#I go in and check on them from time to time

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (8) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael finally acts on his feelings for you, risking it all to get closer. But the situation grows complicated, and some hard truths come to light.

Word Count: 3336

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s), romantic and intimate content

Authors Note: (today years old finding out Noah Wyle/Robby has tattoos??? hello??? I never noticed. I took this gif for me to realize lol) So...y’all are gonna love me for 5 seconds then hate me bad. BYE 😬🫣 - ryn

Michael was headed to work when he stepped out of his apartment and caught himself staring at your door.

Last night, he’d wanted to kiss you—God, how he’d wanted to kiss you. Not just then. So many times before. He’d wanted you more than anything.

He needed to tell you how he felt. I should’ve said something last night, he thought.

But he didn’t.

He’d figured it was obvious—the way he looked at you, the way he stayed, the way he showed up. Surely you could feel it too.

And then you’d call him your friend.

The word had hit harder than he expected.

Friend.

It stung—maybe more than it should’ve. It bruised something in him

He sighed, adjusting the backpack dangling from his right shoulder.

Jamming his keys into his hoodie pocket, he stuffed his hands in after them and headed down the hall toward the elevator. He pressed the button and waited, his thoughts spinning.

I just need to go for it. Before it’s too late.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

He stepped inside, settling into the corner and leaning against the wall. The silence wrapped around him.

Next time I see her, he’d told himself, I’m not holding back. I’m going to walk right up to her and—

“Morning.”

Out of nowhere—you.

He froze.

Okay—well, definitely wasn’t expecting to see her now. Not this soon. Not when he was still half in his head, rehearsing how it was all supposed to go.

“H-hey.”

Michael cleared his throat and quickly stood up straighter as you stepped inside.

The elevator doors closed behind you.

You could feel his eyes on you. You glanced sideways, then turned to face him fully, eyebrows knitting together.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said a little too quickly, he still stares at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“How am I looking at you?” 

He was looking at you the same way he had that morning in his bed—hovering over you, lips parted like he wanted to kiss you… and more. He looked at you with yearning. With longing. Like he could snap at any second.

“I don’t know… like—”

But you didn’t finish the sentence. Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard and turned back toward the doors, heart suddenly thudding in your chest.

Your breathing picked up as you tried to stay calm, but his eyes were still on you. Watching. Burning.

And then something snapped—his self-control, usually so carefully kept in check, cracked under the weight of everything he’d been holding back. It was all impulse now. He couldn’t waste another second.

Fuck it, he thought.

He needed you. Right then. Right there. Needed to feel your breath hitch against his lips, to finally cross the line he’d been toeing for far too long. 

He needed to show you how he felt, how you made him feel. 

All he knew was that he had to kiss you like you were his.

Michael dropped his backpack to the floor. 

He stepped closer, gently taking your hand and guiding you toward him.

You gave him a confused look—right up until your bodies pressed together, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Your breath caught as his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line along your skin. For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes locked on yours, searching, aching.

“Michael, w-what are you doing?” you whispered.

“What I should’ve done last night on the park bench… that morning after you stayed over when i had the worst shift of my life… God, what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Neither of you moves at first. But then, slowly, like gravity has shifted, you both begin to lean in. Your breaths mingle. Noses nearly brush. His gaze flickers to your lips.

And then… you both stop.

Instead, your foreheads rest together, the moment suspended—tense, quiet. Neither of you pulls away. Neither of you says a word. You just stay there, breathing the same air, hearts beating loud and close.

You shouldn’t kiss him—you really shouldn’t. But your heart didn’t care.

It drowned out your brain, smothered logic, silenced reason with want, with need.

Your mind screamed: This will end badly. He’ll get hurt. You can’t hurt him. But still… you leaned in.

The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, gentle. Your foreheads touch again as you pause for breath… and then kiss again. And again. Each one deeper. Each one is more certain. The passion builds, quiet and slow, until it’s not quiet at all. I'm hungry. Needy. Hard.

Like neither of you can bear to stop.

Your bag dropped to the floor with a thud as you grabbed him—hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie.

He groaned into your mouth, hand sliding to your waist, holding you like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

Your fingers curled tighter in response—latching yourself to him more.

You gasped against his lips, a soft whimper escaping before you could stop it—raw, involuntary, real.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he breathed, voice low and ragged, like the feeling of you was too much and still not enough.

The term of endearment sent a sigh spilling from your lips.

He was panting now, forehead nearly resting against yours, trying to catch his breath—but unwilling, unable, to pull away.

“You don’t know how long…I’ve been wanting to do this…wanting to kiss you…Touch you..” he murmured between kisses, each sentence catching its breath between the next.

“Don’t stop… please” you begged.

Then—without warning—he turned you with urgency, guiding you backward until your back met the cool wall of the elevator.

The chill of the metal against your spine contrasted with the heat of him pressing into you.

You barely registered the buttons behind you, lost in the haze of his mouth, his hands, the weight of his need.

One hand braced above your head, the other slipped beneath your shirt—his calloused palm gliding over your skin like a promise, grounding you.

The elevator gave a shudder and stopped—probably because one of you had hit the emergency button somewhere in the frenzy.

Neither of you noticed.

Neither of you cared.

He kissed you like his life depended on it—like it was the last night he’d ever get to touch you.

Like he was trying to memorize you with his mouth, to savor every second as if he knew he might never get this chance again.

His lips trailed along your neck, each kiss sending a shiver down your spine.

It felt good. God, it all felt so good. You’d never felt anything like this.

It was easy to get lost in the warmth of him—his breath, his body, the way his touch set your skin alight.

The feelings crashed into you like a tide you didn’t want to resist, pulling you under.

Something deep inside you stirred—raw and aching.

Every brush of his fingers sent tremors through you.

In that heat, in that closeness, nothing else existed.

There was only him.

Only this.

But somehow, against all odds, your mind claws its way back to reality. You reason coming back to scream at you. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t right.  Especially what happened last night after you two said goodnight. 

You had to stop this. You had to tell him. 

“M-Michael” you stutter out breathless. 

“Mhm?” He mumbles as he continues to assault your neck with open mouth kisses. 

“Michael”

“What is it? Huh? What is it, baby?…” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and breathless against your neck, each word tumbling out like a plea

“Michael—s-stop, I—I can’t.” 

He froze.

Everything stilled at once—the heat, the urgency, the world. He pulled back immediately, hands lifting off you, then reaching for your face.

His fingers brushed your cheek. “Hey… what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer, more grounded.

He saw it in your eyes—a look of regret, look of guilt, the shift from passion to shame.

“Are you okay?”

A beat passed.

Then his expression shifted, guilt crashing into him like a wave.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m sorry… I went too far, didn’t I?”

His hand dropped from your face, and he stepped back—once, then again—putting space between you.

You shook your head quickly. “No, no. It’s not you, Michael—”

His brows pulled together. “Then what is it?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Hey…” His voice softened. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

He reached for your hands, gently taking them in his. His thumb brushed over the top—slow, soothing

“I—I’m still with Aiden,” you blurted out, the words crashing out before you could stop them.

His thumbs stopped brushing your hands, as he blankly stared at you. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. You couldn’t stand seeing the look on his face. 

“What?” His voice was quiet, but sharp at the edges. Just looked at you, as if trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

Michael shouldn’t have assumed. But after last night, after everything, he thought it was over between the two of you. It had to be. Who in their right mind would go back to that? How could this not have been the last straw for you? Because if he was you, it would’ve been. Hell, if he was in your position, he would have broken up with Aiden ages ago. 

This just made things even more complicated.

“I—I talked it out with Aiden… last night,” you repeated, softer this time, almost like an apology.

Michael began to laugh. Not a joyful laugh—not even close. It was hollow, sharp, disbelieving.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked, his eyes searching for yours, hoping for some sign that you were messing with him. That this was just some badly timed joke. 

But you didn’t laugh.

You didn’t say a word.

The silence between you answered for you.

Michael stepped back completely away from you like you’d physically struck him. His hands dropped yours and hung limply at his sides.

“You’re still with him? Did you not hear anything I said last night?” he asked, staring at you like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Were you not listening?”

He begins to slightly pace the small space. 

His voice rose, sharp and broken. “How can you go back to him after that? You can’t be serious!”

He let out a bitter breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

“You’re still with him—and I just—God, you just let me—we just—” 

He dragged his hands down his face, like he could scrub the memory out of his skin.

“You patched things up with him last night—you knew this and you still let me kiss you and touch you like that?!” His voice cracks, finger stabbing the ground as if trying to make sense of it all. 

You flinched, breath hitching as tears welled in your eyes.

His voice cracked with disbelief. “Jesus.”

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to care about someone? To feel something real for someone, and watch her waste her time on a man who doesn’t even see her? Who gives her nothing—no love, no attention, not even the bare minimum she deserves?”

His voice cracked, raw now, spilling from the wound you’d just torn open.

“You don’t know what it’s been like for me. Standing on the sidelines these past few months… being your neighbor, your friend—when all I’ve wanted is to be yours.”

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with the weight of his truth.

“I want to be the one you depend on. The one you lean on. The one you count on—not just when things fall apart, but always.”

“He came back and—I… I just—” your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat. 

“If I had known—”

He cut you off, sharper this time. “No. Don’t say that. We both knew, deep down. We knew there’s something between us.”

His eyes were hard now, voice tight. “You just chose not to do anything about it.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them back—until you couldn’t.

“I was scared… I am scared,” you said, your voice cracking.

Pushing off the wall, you moved behind him. Michael turned to face you, eyes searching.

“Everything between us…” You shook your head, the words trembling out. “I’ve never felt anything like this before—and that terrifies me. I don’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how to handle you… or the way you make me feel.”

The tears came fast now, hot and relentless.

“With him… I knew what to expect, but you…” You looked at him through the blur of tears. “You make me want more. You make me feel safe, make me feel seen, heard— and that scares the hell out of me, because I don’t know what to do with good things!”

“So you chose what was familiar,” he said quietly, “Instead of choosing what you really want”

He shook his head, frustration flickering behind the hurt. “Instead of being honest with me—about how you felt—having a conversation with me, you self-sabotaged. You denied yourself. You pushed away something real and good that was right in front of you by going back to him.”

A sob escaped before you could stop it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” he said—not cruel, just tired. “And the worst part is… I don’t think you even realized you were doing it. You were so scared of something real, you threw it away before it even began”

He exhaled, as if the weight of it all was finally too much. “I can’t keep doing this.”

His voice softened, but the words still hit like a blow. “I showed you how I feel. I told you. I put it all out there right here, right now, but I guess I was too late. You made up your mind before anything could even start.”

“Whatever this is… I’m done.”

Those last words hung in the air—tight, final. But underneath them was something raw. Hurt. Disappointment. And maybe even heartbreak.

He didn’t want to be done. He didn’t want to give up on this—on you—before it had the chance to become something real.

But what choice did he have?

He paused, then added, “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

He paused, jaw tightening. “So… I wish you nothing but the best.”

“Michael,” you breathed, his name catching in your throat.

He looked at you then—eyes distant, walls rising—even though his feet hadn’t moved.

“I care about you,” he said, voice steady but low. “Not just in passing. Not like someone who comes and goes. You matter to me.”

He hesitated, the words aching in his mouth. “And maybe that’s what makes this so damn hard.”

“I think it’s best we stop hanging out,” he said, more carefully now, like he had to choose every word with precision just to keep from unraveling. “If I see you around, I’ll say hello. I’ll be polite. But that’s it. Don’t come to me for help.”

It gutted him to say it. But he knew he couldn’t anymore. At least for night now. He needed space. Boundaries. Because caring this much was costing him more than he could carry.

And just like that, he began to step back—not just physically, but emotionally—shutting doors he never wanted to close.

Michael turned toward the panel and pressed the “door open” button. Nothing. He hit “Lobby.” Then another floor. Still nothing.

He pressed a few more buttons in quick succession, frustration creeping into his movements. Nothing. The elevator was still. 

Of course. Of course you were stuck now—trapped in a metal box with the man whose heart you just shattered.

He let out an annoyed groan, sharp and brittle. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You stood there, arms folded tightly over your chest like they could hold you together. “Did… did we press something?” you as quietly as you sniffle. 

Michael gave the panel a deadpan glance. “Yeah. The emergency stop. Guess we hit it when—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

You both knew exactly when.

Silence followed, thick and choking.

“I’ll call maintenance,” he muttered, reaching for the phone on the panel. He picked up the receiver, waited for a beat, then spoke into it. “Yeah, hi. We’re stuck in elevator three. No, no one’s hurt. Just… just stuck.”

Another pause.

“Alright. Thanks.” He hung it up and sighed. “They’ve got to reset the elevator. Said it could be ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

You nodded, staring at the floor like it might offer a way out.

Fifteen more minutes in this suffocating space with him.

Fifteen minutes of trying to hold back your cries. Trying not to say the wrong thing again. Trying not to reach for him even though everything inside you wanted to.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed somewhere above your head. Not cold. Just… gone.

You swallowed hard, trying not to look at him. “Michael…”

He cut you off, voice low and sharp. “Don’t,”

“Please don’t.” he said softly

It wasn’t cruel. It was protective. A quiet plea from someone trying to hold himself together.

The silence settled again.

After a while the elevator shuttered and hummed back to life The floor numbers flickered, then steadily climbed downward. Relief washed over you, but it was tangled with the heaviness between you and Michael.

He didn’t say a word as the elevator glided to the lobby. The doors slid open smoothly, flooding the small space with the bright fluorescent lights of the lobby.

Without hesitation, Michael grabbed his bag from the corner, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out briskly. He didn’t look back.

You grab your bag and slowly follow out behind him.

He was moving through the lobby, his steps brisk and determined, focused on putting distance between the two of you. The coldness wasn’t anger. It hurt. And right now, he needed to get away.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You stood there in the middle of the lobby as you watched him leave through the doors. 

The lobby felt suddenly enormous and hollow, like the space between you and Michael had stretched far beyond the few feet that separated you. Your fingers tightened around your bag strap, heart aching with a sharp mix of regret and helplessness.

You wanted to call him back—to explain, to try and fix what you’d broken—but after everything said in the elevator, the damage was done. The words felt useless now. There was no coming back from this.

His words echoing in your mind like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest.

You need to figure yourself out.

The truth of it settled deep inside you, sharper and more painful than you expected. You thought about all the times you've pushed people away—out of fear, confusion, or simply not knowing how to accept love.

His words weren’t just an accusation—they were a warning.

If you didn’t face what was inside, if you didn’t understand what you truly wanted and needed, you’d keep hurting the people you cared about.

But more than that, you’d be hurting yourself.

Holding on to a past that didn’t value you, to a relationship that made you feel small and invisible.

You need to stop settling for less than you deserve and start choosing yourself—learning to listen to your own heart, discovering what happiness really means for you.

Because moving on isn’t just about leaving someone behind—it’s about finding who you truly are, and finally believing you’re worth more than pain and neglect.

It’s about opening the door to a future where you can be whole again.

The End...

(SIKE! LMAO, I’m just playing. I wouldn't do y'all dirty like that… I did do you dirty with this part with Robby and reader 💀 IM SORRY Y’ALL KNOW THE DRILL…SLOW BURNNN)

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Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

[erwinsvow]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 — 𝐚.𝐜.

summary: when andrew opens the backseat of the car, you're looking up at him with wet eyes and tied hands, silent and compliant just like he knew you would be. and even though this definitely isn't one of his best ideas, staring down at you, he thinks it's definitely not his worst either.

word count: 19k

tags: kidnapping! probably out of character for pope but i tried. heavy stockholm syndrome, being eaten out in the forest after being chased through said forest. mentions of masturbation and pope watches (1) one time, cameras/monitoring without consent, daydreams of thigh riding because duh, mating press/breeding/creampie, things from the show that didn't make sense aren't included. yippee! :)

note: shea 'sweden' erwinsvow strikes again.

andrew thinks that their plan had been incredibly solid.

they were supposed to be in and out—deran in a nice suit, disguised as a potential parent looking for a good school for his kids. if anyone asked, he had two of them, four and six, and his partner was home with them since their youngest was sick right now, otherwise he would have brought the whole family. 

he distracted the people outside with questions while andrew and the others were supposed to make quick work of the principal’s office. at first when the job was pitched, it sounded stupid. why would the principal of some fancy private school have money stored away in his office from their stupid fundraisers and open-house? but a little deep diving had revealed that the principal was skimming from the top, and the leftover money and anything else they could use as leverage against him was probably in that office somewhere. if there was a safe, they might take the whole thing with them.

and that led to another can of worms—how do they get out with the safe? getting in was the easy part. deran and baz and andrew dressed in nice clothes blending in, craig pretending to be a caterer with the event, j waiting in a construction truck down the road. but getting out, let alone with a safe, would be difficult. they had to look at blueprints, smuggled from the town hall through a contact they didn’t even want to use. 

andrew didn’t know what to think of the whole thing. it felt like too much work for an undetermined reward, though the others didn’t seem to agree with him. they kept saying it would be worth it and outnumbered, feeling as though despite what he said they wouldn’t agree with him, he complied. 

the blueprints revealed an out through an adjacent room—they didn’t know who was occupying until they went in to canvas after hours, pretending to check the smoke detectors. andrew stood in front of the closed door, staring at a cute, childish sign printed in loopy writing: school nurse. 

but there was a window large enough for any safe they encountered and just a wall of plaster separating the two. they wouldn’t even need any heavy machinery to get through the walls and out the window to the car. the open house was scheduled for a saturday, meaning the school nurse, who ever it was, wouldn’t be there. 

so all in all, a solid plan from what information they had gathered. saturday morning, andrew put on a long-sleeved button up shirt and an uncomfortable tie and walked into the school.

(playing pretend was more fun than he would like to admit. a stranger came up to him and asked him how old his daughters were and he actually laughed. “how do you know i have daughters?” he had asked, and the stranger had looked at him, laughing in reply. “you look the type,” and then andrew had to tear his mind away from the thought for the next hour, trying to forget the momentary joy the sentence had brought him. he looked the type. and then he said he had twin daughters, about to start first grade, and the lie felt sweet on his tongue.)

it’s always the jobs where everything’s going according to plan. those are the ones where something always ends up going wrong because it’s when you least expect it. that’s what had led to his arrest—and he was extra mindful now, trying in his head to think of all the ways this could go wrong.

they had made it inside the school. snuck into the nurse’s office—a cutely decorated place with lollipops and crackers in big jars and fun colors strewn throughout. the desk is against the wall they’re carving up and there’s cute decorations on it. a vase with fresh flowers. a mug with cartoon characters on it. there’s a huge poster in the shape of a tooth and then bright letters above it spelling out lost tooth club. there’s dozens of names written on and under the poster, a basket of toys and stickers. 

baz is about to start swinging right in the middle of another bulletin board, prettily decorated with hours of work. the letters had been cut by hand, little paper flowers glued together individually. it said spread kindness, not germs in large yellow letters. 

“d-don’t ruin the poster. go next to it.” he doesn’t know why he said it. they were already robbing a school, it’s not like the punishment would be worse because he left a poster untouched. but it felt wrong to demolish the nurse’s office and destroy her hard work. 

they get a hole big enough in the wall, even find the safe and get it out into the nurse’s office to the open window. everything according to plan. everything going as best as it could.

and then the door swings open and you walk in.

you take two, maybe three steps before stopping in your tracks and staring at the scene in front of you with wide, unblinking eyes.  

“oh. oh, i-” they’re not wearing ski masks this time, not worried about it since there wasn’t any cameras in the two offices. and now you’ve seen their faces.

“grab her, pope!” he hears from baz, and without thinking twice about it, he does. a huge hand goes over your mouth, silencing you, and the other around your two wrists. it’s easy to subdue you, and you thrash up against him but it’s over quickly.

andrew keeps them pinned down while baz runs over with rope for your hands and then he’s taking you outside through the window, to the truck, and despite how badly he feels about it, he holds you tight and tells you not to scream. while they load up the safe and hop into the truck he keeps his hand still tight across your mouth. your eyes are filled with fear, huge and watery and your body trembles like a shaking, frightened animal.

andrew leans in, unsure of why he’s even doing it, and whispers as quiet as he can without the others hearing you. 

“i promise i won’t hurt you.” 

a drive later, they pull up to the house, though they really should have taken you somewhere else. as carefully as they can without prying eyes from the neighbors, he carries you out and they put you in andrew’s bedroom, and then they lock the door from the outside.

+

you come to a little bit later, unsure of when you had passed out. the entire thing feels like a bad dream—a nightmare after watching one of your shows too late before bed, but when you blink open your eyes and stare around the room, you realize this not a nightmare. 

this is so much worse.

your wrists are bound to the bedframe with thick rope, made of fibers that dig into your skin and leave it raw and scorched underneath. you stop fighting against it to preserve your strength and stare around the room. 

plain painted walls and a navy blue comforter under your body. you’re in the room of one of these men who took you—you can tell that much, despite how barren the room is. 

you’d think it was a guest room if you didn’t know any better. but there’s folded laundry at the foot of the bed and a half-open closet where you can see button up shirts hanging neatly. there’s nothing else to identify where you even are, though you’re sure it can’t be too far from the school.

you don’t know what to do now. for all your smarts and the crazy shows you love so much and using logic to help you through other situations, you have no idea what to do right now. there’s no way to escape the rope and no way to figure out where you are. 

fuck. no one at school even knew you were there, or someone might have noticed you were missing. but it’s an open house for the next school year and the last day of classes was the previous week. you’re out for the summer, meaning no one there would notice your absence.

you didn’t know many of the teachers at the school. the secretaries you passed on the way to your little nurse’s office every day were polite, but not much more than that. the principal only ever came to speak to you if he needed to speak with the student you were with. 

and your friends, well—

you don’t think many of them would notice if you went missing. fuck. you should have never cancelled plans so many times. you should have put in more effort to going to mixers and staying in touch when school ended and done all the things that normal people do because now—

you hear people talking from outside, sounding a little far away but still clear, like they’re raising their voices, and the ones inside your head die down immediately.

if you shut your eyes to try and pay attention to it, you can make sense of the conversation taking place, though your head is pounding and it’s hard to focus.

“she didn’t see anything,” you hear a man argue, and then he’s interrupted by second person.

“she saw our faces, man. that’s risking too much-”

“we need to take care of this,” a woman says, and then there’s a pause.

and outside, with his mind still on the promise he made you, andrew stares at smurf, as she finishes her sentence.

“you need to take care of this, andrew.” 

it was a screwed up job to begin with. they should have never done it—no matter the fact that there’s almost twice what their jobs normally make sitting in the safe next to them right now. that money is about to become blood money. and as always, andrew has to do the dirty work.

“i didn’t even want to do this job. and you’re-you’re going to make me fix this-”

“andrew,” smurf says, and it feels final with the tone she uses. the tone of, of course you’re going to fix this. as if the burden doesn’t weigh on his shoulders with every step he takes. doesn’t plague his mind within every single thought. like these responsibilities that he has to handle and take care of aren’t the very reason he can’t sleep at night. 

deran and craig looked checked out—staring at him like they don’t already know the answer. baz look at him expectantly and it’s so easy for him to do so. he gets to go home each night to a wife that loves him and a daughter that adores him and gets to put his head against his pillow and hold his wife with unmarred, clean hands because andrew will take care of it. 

he looks up at smurf and he knows what will happen if he resists. if he says no to this, she might do something to you herself, and your blood will still he on his hands.

“okay." andrew says, and that’s that. 

“alright. wait until it’s darker outside-”

“i know what to do.”

and inside the bedroom, dread creeps in slowly into your body until it consumes you entirely. you process the words—that andrew, whoever he is, whichever one he is, will take of it. take care of you. 

you almost want to laugh with how incredibly unreal this is. getting kidnapped is the craziest thing that’s ever happened to you in your short life and now it’s going to be the reason that you die. 

dead, just like that, over a robbery at a goddamn private school. dead, waiting for the executioner to come get you from his bedroom while they talk about your life over their table like it’s nothing but lunch-time conversation. 

you thought adrenaline was supposed to make you near superhuman, make you do something, figure out how to get out of here and run for your life. nothing’s coming to mind just yet, though, as you stay frozen on the bed and wait to hear if the people who took you say anything else.

the door opens suddenly and you flinch—you hadn’t heard any footsteps and he caught you by surprise.

this must be andrew, which means he’s the same one who covered your mouth and took you to begin with. he opens the door and stares at you, keeping eye contact as he shuts the door behind him and comes in closer. you should stare back, try to convince him (and yourself) that you’re not afraid of him, but you’re not that girl. 

you look away the second he takes a step closer to the bed. andrew doesn’t stop, coming in closer until he’s sitting at the edge. you scramble to sit up, bringing your knees in closer to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller and get away from him all at once. it’s a hot day and you’re in a thin dress that comes down to right above your knees—and the fabric slides up as you scramble.

you were supposed to go pack up whatever you needed from your office and then stop to get a coffee from your favorite shop near the school and read the book that’s currently sitting on your desk at work—if it was still there. you don’t know what they did to the room after andrew took you to the truck.

your day was supposed to be for you, for once. an iced drink and the romance-comedy you read in your free time between little kids who didn’t feel good and lunch at a local place to celebrate another school year coming to an end. 

and now you’re about to walk to your death, refusing to make eye contact with the man who’s going to be killing you.

as morbid as the thought is, you wonder how he’ll do it. he said he wouldn’t hurt you but the decision sounded pretty final out there, at least it did to you. something painless, hopefully? 

you’ve watched enough shows to know all the ways but your mind runs empty. you finally move your gaze back to andrew in the corner of the bed, sitting and staring at you. you can see his shoulders rise with every deep breath, can hear the sharp exhale from his nose after each one. you want to say something. you think you should plead for your life.

but the way andrew’s looking at you, you almost believe what he said to you in the truck. i promise i won’t hurt you. 

how could he have promised you such a thing?

when he finally speaks up, it begins to make sense, you think. that, or you’re not nearly as smart as you thought you were.

“i have to take you away from here.” 

“i-i heard you. outside. you promised-”

“i’m not going to hurt you. just-just, when i take you out there, pretend to be scared.”

“what?”

“p-pretend to be scared. hit me and-and fight. i’m gonna tape your mouth.”

“what? no-”

“just listen to me,” he says, and it comes out differently from the other words he’s said to you. it’s final and stern, and the way his hazel eyes stare into yours, you really believe him, as incredulous as the thought is. “i’ll get you out of here. just listen to me. i’m not killing you. i’m not killing anyone.” 

his sentences sound as though he’s trying to convince himself, rather than you, and you have to physically shove the thought aside before you burst into tears from how scared you are. but andrew, for everything you can tell, is being honest with you.

you’re halfway decent, you’d like to think, at telling when people are lying. students come into your nurse’s office every single day trying to lie to you, trying to avoid a certain peer or a certain class or assignment, filling your ears with lies about aching stomachs and pounding heads.

you’ve got your own ways of telling truths from lies, and andrew, with his never-ending eye contact and firm words, is telling the truth.

at least you hope he is.

“o-okay. okay, i will.”

you do try your best to put on the show—pounding on andrew’s back, crying out against the duct tape he puts over your mouth—and have to remind yourself it’s not really a performance. you’re just as terrified as you were an hour ago but something inside you twists and turns at andrew’s sincere-sounding words. you don’t look at any of the others there, don’t try to meet their eyes because they might see that you’re not really as scared as you should be.

he puts you in the bed of the truck under a black cover, and you stare up at him with real fear. even if you weren’t claustrophobic, the enclosed area induced anxiety in you from the moment you figured out what he was doing. you think this might be it—your only chance to make a run for it, if you could wrangle out of andrew’s incredibly strong grip, if you could keep your balance with your tied ankles. 

and then he looks down at you and shakes his head slightly, so slightly that the movement is almost undetectable. there’s eyes on him—of this you’re sure—and he still tries to remind you that he won’t hurt you when he feels your body tense up under his hands.

you kick your feet without much energy behind it and let andrew push you into the bed of the truck. he gets in and starts driving, and then a few minutes later, he pulls over.

you blink up at him stupidly when he helps you out, thinking that he’s letting you go just a few miles from his home. you try to speak but there’s still duct tape over your mouth. andrew gives you his hand to help you sit up and then opens the backseat door of his truck for you, helps you inside, and then keeps driving.

and against every greater instinct you have or have been taught, you sit in the back quietly and let him drive you wherever he’s taking you, stupidly assuming it’s to safety. 

you hope he’s taking you to safety. 

no, you think—still a little stupidly—you know he’s taking you to safety.

+

andrew drives you for what feels like forever. wherever he’s taken you, it’s far from the house you were at and far from the school, meaning it is also far from your tiny apartment. you watch the sunset from the back seat and wonder who, if anyone, would even notice you’re missing this early. 

your rent and bills are on auto-pay. the sweet, older lady who lives alone next to you forgets her own name sometimes. and staring at the back of andrew’s head—dark brown curls that glow auburn when the golden sun hits them—you realize there’s really no way out of this.

through, it is.

it’s dark when the car finally slows down on an empty dirt road. you don’t recognize any of the scenery, but andrew drives through the terrain like he’s well acquainted with it, avoiding bumps and ditches easily. when he stops the car, you sit up a little straighter in the back.

you should be thankful he didn’t keep you in the bed of the truck the entire time, thankful that he let you realize you’re about two hours from home. thankful that he hasn’t hurt you yet, just like he had promised.

your wrists and ankles ache. every muscle in your body is screaming at you from the adrenaline rush that did absolutely nothing to help you get out of this situation. and though a smarter girl might try to knock andrew out and run through the woods until you found someone to help you, you’re beginning to realize you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. 

everything in you is telling you to trust him and listen to his instructions and make him keep his promise by not giving him any reasons to hurt you. 

he turns the car off, takes a deep breath, and then opens his door to get out. then he opens your door and stares down at you.

this is just like a scene from one of your crime shows. you can’t believe that’s the thought in your head right now, but it’s the only thing coming to mind. the specifics of the show merge into all the others, but you remember something about making eye contact and trying to humanize yourself so the kidnapper remembers you’re a person and not just an object.

so you need to look into his eyes. and you think that’s easy enough, that you can do it and that he’ll realize how obscenely wrong this entire situation is and let you go home tonight.

you flick your eyes up to meet his. you knew he was already staring at you but it’s somehow so much worse than you could have imagined. he’s not just looking, his eyes are boring into your soul. he doesn’t look away or blink, just keeps his gaze focused while staying completely silent. you’ve never been good at eye contact or being particularly demanding or combative, but you think this is an emergency and surely, you can manage for now.

you last all of two seconds before looking away. 

you focus on the ropes on your wrist and how irritated the skin underneath looks and you let andrew figure out whatever it is he needs to figure out in silence, save for your breaths.

“c’mon,” he says after some time. “inside. come on.”

he gives you his hands to help you up—you guess at the very least, at least he’s chivalrous—and then he holds you by the rope to guide you. he’s not even pulling very hard on it but the force is enough to make sure you don’t go running and screaming in the opposite direction. 

you realize you should have tried to take in the exterior of the cabin as soon as you walk inside, something else that your shows should have taught you, but you’re too busy being pulled around by andrew like a ragdoll. he brings you inside and then flips light switches.

the place is, for a kidnapper’s secondary location, quite nice. it looks like it was decorated a few decades ago—entire place shrouded in gingham and floral prints with vintage looking light fixtures and bookshelves with dust bunnies. you can’t imagine he picked these things out himself, especially not when you remember how bare-bones his bedroom was.

this place is much nicer. homey and dusty and quiet, you conclude after looking around. andrew doesn’t tell you to sit so much as he puts you down in a love seat and leaves you there, tied and taped up, waiting for him to come back. he walks into another room, which you can only assume is the kitchen, and then comes back.

“oh. i-i’m sorry,” he says and your eyes shoot up to him, unsure of why he’s apologizing. he gets closer and lifts his hand and you flinch, before his fingers go to the duct tape covering your mouth. you wince while he pulls it off, slowly and then faster, like he’s trying to get it over with faster, and you can’t help the tears that well up and slip down while he does it. you thought in vain that it might feel like a bandaid. it didn’t.

andrew apologizes again and you try to tell him it’s fine, but it doesn’t come out. your mouth is dry and you realize you haven’t had any water since you got taken at the school, so it comes out in a choked fragment of a sentence. 

you finally find the courage to look up at him with wet, blinking eyes.

“can i have water?” it comes out as a whisper, and andrew doesn’t say anything, just rushes back to the kitchen and comes back out with a half-filled glass. he almost hands it to you before realizing your hands are still tied and then he brings it to your mouth, tilting the glass so you can drink it. he doesn’t do it too quickly, making sure you don’t choke on it, but a droplet still runs down the side of your mouth. when he takes the cup away you stare up at him.

he almost lifts his hand to wipe away the water. his fingers twitch over the empty glass.

“how long do i have to stay here?” 

andrew pauses like he’s thinking about the answer. the truth, of course, is that he doesn’t know how long you have to stay. the answer to your question is that you’ll stay as long as he wants. 

“i don’t know. as long as it takes.”

“as long as what takes?”

“the bedroom is over here. come on.” 

+

andrew, for all you have learned about him, remains very chivalrous. it’s been two days, and you keep track with a piece of scrap paper in the room he keeps you in. he brought you in here and kept you tied up while he made sure all the windows in the house couldn’t be opened anymore and did something to the door too, you’re sure, though you didn’t actually get to see it.

he probably didn’t have to go through all that trouble. you conclude after forty-eight hours that you have terrible survival skills and are closer to being a perfect victim, a thought that makes your stomach turn. but you are, really. you haven’t once tried to fight him, save for the time he told you to, and the thought of escaping is a miniscule idea buried in the very back of your head. 

you eat what he makes—though you are getting very tired of dry sandwiches and sugary cereal—and drink the water he gives you. 

you think he’s testing you. and you have never, ever been one to fail a test. you comply with his instructions even when it’s incredibly embarrassing, like when he asks you how he should respond when you get texts and calls to your cell-phone. with your face burning you tell him there’s probably not going to be any of those to worry about, and he stares at you while you evade his eye contact. 

(if you had just looked, you would have recognized the way he’s staring at you. it’s different than the others. like he’s just unlocked a new piece of you with this information. it’s good that you didn’t, though. it makes him want to keep you all the more.)

andrew hasn’t been obvious enough with his absence that the others have noticed—yet. he needs to go back to oceanside and stay there, and this two hour drive he’s been doing for days isn’t exactly helping him. the first night he’d driven back at three in the morning, after you’d fallen asleep and he’d made sure everything was locked until he came back in the morning, and he’d had to deal with smurf, awake and waiting for him, waiting for the proof that he had taken care of it. taken care of you. 

the day after, baz stops him when he’s on his way out, to come back to see you, to tell him about a new plan he had for a job.

he realizes that the closer they get to a new job, the less he’d be able to come to the cabin. it seems there’s only one obvious solution—letting you leave the bedroom you’ve been confined to when he’s not there with you. so far he’d let you into the living room while he’s there, and the two of you sit in silence. (that silence is better than any conversation he’s had with his family in the last month, but you don’t need to know that.)

and the only way to make sure you’re alright in the cabin when he’s not there is to physically watch you and be sure of it, which means the real solution to andrew’s problem is cameras.

he installs them while you’re asleep. it’s only been a few days and you don’t make much noise as it is but when he hears the soft snoring, he knows you’re out. one in the living room and another in the kitchen, and a final one outside the cabin. the man at the store had explained it had motion sensors and would alert his phone if animals or people were outside. at the time, it seemed like a perfectly good idea. 

the man at the store had said something else too, something about how this is the best safety system and it’s what he uses at home to keep his family safe and he would recommend it for andrew’s wife and kids too. and maybe the assumption that he was doing all of this for your protection got to his head a little too quickly.

he’s been down that road before, but he still installs them all the same.

he lets you out of the room and tells you he’ll be back in a few days and that there’s food in the fridge and you can move around the house if you’d like. you look at him like you’re surprised, with less fear than he anticipated, and nod. and then you tell him quietly, so quiet he can barely hear it—thank you. 

(you wait for a reaction, but you don’t get one. he takes another heavy breath and then leaves, closing the door behind him and then locking it how he always does, leaving you alone again. and somehow, it feels so much worse to be alone.)

andrew drives for a few minutes before he gives into the urge of checking the camera’s footage. he sees you padding carefully through the living room, stopping at the bookshelf and reading all the titles. 

he checks it again throughout the day, even though he really shouldn’t. he runs the risk of someone seeing it over his shoulder and you have become something he really, really doesn’t want to share with his brothers. 

he doesn’t know how to do this. it’s not like he’s ever kidnapped someone before. he didn’t have any time to think it through, to make a plan, to gather supplies. he’s here in oceanside—maybe he should stop by your apartment. he has your phone and your purse and that should be enough to determine your address, and he can figure out how to get inside. maybe he should bring you some of your belongings, so you don’t feel as…

andrew doesn’t know what word he can use there. he doesn’t know what you’re feeling. frightened, he supposes. maybe it won’t make you feel as frightened if you had some of your things with you. he could bring you puzzles and books and the types of things that girls need with them—little bottles of expensive products and sweet smelling perfumes and whatever else you’d like. if it would make you more comfortable, he’d bring it.

fuck. and clothes—he needs to bring you clothes. you’ve been wearing the same dress the entire time and he hasn’t brought you anything to change into. if he goes to your home, he can bring some of your clothes.

(every time he’s come to the cabin so far, every time he’s opened the door, he waits in the foyer. he hears your footsteps padding up to the bedroom door, sees your shadow underneath it, like you’re making sure you didn’t imagine the noise. and when he goes over and unlocks it, you’re waiting for him in your sundress on the bed and the thought makes him so distracted he has to pull himself away from it. he has to close the door shut in his mind because if he doesn’t, he’s going to get so hard he can’t think anymore. and suddenly his mind fills in the blanks and he decides if he goes to your closet, he’ll only bring you dresses back.)

when andrew checks the video feed again, he’s noticed that you showered. he can tell from your wet hair, and for the first time, you’re not in the dress you were wearing when he took you. you’re in a plain shirt, one that’s too big on you. cotton and black.

one of his shirts. it’s from the dresser in the bedroom, he knows, since it’s only a one-bedroom home. the room he’s been keeping you in was supposed to be his room, and the drawers are filled with the clothes he’d brought there.

you’re wearing his clothes. and suddenly the thought of going to your apartment goes to hell. he’ll keep you in his clothes for as long as he can, until you say something or ask for something. (he knows you won’t. he’s figuring he knows an awful lot about you in a handful of days. that can’t be a coincidence, can it?)

and then craig says something about how he’s never seen andrew on his phone this much and you got some porn on there or something? and he shoves the device into his pocket and tries to remove you from his thoughts.

tries and fails, that is.

andrew gets a stinging scrape on his upper arm trying to get out of the job. he wasn’t actively thinking about you but he knows somehow he was distracted because of you, because he couldn’t put you out of his mind for thirty seconds longer, wondering if you were still awake on the couch or back in the bedroom and if you’d eaten and if you were maybe, just maybe, waiting up for him. 

he ignores the others telling him that he needs to get his arm fixed and he suffers through another hour at smurf’s, eating dessert that tastes like nothing, and then he gets in his truck and pulls out his phone.

and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch. he sighs, part relief mixed with something else. his arm seems to hurt less, he thinks. and then andrew drives two hours to go back home to you.

+

you wake up when the door opens. first your eyes flutter open, and then you turn your head to make sure it’s andrew—though the chance of it being someone else are nonexistent. then another thought, for a split second, racing through your body and mind like a strike of lightning.

you hope it’s never anyone but andrew opening that door.

you’re distracted from the thought when andrew groans, and you hear a pitter patter noise that sounds suspiciously like rain—but it’s not raining. when you lift yourself up in the dark, andrew’s leaning against the doorframe, raising his other hand to turn the switch on, and when the bulb flickers and light fills the cabin, you see it. blood, lots of it.

your instinct is to get on your feet right away, to usher andrew to the couch where you had fallen asleep and help him take his shirt off so you can see the wound clearly. 

you don’t panic, something you’ve gotten good at in your field. panicking makes the little kids even more frightened, so you’ve mastered the art of staying calm while assessing the situation. quick movements—your feet bring you to the bathroom for clean towels and hot water like you’ve lived here forever. 

you wash the wound carefully, pleased that it’s only skin-deep and that the bleeding should stop with some prolonged pressure. you sigh a breath of relief, holding the towel to his arm tightly, and then you realize you and andrew haven’t spoken a word this entire time.

you have to say something. you’re supposed to keep the patient distracted, get their mind off of their injury so they don’t subconsciously make it worse. you’ve always been good with your students, rambling about a new movie or what flavor lollipop they’ll pick on their way out and anything else that comes to mind.

but staring at andrew, realizing that you’ve forced yourself not to panic but feeling the dread still seep in, you realize you have nothing to say. you’re so thankful his wound isn’t too bad and logically, you compute, while his hazel eyes stare at you and you stare at his arm (a huge, thick bicep with veins that pulse under your touch), that it must be because if something happened to him, no one would ever find you. 

that has to be it. there’s no other reason why you should feel like this—and you can’t even describe what this is, you just know that it’s there, a pale glowing ball of thank god he’s okay hovering in the pit of your stomach, making you almost nauseous with how relieved you are. no other reason. 

you pull away the towel and the bleeding has stopped. you sigh again, reaching for another towel to wipe the wound clean and turning to meet andrew’s eyes, which are already on you, to ask him if he has a first aid kit. but he speaks first.

“thank you.” two words, said quietly, staring into the depths of your soul and not blinking once. you want to say something to make him smile but you don’t know how to do that. (yet.) 

“of-of course. first aid kit? i need a bandage. to wrap your arm.” 

“it’s under the sink. i can get it.”

“no, no,” you insist, letting go of andrew’s arm. your hand still feels warm where you were gripping him and his blood is all over your fingers. you dart off in the right direction and come back with the box, opening it up and seeing what you can use. 

you wrap it around his arm carefully, apologizing when you press against him in a way that makes him wince.

“you should buy some more bandages like this. the waterproof kind. when you can. and i-i can change the dressing for you,” you ramble, unsure of how to make andrew feel better, if you can at all. he might be more upset that you’re still talking and not shutting up, and still—

he brings his other hand around and clasps it around your wrist. he’s holding on tightly but it doesn’t hurt. that’s not his intention right now. you looked into his eyes when you felt his touch but that was a mistake. blinking quickly, you try to move your gaze anywhere but the man in front of you.

“can you look at me?” you can’t help it, it’s like your body has this urge to just listen to him, to comply, to try and please him with your deference. as painful as it is, you stare into his hazel eyes for what seems like ages. they’re mostly green but the brown is so much more apparent from this close to him. the realization is so stunning you almost feel like you’ve been zapped with an electric current—andrew has beautiful eyes. “thank you.” 

“oh. i-” you pause yourself before you say something that doesn’t make any sense. “of course. y-you saved my life. it’s the least i can do.”

and that realization is equally disorienting, like a bomb has been dropped between you two. he might have taken you and brought you here and kept you locked up but he did save you. from almost certain death.

andrew doesn’t say anything, even if he’s thinking something. he stares and when you try to look away again, he lets go of the hand on your wrist and brings it to the side of your face instead. he tilts your head towards him until you’ve locked eyes again. 

you think your heart is going to fall out of your chest with how fast it’s beating.

“stop looking away.” his words come out quietly.

andrew is so close to you, that almost by nature of instinct, your eyes flutter shut. you don’t know what exactly you’re expecting, and something inside of your brain screams at you, reminding you how incredibly stupid you’re being.

but then andrew brings you closer to him with his hand warm on your cheek and your lips brush his for a second, maybe two, and they’re soft just like you imagined, and then—

you two jump apart as his phone goes off. you don’t know how far back you jerked, but andrew lets go of your face immediately. he stands up to answer it, reminds you to be quiet by putting a finger in front of his lips.

"what is it, baz?"

you tiptoe back to the room and close the door as quietly as you can. and then you bury your head into the pillow.

stupid. stupid. stupid. kissing—or almost kissing, or whatever the hell that was—your captor. you seriously cannot descend into a further level of stupidity. as if your life was some badly written mafia romance, the kind you should be overindulging in right now instead of being locked up in a cabin with a complete stranger and then trying to kiss said stranger.

(do not, you’re forced to remind yourself over and over again, do not think about his green eyes and his soft lips and the way he held your face tenderly. do not. do not.) 

a little while later, you hear andrew’s voice quiet down and his footsteps come to your door. he stands outside and your heart picks up wondering if he’ll knock or come back in to finish what he started, but it settles into a dull thudding rhythm again once he walks away. then the unmistakable sound of the front door, his truck starting, and tires on the dirt road that leads to this place.

you don’t know why you let your expectations get carried away for a moment there. andrew’s not going to give you some grand, dramatic kiss or knock and give you a romantic speech from the other side of the door. that’s not him, you know that much at least. the crime television series are merging with the romantic books in your head and creating a perfect storm to cloud your senses. 

maybe it’s a good thing. maybe it’s a coping mechanism, or something. you’ll figure it out in therapy if andrew ever lets you go.

you open the door and go back to where you were sleeping on the couch. it’s comfortable, and it’d be perfect to curl up and watch a movie in, if there was a television around. you miss your laptop and post-work routine a little bit more than you have the entire time so far.

you want to get back under the blanket but you still feel flushed from the kiss, if you could even call it that. the almost, maybe-it-happened kiss. you lay on top of the blanket and stare at the ceiling and feel your heartbeat in your ears.

fuck. you really shouldn’t. but resisting it—especially when your eyes shut and you recall how andrew’s skin felt against yours, how it felt to be so close to him that you could see all his freckles, how he looked at you and made you look at him—takes every ounce of strength in your body. 

and you’re really, really not that strong. 

you lift up the shirt you’ve been wearing today, the one that’s undoubtedly his from the familiar detergent and the size of it, and your fingers find their familiar pattern themselves.

you trace little circles on your clit and keep your eyes closed tightly, like opening it and seeing what the hell you’re doing might chase away the orgasm that’s getting closer and closer. instead there’s other images—andrew’s arm tensing under your touch. the veins that go all the way down to his forearm. other places he might have veins like that. 

then it’s something else—the fact that he almost kissed you. what it could have led to, what it means for you. the fact that he wants you, that maybe he’s wanted you all along. that maybe that’s why he took you.

your orgasm hits you like a brick at that very thought. you ride yourself through it like you’ve always done, covering your mouth even though you don’t have neighbors here, sweaty and out of breath and satisfied but not entirely. like you know what it could have been like, that there’s someone who could have made it better in ways that you can’t even piece together right now.

you groan into the cushion, loudly, frustrated with yourself. it’s one thing to develop a lite version of stockholm syndrome but it’s another entirely to finish to the thought of the man. especially when you can’t remember the last time you had a feeling like this towards anyone. 

it’s just so stupid. you can’t get over it. you’re so stupid. the feeling of clarity washes over you but you still don’t completely understand it. you don’t know what it is about him. maybe you just want to be wanted—that has to be it. how else can you justify what you just did to the thought of your kidnapper? 

you lay back on the cushion and curl up under the blanket and with that thought haunting you, you fall asleep. 

and half-way to oceanside, andrew watches the feed for the living room and clenches his fist around the steering wheel. 

+

andrew comes back the next day, and you two don’t talk about anything, just like usual. you’re making yourself lunch when he opens the door and you look his way briefly, before heading back to make him a plate too. you try to justify it internally—he made you meals not so long ago. granted, you were tied up with rope at the time, but still, he could have let you starve and he didn’t.

it turns into a little habit. you’ve never particularly loved cooking but one of the dusty bookshelves in the house had a cookbook that you’ve been stealing recipes from. it’s just something to keep you a little busy and if you’re going to improve any of your skills, it might as well be this one.

it’ll still be useful to you when you leave. if you get to leave.

you’re not entirely sure but you think andrew likes having you there as a personal cook. he washes the dishes and cleans the kitchen without complaint, and he forces you out of there, not letting you help. it’s sweet, you think, watching him from the living room with whatever book you’re reading now. 

there’s other things too—he’s brought you books. you’re not sure from where, but you read them all the same, laughing internally when you think about if it’d be impolite to ask him for a dvd player or something.

you change the dressing on his wound each day, and it’s healing well so far. it’s been maybe four or five days since he got hurt—since you almost, maybe kissed him and then definitely, certainly orgasmed on his couch—and you feel…confused, for lack of a better word. 

you feel like you’re in a routine like how a couple who’s getting used to living with each other is—first tip toeing around, and then gaining comfort and ease, until finally, it feels normal.

this can’t be right—how routine it feels to make andrew lunch, even when you’re not sure if he’ll be back in time. to flip through a cookbook wondering what recipe he might like. to smile at him when he brings you another book since he somehow knows you’ve gone through most of the shelf already.

the days melt into each other—but you had expected that. you think asking andrew about an update in the whole letting you go free thing might upset him, and you still really, really want to avoid that.

so you remain confused and turbulent and fighting an internal dilemma between two sides of you. one that just wants to give in and stop thinking so hard about this and the other that thinks you should be scared for your life and stop pretending that this is anything besides what it really is—stockholm syndrome changing your brain chemistry and making you think that you’re going to be just fine.

while the two sides are duking it out, you and andrew continue the routine—or maybe it’s a charade, one side argues—like usual. you think it’s been two weeks of being cooped up in this house when he brings you a magazine.

“can you circle what you need?” 

you look up at him. he’s sort of trained you into the eye contact thing, and though you can’t withstand much of his intense staring, you’ve gotten marginally better at it. (you’re sure he’ll like that, that it must please him that you don’t always look away. and then you remind yourself where you are and your head begins to hurt.)

“yes. sure. thank you,” you say, opening up the catalog. there’s a section for clothes and another for beauty and skincare, and as stupid as it is, you still circle some of the makeup you like. and some of the stuff that you always deemed too expensive to buy, because if andrew’s paying, you might as well get to try it out. you justify it all—doing such elaborate mental gymnastics that you think you’d medal gold at this point. 

but that’s what you have to do, right? you ponder the thought as you hand andrew back the circled pages, with him telling you he’ll get the stuff as soon as he can. that new clothes and skincare might make you, at the very least, feel like a person. help you not lose all of your identity as you merge into this persona for andrew—personal chef and nurse and someone he almost, maybe kisses. 

and there’s other things too. when you wake up, he’s always hovering somewhere near you, as though he’d been watching you sleep. you guess there’s nothing inherently wrong with that—it sort of makes butterflies flutter around your stomach, since the idea that he likes to pass time by looking at you is very overwhelming—but you keep reminding yourself to stay rational. 

it’s hard to ground yourself but you need to keep it up—even though more often than not, thoughts of andrew, even when he’s not there with you, plague you, like you’re some teenager with a crush. 

it’s because you know, know deep down in your bones that some part of andrew likes some part of you. that you do, indeed, have a soft spot for your kidnapper, built from making lunches and conversations without words. that you ignore your instincts so much you’re not sure you can even call it an instinct anymore, because your newfound impulses just want to do whatever you can to please andrew, even when he doesn’t express it through words, just through eye contacts and barely there touches. 

the realization makes you want to throw up. there’s not enough justification in the world for this, it doesn’t matter if he said he wouldn’t hurt you or he makes sure you’re safe here.

it’s been more than two weeks now. he could have let you go. but then again, he could have done a lot of things.

you’re finishing making lunch when you notice it—that the door seems slightly ajar, like he’d forgotten one of the locks or something. maybe he had on the second trip out to get the groceries for you so you could start cooking. he used to make sure you were in the bedroom, locked inside, when he opened and closed the door. but he hadn’t done that in a few days.

because he trusted that you wouldn’t run. 

if the door is open, you could try to get outside while andrew is washing the dishes and cleaning up after the two of you eat. but it’s probably not—he’s much more careful than that.

but still, sitting at the tiny round dining table across from him, you can barely eat a few bites, heart racing at the idea. it’s stupid—the idea of running away. where would you even go? you don’t know the terrain, don't know where you are. you don’t even wear shoes in the house, prancing around barefoot in one of the new dresses andrew brought for you like some sort of twisted housewife.

once it got dark, you’d be in real trouble, with whatever wildlife is out here and how far away the main road is, if there was even other cars on it to begin with. you can’t remember much from the drive over here and you curse to yourself.

“something wrong?” andrew asks, and you blink at him dumbly.

“no, nothing. i-i-” quick. think of something. before he gets worried. “i just didn’t like this recipe as much as i thought i would. not my best work.” 

you try to laugh it off, even though your words sound stupid. andrew stares at you until your smiles melts away and you take a tiny bite.

“it tastes good to me,” he says, and you feel your heart fall. your idea seems further and further away.

like always, andrew takes the dishes to the kitchen and when you hear the sink turn on, you leave your spot on the table and go to the living room. but instead of taking a seat on the creaky couch and opening your book, you tiptoe to the door. 

your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears, trembling hand reaching for the doorknob. 

and for the first time, it twists and gives way to the door opening. 

you are stupid, you conclude, for thinking about running away from this, from him. but you can’t get over the circumstances that led you here—his crazy family, the fact that he was partaking in a robbery of your goddamn school, that he had no issues with taking you to begin with. 

and despite the part of you that thinks you could really, really get used to this—or the harrowing reality of the fact that you already have—you step outside and start running.

but andrew has become somewhat of a bloodhound when it comes to you. he waits for the telltale signs that he always hears when he’s the kitchen—the groan of the sofa cushions as you sit down and get comfortable, the rustle of your book opening, the flap of the blanket as you spread it over your legs.

he knows because he’s always greeted with that same sight every time he comes out into the living room, one he’s become well acquainted with and has been the source of a rare piece of happiness for the last several days.

it takes him a few minutes to realize he didn’t hear it. another few to wonder if you went to the bedroom—but he didn’t hear any doors open or close. and it takes him about thirty seconds to realize his mistake with leaving the door unlocked because he was worried about the groceries in the back—specifically a pint of melted ice cream he brought here for you.

the dish clatters into the sink and he races out to the living room. andrew’s never been a religious man but he prays then, quietly to himself, just for a split second. hoping that you’re just curled up on the couch quietly, that when he turns the corner, you’ll still be there.

his heart skips a beat when he realizes that you’re not. then he walks through the open door with an understanding that he won’t stop running until he finds you.

+

hindsight really is twenty-twenty. 

you ran for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before realizing that this was a huge mistake—one that you can’t just repair with an apology and a sincere smile. just a while ago this felt like your only chance to get freedom and get as much distance between you and the kidnapper you’re half in love with—another realization that strikes you like something akin to a knife in the stomach. 

you keep running, bare feet getting achy already from the cold, hard dirt and rocks. you wonder if andrew’s noticed yet or if he’s still standing in the kitchen. he’s going to be so disappointed. and all this time, you’ve been trying so hard to avoid that very thing. all your effort was for nothing—it’s not like he’ll forgive you for this. 

you’ve gotten so far that you don’t recognize anything, and with your muscles burning, you slow down. you can’t stop for long—you don’t know where the nearest road is, and it might be an hour of running before you get there. 

you try to catch your breath and get back up to keep going, when a thought crosses your mind.

what are you really scared of? because it can’t be staying with andrew—he’s done nothing but take care of you. it can’t be that he’ll hurt you, because he’s already had the chance to do so a thousand times and he’s never once taken it.

if anything, he’s protecting you from the rest of his family. putting himself on the line by hiding you instead of just doing the easy thing and killing you, dumping your body somewhere where no one will ever find it and letting the school report you missing in three months when you don’t show up for the first day of class.

you think you know what you’re scared of right now—being stuck in these woods when it’s dark out, alone and trapped, with the possibility that if you run too far, andrew might not be able to find you. 

if he even tried to find you. he might not care now that you broke his trust by running away. he might let you stay stuck out here until the forces of nature get to you, if you’ve gone too far. 

you collapse down against a tree, that thought making your knees weak as you fully process it. and then you wait.

and a few minutes later, you hear the stomps—even they sound angry—getting closer and closer, and you look up to find andrew, like always, staring at you. he looks flushed and though his expression hardly ever changes around you, remaining consistently unphased, you can tell he’s upset with you. 

you two have never needed many words to communicate.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly, before he can say anything, if he even will. 

you’re not sure it goes from here—you’d thought about the other side of your original plan, running to the nearest road and flagging someone down and whatever else you thought adrenaline would allow you to do. you think your subconscious was trying to protect you from thinking about andrew being angry at you and dragging you back to the cabin by your hair.

weakly, you think it’s what you deserve for running away in the first place.

and andrew wonders why you stopped running, his mind running in circles around the fact that you had your perfect chance to escape and you took it, and you still stopped. you don’t look too hurt—though there’s scratches on your bare feet and ankles from the branches and twigs. you hadn’t even thought to put your shoes on. that’s how badly you wanted to get away from him.

and can he really blame you? he couldn’t have expected you to willingly stay just because you’re gentle when you clean his wound and you two share meals like husband and wife. it’s a fantasy concocted from being in the cabin with you for too long—and he firmly reminds himself of that right now, staring down at you. 

but the way you look at him, watery eyes and an expression like you don’t even understand your own actions, makes resisting the fantasy so hard. he thinks it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

he crouches down to be at eye-level with you, your back still perched against the trunk of the tree. you draw your knees in towards your chest and he watches as the fabric of your dress moves with the motion, revealing more bare skin to him.

“why-why’d you do that?”

“i’m sorry, andrew-”

“i haven’t hurt you. i kept my promise.”

“i know, i-i-”

“you’ve been good so far.”

“i’m sorry,” you say again, and with that one, fat tears drip down your cheeks. you are sorry—if only you had a way to convince him of it. or to go back in time and not do any of this, if only to save you both the pain of this conversation.

“why? i want an answer.” firm and final and said in a tone that you had never heard from andrew so far. 

“i…i guess i needed to know if you’d come after me or not.” it comes out as a shuddery breath of words. it’s only partially the truth—but it’s the most you can confess to right now. 

maybe some part of you knew it would happen like this. the truth is that you’re scared of how andrew might feel about you and you’re even more scared of what you feel towards him. 

“of course i would,” he says and you shut your eyes, taking a shaky breath. you feel andrew’s hands on your knees, warm and tense and his grip tight like you might scamper off again. “i would-" he cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence. do anything for you. i would do anything for you.

“d-don’t say that-”

“why not?”

when you open your eyes, andrew’s already looking at you, with an intensity you’ve seen one other night—the time you helped him when he was hurt, the night of the kiss. you don’t have an answer for him.

“can i prove it to you?” andrew’s words make a shiver run through your body. you stare at him, finally not looking away for once, wondering how different things will be after this. 

you think you’re fine with it. and then you feel andrew guiding you—instructing you to lay your body down flat in the grass. his hands are like ropes holding you in place, exactly as he wants you—and when he spreads your legs wide and lowers his head between your thighs, your own head hits the soil with a thud. 

your eyes shut with anticipation, though andrew doesn’t move for what feels like ages. like he’s observing and taking it all in—which is somehow even more shameful. how wet you are from a few words and touches, how ready you are for him. but he’s going to show you and you think all you should do—all you can do, with how dizzy you feel from it—is lay back and take what he gives you.

his words run through your head like a loop—you’ve been good so far. and thinking about those words, when andrew presses the flat of his tongue against your leaking cunt, all the way up to your throbbing clit, you let out a moan closer to a scream, and you can, since no one can hear you for miles around.

he seems incredibly encouraged by that—speeding up his pace, lapping up everything you give him. 

you don’t know when your fingers got wrapped up in andrew’s hair, but they do, and you pull hard when he slips one finger, then two inside of you. you feel it—the knot tensing in your stomach, feeling andrew’s thick fingers spread you open, feeling his tongue against your pussy and lavishing attention on your clit.

you can’t believe you thought your stupid fingers would compare to the real thing—you were wrong, again. nothing you could have thought of could compare to andrew’s hot mouth on you, his huge hand holding you down while the other thrusts fingers in and out of you.

and it’s this realization that tips you over the edge—that even when you tried to run away from this, you’re still back in andrew’s arms, like a star that can’t escape its orbit. 

you finish in andrew’s tight grip, your entire body spasming and shaking as it courses through you—hot and wet and sending lava through your arteries and veins. andrew doesn’t stop until your body is limp and you have to try and push yourself away from him—using what little energy you have left in an unsuccessful attempt to do so.

and then he pulls the skirt of your dress down, picks you up in his arms, and carries you back to the cabin. you feel wetness—your wetness—on his fingers where he holds you and how warm his chest is against your cheek, and you fall asleep somewhere on the walk back. 

when you wake up, you’re in the familiar bed, tucked under the covers. andrew is asleep next to you on top of the sheets.

+

two days later, andrew has to leave for a job. it almost hurts more now that you’ve gotten to experience a slightly different side of things. you think you’ve gotten used to waking up beside him and going to sleep next to him.

but on the other hand, him leaving does have its perks. he hasn’t touched you like that since you were in the woods with him, and as much as you love playing house with andrew, you’re so pent up that you think you could touch yourself all day and it still wouldn’t get rid of it. the burning, sticky ache inside you that wants andrew all the time—that wants him to pin you down and do whatever he’s been harboring thoughts about this whole time. 

memories of his single hand being enough to hold down your entire thrashing body in the woods is enough to make all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. so you make yourself cum until you can’t anymore (that’s your limit—you don’t think andrew would have a limit for you, though, and you’re sure you’ll find out soon enough) and carry on your little routine and wait for him to come back home to you.

it feels like a certain weight has been lifted from your shoulders, you think, with how easy everything feels now. like you don’t have to fight a battle in your head over every encounter, like you don’t have to justify every emotion. you’re here, and you have andrew, and you’re going to appreciate what you and him have because you know it’s something special.

maybe it’s a little delusional, too, but you’ve been here almost three weeks without seeing another person and you’ve been tepidly awaiting some sort of punishment for running away and it hasn’t come yet. every time you think you know what andrew is going to do, you find yourself completely mistaken.

andrew does come home—and times like this, you really wish you had some way to communicate with him. a satellite phone or a carrier pigeon or something to tell him you’ve gotten your period and there’s nothing in this house that you can substitute like you’ve done with all your other needs. 

he has the usual groceries and a box of brownie mix for dessert because ice cream doesn’t last the drive back here. and then he hands you another bag that you accept with a quizzical look on your face, since normally you two put everything away together. 

and inside is a box of pads and a box of tampons. you look straight up at him and blink.

“how did you know?” 

“know what?”

“that i got my period. you weren’t even here-”

“it’ll be a month soon and you haven’t said anything yet. i just assumed.”

“you assumed?”

“i have a-i had a sister. i know things.”

“oh.” the realization that andrew is a complete stranger startles you for a moment, like it hasn’t in a while. you felt like you knew so much about him from your interactions that you forgot the two of you haven’t ever really talked about his life or your life or anything beyond the four walls of this cabin. “i’m sorry.”

and a little bit later, while you mix the brownie batter and add butter, not oil and milk, not water, you ask andrew questions about his sister and listen as he answers quietly. the way he looks at you after a certain question makes you think no one's ever taken the time to ask him these things before, and that makes your heart hurt in a way you can't really understand.

and then you sit beside him on the couch and read your book aloud while he listens, and you think maybe you don't need to understand everything.

+

andrew thinks you’re getting antsy when you have to be at the cabin alone without him. he wasn’t completely sure, but you’ve started asking when he’s leaving and when he’ll be back almost every time. he thinks maybe he’s just not to used to someone asking, or rather someone wanting him to stay, but now you do, and he doesn’t have a real answer for you.

that’s because the answer is dependent on his brothers and smurf and it changes daily based on if he can avoid their suspicion and the glances they exchange with each other when he says he’ll be busy again. and unsure of how much longer he can keep it up, worried that anything he does might reveal your existence to them, he needs to stay away from you for longer chunks of time, as hard as that thought is for him to swallow.

he doesn’t want to. maybe he never has, now that he has something to come home to, something waiting for him half-asleep on the couch and leaving plates of dinner in the oven and something that takes him by the hand and brings him to the bedroom to sleep next to each other.

the solution comes to him when lena is telling him about a girl at school who got a kitten for her birthday, and if he’d help her convince baz to let her get one too. 

he doesn’t know how to explain that baz is never going to agree to that, when he goes to the shelter, he thinks that if he ever gets to introduce you to lena, she can play with the one he’s about to get you. 

the worker at the shelter shows him the kittens, playful and hyperactive and running around in their pen. the woman there starts explaining what each of the little kittens are like, identifying them by their collars, but he doesn’t hear half of it. 

there’s a little orange one that’s quiet, tucked away and not as energetic as the others. he thinks that’d be perfect for you—to have a calm kitten dozing off in your lap while you read or follow you around the kitchen. and when he picks it up, it barely takes up the size of his hand. yes, he thinks, this is exactly what you need. 

the worker has him fill out papers and tells him the different things he needs to buy—though he knows some of it already—and asks him if the little kitten is for him. 

“no. no she's for my girl-my girlfriend.” she harps on about how sweet that is and that he’s being a great boyfriend, and andrew swallows uncomfortably.

it didn’t feel like a lie.

when he comes home that day, he finds you, like always, waiting for him. he thinks stupidly that he should have gotten a basket or a ribbon or something, to make the kitten feel more like a gift for you, but it slipped his mind while he was trying to fight off intrusive thoughts about your reaction. 

and it’s everything he thought it would be. 

as soon as you hear the quiet mewing, you stand up, the blanket that always covers your legs falling to the ground.

you rush over to him, your body pressed close against him and fingers brushing as you pet the nape of the kitten’s neck. 

“oh my god. oh my god-” he’s never heard you sound so excited—and your tone is nearly intoxicating for him. he wonders what else he can do to get you to stay this happy forever.

“she's for you.”

“oh my god. andrew. she's so cute. hi,” you coo at her in a voice that only gets more excited when he helps the kitten into your arms. and then you beam your bright smile up at andrew and he momentarily gets all the wind knocked from his lungs. “what should we name her?” 

we. like this cat is both of yours—yours and his. it’s the things like that—the ways you subconsciously reveal that you think of him as yours, that everything you two is together. that this kitten is for the both of you. and andrew thinks if this is how you’d react to everything, there’s nothing he could ever deny you. 

he watches you play with the kitten for a while before he has to leave—not entirely sure how to break it to you that he’ll be gone for longer than usual this time. maybe you’ll stay so occupied you won’t notice it. you use one of the toys he brought, a little rod with a toy fish on a string, and drag it across the floor while the kitten chases it. and then you accumulate enough cuteness aggression that you bring her in for a hug and laugh while she curls up against you.

(and andrew, who thinks he’s never had a thought like this before, wonders briefly what you’d look like with a baby in your arms.)

you’re sad when he says that he has to leave but at the very least, he knows you’ll be occupied. he thinks he did the right thing, and then he knows he did the right thing, when you scoop up the kitten and bring her to the door to say goodbye to andrew with you. then you turn your head to give andrew a kiss on his cheek and thank him again and he drives to oceanside wondering why he didn’t think of this sooner.

you wrangle the kitten for the better part of two days before andrew comes back. 

he’d told you it would take longer but every passing minute that he’s not home with you or driving towards you makes him antsy. makes his skin hum and vibrate with anticipation of when he can leave. by now, the others must have noticed that something’s going on, though if they have, no one says anything. he doesn’t know if it’s from a lack of concern or out of fear for his answer, but either way, he’s glad they haven’t. 

they don’t need to know about you. that’s why all of this has felt so perfect to andrew so far—because his family isn’t around to taint it and ruin it. to scare you off or hurt you and all the other things that would happen if they realized you were still alive.

and though you and him don’t talk about much, there’s an understanding between the two of you, one that’s only been strengthened since the day when you had run away and stopped so he could find you. that maybe, as twisted as all of this was, it was meant to happen. that you two were meant to find each other. 

it’s a heavy thought for the drive back to the cabin. it weighs over him like a storm cloud—the battle of trying to recognize if he’d done the right thing by bringing you here or not. maybe he should have let you go the day after smurf and his brothers had stopped bringing you up, once they thought you were dealt with.

but when he opens the door to the cabin, you’re curled up with the cat, asleep on the couch just like he had envisioned. what’s more is the overwhelming notion of the fact that you had fallen asleep there waiting for him, like you always do. 

you feel you’ve almost been trained to wake up to the sound of the door closing. when you open your eyes, still heavy with sleep, andrew’s perched on the couch next to you, petting the kitten lying to you.

“i didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says quietly. you sigh, a surprisingly sweet noise that comes to him like a melody. 

“that’s okay,” you sit up, yawning and stretching. “i don’t want to sleep if you’re here.”

and he doesn’t know what to do when you say things like that—because really, what is he supposed to say? your words have an almost otherworldly effect on him when he processes what they mean.

that you want to wake up when he comes back home. that you don’t want to miss a moment of time with him. that you want him there with you.

the last one hits him the hardest.

andrew stares in silence while you stretch your arms and then bring the kitten back into your hands, cuddling against her and nuzzling your face against hers. the kitten had looked comically small in his palm but perfectly at home in yours. 

“did you pick a name?”

“maybe. i wasn’t sure what you’d like,” you say, meeting his eyes for longer than you usually do—something you’ve been working on. the two of you stay like that for a while, glancing between yourselves and the kitten mewling and traipsing around the space between you and andrew.

“you should pick. she’s for you.” you smile at andrew when he says that, and for some reason, all of this just feels so much more domestic than it ever has before. his hand turns into a fist at his side because it is overwhelming—incredibly so. he wants to lay down next to you and watch you play with the kitten and tell him every thought in your head and fall asleep to the sound of you talking.

but he can’t do any of that, and he can’t tell you, either. so he attempts a small smile back at you and you tell him you think you like the name wren. 

“it was in one of the books,” you say, though you’re lying through your teeth. 

“wren?”

“what? what’s wrong with it?” “n-nothing. i just thought… i don’t know. it’s not really a cat name, is it?”

“what? you want me to call her mrs. whiskers?” 

he laughs when you say that, and so you laugh too. surprisingly calm, and the rest of the world forgotten for a few minutes. andrew doesn’t understand such a human name for the kitten, but it’s yours. he think he’d let you do whatever you want if you keep laughing and smiling with him.

you get up to make lunch, and andrew and wren both follow you into the kitchen, and the hours of the day pass by quickly when andrew’s there with you. since you learned about his sister, you like to ask him questions, and though he was hesitant at first—you’re not entirely sure why—he’s begun asking you questions too, about when you’d become a school nurse and if you liked it and the book you’re reading this week. 

andrew avoids personal questions. the fear of reminding you of the life you left behind, or snapping you back to the reality of how you’re stuck here with him frightens him too much to ask. but you ask him questions—lots of them, all about his life and his family and how long they’ve been doing these jobs. 

you get sad, he can tell since you’re bad at hiding your emotion and they paint over your face immediately, when he tells you about how long he’s been doing this. about stolen gas station wallets and the people smurf always had over and how every day was about him trying to protect his siblings. 

you get sad even to the point of tears, something he can’t understand. you don’t know him enough to cry over him, do you? or is this just what you’re like—crying over your kidnapper’s childhood stories, curling up next to andrew on the couch with the kitten between you two, holding his hand and pleading with him to stay the night. 

is this what you’re like? or is this what he’s made you into?

you fall asleep somewhere between the answer to another question you’ve asked him and the cat’s soft snores next to you. it’s easier once you’re asleep—to gaze over you and not have to hold back the smile that takes over him. you’re so trusting it almost frustrates him. 

he picks you up gently, carrying you back to the bedroom. the cat wakes up from the movement and meows at him, but all she does is follow andrew as he carries you and jump onto the bed when he sets you down. while unfolding the blanket to cover you, a piece of paper falls out and lands on the ground near his feet.

you and wren are both sound asleep now. he should go back to the living room—sleep there or leave, but the idea of you waking up alone makes him feel miserable inside. or rather, another day of waking up without you. 

he opens the paper—there’s names written in pen all over. at the top is andrew in your pretty handwriting, with different letters crossed out. and then underneath are all different names using the same couple of letters. 

warden 

wander 

dawn with a maybe??? 

rand

red

then raw, crossed out several times and a big no written next to it. and then finally, wren, circled and with several exclamations following it.

oh. so that’s why you named the kitten wren. he stares at you asleep next to her, having brought an arm across her, even in your sleep, like you were trying to keep her close to you. 

oh. 

wren—using the letters of his name. emotions surge through andrew like they haven’t in a long time. the sad, pathetic yearning turning into something he doesn’t think he’s felt before—the urge to make you happy because you make him so happy, without even trying to. 

and though he knows he should get in the car and drive back to oceanside before anyone can bother asking where he is, the urge to stay with you is stronger than the rational logic of leaving. so, he gets into bed next to you and wren. 

andrew doesn’t sleep much, though it’s hard to fight sleep when he can hear your gentle breathing. and it’s really, really hard to fight sleep when your arm makes its way across his chest, the warmth burning through his shirt.

he does fall asleep—maybe the best he’s slept in years. and when he wakes up to the sunlight, you’re curled up against his side, the cat somewhere at your feet, holding onto him like you’re worried he’ll leave. 

thoughts plague him about how you don’t even know if he’s really there, that sometimes he leaves when you’re asleep and you wake up alone more often than you wake up to him. you’ve been knocked out since last night, at least he thinks, because if you had gotten up he would have noticed.

but andrew watches you hold onto his arm, your face smushed against his chest as you take sleepy breaths and snore softly, legs tangled together, and he has to think it’s happening for a reason.

groggily, he wonders if you’ve been sent just to test his willpower. memories flood him quickly—when you had touched yourself after he kissed you, what he’d done to you out in the woods after he’d caught you (or rather, caught up to you—because you had stopped. you had waited for him.) 

he thinks he just ignores his morning wood on most days but it’s especially hard when your soft skin is pressed against him and he can see miles of it exposed since you kicked away the covers. the little noises you make as you get comfortable and stay nestled against him don’t help either—and just when he questions what exactly you might be dreaming about, his phone goes off.

fuck. stupid fucking phone—he needs to make it not so loud or destroy the thing entirely. he reaches over to the night stand to grab it but the damage is already done, your eyes jump open from the terrible alarm and you take about half a second to realize how close you are to andrew. you meet his eyes and then he answers his phone and you unpeel yourself from his side, if a bit begrudgingly. 

andrew stares at you while you stare at wren, hoping she stays quiet so the person on the other line can’t hear her. you take heavy breaths and andrew notices that you look flushed and warm, and you keep moving around, changing your position as if you can’t get comfortable. squirming, even.

which leads him back to his original question—what the hell were you dreaming about? he gets lost in the possible answers and makes baz repeat himself three times before he answers. in an attempt to get him to hang up, andrew agrees with whatever he says and you sit patiently, taking wren into your arms so she doesn’t make any noises for attention. she still mews quietly a few times and you pick her up, taking her into the living room as carefully as you can

“is that a cat? where are you?” baz asks on the other line and andrew hangs up without saying goodbye.

he walks into the living room and you stand up once you see him, leaving wren on the couch.

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t think she’d-” “that’s okay. i-i have to go.” 

you sigh and your shoulders drop, your hopeful expression changing into one of disappointment before his very eyes. maybe he’s never hated anything as much as how you’re looking at him right now.

“already?” the words make andrew’s knees feel weak.

“i don’t have a choice. i…” he trails off, wondering how to finish the sentence, how to articulate the thought.

how to sum up the fact that he would stay here, with you, all day if he could. that watching you cook and curl up in the sun and play with the kitten that you refer to as ours is enough to sustain him for the rest of his life. that whenever the day comes that you get to leave this place, he will never forget about you—not your sweet smile or your sincere expressions or how earnestly you look at him when you don’t want him to go. 

but he doesn’t know how to tell you any of that. 

“i’m sorry,” he finishes quietly. and like always, you smile at him.

“it’s okay. we’ll just miss you.” you turn to look at wren and then look back, and somehow, though you must think this every single time, andrew’s stare feels different than usual.

like there’s so much swimming around in his mind that he’s not telling you. he doesn’t say it back, that he’ll miss you both too. instead he walks up closer to you, and you hold in a breath, unsure of what’s coming, before he leans in and gives you a kiss on the forehead. you feel every muscle in your body relax when his lips press to your skin, eyes fluttering shut.

he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like be good, and then you nod in response quickly.

and then he’s gone again. 

you crawl back into bed, the motivation to make breakfast or do much of anything long gone.

not to mention that one of his stupid brothers—you know their names but you didn’t know which one had called, though it was probably baz since he always interrupted everything—had woken you up from the best dream you’d had since you’d been stuck here. your thighs feel sticky and your entire body squirms with the realization that if you had stayed dreaming any longer, you probably would have started rubbing yourself against andrew in your sleep.

and as embarrassing as that thought it is, it’s equally intoxicating to wonder what he would have done about it.

in the dream you had been riding his thigh—your own thighs splayed out wide against him, and in the dream andrew had been watching you, like he always does. except this time you know it was different, like you could see the lust behind the hazel, like he was using all of his self control to not do more. 

would the real andrew do the same? after so many close calls and whatever the hell that was in the woods and the two of you being so close together in the same bed yet so incredibly far? you don’t know the answer, though you think you’re about ready to find out. 

it’s not very fair—he kisses your head like he’s your husband or something, and then leaves you pent up and yearning for more like he’s nothing but your captor. he hasn’t even touched you in a way that could be deemed as inappropriate since the woods and you’re left to believe that maybe he just doesn’t want to cross that line.

you don’t know andrew’s rules when it comes to you, though it seems like he’ll break them if he’s pushed to it.

that’s what you’re thinking when you fold a pillow—the one andrew slept on—in half and mount it as if it could possibly compare to your dream and what andrew’s thigh or arm might feel like in reality. but you still try, lifting up your (his) shirt and letting your hips move against the cold pillow, grabbing your tits and teasing your nipples, wondering if this is what andrew would do. you think he would get sick of the teasing and finally bend you over, but then you think he wouldn’t do that until you’ve finished already. he’s too generous for that.

and though the thought of andrew and his generosity with you, in bed, one day, is enough to normally tip you over the edge, something inside of you just won’t let you finish. you hump the pillow for what seems like ages, but you don’t get any closer to finishing.

maybe it’s just because your body knows what it feels like when andrew’s the one making you cum, and it won’t settle for your pathetic excuse of an orgasm anymore.

so with burning, aching thighs and an entirely unsatisfied feeling in your chest, you collapse against the bed and sigh. when you look over on andrew’s side of the bed, you just get a sense of longing that fills your entire body.

wren cries out and you see her sitting in the doorway, eyes focused on you, her own way of asking for your attention.

“okay, okay, i’m coming,” you say, before getting up. you walk over and pick her up and she doesn’t stop staring or blink once. “just like your dad, huh?”

+

on the drive back to you on the following day, andrew thinks long and hard about what baz said to him.

it started as an innocent conversation—baz brought up the cat again, saying how lena’s been asking for one and he wants to make sure andrew’s not gonna surprise her with it. with a blank stare, andrew told him that he must be imagining things because he wasn’t near a cat.

then the conversation had shifted—about his absences and how he’s been gone all the time and no one’s seen him at smurf’s or his place or anywhere else. 

baz’s words linger in his head on the drive. where’ve you been going, man? is this about that girl? we’re sorry you had to take care of it but we didn’t have any options, pope. is that what this is about? 

it’s as if it’s impossible for them to understand that everything in his life is about you now—centered around you. he finally made a decision for himself, for once, not just blindly following along with whatever smurf wanted. 

it’s so easy for the rest of them to think that whatever’s wrong with him is about you—when they don’t even know you. not like he does—not in the way that andrew’s gotten to know you over the last weeks. 

your gentleness, even to your kidnapper. your sweet smiles that keep him going through each day. how memories of his hours with you stay in his head for long after he drives away from the cabin. 

that for the time he stays there with you, there’s nothing wrong with him, there’s nothing to fix, nothing broken that you haven’t already seen. he’s just andrew to you—nothing more. you say his name without burdens or expectations. you want him to stay longer. you run away and then sit down and wait for him to find you. he gives you a cat as a goddamn distraction and you name the thing after him and dote on it.

but for everything you do for him, and the way you make him feel, he can’t keep you here. maybe he knew all along this was a temporary thing, that it was just to hide you away until his family well and truly believed that you were dealt with and taken care of. that you were never meant to stay with him, to be his. the idea now seems ridiculous—a sweet girl like you, so compliant even when he’s been holding you hostage.

but even you had to give into your instinct, the one that told you to flee when you saw the open door. how can he blame you? that should have been your natural reaction from the first hour you’ve been in the cabin. 

briefly, he thinks he can’t blame you for any of it. the fault is all his—and he’ll start rectifying it now. if baz was wondering about his absences and if it has anything to do with you, then smurf must be too. before long, all of them would be. and then it wouldn’t take long to figure out he’s kept you hidden this whole time, and then they’ll really hurt you, and he can’t have that.

he pulls onto the dirt road that leads to the cabin and drives down it slowly, like he knows whatever you two had has to come to an end today. 

andrew rests his head against the steering wheel, hand a little shaky.

it’s for you, he reminds himself. he can do it because it’s for you, for your safety, for your life. there’s no future for you cooped up here all alone while he abandons you every other day. just a deplorable fantasy from a man who has always been alone about to be alone again. 

you’ll be happier once you’ve left this place—he’ll take you to your apartment and give you cash so you can leave and start over wherever you’d like. that’s the plan right now—get you home to get your belongings, and figure out what you’ll tell your job and how to get you as far away from oceanside as he can. 

it means in a few hours, he’ll be telling you goodbye for the last time.

he opens the door, and like always, you’re waiting for him. wren follows you around as you make your way to the door to greet him, beaming up at him like you have been. you linger as though you want to do something else—maybe you want to kiss him, or pull him into a hug, but you don’t. 

you stare up at him while he stares at you, until you finally speak up.

“well, i made lunch. let me go get it ready for you,” but when you turn, he grabs onto your arm. you spin back to face him again with a confused expression. “andrew?”

“i-i have to get you out of here.”

“andrew?” you question again, voice a little shaky. “what do you mean?”

“my family. they’re…noticing. i’m gone all the time and no one-no one’s reported you missing. i need to get you out of town. maybe another state.”

“andrew-”

“i’ll drive you back to your apartment. you-you can take whatever you need from there. and here too, uh, wren’s stuff,” he looks around, trying to see what else you had even brought here. and then he realizes it was never the things, it was you, that always made this place feel like home. your presence and the blanket that told him you were reading on the couch and the pulled curtains and the smell of something you baked in the air. “i can get you new papers, if you want. you can go wherever. i can figure out how to get you there, but-”

“you’re not coming with me, are you?” the way you say it, the expression on your face, it’s enough to make whatever resolve is still standing in him crumble.

“i can’t. it-it’s for your own safety. you have to get away from here. if i stay you’ll just get hurt-”

“that’s not true,” you plead, realizing sadly that this is the most you and andrew have spoken to each other about something that didn't start as a question. your conversations have never needed so many words. “you kept me safe all this time-”

“i can’t, anymore. if they find out that you’re here-”

“they won’t,” you say, getting closer and bringing your hands to his chest, pressing them flat against him like you have to remind yourself he’s still there. you keep looking at him, not breaking the eye contact like you always do, though it feels like andrew’s gaze is burning holes through you. 

“they will. they always do. they’ll hurt you.”

“no, andrew, please-”

“we need to go. we have to get the things you need and leave-” andrew tries to move away from your grip, but you follow him, hands on his shoulders, standing in front of him again to block him from doing anything else. “i-i don’t understand. why? why don’t you want to leave? this isn’t a life. i-i’m keeping you from your life.”

“you’re not keeping me from anything. i-i like being here with you-”

“no, no, you don’t. that’s not right. i-i should have never brought you here.”

“you saved my life, andrew,” you say softly, blinking up at him with teary eyes. you hadn’t realized when you’d started crying.

“i’m gonna get you killed if i-”

without thinking anymore about it, realizing that andrew might very well be as serious as you’ve ever seen him, you lean in to bring your lips to his. you kiss andrew with all the emotions floating around your brain—hurt and fear and want and need all merging into one. 

your arms wrap around his neck and you hold him in the kiss as best as you can, feeling his grip tighten around your waist as you two don’t let go of each other. andrew kisses you with a fury, like he’s just realizing what’s been waiting for him all this time. 

your back ends up pushed against a wall gently—and even then, andrew keeps his hands on your waist and uses them as a barrier against the surface so you don’t get hurt. 

with swollen, aching lips and weak knees and feeling his tongue prod into your mouth, you think you’d be stupid to ever walk away from this. 

when you pull away to breathe, andrew’s mouth goes to your neck, littering kisses up the column until he gets to your jawline. you finish your sentence in a broken daze, the thought half forgotten already-

“you would never let me get hurt,” you whisper, taking his face into your hands and forcing the two of you to stare at each other. he takes it in—your wet eyelashes and puffy lips and how you look with desire spelled all across your face—because of him.

you lean in for another kiss, only pulling away to keep telling him everything he’s done for you. you feel it against your thigh—his hardness pressing into you, proof that he wants you, the proof you’ve been wanting all along.

(though, you think stupidly, dazed by andrew’s hot touch and how tightly he holds you, going against everything he’s been telling you since he came back home to you—a home that you are not, in any way, ready to give up or hand back without at least something of a fight—you can figure out how to convince him.)

and then andrew moans against your lips and you forget everything you’ve been thinking. you pull at his shirt, wanting it off, eager and with every limb shaking from anticipation. you’ve wanted this for so long you can’t even remember to remind yourself it’s andrew—the man who took you and brought you here, offering to set you free, and you’re trying to convince him not to, like a puppy who doesn’t want to go back to the shelter.

because isn’t that what all of this is, in the end? you can try to fight it as much as you want, but until you met andrew, until you became something that belonged to him, someone that he gets to come home to every day and someone that asks you questions and listens to the answers and does things for no other reason than he thought it would make you happy, what really were you?

you were alone, and you didn’t have anybody. and now you have andrew, and you think it’s worth fighting for.

you’d been joking to yourself about stockholm syndrome lite, but you’re pretty convinced you’ve got the deluxe version now. though when andrew picks you up, your legs wrapping around his automatically, feeling his hardness press against your wet, clothed cunt, it’s easy to forget about everything else.

andrew brings you into the bedroom and lays you down. you stare at him while you take heavy breaths and try to not pass out from sheer excitement that the thing you’ve been fantasizing about is finally happening. it seems silly, but you want to remember this forever. andrew pulls his shirt off, hovering over you, and you take a hand and press it against his bare skin, traveling up his chest and to his arms and then his forearms. 

your fingertips dig in before running over the veins you’re seeing the full length of for the first time, and above you, andrew closes his eyes and shudders at your touch.

you bookmark it for later—that he enjoys the feeling of his veins being traced, and focus instead on andrew, meeting his eyes again.

he stares at you differently this time—hungry, like all the words you’ve been saying are enough to convince him, finally, that this is a good idea. that this is right. 

you’re half a housewife already, anyways. this is the least you deserve, though you stay quiet, letting andrew decide what he wants to do to you. 

he leans in for another kiss, sweet and gentle, and your body melts into the bed. his hands roam your body, sliding the fabric of your dress up until he can pull it off of you. you lift your arms and head so he can do it easily—not even remotely concerned that you’re naked in front of him now. your hands go to his belt, but he puts his own over yours, taking over. he undoes his belt and pulls it out of the loops, while you stare at him from your position, chewing on your lip and seeing how andrew’s eyes focus on your heaving chest.

and then, unsure if you have even a moment’s more of patience in you, you pull andrew into another kiss and wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist to keep him there.

“inside, please, andrew, inside,” you whine like a demanding, spoiled child, though you haven’t asked andrew for anything all this time. you think he just brings it out in you. 

he murmurs something against your neck while he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses there, something like be patient. 

when you feel his fingers brush over your bare, leaking cunt, your entire body tenses up before melting back into the bed. one rough finger rubs against your clit and you seize up, squealing because you haven’t felt his hands on you in what feels like forever. he continues the motion, rubbing circles while you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, and then just when you’ve lost all sense of what words mean, he pushes a huge finger inside of you. 

“andrew, yes, yes, yes,” you moan, realizing just like in the woods, that you don’t have to be quiet here. you cry out his name when he pushes another one in, plunging the pair in and out of you.

“have to get you ready,” he says, focused like he’s on a mission, not getting strayed by your incessant begging to just put it inside already. he scissors his fingers and keeps rubbing your clit with his thumb and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to give in—you want to stay like this forever, as long as he’ll let you. 

that it feels so good, fulfilling every fantasy you’ve had about him—that he’s a giver and he’s generous and he wouldn’t dream about cumming until you have first. that’s just your andrew, you guess.

when he leans in close to your ear and whispers it to you—can you be good for me? can you cum for me?—that’s when your orgasm hits you without any control behind it. you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted—the white-hot feeling washing over you from head to toe, your cunt squeezing around his fingers. you’re so wet that you must have left a puddle on the sheets, entire body spasming and shaking until andrew slows down his motions. 

he pulls out his fingers and your eyes flutter shut, entire body exhausted—and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. when you blink them open, feeling andrew’s weight on top of you, you catch the ending glimpses of it—him licking your juices from his fingers, enjoying it. like he’s missed the taste of you.

your eyes flutter shut again quickly. 

you pant out words that don’t really make sense—just a request, in as few words as you can manage. inside. andrew. please. 

and he’s nothing if not generous to you. he always listens. you hear andrew’s deep breaths as he positions himself on top of you, taking your legs onto his shoulder as if it’s nothing for him to fold you however he wants. the thought makes you more and more lightheaded.

you bring your hands to his arms to hold on, feeling them pulse under your touch. you think it’ll be impossible to keep you away from him, now that you’re getting a taste of everything you’ve been dreaming about. momentarily, as you feel andrew’s thick head line up with your wet entrance, you think that you’ll never let him leave you. that you don't want him to leave, ever. and if this is how you have to convince him to stay, you’ll do so happily.

and then andrew runs his tip over your cunt, bumping it against your clit and making your body spasm while he collects your wetness, and you forget what you were thinking again. 

he’s so big—every part of him is big, so you should have seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise. the sheer thickness prodding against your hole makes you dig your fingers into his arm, thinking later that you’ll have to apologize for the marks you’re leaving on him. 

andrew uses one hand to guide himself inside, and leans in to kiss you while he does so. and when he pushes inside, sheathing himself fully, resting there while he lets you adjust, you cry out against his lips.

“i know. i know,” he breathes against your mouth, pulling out slightly and making you squeal again. “just relax. you’re-you’re taking it.”

you think it’s meant to reassure you, to remind you that you’re doing good, but it comes out in the form of a groan, like andrew’s realizing just how tight and pent up you really are. he tells you the words like there’s no choice in the matter—that you’re taking all of him whether you can handle it or not.

the thought is enough to make your head thud against the pillow and your eyes roll all the way back. 

“please, andrew,” you whine, leaning in for another kiss. “please-”

not entirely sure what you’re begging for, he complies, like always. he pulls out slowly, and then slams back inside of you, almost as if he can’t control himself.

and really, he can’t. he’s cum to you so many times, spilled over his hand in the truck and in the shower, imagining this very moment. he’ll be surprised if he lasts any longer, the urge to fill you up getting stronger and stronger with each passing minute. 

he keeps going—picking up a brutal pace that brings you further and further away from being level-headed with each thrust. 

you blink open your wet eyes, unsure of when you’d closed them or when you’d started crying, staring at your ankles in the air before focusing on andrew. he’s always been handsome but seeing him like this—flushed and sweaty, curls damp against his forehead, his expression twisted up in pleasure—and the realization that for once, you’re making him feel good is almost enough to tip you over the edge.

you want to look into his eyes, almost laughing internally at how much you’ve changed from not even being able to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds to asking for it while you’re stuffed full of him, but he’s looking somewhere else. 

his eyes are locked on your cunt—where the two of you meet and where you’re swallowing him inside like you were made for him.

maybe, andrew thinks in a lust-blown haze, maybe you were. 

he keeps battering inside of you, hitting a spot somewhere deep inside that you’re not entirely sure had existed. the second orgasm washes over you and leaves you completely feeble—muscles screaming at you as the lightning courses through every nerve. your cunt squeezes and tightens around him, and he groans with pleasure, a noise you want to hold onto forever.

but andrew keeps you in place, even when your eyes shut again. maybe you had passed out, though the thought isn’t exactly surprising. when you open your eyes again, andrew is still going, each grunt getting louder and louder. your fluttering cunt pushes him closer to the edge, and you lock your legs around him. 

when andrew looks at you, you meet his eyes.

“please, andrew, i want it inside,” you plead, and he knows he’s fucked—that he’s never been able to say no to you and he can’t start now. 

inside, it is. the thoughts plague him as his hips stutter—that this could very well be the moment he’s getting you pregnant. the fact that you’re begging for it, and that there’s no knowing how long you’ve wanted this.have you imagined it too? wanting andrew so badly—wanting a family with him, a life with him? half a housewife, half a captive. you’re so much more now, though, something he can’t put words to. 

his. all he needs to know is that you’re his. 

“please,” you cry again, leaning up for a kiss. andrew presses his lips against yours while the pace slows down and his moans get louder. “keep me forever, andrew.”

it’s all he can take—burying his head into your neck while he groans against your skin, giving you every ounce he has. the warmth of his cum fills you up until you can feel it leaking onto the sheets, making a mess of your thighs when andrew finally pulls out. 

he lays next to you, catching his breath and hoping you can catch yours too. 

the reality of everything—his family back home and if they figure out that you’re still alive and what’ll happen if they find out he lied rushes through him, though he wishes he could fight it off to enjoy this for a moment longer.

you’re warm and flushed against him, bringing your head to his chest and leaning there. you two stay silent, though it’s not unusual. 

outside of the doors of this cabin, the real world, with questions that he doesn’t have answers to, awaits. but inside is his own personal paradise, complete with you—fucked out and sleepy and with nothing to worry about if he can help it. you’ve been right all along—he’s kept you safe so far, and there’s nothing and no one that can stop him from taking care of you and protecting you. how a husband protects his wife, he thinks.

“andrew?” you ask quietly, throat sore and entire body exhausted. he looks at you, pressing another kiss to your forehead. 

“yes?”

“does this mean you’ll keep me?”

♡ thanks for reading!

[batsandbirdbrains]

Silly little sort of crack idea for the Justice League who still don’t know who Batman is behind the mask. Like they know nothing about him. A lot of them think he’s a Creature of some sort. They certainly don’t know anything about Dick/Robin, either. But he keeps leaving meetings early or abruptly or just straight up not showing up because, “I have more important obligations.”

So they spy on him. It’s the obvious solution. Because what if he’s really a villain of some sort? Gotham is crazy, they wouldn’t put it past someone from Gotham to pretend to be a hero for some crazy, convoluted plan.

And what they find shocks all of them. Because maybe they snuck a bug on Batman, and it only picks up audio. Batman had just left a meeting early. Again. With no real explanation as to why.

First, they hear mostly static. The sound of since rustling as he moves. Then actual bat noises start echoing, and Barry is convinced that Batman just turned into a bunch of bats.

But then they hear a a tiny little voice shouting, “B! We’re gonna be late!” followed by the sound of something colliding with Batman.

And then Batman chuckles. It scares the crap out of all of them. They didn’t think Batman could have emotions outside of anger and annoyance.

“I know, chum, I’m sorry.”

“You said your dumb meetings were only supposed to be two hours!”

“They are,” Batman huffs. “Flash likes to chitchat.”

Barry scoffs. What’s wrong with chit chatting!

“We’re gonna be late!” the child’s voice whines. “I don’t wanna get in trouble!”

“Alright, alright,” Batman laughs. “We’re leaving now, let’s go. Do you have all your gear together?”

“It’s already in the car!” the child huffs. “Let’s go!”

The noise that follows is muffled, and they can tell that Batman has changed out of his gear and they’re now in a car, driving in the road. The radio is playing, and it’s causing some static in the feed.

“And you promise you won’t yell this time?” the boy’s voice whines.

“So long as they don’t make any shit calls this time,” Batman scoffs.

“Language, sir,” another voice says, and they hear the child giggling.

Hal asks the others if Batman has a henchman. They all shush him so they can keep listening.

The noise that follows soon after is full of other people talking, shouting, and loudspeaker announcements. Everything is muffled together, it’s hard to make out what exactly is being said. But one thing becomes very clear.

Batman is coaching a little league game.

And he’s getting very heated about it.

“YOU CALL THAT A STRIKE?”

“HE WAS SAFE! THAT WASN’T AN OUT! NO, NO, THIS INNING IS NOT OVER.”

“OH COME ON, HE TAGGED HIM! THAT KID’S OUT!”

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ EYES CHECKED, BLUE!”

They hear Batman get ejected. From a little league game. They hear grumbling to himself as he watches from the car in the parking lot.

Then they hear the same little boy whining and complaining when the door opens again an hour later and he slumps into the car.

“You promised you wouldn’t yell!”

“I wouldn’t have had to yell if the umpires opened their damn eyes!”

“Language like that is what got you thrown out of the game, sir. Again.”

“It’s only happened twice!”

“It’s only the fifth game of the season!” the little boy whines. “And you promised me ice cream if we won.”

“Did you win?”

“Duh,” the boy scoffs. “9 to 3!”

“Attaboy,” Batman says, and he sounds so proud.

They stop listening then, because one thing has become very clear. Batman is a dad. And he’s constantly leaving meetings early because of obligations to his kid. And suddenly they all feel like assholes.

A couple months later, they’re all introduced to a little boy called Robin. And they can’t figure out how Batman’s son is so cute and sweet. But they absolutely can tell he’s Batman’s, because he’s also scary as shit.

[allsteddie]

This is a sequel to this post.

Still thinking about single dad Eddie and little Corey.

Thinking about how Corey, once he’s discharged from the hospital, would look for excuses to go back and see Steve.

He’d scrape his knees falling from his bike just to go back home yelling, “Dad, we need to go to the hospital! I’m bleeding!!”

And Eddie would rush towards his son, thinking the worst must have happened, and find Corey looking at him expectantly, showing his scraped knees. There’s barely any blood coming out of them.

“Sorry kid, I’m not paying over a hundred bucks for someone to spray antiseptic and put a couple of band-aids over that.”

And Corey would get all moody and annoyed because he was hurt and when you’re hurt you have to go to the hospital so you can get better, but his dad was not taking him seriously and he wouldn’t be able to see Steve because of that.

Then one day Corey falls from the jungle gym at school and breaks his arm. The school calls Eddie as soon as the nurse there checks on the boy’s injury and realizes he’s gonna need a cast.

Eddie leaves work in mild panic, picks Corey up and goes straight to the hospital. It breaks Eddie’s heart how his son is in so much pain he’s not even making any noise. He’s just holding his arm against his chest with his good hand and biting hard on his lip, the tears silently rolling down his red cheeks.

They get to the hospital in record time and, even panicked as he is, Eddie manages to fill all the forms the woman on the front desk hands him. They lead Corey and Eddie to a separate room and ask them to wait for the nurse to come and see them.

Corey is still crying quietly, holding his arm and not looking at Eddie at all and Eddie wants to scream in frustration. It’s not fair his son has to endure this much pain, what kind of parent is he if he can’t even protect his own son?

Eddie is spiraling down that chain of thought when the door opens and Steve’s suddenly right there.

“Corey, my man, what are you doing here?” the nurse asks softly.

And Corey just breaks when he hears Steve’s voice. His lower lip trembles for a second, then he’s wailing, sobs so loud Eddie can’t even understand what his son is trying to say.

“What is it, buddy? Talk to me.”

“It-it hu-urts,” the boy sobs, finally letting go of his arm and trusting Steve to make it better. “I fe-ell and no-ow it hu-urts.”

With all the care in the world, Steve touches the boy’s wrist to assess the injury. That done, he pulls a tissue from his scrubs’ pocket and gently wipes the tears from Corey’s face.

“I’m gonna help you, sweetheart, I promise. It’s gonna be alright.”

Corey’s eyes are still bright with tears, but he still nods and sits there quietly while Steve works on his arm.

And it’s right there, as he watches the nurse take care of his kid with such gentleness, that Eddie decides he’s gonna marry Steve someday. He just needs to find a way to ask the man out first.

[dollyzdaydreamz]

sam winchester x fem!reader

tramp sammy stamp

description: your tattoo artist friend suggests doing a 'random' henna tattoo on your lower back out of boredom. when you return to the motel, your semi-permanent tramp stamp practically turns sams brain into mush. reader has 'sammy' on her lower back aaa (::>_<::) warnings: no nsfw, but slightly suggestive, fluff. spn masterlist

You and the boys were on a hunt in your hometown, so you figured you’d give your childhood friend a visit. Sam and Dean were oblivious to the fact that she knew you were a hunter. The poor girl had been caught up in one too many of your half assed lies and near death experiences when creatures had decided to hunt you back; so naturally, the secret had to get out somehow.

Her tattoo studio was tucked between a shuttered record shop and pawn store on the edge of town, its windows fogged by condensation. It was dim, but cozy in its own way. The walls were a patchwork of old band posters, ink designs pinned like sketches in your hunter journal, and a few faded Polaroids of past clients who’d braved bolder choices.

You were curled up on a faded leather couch in the front room, a chipped mug of hot chocolate cooling in your hand.

She was finishing a walk-in tattoo, leaving you to your thoughts, until your phone buzzed quietly on your thigh.

Sammy (2:43 PM)

Just checking in. You doing okay?

You smiled and gave him a call, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sam echoed on the other end, his voice soft and familiar. There was a quiet rustle. Paper maybe, or an old book, then a sigh. “Just wanted to make sure you got there alright.”

“I did. She’s finishing up a piece. I’m just chilling here waiting,” You reply. "It was snowing a little last time I checked. You keeping warm?" He asked. “Yeah. Hot chocolate’s questionable, but it’s hot.” you chuckled softly.

He huffed a short laugh, and you could picture him, probably hunched over an old lore book, elbows on the table, sleeves rolled up.

“That’s good.” A pause. You could hear Dean faintly in the background, and the distant creak of motel floorboards. “I miss you.”

That pulled at something quiet inside you, making you smile, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Alright,” he murmured. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Bye Sammy.”

You ended the call just as your friend stepped back into the room, tugging off a pair of gloves. She eyed your expression with a grin.

“Sammy? That your guy again?”

You nodded. “Just checking in.”

She grinned, amused, “He’s the moose, right?”

You lifted a brow, “Moose?”

She smirked. “Tall, broad shoulders, hair like he lives in a forest?”

You paused, “Huh, I suppose he does look like a moose.”

She plopped down in the armchair across from you. “Yeah, I've see him and his brother around town. He seems good for you.”

You exhaled slowly, “He is. He’s smart and sweet. Sometimes it’s like he’s thinking five steps ahead but never makes you feel behind.”

“Bagged yourself a fellow nerd.”

“Yeah,” You sigh dreamily, “A cute nerd.”

She chuckled before leaning back, tapping her chin, “You bored?”

You shrugged, “A little. Why?”

“Wanna let me give you a henna tattoo?”

You hesitated, then gave a faint smile. “Ah, why not?”

“Dealer’s choice?”

You nod, "Yeah. I mean I trust your artistic instinct." She perked up at that, "Let's do one on your lower back! Like a cute little tramp stamp?"

“Go ahead," You shrug. "Something small though.” 

You shifted to lie down on your stomach, pulling your blouse up just enough to give her space to work. The cool touch of henna paste startled you at first, but the process was slow and relaxing, the way she always was when she had a brush in hand.

She didn’t tell you what she was painting. Just chatted with you idly and occasionally adjusted your shirt. When it finally dried and she wiped off the excess, she handed you a mirror and let you see it.

A delicate bunny and moose, outlined with just enough detail to make them whimsical, sat in the small of your back. Above them, written in careful script: Sammy.

“You know what? This is the most wholesome tramp stamp I’ve ever seen.” You laughed quietly. “Why the rabbit?”

She grinned. “Hm, I guess you remind me of one. And like I said, that Sammy of yours is obviously a moose.”

You glanced back in the mirror, the figures sweet and strangely personal. “It’s adorable, thank you.”

“Anytime.”

By the time you two finished catching up it was getting late. 

As you gathered your things, your friend caught a peak of the tattoo and snickered,

“Something funny?” You sassed, slipping on your boots and looking back to her smug expression.

“Sammy's gonna love it,” She whispered as she pulled you into a hug. 

“Shut up,” You grumble, though you hugged her tighter anyway.

By the time you returned to the motel, the sky had dulled into twilight, the clouds washed in violet and gray. The scent of motel soap clung faintly in the air, and you could hear the bathroom fan running. Dean was probably washing up, taking advantage of the steam showers the receptionist was raving out. Sam was sat at the table, a book open in front of him, lamp light catching the edges of his hair.

He looked up as you came in. That quiet smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey. Have fun?” He asked, voice soft, eyes already on you like you’d been gone longer than just a few hours.

You nodded, toeing off your boots. “Yeah. She just wanted to catch up for a bit.”

“Mm.” His eyes lingered on you, then dipped back to the book, fingers absently turning a page. “Can you grab that old journal from the top shelf? The leather one with the green spine.”

You crossed the room, lifting your arms to reach the shelf. The hem of your shirt rose slightly with the motion.

And that’s when you heard it.

A sharp inhale. The sound of paper crinkling under a suddenly too-tight grip.

You turned, journal in hand. Sam was staring, not in the way he meant to, more like his eyes had found something and were refusing to let go. His mouth parted slightly, brows drawn like he couldn’t quite process what he’d just seen.

“Sam? You alright?” you asked, beginning to worry that he’d seen some sort of vision. 

He blinked fast, dragging his eyes up to yours like he was trying to catch up. “What? Yeah—I’m fine,” he said, voice wavering. He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the book like it could ground him. His leg had started bouncing.

You nodded, still unconvinced, but you didn’t wanna push it. You crossed the room to hand him that book he wanted, before getting ready for bed.

A few minutes later, you lay on his bed, facing him to get some shut eye, it was weird, but sometimes just watching work or do something quietly helped you fall asleep.

“Hey—did you...get a tattoo or somethin’?” he asked after a moment.

You glanced over your shoulder, then remembered, “Oh. Not a real one, it’s just henna,” you shrugged. “We were bored, so she gave me one.”

“Oh,” he nodded, lips pressed together like he didn’t trust them to say more. But his fingers fiddled with the corner of the page, restless.

So it was the tattoo that rattled him...

You felt a little grin tug at your lips, wanting to revel in the attention a little more. So you got up, padded toward him and lifted your sleep shirt just enough to show him the full thing, “Do you like it?”

Sam blinked, mouth opening, but nothing came out for a second. "Sammy?"

He cleared his throat when you turned back around, eyebrows quirked at his dazed expression.

“Yeah, it’s hot—or cute. If that’s—what you were going for…” He sputtered.

“Thanks,” you bit back a laugh. "So when are you gonna finish up?" You asked, sitting on his lap to push the brown locks out of his face, grinning at the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes closed, seemingly melting into your hands. "Mm, I don't know, soon," he murmured, face tilting to give your wrist a little kiss. "Could've gotten a real tattoo in all the time you've been sitting here," you chuckled. Sam's head was nearly lolling back, sleep beginning to overtake him as you continued to gently stroke his hair when you leaned into his ear to speak again, “I was never into tramp stamps but, I don't know, this one’s like my little Sammy stamp,” You whisper. His big brown eyes shot open. You could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he tried to process what you just said. You weren’t sure if it was the nickname, the location of the tattoo, or the casualness in your voice, but something short-circuited in that big beautiful brain of his.

You leaned down, lips almost brushing his.

And then—

You pulled back with a soft yawn, blinking sleepily as you got up off his lap. “I think I’m gonna get some shut-eye.”

Sam stared up at you,

"Wha—Seriously?” his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

You stifled another yawn, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too obviously. “Yeah, it’s late and I’m tired.”

He gave you a flat, betrayed look, the corner of his mouth twitching in spite of himself. “You—” He scoffed, falling back against the chair back, “You planned that, didn’t you?” He was met with silence as you settled on the bed with your arms folded under your chin. The hem of your shirt rode up again, but you didn’t bother adjusting it, resting your cheek on your arm with a barely concealed smile and close your eyes. You let him stew in it, content in the knowledge that your little tattoo was doing exactly what your friend hoped.

Sam tried to read. Really, he did. But he kept tapping the same sentence with his pen. He felt his gaze drifting again, never quite landing, but never quite staying away either.

His thoughts were a mess.

Yeah, maybe it would fade, but it was his name. On your lower back. In a spot usually reserved for something…private.

And you looked so damn content. Like it didn’t even occur to you that it might be even the slightest bit suggestive.

…this ones like my little Sammy stamp

He groaned under his breath, before rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the page harder, “Sammy stamp...” he muttered with a huff, "Christ."

A few hours passed and Sam was finally calmed down. Dean had long since emerged and flopped onto the far bed, snoring within minutes. Sam finally shut the lore book, brain too fried to keep going.

Sam turned, and there you were. Curled into his bed, face smushed into the arm tucked under your cheek, the other draped loosely off the edge.

He moved quietly, slipping in behind you. The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled in, his body curving gently against yours. His hand brushed your back lightly, the way that usually helped you stay asleep. Then his fingers dipped to trace the soft shapes adorning the small of your back.

He hadn’t really looked at the design earlier, been too busy short-circuiting over his name. But now, in the moonlight peeking through the curtains, he saw what was etched below his name: a little rabbit, leaning up to a moose. 

Sam's fingers gently pressed on the animals. He tilted his head, it sorta reminded him of the two of you. Then he huffed in amusement as the realization hit him, of course it was you and him.

He tucked his nose into your shoulder and closed his eyes, the steady rhythm of your breathing slowly pulling him under, falling asleep behind you with a little smile on his lips.

don't be shy, lmk what you think ! `(*>﹏<*)′ justice for tramp stamps frl, if i could get a tattoo, i'd get one there. they can be so dainty and cuttte. i'm still working on the fairy!reader fics for sam and dean + some requests i've gotten :)

[skellymom]

As a parent, I watched a lot of stuff with my kiddo. Still do and they are 29 years old now. Yes, I made sure to know if it was too sexual or violent. This was a time just as programming was specifically being targeted for certain age groups. In my generation (old Gen-X) there wasn't a lot out there.

Since then it's tough to find programming that is deep and pushes boundaries while specifically made for children/young adults of any age. They exist but are outliers. A lot of stuff "for kids" is rather watered down and not very challenging, often lacking nuance. Of course a lot of "adult" programming is too.

Other than marketed to sell toys and merch (See Netflix's "The Toys That Made Us") people at least in the US are used to popping their child in front of the TV because they are busy or for distraction. So kids shows are babysitters. That's ok I guess, but it has it's limits.

SOME shows considered "adult viewing" if watched together with parents/guardians might start an age appropriate discussion and it's good for kids to learn. Heck even adults can have some thought provoking viewing and discussion. I encourage young and older adults to have viewing parties and discussions about the media they consume.

I understand it's different for each child, however I think our programming is suffering because we cater too much to only specific demographics and are losing deep nuance within media. Same with specific adult programming. Adults deserve animated media too, as it's not just for child viewers. And I think some adults get upset making the mistake that every animated show is kid appropriate only.

Children DESERVE nuance in their programming. They also benefit from adults taking the time to view with them, check in occasionally while viewing to see if the child is troubled by the content, or pause the programming (if possible) to discuss what's going on. And the child has the POWER to say "Let's keep watching" or "Turn it off".

I call it SLOW VIEWING.

This doesn't just allow children the opportunity to learn or have deep conversations regarding the media, but they get to control and create their own viewing experience. It empowers them to use their judgement and voice.

Of course parents can choose to override the choice if things get too crazy or otherwise during viewing. But I advise that ground rules are gone over with the child ahead of time...just like any other learning experience during their journey of growth.

I was raised that way and our daughter too. It really allows the child to trust their parents, and they feel safe talking to them because of the encouragement to speak freely while navigating their emotional landscape and maturity. My 29 year old STILL loves to discuss the media after watching it with us!❤️✨

(Thanks for coming to my TED Talk 😉😆)

hot take possibly? but i actually think it’s okay for things to be marketed for adults. it’s literally okay if things aren’t suitable for children. i feel like we are losing the plot

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ I’m gonna get you pregnant

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ lots of crack lol, fluff, this is for the anon who requested it, funniest idea ever

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You say the weirdest things out of love for them

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- He’s so unserious about it that he’s delighted. His eyes literally sparkle. You say it once when he brings you cocoa with a heart drawn in cinnamon and fluff-kisses your pillow into the perfect cloud shape, and you go, “I’m gonna get you pregnant.”

- He gasps dramatically.

“Promise?”

- Now he tries to make you say it all the time. And will burst out laughing every. single. time. Will start teasing you first just to bait the line.

“Want me to fluff your pillow again, my love? Maybe even… carry your cocoa like a butler?”

- When you say it, he’ll swoon and pretend to faint.

“My pretty housewife wants to make me a mama… I knew this day would come.”

- He’ll draw it on canvases. “I’m gonna get you pregnant” written in cute fonts over paintings of you in a tiara. He thinks it’s hilarious.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- He freezes the first time you say it. Literally just… mid sip of his black coffee, blinking over the rim of the mug like “You’re going to what?”

- You’re curled in his lap in your silk robe and he just finished fluffing your pillows with surgical precision before handing you cocoa with two crushed pink mallows exactly how you like it.

- You grin, “I’m gonna get you pregnant,” and he just goes completely quiet.

- “That’s biologically impossible.”

- But now it’s your Thing. He’ll start doing things extra perfect just to hear you say it again, secretly dying of laughter inside.

- Eventually, when you say it for the tenth time, he’ll murmur dryly, “I hope you’ll take responsibility for me then,” while tucking your hair behind your ear and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- He doesn’t even question it. First time you say it, you’re in bed with your legs tangled under a mountain of silk throws, and he just came back from the kitchen with a tray: warm cocoa with whipped cream and a marshmallow smiley face.

- You take one look and sigh dreamily, “I’m gonna get you pregnant.”

- He blinks, tilts his head, and goes:

“…Will it hurt?”

- He’s completely serious and a little worried until you burst out laughing and kiss his cheeks.

- From then on, whenever he does something cute and you say it, he’ll reply “Only if you give me child support” in the softest sleepy voice.

- If he’s feeling especially clingy, he’ll mumble, “Then I’ll get you pregnant too,” and immediately fall asleep on your chest.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- He smirks the first time you say it. He had just arranged an entire breakfast spread in the solarium and added your favorite strawberry rose tea and a velvet cushion for your chair. He didn’t even say a word, he just stood behind you, poured your tea for you, and kissed your head.

- You looked up, heart full, and went, “I’m gonna get you pregnant.”

- Cue Sylus’ slow smirk.

“You’d need to work very hard for that, and be smart enough to develop some very interesting technology, kitten.”

- He LOVES that you say it. Becomes an inside joke. He waits for it. If you don’t say it after he’s done something sweet, he’ll nudge:

“What? No love declaration? I’m offended.”

- He’ll whisper it back to you in bed too. Right in your ear.

“I’m gonna get you pregnant, pretty girl. Oh wait…” (he’s the worst.)

- He honestly starts laughing to himself at the random way times when he remembers

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- He nearly chokes the first time. He was fixing the bow on your silk robe and made you cocoa in a mug with both your initials. You looked so happy you cuddled into him and with the cheekiest grin whispered, “I’m gonna get you pregnant.”

- He stiffens. Immediately checking you for fever.

“…Baby. That’s not medically accurate.”

- When you giggle, he realizes it’s a joke and softens instantly. Cradles your face.

“You’re not allowed to joke like that.”

- He secretly LOVES it once it’s grown on her, Like, he likes to exaggerate by wearing one of your fluffy shawls and giggling like you do him when he flirts with you.

- He’ll start teasing back, like:

“You want me barefoot in the Skyhaven mansion while you go to work, princess? Hm?”

…While keeping you locked in said mansion, of course.

[krispdreemurr]

This might be old news to Kris scholars, but it just occurred to me that Toriel saying "Kris does this sometimes" probably refers specifically to them washing their hands for a long time (not just them disappearing from social situations/locking themselves away, as I originally thought).

I'm basing this on the fact that the chapter 4 egg room has the "you can never wash it all away" line, and how if you check the sink in Rudy's room he asks Kris if they're "practicing for tonight's handwashing marathon" implying it's a habit they're known for.

idk if I have a point here but the handwashing thing seems like something to watch.

huh yeah. they have some weird recurrent thing going on with hand washing specifically don't they. are they ok.

[truths33k3r4]

After making the title cards for "The Mutation Situation", "I Care", and "Indie TMNT", I decided to make some for the rest of my comic dubs! :) Here's what I have for "3 Months" and "Shadows of Our Past"! All credit for the writing and illustrations goes to the creators of these comics:

3 Months - @hatekawa

Shadows of Our Past - @concerningamountofcrows and @gremlinscomics

If you guys have the time, please go check out all these talented creators- Their art and stories are really good! :)

These were a lot of fun to make! I think my favorite is Shadows of Our Past Episode 2. Hehe It looks so cool and creepy! Props to the illustrator!

Hope you all are having a great day/night~ And thank you so much for all those who are participating in my SIW Expression Challenge! I've gotten so many requests from you guys and I can't wait to draw them. :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

[14-opossums-in-a-trenchcoat]

First of all, OP I apologize for this, I just saw too much people misgendering Kris lately. Rant below.

@themysteriousauthor18 Toby Fox just never fucking said that ?! Kris's gender isn't "up to interpretation" because they're a silent protagonist, do you think Chell's gender is up to interpretation because she's silent and no one said "she's a GIRL" ?

Fictional characters usually are their pronouns's gender unless stated otherwise (for example Odile from In Stars And Time uses she/her pronouns but the dev said her gender was up to viewer's interpretation) but Toby Fox 1) corrected people on Kris's pronouns, and 2) never said their gender was up to interpretation. He also has a lot of other nonbinary (or genderless for the kids) characters, like Seam, Napstablook, Monster Kid, Chara and Frisk, etc. So Kris is nonbinary, you just made your argument the fuck up. And don't go "Kris is a self-insert" we both know that's not true, one would need to be extremely stupid to say that after chapter 3&4.

Also YES, I am very serious about this, I know, I don't usually go into discourse like that but I'm fed up of people saying horseshit about Kris's gender. Misgendering a fictional character isn't going to hurt the character but you know, people don't like it when you disrespect their blorbos or liked characters.

Also I checked your blog (originally to know your pronouns but of course you don't have that in your bio) and you are a frans shipper, so please interact the less possible, I don't like people who support pedophilia.

Edit : boi look at this breaking news : they have a personnality ! So we basically know they're their own person, are in control of their thoughts, have a personnality, had a life before us, can somehow communicate and are explicitely referred to with they/them. So that makes their gender pretty clear, actually. If their personnality isn't up to interpretation their gender isn't either

Fun fact, to calm a person, just do something random.

Thank you Susie.

[ladymarvel27]

A minor incident | Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x journalist!Reader

Description: You lost your precious necklace.

Word Count: 700+

f1 masterlist

She rushed to the Red Bull garage with a thick bundle of papers in her hand only to strongly bump into one and only, du-du-du-ru, Max Verstappen. “I am sorry,” he chuckles as he helps her pick up the paper

“No, I am sorry,” she says as she hastily collects all the papers from the ground. His eyes landed on her necklace, “Your necklace is pretty.” Her fingers lightly brush the small necklace as she says a small “thank you,” and both of them leaves in rush.

In fact, the whole paddock was in rush. Thursdays are busy for the drivers, the PRs and her, the media.

Drivers had lined up for their interviews for each channel one by one. She had papers filled up with questions to ask for each of the drivers.

By the time the last driver, Max Verstappen arrived, she was exhausted, and so was he, asking and answering all these questions, mostly repetitive or silly.

She sighed in relief when the camera turned off and she could breathe. She was about to leave when Max brushed her shoulders lightly, making her turn around. “You’re not wearing you necklace?” He asks, pointing to his neck. She placed her hand on her collarbones to check for her necklace but didn’t felt it’s presence.

“It must have fell off when I bumped-” “Me,” he completed her sentence, “I am so sorry.”

“No-no-no, it’s clasp was already so loose,” she waves her hand, giving him assurance, “must have slipped off. I should go and check there.”

“I should help you search for it,” “You don’t have to, really,” “Oh, please let me help, you probably lost it in the red bull garage.” She shook her head, “You have a point.”

“Gosh, can’t find it!” She groaned, stepping up on the curb when she disbalanced, twisting her ankle. She was about to hit the ground when Max rushes to her side, “Whoa,” he immediately caught her and scooped her up his arms. She winced in pain.

“Are you fine?” She gritted her teeth, nodding slowly. “You’re not walking on that,” “Wait— you don’t have to—” she argues but Max tightened his grip around her. “I know I don’t have to,” he smirked. A wave of crimson washed over her face. She didn’t knew if it was from embarrassment or the way his arms felt around her.

Ten minutes later, she was sitting on a chair with leg propped on a chair, ice wrapped around her ankle. Yuki was hearing her talk through the sequence of events. “Are you fine now?” He asked.

“Yeah. But I lost my necklace.”

“Oh,” he says, giving, “Don’t worry, it was just a necklace. The important thing is you are fine.”

Her shoulders slumped, “It’s just…it was given by my mom.” Just then, Max entered.

“Hey Max,” Yuki spoke to him. Max waves at him and stands awkwardly. He rubs the back of his neck and spoke, “Yuki? Umm… Christian was looking for you.” "Take care," Yuki says to you and leaves.

“Where were you?” She asked. Max puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out her necklace. “Went looking for this.”

“Omg Max, you found it!” She exclaimed with a bright smile on her face. Seeing her happiness, Max chuckles and hand her the necklace.

“Thank you so much,” she chimed and take it from him. “You’re welcome. By the way, how’s your ankle?” “Much better than before.” They both look down on her ankle which was a little swollen from the sprain.

“Can you walk?” He asks. She nods slowly and tries standing up, limping lightly as she walks. He immediately rushes to her side. “I should drop you to hotel.”

“No Max, I can-” “No, you’re not going alone. I will make sure to drop you by entrance.”

“But-” “No buts, you aren’t going by yourself like this, not on my watch.”

He stops his car in front of her hotel. “How is it now?” He asks pointing to her ankle. “It’s a lot better than before. Thanks Max, you helped me so much,” she spoke unbuckling her seatbelt. “Take care,” he says. She comes out of his car and closes the door, “good night, Max.” He greets her ‘good night.’

Just when she is walking away, Max calls her name. She turns to see him rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks flushed, “I was wondering if…” he hesitates, the crimson washing over his cheeks, “you want to grab coffee tomorrow morning.” She smiles brightly, “Of course Max.” “Great then. See you tomorrow morning, good night.” She waves him, “See you, good night!” She chimes brightly as she slowly walks into hotel. Max drives away, with a big smile on his face.

Taglist: @ice-man-goes-bwoah @itsjustvs4

Seperators credits: @saradika-graphics

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 12

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6k

warning: language

hey gang soooooo sorry for the constant delays DBASHAHSA ive js been too lazy as its so fkn cold 😭 i didnt edit this so it might be a a lil outta place so um yurrrrr... anways hope u guys enjoy and thank u guys for ur patience !

‼️‼️this wasn’t edited

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

Paige stirred first, eyes fluttering open slowly, muscles stiff from the long day before but the first thing she noticed wasn’t the dull throb in her ankle.

It was the gentle weight of Azzi’s arm wrapped around her waist, her face tucked against Paige’s collarbone, breath warm and even.

Paige didn’t move at first.

She just stared up at the ceiling, heart full in a quiet way that felt peaceful and grounded.

Then Azzi shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent before her eyes blinked open too.

“Morning Az,” Paige said softly, her voice still scratchy from sleep.

Azzi blinked at her for a second, then smiled lazily. “Mmmm you’re still here.”

“Didn’t plan on sneaking out,” Paige said with a sleepy smirk.

Azzi yawned and nuzzled closer. “Good, cause you’re warm.”

Paige huffed a soft laugh, brushing a hand gently down Azzi’s back. “You drool by the way.”

Azzi pulled back, eyes wide. “What ?”

Paige grinned. “Kidding.”

Azzi gave her a light shove. “You’re lucky you’re crippled.”

Paige just chuckled, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Speaking of… I gotta go see the trainer this morning. They wanna check my ankle properly.”

Azzi propped herself up on 1 elbow, the smile slipping into concern. “Has it gotten worse ?”

“Nah,” Paige shook her head. “Just protocol. Gotta make sure nothing’s torn and that.”

Azzi nodded, then pushed herself fully upright. “Welp, let’s get moving then. You wanna brush first or me ?”

Paige swung her legs over the side of the bed carefully. “You go. I need to fish my toothbrush outta my bag anyway.”

Azzi walked over to the sink and grabbed her toothbrush, starting her morning routine while Paige limped over to her bag and dug around until her fingers closed around the familiar grip of her toothbrush and toothpaste.

Azzi rinsed and stepped aside with a grin. “Your turn limping legend.”

Paige rolled her eyes playfully and took her spot in front of the mirror. “Don’t make me throw hands at yoou.”

Azzi laughed as she started pulling her hair into a loose bun while Paige brushed her teeth, both of them moving in a quiet, easy rhythm like it wasn’t the first time they’d done this together.

Once they were done and Paige had stuffed her toothbrush back into her bag, she slung it over her shoulder carefully. “Alright, I’m gonna head to my dorm real quick, drop this off before I go to the facility.”

Azzi was already slipping her shoes on. “Lemme drive you.”

Paige blinked. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Azzi said, grabbing her keys from the desk. “But I want to. Easier on your ankle.”

Paige hesitated, then nodded, touched. “Ok. Thanks.”

They made their way to the door, still quiet. Right before Azzi opened it, she turned, puckering her lips.

Paige raised a brow, then smirked. “You asking for something ?”

Azzi didn’t answer, instead just kept her lips puckered.

Paige leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “There. Satisfied ?”

Azzi beamed. “Very.”

They stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them.

The drive was only short as Azzi pulled up in front of Paige’s dorm building, putting the car in park as Paige shifted in the passenger seat, her bag resting across her lap.

“I’ll just run this up real quick,” Paige started, already reaching for the handle.

Azzi stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait—give me your key.”

Paige blinked. “What ?”

“I’ll take your bag in for you. You don’t need to be limping around more than necessary.”

“I’m fine,” Paige said, but her voice was half-hearted.

Azzi tilted her head. “Come on. Be lazy for once. Let someone do something for you.”

Paige hesitated, fingers brushing over the zipper of her duffle. “I don’t know. My room’s kinda messy.”

Azzi smirked. “Pretty sure I’ve seen worse. Plus, I’m not judging you. I’ve literally drooled on you, apparently.”

Paige snorted, then sighed in defeat, digging into the front pocket of her bag and pulling out the dorm key. “You better not snoop.”

“No promises,” Azzi said brightly, grabbing the bag and hopping out of the car.

Paige watched her jog up the front steps and disappear inside. She leaned back in the seat, rolling her eyes with a grin, heart light.

A few minutes later, Azzi returned, slightly flushed from the stairs.

“Bag’s dropped off. I didn’t even trip over anything.”

“You want a medal ?” Paige teased as Azzi slid back into the driver’s seat.

“Nah,” Azzi said, pulling back out onto the road, “but maybe just a quick kiss will do”

Paige glanced over with a teasing smirk. “If you say so.”

Azzi grinned, leaning over brushing her lips softly against Paige’s. The kiss was light and quick but it made Paige’s chest tighten in a good way.

Pulling back, Paige caught Azzi’s eyes and gave a small, satisfied smile. 

Azzi pulled into the pakring lot outside the training facility, easing the car into a spot near the front. The engine went low for a moment before she turned it off. The quiet settled in again.

Paige moved to undo her seatbelt, but Azzi glanced over. “You sure you don’t want help getting in ?”

Paige shook her head. “I’m good. I’ve limped through worse.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it.

Paige looked at her for a moment, her fingers resting lightly on the handle. “Hey… thanks. For letting me stay last night. And for driving. And for… all of it.”

Azzi’s expression softened immediately. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know,” Paige said, her voice quiet. “But I wanted to.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she leaned in slowly, and Paige met her halfway. The kiss was soft and simple. The press of lips, warm and easy, like it belonged there.

When they pulled apart, Azzi smiled. “You sure you’re ok ?”

Paige nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I am.”

She pushed the door open and stepped out carefully, grabbing the edge for balance. Azzi watched her go until Paige turned back, flashing 1 more look through the window.

The doors of the facility slid open as Paige stepped inside. She limped toward the training room, her steps slow but steady.

Inside, Aubrey and Caroline were already lounging by the front corner of the room, both of them scrolling on their phones.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Aubrey called, her gaze flicking up with a knowing smirk.

Caroline grinned. “Someone’s glowing.”

Paige rolled her eyes as she made her way over. “Relax.”

“Not judging,” Caroline said, eyes wide with faux innocence. “Just observing.”

“You two are so annoying,” Paige muttered, settling onto the treatment table while one of the trainers came over to take a look at her ankle.

The girls stayed nearby as the trainer asked a few questions, gently rotated her foot, and pressed along her tendon. Paige winced a little but gritted through it.

“Nothing torn,” the trainer said, finally straightening up. “But there’s some swelling we need to manage. We’re going to get you in a boot for at least three weeks—no games during that time. After that, we’ll reassess and clear you based on how it’s healing.”

Paige nodded, jaw tight but unsurprised. “Got it.”

As the trainer moved away to grab the boot, Aubrey leaned closer. “So… last night ?”

Paige didn’t look up. “What about it ?”

“Oh don’t play dumb,” Caroline said, kicking lightly at Paige’s uninjured foot. “You stayed at Azzi’s.”

“You’re acting like that’s news,” Paige muttered.

“It’s not,” Aubrey said, smug. “But details are.”

Caroline wiggled her brows. “Sooooooooo… have you asked her out yet ?”

Paige hesitated for a beat. “Yea.”

A beat of silence. Then both of them squealed.

“Oh my god,” Caroline practically shouted. “You finally grew a pair !”

“About time !” Aubrey added, smiling wide “What she say ?”

Paige smirked a little. “She said yes.”

“Of course she did,” Caroline said, flopping back dramatically into teh seat. “You two are disgusting.”

“We need to do something fun for the date,” Aubrey said, already slipping into planner mode. “Something cute. Low effort, since you’re kinda crippled for the tme being”

“Rude,” Paige muttered, adjusting the new moon boot the trainer was strapping on.

Caroline perked up. “What about a lil picnic ? Something private and sweet.”

“Oooooooo” Aubrey nodded. “Under that big tree at the great lawn ? That spot is always empty.”

“And we could help set it up,” Caroline added, already scheming. “You just show up and be charming.”

Paige tilted her head. “I like that. But how do we get Azzi there without her suspecting anything ?”

Aubrey’s smile turned mischievous. “Leave that to us. I’ll get KK and Ice in on it too. Caroline can tell Azzi she needs her help filming something for our team page. Then yea, walk her right to the setup.”

Caroline nodded, delighted. “It’ll be perfect. Blankets, candles, fruits, snacks…”

“And it’s lowkey,” Aubrey said. “Which is very you.”

Paige tried to play it cool, but her smirk gave her away. “You guys are really doing all this ?”

Aubrey shrugged. “What are friends for if not scheming for your romantic benefit ?”

“You know I could’ve just taken her to get food or something,” Paige said, half-laughing.

“Boring,” Caroline said. “This is memorable.”

Paige sat back as the boot was finally fastened, stretching her leg out and glancing down at it with a sigh. “Guess I’m out forra bit.”

“Yea,” Aubrey said gently. “But at least your love life is finally in shape.”

Paige gave her a look, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. “You’re an idiot.”

Caroline nudged Paige’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of everything. You just focus on showing up.”

“Yea,” Aubrey added with a grin. “Let us handle the magic.”

Paige didn’t say anything at first, instead just gave them both a look.

Because she trusted them with this.

“We’re doing it tonight,” Caroline said suddenly, clapping her hands once.

Paige blinked. “Wait, seriously ?”

“No time like the present,” Aubrey said, already unlocking her phone. “You think we’re gonna let this moment go dry ? Please.”

Caroline leaned over her shoulder, grinning. “Let’s start a group chat.”

Aubrey’s fingers flew across the screen.

Aubrey: date night is happening tn for lil paigey and its gonna be a surprise setup cs azzi dk 

Aubrey: we need candles, blankets, snacks 

Aubrey: u in ?

Caroline: location is at that massive tree on the great lawn 

Caroline: we want romance not chaos

Just as they hit send, the doors swung open and in walked KK and Ice, mid-convo and mid-laugh, both of them fresh from the recovery sesh they’d just finished.

“Speak of the devils,” Caroline muttered, hopping off her seat.

KK narrowed her eyes immediately. “Why do you three look like you’re about to commit something ?”

“We need you,” Aubrey said dramatically, standing to meet them halfway.

“Ok, now I’m scared,” Ice said, raising a brow.

“It’s for Paige,” Caroline jumped in, already bouncing with energy. “She asked Azzi out. It’s happening. Tonight.”

KK’s face broke into a grin. “No way. She actually did it ?”

“She actually did it,” Aubrey confirmed proudly. “We’re setting up a picnic for them. You in ?”

Ice was already nodding. “Fucken oath we are. Tell us what to do.”

“You’re on setup duty,” Caroline said. “Blankets, candles, flowers if you can find any.”

KK looked at Paige, who was still half-propped on the table. “You good with all this ?”

Paige just shrugged her shoulders, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Apparently I’m just showing up.”

“As it should be,” Aubrey said, tossing a cup into the bin. “We’re gonna get Azzi there by Carol telling her that she needs her help filming a vid for our page.”

“We’ll make it perfect,” Ice said, already plotting. “Golden hour, candles, whole vibe. She’s gonna lose her mind.”

“And you,” Caroline pointed at Paige, “better not mess this up. All you gotta do is sit, flirt, and not fall on your face.”

“I make no promises,” Paige deadpanned.

KK laughed. “You’re sucha dumbass. But this is kinda cute.”

“Shut up,” Paige said, half-smiling. “And thanks.”

“Let’s get to work,” Aubrey said, already leading the charge toward the exit. “Operation picnic is officially in motion gang.”

Paige limped her way out of the facility making her way back toward her dorm. The boot was clunky and annoying, but manageable. She reached out to her phone in her pocket and pulled it out, opening her chats with Azzi.

Paige: update: its not torn, js swollen

Paige: 3 weeks ina boot then they will clear me (hopefully)

She paused mid-step to adjust the strap, then added

Paige: it sucks, but couldve been worse ig

Paige: also js lyk that imma be kinda busy later so i might not be on my phone much

Paige: js a heads up

A second passed. Then her phone buzzed again.

Azzi: im glad its not worse

Azzi: thats still annoying tho

Azzi: do u need anything ?

Paige smiled faintly, leaning against a railing as she typed

Paige: nah im alg

Paige: u checking in is enough beautiful

There was a pause on the other end before Azzi replied.

Azzi: u r too cute 🫠

Azzi: srsly tho text me if u need anything later i mean it

Azzi: and rest ok ?

Paige: promise

Paige: talk soon 

She pocketed her phone with a grin she couldn’t hide, then picked up her pace as much as the boot allowed.

—--------------------------------------------------

It was later that day, in the late afternoon, and the big tree at the center of the great lawn was glowing softly in the golden light. Aubrey was crouched beneath it, a candle lighter in 1 hand and her phone propped up against a folded blanket, currently facetiming Paige who was still back in her dorm room getting ready after messaging what the gc what to bring. Or as Paige insisted, “supervising.”

“Ollllrightyyy, status update,” Aubrey said, turning the camera slowly to give Paige a view of the scene. “Blankets are down, candles are litty, food is set. We even brought that stupid picnic basket Carol got from target last year.”

The setup was actually really pretty. They had layered a few large cream and pink blankets across the grass, scattered battery-powered t-lights in lil clusters, and set out 2 small pillows to lean against. A couple of old string lights were tangled through the lower branches of the tree above, powered by a portable battery pack. In the middle, a big spread of snacks was already laid out—fruit, cookies, juice boxes (because Ice and KK insisted), chips, and of course, a container filled with strawberries and a tub of nutella.

“I swear to god,” Paige said through the phone, her tone dry, “if you forgot the nutella—”

“We didn’t !” Ice yelled from the side, holding up the jar. “I literally triple-checked the bag. You messaged us like five times.”

“I panicked ok,” Paige replied, shifting the phone slightly. She was lounging on her bed in baggy jeans and plain white shirt, her boot propped up on a pillow. Over her shirt she wore a knitted cream quarter-zip Ralph Lauren sweater, and her hair was slicked back into a neat bun and glasses sat on her nose. “I wasn’t about to let you idiots forget the key element.”

Just then, a loud rustle came from the tree above them.

“…what the hell was that ?” Aubrey asked, glancing up.

Ice blinked. “Wait. Where’s KK ?”

A second later, a thud shook the grass behind them.

“OHHHHHH SHIT,” KK groaned loudly, face-down in the grass. “MY SPINE.”

Everyone turned at once.

“BRO,” Ice wheezed, running over. “What were you even doing ?”

KK rolled over, wincing. “I was trying to hang the lights higher. Yall weren’t even looking—I almost made it.”

“You were in the tree ?” Aubrey stared at her in disbelief. “Why ?”

“I thought it’d be cool,” KK muttered.

Ice was doubled over, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. “You fell like a cartoon character.”

On facetime, Paige was shaking with silent laughter, holding her stomach. “I swear to god. Yall are gonna ruin the vibe before it even starts.”

“You’re welcome for the entertainment,” KK said, still laying on the grass.

“Also, um,” Ice said suddenly, trying not to laugh again. “KK may or may not have written a lil note and stuck it to—”

“DON’T TELL HER YET !” KK shouted, scrambling up.

“Oh my god,” Paige groaned. “What did you do ?”

Caroline snorted. “She stuck a condom packet to the bottom of the picnic basket with a sticky note that says ‘for when Paige gets horny” 

Paige slapped a hand over her face. “You’re actually all insane.” 

“Don’t worry,” Ice said proudly. “She won’t see it unless yall get real flirty.”

“I’m gonna die,” Paige said. “I can’t do this.”

“Oh, you’ll do great,” Aubrey said, turning the phone to face herself again. “Just channel that lil smile you do when you’re being awkward but trying to be hot. Works every time.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You literally do,” Caroline said.

As they kept bickering, Caroline grabbed out her phone and quickly typed out a message.

Caroline: hey can u meet me at the english dept ?

Caroline: needed help filming a promo vid for my team page but everyone is busy so i figured maybe u could help 😭

Caroline: dress comfy but nice cs i might need u in the vid 

Caroline: also can u bring ur polaroid for some bts flicks ?

A moment later, her phone buzzed.

Azzi: ofc carol

Azzi: omw in 15

Azzi: ill bring the cam 😛 

Caroline grinned. “She’s in. Told her it’s a promo. She thinks I’m filming for the team page.”

Aubrey fist-pumped. “Leshgooo.”

“Yall ready ?” Ice asked, munching on a cookie.

Paige adjusted her glasses and nodded at the screen. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Then let the romancing begin,” Aubrey said grandly, spinning the camera around 1 last time to show off the now-flawless setup under the tree.

The scene was set. The sun was dipping low and the little lights twinkled gently in the branches above.

Now all that was left was for Azzi to show up.

After hanging up the call, Paige took 1 last look in the mirror, and exhaled through her nose. Her glasses slid slightly down her nose as she moved, and she pushed them up again before grabbing the bouquet she had requested Jana to pick up for her and dropped off earlier that afternoon.

It was huge.

Dozens of pink and red tulips spilled out from a thick wrap of white kraft paper, tied off with an oversized soft-pink ribbon. Tucked under her other arm was a frozen lego set she’d also asked Jana to pick up.

She adjusted the bouquet in her arm, slipped her phone into her pocket, and carefully made her way out the door—limping slightly from the boot but managing. Her pace wasn’t fast, but her heart definitely was.

The setup was there, untouched and glowing softly, just waiting.

As Paige approached, she could tell that KK, Ice, and Aubrey had already cleared out. Everything was exactly as it had looked on the call, clean, warm and romantic. The t-lights flickered gently, and the bouquet in her arms matched the palette perfectly. It looked like it had been made for this moment.

Paige knelt slowly wincing just a little and carefully set the lego box beside the blanket. She kept the bouquet cradled gently in her arms, holding it close as she took a deep breath. The scene felt surreal. Intimate. Soft in all the ways Paige usually wasn’t.

Her phone buzzed.

Caroline: shes hereeeee 👀

Caroline: js got to the english dept

Caroline: gave her the whole “i need u to be my creative director” speech HSHSHAHSH

Caroline: she bought it tho

Caroline: omw now

Caroline: be rdy to seduce rizzler

Paige stared at the last text, then snorted quietly as she pocketed the phone and stood a little straighter, smoothing the front of her sweater and adjusting her glasses again. Her stomach fluttered in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

Caroline and Azzi moved together through the quiet campus grounds, their footsteps light against the soft grass. Caroline was chatting, glancing around as she walked, clearly on the hunt for the perfect spot to film the “promo.”

“I was thinking maybe somewhere with good natural light,” Caroline said, her eyes flicking up to the branches of a nearby tree, where the string lights still twinkled faintly in the early evening. “Somewhere cozy but not totally obvious, you know ? Like, the kind of place that feels chill but still looks professional.”

Azzi nodded, her camera hanging casually from her shoulder. “Yea, I get that. Like a secret little spot or something ?”

“Exactly !” Caroline grinned. “I want the shots to look spontaneous but still kind of put together, you know ? Like casual but cute.” She laughed softly, then glanced over at Azzi. “That’s why I needed your eye on this. You always get the angles right.”

Azzi smiled, brushing a curl behind her ear. “You sure I’m the right person for this ?”

“Totally,” Caroline said with a nod. “You’ve got the best taste. I trust your vision.”

They rounded a gentle bend in the path, the glowing light filtering through the leaves above. Azzi’s gaze drifted ahead, catching sight of the cluster of blankets and twinkling lights beneath the tree.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening as she saw Paige standing there, the bouquet of tulips cradled gently in her arms, the lego set resting on the blanket nearby.

Caroline’s voice dropped a notch. “There she is.”

Azzi blinked, disbelief flickering over her face as she took a slow, steadying breath. She wasn’t sure if this was real or some kind of dream.

Caroline gave a small, knowing smile and then, without another word, spun on her heel and jogged lightly away down the path, disappearing out of sight before Azzi could ask questions.

Azzi’s heart hammered as she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Paige’s eyes met hers, a soft, genuine smile spreading slowly across her face.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then Azzi’s arms wrapped tightly around Paige, pulling her close in a long, lingering hug.

Paige rested her head gently against Azzi’s temple and pressed a soft, tender kiss there.

When she pulled back just enough to meet Azzi’s gaze, her smile deepened, warm and a little shy.

Carefully, Paige extended the bouquet toward Azzi.

Azzi stared down at the flowers in her hands, then back up at Paige. “Wait… what is this ?” she asked softly, voice still catching in her throat. “I don’t—how did you even—”

Paige let out a breathy laugh, cheeks flushed. “Ok, so full credit where it’s due, this was not me at all.” She stepped forward, slowly reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind Azzi’s ear. “Caroline and Aubrey masterminded the plan. KK and Ice handled the setup—Well, KK nearly died trying to hang lights. And Jana came through with the bouquet and the lego set.”

Azzi blinked. “Wait. Lego set ?”

Paige nodded toward the blanket. “Frozen. I brought it in case I started rambling or got nervous.”

Azzi laughed, hugging the flowers tighter. “You planned a side quest ?”

Paige grinned. “I always do. It helps.”

Azzi opened her mouth to say something else, but Paige gently interrupted her with a wave of her hand.

“Wait. Before we do anything else…” She carefully reached out and slipped the camera from Azzi’s shoulder. “Can I take a picture of you ? Right there. With the bouquet.”

Azzi blinked, surprised. “Me ?”

“No,” Paige deadpanned. “The tree. Yes, you.” Her voice softened immediately. “You look… really pretty right now. And I want to remember it.”

Azzi bit back a smile, her ears tinged red, but she nodded and moved slowly toward the blanket. Paige motioned with 1 hand, adjusting the angle a little.

“Ok, stand just to the left—yea, like that. Hold the flowers a little higher. Ok, now smile. A real one.”

Azzi raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean ?”

“You know what it means,” Paige teased, squinting through the camera’s viewfinder. “The one where your nose scrunches a little, your eyes get soft, and your dimples are deeper than normal.”

Azzi exhaled, her face relaxing into exactly that smile, and Paige snapped the picture. The photo slid out of the top of the camera with a soft sound. Paige grabbed it gently and waved it in the air to help it develop.

“Perfect,” she murmured. “You’re so beautiful.”

Azzi turned back toward her, still holding the bouquet, her expression somewhere between bashful and glowing. “This is… a lot.”

“I know.” Paige slung the camera back over her own shoulder and reached for Azzi’s free hand. Their fingers laced together like muscle memory, like it had always been that easy. “Come sit ?”

They walked to the blanket hand-in-hand, settling down slowly on the pillows. Paige carefully stretched her injured foot out in front of her, leaning slightly to face Azzi.

Azzi was glancing around at the lights, the snacks, the way the wind barely moved the trees above them. Her voice was small when she spoke. “Why you agree to this ?”

Paige tilted her head. “Because I like you,” she said honestly. “Like��� a lot. And I wanted you to feel it.”

Azzi blinked hard.

Paige leaned forward slightly. “Also,” she added quickly, “you look beautiful. Like so stupidly beautiful I actually forgot half the stuff I was gonna say when you walked over.”

Azzi covered her face with one hand, grinning. “Stop.”

“I won’t,” Paige said easily. “You deserve to hear it.”

A soft moment passed between them, then Paige suddenly reached into the picnic basket, rummaging through a cloth napkin before pulling out a small plastic knife and the large container filled with strawberries.

Azzi’s eyes widened. “Hold on… what is that ? ”

Paige grinned, holding the container. “Strawberries. Anddddd…” she twisted the lid off the nutella, setting both in the center between them “the main bit.”

Azzi gaped. “Wait. No. You remembered ?”

Paige shrugged like it was nothing. “You mentioned it during our last tutoring session. Something about how it was your go-to snack and craving.”

“I didn’t even think you were listening—”

Paige gave her a look. “Az. You talk, I hear everything. Plus, I’ve got a good memory,” Paige said, grabbing a strawberry and using the knife to scoop up some nutella to spread on it. “Especially when it comes to you.”

Azzi stared at her for a long moment, her heart full to the brim. Then quietly, she leaned over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Paige’s cheek. Paige stilled, her face blooming pink under the touch.

“Thanks,” Azzi whispered. “For remembering. For all of it.”

Paige reached for another strawberry, but she wasn’t looking at the food anymore. Her gaze was locked on Azzi’s. “Anytime,” she said, and she meant it.

—--------------------------------------------------

They were halfway through the other snacks sitting close now, shoulders pressed together, Paige half-reclined against a pillow with Azzi curled gently into her side. The breeze had cooled just a little, but the lights above flickered warm, and the soft buzz of bugs in the distance gave everything a peaceful hum. Azzi was feeding Paige a bite of a cookie while Paige retaliated by smearing the tiniest bit of nutella on the tip of Azzi’s nose, laughing when she groaned in protest.

“You’re the worst,” Azzi grumbled, swiping her finger across her nose and licking it off with a glare that lacked any real heat.

“I’m literally the best,” Paige replied smugly, adjusting her glasses with her free hand. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly, then leaned forward to reach for another snack, lifting the edge of the picnic basket to dig underneath when something small hit the blanket with a quiet but unmistakable slap.

Azzi froze.

Paige blinked. “What was that ?”

Azzi reached down slowly… and her eyes widened.

It was a condom packet taped to a folded sticky note. In KK’s unmistakable all-caps handwriting were the words:

" FOR WHEN PAIGE GETS HORNY ;) "

Azzi went completely still, eyes darting up to Paige like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or combust.

Paige’s entire face turned red. “OH MY GOD,” she burst out, nearly choking on air. “I forgot KK did that—”

Azzi looked like she was trying not to laugh and scream at the same time. “WHAT ?!”

“I swear to God,” Paige sputtered, dragging a hand down her face. “It was this whole—she thought it was funny—I didn’t even think it’d actually—”

Azzi held up the condom. “She taped it ?”

“Yes.”

“With a note ?”

“Yes.”

Azzi stared for another long second before dissolving into a loud, wheezy laugh, falling sideways against Paige’s shoulder, clutching the sticky note. “They are insane.”

“I know,” Paige groaned, half-laughing now too, her arm winding around Azzi’s back to hold her closer. “They’re actually feral.”

Azzi wiped her eyes, still laughing. “I cannot believe this was just chilling at the bottom of the basket. Like some kind of weird prize.”

Paige rested her chin gently atop Azzi’s curls, her voice dry. “Congrats, you found the secret boss level.”

Azzi snorted, then stilled for a second, thoughtful. “Hey… can we build the set now ?” Her voice softened as she turned her head slightly. “And maybe take more polaroids ? Like… a bunch ?”

Paige tilted her head, her hand drifting down to Azzi’s hip. “Of course, beautiful.”

Azzi’s smile bloomed instantly, and she shifted to sit up, tugging the box toward them while Paige pulled the camera from where it was tucked beside the blanket.

They started slow by unboxing the set, sorting through little blocks. Azzi nestled herself between Paige’s legs, her back against Paige’s chest, Paige’s arms loosely circled around her as they both leaned into the project.

At some point, Paige grabbed the camera again and held it up facing them. “Ok, look here.”

Azzi turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing Paige’s jaw. “Wait—what face do I make ?”

“Literally any,” Paige said. “You’re perfect.”

Azzi made a kissy face out of protest, and Paige clicked the shutter just as they both broke into laughter.

The photo developed slowly, tucked beside the 1 Paige had taken earlier. 2 now. Side by side. Both unmistakably them.

They built, they laughed, they snacked some more—Azzi spreading butella on the strawberries and teasingly holding them just out of Paige’s reach until she gave in and took a bite with a low, pleased hum.

Eventually, as the light faded even more, Azzi curled up tighter against Paige again, her hands still half-full of Lego bricks.

“Tonight feels unreal,” she whispered, head tucked beneath Paige’s chin.

Paige pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s real,” she murmured. 

Azzi had just clicked a piece into place when she felt Paige shift a little behind her, the warmth of her arms loosening slightly but not letting go.

“Hey,” Paige said quietly.

Azzi turned her head. “Yea ?”

Paige took a breath, eyes soft behind her glasses. “I know this is kind of random. But I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out how to say this right.”

Azzi smiled gently. “Say what ?”

Paige looked at her, heart in her throat. “You make everything feel easy. Even the stuff that usually makes me want to shut down or disappear… you just show up, and suddenly it’s lighter.”

Azzi’s expression softened, her hands still.

“I didn’t plan on meeting anyone right now,” Paige continued. “Definitely didn’t expect to be out here, covered in lego and nutella-strawberries, falling for someone who makes me feel like this. But I am.”

Azzi blinked, breath catching.

“So,” Paige said, voice quieter now. “I was wondering if… you’d be my girlfriend ?”

Azzi stared at her for a second, lips parting, like she was still catching up. Then, slowly, her face lit up.

“Yes,” she said, a little breathless. “I want that.”

Paige’s smile grew, full and real.

Azzi reached for her hand, holding it gently between both of hers. “I didn’t expect any of this either. But you… you make me feel safe. And wanted. And kinda dizzy in the best way.”

Paige bit back a grin.

“I really like you,” Azzi said. “Like a lot. And I’ve been trying not to fall too fast, but I don’t think I’m doing a great job.”

Paige leaned in, forehead brushing Azzi’s. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m right there with you.”

Azzi smiled, eyes closing for a beat. “Gimme kiss.”

And Paige did soft and certain and slow. Right there on the blanket, under the fading lights and scattered Lego pieces.

—--------------------------------------------------

Later, the stars were fully out, scattered soft and quiet across the night sky.

The blanket was a happy mess filled with half-finished snacks, empty juice boxes, cookie crumbs, and a bunch of  fully developed Polaroid photos tucked safely off to the side. And right in the middle of it all sat a completed castle, proudly built and slightly crooked, with Azzi and Paige leaning back to admire their work.

Azzi let out a satisfied sigh, still nestled between Paige’s legs, her back resting against Paige’s front. She held the bouquet gently in her hand, the soft pink ribbon trailing across her lap. Paige’s arms were wrapped lazily around her waist, their fingers linked just above the blanket.

“I can’t believe we actually finished it,” Azzi murmured.

“I can,” Paige said, grinning into the side of her neck. “We’re a power couple now.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Only for you.”

Paige reached for her phone, still holding Azzi close, and raised it slightly. “Hold still for a sec.”

Azzi turned her head halfway, her lips brushing Paige’s cheek. “Why ?”

“Because,” Paige said, “I wanna rmember this forever.”

Azzi’s smile turned soft, and she shifted just enough to kiss Paige gently with her free hand lifting to cup her cheek, bouquet still in the other. The camera clicked just as their lips met, the photo capturing the moment of Azzi pressed into Paige’s arms, the flowers in frame, the lights twinkling gently above.

Paige stared at the photo for a second before tapping her screen a few times, adding it to her close friends story. The caption was simple and warm:

“girlfriend era 🫠💗”

A few moments later, her phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Aubrey: IM SCREAMINGGGG 😭 

Aubrey: FINALLYYYYYYY  I LOVE LOVE

Caroline: my subtle matchmaking career has peaked. this is my legacy🙂‍↕️

Ice: yall r SO FKN CUTE its so disgusting

KK: real question… did the lil basket gift come in handy orrrrr whaaaa 👀😈

Paige snorted, burying her face into Azzi’s shoulder.

“KK’s asking about the stupid condom,” she mumbled.

Azzi wheezed. “Oh my god.”

Another buzz.

Jana: THE BOUQUET LOOKS SO GOOD WITH YALLLLLL 🥹 shes holding them so sweet imma cry

Paige grinned. “Jana’s emotionally attached to the bouquet now.”

Azzi held the flowers up slightly, cradling them to her chest. “Tell her they’re safe. I’m protecting them with my life.”

Paige kissed her on the cheek again. “You’re the cutest person alive.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Am I your favourite person now ?”

Paige leaned in, smiling. “Always have been and always will be.”

There was a soft pause, then Azzi turned a little more in her arms and tucked her face against Paige’s neck.

“Thanks for tonight babe,” she said, voice low and warm.

Paige froze for just a second. Then her smile grew impossibly softer.

“Anything for you baby.”

Azzi looked up at her, wide-eyed and glowing. “Ok, I like that.”

“Me too,” Paige whispered, leaning in for another kiss, slow and easy.

And beneath the trees, surrounded by messy snacks and their completed set  and polaroids, Paige and Azzi stayed wrapped up in each other—warm, tangled, and very much in their girlfriend era.

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

[vbecker10]

Bucky's Favorite Person

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N - not dating... yet?)

Summary: Bucky dislikes how the team is taking advantage of you while your bosses are out and decides to take matters into his own hands to help you relax.

A/N: I'm supposed to be working on a lot of other things but my brain decided to do this instead... I've been kicking this idea around for a while and it won't leave me alone so I need to write it just to get it out of. I hope you all like it ❤️

Sitting at the end of the oval table in the conference room, you glance anxiously at your watch. If this meeting ends on time, I should have exactly fifteen minutes before my next one. I think that'll be enough time to head upstairs and make another cup of coffee. Your leg bounces under the desk restlessly while you listen to Agent Hill wrap up the meeting.

"Remember, if you need to order any new tech, equipment or weaponry, Y/N will be able to help," she says and you force a smile as you close your laptop.

Yay me, you think sarcastically when all of the Avengers look in your direction briefly before getting up.

You're not supposed to be the go-to person for requests of this type but for the last two weeks, you have been running the Supply Chain Subsection of the Logistics Division for SHIELD. Your manager is on maternity leave for the next few months and as luck would have it, the day after she left the section director was called away for jury duty. The decision was then made to place the most senior analyst in charge of the supply chain for the foreseeable future and that just so happened to be you.

You sigh deeply as you skim through the emails on your phone, nearly a dozen new requests have been submitted since you checked this morning. I should just deny all of them at once and close my inbox, you think when you begin to see duplicate forms and requests you've already refused to approve this week. You know you can't though. As acting head of supply chain, you need to formally respond to each with a detailed explanation of why it was denied. With your head down and your attention still on your phone, you enter the kitchen and walk straight to your favorite appliance in the Tower.

You let out a surprised yelp as you walk directly into what feels like a very muscular wall, causing you to drop your phone but thankfully not your laptop. "Oh crap, I'm really sorry," you apologize quickly when you realize you've bumped into a super soldier and not an immovable object. Taking a step back, you watch Bucky's metal fingers wrap gently around your phone before you even think to bend down and get it yourself.

"It's okay," he says when his eyes meet yours, your stress melting quickly when he smiles.

"Thanks," you can't stop the nervous giggle that escapes you when his vibranium hand brushes against your warm skin when you take your phone back. Between the unbroken eye contact and his unbearably cute smile, you briefly forget why you came into the kitchen in the first place. It's not until he talks again that you remember your mission to get coffee.

"Long day?" he asks with a lighthearted chuckle.

"Very long," you answer, walking past him towards the coffee maker.

Bucky walks away, taking a seat at the island with an open book and a drink from the fridge but you focus on the task at hand. You open the drawer that holds the coffee pods and quickly select your usual, happy to see there are plenty to get you through the rest of the week. Before you can put the pod in the machine, a familiar voice causes you to turn around.

"It's a little better now that you saw me though right?" Bucky jokes from behind you.

You smile and answer him in a sarcastic tone, "Of course, because you're my favorite person." You keep up your long standing joke with your crush, hoping he can't tell you're being honest or that just hearing him laugh made your day ten times better.

"Hey Y/N, the request Peter and I submitted for new lab equipment got denied," Bruce complains. "Again. It's like the third time. Can you see what's going on?"

"Sure, have him send in another one and I'll see what I can do," you offer even though you are the one who keeps refusing to sign off on it when the form crosses your desk. The new equipment he is asking for is almost twice his department's budget for the quarter, there's no way my bosses would ever approve it if they were here, you think. I'm pretty sure that's why he waited until they were out to request it in the first place. This also confirms my theory that no one reads the rejection emails I send cause I already told him why I denied it.

"Great, thanks," he smiles as he leaves. "You're the best."

"Yep," you mumble and turn back to the coffee maker, pushing the button but nothing happens.

You groan and push it again as you begin to get frustrated when Bucky says, "You didn't put the coffee in."

A blush spreads across your cheeks at the realization that he's watching you struggle from the island instead of reading. "Right, thanks," you look at him briefly over your shoulder to see him smiling then open the top to add the coffee. "That's why you're my favorite, always keeping an eye on me," you joke as you push the button for a third time then look up when someone calls your name from the doorway.

"Sorry to bother you here but I know you have a ton of meetings this afternoon," your intern bites her lip anxiously, holding her tablet tightly to her chest.

"It's fine," you offer her a smile knowing she's probably just as stressed as you are since her first day was also your managers last day. "What do you need?"

She let's out a breath of relief then walks closer to you quickly. "I have a question about this form Thor sent, he marked it urgent but I don't know why. Would you be able to help me?"

"Of course," you take the tablet from her and read it over quickly, shaking your head then you give it back to her. "Forward this to me and I'll take care of it."

"Thanks!" she smiles and types on the tablet while exiting the kitchen.

You can't help but look towards the island and notice Bucky's eyes on you instead of his book. "It's the second time this week Thor has ordered pop tarts and claimed they were necessary equipment for a mission," you explain, shaking your head lightly.

He chuckles, "If you've been around Thor when he's hungry you know they absolutely are."

"He's still not getting them," you laugh then pick up your coffee mug and take a sip. Scrunching your nose, you set the mug down and open the drawer to find the sugar you forgot to add.

"Hey, just who I was looking for," the newest member of the Avengers says as he walks over to you.

"Hi Scott," you try not to seem annoyed by yet another interruption during your very short break. "What can I do for you?" You stir your coffee after adding the sugar, blowing on it lightly before taking a sip and setting it back down.

"I tried filling out that form to request a new suit but I can't figure it how to submit it," he shrugs. "All the little code boxes turn red but I don't know where to get any of that information. Clint said to just send it to you and you'd fill it out for me."

You force yourself not to roll your eyes then tell him, "I'm really not supposed to fill out the request forms for you guys. That kind of defeats the purpose." He frowns as you begin to explain the reasoning behind the process but your phone beeps, alerting you that your next meeting is starting in five minutes. "Just send it over and I'll take a look. I gotta go."

"Thanks, you're a lifesaver," he calls after you as you leave quickly and head down the hall.

It's not until you push the button for the elevator that you realize you're holding your laptop in one hand and your phone in your other hand. "Crap," you mumble when the doors open, knowing you don't have enough time to go back for your coffee.

Staring at your computer screen, you pinch the bridge of your nose when you hear a knock on the door. Oh come on, it's almost 5. Can't I get out of here on time just once, you wonder as you tell the mystery person to come in.

"Hey Y/N," Bucky's friendly voice fills your office and you relax for a moment until you see he's holding two coffee mugs.

"Hi," you sink into your chair a little as he comes closer to your desk. "What do you need help with?"

"Nothing," he answers, setting one cup down in front of you.

"Come on Bucky, you only bring me things when you need something," you slide the mug closer while he sits across from you.

"Oh, I didn't realize that," he responds a little hesitantly.

"Don't worry about it, it's why you're my favorite person here," you say with your typical sarcastic tone and the smile reappears on Bucky's face. "But it's only cause you bring me snacks when you have questions," you remind him playfully.

Last week he came to your office with a strawberry donut, telling you they were leftover from a morning briefing. While in your office, he just so happened to mention that he needed a replacement part for his bike and couldn't figure out how to fill out the forms. The super soldier has brought you cookies, coffee, pastries and a few other treats over the last couple of months and it's where you're joke about him being your favorite began. You truthfully never mind when Bucky has questions or issues, even if he didn't bring you a little treat in return for your help. He is the only person you work with who seems to value your time and apologizes for not being able to keep up with the newer systems.

"Well I don't have any questions this time I promise. I just dropped by to make sure you got your coffee fix," he explains and you hide your widening smile behind your mug. "I know it's late but every time I checked, you were in a meeting."

Taking a sip, you sigh happily when you realize he made it exactly the way you like it. "This is perfect, thanks Bucky," you smile and he grins proudly. A loud knock on your door pulls your attention away from the super soldier and you miss how quickly his smile fades. "Come in," you call hoping whoever it is doesn't need anything important.

"Hey Y/N, oh... and Bucky," Tony greets you both as he walks in.

You take another sip of your coffee, not wanting it to get cold since Bucky went through the trouble of hand delivering it to you. "Hi, what's up Tony?"

"I just sent in a handful of requests for some tech upgrades and your intern said you aren't going to get to them until tomorrow," he says in a disappointed tone.

"Oh yeah," you agree with your intern's response to him. "You sent..." you turn to open a few windows on your screen, "...twelve requests. A little more than a handful, it's gonna take me a while to go through all of them."

"I really need an answer on them tonight," Tony stands right behind Bucky who is holding his mug tightly in his metal hand.

"Tonight?" you check the clock on your desktop and sigh then look back at him. "Sure, yeah I guess I could work late again-"

"You've worked late every night for the last two weeks," Bucky interrupts your response. While you wonder if you complained to him about that and forgot he adds, "Whatever you need can wait until tomorrow."

"It'll only take a few hours and it's not like she doesn't get paid overtime," Tony counters and instead of Bucky letting you agree like you were going to do, he stands up to face Tony.

"I'm taking Y/N to dinner. She can deny whatever ridiculous requests for equipment you don't need in the morning because we both know you and everyone else keeps asking for things her bosses would never approve of," his words take you by complete surprise but thankfully it doesn't seem like he's expecting a response from either of you. "Grab your coat," he turns to you with that cute smile you can't get enough of and you nod, closing your laptop as you blush.

"I- uh... yeah, tomorrow is fine," Tony takes a step towards the door but Bucky's already forgotten he's in your office.

"So, where would you like to go?" he asks and you barely notice the door closing when he moves next to you behind your desk.

Giggling at his sudden closeness, you look up at him, "Honestly, I'm just excited to eat a meal that's not at my desk. You can pick since it was your idea to go out for a date." Your cheeks flush with embarrassment and you shake your head, "Dinner, I mean dinner, sorry."

He smiles and cups your cheek gently with his metal fingers, "It's a date Y/N and don't worry, I think I know just where I want to take you."

"Oh really?" you ask, trying to sound calmer than you really are when his other hand settles on your lower back and he pulls you closer.

"Yep," he leans closer to you and just when you think he's going to kiss you he pulls back with a smirk, "But it's a secret. Come on, if we stay here any longer someone else might have a question for you."

You agree quickly and giggle when he takes your hand and leads you out of your office. While you wait for the elevator, Bucky let's go of your hand to wrap his arm around you and pull you closer. Smiling, you look up at him and joke, "Is this cause I said you were my favorite person?"

He chuckles, "It's because you're my favorite person."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did ❤️❤️ Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[kaijutegu]

What a handsome Komodo dragon!

Except... what's going on with those labial scales? Something about them looks off. And that row of spikes down the back, Komodos don't have that. And their nostrils aren't so round. Hm. I think I know what's happening here.

I did not realize that this was AI at first glance; I thought it was just a really heavy editing style. I saw the missing central toe, yeah, but Komodos will do that to each other sometimes. The other forefoot, the one with four toes, is positioned in such a way that the fifth toe could be hidden, and the lifted hind foot could be similar.

But if you know Komodo dragon anatomy like I do, the inaccuracies pop up pretty quickly. Still, it's not like it was during the early days of GenAI; what I'm seeing here is that the GenAI image algos are getting better at discerning what part of a picture is a Komodo dragon. Since the inception, GenAI has really struggled to make accurate reptiles. In the beginning, everything was an iguana... even the Komodo dragons.

Over time, the models have been refined, but there are still some pretty obvious anatomy differences- the slit pupils, the mouth shape, the overall definition of the snout...

And they often struggle with the tongue. This isn't what the inside of a lizard's mouth looks like!

There's a lot of talk about how GenAI is bad for the brain- but it seems like most of it is actually about writing. And I think we should be talking more about images, too. Not even just about the stolen training data or the erosion of opportunities for artists, but... what is such easy access to these generated images doing to our ability to perceive what's real versus what isn't?

Every single one of the images I pulled is from a highly popular stock photo site. In case you don't know what a stock photo is, it's a photograph (you can also have stock illustrations and stock footage) that's been licensed to use in different applications. These pictures aren't taken for a specific client; anybody who pays can use them within the terms of the image's license.

But all of these images- they're not photos. They're inaccurate illustrations. I recognize them for what they are because I spend a lot of time looking at lizards, but what if you've got someone writing a quick news story, or designing a science worksheet, or throwing together a museum brochure or a zoo sign? If they don’t know what a Komodo dragon is supposed to look like, they’ll use whatever looks convincing.

Images trigger something deep within us- you know that saying "A picture is worth a thousand words?" We're wired to trust what we see. But the problem here is that genAI doesn't create an image of the thing; it creates what its internal logic says is associated with the subject of the prompt. It all comes down to probability; generative AI makes images by looking at its training data and creating output based on what the data is associated with.

(For more info on how AI "sees" what it does, check out the LENS project, which you can read more about here.)

We don't see things the same way the computers do, and we're willing to trust images more than words. How many stock photos do you think you see each day? It's probably more than you think; after all, the average American sees around 5,000 ads per day. And while those photos are marked as AI generated on the stock sites, they aren't marked as AI generated once someone has licensed them. And if the stock site doesn't have what you need? No problem, just use the AI image generator to fake that photo yourself!

We already have seen political deepfakes and AI generated images used to spread misinformation. Did you see the image of an ICE agent arresting a Doordash worker? That was an AI fake, part of a larger hoax. Some of us are already learning to respond with increased skepticism to important images, because people have an agenda to fake those. But what about the less important images, the background images, the completely mundane images? GenAI seems to be quietly coming for them, and it's something we should be paying attention to, because if we're exposed, constantly and quietly, to generated images and are trained to believe it's photography, we'll be more accepting of the bigger lies when we see them.

I don't really know what the solution is here, other than for people to be aware of the stock image issue, and to stop using stock sites that allow generated images, like Adobe Stock. We can't put the generative AI genie back in the bottle, but we can at least be aware of the damage it's causing. And maybe part of the solution is to look for alternative stock and reference options. Maybe we'll start to see more photographers licensing their images directly, or putting together specialized repositories of images based around a theme or topic that they specialize in. The downside there is that it's less convenient than the stock model where there's thousands and thousands of images on every conceivable topic to choose from. I don't know what genAI is going to do to the traditional stock model, but I'm concerned about what the end results might be and what those results might do to our ability to perceive reality.

Komodo Dragon

[sevsevteen]

hi!! love reading your stuff so much!! if its okay, can you do one where 14th member gets her period without realizing during rehearsal and then is just mad and screams at everyone lmao but then when she storms out the guys see the stain on her pants and pamper her? its kinds specific ig lol but just ignore this if you don’t feel comfy writing this kind of stuff!! ❤️❤️❤️

Hello darling! I've never thought about this before. Writing was deffo so interesting and i loved it. Periods are completely normal, but of course there are always people who want to keep them lowkey - which is the readers' case!! enjoy reading~

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

“Alright! One more run-through before break!” the choreographer called, clapping her hands.

The stage echoed with heavy breaths and squeaky shoes against the wooden floors. Sweat dripped down the members’ backs, but the energy was still high - it always was when they were preparing for a live stage.

You had been fine just ten minutes ago.

Focused, in sync, doing your best as always.

Until a twinge of something unmistakably familiar bloomed low in your stomach - a dull cramp that made you flinch mid-step.

You cursed under your breath.

Moving to the back row during the choreo reset silently, your heart pounded. Your hands trembled slightly as you pretended to adjust your mic pack, quickly tugging your hoodie up from the back to peek at your backside.

Your stomach dropped.

A blotch of dark red had bloomed across the seat of your white trousers. It was faint, but obvious against the pale fabric.

You froze, panic settling in your bones - you tracked your menstruation, you always did. But this one came way earlier than you'd expected.

Nature called, right?

Your face flushed both white and red at the same time, overcome by the embarrassment of having to declare such a personal detail and walk off mid-set.

Just one more song. You told yourself to hold until lunch break, all while your mood turned sharp. You could only stay toward the back, unusually quiet, limbs suddenly hesitant to make any sudden movement that would expose you.

“You were off-beat before, don’t slack just because you’re tired!” Hoshi called out from the front.

You only nodded.

“Don’t ignore us!” Seungkwan teased, practically jumping over to grabbing your wrist, trying to pull you to the front. “C’mon, center! You’re the visual, remember?”

“No, it's fine-” You frantically shook your head, pulling and scratching at Seungkwan's hand to let go as you leaned back, shoes dragging against the wood.

A few others chimed in.

“Stop sulking and get up here.”

“Don’t hide in the back, you look grumpy~”

“Guys, don’t drag her-” Joshua started gently, sensing the shift in your expression.

But it was too late, a surge of frustration boiling over.

“Can you all just stop?!” You snapped, voice coming out sharper than you intended. “I said I didn’t want to be in front!”

The members fell silent, a few staff halting mid-action to peek at your business.

The boys blinked, taken aback - not because you yelled, but because it wasn’t like you.

Anger was replaced with embarrassment when you pulled away, hard. A string of curses leaving your mouth as you bolted off the stage, nearly tripping as you ran.

The area remained frozen for a second. And it was only when Vernon, who was closest to your back when you ran, caught a glimpse of the stain.

His eyes widened. “…Shit.”

That was all it took.

Immediately, everyone went into quiet panic mode.

“Where are the extra sweats?”

“Jihoon, where’s her bag?”

“I’ll get pads - there’s a convenience store downstairs!” Mingyu grabbed his wallet and bolted.

“Chan, check if she’s in the washroom!”

Joshua ran to grab a jacket in case you needed to cover up. “Why didn’t we notice sooner?”

.

You sat curled up on the small couch in the waiting room, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, legs tucked beneath you. Fortunately, one of the female dancers had an extra pair of shorts, so you didn't need to waddle around in your stained pants.

The pain had dulled with the heat pack resting on your stomach, but the sting in your chest lingered - not from the cramps, but the guilt.

Plus, your face was still red - more from humiliation than anything.

You replayed the scene in your head over and over. The fierce push. The shocked looks on their faces. The way you ran.

They were just joking. You didn’t have to lash out.

You sighed quietly, burying your face in the crook of your arm.

But then came the soft knock, and the door creaked open.

Seokmin peeked in first. “...We come in peace?”

You perked up, surprised to Seungkwan holding up what looked like a paper bag with doodles and stickers all over it.

You blinked. “What is that?”

“The solution to all future period emergencies,” Dino announced proudly.

“Painkillers, chocolate, gummy bears, pads in every size and style, heat packs, an extra changes of sweatpants, a random rom-com book I grabbed off the shelves, a comb, a mini mirror–” Hoshi listed off like he was presenting a war strategy.

“And a tiny plushie for emotional support,” Seokmin added, holding up a doa plush.

“You guys…” You whispered, voice small. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“You thought we’d be mad?” Joshua asked gently, crouching down to your level. “You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed. You don’t have to hide it from us.”

“For our member, whose pain we can’t feel but whose heart we’ll always protect.” Jeonghan stroked your head gently.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes - not from pain, but from the rush of relief. Of being seen. Of being loved, even at your most vulnerable.

“You guys are too much,” you wiped your eyes with a sleeve.

“Yeah, well,” Vernon shrugged. “So are your cramps.”

Laughter erupted - gentle and healing. You finally smiled wide, hugging the emergency kit to your chest. The embarrassment melted - not erased, but surrounded by so much love that it didn’t hurt quite as much.

Maybe bleeding through your pants once wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen.

--

[heybrine]

Cottage Diaries Part IV

Hey you, guys!

Back again with one more set to complement the Cottage Diaries Series, this time a clutter / decor set! This month I wanted to make this living room feel like a curated and unique space, just like the original inspiration by XO Macenna.

Going to Estate Sales and finding unique and special items to decorate your home is something that I find quite fun to watch people do! So this was the inspiration behind this set. This pack comes with 42 new items to fill your room with unique wall arts and clutter up your built in bookshelves!

As usual I bring the essence of Macenna's Home but with some nuances of my own style and taste. I love these arts and most of the them are by the amazing WhileoliviasleepsArt, on etsy.

This pack is a clutter / decor set and all the furniture items used in these photos are from previous packs of the Cottage Diaries Series! You can check out the previous set of this series Here, out for everyone!

I think that's all for this pack! I loved how this came out especially the David Bust, my favorite piece of this pack for sure! Hope you like it as much as I do! 💛

You can always see more info on my patreon here!

If you wish, you can become a member and get early acess 😊 --- Public release on the 15th of July 2025