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violetszn · 2 months ago

Text

one

summary ✩ you found it hard to believe that it could actually be this hard finding a roommate. when you take up your boss’s offer and end up letting his daughter move in, you find it even harder believe that a match could be this perfect.

warnings ✩ 5.3k ✩ swearing and drinking but that’s pretty much it for this chapter. also one little innuendo towards the end.

notes ✩ so this one is around 5k words but i haven't decided yet if i wanna leave the rest of the chapters around this length or if they'd be better longer. definitely let me know what you're feeling about the length !! <3

chapters ⇨

The Last Drop hummed with its usual late-night energy, laughter and low conversations falling over the clink of glasses and the occasional small argument among friends. You wiped down the counter, only half listening to a group of regulars argue over a card game while keeping an eye on the random drunkard who always underestimated his tolerance.

“I don’t need to slow down, I can handle my alcohol — I’m a grown man alright? Back off!”

Vander leaned against the bar beside you, arms crossed, surveying the crowd like a guard dog. His presence was grounding and authoritative. The kind that made people behave without him ever having to say much.

“You look tired,” he noted, his voice carrying over the noise.

You exhaled, pressing your hands against the cool surface of the bar. “Yeah, I’ve been dealing with a headache of a situation. Trying to find a decent roommate is way harder than I thought it’d be. Way harder. The last guy that sent in an application actually asked if he could have a pet puma, for ‘future references’.”

Vander raised a brow. “Sounds… rough to say the least. You put up a flyer?”

You gestured toward the message board near the entrance. “Couple days ago. I’ve had some applications, but nothing promising. Another guy asked if he could keep his pet tortoise in the bathtub.”

Vander let out a deep chuckle. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, so unless you know someone who won’t bring in a wild animal or hog my bathroom, I think I’m out of luck.”

Vander tilted his head slightly, considering something.

“Actually… I do know someone.”

You glanced at him, intrigued.

“Vi.”

You hesitated. The name was familiar. You’d heard plenty about her from Vander and Powder, seen quick glimpses of her on Vander’s lockscreen or when Powder was excitedly showing off pictures. And yet, despite how often she supposedly came to the Last Drop, you’d never actually run into her. Just bad timing, you guessed.

“Your… daughter?”

“Yeah. She’s looking for a place closer to campus,” Vander continued, reaching for a clean glass and absentmindedly polishing it. “She’s responsible, keeps to herself most of the time. She can be a bit of trouble sometimes but I promise she’s got a good heart. Knows how to throw a punch if you ever need backup.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Why would I need backup?”

Vander gives you a raised brow in return. In a place like Zaun, that was a rhetorical question.

You mulled it over. Vi was somewhat of a mystery to you, but if Vander recommended her, that meant something. Plus, finding a roommate was proving to be a nightmare. At this point, you’d take a mystery over a guy who collects wild animals.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, tossing the rag over your shoulder. “but it sounds promising.”

Vander smirked. “I’ll let her know.”

And with that, the conversation shifted, but something told you your search for a roommate might be over sooner than you thought.

The steady hum of the city outside your window was almost comforting, a distant reminder that the world kept moving even as you buried yourself in coursework. You sat at your desk, fingers hovering over your keyboard, eyes blurring slightly from staring at the same paragraph for too long.

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, rolling out the tension in your shoulders. Just as you were about to force yourself to focus, your phone buzzed beside you.

A new email.

You grabbed your phone and squinted at the screen.

Subject: Roommate Application – Vi

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That was fast. You hadn’t expected Vi to actually apply so soon — hell, you weren’t even sure she’d be interested. But Vander must have mentioned it to her right away. You couldn’t help but wonder if he talked you up the way he did her.

Curious, you opened the email.

The application itself was pretty straightforward.

Name: Violet. Preferred Name: Vi. Occupation: Student. Side gigs: Boxing instructor, part-time fighter. Hobbies: Same as my side gigs.

You huffed a quiet laugh. At least she was honest.

Scrolling further, you skimmed through the standard details; her budget, preferred move-in date, and emergency contact which, unsurprisingly, was Vander. But what really caught your attention was the attached photo.

It wasn’t anything posed, just a casual shot, probably something Powder had taken. Vi sat at a gym bench, hands wrapped, sweaty and mid-laugh, her pink hair a little messy. Even through the screen, there was an energy to her, something sharp but effortless.

You sat back, tapping your fingers against your desk.

So, this was Vi.

Technically, you’d seen her before, but this was the first time you were really looking at her. And now, she might be your new roommate.

“Well,” you muttered to yourself, “could be worse, I guess.”

You were just about to close the email when something at the bottom caught your eye.

Socials: @ CherrybombVi

Your eyes flickered back to your assignment, then back to the email. You hesitated, then scoffed at yourself. It wasn’t even a question, you were obviously going to look. If she included it, that meant she didn’t care if you saw. And honestly? You needed to know what kind of person you’d be living with.

Tapping the link, you landed on her Instagram profile. The username fit, CherrybombVi. Bold, confident, and straight to the point. Her bio was just as simple: 🥊

Most of her posts were fight clips, training footage, or gym shots, but even those had an effortless appeal. One video showed her in the ring, body fluid and sharp as she dodged a punch before delivering a brutal counter. Some seemed to be borderline thirst traps but something tells you it isn’t even intentional - she just looks like that.

Then there were the more casual posts; Vi leaning against the ropes, smirking at the camera, a candid of her laughing with Powder, a rare mirror selfie that showed off her tattoos, muscles, and sweat-slicked skin in a way that had your brain misfiring.

Your face felt hot.

This was your potential new roommate? You had only ever caught glimpses of her in photos before, never enough to form a real impression, and yet somehow you hadn’t expected… this. Before you could spiral too much, your finger moved on autopilot and hit Follow.

You set your phone down, exhaling sharply, only for it to buzz almost immediately.

New DM from CherrybombVi.

Your stomach flipped as you opened the message.

CherrybombVi so ur the one vander’s been hyping up?

Your breath hitched slightly. She followed you back that fast? Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you tried to come up with a response that didn’t make you sound completely unhinged.

You depends what exactly has he been saying?

A typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

CherrybombVi that ur looking for a roommate that ur not an asshole and that u can make a decent drink

You huffed a quiet laugh.

You i mean yeah he’s not wrong

CherrybombVi cool so when do we meet?

Your stomach did another stupid little flip.

You how’s tomorrow?

CherrybombVi works for me Last Drop?

You figured you’d say that

CherrybombVi best place in town. vander pays me to say that

You does he?

CherrybombVi nah, but he should

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

You alright, Last Drop tomorrow. we’ll talk, see if this’ll work

CherrybombVi sounds good hope ur not easily scared off ;)

You bit your lip.

You guess we’ll see.

As soon as you hit send, you set your phone down again and let your head fall back against the chair. Why did that make your heart race?

The Last Drop was busy tonight, the usual crowd packed into their favorite corners, drinks in hand, conversations rolling over the music playing from the old speakers overhead. You were behind the bar, moving on autopilot as you poured drinks and exchanged easy banter with the regulars.

Despite keeping yourself busy, there was a part of you that kept one eye on the door. You weren’t nervous exactly, just… anticipating. When the door finally swung open and she walked in, you knew immediately.

Even without the pink hair, Vi carried herself in a way that made her stand out. She was relaxed but sure-footed, like she belonged in every room she stepped into. She was dressed casually, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

Your stomach did something weird.

Vander, who had been stacking glasses nearby, glanced up and grinned. “Right on time.”

You barely had time to react before he clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Go on, take a break. I got the bar.”

You blinked. “You sure? It’s busy.”

“I’ve handled worse,” Vander said easily, already moving to take your spot. “Vi’s here to see you. Go talk.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. After drying your hands on a towel, you stepped out from behind the bar and made your way over to where Vi had already claimed a booth near the back.

Up close, she was... yeah. The photos hadn’t lied. Sharp jawline, freckled skin, toned arms resting on the table as she leaned back in her seat like she had all the time in the world.

“Hey,” she greeted, smirking just slightly. “Guess you’re real after all.”

You raised an eyebrow as you slid into the seat across from her. “Did you think I was fake?”

“Wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing I’ve seen on the internet,” she said, shrugging.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Fair enough.”

Vi leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table. “So. Roommates.”

“Roommates,” you echoed, feeling a little caught off guard by how direct she was. Not in a bad way, just… unexpected.

Vi tilted her head. “I’ll be real with you. I don’t make a mess, I always cover my share of the rent, and I don’t bring random women over. Schedule-wise, I’m out a lot for training and classes, but I’m usually home at night. I crash early when I can.”

That last part caught your attention. Not because it was weird, just that Vander made it sound like she was always busy.

“You sleep early?” you asked, more curious than anything.

Vi nodded easily. “Not super early. At a regular time, really. I get up early for workouts often. Kinda have to if I don’t wanna get my ass handed to me.” That made sense. If she was constantly training, she’d need the rest.

You nodded. “Vander did say you keep busy.”

Vi smirked. “That’s one way to put it.”

You leaned back in your seat, studying her. She was easy to talk to, even with how little you actually knew about her. It made the whole thing feel… simple. Like this might actually work.

“What about you?” Vi asked, tipping her head toward you. “Vander said you’re not an asshole, but that’s a pretty low bar.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m clean, I don’t throw parties, and I pay on time. Only real downside is I have early mornings sometimes, so if you’re planning on sneaking in at sunrise, try not to slam the door.”

Vi grinned. “Deal.”

You looked at her for a moment, then exhaled. “This might actually work.”

Vi smirked. “Guess we’ll find out.”

And just like that, it was decided.

You and Vi shook on it, sealing the deal with a firm grip. Her handshake was just what you expected: strong, confident, and steady.

"Guess that makes it official," Vi said, smirking as she leaned back in her seat.

"Looks like it," you replied, mirroring her expression.

By the time your break was over, you had worked out the details; rent, move-in date, all the necessary logistics. Vi would be moving in the following week, giving you time to clear the spare room and make space for her things.

That night, you wasted no time. As soon as you got home, you started rearranging—cleaning out the closet, dusting off the shelves, and making sure everything was ready. You even sent her a quick message:

You room’s all set whenever ur ready

Vi’s reply came fast.

CherrybombVi damn ur quick i’ll be there next week

You stared at the message a little longer than necessary before shaking your head and setting your phone down. This could be good. It'll be nice sharing the burden of rent and livening up the quiet apartment a bit.

The knock at your door was solid, deliberate. You took a steadying breath before opening it, and there she was, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a couple of boxes stacked neatly at her feet.

"Hey, roomie," Vi greeted, smirking slightly.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted at the casual way she said that. "Hey. You, uh… you travel light."

Vi glanced at her stuff and shrugged. "Don’t need much."

You nodded, stepping aside so she could come in. As Vi walked past, you could feel the presence she carried, like she was used to taking up space without trying.

Clearing your throat, you motioned down the hall. "Your room’s this way." Vi followed as you led her to the spare bedroom, pushing open the door to reveal the space you had cleared for her.

"It’s not much, but, uh…" You shifted slightly, tucking your hands into your pockets. "You can do whatever you want with it. Move stuff around, redecorate, it doesn’t really matter to me."

Vi stepped inside, scanning the room with a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, this works. Thanks."

You exhaled, relieved that she seemed satisfied. "Cool." For a beat, neither of you said anything. Then, remembering something, you added, "Oh, uh, Powder wants to come over for dinner later. Hope that’s okay."

Vi turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. "Powder?"

You nodded. "Yeah, she, um, she said she wants to throw you a welcome dinner where 'I do all the cooking and her presence is enough' or whatever it was she said."

Vi studied you for a moment, arms loosely crossed over her chest. "You and Powder are close?"

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. We met a couple of years ago in an art class."

Vi’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. "She never mentioned that."

You smiled a little. "She probably doesn’t think it’s a big deal. She sat next to me the first day, and we just kinda clicked. She’s the one who told me about the job at the Last Drop, actually. Said Vander needed someone and that I should give it a shot."

Vi huffed a quiet laugh. "Figures. She always did like pulling people into her world."

You nodded, shifting on your feet. "So… dinner?"

Vi smirked. "Yeah, alright. Could be nice."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "Cool. I’ll start dinner in a little while."

Vi gave you a long look, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she nodded. "Sounds like a plan, cupcake."

You tried not to think too hard about how that word made your heart do something weird.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich scent of garlic, tomatoes, and seared chicken as you finished up dinner. You’d gone with something comforting; pasta, creamy and packed with flavor, with garlic bread crisping up in the oven.

Powder arrived first, waltzing in like she lived there. "Damn, something smells amazing."

Vi followed behind, empty boxes in tow from her unpacking earlier. "Wait—you actually cooked?"

You glanced over your shoulder, stirring the sauce. "What, did you think I was bluffing?"

Vi smirked. "No, I just figured I was gonna be living off instant noodles and bar food."

"You still might, jury's not out yet," you teased. Powder snickered as she stole a piece of garlic bread straight off the pan.

Once everything was plated, the three of you gathered around the small dining table, Powder practically vibrating with excitement as she took her first bite.

"Okay, what the hell," she mumbled through a mouthful. "You made this? Like, from scratch?"

"That’s usually how cooking works, Pow." Vi grins, watching as you tease her sister in a similar fashion to the way she does.

Vi took a bite, pausing for a second before nodding approvingly. "Alright, yeah. I’m impressed."

You smirked as you grabbed the bottle of wine you’d set aside for you and Vi, pouring a glass for each of you. Powder gave you both a pointed look, crossing her arms.

"I feel like I’m missing out," she said.

"You are," Vi said, taking a sip.

Powder huffed dramatically before refocusing on her food.

The conversation flowed easily after that, mostly Powder bouncing between ridiculous stories from their childhood and Vi occasionally cutting in to correct the details.

"And then she—" Powder pointed at Vi with her fork, "—convinced Mylo that licking a frozen pipe wouldn’t actually make his tongue stick."

Vi grinned, unbothered. "To be fair, I thought he’d be fine."

"He had to drink hot water through a straw for a week!"

"Okay, but I was the one who got yelled at, so really, haven’t I suffered enough?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Sounds like you two were menaces."

"We were," Vi confirmed, smirking. "What about you? Chaotic too?"

You shook your head. "Not really. I was pretty quiet. Spent most of my time drawing, painting, reading, or writing."

Vi tilted her head. "Writing, huh? What kind of stuff?"

"Just little things," you said, suddenly self-conscious. "Short stories and stuff—whatever came to mind."

Vi nodded, looking genuinely interested. "That’s cool. And what do you read?"

"Mystery, horror, romance – stuff like that."

Vi’s brows lifted. "That’s a mix."

You smirked. "I like a little balance."

"So you’ll read about a guy getting murdered in one book and then flip to people making out in the next?"

"Pretty much."

Vi huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Alright, yeah. You’re an interesting one."

The night stretched on like that — easy conversation, laughter, and shared stories over empty plates. By the time you realized how late it had gotten, the food was long gone, Powder was curled up on the couch half-asleep, and the wine bottle between you and Vi was completely empty.

Vi stretched, rolling her shoulders as she leaned back in her chair. "Alright, now it feels official. I’m moved in."

You exhaled, smiling. "Yeah. Guess so."

She glanced at you, something unreadable in her expression before she smirked. "Not bad, roomie."

"Not bad yourself," you said, and for the first time since you’d started looking for a roommate, you actually felt relieved.

Maybe this was going to work out after all.

The night wound down slowly, the energy in the apartment settling into something quieter, warmer. Powder stretched out with a yawn, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at her phone.

"Alright, Ekko’s on his way to pick me up," she announced, pushing herself up from the couch.

Vi smirked. "Finally getting rid of you? Thought we’d have to drag you out."

Powder scoffed. "Please, I’m leaving before you two start acting all old and responsible." She turned to you. "You better keep her in check."

You let out a soft laugh, the wine making everything feel pleasantly hazy. "I’ll do my best."

Powder slung her bag over her shoulder, then pointed at Vi. "Don’t scare off your new roommate yet."

Vi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

The night had settled into a comfortable quiet after Powder left, leaving just you and Vi in the kitchen as you worked together to clean up. The occasional clatter of dishes and the sound of running water filled the space, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to finish.

Vi leaned casually against the counter, drying off the last plate as she watched you with an amused smirk. "Gotta say, didn’t expect my new roommate to be such a responsible drunk."

You huffed a laugh, placing the last dish in the drying rack. "Yeah, well… unfortunately, I have class pretty damn early tomorrow, so I should head to sleep. Hopefully, I can sleep off this wine."

Vi pushed off the counter, stepping into your space just enough to make you notice. "Shame. You’re kinda fun when you’re a little tipsy."

Your stomach did a weird little flip at that. "Oh, so I’m not fun when I’m sober?"

Vi smirked, tilting her head like she was sizing you up. "Didn’t say that. Just means I’ll have to stick around to find out."

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she was. The buzz from the wine definitely wasn’t helping.

Vi’s smirk deepened like she could tell. "You should drink plenty of water before bed. Wouldn’t want you waking up miserable."

You cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. "Yeah. Good idea."

Vi stepped back, giving you an easy grin. "Goodnight, then."

You hesitated for a second before nodding. "Goodnight, Vi."

And with that, you slipped into your room, shutting the door behind you. You were so in trouble.

Sure enough, you wake up at six with a pounding headache and the overwhelming regret of past decisions. The wine from last night lingers unpleasantly, a dull throb at your temples that makes you groan as you drag yourself out of bed.

You quickly pop some Tylenol and chug a glass of water, wincing at the way your stomach protests. The apartment is quiet. Vi’s still asleep, and you do your best to move through the space as quietly as possible, getting ready with slow, deliberate motions.

By the time you step out the door, the worst of the headache has dulled, but you’re still exhausted. And with your schedule ahead of you, you don’t have time to recover.

Mondays are always brutal. Between the early morning classes, tutoring sessions, and art class, you barely have a second to breathe. The hangover becomes background noise, something you push through as you move from one thing to the next. By the time you finally head home, you feel like you’re running on fumes.

When you step into the apartment, Vi is in the living room, dropping effortlessly into a set of push-ups. She looks up as you shut the door behind you, barely even out of breath.

"Damn," she grins. "You just getting home? Thought you might’ve died out there."

You groan, dropping your bag by the door. "Yeah, my Mondays are usually packed. It’s when I have my earliest classes as well as my art class. On top of that, of course, I had tutoring scheduled for this afternoon. I’m beat."

You rub your hands over your face, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in your bones.

Vi pushes herself up to sit back on her heels, resting her forearms on her knees. "Sounds like a lot."

"You have no idea," you mumble, kicking off your shoes.

She watches you for a second, then smirks. "You survive the hangover at least?"

"Barely," you mutter. "Didn’t really have time to deal with it."

Vi chuckles, shaking her head. "Damn. And here I was thinking I was the overachiever."

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small, tired smile that creeps onto your lips.

Vi stands up from the floor, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She’s dressed in just a sports bra and a pair of sweats, her toned muscles catching the dim afternoon light.

"You look beat," she remarks, stepping closer, her gaze flicking over you like she’s assessing just how exhausted you really are.

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing your temples. "Long day."

"Yeah, no kidding." Vi tilts her head. "Why don’t you sit down for a bit? I’ll make you some tea or coffee — whichever gets you back to life."

She steps closer still, reaching out to touch your arm. It’s just a light, fleeting thing, but it’s enough to make you pause. "Seriously," she says, her voice softer now, edged with something almost… considerate. "You should take it easy tonight."

You exhale slowly, your body already sinking into the pull of exhaustion. "Some tea sounds nice… thanks, Vi."

She just nods and heads to the kitchen. You collapse onto the couch, your limbs aching as you listen to the quiet, rhythmic sounds of her moving around. Soon enough, she’s pressing a warm mug into your hands before settling beside you. The tea is perfect — soothing, the heat seeping into your fingers as you take slow sips.

Vi doesn’t rush you. She just sits there, the hum of the television filling the silence as you drink. Her presence is steady, grounding in a way you wouldn’t have expected.

Once you set the empty mug down, Vi stretches, then stands, shaking her head with a smirk. "Alright, time for you to crash."

You groan but make no move to get up. "I should probably—"

"Not push yourself until you pass out on the couch?" Vi interrupts, nudging your arm. "Yeah. Let’s not do that."

You sigh, dragging yourself upright. "Fine, fine. You win."

"Damn right I do," she quips, watching as you shuffle toward your room. "Drink more water before you knock out."

You mumble something unintelligible as you push open the door, already peeling off your clothes in favor of pajamas. The second your head hits the pillow, I’m you’re out.

You don’t hear Vi moving around the apartment.

You don’t hear the quiet stretch of tape wrapping around her knuckles, the slight pop of her joints as she shakes out her limbs in preparation.

You don’t hear the door unlatch or the way it clicks shut behind her as she slips out into the night, her steps light and deliberate, leading her toward the only place that gets her heart pounding the way she craves.

The underground pit calls to her, as it always does. The roar of a nameless crowd, the thrill of a fight that doesn't come with rules or restraints. It’s a part of her she refuses to let go of.

By the time you wake up the next morning, groggy and still half-buried in sleep, Vi’s already at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone like it’s just another normal day.

She looks the same. Same easy smirk when she glances up at you, same casual posture.

But when you step closer, you notice the fresh bruises on her knuckles, the faint swell of her lip. Injuries that definitely weren’t there yesterday.

And yet, she doesn’t say a word about them. And, for some reason, you don’t ask.

After about a month of living together you pick up on Vi’s… personality. She’s a flirt through and through and honestly? A fucking menace. Guess you see where Powder gets it from.

You’re trying to read. Really, you are. But in your defense, it’s incredibly difficult when Vi has decided that the living room is her personal gym and you have a front-row seat to the show.

She’s in the middle of her workout, wearing nothing but a sports bra and sweatpants that hang low on her hips. Her abs flex with every movement, her arms tense and defined as she pushes through another set of sit-ups. She’s completely in the zone, brow furrowed in concentration, jaw tight, strands of pink hair falling onto her face.

And you, despite trying your hardest not to, are watching.

It’s not your fault. Vi is just… really fucking distracting. It’s an effortless kind of attractive. Like she isn’t even trying, like she has no idea how good she looks. But she has to know, right? There’s no way she doesn’t know.

You drag your eyes back down to your book, determined to focus. It works for all of ten seconds before Vi shifts into a plank position, muscles taut, posture flawless.

Shit.

You must be staring harder than you thought because, without even looking at you, Vi smirks.

“See something you like?”

Your entire body tenses up.

“No,” you say immediately, forcing your gaze back to the page in front of you. “I’m reading.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone is full of amusement. “Didn’t realize your book was in my direction.”

You clench your jaw, refusing to take the bait. “It’s not.”

She finishes her set, stretching her arms over her head as she sits back.

“Oh, come on,” she teases, rolling out her shoulders. “You’ve been staring for, like, five minutes. I’m flattered, really.”

You huff, sinking further into the couch, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re a bad liar.” Vi grins, leaning back on her hands. “But hey, it’s fine. I like looking at you too.”

Your brain practically short-circuits. Vi says it so easily, so casually, like she’s not making your stomach do flips. She’s so smug about it. Meanwhile, your stomach does something inconvenient, and you have to force yourself to maintain an expression that doesn’t immediately give you away.

You clear your throat, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “You’re messing with me.”

She tilts her head, all innocence. “Am I?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but she just smirks. Desperate to change the mood, you pick up the nearest pillow and chuck it at her. She catches it effortlessly, laughing.

“Shut up.”

“No shame in it.” She tosses the pillow back onto the couch before stretching her arms over her head again, arching her back slightly as she groans from the stretch. You force yourself to look away, determined not to give her the satisfaction of catching you again.

But even as you turn back to your book, you can still feel her watching you, like she’s just as entertained by your reaction as she is by the workout itself.

“So,” she starts, casually leaning back on her hands, “since you were so obviously checking me out, what’s the verdict?”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “The verdict?”

“Yeah. On me.” She smirks, flexing her arm like some over-the-top gym bro. “Do I pass inspection?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile. “Oh, absolutely. Five stars. Would ogle again.”

Vi laughs, tilting her head as if considering. “Only five?”

You shoot her a flat look. “Vi. I wasn’t checking you out, alright?”

“Come on… I feel like I deserve at least a six.”

You finally set your book aside, leaning forward with a feigned serious expression. “Sorry, but I don’t go higher than five. Gotta keep my ratings fair and unbiased.”

Vi grins, clearly enjoying herself. “Unbiased, huh?” She shifts forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So if I were, say, a random dude at the gym, you’d still rate me the same?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Well, no, because if you were a random dude at the gym, I wouldn’t be—” You stop short, realizing too late where that sentence is going.

Vi’s smirk widens. “Wouldn’t be what?”

Your face burns. “Nothing.”

“Oh no, that sounded important.” She leans in, elbows on her knees, like she’s trying to coax the answer out of you. “You wouldn’t be… checking me out? So I am your type, hmm? Good to know.”

You groan, pushing your hands against your face. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

Vi chuckles, shifting to sit cross-legged on the mat. “You love me.”

You peek at her through your fingers. “Bold assumption.”

She winks. “I’m a bold girl.”

You shake your head with a dramatic sigh. “I’m moving out.”

Vi gasps in mock horror, pressing a hand to her chest. “No, don’t go! Who else will stare at me while I work out?”

That finally pulls a laugh from you, and Vi grins like she’s just won something.

“Alright, alright,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll stop messing with you… for now.” She grabs her water bottle, taking a long sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and shooting you a lazy grin. “But hey, next time you wanna watch, you could always just join me.”

You scoff playfully. “In your dreams.”

She throws you a look as she walks past, heading toward the kitchen. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Your heart does something foreign in your chest. You turn back to your book, pretending to read, but the words are still a blur. How are you meant to put up with her if she acts like this?

tags ✩ @jupitism @fungalinfectionyeast @mk-a-1 @rhian88 @baylegend6 @lovely-wisteria @antobooh @arahiraaai @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123

#lesbian #wlw #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane smut #masterlist #vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi smut #vi league of legends #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐯.✩#───𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.✩

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hwaslayer · 2 months ago

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wildfire (cs) | sixteen.

—spotify playlist |series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 6.1k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, the storm is here (literally), a bit of a lillll argument, san comes to the rescue ofc, saurrrr much tension at first.. like the air is THICCCK, coming to resolutions & making up 🥺, kissing/making out, sweet moments, unprotected sex, fingering, slightly nipple play, hella soft missionary, hella soft sex from behind. idk everything is hella sweet and hella soft cause they’re just so in love and missed each other pls let them have this lil tender moment!! 🤍, a small oc x iseul encounter (just because i needed her to at LEAST give iseul some business), sorry if i missed anything - quickly edited!

—on rotation: goin' crazy - natalie

"Babe. Go home?" Eunchae says over the phone while you pack some things up. You were the only one out of your friends who stayed behind to finish up a few things and get ahead before the storm rolled in. The rest of your friends were smart enough to leave, and now, you were stuck on campus until [god knows when] the storm would settle.

"Chae, I literally think I'm stuck here. I didn't leave early enough." You sigh and head towards the window, watching as the rain continues to pour, the wind howling and beating against the glass.

"Why don't you wait it out for a few and then dart out as soon as it stops? I'm sure we'll get a quick break from the storm."

"I'm scared to drive out in this rain. What if it traps me out on the road?" You groan. "I should've left earlier but I had to take care of some stuff in the lab before the storm came in just in case. I didn't want it to set me back."

"Is the building staying strong? Back up generators and all still pulling through?"

"Yeah, thankfully—" As if you had just jinxed it, the lights suddenly shut off in your studio— the lights in surrounding rooms also going out. The street lights are out.

Everything is dark and cold.

"Oh, fuck. Nevermind." You whine and pretend to cry.

"What, the lights went out?!"

"Yeah. I think the backup generators might've tripped out."

"Girl, get your ass home. Who knows when they'll start investigating and working on that?"

"I should've left yesterday. I should've just listened to my gut!"

"But no, you had to go and be my 'lil overachiever." The both of you hear your emails ding— the internet in the building going out, leaving you with choppy service. "Oop, there goes the university message about the backup generator getting blown out for residence halls."

"Save me."

"Babe, just wait it out and get outta there. I'm sure it'll be fine when you drive home later, okay? Text me if anything. I can force my stepbrother to come and rescue you if needed."

"No, no. It's fine. I'll be okay."

"Okay, be safe for now. Love you!"

"Love you, too!" You let out another small breath as you sit in front of your half-packed weekender bag. You continue to pack your things, finalizing the last bits of the necessities needed so you can dash out of here the moment the storm calms—

Whenever that is.

You set your bag aside, along with your jacket and shoes before plopping onto your couch to try and get some work done through your phone's hotspot. But, it doesn't last for long when the videos you need to watch won't play and your data won't upload properly. You check the weather to see if there are any gaps in the rain coming soon, but to your luck, there are none.

In fact, it only sounds like the rain will get worse until tomorrow afternoon.

"Fuck." You whine to yourself, feeling scared and alone without your friends around to keep you company.

Had you listened to your gut and let your work sit for a minute, you wouldn't be in this predicament.

You try to busy yourself by lighting up some candles, spreading it out within your studio from the kitchen table to your nightstand. You go from trying to take notes under the dim candlelight, to laying in your bed trying to warm up.

Suddenly, a text comes through on your phone. You weren't expecting anything to come through with how shitty and inconsistent the service has been. You grab your phone, assuming it was one of your friends or your mom checking in on you.

You did not think it'd be Choi San.

san: hope you're staying warm and safe, y/n.

Your heart drops and you immediately don't know what to do. Should you respond? Should you continue ignoring him, continue to force yourself to act like San doesn't mean much to you?

Erase that part of your life?

After all these months, he still has the same effect on you. No matter how hard you try to hide it, your feelings for him haven't gone anywhere.

you: trying to. i hope you are too.

He doesn't answer right away, but that's only because he wasn't expecting a response. He was fully convinced you hated him since the last time you spoke, yet that hasn't stopped him from thinking about you every single day. Especially now, when the storm is at its peak. You're alone, and he's alone. He misses you.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when you follow up with another text, and he almost feels like this could be a window to talk to you and see how you've been doing. He's been itching to talk to you again.

you: do you have power?

san: i do. do you need anything? just saw the university message about part of the residence halls being out of power.

you: um, no. i think i'm okay.

san: you sure? did they say when it'll come back up?

you: no clue.

san: you can hang out here if you want. i'll give you space.

you: i'll think about it. thank you for offering, though.

san: course. let me know. i was actually hoping we could talk at some point.

You pout a bit, setting your phone aside as you try to lean back against your headboard and continue studying. You try to get your mind off of San, believing you can hold out until tomorrow when the rain smoothes over and the storm passes. The longer the power continues to stay off, the colder it gets. The harder the rain and wind get, the more you hate being alone.

What did San need to talk about?

Your curiosity definitely got to the best of you because even though you don't entirely think you're ready for whatever San has up his sleeve, you pick up your phone to text him back anyway. You don't wanna be alone, and even if you don't wanna admit it right now, you'd rather be with him than here.

you: but, it's pretty crazy outside. you'd drive in this?

san: well, yeah. it's tapering off for a bit anyway. do you want me to come?

you: okay.

san: i'll be there in about 15 minutes.

you: pls be careful.

san: i will, love.

You sigh, pinching at your bottom lip to try and understand your feelings right now. Were you excited? Were you nervous? Were you regretting this?

Should you tell him to not leave? Change your mind?

You're so conflicted that it takes up all your time— up until the very moment that San is texting you that he's in his usual spot. A wave of nostalgia washes over you, and obviously, it's too late to turn back now no matter how nervous you are.

You throw on your huge puffer jacket, throwing on the hood from your hoodie over your head while grabbing your weekender bag, along with your school bag to try and get some work done at San's house. Might as well be productive in a warm place with running hot water, heat and lights.

San is right about the rain; it's a lot lighter than it was earlier, but you know it won't last for long. You hurriedly walk over as the rain continues to fall, swinging his door open and plopping yourself into the passenger's seat— slightly getting the leather wet.

"Hey."

"Hi." You say softly as you settle in, lowering the hood from your face. San feels like his heart is beating out of his chest while he watches you from the side, turning to throw your things in the back before looking at him. "Was it hard driving over?"

"No."

"Hm, okay." You hum.

"How's it been?"

"Fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Heard you're in the final stages for your transfer to Mirae. Namjoon says it's been crazy busy for you because you're trying to wrap things up before you leave."

"Oh, right." You look down at your hands. "Yeah. Yeah, he's right." You pause. "It has been busy that I've barely had time for myself. All worth in the end, I guess."

"Excited?"

"Not sure yet. I will be, I think."

"Mm. That's great, Y/N. You deserve it." You look at him and furrow your brows before scoffing a bit.

"So, that's it? We're just gonna act like things are fine because you're coming to my rescue during a storm?"

"No, that's not it at all." San looks at you, almost matching your energy. "First of all, I was worried about you. Second, I just wanted to check in and then apologize. Is that so wrong of me to do?"

"You don't have to do all that."

"Well, I want to."

"Apologize for what?" You look directly outside of the windshield, listening and watching as the rain hits the glass harshly.

"The texts and the calls during Mingi's birthday at the bar."

"It's fine."

"Was it? You were kinda brushing me off."

"The last time we spoke before that, you broke up with me and we didn't necessarily part ways on a friendly note."

"I wanted to, but you were angry."

"You decided what was best for me. Without me." You cross your arms and look out the window, feeling the hot tears brimming your lids.

"I didn't come and pick you up to argue." He sighs when he sees the switch in your body language. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry because I know I was out of line and I shouldn't have done things that way. I did mean it, though. Everything I said to you that night. What happened that night didn't mean—"

"What is the point of this, San?" You begin to cry into your hands while sitting in the seat. "I don't know what you want."

"Baby, you know what I want."

"Stop." You whine a bit. "I don't know what you want."

"You. It's always been you." He shakily sighs, his own tears brimming his lids. "I'm sorry, I just— I didn't mean to hurt you, love. You know I didn't. I know you've been angry about it, but I was just trying to do what was best at the time. I was scared, and I didn't want anything to happen to you so I jumped. Baby, please know that." His eyes are burning up, cheeks slightly rosy as he looks at you with concern. With hurt.

With love.

"San, you make this so complicated." You whine as you dig your head into your hands as a dull headache comes on.

"I'm not trying to, sweetheart." He almost matches your tone, gaining frustration from the entire situation all over again. It isn't you, no. It's just the fact that he had to do what he needed to do in order to blow shit over, but that meant spending months away from you— the one person wanted and needed.

You're pulled out of your own thoughts when the rain starts to pick up again, pounding against the windshield and windows like pellets. You sigh and shake your head, running your hand through your hair.

"Can we just not.. right now? The storm is gonna pick up again, maybe I should just head back—"

"You can stay at mine. I'll give you space like I promised. Who knows when the generators will be back up." He starts up his car and you don't even protest. "Do you want me to stop by anywhere before heading to the house?"

"It's crazy out here, San. We should just get back to the house." He sighs a bit.

"I'll make you some ramen when we get back." You quietly sit back and watch as San safely navigate the incredibly wet and dangerous roads back to his house. Luckily, it isn't far from campus, and your anxiety lowers when he gets closer to his place. Just as you're about to turn onto his street, the storm picks up quick— the rain hitting the car harshly, making it hard to see through the windshield. But, San finally pulls into his garage, allowing you to release the breath you've been holding during the car ride.

You feel safe again.

You feel safe like you typically do when you're with San. Angry or not— San has always been a safe space for you.

He swings your door open after grabbing your things in the back, giving you space to step out and walk ahead of him. It feels so familiarly unfamiliar walking into his house after months of not doing so, but everything feels the same. It still feels.. safe. Comfortable.

It looks the same.

"It's warm."

"Good." San chuckles a bit before nodding towards upstairs. "I'll take you to the guest bedroom so you can get comfortable and do whatever you need to do." You nod and follow San upstairs, trying to see if anything has changed. But, nothing has.

He swings the door open and the bed is still neatly made with its light grey, fluffy duvet, matching sheets and pillowcases. You quietly set your things down while San backtracks out into the hallway.

"Let me grab you a towel." You nod, starting to go through your bag to change into the pajamas you brought— some old christmas pants and an oversized sweater. San comes back into the room with a towel, placing it gently on the edge of the bed. "Here."

"Thank you." You grab the towel, along with your travel pouch and clothes, and head to the guest bathroom to get washed up. You're setting your things down onto the counter when you hear San approaching. He's carrying something in his hand, welcoming himself into the bathroom.

"I, um, have this." San brings a basket full of skincare and hair products that you use. "I took note of the stuff you use so you wouldn't have to keep hauling it over. You know.. back then." You turn to him, surprised he got every detail right.

"San."

"It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, it is. Thank you."

"Course. Do you need anything else?"

"No. This is perfect." He nods.

"I'll be downstairs." You give him a tiny smile before he walks out and shuts the door to leave you to your peace. You take a moment to go through the basket that San brought in, feeling your heart swell at how incredibly attentive he's always been.

You miss him so badly, and he's just in the room below.

You shake off the thoughts in your head, stepping into the piping hot shower to finally release all stress and overthinking. You take your time being that San's power seems to be holding on strong, and you're not gonna lie, his shower feels amazing after the busy ass weeks you've been having. You step out after a good 30-mins of extra lathering, exfoliation and scrubbing, really giving yourself the self-care treatment you've been yearning for. You finish up your routine by lotioning up and brushing some treatment through your hair before changing into your pajamas. You step into the room to fix your things, grabbing your laptop and gently tossing it on the bed so you can slowly pick up where you left off earlier—

"Nice pajamas." San stands by the door with a bowl and water in his hands, making you roll your eyes.

"I was supposed to head to my mom's, not yours." You pout and it makes San bite his lip to prevent himself from teasing you even more about your mickey mouse Christmas pajamas. "Don't make fun of me."

"No, it's cute." He sets the bowl of ramen on the nightstand near the bed. "Made you a bowl."

"Thank you." He nods.

"I'm gonna be next door in my office to finish up some things. Will you be okay in here?"

"Yeah, I will be."

"Well, you're welcome to pop in if you need anything. Help yourself to anything downstairs, too. You can just leave the bowl in the dishwasher."

"No worries. Thank you, San." You say softly as you sit on the edge of the bed. He nods and locks eyes with you for a moment, a soft gaze on his face before he grabs at the door handle. He slowly shuts the door, almost pained having to do so.

He wishes he didn't have to, he wishes he didn't have to keep this door between you two. Those walls.

And you do, too. But, you're too scared to say it. Because if you say it, how will you overcome these feelings? You shouldn't even be here in the first place since you've done so well minding your own business while burying your feelings for San. You've done so well, and now, you're here. Threatening to reverse all of that work. You just weren't sure where this would take you two and the uncertainty kills you.

In the end, what if it just never really works out? What would've all of this been for?

You shake the thoughts out of your head, eating the delicious ramen San made you before chugging most of your water bottle. It gives you enough energy to power through the work you couldn't complete earlier in your studio due to the power going out. You can hear San hopping on a few phone calls, one being with Jongho. You hear San's deep voice talking through a lot of key points during some of these calls. You try to focus your way through most of your work, trying to ignore how awfully attractive San sounds through the walls.

Then, it gets quiet. And you know he's busying himself, too.

When in reality, San is wondering when he could talk to you a little more. He can't stop thinking about how cute you look in those pajamas. How much he just wanted to hug you and hold you close.

To just be with you.

But instead, he lets out an audible sigh and continues working on his presentation for this meeting coming up for a new grant he's close to being rewarded. It takes him about another 45 minutes before he's done for the evening. He shuts off his computer and fixes his desk before heading out of his office to get cozy.

You don't really hear San moving around as much, so you figured he was deep in his work that you could head downstairs, clean up your dishes and grab another water bottle for the night. When you swing the door open, the door to San's office is open, and so is the room. You don't see San around, but you do faintly hear the shower going. You quietly shut the door and head down the steps with the dishes and empty water bottle in hand, instantly tossing the bottle into San's recycling bin. You wash the dishes instead of leaving them in the dishwasher, setting them neatly on San's drying rack next to the sink. Afterward, you dig into San's fridge for a new water bottle, quickly eyeing how stocked his fridge is.

"Hey." He looks at you as he comes down the steps slowly, running a small towel across his wet hair. Your eyes can't help but fall to his bare chest for a short moment, a shirt hanging on his broad shoulder. "Sorry, wasn't expecting you to be down here right at this moment." You shut the fridge door.

"Just wanted to grab some more water and wash your dishes." He nods.

"Is it too cold for you upstairs? Do you want me to turn up the heat?"

"No, it's alright. Thanks." He brushes past you, the scent of his body wash lingering in the air. He digs into the fridge and pulls out his own water bottle before twisting the cap open and taking a sip. You find yourself stuck in your position until thunder roars outside, lightning following shortly afterward.

"Jeez." San says, looking at the weather outside. "Yeah, you definitely wouldn't be having a good time at your place in this."

"Not at all." He cocks his head to the side, trying to read the quiet tone you respond with.

"You scared of thunder?"

"No." You look at him with a look. "Not really." He cocks a brow up, still shirtless a few feet away from you. "Kinda. It's just really loud." He chuckles a bit.

"Well, you're safe here." You silently nod.

"Aren't you cold or something?" You avoid eye contact as you take another sip of your water.

"Not really. Why? Is this bothering you?" He smirks a bit and you roll your eyes.

"Please."

"Just curious." Is all he says with the smirk still on his face while taking another sip. You should be heading upstairs to mind your own business and sleep, distancing yourself from San like you had originally planned.

But, you can't.

And he can tell.

He stands in the kitchen, watching as you pause in your steps, turning back to face him.

"San?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I.. ask you something then?"

"What's up?" He gently sets his bottle back down, slipping into his t-shirt. Finally, you think. It's hard when your attraction to him hasn't faded one bit.

"About that night.. with Zara."

"Oh." He simply says, leaning against the counter. "What about that night?"

"Did you mean that part?" You step closer to him. "You know, about the kiss."

"I did. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, and there was just a misunderstanding between us. I never meant to lead her on or anything, but I think she might've mistaken my actions for feelings."

"Oh." He sees you deflate a bit and he reaches out to brush your hair back. He does it slow, though. In case you don't want him near you, or you retract. But, you don't. You look at him like you've been needing him the same way he's needed you, and it relaxes him a bit.

"Y/N, I promise. It didn't mean anything. She kissed me first and I didn't really have time to react right away. It sounds stupid, and I was drunk. But, it meant nothing to me. And I told her the truth." His hand rests on your cheek and you lean into his touch. "Even throughout all of that, I just felt even more.. lonely and empty without you, I didn't really know how to cope with it."

"It made me feel like you two had something going on."

"No." He says softly. "I'm sorry, angel. I didn't mean to make you sad or upset over that." You pull away from his touch and look down at your feet.

"That's okay."

"Is it?" You nod. "I'm sorry for the way I came off that night, too. I didn't mean to overwhelm you or anything."

"That's okay, San." You respond close to a whisper.

"I thought you were done with me."

"No. I've just been doing what you insisted in the first place." He sighs, his hand dropping down from your cheek.

Things shouldn't be this complicated, and he's afraid he doesn't care much about the repercussions anymore. Time has passed, and his feelings haven't changed.

It shouldn't be like this.

"Anyway. Should probably head back upstairs." There's a sense of defeat in your tone and San can feel it, too. He simply nods, fighting with himself to gain the courage to just ask you to join him in bed tonight so you can talk, catch up.

So he can say sorry.

So he can get you back.

Because that's all he wants, and that's all he's ever cared for.

Why he chose today in particular, he isn't sure. But, the storm, the gloomy days and the rain all reminded him of the way he'd be feeling lately and how tired he was of it.

San quietly follows you up the steps, every step closer and closer to shattering through the invisible glass floor he walks on.

Fuck this.

"Hey. Why don't you—" San begins, but it comes out at the same exact time you hit him with the—

"Actually. Is it okay if I join you?" The both of you pause, looking at each other with a sort of need, a sort of long time longing and yearning.

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah, of course." You rub at your arm as you slowly walk into the room after him, awkwardly standing at the end of his bed as if you hadn't slept there before. "You can get comfortable, Y/N. You don't have to do that."

"Sorry, it's just been awhile."

"That's okay." He pulls back the covers and gives you a moment to slip in before he does. He adjusts a bit, making sure to leave some space in between in case you were uncomfortable, but the distance only has you feeling empty. Lonely. "Gotta make sure the thunder doesn't get you."

"Funny." You turn to him and glare, making him laugh a bit. The photo on his nightstand catches your attention— it's a photo you two took on your trip to the Baskin Conference. He must have caught on because his eyes travel down to the photo and he smiles toothlessly.

"It's my favorite picture."

"It's mine, too." You respond softly while looking at San in front of you. His eyes are roaming around, eyeing your features. "So, are you and Zara still friends?" He shrugs.

"I don't really know. I haven't talked to her. It's pretty awkward and I know I hurt her, so I don't know if she necessarily wants me around."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

"She's always had it for you, San. And I almost thought you two were better off. I thought it'd end up that way when we broke up." He shakes his head.

"Nah. I've only been concerned about one person and that has never changed since everything happened." He says, close to a whisper. His hand comes to your cheek again, gently caresses the surface with his thumb. The space in between you two feels so cold, and it makes you realize you don't wanna be this far from San.

You don't want anything to keep you two apart anymore.

"I wanna talk to you about that day, too. When we were in the car."

"Okay."

"There were so many things happening that I just needed to protect you from." He brushes the hair away from your face. "Please know that I never wanted it to happen, and that I never had any plans to leave. I just had to do what was right because I was scared for you first and foremost. I didn't want you to get hurt, I didn't want anything to happen to you."

"I know, San. I'm sorry." You whisper. "I was too hurt to realize it at first, but I know you were just trying to protect me and do what was best." He licks his lips and continues to maintain eye contact.

"But, trust me. I wouldn't have if I truly didn't have to, angel. You were and have always been the most important person. That hasn't changed." You lean into his touch, turning your head to gently lay a kiss on the palm of his hand— scooting into his arms when he pulls you into them.

And it feels like home all over again.

"San."

"Yeah, love?"

"I don't wanna do this anymore."

"I don't either." You feel the tears welling up in your lids, a few already streaking down your cheeks. The only difference this time around is that San is here to wipe it away, to comfort you, to physically reassure you that he has always been here regardless of the circumstances.

"I'm tired of crying over you, I'm tired of missing us."

"I hated seeing you cry. I don't want you to cry." He whispers.

"Then, what're we supposed to do, San?" You ask at a whisper and he continues to cup your cheek.

"You're transferring, love. Things will change, and I don't think it'll be as bad as it was before."

"I know, but we shouldn't be reckless anymore. Regardless if I'm transferring."

"I won't. We won't. I can't keep going like this, baby. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do and I don't wanna do it anymore." He shakes his head. "I can't lose you for good. I can't."

"You won't."

"Good, cause I don't plan to." He says lowly, caressing your cheek before bringing your lips to his for a sweet, soft kiss.

You missed this, and you missed San. And your body must have too, because it reacts instantly to his touch. His kiss.

He holds you close, his body heat keeping you warm under the sheets. He cups your cheek and presses soft, feathery kisses to your eye, cheek.

Nose.

Lips.

"Missed you, sweetheart."

"Missed you too, Sannie."

"Yeah?" He whispers, continuing to plant sweet kisses across your face, down your neck.

Soon, your shirt is off and so is San's. He takes his time caressing your body, feeling every inch that he can.

Lips gently dragging across your skin like a paintbrush against the canvas; painting you with sweet, love marks— kisses that are meant to close and heal each wound from the past months.

You and San take your time indulging in each other. The kisses are slow, the touches are gentle. The actions are sweet. He hovers over you, careful not to put his entire weight down while he kisses down to your chest— tongue swirling around your perked buds one at a time before gently pulling back with a pop. His thumb is slowly rubbing at your heat as he continues his trail down, two digits slipping in just to feel how wet you are for him— how ready you are for him. His lips are grazing yours as he slightly picks up the pace; just enough for you to feel his fingers curling at the right spots, dragging them in and out at a overwhelmingly pleasurable pace to start you off.

He takes his time. His focus is on you, not himself.

When you beg him to keep going, he teases you a bit with his cock— slipping and sliding in between your folds with intention, nudging his tip ever so slightly into your entrance before repeating his motions a few more times. He lets out a low moan when he sees how much you're yearning for him, how much your eyes are pleading him for him to give you more and more— slowly easing himself into the space that was made for him and him only until he bottoms out, your pussy swallowing him whole. He pauses for a second, now lowering himself back down onto your body so he can hold you close. The both of you wrap your arms around each other as he starts at a slow and steady pace— letting you feel every inch of him, every part of him that missed you so terribly and so deeply.

He praises you in your ear, keeping you close, holding you close; making sure he won't ever let you go again. Everything about it is so sensual, so intimate, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be than in San's arms. He continues slowly, deeply, laying more kisses across the skin of your neck and jaw.

Back up to your cheeks, eyes.

Nose.

Lips.

“Can you be a good girl and turn around for me, baby? Hm?” He says and hums lowly. “Please.” He pleads, just as he presses his lips onto yours for a heated, open-mouthed kiss. You do as he asks, flipping onto your stomach while you press your cheek against the pillow. His large hands roam up your body, leaving kisses in a fiery trail from your lower back— up to your shoulder blades and the sides of your neck. He reconnects your bodies as one, your mouth falling agape as he lets out a deep moan. You’ve got a leg bent up, with the other straight— San’s hands resting on your thigh and hip as he slides his thick cock in and out of you. He’s quick to find his rhythm, moans and repeated whines filling the walls of the bedroom.

"Y/N." San lowers himself to grip your chin, back pressed against his chest. He whispers in your ear as he rolls his hips into you from behind harshly, an arm now wrapped around you to keep you as close as possible.

"Sannie." You breathe out repeatedly. He pants, the low moans and whimpers echoing in the space of the room.

Bodies slick with sweat.

San moves to the side, pressing his lips against your temple just before letting out another guttural groan at the way your walls squeeze him so perfectly, pushing him right at the edge.

Heaven sent.

"Y/N." He repeats your name, his words are choked; he feels himself tipping over, coil ready to snap any second. His dick slick with your wetness every time he drags in and out. "I love you." He says. "I love you, baby." He repeats over and over, and over, and over again. Until it sinks into your skin, into those wounds.

Until it bleeds deep into your soul.

"I love you too, San."

In the following weeks, you find yourself busy as can be in Professor Kim's lab. You were able to pull your transfer application and all the required documents together within the two week timeframe given, along with participating in meetings with Professor Qi to slowly start getting yourself acclimated to her lab, her work and the clinical department you'd be working heavily in.

To say you are exhausted would be an understatement.

But, having San back by your side helps a lot.

You and San have been very secretive about your relationship for very obvious reasons; despite you pretty much having the transfer in your pocket and being the next step in your career, you were still scared. You stopped having San pick you up on campus, opting to drive to his place and slipping your car into the garage while San would leave his cars out. You wouldn't mention San to anyone, you wouldn't talk about his lab, you wouldn't do anything except focus on yourself, your work in Professor Kim's lab and making preparations to move.

After hours— it was different.

Barely can keep your hands off of each other within the walls of San's home, making up for lost time. Constantly in each other's space, afraid to let go in case the other wanders too far away. But, you could never. San could never.

"Sannie." You giggle when San wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses you against the forehead, cheek, jaw. His hands roam around your body, caressing and squeezing every inch he possible can.

"Why are you rushing out?"

"Uh, because I have things to do. Like you do." You laugh.

"5 minutes."

"5 minutes and we'll both be late. No." He whines and pouts.

"No fun."

"I'll see you later, yeah?" You turn to face him after getting your things together. "Have a good day." San continues to pout.

"You too, baby." You laugh and start heading out of the room. San follows, tying the tie around his neck properly. "What time are you planning to come, anyway?"

"I promised my friends I'd get dinner with them, so after?"

"Hm." He hums. "Okay, love."

"But, at least I won't have an early start tomorrow."

"Thank god. Cause I got plans for tonight." You smile and caress his chin before giving him another quick peck to the lips.

"I love you." You say softly when you pull back briefly.

"I love you, too." San smiles, losing his pout completely when he hears you say those words. It could literally fuel his entire day— which, he'll need with all the back-to-back meetings he has today.

When you get to campus, you head straight to class— grabbing a parfait on the way over. It seems to be a pretty busy day on campus, being that it was nearly impossible to find parking, and all your favorite quick cafés seemed to be packed with people. You find that there are multiple symposiums going on, along with other important events around campus. Class isn't too bad, and it goes by a lot quicker with the last half being small group breakouts and assignments that need to be completed before class ends. Afterward, you hurry on to the lab, hoping to snag one of the small conference rooms for your check-in with Professor Qi.

Except, you run into a minor roadblock— one that you very much want to confront head on instead of ignoring it like you typically do.

"Professor Lee?" You turn to Iseul as you tuck your books to your chest. She turns over her shoulder to look at you, brows knitted tightly together as if she's already annoyed that you're calling for her attention. And if she is, you couldn't give a fuck. Because she isn't gonna like what's gonna come out of your mouth next, and you hope it finally sinks into her thick ass skull.

"Yes?" She checks her watch. "Can we make this brief? I'm heading to a meeting."

"Don't worry, I don't care to take up much of your time." You give her a small smile. "Thank you for your support with my move to Professor Qi's lab at Mirae. Seems like after all the trouble you went through to try and air out my business, it only brought me to better opportunities. I'm not going anywhere and so isn't San." She's glaring at you now, watching your every move in total disgust.

"Very bold move of you to come up to me and waste my time on the way to a meeting."

"Also very bold of you to meddle in his business after everything you've put him through."

"You have no right to speak on that."

"And you had no right to involve yourself in something that doesn't concern you." You pause. "Just so we're clear on this." You step a little closer and tilt your head to the side. "You can do whatever you want, however you want. I'm not gonna let you take his happiness away again." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, turning to her watch again.

"I’ll assume this is done." You give her a toothless smile before she storms off, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Although she probably won't give this another thought, you felt accomplished having released that from your chest. But little do you know, she hates it, and she hates it because she only thought she was doing the right thing.

Now, she's the enemy and everyone sees her and Yunho as that.

you: hey.

You pull out your phone as you scurry along to the conference room, still having enough time to spare before your check-in with Professor Qi. San texts back almost instantly even though he's definitely in a Zoom meeting right now, making you chuckle to yourself.

He will always make time for you, regardless.

san: hey baby. what's up?

you: sorry, wasn't expecting you to answer mid-meeting.

san: it's alright, i can do both. you okay?

you: i am.

you: i just wanna say i really appreciate you, san.

san: all of a sudden? 😂 i appreciate you too, love. more than you know.

you: yeah. 🥹 i love you.

san: i love you too, sweet girl.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated @randajjjad

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lisbeth-kk · 1 month ago

Text

Sherlock fandom

Even at My Worst?

He knows he’s messy. He knows he gets too absorbed in his experiments and forgets time and space.

“What happened here?” has been a constant melody that’s followed him from his early childhood.

He knows that sooner or later, people leave him; they always do. He knows, and still, he hopes that this time, it might last forever.

Because this time, a man, unassuming at first, doesn’t falter when he deduces him to shreds. This time, a man just lifts his chin in defiance, urging him to elaborate. This time, a man praises him as if he’s some sort of oracle; and means it. This time, it’s not mocking, but genuine astonishment.

“That was amazing. Quite extraordinary.”

Those words soar around the corridors and halls of his Mind Palace like the mesmerising northern lights.

So, it really shouldn’t come as a surprise that the man shooting Jeff Hope is Sherlock’s flatmate, John Watson. A crack shot. A military doctor. An army captain. A man with a limp Sherlock cured before they’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours. A man Sherlock knows he’ll be lost without. A man Sherlock will gladly die for, if it means that John Watson lives.

***

“What the hell happened here, Sherlock?”

John is angry, there’s no doubt about that.

For the life of him, Sherlock can’t deduce what about, though. His experiments the last weeks have been excessive, vile, dangerous, and dissatisfactory. Lestrade is on holiday – is that even allowed for a DI? Sherlock’s emails have only contained tedious cases of adultery or fraud, hence the numerous experiments.

“Sherlock! A head. In the fridge!”

Oh, that.

“Yes, I am aware. Where else would you prefer that I put it?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t bring it to the flat in the first place, Sherlock,” is the tired answer.

This is it. This is the drop. Take note of the date and time, Sherlock. This is where John is leaving you.

To Sherlock’s relief and utter surprise, John does no such thing. Instead, he makes tea, sighs exasperated, and starts the crossword.

How can this be? How is it possible that even a severed head in the fridge doesn’t get John to run for the hills?

***

“What happened here?”

John’s voice is barely audible. Sherlock has no idea where he is. What he does know, is that his body aches. Everywhere. He inhales and groans.

Hospital.

He feels something warm and wet on his hand. A sob. From John. He is crying.

Why?

With effort, Sherlock manages to open his eyes. John’s head is bowed where he sits at the side of the hospital bed. Another tear falls.

Do something! Say something! Anything!

He takes comfort in the only word that almost always suffices when he’s out of his depths.

“John.”

“Sherlock.”

John’s face is contorted, worried, ashen.

What had happened?

“I was too late. Couldn’t come with you. You did…Jesus, you went after him without backup, Sherlock. You can’t do that to me. I can’t…”

John doesn’t elaborate, and Sherlock falls back into unconsciousness.

***

Smoke fills 221B. He runs to open the windows, coughing all the while. Sherlock had lost himself in his Mind Palace and had forgot the pan on the cooker. Correction: he’d forgot to turn off the cooker with the pan still on it.

“Sherlock! What’s happened? Are you okay?”

John comes running up the stairs and starts coughing the second he enters the flat.

“Pan. Cooker,” Sherlock explains.

“Have you turned it off at least?”

John sounds relieved, as if it’s better to leave the pan on a burning cooker than to put toes in the sugar bowl.

The former is probably considered more domestic and common.

Sherlock confirms that he’s done the right thing, and John calms down, shakes his head, then chuckles when Sherlock explains why the incident had occurred in the first place.

“It’s not always a perk to be a genius and loose oneself in one’s own head, you know.”

Sherlock harrumphs, but he reckons his lopsided smile gives him away.

***

“John! Are you alright? What the hell happened, Gordon?”

Sherlock is equal parts furious and terrified.

“I’m fine, Sherlock. Just tripped on a loose cobblestone. Not Greg’s fault.”

The gash on John’s forehead needs stitches, and the paramedic shoos him out of the ambulance.

“I’ll take you to the hospital, Sherlock,” Lestrade says.

Sherlock locks eyes with John before the doors close, and a silent conversation no one else understands takes place within seconds.

“I am right behind you.”

“I know.”

“See you soon.”

“Yes, soon.”

Soon is far too late for Sherlock’s liking, but finally he’s seated beside John’s bed, cradling his hand, patiently waiting for the nurse to finish her tedious examination. John’s forehead has been stitched up and a dressing is in place. Surely, there’s no need for that woman to linger any longer when Sherlock has things to say to John.

“Thanks, Ms Trent. I’ll be fine, and I’ll let you know if anything feels amiss. I am a doctor, you know.”

John’s voice is friendly, stern, and tired all at once.

How does he do that?

“Sherlock?”

He has lost himself in his head again. This is not the time for that sort of nonsense. He needs to tell, no, to ask John something.

“John, are you…will you…can you…”

“Yes, Sherlock. I will stay. Forever. I can imagine a future with you. I am in love with you too.”

Surely, John is concussed!

“Okay, stop blinking, please. You know it freaks me out.”

“Are you sure, John?”

“I have never been surer about anything in my life, Sherlock. Forever and always, is what I want with you. For better or worse.”

“Even at my worst?”

Sherlock feels lightheaded, confused, and insanely happy.

“Even then, sweetheart. Now, will you please get down here so I can kiss you.”

Sweetheart. Kiss you.

“Yes, John.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely @jolieblack

@221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

@peanitbear @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982 @johnlock-and-tea @a-victorian-girl

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(Let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF301 #what happened here #ao3 fanfic #thanks for reblogging!

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year ago

Note

Ok but…what about the reader being like provocative to the yandilf but she does even know it like for example she reaches over to grab something like across the counter in the kitchen?? Tbh fav genre 🫣

Anon, you're enabling my Yandere! DILF brainworm 🫣 <3

TW: Implied Smut, Victim-Blaming, Creepy! Dominic, Perverted! Dominic

♡ Given that the only times you're ever at Dominic's house are to babysit his sons, it's safe to assume that the two of you aren't alone when this happens. As such, Dominic has no way to act on your perceived act of provocation, nor the opportunity to deal with the aftermath of it.

♡ But you'd best believe he's going to commit the visage of your bent figure to memory and use it as fuel later on.

♡ Give Dominic an inch and he'll run a mile.

♡ He has nasty fantasies about acting on his instinct to ravage you when he had the chance, to press your face into the counter as he found a way inside you - one way or another.

♡ Sometimes, that idea is the only thing that can get him off. Especially since the windows of time in which he sees you are usually slim, making your interactions that much more profound and memorable to him. Especially ones of such a promiscuous nature.

♡ Dominic never thinks he's in the wrong.

♡ Ever.

♡ Consequently, he never feels guilt when he uses the image of you obviously trying to get his attention as the object of his self love sessions.

♡ Any shame he would feel gets directed straight into the 'You were asking for it' pile (his IRL spam email box).

♡ Whenever he knows you're coming over, he likes to keep things as out-of-your-reach as possible, knowing that your inability to attain that which you need will lead to either you: a.) bending/stretching to get it again, or b.) asking him to get it for you, which gives him the perfect opportunity to squeeze in behind you, feel the curve of your body against his while allowing you to feel how well-endowed he is (caveman peacocking instincts go craaazy).

♡ But he'll never tell you that. Rather, he'll let you feel it.

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

#sweet as an angel #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #original yandere #yandere writing #yandere blog #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere dilf #yandere dilf x reader

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neetily · 3 months ago

Text

ohhhh my god guys....

today, samsung sent me an email saying my recent order for a new phone was cancelled. which is fucked up, because i called support yesterday and they said my order was under security checks for fraud. no biggie, i just called support and they said "ummmmmm weird. im looking at your order rn and it hasn't been cancelled, so who know what that email was about! wait 24 to 48 hours for us to email you again with a definite answer regarding your order, because it's still undergoing security checks."

okay. kinda annoying, but such is life.

and THEN my pc audio fucked up SO BAD after connecting a fucking CONTROLLER into my pc, meaning that despite my headset being connected and recognised by my computer, literally no audio would ever play. it just kept saying ERROR. nothing me and my brother done fixed it. why? WE DON'T KNOW LOL...

so, i had to REINSTALL WINDOWS ??!??!?!! just to get my audio working again. the process of which caused the reinstall to DELETE my backup drive WITHOUT ASKING ME... so i lost all of my art, my writing, my games, etc. luckily, my brother recovered most of it by accessing the old partition, but like it's so fucked up that it just wiped everything without asking LMFAO...

and now i have a headache trying to re-log in to everything, and downloading all of the necessary drivers and such.

#hush⛔️#the tech gods have cursed me

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amourhazely · 2 months ago

Text

From Petals to Partnership

AU Kiara Carerra x Rafe Cameron

Words: 1k

Summary: In a chaotic living room, Kiara struggles with a wedding flower mishap while Rafe, her reluctant partner, tries to help despite his confusion. As they brainstorm backup ideas, their initial resentment transforms into a budding friendship, revealing their shared desire to make Sarah’s wedding perfect.

Tags: wedding planning, partnership, cute bickering?

The sun streamed through the windows of Rafe’s sprawling house, illuminating the chaotic scene that unfolded in the living room. Kiara was sprawled across the brown sofa, her laptop resting on her lap, a scowl etched on her face as she read an email that seemed to ruin her entire day. Rafe, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth, his restless energy palpable as he tried to figure out how to help with Kiara’s complaints.

“Okay, so… what’s the issue again?” Rafe asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. When he didn’t hear Kiara respond, he paused in his pacing, glancing at her. She was now furiously typing a response to the florist.

“The issue is that the flowers are completely wrong!” Kiara snapped, her frustration bubbling over. She didn’t know if it stemmed from receiving bad news or from Rafe not understanding the issue.

“Sarah specifically wanted peonies and gardenias, and apparently, they are going to send sunflowers and daisies instead! I have no idea if we can get the correct flowers on such short notice. Even their email response team has a policy of replying within 10 to 15 business days!”

Rafe blinked, genuinely baffled. “Okay… but flowers are flowers, right? Can’t we just… I don’t know, put them in a vase and call it a day? I mean, it’s not like they’re ugly flowers or are going to ruin the entire wedding.”

Rafe didn’t understand the issue but soon realized that what he had just said might not have been helpful at all.

Kiara sat up, her laptop sliding slightly off her lap as she turned to face him. “It’s her favorite flowers, Rafe. She’s been talking about how excited she is for the place to be filled with them. Apparently, she got Wheezie to help her make a whole mood board when she was 15 years old?”

“Not concerning at all…” Rafe whispered sarcastically.

Kiara heard him and shot him a glare. “I need to prove to her, as the maid of honor, that I can make this wedding perfect for her… Gosh, I don’t even know why I’m explaining this to you. Of course, you don’t see the big deal in this!”

Rafe raised his hands in a defensive gesture; her upcoming outburst was the last thing he wanted to provoke. “I’m just trying to help!” He let out a deep sigh.

“Why did Sarah put us together for this anyway? I mean, she knows we don’t exactly get along. I’m surprised she even has me involved, really.”

Kiara paused, her anger deflating slightly as she realized he wasn’t trying to be a jerk. He was genuinely confused and unsure about his role in all this. He was just trying to help in his own misguided way.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “Maybe she thought we’d balance each other out or something.”

“Balance?” Rafe scoffed, but there was no malice in his tone. “I’m not even balanced myself. I’m a mess.”

Kiara chuckled softly, despite herself. “Yeah, you’re not wrong on that.” She looked up at Rafe again and heard a chuckle escape him too, but his face said something else.

Rafe looked away, but Kiara held his stare; she saw the guilt and insecurity creeping up on him again. It was the same little frown he had given her back when they were kidnapped under the same roof.

“Hey, Rafe…” She tried to get his attention back from wherever it had gone. “We’re both a mess right now.”

Rafe now stood in front of the coffee table, looking down at her, or rather at the floor. He still didn’t say a word.

“Maybe that’s why she thought we could work together, or maybe she just wanted the people she trusts the most to do the job. To give her the perfect day. She trusts you to do that, Rafe. And we both want to make Sarah happy, even if we don’t see eye to eye.”

Kiara tried to reassure him, maybe even herself.

Kiara waited for any form of response, and Rafe finally gave a little nod. “Okay,” he whispered, now making direct eye contact with Kiara.

Those goddamn blue eyes pierced right through her soul. “So, what do we do about the flowers?” He said, making his way around the table and sitting on the couch but keeping a good distance between them.

“Because I really don’t want to be on Sarah’s bad side, or yours for that matter.”

Kiara couldn’t help but smile a little. “Maybe… we can brainstorm some backup ideas if they can’t send the original order in time.”

“Backup ideas? Like what?” Rafe scratched his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the whole concept of wedding planning and the importance of flowers.

“Like, if they can’t get the right flowers in time, we can think of alternatives that still fit the vibe. Maybe something that incorporates the colors Sarah loves, or even a wildflower theme…” Kiara began to explain, her enthusiasm slowly creeping back.

Rafe listened, genuinely interested. “Okay, I can do that. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll help.”

As they started to work together, something shifted in the air. The tension between them, once thick with resentment, began to dissipate, replaced by a cautious sense of friendship. Rafe found himself captivated by Kiara’s dedication, while she began to see him as someone who genuinely wanted to contribute positively.

Hours passed as they sorted through the details, and for the first time, Kiara felt a sense of ease around Rafe. Maybe, just maybe, they could turn this chaotic wedding planning into something more than just a task to endure.

As the sun set, casting a golden glow in the room, Kiara glanced over at Rafe, who was now sitting on the floor and flipping through a floral catalog, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You know, you’re not as bad as I thought,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

Rafe looked up, a playful smirk on his face. “And you’re not as uptight as I thought. Maybe we’re not so different after all, kie.”

“Don’t push it,” Kiara replied, but her smile betrayed her amusement.

————————-

author’s note:

Hi lovelies,

I got inspired by the fact that John B and Sarah might be having a wedding in Season 5, and in an alternate universe, we would have Kiara and Rafe do all the planning

My first language isn’t English, so I apologize if some of the grammar isn’t correct or if the story is a little boring. I’m also aware that the story might not fit the characters and that it isn’t romantic at all, but I hope you still enjoyed it. I would love to receive any feedback or advice moving forward, and I might even consider doing a part 2 if people are interested?

#riara #kiara carrera #rafe cameron #fanfic #outer banks #wedding #wedding planning #alternate universe #i hope you like it #lovelies!#thank you

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bergeronprocess · 8 months ago

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9/25/24

It’s raining really hard today and it just made me think about a rainy day in Paldea and how my original/game protagonist character might deal with that.

Also good god I love Scarvi so much but they REALLY needed to give the areas proper names.

Well, there go my plans, thought Violetta the moment she opened her eyes. The rain was driving hard against her window, the world outside tinged in gray, creating a morning darker than it should have been. Her plan had been to head out to South Province Area 4 and go on a Pokemon catching spree, but immediately she knew the marshy area would be even worse than usual with all this hard rain and it was just going to be a miserable time.

So instead, it was time to create a plan B.

Violetta sat up, stretched and looked over to see her partner Pokemon Sprigatito (Spriggy for short) still curled up asleep in her bed, which just so happened to be shaped like a pizza. She knew that wouldn’t be the case for much longer, though, so she hopped out of bed and immediately saw to filling Spriggy’s bowl with kibble. The sound of the kibble woke her up and she ambled over to get her breakfast, her Everstone clinking on her collar as she walked. She meowed approvingly and began to eat.

“As for me,” Violetta said aloud, her accent giving away her Wyndonian heritage. “Breakfast here, or at the dining hall?” She took a quick inventory of what was available in her cabinets and found a box of Choco-Pokeball cereal, her absolute favorite. “Right, that’s the way!” And so she poured herself a big bowl of it, added some Moomoo Milk from her fridge, then sat at her desk and opened her laptop to browse the internet while she ate.

A quick check of the weather confirmed that this rain would be falling all day. Violetta had already attended all of her required class sessions for the week, so she didn’t have that as a backup plan. No new messages had popped up in her Uva Academy email account overnight and her direct messages inbox was empty on the Uva Grapes social media site. The weather was too dreadful for her to want to visit her mum’s restaurant in Los Platos. She really and truly had no plans.

What to do?!

She got cleaned up and got dressed in casual clothes (not needing to go to class meant no need for uniforms), recalled Spriggy to her Pokeball, made sure she had her purse and left her room.

Having arrived in Paldea at the start of this school year after moving to the region with her mum, Violetta found herself in a surprising new role at Uva Academy. She was popular. All the other kids seemed to be interested in her. The combination of Galarian accent, battling Team Star on her first day, her unusual Cyclizar-like Pokemon with a color that matched her hair and her willingness to give anything a go had endeared her to the population. It was very much the opposite of her experience back in Galar, where she purposefully distanced herself from everyone because her father kept her up to her eyeballs helping to run the bed and breakfast. It was different - and it was nice.

She said hi to everyone she saw as she made her way, using only internal hallways and corridors so as to stay dry, into the library. Her father hadn’t allowed her to have a Pokemon, so she felt she was lagging behind other students in terms of her Pokemon knowledge. Thankfully the library had tomes upon tomes to help her get up to speed. She spent some time quietly reading up on her type advantages - some of them made sense to her, but she really struggled to master others - and then felt her phone vibrate.

It was her best mate Nemona!

“What’s up today?” read her text message.

“Literally nothing. Not going anywhere in this rain!” Violetta answered.

“I hear that,” Nemona answered. “Me neither. Classes?”

“Finished them for the week.”

“Same. Nowhere indoors to battle safely either :( Ugh this sucks.” That was a relatively down note for the eternally chipper Nemona, thought Violetta. “Where you at?”

“Library. Reading up on type advantages. I just can’t make heads or tails of Poison type!”

“Just try to remember that the ground safely absorbs poison and that a psychic can see the poison coming and avoid it!” Oh, that’s actually quite a good mnemonic. No wonder she’s a Champion, thought Violetta. “Let’s get some churros at the dining hall.” Well, go on then!

The two girls sat side-by-side, facing outward, all the better to people-watch as they dunked their freshly-made churros into luscious chocolate sauce. Nemona was chatting away about how she battled a third year after class yesterday and totally schooled him, he had no idea what he was up against, he was so mismatched, he…

Then suddenly Violetta felt like she could barely hear Nemona despite her literally being right there. A certain someone walked into the dining hall and time seemed to slow down entirely, like in a movie. Everything else faded away for a moment. He even has his hair up in a Ponytatail, thought Violetta as she felt herself get warmer and felt her heart start to beat faster and faster. I love when he has his hair in a Ponytatail.

Arven made a Beedrill-line straight for the counter. Violetta couldn’t hear whatever he was ordering over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. She absentmindedly continued to dunk the same churro in her chocolate sauce over and over again - it was rapidly becoming a mushy mess - he looked so good saying thank you to the staff members and then receiving his tray of food, she couldn’t stop staring, his arms looked so strong holding that tray, did he work out or something, wait hold on, hold on, is he…

“Little buddy!” he said brightly, smiling from ear to ear as he noticed Violetta sitting there. Overly excited, she waved…the hand that had been dipping that churro so thoroughly, flinging chocolate sauce all over.

“Oye!! Stop that!!” Nemona protested, flailing her arms about, scrambling to grab a napkin.

“Oh no!! Sorry!!” Violetta said with an embarrassed gasp, letting go of the churro so it would plop onto her tray before realizing she’d splattered chocolate sauce all over her shirt. Now she felt mortified, so much so that she just wanted to shrink into her chair. Arven probably thinks I’m mad, or an idiot, or both.

But instead, he just kept smiling, set down his tray containing a mug of Tapu Cocoa topped with pink marshmallows that had Ditto faces on them and put his oversize backpack onto the chair in front of his tray. Unzipping one of its many, many pockets, he retrieved a towel and offered it to Violetta.

“Here,” he said, his voice as warm as that Tapu Cocoa must be. “It’s OK. Happens to us all sometimes.”

Her hand trembling, Violetta took the towel and somehow managed to thank him before she attempted to tidy up her shirt. She was able to mop up some of the damage, but she still knew she’d have to go back to her room, change shirts and pop over to the laundry room. Guess that’s my plan for the afternoon then, she thought. Wait, this towel’s going to need washing up as well, won’t it…

“Looking better already,” he said, his voice still as warm as the sun. Even though Violetta still felt quite mortified, his voice did seem to comfort her a bit.

“Ay, I’ll need to wash this shirt,” Nemona mumbled under her breath.

“Th-thanks again,” Violetta mumbled. She could feel that her ears were warmer than usual, and she suspected she was blushing as well. “Erm, do you want this back?” she asked, gesturing to the dirtied towel.

Arven chuckled a little bit. “Nah, all good. Keep it, little buddy.”

Little buddy…I kind of hate when he calls me that, but I also kind of love when he calls me that. Is that weird? That’s weird, isn’t it? Does he think I’m weird? Does he think about me at all? Does he have any idea that I fancy him? Violetta’s thoughts were racing.

Nemona, noticing that Violetta was temporarily on another planet, rolled her eyes and then spoke up louder than normal. “Thanks, Arven! That’s so kind of you! You’re so thoughtful!” She was intentionally laying it on thick. “Isn’t he so kind and thoughtful, Vi?”

“What? Huh? Yeah!! Er, yeah! Really…” Violetta turned red from ear to ear. “Really kind and really thoughtful.” She could hardly bear to look directly at him, the feelings were just so intense. “Really…thanks…”

Arven smiled again. “Of course! Any time.” He then made to pick up his tray again. Oh no, is he leaving?! I’ve driven him off, Violetta lamented. But then he stopped. “Hey, little buddy, do you have any plans for tomorrow?” Her heart leapt in her chest. “I could just use your help with something if you’re not busy.”

Violetta knew that was his attempt to remain subtle and not broadcast his Herba Mystica quest out loud to everyone in earshot. They’d already been on one outing before, so she was already familiar with this mission.

But Nemona, not knowing any of this backstory, saw it totally differently.

“Oye!!! Arven! Are you asking Violetta out on a DATE?!” she said at full volume. Violetta thought she was going to fall right out of her chair in shock! “Tomorrow is FRIDAY! That’s perfect for a DATE!” Then she grinned as she beheld Violetta and Arven, both as red as Tamato Berries, rendered fully unable to react for what seemed like an eternity.

Until…

“Er,” Violetta said quietly, her mouth dry. “I…would…I would like that.”

Arven looked surprised. “You would?” Violetta just nodded. “Well then…” Now he looked resolute. “Let’s go into town tomorrow night.”

Violetta was thrilled. All of a sudden, this boring rainy day had turned extremely interesting!

#pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon oc #pokemon nemona #pokemon arven #daily writing practice

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j0kers-light · 2 years ago

Note

I have a oneshot request/idea (only if you want to and think it’s a good idea). The the oneshot idea is that Y/n is bored and hesitantly asks joker what life is like in Arkham asylum, what it’s like being on the run, what’s it like to come face to face with Batman. And how he came across her book. Joker eyes her first and make her nervous but answers anyway.

Then she tries to ask about his personal life, before he became who he is but joker shuts it down immediately.

While she thinks this information could be good in her new project but joker doesn’t know that. Kinda like a small dedication/remembrance after he leaves in the future.

His Lighthouse: Probing Questions (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Probing Questions - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

Hey hi anon!! 🖤✨

I read this email last night and immediately stopped working on the chapter update to fill this request! I know know, counterproductive BUT! I couldn't help myself!!

Naturally I didn't add any spoilers- meaning I didn't fill the request fully in the way you asked. (I already have the dedication page scene written out for J beloved 😝) I edited this while waiting in my doctor's office so if there's any errors, I'm blaming them. 👀 Enjoy!!

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @clemdango04 @l3ejm @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher

Wanna be included in the His Lighthouse journey? Join the taglist!

It always rained in Gotham City but tonight it was a terrifying downpour. Thunder shook the Earth and lightning filled the night sky.

Lower parts of Gotham City had active flash flood warnings and your neighborhood in Old Gotham was put on a power outage alert for the next few hours.

The apartment building's backup generators kicked on forty minutes ago with limited power on the top levels. Your penthouse was a dark eerie place and looked near haunted with the vaulted ceilings and windows casting gnarly shapes of the gloomy mess from outside.

It was as if Solomon Grundy's fateful night was happening all over again. The weather outside was that horrid.

Joker wasn't bothered by it and prepared himself for bed but you insisted he join you in the living room under your blanket fort. You couldn't sleep in these conditions and got carried away with the assembly.

He eyed the monstrosity that took up a good portion of the room and approached the 'door.'

He couldn't knock on a sheet but he saw your shadow on the other side and decided to play along.

"Knock knock. May I uh.. come... in?" He shook the bag of food in his hands. "I brought snacksssss."

You peeled back the polka dot sheet for J to enter, smiling wide. He had to bend at the waist to crawl inside but he quickly grew comfortable amongst the nest of pillows and blankets you created. It took you an hour and a half to build the fort and he had to admit, not bad at all. You even strung up some fairy lights that gave the fort a soft cozy vibe that he liked.

You smiled in thanks as Joker passed your favorite snack to you.

"So, you used to errr make blanket forts when the uhh power wentT out as a kid? You're such a dork, Bunny." He teased.

You fixed the 'door' closed before scrambling back inside to nuzzle into Joker's lap. "I don't see you complaining. In fact, someone made themselves right at home."

Alright, you had him there.

This fort of yours was well insulated since the central heat was off and he looked every bit a crowned prince reclined on the ottoman you dragged into the intimate area. You were gonna tease him further when the power went out completely; plunging the entire apartment into darkness.

You squeezed J tight and tried to calm your beating heart when a roll of thunder rattled your bones.

"Awww, my Light is scared of the dark."

You glanced up into Joker's eyes. They were the only source of light left. It was unnatural how they glowed but for once you didn't question it.

So what if you were a little spooked, everyone is scared of something right? "Y-You're not scared?"

Joker scoffed and automatically pulled you closer when another clap of lightning streaked across the sky. His instincts were screaming at him to protect you.

"Nah. What's a uhhh, guy.. like me to be scared of, hmm?"

Good point. But still. Everyone had their fears. Joker was no exception.

You rested your head on Joker's chest to let the soothing sound of his heartbeat calm yours. He was The Joker. People feared him and he survived the toughest prisons and mental institutions the world had to offer. What was a little thunder and lightning to him?

You hated how quiet it was. Surely Joker wouldn't mind talking to pass the time? The severe thunderstorm warning was expected to end around midnight.

"J-J... um. What was Arkham Asylum like?" You knew you hit a nerve when he flickered his gaze down at you and stared for the longest.

He didn't blink and you were unable to look away from the venomous green bewitching your soul. His silence was making you nervous.

You felt J's arms tense around you and knew he wasn't going to answer. Joker was a naturally guarded person and here you were asking personal questions, expecting him to share.

His laughter scared you witless. "Mmmm, my little bunny is very curious tonight. Whaddya want to knooooow?"

You bit your lip. What did you want to know? You weren't expecting an answer but since Joker was open to do so, you would use this opportunity to get some intel out of Joker for your current wip.

It was rare that Joker talked about himself so you would take this little miracle and run with it.

"Like... everyone knows about the asylum but w-what's it like as a patient? How were you treated?" You asked.

Joker exhaled and unknowingly drummed his fingers on your back. It was the same beat to a song you sang yesterday during lunch. And he said he didn't like it. Liar.

How could he answer without giving away too much information? He couldn't think of one.

So, he told the truth.

"It's like hell, Bunny. You know it exists— ya don't wanna go, but once you get there... you do everything you can to survive until.." Another loud boom outside made his story ever more haunting, "...you just can't take iT anymore and escape."

Joker held you close, gently rocking you to comfort not just you, but also himself. He didn't know what came over him to talk about his past experiences; the words just tumbled out of his mouth.

"They treated us lower than dirt. You are the scum of society and these walls separate you from the good, upstanding citizens of Gotham, blah blah blah. Garbage is all it is. They drilled that spiel into our brains as they shocked the rest with electricity."

"W-What?" You paled.

"Mhm. Shock therapy Bunny. I got ahh used to it after the first weekly rounds but sometimes.. I-I can feel it. Lit-le tingles every now and then as if they're poking around for somethin' they'll never understand. Y/n, you're shivering. Hmm, should I stoP?"

Of course you were shivering, his account was inhumane! You couldn't imagine the pain Joker went through on a daily basis for years to talk about it so casually.

No wonder he always escaped...

You didn't realize you said that last sentence out loud until J chuckled. He kissed the crown of your head and hummed. "Yep. That's why."

You twisted in Joker's arms so you sat sideways in his lap. This way you could look up into his neon green orbs and still be held.

"That's awful! So, what's it like being on the run and coming face to face with Batman?" Joker growled and smacked your thigh in anger.

You forgot he didn't like you saying his name in the apartment. Such a jealous man you love. He didn't have to be so heavy handed though.

"Bats and I have a errr, love/hate relationship doll. I love proving his opinion about the world wrong and he hates me in general. It's always... fun running into my bestie. It's addicting since we both know Bat is obsesssssed with me and, heh.. the feeling is mutual. Oh don't pout, baby doll. I only have the hots for you. C'mere."

Joker suddenly attacked you with kisses.

You were caught off guard and screamed as Joker tickled your sides in hopes of distracting you from your inquiry. He didn't mind answering your questions but he knew with your inquisitive mind, there would be no end to them once you began.

J didn't let up his assault and you landed on your back with him kissing and biting down your neck. You knew where this was going, however you had more questions to ask!

"Ah! I-I'm still curious how I have a r-role in all of this.. You seemed to tolerate me from the start, as if you already, ah yess.. l-liked me or something. How did you become a f-fan of my work again, J?"

You really couldn't talk straight when he kissed your body like that.

Just then a flash of lightning struck, illuminating Joker straddling you from above.

His hair was a bird's nest (courtesy of your hands tugging it) and that gorgeous face you grew to love was shining down at you with a level of love that had accumulated much longer than the four months you knew Joker.

You always had the feeling Joker loved you much longer than what he led you on to believe but without proper evidence, what could you do?

Perhaps today you would get some more insight.

J flashed one of his canines at you. God, his handsome smile was to die for. "You had me hooked with Welding the Sun my dear Light. I uhhh, killed someone searchin' for a copy.."

You pushed at his shoulders. "You did WHAT? J, are you serious?"

"I'm always serious bunny. That... That poem of yours... it.. messed.. me uP. I was soo lost back then, it was a uhh sparK that got me thinking differently about my life. It.. your words touched me. What kind of creature in this broken cruel world penned this powerful message? I had to know."

"So! I did a lit-le digging and found you. Perfect, beautiful, sweet little you and I couldn't. Get. Enough! I read every wo~rd ya printed. Watched every interview, consumed every last biT of media with your name attached to it. If it was related to you, I knew about it. You filled a void in me that was empty for soo long.. Imagine my surprise when I bumped into ya in Chinatown all those months ago. A uhh dream come true for mee."

Okay.... so what if Joker fell into the creepy fan category? You reciprocated his feelings so no harm no foul. It was kinda hot being desired with such an intensity.

But what did he mean by lost? Did he mean back when he was still.. normal? Did.. did you inspire J to become The Joker? Your thoughts were a plenty, trying to create a rough timeline of events here.

When did you finish your poetry project in school? When was the first spotting of The Joker recorded?

PAUSE. Was there an age gap between you and Joker?!

This conversation opened up too many doors for you to address at once. For now, you dialed it back and set about prioritizing the most important thing.

You reached a hand up to caress Joker's cheek.

It was soft to the touch thanks to all of the skin products you had him using at night. A shame it would never heal his scars but you loved them and the man they marred. It was another mysterious piece to the puzzle of who Joker was.

Would you ever truly know Joker? You wanted to try.

"I won't even ask how you heard about my poetry project. My part wasn't even published." J kissed your palm and scoffed.

His stare carried the message, I have my ways, and you didn't want to know the details.

"I'd love to read it if ya have the uhh original manuscript."

You rolled your eyes and moved yourself to sit in front of Joker. He was dodging the trauma being shared by changing the subject.

Joker watched as you began to fiddle with his hands in your lap.

They were so large and calloused compared to your dainty, smaller ones. One pair murdered and destroyed whereas the other created and inspired, yet they both found themselves in the other's company.

Such a small, interesting world indeed.

"I do. It's in a composition book in storage. J.. can I ask you another question?"

"Ya just did." You ignored his joke and inhaled a shaky breath.

Something told you he wouldn't like this next question but you knew your intended audience.

Welding the Sun wasn't a light and carefree read. You penned it when you were upset and confused with the world.

"You said my poem touched you.. back then. That was at least ten years ago. (*Longer depending on your age) W-what were you like b-before.. you before you came to be the Joker? I.. I can't help but wonder..."

You leaned forward to cup Joker's face in your shaking hands. His countenance was like stone, eyeing you down.

"Who hurt you so badly to make you change?" You cried.

You watched Joker's eyes swiftly freeze over. Whatever moment the two of you were sharing in this blanket fort was gone.

The severe thunderstorm outside was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Joker's dark jade eyes. Every wall that he originally tore down, was shutting you out once again.

Months of hard work coaxing Joker to open up and let you in was ruined with one sentence.

He stood up, taking the structural integrity of your fort with him as he escaped its comfort. It caved in on itself and trapped you inside.

"Joker! Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–" You cried out as you scrambled under the layers of bedding, desperately trying to stop Joker from leaving.

By the time you breached the top of the pile, Joker was already out the front door and headed into the howling storm outside.

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subjectsix · 6 months ago

Text

KIP'S BIG POST OF THINGS TO MAKE THE INTERNET & TECHNOLOGY SUCK A LITTLE LESS

Post last updated November 23, 2024. Will continue to update!

Here are my favorite things to use to navigate technology my own way:

A refurbished iPod loaded with Rockbox OS (Rockbox is free, iPods range in price. I linked the site I got mine from. Note that iPods get finicky about syncing and the kind of cord it has— it may still charge but might not recognize the device to sync. Getting an original Apple cord sometimes helps). Rockbox has ports for other MP3 players as well.

This Windows debloater program (there are viable alternatives out there, this one works for me). It has a powershell script that give you a little UI and buttons to press, which I appreciate, as I'm still a bit shy with tech.

Firefox with the following extensions: - Consent-O-Matic (set your responses to ALL privacy/cookie pop-ups in the extension, and it will answer all pop-ups for you. I can see reasons to not use it, but I appreciate it) - Facebook Container ("contains" Meta on Facebook and Instagram pages to keep it from tracking you or getting third party cookies, since Meta is fairly egregious about it) - Redirect Amp to HTML (AMP is designed for mobile phones, this forces pages to go to their HTML version) - A WebP/AVIF image converter - uBlock Origin and uBlacklist, with the AI blacklist loaded in to kill any generative AI results from appearing in search engines or anywhere.

Handbrake for ripping DVDs— I haven’t used this in awhile as I haven’t been making video edits. I used this back when I had a Mac OS

VLC Media Player (ol’ reliable)

Unsplash & Pexels for free-to-use images

A password manager (these often are paid. I use Dashlane. There are many options, feel free to search around and ask for recs!). There is a lot that goes into cybersecurity— find the option you feel is best for you.

Things I suggest:

Understanding Royalty Free and the Creative Commons licenses

Familiarity with boolean operators for searching

Investing in a backup drive and external drive

A few good USBs, including one that has a backup of your OS on it

Adapter cables

Avoiding Fandom “wikias” (as in the brand “Fandom”) and supporting other, fan-run or supported wikis. Consider contributing if its something you find yourself passionate or joyful about.

Finding Forums for the things you like, or creating your own*

Create an email specifically for ads/shopping— use it to receive all promotional emails to keep your inbox clean. Upkeep it.

Stop putting so much of your personal information online— be willing to separate your personal online identity from your “online identity”. You don’t owe people your name, location, pronouns, diagnoses, or any of that. It’s your choice, but be discerning in what you give and why. I recommend avoiding providing your phone number to sites as much as possible.

Be intentional

Ask questions

Talk to people

Remember that you can lurk all you want

Things that are fun to check out:

BBSes-- here's a portal to access them.

Neocities

*Forums-- find some to join, or maybe host your own? The system I was most familiar with was vbulletin.

MMM.page

Things that have worked well for me but might work for you, YMMV:

Limit your app usage time on your smartphone if you’re prone to going back to them— this is a tangible way to “practice mindfulness”, a term I find frustratingly vague ansjdbdj

Things I’m looking into:

The “Pi Hole”— a raspberry pi set up to block all ads on a specific internet connection

VPNs-- this is one that was recommended to me.

How to use computers (I mean it): Resources on how to understand your machine and what you’re doing, even if your skill and knowledge level is currently 0:

This section I'll come back an add to. I know that messing with computers can be intimidating, especially if you feel out of your depth. HTML and regedits and especially things like dualbooting or linux feel impossible. So I want to put things here that explain exactly how the internet and your computer functions, and how you can learn and work with that. Yippee!

#old internet #computer tag #resource post

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uiiyru · 19 days ago

Text

I have an unlicensed version of Wndows 10, I wanted to check if I did still have the one I had on my laptop so I log in into my Microsoft account to check.

Nothing happens and I move on, I play some videogames and I need a break so I go upstairs, have some snack and relax my back.

After a beautiful shower, I go downstairs to my computer to work on my uni project on Illustrator. I turn on my PC, and the lock screen greets me with a log-in message for my Microsoft account. I go on it, and it asks me for a code sent to my Hotmail. No biggie; I have access to it with two-factor authentication!

I log in. No email with code. I wait. Nothing.

I sent it again, maybe a few more times. I give up. I will try another route

After failed attempts at solving my issue with safe mode boot, I contacted REAL customer support.

TLDR for the long chat I had with two customer support people, "Yeah, this is a bug that's happening, you're gonna have to reinstall Windows with a pendrive and another PC"

:D I had no backup!!! I lost all my uni work basically!!!!

My Windows bricks the second I log it into Microsoft!! learn from my mistakes,,, don't do it!!!!!!

#rant #my morale is on the ground #text post #nico blog

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soracities · 2 years ago

Note

How do you keep track of all these places? Is it the Pocket function or something else? Even if I bookmark my frequently used sites I end up having too many bookmarks to be useful, forgetting sites, or having a bunch of tabs open.

Visibility, visibility, visibility!! I'm subscribed to a few of my most favourite ones--not too many because my inbox would be flooded otherwise and then I know I would not read anything--there's maybe 3 max but they're definitely the ones I enjoy the most and that will provide variety in terms of subject and length.

Otherwise when it comes to the rest I'm definitely not reading from these sites every day, and sometimes weeks go by where I'm not reading anything except for maybe the 2 or 3 of the essays I get emailed to me (if even that)--but I am a pathological tab hoarder because for me out of sight is 1000% out of mind: therefore, what works for me here is making sure the sites I enjoy most (and aren't subscribed to) are as visible and accessible as possible.

The best tactic for me so far is saving my most visited sites to the bookmarks toolbar instead of some hidden folder, so that I always have a "homepage" of sorts for random readings no matter what site I'm actually on or what I'm doing. Additionally, instead of keeping multiple tabs open for days on end, I've started to actually move the links onto my desktop background so that I see them every time I log in or minimise a window and can open them far more easily this way rather than trawling through the bookmarks folders. Two or three years ago I also started making sure I printed every essay / article I enjoyed or didn't get a chance to read as a PDF to save to my computer: I can't always get to things immediately so this helps if the link dies before I can read it / paywall goes up, or even just as a more intuitive method for me to keep track of things I want to read (and also because I have limited space for all the shortcuts on my desktop--when I say I hoard tabs I truly mean it: this tab is one of, like, 20 right now, not counting the ones across 2 browsers on my phone or the ones that restore everytime I launch Firefox).

Also, I've been plugging it into every conversation ever since I downloaded it but Notion is really good for this kind of organisation, at least for me. Along with the above I have a Notion page where I keep a list of these journals / websites (links included) so that even if I'm not on my computer, I can browse without needing to rely on the reminders I've set up on it. I never bookmark things when browsing on my phone so when I find an article I really enjoy and want to save, I copy the link to a separate Notion page where I keep a list of essays / articles I read on the go, including any screenshots of passages that struck me most (this is also a great method for random articles I come across unexpectedly, either in my own readings or through friends).

So yes, really, visibility is the key thing for me and maximising that visibility as much as possible. Interestingly, when I do that it is a lot easier to actually remember these sites themselves, and get to a point where most of them are already circling about in the back of my head because I'm so used to being reminded of them. It's definitely not a perfect method, but I've tried to build in various failsafes and backups for myself so that I can manage to read something at some point, eventually without too much frustration or hassle. I hope some of these help you too, anon x

#literally cannot stress enough how much notion has changed my life #HATE the fact that i cannot opt out of the AI update however #ask #Anonymous

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quietblueriver · 1 year ago

Text

Still Bright to Me (Kate/Yelena, 1/5)

Rewatched Hawkeye and this happened. I love them so much.

Post canon.

Kate's struggling, so Clint sends some backup in the form of a (former?) black widow assassin, who offers Kate a trade: she'll protect Kate from the tracksuits and Kate will show her the best of New York. Their deal ends, but their friendship doesn't, and suddenly Kate's pretty sure it's becoming something else entirely. Something big and scary and really, really good.

Read below or on AO3.

Kate could almost pretend this was a normal Tuesday morning.

She walked into Bishop Security, tossed her bag behind the front desk, and took a right toward her mom’s office. She could see her through the glass walls, legs crossed as she looked over a set of files spread on the coffee table, a Bishop Security coffee mug waiting near her right hand on a cream coaster. Her suit was familiar, a favorite–navy with white pinstripes, wide legs, a white silk blouse.

And then, of course, visible between the hem of her pants and the black leather of her heel, the shining black box strapped to her ankle, with its two tiny white lights signaling Eleanor Bishop’s location to the federal government at all times.

It wasn’t a normal Tuesday morning.

Her mom looked up as she got close, a tight smile working its way onto her face, and Kate felt the warring urges to run, cry, and vomit. Instead of any of that, Eleanor Bishop’s daughter did what she had been taught to do and kept her shit together, her own fake smile glued in place and her hands steady.

Eleanor stood as Kate pushed open the door, walking around the coffee table and opening her arms. “I’ve missed you.”

The words rang more than a little hollow in the face of the two sentence email Eleanor sent to set up this meeting and the total radio silence that preceded it. She’d been out on bail within like a day, which Kate knew because she got a Christmas NYT alert with a courthouse shot of her mom looking perfectly put together as she made her way down the steps to the towncar. (Nate won that round of Mario Kart.)

From her mom? Not a word. Nothing until a week into the new year, when Kate did a double take at the sender on an email notification with the subject line: Meeting Tuesday.

So yeah, Kate didn’t feel particularly missed. She felt like an hour on Eleanor’s work calendar.

Still, she wrapped her arms around her mother, a stiff, quiet, awkward hug that she wasn’t sad to break.

The tension between them hurt in a way Kate couldn’t have prepared herself for, and despite all her Bishop training, it took more than a little effort to hold back the tears pressing at the back of her eyes as she settled in the chair across from Eleanor. Eleanor, who, in addition to being a pretty major player in the organized crime scene in New York and several other major cities, was still her mom.

It might never have been easy between them the way it had been between her and her dad, but she’d never doubted that her mom loved her. Not really. Not until she looked her in the eye and said, cold and hard and distant enough that Kate wondered if she regretted running that car through the window and into Kingpin, “Is this what heroes do? Arrest their mother on Christmas?” Not until she followed that up with silence loud enough to make Kate wonder if she’d become Hawkeye and lost her second parent on the same day.

“How are you?”

The question snapped Kate back to the moment, and she blinked away flashing blue lights and the smell of smoke and the pain of a cracked rib as she sobbed in the shower.

“Fine,” she said on instinct, twirling the silver ring on her index finger. It was bullshit, but so was the question. Eleanor’s eyes locked on her ring and Kate stopped twisting, stood and got a bottle of water from the fridge under the counter, stared at the marble as she uncapped it and took a slow sip.

“Kate.”

Kate took a deep breath and another sip of water before she turned around and met Eleanor’s eyes.

“Mom.”

She could see her mom’s jaw grinding, considered very seriously walking out and calling Clint and going back to Iowa for as long as she fucking could. Laura had offered and meant it. Clint had nodded beside her and meant it just as much when he said, “Call anytime.” She’d only been back for like a day anyway; her stuff was still packed and PD would be pumped to be back on the farm.

She didn’t leave. She sat back down in the chair. She wasn’t even close to sure that was the right decision.

Her mom grabbed the small remote on the coffee table and hit a button and suddenly the glass behind them was frosted, she and her mother in a more private space. Chest tightening unpleasantly, Kate’s mind ran everything through a new filter. How much of that interaction had been calculated? How much of the hug, of Kate’s presence, of Eleanor’s smile, had been meant for the employees still at Bishop Security? For the attorneys Kate knew were waiting in a conference room just across the hall? For whoever might leak a picture or a quote to one of the reporters hanging around? For whoever her mom might’ve paid to do that?

She pushed the tears away for another minute, let anger take the lead. It was, after all, much higher on the list of acceptable emotions than hurt. “What am I doing here, mom? What do you need from me?”

It was hurt, though, that flashed across Eleanor’s face, brief but obvious, and shame bubbled in Kate’s stomach. She didn’t take it back. She didn’t look away either, watched as her mom schooled her features into something neutral and reached for a folder on the table, opening it and turning it toward Kate.

“This is the information on your trust fund. There are two numbers on the last page, one for my attorney and one for my accountant. I’ve worked with them both for a long time. Call them and they’ll help you get the account handled.”

Kate took the folder and tucked it into the side of the chair. “Thanks.”

It was a relief. She was, for the first time in her life, worried about money, and it sucked. She’d been working out how long she could make it on what little she had in her own account from her Bishop Security “paychecks” plus an envelope of cash Clint or Laura had snuck into her bag before she left the farm and refused to discuss when Kate found it.

Her mother nodded. “It’s yours. It has always been yours. Whatever happens with my assets and the company, they can’t touch that. Or the apartment.”

Kate knew, vaguely, that she had a trust fund from her dad’s parents. She was from the kind of money, at least on her dad’s side, that meant her grandparents had set her up from the day she was born. She had never bothered with it before, couldn’t even access it until her last birthday, but she was really fucking glad for it now.

And for whatever laws stopped her mom (and her dad, maybe, but she really didn’t like thinking about that either) from touching it.

“Okay.”

Her mom sighed, lips turning down in that way they did when Kate disappointed her. It was a familiar look, and it was how Kate knew the next words from her mouth were the starting point of a negotiation, rather than an end in themselves.

“I’m sorry, Kate, if what I said that night hurt you. And for taking some time to get in touch. I was angry, which I think is understandable.”

When Kate didn’t immediately respond, Eleanor added, “You obviously weren’t ready to talk either.”

Yeah. There it was. An accusation dressed as an observation. An invitation for Kate to apologize.

Instead of guilt, Kate felt Laura’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she cried late on Christmas night, the photo from the Times article shining up at them from Kate’s phone screen on the coffee table. Heard the soft, “Oh, honey,” as Kate whispered her fears aloud, rasped and broken questions about whether her mom would ever want to talk to her again, whether she should call, whether it would hurt worse if she didn’t answer.

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. You made it pretty clear on Christmas Eve I’d disappointed you, and then I heard from the Times about your bail before I heard from you. Wasn’t really interested in leaving a voicemail.”

Eleanor’s frown deepened, deepened further when Kate didn’t flinch. Or, Hawkeye didn’t flinch. Kate would cry later, but her mom didn’t need to know that. Didn’t deserve to know that.

Eleanor sighed, and her words had a resigned quality to them on the surface, but Kate knew veiled anger when she heard it. “I understand you probably didn’t know what you were doing when you made that call to the police. I know you can be rash. Impulsive. That’s my fault. Confidence is one thing, but I clearly should’ve reined you in a long time ago.”

Kate bit her tongue and started thinking about trick arrows, reminded herself that she could leave.

“But now, Kate.” She gestured at her ankle, in the vague direction of her army of lawyers a few rooms over. “Now we’re all paying for your choices. Don’t you see that?”

Yeah. She could leave. Kate took a deep breath and another sip of water and leaned forward.

“No. I don’t. I see you paying for the choices you made and trying to blame me for it.” Anger slashed ugly across her mother’s face, eyes sharp and chin jutting out in a way that Kate knew her own did in a challenge. “I don’t regret what I did. I wish I hadn’t had to. I wish you hadn’t…” Kate shook her head and stood. Her mom matched her.

“Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, you do not walk away from me.”

Her voice was tight and low and Kate had heard it like this a few times in her life, but it had never scared her before. She fought a sob and squared her shoulders.

“If you were who I thought you were, and I was alone in a room with someone who had done the things you’ve done, you would tell me to run .” Kate shrugged, bent to take the folder. “Guess I know better now. Thanks for this.” She didn’t have it in her to hold her mom’s eyes but pride and resentment and molten anger at least kept her voice steady as she added, “Merry Christmas, by the way. One for the books.”

She turned to go, made it two steps before she felt the hand on her shoulder. She had broken the hold and turned, hands out and eyes assessing her mom like a threat, before she could stop herself. Her mom understood, if the look in her eyes was real, and she jerked her hand back. Kate wasn’t sure whether Eleanor was ashamed or afraid that Kate might break it, and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How did they get here.

“Kate. Just…” She stepped back, sat. “I’m sorry. Give me two more minutes. And then,” she swallowed, and Kate saw her mom, just her mom, sad and exhausted, “I promise you can go. It’s important. Please.”

Kate hesitated for a second but walked back to the chair, perched on the edge.

“Thank you.”

The relief was genuine, and Kate nodded, gripped at the folder in her hands. Her mom cleared her throat and took another folder but kept it herself, thumbing at the tab.

“I’m going to go away for a little while.” Kate tensed, eyed the ankle monitor before she could stop herself. Eleanor’s eyes followed hers and she shook her head. “No. No. They’re facilitating it. Fisk…Well, things are complicated right now, but he’s not a forgiving man.”

“I thought he was…out of the picture. For now.” It was one of the only reasons Clint hadn’t pushed harder for her to stay in Iowa. He’d heard through channels that Fisk had been shot. That Maya had shot him. That the whole organization was a mess and Maya was on the run and Fisk might actually be gone, although Clint said not to bank on that.

Eleanor sighed. “Nobody knows for certain his condition. And it’s true that they appear to be distracted right now, but they won’t forget about me, especially if they think I’m cooperating.”

Kate sucked in a breath. “Are you? Cooperating?”

Eleanor smiled ruefully. “The case against Fisk is much bigger than me. He…well, I’m honestly surprised there even is one, given the number of people in the city on his payroll or his hit list, but it seems like his influence hasn’t reached certain corners of the federal government.

“In any case, as far as he or anyone else knows, I’m not cooperating, but that doesn’t mean he wants to take chances.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Eleanor shook her head and smiled an almost fond smile, although it had sharper edges than Kate was used to. “No, Hawkeye, I didn’t.” She leaned forward, extended her hand over the table between them. “Kate, these people are dangerous. I’m going away, at least through the trial, and I would ask you to come, but…”

“I won’t.”

“Right.”

Eleanor watched as Kate leaned back, began twirling her ring again.

“So, I need you to be careful. Call Clint Barton. Call…whoever. I have people from the company who…”

“Mom.”

“Let me finish, Kate. I have people from the company who are and will continue doing minimally invasive work to keep you safe.”

Kate raised her eyebrows and Eleanor ground her teeth but did not snap as Kate said, “I have no interest in anyone from Bishop Security keeping tabs on me. Even minimally invasive ones.”

Unyielding and unapologetic, her mom said, “I didn’t tell you to ask for your permission. I told you so that you wouldn’t shoot Ari or the company SUV he’s driving when you eventually noticed he was keeping track of you.”

At one point, the tone would’ve made her hesitate, but today it just pissed her off. Kate met her mom’s eyes as she responded. “Yeah, okay.” She made a note to look Ari up in the company directory. “I won’t shoot him, but I will lose him, and if he keeps trying, I just made a knockout arrow that works pretty well.”

Her mom rubbed at the spot at the base of her neck that meant she had the beginnings of a tension headache.

“What do you want me to do here, Kate? This is serious, and whatever you might think of me, I’m still your mother, and I love you. I won’t just leave you.”

What Kate wanted was for her mom to not be facing a list of charges so long and violent that reading it had made Kate dizzy. What Kate wanted was for her mom to have never fucked with Wilson Fisk. For her dad to have never fucked with Wilson Fisk. For the people responsible for taking care of her to have been better and more careful.

She said, instead, “I’ll install new security at the apartment. Non-Bishop Security stuff.” She clarified, and her mom barely suppressed an eye roll. “It’s all being redone anyway.” Thank fuck for insurance, Laura Barton’s ability to make a checklist, and contractors used to SHIELD’s specific need for quick and secure repairs to explosive damage. “And I will check in once a day with someone from the company to confirm that I’m alright.”

Eleanor’s sigh could’ve been used as the model for disappointed and exasperated mothers. Sadly for her, her only audience was Kate, who was growing less affected by her mom’s opinion by the minute. (Still affected. Probably always affected. But realizing that her decision not to cover up a murder made her mom more disappointed than, y’know, aiding and abetting would have really did wonders in blunting the effects of maternal guilt.)

“This is the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

Kate leaned back into her chair. “Yes. And if you try anything more, and you know I’ll know if you do, then I’ll stop checking in.” She paused, added even though she was sure her mom already knew, “Also, I’ll take whatever or whoever, wrap them up in a bow, and drop them somewhere super embarrassing for the company.”

“You’re a shit,” she said, with clear fondness below the frustration.

Part of Kate resented it. The familiarity. It was fucked, that her mom thought she had the right to act like the last month hadn’t happened. Or worse, that she had fixed everything with a non-apology and a little bit of worry and a cream folder full of financial security that was there despite Eleanor’s best efforts and not because of them.

Another part of Kate clung to the small piece of evidence that her mom still loved her the way she hoped. Hard not to feel pathetic about that.

She shrugged, picking at the skin around her thumbnail. “Maybe. But it’s your fault.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said softly. “It is.” She took a pen and legal pad, wrote something quickly on a sheet which she tore and folded in half before brushing nonexistent lint from her pants and standing. “I’ll walk you out.”

She took Kate to the front desk and hugged her. It was still stiff and quiet and awkward, but it made Kate want to cry less. And then that made her want to cry more.

“Here’s protocol for contact.” She handed Kate the folded piece of legal paper. “I don’t need to tell you to—“

“Destroy it after I read it. Yeah. I got it.”

“Shit,” her mom said again, and again, Kate shrugged.

She bit her lip, conflicted, but in the end forced the words past her pride. “Stay safe, mom.”

She didn’t bother trying to decipher the momentary slip of her mom’s mask, what it meant that it was back in place by the time she responded, “You stay safe. I love you.”

The words landed like a thumb on a bruise, the doubt a dull ache sharpened with pressure.

“I love you too.” It felt more like an admission of weakness than anything else, and god, she needed to get out of here.

Eleanor raised her hand a fraction but she didn’t reach out, and Kate didn’t either, and then she was gone, heels clicking and back ramrod straight as she made her way to the sea of lawyers waiting for her.

Clint answered on the second ring, just as Kate was turning into the park with PD.

“How’s it going, Hawkeye?”

She grinned, even in the midst of her absolutely shit family crisis, because that was still so fucking cool .

“Not gonna lie, Hawkeye. Hasn’t been the greatest day.” She gave an emotionally abridged rundown of the encounter with her mother, Clint humming and making concerned noises as she glossed over the warning her mom provided about her safety. He didn’t question her decision to decline Bishop Security’s interventions, but she could practically see the crease in his brow through the phone. “Actually,” she said, tugging PD away from a very suspect paper bag covered in grease and…things, “you might be able to help me out. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who could hook me up with a solid security system?”

Clint laughed. It wasn’t quite his Christmas-with-the-family-in-Iowa laugh, but it was close, which made Kate relax a little. Couldn’t be too bad if Clint wasn’t stuck in Avenger mode. “Yeah. Yeah. I think I’ve got a few people for that. May or may not have already asked some folks. Mind sending me basics on the layout? I’m hoping moldy blown-out hole above a pizza joint doesn’t work anymore.”

“Nah, baby.” Kate kicked at a rock on the path. “I’ve got walls . Windows , even.”

“Livin’ the life,” Clint said seriously.

“That’s me.”

After a solid but unsuccessful (can’t win ‘em all) attempt to exorcize some trauma with a three hour workout, Kate left messages with the trust fund contacts and then spent the evening in her mostly repaired but also mostly empty apartment watching Wipe Out on the IKEA sofa she and Clint had lugged up before he left. It was fun to viciously critique contestant strategy to PD, who was a good audience and thumped his tail gamely every time Kate looked his way.

At 9:30pm, as promised, she called her designated Bishop Security agent with the safe word. It wasn’t her mom. She hadn’t heard anything more from her mom, and the sting of that was only a little soothed by the fact that she didn’t really want to have to navigate any more awkward and unpleasant conversations with her remaining bio parent.

In an attempt at productive distraction, she made the mistake of checking her email (she’d turned off notifications after her mom’s request, hadn’t wanted any more surprises in public spaces), where she found a message from the school administration about finding a time to discuss “alternative options” for her final semester. Weirdly, they weren’t falling over themselves to welcome back a property destroying security threat whose well of money, so far as they knew, had dried up.

Kate wasn’t thrilled at the thought of going back either. There had been plenty of nasty headlines already, and there would only be more.

When she left campus at the beginning of winter break, she was Kate Bishop: charming archer who won nationals; fun to play beer pong with; a little loud but good on a group project; cocky and sometimes reckless but in the mostly attractive, rugged way.

Maybe it wasn’t giving her classmates enough credit, but it felt too naive to think that she’d go back and be anything other than Kate Bishop: daughter of a massive criminal; annoyingly vocal in class; unapologetic destroyer of a beloved school landmark and a national seasonal treasure; spoiled rich kid with a massive ego who only got in because of her money.

Kate was also self-aware enough to know that they wouldn’t be totally wrong on any of those points, including the last one, probably. The Bishop dorm that had been on campus for like a hundred years and an endowed professorship definitely didn’t hurt her application.

Even though her mom seemed convinced that Kate didn’t realize everything she’d been given, Kate had always tried to be more than a legacy admit and a snotty, old money New Yorker and she thought, hoped, that she had been kind of successful. The last few weeks had definitely undone most of that work. Maybe all of it.

Anyway, whatever. She’d finish with minimal time on campus her last semester, and that would be fine. Not to sound like a massive dick but Kate had never really had to try that hard to do well so it wasn’t like missing in-person classes would hurt her, and her archery season was basically over anyway. Yeah, it would be a little more lonely, but that was the life of a superhero. She had Clint. Campus was close enough that Franny and Greer could come visit whenever. And she’d make other friends. People made friends after graduation, right? That was a thing?

She sent an email back confirming a meeting time and slammed her laptop closed a little too forcefully.

Fighting the temptation to stare at the wall and contemplate her mom’s potential hideout locations while feeling super sorry for herself, she took PD for a last walk around the block before falling asleep to reruns of Community . Not the healthiest of habits but whatever, she needed rest and distractions. She’d worry about sleep hygiene later. (Or never.)

She made it through three check-ins, seven walks, a depressing call with Clint confirming Fisk was still alive and likely to stay that way, four workouts, a very awkward conversation with the Dean of Students and her academic advisors, three boxes of Junior Mints, zero words from her mother, a sighting of one tracksuit goon, and the delivery and installation of what was 1000% a SHIELD-developed security system before she finally lost it, which, all things considered, was pretty impressive.

And of course, it was a small thing. That’s how this shit went. She stumbled over one of PD’s rope toys in the kitchen, slammed her hip into the counter, and suddenly she was crying. Like, big crying. The kind of heaving, sobbing crying that hurt . She sank to the floor, where PD came to press against her in a full body lean, and she stayed there, running her fingers through his fluff, until her kitchen timer beeped annoyingly at her seventeen minutes later.

Thankfully–also a small thing, but one that really, really helped–she had managed to get her pizza into the oven before her breakdown. She pulled it out, contemplated tearing it into pieces (wouldn’t be the first time) but was pretty sure eating hand-ripped frozen pizza over her sink wouldn’t make her feel better , so she grabbed the surprisingly useful pizza cutter gadget thing she got during a freshman year Dirty Santa exchange with the archery team and cut the BBQ chicken into squares on a cutting board, took the whole thing over to her sofa, and turned on Community again.

She thought she was good, or as good as she could be, but when Clint called, she was back to blubbering within like 30 seconds of his, “Hawkeye,” gross, snotty, embarrassing sobs traveling through the air to Iowa. Nice, Kate.

“Okay,” he said calmly, in a voice that Kate imagined he might use in a hostage negotiation. “Hold on. I’m getting Laura.”

Forty-five minutes later, it was just the two of them again, Laura having worked her magic (Kindness. Kate was pretty sure it was kindness, and it was good to know that someone who had definitely been a SHIELD agent could hold on to that.) and gone to handle Nate’s bathtime routine.

“I really don’t mind coming, Kate. This is big stuff. You don’t need to do it alone, and I don’t like that you saw one of the tracksuits in your neighborhood.”

“I know. I know. I promise I’ll call you if I need you, but right now I’m okay. I just…it was a rough night. Look, though! I talked about it! Also, like, it definitely could have been a random dude with terrible taste in clothing and a bad haircut, okay?”

“Mmm.” It was skeptical at best.

“Trust me, Clint? I’ll feel bad if you come right now. There’s a kickass security system and nobody is throwing molotovs at me or even really paying attention.” This part, at least, was true. The tracksuit she’d seen was at a popular Thai place a few blocks over, seemingly just picking up takeout, and Kate hadn’t noticed any activity closer than that. “I’m a little lonely and sad, yeah, but it’s not, like, a Grey Gardens situation. PD and I are fine and we’re getting out in the world and we’re safe. I’ll SOS if things get dire. Really.”

He sighed in concession. “Okay. I trust you. But I’m serious, Kate. Even if you’re not in immediate danger. Partners, remember? It means more than just trick arrows and car chases.”

She’d gotten to know the Bartons over Christmas, which meant she got to know Natasha, too–through photos; Lila’s favorite sleep shirt; a post-it on the fridge saying she’d gone for a run and would be back for lunch; stories, so many stories; a late night of them ended with Nate’s sleepy voice mumbling from Kate’s lap, “I get to have her name.” There was a room upstairs that was the one place Nate didn’t explore during hide and seek, a table in Clint’s workshop that had been painted red, tiny black Barton handprints made to look like little spiders over the top, initials marked in white. Laura took a breath like she’d been punched when a recipe card fell from one of her cookbooks, neat, distinct handwriting with a PS at the bottom: Clint–Add extra cinnamon if you’re making this for Laura.

More than trick arrows and car chases.

“Partners. I remember. Thanks, Clint.”

She wouldn’t have been surprised to see Clint on her mopey midday walk, even after their conversation. She hadn’t sounded great last night, and she knew partners also meant sometimes telling the other person to sit down and shut up and take their medicine (or ice their knee with a frozen margarita).

It wasn’t Clint, though, who was propped casually against a tree on her regular route with PD through the park, familiar black and yellow jacket unbuttoned over a gray t-shirt and high-waisted jeans. It was, instead, the widow who almost killed him, using the combat boot resting against the tree behind her to press forward and toward Kate, grinning big while Kate stared at her like a fucking idiot.

“Kate Bishop! Look at this coincidence!”

She bent to greet PD, letting him sniff her hand before going in for pets. He was belly-up within seconds, and Yelena seemed delighted, kneeling to get a better angle and running dark green nails through white fur.

It gave Kate, who was still feeling sorry for herself and definitely not ready for human interaction, much less human interaction with Yelena Belova , a chance to try to get her shit together. It also gave her a chance to admire Yelena’s hair, which was down and like, glowing, basically. Totally ridiculous, because it was gray as hell and January in New York.

Kate, who had taken her beanie off like ten minutes ago, was pretty sure she had managed to untangle the worst of the mess before she left the apartment and was suddenly grateful she had bothered to shower, at least.

Not that Yelena hadn’t seen her looking a lot worse.

The assassin continued loving on her totally smitten dog, who was going to be fully disgusting from wagging and squirming all over the slushy sidewalk while Yelena praised him in Russian.

“Yelena.”

The widow grinned up at her, giving PD another scratch before pressing to stand in front of Kate.

“Coincidence, huh?”

Yelena shrugged, and it was annoyingly charming, her whole deal. Deadly charming.

She wasn’t afraid, a little bit because yeah, if Yelena wanted Kate dead, she’d be dead already, but mostly because she knew more now. Clint had told her, over beer and gingerbread and conversation about Natasha, some things about his fight with Yelena, who she was to Natasha and what that meant to him. He told her a little less about the Red Room and less than that about what it was to be a widow. He told her nothing about the call he made a few days after Christmas, stepping outside speaking Russian, but Kate didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. So yeah, deadly charming but also no longer trying to murder her or her mentor.

Apparently so much in the not-murdering lane that Clint had sent Yelena to check in on her, which, weird choice, but maybe they were talking in a real way now. Clint seemed pretty hellbent on at least trying with the person who had meant so much to his person. Maybe Yelena felt the same.

As if she were reading Kate’s mind, Yelena said, cheery as ever, “Don’t worry. Barton and I are okay. We are not best friends,” she snorted at herself, somehow making it attractive, “but we have an understanding, and I am no longer going to kill him.”

It was nice of Yelena, not to mention why she had been out to kill Clint in the first place. Someone has hired a black widow assassin . Yeah. Someone. Kate sagged a little. God, she was tired.

Yelena said, tilting her head down the path, “Let’s walk and talk?”

Kate couldn’t take her anger out on her mom, but Yelena was right there, so Kate, who had never been accused of not being a brat, frowned a little and took a step back. Yelena definitely noticed, because she was a fucking super spy and Kate wasn’t subtle, but she acted like she didn’t, patting PD’s head gently where he was pressing into her thigh, smile still firmly in place.

“I…”

“Barton sent me, if that helps.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Yelena pointedly eyed the new distance between them with a raised brow but waited, silent and steady, for Kate to make a move.

She could have argued. She could totally have argued. She had plenty of reasons to say no. A few good ones, even. But she was tired and she was lonely and she had just enough sense in her to overwhelm the stubbornness and brattiness and consider what pushing away the person her friend had sent to check on her would get her. The answer was a pretty swift nothing. She already had a lot of nothing. She didn’t love it.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s walk and talk.”

Yelena’s smile grew, and Kate offered one in return, a little less than full Bishop charm but more real for it. Yelena clapped her hands in front of her and turned with purpose down the path to their left, PD sticking happily by her side.

“So what did Clint tell you?”

Yelena eyed her. “Straight to business then. Fair enough.”

“Did you have…non…business…things you wanted to talk about?”

The quirk of Yelena’s lips made Kate’s cheeks heat. So she wasn’t the most articulate right now. Whatever.

“Well, last time I was here, you said something about a drink.” Her lips turned down slightly. “But I think maybe you were not serious, which I have to say, is a little disappointing. I thought we had fun.”

“Fun?” Kate said, tone disbelieving and eyebrows raised. “The part where you broke into my apartment and threatened me over mac and cheese?” Yelena made a noise of protest, which Kate ignored. “Or the part where you kicked my ass on the way to kill my mentor?”

“Still so defensive.” Yelena tsked at her. “So for you, maybe not so much the girls’ night.” Kate snorted, which Yelena ignored. “Okay. But the sparring was fun. And you said you liked me!”

Kate shook her head but was smiling despite herself. “Sparring. That was sparring for you. God, how fast could you have kicked my ass with a little effort?” Yelena shrugged, unconcerned. “Okay well belated thanks for not breaking me in half, or whatever.”

“Removing an obstacle,” Yelena said. “I was a little annoyed, but I had a good time, in the end. I am learning to be more flexible.”

Kate’s smile widened. “Glad I could help. I meant it, about liking you. Only because you didn’t actually kill Clint, though. We would not be chill if you’d gone through with that.”

“But now we are chill?” She was definitely teasing, but it was soft, friendly, and Kate was grateful for it.

“Yeah. We’re chill. And, uh,” the calculation of her pride to loneliness ratio was depressingly quick, “I’d be down for a drink. Or food. Whatever. If you want.”

“See? Non…business…things,” Yelena drawled, imitating Kate’s accent perfectly.

“Okay, I take it back. Drink invitation revoked.”

Yelena laughed, low and loud, eyes crinkling as she ruffled PD’s fur when he yelped a half-bark in happy solidarity.

“So I have lost my drink privilege because I am funny. This seems unfair, but I notice you said nothing about food. That is still on the table?”

“Cute,” Kate blurted before her brain could stop her mouth, and at Yelena’s confused expression she added, a little flustered, “The pun, I mean.”

Yelena winked at her, all signs of confusion gone, and Kate rolled her eyes and ignored the uptick in her heartbeat at Yelena’s smile because not right now, Kate .

“Clint sent you?” Kate shot for exasperated but in, like, a friendly way, and it seemed to be fine, if Yelena’s nod was anything to go by.

“Yes, yes. Barton said you’re having a bit of a shit time. I told him yes of course she’s having a shit time because her mother hired me to kill you and she also killed that rich white man who shares his name with twenty other people and then did many many other illegal things and now she is arrested.”

It was a tone Kate herself used, often in back and forth with Lila, when Clint was being dense. The hand not occasionally patting PD waved in the air in a series of gestures indicating both that Clint was an idiot and that her point was obvious.

Kate grimaced. “Well. You’re not wrong.”

One side of Yelena’s face scrunched apologetically. “Sorry. Possibly I was too blunt?”

“Nah, it’s nice, honestly. No use dancing around it.”

“Hmm.” She continued, “Well, Barton was worried and wanted me to come see you. To make sure you are okay, which I told him was stupid for all of those reasons but also, to make sure you are safe from those idiots in bad workout clothes and whoever else, which is less stupid and is something I can actually do.”

“He…hired you?”

Yelena laughed and shook her head. “No. No. He could not afford me. But like I said, we have an understanding, and you are important to him. I was already in New York for work, and I will be here for some time, I think. So. Easy enough to find you.” Her brow furrowed slightly as she added, “We should probably work on that.”

“We?” Kate breathed to herself.

“We,” Yelena confirmed. “I have a proposal, if you are interested.”

PD’s tail thwacked against Kate’s leg, Yelena’s hand scratching behind his ear where he had moved to walk between them.

“Yes, for you, too, хороший мальчик.”

“His name’s PD, by the way,” Kate offered absently. “Short for Pizza Dog. Or Lucky.”

Speaking down to PD, Yelena murmured something in Russian, that, based on vibes alone, was, “ Your mother has given you a series of stupid names ,” and then brought her eyes, a little judgmental, back to Kate’s. “I have been told by an associate that I need to take a vacation.”

Her lips pulled down into a pout, and Kate tried very hard not to focus on her mouth. She was only halfway successful.

“She was very rude about it, but also, probably, she was right. So, I finished the job that brought me back to New York and I am not taking another one right now. I want to see the city. And Clint Barton does not want to see you die.”

“Um,” Kate said lamely.

Yelena plowed on. “Clearly, you are not very good at self-preservation.” “Hey, that’s not…”

She might as well not have been talking. “For example, I told you to stay out of my way and you decided to do the opposite of that.” Yelena looked at her the way Lila looked at Clint after he spent a solid minute trying to figure out how to get the Switch on. Idiot , her face said. “In fact, you slapped me in an elevator. Now. You are still alive, but that is because I like you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You are welcome.” So now Yelena heard her. “But the tracksuit idiots will not be so nice, I don’t think. This brings me to my proposal. I will help you to stay alive, and you will show me New York.”

Well, that was an easy yes.

Option A: hang out and eat with Yelena and PD, watch Yelena enjoy tourist shit, and maybe, hopefully, learn some black-widow-y things from her while also not dying embarrassingly at the hands of a bunch of Grand Theft Auto rejects.

Option B: continue to do everything she had been doing for the past five days, plus work super hard not to die embarrassingly at the hands of a bunch of Grand Theft Auto rejects.

As much as Kate loved crying over her frozen dinner for one while her dog tried to comfort her, she was willing to try something new, even if it hurt her pride a little.

And it did.

She was Hawkeye. It didn’t feel great, needing protection, but something about the offer coming from an assassin skilled enough to kill a literal Avenger took the sting out of it. Also, the help came from Clint and Yelena, not her mom, which was pretty key right now. Plus it was a trade, even if Yelena was only making it feel that way to preserve a little of Kate’s dignity, a kindness that Kate didn’t know if she deserved but really appreciated.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, okay.”

“Excellent!” Yelena stopped and bent to PD, who immediately flopped onto his back again. Kate watched the brown, icy water move under his tail and winced preemptively at the inevitable state of her bathroom post-dog bath. He was gonna look so sad in the tub. She was gonna be so sad trying to get him there. “Do you hear that? We are going to spend lots more time together.”

When she stood again, her eyes wandered and caught eagerly on an ice cream cart.

A list started forming in Kate’s mind, food and drinks and cute neighborhood walks, options for a good first Broadway show. The trade wasn’t exactly equal–Yelena protecting Kate in exchange for Kate acting as a glorified tour guide/personal Yelp–but Kate could still hold up her end of the bargain and do it well. She was a New Yorker, and she had opinions about most things in the city and those opinions were, of course, right.

“There’s an ice cream shop six blocks away. Best waffle cones in the city. And I can recommend like 15 flavors. Good place to start?”

It had been obvious to Kate, that first time in her apartment, that Yelena was performing–her eagerness about New York, the invitation to share food, her laughter and openness. Kate felt it again in their fight. Stop making me like you . Because she had been, and even though Kate knew who she was dealing with, she couldn’t help but be drawn in.

Yelena was beautiful and magnetic and god, so dangerous. Deadly in her charm. Deadly in her ability to disarm. Kate knew. She knew.

Still, as Yelena’s face lit up at the prospect of ice cream, eyes defiantly bright against the gloom of the day, she found herself drawn in again, and more, something in her pushed back hard against the idea that being a widow meant Yelena wasn’t also a person. A weird, funny, vibrant person.

“How many flavors will fit in a waffle cone?” She asked, gesturing for Kate to lead the way. She continued before Kate could answer. “We must try some other places to compare. Not to get us off on the wrong leg. It is not that I do not trust you, Kate Bishop the New Yorker, but I would like to learn what makes a waffle cone good. It is important to understand why the best is the best.”

There was something about the tilt of her lips that made Kate say with confidence, “You 100% know it’s the wrong foot.”

Yelena looked down at her feet, brow furrowing and head tilting as she considered. Kate’s momentary panic that she’d been a whole ass already dissipated as Yelena winked at her, and she shoved her with her shoulder on instinct, like she would have done with Franny or Greer or Clint.

It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but there was real surprise on Yelena’s face as she braced against the contact, obvious enough for Kate to follow up. “Sorry, was that okay?” She waved a hand between them. “The shoulder thing, I mean. I didn’t think about it but I know not everyone likes to be touched casually like that. I know we’ve fought, or whatever, but that’s different. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” she said. After a beat, she added, “Thank you for asking me.”

“For sure.” Yelena was holding herself tightly, and Kate was pretty sure she got it, not being a huge fan of vulnerability herself, so she rerouted. “Back to the art of waffle cones. The question is really how many flavors do you want to combine? Because creating a complementary situation is essential to cone enjoyment.

“And yes, you’re totally right. We’ve gotta try at least a few other places so you can form your own opinion.” Yelena’s shoulders relaxed minutely, and Kate would probably spend a lot of time later thinking about how much of their interaction was organic and how much was Yelena carefully crafting, but for now, she took the win. “To be clear, though, I’m right about this. PD agrees.”

Yelena offered her an incredibly unimpressed look. “I hope you are joking.” As Kate’s lips pressed into a line, Yelena sighed. “Kate Bishop. This is not for dogs. You know this.”

“Hey! They have a pup cup!”

“Pup cup,” Yelena mocked in an American accent, rolling her eyes. “Is the waffle cone part of this?”

“I mean…”

“Mmm.” Yelena nodded and hummed through pursed lips. “That is what I thought.”

“Careful, PD,” Kate stage whispered. “Your new best friend is gonna take your treats away.”

Yelena tsked at her with a shake of her head before ruffling the hair behind PD’s ears. “Do not try to turn him against me. He is too smart for that.”

Kate watched as PD turned his little eye up at Yelena, tongue lolling and tail going hard. Smart wasn’t the word she’d use, but she wasn’t out here trying to shoot arrows in a glass house. She and PD clearly shared a deficient interest in self-preservation when it came to Yelena, both of them a little desperate and belly-up with trust, weak in the face of a beautiful, lethal weirdo.

Kate really, really wanted to believe it wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake.

#kate x yelena #bishova #bishova fic #hawkeye series

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