#difficulty was one of them. probably blood too

[azzibuckets]

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

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

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

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

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

word count: 9k

masterlist | oneshots masterlist

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

July 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Azzi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hypoglycemia,” Tim supplies unhelpfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April 2019

Azzi hadn’t planned on going to prom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༉‧₊˚✧

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

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

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

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

Azzi can’t help but snicker. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 2020

Paige knows before it happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I have both?”

“You only have room for one.”

Decisions, decisions. “Slim Jims.”

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

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

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

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

༉‧₊˚✧

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

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

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

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

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

“Clean cut?” Paige echoes, lost.

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

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

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

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

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

Devastation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆⑅˚₊

Azzi: just said goodbye to paige

Azzi: my flight's in a couple hours

Azzi: see you soon

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

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

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

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

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

February 2022

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

“Oh, okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My reaction?”

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

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

No turning back now. “No?”

“I’m really not.”

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

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

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

“Paige-”

“And I touched her-,”

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

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

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

“So?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azzi grins and kisses her forehead. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow. Are you free?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆⑅˚₊

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

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

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

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

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

August 2025

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

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

11:45 PM

Missed call from Azzi

Missed call from Azzi

Azzi: hey u good?

Azzi: lmk if u need a minute

11:58 PM

Azzi: lmao did u forget

12:10 AM

Missed call from Azzi

Azzi: seriously paige

Azzi: at the fucking club again

12:22 AM

Azzi: call me when ur up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paige rubs her temples. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t yell at me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paige: done for the day, lmk when ur free

Read

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

Paige: are u really ignoring my texts

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

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

Azzi calls her a couple minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆⑅˚₊

Azzi doesn't know what came over her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[clairewritesfanfics]

Mark Grayson Variants as Husbands

Characters: Emperor Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Omni-Mark, Prisoner Mark

Emperor/Target Mark

Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t have any concubines. He is mature enough to know that he doesn’t have the capacity to manage a harem of alien brides. Despite his occasional childishness, he is devoted to you and you alone and takes great pride in his monogamy. He would be lying if he said he doesn’t want a harem composed of versions of you though.

He can be, for lack of a better term, a brat and insists on “my way or no way.” But in the end, he always buckles to what you want, because he hates upsetting you.

He values your opinion. You are his consort, his only equal. He will always seek your advice before he makes any major decisions, especially ones that may affect the empire.

Mohawk Mark

Reads all the books you like to read, and even the fanfics you deemed “shameful.” Though he teases you, he never mocks you. 

He’s a philosophy nerd–actually, he’s a total bookworm who’ll read anything, from The Nancy Drew Cookbook to the Kama Sutra–but he has a soft spot for Camus and his peers. He talks to you about the inherent meaninglessness of life while you two eat pizza and watch TV.

He loves seeing you use and wear the stuff he buys you. It’s rare for him to actually make a purchase with the intention of getting you things, but he always thinks of you. Even when he isn’t thinking of you, he can’t help but think of you. 

One of his favorites is the heart-shaped locket which contained braided locks of his hair. He has an exact replica of that locket that contained your hair, too. 

No Goggles Mark

Resembles a puppy dog who loves his owner too much. A cute, obsessive, six-foot-tall murderous dog. His day starts and ends with you.

He would probably be your devoted househusband if he had any choice in the matter, but you don’t like him being alone. 

Out of all of them, he’s the reddest flag purely from the fact that he has difficulty, or rather, has zero interest in interacting with others when you’re not around. 

He’s also one of the more competent fighters, but he always comes home bleeding and bruised. It’s because you fuss over him. More blood means more affection. 

He doesn’t get the human concept of the “nagging wife” because he relishes in your voice, in your undivided attention. It doesn’t matter if you’re reprimanding him or praising him, whether you throw flowers or dirt, life with you is one big, beautiful garden. 

Omni-Mark

Appears cold and distant to outsiders, to the point that they can’t even picture him smiling or being all cuddly, but he’s just a man who knows when and how to separate business from pleasure.

He is very observant. He repairs any problems in the house before you even notice, like a leaky faucet or a squeaky door hinge. 

A man of his word, he prioritizes his commitments to you over everything else. If you two planned a vacation together on the other side of the world, then he is ignoring any and all calls from work. 

He has endless time, but time with you can only be for so long, which makes it all the more precious than the lives of everyone else in the universe. 

Prisoner Mark

The actual househusband.

He gets super competitive when it comes to cooking and maintaining the house’s cleanliness, which, while you do appreciate, concerns you a bit. You don’t want him to get too obsessed with the housework because it means he always finds an excuse to stay at home. Granted, he’s an ex-con, but you still want him to interact with other people.

Despite his rough exterior, he is still a sweetheart. When random thugs aren’t making trouble for him, he is pretty chill.

You find that you have nothing to worry about when you discover that he is on a first name basis with the cashier lady at the grocery you two frequent, is affectionately called “Boo Radley” by the neighborhood kids, feeds the ducks and pigeons near the park, and is loved by every dog and cat that crosses his path.

author's Note: I'm so lonely.

Masterlist | request rules | ask box Husband headcanons for: Cap Mark, Full Mask Mark, Maskless Mark, Shiesty Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark

Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.

[catsteeth]

Ivory Gown HEADCANNON

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Stark Reader

+:✿ HeadCannon Request ✿:+ :

Request: “So we know that Jacaerys wasn't a fan of the bedding ceremony but how did he initially react when StarkReader mentioned it? Did he even know what it was? You can decide if you want bullet points or paragraphs!” CW: NSFW themes, misogyny, threats of violence, Jace being protective/possessive, fluffy fluff.

I think Jace would know what it is. He is a royal who has probably been to multiple Westeros weddings, where it is commonplace. However, I think his knowledge about such ceremonies would be fairly general. I don’t think they prep the boys for their weddings as they do for women. 

I think his opinion of it is that it is distasteful and generally disrespectful and demeaning towards the bride. Even though some brides look forward to the ceremony. 

If you brought up the ceremony to him he would likely reassure you it wouldn’t happen. He would be stern and determined that it wouldn’t even be up for question, but with you his words would be gentle and honest. Though if someone else were to bring it up be would likely take offense that they would even consider it. 

Like imagine you and he were walking around the Great Hall with the Septon and a handmaiden and planned the wedding:

“Any foods you would request, my Lady?” The septon asked as the handmaiden continued to write down each word spoken. 

You raised your eyebrows not expecting to be spoken to. You shook your head, “I have no opinion.” You said instinctively, not wanting to impose on the house you did not feel was your own yet.

Jace took your hand gently and subtly as he stepped to your side. “She prefers duck in meat and trout in fish, " he told the septon and the handmaiden scribbled away.

The septon nodded, “Very well.” As you three continued to walk across the grand hall, you smiled up at Jace softly. Touched by his attentiveness to you. Jace rubbed your knuckle gently with his thumb as the Septon turned back to Jace, “The Lady’s gown will have to be altered,” He began but you interrupted him before he could finish, “Altered? That was my mother’s gown.” You didn’t wish to sound ungrateful or disrespectful but this dress held great sentiment to not only you but to the North itself. 

The septon turned his attention from Jace to you, he stammered a bit before he could get out his sentence, “A simple alteration is all, the gown’s trail though elegant is far too long. It may cause some difficulty during the bedding ceremony.” 

Jace was not the one interrupting him. “Bedding ceremony? Who decided that?” he asked, letting go of your hand and walking closer to the septon with anger in his voice. 

The handmaiden who had written everything down suddenly looked up from her quill and parchment, looking between the septon and the prince. “It is tradition, my Prince. Without the bedding ceremony, there is no proof that the marriage was consummated.” The Septon said without much confidence. 

“They’ll have their proof when the princess is with child.” Jace had a habit of already acting as though you and he were married. Referring to you as the princess even though that title had not become your own yet. He stepped closer to the Septon looking at him with daggers for eyes, “I’ll not have men’s hands on my bride, and I certainly won’t have them ripping her mother’s gown off of her.” He stared at the Septon, daring him to question him, when he did not Jace stepped back towards you, “Her dress will not be altered, and anyone who wishes for a bedding ceremony will answer to my sword.” He said finally before leading you out of the great hall with him. 

Jace huffed as he walked down the hall. You liked seeing him so angry, it made your blood hot, and wish that you were already wed so you could let him take out his frustration onto you. You smirked at him as he continued to march down the hall, looking forward with angry eyes.

You took a gentle hold of his fingers as he marched, “I am gladdened by your choice.” You said softly.

Jace scoffed and shook his head, “It is a barbaric ceremony.” 

You nodded then shrugged, “There’s worse ceremonies that are performed.” Jace looked at you with a raised brow not knowing what you meant, “The first night ceremony.” You said and he still looked at you with confusion, “You’ve never heard of that one?” Your smirk pulled into a smile and you held back a giggle, you leaned in closer to him as you whispered, “Any man whose name ranked above the grooms could claim the first night of marriage.” 

Jace looked at you in shock, disgusted by what you’d just told him, “You cannot be serious.”

You shook your head, “I have never been one to joke about such things.” you said casually, though Jace’s disgusted demeanor did not go away. “Do not worry, your great-grandmother outlawed it in all her wisdom.” You said attempting to ease his mind.

“I’d kill any man who even jested of it.” He said shaking his head already angry at the thought of it. 

You smirked at him and stifled a laugh, “I did not know I was betrothed to such a protective man.” 

He squeezed your hand that held his own, “I will always protect what I love. Til the end of my days.” He spoke with sternness, but as always was gentle with you.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Defending His Lady

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Both Feyd and your son take issue with the people of Giedi Prime not accepting you as their Lady. Part of the His series

Notes/Warnings: Based on a request. It's a little bit different. Typos, probably.

Words: 1250

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Years ago, when you imagined your future, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t on this planet. It wasn’t with the husband and child you have. It wasn’t with the title you obtained from your marriage. You imagined light glowing through an open home, frilly gowns, a stuffy Lord, and a daughter who would be treated like a princess. It wasn’t necessarily what you wanted for your future, but it was what was likeliest to be. You’d be a foreign Lady on a new planet, yet respected just as much as their home-grown Lord.

You learned rather quickly that that’s not always how it works. And while you wouldn’t trade the life you have—not your husband, not your son—for anything the universe could offer, you can’t deny the difficulties that come with being the wife and mother of the Harkonnen line of Giedi Prime. 

The people wanted Feyd to marry one of their own, certainly not the concubine their na-Baron once took. They wanted purity. To them, you are tainted blood, and despite your status on this planet, many cannot resist treating you like a parasite. In the five years that have passed, you’ve taken the poor treatment and whispered words with as much grace as you can, knowing Feyd is always there to end the lives of those who step out of bounds, but it’s harder to ignore now that Fionn is no longer a baby.

Your son is growing. His ears catch more than you’d like. He notices how his father reacts to the harsh words directed at you and how he never sees the people who speak them ever again. He’s gathering the pieces that his mother is often disrespected, and that is the last thing you want.

—

“He sees it,” you tell your husband as you slip into your nightgown.

“He doesn’t see it,” Feyd says, pulling back the top layer of covers on the bed and settling under the sheets. When he reaches out his hand, you snuggle into his embrace. His arms are snug around you. His lips press a kiss to your hairline. “You worry too much.”

You hold in your huff of frustration. “I do not. He asked me as I put him to bed if bad people are hurting me and if that’s why Daddy keeps making them disappear.” Feyd pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed. You nod. “He sees it.”

Feyd exhales heavily through his nose. As a father, he’s been diligent, so very careful with how he leads his son; a surprisingly delicate guidance—something he didn’t have growing up. What started from Feyd’s fear of your son being too much like him died as the boy showed only love, but Feyd has continued his intricate training. He has trained so that even at the age of four, Fionn is vigilant, particular with his words, and practical in his choices. He trains so that outside factors are not as influential. He trains so the boy can think for himself. And it shouldn’t be a shock that he notices what happens in his own home. 

“It’s time he understands then,” Feyd says.

Your eyes go wide and you let out a light gasp. “Feyd, he’s four.”

“There’s no point in hiding what happens to them if he’s already curious. He’s as stubborn as you are,” he tells you. “And he’s old enough.”

—

“Mommy, where are we going?” Fionn asks, his little hand tugging on yours to get your attention. 

You take a deep breath, sucking in the dank air that leads to prisoner cells. You’re not sure how this is going to go, but you agreed and you need to let it play out. “Daddy wants to show you something.”

Fionn’s head turns to Feyd. “Is it a bad man, Daddy?”

Feyd pauses halfway down the hall and crouches in front of his son. You release Fionn’s hand so he can fully face his father. 

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a bad man.”

��He hurt Mommy?”

“Some of our guards heard him talking about your mother. He said rude things, called her names. He wished for harm to come to her.”

Fionn makes a soft noise of surprise. Name-calling—he considers that one of the worst of crimes, knowing what it got him when he insulted the little Lady of House Kenric. 

“But why?” he asks. 

“It doesn’t matter why,” Feyd says. “What matters is that we protect the ones we love, yes?”

“Yes,” Fionn agrees with a sharp nod.

Feyd looks up at you, silently commanding that you stay here. The last time you entered a cell to face the one who insulted you, more abuse was hurled at you until it tapped into a well of internal shame. It took you three days to shake that off, all the while your husband begging for you to return to your natural state of uncaring. 

You’ve always cared though, to some degree. It doesn’t matter that they like you so much as it matters that you’re not a stain on Feyd’s reputation. After all, he’s the Baron now, and one day, his son will be. If the people of Giedi Prime cannot forget where you come from, you worry they will never forgive Feyd, and worse, that they will never accept Fionn as their ruler. 

Feyd takes your boy’s hand once again and leads him the rest of the way. They stop at the correct cell and when a guard turns a key, they head inside. 

Inching your way down the hall, you halt just outside of it. Your finger goes to your lips to ensure the guard does not give you away, and with your back to the stone wall, you hear Fionn.

“He did it?”

The man is silent, likely knocked unconscious from Feyd’s earlier visit. You suppose he’ll be awake soon enough. 

“Yes,” Feyd tells him, his voice dropping an octave, “He did.”

“Did he apologize? He should apologize to Mommy.”

Feyd releases a sigh. His son is much more diplomatic than himself. But your husband can’t fairly be bothered. That’s the point of his parenting: to raise a better Baron than both he and his uncle have ever been. 

“Son, we do not let men like this apologize. We do not let them near your mother.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think we do with them?”

Fionn hums, and it’s so much like his father that it’s as if he has stood on the sidelines of every death your husband has executed. The way Feyd hums as he plays with his victims. A fake hum of consideration, of contemplation. What should I do with them? How should they leave this world? Questions he pretends to ask as if he hasn’t planned their deaths out from the moment he was informed of the crime. And that’s the hum your son gives. He hums like a natural monster in the making. You wouldn’t be surprised if the boy is tapping his finger against his chin as he thinks. 

You feel an ounce of pride. There’s more to him than a kind heart, lovely as that heart is. He will be a fearsome Baron, but one that will show mercy when mercy is fit. However, here, now, mercy is not fit, and his father has made that clear.

“Would you like the first stab?” Feyd asks. “Top of thigh.”

The shing of metal scraping against Feyd’s sheath fills the space. A small blade. Good for Fionn’s hand.

“Which thigh, Daddy?”

Feyd chuckles. “You choose.”

[deebris]

Act 3: Retraction

Shelby family x sister reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: You’re wounded, Edmund Beaumont is dead, and Liam is missing. The news hits the Shelbys like an avalanche, fueling their rage as they see the condition of their younger sister. Now, the hunt for the boy, who has earned the family’s respect, becomes a top priority.

Warnings: Graphic violence, blood, explicit language.

Word count: ≈ 1.8k

ACT 1: Permission — ACT 2: Sacrifice

The early morning in Birmingham was even greyer than usual, as if the clouds had sensed Tommy’s conflicting thoughts. He climbed the steps of that old house, one just like hundreds of others, and stopped on the porch as if lost in contemplation.

Finn waited patiently below, hands clasped in front of him, a clear sign of unspoken shame. The boy was afraid of his older brothers and bore a black eye, a gift from John for his recklessness last night, when he left you alone while he enjoyed stolen whiskey with Isaiah.

They found you in tears near the Garrison. The gentlemen on the pavement made a fuss, and luckily, John and Arthur were inside. They tried to touch your bruised face, but you screamed in pain. Your body trembled as if you'd just emerged from an icy lake, your voice frantic as you sobbed incoherent words to them. Arthur said you didn’t let go of his arm for hours.

John went looking for Liam with a few men, at the very place you said he’d be. But when they arrived, they found nothing but a disturbing scene — the ground was red, Mark Winslow’s lifeless body lay bleeding near some barrels, and there was no sign of the other two. News spread across the docks and Small Heath like the plague.

Tommy arrived a while later, he and John standing over the scene, tense as stone. They both stiffened when a policeman approached, lowering his voice to deliver a whispered message from Sabini:

“The lad” Beaumont “acted for personal reasons, but they won’t hand him over.” The officer spoke hastily, his moustache twitching as he swallowed hard.

“Won’t hand him over, for fuck’s sake?!” John roared, kicking a wooden barrel with force.

“We don’t need them to. We’ll find him ourselves.” Tom stated, voice as calm as ever. “This stopped being just Winslow’s problem the moment that lad and the Sabinis decided to shelter him.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell you they hadn’t found Liam. Instead, he told you a lie. And it was only with that false hope that you managed to sleep.

“He’s fine, just a few scratches.” That was the lie he crafted, avoiding the bright, hopeful eyes of his younger sister as he reassured her in a half-hearted embrace.

A butcher claimed he had seen the end of the fight when he stepped out to take the rubbish. Edmund Beaumont had run after his friend hit the ground, while Liam, too injured to even walk properly, clutched his stomach the entire time.

“The mate was stubborn, wouldn’t let me touch him.” The man’s voice was weighted with pity. “Said he needed to know if someone… a girl, I think, was alright.”

Back in the present, Tommy sighed, weary from staring at the worn wooden door. But just as he raised his hand to knock, something stopped him.

“Can I help you, sir?” A timid voice made him turn his head. A woman stood there, firewood in her arms, her expression laced with concern.

“We’re looking for Liam Byrne. Are you his neighbour?” He asked, slipping his hands into the pockets.

“Is he in trouble?”

The suspicion in her tone made Tom go silent. He assessed the woman once more, glancing at her house next door. Two small silhouettes were visible in the window, probably her children.

“He isn’t.” The answer was curt, only deepening her doubt.

“Miss Mason, do you remember me?” Finn interjected, stepping forward. “I’m… I’m a friend of his.”

The last words left his mouth with difficulty, as though he no longer deserved to call himself that after everything.

She wet her lips, studying Finn with more attention, recognising the boy as, in fact, one of Liam’s friends. She hesitated, but then gave in:

“He didn’t come home last night.” She glanced around as if speaking about it were dangerous. “Liam never got himself into trouble. He’s good. So if something’s happened, please, tell me.”

Tommy stepped down from the porch, frowning at the information.

“He didn’t come home?” The question was rhetorical, but even so, the woman nodded again.

“His mother stayed at mine last night. She’s terribly worried.”

“We’ll find him, miss. Don’t worry.” Finn spoke with newfound determination, stepping closer to his brother to whisper:

“I think I know where he might be.”

Tommy had no choice but to let himself be led once again. They walked briskly, heading towards the outskirts of Birmingham, where abandoned train tracks lay forgotten. Rusted wagons, overgrown with vines, stood scattered around, the metal nearly swallowed by the wild.

He didn’t want to imagine what Finn and his pals used this place for. Tom knew his younger brother’s antics well enough to be sure that knowing the details would only give him a headache.

“Liam came here with us sometimes. When he had time, at least.” Finn murmured as they searched. “There was one time… well, he wasn’t feeling right and ended up here.”

Tom remained silent, exhaling sharply. That boy, Byrne, had surprised him — and, in a way, he felt indebted. But here and now, searching for him, Thomas realised it wasn’t duty driving him. He genuinely wanted to find the dockworker, as if looking for one of his own.

A twig snapped underfoot, and as he reflexively glanced down, he spotted a red trail.

“Check the wagons.” He ordered, moving swiftly.

He searched frantically, weaving between the rusted compartments, his tension mounting as he found more blood. The thought of Liam lying dead made his throat tighten with guilt. What would he tell you? What would have become of you without him yesterday?

“Tommy! I found him!” Finn’s voice rang out like salvation.

Tommy sprinted towards his brother, climbing into the wagon. Liam was slumped against the wall, pale as a sheet, his face battered and bruised. His hand still clutched his stomach, just as the butcher had said.

“He’s been stabbed.” Finn stated flatly, reaching out to check if Liam was conscious.

“Liam.” Tom patted his cheek. “Liam, come on, son. Wake up.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.” Tom snapped, hating the thought. “Go get John. And a doctor.”

Finn nodded like a soldier receiving orders, but before he could leave, a weak grip caught his coat.

“And a doctor, you hear me?” Tommy repeated. “Don’t forget the doctor.”

“Right.” Finn locked eyes with him, every nerve in his body primed for action. And when Thomas let go, he bolted.

“Mr Shelby?” Liam’s voice was barely above a whisper. He was weak, exhausted, and parched.

“My boy, let me see.” Tom reached for his bloodied hand, but the lad wouldn’t let go.

His body was so spent that he barely felt the pain.

“Is she alright?” His words were faint. “I need to know if she’s safe, Mr Shelby.”

“She’s safe, lad. She made it home.” Tom reassured him. “Why did you come here?”

“My mum… I didn’t want her to see me like this.” He spoke as though he weren’t barely clinging on.

“Thank you.” The words were heavy, worth more than gold.

“I didn’t do it for you, sir.” He answered simply. There was no contempt, just the truth.

“I know.” Tom exhaled, hand resting against the back of Liam’s head with rare tenderness. “I know.” He repeated it more intensely, as if that was exactly what he was thankful for.

He no longer resembled the same man who had welcomed him to his office the previous week.

“Which one of them stabbed you?”

“Edmund.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched.

“He’ll pay.”

“You shouldn’t get involved, sir. The Sabinis will think I acted on the Shelbys’ behalf. You’ve got enough trouble with them as it is.”

“But you did act, lad.” Tommy’s voice carried conviction. “You risked your own life for a Shelby.”

“I’m not a gangster, sir. Nor a killer. It was an accident...” Liam finally broke. The tears fell down his cheeks, as if they had been waiting for permission. “My mother can’t know. It’d destroy her.”

“She won’t hear a word about what happened. I'll handle it, don't think about Sabini.”

“You can’t fix death.” Liam murmured, and the only thing Thomas could think of was that the boy was right. And that's why he wouldn't let him die. “Please, don’t tell her either. Don’t tell her I killed him.”

Her. You.

He hesitated for a moment. But when he exhaled, he gave a single nod.

“She won’t know.”

That promise was the last thing spoken, as Tommy made sure Liam stayed conscious until help arrived. He pulled off his coat, using it to wipe the dirt from the lad’s mouth and his exposed neck. By sheer luck — or perhaps some desperate instinct — Liam had found a position that slowed the bleeding. It was the only reason he was still alive.

“Where are they?” John’s voice rang out, slightly muffled by the distance. Tommy stood, stepping out of the wagon to face him.

“It’s not so serious. It's only bad because it took a long time to be treated.” The doctor declared, his voice steady, a man well-seasoned in his profession, and well-paid for his discretion.

With swift efficiency, he assessed the wound. A second later, he was pressing gauze to it, soaking it in alcohol. Liam groaned, the pain sending a violent shudder through him. His trembling hands, slick with blood, tried in vain to push away the three men working on his wound.

Both Shelbys, faces grim and damp with sweat, lifted him carefully, ensuring they didn’t make the injury worse. Liam let out a muffled cry as his feet left the ground, the throbbing agony making his vision blur.

The car that had brought them there, a black Ford, was parked just a few metres away. Moving quickly, Tommy pulled open the back door as John eased him onto the seat, placing a folded coat under his head for support.

“Hang in there, mate.” John muttered before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Liam.” Tommy’s voice was firm as he spoke the name, stopping the door before it closed.

“Yes, sir?” He responded with a grunt.

“You have my blessing. You hear me?” The sentence came out in a rush, urgently. “I give you my permission.”

Even through the fever, even in his dazed state, Liam understood exactly what the older man meant. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, and for the first time, his furrowed brows weren’t from pain, but from relief.

And then he smiled. A small, knowing smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

Tag list:

@jsprien213 @salvatt1 @themorriganisamonster @thatsroug @sxurcherries @mclarens-type-is-my-type @boomdolle @macimads @sangdium45

[elucubrare]

What are your biggest turn-offs when reading/watching historical fiction or retellings of myths?

this is really complicated - i can put it in two boxes, both of which are packed very full.

disconnection from the material reality of the past

when characters display a very specifically modern mindset (about social issues especially, but other stuff too)

(I also get bothered by some kinds of modern language - I don't mind it when, idk, an author uses "sensible" with the modern connotation of "practical" and not the 18th century "emotional" or "empathetic", but "yeah" or "okay," or even, as i found out when someone used it in medieval fantasy, "holy shit" will get on my nerves.)

there are modern things where (made up example!) a character who's supposed to be a cook will talk about making caprese salad for a fancy restaurant in December, and someone snarking on the book will say "yeah, right, they should know better than to make something that depends on a fresh summer vegetable!" and even with greenhouses, that's pretty fair. and that's even more extreme in the past. it's 1650 in Verona, it's December, you cannot obtain fresh tomatoes. i don't think this means that people in the past were, necessarily, more emotionally or spiritually in tune with the cycle of the year, or the labor it took to get clothes, or furniture, or any other material item, and of course wealth can insulate people from some of that difficulty, but it does mean that the seasons had more direct impact on people's lives. It's possible to, for example, buy clothes ready-made, but for anything fancy, it's more likely that it'll be made to fit if it's new, or altered extensively and painstakingly if it's not. that means that tearing or staining a fancy dress isn't just an issue of looking bad - you can't just replace it, and you probably won't throw it out - you figure out how to reuse it. those concerns of access to material goods are just a lot closer to the surface of the world than they often are now.

my objections to modern attitudes about the world are not that people in the past 100% accepted the views of their contemporaries - there were always people who didn't, and it makes sense that a protagonist would be one of them. but people wouldn't phrase those objections in the same way that modern people would - say your main character doesn't want a woman accused of being a witch burned. "God's power is such that the Devil cannot give this woman the ability to sour milk" is most likely going to be more persuasive to the crowd than "witches aren't real." and sometimes that's rough - it's not super fun to read about a Roman with Roman attitudes about provincial wars, or slavery in the city, but I put something down because a Roman character said (in internal dialogue) that he was disgusted to see that a man had been tortured because "Romans simply didn't do that." Historical Romans did do that, routinely - a slave could not testify in a law court unless they had been tortured. Even with distasteful things like that, I'd much rather it just be glossed over than to have them say the "correct" modern thing. It just makes it feel too much like the theme park version of the culture.

Both of these are because of specific things I come to historical fiction for - I want that sense of alienation, the gulf of experience. I hate that most historical fiction (and fantasy set in semi-recognizable periods) characters don't really care about Honor, except as a joke, because I love when characters organize their lives around arcane rules and systems that cause tiny things to escalate into blood feud. I just think they're neat! I like it when people's worldviews are shaped by their lack of scientific certainty about what causes crops to fail! If I wanted to read about people who thought and acted like me, and had lives that were mostly similar to mine, only cooler, I'd just read contemporary fiction.

[ryewwww]

Bully Gojo with NerdReader who has to tutor him?

-> the way people eat up bully!gojo, I’m here for it 🙂‍↕️

⚠️: NONCON, manipulative!gojo, mean!gojo, physical abuse, drugged!reader, bondage, dacryphilia, blood (gojo wants you to scratch him till he bleeds), unprotected sex

This is fucked, so read at your own risk. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Satoru first laid eyes on you in the library

You were staring at your laptop, eyebrows scrunched, eyes switching between the screen and the paper in front of you

He’d seen you around before, despite the university being quite big

But hey, maybe that’s fate calling

Actually, fate was definitely calling, because when he walked into the math centre to get some help on his homework, he wasn’t expecting you to be there either

You sat alone, eyes glued to your iPad

It was unusual for Satoru to walk in a room and all eyes not being on him

So, he took the initiative and sat down next to you

Only then did you snap your head around, looking at him like, 'How dare you sit next to me?!'

But you didn’t say anything, just looked up at him one time before your gaze settled back on your work

He takes his stuff out, twirling his pencil between his long fingers

He easily peers over your head and sees that you’re working on the same homework assignment he has

Perfect

“Hey, are you in math 206 too?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“How are you finding the assignment?”

“It’s a little hard… that’s why I’m here.”

The conversation was awkward, you were awkward, but Satoru was never one to back down from a challenge

Now he knew where you liked to hang out

Every day, he'd show up at the math help center, and you'd work through problems together

As time went by, you were beginning to let your guard down. Obviously, you were a bit skeptical of Satoru because I mean look at him. You didn’t want him to just use you for answers or as a free tutor because you let one too many people get away with using you.

You wanted to believe he was different. And it didn’t help that he was so so charming.

Finals were coming up fast, the math centre was closing so you and Satoru had to find a study spot.

It was getting late, the libraries were closing and you were having difficulties finding a nice place to study

Therefore, Satoru saw it as the perfect opportunity to reel you back to his place

“I don’t live too far from campus. You wanna go back to my place to study? We can get some pizza before going up.”

Satoru said it so casually, that you felt comfortable enough to accept his offer. Besides, he’s your friend right? You trust him.

He leads you back to his nice, sports car and drives back to his place. He had placed the order for the pizza online, so by the time you got there, it was done.

You knew Satoru was wealthy, just from the way he dressed. But you could have never imagined it to this extent. Because living in a penthouse in the heart of downtown, he had to be paying over 10k a month for this place.

The view was spectacular, the city lights sparkling everywhere you looked

Satoru knew his place carried a charm like him. Usually, a girl would forget about why they came over and pounce on him, no questions asked.

But you were a hard nut to crack

“You wanna see the view from the balcony?”

“Actually, can we go back to studying?”

You’re sitting at the table, Satoru close by watching you do another math question.

He notices the increase yawning so he asks, “you want some coffee?”

“Yeah. Some coffee would be great.” Your voice soft, laced with exhaustion

Now, Satoru didn’t want to resort to this, but fuck, his patience was running thin. Had it been another girl he would’ve bed them by now and they’d probably be on their way out.

But you either are a airhead, or you didn’t see him in that way. But either way, it’s unacceptable to him.

So, his mind goes back to a pill his best friend, Suguru gave him.

When you were focused, Satoru slipped away, retrieved the pill and roofied your coffee.

When you wake up, your head is pounding, arms restrained behind your back, legs tied apart.

You turn your head in a panic and see Satoru on top, holding you in place by the neck.

He smirks when he notices you’re awake

You try to move but you can’t so naturally, you begin to cry

He hushes you, hand pushing harder against your neck.

You whimper, your mind starting to focus on the pain penetrating your lower abdomen

You don’t know the time, don’t know how long this has been going on, or how you even got in this position

He restricted your movement, moving faster into you so all you could do is whine and squirm

“Finally awake, princess?” He grunted, dick still pounding into you

“Was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake.” And he laughs. He laughs like drugging and forcing himself onto you was funny.

He pulls out, undoing your restraints and flipping you onto your back. Your legs are resting on his shoulder and he’s pushing into you again

You wanted to fight back but your arms hurt from being restrained so tightly and for so long

The most you could do is claw at his back or chest but it didn’t bother him

No, instead he fucking loved it

“Yeah, baby. Gonna scratch me up? Good, make me bleed.”

In return, he starts nipping all over your neck, covering it with red and purple marks.

His hands dug into your thighs, pushing it back before cumming deep inside of you

You finish unwillingly around him with a sob.

He pulls out, harshly pushing you aside

You curl up, trying to soothe yourself from his brutality but Satoru couldn’t find a fuck in him to give

“Put your clothes on and get the fuck out of here.”

You don’t waste any time, crawling to the floor and putting your clothes on in a hurry.

Before you could escape out of there, Satoru got up, pulling you back by your hair.

A phone was shoved in your face and on it is a video of Satoru fucking you ruthlessly

The colour drains from your face

“You tell anyone about this, I will post this every fucking where, with your name plastered on it, do you understand?”

“Why are you doing this?”

He pulls your head harder, “I said, do you fucking understand me?”

“Y-yes. I-I won’t tell you anyone. Please, just let me go home.”

He lets go of your hair and you feel like you can finally breathe

You scurried off, thinking that this would be the end of it

But you couldn’t be more wrong

Here you go, I hope it wasn’t too dark. I won’t be writing a part 2 for this because it’s so similar to the other bully!gojo h.c I have.

[1800-page-not-found]

Helloo! Can i have kim dokja x reader where its like reader and yjh at first hate each other but over time they start getting close (slight yjh x reader if you want) and dokja starts seeing them being close and gets jealous (i love dokja being jelly)

(sorry its a bit hard to read😓 have a great day and stay hydrated !)

Yall love jealous kim dokja goddamn

Jealous Kim Dokja x reader

Platonic Yoo Joonghyuk x reader (like a sibling dynamic)

heres some father son time with kdj and gilyoung (wingman!!)

Im sorry btw if you think it's short, i struggle with writing long stories 😭😭😭

When Dokja first told you about the novel he was reading, you felt bad for the main character. But jeez...meeting him in real life? Man you just wanted to curse him out!

During one of the scenarios, you had all split up, pulling sticks to see who'd get paired with who, and you just happened to be paired with Joonghyuk. As you both walk around, an elderly lady walked up and offered some food. After evaluating it, you decided it was safe.

"We don't n-" Before he could finish, you kicked the back of his knee and made him kneel, pushing his head down.

"Thank you granny!" You smiled at the lady, "I'm also so sorry for his actions, you see, he escaped from a mental institute-"

Before you could finish your lie, he covered your mouth, the grandma laughing and walking away, talking about her youthful days.

"Seriously? Mental institute? Please, as if." He scoffed.

"Yeah you probably escaped." You laughed, before running off as he chased you with his sword.

Running around, you found your beloved dokja, and leapt into his arms like a princess.

"Dokja! Your companion is trying to kill me!" You laughed at the fuming Joonghyuk, pointing at him.

A string of jealousy tugged at Dokja's heart, his mind wandering off to what a cute one on one time you two would have had...

-

After settling down, you, dokja, joonghyuk, and gilyoung decided to walk together.

As you all turned a corner, a grotesque monster popped up out of nowhere.

With your heightened blood pressure, you kicked joonghyuk forward, shouting, "Take him!"

Of course someone like him faced no difficulty cutting down the monster, but it did end up with you two bickering and fighting. Man...you two had to be long lost twins at this point...

-

Although dokja didn't notice it, gilyoung definitely did.

"Are you jealous?" He asked dokja.

"Wha..what? No!" Dokja waved his hands in the air.

"Yes you are...You frown everytime you look at that bastard," He nods in approval, "It's okay ajussi, me too, me too. He's wasting [name]'s precious time!"

So, the cooked up a plan.

A trap was set up, in which they titled it, 'Bastard Trap.'

Both you and joonghyuk were too engrossed in fighting each other and bickering that you both didn't realize the trap. As the two of you walked behind, you blinked, and joonghyuk was gone??

On the other hand, joonghyuk blinked and he was suddenly flung into the air, far away.

You shrugged it off, this basically meant you win...the gods were really looking out for you...! You wept a silent tear.

Gilyoung too initative, grabbing your hand and dokja's smiling and dragging you about.

"This is nice, right?" He spoke, grinning ear to ear.

You laughed, "Sure is!"

Mission accomplished!

Dokja smiled at your reaction, you really were the perfect woman. His jealousy was gone now (in which said jealousy found himself in an alleyway)

He would do this again in a heartbeat.

[xylianasblog]

miles Quaritch smut story please heheh

The scent of you.

Pairings: Quaritch x FemHuman Reader

Summary: They say the senses are the gateway to the memory.

Warnings: MDNI, aged gap, Young reader/older reader, human Quaritch/avatar Quaritch, p in v, time skip, size difference, tummy bulge, dirty talk, if I missed anything I’m sorry.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦MDNI꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Quaritch groaned as he buried himself balls deep into the tight cunt he was fucking into. For such an old man he still knew how to use his body to a woman’s liking, it didn’t matter that said woman was 30 years younger than him.

You had become his favorite fuck, so lively and young you made him feel things he wasn’t supposed to feel. Yet the one thing that drew him in was the smell of you.

He enjoyed burying his face into your neck as he breathed in your scent, the soft hint of vanilla brought him a sense of comfort. The overwhelming smell of the fresh dew drops on the leaves in the morning as the sun begins to rise made him incredibly horny.

The soft hints of vanilla mixed nicely with the heady musky scent of your arousal. Calling to him reminding him of what it was like to be young.

He lost himself in the feel of your wet cunt gripping onto his cock, his mind focused on the smell of you surrounding him. Invading all of his senses, “Fuck sweetheart, this tight little cunt of yours takes me too fucking well.” He praises your cunt as he continues with his deep yet hard thrust. “Taking me like it was made for me.”

He groans loudly against your neck, his hands gripping onto your thighs as he pushes them apart more. “Who knew such a pretty little bitch would make the perfect slut for my cock.”

He enjoyed the way his treatment on your body and the words he slurred in a pleasurable haze caused your body to respond in magnificent ways. Needy you were, compliant, most importantly in these moments you were only his. He’d never outright say that though, telling himself he just enjoyed the way your pussy clung greedily to his cock.

“You look pathetic, taking this old man’s cock like this.” He grunted loudly through clenched teeth, hold on your thighs grew tighter as he felt his release closing in. “But you take it so well.. my perfect little cocksleeve.” He declared as he released deep inside of you, forcing your own orgasm as ropes of his seed coated your insides.

After a moment he laid there simply breathing in your scent, surrounding himself in the comfort your body provided. He’d be off soon, in 2 hours exact, to go off and fight Jake sully. He wasn’t sure if he’d be back, wasn’t even sure if he’d live but one thing for sure was that if he did die his last moments of life wanted to be basking in the feeling of you, even if it is fleeting.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

The fight has begun, his soldiers dying, falling left and right. There’s not much one can do when you’re a measly human in a world that wasn’t meant for you.

Fighting with Jake has been a little easy for Quaritch, granted the amp suit helped a lot, but when someone brings arrows to a knife fight you’re bound to die.

Quaritch knew the saying all too well “Your life flashes before your eyes.” He just never thought he himself would ever get to experience it. All the fucked up things he’s done in his life whether by his own free will or orders from his life as a marine he probably deserved this painful death. The difficulty of breathing stung his very lungs with each shallow breath he could breathe. His blood felt like it was on fire tiny, little needles digging into every inch of his skin. Gathering as much air into his body as he could Quaritch was forced to watch as his life played bit by bit but his favorite was finding comfort in all things that you offered him.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Dying to the hands of an ex marine and his blue cat woman was one thing. Being brought back as the very thing you detest is another.

New senses, conflicting feelings. What more was there to being a stranger in a body that was never meant for to be yours? Quaritch struggled making sense of it all. His now blue skin, stronger build, so many sounds, so many new tastes. For fucks sake the irritation he felt from his tail alone.

Endless training in a foreign body, but at least he could freely breathe the out when he went out.

The orders were simple, scope out the area, find Sully and his home. Kill them all. Yet once again things don’t go as planned.

Having hostages weren’t about of the plan, having one that was his human son and another that was his lover definitely wasn’t apart of any known plan.

The boys limp body in his corporals arms and your tense body, eyes trained on Quaritch. He could feel your stare, the way it burned into his very soul. His eyes found yours as he watched the way your body heaved with each breath you took. Your small body struggling to break free of the restraints as you fight to get to the teenage boy. Quaritch could hear the way your breath hitched as he pinned you with his stare, how you pressed your thighs together in such a subtle way that he would have missed it had he not been staring you down.

The moment you were on the scorpion you rushed over to an unconscious spider, holding his body tight against yours protectively, yet Quaritch said nothing as he watched. His heart feeling the familiar ache. Family, his family.

When Quaritch finally stepped into your holding room he was overcome with the smell of you, every inch of the room was coated in your scent. His ears perked up, tail going rigid just as the corners of his lip twitched. Quaritch stared down at your small frame, everything looked exactly the same except you were older. Much older than he is in this new body.

Quaritch watched the way you eyed his body, your own fingers fiddling around. You were nervous that much was sure but was it because you were wet at the sight of his new body? He was different now, younger, stronger, blue, and he was no stranger to your fascination with the Na’vi and now that he was like them; as close to being like them as he could be he understood your interest was peaked.

Crouching down before you he let his eyes roam over your body, thick and full, plump just as your features had aged gracefully every part of you seemed to age well. He closed his eyes as his mind was overwhelmed with memories of you, so many memories.

Your scent once again clouding his senses, overwhelming him with every bit of you. He reached forward grabbing ahold of your chin between his big fingers, his hold gentle but firm, with that your body reacted on its own, a shudder racking through you despite doing your best to hold it back. “Well well if it isn’t that sweet young thing i use ta fuck.” He continued to inspect you, noticing everything about you.

You had finally seemed to be doing the same, eyeing him. Observing him for this moment, your brows furrowed and your lips turned up into a frown until you heard him speak. “Ya ain’t aged a bit, and ya still smell the same like fresh dew drops in the summer,” he leaned forward burying his face into your neck. “The same soft hints of vanilla…” he let a purr rumble deep within him.

You let out a soft hum as you felt his nose rubbing along your neck, Quaritch taking in deep inhales of your scent. Your body reacted to having him so close, this new him to be exact. His large hands maneuvering your body to his will. At your new position in his lap you can feel his cock tightening in his pants as the memories danced around him, he grunted moving you down as he continued to rock slowly, his length now grinding against your cloth covered ass. “Fuck… there’s no way I got hard like some high schooler who’s just got his dick wet.” The sound of your soft laugh had Quaritch groaning slightly. “Mmm fuck, how badly I need this pussy.”

He could tell by the way your breathing changed and the heightened smell of your arousal that you missed this, you miss him fucking away at your tight cunt. He took note of how you didn’t fight back, never even tried to push him away.

You both eyed on one another as he undressed your body, his hands touching and kneading at the your breast. Large hands pinching and rubbing your perky nipples, soft moans falling from your lips as he continued to touch you. As his hands slide down your stomach, touching and feeling every inch of you in a new light. Quaritch seemed to be mesmerized nothing could prepare him for the overwhelming smell of you the moment he pulled your panties off.

Everything that was concealed was now revealed to him, his cock grew tighter in his restraints, precum leaking through the fabric. He needed to be inside you and he needed it soon, but he held back. You quirked around, whimpering as he slide one of his thick fingers inside your sopping wet entrance. Your body reacting as if he was never dead, as if this wasn’t a new version of himself before you. His fingers working their magic as they stretched you out, working your pussy in his own favor. He knew how to force those orgasms from your body.

As he pulled his drenched fingers from your cunt you whimpered, watching as he licked your juices off his fingers. Your brows pinched together as you watched him undo his pants finally freeing himself from his confines, his cock springing free. The tip slick with precum that dribbled from slit, such a mouthwatering sight for you just as it always had been. His thick girthy cock ready to fuck away at your human cunt.

As he aligned himself with your entranced he slowly worked his way inside. He watched as he eased inch by inch inside, the sight of your pussy swallowing him. His hands on your thighs as he held your legs open, your hands grabbing at his fingers as you tried to steady yourself.

Since his death you’ve never been with another not even after the birth of your son, Spider. Quaritch was the only man you’ve given yourself too and now was no different. Your body was already pushed over the limit of orgasms but this wasn’t like anything else, the burn of the stretch he was putting your pussy through.

“Fuck.. you’re so tight..” he forced out a grunt as he eased himself further into your heat. Once he was all the way inside, he ran his fingers over the bulge, seeing just how snug his cock was inside you. “Shit… you did so good.. taking all of me in this tiny body of yours.” Quaritch tilted his head as his ears turned up, eyes clouded with lust as he held back. “Mother of my son and this damn cunt is still s’tight.”

His words had your body shuddering, pussy clamping down tighter. “This body of yours.. is new to sex… your young virgin dick won’t last.” The unsuspected squeezing had Quaritch bucking forward just as your words were left grating his nerves. “Oh!” You cried out, the sensation overwhelming in every sense of the word. “Fuck me..” you choked out.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he pulled back only to push back in, each thrust insight your tight heat had his mind going numb. Your words played in his head, he wouldn’t last long. You felt so good wrapped around him, just as good as you felt back when he was human. “Fuck.. I don’t think I can let you go again.” Despite your cries of pleasure his words struck a nerve, Quaritch was far too gone.

Lost in the scent of you, his favorite smell, his Ike favorite memory.

He leaned forward, his body shielding yours from the word as he nuzzled his face back into your neck. Breathing in deeply, now that his sense of smell was better he got to smell every scent you had. Now mixed in with the woodsy tones of Pandora.

He couldn’t help the small grunt as he tipped over the edge of his orgasm, it left his body shuddering. Your tiny frame shook underneath him as he finished inside you the overflowing seed seeped from your cunt. Dribbling around the floor beneath you. “Still my favorite cunt to fuck.”

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Taglist: @xstarsdiary @etherial-moon-blog @neteyamyawne @torukmaktoskxawng @quicktosimp @anemonelovesfiction @erenjaegerwifee @cardi-bre91 @maniisplxnet @pandoraslxna @rivatar @thepeonysbackup @tallulah477 @eywaite @luvv4j4ybe11

[awonderfulliar]

Tangerine flavored

As if you didn't have enough problems already... You sighed as the man behind you pushed his gun in your rib to make you move faster. Your hands were up in the air and you were breathing slowly, focused on the sounds around you. Why did so many people want you dead again? You chuckled a bit, remembering all of the stupid decisions that brought you here. You kept smiling. Quite funny how most of your survival instinct can shut down when you've been sleep deprived and stressed long enough. The big bad man standing in front of you must not have liked that as he ordered his men to knock you unconscious.

When you woke up, your hands were tied to a rusty radiator with dried bloodstains. You weren't quite smiling anymore. Especially when you saw the instruments in a metal bowl lying on the ground not far from you. The room was dark and only a ray of light slipped through a metal door on the opposite wall. You blinked as someone opened the door, letting all of the brightness from outside reach your tired eyes.

-Sleep well darling? did a male voice say in a mocking tone

-Where were you all night? Off to another girl's bed I take it.

The man grinned a bit and you knew your sarcasm would sooner be beaten out of you then you could get a laugh out of this tall caricature of a gangster's handyman.

-A lot of money has been paid for your pretty head, you know.

-Always knew I could be a face model.

-I don't think that's so true anymore, bloody mary.

You wipped your cheek and looked at your hand. Dried blood and dirt covered your fingers.

-Anyway, sweetheart, my boss wants to know how you were able to piss off all of these people.

-Can't he ask me himself?

-You're not that important.

-Well it seems I am actually. And you guys are the only ones unaware of why apparently.

A voice coming from outside shouted "We have a fresh one!". The man in front of you harshly took your hands to tie them. Then he turned around calmly and left the room with the door still open. You tried to get up, but were too slow as he quickly came back with two other men. One was almost unconscious, beaten up, and bloody all other. His messy brown curls hid most of his face and a golden chain hang around his neck as his head was tilted towards the floor. The two men handling him threw him on the ground next to you and his already torn blue suit soiled with the grey dust of the room.

-Alright, we'll let you two rest for now, but don't worry, darling, I'll be back soon enough. And you better have an answer for me by then.

The two men left the room and you stared at your new now completely unconscious companion.

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

-Where the fuck am I?

He said in a raspy voice, waking you up from your very light sleep. You didn't answer and looked his way for the second time today. He was quite handsome, actually, with piercing blue eyes, a sharp jawline, and a nice British mustache. You stared more than you were meant to because that's how he took notice of you. As the weird girl staring at him.

-They locked me up with the crazys?? What the fuck is wrong with these people?! I'm a respectable sane man, I am. Fucking pricks.

You chukled, your eyes still lingering on his figure. You liked his accent too. You turned your head to the door, finally leaving the man some privacy as you closed your eyes. You heard him standing up with difficulty and reaching the other side of the room probably while leaning on the wall. He was grunting in pain. You opened your eyes.

-Yeah, they probably forgot to lock the door. Or maybe they left us the key. Oh, wait, what if this is just an elaborated escape room, uh?

-Your hands are tied, mines aren't. So maybe try that again in a nicer tone, uh love?

-Kinky...

He threw you a mean glance from across the room. That smug smile that earned you all those problems was still on your lips.

He slid on the wall and fell back in a sitting position. He looked exhausted. As you were trying to think of what to say, the door opened.

-So, are you ready to talk? Or do I need to deal with you in a less calm manner?

That man from earlier was back, smiling and clearly on a power trip.

-I don't know what you want me to tell you.

He walked across the room, past the handsom exhausted man, and stood straight like a stick in front of you.

-Maybe start by what you did to deserve one of the highest price I've ever seen on someone's head.

The british looking man, who was starting to fall asleep, began to pay attention at those words. His blue eyes were on you except you doubted it was to take in the sight of your face. Too bad...

-Would you believe me if I said I didn't do anything?

The handyman squat down, looked at you, and slapped you in the face harshly. Even the other guy flinched.

-Start speaking now or...

-Or what?! You'll kill me?? You're going to do that either way! So what's the point of figuring out why others wanted to do it themselves?! You'll collect the prize with or without knowing why it was put on my head in the first place. You don't need the info. You just need an excuse to keep me alive until the client comes in and sees me alive. I know they want proof. Live proof. They want to see you guys kill me. You're not doing me a favor by letting me live, you're just doing it to get the bigger bag.

The man stood up, hummered something that sounded like "smart cookie", chuckled, and left.

-Jeez... what did you do? *did british hottie say*

This time it was your turn to throw a mean look his way.

-You really think I'm gonna tell you.

-I can untie your hands for starters. And I can help you get out of there. However I like to know who I'm doing business with, so if you wouldn't mind disclosing the information that guy was looking for...

-Get me out of there and I might.

-Doesn't work like that love.

-Then leave me here. I never asked you to help me, did I?

-Obviously, it's going to be harder to escape alone.

-So untie me and I'll help you.

-What if you're actually crazy and will turn on me the first chance you'll get.

You chuckled. Smiled a bit, a sad look on your face.

-A big tough buy.. scared of me... scared I'll be the one to hurt him. It's crazy how life turns out, uh? One minute you're scared to walk home alone after the sun goes down. The other, the guy you would have been scared of on those streets at night turns out to be the one distrusting you.

His eyes were locked on you. Watching you as if you were some lab rat. An eyebrow raised in interest. A serious look that meant he wasn't taking this scientific anaylisis lightly. He rose back up, slowly walked up to you with the difficulty of a hurt man, and lowered to your level when he came close enough.

-What's your name?

-Is it important?

-It is to me. You thought of pointing out the implications of that answer, but were scared of where that would lead the two of you.

-Y/n.

-I'm Tangerine.

-That's a fruit.

-Good observation skills. A real detective.

-I'm just saying.

As you were talking, he came even closer and untied your hands. His fingers were grazing your skin. You smiled again, this time without the sad look on your face but a more embarassed one. Like a young girl with a crush in 6th grade recess. It wasn't that he was touching you (not entirely at least). It was that he was helping you.

He stood back up, straightened his back, and extended his arm towards you, opening his hand. You were looking elsewhere as he gestured to you.

-It is a fruit's name though... you're named after a fucking fruit... and I'm the crazy one...

You take his hand, get off the floor, and smile big this time, confidently, and with a mysteriously cocky look in your eyes.

-Alright, time to get out of here.

-Look love, I appreciate the confidence and all, but let me take the lead on this. You're obviously a bit slowed down by all the beating and like you said, I'm the big tough guy here.

-I'm not slowed down! *You said while starting to walk towards the door, damn your leg hurt...*

-You're limping...

You smiled a bit awkardly. "Nothing serious... just haven't stretched out yet is all". Tangerine smirked and walked (shall I mention a lot faster than you as he wasn't limping) towards the side of the door.

-Could you get your friend back in the room please? Just him though.

-HEY ASSHOLE!! COME BACK HERE I'M READY TO TALK!

And just like that, you heard footsteps advancing. The door opened 40 seconds later, and you locked eyes with the bitch slapping dumb looking goon. In shock of seeing you standing up, free of your ties, he took a milisecond to stare you down during which Tangerine grabbed his head in his hands, quickly broke his neck, and picked up the riffle.

-Could you pass me his handgun?

-You're not gonna kill me are you love?

-I don't eat tangerines... always preferred oranges.

-You do realize that there are other ways to interpete this right?

You laughed silently, murmuring "Yeah well I don't mean it like that obviously...". To your surprise he heard.

-Obviously?... *He smirked at you with a very cocky look on his face which made you blush a tiniest bit, but under the dirt and blood, you were almost sure he couldn't see it. He handed you the deceased goon's gun*.

But, time for banter quickly came to an end as your british eye candy advanced in the dark and gloomy hallway, on his gard. You followed after him. Quick story short: he shot most of the gards himself, and you had to fire the gun maybe 5 times total, surely hitting your target, but not contributing much to the team's effort as there was a little bit more than only 5 gards between you and the exit. To be completely fair though, you guys managed to not alert every guard there thanks to you, as you killed quickly the ones running for help.

All of this came to an end in a backalley of a London restaurant where the fire escape you took led. You were free. Somehow. Still limping and in a quite awful condition. But free.

-Well this is where we say goodbye Y/N. I don't know what you did to get that prize on your head, but surely you must be a terrible person. Get yourself out of trouble though, love, this isn't a life for a sarcastic humorist tangerine hater such as yourself.

-So no one believed me when I said I didn't do anything wrong?

He looked at you, a bit surprised, but you didn't look back. You just started walking (in that case limping) towards the Main Street. It must have been quite a pathetic show as he walked up to you and put his arm under yours to help you. You didn't say anything. Didn't look at him. Just starred at the ground before you, wincing quietly at each step.

-Where shall I drop you off love?

You stopped moving. Chuckled. Looked the other way. And with a sad but desperately trying to be funny tone, said:

-I'm not sure to be quite honest...

He didn't respond. Took a deep breath for a minute. Then put his arm back in place and you both walked towards a phone booth. There he let go again and went in. Made a phone call, went out, starred at you, you starred back.

-Hungry?

You nodded your head to say yes and, wonderful timing as it was, your stomach started growling just then. You put your hand on your stomach as to silence it and Tangerine chuckled which showed off his extraordinary jaw definition.

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

You both sat on the same side of the table, apparently waiting for someone. As your british knight in a shining armor looked around the diner, you ordered fish and chips, chocolate milkshake, and a banana split. Once you were finished talking to the waiter (who was very disturbed by your bloody appearance by the way), Tangerine looked at you.

-That is the weirdest order I've seen placed in a while.

-Well what did you want me to order?

-Lemon! *Did he exclaim*

-Lemon for dinner? I don't think so, that would be terrible...

Tangerine stood up and hugged the man that came in. Both took a minute to catch up as you continued to mutter on how dumb ordering lemon would be for diner...

They both sat down, and Lemon starred at you.

-Who's that? A bit roughed up are you? Do you need a tissue or something? To wipe all that off...

You looked up from the menu.

-Ah, I look fine, haven't slept in a bit is all.

-Who is she Tangerine?

-That's Y/N, she needs a place to crash and we have a couch, so I thought...

-When did you meet?

-At least 24 hours ago. *You said in all honesty*

-Tangerine are you fucking mental?? Do you know how many people want us dead for what happened last year? We're not inviting a bloody stranger to the hotel. Hell no...

-Lemon... She seems to be on her own and it's not like she couldn't have killed me earlier had she wanted to... Jim's men wanted to sell her off to some kind of client, she's a bit lost is all*He said whispering*

-No! What are we?! A fucking adoption shelter taking in strays like that? She's a liability is all she is... You can't help a girl just cause she's pretty and seems harmless. She could be a hired assassin for all we know.

-I should probably go... I'll just wait for the food though, if it's okay with everyone. *You said looking down and with a low voice.*

You all sat in silence for a minute.

-Why did they want you dead so badly? Jim's clients? *asked Tangerine*

You didn't respond, just looked down. The food came. You ate the fish and chips quite quickly, then the banana split. All in silence. As you sipped on the milkshake, you noticed they were both still starring at you, waiting for you to answer probably.

-Well I meant it... I didn't do anything wrong.

-No one ever does... *sighed Lemon, visibly distrusting of you*

-I'm not an assassin okay? I don't kill people for a living... I find things, things people want. Like antics, or old military files.

-But you're a good shot, and quite calm for a civilian. *Raised Tangerine*

-When I started the job, I was just an academic looking for pretty random stuff, but the work wasn't just adventures and detective work, sometimes criminal organizations looked to acquire the same objects as I was. So I got help from hired gunsmen and sometimes even official special forces. They didn't want me to be helpless without them so they trained me a bit. Once I got a few skills added to my resume, my clients started asking me for more valuable objects, that more and more people wanted. So of course my skillset kind of diverged to dealing with the competition. But it wasn't on the job description when I applied.

-Jim specializes in assassination though? Why would he want you? *Asked Lemon*

-Because there's a bid on my head...

-And why is there a bid on your head?

-Because they think I stole something...

-What did you steal?

You finished the milkshake. You were about to stand up but Tangerine was looking at you a bit too concerned.

-Look Love, if you tell us what happened, and you didn't actually do anything wrong, then we might agree to help you. We're not complete assholes...

-Aren't we?! Now why would we help?

-Because Jim is a prick and anything to piss him off is worth the effort.

-Fair point... Alright Y/N, tell us, what happened?

-They think I stole the key to the MI6 database.

-Wait... don't tell me they have one key that can access...

-All datas on past, present, and future missions, on British government security, on british criminal organizations, on undercover agents, what they have on the CIA, on the FBI, on every other country's secret services, on the nuclear codes... Yeah all of that. Yes it exists.

-And they think you have it...

-No, they think I stole it.

-But then why would they want you dead?

-Because they also think I destroyed it after looking at it.

-And no one wants their secrets spilled out by you...

-Yep.

-But you didn't steal it?

-Not exactly...

-What did you do?

-My client wanted me to recover a file of the MI6. It was practially undoable. So I digged and I digged until I found this hardrive in an old vacant MI6 hideout. It was weird because it looked top secret but didn't have anyone around it to gard it, it was like it was handed to me. I looked at it, didn't have that much protection, just enough for me to think it was valuable, but easy enough to crack down. Then when I accessed it, it was a whole database of incredibly sensible documents. Yeah I looked at it, but not for long, got the file I needed, but before I could send it to my client, someone knocked me unconscious and I woke up without the hard drive but with a billion dollar target on my back. Somehow the information got out that I stole the hard drive from the MI6 super super secret base, which I never even set foot int.

-So someone set you up?

-Yes.

You stopped talking. Looked at them. Lemon looked sorry for you, Tangerine looked concerned, and you... chuckled.

-The bill's on you, right? *You asked in all seriousness.*

Tangerine smiled, and lemon was about to refuse, but his brother replied first.

-Yeah, the bill's on us love, but maybe let me eat first, okay?

-Are you gonna eat a fruit?

-You know I've already ordered right, and this joke's old already.

You waited for the two brothers' food to arrive while Lemon changed the subject to whatever happened to Tangerine. Apparently Jim and his men had some beef with the fruit brothers, and those nice lads had a plan to take down Jim's goons except it all went wrong when Lemon made one too many references to Thomas the train... ah no, it went wrong when Tangerine took too long in the bathroom to check his hair, well something went wrong, and, ah the food arrived!

-Where's your family Y/N? *Lemon asked*

-Countryside.

-So you have one. Do you want us to drop you off with them?

You didn't reply right away. They were almost fininshed with their food. You waited until the plates were clean to say:

-Look, if you want to drop me off somewhere and forget I ever existed, take me to the airport, I can look after myself, but don't think my story is gonna have some fairytale ending. Obviously I'm gonna get killed at some point or another, I'm just trying to enjoy my time until then.

-It's not like we can make the entire criminal world stop looking for you. I would help you, you see, but I don't know how. Honestly, you're kinda fucked...

-Don't listen to him -*Tangerine jumped in*- You're not fucked, you just have to diverge the attention to whoever has the key. Once people start looking for them, they'll forget about you.

-The problem is, I don't know who has the key. If I did, not only would I be off the hook, I'd be damn rich.

-Hold on... *Lemon stared at you for a moment* How much money is in the game?

-More than a billion that's for sure...

The two brothers starred at each other not sure what to say for a minute. Tangerine turns back to you and is about to speak when Lemon says:

-Let's make a deal, we help you find whoever got the key, it gets the target off your back, and we get 2/3rds of the money. You get the rest.

-I'll make you one better. *You smile fully, showing your teeth and visibly amused* You get all the money, as long as I'm still alive.

-Deal! *Lemon extands the palm of his hand which you clap right away*

As the three of you head to whichever hotel the brothers booked in a cab, Tangerine whispers to you:

-For the record, I was ready to help you regardless of the money.

-That's stupid. You shouldn't do that.

-What's stupid is being a big though guy and not helping people who so clearly need it.

You looked at him for bit. The same look you gave him in that cell when you first saw him. "Fuck you're actually so beautiful" you thought.

-Thanks. Not the reply I would have expected, but thanks.

Sleep deprivation clearly made you a tad bit lunatic, saying stuff you weren't supposed to. You looked away immediately and rested your head against the window. Closing your eyes felt like heaven.

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

The hotel was old and cheap, the late 80s style still intact. You liked it. Starred at the curtains of the room as the sound of the shower filled the silence. You closed your eyes.

-The shower is free. May I suggest you take one before going to bed love?

You woke up with a dizzy head, you really wanted to go back to your nap, but the guy standing in front of you wasn't budging.

-Are you saying I smell bad?

-Yeah, I am. Get up now.

You did, he held up a hand for you to take it which you did as you were more than tired. He didn't let go when you were up though and led you to the bathroom. You weren't sure where Lemon had gone to. He turned the shower on, pointed to the soap, and said:

-I reckon you know how to shower. Won't need my help for the next part then.

You grinned a bit and looked at him, he smiled. After he left, (and only after), you started undressing and finally took the shower. Once you turned the water off, he knocked on the door.

-Are you decent?

You grabbed a towel and answered positively. He came in, took a glance at you, closed the door, and stood in front of you for a second. His eyes went from your wet hair whose natural color was finally visible, your face which was now recognizable, your clean skin, your bruises, and then back to your face. He had some medical products in his hand and gestured to the bathtub. You took a seat on the edge of it. He dabbed a cotton in disinfectant, and slowly went over every single one of your cuts. They were quite a lot of them.

-Jesus, how many days did you stay in that place?

-Just a couple hours before you came in.

-Where are all these marks from then?

-Other people.

The last injury was your cut lip. He went over it delicately and you just starred at him for the third time this week.

-You're quite sweet for an assassin.

-Are you gonna make another fruit joke?

-Saw right through me... No but really, why the kindness?

-Just because you do some bad stuff for money doesn't mean you have to be an asshole for free too now does it?

-Thank you.

-You're not saved yet, thank me when you are.

-I will.

You both smiled, this time he was looking right back at you. Nice blue eyes like antartic ice. Really, really nice eyes.

-I'm back. *Lemon shouted from the room. He then entered the bathroom looking for his brother and his gaze settled on you.* You look quite nice without all the blood and dirt on you. Oh, wait, guys... Did I walk in on something?

Tangerine scoffs, gets up, and pushes Lemon out the bathroom. You hear them banter for a second before Tangerine comes back with a bag that he hands you. He politely smiles at you and exits the room, closing the door behind him. You go through the bag to realize your old clothes are no longer in condition to be worn and two men who were complete strangers a week ago just had to guess the size of your bras and panties. What was even more awkward is that the ones they bought fit quite well. The rest of the bag was some blue jeans, a black halter top, and a loose shoulder black sweater which you liked. You didn't put it on though, opened the door without getting out and asked for a t shirt. No way you were sleeping in jeans for 12 hours straight. A t shirt flew right to your face a second after. Probably Tangerine's guessing by the smell. He smelled nice. But not the point. You put it on and finally got to fully crash out on the couch. You couldn't move anymore, too tired, too comfy, you were just there. Before falling asleep, you saw the handsome brit throw a blanket on you trying not to look at your figure.

You woke up a bit lost, not sure where you were or how long you had slept for. A few seconds brought your memory back and your eyes adjusted to the light. Tangerine was there. Sitting at the desk typing away on a computer, his back turned to you. You got up and walked towards him. You were standing just a few centimeters away as you leaned over his shoulder and stared at the screen.

-What's that? *You asked*

-Holy... fuck, have you heard of heart attacks??

-You're that old? Don't look a day over 50. Are you trying to hack into the MI6?

-Well obviously yes.

-From a cheap retro looking computer?

-Do you have a better idea?

He then realized you weren't wearing pants. To which he gave you a disapproving look over his mustache and continued:

-Maybe start by wearing some pants before attacking the cheapness of my computer.

-Pants are overrated.

-I'm sure they are. *He turned back to the screen. You sat on the desk, facing him.*

-If my legs disturb you so much, stop looking at them.

-Get off the desk. You know for someone getting threats from half the criminal population, you're surely quite calm.

You hummed, got off the desk as prompted, and went to get the jeans from yesterday. However, he stood up and grabbed your hand before you could get fully away.

-Alright maybe you don't need to put pants on right away. *You turned your face to him, starring into his eyes* I was right though, when we met. You are really crazy.

-For not wearing jeans to sleep?

-For flirting in the middle of a life or death situation. *He pulled you in closer.*

-Who said I was flirting? *You closed the last gap between you two*

-Me. *He leaned in to kiss your lips*

[avastrasposts]

Bona Dea - part 3

Plot: Stumbling through a dark town, general Marcus Acacius encounters the festival of Bona Dea. But what at first seems like just a pleasurable way to spend the night leaves a greater impression on him than he counted on. Part One Part Two

General Marcus Acacius x female reader

Warnings: Blood and violence, a brief SA, explicit smut (not the SA). No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate if you're a Roman noble lady in 2nd century Tuscany?

Word count: 9.5k

A/N: I'm back with part three of Bona Dea! If you haven't read parts One and Two, you probably should to understand the plot. There are a few points about Roman society, especially women's role in it. In a very archaic way, daughters remained under the lawful rule of their fathers even after they married. This meant that if a father found out his daughter was unfaithful to her husband, he was allowed to kill her. There are no historical sources of this happening, but the thought alone... A few notes on the Latin. I think most of it is pretty self-explanatory but just in case: Carrisme - dearest or sweetest Letica - a vehicle, a litter used for carrying people Caligae - sandals used by Roman soldiers, studded with metal on the sole. When walking on a hard surface, they make a clattering sound Puella - young girl Vita mea - my life

After Marcus had left you, sleeping in the bed of the room he’d brought you to, you’d slumbered for a little while before waking up and making your way back to the bedroom where Alba was still sleeping. The next morning, you asked for the letica to be brought forward, and you returned to your own villa with Alba without seeing Marcus again. There were no officers around the villa at all and Alba quietly wondered if they’d all returned to the camp outside the city walls to prepare for their march to Rome. She glanced at you as she said it, but you didn’t respond, just stepping into the letica and turning away from the empty courtyard. You were torn, wanting to see Marcus, but also sure how you’d keep your composure in front of him if he came to bid you a formal farewell. There was so much left unspoken between you, so many questions you wanted answers too, but you didn’t know if you could demand them from him. He seemed to care, but the difficulty of your situation was not easily navigated. Did he think it was worth the trouble? How much were you really worth to him? The thought burrowed itself into your brain as you travelled back home in silence. 

As predicted, your husband was in a foul mood, hungover and still recovering from the bad oysters. He was also displeased with how little attention the great general Acacius had given him. Called to his room, you found him still in bed, pale and clammy as the physician prepared a draught. 

“What did the general say last night after I left?” he demanded of you, “Did you find out if he has a wife or a sister you can befriend? We need to secure an invitation to his villa in Rome!” With an impatient hand he grabbed the proffered cup and waved away the physician. 

“He has no wife as far as I know, and no sister was mentioned,” you replied, waiting patiently with your hands folded in front of you at the foot of the bed. You could feel one of Marcus’ love marks on your wrist and you prayed it wasn’t showing a bruise. The ache between your legs was already a constant reminder of the two nights you’d spent with him. 

“Well, when are they leaving? We’ll invite the officers here as soon as possible, tomorrow night,” your husband took a sip of the draught and grimaced, his hand clasping his stomach as he winced, “Fuck those oysters, I’ll find out who sold them to Acacius and have them flogged.” 

“I heard mention that the army is marching to Rome today, husband,” you said, and with a dramatic groan your husband fell back against the pillows, waving you away without a glance. 

You happily left, there was an ache in your heart too, not just your body. Marcus was on his way to Rome and he’d left a big gaping wound behind. You didn’t know if you’d ever see him again, he hadn’t left a note or a message. His feelings, which had been so clear last night when he whispered them to you, in the stark light of day were harder to hold on to. Had he meant it all? Or was he just caught up in the moment, drunk on both wine and lust? And all you could do was hope that your husband would soon travel to Rome and take you with him. There was no way of getting a message to Marcus without arousing suspicion, and how would you even word such a note? There was no circumstance under which a married woman could communicate innocently with a man outside of her family, least of all a celebrated general. It all seemed hopeless. 

If his officers noticed that their general was quieter than usual as they rode out to the camp, they didn’t mention it. He rode at the front, flanked by the standard bearer, but apart from surveying the landscape around him, a die hard habit from years in enemy territory, he was silent, deep in thought. He’d made a promise, as much to himself as to her, to see her again, to not let that night be the last. But how he was to achieve that, he hadn’t been able to solve yet. 

Titus Cassian Aurelius has served under general Acacius for nearly three decades. They’d first met long before Marcus was the celebrated general he was today. They’d come up through the ranks together, but because of his low birth, Titus would never make general. It didn’t bother him, he served as Marcus’s right hand man and made sure his orders were followed in camp when Marcus left. Marcus was the military genius, Titus made sure day to day was working, keeping the soldiers and the camp in shape. Together they were an almost perfect Roman unit. And when Marcus dismounted his horse and handed the reins to the stable slave outside the general’s tent, Titus knew immediately something was bothering his old friend. 

“General Acacius, good to have you back. The men are ready to march,” he said, following Marcus into the tent. It was almost bare, stripped and waiting for the final marching order from the army’s general. 

Marcus grunted in reply and draped his heavy cloak over a chair in the corner, the only remaining piece of furniture. With a sigh he rubbed a hand over his face, contemplating how he’d breach the topic with his most trusted advisor. Matters of the heart was not usually something they discussed, the only women they’d met in the past two years were the whores who inevitably followed the army, and the discussion had been mainly about their lack of hygiene. 

Now Marcus turned to Titus with a furrowed brow and he, in turn, raised his in question. 

“Is something the matter, Marcus?” he asked. In private, they used their first names with each other, a sign of their long and deep friendship. Marcus often felt immense gratitude for Titus, the support it was to have someone he could trust with his life at all times, and now was no exception. There was no one else he could’ve brought this up with. 

“I fear I’ve got myself in trouble while camped in the town,” he said with a wry smile, “a woman, nonetheless.” 

“A woman?” Titus looked surprised, this was not what he’d expected of their general, and he took a step closer as Marcus began to pace the tent. 

“Yes, a woman, a very special woman,” he sighed, “she takes up a great deal of space in my head, and even more in my heart and I don’t know what to do.” 

“Who is she?” 

“The wife of a local business man, a foul man, base and ignoble, and he treats her badly,” Marcus answered, clenching his fists tightly as Titus looked concerned. 

“A married woman, brother?” 

“Yes, unfortunately. Although I didn’t know it when we first met, she wasn’t with her husband and she didn’t mention him. And after I met him, I understood why.” He rolled his eyes at Titus, “He’s an oaf. Last night we hosted a dinner for the local dignitaries and he was there with her. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, as if Venus had stepped down among mortals, but he barely spoke a word to her all night and when he did, it was only to insult her intelligence,” Marcus made a face of distaste and shook his head, “He was like a leech, trying to attach himself to anyone with more power and influence than him, and yet he had the most captivating and intelligent woman sitting next to him all night, but he gave her nothing but sour looks.” 

“Last night only? How did she get you into trouble in just one night?” 

Marcus grimaced, it wasn’t his way to brag about sexual conquests and he cleared his throat in unease as Titus waited for an answer. 

“They have an unusual way of celebrating Bona Dea in this town,” he began, “the night before last, as I left the thermae, I found the town deserted, not even the lamps had been lit. Lost in the dark, I stumbled on to her villa and was pulled inside by a group of women celebrating the night...” Marcus gave a small chuckle at the memory, “You see, Titus, any man who’s found outside on that night is free game for the women, to do whatever they want with.” 

“Whatever they want?” Titus laughed in surprise as he caught on, “You mean, anything at all?” 

“I mean anything,” Marcus confirmed, “I passed a brothel and the leno told me a story of a man being made to fuck a goat!” 

“Gods…” Titus laughed, shuddering at the thought, “Please don’t tell me you were made to fuck any animal?” 

“Thankfully, no. Someone did float the idea around, but it was passed over out of concern for the goat.” 

Titus laughed as Marcus grinned, “It was an interesting experience though. They blindfolded me as soon as I came inside, told me the rules and stripped me naked.” 

Titus eyes nearly fell out of his sockets, “Please, go on, and tell me you got to fuck some of these women?” 

“I did, I don’t want to be crass about it, but it was certainly an experience.” 

“And the woman, Venus as a mortal? Did you…?” 

“Yes, it was her house and she was in charge, when the younger girls had fallen asleep, I spent the night with her,” Marcus sank down on the chair and ran his hand through his hair, “She had a presence that drew me to her, even when I was blindfolded, the way she took charge, ordering me to touch her…” Marcus trailed off, lost in thought and Titus drew a deep breath. 

“Gods, I wish I’d joined you in town, Marcus!” he chuckled, “You had an adventure most men would only dream about.” 

“And it didn’t do me much good. Now I can’t get her out of my head and I’m at a loss about what to do!” Marcus groaned, “I tried staying away, but when she came to the dinner last night, I was nearly struck dumb. And before I knew what I was doing, I took a great risk and sought her out as she went to relieve herself. I had to know if she felt even a fraction of what I felt after our night.”

“And did she?” Titus asked, looking at Marcus with concern, he’d never seen his friend so frustrated and lost over a woman before. In fact, he’d never seen him this lost before at all. Marcus' great strength as a commander was that he never lost his way, he always knew what was needed, even if the road to get there was difficult and hard. He was never without a plan and then two or three contingency plans, mapping the road to his victory and taking every possible pitfall into consideration. But now he seemed to flounder as he talked about a woman who’d so clearly captured his heart.

“She does, how I don’t know, but she does. She told me and then she showed me with her actions. By chance, or intervention of the gods, she had to stay the night at the villa we commandeered in town. We spent the night together again, and things were said that makes me believe she feels just as deeply for me as I do for her. But how can I be with her? She’s married!” 

Marcus slumped in the chair and sighed deeply, “We march to Rome today, and then she’ll be lost to me forever and I think I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” 

Titus narrowed his eyes as Marcus rubbed a hand over his face, sighing deeply again. 

“Delay the march, I have an idea, brother,” Titus said after a few moments of silence, “You say this husband of hers is greedy and power hungry, let’s use that against him.” 

“Delay the march? We need to be in Rome in a few days, we’re expected by the emperors.” 

“I’ve planned for delays, we were due to arrive three days early if we leave today. We’ll just arrive two days early if we stay here another night, it won't make a difference.” 

Titus gave his old friend a bright smile, “Come on, I haven’t met this woman yet, but if she’s got the great Marcus Acacius on his knees, she must be truly special and that I can’t let you give up on.” 

When evening came, your husband was feeling better, but still remained in his private bedroom rather than come to the one he shared with you. Grateful for small pleasures, you still tossed and turned throughout the night. It had never been easy to be married to a man you didn’t love, but it had been convenient. As long as you could put up with his occasional visits and demands for his marital rights, you led a comfortable life and saw little of him. But now, with Marcus invading your every thought, it became impossible to feel content with the life you had. You could feel his hands on you whenever you moved, small bruises and marks littering your body from the two nights you’d spent with him, reminding you of him as the night dragged on. 

It was foolish, you didn’t know the man, not really. You’d seen him surrounded by his men and guests during one evening, spent two incredible nights in bed with him, but all that fueled your passion for him was lust. The way he made you feel when he put his mouth, his hands, on you, it drove all rational thought from your mind. Yet you felt yourself standing on the verge of throwing all you had away for him, for the opportunity to be close to him again. There was a deeper connection there, you felt certain of it. 

When morning came, you were heart broken and exhausted, picking at the food the household slaves put out. Your husband came through and nibbled on some dry bread before he called for the letica and headed out. A message had been delivered early and he was called away on business. 

Grateful to be alone, you withdrew to the gardens at the back of the villa, where the cool water of the fountain kept the air fresh. Alba hovered nearby, but she sensed your mood and stayed quiet, working diligently at her embroidery. You wandered around the garden, absentmindedly tending the late blooming flowers that still showed their colours in late December. The wilted heads were plucked off and tossed aside as your thoughts drifted to Marcus despite your best efforts to push him to the very back of your mind. Each snap of the dry stalks felt like another rejection of any hopes you had of seeing him again. 

“Domina, excuse me,” one of your servants had approached on soft feet and startled you with their deferential interruption, “General Acacius is here to see Master Lunaris but he has not yet returned so the general asked to see you instead.” 

“General Acacius?” you asked, managing at the very last moment to keep your tone neutral, “show him to the reception room, I’ll be right there.” 

The servant bowed and hurried off and you went in search of Alba. You needed her in the room with you, you could not let the servants see you alone in a room with a man, but Alba would be discreet. 

“Alba, come here, quickly!” you called to her when you spotted her on one of the low marble benches, “He’s here!” you hissed as you got close. Alba’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, she knew who you meant without needing to guess and she gasped. 

“He’s here? I thought the army left yesterday morning? Why has he come back?” 

“I don’t know, but he’s here and I need you in the room with me, and we need to make sure the servants don’t hear anything, come.” 

You smoothed your hands over your dress and then your hair. You were a tired mess after your sleepless night and with quick movements you pinched your cheeks to brighten your skin. As you stopped in the hall outside the reception room, Alba rearranged your dress and covered your hair. 

“I’ll tell the servants to leave, make sure no one comes in while he’s here,” you whispered to her and she gave you a quick nod. 

Marcus was standing in the middle of the room, studying the mosaic on one of the walls, his hands clasped behind his back. The dark fabric of his tunic strained across his wide shoulders underneath his armour, his sword belt hung low on his hip, he was dressed for travelling.

“General Acacius, what an honour to have you in our home,” you approached him with your head bowed and only glanced up when he turned to you. He bowed low in return and swept his cloak to the side. 

“I came to see your husband, but I hear he is away on business,” Marcus replied, “I have information for him, but I trust I can pass it on to you?” 

“Yes, of course, general,” you answered, hardly daring to meet his eyes as your mind reeled trying to figure out what information he might have for your husband. Marcus was fully in his official role, his voice commanding and curt, his hands still clasped behind his back as he stood straight, his eyes never wavering from you or betraying any emotion except a slight impatience at having to deal with the wife of the man he’d come to see. 

“Leave us,” you called to the two servants hovering at the edge of the room, “Alba, you stay, and pour us some wine.” 

The two household servants scurried out of the room and Alba served you both wine from the amphora that was always kept in the reception room for any visitor. You sat down on one of the sofas and Marcus sat down opposite. Alba placed the cups next to you and then retreated to the doorway of the room, close enough to see you, and stave off any accusations of being alone with a man, but far away enough for you to have a private conversation. 

“I apologise for turning up like this, without warning,” Marcus said, his voice suddenly softer, no longer bearing a stern edge as he leaned forward, his hand briefly landing on your leg, “I made up an excuse to keep the army camped here for another few days, I had to see you again.” 

“I couldn’t sleep at all last night, the very thought of you already being so far away from here…” you replied, your voice filled with emotion as you saw how warmly he smiled at you.

“You’ve truly cast a spell on me, carrisime,” he whispered, moving to sit next to you on the sofa, his hand falling to your waist, and you leaned into him, the pull of him irresistible. 

“You’re lucky my husband was called away on business, he almost never leaves the house before noon,” you mumbled as Marcus leaned his head closer, his strong nose brushing over your cheek. 

“Yes, the gods are smiling at me,” he mused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin as he captured your mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. You felt yourself melt into him, his warm hand on your waist, bringing you closer, his other hand, large and calloused on your cheek, holding you in place as he nudged your lips apart, letting his tongue find yours. With a sigh you opened your mouth and let him take as much as he wanted, all other thoughts disappearing from your mind. Marcus groaned softly into you, pulling you closer as his kiss grew more heated, his hand slipping to your hip and tugging at you to come up into his lap. 

“Marcus, not here,” you protested, putting your palms against his solid chest plate, feeling the ridges of Medusa’s hair under your fingers. 

“Your servant girl won’t say anything, will she?” he asked, glancing over at Alba who was standing in the doorway with her back to you both. 

“No, but someone else might come,” you said, shaking your head as he took your hand and stood up. 

“Come, let’s find a more secluded spot then,” he smiled, pulling you to your feet. 

“Marcus, we can’t, it’s too risky,” you replied, but he only smiled wider and made you follow him, a firm grip on your hand as he winked at Alba and checked that the coast was clear. He hurried down the hallway and quickly turned a corner. Following the familiar layout of almost all Roman villas, he led you towards the thermae, the warmer air enveloping you as he pushed the door open. 

“No one will come in here until your husband is home,” he chuckled, pulling you inside as he wrapped his arms around your waist, “only you and me, my domina.” 

“Marcus…” you protested weakly, but he grinned with an almost boyish charm, a mischievous look in his eyes as he continued to walk you into the room, stopping only when the back of your legs came up against one of the two slabs of marble used for massages. With a swift motion, he lifted you up onto the flat surface and made room for himself between your legs. 

“I needed to see you before I left, and I need to make sure you’ll come to Rome,” he mumbled, pressing wet kisses to your neck as his hands began to caress your thighs, sliding up under your stola, “Will you come to Rome once I’m back there?” 

“How, Marcus?” you asked with a breathless moan, tilting your head back to make room for him as he nipped and licked at your skin. This was too dangerous, too exposed even in the thermae, but Marcus’s hands were kneading at your hips, grabbing at your behind as he rolled his hips into yours. The evidence of his arousal was pressing into your core and you could feel your own arousal building, liquid heat beginning to fill your cunt, “I can’t go on my own, my husband would never allow it.” 

“Then I’ll invite him, make up some reason,” he replied, his calloused hand leaving your hip and sliding up along the inside of your thigh as he spread you open, “Now, tell me, will you let me feel you come on my cock one more time? Is she ready for me, domina?” 

He tugged your undergarment loose and locked eyes with you, watching your face as he softly caressed his fingers through your wet folds with a low growl. The sensation forced all other thoughts from your head, Marcus’s dark eyes, his steady gaze on you, and the tremors that rushed through your body when he brushed over the apex of your sex, it turned you liquid and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him to your lips. 

After that, it was all just Marcus, filling your senses, taking over as you yielded to him; his soft curls under your hands, the hard edges of his armour pressed against your chest, his deep rumbling voice as he mumbled against your lips. You whined in protest when he removed his hand from your wet folds, but then the thick head of his cock breached your entrance, making you keen and and moan as he filled you up, snapping his hips and driving himself deep inside your cunt. 

“Domina…” he growled, his pliant lips claiming your mouth between gasps of air and mumbled words, “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, the wine tastes like vinegar, ever since I met you…carrisime…I need you in Rome with me…” 

He was taking his time with you, his large hand warm across your back as he kept you where he needed you, his mouth never leaving yours for more than a few mumbled words as he slowly, meticulously, slid his cock in and out of your slick cunt, slowly building your orgasm with every thrust. 

A call from somewhere inside the villa made you snap your head up, turning towards the door, but Marcus’s hand found your jaw and he pulled you back to his mouth. 

“Stay with me, carrisime, let me feel you, so tight and wet for me, let me fuck you and fill you up just the way you like it.” 

He sped up a little, his hand sliding down between your legs and found your small pearl, swollen and aching for his attention. 

“Marcus,” you cried, gasping as he began circling his, sending white hot lightning bolts through your limbs, “Oh gods, Marcus…” 

You were being too loud, at the back of your mind you felt fear trickling down your spine, but Marcus edged you on, driving his thick cock through your heat, his fingers finding a rhythm that seemed to take your breath away as your head tipped back. 

“There it is, domina, such a tight little cunt for me, squeezing me so hard,” he growled, “let me hear how good I make you feel, let me fuck you like this every day for the rest of my life, make you mine, my domina.” 

His words made your mind buzz, his fingers, his cock making pleasure cloud your mind, taking over every sense. 

With a crash the door to the thermae burst open and you cried out with shock. Marcus drove himself into you again, growling loudly. In panic you scrambled to get away from him, pushing at his chest plate but it made no difference, he snapped his hips one more time, and turned his head to look at your husband.

“Wife!” Lunaris yelled from the doorway, his voice close to hysteria as you furiously pushed at Marcus, but it was like pushing a giant boulder, he wouldn’t budge. 

“Lunaris,” Marcus huffed, still looking at your husband, but his face was not the one of a man caught balls deep in another man’s wife. Instead he wore a face of triumphant satisfaction as he stilled his hips, “Come back a bit early from your business I see.” 

“Marcus,” you hissed, fear crawling up your throat, your voice breaking on the last syllable of his name. He didn’t look at you, but you felt his hand on your back begin to caress you gently, a small, calming motion with his warm hand, out of sight from Lunaris. 

Lunaris seemed to stumble into the room, and you saw Alba’s wide eyed face behind him, her mouth hanging open in shock. Lunaris was hissing, grabbing onto one of the pillars as if for support, as he glowered at Marcus, struggling to spit any words out.

Marcus gently squeezed your hip and finally pulled out, adjusting his armour, the pteruges falling back in place as he turned fully to Lunaris who still looked as if he was choking on his own tongue. Behind Marcus’s back you scrambled to adjust your stola and slide off the marble slab. You moved to leave, but his hand shot out, taking your arm and pulling you to his side. 

“You know who I am, Lunaris, and I want your wife. Divorce her, free her from this miserable marriage you’ve imprisoned her in. And if it’s her will, let her come to Rome with me.” 

Marcus's voice cut through the haze of the thermae, through Lunaris pathetic stuttering, his tone commanding and sharp. From the corner of your eye you could see his jaw tighten, his eyes simmering with barely contained contempt for your husband, who was still struggling to catch up to the events of the past minute. 

“Di-divorce her?” he sputtered out, finally finding his voice again, “I’ll have her killed, tell her father what she’s done and have her killed for the shame she’s brought upon his house! Whore!” 

The last word he yelled at you, spit flying from his mouth as he rushed forward, raising his hand to strike you, but Marcus caught his hand and shoved him away. 

“You will not touch her again,” he growled, glaring down at Lunaris, pulling himself up to his full height, “She is no longer yours to command. Divorce her and I will refrain from breaking every bone in your body.”  

The sight of the Roman general in full armour, eyes black with cold fury, seemed to pull Lunaris out of his outrage, stumbling over his feet and his back hitting the marble pillar again. 

“I have witnesses!” he yelled, “Alba, you saw it all! Guards!” Lunaris screamed the last word over his shoulder. 

You looked at Alba, her hand over mouth in shock as she met your eyes, and you shook your head, willing her to back away and not be pulled into this disaster. Your heart filled with fear when she instead stepped into the room and shook her head at Lunaris. 

“I saw nothing, I’ve only seen the domina speaking with the general, he came to the villa looking for you, dominus.” 

“Liar!” Lunaris screamed, launching himself at her just as four of the household guards rushed into the room. He pulled up short at the sight of them, and Alba scrambled out of his way, seeking shelter behind the guards. Lunaris snarled at her and turned to Marcus, pointing an accusing finger at him and opening his mouth to shout something, but Marcus beat him to it. 

“Lunaris!” he snapped, his voice commanding attention, “Think very carefully about my offer, and what I have the power to do,” his voice was a warning, as was his very rank, a general of Rome compared to a small-time business man in a provincial town, far from the power of the capital, “Consider the consequences before you make any decision.” 

Marcus gave your arm a quick squeeze of his hand before he let it go and stepped forward to Lunaris, dropping his voice to a low, dangerous register. 

“I will leave now, but I will come back for what is mine, and I warn you to not do any harm while I’m away.” 

He spun on his heel to face you, giving you a sharp bow, before he turned and strode to the door. The guards, seeing his armour and status, stepped to the side and let him leave unchallenged while Lunaris seethed, glaring at you. 

The thermae was silent while Marcus’s footsteps echoed away through the hallway and fear crept into your body at the look on Lunaris’ face. Marcus had warned him against hurting you, but you didn’t trust Lunaris, or your father. Your honour was tied to your father’s family honour, if Lunaris told your father about Marcus, he had the right to punish you, even put you to death. But he could also throw you from the family, remove your family name and doom you to a life of poverty or enslavement. You’d be worth nothing, even Marcus, with all his glory for Rome, wouldn’t be able to take you in if your father disowned you. 

“Leave us!” Lunaris finally snapped, dismissing the guards with a wave, “You too, you lying little bitch, I’ll deal with you later,” he snarled at Alba who threw you a terrified look before hurrying out of the room. 

You kept your eyes on your feet as the guards shuffled out and the door closed behind Alba. Lunaris was staring at their retreating backs before he rounded on you and grabbed your wrist, his fingers digging into your bones. You tried to pull away but he shoved you backwards, pushing you against the marble slab, still with a hard grip on your arm. 

“You fucking whore, I should’ve known, opening your legs for a general at the first chance. You and your father were always clambering for you to marry a powerful man. Your father practically threw you at me, for all the good it’s done me, no children, no business deals, just a frigid dry cunt,” he spat out, his putrid breath washing over you as he put himself in your face, the sharp marble edge digging into your back, “But now you’ve found a fucking general, that makes you wet, huh?” 

He shoved his hand down, trying to grab between your legs, and you squirmed out of his way. 

“I’ll tell Acacius!” you cried out, “If you touch me, I’ll tell him!”

“Oh, you think you have the protection of the mighty general now do you?” Lunaris snarled, “Think he’ll come running to save your virtue after you’ve let him fuck you like one of the camp whores?” He pushed his knee between your thighs, forcing you to part your legs and he grabbed your sex over the stola with a rough hand, “You’re just another warm cunt to pass his time with, he’ll forget about you once he’s back in his favourite whore house in Rome,” Lunaris grimaced in distaste and shoved you to the side, making you stumble before you caught yourself against the wall, “Pathetic woman, don’t you know he can have any woman in Rome, they’ll be throwing their youngest and most beautiful daughters at him when he returns. What’s he going to do with an old, withered up whore like you?” 

Lunaris was sneering at you as you backed up, pressing yourself against the damp mosaic wall, “I have half a mind to throw you out on the street right now,” he spat, “but he won’t get away that easily.” 

He looked at you for a few moments, you could see the cogs of his slow brain turning as he went over his options. You knew him well enough to know that Marcus’ threat had scared him, but you also knew he’d try to turn it against him somehow. You wished you could warn Marcus even though he must know Lunaris would try to get back at him.  

“Guards!” Lunaris suddenly yelled, his eyes still locked on you as the sound of clattering caligae could be heard out in the hallway. 

“Take the domina to her room and post a guard outside. She’s not allowed to leave under any circumstances.” 

Left in your room without Alba, the rest of the day and the night moved at a snail’s pace. You paced back and forth, trying to listen to the noises of the villa to decipher what was going on. Lunaris left, but when you tried to sneak from your room, the guard ordered you inside and made no secret of what measures Lunaris had told him to use. By the time you fell into an uneasy sleep, most of the night had already passed. 

The dreams that rushed in and out of your angstful mind were frightening, you tossed and twisted in your sheets as Marcus turned his back on you, time and time again as you ran after him. In your dreams he marched away from your husband’s villa without as much as a glance at you, Lunaris cackled as he shut the door behind your back. As you ran after Marcus, the army stretched out, an endless line of marching soldiers with impassive faces, filing past you as Marcus disappeared over the horizon. The soldiers kept marching through your dreams, a never ending clatter of caligae on the paving stones, and when you woke, heavy rain was falling outside, rattling the roof tiles. 

A servant had left you dinner the day before, and now they returned with breakfast. You forced yourself to eat a little and then slumped back onto your bed, waiting for whatever Lunaris would do next. You knew he was plotting and planning something and he didn’t disappoint, just before dinner he came to your room, a triumphant look on his face. 

“So, wife, it turns out your whoring might actually have done some good,” he gloated, practically prancing around your room as you stood by the bed, watching him with weary eyes, “First bit of good that cunt of yours has ever given me.” 

He grinned and rubbed his hands together, chuckling at his own joke as you winced at the way his facade had fallen. He’d never been a pleasant man, but out of fear of your father, he’d still treated you with respect, even when you didn’t give him any children. Not that you knew how his infrequent visits to your bedroom or his pitiful rubbing against you would ever produce a child. Too late for all of that now anyway. Now he was gloating, gleeful in your downfall and inwardly you cursed yourself for letting yourself give in to Marcus in such a public place. 

“I’ve been to see your ‘lover’,” he grinned even though the word came out with contempt, “told him he can puff himself up all he wants, when word gets out that he’s been fucking a married woman, no amount of glory on the battlefield will save him, the law’s the law and I’ll have half his property,” Lunaris smirked at you with a greedy look in his eyes, “I hear his villa in Rome is on the Palatine and the grandest one seen in a century.” 

“What did you do?” you asked with trepidation and Lunaris’s eyes shone with malice as he rubbed his hands. 

“He’s giving me his villa, and a hefty bag of gold as soon as he’s back in Rome, and in return, I won’t tell the Senate about him fucking a married woman and I won’t tell your father. I’ve given orders to pack up the house, we’re leaving tomorrow and the household will follow in a week.” 

You stared at Lunaris, the grin on his face flaunting his glee at what he’d blackmailed the mighty general into giving him. 

“Finally, some real status!” he crowed, “Might even try to get into the Senate with Acacius’ money, and I’ll need a new wife of course,” he smirked at you again, “something young and pretty with a wet cunt to give me sons.”

He chuckled and turned to leave the room, but changed his mind as he got to the door. 

“Do you know what the best thing about the whole deal is?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before he continued, “It’s that you won’t even get him, I’m keeping you!” Lunaris winked at you with a malicious glint in his eye, “I don’t tell the Senate, he gives me money and the villa, and I get to keep you. Because after all that, he doesn’t even want you.” 

You felt your throat close up, tightening when tears threatened to rise in your eyes as Lunaris cackled with delight, “Don’t worry, you’ll be taken care of, the new villa will need plenty of slaves.” 

And with that, Lunaris left the room, shutting the door tight. Through it you could hear his instructions to the guard to not let you leave. Frozen to the spot you squeezed your eyes shut, breathing hard through your nose as bile rose in your throat. The sharp burning jerked you into motion, with a gasp you fell to your knees and emptied the day's food into the pot, retching as it tore through your body. 

You had to stay in Lunaris’s household, Marcus had given you up, given in to your husband’s blackmail to preserve his own status and honour, and he’d given you up to protect himself without a thought at what you’d suffer for it. You’d staved off the tears for the past two days, but now they overwhelmed you, grief tore at your heart as you curled up on the bed, sobs shaking your frame at the unfairness of it all. 

You felt, and probably looked, like a husk of your former self as the carriage left the villa the next day. Your cosmetae had applied some colour to your cheeks and hollow eyes, but it couldn’t hide the reflection that looked back at you in the mirror. Eyes red rimmed from crying, your lips chapped and broken as you continued to chew on them, and most of all, the haunted look that made the slaves look away from you as you walked through the villa one final time. 

As you were still Lunaris’ wife, and no one knew what had happened between you and Marcus, you rode in Lunaris' carriage. You dug your fingernails into the palms of your hands as Lunaris continued to brag about how glorious his new life would be, the long road to Rome stretching before you. He would gloat and crow the whole way, you were sure of it. Alba sat in the seat across from you, her gaze mostly on her hands, but every now and then she’d throw a quick look at you. Her eyes were as worried as yours, but you didn’t know what fate awaited her when you got to Rome. Lunaris hadn’t said and you hadn’t had a chance to talk to her in private. 

It was a five day journey to Rome, and the wide, paved Roman road made travelling easy. The death of emperor Marcus Aurelius almost thirty years ago meant Pax Romana had ended and travel was more perilous now than before, but this close to the very heart of the empire, not much threatened those who travelled with armed guards. The clatter of the guards’ horses in front and behind the two carriages lulled you into a numb stupor as the winter bare landscape slipped past. 

On the third day you stared listlessly out through the small gap in the shutters of the carriage door, Lunaris had finally grown bored of taunting you and slipped into a slumber, his head lolling back and forth on his weedy shoulders. 

“Will General Acacius come for you when we get to Rome?” Alba whispered, glancing anxiously at Lunaris who slept lightly. 

“I don’t think we’ll ever see the general again,” you replied in a low voice without turning to look at her, “he’s given in to Lunaris’ blackmail to save his own skin.” 

“I can’t believe he’d do that, not when-”  

Her word was cut short by the loud thump of something striking the carriage door hard. You both looked up at the source of the sound and gasped as you saw a vicious looking arrowhead poking through just a mere handswidth from your head. 

“Bandits!” one of the guards roared, “form up, protect the carriages!”

Lunaris jerked awake and whipped his head around as if he could see through the carriage walls as the sounds of battle grew loud outside. You put your hands out for Alba and pulled her to your side, wrapping your arms around her as you sank down to the floor, covering both your heads with your hands. She was sobbing against you as metal hit metal and men screamed outside. It felt like it went on forever but in reality, it was over in a few minutes, someone cried out in agony and then their voice was suddenly silenced, replaced by only the sounds of footsteps outside. The door of the carriage was thrown open and a rough looking man, a vicious cut over his nose, looked in. Glancing over the three of you, he grabbed Lunaris and yanked him out. Lunaris yelled in fright, but he was helpless against the bandit who threw him onto the rough stones. 

A second man leaned in and grinned, his hand shooting out, snatching at your hair and dragging you out too. You cried out in pain and fear, tumbling through the carriage door, the rough hold on your hair making your scalp sting. The man didn’t throw you to the ground, instead he grabbed your arms and pinned them behind your back, holding you tight as you faced the rest of the bandits. There were only three, but your husband’s four guards lay dead on the road side. The two drivers had their hands over their heads, clearly not prepared to die in defending property that wasn’t their own. 

“You owe a debt to Asinius Magnus,” the first bandit told Lunaris who’d been forced to kneel on the road, his neck exposed with the bandit behind him, a long blade in his hand. “Consider it paid in full.” 

You turned your head, but you couldn’t shut out the gasp Lunaris let out as the blade sliced open his throat or the gargling of the blood rushing forth. His body made a dull thump as it fell to the ground. 

“Search both carriages, take what valuables you can find, but be quick!” the bandit’s leader called, “We leave the bodies.”

The one holding you yanked your arms, “What about the girls? Spoils of war?” 

“The older one is not to be touched,” his companion answered, “but take the other one if you want to keep your bed warm.” 

“No! Don’t touch her!” you protested, struggling against the man holding you as he began to wrestle you back towards the carriage. You could see Alba’s terrified face inside, you were determined to not let them take her.

“Run!” you yelled at her, kicking back at the man behind you, your foot miraculously connecting with his shin and he lost his balance. Alba jumped out of the carriage and ran, but the third bandit was right behind her. 

“Fucking bitch, get her!” the leader yelled as the one holding you grabbed your arm and pulled you around. His fist connected with your face and you saw stars as white hot pain shot through your head. Losing your footing, you sank to the ground, head spinning. You heard Alba cry out in fear and a voice yelled.

“Shoot!!” 

The thump of an arrow hitting its mark reached your ears, but you couldn’t lift your head to look for Alba, black dots were dancing in your vision. More voices yelled, some in fear, and again the sounds of battle erupted around you, but just as quickly died down. You could hear the clatter of rain against the roof tiles, dark clouds suddenly forming in your vision, and a warm quilt being pulled over you. The ground fell away beneath you, you were floating under your blanket, or maybe wrapped in it, as the rain clattered. 

“Carrisime, open your eyes,” the low voice demanded in a soft tone, “Come on, look at me now, wake up.” 

The voice was familiar and you could feel his hands gently patting your cheek, rousing your foggy mind.

“Vita mea, I’m here, you’re safe, just open your eyes.” 

With an herculean effort you peeled your eyes open and Marcus’ face floated into focus. 

“There you go, just look at me, carrisime,” he said, his hand stroking your cheek, “you’re safe now.” 

It took you a few more moments to realise that you weren’t floating and it wasn’t raining. Marcus was cradling you in his arms, his thick cloak wrapped around you, as the clatter of soldier’s caligae against the paving stones brought the events of the past few minutes flooding back. 

“Alba…” you croaked, trying to look for her, but Marcus tightened his arms around you.

“She’s unharmed, just a scrape on her knees when she fell over, she’s being taken care of,” he touched his fingertips gently to the part of your cheek that was throbbing, “Do you think you can ride in the carriage with me? I won’t let you out of my sight.” 

You nodded, still uncertain about what had actually happened, and Marcus gently put you on your feet, his arms keeping you steady. He gave sharp orders and the small company of soldiers were back in their saddles, as Marcus joined you and Alba in the carriage. What had happened to the body of your husband you didn’t know and you didn’t want to ask. 

Alba looked stunned and dazed, and you guessed you looked no better, but Marcus commandeered a cloak from one of his soldiers for her, and kept his own wrapped around you. When the carriage began to roll with a jerk, he tightened his hold on you and you gratefully leaned against him. Your body felt loose, your limbs all watery, and you gratefully accepted his warmth and solid frame to hold you up. He bent his head and placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head and you felt his hand slowly caress your arm. 

“What happened?” Alba asked, her voice low and uncertain as she looked from you to Marcus and back again. He regarded her for a moment before he glanced down at you. 

“What I tell you can go no further than this carriage,” he said, “If anyone finds out, all our lives are in danger, understood?” 

You nodded and so did Alba, her eyes wide. 

“I’m telling you because I don’t want to start our new lives with dishonesty, but no one else can know.” 

You nodded again and Marcus gave you a small smile, “At least I hope you want to start a new life with me, carrisime?” He touched your cheek gently, “I never had an opportunity to ask you properly, your husband was more devious than I thought.” 

“I do, Marcus,” your voice barely above a whisper, reaching up to place your hand over his as he smiled down at you, “I’ve never wanted anything else so much in life.” 

“How fortunate for me,” Marcus said with a tender voice, placing another kiss to the top of your head, “then I’ll tell you.” 

He drew a deep breath and looked over at Alba again, “I’m sorry you got pulled into this too, I never meant for you to be harmed. But Lunaris guessed that you knew too, and that made him vindictive. He came to see me, and threatened to have you both killed if I didn’t promise him the riches and status he craved. I was hoping he’d divorce you and let you leave his house, free to marry again, but he was determined to have more and ruin me in the process. Had I given in to him, he would’ve held the threat over me, all of us, for the rest of our lives.” 

“You had him killed,” you breathed out, the realisation dawning on you. Why else would Marcus and his soldiers show up just after the bandits had killed Lunaris. 

“Yes, and I’m sorry, but it was his life or yours, and he was worth nothing to me,” Marcus looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, “I had no choice, but I don’t know if you can forgive me.” 

“He told me you’d given me up, that you’d given in to his blackmail and that I was to stay with him because you didn’t want me,” you said, anger rising inside you as you remembered the malicious things Lunaris had told you, the lies he’d made you believe, “He told me he’d keep me as a slave in his new villa while he got a young, new wife. Pluto can have him!” you spat out, and you felt Marcus’s arms tighten around you. 

“Hush, carissime,” he said, “calm yourself, it’s behind us.” 

“You sent the bandits?” Alba asked, “They were going to…” she trailed off as tears rose in her eyes. Marcus leaned over and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be travelling too, please don’t cry, puella.” 

Alba dried her tears and nodded, wrapping her borrowed cloak tighter around herself and you leaned back against Marcus’s solid chest. He let go of Alba’s hand and cradled your cheek in his large palm, softly stroking his thumb over the swollen part. 

“Does it hurt, carissime?” he asked quietly and you nodded, “I’m sorry it happened, I told them to not touch you. I saw no other way out, I couldn’t kill him myself, I couldn’t let one of  my soldiers do it. So I hired the bandits to attack and kill Lunaris and any guards, I was hoping he’d travel without you. I feel like maybe I took too great a risk.”

“I was scared,” you whispered, “I thought they’d rape and kill us, or sell us,” you squeezed your eyes shut at the thought. 

“I’m sorry,” Marcus mumbled, pressing his lips to your forehead, “Forgive me, carrisime.” 

You nodded, “I do, even dying would’ve been a preferable fate to serving as a slave in Lunaris’ new household. You’ve saved my life, both our lives.”  

You both fell silent for a while, the rocking of the carriage lulling Alba to sleep, curled up under the cloak on the seat opposite. You stayed tucked under Marcus’s arm as he slowly caressed you, bending his head now and then to press a kiss to your head. 

After a few miles had been covered you stirred and looked up at him. 

“You let Lunaris catch us in the thermae, why?” 

“I know his type, he never would have agreed to divorce you, especially not for a man so much more powerful than him. So I needed to let him catch us in the act so that I could scare him, threaten him into giving you up,” Marcus shook his head as he seemed to think through the events of the past few days, “But I misjudged him, he really was stupid enough to think he could blackmail me. Even if I’d given in to his blackmail, did he think no one would ask any questions when I handed over my villa to him? Or when he tried to buy his way into the Senate? I’m sorry I had to have him killed, but I’m not sorry to see him gone,” Marcus shrugged and adjusted his arm around you, making you lean your head against his shoulder, “Sleep, carrisime, I’ve arranged for us to stay at an inn tonight, but we have many more miles to travel first.” 

Sleep didn’t come easy, even though you closed your eyes and tried to let the carriage’s rumbling motions lull you. You understood why Marcus had done what he’d done, his logic was solid. Kill Lunaris or lose you and everything in his life. And Lunaris was nothing to him, just an annoying, vindictive little man, it didn’t matter to Marcus if he died. But still you felt like you’d seen a new side of him, the ruthless Roman general, the man who had led armies to great victories because he was just that ruthless. 

You knew, rationally, that Marcus had killed many men, and had even more men killed. Both enemy soldiers and civilians, but also his own soldiers, as he sent them into battle. It was the nature of his profession. But now he’d done it to get his way, to get you, not as part of a war. He’d saved you, both from a boring marriage when he first turned up, and from Lunaris’ spiteful revenge on you after your infidelity. But your actions, both yours and Marcus’, had led to men dying. Your intense feelings for Marcus, the need you had to be near him, ultimately had cost the lives of your husband, stupid as he was for blackmailing a Roman general. But it had also cost the lives of four guards and three bandits. Eight men dead. All because you and Marcus wanted to be together. 

The thought reeled around your head. Eight new men with Pluto tonight because a Roman general had stumbled into your house on Bona Dea. Was this the will of the gods? Or would you be punished? A shiver ran through you, and Marcus bent down, brushing his lips over your cheek. 

“Vita mea, tell me your thoughts,” he mumbled. 

“I’m…grateful you saved me, and Alba,” you whispered, tilting your head back to meet his dark yes, “But I’m worried we’ve angered the gods through our actions. So many men killed because of you and me.”

“I would never presume to know the will of the gods,” he replied, keeping his voice low, “but I know Mars steers my hand in battle and he hasn’t failed me yet, not even today. But we’ll make sacrifices to the gods when we return to Rome, show them our gratitude for bringing us together and keeping you and Alba safe. I don’t believe Juno would want either of you trapped with that vicious man.” 

He bent his head low and tenderly kissed your lips, his warm hand cupping your cheek, “And I know Bona Dea guided my steps when she first led me to your villa, we will give special thanks to her too. Now sleep, amor, I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Part 4 Tagging some lovely people who showered the first two parts with love: @gothcsz @missladym1981 @txlady37 @timelordfreya @bluesweaters15

@indiegirlunited @jessthebaker @likeficinthewnd @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @inept-the-magnificent

@angiewatson @wintersquirrel @sheepdogchick3 @asobeeee @harriedandharassed @cozylittlepigeon

@i-own-loki @pedrit0-pascalit0

[some-stars]

REC POST REC POST REC POST LIKE IT'S 2005

im gonna do more of these, but this one is "poolverine(-adjacent) fics where they have serious relationship conflict besides pre-confession pining and miscommunication". please enjoy! leave comments!

The One Where Logan and Wade Learn How to be Boyfriends (series), ashe_urbanipal Literally you could not describe a story/series in a way more designed to push all my most favorite buttons. They have to figure this shit OUT!! It's MESSY!!! And they keep TRYING and getting gradually, unevenly better at it, mostly!!! The love confessions happen in the first fic in the series and then we get into the MEAT of it all. Brain damage, jealousy, trauma, and intense relationship-repairing conversations while having fingers cut off. This series has it ALL.

Come Hell or High Water, farmhandler Another wonderfully messy long fic that acknowledges these guys need serious therapy. The deep affection and intense frustration are both so REAL, it makes me so happy.

Blood, Dirt, Love (Stop), por_queeee The relationship issues are resolved without TOO much difficulty here but they're definitely present, and also this fic has my absolute favorite take so far on Logan's X-Men-related trauma and how that might play out for him.

Don't Want To Be A Fool For You, HeavensAche This is just deliciously complicated and messy and beautiful. Like honestly I could list specific things but if you want the slow tangled process of them figuring their shit out, this DELIVERS.

Like a Little Prayer, whiskeywitch This one is very short but it's probably my favorite take on the "Logan skewers Wade during a nightmare" scenario. Intense but understated, not easily fully resolved.

It's Not Fucking Nice, Thestarvedghost I really enjoy this exploration of how Logan's two hundred years of issues and damage would weigh heavy on his relationship with Wade, no matter how much they love each other. A really interesting way to bring Logan's Victor issues into it, too. (Me being me, I should probably specify that this contains NO sibling incest, just deeply abusive and unhealthy relationship dynamics.)

the girlfriend experience, kekinkawaii In which Wade FUCKS UP, big time. Happy ending but GOD, I love when they really truly badly hurt each other.

so leave me my liver and leave me my skin (leave me the way all those other homes did), iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid Love when Logan gets to be an absolute fucking mess of trauma and poor coping skills. With a hopeful ending, even! (This one is gen but it's still in great part About Them.)

themes for future rec lists: best smut, my favorite honda odyssey fics, Just Really Fucking Good Shit, cablepool, ???

[punkeropercyjackson]

Hi,potraying Percy Jackson as a boyloser isn't subverting anything👍🏼Percy sees himself as one because of trauma and a lot of in-universe characters do too until the actual subverting comes along as he proves how capable and strong and reliable and likable he is to them and on a meta level,Percy was written like this to defy stereotypes about neurodivergent people with social difficulties and bad coping mechanisms who're put down and made to water themselves down for neurotypicals and even other nd folks as intracommunity ableism is a genuine problem.Percy's intentionally adhd dyslexic but he was also accidentally written as canonically autistic and unable to mask and his behavior suggests he probably has legit intellectual disabilities.By calling Percy a boyloser and taking jabs at him based on his symptoms and unconventionality even amongst other half-bloods,a layer out of countless to his audhd-coding,you're like two tongue flaps away from calling him the r slur.Please be patient,he has cool guy autism and thanks to Poseidon he can't take aderall

[consolecadet]

Tips for freshly diagnosed celiac-havers

Someone I knew asked me for advice after getting diagnosed with celiac. I gave her some. I might as well share them with you as well!

I am not a doctor, and not your doctor, I'm just some guy with celiac disease. Ask an actual doctor for help with medical decisions. I'm in the northeastern United States, so you might have to go hunting for equivalent resources if you live elsewhere.

Are you done with testing?

If you had a tTG-IgA blood test with an elevated result, or a doctor just told you you have celiac, but you have not gotten a biopsy via endoscopy to confirm your diagnosis, WAIT! You may not want to stop eating gluten quite yet. You have to be eating gluten for the biopsy test to work.

It is not fun to stop eating gluten, start feeling better, and then have to start eating it again just to prove that you really have celiac disease.

Your choice in this area is personal. If you know you're going to have to wait years to get an endoscopy, it would probably be healthier and more pleasant to stop eating gluten now and then do a "gluten challenge" for a few weeks before your endoscopy.

If it's unlikely you will ever get an endoscopy (too expensive, inaccessible, phobia, etc), there's no point in waiting for something that may never come -- just stop eating gluten now.

But if you can schedule an endoscopy for a month or two from now, it's probably best to keep eating gluten until the endoscopy. Sorry.

Please eat food. Like, enough food.

The most important tip I got early in my diagnosis is that if you stop eating gluten and you start feeling crummy -- dizzy, cranky, tired, etc -- it's not because you're going through "gluten detox" or some shit. It's because you're hungry!

It's easy to accidentally start eating way less when you start eating gluten free. A celiac diagnosis can make you want to avoid eating because food feels scary and stressful. Cutting a major ingredient from your diet without knowing what to replace it with can also leave you undernourished.

You really need nourishment when you are recovering from celiac! Your body need energy from food to use on healing your intestines. If you've lived with celiac for a long time, you probably have vitamin deficiencies you're trying to bounce back from. The emotional difficulty of adjusting to a new diagnosis is also much easier to face if you're not starving.

All of this advice applies equally regardless of body size. Yes, even if you are very fat. If you're hungry, eat.

Where to find information about gluten-free food

The gold standard for basic celiac info is celiac nonprofits. There's a ton of info about celiac disease and the gluten free diet on their websites. I recommend:

Celiac Disease Foundation

Beyond Celiac

You know what's not a legitimate celiac nonprofit? Gluten Free Society. Do not listen to anything GFS or its founder Peter Osborne have to say. Osborne is not an actual doctor, nor is he doing actual nutrition science. He is a chiropractor (i.e. quack) so bad that his state's board of chiropractors threatened to revoke his license. Don't let anyone tell you celiac means you can't have corn!!! Truly, wtf @ this guy.

Google's AI summaries for searches like "Is XYZ food gluten free" are often inaccurate (because they pick up sites like GFS). I always click through to the source to be sure. "Is XYZ food celiac safe" sometimes gives more useful search results.

I also like this presentation "I Have Celiac" for a super in-depth guide to having and living with celiac. The OP made it to show to loved ones to explain their deal, but it's so thorough that I found it helpful for myself when I got my diagnosis.

I want to buy food that's safe for celiac...how do I do that?

You should be able to find gf food at any supermarket. The selection of baked goods and processed foods may be lacking, depending on where you live, but produce, raw unmarinated cuts of meat, and other whole foods like milk and eggs are generally safe even if not labeled gf.

A lot of supermarkets have an indicator on the price labels to help you -- for example, at Stop and Shop, the labels on the shelf have an orange circle that says "gf" in it under foods that are gluten free. It's best to check the packaging too, since Stop and Shop sometimes gets it wrong!

Something that says "gluten free" or "certified gluten free" on it is safe for celiac*. Something that doesn't say "gluten free" on the packaging may also be safe, so long as it also doesn't contain wheat, barley, or rye, or have a wheat allergy warning under the ingredient list. Here are some tips for what to look for on ingredient labels.

Labels can get real complicated real fast, so just use your best judgment. It's okay if you don't get it right 100% of the time. The goal when living with celiac is to reduce gluten exposure as much as possible, not to hermetically seal yourself in a deep well where a single molecule of gluten can never possibly reach your tongue. You, and only you, get to decide how much exposure risk you're comfortable with.

My favorite grocery store post-diagnosis is Wegmans. My nearest one is a bit of a hike, so I don't go that often, but it's such a treat when I do. Wegmans has a huge gluten free aisle with gf staples and fun snacks, plus lots of food items that can be harder to find gf, like fresh pasta and baked goods.

I also like the online health food store iHerb for finding new gf snacks and ingredients. You can filter the whole store by dietary needs, so you can also find gf skincare/makeup items and supplements if you want. I have a discount link for 20% off: https://secure.iherb.com/rewards/rewards-program?rcode=DRO2876

The best way to find restaurants that can accommodate celiac is Find Me Gluten Free. It's essentially a gluten-free Yelp. People use the site/app to review of restaurants for 1) what cross-contact precautions the restaurant takes and 2) crucially, if the food was good!

Gf food can be expensive, ngl. The National Celiac Association has advice for how to save money on gf food, including a database of food pantries that set aside gf food for people who need it.

GF ~influencers~

If you want to follow some people who Get It, I like:

Phil Hates Gluten (on IG, TT, and YT) has EoE (another gluten-related autoimmune condition). He reviews gf food and restaurants and makes silly videos about the gf experience.

Robyn's Gluten-free Living on YouTube has gf baking videos and advice about traveling, eating at restaurants, saving money on gf food, and more.

Here on Tumblr, @gluttonysansgluten and @certifiedceliac (and I would love more recommendations for celiac related Tumblr accounts!)

Having celiac is really hard. But it does get easier.

I felt overwhelmed and honestly kind of doomed when I got my celiac diagnosis. For the first few months I felt like I couldn't trust any food and I was going to be totally excluded at all social events forever. It sucked. But then I got a lot of practice figuring out which foods were safe for me, advocating for myself at restaurants and when my friends were planning get-togethers involving food, and now things are really not that bad. And I feel way, way less sick.

If you feel overwhelmed or don't know how to interpret the 1 million sources online telling you what's gluten free, I really recommend seeing a dietician. Your best bet is a weight-neutral or HAES dietician who mentions celiac somewhere on their website or online profile. You can generally count on those folks to give you practical information about how to live with celiac, as well as emotional support as you adjust to what is probably a pretty big and stressful change in your life and how you view yourself!

You got this!

*Please do not talk about Cheerios on my post. Make your own.

[lavender-at-heart]

Hello!! Can you please make "Dating Carlisle would include" like you did with other Cullens? I saw you wanted Twilight request, and I really want more Carlisle content, so. Thank you in advance!

YESSSS FOR SURE!! BEEN DYING TO DO THIS ANYWAY. 💖💖💖💓💓💓

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

Dating Carlise HCs:

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x GN!reader (but fem in mind)

Warnings: none

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

So the whole "I've waited a hundred years for this" is kind of applicable to all the Cullens, but-

It's different! Carlisle has waited like 300 years. He's honestly given up hope in ever finding a mate, thought it wasn't in the cards for him

And despite having a loving family, seeing all of them and his friends find a life partner made him lonley. He was happy, but a lonley person.

So when you come into his life it's like a million fireworks go off at once!

He may be very rusty and old-fashioned, but that doesn't mean he doesn't sweep you off your feet!

You would be seriously head over heels within the first 5 mins of talking

Wether you were one of the Cullen kids' friends or you were in need of medical attention, you were hooked the minute you met

You definitely thought there has to be a catch

He can't be handsome, rich, kind, smart, respectful, AND sane

I'm not sure how it would work with his super self control, but he would probably feel at least a little bit of a thirst for your blood

He'd probably freak out a bit and be overall shocked

Maybe a bit repulsed with himself for even slightly wanting to indulge in human blood

Nevertheless he overcomes this and quickly works on spending time with you

Obviously he wants to come across as normal as possible but he can't help but be overly enthusiastic

Dates would include dinners to expensive restaurants, way too expensive in your opinion

Long walks by the beach or in the forest near his house

Stargazing

Reading by the fireplace

Loves reading you to sleep

Ballet, Opera, or classical music shows are probably a must

But he's down to more casual things too

Being with you makes him feel human, so late night 7-11 trips, or binge watching a show gives him a new, fresh, taste of a cosy life

He loves loves loves to cook for you

Puts on the cooking channel and gets to work

Will try different recipes and cuisines and have you rate each meal

Will go with Alice to the mall so he can buy you all sorts of gifts

Will teach you how to properly dance, none of that jumping up and down business

Would love the idea of getting married soon, he knows you both will never want anyone else

But he would also love to support you in your future in normal society, while you have it

Wether that be post-seccondary or a career

Speaking of weddings, probably a big one

He would invite his long list of friends of course, maybe even the volturi

But simple. He never wants to be showy, but he's just so proud and exited!

Definitely nothing extravagant, keep things classy and nice

He would always be there during difficult times

Obviously if your going through physical difficulties he's the man

You get the best, at home treatment

Top quality soup, tea, and medicine

Due to his super hearing and even smell he can tell if there's a tickle in your throat or a bug in your stomach

But if your feeling down or going through a rough patch he's there

He knows better than anyone that life is full of highs and lows, and he sticks around for the lows

--------------------------------------------‐----------

Thanks for reading, I welcome any feedback!

Xoxo

[flippinpancakes64]

hi !! i absolutely love your work and headcannons sm<3

i'm not sure if smth like this has been asked already, but can you do cullen w/ a "bella?" As in, a human they meet that is their singer + particularly interests them, whether that be because a limitation to their power (like bella w edward) or something similar.

idk if that really makes sense but thank you !!

The Cullens meeting their Blood Singer

I think I understand what you mean, so don't worry!

Also I just got my acrylics off after having them for months and guys it is so nice to be able to feel the keys while I type lol

Also I only applied the power limitation thing to Edward, Alice, Jasper, and Bella since they're the only ones with a power lol. For the others I just went with the reader being a blood singer.

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He's already met Bella, but it's said in the books that vampires can have multiple singers

So even though he's been through this before, that doesn't mean that meeting you is any easier

And the deja vu is crazy when he realizes that he can't read your thoughts either

He's like seriously this again

Even though he tries his best to stay away from you, he knows he can't

He accepts it easier this time

And after all of his practice with Bella, he is much less of a danger to you

He is pretty frustrated though

Like seriously he has to fall in love with someone whose mind he can't read again

It's like his own personal curse

Just like with Bella though, he does get used to your scent

And even though he's upset about the fact that he can't use his ability on you, he copes

Alice:

Throughout the series, there are multiple instances where her power has been blocked by people

The wolves, namely

So when she encounters you she is shocked to say the least

She's never witnessed this power in a human before

Not to mention the fact that you smell so delicious

She needs a second to lie down

Unlike the wolves, your power only affects you when you're human

Similar to Bella's

She is exasperated though

Not only did she not foresee you entering her life because of your ability, but she also can't see any of your future

You tripped and fell once and she didn't know that it was going to happen and she was so upset

But as far as you being a singer for her, she's not too bothered

She has pretty good self control so she's able to be around you with little to no difficulty

When she does eventually turn you though you're gonna need to turn off your ability cause she is over it rn

Jasper:

It's a bit touchy for a while

Alice foresaw your arrival and warned Jasper so that he could be prepared

That still didn't properly prepare him for how good you would smell

It takes him a while to not want to kill you

And you have to be super careful not to bleed at all around him

As far as your ability, he has never once met someone who was immune to him

Even Bella's shield was susceptible to him

Carlisle guessed that yours is more of a physical shield than a mental one

Either way he finds it so odd

And a little bit of an inconvenience

But he doesn't use his ability too often on people he knows so it's not that big of a deal

His main concern is not killing you

Rosalie:

Her and Emmett have traveled a lot

So chances are she has probably met a singer before

Only in the past she just flees as fast as she can

Not because she's worried she'll kill them, but mostly just because she doesn't want to deal with that

But there's something different about you

Call it love at first sight

She doesn't struggle too much around you

She's never tasted human blood after all, so her self-control is unmatched

She's pretty hesitant about getting in a relationship with you though

She's worried about what would happen if you accidentally cut yourself or something

She doesn't know if she would be able to stop herself

But she learns to trust herself eventually

Emmett:

Uhm

His first instinct is to kill you

He's done it before

It's mentioned in the books that he has killed 2 or 3 of his blood singers in the past

That's why he tells Edward to just kill and eat Bella

But again there's something different about you

He just feels the strong desire to keep you alive

And so he does

But not without some trouble

Since he's always given into his desires in the past, it's super difficult to deny himself

So it takes a while

But he does push past it eventually

Esme:

She's been with Carlisle her whole life, so her craving have always been controlled

But she feels like a newborn again when she smells you

You're the best thing she's ever smelled, it makes her want to pounce

She goes to Carlisle first

He helps her to control herself and then she finally introduces herself to you

It's super difficult for her

But she loves you

She loves the way you smell, even if she can't have it

And yes she does have a bit of a crisis when she starts to fall in love with you because she thought Carlisle was the only one for her

Waiter I will take my blood singer with a side of angst and existentialism

Carlisle:

He's definitely met a blood singer in the past

He's over 400 years old I'd be more surprised if he hadn't

And because he has had so long to wear down his senses and control them better

He's like a vegan smelling a steak

He can appreciate that it smells good, but he won't eat it

Translating that over to you, he can tell instantly that you are his blood singer, but he will not indulge

There was one instance, though, where you scraped your knee and he had to excuse himself from the room

He felt so bad and apologized profusely afterwards

But you understood

It takes him a while to recover from that

I mean, that's the first time he's really felt such a strong desire to drink human blood in over 300 years

But he gets acclimated to the smell of you after a while so he's okay

Vampire! Bella:

She knew only the surface level of the impact that she used to have on Edward

She watched him struggle, but she never knew how bad it was

Still being so young, her first instinct was to pounce on you in the school hallway

But with Edward and Carlisle's help she was able to control herself

She still struggles a bit, but she's getting better every day

As for your ability, she is frustrated

Now she understands why Edward was so upset about not being able to read her mind

You have the ability to cut through her mind defenses

As a human your ability is very sporadic

You subconsciously send various thoughts of yours straight into her head and it's jarring

You don't even know you're doing it

Even when she strengthens her defenses, you still push through like it's nothing

She apologizes to Edward