#I might not know how to reply to them but I have read them all and I'm very thankful for all the support what you guys have given me🌱

[amypihcs]

Aaaaaand i tripped! I tripped and i've written a tiny little something for this very beautiful fanart of those fantastic men <3

I hope you like it my dears <3

Cooperation

Mr Holmes smiled, laying a blanket over his husband's legs and then handing him the chocolate box.

"Why are you laughing?" He asked then, slipping under the blanket as well and tucking his feet under his Watson's thighs.

Dr Watson chuckled and moved to leave a kiss on his husband's lips. "You are a last-stage romantic, darling." He smiled.

The detective huffed, taking his pipe but not yet lighting it. "Slander." He answered, failing to suppress a smile and pointing the pipe to his partner for dramatic effect.

"Either that, or as much of a cat as Silver Blaze is." Chuckled the doctor.

"Evidence of what you say, doctor?" Smirked the retired detective, kissing one of his Watson's hands.

"You feet under my legs, for example-" Started Watson, laughing as Holmes moved to a very relaxed kneel.

"Those are illegal moves." Grumbled the detective, letting a smile win at his partner's chuckles.

"Alright, then. You gifted me a chocolate box on the anniversary of our first case, you deny?" Smirked the doctor, making his smile lines deeper.

The detective shook his head, lighting his pipe. "Not at all. You like chocolate and anniversaries."

"You offered me the box immediately after breakfast and after having taken me on your lap." Continued the doctor.

"Can't deny. I love taking you up, John."

"Fed me chocolate bonbons between kisses." Grinned Watson, laughing as his husband blushed.

"You might be right." He conceded.

"And you're wearing a high collar and bow-tie to hide some marks a bit too high on your neck." Laughed Watson, moving to kiss his husband.

"We were having fun together, I remind you. — Smirked the detective. — Now come on, eat your chocolate. Dessert after dinner is seldom anything less than a good idea, my dear."

"Only if you cooperate. We both know of that immense sweet tooth of yours." Replied the doctor, opening the box and feeding his husband a treat.

Holmes moaned softly eating the chocolate. "Traitor. — He mumbled. — Now you eat."

"Not quite like I need sweets, my darling." Chuckled Watson, complimenting Holmes on his taste in chocolate a moment later.

"Sweet tooth, remember? — Smiled Holmes, a faint blush on his high cheekbones. — As much as Silver Blaze still like to knead on you more than he does on me."

"Cooperate." Commended the doctor, taking another chocolate himself, and smiling as his husband also reached into the box.

"Aye Captain." Smirked Holmes.

Watson grinned once more, putting down the box and moving to kiss his partner. "I love to taste sweet when I kiss you, my dearest." He commented after breaking the kiss.

"You are such a romantic man John." Answered Holmes, not even attempting to put any sarcasm in his sentence.

Dr Watson smile widened. "Why, Sherlock! Has your sweet tooth finally made so that you manage to appreciate some sweet talk by your husband, honeybee?"

"I remind you that we do have several jars of honey, my little bear. — Smirked the detective. — And I wouldn't mind using them to prove to you how much I actually appreciate sweet things… and a sweet man such as you. How much I love him." He concluded in a whisper.

"I love you too, old man. Sherlock, whose name finally makes sense. Come, my love, snuggle down. I can read something aloud to you, my dearest." Smiled Watson.

"This is another excellent idea John. Some cuddles before going to bed with my Watson… So to snuggle on him yet closer." Sighed Holmes.

"Put down that pipe of yours then, old man. I won't have you risk to set us both on fire." Smirked Watson, laughing then at Holmes' playful swat to his chest before snuggling down.

Got this super cute commission from @baruyon, thanks again Baru!

[cupcakedieabetes]

Speedrunning romance Part 2

"It seems so weird looking at him giggling." Steph muttered, "But understandable too."

Jason kept on giggling as he texted his phone, having gotten the boy's number.

"Yeah, I would have kissed him in the mouth for having done Joker, but too bad Jason got to him first." Barbara sighed.

"By the way, you haven't said anything much, Damian." Tim looked to Damian, who was quietly reading a book.

"What else is there left to say?"

All of them were ignoring Dick and B arguing with a Jason who wasn't listening shit to them. Dick was defending Jason while Bruce was protesting about Jason going after a guy who killed Joker.

"What do you mean by that?" Steph looked at Damian, who sighed, as if it was common sense.

"Jason was given the head of his enemy, a fitting gift if one should want to court him." Damian replied.

PING!

All of them looked at their phones for the notification. Jason seemed to have posted something online.

Jason Todd: Does anyone have a good recommendation for a taxidermist?

"Jason!" Bruce scolded him.

"What? Was I just supposed to keep his head in a cooler?" Jason argued.

Almost immediately, there were multiple recommendations, and taxidermists jumped at the opportunity to taxidermy the Joker's head.

Many people also wanted to watch the process and clamoured for a live stream.

"Should I learn taxidermy, too?" Tim muttered, which made Steph snort.

"Tim!" Bruce scolded him next.

Then, Alfred came in with a display case.

"Master Jason, could I recommend using this glass dome to display the head?"

Many cheered when it was revealed. Damian approved of it as it was a beautiful glass case.

"Also, a package for you arrived." Alfred handed Jason a package with multiple 'fragile' marks stamped around the package.

Jason curiously inspected it and picked up the letter addressed to him.

Hey, So. Uh. This is the heart. I wasn’t sure if you wanted it, but since I already gave you the head, I thought it might feel incomplete without the rest. Not all the rest, obviously — just the important part. Well, I guess the second-most important part, after the head. I put it in a jar of preservatives, but if you want to do something else with it, sorry. Anyway, I thought maybe you'd want to do something with it. Bury it. Burn it. Play football with it. I don’t know. But the jar is really sturdy, and I tested it with a jackhammer. I guess what I’m trying to say is… I remembered what he said when he thought I was you, and I didn’t like it. So now he won’t anymore. Hope this helps. Danny

Jason just

Swoons

He buried his face in his hands and screamed into them. The others clamoured behind him to read what was in the letter, passing it around for everyone to read.

Steph whistles.

"That's the most awkwardly romantic thing I have ever seen."

Cass nudged Jason to open the package quickly. She looked up at him in anticipation.

Damian just plucked the package and opened it, revealing a heart sitting in a jar of preservatives. He held the heart high above his head to present it to everyone.

"Jason..." Dick sniffled, arms going around Jason tightly who for once let it happen.

Bruce looked at the scene and then sighed. He couldn't be angry at how relieved everyone felt upon Joker's death. He came up to Jason and reached out to squeeze Jason's shoulder. His son, who died at the hands of Joker.

He was so glad that he was able to see him grow up so big.

"I will be paying very handsomely to the taxidermist. You just have to choose who you feel is the best." He murmured.

Tim already stole his wallet from the back of his pocket to take out a card.

"We're using his BLACK CARD!!!" Tim yelled, presenting the card into the air.

Steph wrestled him for the card, and both of them dropped to the ground.

Alfred just side-stepped them to help Dick and Jason to screen for a good taxidermist.

Cass, Barbara, and Damian were just looking at the heart in awe, and they started discussing where the best place is to display both the heart and the head.

Bruce looked at his family. He supposes he should approve of Danny, as this was the first time in so long that everything was peaceful.

"I'M GOING TO MARRY HIM!!!"

Perhaps not....

@tortoiseoffury, @eggonog, @rabidhungryrat, @leafyeyes417, @lurukifennecfox, @craftywyvern, @guppygalaxy, @koolaidkai

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 9

Theme: pazzi fwb turned ex bf turned into whatever the hell this is

A/N: I'm back :) this is a long ass chapter compared to what I typically write, but I was on a roll I guess lol. I did not do a very thorough job of editing so if you see an error please let me know! This chapter is honestly setting up some fun messy shit that I have planned for next chapter... Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: mention of injury, angst, I think that's it???

WC: 8K+

**** Chapter 9 ****

Paige was already texting her again—thumb hovering, jaw tight, the glow of her screen lighting up the dim dorm room like it might hold some kind of answer. She’d already tried once that morning. And again after lunch. No response. Not even a read receipt. It was technically an off day—no practice, no meetings—so it wasn’t like they’d just run into each other. But still. The silence was starting to eat at her. And yet, here she was, staring at the same thread, willing it to change.

Paige: Hey, are you around? Can we talk?

No reply.

She waited sixty seconds. Sixty-five. Then checked the status bar again—no “delivered.” No bubbles. No anything.

She flipped to Caroline’s contact. Typed “is azzi okay?” Deleted it. Rewrote it with less emotion: “Have you seen Azzi today?” Sent it. Nothing back.

Her foot started bouncing. Her brain spun.

Maybe Azzi’s phone was dead. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe they were still on that weird kind-of-friends-but-not-really energy that made texting feel like walking through a minefield.

Or maybe she didn’t want to talk to her at all.

But that couldn’t be right. Not after the bracelet. Not after the tiny white gift box she’d nearly missed completely—wedged in the back of her desk drawer like it had been waiting for the right moment to be found.

Inside: a friendship bracelet. Purple and pink beads, a little uneven, the stretchy string knotted with care. In the center, in blocky black letters—PURPOSE.

Underneath it had been a folded piece of notebook paper, torn from the middle of a spiral, the edges slightly frayed. Azzi’s handwriting was careful, almost too neat. Just a few lines, but Paige had read them over and over like they were scripture.

And somehow, it hit harder than any love letter ever could. Because Azzi didn’t say things she didn’t mean—and she definitely didn’t make things just to fill the silence. So if she was still thinking about Paige, still threading beads one by one, still tucking hope into a box like it might survive the fallout…

Then maybe—just maybe—this was the part where they stopped pretending they were fine without each other.

She glanced at her phone again.

Still nothing.

Her thumb hovered over Azzi’s name. She didn’t text this time. Just pressed the location dot she told herself she wasn’t going to use anymore.

She was home.

Paige grabbed a hoodie from the back of her desk chair and shoved the bracelet in the front pocket, fingers curling tight around it. This wasn’t a grand gesture. This wasn’t a speech or a declaration or anything dramatic. She just needed to see her. Needed to say something—anything—before it was too late.

She didn’t even realize how fast she was moving until she hit the stairs.

It was a short walk. Too short. Her pulse was already racing by the time she reached Azzi’s dorm. Her palms were sweating. She wiped them on her sweatpants before taking another step. Checked her phone one more time.

Still nothing.

The suite door was unlocked — like usual — and Paige slipped inside quietly, careful not to slam it behind her. It smelled faintly like popcorn and whatever candle scent Caroline was obsessed with that month. Something vanilla-adjacent.

Azzi’s door was closed.

She hesitated in front of the door, heart thudding so loud it felt like someone else might hear it. For a second, she just stood there, staring at the wood grain like it might blink first. The hope was still there—small, stubborn, buzzing under her ribs like static. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side. No voices, no music, nothing.

Still, she knocked.

Three small raps, like maybe if she kept it light enough, she could pretend this wasn’t a huge deal.

Footsteps. Then the click of the handle.

Azzi opened the door wearing a cropped tee and shorts, barefoot, her hair pulled half-up and frizzy in that way it always got when she’d been lying in bed for a while. Her cheeks were pink, her lips slightly parted like she’d just been laughing—or kissing someone. Paige couldn’t tell which.

Behind her, the room was dim. The bedside lamp was on. Someone’s hoodie was slung over the back of her desk chair.

And then a voice floated from somewhere out of frame, casual, familiar, too at home.

“Do you want the lights off or—oh.”

Lexi stepped into view from the other side of the bed, holding a bag of popcorn, her hair also slightly mussed, like she’d been lying there for a while and hadn’t planned on getting up.

She froze when she saw Paige.

Azzi did too.

“Hey,” Azzi said, blinking like it took a second to place her. “Um. What’s up?”

Paige opened her mouth but no sound came out at first. Her chest was tight, throat dry. Every warning light in her brain started flashing.

“I—sorry. I didn’t mean to…” She glanced behind Azzi, took in the soft lighting, the hoodie, the presence. “I thought maybe you didn’t see my texts. I just—”

Azzi’s mouth parted slightly, like she wanted to say something—like maybe there was something she should say—but nothing came out.

Lexi stayed quiet, her expression unreadable.

Paige forced a smile, the kind that felt too big and too bright, like maybe if she smiled hard enough, she could hold the rest of her face together. “Totally not a big deal,” she said, even though it was. “I was just walking by. Thought I’d say hi.”

Azzi nodded, slow and cautious, like she wasn’t sure whether to believe her. “Okay. Well… hi.”

“Yeah.” Paige shifted her weight to one foot, then the other, hands suddenly too empty. “Cool. I’ll… let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

Lexi glanced down, polite and distant. Azzi didn’t look away.

And that—somehow—made it worse.

Azzi didn’t stop her.

She turned and walked back down the hall, her footsteps the only sound, the silence stretching behind her like something fragile about to snap. She didn’t look back.

By the time she got to her floor, her hoodie felt too warm and not warm enough all at once. She didn’t take it off. Just walked into her room, shut the door behind her, and sat on the edge of the bed like her body didn’t know what else to do.

The bracelet was still in her pocket.

She pulled it out slowly, let it sit in her palm like it might say something she couldn’t. Like maybe if she looked at it long enough, it would explain why her chest felt like it was caving in. Why her throat was tight and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Why she still cared this much, even now.

She rubbed her thumb over the beads—lightly, like the letters might smudge if she pressed too hard. She couldn’t tell if it made her feel better or worse.

The word was still there.

PURPOSE

She swallowed hard.

She thought about how carefully Azzi must’ve made it. Threading each bead, tying each knot. Choosing that word. Not love or strong or something generic from a gift shop bin. No, Azzi chose something deeper. Something that meant something.

And Paige had let it sit in a drawer. Like it wasn’t everything.

She curled her fingers around it, closed her eyes.

For a second, she let herself pretend it wasn’t too late. That she hadn’t shown up one floor too low, one second too slow. That Azzi hadn’t answered the door with someone else’s laughter still floating through the room.

She wanted to be mad.

At Azzi. At Lexi. At herself.

Mostly at herself.

Because she could’ve said something sooner. She could’ve tried harder. She could’ve told Azzi the truth the second she heard she’d come out—stepped up, said what she meant, meant what she felt. But instead, Paige froze.

Because she was scared. Because she didn’t want to risk it. Because Kathryn was safe and Azzi was… everything else.

And now she was gone.

Not technically. Not yet.

But it felt like it.

The tears didn’t come all at once. They never did with her. They crept in slow, burning at the corners of her eyes, slipping down one by one until her vision blurred and she couldn’t read the bracelet anymore.

Maybe that was the point.

She stayed like that for a long time. Still. Quiet.

Her thumb traced over the beads again, gentle, careful, like maybe if she kept doing it, the ache in her chest would ease.

It didn’t.

After a few minutes, she stood up and crossed the room.

She placed the bracelet back on her desk, right in the middle. Not hidden this time, but not on her wrist either.

She couldn’t wear it. Not yet.

Wearing it would mean she still believed in what it stood for. And she didn’t know if she did.

Not tonight.

Azzi 

Azzi knew something was off the second she opened the door and saw Paige standing there. It wasn’t obvious—just a flicker. A barely-there shadow in her eyes, the kind that only registered if you’d spent enough time memorizing someone’s expressions. And Azzi had. She saw it in the way Paige’s shoulders tensed, in the pause that dragged a little too long before she spoke. Like she’d worked up to this—whatever this was—and wasn’t expecting an audience.

Inside, Lexi was curled up on the bed, barefoot and relaxed, eating popcorn straight from the bag while Netflix scrolled through autoplay trailers. She’d made a joke when she heard the knock—something soft and ridiculous like, “Should I hide?”—just loud enough for Azzi to roll her eyes and laugh.

And then she stayed. Just like that. And Paige had seen all of it.

She smiled—kind of. The type of smile you put on for strangers or cameras or moments that already feel like they’re slipping away. Said she was just walking by. That it wasn’t a big deal. But it was.

Azzi could see it in her eyes, in the way her voice missed its mark. Like the words had been meant for someone else. Or maybe for a different moment entirely. She could’ve said something. Asked what was really going on. Reached out, just a little. But she didn’t. She let her go. And for the rest of the night, she tried not to wonder what might’ve happened if she hadn’t.

****

She knew what Paige thought of Lexi. She’d said it plainly enough a couple weeks ago. “Just be careful. She’s a player.”

She saw Lexi’s swagger. Her reputation. Her timing.

Azzi had shrugged it off at the time, told her she didn’t need to be protected. But it stuck—because of course it did. Paige never used that tone unless she meant it. And the worst part was, for a while, Azzi had believed it too. That Lexi was just flirting to flirt. That she liked the chase more than the catch.

But Lexi stayed.

Even when the flirting turned into actual feelings, even when Azzi tried to pump the brakes just in case she was imagining the whole thing—Lexi stayed.

She brought coffee to study hall without being asked. Sat with her in the cold after practice when Azzi’s knee flared up and didn’t say a word—just handed her a heat pack and scrolled aimlessly through TikTok until Azzi started laughing again.

She was smart, funnier than people gave her credit for, and never once made Azzi feel like too much or not enough. She didn’t try to fix her. She just… showed up.

And yeah, she came on strong. But maybe that was just what it looked like when someone knew what they wanted and wasn’t afraid of it.

Azzi had been scared to want anything back. Scared that if she opened the door too far, it would come crashing down. But the thing was—Lexi never rushed her. She teased, sure. Made stupid jokes about “Azzi Fudd’s exclusive roster spot.” But she didn’t push.

And when Azzi finally let her in, it didn’t feel like pressure.

She was excited to see where it could go. Nervous, yeah. But still—hopeful.

Then came Notre Dame.

It happened so fast she didn’t even have time to process it. Second quarter, a scramble under the rim, and suddenly one of her own teammates lost their footing and came crashing down on her leg. Her knee buckled underneath her, sharp and hot and immediate.

She didn’t scream. Not at first. Just stayed there, stunned, blinking up at the ceiling of an arena that suddenly felt way too far away.

She didn’t see Paige at first.

But in the locker room, after the trainer had wrapped her knee and the adrenaline had started to wear off, Paige was the one who quietly appeared beside her. Didn’t say anything right away. Just sat down on the bench next to her and passed her a water bottle without making a big deal of it.

“Flight’s in a couple hours,” she said gently. “They’re checking you in early so you don’t have to deal with the crowd.”

Azzi nodded, still staring at the floor.

For a while, they just sat there. Not touching. Not talking. Just—together.

And when the trainer came back to wheel her out, Paige stood up without hesitation and offered her arm for balance. No fuss. No weirdness. Just the steadiness she always had, whether Azzi liked it or not.

She stayed close the whole way through the airport. Checked in on her during the flight. Asked the flight attendant for an extra ice pack when hers started to thaw. When Azzi’s knee started throbbing midair, Paige wordlessly handed her a pair of noise-canceling headphones and pulled her hoodie over her face so she could rest.

It was quiet care. Familiar care.

Azzi had forgotten what it felt like, being taken care of by her. It was soft in a way she hadn’t let herself miss.

And for a minute, just one—she wondered if maybe something had shifted.

Maybe they were finally finding their way back to something that mattered.

But then they got back to campus.

And Lexi was waiting in the dorm lobby, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, fidgeting like she’d been standing there for a while.

The handoff was seamless. Too seamless.

Paige helped her up the stairs. Lexi took the ice pack and adjusted the pillow behind her knee like she’d done it a hundred times. Paige lingered by the door for half a second—then left.

She didn’t say goodbye.

Azzi didn’t stop her.

Paige

She wasn’t trying to watch. Not really.

It just kept happening—little moments that made her stomach twist, the kind you weren’t supposed to notice unless you were still too invested.

And she was still invested.

Azzi getting hurt had gutted her. The second she heard, her heart dropped straight into her stomach. She knew that pain. The limbo. The waiting. The way everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of a worst-case scenario.

They didn’t know how bad it was yet. Everyone kept saying “a few weeks,” “precaution,” “just a sprain.” But Paige had been around long enough to know how fast things could go from minor to life-altering. She’d seen careers shift on a single awkward landing. And Azzi—Azzi was finally playing free again. Confident. Fierce.

She didn’t deserve another setback.

Paige had tried to be there. Had been there, on the flight, in the locker room, in the quiet spaces in between.

But now, back on campus, it was Lexi filling all the space.

Lexi waiting outside the training room after lift, leaning against the wall with Azzi’s favorite smoothie—green apple kale from the campus café no one else liked. Lexi walking behind her in the hall, gently steadying the backpack on her shoulder so it didn’t jostle her knee. Lexi sitting on the floor of Azzi’s dorm, shoes kicked off, quizlet app open, quizzing Azzi on their psych midterm like she had nowhere else to be.

It wasn’t performative. That was the worst part.

It wasn’t flashy or loud or even particularly flirty.

It was just… consistent. Thoughtful. Steady.

The kind of care Paige remembered offering once.

The kind she didn’t know how to give anymore.

She sat next to Aubrey in the film room one afternoon, eyes glazed over from watching the same broken press coverage on loop, and said it before she could stop herself.

“I think I might’ve been wrong about Lexi.”

Aubrey blinked, like she hadn’t expected Paige to say anything at all.

Then she nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking that too.”

“You have?”

Aubrey shrugged. “I mean, I still think she came on a little too hot, too fast. But I don’t know. She’s… good with Azzi. It’s not just vibes. She actually shows up.”

Paige nodded slowly, trying not to flinch.

“She’s better than I thought,” Aubrey added, almost gently. “I think we judged too soon.”

Paige didn’t say anything after that. She just stared at the screen while her heart caved in a little.

Because she’d wanted to be right. About Lexi. About what she saw, what she felt.

But she wasn’t right.

At least—not yet.

And the longer she watched Lexi take care of Azzi, the more it felt like someone else had stepped into a role that used to be hers.

Only this time, they were doing it better.

Seeing Azzi be steady with someone else made her want to be steady, too.

Not out of revenge. Not even out of jealousy, really. Just… out of longing. That ache for something sure. Something certain. Something that didn’t leave her checking her phone a dozen times before texting back.

And Kathryn was trying. More than Paige probably deserved.

She was funny. Easy to be around. She didn’t ask questions Paige didn’t want to answer. She knew when to talk and when to just sit there, their knees barely brushing, some dumb show playing in the background like they were both paying attention.

That night, Kathryn showed up to Paige’s dorm with a sleeve of Oreos and a promise that they weren’t going to do anything productive.

“Mandatory procrastination session,” she announced, flopping onto the bed like she belonged there.

They scrolled TikTok for a while, tossing commentary back and forth, until Kathryn nudged Paige with her elbow and said, “We should make one.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. Something dumb. Something chaotic. You need a brain break.”

Paige laughed, not because it was that funny—but because it felt good. The kind of laugh that made her stomach unclench, even just for a second.

So they filmed a couple drafts. One dance, one trend, one of Kathryn trying to toss an Oreo into Paige’s mouth and hitting her directly in the forehead.

It was dumb. It was fun.

It was almost enough.

Later, while Paige lay back against her pillows, Kathryn nestled in beside her, head resting lightly on Paige’s shoulder, one bare leg draped over both of hers like it belonged there. Her hand moved easily over Paige’s phone, editing clips with practiced ease, pausing every so often to show Paige a cut and whisper something dumb or flirty into the quiet space between them.

It wasn’t new, the way their bodies fit like this. They’d already blurred that line weeks ago.

But it still surprised Paige sometimes—how easy it was to let Kathryn this close. How natural it felt to lean into the comfort, even when her chest was quietly screaming that something was still missing.

It was warmth. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, a part of her still felt like she was standing outside the moment, watching it happen.

“Are you gonna post it for me?” Paige asked, casually. Like she wasn’t already bracing for the answer.

Kathryn hesitated, thumb pausing mid-scroll. “I wasn’t sure if you were ready to take things to that next level.”

Paige blinked. “What level?”

Kathryn looked up, meeting her eyes without flinching. “The part where people start asking questions. Where you have to start answering them.”

She smiled then—soft. “It’s kind of a big move, PR-wise.”

She said it like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she was giving Paige an out, not a push.

And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because Kathryn was being kind. Thoughtful. Patient.

Exactly what Paige had asked for.

So why did it still feel like she couldn’t breathe?

She didn’t answer right away. Just reached for the remote and scrolled through the Hulu menu like it mattered.

But later that night, when Kathryn had gone home and the dorm was quiet again, Paige picked up her phone. Opened TikTok. Found the draft. Hit “post.”

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t even labeled. No caption. No soft launch.

But it was public.

And for now, that felt like something.

She told herself it was enough.

Even if a part of her still felt like she was holding her breath.

Azzi

She hadn’t expected to like it.

The TikTok.

She saw it by accident—someone had reposted it to Twitter with a caption like “okay but why do they lowkey eat??” and Azzi, against her better judgment, clicked.

She expected to roll her eyes. Scroll away. Feel nothing.

But she didn’t.

It was Paige and Kathryn doing some trending dance in Paige’s dorm room. Slightly off-beat, too many inside jokes between moves, Kathryn clearly making up half the steps—but Paige was laughing. Really laughing, not that press-conference polite kind.

The top comment had nearly 3,000 likes.

“idc what y’all say this is endgame behavior.”

Azzi actually smiled watching it. Smiled, and then immediately rolled her eyes at herself for smiling.

The rest of the comments were chaos:

“Why is Kathryn actually carrying??” “This is giving girlfriend energy and Paige LETTING IT HAPPEN??” “she finally soft launched. our prayers worked.”

Paige’s fans were ride or die like that. A little too obsessed, a little too intense, but always loyal. They’d ship her with a chair if it looked at her the right way. Azzi knew that. She also knew Paige probably hated it, but kept the post up anyway.

And that—more than anything—made Azzi think maybe this thing with Kathryn was more real than she wanted it to be.

And maybe that—more than anything—was what made her stomach ache a little.

Because she’d expected to be angry.

Instead, she was… almost rooting for it.

Until she wasn’t.

****

The shift came two days later.

They were in the locker room post-practice, the air heavy with steam and static, sneakers squeaking faintly on the tile as everyone moved in and out—tired, loud, half-listening to each other like always.

Azzi was still catching her breath, towel slung around her neck, scrolling absently through her texts when Caroline came flying around the corner like she was being chased.

She practically skidded to a stop in front of Azzi’s locker, eyes wide, phone clutched in both hands like it might combust.

“Okay,” she said, breathless. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Aubrey trailed close behind, her expression less panicked but equally intense. She raised her eyebrows like just wait.

Azzi blinked. “What.”

They didn’t answer right away—just closed in around her like she was the epicenter of something.

“What now?” Azzi asked, tugging her hoodie over her damp hair.

Aubrey flipped her phone around. “Someone left this comment on a Kathryn x Paige edit. Look.”

The video was muted, paused mid-spin—Paige laughing, Kathryn’s hand on her waist—and the comment sat just underneath it like a landmine.

“Y’all know Kathryn has a girlfriend back home, right?”

Azzi didn’t react. Not at first.

She just stared at it. Flat, unfiltered. No emojis. No drama. Just… there.

Caroline leaned in beside her. “It’s not just that one. There’s more. People have been stitching it, reposting screenshots. It’s getting traction.”

Azzi looked up slowly.

Aubrey sighed. “Okay, listen. Normally I would’ve said it’s just trolls. Haters. You know the drill.”

Caroline nodded, already scrolling. “But Aubrey went full FBI—”

“I did a casual deep dive,” Aubrey cut in, eyes narrowed.

“—and it’s kinda bad,” Caroline finished. “Like, bad bad.”

She tilted the phone again. Photos. A different girl, blonde. Arm wrapped around Kathryn in a tagged birthday post from three months ago. Kathryn in the comments: my whole heart. Another picture: same necklace she wore to the last team dinner. A hoodie Azzi had seen her wear in Paige’s dorm—now on the other girl, snapped on a porch in Vermont.

Aubrey added quietly, “And she’s still following her. Still liking her stuff. No explanation. No breakup post. Just… overlap.”

Azzi didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Because deep down, something in her had already started clicking into place.

She thought about Paige—how off she’d seemed lately, like she was forcing something that didn’t quite fit. How quick she’d been to post. How quiet she’d been afterward.

How she looked the night of the Notre Dame game, half-asleep against the plane window, face pinched like she was trying too hard not to feel anything.

Azzi swallowed hard.

She didn’t want to be right.

****

The breakup was loud. At least, the hallway version of it was.

Azzi hadn’t meant to hear it. She just… did.

She was coming around the corner on the way to film, headphones in, hoodie pulled low over her head, when Paige’s voice cut through the air sharp enough to make her stop walking.

“You used me.”

Azzi froze.

She knew she should keep going. Head down, eyes forward. Mind her own business.

But her feet wouldn’t move.

Kathryn’s voice came next—lower, tired, like she’d already rehearsed her side of the argument and was just waiting for Paige to finish hers.

“You used me too, Paige. Let’s not pretend you weren’t looking over your shoulder the entire time, hoping it was her.”

Silence.

Azzi’s throat tightened.

Then:

“You don’t even realize how much you talk about Azzi. Like—how obsessed you are. I was a placeholder and we both know it.”

That one landed.

Harder than it should have.

Azzi shifted her weight, suddenly too aware of how loud her own breathing sounded. She felt like she was eavesdropping on a secret she was never supposed to hear.

She didn’t want to hear this.

Didn’t want the proof.

Because somewhere inside, she’d hoped she was wrong. That Paige and Kathryn really were happy, even if it stung to see.

But this—this was different. This was real betrayal, flipped sideways and thrown back in Paige’s face like it was something she deserved.

She shifted her weight, hugged her arms across her chest, and backed away—quiet steps down the hallway, heart thudding too loud in her ears.

She didn’t stay.

She couldn’t.

Because for all the things Paige had gotten wrong—this wasn’t one of them.

And Azzi couldn’t bear to watch her unravel at the hands of someone who never really wanted her in the first place.

Not when she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to catch her.

Paige 

Things had actually been good.

Not perfect. Not magical. But… good.

Kathryn had spent the last two nights in her dorm, still wearing Paige’s oversized UConn hoodie and stealing her phone to cue up TikTok dances they didn’t actually post. They’d ordered Chinese food, argued over whether orange chicken counted as protein, and watched three straight episodes of Love Island while curled under the same blanket.

She’d even laughed—real, full-belly laughter—when Kathryn nearly knocked over a candle trying to do the Dougie.

So when Nika knocked on her door the next afternoon, Paige wasn’t expecting anything more serious than a last-minute smoothie run.

But the second she saw her face, she knew something was off.

“What’s wrong?” Paige asked, still in sweats, hair barely brushed.

Nika held up her phone. “I don’t even want to show you this.”

Paige took it anyway.

It was a paused TikTok. A Paige/Kathryn edit with a comment pinned near the top.

“Y’all know Kathryn has a whole-ass girlfriend back in Vermont, right?”

She frowned. “Okay. Probably fake—”

“There’s a thread,” Nika said. “And receipts.”

Paige scrolled.

Photos. Birthday posts. A tagged girl with her arm slung over Kathryn’s shoulders, grinning. Kathryn’s sweatshirt. Kathryn’s necklace. A recent story reshared with the caption “come home already.”

“I thought this was a joke,” Nika said, her voice soft now. “But it’s real.”

The blood drained from Paige’s face so fast her ears rang.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even blink.

Kathryn showed up a couple hours later.

Paige opened the door without a word and tossed her phone onto the bed, the open screen still paused on the picture of Kathryn and the other girl. The caption: “my whole heart.”

Kathryn didn’t even flinch.

“You gonna say something?” Paige asked. Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Kathryn crossed her arms. “Is this where I’m supposed to grovel?”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t offer the full backstory.”

“You have a girlfriend, Kathryn.”

Kathryn’s expression barely changed. “It’s not that deep.”

Paige laughed—just once. Sharp. Dry. “So while you were in my bed, she was just, what? On standby?”

“I didn’t know we were exclusive.”

“You met my team.”

“And you still talk about Azzi like you’re waiting for her to pick you. You think I didn’t notice?”

Paige blinked. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“I’m not turning anything,” Kathryn snapped. “I’m just saying, you’re acting like the victim when this was never that deep. We were vibing. That’s it.”

“This was real for me,” Paige said, her voice cracking. “Or I thought it was.”

Kathryn looked at her then—really looked. And for the first time, she didn’t look guilty. Just… bored.

“Paige. You’re Paige Bueckers. Do you know how much engagement you bring? Do you know what it meant—for my NIL stuff—to be seen with you? You were a business decision and a fun one. Don’t make it bigger than it was.”

Paige’s entire body went cold.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“I let you in,” she whispered. “I trusted you.”

Kathryn tilted her head. “And I gave you attention. People saw you happy. You got to play normal for five minutes.”

That’s when Paige moved—too fast, too reactive. She grabbed the door and yanked it open.

“You need to leave.”

Kathryn didn’t move. Just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re kicking me out now?”

“Out,” Paige snapped, her voice louder than she intended. “Or do I need to get my teammates to make it happen?”

Kathryn rolled her eyes but started walking. “You act so above it all, but the second things aren’t about you, you fold.”

They were halfway into the hallway now, voices echoing off the tile. A few dorm doors cracked open. Paige didn’t care.

“You used me,” she said again, sharper this time. Her throat burned. “And you didn’t even try to hide it.”

Kathryn turned to face her, still calm, still maddeningly indifferent. “You don’t even realize how much you talk about Azzi. Every other sentence—Azzi this, Azzi that. I was never your first choice, and you know it.”

Silence.

“I didn’t use you,” Paige said, lower now. Her voice was breaking. “I liked you.”

“No, you liked the idea of me,” Kathryn snapped. “You liked pretending you were over her.”

Paige flinched. It landed.

Around the corner, someone closed a door.

And suddenly the hallway felt too big. Too quiet. Too seen.

“I hope the followers were worth it,” Paige said quietly.

Kathryn didn’t say anything else. Just shook her head and walked away, her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Paige didn’t move.

Not even when she realized she was shaking.

Not even when the silence came back in full force.

****

She closed the door behind her slowly. Carefully.

Like any sudden movement might break something else.

The latch clicked, and the silence hit her all at once.

Her ears were still ringing.

She stood in the middle of the room for a second too long, untethered, like she didn’t know where her body was supposed to go now. Then she sank down—right there on the floor, knees drawn up, back against the wall like she was trying to disappear into it.

She stared at the carpet. At the desk. At nothing.

Part of her kept expecting Kathryn to come back.

To knock. To laugh. To say it had all been a misunderstanding, a bad moment, a stupid fight that they’d both get over.

But the hallway stayed quiet.

And Kathryn didn’t come back.

She wasn’t going to.

The thing was, Paige could’ve handled a breakup.

She’d done it before—more than once. The slow drift, the mutual fade, the kind of goodbye that didn’t come with shouting or slammed doors. She knew how to let go when it hurt.

But this wasn’t someone walking away.

This was someone walking through her. Stepping into her life with both feet, smiling at the right moments, saying the right things—and taking pieces of her with them on the way out.

This was betrayal with documentation.

With captions and camera angles.

This was someone who got close not because they wanted to—but because they knew how much it would be worth.

She felt sick.

Not even angry, just... gutted. Like she’d been emptied out slowly, without ever realizing what was being taken.

She pulled the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands until her fingers disappeared. Tucked her knees to her chest like that might shrink the ache into something she could manage. It didn’t.

The embarrassment came in quiet, pulsing waves.

Every text. Every TikTok. Every half-asleep conversation about nothing. All of it tilted now. Skewed sideways, like she’d been watching a rom-com that turned out to be a mockumentary.

Like the whole thing was edited for laughs.

She’d let someone in.

Fully. Openly. In the way that only happens after injury and time and loneliness and maybe too much hope.

And that someone had seen value before they saw her.

Not a girl. Not a heart. Not a person trying to love again, clumsily, earnestly.

Just a headline.

Just a brand.

Just a girl with a name people recognized and a face that got clicks.

Paige Bueckers: UConn’s golden girl 

She wanted to disappear.

Or rewind.

Or un-know the last three months of her life.

But instead, she just sat there, alone in the quiet of her dorm room, the weight of it curling around her like something physical. Something heavy and low and hard to shake.

It wasn’t heartbreak.

Not exactly.

It was something colder.

It was shame.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most—how cleanly it slid in. How fast it settled.

How much she still wanted to believe it hadn’t been fake. That somewhere in it all, a piece of it was still real.

But tonight, that felt impossible.

Because the truth had walked out and left her sitting in it.

And she hadn't seen it coming.

Not even close.

Azzi

The group chat was new.

Not the usual team thread. 

This one just appeared—no fanfare, no subject line. Just five names blinking at the top: Aubrey, Caroline, Nika, Amari, and her.

She opened it half-asleep from a post-practice nap, thumb still scrolling instinctively through her notifications when the first ping hit.

Aubrey: ok so are we all pretending we didn’t hear that earlier today???

Caroline: no because it was bad

Amari: what happened??

Nika: Kathryn got exposed. she and Paige were screaming at each other in the hallway

Aubrey: not even like fighting fighting. it was like. betrayal movie monologue level

Nika: “you used me” was literally said. out loud. in those words.

Azzi blinked. Sat up straighter.

More pings.

Caroline: i feel like i should check on her??

Nika: no.

Nika: you didn’t see her face. Paige is wrecked and trying to act like she’s not. she won’t talk to just anyone rn

Amari: what do we do??

There was a pause.

Then:

Nika: Azzi you gotta check on her

Azzi froze.

The message lit up again, this time with an added reaction. A heart from Aubrey. A thumbs-up from Caroline.

And then another ping.

Nika: she’ll listen to you. she trusts you

Azzi stared at the screen like it might change if she didn’t blink.

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t tap out a heart. Didn’t send a message back.

She just sat there, the room quiet except for the hum of her mini fridge and the distant sound of someone watching Friends on their laptop down the hall.

She hadn’t seen Paige since the hallway moment with Lexi. And technically she hadn’t even seen her then. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t reached out.

She didn’t even know what she would say.

They were fine, supposedly. Civil. Friendly-ish. Not like before, but not awful.

Still, it felt like crossing a line.

But her chest ached a little.

Something was wrong.

And Azzi didn’t want it to be her responsibility.

But maybe it already was.

She looked back down at the group chat.

A new message had appeared.

Caroline: seriously, Az. if it were you, she’d already be there

That one stung.

Because it was true.

****

She didn’t knock right away.

She stood there for a few seconds first, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, heart thudding too loud in the hallway.

The lights buzzed overhead. Someone laughed down the hall. A door slammed somewhere behind her.

Azzi lifted her hand and knocked twice.

Soft.

Careful.

The kind of knock that could be ignored.

But it wasn’t.

A few seconds later, the door cracked open.

Paige blinked at her.

She looked… wrecked.

Eyes rimmed red. Hair in a messy bun that clearly hadn’t been intentional. Hoodie sleeves covering her hands.

There was a long beat of silence between them.

Azzi opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Then Paige stepped back, wordlessly, and let her in.

The room was dim.

Curtains half drawn, soft light filtering through just enough to cast a gold wash across the carpet. A pair of slides were kicked off haphazardly by the bed. Paige’s laptop sat closed on the desk, untouched. A mostly-full bottle of water was perched on the windowsill like it had been forgotten.

Azzi’s eyes swept the space automatically.

And there, on the desk, sat the bracelet.

PURPOSE, spelled in uneven plastic letters, still curled neatly on the corner of Paige’s desk like it had been placed there on purpose.

Azzi stopped.

Her breath caught in her throat for a second too long.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze lingered—long enough for Paige to follow it, to see exactly what she was looking at.

Paige gave a small, tired laugh. “It got lost in one of my desk drawers. Like, junk drawer lost. I found it the other day when I was cleaning.”

Azzi’s lips parted, surprised.

“I wanted to say thanks,” Paige said softly. “I kept trying to find the right time. But it just… never felt like there was one.”

Azzi blinked, finally tearing her eyes away from the desk. She didn’t know what to say to that. Her throat felt tight in a way she didn’t expect.Paige shifted in her seat, her fingers curling into the sleeves of her hoodie. “I know you meant it as a birthday gift,” she said, voice low. “But when I found it… I don’t know. It felt like a perfectly timed lifeline.”

Azzi felt that line hit her square in the chest.

She hadn't known Paige had been that close to the edge. She’d had her own spirals after Oregon, but Paige—Paige had always looked like she was keeping it together. Holding steady. Playing strong.

But maybe that was the problem. Paige always made broken look like balance.

Azzi’s eyes flicked back to hers, surprised.

“I was spiraling,” Paige continued. “After Oregon. I kept thinking, like… what am I even doing anymore? On the court. Off the court. Just… everything.”

Azzi felt her fists clench lightly in her lap. She hated that Paige had felt that alone. That uncertain. And she hadn’t known. Or maybe she had known, but didn’t let herself go there.

Paige reached over, picked up the bracelet with both hands like it might fall apart in her grip.

“And then I opened the box,” Paige said. “And saw it. And I just—”

Her voice caught.

Azzi looked down, her own heart suddenly too loud in her ears.

There had been so much unsaid between them. Things she was scared to name, even now. But hearing this, hearing Paige say it out loud—like it mattered—made something shift inside her. Something she thought she’d buried.

“I know things got complicated,” Paige added, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know we’ve been messed up. But when I saw this again… it felt like maybe not everything was gone.”

Azzi leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together tight.

Her voice came out quieter than she meant. “It wasn’t.” And that was the truth. As much as she tried to push it away. As much as she told herself she’d moved on.

She looked over at Paige. 

Paige looked over at her. Really looked.

Azzi gave a tiny shrug. “I wouldn’t have made the bracelet if it was.”

The silence stretched between them, but this time it didn’t feel empty.

It felt full.

Like there was still something worth holding onto.

Like maybe, in some quiet corner of all the wreckage, there was still a thread that hadn’t snapped.

Paige set the bracelet down gently on her desk again. Not on her wrist. Not yet.

But in the open.

Visible.

Safe.

She let out a breath. “Thanks for making it.”

Azzi smiled, small and a little sad. “Thanks for finding it.”

Paige didn’t say anything after that.

Just sat there, arms loosely folded around her knees, eyes flicking to the bracelet one more time like it still had something to say. Like maybe it had saved her twice now—once after Oregon, and again tonight.

Azzi didn’t move either.

The silence wrapped around them like a blanket—warm, but weighted. She could feel the questions forming on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t ask them. Not right away. Not yet.

Paige had always been like this. She didn’t unravel easily. She folded inward first—slow, tight, quiet. You had to wait her out.

Azzi remembered the first time she saw it happen.

It was back in high school, on a random Tuesday night. They’d been FaceTiming—something stupid and casual, one of those marathon calls where neither of them was saying much but neither wanted to hang up either.

Only, Paige had been weird that night.

Short. Clipped. Not mean, but…off. Her answers came like bricks: heavy and hard to stack into anything that made sense.

And then finally, after Azzi pressed, Paige mumbled something about getting into it with her mom. Nothing big, she’d said. Just one of those nights where everything felt like too much.

Azzi hadn’t known what to say. She just listened. Stayed on the call even after Paige stopped talking, even after she started crying. Quietly. Almost like she didn’t want Azzi to notice.

That’s how she learned—when Paige was hurting, she didn’t reach out.

She shut down.

Azzi had always hated that.

And tonight felt the same. The stiff shoulders. The half sentences. The silence thick enough to drown in.

So she waited.

Let Paige breathe.

Let the seconds stretch.

But after a while, when the quiet started to feel more like suffocating than space, she leaned forward a little.

“What happened?”

Paige blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question.

Azzi kept her voice low. Careful. “With Kathryn.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her hands found the sleeves of her hoodie again, pulled them over her fists like armor.

And then, finally—“She used me.”

The words came out flat, like they had no weight. But Azzi knew better.

“For clout,” Paige added. “For NIL stuff. She had a girlfriend the whole time. Back in Vermont.”

Azzi’s stomach turned.

Of course she did. Of course it was worse than she thought.

“She said it like it was mutual. Like I knew,” Paige continued, her voice wobbling. “And maybe she’s right. Maybe I did, on some level. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.”

Azzi stayed quiet, letting her talk. Because that’s what Paige needed. Not answers. Not a rescue. Just room to unravel.

Paige’s jaw clenched. “She told me I made people look. That being with me helped her numbers. And the worst part? I didn’t even see it coming.”

Azzi’s chest ached.

It wasn’t just what Kathryn had done—it was how thoroughly it had gotten to her. Paige looked smaller somehow, like the weight of being Paige Bueckers had finally collapsed in on itself. And for the first time in a long time, Azzi didn’t see the sharp edges or the stoic calm. She just saw a girl who’d been used. Picked apart for what she could offer. Not seen for who she was.

Her fingers itched to reach out, to touch her knee, her arm, anything—but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to scare the moment away.

It wasn’t fair, Azzi thought, the way people expected Paige to be invincible. Like fame was supposed to make you immune to heartbreak. Like having a platform meant you didn’t get to fall apart.

They talked more after that.

Not all at once. Just little pieces. Shaky truths. The kind of things Paige would never say in a press conference, or even to the team.

But she said them to Azzi.

Like she always had.

And Azzi took every one of them and held them like they mattered.

Because they did. Because Paige did.

Still.

And when the conversation slowed, when the words started to run out, Paige finally looked up at her—eyes soft and tired.

“Would you… stay?”

Azzi blinked. Her breath caught. “What?”

“Not like that,” Paige said quickly. “I just… I don’t really wanna be alone tonight.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was, she hadn’t expected that.

Not the question. Not the softness in it. Not the way it pulled at something deep in her chest.

She wasn’t sure what this meant. What it would mean tomorrow. If it was a step forward or backward. If it would blur lines that were already smeared at the edges. If she was strong enough to keep holding the boundary she’d promised herself she would.

But then Paige added, almost whispering, “I’ll sleep on the floor or whatever. I just… I don’t wanna think. Not for a while.”

And that decided it.

Because this wasn’t about lines or boundaries or labels.

This was Paige. Asking for something without begging. Letting herself be seen without covering up the cracks. That didn’t happen often. Not even with Azzi. Maybe especially not with Azzi.

Azzi’s chest tightened.

She knew this wasn’t a moment to analyze. It was a moment to show up.

She nodded.

“Okay,” she said gently. “I’ll stay.”

She always had.

Even when she wasn’t sure if she should. Even when it hurt. Even now.

Paige shifted, already moving to grab an extra blanket from the corner of her bed, but Azzi stopped her with a look.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Azzi said.

Paige blinked. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was gonna—”

Azzi rolled her eyes, soft but insistent. “We’ve both got bum knees. Neither of us is built for hardwood floors anymore.”

A small smile tugged at Paige’s mouth.

“Seriously,” Azzi added, standing to toe off her shoes. “I’ll take the left side like always. You’re a blanket hog anyway.”

Paige didn’t argue.

And when the lights were off and the room was quiet again, Azzi lay there beside her, close enough to feel the rise and fall of her breathing.

It was quiet. Not just the room. But Paige.

And that, somehow, felt like enough. At least for tonight.

[suevi-if]

Nope, they didn't block me but I wanted to reply to you for lying about the amount. I am anonymous because I'm gay, my sister follows my tumblr and my family is violently homophobic. But good to know you think that I shouldn't be allowed to complain about blatant favoritism if I'm not willing to get beaten/kicked out/die! It's amazing how you people always think that others only use anons because they're cowards instead of even considering the possibility that we might not be safe.

I bet you won't even reply to this, none of you do when I point out why I'm anonymous. Because that would go against your "evil little coward" agenda.

I might be giving you a platform with this.

But also, I'm kind of interested to see where this is going.

I bet you won't even reply to this, none of you do when I point out why I'm anonymous. Because that would go against your "evil little coward" agenda.

If you really think I can't be sympathetic to your situation while tearing you a new one at the same time, you are dead wrong.

I didn't block you and I still haven't, because I wanted to see if you crawled out of the underbrush once more. And here you are! And I'm even replying to you, congrats, you made it! <3

I wanted to reply to you for lying about the amount.

Lying about what amount? What exactly are you referring there?

I'm gay, my sister follows my tumblr and my family is violently homophobic.

I'm sorry that your family is that homophobic. That is, indeed, a shitty situation.

But it doesn't justify bashing creators for the work they supply to you for free.

if I'm not willing to get beaten/kicked out/die

I have a solution for the problem of you not feeling safe enough to harass people without anon: don't fucking harass people just because you are in a crappy situation. It doesn't make you immune to being an asshole to others, and it doesn't absolve you of the consequences of your actions (which, in this case, is me replying).

If you want to start a pissing contest with me about who has it worse, don't. First off, I don't think you can really compare situations like that, but also... I have been through a lot in my life. Even if you were to somehow compare it, you'd lose.

And I'm confident about that.

complain about blatant favoritism

"blantant favoritism" because one out of 500 IFs you could be reading has more female ROs than male ROs? Boy oh boy. You are unwell.

You know what blatant favoritism really is? A black guy not being hired in an IT company. The oldest kid getting a car and education for free from the parents, and the youngest having to work for it. A boy getting praised for having a good grade, and a girl getting no recognition at all.

You are reaching so hard you might dislocate your shoulder, watch out.

It's amazing how you people always think that others only use anons because they're cowards instead of even considering the possibility that we might not be safe.

I don't think so, and I have said so before. If needed, I'll say it again.

A lot of people who use anon are shy, or closeted like you, or just don't like to post things publicly in general. And I don't think these people are cowards. Most of them are in fact lovely people.

The thing is, I think hateful people who use anon, who aim to harass others for the free work they provide to a community, who share a hobby they love with others, those people are little cowards with anger issues. And currently, you are using anon not because of your family, because you don't just ask a lewd question or something harmless. No. Currently, you use anon to harass others because they don't cater to you. Ergo, you are a little shithead that should really learn when to shut the fuck up.

Thanks for your ask! <3

[elizabeth-holland24]

Racing Hearts-Chapter 3

< previous chapter -- next chapter >

July 10 – Heathrow Airport, London – Early Morning

She leaned her forehead against the aeroplane window, the chill of the glass a grounding force against the whirlwind inside her. Outside, Heathrow buzzed awake beneath a gloomy morning sky, but her mind was already miles ahead—spinning through simulation laps, Milan’s electric air, the sea of glitter at the Eras Tour, and most of all… him.

Glen.

She bit the inside of her cheek, remembering the way his laugh had made her feel like summer lightning—sudden, sharp, and impossible to ignore. That dinner at Daisy’s had been nothing and everything at once. A few casual touches. A cookie shared. A laugh drawn out of him like he hadn’t laughed in weeks. A spark. And yet, it had haunted her all night.

The flight attendant offered her coffee and a croissant she didn’t have the stomach for. She waved it off politely and opened her laptop instead, trying to shift back into student mode. There was a project due for one of her industrial engineering courses, and her professor hadn’t been thrilled she was missing the next week for "professional obligations."

Canvas. Group chat. Lecture notes. It all felt so far away from the life she was currently living. A double life. She was still twenty-one. Still figuring it out. Still someone’s daughter, someone’s classmate. But also someone who just might be falling for Glen Powell under a haze of cookie dough, premiere lights, and Brisket’s wagging tail.

A message buzzed through on Messenger. She smiled despite herself. Daisy had become her anchor, her mirror. Both of them born on May 24—two Gemini hurricanes trying to balance real life with the madness of fame.

She closed the chat and finally allowed herself to sink into the seat, tugging her hoodie over her eyes. Her playlist hummed in her ears—Taylor’s “The Archer” bleeding into “The Alchemy.”

Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?…

And yet, her heart wasn’t quiet. Not when every breath reminded her of his smile. Not when her phone still had that fire emoji glowing quietly under her story.

July 10 – Glen’s Hotel Room – London – Afternoon

Glen stood in front of the mirror with Brisket curled up on the hotel couch behind him, tossing a tennis ball lazily in the air.

She was gone. Already on a plane. And he didn’t even know if he was allowed to miss her this much.

They had spent one dinner talking like they'd known each other since childhood, as if every casual glance across the table had been prewritten in some screenplay they’d never auditioned for.

He swore he hadn’t meant to stare. Or laugh as much. Or walk a little closer when she left, just to say goodbye for five more seconds. But something about her peeled the cynicism from his bones. She was fast—on the track, in her mind, in the way she challenged him without even meaning to.

And then she was gone.

He opened Instagram. Her latest story was a boomerang of the clouds outside the aeroplane, with the caption:

“Here we go again ✈️”

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Delivered. Read. No reply yet. He swallowed a grin and turned to Brisket. “Buddy, I think we’ve been replaced.” Brisket whined and curled into a dramatic sigh. “Yeah. Same, dude. Same.”

July 11 – Austria – Simulator Facility

Her fingers flew over the steering wheel, the simulator jolting in response. Every tight corner, every braking point—muscle memory. The tech team watched her in awe, the lead engineer whispering to the data analyst, “She’s not just fast. She’s different.”

But her mind—no matter how hard she tried to keep it on turn 9—kept circling back.

To Glen’s message. To his voice. To the way he made her feel seen when the whole world only seemed to see speed. She took off the VR helmet and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her team applauded softly, but she barely registered it.

Her coach, Akin, gave her a bottle of water. “You okay? You drove like something was chasing you.”

She offered a tired smile. “Just trying to outrun my thoughts.”

July 13 – Milan – Eras Tour Night 1

The roar of the crowd was like standing inside a thunderstorm. Her eyes gleamed as the lights rose, and Taylor stepped onto the stage like a goddess. The reader clutched Daisy’s hand, the moment surreal. Taylor had waved them in during rehearsal, called them “my favorite twins” since they shared a birthday.

“Happy belated, my loves,” Taylor had said, tugging them into a tight hug. “Tonight’s for you.”

Now the music pulsed through her veins, and her entire body moved with it—every lyric a spell, every beat a battle cry. She wasn’t just singing along. She was healing.

Then, when she was about to play "The Alchemy," Taylor paused.

“I have a little surprise,” she said into the mic, grinning. “A very fast friend of mine is here tonight. You may know her from... winning races and breaking hearts.”

The crowd screamed. Taylor’s voice dropped to a playful whisper. “Come sing with me, birthday girl.”

Her knees nearly buckled. But Daisy nudged her forward, and the crowd erupted as she climbed the steps, heart pounding. And suddenly there she was—on stage with her idol, her friend, her mirror—and together, they sang the words that had started to mean something completely different.

“Cause the sign on your heart/Said it's still reserved for me/Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?…”

The stadium became a blur. All she saw was light. And somewhere, in the swirl of stardust and stage smoke, she imagined Glen watching this—smiling, maybe shaking his head in disbelief. And for the first time in a long while, she felt invincible and fragile all at once.

July 13 – Milan, Italy – Backstage After the Eras Tour

The roar was still echoing in her ears, even after the final bows and backstage cheers faded into the hushed buzz of production crew chatter and swift goodbyes. Her heart was still racing—not from the racetrack this time, but from the stage, the lights, the moment.

Daisy wrapped her into a tight, bouncing hug, both of them still drenched in glitter and adrenaline. “You were so good,” Daisy squealed. “You didn’t just kill it—you ran over it at 300 km/h and reversed back with a wink.”

The reader laughed, pressing her forehead to Daisy’s shoulder. “Was that real? Did I actually just sing with Taylor? Taylor Swift?!”

Daisy nodded, almost tearing up herself. “Happy birthday again, babe. Told you we’d make twenty-one unforgettable.”

They didn’t need to say it aloud, but both had felt the weight of the past few months—press tours, races, brutal schedules, headlines, expectations. That night was theirs. A perfect rebellion in sequins and melody. Taylor reappeared from the dressing room in sweats and her iconic red lipstick half-smudged. She held out two champagne flutes. “For my favourite birthday, Geminis. You were magic up there.”

The reader blinked, taking the glass. “How do you even top this?”

Taylor smirked. “You don’t. You live it. Then you get on a flight to Hungary and show the world that you can be both a superstar and a storm.”

Something about those words sank deeper than expected. Maybe because Taylor had always understood. Maybe because Glen’s eyes had flickered in her mind again, like he was still watching from the wings, even if he wasn’t there. She pulled out her phone—hundreds of missed messages, tags, mentions. But it was one that stood out:

Her heart ached in the softest way.

July 14 – Milan – Morning

The hotel room was still quiet. Daisy had flown out early for Twisters promo in Berlin, leaving behind a crumpled note in lipstick: “I swear to God if you don’t tell Glen how you feel soon, I will.”

She laughed and tossed the note aside.

Her schedule buzzed in. She had four hours to pack, get to the airport, and settle into her hotel in Hungary before she began training again. No time to think. No time to fall apart.

Still, she paused by the full-length mirror.

Not just the girl who wore race suits and helmets. Not just the student balancing labs and lecture slides. But the girl who sang in front of thousands, and thought of one boy in the silence after.

She clicked open her messages.

She felt herself go still. How could someone know what she needed without her saying it?

July 14 – Glen’s Hotel – London – Afternoon

He rewatched the fan video of her performance for the sixth time, trying not to smile like a complete idiot. There she was—confident, radiant, singing her heart out with Taylor freaking Swift—and he couldn’t stop thinking: That’s her. That’s the girl I made laugh over warm cookies. He didn’t know how they’d got here. Or what this was. But he knew he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the second she left London.

Anthony texted him:

He tossed the phone down and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was too soon. But maybe it wasn’t.

July 15 – Budapest, Hungary

The hotel suite was sleek, modern, and overlooked the Danube River. But her eyes were heavy. The exhaustion of Milan was just now catching up with her, and so was the ache. She had tried to focus on training. She had tried to remind herself that Formula 1 was her dream. But something in her gut twisted every time she thought of Glen’s voice on the other end of the line. Something that felt more terrifying than a racetrack in the rain. She hadn’t meant for it to matter this much. But it did. There was a knock at her door. Room service? She opened it—and her breath caught.

“Hope you saved me a duet,” Glen said, holding a box of cookies, a nervous smile, and Brisket tucked in his arm like an emotional support plush.

“You’re here?” she whispered, stunned.

He nodded. “If it’s too much, tell me. I’ll leave. But Daisy may or may not have told me which hotel and—look, I just needed to see you.”

She stared at him. Then the cookies. Then Brisket. Then back to him.

“Do I even want to know what’s in the box?” she asked, a slow smile blooming.

“Taylor Swift lyrics. And one apology coffee for stealing your heart.”

The cup was warm in her hands before she knew she’d taken it. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I know,” he said, stepping in. “But I didn’t want to wait until Sunday to see you again.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

It was dangerous, this kind of quiet — where the noise of cameras and pit lanes and premieres dissolved into stillness. Where the air between them was thick with everything unsaid.

She sat on the edge of her bed, hair messy from the late-night shower, hoodie swallowing her frame. Glen sat beside her like it was instinct, like they’d always done this.

He passed her a napkin, folded around a pastry. “Brought this too. Thought you might’ve skipped dinner.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

And it wasn’t just the coffee or the pastry or the perfectly timed smirk. It was the way he looked at her, like she wasn’t just the girl from the podium or the stage — but someone worth showing up for.

“I saw the video,” he added softly.

Her heart skipped. “Which one?”

“You and Taylor.” His smile deepened. “You were magic.”

She blushed. “It was her moment.”

“No,” Glen said. “She shared it with you. That says everything.”

Their hands brushed on the sheets. He didn’t move away.

“Doesn’t this scare you?” she whispered. “All of it. The noise. The press. The fact that every time I open my phone, there’s someone dissecting who I’m with or what I wore or—”

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t,” he admitted. “But I’ve never wanted quiet. I just want real.”

Her eyes found his. “And this feels real to you?”

He nodded once. “Too real.”

Her hand found his, fingers lacing through familiar warmth. It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t a promise. But at that moment, it was enough.

The Next Morning

She woke up to sunlight slicing through sheer curtains and the quiet hum of Glen flipping through channels with the volume off. He was sitting on the couch in sweats and a plain white t-shirt, Brisket curled up beside him like he owned the suite.

“You stayed.”

Glen turned. “You kicked me out of the bed.”

She blinked. “I did not.”

“You did.” He grinned. “You mumbled something about ‘downforce’ and rolled into the wall.”

She buried her face in the pillow. “Embarrassing.”

“Adorable,” he corrected, standing. “Come on, Champ. Simulator’s waiting.”

Training Facility – Hungarian GP Grounds

From behind tinted glass, Glen watched her take lap after lap in the simulator, jaw set with laser focus. Her engineer sat beside her, pointing out adjustments, but she was already ahead — always two steps, one apex ahead.

Glen had seen movie stars crumble under pressure. He’d seen athletes lose the joy of the game under the weight of expectations.

But not her.

She gritted her teeth through the turns, muttering corrections in three languages, and when the screen flashed a personal best, she barely smiled.

“She’s intense,” a voice beside him said.

Glen turned. It was one of the F1 comms team guys. “Is that… intimidating?”

Glen smiled. “It’s hot as hell.” The guy laughed. “Just wait till quali.”

THE GUARDIAN – "Formula 1’s Princess or PR Creation?"

In a sport dominated by legacy and precision, questions are rising about whether [Reader Name] is the real deal or a well-packaged distraction. Between celebrity sightings, TikToks with Brisket, and duets with Taylor Swift, critics argue she’s veering dangerously close to influencer territory instead of F1 athlete.

With back-to-back podiums and a fanbase that grows by the hour, Mexico’s 21-year-old breakout star has taken the F1 world by storm. But after a surprise appearance onstage at the Eras Tour and a whirlwind of social media buzz, some insiders are questioning whether her focus is shifting at a crucial point in the season.

“We love her personality — it’s great for the sport,” one anonymous paddock source shared. “But when you’re balancing premieres, baking TikToks, and concert cameos, you have to wonder… is she stretching herself too thin?”

July 18, Hungary – Grand Prix Week

The knock on her hotel door had startled her, and when she opened it to find Glen leaning casually against the frame, baseball cap pulled low and Brisket’s tail thumping beside him, she almost forgot how to breathe.

“You didn’t think I’d let you do this week without me, did you?” he asked, voice low, laced with that kind of calm confidence that made her knees threaten betrayal.

She blinked, then stepped back. “You stayed? How… I thought you still had to go to Berlin for press tour”

“No,” he replied, stepping inside. “I mean, yeah, I stayed. And the press tour, well I can miss one if it means I get to see you in your full element”

And just like that, the air changed. The space between them buzzed—like the charge before a lightning strike, or the humming static right before a green light at the starting grid.

Brisket trotted in, immediately claiming the floor by her sneakers as his own. She bent to scratch his ears, partly to hide the rising flush on her cheeks. Glen’s eyes didn’t leave her.

“You look tired,” he said softly.

“I am,” she admitted. “Simulators are brutal, training’s relentless. And people are… noticing.”

He tilted his head. “The article?”

She nodded. “You saw it.”

Glen’s jaw clenched. “That’s bullsh—”

She held up a hand. “I know. It’s noise. Still stings.”

He walked closer. “What they don’t see is you grinding through data at 2 a.m. or falling asleep with your laptop open to race telemetry. They don’t see you icing your wrists or eating bland protein bowls for the sixth day straight.” She looked up at him then, the weight of expectation resting on her shoulders, visible only to a few. “I want to win, Glen. Not for the followers. Not for the sponsors. Just… for me.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Then do it. And let me be in your corner.”

Silence stretched between them. She didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was both of them at once—but suddenly they were close. His hands cupped her jaw, thumbs brushing her cheeks. Her fingers tangled into the fabric of his t-shirt like an instinct.

“Glen…” she started, unsure.

“I know,” he whispered. “This is messy. And fast. But tell me you don’t feel it too.”

And she wanted to. She wanted to say yes, wanted to melt into the kiss she saw flickering in his eyes. But something held her back—fear, maybe. Or the fact that this was still new I mean they still barely knew each other, besides they come from two different worlds. Yes, she drives formula cars for a living and if she's learned something is that if you're going too fast without a path you can crash.

“I leave for track walk at 5 a.m.,” she murmured, stepping back, carefully. “You shouldn’t have come.”

But he didn’t look wounded. He looked steady.

“Then I’ll be in the stands. Quiet. Invisible, if you need. But I’m not leaving.”

She swallowed hard, nodding once before brushing past him, requiring space. And just before she opened the bathroom door to wash her face, he called her name. She turned.

“I didn’t come to distract you,” he said. “I came because you’re the best part of my day—and I wanted to see you chase the best part of yours.”

She turned around and heard him sigh and walk out. And just as the reader is staring at the mirror, trying to wash the nerves off her face, she hears it—quietly, unmistakably—her phone buzzes.

A message.

From: Glen Powell

“If you win this weekend, I’m taking you to a secret trip. No world no Brisket, just us.”

She smiles. But before she can respond, a knock echoes again. She opens it—expecting Daisy, maybe a teammate. But it’s neither.

It’s…

A/N: So ive pleen planning this long chapter to you guys as a gift for all the support and love this series has recieved. Theres some easter eggs of myself here since its also like a late celebretation of my birthday. I had to leave it at cliff hanger. Who do you guys think its the mystery person, will it be Burrow, Justin, perhaps a past lover. Guess youll have to wait and see. Also please wish me luck I have a diferencial equations exam on thursday and calculus 3 on friday, hope I dont die, who told me to study engineering and to take this clases in summer.

[wisteria--thegirlinpurple]

Being Threatening is How He Makes Friends - Part 5 | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Final Part of a series I'm writing. Can be read as a standalone confession!fic. Though you might wanna read some of the other ones for context!

“You know, your S.T.A.R.I.N.G. isn’t going to get you anywhere?”

Bucky’s head turned to the infuriating Tony Stark, who’d laid out on the couch next to his with a hot towel over his eyes. Bucky suspects he was nursing another hangover, since the man seems to be doing so every other day. He hadn’t seen Pepper around recently, so the likelihood that Stark was drinking himself into a stupor was quite high. 

Still, he’s hosting the whole team at the Avengers compound, which is bankrolled by Stark Industries. So Bucky tries to keep his frostiest comments to himself. 

He has some level of self preservation, unlike that idiot he grew up with.

“What staring?” He decides on instead.

“Y might be a witch, but I’m pretty sure mind-reading isn’t part of her arsenal.” Tony dragged the towel down his face, his tired bloodshot eyes coming into view. “If you actually want to go out with her, you’re going to have to do it in words. Or develop telepathy. Did they install that into you when they were scrambling your brain in HYDRA?”

This— Tony’s complete lack of filters and boundaries— was infuriating. Still, Bucky had developed much thicker skin now thanks to exposure therapy, so he didn’t snap Tony in half no matter how satisfying it would be to.

“Now you’re staring at me.” Tony sighed, replacing the towel on his eyes. “Great.”

“Who’s staring, Bucky?”

Bucky groaned, Sam walked in with Steve in tow. The pair of them must’ve wrapped up their training. 

“I’m not staring.” He insists, although none of the men seemed quite convinced. 

“The bionic staring machine’s staring at Y again?” Sam quipped, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Yup.” Tony replied, popping the ‘p’.

“I was not staring.” He insisted again.

“You…do kind of stare, Buck.” Steve said apologetically.

Bucky threw his hands up in the air, exasperated but didn’t comment. He knew he was staring, but he was finding it harder and harder not to do that when Y was in the room. He found it ridiculously difficult to tear his eyes away from her no matter what she was doing. Reading. Eating. Laughing. Tying up her hair. He found himself almost compulsively tracking where she was and slipping into whichever room she was in. 

He still had the keys to her apartment, although she stayed more often in the compound now and finally took a room. Whenever she would be back at her apartment, Bucky would sneak in the way that he did before his stay at Wakanda. He’d read in her living room, pass out on her couch, and wake up to a half-amused, half-exasperated (Y/N) staring down at him.

How was he supposed to resist though? Y had stayed with him throughout his time in Wakanda, holding his hand as they measured him for a new arm. On nights when he’d stay in his little hut with the goats, she’d drop by with a bottle of whiskey that they’d share under the starry skies. 

On particularly bad days, when the screaming in his head wouldn’t stop, she would let him bury his head onto her shoulders. Her hands would gently run through his long hair, murmuring ancient words that held no meaning to him. (And he spoke 30 languages fluently, thank you.) 

She once explained that she draws small wards of protection and peace-keeping on him, and wards to fend off nightmares, all to help him stay sane as the Wakandians combed through his brain and weeded out the brainwashing. It explained why he always slept better on her couch. There were nights he wouldn’t let her into the hut, choosing to sob into his bedding. She would acquiesce, but leaving a small parchment with a rune drawn outside his hut. Sometimes it helped him fall asleep. Sometimes it helped him come out of his panic attacks. 

She never let him deal with it alone, not even one night when the Winter Soldier came out by accident and broke three of her fingers. (Ayo came in just in time before he could do more damage) Even then, she returned the next day when he came to, mockingly moaning about how he’d have to take care of her now since he hurt her dominant hand.

So he stares—because he find it hard to, and because he doesn’t really know what else to do. In the 40s, before the war and before the Winter Soldier, Steve said that he was a lady’s man and a charmer. But that felt like a whole other person and a lifetime ago. Now, he was nothing but a bum living off his best friend’s good friend’s money, occasionally kicking ass and helping with HYDRA clean up. He didn’t have a rank, or even his own place. It was hard to see why anyone would want to be with him.

“It is getting kind of ridiculous, Buck.” Steve said, snapping him out of his thoughts. He was probably staring again. “You should just tell her how you feel.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah Steve—“ Sam teased, “Bucky isn’t swooning over Y like a lovesick puppy, trailing her into every room and basically sitting on her lap.”

Bucky snapped, throwing one of the ridiculously soft pillows and it landed straight in Sam’s face. The man yelled in surprise, barely steadying himself before he caught it in his hand as it fell. 

“Attempted murder!” He screamed with a shit-eating grin on his face, “His program is returning!”

“Knock it off, Sam.” Steve said, a bit exasperated.

“Am I the only one who is sick of seeing you swooning.” Tony sighed, “Like- get it over with. Get your heart broken or get married or whatever, this is getting old.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but he found no good retort, so he shut it again. He gave Tony a good glare, but since he wasn’t looking, it wasn’t all that effective.

“Why don’t you just ask her out, Buck?” Steve said, folding his arms over his chest and looking over where Y was sat. “I’m sure she’d say yes.”

“…You don’t know that.” He muttered. 

“You should’ve seen the way she sat by your cryo tank in Wakanda.” Steve said

“Really?” Bucky’s head shot up, he could feel his heart rising in his throat, “Like how?”

“Like you were the most precious thing to her, Buck.” Steve said, he was blushing a little now, and he scratched his head a bit sheepishly, “She would read The Hobbit to you, and play 40’s music in the lab, then blast popular music.”

“It’s just Pop, Cap’” Tony quipped.

“Yes, pop music.” Steve finished, “She said she had to catch up to this century”

Bucky visualised the scenes as he let out a chuckle, and sinked into the seat underneath him.

“Alright I’m happy to see you suffer in your self-imposed torture but Y’s a good kid,” Sam added, “and if her type is a bionic killing machine,” The man shrugs “then who am I to judge?”

“Fuck off. Samuel.” Bucky quipped, but he dragged a hand down his face to hide the grin underneath.

“So you doing this or not.” Sam rolled his eyes, staring down at him. “We have bets going on and I actually thought you’d have the balls to do this by now.”

Bucky got up, and flipped the bird. But he began to walk towards you, ignoring Sam’s cheer and whistling behind.

He hope Y didn’t hear it, but was instead so engrossed into her book that she weren’t paying any attention to what they were saying at the other end of the room. Super-hearing wasn’t part of her skillset, Bucky hopes anyway.

He dawdles as he reached, playing with his gloved hands. His right hand— his human hand— gingerly reaches out and taps the witch on the shoulder. She looks up from her book, a wordless question phrased in the furrowing of her eyebrows.

“Uh— Doll.” He wanted to punch himself. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“What?” Y quipped, tiling her head.

He felt the nervousness rush at him in a tsunami. She was looking at him so innocently, fingers thumbing the book she was reading but her eyes at full attention. Watching his every move.

God— he can’t do this.

He draws his eyes to the floor.

“I- uh. I’ve been- I’m in love with you. I’ve been for a little while.” He starts, what was he saying anyway? “I couldn’t have gotten through it all without you, and I honestly want to spend the rest of my life with you as well.”

He looked up, she looks puzzled, why is she puzzled?

Oh- he hasn’t actually asked—

“I guess what I’m trying to say is—“ He bites down, “—wouldyouliketogooutonadatewithme?”

She tilts her head, one hand from her side reaching upwards—was she going to slap him? Maybe tell him that he’s misconstrued the whole thing and he’s really just a sad pity friend for her—

He watches in horror as her hand reaches her ear— and pulls out an AirPod.

Bucky freezes.

“I’m sorry Buck, I had that on noise cancelling.” Y says apologetically, “Could you repeat that?”

Behind him, Sam bursts into laughter and Bucky swears if thoughts could kill the man would be dead four hundred times over.

“I said—“ Bucky groans, “Will you go out with me?”

“Sure,” Y nods, then tilts her head in confusion “where are we going?”

Behind him, Sam has lost it. He topples to the ground, curling in laughter.

“What’s wrong with Sam?” Y tilts her head so she could see Sam behind Bucky. The Falcon was punching the floor now, wheezing between his bursts of laughter.

“Hold on a second, doll.” Bucky flashes a strained grin, and Y nods. 

She watches as Bucky marches over to the other side of the room. It wasn’t just Sam, after all. Tony had his hand in his face, groaning. Maybe he was nursing his headache? But Steve also had his head in his hand, and he was shaking his head. 

Y looked on, puzzled.

Bucky grabbed Sam by the collar, and dragged him out of the room with the efficient ruthlessness of a trained soldier. Before Sam could protest, Bucky could hear something tumbling down the emergency staircase at the end of the corridor.

In a flash, Bucky was back. He stood over her, like he had before. His hair was messy now, like he was throwing something over his head. 

“Y.” Bucky said, lowering himself onto one knee so that he was at level.

“Yeah, Buck?” Sensing how important this was, Y reached up, and removed the other AirPod. “What’s up?”

“Would you like to go out with me, Friday night?” Bucky looked into her eyes sternly, “Go out as in date, as in let’s go out not as friends. As in I like you, and I would like to take you out.”

Y opened her mouth, and tried to find the words. Her mouth wobbled open and close for a moment.

“—Okay.” She decided, her mouth shut and pensive. “Just to be clear— when you said take me out you mean as in on a date and not like you’re going to shoot me in the head with a rifle—“

“It’s tipping closer to that other one the longer you drag this out, doll.” 

At his response, Y laughed. A chuckle ringing throughout the room.

“Yes. James Buchanan Barnes.” Y smiled, reaching out a hand to smooth out the parts of his hair that was uneven, “I will go out with you. As in on a date. As in not friends. As in I like you too.”

“Okay.” Bucky smiled, “I can’t wait.” 

“Yeah.” Y tapped gently on his nose. “Looking forward to it.”

[mostly-marvel-musings]

You weren’t supposed to hear that, Tony - Part 3

A/N: Alright Part 3 is here for y’all! Leave a heart or comment if you’ve enjoyed reading it!

Pairing: Young! Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warning: Fluff.

Here's Part 1 and Part 2 - They can be read as stand-alone!!

.

It was one of those golden afternoons at the Stark estate—the kind where the sun poured through the bay windows like honey, and the scent of espresso and chaos lingered in the air.

Tony was in the study with Howard. You and Maria sat just outside the doors on the velvet settee, pretending not to eavesdrop.

You were absolutely eavesdropping. Maria was already three giggles in.

“—I’m just saying,” came Tony’s voice, slightly defensive, “that if someone had told me the Tesla coil wasn’t meant to be dismantled in under five minutes, I might not have electrocuted myself. Again.”

Howard snorted. “You’re lucky you didn’t fry your last three brain cells.”

“I have at least six,” Tony countered. “Probably seven. Seven genius cells.”

From the corner of the room, Jarvis cleared his throat politely, polishing a silver tray with mild judgment. “Sir, if I may, genius cells typically do not ignite the billiard table with a screwdriver and bravado.”

Tony squinted. “Okay, that was once. And in my defense, no one said the felt was flammable.”

Howard laughed so hard he nearly dropped his bourbon.

You nudged Maria, whispering, “Should we tell them we’re listening?”

She grinned wickedly. “Absolutely not. I want to hear what other idiocies my son considers self-defense.”

Inside the study, Tony groaned. “You know, you’re all obsessed with reminding me of my failures. What about my achievements? The miniature arc modulator prototype I built?”

Howard raised a brow. “The one that caught fire and triggered the fire suppression system?”

Tony looked offended. “It worked for eight seconds!”

Jarvis stepped forward, unbothered. “Indeed, sir. A record-breaking interval before an explosion. Shall I frame the soot-stained lab coat as memorabilia?”

Tony flopped dramatically into a chair. “You’re all against me.”

Outside the door, you let out a laugh you couldn’t quite suppress.

Silence.

Then: “Wait—how long have you been listening?!” Tony’s voice rose an octave.

Maria called sweetly, “Since the Tesla coil. But don’t worry, darling, we only laughed when you deserved it.”

You peeked your head in, beaming. “So… constantly.”

Tony pointed at you, betrayed. “You were on my side!”

“I was beside you,” you corrected, walking into the study with mock sympathy. “Big difference.”

He turned to Jarvis, desperate. “Jarv, back me up here.”

Jarvis—without missing a beat—replied, “If I must, Master Tony. You did, after all, manage to recalibrate the espresso machine without setting it ablaze this morning. A feat worthy of a standing ovation.”

Tony perked up. “Thank you!”

Jarvis added, “Though I believe that was after Miss Y/N showed you which button not to push.”

You raised a finger. “The one labeled ‘steam cannon.’”

Tony groaned. Maria patted your shoulder proudly. “She’s already better at managing him than I ever was.”

Howard just sat there chuckling, looking between you and Tony like a man seeing a prophecy unfold. “You’re doomed, son. She’s got your number.”

Tony leaned back with a dramatic sigh, hand over his heart. “You all think you’re so clever. But I’m onto you. Roasting me is just a cover. You adore me.”

You crossed your arms with a grin. “We do. That’s why we mock you with love.”

Maria leaned in. “That’s how you know you’re one of us.”

Jarvis, now pouring tea, added dryly, “It’s also how we maintain our sanity.”

Tony finally cracked a smile and looked at you—the one person who could out-sass, out-smart, and out-love him on any given day. “Alright. Fine. I accept my fate. Roast away, beloved traitors. But just know—someday, I’ll invent something that saves all your butts, and then I’ll never let you forget it.”

Howard raised a brow. “Someday, sure. After you stop setting the kitchen on fire.”

“I was making crème brûlée!”

“You were using a flamethrower.”

And as the laughter filled the Stark house like warmth itself, Tony caught your eye and mouthed, “Worth it.”

Because if being the butt of the joke meant you were smiling at him like that?

He’d gladly get roasted every day of the week.

.

Later that evening, after Howard retreated to the library muttering about “teaching that boy how to use a proper soldering iron” and Maria went off in search of her wine glass (last seen in the piano room, suspiciously near the cat), you and Tony stole away upstairs to his room.

The house quieted around you—just the creak of old floorboards and the soft hum of the estate settling for the night.

You were curled up on his window seat, legs tucked under you, while Tony flopped beside you, his head landing squarely in your lap like a very expensive, very smug golden retriever.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop roasting me?” he mumbled.

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “Not a chance.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me. I’m in too deep.”

He turned his head to look up at you. “Yeah, you are,” he said, quieter this time. “But so am I. You know that, right?”

Your fingers paused.

“I know,” you whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes softened, none of the usual showboating, no clever comebacks. Just that rare kind of Tony Stark quiet that only surfaced when it was real.

“I used to think being loved meant impressing people,” he said. “But you don’t care about all that. You just… see me.”

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “Always.”

Unbeknownst to you both, down the hallway just outside the cracked door, Maria stood with her arms crossed, smiling so hard it might’ve cracked her face. Howard, beside her, blinked once.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered.

Maria bumped her shoulder into his. “You are damned, but yes. He did good.”

Howard looked at his son, utterly wrapped around you, more human than they’d ever seen him and nodded, slowly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, gruff voice thick. “For once, he didn’t blow it.”

Maria wiped at the corner of her eye, totally-not-tearing-up thank-you-very-much. “He didn’t just not blow it. He found someone who knows where the steam cannon button is and still sticks around.”

Howard smirked. “Then it’s settled. She’s the one.”

“Obviously,” Maria said. “I knew before she finished her first roast.”

And with that, they padded off down the hallway like two extremely smug parents who knew their work here was done for tonight.

[sharieb]

LADS X Non-Mc Random Thoughts Pt2

I was planning to wait a while before posting again, but I unintentionally opened the floodgate in my mind and now I'm currently drowning, so I might as well drag you all with me XD. Also, if there is anyone out there who wants to use any of my random thoughts as ideas for your own fanfic, by all means, do as you please, just make sure you tag me, cause I want to read it, please and thanks. This account will also be a backup account to my SharieB25 account as it's not working at the moment. Random Thought: Destiny Cafe We can all agree that we may have read various fanfics that have considered Destiny Cafe as being empty with no staff or customers whatsoever, but what if it wasn't?

Destiny Cafe may as well be a fairly well-known and successful cafe to the point that it has two different locations, so it may have its fair share of loyal customers. So instead, I came up with the idea that both location has a section in their buildings, maybe a room or floor that not many of their customers use or know about. That's where our LIs like to stay the most. Maybe at first, they visit the cafe due to it being recommended to them by their friends or coworkers due the their delightful atmosphere and menu items, or maybe just them stumbling upon the cafe's location that they all visit at separate times. During their first visit, each LI realised, at the time of each of their separate visit, how crowded the cafe was, despite the quick service at the counter, he were hoping to get a seat somewhere, but the cafe was full, until the old yet sweet owner/manager of the cafe noticed the LI and asked if he would like to sit somewhere more private. At first, each LI at the time was hesitant, but then agreed and followed the manager to either a small room around the back of the cafe or up the stairs to the second floor of the building. The moment they each entered the space, the LI couldn't help but feel drawn to this cosy, closed or open space (depending on which cafe they are at). The manager told the LI that the space was supposed to turn into a storage room, but they couldn't bring themselves to do so for some odd reason. The old manager cleaned the best spot in the space for them to sit (like it in the photo, which I don't own as a disclaimer) and then told the LI that he can stay there as long as he likes before leaving him in the quiet, cosy room. The LI stayed in the room for a time, enjoying both his ordered drink and possible treat(s) before getting comfortable and ending up lounging in the chair (just like in the game) for a while. That was until he sensed a presence near him The same outworldly yet familiar presence from earlier, when he interacted with Mc, was now in the cosy space as if engulfing the entire room, causing the LI to tense up for a moment. The LI who was currently occupying the room at that moment knew that he was supposed to be the only one here in this room, but he couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes on him. The LI should be weirded out or concerned as to whether there were hidden cameras in the room, but instead, he felt completely at ease as if he didn't want to leave this very room as he stared at the wall in front of him. Then he spoke out loud to himself as if greeting a close, yet maybe old friend, who was by the door. In his mind, he thought he was going mad at this point, talking to himself... There was until the presence replied to him

That startled him, but his body didn't show it was as if he currently had no control of his body anymore. In his scrambling thought, he can't help but compare the voice to MC, yet it was so completely different as well. Was it due to the cute accent/tone in its voice when the unknown presence speaks? Or was it because his whole body finally became so at ease and off-guard in a sheer short moment that made him both intrigued and uneasy? Soon, he saw a sudden shift in front of him, as if the presence in the room was becoming almost personified. And when it did, the Li's breath hitched. It was a person... well, more like a holographic/ghostly version of a person. The unsettling thing was... The person looks almost exactly like MC... but not truly her at the same time. This person in front of the LI didn't look perfect or flawless like MC always have been in every way... but at that moment his heart was crying out for the person before him, as if after many years if not centuries out at sea, battling the rough rolling seas, he found the shine of a lighthouse from a distance.

I finally found you.

[manekkii-art]

I love your art it’s so gorgeous!! And the way you draw andreil 😍 i’m curious if you have any tips or tricks you’d be down to share on how you achieve such a gorg look?

Thank you so much! That's so kind 💗💞

Sorry it took me a while to reply to this, I was thinking what to say and in the end I thought sharing the process of a drawing might be the best... tho it's been a while since i recorded anything so I didn't realise the video was so compressed 😭 So my apologies for the horrid quality (and more apologies if this gets unnecessarily long)

I'm quite messy when it comes to my drawings, I find it easier to go with the flow rather than try to idk make a perfect sketch for example

I don't know much about giving tips, but maybe this one counts as one; I like to work with warm colors, even when I use a green or a blue I will overlay a red over it to soften the color and bring all of them to a similar hue. I also like shading with grays and greens and work with brushes that aren't fully opaque so there's diversity in colors.

Sometimes I also edit the colors in photoshop, it doesn't work all the time but it can result in some cool color schemes. I mostly use Color Balance and Curves.

Original vs edited (plus the Curves)

I don't know how helpful this was, but I hope it was at least entertaining to read 😆

[fracturals]

No team meeting yet had been filled with such tension. Heavy and thick in the air, almost suffocating as they stare at each other, at Alexx clinging to the ceiling. For a moment, silence stretches. No-one wants to be the first to break it, to risk this devolving into another argument, or worse.

It reaches a point where it's almost awkward, even Alexei beginning to appear uncomfortable with their current situation, before Ava sighs heavily. " Alright, this needs to stop, " she reaches into her suit, pulling out a file she'd taken before they left the lab they'd found Alexx in. The brunette brandishes it.

" We all agree that there are dangers with having an alien here, I get it. But it's pretty hypocritical for us to judge when we're all criminals in some way. I mean, our team is mostly super soldiers and I can phase through walls. Then Bob is... " she glances at him, gaze softening slightly as he wilts under the attention. Ava clears her throat, moving on.

" From what I've read in here, most of the danger came from those scientists. I know what growing up in a lab is like, and they're the worst part. Besides, how long were they in here with Bob before we realised? And he's fine. "

At the mention of his name once more, Bob offers a jerky nod. Glances at Alexx above them. " They didn't seem dangerous, " he agrees with a small shrug. " Just... I don't know, apprehensive? "

With that, Yelena stands from her seat. " Well, I think it's time to vote, yes? We already know what Ava and Bob vote, and I agree. We can put safeguards in place as a backup, but I see no harm in them staying. "

Before anyone else can reply, Bob takes a deep breath. " Has – has anyone asked Alexx what they want to do? They might not even want to stay here, " he gestures towards the ceiling. An invitation.

John huffs, agitation flashing across his features for a moment. Then something relents. He's outnumbered, he knows this. So with a grunt, the solider relents and joins the others on one of the seats, crossing his legs and arms in a defensive and seething posture.

The group convenes, save for one.

Alexx clearly has lost any sense of comfort they had moments before. There's something...pathetic about the way the thing holds itself. Its top heavy, so remaining bipedal clearly puts a strain on its body. Four arms spiral in an almost cartoonish attempt to stay upright.

To appear as human as possible.

It gives up only after a moment, a seething hiss slipping between jagged teeth. It grumbles something to itself- more stilted speech, but the struggle is greater here. Any attempt at a coherent word becomes gibberish.

So it scales the wall like some overgrown insect, moving with surprising speed and grace for its size, clinging to the ceiling. All six eyes are on the group, awaiting judgement. Awaiting banishment, exile, or worse.

They've already made it clear they want it dead.

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

[asgardian--angels]

....idk in a fandom this gigantic how are people already coalescing onto a handful of popular headcanons and scenarios that just become the baseline now, when the source material gives us literally limitless possibilities to work with

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[wolverinedoctorwho]

How many things am I gonna try thinking "oh this will finally reveal to me whether I'm trans" before one of them actually *works*. I'm tired of this grandpa.

[lighthouseborn]

Pre-established jumping-off points I think would be fun to have in various verses that you should tell me if any of them sound like a thing you might want or if they give you a different idea! :

Pen pals!! met once and kept contact or a letter went astray and kept contact or (modern verse(s)) originally met online and have only ever emailed/texted/whatever– etc. etc., set up for letter/message threads and the "we've known each other but are meeting in person for the first time" thing down the road(!!!)

Henry saved them from drowning (or some other grand catastrophe, drowning just amuses me lol) once

Henry hustled them/otherwise mildly conned them them, once. it was probably for a good reason. probably.

Henry sought them out for a reason related to their profession once or twice or a few times and left an impression because he always Remembers the things they talk about, in their brief conversations, and asks about them later

FWB because your muse is from one of the port towns/other places Henry passes through somewhat regularly and it just sort of happened the first time, and since then every time he’s there he’s comes knocking & they spend the night and tell stories about the things they’ve done since they saw each other last. And then they go back to their daily lives and it’s understood that one day he might not pass through or when he does they’ll have made a new life with no space for him in it and this is not sad or a point of contention it’s just how they work.

FWB and it's specifically because your muse is dissatisfied with but trapped in their current relationship

Worked together once or several times or once but it was for an extended time (e.g. on a voyage, doing odd jobs in modern verse)

Were once on differing sides of some kind of conflict for some reason and are now meeting under different circumstances and they’re trying to feel out if their past is reconcilable or if they’re going to keep being on differing sides of things

Your muse hid Henry from somebody he was running from (or assisted in another way, he was injured or needed supplies, etc.) and when they cross paths again he remembers(!) them by name

In modern/modern-adjacent verses; they knew each other from school or a social setting or some such when younger, but Henry's family moved around a lot and so he and your muse fell out of contact, and now they are re-meeting

[bejeweledmp3]

tell me why i'm considering opening the doc and writing fanfiction during my lunch break. ON MY PHONE