#just. shaking the fandom. are you blind to this!!!

[normal-nightmare]

It's me again and please keep yapping this is the tasty content I come here for. lol I've been sitting here a while (longer than is polite) trying to form a proper response to my previous ask cause it was literally everything! I wish I could be half as eloquent instead of just yelling XD

like there are so many things that draw me to these two, and ngl it definitely started with the whole pseudo-incest vibe but they really are so complex and you really hit the nail with this:

Just... they're so complicated and it sucks that people don't wanna explore that because of the preconceived notion that they're brothers, nothing more, nothing less. Sure, legally they are, but they don't... act like it? They didn't grow up together, they weren't very close before Jason died, and they only recently started getting properly close. Jason also has his crush thing going on (seriously, how else am I supposed to interpret RHATO v2 annual 1??)

Look I will forever maintain Dick was Jason’s gay awakening and that boy has been in love with Dick since he was what 12? 15? Also the way you described their relationship to each other was so delicious and alterous is such a great term for them.

I feel like jaydick becoming canon one day would be a natural progression of their relationship. Especially since they seem to be getting paired up as a duo more often. Readers love them, comic artists and writers like them too- i feel like jaydick actually happening one day wouldn't be extremely surprising.

THISTHISTHIS!!! I hope this does happen.🙏

Also re: dickbabs and not making certain characters bisexual I feel that on such a spiritual level. Like I’m sorry but both Jason and Dick read as queer to me? Idk how to describe it. Which is why I love the little touch of bi Dick in Gotham Knights.

Also speaking of Gotham Knights, I finally finished it and holy fuck what the fuck? One of my few complaints is that I wish it was longer. I need GK2: electric boogaloo but this time with a Poison Ivy case file because reasons. I adored every interaction Dick and Jason had, from the emails to the flirting in front of everyone’s salad, plus how they were almost always near each other? (also Jason looked so good in that post credit scene in the Batcave I choose to believe every time he wears it, Dick can’t keep his hands to himself 🫣)

ALSO

I genuinely feel like the writers were intending for jaydick to happen in a DLC given how much setup there is.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this? I want to yell about this game so much. I wish I had someone to play co-op with me so I could see some of those Jaydick interactions too 😞

GOD honestly i have a million thoughts on Dick and Jason's relationship in Gotham Knights?? Because what the HELL is going on in that game!!!

It utterly BAFFLES me when other people read their interactions (Belfry, cutscenes, whatever) as brotherly/familial bc like... if you're interacting with your family like that I'm so concerned?? Bc they're gay as hell!! They flirt the ENTIRE GAME. Like... it's ridiculous how in-your-face they are about it. It's not even gay subtext anymore, it's just... text. Saying they're not gay in Gotham Knights is like saying Jayce and Viktor were 'just brothers' in Arcane to me LMFAO.

Like... the rooftop scene for one reads as really BAD flirting on Dicks part. It doesn't feel like he's being deliberately silly to cheer up Jason until he fakes falling over the edge, THEN he's properly silly. The entire scene otherwise, he's just... being really bad at flirting? And it's funnier that both that and then him being silly actually kinda WORKS on Jason. He laughs (laughs!!), relents and let's Dick sit next to him! It's so, so cute!!

And then the little interaction where Dick says that the Belfry needs a cat, and then Jason suddenly flirts with him?? Like the line "Listen, Grayson, if you're scared of some mouse you saw scurrying, I'll keep you safe." Is ABSOLUTELY flirting, and this is only supported by A) the tone Jason has and B) the way Dick stutters and stumbles over his words afterwards. Like, Dick is AUDIBLY flustered and surprised by this. He tries sooo hard to keep it cool but that boys BLUSHING.

And then there's the tension in some scenes?? When they argue in the beginning and when Dick puts a hand on Jason's wrist (after Jason jokes about making Tim a fake ID), and kind of the scene where Jasons mad, and he's sparring with Dick and Dick catches his fist and says "Easy, Tiger." Like.... the tension in these scenes goes crazy?? The physical closeness, the eye contact, the brief silence, calling Jason tiger?? Like I CANNOT be crazy thinking that there's at least a LITTLE sexual tension in these moments. Juuuust a little 🤏

And like! Yeah you're 100% on them being so physically close most of the game. It's hard to find scenes where they AREN'T standing right by each other. And their stories focus a lot on each other!! At least Dicks story focuses a lot on Jason! Like... a LOT, it's 90% Dicks story 😭

And the like,, nicknames. Dick calls Jason things like Big Guy, swole, and Miracules throughout the game, like, consistently. He points out Jason's size and strength a lot?? (His size and strength kink is so blatantly obvious, good lord this man is horny LMAO. I don't blame him though... 👀) and then Jason mainly calls him Grayson, but when he's being vulnerable he calls him Dick? Which is so cute?!

And a cute little detail is how angry Dick gets on Jason's behalf when Talia says they should be grateful she brought Jason back even though she took away his autonomy and used him. Like, Dick is PISSED! Lowkey he's so ready to throw hands right there.

And i think one of my favorite interactions is when Dick chooses to take Jason to a circus that's in town. Like! He's literally asking Jason out on a DATE. And it's the cutest thing ever?! Jason is surprised and it's just... it's so sweet.

And in general they have the sweetest interactions and emails. It's adorable how they kinda talk about Tim like they're proud parents, and it's also cute how they kinda bicker over the perfect sandwiches cause they sound like a married couple loll.

Just!! Auuggghhhh they're so CUTE in Gotham Knights! There's a mountain of setup there for a romantic relationship. It's very in your face, and honestly impossible to ignore if you have ears and eyes. I'm sure there's more i'm missing or just haven't mentioned, but it's so blatant it feels like it couldn't have been on accident.

Just... it's so cute, I'll never get over it 😭

[madamenyxillustrations]

@luciaintheskyainthi "The anger was immediate and blinding. “You think this is a fucking game? You fucking hypocrite!” Jason snarled and hauled Peter up by the front of his hoodie. Peter let him, still trapped in that dreamy state. He wanted to shake Peter’s shoulders until reality rattled back into him. “You get up me just for breaking some asshole’s leg, and then you pull shit like that? You’re a fucking meta! The fuck you think woulda happened if you’d aimed for the head?”

“I would have killed him.” Peter almost absent-mindedly grabbed Jason’s forearms to support himself, the hoodie big enough he could have slipped straight out. The compliance only fuelled Jason’s anger."

Fandom: DC/Marvel Characters: Jason Todd, Peter Parker Fic: Existential Crisis Mode Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55345306/chapters/140413300

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° he got that boyish look that i like in a man ;)

♡ a/n — first bsd post in a longggg while!!! enjoy this drabble!

♡ word count — 571

♡ content — ranpo edogawa x gn! reader, secret relationship, fluff, not much else to say tbh, not proofread

♡ synopsis — Wrapped in golden sunlight and the shared knowledge of something no one else in the world knows...this is how you and ranpo edogawa like to spend your time.

Ranpo has his head in your lap again.

The blinds in the agency office are tilted just enough to let the late afternoon sunlight spill across the floor, warm and honey-colored. Everyone else has gone — Atsushi and Kunikida wrapped up their case earlier, and even Dazai made his usual theatrical exit an hour ago. You’d stayed behind to finish reports, and Ranpo… 

Well, Ranpo had declared he was “on break from being brilliant.”

Which, in Ranpo terms, meant crawling into the couch, eating two lollipops, and then making himself comfortable with his head in your lap.

Your fingers move instinctively to his hair, brushing through the dark strands, careful not to dislodge his ever-present cap. He hums softly, not quite asleep, not quite awake, utterly content in that lazy, boyish way he always is when it's just the two of you.

“Someone’s going to walk in one day,” you say, voice low and amused. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Ranpo’s eyes stay closed, but his lips curl into a smirk. “They won’t. I locked the door.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You locked the—Ranpo.”

“Relax,” he mumbles, patting your knee like you’re the one that’s overreacting. “They all think I went home. Besides… it’s more fun this way, right?”

You exhale through a small laugh, shaking your head. “You and your secrets.”

He peeks up at you, one green eye glittering with mischief. “You like it.”

And he’s not wrong.

There’s no real reason your relationship is a secret. It isn’t forbidden, or complicated, or shameful. 

But there’s something intoxicating about having this quiet little world that belongs to only the two of you — something about the way his hand brushes yours in the hallway when no one’s looking, the way he’ll pass you notes folded into candy wrappers, or catch your eye in a meeting and wink like you’re sharing a joke no one else is in on.

It’s private. 

It’s safe. 

And it’s yours.

Ranpo stretches like a cat, limbs long and lazy. “You know, if I were anyone else, I’d get tired of hiding,” he muses. “But I’m the greatest detective in the world. I know how to cover my tracks.”

“Mm. Impressive.”

“And I know,” he adds, voice softening, “that you like keeping secrets.”

You glance down. He’s watching you now, gaze open and sharp despite how relaxed he looks. He’s infuriatingly perceptive sometimes, catching emotions you didn’t even realize you were feeling. 

You wonder if he knows how your heart stutters when he looks at you like that — like you’re not just someone he likes, but someone he chooses, again and again.

Your fingers brush along his cheek. “You make it hard not to.”

His grin widens. “Because I’m cute?”

You laugh under your breath. “Because you’re you.”

It’s a simple answer, but it’s the truth. 

You could list a thousand reasons: his genius, his ridiculous sweet tooth, the way he somehow always finds the softest parts of you without even trying. 

But in the end, it’s just… him. All of him. 

The boyish charm, the childlike laziness, the startling flashes of brilliance — you love it all.

Ranpo hums again, content. He pulls your hand into his, weaving your fingers together and resting them on his chest.

And for a little while, you both just stay like that. 

Quiet. 

Hidden. 

Safe. 

Wrapped in golden sunlight and the shared knowledge of something no one else in the world knows.

is the bsd fandom still alive?

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[bruisedboys]

LOVED YOUR THOMAS FIC!! Please write more Maze Runner. ALSO, I am a sucker for established relationship.

What about Thomas and reader (established relationship) reunite after being separated?

this is literally a year old but I discovered it in my drafts and had to post! pretty sure the maze runner fandom is dead rn but I simply do not care

tmr!thomas x fem!reader | established relationship, fluff and a bit of angst (set in the death cure)

Thomas thinks, if he doesn’t find you soon, he might as well be dead. He’s well on his way. His heart hasn’t felt normal since WCKD took you. It’s felt heavy as lead, weighing down in his chest like a rock, making it hard to walk, hard to breathe. He hasn’t been able to sleep, but being awake is so much worse. It’s horrible, spending every waking moment worrying about what WCKD is doing to you, wondering if you’re even alive, thinking about all the things he could’ve done better to save you.

The guilt eats at him like a virus, clawing at his heart and up his throat. Eating him alive and spitting him right back out until he feels like a zombie. A dead boy walking.

It takes over his body now, so much so that he’s not really thinking at all as he breaks into WCKD headquarters. He’s thinking, but he’s not thinking. He lets his body take over, he smashes through glass windows and knocks out guards with the butt of his gun, he busts down metal doors and screams your name down the fluorescent white and blue halls.

He yells himself hoarse. He and Newt come to a T shape in the seemingly never-ending hallways. Newt yells for them to take one each, and Thomas barrels down the right one, his heart pounding in his ears. He peers through big glass windows, sees machines and medical carts and computers, but no you. He’s starting to feel desperate. He’s starting to feel like he might kill someone just to find you. His legs feel numb. Then,

“Thomas! I’ve got her!”

Thomas runs faster than he’s ever run before. Twists on his heel and very nearly breaks his ankle, but goes sprinting the way he came, and down the hallway Newt took. Hope and guilt and desperation and regret surge through his body like electricity in his veins. He’s running so fast, so blind with hope, that he almost slams right into Newt. His friend grabs his elbow.

“Woah.” He’s breathing hard. But he’s smiling. “She’s okay, Tom.”

And then you appear as if out of nowhere, stepping out from behind Newt like an angel in a fiery, burning hot hell. You look pale. You look weak. You’re in a hospital gown and no shoes. There’s a big bruise in the crook of your elbow and your lips are cracked. But you’re here. He doesn’t want to sound like a loser, but Thomas could cry buckets right now.

“Y/N,” he says. He doesn’t sound like himself. Doesn’t feel like himself. He feels as if he’s standing watching the scene as merely an observer. It’s an odd feeling, an out of body experience.

“Thomas,” you say, and the relief in your tone breaks his heart into a million little pieces that seem to spill out onto the floor in front of him.

Thomas surges for you. He scoops you into a hug so tight it’s sure to bruise, which is stupid, but he isn’t thinking straight, and you squeeze him just as hard, anyway. You fling your arms around his neck and keep them there. Thomas doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They’re everywhere — your hair, your back, your neck — it’s like he’s worried you’ll slip away, or worried you’re merely a ghost of the girl he loves. The fabric of your hospital gown is starchy and foreign in his hands, but you’re warm and soft and familiar underneath it all.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He’s crying now, and Newt’s right there watching the whole thing, but Thomas doesn’t care. His heart hammers faster than light. Or is that your heart? He can’t tell, you’re pressed so tight to him they may as well be the same. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head hard where it’s buried in his neck. You’re crying too, he feels your warm tears sticky on his skin. “Don’t. Don’t say that. I’m okay, Tom.” Your hand is in his hair, stroking him gently like he’s the one who’d been kidnapped, not you. “It’s not your fault.”

Thomas blinks away hot, hot tears. They blur his vision. His ears are ringing, or is than an alarm somewhere blaring in the distance? He can’t tell, it doesn’t matter, he’s got you now and he’s never letting go.

Newt says something but neither of you hear him. You’re too busy coveting the hair at the nape of Thomas’ neck, and he’s too busy running his hands over the planes of your back as if memorising them. Newt tries again, louder.

“We have to go now!” he shouts, gripping Thomas’ shoulder.

Thomas pulls back, blinking rapidly. His ears finally stop ringing, only for them to pick up something worse, gunshots and yelling coming from somewhere too close, followed by thundering footsteps. He curses and takes your shoulders in two rough hands. Just be strong for a little longer, his touch says.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you again. Guilt and sincerity roll into one to ache like a wound over his heart. “We have to go now, sweetheart. We’re gonna find Minho and get you the hell out of here. Can you walk?”

He’s willing to carry you if you have to. But you nod and grab his hand fiercely. The three of you take off down the hallway and Thomas decides he’s never, ever, letting you go again.

[eternlmoonshine]

the weight of water 𖦹 spencer reid

summary: you spent so long trying to keep spencer afloat, you didn’t see yourself drowning. and when you finally let go, it wasn’t an explosion- just the quiet pull of the tide, taking you away. pairing: spencer reid x reader warnings: pure angst, no happy ending. established relationship except the relationship is going to shit. both reader and spencer are TERRIBLE at dealing with their emotions. some potential for a part two but i'm not sure wc: 1.2k a/n: thanks to my twitter oomfs for choosing the one angst option on a poll that had 3 other fluff options, apparently the cm fandom loves being miserable <3 masterlist.

You had been holding your breath for so long, you forgot what it felt like to breathe.

At first, you didn’t notice the water rising. It started slow, seeping into the foundation of your relationship, just a little rain, nothing to worry about. A passing storm. But leaks don’t stop. They spread. They grow. And one day, you wake up gasping, realizing you’re already waist-deep, treading water, clinging to the person you love, desperate to keep both of you afloat.

But Spencer never saw the flood.

It wasn’t one moment but a hundred little ones. 

It was Spencer coming home after a case, silent and heavy, like the weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders. The way he sat on the couch and stared- at nothing, at everything, at some invisible horror only he could see and he refused to name. The way his fingers trembled when he thought you weren’t looking.

The first time you asked him about it, he brushed it off. "Just tired," he said.

The second time, he changed the subject. 

The third time, he kissed you instead. 

And then, you stopped asking.

Because your own pain felt so small next to his.

You had bad days, too. Days where the weight of everything pressed against your ribs, where the world felt like it was swallowing you whole. But every time you thought about saying something, you stopped yourself. Because what was your exhaustion compared to the kind of things Spencer saw? What was your sadness compared to the horrors he carried home?

You learned to push it down, to smile when you didn’t feel like it, to convince yourself it didn’t really matter. That you didn’t really matter- not like that.

So when the water kept rising, you never said a word.

The night he came home with blood on his shirt- not his, but it didn’t matter- you followed him to the bathroom, watching as he scrubbed at the stain with shaking hands. "Do you want to talk about it?" you asked softly.

He flinched. "No." His voice was sharper than before, tired in a way that made your stomach twist.

"Spencer…"

He turned then, eyes flashing. "What?"

You hesitated. Because I love you. Because I hate seeing you like this. Because it’s drowning you, and you don’t even see it. But all you said was, "I just want to be there for you."

He exhaled, turning away. "Then stop asking."

So you did.

You stopped asking about his day. Stopped asking why he barely touched his food. Stopped asking if he was okay.

And you stopped talking about your own pain, too.

The night he woke up screaming was the night you realized you were already underwater. The sound shattered the quiet, raw and broken. You reached for him instinctively, only for him to jerk away. The rejection stung. "Spencer, it’s okay," you whispered, watching him struggle to breathe. He didn’t look at you when he muttered, "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Fine people didn’t wake up screaming like that.

And still, he refused to reach for you.

The breaking point came quietly, the way a ship sinks, slow at first, then all at once. You should have known it was coming. You should have felt it in the air, in the way tension had been building between you for weeks.

But love makes you blind, and you had been so blind.

He came home from another case, a ghost of himself, moving through the apartment like he wasn’t really there. You knew it had been bad, you could see it in his eyes, in the way he carried himself- like a man with a noose around his neck, just waiting for it to tighten.

He was quiet.

Too quiet.

And for the first time, it made something inside you snap.

Because this wasn’t fair.

Because you loved him, but love wasn’t enough if he wouldn’t let you in.

"Spencer," you whispered. "Please-"

"I don’t want to talk about it," he cut you off, voice like a snapped wire.

"You never want to talk about it!"

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I don’t-"

"I know your job is hard," you interrupted. "I know there are things you can’t tell me. But Spencer, you don’t tell me anything. And it’s-"

"I can’t!" His voice cracked, frustration spilling over into something uglier. "You think I want to be like this? You think I like shutting you out?"

"Then why do you-"

"Because I don’t know how!"

Silence.

His breathing was ragged, his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes, wide and wet and tired, held something like fear. He wasn’t keeping the pain in. He was trapping himself inside it.

And suddenly, you felt so stupid.

Because you had spent so long convincing yourself your emotions didn’t matter, convincing yourself you had to be the strong one, that your feelings were insignificant compared to his- and for what? He didn’t want to be saved. He didn’t want you to save him.

The weight of his world, his nightmares, his grief- he wasn’t just carrying it. He was holding it so tightly, so desperately, that he couldn’t bear to let any of it go. And maybe he never would.

Your vision blurred.

You swallowed hard. "Spencer," you whispered. "You’re drowning."

His expression twisted. "And maybe I deserve to."

Your breath caught. He had never said anything so cruel. Not to you. Not like this.

You knew it wasn’t true. You knew it was the pain talking. But it still felt like a fist to the chest, forcing all the air from your lungs.

And in that moment, you realized something.

You had spent so long trying to save him, you hadn’t noticed you were drowning, too.

"I love you," you choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "I love you so much. But I can’t—" Your throat tightened. "I can’t do this anymore."

Spencer stilled. "What?"

Tears blurred your vision. "I can’t keep reaching for you if you won’t reach back."

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, watching as the tide pulled you away.

And for the first time, Spencer let you go.

⊱ ───────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ───────── ⊰

You don’t remember packing your bags. The act felt mechanical, your hands moving on their own. You took only what you needed. Anything more felt like stealing, even though it was your home, too.

Spencer stood in the doorway, watching. He didn’t try to stop you. You weren’t sure if that made it easier or worse.

"I don’t want to lose you," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Then you should have held on."

His face crumpled, and for a second, you thought he’d break, thought he’d fall to his knees and beg you to stay. But he didn’t. And maybe that was the answer in itself.

You reached the door. Hand on the knob. One last breath before stepping out into the unknown.

"I hope you find your way back to yourself, Spencer. I really do."

He didn’t respond.

You walked away.

The water was still rising, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could finally breathe.

[mercuriians]

connect (with you)

synopsis ☆ kuroo’s walls come down after the game with karasuno.

content info — some hurt/comfort with our beloved nekoma captain because he deserves all the love in the world 🙏 SPOILERS for the dumpster battle movie so beware. reader is mentioned to be kenma’s sister a few times.

author’s note — just wanna say hi to the haikyuu fandom :) hope u enjoy this short drabble i wrote, i’ll probably make it look pretty later. lmk if you wanna see more kuroo x kozume!reader in the future.

your lips are on kuroo’s before the locker room door even has a chance to close. his skin is soft and familiar, his kiss eager yet vulnerable. something compels you to reach up, circling your arms around his neck as you pull him closer, tighter, until you’re sure that his warmth has become your own. the sound of his breathing is the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground as your mouths meet again and again. no words need to be spoken.

after years of being together, and even more years of being friends, you know tetsurou like the back of your hand. as if he’s perpetually been woven into your spirit, etched into your heart since the day he moved into the house next to you and your brother’s.

you know that the cheery grin he shot his teammates, the reverent bow he gave to the crowd, and the meaningful hug he shared with daichi at the end of the match were all borne out of three things—his sworn responsibilities as the captain, his earnest respect for karasuno, and the addictive rush of adrenaline.

the moment he left behind the arena’s blinding lights, though, the high seemed to wear off.

yet an aching feeling stayed with him.

when you pour your heart out on the court and play until your muscles feel like they’re on fire, when you devote hours of your precious time towards practicing—towards smoothening out every crack within your blocks, every blemish within your serves, every falter within your receives—and when you imagine the game countless numbers of times in your head until it feels like a memory, there’s a certain type of pain you feel when it’s all over. it’s a sadness that’s inevitable, and yet one that stings so profoundly and uniquely that it becomes a bittersweet moment you’re bound to remember for the rest of your life.

just one more second, one more chance— you think to yourself in a flurry of desperation. because as foolishly selfish as it sounds, nobody ever truly wants the game to end.

that feeling of wanting to remain frozen in the experience is something you yourself are all too familiar with. volleyball, after all, was what gave birth to the connection you now so deeply share with tetsurou.

you suppose that’s why you’re able to pinpoint the exact moment his shoulders start to shake.

pulling away from the kiss, you feel your heart plummet into your stomach before you can even see the tears trickling down his face. something you’ve come to learn about tetsurou is that he rarely ever cries, so when he does, it only makes the sight that much more impactful. wordlessly, you pull him into you once more.

the way your arms firmly, comfortingly wrap around his tall figure conveys a simple but invaluable message that resonates throughout the empty room— “i’m not letting you go.”

quietly, he sobs. you let him.

you barely notice your nekoma jacket becoming damp with his tears. when his crying slowly starts to recede, you break the silence, voice soft and tender. “you were amazing out there, tetsurou,” you whisper. “and there’s three things i want to thank you for.”

withdrawing by the tiniest sliver, just enough so he can meet your patient gaze, your boyfriend tilts his head slightly in the way he always does. his fingers subconsciously trace patterns across the small of your back. “what are they, baby?” his voice is quiet and a little hoarse. really, it’s a miracle that you manage to block out your own shadows of sadness.

“one,” you whisper, fingers reaching out to gently wipe away his tears, “thank you for being the best captain this team could ever ask for.”

“two,” you continue, leaning in to kiss away the tears that remain, before a small smile pulls at the corners of your lips, “thank you for helping my brother fall in love with volleyball.”

“and three,” you breathe out, your vulnerable gaze meeting his own, lips inching towards his once more, “thank you for being as strong as you’ve been, and for carrying the world’s burden on your shoulders when none of us could.”

when you finish your heartfelt confession, tetsurou’s hazel eyes glaze over with a fresh wave of tears—this time, however, it’s for an entirely different reason.

and this time, he’s the one that kisses you first.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (10 - Welcome Home)

Chapter Summary: “No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people. “I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 6.1k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: We've reached the end of Part 1! If you've noticed the updated series masterlist, I removed the dates of when the Part 2 chapters will be published. I've decided to take my time as I've started Law school. Rest assured this series will be completed, as I have a feeling this will be my last for this pairing/fandom // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It's getting late. Families are beginning to pack up, hauling sugar-fueled, weary kids back home, as the Halloween crowd dwindles to a few costumed stragglers. One by one, the booths start shutting down, their owners announcing fifty percent off final sales in a last-ditch effort to clear their stocks. You haven't returned from your patrol, and Billy and Tommy are nowhere to be seen. 

You should've been back by now. The boys, too. 

Wanda’s anxiety is creeping up again. She scans the square, searching faces, but none of them are yours. None of them are Billy or Tommy's. 

“Have you seen my kids, Billy and Tommy?” she asks a passing neighbor.

“Can't say I have,” he shrugs, moving along.

An uneasy feeling crawls up Wanda's spine. Where’s her family?

Then she spots Agnes, effortlessly holding court with a group of volunteers by the cotton candy stand. She hesitates, knowing full well that getting Agnes' attention usually means signing up for more than she bargained for. But if anyone has a handle on everything happening tonight, it’s her snooping, ever-present neighbor.

“Agnes!” Wanda calls out, weaving through the remnants of the crowd.

Agnes turns, eyes gleaming, her mouth already stretched wide into a blinding smile. “Wanda! What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen the boys? Or Y/N?” Wanda tries to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Oh, the boys are at my place! They heard I got a new gaming console for Ralph and just couldn't resist. Begged me to let them try it out.”

Nothing about what Agnes said makes sense. “They went to your house? Without asking me?”

“Oh, you know how boys are with their toys,” Agnes rolls her eyes. “They were so excited, I didn't have the heart to say no.”

Wanda frowns. She knows her children well—they're adventurous but always inform her or you before taking off. “They should've asked for my permission,” Wanda says.

Agnes waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. They're safe and sound, having the time of their lives.”

“That's not the point,” Wanda snaps.

Agnes laughs, head thrown back, and it makes Wanda's skin prickle. “Come on, dear. It's Halloween. Let them have a little fun.”

Wanda takes a deep breath. “It's getting late. I'd like to bring them home now.”

“Of course, of course,” Agnes says softly, her hand resting briefly on Wanda's arm. “I’ll drive you over.”

Wanda climbs into Agatha’s car, her eyes still darting around, the unease in her chest growing tighter despite having an answer about where her kids are.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Wanda can’t help but ask again, as if hoping for a different answer this time.

Agnes glances at her sideways. “Probably still on patrol. Dedicated, that one.”

Wanda nods, but it doesn’t ease the tightness in her chest. The streets feel longer than usual, stretching out like a labyrinth. Wherever you are, she hopes you’re doing okay, and that you’re nowhere near the boundary.

They arrive at Agnes' house shortly after. Wanda’s expecting the noise of video games coming from the living room, but the house is quiet and poorly-lit. 

“After you,” Agnes says, opening the door.

Wanda steps inside, a cold breeze hitting her on the face almost immediately. 

“Boys? Billy? Tommy?”

But there’s not a sign of them. In fact, there’s no sign of anyone in the house. The gaming console sits untouched near the television, controllers neatly arranged. The silence is too loud. 

Wanda spins around to face her. “Where are they?”

Agnes closes the door behind them. “Oh, they might've wandered downstairs.”

“Which way?”

“Just through the kitchen and down the stairs,” Agnes points. 

Wanda moves toward the basement door, her footsteps muted by an old rug. She opens it and descends the creaking wooden steps. 

“Boys?” Wanda calls out.

The further she goes, the cooler the air becomes. Reaching the bottom, she finds herself in a space that doesn't match the rest of Agnes’ home. 

The basement is expansive and ancient-looking, with stone walls draped in vines whose origins Wanda can't discern. There are candles spread around, making a circular enclosure of the empty spot in the middle. The room is filled with strange artifacts—old books, glass jars containing unidentifiable substances, and objects that seem out of place in a suburban home. 

But none of that catches Wanda’s attention more than the fact that her kids are nowhere to be seen.

She turns back toward the stairs but Agnes is there, blocking her path.

“Looking for something?” Agnes asks innocently.

Wanda takes several steps back, her fists balling at her sides. “Who are you?” 

Agnes looks pleased by that question. “The name’s Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear.”

—

As soon as Darcy mentioned mind control and fabricated reality, you had to get out of the car. Darcy follows suit, and you wait for the punchline, but it never comes. It sounds crazy, but then, this town has always made you feel crazy. Maybe it's not so far-fetched after all.

But what’s inconceivable is Wanda being behind all this madness.

“Wanda? My wife Wanda?” you ask weakly, knowing there’s no one—perhaps no one within a thousand miles—who shares her name.

“Yes, but not exactly,” Darcy says. “She's manipulating everything—people, places, even time. Including you.”

Including you? You don’t feel like you’re being manipulated—not exactly. But whatever this is, it’s starting to wear thin, grating at your patience.

“Is this some kind of prank? Did Agnes put you up to this?”

“I wish it were a joke,” she bemoans, sounding like she means it. “Think about it. Do you remember anything before Westview? How you got here? Your life before this?”

“Of course I do,” you insist, but as you try to recall specifics, your memories blur—faces without names, events without context.

“What's your last clear memory before moving here?”

You try to answer, but your mind keeps drawing a blank.

“Exactly,” Darcy says gently.

You shake your head. “No, this is ridiculous.”

“I know it's hard to accept, but you have to believe me. Wanda is controlling everything, and you're a part of it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you might be the only one who can stop her. The only one she'll listen to.”

“Why me?” you ask, heart pounding. “Do you even know me?”

Darcy shifts her weight under the streetlamp. “I’ve… read about you. You're Y/N, an Avenger, just like Wanda was before... before all this.”

“An Avenger?” You frown, the word sounding not entirely foreign to your tongue. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Darcy raises a brow. “You seriously don’t remember the Avengers? Earth’s mightiest heroes? You were part of a team that saved the world—multiple times.” She says it like it should trigger something, like the name alone should spark recognition. But it doesn’t. And already, you don’t like the sound of it.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a faint grimace. “Sounds like a PR stunt. If these so-called heroes are real, they shouldn't be worshipped like celebrities.”

Darcy chuckles softly. “You know what, you have a point there. But considering one of them is literally a god, it kinda leaves me, I mean us—with, you know—no choice.”

“One of them is a god?” 

“Yeah, Thor. Tall guy, wields a hammer, controls thunder. Ridiculously hot. Ring any bells?”

She might as well be describing a cartoon character. You run a hand through your hair before grabbing a fistful of it in frustration. “This is crazy.”

“It is,” Darcy agrees. “But that’s our world now, apparently.”

You take a deep breath. “If what you're saying is true—”

“I swear it is,” she insists.

“Then how did I end up here? Why would Wanda do this?”

Darcy sighs. “It’s a long story.”

You glance at your watch. It’s 11:05 in the evening. Wanda will be looking for you anytime soon.

“You have five minutes.”

—

“Where are my children?” Wanda demands, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Where are my children?” Agatha imitates her like a parrot. “My, that accent does like to play hide and seek, doesn't it?”

“Where are they?” Wanda yells, throwing her hands up in front of her, ready for the offense. She summons her powers on Agatha, but nothing happens. The shimmering crimson she relies on fails to appear. Agatha relishes in it, letting out a boisterous giggle.

“Oh, your magic’s no good here,” Agatha reveals. 

Before Wanda can react, Agatha lifts her hands, and from her fingertips erupts a swirling purple energy that crackles through the air. In an instant, the magic lashes out, snapping around Wanda's wrists and ankles. With a sharp pull, Agatha yanks her forward, the force dragging Wanda off her feet and toward the center of the room. The bindings constrict, holding her limbs in place painfully, causing Wanda to squirm.

“Didn't you notice?” Agatha smirks haughtily. “On the walls? Basic protection spell. No? Nothing? These are runes, Wanda.”

Wanda glances around, her gaze falling upon the glowing inscriptions etched into the stone but they mean nothing to her. She struggles against the magical restraints, but the more she fights, the tighter they grip.

Agatha circles her, looking very much proud of herself. “In a given space, only the witch that cast the runes can use her magic. How do you not know the fundamentals?”

Runes? Fundamentals? Wanda narrows her eyes at Agatha. “Who are you?”

Agatha smirks, tossing the question back like a live grenade. “Who are you?” she challenges, staring down the bewildered, clueless witch before her.

Confusion flashes across Wanda's face. “What are you talking about?”

Agatha starts circling her, slow, like a vulture. “You've been pulling off magic tricks that take lifetimes to master—casting illusions, transmutation, hijacking minds. All on autopilot. Without any damn training. You will tell me how you did this.”

“I didn't do anything,” Wanda protests. “I'm not—”

That seems to shatter Agatha’s last ounce of patience. She flings Wanda back and forth like a ragdoll, each toss violent and jarring, until Wanda is back where she started, gasping for breath.

“I tried to be gentle, to nudge you awake from this pathetic daydream. But you'd rather fall apart than face your truth.”

Wanda clams up, unable to refute the other woman’s words. All of a sudden, Agatha yanks a hair from Wanda's head.

Clutching the strand, Agatha murmurs, “Revelare vitae memorias.” A purple aura envelops the hair as she weaves her spell.

Wanda tugs against the magical restraints binding her. “What are you doing?”

Agatha shrugs off the question, focused on completing her spell. She conjures a door on a previously bare wall, the surface pulsing with her energy. She flicks a strand of Wanda’s hair towards it, watching as the door swallows it and burns even brighter.

“Time for some real reruns.”

—

Darcy's theory seems just as absurd with the revelation that Wanda has been controlling the entire town this whole time.

“Faking my death and not being there for Wanda when she comes back just doesn't add up,” you say, kicking a stone as you pace in circles. Darcy sits on the pavement, watching as you wear a path in the ground.

“Why not?”

You stop pacing and look Darcy squarely in the eye. “Because I love her. She doesn't need to ‘kidnap’ me to stay with her.”

Darcy throws her hands up in exasperation, looking as lost as you feel. “Look, I don't know why Wanda brought you here! I don't know why you couldn't just be together in the real world or why she did this to Westview,” she walks closer to you. “I'm just as in the dark as you are.”

Her uncertainty only adds to your doubt. “Who are you anyway, Darcy Lewis? How did you even end up here?”

Darcy sighs, realizing she hadn't properly introduced herself or explained the situation right. “Okay, yeah, sorry. I'm…an astrophysicist. S.W.O.R.D—it’s a US government agency—contacted me more than a week ago about an anomaly in New Jersey. I was outside the Hex—this red barrier enclosing all of Westview—trying to figure out what's going on here. And then I got sucked in.”

“Sucked in? How does that happen?”

Darcy hangs back, weighing what's appropriate to share and what isn't. The image of you dying mere seconds after you emerged from the barrier seems to straddle both categories, but given the incredulous way you're looking at her—as if she's sprouted ten heads—signals your dwindling trust. If she doesn’t talk soon, she might just lose this rare opportunity to get you to their side.

She signals you to take a sit on the ground first, but you merely stare at her, waiting.  “Well, it's complicated,” Darcy starts. “But before I ended up here, I saw something you need to know.”

“Go on,” you say cautiously.

She takes a deep breath. “You were dying.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Last night, you tried to cross the boundary of the Hex,” she explains. “But as soon as you did, you started disintegrating—turning into dust.”

You stop cold. That dream where Wanda was vanishing—

Was it you all along?

Darcy continues, “We didn't know what to do, how to help you. But then the Hex started expanding—fast. I couldn't escape, and now here I am.”

You barely register her words as you try to piece together your memory of last night. Is that why you felt déjà vu on the way here? Because you've been here before? Because you've actually been outside?

Could Wanda be the reason you can't recall what Darcy claims happened last night? Has your wife really been manipulating you? Using her powers to deceive you?

“No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people.

“I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

“Fine,” Darcy exhales sharply, pausing to think for a moment. “I got it!”

You cross your arms, waiting expectantly.

“Do you remember your assistant, Geraldine?” she asks.

The fact that Darcy knows about her already turns your stomach. It means she wasn't lying about the broadcasts outside, where people have been monitoring the situation all this time.

You nod, unable to speak. The fear grips you so tightly you worry you might lose the dinner you had just an hour ago.

“Geraldine isn't who you think she is. Her real name is Monica Rambeau. She's an agent from S.W.O.R.D., sent here to investigate what's happening inside Westview.”

“That doesn't make sense. I've known Geraldine for months—”

“Have you?” Darcy counters gently. “Think about it. Can you recall anything about her life outside of work? Her family? Where she lives?”

You open your mouth to respond but realize you can't summon any details. It's as if those memories are just... missing. 

Just like every other little detail in your life.

“I… I can’t—”

Darcy nods sympathetically. “That's because you’re all just playing a role here. Monica tried to reach out to her, to help her see what's real, but Wanda forced her out of this reality.”

Geraldine's resignation is a vague memory, nothing more. If Wanda has been pulling the strings, she's been selective with the memories she's allowed you to keep. That much is certain.

And you’re conflicted. No, that’s not quite right—you’re overwhelmed. You feel betrayed, most prominently. But beneath that, there’s guilt. Deep down, you’re troubled by the thought of how much pain Wanda must have endured to go to such lengths. It pains you too, knowing she suffered so greatly. If this isn't going away anytime soon, that means she's still hurting. And if you're going to agree to help Darcy figure this out, you’re going to do it for Wanda’s sake, not theirs.

Making this decision would be simple if not for—

You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “And our kids? Billy and Tommy?”

Darcy looks away. “We couldn't find any records of them,” she says. “They're not documented anywhere in Westview.”

A sinking feeling grips your chest. “They're our sons—they're real.”

Darcy doesn’t say anything. Your eyes begin to sting as you walk into the middle of the deserted road.

You're not sure how long you stood there, contemplating the plight of these innocent people and the dangers looming over your family beyond this town. You gaze at the wedding ring on your finger. Being Wanda’s wife brought you nothing but joy. Being a mother to your two boys made you feel whole. Can you really let all that go?

Just as Darcy is about to check on you, having waited a while, you catch her off guard by walking back.

“What do you need me to do?”

—

Wanda's eyes dart around. “No... not here,” she whispers, recognizing her childhood home.

She thought those memories were lost—how a seemingly ordinary evening spiraled, altering her life forever. Seeing her mama and papa’s faces is a miracle in itself. Wanda had forgotten their features, unable to carry even a photograph of them for so long.

And Pietro—god, how she's missed him. He was the last sliver of Sokovia, the last piece of home she clung to before becoming an orphan in every sense of the word.

Life was simple then. It wasn’t always comfortable or peaceful, but they were happy as long as the four of them were together. 

Wanda watches on, a helpless spectator as the mundane scene before her—an evening of sitcoms on the living room floor—is shattered by an explosion before the screen cuts to black.

She squeezes her eyes shut. When she dares to look again, devastation greets her. Her younger self and Pietro huddled under rubble, a Stark Industries missile mere feet away, its ominous beeping the only sound in the deafening silence.

Agatha muses, “You stared at that bomb, waiting for it to go off. Did you use a probability hex?”

“No, I…” Wanda blinks, her mind reeling . “It just never went off. It was defective. We didn’t know that. We were… we were trapped.”

“For how long?”

“Two days.”

Agatha hums, sizing up whether this incident had any real impact on Wanda’s recent exploits.  Despite the trauma Wanda has endured, Agatha remains skeptical, and she steers them down another bend in memory lane.

From afar, another room takes shape—the Hydra facility, where she first encountered the Infinity Stone. 

“I don’t want to go back in there.”

“The only way forward is back,” comes the terse reply.

—

Jimmy and Monica sit side by side on a surprisingly comfortable pile of hay inside one of the supply rooms of the camp, their wrists shackled behind them with cuffs this time.

“Well, at least Hayward splurged on the good hay,” Jimmy attempts at a joke, trying to twist his wrists free.

“Yeah, cause the next time I see him, I’ll be shoving them up his—” Monica bites her lip. Now’s not the time to think about all the ways she’ll make Hayward pay. Right now, their priority is getting out of these cuffs.

Reaching into his sleeve, Jimmy fumbles for a hidden pin. “Got a lockpick here. Just give me a sec—almost…”

She watches as he struggles to maneuver the pin into the cuff's lock, his fingers slipping. After several failed attempts, he lets out a frustrated huff.

“Here, let me try,” Monica says, scooting closer.

“Be my guest,” Jimmy says, sliding over the pin.

Monica grabs it, fingers deft and sure. A soft click follows. In a flash, she's free, reaching over to unlock Jimmy's cuffs.

“Impressive,” he remarks, rubbing his wrists.

“Years of field training.”

Jimmy fishes out his cellphone. “Guess they missed this in the pat-down.” He punches in a number. “Calling for backup from Quantico.”

He steps aside, murmuring into the phone, while Monica edges towards the door. She presses an ear against the rough wood, listening hard.

“Any luck?” she murmurs as he ends the call.

“They're sending a team, but we're on borrowed time,” he whispers back.

“Listen,” Monica says suddenly, holding up a hand.

Silence falls. There’s a muffled sound of chaos outside—high-pitched voices, scrambling footsteps, panicked commands. 

“Is that... fighting?” Jimmy's eyes go wide.

“Sounds like it,” Monica says. “But who would be engaging Hayward's agents out here?”

“Maybe another S.W.O.R.D. team?”

She shakes her head. “Unlikely. They trust Hayward too much to send more scouts.”

The clamor grows—a cocktail of grunts, barked orders, and the dull thud of bodies smacking the ground. And then guns firing off nearby.

“This is bad,” Jimmy mutters. “We're sitting ducks. Unarmed ducks.”

Monica's gaze sweeps the area. “We need to find something to defend ourselves.” She snags a rusted metal rod from beside a stack of crates and hands it to Jimmy. “Here.”

He grabs it, his grip firm. “Better than nothing.”

She hoists a solid-looking plank. “Stay alert.”

Suddenly, the outside noises cut off, dropping the world into unnerving stillness.

“Why did it just go quiet?” Jimmy whispers.

Monica takes an offensive stance. “I don't know, but I have a feeling we're about to find out.”

Footsteps draw near—steady, unhurried. The door handle rattles slightly.

“Get ready,” she says, positioning herself beside the door.

Jimmy nods, holding his makeshift weapon at the ready.

The door creaks open slowly, and a sliver of light spills inside. They hold their breath as the door swings wider.

A shadowy figure looms at the threshold, silhouetted against the harsh daylight. Without waiting to see if this was a friend or an enemy, Monica lunges forward, swinging her plank toward the intruder. Jimmy follows suit, thrusting his metal rod in a coordinated attack.

But the figure dodges their attack like they're made of smoke. With a fluid sidestep, you evade Monica's swing, the plank slicing harmlessly through the air. Simultaneously, you pivot gracefully, ducking under Jimmy's thrust. In one seamless motion, you sweep your leg, knocking the rod from his grasp and sending it clattering across the floor. 

Before they can regroup, you're behind Monica, coaxing her wrist until the plank clunks to the ground with a dull thud. Both agents stumble back, dumbstruck.

Monica’s about to charge again when you raise your hands. 

“Easy,” you say hurriedly. “I’m not here to fight.”

Jimmy looks at you with utter shock and awe. “How did you—”

You smile thinly. “No time for explanations.”

Monica squints, peering harder. Something clicks. “Wait... Are you Y/N?” she murmurs in disbelief.

Recognition dawns on Jimmy’s face too. “It is you!”

You nod slowly. “I am.”

Monica keeps searching your face, like she's double-checking if it's really you. There are small differences between this you and the one in the Hex—your hair's shorter, framing a face that's sharper with…age. The lines around your eyes are deeper, and there's a hardness in them now that wasn’t there before.

“Wait, how did you escape the Hex unharmed?” Jimmy asks. “The last time you tried, it looked like you weren’t going to make it…”

You shake your head. “I didn't escape from Westview.”

“What do you mean?” Monica asks. “You're inside the Hex with Wanda, aren't you?"

“No,” you reply evenly. “That wasn’t—isn’t me.”

Just then, footsteps approach from behind. You spin around to see Clint, his bow slung casually over his shoulder.

“Well, that was quick,” you note.

He smirks lightly. “It would've been quicker if I weren’t so rusty.”

“Clint, is it true what she's saying?” Monica asks.

Clint nods solemnly. “Yeah. I made a rookie mistake by not considering the possibility that the Y/N in Westview and out here in the real world aren’t one and the same.”

Jimmy looks baffled. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“When I saw Y/N on that broadcast, I assumed she was inside the Hex. But when we saw the one from Westview disintegrating after she emerged from the barrier, that’s when I realized that something else was going on here.”

Jimmy's face screws up in confusion. “Then who was that?”

You lean back against the wall, a wistful look in your eye. “Based on what Clint told me, she's both me and not me.”

Jimmy throws up his hands. “I'm getting confused.”

“That's Wanda's version of me—the person she left behind five years ago,” you say.

Monica's eyes stretch wide as the penny drops. Is Wanda that powerful to be capable of what you’re implying?

“When you say she's Wanda's version...” She trails off, not confident to finish the thought.

“Wanda created her,” you say, as casual as if you were commenting on the weather. “Wanda doesn't know I'm still alive.”

—

“Exposure to an Infinity Stone,” Agatha muses, eyeing the memory of Wanda clad in a grimy gown that the Hydra facility dressed her into. She grimaces slightly. “That explains some of it, but not all.”

With a subtle gesture of her hand, another door materializes—a portal to another place, another time. Another memory—but this time, not a painful one. Wanda doesn't hesitate this time and walks towards it. There’s no choice in the matter, really. Might as well get it over with.

Behind the door is a well-lit kitchen. The countertops were sleek and clean, aside from an open jar of peanut butter and a half-empty jar of jelly sitting next to a loaf of bread. A butter knife rested on a plate smeared with both spreads, and a glass of water sat nearby, condensation pooling in a faint ring on the stone surface.

You were standing at the large kitchen island, carefully cutting the corners of your sandwich when Vision phased directly through the wall to your left.

“Jesus!” you yelled in surprise, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering against the plate.

“Well, well,” Agatha drawls, leaning back with an amused smirk as she turns to Wanda. “I must admit, I never pictured her as the type to take the Lord’s name in vain. Your wife looks like such a proper lady here in Westview, dear.”

Wanda remains motionless, her entire focus on you as this memory comes rushing back to her.  You weren’t even friends yet, and Wanda had already noticed how distant you kept yourself from her. It wasn’t hostility, exactly, but it was clear you didn’t like her much back then. And she couldn’t blame you.

“My apologies,” Vision said.

You scolded him for announcing himself that way before he formally introduced himself to you. With a sigh, you told him you already knew who he was. Without missing a beat, Vision asked what food you were preparing.

“It's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“The coloration is intriguing,” Vision noted. “I haven't encountered many purple foods in my lifetime.”

To Agatha, the exchange seems utterly trivial—and not to mention, boring. Yet, it only makes her more curious about why this particular memory has surfaced.

“Speaking of food,” Vision began, “Miss Maximoff hasn’t eaten. Nothing in over twelve hours.”

You were just about to take your first bite, but the mention of Wanda made you freeze.

“And why is that my problem?”

“Given that her quarters are adjacent to yours, I thought you might be concerned,” Vision said.

“Concerned? About the person who messed with my head? Hard pass.”

“Oh,” Agatha chimes in, continuing her unsolicited commentary. “Was your wife not particularly fond of you in the beginning?”

Wanda shakes her head slowly. “She hated me.”

Agatha’s grin widens. “And that drew you to her? Well, aren’t we a little kinky.”

The memory continues with Vision gently reprimanding you about the poisonous effects of resentment. You brushed it off with a sharp retort, making it abundantly clear just how little you cared.

Vision didn’t press the matter further. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

He turned to leave, this time opting for the doorway instead of phasing through the wall. 

“Wait,” you called out, piquing Agatha’s interest.

Vision stopped, looking back at you expectantly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Look, just... take her something to eat. Here.” You shoved the sandwich plate toward him.

“It might be more meaningful if you delivered it yourself.”

“Yeah, that's not happening.”

He accepted the plate. “I will relay the gesture.”

“Don’t,” you rushed out. “I mean, don’t tell her it’s from me.”

Agatha scoffs like she’s watching a bad rom-com. “Enemies to lovers. My personal favorite,” she says, smirking. “Two people who can’t stand each other but still do nice things behind each other’s backs. Adorable, really.”

“She didn’t know I was there, watching the whole exchange,” Wanda says softly. “I went back to my room that night, eagerly waiting for Vision to bring me that sandwich. I was so hungry.” Her voice grows even quieter as she adds, “Y/N was the first person to do anything for me after my brother died. And she didn’t even like me.”

Agatha snaps her fingers, then gives Wanda a hard look. “Here’s the punchline, honey: you come back from the Snap—five years gone in a blink for you—and guess what? Y/N didn’t make it.”

Wanda looks stunned by the reminder that in the five years she was gone, she couldn’t shield you, couldn’t stop your demise. Clint kept silent on how it happened, and even when Wanda defiantly probed his mind, she found no clues about your death.

“She was gone,” Agatha says, circling around to meet Wanda's gaze. “But you wanted her back.”

Almost reflexively, Wanda nods. “I did,” she murmurs. “I wanted her back.”

The segment shifts seamlessly to a serene lakeside setting. It's a somber day—the day of Tony Stark's funeral. Wanda of this memory stood alone, gaze lost on the serene water, while members of the Avengers paid their subdued respects to Pepper Potts in a slow procession.

It’s Clint who noticed she’d been standing there a long time already. 

“Hey,” he murmured, the nippy weather forcing his hands in his pockets as he joined Wanda’s side. “You holding up okay?”

Wanda smiled faintly. “As well as can be expected.”

He nodded, sharing her view of the gray lake. “It’s tough, losing someone like Tony. Feels like we’ve been bleeding pieces of ourselves.”

Wanda sighed. “But it's not just Tony, isn’t it?” This funeral should’ve also been for everyone they lost. Natasha, Vision…

You.

“Counting our losses would just do us more harm than good, kid,” Clint said.

She gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I just... I miss them.”

Clint's hand found her shoulder. “I get it. I miss them too.” 

Wanda drew a ragged breath, but these days, it felt like no amount of air was enough.  

“All I've ever known is loss,” she whispered. “You'd think I'd be used to it by now, that it wouldn't hurt as much as when I lost my parents, or Pietro. But this…” Her voice faltered. “Losing Y/N cut the deepest.”

Clint squeezed her shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting but Wanda felt nothing. 

“I’m sorry, kid.”

“I shouldn’t have been brought back,” Wanda said, stepping back, causing Clint’s hand to fall away.

“Don't say that. Y/N would've done everything for you to come back,” he said.

She turned to him, tears brimming in her eyes. “And I would've done everything I could for her to still be here—with me.”

Wanda watches herself in the memory, turning her back on Clint without a word. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t pay her respects to Stark’s widow. She slipped into the driver’s seat of the car you used to own after Clint turned it over to her.

The road led her to a quiet cemetery not too far away. She parked along a gravel path and walked among the rows of headstones until she reached yours. Seeing your name etched in stone brought a fresh wave of grief crashing over her.

Dropping to her knees, Wanda was wracked with sobs, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. She cried until the tears refused to come, her body spent from the depth of her grief. Hours seemed to pass before she finally rose, shaky and streaked with tears. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and headed back to the car. Slumping into the driver's seat, she allowed herself a few more moments of inaction. In search of some small comfort, she flipped open the glove compartment and fished out your favorite CD.

As she rummaged through the assorted items, her fingers brushed against an unfamiliar envelope tucked at the back. Intrigued, she pulled it out and examined it. Her name was written on the front in your unmistakable handwriting.

With hands that trembled like leaves, she tore it open. Inside, there was a simple, elegant ring—the one she bought for you—and a folded brochure. It’s a map of a small New Jersey town. A plot of land was circled in aggressive red, and in a heart-shaped scribbled below, you've written, Where Maximoff will torment me for the rest of our days.

A smile, bittersweet and crooked, crawled its way to her face. The idea of a future you’d dared to dream together flooded her with both joy and heartache. 

Compelled by a sudden urge to see this dream firsthand, Wanda started the car and set off towards New Jersey. The journey passed in a blur, her mind occupied with thoughts of what could have been. Hours later, she arrived at the ghostly town, its structures forgotten in time, lagging behind the rest of the world by at least a decade.

Following the map, she drove to the marked lot—a field overrun with wildflowers and framed by a quaint white picket fence. She walked to the center of the lot, your ring clenched tight in her fist. As the sun dipped low, it draped everything in a golden light. Right then, the full weight of her pain hit her like a freight train.

And when it happened, it started with a tingling sensation at the back of her neck, a subtle prickling that grew into an all-consuming fervor. Beneath her, the earth whispered of transformations, subtle yet insistent, as reality bended, acquiescing to the sheer force of her will. 

Her powers gradually rose, a resurgent tide swelling from the emptiness that had, until this moment, consumed her. She released a primal scream as she unknowingly reshaped her surroundings—houses and streets morphed, relationships and identities changed—all molded from her memories and desires. Even the very colors of reality altered around her.

But she paid no heed to the unprecedented heights of her abilities. Her only focus was the release—the desperate emptying of her being, striving to purge the agonizing pain she’d felt since discovering you were gone.

With each exertion, she felt a piece of herself ebbing away, her essence—bright and golden—intertwining with the magic, seeping into the reality she molded. The pain was exquisite, an acute contrast to the numbness that had pervaded her existence since her return. She welcomed it, the pain confirming her existence, her agency, her power after so much had been taken from her.

As the final tendrils of red weaved the last of her into this new Westview, she felt a climactic release, as if she’d finally exhaled a burden she could no longer bear. She collapsed, the world spinning dizzyingly around her, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The town pulsed—tentatively, like the first steps of a newborn—with life, a life that was both not hers and wholly of her making.

She lay on the ground, which had metamorphosed from the soft, dewy texture of soil to the cool, smooth tiles of a pristine living room. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, bracing for the afterlife, when—

Wanda gasped, her eyes instantly watering at the sight of you, unchanged, just as she remembered before the snap, before the world fell apart. Disbelief coursed through her, yet she couldn’t look away from the miracle of you, standing there within her reach.

“Wanda,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Extending a hand, you helped her to her feet, her left hand—adorned with a simple gold band—shaking as it met yours. 

“Welcome home.”

A fragile smile began to trace her lips for the first time since her return. With your hand in hers, she stood at the threshold of her new home, crafted from all of her pieces.

[venusdelaube]

Half-Celebration

Fandom: Rivals

Pairing: Tony Baddingham x Reader

Summary: You just upped the ratings, and you feel absolutely amazing about it, in a high of power and confidence. And while you celebrate with Tony, a slight dominant streak comes to your mind. OS

Warnings: Smut, fem!reader (but no she/her pronouns), cunnilingus, semi-public sex, grinding, making out.

Word count: 2.2k

a/n: hey everyone! I hope you enjoy it! If you have any requests, I'm willing to try, and obviously, any constructive criticism is welcomed! <3 Also, I apologise in advance, English is NOT my first language. It's an os, but if you want a second part, tell me! Lots of love 🫶🏻

Tony allows himself to let out a slight grunt of victory, at the latest report of ratings.

Fucking hell, the ratings are high.

He lights himself a cigar, taking a long, and according to him well-deserved, drag. The lord smirks to himself, thinking of the person behind those sudden surge of success.

His brand new producer. His new jewel, basically. Discovered in another country, and now working for him in Corinium… She was being sensational. Full of ideas, spectacular, brand new, thrilling.

And god, did he enjoy watching her make phone calls, walk around his company, like she owned the bloody place. She knew her worth. She knew she was essential, and became an element that Tony couldn’t just get rid off.

In multiple ways than one….

—

Up in your office, there you were, focused on the new report that just got sent in to everyone. You looked at the numbers, quickly analysing the ratings, and calculating the percentages you, once again, added.

You smirked to yourself. You did a fucking amazing job.

You couldn’t care less about the negative criticisms. Those who looked down on you for your important position, or the ones that accused you of getting that leather chair, only by “giving one to the boss”.

Sure, you had indeed given Tony multiples. But was it the only reason why you were in that fancy leather chair? Hell no.

You were smart, capable, organised, and you knew your worth. All that you did for this company, the hard work, the over time, the multiple risks… It was finally paying off.

And you couldn’t be prouder. You knew you were in for a special celebration tonight, up in your place, but you could not wait. A part of you wanted, even craved, to see that smug smirk of his, with the proud glint in his eyes. Of course, while he’d be “proud of you”, you knew he was mostly congratulating himself for hiring you.

But did you care? Not really, not when his inflated ego, stroked in the right way, would make your eyes roll, and your legs shake.

So, you continued your journey to his office, avoiding the other coworkers, focusing on the door of his office, the sound of your bright red kitten heels resonating on the wooden floor.

Without knocking, you enter his office, a little smirk on your lips. You usually knocked, he enjoyed respect, but you were both in a nice enough mood to get over this.

Tony looked at you, standing at the door frame, smoking his cigar, a celebratory one, perhaps. You step inside his office, closing the door and shutting the blinds, as he smirks at you.

“You’re getting the fuck of a lifetime, tonight, you know that?”

He declared cockily, a hint of excitement in his low voice.

You smirk back at him, tilting your head, feigning contempt.

“...I figured. With ratings this high, I might as well get that new watch I desperately wanted.”

You propose, lips pursed.

He snickered, shaking his head, putting his cigar back in the ashtray. He gestures to you with his finger to come closer to him, and feeling playful, you oblige.

“We’ll see about that, starlet. For now…How about a little celebration here, hmm?”

He asks you, his eyebrow raised. You purse your lips. The door was closed and locked, the blinds were shut… This was a special day, why not try out something risky?

Being risky had always gotten you places, anyway.

You bite your lower lip, getting closer to his slumped shape, on his huge leather seat. In a breath, you walk closer again, your knee grazing his, slightly spreading his thighs, cladded by his fancy Armani suit.

“...A celebration?”

You murmur, your eyes clouding with want and desire. He smirks, nodding, his large hand grabbing the back of your thigh, right under your left cheek, pulling you closer to him.

For once in your dynamic, you looked down to him. And you smirked. God… even if it was only literally, and never in actual power dynamics, did it feel good to look at him from above. It felt… exhilarating.

“You look good under me.”

You murmur, in an attempt to shift things up.

His smirk doesn’t leave his lips, and his brown eyes glint in amusement.

Cute.

Was clearly the word going through his mind at your attempt. Will he ever take you seriously? You doubted so. Would you still keep on pushing him, and pushing him, until you reached that stage, where he could only look at you in awe, other than when you rode him?

Definitely so.

You promised yourself so. That one day, this bastard that you found, to your utter dismay, way too attractive, would look at you with the same reluctant respect, almost fear, as he did with Rupert Campbell-Black.

Finally, you snap, and climb on his lap, your knees resting on the leather, on either side of his hips, as you captured his lips with yours.

He eagerly grabbed you, his hands going to your hair, gripping on them, as his chapped and thin lips harshly responded, moving against yours, little grunts escaping his mouth.

“Hmm… Eager much?”

He grunted, his hands sliding down your back, to go and and cup your arse firmly, as you held back a gasp, at the firm touch.

Eager? Of course you were bloody eager… not like he couldn’t tell. Yet, you were power-hungry, with those new ratings. Fuck, you were the it thing, lately!

You grabbed his tie, pulling him closer, as your mouth moved more fervently against his.

He let out another groan, as his hands pulled up your skirt, exposing your backside to the air of his office, his calloused hands going to cup your flesh, patting the skin.

Your hips jerked involuntarily at the little pat, and you scoffed again.

He pulled away, smirking at you. He knew how to win you over, he knew what to do to dominate you.

Yet, you persisted.

Not today.

Unbuttoning his shirt, and loosening his tie, you attacked his neck, going against a rule of his.

He didn’t want any hickeys, he couldn’t have it noticed by his wife.

And as his nails dug into the flesh of your arse, as a warning, you looked up to him, almost in a glare.

“...Shut the fuck up. It’s my celebration. I’ll do what I want. If you have a problem, go see the makeup artist.”

You snapped, before attacking his neck again.

Tony grunted, his head thrown back, as his other hand gripped your hair tighter.

“You little-”

He started, but you interrupted him by grinding your hips against his, making him stop his sentence, a moan taking over. Strangely enough, grinding was a guilty pleasure of his.

After a bit of snogging, looking like two hormonal young adults, you pulled away, sitting on his desk, legs spread apart, like a feast for him to devour.

And he seemed to share that thought, due to the look on his face.

But as he approached his goal, his face eager, ready to devour you and reduce you to a whining mess, you stopped him.

Your red heel, on his forehead.

He froze slightly against it, not expecting it. But you spoke up.

“Let’s make this clear. You’re about to eat me out, yes. Perhaps as a way to make me submit again, and to have me on my knees in about two minutes, since you're always so sloppy with this.”

You start, as he was still frozen against your heel.

“But…Today, I’ve upped our ratings, since last month, by fifty five percent. In one month. Ever had that? Don’t think so. So right now, right here, I’ll be getting a proper head. And you better pour your heart into it, or else I’ll find another mouth to get it.”

You finish, looking at him, an eyebrow raised, putting in all the confidence you have of.

He looks at you, stunned. Tony is ready to retort. Ready to say he could kick you out your condo, if you saw another man. That you’d just take what he’d give you.

But as he looked up at you, his boner grew again. God… Did you look… fierce. Powerful. Like a fucking goddess.

He had made it. Turned you into that, in his opinion at least. While to you… He just happened to guide you slightly, during your breakthrough.

But in response to your sudden dominant streak, he smirked. For once… he’d indulge.

He gripped your thighs tighter, bringing your hips and pelvis closer to his face, before playfully retorting:

“...At your service, Ma’am.”

Your eyes slightly widen, at him finally letting out some control, but as he puts his mouth on you, you realise it's just another one of his twisted plans again. To see if you could handle it. The power, the attitude.

But today was different. You had your proof, that you were a fucking phenomenon.

So, gripping on his desk, you spread your legs wider, letting him feast on you, as you bucked your hips against his face.

You wouldn't hide your pleasure, pretend he did not have any effect on you. Because that wasn’t displaying power.

Displaying power, was owning up to this building pleasure, this sensation in your stomach, and yet… still indulge in it, and let yourself get submerged by all of what you allowed him to do to you.

Not what he could do to you. But what you allowed him to.

At first, he licked a teasing stripe,making you shiver. The tip of his tongue barely grazed your clitoris, before he looked up at you, his eyes shining in mischief and amusement.

He suckled slightly on one of your inner labia, then the other, tasting the natural juice that was slowly oozing out, and making a more primal side of him come out.

But as you heard his grunts, the dominant streak in you got control again, and you put your red heel on his back again, reminding him of his place.

He looked up at you, slightly grunting again, visibly a bit displeased at you still maintaining this attitude.

Eager to see you crumble and give up, his tongue traced a circle around your clit, hoping to see you get impatient and begging.

But you simply gripped his hair, pushing his hair further between your thighs.

Suddenly pleasured by this new sensation of being… dominated? Tony slightly let loose and decided to full on suckle on your clit, his tongue lapping at your taste, his teeth messily grazing your core, but not enough to be uncomfortable.

You let out a gasp of pleasure, before moaning, as he grunted against you, his nose nestled in your bush.

He gripped your thighs harder, suckling harder, his tongue alternating between licking, and teasing your entrance, by tipping the tongue inside.

You felt it, that knot in your stomach, that pressure building up, that arch in your back, pressing for more, urging him, almost ordering him.

He could suffocate between your thighs, and you wouldn’t care. The high was too thrilling.

You pinched your own nipple, desperate for another stimulation, as your throat let out a guttural sound.

Your thighs closed around his face, bringing him deeper, as, also as enthralled as you were, Tony groaned against your core, eagerly pleasing you. You came against his face, your juice staining his nose, mouth, and chin, as your voice almost broke, to the intensity of the orgasm.

Granted, he hadn’t eaten you out very long. But yet… it was different.

It was almost…reverent.

As you pulled away from him, you snickered, seeing his messed up face, and ruffled face.

You looked at the clock, and feigned a gasp.

“Fuck, I forgot… I have a meeting with Declan in two minutes.”

False. But you were going to go see Declan, and make up a new idea for his show, just for pretend.

Tony looked up at you, frowning, confused.

“...Excuse me?”

You smirk, tilting your head.

“Aw, come on. Don’t give me that face. We’ll celebrate tonight, in the intimacy of my flat. For now… I'm busy. Where do you think these ratings come from, hmm?”

You snicker, getting off his desk, fixing your outfit.

Gosh… were you really doing this? Making Tony eat you out, then ditching him, giving him blue balls until tonight?

You looked at your flushed, but glowing self, in the reflection of his window, before realising that… yes.

Yes, you totally were.

Tony scoffed.

“You’re just going to-?”

You interrupted him, raising a hand to his face.

“I’m busy. We’ll have tonight. Don't be such a child, just be patient… don't you have some… class?”

You snickered, shaking your head.

Slightly stunned, Tony frowned slightly, shaking his head, before scoffing again, his cheeks slightly tinted with a blush.

“What do you think I am, an animal? That only sex's on my mind? I have a job too, starlet. Get to work, we’ll finish this tonight.”

He grumbled, visibly trying to regain some composure, despite the obvious bulge in his pants that he was slightly palming.

You smirk, and threw a discreet wink at him, before murmuring.

“If I were you, I'd wipe my mouth. Shouldn’t talk with a mouth full.”

Triumphant, you left his office, leaving him with his frustration and slight awe, eager to discover what more powers you could obtain tonight.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 6: Sidelines and distractions

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: being sidelined with Paige= fun...right?

Welcome to the chapter 6 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

The crowd inside the XL Center was electric, the energy spilling from the stands as Pride Night banners waved in celebration. UConn's players were locked in their warm-up routines, dribbling and shooting on the court, but my attention was on the sideline. Specifically, on Paige Bueckers.

Her grey tech sweatpants and the  Pride Night shirt gave her an unusually relaxed look for someone used to dominating the court. But the thin knee brace imprint peeking out from under her sweats was a stark reminder of why she wasn’t warming up with the team.

“Superstar!” I called out, jogging over with my camera strapped to my shoulder. “How’s the most stubborn player in UConn history doing tonight?”

She rolled her eyes, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. “Photographer extraordinaire! Fine, but thanks for the  new title. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. M'not that stubborn.”

“You better be,” I replied, plopping into the seat next to her. “You’re insufferable when you’re sidelined.”

“Insufferable?” Paige put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

Out of nowhere Paige handed me a folded-up Pride Night shirt, the fabric soft and obviously well-worn. “Here. You need one of these if you’re sitting with us.”

I held it up, squinting. “Paige, this thing is huge. You think I’m trying to make a fashion statement or drown in it?”

She laughed, shrugging. “Oversized is in. You’ll look cute.”

“I’ll look like I’m swimming in fabric,” I deadpanned. “You’re tying it for me.”

Without missing a beat, Paige stood and motioned for me to turn around. She began knotting the back of the shirt, her fingers brushing lightly against my back as she worked.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “You’ve got me doing all the hard work.”

Before I could respond, KK sauntered over, grinning like she’d caught us in the act. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this cozy?”

“Mind your business, KK,” Paige quipped, not even glancing up.

KK leaned against the scorer's table, shaking her head. “First tying knots, next it’s gonna be shoe laces. You’re domesticated now, Paige.”

“Jealous?” Paige shot back, tightening the knot for emphasis.

The game started, and I couldn’t help sneaking a few candid shots of Paige as the first quarter unfolded. She sat at the edge of her chair, clipboard in hand, her eyes darting between players and refs. Even off the court, she couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t think I don’t see you,” she said, catching me mid-snap.

“Relax,” I teased, lowering my camera. “You look great in action, and sleeping after drinking a whole pitcher of Shirley Temple. Ya know before crashing on my couch”

“Yeah, well, not too much on me, but just get a good shot of Azzi instead,” Paige muttered, cheeks tinting soft shades of red, her focus shifting back to the court.

Azzi Fudd had just made a perfect three-pointer, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Paige clapped enthusiastically, yelling, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

But the tone shifted with 05.5 seconds left in the first quarter. Azzi went up for a block, her hand making clean contact with the ball—but the whistle blew anyway.

“That’s not a foul!” Paige was on her feet instantly, "her" clipboard hitting the floor as she pointed at the ref. “Are you blind? That was all ball!”

The ref quickly acknowledging Paige by telling her it was too a foul and she need to step off the court. Paige still on the court how with her hand in the air for "huh."

“Paige,” I hissed, grabbing her arm. “You’re not playing tonight, remember?”

“He’s out of his mind if he thinks that was a foul!” Paige shot back, her voice loud enough to earn a glance from the ref.

“You’re gonna get a tech from the bench,” I warned, pulling her back into her chair. “Sit down before they eject you.”

Paige reluctantly slumped back into her seat, her arms crossed and her jaw tight. “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, leaning closer. “And kind of adorable when you’re mad.”

That earned a small smirk from her, though she tried to hide it. “Whatever.”

By halftime, Paige had calmed down enough to crack a few jokes.

“What do you call a referee who gets everything wrong?” she asked, her tone conspiratorial.

I played along, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“A consistent ref,” she deadpanned, earning laughs from both me and Sarah sitting nearby.

Azzi shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “You’re really embracing the whole sideline coach thing, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Paige replied. “These refs sure aren’t exactly playing nice. ”

As the third quarter began, I shifted focus back to my camera, capturing action shots of the players on the court. Paige leaned over occasionally, offering her unsolicited critique of my photos.

“Too blurry,” she said after one shot.

“It’s an action shot,” I argued. “It’s supposed to show motion, now go back to being bored and biting your nails you weirdo.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Motion doesn’t mean out of focus, and im not a weirdo, plus its dead skin thanks very much.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring her as I snapped another photo. “Stick to basketball, Coach Bueckers.”

When the final buzzer sounded, UConn had secured another win, and the team gathered for photos on the court. I hung back, capturing the perfect shot of the players huddled together, pride shirts on full display.

Paige waved me over, patting the seat beside her. “Hey, let me see those.”

I handed her my camera, watching as she scrolled through the images. Her expression softened as she stopped on one of Azzi mid-shot.

“You’re really good at this,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting mine.

“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming under her gaze.

She handed the camera back, leaning a little closer. “You make this whole ‘sidelined Paige’ thing bearable, you know that?”

I smiled, nudging her playfully. “And you make my job harder by almost getting into fights with refs.”

Paige laughed, her voice warm and genuine. “What can I say? I’m a multitasker.”

As the crowd began to disperse and the team filed into the locker room, Paige lingered by my side, her hand brushing against mine.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly. “I needed the distraction.”

“Anytime,” I replied, my voice just as quiet.

And in that moment, as the noise of the arena faded into the background, it was easy to forget that she wasn’t on the court—because to me, Paige Bueckers was always in the game.

As the night came to an end I got a dreaded phone call from back home. "Baby, you need to come home granny she's sick and she wants to see you." My mom said.

Without a second thought I got the first ticket back home, I sent my professors and coah geno an email stating everything in details of what was happening and why I won't be in class or with the team for a few days to a week.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 .... (more to be added)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Lonely in Misery

Requested Here!

Part 2 Here: Lonelier in Misery

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!paramedic!reader

Summary: Bailey notices that you're lonely and miserable while Nolan notices the same about Tim. They decide to set you up on a blind date, but it only ends with more sadness.

Warnings: mention of motorcycle accident, pure fluff (the title and summary are misleading, my bad)

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

A/N: @newobsessionweekly here's some soft Tim if you're interested🥰

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Let’s go!” your chief calls. “Motorcycle accident on Wilshire.”

You nod as you gather your equipment. Being a paramedic is stressful, but you work with an amazing team. It’s too bad you don’t have the same kind of community in your personal life. Working with your best friends is great until you can’t hang out or talk to anyone because they’re on different shifts.

“Single rider?” you ask as you climb into the ambulance.

“Dispatch didn’t say. Only called for one ambulance, so I assume,” your chief replies.

“Hey, maybe it’ll be a single guy and you can nurse him back to health and finally get a date,” your teammate in the driver’s seat jokes.

“Ignore him,” Bailey says, rolling her eyes.

“Ignore who?” you tease.

As the BLS rescue ambulance pulls out, you sit back in your seat.

“Are you okay?” Bailey asks softly.

“Fine,” you reply. “Just… I don’t know.”

“I get it. We, uh, we haven’t been able to hang out in a while. What have you been up to?”

“Nothing. Work, eat, workout, sleep, repeat.”

“Yeah, you’ve been kind of mopey.” She reaches her hand toward you and smiles when you lay your hand in hers. “This job is hard enough without being lonely. Why don’t you go on a date or just go hang out somewhere, meet somebody?”

You shake your head and brush off her concern with a half-true promise, “I’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to when our schedules give us time to be friends again. If I can get out away from Nolan, of course.”

Bailey smiles and rolls her eyes but squeezes your hand reassuringly. You know she isn’t convinced that you’re fine. Your job is more important, though, so you decide to focus on the motorcycle rider who needs your help rather than the empty home, the empty life you’ll go home to after your shift ends.

“Hey!” Tim yells harshly. “Socialize on your own time, boot!”

His new rookie ducks his head and walks quickly after abandoning his conversation. Tim has been grumpier than usual lately, and he’s taking it out on everyone in the station. When he yelled at Sergeant Grey, who only shook his head and told Tim to take a breather, Nolan knew what was happening.

“He’s lonely, right?” Nolan asks Angela.

“Incredibly,” she answers without hesitation. “It’s been worse, though, so his sports buddies must have gotten busy, married, something.”

Nolan nods. He has an idea, but he knows better than to suggest Tim go on a date where he could overhear or be told. As he walks toward his shop, Nolan makes a mental note to ask Bailey if she knows anyone who would be willing to go on a date with Mid-Wilshire’s resident grump.

“Do I look like I care about your engagement party?” Tim asks across the garage.

“Hey,” Nolan says as he walks into the house.

“Hi,” Bailey replies.

Nolan hugs Bailey and sighs against her.

“I need your help with something,” Bailey says.

“Anything,” Nolan replies as he steps back. “But I need a favor, too.”

“My best friend is lonely and needs a date.”

Nolan’s brows raise as he adds, “My coworker is lonely and needs a date.”

“Did we just plan a blind date in under thirty seconds? Are we really that good?”

“Depends. Is your friend interested in someone like Tim Bradford?”

Bailey considers the pairing for a moment but smiles as she pictures you balancing Tim and him providing an edge that you haven’t experienced in years.

“Oh, yeah,” Bailey decides. “She’ll be interested.”

“Great! Now I just have to convince him to actually go on the date,” Nolan muses.

“Good luck.” Bailey laughs before she realizes, “I have to get her to let me set her up too.”

“Well, if she’s anything like Tim, appeal to her misery.”

“Yeah, because it’s better than absolutely nothing and complete unhappiness is the perfect way to pitch a date,” Bailey scoffs. “I’ll get my friend there, and you convince Tim your way.”

“I hope this works,” they say together.

“What’d you do last night?” Bailey asks as you exit the locker room.

You step back in surprise at being ambushed the moment you arrive but recover quickly. “I made dinner, watched a movie, and went to bed. Why?”

“Because you’ve got a date tonight, so we’re switching it up.”

“Bailey,” you begin.

“No, no, hear me out before you decline. Please? I’m doing this as your best friend, I promise.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Pitch this guy. But, Bailey Nune, if you say it’s Nolan’s brother Pete I will find a new best friend.”

“Oh, no. I love you, I would never do that. Besides, the whole point of a blind date is that I don’t tell you the guy’s name. But…” She raises her finger to emphasize as she adds, “Nolan and I both know him well and he’s a great guy.”

“You’re gonna have to give me more. I don’t want to go on a date just to say that I didn’t spend another night alone, Bailey.”

“Completely. I know you, though, okay, and this guy he’s- he can do and be everything you want. The romance, the connection, the best friend that is also your life partner, what you are looking for in a guy, this is it. I promise. And, if I’m wrong, I’ll bail you out of the date and I will clean your equipment for the rest of the month.”

You purse your lips as you think about her offer. She does know exactly what you want in a man, and you trust Bailey’s judgement. “Fine. I’ll go on the date.”

“Yes!” Bailey cheers as she hugs you. “I’m so glad. You’ll feel so much better after you’re not miserable and lonely anymore.”

“You should’ve been a motivational speaker,” you deadpan. “Now don’t mention it again until we get off. This can’t be the topic of conversation for the rest of the day; I’ll never live it down.”

“I’ll stay quiet and think of the perfect outfit for you,” Bailey says as she follows you into the heart of the station.

“Officer Bradford,” Nolan calls as he walks across the bullpen.

“Yeah?” Tim asks.

“I’ve got a proposition for you. Or a question, idea, whatever you want to call it.”

“Then spit it out, Nolan.”

“Right, yes, sir. Bailey has a single friend, and we want to set you up on a blind date.”

Tim’s face remains impassive as he shakes his head. “Pass. Ask Aaron.”

“No, Tim, I’m asking you.”

“And I’m not interested,” Tim argues.

“Look, you’re lonely and miserable, so you’re making all of us miserable. I know you – sort of – and I know this woman. She could be really good for you.”

“If you’re wrong? Because I think you are.”

“Then leave the date! You’re not losing anything more than a few hours.”

Tim takes a deep breath before he asks, “Why do you think she’d be good for me?”

“She can be the balance that you need, and she understands some of what we deal with daily.”

“Don’t tell me she’s a lawyer.”

“Oh, no, I know better than that. So… is that a yes?”

“It’s a hesitant yes,” Tim answers. “When?”

“Tonight.”

Tim nods once before he walks away to reprimand a rookie. Nolan watches him yell and hopes that he and Bailey are right. Because if they’re wrong and the date goes poorly, Tim will be worse in the morning.

You sit in the front of the restaurant and await your date. Bailey said he’d arrive after you. She never explained how you were supposed to find each other, though. As you watch people come and go, you grow discouraged. You shift your attention from the door to your hands. Several minutes pass before the door opens again, and you look up but don’t expect anything.

“Tim?” you ask.

You’ve seen Tim Bradford several times in passing. At wrecks, crime scenes, and various Los Angeles law enforcement meetings. He’s always been kind to you, and you remember that you may have mentioned finding him attractive to Bailey before.

“I’ll assume you’re my blind date, then,” Tim replies. He smiles as he adds, “I’m not as disappointed as I expected to be.”

“Wow,” you say through laughter. “If I’d known you were such a flirt, I would’ve asked Bailey to set us up sooner.”

Tim shakes his head, and you join his side as he gives his name to the hostess. As you walk to the table, a sudden awkwardness descends. There’s no good way to begin a conversation on a blind date, you realize. Tim taps his hand against the menu but looks similarly lost about what to say.

“I guess being lonely and desperate worked in my favor,” you joke.

“Oh, I can guarantee that I was lonelier and more desperate,” Tim replies. “Nolan used that to convince me to come tonight; said I was making everyone else miserable with my misery.”

The mood lightens with your playful jokes, and you smile at Tim.

“Since you’ve had to pull an arson suspect off me before, should we skip the small talk?” you ask Tim over your menu. “Or do this the normal way?”

“There’s nothing normal about this,” Tim comments.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, but the Are you still miserable? text from Bailey goes unread.

“Okay, I hate this,” you murmur as you set the menu aside. “Can I just sit beside you?”

Tim’s smile grows as he stands and offers his hand. Once you’re seated beside him, where you don’t have to lean across the table to talk, you don’t even remember the miserable feeling that led Bailey to set this date up.

Tim leans over to whisper, “I’m glad I agreed to the date,” and you move closer to him as you answer, “Me too.”

As you walk out of the restaurant with your hand in Tim’s and a joyful smile on your face, you don’t want the night to end.

“Same time next week?” you ask as Tim slows.

“What about the same time another day this week?” he suggests. “I had a great time, and I want to go out again. If that’s what you want, of course.”

You pull your phone out and hand it to Tim, ignoring Bailey’s text. He puts his number in and texts himself, so he has your number, too. You grow giddy, something you thought was a thing of your past.

“I think this is the best date I’ve ever been on,” you tell Tim as you begin walking again. “Thank you.”

“Nolan and Bailey are gonna take credit if we tell them the blind date worked,” Tim points out.

“Yeah,” you agree, drawing out the word. “But I don’t think I can hide how happy tonight made me. Not from Bailey, at least.”

Tim nods like he understands as you stop. You turn to face him, and he raises the hand that isn’t in yours to hold your cheek. There isn’t a question or doubt in your mind as you kiss Tim. What was supposed to be a date to cheer you up and get you back out of your mundane, lonely life is already becoming so much more. As Tim releases your hand to hold you and pull you closer, your entire world brightens. Neither you nor Tim are lonely, let alone miserable, with the prospect of a new relationship with one another. You pull back when you can’t stop smiling against Tim’s lips.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“All of it.”

Tim smiles and brushes his thumb under your bottom lip. “If I don’t see you before Friday, I’m looking forward to our date. And I’ll pick you up at the fire station.”

“Are you sure about that?” you question. “Bailey will tell John.”

“They’ll have to learn sooner rather than later that there’s no room for them in our relationship.”

Your smile grows at our relationship, but you lick your lips to keep your excitement from showing. “They’re both born meddlers.”

“Let’s stop talking about them,” Tim murmurs as he leans in again.

Bonus:

When you arrive home, you see the text from Bailey and answer: More miserable than you can imagine. I’m going to sleep to escape it. Sure, you left off the part about being sad because the date ended, but she’ll find out soon enough.

[catbread0]

hihi can I request an x reader for Sebastian with someone whos a similar creature to him but bigger yet they manage to be pretty swift on their tail (to the point its kinda scary/j) /nf !

Sebastian Solace x Experimented! Reader

I hope this meets your request standards! Ty for requesting and sorry for any mistakes.

°ʚ(*´꒳`*)ɞ°

Words: 1,362

Mention of death, fluff, a bit OOC, some curse words

All the information I found is from the official Pressure wiki, urbanshade.org!! NOT FANDOM WIKI (MOST STUFF ON THEIR IS NOT CORRECT, PLEASE CHECK THE OFFICIAL WIKI!!) (Note: I made this before the friendly fire update came out)

Sebastian Solace Masterlist

Peculiar Experiment

Sebastian was going around Hadal Blacksite to find more data and information to blackmail Hadal Blacksite or send the information to rival companies. 

He was currently in a room that had a large window. On the other side of the window was pure water, nothing else. As he was searching through the many desks in the room, he saw in the corner of his eyes something through the window, but when he blinked, it was gone. 

Sebastian thought it was his eyes messing with him and chalked it up to him being blinded by the flashed beacon so many times by multiple inmates who walked into his shop.

As Sebastian continued into another room with another huge window, he found some items to sell to the inmates. He doesn’t actively seek to discover them. He just ends up finding them by accident and decides to make good use of them by trading. 

He saw the figure again, but he couldn’t identify the figure due to the room being dark. 

At first glance from afar, it looked like it was a normal height. However, as the shadow figure drew closer to the glass, Sebastian realized that this unknown monster was not normal in height. He is 10 '6", and somehow that monster was much taller than him!?

Sebastian tried to figure out who exactly this monster was. Until the creature punched their hand through the window. Water started flowing into the hole rapidly, filling the room quickly with water.

Sebastian jumped from the sudden movement and glass shattering. He immediately grabbed whatever he could and slithered out of the room.

The monster saw Sebastian slithering away and wanted to catch up to him. With that, the creature kept breaking the window until they fell into the room. The creature immediately recovered from the impact and started to chase after Sebastian.

Sebastian saw the figure closing up on him somehow, even though he had a whole head start. 

He shouted in an enraged tone to hide the fear that was starting to settle in him, “WHO ARE YOU!? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!”

He soon reached a room that shut the door behind him. He was trying to shake off the feeling of panic but then heard the noise of rustling behind some desks.

He immediately took out a flashlight he had picked up earlier and pointed toward where the desks that the sound was coming from.

“SHOW YOURSEL-”

Before Sebastian could fully finish his sentence, the same creature jumped towards him. 

The creature was hugging him?? He thought he would surely get killed or something since he was to be killed on sight by Hadal Blacksite.

“I never thought I’d find another specimen like me! Although you are quite small and slow.”

Once the unknown creature let him go, Sebastian got a better look when the creature pulled their anglerfish light, making the room light up a bit. This creature was almost similar to him. They had fin-like ears, a sea snake-shaped body, and a large and long tail. There were some differences. They had a third eye, but on their left side (his eye is on his right side), claw-like hand, but they have 5 fingers (while he has 4). 

But the major difference was the height and speed. They were 17 '3" and extremely fast. You had somehow gotten in the room when the door had closed only a few seconds after he entered. 

“Im specimen Z-##, but my real name is (Y/n)(L/n)”

Ah, now he remembers, he found your folder of what happened to you a few days ago while looking around.

You were an LR-P, or in other words, a low-ranked prisoner who's kept in their cells unless they are called upon for experiments. The experiments would often be dangerous or deadly. You were part of the experiment to give humans gills, just like Sebastian, mixing your DNA with other DNA strands from multiple different sea creatures. After the experiment was a success, you were still an LR-P and sent back to your cell. That was until the lockdown was caused, and you escaped your cell after someone unlocked the doors.

When Sebastian finally got out of his daze and replied, “I didn't expect to do sudden introductions out of my shop today. But since you didn’t kill me, I guess there’s no harm. I'm Sebastian or Z-13, to be exact.”

You continued to talk to him while he continued to collect stuff while heading back to his shop.

“Why are you collecting these folders filled with data from others? It’s not like we can undo what they did to us.” You asked him.

“If I can get enough information, then I can sell these to rival companies or, better yet, blackmail this hellhole of a company.” He spat out the last part with venom in his voice.

After spending time with him, you decided to help Sebastian with his goal if it meant stopping these horrible experiments on other people. 

A couple of months go by, and you slowly start to have feelings for Sebastian. Even if he is snarky, unpredictable, and sometimes violent, he does lend a hand to the inmates who come to his shop. He’s respectful to those who also respect him. This includes you too, since you help out a lot, it helps him have more time to try to reach his goals.

When inmates would disrespect you, whether it be making rude comments about your looks, how tall you are, or using their flash beacon on you. Sebastian would charge the inmates more than usual, or sometimes he would take the flash beacon from them if they bought it from him, or he would defend you by making sneaky comments or mocking them.

You want to tell him how you feel towards him, but you don't want to mess up the friendship that you have with him.

It was another day or night, you couldn’t tell, but it was quiet today. No inmates were coming into the shop today. How rare. Not even the other monsters were making noise like they usually do when there are inmates in the halls.

You let out a sigh of boredom and stretch yourself out a bit, “Did they run out of prisoners to send down here or something?”

“Probably, I mean no one has gotten the crystal yet,” Sebastian said as he pulled on his anglerfish lure to light up the small room.

It was silent for a few minutes before Sebastian spoke again, “Since it seems no one is coming to the shop today. I would like to tell you something.”

Now that grabbed your interest, “Yea? What is it?”

It was silent for a few seconds again before he looked up at you, “I'm going to get straight to the point, I like you and want to be in a relationship with you.”

Well, that wasn't what you expected, but he is unpredictable at times, so you couldn't blame him for that.

“..You couldn’t have been more, you know, romantic? But I do feel the same way about you.” You teased him for his straight forwardness.

“Well there’s nothing romantic I could get from down here, so I might as well do it when no one is here,” Sebastian answers you.

You end up moving towards him, cuddling him. The two of you looked at each other before you leaned down toward him and kissed each other. 

Bonus!

While you and Sebastian were too busy kissing, you two didn't hear someone crawling through the vents.

“Um? What the fuck!? Do that somewhere else other than in the shop man.” 

You pulled away immediately, Sebastian was irritated by the person's comment and their rudeness.

Sebastian whacked the poor inmate back through the vent with his tail. The inmate was thrown out, and since the room on the other side had a big pothole with what seemed an endless bottom, they tragically died.

“...Sebastian…. You know what, just this once I won't scold you for doing that.” You sighed in disbelief while Sebastian had a plastered smirk on his face.

~Lilly's

[waitingandwishing]

idk if you are writing much for sbg, let alone how to request much, but could you do romantic or platonic sbg (or just Tyler and Ben) with reader with like long curly hair, similar to Sunday kalogeras and she doesn't know what to do with it most the time.

-> context: curly haired girls are so fine

-> fandom: school bus graveyard

-> warnings: none?

TYLER

Sometimes you had no idea of how to manage your hair. You swore it had a mind of its own. Spiraling curls that framed your face like storm clouds. Most days, your let it roam free, more out of surrender than choice. You owned six different hair products, none of which worked the same way twice. One morning it bounced like a shampoo commercial, the next it looked like you'd fought a bush and lost.

So somehow, through all that mess, Tyler still managed to find his own ways of liking it. "By the way, your hair looks good. I like it like that. Just… thought you should know."

That compliment caught you off guard but practically made your whole day. The way you beamed and awkwardly laughed with a small thanks made Tyler want to say more just to see you smile once again.

The wind picked up once again, the sky gray and blinding. Your hair, predictably, went wild once again. "Ugh," You muttered, brushing it back. "I should just shave it off."

Tyler glances at you, thinking for a moment before muttering, "Don’t."

You squinted at him, pausing your walk, "Don’t what?"

"Shave it," He said. Then shrugged, as if it was nothing. "I mean. It’s... Food. Like that. Or however it is. Doesn’t matter."

"You think my hair’s good." You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah." He sounds like he’s admitting a war crime. "I mean, it’s a mess, but it works. On you." He shifted on his feet awkwardly and you forced yourself not to chuckle in amusement at his sudden bashfulness. "I like it."

You stared at him for a moment, though he avoided eye contact like it was physically painful. "...You like my hair?"

He exhaled hard. "I like you. The hair’s just part of it. Unfortunately." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking ready to bolt.

She blinks, stunned, before standing beside him once again with a chuckle. "You suck at this," she says.

"Yeah," He sighed. But it was worth it to see you smile at him.

BEN

Some mornings, it feels like your hair wakes up before you do. You've watched enough tutorials to know you're supposed to love your curls. Embrace the volume. Romanticize the frizz. But you’re not sure how to “romanticize” waking up with your head looking like that.

You've tried tying them up, taming them with pins, wrapping them in scarves, only for a stubborn curl to spring free like it’s laughing at your efforts. Sometimes you catch people staring, and you're never sure if it's admiration or awe at how you haven't burst into flames from sheer frustration

You were fussing with your hair, again. You turned to see Ben staring at you with a slight smile before he noticed your gaze. He paused, cheeks tinted pink before he quickly signed 'Beautiful'. HUH?! You opened your mouth to ask him to elaborate before Aiden had caught his attention with a ladybug.

It was late afternoon and you were sitting with Ben in the park. Aiden and Taylor were doing an arm wrestle as Ashlynn begrudgingly recorded and Tyler and Logan watched.

Your curls were frizzy from the humidity, and you were constantly pushing them behind your ears. “I don’t even know why I bother with this hair.” You muttered.

Ben stared at you for a moment before gently reaching out and tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “What are you doing?” You asked.

He held your gaze for just a moment longer before giving you that adorable smile of his you loved. "They're really pretty." He typed on his phone.

You stared at him with slightly wide eyes before smiling bashfully. Warmth filled your chest, making your hands tingle and your legs shake slightly. "... Thanks."

(A/n: keep in mind I DO NOT HAVE CURLY HAIR, so i am unfamiliar with this ask! so sorry if this is wrong and please tell me in the comments!)

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Jump Scare

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Jump Scare

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Stiles and Derek stay up all night together playing a scary video game, shrieking with laughter and clutching each other every time there's a jump scare.

By the time they reach the end credits, it's early morning, summer sunlight pouring through the trees outside of Stiles's bedroom window, igniting the room in a golden glow and warming Derek's back as he snuggles in under the covers and buries his face in the hair at the back of Stiles's neck. A few moments later, the bedroom door clicks open, and the sheriff pops his head in to say good morning before heading to bed after a long overnight shift.  The words have barely left his mouth when he stops short at the sight of the local ex-murder suspect turned alpha werewolf curled protectively around his son, the two of them fast asleep, looking more peaceful than he's seen either of them look in years. He glances around the room, noting the empty popcorn bowl tipped over onto its side, the discarded sleeves of cookies, the headphone wires wrapped around Stiles's left ankle as it dangles from the side of the bed, and slowly turns back around, gently closing the door behind him.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

The first thing Derek notices when he's in the neighborhood just passing by is that all the lights are off, save for a sudden flash of blinding white light that dances across Stiles's bedroom wall in a strobe effect. The second thing he notices, because he's got Stiles's signature scents memorized better than his own phone number, is the pungent spike of all-consuming terror, thick as the smoke from a brush fire as it wafts through the open window.

Without a second thought (because rational thinking is a thing that typically goes out the window — sometimes literally — when it comes to Stiles) Derek scales the side of the house and vaults through the window frame, crimson bleeding into his irises on instinct, claws and fangs at the ready to destroy whatever poor sick son of a bitch decided to fuck with his m— his Stiles. 

But instead of a threat, he's met with the vision of a pajama-clad college sophomore curled up in the center of his bed, hair sticking up at gravity-defying angles like he'd nervously run his fingers through it more than a dozen times, brandishing a playstation controller and screaming bloody murder.

"Holy fucking— Derek?" Stiles gasps, clutching at a stitch in his chest and hastening to free himself from the chokehold his headphones had become in all the panic. Clocking the fact that there's no immediate danger, Derek lets out a sigh of relief and holds up his hands in surrender, eyes returning to their usual forest green as they fall on a peculiar image lighting up Stiles's computer screen.

"What are you doing?" he asks, tone curious but eyebrows narrowed and wary, crowding behind Stiles's shoulder to get a better look at the — what is that, a dungeon? — and picking up an entirely different kind of scent, far more intoxicating than the first, delighting in the little frisson that runs down the length of Stiles's spine as Derek's breath ghosts across the back of his neck.

"I, uh—" Stiles falters, nervous swallow audible. Derek withdraws to look him in the eye, and Stiles shakes his head, coming back to himself. "I'm playing this new horror game that just came out a little while back. It's called Little Nightmares."

"All alone, in the middle of the night, in the dark?" Derek smirks.

"What can I say? I like to set the mood, create an ambience," Stiles retorts, rolling his eyes at the implication that he's too much of a chicken shit to play scary games all by himself in the dark. He's literally battled real life monsters, for fuck's sake, he can handle a little puzzle platformer. That janitor, though…

"Can I play?" Derek surprises him by asking in a voice that's so small and unsure of himself Stiles could weep, and Stiles practically flails off the bed in an attempt to make space for him, scowling at the little snort of laughter Derek huffs out while his back is turned, shucking off his boots and leather jacket and climbing onto the bed to sit cross-legged next to Stiles.

"Okay, so," Stiles prompts, dropping the little black controller into Derek's open palms and rifling through his bedside drawer for an audio splitter and an extra set of headphones. "Left joystick lets you look around the room, right joystick lets you move, and then the touchpad—"

"I know how to work a playstation controller, Stiles," Derek grumbles, watching as his character — a little girl clad in a bright yellow raincoat — begins a slow descent down a long, dark hallway. "Just tell me which button triggers jump, and—"

Derek lets out a yelp as a spindly-armed monster drops down from the ceiling and starts chasing him, controller flying halfway across the room just like his character's little silver cigarette lighter the moment she's caught by the horrifying creature. The screen fades to black, and Derek works to quell the sudden spike of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he goes to collect the controller from a nearby pile of laundry, the sound of Stiles's raucous laughter filling his ears.

"Welcome to the chicken shit club," Stiles quips as he plucks the controller from Derek's hands. "You're in charge of the t-shirt order."

"I want another go," Derek insists, gathering up Stiles's laptop and holding it hostage until Stiles relinquishes the gamepad with a soft, surprised little chuckle. Derek settles in, cracking his knuckles and wiping the sweat off the palms of his hands, before diving in for round two.

They end up spending all night together playing through the rest of the game, taking it in turns to try and figure out all the puzzles, one hunched over the laptop screen trying to concentrate while the other plays backseat gamer, shaking each other's shoulders and shouting useless commands: run, jump, hide, holy shit we're gonna die! Startled shrieks giving way to breathless laughter as the two of them clutch onto each other for dear life every time there's a jump scare, pausing only to grab reinforcements — a family sized bowl of buttered popcorn and a couple of sleeves of oreos — before jumping right back in.

By the time they reach the end credits, it's early morning, summer sunlight pouring through the trees outside of Stiles's bedroom window, igniting the room in a golden glow and warming Derek's back as he snuggles in under the covers and buries his face in the hair at the back of Stiles's neck. A few moments later, the bedroom door clicks open, and the sheriff pops his head in to say good morning before heading to bed after a long overnight shift. 

The words have barely left his mouth when he stops short at the sight of the local ex-murder suspect turned alpha werewolf curled protectively around his son, the two of them fast asleep, looking more peaceful than he's seen either of them look in years. He glances around the room, noting the empty popcorn bowl tipped over onto its side, the discarded sleeves of cookies, the headphone wires wrapped around Stiles's left ankle as it dangles from the side of the bed, and slowly turns back around, gently closing the door behind him.

"About damn time," he murmurs under his breath, smiling in spite of himself, and thinks he distinctly hears a gruff little chuckle from the other side of the door.

[irrevocablecondition]

i think another thing worth adding to all the conversations is that my existence as a trans person in this fandom is not a form of protest. (under the cut because it's long)

i think it's easy to fall into the mindset that being in this space as someone from a community jkr has harmed is protest in and of itself. or that merely engaging with queer stories is an act of protest - "jkr would hateee what we write!", "jkr already hates me so-" etc etc but that doesn't alleviate the harm caused. that doesn't change the fact that all of this is relevance and promotion of her universe (esp over on tt) so,,, what actually is your act of protest?

i think it's important to recognise that jkr doesn't know us. she doesn't know me, she doesn't know you, she doesn't look at this space and consider the demographic of it (outside of potential promotions), she simply sees a group of people engaging with her works that could potentially be drawn back into profitting her (again, promotions - thinking here about the official HP tiktok queerbaiting). in her own words, when asked how she felt about losing a community from engaging, she replied: "i read my most recent royalty check and find that the pain goes away pretty quickly".

me existing as a trans person - both inside and outside of this space - is not a form of protest, it's just existing. my heart beating and continuing to beat throughoit everything is not an act of protest, it's me living.

me being trans is not a protest.

everything else? everything i do rather than everything i am? that's the protest.

it's just,,, coming off the back of all the tiktoks being made (which btw, endlessly thankful. sucks that now is the time but it's never Too Late to start talking about it and i'm thankful to everyone who has shouldered some of the weight over the last few days) i'm seeing a lot of comments like "but so many of the creators in this space are trans!!! how do we STILL have an issue with transphobi-"

because outside of being a cool sticker to show your inclusion and diversity, the vast majority of people don't care. because outside of going "hey look, we uplift trans people by making them popular", no one really considers us.

when you argue about headcanons, when you argue about "proper cosplays", when you post your videos of the studios whilst following us, when you do so many thingssss, you don't consider how it affects us. or, when we use our voices, if it's not about a headcanon or a fic? we're ignored.

for example, you'll argue about fem sirius but when we say "hey, maybe debating what makes a man a Proper Man is harmful", you roll your eyes and go "yeah but,,,,, he's meant to be MACHO MANLY 😡☝🏻" and i'm left watching people debate whether wearing makeup makes me - a real life trans man - less of a man. you'll argue that it makes wolfstar straight and i turn to my real life cis male boyfriend and ask if he's ever wanted me to Look Normal, or if anyone has ever questioned his "boyfriend", and he'll shake his head and ask why i'm worried, and i have to bring up a Fictional Wizard.

we're used as almost an act of protest by the fandom on tiktok??? used a lot as a "look at how trans inclusive this fandom is!" but when trans people say how they're treated and made to feel? the biggest concern is if this will affect their content.

existing as or engaging in something that jkr would hate is not an act of protest if that protest starts and ends with fictional characters. if that same inclusion and strive for representation and inclusion is not reflected with the issues that affect these creators you use as signposts for inclusion, then it's not an act of protest.

jkr doesn't care that you read trans regulus or that a trans person in this space has 300k followers, she cares if you're going to giving her money or not - so what are You doing to prove to Us that you won't?

engaging with queer media isn't an act of protest if you turn a blind eye to the creator of the franchise whilst she harms queer people. and it's not an act of protest if you ignore those that Do speak about it, because it's affecting the content you want.

my existence here isn't the protest. me being in this space as a trans person? that changes nothing. everything else i do is the protest. not my identity, but the fight to protect it.

[th0rnback]

Do you have any headcanons that tend to translate into your writing?

Oooooo, that is a good'un. I’ve been in this fandom so long sometimes I forget what is headcanon and what’s canon 🫠

Buuuuut, I’m sure some of these might be shared with lots of folks, yet off the top of my head:

⭕Edward wears gloves not so much to hide his automail, but to soften it. Metal joints pinch. He learned this the hard way when shaking someone’s hand. It genuinely upset/embarrassed/made him self conscious for a while after that event. ⭕Alphonse always like the barn cats since he was small, yet moreso after Trisha’s death. He liked to entice them into the house of an evening for the warmth and comfort. The house didn’t feel quiet so empty when filled with a patter of paws or rumbling purrs.

⭕Ed’s an ugly crier and he is SUPER self aware of this fact, while he is trying to ‘keep a stiff upper lip’ he also has the worse poker face known to mankind (which I guess can be canon? Because the sweet bean was a mess at Trisha’s funeral, howling at the sky with snot) ⭕Al, even when human and back when kids, is the better liar. He’s got a good poker face (even without the helm) and the street cred of polite sweetness.

⭕Roy hides it well and because irony is key: Roy gets anxious around horses. As a kid a mounted MP’s horse nipped him and Chris presumed this is why he is still Not A Fan of the hooved beasts…. In reality, watching a group of Ishvalan’s get trampled when the cavalry arrived on scene made him realize how terrifyingly powerful such animals are (cue his anxiety over FoM!Ed being so tiny around an animal with hooves bigger than the kids skull)   ⭕ Riza doesn't like being ignored. She can deal with it, but it does make her hackles rise. There is something about being so blankly disregarded she finds as rude yet know, deep known, its because she spent too much of her youth with a father who barely spared her a glance, absorbed in his work... until he suddenly was like ''yo lovely daughter, need to borrow that skin on your back for a second'' ⭕Riza is very good at leg sweeping, hip checking, or just thwacking the back of Roy's knees because when he came to live as her father's apprentice at their crumbling rural manor house, she took great joy tripping him up in the corridors to the point it became a game.

⭕Havoc was nominated for first aider training for their unit. He drew the short straw. Hated every second of the weekend long training he got shoved into. The team make frequent jokes they were hoping to improve his experience, as his dating life is piss-poor and doing CPR would be is only form of ‘kissing’.

⭕ Riza’s a tea-a-holic (which could be canon? Girl be drinking tea in a lot of manga panels). She likes tea due to the variety of scents and finds the method of brewing/preparing it as a form of decompression/keeps her mind blank and hands busy because there are only many times she can dismantling and cleaning her service weapons to a pristine condition before someone presumes she has OCD.

⭕Roy isn’t very good with the scent of fatty meat being cooked. He can deal with it, but sometimes, on The Bad Days™the scent can send him reeling. (This was mostly inspired given how my paternal grandfather was a tank-man during ww2 and my uncle had the horrors of playing with flame throwers in other dumb-mens-wars and neither of them could cope with the smell of smoked bacon of fat-heavy meat).

⭕Fuery is blind AF without his glasses…. Probably me projecting like hell as poor sighted dweeb with thick glasses and also how I HATE that characters in fiction get their glasses off and can FUNCTION DURING CHAOS??? LIKE, NO. EVERYTHING IS BLURRY AND SCARY. MATE, I ONCE LOST MY GLASSES IN THE AMAZING MAZE OF MAIZE AND I FELT LIKE I WAS IN THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE. Also, during a paintball match, I had to forgo my glasses because the eye protective googles didn’t like me wearing them, so I was just blindly taking people out and running into trees, but that’s another story. Rant over.

⭕Maes & Gracia had experienced pregnancy loss before they finally had Elicia: its why the two of them cherish her so much

Annnnnd... I'll stop. Otherwise we are gonna end up with a sickeningly large amount and I fear I'll bore you. 💖

[universaln0b0dy]

You wouldn't last a minute in the Asylum that they raised me in - (twist x reader)

Summary: You tell Leona and Riddle about your past.

Note: So there is a warning for death in some cases and there might be fandoms included you don't know, but I hope you enjoy! Also reader is implied to have magical powers)

Riddle Rosehearts - Ever after high (apple white like reader)

It happened a few months after his Overblot, out of everyone you the prefect from the other world where the most understanding of his problems, but occasionally he would notice how you stared at the ravens that flew around and sighed heavily.

"Are you alright?" Riddle placed his hand on your shoulder and you sigh softly. "I-i was just reminded of something I did before I came here....."

You look to the floor with a frown. Riddle looks at you with a caring expression. "Would like to talk about it?" He asks and you nod slightly. "Maybe I should, i shouldn't be suffering under something like that." With a longing smile you look out of the window.

"Before I came here, I was [Name] White, daughter of snow white. (If you aren't a girl, pretend you were forced to be one by your mother) In my world we have destinies and I wanted to follow mine. I was taught that this was right.." carefully you wipe over the goosebumps on your arm with a sigh and you take a step forward.

"I did horrible things to my friends. I was so blinded by my wish to make my mom proud and to have a clear destiny that I tried forcing them into signing." You put a hand on your forehead.

"I... I would have killed some of them." You fall onto your knees, crying. It was pathetic, but remembering all the horrible things you did was weighting heavy kn your shoulder.

"You are the daughter of snow white?" Riddle looked at you in disbelief, but you wave your hand in a dismissive motion. "Not your worlds snow white. In my world the queen was evil and poisoned her step daughter."

Riddles eyes widened. "That is horrible! Why would you wish to be poisoned?" You chuckle with a frown. "I probably had it the easiest out of all of us. I just feel bad for Raven. She didn't want to poison me and I forced her.... but my mom told me! She told me that!" You grab your hair and shake your head, starting to hyper ventilate. Riddle was by your side in the next second, rubbing soothing circles into your bag, like you had done for him.

"I guess we both didn't have the best relationship with our mother. To be honest I probably would have acted the same as you did. I mean I still have problems with not acting strict."

You wanted to say that this didn't compare until you thought about it. Maybe it did and that is why you related to him so much. "Yeah, you're right." With a soft smile you place your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you for listening Riddle." You close your eyes, not noticing how his cheeks grow red........

Leona Kingscholar - Nolan Thorn!Animox! Like reader

It came to suprise for everyone. You even had been dead set on hiding your abilities from everyone, but sometimes things just don't go as planned.

It had been a fairly normal Monday morning, you and Grim walking through the garden, before Grim was attacked by a magical mishap plant.

Assuming no one was there you used the power of the beast king, turning yourself into an animal with sharp teeth to bite off the plants many vines. It works and Grim is free barely a second later.

You shift back ready to move on like nothing happened until you realise there is someone standing behind you.

"The oh so magicless herbivore doesn't seem that magicless at all." Leona mumbles while lifting a brow. For a second you feared that he would reveal the secret to everyone, or blackmail you.

But he doesn't. Instead he goes right back to napping as if he hadn't seen anything. You aren't sure if you should be glad about this or confront him.

Well, you've always been the more confronting Twin between you and Simon.

"Hah, I'll always be second place to my brother, he will be king and I'll be left with nothing." It was a jokey atmosphere, you and him talking about random things. You were glad that all those weeks ago you decided to confront Leona.

"Oh tell me about it." You chuckle. "I was always said to be the successor of the beast king, but than bam! A twin brother I didn't even know existed shows up."

You look over to Leona who smirks. "I guess we both aren't good with our siblings." You nod.

"If I am honest, I would love to switch places with him. He can fight these Overblots and I am back home honoured for defeating our grandfather before he could destroy the world of animox."

Leonas eyes narrow. "Huh? What do you mean: defeat your grandfather?" Ans you sigh heavily, before placing your hand on your cheek.

"Orion, the super villain i told you about is the father of my mother. The one who killed my uncles and the reason why our mother let us grow up separated." You look inside straight ahead, your eyes blazing a bit as you dwell in memories.

"Orion wanted the staff that held the powers of the beast king, my mother was forced to research where the pieces where and had to make sure that Orion wouldn't find me and my brother. Since he would have stolen the powers from one of us."

Leona goes quiet for a few seconds. "That's rough." He then says, making you turn around, playfully angry hitting his shoulder. "I am pouring my heart out and the only thing you say is: "That's rough?" You chuckle, expecting Leona to do so too, but he was just staring at you, with a mix of fear and worry.

"Heh, that was a lot." You look at your hands, before you feel a hand on your shoulder. Leona looked a bit akward, but he patted your shoulder.

You flash him a smile. "Thank you, for just being here to listen." Leona nods halfway. "It's fine, after all I need someone to rant about my brother too.

So I guess listening to you won't hurt me that much....."

Tell me if you want part two!!!!!!!!!!