

“Can you please,” Batman mutters, “act mature. Just once.”

“Why? That’s no fun.” Also, rude. Dick is mature all the time. He could be a way bigger pain in Bruce’s side if he wanted to be. He has a lot of self-restraint, actually. Bruce should count himself lucky.

“Well, I like him!” Green Arrow is quick to say, a grin on his face. Robin grins right back at him. He knew he could count on Uncle Ollie, even if he didn’t know it was Dick behind the mask. “So, when are you becoming a full member, kid?”

Robin snaps his head towards Batman, tugging hard on Batman’s cape.

“Yeah, Batman!” Robin says. “When am I becoming a full member?”

“Not until you’re thirty. Not a day sooner.”

Before Robin can whine, Green Arrow is asking, “And how old is he now? How long do we have to wait?”

“That’s classified,” Batman says without missing a beat.

“Well, I have something of a partner myself these days,” Green Arrow tells Robin, coming to stand near him and Batman. “He’s thinking he wants to go by the name Speedy, since you stole the whole Robin Hood schtick. Maybe you could meet him sometime.”

“I’m not here for a play date.”

Green Arrow laughs. It’s loud and amused, and he looks totally charmed by Robin.

“No, of course not,” Green Arrow says. “But perhaps you could give him some pointers on the whole vigilante thing.”

“Oh,” Robin says, chewing at his lip. He’s met Roy, of course, but that was as Dick Grayson. Roy didn’t seem to want to hang out with Dick, since he was so much younger than Roy, but maybe this will be different. Maybe they can be friends. Sort of. “Sure. Okay.”

Flash, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman all come over as well, taking about their own protégés and how they should all meet, how Robin should meet them. And they can all see how Robin gets a bit nervous at that, how his grip tightens on Batman’s cape and he turns to Batman as if to ask if this is even all alright. Batman nods at him, one gloved hand hovering at the back of Robin’s head as if he wants to ruffle his hair.

It’s not how Batman thought this meeting was going to go, but perhaps it’s better. It would do Robin good to have some similarly aged friends who know about the vigilante life.

I’ll probably elaborate more on this tomorrow but I think it would be SO funny if Batman and the others create the justice league maybe a year or two after Dick has been going out as Robin.

And people have heard of Robin, sure, but never seen any pictures. Gotham is very territorial, and they don’t want news of their little bird reaching the wrong ears. Most people think Robin is some strange eldritch horror or cryptid like Batman, they don’t think either of them are really human. Gothamites know better, of course, but they don’t correct any outsiders. It’s a joke for them, really. It’s entertaining.

So then Batman co-creates the Justice League. And they all start asking about Robin.

“He’s my…associate.”

They all assume Robin is an adult. That he’s like Batman. They know now that Batman is human (most of them do, at least - some are still skeptical), and they assume Robin is an adult human too.

“Why doesn’t he join the League?” Superman asks one day.

“No,” is all Batman says.

Eventually though, after a year of needling him, they get Batman to agree to bring Robin in to meet them.

And boy are they shocked when they hear a child’s voice complaining after announcing Batman’s designation and a new “Robin, B-01” designation.

“But why can’t I join!”

“You’re only here to meet them. You’re not allowed to join.”

“Why not? That’s no fair! I’ve been around longer than some of them even!”

“You’re too young.”

“Until when?”

“Until you’re thirty.”

“Statistically speaking, I won’t make it to thirty.”

They hear Batman make a strangled sounding noise, like a whine and a wheeze.

“Don’t say that,” Batman pleads.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me sad, Robin.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I know.”

There’s another pause, before Robin’s voice perks up and asks, “Is Superman gonna be here?”

“He is not taking you flying and you will not ask.”

“That’s no fair! Why not?”

“You could get hurt.”

“I could get hurt doing anything! Are you gonna wrap me in bubble wrap and lock me in my room?”

“I just might.”

“Please, please? Can’t I just ask him to toss me in the air? He’s Superman, he won’t hurt me!”

“He might hurt you because he is Superman,” Batman says. “You’re small. You’re fragile. He’s a very large alien with super strength.”

“But you’re big and strong and you toss me up in the air all the time!”

“That’s different, Robin.”

“You’re such a spoilsport!”

And then suddenly Batman and Robin are standing in the doorway to the meeting room where everyone is sitting around, shocked. Because Robin looks like he’s maybe 10 or 11. He’s a child.

And he beams at the sight of Superman before darting over to him, his hand leaving the hold he had on the edge of Batman’s cape.

“Superman!” Robin greets, stopping straight in front of him and bouncing on his toes. “Can you throw me in the air like I’m flying? Please, please, please!”

Clark’s throat is dry and his mouth can’t move, because even though Batman has a cowl on hiding his eyes, he can feel the glare being sent his way.

“Um-”

Robin has noticed the look Batman is sending Superman, and he’s quick to send a scrunched up facial expression Batman’s way before moving closer to Superman, practically in his personal bubble.

“Ignore him, he’s being big and broody today!” Robin says quickly. “You can toss me up, I’m real good at flying!”

“Touch him and I’ll break your kneecaps,” Batman threatens.

Superman believes him.

“You’re such a party pooper!” Robin whines s Batman yanks him back, tucking his cape around the boy. “You can’t just drag me up here and not even let me have any fun!”

No one can believe what they’re seeing. No one can believe Batman is dad.

Superman isn’t afraid of much, but he’s terrified of finding out what Batman might do if anyone were to accidentally harm Robin.

[omgfangirlland]

I need a part two of the fanfic writer reader where joker ask her to write more fanfics of him and his batsy.. Even better is if he ask for a fanart of him and Batman. (I got a feeling that joker is one of her fans and would mostly read the Batman x joker fanfic)

I wanna traumatize Jason.. Imagine a fan comment of wanting a Jason x joker 😭😭😭

(Btw, I laughed my ass off reading part one of fanfic writer reader)

-🔱

Part two of this drabble, have I mentioned it's crack and don't treat it seriously?

First of all-

HI- HELLO I'M SORRY I DIDN'T SEE THIS ONE BEFORE- How did you do? Wish I could have said good luck :( (It's on the John C & Apprentice/AdoptedDaughter!Read one if you remember)

Second- got back from a job interview(god, I really hate the idea of working for them, but they're the only ones who got back to me in MONTHS), slept the rest of the day- fully didn't plan to write but this is making my brain itch-

Joker finding out the identity of jokergagglingbatsballs35 before ANY of the Bats is so funny- THEY LIVE WITH YOU!

Alas- they're a bit distracted with trying to mend the relation with you they ruined. It's honestly like trying to befriend a scared, hurt dog to them- flinching when they try to get close, barking when they do something you don't expect. The only one who isn't privy to your anger and distrust is Alfred, and they have noticed.

"He feeds me." Was your grumbled response when they asked, and they tried to befriend you by doing the same- but it wasn't really the simple fact that Alfred feeds you- it's the fact that he's done it for years without poisoning you or pushing you to the side. So, yeah, nothing they give you ends up in your mouth.

Especially not Damian's stuff. You go out of your way to break whatever goodie apart, searching for nails, needles, hell, you expect a whole dagger in it sometimes. You do not trust these people, and the sudden way they changed.

So, you find your time spent more and more outside the manor. Cafes, parks, the library... where Joker found you, in disguise, of course- can't have him attract attention when he wants to be subtle for once.

Your face has subtitles. So when the man sits across you, he already knows you think he's a weirdo. He also knows you're the one and only, jokergagglingbatsballs35, when your face twitches, trying your best to not smirk like a baby Joker.

You found out quite quick that he was the second man you've been writing about in your little hobby. You thought he'd kill you, or Jokerize you- didn't expect him to gush over your work or to whine like a toddler about the bats ruining everything fun. Honestly, you two got into it, you even showed him the shitty first drafts that you hid deep in your laptop.

"You're quite artistic. Do you draw as well?"

"... Why...? You want me to draw Batman pregnant?"

The shock as Joker processed your question was quickly wiped away, his signature smile and laugh taking its place. You have become his favorite Wayne. So, like a true fan, he has started planning "kidnappings" with you so you could write for him-

The bats didn't like it. And, sure, they didn't really look into it beyond getting you back, but also- they weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Joker left you unharmed and untied, it honestly was just him wanting to annoy the bats and the Waynes- and if Harley had fun doing whatever girls do or gossiping, it's a bonus to him.

Now- he hates Red Hood for a variety of reasons- he killed the boy, and he came back, stole his title, and he just can't stand the motorcycle fetish get-up.

"How would you feel about a Red Hood x Joker, enemies to lovers, slow burn?"

Joker is in cloud nine, he doesn't know what Bruce did to this kid to end up like this, pure menace and hatred, but he loved it- And sure he'd love it, take your time! Uncle Joker will keep the bats off your tail for as long as possible so you can at least have half a draft.

And while half the internet is happy about you being back, the bats are too busy to notice as they Tim try their best to chip you, but you bite and punch quite hard when scared awake from your sweet sleep.

You've also started putting bells on the handle of your door, a chair under the doorknob, and transparent tape on your windows to make sure they won't enter without you noticing.

...Meeting Slade won't be as nice, but I don't think he'd care much as long as you don't post his fails.

----

MEME TIME

Reader, when finding out she's talking to the Joker:

Reader, when Joker asked if she can draw:

Joker, when Reader brings up Pregnant!Batman:

Joker, on cloud nine when he realizes this Wayne is as fucked up as him but in a different way:

Cass, in the shadows, knowing everything but saying nothing because she doesn't want you angry at her:

Also- I think @datgurl-rhea would appreciate the tag, tell me if not, I'll delete it-

[hockeyboistrash]

Michael hates doing social media but he seemed to have a change of opinion when he goes to Denmark.

Michael didn't like doing social media. His teammates knew it and so did the Utah Mammoth admin. Yet, coming to the world championships seemed to have changed that. Better yet, someone seemed to have changed that.

You were chosen to run the social media for Team USA. This was your first time working with the mens team, having only worked with the women's and the juniors national team. You were excited for this opportunity, hoping it would give you enough exposure to get a permanent job for the new season.

It was the session where you were filming the goal celebrations. Most of the guys did one take and got out of there as quick as possible, wanting to do anything but social media. Not Michael though. Michael stayed behind making you film his celebration again, stating the first one made him look weird.

"What do you think?" He asked, leaning over your shoulder to look at the camera's screen. He stood behind you, close enough that you could smell his cologne, making your stomach do flips.

"It doesn't matter what I think. You're the one who's going to have your celebration on the stream for the rest of the tournament." You giggled. "Especially if you score a ton of goals."

"I'll score one just for you." Michael winked. "Gotta have your hard work shown for the world to see." You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks at Michael's words. You didn't know why, he's probably this way with every social media manager, you kept telling yourself.

Except he doesn't. At least that's what Clayton Keller told you. He pushed himself off the wall once Michael decided to head into the locker room, having stayed behind to observe the two of to confirm his suspicions which was that Michael had the biggest crush on you. There have been mumblings amongst the team, noticing Michael's new found eagerness to do stupid tik tok trends.

"Kess must really like you if you got him doing tik toks." Clayton said, amused that his teammate and friend was embarrassing himself on the internet instead of asking you out.

"He's like that with everyone." You insisted, trying to brush off the flutter you felt in your stomach because you couldn't fall for Michael Kesselring. It would only end in heartbreak.

"Y/N, Kess hates doing media. He always runs away from our social media manager in Utah." He told you. "Here though he seems to want to do it all the time. He spent ages in filming the goal celebration."

"He said he looked weird and wanted to do it again." You said, offering a logical reason.

"Well how about how he's always the last to leave the locker room and ice so he can talk to for longer. Any other person he's the first out but not when it's you filming." Clay pointed out.

"It doesn't matter though, does it? Because after this week we'll go our separate ways and may never see each other again." You said before excusing yourself, wanting to protect your heart from any hurt.

You thought that would be the end of it. You've done most of the filming for the socials and now you were taking photos of practices and games. Michael grinned when he saw you sat on the bench during practice, camera in hand. He skated over when they were given a five minute break.

"You got anything you need me to film?" He asked, leaning against his stick. You looked up from your camera which was a mistake because you could feel yourself get flustered under his gaze. He had his neckguard fit snug against his neck, his curls that peeked out of his helmet stuck to the side from the sweat. He made looking a sweaty mess hot. His voice was smooth like butter and you could listen to him talk all day.

"It's okay you don't have to." You said, somehow managing to find your voice. "Clay told me you hate doing social media."

"I don't hate it. It's just the same all the time but you made it fun so I didn't mind it." Michael shrugged. "You're really good at what you do." He told you earnestly, causing heat to rise to your cheeks.

"Thank you." You thanked him. "And thank you for the offer but I've finished filming. Just doing photos now." You gestured to your camera.

Michael bobbed his head, biting his lip slightly. "Too bad. I'm gonna miss hanging out with you." He said, a sudden wave of bravery hitting him. He didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the time running out, already halfway through the tournament. Or the fact his teammate had likely told you that he liked you. "Come to dinner with me."

"Michael, we shouldn't." You sighed, fighting every urge to say yes. Michael frowned slightly, worried that he misread the situation. "I want to. I really do. It's just- I don't know where I'll be after the tournament is over. I could be in Australia for all I know."

"It can be just two people hanging out, grabbing food that's not from a vending machine." Michael suggested, teasing you as whenever he bumped into you and the rink you were at the vending machine grabbing something that definitely wasn't sufficient enough for your dinner. "And if you wanted, we could maybe catch up if we end up in the same city. Even if it's in Australia."

"Okay." You agreed, your smile matching Michael's. "I'll go to dinner with you." For once you ignored the logical side of your brain and decided to listen to your heart. You couldn't explain it. It just felt right. His coach blew the whistle signaling that the break was over. Giddy with excitement, Michael told you to wait for him after practice before skating back over to the blue line. You didn't miss the way his teammates glanced over with smirks or excitedly fist pump the air.

-x-

After the success of the tournament you were about to head back home when you got an email with a job offer from the owners of the Utah Mammoth. They wanted you to help run their social media in this new era of the club and you couldn't be more excited.

[artdoingdan]

might I humbly request a lore drop about dungeon mart? what was the decision making process of who works in which department?

REQUEST GRANTED ✨✨

Okay so here's what I sketched at the VERY start to figure out everyone's positions.

In general, I'm pulling from my time working at the grocery store, NoFrills, so a lot of things are based on what I saw while there, but here's more specific stuff:

Laois/Falin (Produce)

This was my position at NoFrills and honestly, something about the idea of Laios being super analytical and passionate about fruits and veggies really spoke to me. People have been mentioning that Falin would be great in a pharmacy section (and I agree) but the NoFrills I worked at didn't have a pharmacy, plus I thought keeping the Toudens together would be cute.

Izitsumi (Grocery)

I just liked Izitsumi being deadpan and quietly going about restocking groceries until they HAVE to deal with customers begrudgingly

Chilchuck (Manager)

Okay okay I KNOW everyone's been commenting about how Chilchuck would never be in a non-union position, but guys.... the idea of a depressed, overworked, sick-of-dealing-with-everyone Chilchuck is just TOO GOOD. Chilchuck's one of the most grounded of the group, so I thought he'd actually do pretty well in the position. Plus I love the idea of him having to be manager, but also hating it lmao

Marcille (Assistant Manager)

For the stickers, I put Marcille in grocery, but I was honestly picturing her as the assistant manager (I just didn't want 2 management stickers lol). Whereas Chilchuck is more of the "hole away in his office" type, I picture Marcille being on the floor often and helping the other departments keep in order (especially grocery). I thought she'd be more efficient and content with the job, unlike Chilchuck, and would work well as a duo with him.

Senshi (Bakery)

Senshi could've honestly gone in any department. I almost made him manager, but the pull towards making him a happy baker was too strong 🍞 (The NoFrills I worked at also didn't have an actual bakery section, but the idea won me over). No matter what he did, I felt he'd be THRIVING.

Zon (Meat)

I was stuck between Namari and Zon for this, and even though Namari would've probably made more sense, I liked the image of this big intimidating orc dealing with the meat and having a bromance with Senshi.

Kabru/Shuro (Cashiers)

They were last-minute additions and aren't in this early sketch, but my reasoning was simple: Kabru's super charming and good and dealing with people, and I loved making Shuro miserable LMAO

---

Honestly, the Dungeon Meshi characters are so good you could put them wherever and it'd be interesting. This was just what I thought would be most fun for me to draw, but I've loved reading everyone's alternative takes on it 💜

[zerohirrotries]

I am not one that ships characters aiming for romantic relationships, but more like a platonic friends or besties that I wish i could see more and I think would be amazing friends.

Silver and Amy Rose and Sonic. Look I like Silver with Amy or Sonic, some of my favorite art comes from ship fanart of them, so how about all three together!? This trio has so much chaotic energy and love that they could probably destroy everyone with love and pain. I just love their friendship a lot and wish I could see more of them together!

Wave and Rouge. Okay, I have seen a few people like this ship, but not much in my way. Like both these girls are bosses, they get the job done and can be a leader. I could see a future with them as besties or even making a new team.

Charmy and Tails. Not quite sure, like Charmy is talkative and energetic as Tails is more collective and only will become talkative once he is more comfortable. Like I could see Charmy making it his mission to get Tails to open up to him after he accidentally hears him talk about something he loves passionately for hours. They could be close in their teen to adult years.

Jet and Espio. This one is out there, I know. Pretty sure they have like no character interactions, but just thinking about Espio hating this guy at the start until they are forced to hangout. Both not seeing each other as a threat, so they are neutral with each other until like people insult the other. Just think they would be neat.

Shadow and Blaze. Two of Sonic's rivals on the more calmer scale. Both about taking things seriously when things need to be and both powerful when they want to be. They both would agree on many things, I know they would get along well and maybe even trust each other.

Last one: Cream and Marine. Like no one sees this! Cream is all about wanting to do more and see more, yet just too scared to take the steps. Marine would be besties on the spot, with her boat and her adventurous attitude of life, the perfect person to get Cream a push that she wants/needs. They would do literally everything and explore all the time. In their teens they would go out like weekly on some adventure (Vanilla would force them to take Gemerl to watch them for a few of the adventures) as they would go out on these bizarre places and ditch Gemerl to have fun together. They would just be such an amazing duo, please people see what I am seeing here!!

...

Sorry, I may really like the last idea a lot. . .

Look, I know I say these are more platonic relationships, but I would love to see more of anything with these character pairings or more (such as maybe adding Espio to Shadow and Blaze OR adding Tails into Cream and Marine's duo...) Just rambling some thoughts here.

i am not only giving you permission, but i am asking you to share with me your rare ships. talk to me like youire trying to sell me that rare pair. i want it.

[duckdotimg]

Said I would post them eventually, and here they are... my for-fun redesigns of the main Replikas with see in game, Elster and Ariane being the primary focus of course

If you are curious about my general thoughts and on why I did this fun little thing, and my personal criteria doing it, feel free to read below!

Let me just say that I love Signalis to bits. It has a beautiful, heart-wrenching story. But - and this is just my personal opinion, and without any animosity truly - the style of the cutscenes (not the 3D in-game style or the models) is not my cup of tea. It's just my taste. My personal style just cannot accomodate that kind of stylization anymore, and even if I tried I couldn't draw the replikas as they are in game for the life of me. That said it's still a beautiful game. So if I draw more fanart (which is likely), I will probably use these designs.

Analyzing the approach I took when doing these redesigns:

I wanted the Replikas to have a clear correlation between each other, while still being unique in small ways besides hair, body and armor. This resulted in trying to instill diversity in their faces by making their noses reminisce the beaks of the birds they are named after.

All of the replikas, as you may notice, have much more practical hair. No bangs in front of the face anymore. Personally I think Elster, Starling, and Ara units especially should not have bangs - because of the kind of tasks they are committed to by design. It could hinder their efficiency in carrying out their work - so, no bangs for anyone.

I have given them all top surgery (joke). No faux-boobs except the Eule. The reasoning is the same as above: they are simply not practical! The only exception are the Eule, because...

...I am bad at wording things but to me it's because Eule in concept are supposed to evoke also, besides other things, a 'feminine' gender normativity with them being the main workforce of the Nation but also cooks, teachers, etc (jobs that in our real world, for many years, were relegated to 'only women'). This also reflects to how I have given Eule shinier lips, a fuck-ass bob (middle part to evoke the shape owls have) and (optional) eye make-up.

On a cosmetic note, Stars have white hair tips as a way to more directly pay homage to their avian namesake. And it looks cooler (imo).

Storches and Kolibri have eye make-up/"war paint" and they're meant both to evoke a further feeling of authoritarianism and to intimidate other replikas or gestalts into complying with their orders. For Storches I was inspired particularly by the face make-up used in a certain scene in Suspiria (the 2018 Guadagnino reimagining), and not just for cosmetic reasons! Kolibri's are more generally inspired by the hummingbird's actual appearance.

Ara's grease marks are reminiscent of the pattern usually found on macaws' faces! Not all of the Ara's dirt looks this precise, but well, I thought it would be a fun touch.

Noted before in my previous fanart posts but Ariane is decidedly more sickly-looking but with an extra step. While Elster loves Ariane very much no matter how she looks, I think before the ending of the game she still has an 'idealized' version of her in her mind, albeit still a sick-looking one: long haired Ariane. In my idea the further you get to the end of the game, the more Ariane in the flashback flashes looks how she actually is - hairless, with missing teeth, and extremely irradiated.

Are these like, headcanons I think everyone should adopt when drawing replika and/or ariane...Honestly no idgaf... Just do what you want... I just liked coming up with these and wanted to explain my thoughts. Again I love Signalis and regardless what I think or not of the official style of it, love is love. What else is there to say about it. You should draw these fucked up lesbians however the hell you want which includes meeee and I'm exercising the right to do so

Maybe I'll also draw Adler, Falke and Mynah in the future but they're not here because by principle there is not much I would change about their designs. I have a vision for Falke which is not as drastic as these I drew for now. For sure I'll eventually draw my own ideas for the other gestalts in the story, but I'm gonna take a break and go back to OC stuff now 👍

If you read till here you are nuts and I love you. Let's all get ice cream together