#almost captioned it ‘just how far would you go for her��� ‘to the end of time. to the end of the earth’

[sponge-goblin-art]

How to get to Hadestown, you’ll have to take the long way down

[domxmarvel]

I’d let you guess 

Masterlist

Pairing: Billie eilish x Female!Reader

'Y/N likes boys but she knows I’d hit it'

Billie had changed the lyrics during one of her shows,you were her friend for years and despite you being straight you were shipped together. The lyric change was all over social media,the clip of her singing it was going viral. The next show she repeated it again,she would do that at every show with a smirk on her face. She never said anything to you about it directly,but it was clear she hoped you’d say something back. And you wouldn't just take it,you joined her as a surprise guest for her next show. Singing with her until that line. At this point everyone was going off, the fans screaming and yelling, her own heart was pounding out of her own chest. She looked right at you,biting her lip.

"Y/N likes boys but she knows I’d hit it" she smirked at you as she sang those words. You lifted your own mic.

"Billie knows I'm straight but she knows I'd let her hit" The crowd gasped and went silent for a second as you said that,but swiftly went crazy while Billie slowly turned to look at you with her mouth open. As the song ended, the two of you walked off of the stage and she quickly pushed you up against a wall out of eye sight from everyone. You froze up,not expecting her to do this. She smirked and put her hand up against the wall next to your head

“What was that back there?” she said in a low voice.

"What? You can't keep saying that about me and not expect me to stay quiet"

“Well I didn’t think you’d be so confident about saying that” she said while keeping a smirk on her face as she looked at you.

"Well you surprised me when you said it first,so I figured now we're even"

“I guess we are,” she said as she moved even closer to you, barely any space apart now. “But I have to admit, I really liked it when you said that” she said as she got closer to your ear, her breath faintly hitting your ear. This was far from over and both of you knew it.

It only took a few hours before the moment had gone viral,with various people talking about it,re-posting it with different captions.

”Billie trying to hint at Y/N. it’s obvious the two have something going on off stage”

”How Billie kept biting her lip throughout the song. She obviously knew what she was doing”

"Y/N coming out as bisexual by saying that is the best thing I’ve ever seen"

"Y/N definitely has to be bisexual after she said that" But people were quick to point out that you never actually came out and maybe to not jump to conclusions. 

“It’s probably all just a publicity stunt”

“Just because they were standing close on stage doesn’t mean that they’re in love”

“I doubt Y/N is bisexual,she’s just Billie’s friend”

“Guys maybe we shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions, they’re just best friends” Shows continued and Billie kept using the line about you,changing it up very slightly. 

"Y/N is straight but everyone knows she’d switch teams for me"

"Y/N likes boys but knows I’m much better"

"Y/N is straight but I know she secretly wants me"

"Y/N likes boys but I think I could change that" The changes only drove the ship further,it was all everyone was talking about, some comments saying you were 100% dating and that you were in fact gay, some saying that it’s all for attention, and some just saying that they ship it. You decided to join her for the last four shows. She changed the line ever so slightly every time,tonight it was.

"Y/N is straight but everyone knows it won't last" she sang with a smirk on her face, her hand gripping the microphone tightly.

"Billie knows I like boys,but she does it better" The whole crowd erupted in yelling and screaming after you said that, the look on Billie’s face was almost unreadable but she seemed impressed at that line. The next night it was another line.

"Y/N likes men, but she knows I do it best” she said with a smirk on her face

"Billie thinks I'm straight but I'd sit on that face" You knew this one was a bit further that the rest but you were getting close to the end of the tour so you amped it up. The crowd went absolutely insane when you said that and the look on Billie’s face showed that she was shocked and amazed, her cheeks were also a bit redder than usual. And that line caused quite a stir all over the internet. 

"Y/N IS 100% BI, NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE"

"I CAN'T EVEN TELL IF THEY'RE DATING OR NOT AT THIS POINT, THAT LINE WAS SO DIRTY"

"THAT LINE REALLY JUST CHANGED EVERYTHING"

"I have no idea if Y/N is straight anymore, that line changed everything"

"Oh my god that line literally almost killed me"

"SHE REALLY SAID THAT IN FRONT OF MILLIONS OF PEOPLE-"

"Guys she literally said she'd sit on Billie's face!!"

"SHE LEGITIMATELY SAID THAT ON STAGE IN FRONT OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE AND BILLIE'S FACE WAS RED"

Even Billie had to say something about that line,after the show she found you backstage and said to you.

"I really liked that line from you" she said as she smirked at you

"Figured you would,amping it up for the last three shows" There were two more shows.

"Well it definitely worked" she said while smirking, her cheeks still a bit pink from the line. "I’ll probably have to top that for the next show" And the next show her line was.

"Y/N likes boys but wants me more" she sang out, her eyes looking right at you.

"Billie thinks I like boys but knows I'd let her hit til the sunrise" Billie’s face went bright red and her hand gripping the microphone was white as a ghost,her knuckles gripping it tight. You put your arm on her side,pulling her in to whisper. "How about one more?"

"Y-yeah" she whispers back, her cheeks going darker if that was even possible. "Y/N likes men but wants me more" she sang, her confidence showing.

"Billie knows I'm straight but I'd let her hit,front and back" The crowd absolutely lost it after that line, she could barely hear herself from all the yelling and screaming, her gaze not leaving yours as you smirked at her. She surprisingly went again.

"Y/N likes boys but she wants me more" she sang more confidently, not daring to look away from you.

"Billie thinks I like boys,but I prefer her hands around my throat" you smirked,knowing it would rile up the crowd which it did. The crowd absolutely went insane, screaming, squealing, yelling your names, and the look on her face was an obvious mix of shock and admiration. "Billie thinks I'm straight,but I'd let her pick my underwear" you referenced it back to the actual song. The crowd was literally losing it as you said that, the look on her face was a mix of shock and almost disbelief, but there was something else in her eyes and you could tell that she was enjoying this just as much as you were.

"Y/n like men but she'd be all mine" she sang, her gaze not leaving yours as she smirked at you.

"Billie thinks I like men but I'd let her take me any time" 

As usual the lines were quickly going viral,the comments flooding in. People commented,mostly about the back and forth between you. The lines you had said driving them crazy.

"The 'Billie thinks I'm straight,but I'd let her pick my underwear' is absolutely crazy"

"Guys 'front and back' front and back???"

"She said she'd let Billie 'hit till the sunrise' she's definitely not straight"

"Y/N's lines😭😭"

"They said it so many times."

"They added multiple lines,I'm so jealous of everyone at that show" 

Everyone was also wondering what the last one would be,what could possibly top this. The last show arrived and every second was spent waiting for that critical moment. The crowd was filled with excitement and anticipation, waiting for the two of you to take the stage, eager to see what would happen during the last show. Billie smirked,confident that she had something good.

"Y/N likes boys but she'd rather have me" she said while winking at you.

"Billie thinks I'm straight,no I'm not" you said louder,it wasn't the dirty line she was used to but you had just come out on stage. "Billie knows I'm not straight but I'm all hers" You looked at Billie,seeing if she wanted to do a back and forth like the previous show. She looked right back at you, the smirk on her face growing as she nodded, signaling that she wanted to do a back and forth once again

"Y/N likes men, but she's mine tonight" she sang, the line making many in the crowed start to freak out, the back and forth between the two of you becoming a huge hit with the fans

"Billie knows I like women,but I'm her girl"

"Y/N knows I'm better, but she loves the chase" She sang, her confidence only increasing with each word, her cheeks still slightly red as she looked at you

"Billie knows I want it,want it all day all night" Billie's cheeks had gone deeper red and she looked at you, she knew she had to think of something even more insane to top that. 

"Y/N wants me, but I want her even more" She sang out, biting her lip as she finished the line, knowing many fans would lose it, and they did. You knew your last line would be a bigger reveal than when you came out a few minutes ago,it would change things. Reveal things you kept hidden,things you were ready to finally tell. 

"Billie knows I like women,but I love her" Billie simply stood there in shock, frozen in place as she stared at you, her cheeks now completely red. The whole crowd went dead silent after you sang that, you could hear a pin drop for a few seconds before the crowd erupted in cheers. She stood there in shock, her brain completely unable to process what you had just said. She knew it would change everything, her feelings and yours, but that's what she wanted, and she had a feeling that you wanted it too. You moved closer to her,leaning to whisper. "I love you" She looked up at you,wide eyes until she finally spoke.

"I love you too,but I’m so making you pay for those lines”

“Looking forward to it” 

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Her Ex Got Engaged

↳ Masterlist

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x GF! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: None✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Almost two years had passed since the end of the longest relationship she had ever had. Six years that had introduced her to romantic love—and to romantic deception. She could still picture the subtle yet undeniable shift in his expression as she spoke animatedly about the future she envisioned for them. It wasn’t until much later that she realized that moment had been a warning, a quiet revelation that he did not see her in his.

She soon learned what a breakup truly felt like—the endless crying, the ache in her chest, the unbearable helplessness. Absolute hell.

Looking back, though, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the conversation that ended it all. Painful as it had been, it had given her the clarity she needed. It had hurt—stung far too much—to realize he had known for some time that she was not the one but hadn’t ended things sooner. She had spent too long wondering why. But perhaps, if he had, she wouldn’t be where she was now—with someone who loved her the way she deserved. And for that, she was grateful.

It was late morning, and as Max played with the cats beside her, she scrolled through Instagram stories to see what her friends and other people were up to. Clubbing, dinners, traveling, running—the usual things people posted. She would glance at each for just a second before swiping to the next. But then she stopped, her finger frozen on the screen as she stared, at one point almost vacantly, before tapping on the shared post.

Engaged. She stared blankly at the caption, the single word mocking her. After what—a year? He was already engaged to someone else? How? Max barely glanced at her phone at first, still focused on scratching behind the cat’s ears. But when he noticed the way she had suddenly stilled, eyes fixed on the screen, he leaned in slightly.

“Who’s that?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “One of your friends?”

She blinked, hesitating a second too long. “Uh—”

Max smirked, nudging her playfully. “Tell me it’s not another wedding. I’m running out of excuses not to go.”

That earned a small, breathy laugh from her, but it wasn’t quite right—too forced. She locked her phone and placed it face-down beside her. “No wedding,” she said lightly. “Don’t worry.”

Max tilted his head. “Then why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing.”

His smirk faded slightly as he studied her face. “It’s someone, though.”

She sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “My ex,” she admitted. “He got engaged.”

Max’s expression didn’t change immediately. He just stared at her, then let out a quiet huh.

For a second, she thought maybe he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. But then, with that signature bluntness of his, he asked,

“So why do you care?”

She turned her head sharply. “I don’t.”

Max gave her a look, eyes flicking to her phone. “You do.”

His eyes met hers again, piercing through her, almost imploring an answer. Why did she care? It had been two years. She was happy—with herself, with him, with her life in general. And yet, it felt like a hard punch to the stomach.

“I don’t know,” she sighed.

Max’s jaw tensed slightly, his fingers drumming against his knee as he studied her. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but something about this—about her reaction—itched at him in a way he didn’t like.

“You don’t know?” he echoed, his voice quieter now, but there was an edge to it.

She ran a hand through her hair. “I mean, it’s offensive,” she said, trying to explain. “That he just—engaged so fast.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “And that bothers you because…?”

She sighed. “Because it makes me wonder how long he knew I wasn’t the one.”

Max was quiet for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, in a tone sharper than before, he asked,

“And do you still care?”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“About him,” Max clarified, his expression unreadable. “Because you look like someone just punched you, and I don’t know why else you’d be this upset if you were actually over it.”

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Max, no—”

“Because if you’re not happy with me, you should tell me,” he continued, his voice still controlled. “If you still want him—”

“I don’t,” she cut him off, shaking her head firmly. “I swear, I don’t.”

He exhaled, looking away for a second, his fingers tightening into a fist before relaxing. “Then why?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “Why does it feel like you’re still stuck in it?”

She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. It wasn’t about her ex, not really. It was about time, about the fact that she had spent years loving someone who hadn’t loved her back the same way. It was about realizing that she had been so blind to it.

But looking at Max now—his guarded expression, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for her or pull away—she realized that he didn’t see it that way.

Her chest tightened.

She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his. “Max, I’m happy, the happiest I’ve ever been,” she said, her voice softer now. “With you. I swear, I don’t want him back. I just—it caught me off guard. That’s all.”

His shoulders didn’t relax immediately, his thumb ghosting over her knuckles as he studied her face, searching for something.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and for all his bluntness, there was something vulnerable about the way he said it.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure.”

Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly like he was mad at himself for even thinking otherwise. Then, finally, he tugged her closer, his hand slipping to the nape of her neck as he rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t like seeing you like that,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I really don’t like the thought of you still caring about him.”

She smiled, brushing her nose against his. “I don’t.”

His lips barely curved, but the tension in his body faded just slightly.

“Good,” he murmured before kissing her, slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself in her. Like he was making sure she was here. With him.

Max pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand still cradling the nape of her neck. His expression had softened—still serious, but there was a hint of something else now. Something almost teasing.

“So,” he murmured, thumb brushing absently over her skin. “If you’re so bothered by him getting engaged, you wanna just… get engaged too?”

She blinked. “What?”

Max shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, why not? Even the score.”

She scoffed, shoving his shoulder. “Oh, now you want to propose, just to be petty?”

He chuckled, but there was a glint in his eyes, something more thoughtful than his usual teasing. “Maybe. I think we’d look better in engagement photos, anyway.”

She rolled her eyes while smiling. 

Max smirked and leaned in again, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before murmuring against her skin, “One day, though.”

Her breath hitched slightly.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something undeniably genuine. “Not just to ‘even the score’ or whatever,” he added, his voice quieter now. “But because I want to.”

She swallowed, her heart skipping a beat at the certainty in his tone.

“One day,” she echoed, her lips curving slightly.

Max’s grin widened. “Good, and it will be a much fancier ring than that, okay?.”

She laughed, shaking her head as he pulled her into him again. “Okay.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Two weeks since the night at the party, you find yourself at Natalie's side, again. Nothing ever seems to go wrong when you're together.

wc: 5970

warnings: mentions of drug usage, threatening behaviour, mentions of violence (nothing actually depicted), lowkey some spiraling thoughts towards the end

a/n: i have angst in my pants! sorry this took so long lmao I'm a chronic procrastinator

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: RIBS

NEXT - ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

"We're gonna get stabbed." Are the first words out of your mouth when you turn down a very… unbecoming street.

"We are not gonna get stabbed." Nat snorts, flicking out her switchblade, "If anyone is doing the stabbing, it'll be me." She makes some stabbing motions for effect, her grin wide and goofy at the sound of your laughter.

You two have been hanging out more frequently since that night at the party, and it's been easier than expected. You aren't sure if she feels bad for flirting so aggressively, feels bad for ignoring you the entire party, or something else entirely, but it's been nice getting to know Nat.

"You know, that is not as comforting as you think it would be." You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth tug upward in a small smile. "Because nothing says 'safe' like my friend waving a knife around while we walk down a sketchy street."

"Friend?" She echoes, raising an eyebrow and twirling the blade once before closing it with a satisfying click. "That what we're calling this now?"

A scoff leaves your mouth in an attempt to hide the blush that's appeared on your cheeks, "Well, I don't know. What else would I call it?"

She shrugs, shoving the knife back into her pocket. "I dunno. Just feels weird to hear someone like you call me a friend."

"Someone like me?"

Nat shoots you a look, "See, I know you're smart. So why you're playing dumb…" She trails off, and you roll your eyes. "Whatever. Here we are, anyways." 

A beat passes before curiosity gets the best of you as you walk past the third building with boards in the windows, "Speaking of… where is here?"

She nods towards a gap in the chainlink fence that looks like it's been cut open with bolt cutters, "Just trust me, Princess."

You aren't sure when you started trusting her. Maybe it was that night she walked you home, and you had an epiphany. Maybe it was the Monday after the party when she showed up at your locker with a cup of hot coffee and acted like it was no big deal. Maybe it was when she started texting you memes at ungodly hours of the night with dumb captions. Or, maybe… it's simply been building over the course of the two weeks since that party.

Whenever it started, you're grateful that it did. Your friends have started telling you that you've been more confident recently, and your parents have noticed that you've been coming home later after school than usual and on days that you'd usually come straight home. They haven't asked why, but even if they did, you'd probably just tell them you've been spending it in the library. 

Well… you're pretty far from the library right now, aren't you?

"Hey," Nat cuts off your train of thought, "You're being quiet. Thinking about me?" She teases, bumping your shoulder before moving the chainlink to the side.

"Thinking about how you still haven't told me where we're going," you shoot back, hoping it's enough to convince her that you were not, in fact, thinking about her.

"Why would I tell you when you can just see?" She shoots you a wide grin, "We're almost there. C'mon."

You make a noise of disagreement as you move through the hole, Nat following close behind you. 

"I'm really hoping this isn't all part of a long scheme to murder me." 

"Oh, trust me." The blonde chuckles as she starts walking down the makeshift path that's begun to form in the ground, "If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it that night we went to the skatepark. Or the night I walked you home. Or any of the occasions I've had you alone. Spending more time with you is a terrible way to draw attention to myself, Princess." She turns her head to look at you, "You've been around me often enough—have you not learned anything?" Nat clicks her tongue and turns her head back.

"No. I don't pay attention to your delinquent activities, Natalie." You grin, taking a few quick strides to catch up with her.

"Oh, yeah?" She shoots a smirk at you that has you almost tripping over a rock, "Well. We're just gonna have to start spending more time together then, Princess."

Natalie doesn’t wait for you to respond. She strides ahead, her boots crunching against the gravel path as if she knows you’ll follow. And you do—because, of course, you do.

You sigh (although it's more of a huff, really) at her comment and continue to trail slightly behind her. "We already spend far too much time together." A beat of silence and a low laugh from Nat prompts you to keep talking, “Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going, or is this another one of those ‘just trust me’ things?”

The blonde shoots you an infuriating grin over her shoulder, continuing those long strides. “It’s always ‘just trust me,’ Princess. Keeps you on your toes.” She turns around to face you, walking backwards. "Plus, surprises are fun, yeah?"

A huff escapes your lips at that comment, "First of all, you're gonna walk backwards into a tree. Second off, I hate surprises." You cross your arms defiantly, "I thought you knew this by now."

"If you hate surprises, you sure keep picking the wrong person to hang out with." She sidesteps a tree behind her without even thinking about it—like she's taken this path enough to know it like the back of her hand, and she probably has. "Because I am just full of surprises. Shit, you still got a bunch more just… waiting to be uncovered. Like Pandora's Box!"

"...isn't Pandora's Box mostly bad things?"

Nat nods in agreement to your statement, that dumb grin reappearing on her face. "Yep. Released evil into the world, or something." A dismissive wave of her hand, "But it's the curiosity that kills. And we both know you are very curious, Princess." 

You huff, glancing away briefly in an attempt to hide the blush that burns up your neck at the tone she uses, "I don't—" Another huff, "Whatever. What's your point, Natalie?"

She shrugs, spinning back around to keep walking, "Nothin', nothin'. Just wondering how bad it's killing you right now to not know where we're going."

The scoff that leaves your lips is far too forced to escape the notice of the girl walking in front of you, and you can almost imagine the grin on her face as you reply, "Not that much." 

Nice. You sound like a whiny child. Good on you, really showing her.

"Sure, sure," Nat says, pushing some overgrown bush out of her path. "C'mon. Almost there. Promise."

You follow her through the bush, almost getting smacked in the face with a branch when you lose your attention for half a second, but successfully make it out unscathed, and you find yourself standing in front of what looks like an abandoned house. The white paint has long since peeled away, revealing weathered and rotted wood underneath. With the way the windows are bordered up, door hangs half-open in the wind, and roof looks half-caved in, you're starting to wonder if you were right about the whole 'her murdering you' thing.

"I can't remember if my tetanus shot is up to date…" You murmur as you carefully step over a broken bottle, a far contrast to how Nat is walking right now, all confidence and swagger. You'd be lying if you said you didn't envy the air of it that she seems to carry with her at all times.

Nat laughs lowly at the comment, shaking her head as she approaches the front steps to the house, "Never gotten one, and I've been fine so far." She briefly glances at you and gestures to the steps, "Watch your footing. It's rotting. Step on the spots that look dry."

You cringe at the comment about the steps rotting and watch carefully which parts she presses on. "I'm starting to think you have a thing for sketchy places." 

"Yeah, well." She shrugs and stops the front door from clattering against the frame, "They’re quieter than most places, y’know? No one bothers you out here.”

"That's because no one wants to come out here."

"Exactly." As you carefully walk up the stairs, she grins at you, "You're getting it, Princess. Pick the places people don't want to come, and you won't be bothered." 

Despite the steps protesting with every step you take, you make it to the top without falling through a rotten wooden plank. Nat gestures for you to enter first, which makes you hesitate for a few seconds, but you ultimately enter before she does.

The interior is… not terrible, surprisingly. Sure, it's abandoned and worn down, but it doesn't smell like death, and the grattifi on the walls gives the place some weird charm.

Nat drops her bag on the ground and stretches, cracking her neck. "Welcome to the 'Not-A-Crack-Den' Crack Den."

You stare blankly at her, blinking a few times. "The… 'Not-A-Crack-Den' Crack Den." You parrot, nodding slightly. "Right. That is… very reassuring, Nat. Thanks so much."

She grins at you as a particularly satisfying crack from her lower back sounds, "What can I say? I pick good names for things." A beat passes before she glances around, gesturing toward a few crates pushed up against a wall with peeling paint, "C'mon, sit. Promise you won't get stabbed by a shard of broken glass or whatever." With a grunt, she hoists herself onto one of the crates, nodding towards one pushed against an adjacent wall.

With great trepidation, you drop your backpack onto the crate before moving to sit on it, glancing down at the dirty floor before meeting her gaze again. "So…" You trail off, waiting for her to tell you why she brought you here.

"So…?" Nat repeats back, glancing at you with a curious expression as she pulls out her pack of smokes, tapping it on her wrist a few times before opening it up. "You gonna finish that thought, or just waiting for me to speak?"

A huff leaves your lips as you cross your arms, "No, well, yes, but—" You groan and rest your head against the wall behind you, "I just… why show me this place?"

Nat scowls to herself at your comment, clearly taking some form of offense to it. "What? Don't want me showing you my hangout spots anymore? Because I don't have to. We can go back to sitting around the school or the skatepark."

"No, no, wait, that wasn't what I meant. I just meant that—" You cut yourself off with a sigh, clearly just as terrible with words as she is. "Like… why this spot in particular? Just… uh… curious. Is all. Sorry. I didn't mean to…" You let yourself trail off again and rub a hand over the back of your neck in frustration at yourself and lack of proper communication skills. 

Cigarette smoke fills the room around you as Nat puffs on the end of a Marlboro Red, a sigh leaving her lips at your words. "No, I…" She scowls again, but this time more to herself than you. "I just wanted to bring you to another one of my spots, is all." She feigns nonchalance, but you can almost physically see the underlying sincerity behind her words.

"Oh." You say quietly, not quite sure how to respond to that.

The silence blooms between the two of you for a moment as Nat pulls drag after drag from her smoke, clearly also unsure where to go from here. 

Eventually, it's clear Nat can't take the silence anymore, and she speaks again with a low grumble, "Don't you have… like… your sketchbook or whatever?" She grunts and stubs the smoke out on the crate before flicking the butt to the ground. "You can, like, draw some inspiration from this place or whatever."

That, surprisingly… isn't the worst idea.

So, you unzip your backpack, pull out a pencil alongside your sketchbook and flip open to a fresh page. An unsure sigh leaves your lips as you glance around the decrepit house, a slight frown tugging at the corner of your lips. "I mean… it's definitely… atmospheric? I guess?"

A scoff parts from Nat's lips as she crosses her arms and leans back against the wall, "Atmospheric?" She chews on the word for a moment, "So… fancy art school talk for 'kinda shitty,' yeah?"

Your frown deepens for a moment before you realise she's just fucking with you, and you roll your eyes as a smile finds its way onto your lips. "No, I mean it. It's… abandoned, but not… forgotten?" You muse, tapping your pencil on the page, "Like there's still some life left in it."

"Shit, Princess." She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest, "Didn't take you for a poet, too."

"Shut up." You mumble, glancing down to the page as you start sketching the first thing that comes to mind: Nat.

By now, she's pulled out another cigarette (because, of course, she has). She's idly smoking it as her attention shifts between her phone and you, seemingly just enjoying being in your presence without worrying about ulterior motives.

The first thing you sketch is how she holds it between her fingers, loosely but firmly enough that it won't slip from her them—an interesting juxtaposition, you think. Something about it feels similar to her character, in a way. Regardless, you choose not to linger too long on the thought. 

With the general shape of her hand done—slightly soft but still with visible definition—you start focusing on the finer details. The way her nails are cut so short you can't see the white tips on the ends of them. The slight boniness she has on the knuckles of her fingers. The rings she wears—mismatched with different shapes and colours. The prominent bones of her ring and middle fingers that appear when her hand flexes as she returns the butt of the cigarette between her parted lips. 

This brings you to the next thing you draw—how her lips wrap around the end. Soft and full but chapped. You imagine she's the type to lose every chapstick she's ever had.

You get so lost in this daze of sketching her features, the features that a part of you wishes you could learn more intimately, that you barely even notice Nat hopping off of her crate and walking up towards you, leaning forward to look at your page.

"Whatcha drawing?" She asks, peering over your shoulder to get a better look.

Her sudden appearance shocks you slightly, and you can't help it when you jump and almost send your pencil flying across the room. "Oh, uh!" shit. "I was just, uh, drawing, uh, the—"

"Ho-ly shit. This is wicked." She grins toothily, taking a long glance at the page that you fail to hide from her gaze, "I think you were drawing me, Princess." She points to the small sketch of the cigarette between her lips, "You even got the teeth right. Nice to see you aren't just turning me into a Barbie." Nat slaps your shoulder with her hand as she properly looks at your work once you stop attempting to hide it. "It's good. Real good." Her voice lowers to something more genuine and soft, mirroring the way her expression shifts. "It's, uh, nice. Seriously."

Your face heats up at the compliments, quickly turning your attention away from her. "You're only saying that because you don't know anything about art."

Nat hums, considering that. "Maybe. But I know what I like." She taps the page with her index finger, "And I like this."

A mumble leaves your lips, something that sounds like a meek 'thanks,' but it's quickly becoming clear that the smoker isn't done yet. "I don't show people my spots, you know? Most of the time, they either ruin it or just… don't get it."

A beat passes before you glance back up at her, "I… you think I get it, then?"

She meets your gaze, her expression shifting into something you can't quite place, and leans in slightly. "I think you get a lot of things about me that other people don't."

You swear time pauses, but that could very well just be your heart ceasing its beating, but the moment is gone all too quickly when you hear the creaking of wood and hushed chatters of… what sounds like a group of men.

"Fuck." Nat hisses, immediately pulling back and darting her eyes towards the door, "I didn't fucking think we'd have company right now. Shit."

You shake your head in confusion, "Wait, wait, company? Other people come here, then? Should I be—" Your words are cut off abruptly when a trio of men step into the house one by one. 

The first one, evidently the leader, sports a battered leather jacket and stone-washed jeans. His dark unkempt hair frames a crooked scar that stretches from the corner of his left eye to the bridge of his nose.

A low laugh spills from his lips when his steely eyes land on Nat, and the grin that splits his features is nothing short of feral. "Oh, shit! Scatorccio! Was wondering when we'd see you again."

Nat scowls at him, one of her hands reaching to rest on the handle of her pocket knife by habit. "Denny." She spits, "I was wondering when you'd end up dead. Shame it hasn't happened yet." The venom that drips from her words makes you shrink into yourself, genuinely surprised to hear her speaking with such a tone when she's been mostly calm with you.

The man, Denny, laughs again and scratches his chin as he speaks, "Yeah, bet you'd like that. Would be real convenient for you." 

He's about to keep speaking when one of his goons—a shorter man who honestly looks twelve—nudges him and points to you, sitting idly on your crate, sketchbook clenched tightly in fear.

"Oh, shit." Denny takes a step in your direction, and Nat's hand tightens around the handle of her blade, but she makes no effort to step in his way. "When did you start hanging around the…" He gestures vaguely to you and your form, "Loser type?"

A laugh spills from his lips, immediately echoed by the two men standing in his shadow, and this time, Nat does step forward. "Who the fuck I hang out with is none of your business, Denny." Her eyes flash to the man who nudged him, "At least I pick the ones that don't act like they need to fucking live in my shadow, Jackson."

Jackson, you assume, scowls at Nat but doesn't bite back with a comment of his own. 

Denny’s grin falters ever so slightly, a shadow passing over his features as his eyes dart toward Nat. "Careful, Scatorccio. Wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable running your mouth, yeah? Might get you into trouble."

Nat scowls at him again, "I don't give a shit where my mouth gets me, Dennis. I've spent more than a few nights behind bars. I'll do it again."

The man chuckles, but it’s colder now, devoid of humour. "Right, right. That's real cute, Scatorccio. But we both know I'm not talking about being in a prison cell. What's it been now, huh? A month? Two?" He tsks and shakes his head, "I'm keeping track. Are you?"

You see the way Nat tightens her jaw at the comment, "I don't owe you shit." 

Denny—Dennis?—lets out another cruel laugh, "See, that's the funny thing about debts, yeah?" He takes a step towards her and, by extension, you. "They don't just… handle themselves. And your old man… well, I don't see him handling them anymore. Not that he ever really did, anyway." He spits on the ground as he looks towards you, nodding his head in your direction. "Say, your little friend here know about daddy's little tab? Or you keepin' that piece of information to yourself?"

"This isn't about her." She says immediately, "Leave her out of it. This is about us."

"Mm, no." He shakes his head, "I think you got things mixed up here. You brought her here, so now she's involved. You know we like to come 'round here. You seriously telling me it's such a shock we did?" He scoffs and crosses his arms, "But hey, I’m a reasonable guy. You hand over what you owe—or come up with a reason for me to walk out of here without making a mess—and maybe we won’t have to get anyone else involved."

Nat stands her ground, but the way her fingers curl tighter around the knife’s handle tells you just how thin the ice is beneath her. You catch her glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, and the faintest trace of panic flickers across her face.

Which, in turn, makes you panic. Not that you weren't already, but it becomes far more visible on your features now. 

"You should leave." Nat mumbles to you, nodding her head to a rear door, "You shouldn't have to be involved in my shit."

Seeing Nat's head move, Denny nudges the remaining unnamed man who came in with him, and the guy heads towards the rear exit. "Nah. We're here, and we're gonna work somethin' out. Ain't that right, boys?" The two men nod their heads, and the one that looks like a literal child cracks his knuckles, and although it really isn't that menacing, it scares you all the same.

"So," Denny speaks after a moment, clearing his throat as his grin returns, "what's happening, Scatorccio? 'cus I doubt you got the cash on you to pay this off right now."

Nat fidgets, eyes darting between you and him nervously. "I told you I was working on it." She mumbles under her breath, which earns her a cruel laugh from Denny.

"Yeah, and you've had two months to work on it, sweetheart." The pet name comes out as an insult, and the unnamed man snorts at the use of it. "And, honestly? I'm done fucking waiting for you to pay up. I'm a reasonable man, Natalie, but even I have my fucking limits."

The blonde swallows nervously, knowing damn well she's outnumbered and you are far from a fighter, so she removes her hand from the handle of her blade and tentatively approaches Denny, speaking low enough that you can only make out a handful of words, most of which are swears.

It's a solid two minutes of them talking, and you trying not to actively have a panic attack with the way the other two men are looking at you before Denny claps his hands and steps back from Nat.

"I expect you to be there, Scatorccio. If you aren't?" He clicks his tongue, "I think that I'll be paying the trailer a visit next time. Maybe say hi to Vera, yeah?"

Nat doesn't say anything back to that as the men filter out of the house, but it's more than clear that she's shaken from the encounter. 

She doesn't face you again for thirty seconds after they leave, and she can't meet your eyes when she does. You see her jaw set uncomfortably tense, and her eyes flicker from point to point, but never to yours.

"Nat…" You trail off, not even noticing that you've clenched your notebook so tight that the page has started to rip, "Who… who were those guys? What… debt?"

"It's none of your business." She snaps immediately, eyes meeting yours now, "You weren't supposed to see or hear any of that. Just wrong place at the wrong time."

"But I have seen it." You murmur, glancing away from her and down to the ripped page, "I just… I don't know what it means—"

"And you won't." She cuts you off, "Because this point of conversation won't ever be brought up again, yeah? A one-time thing."

You frown and stand up from the crate, still clenching the book tightly. "It didn't seem like a one-time thing—"

"Drop it." Nat says, her jaw tightening.

"But I can't." You shoot back before you can stop the words spilling from your lips. You take a shaky breath, and everything you just witnessed is sinking in. "I can’t just pretend I didn’t see that, Nat. They… they threatened you. Your mom.” Your voice cracks slightly, but you push through. “And I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I care about you, okay? I can’t just let it go."

She laughs, cruel and sardonic. "Care about me? You don't fucking know me. You don't know shit. All you think you know is what you've pieced together from a few hangouts and some rumours. That's it."

“That’s not fair,” you counter, your voice rising slightly. “you don’t let anyone know you, Nat! You hide behind all this—this bullshit bravado and sarcasm because you think it’s easier than letting someone in.”

"Yeah?" Nat sneers, her voice cutting through the stale air surrounding you, "Well, maybe it is. Maybe it's easier to keep people like you at arm's length so I don't have to deal with… shit like this." She gestures between you, movements sharp and erratic, "You don't want to be a part of this world, Princess," The pet name rolls off her tongue in a way that makes you cringe and recoil into yourself, the once gentle name being used as something far more cruel, "so stop trying to be."

"You don't get to decide that for me!" You finally snap, stepping towards her in frustration as you throw your sketchbook down onto the crate you were sitting on, "I'm standing right here, Nat! I'm not going anywhere. And, yeah. Maybe I don't know everything about you. But I want to!"

Her breath catches slightly at your words, and for a brief moment, the mask she wears slips. But it’s back just as quickly, replaced with a hardened expression as she hisses, “You’re wasting your time.”

"Maybe." You murmur, taking another tentative step towards her, "But I don't think you get to decide that for me."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Nat doesn't move, eyes boring into yours, and for a long moment, you worry she's going to say something scalding or just leave; the distance between the two irreparable. 

But, then, she's moving, crossing the short distance between the two of you in a single stride. Her hands grip your arms, both firm and uncertain, and before you can process what’s happening, her lips crash against yours.

You have no idea what's happening if you're being honest. Sure, you've had a few kisses before, but they have been like this. This passionate and intense, this filled with emotion. 

Nat kisses you with an urgency you've come to expect from her, and she doesn't half-ass anything; it's all or nothing, and this is no different. 

At least, at first. 

Then, she realises that you aren't kissing her in return, and she releases her hold on you, stumbling back a few steps and swiping at her mouth. 

Silence blossoms again as you stand there and stare at her, lips still tingling from the sudden crash of hers against yours, and you stare at her with your jaw slack. You aren't sure if you're even breathing at this point. Everything feels like it's balancing on a knife edge, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Fuck!” She hisses under her breath, raking her hands through her hair. “Why the fuck did I—God, why are you like this?”

You blink and shake your head a few times, still in shock, but now even more so. "Wait, wait, hold on, what?" Finally, when you get your head back on, you only get more confused. "Why am I like this?" You snap at her, expression shifting from surprised to hurt. “Why are you like this, Natalie? One second, you’re—” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re impossible!”

Her laugh is sharp and humourless. “Me? I’m impossible?” She takes a step forward, frustration etched into every line of her face. “So what’s the point of you coming out with me if you’re just gonna be a fucking uptight bitch about everything, huh?”

"Wasn't it you that told me I needed to live a little, Natalie?!" You yell back, equally as frustrated. "And wasn't it you that said I should learn to say no?! God, why are you being like this?!"

She scoffs, "Has it occurred to you that maybe I would like you better if you just fuckin' took your clothes off, Princess? Huh?" She takes a step forward, "Even you aren't thick enough to see that I've been flirting with you for weeks."

That stings in a way you weren't expecting it to. You take a momentary step back, face contorting, "Fuck you, Scatorccio." You hiss at her, taking a step forward again and jabbing a finger into her chest, "Has it occurred to you that maybe I would like you better if you actually opened up about shit? Huh? Even you aren't thick enough to see, I've been trying to get you to open up for weeks!" You say, throwing her own words back at her.

"Listen, Princess," She sneers, jabbing her finger in your chest, "I'm just tryna fuck. Maybe you should get that through your fucking skull." But, even as she says it, and as much as the words sting, there's a waver in her voice as she says it like she doesn't really mean it but doesn't know what to say in this situation.

"Well, I'm not. And if that's all you want, then you have the wrong fucking person." You cross your arms defiantly, "You should have known that from the start, burnout."

Natalie's lip twitches in displeasure, but she seems to hesitate before saying whatever she is going to and instead opts to scoff and take a step back. "Whatever, nerd. Have fun with your fucking calculus textbooks and your neat little bubble." Then, she turns around and stalks off, slinging her backpack over her shoulder before burying her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

And then she’s gone, turning on her heel and stalking off into the shadows, leaving you standing there, raw and reeling, wondering how the hell it all went so wrong so fast.

You glance around the decrepit house, the air feeling much colder than when Nat was with you. The building no longer feels like there's life left in it—but rather, devoid of it. Empty and barren, mirroring the way you feel right now. You hate the place your thoughts take you to—the dark void that plagues you from time to time.

You look back down at your sketchbook, pages half torn and splayed wildly across the top of the crate you formerly used as a chair, and a shaky, weary sigh leaves you.

Gingerly, trying to stop the shaking in your hands, you slowly pack up your belongings, actively avoiding the way you etched her likeness into your book (and mind) as you do. Every move you make echoes in the space; the ruffling of pages and closing of your backpack zipper might as well sound like a plane taking off. 

You hadn't even spent that long with her today. You two had plans; she said after this that the two of you would go to that diner on fifth that serves breakfast all day. Maybe eat some shitty pancakes and get a milk-stache from a milkshake. 

But… the longer you think about it, did she even want that? Did she truly just… want one thing? Did she just see you as a body to use to pass the time with? A fleeting attraction that would fade once she got her fill? Playing the long game, just to see if it changes how the sex is?

Was that all she wanted?

The wooden steps protest under your weight as you leave the house, the wind picking up and pushing the door shut behind you—almost like a metaphor for something you'd rather not think about right now.

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you step off the rotting porch, the cool evening air biting at your exposed skin. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, wishing it could shield you from the ache settling deep in your chest.

Your feet carry you, almost on autopilot, down that same path that Nat had taken you through earlier, but it doesn't feel nearly the same. What was once exciting, thrilling, something out of your comfort zone… now just feels like a harsh reminder of what transpired between you. Empty and desolate. 

Fuck. When did you become so… tragic?

The streets are quiet. It’s almost eerie, the way the world seems to hum with an indifference that mirrors the hollow ache inside you. Your mind keeps replaying her words, the venom in them, the hurt you saw behind her eyes that she so desperately tried to mask with anger.

Why did it feel like she was pushing you away the second it felt like there would be any form of struggle within your relationship?

Better to hurt than be hurt, you suppose.

You stop under the dim glow of a streetlamp, your breath visible in the cool air. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, startling you from the train of thought you were stuck in. You fish it out, half expecting it to be her, even though you know better. It’s just a notification about some school assignment being due soon—something that feels insanely trivial right now.

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you continue to let your brain send you down a path of thoughts you really shouldn't be letting it take you down. When she had leaned in earlier, voice uncharacteristically soft, telling you that you understood her in a way that others didn't… for a moment, you believed that maybe this could be something more.

But now? Now, you aren't quite sure what to believe.

You let your feet guide you down streets that are both familiar and foreign, not even registering the houses or buildings you walk past. 

Maybe this is who she is, you think. Chaotic, unpredictable, and closed off. And perhaps you can't change that, no matter how much you want to.

Maybe you don't want to. You just want to know why she is the way she is. An insight into the brain of Natalie Scatorccio. Something that people would likely pay to see.

Maybe… maybe she's just scared. Like you, but confronting her fear differently. 

When you finally reach your door, you linger on the porch, staring at the peeling paint on the frame and letting the silence stretch. The sound of the Monroe kids across the street playing basketball, the dog tied to the post a few houses down barking, and the wind shaking the leaves in the trees fill your ears and give you some clarity in this strange situation.

By the time you finally crack the front door to your house open, your mother is cooking something over the stove while idly bickering with your father as he leans against the countertop, neither of them noticing your entrance.

You'll eat your food and try to sleep, but realistically, you'll just stare at your ceiling and replay every aspect of your interaction with Nat for hours, and sleep will never come.

Fucking Natalie Scatorccio.

Fuck Natalie Scatorccio.

Fuck Natalie Scatorccio and the way you still fucking care about her.

Fuck.

a/n: man, when i said this chapter would be hard to write, next chapter... oof. next chapter is gonna be heavy in so many different aspects. you will both hate and love me, if you don't already. <3333333333

[jazziejax]

𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Adonis Creed x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - What was supposed to be an apology turned into an unexpected spark. One bouquet, a shared look, and now the media has questions neither of them are ready to answer. But behind the headlines, something real might be blooming—if they let it.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Slow burn tension, paparazzi/media intrusion, mutual pining, strong language, mild angst, sexual tension

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I didn’t think yall were gonna like this very much, but here you go. I’m spewing out so many ideas, I might even go back and touch my Aaron and Kelvin fics.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 6,640+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 🏸˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

The video spread like wildfire.

A grainy clip—filmed on someone’s phone and clearly zoomed in from across the gym—captured two women sparring, one of them a powerhouse wrapped in black with quick hands and sharper feet. The footage showed brutal jabs, unrelenting movement, a burst of speed that overwhelmed the reigning champ of Delphi’s female fighters. A takedown. A scream. Small gasps from the gym.

No name was attached. Just the caption—“WHO the hell is she???”

Speculation swarmed online.

Some thought it was a pro fighter from another camp trying to embarrass Sandra. Others guessed a random with nice hands. But no one knew for sure. Chantal had been too fast, too focused, her face barely visible behind headgear and gloves. The comments were a flood of awe, disbelief, and messy guesses.

Chantal didn’t know about any of it that morning.

After leaving Delphi the day before, her fury had fizzled into silence. She wasn’t even sure if she’d locked the door behind her—just collapsed onto the couch, flipping through the same three channels without watching any of them. Her body hummed with leftover adrenaline, but her chest was heavy.

She hadn’t eaten since breakfast—barely touched the oats she made early that morning, but she hadn’t noticed. Her mind was far too full.

She thought of the moment she pushed past Duke and Adonis. The way her gloves hit the floor. The eyes that followed her out. And most of all… she thought about Armando.

This gym was supposed to be theirs. A dream they never quite got to live out. He would’ve walked in beaming. Respected the space. She’d stomped in angry and left worse.

By the time night came, Chantal was curled up beneath her weighted blanket, eyes trained on the ceiling. The guilt didn’t just sit in her—it clawed. And by the time she fell asleep, it was with a clenched jaw and a heart swollen with shame.

The next morning came just as the last.

She rose quietly, repeating the same routine. Brushed her teeth. Did push-ups, abs, squats. Showered. Pulled on a plain black T-shirt and black and yellow, Kobe basketball shorts with Nike Jordan’s the same color. She made the same oats again, this time actually eating them. They were warm but tasted a bit different, but she blamed it on her overwhelmed psyche.

She headed out just after ten.

There were a few things she needed—dish soap, protein bars, tampons. Her headphones stayed on as she moved through the aisles of the neighborhood store, trying to keep her mind off yesterday, but the pressure hadn’t lifted. Not even a little.

She thought time would wear it down. That she’d laugh at how riled up she got. That maybe Duke or Adonis would’ve forgotten by now. But it stuck. The weight. The tightness in her chest. The memory of the room going still, of people yelling, of her own voice ringing out in a place built for discipline.

She didn’t just feel embarrassed. She felt wrong.

She paused at the end of an aisle, eyes catching on the bright display of the floral shop tucked into the corner of the store. Pink, white, and orange petals swayed under the soft buzz of the overhead lights.

Almost on impulse, she walked over.

A middle-aged man with gentle eyes and a button-down shirt looked up from behind the counter.

Chantal gave a soft breath of a laugh, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “Can you make me a bouquet that says… I’m sorry for embarrassing myself—and you?”

The man blinked once. Then slowly pursed his lips and gave a single, understanding nod. “Sí. I’ve got just the thing.” He said kindly.

And for the first time in two days, Chantal let herself breathe.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The car idled for a long moment in front of the Delphi Boxing Academy, engine humming low beneath the spring sun. Chantal sat behind the wheel, hands resting on her thighs, thumbs tapping anxiously. She looked different today—though not on purpose. No hood. No scowl. No fight in her shoulders. Her long braids were pulled into two pigtails, and her oversized glasses sat low on the bridge of her nose. A small attempt at appearing… softer. Less threatening.

More apologetic.

She took a breath and finally climbed out, bouquet in hand—bright, fresh flowers wrapped neatly in brown paper. They felt heavier than they should’ve.

Inside, the gym hummed with life. Gloves hitting bags, sneakers squeaking across canvas, the low bass of rap music bleeding from someone’s phone. But no one really looked her way. Maybe that was worse than being stared at.

The guy behind the front desk wasn’t the same fanboy from the day before. He was older, stockier, wearing a fitted T-shirt with the Delphi logo across the chest and a Bluetooth headset in one ear.

He looked up as she stepped forward, awkward in her approach, her fingers tightening slightly around the paper-wrapped bouquet.

“How can I help you?” He asked, polite but not overly warm.

“Uh…” Chantal cleared her throat softly. “Can I speak to Duke, please?”

Their eyes met only briefly, and hers dropped fast. The man gave a nod and turned to disappear down a hallway in search of the head coach. She was left standing there, bouquet still in hand, fidgeting on the balls of her feet. Her eyes flicked around the gym, trying not to linger too long on anyone or anything. The memory of yesterday echoed in every corner. The way Sandra screamed. The sound of her own voice. The sting of adrenaline in her knuckles.

And then—

“Hello.”

The voice wasn’t Duke’s.

Her head snapped toward it. Adonis stopped a few feet away, arms crossed gently, his expression unreadable. A beat passed before she answered. Seeing her look, he explained. “Duke’s not in right now.” He stated, casing Chantal to nod before she blinked.

“Hi.” She said quietly.

They met somewhere in the middle of the lobby, just near the counter, the air between them thick with everything that hadn’t been said yesterday. Chantal shifted her weight, eyes flickering up to meet his before falling again. Her fingers flexed once, then twice, around the bouquet.

“These are for you.” She said, her voice unsure. “Or… Duke.”

Adonis arched a brow as he reached for the flowers. “Oh.”

He accepted them carefully, gaze dropping to the vibrant petals. A small daisy stuck out between the folds of the paper—charming and a little offbeat, just like her. He held them like something sacred.

“I got them because I didn’t really know how to do this.” She admitted, gaze still lowered. “And I wanted to come and apologize for… my behavior. For how everything went down yesterday. I’m sorry I brought that into your gym and messed up whatever rhythm you all had.”

Her voice was laced with awkward vulnerability, but she forced herself to meet his eyes again. He was watching her closely, unreadable, the weight of his stare like heat under her skin.

Adonis blinked once, glancing back down at the bouquet in his hands. “Flowers?” He couldn’t help but vocalize, not with sarcasm, but genuine curiosity.

Chantal raised her brows, lips pressing into a sheepish line. “Everyone likes flowers. And I didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”

A quiet breath of amusement passed through his nose. He nodded slowly, that unreadable expression softening by a fraction.

“Well.” He said. “Thank you. They’re… pretty.”

Chantal gave a small nod of agreement. “Yeah.” And he found the way her face seemed to stay straight as she did so a bit adorable.

Silence hovered for a beat before Adonis shifted his grip on the bouquet and looked her dead in the eye.

“And I accept your apology. My fighter got out of line yesterday, and I should’ve stepped in before anything popped off.”

She gave another nod, this one slower, more grounded. But then her lips parted, and she said, clear as day—

“Yes. You should have.”

The response caught Adonis off guard. His eyes widened a little, mouth opening just barely like he was going to say something, but nothing came out at first. Instead, a quiet breath left his lips, a wry smile twitching at the corners.

“Fair.” He finally said.

Another silence followed, but this one felt different—less tense. She looked up at him again, a flicker of something behind her glasses. A vulnerability, maybe. Or just a deeper version of her usual fire, hidden beneath the flowers and soft tone.

Adonis tilted his head slightly. “You got a mean jab.” He stated. “Fast footwork, too.”

Chantal’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Thank you.” She said, though she wasn’t really sure on how she should feel about the compliment he just gave her. Her hands then slowly fell to her sides now that the bouquet was no longer her shield. “I don’t wanna cause trouble.” She suddenly spoke up again, as if the words were eating at her and she just needed them out. “I just… came here to train a bit. Honor the place I sort of used to dream about visiting.”

Adonis looked at her for a long moment before giving a single, affirming nod. “Then train. The past is in the past. Whatever happens after that… we’ll figure it out.”

And for the first time since walking in, Chantal allowed herself to smile.

The air still hung a little tense between them after the apology, but something had shifted—tilted just enough to allow for a new direction. Chantal shifted again, her fingers fidgeting at the hem of her shorts as Adonis looked down at the bouquet once more, then back up at her.

“You got time to stick around?” He asked, voice casual, but his eyes steady on hers.

Chantal blinked. “For what?”

Adonis gave her a small, knowing smile. “To box.” He said, as if it was obvious.

She looked down at herself. Tight black t-shirt, basketball shorts that hit her knees, fresh pair of kicks. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

He chuckled lightly. “You think half the people who show up here come looking ready the first time?” He nodded toward the back. “We got extra gear. I’m sure there’s a pair of shoes your size lying around. And Duke always keeps fresh wraps in the back.”

Chantal hesitated, eyes flicking toward the ring, then back at him. Her voice was softer now. “You’re serious?”

Adonis took a step back, nodding. “Dead serious. If you’re trying to train for real, I’m not gonna let a pair nice shoes be the reason you don’t.”

Something in her chest gave a small thump. She hadn’t planned on staying. She hadn’t even planned on speaking to him, let alone being offered a spot in his gym like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t walking chaos. Like he wasn’t the Adonis Creed.

She studied him for a long second, lips twitching slightly. “Okay.” She said, and her smile was contagious. She hadn’t expected to be able to be here again, and now that he granted her permission, she couldn’t hide her joy at not being a total disappointment. And that grin was one that pulled Adonis in, copying gesture, making his dimples pop.

Fifteen minutes later, Chantal was seated on the bench near the lockers, watching as Adonis emerged from the back holding a box of shoes and a pair of wraps slung over his shoulder. She was already in her socks now.

He dropped the box next to her with a nod. “Try these.”

She pulled the lid off, eyebrows raising slightly. They were ASICS, used but clean, white with black soles and creased just enough to show they’d been broken in, but not beaten up.

“What size are they?” She asked.

“Seven. You look like a seven.”

Chantal gave him a skeptical look. “You know a woman’s shoe size by sight?”

Adonis shrugged with a grin. “It’s a talent.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh before she slid them on—and they were a perfect fit. “Okay… maybe it is a talent.” She mumbled to herself.

He crouched in front of her, holding the wraps out. “Give me your hands.”

She froze. Just for a second. Something about the way he said it. Quiet, and a bit demanding, but steady. She offered them slowly, palms up. He took one in his calloused hands and began the process—tugging the wrap snugly around her wrists, then knuckles. His fingers were firm but careful, and the intimacy of it wasn’t lost on her.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“You know who I am, right?” He asked suddenly, not looking up, his fingers moving across her hand like he’d done this a thousand times. At the silence he got, he looked up to see Chantal cutting her eyes at him, very judgmental. “Not like that.” He said, letting out a small laugh. “I just wanted to know before I spoke further.”

She then simply let out a small hum. “Adonis Creed. Heavyweight champion of the world. Son of Apollo. Fine. Yeah, I’ve heard.” She said, her eye focused on the wrapping his was putting around her hand.

That made him glance up, grin teasing the corner of his mouth. “Fine?”

She shrugged innocently. “That’s just what I heard.”

He snorted softly, moving to the other hand. “I know who you are too.” He said, his tone dipping more serious. “Chantal Figueroa. Wimbledon finalist. Nike darling. Media nightmare.” He said with a small wince. And those finals words alone seemed to flip a switch within Chantal. And she was back to reality, one she knew she could never escape. How naive of her to assume that life could offer her a semblance of grace this one time.

She looked away, cheeks tightening. “That last part’s their favorite.” She mumbled.

“I don’t always believe what they say.”

“You should.” She said quietly, a bitter twist to her smile. “I’ve given them enough footage.”

He finished wrapping and sat back on his heels, looking up at her. “Everyone gets angry. The difference is how you work through it.”

Chantal eyes drifted to his, and she couldn’t help but study him—his face, his tone, the strange calm he wore, even as he sat in a storm of loud gym sounds, from yelling to excessive sweat and fists. He didn’t seem to be patronizing her, so she took his words the best way she knew how.

Deflecting.

“So, what are you now, like, a sensei?” She asked.

Adonis looked up at her with a small grin before he looked off in mock thought. “Mmm, in a way.” He shrugged. Chantal exhaled a quiet laugh, then stood, tightening the gloves he handed her. She looked down at her fists. “Does that mean you’re gonna train me or something?” She questioned, her humor dry as she quirked a brow at him. “You know, since that’s what sensei’s do.”

Adonis cocked his head. “You want me to?” He asked, and the lilt of his tone was humorous, but there was an underlying edge to his voice that gave her a different vibe, especially with the way he tilted his head.

Her eyes met his, something sharp and stubborn rising in them, even beneath the softness. She wasn’t sure if he was flirting, or challenging her. Or both, but Chantal didn’t mind, she liked a challenge. And a bit of flirting “Yeah.” She said. “Show me your best.”

Adonis grinned slow, like it was something he’d been waiting for her to say.

“Oh, I’ll show you.” He said, a subtle smile gracing his lips, casing Chantal to quirk a subtle brow before moving around him and over to one of the bags.

The gym was a bit quieter now. Most of the morning and early evening crowd had thinned out, leaving only a few scattered boxers working drills in the far corners. Chantal stood in front of one of the heavy bags, her fists loosely clenched at her sides, a thin sheen of sweat across her brow. Adonis moved to stand behind the bag, hands pressed against the leather to keep it steady. He watched her carefully, as if he could see the battle in her head before a punch was even thrown.

“Let’s start light. Footwork. Movement. No punches yet.”

She nodded, jaw tight, and moved into position.

At first, her movements were sharp but stiff. Measured. Her body knew rhythm—she’d been an athlete nearly her whole life—but boxing was one of a different kind. One she respected more than she’d ever admitted out loud. She didn’t speak as she moved, keeping her eyes locked on the back while Adonis’s were locked on hers. Focused. Unreadable.

He moved with her, circling the bag, mirroring. He was calm and patient. Occasionally offering a tip in a low voice. “Keep your lead foot outside mine.”

“Relax your shoulders, you’re carrying tension.”

“You ever dance?”

That one made her pause for half a beat, her brow furrowing. “What?”

He grinned. “You move sort of like a dancer.” He said. “That…doesn’t quite know the choreography.” He added. Chantal rolled her eyes, the faintest smirk tugging her lips before she could stop it. “Guess that means I’m doing it wrong.” She mumbled.

“Nah.” He said. “It just means you’re just in you head. That you got something to fight. Which is good. But if you want to last, you gotta stop fighting yourself first.”

That settled between them, something personal, hitting somewhere deeper than her fist against the bag. She didn’t respond, just let out a sharp sigh before she just kept moving.

They ran drills for a while longer. He showed her a few basic combos—jab, cross, slip. She picked them up quickly, but kept her distance. Physically and emotionally. Even when she missed a punch and muttered under her breath, she didn’t look to him for comfort or correction. She just adjusted and went again.

After a few more rounds, Adonis called for a break. He tossed her a towel and a bottle of water from the corner which she both caught easily.

“You got hands.” He said, watching her from where he leaned near the wall. “You box before?”

“Not really.” He said, twisting the bottle open. “Messed around a little back home.”

“Where’s home?”

She hesitated, cutting her eyes to him as she raised the bottle to her lips. “New York.” She said before taking a sip.

“Which part?”

Chantal gave a slow shrug, sipping her water. “Does it matter?” She questioned, avoiding his eyes, twisting the cap on her bottle.

Adonis smiled, not taking offense. “Just trying to get to know you.”

She wiped her brow with the towel. “Why?”

“Cause I’m training you.”

She stared at him, hard. “Do you do this with everyone?” She asked, crossing her arms. Her weight was placed on one leg, and her brows were narrowed his way. “Wrap their hands, offer them shoes, ask about their childhood?” She listed. “Cause this is starting to feel a lot like a therapy session.”

He didn’t blink, but there was s shift in his eyes every time she seemed to question him. “No. Just you.” He answered lightly.

The silence that followed that hung a little heavier and Chantal was the first to look away. “Well, I didn’t come here for all that.” She said quietly. “I came to punch something. Not… unpack myself to someone I barely know.”

“I know.” He said. “But you’re still here.”

That made her glance back, brows furrowed, her voice a bit softer. “So?”

“So.” He said, stepping away from the wall and moving over to the bench closer to her. “Maybe you don’t want to be as closed off as you think.” He added.

At that, Chantal’s eyes landed on him, and this time she didn’t answer. He didn’t have anything to say. And she hated how accurate his words felt.

They sat like that for a moment, the gym noise around them muted. Eventually, Chantal set her water down, twisting the cap back on with slow fingers. “I used to go to boxing gyms with someone I knew.” She said finally, almost without meaning to. “A long time ago.” She waved her hand.

Adonis didn’t respond, he just observed her with a subtle nod.

“He said it’d calm my nerves. Make me think clear. Said boxing forces you to face yourself.” She exhaled a short breath. “I hated that part. Still do.” She shrugged, not meeting his gaze as her eyes made their way to her wrapped hands.

He studied her for a second, looking at the way she flipped her hands front to back and picked at the loose pieces of gauze. “But you’re back.” He said, looking at the side of her face.

“Yeah. Guess I’ve got more facing to do.” She replied with a humorless smile.

Adonis looked at her for a few more seconds, his eye trimming her figure before he stood again, nodding toward the bag. “Then let’s get back to it.”

Chantal looked up at him, the smallest flicker of something soft passing over her guarded features. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t say thank you, didn’t offer anything sentimental.

But she stood, tightening her gloves around her wrist with her teeth before moving back to the bag.

And that, for her, was something. It was progress.

And Adonis simply followed what she did, holding the bag. “Jab.” He demanded evenly.

She struck—quick, solid, but restrained.

“Again.”

She did.

“Harder.”

She hesitated for a split second before hitting it again.

“You’re holding back.” He said, voice low but certain.

Chantal narrowed her eyes at him, briefly taking her eyes of the bag. “I’m not.” She huffed.

“Yes, you are.”

Chantal threw another jab—tighter this time, sharper. But Adonis barely moved behind the bag. “You’re angry, I get it. But that ain’t gonna help you if you don’t control it.” He commented. Chantal paused, sucking in a breath as her fingers flexed, blinking harshly.

“Cross.” He asserted, so Chantal followed and threw it.

“Again.”

She did.

He leaned slightly into the bag, pushing it just enough to challenge her balance. “What’s got you tight today?”

“Nothing.” She snapped, short and clipped, throwing a punch before he could even think. He jerked a bit but nodded like he didn’t believe her statement, which only irritated her more.

“Do you ever let yourself lose control?” He asked, casually, almost as if they were having a conversation over coffee.

“Not the way you mean.” She huffed.

“Why not?”

“Because people could get hurt.” She admitted. Her answer was so fast, so raw, it surprised even her. She saw the way his expression shifted—just slightly, just enough to clock it.

“Good.” He said. “Now put that in your punches.”

Chantal sighed, taking a step back from the bag with her jaw clenched. “I don’t need therapy, Creed.” He hissed.

“I’m not giving you therapy. I’m telling you to stop lying to yourself.”

And that’s what did it. She lunged forward, hitting the bag with a clean right hook that made the chains rattle. She did it again and again. She worked her fists fast and hard now, breathing ragged, like each hit was purging something she couldn’t speak.

Behind the bag, Adonis braced himself and kept watching her.

“That’s it.” He said, voice steady. “Keep going.”

But her rhythm was getting messy. Her punches weren’t wild, but they were growing too fueled, too emotional.

“Chantal.” He warned. “Breathe. Keep your form.”

“Don’t tell me to breathe.”

“Then say what’s really eating at you.”

Her hands then paused mid-air, and for a moment, her breath caught. Her chest heaved up and down, her eyes making their way to his with a judgmental glare.

“Don’t do that.” She said quietly, shaking her head

“Do what?”

“Push me like you know me.” She retorted firmly.

Adonis simply tilted his head from behind the bag. “I’m not pretending I know you. I’m reading what you show me.” He responded. Chantals nostrils flared, chest rising and falling. She looked like she wanted to throw something at him, not just the bag anymore.

“I don’t need to be read.” She said, voice lower now, tight and dangerous. “I need to be left alone.”

Adonis studied her, standing straight behind the bag now that she was now longer punching. His tone softened, but he didn’t back down. “Then why’d you come back?” He asked.

And Chantal’s throat worked, but that didn’t seem to help her come up with an answer. He let the silence stretch between them, heavy and loaded.

Finally, he tapped the bag lightly. “You got power. You’ve got something real. But if you keep boxing, and playing tennis, like you’re trying to bury your own damn heart or prove some point, you’re gonna miss what this sport and the other could give you.”

She stared at him, her eyes flicking from the bag to his unwavering gaze as she tried to think clearly through his words—and then something flickered in her eyes.Not agreement, but recognition.

The bag was still swaying, leather creaking softly under the weight of her last blow. Chantal’s breath was jagged, caught somewhere between rage and restraint, the skin at her collarbone gleaming with sweat. Her fists dropped to her sides, wrapped and sore, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.

Adonis watched her from behind the bag, his arms braced on either side, chest rising and falling with his own breath. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t anything. Just… observant.

And for some reason, that made it worse. She didn’t speak again just stormed over to the bench without a word.

“Chantal.” He called after her, a little sharp, a little concerned. But she didn’t stop. Her fingers fumbled at the gloves, trying to pull them free, yanking at the velcro frantically.

“Chantal, slow down.” He said, stepping around the bag, cautious now.

She ripped the gloves off like they were burning her skin and tossed them onto the floor with a sharp thud. “I’m done.” She muttered, more to herself than him. She bent down, hastily untying the boxing shoes he’d given her, fingers clumsy, jerky, like she couldn’t get them off fast enough.

Adonis was beside her now, hands half-lifted like he didn’t know if he should touch her or give her space. “Hey. You don’t have to do all that. Just talk to me—”

“I don’t want to fucking talk.” She snapped, still not raising her voice, but the fire behind it was unmistakable. The first shoe hit the metal bench with a slight echo, the second one tossed beside it, her breath coming fast and hot as she stood up and grabbed her bag.

“Please, Chantal.”Adonis tried again, softer now, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t mean to push you that far.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder with a snap of her braids and locked eyes with him. “Well, you did and now leave me the hell alone.” And she looked away from his eyes faster than their gaze was held.

And for some reason, the words hit him clean. The sting of truth. She turned and headed for the door without another word.

Adonis stood there for a beat, running a hand over his mouth. Then his eyes caught the flowers—still sitting on the bench where he’d left them to train her, delicate and out of place among sweat and grit.

He quickly grabbed them and jogged after her. “Chantal!” He called, just as she reached her car. The sun outside hit her face, catching the glow of sweat on her skin, the defiance and anger in her stiff stance.

She didn’t turn, just pulled out her keys with clenched hands.

“Chantal, wait—”

He reached her just before she could open the car door, the flowers now a little crushed in his hands. “I’m sorry.” He yelled.

She froze.

The keys that dangled in her fingers were then clenched, still and uncertain.

“I pushed too hard in there.” He said, voice low, thick with something that wasn’t just guilt, but was understanding. “I saw something in you, something I always saw in myself once, and maybe I didn’t respect how personal that was. That’s on me.” He admitted.

Chantal’s back was still to him, her head slightly lowered, her shoulders rigid.

“I wasn’t trying to dig.” He continued. “Just… hoping I could hold space for whatever was coming up for you.” He ten gulped, a thick and long since passing between them. Chantal hands was clenched around the keys, and if it wasn’t for her still wrapped hand, she possibly would’ve been bleeding from how deep the indentations could’ve gotten. There was nothing but the bustle of Los Angeles between them, the wind blowing the loose tends of Chantal’s braids in the wind.

She then turned her head just slightly, not all the way, still stiff. “That wasn’t your place.” She said, and her tone was still clipped as she started at him.

“I know.” Adonis exhaled, stepping closer with the bouquet. “But I’m still glad you came. And I hope you come back.”

She finally looked over her shoulder at him—eyes fierce but glassy, her lips parted like she was holding back something far more tender than anger.

He held out the flowers again, this time without words. Her eyes looked down at them, the wind pushing the smell of the petals her way. She then looked back up at him, and though he wasn’t sure if she was still angry, her face still held a narrowed frown in her brow. And slowly, hesitantly, she took them, her fingers brushing his.

“I am still mad at you.” She murmured, blinking.

“I…think I can live with that for now.” Adonis nodded.

“And I’m not coming back in today.” She deadpanned, running the flowers in her arms, cradling it like a baby.

“I won’t ask you to.”

“But I might… tomorrow.” She said, her eyes finally meeting his, and when Adonis brows piqued at her words, she was quick to add on. “Or sometime this week. Or…next week.” She said dimly.

And Adonis gave a slow, careful smile. “Then I’ll be here.” He said softly.

“And I want you to know.” Chantal said, pausing just before opening her door. “It’s rude that you gave me back the flowers I gave you.”Her gaze was as sharp as her tone, unwavering, but there was a flicker of mischief in the set of her mouth.

Adonis blinked, surprised by her sudden jab, before a small smile curled at the edge of his lips. “Yeah, I know.” He admitted, lifting his shoulders in a slow shrug. “But I had to get your attention—and maybe a little forgiveness—somehow.”

She squinted at him like he was full of it. “Mm. Lousy attempt.” She mumbled, though just loud enough for him to hear as she gripped the handle of her car door again and opened it, on her way into the seat.

Adonis let out a soft, breathy laugh. He looked at her, really looked, as the sunlight softened against her cheekbones and the sweat still clinging to her neck glistened. “Alright, how about this.”He said, catching her attention before he entered the car. “I’ll take you out to dinner this evening.” He suggested.

She froze, her chin lifted slightly. “Dinner?” She repeated, her brow raising in suspicion.

“You said you were new to the area.”He said, voice casual, body leaning slightly against the car like he wasn’t asking for much. “I’m from here. I know the city. I can show you a few places. Introduce you to some people.”

Her eyes flicked to his, cool and unreadable. “It’s not like I plan on staying long.” She said, quirking a brow at him.

“Then take it as an apology.” He replied easily. “Since apparently, I can’t give you flowers.”

Chantal stared at him. Silent, her gloss lips pressed together, almost like she was chewing on the offer.

The wind swept through the lot again, catching the ends of her pigtail braids and pulling wisps of hair across her face. She brushed them away with one hand, tucking them back behind her ear, her long lashes fluttering as she studied him again.

Finally, she shrugged, nonchalant. “Okay.”

Adonis straightened. “Okay?”

“I’m not gonna say it again.” She said flatly.

And the man couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Okay.” He nodded, holding back a laugh. “How about today at eight? I’ll come pick you up.”

“I’m not telling you where I live.” She deadpanned.

Adonis reeled slightly, confused. “What?” He scoffed. “It’s not like I’m not dangerous or anything.”

“You’re the heavyweight champion of the world.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a tennis player, not risking it.” She shook her head.

He raised his eyebrows. “Wow, okay.” He said, letting out a small laugh. “I mean, you pack a mean punch.” He quipped it like an afterthought, but her face never broke. Still stoic, still unreadable. Adonis let out a low laugh, running a hand over his beard. “Alright, alright. No address. But can I at least get your number?”

“No.”

He blinked. “No?”

She smiled then. Not a wide one. Just the faint curl of lip gloss and challenge, her head tilting to the side. “I’m not repeating myself.” She said, same as earlier as she looked at him.

“Why not?” Adonis asked, and he couldn’t help but smile at her as well, absentmindedly tilting his head with her. “Because I don’t want to.” Chantal grinned.

Adonis mirrored her posture, amused and just slightly exasperated. “Then what do you want, Chantal?”

“To meet here. At seven.”Her voice was steady. Very fine and decided, like the terms were hers and hers alone. Adonis nodded once, sealing it like a deal between competitors. “Alright. Then we’ll meet here at seven.”

She didn’t respond immediately. She looked at him, really looked at him, as if trying to figure out what his angle was. But there was nothing calculated in his gaze—just patience. Warmth. And a kind of gentle steadiness that made something tight in her chest loosen just a little.

With nothing left to say, she climbed into her car, the door shutting with a soft thump. The bouquet she’d taken back from him sat cradled in her lap for a moment before she reached over and gently placed it in the passenger seat. Adonis watched through the windshield, his hands still in his pockets, every line of his body relaxed and buzzing all at once.

And then—and he nearly chuckled aloud—as she buckled the flowers into the seatbelt.

He shook his head, a full smile breaking across his face as she started the engine. She didn’t glance back, didn’t wave. But she didn’t need to.

Because as she pulled out of the lot and drove away, she left him standing there in the quiet heat, heart thudding just a little faster than it had all day. The only thing settling it was a brief breeze that would occur every now and then.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

Back in their separate spaces, the evening sun had just begun to bleed into twilight.

Adonis stood shirtless in front of his dresser, slipping on his chain. The gold glinted against his skin, catching the light. He ran a hand over his freshly lined beard, checking the mirror, smoothing the collar of his black shirt he hadn’t buttoned yet. There was a buzz under his skin—not from nerves, not really—but anticipation. She said yes. And even though the Chantal Figueroa was all edge and no-nonsense, there was something about her that pulled him in like gravity. Sharp, mysterious. A little weird.

Meanwhile, in her apartment, Chantal stood under the stream of warm water, letting it run over her shoulders and back, rinsing away the tension of the day. The sound of the gym still echoed in her head—his voice behind the bag, the way he pushed her, the way her anger bubbled to the surface, sharp and cutting. And then… the way he’d followed her. The way his voice had softened. The way she’d noticed the damn flowers buckled in beside her on the passenger seat the whole ride home. She couldn’t quite name what she was feeling. Not yet.

And then—

Ping.

Adonis’s phone chimed.

So did hers.

He froze with his hand still adjusting the chain around his neck, turning toward the sound on his nightstand. The screen lit up with a preview of a message: “YO. You seeing this???” Followed by a link. An image. An all-too-familiar silhouette.

Chantal heard the alert through the steam, her head poking out of the shower curtain just in time to see the screen of her phone light up again on the sink. She squinted at it, then reached out with a wet hand to the counter to unlock it, not bothering to dry off first.

At the exact same moment, they both opened the message. And headline screamed back at them:

“ADONIS CREED’S GIRLFRIEND IDENTIFIED: MEET CHANTAL FIGUEROA! BOXING MEETS TENNIS? CREED CAUGHT HANDING FLOWERS TO STAR TENNIS ATHLETE OUTSIDE L.A. GYM”

Photos: [SEE THE IMAGES HERE]

And there they were—captured in sharp, intrusive frames.

The first shot was candid but clear—Adonis mid-step, one hand holding out a full bouquet, a mixture of yellow and pink garden flowers, the other tucked in his jacket pocket. His expression was earnest. A little amused. Like he was trying not to smile too much.

The second image was even more damning. Chantal stood in front of her car, her hand on the door handle, mid-turn while her other one was reaching out to the bouquet. She was angled toward him, head slightly tilted, her expression unreadable. Her hair, still in those pigtail braids, whipped gently in the wind. She looked composed, unbothered—but the camera caught the flicker in her eye, the way she was listening with a small smile.

And then the third was a zoomed-in moment taken through her windshield. Adonis stood on the sidewalk with his hands buried in his pockets, watching her. His smile, it was small but deeply genuine and trained on her like there was no one else on the street. Inside the car, the flowers now sat in the passenger seat. The seatbelt strapped neatly across the bouquet, just like a passenger.

Underneath, bold captions followed.

“No official confirmation yet—but sources say Figueroa recently relocated to L.A.”

“A match made in sports heaven? Or just a passing moment?”

“Tennis star Chantal Figueroa spotted leaving the same gym Creed owns. Coincidence?”

And critically—no one had yet put together that she was also the woman in the viral video from the day before. No comparisons had been made between the fierce fighter in the ring and the composed woman accepting flowers, though her wrapped hands were on. Not yet. But it was coming.

Adonis’s chain slipped from his fingers as he stared, jaw tight. “Shit.”

Across town, Chantal’s heart dropped straight to her stomach as she stood dripping and naked in the middle of her bathroom, blinking hard at the screen. “Shit.”

She scrolled and comments poured in beneath the post.

“Wait, that’s the tennis girl from Spain right?”

“Why is he looking at her like that omg.”

“I’m obsessed with this combo???”

“Tennis and boxing is an unexpected combo, but I kinda ship it.”

“Who is this nigga and why is he all up on my wife?”

“They look like they just kissed or are about to.”

“She’s pretty but he can do better.”

“Who the hell is she?”

“Tennis? Please. He’s out of her league.”

And all either of them could say was the same thing, again.

“Shit.”

@j0ysyndr0m3 @vile-harlot @inkdrippeddreams @imsohappyilovekbop @bbymuthaaa @healthenature @susanhill @lucidaquarian @sassymemoryelixir @turbulentvoids @xoxshayy @simonethefinest @kneelarmhstrung @kksmush @iheartamora @vaintya1 @yornayyy @thesolenicole @pytssamworld @babygirl-4986 @librexa @favoritten @alyssaficdir @greeneggsanpam @hairhattedhooligan @wildcardmelaninfreak @theunsweetenedtruth @thabiddie23 @michifilmz @lillijay @corvusmorte @inkdrippeddreams @planetk111

[mclager]

And McLaren will call them... | Landoscar x reader

I was doing what a good girlfriend does as her boyfriends are doing media stuff, watching tiktok, McLaren's tiktoks, it is a great thing to pass time. As I was watching it I ended up seeing one of the best (and worse) captions ever! McLaren calling them siblings, the same McLaren that knows that they are in a full blown relationship. Since Oscar started to be more open about being close with Lando, McLaren started to freak out saying that people couldn't know anything about our relationship. Well, after that Oscar signed his multiple years contract with McLaren and decided that his new catch frase would be "We're going to grow old together." He just loved the idea of being a menace to PR, and Lando watched it with a proud smile on his face. Now socials are probably just trying to combat the wildfire Oscar caused.

They came back after the media stuff straight into Lando's drivers room where I was chilling. Lando was picking on Oscar for something as he did almost all the time.

"A lot of more Landoscar moments?" Lando said chuckling as he poked Oscar's waist.

"Since when you know the ship name?"

"Since the interview we just did. Osc just out of nowhere said it."

"Isn't that cute? Our chronically online boyfriend." I said making Oscar roll his eyes.

"I'm not chronically online, you're."

"Yeah, I am. At least I'm not being 'sibling coded' with my boyfriend." Both boys looked so confused which made me laugh.

"What are you talking about?" Lando asked and I showed my phone with the McLaren video, Lando was shocked, but he also was laughing at the desperation that PR is on right now, Oscar was just pissed.

"Not wanting us to display our relationship I get it even if it's bullshit, the sport is ran by old men, but from that to call us siblings? Too far."

"Osc, calm down, socials are just trying to end the Landoscar trend I guess."

"Oh, but now they're fucked."

One thing about Oscar? When he gets pissed, you get out of his way.

"Babe, watch out, you don't want to get fired."

"I won't be, trust me."

And right then and there started a series of things that would send PR to a coma. Started with them walking a little too close, then the laughs, then Lando was congratulating Osc with a little slap on the bum, then Oscar saying that they're a good match especially off track, or mentioning that they had dinner together after a race instead of going partying. It was the little things that would be ok if McLaren didn't know what Oscar was trying to do.

PR ran fast to tell Oscar to stop saying shit in the interviews, and it only made the evil genius happier as his plan was really bothering them. When they said to stop in interviews, he thought 'why not on real life then?'. It was a normal thing for us to have dinner together, but normally we try to not go on the paparazzi filled restaurants, but now? Oh well, sounds like a good idea to Oscar, and Lando was happy to oblige. I couldn't go on the first two or three (which was incredible for the Landoscar agenda given all the tiktoks made about it), but at the fourth I was there.

"How it's going with the Landoscar plan?" I asked sipping on my drink.

"Great, I'm loving being used." Lando said making Oscar laugh.

"I'm not using you, drama boy." Lando put his hand near Oscar's and linked his pinky with his.

"You're, but I'll let it slide because you look good."

"Pretty privilege is crazy." I said chuckling, Oscar rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Anyway, let me put you on the loop since you were too busy for us. PR almost tried to ban us having dinner dates."

"There's no way."

"They tried, but Zac and Andrea were digging the free marketing." Oscar nodded agreeing with Lando.

"One trip and you two are making people cry. That's my boys." Lando reached across the table to hold my hand.

"Tell us about the trip, I want all the gossip."

"Oh, I have lots." We started to talk about all the drama that happened on my trip with my friends, it was an amazing dinner.

"Which house we're going?" I asked before walking through the door that was being held by Oscar.

"Lando's."

"I'm going to get the car, you can wait here." Lando said and started to walk through some fans that were there, Oscar also went to take pictures with them as I was looking from a distance. Not so long after Lando came back and I just got in the back seat as Oscar got in the passenger beside Lando. He caressed Lando's hair as he started to drove away.

"McLaren will kill us, you know that right?" Lando said and Oscar nodded.

"I hope this is enough for them to understand that we're not sibling coded, Jesus, I'm pissed."

"I'm only here for the drama." I said and Lando chuckled.

"We know." It was a fun night, after dinner we watched a cheesy movie and slept on the couch. I woke up in bed with Lando, Oscar was nowhere to be found, but I was hearing him in the distance, he sounded nervous. I called Lando a couple times before he woke up.

"What's wrong?"

"Osc, he is talking on the phone."

"And?"

"Sounds like something is wrong." Lando picked his phone to see if he had received something and he had. "Oh fuck, PR is pissed. He look cute, don't we?" He showed me a picture of us on the restaurant, laughing at the table, under it a picture of Oscar with his hand on Lando's hair inside the car.

"We do. What do you think they're talking with Oscar?"

"Probably they're trying to make him stop to do this." He showed me a picture of Him and Oscar with their hands way to close while they were smiling lovingly to eachother.

"You two are so cute."

"You're too, darling." Oscar walked in and looked at us.

"Fuck, I woke you up? I'm sorry." I reached my hand and when he held my hand, I pulled him to sit down with us.

"You didn't, it's fine. What happened?"

"I had a fight with my PR manager, a long one, trying to figure out something that could work out for us and McLaren."

"And what you agreed on?" Lando asked putting his head on my stomach to see Oscar better.

"So... First I said that they needed to stop to call us siblings, brothers, or anything weird like that, and they agreed. They asked for us to tone down the dates, but I asked for less interventions on what we do out of the media's eyes, they said ok, but after everything calm down. We need to have a proper meeting with everyone, PR, Zac and Stella, and our managers. You're invited too, love." He looked at me and I nodded.

"Should I go?"

"Of course! This affects you too, darling." Lando said and I nodded.

"Look, this isn't the best, but is going to be better."

"If I'm with my two loves, I'm happy. Don't worry, Oscariño." Lando pulled Oscar to a group hug. I chuckled and hugged them.

"I agree with Lando. No matter what if I'm here, I'm happy."

"I love you two so much!"

"We love you too." Osc gave us a quick kiss and hugged us back.

"Then let's think about this later, today is a off day."

"It's a us day."

[in1-nutshell]

I need young justice to take Caption Ace to a burger joint and watch as their body is physically incapable of handling the sheer amount of grease.

Captain Ace is back!

Hope you enjoy!

Captain Ace: Slice of Life

SFW, Platonic, Super soldier reader

YOUNG JUSTICE

It became clear to the team that Ace did not like going outside.

Outside meaning interacting with modern society.

So far, she seem to have a strict schedule they followed every day.

It was almost robotic at this point.

But if she was feeling like mixing things up, Ace would try and look more at the modern world from a distance.

Robin: “Hey Ace, quick question.” Ace looks up from her plain oatmeal. Kid Flash zips over and grabs the oatmeal from Ace. Ace: “Hey—oh?” Kid Flash replaces it with some waffles and fruit. Kid Flash: “We have to get you to expand your taste pallet.” Robin: “Which leads me to my question, when was the last time you went out?” Ace: “Out what?” Artemis: “You know, going out on the town or something?” Ace stops and thinks. Ace: “… I actually don’t—Oh! Wait now, I remember! I was out on the town with Jay-Jay. We were going to a picture show when these broads showed up and—are you all okay?” The entire team is looking at them in shock. Robin: “… Who here wants a free day?” All the team: “Aye!” Ace: “… Why do I feel like I’m in danger?”

It didn’t take much convincing to get the team out of the cave.

Really, all Robin had to say was when was the last time Ace interacted with the outside world, and he got the green light.

It was up to M’gann to make sure Ace was dressed appropriately.

After a bit of back and forth, Ace ended up wearing a dress shirt and some jeans.

It was a nice compromise.

The first place the team went to was the mall.

… which they quickly learned that Ace had no sense of direction in the civilian world.

Robin: “I’ve checked the appliance section!” Artemis: “I’m in the food court with Wally and there is no sign of Ace.” Kaldur: “I am checking the restrooms with M’gann and we have no visual.” Conner: “I’m checking the park lot, still nothing.” Meanwhile… Ace is in the arcade winning every little kid a stuff animal on every game that resembled a carnival game. Ace: “Whatya say Georgie? You want the bear? I’ll gets ya the bear!” The kids: “Ace! Ace! Ace! Ace!”

Ace was now to be accompanied by at least two team members at all times.

Especially when the team found them about to square off with an entitled Karen who was trying to steal some of the kids prizes.

Too be honest most of the team wanted to see how this went down, but they really didn’t like the look Ace was giving the lady.

Like she have said before, she doesn't like bullies.

On the plus side, Ace did win each of them an extra large plushie.

Now it was time for food.

As mentioned by Wally before, Ace needed to expand her food options.

Ace had to admit they were a bit overwhelmed with the number of options they had.

The decided to go with a safe route.

A simple cheeseburger with some fries and a shake.

It had been years since she had that.

Ace’s eyes went wide when the meal came.

It was huge!

What happened with the proportions!?

And it was dripping too!

What was that!?

Is that normal!?

… At least it looked much more appealing than regular Hartack and canned rations.

She was about to ask if this was normal, but everyone seemed to be eating just fine.

Ace starts eating their burger. Wally playfully nudges them. Wally: “So? How is it?” Ace swallows a bite and immediately starts chugging their shake before stopping and unscrewing their water bottle. Conner: “Ace?” Ace finally gasps looking a bit queasy. Ace: “What in the BLAZES WAS THAT!” Wally: “Its just a burger Ace.” Ace gives him an annoyed look. Ace: “Do I look like a schnook? That was no… no… urgh.” Ace starts looking a bit pale. Kaldur stands up and pats Ace’s back. Ace: “I think Imma spew…” M’gann: “What’s ‘spew’?” Ace suddenly stands up and runs to the restroom. The team winces hearing a clear ‘HERK’ noise following by its content. M’gann: “Oh… that’s what she meant…”

After Ace finished emptying her stomach and was able to walk a bit, the team decided it was best to get them home.

Ace tried to protest, but the gagging stopped them.

Wally kept on apologizing.

After the team made it back to the base, Ace went to go shower.

The team was ready to retire for the night when Ace called them over to the main room.

The super soldier, in their sleep wear shyly asked if they were up for a movie night as an apology for what happened in the mall.

Ace was swept into the air by M’gann hug while the rest of the team either started getting snacks, getting comfortable on the coach or setting up the TV.

The team is sitting on the coach in various positions. Wally and M’gann come over with the food. Ace slightly moves away from the buttered popcorn. Wally sits down next to Ace holding some bowls. Wally: “This popcorn has some light seasoning, and the other bowl has some slightly salted nuts. Rob has the grape bowl… and again sorry for that.” Ace smiles and gives the speedster a side hug. Ace: “Things happen Wal. Now we know for next time. But if you want to do something extra…” They whisper in his ear. Ace: “Do you have the moxie to ask the dame out?” Wally goes a bit red. Wally: “I don’t have any feelings for Artemis.” Ace just smirks. Ace: “Who said it was Arty?” Wally realizes his mistake and groans into his hands. Ace just chuckles a bit and pats his back. Ace: “That trick worked so many times on Jay back in the day, I’m starting to think it might be a speedster thing now.”

Ace about to go confront an entitled Karen.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I started doing sex work while still living with my mom?

Warning for sexual mentions(nothing heavily explicit though)

I (18F) can't get a typical job like working in customer service or physical labor because of a mix of reasons. I'm both physically and mentally disabled, for one. I have chronic pain & chronic fatigue so extensive physical labor or any job that requires being up for a long time is out of the question for me, as it would cause me a lot of pain and put me at risk for collapsing or falling asleep due to exhaustion. I also have heavy social anxiety and sensory issues, and despite being in therapy since I was around 11, this hasn't gone away. I still have problems with stuttering when talking to people I don't know, and feel on the verge of panic the entire time. I also can't handle loud noises well- I carry around a pair of headphones constantly but that does mess with my hearing so I couldn't really use those in a customer service focused environment. I'm a full time student as well, and will be for several more years, as I'm going straight into college out of high school. On top of all that, I can't drive yet, as the process was delayed due to concerns that my health issues would make me a hazard on the road, so I won't have my full license until late this year.

I've tried looking for other job types before, but nothing I've been able to find works. I've tried doing art, but it's not easy to get people to actually commission you- I've only gotten 1 so far and I've had commissions open for almost half a year. I've tried content creation but have yet to build a platform big enough to make money from it. I've looked for online focused jobs such as creating captions or proof-reading others work but realized very quickly I'm not equipped/qualified for that job due to my problems with processing audio correctly, and my problems reading and writing correctly first try- I often have to re-read things many times over and re-type things at least once to get it at all correct, as words and letters get mixed up in my brain sometimes or I just accidentally skip over entire words or even sentences. And even then I sometimes still get it wrong. So I'm a pretty slow worker with things like reading, and something that requires listening to something and then writing what was said took so long it wouldn't meet the time requirements a lot of places are looking for in workers for that (that I've seen).

So the only idea I have left for making money so I at least have something to help pay for college and to go towards me being able to move out someday is some sort of sex work. I'm not planning on doing anything super risky, like meeting up with real people or anything that would show my face. So I wouldn't be worried about this bothering my mom since she's not really sex negative or strictly against sex workers or anything if it wasn't for one thing. I'm not sure if this will work either. I have a lot of acne problems all over, and problems with picking at my skin that leave scratch marks in a lot of places. And I'm not sure anyone would be willing to pay to look at that. It's not something that bothers me on an individual level, it's just a part of me, but that doesn't really change what other people do or don't find attractive. So it just kind of feels disrespectful to be selling that kind of thing in my mothers house if it's not even going to be significant enough for it to matter financially. And, of course, there's always the risk my mom could see it, and I worry it would upset her to see her daughter selling that kind of thing. But I don't see other options left for how I could make enough money to not end up drowning in student loans down the line, or end up living with my mom for many years into adulthood- which wouldn't be fair to her since she's not financially well off either. I don't plan for it to be a permanent job, just something to help me through my college years till I can start working in the field for what I'm getting a degree in or until my issues get well enough I can work a more typical job.

WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

[marvelettesassemblenow]

Wrong Number

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female Reader 

Summary: When Steve texted the wrong number, he started a friendship with you. Most of your talks are about your Corgi Bella, but then you find out who Steve really is 

Word Count: ~3.5k 

Warnings: body shaming for Steve (don’t worry, other people make sure to tell Steve how beautiful he is), if you don’t like garlic I’m sorry – just imagine it is something else, some swearing 

A/N: Texts in [ . ] are text messages 

[I’m just asking because Sam begged me to ask you to bring your garlic dip to the barbeque. He won’t shut up or else I wouldn’t be bothering you.] 

[I don’t know a Sam?] 

[Haha, I’ll tell him that] 

[No, seriously. I don’t know who you’re talking about.] 

[Good one, Nat. You could have just said you wouldn’t bring it.] 

[I’m not Nat... And tbh I don’t know who you are either. I think you have the wrong number 

At least I hope Sam gets the garlic dip, if it helps] 

You didn’t hear anything else from the unknown number and it had been a few days. When it was Thursday evening and you were bored and scrolled through your messages you saw the unknown number again and decided to send text. 

[I hope Sam got his garlic dip!] 

When there was no reply in the next minutes you put your phone aside and put more focus on the show running in the background. Then your phone was illuminated by an incoming text. 

[He was very sad he didn’t get it. And he did complain all the time while he was still stuffing his face with my apple pie.] 

[Wow, so I guess that dip must be very good then. Any chance I could get the recipe?] 

[I doubt it. No one has gotten it out of Nat so far] 

[What about your pie recipe?] 

[Who knows, I might share one day] 

[Well a girl can hope. I hope I didn’t bother you.] 

[No bother, I’m glad you’re distracting me from some paperwork] 

[Well then here’s something else to distract you] 

Steve wasn’t sure if he should open the picture or not. He heard stories, but in the end his curiosity won, and he was rewarded. He looked at the cutest little dog who was sleeping on a rather big pillow. 

He couldn’t help but gush about the dog and learned that she was yours, was called Bella and a corgi. You shared stories about her and he couldn’t help but ask more and more until he noticed that he should really finish writing his report. But talking to you was fun and so he decided to go to his room and call it a night. He would get up earlier in the morning to write the report. 

He messaged you when you were taking a walk with Bella, telling you to be safe. It became a daily occurrence to talk to each other. He messaged you in the morning asking how Bella was, although he knew that she wasn’t with you. It was easier under the pretend to ask about your dog than to ask directly how you were doing. But it was always the second question he asked. 

Talking to you was just easier – it might be because he was just Steve. No Captain America, no solider, just Steve who was talking to a nice woman about her dog. And your job, your family – you had been messaging for weeks now and he still learned something new about you. 

You still tried to bribe him with pictures of Bella in exchange for the recipe for the apple pie. It wasn’t like it was a big secret recipe, but he enjoyed the banter and the pictures that came in through the day. The latest one was of the dog with her head turned to the side and a crown that almost fell from her head. 

[I saw the crown and thought it was fitting as you always call her princess, but she seems to hate it 🙁] was the caption of the pic. 

[She doesn’t need a crown to be my princess. Will you go on your walk soon?] 

[Yup, just getting ready] 

That was the last message he received. He didn’t like you being out on your own at that time of the evening. You had sent him a picture and it was dark, so he always texted with you. But this evening he didn’t receive an answer so for the first time he did something he had never done before. 

The buzzing didn’t stop and you fished the phone out of your jacket, it showed an incoming call from Steve. It took you a second until you finally pressed the green button. 

“Hello?” you asked. You hadn’t realized that you had stopped walking until Bella nudged your leg. 

“You didn’t reply to my message, I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” you heard his voice – and the sound of it made you wonder - not for the first time - how he looked like. 

“Were you worried?”  

You didn’t expect him to answer with a clear yes. “I did, I needed to check in on my girls.” That did things to you, you weren’t able to handle yet. You played it off and talked about Bella instead, who was getting restless. 

“I guess you can keep us company, Bella just wants to keep going.” 

“Of course she is, she wants her mom home safe. She’s my good girl,” he said, and it was as if Bella heard his voice when she starred at you. Steve was on the phone with you until you told him you arrived home safely and put the phone on speaker where he talked to your dog while you took off your jacket. 

“I have to go now and play with a grumpy cat,” he told you when you were back on the phone. 

“You have a cat?” you asked astonished as he had never mentioned it before and only then did he admit that he had been at his best friend's place. You scolded him for talking to you instead. 

“As I said I was worried about you. The punk wouldn’t dare to say anything, but Alpine might bite me if I won’t give her some cuddles now. Have a good night, sweetheart.” Before you could reply anything he had ended the phone call and you could only stare at your dog on shock. 

“Well, that’s a new one.” 

Tuesdays you helped at your local animal shelter. And that day there was a lot of talking and surprisingly many people. 

“What’s happening?” you asked Amy when you signed in.  

“A lot of people are here today because of the photo shooting. A few Avengers came by to take some pictures for a campaign to adopt more animals. Pretty good idea, but the day wasn’t as good. The photographer was a bitch. There really isn’t a better word for it. She was complaining the whole time, demanding and then she was a real bitch to Captain America. The man came here to do something good, for free might I add, and she looked him in the eye and said “I thought superheroes were supposed to be perfect. This is going to take so long to photoshop these arms with these stretchmarks all over.” 

“She didn’t,” you gasped. “What did he say?” 

“That poor man excused himself. He said he was sorry and opted to put on some more clothes. Can you imagine? What a crime!” 

“Damn, now I wish I had been here. I would have ripped her a new one, this is no way to talk to other people. And especially not someone who risks his life for us. And who in their right mind would look at him and tell him he’s ugly?” You were getting upset and you weren’t even there. Amy asked you if you could take Daisy for a walk and let that information slip that she had been the dog that had been photographed with Captain America. 

Daisy had gotten her name because of a white spot on her butt that looked like the flower and you were surprised that she hadn’t found a forever home yet as she was the sweetest dog you had ever met (but you wouldn’t say that out loud when Bella was near).   

“I think I cheated.” Your heart stopped for a second before you remembered that he couldn’t be talking about you – as you weren’t a couple. 

“You think you cheated?” 

“Today I had – I saw a couple of puppies and I slipped and called the little girl princess and then I felt bad immediately when I noticed, and I just had to call and come clean and apologize to my princess. Of course, she’s the only one, but maybe she’ll understand if she sees her.” 

“Did you call to apologize to my dog for calling another dog princess?” you concluded. 

“I would have come over and gave her favorite treat and some cuddles if I could, so I hope this will be enough though.” There has never been a conversation about if the two of you should meet. An incoming picture distracted you though. 

And this time you were sure that your heart stopped, because there was no way! No way that this picture happened today and that you were staring at the same puppy that had been in your arms not 3 hours ago. And had been in Steve’s too. “I’ll just... I’ll put you on speaker so you can apologize to Bella. I have to use the bathroom, I think.” You put the phone on the floor, told Bella – who let out a whoof when she saw you walking away, but decided to stay near the phone and not move at all from her place. 

Your Steve was Captain America. Your Steve was Captain America. Your Steve was Captain America. You felt like a damn fool, but on the other hand – what was he supposed to say? Obviously he wouldn’t introduce himself as Captain America. And then you remembered what Amy had told you about that awful woman and you bet he had an awful day while you just let him alone with your dog on the phone.  

“I’m back, sorry for disappearing and leaving you with my dog.” 

“That’s alright, are you okay?” 

“I am! What about you?” You pressed the phone closer to your ear. 

“I’m okay too. Feel a lot better now that I’m talking to you,” he admitted, and you could hear that he really sounded more relaxed. “Okay, so I’m going to suggested something crazy here. How about we switch to a video call? You don’t have to show me yours, but you could see Bella if you want to. And me, if that’s what you want.” You must have been out of your mind to suggest that, but now that you knew who was on the other side of the phone, it just seemed fair. 

“Only if you want to, sweetheart.” 

“Let me change real quick, so I won’t be in my pj’s anymore. But I’ll put Bella on first.” You placed the phone in front of her dog bed and pushed the call button and when you could hear Steve’s voice again you quickly went to throw on a regular shirt and decided to stick with the pj pants. And you couldn’t do anything to hide the growing pimple on your face, so you wouldn’t be bothering about that either. 

When you came back and picked up the phone Bella looked confused, then lost and followed you towards the couch where you were headed. In the end Steve had a good view of your dog and a not flattering angle of you. “So guess this is me then,” you said when the other line went still and you saw the black rectangle in the corner. 

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d look like that.” You face must have shown you confusion. “It’s nothing bad, its better, but like you imagine how the other person would look like when you’re talking to them and it isn’t that at all, but you’re … beautiful. Seriously, I knew you’d be because of everything you told me, but seeing it with my own eyes. I wish I could show you myself, but today... isn’t a good day.” 

“That’s okay, I offered. You don’t have to do that, don’t feel pressured.” Bella made a noise as if she’d agree and a laugh was heard through your speakers in reply. 

Minute by minute his mood improved; you could hear it in his voice. He was telling you about the cute dog and you felt like you kept something from him when you didn’t tell him that you knew Daisy. But then you’d give away that you knew who he was and he wasn’t ready to share that. He had only told you he didn’t have a good day and that talking to you had made it better. You noticed that this was the first time he left Bella out. 

“So what, you can gush about one corgi all the time, but when I take you to a corgi party, you’re all pouty?” Sam couldn’t believe it. Steve had been in a mood for a few days and Bucky and he thought this would cheer him up. 

“Steve, did you see the one dressed up as Captain America?” Bucky was excitingly pointing somewhere in the distance. It seemed like he was having the most fun of the three of them. Steve couldn’t tell his friends that this made him kind of sad, because it made him miss you and your dog. The talking had fizzled out and you almost had no time to call or anything. You still sent him messages when you were on your walk (He just couldn’t reply in that moment because he was on a mission) and you sent him pictures of Bella, but it felt like something was missing since you had your video call. 

But how could he tell you that he wasn’t just Steve, he was Captain America too? 

“Steve, look at that one at your feet. It’s looking up to you.” 

Steve looked down and there sat a Corgi. “Hey there,” he cooed and bend down. “Aren’t you a cute one?” The dog waggled its tail and flopped on its back, so Steve started to rub the belly. “Are you lost?” he asked when he noticed the leash hanging loosely at the dogs side. “What’s your name pr- sweetheart?” He stopped himself, but he noticed the ears standing up when he almost let the petname slip. 

Two things happened at the same time: While Steve looked at the name on the dog tag at the collar, someone shouted for Bella and the dog got back on its feet. 

“Princess?” Steve asked at the same time you asked “Steve?” and then he said your name or more like breathed it. Bella let out some noises so no one would forget about her, while you and Steve were busy staring at each other, and he had stopped petting her. 

The moment was broken by a man approaching. “Sorry, but could I take a picture of you and Oliver? I can’t believe we met the real Captain America!” Steve looked briefly at you, but you offered to take the picture. Bella refused to leave his side and so you took a picture with her at his feet, Steve with a forced smile and a dressed-up Captain America Corgi in its owner arms. 

When the man left Steve looked apologetic at you. “I didn’t want you to find out like that!” he said sheepishly. 

“Oh, I already knew,” you admitted and looked at the two people standing behind him. After a quick introduction they asked if it would be okay to pet Bella and you told them that she would be disappointed if they didn’t. 

“Have you met Winter?” you asked Bucky who gave Bella the pets she so desperately wanted. 

“Uh no? I don’t think so?” 

“You have to meet her! I just met her and her owner and they are so nice! Winter is actually named after... well I guess you’ll find out. But I bet she would love to meet you! They wanted to get something to eat so you might find them there.” 

When it was only the two (three) of you Steve apologized for not telling you sooner about his alter ego.  

“It’s not like you need to walk around, telling everyone. I get it, Steve. I’m not mad! You told me about you and your friends, what you like and don’t like. You didn’t need to tell me about your job. And it wasn’t like I told you when I found out who you were either.” 

“Why didn’t you?” he asked when you stopped so Bella could sniff at a new friend. 

“I thought you’d tell me when you’re ready. And I heard about the photo shooting at the shelter, so I thought this wasn’t the day to bring it up. And I want to tell you again,” you stopped and, with a bravery you didn’t know you had, took his hand in yours and only continues when he looked at you: “Don’t listen to that horrible woman. You’re very handsome and you’re such a beautiful person, don’t let other people tell you otherwise!” 

A blush started to appear on his face, but he didn’t let go of your hand and in the end the three of you left the park with him texting his friends they shouldn’t wait for him. Talking to each other felt easy and you didn’t even know why you hadn’t really talked in the last weeks. Maybe it was because you felt insecure after that video chat.  

But your friendship with Steve grew and now he was even accompanying you on your evening walks, which often ended with late night talks in your apartment. If Steve couldn’t come it was Bucky or Sam and one time Natasha stood in front of your door and introduced herself (That same night you also found a little note with some ingredients on it in your kitchen). Bella loved all of them and especially the one-time Bucky had a little companion with him. 

“Interested in talking a walk with us?” he asked. 

“Us?” you asked confused as you didn’t see Sam. 

“Yeah, Winter and I were about to take a walk.“ Your eyebrows rose when you spotted the three-legged dog next to his side. “Just don’t ask, okay?” You promised but you would be asking Steve as soon as he was back from this mission! Walks with Bucky were kind of different, not as much was said as it would be with the other ones, but you somehow felt that in the non-talking you said a lot to each other. 

“So, when are the two of you making it official?” he said randomly. He didn’t look at you and was instead watching Bella and Winter intensely. 

“If Steve is interested in something more than friendship, he should make it known. I thought I had made it clear that I’m interested and if he isn’t taking the next step, I’m not pushing it into something it isn’t.” 

“I guess I need to have a chat with that punk then.” Winter and Bella were exhausted from the impromptu playdate and while Bella crashed immediately when you opened the door, Bucky picked up Winter without a struggle, told you good night and made his way back out of the building. 

The next time your doorbell rang you it was Steve in civilian clothes, but still with dirt in his face and his hair unkempt. “We need to talk!” 

You couldn’t help yourself and you had to take a picture! The sight in front of you was just too cute. “Don’t stand there and join us!” Steve’s sleepy voice suddenly said, and you should have expected that he had noticed you lurking in the doorway. You quickly walked over and laid in the arm that your boyfriend held out for you. 

“Did you like the picture you took?” he asked. 

“Love it, actually.” 

A few minutes later a notification popped up on your phone. 

[Steve Rogers posted a picture] 

This is real and even heroes aren’t perfect was the headline and it showed a picture of a shirtless Steve - stretchmarks and all - in bed with a corgi thrown over him and they looked at each other with love in their eyes.  

Steves Instagram post made the internet go mad. Theories about who that dog was, what made him post after such a long time and then something so extremely personal. And no one was prepared for the chain reaction that followed:  

Under the hashtag #HeroesAren’tPerfectEither and #AdoptDon’tShop followed pictures of the other Avengers. The Winter Soldier posted a picture of him standing in front of a dog with only three legs – and without his prosthetic arm. Many pictures more followed and the campaign, that wasn’t a campaign, was more successful than any other. More furry friends found their forever home, although Steve felt that in his case it had been Bella who had adopted him and showed him his forever home. 

Masterlist | Library Blog

Reblogs, comments, asks or just a ramble mean the world to me &lt;3

[bullet-prooflove]

🍆

Pick any of the guys/their girls!

Dean doesn’t usually tend to send pics because it makes him feel self-conscious but he loves receiving them from Isobel. He usually keeps his phone in his locker until the end of shift, so when he picks it up there’s occasionally a pic of her in that old Navy t-shirt and white panties, telling him she’s waiting for him back home. Or in the bathtub with a glass of wine with the caption ‘waiting for you to come join me’.  It’s very hard for Dean not to break the speed limit those nights.

In the beginning Amelie was always sending Jack nudes when he was away. They were usually filthy lingerie shots, followed by what she was thinking about doing with him. Jack would always call her and talk her through touching herself, listening to her moans over the phone as he jerked off in the sheets. He wasn’t very confident about sending his own because of how self-conscious he was about the scars on his body.

When he started getting more comfortable they’d video call and he’s undress for her as if she was in the room, which would get Amelie going every single time.

Now it’s a little different as Amelie is a little shyer, the pics she sends are less risqué but still turn Jack on like nothing else.

The pictures between Sean and Roxie starts when Roxie is bored at the firehouse. They’ve slept together a few times at this point, which has built Sean’s confidence but when he gets that picture he is blown away because Roxie in her uniform with that red lace bra it gets him hard almost immediately. He ends up going into a panic and texting Mitch about the situation because he’s pretty new to actually dating and has no idea how to respond.

Mitch gives him the options:

Tell her how much it turns you on

Or send one back if he feels comfortable in the relationship.

For Sean this is a big step because it’s a massive show of trust on both his and Roxie’s behalfs. It takes him a while but he manages to get a picture in the bathroom mirror. Honestly, he kinda likes what he sees, he looks strong, attractive and just the type of man who would be sending his hot girlfriend pics. It’s in that moment he realises just how far he’s come, how safe she makes him feel. It becomes a regular thing after that when Roxie’s on shift, leading to some very steamy solo sessions.

[steampunk-christians]

I’m not having an easy time at my job. It’s really, really difficult to find time to do anything other than work, eat, and sleep. It makes me feel sad because it sucks to complain about a blessing from God, but running into people who expect me to work for them to the point of absolute burnout has been such a constant issue in my life. It almost killed my relationship with my own sister the time I used to work for her (we do get along now, but it was quite difficult to heal from that, and believe me when I tell you I try not to hold it over her head).

I feel like I’m getting mixed signals from God. Like, yes, it’s a blessing that, for the first time in forever, I might actually get a decent paycheck for overworking myself. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still overworking myself to the point where I feel completely burned out most of the time. And then my inner monologue starts running these thoughts like: What if you only got this opportunity because God had to provide for you and knew you needed it, but the hardship of it is actually some kind of test or punishment? I feel like I keep going in circles trying to make sense of my life. Like, sure, there’s definitely an element of “play stupid games, win stupid prizes” in all of this. And at the end of the day, it’s not like I was using my free time wisely before, anyway.

But a few days ago, I started getting really aggravated because of the lack of sleep (which was my own fault anyway, lol), and I just told God that I didn’t understand what I was supposed to do or feel. I was like, How am I supposed to believe i’m in this world to make content for a masculinity coach who says misogynistic stuff like “you can never expect a woman to make a logical decision” and to prompt captions for shorts about cryptocurrency? Like, I don’t want to be snooty about it (warning: I will be snooty about it), but all these tasks are so far removed from who I am and what I actually like that I can’t help but feel kind of despondent about the fact that I’m stuck doing this for who knows how long, mostly because I am the provider of my own mother and no one in my family can help. However, right after asking for some sort of guidance, a funny situation happened. I can’t really explain it because it would take too much detail, and the specifics might not be that important or interesting, but the underlying feeling it left me with was as if God was telling me: “Be patient, my son.”

So… for the moment, it seems like I’m pretty stuck, and I just have to make the most out of the situationship. The only thing I’ve decided so far is that I’m going to start watching The Chosen—it feels like an easy way to distract myself in a way that’s still slightly edifying but doesn’t take too much effort or time. I can't even write these journal entries anymore because they take so much time 😭 I am trying not to sound like a spoiled child but maybe I am.

[skullamity]

I opened Facebook to check something, an activity I generally avoid because The Algorithm + the intentional inability to block shit I don't want to see + the default view being 90% that, 8% paid advertisements with the remaining 2% being people I actually follow and want to see updates from makes it functionally unusable. I was on there for less than 5 minutes before the algorithm was like hey, do you want to be enraged? Do you?

May I present to you, the image:

This was presented to me with the caption "the protected account is the 16 year old artist who made this shit" (paraphrasing here because I closed the app and the way the algorithm works is that I'll basiclally never be able to find this again). Notably, it did NOT remove usernames, a thing I did for both of the accounts in the screencap.

So why am I mad?

There were NEARLY FOUR HUNDRED COMMENTS on this, and nearly all of them were shitting on a minor who committed the crime of *checks notes* recolouring and doing some minor edits to some DanDaDan art. As far as I could tell, ALL of the comments were from actual adults, and 90% of them were scrutinizing the motivations of an actual kid for fucking around in Photoshop or whatever. The few people defending this kid, for the fact that they were a kid and this is the biggest fucking nothing burger? Were being pissed all over for "not caring about cultural appropriation, 'racist blackwashing,' how unoriginal making fanart is, how fanart is 'basically stealing,' etc."

Can I just say, as someone who draws for a living? If you are ever tempted to pile on some kid for any one of these things, nevermind all of them, you should instead consider deleting every avenue of social media you have on your phone and touching some grass.

If I had had that sort of scrutiny on me at all time in such insane numbers when I was 14-16 and just learning how to draw (got internet at 14, yes, I'm old)? I would simply have quit forever. Because when kids are learning, they do stuff like this! I remember outright stealing poses from art I liked and found on ye olde Anime Web Turnpike, and using them like paper dolls to make my own characters over top.

Someone called me out on it once when I dared to upload a drawing I did to fukken like...Elfwood or whatever that art site was? And I took it down and never did it again. It was embarrassing even though I rationally knew that I was a kid learning on my own with zero direction, and this behaviour is expected for kids! It is forgivable! Especially since kids aren't making money off this shit is it literally just for fun!

If I had that one person do that and it made me go, oh, actually, I shouldn't do that unless I want to feel embarrassed over and over, I can pretty confidently say that if hundreds or thousands of adults called me out on it and ALSO left paragraphs about how I'm a horrible person, I would have quit drawing, which again, has been my career for almost my entire adult life, and also probably burned my social media to the ground and moved one town over after changing my name.

If you come across someone doing something to or with art and you don't like it, consider:

1) is it hurting anyone in a meaningful, tangible way? you being annoyed or disgusted does not count as meaningful or tangible because you can literally just block them and go on with your day.

2) is it breaking the rules/TOS of the platform that it has been posted on?

3) will going nuclear on this kid actually help anyone in any meaningful, tangible way?

If you are able to be honest with yourself, 99% of the time the answer to all three of these is going to be NO. I would argue that if any single ONE of these is a NO, you the course of action you take should begin and end with blocking them and moving on with your life. Giving some kid who just wanted to see some characters that looked more like her and thought it would be neat to race swap some comic characters a nervous breakdown isn't praxis, it's just fucking evil and you should feel bad for even considering it, nevermind actively contributing to it.

Being in the Internet is going to present you with a lot of situations where your brain is going to encourage you to swoop in with righteous fury and mete out an epic smackdown on some unsuspecting kid because it will make you look and feel like The Good Guy--you're making a difference AND you'll get that sweet, sweet dopamine hit + quick gratification the second those likes and agrees start flooding your inbox. That is the devil taking--you're not thwarting some evil by strangling it at the root level, you're killing some kid's enthusiasm for creative exploration and ruining something that they might have really come to love and put a lot of hard work into if you could have just chosen to walk away over feeding your greedy little ego.

Who are you protecting, here? NOBODY. Every pro artist I know, and I know so, so fucking many of them, would tell you to fuck all the way off if they ever heard you harassed a kid on behalf of our profession. Most of us WERE that kid, and the only difference is that many of us grew up without the looming presence of social media and the kind of bloodlust that fuels these weird public trials and shaming.

Consider doing literally ANYTHING else! He'll, if you are so sure that you know the "correct" way to draw, maybe you should take up drawing yourself and instead of raining down social mob "justice" on teens, you can draw a picture instead and pat yourself on the back for doing something productive instead of destructive. Fuck!

[cuck4gf]

Can you share a story about your gf cucking you?

My gf once fucked a foreigner in my own bed while I was watching from inside the closet.

So my girlfriend is studying to be a mechanical engineer and she had an internship at a pretty generic consultancy last summer. There was a white guy visiting from America to go over a contract for some sort of design and she was there observing

Obviously she got caught observing him too hard and after a bit of chit chat she gave him her contact details. Almost immediately, the guy sends her a dick pic from the office bathroom of his semi-flaccid (but still big) cock with a caption of something basic like "What were you thinking when you saw me this morning"

She went on a full spam of texts degrading herself like "I was thinking about being a cocksleeve and then my mind blanked", "excited at the thought of being treated like your whore", "thinking about how you could easily ruin me with a cock that big", "thinking about how far I should degrade myself that you'd let me ride your cock but won't think I'm a disgusting chink", "your soft cock is bigger than my bf when he's hard"

Basically she a whole series of texts at first about how she would do anything to be his fleshlight, and then about how mesmerised she was by his big cock

I remember receiving a text from her to leave the house for the night but I didn't see it in time (I was in the middle of cleaning) before I heard them in the hallway so I ended up hiding in the closet (messaged her that so she knew). There's a slight gap, maybe half a cm between the closet doors so I could still barely see out. I could hear her in the background talking about how her bf would be happy to share her

It did not take long for him to just sit down and get comfortable on my bed, and my gf desperately tearing off his pants on her knees and hearing her gag on his cock, complimenting his size and hearing that slurpy sound of her sucking hard. His cock was pretty big, my guess is like 9 inches.

Then I watched him pull her up by her hair and throw her on the bed on all fours, then mount her. Like I'm not talking doggy style the position, I'm talking about him on top of her on all fours like an actual dog mounting another and then fucking her pussy. Mind you her pussy was so wet the sound was so clear

She came so hard, moaned so loudly I'm sure the neighbours heard and kept screaming his name. He couldn't cum so he'd be railing her like a beast non-stop for like 40 mins fully hard the entire time and ignoring her cumming and getting sensitive

When he finally came, my gf took the condom off and licked him clean, getting him hard again and then putting her in all sorts of positions. I'm not kidding, they fucked for basically 2 hours straight, my gf came so much the bed got wet and he went back to his hotel leaving behind 3 condoms filled up with thick cum.

She let me out of the closet when he left and then emptied all 3 condoms into her mouth and swallowed in one shot. She kissed me, gave me a handjob to finish me off and swallowed that as well, and we had dinner finishing the day very ordinarily

[burnwater13]

Din Djarin standing in front of a bantha loaded down with explosives on Tatooine. From The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 1, The Marshal.

The caption reads: She's no good to us dead. The caption is from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 5, The Gunslinger

It had taken Grogu a long time to get the full story of what had happened when his dad and that obnoxious jerk, Calican, went into the desert after Fennec Shand. Din Djarin hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Calican couldn’t. Peli was just glad that it was over and at the time, Grogu had been pretty happy about that as well. 

But as time went by Grogu wanted to know more. How did that gunslinger make it out of that part of the desert alive? Where was the person they were going to find? What happened to his protector’s speeder bike? Most importantly, how the heck did that punk manage to trick an experienced Mandalorian Bounty Hunter?

Grogu realized it was that last question that his dad really didn’t want to answer. Peli told him that the kid had made his dad feel old and no one likes to be reminded that one day someone else would be taking their place. Grogu asked her if she felt that way too and was told in no uncertain terms that women like Peli did not grow old, they matured like fine spotchka and improved in all manner of ways. His had heard that and started laughing as soon as she said ‘fine spotchka’. Peli had retorted that she never needed to hide her good looks under a helmet. Or words to that affect. Grogu couldn’t really hear her because his dad was still laughing so loudly.

It took a while, but he finally had the opportunity to ask Fennec herself. They had been at the Daimyo’s palace, having a meeting about things the Mandalorian could help them do to address some of the other issues on Tatooine. Grogu found that all very boring. Especially when the discussion drifted from the strategies and tactics needed to permanently close off Tatooine to spice smuggling and turned into a long, dull conversation between the two bounty hunters on methods and techniques for keeping Mandalorian armor clean and functional. 

“Hey Boss, I’m going to take the kid down to the rancor enclosure. Maybe he can get the critter to take a nap and the trainer can finally clean that place up. It stinks like a rathtar nest.”

“Don’t tire him out Fennec. We’re heading back to Mos Eisley today.”

“Don’t worry Mando. He’ll be fine. He’s not as easy to trick as you are.” Fennec cackled at his dad and then they were off. 

Grogu wondered what she was talking about and when they were out of earshot of the throne room, he asked her. 

“It’s a good thing for you that I’ve been a place or two kiddo. Your dad still doesn’t understand what you’re saying half the time.”

Grogu nodded his head. That was absolutely true. 

“When you decide to take up an occupation like mine, administer for the Daimyo, you have to have a broad set of skills and experience. I’ve met others of your kind, a long time ago, and let me assure you, out of all of them you are by far the most intelligent and the best looking. Even so, I did learn a thing or two from them and that has always been a big advantage to me. Even when your dad and that fool, Calican, came after me.”

Ahh! Good. Fennec remembered all of that. Grogu had worried that when the Daimyo brought her into the Modifier that she’d forget all of what had happened that day. 

“I’ll never forget that day kid. That’s when I decided that I wouldn’t be taking your dad out. He’s the one who told that stupid kid not to… uh… end me. You don’t forget a thing like that. Even lying in the desert. I do think your dad needs to get better sensors for that armor he wears. Just because my heart beat slowed down, it didn’t mean I was gone.”

Fennec’s voice had changed subtly and Grogu almost missed it. She usually gave his dad a lot of guff and sass which Grogu found funny. Now she sounded impressed with him, if a little bit annoyed. But Grogu could understand that. He was always a little annoyed with his dad. 

“Kid, your dad is honorable. I’ve met a lot of Mandos in my time. Most of them weren’t fit to polish your dad’s armor. He and Boba are exceptions. Never forget that. I know I won’t.”

Grogu smiled and coo’d at her. He promised that he wouldn’t forget that either. He also wasn’t going to forget that even if you got fooled by someone once, it didn’t make you a fool. Either you trusted a person who couldn’t be trusted or the odds were never in your favor to begin with. Grogu supposed that’s why his dad didn’t want to talk about it. He still didn’t know which thing had happened and since it had all worked out in the end, it didn’t really matter. 

“Hey! Machete! The kid wants to ride the rancor!”

Grogu laughed as the big man scrambled up from where he was taking a nap and looked from one of them to the other. 

“Did the Boss agree to that?”

“Would I be here if he didn’t?” Fennec cackled. 

The trainer went to collect Ranky and Grogu shifted in Fennec’s arms so he could tap her head gently with his. 

“Thanks kid. Now really wear the critter out. It’s going to take him all day to get this place cleaned up.”

Fennec brushed a tear from one eye and Grogu just pretended that he hadn’t noticed. He’d never smelled a rathtar nest, but if it smelled like this, then he understood why it brought a tear to Fennec’s eye. Memories were like that.

From The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 5, The Gunslinger. Caption reads: She's no good to us dead.

[buzbu]

I’m watching ‘Ladybug and Chat Noir: Awakening’ (you can watch a really bad quality bootleg recording on most pirating sites right now), these are my reactions while I’m watching . A lot of the points won’t make sense unless you’ve seen it too I’m sorry 😭

If you don’t want to watch the movie but want a vague idea of the plot, here u go

⚠️NEW MIRACULOUS MOVIE SPOILERS⚠️

- master fu is soo dramatic

- THIS IS A MUSICAL???

- whoever the singer is for marinette sounds so noticeably different to her it is throwing me off

- the character designs are so cute

- brand placement: 1

- Adrien is brooding so hard with his headphones. I bet he’s listening to something emo

- omg gabriel agreste backstory right away

- Luka cameo

- whyd they make plagg a fart monster

- there are more than 4 background character designs this is crazy

- whyd they make gabe kinda fine

- gabes first musical number as hawkmoth is so insanely Dr Facilier

- they made him such a good villain omfg I’m actually rooting for him he’s got the whole ‘a villain who would sacrifice the world to save her’ thing going for him

- oooo they have the mime villain from season 1 (?), and they are actually showing how op his power is. He could create literally anything and he just made a wall and a gun, he couldve done so much more. They did him justice they made him kinda fine too very Danny Bailey from Schmigadoon

- chat noir calling himself a sidekick is my villain origin story

- didn’t know how much I needed an action montage with a rock cover of the miraculous ladybug song until now

- a slither of adrienette in the montage

- brand placement: 2

- I’m an hour in and chat noir hasnt called ladybug milady ONCE

- oh my god they have the play fighting trope where they end up pinning eachother against a wall this is so them

- I don’t think the songs are very movie like, the words are pronounced like radio songs so you can’t really understand what they’re saying a lot of the time without captions (I don’t have captions 💔)

- the romance feels a lil rushed. Because they spent the first half hour almost exclusively on marinette and setting up her character/insecurities/etc and all the romantic development was in a montage. Now there’s a love song and theyre in love and it feels very underdeveloped to be at this stage already

- this song is cute though I can’t make out the majority of the words but in-love ladynoir content has my heart

- no marichat so far . Waiting patiently

- they haven’t set the love square up to its full potential 💔💔

- ok nevermind they kind of have, ladybug rejected chat noir for adrien, she asked adrien out and he rejected her for ladybug. But there has been no ladybug + adrien interactions or chat noir + marinette interactions yet

- omg gabriel adrien angst omg gabe is so much less of a dislikable character, they actually gave him some depth . Adrien is full on yelling at Gabriel and gabe actually looks like he cares about his son

- this bootleg is terrible quality but even with the bad quality the quality is so obviously good

- I’ve gotten used to the marinette singing voice and now I just love it

- this movie is so dramatic with the love songs and songs about insecurities, I feel like it’s that movie ladybug made fun of in the show

- GABE AKUMATISED HIMSELF AND ITS SO COOL THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT WEIRD IPAD VILLAIN HE WAS IN THE SHOW

- adrien just said ‘the less interested you are, the more they run after you 😒’ because ladybug called him for help after she rejected him😭😭😭😭 bro rlly said all girls are the same

- idk if this bootleg is just clipped together but it keeps randomly turning french with no subtitles and it’s confusing me so much. I don’t know french, why must they be in paris

- these boss fights are so well animated

- chat noir is so bitter god damn

- ladynoir angst but it’s actually high stakes im loving this

- LADYBUG SAVE YOUR CAT WHAT ARE YOU DOING

- SHE LET HIM FALL WHAT

- gabe just turned the water they fell in into lava this is crazy

- they just turned french again I have no idea what they’re saying

- MARINETTE / HAWKMOTH SHOWDOWN

- nevermind

- I’m sorry marinette would pick this dialogue to shreds it’s so corny

- GOT THE TINIEST SLITHER OF MARICHAT I AM HAPPY

- YES YES YES GABRIEL FORCED TO FACE THE FACT THAT ADRIEN IS CHAT NOIR

- HES SELF REFLECTING!!! REALISING EVERYTHING HE DID WAS INSANE AND HURT ADRIEN WHEN HE TOLD HIMSELF HE WAS HELPING HIM. THIS IS WHAT THE SEASON 5 FINALE SHOULDVE BEEN

- THIS IS PERFECT

- this is what ppl wanted for the show . adrien being resentful at first, Gabriel hit in the face with his own guilt and mistakes, having a genuine moment of self reflection, adrien forgiving him and gabe changing instead of getting his wish and being remembered as a hero, plus all of paris finding out hawkmoth was Gabriel, etc. I love this

- brand placement: 3

- omg there’s a masquerade ball everyone looks so good

- so marinette knows that adrien is chat noir but he doesn’t know shes ladybug yet ? That better change in the next 2 minutes

- HE KNOWS!

- marinette is so pretty I’m actually so happy with this

- OHHHH NATALIE VILLAIN ARC ????

- oh theyre talking in french again I have no idea what this ending means

FINAL THOUGHTS!

obvs it isn’t canon but I love this adaptation. The superpowers are portrayed as powerful as they actually are, there’s more drama and angst which I needed, the timeline is VERY different to the show. Marinette stands up for herself to chloe the same day that ladybug and chat noir reveal their identities, so it’s like the origins episode of season 1 mixed with one of the various identity reveals from season 4. Also she’s not friends with any of her class other than alya, adrien and nino, so it’s also kind of pre-origins vibes. Idk, it was really good and I can’t wait to watch it in better quality, with captions, and without ads playing every half hour

Also I’m forever thankful that there was no lila rossi storyline

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Carry Me Home- Prompt: Bridal Carry, Jack Griffin

Requested by @chipadip

Jack doesn't like chaperoning field trips, but unfortunately this was one he couldn't claw his way out of. Perhaps he would have tried harder if he'd known it would end with Helen Henry Demarcus carrying him through the forest.

READ BELOW, OR ON AO3 HERE

By now, Jack really ought to know that things don’t go his way- not even, apparently, a simple fucking field trip. 

When Durbin first broached the idea during an impromptu staff meeting in the break room, Jack hadn’t even thought he would be coming on the damn thing. After all, he’s a part time teacher who, let’s be honest, doesn’t even do that. He spends his lessons napping or planning revenge missions against those who’ve wronged him instead of educating his students, and he’s almost certain everybody in the entire school knows that. Why would anybody consider asking him to supervise on a trip outside school grounds when he can’t even be bothered to supervise on school grounds?

But of course, he’d been added to a goddamn email chain about the trip which Dave- avid nature lover, and the reason the trip’s even happening in the first place- started using as a free space to display photos of squirrels and memes of cats hanging from trees captioned ‘hang in there!” (all of which were liked by Helen) to the point that Jack had to switch his phone to ‘do not disturb’ mode in order to escape the constant stream of notifications. Of course, this naturally meant that his inevitable insistences that really, he wasn’t interested in chaperoning an outing to Wildwood Preserve were buried beneath pages upon pages of junk emails, and consequently ignored. He didn’t have a chance at escaping it. 

As they pull up to the parking lot of the preserve, Jack suppresses a sigh at the way Dave immediately stands up to deliver a speech about the trip. He clearly thinks himself the Bear Grylls of Toledo, Ohio. 

Lynette shoots Jack an amused glance from across the coach, and he smirks back. Clearly, she’s thinking the same. 

Dave’s authoritarian regime continues way past this, though, and no sooner has Jack stepped off the coach than he’s being ushered towards ‘his group’. Well, not exactly. ‘His and Helen’s group’. Jack’s not sure exactly what he’s done to be punished like this, but before he can attempt to protest his placement with the most insufferable woman in all of Toledo, Dave is shooing the group- also including Sarika and Marcus as extra punishment- towards the woods and telling the students to document all of the plant life they see. 

Fantastic. As if this trip couldn’t get any more boring. 

Jack decides the best thing to do is just bite the bullet, shoving his hands in his pockets and giving Lynette a pleading look as he trails behind the group, Helen nattering incessantly in his ear. 

“Y’know, it’s been yonks since I came out here- well, not came out here, I did that during my sixth grade dance recital. Did I tell you about that one? Ah, I probably have but I’ll tell y’again anyway. It was a cold and dark evening on the 28th May 1975...”

Jack inhales. It’s going to be a long, long day. 

By the time Jack emerges from his haze of daydreaming, it’s already been a couple of hours. He’s leaning against a tree, arms crossed against his chest, watching lazily as the students around him pick about in the undergrowth for plants to take pictures of and wondering all the while how this can really constitute education. Sure, Whitlock wasn’t exactly high brow when he was in attendance, but at least he never had trips dedicated solely to yard work. 

His phone pings. 

Chair thief: U bored yet? Bcos I sure am

He grins. 

Bored out of my mind. The only thing I’m glad about is that Helen’s decided to start haranguing the kids instead of me. 

As if to check, he glances upwards, and is unsurprised to find her stood beside a crouched Sarika. He’s too far away to make out exactly what she’s saying, but judging by the ‘kill me now’ expression on Sarika’s face, it isn’t exactly titillating conversation. 

When he looks down, another message pops up. 

Chair thief: Does that count as child abuse? I think maybe you should step in, Jack. 

And risk transferring her talk onto me? No way, Lyns. 

He presses send with a satisfied smirk that quickly fades away as soon as a red error message appears below the text. Undelivered. 

Oh, for fu-

Sighing through gritted teeth, he holds his phone aloft, waiting for the signal to repair itself. It doesn’t, of course. All it accomplishes is making him look like an idiot. Okay, you wanna play this game, phone? Fine. 

He starts to wander from the clearing, still keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. Any minute now and it’ll send. Any minute now. Any... minute...

A little wheel jumps up on screen, and Jack’s so triumphant he doesn’t notice the log in front of him, his foot slamming against it the second the message finally sends. He howls out in pain, yanking his leg upwards, only to teeter right over the log anyway, landing in a crumpled mess in the leaves on the other side. 

His cheeks blaze with embarrassment, but he manages to sit up, glancing around to see if he’s caught the attention of anybody. At first, it appears he escaped without consequence. But then...

“Oh, Jack, there you are! I heard ya screaming like a tomcat in a bag! You okay?”

He half-groans as Helen emerges from the trees, waddling towards him at high speed.

“I’m fine, Helen. I just-“

When he splays his fingers against the ground and tries to pull himself up, though, he’s met with an immediate wave of pain from his ankle. 

“Oh, Christ. Fuck, that hurts.”

He looks down and is just a little nauseated at the sight of a bruise beginning to form on the joint. The swelling that’s starting to encase it. He hazards another small movement, grimacing and squeezing his eyes shut as it elicits the same shooting pain up his leg. He’s definitely rolled his ankle. 

“Ooh. That looks nasty.”

His eyes spring open to find Helen crouched at his side, and just as his lips move to tell her not to touch it, she’s pressing a finger right against his ankle so hard he has to bite his lip not to scream. Even so, he’s pretty sure a small whimper escapes. And... ooh, he really isn’t feeling so great all of a sudden. He’s a little dizzy. Lightheaded. 

“C’mon, you gotta get back to the coach- Ralph made sure we were bringing a first aid kit, because you just know how prepared he is. I mean, one time we were out for this teacher training day, and I slipped on a banana peel, right like in the movies, and Ralph-“

“Helen.” Jack grits out, eyes blazing with frustration. 

“Right. Yes. Onto the task at hand. Can ya walk?”

He nods fiercely, but the moment he attempts to stand again, that same flaring pain sends him sitting back down again, blinking through spots in his vision. Reluctantly, he shakes his head. 

“N-no. Don’t think I can.”

Helen smiles. A worrying sign, by all accounts. “Well, that’s just fine! Let me give you a hand.”

Jack sighs, almost ready to thank her, but instead of simply offering him some help getting up, she reaches her left arm below his knees and her right at his back, and lifts him off the ground. 

“WOAH! Christ, Helen, I don’t need-“

Cheeks rouging (something he’s not entirely frustrated about considering how faint he was feeling a second ago) and stomach lurching, Jack yelps as she takes a step forward, his arms leaping around her neck to keep himself from falling. Oh no. No no no no no no no. This is not happening. 

Except it is, and soon Helen is emerging into the clearing where all of his students are picking at dead leaves, immediately announcing Jack’s injury to all of them while they stand and watch, flabbergasted. Sarika has the nerve to smirk, folding her arms as he clings on to Helen like a stupid fucking spider monkey, the blazing heat he can feel in his face informing him that he definitely looks as embarrassed as he feels. 

“Alright, out the way, gotta get Mr Griffin back to the coach!”

His students part like the goddamn red sea, and he wishes he were crossing an ocean so he could slip free from Helen’s grasp to drown instead. Aware that if he lets himself fall, he’ll be in for a world of pain, though, he instead opts just to squeeze his eyes shut and wait for safety.

He knows the moment he’s close to the coach when he hears the astonished laughter of someone familiar. 

“Oh my God.”

“Shut up.” He murmurs to Lynette, mortification reaching an extreme. 

“What happened?” she chuckles. 

Helen helpfully (or not so helpfully) answers for him. 

“Oh, he just tripped over a twig- it’s fine.”

Jack opens his eyes to level a glare at her, even as his arms remain hooked around her neck. “Wasn’t- wasn’t a goddamn t-twig, Helen. It was a l-log.”

“Pfft. Twig, log. Same thing.”

Lynette grins. “It was definitely a twig.”

Dave, walking out from a different patch of the woods, frowns when he sees the commotion. 

“Oh, gee, did someone hurt themselves out in the wilderness? Let me go fetch the first aid kit.”

Jack swallows. No. No. Anyone but him, please. 

Lynette, thankfully, rolls her eyes and addresses Dave. “It’s alright. I’ve got this one. Besides, you’ve got to keep an eye on the whole trip, right?”

Dave hums thoughtfully. “Yeah. I s’pose you’re right... Just... just walkie me if you need to.” He gestures to a device strapped to his belt, because of course he’s keeping his on there like he’s a cop, while Jack’s is shoved somewhere in his pocket where it’s been buzzing annoyingly for the past few hours. 

“’Course. Will do.”

Helen sighs. “Right, then. Let’s get you back on the coach, and I’ll let the lovely Miss Hofstadter do the rest.”

Jack barely contains his smile when at last he’s placed down on one of the seats, and Helen disappears, leaving only him and...

“Hiya, Lyns.” He murmurs, leaning back. His cheeks are still flushed, but not from embarrassment this time. 

Sliding into the seat next to him, Lynette places the first aid kit on her lap. Her eyes twinkle playfukly when they meet his. 

“You really were bored, huh? Gave yourself a life-threatening twig injury just to get away and see me?”

He sweeps a quick glance outside to make sure they’re quite alone- they are- then turns back to her, leaning in until his breaths are ghosting her cheek. 

“Life-threatening log injury, actually.” He purrs.

 

“Oh, right...  My mistake...”

And when he closes the gap, his lips meeting hers, Jack doesn’t care anymore that he’s in excruciating pain. That he’s probably going to walk with a House-level limp until his ankle heals properly. That the stories of Helen carrying him through the forest are undoubtedly going to circulate like wildfire.

All he cares about is her.