#to do everything and change everything that already is

[munsonstorm]

Childproof

my main masterlist

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k words

description: sue announces her pregnancy. johnny is elated for his big sister. but it makes you feel some type of way when you know he wants kids of his own. something you're not very sure you want.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no spoilers for f4 really, no use of y/n, reader is 18+, established relationship, basically pwp, talks of use of birth control, reader is afraid of being pregnant, johnny is a menace, johnny the Dom, sub!reader, uses of "daddy" and "momma", heavy on the breeding kink, lots of dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering, exhibitionism, creampie, no real aftercare lol

authors note: hey..... this came to me before i even watched the movie. i watched that one clip and was like yeah.... i'm horny. anyway. saw the movie, loved it and needed to write more for this doofus. also coming up with the title made me giggle. if you get it, lemme know. hope y'all enjoy!

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @saradika-graphics

Johnny knew how to get under your skin. He loved it. 

You and Ben had just completed dinner, working for over an hour on perfecting his famous red sauce. Johnny had been bothering you two the entire time, pestering you specifically on how much longer it would be.

“We have dinner at the same time every night, Johnny,” You bite as you butter the bread. He did not let up, asking you to elaborate. He loved seeing your face get red and your lips opening up to let out a long sigh. 

Once everything was plated and the table was set, you sat down at the table. You turn everyone’s forks and knives the right way as Ben sprinkles some more Italian seasoning over the pasta.

Johnny slams down in the chair next to you, a big box of Lucky Charms in his grip. Ben immediately takes note of it before you can even say anything.

“What are you doing?” He asks Johnny, his voice sort of small with a slight offense to it. 

Johnny takes a handful of the cereal and dumps it in his mouth. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

You peer at him, annoyed, already on edge with him today. He had been extra irritating today after you rejected his morning advances. You swore the man needed you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

“You are going to ruin your appetite,” You say, grabbing the box from him. His bright blue eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he dumped the rest of the handful he had into his mouth.

“‘M hungry, baby.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring the question Ben had posed about Sue and Reed being late to dinner. Everyone always arrived before the set time, and by the looks of it, they were about 5 minutes late. You check your small watch front, humming a response. You hear some footsteps from across the living room, and see the two of them looking like they just got caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

“You’re late,” Johnny shouts to them, dusting his hands off over his clean plate. You grit your teeth. Why was he like this?

Reed and Sue stop dead in their tracks. 

“What, uh, what do you mean?” Sue poses, slowly walking forward to her usual spot at the table. Johnny rolls his eyes again, and you silently plot how you could get away to stab him with your fork.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re late for dinner,” Johnny explains, pulling his napkin into his lap, just like you taught him. Took him years to figure out how to prevent so many stains on his clothing until you came around and completely changed his entire world.

Sue and Reed go into an elaborate explanation as to why they took so long, but you sensed a shift. Reed never had a good poker face, his big brown eyes giving him away immediately. 

Ben noticed, too, because he shot you a look.

“Why are you being weird?” Johnny asks, noticing their behavior to be rather off. 

They go into more word vomit, and you cannot help but let a smirk spread across your face. 

Ben quips up, “Are you pregnant?”

Sue’s face instantly shifts into a smile as she lets out some air from her nose, “Yeah, I’m pregnant.”

She and Ben stand up together, hugging one another in celebration. Reed gets up as well to join in on the embraces after he rattles off some weird and awkward gestures towards a flabbergasted Johnny. You shift out of your chair, grabbing him for a hug, whispering excited congratulations. 

Johnny is sitting there completely astonished. “What? Really?”

You all look to him, still seated at the table. Sue nods, giving him a confident ‘yeah’. And then the celebration gets even bigger, with Johnny slamming his hands on the table. You are still half hugging Reed, slowly pulling away, watching Johnny lift his sister in the air, and telling her how great of a mother she would be. When he grabs Reed, he tells him how he’s going to be out of his depth. He’s always one to pull something mean out of the depths of his mind to lay into Reed. You pat Reed’s shoulder, whispering to him to ignore his jab. 

You hug Sue and tell her congratulations. She gives you a squeeze, thanking you. Johnny grabs onto Ben as you pull away, “We are going to be the best uncles ever!”

You giggle, enjoying the excited look on Johnny’s face. He may be more thrilled than anyone else here. 

-

After Johnny got his powers, you two decided it was probably best not to have children. With every scientist you know telling you it would be fine to have a mutant’s baby, you were still unsure. Even Reed had brought up the possibility, and that’s why he and Sue had given up on it for a while.

You did not know that they never really wanted to give up trying. 

But you had done some semi-permanent things to ensure you would not get pregnant by your needy, insatiable boyfriend. Birth control. A small little pill you would take every morning with some orange juice and toast. 

It had worked for the year that you two had been together, and you were confident that you would not have to carry his child until you knew 100% what you wanted to do. 

But now a baby would be directly in your lives, and you had heard what baby fever can do to people. You were still sure you did not want a child, but the way Johnny is just blissful on the idea of having a nephew, you knew he would bring it up again. 

And you were right. Seeing his sister and brother-in-law beaming over the prospect of their future child made him envious. He always wanted a little Johnny, a little you, but he understood your hesitancy. He respected it, of course, but there was now a nagging voice in his head that said if he didn’t do it now, it would never happen. 

Dinner is finished in less than an hour, and you and Johnny take up the responsibility of cleaning up with H.E.R.B.I.E. Mainly, it was you cleaning off the table and stacking dishes while the robot did the rest. You still liked to busy yourself with tasks, making yourself seem useful to the team due to your lack of superhero abilities. You were essentially just their publicist and managed their daily lives at home while they went off to save the world. 

You begin to wipe up the dinner table. Johnny creeps behind you, his hands shifting over your waist. He loved seeing you doing domestic activities. You were so pretty in your blue half-sleeved top, tucked into some high-waisted black trousers.

“You do not need to be cleaning, beautiful,” He hums into your neck, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. 

“Let me finish what I’m doing,” You demand, scrubbing off some sauce he had spilled off his plate. By the way his warm hands rested where your shirt rode up slightly, you knew what he was trying to do. 

He could sense some tension off of you, but refused to move away from you, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” You lie, your mind still settling with the exciting news, “I am just tired, is all.”

“I think you’re lying, sweet cheeks.” He pulls your hips closer to him, his back against your shoulder blades, “Tell me what’s on your mind, hm?”

You could not lie much longer, “I’m more worried about what’s on your mind.”

He halts any more movements, using his grip on your hips to turn you around. He was not expecting such a response. You knew he would never pressure you to do something you did not want to do. So you must be referring to something else. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your eyes shifting towards the floor over his shoulder before reluctantly returning to his piercing gaze, “You seem excited about the baby.”

He furrows his brows. You always thought he was always so painfully clueless when it mattered most. But the truth was, he did not understand why your response would be so bitter about his excitement.

His head shifts down towards you, “Of course, I am. I know how much Sue wanted it.”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Yeah, I know.”

You were starting to feel a bit dumb and dramatic about the whole thing. At the end of the day, you are excited for them. You like children for the most part, and it will keep the public off you and Johnny’s ass for 9 months. They won’t bother you about the timeline of your future child. Truthfully, you just hated the questions. There is almost a demand to produce the next generation of the Fantastic Four.

“Then what’s the big deal, beautiful? Why are you being weird about it?” His hands press into your hips in a possessive and needy way. You brush those thoughts off, knowing Johnny is doing it without even thinking twice.

But then the look he gave you during dinner started to enter your mind.

The longing.

“'Cause it’s only a matter of time before you start asking again.”

His hands still, “Asking for what? A baby?”

You slap his shoulders in frustration, “Yes!”

H.E.R.B.I.E takes his leave, knowing this could get heated quickly. He beeps his goodbye, heading down the hallway to the charging port that is set up for him. You grit your teeth, looking at Johnny’s silly expression, watching the robot roll away. 

Johnny cannot help but play oblivious, now. After you clarified for him, his mind was now plotting the ways he could sidetrack the conversation. He knew exactly what you were saying, but it’s so much sweeter when you lay it all out for him, your bubbling frustration only gets him off. And you knew that, which only annoyed you more. You usually fought spelling it out for him, but with a conversation like this, you wanted to be explicitly clear.

He sighs, shaking his head dramatically. “Of course I want a family with you, baby.”

“Well, we can’t. Not right now.”

Johnny smiles knowingly, slowly slipping into that cheeky smirk he gives you when he lets you win an argument. “Well, yeah, I know that.”

“Okay, good.”

Hands slip down your hips, reaching back to your rear and palming the flesh, “I would never put that responsibility on you. You know that?”

He drags out his fondling, his fingers rubbing closer and closer to your crack. His hands are wandering to places he only touched you in private. You want to smack him away, but he feels so good, you refuse to bother to reprimand him.

“Yes, I know,” You squeak, your hands now wrapping around the nape of his neck to almost pull him closer. After rejecting him this morning, you spent most of the day regretting not lazing in bed with him until noon. That option was always on the table, but today you were adamant about getting work done. What an idiot you were.

“Good…”

His head dips down to trail kisses on your jaw, down to your pulse point on your neck. Your fingers rake through his blond locks, holding his face close to you. His hands do not stop moving, tracing the line where your ass meets the top of your thighs. 

“You know what, though?” He ponders, his lips cresting the edge of your ear. He returns you to your previous position with a quick pull of your hips. Your ass is now pressed against him as your front half is practically folded over the white countertop. “It’s not stoppin’ me from acting like I can put one in you.”

“Johnny,” you warn, eyes fluttering close at the thought.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss right below your ear on your already sensitive neck, “Come on, baby. We can do it in a hypothetical sense.”

You breathe out a long sigh, knowing this was a terrible idea. You give Johnny an inch and he runs a mile. Even pretending he could get you pregnant felt like manifesting it. “Why, though?”

“Cause it’s hot to imagine,” He states, his hands traveling slowly between your thighs. You can feel him growing in his pants with the way his hips are practically melted into your backside, “Just thinking about fucking you full until you are dripping and full of my seed.”

“Johnny, please.”

“Oh, now you’re begging for it?” His hands warm up, like a reflex to get the truth out of you. Fingers spreading over your lower tummy as he lifts your top. You cannot stop the moans that leave your lips. 

“No,” you try to say with an ounce of confidence. He just giggles, his teeth starting to toy with your earlobe.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” His hand dips under your pants, not even bothering with the button. “I’ll give you that baby I want so badly.”

His words are so filthy. They always were. But these ones held an odd amount of weight. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, feeling his fingers go past your panties and seeking out your soaked slit. Once his fingers slide between your lips, a choked-out gasp leaves his lips. His words were enough to get you this wet. It fuels his ego every time.

Your body jolts, hands finding a spot on the counter to grip onto. There’s nothing to grab onto, so you let Johnny take control. 

“You would be so fucking beautiful pregnant, you know?” His fingers dip further into you, and you surrender, laying your upper body on the freezing marble. He fucks you slowly, dragging his fingers in and out of your wet center with precision, “God, I’m so fuckin’ hard imagining it. All round with my baby.”

His other hand pulls you upward, resting right where your womb is. You know how effective your birth control is, so you know his words are just words. But god, are those words making you a mess. 

“Shit,” You gasp, practically out of breath as he toys with your hole, “I can actually see the appeal of these hypotheticals.”

“Yeah?” His nose bumps the shell of your ear, “You like imagining making me a daddy?”

“Jesus, Johnny,” You sigh, as his fingers pull out of you, the wetness of your core dragging up to your tummy. He finally pops the button on your pants and shoves them down around your ankles. Your pants were quite tight, so you decided a seamless thong would suit the outfit. Johnny thanks his lucky stars for your usually-dragging-morning-brain for being so brilliant. 

“We are going to get caught-”

“Everyone is in bed,” He replies quickly, not letting you finish your thought. He’s already shoving his pants down with one hand still resting on your body. “Just let me do what you deprived me of this morning.”

“Deprived you?” you quip, turning to face him. He does not take kindly to your movement, grabbing your hips and pressing them into the edge of the counter again. 

You hated to admit that you loved it when he dominated you in this way. He was such a playful presence in day-to-day life, but when the switch flipped inside him, you were like sand between his fingers.

His palm comes down, slapping your ass. “Behave.”

You bite your lip and nod, smiling at his actions. 

“You would be such a good momma, you know?” He ponders, his right hand reaching down between you two. You feel his tip swipe against the skin of your asscheek, his precum trickling slowly down your flesh. His words send your brain into a tizzy. You wiggle in his grip, wanting him to sink into you already. “I’d get to see your tits even more than usual.”

You stop your movements, peering over your shoulder at him. The statement is almost so comically funny that you cannot take it seriously. “How does that even correlate?”

His face is deadly serious before that familiar grin creeps across his lips. He moves your thong out of his way, rubbing his cock between your sopping pussy lips, “Gotta feed the kid somehow.”

You close your eyes, letting out a depraved sigh. You can feel the smile on his face as he sinks into you, his length taking up every inch of your pussy. You squeeze him briefly, trying to adjust to his size.

“So tight. Relax a bit, honey.”

Johnny is always warm, so in turn, so are you. Especially when you fuck. The moment his hips shift inside you and he drags his cock in and out of you, you break a sweat. Even the coldness of the counter could not cool you down as his body hangs over you and completely overtakes your space. 

Johnny may be hot, but your cunt was even warmer. It was like his own personal drug. He would spend the rest of his days buried inside you, listening to your desperate whimpers as his hips snapped into you.

“Faster,” You urge, wanting to feel that familiar build-up in your tummy grow. He presses one hand into your waist, the other holding that spot that he’s now hyper-focused on. 

He speeds up his motions, his waist slapping against the fat of your ass, “Greedy momma, huh? You just want my babies so bad, huh?”

The pressure builds up only intensifies when the hand from your waist pushes your thong out of the way. His pointer and ring finger spread you wider as his middle finger swipes across your swollen clit. The mixture of meticulous work on your clit on top of the swiftness of his thrusts makes your ears ring. 

You are being loud, and you both know it. Usually, soundproof bedroom walls protect your pretty sounds from being exposed to the rest of the family, but you are in the middle of the condo, bent over the kitchen counter. 

Johnny takes the initiative to quiet you by slapping his hand over your mouth, leaving a warm spot on your tummy. His other hand does not let up on your clit, chasing that familiar feeling of you spasming around his sensitive cock. 

He jerks your head back, curling your back up into an arch, “I want you to cum for me, momma. I’m close, wanna feel you first. Then I’ll give you what we both want.”

Fingers speed up as his hips falter in speed a bit, but it’s still enough for you. Your eyes roll back the moment the burning spreads across your nerve endings. You moan into his hand, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hips go flush with your ass the moment his cock twitches, emptying every last drop deep inside you. His face is pressed into the side of yours, his words a jumble of “fuck” and “yes, take it all, baby”.

You stand there on wobbly legs as Johnny recovers and moves his hand away from your mouth. He kisses your cheek a couple of times before his hands go back to your lower tummy again.

“I’m in no rush,” He mumbles, drawing circles into your skin. You know exactly what he’s talking about, and hearing him reassure you again makes your heart grow a million sizes, “I'd rather have you all to myself anyway.”

The giggle that escapes your throat is clouded by some phlegm. You clear your throat, “I like that it’s just us. Especially right now.”

“I’m not ready to share you.”

He slips out of you as he says it, making it sound so casual. His cum literally drips down your thigh as he removes himself. “Sorry, honey.”

You run your fingers between your hips and thong to straighten it back out over your ass. When you slap it against your own skin, you hear Johnny chuckle at the obscenity. He bends down, grabbing the waistband of your pants, shimmying it up your leg, effectively wiping away the white liquid he left on your skin. To him, it’s a job well done. All clean!

To you, it means you have to ensure you run the pants through the laundry twice.

“Johnny-”

“Sorry,” He beams as you spin to scold him, “Again.”

There he is. Embedding himself so deep into your skin like a lovesick leech. You want to smack him for annoying you so quickly after getting you blissed out on his dick, but instead, you just grit your teeth and pinch his cheek.

“Daddy is going to sleep on the hard couch if he keeps it up.”

His eyes light up at your words, completely disregarding the latter half of the sentence. 

“So you did like that little fake scenario I mocked up, huh?”

You shake your head, buttoning your pants. He is a menace and he knows it. “Oh, you read me so well, honey. You’re on fire tonight!”

You don’t mean it to have a double meaning, but of course it does with Johnny. The expression he makes is so painful to your pride that you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“I’m always on fire, Momma.”

-

[lustlovehart]

Yandere!Phainon, who goes out of his way to learn your schedule, so when he interrupts you, he can guide you to your next location, and you won't get mad at him. Your anger is the last thing he ever wishes to incur. If that's what seems to happen, however, he will gently hold your hand, asking for your forgiveness as he brings you to a place to eat, insisting food will make it all better. You have no chance to reject, as you're already there, and the owners seem too excited to see the one who's stolen all of Phainon's attention. His attention to detail has him knowing exactly where you'll be.

Yandere!Phainon, who is just so naturally likable that he's essentially interwoven his presence into your day-to-day life. Both of you spend hours of the day together simply because everyone you know enjoys his presence, so in turn, they keep him around. It's no secret to everyone that he's in love with you. It works entirely in his favor because he is indeed in love with you. Everything you do seems to have some way to connect Phainon to you; even just thinking seems to have your mind wander to him. He has engraved himself into your life so well, your thoughts have traces of him.

He panics when you ask Mydei to knock you out hard enough for amnesia to occur. It backfires, though, as he'll kiss your forehead and apologize. He makes no effort to change, despite it.

Yandere!Phainon, who will hold on to you at the slightest sense of danger. His arms will wrap in a hold that's both possessive yet protective, his head buried into your shoulder. No matter what you say, he'll continue to hold you, a gentle smile on his lips as he tells you he'll do whatever he can to keep you safe. Whether this determination cuts into your own personal life is no matter to him, though. His utmost priority is that you're safe. At some point, you'll go to sleep with his arms wrapped around you, still attempting to ward off any danger.

Yandere!Phainon, who understands that part of the way he treats you is entirely depraved, an act undeserving of the title hero. Yet, the other part of him works overtime in convincing himself that what he's doing is okay as long as you're safe and in his arms. He'll apologize to you in the night, only to continue the next morning. He'll sleep with you, whispering how much he wishes things were different for you two, but he never wishes for anything else when you wake up. He's delusional in a way that he understands it's wrong, but he buries it so deeply beneath all that's righteous, he believes it's right.

Yandere!Phainon, whose first thought in each cycle, has always been you. He always finds you and always seeks your affection. Even when he doesn't know why, he must have it for himself. He wraps you in his own romance so heavily that all your intimate moments are trapped beneath his, all for his eyes, ears, and body to feel. If anyone attempts to lift the blanket he has draped over you, he'll cover you in an even heavier sheet of his feelings. He doesn't get rid of people you could possibly fall for through violence; he rids them by showing them how much more he loves you. He doesn't have to show you, though, as you feel the weight of his obsession for you every second.

Yandere!Phainon, who loves all of you, no matter what, but sometimes he can't restrain himself when you go on about how he doesn't love you. He'll never hurt you in that way. But he'll harden his voice, his blue eyes turning gold for a few seconds when he finally has your eyes on him. His hand will take your face, turning you to look at him. It's strong enough you can't look away, yet somehow he makes it so you don't wince in pain. "I love you." A mantra he'll repeat until you agree. After each repetition, he'll place a kiss somewhere on you, whether it be your neck, face, chest, shoulder, stomach, thighs, everywhere but your lips. He saves that for when you finally accept him. He does so until you're numb, the tingling sensation of his lips on your skin all that you can feel. When he asks if you know how much he loves you, his forehead rests on yours. The moment you say yes, he's swift to swallow up any of your words, his lips finally connecting to yours.

He'll make sure you know just how deep his love has gone for you in all 33,550,336 cycles.

[drafts-and-delusions]

Hi, luv. I have a ask. can you do one where the Saja boy's (separately) girlfriend/the reader is just obnoxiously good at singing but they never heard her sing before so when they come home there just bamboozled?

(example would be Crime and Punishment by Ado. That kind of powerful toe-curling voice.)

The first time they hear her sing

Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, powerful vocals, fluff

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Jinu

He walks in halfway through your impromptu living room performance, still holding a bag of takeout, completely frozen in the doorway. You’re hitting high notes like your life depends on it, entirely in your own world, completely unaware he’s watching.

Jinu blinks. “Is that my girlfriend? Is this... live?”

You turn to him, startled. “Oh. Uh, hi?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just walks over, drops the bag on the table, and claps once—loud and decisive. “Again. From the top.”

He starts pacing. Back and forth. A hand in his hair. “How. How did I not know this? You sing like that and you let me karaoke in front of you? You let me exist?”

He’s already grabbing his phone. His fingers fly across the screen as he mutters to himself, “My girlfriend just made me see God. With her vocal cords.” 

Romance

He was lying in bed, scrolling through his phone, when he heard the opening lines. At first, he figured it was some new track playing in the background, something you’d queued up without him noticing. But then he paused. Sat up. Frowned.

“…Wait a damn minute.”

Romance pushed the covers off and padded out of the room, phone still in hand. And there you were—standing barefoot in the living room, hair tied back, absolutely belting without a care in the world.

His mouth dropped open.

When you finally noticed him, your voice trailed off mid-note.

He stared at you, wide-eyed. “That came out of you?”

You nodded, sheepishly.

Romance walked over like he was in a trance, grabbed you by the waist, leaned in close, and squinted at you. “Be honest. Are you possessed?”

You laughed.

He let out a groan and buried his face in your shoulder. “That voice was amazing. I’m emotionally overwhelmed. You need to give me five to process.”

Abby

Abby was just coming back from errands when he heard the vocals echoing down the hallway.

He knew it was you. That tone. That range. That absolute power. But at the same time, it sounded unfamiliar—like something he wasn’t supposed to be hearing yet.

He dropped everything at the door and bolted into the room, wide-eyed and slightly out of breath. “What the hell was that?!”

You paused your music, startled. “...Singing?”

“Singing?” he echoed, completely scandalized. “You’re screaming in tune, babe. That was—you—I need to sit down.”

He started pacing, hands buried in his hair like he was trying to physically make sense of it. “We’ve been dating for how long? And you didn’t think to mention your soul-shattering, opera-house-shaking, anime-opening-theme voice?”

Then he grabs his phone. “Okay. New plan. You’re joining our next track. No arguments. Jinu won’t need any convincing once he hears you.”

Mystery

He was doing laundry when he heard it.

That deep, clear sound that rang too rich to be coming from a phone speaker. It made him stop mid-step, turn his head slightly, and listen again. Then he walked—slow, quiet—toward the hallway, barely making a sound as he approached the source.

You were standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, swaying a little, lost in the song. You didn’t notice him right away; you were too focused. Singing like you didn’t have an audience. Singing like it was second nature.

His expression didn’t change much. His grip tightened around the laundry basket. His eyes locked on you like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

When you finally noticed him and paused, slightly breathless, you asked, “Is everything okay?”

He hummed. “I didn’t know you had a voice like that.”

You smiled, a little sheepish. “I mean, yeah, I never really brought it up.”

He nodded once. “You should sing more.”

That night, he laid on your lap while you scrolled through your phone. He didn’t speak, just watched you with that unreadable look he got sometimes. Jaw tense. Shoulders still. Like there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how.

Eventually, he murmured, “I liked it. The way you sounded. A lot.”

Baby

He was half-asleep on the couch when your voice cut through the room. At first, he thought it was a recording; something you had put on in the background. But then the next verse hit—strong, controlled, and definitely live.

Baby sat up slowly, blinking at you like he had just woken up in another timeline. “Wait... was that you?”

You didn’t stop, just kept going, completely in the zone. Mid-verse, mid-vibe, absolutely wrecking the high note without even looking at him.

He leaned forward, eyes wide. “Is this a prank? Am I hallucinating?”

When you finally turned around, a little breathless and a little red in the face, you just shrugged. “I sing sometimes.”

His mouth dropped open. “You sing sometimes? You sounded... powerful. Like, scary good.”

He slapped his thigh. “Do it again. Right now. I need to hear it again to prove I’m not dreaming.”

You laughed, but obliged. When you finished, he just stared at you for a moment, like his entire brain had been reset.

Then he nodded, all serious. “New rule. You sing me to sleep every night now. No excuses.”

[vitoriadior]

SHE'S THAT GIRL

Clark Kent x Model!Reader

(Synopsis) Where your boyfriend takes you to meet his parents, but they already know you. Of course, you're the girl from TV!

Request <3. Masterlist— Model!Reader series. REQUESTS OPEN

Your only expectation was that they wouldn't hate you. That they wouldn't think you were a shallow girl like most people did when you said you were a model. That they could see that you really, really love Clark.

"Stop biting your nail." Clark takes your hand from between your teeth with a chuckle. His other hand is on top of yours, squeezing it lightly as another way of telling you—for the tenth time today—that everything will be okay. "I don't know why you worry so much, everyone loves you."

The problem is, his parents aren't everyone. They're your boyfriend's parents. Probably the most important people in his life. From now on, your relationship with Clark changes. Everyone knows that a relationship isn't the same before and after family visits.

"Honey, Clark's here!" Clark and his father share a hug before Jonathan notices your presence. He sees Clark as if telepathically asking a question, and Clark nods. The man smiles at you within seconds. "Nice to meet you, dear. Come on in."

Okay. His dad seemed kind. He even offered to hang up your coat in a sweet gesture. Jonathan Kent can't help but raise his eyebrows at the texture of your fur coat—it definitely didn't feel cheap.

You were standing in the living room, looking at the pictures the Kents had all over their house—Clark in a baseball uniform at what looked like six years old, Clark on his first day of school, newspaper clipping about Superman. You were smiling at a specific picture of your boyfriend with a cow before you heard a female voice join the conversation between Clark Kent and Jonathan Kent.

Martha Kent. "Here I am, here I am." You put the picture back immediately, almost as if you'd been doing something wrong. "Where's my boy?" Martha's voice is that of a mother overjoyed to have her son home. She hugs Clark like he's still a toddler; you guess that's what being a mother is all about.

"Honey, we have a guest," Jonathan nods gently at you as his wife separates from their son. Clark rushes to your side, taking the hand you were about to tuck back between your teeth.

Clark says your name with a smile, putting his arm around your waist. "She's my girlfriend." You hope your smile isn't too big—you're trying to put on the expression you wear when runway directors tell you to be natural. You're being natural.

Martha Kent frowns, and you feel like you've been kicked in the stomach. God, now you want to throw up. "You—" Martha puts a couple of fingers to her lips, as if she's trying really hard to remember something. Your legs feel weak; you knew it, she hates you! She probably thinks you're not good enough for her son, and that you don't have a real job and—

"You're the girl from the perfume commercial!" Clark's mother smiles almost excitedly. "Yes! Yes, it's you! From TV! What are you doing here in my house?" Ma Kent's smile is from ear to ear, while you remain confused.

Perfume commercial? Perfume commercial! "Oh, yes," you let out a slightly embarrassed giggle. "I'm the girl from that commercial. I'm the face of the brand, so—" Martha Kent is already hugging you before you can continue.

"Oh my god, you're even prettier in person." She gives her son a withering look. "Clark Joseph Kent, why didn't you ever tell me you were dating the girl from the TV?"

"I told you she was a model" Clark defends himself, already pleased to see his mother likes you. He knew she would like you.

"Yes, but you didn't say she was the girl from the perfume commercials." Martha Kent slowly pulls away from you, apologizing in advance. "I love that perfume. Jon gave it to me on our anniversary. Look. I always wear it." She brings her wrist closer to you so you can smell it: yep, it's your perfume.

For the rest of the day, Martha treats you practically like her daughter. Besides being the girl from TV, you're her son's girlfriend—so she tries to make sure you're comfortable at all times. She even asks you what your favorite food is, so she can make sure she make it when Clark brings you home again.

"I told you she was going to love you." Clark is brushing your hair behind your ears. You're lying in bed with him, just relaxing, crammed into the single bed in his old bedroom. "You're the girl from the perfume commercials"

"Yeah, make fun of it all you want," you roll your eyes as Clark laughs. "I get paid a fortune for those commercials, I want you to know"

"Well, it clearly works," he nods, acknowledging the power of marketing. "Look at my mom. Wearing your perfume. Who would have thought her son was dating that gorgeous girl in the commercial"

The next time you go to the Kent farm, you give Martha the latest collection of females's perfumes that the perfume brand released, while Martha gives you the best casserole you have ever tasted.

Here to ad u to my permanent taglist!

Taglist: @starincarnated @angelicp0etry @yeonalie @lator-gators @starssfall @moomumu @chamorunsmiles @urlittleangelbaby @americanboz0 @mysticdinosaurpirate @spiidergwenn @sugarbutterbailey @pestoluvr8 @ilovemangoes444 @kaiparkerwife @qardasngan @animegamerfox @helloimamistake @rinapomu @chaoticroaddreamerpasta @ryomku @dreamlesssleepsaga @yzuposts @mickey-mouse-crackhouse1902 @j07lvrg @khxna @1wannab3inaband @wintersoldierenthusiastt @yyiikes @rosie-hao @psiiconic @httpstoyosi @lettucel0ver @scorpio-echo @iveofficiallylostmymarbles @aratakiittooo @angelicprincess12 @pinkluv29

@shine101

[wosospacegirl]

damage control - Reader x Alexia x Leila

Summary: Following the end of the Euros, you are the one who holds your girlfriends together.

Warnings: slight angst.

Word count: 4K

A/n: It starts sad, but the end is cute and soft, I swear.

You winced, physically winced when you saw Chloe Kelly was the next one in line to take the penalty. You wanted to be a good girlfriend, supportive and optimistic, but every cell in your body already knew where this was going.

The family area buzzed with Spanish voices, saying things you couldn't quite understand, but their cheerless tone was very evident, and you didn't need to know the language to read the room.

You were sitting next to Irene's family, and the way her wife was pressing her lips together told you everything… you weren't the only one who could already see how this would end, who already knew who the champions of Europe would be.

You could see Leila on the pitch; her face was sweaty, and even from afar, you could see drops of sweat running down her temple.

She wasn't just unhappy. She looked defeated (before the final kick was even taken). Leila was normally very confident on the field, so seeing her like that felt bitter.

Further back, Alexia stood rigid at the end of the line, her bib on. Her eyes were burning into Cata's body as if she could control her movements with the sheer force of her mind. As if she could defend all the penalties if she just wished for it hard enough.

The worst part about watching all of this was knowing Alexia was already spiralling and that Leila was already getting lost in her own mind.

Alexia had been furious since she was subbed off at 71 minutes. After that, Leila was subbed on, at 105 minutes, but you could barely feel happy for Leila as you studied Alexia's body language on the bench.

Her whole body was tense as she sat among the other subs; the players were talking to her, but she wasn't quite talking back.

Alexia had learned to deal with the frustration of substitutions over the years, but only when they made sense for her, only when the team genuinely needed something different, something better than what she could give.

Today made no sense, and even you, who wasn't a player or some football expert, knew that. When the number 11 flashed on the board, every family member around you was baffled, and the confusion on Alexia's face was heartbreaking.

She had walked off anyway, without complaining (because that's what Alexia did), but even Pina looked uncomfortable stepping into the grass without Alexia being there, like she knew it was wrong too.

No one understood Montse Tomé's decision. And now, after the final whistle, after England's players ran around in joy on the garss, you realised that it didn't matter anymore.

The corridor outside the Spanish dressing room had the worst atmosphere you had ever felt. You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to blend in while staff members and other families moved past you.

The medal ceremony was a torture to watch. Leila was crying, and Alexia was standing there, head up, as if she were made of stone.

You watched them walking past the trophy, wishing that you had outlined a previous plan to steal the trophy, just to give it to them; maybe with it, they would smile. Maybe the silver medal wouldn't feel as heavy as it looked.

You felt useless… completely and utterly useless.

All you could do was stand here wishing you could go back in time and maybe…change the scoreboard? Do something other than just watch your girlfriends falling apart while the rest of the world danced and laughed around them.

Sweet Caroline was echoing from the stadium speakers. England's victory song could be heard inside the Spain's side of the Stadium, making everything just a little more sad. Maybe you could cut the wires to the speaker. That would be good, you preferred Rosalía anyway.

Even though you were trying (very hard) not to be seen or to bother anyone, people kept bumping into you in the hallway - uefa workers, photographers, family members you didn't recognise and journalists. All of them moved in a hurry while you just... waited.

Then you saw familiar dark eyes looking right at you, dodging people as she made her way to the dark corner of the hallway where you were.

Leila didn't speak as she reached you; she just melted into your arms like she had been holding herself together for too long, which she had. Her chin was on top of your head, and you could feel her tears (the ones that hadn't stopped since the final whistle) getting your scalp wet.

Leila was soft and seeking when she was sad; she didn't feel ashamed to ask for comfort, didn't feel like her feelings were a vulnerability. She welcomed her feelings and asked for affection when she needed it, especially when she lost something precious to her.

"Hi, bebé," she whispered, her voice hoarse because of her crying.

"Hi, Lei." You pulled her deeper into your body, moving you two a bit to the right, away from the people, so you could actually hear each other. "I'm so sorry."

"I–" She started, but then her words stopped at her throat, and she took a deep breath. "I wanted it so much. We were so close."

You went under her shirt, touching her warm skin, drawing circles, trying to soothe her, trying to do anything to make it better.

You had been through a fair share of losses with Leila and Alexia, both for country and for club, but it never got easier, and still, after all those years together, you never knew what to say; maybe because deep down, you knew nothing would alleviate the hurt they were feeling, but still, you tried.

"I know, love. But you were amazing on the pitch, sí? I want you to know that." You told her, using your gentlest voice. "I'm so proud of you both for getting here."

Leila pulled back just enough to look at you, her cheeks flushed from crying. "Ale won't even look at anyone. I tried to talk to her on the pitch, but she just–" She shook her head and rolled her eyes slightly. "She's so angry, she only spoke to Irene and no one else."

"She'll come around," you said, getting a few centimetres away from Leila to look at her face. "You know how she gets, bebé. She needs time to process, okay? She's not mad at you or the team."

"That substitution was bullshit, though", Leila said angrily, sounding protective. "She was playing well, they all were, yeah, maybe we needed someone faster, but Ale wasn't the one Montse should have subbed off!"

Before you could respond, you saw Alexia emerging from the tunnel. She was mad, her jaw was locked, her eyes squinting, every muscle in her body seemed rigid and unmoving. She looked like she was holding back a scream (or tears).

She moved toward you both, perfectly composure, ignoring everyone around her. As she got to Leila, her touch was gentle and contradictory to how she was portraying herself.

She kissed the back of Leila's neck gently. "Lo siento, Lei" against her skin. [I'm sorry, Lei].

When Alexia's eyes found yours, she was still soft, but you could read her through; she was sad, angry, disappointed… all at once. It was like for just a second, she had the mask of Alexia Patellas fall so she could be just Ale.

"I'm sorry, cariño," she said to you quietly. "I'm sorry it ended like this… that you came here and didn't see us win,"

You tried to reach for her hand, but she had already stepped back. The softness she had just shown you and Leila was gone, and it was replaced by a very mechanical, professional one.

"I need to go to the locker room," she said, taking Leila's hand with her. "Lei, you should come, we have a team meeting."

Leila looked back at you as Alexia led her away to the locker room. Alexia didn't spare another glance at you, which hurt. Neither of them said when you would see them again, so you stayed there.

After forty minutes of having your back against the concrete wall, you just gave up waiting and headed back to the hotel.

You took a shower and ordered some food, unsure if the girls would eat after the team meeting. It had been two hours, and the food was cold now. You texted them, but they didn't reply.

You watched the hotel ceiling with the same careful eyes as someone who had nothing else to do. You had packed your and their suitcases already; you had left changes of clothing and towels in the bathroom in case they wanted to take another shower.

The pillows were fluffed, the blanket had been folded over a million times… everything was done, but still, you wanted to occupy your idle hands.

You were organising the room decor when the door opened. Alexia was the first one you saw; you had, rather foolishly, hoped that maybe whatever was said in the locker room would make Alexia feel better, but it was clearly not the case.

She stepped into the room, Leila just behind her. While the brunette made her way to you, Alexia went straight to the bathroom.

"Ale–" You tried to reach for her with your hands, but she didn't look back, locking herself inside the bathroom.

You stared at the wooden door, not sure if you should go after her, if you should knock.

"She's angry," Leila said with a sad smile as she turned her body so she was looking at you. "Very angry. You don't want to talk to her right now."

You winced, letting your head fall on Leila's shoulder, her medal hanging on her chest. "Did she say something to you?"

"Sí," Leila said, guiding you both to the bed. She let you lie down first, and then let her head rest on your shoulder, her hand placed on your belly.

"I'll talk to her–"

"No, you stay right here," Leila said, rubbing her nose against your temple. "And I'm not hurt, I know she gets worked up like this."

"Still, both of you… lost–" you said the last word carefully, the sound of the shower being turned on reminding you that Alexia was just there in the other room. "--It's hard for you two."

"Uhm," Leila murmured against your shoulder. "Don't remind me we lost, don't wanna think about that."

"I'm sorry," you said, bringing your hand to her hair, undoing her ponytail and massaging her scalp with your fingers. "I know how much you wanted it, Lei, how much you trained for it."

Leila's body was warm against yours; she kissed your cheek, so softly that it made you want to cry. "You don't need to be sorry, bebé. That's football, it can be cruel and it can be marvellous, depending on the side you're playing."

"I'm still proud," you said, repeating the same words as before, hoping they would melt into Leila's brain and stay there.

"Gracias," you could hear her voice breaking, had known her long enough to recognise when the tears were building again. "Bebé, I think I want to cry again."

The bathroom door opened, and Alexia walked out of the shower. Her hair was damp, and she was wearing the clothes you had picked up earlier. She looked soft and comfortable, but her face still had the same stern expression as before.

The steam of the shower was escaping from the door, making the room more humid and warm, just like the outside world, where rain was pouring down.

When Alexia saw Leila curled against you, hearing her soft cries, something in her face shifted to something tender.

"Hey, no, Lei," Alexia said as she sat down on the mattress. You gave her a sympathetic smile, grateful she was finally here with you both.

You missed having her and Lei with you. You've been apart for the last month; you just wanted to have them to yourself now; you hoped they would let you.

She settled by Leila's other side, kissing the top of her head, she murmured something in her ear before talking in a way both of you could hear. "It's okay, Lei, don't cry, please. I hate seeing either of you crying."

You shyly touched Alexia's hand, scared that she might pull away like she had in the hallway (even though you knew she hadn't done it to hurt you), but she didn't. Instead, she looked at you, softly and guiltily.

"You should be crying too, you know?" you said gently. "You can let it all out."

Leila's sobs slowly turned into muffled cries against your shirt, until eventually her breathing evened out and she fell asleep. Leila always slept rather quickly, which was something that always baffled you.

Alexia ran her hands through Leila's hair, watching her with careful eyes. "I don't think you need two people crying on you."

"I think I can manage," you said, opening your left arm, the one that wasn't being crushed by Leila's sleeping body. "Come here."

Alexia hesitated, she always did, but eventually she gave in.

She laid her head on your shoulder, leaving one protective hand on top of Leila's back. Leila's breathing was deep and even now, she was really falling into a deep kind of sleep.

You held both of them in silence, hearing Leila's breathing and Alexia's heart beating. You wanted to talk to Alexia, to discover what was happening in her mind, in her heart. But you gave her escape to breathe, to understand her feelings herself before sharing them with the world. With you.

"We came so close," Alexia began, her voice barely above a whisper. "We scored first, and we were shooting all the time and creating opportunities, and we still lost."

"Yes, you did, bebé." You kissed Alexia's forehead. "I'm sorry for that."

"And... ugh, es tan injusto", she said, more angrily now, but still lying softly against you. "We had a good campaign, we played better games, and it's like it was all for nothing." [It's so unfair.]

You let her talk, your hand stroking slowly through her damp hair.

"I know I'm only saying this because I'm angry, tomorrow I'll wake up and actually analyse the game and see so many things that could have been better, but right now I can only think about how if we just had better defending, maybe Russo wouldn't have scored, or maybe we could have scored more. Mierda, I could have scored, I had opportunities and I didn't take them!" [Shit.]

Her voice was more frustrated with each word. "If I had been faster, I could have shot the ball better right at the beginning of the game, gotten us settled earlier, sí? It would have made a difference, I know it would. Sometimes I felt like I didn't read the game properly… siento que por eso perdimos." [I think that's why we lost.]

"It's a team, mi amor," you said, trying to resonate with her. "You can't blame one person. You can try and blame yourself all you want, but it won't make you feel better, and it won't give you the win."

You had told Alexia this same thing so many times. Whenever she lost, she would put all the weight on her shoulders. "When you're praised, you always say it's a team effort... when you lose, you say it's all your fault. How does that make sense?"

"Sometimes it feels like it is my fault," she said bitterly. "Today it feels like it is. I don't care if it makes sense or not."

Leila shifted in her sleep, and Alexia softened even more, her voice dropping a bit, making sure to be quiet enough. "I screamed at Lei when we left the locker room, I don't even know why. It wasn't even about the game, I think," she confessed

You let her talk, knowing she needed to get it out.

"I was just so overwhelmed. It never gets easier having cameras in your face, happy music playing, people watching as you lose a final like this," Alexia said. "And I have to keep a straight face, I need to ground the other players, I need to be good for them, and I need to–"

"You don't have to be anything other than you, Ale," you said gently. "You can be sad, you can be angry, that won't change the way the girls see you. It won't change what you represent."

"These last few months," Alexia said, her voice getting smaller, "Tengo la sensación de que no represento nada." [I've been feeling like I don't represent anything.]

Her voice was heavy with pain; you just wanted to make it better. "Hey, why do you say that?"

She buried her face against your chest, her head right next to Leila's.

"It's the second final I've lost, first there was the Champions League, which hurt, then the Euros... people keep saying I represent football, that I'm an inspiration to younger girls, but I don't see how second place can be inspiring."

"All of your idols while growing up," you began carefully, "won every single title in their careers?"

Alexia sighed. "No."

"Were all of them the best of the best? Gold medal every day? All day?"

"Not all."

"Did you ever stop having them as inspiration when they lost big titles?"

"I don't like it when you use logic on me," Alexia mumbled grumpily.

You smiled. "Answer me, amor."

"No, I didn't," Alexia said reluctantly. "Th- the amount of titles didn't really matter, just... how talented they were, and if they were good people."

"Then why do you put yourself to such a high standard?" you asked.

"I don't think I have an answer to that," Alexia said, letting her eyes fall shut. "I don't think I want to have one."

"Te amo," you said softly. "It's hard, Leila told me football is cruel, and I can't see it any other way. You were out of the Euros before, she was out at the World Cup, sometimes what feels right doesn't happen." [I love you.]

Alexia was quiet for a long moment, and you thought she might have fallen asleep too. But then she spoke.

"I just wanted to have this," Alexia said. "Lei and I were talking about how we both wanted to give you our medals, have you there with us on the pitch for the celebration."

Your heart broke a little more. "Ale..."

"I know it's stupid…" Alexia murmured.

"It's not stupid, don't say that," you whispered. "Nothing you or Lei feel is stupid. I'm proud of you two; I'm proud of you, and a medal doesn't change that in the slightest."

Alexia finally let herself cry then. She was a silent crier, not like Lei, who sobbed. You only noticed she was crying when her body began shaking gently against you.

The next morning, you wake up to voices next to you. They weren't loud, but you were always a light sleeper.

"Perdón por haberte gritado ayer," Alexia said, her head resting on Leila's shoulder while she kissed her neck softly. "Estaba molesta, pero eso no es una excusa… tú también estabas molesta y aun así no me trataste mal."

[Sorry for yelling at you yesterday / I was upset, but that’s no excuse… you were upset too, and still didn’t treat me badly.]

Leila ran her hands through Alexia's hair; it was knotted and messy, she hadn't brushed it or dried it before going to bed. "Sé que lo dijiste para molestarme, no te preocupes, mi reina." [I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way, don’t worry, mi reina.]

"Aun así…" Alexia sighed against Leila's skin. "Te amo, no debería haberte gritado." [well…/ I love you, I shouldn’t have yelled anyway.]

"Ya es parte del pasado, sí?" Leila kissed Alexia's forehead tenderly. "Let's forget about this." [that's the past now.]

You shifted in bed, slowly opening your eyes and finding your gaze settling on your two girls. They looked comfortable (despite everything), Leila seemed calmer now, her cheeks weren't as red and swollen, and for the first time since yesterday, her eyes seemed dry of tears.

"Bon dia," you said, voice thick with sleep as you rubbed your eyes.

Someone had opened the curtains, and the sunlight was hitting you right in the face. You were sure it was Leila; she had an obsession with the morning sun.

"Bebé," Leila said happily, moving her free hand so she could pat you on the head, careful not to disturb Alexia, who was still lying on top of her.

"Hi, cariño," Alexia said, turning her head where it was pressed against Leila to look at you. "Sleep well?"

You nodded, still a bit dizzy from waking up. You shifted closer, pressing yourself tightly against Leila's side. Since Alexia was lying on top of her, you ended up next to them both.

"How are you two feeling today?" you asked softly.

"Horrible," Leila stated matter-of-factly.

"So sad," Alexia mumbled into Leila's shoulder.

"I honestly think I've never been this upset in my life," Leila continued, her voice still hoarse, as if she hadn't been up for long.

"So, so sad," Alexia repeated, as if she said the word sad enough times she wouldn't actually feel it.

"Oh," you said. You didn't know why you'd been waiting for a different answer; sleep wasn't that miraculous, after all. And the defeat was still fresh, very fresh. It would take them a few days to feel okay again.

You reached over and stroked Alexia's hair, then squeezed Leila's hand. You love physical touch, need it, mainly in the mornings. "That's okay. You're allowed to feel horrible today."

"Can we just stay like this?" Leila asked, a (adorable) pout on her face. "I don't want to face anything, don't wanna see the girls at breakfast... I wanna have breakfast in bed and rot here all day."

"Of course," you whispered, pressing yourself even closer to her, feeling the warmth of her body, wishing you would go back to sleep like this, with them next to you. "We have nowhere to be, we can be miserable in this room as much as you want to. Our flight is only tomorrow, anyway,"

"I should probably get ready for breakfast with the team, though," Alexia said against Leila's body, but made no move to actually leave the bed. "Second captain and all that."

"Yeah, you should," Leila agreed, wrapping her arms tighter around Alexia, a move that didn't seem like someone who actually agreed she had to leave. "You're like... so important, the team needs your presence to have proper coffee."

You bit back a laugh when Alexia lifted her head to glare at Leila grumpily. "Are you being sarcastic, Ouahabi?"

"Me? Never," Leila said innocently, pressing a kiss to Alexia's forehead. "I'm just saying, what would they do without their leader sitting next to them in complete silence with a pout on her face?"

"Lei," Alexia warned, but you could see the tiniest smile tugging at her lips. "I don't pout."

"You do," you chimed in. "A lot, actually."

"I'm like... devastated about losing yesterday," Leila continued. "But I still have energy to make fun of your captain's complex obsession."

"It's not captain complex," Alexia mumbled, still grumpy. "It's a real responsibility."

"Well, technically," you said, "Lei's your teammate, so I guess your captain duties are also in this room; therefore, you should stay here and have breakfast with her."

That earned you a gentle rub on the back from Lei, making you smile.

"If Lei's my teammate, and she's here in the room," Alexia said, seeming a bit happier now, "and I'm the captain, what's your role here?"

"Hmm," you thought for a moment. "I do damage control."

Tag list: @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics @riyaexee @miaereen

A/n: hope you guys liked it <3

[velvetsserenity]

Can you do one of where Sevika is very dominant and very frustrated at s/o for talking shit to her all day!!(i neeeeed it please) love your stories 💕

Thank you for the ask! Sorry it took me a while to write it, but I hope you like it! I changed it a bit: instead of the reader talking about Sevika, it's just s/o teasing her. I hope that's OK? I had a hard time writing that part and felt like I didn't write it well.

Industrial Heat

mechanic!sevika x apprentice!reader

✎ word count: 2.7k

꩜ content warnings: rough scissoring , overstimulation, squirting, breast play, hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, semi-public sex, power imbalance (consensual), manhandling, workshop sex, mild humiliation, reader gets what she asked for

You’d been a complete pain in Sevika’s ass all day at the shop. With it being the off-season, there weren’t many projects to jump in on— especially not with your limited expertise, as Sevika liked to put it. She stuck you with sorting bolts instead, a chaotic mess left over from the last big job. But you couldn’t just sit at that desk all shift doing busywork. You needed to actually do something. So, naturally, you ditched the bolt-sorting and went looking for a better option.

Sevika was still working on one of her bigger projects, some generator for Zaun. Said she was the only one who’d understand how to fix it. You rolled your eyes at her when she told you so last week. Yet she was still puffing and groaning each time she worked on it, and from your point of view there was little to no process. Also her attitude was getting worse, which was also a sign you learned years ago when you first started working for her. 

You twisted around on the high chair, looking over to Sevika with a bored expression. She was bent over the generator fixing god knows what inside of it. A white tank top stained with oil and sweat, baggy jeans where she held a dirty cloth in her pocket. Heavy boots you could hear from miles away approaching. 

Instead you had decided this morning when you heard of your boring task you could instead do something more useful, at least to your own entertainment. 

It started in the morning, where Sevika asked you to sort out the cabinets holding all the tools. Sevika loved her own routine and hated when anything went differently than planned. So it would be an absolute great idea to misplace every tool she needed for today's shift. 

‘’Where’s the welding torch?’’ She looked around a bit more before her gaze landed on you, not suspecting anything yet.

You looked up from cleaning out another cabinet. 

‘’Though I put it over there, somewhere.’’ You pointed to the other side of the shop. Sevika followed your gaze before looking back at you again, you already turned back to the cabinet again. 

‘’I’d rather you put the tools back immediately after cleaning, saves us both the trouble.’’ She sighs as she walks over to the other side of the shop. 

You grinned as Sevika walked over to grab the welding torch. The music was just hard enough to mask your footsteps as you sneaked up to her workbench. Grabbing some bolts and a screwdriver from her workstation. You quickly looked back up to where Sevika was to notice her back was still turned onto you, yes, didn't caught onto anything. 

You sat back down again, like nothing happened. You heard Sevika grunt behind you as she took her spot again. 

The next ten minutes were glorious.

You barely made it through organizing another drawer of nonsense before you heard it.

Clang. A muffled “What the fuck—”

You turned innocently on your stool, head tilted like a confused little puppy. “Everything okay, boss?”

Sevika shot you a narrow look from over her shoulder. The welding torch now sat neatly on the bench, but her hand was rummaging through a small compartment that was supposed to have a set of bolts. “Did you move my M6s?”

You blinked. “Your what?”

Her eyes rolled so hard you half-expected them to fall out of her head. “My bolts. Medium. Silver ones. Labeled.”

You swiveled lazily back to your “sorting,” drawing out the silence like a stretched rubber band. “Hmm… I might’ve put them in the top left drawer? Or maybe the bottom right. Kinda all blends together after a while.” You said it with just enough faux-innocence to sound like you meant well. But she knew better. She always knew better.

The sound of a metal drawer being yanked open had you biting back a grin.

It was by far the most satisfying. Not just because she’d clearly noticed— but because she hadn’t stopped you yet. That meant you could keep going.

So you did.

A few minutes later, Sevika turned away from the generator to grab a ratchet, only to find that particular tool mysteriously missing, too.

“Are you kidding me,” she muttered under her breath, arms bracing on the table, head dipped low like she needed a moment before she committed a felony.

You didn’t even look up from where you were “sorting” a group of mismatched washers. “You know, Sev, if you just labeled your workbench drawers like a normal person, maybe you wouldn’t lose everything.”

“I didn’t lose shit,” she grunted.

“No? Because from over here, it kinda looks like you’re doing more grumbling than fixing.”

That earned you a look. A long, slow one that had her full frame turning toward you, elbow perched on the bench, wiping sweat off her temple with the back of her hand. Her jaw ticked. “Maybe if someone wasn’t fucking around with my tools—”

“—Our tools,” you interjected sweetly.

Sevika’s glare could’ve melted steel. “You want a wrench to the head?”

You shrugged. “I’d rather the ratchet, honestly. It’s missing anyway, right?”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably bored, yeah,” you sighed dramatically, stretching your arms overhead, making a show of arching your back and yawning wide. You peeked over at her mid-yawn just to see if she was looking. She was. “You could at least let me weld something. I’m not that bad.”

“You caught a rag on fire last time.”

“Yeah, well. Fire happens. Builds character.”

She was walking over before you could get another word in, boots loud and fast and full of attitude. You straightened just in time for her to lean down, one hand bracing the table beside you, the other gripping the back of your chair.

Her face was close. Not kiss-you close. But close enough to feel the heat of her frustration, and maybe a flicker of something else underneath it.

“You want something to do?” she asked lowly, voice like thunder about to crack.

You blinked up at her. “Obviously.”

Something in her jaw flexed. Her eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a split second and when they came back up, they were darker. Rougher. That tension she always carried between her shoulder blades rolled down her spine and snapped taut like wire. And before you could so much as flash a smug grin—

She grabbed you.

Fingers curled hard around the front of your shirt as she yanked you up from the stool, chair screeching back with a violent scrape. You barely got your footing before she spun you and slammed your chest against the edge of the worktable, the impact sending tools clattering across the surface.

“Fucking—Sevika—!”

You barely got the words out, breath caught somewhere between startled and thrilled. She was already on you, crowding in, one thigh pressing between yours, her hand shoving up under your shirt like it belonged there. Which, to be fair, it kind of did by now.

You tried to shift, to glance over your shoulder, but her palm flattened between your shoulder blades and shoved you down just a little more. Not painfully. Just enough to remind you where you were.

Her hand slipped under your shirt again. 

“Since you wanna be such a fucking distraction,” she muttered, dragging your top up past your ribs, “guess I should remind you what happens when you act out of order.’’

You gasped as the rough pad of her hand cupped your chest, fingers spreading wide, greedy. , She didn’t warm you up,  didn’t tease or coo or ease you into it. Sevika grabbed your breast like she owned it, fingers squeezing until your back arched up into her grip with a helpless sound.

“There she is,” she growled, lips curling as she pressed her chest against your back, hand tugging your shirt up fully to bunch at your shoulders. “Knew you’d melt the second I got my hands on you.”

Your breath hitched as she pinched your nipple tight, deliberate, twisting just enough to make you squirm with a half-whimper that cracked into a moan.

“You like that?” she rasped.

You nodded fast, cheek pressed to the cool table, fingers curling over the edge. “Yes—fuck, yes—”

Another twist, sharper this time. She tugged and rolled the sensitive bud between her fingers, pulling your body back into hers until your ass was flush against her hips.

“Then take it.”

Her voice was hoarse, raw. She palmed your other breast now, groping both like she couldn’t decide which one deserved her attention more. Each squeeze pulled a new whine out of your throat, every twist of your nipples sending heat crashing through you like wildfire. There was nothing slow about it, no gentle rhythm, just Sevika’s calloused fingers using you like she’d been holding back all day and finally let go.

Your thighs trembled. Your breath stuttered.

“Fuck, Sev—please—”

“Please what?” she purred against your ear, leaning over you fully now, hips grinding slow between your legs, dragging friction right over where you needed her most. “You wanted my attention so bad. All those little games. All that mouth. And now you’re whining like you don’t know what to do with it.”

“I—I need you—”

Her hand left your chest so suddenly it made you cry out. She grabbed your hips again, yanked you back an inch, and you heard the click of her zipper like a death knell.

“Good,” she muttered.

“Because I’ve got a lot of steam to blow off.”

You barely had time to breathe before Sevika spun you around again, her hands rough under your thighs as she hauled you up onto the worktable properly this time. Tools clattered to the floor. Something rolled off and hit the tile with a metallic clang. Neither of you gave a shit.

Your legs spread open instinctively, inviting, desperate and Sevika stepped in with a dangerous glint in her eye.

“Fucking brat,” she growled, yanking your shirt over your head and tossing it aside like it offended her. Her palms were back on your chest immediately, gripping, squeezing, pinching like she couldn’t decide whether to punish you or ruin you. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You whined, hips lifting shamelessly toward her. “You’re the one who hasn’t touched me all day,” you gasped out. “Not my fault you’re all backed up and cranky.”

Her nostrils flared. Her hand cracked across your tit in a rough slap that made you yelp, then moan, your head falling back.

“You think I won’t shut that mouth for good?”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning, breath still ragged. “Bet you’re too worked up to last that long.”

That did it.

Sevika growled, low and animal, and stripped both you and her. Then let her thigh slot between yours. Then she grabbed you by the hips, dug her fingers in and dragged you down to the edge of the bench. You barely got a word out before she threw one leg up onto the table beside you, straddling your thigh, hips tilted and already slick.

And then she started grinding.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was fucking feral.

The second your soaked cunt made contact with hers, Sevika let out a sharp, guttural moan and her hands locked around your thighs, shoving them open wider, locking your legs around her waist. She fucked her hips forward without rhythm or mercy, dragging wet, messy friction between your folds, clit grinding against clit like she was trying to mark you with the heat of her body.

You cried out, legs spasming from the sudden intensity. “S-Sevika—fuck—”

“Shut up,” she hissed through her teeth, breathless and furious. “You wanted my attention? You’ve got it. Take it.”

Your back arched. The workbench creaked under you. She was relentless, every grind deep and punishing, her wet folds slapping hot and fast against yours, your slicks mixing into something obscene. Her muscles flexed with every thrust, arm braced next to your head, chest heaving as she watched you fall apart beneath her.

But you didn’t stop teasing, not even when your voice cracked.

“Y-you’re… fuck, you’re grinding like a bitch in heat—”

Sevika slammed her hips forward hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

“Oh, I’m the bitch?” she spat, eyes wild. “Look at you. Legs wide open, begging for it. Whining like a little toy and still running that mouth.”

You whimpered, gasping, fingers clawing at her back for purchase. “Y-you like it—fuck, your cunt’s dripping for me—”

“Because I earned it,” she growled. “All you did was piss me off all goddamn day and now you’re getting what you deserve.”

Your moan cracked on the last note as she ground down again, catching your clit just right. Your whole body jerked beneath her, overwhelmed and overstimulated, as she doubled down, thighs flexed, hips rolling tighter, harder, chasing both your peaks like she didn’t give a fuck whether you were ready or not.

“I’m gonna ride you,” Sevika panted, dragging her wet cunt harder against yours, “until that bratty little smirk’s fucked off your face.”

You were already close. Could feel it coiling in your gut like fire ready to snap and still, through your moans, you managed a breathless giggle.

“D-do your worst.”

Sevika snarled.

Then— fuck— her mouth dropped to your chest.

Without warning, her lips wrapped around your nipple, hot and wet, and she sucked. Hard.

Your back arched off the table like it was on fire.

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck—” you gasped, fingers flying to her hair, dragging her in, keeping her there as her tongue swirled rough circles over your nipple, then her teeth bit down, and your cry nearly echoed out into the street.

Sevika moaned right against your skin, deep and raw, grinding down even harder now, panting into your chest like a woman possessed.

“You feel that?” she growled, dragging her mouth to your other breast. “You fucking feel me dripping on you? This wet little cunt you made such a mess of—”

“Y-yeah—fuck—I c-can’t—!”

Your thighs started shaking, clenching tight around her waist, and you knew you were right there hanging off the edge, completely undone.

Then Sevika bit your nipple again, sucked it deep, and her hips rutted in one perfect grind.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a goddamn train.

You screamed her name ,choking on it, back arched, thighs locked, hands clawing at the bench and her shoulders and anything you could grab as pleasure exploded through your core

It gushed between your legs with no warning, wet and hot and everywhere, soaking the inside of Sevika’s thigh and the bench beneath you, a mess you couldn’t even be embarrassed about because your mind had gone completely blank.

Sevika felt it, and the snarl she let out was feral.

“Oh fuck— you dirty little thing—”

She ground her hips through it, her own body shuddering, and then she came. Her breath punching out of her, hips jerking wildly, clit grinding hard against yours as she collapsed forward into you with a guttural, unrestrained moan. Her body trembled against yours as she rode out every last pulse, forcing your still-clenching cunt to grind against hers through the aftershocks, drawing out another slick gush from between your thighs.

By the time her motions finally slowed, you were both drenched in sweat, slick, and something that definitely wasn’t sweat puddling under your ass on the bench.

She stayed on top of you for a minute, catching her breath, her mouth still lazily mouthing at your tits, softer now, messier. Not sucking, just… staying there. Maybe pretending this whole place wasn’t covered in your combined filth.

Your fingers were still tangled in her hair.

“…So,” you managed weakly, blinking up at the ceiling. “Still mad?”

Sevika exhaled a long, low breath against your chest.

Then she licked your nipple again slow and mean.

“Ask me again after you mop the fucking floor.”

plagarism not authorized

[lilirae00]

Unravel, Then Mend - Part 1

Summary: Paige didn’t mean to let it get this bad. Azzi’s the only one who sees it happening, and she refuses to let her go under. 

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Prescription pain pill misuse, addiction themes, mental health struggles, chronic injury.

—

The Dallas heat hadn’t let up, not even after dark. Paige was sprawled across her couch, the AC humming with effort that never quite reached the corners of the room. One foot rested on the armrest, the other was propped on a slushy bag of ice balanced over her knee.

It ached in that stubborn, familiar way she was learning not to fight. Practice had run long again. The trainers had suggested scaling back contact, but there was no scaling back in this league. Not for her. Not when she was supposed to be the franchise.

She adjusted the ice, wincing as pain sparked along her kneecap. It wasn’t bad enough to stop her. Just enough to make everything feel heavier.

The room was quiet. SportsCenter rolled muted on the TV, highlights flickering over the walls. Her own clips scrolled along the bottom with stats she didn’t bother reading.

She closed her eyes for a second and breathed out hard. She’d do extra band work tomorrow. Maybe another contrast bath. She’d stuck to the protocols all week.

She wasn’t worried about it.

Her eyes landed on the orange bottle on the coffee table, its label peeling at the corners. She reached for it automatically, flipping the cap off with practiced ease.

She’d been careful at first. One pill on game days, maybe another if the swelling got bad. It worked for a while. But the season had been brutal, and somewhere along the way, it became easier to take them on off-days too. Just to get through practice. Just to sleep without aching.

She shook two into her palm without thinking. It was just easier that way. She was tall. Big for a guard. Her body needed more to function.

She swallowed them dry, blinking up at the ceiling. The ice had already melted, condensation dripping onto her sock.

She wiped her knee with the back of her hand and peeled the damp sock off with her toes. Then she exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders finally settle. The pills would kick in soon. The edge would fade. She’d sleep. And she needed sleep more than anything.

Her phone buzzed next to her thigh.

She didn’t move at first.

When it buzzed again, she finally pulled it over, squinting at the screen.

Azzi: Just finished weights. How’s the knee?

Her mouth tugged into a faint smile. Of course Azzi would ask about the knee first.

She hesitated. Tired felt easier than hurting.

Paige: It’s okay. tired. u good?

She set the phone back down and let her head sink into the armrest.

A minute later, another buzz.

Azzi: I miss you.

Her chest tightened. She didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to feel that want—that ache that had nothing to do with her knee.

But she made herself answer anyway.

Paige: miss you more

There was a pause.

Azzi: Can I call you in a little bit?

She let out a tired breath, eyes drooping.

Paige: of course, baby.

She didn’t flip the phone back over when the screen went dark. Just let it face the cushion.

The pills were settling now, warming her belly, smoothing the sharp edges. She exhaled again, quieter this time.

She’d be better tomorrow.

And if she wasn’t… she’d figure it out then.

—

Azzi sank onto the edge of her bed, breathing hard. Sweat clung to her spine under the loose UConn practice tee she hadn’t bothered to change out of. The room smelled like a mix of gym bag, heat, and the faint lavender of the dryer sheets she and Caroline always forgot to use.

Her legs felt like concrete after the last lift. Geno’s “optional” summer workouts were only optional if you didn’t want to play. She’d been grinding since sunrise, and now her whole body thrummed with that specific mix of exhaustion and adrenaline that made stillness impossible.

She bent to unlace her battered sneakers, kicking them off one by one. Her socks peeled damply from her feet.

The room was quiet except for the low whir of the old box fan in the window, blowing humid Connecticut air across her flushed face. She wiped her forehead with the hem of her shirt and rolled her neck.

Normally, this would be the part of the day when she’d call Paige without even thinking. No plan. Just muscle memory.

But things hadn’t been normal lately.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, glancing at her phone on the unmade sheets. The screen lit up with the time—later than she meant to be awake. But Paige was in Dallas, an hour behind, probably just now dragging herself off the couch after icing that knee.

Azzi let out a slow breath, running a hand through her hair, twisting a curl around her finger before letting it spring free.

She missed her. Stupidly. Painfully.

It wasn’t just about wanting to hear her voice. There was a weight in Azzi’s chest that had crept in over the past week—something cold and uneasy she didn’t know how to name.

Paige hadn’t been texting as much. Calls were shorter. When she did answer, she sounded… off.

Azzi frowned, remembering their last conversation when Paige laughed too late at a joke. It was the kind of delay that didn’t feel like bad reception.

Not herself.

She hesitated for a beat, then picked up her phone and swiped to FaceTime.

“Come on, P,” she whispered. “Pick up.”

It rang twice before Paige’s face filled the screen.

She was curled up on that familiar couch, her hair pulled into a lopsided bun, shoulder pressed into the cushion like sitting up straight was more effort than she could afford.

Azzi’s face softened the second she saw her.

“Hey,” she said gently, her voice dipping without her meaning it to. Like her whole body recognized the sight of Paige and instinctively softened in response.

Paige smiled, small and tired, but still hers. Her eyes crinkled just a little at the corners. She adjusted the phone in her hand, and the picture wobbled before settling again.

“Hey. Look at you,” she murmured, her voice low and a little scratchy. “Back from the gym?”

Azzi huffed, flopping back against her pillows with a faint roll of her eyes. “Yeah. Just got back. Last lift of the day,” she said, tugging halfheartedly at the damp collar of her shirt. “Coach is still on his ‘optional if you don’t want minutes’ bullshit.”

A breath of a laugh slipped from Paige, slower than usual, like she had to reach for it. “Yeah,” she said. “Classic Geno. He used to…” Her words dragged. “He used to threaten me with more conditioning if I didn’t come in early.”

Azzi watched her closely. The way Paige blinked too slowly. The slight lag before her eyes reopened.

“Long day?” she asked carefully.

Paige lifted one shoulder, lazy, unfocused. “Same stuff. Treatment. Film. Ran the new sets over and over. Arike was being... Arike.”

Azzi’s mouth tugged into a faint smile. “Bet you loved that.”

Paige tried to smile back, but it flickered out almost immediately. Didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Loved it.”

Azzi’s brows pinched. She shifted on the bed, resting her chin on her knee. Her eyes swept over the screen again.

“You icing?” she asked, keeping her voice light but purposeful.

Paige turned the camera, showing a half-wrapped knee with an ice bag sliding down the side. She pushed it back into place with slow fingers.

“Yeah. Trainer’s on me about it,” she muttered, as if that explained everything.

Azzi stared at her hand. At the slight tremor in her fingers. The way her jaw clenched when she adjusted the bag. Then relaxed again, like she hadn’t winced.

“You taking anything?”

The question was out before she could reel it back.

Paige’s gaze snapped up, sharp for just a second. She let out a laugh that didn’t sound quite right. “You gonna start doing injury reports on me now?” She shifted the camera back to her face. “Yeah, I’m taking what the trainer gave me. I’m fine.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. Just kept watching her. The space between them filled with static.

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” she said eventually, quiet but not retreating.

Paige blinked. Something in her face loosened. Her shoulders dropped a little.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Just… tired.”

Azzi let out a slow breath through her nose, brushing her thumb over the edge of her phone.

“I know, you look tired, baby,” she said. “Like, really tired. Not just practice tired.”

Paige sank deeper into the couch, head rolling back against the cushion like it weighed more than it should. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I’m just... fried. Travel’s been nonstop. We’ve had back-to-backs…you know how it is.”

Azzi nodded, throat tight. Yeah. She knew.

And still, this felt like something else.

She shifted again on the bed, pulled one leg up so she could lean into it. “You eating real food?”

Paige gave a weak snort. “Define real?”

“Paige.”

Paige sighed through her nose, her voice quieter now. “Yeah. I ate. Threw something together that had protein, at least.”

Azzi pressed her lips together, gnawing at the inside of her cheek.

“You drinking enough water?”

Paige groaned and let her head droop to the side dramatically. “Oh my God. Yes, Mom. Jesus. I’m fine.”

Azzi didn’t bite.

“I’m not joking,” she said quietly. “You don’t seem fine.”

Paige stilled. Not immediately defensive. Just still.

She stared at the screen for a beat, then turned the camera slightly so Azzi could only see her shoulder.

“Az,” she said finally, her voice distant. “I’m just beat, okay? That’s all it is. Long week.”

Azzi exhaled through her nose, slow and quiet. Her heart felt like it was stuck somewhere behind her ribs, pushing against bone.

“Uh huh,” she murmured. “You sleeping at all?”

There was the faint scrape of a fingernail against the mic as Paige rubbed at her temple.

“Yeah,” she said vaguely. “Enough.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The silence said it all.

The distance between them stretched, taut as a wire.

When Paige looked back at the screen, something in her expression had softened again. Her eyes were tired but a little clearer.

“Don’t make that face,” she said, almost tender.

Azzi’s lips twitched, shaky. “What face?”

Paige tilted her head, tried for a smile. “The one that says you’re gonna fly here and tape me to the couch so I can’t move.”

Azzi swallowed thickly. “Maybe I should.”

Paige chuckled, barely. The sound was faint but real.

“Wouldn’t stop me,” she muttered. “They need me.”

Azzi blinked hard. Her chest ached.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I know.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward. Just heavy.

Then Paige spoke again, softer now.

“Hey. I’m okay, Az. Promise. Don’t worry so much.”

Azzi didn’t believe it. Not entirely. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she looked down at the bed sheet, then back up at the screen. “Promise you’ll call me tomorrow? After treatment?”

Paige hesitated. It looked like she might brush it off. But then she slumped, the tension bleeding out of her a little.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I’ll call. Promise.”

Azzi nodded. Lips tight. Shoulders still curled in on themselves like she was trying to hold something in place.

“I love you.”

Paige’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, lashes resting against her cheeks.

“Love you more.”

When the call ended, Azzi didn’t move. Just sat there with the phone still in her hand, the screen black, her heart knocking hard against her ribs.

Something felt wrong.

She just didn’t know what it was yet.

—

Azzi’s hands were shaking before she even picked up the bar.

Not visibly. Not in a way anyone else would notice, but she could feel it. That subtle, vibrating tension threading through her arms and shoulders, a restless energy she couldn’t burn off no matter how many reps she pushed through.

The weight room thudded around her, loud and relentless. Hip hop pulsed from the overhead speakers, tinny and bass-heavy, while her teammates shouted cues to each other across the racks. 

Iron clanged. Plates slammed. Bodies moved in rhythm. 

But Azzi was barely hearing any of it. The whole place felt like background noise she couldn’t tune into, like she was floating above her own workout, disconnected.

She wiped her palms on her shorts and reached for the bar again, but her eyes flicked to her phone before her fingers even touched the grip. The screen was still dark. No notifications. No new messages. She pressed the side button anyway, just to be sure. Nothing.

Paige hadn’t texted back.

Azzi stared at the lock screen for another second, then set the phone down and took her place under the bar. Her muscles were already warm, but her chest was tight with something colder. Something sharp.

They’d made a plan. Not just some vague "I’ll hit you up later" kind of promise. Paige had said it clearly, deliberately, in that steady, familiar voice that always made Azzi believe her even when she shouldn’t.

“I’ll call after treatment. Promise.”

And Paige always kept her promises. Or… she used to.

Azzi pushed through her set, letting the strain in her legs distract her from the tighter burn in her chest. But her rhythm was off. Her timing was sloppy. And by the third rep, she was just going through the motions, all muscle memory and no presence.

When she reracked the bar, it slammed back louder than she meant it to. A few heads turned. She didn’t care.

She grabbed her towel, swiped sweat off her brow, and made a beeline for her phone. Nothing.

Her jaw clenched. It was already past noon in Dallas. Treatment should’ve been over hours ago.

On her way back from refilling her water bottle, Caroline caught her coming around the corner near the squat racks. She fell into step beside her like she always did—casual, unbothered, towel slung around her neck and hair pulled into a ponytail with baby hairs sticking out the sides. 

“You good?” she asked, like she was asking about a sore hamstring or a late-night class. Like she hadn’t already clocked Azzi checking her phone five times in the last fifteen minutes.

Azzi didn’t answer. She unlocked her phone again, staring hard at the empty screen as if she could will a message into existence.

“Fine,” she said eventually, sharp and clipped.

Caroline raised an eyebrow, not even pretending to buy it. “Real convincing.”

Azzi let out a hard breath through her nose and dropped down onto the edge of a nearby plyo box. Her towel hung limp in her lap as she balanced her phone on her knee, screen facing up like a trapdoor waiting to open.

“Paige was supposed to call,” she muttered, her voice tight. “Said she would after treatment. It wasn’t just some maybe. She promised.”

Caroline didn’t say anything right away. She lowered herself onto the box beside her, their legs brushing slightly. Her posture shifted—subtle, but perceptible. Less teammate, more friend now. She waited.

Azzi rubbed her thumb along the seam of the towel. “She’s been off,” she said, eyes still fixed on the screen. 

“Not just tired. Like… checked out. The last time we Facetimed, she could barely keep her eyes open. And she keeps saying it’s nothing, that she’s fine. But she’s not. I can tell.”

Caroline nodded once, slowly. Still no interruption.

“She’s lying to me,” Azzi said, barely above a whisper. “Or at least hiding things. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

A quiet passed between them, filled by the clatter of weights and the hum of the overhead fans.

Then Caroline shifted, turning slightly to face her.

“You want me to tell you not to worry?” she asked, voice soft.

Azzi let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “No. Don’t do that.”

Caroline tilted her head, studying her.

“Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll tell you she loves you. That hasn’t changed. And yeah, maybe she’s not telling you everything right now, but when it matters? You’ll get through to her. You always do.”

Azzi didn’t respond. She just stared at her phone again, like the words weren’t enough this time. Like the silence from Paige was starting to mean something she didn’t want to name.

Caroline bumped her shoulder gently. “Come on. One more set. Then you can go full FBI.”

Azzi gave a breathy exhale, half-laugh, half-sigh. She nudged Caroline’s arm in return, stood, and took her place back at the rack. But even as she reached for the bar, her eyes drifted back to the bench.

Still no message.

By the time she finished her next set, her chest was burning—not from exertion, but from the slow feeling of dread working its way into her lungs.

She grabbed her towel and headed for the far corner of the gym, away from the noise, away from the eyes, to the narrow sliver of space near the windows. Her hands were slick. Her breathing felt shallow. She unlocked her phone again and typed hard, fingers moving faster than her thoughts.

Azzi: Hey. You alive?

She stared at it, willing a reply into existence, willing Paige to just text back and say she was fine. 

Her thumb hovered over the screen before swiping down, refreshing the thread even though she knew it wouldn’t make a difference. 

The message was delivered. No read receipt. No bubbles. Just silence.

Her jaw tightened. She shifted her weight and typed again.

Azzi: Paige.

She hit send before she could second-guess it. Her heart was beating too fast for how still she was sitting. 

She glanced up once, barely registering the clank of weights and echo of sneakers across the floor. Everyone else moved around her in a blur she didn’t care to join.

Still nothing.

Her stomach coiled tighter.

She tapped the screen again. Waited. Blinked at the thread like she could force it to change.

Then, just as her pulse was climbing into her throat, the typing bubbles appeared.

Azzi exhaled so sharply it was almost a gasp. Her whole chest sagged. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been holding her breath until she saw that flicker of motion. Those three little dots felt like oxygen.

But the moment she read the message, that breath caught all over again.

Paige: Shit sorry. I slept in and just woke up.

Azzi’s stomach twisted. Paige never slept that late. Not during the season. Not when she had treatment on the schedule.

She swallowed the knot in her throat.

Azzi: Thought you were gonna call after treatment?

The typing bubble popped up, disappeared, then returned.

Paige: Rescheduled it. Too tired. Doing it later.

Azzi’s throat closed around the words. She reread them, once, twice, hoping they would look different the second time. They didn’t. 

Her jaw clenched, and she pressed her lips together so hard they started to burn. The buzzing anxiety in her chest was spreading outward now, a low hum beneath her skin that made her feel like she couldn’t sit still.

Paige never rescheduled her knee treatment. Not unless something was seriously wrong.

Azzi’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard, her heart thudding unevenly. She didn’t want to push. But she also couldn’t sit in this silence any longer.

Azzi: Can you call me now?

The message sent with a soft whoosh that felt far too gentle for what she was asking.

She waited. Watched the screen like it might suddenly open up and show her what Paige looked like, what she sounded like, if she was upright or lying down or shaking.

No reply.

Just more stillness.

She wiped her hand down her face, eyes stinging, chest rising too fast. Her lungs didn’t feel like they were working right.

Then, finally, the screen lit up again.

Paige: Give me 10.

Azzi stared at the words, but they didn’t soothe anything. If anything, they made her more anxious. 

Like Paige needed a few more minutes to pull herself together. Like she was rehearsing what she’d say, or trying to clear whatever fog she was buried under.

Azzi swallowed, but it didn’t help the knot in her throat. Ten minutes suddenly felt like an eternity.

And she had no idea what version of Paige she was going to get when the call came through.

Azzi lowered the phone to her lap and exhaled slowly, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Her head was starting to buzz. Her vision pulsed slightly at the corners.

She didn’t look up when she felt Caroline watching her from across the room.

She just waited.

When the FaceTime finally rang, Azzi answered before the screen had fully lit.

Paige appeared in the frame, her face sideways and too close. She was curled into the couch, cheek pressed into a pillow, bun half-undone. She didn’t even sit up. Just blinked into the screen like the light hurt her eyes.

“Hey,” Paige murmured, her voice low and slurred, like she was speaking through a layer of molasses.

Azzi’s heart clenched. “You just woke up?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Paige blinked again, eyes slow to open. “Yeah. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

Azzi scanned the background automatically, her eyes flicking over the familiar gray cushions, the brace tossed onto the armrest, and the cluttered coffee table scattered with takeout cups and half-empty water bottles.

And then she saw it.

The pill bottle.

Orange. Plastic. Not tucked away. Just there, like part of the furniture now.

She tried to keep her voice steady. “You feeling okay?”

Paige exhaled, something halfway between a laugh and a grunt. “Just tired. Been going hard but I’ll be fine.”

Azzi didn’t look away from the bottle.

“What’s that on the table?”

Paige shifted the camera slightly and squinted, like she wasn’t even sure what Azzi meant. “Oh. Meds. Trainer gave them to me. Nothing serious.”

Azzi’s pulse picked up again. She felt her thumb tighten around the edge of her phone.

“How often are you taking them?”

That made Paige’s mouth tighten. “I don’t know,” she said, voice sharper now. “When I need them. I said I’m fine.”

Azzi watched her. Paige’s shoulders sagged deeper into the cushions. Her smile came a beat too late, and it looked like it took more effort than it should.

“Don’t make that worried face,” Paige said, her voice softer now, but still slow, words slightly blurred. “I can see it.”

Azzi blinked, forcing the sting behind her eyes to stay put. “I’m not doing a face.”

“You are,” Paige said, the words more breath than voice now. “You always do.”

She blinked again. Slower. Her whole body looked like it was sagging into the couch, like gravity had doubled on her.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered. “Maybe you should go lie down, like actually lie down.”

Paige made a low humming sound, as if she was already halfway asleep.

“Paige.”

Her eyes opened, barely. “I’m here. See? I’m good.”

Azzi felt the break happen quietly inside her. Like something had unlatched and slid out of place.

“Text me when you wake up again,” she said. Her voice barely carried.

There was a pause, then Paige let out a soft, muddled hum. “Yeah… I will,” she mumbled, the words slurred around sleep. 

It wasn’t sharp or clear, but it was enough. Just a whisper of promise, said like someone who couldn’t quite stay awake but still meant it.

The screen went dark.

Azzi stared at the reflection of her own face in the black glass, her fingers still wrapped tightly around the phone like it might slip away if she loosened her grip. 

Her breath had gone shallow somewhere in the middle of that call and hadn’t quite returned to normal.

She didn’t move.

Everything around her kept going. The gym stayed loud—plates crashing onto racks, voices shouting across the floor, music thrumming with a beat that vibrated in her sternum. 

It all felt distant now, like she’d been dropped into a different room behind soundproof glass. Her body was still. But inside, everything had started to tilt.

Paige had been slurring her words. Had barely opened her eyes. She hadn’t even noticed the bottle sitting in plain sight. Or maybe she had, and she just didn’t care anymore.

Azzi’s thumb hovered over the screen like she could press rewind. Replay it. Look closer. Maybe there was something she’d missed.

But there wasn’t.

And it hit her now—not as a theory or a hunch, but as a truth that settled cold and sharp at the base of her spine.

Paige wasn’t just tired. Wasn’t just sore or overwhelmed or having a bad stretch of games.

She was slipping.

And Azzi was standing here, thousands of miles away, watching it happen through a phone screen.

—

Azzi sat cross-legged in the center of her bed, the mattress sinking just slightly beneath her as she shifted, sheets twisted loosely around her legs. She hadn’t bothered to straighten them after changing, too distracted to care. 

The apartment was one of those standard campus setups. It was functional, a little bland, and barely big enough for two athletes with separate routines. 

Caroline was in the other room, door shut, probably winding down with a podcast or film. But even with someone else nearby, the place felt still in a way that unsettled her. 

Not peaceful. Just… muted. Like the air was holding its breath, thick with thoughts she couldn’t quite shape.

The only light came from her phone, cold and blue against the dark. She stared at it for a long time, the brightness stinging her eyes, but still she didn’t look away.

She didn’t want to make the call. Her thumb hovered over the screen, her chest already tight with the guilt of it. Calling her mom meant saying it out loud. It meant giving the fear shape and weight and handing it to someone else, even just for a moment.

Normally, this wasn’t the call she’d be making.

Normally, it would be Paige.

Paige was the one she texted when she couldn’t sleep, the one she called when she was anxious about a test or nervous before a game or spiraling over something stupid she’d said in film. Paige, who always knew how to talk her down or distract her long enough to breathe.

But this time, the thing eating her alive was Paige.

And that changed everything.

She swallowed hard, fingers trembling as she tapped the contact. The worry had nowhere else to go. 

Azzi blinked, her vision swimming, and wiped at her cheeks with the back of her wrist before she could change her mind. Her thumb pressed down.

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Azzi?”

Her mom’s voice came through soft but steady, with that subtle edge of alertness tucked underneath. Not alarm. Just that quiet knowing that said she understood this wasn’t a casual call.

Azzi’s throat closed before she could speak. Her fingers dug into the edge of the blanket, twisting the fabric until her knuckles ached.

“Hey,” she managed, the word rasping out uneven, caught in her chest.

Her mom didn’t rush in with questions. She didn’t fill the silence. She just waited, giving Azzi space to find her breath, to decide if she could keep going.

“Sorry it’s late,” Azzi mumbled eventually. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, thinner than she expected.

“It’s okay, honey,” her mom said, softer now. “What’s going on?”

Azzi’s jaw tightened. Her thumb moved to the side of her phone, digging into the ridged edge until it left a dent in her skin. Her eyes burned again, and this time she didn’t bother wiping them.

“It’s... it’s Paige.”

The words dropped into the quiet like a pebble into still water. Her mother didn’t speak, but Azzi could feel her listening, holding the pause steady so it didn’t feel like a cliff.

“Is she hurt?” her mom asked finally, her voice low and careful.

Azzi let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but it caught hard in her throat. “Not exactly. Not like… not like some new thing.”

She didn’t know how to explain it. There wasn’t a headline to give. No single injury. No dramatic story.

“Okay,” her mom said gently. “Tell me.”

Azzi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, and let her head fall between her shoulders. The phone stayed pressed to her ear like it might keep her grounded.

“She’s just been… off,” she said, and her voice broke a little on the word. “She’s exhausted all the time, but not in the normal way. She missed our call today, said she overslept. That’s so not her. She’s always been committed to treatment.”

Her breathing hitched. She rubbed at her face again, frustrated with herself for crying but unable to stop.

“And when I finally got her on FaceTime… she was half-asleep. Slurring. She didn’t even know what she was saying. I kept trying to wake her up with my voice, but it was like she wasn’t there.”

The tears came again, hot and unwelcome. Azzi didn’t try to stop them this time.

“And I saw pills,” she whispered. “They were just sitting there on her table. She said they were from the trainer. Said it was fine. But when I asked how often she was taking them, she got defensive. She got mad. And I…”

Her voice crumbled. She sucked in air and tried to force it into something solid, but it slipped through her ribs like water.

“She wasn’t there,” Azzi said again, quieter now. “She wasn’t Paige.”

Her mother stayed quiet for a long moment. The kind of silence that held weight, not avoidance. When she finally spoke, her voice was even and deliberate.

“Did she tell you what they were?”

“Yeah, she said the trainer gave them to her,” Azzi whispered. “Like that made it okay, but she wouldn’t tell me how many she’d taken. Wouldn’t even answer. And Mom, she looked so out of it. Like... like she was floating above her own body.”

There was a breath on the line, soft and slow. Azzi knew that breath. Her mom used it when she was choosing her words with care. When something hurt and needed truth, not comfort.

“Azzi,” she said, “you know how this works. You know what it’s like to play hurt.”

Azzi closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek and landed on the back of her hand. She didn’t wipe it away.

Her mom’s voice softened further, like she was folding a blanket around the space between them.

“Even after they clear you, even when the trainers say you’re good to go, it doesn’t mean the pain stops. Sometimes it’s just quieter. Sometimes it waits until you’re alone again. It lingers. It nags at you in places no one else can see. And you, of all people, know how easy it is to pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”

Azzi swallowed. Her knee gave a dull throb just from sitting too long in one position. The irony didn’t escape her.

“And Paige?” her mom continued. “She’s been carrying that pain for years. More than most. She’s played through injuries that would’ve sidelined other people for months. She’s pushed herself to stay at the top, and those injuries don’t disappear. They stack up. They become part of your body. They grind you down from the inside.”

Azzi listened in silence, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

“She’s in Dallas alone,” her mom said. “No one there to count pills for her. No one looking her in the eye after a game and asking how many it took to get through. No one making her stop. And when you’re in that much pain, it’s so easy to go from ‘just when I need it’ to ‘every day.’ You start telling yourself you need it to play. Then to sleep. Then to function.”

The words landed like weight pressing into Azzi’s sternum.

Her mother’s voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. “It doesn’t make her a bad person, baby. It makes her an athlete. One who’s hurting. One who’s scared she can’t keep up without help.”

Azzi curled forward, her forehead pressing into her knees. Her arms wrapped tight around her legs like she could hold herself together with force alone.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. The words were strangled and small.

Her mom didn’t hesitate.

“Do you have time off soon?”

Azzi blinked. It took her a second to process the question. “I have weights on Thursday. Then I’m off.”

“Then go.”

Azzi’s head snapped up instinctively, even though her mom couldn’t see it.

“What if she gets mad?” she asked. “What if she hates me for it?”

“She won’t,” her mom said, instantly. “She loves you. And you love her. That means you show up. Even if she says she doesn’t need it. Even if she’s not ready. Especially then.”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek hard. Her whole body felt too hot, too heavy, like it didn’t know where to put the fear.

“I’m scared,” she said, and this time she didn’t bother to hold it back. “I’m so scared.”

Her mother’s voice broke, just slightly. “I know,” she said. “I’m scared too. But you’re not helpless. You can go. You can be there. Even if you can’t fix all of it, at least she’ll know she’s not alone.”

Azzi rocked forward, the phone pressed tight to her ear, her knees drawn in. Her body trembled, but she held the phone like it was the only solid thing in the room.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“I love you so much,” her mom said fiercely. “Call me when you land.”

“I will,” Azzi said, her voice wrecked. “Love you too.”

The call ended with a soft click.

Azzi let the phone fall onto the bed beside her. For a moment, she didn’t move. Her body stayed curled in on itself, her forehead resting against her knees. The room felt too quiet again, like it was waiting to see what she’d do next.

Eventually, she lifted the phone again with unsteady fingers and opened her browser. It took a few tries to type, her hands still trembling, but she found what she needed. 

She searched for flights, selected the earliest one that made sense, and bought it without thinking twice.

When the confirmation email hit her inbox, she let the phone slide out of her grip and onto the mattress.

She stayed there, curled forward, arms locked around her knees like a brace. Her breath was ragged. Her face was damp. And in the silence that followed, she finally let herself fall apart.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that. Long enough for the tears to dry. Long enough for her breathing to even out, even if the ache in her chest hadn’t gone anywhere.

Then came a soft knock at the door.

Azzi lifted her head too fast, blinking at the sudden disruption. She swiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Yeah?” Her voice cracked down the center.

The door creaked open, and Caroline’s head appeared, her messy bun sliding sideways like she’d been half-asleep. Her sweats bunched around her ankles, sleeves pushed past her elbows.

She took one look at Azzi’s face and stepped fully into the room.

“Hey,” she said gently, closing the door behind her. “You okay?”

Azzi sat up straighter, trying to blink away the tears that hadn’t fully dried.

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly, the word brittle and obvious.

Caroline didn’t argue. She just crossed the small space and sat at the edge of the bed, turning so her knees faced Azzi’s.

“You don’t have to explain everything,” she said, voice quiet and steady. “But… if you need to talk, I’m here.”

Azzi stared at the comforter between them, her fingers picking at a loose thread.

“It’s Paige,” she said, barely more than a whisper.

Caroline didn’t flinch. Didn’t push.

Azzi swallowed hard. “I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but she’s not okay.”

Her throat burned. The words hurt to say. But she kept going.

“She’s so tired all the time. She missed treatment this morning. She was slurring on our call. And there were pills. She said they were fine, but… she’s not.”

Her voice cracked again, and this time she didn’t try to stop it.

“She’s not her.”

Caroline was quiet for a beat. Then she exhaled slowly, the sound soft but heavy.

“Shit.”

Azzi pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I don’t know how bad it is. And she’s alone. And I’m here. I don’t know what to do.”

Caroline reached out, resting a hand gently on Azzi’s shin. “Hey. Look at me.”

Azzi lifted her eyes reluctantly.

“She’s one of my best friends too,” Caroline said. “And I want her to be okay. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Azzi nodded, barely.

“I’m going to see her,” she said. “After weights on Thursday. I already booked the flight.”

“Good,” Caroline said immediately. “That’s good.”

Azzi looked down again. “I don’t know if it’ll help. But at least she won’t be alone.”

“She won’t be,” Caroline said. “Not with you. Not with any of us. We’ve got her.”

Azzi reached out, grabbed her wrist, and held it tightly.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Caroline didn’t let go.

They sat like that for a long time, the room quiet, the world outside irrelevant. Just breathing. Just present.

Just not alone.

—

After Caroline left, Azzi didn’t move. She sat in the stillness of her room, blinking into the dark like it might eventually give her some answer she didn’t know how to ask for. 

Her chest felt raw, like someone had flipped it inside out and left it exposed to the cold air. The kind of sore that didn’t come from training.

She swiped at her face with the corner of her practice shirt, trying to dry the last of the tears without letting herself spiral again. Her body was still trembling beneath the surface, a low, pulsing hum of fear that hadn’t stopped since the call with her mom.

The apartment had gone quiet in that late-night way that made everything feel heavier. No music from the living room. No voices from the suite next door. Just the faint sound of plumbing settling behind the walls and the hush of her own breathing, filling the room like wind through an empty hallway.

Her hand reached out on instinct, fingers fumbling for her phone on the bedspread. It felt heavier than it should, like it had inherited all her dread. When the screen lit up, it caught the shine of her still-puffy eyes, casting pale light over her face.

She opened the message thread with Paige and stared at the empty bar at the bottom. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, frozen. She had no idea what she was supposed to say. Everything felt too big or too blunt.

What would she even lead with?

Hey. I think you might be hurting yourself and I’m terrified for you.

No. That wasn’t how they worked. That wasn’t how she could start.

They didn’t do things like that.

She swallowed and let the silence sit for another beat. Then, slowly, she typed.

Azzi: Hey.

The moment it sent, the screen shifted. Dots appeared. Three bouncing bubbles, instantly.

Paige was still awake.

Azzi’s chest tightened at the sight of them. Her body sagged forward slightly, some part of her letting go just from the proof that Paige was still on the other end of the line.

Paige: hey beautiful Paige: you ok? late for you

Azzi closed her eyes. She could see it as clearly as if Paige were right there beside her…the sleepy half-smile, the lazy confidence curling at the edge of her mouth. Could hear her voice in her head, warm and teasing, like everything was normal. Like nothing was unraveling.

Her fingers moved before she had time to overthink it.

Azzi: I just miss you.

The second it sent, regret twisted in her stomach. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it felt too raw. Too open. The kind of truth that left her exposed. She stared at the screen, watching the message land, then settle into stillness.

No typing bubble.

Not yet.

Seconds stretched out longer than they had any right to. Her heart thudded against her ribs, rising fast into her throat like it was trying to brace her for impact. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes scanning the screen like maybe if she stared hard enough, the answer would come faster.

Then, finally, the dots appeared.

She inhaled sharply, chest tightening as if bracing for whatever came next.

Paige: fuck Paige: miss you more

Azzi let the phone rest against her knee for a second. Her hands were shaking again. She stared at the glow of the message, breathing through it, grounding herself in the words. Then she lifted the phone and started typing again.

Azzi: I want to come down to Dallas.

She watched the typing bubble flicker to life, disappear, then come back. It blinked on and off like Paige didn’t know how to respond, or maybe didn’t trust herself to type what she really meant.

Eventually, three messages came all at once.

Paige: wait Paige: like for real? Paige: when?

Azzi felt something twist inside her. There was urgency in those words. Like Paige had been holding her breath without knowing it.

She exhaled slowly, trying to ease the trembling in her chest before her fingers moved again.

Azzi: I’m free after Thursday weights. I can be there Friday.

This time the reply came faster.

Paige: fuck yes Paige: please Paige: come Paige: want you here so bad

A quiet sound slipped from Azzi’s throat, broken and involuntary—part laugh, part sob, and so soft it barely reached her ears. 

She curled her fingers tighter around the phone, thumb brushing lightly against the screen like it might bridge the space between them. Like touch could travel through glass and light and find Paige on the other side.

She didn’t answer right away. Just sat there with her head bowed, eyes stinging, her whole body buzzing with too many emotions layered over each other. 

Want. Worry. Love. Fear.

Her fingers found the keys again.

Azzi: Don’t try to talk me out of it.

Another message blinked into view almost instantly.

Paige: lol why the hell would I???

Azzi let her head fall back against the wall behind her, eyes fluttering shut. She could still hear her mom’s voice in her mind, steady and fierce, telling her to go. 

She could still see Caroline sitting at the foot of her bed, worry softening her features, never questioning, just supporting. Both of them had seen it. Had known.

Even when Azzi hadn’t wanted to admit how scared she was.

She stared down at the screen, the words she’d been holding in pressing against her chest.

She hesitated for a breath, just long enough to feel the weight of them. Then she typed.

Azzi: I just want to see you. That’s all.

The reply didn’t come immediately. She waited, heart knocking softly against her ribs.

Then finally:

Paige: you know you don’t need a reason right Paige: i’ll take you any day any reason Paige: just come ok?

Azzi blinked at the screen, her vision gone a little blurry. She brought the phone closer to her chest, pressing it there for a moment, like it could anchor her. Like it was something warm, something alive.

She was going.

And Paige wanted her to.

But underneath the sweetness of that message, beneath the softness of I’ll take you any day, was the echo of desperation Azzi couldn’t ignore.

She would be there soon.

And then she’d find out how much of Paige was still holding herself together. And how much had already started to fall apart.

Azzi: Ok. I will. Azzi: Go to sleep, P.

Paige: only if you promise you will too Paige: love you

The last words nearly undid her.

Azzi typed back through the blur in her eyes.

Azzi: Love you more.

When she finally set the phone down beside her, she didn’t move right away. She sat there in the dark, surrounded by quiet, her chest still rising unevenly with every breath. She wiped her cheeks, not to stop the crying but just to see clearly again.

She knew Paige was probably picturing her visit as something soft. Curling up on the couch together, ordering takeout, falling asleep in the same bed with the TV humming low. Pretending the season didn’t exist for a few days. Pretending they were still in college, when things were easier, simpler, survivable.

And maybe they would do all of that.

But Azzi also knew that wasn’t why she was going.

She wasn’t going just because she missed her.

She was going because something was breaking. And she couldn’t keep pretending not to see it.

—

Paige stood in the center of her apartment with her hands planted firmly on her hips, surveying the mess like it had personally betrayed her. The space wasn’t disgusting, just chaotic and tired. 

The open kitchen bled into the living room, where her dark gray sectional sat slightly off-kilter, its cushions slumped from weeks of use without fluffing. 

A pair of worn sneakers was kicked halfway beneath the coffee table, their laces tangled like they’d tried to escape. Socks she’d long since given up looking for peeked out from under the TV stand. 

Crumpled protein bar wrappers lined the counter next to a stack of dishes that hadn’t made it to the sink.

None of it had bothered her yesterday. But now? Azzi was coming.

She glanced at the microwave clock, heart thudding faster than she wanted to admit.

Less than twenty-four hours.

The thought hit her like a current. Quick, bright and stupid. Her face softened before she could stop it, a grin cracking open across her mouth like a window letting in fresh air.

Azzi’s coming.

Paige rolled her eyes at herself, then turned toward the kitchen with purpose. She began scooping up trash, clearing the clutter with a rhythm that bordered on frantic.

A half-filled Gatorade bottle. Two mugs she might have used. A crumpled takeout bag that still smelled faintly like Thai basil. 

She moved quickly, humming under her breath to fill the silence, like if she kept her hands busy enough, maybe her brain would slow down.

She scrubbed the counter until it squeaked, wiping in small angry circles that had more to do with nerves than dirt. 

Her reflection caught in the black glass of the microwave, and she paused. Her hair looked like it had lost a battle with gravity, pulled back into a ponytail that hung too loose to be useful. Her face was flushed from exertion, her neck damp from heat. 

The sharp bruise on her right arm from the last game stood out like ink against her skin. Another, deeper one curved along her hip where she'd taken a charge and landed wrong. 

She’d showered after practice, but hadn’t put on lotion. Her skin felt dry, stretched too thin across tired muscles.

Azzi’s gonna see that.

The thought should have made her self-conscious. Instead, it lit something beneath her ribs. A jolt, a tiny spark, the kind of buzz she hadn’t felt in weeks. 

Her chest tightened with it, almost painfully. She wanted Azzi to see. To know. To put a hand on her arm and not ask questions but still understand.

Paige stepped back from the counter and shifted her weight. Pain shot through her knee, sharp and hot like something twisting inside the joint. She hissed, grabbing the edge of the sink for balance, waiting for the fire to dull into a throb. 

It didn’t surprise her anymore. Not really. The pain came in waves now. She just didn’t let herself ride them.

She took a deep breath and limped toward the cabinet above the sink. She crouched carefully, fingers brushing past cleaning supplies and empty containers until they landed on the orange bottle tucked against the back wall. She pulled it out and gave it a small shake.

Still plenty left.

The sound steadied her pulse in a way that scared her if she let herself think too long about it.

She didn’t.

She popped the cap off without hesitation, tapped one pill into her palm, and dry-swallowed it on the way back to the sink. No water. No pause. Just a habit now.

By the time she was leaning back against the counter, elbows braced behind her, she could already feel it working. The edges of her body were softening, like her head was lifting above the ache. Her thoughts slowed. The space between them cleared.

She let her eyes close for a moment, let out a low sigh from somewhere deep in her chest.

Better. Almost normal.

When she opened her eyes again, the microwave reflection showed someone still wrecked. But a little more upright.

She wiped at her forehead with the inside of her wrist and reached for her phone on the counter, still grinning like an idiot despite the ache still pulsing just under her skin.

Paige: hope you’re ready to be tackled the second you walk in.

She stared at the screen, her body practically vibrating with anticipation. It didn’t take long for the reply to buzz in.

Azzi: Behave

A laugh broke out of her chest before she could stop it. It was sharp, loud and so sudden it startled her own ears. She hadn’t laughed like that in days. Maybe longer.

Paige: no chance. hurry up.

She stayed where she was, back against the counter, staring at the texts even after the typing bubble disappeared. Azzi didn’t answer again right away, but Paige didn’t care. 

Just knowing she was on the other end of it, somewhere out there packing or planning or imagining this moment too was enough.

She set her phone back down and looked around at the rest of the apartment. The bed still needed clean sheets. There was laundry waiting in the basket near the bathroom, and the vacuum might give her one good battery cycle if she didn’t push it too hard. She had a lot left to do.

But none of it felt like a chore.

It felt like getting ready to come home.

Azzi was coming.

And for once, Paige didn’t have to be the version of herself that took up too much space in headlines or locker rooms. 

She didn’t have to be the franchise rookie. The one who couldn’t show weakness. The one who limped in silence and smiled through press conferences and lied every time someone asked how her body felt.

With Azzi, she could just be herself.

She rubbed at the back of her neck, head bowed slightly. Her throat tightened, and before she knew it, her eyes stung. She blinked hard, trying to breathe through the sudden pressure rising behind her face. There was no one here to see it. But that didn’t make it easier to feel.

She wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand and let the tears dry where they were.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, the word small and raw.

Then she pushed off the counter, walked to the bedroom, and started pulling the sheets off the bed.

Azzi was coming. That was all that mattered.

—

Paige checked the peephole for the third time in under five minutes, her forehead nearly pressed to the door like it would make Azzi arrive faster. 

She backed away with a frustrated exhale and started pacing again, sneakers squeaking faintly on the hardwood floor. Her apartment, though small, had never felt like so much space to fill. 

It smelled like bleach and the overly sweet bite of citrus cleaner, the kind that clung to the air long after it dried. She’d wiped down every surface she could reach, trying to scrub out the lonely weeks. Trying to erase the version of herself who had let things pile up and fall apart.

The couch cushions had been punched back into shape, the coffee table cleared of energy drink cans, wrappers, receipts, and the bottle she didn’t want Azzi to see. Even her shoes were lined neatly by the door, like some kind of sad museum exhibit. 

Her hands moved on instinct, fingers combing through her hair before she remembered it was already tied back. She dropped them with a huff and tried to focus on breathing. 

Her heart wouldn’t settle. It thudded too fast beneath her ribs, too sharp, like her body wasn’t convinced this was really happening.

When the knock on the door came, it jolted through her like a shot of adrenaline. She didn’t hesitate. Her hand was on the knob before she finished crossing the floor, and she yanked the door open so fast it smacked the wall behind it.

Azzi stood on the threshold, one bag slung over her shoulder, her shirt rumpled and creased from travel. Her hair was flattened on one side, like she’d slept against the plane window. She looked exhausted. Pale around the eyes, posture sagging slightly with the weight of everything she wasn’t saying.

But her face lit up the second she saw Paige.

That crooked, unmistakably Azzi smile tugged across her lips, and something inside Paige gave out.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t think. She reached forward and grabbed Azzi by the waist, pulling her inside so fast her bag hit the floor with a dull thud. The door swung closed behind them with a soft click, unnoticed.

Paige buried her face in Azzi’s neck, breath catching on the fabric of her hoodie.

“Jesus Christ,” she murmured, voice cracked and full. “You’re actually here.”

Azzi stood still for a heartbeat, arms hesitating like she wasn’t sure how tightly to hold her. Then she let herself sink into it. Her arms came around Paige slowly, then fully, her hand finding the back of Paige’s head, sliding into the messy knot of her ponytail.

“I told you I was coming,” she whispered, her voice lower now, gentle in a way that steadied Paige instantly.

Paige laughed, but it cracked halfway out of her chest. It was raw, too close to a sob to be clean. She pulled back just enough to look at Azzi’s face, eyes wide with disbelief and something feral underneath it.

“You didn’t even text when you landed,” she said, trying to sound annoyed but failing. “I was about to lose my shit.”

Azzi’s smile tugged at her mouth again, this time softer, laced with apology and something teasing at the corners. “Wanted to see your face first.”

That did her in.

Paige barked out another laugh, lower this time. A laugh of disbelief. Of relief so full it almost hurt. She dropped her forehead to Azzi’s, their breath mingling in the quiet space between them.

“Hi,” she whispered, like it was the first time she’d exhaled all day.

Azzi’s thumb traced lightly along the edge of her jaw, grounding her. “Hi.”

Then Paige kissed her.

It wasn’t smooth. Their mouths bumped awkwardly at first, but then it evened out. It deepened into something messy and warm, the kind of kiss that said I missed you, I need you, I’m holding on with everything I’ve got. 

Azzi made a quiet sound against her mouth, low in her throat, but didn’t pull away. She kissed back slowly, letting Paige set the pace, letting her fall into it.

When they finally parted, Paige didn’t let go. She was trembling slightly, adrenaline surging beneath her skin, fingers tapping out small patterns against Azzi’s waist like her body couldn’t handle stillness yet.

“Come in,” she said, her voice cracking with too much feeling. “Come on. Let me take your bag. I cleaned. I actually cleaned. Look.”

She tugged Azzi by the hand deeper into the apartment, all but glowing with nervous energy. Azzi let herself be pulled, her eyes drifting around the room as she walked. The counters were wiped down. The coffee table was bare. The couch smelled like Febreze and desperation. There were no socks in sight.

It wasn’t perfect—one sneaker still peeked out from under the TV stand, and the top of the fridge was hiding a takeout box that hadn’t made it to the trash. The effort was undeniable, though. It looked like someone had worked until they couldn’t anymore.

Azzi’s chest tightened.

“It looks great,” she said gently, careful not to make it sound like pity. She knew how easily Paige could spiral when she thought someone saw too much.

Paige lit up anyway. Her whole body seemed to fill with light.

“Right?” she said. “I even did laundry. Sheets too. I didn’t want you sleeping on my gross rookie sheets.”

Azzi reached out and placed a hand on Paige’s chest, right over her sternum. Her heart was pounding through her shirt, the rhythm wild and uneven beneath her palm. She could feel Paige’s energy vibrating out of her, barely contained.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said softly.

Paige made a noise that was part scoff, part deflection. Her hands fidgeted at her sides until they found Azzi’s wrist and held on.

“Yes I did,” she murmured. “You’re here. I wanted it to feel… I don’t know. Good. Better.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She studied her face, the way her eyes darted without settling, the way her weight shifted from foot to foot like she needed somewhere else to run to. 

It wasn’t just excitement. It was frantic. Frenzied. The kind of energy that burns too hot to last.

She knew this version of Paige. The one who tried so hard to keep it all from collapsing that she didn’t realize she was already standing in the rubble.

Azzi swallowed the worry down like a stone.

Not yet.

She stepped in closer and pressed her forehead to Paige’s again, their breaths syncing for just a moment.

“I’m here now,” she whispered. “That’s enough.”

Paige’s breath hitched. Her hands tightened around Azzi’s. She leaned forward and kissed her again. She was softer this time, but still trembling at the edges. When she pulled away, her whole body sagged into Azzi’s.

“God, I missed you,” she breathed, voice frayed.

Azzi’s eyes burned. “I missed you too.”

Paige didn’t seem able to stand still anymore. Her fingers were jittery again, her shoulders too tight.

“Come on,” she said, voice suddenly hoarse. “Sit with me. I just—fuck, I don’t even know. I just need to sit.”

Azzi nodded and let herself be guided to the couch. Paige cleared the throw pillows in a hurry, tossing them aside like they were in the way of something urgent. 

Then she dropped into the cushions, legs spread wide, and pulled Azzi down with her until she was sprawled across her lap, head tucked under Paige’s chin, one leg draped between Paige’s thighs.

The second they settled, Paige wrapped her arms around her and held on like she might disappear. Her grip was tight, almost crushing, but Azzi didn’t mind. Paige pressed small, frantic kisses to the top of her head, her temple, and her cheekbone. 

Azzi let her do it. She just breathed slow, deliberate breaths meant to ground them both. Her hand moved in gentle circles against Paige’s ribs, feeling the quick stutter of her breathing begin to slow, if only slightly.

She didn’t say anything about the way Paige’s fingers kept drumming on her arm. Didn’t mention the hitch in her voice or how her laughter earlier had cracked apart in the middle. She didn’t ask if Paige had taken anything today, or if she was planning to when the crash hit and the adrenaline wore off.

That conversation would come.

But not now.

Now, all Paige needed to know was that she wasn’t alone anymore.

Azzi was here.

And she wasn’t going anywhere.

—

Most of the day had passed like a dream Azzi didn’t want to wake up from. Paige had felt close again, really close. Like the version of her that lived behind the smile, the one Azzi hadn’t seen in weeks, not through a screen or over a call. 

She’d been warm, present, quick with jokes and even quicker to touch. It was easy to believe they were okay.

When they decided to make tacos for lunch, they slipped into a familiar and easy routine. 

Paige had made a mess, laughing at her own inability to fold them right, teasing Azzi for nearly drowning her plate in hot sauce. “You’re so insane,” she’d said, watching Azzi choke on the heat with gleeful disbelief. 

Her face had gone red with laughter, cheeks flushed, tears sliding down the corners of her eyes as she fell sideways onto the couch, clutching her stomach.

Azzi had rolled her eyes and pretended to be annoyed, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her. She hadn’t seen Paige laugh like that in too long. It had made her heart hurt in the best way.

They stayed curled up on the couch through the late afternoon, limbs tangled, the sound of some forgettable movie humming in the background. 

Paige’s head rested in her lap, eyes closed, her body loose with comfort. Azzi stroked her hair, slowly and gently, twisting strands around her fingers while Paige let out a soft, almost contented sigh, like her body was finally allowed to let go. 

When Azzi’s thumb traced her hairline, Paige leaned into it and pressed a lazy kiss to the inside of her wrist without opening her eyes.

Azzi wanted to freeze it. Just to hit pause on the entire day and live inside it forever.

But by early evening, cracks began to show.

It started small. Azzi noticed the sheen of sweat gathering at the back of Paige’s neck, her hair damp despite the hum of the AC rattling from the window unit. 

Paige shifted her weight, tugged at the collar of her old UConn tee like it was choking her. Her shoulder rolled back again and again, fingers kneading into the joint like she was trying to silence something inside it.

Azzi said nothing at first, just watched quietly, noting the tightness creeping back into Paige’s voice. The way her jokes stopped landing. The way her eyes darted, never quite meeting Azzi’s anymore.

She couldn’t sit still. One minute Paige was curled into Azzi’s side, nuzzling the curve of her neck with soft kisses and a quiet murmur of mine. The next, she was groaning and pushing off the couch with a frustrated grunt, pacing tight laps around the living room like she was searching for a fight or a way out. 

Her fingers cracked one by one, knuckles popping in the quiet as she muttered under her breath.

Azzi finally asked if she was okay.

Paige flinched. “I said I’m fine,” she snapped, too fast and too loud, the words slicing the air between them before she even realized they were out.

Regret hit her face like a wave a second later. Her shoulders tensed. Her lips parted, apology already forming. But the damage was done. The space between them had shifted, and neither of them knew how to step around it.

At dinner, Paige tried to overcorrect. Hard. She ordered from three different places like it was a joke, her voice pitching high as she faked indecision. 

She kept talking, jumping from one story to another with barely a breath between. Her laugh rang hollow. Her eyes were too bright.

She barely touched her food.

Azzi watched her push the same noodle around for five minutes, talking about a teammate she clearly wasn’t really thinking about. She kept nodding at her own words, again and again, like repetition might convince them both everything was fine.

Her shirt was soaked through by then, the fabric clinging to her back. Her knee kept drawing circles under the table. Her chest rose and fell too fast.

Azzi reached out a hand once, fingers grazing Paige’s wrist, hoping the contact would steady her.

Paige jerked slightly, startled by the touch, then smiled too wide like she could will herself into calmness. But it was gone a second later. Her gaze dropped to her phone. She stared at it like it might anchor her, but her leg kept bouncing.

By the time they cleared the table and stacked the trash, the silence was thick and heavy, pressing into the corners of the room.

Azzi stood at the sink, rinsing a plate, watching Paige from the corner of her eye. Her knee was bouncing like it was on a spring, tapping against the table legs in a relentless rhythm. 

Her shoulders hunched, curling tighter with each minute, her hand wrapped around her phone but not doing anything with it. Just holding it. Just breathing like it hurt.

Azzi set the rag down, her chest aching. Every part of her body screamed that something was wrong. She wanted to pretend. She wanted to believe in the softness from earlier, in the warmth of Paige’s kisses and her half-sleepy grin. She wanted to believe they still lived there.

But Paige was unraveling right in front of her.

And Azzi had no idea how to stop it.

She crossed the kitchen slowly, socked feet silent on the floor. Her stomach turned with every step.

“Paige,” she said gently, almost a whisper.

There was no response. Paige didn’t lift her head.

Azzi tried again, voice catching around the tightness in her throat. “Hey. Look at me.”

Still nothing. Just a hard exhale from Paige, lips drawn thin, eyes locked somewhere far away.

Azzi stepped closer.

“Baby,” she said, the word fragile and desperate. “Please talk to me.”

That was enough to crack it.

Paige’s head snapped up. Her eyes were wide, too bright, already glassy with something she wasn’t naming. Her voice came out sharp, defensive, brittle.

“What?”

It cut like a slap.

Azzi recoiled instinctively, shoulders drawing in. But Paige’s face immediately crumpled, her eyes squeezing shut, a grimace pulling at her features like she’d tasted something bitter.

“Don’t,” she said, voice lower now, almost a plea. “Don’t do this.”

Azzi’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her whole body shook.

“I can’t not,” she whispered.

Paige let out a sound that was half laugh, half snarl. She shoved her chair back hard enough that it screeched against the floor and stood up, pacing two short, furious steps before whipping around again.

“I’m fine, Azzi.”

Azzi blinked hard against the tears threatening to spill. Her voice wavered.

“You’re not.”

Paige’s jaw clenched, her entire body coiled tight. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging her hand through her hair like she could pull the pressure out with it. “I knew this was why you came. Not because you missed me. You just wanted to check in and monitor me.”

Azzi flinched like she’d been slapped.

“That’s not fair,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Paige scoffed, voice rising with every word. “Oh really? Because you’ve been watching me all day like I’m some fucking bomb about to explode.”

Azzi couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her tears came fast, unchecked, falling in thick lines down her face.

“Because you are,” she said hoarsely. “You’re shaking. You’re sweating. You can’t sit still. You haven’t looked me in the eye all afternoon.”

Paige threw her arms up, laugh empty and mean. Her eyes were wet now too, though she blinked hard, like she could will the tears away through sheer force.

“I’m in pain,” she snapped. “I’m carrying my team on a fucked up knee, playing forty minutes a night and barely sleeping. I’m sorry I’m not a perfect host.”

Azzi bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I don’t care about the team. I care about you being here with me. Alive.”

Paige stopped moving. Her shoulders rose and fell in shallow waves.

Azzi stepped forward, every word cracking under its own weight.

“I’m scared, Paige,” she said. “I’m so fucking scared I’m gonna get a call one day…that you pushed it too far just trying to make the pain stop.”

Paige staggered back like the words physically hit her. She stared, wild-eyed.

“You think I’m an addict?” Her voice pitched high, raw and frayed. “You think I’d overdose? On purpose? Fuck you.”

Azzi pressed her hands to her mouth, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. 

“I think you’re hurting so much you don’t know where the line is anymore.”

That silenced everything.

Paige stood still. Her shoulders drooped. Her eyes wouldn’t meet Azzi’s.

“I can’t do this,” she said, and this time the words came out quiet and hollow, the fight drained from them.

Azzi reached for her. “Please don’t shut me out. Let me help.”

But Paige was already turning away. She grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch with stiff hands, pulled it over her body like armor, and collapsed into the cushions, curling up small. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Azzi watched her disappear under the blanket, every part of her screaming not to let this be how it ended. But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

She turned and stumbled toward the bedroom, barely managing to shut the door behind her before her knees gave out.

She slid down the wood door and folded over herself, sobbing into her hands until her lungs burned and her chest ached.

She’d known this might happen. She’d prepared herself for the worst. But hearing Paige shut her out, hearing the words “fuck you” from the person she loved most…it gutted her.

Eventually, she dragged herself into the bed, curling tight around Paige’s pillow. She buried her face in it, inhaling the scent like it might hold her together. 

But nothing about it felt like comfort.

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. I think this would also count as slow burn. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Unlike the other chapters, this one has not been reviewed or edited (neither in Spanish nor in its English version), although it probably does not have spelling errors, it may have errors in the narration or structure. It is also possible that in the next few weeks I will edit it, not to change facts but to change some of the way in which some things are written.

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

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Masterlist

Chapter Five - Reflected Gaze

Could it be said that Tim’s apartment was less luxurious? Yes, it was smaller than the manor, but apart from the cartoons you sometimes watched, you didn’t know what a home looked like outside Wayne Manor.

Tim gave you a brief tour of the apartment to show you around, explaining which door led to the bathroom, his room and Bernard’s, the study, and your room.

He told you it was the guest room—again, it was the first time you’d been anywhere other than the manor, so you had no frame of reference for whether a guest room should look like someone had always lived there.

He placed your few suitcases in the room and helped you arrange everything on the shelves and in the closet. Except for the wool bag hiding the comics, you’d told him it contained your underwear and you were embarrassed, which wasn’t a lie; not all your underwear was in there, but enough to make the story believable.

Not much time had passed, only half a week since you left. Tim said he’d tutor you and ensure your health improved. You’d suggested your teachers come to his apartment so he wouldn’t have to go out of his way… and you could keep the distance you needed… But he refused, and even seemed… offended.

Truth be told, after all the chaos of last week, you found these days almost boring. You hadn’t done much with the comics while you adjusted to the new surroundings; you repaired the plush toy you’d shredded with your nails last time, watched a few cartoons, and read the occasional book with Tim glancing at you furtively… Was it a bother? Yes. But after the suffocating week before, you wouldn’t complain again. Handling one vigilante is easier than three.

You were in the bathroom, following your usual bedtime routine: styling your hair, brushing your teeth, grabbing the pill bottle, and tossing one down the toilet to make it look like you were still taking them...the usual

You watched the pill sink slowly in the water, remembering how, before Alfred left, after leaving them both in the apartment he’d warned you not to forget to take one of those before bed, like always.

Never mind, you’ve already lost three days, you need to get back to your plan of gathering information from the comics, preferably by taking notes again in your wool notebook…

Finding a way to do it wasn’t easy. If you did it out in the open, Tim would discover you; if you stayed too long in the bathroom he’d worry. The only time he left was at night to do his vigilante work. You still didn’t know if he’d told the rest of the family that you knew about him; you also didn’t know if he’d deduced that you knew about the others. You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

You could stay awake until he left for work, if it weren't for the fact that he wouldn't leave until you actually fell asleep, really fell asleep. He knew when you were pretending. It was useless trying to fool him.

Over these days you thought a lot about what you could do, so you concluded that the best approach would be to read a few pages in the bathroom and jot down notes in stages. The time it takes to read a handful of pages is relatively short; you’d be out before Tim realized. And today you’d put that plan into action.

Starting with the first of the three comics—where Serelith made her first appearance.

You pulled out the wool-class notebook you’d hidden under your pajama top, and began writing on its back in sequence, timing how long it had been since you’d started your nighttime routine.

First, you and Serelith were born in Gotham, but neither of your maternal families is from here. She was found in England on a trip by Batman and Nightwing. And apparently your real father was from there, too.

Dick noticed the obvious resemblance between her and Avery, and had her take DNA tests, uncovering the truth… Later they put you both through other examinations…

You had the initial key events down—very good—too bad in your condition you couldn’t go to England soon to bring Serelith back and end this.

It was easy to extract the early turning points. Maybe you’d keep at it for a while, recapping important moments… after that… what would you do?

Sure, you said you wanted a scholarship and to change your last name, but you had no idea how to go about any of that. Your life boiled down to studying, asking for material favors but never emotional ones, watching a movie when they let you, and you don’t recall ever having any class about what the future holds.

Well… maybe you could leverage your stay at Tim’s apartment? He said he could tutor you, so it wouldn’t hurt to ask discreetly.

Also, by spending time with him, could you perhaps learn something about investigation? It would be very useful to get the most out of the comics.

Even if you want to distance yourself from everyone to stop taking someone else’s place, for now it’s best to make use of your options.

You hid the comics again under your underwear inside the wool bag, placing them back in their spot. Once more you tucked your wool-class notebook under your pajama top and stepped out of the bathroom, hugging yourself. Tim was probably starting to change into his suit in his room, so you dashed to your bedroom, crawled into bed, and only after you’d ensured the blanket covered your entire body did you pull out your notebook and slip it under your pillow as discreetly as you could, hoping the sheet wouldn’t reveal your hand.

You wouldn’t go to such lengths to hide it if, on the very day you arrived, you hadn’t had a nightmare that sent you tumbling out of bed.

It wasn’t a hard fall—it only left a bruise on your arm—but somehow, Tim found out what happened. You don’t know how—you never told him, and every night he goes out on patrol—so how did he learn?

That’s precisely why you now have to be so careful with the comics and your notebook. Better safe than sorry.

It would be stressful, of course, but nothing would compare to what you went through with the others.

You waited, lying down, now with everything secured, for Tim to walk through the door as he had started doing since you moved in recently

As expected, he didn’t take long to open your bedroom door, wearing his Red Robin suit without the mask… It was strange how this pre‑sleep routine mirrored the night everything changed.

As on the previous nights, he left a glass of water and a communicator device on your bedside table, straightened your sheet for you, and finally looked at you for a few seconds before sitting down beside you, giving you space.

— I’m heading out. You know the drill: if anything happens—even a nightmare—don’t hesitate to use the communicator.

You listened attentively, even if it was the same thing since you arrived here, you nodded, even if you clearly refused to call him, it's not your right to call him... And, as always, he hesitated, wondering if he should stay a bit longer, say something more.

But this time, unlike the other nights, you spoke first.

— Tim, could you start giving me lessons tomorrow? At least a few… — You watched him, fatigue settling in.

Even if you didn’t notice, Tim was excited on the inside—you talked to him, said his name, asked him to teach you. Not one of your teachers, two of which (in his opinion) weren’t great options anyway. You asked him.

— Of course. Yeah, your condition’s a bit better, we can start tomorrow, at whatever time you want, with whatever subject you prefer, okay? — obviously he’d say yes. He’d spent the whole week thinking about different study plans for you. You’d do way better with him than with any teacher.

— Yes, that’s fine. — One less worry. If you could choose, you’d start with something useful for the future. Maybe you’d ask about scholarships or something.

Tim wanted to say more—he had to seize the moment—but he couldn’t. The communicator on his suit buzzed first, and reluctantly he rose from the bed.

— I’m off, sleep well. — He said goodbye, leaving the room, though you knew better than anyone that he wouldn’t go until you were asleep. And that’s exactly what you did.

Dick remembers clearly the day you were born—how could he not? It was the same week he was on a mission in Tamaran, the very week after Jason’s death. And the exact day Avery died.

Of course, he didn’t learn any of this until days later, he wasn’t there for anyone.

The revelation hit him like a bucket of cold water: his younger brother, whose Robin suit he’d given and spent nights training, and the woman who had supported him most when he distanced himself from Bruce—the woman who, since arriving in their lives, had given her all even though there was a wall between her and them.

He sat on the rooftop, gazing out over Gotham’s night skyline. In a few days he’d return to his own city. Shame he wouldn’t be here for you again—because by his own words, you didn’t want him around.

Even from a distance, he could sense Red Robin touching down on the same rooftop; he turned to look, smiling, despite the envy burning within him because the newcomer had been there with you, despite never having held you as a baby like he had, and despite having spent less time in the family—these past weeks Tim had felt more like family to you than him for you.

Tim settled beside him, as if nothing had happened—as if he didn’t have the privilege of being chosen by you.

— It’s alright, her mental health is improving. — Tim spoke before Dick could ask; he already knew what was coming, since the same question came up every night. He understood that someone in Dick’s position would worry about everyone, but hearing the same thing each evening was growing tiresome—it spoiled the comforting feeling of tucking her in. — If you still have doubts, go see her before you head out.

— Does she even want to see me? — Was it worth asking? He already knew the answer. The only person you said you wanted to call was Alfred—maybe a halfhearted greeting to Damian, but him? Nothing.

Tim didn’t answer; he only looked at Dick, unwilling to lie about what Dick truly wanted to hear.

He remembers hearing your laughter...laughing innocently when he finally held you in his arms, so small, so weak. You were born at the worst possible time, not only because of your mother, but also because of the pain Jason left behind.

It hurt even more when Bruce confirmed his worst fear. The words printed on those pages only worsened the tension.

— I honestly thought it was something else… her fainting— he murmured, looking down, his voice tired and defeated.

—And if that were the case? What would you have done? Were you thinking of blaming me? — Since these nightly meetings began, he himself had noticed how Dick sometimes seemed annoyed with him. It wasn't constant, just enough to be noticed, and they were overshadowed by the feeling of guilt.

— I didn’t mean to… you don’t know why—

— Exactly, I don’t know. But it seems every time someone tries to give affection to a the kid, someone steps in.

— It’s for her own good, Tim— Dick’s frustration rose as he looked up at the younger man. — It’s out of our hands.

— If it’s for her good, why don’t you tell me what’s going on? — Tim tried to calm himself; he didn’t want to fight with the one person in the family he seemed to have a stable relationship with—aside from Cass.

—…If I don't tell you, you'll try to find out on your own, won't you? — Dick held back a laugh, pushing down his frustration. He knew that telling the truth was the right thing to do—so many misunderstandings would be cleared up—but it hurt so much to talk about this.

— “Try” is an understatement; I’m going to find out. — Tim replied firmly, crossing his arms. — Your choice how I learn.

Dick just sighed, even though it hurt, telling the truth was the best option.

— Alright. Listen.

Surprisingly, this morning, Tim didn’t pull your hair while brushing it, that’s an improvement.

He hadn't told you anything yesterday about going out for a walk early in the morning—he just brought it up while you were having breakfast. You didn’t really mind going out. Even if the only few times you gone out before were exclusively for shopping. If you ever wanted some fresh air, you'd go to the mansion's garden—sometimes you'd end up at the farm with Damian’s pets. Getting some fresh air away from the new apartment would be nice.

So there you were, walking toward a small children’s park near the apartment. You didn’t feel the same anxiety you did when you left the mansion, but it was still unfamiliar. You’d have to get used to it if you wanted to go out on your own in a few years.

When you arrived, you looked curiously at the different playground equipment you’d only ever seen on TV. You had never seen children who weren’t Damian. You wanted to get closer, but… what would you even do? Your experience with socializing is terribly limited.

— Come on — Tim guided you toward the swings, showing you how to sit. You held tightly to the chains hanging from it. He was about to push you, but stopped, staring at your wrists. — What’s that?

You followed his gaze, realizing what he meant.

— Ah, that was a gift from Damian. — You clarified without much enthusiasm. When you opened the box and saw a bracelet, you hadn’t wanted to wear it. But after one of the calls with Alfred, where he explained to you that the boy with green eyeshad made the bracelet by hand, with some kind of decorative mix between Arabic and Chinese styles, you decided to wear it.

You might not consider Damian a brother, but you knew weaving wasn’t an easy task — even less for someone just learning, and especially when it had custom decorative motifs. So you ended up wearing the bracelet mostly out of respect.

You could tell Tim looked irritated — the same annoyed face he made when you mentioned wanting to have classes with your regular teachers instead of him. But just as he was about to say something, his phone rang. Tim sighed, now even more frustrated by the interruption.

— Stay here, I’ll be right back.

You stayed put, obediently, swinging your feet in the air. You weren’t planning to move — your fear of inexperience was bigger than your curiosity to keep exploring. Still, you turned your eyes toward the other kids running around...

Some of them were with their parents. You thought you heard a few calling out to their siblings.

Will you ever have something like that?

— Ouch! — your knees hit the ground of the park, scraping a little. You looked back to see who had pushed you off the swing, finding two kids.

— Move! If you’re not gonna use the swings, then leave. — the smaller one yelled at you, annoyed. You got up from the ground calmly — at least this kid was yelling at you over the swings and not because of Avery’s death.

— You could’ve just told me, there was no need to push me — you said to them, looking at both with a bit of determination. You didn’t know how to socialize with other kids, but you did know how to deal with people who bothered you.

— No! This is more fun — one of the boys went around the swing and came closer to you, clearly not with good intentions. You were ready to defend yourself, just like Damian had once taught you. But the boy stopped, staring past you, terrified.

You turned to look, and found a blonde woman with a serious gaze, aimed straight at the boy. It gave you chills...

— …Leave — it was a dry, direct word, but intimidating enough that both boys ran off. Even the other kids still on the swings, who had nothing to do with it, also left. You were the only one who stayed, frozen, unsure of what to do. Until you gathered the courage and looked up.

— Thank you very much… miss… — you might not be a Wayne by blood, but being polite was already something ingrained in you.

— Maria — she finished the sentence, her tone softening a little for you. She looked around, noticing there was no one else. — Are you alone?

— No, ma’am — polite, yes, but you weren’t stupid either. You weren’t going to tell her you were alone. You looked back and saw Tim still on that call, but his eyes were fixed on the two of you. He looked away now and then, clearly still upset. — I came with… him.

— Is he your brother? — Maria asked. You fell silent. Saying yes would be safer, but ever since, thanks to Bruce, you finally got used to not calling them family, the words got stuck in your throat.

She noticed your silence, but didn’t say anything else — she just crouched down to your level, pulled a handkerchief from her pants pocket, and cleaned your scraped knees. You watched the fabric get stained a little with your blood...

Blood...

Your chest tightened — the image from the comic came back to your mind.

— Miss Maria… — you stammered, feeling the air slowly leaving you. She looked at you, noticing your frightened state. — Do you have something I can squeeze?

She looked at you, confused. She noticed how you seemed on the verge of a panic attack. She wasn’t an expert, but she had seen them a few times before. She did as you asked and tried to find something while the dirty cloth slipped from her hands. She tried to think of anything, but she didn’t have much on her.

— Umm… I don’t have anything… — she looked around, searching for something. Your breathing sped up more and more. You tried to calm it down — inhale, exhale, repeat. You looked at Maria — you wanted her to calm you down before Tim noticed.

You also tried to look for something. You watched Maria’s hands move, and on reflex, you grabbed them and squeezed.

Maria was surprised. She looked down at how your small hands were holding hers, gripping tightly while you practiced a breathing exercise she didn’t recognize. Slowly, her eyes moved up to yours.

Oh, your eyes…

You calmed down — you managed to calm down. The bloody cloth was out of your line of sight, and now that you were fully back in your senses, you felt embarrassed. You were holding the hands of a complete stranger.

— I’m really sorry. — You let go of her hands as quickly as you could, apologizing, flustered. Maria, however, was still looking into your eyes. — Yeah, of course… I…

— What's going on? — Tim suddenly appeared at her side, his phone still on call, ringing only

— Ah, Tim, this is Maria, she was helping me with– You tried to explain quickly. You didn’t want more trouble, but she stood up, picking up the dirty cloth from the ground before you could say more.

—Take care, kid — she said goodbye, without looking at Tim, leaving the two of you alone.

You went back to the swing. Tim didn’t even say goodbye to whoever he’d been on the phone with — he just hung up and came over to you, crouching to your level and checking if you were okay.

Was it just your imagination, or did Maria put the cloth into her pants pocket?

I almost didn't make it to upload this, folks, but surprisingly — for being the chapter I wrote in the biggest rush (to the point it’s not even well edited in its original language) — it’s the one I’m most satisfied with so far. Since chapter one, no other chapter had felt this satisfying to me.

For those who didn’t see the post: I had to delay this chapter’s release to today because the past few weeks have been rough. I'm praying the next ones will be easier. The idea of going on hiatus is still on my mind, but I feel like some things are clearer now, and that’s making me question whether I should go through with it.

I don’t know if it was noticeable, but from now on, the chapters will be a bit longer. Normally, my writing limit was five pages to keep the pacing between chapters steady, but starting from the last one, the rhythm has shifted to seven or eight pages — and it’ll probably stay that way.

Anyway, as always, your comments and hearts are truly appreciated! :D

Taglist (1/3)

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[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

„Conversion therapy“ (attempts to forcefully change someone’s sexual orientation or gender identity) isn’t therapy at all - it’s torture. 

It’s emotional and mental abuse, and in some cases includes physical abuse as well. It causes lasting trauma and immense harm to mental health. It greatly increases the risk of suicide. It’s also proven to not work. You can not change anyone’s identity. You can just scare and traumatize them into hiding or denying it. 

You probably already know all that. But what to do if you suspect that someone (your partner, a friend or even you yourself) may be at risk of it? 

Conversion therapy isn’t always announced as such. It‘s often sugar-coated, especially if done in a religious setting. They may use phrases like: 

„Values-based therapy“

„Christian counselors“ 

„Faith-based healing“ 

„Prayer therapy“ 

If you’re suspicious that a program your parents, someone at church etc. is pushing you to attend is actually conversion therapy, some possible safety precautions you can take are: 

Know your rights. Conversion therapy is illegal in some places. 

Document everything if you safely can. Save any texts, emails, letters etc. Take notes of any warning signs or threats. If you need legal help later, this can be crucial.

Tell safe adults (who are uninvolved in the situation) about your concerns. This could for example be a social worker, teacher or librarian if nobody in your family feels safe. 

If there are no safe adults you know in person, try to reach out to lgbt+ safety hotlines in your country.

If physical force or „kidnapping“ is a concern, avoid being alone. Stay in public spaces when outside and stay in contact with friends when home. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[fellthemarvelous]

This is why I was so scared to ask about getting tested for autism for so long. My therapist flat out asked me what it would do for me to get that diagnosis and I was like..."it would answer a lot of questions actually" and then we never mentioned it again.

I got lucky though. I found a psychiatrist who actually listened to me. I told her how I felt like I was different and no one took me seriously, no one listened to me. She did listen to me. She did get me a referral for autism testing.

That made all the difference for me. I received an autism diagnosis (at the age of 43) and it changed my life. Not in the sense that it made my life easier, but I understood who I was, and I've been able to enjoy that sort of relief because she chose to listen to me and chose to help me when I was asking for help. Getting that diagnosis helped me find other people like me, helped me see that I wasn't actually weird or even alone because it turns out that everything I've experienced in life has been so common for so many autistic people.

If she had not listened to me, I would still be struggling with my identity to this day, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I already suspected autism, but being allowed to receive that confirmation made me feel validated. My life finally started making sense to me for the first time EVER. And everyone should be given the dignity of understanding and knowing the truth about themselves.

a while ago i attended this lecture on autism. guy in the audience said he had many of the symptoms that were presented and asked what should he do to get treatment and possibly a diagnosis. instead of answering his question the psychologist went on a tangent about how “the clinic reigns all powerful over guesswork”, and how actually it has become a trend amongst little children on the internet to claim that they are autistic for cool points, and that this hurts real autistic people. no she didn’t tell him how to get his symptoms looked into, she just made it very clear that to her, aknowledging your own symptoms is bad and evil and hurts the poor real mentally ill people.

an ex-friend of mine, then a psychology major and by now probably a full psychologist, once lectured me on how horrible and bad it was that i told her “i probably have some sort of neurodivergency”, and that if i were her patient she would never give me a diagnosis because “you aren’t like this now, but i know that if you get a diagnosis you’ll use it as an excuse to start treating people badly. that’s just how mentally ill people are.”

same ex-friend was extremely disgusted when she found out that fans sometimes make neurodivergency headcanons for characters that have the same symptoms as they do, and that authors sometimes write books with neurodivergent protagonists in stories that don’t focus on that (ex: she seemed horrified that percy jackson has adhd?)

multiple psychologists i’ve seen on facebook agree that they should refuse to treat patients that say “i’m here because i have symptoms of a disorder and wonder if i have it”, and that a patient should arrive to a psychologist as a blank slate.

school psychologist asked me how i was feeling about my trauma situation and i told him i thought my friends would leave me. instead of addressing the issue he said that that no i didn’t, that i was lying, that i had searched “bpd symptoms” online and now i was faking symptoms because i wanted to have bpd, that he shouldn’t have told me he suspected i had a personality disorder because now look what was happening. no, i didn’t search bpd symptoms online. yes, my friends left me, it was a completely founded belief and not a symptom, let alone a faked symptom.

so the next time you hear someone saying they’re “anti self-diagnosis” i want you to understand what they’re saying. what they’re saying is:

- i don’t want people to be aware of their own symptoms

- i don’t think my patients should have access to any information that doesn’t come from me

- i don’t think neurodivergent people should learn how to cope with their symptoms and live “normal” lives

- i think neurodivergent people should be denied a diagnosis because the moment they get one they will become evil and dangerous

- i don’t think people who don’t look like a stereotype could possibly be neurodivergent, even if they have all the symptoms, so i think they are faking it for attention and should be denied treatment

[k-a-n65]

Shattered Vows

Clark Kent (2025) x Reader

Next Part

Summary: When Lex Luthor traps Superman in a kryptonite-laced prison, he exploits a hidden connection—an ordinary woman who once helped him to his feet. She becomes the perfect bait. But when she falls, everything Clark Kent thought he could endure shatters. (3.3k)

Warnings: Death, Angst, Major Character Death, Lex Luthor is an Ass, Depressed Clark, CoWorkers to Lovers, ending can be interpreted in any way you want, Clark Kent really cannot catch a break

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The glass glistened with that green-tinted glow that made Clark Kent—no, Superman—convulse on the cell floor. The glow wasn’t just from the walls. It was from him—from Metamorpho, his twisted, unwilling jailer.

Lex Luthor stood just beyond the reinforced barrier, smirking like a child pulling wings off a butterfly. And in front of him—on a precariously floating, narrow platform suspended over nothingness—stood you.

You were bruised, shaking, and barefoot. A single spotlight cast you in a surreal glow, your arms bound behind your back, your hair a mess of tangles and dust. But your eyes—your eyes found Clark’s even through the thick, humming glass, even past the blur of his pain.

Lex raised the revolver.

“Round two,” he purred.

Clark’s body jerked on the floor again. Kryptonite radiation pulsed from Metamorpho’s extended hand, twisted into a grotesque sculpture of shimmering, sickening green crystal. Clark couldn’t even kneel. He could barely breathe.

“No! Stop!” he wheezed, blood on his teeth.

You didn’t even flinch as the barrel was pressed to your temple.

“To everyone else she’s no one,” Lex said, cocking the hammer casually. “But I saw her help you up after that explosion in Metropolis last fall. Ran to you when the dust hadn’t even settled. There’s something there. Maybe just a bleeding heart civilian. But something. So let’s test it.”

You didn’t blink. You didn’t beg.

Instead, you spoke. Calmly. Quietly. And with the kind of conviction that cracked through Clark’s bones deeper than the Kryptonite ever could.

“Don’t tell him anything.”

He could barely lift his head. But he still managed to rasp, “Please don’t hurt her—”

“Don’t you dare,” you interrupted, glaring at him, not at Lex. “If you say anything, you know what he’ll do. It won’t stop.”

Luthor’s smile curled wider. “Feisty. I like that. Adds stakes.”

Click.

Empty chamber.

Clark choked on the rush of relief—but it was brief. Too brief.

Lex spun the chamber again. Raised the gun. Leaned in. “Say it. Just one answer. Who raised you? Who protected you?”

“No,” you whispered.

“Don’t.”

Then—

BANG.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It had started with coffee.

Clark always got in early—before Lois, before Perry, before the rush of phones ringing and heels clattering across the Daily Planet’s marble floors. He said it helped him think. That it gave him a chance to read the morning papers in peace before the city screamed to life.

But you were always already there.

Not because you loved early mornings. God, no. You were not that kind of person. But you were new. A fresh hire. Low on the totem pole. Which meant coffee runs, mail sorting, double-checking appointment schedules, and doing your best not to get swallowed by the whirlwind of real journalists and real stories.

Your third day, you spilled half a tray of lattes all over Clark Kent’s chest.

You gasped. Nearly dropped the rest. His dress shirt bloomed with deep brown splashes, and you stammered every apology you could find in your panic-stricken brain.

But Clark… he just looked down, blinked, and then smiled like you’d handed him a flower.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice gentle and low. “I never liked this shirt anyway.”

You didn’t know it then, but you fell a little bit in love with him that moment.

After that, things changed.

He started showing up earlier. Not just early—your kind of early. Right as the lights buzzed on and the Planet’s silence still held. Sometimes he’d beat you to the coffee machine and hand you a cup without asking how you took it—because he already knew.

He carried trays with you when the order was too big for your arms. Walked you to the elevator. Helped you with the mail even though it wasn’t his job.

He never asked for anything in return.

He’d just smile—that soft, lopsided smile—and ask how your day was. Or if you’d read the story Lois wrote about the mayor. Or if you were adjusting okay.

You found yourself talking more. Laughing. Leaning toward him like your heart was trying to sneak out before your mouth caught up.

You liked him before you knew what he was. Before you noticed the way he always disappeared during big disasters. Before you saw the flash of red and blue in the corner of your eye when the newsroom screens filled with chaos and capes.

You liked Clark.

You loved him before he ever told you the truth.

The night he did—nervous, sweaty, glasses off and vulnerability hanging around him like a second cape—you didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You didn’t flinch when he said the name “Superman” like it was a curse, like it might scare you away.

Instead, you reached for his hand.

“I know.”

And you did. Somewhere deep down, you always had.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The bullet tore through your skull with a sickening pop that echoed in the pocket dimension like a firecracker in a cathedral.

Your body snapped backwards from the force and teetered—then toppled off the edge of the platform.

Clark screamed.

It wasn’t human. It was something raw and wounded and broken. A primal noise that came from a throat scorched by Kryptonite and a heart that had just been shattered like crystal under a boot.

“NO!”

He dragged himself toward the glass, fingers leaving bloody streaks across the floor. Metamorpho flinched but held position, face twisted in sorrow even as his arm remained extended. He wasn’t doing this by choice. Lex had made sure of that.

“Didn’t even make it to round five,” Lex sighed. “Shame. I was hoping to see how far you’d bend. Oh well.”

Clark’s fists slammed uselessly against the floor. He couldn’t fly. He couldn’t lift. He couldn’t even see where you’d fallen. The abyss had no bottom. Only darkness.

Only absence.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The screen door creaked behind you as Clark stepped out onto the porch, his hand warm against the small of your back. Sunlight stretched long over the fields, painting the world in amber. The air smelled like corn husks and something sweet—pie, maybe—wafting from the open windows.

You tried not to fidget.

Clark must’ve felt it, because his thumb brushed a slow, steady circle into your spine. “You okay?”

You smiled, a little stiff. “Just trying not to make a fool of myself in front of the people who raised Superman.”

He laughed softly, the kind that made your heart skip. “They’re just Ma and Pa. Trust me, you’ve already won them over.”

“You said that, but all I’ve done so far is nervously compliment your mom’s doorknob.”

Clark grinned, eyes sparkling. “It is a very polite doorknob.”

Before you could respond, the door swung open again.

“Clark Joseph Kent, are you planning to keep her out here all day like a porch cat, or are you going to let her come in and eat?”

Martha Kent stood with a flour-dusted apron and hands on her hips, but her eyes were kind. Warm. The same kind of kind that made you forget your nerves for a second.

“I—I’m sorry, ma’am,” you said quickly, stepping forward.

“Oh, don’t you dare call me ma’am. I’m Martha. And you must be the one who finally taught my boy how to smile without tripping over his own feet.”

You blinked. “That obvious?”

Jonathan Kent appeared beside her, taller than you expected, quiet eyes that studied without judging. He offered you a hand, firm and sure.

“Heard a lot about you,” he said simply. “Welcome to the farm.”

Inside, the kitchen was cozy, worn in the way that only a lived-in home could be. There were faded curtains and photos on the fridge. A crack in the tile near the sink that looked like it had a story behind it. And in the middle of the table, a lattice-top apple pie still steaming.

As you sat, Martha was already serving generous slices, scolding Clark for trying to steal a bite early, and asking you about the Planet, your hometown, your favorite kind of pie—all in one breath.

And you answered. You laughed. The nerves faded, slow but sure, under the glow of this place.

Clark watched you from across the table, chin in his hand, eyes soft. Barely listening to the words anymore.

He saw you wiping pie crust off your lips and laughing at one of Pa’s dry remarks. Saw you cradling the mug of cider like it was the most comforting thing you’d ever held. Saw the sunlight hit your hair and catch in your smile.

He didn’t know the exact moment it happened.

Only that it did.

Right there, somewhere between your second helping of pie and the way you reached over to nudge his hand without even thinking.

He knew.

He wanted to marry you.

Not someday. Not maybe. Not when the world was finally safe or when his double life quieted down.

Now.

He wanted to wake up beside you on mornings like this. To bring you here every fall. To have you part of these quiet afternoons that made him feel whole.

His mother noticed the way he was looking at you. She always did.

And when you went to help her in the kitchen, she gave him a smirk over your shoulder.

“Well,” she said under her breath, “I hope you bought that ring.”

Clark’s ears turned red.

But his smile didn’t fade.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Something cracked.

Not the glass.

Him.

Clark’s body stopped convulsing. The violent tremors ceased, replaced by an eerie stillness. His breathing—shallow and ragged moments before—slowed to deliberate, pained gasps. His face was pale, slick with sweat and blood, but his eyes… His eyes were fixed on Metamorpho.

Not with anger. Not with blame. But with something ancient and terrible and holy: resolve.

“Get rid of it,” he rasped. His voice was low, raw, graveled by pain. “Please.”

The metahuman was shaking, his crystalline arm still glowing green, a tortured conduit for the Kryptonite poisoning Clark from the inside out. Tears clung to the corners of Metamorpho’s eyes. 

“You don’t know what he’s capable of—”

“I do.” Clark’s voice broke. His fist clenched weakly against the floor. “I just watched him put a bullet through the woman I love. I do.”

The cell crackled with tension. Green light shimmered around them like smoke.

Clark’s body was failing. The Kryptonite was leeching everything from him—his strength, his breath, his soul.

But he still looked Metamorpho in the eye and said, “You have to trust me. Get rid of it.”

Metamorpho’s lip quivered. He looked past the cell, to where his baby boy squirmed inside the transparent pod—eyes closed, unaware of the danger.

Then—he made his choice.

With a roar of pain and effort, he shifted. His arm changed, the green crystal retracting, melting, reshaping into neutral matter. The radiation vanished.

Clark collapsed fully, coughing, unable to move. Still too weak. Still poisoned.

“No, no, no!” Metamorpho gasped, panic rising. “You said—you said you’d be able to—!”

“Yellow sun,” Clark whispered, eyes fluttering, “make a sun.”

“What?”

“A sun. I just need… sunlight.”

Metamorpho’s eyes widened. Then he closed them—and changed.

The chemicals in his blood twisted. The minerals under his skin liquefied and recombined. His arm reformed—not into Kryptonite this time, but into a burning orb of concentrated solar radiation. It hovered above his palm like a miniature sun—bright, golden, warm.

Clark inhaled like it was oxygen.

The effect was slow, but unstoppable. His skin regained color. His breathing steadied. His pulse surged. Light kissed his face and lit the furnace behind his ribs. His body, wrecked and broken, began to knit itself back together at the molecular level.

Then he stood. And the glass shattered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was supposed to be perfect.

Clark had timed the sunset down to the second. The city skyline glittered beneath a soft purple haze, the wind just enough to tousle your hair in that movie-moment kind of way. He had chosen the rooftop carefully—not too high, not too flashy. Just… quiet. Private. Yours.

The ring box was in his coat pocket. He kept tapping it like he thought it might disappear. His speech? Rehearsed a hundred times, under his breath, in front of the mirror, even once while flying halfway across the hemisphere to clear his head.

But things didn’t go as planned.

First, the elevator broke.

Then, the light drizzle that the forecast promised wouldn’t happen… happened. And not a cute drizzle either. It was an angry, sideways rain that came in fast and cold.

Then—you tripped on a loose tile and face-planted into his chest, laughing so hard you snorted.

And by the time you both scrambled under the overhang, soaked and breathless, Clark realized… there was no recovering the “perfect moment.”

You were wiping water from your face with your sleeve, your nose red, your makeup smudged, your hair clinging to your cheek like ivy.

And he had never seen you more beautiful.

“Okay,” you huffed, laughing, “you dragged me up here, wouldn’t tell me why, and now it’s raining horizontally. Was this some kind of weather report field trip?”

Clark opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed, pulling the box out with hands still trembling.

You froze. Your breath hitched.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he admitted, voice low, barely audible over the rain. “I had this whole thing planned. I was going to say the right words. Give you this long speech about how the moment I met you, my whole world shifted. How every time you say my name, it’s like I remember who I am. And how—I’m not Superman without you.”

Your eyes welled up.

“I was going to tell you how scared I was to let you in. How scared I still am sometimes,” he said, stepping closer, raindrops trailing down his neck. “But how I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant I got to come home to you.”

He dropped to one knee in a puddle, laughing at himself and shaking his head. “God, this is not how I pictured this.”

You dropped to your knees in front of him before he could even finish opening the box, cupping his soaked face in your hands.

“I don’t care if it’s raining,” you whispered, tears and raindrops indistinguishable now. “I don’t care if you say a single word. I’ve known I was going to say yes since you offered to carry my tray of coffee three years ago.”

Clark’s breath caught. He blinked, stunned.

“You… yes?”

You kissed him, hard and messy and full of laughter.

“Yes.”

He laughed into your mouth, the kind of laugh that sounded like joy breaking open. He didn’t even remember slipping the ring onto your finger—only that it fit, and your hand was in his, and nothing else mattered.

Rain poured down on both of you, but the world had never felt warmer.

Not perfect.

Just real.

And somehow, even better.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The first thing Clark registered was the ticking of the old wall clock.

Then the creak of the floorboards outside his room. The soft rustle of leaves brushing against the farmhouse window.

And then—pain. Not sharp, not hot—just heavy. Everywhere. Like his bones were lead and his skin still hummed with leftover radiation. Kryptonite always left a stain, even after it was gone.

He opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the familiar ceiling—the one he used to fall asleep under as a boy after too much pie or too much homework.

The bedroom hadn’t changed. Same faded wallpaper. Same shelf of high school trophies he’d never cared about. Same hand-stitched quilt his mom had made years ago.

But he had changed. And everything else had, too.

You were gone.

That truth hit like a tidal wave.

Clark sat up fast—too fast. The world tilted. His vision blurred. His hands gripped the quilt like it could anchor him to the present. But the image of you falling—the sound of the gunshot—the silence that followed—it all came rushing back.

“No—” he whispered, his breath catching. “No, no, no, no—”

He folded forward, elbows on his knees, chest heaving.

He’d failed.

He’d promised you—he’d promised everyone—that no one would ever die because of him again.

But you were gone. Because of him. Because of what he was. Because someone used his heart against him—and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t save you.

Tears burned hot behind his eyes, and he let them fall, too tired to hold them back.

The door creaked open softly.

“Clark?”

Martha’s voice.

Soft. Tired. Like she’d been crying too.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

She came to him quietly, like she always had. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just put her hand on his back and rubbed slow circles.

Like he was five again, after a nightmare.

Like he hadn’t just come back from the edge of hell.

“You’re safe now,” she whispered.

“I wasn’t fast enough,” he rasped, the words breaking as they came out. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t move. She—Mom, she died because of me.”

Martha didn’t correct him. Didn’t offer empty hope or try to rationalize what couldn’t be fixed.

She just reached up and cupped his face with one gentle hand, guiding his gaze to hers.

Her eyes were glassy but steady. Strong.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured. “The world asks so much of you. Too much. And you give all of it, every time. But you’re still human where it counts. You loved her. And you lost her. And that’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve stopped it,” he whispered. “I should’ve—”

“You did everything you could.”

He shook his head, but she pressed her forehead gently to his.

“You loved her enough to break yourself trying. And I know she knew that.”

Clark’s shoulders trembled. His breath hitched again. She wrapped her arms around him, and he collapsed into them like a boy—not a god, not a symbol, not a savior.

Just a son.

Just a man grieving the woman he wanted to spend his life with.

Martha held him as the sun rose, her heartbeat slow and steady against his ear.

The world would demand more of him tomorrow.

But for now—just for now—he was allowed to break..

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The hum of machines was the only sound in the chamber.

Not voices. Not alarms. Just the steady beep of vitals. The hiss of ventilators. The occasional flicker of overhead lights straining against the weight of secrecy.

The room was cold. Sterile. Buried beneath meters of reinforced steel and redacted blueprints.

Two figures moved around the pod in silence. Clad in gray uniforms, their faces masked and unmarked, they worked with precision—syringes, data pads, gene scanners. Their movements were practiced. Familiar. Loyal.

Inside the containment pod lay a figure.

Unconscious. Drifting.

Wrapped in soft restraints, medical leads tracing every heartbeat, every neural flicker. Breathing shallow, but steady. Skin pale. Lips faintly blue. Clothes replaced with hospital-grade fabric.

Hair still damp.

Still dusted with ash.

Still stained with blood.

“Recovery is ahead of projections,” one technician noted flatly, voice synthesized and low. “Spinal damage appears to be resolving under cellular regeneration. No neurological collapse detected.”

“She should be dead,” the other murmured, staring at the bruises blooming like ink beneath the skin. “The fall should’ve been fatal.”

“But it wasn’t.”

A moment passed. One of them entered a new sequence into the console. On the monitor above the pod, vitals shifted. Slightly. But unmistakably.

A spike.

“Did you see that?”

Another beep. Louder this time.

Then a shiver.

The body in the pod jerked—just once. Barely noticeable.

A finger twitched. A knee shifted.

“She’s waking up,” one said.

“No,” the other replied. “Not yet. She’s still… somewhere else.”

The lights above dimmed as the equipment recalibrated to the surge.

The screen flashed:

SUBJECT 17 — STATUS: UNSTABLE

ORIGIN: VOID RECOVERY POINT 03A

GENETIC MATCH — UNKNOWN MUTATION PATTERN

PROJECT: REVENANT CONTINGENCY

“Luthor may be gone,” the first technician said, closing the pod’s seal. “But the work continues.”

They stepped back. The figure inside stirred again—this time more violently. A heartbeat jumped. Eyes almost opened.

But didn’t.

The lights flickered once.

And the room went still.

[saltyjoy]

Late Night Love

Bob Reynolds x Female Reader

Summary: You never really interacted with Bob before, but then you started "3 AM Baking." Every other night you'd join him during the ungodly hour to meet up and do anything you two wanted, completely undisturbed. Sure, maybe he didn't talk to you outside of that time period, but that was okay. Just as you thought you had cemented your routine together he started acted weird. He'd casually lean on you, hold your hand, and act as if you were dating in front of the team. However that can't be the case. Right?

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings/Tags: Kinda secret dating, Also kinda not, You'll understand once you read it, Reader is in denial, Reader is kinda introverted, Reader's backstory is kept vague

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this! I really want to get better at writing Bob's character. Hopefully this is to your guys' liking :D

You weren’t the most social person on the team. That being said, you did try. These past couple of weeks for you have been chaotic, between almost getting incinerated, fighting the Void, and becoming a part of the “New Avengers.”

It was a lot.

You had no previous connections with anybody on the team. Sure, you knew of them, but you didn’t know them. This led to you feeling a sort of disconnect with the team. These people were already used to this world, something you were not. 

You didn’t take a serum, weren’t raised as a child assassin, none of that. You were just a good fighter. One thing the team bonded over was their shared trauma, experiences you'd never be able to truly relate to.

It was lonely, but it wasn’t exactly something you could change (or want to change). As a result of this disconnect, you’d try to avoid the bigger group hangouts. You’d attend them occasionally, of course, but you would limit your time there. 

It was only when Yelena started talking to you that you warmed up to them. She seemed to understand your hesitance to join in and welcomed you with open arms.

Over time, the group slowly warmed up to you, and you all established some sort of connection. Everything was going smoothly. However, that took months to build up to.

Even though you were now comfortable with the Avengers (or Thunderbolts, as Alexei likes to insist on), there were still some things you preferred doing alone, such as baking. This may not be an issue, but there was always somebody out in the common area or kitchen doing something. As a result, you’d be up at ungodly hours, whisking away.

It wasn’t necessarily a routine, you wouldn’t describe it like that. It was more of a regular comfort hobby. You’d spend a couple of nights throughout the week baking in the kitchen, sometimes more. You had quickly learned that having super soldiers on the team meant that they ate everything, so you can imagine your shock at seeing the cake pops you made last night all gone by the next day. You had made a lot.

Truthfully, while you did sometimes want to eat your own sweets, you didn’t mind the team eating them. It made you glad that they enjoyed it, so you continued this routine even months after joining the team. 

Typically, you didn’t have many visitors whenever you baked; most of the team was either in their rooms or asleep. It was rare that you ever ran into somebody when baking at that team. Most of the time, they’d either greet you, still half-asleep, or stay to get the first taste before the treat inevitably disappeared the next day.

Most of the time, it was Yelena, Ava, and sometimes even Bucky (which was surprising at first, but you quickly got used to it). 

However, there was one time it wasn’t.

-

You want cookies. 

You had a craving for cookies throughout the week that just couldn’t be satisfied. This led to you baking at three in the morning. You didn’t want anything too fancy, just a classic chocolate chip cookie. 

You grab the butter and eggs from the fridge before going to grab the dry ingredients. You turned on some soft music, hoping that it was quiet enough that nobody would hear. You figured the rooms were soundproof, but you never found out for sure. 

You whisked the wet ingredients together, humming the song to yourself. You slowly sift in the dry ingredients, only stopping once you hear a door open. Damn, was the music that loud?

You pause the music and your mixing, glancing up to see who has joined you. You see Bob walk out from the hallway. 

You try to mask your surprise, for you hadn’t seen Bob during one of these sessions before. You didn’t know him very well either, but he’s never been mean or rude to you at all. Most of the time, he’s just distantly polite and quiet with you. Since you can be pretty quiet around new people, you didn’t ever really talk to him.

“Oh, hey,” you smile at him, “sorry, did the music disturb you?” You ask, walking to the sink to wash your hands. 

He blinks at you, eyes falling to the mixing bowl you stood by. “No,” he begins, his voice low. “It’s fine.” 

You nod, “Alright, let me know if it’s disturbing you.” You shrug, going back to mixing. He stands there for a bit, almost as if he’s unsure what to do with himself. 

You add the chocolate chips into the dough, folding them into it. You glance over, noticing that Bob is hovering near the exit. Perhaps he can’t sleep?

“Did you want some?” 

He startles, turning towards you, “Sorry, what?”

“Cookies,” you gesture to the cookie dough, “they’re, uh, chocolate chip.” He pauses, looking at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but based on that fact alone, you feel as if he’s going to decline. You don’t mind, you aren’t offended—

“Sure.” He responds, walking over slowly.

Your mouth parts in shock, but you quickly recover. You weren’t sure if he wanted to continue the conversation, but seeing as he was willing to sit with you and eat cookies, you figured he wanted a distraction.

“I had a craving for chocolate chip cookies earlier,” you ramble, “after Alexei finished the brownies from yesterday, I thought I would make some cookies to satisfy that craving.” You roll some of the dough before placing it on the baking tray. 

“They’ll be done in like twelve minutes.” You decide to sit down. 

“Oh,” he nods, looking at the oven, “okay.”

You smile at him, trying to channel every bit of Yelena that you can think of. He likes Yelena. “You like cookies or brownies?” 

He nods, avoiding eye contact, “Yeah.”

You smile, “Me too, maybe I can make you some in the future? Save you some before the stampede of super soldiers raids the kitchen.” 

He cracks a small smile, but it’s short-lived. 

You tap your fingers against the counter, betraying how anxious you feel about the situation. Do you ask if he’s okay? Is that a question you should avoid with him? Should you keep trying to distract him?

“Do they do that often?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Uh,” you snap yourself out of your reverie, “oh yeah, all the time.” You exhale amused. “There was this one time I caught Ava taking a few cupcakes into her room. She said that she wanted to have some before John or Alexei decide to eat all of them. I’ve heard them set alarms so that when I’m done baking, they’ll be notified.” You lean against the counter. “You can imagine my surprise at seeing a mini army of super soldiers lined up in the kitchen at four in the morning.” You smile at him.

You can see his lips turn up in amusement slightly, “I can imagine. Sounds horrifying.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “now picture their reaction when I tell them that Yelena beat them.” He laughs along with you.

Somehow, despite the fact that you were doing this all to try and make him laugh, you didn’t actually think he would. You feel pride in your chest knowing that at least you are a little bit funny. 

Once your cookies are pulled out of the oven, you let them rest for a bit. After a little bit, you grab one, offering it to him. He takes a bite, eyes widening in surprise.

You raise an eyebrow, “Didn’t think they’d be good?”

He immediately looks frantic, “No, I just… I thought that…” You laugh as he desperately attempts to come up with an explanation.

“I’m joking. It’s okay. They’re good?” You ask, smiling.

He slowly returns your smile, “Yeah, they’re good.”

-

That was the first instance where you ran into him in the kitchen. To your surprise, it wasn’t the only time. He came back again, again, and again. 

Each time it happened, he opened up more and more. As a result, you also began opening up more and more. 

You aren’t even sure when you gave it the name “3 AM Baking.” It wasn’t always at three, but the name stuck. By this point, it wasn’t even baking most of the time. Occasionally, you did, but it had become a time where you two could just hang out without being disturbed, something you both appreciated. 

You always liked spending time with him. Additionally, it almost felt thrilling sneaking around knowing there were literal spies on the team. Nobody knew that you two would have your little hangout sessions. You didn’t necessarily care if it was a secret or not. Sure, you enjoyed being able to spend time with only him, but you wouldn’t mind if somebody like Yelena joined in. He never mentioned it outside of the designated period, though, so you kept it between you two.

Occasionally, you’d pass by him just to confirm that you’d hang out that night, but other than that, there was no mention of these rendezvous anywhere else. 

You never thought to question it when you two first started hanging out in your room.

After the first time it happened, he started coming to your room on nights even when you didn’t plan 3 AM Baking. His reasons would vary depending on the day. Some days, he just wanted to not be alone, but other days, he'd have something to tell you. 

The worst days were the ones when he would awake from a nightmare. He’d come in, silent. There used to be a time where him being quiet was normal, but by this point, he’d become comfortable enough with you to engage in conversation. You could always tell when he’d awake from a nightmare. His eyes would never look at you, but through you. You’d invite him to your bed, where he’d sit down. 

You grab his hand, slowly grabbing it as if testing to see if he’s okay with it. He doesn’t remove his hand from your grasp, so you take both of his hands, squeezing gently. “Nightmare?” You ask softly.

He nods slowly, not saying anything.

“Wanna talk about it?” You rub circles over his hands. He shakes his head immediately. “Alright, want me to talk?” You offer.

To your surprise, he shakes his head. Usually, he recovers from nightmares by letting you distract him with your rambling.

“Just wanna be with you.” He says. His words were quiet, but you feel as if they were the loudest thing you’ve ever heard. Your hands pause before you raise them up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. He leans into your touch, and you let him. 

You hesitate slightly before raising your other hand, raking your fingers through his hair gently. You hear him exhale slowly, physically leaning onto you. You smile, continuing the motion. The longer you do it, the more comfortable he gets with pushing himself closer to you.

That night, he fell asleep on your lap, looking untroubled by the nightmares that previously haunted him. You continued to rake your hands through his hair for a bit before eventually dozing off. 

Ever since that night, he’d come to your room whenever he was stressed. It became normal for you. Whenever he had a nightmare or had a rough day, he’d walk into your room, knocking softly. You’d smile at him, and he’d immediately lie down, head on your lap, letting you work your magic.

As he grew more comfortable, he’d start initiating physical touch in any scenario. You could be sitting on the couch together, watching a movie during 3 AM Baking, and he’d lean onto you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, laughing.

He looks at you innocently, “Leaning on you?”

You smile at him, one eyebrow raised, “I can see that. Any particular reason?”

His next words make your heart skip a beat, “I don’t want to only associate your touch with pushing away the Void.” He frowns slightly before smiling again. “I want to be able to associate it with your happiness too.” You had been so stunned by such raw words that you couldn’t even form a response. Instead, you moved yourself just a little closer to him that night. 

After all of that, you didn’t even begin to think of how odd the situation may have looked to anybody who wasn’t you two. This was your new normal.

Then you remembered that no, it was not in fact normal to anybody else.

The team had been relaxed on the couch, and they had put a movie on. You walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water when Yelena calls your name. “Do you wanna join us?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet her own. “Oh, sure.” You respond casually. You’d grown comfortable enough to hang out with the team by this point.

You end up taking a seat on the couch where you and Bob usually spend your own secret movie nights, settling into your usual position. You knew that watching movies with the team was always funny. Most of the time, by the end of the movie, nobody is truly watching it anymore. Somebody usually says a comment that gets another person heated, thus causing a debate to last the rest of the night. You had never wanted to get in the middle of it (Yelena could be harsh), but you always found joy listening from the safety of the couch.

About halfway through, Bob happens to walk by. 

“Oh, Bob,” Yelena looks over the couch to him, “do you wanna join us?”

Bob looks hesitant to say yes, but then you make eye contact. You can see his eyebrows raise. “Uh, yeah, okay.” He slowly makes his way over, Yelena moving over to make space for him. 

Then he decides to insert himself right next to you.  

You feel your brain pause for a moment, and you see Yelena’s brain pause too. Bob was similar to you in the way that he’d look with one person in bigger crowds, trailing behind them. For him, Yelena was that person. The more unfamiliar faces, the closer he’d stick to her. You understood why, after all, she grounded him during the whole Void incident, it makes sense that he finds comfort in his presence.

So you can understand her bewildered countenance. 

You turn around to face him, trying desperately to mask any astonishment on your face. He looks to you, matching your confusion, but not for the same reason.

“What?” He whispers to you.

Still facing him, you quickly glance to the side, trying to reference Yelena without explicitly saying her name. 

He follows, glancing toward Yelena, who is looking at him as if she is trying to figure out a puzzle. He looks back at you, “She seems fine to me?” He whispers, his tone bleeding of genuine concern for her.

You glance toward Yelena, finding her already looking at you. “No, she's fine, but like,” you look back at Bob, “what about seating?” You whisper at him, matching his concerned tone.

He looks slightly hurt, “You don’t want me to sit next to you?”

You feel your jaw drop, appalled, “What?! Of course I want you to, but don’t you usually sit next to Yelena?” You whisper yell. 

He shrugs as if this is normal, “Well,” he starts off softly, “I wanted to be next to you this time.”

You close your mouth, realizing that Yelena is definitely gauging both of your reactions. “Oh, oh, okay…” You say dumbly. 

Truthfully, you’re surprised nobody else on the team questioned it. It makes sense that Yelena would immediately notice the new behavior. However, the rest of the team was so absorbed in conversation that they probably wouldn’t notice a fire in the kitchen. 

The rest of the movie progressed smoothly, if you ignore Yelena’s piercing gaze. You wondered if she was going to address it in front of anybody, but no, she just watched. You felt like you two were being watched by her more than she was watching the movie. 

Once the movie ended, you decided that you’re going to pretend you don’t notice her. However, your plan immediately fails when she decides to join you two on the couch. “Since when did you two get so close?” She crosses her legs.

“I, uh,” You look over toward Bob for any sort of help. He returns your look, shaking his head, mouthing the words “I don’t know.”

“We hang out every now and then…” You eventually settle on.

“Really? I haven’t seen it.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Eh, I doubt you would.” You try to keep your tone neutral.

“Right,” she looks at Bob one last time, giving him an indecipherable look before grasping both of your shoulders. “Well, I’m going to head out. I hope you two enjoy,” she pauses, looking at you, “this…”

You watch as she walks away to the kitchen, ignoring the loud discussion occurring between John and Ava. 

You turn to look at Bob, feeling exhausted despite it not even being that late.

“We still on for 3 AM Baking?” He asks, oblivious.

“Yeah,” you smile, undeterred, “always.”

-

The whole incident caused you to question your late-night escapades. You thought you knew exactly where you two stood. You would meet at night, you'd enjoy your time together, and then you would pretend as if nothing had happened the night before. You wanted to respect whatever this was, and if he felt most comfortable pretending it didn’t happen, then you would do the same.

Were you lying when you said you didn’t care?

Okay... maybe it hurt a little bit at first, but you got over it. After a few meetups, you had approached him in the middle of the day to greet him, but he acted like you two had never spoken before. Luckily, nobody was there to witness it, but that made you feel worse. He would still rather pretend that you didn’t know him, even if nobody was present.

The point is you got over it. You moved on because you understood that Bob had his reasons for it, and he was already struggling when you all moved in together. You didn’t want to make things any more difficult for him.

Now it’s different. It’s been over half a year since you all moved in, and now he suddenly wants to throw your whole routine aside as if you didn’t make it just for him. It’s no wonder Yelena said something. It didn’t fit what you guys had established.

That night, when he came into your room like normal (what even is normal?), you wanted to ask him questions. You had half a dozen on your mind you wanted to ask, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask one the moment he dropped onto your bed. He seemed happy, and above all, you treasured his happiness, so you couldn’t bring yourself to ask the questions you had.

When you woke up the next day, he was still asleep. You look at him, his face relaxed and free from any tension. You nearly reach out and move a strand of hair out of his face, but you stop yourself. Shaking your head, you decide to get up, starting your morning routine. Just as you are about to walk out of your room, somebody knocks on the door. You turn to see Bob still blissfully unaware of the disturbance.

You slowly move to the door, opening it and covering Bob. You don’t dare to imagine the teasing you two will be subjected to if somebody sees Bob on your bed.

“Uh, hi?” You greet Yelena at the door.

“Hi,” she singsongs, “I was just wondering if you’ve seen Bob. He wasn’t in his room when I went to check in on him. You know where he is?” She subtly tries to look inside your room, but you angle yourself so she can’t.

“Uhh,” you hesitate in giving an answer. If you tell her where he is, she will definitely think something is going on between you two (which is not true). On the other hand, if you don’t tell her, you’re going to have to sneak Bob out of your room without her noticing.

“I don’t know,” you scratch your head, “I will help you look for him though. Give me like five minutes.” You smile before closing the door on her.

Immediately, you head over to your bed, shaking Bob awake. “What… What are you doing?” He asks groggily. You immediately put your hands up in a shushing motion. 

You lean onto your bed next to him, “Yelena is at the door asking where you are.” You look behind you to make sure she hasn’t opened the door.

His mouth parts open, “Oh…”

You snap your attention back to him, “‘Oh?’” You repeat incredulously. “We’re never gonna live this down if she catches us!”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong, though.” He furrows his eyebrows.

You scoff, “Yeah, you wanna be the one to tell her that?”

Now awake, he sits up, “Well, what do you want me to do? Sneak out of your room?” He huffs.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh,” his smile falls, the joking tone leaving his voice, “you aren’t joking… are you?” 

“Okay, here’s the plan.” You would have found his blank stare funny if you weren’t so worried. “I told Yelena that I will help her find you. You,” you start, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of bed. He stumbles for a moment and you wince, giving a small apology, “will go to the balcony.”

“Okay,” he nods slowly, “why the balcony?”

“I doubt Yelena has checked there yet. I don’t know, just bring a book and read something out there. I will keep her distracted for a little bit before I suggest it.” You start to walk to the door.

“Give me like a minute to lead her away from the room before you come out, make sure you look around before exiting.” You grab his phone, handing it to him.  

“Uh, okay…” he trails off hesitantly.

You walk over to the door to open it, making sure Yelena won’t be able to see Bob. “Sorry about that, thought my phone was in my pocket, had to search for it.” You hold up your phone to show her.

“Alright,” she accepts your answer as you close the door behind you, “did he say anything to you last night after I left? If he’s planning on going anywhere?” She glances at you out of the corner of her eye. You walk over to the common area with her at your side. 

“Not that I know of.” You glance around the room to see if anybody is in here. “Maybe he left to go on a walk or something?”

Yelena shakes her head, her eyes still on you, “No, usually he texts somebody first. I was hoping he’d tell you if he left.”

You laugh awkwardly, “Nope, not a word. Maybe we can check the lobby? Ask around to see if anybody saw him leave?” You suggest, hoping she takes the bait.

Thankfully, Yelena nods, and you walk over to the elevator heading down. 

“Are you sure he didn’t say a word to you?” She asks again, a light smile on her face.

You blink, not expecting her to circle back to that topic, “I think I’d know if he did.” You respond, matching her smile.

“Oh, of course, of course.” She nods vehemently.

The elevator door opens, and you follow her over to the receptionist.

“Hello,” Yelena smiles pleasantly, “did you happen to see Bob leave today?” She asks, leaning against the counter.

The receptionist seems a little surprised to see you two here, “Sorry,” she frowns, “I have not.” 

“Damn,” you remark, “have you tried texting him?” You ask Yelena, walking back over to the elevator.

“He hasn’t responded.” She walks into the elevator, with you following closely behind. 

You hum, pretending to think, “Maybe the balcony? Sometimes I spot him reading over there.” 

She gives you a vaguely amused look. “Alright, sure. Let’s go check it out.” 

The ride up the elevator is silent, too silent. Every move you make feels too loud. When the door opens, you lead the way to the balcony. Yelena follows behind you, not saying much. 

You keep your sigh of relief to yourself when you see Bob relaxing with a book outside. “Ah, there he is.” You turn to Yelena, smiling.

She smiles with you, “Mhm, it’s oddly convenient.” 

You freeze for a moment, but shake your head in faux smugness. “I’m just that good at finding other people, I guess.”

“Right, so he just happens to be conveniently located here after your suggestion?” She asks, walking over to Bob.

“Yes?” You respond dubiously.

“Hey Bob,” she decides to take the chair next to him, “you missed my texts.”

“I did? Oh, sorry, I was reading.” He fidgets with the corner of the page he’s on.

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Yelena waves him off. “How long have you been out here anyway?” She asks.

You see Bob’s eyes flicker towards you, and you shake your head inconspicuously.

“Oh, you know,” he pauses, “not that long. I wasn’t really keeping track of time.” He chuckles, looking back down at his book.

It’s quiet for a moment before Yelena bursts out laughing. “You two,” she cackles, “you two are…” she gestures between the two of you, still laughing.

You look at Bob, sharing the same expression of bemusement.  

“Oh, so funny,” she beams, “you two are hilarious.” She pats her hand on Bob’s shoulder.

“Whose plan was this? Was this your plan?” She stands up, walking back over to you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You reply unconvincingly.

Abruptly, she pauses, frowning, looking at you, “Oh.” She looks at him, “Oh.” She gestures for you to sit down, and you do so reluctantly. “I see. Look, I will keep this little thing between us,” she gestures between you three, “but I just wanted to let you know that I get it. Don’t feel embarrassed.” She pats your knee.

“I… uh—” you stutter, confused, “I think you have something mixed up.” You look at Bob, who has his book open, but is definitely not reading.

Yelena nods, her eyes looking at you in sympathy, “It’s okay, I get it. No need to hide from—”

“Thanks, Yelena.” Bob interrupts, startling you both, “We got the message.” He smiles at her reassuringly. He looks at you with that same smile, before glancing at Yelena and back at you.

You sigh, “Yeah, message received.”

Yelena smiles before walking away, “I was never here.” You both watch her walk away.

You turn your head towards Bob, only to find him still reading the book. “Uh, hello?”

He glances up, raising an eyebrow, “Hi?”

“What was that?” You ask, gesturing to where Yelena was.

“I don’t know, a conversation?” He mumbles.

You look at him, not able to tell if he’s playing you. “We’re just gonna accept whatever she thinks?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, looking back down at the book before closing it. 

You stand up pacing, “She’s gonna get the wrong idea, I mean, what ‘message’ was she even sending?” 

“You know,” he whispers secretively. He tilts his head side to side, avoiding eye contact.

You shake your head, confusion written all over your face, “No?”

You both freeze when you hear somebody call your name out. “I forgot to ask you. I was wondering where you put the sugar.” Yelena walks back out. 

You look over to Bob, who is already staring at you, before you turn away from him to Yelena. You walk over to her, deciding to follow her to the kitchen.

“You two good?” She asks, turning around to look at Bob.

“Hm? Oh yeah, we’re fine.” You shrug, walking into the kitchen, and pulling out the sugar from the cabinet. “Here.” You give it to her. 

“Alright,” she pauses as if she’s going to continue, ”thanks.” 

You give her a weird look, “Yeah, no problem.”

Just as you two are about to walk away, she stops you, “I’m not,” she hesitates, “great at giving advice, but I’m here for you both. If there are any arguments or whatever.”

You stare at her, “Of course, thanks. I’m gonna…” you gesture vaguely to your room’s door.

Yelena smiles knowingly (what exactly is it she knows?), “Anytime.”

-

While you weren't exactly sure what Yelena had come to the conclusion of, you had ideas. However, you refused to entertain them. Bob didn’t exactly help your guys' case. Every time you brought it up, he’d just respond casually as if it didn’t bother him. This, in turn, made you feel like you were going crazy. 

The team was having a mission debrief. Even though only half the team went, the whole team was there for the debrief. You had, without thinking, sat next to Bob.

“Okay, how was I supposed to know that he was the target?” John rolls his eyes. 

“I don't know? Maybe you read his profile? You know? The one Valentina sent us days before we flew out.” Bucky responds irritatedly. 

“Okay, my bad. Even then, you all missed him, too.” John points at Bucky and Ava. 

“He bumped into you. He literally walked into you, and you let him go.” Ava adds on. “By the time he bumped into you, he walked away knowing who we were and that we were there for him.” She scoffs.

While Ava, John, and Bucky argue, Bob decides to move closer to you, setting his hand on your own casually. 

“Okay, sorry? I’m sorry.” He holds his hands out as if trying to calm down a wild animal, but this only seems to enrage Ava further.

“We could’ve been done on day one. Instead, we spent five days there searching for this guy.” Ava points at him.

“I’m aware, I also spent those five days with you. Look, I’m sorry. Can we just move on?” John looks around, looking for any distraction. “Like what are they doing?” He points to you and Bob on the couch. “Holding hands?”

With the attention moved away from John and onto you and Bob, you freeze. “What?”

“Since when do you two do that?” Ava asks, ire gone from her voice.

“Sit on the couch?” You try.

She rolls her eyes, “The hand holding.”

You look towards Bob, who looks surprisingly unbothered, “Uhh, nothing new. Friends hold each other's hands all the time.” You shrug.

Ava raises an eyebrow, looking around the room, “I would not hold John's hand cause we’re friends.”

“He barely counts.” You shake your head. 

“Hey!” John yells out.

“Oh, would you even want me to hold your hand?” Ava asks, rolling her eyes.

“God no!” He responds in horror.

“Then why do you care?” She narrows her eyes, shaking her head.

“It’s the principle of the matter!” He puts his shield down on the couch, standing up.

Attention successfully diverted from you two, you look towards Bob, who smiles softly at you. “They aren’t gonna stop anytime soon.”

“Eh, nothing new there.” You shrug, chuckling softly.

The rest of the day continues as normal. Just as Bob predicted, they did not stop fighting for at least half an hour. Eventually, everybody decided to go to bed, that is, except for you, Bob, and Yelena. 

“Alright, you two, I’m gonna go to sleep. Goodnight.” Yelena waves at you two before heading into her room, giving you that same knowing look.

You both return her farewell, not moving from your spot. With everybody gone, it was quiet. After having the constant chatter of the team in the background, it felt empty without them.

“Wanna bake something?” He asks suddenly.

You blink in surprise, “Uh, sure, anything in mind?”

“Cookies? For old times' sake?” He asks.

You smile, getting up and sticking your hands out for him to pull himself up. He takes your hand, not letting go even after you pull him up. 

“Alright, can you go grab the sugar, brown sugar, vanilla...” You list the remaining ingredients to him as you go and grab the eggs, butter, and flour.

“If you had to say what your favorite thing I’ve baked was, what would it be?” You ask, whisking the wet ingredients together. 

“My favorite?” He asks tenderly. “The chocolate chip cookies.”

You blink in surprise, “Really? Out of everything I’ve made? Oh," you hold your hand out, “could you pass me the sifter?”

“Yeah, it was what you gave me the first time I truly got to know you.” He looks at you.

You feel your heart melt. You hide your smile, “Aw, I guess it’s my favorite too then.” You turn to face him, his face slightly reddened. 

Working with him made the process quick, and before you knew it, the cookies were in and out of the oven. You put a few on a plate before joining Bob at the table. 

“What time is it anyway?” You ask, sitting down.

“Almost two?” Bob estimates, grabbing a cookie the moment you sit down. 

“Already? Geez, was the debrief really that long?” You grab a cookie.

“A few hours? I think it was longer cause of John, Ava, and Bucky arguing.” Bob takes a bite of his cookie.

You hum, “Did you see John's face when I turned the conversation back to him?” You giggle. Bob shakes his head, smiling. “He actually thought that turning the attention onto us would get him out of the spotlight.” You shake your head, still laughing.

“What are you two doing?” You and Bob both freeze, turning to see Bucky standing at the doorway. 

“Uh, eating..?” Bob responds in a low tone.

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, looking between you and Bob. “‘Eating?’” He walks over to the microwave. “It’s two in the morning, and you two are just… ‘eating?’”

You look towards the cookie in your hand, “Uh, yeah?" You respond. “It’s not that hard to believe.” You mumble.

“Why are we yelling at two in the morning?” John walks out of his room. 

“They’re ‘eating.’” Bucky turns towards John, who looks increasingly more dismayed.

“We do this all the time.” You wave your hands, trying to reassure them of any horrific conclusions they may have come to.

“It’s our 3 AM Baking time,” Bob adds on, as if that will perfectly explain everything.

John looks puzzled, “It’s two?” He says, looking at the clock on the microwave.

“No… No,” Bob shakes his head. “We call it 3 AM Baking even if it’s not that time, and even if we’re not baking.”

Both Bucky and John give you two the same bewildered expression. 

“Is that code for something?” John asks, walking over. “Can I have one?” He asks, looking at the cookies. You gesture for him to take one.

Bucky shakes his head, rubbing his temples, “I’m going back to bed.” 

“Goodnight?” You tell him, watching as he returns to his room.

“Damn, this is good. Is this why I haven't been catching you while you're baking? I’ve been trying to get something fresh.” John looks from the cookie toward you.

“Yeah, for the most part.” You shrug.

“Huh, damn,” he huffs, “well, don’t enjoy the cookies too much.” He gives you both a pointed look. You hear Bob stifle his laughter, but you give him a look and he stops, muttering a small “Yeah, sure.”

After finishing the cookies and washing the dishes, you both decide to go to your room. You enter your room, sighing in relief before falling on your bed. Bob follows behind you, copying your action. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird that everybody thinks we’re dating?” You ask the dreaded question, staring at the ceiling. 

You feel him turn towards you, “Huh?”

“I said—”

“No, I… I heard you. What do you mean?” He asks, his suddenly solemn tone catching your attention.

“‘What do I mean?’” You repeat, frowning. “Like... The people on the team who have seen us hang out seem to think we’re dating. Yelena seemed so sure of it.” You look over to him, staring dead into his eyes.

The grave look he gives you has you immediately sitting up. “Bob, what do you mean?”

He looks to the side, avoiding eye contact, “I just,” he fidgets, “I thought that, you know, we…” He glances up at you, motioning between you and him.

“You,” you begin incredulously before getting softer, “you thought we were dating?”

He shakes his head, “It’s stupid, never mind. It was just a thought. I didn’t actually think that—” He sits up.

“Bob,” you grab his hand gently, causing him to pause. You try to get him to look at you.

“Really.” He removes his hand from yours. “I get it. It’s a lot. I understand completely, you don’t have to try to make me feel better. I get it. I’m sorry, that was my fault. I don’t know why I thought that…” He still attempts to avoid eye contact. “You don’t have to feel bad for me. I just thought that we had spent so much time together that maybe we were… dating? I don’t know. I really shouldn’t have said anything. We can just pretend that didn’t happen…”

You can’t bring yourself to watch as he closes off, so you immediately grab his hand back. “Bob,” you begin, your voice gentle, “you never asked.” 

He chuckles, but there’s no humor. “Like I said, it was stupid.”

You flinch slightly, “You think dating me would be stupid..?” 

He immediately looks at you, “What?! No, no, no, no, never. It’s just a stupid thought that you’d ever want to date me.” You feel him slipping away, so you squeeze his hand. 

“That’s not stupid.” You look at him, moving one hand to caress his hair. “Why would that be stupid? If anything, I’m stupid.” You chuckle, shaking your head. He immediately opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him. “This whole time, I’ve been questioning everything. I thought that you didn’t want people under the impression we were dating.”

He frowns, looking at you, “When did I say that?”

You shake your head, “You didn’t, but I remember you avoiding me during some of the earlier days of us talking. I thought that maybe you wanted to pretend I didn’t exist outside of… this.” You gesture to your room with your free hand. 

He gapes at you, “I… never meant it like that. I was just scared you’d leave me back then.” He looks down.

“I see that now. I’m sorry. I got panicked when the team started to pick up on it, thinking that maybe you’d be upset with me about it.” He grabs your other hand, squeezing it gently.

“I would never be upset about that.” He says firmly.

You look into his eyes, distraught, “So why would I ever be upset about dating you?”

He shakes his head, “Why wouldn’t you? What about the Void? I can’t imagine why you’d want me when it’s always there.”

You shake your head, “Bob,” you reach up to cradle his chin, “you said that you have good days and bad days, right? That the Void comes out during those bad days? I’m here for you. If you have a good day, I’m right by your side. If you have a bad day, I’ll still be right by your side. I will always be by your side,” you suck in breath, “and I am so sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”

You look at him, trying desperately to get him to understand how you feel. “I love you for you, and if you come with the Void, then we will figure it out together. I won’t ever abandon you just because you are having a ‘bad day.’ ”

He looks down, avoiding your eyes, and you see him trembling. You pull him close, hugging him. “I’m here.” You tell him, trying to get your breathing under control.

Minutes go by, and you don’t move. You stay next to him with your arms wrapped around him. His breathing has slowed, and you can feel him relax. “I’m sorry…”

You shake your head, pulling back to meet his eyes, “Do not apologize.”

He looks down before meeting your eyes again. “Thank you.” He says softly, lying down on your bed. You place yourself next to him, lying down with him.

“Always.”

-

You wake up the next day, not surprised to find him hugging you in his sleep. You smile softly. He did not have a nightmare. You try to maneuver your way out of his grasp, but then he instantly pulls your back. Now you can’t escape.

“Bobbbbb,” you draw out his name, and in response, he pulls you closer. “We have to get up.” 

“You feel cool.” He mutters, his voice rough with sleepiness. You offhandedly remember he runs hot. You put your cold hand up to his neck, and he leans into it.

You roll your eyes fondly, “Come on, the team is gonna get suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?” He asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Of us dating, especially after being caught together at two in the morning last night.”

He immediately pauses, “Us dating?”

You freeze for a moment, stiffening in his grip and turning towards him, “I mean… if you want.” For some reason, you figured he would say yes after he confessed that he thought you two had been dating. You didn’t consider that he wouldn’t want to become official.

His jaw drops slightly before he pulls you closer, “Yes. Please.” His response is muffled by the pillows covering his face. He loosens his hold on you, turning around from the pillow to face you, and he has a smile plastered on his face. 

“Do you even want to tell the team?” You ask, rolling over to face the ceiling. 

He pulls you closer again, and you yelp in surprise. “Eventually. I mean, do we really have to? Yelena already figured it out. John and Bucky probably have too.” He whispers to you.

You laugh, “Okay, so then what do you want to do?” You turn to face him.

He meets your eyes, “I want to spend my time with you.”

Hope that was good! Thanks for making it to the end. I am quickly realizing that I tend to write a lot of words, sorry? :)

[si3rren]

si3rren presents….

TEACH ME - PARK SUNGHOON

an ongoing series crossposted on wattpad!!!

comment to be a part of taglist <3

—————————————————————————————————————

What starts as playful flirting lessons turns into real stolen glances, lingering touches, and two people quietly falling — one too scared to admit it, and one already too far gone.

—————————————————————————————————————

GENRE Romantic Comedy · College AU · Friends to Lovers · Slow-Burn Flirtation

POV Second Person (you = Y/N L/N)

TONE Playful · Emotionally Grounded · Flirt-Heavy · Softly Tense · Lighthearted with Deep Moments

RATING Mature (eventual smut, teasing, emotionally vulnerable intimacy)

SHORT SYNOPSIS

You're the bold flirt of campus — confident, charming, always one wink ahead of everyone else. Park Sunghoon is your complete opposite: quiet, top of the class, hopeless at flirting.

So when you jokingly offer to teach him how to flirt, you expect to lead the game.

But lesson by lesson, the rules start to change — and neither of you are pretending anymore.

Because somewhere between stolen glances and almost-kisses, you both start falling — only, he's falling harder.

MAIN CHARACTERS

You – 21, confident, flirtatious, never takes herself too seriously. Loves helping others but afraid of showing real vulnerability. You take the lead until he starts catching up — and then outplaying you.

Park Sunghoon – 22, quiet, top student, awkward with feelings but dangerously good at studying what makes you blush. Reserved on the outside, but loyal, thoughtful, and secretly devastating when he opens up. You offer to teach him how to flirt — and he learns how to ruin you gently.

SIDE CHARACTERS

Jake – Your chaotic best friend. Flamboyant, dramatic, and always pushing you into messy situations for "plot development."

Eunchae – Sunghoon's calm, nosy lab partner. Notices everything and secretly ships you both before you do.

Ni-ki – The blunt gamer next door. Friends with Sunghoon. Unbothered by drama but somehow always in the middle of it.

Yunjin – Your suitemate. Confident, nosy, and emotionally mature. Calls you out when you start lying to yourself.

Jay – TA of your communications class. A little too handsome, a little too interested in you. Adds pressure.

Professor Kim – Communication and psychology professor. Loves group projects. Accidentally responsible for starting the flirting chaos.

THEMES & WARNINGS

Fake flirting → real feelings

Power shift as he grows confident

Mutual pining and jealousy

Slow-burn emotional vulnerability

Study scenes, library moments, late-night walks

Eventual smut (oral, protected sex, over-the-clothes touching, praise kink)

No possessiveness, no toxicity — just genuine falling in love He falls harder. And he means it when he does.

CHAPTERS

1. ★ How The Bet Begins ★

2. ★ Rules of Attraction ★

3. ★ Jealousy ★

4. ★ Almost ★

+++ more to come

a/n: a few chapters have already been posted on wattpad!!

taglist- @roodrik2222 @heartheejake @jayhoonsgf @jyoony2002 @seungsoftly

[ygodmyy20]

Okay I’ve seen this now on every platform. I am not defending google at all here but I feel like this is fear-based , and I just want to add a few things:

- is this confirmed? Or is this another case of someone sharing a link to their doc and that link getting flagged? Because it has already been confirmed that if someone flags a public google drive link that can cause there to be a ban on your account. This is not new.

- do not share public links to your writing unless you are sharing it with a trusted party. This is when things get messy.

- google drive has not updated their TOS since may 2024. So there is no new TOS that would indicate there is a change.

- You own your IP in google drive. Google states in their TOS that they do not own your content. But if you share that content outside of google drive, then google drive is no longer store it becomes a hosting space. Which changes rules on said content.

Look, I’m all for being aware. I’m all for saying fuck you to google drive. I know we can’t trust capitalism and all that. I just haven’t seen anything to show that this is happening besides just fear.

Also yes you should back up everything, always.

Hey horny writer lil heads up for you guys, the “ai” google is forcing into docs to “scan for grammar errors” has been proved to also be scanning for spicy content and multiple ppl have already got notifs saying like “we’re sorry, there was a system error and some of your work was lost” and it was only the horny stuff so uh

Pleeeeease back up your files !!!! Don’t lose your horny to a robot, that’s Doc’s job, not Docs’…

[esoteriiclia]

guys overcomplicating will ruinnnnn you!

it's so simple when you stop searching. i would give you guys steps but im at the point in my journey where i truly dont believe there are steps as manifesting is not a process. it is a change. a shift.

all you do is imagine something different.

that is literally it.

and you're probably thinking "i've tried that, but i can't" "it doesn't work" "i don't feel anything" or whatever doubts, but the thing is, it's natural. it's not forced. the more you try and force it, the more aware you become of not having it. that's the paradox!

creation is finished. you are just accepting what is already done and allowing yourself to have it. you are not tricking yourself. you are not lying to yourself. you are ESPECIALLY NOT trying to manifest anything. why? because it is already here, yours, now - because everything is one and exists within your consciousness.

you are in control. stop imagining barriers for yourself!

[lqveharrington]

Immortally Yours

1: The Original (series masterlist)

summary: As an immortal demon hunter posing as a K-pop idol, you lead Huntr/x to secretly fight demons and protect the Honmoon seal. But when a demon boy band led by Jinu—someone you thought was gone from your life forever—threatens everything, you're forced to face both a looming battle and a painful past that could change the fate of the world.

pairing: jinu x immortal!hunter!reader

includes: romanized korean, origin lore, fans being mean, celine not being a good guardian to rumi, cursing, fighting w/demons, zoey being the best “little sister” ever, idol awards take place a lot later than the movie, other than that everything else stays the same except for the romance plot (lmk if i missed anything!)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: this was supposed to be one fic, but it somehow snowballed into a series. oops! hopefully you all enjoy this as much as i did writing it :)

You weren't entirely sure why or how you had become immortal. All you knew was that it worked in your favor because you were a hunter. And not just any hunter—a hunter of demons.

You were a part of the first generation of hunters, the time when Gwi-Ma first began to take souls and capture humans, turning them into demons to do his bidding. The same time, he was lulled into the temptation of clothing and food.

The first time you remember saving someone was your… friend’s mom and his little sister. Their terrified faces were all it took for you and your girls to help defend them and the village, creating the first ever—and to your knowledge, only—Honmoon.

With every new generation, you would guide and train new hunters the best you could from the years of experience you had fighting the demons Gwi-Ma would send to Earth. You would fight alongside them, teaching them the skills necessary to refine their technique.

But as time passed, more and more people recognized your folktales and bedtime stories, causing you to pull back and manage the girls instead of fighting with them.

Over the years you spent training, managing, and fighting with new generations of hunters, you found yourself constantly looking for a solution to save souls that had already been taken. And maybe you could find a solution to still save him.

But the last time you were able to manage a generation of hunters was the Sunlight Sisters. You already trained Rumi since her mother was already a hunter, but you were still missing three more singers and hunters. And when you began to scout for the following generation, Celine—the lead singer and hunter of the Sunlight Sisters—specifically asked you to be a part of the latest group Huntr/x because she was afraid Rumi wouldn't be enough to lead the group on her own due to the demon qualities she gained from her father.

You wanted to argue that Rumi was perfectly capable of leading the new generation of hunters—especially since she trained harder than any other hunter you've recruited—but Celine wasn't willing to listen. It was either you became a part of Hunt/x or Rumi wasn’t going to be a hunter at all.

So you became the leader of this new generation of hutners alongside Rumi.

The leader of hunters for the first time in 400 years.

Throughout finding and selecting two more hunters—which led you to Mira and Zoey, who picked up the training much faster than anticipated—Celine announced to the world the newest group she helped curate with you—well, your fake name you chose as the Sunlight Sisters’ manager. For the next generation, you chose the name you were born with all those centuries ago.

Unfortunately, now that you were a different person, Celine had to inform the press and media that you were the daughter of Sunlight Sisters’ manager, protecting who and what you truly were from the world. But that's when the rumors and whispers began to spread.

Many fans already thought it was unfair for you to be a part of a group because your “mother” was simply a manager of one of the biggest groups in the world. They said it was unfair to the rest of the unknown talent around the world who couldn’t have a chance in the music industry because you were a nepo baby. They hadn’t even heard you sing, and they already had their opinions set on you.

And it apparently made sense that Rumi was a part of Huntr/x because her mother passed away so early in her career.

Luckily for you, the girls—Rumi, Zoey, and Mira—instantly came to your defense during interviews and press conferences when those questions came up, saying you weren't the nepo baby every claimed you were and that you were probably better than the three of them combined.

Although that seemed to calm down most of the fans, Celine made sure that there were lawyers on standby just in case something terrible happened.

And when Huntr/x made their official debut, you had everyone’s mouth drop wide open at how well you performed. The three girls weren’t lying when they said you were better—you truly were a secret meant to be told to the world. By the end of the performance, you had several people defending you on every social media platform, while others still found you unworthy of being on stage.

Thankfully, the backlash wasn’t enough to prevent Huntr/x’s success in the music industry. Meaning you were officially back as a singer—or an idol, as they called it now.

You often found yourself missing all the behind-the-scenes work and getting silent praise from the fans—and the privacy that came along with it—but singing for the public and knowing you were helping all these people without them truly knowing felt amazing. The thrill of singing for fans who want to listen to your songs had your heart beating in excitement—it made you feel young.

It was new to you—fighting onstage while singing for the audience in sold-out stadiums. While you fought demons while singing before, you had never done so in front of thousands of people who paid to watch Huntr/x sing their hearts out. It was funny seeing all the fans think that the demons were all just part of special effects.

Technology now was truly amazing.

And while every concert created a bond between Huntr/x and their fans, the bond between you and the three girls grew better every day. You had told Mira and Zoey about your immortalization long before you debuted, but that didn’t bother them one bit. They seemed to tease you for being so old and constantly fascinated by the latest technology.

Rumi, on the other hand, refused to tell the girls about her patterns until the Honmoon was completely sealed, simply because Celine told her not to tell anyone. Your heart ached for the poor girl, but she seemed to trust her judgment more than yours.

Nevertheless, you and the girls bonded and found a dysfunctional harmony that you could rely on every day.

Three years later, you still felt the same thrill and excitement as Huntr/x finished their world tour. Over the last three years, the Honmoon grew stronger than ever and was nearly at its full potential—the seal was teased with gold with every concert you put on.

It was then that you and Rumi knew it was time to seal Gwi-Ma and his demons away for good.

The two of you released Golden to the public that very same night.

Promotion started right away, and the song instantly went viral—Or as Bobby put it, the song was on fire. Golden was the true story of Huntr/x—about who you all were and where the four of you were going next. It would begin a new chapter for the whole world.

Everyone seemed to listen to it daily because they loved it, and the song instantly skyrocketed to #1 in nearly every chart imaginable.

Unfortunately, as you and the girls rehearsed for your first live performance of Golden, Rumi’s voice began to crumble. She ran out ten minutes before the performance, which led to the performance not happening at all. When Rumi came back, she found solace in your waiting arms, Zoey and Mira looking at her with sadness.

The entire way back to the tower, Rumi hadn’t said anything. Not until you were all halfway through dinner. She apologized about the show, and the three of you instantly brushed it off, not blaming her at all when she explained that her voice was in trouble.

But with the Idol awards coming up in two months—and special events appearing every other day—Rumi needed her voice fixed as soon as possible.

Almost immediately, Zoey claimed to have a totally legit idea, suggesting that this doctor had a special tonic that could heal sore throats and relationships.

The second she said special tonic, you were already expecting a scam. And when the four of you entered Doctor Han’s office the next day, you knew you were absolutely right about the scam.

The photos he had plastered on his wall were stickers of himself with celebrities he had probably never met. Hell, Huntr/x was on his wall, and you had never met this doctor in your entire 400 years of living. You glanced at Mira with a grimace on your face as Rumi tried to lift Zoey’s spirits by claiming the place was totally legit.

Mira shrugged and peeled open one of the magazines on the side table, raising her brows at the latest news in the K-pop industry.

You leaned your head on Zoey’s shoulder as the Doctor walked inside the office, urging Rumi to sit upon the examination table. He went on and on about how one needed to understand the whole before healing—it sounded like a bunch of crap until he began listing things off that Rumi definitely did.

“He is kinda good,” Mira muttered when he said Rumi had lots of walls up.

Unbeknownst to everyone, he also began to list things off he saw from you, Mira, and Zoey as well. For some reason, he decided that the appointment included the entire group, not just Rumi.

“Hm… I see…” He looked at you with wide eyes that stared straight into your soul before backing up and adjusting his glasses. “Longing. You’ve lived a long life and yet…”

You narrow your eyes at his unfinished thought, voice sharp yet careful. “And yet what?”

“You seek love. It’ll be here a lot sooner than you think.” He nodded to himself and patted your hand before turning to Mira, flinching in fear from the pink-haired girl.

Your face contorted into pure confusion while Mira asked—no, demanded—for the special tonics that you all came here for. You quietly got up from your seat and entered the waiting room of his office, staring blankly at the wall that was decorated with fake pictures.

The Doctor wasn’t wrong about your long life, but seeking love? Love was the last thing on your mind.

You sighed and scrubbed your face in frustration, your frown deepening when you saw one of the stickers fall off the framed photo. Pursing your lips, you turned your attention toward the window, hoping to clear your mind, when your eyes caught something.

A bird that looked too familiar stood on one of the poles in front of the office, staring at you like it had something personal it wanted to say. You tilt your head at the unusual sight and exit the building, following the magpie as it flies into the town square, where several people are forming a crowd.

There were more people than usual in town, which made you wonder if someone leaked where the Huntr/x girls were. For safety, you pulled your sunglasses back over your eyes and tugged your jacket higher. Looking around, it seemed as if no one had noticed you or the fact that the other three Huntr/x girls were missing.

You were about to ask a couple of girls by your side about what was happening when someone tugged at your arm. You glanced over your shoulder and saw Zoey with a small scowl on her face.

“What’s wrong?” You looked over her to make sure she wasn’t hurt before doing the same to the other two girls, face falling ever so slightly when you realized you had lost sight of the bird you came out here for.

“We ran into these jerks who—” She started to complain before interrupting herself and pointing at a pink and purple puff of smoke ahead as music began to fill the square.

You mentally groaned as you recognized the haze of pink and purple. It was the smoke that appeared whenever demons would teleport from place to place, meaning that the boys singing and dancing for the crowd of people were demons.

The last thing you would have expected all day was for Gwi-Ma to send a demon boy band to take the fans to destroy the Honmoon. The very Honmoon you helped create four centuries ago—the one you swore to protect forever.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You rub your forehead in exasperation while the boy demons sang a song called Soda Pop, their outfits bright and colorful compared to what you’ve seen them wear several times before. “This is Gwi-Ma’s plan?”

Mira chuckled at you before holding Zoey’s shoulders down, her own shoulders moving along to the catchy beat of the stupid song. Rumi narrowed her eyes at the five boys, her hands clenching by her side. The Honmoon was nearly sealed, and she wasn’t going to let a silly demon boy band ruin her chances of finally being free from the patterns that had kept her trapped her whole life.

“We gotta stop this now.” Rumi grabbed you by the arm and pushed through the growing crowd, her glare trained on the demons who seemed to win over everyone’s heart.

As you got close to the demons, you focused on each of their face, wondering if you could recognize any of them from the past. However, it seemed nearly impossible to tell if you knew them since their hair was dyed unnaturally. Then your eyes landed on—what you were guessing was—their leader.

Unfortunately, you could recognize that voice, that hair, those eyes, anywhere you went.

"Jinu?" You ask under your breath as he dances on the raised platform, following his every movement.

His own eyes sorted through the crowd until they landed on you, his practiced and prideful smile faltering for a brief second before finishing the song and posing with his group.

“That’s it for now. See you tonight on everyone’s favorite variety show.” Jinu gestured to the billboard behind him while he kept his eyes trained on you, daring you to come find him. “Saja boys love you!”

And just like they appeared, they disappeared with a trace of pink and purple smoke.

“To be fair, that’s also something a magician would do.” Zoey tilted her head as the crowds gushed over the Saja Boys.

“Oh, those are demons. And we’re gonna kill them.” Rumi narrowed her eyes, determination set with pure annoyance and hatred. “Let’s get battle-ready.”

The four of you instantly made it back to the tower and prepared yourself for the fight, adorning yourselves in black leather suits, colored accessories, and black nail polish. While the girls ate their pregame meal, you conjured your gakgung from the Honmoon and stared at it, fingers digging into the carved details and reading them like it was a secret only you knew.

Unknowingly, Zoey caught your blank stare and appeared by your side, offering you ramen with your face on it. “You okay?”

You blinked and nodded, taking the ramen cup from her. “Yeah, just… Confused.”

“Don’t worry, we all are.” She nudged you with her elbow. “Besides, the second we get these demons, the Honmoon you helped create will finally be sealed! Isn’t that crazy?”

You smile at her, “Actually… Yeah, it kinda is.”

“That’s the spirit! Kaja kaja kaja, I want to kill them as soon as possible!” She shook your arm before returning to the two girls and grabbing fistfuls of shrimp crackers.

You shook your head in amusement, taking small bites from your ramen. If anything, you wanted to kill these demons as much as she did, but there was a small feeling in the back of your head telling you there was one thing you had to do before sealing the Honmoon.

When the four of you made it backstage to the variety show, your weapons were already in hand as you climbed to the top of the set. Unfortunately, the Saja Boys spotted the sea of leather above them.

So much for a great hiding spot.

As the fans went crazy over the fact that both Huntr/x and the Saja Boys were on stage at the same time, you redirected your gaze from the Saja Boys to the crowd and waved awkwardly.

“We just wanted to stop by and congratulate our hoobaes on their debut and—”

“And of course, Play Games With Us!” Jinu spoke into the microphone with enthusiasm, earning louder cheers from the audience. “Bring out the slides!”

The four of you looked at each other, and slowly, you all made it down the colorful slides, the leather scraping against the plastic with a horrid noise. You winced as you scooted down the slide, huffing when you landed in equally hard plastic balls.

You stood up quickly and helped Rumi out of the ball pit as Mira took Zoey’s hand, the four of you switching your grimaces out for smiles.

“It was truly an honor to share the stage with you,” Jinu said kindly and bowed in respect, followed by the remaining Saja Boys.

Rumi blinked furiously at the sight and bowed in return, “Oh, no. The honor is ours.”

And—to no one’s surprise—the leather betrayed the four of you, and the boys were able to bow much lower than you could. The curtains shut the nine of you away from the crowd as the variety show ended, Huntr/x still trapped in a bowed position as the Saja Boys ran out of the building faster than you could whip your weapons out.

Bursting out of the building, you caught sight of the pink clothes the boys wore on the variety show, entering a bathhouse. Zoey gasped when she realized you all would finally go to the bathhouse with Rumi, shaking her shoulders in excitement as you entered the building.

“Men’s?” Mira groaned when she caught sight of several old men in hot baths.

You shushed the three girls when they began to complain, ushering them into a separate room where the five demons were standing a little too proudly for your liking. Instantly, you all raised your weapons at them, zero mercy in your faces and stances.

“Wow, did you really follow us in here?” Jinu tilted his head at the four of you, his dark eyes finding yours on instinct.

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek as Rumi, Zoey, and Mira argued with the demon named Abby. Not only were you furious at Gwi-Ma for trying to destroy the Honmoon when you were so close to sealing it for good, but you were furious over the fact that Jinu stood in front of you like he didn’t leave you on your own all those years ago. His gaze softened ever so slightly when he saw your eyes flicker with something familiar before you held your gakgung higher, pyeonjeon between your fingers.

Before either of you knew it, water demons were sent after Huntr/x with the promise of all the souls in the bathhouse. While the three girls fought the water demons away, your mind swayed with decisions before you chased after the only demon who didn’t deserve your immediate attention.

You caught up to Jinu and pushed him into a steam room, glaring at him with so much hatred he swore he would be able to feel it from the demon realm. You sparred with him for another second before you pinned him down with your legs, summoning your gakgung once more and pulling the string back.

“What the hell, Jinu!” You shouted at him with anger and disbelief.

He grunted when you straddled him against the stone, “Can you wait for just a second—”

“Shut up.” You seethed and blinked away your tears of frustration, not caring if the girls ran into the room at any given time. “I haven't heard from you in—oh, I don't know—two hundred fucking years, and this is how I see you again? On a mission to destroy the Honmoon?”

The glow of your pyeonjeon highlighted the expression on both your faces—your face covered with so much anguish that it physically hurt Jinu to even stare at you, and his face was covered with regret and grief that you weren’t sure if you could ever really hate him.

“I mean, age doesn't show— Ow!” Jinu tried to lighten the mood, only earning a jab to the side from your elbow. His eyes darted to the rising steam, frowning when he realized you were in a full leather suit. You must’ve been dying from how hot it was getting.

He tried to sit up but failed, questioning you from the floor instead. “What do you want from me?”

“An explanation!” You shout, causing Jinu to flinch. You breathed for a second, letting your chest rise and fall to calm yourself down before you saw the silver ring that adorned his finger, your expression faltering. That couldn’t be the same ring…

You sucked in a breath, meeting his eyes once more. “An explanation, Jinu. I’ve been—”

The sound of old men’s voices interrupted your tangent, your eyes never wavering from Jinu’s as frantic footsteps zoomed past the steam room you both were in. He raised his brows at you, surprised that you didn’t get up at the distraught voices and movements before he saw your silver ring.

It wasn’t adorned on your finger like his was—Instead, your ring was on a necklace that you wore, glinting from the glow of your weapons. Jinu stared at the ring much longer than anticipated because you noticed, causing you to tuck away the necklace under your leather suit, where it was hidden originally.

You opened your mouth to say something else when one of your girls called for you, your mind instantly switching to one of concern.

“Unnie! Where are you?” You heard Rumi's voice echo through the bathhouse, the splashing of boots following every other second. “We need to get out! The—”

“The old men are kicking us out!” Zoey yelled in disgust.

You huffed and glared at Jinu one last time. If you couldn't get an explanation, the least you could do was try to stop him from destroying the very thing you protected. “Stop coming after our Honmoon, Jinu. We’re so close to sealing it.”

“You know I can't, jagiya,” Jinu spoke softly—the nickname coming out naturally, that you didn’t even realize he said it. “He's—”

“Unnie!” You heard Mira shout this time, making you huff at how poorly everything was timed today.

“Coming!” You yell back and push off Jinu, pointing the arrowhead of your glowing pyeonjeon at him. “You did this to us, you fix it.”

You left the steam room with a huff, your weapons vanishing back into the Honmoon. Jinu stood up from the hot floor and watched as the glowing Honmoon around him flashed a dark pink, meaning a weak spot was created.

Scrubbing his face in frustration, Jinu didn’t know if you meant fix the weakening Honmoon or fix the relationship that was holding on by a singular thread.

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