#I'm still not sure where this is going but... it's going

[charles-leclerizz]

wrong room

on the runway : lando norris x fem!reader

inspiration ( warnings ) : Smut !!! (male receiving!oral sex, (un??) protected p in v sex , light dominance, Lando being a little possessive, mutual pining, soft dom!Lando energy, swearing, teasing, light voyeuristic vibes (friends nearby), mild praise kink, overstimulation), and lots of suggestive jokes.

VIP's in the front row ( taglist ) : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @ksthegreat, @ccupcakqs]

before the show begins ( synopsis ) : What starts as a summer getaway at a friend’s villa turns into something a lot hotter when Lando walks into the wrong room - and finds you in his old hoodie, watching F1 replays. You’ve always been friendly, never close. But maybe the hoodie wasn’t the only thing you’ve been holding onto.

designer notes : well, hopefully it was worth the wait <33 . would ya'll be mad at me if I told you I haven't started chapter 3 yet? nah, cause I'm feeding you guys so well?? ok anyway, remember to wear your seatbelts. love you

The villa is carved into the hills of Côte d'Azur like a dream - terracotta tiles, arched windows, the sea glittering just beyond a blur of lemon trees and white parasols. It smells like salt, sunscreen, and freshly crushed mint. Laughter carries from somewhere deeper inside the house, floating up and over the vines crawling across the exterior walls. 

You shift your bag higher onto your shoulder and knock on the already - slightly - open door. It creaks as it swings wider. 

“Hello?” 

No answer - just music thumping softly from an unseen speaker, and the echo of distant conversation. 

You step inside. 

The marble beneath your sandals is cool. Someone’s kicked off flip - flops by the stairs. There’s a bikini drying over the back of a chair. You already know this isn’t going to be some luxury hotel - style getaway. It’s a shared house. A friend - of - a - friend kind of trip. Half of you doesn’t even remember who invited you - just that you needed the break, and this was close enough to what you craved so you said yes 

“Hey! You made it!” 

A voice - familiar - cuts through the quiet. You turn just in time to see your friend Luca come down the stairs in a pair of swim shorts and sunglasses pushed back into his curls. 

“Finally,” he grins. “You’re the last one here. Thought you bailed.” 

“I almost did.” You lift your bag with a huff. “Traffic was disgusting.” 

He helps you with your things, leads you into the living room where it smells like watermelon and something vaguely alcoholic. A few people are sprawled out on couches or clustered around the pool deck visible through the wide - open French doors. 

And then - of course - he’s there. 

Lando. 

He’s leaning back in one of the lounge chairs, a beer dangling from his fingers, legs stretched out in lazy confidence. Tan lines on his thighs, sunglasses pushed low on his nose, jaw still sharp even in the golden hour haze. He looks over when he hears your name. 

You haven’t seen him in maybe six months. You’ve never really been friends, but you’ve always hovered in the same social circle. Occasionally at the same parties, invited to the same post - race get - togethers, orbiting each other without ever really connecting. 

But now he’s looking at you like he recognizes something new. 

He nods, subtle. Gives you a half - smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.” 

You shrug. “Didn’t know you were either.” 

“Good surprise, then.” 

You’re not sure how to respond to that - so you just smile, polite, and follow Luca further inside. 

Your room’s upstairs, small but bright. There’s a ceiling fan and a tiny ensuite and just enough room to dump your suitcase across the bed without tripping over it. You unpack slowly, letting the noise of everyone else filter up through the open window. Somewhere below, Lando laughs - low and lazy - and you feel it like a fingertip dragged down your spine. 

You should be immune to him by now. He’s Lando Norris. A walking thirst trap with dimples and the most unserious sense of humour known to man. But there’s something about here - the off - duty version, the sun - drenched version, the one who isn’t surrounded by engineers or cameras - that makes it feel… different. 

Less like a boy on posters, more like a man below your window, dipping his feet into the pool. 

You shake your head and change into something breezy: cotton shorts, a crop top. When you finally go back downstairs, the sun’s just beginning to dip below the treeline, casting long shadows across the pool deck. 

People are already drinking. Someone’s pulled the Bluetooth speaker out again. There are half a dozen towels draped across every surface. 

Lando’s still by the pool. This time, he’s in the water, arms resting on the ledge, talking to someone. His wet hair curls a little at the ends. His back is freckled from the sun. You shouldn’t be looking. You are. 

He glances up just as you sit down. 

You pretend not to notice. 

Later, when you’re carrying two Aperol's back to your lounge chair, someone bumps your arm on purpose - gently, just enough to make the glasses slosh. 

“Careful.” 

You turn. 

Lando again. 

He takes one of the drinks from you before you can say anything. 

“That was for me,” you lie. 

“Too slow,” he grins, and sips. 

You narrow your eyes. “Are you always this annoying, or is it just the heat?” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” He takes another sip, gaze drifting over your legs where you’re standing in the late - day sun. 

You cross your arms over your chest, aware of how the top you're wearing hugs tighter now that it’s clung to your sun - warmed skin. 

“Is this your game? Steal drinks and flirt with every girl who makes eye contact?” 

“Only the ones who used to ignore me at parties.” 

You blink. 

“I didn’t ignore you.” 

“You never said more than two words to me.” 

“I didn’t know you,” you protest weakly. 

He smirks. “You still don’t.” 

There’s something in the way he says it - open - ended, inviting. Like he’s offering a chance. 

You roll your eyes and sit down, forcing the tension in your jaw to loosen. “You’re trouble.” 

“I try.” 

He settles into the lounge chair next to yours, shoulder brushing yours briefly before he tilts his head back to the sun again. 

The rest of the evening blurs into the kind of contented, alcohol - soft haze you only get on the second night of a trip like this - just enough comfort to start relaxing, not yet enough routine to feel bored. 

Dinner’s grilled and eaten outside. Someone plays bartender and makes the drinks far too strong. You laugh more than you expect. Lando doesn’t hover, but every time you glance over, he’s already looking. 

You should go to bed early. 

You don’t. 

You stay long enough to watch him light sparklers with a lighter he shouldn’t have, teeth catching on the cap of another beer. Stay long enough to feel the way his laugh drags across your skin from halfway across the patio. Stay long enough to admit - to yourself, at least - that maybe this time, you do want to know him. 

By the time you’re back in your room, showered and curled up on the bed with your phone in one hand and your sleep playlist in the other, you’re warm from more than just the heat. 

The last thing you see before you shut your eyes is the faint blue light of a replay clip of Lando’s onboard from Monaco. You didn’t even mean to open it. But your vague connection the world of driving means that you, just like the drivers, are addicted to watching race replays like a lullaby. You let it loop anyway - quiet, steady - as you fall asleep in a hoodie you stole from a driver party two years ago. 

You barely remember that it’s his hoodie. 

It’s hotter the next day. The kind of heat that makes everything feel heavy - time, clothes, thoughts. 

You wake up in the late afternoon, the bed tangled with your sheets and limbs, your skin still warm from the residual heat of the day before. The villa is quieter now. Most people must already be outside, and when you crack your window open, you catch the sound of a speaker playing something bassy and upbeat, mixed with the distant splash of pool water and a few hollered laughs. 

You take your time getting ready, pulling on the only clean swimsuit you packed without thinking. It’s cute, functional enough - but maybe a little revealing. Maybe not what you’d wear if you didn’t know who else would be outside. Maybe it’s stupid how long you spend in front of the mirror tugging the straps into place. 

When you finally head downstairs, the sun hits you like a wall - too much too fast, and all of it golden. The pool glimmers. Someone’s set out snacks, there’s a melting bowl of fruit beside a stack of half - read paperback books, and a cooler full of drinks wedged under the shade. 

And of course - he’s there. 

Lando. 

Lying on a towel just at the edge of the pool. Board shorts low on his hips, eyes squinting up from behind his sunglasses. He’s propped up on one arm, lazily sipping something bright orange through a paper straw. He’s laughing at something someone’s saying off to the side, curls stuck to his forehead, skin flushed just enough to tell you he’s been out here a while. 

You try not to look. You fail. 

He notices. Doesn’t say anything - just tips his chin up in a sort of wordless greeting. 

You set your towel down two chairs away. Not beside him. Not directly across. Just… within view. 

“Someone’s late to the pool party,” he calls after a moment, voice lazy from the heat. 

“I needed sleep.” 

“You needed to make a dramatic entrance, you mean.” 

You roll your eyes but smile. “You think everything’s about you.” 

“Everything is about me,” he says, deadpan. 

You stretch out on your towel, trying not to notice the way his eyes drift down your legs, then flick quickly away again when you catch him. The air feels thicker than before - or maybe it’s just your skin, suddenly too aware of every inch of exposed surface. 

Fifteen minutes later, you’re already sweating. The sun beats down mercilessly, and you sit up, digging through your bag for your sunscreen. You squirt some into your palm and reach for your shoulder - and that’s when his shadow falls across you. 

“You’ll never reach your back,” he says casually. 

One minute Lily and Kika where beside you, the next they weren’t.  

You blink up at him, “Thanks for the concern.” 

He holds out a hand. “Give it here.” 

You hesitate. Then place the bottle in his hand, trying not to think about how broad his shoulders look from this angle. He kneels behind you on the towel, the lotion cools against your overheated skin. 

His touch is… careful. Gentle at first. He smooths the sunscreen between your shoulder blades with slow, deliberate strokes, his thumbs brushing the curve of your spine before dragging back up again, just before the thin tie of your bottoms. His hands are warm and wide, fingers pressing slightly harder with each pass, until you're leaning into the sensation without even realising. 

“This, okay?” he asks, voice low - not teasing anymore, just… close. 

You nod, barely trusting your voice. 

He doesn’t stop. Works the lotion into your shoulders, your neck, fingertips grazing the strap of your swimsuit before pulling back just shy of scandal. You feel your whole - body hum, strung tight like a wire. 

And then - just as suddenly - it’s over. 

“All good,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. 

You exhale. Try to swallow. 

“Thanks.” 

He shrugs, tossing the bottle back toward your bag. “Don’t want your burning. Would ruin your dramatic entrances.” 

You laugh, light but shaky. “Wouldn’t want that.” 

You stay in the shade for most of the afternoon, half - reading a book you can’t focus on. Every time Lando walks past - dripping wet from a dive, towel slung around his shoulders, alcohol bottle in one hand - your eyes follow him before you can stop them. 

You don’t talk again. Not properly. But there’s something shifting now. You feel it in the way he looks at you longer than he should. In the way your fingers brushed his wrist earlier when he handed you a strong cocktail and didn’t pull away. In the way you can still feel his hands on your skin, hours later. 

Something’s changed. 

And you’re not sure which one of you is going to do something about it first. 

You can’t sleep. 

The villa’s quiet now - except for the creak of floorboards, the occasional pipe knocking in the wall, and the soft echo of wind sliding through open windows. Everyone else is either passed out drunk or tangled up in someone else’s sheets. The hallways feel like a lull, soaked in summer and moonlight. 

You’re curled up in bed, too warm to get under the covers, wearing nothing but the old, oversized hoodie and a faint sunburn still blooming across your thighs. You didn’t mean to put this one on - it was just at the top of your bag. Familiar, soft, slightly too big. 

Lando’s hoodie. 

You don’t even think he knows you kept it. One of those late - night party things - he tossed it to you on a balcony and never asked for it back. 

You’re not planning to see him tonight. Not thinking about the way he touched your back earlier. Not thinking about how he looked at you like he wanted to touch more. 

Your phone’s propped up on a pillow, volume low, screen lit with one of his old Silverstone onboard replays. There’s something soothing about it. The smooth rhythm of the track, the flick of the steering wheel in his gloved hands. He’s in control. Sharp. Focused.  You wonder what it’s like to make him lose that focus. 

The door creaks open. 

You sit up fast, yanking your blanket over the bottom hem of your hoodie. “What the - ” 

“Shit - ” a familiar voice mutters. “Sorry. Fuck.” 

Lando. 

He’s shirtless, in just sweats, hair a little damp like he showered but didn’t bother to dry it. His eyes are slightly wide as he sees you, as if his brain’s still catching up with what he just walked into. 

“I thought this was - ” He looks over his shoulder. “That’s not - yeah, this is definitely not my room.” 

You should say something - ask why he’s even trying to come in when most people are already knocked out for the night. 

But his eyes are stuck on your hoodie.  His hoodie.  You’re half - curled up, one leg bare up to the thigh, the hem bunched at the top of them, collar slipped low enough to show your collarbones and just a hint of skin underneath. 

“You wear that often?” he asks, voice a little hoarse. 

Your heart kicks up, fast. 

“You gave it to me.” 

“Didn’t think you kept it.” 

You shrug, hoping your face doesn’t give too much away. “Didn’t think you wanted it back.” 

He steps further into the room - slow, quiet - until he’s leaning against the inside of your door and shutting it softly behind him. 

You look at him.  He looks at you. 

Then, finally, he speaks - quiet, but direct. 

“You’re not telling me to leave.” 

You swallow. 

“Do you want me to?” you ask. 

His voice is lower now. “No.” 

You shift on the bed, pulse starting to hammer in your ears. “Then don’t.” 

He stands there for a second longer, like he’s giving you a moment to change your mind. And then he’s walking forward. 

He stands at the edge of the bed, eyes dark in the low light. One hand lift - slow, deliberate - and pulls at the blanket until he brushes your knee from where it peeks from under the hoodie. 

“You look good in that,” Lando says, voice soft, hoarse. 

You smile, lips parted. “Thought you said it wasn’t yours.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Was trying to stay sane.” 

“Why?” 

He leans in, fingers tracing up your thigh, grazing higher until your breath catches. “Because if I thought about you in this hoodie too long, I’d do something stupid.” 

Your hands fist into the sheets. “Like what?” 

“Like this.” 

He kisses you hard - not rushed, but urgent. Like he’s been waiting, wanting, and now that he has you, he’s not wasting a second. You meet him halfway, fingers threading through his damp curls, hoodie riding up over your hips as he shifts between your knees and deepens the kiss. 

His hands slide up your bare thighs, slow and reverent, thumbs dragging soft circles. You gasp into his mouth when one hand cups the back of your thigh, spreading you further apart so he can settle between them. 

“Still not telling me to leave,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing along your jaw. 

“I’d kick your ass if you tried.” 

The room is barely lit by the faint glow of the bedside lamp. Shadows drape the corners, but the air is thick with heat - your heat, his heat - heavy enough to make every breath feel sticky and urgent. 

Lando’s sitting on the edge of the bed, bare chest rising and falling slowly, muscles tense as he watches you. The oversized hoodie you’re wearing - his hoodie - hangs loosely, but every inch of skin you show feels like a dare. 

You flip over his lap to kneel in front of him, heart hammering hard against your ribs. His cock is already hard, proud and aching beneath the loose sweats he’s left hanging low on his hips. His breath catches when you reach out, your fingers warm as they close around him over the fabric. 

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice low and rough, eyes dark and hooded with want. 

You smile, cheeks flushed and lean in closer, tugging down his waistband, “You’re the one who walked into the wrong room.” 

His hands find your hair before you can even move - gentle but insistent, threading through your curls as you lean forward, mouth parting to tease the tip of him. He groans softly, air escaping through his clenched teeth, and you know this is going to be slow, deliberate. 

You take him into your mouth, starting light - teasing with your tongue, lips barely brushing the sensitive head. His fingers tighten in your hair, nails grazing your scalp, holding you in place even as you pull back, just enough to make him desperate. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he rasps, his hips pressing forward instinctively. 

You hum around him, licking a slow stripe from base to tip, sucking just enough to pull a deep moan from his throat. His hands tighten, gripping the sheets as you bob your head slowly, tasting him, swallowing every hitch of breath he makes. 

When you take him deeper, your throat tightens, the stretch delicious and thrilling. He gasps, hips jerking up just a little, and you feel it - the pulse of his arousal, steady and strong. You slow down, using your tongue to circle the head, flicking the underside with precision that sends shivers through him. 

“God, you’re so good,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. 

His free hand slips to your waist, pulling you up close, and you wrap your arms around his thighs, holding him steady. You want to hear everything - every ragged breath, every curse falling from his lips. 

The way his hips start to grind forward against your mouth, desperate for more. 

His fingers dig into your hair, tugging lightly, and you take it as permission to go deeper - slow, steady, careful. You feel his body tense, muscles flexing as he rides the wave you’re building, his breath hitching in ragged bursts. 

When his hips jerk sharply and he releases a low growl, you swallow him down fully, holding him there as long as you can. He curses your name, gripping your hair harder, and when he pulls away, his lips are swollen, breathless. 

You look up, cheeks flushed, and meet his eyes - glazed, heavy with want and need. 

Without a word, he reaches out and pulls you to your feet, hands on your waist firm and sure. His mouth is back on yours instantly, a kiss that’s both desperate and possessive, teeth grazing your lower lip as he pulls you backward onto the bed. 

His hands roam your body with purpose, sliding beneath the hem of the hoodie, fingers finding bare skin with reverent curiosity. You arch into his touch, heart pounding as he trails kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, whispering soft promises between each press of his lips. 

He moves with slow, sure confidence, pushing the hoodie up over your head and tossing it aside like it’s been burning him all night. 

“You’re all mine,” he breathes, voice thick. 

You shiver, overwhelmed by the warmth of his hands, the heat radiating off his body as he trails down your stomach, palms flat and sure. His fingers brush the waistband of your shorts, hesitating just a second before sliding beneath. 

Every nerve ending in your body sings as he removes your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, exposing you completely. 

He kisses the inside of your thigh, lips soft and warm, fingers tracing lazy circles around your hip bones. 

When he finally parts your legs, his eyes darken, focused, hungry. 

He leans in and presses a kiss to your clit, teasing with his tongue in long, slow flicks that make you bite back a moan. 

His mouth wraps around you, warm and wet and demanding, and you clutch his hair, hips rocking forward into him without thinking. 

“Shh,” he murmurs against you, voice low and serious. “Gotta keep it down.” 

You bite your lip, nodding, desperate to keep quiet but drowning in the sensation of his tongue and mouth working magic. He hums, flicks his tongue faster, and you feel the coil tightening deep inside you. 

His hand slides between your legs, fingers teasing your entrance, brushing just the tip before pulling back to focus on your clit again. 

You’re trembling, breath coming in short, desperate gasps, hands grasping at his shoulders as he pulls you closer. 

When you come, it’s a shattered, stifled cry buried in his neck, fingers digging into his scalp as your body clenches around his mouth. 

He holds you through it, slow and steady, until you’re shuddering and soft again. 

Then, gently, he pulls back and grins up at you - wild, messy, utterly undone. 

“You taste like everything I want.” 

You laugh breathlessly and push him down, straddling him as his hands settle on your hips. 

You take your time, rolling your hips, sinking down slowly, savouring every inch. 

His hands grip your waist tight as you ride him - slow, deep, unrelenting. 

The only sounds in the room are your gasps, his moans, and skin sliding against skin. 

You lean down, kissing him hard, teeth clashing, tongues tangling as you move together - a perfect, messy rhythm. 

When he’s close, you bite his shoulder, smile against his skin, and whisper, “Not so quiet now, huh?” 

He laughs low and growls, “I’m not gonna last much longer.” 

You pick up the pace, bouncing harder, nails gripping his chest as he buries his face in your neck, fingers clutching your hips. 

And when he comes, it’s explosive - deep, guttural, his body trembling beneath you as he spills inside you. 

You ride out the waves together, panting and slick, limbs tangled. 

When it’s over, he pulls you close, pressing kisses along your jaw and whispering, “That was worth walking into the wrong room.”

The morning spills into the room like warm honey. 

Golden light streaks across the sheets, catching on dust suspended in the still air. Outside the window, someone’s already put music on too loud - something distant and summery and muffled by the thick villa walls. But in here, it’s all quiet. 

You shift under the covers, muscles pleasantly sore, skin warm from where Lando’s body presses into yours. He’s still half - asleep, one arm flung over your stomach, curls mussed against the pillow. You breathe him in sunscreen and sweat, salt and something softer. Like linen and heat. 

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your hip bone. It’s the kind of touch that says he's still here, even in his sleep. 

You turn toward him, nose brushing his jaw. 

“Lando,” you whisper, low and quiet, just to see if he’s awake. 

Lando hums sleepily as you kiss his chin. “Mmm, you’re up early.” 

“Not really,” you mumble. “I think it’s nearly noon.” 

He groans. “We should hide. Stay in here all day.” 

You smile. “You drooled on my pillow.” 

He growls softly, burying his face in your neck. “Could be worse. Could’ve been your chest.” 

You laugh, legs tangling with his. “You’re disgusting.” 

“Last night you said I was talented.” 

“I said you were decent.” 

He grins sleepily against your skin, voice still thick. “You came twice. At least give me ‘skilled.’” 

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile too hard - but you’re glowing, skin flushed from more than just the heat. 

His hand slips lower, resting over the swell of your ass, fingers tracing lazy shapes again. You’re not doing anything, not going anywhere. It’s rare - to feel like this. Not just satisfied but settled. 

Until -  

“OH MY GOD.” 

The door slams open, and you flinch, instinctively yanking the blanket up to your chin. 

Lando groans so loudly it’s borderline feral. “No. Nope. Out.” 

Oscar is standing in the doorway, already in swim trunks and a bucket hat, holding a protein shake in one hand like a fucking trophy. Squinting into the light like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“I KNEW IT,” he yells, pointing at you both. “Fifty bucks, bitches!” 

You blink, dazed. “What - ?” 

“I told Lily it would happen before the weekend was over,” Oscar continues, stepping just one inch further into the room like he’s inspecting evidence. “She said you’d pussy out. Guess who was right.” 

You blink. “Wait, you two - bet on us?” 

Oscar shrugs. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And then you started wearing that hoodie again. It was obvious.” 

Lando rolls over and shoves a pillow over his head. “Oscar I swear to God - ” 

“Hey, don’t blame me, you could’ve been subtle. But noooo, you had to be all hoodie and eye fucking by the pool.” 

You groan. “How long were people watching us?” 

Oscar snorts. “We have eyes.“ 

“Congrats, by the way,” he says, like he’s handing out a wedding gift. It’s when he sips at his gym bottle and hisses, you realise there’s probably tequila in there, “Try not to traumatize the maid staff.” 

And then he’s gone. 

The door clicks shut again. 

Silence. 

You both stare at the ceiling for a second before bursting into laughter. 

Lando turns toward you, dragging you under him again, smirking like an idiot. “We are never living this down” 

“I kinda don’t care” 

He hums, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You gonna wear that hoodie again?” 

You grin. “Only if I want everyone to know what I let you do to me last night.” 

He pauses. Smirks. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m not wearing it next.” 

You shove him lightly, laughing, as he tackles you back into the sheets, messy and warm and unbothered - a little wrecked, a little teased, and a whole lot in trouble. 

But somehow, it feels kind of perfect. 

meet the models after the show ( epilogue ) :

It’s the last morning at the villa. 

People are packing. Doors opening, zippers skimming across tile. Half - melted iced coffees line the kitchen counter, and someone’s already yelling about who stole their charger. 

You’re still in Lando’s bed. 

Still in his hoodie. 

Still not ready to move. 

He walks back into the room with two mugs in hand - both his. One is basic ceramic with your initials scratched in red nail polish. The other says World’s Fastest Slut in hideous bubble font. 

He doesn’t even flinch when he hands you that one. 

“You’re really still wearing that thing?” he says, nodding to the hoodie swallowing your frame. 

You raise an eyebrow and sip your coffee. “You say that like you weren’t staring every time I wore it.” 

He shrugs, dropping onto the bed beside you. “Just surprised you never took it off.” 

You smirk. “Why would I? It’s comfy. Smells good. Annoys Oscar.” 

“Ah,” he nods, mock serious. “You stayed in my hoodie out of spite.” 

You hum. “Mostly. Partially because it makes my legs look good.” 

His gaze drags down. “Can confirm.” 

You blink. “You gonna tell Oscar that ?” 

“Absolutely not. He’s been insufferable since he ‘won’ a bet that didn’t exist.” 

You laugh, and he leans forward, catching your chin gently with his fingers. You try not to smile, but he leans forward and nudges your knee with his. 

“You’re still coming back to mine after this, right?” he asks, casual, but his tone softens halfway through. 

You blink. “Did I say I was?” 

He gives you that look - head tilted, lashes low, mouth twitching like he’s holding back something cocky. “You didn’t have to.” 

You take another slow sip of coffee. “Hmm. That so?” 

He leans in closer, fingers brushing the hem of the hoodie as he murmurs, “Only condition is… if you keep stealing my clothes, I get to start stealing your time.” 

You snort. “That was corny as hell.” 

“Did it work?” 

You meet his eyes, and yeah - it did. 

You set the mug down and pull him toward you, letting him kiss you slow, like the world isn’t about to start moving again. His hand curls over your thigh, his smile warm against your lips. 

When he pulls back, you sigh into his shoulder. “Okay. Fine. I’ll come back with you.” 

“Knew it,” he says smugly. 

“On one condition,” you add. 

He raises a brow. 

“I keep the hoodie.” 

Lando grins, eyes half - lidded. “Deal.” 

You settle back into the bed, sun rising behind you, the sound of car engines and goodbyes faint in the background. But here, it’s just him. You. And the hoodie you’re never giving back. 

[date-everything-has-taken-over]

Hi hi hiii I wasnwondering if u could do a fic thing where reader is basically dating most dateables n one day they (the reader) basically ends up feeling extremely sick from not taling care of theirself properly, running around to fix stuff, starting a new part-time job, going out with new friends. Could some of the characters included be dorian, eddie & volt, hector and whoever else? Pls and thank uu!!

Gonna add Barry and Betty because I think they'd fit in very well with this case (And they're my babygirls)

Dorian🚪

● One of the first to notice something was off

●After losing your job at Valdivian, you had gotten two part-time jobs to make up for it, and it was beginning to take its toll

●He was the kne to see you before you walked through the front Dorian. Before you would take a deep breath and put on your best, "everything's okay" face

●He'd try his best to convince you to give yourself a break and get some well needed rest, but you kept reassuring him you'd be fine

●Well, he was right. After one too many overtime shifts combined with coming home to help everyone with their problems resulting in many sleepless nights, you come home and practically collapsed in the front hallway

●"Right, that's it. You're taking a couple days off work and resting"

●Unfortunately, he's still the front door, so he can't take you to bed himself, but bedroom Dorian will take things from there

●If you thought he was like a bouncer before, you haven't seen anything yet.

●A dateable wants to see you. "Are you on the list?" "What do you need with them?" "You're not gonna cause a fuss are ya?"

●He even contemplates moving the hanks downstairs. Sure, they're usually in your room, but they're so loud. He gives them a stern warning (which scares them just a bit) and let's them stay

●He makes sure the house is safe and that your room is the pinical of peace

●"Autherized personal only" Dorian blocks anyone trying to get in, but especially the more rowdy members of the house

●"Darling, you never believe what I heard about Hoove!" Scandalabra tries yelling through Dorian, which was followed by a suspicious thud (I'm sure it's nothing to worry abt)

●Until he sees you're 100% better, Dorian doesn't let you out of his sight (not that he does that anyway). Going to the kitchen for chicken soup? He's got an eye on you just in case

●When you actually do recover, he's making sure you don't get yourself in the same issue and makes you promise not to push yourself

●"It's not just my job to keep you safe from the outside world, love." He holds you close to him, enveloping you in a warm hug. "I will always be there to keep you safe from all danger"

●Even after you're better and going back to work, he's checking on you every chance he gets, reminding you to eat and sleep at a reasonable time

●He may not woo with words as much as other dateables, but he shows how much he loves you every day by being a safe and reliable presence for you

Eddie & Volt⚡️

●Work was short-staffed, and with it being busy season, you were picking up extra shifts almost every day

● They know overworked when they see it, so when you show up to the club, noticeably tired, they clock you right away

●Volt takes a seat next to you, placing his lips on the side of you head

"You know we're always happy to see you, live wire-"

Eddie cuts him off

"-But you look dead tired, go to bed"

● Volt chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap

"Our live wire doesn't need to leave to rest, do they?" He brings you closer. "You can relax right here, live wire"

●After that night, Eddie stopped letting you help out around the club

"Don't worry about it, alright? You look like you're about to fall over anyway"

●Eddie acts tough, but he's checking on you and bringing you water every time you visit the Breaker Box after work

●When everything catches up to you and you actually do end up getting sick enough to take a couple of days off work while stuck in bed, they're both worried (and a little pissed)

●They've seen you running around the house helping everyone, fixing things around the house, settling arguments between other members of the house so they have a pretty good idea of how you ended up like this

●They check on you every day to make sure you're doing alright

●If you're not awake when they come by, you'll wake up to find a glass of water, Nyquill, and a note

'Rest well, live wire -E&V

●After a couple of days of bedrest, you return to the club, and they're happy to see you doing well

●They've both accepted you're too nice to say no to helping everyone in the house, so how do they remedy this?

●By practically keeping you hostage in the club for the next couple of days (Can't get exhausted again if they just keep you at the Breaker Box)

●Eddie still refuses to let you help out even if you insist

"And you get on me for not taking a break," he sets a glass in front of you. "Little hypocritical, don't ya think?"

●He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head, keeping close for a moment before going to the back to do maintenance

●They may be busy running the club, but never too busy for you, and they make sure to remind you

Hector💨

●Also, very quick to notice

●He was very worried when he noticed how much slower you seemed lately

●Asks how you're doing multiple times a day. Never believes you when you say you're fine but he doesn't wanna push it and upset you

●Fully panics when he sees you collapse after walking through front Dorian

●The temperature spikes for a moment until he calms down

●He doesn't leave your side for a moment

●Takes extra care to keep the temperature at a comfortable level for you

●You don't even have to say anything. Ate you pulling the blanket closer to you? Heat up. Are you kicking away the sheets? Air on.

●He so badly wants to be there with you. To hold you and comfort you. But he's still terrified to leave the vents

●He's slightly soothed knowing Betty is taking very good care of you (but also kinda jealous)

●In the middle of the night, when he's sure everyone is asleep, he sits beside your bed, watching as your breath rises and falls

● He brushes your hair aside, admiring your beautiful face (even though it's sick and sweaty, he doesn't care)

●Before leaving, he gives your forehead a kiss. "Feel better soon, my love."

● If someone tried disturbing you or kept you awake, he'd turn the heat up in the room they're in to be petty

●When you're well enough to get out of bed, he's overcome with both joy and anxiety

●Joy because you're well enough to see him in the attic now. He can hold you again (and you can watch him turn bright red as you kiss his face)

● But anxious because, what if this happens again? What if the human keeps pushing themselves? What if it's WORSE next time?!

●He begs you to slow down and not push yourself too hard. To give yourself more free time and rest more often

●The look he gives you is like a kicked puppy, and you just can't help but hold him close and promise to take care of yourself better

●He clings to you for a bit before you leave the attic to go to bed "Rest well, my love."

● When you finally go back to work, he anxiously waits for your return, watching Timmy just a little too closely

●When you finally return, he observes your every move to see if you look tired or overwhelmed

●If not, good. But if you look any kind of distressed, he's whisking you away to the attic to cuddle, then practically dragging you to bed at the end of the day

●You're honestly a little surprised since he's normally not this bold face-to-face

●Even long after recovery, it becomes a new routine. If you come home tired, he's attaching himself to you koala style

Barry💄

● Well, technically, he noticed pretty quickly when he'd see you so exhausted every morning, buuuuut then he forgot and would notice all over again each morning

●Feels terrible when you come home sick and remain bedridden for days

●He's almost too nervous to visit you, scared you'd be mad at him

●"Are you feeling alright, darling?" He peeks into your room, "Anything I can do to help?"

●When you tell him you'd just like to hear his voice and that you love it when he goes on little rants about whatever he's obsessed with at the moment, his whole face turns red

●"Oh! W-well, that's, um, very n-nice, darling." He laughs nervously. He takes a moment to compose himself. "I 'm-I'm glad you enjoy hearing me talk. I'm happy to keep you company, darling."

●Since you're stuck in bed with nothing to do, Baeey is happy to keep you company while you recover

● He'll talk about just about anything that interests him at the time. Makeup, toucans, history, lions, movies. He's also happy to listen if you have anything to yap about

● If you're not able to shower, he'll brush your hair so it doesn't get too knotted while you're sick, taking care to be extra gentle.

●It's so soothing you send up falling asleep. He brings the covers over your body and turns the lights off, letting you sleep peacefully

●Before leaving, he leans down to kiss your cheek "Goodnight, darling."

● You may or may not have woken up with a lipstick smudge on your cheek, but you certainly didn't mind

●When you're feeling better, Barry helps you through your post-sick self-care routine. Warm bath, skin care, hair care

●Helps you with your bath so you don't fall asleep, definitely not because he wants to rub your soapy body noooo definitely not

Betty🛌

●She noticed right away. You've barely been sleeping and even when you do, you toss and turn all night.

●She tries to get you to come to bed early, but you're busy helping around the house. Then she tried getting you to sleep in, but you got called into work early.

●This repeated a couple of times until you stumbled into your room and fell onto her.

●She's happy to be able to spend so much time with you, but she wishes it weren't under such conditions.

●She holds you close, your head just under her chin and your face against her chest (awooga). She's somehow the perfect temperature for when you're cold or overheating.

●She'll gently stroke your head and hum softly until you fall asleep.

● When you wake up, she looks down at you and brings a hand to your cheek. "Good morning, lover." She presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I'm afraid I can't let you go anywhere until I'm sure you're better." Her gentle voice makes it seem like a joke, but you know she's serious.

● You wouldn't have thought to leave anyway, you could barely move, and your whole body felt achy but more importly Betty was just so damn sweet and comfortable.

●Ngl it's mostly sleeping and cuddleng with you and occasanaly getting food

●When you finally felt better, she convinced you to take an extra rest day with her "just in case"

Sorry, Betty's is so short! I couldn't think of much for her

[miredfate]

time to be really sarcastic and annoying because i'm bored and irritated and have nothing better to do (i'm answering all 60 with very little seriousness. yes, 60, it skips 10 of the questions)

complicated

my girlfriend

the fuck kind of question is this, who DOESN'T

similar thing as above

i call penny my girlfriend mostly out of the convenience of using the label i don't understand romance

No

chocolate milk

i did gym in highschool because i had to

only when they get long

never

it's clear this is meant to be a romantic phrase but considering i don't really do romance i don't know what to do other than take it very literally.. .Yes i like human beings around me actually

never really kept track of that tbh, idk

i'd say "who doesn't" but i've met people who are unable to hate

who doesn't miss someone

six cats

dissociated and blunt and spiteful. hence, answering ALL of these because i'm bored and because i can

i don't understand the significance of this happening in the bathroom it's just another room

yes, not by choice, they're cute

no because i know better than to think i wouldn't just endlessly fuck up whatever plan i have in mind

*googling "snogged" * ... idk i don't keep track

go to store, buy stuff to make my room more comfy :3

No

No

subjects? what? i'll assume school subjects? i can do well in any subject technically but i'm at the whim of my long-term mental health. i guess...,,, math and science?

this question already got asked (14)

jersey mikes steak and cheese sub sandwich ,,,

this is a romance question, isn't it? uhg

the concept of cheating shouldn't exist. it's based on monogamous bullshit, we live in a patriarchy

i don't know?? i don't keep track of this kind of thing?? i've made somebody cry i'm sure

these fucking questions

i'm sure

i don't see value in a single color without context

yes

school. it's been three weeks since i've gone to school. idk why i keep dreaming about it

i don't know i don't keep track

absolutely fucking not

i still find myself surprised that people are capable of doing either of those

i'll have to wait another couple decades to answer this one

STOP THIS SHIT AT ONCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No

51. huh it skips from 40 to 51- anyways can't pick favorites here 52. listen i'm the wrong person to even let think about this kinda thing 53. JAKED OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 54. see (28) 55. sometimes, right now yes maybe 56. none 57. STOP THIS SHIT AT ONCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 58. can't pick favorites here either. variety is good 59. mhm 60. idk 61. boy/girl? where the fuck were these questions sourced from? Neurotypical Bob? Cishet Joe? i'd do the comical amount of exclamation points again but this doesn't deserve that much attention from me 62. Hello Neurotypical Bob 63. Hello Cishet Joe 64. STOP THIS SHIT AT ONCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 65. STOP THIS SHIT AT ONCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

66. STOP THIS SHIT AT ONCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

67. STOP THIS SHIT AT ONCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

68. not worth my energy 69. "Stop this shit at once" with more exclamation points than you can understand 70. in theory yes in practice no my brain wouldn't let me

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[existence-is-a-pain87]

You guys hear that? It's the sound of my original writing plans flying away because I got an AU idea. Mmmmm I love ADHD.

Oh well, this AU should be pretty cool and I hope you'll like it! This isn't a series I'm gonna be solely focusing on like the Eyes series. If yall wanna see more from this AU sooner rather than later, send in an ask.

To Die is to Live

Yandere!Monster!Forsaken x Reader; Yandere!Monster!Block Tales x Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors

Note: This is an AU heavily based on/directly inspired by Homicipher. @allimili 's CRK x Homicipher AU was also an inspiration (your work is so peak btw, never change). It's also gonna get really dark since it's basically a Homicipher AU of Forsaken and Block Tales.

Furthermore, I wanna say that this MC is akin to another alternate version of the Eyes MC. Teehee.

I love experimenting with my writing :D

And don't worry, I'll still fufill requests. I just wanted to write this. Enjoy!

--☆☆☆☆☆--

You didn't know how you got here.

Your memories felt like a jumbled mess, as if your head had been plucked off your body, shaken around like a maraca, and then placed back on your neck with no cares in the world.

Bruises litered your body, and you tasted something metallic in your mouth, as if you had bit your cheek. But you didn't feel any injuries inside your mouth, so you ignored it after spitting out what looked like normal saliva.

You rubbed your eyes, before your vision cleared a bit and you processed... uh.

You could only describe this place as... a mess. Mold stained the walls, cobwebs nestled in each corner, and stains covered the tile floor. This place felt like what you could only describe as a giant indoor mall as you scanned the area, wondering where you were and what was going on.

You searched in your brain, desperate for any hint of knowledge you weild to help you piece together where you were.

Then you recall the rumors online about an alternate world that can trap others within it if they enter a damaged room with no windows when it rains. You never really believed in them despite all the warnings older folk online gave you about them.

But... what if you got there?

You remember someone attacking you and you desperately fighting them off, before stumbling into a random room in the abandoned mall- soon to be torn down- to try to hide after you...

...

...

...

You don't remember what you did to that person. You can guess they beat you pretty badly, though, and you fled to avoid them killing you or worse, judging from all your wounds and how you've never been someone super strong.

You just stand up, looking for any exit and trying to recall all the information you knew about this place.

A lot of people, around your age at least, called the Other World a copy of the Backrooms. But this place, while giant, wasn't infinite. And there had to be a clear way out.

Of course, no one who went in came out according to the stories, but you could always change that.

You opened the only door and peered out, seeing no signs of life as you stared out into what looked like a giant abandoned mall. Like an alternate, larger, and more warped version of what you walked into to get here. But there were other things too, and made this place feel like a giant mashpit of so many different abandoned and damaged places.

You just walked out and wandered around, regretting that all you had on you was a black raincoat and your usual clothes. You didn't even have an umbrella.

You had no weapons in case there was anything dangerous here. And you were injured and had no clue how to fight. If there were any monsters like this was the Backrooms, you're as good as dead.

And being dead doesn't work well with your goal to go home.

Your feet pad across the dusty and dirty ground, and you look around for anything that seems familiar.

Maybe if you found the exit to the mall, that'd be the exit to this world. Maybe then you'd get home.

You weren't sure. You just hoped. And what more could you do?

You looked around as you went, trying to see anything that caught your attention. You noted what looked like green buds with leaves that you occasionally found nestled in an upper corner, but they didn't seem to special so you didn't pay them too much mind.

You did think you saw one close back into a bud when you looked at it, and you swore there was an eye at its center. You just looked away, not wanting to fuck around with the ominous plant things.

Though, after that, you tried to stay out in the open less. Hanging out near the walls and searching more intently for a weapon while hoping nothing showed up to attack you.

Unfortunately, you weren't that lucky.

A thumping sound approaching made you flinch and duck into an abandoned store-like area while peaking out slightly through the window to see whatever is wandering past.

Whatever it was, it looked like a fucked up human. It wore a hardhat that covered the entirely of its upper face, but you saw blood leaking down from the inside of the hat and staining the gray skin on his face. He seemed to be wearing a gray hoodie of sorts, but the blood that stained it made you uncomfortable.

He seemed to be looking around for something (you had no idea if he could see with no visible eyes) and you noted the hammer he held in one of his hands.

You just stayed still, hoping he would leave as you panicked over the fact there were monsters here. You just stayed quiet, not even daring to breathe.

Then his head turned to look over in your direction, then angled to stare directly at you. You didn't move, didn't breathe. Just stared at where his eyes would be while silently praying to whatever god was out there.

Your prayers were ignored.

Immediately, the creature moved, approaching the glass as it stared down at you, before raising its hammer.

You screamed, turned around, and ran through the store, hearing the shattering of glass behind you as you narrowly avoided the shards from hitting you, weaving through bare clothing racks and through aisles as you desperately sped away.

From the thumps you heard, it was following you. You just fled into the backrooms of the store and scurried into a box the moment you got space between you and the monster.

As you hoped your violent shaking wouldn't disturb the box to not give your location away, you felt tears stinging your eyes as you heard the thumps of the monster get closer happened, some unintelligible noises you didn't understand that sounded like it came from between two different beings, before the thumps faded away.

You didn't dare exit the box. Especially when you heard thumps again, these ones sounding different than the original monster's. Then you heard them pause, and the sound of boxes being opened nearby you.

Your breathing hitched as you quickly tried to bury yourself more in the box and hoped the monster would stay away.

Then some thumps got uncomfortably close, and the box you were in opened.

You stared up at this new monster, and screamed again.

--☆☆☆--

Whatever it was, it was definitely not human. Sure, this one had normal skin and was wearing glasses, but from the spider-like mandibles jutting out from the corners of its lips and the pupil-less and iris-less eyes with two smaller eyes above it, you knew this was a monster.

Its hands- with short claws on the end of each finger- rested on the sides of the box, keeping it open, as the monster stared down at you. Its mouth was open very slightly and you could see the fact it seemed to have stubble and was wearing... a burger-like hat. It also seemed to be wearing a blue sweater of sorts.

Then, another pair of near identical arms- separate from the ones holding the box open- reach into the box and pull your panicking and struggling form out. He held you out in front of him and only winced when you punched him in the head. He didn't seem too mad, though.

He just sighed and used his other pair of arms to pin your own to your sides. You squirmed, hoping he wouldn't eat you before,

"hxd xtjh? hxd dwqjavnm?"

You froze at the weird noises that emerged from his mouth, staring at him in confusion.

"...what?"

He stared at you, before speaking again.

"mxwc dwmnabcjwm. hxd bljanm. r fxwc qdac hxd. hxd bjon."

You stared at him blankly, trying to process whatever he was saying.

"hxd dwmnabcjwm vn? wx?"

You just slowly nodded, not understanding a word.

"...r cnjlq." He suddenly said, before using one of his extra limbs to point at himself, "vn." Then he pointed at you, "hxd."

Was he trying to teach you the language? Was he... friendly?

He repeated the words again and gave you an expectant look.

You hesitantly repeated the words, and he nodded and said them with the motions as if he was trying to get it into your head.

...

You decided to call him Mr. Spider, especially considering how his legs were what you could describe as four spider legs.

And god, you were relieved he wasn't eating you. But he wasn't putting you down either.

You hesitate, before motioning him to set you down. He gives you a confused look before... sitting?

You raise an eyebrow and try to pry yourself away, and he seems to finally process you don't want to be held onto and lets you go.

You back away as he stands up, looming over you. God, he's huge.

But as you start to walk away, he follows. His spidery feet tap against the ground as he easily keeps up with you.

You stare at him, face scrunched up in confusion.

"hxdan bljanm. r yaxcnlc. r oxuuxf jwm yaxcnlc." He casually tells you, staying close.

...you aren't fighting the giant spider man unarmed and when he's twice your size. You don't have a deathwish.

Though, Mr. Spider seemed to want to protect you, and you were not going to complain at all about having a giant man spider thing protecting you if anything else here was super dangerous.

...

"hxd" probably meant "you" and "vn" meant either "me" or "I". You weren't sure. All you knew is apparently this world has a whole different language compared to anything you heard.

And how Mr. Spider seemed more than willing to help teach you some of the language when you didn't understand.

You glance up at him, and he looks back at you with lidded eyes. You point at the shattered window, giving him a confused look.

"frwmxf." He notes, squinting a bit, "kaxtnw frwmxf."

...you're guessing "frwmxf" means window. No clue what "kaztnw" means, though.

As you and he went along, you continued pointing at things so he'd state what they are in his language so you'd understand it better.

It honestly was pretty helpful having a surprisingly friendly monster teaching you the language bit by bit. You didn't expect there to be friendly monsters here... at all. But at least there was Mr. Spider.

...

...

...

Loud stomps suddenly echoed through the halls, and you flinch and look around as Mr. Spider's eyes widen. Quickly, he grabs onto you and drags you close to him, and you see...

...

Oh god.

You stare up at whatever just crept out of the darkness. It's huge, looming over Mr. Spider and completely dwarfing you. It's skin was practically a neon red, with giant and demon-like horns sticking out of his forehead. A red hood and cape that matches it's skin color hangs off its body, and it seems to be emitting a glitch or fire effect of sorts, with visible and external ribs and an uncomfortably wide smile.

Black symbols are inscribed on its chest that you can't understand.

It stares directly at you and Mr. Spider, before making an excited noise and darting closer.

You flinch as it crouches down, it's demon-like tail seeming to wag as it speaks. It's black hands press against the walls, similarly-colored claws digging into the concrete, and you realize this thing is very, very powerful.

"mjm! mjm! hxd vjmn oarnwm?" It asks, it's voice loud and echoing, "mxnb oarnwm fjwc cx yujh? r fjwc cx yujh!"

You shake as it leans in close, intently staring at you. Mr. Spider shields you with his arms, before talking back at the new monster so quickly you can't even hear the words said.

A rapid conversation between the two happens, before the monster makes a happy noise and darts off, before making sounds like it's... counting?

Then Mr. Spider suddenly lifts you up and looks around, before placing you up in a gap in the ceiling and motioning you back into the dusty and dark space.

You have no idea what's happening as you creep back, barely able to see what's going on below you as Mr. Spider suddenly runs out of the room.

It's all quiet for a moment, your mind reeling as you try to process what just happened.

Then the red monster bursts back into the room, loudly giggling and toss around and open everything on the floor, as if... searching for something.

...does it think you're playing Hide and Seek with it?

As you see it throw aside a box and rip it open, you realize that if Mr. Spider didn't hide you up here, you'd probably be dead or injured enough you'd wish you were dead.

You shrink back slightly as the monster looks around before running out of the room, giggling.

...it acts a lot like a giant child. Hm...

You'll call it "Red Child".

You hear more sounds, more crashing and thuds, and eventually, you see Red Child excitedly scamper back into the room, and Mr. Spider follows after him, looking a little winded if not... slightly injured.

Red Child resumes searching for you, before Mr. Spider approaches your hiding space and gently pulls you out.

"oxdwm cqnv." He tells Red Child, who immediately perks up and bounds over.

"(You) qrmn fnuu! yujh jpjrw!" He says, trying to grab you. You flinch, and Mr. Spider thankfully pulls you away.

"fjrc. cqnhan fnjt. kn pnwcun. cqnh qdac njbh." Mr. Spider instructs, as Red Child seems disappointed for a moment before nodding and holding you like you were a misbehaving cat.

You sweat slightly as you stare at this giant, demonic monster child, who opens their mouth and shows rows of razor-sharp teeth. "r urtn hxd. (You) oarnwm."

You just frantically nod, not wanting to die.

"mjm! mjm! ljw fn tnny cqnv?" Red Child asks Mr. Spider, shaking you slightly. "cqnh odw! cqnh ldcn! r urtn!"

Mr. Spider just nods. "hnb."

Okay, judging from the nod that is clearly a version of "yes"...

Red Child makes a series of happy noises, shaking you a bit as they excitedly talk. "oarnwm! oarnwm! (You) bcjh qnan! fn yujh!"

...you're so screwed, aren't you?

--☆☆☆--

Being practically carried throughout the Other World by Red Child, who was fucking huge, while Mr. Spider stayed close was a fucking fever dream. And being brought to what you could only describe as someone who took a large closet and set some things up to make what you figured were makeshift beds with other things scattered about.

Being dropped into what was a mess of random clothes, towels, and even some blankets and pillows stunned you too.

Red Child giggles and begins to point around at thing. He starts with where you're sitting, which is the much larger one of the piles of clothes and other things.

"vh knm." Then he points at the smaller pile (which is still pretty big), "mjm knm."

"mjm"... he uses that word to refer to Mr. Spider. You wonder what it means.

Though, "knm" probably means "bed".

Red Child looks around, before his smile twitches, looking like he wants to frown and... can't.

"mjm!" He calls over to Mr. Spider, who looks up from where he was grabbing some things. "oarnwm mxnbw'c qjen (bed)! fn wnnm (bed) oxa oarnwm!"

What does "oarnwm" mean? It clearly refers to you, though. You're so confused.

"fnuu pnc oarnwm (bed). oxxm orabc." Mr. Spider says, picking up what looks like... uh... a bucket?

"dwmnabcxxm!" Red Child chirps out, "(you) cjtn oarnwm?"

"(You) fjwc (me) cjtn oarnwm?"

"(Yes)! cjtn oarnwm! oarnwm ldarxdb! bnn?" Red Child pokes your cheek, accidentally scraping your cheek slightly with his claw. You don't mention it, just staring blankly ahead. Then Red Child leans in close, tilting his head, "(you) fjwc px?"

You nod slightly, hesitant.

"bnn! oarnwm fjxc px!"

Mr. Spider stares at you, his expression calm, before he nods. Then he approaches you and picks you up, and you squirm a bit as you get carried out, Red Child waving at you until you're brought out and set down on the ground.

Are they... trying to keep you as a pet or something? They were talking about a bed for... you?

You glance up at Mr. Spider, who stares down at you before motioning you to follow him. He starts walking, and you stay still until he's a good bit away, and you book it.

So what if he's friendly? If he's trying to keep you as a pet with Red Child, that's a hell no from you.

You speed through the place, hoping your shoes are enough to muffle the sound of you running as you try your best to lose Mr. Spider as you hear him make a sound of confusion and follow after.

And somehow, you manage to do it.

You collapse on the ground, wheezing and shaking as sweat oozes off your brow and tears sting your eyes. But as the thuds fade away, you figure you're safe.

You sit there, processing everything for a long moment before you hear what sounds like digitized laughter.

"Q4Q4Q4Q4Q4Q4!" You look around in a panic, as the voice continues, "U0U. H0DAN VXA3 BL4A3M CQ4W K1AM."

Your eyes then lock with what looks like some kinda fucked up plant nestled in a corner of the wall, this one unfurled with an eye in the center staring right at you as a venus flytrap-like mouth talks.

"H0DA3 BV4UU. C1WH. URCCU3." You think it... snickers? "QXF 4A3 (you) WXC M3JM?"

"...better than you, you bitchless creepy ass plant." You mutter back, grimacing.

"FQ4C?"

"..." You just stand up and back away from the plant.

"(Y0u) BLJANM? P0XM. K3 BLJA3M." The plant tells you, "L4WC FJ1C CX F4CLQ (y0u) MR3. XA L0V3 C0 (me) BX 1 L4W T1UU (you)."

You just flip it off and run for dear life, ignoring the plant's cackles as you go.

Great, sentient plants. What's next? Headless horseman clone?

As you slow down, shaking and wheezing as you cower in an abandoned bathroom, you flinch as you hear a voice. A different and unfamilar voice.

"yvccf."

You look around, and notice something... glowing in the stalls. Something yellow.

You look around frantically and see a crowbar laying on the floor. You immediately grab it, and hold it in front of you with shaking hands as you approach the stall. You shove it open and look around, holding the crowbar above you as you're ready to swing it and...

...

You don't see anything directly in front of you...

"cffb ufne."

You flinch at the voice again and look all around, looking down and seeing the source of the yellow glow. It's a blue jack-o-lantern emitting a yellow glow, with black antlers, that seem to curl into each other like thorn vines, sticking out of it.

Then it talks.

"yvccf."

You scream and drop the crowbar.

--☆☆☆--

Somehow, despite the language barrier, you were convinced to carry around the pumpkin.

You aren't sure how. It's just when you picked up the crowbar and tried to run the pumpkin started talking loudly and quickly until you picked it up and it calmed down.

And now, you're taking it some place as it sort of teaches you the language.

"(Left)." It instructs you, and you go that way, "(forward)."

You now know "left", "right", "forward", "go back", and "no" in this language due to the instructions you kept getting. You just hoped wherever you were going wasn't a death trap.

...at least you still had the crowbar with you.

As you approached a hallway with a blank front door at the end of it, you hesitated as the pumpkin instructed you to go forward.

In the end though, you go forward and open the door with shaky hands, and you hold your breath.

The room you walk into almost bears a resemblance to a living room, with furniture that looked like it used to be display, and a table littered with...

...

Bones. And a headless, giant, robed body sat nearby.

You freeze as the body stands up suddenly, white arms outstretched towards you as you shove the pumpkin into its hands and back up, fumbling with the door in a panic.

"kyreb pfl, bzeu jkirexvi." The pumpkin tells you as it is placed upon the stump of the body's neck. It uses a hand to hold the pumpkin in place as it walks across the room.

A lump on the couch moves, and a large, humanoid shape sits up. Losely draped on its body is a black cloak of sorts, and you see dozens of yellow and white wings sticking out of its body. Its skin is feathery and yellow, and there's messy brown hair on its head.

It turns to look at you, and you don't see its eyes. But it seems to smile as it lets out a laugh-like sound.

"yr! nyf kyzj tlkv jkirexvi?" It says, and it sits up as it seems to stare at you.

You hate how sweaty your palms are as you try to open the door, too scared to turn your back out of fear one of them will attack.

"ufek befn. kyvp yvcg (me)." The pumpkin man says (you're just gonna call him Mr. Pumpkin), and you see him now holding what looks like a needle. "z evvu yvcg kyivruzex evvucv."

"z xfk zk." A new voice says, as another door in this room opens and...

...that monster wearing the hard hat walks in.

It freezes when it notices you, and you two stare with locked eyes (ignoring his lack of eyes) for too long.

You manage to open the door and stumble out.

"nrzk!" The winged one suddenly says, and quickly gets up. Before you know it, you're picked up and carried back into the room by the winged man. "nyp (you) ileezex? pfliv xfeer xvk vrkve flk kyviv."

You quake as the winged man looks at the one in the hard hat, who's helping Mr. Pumpkin stitch the pumpkin on. "nyrk uzu (you) uf kf jtriv kyvd jf sru?"

The one in the hard hat hums, before speaking. "z jrn kyvd svyzeu (window). z kizvu kf xirs kyvd kf drbv jliv kyvp uzuek uzv, jf z sifbv kyv nzeufn. kyvp jtivrdvu reu ire. kyvp jtriv vrjp."

You squirm as you're unceremoniously dumped on the couch, and the winged man (you're calling him Mr. Bird since he looks like a weird bird) looms over you, smiling as it sounds weirdly cheerful. "ufek sv jtrivu, tlkv! ef fev nzcc vrk (you). (You) jrwv."

Tears drip out of your eyes as Mr. Bird pets you on the head. "grk, grk. ef tipzex, (you) jrwv."

Why does this keep happening to you..?

[randomshyperson]

classified love - wanda maximoff x kryptonian!reader

summary: wanda is new to the avengers, and learns the concept of a secret identity. or the one where kryptonian!reader has a secret, and a crush.

warnings: reader is superwoman; mild angst; mutual pining; nervous flirting; soft wanda; protective reader; fluff with feelings; light humor; superhero bureaucracy; canon divergence; minor ultron reference; mild language; happy ending.

a/n-> i'm going for my old drafts and this is from months ago when i was reading a bunch of supercorp fics, especially ones about lena learning about kara's secret identity. So i made my own with this two lovely dorkies. (nope, this is not related to the series with kryptonian!reader i'm working on).

General Masterlist | AO3 |

-&-

It wasn’t that Wanda didn’t know what a secret identity was.

Of course she did. She just hadn’t quite grasped the weight of it.

In her defense, the Avengers weren’t exactly the poster children for discretion.

Tony Stark made sure everyone knew he was Iron Man. Steve Rogers had been the star-spangled face of American propaganda since the forties. Natasha was arguably the most famous spy on Earth - and somehow still mysterious - and poor Bruce had his green alter ego splashed across news channels since his very first rampage. And then there was Thor. A literal god. No mask could hide that hair.

So maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t completely her fault when she leaned over during breakfast, bright-eyed and curious, and casually asked you,

“So… what’s your name, by the way?”

The room fell dead silent.

Wanda blinked, eyes flicking around the Avengers compound’s cozy living room. The sun spilled lazily through the tall windows, warming the hardwood floors and catching dust in the air. A pot of coffee burbled in the kitchenette, and the smell of waffles hung pleasantly in the background. But the atmosphere shifted like someone had cut the power.

Tony was the first to crack. He snorted into his mug, trying and failing to smother a laugh.

Wanda’s eyes widened further when Natasha silently reached over and handed him a crumpled five-dollar bill.

Your smile dropped. Just seconds ago, you’d been grinning at her, saying how nice it was to finally have someone around your age on the team. Now your expression shuttered. Calm, professional. Guarded.

“Uh… that’s confidential,” you said simply.

Wanda let out a short laugh, confused. She tilted her head, hoping she’d misheard.

“What?”

Your eyes flicked over to the group still half-watching from the couches. Clint was biting back a grin. Steve looked conveniently invested in stirring his coffee. You exhaled through your nose.

“I guess nobody warned you about the secret identity policy,” you muttered, not bothering to hide your disappointment. Your arms crossed over your chest - biceps straining slightly under the fabric of your suit - and Wanda was momentarily distracted by just how much muscle you were hiding beneath the armor. She didn’t think that was allowed.

“I’m not trying to be rude,” you added, your voice softer. “But I can’t tell you my real name.”

Her brows drew together. “But you know mine.”

From the couch, Natasha barked out a laugh. You shot her a look that was half glare, half plea, before turning your attention back to Wanda, a flicker less certain than before.

“I do,” you admitted. “But that’s because… everything about you is already public knowledge.” Your voice lowered a little, like you were offering her something real. “It’s nothing personal. It’s about safety. The only reason Ultron didn’t find my family was because I wasn’t in any of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s databases. Not the Avengers’, either. Same way they kept Barton’s family off the radar.”

That explanation landed - she could feel the weight of it - but it didn’t soothe her. Not really.

Wanda forced a tight smile, but a bitter coil twisted in her stomach.

Of course, it still came back to Ultron.

She hadn’t fought beside you back then - hadn’t fought against you either - but that didn’t mean the past was erased. That didn’t mean trust grew overnight. Clearly, it hadn’t.

And suddenly, she was the one on the defensive. Because why should you get to know her when she was still in the dark about you?

“I don’t think that’s very fair,” she said, echoing your posture with a huff and crossing her arms. “You get to know everyone’s names, but we don’t get to know yours?”

You blinked, surprised by the shift in her tone. But it only lasted a beat.

Clearing your throat, you held your ground. “They know. You’re the only one who doesn’t.”

The offense hit her like a slap. She turned sharply toward the others, sending each of them a scandalized glare. They all conveniently found something fascinating to look at - the wall, the floor, the coffee machine.

Only Natasha had the nerve to smile into her cup.

“Hey, I don’t know either!” Sam piped up from the back, his voice light, trying to cut through the tension like sunlight through fog.

You cracked a small smile at that, grateful. But Wanda didn’t move.

Her arms stayed stubbornly crossed, a pout tugging at her lips, and whatever iron-clad resolve you’d been clinging to softened immediately.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation - for both of you,” you start again, your voice lighter, trying to reset the energy to what it had been before your name became the hot topic of the morning. “It’s only because I’ve known them longer. Maybe… if we hang out a little more, I’ll tell you.”

You flash Wanda a tentative smile. There’s warmth behind it - an invitation, not a promise - but she doesn’t take the bait.

She presses her lips together, visibly fighting the tug of a grin, but loses the battle to her pride. With a sharp turn of her head, she mutters, “Don’t bother,” and spins on her heel.

You watch her walk away, ponytail swaying with each step, her back impossibly straight and her jaw clenched in defiance.

And just like that, you’re certain - painfully certain - she might be the most charming girl you’ve ever met.

Unfortunately for you, Natasha doesn’t miss a beat.

She catches the way your gaze lingers a moment too long, your head tilted just slightly as Wanda disappears down the hall. The corner of the assassin’s mouth curls with amusement as she leans back into the couch, arms crossed.

You snap out of it fast, frowning in her direction. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you paying Stark when Wanda brought that up,” you accuse, tone laced with mock betrayal. “You two were betting on this again?”

Tony lets out a bark of laughter from his seat and shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Natasha raises both eyebrows, feigning innocence. The five-dollar bill is already gone, stashed away like evidence in a classified file.

You sigh, rubbing your hand over your face. “Unbelievable.”

“Oh, come on,” Natasha says, barely hiding her amusement. “You’ve gotta admit - it’s hilarious when people realize Superwoman isn’t your actual name.”

Steve chuckles from the other couch, finally giving in. “That reminds me - remember that poor waiter in D.C.? The one who panicked and couldn’t decide whether to call you Miss Super or Madam Alien?”

Laughter ripples through the room at the memory. Even Banner cracks a smile. You roll your eyes dramatically, throwing your hands up.

“I told him just ‘Ma’am’ was fine,” you mutter as you start walking toward the door, shaking your head. “And for the record,” you call out, tossing a glance over your shoulder with a perfectly straight face, “I am from another planet.”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “See? Knew it.”

The room erupts into fresh laughter, but you just shake your head, waving a hand dismissively as you walk off.

“Still unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, though this time, there’s amusement in your tone. The kind that sits warm and quiet in your chest, like sunlight through clouds.

-

A new bet had been circulating through the Avengers Compound ever since your disastrously awkward introduction to the team’s newest recruits.

How long until Wanda Maximoff discovers your true identity?

Clint said a few weeks, tops. Steve and Tony were betting for a couple of months. Thor, bless him, didn’t even understand the concept of keeping a secret identity and nearly shouted your actual name across the room - only to be stopped by a flying metal gauntlet Tony launched with frightening precision.

Bruce, ever the scientist, made a whole prediction chart - color-coded and everything - outlining the likelihood of various exposure scenarios. According to his behavioral analysis, you’d eventually slip up and reveal yourself accidentally. Tony called him a spoilsport but still convinced him to place a bet anyway.

Maria and Natasha, meanwhile, were curled together on the couch like shadows stitched at the hip, indistinguishable in the half-light of movie night. Natasha didn’t even look up from the screen as she muttered, “It’s not fair to bet on that. Wanda could just read her mind.”

Maria hummed her agreement. “And not tell anyone. Classic Maximoff move.”

Right on cue, as if summoned by sheer chaos, Wanda reappeared in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn tight in a frown.

“I would never invade someone’s mind like that,” she snapped, voice low and tight with restrained indignation. “If she wants to keep secrets and build walls, that’s her choice.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked off, her crimson flannel pajama pants fluttering slightly with the motion. The room sat in silence for a beat, then Natasha grinned.

“New bet,” she announced. “How long until Wanda admits she has a crush on Y/N?”

Laughter erupted.

It only got more ridiculous from there.

Maintaining a secret identity was hard enough with your crazy schedule, missions popping up at ungodly hours, and an internship at Oscorp that demanded more from you than legally acceptable. Peter Parker was the only one who truly understood the madness. You had a little ongoing competition: “How many times did I almost get caught today?” A point system. The winner got free shawarma.

But lately, things felt… off.

It was as if the team had collectively decided to test you. You were being sent on last-minute missions, brought back in civilian clothes, tossed into briefings before you had time to shed your disguise. It felt deliberate. Sabotage by friendly fire.

Of course, no one mentioned the bet to you.

It was one of those mornings - chaotic, cursed, and running ten steps behind the clock. You were still in your Oscorp clothes, your signature lead-laced glasses perched on your nose, hair slightly frizzy from rushing. Your dress shirt wasn’t completely buttoned, and beneath it, a glimpse of the familiar blue and red peeked through like a bad omen.

As you stumbled barefoot into the Tower’s common room, scanning for your shoes, you froze.

Wanda Maximoff was standing there in oversized pajamas, her hair a sleepy mess, blinking at you from over a mug of steaming coffee.

“Oh, uh. Hi,” you said, voice cracking just a bit under the panic.

This was it. This was the moment you’d have to change your name, disappear to the Arctic, and start a new life herding goats.

Wanda just blinked, forced a smile, and murmured a polite “Good morning” before turning back to the coffee machine, like you were no one. Like you were just some intern passing through.

Your shoes sat mockingly on the far side of the room. You crossed to them, fumbling with your shirt to make sure not a single thread of the Superwoman suit was visible.

You sat down, tugging your laces tight, when her voice broke the quiet.

“Are you… Friends with anyone here?” she asked suddenly. Wanda leaned casually against the counter, but there was something soft in her voice, almost cautious.

Your mind blanked. Friends? With anyone?

“Uh yeah,” you blurted, nerves turning your brain into static. “I’m friends with Superwoman.”

You could hear your soul leave your body.

Wanda tilted her head. “Oh?”

Before she could press further-or laugh, or question the absurdity of what you just said, the automatic door whooshed open.

Bruce stepped in with a file in his hands and a furrow on his brow.

He took one look at you, then glanced at Wanda. You weren’t often in civilian clothes around the Tower - especially not so early, or without warning. His pause was subtle, but it said enough.

“Y/N?” Bruce asked, tone neutral but probing. “Didn’t know you were here.”

You jumped to your feet, trying to act casual. “Hey, yeah. I came by late last night. Needed to grab some documents.”

Bruce blinked slowly.

“I, uh, ended up staying. Superwoman said it was okay,” you added, your lie falling apart as it left your mouth.

Bruce, mercifully, decided not to comment. The brilliance in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what you were doing. He gave a slow nod. “Right. Of course.”

You grabbed your shoes, already half out the door. “Nice meeting you, Miss Maximoff,” you said quickly, voice almost too formal as you escaped, waving once and not daring to look back.

Bruce stood there for a moment in silence, then looked at Wanda.

She simply lifted the cereal box into the air with her magic, poured it with too much force into her bowl, and carried it off, pouting the whole way.

-

The worst part of the whole secret identity thing isn't the exhaustion, or the constant lies, or even the juggling act between superhero landings and corporate deadlines.

It’s remembering exactly why it's necessary.

Peter runs into an old friend - Harry Osborn - who, by some cosmic joke, also happens to be your boss. Superheroes have their own demons, their own secrets clawing behind the masks, and something serious unfolds between them.

When the dust settles, Gwen ends up in the hospital.

She’ll recover - Peter says it like a prayer - but the guilt is carved into the spaces under his eyes, and it doesn’t go away when he tells you what happened. About Harry, about the favors he wanted from Spider-Man. About how betrayed he felt when he discovered Peter was Spider-Man - and had refused to help.

You don’t sleep that night.

There's a pit in your stomach, bitter and deep. That could’ve been anyone. That could’ve been you.

There are only a handful of people who know who you really are. Your family. Carol - your lifeline, your salvation, the one who pulled you from the wreckage of your dying world. Fury - who raised you through SHIELD like some grim guardian angel. A few Avengers who found out under specific, inescapable circumstances.

Peter, of course. He understands the weight of the mask.

And then… there’s everyone else.

Your classmates. Your bosses at Oscorp. The coffee shop barista who always forgets your name. The world.

And Wanda.

Wanda, who bickered with Superwoman during missions like it were a sport. Who never let you win without a challenge and rolled her eyes so dramatically you sometimes thought she'd levitate off the ground.

Wanda, who always looked at Y/N Danvers like she was made of something softer. Who shared food without asking. Who nudged your knee during movie nights. Who once touched your badge, just to straighten it, and sent a shiver up your spine with the brush of her fingers against your neck.

Wanda, who was slowly becoming a reason to smile in rooms too quiet.

And precisely because of that… Wanda, who could never know.

You couldn’t stand the idea of putting her in danger.

Not just from enemies, but from you. From what it costs to be close to you.

By the time your distress becomes impossible to hide, the bet has long been forgotten. You walk through the Tower in pieces. The team stops whispering about when you'll slip up and starts worrying about whether you’re okay.

It’s Natasha who finally had enough.

She kicks you off the next mission.

No arguments. No chance to protest. Just a firm grip on your wrist and a silent march through the hallways until you're sitting in an empty room that smells faintly of metal and ozone. The door closes with a hiss behind you.

“Okay,” she says, arms crossed. “Let’s talk.”

You glance at the wall like it might give you an escape route. It doesn’t.

You can hear faint voices down the hallway. The others are whispering about your little outburst in the briefing room. You clench your jaw.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you mutter.

Nat raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you repeat. You shrug. Look at the floor. Your voice dips quieter. “It’s just…”

A breath escapes you. Heavy. Frustrated.

“…how did you know this was what you wanted?”

Natasha’s expression shifts. The sharpness in her posture softens. She sets her tablet down on the table behind her, unread.

“What do you mean?” she asks, but her voice is gentle now.

You hesitate. Your throat burns.

“I mean… back then. When you stopped being the Black Widow. When Fury gave you the option to just be Natasha Romanoff. Why didn’t you take it? Why didn’t you stop?”

She doesn’t answer at first. She just watches you, eyes trained and careful. You hate that they see too much.

You blink, and the tears well up despite yourself. You’re so tired. Of pretending. Of juggling two lives. Of wonder, which one is real?

“And now you’re living with Maria,” you continue, voice cracking. “You could’ve quit. You could be… happy. Quiet. Safe.”

Natasha sighs.

“I get it,” she says softly, like a truth you didn’t want to hear.

She sits beside you.

“But this isn’t really about me, is it?”

You shake your head, eyes shining with unshed tears. Natasha reaches out instinctively, finding your hand and resting hers over it. It's warm. Solid. A grounding force you didn’t realize you needed.

“I visited Gwen in the hospital before I came here,” you say quietly, your voice thick with guilt and fury. “Harry… he did a number on her. Four broken ribs. Internal bleeding. She’s lucky to be alive.”

Your breath shudders. “Peter hasn’t put the mask on in weeks. And I can’t stop thinking - if any of my enemies came for the people I care about…”

You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t need to.

Natasha squeezes your hand tighter. “Hey. I get the fear. I really do. But we’re not helpless. You’re not alone. We can defend ourselves.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh and nod, though there’s nothing funny in any of this.

“I didn’t want any of this to be necessary, Nat,” you murmur. “The mask, the secrets. I didn’t come here to be a superhero.”

“I know,” she says gently. “But no one makes it through this life alone, Y/N.” She laces her fingers with yours. “And, if you must know, the weight got a little easier for me when I let Maria in. Turns out, sharing the burden isn’t so bad. Who knew?”

You huff a soft laugh and bump your shoulder lightly against hers. The touch feels safe. Reassuring.

There’s a brief silence before you speak again. “I’ll get my head on straight, okay? You don’t have to bench me.”

Nat smiles at you with that knowing tilt of her head. “Look, I think you’re one of the best heroes we’ve got. But maybe - just maybe - getting benched is a good thing right now. Take a breath. A day off. Ask a girl out.”

Your face heats immediately, and you mutter something about not having time for relationships.

Nat smirks, entirely unsurprised. “Then maybe you should consider someone who gets the job. Say, another superhero?” She wiggles her brows. “Someone in the Tower who, as far as I can tell, is very interested.”

You blink. “Wanda doesn’t even know I’m Superwoman.”

Natasha bursts out laughing.

“Oh, honey. Do you really think the mind reader of the group doesn’t know?”

You stare at her, stunned. “But - she never said anything! She treats me like I’m two different people!”

Nat sighs, her smirk softening into something more understanding. “Because you asked her to. Maybe not with words, but with walls. You put this distance between yourself and everyone. Between her and you.”

You look down, guilt landing like a weight on your chest.

“She’s the new kid, Y/N,” Natasha continues gently. “She’s trying to make real connections. Trying to earn trust. And you - ” she nudges your knee with hers - “you won’t let her in all the way.”

You swallow hard, throat tight.

“I just thought… maybe she didn’t know. Or maybe she liked Y/N Danvers more than Superwoman.”

Natasha throws her head back and laughs again, full and exasperated. “Wow. You really are the queen of self-denial.”

She stands and grabs her work tablet off the table, mumbling to herself as she taps through a few screens. “Well, since neither of you is cleared for the mission, it looks like you and Wanda are stuck with tower duty. Desk work, all day.”

You grimace. “Ugh, but I hate desk work - ” You stop. Catch the flicker of amusement in her eyes. Oh. Desk work.

Alone. With Wanda. In an empty tower.

“This desk work,” you mumble.

“I love desk work, actually,” you add quickly, sitting up straighter.

Natasha rolls her eyes and chuckles, already halfway to the door. “You just cost me twenty bucks, Danvers.”

It takes a second to process what she means. Another bet. Another chance. Another push.

And before the door closes behind her, you're on your feet again - chasing after her, heart hammering with something that feels a lot like hope.

-

Desk work is, without a doubt, the least glamorous part of being a superhero.

Bureaucracy. Mission reports. Intelligence logs. Inventory updates. Categorizing classified items into neatly labeled folders.

Endless, soul-crushingly boring stuff.

Boring enough that your focus slips every five minutes - though maybe that’s less about the files and more about the hum of Kryptonian energy beneath your skin, begging for movement. Or maybe it’s the presence at the other desk, steadily flipping through files, her brow furrowed in concentration.

You spin absently in your swivel chair, just to keep your body busy. One turn too far and the chair wobbles dangerously under your weight, threatening to tip. You gasp and grab the desk for balance - just in time.

Wanda lets out a small giggle, quick and unexpected. The sound makes your heart stutter.

“Sorry you got dragged into this too,” she says, trying to make conversation. Her eyes flick toward you, soft with something you can’t quite name. “I think this is just them getting back at me.”

You tilt your head, brows raised. “What do you mean?” Your voice is playful, but your mind leaps straight to the worst possible interpretation. “Wait - am I that bad to be around? Is this some kind of punishment?”

Wanda's eyes widen, and she scoffs, scandalized. “What? No! That’s not what I meant.” She sounds almost flustered, and when you give her your best wide-eyed puppy dog look, she glares, flustered but amused. “Come on, you’re not that bad.”

There’s laughter in her tone, and you offer a reluctant smile, looking away before it turns into a grin you can’t hide.

She leans back slightly in her chair, her voice softer now. “It’s because of Ultron, really. My fault he managed to compromise so many of our files. Now we have to go all analog. Hard copies for everything. Hence…” She gestures broadly to the pile of folders between you.

You pause, your smile fading a little. “You know you didn’t create Ultron, right?”

Wanda doesn’t answer immediately. Her fingers hover over the edge of a file. You can hear the shift in her breath, just slightly unsteady, before it evens again.

“Maybe it’s time to stop blaming yourself for something that wasn’t yours to carry,” you add gently.

There’s a moment of quiet between you, something unspoken passing in the space between your desks. A heartbeat. Hers, steady now. Yours, skipping like it’s forgotten how to keep rhythm.

Then Wanda clears her throat. “Still,” she says lightly, “I have to admit - it’s a little funny. Seeing Superwoman stuck behind a desk.”

You roll your eyes, shifting in your seat as the poor chair creaks under your weight. She smirks. “It’s like watching Thor try to sit on Tony’s designer couch. That poor thing never stood a chance.”

You laugh under your breath and adjust your posture before the chair gives out. “It’s not so bad,” you murmur, casting her a sideways glance. “I like my work partner.”

The words slip out before you can stop them. They land in the air between you with more weight than you intended.

Wanda blinks, and her cheeks flush instantly. You feel the heat creep up your own neck in response.

“I mean - like, in a friendly way,” you stammer quickly, eyes darting back to your file. “Like… liking my teammate. Not like liking liking - ”

She lets out a breathy laugh, somewhere between nervous and charmed, and turns her attention to the stack of papers in front of her like they’ve suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

You try to listen - listen for the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat - but yours is pounding so loudly in your ears, you can’t hear anything else.

“I get it, Y/N,” Wanda murmurs.

And just like that, your mouth clamps shut. Embarrassment floods through you, hot and fast. You duck your head and pretend to care very deeply about the stack of inventory files in front of you, wishing you could disappear into them. Or, better yet, have one of those heavy boxes topple over and end this moment with poetic finality.

It takes a full five minutes for your brain to catch up - five minutes of sitting there in silence, pretending to work, heart pounding uselessly - before it hits you.

She called you by name.

Your eyes widen as realization crashes into you like a wave. You freeze, blinking at the words on the page that don’t even register anymore. Your breathing shifts, shallow and uneven.

Wanda brought it up first.

You didn’t even notice.

You’ve been so locked inside your own anxious spiral, so distracted by every small move she makes, that you missed the one thing you were most afraid of.

You’re so wrapped up in your panic that you don’t realize she’s stopped working, that she’s crossed the room, quiet as a shadow. She pulls something out of one of the drawers. It doesn’t belong to the inventory.

Your glasses.

The old pair, lost ages ago in the mess of the tower, now held gently in her hands like they were something precious.

You only catch her movement in your peripheral vision, and when she’s standing beside you, you instinctively hold your breath.

The chair shifts slightly beneath you, the telltale shimmer of her magic moving it to face her.

She doesn’t say anything. But there’s no anger in her face. No judgment. Just that patient, quiet look that always makes you feel like maybe the world isn’t such a bad place after all.

She brushes a few strands of hair from your eyes. Then, slowly, she slips the glasses onto your face.

“There you are,” she says softly.

It’s almost enough to undo you.

The contrast of the suit - the bright blue and red - and the old glasses feels ridiculous, but the way Wanda’s eyes soften makes it something else entirely. Familiar. Real. You.

“Wanda, I - ” you start, but she moves before you can finish.

She kisses you.

It’s soft, gentle - just the press of her lips to yours. Barely long enough to register before she pulls away.

Your cheeks go up in flames. “H-hm...” Your brain short-circuits. Words evaporate. You’re just... sitting there, in a slightly too-small chair, in your super-suit, with the most incredible girl in the world looking at you like that.

Wanda’s lips quirk in a smile. “Sorry. I just thought we had to get a few things out of the way.” Her fingers trace lightly down your cheek. “You’ve been thinking about it for days. But it didn’t seem like you were going to actually do anything.”

“I was going to,” you mumble, flustered. “Eventually.”

She laughs under her breath, warm and amused. “Sure. Eventually.”

Before you can think of a clever response, she leans in again - this time slower, more certain. Her nose brushes yours, a soft, teasing touch, before her lips find yours again.

This kiss is different. Unhurried. Confident. Her mouth moves against yours with quiet intent, and when her tongue brushes against yours, it sends a shiver down your spine.

Unfortunately, the chair makes a rather unfortunate groan beneath your shifting weight. You lurch slightly, catching yourself before you topple over completely.

Wanda pulls back with a burst of laughter, and you can’t help but join her, even as you cover your face in embarrassment.

Eventually, you peel the glasses from your nose and set them on the desk beside you. Your hands find hers and bring them to your chest, pressing them gently against the symbol on your uniform. Her gaze flickers down, then back to your face.

Your voice comes quieter now, almost fragile. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell the truth,” you say. “I’ve never been this scared to let someone in. To risk putting them in danger just by loving them.”

Wanda doesn’t flinch. She nods, her expression softening as she wraps her arms around your shoulders.

“I do understand,” she whispers. “Come here.”

You fold into the embrace, arms slipping around her waist, grounding yourself in the feel of her - warm, solid, real. There’s a long moment where neither of you says anything. You just breathe each other in.

Then, voice low and almost conspiratorial, Wanda murmurs against your ear: “I love Mexican food, if you ever get brave enough to ask me out.”

You laugh into her shoulder, breaking the hug. “Oh my God, stop reading my mind.”

“But it’s so fun,” she teases, her smirk blooming again.

You roll your eyes, but the grin stays. “I can think of something better for you to focus on.”

She raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

But she’s the one leaning in first, closing the distance with a wicked little smile and a kiss that promises a thousand unsaid things.

[bluebeads-art]

2025 June 25th

Kris glancing back at you when you make them kill 8-bit Susie and Ralsei messed me up, dude. That's gotta be terrifying, not knowing the player's intentions. Like, they only killed them because this is just a game, right? ...right...?

Rambling and behind-the-scenes stuff under the cut

—

Especially terrifying if Kris has the meta-knowledge that they're in a game. Because if so, the previous cope doesn't work.

Originally, I planned to recreate a screenshot of the 8-bit game only so I could paint over it. However, I was going to slap the image into Blender 3D to warp it with a fisheye lens anyways, so I had the idea of making a CRT shader. Turns out I have shader skill issues and wasn't sure where to start! So I copied the homework of u/CalculatedBinary on Reddit. (Link in replies because I'm still paranoid of the days where external URLs blocked posts from showing up in tags / searches. Filter by oldest first if you don't see it right away.)

I did make some changes, though. CalculatedBinary's shader just makes a ray tube overlay that doesn't react to the texture underneath. But I had the idea to split the RGB channels of both the CRT overlay and image texture, darken each color of ray tube by the image texture's corresponding RGB value, then recombine all 3 channels. Might be easier just to show it.

Note that the "CRT shader" input is JUST the CRT overlay. This node group slots into the stage where you mix it with the image texture. Speaking of, unless you're working with a high pixel resolution or are viewing it from far away, you'll need to blend this result with your image texture again afterwards, because uhh...! The effect's real strong, captain!

There's cheater sub-pixels in there to mimic chromatic aberration, but otherwise this is an authentic representation of how CRT screens work! I made some other tweaks to the shader to get the CRT pixels to line up with the image texture pixels more precisely, but I won't get into that unless someone asks because it's nitty-gritty perfectionism stuff.

To circle back to an earlier point, this CRT shader sorta depends on well-defined pixels, so no paint-over for me. Given how long it took me to recreate a screenshot by hand based on nothing but blurry, compressed YouTube videos, I'm considering it fair usage, LMAO. Not like I'm making money off of this.

I love using Blender to solve my problems. Don't know how in the goddamn fisheye lenses work? Blender. Want to make or borrow image filters? Blender. Want that filter to follow the image's perspective? Yep, Blender.

I have minor beef with some of the anatomy and shading, but this piece was taking too long, it's Time to Stop. 😂 I friggin' cooked on the line art and their hair though, heck yea. A shame the dark shadows ate some of it.

Time taken was 33 hours and 38 minutes (at minimum. Forgot to time some of my Blender side-quests.)

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

So I'm not really going to analyze or theorize about the trailer rn like I usually would (still not in the right headspace) but notice how Sylus looks distinctly melancholy here?

Remember, unlike MC, Sylus remembers everything. And this place... holds so much significance to him. Possibly more so than any other. It was here that their souls were bound (and where as I see it they also in a sense got married).

But it also represents loss; the loss of the happy domestic life he and his sorceress envisioned for themselves.

It's the place where they were planning to live and create a future together.

And the place where they got separated.

I get the impression that in the snippet above Sylus might be telling MC some of this. Maybe not everything (that is better saved for a branch or sth imo) but he will probably let her know that this cathedral means a lot to him. He is for sure reminiscing in his mind, if nothing else.

Also I mean he literally says in the clip that people usually come to the cathedral to "exchange vows". He's obviously talking about himself and MC here, of their vow to stay by each other's side until the end of time.

So yeah.

Angst is in the air, people.

Never forget that this is Love and Depression.

[moonymarvel]

I was scared to take a breath, didn't want you to move your head... (Bob Reynolds x female reader *SMUT MINORS DNI*)

🂱︎ pairing: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts/New Avengers female reader

🂱︎ synopsis: You're upset after a recon mission with Yelena goes slightly wrong, and Bob jumps at the opportunity to comfort you. He suggests to put on a film, and in the cosy movie room in the dim lights it leads to the two of you to become closer and more intimate than you ever have before.

🂱︎ genres: fluff fluff! friends with feelings as @em1i2a3 calls it, friends to lovers.

🂱 warnings: SMUTTY SMUT SMUT MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, praise kink, mentions of anxiety, mentions of wounds/injuries, mentions of Bob's previous drug use

🂱 notes: this is a bit long lol I kinda didn't know where I was going with it at first whoops... inspired by the line of lyrics in the title from the Sombr song 'back to friends' !

You let out a soft groan as your weight shifted on your bed, your muscles aching, bones still healing, and your heart pounding.

You'd been on a recon mission with Yelena last night, when things went sideways and the getaway car you drove flipped on its head, rolling a few times as you and Lena had no choice but to jump out of the car.

You'd both limped your way back to the tower to meet the medical team, your arm around Yelena's waist holding her up. Your rib was fractured and you had bruising all over your body, but Yelena wasn't so lucky. She had jumped out straight into some concrete, meaning she had to be monitored for a few days in the hospital wing for head injury and trauma.

You were at least able to sleep in your own bed after being patched up, but you couldn't help but feel drowned with guilt as Yelena was bedridden for the next few days.

"Lena? It's me." You opened the curtain slowly, holding an assortment of breakfast foods for her. You made sure to give her a wide selection, settling on a bowl of oatmeal with bananas and peanut butter drizzled on top, a plate of bacon and eggs, and her favorite pastries from the bakery across the road.

"Oh thank god thought I was hallucinating the smell of those pastries--" She said excitedly, reaching her arms out to you fingers motioning to hand her the food.

She dug in hastily, and despite the events of last night she seemed alright, considering.

"Yelena I'm sorry. I-- I should've gotten us out of there earlier-- quicker." You said sat on the edge of her hospital bed criss-cross-applesauce pulling apart a spare pastry she insisted you have.

"Don't even worry about it. This is all just precautions, honestly these idiots don't know the extent of things I went through in the red room, these injuries are nothing." She said with that thick Russian accent, so nonchalantly talking about her dark past. You stayed silent, still guilt ridden and full of regret.

"Hey, y/n. It's okay, I promise." Yelena reached over to hold your shoulder, the edges of her mouth covered in crumbs.

"You got me back! And we were fine. So fine. Really." She added reassuringly. You nodded, and gave her a small smile.

"Now stop disrespecting Mr Krispy Kream and eat your donut instead of pulling it apart." She finished, and you let out a soft chuckle, grateful for her ability to make light of these situations.

You both continued eating, and when nothing was left but empty bowls and crumbs you got up and took the tray of food to the kitchen.

You turned the corner and saw a familiar figure hovered over the sink, sweatshirt rolled up to his forearms, hair messy and falling over his face.

"Good morning Bob." You say, making your way over to the sink behind him.

"Y/n! Hey, morning!" He replies, tone happy and light that you couldn't help but crack a small smile.

"I heard about last night... A--Are you okay?" He asked, hands busy with the dishes and covered in soap.

"I'm f-fine. Yeah. Could've been worse I guess." You reply softly, leaning on the counter, hand clutching your bandaged side. You wince under your breath, and notice the purple and red hues beneath your skin that cover your hand.

You look up and meet Bob's worried gaze, hair falling over his face as his attempts to push it away, which just resulted in him leaving bits of soap on his temple. His lips were pressed in a thin line, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"y/n, are you okay?" He repeated. He always did this, saw right through you and your excuses. You both have grown quite close since moving into the tower, as you both had insomnia and anxiety. You'd find yourself up at odd hours of the night, with only Bob and a good book keeping you company.

He knew you better than anyone else on the team, always somehow knowing exactly what you needed. On the other hand your presence calmed Bob, hushing the constant buzz that constantly filled his head.

After especially hard missions, you'd come back to the compound to Bob doing some cleaning up, and upon seeing your tired figure enter, he'd immediately get to work on making you a cup of tea or hot chocolate.

During larger gatherings or meetings you'd pick up Bob's nervous ticks, when he'd start pulling at the loose threads of his sweater, or start to rub his eyes a little too often, and you'd find yourself giving him a gentle nudge or a reassuring squeeze with your hand to calm him.

Bob would knock at your door to check on you on the days you wouldn't leave your room, and make sure you'd eaten.

You'd stand up for Bob when Valentina or anyone else was putting too much pressure on him, and made sure that he was on top of his medication and therapy exercises.

"y/n?" You'd zoned out completely, and Bob was now stood in front of you, blue eyes full of worry.

"It's my fault." You whispered.

"w-what do you mean?" Bob asked, wiping his damp hands on the sides of his trousers, leaving behind even more wet marks on his clothes.

"Yelena... It was a simple recon mission. I just needed to get her out-- now she's in the hospital wing-- I just feel-- like I failed." Your vision clouded slightly, and you looked to the floor to avoid Bob's gaze.

He studied you for a second, before he gently lifted your chin up.

"I saw Yelena this morning, she's alright y/n. She's going to be okay." His fingers were soft and tender on your chin, and you looked up at him through teary eyes.

"I don't want to be the reason anyone else gets hurt." You whisper, and you knew Bob understood.

He didn't say anything, but he pulled you in for a gentle hug. He was slightly wet from doing the dishes, but you didn't really care. You buried your head into his soft sweatshirt inhaling the scent of him, with a little bit of dishwashing soap, and let a tear slide down your cheek. Then another, and another.

"Shhh. It's okay." Bob whispered, head resting on top of yours, holding you tightly. He couldn't help but catch a whiff of your shampoo, the one you lent him once and he's been obsessed with ever since. It smelled of coconut and vanilla, and he's since associated those scents with you.

He just stood there with you, and time seemed to slow when he held you in his arms, the rest of the world melting away.

You'd pulled apart from him eyes slightly red and cheeks stained with tears, a little embarrassed at your emotional outburst.

"I-I'm sorry Bob. Oh shit, I got your favorite sweatshirt all drenched I'm so sorry." You added, wiping your hands over his shoulder as if that would dry the spots from your tears, only to feel his hard muscles underneath his sweatshirt.

"Don't worry, this sweatshirt's had it's fair share of tear stains before." Bob replies, a slight blush tinting his cheeks at the feeling of your hands on him.

"d-do you wanna maybe put on a film? Get your mind off of it?" He adds.

"Y-yeah... I would love that actually." You're grateful for a distraction, and you grab some tissues from the cupboard dabbing away the leftover moisture on your face. You hear Bob shuffle around the kitchen behind you, pulling out two mugs, some chocolate powder, and milk. You take it upon yourself to grab some microwave popcorn from another cupboard, Bob shyly stepping aside to give you room.

You microwave the popcorn as Bob finishes up the drinks, the two of you stood silent but comfortable as the hum of the microwave filled the room.

"The rest of the team are gone by the way, they're out on mission... so we have the movie room to ourselves if--if that's where you wanna watch a film." Bob adds, stirring the liquid chocolate and adding the toppings just the way you like it.

"That's perfect" You chuckle

"No Alexei speaking over the dialogue or Walker acting like he's some film critic." You add. He flashes you a shy smile, mugs of finished hot chocolate in either hand.

"Ready?" He asks. The microwave dings and you grab the bag out of it, filling the room with the buttery smell.

You follow Bob's lead into the large movie room upstairs, cluttered with pillows, blankets, and some large couches all pointed towards the massive screen.

After minutes of discussing what film to put on, you both settle on a comedy film neither of you had seen before.

You make yourself comfortable on the couch, pulling over some blankets and a small table to put your hot chocolate down on. Bob sinks into the space next to you, hot chocolate already half empty with a hint of whipped cream covering his top lip.

"How have you had that much already! The films not even started yet!" You tease.

"I was hungry!"

You laugh, and if Bob could bottle up the sound and play it whenever, he would.

You lean over, closing the small gap between the two of you. Bob freezes, unsure of what to do but scared that whatever he does will ruin the moment.

He's not sure what to expect, but your hand comes up to cup his face and your thumb lightly swipes the whipped cream off his top lip.

Your finger was soft, gentle, but he could feel the small calluses that littered your skin from years of hero work.

You had your eyes locked on his lips, and you could have held his face in your hand forever.

You pull away, and Bob clears his throat, snapping himself out of your mesmerising touch.

"T-thanks"

"No problem."

The film opening credits begin to play and you settle into your seat, the couch so perfectly comfortable and cosy that you relax in no time.

Bob sits awkwardly next to you, not quite as relaxed, as he remembers the feeling of your hand on his face and your finger on his lips.

About a third into the film, Bob feels the slightest weight on his shoulder, and looks over to you completely slumped over on him, a light snore escaping your lips. The popcorn bag had now fallen from your hands leaving a pool of kernels on the floor, but Bob doesn't dare move to clean it up.

"y/n?" He whispers softly. There's no reply. You were exhausted after all, and the couch's soft embrace easily lulled you to sleep.

You moved, and Bob tenses, you slide down from his shoulder and he has to reposition himself to make sure you don't wake with a crick in your neck.

As slowly and carefully as he can, he slides lower down on the couch, arm coming around your shoulder. He hesitates, arm suspended in midair as if afraid to touch you. That's when you nuzzle into him in your sleep, head rested on his chest, your hand landing on his stomach.

You looked peaceful, angelic, and if it mean't Bob had to stay in this position forever just for you to get the rest you deserved than so be it.

He finally settled his arm on you, drapping it over your shoulder and side.

Bob tried his best to focus on the film, but the blooming feeling in his chest kept peeling his attention from the screen. Bob could happily drown in the smell of your hair, and tattoo the feeling of your skin on his. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, almost scared if he took a breath too deep or moved even an inch you'd wake and he'd never have the privilege of being this close to you ever again.

He spent the rest of the film breathing as shallow as he could, even holding his breath every time you stirred. This moment was sacred to him, holding you close as you were at your most vulnerable. He drew small circles on your back, relaxing into the rhythm of your breathing.

Little did you know that ever since you and Bob moved into the tower, he became your sanctuary, your safe space. He'd enter the room and you'd calm, he'd give you a soft smile and you'd melt.

The sound of the film's score woke you from your slumber, the credits of the film rolling on the screen. You realised your position, and how you were now laid diagonally on the couch on your side with your leg over Bob's lap, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach.

You looked up slowly, to see Bob eyes focused on the screen. He almost looked like a statue, with the contours of his features being especially obvious in the dim light. He was still, almost too still. Wait, was he breathing?

"Bob?" You spoke softly, lifting your head up from on his chest.

"y/n, y-you're awake." He turned to look down at you, still looking a bit tense.

"yeah sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep... shit that position must've been so uncomfortable for you I'm so sorry--" You sit up, immediately regretting it as he warmth of him by your side fades.

"N-no, please don't be sorry... I was perfectly comfortable, and I'm glad you got some rest." He added shuffling over on the couch to give you a bit of space, even though all he wanted to do was pull you close again.

"Damn. I don't think I've had a nap, in years..." you let out a small yawn and stretch your arms up, your shirt lifting giving Bob a peak of your midriff. He swallowed at that tiny flash of skin, immediately feeling guilty for looking.

"you okay? how was the film?" you asked. Bob seemed to be looking everywhere but you, suddenly extremely interested in the details of walls behind you.

"yeah I'm all good... erm- the film, yeah uh-- it was alright, not my taste-- maybe- erm I didn't follow it really--" His eyes keep darting around the room, as if afraid to look at you for too long. He runs a hand through his loose curls, a slight redness appearing on the tips of his ears.

"Bob. You didn't watch it properly, did you?" You interrupt his rambling, and looks as if he's just been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

You laugh, and there's that sound Bob wished he could bottle up again.

"Did you fall asleep too then? Maybe it wasn't a very good film." You add, looking over at the credits rolling on the screen.

"something like that..." He finally looks up to meet your eyes, and just from that quick nap Bob can already see you've perked up massively.

"So uh- how are you feeling?" Bob asks, leaning over to finally tidy up the spilled popcorn.

"Better. A lot better, thank you Bob." You join him, scooting over on the couch your thigh making contact with his as you both lean over collecting the pieces. Your hands touch as you reach for the same kernel, the contact sending electricity up your arm.

"Sorry." He says under his breath through a small chuckle.

"Don't be." You add looking over to him, your beautiful bright eyes piercing right through all the walls that protect Bob's heart.

You collect what's left of the mess and put it aside for now, not wanting to leave Bob's side just yet.

"Shit y/n, you're bleeding." You look down on your side and see red.

"Fuck, what time is it? I think I need to change the dressing of my stitches." You press a hand on your side, feeling the sting from the stitches below.

"The spare bandages are in my room, I'll just sort this and I'll see you in a bit." You get up, wincing slightly, hyperaware of the pain on your side.

"W-wait, I can help you." Bob is stood now as well, eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"Y-you don't have to do that Bob, you've done enough already--"

"No please, I want to help. Let me help you." His voice is soft, tender, laced with something deeper than just care. Your stomach grew warm at the thought.

"Okay... Thank you." You say quietly through a small smile.

You make your way down the corridor, Bob trailing behind you like a lost puppy dog transfixed on your scent.

You open the door to your room and rummage through the first aid kit you left next to your bed last night.

Bob is standing awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"You can come in Bob" You say over your shoulder, collecting the bandages and anti-septic cream.

Bob steps into your room shyly, taking specific note of how the room smells like you. He looked around, observing the state of your room. Posters were put up all over your wall as if the blank white paint behind them frightened you, you had a stack of books balanced precariously on your bedside table, and you had a Playstation 5 by a stack of games in the corner next to the TV.

"Sorry, I'm in need of a tidy." You felt a bit exposed, and you would almost be embarassed if it was anyone else but Bob. But you knew he'd never judge you, never.

"No no, don't apologize... The room is so perfectly, you..." He trailed off, eyes wide reading the countless movie titles on the posters that cluttered your wall. He just missed the slight blush that appeared on your cheeks, that warmth in your core bubbling up again.

You settled down on your bed as Bob timidly took a seat next to you.

"I'm assuming you know how to do this, right?" You asked, you didn't doubt he knew what he was doing, but you thought you'd give him one last chance to back out.

"y-yeah... I had to take care of myself anytime I did anything-- stupid-- whenever I was on-- y'know..." He said, almost ashamed. While your heart dropped everytime he brought up his past, you also couldn't help but feel proud of how far he'd come, and how strong he is. He dropped his gaze down to his lap, looking guilty he brought it up at all. You took one of his hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, reassuring him that he would never have to be alone like that again.

"Sorry, um, yeah. I can do this." He looked up at you through his hair, giving your hand a gentle squeeze in return. You pulled away and put the bandages and cream between the two of you, and awkwardly turned so your back was faced to him.

"Um, can I lift this up?" Bob asked as he fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

"Oh, yeah of course... Um, it may be easier if I just take it off." You didn't give Bob enough time to respond, as you pulled your shirt over your head and held it to your front. Bob swallowed, grateful you were faced away as his cheeks burned.

"Sorry, was that okay?" You asked, realising you must've taken him by surprise.

"Y-yeah of course, as long as you're comfortable." Bob couldn't peel his eyes off your bare back, which moved everytime you took a breath. You had a long line of stitches that stretched down from your right shoulder blade all the way to your side, with other patches of bruising cluttering your shoulder and arm.

Even through your injuries though, Bob couldn't help but find you beautiful. You had freckles that looked like paint speckled on a canvas, with a few older scars that looked like shooting stars across in the night sky.

He snapped himself back to reality, taking the time to gently remove the dressing that had been stained red. The light touch of his fingers on your back made you shiver, the warmth in your stomach growing.

Bob did good work with cleaning up the bleeding, and reapplying a new bandage. The moment was quiet, but intimate, something heavy weighing in the air between you two.

"Thanks..." You said, looking over your shoulder at him. His hand was still on your back, large and warm, pressed on the bandage as if he didn't want to detach from you.

"You're welcome..." He said in a low, quiet voice that made the skin under his touch tingle. Bob's hand took on a mind of it's own as he trailed a finger across your spine, making your whole body shiver. You didn't say anything as he continued lining his finger across your back, like he was painting a picture.

"That... feels really nice..." Your eyes fluttered closed, sinking into his touch. You let out a relaxed exhale, all your pain going numb under the gentle touch of Bob.

Bob was quiet, transfixed, almost no longer himself. Maybe it was the Sentry taking over for a second, or maybe it was just Bob, finally giving into the desire he'd had for you for so long.

Then he did something so soft and tender that it broke the unspoken tension between the two of you. He planted a gentle kiss on the top of your shoulder. Then another on the top of your spine, and another right behind your ear.

"Bob..." You said softly, leaning into him, the feeling of his lips on your skin making you feel drunk.

The sound of his name snapped him out of his trance, eyes going wide and pulling away, leaving your back bare and cold again.

"Shit-- uh... s-sorry... I hope that was okay... I- I don't know what came over me." Bob was flushed, almost terrified at himself for getting carried away.

"N-no please... I-- I liked it.. I-- like you Bob..." You said laying out your heart to him.

You turned to him, still clutching your shirt to your chest. His hair had fallen over his eyes, his pupils blown. You saw a shimmer of something yellow in his eyes, something golden, for a split second, then it was gone.

"I want you, Bob. Only you" Your tone was soft, but desperate, your need for him growing.

"I want all of you."

"Y/n, you drive me crazy." And with that he surged forward connecting your lips with his. The kiss was hungry, but tender still, like he was drinking you up like sweet honey. His hand came up to cup your cheeks, your hands still clutching your shirt. He tasted like chocolate and butter, lips slightly chapped and hands slightly calloused.

You both twisted and manouvered around each other on the bed, as gracefully as you could and without hurting your injuries, never unlocking lips. He settled you down softly onto your pillow hands cupping the back of your head, positioning his body on top of you.

Your side stung just the slighest, but not nearly enough for you to want to stop the moment. Your hands found his mess of curls, letting go of the thin cotton shirt that separated your bodies.

Bob pulled away, breathless, resting his forehead on yours, his hand and forearm next to your head bearing his weight.

"C-can I-" He says fingers tangling with the bottom of your shirt. You nod, and he slowly peels the fabric away exposing your upper body to him.

"God... you're beautiful." His voice was low and husky, but the compliment was soft, leaving his lips like he's wanted to say that to you forever. One of his hands began to explore your body, starting from you stomach, up to your breasts. You were aching under his touch, and when his finger even slightly grazed your nipple you let out a soft moan.

"fuck y/n, do that again for me." And with that he latched onto your nipple, sucking lightly, other hand fondling the opposite breast. You let out another moan, louder this time, giving him exactly what he asked for.

Bob was careful not to touch any of your lingering bruises as his hand continued to roam your body, lips still on your nipple eyes closed shut trying to memorise the feeling. One of his slipped under your shorts, immediately finding your soaked center.

He came up from sucking on you starved for air, looking up at you with his stunning blue eyes. He wished he could frame the way you looked, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, hair falling perfectly around your face as you moaned his name.

His fingers made contact with the wet spot on your panties, softly grazing the top of the fabric.

"f-fuck Bob..." He'd barely even touched you and you could already feel yourself begin to unravel.

"Is this okay?" He asked, not in the shy tone he usually spoke with but a deeper, hungrier, more powerful voice.

"yes-- yes--" You answered between gasps and moans as he slipped his hand into your panties, finding your sensitive bud with ease.

"aw baby, so wet already." His voice rang with that same dark tone again, and you looked into his eyes and caught just a glimpse of the golden honey the flashed in the blue.

He dipped a finger in you with ease, and you let out a moan, pushing your head back into the pillow. This gave Bob access to your neck, immediately littering your skin with soft, wet kisses.

He pumped his finger in and out, while kissing you like you were holy. He added another digit, and the feeling made your hand fly to his head, and pull at his loose curls.

"Yes baby, that's it..." his husky tone made your eyes roll back into your head, feeling the tight knot in your lower belly become more intense.

He latched on to your nipple once more, sucking and biting just the right amount that the feeling teetered between pain and pleasure.

"F-fuck Bob-- I'm gonna--" He didn't need telling, he could feel you tighten around his fingers and could hear your moans growing louder and more intense. He continued on pumping his fingers, kissing up your chest and neck,

"I've got you baby, cum for me please." You didn't need to be told twice, feeling the knot come undone as the pleasure reached its peak. Bob helped you ride out the high, littering your neck with soft kisses in between compliments.

You heaved, catching your breath. Bob kept his fingers in you for just a moment longer, savoring the feeling of being inside you.

You opened your eyes to his blue ones taking in your beautiful form, still flushed and glistening from your finish.

He slowly pulled his fingers from beneath you, and lifted his fingers to his lips, and sucking them clean.

"fuck Bob." You moaned, already aching for more.

"I love it when you moan my name." He said in his husky voice before pressing his lips on yours, letting you taste yourself as his tongue explored your mouth.

His hand came up to your side, ever so gently and still very much conscious of your injuries, which was in complete contrast to how hungrily he was kissing you, and the pressure you felt pressed up against you.

You reached down, making contact with him through his trousers, making him break the kiss to moan.

"y/n-- I-- you don't have to do that." Bob said between breaths. He was big, and you could feel him aching beneath your palm.

"you--you're still hurt-- please- don't feel like you have to do anything f-for me--" He could barely get a word out, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought the urge to unravel at your touch.

"I want to make you feel good Bob. I want to feel all of you." Bob's eyes shot open at your words, pupils wide and blown, and with one swift movement, he had you on top of him, and sat up to meet your lips.

He cradled you with arms that felt like they were molded in marble, as he kissed you as if he were drunk on the taste of you.

You could feel him pulsing beneath you, the only thing separating the two of you being his sweatpants now wet with excitement.

You start to move, craving his touch and needing friction between your legs, when he pulls away suddenly, like he's snapped out of a trance.

"You feel any bit of pain, we stop. This isn't worth it if I hurt you y/n." He had a serious tone to his voice you'd never quite heard before, but it was laced with such protectiveness and care that you knew this man would go to the ends of the earth for you.

"Yes Bob... And don't worry, I'm not made of glass." You reply playfully, already missing the feeling of his lips on yours.

"Not glass, definitely not glass." He kissed you again, cradling your body flush onto his. You traced your fingers down his body, feeling the dips and curves of his frame. Your fingers played with the frayed hems of his sweater, ever so slightly making contact with the skin beneath. You physically felt him twitch.

You pulled the sweater off, to finally reveal the physique that can only be described as heaven sent. He was toned, strong, but not overly big, and still littered with signs of Bob and his past. He was beautiful, godly, but still warm and human.

"y/n? Is something wrong?" You'd realised you hadn't spoke or moved in a second, Bob's deep voice pulling you back into the moment.

"Bob, you're beautiful." Was all you could bring yourself to say. It left your lips almost like you didn't mean to say it, like it was a secret that you didn't dare share so you could keep him all to yourself.

Bob was speechless, but his smile grew showing the creases on his temples, and the sparkle of his eyes.

"and you're perfect." His lips were on yours again in no time, and he held firmly on your hip with one hand as he began lowering his sweats down his body with the other. It wasn't graceful, but with your help he was finally bare before you.

He was flushed at the tip, and so, so incredibly big.

He lined himself up to your entrance, and slowly, you lowered yourself onto him.

You went slow, feeling every inch of him filling you up. Your head dropped onto his shoulder, and he said small praises into your hair as you took him all in.

He allowed you a moment, even through gritted teeth as your walls were so warm and tight around him. When he felt you move and lift yourself up, only then did he start thrusting up to meet you.

"You're taking me so well beautiful..." He had one hand down on the bed for support, the other holding you as your hips continued to meet in the middle.

You felt him deep in your core and it wasn't long till your legs gave out from beneath you.

"Bob--" You barely got his name out between moans, feeling the waves of pleasure all over your body.

"I know baby, I know. Do it with me okay? Just hold on a little longer." He could feel you tightening around him, and hear your moans getting loader. He kissed your neck, and worshipped your body with his free hand.

"Please--" The feeling was overwhelming now, but he continued to thrust into you at an even pace. You knocked your head back when he made contact with your nipple, his mouth doing it's magic as his thrusts became harder, sloppier, hungrier.

"You've done so good beautiful, come with me now okay? You've done so good." His praises were more than enough to send you over the edge, and your moans were music to his ears as he released deep inside you. Throughout it all Bob watched you like you were divine, hyperaware of how perfectly the two of you fit together like this.

You collapsed onto him, and he slowly let himself fall back onto the bed, cradling you again gently. You laid in comfortable silence, still catching breath and calming down.

It wasn't long however till you felt a small tingle at your back, drawing your attention back to the whole reason you two were here.

"crap. I think my stitches broke again."

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 7 - in transition]

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: Paige and Azzi said it was over.

Boundaries drawn, feelings shelved, rules in place. But with every game, every glance, every unexpected moment off the court, the line gets harder to hold. They agreed to stop, but how long can they mean it? Word count: 5,577 Author's note: first, I'd like to thank everyone for reading this fic. i'm overwhelmed but very happy with the comments, messages, and reactions. i didn't know a lot are reading this nonsense, but thank you! second (and you may not want to hear this), i may not update for a couple of weeks. i am going on a trip so i'm not sure i'll be able to do so. i hope you'll still want to read this if it's not frequently update until third week of july. third (if you're also reading my other on-going), unfolded will be updated but i also apologize it will not be that frequent due to the same reason above. thanks for supporting and reading my works.

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. May 2025. 

The sky outside her windows had settled into its noon haze, but Azzi hadn’t looked up from her desk in hours. Her monitor cast a soft glow across the dark wood, spreadsheets opened and minimized in equal measure. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, scrolling through a document she had already reviewed twice that morning. 

The knock on her door was brief. Nika stepped in without waiting for permission, balancing a takeout bag and two bottled teas in her hands. 

“I know you didn’t eat again,” Nika said as she shut the door behind her. “And I’m not letting you call a candy bar lunch.” 

Azzi sat back in her chair, one brow lifting. “You’re persistent.” 

“I work for a woman who hasn’t taken a real lunch break in ten days,” Nika replied, placing the food down. “Persistent is the bare minimum.” 

Azzi didn’t argue. She slid the papers to the side and reached for the tea, unscrewing the cap but not drinking yet. Across the desk, Nika opened the takeout containers with practiced ease. 

“How is your WNBA team?” Nika asked without looking up. “Season started last week.” 

Azzi didn’t flinch, though the pause before her answer was longer than usual. “Lisa’s handling things,” she said. “It’s her role as general manager, and she’s doing it well. I step in only if I'm needed.” 

Nika glanced up, reading more than what was said. “Good for her but that’s not the same as you supporting them.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“With what?” Nika didn’t soften her tone. “All deadlines are in. Contracts are locked through next quarter. We’re ahead of schedule with every major client. Even your advisory meeting next week was rescheduled by you.” 

Azzi set the tea down, untouched. 

“You’re not too busy to show your face at a home game, Azzi. And neither the team nor the city thinks you’re invisible. So if this is about being busy, I don’t buy it.” 

Azzi held her posture, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window. But the pause spoke more than anything else. 

Nika watched her for another beat before easing back into her chair, unpacking a fork from its wrapper.  

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said. “But don’t pretend like this is just scheduling. You’re not fooling anyone.” 

The room stretched between them, filled with paper, food, and the weight of everything unspoken. 

Azzi finally reached for the container, though she still hadn’t eaten a bite. Her voice stayed level, careful. “Lisa knows what she’s doing.” 

“Sure,” Nika said, spearing a piece of grilled chicken. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t still look for you.” 

-    Valkyries Headquarters, San Francisco. May 2025. 

Practice was nearly over, but Paige hadn’t slowed once. She moved through the drills like they were personal, like every missed shot meant something more than just another rep. Her jersey clung to her back, soaked through from the effort. While the rest of the team eased off, she kept pressing. 

“Okay, Paige, you trying to earn Finals MVP in practice?” Kate called, grabbing a towel from the bench. 

Paige gave a quick laugh. “Just keeping sharp.” 

Kiki, lounging near the sideline with her water bottle, chimed in without lifting her head. “If this is about Rookie of the Year, relax. I’m not trying to take it from you.” 

“I just want to do well. Don’t want to let the team down.” 

Kate tossed her towel over her shoulder and walked past. “You’re not. We’ve got your back. So maybe stop trying to bleed for every drill.” 

Paige nodded, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t even look toward the locker room when the others started filing out. She stayed at the three-point line, adjusted her stance, and kept shooting. 

The gym thinned out, noise fading as bodies left the floor. Lights still buzzed overhead. The sound of the ball hitting the rim echoed louder in the emptying space. 

One more shot. Then another. She moved like she could outwork the ache settling deep in her chest. 

- 

Barclays Center, Brooklyn. June 2025. 

The arena buzzed with rising energy. Lights swept across the court, catching on polished shoes and tailored jackets. Courtside filled with the usual rotation of executives, celebrities, and carefully groomed donors. 

Azzi sat quietly among them, legs crossed, her posture composed. Ines sat on one side, Tony on the other. Neither drew attention. 

Three nights earlier, New York liberty owner, Clara Wu had attended the foundation’s gallery fundraiser uptown.  

Toward the end of the event, in the space between polite farewells and final handshakes, Clara had asked if Azzi would be attending the Liberty vs Valkyries game. It hadn’t sounded like pressure, but Azzi understood the subtext. Clara rarely asked for anything directly. 

Azzi had smiled and said yes. She didn’t want to appear distant or detached, not while her team was in town, not so early in the season. By the next morning, Ines had secured the only tickets still available.  

Courtside, unfortunately. 

Across the floor, the Valkyries were already deep in warmups, moving through drills with controlled intensity.  

Paige stayed near the top of the arc, locked into rhythm, her eyes focused straight ahead. If she noticed Azzi’s presence, she didn’t show it.    The game had turned brutal in rhythm and pace.  

The Liberty held a five-point lead, and the crowd rode every possession like a wave, roaring with each defensive stop and every made shot. Bodies hit the floor more often now. Elbows flared. Timeouts were used sparingly. 

Paige moved with urgency. Her focus locked on the ball like nothing else existed. Sweat clung to her temples, her movements crisp and tight, no motion wasted.  

When a tipped pass ricocheted off a defender’s arm and spun wildly toward the sideline, she didn’t hesitate. 

She dove. 

The hardwood scraped beneath her as she slid forward, arms reaching, hands wrapping around the ball just before it could bounce out of bounds. But her momentum kept going. Her body skidded past the line, straight toward the courtside seats. 

She crashed at Azzi’s feet, shoulder brushing against her legs before she caught herself. 

“Shit—sorry,” Paige breathed, looking up. Her voice came low and rushed, all heat and adrenaline. 

Azzi’s eyes met Paige’s, calm and unreadable. 

For a second, the noise in the arena blurred behind them. 

Then the whistle blew. Paige scrambled up, tossed the ball to a teammate, and jogged back onto the court. 

Azzi didn’t look away right away. The faint trace of contact lingered in her skin. But her face gave nothing back. 

-    Team bus on the way to the airport, New York. June 2025.  

The internet had caught fire. 

Clips of Paige diving out of bounds and crashing at Azzi’s feet spread across every platform.  

Slow-motion edits looped the way Paige looked up at her, the brief glance that passed between them, the stillness of Azzi’s expression.  

Screenshots froze the frame at just the right second, turning a routine hustle play into something cinematic. 

Fans called it poetic. Dramatic. Predictable in the way only stories you couldn’t write better in fiction tended to be. 

“This is gay history,”  

“She literally landed at her feet. You cannot make this shit up.” 

“It’s giving princess and her knight,” another caption declared beneath a still of Paige on the floor, Azzi seated above her, untouched, statuesque. 

#ValkyriesCourtship alongside #PrincessAndTheHooper trended before the fourth quarter highlights even aired. 

Even sports media picked it up. A panel segment ran on afternoon television, showing side-by-side clips with commentary that couldn’t resist the subtext.  

ESPN headlined it “better than anything on Netflix.” 

Paige had seen enough of it by the time she reached the team bus. Her phone hadn’t stopped buzzing, but she left it face down on the bench.  

Kiki had sent her the clip with three crying emojis and “Oscar-worthy fall.” 

Kate pulled up another edit as she sat beside Paige, this one layered with a ballad and a dramatic fade to black. 

“You good?” 

“It was just a save.” 

“Sure. You threw yourself at the sideline like a knight charging into battle and landed at Miss Fudd's feet like you meant to bow.” 

Paige adjusted her hoodie without answering. 

Behind them, Kiki laughed. 

“She’s blushing.” 

She didn’t turn around. If she was, she wasn’t giving them the satisfaction. 

- 

The Venetian Resort, Las Vegas. June 2025. 

Las Azzi stared at her calendar, one hand pressed to her temple, the other resting over her laptop’s trackpad. The confirmation email sat open in front of her, clear as day. 

She leaned back slowly in her chair, eyes narrowing. 

There was no way this wasn’t deliberate. 

The Valkyries were playing the Aces. In Las Vegas. Tonight. And somehow, despite the number of ways she had tried to avoid repeating last week’s coincidence, here she was again. Same city. Same schedule. Same team. 

She remembered Nika casually handing off the file three days ago. Something about a last-minute scheduling conflict, how the developers were pushing for face time, how it made sense for Azzi to take. At the time, it hadn’t sounded strange. 

Now it did.    Another email which held two tickets to the game had found its way to Azzi.    Right. 

It wouldn’t look good if she didn’t show up to the game. Not when people knew she was in the city. 

If Nika and Ines had planned this, they weren’t going to admit it. But Azzi knew them both too well.  

She should have seen this coming. 

- 

Michelob ULTRA Arena, Las Vegas. June 2025. 

The game was tight. The Aces pushed in transition, fast and aggressive, but the Valkyries kept pace, sharp in their switches and relentless on the glass. The score stayed close, every possession carrying weight. 

Azzi sat still through it all. Close enough to feel the vibrations under her heels. She didn’t react. Didn’t lean in. Just watched. 

Paige was everywhere. Fighting through screens, calling switches, sinking shots like she was burning through something no one else could see. She didn’t slow down. She didn’t ease up. 

When she hit a three just outside the arc, her eyes searched briefly beyond the baseline. 

Azzi met the look. 

The moment was brief. The game pressed forward.  

- 

The Venetian Resort, Las Vegas. June 2025. 

The machine clinked quietly as Paige pressed the button again. Lights blinked. Nothing hit. She reached into the cup and slid another coin in. 

The Valkyries had pulled off the win. A tight, scrappy six-point finish that left the Aces frustrated and the bench breathing hard. 

Paige had smiled when she needed to. Nodded during the interviews. Let her teammates pull her into the photo. But once it was done, she slipped out early and didn’t look back. 

She found herself now hunched at a forgotten corner of the casino floor, staring through the slot machine like it owed her an answer she couldn't phrase. 

A pause behind her, then Azzi’s voice. 

“You know I’m not paying you to lose your money on a stupid machine.”    Paige slid in another coin and pressed the button, not bothering to turn around. The reels spun and missed again. 

“I know you’re ignoring me,” Azzi continued. “And I deserve that. But I wanted to say congratulations. You were great tonight.” 

Paige’s eyes stayed on the machine. “Hm, ‘s that all?”     Azzi wanted to say more. To sit down, to explain, to ask for something she hadn’t figured out how to name yet. 

She stood there for a moment, unsure if she should say more or walk away. The noise around them was constant—machines whirring, voices rising and falling, the usual chaos of a casino floor. It wasn’t the right place for this type of conversation.    “Yes. Have a good night, Paige.” 

Azzi moved through the casino without looking back, weaving past clusters of tourists and cocktail servers until she reached the elevators.  

One had just arrived. She stepped inside, pressed her floor, and leaned back against the wall as the doors began to close. 

A hand shot through at the last second. 

The doors jerked open. 

Paige stood there, a little breathless, eyes steady. She stepped in without asking and let the doors slide shut behind her. 

“D'you already have dinner?” 

Azzi shook her head. 

Paige glanced at the buttons, then back at her. 

“Wanna order room service with me?”    - 

The coffee table was a mess of wrappers and half-crumpled napkins. Paige leaned back into the couch, one leg tucked under the other, working through the last of the fries like it was a timed competition. 

Azzi watched from the armchair, equal parts fascinated and horrified.  

She had offered a quiet space for their impromptu dinner since Kiki was already asleep in Paige's room. 

Paige had inhaled three burgers in under fifteen minutes and was now making quick work of the fries without so much as a breath. 

Azzi reached for her untouched sandwich, glanced at it, then looked back at Paige. 

“Do you want mine too?” 

Paige didn’t even pause. “What is it?” 

“That was sarcasm.” 

“You’re gonna need to be more specific if food’s involved.” 

Azzi shook her head, sinking deeper into the chair. “I’m genuinely alarmed.” 

“You’ve seen me play,” Paige said through a mouthful of fries. “How is this surprising?” 

“You didn’t unhinge your jaw during the game.” 

Paige grinned, tossed a fry in the air, and caught it with her mouth.  

Azzi sighed and reached for the water bottle on the table but didn’t drink. Her gaze lingered on Paige, still working through the fries like nothing in the world could distract her. 

“You’ve been playing really well lately,” she said. “The last few games especially.” 

Paige slowed her chewing just a little. “Oh.” 

Azzi smiled. 

“I mean, thanks. I didn’t know you were watching.” 

There was a pause. Azzi could have let it pass, could have deflected or changed the subject, but the quiet between them felt too close to something real to lie through. 

“I haven’t missed a game,” she said. “Even if I’m not there, I watch. Every one of them.” 

Paige blinked, then looked down, a trace of pink blooming along her cheeks as she reached for another fry she clearly didn’t need. 

Sitting with her hands loosely clasped in her lap, Azzi’s eyes fixed on the untouched sandwich beside her. The weight between them had been there the whole night, carefully unspoken, but now it pressed harder, closer.    “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For what happened. For how it happened. It wasn’t fair to you. If I could take it back... I would.” 

Paige didn’t answer right away. She wiped her hands clean with a napkin, taking her time, then leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. 

“I don’t regret kissing and making out with you that night,” she said.  

Azzi finally looked at her. 

“I only regret putting you in a position. You were already carrying too much, and I pushed you when I should’ve backed off. That’s on me.” Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry for that.” 

Azzi shook her head slowly, the words already forming before Paige could say anything more. “No. Paige, I was the one who kissed you.” 

“And I kissed you back.” 

Azzi looked away, lips pressed together for a moment before she spoke again. 

“I let my emotions get the best of me. That night... I wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

“That’s exactly my regret,” Paige leaned back slightly, eyes holding firm. “I didn’t stop to think what you were going through. I shouldn’t have let it go that far when I knew you weren’t steady.”    She stood up abruptly. “God! Azzi, you just had to deal with your brother that night and all I could think was myself and my stupid ego.”    Azzi’s brow lifted, disbelief flickering across her face. 

“You’ve really been carrying this like it’s on you?” 

"Well...” 

Azzi motioned to the couch. “Sit down.” 

Paige hesitated but did as she was told, settling into the cushion with a quiet breath. 

“Listen,” Azzi started, her tone even but not cold. “I don’t know why you’re blaming yourself, but don’t. And if it makes you feel better, I appreciate your thoughts about me. It’s been a long time since anyone’s cared enough to think about what I’m feeling.” 

She paused, eyes fixed forward. 

“But I’m not going to lie. We’re re-opening something we shouldn’t cross again.” 

Paige sat still, her body tight, listening. 

“We started on the wrong path, Paige. And if we keep walking it, it’s going to lead both of us somewhere we won’t come back from. Whatever this was, we can’t keep going. There’s too much at stake. Not just for me. For you too.” 

Paige kept her gaze on the floor, jaw tight. The words weren’t new. Not really. She had imagined this conversation too many times—Azzi choosing control over closeness, reason over feeling. But now that it was happening, the actual weight of it pressed in deeper than she expected. 

She had been holding on to guilt, turning it over in her head like a stone she thought she could smooth down if she just kept at it long enough. But hearing Azzi say it out loud, the finality of her tone, made it clear that nothing she’d been carrying would change the ending. 

Still, it stung. 

It stung to be told they had started on the wrong path when it had been the only one that felt right. 

She nodded slowly, barely. 

“Okay,” she said, though it didn’t feel like one. 

- 

Valkyries HQ, San Francisco. May 2025. 

The Valkyries were rolling. Eleven wins, three losses. The best start of any expansion team in league history. Their chemistry was sharp, execution cleaner with every game, and the league had started paying attention. 

Paige was a headline regular now. Her stats held weight, her plays made highlight reels, and the noise around her name had shifted from hopeful to certain. Rookie of the Year wasn’t just possible—it was probable. 

All-Star voting opened with her name already at the top of the ballots. 

She felt it, the momentum. The lift of it. Practices ran smoother, her body felt lighter, even the travel days didn’t drag. 

But that talk in Las Vegas hadn’t left her. 

Azzi hadn’t shown up to a game since. Not once. Not even for the home stands. 

The gym had emptied out over an hour ago, but Paige was still there, catching her own rebounds, the steady rhythm of the ball echoing through the quiet space. Her body moved on instinct—one dribble, two, rise, release. Net. Repeat. 

She wasn’t tired. Not enough to stop. 

The sound of the door clicking open didn’t pull her attention right away. Only when footsteps drew closer did she finally glance toward the baseline. 

Azzi stood just inside, arms crossed, the faintest trace of something amused in her voice. 

“Practice ended a while ago. If you’re staying this long, I should start charging you gym maintenance.” 

Paige caught the ball and held it. Her breathing slowed as she turned to face the person living rent free in her head for the past couple of months. 

She let the ball rest against her hip, then spun it slowly in one hand. 

“I don’t want to slack,” she said. “We’re on a five-game win streak. Last thing I need is my boss getting mad I’m not putting it all out there.” 

She looked up, a flicker of something teasing behind her eyes. 

“Last I heard, she never misses watching our games.” 

Azzi scoffed, stepping forward without hesitation. She plucked the ball from Paige’s hand like it belonged to her.    “You really think flattery’s going to make me overlook the fact that you’re hogging the gym?” 

Paige grinned and walked backward toward the free throw line, holding out her hand, shrugging. “If I said I was staying late to honor the legacy of the franchise, would that make it better?” 

Azzi turned the ball slowly in her hands. “It might make it worse.” 

Paige laughed, stepping back with a bounce in her step. “I’m just trying to keep the lights on. You know, making sure your multi-million dollar floor space stays in good use.” 

“I should charge you rent.” 

“Add it to my contract,” Paige said, motioning toward the court. “Tell you what. You make one shot, I’ll clear out.” 

Azzi tilted her head. “You think I’m just going to embarrass myself for your amusement?” 

“I think you’re dying to see if you can make one,” Paige said, voice low and teasing. “Come on. You’re standing on the floor of your own team’s gym, and you’ve never even taken a shot?” 

Azzi stared at her for a long second, then shook her head and let out a sigh. 

“You’re relentless.” 

Paige grinned and walked toward the free throw line, tossing the ball up and catching it. “One shot. I promise I won’t tell the world. Unless it’s perfect.” 

Azzi followed her slowly, arms folded. 

“This is ridiculous.” 

“This is team bonding.” 

“You’re not my team.” 

“I’m your headache. Close enough.” 

Azzi let out a breath, finally taking the ball back. “Fine. But I’m blaming you when this ruins my reputation.” 

Paige stepped in, already adjusting her grip. “If anything, this is gonna make it better.”    Azzi stared at the hoop like it was challenging her. She adjusted her grip on the ball, stepped awkwardly toward the free throw line, and squared her shoulders like she had watched athletes do a hundred times from the sidelines. 

She launched. 

It left her fingers too flat, spinning awkwardly in the air before clanking off the front rim and bouncing back with a dull thud. 

Paige bit her lip, then broke into a jog to chase it down before it rolled out of bounds. 

“That was…” She paused, dribbling the ball once. “A very brave attempt.” 

Azzi crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it.” 

“I’m not.” Paige grinned. “I’m saying you’re clearly an expert at hitting the exact part of the rim that guarantees it won’t go in.” 

She walked the ball back, but instead of handing it over, she stopped in front of Azzi and held it with one hand. Her voice dropped, softer this time, and something in her face shifted. 

“Let me show you.” 

Azzi hesitated, watching her closely. There was no mocking now. Paige’s grin had settled into something quieter. Not serious, but careful. Like she was trying not to move too quickly through a moment that meant more than it should. 

She nodded once. 

Paige stepped closer, placing the ball in Azzi’s hands again, but this time kept hers there too. She adjusted Azzi’s grip gently, her thumbs brushing over Azzi’s knuckles. 

“Right here. Let your shooting hand sit under the ball. Other hand just helps guide it.” 

Azzi didn’t look at the hoop. She looked at Paige. Their hands were tangled around the ball, Paige’s fingers warm and steady. Close enough to feel her breath when she spoke again. 

“You don’t need to force it. Let it roll off your fingers. It’s about rhythm. Trust.” 

Azzi swallowed hard. 

“Trust the shot?” 

Paige’s eyes met hers. “Trust yourself.” 

The gym felt too quiet. Just the creak of sneakers on polished wood and the low hum of lights above. Paige stepped behind her, setting her palms lightly on Azzi’s elbows, guiding them into position. 

“Bend your knees a little. Keep your elbow under the ball.” 

Azzi followed. The motion was stiff, but she listened. 

Paige leaned in, voice at her ear. “Now lift it slow. Let it go at the top.” 

Azzi raised her arms and released. The ball floated, not perfect, but cleaner. It hit the backboard and bounced toward the rim before falling away. 

Better. 

Azzi turned to look at her, something flickering in her eyes. Not frustration. Something else. A heat she didn’t name. 

“That was almost good,” Paige said. 

“Almost?” 

“I think you need another lesson.” 

-    Paige’s apartment, Oakland. June 2025.  

The apartment was dark except for the soft glow of Paige’s phone. She was sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched toward the armrest. Her hair was damp from a shower, and there was a half-finished protein shake on the coffee table. 

Her thumbs tapped quickly. 

Paige: You looked good last night.  Paige: But I still think your hair looked better during draft night. 

She attached a photo. 

It was Azzi, polished and poised, walking into a real estate conference. Hair pulled back in a sleek twist, dressed in a charcoal pantsuit that made her look every inch the power executive Twitter loved to obsess over. 

Azzi: Where did you get this? 

Paige answered before the read receipt even registered. 

Paige: Internet. You’re famous, remember? 

Azzi exhaled through her nose, typing slowly. 

Azzi: Are you stalking me now? 

Paige: Maybe.  Paige: Just enough to form an opinion about your hairstyles. 

Azzi: And here I thought you were too busy chasing Rookie of the Year. 

Paige: I multitask. 

Azzi sat up straighter in bed, the corners of her mouth betraying the start of a smile. 

Azzi: You really liked my hair that night? 

Paige: I like a lot of things when it comes to you.  Paige: Want a list? 

Azzi hesitated.  

Azzi: I’m scared of that list. 

Paige: You should be. It’s long. 

Azzi: Paige. 

Paige: Azzi. 

Azzi: I thought we weren’t doing this. 

Paige: You texted back.  Paige: So maybe you’re doing it too. 

There was a pause. Paige watched the typing bubble appear and disappear three times. Then finally: 

Azzi: Goodnight, Paige. 

Paige stared at it. Then sent one more message without thinking. 

Paige: I still like your hair better down. 

She set her phone down beside her, the softest grin tugging at her mouth as she leaned back into the couch. 

While Azzi lay still in the dark, phone on her chest, heartbeat louder than it should be. She didn’t reply again. But she didn’t stop reading it either. 

-  

Rocco's Cafe, San Francisco. June 2025. 

The clink of glass against ceramic filled the space between them. Afternoon light poured through the tall windows of the restaurant, the kind of place Nika always picked—unassuming, elegant, with an outdoor view that cost more than it looked. Azzi sat across from her, shoulders relaxed, her phone turned face down for once. 

Nika stirred her espresso, eyes flicking to the plate Azzi had barely touched. 

“Westlake signed,” she said. “The rezoning permits came in yesterday.” 

Azzi nodded, lifting her glass. “Good. I want the contractors briefed by Friday. We’ll reroute phase three if they can’t break ground in time.” 

“They will.” Nika took a sip, then leaned back in her chair. “What about the Dallas project? Still holding?” 

Azzi glanced past her toward the window. “We’re waiting on final numbers. But I’m not rushing that one. The board will push if I give them a reason.” 

A beat passed, comfortable and slow. Nika tilted her head, her voice quieter. 

“How are you?” 

“I’m fine?” 

“You’re more than fine.” 

Azzi looked at her confused. 

Nika smiled, sharp but kind. “You’ve been smiling. Laughing. You even left the office before seven last week.” 

Azzi raised an eyebrow, daring Nika to continue. 

“You’re glowing.” 

She shook her head, but her mouth twitched like it wanted to smile. 

“And forgive me, but I have a feeling Jake’s not the reason.”  

Nika lifted her cup with a knowing tilt, like she was letting Azzi keep her secret while quietly reminding her it wasn’t all that well hidden. 

-  San Francisco International Airport, San Francisco. June 2025. 

Azzi reread the message from the Valkyries’ training staff, the words sharp in their precision.  

Concussion protocol.  

Paige had been pulled from practice following a hit during the game against Indiana two nights ago. 

Azzi had watched that game from a bar in Dallas, her tablet propped up between half-finished cocktails and development briefs. The meeting with local contractors had stretched past dinner.  

Her flight home today was late and quiet, and somewhere over the Rockies, exhaustion claimed her. 

The message hadn’t registered until she was standing outside Terminal 2, luggage beside her, the San Francisco air cutting through her blazer. She scrolled absently while waiting for the car. 

Another text sat beneath the first.  

Let us know if you’d like to see the medical report. 

She didn’t reply right away. Headlights pulled up. The town car stopped cleanly at the curb. 

She typed her reply. 

Not necessary. 

Tony stepped out, moved to the trunk. Azzi got in without a word. The door closed with a soft click, and the city hummed low around them. 

She stared straight ahead.    Thinking.    More thinking.    “Tony, we’re making a detour.” 

-    Paige’s apartment, Oakland. June 2025. 

Paige blinked, hard, like it would help make sense of the shape in front of her. 

Azzi stood at the doorway, calm as ever, hair tucked neatly behind one ear, as if she belonged there. She hadn’t called. Hadn’t messaged. 

And now Azzi was stepping inside like she hadn’t just knocked a minute ago, like being let in meant she belonged there. 

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You know, knocking doesn’t mean you get to just walk in like it’s your office.” 

Azzi took two more steps in, ignoring the comment entirely. 

“You’re in concussion protocol,” she said. “I got the update this morning.” 

“I—what? Wait, how do you even—” Paige closed the door slowly. “You’re not even on the medical distribution list.” 

“I don’t need to be.” 

“Okay. Cool. Great. Love the vague billionaire surveillance energy,” Paige muttered. “That’s definitely what every injured rookie wants.” 

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I didn’t hack into anything, if that’s what you’re implying.” 

Paige snorted. “You didn’t have to. One look from you and half the staff probably tripped over themselves to send an update.” 

“I asked, they answered.” 

“Right. Because that’s totally normal. Just your average team owner flying across the country to check on a player with a bump to the head.” 

“I’m not your average team owner,” Azzi’s gaze didn’t waver. “And it wasn’t just a bump.” 

Paige’s breath hitched before she could hide it.  

She tried to mask it with sarcasm. “So what now? Are you here to run your own tests? Gonna flash a penlight in my eyes, ask me who the president is?” 

"Would you answer if I did?” 

“Depends,” Paige said, voice lower now. “Are you gonna tell me why you really came?” 

Azzi didn’t look away. “Does it matter?” 

“It does if you want to keep pretending this is just about basketball.” 

“Paige.”    “Azzi.” 

Azzi exhaled, slow and tired. “I was worried.” 

Paige stepped closer, the tension in her shoulders softening as she reached out and cupped Azzi’s face with both hands. 

“I’m fine,” she said gently. “You don’t have to worry.” 

Azzi didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on Paige, and before she realized it, she was leaning into the warmth of that touch, drawn by something quieter than reason. 

Paige moved in without rushing, her hands sliding down until they rested on Azzi’s waist. She pulled her in, carefully, like she didn’t want to spook her. Their bodies met in a slow, steady hold. 

Azzi let herself be held. 

“Didn’t we agree we need to stop this?” Azzi’s voice was soft, but the weight behind it settled between them. 

"I only agreed half-heartedly.” 

Azzi rolled her eyes and gave her a light smack on the arm. Paige caught her wrist before she could pull away, grinning. 

“Let’s just have this night, please.” Paige said, voice lowered to something more honest. “We don’t have to do anything. I miss you.” 

There was a pause, then a quiet mumble from Azzi. “I miss you too.” 

Paige wrapped her in a hug, slow but firm, the kind that said more than words could carry. She held Azzi tightly, grounding herself in the contact, in the relief of having her this close again. 

“How was your flight?” she asked after a moment, still not letting go. 

Azzi answered once they finally pulled back, their fingers laced. “Long. Delayed twice. I hated every second.” 

“Stay the night,” Paige said without thinking. 

Azzi blinked. Her body stilled. “Paige—” 

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Paige added quickly. “We both need rest. That’s all. Just... don’t leave.” 

Azzi hesitated for only a beat, then reached for her phone. She typed out a message to Tony to go home without her. 

Paige disappeared for a moment and came back with a folded UConn sweatshirt and matching joggers. “You’ll look better in these than I ever did.” 

Azzi gave her a look, took the clothes, and changed in the bathroom. When she emerged, the room was dim, Paige already under the covers. 

She climbed in, the air between them thick with hesitation. They left a small space between their bodies, but not for long. 

“Come here, ma,” Paige said, voice almost teasing. 

Azzi didn’t bother pretending. She folded into Paige’s side, resting her head on her shoulder. 

“I’m only doing this because of your concussion protocol,” she murmured. 

Paige laughed, the sound low and grateful. “If it means I get to have you like this, I’ll bang my head every day.” 

Azzi let out a quiet laugh of her own, her breath brushing against Paige’s neck. 

Paige pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for coming. And for checking on me.”    “We’re so bad at stopping this.” 

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari sniffled, looking into her papa's eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as she just sniffled and listened. She looked down for a moment, processing what the hero said and gave a nod while her eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "I... Think I get it." She muttered, voice still slightly trembling as she spoke. She looked back at the projection and sighed. The child slowly backed away from Hawks and went back to look at the journals again, one last time.

There she read a few more journals from her mother. A few from when she was pregnant with her siblings.

"Today is September 29th, I gave birth to my little boy Kitearo a few days ago. It's been exhausting but he's worth it. Lynx has been a huge help in taking care of our son. I looked into Kite's future and I saw he was going to have a lot of siblings. Not my first choice honestly. If you asked me five years ago I would have said two or three kids would be enough, not seven. But it feels right at the same time. While I saw his whole life unravel I couldn't help but feel helpless... But a part of me knows it can't be messed with, even though I want to save my son from an early grave. I'll have to wait until all my kids are born to get the full picture."

Kari frowned, figuring out pretty quick that her mother knew the whole time, or at least had an understanding.

"It's Febuary 23rd. Flo and Fino are a few days old now. I got a bit more of the picture since seeing Kitearo's future. They meet a similar fate. It hurts, but seeing them work hard to protect their youngest sister, a little girl with white hair, something isn't adding up. I know I can't stop it but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a whole lot."

"It's been a rough few weeks, Shade has been a bit of a handful. Always curious but always quiet which is a bit unnerving. Sure she cries and makes noises but she's more quiet than not. The doctor says she has nothing wrong with her but I still worry. I was able to see into her future. Lynx has his work cut out for him that's for sure. So far I know all my kids and my husband die on the same day, doing the same thing. I can't say for sure where I am but I can make a few guesses. Again that little girl with white hair makes a big appearance. I'll name her Kari. Kari Kana Lee Himura, long name but it looks like it suits her. When she's born I'll hopefully get all the answers and try to write them down."

"Another pair of twins. I'm not super surprised, Lynx had twin younger brothers after all so I think that runs in the family. That and I saw them while looking into their siblings' futures. These two look mirrored, it's kinda cute. I've named them Boom and Beats cuz the symbols on their cheeks are cute music notes. They are the loudest that's for sure, it's funny. I've had so many kids and all of them are so different even though they're under the same roof and have me and Lynx as their parents. I know why they look so different and why their quirks are different, it's a side effect of my quirk after all. But their behaviors and personalities aren't tied to it, I don't think. It's so fascinating to watch them grow and develop... I know I probably only have a few more years to live. I've concluded I die in child birth when giving birth to Kari. I know I'll be leaving behind my family and my friends... But I noted that my nephew is the one responsible for the deaths of everyone, under the control of my sister given his pupils... Something isn't adding up but I'm guessing Kari develops my quirk. If that's the case then she needs to exist. It strengthens our quirk and hopefully she'll be able to help others like I did, in someway. Though that's her choice and I don't want to force it onto her. I'm glad dad talked me into writing that one entry about my quirk, I hope she can read it one day so she can meet me... Well, a snap shot of me. It won't be the same I know but it's better than nothing. I just hope she doesn't hate me or get mad. It's kind of a selfish reason but there's so much going on... I just hope she understands."

Kari sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "I... I don't hate you mom." She whispered after a few moments of silence, hugging herself. "I just wish I knew you." The child gulped and moved to look back at the journal about All of the Above and began taking notes. "But yea, I'm glad grampa talked you into writing about your quirk too... It's gonna help me a lot." She muttered then looked at Hawks. "You think we can go somewhere I can train? I... I wanna try doing this thing mom talks about. I'm not sure if I can get back into that weird mind space thing but... But if I can maybe you can meet my siblings, well a snap shot of them... This is kinda confusing." Kari puffed out her cheeks then went back to writing. "But we don't have to do it today if we can't."

Hawks didn’t speak at first. He just let Kari cry. He didn’t try to hush her or pull her away. He dropped down to one knee so she could lean into him easier, wrapping his arms around her small frame like he could shield her from every painful word she had just read. His wings even curled in slightly, a quiet gesture of shelter.

He held her gently as the sobs came out in waves—her pain wasn’t small, and it didn’t deserve to be treated like it was.

After a long moment, his voice finally came—soft, steady, low enough it didn’t try to overpower her crying but just… sat with it.

“I know, kiddo. I know it hurts. It’s not fair. None of this is. You didn’t get a choice in any of it.”

He tightened the hug slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“But I need you to hear me when I say this next part, okay?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own golden ones steady and full of something more than just compassion—it was conviction. “She didn’t die because of you. That’s not how this works. She died for you. And that’s something only someone who loves their kid more than anything in the world would do.”

His thumbs gently wiped her tears.

“Your mom knew the risks. She was a top pro. She wasn’t someone who walked into things blind. She fought to bring you into this world anyway, Kari. That means she wanted you here. She made a choice—and that choice was you.”

[flwrfields]

THE ONLY EXCEPTION — PARAMORE • Y.SE

summary: si-eun never really liked physical touch, not until you came. as your friendship grew, he found you becoming his only exception.

a/n: heh, i'm getting active!!! this idea popped up when i was trying to sleep and i immediately put it in my notes so i wouldn't forget it LMFAO!!! and notice how i put the images in the correct order of si-eun getting run over??? heh.. heh. also, this fic's idea is inspired by paramore's song name "the only exception", so i suggest if you listen to it while reading!!

warnings: clingy reader, softie si-eun, mutual feelings, si-eun is definitely whipped for you, absolute FLUFF, lowercase intended, set in class 2 w/c: 1092

yeon si-eun, this guy never liked it when people touched him or be overly touchy. that was before you appeared into his life. at first, he found you absolutely annoying. he always found himself in situations where you're clinging onto him like your life depends on it. he hated how much you linked arms with him, how much you rested your head on his shoulder like a pillow, how much you held his hand, how much you hugged him... there's a lot of things that irritated him. one time, you ran towards him during lunch, all while yelling his name, "si-eun-ah!" the worst part is, all of his friends are sitting right next to him, probably laughing their asses off because he had to deal with your clinginess. they didn't laugh because they were mocking you, they would never! they laughed because they think it's funny how you're clinging onto si-eun, out of all people. you sat next to him, noticing how everyone is laughing and giggling. you tilt your head, wondering why. "did i miss something?" you ask, curiosity filled your voice. you receive shakes of heads, still hearing laughter. "no, no, we're laughing at si-eun!" baku says, pointing right at the guy, who seems miserable. but, you knew that miserable look of his would fade... you were sure of it. and you were right. as time went on, he warmed up to you. when you cling onto him, he can't bring himself to pull away. he stayed there. he let you be as close as you want. he's allowing you to invade his space, as if you successfully broke down the walls you've been trying to break through. and that's exactly what happened. you made him go soft, and surprisingly, he doesn't mind it. in fact, he moves closer to you when you hold him. he does all of this without any hesitation, no reluctance. he doesn't do it because he's forcing himself to — he's doing it because he wants to. he's letting you into his space. his safe space. he's never let anyone in before, and it's clear. but, hey, at least you're welcomed in.

months go by, you're still your clingy self. si-eun is completely warmed up to your clinginess. though, there's something different. he's being cautious. you're aware that si-eun gives you short responses. but now, his responses feel like there's another hint of emotion that you can't figure out. you never comment on it. to be completely honest, si-eun isn't sure when he exactly started feeling things for you. it was just a random friday — you, jun-tae, baku, gotak, and him. the five of you were out, standing on a basketball court. all you could hear is chattering, yelling, sneakers, the sound of the ball bouncing on the floor... it was a chaotic mess. you were playing basketball with the boys, protesting about how all of your height differences weren't making the game fair. all you got was teasing and laughing, making you roll your eyes without any actual annoyance. si-eun watched you from afar, feeling the corners of his lip twitch. then, you groaned and exclaimed, "i'm taking a break! you guys continue." as you walk towards where si-eun was sitting. you sit down, letting out a breath. "you sure you don't wanna join them?" you ask, your gaze focused on the three playing. si-eun hums in response, shaking his head. "no." you nod, not wanting to force him. suddenly, you lean your head on his shoulder. it's a normal thing for you to do, he should be used to it, right? well, no. si-eun felt his breath hitch. his heart raced, beating faster than usual. he froze, shoulders tense. you were too tired to notice, but he was noticing everything, every detail. he noticed your breathing on his shoulder, strands of your hair brushing against his neck, the way you bumped your knee against his — he isn't taking this very well. eventually, you noticed. you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him, seeing that the tips of his ears were pink, his eyes looking everywhere but you. you giggle, nudging his arm with your shoulder. "you're blushing." you mumble, teasing him. he turns his head away, making you giggle even more. you were about to say something else, but gotak interrupted you. "yah, lovebirds! come over here and play!" gotak yells, grabbing both of your attention. jun-tae smiles, nodding in agreement. you sigh and stand up, grabbing si-eun's hand in the process. "come on, they'll keep bothering us if we don't go." you softly say, tugging him onto his feet. he stands up with your assistance, his flushed face becoming worse after he processes the word "lovebirds". you don't comment on it, knowing that you're fully blushing as well. when you two arrive on the court, you're both a blushing mess.

currently, you're in si-eun's house, sitting on his bed as you eat some food you grabbed from his fridge. he's by his desk, studying per usual. his focus is on his notebooks, but it quickly shifts onto you when you speak up. "hey, si-eun? i gotta ask, do you like me?" he freezes, not expecting the question. "uh, no. why do you ask?" he replies, lying. "i don't know, i just feel like you like someone! you're acting all weird and stuff." "weird, how?" "you've been staring at me a lot. you blush when i do things i've been doing for months. you answer less. and i also heard from jun-tae that you stare at me with some type of way... like you're in love with me or something." si-eun sighs, hearing your explanation. he knows he can't hide anymore, he has to say it, he has to admit it. it's been months, it's now or never. "maybe i do like you." you blink, looking up from your food. your eyes widen, your cheeks flushing. you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. you look down at your lap, smiling to yourself. "well, i'm glad to hear that." you whisper, glancing back to si-eun. he smiles at you, an actual smile. you've never seen si-eun smile like this before, and now that you're finally seeing it... god, he's so pretty. the silence drags longer than expected. it isn't an awkward type of silence — it's a comfortable one. you didn't say it exactly, but si-eun knows that you feel the same way as he does. and he knows that you'll still be his only exception.

© flwrfields

[gf2bellamy]

how do you think dad spencer would deal with all his hygiene phobias with a kid ?? personally picturing him putting on a brave face and telling himself its fine when his daughter pulls on her rain boots and asks him to jump in muddy puddles with her (but internally hes freaking out and planning to spend like 2 hours in the shower afterwards)

this kind of turned into a drabble. i love girldad!spencer too much

spencer definitely puts on a brave face.

that’s his instinct especially around his daughter. and he knows, logically, that dirt isn’t always dangerous. he knows germs are part of life.

but none of that knowledge prepares him for the moment his daughter tugs on his hand and points with excitement at a huge puddle on the sidewalk.

“daddy, let’s jump!”

his brain short-circuits. bacteria. parasites. the idea of her catching a cold. he bites the inside of his cheek, hard and takes a breath. at first, his concern is completely about her. he kneels down, trying to redirect.

“hey, honey, look over there. that’s a robin’s nest, see the bird?”

but she’s not even looking. her eyes are still locked on that brown puddle. he hesitates, then sighs and lets go of her hand.

“okay. just be careful,” he manages.

she squeals in delight and jump into the puddle. spencer flinches when a drop of muddy water lands directly on his pants. he tries not to show it. smiles through clenched teeth.

his stomach is doing somersaults, but her laughter is worth it. she’s happy. she’s safe. that’s what matters.

but then she turns. “daddy, come on! jump with me!”

his heart actually stops. “oh, uh—no, that’s okay, you go ahead, i'm just gonna watch—”

“daddy,” she says again, tugging at his hand, bottom lip poking out in a pout that’s both manipulative and completely innocent. she's stubborn just like him.

he swallows hard. internally he’s screaming. crying. calculating the bacteria count per square inch of street water.

but she’s smiling at him like he hung the moon. so he steps forward.

one boot, then the other, and then he jumps. a weak little hop, barely a splash. but it counts. she laughs so hard she almost falls over.

she grabs his hand and demands they do it again. and again. and again.

and for a while his daughter's giggles drown out the panic. he still hates how wet his socks feel. still cringes every time the cold water soaks up higher on his pants.

but he’s laughing now, too. just a little.

by the time they get home, his daughter is yawning and dragging her boots. as soon as they walk inside and he sees the mud streaked across his legs, that’s when the reality slams back in.

“okay, bath time,” he says quickly, voice pitched high. “for me. i mean.”

before you can even ask him if he had fun, he’s gone, practically sprinting to the bathroom, peeling off clothes on the way. you call after him, but all you get is a shouted, “i’m okay! i’m okay!” followed by the sound of the shower on full blast.

you blink, confused until you look down and see the trail of wet footprints and two soaked, dirty boots. your daughter is grinning up at you, soaked from the knees down, her curls frizzy from the rain.

“what did you do to daddy?” you ask, laughing softly as you kneel to unzip her coat.

“he jumped in the puddles with me,” she says proudly. “he was so good at it!”

you smile, heart warm. “i’m sure he was.”

meanwhile, in the bathroom, spencer is scrubbing like a man possessed. there are three different soaps in rotation. he’s mentally cataloging every spot where water hit him.there’s a little voice in his head whispering that he’ll probably need to disinfect his shoes and maybe even the doorknob.

but underneath all the panic, there’s a flicker of joy.

because despite the dirt and the germs, he made his daughter laugh. and he’ll do it again tomorrow if she asks.

[archangeldyke-all]

Papa me want more movie (paramedic sevika) 😞

okay baby here comes the airplane vrooom

men and minors dni

sevika is very protective of her ambulance.

unless you're her patient and she's in the back to treat you, sevika's usually the one driving the rig to the hospital.

it's her baby. when she's not working, silco's the other paramedic driving it. the two of them are precious about the truck, like it's a living creature. they text each other updates during their shifts; if they filled it with gas, when the last stock up was, if the brakes have been sounding squeaky, stuff like that. like it's their baby they're co-parenting, or something.

before she met you, her phone lock screen was just a picture of the ambulance under a sunset. she's such a dork.

so you know sevika's lost her mind when she shows up to pick you up from work in the ambulance.

"sevika. what the fuck." you laugh as she leads you to the giant red truck. she giggles and shrugs.

"gotta take the old gal in to get her oil changed, figured i'd treat my girl to a spin around the block."

"and i'm i the old gal or the girl, in this situation?" you ask. sevika grins and pops open the passenger's side door for you.

it's surprisingly boring in the front seat. granted you've only ever ridden in the back under the influence of pain and drugs but you expected something a little more high tech than this.

"not even a gps?" you ask as sevika jumps in beside you, starting the rig up with a loud sputter from the engine. she snorts.

"what do i need a gps for? i've got the city streets memorized up here." she taps her forehead. "seatbelt." she demands.

god, she's sexy. that big brain of hers-- memorizing every street. you dart out of the passenger seat, ignoring sevika's squawks of protest to press a kiss to her cheek.

that shuts her up pretty quick. she's smiling all shy when you sit back down in your seat and pull on your seatbelt. you giggle, and she shoots you a glare.

"no funny buisness." she grunts. you giggle.

"then why's there a bed in the back?" you tease. sevika glares at you again.

"it's called a gurney, and silco will kill me if i'm late gettin' the rig to the shop."

"doesn't the department send you a replacement rig while yours is getting fixed?" you ask. she nods.

"yeah, but it's hard to find a truck as driveable and reliable as vivian."

"vivian!?" you cackle. "she's got a name?!"

"it was the sexiest name me and silco could come up with." sevika chuckles. "ran wanted it to be 'ruby' but that was way too obvious."

"you think the truck's sexy!?" you cackle. sevika glares at you again.

"baby. you better watch your tone. this is my rig you're talking about. she's been in my life much longer than you."

"oh my god, i can't believe i'm jealous of a truck right now."

"you don't need to be jealous, i'm not fucking the truck."

"you called it sexy!"

"when a vehicle this big can go from twenty to ninety miles an hour in ten seconds, stop on a dime, and carry as much life saving medicine as vivian does-- that's sexy!"

"you hit ninety?!" you screech. sevika cringes, knowing she's in the dog house now. you absolutely despise hearing about how she drives in this truck.

"no-- just-- hypothetically." she mutters, her eyes suspiciously glued to the road. you chuckle and reach over the center console-- where your favorite iced beverage is waiting for you beside sevika's pina colada slushie-- and grab her hand.

"vivian's... beautiful." you try, not sure what a proper compliment for a truck is. "she's a great ambulance. she drove you into my life. she's given me several rides to the hospital. she's protected you every day you work. i'm glad you have her in your life."

sevika smiles sweetly and drags your knuckles to her lips, kissing your hand sweetly. the action makes you feel all fuzzy and warm.

it's quiet for several moments as sevika eases to a stop at a red light, but when she's still she finally turns to study you. "what're you thinking about?"

"i don't think i've ever gone ninety before." you admit.

something about the lack of judgement in your voice has sevika cocking a curious eyebrow at you.

"do you... wanna feel it?" she asks with a mischevious smile.

you gulp. if there's one person in your life you trust to drive a truck going that fucking fast you suppose it's sevika.

sevika's smile is only growing as she watches your nervous excitement.

"we are running late to the rig shop. had to stop for our drinks before hand... we could flick the sirens on... get there on time?" sevika offers, goading you.

you groan and shake your head in shame. "uuugh. okay, fine, but--"

you're cut off by sevika blaring on the horn and flicking on the loud sirens. in front of you, cars merge to make a path for her, and before you can even find something to hold onto sevika's slamming on the gas and taking off.

you squeal. sevika giggles. she's got a bit of a show off smile, but mostly she's focused. on the dashboard, on the road, on the oncoming traffic-- making sure everyone's stopped for her, swerving around assholes who aren't. you realize that if sevika hadn't become a paramedic she could've found a lucrative career in formula 1 racing.

"this is only fifty, drama queen." sevika laughs. you flip her off from the passenger's seat. she hits a turn and you squeal-- and then she's on the freeway, and the city is speeding past you.

"we're so fast!" you giggle. sevika grins.

"soak it up babe, next exit is ours." she laughs.

for just one moment you let go of your fear and let yourself feel exhilarated. sevika's a loon, and she's the love of your life, and you're giggling like a dizzy kid as she speeds down the exit ramp.

"oh, shit!" you gasp as sevika comes to a hard, fast stop at the bottom of the hill, the tires squealing as you somehow manage to stop for the red light.

sevika flicks the sirens off, turns on her turn signal, then turns to grin at you. you cackle.

"you're insane. you do that all the fucking time, don't you?" you ask. she giggles and shrugs.

"i get paid like shit to get shat on all day, i gotta find my perks somewhere. vivian's pretty fuckin' cool, huh?"

you cackle and nod. "she's fucking awesome." you say, admiring sevika's proud little smile. but you're not talking about the truck at all.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

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taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @runawaybaby3 @vikasfemme @lesbones

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[thepostofficesketch]

The biggest nerd who also appreciates and supports small businesses because I know in my heart that there is one (1) camera store still going in town run by an older person who, much like Dipper, knows that sometimes things that are old are better especially when it comes to trying to explain all the Goings On and they form a nice relationship where the store owner keeps his stock of film dusted off because it's Thursday and Dipper is going to come in and want more.

And he's 12 so it's easier to spend his allowance cash rather than try to get something ordered even if he does just call his parents and have it mailed. He's on a schedule! Weirdness does not wait for USPS!

Also, if I remember correctly he was trying to submit the photos to some magazine? Which would be "faster" to do if he could print them himself instead of wait for the drugstore to print his whole disposable camera. Because you can't waste the roll, Mabel. There's 27 perfectly good frames on one of these bad boys to just take a few and make them print the whole roll would be silly. Much better to rig a complicated contraption and make sure I take as many shots as possible.

Plus would you want the guy at the drugstore photo hut to see your weird supernatural pictures? It's probably one of Robbie's friends and then he'd make fun of me and THEN he'd tell Wendy and then she'd REALLY think I'm weird and - and it's just too risky! Nope. Old timey cameras I develop myself it is. Let me just set up my darkroom in a high traffic area of the shack. Surely nothing will go wrong.

So you know this episode of Gravity Falls?

I am only just now, JUST NOW, realising that taking photos in this was was very silly. Dipper has access to modern cameras but he chose an old timey method that required him to set up a developing room in the shack. He had to buy all the equipment and chemicals and stuff. This must have been so much more expensive. And it's obvious to me NOW that that's the joke, but only just now. This came out YEARS ago and I've just never questioned it. "Oh of course Dipper would now need to develop the photos," my mind said, "that's the next logical step in this plan." I think I might be stupid.

[blondwhxrewrites]

It's a petty argument with words being thrown that have no real heat behind them. Hell, neither you nor Bob even remembered what had caused the argument. But the team sure was loving the free entertainment.

"Fuck you." You hissed, glaring down at Bob, who sat comfortably on the couch. Bob—that bastard—stared up at you with a smug expression. He looked like he was having the time of his life arguing with you.

"Please do." He leaned back into the cushions. "I want nothing more than for your thighs to be wrapped around my face. How did you know that was one of my fantasies?”

You stilled, a shocked expression washing over your features. You opened your mouth, your brain scrambling to come up with a retort, but nothing came out. Your mind had truly gone blank.

Okay, you could take witty retorts, but this was something new.

Seeing how flustered he'd made you, Bob smirked, and you hated just how attractive it was.

“I think you broke her." Ava commented from where she sat next to Yelena, obviously amused and slightly disgusted by Bob's crude statement.

“Yeah,” John stood up, looking at both you and Bob with a disgusted expression. “I'm not putting myself through this torture”

Yelena snorted into her drink, trying hard not to let her amusement show.

You watched as John walked out of the room. You then focused your attention back onto Bob. You glared at him.

It was a glare that held the fury of a thousand suns.

“This isn't over, pretty boy.”

“You think I'm pretty?”

You groaned.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and stared up at the ceiling. For a few fleeting moments you reconsidered your life and the choices you'd made that led up to this moment. Your mom was right; you should've just worked at a bank. Your life would've been so much more peaceful if you had.

Bob couldn't help but chuckle, a sound you usually loved to hear, but right now it did nothing but stroke the flames of your anger.

‘You know what—” you sighed, defeated. “You are clearly in Sentry mode”

It didn't matter what you said to him; he was clearly not going to listen to you. He was egging you on, and you refused to let him win.

You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. You turned to Yelena. “Wake me up when he—” You jabbed your thumb at the menace in question. “eventually crashes and Void decides to show up.”

“Yes ma'am” Yelena offered you a small salute.

With that, you left.

A few seconds later, the sound of your door slamming shut could be heard from down the hallway.

“Oh wow,” Bob whistled lowly. “She really just called me out.”

God, he loved you.

Not edited. This isn't my best work but I tried :p

[everrinsly]

a/n; dedicated to all your favorite boys, thank you for reading! This one is a little long hehe but i hope you like or see the vision at least haha, I'm sorry been slow, busy these days (ಥ﹏ಥ)

strappy heels. fluff. very suggestive. fem!reader. | not proofread.

when he helps you take of your strappy heels after a girls' night out.

♡ For all your ("I will take care of you when you're tipsy") favorites.

more of your favorite boys!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐ᯓ⚽⋆⭒˚.⋆🌌

The door clicks open with a soft creak, and he doesn’t even need to look at the clock to know you’re later than usual. He hears the muffled shuffle of your keys hitting the tray, the distant, light, breathy giggle, and the way you whisper “oops” to no one in particular when your purse slides off your shoulder and hits the floor.

You’re tipsy. Definitely tipsy.

He exhales through his nose, dragging himself up from the couch, where he’s been watching a rerun of your favorite anime—the one he once flatly declared, “I hate that shit,” without even giving it a real shot. 

(And yet… here he is, halfway through the episode because it reminds him of you).

He’s not worried. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re out with your girls, but he does count the minutes until you’re home again—just a little. 

You hum, delighted when you spot him walking toward you, towering and rumpled in a black hoodie and grey sweats. “Hiii! I’m back.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

His tone is dry, but you don’t miss the subtle flicker of relief in his eyes. He looks you over, like he’s making sure all your limbs are intact, checking for twisted ankles and bruised egos.

“How’d it go?” he asks, already reaching to steady you by the waist when you wobble closer to him.

You’re a vision of chaos and glitter, all flushed cheeks and glossy lips, in those ridiculous five-inch strappy heels. The ribbons are starting to slip loose from one ankle, and your steps are full of drunk determination—unsteady but prideful, like you’ve conquered something just by making it to him.

Your arms reach out blindly because you knew he’d catch you before you ever had to think about falling.

(And he does. Of course he does).

You grin up at him, doe-eyes wide and shiny, hands gripping his forearms. “Baby! Baby! You won’t believe what I did!”

That gets a slight raise of his brow. He’s not quite alarmed—more so curious in that lazy, slow-blinking way of his.

“I danced!”

His mouth twitches. “You always dance when you’re drunk.”

“No no no! I danced danced!” you emphasize, grabbing onto his hoodie strings, like they're your anchors. “Like—slutty.”

He pauses. “Slutty,” he echoes flatly.

You nod, so proud. “I was in the center. In a circle. Lights flashing. It was very dramatic. I did this thing—” 

You break off to demonstrate some vaguely suggestive body roll that almost knocks you off balance. His hands immediately catch your hips, grip tightening instinctively.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, holding you still. “You’re banned from moving.”

“No, wait—this one girl screamed, ‘Go off, queen!’” you say with a giggle. “I think I was possessed. My hands were, like, on my knees. I was dropping low, like, so low. I don’t even do squats. And, like, I could feel God watching.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he exhales, long and slow, as if trying very hard not to react.

“Baby… you’re so fucking weird,” he says finally.

You beam. “But hot-weird, right?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at you, then moves his hand from your hip to your jaw, tipping your face up just slightly.

“You’re always hot,” he says simply.

It’s so straightforward that it short-circuits your brain. Your mouth opens, some kind of automatic protest on the tip of your tongue, but nothing comes out because he means it, because he’s looking at you like that again, taking his time, like he enjoys how flustered you get under his gaze.

Then, finally, he lets his hand fall from your face, dragging it down your arm in a grounding stroke.

“Aight, pretty girl,” he mutters, eyes flicking down to your feet. “That’s enough for one night. Get out of those heels before you sprain something.”

You blink at him, lips tugging into a playful pout. “They’re cute, though.”

He crouches slightly to eye them again, hands sliding to your waist. “Yeah. They are.”

Your brows lift. “Then why do I have to take them off?”

His eyes flick back up to yours, a hint of smugness creeping into his expression.

“‘Cause if you do,” he says, voice dipping lower, “I’ll give you something cuter in return.”

You squint, suspicious but intrigued. “What kind of something?”

He shrugs, like he didn’t just offer that in a voice that made your knees feel like warm jelly. “Guess you’ll find out.”

“You’re bribing me now?”

“I’m motivating you,” he corrects, already nudging you gently backward until your knees hit the couch, and you drop down with a soft thump.

He kneels in front of you, hoodie sleeves bunched up at his elbows, fingers already brushing against the intricate straps that crisscross up your shin. 

The moment feels thick, suspended—quiet and slow, like the night’s paused just to make room for this.

He doesn’t rush.

His touch is gentle, purposeful, as he slips a finger beneath the nearest loop of ribbon, grazing the warm skin underneath. The delicate strings wind high on your legs, wrapped just tight enough to indent slightly into your skin, and he follows the pattern with his eyes like he’s memorizing it.

(He kind of already has).

He could do this without thinking. He’s seen you wear these before, tie them with a bow behind your calves, legs bent, brows scrunched in concentration while sitting on the edge of the bed. He knows how they work, knows exactly how to undo them.

But tonight, he doesn’t.

Not right away.

His fingers skate deliberately over your shin, dragging along each knot with a kind of reverence, letting the loose ends of the ties slip through his hands. He could’ve unraveled them in seconds, but instead, he watches the way they unravel over your skin, like he’s unwrapping something he’s waited all night to touch.

Your legs look so fucking good.

Too good.

The lighting’s soft and golden, catching the sheen on your skin, the subtle dip of muscle beneath softness, the way your thighs shift slightly as you settle. He’s still kneeling, still eye-level with all that bare skin, and for a moment—just a moment—his thoughts tip filthy.

He imagines you in the club with your girls, hips moving to the bass, doing that stupid slutty dance you mentioned, legs flashing with every twist and turn. These legs. Your laugh echoing, hands in your hair, eyes bright. He pictures them wrapped around him instead, loose and trembling. He can practically feel it.

He blinks, jaw tight, breath caught somewhere deep in his chest.

Focus.

He tugs gently on the first ribbon, unwinding it with care, his knuckles brushing up and down your calf as he follows the path up your leg. One loop. Then the next. He’s quiet as he works, but his hands keep brushing higher, sliding over the smooth skin of your shin, your knee, the edge of your thigh.

“You’re stalling” you murmur, breath catching.

(He is).

“Mm,” he hums, barely glancing up. 

He keeps going, unwrapping you—one slow tie at a time.

When the last ribbon slips loose and the heel finally drops from your foot, he doesn’t move right away, doesn’t even pretend to. He just lets his palm rest over your ankle, thumb drawing soothing little circles over the bone.

And then, he reaches for the other foot.

This one takes longer. This one’s worse.

You shift a little under his touch, and his eyes flick up for just a second—just long enough to catch the way your lips part, the way your breath shallows, the way you're watching him watch you.

He lets out a low breath, something that's barely restrained.

The second heel comes off in the same slow ritual, the straps dragging over your skin, like whispers. And when it’s done, he smooths his hands up the length of your calves again, until they settle on your thighs—fingers spread, thumbs brushing little arcs into the skin there, grounding himself more than you.

He looks up.

His eyes are dark but burning, like his restraint is made of thread; it’s starting to fray.

You swallow, pulse fluttering where his thumbs press into your thighs.

Then, softly, breathlessly, and a little shy despite the heat curling in your stomach, you murmur, “You said you’d give me something cuter once the heels are off.”

He tilts his head, eyes flicking up with amusement. “Right. I did, pretty.”

His gaze doesn’t waver; it dips back down your legs. And his hands slide lower.

“You want it now?” he teases. 

Your breath stutters. “Y-Yeah.”

That smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth—lazy, crooked, all trouble.

“‘Kay.”

He leans in, and you feel it before you see it: the press of his mouth against your ankle, warm and soft, lips lingering, like he’s sealing a promise. Then another kiss, just above it. And another, higher still. He trails them up the inside of your calf, slow and steady, like he’s tasting you, mapping every inch.

You inhale shakily as his hands slide up to cradle the backs of your knees, guiding them apart just slightly, just enough to make room for him between.

Your pulse skips, and almost without thinking, your hands reach out, threading through the dark strands of his hair. It’s soft, warm from the room, and a little messy from how he’s been moving—impossibly touchable. Your fingers curl in deeper, tugging gently, not enough to hurt, just enough to make him look up at you through his lashes.

His eyes flash dark, something smug and heavy simmering beneath the surface.

“You trying to distract me?” he murmurs, voice low, but you can feel it in your stomach.

You blink down at him, flushed, lips parted. “Maybe.”

He smirks like you’ve just challenged him to something he knows he’s going to win.

“Try harder.”

“You're mean.”

“Mm. Worth it?” he murmurs into your skin, breath hot where he pauses at your shin.

You giggle, dizzy. “Uh huh.”

“Good. Means I’m doing it right.” 

He takes his time, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin beside your knee, then the other, alternating sides like he's trying to make you squirm. 

(He’s succeeding). 

You feel his fingers splay wider, curling around your thighs again, thumbs pressing in purposefully. He kisses just above your knee, mouth barely brushing the hem of your dress, and your hips twitch before you can stop them.

His smirk returns, heavier this time, eyes flicking up without lifting his head. “You always this squirmy or is it just me?”

You let out a weak laugh, fingers threading nervously through the hem of your dress. “It’s definitely you.”

“So what happens if I keep going?”

You don’t answer right away. You can’t, really. Your brain’s too fuzzy; your skin’s too hot. He watches you for a moment longer and press one last kiss to the inside of your thigh.

Then, he pulls back, towering over you, hoodie sleeves still shoved up, hair slightly tousled from where you tugged on it.

You pout instinctively. “That’s it?”

He tilts his head, eyes lidded. “For now.”

“For now,” you repeat, muttering. “Cruel.”

He leans down again, but this time his hands frame your face, palms warm against your cheeks as he kisses you—full and close. His thumb brushes the curve of your jaw as his tongue coaxes at your lower lip. You sigh into him, mouth parting instinctively, and he takes the invitation without hesitation, slipping his tongue past your lips.

His lips move against yours like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

When he finally pulls away, his voice is lower, gentler.

“You’re home. You’re safe. That’s enough for me.”

And that’s enough for you too.