#though i will likely have to pause for a bit

[slowfuckintheafternoon]

18+ only please and thank you

Gaz who won’t let you jerk off in peace.

It’s not that you don’t like having sex with him, it’s just that it’s been months since his last deployment, and it feels like forever since you got to connect with your body on your own terms.

You just want to explore yourself again, that’s all. He's been taking good care of you, but you want to take care of you. You want to take your time with yourself, lingering on the most sensitive angles that only you can find. It hits the spot sometimes to just lay back, relax, and get yourself off again like the old days.

But miserably, you’ve been getting home at the same time as him for weeks, and it’s made it nearly impossible to be alone. This weekend, though, you're determined. You're going to make it happen, one way or another. You're going to get that solo wank if it's the last thing you do.

But it seems like as soon as you’ve fully attached yourself to the plan, your boyfriend is suddenly an inescapable force of observance.

All of a sudden he wants your in-depth advice on vacation ideas, following you around the house like a lost duckling. He even turns down drinks with his mates, which is absolutely unheard of, just to spend incredibly inconvenient time with you.

The one weekend you want him gone, and he's become the most constantly around person imaginable, much to your irritation.

It’s absolutely unfair. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a private wank, and you shouldn’t have to feel like you’re sneaking around to get it. But every time you think you've gathered your courage enough to ask, you'll look over at him and he’ll just be standing there, so cute and seeming so happy to be near you, so you don't ask.

You don't ask, and you don't wank.

You start withdrawing from his hugs and touches, hoping it'll put off your the usual weekend fuck, because you just know it'll suck all the satisfaction out of your wank. You can't ask, but you can't seem to let it go either, because it's somehow become a need. An actual, emotional need for something that shouldn't matter that much, but it does. It matters that you aren't getting time to yourself when you need it.

The hours continue to pass, until you find yourself in the last afternoon of your weekend, and you swear he hasn't sat his ass down away from you all day.

You touch yourself a little bit in the bathroom, desperately hoping it'll be good enough, and you'll be able to just get it over with and go back to normal.

But it's not good. It's rushed and anxious and completely unenjoyable, so you give up before you even manage to get yourself wet.

And of course, as soon as you've washed your hands and stepped out of the bathroom, that man is right there waiting for you. You can't help the flicker of annoyance on your face when you spot him sitting there on the corner of the bed.

"Um, I think I'm going to..." You pause, picking up your car keys from the dresser, but then setting them back down. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'll stay home. Do you need to go anywhere? Run any, um, errands?"

Kyle frowns at the suspicious, hopeful blinks you're throwing in his direction. "Not particularly."

Unconsciously your fingers grab hold of your keys again, and you only realize you're doing it when his eyes follow the movement.

"Oh, okay," you ramble, shoving your keys away, and feeling like you suddenly don't know what to do with your hands. "You gonna... pop round to see your mum today?"

Kyle stands up slowly, openly eyeing your nervous body language. Your gaze wanders to the dresser because you can't stand to look at him, can barely think past the haze of repressed feelings and self denial and the deception. It's not fair, it's not fair. When will you get what you need?

“D’you want to see other people?” he finally asks.

Instantly your eyes snap up to his face, to the pained expression he’s failing to hide.

“Like, open the relationship or something?" he continues in that too-calm voice. "If you haven’t been satisfied lately, then we can talk about—“

“Kyle, no. What the fuck? No.”

He visibly sets his jaw. “Then what is it? Cause if we’re breaking up—“

“God, shut up! Just shut up for a second. Oh, god."

You start giggling before you can stop it, not because anything is funny, but because you're incredibly nervous. He still looks so worried, and it's still so hard to say, but you might as well just spill your guts at this point because the giggling is making things worse.

“I just wanted to, um, m-masturbate, um by myself, because we just have sex now whenever I’m horny, and I haven’t got to do it in a while. Without you, I mean. All by myself. Oh, god, this is so stupid."

Another giggle slips out, and you’re braced for his hurt feelings, maybe a rare bit of anger poking through the surface.

But instead he suddenly lets out a barking laugh. “That’s it?? You’ve been torturing me all weekend just cause you needed some alone time?”

"It's not funny, Kyle." Nevermind that you're failing to suppress more nervous laugher.

"Oh my god." He wipes his hand over his face, seeming utterly dumbfounded. “Oh my god, what a relief.”

And then your boyfriend spins around all dramatic, and flattens himself against the wall, laughing obnoxiously with his head buried in his arms.

“A fuckin’ wank.” Comes his incredulous voice, half muffled by his forearm. “Just... wanted a wank. All that for a wank."

“You’re being annoying,” you mutter. “And I still haven’t got my wank, thank you very much.”

"You're right." Kyle straightens right up, looks you dead in the eye, and smiles. "And you're gonna get it right now."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"Look at me." He takes one step towards you, pointing a finger at his suddenly grave expression. "I'm fuckin' serious. We're getting you that wank."

The idiot takes you by the hand -- you're incapacitated with giggles, by the way -- and leads you straight to the bed, helping you up onto it as if he was your personal masturbation chauffeur.

"You stay there," he instructs you, only to scurry off and quickly return with your water bottle and your phone.

"For hydration--" holds up the water bottle-- "for visual aids--" holds up the phone-- "for moral support--" leans down and kisses you straight on the mouth.

"Baby, I love you."

"I love you too. I'm gonna go pop off to the shop so you'll have no distractions. You stay there, and please for the love of god, tell me the next time you need a wank."

"You're the best!" you call after him, tucking yourself into the blankets.

"Yes I am."

Soon the place is quiet and still, and it's just you in your fluffy bed, wonderfully, deliciously alone.

You starfish your limbs out in the sheets, once you're good and naked. Let all the fabric drag against your bare skin and sigh happily.

You are happy. You're so happy with Kyle.

It's a good wank, too. You get out your vibrator, and find exactly the visual aids that you want, and you let yourself savor the buildup, without any reason to hide what you're doing.

Soon your brain turns to mush and you cum in your nice comfy bed, cradled in the sheets that smell like your boyfriend. It's lovely. It's wonderful. You click off your sex toy and catch your breath with your fingers pressed tight to your clit, basking in that gooey warmth as long as you're able.

And then you miss him. Like, instantly, as soon as you're done cumming. You miss Kyle.

You should be gratefully taking advantage of his absence to be alone in the bed, maybe grab a few more orgasms for yourself, but instead you find yourself snatching up your phone. You scan through the last few texts he's sent you, imagining hearing them in his voice.

Fuck it. Might as well just call him.

"Alright?" he answers after a few rings.

"Yeah, I'm all finished. You can come back now."

There's a laugh on the other end of the line that makes you smile from ear to ear. "I haven't finished my shopping."

"Okay, but hurry back if you can."

"You missing me, baby?"

Another smile. "Yes. A little."

"Ahh, well. Just a little isn't too bad, I've got a list."

You half laugh, half growl at him. "Come back, please."

"On my way."

It does seem like he's immediately on his way, because he returns so quickly, you imagine he just set down his basket right there and fled the store. You've been too relaxed and lazy boned to even put away your vibrator, but you're so happy to see him that you sit up naked in bed and reach out your arms for him to join you.

That man's face. He's getting worse and worse at hiding how much he likes you.

It just takes one look, one second of having him wrapping his arms around you in a reunion hug, before you're suddenly, violently horny again.

Good news, he's right on board with that idea. Soon you're both tugging his clothes off, and he's tucking himself into the sheets with you, his fingers finding you already so wet and welcoming from your time apart.

This is what your body wants. It's a dumb animal that wants to feel safe, and get the things it needs, and it especially wants him. All of him. His tongue in your mouth, his happy sounds mixing with yours, his cock inside you after you manhandle him onto his back.

You want to ride him. Give him a chance to lay back and relax, and give you a chance to take care of your man who takes care of you. You smile down at him while you bounce on his dick, feeling that familiar stirring of emotion in the top of your throat.

He belongs to you. You want him forever.

It has you going slower, stroking your hand up his body, across his jaw. Feeling and memorizing, and accepting him as yours while you grind his cock in and out.

"Kyle." You're not expecting your voice to crack, so you swallow and try again. "Kyle, I love you so much."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

"Do you want to get married?"

It slips out before you can stop it, before you can cut yourself off or pretend it was a joke, or do anything but inhale in nervous shock.

Kyle's blinking up at you with an equally surprised look on his face, holding your hips tighter than he was before, until you stop moving.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "I didn't mean--"

"Stop it." Something deadly serious has settled over his face, and he pushes you up and off him in one careful motion.

Shit, fuck, why did you say it? Why did you have to ruin everything?

"Forget I said that, we don't have to get married, I don't even know why I said that--"

He's pushing you off him, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to get away.

"Kyle, please--"

"Shut up! Just shut up." Your boyfriend quickly fumbles his hand around in his bedside table drawer, and then retrieves a...

Jewelry box.

"Oh my god," you whisper, clapping your hand to your mouth.

"I was gonna... That is, I was planning on something else, sometime next month, but..."

"Oh my god," you repeat, relieved tears suddenly stinging your eyes.

"Feels a bit stupid to do it like this, when we're halfway through a fuck, but lord knows I can't reason with you once you've got it in your head that I hate you, so. Will you marry me?"

He starts to sink down like he's about to belatedly get on a knee, but like an animal suddenly untethered, you're already launching yourself at him.

"YES!" you squeal, swinging your arms around his shoulders and giggling like an insane person while you take him halfway to the ground.

You both can't stop laughing after that, especially when he's shaking so much he can barely get the ring on your finger. It's a beautiful, sparkly one, just like you always imagined.

Somehow, between kisses and excited whispers, you both make it back to the bed. He gets you under him and twines your fingers together next to your head, the hand that's now bearing the ring he'd hidden away for you.

And then he fucks you, nice and slow, until his shaking has vanished. That man kisses you like you're precious, keeps pulling back to look into your eyes and smile, like you're the most wonderful thing he's ever seen.

And he keeps fucking you like that, slowly grinding himself into you, keeping your hand in his.

"You gonna be my wife?"

"Uh huh."

"We're getting married, baby."

"I know, I'm so happy."

"I'm so happy, too."

[strawberrynull]

──☆🌀 touch starved

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Nishimura Riki

A/N: Guysssss I haven’t written in so long 💔💔 but I had a thought and idk if yall will like it but HEAR ME OUTTTTTT

──WC: around 700

Thinking about touch starved Riki who is so overstimulated tonight. He’s so horny, he’s already finished once while you haven’t yet. He’s just going too fast and sloppy that he can’t keep up a rhythm.

He’s getting frustrated because poor boy can’t even go a full minute without getting so overstimulated that he needs to pause and take a break. You just feel so unbearably good wrapped around him.

Thinking about touch starved Riki who has you tangled between his legs. He’s practically sitting on one of your legs with the other thrown over his shoulder.

He’s fucking so hard into you that he needs to grip your thighs so tight just so he won’t cum in two seconds flat. He even ends up hugging the leg that’s thrown over his shoulder because he just needs to be touching you with his whole body.

Thinking about touch starved Riki who can’t even lean over you because his head keeps falling back. He ends up sitting on his heels the entire time as if you’re the one on top of him.

And whenever he does manage to lean over to be fully top of you, the second he sees your pretty face, oh he’s done for. He’s immediately cumming a second time.

Thinking about touch starved Riki who is a moaning mess because he’s just so frustrated, overstimulated and so fucking horny. He’s typically not the type to be whining like this but tonight is different. He hasn’t touched you in so long, he just can’t help it ☹️

He has his head thrown back and jaw slack, letting out the sluttiest moans you’ve ever heard from him. And if he tries to cover his mouth? It doesn’t last long before he’s clawing at your thighs again. He can’t form any words, just pretty groans and whines.

Thinking about touch starved Riki who finally puts both legs over his shoulders. Bad idea. With your legs closed a bit, now you feel even tighter around him. Before he even realizes it, he’s cumming a third time. Poor boy is practically shaking at this point. He’s breathless and tired but still so horny, he can’t take it.

You’re here reaching for his hips to try to help him out a bit. You guide him into a better rhythm that has you finally finishing around his cock. But when he feels that it’s like you’ve started a fire in him. He’s spurred on again and thrusting into you like an animal in heat.

Thinking about touch starved Riki who is on the edge of tears from how heavenly you feel cumming on his dick. He’s moaning like he’s never felt anything better in his life. He’s bit his lip so hard that it’s bleeding but he somehow doesn’t even notice from the trance he’s lost in.

The bed is squeaking uncontrollably like it’s going to break at any moment and at some point you genuinely think it might. But obviously he doesn’t notice that either. He can only think about you and your tight cunt.

Thinking about touch starved Riki who actually fucking collapses on top of you after he finishes for the last time tonight. He’s panting and shaking and too tired out to move an inch. And you have to just lay there with him practically crushing you under his body weight. He just needs to catch his breath ☹️

Thinking about touch starved Riki who finally comes to his senses and rolls off of you. Then he’s apologizing over and over again for coming so many times and not letting you do the same. You don’t care though. You’re just happy you were able to make your precious boyfriend feel so good.

Thinking about touch starved Riki who wants to treat you to the sweetest softest aftercare but he physically cannot fucking move. So instead you happily fetch a damp towel to wipe the sweat and juices off his spent body, leaving soft kisses on every inch of his skin that you clean. ❤️

A/N: sorry this was so rushed I just wanted to write it before I forgot it. Anyways enjoy me posting after almost a year of inactivity

[megapteraurelia]

boyfriend!sakusa kiyoomi who responds with sounds fun, when you tell him that you'll be out most of the weekend, that you probably won't be around much at home. who sends you a text the next day in the midst of enjoying time with your friends; a text that seemed like it itched with a refusal to admit, tinged with a subtle, pride-stained irritation of someone who misses you and resents you a little for making him feel it.

kiyoomi, "i organised your bookshelf. it was driving me crazy. you're missing book three of the gemma doyle trilogy, by the way."

and the smile spreading on your face is not one you could hold off, nor could you keep your fingers from flying over your phone to send something back.

you, "i told you it's not sorted alphabetically. and wow, how dare i not complete a book series. so very rude of me." you, "did you miss me?"

the pause feels like an eternity before the response trickles in, reluctant, seeking,

kiyoomi, "your fantasy section had two books filed under 'm' category even though it clearly starts with 'the'. yes, i missed you."

boyfriend!sakusa kiyoomi who plates his food carefully, moving with focused precision that's ingrained in each fibre of his being, like he couldn't exist without it. you're leaning on the edge of the counter, eyes sharp as you're watching him, one foot of yours, encased in a sock, grazes the floor and when he placed his plate down and turned to grab something from the sink—

you're quick as you snatch up his spoon and scoop a bit of his portion into the hollow of the metal, and you're just about to bite in, when his voice sounds out; baritone, low and calm, "don't."

you hold his gaze as you slowly open your mouth, defiantly; the way your lips close around the spoon with care and the way you pull it out just a little slowly. kiyoomi stares at you, a picture of dry disapproval painted on his features, but his eyes linger, just a second too long, betraying the spark of something sharper, more wanton, beneath the surface: irritation with a hint of amusement and the quiet ache of being completely, maddeningly charmed.

"that spoon's been in your mouth."

he says that but his body doesn't give when you slink closer to him, when your body flushes against his as you press a kiss to the corner of his elegantly curved lips, "so has this mouth."

he exhales through his nose, and to you, it was the sweet sound of surrender of someone who wants to stay annoyed but can't help the small tug of his heart.

"you're insufferable," he mutters, but he slides the plate an inch closer to you, "just don't mix the sections together."

boyfriend!sakusa kiyoomi who breaks the silence at night in the still room, both of you laying on the bed, flushed together, neither asleep and neither fully awake, just drawing breath together in the same space that has your sigh pass off as his and his limb an extension of yours; the faint spill of streetlight through the curtains.

you shift slightly under the covers and his fingers tighten for a moment as if almost scared to have you part from him, to have your body feel off his and exist on his own.

"when you're not around, i catch myself thinking in your voice."

you're sure he can feel and hear the smile in your voice, "what do i sound like?"

"unimpressed," he shrugs with one shoulder, and it moves your cheek a little, the soft shirt warm against your skin, the heat of his body trickling through the material to cradle your face, and he smelt like his own fragrance blend of essential oils and clean soap, calming, "you don't really care about what's going on up here — ah, let me finish."

you close your mouth with a grumble, and his fingers, slender and long and featherlight as they test the resilience of your flesh against the press of his hand, like he was prodding not just to feel you but like a test to see whether you'll stay put, whether you give in or whether you softly return back to him, "the disaster i create in my head. you believe it ridiculous, inconsequential. it makes me rethink it, too."

"am i usually right?"

his sharp nose travels along your hairline, his exhale quiet and resigned, "yeah. that's the problem."

you smile at the ceiling, and when your hand dances over his, he doesn't pull away. never does; doesn't say anything else either, just brushes his thumb over your skin, slow and steady.

boyfriend!sakusa kiyoomi who sounds a bit stiff when he compliments you on the dress that you're wearing, whose voice almost drowns out in the soft rustle of the fabric, that's how quiet he utters the words.

raised eyebrows, "that's rare praise coming from you."

kiyoomi shrugs, but his eyes are not straying away from you, drinking every atom of your being like if he blinked, you'd disappear, like he has to compete and win against the universe to keep you in his field of vision, in his hands, in his life, "i only say things that i mean."

and when you step closer, it's like he's a magnet, pulled towards you without thinking, leaning forward slightly, almost deciding to catch himself, his freckled hand twitching like he wants to reach out to you; his voice almost a whisper, like he's coming to the realisation himself, "and you're distracting."

"good. i like when i distract you."

his hand finds the hair on the base of your head, fingers threading through the strands as he pulls you close, his eyes studying your face like he's looking for permission that he has with every blink of your eyelids, and when he kisses you, it's with focused deliberateness, like he's committing to the feel of your mouth against his, like he's drawing a memory to keep in the pockets of his soul.

kiyoomi kisses like every draw of breath and every lick of tongue is intentional, a certain tension held in the curve of his arms like he's restraining himself out of sheer habit, but when his fingers find your jaw to angle your face, and his forehead lingers close to yours, it's with certainty that you've undone him, thoroughly.

TAGLIST | @sodaneko ; @takes1 ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit ;

[alwaysanangelneverag0d]

~Fast Break to your heart~Pazzi AU

NWSL Paige x WNBA Azzi

a/n:hello yall im very excited to release the first chapter of this i of course welcome any feedback or criticism.Especially in how i write womens soccer.I promise i will get a bit more detailed on that front jjst give me time🙏🙏🙏

Wc:5.3k(i swear most chapters will be much longer then this)

Chapter 1:Collision

Early May-2026

When she agreed to go to the game, Azzi told herself it was to keep the peace. Cam had called it team bonding. Azzi had been halfway through unpacking a box labeled kitchen decorations when Cam burst into her apartment, ripped open the blinds, and announced she was picking her up at three. Azzi had no choice. It was in moments like this that she wished she didn’t coincidentally live in the same apartment as Cameron Brink.

Now Azzi sat on the couch, book on her thigh, hoping Cam would forget she was forcing her into this.

But then she heard a knock and saw Cam standing in her doorway, arms crossed like a disappointed older sister.

“We’re gonna be late,” Cam’s tone was casual but sharp. “And I swear to God, if you bring that book with you, I’m throwing it out on the freeway.”

Azzi gasped. “Wow, threatening literature now—that’s low.”

“I’m not threatening the book. I’m threatening you, Fudd.” Cam stepped inside and snatched the book dramatically. “I’m not letting you third-wheel your own social life.”

Azzi sighed, running a hand through her curled hair. “It’s not about the book, I just couldn't care less about socc—”

Cam cut her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But consider this: it’s either sit in a packed stadium with friends or keep unpacking boxes, not knowing where you want to put your championship plaques.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “They aren’t even plaques… they’re framed jerseys.”

“Oh, my bad. I meant the Azzi Fudd Hall of Fame wall.”

Despite wanting to shoot daggers, Azzi cracked a grin, stifling a laugh.

Cam grinned back, knowing that when Azzi smiled, it meant victory. “That’s better. Now go put on something that isn’t sweatpants. You know Rickea hates waiting.”

Azzi groaned, mumbling, “The peer pressure is crazyyy.”

“Exactly,” Cam grinned. “Welcome to the team, Fudd.”

As they walked out of the apartment building, Cam reached out and bumped her shoulder slightly.

“Serious question,” Cam glanced sideways at her. “Why the hell are you still unpacking boxes for your kitchen? You’ve been here like two weeks.”

“Three, actually,” Azzi muttered. “Not that I’ve been counting.”

Cam raised a brow. “That is worse.”

Azzi didn’t respond immediately. She just kept walking through the lot, dragging her feet like her body was forcing her forward. The silence stretched long enough to make Cam look at her with concern.

“It’s not like, deep or anything,” Azzi said quickly, definitely not convincing. “I���ve just been really busy.”

“With what?” Cam added. “I have seen you read the same book three times this week.”

Azzi cracked a grin. “Hey, at least I’m consistent.”

Cam stopped walking and paused. “I get it—you don’t feel like this is home.”

Azzi’s shoulders stiffened. “It’s not about that.”

“It’s exactly about that.”

Azzi paused. She didn’t want to admit it, but Cam was right—even though she hadn’t fully acknowledged it out loud.

“I guess I just—” Azzi exhaled, “don’t feel settled yet.”

Cam didn’t say anything, letting Azzi open up at her own pace.

“I miss rhythm. The familiarity of the people, the court, routine.” She paused. “When I was at UConn, even the silence felt like it belonged to me. Here? It just feels like I’m a visitor. Like, I don’t belong here yet.”

Cam frowned, but her eyes showed understanding.

“You do belong here. Maybe just not in the ways you want to yet, but you do. You don’t have to force yourself to prove you belong every single day.”

Azzi nodded. “I know… but it’s just weird. Being without the girls. The noise. Familiarity.”

Cam bumped her shoulder once more. “Then let us be your noise.”

“You’re already loud enough.”

And then, to almost prove Azzi’s point, their moment was interrupted by a set of honks.

Azzi jumped, while Cam just shook her head with a grin.

“HELLOOOOOO!”

“Rickea, chill, we’re coming,” Azzi called back as they jogged toward the car.

“Took you long enough. I was about to start charging for loitering.”

Cam laughed. “My bad, Kea.”

Rickea shook her head. “Distractions get you nowhere when it comes to me.”

“Sorry, Kea. We’ll keep it quick next time.”

“You bet,” Rickea added. “’Cause next time, you’ll be walking to the game.”

———————————————————————-

Rickea’s Jeep vibrated with bass as Mary J. Blige blasted through the speakers, the windows rolled halfway down to let in the warm L.A. evening air. The girls were screaming the lyrics with unfiltered enthusiasm, not a single note in key, and none of them cared.

Cam was drumming on the dashboard like it was a snare, Rickea slapped the steering wheel in rhythm, and Dearica had her head halfway out the window, harmonizing so badly it looped around to charming. Azzi sat in the back, squeezed against the door, a reluctant passenger in the chaos.

But the noise was oddly comforting. Loud in a way that made silence feel impossible. Like friendship layered over static.

Azzi stared out the window, watching the city blur past in neon smudges and golden smears of sunlight. Her heart was ticking faster than it should’ve been, though she couldn’t decide if it was from nerves or something else.

She laughed when Cam tried to hit a high note and cracked spectacularly, clutching her chest like the lyrics had physically wounded her. It was ridiculous. And for a second, it felt good.

The closer they got to the arena, the more the atmosphere shifted.

Traffic thickened. Tailgates flipped open. Fans in pink and black filtered onto the sidewalks in packs. The air felt charged, like something big was about to happen.

Cam twisted sharply in her seat, dropping her sunglasses onto her lap as the chorus faded into the next track. She turned down the volume, not dramatically, but with purpose. The quiet hit harder after so much noise.

Cameron smiled at azzi as if she had something of great importance to say

“Just so you know,” she began dramatically, “there’s gonna be tons of hot, muscular women waiting for a beautiful, curly-headed basketball player like you to waltz in there.”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. This again.

The group’s obsession with trying to set her up was getting exhausting.

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m a visionary, actually,” Cam corrected, completely unbothered.

“A horny visionary.”

Rickea cackled as Cam threw her head back, clutching her chest like Azzi’s answer had physically wounded her.

“Listen, Az,” Cam said, leaning in like she was sharing sacred wisdom. “All I’m saying is—new city, new you. Let someone ruin you for once. Preferably someone with sexy thighs and a six-pack.”

Azzi groaned, already preparing to recite the same speech she’d been giving since she landed in L.A. “I’m not trying to date anyone right now. Or hook up. Or do anything other than basketball.”

“Yeah, but a basketball can’t kiss you goodnight,” Rickea chimed in from the driver’s seat, not even missing a beat.

“If it somehow could,” Azzi muttered, “it would probably still do it better than all the people you sleep with.”

Cam let out a loud snort. “BURN.”

Rickea gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like Azzi had shot her point blank. “She’s ruthless! Cam, I told you she was cold-blooded off the court, too!”

Cam and Rickea launched into a fake argument over who was the more emotionally neglected friend, their voices escalating with every fake accusation. Azzi leaned back into her seat and stared out the window, letting their banter fill the space around her.

There was something peaceful about the noise. Familiar. Like background music to her restless thoughts.

But the moment they stepped out of the car, everything changed.

The hum of the stadium hit Azzi like a wave—loud and alive. You could feel the energy in the air, buzzing with anticipation. The crowd, even from a distance, moved like a tide, their chatter and laughter rising in waves as the arena loomed overhead like a coliseum built for modern-day gladiators.

And the closer they walked, the more Azzi felt it: that quiet shift in the air. Like she wasn’t just walking into a soccer game, but into something bigger. Something electric.

The concrete beneath her sneakers felt different. The lights ahead were brighter. The sound of a thousand voices layered over one another felt like prophecy.

It was just a game.

Fans were weaving in and out of lines, most decked in jerseys, scarves, and posters in the team's hues of pink, black, and grey. But what pulled her into noticing was the name

Bueckers

Over and over again

It was on the back of jerseys in bold lettering. On colorful signs that almost felt like declarations. Even painted on the cheeks of young fans

Azzi’s breath hitched. Paige’s name might as well have been sewn into the air

They didn’t just admire. They adored her

‘’Is this normal? ’’ she asked under her breath as they headed towards their section of seats

Cam followed her gaze. “For Paige? Yes, L.A. worships her, she’s like the female Messi”.

“Shit they’d probably elect her for mayor and she wouldn’t even have to campaign” Rickea added.

Azzi let out a chuckle, but for some reason, her chest felt tight. She had played in front of sellout crowds. She saw her name on posters, jerseys, and faces, just like Paige. But this noise wasn’t for the sake of a team, it was for her.

Paige

The one the city had crowned theirs

Her eyes glazed over a sign ‘’The prophecy lives”

She didn’t know which made her feel worse. That Paige had a hype azzi dreamed to have one day.. Or the fact that she understood why.

—————————————————————-

As they weaved through the crowd towards their seats, Azzi found herself feeling weirdly off balance. Not sick, just..off.Maybe it was the lights. Or the noise.Or maybe something else.Someone else

She barely had a moment to ground herself when Cam cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed,

“PAIGEEEEE”

Azzi was mortified. “Cam, what are you doing?” Azzi hissed, grabbing the taller girl's arms in an attempt to stop the draw of attention Cam had summoned. Heads turned in their direction. Azzi immediately ducked lower in her seat. The last thing she wanted was attention, especially when it came to Cam’s antics

“I'm tryna get PB's attention,” Cam whined as she waved her arms frantically in the air like she was lost in the forest begging for a helicopter rescue.

Azzi followed her gaze towards the field. There she was. Paige Bueckers. Talking to a teammate, water bottle clutched in strong, veined hands. Azzi blinked. Something inside her hiccupped. She turned back to Cam.

“Wait, you know her?”

“ I could’ve sworn I mentioned her name once. Possibly even twice”

Azzi was truly astonished

“When you said ‘Paige’, I didn’t think you meant the Paige Bueckers.”

Can shot her a proud look. “Yep.The one and only. The chosen one, they say”

Rickea giggled, “We love Paigey, even though she looks mean, she's like a teddy bear.”

Azzi’s eyebrow raised. “She does not give off the vibes of a teddy bear’

“I mean to be honest, she has always had a certain reputation, you could say,” Rickea smirked as if she was about to reveal government secrets

“A Reputation of…?”.Azzi was curious

“Being a massive S-L-U-T,” Rickea’s smirked

“Don’t you think that's a bit harsh?” Dearica chimed in from the other side

Can let out a loud snicker at this. “Only harsh if you didn’t go to Stanford with her. I eventually lost track of the number of girls who came up to me, in literal tears, because Paige ghosted them

“Oh yeah,” Rickea added,” and always the same excuse- ’ I need to focus on soccer’.Not like she was lying.”

“I think I saw her sleep in cleats one time in spring sem,” Cam giggled.

‘She had the same line for everyone’’Rickea shook her head. “Never lasted more than a week with a girl.”

Azzi said nothing. Her eyes drifted unintentionally back to the bench. Paige was crouched, lacing her cleats. Something was mesmerizing about just that simple act. The way she carried herself in simplicity made Azzi’s stomach drop.

Azzi blinked, realizing she was staring. That’s when she felt a nudge

Dearica leaned in. “She’s hot, isn’t she?”

Azzi’s face flushed.”Um–what? No.”

But her voice was too flat for someone who was denying it.

Rickea smirked, “Mhm.”

“Seriously, I don’t have time for a distraction like that; basketball is my only focus.”

“Well, your loss.” Rickea licked her lips, “'Cause if I was into girls, I’d let Paige ruin my life.”She threw her head back dramatically .”Those gorgeous chiseled abs?That jawline? She could call me ugly, and I’d still thank her for acknowledging me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. Biting her cheeks to keep from breaking out in a grin

“I think you two would get along well.”

Azzi blinked, shocked at Cam’s sudden comment

“Me and Paige?”

Rickea and Cam nodded in agreement

“As weird as it sounds, yeah.” Cam added, “You are way more alike than you’d like to think.”

“I doubt that,” Azzi scoffed. What could she possibly have in common with Paige?

“I'm being serious, Az.” Cam paused, “You both live for the game, like, don't get me wrong, I love ball. But you both don't just play the game you love-you live it.”

Azzis breath caught

“You train it every day like it's a religion to be preached. You push yourselves even when you're long past empty. You breathe the game into your lungs. I've only met two people like that.You.And her”

Azzi was rendered speechless. She felt uncomfortable with how Paige’s dedication made her feel. How seen she felt

“Though I must say you are definitely much much nicer,” Rickea joked, earning a hard jab to the ribs from Cam in retaliation

“Still,” Cam added, “You would like her more than you think, hun.”

Azzid forced herself to let out a laugh and smile, but it came out ingenuine hollow. Forced

Might like her?Absolutely not. Liking Paige Bueckers would not be happening.

The lights dimmed slightly. The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, echoing off the walls and out of the open roof.

Azzi shifted in her seat. She hadn’t expected to come here and feel like this. Her heart ticked like it was ready to explode. Not in fear of the game . There was the unfamiliar weight lingering. A force threatening to break her walls.

A quick montage played on the arena jumbotron.Highlights flashing. Explosive cuts of goals and saves.

One by one, the announcer began calling out the starting eleven players, each name sparking a wave of applause and chants. The anticipation built steadily, like the calm before a storm.

“Starting in goal… number 19… Angelina Anderson!”

The crowd erupted with cheers, fans waving scarves and chanting her name.

“And holding midfield… number 23… Christen Press!”

A fresh roar surged through the stands, a mix of whistles and applause echoing off the arena walls.

Rickea hit Azzi’s side. “Just wait until you hear the crowd when they announce her.”

Azzi just nodded at Rickea's words. Her body began to sweat

Why is she affecting her like this

“And starting at forward…”

Cam rubbed her hands together in excitement

A quick pause of silence

“Number 5…..PAIGEE BUECKERRRSSS!”

The stadium exploded in increased volume

“PB! PB!

Chants came from every end of the arena

But this wasn’t like the names before. It wasn’t cheering.This was worship

Devotion.As if she were something holy. The entire stadium had turned into a congregation, and Paige was there gospel

She gazed up in silence as the Jumbotron showed Paige’s slow jog onto the field. Her movements were calm and easy. Like she didn’t need to meet the energy of the crowd.The energy wrapped around her.Made space for her

Azzi hated how poetic every thought in her brain felt. She was jealous that just a jersey and a name brought utter devotion from people.

The city didn’t just love Paige. They believed in her. The kind of belief where they built statues.The kind of belief that puts pressure on your soul.

But she knew then something deep inside her had shifted. Something her mind had failed to catch up with.

A warning, maybe, or possibly a pull.

And that terrified her.

___

The field was in complete chaos. players colliding like atoms, cleats slicing grass, arms jostling for space. And then, without warning, the chaos formed around her

Paige.

She didn’t just receive the ball- she absorbed it. A touch so clean it looked magnetic, as if the ball had been drawn towards her. Her back was to goal, one defender already pressing close, but Paige’s first move was so subtle it barely registered until the defender lunged and missed.

Azzi leaned forward in her seat.

Paige spun, shielding with her shoulder, and accelerated. Not in the way most players sprinted-desperate, messy-, but like a blade sliding through air. Each stride was long, hungry, clean. She pushed the ball ahead with the outside of her foot and slipped through a seam that shouldn’t have existed. Azzi blinked. The defenders were caught on their heels, like they were chasing a ghost.

One last defender closed in, a center back with broad shoulders and fast feet. Paige didn’t slow. She tapped the ball to the right with her instep, drawing the defender that direction, then cut back left so sharply the girl nearly tripped over her own two feet. Paige was through. Open.

Azzi’s pulse quickened.

The box approached. The goalie stepped up.

And Paige didn’t hesitate.

Her foot met the ball with terrifying control, a low, curling strike with the inside of her cleat that spun like it had a mind of its own. It curled around the keeper’s outstretched hand, bent at the last moment, and kissed the inside of the far post before settling into the back of the net.

Azzi didn’t even realize she’d held her breath until the crowd exploded.

A sound so huge it felt like it shifted the air in her lungs.

Paige didn’t celebrate

She turned back towards midfield

And then she did it

Lifted the hem of her jersey to wipe the beads of sweat off her face

A simple gesture

But to Azzi, it felt like her world had tilted

Her eyes caught the flash of skin. Smooth, carved with the definition that could only come from obsession,from hours of morning reps . Paige’s abs were unreal. She was convinced they were sculpted from the gods. Sharp lines traced down her stomach, flexing even more with heavy breaths. In that moment, Azzi wondered what it would be like to trace the tips of her fingers along those sharp lines.

She blinked, forcing her mind and eyes to gather themselves

Did she just stare at Paige Bueckers' abs?

Yes, god yes, she had

She glanced away as fast as she could, hoping none of her teammates had picked up on Azzi’s wandering eyes.

But to her dismay, Ricked leaned in

“Now you see what I was talking about.”

Azzi groaned, “Don’t.”

“Like I said,” Rickea whispered, “I would let Paige ruin me.” She let out a low whistle, eyes still fixed on the field.

Azzi tried to force a laugh, but she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt deeply unsettled and wasn’t sure if it was due to Paige’s ridiculous body or the fact that for a full 11 seconds, Azzi had frozen. Completely mesmerized

But she wasn’t interested. She swore it

She crossed her arms, trying to shut the feeling out. But her mind only drifted back toward the slow lift of that jersey. The pale skin. A strength only achieved by devotion and obsession

The way it made her feel something.A feeling that she had spent her whole career running from.

For the rest of the game, she told herself she was watching in the interest of the sport. She clapped when the crowd clapped, winced when they gasped, and nodded when Cam shouted about a missed call. But in truth?

She wasn’t watching the game

She was watching her

Every time Paige moved across the field, Azzi felt her eyes follow. It wasn’t out of her conscious-but something magnetic. Like rereading a line in a book that left her hollow

The way Paige sprinted in perfect form.The way she called for the ball-voice loud and imposing, carrying through the crowd.The flick of her hand when she made a gesture.The flame in her eyes when a pass didn’t connect.

Azzi Fudd knew nothing about soccer, but she didn’t need to. Paige made the rules irrelevant. Watching her play was not about understanding the strategy. It was about feeling intensity radiate off of every kick, every pivot.

She played like it was her god given purpose. Not cocky, but inevitable

It was irritating. And maddening

Yet Azzi couldn’t stop watching.

When the final whistle blew, the crowd cheered. Azzi felt as if she had just snapped out of a trance

The game was over, and yet Azzi couldn’t help but feel like it just started.

Cam insisted on staying behind to greet Paige.

Azzi lingered at the edge of the group as they approached, keeping her distance like a cautious observer. She wasn’t trying to be rude—she just didn’t want to intrude. It felt strange, being here. It was like she was hovering on the edge of Paige’s spotlight. Cam wasted no time. She threw her arms around Paige in one of her signature Brink hugs, the kind that squeezed the air out of you. To Azzi’s surprise, Paige laughed a soft, raspy sound that felt too human for someone Azzi had half-convinced herself was just a goal-scoring robot.

Still, she stayed back.Watching.Observing

When Paige’s eyes finally flicked toward her, Azzi turned away—too quickly, too obviously. She pretended to squint up at the arena seats, as if something up there had suddenly become fascinating. Anything to avoid the weight of her stare. Because even as Rickea and Dearica began chatting with Paige, Azzi could feel her eyes trailing across her skin like a scan. Cold.Observant.

Her skin suddenly felt too cold for a warm L.A. night.

She forced herself to glance back. Paige was still watching her, expression unreadable.

“Who’s she?” Paige asked, nodding toward Azzi. Her voice was low clipped and polite, but hollow. Void of interest. It wasn’t curiosity, just protocol.

“That’s Azzi!” Cam said brightly. “The super cool, ridiculously talented new teammate I told you about.” She shoved Azzi forward like she was offering up a shiny trophy.

“Oh. Right,” Paige said, her tone dry. She shifted her weight, hands fidgeting at her sides. “Nice to meet you.” The words landed with a dull thud, lacking warmth or care.

Azzi stepped forward only slightly, offering a stiff nod. “Nice goal earlier,” she said flatly, the compliment thinly veiled behind indifference

Her voice was cooler than usual, measured, detached. The kind of voice she used on the court when the scoreboard was close and emotions were too dangerous. Her teammates shot each other quiet looks, confused. That wasn’t how Azzi usually spoke to people. That wasn't the girl who laughed at Cam’s dumb jokes or hugged Rickea after practices.

Paige didn’t even blink. “Thanks.” Her response was mechanical, as if she were reading off a script. No smile. No acknowledgment. Just a hand held out like a formality.

Azzi shook it briefly. The handshake was firm, businesslike. Her palm was warm but steady, soft yet calloused. Azzi hated that she noticed that. Hated that, for a second, she wondered how someone could have hands like that and still feel so distant. So far from reach.

As soon as their hands separated, the thread between them snapped. Paige turned back to Cam, as if Azzi had never been there. Like she wasn’t worth more than a few seconds of transactional introduction.

Azzi stood still, pretending it didn’t bother her. Pretending she hadn’t just been dismissed. She told herself she didn’t care.

They stayed a while longer, the conversation flowing around her like a current that was too dangerous to step into. Paige talked to Cam, laughed with Rickea. Even joked with Dearica. But not once did she address Azzi again.

And Azzi didn’t try either.

When it was time to go, she gave Cam a quick hug, hearing her say, “We’re overdue for a chat and some Shirley Temples.” Azzi gave a small, detached wave in return and followed the others toward the exit. Her chest tightened, but her face remained calm.

She wasn’t offended

She just didn’t expect someone to be so good at making her feel invisible.

———————————————————————

Later, as they were walking back to Rickea’s car, the sun had dipped, causing the sky to be painted in deep blue and oranges should’ve made Azzi lighten. Usually, she would pull her phone out and take a picture, but her body still felt rigid. Her Hand still felt warm. She could still feel the way Paige didn’t acknowledge her. Like she didn’t exist

Nope.Nope.She was not letting a small interaction get in her head. Especially when that person was probably gonna forget her name the next day

She was pulled out of her trance as Rickea made a dramatic stop in front of the car

“Ok, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?”

“Why were you acting like Elsa the ice queen when you met Paige?”

Dearica gave Rickea a look and leaned against the passenger door.” Seriously, Azzi, you shook her hand like you had just ended a business meeting.”

Rickea added, “Yeah, that’s not like you at all.”

Azzi scoffed, smirking even though she had wanted to curl in a ball at the fact they had also noticed.”I was being normal, you guys are just being dramatic.”

“Normal,” Dearica shot back, “You were stiffer than Cam’s hair on picture day. That’s not the same Azzi who tried to fight the vending machine for stealing her protein bar.”

“I'm just tired, it's been a long day,” she replied, her voice in a calm tone that signified she was done talking about it.

But she felt it in the way they looked at her. As if they could see straight through her lie.

“Ok, let's go.” Azzi opened the back door of the car and slid in. Grateful that they didn’t push. She rested her head against the hot window. Silence settled in the car as the hum of the city slowing down filled the space

Rickea and Dearica talked quietly in the front, but Azzi felt elsewhere. She was too busy fighting against her brain

Stop overthinking about someone you met once. You’re being dramatic. She’s allowed to act cold towards you if she feels like it. She doesn’t know you

She most definitely forgot your name already, anyway. Which is good because that means it will be easier to forget her, too. You are here for basketball. Not that kind of attention

Paige Bueckers shouldn’t bother her. But her thoughts still betrayed her. She had been ignored by worse. Her parents, her coaches, and teammates. But somehow, the ignorance of a stranger stung her heart deeper.

It was the effortlessness of Paige's switch to indifference that made her stomach do backflips.

She’s probably just an asshole to everyone. Cam practically said it herself

But somehow Paige's ignoring her had felt deeply personal. And thats what pissed her off most. How was she letting a stranger occupy her mind like this

You don't even know her, and you have a game tomorrow. Stay focused.

She clenched her hands into fists in her lap to regain control.

Azzi Fudd never feels like this. Curious about someone.Not right.Unsettled

And definitely not intrigued. Especially by someone like Paige Bueckers

But even as Rickea pulled into the apartment parking lot

Azzi knew the thought of Paige would still linger.No matter how far she pushed it down

——————————————————————

Later that night, after unpacking two or so more boxes. The apartment was purely quiet. A silence she had been craving all day

A blanket was pulled over her legs while Stewie snoozed between her feet. A half-unpacked box sat next to her mockingly

Azzi sipped from her second glass of wine. Or maybe it was her third? She didn’t bother to count. Staring at the book in her hand

She had read the same paragraph 7 times in the last ten minutes. Her eyes tried again to absorb the words of her book, but her brain wasn’t registering them

It was probably just nerves. She had her first regular-season game tomorrow, and that had her in her head.

But as she turned another page, she knew that wasn't true. Her only thoughts were a certain 5’8 blonde

Paige.

Not in a weird way, not like a crush or some shit. You’re just curious.

But the game had ended hours ago, and thoughts of Paige still lingered like static in the crevices of her brain. Azzi kept picturing those stupid abs and how they caught the lights in the arena. She could still feel the Vibration from when they chanted her name. Like it was a sermon at church.As if she were the Holy gospel

The way they worshipped Paige.Pure devotion. It got under Azzis' skin in ways that made her wanna squirm. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about it

Before her brain could stop her, she reached for her phone. Tapped into Instagram

Just out of curiosity.Not intrigue

Her fingers typed the name like it was second nature. As if her name was something she regularly searched

@ paigebueckers

Her profile was clean. Not much personality.Serious.But here and there was the odd personal photo. Still, Azzi kept scrolling as if she were studying a code she couldn’t decipher. Then she stopped

It was just a team photo. The year Stanford won the national championship. Paige was right in the middle, and she was smiling. One that was too real to be a posed smile like in various of her other photos.Real.Genuine.And for a few seconds, Azzi just stared

So there is softness somewhere deep inside.

She zoomed in without a thought, pulling the image wider. As if she would be able to see more of her this way.

Then her thumb betrayed her and double-tapped.

Fuck.

She felt her soul leave her body

Azzis' eyes widened in fear, staring blankly at what she had just done. It wasn’t just any photo. But a photo from three years ago. And Paige would see it at the top of her notifications

Wait. She probably won’t notice. She gets thousands of likes per day. It will be buried in seconds. And she won't see it in time

Azzi set her phone down on the coffee table. And reached for the wine. Planning to finish the bottle to forget what she had just done

But the second the glass lifted to her lips, her phone buzzed

She looked. Her body suddenly felt cold

paigebueckers sent you a message request

No way.No

Her mind raced ahead, imagining the worst. A string of question marks. Or worse, Paige calling her out, sharp and ruthless: “Who the hell are you?” or “Stop creeping on me.”

But when the message loaded, it was nothing like what she expected.

paigebueckers: I didn’t take you to be a Stanford fan.

Her heart fluttered.

In that moment, Azzi Fudd wished she had chosen something stronger than a bottle of wine.

[cursedbycrossovers]

Help Wanted ≠ Send Sacrifices (Pt. 2)

AN: Reading the replies on the first post makes me feel like I set out a plate of cookies and got a banquet in return, holy cow. I'm so honored, you guys.

Anyway, due to several requests, here you go! More cookies! Since I am also writing a bit for the threads on the original post (which should hopefully be done in the next couple days), I decided to take this one in a direction the other two did not. Please enjoy!

— — —

When Tim had received a message from Jason asking for him specifically to come to this warehouse, he had not been expecting this.

"Ah, Tim, you're here!" Hood sounded oddly cheerful for someone standing just a few feet away from a swirling green vortex that was frothing at the edges like a rabid animal. Seriously, any closer and it'd probably be getting on his shoes.

"I'm gonna hazard a guess and say that's what you called me here for?" Tim nodded in the direction of the toxic green whirlpool as he approached Hood's side. If Jason was standing so close, it was probably safe, but he stayed a half-step further back, just in case.

Why had Jason only called for him, though? Something like this was pretty clearly an all-bats-on-deck situation.

"Yup." Hood confirmed, the voice modulator in his helmet turning the pop of the 'p' into something rather grating. "Go on ahead and hop in."

Tim's thoughts screeched to a halt, and he slowly turned to look at Jason with an expression of pure confusion. "Why... would I... do that?"

"Well, if you don't, I'm gonna have to throw you in." Hood said pragmatically.

Tim blinked in shock, alarm bells beginning to go off in his head. Nothing about Jason's body language indicated he was joking.

"Riiiight..." Tim began inching away from Jason as subtly as he could, "Uh, any particular reason you want that to happen?"

Jason turned to stare into the glow for a few concerningly silent seconds. "He needs help."

Ooooh, Tim did NOT like the emphasis on that 'He.'

"Then why don't you go in?" Tim asked cautiously, then immediately flinched. That was not something you said to someone who was very probably not in their right mind at the moment.

Jason was silent for a second, and if Tim had to guess, he was making a face under the helmet. "I can, if you want me to, but you have to go too," he insisted.

Hood took a step forward, closer to Tim. His hands had seemingly unconsciously begun to rise from his sides.

Tim decided then and there it was time to cut his losses.

Tim whirled around and sprinted back the way he'd come in, beelining for the open window. The heavy clomp of boots behind him told him that Jason was giving chase. Tim's fingers flew over the keypad of his communicator, just barely managing to hit send before Jason's arm hooked around his waist, pulling him back and lifting him up off his feet.

Tim made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a screech as he was flipped over Jason's shoulder, and those heavy boots began to make their way toward the center of the room.

"Jason! Jason–" Tim tried to wriggle free, but Jason's grip was made of iron, his leather jacket and body armor making it so that Tim's hits and kicks landed ineffectively against Jason's torso.

The stiffness faded from Jason's frame the closer they got to the vortex, pausing once they were right on the edge.

"Don't worry, kid, we'll be fine!" He reassured.

"Jason, don't you dare–" Before Tim could finish hissing his threat, Jason leapt into the green with a cheer.

"Geronimo!"

[redr0sewrites]

overstim with shmilk...... maybe...?

hed try to overstimulate us and overstimulate himself in the process sighhhh hes going at it till it hurts for him to cum but it's so good that he just can't stop

🌀 A/n: classes r finally over and now i can lock in and write again i love my life

🌀 Cw: smut, afab reader, overstimulation, possessiveness, mating press, begging

🌀 dividers

"hnngh... hah-"

Shadow Milk Cookies' moans rise up an octave as his dick slides deeper into the soaking mass of your pretty cunt. you've long since lost count of how many times you've both cum, but he barely stutters before pushing himself impossibly deeper. you've been going at it for what must be hours, as your lover was absolutely certain that he could overstimulate you before losing control himself. however, he seems to have overestimated his abilities, as you can already see his mocking facade beginning to crumble in pleasure.

the nasty squelch of your cunt clenching around his cock with each thrust overwhelms your senses, accompanied by the vast assortment of profanities spewing from Shadow Milk Cookies lips. with each dutiful thrust inside your aching pussy, a newfound rush of curses and whines emerges from your lovers' mouth, gracing your ears in his lack of decorum. the usually so-composed and mocking Beast of Deceit was practically crumbling above you, spewing wanton nonsense as he fucked you both stupid.

sly hands trail up his back and tangle in his hair, giving a sharp tug and pulling his head back. he's got you pinned down to the bed, but the exposure of his neck grants you newfound opportunity. you lean in and press wet, sloppy kisses over his collarbone, traveling upwards to the curve of his jaw and the hollow of his throat. Shadow Milk Cookie hisses softly as you nip at the junction of his neck, his hips suddenly rolling languidly against yours as his thighs tremble. your met with the unmistakable sensation of being filled as Shadow Milk Cookie cums again, his entire body quivering as his release washes over him- and yet, he doesn't stop. he fucks his seed deeper and deeper into your cunt, moaning girlishly as fat tears trickle down his cheeks. the mess between your legs is a sight to behold, with both of your fluids smudged across your thighs and stomach.

"hhah- hnghh fuck, sso- sso fucking- ngh- soaked..." Shadow Milk mumbles incoherently, barely pausing as he slams his mushroom tip deeper inside of you. you let out a mewl of pleasure, squirming in his hold as his hands hook beneath your thighs, throwing your legs up over his shoulders and effectively folding you in half. the new position allows him to reach impossibly deeper, and you feel as though your mind is turning into mush. still, you manage to retain a bit more coherency than your lover, who babbles and mewls as you clench around him.

Shadow Milk Cookie stares at you with hearts practically floating in his eyes, unrelenting in his thrusts. his abused cock pracically burns with overstimulation, but he won't- can't stop. you feel so good, like you both are meant to fit together, and if he could spend eternity's fucking you into oblivion, Shadow Milk Cookie would. he craves you like a starving man craves meat, and his eyes glimmer with dangerous affection.

"you're.... mine." Shadow Milk Cookie slurrs, voice cracking with need as his cock twitches and sputters inside of you. barely coherent, you nod, tears brimming in your eyes as you reach what must be at least your tenth orgasm of the night.

"ffuck- Sh-Shadow Milk," you hiccup through tears, to which he sneers condescendingly. however, he can't exactly tease you, considering his state is objectively worse.

as his hips continue pistoning against yours, you begin to squirm, not sure if you're trying to pull closer or further away from the painful pleasure wracking your entire body. Shadow Milk Cookie notices almost immediately, and pulls out almost all the way before slamming his cock deeper inside of you.

"i g-guess you didn't hear me, hm?" he sneers between moans, two tones eyes bearing directly into yours. "hhah, silly little poppet- you're m-mine,"

you nod, whimpering as you stutter out a slft "m' yours !" the sound of your confirmation makes Shadow Milk Cookie let out a loud moan, before reaching his peak one final time. his spent cock barely even cums, instead just wracking him with pleasure. in one swift movement, your partner removes your thighs from his shoulders at the last second before collapsing atop of you, utterly spent.

the both of you lay in silence for a few moments, absolutely covered in slick and sweat. your practically shaking as your head swims, barely aware as Shadow Milk Cookie slumps against you. the room reeks of sex, and your cunt and thighs burn in pain, Shadow Milk Cookies cock still sheathed deep inside you.

"mm... don't fall asleep yet, w'gotta clean up," you mumble to no avail as Shadow Milk Cookie pouts, letting his eyes flutter shut. technically, he doesn't even need sleep, but he loves nothing more than pissing you off.

"hush, fool," he grumbles, poking you halfheartedly as you glare at him. "m' tired. if you want to clean up, you can."

"... im gonna get you." you grumble, pinching his sides in exasperation, causing him to yelp. you immediately find yourself pushed off the bed and onto the floor, and you screech as Shadow Milk Cookie laughs.

"you should know better to provoke me, doll," he coos condescendingly, and you groan. "now crawl back up here, will ya? it's dreadfully cold without you."

you flip him off before doing exactly as he asks, and Shadow Milk Cookie giggles softly as you curl up beside him. "aww, i guess you really do like me!" he teases, and you groan, shoving your head into a pillow.

"just shut up," you grumble, muffled by the pillow currently engulfing your head.

"how cruel! being shushed by my own lover- the horror!"

"goodnight, Shadow Milk."

your eyelids begin to flutter in exhaustion, and it isn't long at all before sleep claims you. however, just before you drift off, you swear you hear a soft whisper of "goodnight, my poppet" in response....

🌀A/n: sorry if this sucks i genuinely have been unable to write for like the past few months UHRRHHRRHRHG i am having such bad writers block its genuinely killing me. on a lighter note !!! things have been looking up a lot for me irl and classes r finally over! and then. on top of that. not that many of u are interested in my romantic escapades but lemme just say i think a girl ive lowk liked for a while is into me too... URGH pls god let me have this beautiful brown eyed butch i promise i wont fumble this time i can handle it

[kisses4rafey]

pregnancy scare with older!rafe

you sat curled up on the far edge of the bed, legs drawn up, rafe’s oversized hoodie swallowing you whole. the rain tapped rhythmically against the windows, but inside, it was all too quiet. rafe stood near the dresser, shirtless, jeans slung low on his hips. arms crossed, jaw clenched, watching you with a mix of confusion and frustration.

“gonna talk to me or just keep giving me that silent treatment?” he asked, voice rough from sleep and maybe a little worry. you just picked at the cuff of the hoodie, eyes locked on the floor. every part of you felt on the verge of tears. taking few steps closer. “you’re acting like I did something wrong.”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “maybe you did.”

“like what?” his voice rose a bit, not angry—just trying to keep up with the sudden mood swing. “you said you were late, you freaked out, and now what? you’re mad at me for… breathing near you?” you finally looked up, eyes glassy. “because this isn’t your problem the same way it’s mine, rafe! you’re not the one who would have to—” your voice cracked. “—deal with it.”

that shut him up for a second. running a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “babe…” “don’t ,” you mutter, voice small. he exhales through his nose, walks over, and squats down in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. “you mad at me?” you look away. “no.” he pauses. “you scared?”

and that hits, eyes burn immediately. you chew the inside of your cheek and nod once, barely. his voice softened. “you think i’m not scared? i’ve been spiraling since you told me. you think i slept last night?” you’re not looking at him, but you can feel the shift — like all the air in the room changes.

“how late?” he asks after a moment. voice low and tense. “you never said”

“two weeks.”

“fucking hell, babe…”

you sniff, glancing at him. “don’t call me that right now.” he sits back on his heels, eyes narrowing a little. “okay. so I can’t call you babe or baby, and you won’t talk to me, but i’m supposed to just read your mind while you shut down and hide in my hoodie?”

you flinch at that. he notices, sighs, then softens again “you’re allowed to be scared,” he says, voice quieter. but don’t shut me out, alright? you think I wouldn’t step up if it was real? you think I’d let you do this alone?” that makes something twist in your chest. guilt. and maybe something else, too. you finally meet his eyes. “i don’t know. i just— i feel stupid. and gross. and sad. and mad at my body. and at you. and me. and— everything.” he stands and sits beside you, pulling you into his side even when you resist for half a second.

“we’ll deal with it. get a test. figure it out. together.”

and you hate how your lip trembles with relief. “you mean it?”

“i wouldn’t still be around if i didn’t.” he pauses, then adds, almost grudgingly: “…you’re prissy as hell when you’re scared, though.” you sniff-laugh, weakly hitting his arm. “screw you.”

he smirks. “careful that’s how we got here.”

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | twelve

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, angst, college au, smau/irl, mentions of medical procedures, surgery, hospitals, medicine, jealousy, breastfeeding mentioned once.

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 1.9k

authors note: it took me longer than I wanted but my health wasn't cooperating. This wasn't supposed to be a flashback but if I had added this to last chapter it would've been too long. We will be back to the present time line next part, I just needed to get this out of the way. ENJOY 🙂‍↕️

11 | 12 | 13

Sophomore year - Spring Break 2023

“Look, it’s not packed, I told you,” you said to Kelce.  

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to come to the beach, but you and Angie did, and he was tagging along because it was his only day with nothing planned.  

“You know you are crashing, right?” you teased him.  

“Excuse me for wanting to spend time with my best friend.” Kelce rolled his eyes again as you laid out something for the three of you to sit on.  

“I am spending time with my best friend,” you said with a little smirk, referring to Angie and not him.  

“Just say you hate me,” he said, putting a hand over his chest and pretending to be hurt. Meanwhile, Angie was just chuckling and setting down some of the items she had brought for the picnic at the beach.  

After the three of you were settled, you took some pictures as you always did and started talking. The conversation began with Angie telling you about Ethan and what had happened with him in more detail, and that he had tried to explain why he did what he did, but only made things worse. Kelce gave his opinions when asked; he knew better than to interrupt the two of you during your catch-up session. The conversation shifted to Kelce and Nikki, the girl he was seeing. She was nice, and you didn’t have much to tell him about her, just that sometimes she was a bit too jealous, but he knew that and liked it.

After eating and having a lighthearted chat, Kelce decided to probe a bit about the Jordan and Rafe topic. He wasn’t asking to get something out of it, but after the party and the date a month ago, he had been wanting to ask some things, though he had held back, not wanting to piss you off. You had reacted a bit badly to his lack of enthusiasm when you told him about the date, so he had refrained from asking why you had suddenly decided to give all your energy and attention to Jordan when you had been feeling unsure about him.  

“So, how are things with Jordan? Any plans for this week?”  

“No, we have been talking here and there. He wants to go out again, but our schedules keep clashing.”  

“It’s spring break; shouldn’t he be free?” Kelce tried to sound supportive, but he didn’t like Jordan; there was something that didn’t sit right with him. The only person he had admitted this to was Rafe because he knew he also didn’t like him, though Rafe’s reasons were completely different. Kelce just didn’t like the guy, while Rafe didn’t like Jordan because you liked Jordan. Jealousy.  

“He has plans with his family,” you said, taking a sip of your Coke. 

“Okay, yeah, I get it…” he paused. “But besides that, everything is good, right?”  

“Yes, after the date, he has been even sweeter, mentioning things I told him, and he always brings up the date. I’m taking it as a good sign.” You said, and Angie nodded as if to reassure you.  

“No regrets on going on the date then?” Kelce stated rather than questioned.  

“No regrets at all,” you said with a smile. “Why? You thought I was regretting it?”  

“No, no, just making sure you feel okay with him.”  

“I do, thanks for asking.”  

“So Rafe?” he said, not knowing how else to bring it up. You knitted your eyebrows.  

“Rafe? What about Rafe?”  

“You don’t like him anymore?”  

“What?” You asked, even more confused; he had caught you off guard. You hadn’t told him you had a crush on him. Angie had been the only one who knew about what you called a silly crush.  

“Or did I get it wrong?” Kelce asked, trying to read your reaction. You sighed, giving up.  

“No… I did have a little crush on him for a while, but it’s over now.” He smirked at your answer.  

“When?”  

“When what?”  

“When did you get over him? Was it before or after you saw him kissing Sofia?” He was testing you, and you hated it.  

“Who is Sofia?” Angie asked, a bit confused.  

“High school friend of Kelce,” you explained to her. “And that kiss is not relevant.” It was; you knew it had been relevant. It had been the whole reason you decided to move on.  

“If you say so.”  

“Kelce, I don’t like him anymore, okay?”  

“Thought it was a silly crush,” Angie added, grinning.  

“Angie!” you huffed and rolled your eyes.

—

This time, the family spring break trip had also been a family reunion; older cousins and other relatives had tagged along. There were more kids around this time, and Emily was over the moon to have cousins her age and even nieces and nephews who were her age or close to it to play with. Rafe mingled and talked to everyone, but at the end of the day, he always returned to what he felt comfortable with: Sarah. They were that pair of cousins who did almost everything together since childhood, and people mistook them for siblings. His mom and Sarah’s mom had been best friends since college, and by luck or destiny, they had married brothers, which led them to share a last name. Later on, it resulted in Sarah having her aunt’s name as her middle name.

So, as with any other dinner, Sarah and Rafe were sitting next to each other, ready to comment on whatever would happen during the meal or had happened earlier. 

“Who do you think will end up drinking more tonight?” Sarah asked. 

“Grandpa, maybe; it’s always him. Watch him make toasts for nothing to excuse his drinking,” Rafe said, chuckling under his breath. 

“I think it's gonna be Liliana. She officially stopped breastfeeding, and she said she wasn't looking after the baby today.” She chuckled, and Rafe rolled his eyes. 

“I know; she almost threw Theo at me today.” 

The dinner went on normally, just as they had expected. At one point, it was just the grown-ups at the table, but they were not interested in that talk, and Sarah had wanted to ask Rafe something for a while but hadn’t had the chance to do so. 

“So… how are you feeling now about the Y/N situation?” she asked, a bit scared of how he was going to react. 

“What situation?” 

“Your feelings for her.” 

“I’m okay; she’s with Jordan, so I don’t care anymore.” He said it was nothing, but Sarah knew better. This time, she didn’t want to push him to say more, or he would shut her off entirely, and that was not her intention. 

“So that’s it?” she asked, a bit concerned. Rafe sighed.

“Yeah, that’s it…” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“No, she’s just a friend, I guess. I don’t know; we never got to talk or hang out one-on-one, so I guess she’s just part of the friend group but not my friend.” Sarah noticed the resignation in his voice, and it made her feel bad. She knew Jordan a bit, and she didn’t feel like he was a bad guy. Of course, between Jordan and Rafe, she would choose Rafe for you, but you were happy with Jordan. 

“I’m sorry…” 

“Look, she’s with him, and I just don’t care anymore. It’s her life; she can do whatever she wants, and that’s it.”

Coming out of the anesthesia was hell. You didn’t remember anything you had done. You thought you had just passed out, but according to the nurses, you talked a lot. You even fought with one of them. You apologized, and she said she was used to it; she knew patients didn’t mean it. 

As your mom had gone out of your room to check on you and see if the insurance was covering this, a nurse helped you shower and get ready to go home. Even though you knew it didn’t matter how you looked, you styled your hair and did your makeup because you wanted to look presentable. 

“Is your boyfriend waiting for you at home?” the nurse asked in a gentle tone, just trying to make conversation. 

“Oh no, no, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you chuckled softly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry for asking. I just assumed from the way you were talking about this guy when you were coming out of the anesthesia.” 

“Oh, did I say his name?” you asked, curious about what you had said. 

“No, honey, I’m sorry, but you were saying how nice and thoughtful he was at your birthday. I don’t interrupt when patients are like that; I just let them talk,” she said gently, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Rafe. 

“Probably just one of my friends,” you lied. You didn’t have to lie to the nurse who didn’t know about your life, but you did. 

“Well then, you have amazing friends,” she said.

—

When you got back home, you stayed in the living room, not wanting to walk up the stairs. Jordan had called you, asking if he could drop by to see how you were doing, and you had agreed. When he arrived, you two talked, and he met your mom briefly. You were listening to music and just hanging out when the doorbell rang.

“Don’t even try to stand up,” he said in a warning but caring tone. He wanted to go answer the door, but your mom went first. You heard a soft, “Thanks,” before she closed the door.

“What was it?” you asked loud enough for your mom to hear.

“Sarah sent you a get-well-soon basket.” She placed the basket next to you so you could see what was inside. 

“This is too cute; I need to text her.” Jordan smiled at your reaction to the gift from Sarah. “Oh, look at the card! It has a band-aid,” you chuckled softly as you looked at the front of the card. It was a band-aid with googly eyes, stick hands, and legs, and it read, “Get well soon.”

After texting Sarah, you grabbed the card and checked what she had told you. It was signed just as she said it would be: Sarah and Rafe. You felt something tug at your heart as you read the handwritten note, but you had to ignore it.  

“Jordan, can you change the song, please?” He nodded and went to grab your phone to change the song.  

“Of course.” He didn’t mean to see the texts waiting there for you to read, but he did. Rafe Cameron. He knew Rafe as one of Topper's friends. You had mentioned him a couple of times when you two had started talking, but it never made him worry.  

Jordan didn’t think of himself as a jealous guy, but when he read what Rafe had bought you, it made him want to hit the guy. Why was he buying you things? Wasn’t this supposed to be just from Sarah?  

“Can I see the card?” he asked. You nodded and passed it to him. When he opened it, he suppressed a huff. He had seen your reaction to the card, and now that he knew Rafe was in it, something just didn’t sit right with him. He was sure his eye was going to start twitching if he didn’t calm down.  

Jordan tried to ignore the feeling for the rest of the time he was there. He canceled a plan he had just made to stay there in a way to compensate for not buying you anything like Sarah and Rafe had done. He didn’t tell you how he felt; you needed to focus on your recovery, and he had to focus on not feeling jealous of Rafe.

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[lqveharrington]

Mom & Dad | D.C.

summary: you and darry have been together for as long as soda and pony remember that to them—and the gang—you’ve been married the entire time. in fact, they all see you and darry as the parents.

pairing: darrel “darry” curtis x fem!reader

includes: cursing, fluff, angst if you squint, dally is a menace, two-bit is obsessed with mickey mouse (obvi), the usual in an outsiders fanfic

a/n: i love darry curtis, he’s my favorite 🫠

You woke up to the sunlight filtering through the thin curtains, tired eyes squinting at the sudden brightness evading your vision. The bedroom was completely still—except for the slow spins of the fan above—and yet you knew the second you stepped out, chaos would fill the house.

Darry stirred beside you, his arm tightening around your waist and head tucking into your neck. “You awake?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, smiling softly at his morning voice. “Mhm, though it seems like you’re barely awake.”

He simply hummed in response and pulled you impossibly closer, pressing tired kisses to your neck and jaw. You scratch his scalp and let the calm from the morning wash over the both of you before you had to get up and run the household like you were running a tight ship.

“You ready to get up yet?” You ask softly, pausing your movements when you don’t get a response. “Darry?”

“Yeah,” He groaned and sat up, leaning back on his elbows. “I’m up.”

You giggle and wipe away the tiredness from his eyes, earning a quick kiss to the lips before he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched properly. You follow suit and sit beside him, tilting your head to meet his blue-green eyes.

“You tired already, old man?”

Darry playfully glared at you, “You’re the one who wanted to stay up all night.”

“And you agreed.” You point out and move to stand, laughing when he pulled you to stand in between his legs, his chin resting on your abdomen. You rest a manicured hand on his jaw, thumb gently rubbing his incoming stubble. “We’re only twenty, Dar. We’re still young.”

“I know.” He murmured and pressed a kiss on your palm. “You remind me every day.”

You smile softly and watch him as he stands, resting a warm hand on your waist. He kisses your forehead before pulling out his work clothes for the day, making you spring right into action.

The routine you and Darry had started ever since you practically moved in with the Curtises. While he got ready for work in the morning, you made it your job to get the boys up and ready for their own day—occasionally the rest of the gang when they stayed over. Last night, Johnny stayed over.

You knocked on the boys’ bedroom door before opening it quietly, your heart tugging at the sight of Ponyboy wrapped in Sodapop’s arms. You sat on the end of their bed and gently shake Sodapop awake first, watching his face contort in discomfort.

“You gotta get up now, Pepsi-Cola. I don’t want you late for work again.” You say quietly as he finally sits up, exhaustion covering his face. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes with his hands and slowly making his way to the bathroom to shower, work clothes in hand.

You sigh and look back at Ponyboy who was still under the covers. “Hey, Pony. It’s time to get up for school.”

“Five more minutes, mom.” He groaned and tugged the blanket over his head, not realizing what he had said.

For a second, you sat frozen at his words. There were several instances where the boys would call you mom, but they were all fairly conscious and said it as a joke. But as Ponyboy subconsciously called you his mom, your heart only ached at the thought. And you could never replace Mrs. Curtis—everyone knew that.

“Ponyboy, you need to get up.” You pulled the covers away from him, looking down at his tired figure with soft eyes. “Please? You can’t miss another day of school or Darry’s gonna have to come down to the principal’s again.”

After contemplating—although you knew Ponyboy just wanted to lay in bed longer—he begrudgingly got up and shooed you out of the bedroom, muttering a quick acknowledgment in your direction.

You sighed before entering the living room, a sad smile tugging at your lips when you spotted Johnny curled up on the couch. His limbs were hanging off the edge and the blanket barely covered his body, but you knew he would rather sleep here than at the lot or worse, his own home.

“Hey, Johnnycakes.” You kneel beside him and put a hand on his arm, careful to not scare him from the sudden action. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby.” He mumbled and gave you a sheepish smile before sitting up, straightening his jacket to have something to fiddle with. “Sorry for intrudin’.”

You stand and fold the blanket, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re always welcome, Johnny. Hell, I’d have you move in with us if it weren’t for your folks.”

Johnny burned red and nodded, mumbling an excuse about needing to use the restroom. You opened your mouth to tell him Sodapop was occupying the space, but the sudden stomps of boots that came running inside the house interrupted you, the screen door rattling behind them.

“Two-Bit Mathews and Steve Randle!” You call from the living room as they ran into the kitchen to grab the chocolate cake from the icebox, ignoring Darry’s disappointed look. “What did I say about slamming the door?”

“Sorry, ma!” They hollered in unison, sitting their asses right in front of the television that was tuned into Mickey Mouse for Two-Bit’s sanity.

You rolled your eyes and entered the kitchen, leaning back against the counter as Darry prepared breakfast for the household. You watched him with a smile, eyeing him up and down before meeting his gaze, his eyebrow raised in your direction.

“What? You can’t blame a woman for staring at her boyfriend who looks effortlessly handsome cooking.” You brush a stray piece of hair away from your face, cheeks dusted with a light pink hue. “Besides, you chose not to wear a shirt in the morning, Superman.”

“Maybe because I’m comfortable like this.” Darry swapped the finished eggs for bacon, pulling out the grape jelly for Sodapop and hard boiled eggs for Ponyboy. “Or maybe because your reactions are totally worth it.”

“Aw, you love me.” You put a hand on your heart dramatically and smile wider when he pulled you close by the waistband of your sleep shorts. “Hey—“

“I do love you, don’t question it.” He murmured and pressed a kiss to your lips, smirking when you gasped at the sudden action.

Darry knew you knew that he hated public displays of affection. So when he initiated it in his own house filled with the boys who you both knew would make fun of the display, you were thoroughly shocked.

“Darrel, man, do you have an ice pack—? Jesus Christ, keep that in the bedroom.” Dally scrubbed his face at the sight of the two you of you and turned away, boots heavy against the floor as he headed back into the living room where he last was.

You pulled away from the kiss, giggling at Darry’s suddenly bright red face. “You know, for a manly guy, you get red real fast, Curtis.”

“Shut up.” He snapped your waistband against your hip and spun you around, nudging you out of the kitchen playfully. “I love you.”

“Love you more.” You huff in amusement and tilt your head back at him, blowing a kiss before changing your gaze toward the boys sitting in the living room, each boy doing their own thing.

Sodapop was lazily laying on the couch with a towel wrapped around his waist, Ponyboy was most likely telling Johnny about his latest book read, Dallas was smoking a cigarette and blowing it in Steve’s face, and Two-Bit—well—he still sat directly in front of the television with the plate of cake in front of him, using his hands to dig into the sweet without care.

You sighed at the sight and grabbed your purse, taking money from your wallet and handing five dollar bills to Johnny and Ponyboy.

“For lunch. If you don’t eat, I will find you and make you eat extra for dinner, yes?” You put your hands on your hips and tap your finger, watching them with a careful eye as they nodded vigorously and tucked the money into their pockets.

Sodapop lolled his head to the side and met your eyes, making you raise your brows at his appearance. “Why aren’t you dressed for work?”

“Thought I could wait until after breakfast.” He mused, running his fingers through his wet hair before shaking his head like a wet dog, earning an annoyed groan from Dallas. “That alright, mom?”

You exhale slowly and rub your temples, choosing to ignore what he called you. “As long as you’re ready before it’s time for you to leave, it’s alright.” You opened your eyes again and stared at the boys as they returned to do their own thing, wishing they would cooperate a little better than they did.

Just as you caught Dallas stubbing his cigarette into the wooden side table instead of the ashtray you specifically bought for him, Darry walked into the living room and put a hand on your back, stabilizing your overworked mind without knowing it. You looked up to your right and gave him a soft smile, earning one back before he spoke to the boys.

“Breakfast is ready.” Darry announced and watched his brothers and the rest of the gang stumble over their own feet to get a piece of real food before anyone else ate it—almost like a stampede of animals in Africa.

“You better be washing your hands first!” You call out to them when you heard plates clash into each other, pursing your lips to hide a grin when their groans and complaints rang through the house.

You waited until you heard rushing water to look up at Darry properly, his hand still warm against your back.

He tilted his head down and smiled, “You ought to be their real mother with the way you scold them.”

“Six boys under one roof? Hmph, sounds like a recipe for disaster.” You rest your hands on his chest, feeling his steady heart beat under your fingertips. “Besides, if I’m gonna be a mother, I’d rather it not be with those group of boys—“

“Steve, that’s not your egg!”

“Well, Dally took my egg!”

“Can y’all shut up?”

“No!”

You and Darry look back at one another, your laughter and his chuckles ringing through the air. You both knew you would rather take care of these boys rather than send them back to their terrible homes—it was part of the Curtis’ open door policy. Besides, you cared for each boy in their own way, Ponyboy, Johnny, and Sodapop as your main priority.

“You think they’ll let us have our own breakfast?” Darry moved his hand to your hip and slowly moved toward the kitchen, the arguing from the boys getting louder with each step.

You peer into the crowded kitchen, eyes widening at the sight of the once clean space. “I think they probably ate all the food already… Maybe.”

“Hey, it’s mom and dad!” Two-Bit pointed the two of you out, the food that was stuffed in his mouth flying out with every word.

The rest of the gang cheered in laughter—each boy expressing their own opinion on your relationship.

Dallas was beyond disgusted by the two of you, but still agreed that you were both like the parents of the gang; Two-Bit loved calling the two of you ‘mom and dad,’ finding joy in the simple things; Steve didn’t care too much, only adding to the joke whenever he felt like it; Johnny thought the two of you were a better set of parents then his were; and Ponyboy and Sodapop?

They loved your relationship the second the two of you made it official all those years ago, not minding too much that you and Darry were essentially their second set of parents. They wouldn’t trade the two of you for the world, even if you were both sometimes a little hard on them.

“Yeah yeah, mom and dad are here.” Darry pushed through the boys and stole his plate from the counter, emerging victorious with a cup of orange juice for you.

“Thanks.” You kiss his cheek before returning your eyes to the scene in front of you, resting your head on his shoulder. “We sure know how to make a house full, don’t we?”

“Well, according to them, we are mom and dad.” He splits half his breakfast sandwich with you. “I think it’s part of the job.”

You look over at Johnny, who seems to be eating more than he usually does whenever he’s over which makes your heart feel a little better at the sight. “I think I like this job, even if it wasn’t ours to begin with.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[xmultimusesx]

When Azha's pace slowed down, Remmick noticed given he slowed down with her tucked into his side - his blue eyes moved to look at her, unsure what she might have seen or maybe she wasn't feeling good? Was something wrong? He felt her hand tighten around his slightly, before Azha spoke and made it clear what had caused her to slow down in walking - the family they passed by, the children laughing while their parents smiled so brightly watching the little ones seemingly having the time of their lives during the family walk.

He looked a little taken back, he didn't need to ask what she meant by saying one of their own someday. Remmick knew, though his taken back expression didn't look like a bad one just one that showed he hadn't expected her to bring up having a child together. His blue eyes looked over his shoulder to the family before going back to Azha.

As she day dreamed out loud, remmick could almost picture it - maybe they'd have a little boy or a little girl who looked much like Azha, maybe they'd have his blue eyes who knew. Running around the land happy as could be, playing with their toys or helping their mother cooking during the daytime while Remmick watched with pride from the shadows.

"How long have you been thinking about this?" Remmick titled his head a bit moving to face Azha, seeing that quiet hope within those lovely eyes of hers. There was a pause before he smirked a bit and moved to brush his nose against her own "How do you know we didn't make one or two our first night" remmick teased half joking and half serious before kissing her softly

"Life has a funny way of doing what it wants, even when we try to plan things out perfectly....whatever happens, whenever it happens we'll manage - if I have to create a hive to ensure you and our family is safe, then I will" he promised before kissing her forehead

Starter: The Joint and Jackal

@xmultimusesx

It had been two days since the blood. Since the screams. Since the moon lit Remmick like something out of an old warning tale— and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since.

Azha hadn’t meant to end up near the joint. Not really.

She’d left barefoot, told herself she was just walking to walk— letting the dirt cool her soles, trying to quiet the thing inside her that hadn’t rested since that night. But the air felt different again. Heavy. Expectant. And when the low thrum of music drifted to her from down the hill—gritty, sweet, sinful— it curled its fingers into her and pulled.

Then she saw him.

Remmick.

[Azha ducked back, slipping behind a splintered porch post wrapped in rusted wire. She watched from the dark.]

[The bouncer squinted at him, unimpressed.]

“You ain’t on the list, stranger,” [the man grunted, arms crossed like a wall. His jaw looked carved from stone, his eyes sharp with suspicion.] “This place don’t just let any drifter in ‘cause he’s got a silver tongue.

[nakaira]

What if their wife sends them a video of their baby walking for the first time when they are away for work? (Fyodor, dazai and chuuya)

note. i have focused more on the husband aspect of this request. so i am sorry if this is not what you wanted but i am very proud of how this turned out + my characterization of dazai and chuuya here to some extents (fyodor too but not so much). it is def more romantic than them being farhers but yeah!! also in most of them i have tried to keep the baby gender neutral so you can imagine whatever you want, whether baby boy or girl except for chuuya where a baby boy is mentioned.

fyodor would try to act all nonchalant. like he will see a notification from you, click on it and see the video without showing any emotion on his face because i imagine this happening when he's in the middle of a meeting with the other decay members or when he's clearly surrounded by other important, dangerous people.

once he's home though (may it be a day or two later), he's straight up rushing to the room for his baby. picking his baby in his arms and cooing at them (softly and quietly to the point if you don't pay attention, you can't even hear him let out such affectionate words).

there's a silent pride in his eyes and later when you try to coax him to talk, asking what he thought of the video and all, he smiles gently as he turns to face you and before we get into the words we uttered, the sight of fyodor laying on the pillow next to yours and free of every kind of stress is, to you, like seeing stars twinkle in the night sky. perhaps they too are blushing somewhere right now and twinkling as they witness how in love you are?

"i do not show it but no one is more prouder then me — of our kid and of you."

"why me? it's not me who took my first step." you attempt to tease.

"you did. with every step our kid takes, aren't we also taking our first steps into different aspects of parenthood too, dear?" his eyes twinkle in amusement, it's as if he has seen your amazement towards the stars and stole and placed some of them in his eyes so you would admire him too

and as much as I want to say dazai will be happily bugging and showing kunikida or atsushi or yosano or anyone the videos of his kid, i wholeheartedly believe he's going to be quiet about it too, like fyodor, but for a completely different reason.

let's suppose he's at a meeting too with the local police team in whichever city he's at for the mission with atsushi and kunikida and in the middle of it, he gets the video. he will see that you have sent a video but will not open it until he's all alone in his hotel room.

leaning against the headboard with a pillow on his lap, dazai gulps before he finally plays the video and instantly his eyes with soften in fondness and melancholy.

often times even after having a baby with you, he had gotten the cold feet and wanted to run away from it all because this is such a new experience and as nice it is, it's also a bit uncomfortable because he never thought he's the kind to settle down. it's as if he feels exposed yet at the same time you are exposed too so he feels better.

dazai has so many regrets and guilts and fears of his past somehow catching up in a twisted manner now that he is a father, he spends most of the time in worry and stress despite pretending not to be.

he almost feels like crying. instead, he pauses the video of the tiny bundle of joy wobbling taking a few steps before falling on their butt and giggling loudly. he leans his head back against the wall (behind the headboard) and closes his eyes.

later, when he facetimes you, he's smiling softly as you show him the sleeping baby, "i was scared when i saw the video," he reveals, nervously running a hand through his hair and it's such a weird sight to see him nervous, "because this is just the first achievement. the wobbly steps will turn into more firmer but still wobbly steps in the future. people won't be kind to our kid in the future, right? they'll expect them to act like an adult and that's why i am afraid because this innocent soul is one day going to face the same problems we face along with however the situations is in the future. and i am afraid of my kid walking into the same destructive footsteps i am trying to pull myself out of."

you smile sadly as you let him talk all he wants because it's not often he talks about himself this deeply. when he stops, you begin, "i know you regret many things. so do i. everyone regrets one or the other thing but i don't regret meeting you or having a baby with you. you can only grow when you let yourself be free first."

"i just love you alot." he quietly confesses.

chuuya was sitting on the bed in his hotel room (since he's on a mission in another country) when he gets the video and after seeing it, he immediately face times you.

with an excited grin and a flying kiss, you turn the camera over to show the baby who takes another step forwards, falls on his butt, gets up shakily and takes another step forwards.

turning the camera to face you once again, you laugh out as chuuya dramatically places his hand against his chest and closes his eyes to act as if he's going to faint, a smile on his face as he hears your laugh.

seeing you laugh, the baby begins to laugh too while trying to approach you.

"should i start buying sneakers and sandals now?" chuuya asks once you stop laughing, eyes nearly oozing out his adoration.

you shake your head and he rolls his eyes, "why not?"

"because he took his first step. doesn't mean he's going to start walking properly now."

"that's why we gotta teach him." he insists.

"he's going to learn with time." you chuckle, turning the camera to show the baby who is now crawling around again to prove your point and chuuya jokingly tsks, "tell him to try walking. his father ain't raising no quitter."

"you are so insufferable." you giggle, turning the camera to face you again, "when did you start walking, genius?"

"probably earlier then the other kids?" he shrugs because of course he doesn't remember when he began walking, he barely remembers if he had a childhood or not.

"when did you start running then?" you tease more.

"when i met you." he answers without missing a beat and you bite your lip as a shy smile takes over your face and so to make you more shy and flirt more, he adds, "i am still running behind you happily like a dog behind it's owner and to be honest? i prefer it this way."

"you are so sappy." you roll your eyes to hide how his words makes you brighten up. really, when you met him you didn't know he was going to woo you daily with his words and playful antics.

[rainrot4me]

Hii!!!! I really like your stuff :3

How do you think the pastas would react to their S/O wanting to try period sex?

✦ . jeff the killer

“Blood doesn’t scare me, sweetheart.”

Jeff just raises a brow like, “That’s supposed to stop me?” This is a guy who’s usually covered in some other kind of blood.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even hesitate. If anything, he gets a little smirk on his face. “Kinda metal, honestly.”

But he will make a few jokes about it—“Should I light some candles or summon a demon?”—and you’ll have to swat at him to get him to behave.

Will 100% brag about being unbothered.

✦ . ticci toby

“…Uh. Yeah. I mean—if you’re comfortable, I’m good.”

He’s a little flustered. Not because he’s squeamish—he’s seen far worse—but because you’re the one asking, and that sends his thoughts spinning.

He’ll ask a lot of questions to make sure you’re okay, and he’ll be a bit awkward at first, but he wants to make you feel wanted, no matter what.

The moment you reassure him, he’s all in. Just…maybe don’t joke about red wings. He’ll die on the spot.

✦ . eyeless jack

“You’re asking a surgeon if he’s bothered by blood?”

Jack tilts his head and hums like you’ve just proposed something mildly interesting.

He’s the definition of unbothered. Will keep the same calm tone and intense gaze, like he’s analyzing your comfort more than anything else. He does appreciate your vulnerability in asking, though. Might even praise you for being open.

You get a little extra softness from him afterward—gentle cleanup, checking in, maybe even cooking something for you.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“You’re serious?”

Masky looks at you like you’re testing him. At first, it’s that quiet stare of “why are you telling me this” but it quickly shifts to “…Wait, you’re serious?”

He doesn’t care about mess—he’s practical, intense, and if it brings you comfort or closeness, he’s not backing out.

He probably won’t say much, but the grip he has on you says more than enough.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

“If that’s what you want, then it’s what you’ll get.”

He doesn’t blink. He just leans in close and says it low. He has a quiet, collected dominance about him that makes you feel safe even when asking something vulnerable.

He might pull you into his lap, tuck your hair behind your ear, and murmur, “Just say the word.”

He does keep a towel nearby. Man’s prepared, respectfully.

✦ . kate the chaser

“Finally, someone who doesn’t flinch at a little blood.”

Kate grins, a little wolfish. “Messy? Sure. Problem? Nope.”

She’ll pin you down just to watch your reaction, hands gentle but grip firm. It’s kind of a bonding thing to her. She appreciates the honesty and boldness of asking—and respects that you know what you want.

She might even make a ritual out of checking on you afterward, cleaning you up, and curling up close in an almost protective way.

✦ . ben drowned

“Aren’t we like…already in a horror movie?”

Ben is a bit of a menace. He’s not grossed out, but he will make jokes. The first thing he says is probably, “Hot,” just to watch you squirm. He’s weirdly comfortable with the concept and makes it less awkward by not treating it like a big deal.

“Blood and gore? Boring. You being into it? Now that’s interesting.”

(He might even pause the game for you—maybe.)

✦ . clockwork

“You’re seriously worried about a little blood? Look at me.”

Clockwork gives you a look. She’ll lean in, smirk curling sharp, and tap her clock eye with her fingernail. “Honey, I’m literally part machine.”

She finds it kind of empowering, actually. You trusting her enough to bring it up? That earns you her full attention.

She’ll make sure you feel in control the whole time—gentle where it counts, but rough enough that you feel wanted.

✦ . laughing jack

“Darling, you think that’s gonna scare me off?”

He bursts out laughing, throwing his head back like you just told the best joke.

Then he wiggles his fingers and gets real close: “I’m already a monster, sweets. You think a little natural disaster’s gonna stop me?”

He’s dramatic, teasing, but also surprisingly attentive. Will make sure you’re cozy and comforted. Might bring you candy afterward just because he’s still Jack.

✦ . slenderman

“…If this is your desire, it is no trouble.”

Slender speaks calmly, formally, and never once lets you feel ashamed. His aura alone says this is natural, this is safe.

He respects your autonomy and doesn’t recoil or hesitate. You’ll find his movements slower, more purposeful, like he’s hyperaware of what you need.

And afterward? He brings you warm tea, clean clothes, and wordlessly braids your hair if you let him.

꩜ .ᐟ

[monotonesmile]

Soothe the pain

[Damian Wayne X GN!Reader]

[Word Count: 692]

[Warnings: N/A]

[Fic Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort]

[Notes: i had a headache and decided to write this while I wait for requests, which hey! My requests are open!]

———————————————————————

Damian read his book in silence, sitting in his bed, since he doesn’t have much to do at the moment, he doesn’t have patrol, homework, or training to do, he decided to read a book while his partner took a shower, the only other noise filling the room was the sound of the shower in the background. It left him with a comfortable atmosphere as he flipped the page of his book, though he paused when he heard the shower turn off, glancing up to see them walk out of the bathroom in their pajamas, looking mildly annoyed and uncomfortable.

“What is the matter, Habibi?” Damian questions as his eyebrows pinched together, noticing their uncomfortable disposition. He closed his book, sitting upright as they approached the bed.

“Headache…” They grumble, flopping onto the bed only for Damian to pull them up towards the pillows so they can at least rest correctly on his bed, rather than laying limply off the side.

“Have you had enough water?” Internally, Damian was running through everything that could cause a person a headache while he adjusted the pillows under their head, brushing their damp hair out of their face. Usually, he’d be a bit more upset by them laying in bed with wet hair, but now is not the time.

“Yes…I can’t get away with not drinking water because you always make sure I drink enough.” They sigh, rubbing their temples as their head throbs with aching pain, luckily, it’s just incredibly uncomfortable, not debilitating pain.

“You need to drink more water, I know how you are.” Damian huffs, poking their cheek before pressing the back of his hand against their forehead, watching their face scrunch at his touch before leaning into it, almost making him smile. “Well, you’re not sick.”

“I coulda told you that…” They mumble as his hands cup their face instead, his green eyes tracing their features, looking for any physical ailments.

“I'd ask if you’ve eaten today, but I was there when you ate earlier at dinner.” Damian gently rubs his thumbs against their cheekbones, sighing as he wants to help soothe their headache but doesn’t know how, at least, not without using a painkiller.

“I could just have a headache…sometimes it just happens.” They lean into his hands, their head pounding but he was helping with his warm hands.

Damian hums under his breath, silently accepting that they could be right, they could just have a headache, it happens sometimes. “Do you want a painkiller?” Still, he worries about them, knowing that headaches can cause them uncomfortableness.

“Kinda…I’ll take one and sleep it off.” They just want the headache to go away, so they might as well take some medicine and just go to bed to sleep the pain off.

“I’ll go get you one, just stay in bed and rest, beloved.” Damian murmurs, pressing a light kiss to their forehead before getting up and going to the bathroom to retrieve some painkillers, likely Advil.

They stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling as their mind aches, closing their eyes as they try to will the annoying sensation of their headache away as they wait for Damian to return. They could hear Damian shuffling around in the bathroom as he was searching the cabinets and drawers for some medicine for them. Their eyes open as the bed dips when Damian joins them again, handing them a cup of water while they sit up, accepting the water and pill. He waited patiently as they took the pill and then drank the water, making sure they swallowed it.

“There…it’ll take a while before it kicks in, but you should try to sleep.” Damian runs a hand through their hair, helping them to settle into bed, pulling the covers over their body. “I’ll stay with you.”

“Thanks, Damian…” They murmur as they nestle into his soft pillows, their headache and the long day they had previously making them tired, eyes drooping closed.

“Sleep well, beloved…” Damian whispers softly, kissing their forehead as he gets into bed next to them, pulling them into his warm embrace, wrapped up in the blankets and his arms.

———————————————————————

[Masterlist]

[Rules and Characters!]

[wzrd-wheezes]

Bless the Telephone - Remus Lupin x Reader

AN - I had so much fun writing this and would be so down for writing a part 2 if anyone is interested. I know this is a bit of a slow burn haha. Also can you tell I love making up fictional british places lol

Warnings: None so far. Just cute, slightly awkward fluff. 1.8k words

Remus had torn his room apart. The drawers on his dresser hung open, one hanging off of its track. His wardrobe was half-emptied, jumpers and jackets flung over the armchair haphazardly. Records were everywhere, strewn around the floor like casualties in his increasingly desperate search. Remus stood in the middle of it all with his hands on his hips and his jaw clenched. 

“That bastard.” He muttered under his breath, “The absolute liberties he takes. Of all the records he could’ve taken...”  

He used his foot to shift a discarded T-Rex album to the side and marched over to the phone. Snatched up from its holder, Remus held the receiver to his ear after quickly dialing Sirius’s number. He tapped his foot impatiently as it rang and as soon as the call connected, he launched into his accusation. 

“You absolute git! I’m not your personal record shop you know? You’re actually supposed to ask before you borrow something. Let alone steal my Zeppelin album that I got last week-”  

“Hello?” A voice interrupted, soft, unfamiliar and definitely not Sirius. 

Remus stopped mid rant, “Er - hello? Sirius?” 

“Nope. Sorry. Think you’ve got the wrong number.” 

“Oh.” he glanced down at the phone in his hands and frowned. There was a short pause and the girl at the end of the line laughed. 

“Zeppelin, though? That’s criminal. You ought to get better friends.” 

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “Yeah. Friends, eh? Who’d have ‘em?” 

“I know the feeling,” She replied, “My friend borrowed my Bowie album a few weeks ago and swears she doesn’t know where it is. I can’t decide if it’s too dramatic to file a police report.” She laughed. 

“Really?” Remus sat up slightly, interest piqued, “Which album?” 

“Hunky Dory. I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive her actually – it's my favourite one.” 

“You prefer Hunky Dory over Ziggy Stardust?” 

“Of course. You don’t?” 

“Nah. I’m Ziggy through and through.” 

“Blasphemy.” she said, mock-serious. The laugh that followed was even better the second time round. It lingered and so did the silence afterwards. 

Remus hesitated for a moment, “Er-right. Sorry for the accidental yelling. Didn’t mean for you to get caught in the crossfire.” 

“Oh.” she sounded almost disappointed, “Don’t apologise – it was nice actually. I don’t often get to talk music.” 

“Really?” Remus sat up a little, holding the receiver between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Yeah. None of my mates are into good music really. That’s why I lent my friend that Bowie album. Regretted it immediately.” 

“Still ‘looking for it?’” Remus teased. 

“Apparently.” she said dryly, “Clearly we need to choose our friends more carefully.” 

“Tell me about it.” he smiled. 

“I’m Y/N by the way.” 

“Remus. Nice to meet you – even if it was fueled by Zeppelin related rage.” 

“Honesty,” she said, “it’s the most exciting phone call I’ve had all week.” 

He chuckled, “That’s a bit tragic, isn’t it?” 

“Only slightly,” she said, and he could tell that she was grinning, “You’re not calling from too far are you?” 

“Crowhurst estate.” Remus answered, “You?” 

“Ouch. Rough.” she scoffed teasingly. 

“You’re not far away then?” 

“Mossway.” 

“Oh, and you’re calling Crowhurst rough? My mate got mugged in Mossway at 11 in the morning.” 

“Someone’s got to keep the local crime statistics interesting.” 

“Good to know that you lot are doing your bit.” he laughed, “God, I still can’t believe you prefer Hunky Dory over Ziggy Stardust.” 

“Get over it.” 

“I should hang up right now!”  

“But you haven’t.” she said bluntly. 

Remus leaned back against his pillow and smiled at the ceiling, “Nah, I haven’t.” 

“If this was a film you’d be telling me that it was fate that you called me instead of your mate. Or maybe, it would cut to a montage of us writing letters back and forth.” 

“I hope not. I’ve got terrible handwriting. I don’t even have stamps.” He could feel the blush spreading to his cheeks and he didn’t know why. 

“Scrap that for an idea then.” 

“Why would we write letters? That’s the reason they invented phones isn’t it?” 

“Probably.” she said, “You can call me again, if you like.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Only if you promise not to yell at me again.” 

“Only will if you tell me about any more of your controversial music opinions.” 

“I suppose I can live with that.” 

She gave him her number shortly after. Remus wrote it down on the corner of an old envelope, the pen barely working, leaving half formed loops and indentations in the paper. It was only two digits different to Sirius’s.  

When he hung up, he tucked the scrap of paper into his wallet and just sat for a moment on the edge of his bed, surrounded by the wreckage of his earlier tantrum. However, the frustration had gone out of him now. 

Sirius returned the album in the end. Two days later and with a pack of cigarettes on top as an apology. He could have kept it for all Remus cared.

Remus didn’t call her right away. He thought about it. Between his breaks at work. At the pub. Standing in the queue at the chippy. He would find himself thinking about her. Imagining what she looked like or what her other favourite albums were. 

He wondered if she’d expect him to call or if she regretted giving him her number. Or if she gave it out often. He wasn���t sure why he cared. 

On Friday night, he told Sirius and James that he wasn’t feeling well and stayed at home while they went to the pub. It was a lie, of course. He sat on the floor by his bed, back against the mattress and his wallet laying open in his lap. His thumb traced the edge of the envelope where her phone number was. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he dialed.  

She answered on the third ring. 

“Hello?” 

Remus didn’t answer right away, his fingers shook a little as he held the receiver to his ear. 

“It’s me.” he said finally. Uselessly. 

“It’s about time.” she said lightly. He let out a breath that he had been holding for too long and rested his head against the edge of his bed. 

The second phone call didn’t have the same underlying awkwardness as their first. It unfolded slowly. The talked music again, naturally. Trading favourite songs and obscure b-sides.  

He found out more about her that time. She told him that her dad used to work in the factory nearby but got laid off recently. That she had her own flat above a shop and the windows didn’t shut properly. That she kept her records stored under her bed so that they were close to her. 

She asked him if Crowhurst was really as rough as people said. Remus told her that it had its charm and that the off license stayed open late and that the old lady next door to him leaves biscuits out for the birds even though the local kids always nick them. He told her about the quiet parts with the rusted swings that hadn’t been fixed in years and how he drank his tea with way too much sugar. 

None of it was important, but it meant something. Remus didn’t want the phone call to ever end. 

When they finally said goodnight, long past midnight, he stayed sitting there with the receiver still in hand as the dial tone hummed softly. 

He called her again on Sunday just to ask what she thought about the new Pink Floyd single. She picked up on the second ring and told him that she liked it. They talked about more than music that time. Y/N liked to read just as he did and she told him about her favourite books with the promise that he could borrow them one day. 

More calls followed. Not every day, but most. Almost always late at night and came with the cruel consequence of Remus being tired at work the next day. It was all worth it though, for the shared laughs and the soft murmur of her voice at the other end of the line. 

It was a grey Saturday. Overcast, cold and damp in a way that felt like it crept under your skin. The pavement was still wet from the morning’s rain t and Remus’s boots splashed in the puddles as he wandered.  

He ended up at the record shop. His usual haunt for when he had nothing else to do and some spare cash that burned a hole in his pocket. The bell above the door gave its usual tired jingle as he stepped inside. 

Routinely, he headed straight to the back to a crate of half-filled discounted LPs. If he was lucky, he would sometimes find a decent album for just over a quid with the only issue being a damaged sleeve. Today, a couple were water-damaged and looked warped beyond salvation. Still, he flicked through them without urgency.  

He had just picked up a battered Fleetwood Mac album when he heard her voice. He jumped so harshly that the record slipped from his fingers and fell back into the box. 

“Oh, come on! If you’re going to charge full price for an album I’d expect it not to skip half way through Lady Stardust.” 

It came from across the shop, easy, dry and unmistakably hers.  

Remus spun around to get a better look at her. She was standing at the front of the shop, shoulders hunched against the cold as she thrust the Bowie album towards the owner behind the till. Eventually, she huffed and turned around walking towards the shelves to the left of her and caught Remus looking at her in the process. 

“That’s karma,” Remus said, before he could stop himself, “For saying you prefer Hunky Dory over Ziggy Stardust.” 

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment before her mouth dropped open in surprise.  

“Someone kept going on about how good it was so I thought I’d give it another listen,” She grinned, “You’re not going to yell at me again, are you?” 

Remus shook his head, suddenly shy, “Nah, not this time.” 

“I imagined this differently. You know, meeting you properly.” 

“You didn’t imagine meeting me while standing next to a box of discounted Bee Gees records?” he tugged down the sleeves of his jumper nervously. 

“Can’t say I did.” 

“Well, colour me surprised.” 

“I didn’t think you would actually call that second time.” She added softly. 

“Didn’t think you would pick up to be honest.” 

Another moment passed and people moved around them, flicking through records with the soft hiss of vinyl shifting in crates. 

“I’m glad you called.” 

Remus felt the heat rise to his cheeks as she smiled at him.  

“I’m glad you picked up.”  

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Do you believe in fate? | Chapter 1

General Masterlist famous!Harry x fem!reader / flowershopowner!reader

Summary: After losing his wife, Harry struggles to navigate his grief, An encounter with Y/N, a kind florist, who shares the same experience.

A/n: Hello, everyone! I’d like to welcome you to this new series. I want to give credit to @harrys-baby —I stumbled upon her page. She’s a bot creator, and one of her openings (I think that’s what it’s called?) caught my attention. I asked for her permission to turn it into a story 🥰. If you’d like, you can check out her bot page!

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Angst, A slightly rude Harry—he’s just mad at life. Mentions of loss and grief.

“Yes, Mum. I just got to the flower shop I told you about. I’ll head to the cemetery as soon as I buy them.”

Harry stepped into the quiet shop, his phone pressed to his ear. A sigh escaped his lips as the soft jingle of the door faded behind him. A long black coat wrapped around his tall frame, his sunglasses still on despite the overcast London sky. He hadn’t realized he was still wearing them—he’d left in a rush.

Today wasn’t easy. It never was.

It was July 25th, 2024—two years since Sophia had died. Two years since his world had shattered.

They’d only been married for a year. Breast cancer had stolen her away fast—too fast. He’d tried to fight time, to pause the tour, to be there—but she’d insisted he finish what he’d started. He listened. And then he lost her.

Harry spent the first year after her death shut inside their home. Curtains drawn. Photos of her scattered across their bed. His guitar untouched. Bottles piling up more than notes written. The world moved on—he didn’t. Therapy helped, eventually. So did silence. And now, slowly, painfully, Harry was returning to life. He wasn’t healed. But he was showing up.

He couldn’t write music yet. But he could walk. He could feel the sun. He could buy the lilies Sophia loved.

On the other end of the call, his mum was reminding him, “White lilies, Harry. You know those were her favorite.”

He barely nodded when a soft voice broke through the silence of the shop.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

It startled him.

He turned—and there you were. A stranger. Calm. Kind-eyed. Something about you made the world pause.

“Are you looking for something specific? Or maybe a bouquet?” you asked again, offering a smile. You knew immediately who he was: Harry Styles. Your sister, a college student, often wondered when he’d return to music. But you weren’t much of a fan—not because you disliked his music, but because you simply didn’t follow much outside of flowers. You were a bit of a nerd that way.

“I’m... I’m looking for lilies,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Of course! Right this way…” you said, leading him to the lilies. “We have pink, orange, and white, or I can make a mix,” you offered.

“White. Only white, please. In a bouquet. Maybe some foliage?” he replied.

“Foliage it is,” you said with a smile. Selecting about twelve white lilies, you moved to another section to pick out foliage. You worked with care, knowing not all foliage paired well with lilies. They were big, open, expressive flowers, so you chose discreet, delicate greenery—small but perfectly complementary.

“I’ll wrap the bouquet over here and ring you up,” you said, walking back to the payment area. He followed silently.

These days were hard for him—hard to breathe, hard to talk, hard to feel safe. But something about your energy calmed him.

You grabbed a piece of branded paper, its subtle pattern adding charm. Your hands moved with practiced precision, as though you could do this in your sleep. A snip here, a tie there. You adjusted a slightly wonky bloom, turned the bouquet, and ensured the heights were balanced. It was clear to anyone watching: you were doing what you were meant to do.

“Like it?” you asked with a smile, your radiant personality shining through as always. You noticed he seemed off, but maybe you thought he was just a very serious guy.

“Perfect,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the flowers.

“Do you want a card?” you asked, flipping through your price book.

“Um… sure…” he said, not giving it much thought.

“Do you want to write a message, or should I?” you offered, glancing back at him.

“Yeah… a message…” he hesitated. His mind was elsewhere.

You grabbed a pen and a card, leaning on the counter for support, then looked at him expectantly.

“Rest in Love, forever yours — H,” he said, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

That’s when it hit you. You suddenly remembered your sister’s endless chatter about him—how he hadn’t released new music in two years, and how she understood, knowing he’d lost his wife. A knot formed in your throat. Your steady hands felt clammy, and you quickly wiped them on your apron before writing the message.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at him. His expression was unreadable, the same stoic mask as before.

“I’m sorry…” you said softly. Was that rude? Nosy? Maybe. But you had your reasons.

And you had a promise to keep.

Placing the bouquet and card in front of him, you said, “It’s on the house.”

He frowned, confusion and irritation flashing across his face. “I don’t need pity. I need to pay for this bouquet,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. He’d had enough pity to last a lifetime.

“Sorry, yes…” you said, feeling a bit embarrassed. You’d had clients like this before, so you knew another way to keep your promise if things went south. Glancing at the iPad, you tapped your way to the final screen. “It’s 34 pounds,” you said softly, your previously confident demeanor now replaced with a shy and anxious one.

“You should mind your own business,” he said, tapping his card.

It wasn’t like him to snap, especially not at a stranger, let alone a woman. But today? Today was different. He knew he could react poorly, even unfairly, and he didn’t care.

“Yes, sir,” you replied almost instantly, your voice small as the room seemed to close in on you. “We’re just… considerate with loss.”

“Loss? Bet you don’t know a thing about loss,” he shot back, his tone cutting.

Your breath hitched. His words struck deep, and you looked up at him, frowning, your eyes narrowing. Anger flickered in you—a rare emotion, very rare in you, but he’d managed to hit the one nerve that could ignite it.

“You’re right,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “What do I know about loss? Maybe you should ask my dead fiancè about it.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.

You both froze, staring at each other. Neither of you was acting like yourselves—this was pain speaking, raw and unfiltered. The kind of pain that left no room for kindness.

The silence stretched, time seeming to stop, until he closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry… I…” He trailed off, his words faltering as he realized just how cruel he’d been to someone who clearly didn’t deserve it.

“As you said… I don’t need pity,” you replied, looking away to avoid letting your tears fall.

“Of course… I said that…” he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. “Thanks,” he added, taking the bouquet without another word and walking out in silence.

The door jingled softly as he left, and you stood frozen behind the counter, staring at the bouquet paper scraps and ribbon remnants on your workbench. You hadn’t meant to snap, but he’d pushed you to the edge—an edge you rarely let anyone see.

With a shaky breath, you turned away from the counter, leaning against the wall as the weight of the interaction hit you. Your chest felt tight, and your hands gripped your apron to steady yourself. Loss. It was such a fragile, devastating thing, and yet today it had been thrown around like a weapon.

A muffled gasp escaped your lips, and you quickly wiped at your eyes. Not here. Not now.

Outside, Harry walked briskly, bouquet clutched in his hand. The lilies were beautiful—too beautiful for the anger he felt. He stopped at the corner, glancing down at the flowers. What’s wrong with you? he thought. He’d seen enough of life to know pain took many forms. He hadn’t needed to lash out at someone trying to be kind. His hand tightened on the bouquet.

But what could he do now? He wasn’t great at apologies—never had been. His words always fell short. Turning around, he debated going back inside, but a lingering sense of shame kept his feet planted on the pavement.

Inside, you finally steadied yourself, your hand reaching for a bottle of water under the counter. As you took a sip, the door jingled again.

Your head snapped up, and there he was—standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“I…” he started, his voice softer now. He took a hesitant step forward, holding the bouquet awkwardly in his hand. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. The anger you’d felt earlier was already fading, replaced by the awkwardness of the moment.

He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the bouquet as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. “I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry.”

You hesitated, the lump in your throat returning. “It’s okay,” you said quietly, though your voice wavered. “We all have bad days.”

He nodded, his hand brushing through his hair. “This is… a bad day for me.”

“I figured,” you replied, offering a faint smile. “Loss has a way of making every day harder than the last.”

His eyes met yours, something unspoken passing between you—a shared understanding of grief, raw and unpolished.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry if I brought up anything painful for you.”

“I’m sorry if I brought up anything painful too”

Neither of you said anything more, but as he turned to leave again, something in the air felt lighter. And when the door jingled shut, you didn’t feel quite so small in your shop anymore.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

A few days later, after the strange tightness in your chest had finally faded, you were busy doing inventory. You were organizing supplies, preparing to place flower orders for the upcoming week, and trying to keep everything running smoothly. Claire was there with you—your rock during tough times.

You’d met her a few years ago at a crafting convention, and she’d known Alex before he passed away. When grief had threatened to overwhelm you, Claire had stepped in, making sure the flower shop stayed afloat while you found your footing again.

“I’ll take this to the back,” she said, picking up a large bag filled with dead flowers and other organic waste that needed to be disposed of.

“Sure,” you replied softly, focused on your clipboard.

The soft jingle of the front door caught your attention, and you instinctively turned your head. “Welcome to…” The words froze on your lips as you saw him.

It was him again.

For a moment, you weren’t sure what to make of his expression—it was unreadable, guarded—but you managed to offer a small, sincere smile.

“Welcome back,” you said gently. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m looking for some flowers… and a big apology,” he said, his voice softer this time.

“I do sell flowers,” you replied, “but I’m not sure apologies are in stock.” You chuckled lightly, teasing him just a bit.

He smiled—small but genuine. He could tell you weren’t mad. “Can we start over?” he asked.

“Of course,” you replied softly. “So… flowers? What are you looking for today?” you asked, brushing off your apron with a quick motion.

“They’re for my mother. I’m visiting her, and I want something colorful,” he said, his voice lighter than before.

“Of course. I can make an arrangement with a mix of flowers,” you said, walking toward the displays.

You began selecting blooms, your movements seemingly random to the untrained eye. But you knew exactly what you were doing—each flower carefully chosen for its color, balance, and meaning.

"Is this okay, or would you like something more?” you asked, holding up the medium-sized arrangement you’d just finished.

“Perfect,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he admired the vibrant bouquet.

You nodded, satisfied with his response, and began wrapping the bouquet in your shop’s signature patterned paper. “Your mom must love bright colors,” you said casually, tying the arrangement with a matching ribbon.

“She does,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on the flowers.

“Then I think she’s going to love these,” you said, offering a gentle smile as you handed him the finished bouquet.

He accepted it carefully, as if it were something precious. “Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. “For this… and for not holding a grudge.”

You chuckled softly. “Life’s too short for grudges, don’t you think?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah, it is.”

“It’s 27 pounds,” you said, tapping on the iPad.

“Sure,” he said, pulling out his phone and tapping it on the terminal.

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke, your voice a little uncertain. “I know it’s totally none of my business, but…” You reached into a drawer, pulling out a small card and sliding it across the counter to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, frowning slightly as he picked up the card. The bold letters across the top read: Potterapy.

“It’s something that helped me a lot,” you said, fiddling with the corner of your apron. “It’s… like a pottery-slash-group-therapy-slash-club?” You gave a small laugh, unsure how to explain.

He looked at the card, then back at you, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Pottery and therapy?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I know it sounds odd, but it helps”

He stared at the card for a long moment, then tucked it into his coat pocket. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Anytime,” you replied with a warm smile. “And, well, no pressure. Just thought you might… I don’t know, I find it helpful.”

He nodded again, his expression unreadable but no longer closed off. “I’ll think about it.”

The bell jingled softly as he left, and you watched him disappear down the street, bouquet in one hand, card in the other. A small sense of hope flickered in your chest—maybe, just maybe, you’d helped.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

The familiar creak of the gate greeted Harry as he stepped into the garden of his childhood home. His mother’s house always smelled of lavender and freshly brewed tea.

“Harry?” Anne called from the kitchen as she heard the door open.

“Yeah, Mum. It’s me,” he replied, his voice soft as he stepped into the warm kitchen, the bouquet of vibrant flowers in hand.

Anne turned, her face lighting up as she saw him. “Oh, those are beautiful!” she exclaimed, walking over to take a closer look. “You didn’t have to, love.”

“I wanted to,” he said, handing her the bouquet.

She took it gently, admiring the vivid colors. “They’re perfect. You always pick the best flowers.”

He smirked faintly. “I had a bit of help.”

As she turned to place the bouquet in a vase, her eyes caught on the small card that had slipped between the blooms. She picked it up curiously, reading the bold letters aloud. “Potterapy?”

“Oh sorry, that’s mine, The florist gave me that. Said it’s a pottery-slash-therapy group or something.”

Anne turned to him, eyebrows raised. “And why did the florist give this to you?”

“We had a bit of a conversation, I found out she lost her fiancé, so we kind of understood each other's pain” He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “She said it helped her. Thought I might want to give it a try.”

Anne studied him for a moment, her gentle gaze cutting through the walls he so often tried to put up. “And do you?”

Harry sighed, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know, Mum. Maybe.” He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his coat sleeve. “I mean… it’s been hard, you know? I’m trying, but it’s…”

“Overwhelming,” Anne finished for him, her voice soft but knowing.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Anne stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “Harry, you’ve been through so much. There’s no shame in finding help wherever you can. Sometimes, it’s the unexpected things that bring the most peace.”

He looked at her, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “You think I should go?”

“I think you should do whatever feels right for you,” she said simply, placing the card on the table. “But if you do go, maybe bring me back something you make. I’ve always wanted a new teapot,” she added with a teasing smile.

Harry chuckled softly, the weight in his chest lifting just a bit. “We’ll see.”

Anne returned to arranging the flowers, the bright blooms bringing life to the room. As Harry sat at the table, his gaze fell back to the card, its bold letters staring back at him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d give it a try.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

Harry stood outside the small studio, its painted sign reading Potterapy in bold, colorful letters. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, feeling the weight of hesitation pressing on his chest.

“Just go in,” he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath.

Pushing the door open, he was greeted by the warm scent of clay and the faint hum of soft music playing in the background. The space was cozy, with shelves lined with handmade pottery—cups, bowls, and vases in every color imaginable. A handful of people stood around a large central table, their hands working the clay, their conversations easy and light.

“Hi there!”

Harry turned to see a woman in her mid-40s with short, curly hair and clay-smeared hands walking toward him. Her apron bore the same colorful Potterapy logo.

“You must be new,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m Elaine, the guide here. Welcome!”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said, awkwardly pulling his hand from his pocket to shake hers. “I’m Harry.”

“Well, Harry, you’re in the right place,” Elaine said warmly. “No pressure here. Just grab a seat, and we’ll get you started.”

He nodded, his nerves still buzzing as he made his way to an empty seat at the table. A block of clay sat in front of him, along with a small set of tools. He glanced around, observing the others. They were of all ages and backgrounds—some chatting, others focused on their work.

And then he saw you, sitting directly across from him. When you turned around to hang your bag on the back of your chair, your eyes met his.

“Hey, Harry,” you said with a warm smile. “You came.”

“Hi…” he replied, then frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name. I just realized that.”

“Y/N,” you said, still smiling.

Before you could say more, Elaine clapped her hands gently to gather the group’s attention. Both of you turned to face her.

“Alright, everyone, let’s take a moment to check in before we start shaping our clay. If you’re new, don’t worry—it’s just a chance to share how you’re feeling today. No pressure.”

One by one, the group went around, sharing simple updates about their week or their current mood. When it was Harry’s turn, he cleared his throat.

“Uh… I’m Harry,” he began, his voice quiet. “This is my first time here. I’m… not really sure how I’m feeling, to be honest.”

Elaine smiled encouragingly. “That’s perfectly fine, Harry. Sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

The group nodded in agreement, and the check-in continued.

When it was your turn, you cleared your throat. “I’m Y/N, for those who don’t know me. I had a busy week at the flower shop. His birthday’s coming up, so I’m feeling a bit on edge. I hope this class helps me work through those feelings, and I hope the new ones here find some comfort.” You finished, glancing briefly at Harry.

When the check-in was done, Elaine began demonstrating how to work the clay, her hands moving with practiced ease.

“Clay is forgiving,” she explained. “You can shape it, press into it, and if it doesn’t turn out the way you want, you can start over. It’s about the process, not the product.”

She paused, her tone softening as she continued. “Force and strength are crucial virtues here. You have to learn to manage the force within you—how it shapes your feelings and how those feelings manifest in your life. Too much force, and you’ll have to start over. Too little, and nothing changes. Focus on finding that balance.”

Harry listened carefully, her words resonating more deeply than he expected. He picked up the clay, its cool, firm texture unfamiliar but oddly grounding. Slowly, he pressed his fingers into it, experimenting tentatively. The shape that began to form wasn’t anything recognizable, but it was his.

Harry’s hands moved clumsily over the clay, his brows furrowed as he pressed and pulled, unsure of what he was doing. The clay didn’t seem to respond the way Elaine had demonstrated, and frustration began to bubble up inside him.

You glanced at him, noticing the stiff way he worked, his jaw tight with concentration.

“Hey,” you said softly, leaning slightly toward him. “Do you want some help? It looks like—”

“No, I can do this, I don't need help,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended.

Your smile faltered, and you quickly straightened up, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. “Oh… okay. Sorry,” you mumbled, turning back to your own clay.

Harry froze, the sharpness of his own words hitting him like a wave. He hadn’t meant to lash out, especially not at you. The way your face fell made his chest tighten with guilt.

For a moment, he sat there, staring at his clay, his hands still. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uh…” He hesitated before glancing toward you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

You looked at him.

“I just…” He sighed “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I guess I’m a little… frustrated.”

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and you gave him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. It’s not easy at first.”

He met your gaze, his expression softer now. “Do you think you could show me? I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” you said, your voice warm again as you turned your chair slightly to face him. “Here, let me show you.”

You reached out, showing him how to press the clay gently while keeping the base steady. “It’s all about small, intentional movements,” you explained, your hands brushing his briefly as you adjusted the pressure he was using.

Harry watched closely, following your instructions. Gradually, the clay began to take shape, and his frustration eased.

“See?” you said with a grin. “Not so bad, right?”

He chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away. “Yeah. Thanks”

“No problem,” you replied, turning back to your own project.

As you worked side by side, the air between you felt lighter, and Harry silently vowed to keep his temper in check. He didn’t want to ruin the fragile sense of peace he was starting to feel here—with the clay and with you.

As the minutes passed, the tension eased, and the soft hum of conversation filled the studio. Harry glanced over at you, watching as your hands skillfully shaped the clay. The movements seemed almost second nature to you, each press and pull deliberate and confident.

“So, what are you making?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet between you.

You glanced up at him with a small smile. “A vase,” you replied. “What else would a florist make?”

He chuckled softly, leaning back slightly. “Fair point. Is that, like, your go-to project?”

“Kind of,” you said, focusing on the curve of the vase as you spoke. “I like making different shapes—ones that aren’t perfectly symmetrical. It’s like every vase has its own personality, you know?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “Do you use them in your shop?”

“Sometimes,” you said, pausing to inspect your work. “I’ll display a few, but most of the time, I give them away. Customers, friends, anyone who might appreciate them.”

“That’s… nice” he said, his tone softening.

You shrugged, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. I just think handmade things have a way of making people feel special. Like someone put a little extra thought into it.”

He nodded, running his fingers over his own misshapen project. “I get that. There’s something about creating something with your hands. It feels more… real.”

You smiled at his comment, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. Even if it’s not perfect, it’s still yours. That’s what makes it special.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a small smile, and for the first time, he felt a little more at ease. He glanced back at your vase, admiring the smooth curve and unique shape.

“It’s really good,” he said, motioning to your work.

“Thanks,” you replied, glancing at his clay. “Yours isn’t too bad either. What are you making?”

He let out a short laugh. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

You laughed with him, the sound light and easy. “Well, that’s the fun of it. Sometimes, the clay decides for you.”

He smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of comfort in your words. For the first time in a long while, Harry felt like maybe he didn’t have to have everything figured out. --------

General taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502

Let me know if you liked it! 💖 there will be more chapters soon.

[imitationgame77]

ART's social skills

ART in any format is absolute shit at talking to other bots, says Murderbot in System Collapse.

Is that so? How does it talk to other bots/systems?

[ART meeting systems]

ShuttleSecSys tried to analyze ART and almost got itself deleted. I took over ShuttleSecSys, turned off the alarms, and deleted the entire trip out of its memory.

(Artifical Condition)

The SecSystem tried to block ART and I quickly put up a wall and deleted its memory of the contact. (ART really did not care to be challenged by other resident systems and I didn’t want the friendly SecSystem deleted.)

(Network Effect)

Okayyy, that was a rather aggressive response. But then, unlike SecUnits who are designed to interact with systems, ART is not built to be compatible with other systems. No matter how politely ART approaches them, they are not likely to appreciate its presence.

[ART interacting with other bots]

Plus ART, who was already cozying up to said bot pilot and would be keeping an eye on the shuttle during the brief trip. (ART’s idea of “cozying” being somewhat overbearing, I had already had to intervene once to assure the bot pilot that the big mean transport had promised not to hurt it.)

(Artificial Condition)

Size-wise, it's like a rhino trying to be friendly with a rabbit. Whatever it does might come across as overbearing.

A message came back: I could help you learn about it, if you’re interested. ART said, Stop talking to it. I think it’s just bored, I said. I don’t give a shit, ART said.

(System Collapse)

Holism is like your old classmate from primary school days that you never particularly got on that well, comes along, spots that you have made a best friend at university, and tries to ask out this said-friend while you are sitting together. A bit insensitive!

[ART introducing itself to SecUnits]

When it met Murderbot:

Then, through my feed, something said, You were lucky. I sat up. It was so unexpected, I had an adrenaline release from my organic parts.

[...]

It said, You’re a rogue SecUnit, a bot/human construct, with a scrambled governor module. It poked me through the feed and I flinched. It said, Do not attempt to hack my systems, and for .00001 of a second it dropped its wall.

(Artificial Condition)

When it met Three:

Contact requested: transport designated Perihelion, registered Pansystem University of—

Response, Transport: Who the fuck are you?

This is nonstandard communication. The contact is a transport bot pilot, but transport bot pilots can’t/don’t communicate this way.

(Network Effect)

Transport, on private channel: If you even think about harming them, I will disassemble you and peel away your organic parts piece by piece before destroying your consciousness. Do we understand each other?

(Network Effect)

ART is ... being very pragmatic there. It's not threatening. It's telling them how it's not a good idea to even think about destructive behaviour. (Though it could have been a little more tactful.)

Still, poor Three. It must have been terrifying.

[ART to non-crew humans]

Target Three, sarcastically: “If the ship speaks, why didn’t it come in person?”

Perihelion’s drone: You don’t want to meet me in person.

The Targets react with astonishment and some dismay.

(Network Effect)

What do they expect. They had kidnapped its best friend.

The first thing the new Barish-Estranza explorer had done was power up to ART and try to intimidate it/us. [...]

ART had dropped its main weapon port and transmitted, Targeting lock acquired.

The explorer had replied something to the effect that they didn’t mean to be intimidating and was the widdle academic transport crew scared, but in corporate speak, and ART had replied, It’s so easy for ships to disappear out here.

There was a pause, indicating a scramble to adjust operational parameters, then they made the mistake of trying to intimidate back with something like Oh yeah well you’ll get damaged, too, and I am not exactly an expert on nonfictional human interactions but that just obviously wasn’t going to cut it.

ART transmitted, You can make this complicated situation simple for me. Which I can tell you was not any kind of posturing, it 100 percent meant that.

Barish-Estranza must have picked up on that subtext because they backed down and now they think ART is a human commanding officer who’s a giant asshole.)

(System Collapse)

They (Barish-Estranza) started it /shrug

This shuttle wasn’t armed, and a quick look through their security archive said nobody had planted any explosives or anything. She was bluffing.

ART-drone said, “I wouldn’t recommend it. I lack a sense of proportional response. I don’t advise engaging with me on any level.”

(System Collapse)

Again, ART is stating facts.

ART doesn't do smarmy corporate talk. It speaks its mind, calls spade a spade, like a Yorkshire person. Don't harm or steal its humans or its SecUnit bestie then you'd be safe.

Does it have good social skills?

I refrain from answering that question. It certainly gives extra purpose for Murderbot to stay with it. (To be the social facilitator for bot / system interactions.)