#“the… experiment? right there. you just said… the experiment?”

[clowngirlhonkers]

i feel so bad for kris tbh.

i so desperately wanna communicate with them but the limitations of the program prevent me from doing so

i cant have them write things down for me, i cant have them send messages to themself via their phone, i cant just straight up talk to them...

i think this was on purpose.

like obviously, right? it would make it harder for toby fox to actually make chapters if we could just ask kris their thoughts about things directly.

but also like... from an in-universe perspective, i think gaster limited our connection to the SOUL in this way on purpose to make sure the results of this "experiment" arent tainted. we have the ability to hop to any chapter thats been released and learn and retain information from them. being able to tell kris about shit that happens in the future would alter said future, since they now have knowledge they otherwise wouldnt be privy to.

and of course, this applies to kris's connection to us as well. it must be hella frustrating to watch as we do something they JUST TOLD US NOT TO DO because we cant even hear them speak or read their thoughts like we can with other characters.

but again, thats by design. originally we were gonna control an otherwise empty vessel, one that cant think or move on their own. we wouldnt need to hear what the vessel says because the vessel cant talk without our influence anyways.

but kris isnt the vessel... as far as we know.

they are their own person, with their own thoughts and preferences and history in hometown. they can do things outside of our control, like preventing us from seeing the whole bunker code in dess's guitar by tearing us out, or changing how our dialog choices are portrayed by preventing us from being a prick to ralsei or being utterly confused as to why we chose BERDLY of all people to go to the festival with.

the program thinks we are in control of the vessel, so it doesnt let us talk to the vessel. because that would be redundant. why would you wanna talk with an otherwise lifeless husk? and if it turns out youre piloting a fully formed person with their own thoughts and opinions, then why would the game let us spoil future events?

... i hope that we can find a way to meaningfully communicate with kris in a future chapter. i have so many things i wanna tell them and ask them...

but im not sure thatll ever happen

I'm thinking of kris repeating berdly's name in shock when you try to tell ralsei that you are going to the festival with berdly of all people. Thinking about the conversations we only get to hear half of, where kris presumably tells ralsei and susie that ralsei and asriel don't look that much alike. Thinking about all the times where kris changes the prompt we give them into something that they'd prefer to say.

Kris talks. They chatter, even, but we as the player don't get to hear it. They don't get a text box. We only ever know that they spoke at all from the reactions of other characters, and even then, we rarely know exactly what was said.

And part of this is that whoever the deltarune narrator is seems intent to pretending like kris doesn't exist. You check the mirror, and it says, "it's only you". Kris plays the piano and it says, "your hands begin moving on their own." If kris speaks without your permission, the narration doesn't acknowledge it at all, committed to the lie that kris doesn't exist beyond their role as our vessel. But that's not what this post is about.

This post is about how it's entirely possible that kris has tried to talk to us when no one else is around. They could have tried to tell us their plan, or begged us not to make certain decisions, or explained that we don't actually need to steal asriel's 5 dollars because they have a piggy bank buried in the front yard. Kris could be asking us questions, or asking us not to look for the bunker password because they have a plan and we should trust them, or asking us to let them sleep a bit longer, and we the soul just carry on the same regardless, their one-sided monologue falling on deaf ears. We would never even know, because of how thoroughly the narrative of deltarune has denied kris a voice.

[33lol]

Experiment - Part 2

Pazzi (paige x azzi)

SMUT

warnings: some plot at the beginning, fluff, complete filth after, spitting, choking, biting, oral/strap sucking, slapping (tits, ass, pussy), strap usage, degradation, sex toys, squirting, being tied down and blindfolded, use of whip, handcuffs and restraints

MDNI

wc: 4.6k

Paige and Azzi woke up the next morning tangled in the sheets of Paige’s bed. Azzi’s face was tucked into Paige’s neck with her lips pressed against it. Paige had her hand across Azzi’s stomach, cradling her like she would somehow disappear.

The morning light began to peek through the blinds, stirring Azzi first, “Mmm so bright.” She scooted even further into Paige. Paige squeezed her hip tighter but couldn’t fall back into a peaceful sleep. She shifted slightly, grabbing her phone from the night stand, not moving too far from the girl next to her.

It was around 9:30 on Saturday, meaning they had nowhere to be. Practice was canceled, they didn’t have classes, and their teammates texted early in the group chat that some of them would be visiting home for the weekend.

Leaving Azzi and Paige having the whole dorm to themselves—just how they liked it. Paige took her hand and cradled Azzi’s face, running slow circles with her thumb across her cheek. “Baby wake up.”

Hearing “baby” coming from Paige’s mouth after the night they just had together immediately brought a crooked smile to Azzi’s face. “I like that word.”

Paige let out a soft giggle, “You are my baby. Especially now. Which is also what I wanna talk to you about.”

Azzi looked up at this curiously. “What baby?”

“I wanna take you out. I know we did things kind of out of order, which I don’t regret at all, but I still wanna make sure I do the rest right. So, I wanna take you out for real.”

Azzi looked at her, brown doe eyes meeting ocean blue ones—full of admiration and love. “Ok,” she said blushing. “That sounds nice.”

Paige smiled back at her. “I wanna do it as a day date today so we can have the evening to ourselves,” she said, smirking with a raised eyebrow.

Azzi blushed and hid her face with her hand. “Paige!”

“What!?” Paige said with a bright toothy grin feigning innocence. “I want today to be special. I’m going to make it special. Because you are special and you deserve it.”

“I love you P,” Azzi said softly looking up at her.

“And I love you.”

—————

When it hit around noon, Paige told Azzi to start getting ready. Paige picked their outfits, wanting them to coordinate. Azzi wore a light blue tank top with baggy black jeans—riding low on her waist showing off her belly button piercing that Paige was obsessed with—along with clean air forces. Paige wore a white cropped tank top with a black denim jacket over it and jorts. They also happened to be wearing each other’s favorite hairstyles—Paige with her slick back bun and Azzi having her goddess braids done.

Once they were ready, they walked to the car where Paige opened the door for Azzi. They got in the car and didn’t say much for a while, just marinating in each other’s company and vibing to some R&B. At some point into the drive, Azzi grew curious of what Paige had planned.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked looking over at Paige.

Paige answered, knowing Azzi didn’t like surprises because they made her anxious, “It’s a new restaurant about 20 minutes away. It’s supposed to be a nice outdoor spot with a pretty lookout view.”

Azzi smiled at Paige’s thoughtfulness of planning a fun date for them. She reached over for Paige’s hand and placed it on her thigh, resting hers on top. Paige kept her eyes on the road, but couldn’t hide the smile that bloomed on her face.

They got to the restaurant and were seated quickly, Paige having requested a table outside. It was nice enough outside that the sun was out but not beating down, and there was a breeze. At one point Paige saw Azzi shiver and gave her her jacket. Azzi didn’t protest, just smiled shyly and dipped her head.

Paige ordered for both of them—Azzi being extremely indecisive, Paige had done this for a while now. Azzi had a lemon chicken salad and Paige had chicken tenders with fries.

“You’re such a child,” Azzi laughed at her.

“I will change for no one,” Paige shot back with her lip quirked.

“Don’t. I love you as you are.”

Paige blushed and gave Azzi the smile that made her cheekbones pop. She got up from her seat and led Azzi to the lookout spot. They stood there looking at the view for a minute, but Paige was looking at Azzi more than she was the hills. She turned Azzi toward her and held her hips.

“I wanna ask you something ma”

Azzi looked slightly up at her, “Anything baby.”

Paige smirked, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Azzi’s face lit up and she jumped on Paige. Paige was taken aback but spun them around a few times and set her back down. “So is that a yes?”

“Yes Bighead!” Azzi beamed.

Later, when they were done and in the car again, Paige started driving in the opposite direction of their dorm.

“Are we going somewhere else?” Azzi asked her while looking out the window.

Paige smirked and turned her head toward Azzi, “I have one more stop on the list before we head back.”

They pulled up a couple minutes later to a building that was vaguely advertised and neutral in color called “Love Loud.” A sex shop.

“Where are we?” Azzi asked as Paige held the car door open for her.

Paige didn’t say anything and just guided her inside while holding the door.

When they walked in, Azzi's face lit up in shock. She turned to Paige who was just smiling and licking her lips. A worker greeted them and told them if they needed anything to ask her.

Paige leaned in Azzi’s ear, “Thought we could get some tools to help us out,” she said winking.

“Oh my god,” Azzi said giggling. Azzi pulled Paige’s hand and led them to a wall with different strap options. Paige pointed at a few different ones, but they ended up landing on one that had two different dildo inserts—one smaller and one larger, both being purple of course. It also had the option of an insert or vibrator for the person wearing it.

Azzi started looking around subtly. Paige noticed, “You wanna keep lookin around mama?”

Azzi just nodded while blushing.

“Ok, c’mon. If you see something, just point it out. I’m open to anything. And I mean that.”

Azzi held Paige’s hand, “Okay P. Same here.”

They made their way to a section toward the back of the store. They stood there frozen in place for a second just staring. Then Azzi looked at Paige with those eyes—ones she could never say no to.

“Pick what you want baby. I’m good with anything.”

They were in front of several whips, chains, and BDSM items. Azzi looked over the wall, thinking about what Paige mentioned the night before. She grabbed a small whip with cut leather strips coming off of it, as well as an adjustable bar to spread legs at different levels. She also picked out two pairs of handcuffs and a vibrator that went on the clit and inside. Paige saw a blindfold out of the corner of her eye that she got as well.

They checked out, eager to get back home. When they were in the car, they didn’t say much to fill the silence. They held hands and Paige kissed Azzi’s hand, holding her lips there for a beat. Azzi tilted her body and leaned slightly across the glove box. They let the gravity of the moment overtake the silence in the car and the trust between them simmer, thinking about what was to come that night.

When they arrived back at the dorm, they walked inside hand in hand. They set the stuff by the door for now and went to their room to change into comfier clothes. It was only the afternoon, so they put on a movie that neither of them were entirely watching.

Paige had Azzi in her lap, rubbing her thighs. She looked at Azzi, “Hey baby,” Azzi turned her head. “I just want to check in and see where your head is at.. y’know.. about later.”

Azzi smiled softly at her while stroking her hair, “I’m sure about it. All of it. I want you to enjoy yourself like you want me to. If there’s ever something you don’t like or feels uncomfortable, you tell me. No questions asked. You never owe me a reason for stopping either.”

Paige brushed her knuckles along her jaw, “And I want you to feel good with whatever we do. I want you to feel loved.. even if it’s not always slow and sensual. You have just as much say in this as I do.”

Azzi nodded and leaned forward to kiss Paige—intertwining their lips together, slow and deliberate. They took their time getting to know each other’s lips while rubbing along each other’s arms and legs. They didn’t watch any more of the movie. Just sat there on the couch, tasting each other.

At some point when the credits were rolling, Azzi’s stomach grumbled. Paige broke away from her and furrowed her brows at the curly haired girl, “You hungry mama?”

Azzi nodded, “Yeah kinda”

“Let’s DoorDash something then,” Paige said while pulling out her phone and handing it to Azzi. “You pick since I chose lunch.”

Azzi scrolled for what felt like eternity, but Paige never rushed her. Just watched the girl on her lap who she loved beyond words and hummed when Azzi wanted an opinion. Azzi had her eyebrows knitted in concentration and was biting one of her fingernails. She finally landed on Noodles and Company and Paige set the order. It was these intimate moments that they cherished the most.

The food arrived a bit later and the two ate like they were starved for three months. They didn’t say much, just talked about practice next week and their upcoming finals.

After they finished up they went to the kitchen and threw away their trash.

“Should we clean them first?” Paige asked, referring to their new purchases.

“Definitely.”

They cleaned them together in the sink, making sure they were ready to be used. Azzi leaned up and gave Paige a peck on the cheek. Paige bumped Azzi with her hip in retaliation.

Once they were done, they took the items to their room. When they walked in, the energy shifted to something heavier It was thick with anticipation—both of nerves and excitement. Paige pulled Azzi in by the waist and looked over her face before connecting their lips. They pulled apart and Paige locked eyes with Azzi’s brown ones,

“Safe word is red. No explanation needed. Just comfort and safety after.”

Azzi nodded with a softness in her eyes, appreciating every thought that ran through Paige’s head—coming from nowhere but a place of genuine love.

She let her hands roam lower until they got to Azzi’s ass. She squeezed hard, eliciting a soft whimper against her mouth. Paige dipped down and wrapped her hands around Azzi’s thighs, picking her up without her even having to jump. Paige was kissing her neck and ear simultaneously, which turned Azzi on fast. Paige walked them over to the bed and laid Azzi down. Paige got close to her ear, “How you want it mama?”

Azzi was somewhat breathless, “I want it rough. Just..still go slow at first please.”

Paige nodded immediately and kissed her neck. “I got you baby. Just relax and feel, ok?”

Azzi sighed at her voice in that low tone and the sensation of her tongue tracing her ear. Paige took her hands and started pulling at Azzi’s nipples through her shirt. Azzi arched into Paige at this and let out a soft moan. Paige slowly lifted the shirt over Azzi’s head, inch by inch, revealing her further. Paige leaned down and gave kitten licks to one nipple while pinching at the other one. The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming in the best way for her. Paige let her hands roam lower and grab the waist band of Azzi’s boxers, sliding them down Azzi’s glistening legs.

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

Azzi watched Paige cross the room and rummage through the new toys. When she saw Paige grab the strap, her breath hitched. Paige stood at the foot of the bed and stripped herself of her own clothes, watching Azzi try not to squirm too much. Paige slipped on the harness and slid in one of the dildo choices, as well as the vibrator for herself. Being mindful that this was still each of their second times having sex and first with a strap, Paige picked the smaller one for now. While looking Azzi in the eye, Paige turned on the vibrator and started stroking the strap. She climbed on the bed and sat against the headboard.

“Come here,” Paige said while patting the spot in front of her.

Azzi got up and knelt in front of Paige on her knees. Paige reached forward and grabbed Azzi by the back of her neck, “Be a good girl for me and get daddy wet, yeah?”

Azzi didn’t have much time to nod before Paige was shoving her face down. Azzi closed her mouth around the strap, leaving it wet with her spit as she bobbed her head up and down.

“Such a slut. Getting daddy all wet like it’s your job” Paige groaned out.

As Azzi’s answer, she swirled her tongue around the tip and spit on it. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Paige slapped the dildo on it, along with her cheeks. Paige shoved her head back down while a whimper slipped from her lips, “Fuck baby.”

Azzi looked up at her while sucking it and Paige rolled her eyes while throwing her head back. The vibrator on her clit made seeing Azzi gag on the dildo feel real. Paige thrusted her hips up into Azzi’s mouth while pushing her head down at the same time—allowing her to take all 6 inches in her throat. Azzi gagged and Paige released her head, letting her ease up. When Azzi pulled off, a string of saliva came with her. Azzi flashed Paige a devilish smile when she looked up at her with dark eyes.

“Good girl,” Paige praised.

Paige sat up more and moved toward Azzi who was sitting back kneeling on her knees. She grabbed her head and kissed her aggressively.

“Too much?” Paige asked out of reassurance.

“Just enough,” Azzi said smiling.

Paige smirked and lowered her hands to Azzi’s neck, “Now you’re gonna take what daddy gives you from behind.”

Azzi’s breath caught and she could feel her slick dripping down her thighs. Paige shoved her down on her stomach and leaned over her back, “Ass up, face down,” she said in a rough voice.

Azzi obeyed, keeping her face in the sheets and arching up until Paige rewarded her with a harsh slap on the ass. “Mmph—” Azzi moaned out. That got her another slap to the other side—reminding Paige they bought a whip earlier. “Stay here baby.”

Paige grabbed the whip and got behind Azzi again. Paige started running the tip through Azzi’s folds, wetting every part of her cunt with her slick. When Paige went over Azzi’s clit, Azzi jolted forward. Paige smacked the whip against her ass and reached around her stomach, pulling her back up.

“Don’t run from daddy. You can take it. I got you.”

Azzi resumed her arch and Paige smacked the whip again. “Mmm this pussy so wet and this ass so big for me.”

“All for you daddy,” Azzi said in a breathy tone.

Paige then slid the tip into Azzi’s cunt, letting it sit there for a second—knowing Azzi had never felt this stretch before.

“Ahh—fuck—oh my god P”

Paige rubbed her hand over Azzi’s ass and then squeezed her hip, “I know baby, I got you. Want you to feel good on daddy’s dick.”

Azzi nodded, letting Paige know she was okay to keep going. Paige slid in further, slow, letting Azzi feel each inch and every vein on the dildo. Once she was in all the way, she paused for another second to let Azzi adjust. Azzi moved her hips back when she was ready and Paige hit her with the whip again.

“This pussy already so good for me”

Paige pulled out so just the tip was in and pushed in again, setting a slow but firm rhythm. Azzi was groaning into the sheets from the stretch. Paige watched where they met with her mouth hanging open. The vibrator still pressing enough on Paige’s clit to keep her on the edge. Paige smacked her ass and started to speed up her thrusts. The sound coming from between them was loud, filthy, and messy. The sound made Azzi wetter by the second and easier for Paige to slide in and out.

Paige kept up her pace while reaching around to Azzi’s throat and pulled her up slightly. She squeezed her throat and then turned Azzi’s face so she could press a sloppy, rushed kiss to her lips. She let go and moved her hand down Azzi’s side and then to her clit. Azzi let her face fall back into the sheets as Paige gave no mercy to the pressure and force she put on Azzi’s bud. She rubbed fast and hard circles while thrusting aggressively into Azzi from the back.

“C’mon mommy. You’re so beautiful like this. You like being my slut? I love this view—fuck”

These jumbled words slipping from Paige’s mouth had Azzi right on the cusp of climaxing and spilling all over Paige’s strap. Paige was overstimulated from her vibrator, but in the best way—seeing Azzi in this position did something to her, and had her so close to finishing.

“Daddy—I’m gon—fuck I’m gonna cum”

“Me too baby. Cum for me. Wanna feel all of you. Give it to me.”

It took one more hard thrust before Azzi gushed all over the strap and Paige came at the sight below her and also from the vibrations hitting her clit just right. Paige clicked off the vibrator quickly, but stayed still in Azzi for a little longer—not wanting to pull out too suddenly.

Azzi let out a long sigh.

“Am I good to pull out ma?”

Azzi barely nodded into the sheets and Paige slipped out slowly. Azzi gasped at the emptiness and let her body fall forward fully onto the bed. Paige took the harness off and set it a few feet away from them on the bed. She peppered kisses along the backside of Azzi—from the backs of her thighs, then on her butt, and finally trailing up her spine and onto her neck. She laid next to Azzi and rubbed her back, waiting for the younger girl to come back from her high.

“You good ma? Was I okay?” Paige asked out of curiosity for herself and wanting to make sure Azzi enjoyed it.

Azzi turned her head to her and smiled softly, “I’m so good baby. That was perfect. You were perfect.”

Paige brushed a braid out of her face and kissed her forehead. Azzi smiled and lifted up so she could straddle Paige. Paige rested her hands on Azzi’s hips and looked up at her curious as to what she planned on doing. Azzi pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and started rolling her hips while pinning Paige’s hands above her head. Azzi let her lip go and ran her tongue over it, then leaned by Paige’s ear, “Mine turn daddy.”

Paige sighed and tried to rut her hips up to gain some friction, but Azzi was quick to nip at Paige’s neck, signaling her to be still. Azzi trailed her warm breath over the spot and pecked it with her lips. She moved so their foreheads were almost touching and their eyes locked.

“What do you want P?” Azzi asked while still grinding down at a slow pace.

Paige was breathing heavily at this point and couldn’t get much out, “You. Hard—please”

Azzi smirked, liking how fucked out she had Paige right now and she’d barely even touched her. “Mmm.. I got a few ideas in mind then.”

Azzi climbed off of Paige and instinctively moved her hands back down to her sides, but that was not what Azzi wanted. “Uh uh—hands stay up. I’ll be right back.”

Azzi grabbed the pairs of handcuffs and the adjustable bar to spread her legs, as well as the blindfold. Azzi climbed back on the bed and laid the stuff by Paige. She leaned down by Paige’s ear and whispered, “So fucking good for mommy.”

Paige whimpered and licked her bottom lip. Azzi leaned back and grabbed the handcuffs. She took Paige’s left hand and cuffed it to the left side of the headboard, then did the same for the right side.

In a low but sincere voice, Azzi said, “You say the word and we stop.”

Paige nodded but knew she wouldn’t be using that safe word any time soon.

Azzi grabbed the adjustable bar and moved down to Paige’s ankles. She cuffed them in, and spread the bar as far as it could go. Azzi leaned back, taking in Paige spread out for her. Paige had never even really thought she would be one to give up control so easily, but with Azzi it was natural. Not even a question. She felt safe and appreciated—just like she tried to do for Azzi.

“Damn baby,” she crawled next to Paige and leaned by her ear again, “You’re about to get fucked up.”

Paige whined—like actually whined and then squeezed her eyes shut. Azzi moved one of her hands to Paige’s neck and squeezed just enough for Paige to let out another moan. Azzi reached for the blindfold and kissed Paige’s lips before slipping it over her eyes. Paige was completely exposed—bare to Azzi, and emotionally submissive. Azzi took the strap from next to Paige and got in the harness, changing out the vibrator for the insert on herself. It was still soaked with her cum from earlier—giving Azzi an idea. She straddled Paige’s chest, took two fingers and hooked them in Paige’s mouth. Paige opened wide with her tongue out. Azzi let a long string of spit drop from her mouth into Paige’s.

She swallowed then opened her mouth again. Azzi smiled, “You want more? So greedy.”

Paige was unaware of the strap being in her face—until Azzi let the weight of the tip hit Paige’s tongue. Paige moaned from the suddenness and the sweet taste of Azzi on it. She moved her tongue around it, licking it up. Then Azzi pressed it further in so Paige could start taking it. Azzi pushed in deep, making Paige choke—gurgling some spit on the corner of her mouth.

Azzi pulled back slightly, running her hand through Paige’s hair. “So good baby.”

Paige knew she was fucked. Azzi having all the power over her was either her greatest dream or her worst nightmare. (We all know which one it is) Azzi stayed straddled, but shifted lower, in between Paige’s legs. Paige knew what was to come and was so eager that she lifted her hips trying to get closer to Azzi. Obviously that didn’t work because of her legs being spread four feet wide and her hands being cuffed above her.

Azzi giggled at her out of pity, then slapped one of her tits as a punishment. “Use your words like a big girl.”

Paige just whined, getting another slap, harder on her other tit. She arched at the sensation, but still couldn’t get any words out. She pinched Paige’s nipples—making her let out a low, guttural sound. Azzi finally started running the tip through her folds, wetting her cunt with a mix of their arousals. Paige sucked in a breath when Azzi went over her clit—still being partially sensitive, but she also liked the overstimulation.

Before Azzi went any further, she reached down and slapped Paige’s pussy. The more she tried different things, the more she realized that Paige liked pain.

Azzi could practically see her cunt pulsing and ready for her. She lined the tip up with her cunt and pushed in—inch by inch, letting her adjust to the length and girth. Paige moaned high and breathy,

“Fuuuckk—mommy! So good”

Azzi was in all the way now and started moving slowly—in and out, watching herself meet Paige. Azzi could also feel everything, having an insert inside herself. Each thrust sent a new spark through her. It really was like she could feel herself inside Paige. Azzi leaned down, still moving, and started biting at Paige’s neck and jaw. She began to thrust a little faster and kissed right below her ear. Paige’s mouth was hung open—in awe of how good it felt to be split open so intensely.

Azzi hovered over Paige’s chest and spit on her tits, then pumped in and out of her pussy harder.

“Take it like a good slut. Can’t get enough of you,” Azzi growled.

Paige was a moaning mess. Hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, face flushed, nails digging into her palms, toes curled—yet enjoying every second of it. Azzi was already building up her climax again—making her pound Paige’s pussy at an unfathomable speed now. Azzi used her thumb to start circling Paige’s clit. She applied just enough pressure to have Paige arching her back far off the bed. Azzi doubled down at this, wanting to get off as well.

She continued her attack on Paige’s clit while using her other hand to squeeze Paige's throat—enough to hold her weight, but not enough to actually hurt her.

Paige was overwhelmed by the many stimulations. It only took a couple more thrusts before Azzi came all over the harness and felt a loud gush of liquid come from below her. She looked down, slowing her rhythm, “Holy fuck baby. That was hot as shit!”

Paige squirted all over the dildo and Azzi’s thighs. Paige couldn’t even be embarrassed because it felt so incredible—the blindfold also helped mask the flush of redness creeping on her face.

Azzi pulled out slow, and undid the harness. She threw it to the floor, not caring where it ended up, and kissed Paige’s stomach. She crawled up to Paige’s face and reached for the blindfold, peeling it off. Paige could barely open her eyes, but when she did, she saw Azzi beaming at her.

“You did so good P”

Paige gave the faintest smile, but enough to show Azzi she was immensely satisfied. Azzi got the keys to the handcuffs and unlocked them. Paige’s arms fell free and she immediately moved them to Azzi’s face, pulling her in for a kiss. It was a deep kiss, but not rushed. Filled with every word they weren’t able to say just yet.

Azzi pulled away barely, “Lemme undo your feet baby.” Paige hummed and let her eyes fall closed. Azzi moved down, undoing Paige’s ankles from the restraints and pushing that away too. Azzi rubbed up and down Paige’s thighs for a minute, then crawled up to lay by her. Azzi started to pull the covers over them, then realized she should probably clean themselves up. But before she could even get out of the bed, Paige pulled her back down.

“Later,” she said with a tired, raspy voice.

Azzi obliged and scooted right back where she belonged—curled into Paige’s side. She pulled the blankets over them and threw any other toys off the bed. She laid her head in the crook of Paige’s neck and whispered, “How was that baby?”

Paige didn’t move, but smiled with a stupid grin, “Fuckin perfect mommy.”

Azzi giggled and pinched Paige’s side playfully, then kissed her neck. The two fell asleep, sore and tired, but nevertheless connected by something deeper than just love.

[theonottsbxtch]

THE LOCKER NEXT TO HIS PT1 | LN4

an: the forth installment! i had a lot of fun writing this one as you can tell it is much longer than all the other ones, this one i am holding very dear to my chest and would die for this version of lando, following this one is med school!isack, i hope you enjoy this installment! i have to post them in two parts because its too long lmao

wc: 17.2k (both parts together)

warnings: mentions of death & trauma

summary: lando was just a tired firefighter in a flat that smelled like rice and regrets. then she showed up, quiet, sharp, accidentally charming. and suddenly things weren’t so routine. they flirt like it’s an olympic sport, but grief lingers like smoke. somewhere between post-it notes and midnight gelato, they start to save each other.

PART TWO uniformed hearts masterlist

LANDO HADN'T MEANT TO STAY IN THAT FLAT MORE THAN SIX MONTHS. A stopgap, that’s what he’d called it. Just somewhere cheap, close to the station, until something better came along. That was two years ago.

Now, the walls still had damp blooming quietly up the corners, the boiler made a wheezing noise every time someone flushed the loo, and someone, probably Isack, had blu-tacked a page of anatomy revision notes to the fridge like it belonged there. But it was cheap. And close to work. And, in a way he didn’t often admit, just familiar enough to feel like home.

He shared it with two others. Franco, a paramedic who was mostly never around and staying at his girlfriend’s place, and Isack, a med student who never spoke above a whisper and survived almost exclusively on rice. Lando saw more of their laundry than their faces.

The place smelt faintly of washing powder and leftover curry. The living room rug was half-singed from a failed candle experiment last winter. Still, at the end of a long shift, it was warm. And sometimes that was enough.

This morning, he was already late.

He jammed a half-eaten cereal bar into his mouth, slung his fleece over one shoulder, and locked the flat behind him with the usual three-jiggle twist it took to get the key to behave. The sun hadn’t quite committed to rising yet, that strange hour when the world felt like it belonged to delivery vans and joggers and no one else.

The station was only ten minutes away. Twelve, if he stopped to grab a tea.

He didn’t.

Inside, the usual morning buzz was just beginning, chairs scraping, the telly droning low in the corner, Zak already sighing like the day had personally offended him.

Lando was halfway through pulling off his jacket when he saw her.

Standing in the kitchen, back turned, sleeves rolled up, one hand on the kettle and the other flicking through a file. Hair up. Posture that said she wasn’t just passing through.

He paused, briefly, just taking her in. She wasn’t familiar. And he’d have remembered.

Not firefighter. Not one of the council types either. Too practical.

New.

He didn’t say anything straight away. Just stepped into the doorway and leaned against the frame, casual as anything.

She noticed him. Didn’t look up. Just said, “If you’re here to ask when breakfast’s ready, you’ll be disappointed.”

Lando blinked. Then smiled, slow. “Right. So no full English then?”

“Not unless you brought your own pan. And cleaned it first.”

He chuckled, stepped further in. “Didn’t realise we’d hired a chef.”

“We didn’t,” she said, glancing up now. Her eyes were sharp. “I’m maintenance.”

“Maintenance?” he echoed. “You fix the boiler or the printer?”

“Neither. I answer phones, do inventory, chase you lot for forms you forget to fill out.”

“Ah,” he said, mock grin. “The real power behind the throne.”

She raised a brow. “Something like that.”

He offered a hand, out of habit. “Lando.”

She glanced at it, then shook it once, quick and professional. “I know.”

That caught him off guard. “You do?”

“You’re the one who broke the kitchen chair last week, left half a Kinder in the fridge with a post-it that said ‘mine’, and wrote your own name on the rota in capital letters. Twice.”

He blinked. Then laughed. “Alright. Bit of a fan, are you?”

“Not even slightly.”

Her tone was deadpan, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth, not quite a smile, more the memory of one.

Lando tilted his head, watching her. “Well. If you’re going to be making notes on me, at least let me buy you a coffee first.”

She didn’t roll her eyes exactly, but the look she gave him was somewhere between amused and unimpressed.

“Do you flirt with everyone this early in the morning, or am I just the lucky one?”

He grinned, crooked. “Only the ones who remember the Kinder.”

That earned him nothing but the click of a cupboard door and the soft clatter of mugs being rearranged.

Still, as he turned to leave, she said, almost offhand, “Zak wants you to do a PPE check. Form’s on your locker.”

He glanced back. “You always this charming, or just for me?”

She didn’t look up this time. Just stirred her tea and said, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But her voice had softened by a degree. And Lando, who had been through enough hell to know the difference between cold and careful, he just smiled to himself and walked away.

Lando grinned all the way down the corridor. He wasn’t sure if it was the tea fumes or the new girl’s deadpan delivery, but something about the whole exchange left him in a better mood than he’d started in.

He found Oscar in the mess room, hunched over a bowl of cereal like it was the only thing tethering him to consciousness. There were dark smudges under his eyes and a slight sway to the way he was sitting, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks, which, to be fair, he probably hadn’t.

“Morning, sunshine,” Lando said, dropping into the chair opposite.

Oscar grunted.

“Alright, Eeyore. You look like you’ve been up all night getting emotionally waterboarded.”

“I have been up all night,” Oscar muttered, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Baby won’t settle unless she’s lying on me, and at some point I passed out with half a dummy stuck to my cheek.”

Lando winced. “Fatherhood’s so hot.”

Oscar gave him a look that could’ve curdled milk. Then went back to his cereal.

Lando leaned back in his chair. “Met the new girl yet?”

“What new girl?”

“Maintenance. Zak’s latest hire. Bit of an enigma. Possibly my soulmate.”

Oscar blinked. “You’ve known her five minutes.”

“Yeah, and I’ve grown emotionally in all of them.” He stood, gesturing with his mug. “Come on.”

Oscar stared at him, unmoving.

Lando sighed. “This is what happens when you don’t talk to adults. You forget how to do normal social things. Get up. This is your reintroduction to society.”

Oscar groaned, but stood anyway, carrying his cereal bowl with the slow resignation of a man who knew he wasn’t winning this.

Upstairs, the kitchen was still warm. A different kind of quiet now, more settled. She was sorting through a delivery box on the counter, frowning down at a set of mugs that looked suspiciously like they belonged in someone’s nan’s attic.

Lando leaned casually in the doorway, Oscar lurking just behind him.

She glanced up, caught them both staring, and narrowed her eyes. “Why am I being looked at like I’m on trial?”

Oscar, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sorry just… there’s usually no women here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Right. First time seeing one?”

Oscar flushed slightly. “No. I just meant…”

“Mm.” She looked him up and down, then caught the glint of the ring on his left hand. “So it’s not your first time. That’s a relief. What’s Lando’s excuse?”

Lando, who was sipping from his mug just to appear casual, nearly choked. “I don’t need an excuse,” he said, grinning. “I’m a very supportive colleague. Just thought you two should meet. Oscar’s our resident domestic deity. Got a newborn and a soft spot for dad jokes.”

“Impressive,” she said, with a faint smile. Then to Oscar, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he said, still a bit thrown. “She’s small. And loud. But I love her.”

That made her laugh, just a little. The sort of sound that caught Lando more than he’d admit. Light and fleeting, like something she didn’t let out often.

She turned back to the mugs, pulling one out with a small frown. “These are horrible.”

Oscar peered at them. “They look like they came from a charity shop in 1983.”

“They did,” she muttered, checking the box label. “Brilliant.”

Lando leaned in. “You know, we’ve got some pristine ones in the crew room. Untouched. We only use the chipped ones out of loyalty.”

She gave him a look. “You mean laziness.”

He shrugged. “Tomato, tomato.”

Oscar, sensing he was no longer needed, backed away slowly like a man escaping a wild animal encounter. “Right, I’m going to pretend I’m still on leave.”

“You’re literally in uniform,” Lando called after him.

Oscar held up his cereal bowl in vague farewell and disappeared down the hall.

That left Lando in the doorway again, her still half-focused on unpacking, but not quite not-looking at him.

He tapped the side of his mug with one finger. “So. No name badge. I’m still operating on mystery-girl settings.”

She didn’t look up. “That’s intentional.”

“Fair. Adds to the intrigue.”

“I think your definition of intrigue is ‘mild inconvenience’.”

He grinned. “Only when it comes with sarcasm and a file of health and safety violations.”

She glanced at him then, properly. The sort of glance that said she was still deciding what to make of him. Not in a rude way. Just measured.

“I’m here to work,” she said, tone light but firm. “Not get flirted with by every firefighter who forgets how to work a printer.”

Lando placed his mug down on the counter and gave her a small, mock-serious nod. “Right. I’ll keep it professional, then. Strictly toner cartridges and awkward eye contact.”

She snorted. “Please don’t make eye contact when discussing toner. That feels weirdly intimate.”

Lando laughed. “Alright. No eye contact. But I reserve the right to leave mysterious Post-it notes.”

She raised a brow. “You leave mysterious Kinders. Not the same.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Guilty.”

The radio crackled to life again in the background, some caller-in show about potholes, typically British. She turned back to the box and he lingered for a moment longer, just watching the way she worked. Efficient. Sharp. Like someone who’d been underestimated enough to turn it into armour.

Eventually, he straightened. “Well. Welcome to the circus.”

She didn’t look up. “Thanks.”

He paused just long enough to hear her say it.

Then headed back down the hall, still grinning, like he’d just been handed a puzzle he wouldn’t mind taking his time figuring out.

She’d been here a week. And no one had noticed.

Which, to be fair, was exactly how she’d planned it.

There was a certain freedom in invisibility, no questions, no expectations, just her and the never-ending list of things that needed restocking, reordering, or politely emailing the council about. The station ticked along with its own rhythm, and she slotted herself into the gaps. Fixed the printer. Made the tea. Carried on with the quiet efficiency of someone trying very hard not to be part of the story.

And then Lando had walked into the kitchen with his ridiculous grin and his even more ridiculous face, and now well.

She’d been noticed.

Not just glanced at. Not just nodded to. Noticed. Clocked. Eyed in that way she’d hoped wouldn’t happen. The way that said I see you, even if he didn’t know what he was looking at yet.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

Well. She was. She just wasn’t sure she liked how she felt about it.

She turned back to the delivery box with unnecessary focus, tugging another mug out with a bit too much force. Her knuckles grazed the edge of the cardboard. She didn’t swear, not aloud, anyway.

The thing was, she hadn’t wanted to be here. At all.

After uni, she’d done what everyone told her to, took a gap year to "find herself", which mostly involved booking flights she couldn’t afford and having mild identity crises in hostels that smelt like socks. It was meant to help. Give her time. Clarity. A sense of direction.

It gave her a sunburn, two expired travel cards, and a vague dislike of anyone who said "manifest it" unironically.

So when she landed back home with no plan and even less money, her dad had said, kindly, firmly, with that look she knew better than to argue with, “You need to face reality.”

And reality, apparently, was a job at his fire station.

Maintenance, on paper. Odd jobs. Admin. Support. Nothing official. He’d even promised, hand on heart, that no one would know they were related.

And so far, he’d kept that promise.

They barely spoke on shift. Just passing nods and the occasional muttered “well done” when she managed to fix the kitchen tap with nothing but a spoon and a suspiciously old instruction manual.

Still. It was weird. Being there. Being her there.

The station had its own language, radio codes, nicknames, shorthand she hadn’t quite cracked yet. It smelled of gear bags and burnt toast and stale deodorant. The men were mostly decent, older, tired, still caught in the glory days of jokes from 2009. Some of the younger ones looked at her like she was either an intern or a misplaced delivery.

But none of them had really looked at her. Until this morning.

She rubbed the back of her wrist absent-mindedly, eyeing the last few mugs. The sound of Lando’s voice still lingered faintly in her head, bright, teasing, too quick for her to deflect without thinking.

She didn’t want to be flirted with. She didn’t want anyone to ask her name. She didn’t want to feel warm in the face just because some firefighter with annoyingly nice forearms and a crooked smile had noticed she existed.

She wanted to do her job. Get paid. Maybe disappear again in six months.

But now…

Now she’d been noticed.

She shoved the last mug onto the shelf, shut the cupboard a bit too firmly, and stood there for a second, palms flat on the counter.

Maybe he’d forget about her. Maybe it was just a one-off.

She opened her eyes and sighed.

It definitely wasn’t.

By midday, the station had settled into that familiar low hum, not quite quiet, but not buzzing either. She liked it best like this. Paperwork stacked into vaguely sensible piles, someone’s half-finished toast abandoned on a plate in the kitchen, and a dog-eared training manual lying face down on the sofa like it had given up on life.

She moved through the building with her usual rhythm, checked the rota board, confirmed the equipment delivery (which was, as always, three helmets short and labelled for a completely different station), replaced the loo roll in the women's locker room, even though she was still the only person using it.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something. And she was good at it, the small, invisible things that made everything else tick along.

Around half three, she swung by her dad’s office.

The door was slightly ajar, as always, and the radio on his desk was turned low, some footie commentary murmuring away like background weather. He was hunched over a spreadsheet, glasses low on his nose, biro in mouth.

She knocked gently on the doorframe. “Delivery update. You’re not getting your flash hoods until Friday. And someone in logistics thinks we’re in Milton Keynes.”

Without looking up, he said, “Alright, princess.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “No.”

He looked up, blinked. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Yeah, well. Break it.”

He smiled, a little sheepish, a little smug. “Noted.”

She stepped inside, resting a hip against the edge of his desk. “Everything alright?”

He sighed. “Fine, mostly. Andrea’s chasing up the budget report. Something about overspending on vehicle maintenance.”

“Because the bloody ladder mechanism got stuck again and someone tried to fix it with WD-40 and optimism.”

He snorted. “God, you sound like me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say that like it’s a compliment.”

“Didn’t realise it wasn’t.”

She smirked despite herself, then nodded toward the open personnel files beside him. “Anyone actually fill out their updated medical forms?”

“Two out of fifteen.”

She made a noise of vague despair. “And you wonder why I threaten them with brightly coloured spreadsheets.”

He chuckled. “You’re good at this, you know.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I want to be here.”

His expression shifted, just slightly. “I know.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, just full of things they weren’t going to say.

Eventually she pushed off from the desk and nodded toward the hallway. “Alright. I’ve got to go and chase up the missing radio order.”

“Thanks, love.”

She froze. Gave him a very pointed look over her shoulder.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

She muttered something under her breath and stepped out into the corridor.

Only to walk straight into Lando.

He was leaning against the wall outside, arms folded, one foot propped up behind him like he’d been there long enough to get comfortable. He had that look on his face, the one people got when they knew something they shouldn’t.

“Princess, huh?”

Her whole body stilled. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow, far too pleased with himself. “Didn’t peg you for the royal sort.”

“Piss off.”

He stepped beside her, falling into step as she marched back down the corridor. “Do we curtsy now? Or is it more of a wave-from-the-balcony vibe?”

She didn’t look at him. “If you start humming God Save the King I will staple your rota to your forehead.”

Lando grinned. “Ooh, feisty. Bit of a Lady Catherine de Bourgh situation.”

She glared sideways at him. “You read Pride and Prejudice?”

“No. But I saw the film. The one with the pond scene.”

“Of course you did.”

They turned a corner. He was still going. “Alright, what about Duchess? Your Royal Highness? Madam?”

“You sound like you’re ordering off a weird menu.”

“Alright, alright. Something simpler. Love?”

“No.”

“Darling?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Babe?”

She stopped walking and gave him a look so withering it could’ve stripped paint.

He held his hands up. “Right, not babe. Got it. Bit strong.”

“Bit tragic.”

He smirked. “Fine. We’ll keep it simple. How about… Trouble?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve known me less than a month.”

“Exactly. And look how much damage you’ve done already.”

She shook her head and started walking again, refusing to let him see the way her mouth wanted to twitch.

He kept pace beside her, not saying anything now. Just humming. Badly.

Probably God Save the King.

She sighed.

This was going to be a long placement.

By the end of her second week at the station, she could walk the corridors without needing to look where she was going.

There was a comfort in routine, not the dramatic sort, not anything life-affirming, just the steady hum of predictability. Tom still started every morning with a groan and a tea he never finished. Andrea had taken to recounting the same three stories about her early days on shift, adding a new detail each time, like folklore. The back door stuck. The toaster was temperamental. The station dog, who technically didn’t exist, but wandered in most afternoons, had taken a liking to her boots.

She moved quietly through the days, doing her job well enough to be useful, not so well that anyone got ideas. Printouts, forms, stock requests, phone calls. The small things no one else remembered to do, until they weren’t done.

She liked being overlooked. There was peace in it.

Or there had been, until Lando started paying attention.

It began on Monday, in the kitchen, where he appeared beside her while she was fixing the drawer runners. He held out a custard cream like it was a rare offering.

“I’m not bribable,” she said, not looking up.

“Not even for the superior biscuit?”

She glanced at him, expression flat. “That’s not the superior biscuit. That’s the beige one people pretend to like.”

He looked scandalised. She ignored the smile curling behind his scowl.

By Tuesday, she’d learned to brace herself.

Oscar passed her in the hallway holding what looked like the contents of a nursery in both hands, a car seat, a onesie, a muslin cloth draped over his shoulder like a war flag.

“Do you know how babies’ arms work?” he asked, bleary-eyed.

She blinked. “Not really?”

He nodded. “Didn’t think so. They’re too bendy.” Then wandered off in the direction of the kit room, muttering something about elasticated nightmares.

On Wednesday, Lando caught her crouched under the printer with her hand up to the wrist in toner powder.

“You always fix everything?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him. “Someone has to.”

There was a pause.

“You good at fixing people too?”

She did look up, then. Not long, just enough to catch something unfamiliar in his expression, something quieter, more honest than she’d expected.

“People are messier,” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah. We are.”

He left her to the toner after that.

Thursday brought Oscar again, sat on the sofa in the mess room staring into a cup of tea like it wasn’t the correct colour.

“You alright?” she asked.

“I cried at a John Lewis advert this morning,” he said. “The penguin one. So lonely.”

She made him another tea, stronger this time, and sat beside him until he stopped sighing.

On Friday, she caught Lando standing in front of the noticeboard, staring at a tacked-up photo someone had left, a family barbeque, blurry and sunlit. His arms were folded, jaw tight. Still.

She almost said something. Almost.

But then he turned, saw her watching, and grinned like it had never happened.

Later, he called her handwriting weirdly attractive. She called him a walking HR risk. But the moment had stayed.

By Saturday, things had shifted.

She found a Post-it on the coffee tin.

Superior biscuit rankings:

Chocolate Hobnob

Bourbons

Rich Tea (if dunked properly)

Custard Creams (wrongly slandered)

Underneath, a line in smaller script: This list is legally binding. Debate at your own peril. — L.

She rolled her eyes. Smirked. Reached for a pen.

Chocolate Digestives or we riot. 

She didn’t sign it, but she knew he’d know.

On Sunday, Oscar appeared again, looking vaguely haunted.

“Why are you here?” she asked, eyeing the yoghurt on his jumper.

“I just needed to be near adults,” he said, deadpan. “I had a forty-minute conversation with a sock this morning.”

She made him coffee. He thanked her like she’d just administered CPR.

And just like that, another week passed.

She still didn’t have a nameplate on her door. Still hadn’t told anyone her dad ran the place. But the station had begun to feel less unfamiliar. Not home, not exactly. But somewhere in the region.

And Lando hadn’t stopped.

Still teased. Still turned up at inconvenient moments. Still leaned into conversations with that smirk like he was trying to distract her from something neither of them were ready to say.

But every so often, she caught him between expressions. When he thought no one was watching. And that was when she saw it, the quiet edge beneath the grin, the pause that lasted half a second too long.

She didn’t know what it meant yet.

Didn’t know if she wanted to.

But she’d noticed.

And it was becoming harder not to look.

It was nearly midnight by the time she reached the station. She hadn’t meant to come back  but somewhere around mile three of a run she didn’t particularly want to be on, she’d realised she’d left her charger under the printer desk. Again.

The streets were quiet, the kind of quiet that only settled after eleven, not empty, just still. Streetlights hummed above. The air smelled faintly like takeaway and damp concrete.

She let herself in through the back door, not expecting anyone to be around.

The station at night was different. Softer. The fluorescent glare had given way to low amber bulbs in the corridors. The mess room telly was muted, casting a flickering glow over abandoned mugs and someone’s half-finished Sudoku. No shouting. No alarms. Just the odd creak of old floorboards and the distant hum of the boiler cupboard.

She padded towards the office, tugging her hoodie down over her hands. Her legs ached pleasantly, the ache that came from moving just to stop your brain spinning.

She was halfway through reaching under the desk when she heard it, the clink of a spoon against a mug, followed by a low, familiar voice.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the mystery admin gremlin.”

She looked up.

Lando was in the kitchen, sleeves of his fleece rolled to the elbows, tea in hand, leaning against the counter like he lived there. His hair was damp at the ends, like he’d just come back from a call and jumped through a quick shower. There was a streak of something, ash, maybe, along the hem of his shirt. He looked comfortable. Tired in a way that suited him.

“I’m not a gremlin,” she said, standing upright, her hoodie sticking slightly to her arms with sweat. “I came to get my charger.”

“Midnight charger rescue mission?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Very high stakes.”

“Not all of us have three spare at home.”

He took a sip of his tea. “And here I was thinking you just couldn’t stay away.”

She gave him a look.

He grinned.

She sighed and walked past him into the kitchen, opening the cupboard mostly to avoid his face. “Aren’t you on night shift?”

“Mm. Just me, for now. Everyone else is either asleep or pretending to be.”

She nodded, pulling a glass down from the shelf.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here at this hour,” he added, watching her with quiet curiosity. “Out for a jog?”

“Run,” she corrected. “Jogging implies I enjoyed it.”

He smiled around his mug. “You always run late at night?”

“Helps clear my head.”

He nodded, slowly, like he understood.

She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to.

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward, just full.

She poured herself some water from the tap, the metal clinking gently as she set the glass down.

“You alright?” he asked, softer now.

She hesitated. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”

He didn’t push. Just sipped his tea again, eyes not quite meeting hers.

“You always here this late?” she asked, turning the question back on him.

“Not always. Just got back from a call.” He shrugged. “Small fire. Washing machine went rogue.”

She smirked faintly. “Those bloody washing machines. Menace to society.”

He laughed quietly. “Tell me about it. Once helped my friend Max who got his cat stuck in a washing machine.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He gave a small shake of his head. “Don’t ask.”

They stood there for a moment, the quiet settling between them like an old jumper. Comfortable. A little frayed.

She leaned back against the counter. “Always the joker when you’re tired, huh?”

“I always joke,” he said simply. Then added, “Tired just makes it more dangerous.”

She looked at him then, really looked. The easy grin, the slouched shoulders, the way his fingers wrapped around the mug like he didn’t quite trust his hands to be still otherwise.

And there it was again. That flicker. That pause, right before he spoke. Like something inside him was louder than the words he let out.

“You alright?” she asked, the question returned, quieter this time.

He looked up, surprised.

“Yeah,” he said after a second. “Just been a long shift. You know how it is.”

She nodded, but didn’t move.

He tapped the rim of his mug once, twice, then glanced over. “You ever feel like you’re running just to stop your head catching up with you?”

She looked at him. “Yeah.”

His eyes softened a fraction. “Yeah. Me too.”

That was all. Nothing more than that. But it sat between them, heavier than silence.

She finished her water, set the glass down gently.

“Well,” she said, already moving toward the door, “I’ve got my charger now. Gremlin duties complete.”

He stepped aside, holding the door open like he’d done it a hundred times.

“Night, princess.”

She paused mid-step. Turned slowly. “Seriously?”

He shrugged. “What was it? Force of habit.”

“Fuck off.”

He grinned. “Sleep well, your majesty.”

She rolled her eyes and walked off, hoodie sleeves shoved down to her knuckles, face warm in a way she refused to examine.

Behind her, the door creaked shut. The corridor hummed.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be invisible after all.

Lando waited until he heard the back door click shut before moving.

The corridor hummed faintly behind him, that low, electric buzz that stations all seemed to have at night, like the walls were holding their breath.

Lando set his mug down in the sink, rinsed it, left it to dry on the draining board with the others that no one ever put away. His hands were still damp when he pressed the button for the gym lights.

They flickered once. Came on low.

It wasn’t much of a gym, just an old weight bench, a knackered treadmill, and a punching bag that swayed too much when the heating kicked in. But it did the job. Kept the edges off. Let him move until his brain shut up.

He slipped off his fleece, rolled his sleeves to the elbows, and started with push-ups. Nothing fancy. Just movement. Repetition.

Down. Breathe. Up.

Again.

The floor was cold beneath his palms. The air tasted faintly of rubber matting and leftover adrenaline.

He kept going.

Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five.

It wasn’t about numbers. Wasn’t about anything, really, just the act of it. The quiet. The ache. The way it drowned everything else out.

When his shoulders started to burn, he switched. Pull-ups, then bag work. Let his knuckles sting. Let the punchbag sway too far and hit him back. Maybe he deserved it.

After a while, he didn’t count.

He stopped when his arms wouldn’t quite lift the way he asked them to.

The sweat cooled quick. It always did in here. He wiped his face on the bottom of his T-shirt and didn’t bother changing. Just grabbed his fleece, still warm from before, and walked back into the corridor like nothing had happened.

Except something had.

It always did, when she was around.

He didn’t know what it was, exactly. She was sharp, sure. Funny, in that dry, blink-and-you-miss-it kind of way. But it wasn’t just that.

It was how she looked at him sometimes. Like she hadn’t decided yet if she trusted him. Like she could see the cracks before he even made them obvious.

And that scared the hell out of him.

He wandered back into the mess room, lights still low. The telly was off now. Someone had left an empty tea bag on the side, like a promise they’d come back and clean it up later. They wouldn’t.

He sat for a minute. Let the quiet settle. Tried to ignore the way his chest still hadn’t caught up with his breath.

Then he stood. Walked to the noticeboard.

The photo was still there.

It always surprised him how no one seemed to mention it. Like it had just become part of the wall, pinned between rotas and fire safety posters and that one printout about mental health support that no one had taken seriously since 2014.

It was a family photo. Slightly curled at the corners. Dad, mum, two boys, one lanky, older, arms folded like he thought he was hard. The other younger, round-cheeked, grinning with the sort of abandon you only ever saw in children.

He didn’t know who they were. Had never asked. Probably someone’s cousin’s cousin, a story passed along the chain and forgotten.

But every time he looked at it, his stomach twisted.

Tonight, it didn’t twist. Tonight, it dropped.

He stared at it for too long. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Just breathed.

And there it was, the flicker. The corner of memory he spent every day trying not to walk past. The echo of a voice. A smell he couldn’t quite name.

He reached out.

Fingers didn’t touch the photo. Just hovered.

Then the alarm went.

That shrill, familiar sound that sliced through everything.

Lando flinched.

He grabbed his fleece, shrugged it on, and ran.

No time to think.

Just the job.

Just keep moving.

It was Monday, which meant the station was technically quieter, fewer calls, fewer people, fewer distractions. But admin didn’t stop just, it kept coming, and her dad had casually dropped a teetering stack of paperwork on her desk that morning with a cheerful, “No rush, but yesterday.”

So she’d parked herself in the corner office, the one with the drafty window and the chair that wheezed when you leaned too far back, and resigned herself to a day of forms, phone calls, and sighing.

She was halfway through reformatting a log sheet when she heard the unmistakable squeak of a wheeled chair being dragged down the corridor.

Not rolled.

Dragged.

She didn’t even look up. “If you break that, you’re paying for it.”

The noise stopped in the doorway.

“I’ll have you know this is a tactical relocation,” came Lando’s voice, far too pleased with himself.

She looked up, unimpressed. He stood there with a chair from the meeting room, one hand still gripping the backrest like he might ride it into battle.

“You’re not on shift,” she said.

He shrugged. “Franco’s got his girlfriend round and Isack’s studying for some terrifying anatomy thing. He offered to show me the flashcards. I ran.”

“And you thought this was the better option?”

He rolled the chair in beside her desk, flopped into it like a bored teenager, and stretched his legs out with a dramatic sigh. “I figured you missed me.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response. Just kept typing.

He watched her for a bit, not in a creepy way, just with the sort of idle curiosity that came from having nothing else to do and nowhere else to be.

“So,” he said eventually, “what’s the most thrilling form on your desk today?”

“Incident review,” she said. “From two weeks ago.”

“Scandalous.”

“I can feel your sarcasm from here.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, spinning slowly in the chair, “this room could use a bit more sparkle.”

She side-eyed him. “You’re not sparkle. You’re disruption.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t one.”

But she didn’t tell him to leave. And he didn’t move.

She kept working, and he kept gently spinning in that way people do when they’re fighting the urge to fidget. After a while, she slid a stack of blank forms across the desk.

“If you’re going to loiter, make yourself useful.”

He blinked at them. “Am I being put to work?”

“You’re here. You’re breathing. That’s enough for me.”

He picked one up and held it like it might bite. “You know this is against the Geneva Convention.”

“Welcome to admin,” she said, dry.

They fell into an odd rhythm. She typed, answered the occasional radio call, scribbled notes. He asked questions with the sincerity of someone who had never willingly filled out a form in his life.

Somewhere around the fourth page, she glanced over at him properly. Really looked.

He was slouched, legs long in front of him, head tilted back just slightly as he read a line for the third time. There were faint shadows under his eye, darker than usual. His jaw was less tight, somehow, like he’d run out of energy to hold it.

“You look like you haven’t slept in ages,” she said, casually.

He looked up. Smirked. “I’m good.”

She frowned.

He looked away, back at the form, pen twirling between his fingers.

The thing was, he said it like a reflex. Not like it was true.

She didn’t press. Just went back to her own work.

Time slipped on, slow and quiet, the clock ticking somewhere behind them. The room was warm, soft with sunlight filtering through the blinds.

At some point, she reached for the stapler. When she glanced up again, he’d gone still.

Proper still.

Head tilted against the back of the chair, mouth slightly open, pen still in his hand, but asleep.

Deep, unbothered sleep.

She stared at him for a moment, unsure whether to be annoyed or concerned.

Then she sighed. Rolled her chair back. Opened the drawer, pulled out an old fleece someone had left behind, and draped it gently across his chest.

He didn’t stir.

“Idiot,” she muttered.

But she didn’t wake him.

Not yet.

Hours went by and he didn’t move once.

She checked twice, just to be sure, once by glancing over the top of her monitor, and again by quietly sliding her chair back and standing, careful not to disturb the creaky floorboard by the heater.

Still out cold. Head tilted slightly to one side now, jaw slack with sleep, hand resting lightly on the folder he hadn’t managed to finish. 

She left it there.

It was the most still she’d seen him since arriving at the station. No smart remarks. No grin. Just quiet.

She sat back down and tried to work. Tried being the operative word.

Ten minutes later, the corridor outside creaked under the weight of heavier boots, and then—

“Ah, just the person I’m looking for.”

Max’s voice, authoritative and a bit too loud. She’d been introduced to him last week when he came back after a garage fire.

She stood quickly, holding a finger to her lips. “Shh. Please.”

Max blinked. Oscar, just behind him, squinted into the room.

Then both of them spotted Lando.

“Oh,” Max said, voice dropping to a whisper. “Is he asleep?”

She nodded. “He came in a couple of hours ago. Wasn’t on shift, just, turned up. Said he was bored.”

Oscar sighed. “Sounds about right.”

Max stepped a little closer, peering at Lando like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take a photo.

“He looks twelve like that,” he said.

“He looks like he hasn’t slept properly in days,” she said quietly. “Just let him be.”

Oscar gave her a look. Not mocking. Just knowing.

Max nodded, stepping back again. “Right. I’ll be quick. I only needed him to sign off on a joint report from that garage fire. Insurance flagged something weird. It’s just a formality.”

“I’ll sort it,” she said without hesitation. “Leave it with me.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll get it signed and sent over first thing.”

Oscar was still watching her. She didn’t meet his gaze.

Max handed over the folder, gave her a grateful nod, and turned to go.

Oscar lingered for half a second.

“He probably doesn’t sleep, otherwise,” he said, soft.

Then he followed Max down the hall.

She stood there for a long moment after they’d gone.

Then turned back to Lando, still dead to the world in that chair that couldn’t have been comfortable, and whispered, “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

But she didn’t wake him.

Instead, she pulled out a new form, clicked her pen, and quietly got to work.

Lando didn’t talk about it.

Didn’t mention the fact he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, slumped in a borrowed chair in the corner of her office like it was the most natural thing in the world. Didn’t apologise. Didn’t make a joke about it. Just vanished.

She’d only stepped out for five minutes, a quick detour to her dad’s office to hand over a supply order and get cornered into a discussion about rota gaps.

When she came back, he was gone.

The chair had been returned to the meeting room. The admin folder he’d been working on was neatly stacked, signed and dated. Her pen capped. The desk tidied.

And on top, stuck at a slight angle, was a yellow Post-it note in familiar handwriting:

might steal your job — L

She smiled, helplessly. Rolled her eyes. Folded the note in half and slipped it into her notebook like it didn’t mean anything.

She’d just sat down again when Oscar appeared in the doorway, knocking gently against the frame like he wasn’t sure if she was mid-email or mid-breakdown.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

She looked up. “I haven’t broken anything. Yet.”

“Not here to scold. For once.”

He stepped inside, holding a bright pink envelope that had clearly been carried by someone under the age of ten, it was covered in butterfly stickers and glittery stars, and her name was written on the front in purple gel pen, all curls and extra hearts all over the place.

She blinked. “Should I be worried?”

Oscar grinned. “Aurelia’s birthday party. This weekend.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to sound normal. “She’s turning…?”

“Nine,” he said. “Going on nineteen.”

She smiled. “Big deal, then.”

“Massive. There will be pizza, games, some kind of pinterest inspired cake situation I don’t fully understand. She made invitations herself. You’re on the guest list.”

He handed it over.

She took it carefully, trying not to dislodge the glitter.

Inside was a folded card covered in felt-tip doodles, unicorns, a suspiciously buff firefighter, and a massive ‘YOU’RE INVITED’ across the top. Inside, written in big letters with no regard for spacing:

dear fire girl,pls come to my birthday on saturday. there will be cake and silly games and my stepdad said you’re cool even tho you look serious all the time.also mum says you have very nice hair.love,Aurelia :)

She stared at it for a second, something warm catching in her throat.

“I’m not fire crew,” she said, not really to him. “I just do paperwork.”

Oscar shrugged. “You’re here. That’s enough.”

There was something about the way he said it, like it was obvious. Like she didn’t need to prove anything.

“I’m not trying to crash anything,” she added quickly. “I know it’s a family thing.”

“And you’re part of that,” he said, simple as anything. “Like it or not.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak straight away. Just nodded, pressing her thumb against the edge of the envelope to keep her hands busy.

Oscar gave her a soft smile. “Don’t overthink it. Just show up. Eat some cake. Let a small child judge your dancing.”

“Terrifying,” she muttered.

“Welcome to the family.”

And with that, he wandered off down the corridor, humming something that might have been the Cha Cha Slide.

She sat there a little longer, staring at the card, glitter catching the light like it had something to prove.

Maybe this place was becoming something after all.

On Sunday, she’d spent far too long standing in front of her wardrobe.

It was just a kids’ birthday party. Not a job interview. Not a first date. Not anything that required this level of internal debate. And yet there she was, trying on her fourth outfit and wondering if she looked like she was trying too hard.

Eventually, she landed on something simple: a pair of high-waisted jeans, a cropped top that was just on the right side of casual, and an oversized cardigan that made her feel less exposed. Soft trainers instead of boots. A touch of lip balm. Nothing dramatic.

Still, when she looked in the mirror, she barely recognised herself. No station polo. No cargo trousers. No practical ponytail scraped back like she was heading into battle.

Just her.

She carried the small gift bag in both hands as she walked up the stairs to Oscar’s apartment. She could already hear the laughter from inside, music playing low, the sound of kids squealing in delight, someone shouting over everyone else. Warmth spilled out through the letterbox.

She paused at the door.

And stood there.

She wasn’t sure why. She’d been invited. Welcomed, even. But something about the sound of everyone already inside, the ease, the familiarity, made her hesitate.

She was the outsider, after all. The one with the clipboard. The one who wasn’t quite in the group, even if she was starting to circle the edges of it.

She was just reaching for the doorbell when a voice behind her said, “You planning on standing there all day, or?”

She turned.

Lando stood a few feet away, arms full of gift bags, three plastic ones stuffed with boxes, tissue paper, and what looked suspiciously like a giant inflatable unicorn. He was in jeans and a black hoodie, hair still slightly damp like he’d only just got out the shower. He looked stupidly relaxed.

“You’re late,” she said, folding her arms.

He grinned. “Fashionably. Also, I had to stop at three different shops because apparently nine year olds don’t like books anymore unless they come with glitter slime.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of presents.”

“Got to maintain my title as favourite uncle, haven’t I?”

She smirked but didn’t reply.

He shifted the bags in his arms and looked at her properly then, the way her cardigan sleeves covered her hands, the way she was still angled slightly away from the door.

“You alright?” he asked, softer now.

She hesitated. Then nodded, once. “Just forgot how loud kids can be.”

He didn’t push. Just smiled, easy and warm.

“Well, lucky for you, I brought reinforcements.” He nodded toward one of the bags. “One of these is a karaoke microphone. Battery operated. No volume control. We’ll have them begging for bedtime by six.”

She laughed, quietly, but genuinely.

Then he noticed the gift bag in her hand. “Ooh. You got her something?”

“It’s just a little art kit,” she said, suddenly self-conscious. “Some pastels. Sketchbook. I didn’t want to turn up empty-handed.”

He tilted his head. “You softie.”

“I’m not,” she muttered.

“She’s gonna love it,” he said, firmly. “She’s been drawing all over the walls at home. Oscar’s nearly wept.”

She smiled again. “You’re spoiling her.”

“Obviously,” he said. “How else am I supposed to win her eternal loyalty?”

“Bit competitive, aren’t you?”

“I don’t play to lose.”

He winked, then shifted the bags again and nudged the door open with his hip. “Come on, let’s make an entrance.”

They stepped inside together.

Warmth hit her like a wave, fairy lights strung up around the bannisters, balloons in chaotic clumps, the smell of party food and cake and sugar. Someone had put on a kids’ playlist. The room was full of colour and laughter and far too much glitter.

“Uncle LanLan!”

Aurelia came barrelling down the hallway like a tiny whirlwind, tutu bouncing, face painted with lopsided butterflies. She launched herself at Lando with absolutely no hesitation.

He caught her with ease, bags dropped in a heap at his feet, arms lifting her like she weighed nothing.

“Hey, monster,” he said, grinning up at her. “Happy birthday!”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re late!”

“I brought offerings.”

“Are they sparkly?”

“The sparkliest.”

She squealed and clung tighter.

And she just stood there, watching.

Something about it, the way Lando held her, the way he laughed without holding back, the way Aurelia fit so perfectly against his shoulder, it pulled something strange and deep in her chest.

He was so good with her.

Natural. Effortless. Kind in a way that didn’t ask to be noticed.

He glanced sideways then, catching her watching, and gave her a small smile.

She looked away, suddenly shy.

Maybe he wasn’t all jokes after all.

The party unfolded in a swirl of noise and colour.

Aurelia ruled the lounge like a glitter covered queen, directing games with the authority of a small dictator and demanding cake before the candles were even lit. Oscar played referee with the vague desperation of a man outnumbered, while his wife laughed from the kitchen doorway, half-horrified, half-proud.

She kept mostly to the edges, helping carry plates, passing around napkins, ducking flying balloons. Not invisible, exactly. Just quietly present.

Then came gift time.

Aurelia sat cross legged in the middle of the floor, hair wild and face flushed with sugar, tearing into bags like her life depended on it. Lando sat beside her, grinning as she pulled out gift after gift with increasingly dramatic reactions.

When she got to her bag, the one with the pastels and sketchbook,  she paused. Slowed.

Lifted the tissue paper carefully.

And then beamed.

“OH,” she said loudly, holding the sketchbook aloft like it was a trophy. “THIS IS COOL. LOOK AT ALL THE COLOURS.”

She turned, without hesitation, and flung her arms around her.

For a second, she froze, not expecting it. Then returned the hug, awkward but warm.

Oscar celebrated from the kitchen. “We’re never going to have a clean wall again.”

His wife laughed. “Just let her draw on the windows this time.”

“I like the windows.”

“Then maybe don’t have a creative daughter.”

Aurelia was already flipping through the sketchbook, muttering about what to draw first.

Lando stood, brushing glitter off his jeans. “I’ll take it all up to your room,” he offered, scooping up the rest of her opened presents. “Keep the chaos contained.”

“Don’t touch the purple slime,” Aurelia warned. “It’s cursed.”

“Noted.”

He disappeared up the stairs with a wink in her direction, arms full.

The party swelled again, music, cake, someone trying to teach a dance move that looked vaguely illegal. She lost track of time for a bit, swept into the strange domestic warmth of it all.

But twenty minutes passed. Then thirty.

And Lando didn’t come back.

She tried not to overthink it. Maybe he’d been cornered by a child with a puzzle. Maybe he was helping clean up. But then what if he wasn’t.

She slipped away from the noise, up the stairs, quiet.

Aurelia’s room was at the end of the hall. Door ajar.

She pushed it gently open.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, still and upright, staring at the chair in the corner.

Aurelia’s school uniform was draped over it, blazer, shirt, tights folded on the seat. Nothing dramatic. Just a chair with clothes. Ordinary.

But he was frozen.

Not in a relaxed sort of way. In a locked sort of way. Shoulders tight. Breathing shallow.

She stepped in, careful not to startle him.

Then, slowly, lowered herself beside him, not too close. Just enough to be felt. Her hand came to rest lightly on his thigh, not firm, not pressing. Just there.

The reaction was instant.

He flinched, grabbed her wrist, not hard, not mean. Just automatic.

His eyes snapped to hers, wide. Then dropped to her hand. Realisation hit.

He let go immediately.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry. I—”

“It’s okay,” she said quietly.

He ran a hand over his face, looked away.

“I didn’t mean to—” He shook his head. “I’m usually better than this.”

She let the silence breathe. Let him breathe.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He hesitated.

Then stood.

“I think I’m gonna head out.”

She didn’t try to stop him. Just watched him walk to the doorway, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with himself.

As he reached for the door, she said, “Wanna go get ice cream?”

He turned.

She shrugged, casual. “I’m craving gelato. Figured you looked like someone who doesn’t know how to say no to pistachio.”

He stared at her, like he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.

Then his mouth twitched, just a little.

And he said, “Yeah. Actually. Yeah, alright.”

They made their way downstairs together, the party still in full swing. Someone had started a conga line. The cake had reached its messy, dismantled stage. Aurelia was attempting to teach Andrea how to floss and was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

She hovered in the doorway, unsure how to make an exit without interrupting.

Lando didn’t seem to have that issue.

He clapped Oscar gently on the shoulder. “We’re off.”

Oscar turned, eyebrows raised. “Both of you?”

“Giving her a lift,” Lando said smoothly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Oscar looked between them, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Something almost knowing.

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “Well. Drive safe.”

She offered a little wave to Aurelia, who was too busy pelting someone with wrapping paper to notice. Oscar’s wife mouthed thanks for coming, and she mouthed thanks for the invite back.

And then they were outside.

The air was cooler than she expected, the sort of late sprint evening that carried the smell of grass and someone else’s barbecue. Streetlights blinked on above them. 

They walked in comfortable silence for a bit, side by side, the kind that didn’t need filling.

Then Lando jerked his head toward the kerb. “That one’s mine.”

She looked.

A black Mercedes, quietly sleek, parked under a tree. Her eyebrows shot up.

“You drive that?!”

He shrugged. “Prefer to walk.”

She gave him a look.

He grinned. “Swear. It was my sister’s old one. I kept it after she said she needed a family car but couldn’t be bothered to sell it. Everyone in my flat’s insured on it now. Isack uses it more than me. Says the bus gives him migraines, but I think he’s trying to impress girls.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m basically the custodian of luxury transport for stressed out medical students and over committed paramedics.”

She laughed.

He opened the passenger door for her with a slight bow, which she ignore, but stepped in anyway, frowning when she heard the word “princess” slip from his lips.

Inside, it smelt like lemon air refresher and whatever shampoo Lando used.

They drove without music. 

When they pulled up outside the gelato shop, she nudged him gently with her elbow. “You going to order something ridiculous?"

“I’m a purist,” he said, feigning offence. “Chocolate and hazelnut. Two scoops. Waffle cone. No frills.”

“Liar.”

He grinned, pulling out his card from his wallet, before she could even open her mouth to argue, he gave her a look that silenced her as she plucked the card from his fingers.

She returned a few minutes later with her own ice cream in one hand, card in between her lips.

He started the engine as she looked over, “Let’s go to the park.”

His nose scrunched. “No.”

“Oh,” she said quickly, covering. “Alright. Sorry I just thought—”

He nodded to the dashboard. “Let’s sit in the car.”

She blinked.

He added quieter, “It’s warm. And I don’t really do parks after dark.”

She didn’t ask why.

Didn’t need to.

“Okay,” she said, nodding.

And so they stayed, engine off, parked on a quiet road under the amber streetlight, two people sitting in a luxury car with melting gelato and too much unspoken between them.

The gelato was starting to melt, running slowly down the side of her cup. She let it. Neither of them seemed in a rush.

They sat in companionable silence, the soft hum of a late evening pressing gently against the windows. The street was quiet, one of those sleepy little residential corners where everything felt paused.

She glanced over at him.

He was leaning back in his seat, one hand curled around the steering wheel even though they weren’t going anywhere. His other rested on his leg, thumb idly brushing back and forth.

His cone was untouched in the cup holder.

She didn’t say anything. Just waited.

And eventually, he spoke.

“That room,” he said quietly. “The chair.”

She looked at him properly now.

“I know it was nothing,” he went on. “Just clothes. Just… normal. But it looked exactly like—” He stopped. Swallowed. “It looked exactly like how my brother’s uniform was, the night he died.”

She didn’t move. Just listened.

“I was eight. He was fifteen. We shared a room. He was, he was everything. You know? Tall, loud, never took anything seriously. Used to wind me up with something rotten. But he always made sure I had the warm side of the blanket. Always said he’d look out for me.”

Lando stared out of the windscreen.

“There was a fire. At home. Faulty plug socket. My mum had been nagging about it for weeks. I didn’t wake up properly until there was shouting. Smoke everywhere. I got out.”

He paused again. His voice was low, steady, but every word felt carved.

“He didn’t.”

Her breath caught.

“I don’t know if he was looking for me, or if he’d already passed out. I don’t know. I just remember standing on the pavement, watching the house go. And waiting for him to come out.”

He blinked, hard.

“And he didn’t.”

She reached for him, but he kept going.

“My parents” He exhaled. “They never forgave me. Said I should’ve woken him. Said I should’ve done something. I was eight.”

She felt her stomach twist.

“After that, it was just cold. Silent. I got blamed for everything. Started staying with my friends. Skipped school. Didn’t talk about it. Not once. Not for years. Parents didn't care where I was."

He looked at her now. Eyes bright, jaw tight.

“That’s why I froze. In Aurelia’s room. It was just a stupid chair. But for a second it felt like I was there again.”

She opened her mouth, but he held a hand up gently.

“I want to tell you,” he said. “Not because I want pity. Just because I trust you.”

The words landed like a stone in her chest.

“You’re the first person I’ve told,” he added, quieter still. “Like, properly told. Not in bits. Not like a joke.”

She didn’t know what to say.

So she put down her cup, reached awkwardly across the centre console, and gave him the most ridiculous, bent-arm, middle-seat hug in history.

His body tensed at first, surprised, then relaxed into it.

He chuckled against her shoulder. “This is the least ergonomic hug I’ve ever experienced.”

She huffed a laugh, face half in his hoodie. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You made it weird.”

She pulled back slightly but didn’t move far. Their faces were still close, breath mingling in the warm car.

There was a moment. Soft and still and entirely theirs.

She didn’t say I’m sorry. Didn’t say that’s awful or you’re so strong or anything else that people say when they don’t know what to say.

Instead, she whispered, “Thanks for telling me.”

And that was enough.

They stayed like that for a moment longer, limbs tangled awkwardly across the centre console, faces close, the air warm with words not spoken.

Eventually, she eased back into her seat, reaching for her rapidly-melting gelato. “We should eat this before it becomes soup.”

Lando hummed in agreement and started on his own cone, finally. He took one bite and immediately winced.

“Brain freeze,” he muttered, clutching his forehead.

She snorted. “Serves you right for inhaling it.”

“I panicked,” he said. “Felt like the right thing to do in the moment.”

“Very brave of you.”

“Thank you. I’ll be expecting a medal in the post.”

She rolled her eyes and took another spoonful. “You know, for someone who had an emotional breakthrough five minutes ago, you’re surprisingly annoying.”

He grinned. “Can’t have you getting too used to me being serious.”

There was a beat of quiet again, but this time it felt easier. Lighter.

She glanced sideways at him, fiddling with her spoon. “You don’t have to answer this,” she said, softly. “But what brought you to the fire service?”

He didn’t look surprised. Just thoughtful.

Then he leaned his head back against the seat, staring up at the roof of the car.

“I think I thought if I became a firefighter, if I saved enough people, did enough good, maybe I could balance it out.” He glanced at her. “Make up for losing my brother. Like I owed the world a life.”

She didn’t say anything. Just let it land.

“I know it doesn’t work like that,” he added. “But that’s what it felt like. Like maybe if I pulled enough people out of fires, it’d stop mattering so much that I didn’t pull him out.”

Her chest ached for him.

He took a slow breath. “I still can’t go into kids’ bedrooms, during house fires. Not if I see the uniform on the chair. Doesn’t even have to be the same colour. I just freeze.”

His voice faltered slightly.

“And the thing is, I’d hate, really hate, to ever be the reason someone didn’t make it. Because my stupid brain decided it was time for a panic.”

It wasn’t self-pitying. Just honest. Raw in that quiet way grief gets, when it’s lived inside you long enough to soften its edges.

She reached over, without thinking too hard, and ran her fingers lightly through his hair, ruffling it with a mixture of fondness and frustration.

He blinked. “Did you just mum me?”

She smirked. “You may be an idiot, but not stupid.”

“High praise.”

“Although,” she added, straightening up, “I still don’t agree with your biscuit ranking.”

“Ah. And there it is.”

“You lost me at custard creams.”

“You’ve got no biscuit integrity.”

“Says the man who has a soft spot for Hobnobs.”

“They’re classic,” he said, mock-affronted. “They don’t need your approval.”

She laughed, properly this time, and for a moment it felt like the weight had shifted. Not gone. But lighter. Carried together, even just for a while.

part two...

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[yugsly]

How does one get a job in the creative industry when entry-level positions do not exist there and you need to have a mile-long resume that makes Don Bluth and Richard Williams look like Chris-chan to even be CONSIDERED for a position? Animation, filmmaking, and game development are all multi-person jobs and all the resources for them are exclusive to California or foreign countries we can't afford to move to. Most artists can't afford to run their own business all by themselves or fill every single role of the production pipeline. Why are connections and experience required to join the industry when the only way to gain those things is through said industry and expensive colleges that drown you in unpayable debt for the rest of your life?

Are you talking exclusively about the animation industry? Yeah. It's pretty screwed up right now. Not even esteemed showrunners like Maxwell Atoms [Billy & Mandy] (who recently had to sell his house and decades worth of his show's memorabilia to make ends meet) and freaking CRAIG MCCRACKEN [Powerpuff Girls, Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, Wander Over Yonder etc] can get jobs off the ground without it being like, a reboot or anything. Seriously. It's not you. It's not your talent, your social skills, etc- right now, it's just the industry being in a rough place. So many wonderful artists with decorated successful careers are getting NOTHING right now. I know it sucks, but really you can only stay vigilant and wait right now. Build your skills. Build your network. You can do this without college. Having done college, I know this- it is more about self discipline and research, I think. Having the structure of school is good, but you can really sort of forge your own path when it comes down to it. Make friends with artists you like, be normal, be cordial- don't do it just for connections' sake, but for comraderies' sake. Y'know? Make plans, make your own schedules... it's tough, but doable. I've never been ""employed"" fully before.

I might *look* "successful" on the surface because I've made a lot of things, be it with friends, or by myself- but really the "success" is just the visible joy and community these projects have made. It is beautiful to see how much my friends and I have inspired you all. I love it, treasure it. In terms of financial success... not so much, sorry to say. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I'll be able to pay for things- I have a lot of terrible medical conditions lately, and slightly outclass qualifying for medicaid, so... not sure what will happen. I need to get an organ fully removed soon. So. Haha. ???????? Sorry that was a bit of a tangent. Things are rough right now for everyone, and I am sorry this is not the most hopeful message. It is better to be truthful, I think. Don't give up though, prepare yourself, your skills, there will be a day when the animation industry is in a place where it will be ready for you.

[mk-wizard]

Confession: I don't hate Riri. In fact, I don't hate any of the new characters who are getting old mantles. I hate how they are being written. A successor is not a replacement goldfish and not the 2.0 of the previous hero. They are the student turned master. That journey, bond and learning experienced needs to be respected, honoured and told properly just like Luke's journey towards becoming a Jedi was. With that said, it's ok for the successors to be flawed and even kind of bratty at times due to inexperience. A lot of us go into the journey with an arrogant mindset. THAT is not the problem.

The problem is that the successor characters never get humbled, never get challenged, never realize how little they actually know, never fall, never make mistakes and are held accountable for them, and never accept that succession is not a competition anymore. Instead, successors are just always automatically good at everything if not better than the previous and that's not the right way to be. It's not about being better. It's about honouring a legacy while accepting that you're different.

So far the only successor characters I see who got it right were Miles Morales as Spider-Man, Wally West as the Flash, Terry McGinnis as Batman and Sam Wilson as Captain America. Let's bring the grueling, tiring and painstaking journey of earning the mantle back. You are not insulting successors or being mean by putting them through the ringer. To be superheroes, being put through the ringer is part of the deal. They SHOULD be getting that in their learning experience.

And for goodness sake, let's stop writing the characters in such a way that they are arrogant, entitled and get away with being jerks. That's not heroic. Riri can be a good person and I want her to be one, so write her as one. And write her as a natural person not a statement. She's not a blog.

Show Riri being kind, grateful, sweet, compassionate and loving. Let her live up to the "heart" part of her name just as much as the "iron".

iron fam we are so back 🌟

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Witchcraft in the Waiting Room

Prologue/Chapter 1/Chapter2

The conference room was every shade of uninspired: beige walls, buzzing lights, and the faint scent of instant ramen lingering like a ghost that never left. The table, scratched and water-stained, was just large enough to seat the five demons pretending to be a rookie idol group.

They were waiting. Restless.

Jinu sat at the head of the table, posture perfect, fake reading glasses perched on his nose. He tapped a pen against the table in a rhythm that matched neither time nor beat.

Abby lounged next to him, arms crossed to subtly flex against the tight sleeves of his shirt. He offered a friendly smile to no one in particular and watched the clock tick.

Mystery leaned back in his chair, the edge of a company memo torn between his teeth. His dark eyes flicked toward the lights overhead, as if trying to understand their existence by glaring at them.

Romance looked painfully at home, reclined like he was posing for a solo teaser poster. One leg crossed. Shirt half unbuttoned.

And Baby? Baby had three open energy drinks in front of him, his foot bouncing like a jackhammer.

They were told their new manager would arrive at 2 p.m.

It was 2:04.

"Maybe they forgot," Jinu muttered.

"Maybe we manage ourselves now," Romance said with a smirk. "Democratic. Sexy."

"Do we really need a manager?" Baby asked, already halfway through his second drink. "We’ve got charisma."

"We have no schedule, no staff, and no clue what we’re doing," Jinu shot back. "We absolutely need a manager."

"What if she’s old?" Baby asked. "Like ancient-old. Or smells like mothballs."

"What if she’s hot?" Romance countered.

"What if she eats us?" Mystery added quietly. It was hard to tell if he was joking.

The door opened.

They fell silent.

The new manager stepped into the room, closing the door behind her without a sound. She carried a clipboard, a black coffee, and an air of unimpressed efficiency.

Her eyes swept over them, measured but not wide. Not startled. She set her drink down calmly, adjusted her blazer, and spoke with the kind of confidence that made even demons listen.

"Good afternoon. I’m Shin Areum, your new manager. You must be the Saja Boys."

A beat passed.

Five demons blinked at her.

Romance was the first to recover. He sat up, flashing a slow, practiced smile. "You're not what I expected."

Areum tilted her head. "Neither are you."

That earned a flicker of interest from Mystery.

Jinu cleared his throat, standing up just enough to bow politely. "Thank you for coming. We’re looking forward to working with you."

"I’m sure you are," Areum said. She flipped a page on her clipboard. "We’ll be discussing your upcoming showcase schedule shortly. But first, I’d like to set a few ground rules."

The boys sat straighter.

"Number one," she continued, her tone calm but crisp. "No skipping rehearsals. No exceptions. Number two, personal drama stays personal, I don’t want to anything about it on the news. Number three, if you’re going to experiment with... eccentric looks, make sure they’re not flammable."

A pause.

"And number four respect the staff. Even if you think you could do their job better." She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "That goes for me, too."

They were quiet again.

She hadn't said anything strange. Nothing out of place. But something in the way she watched them, steady, calm, and wholly unafraid rubbed against instinct.

Mystery tilted his head slightly. Baby stared at her like she was a math problem he couldn’t solve. Romance looked intrigued. Abby smiled, as always, but this time with more interest than politeness.

And Jinu… Jinu watched her like he was trying to find the string beneath her surface.

But she didn’t give them time to pull at it.

"Now," Areum said, gathering her things, "you have ten minutes to get dressed for practice. I’ll meet you in the studio."

She turned on her heel and left the room.

They didn’t follow right away.

Not because they were suspicious.

But because something about her energy, tightly coiled, quiet, patient made them feel like they had already been sized up, cataloged, and filed away.

And somehow, that was worse than being underestimated.

(Flashback: One Week Earlier – Areum’s POV)

The city hummed with energy. Seoul always did. But lately, there was a flicker beneath the noise  like static in the ley lines. Something was coming.

Areum had felt it before she saw it.

The prophecy had been buried in her grimoire, untouched for a century:

"Five fires shall walk the city.Under glamour, under guise.If the last witch sees them first,They will live.If others find them—Burn."

She found them by accident. Or maybe fate.

A rehearsal studio. Music shaking the walls. Bodies moving with more power than choreography should allow.

When she saw them; five boys laughing, sweating, radiating energy like a warning, she knew. Not what they were exactly. But that they were hers to protect.

Not to control.

To watch. To guide.

To save, if it came to that.

(End of Flashback)

They followed her to the studio in silence.

Romance didn’t flirt. Not yet. Not until the elevator dinged and the spell of that first meeting cracked.

"She’s definitely not a rookie manager," he whispered.

"She didn’t flinch," Abby said thoughtfully.

"She didn’t ask questions," Jinu muttered.

"Maybe she’s just chill?" Baby offered.

Mystery didn’t speak.

But when Areum opened the studio door and waved them in like she had all the time in the world something in him settled.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

But for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t going to be boring either.

[lowkeyerror]

What We Lose in War

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Notes: Endgame centric, Established Relationship, Vormir mentioned, minor character death, angst, near death experience, hopeful ending, Reader has heat vision & flight, canon typical violence

Summary: When you're sent with Natasha and Clint to Vormir things get complicated. You make a decision that costs you the love of your life.

An: Chat I can never full send the angst because it always ends up in someone asking me for a part two with a happy ending so it's packed with angst but the ending is hopeful.

Masterlist | Masterlist 2

There are some instances in life where it feels like things are moving in slow motion. Perhaps it can be chalked up to a gnawing anxiety or a crippling fear. It’s as if there’s a coil filled with tension waiting to spring up. A small lapse to reflect on one’s action or witness greatness unfold.

It’s akin a watching a basketball bounce around the rim as the buzzer goes off for the quarter to end. The crowd goes silent, the player stops in their tracks, and we all watch, waiting to see if the ball will go into the hoop. Sometimes it does, but other times it doesn’t.

Vormir; the place where everything slowed down for you. The mission seemed straight forward when it was assigned. Get the soul stone before Thanos.

Yet as you stood on top of the cliff, the assignment seemed more complex. There was only one way to get the soul stone. No one could have guessed the price.

The silence was heavy as you stood with Clint and Natasha. Only two of you would return.

Clint was your teammate, your friend. You saved the world together. You knew his wife and his children. The two of you were close, but the main reason for that closeness was Natasha.

Natasha was your partner. She was your world. You knew the most intimate parts of her soul. You had never loved anything as much as you loved her.

They were best friends and it seems like they both decided you were a non-factor in the matter.

They had worked together to tie you down. You struggled and screamed, but they ignored your pleas.

“Natasha please, you can’t make me watch this,” you plead with her.

“You won’t have too,” Clint said sprinting for the edge of cliff.

She didn’t hesitate to go after him.

“What about Yelena?”

Her movements faltered only for a second before she shook her head, “I can’t let him do this.”

“Then toss me,” you yelled at both of them.

“No,” they yelled back in unison.

You groaned in frustration trying to find any give in the binds. Natasha was a better fighter than Clint, if this went on too long, he’d make a mistake and she would win. You couldn’t let that happen.

You used the environment to your advantage, sliding your trapped wrist on a nearby rock. Once the rope snapped you used your heat vision to break the binds on your feet.

You stood just in time to see Natasha go over the cliff. Clint was holding onto her with all of his strength. You flew once you saw his hand slip.

You dived for Natasha without hesitation. She was falling fast, but you were flying faster. Your arms encircled around her waist and once you had her, you flew back up.

“Let me go Y/n,” she was pounding against your chest.

You dropped her next to Clint on the cliff.

“There has to be another way,” you argue with the both of them.

“We don’t have time to figure that out,” Natasha argues back with you.

You took in a deep breath. There was a solution right in front of you. You didn’t look up, you didn’t say anything, but you felt time slow down.

Your hand connected with Clint’s chest. You felt him gasp, you heard Natasha scream, but you didn’t react. You weren’t looking, but you heard him hit the ground.

You turned your back to the cliff and began to walk away. You only managed a few steps before Natasha shoved you in the back hard.

“How could you do that? You said there was another way and then you just-”

You couldn’t look at her, “You said there wasn’t. I did what had to be done.”

“THEN LOOK AT ME!” She screamed, spinning you around to face her.

She scanned your features looking for the regret, the remorse, something that told her that you felt like did the wrong thing. She didn't find anything.

“We have to get the stone,” you looked into her eyes.

Her tone faltered as she spoke to you, “You killed Clint. You widowed Laura, took a father from his children, he’s my best friend.”

“Natasha, I did what I had to do.”

She shook her head lightly, “How could you believe that?”

She stormed past you, ending the conversation. When her back was to you, you let out a shaky breath. You spared a single glance back at the cliff before following Natasha.

You did it for her.

She was so quick to throw Clint’s family in your face. What about her family? What would Yelena do without her? Alexei and Melina? You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you watched her jump from a cliff and done nothing about it.

You knew there would be consequences to your actions, but what else could you have done?

It was a harsh thought, but you knew Natasha was a better hero than Clint. Truthfully you thought she was better than most of the team. Where they had given up, she persisted. No matter what happened you knew she’d have that.

Clint took a dark path when the world needed him most. He took the vengeful root. Not everyone on the team had a clean past, but it was supposed to stay in the past.

If there was one person that deserved to survive all of this it was her; there was nothing that would change your mind.

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to mourn your relationship with Natasha. She’d never forgive you for this and you would never ask her to.

When you opened them, you were in a pool of water. You gasp at the sudden change of scenery. Then you realize the stone is in your hand.

One step closer to saving the world.

“Give it to me,” Natasha wasn’t asking when she spoke.

You didn’t fight with her, handing it over. She began to walk away and again you followed. Her steps only slowed slightly when she turned to face you. You could see the words bubbling in her throat, but she was struggling to say them.

“After this, I’ll move out,” you ripped the Band-Aid off for her.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line, “Yeah.”

Then you were back in the present with the rest of the team. They asked about Clint. You waited for Natasha to tell them what she wanted.

“He sacrificed himself for all of us. For this stone, so it better work. If not, I lost him for nothing,” she looked directly at you as she spoke the last line.

“It’ll work,” Tony took the stone from her.

When it was all said and done the glove ended up on Bruce’s hand. He snapped and it damn near took his arm off. No one was sure if it worked, but then a phone began to ring.

Clint’s phone began to ring.

Natasha picked it up.

You tuned out the conversation when the red head started to tear up. The other men looked at you waiting for you to comfort your girlfriend. You shook your head slightly signaling you weren’t going to. It was Steve who went to her side offering his comfort instead.

“What happened, trouble in paradise?”

“Not now Tony,” you said flatly.

Knowing that the missing half of the world was back did little to ease your nerves. A part of you was happy, you saved the world. The other part was focused on how you caused Natasha to cry.

At least she was here to cry.

Of course that couldn’t be the end of the fight. Thanos’ fleet had to come. You were severely fatigued and outnumbered, but you fought like you never had before.

“Can’t you blast them all of something?” Tony asked on your side.

“I can try."

You flew into the air, amassing some attention from the enemy. With the attention on you, you took a deep breath. You pulled from the depths of your powers shooting dark red rays from your eyes onto the army.

You gritted your teeth as the heat ray expands. It grew larger and hotter than you ever thought was possible. Even when they began to fire at you, you held the position. That was until one of them hit the side of your stomach.

You grunted in pain and the lasers stopped. You descended less than gracefully landing on one knee.

“Good shit Y/n,” Thor clamped a hand your shoulder as he strode past you.

With a hand on the wound on your stomach you gave him a curt nod, “I don't know how long we can survive this.”

When you saw that portals begin to open all around you. The battle seemed to freeze, waiting to see who would be emerging. You felt relief wash over you as you saw the heroes walking out.

“Avengers!” Cap shouted. “Assemble!”

You got off of your knee and charged back into the battle. You ignored the pain on your side or the way the red film covered your vision.

You were moving on instinct alone as you dodged, weaved, and attacked. Breathing started to burn, but you kept going.

Time seemed to slow down again. You wondered if this was how you would die. Then you got a glimpse of Natasha.

She was face to face with the mad titan. He smacked her away like she was some kind of ant. Then he slowly walked to stand over her.

You flew up again, not thinking about the fire raining down. Your body was begging for you to stop, but instead you yelled. When the red beam shot at Thanos, he was caught off guard.

You proceeded to shoot him with everything you had. Your face was on fire, you couldn’t really see. You didn’t relent, zeroing in on him from the sky, then descending until you were in front of him.

The attack was affecting him. He began to curl in on himself when he couldn’t back away from you. His army attacked you, but you couldn’t feel anything except anger.

“Power without restraint is only another weakness.”

He grabbed you by the neck. As soon as he did your beams became unsteady. You were shooting him the face, and you knew it hurt him, but he refused to give.

The rays died out with your breath. You didn’t struggle. Your vision was fucked, but you maintained what you hoped was eye contact.

Your last breath was strangled but you had to say something, “You will lose.”

You cracked a smile, which only irritated the mad titan. He decided he would put you out of your misery. As he went to snap your neck, he was attacked by someone else. Someone more powerful.

He dropped you. When you hit the ground, you didn’t have enough breath to make a sound.

“Y/n! Shit, can you hear me?”

You couldn’t answer. You felt your body being dragged away. There wasn’t anything you could do. They propped you up against what you assumed was a rock.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n your eyes.”

You felt a hand shakily touch your face. A harsh sob escaped them. Their hands touched all over your body. Your shoulder, your sternum, your stomach; you were bleeding out.

A violent cough climbed up your throat. You felt the blood pile in your mouth forcing you to spit.

“No! You can’t go while I’m mad at you. I’m not supposed to forgive you for what you did. You’re supposed to pack your shit and leave after we’ve won. You aren’t supposed to die here. You can’t die here.”

“Tasha,” your voice was a gravelly whisper.

“You’re okay, you’re going to be okay,” she told you.

You wanted to hold her hand but you couldn’t move. Tears fell down your face, but you didn’t feel it, “Go fight.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Don’t watch me die. Go save the world,” you begged her.

She stood on shaky legs, “I can’t forgive you if you die.”

You wanted to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze. You felt yourself slipping, there was only one last thing you wanted to say.

“Natalia, I love you.”

Her voice cracked but she responded, “I love you too.”

You heard her steps get farther away. When you thought she couldn’t see you anymore, you coughed some more. Blood spilling from your mouth like before.

You could feel the rawness around your eyes. It hurt from your brows to the bottom of your nostrils. The section of your face was red, burnt from the intensity of the heat. Your eyes were nearly numb with pain.

You moved from leaning on a rock to flat on your back. With much effort you closed your eyes and stopped fighting.

Your body was weakened. You had been shot multiple times, burned your face, and almost had your neck snapped. There wasn't anything else for you to do but die.

So you listened to the sounds of war all around you, while the last of the air escaped your lungs. It all sounded the same; weapons clashing, boots on the ground, distant commands that you could no longer distinguish.

The last thing you heard was deafening compared to the rest. It was clear even over of the chaos. The click of a snap.

You felt a spike of adrenaline from the uncertainty of what I it meant. Had good prevailed or had Thanos undone everything you struggled for. You couldn't do anything except let your heart pound wildly in your chest.

You lost consciousness then.

Tony was gone. His body wasn’t made to handle the power of the infinity stones. Though the victory was monumental it didn’t feel like a win. There was no glee or celebratory nature to it, only a somber relief.

Natasha didn’t know if she could take the attention away from Tony. One of the most brilliant minds of the world, a leader of their team, had taken his last breath. She felt the loss, but you were at the top of her mind.

Was she too late?

“Where is she?”

The voice startled Natasha. She locked eyes with the witch on her right.

“I’ll show you,” Natasha took of in the direction she had left you.

Wanda followed behind her. This caught the attention of a few of the people, some of them following too.

As soon as Wanda saw your body, she was on the ground beside you. She carefully placed your head in her lap. Her magic flowed out of the tips of her fingers as she tried to bring you to consciousness.

“Dear god,” Steve mumbled when he saw your state.

His hand found it’s way on Natasha’s shoulder. She turned to face him, burying her head in the man’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her, it was the only thing he could do.

“I can still feel her,” Wanda announced. “It’s faint, but she isn’t dead yet.”

“My people can help, but not here. They need something to work with,” T’challa stated.

Bruce gestured around, “The compound is destroyed. We don’t have anywhere else.”

“The tower.”

Everyone’s eyes landed on Pepper.

“He never got around to clearing everything out.”

Dr. Strange was the one to open the portal, “Let’s not waste anymore time then.”

Wanda was the one to carry you carefully through the portal. T’challa went in next with some of the Wakandans, Bruce followed behind.

“I can handle things here if you want to go with her,” Strange was talking to Steve.

With a curt nod the captain ushered the Russian through the portal. Just like that they were back in the tower.

Wanda was leading everyone to where the medical facilities used to be. Sure enough as Pepper had said, there were still supplies around.

The Wakandans took over, taking you from Wanda. They began to assess the damage done to you. The others were told to wait in a separate area while they tried to keep you alive.

Steve and Wanda were stationed on opposite sides of Natasha. She stopped crying, but she just looked empty.

“Nat,” Steve called her softly.

“I was so mad at her. We had ended things and now she’s dead because of me.”

Wanda spoke first, “She isn’t dead, yet. They will save her.”

“And if they don’t?”

Steve offered his words, “Then we remember her as a hero. We couldn’t have done this without her.”

Natasha shook her head, “She killed Clint.”

Steve said ‘what’ and the same time Wanda said ‘why’.

“The only way to get the soul stone is by sacrificing someone you love. Clint and I, we tied her up. We fought to sacrifice ourselves. I had the upper hand, I had accepted it, but Y/n got free. She saved me after I jumped. She said there had to be another way, but I told her we didn’t have time. Then she just pushed him,” by the end of the recap Natasha was crying again.

Steve and Wanda shared a look.

“I watched the love of my life die in front of me twice in the span of 10 minutes. Once by my own hand. It is the most painful feeling I have ever felt in my life. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. I would’ve done anything to have him here,” Wanda gave her opinion.

Steve drew in a large breath, “It was wrong to push him, but I can’t fault her for it. If I were up there with Peggy, I don’t know what I would do.”

“I wasn’t worth it,” Natasha said through her tears.

“Natasha we wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you. You’re the only one that never gave up. That’s worth everything. Half the universe would still be missing without you,” Steve argued.

“As much as I think she saved you because she loves you, I also think she did it for the world,” Wanda added.

Natasha looked at them, “Would you have saved me or Clint?”

“Natasha,” Steve pleaded with her.

“I need the truth,” she begged.

Wanda sighed, “Clint was the perfect shot. He was talented at hand to hand combat, he was loyal, resourceful, and he had a family.”

Steve made eye contact with Natasha, “But you’re better. You have everything he had, just sharper. Clint was stubborn, but he wasn’t a leader like you are.”

Wanda nodded in agreement.

“He was my best friend.”

“They both wanted you to live, Natasha,” Wanda said.

Natasha shook her head, “And now they’re both gone.”

Before Steve or Wanda can respond T’challa and Bruce come out of the med bay.

“She’s stable,” Bruce revealed.

“For now,” T’challa added tentatively.

Natasha shifted in her spot, “Can I see her?”

“I don’t think now is a good time,” Bruce couldn’t look at the red head.

“How bad is it?” Steve asked the men, even though he knew the answer to the question.

T'challa started talking, “She lost a lot of blood. There was a wound on her stomach and blood in her lungs.”

Bruce took over, “Her collarbone is fractured. There are a bunch of bruises and minor cuts across the rest of her body.”

“The burns around her eyes and brow lead us to believe she overused her heat vision. It’s unclear to us if she can see,” T’challa added.

“I need to see her,” Natasha’s voice held strong.

Steve stood up, “They’ll let us know when she wakes up and you can be the first to see her.”

“No, I need to see her now,” Natasha doubled down.

Wanda tried next, “You need to rest and heal. You have your own wounds that need tending. I also think you have someone you need to call now that the universe is saved.”

“She is in the most capable care in the world,” T’challa affirmed.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, “You’ll call me as soon as I'm able to see her.”

T’challa and Bruce gave her their word. She was reluctant to leave, but Steve and Wanda escorted her out of the building.

“You should call Yelena. Tell her to meet us at your place.”

“No need, she’ll already be there.”

Wanda’s brow creased, “How do you know?”

Natasha started walking, “If I was in her position, I’d probably start with me.”

“Fair point.”

Much to Natasha’s credit, she was right. Once they made it to her apartment Yelena was already inside. The blonde had made herself at home. Her feet were kicked up on the coffee table as she watched the news explain what was happening.

“Hello sestra,” she addressed her sister first. “Other Avengers,” she followed.

Natasha made her way over to Yelena, not being able to stop herself from hugging her sister. Yelena was stiff, but eventually she held Natasha tightly.

“I’m glad you’re here Lena.”

Yelena pulled back to look at her, “I couldn’t do anything else without making sure you were still here. I was worried that you had gotten yourself killed.”

Natasha frowned, “Almost.”

Wanda and Steve had wandered off to a different room of the home. They wanted to give the sisters space to talk.

“What do you mean almost?”

Natasha plopped down on the couch, leaning her back against the cushion, “There was this stone…”

She recapped the story to her sister, just like she did with Steve and Wanda. Yelena was a little more animated than either of them. Natasha could see the shock, disapproval, and relief cross Yelena’s face one at a time.

“I want you to know that I would do exactly what she did.”

“Yelena,” Natasha’s tone carried some type of warning in it.

Yelena shrugged feigning slight discomfort, “I just got you back. I don’t think I could go through losing you again.”

This made Natasha deflate, “You would survive.”

“I’ve survived my entire life. I’m tired of surviving. Our relationship, it’s unconventional, but it makes me feel normal. There’s nothing that could replace that feeling, Natalia.”

Natasha puts her hands over her face, “Is that supposed to make it okay? I get to be here with you, but Clint never gets to come home. Laura and the kids never get to see him again. It’s not-”

“When has life ever been fair to us? Listen to yourself. This was always going to be a lose-lose situation. I’m sure they’ve already told you. Someone up there was going to die and two were going to come back.”

“Why not me?”

Yelena moved closer to her sister. She crouched down to get eye level with the woman, “Look at me.”

Natasha removed her hands from her face to meet her sister’s gaze.

“The way you’re feeling now, would you wish it on anyone else?”

“No.”

Yelena tilted her head, “You’re certain?”

Natasha let out an irritated sigh, “I would not wish this feeling on anyone else.”

Yelena raised her hands in good faith, “I am just checking. So, say you jumped successfully. Do you think that Clint would’ve felt the way you’re feeling?”

Natasha remained silent.

“How about Y/n? Do you think either of them deserved to feel the way you do? The guilt for not being able to stop you, depriving you of ever having a family, the resentment you feel for surviving?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she tried to defend.

Yelena nodded, “Yes it is.”

“No it’s not,” she was beginning to grow frustrated.

“Y/n’s tied up on the ground watching you fight to throw yourself off a cliff; to end the life you’ve built together, to sacrifice our relationship, to give up the chance of seeing your 5 years of hard work pay off. She can’t do anything, but watch, helplessly.”

“Stop.”

Yelena persisted, “Clint’s beating himself up for not being good enough to win your fight. He’s thinking he needs to be faster, stronger, he has to win to save your life. He owes you everything, all the best parts of him are possible because of you. How is he supposed to forgive himself for failing the one person who never gave up on him.”

“That’s enough,” Natasha stood up, trying to put distant between herself and Yelena.

The blonde followed her, “Y/n hates Clint for helping tie her up. She hates him for not being better, but she hates herself too. She can’t forgive him, or anyone else for what happened to you.”

Natasha turned on a dime, shoving the blonde in the chest. Yelena stopped though the adrenaline of her words coursed through her veins.

“Natasha,” Steve was the one to call her name, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Wanda stood by Yelena, acting as a barrier between the sisters.

Yelena seemed unbothered, but there was something fiery in her eyes, “It never mattered if it was Clint or Y/n or you. It was never going to be fair Natasha.”

Steve didn’t give the Natasha the chance to rebuttal. Instead he placed his hand on her shoulder, guiding her into her bedroom. The bedroom she was meant to share with you.

She sat on the bed, looking up and away from the man.

“You think she’s right?”

Steve sat on the edge facing away from her, “I don’t think she’s wrong.”

“I love Y/n. I didn’t think I could actually feel this way, but I do. She’s the only one to ever make me feel like this and I’m scared to lose her. It’s terrifying thinking that she might die.”

“But?”

Natasha closed her eyes, “But how am I supposed to forgive her?”

“You don't have to forgive her.”

Natasha sighed, “But?”

“But I can tell that you want to. Maybe you won’t forgive her today or tomorrow or even a year, but I think it’s possible.”

“When we were fighting all I could think about was him. I had to keep pushing or Clint would’ve died for nothing. Then Y/n saved me from Thanos. When I saw what he had done to her, I stopped thinking about Clint. I stopped thinking about the fight. All I thought about was how I didn’t want to live without her.”

Steve nodded along, “I think she could relate to the feeling.”

“Yelena was right. This was never going to be fair.”

Natasha needed space to process alone. Steve could sense it. So he stood up and she didn't stop him.

“Can I ask hard question?”

She gave him the go ahead.

“When it happened, did you love her any less?”

She hated you when you pushed him. She was sure of it. There was rage, horror, and shock. Natasha couldn’t recall anything more devastating in the last 5 years.

Yet she found herself saying, “No.”

Steve exited the room after she answered his question, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

“She’s going to need some time,” Steve entered the space living room.

“You think I pushed too hard?”

Wanda answered the blonde, “I think she needs it some times.”

“I’m going to go check on everything with Strange and the others. I need you to stay here, keep an eye on her.”

“Understood,” the magic user agreed.

Once he left it was only Yelena and Wanda.

Yelena tried to make small talk, “So, you weren’t here for any of this shit either?”

“Nope.”

You were no stranger to waking up in the infirmary. The sounds of machines beeping was familiar. The chatter from the medical staff was expected. Even the feeling of the blinding white lights didn’t startle you.

Or they wouldn’t have if you could see them.

“Y/n, can you hear me?”

You ignored the question, “Why can’t I see anything?”

“Y/n we’re working on a solution,” Bruce didn’t answer your question either.

“A solution to what, Bruce?”

T’challa speaks next, “You have lost control of your heat vision. Whenever your eyes are open, the beams come out.”

“So I’m blind.”

“We don’t know. We can't test anything because of your powers.”

One person crossed your mind, “Bruce, what about Charles?”

Bruce let out a little gasp, “I’ll see if I can get ahold of him. I’ll check with Summers too.”

He started to walk away, but he turned back to you.

“I can still feel you staring at me.”

He cleared his throat a bit, “Did you… did you kill Clint?”

You took a long inhale before answering him, “Yeah.”

“You pushed him,” Bruce said somberly.

“I- I wasn’t going to let Natasha die.”

T’challa interrupted, “Why not sacrifice yourself? There is no honor in murder.”

“You don’t think I know that? I wanted to find another way but Nat said we didn’t have any time. They were both standing by the edge. I just…”

A sob broke through your sentence. There it was, your guilt finally catching up to you. Your mask was slipping rapidly.

The tears were hot as they welled behind your eyes. They burned as they slid across the raw skin around your eyes.

“He was my friend too.”

Bruce attempted to back track, “I shouldn’t have asked. You’re in recovery.”

“She did jump, you know. I flew down to save her. I almost lost her and that was terrifying. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t plan it out, I just acted. Everything slowed down and then my hand was on his chest. Fuck.”

When you stopped speaking you brought your knees up to your chest. It hurt, everything hurt, but you needed it. You needed something tangible.

T'challa spoke, “I see it now, you did sacrifice yourself. You placed this burden on your shoulders intentionally.”

“Vormir was about more than one of us dying. It was about who could sacrifice something so monumental and have the strength to not die with what they loved.”

“Y/n, you have to lie down or the stitches on your abdomen will pop,” Bruce instructed you.

You do as the man said, “There was no reality in which Natasha went over that cliff and I didn’t.” You took a small pause before speaking again, “I would do anything to keep her safe. Even if that means having this guilt about what I’ve done. Even if she can never forgive me. At least I can find comfort in knowing she’s alive.”

“She loves you a lot more than I've seen her ever love anybody else. I don't know if she'll forgive you, but I know she won't stop loving you.” He cleared his throat, “Now, we’re going to see about those glasses.”

“Wait,” you stop them one final time. “How long has it been?”

“3 weeks.”

Once they exited your room Bruce made some calls. First, he called Steve to let him know you had woken up. The super soldier already knew he’d be tasked with telling Natasha. Then he called Charles Xavier, explaining the dilemma with your eyes. While the man didn’t have a pair he did send over the blue print for glasses. Lastly, he called Scott Summers who was reluctant, but eventually agreed to spare a pair of his special glasses.

By the time he had finished the last call Natasha was already in the building.

“I want to see her."

“She’s not ready to be seen yet. If you come back tomorrow-”

If looks could kill Bruce would be dead, “It’s been 3 weeks. She’s awake and I want to see her.”

“Natasha please, just one more day. We’re trying to figure out something important.”

“Five minutes. Just let me see her for five minutes and then I’ll leave,” Natasha bargained.

T’challa responded instead of Bruce, “Five minutes.”

“Thank you.”

She didn’t hesitate letting herself into your room. Her nerves were spiked, she was afraid to see you again. Over the last few weeks she kept picturing you like she last saw you. Bloody, broken, and on the brink of death.

You looked healthier in the hospital bed, but she didn’t know how much that meant. A lot of your injuries were hidden under the blanket. She could see some bruising along your neck. The sling on your arm also stood out to her. However, nothing was as noticeable as your face.

She remembered the bright red burns around your eyes from before. They were a much softer color now, but still present. It was as if someone had stamped your face with a red rectangle. Your eyes were completely covered, she knew you couldn’t see.

She stayed quiet as she got closer to you. She held her breath as reached out placing her hand on your cheek.

You didn’t move at first. Though you couldn’t see, you’d know her touch anywhere.

“Hi,” you broke the silence.

She responded, “Hey.”

It was quiet for another beat, “I didn't think you'd come.”

“You’re all I've been thinking about for the last 3 weeks. I didn't know if you'd wake up.”

“I’m sorry,” the volume of your voice died with your words.

She ignored your apology, “Can you see?”

“Don’t know yet. They can't run any tests because when my eyes are open my powers activate. Bruce is calling Charles and Cyclops to see if the same thing that works for him will work for me."

“And if it doesn’t?”

You go to shrug before remembering your sling, “Then I’m blind, I guess.”

“You should be more upset.”

You think about saying that you deserved it, but you don’t. Instead you let out a sigh, “I have other things that bother me more than potentially losing my vision.”

“I only have 5 minutes before they kick me out. I don’t- I don’t want to talk about that right now. I just want to be happy that you aren’t dead.”

You nod your head, “I'm happy that you’re happy.”

“We got the glasses, it’s time run some tests,” Bruce interrupted the moment.

“One last minute,” you tell Bruce who obliged.

Natasha’s hand left your face. She placed a kiss on your forehead, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow,” you said.

You could feel the distance growing as she walked away from you. Much like Bruce had earlier she stopped for a moment at the door. She looked back at you, a small debate running through her mind.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” your voice tremored at the end.

She left the room, allowing Bruce and T’challa back into the space.

“We’re going to have to get you to a secure location to test this. We’ve got a wheelchair here for you. We’ll take you to the training floor, put the glasses on you, see what happens, and go from there.”

“Okay.”

Natasha went back home after seeing you. It was only a few minutes but she felt a lot of relief seeing you alive.

“How is she doing?”

Natasha frowned, “She’s not in good shape. They don't even know if she can see, something about her powers not turning off.”

“Oh god,” Wanda responded.

The witch had been staying with her and Yelena since everything happened.

“Yeah, they only let me see her for five minutes.”

Yelena chimed in, “Damn that’s barely anything. Are you going to back tomorrow?”

She nods, “Yeah, I think there’s some things we need to talk about.”

“What did you talk about today?”

“Just her eyes really. She said sorry, but I wasn’t ready to talk. I told her I loved her,” Natasha’s gaze was locked on the ground.

Wanda was gentle when she asked, “Do you know what you're going to do?”

Natasha sighed, “I know what I want to do, but it all depends on what she says.”

Yelena put a hand on her sister’s shoulder, “Y/n is stubborn. I hope this goes the way you want it to.”

“She’s not like that with me.”

Wanda hummed at the response, “You don't think she'll try to distance herself. Too much shame and guilt.”

Natasha ran her hand along the arm of the couch, “All I know for sure is that she loves me.”

“Is that enough?” Yelena questioned.

“I want it to be.”

Back at the tower, you were preparing to open your eyes. You were alone in the training room. Bruce and T’challa were outside of it observing through the glass.

They had wheeled you into the middle of the room, glasses placed neatly on your lap.

You were scared, but that didn’t stop you.

It burned when you opened your eyes. The skin on your face wasn’t fully healed. It felt like you were reopening the burn wounds. You screamed at the feeling, fighting to keep your eyes open.

Your hands shook as you picked up the glasses. You shut your eyes, breathing heavily at the sensation. Once the glasses perched on your nose, you froze up a bit.

That pain you just felt causing you to hesitate. The longer your eyes were closed the more you saw Vormir. The ropes they had tied you up with, Clint falling to his death, the look on Natasha’s face; they would haunt you either way.

When you opened your eyes again the raging fire you had been subdued to a dull warmth.

“Y/n can you see?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

You nodded, “Everything is red, but I can see.”

You tried to get up from the wheelchair, but you overestimated your strength. You fell back into the chair. The second try was more successful. It took a lot more effort but you made it to your feet.

Your steps were careful as you hobbled towards your reflection. You were finally getting a good look at yourself.

Your fingers brushed the tender skin around the glasses. They then trailed down to the bruises on your neck. You flinched as they moved outward to sling of on your left arm.

You lifted the hospital gown, knowing that more injuries were hidden underneath. The stitches on your stomach were neat, but the area around it was still very bruised.

“Let’s get you back to the med bay; see if we can run some tests.”

You limped back to the wheelchair, staring at it before pushing it away.

“Y/n you really should-”

The sentence stopped as you began to levitate off of the floor. Nothing too intense just enough so that your feet were slightly hovering above the ground.

The next few hours were exhausting. They prodded and poked at you like you were some kind of experiment. You knew they were just doing their jobs, but that didn’t make it feel any less invasive.

When they were done you felt empty. You laid flat on your back staring at the ceiling. The red tint to everything was something you would have to get used to.

“I know it’s late, but what kind of captain would I be if I didn’t come see you?”

Your head lolled over to side to face him, “Hi Steve.”

He took a seat on the edge of your bed, “How are you?”

You let out a sad laugh, “Not good.”

“You want to talk about it?”

You blinked at the man, “What’s there to talk about? I killed my friend to save the woman I love. She’ll never forgive me. Then I almost died, my powers are broken, and for the foreseeable future I’ll only see in red.”

“You’re not dead. You’re here and maybe you’re broken, but its only been a day. There could be a cure, and if not at least the glasses can help. Even if it’s all red, you can see. And Natasha… she loves you Y/n.”

You fought against your tears.

“You can cry you know.”

You shook your head, “I’m tired of crying. It burns.”

“Okay, we can talk about something else.”

“We won right? Against Thanos.”

There’s a pained look that crossed Steve’s features, “Yeah, we did.”

“What happened?”

Steve let out a labored breath. He was the captain of the team. The only captain. So even though the wounds were fresh he reopened them, telling you about everything that you had missed.

It was quiet after that. The people who had disappeared were now back. Tony was dead. You missed the services for him and Clint.

“How’s Laura?”

He doesn’t shy away, “She’s hurting, the kids too. It’s a rough reality to accept. You were gone for years and now you’re back, but you’re missing a big piece of yourself.”

“Does she know?”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

Your heart sank further than you thought was possible. You felt sick, you wished you could curl up into yourself. There was nothing you could say. You couldn’t hold the tears back any further.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out.

“She doesn’t blame you.”

You cry even harder at that, “That doesn’t make it any better. She should hate me.”

“She understands.”

“I don’t deserve it,” you started to hyperventilate.

Steve took your hand in his. He began to breathe deeply, trying to get you to mimic him. You began trying to copy him. With much effort your breathing began to return to normal.

“I think it would benefit you to talk to her.”

You frowned, “I don’t.”

He tried again, “It would benefit her.”

That made you hesitate, “I owe the Barton’s everything.”

“How about a phone call?”

“It’s late.”

Steve didn’t budge, “She’s not asleep.”

“Okay,” you found yourself agreeing.

Steve handed you his phone. It rang maybe three times before someone answered.

“Hello?”

You didn’t say anything.

“Steve, are you there? Is everything alright?”

You were petrified.

The super solider took the phone from you, “Laura, hey. I wanted to tell you Y/n woke up today. I’m with her right now. I was wondering if you wanted to speak with her?”

There’s a small beat, but Steve handed the phone back to you.

“Y/n, sweetheart, are you there?”

“I’m here,” you squeaked out.

You heard Laura sigh on the other end, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Laura I’m- I’m so sorry,” you crumbled after hearing her words.

“I forgive you,” she said quietly.

You argued with her, “You shouldn’t. I don’t deserve it.”

You could hear her tearing up on the other end, “Y/n I knew Clint better than anyone else. He had his moments, but he was a selfless man. He was already planning to save the world. Clint always wanted to have a heroes ending.”

“Laura-”

She cut you off, “You were scared to lose Natasha and I guarantee you that he was too.”

“I wanted there to be another way. I didn’t want anyone to die. I just- I needed more time. I just needed more time,” your voice died at the end.

“Y/n you were in a war. Sometimes the only way is death and it doesn’t matter how much time is on the clock,” she told you.

You felt shame as you spoke, “I owe you my life. More than my life, Laura. I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Whatever you need, I promise to deliver for you and the kids.”

“Y/n you don’t have to do anything.”

You nodded even though she can’t see, “I do and even if I didn’t, I still would. I can’t fix this. I can’t undo what I’ve done. There’s not even a way I can really make it right, but fuck. This is all I can offer, I don’t deserve remorse, but please Laura.”

She was quiet for a minute, “… I will call you if I need anything .”

“Thank you,” you held back your sob this time.

“Tell me about how you’re doing,” she changed the subject and you let her.

You talked all through the night. Steve left his phone with you for the night. Talking to Laura was hard, but not nearly as hard as you thought. She wasn’t degrading you or berating you. Though you found it hard to believe that she didn’t have any animosity toward you, she didn’t let it show.

You told her about your injuries and bits of the battle that you remembered. She asked you about Natasha. You were honest with her.

Nothing in your brain was telling you that deserved the Russian. Laura said that was stupid. She pointed out that the only reason you were in this state was because you went to save Natasha. She said that the two of you obviously loved each other. Laura even went as far to say that Clint would’ve wanted you to be together.

You told her that it wasn’t your decision any more. It was all up to Natasha. You admitted that you would never turn her away, but also that you would never force her to be with you.

She told you that she knew Natasha very well. In the same way that everyone else had told you today she said that Natasha loved you. Part of you hoped that would be enough.

It was late when you finally woke up. You fought the urge to open your eyes. Instead you reached for the bedside table, feeling around for the glasses.

You grunted in frustration when you didn’t feel them. The sling on your left arm stopping you from reaching any further.

“Here.”

The voice startled you causing your heart rate to jump. She placed the glasses in your hand.

“You scared the fuck out of me,” you said placing the glasses on your face.

“Sorry,” she shrugged.

You looked at her for the first time in weeks. Subconsciously you were checking her for injuries, surely, they would’ve faded by now. She wasn’t as hurt as you were.

“How long have you been here, Nat?”

“A few hours, it’s late. I didn't want to wake you.”

You shot up in your spot, there was instant regret as you felt a pain in your stomach.

“What time is it?” You grunted out.

Natasha helped you sit up in the bed. Her eyes were sharp as she looked at you, “You need to be more carefully. It’s almost 2pm."

You kept her gaze as you nodded, “Sorry, I was up late last night.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You looked in your lap, “Steve came to see me. He told me I should talk to Laura.”

“Oh.”

You sighed a bit, “Yeah he called her. We ended up talking all I night. I think his phone is still in here somewhere.”

“You talked to Laura?”

Your nod was softer this time, “I didn’t want to at first. Steve said it would help her, that she wanted to talk to me. I will be indebted to her for the rest of my life, so we talked about everything.”

Natasha shuffled around in her seat, “How did it go?”

She watched the relief cross your face. There was even a small smile on your lips.

“I feel like it went as good as it could’ve gone. I- I wish I could do more to show how sorry I am, how guilty I feel. But all I can do is apologize and promise to be there for her any time she needs anything. It’s not him, nothing will ever be him.”

Natasha moved closer to you, “You’re right, nothing you do can bring him back. No amount of apologies or promises will resurrect him.”

“Natasha…”

She cut you off, “All I want to ask is why you did it?”

You caught her gaze again. Maybe it was wrong to weigh your options, but you started to do it anyway.

“The truth,” she stopped your thoughts in their track.

You turned your head away from her. You struggled, but eventually your back hit the mattress. Your eyes shut, thinking it would be easier this way. Natasha thought it was easier too.

“I thought it was for you at first. For the life you created, for the family you had just found. So that you could see all your hard work pay off. These last 5 years were so hard on you, I just wanted you to be able to feel the success,” you started.

“At first?”

You continued, “Then I thought it was for me. I didn’t want to watch you die. You guys tied me up, left me helpless. I had to watch you both fighting to kill yourselves. When I saw you go over that cliff I didn’t know if I was fast enough to save you. I tried anyway and if I would’ve failed then we both be dead.”

“I understand, after watching you almost die,” she relented.

“The truth is, in the moment I was thinking of us. It wasn't some long thought out thing. In my head it was simple. The world still needed you and so did I. When you said we didn't have time, it was my instinctual reaction."

The Russian didn’t take her eyes off of you, “I want to forgive you.”

“I won’t make you.”

Natasha kept going, “You almost died protecting me."

“Clint is dead because of me,” you refuted.

“One of us had to die,” she sounded somber.

You squeezed your eyes tighter, “It should’ve been on his own terms. I shoved him.”

“We would’ve been up there debating for hours or fighting each other. I won’t forgive you for pushing him, I just can’t; but I also can’t pretend like I don’t care about you anymore.”

You still haven’t opened your eyes, “What does that mean?”

Natasha placed her hand on top of yours, “It means that you can’t move out. It means that I want to try to work through this because I love you.”

You finally reopened your eyes, “Natasha, is this a good idea?”

“Do you love me?”

Your eyes softened, “Of course I love you.”

“Then it’s a good idea. Besides, I think you owe me for all of the trauma.”

“Fair point,” you responded.

There was a shared chuckle between the two of you.

Natasha reached out, much like she had the day before. This time she wiped some of your hair out of your face. Her hand trailed your side profile. She was mindful of your injuries.

You were subconsciously leaning into her touch. Her eyes fell to your lips. You felt your face heat with anticipation. Neither of you said anything.

She kissed you. It was delicate. Fragile in the way she held your face. Soft in the way her lips moved against yours. Much like the state of your relationship.

“You’re coming home when they discharge you.”

You drag your gaze from her lips to her eyes, “Okay.”

She pecked your lips once more, “Wanda and Lena are staying with us by the way.”

“Are they alright?”

“Wanda is doing the best she can without Vision. My sister is paranoid something is going to happen and doesn't want to be separated again,” she gave you a quick rundown.

“At least you have each other.”

Natasha hummed in agreement. It was quiet again after that. The two of you just staring at each other. You were the one to speak first.

“You want to cuddle?”

She let out a genuine laughter, “You’re in a hospital bed.”

“I know, but you can squeeze in,” you look away from her slightly embarrassed.

“And your stomach stitches?”

You mumbled in response, “It’s fine for the most part.”

“Sure it is.”

You glared back at her, “Are you going to hold me or not?”

She smiled when she stood up, slowly rounding the bed. She climbed in tiny bed, attentive to your injuries. She was careful as she placed her arms around you. You pushed yourself further into her arms.

She kissed the side of your head, “You’re needy when you’re hurt.”

“Whatever.”

“Cranky too.”

You huffed, “But you still love me.”

“Very much,” she teased.

“I love you back.”

She kissed you one last time. Then the two of you laid together. Guilt and shame still lingered in the back of your mind, but with Natasha holding you, love stood at the forefront of your mind.

In that moment you both had a similar thought: maybe love would be enough.

[maxinehufflepuffprincess]

Stepfather

BangChan x fem! reader. 9th member.

This fic is a lot shorter than my other Stray Kids fics. But still, enjoy anyway. This one is just for the giggles.

Taglist. Masterlist. Progress Update. MamaBear Collection.

Summary: The kids are having fun discussing who would be the best stepfather for them if you and Chris ever (hypothetically) break up.

When you and Chris walked into the dance practice room. You are greeted by a loud laugh. You walked over to the boys, Chan right behind you. Felix, Hyunjin and Seungmin were on the couch. Changbin, Minho, Han and Innie were on the floor. The way they were sitting, it was basically a circle. 

“What about Hongjoong?” Changbin suggested. Confusing you and Chris. 

“What’s going on?” You asked as you set down the food bags in your hands. You placed them in the middle of the circle before sitting down next to Seungmin after he patted the spot beside him. 

Chan and Minho began unpacking the food and drinks and handed them out to everyone. Chan sat down on the floor, but by the couch, near your legs. 

“We’re discussing who would be a good stepfather for us,” Hyunjin said with no shame whatsoever. 

Chan looked up in surprise. “Wait, what?” His face was pure confusion. 

Minho grabbed his drink and shrugged. “We were talking about whether you and Honey were ever to break up. -”

“And this is hypothetically speaking. So don’t panic. We know you two are going to grow old together.” Han quickly piped in. He let out a yelp as Minho pinched his arm. 

“As I was saying. We were saying, who would be the best pick for the role as our stepfather and Honey’s new husband? He has to be the best. Because our Mama Bear deserves only the best.”

“And you landed on Hongjoong?” You asked curiously before you began to eat your food. 

Seungmin shook his head. “No. Right now, his name has just been thrown out.” 

Changbin nodded. “I think it could work. He helps with their music, and he has experience raising kids because of Ateez.” He said with a shrug.

Hyunjin shook his head as he passed Felix his drink. “No. I’m not subjecting our mother to raising Wooyoung. You make enough problems, Binnie. You are a problem child. She doesn’t need a second one.” That made the group laugh as Changbin placed a hand on his chest, acting wounded.

“Speaking of Wooyoung. Binnie, you and he have a playdate at the arcade next Saturday.” You told him with a sweet smile.  The guys all laughed loudly.

“Playdate? What am I five!?” His voice filled the room.

You giggled and shook your head. “No. But I’ve heard you complain all month that you miss him. So I called Hongjoong to ask, and Wooyoung has the weekend off, and so do you. So we scheduled a playdate for you and Wooyoung. You’re welcome.”

“See, she’s the best mother. Be grateful, Changbin.” I.N. said, his voice full of sass. 

Changbin nodded and smiled. “Thank you for going out of your way to do this for me.” He was grateful. 

“Anyway. We can’t pick Hongjoong, we can't steal him from Seonghwa. They are the Ateez parenting duo. That would be like someone stealing Chan away from us.” Han added before gulping his drink. 

“Besides, he comes with six kids.” I.N. said, pulling a face. The group all nodded their head. "The only kids Honey needs are us and any kids that she and Chan have in the future."

That made Chan choke on his drink. You patted his back to help him.

“San would look good next to her, though,” Han spoke again with a small shrug of his shoulder. Causing the rest of the boys to think it through. 

Changbin shook his head. “It could work; he'd be a good trophy husband for her.”

The boys continued to eat their food as they all brainstormed. Chan leaned against your legs and looked up at you. “Can we return them?”

“No, we love them too much to return them.” You told him with a giggle before eating more of your food. 

Everyone froze as Felix let out a gasp. 

“He has an idea.” Seungmin pointed his chopsticks at the blonde. 

Felix shook his head. “No.” He mumbled out as he shoved food into his mouth.

Minho placed a hand on Felix’s knee. “Hey. Tell us.” He said, his eyes locking on Felix’s.

“I don’t want to betray Chan.” The blonde replied as he shook his head. 

Chan waved his hand. “It’s fine, Lix. It’s nice to know that at least one of my kids is loyal to me.”

Felix looked at the group. Minho squeezed his knee in anticipation. Then, Felix spoke up. “Lee Minhyuk.” 

The room was quiet. 

“As in, Minhyuk from BtoB?” 

Felix nodded his head, confirming Hyunjin’s question. 

Then the room became chaotic. Hyunjin and Minho both let out a scream. Han and I.N. clapped their hands hard. Seungmin was bouncing in his spot on the couch. Changbin let out a loud whoop. 

“That’s so smart, Felix.” Changbin told him. 

Minho nodded in agreement. “We saw how he interacted with her during Kingdom. Real gentlemanly. Plus, he voted for Felix to be the visual king. That’s him showing he supports Honey’s children, and he worked well with Han and Binnie...and Chan too, of course.” He commented with a grin on his face.

“Don’t forget how, even though it was their first time meeting, the way they acted was like old friends reuniting,” Seungmin added, a pleased look on his face.

“Maybe they have.” Hyunjin spoke up from his spot.

Felix frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“Think about it. We have lore for how this family came to be, right? Minho and I are Honey’s kids that she had before she got with Chan. So, Minhyuk could be our real dad. It would explain why I’m this pretty. Handsome father plus beautiful mother equals two very pretty sons.” Hyunjin explained as he nodded his head, satisfied with his own logic.

Minho winked at Hyunjin. “Happy to see you think I’m pretty.” 

Chan shifted slightly to get more comfortable. “Okay, okay. But why did they break up in the first place?” He asked curiously, and he was now fully invested in the lore of all of this. 

The boys went quiet for a moment and looked at each other. 

Felix piped up from his spot. “They fell out of love, and their paths were going in different directions. It was mutual. No heartbreak. Just a hug and a good luck.” He explained. 

Han clicked his fingers, his cheeks full of food. He nodded his head in agreement with Felix’s words. 

Chan looked at everyone. “Okay. Let’s see if I’ve got this right. Honey and Minhyuk were together and had Minho and Hyunjin. They break up after falling out of love. Honey got custody of the kids. Then she becomes closer to me, with whom she was friends. We end up dating after a while. I already had Changbin; his mother is currently unknown. Honey and I get married, and then the twins come. Han is our firstborn child together, with Lixie following a day later. Then we have Seungmin and then I.N.” He asked, looking at everyone. “Did I miss anything?”

Minho shook his head. “Nope, you pretty much got everything in the lore so far.” 

Changbin nodded his head. “Minhyuk, it is then.”

—------------------

It was weeks later at a concert when the new lore was slipped out. 

Han and Changbin had been chasing Minho and Hyunjin, who had been causing chaos. 

Chan shook his head and turned to look at you. “Leeknow and Hyunjin are yours when they're like this. Yours and Minhyuk’s.” 

You let out a laugh. “Don’t be like that, Channie. They take after you in many ways. They are completely yours when they are chaotic.” Your voice was teasing. 

“I’ll show you chaotic.” He then began to chase you. 

—-----

A clip from the concert had gone viral. A clip of Chan saying that Minho and Hyunjin were Minhyuk’s. Stay went crazy, happy to have more lore for the family. 

Minhyuk even replied, saying he was honoured to be the now-not-so-secret parent of two of the Stray Kids.

-----------

MamaBear Collection Taglist: Thank you for supporting me. @jinnie-ret @inejghafawifesblog @bbokarismeow @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @smalluglye @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @imma-much-happier-person @hwangrfrnd @stay-tiny-things

[startaegi]

CHAPTER 001. don’t say you love me.

where you and namgyu on brink of seperation find yourselves in way of death all to give your daughter a better life.

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the hotel reception was suspiciously quiet for a saturday afternoon. the odd guest or two came and went, their footsteps echoing through the empty entrance but no new arrivals since your shift began.

you sat behind the desk, legs aching and eyes drifting to the clock on your computer screen. you watched the seconds tick down, letting out a breath of exhaustion. it would be just your luck if a wave of new check-ins arrived in the thirty minutes before you finished.

you held your breath, eyes still on the clock as the double doors opened. you lifted your head, expecting to see a guest and was instead greeted by the sound of children’s laughter.

hanuel was glued to eunwoo’s side, as she always was, giggling as he attempted to playfully shake her off. you looked at the pair with a smile, the weight of exhaustion momentarily lifting from your body. the long hours were worth it when it meant being greeted by her smiling face at the end of the day.

hanuel noticed your presence, her round eyes peeking up at the reception desk through her messy bangs. “eunwoo-samchon taught me how to play piano,” she beamed excitedly.

you gasped dramatically. “he did?” you asked.

hanuel nodded proudly, her fluffy brown curls moving with her, one hand still clutched in her uncle’s. eunwoo stood at her side, a look of pride on his face. you’d never be able to repay him for everything he’d done for you since the day you met — working late nights at the club, afternoons at university, juggling too much all at once while still trying to experience a typical college life.

he helped you through your pregnancy, watched you face some of the hardest moments of your life, and through it all, he stayed.

eunwoo might not be hanuel’s uncle by blood, but he more than deserved the title.

hanuel darted to an empty table, throwing her pink backpack onto it and emptying the contents, pencils spilling everywhere.

eunwoo shook his head with a laugh. “i think i’ll need to sleep for a week after today.”

“she’s obsessed with you.” you looked from the girl to your best friend, smiling. “thank you for watching her again.”

“stop talking like that, you know i’ll always do it.” he paused, pointing toward the exit. “i should get going though, date at seven.”

you raised your eyebrows, lips pulling into a smirk. “where’s he taking you this time?” you asked.

“some comedy club in seoul,” eunwoo replied with an eye roll.

“you literally said last week that stand-up comedy makes no sense.”

“yeah, well, you’ve seen him.” he paused mid-sentence, a grin tugging at his lips. “maybe it’ll all make sense after tonight.”

you threw your head back in laughter. “get out of here,” you said, motioning for him to leave. “and text me later, okay? i need to know if you survive.”

eunwoo left, not before saying goodbye to hanuel, crouching down to her level and playfully ruffling her hair. her tiny face scrunched into the cutest scowl as he waved you both goodbye, once again leaving you in silence.

hanuel was always a good kid. she rarely ever cried, and now that she was old enough, she seemed to know when it was the right time or place to be loud. she sat happily, scribbling away in her colouring books, a pencil swapped for another every few seconds, her teeth tucked into her bottom lip in quiet concentration. no words would ever be big enough to describe the love you felt for her.

“ten minutes, then we can leave,” you called across the room, your voice soft but full of exhaustion.

hanuel raised her head with a nod, pencil still in hand. “okay, mama,” she said cheerfully, then returned to her book.

summer was slowly ending. the leaves had already begun to change, the nights growing colder and darker. both of you walked the streets of incheon, hand in hand. you felt yourself threaten to topple over, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. but the girl beside you was still full of energy, skipping along with a bear clutched in her arms. you often wondered where she got it from; neither you nor her father had given her it.

a headache pulsed at the base of your skull, the city lights and chatter doing nothing to help. you moved as fast as a four-year-old could, weaving through college students just starting their night, and families heading home after a day in the city.

an ice cream shop came into view, its flickering pink and blue lights inviting you in. soft music drifted through the open door, an idol group you would never be able to recognise.

hanuel’s eyes lit up at the sight. “can we get ice cream?” she asked, tugging on your hand.

you knew you should say no. you were behind on rent, barely had enough food to last until your next paycheck, and just as your luck went, your only heater had just broken in time for winter.

but as hanuel looked up at you with those bright brown eyes—so sweet, so kind, everything you wished for her to be—you couldn’t say no.

you shared a cone, sitting on a park bench just beside your apartment. hanuel swung her legs, ice cream smeared across her face, while you stared at the night sky, trying not to fall asleep.

by the time you arrived home, the night air had grown colder, your apartment silent except for the low hum of the fridge. you felt silly for even thinking namgyu might already be here—might’ve run a bath for hanuel, laid out her pajamas neatly on her bed. maybe even cooked dinner, so you could eat quickly and drift off to sleep without a single thought. you swore to yourself every night to never get your hopes up, and yet you always did.

as you always did alone, you bathed hanuel, cooked and fed her dinner, read a bedtime story, and stayed until she drifted off to sleep. only then did you heat up some leftovers, tiredly eating them in the silence of the kitchen before showering and settling onto the sofa.

you didn’t turn the tv on, didn’t bother to check your phone or pick up a book. instead, you stared blankly at the four walls, willing yourself to stop thinking.

no amount of tiredness could override your mind.

hanuel’s words echoed through your head, her heavy eyes slowly shutting as she once again wondered when appa would come home.

you were sick of lying to her, sick of giving her false promises and never being able to follow through.

you didn’t know where namgyu was. you didn’t know when he’d be home, and sometimes wondered if he ever would return.

you never had the answers to the questions hanuel asked in the small hours of the night, because you didn’t know the answers to them either.

the door opening cut through the silence. the sound of heavy boots being kicked to the side and a jacket flung to the ground. he groaned but didn’t bother picking it up, shuffling into the kitchen.

you didn’t speak, didn’t move a muscle as you watched him.

he was high, it was obvious. his hands trembled slightly, and even in the dark, with only the open fridge casting a light, you could see the dilation in his pupils.

and again, another piece of hope broke in you.

“hanuel was asking where you were,” you spoke up. “again.”

his body jolted in surprise, a hand clutching his chest.

“fucking hell.”

“did you hear me?” you asked.

namgyu only grunted in response, pulling anything and everything from the fridge in a hurry. you didn’t have the energy to argue, you’d done it one too many times already.

you stood up from the sofa, running a hand through your hair.

what was the point, anyway?

you could shout until you were blue in the face, until you had no voice left to shout with, and he still wouldn’t listen. he’d keep stumbling through the door at midnight, the smell of the club filling your apartment, all while ignoring the pleading look in your eyes as you begged him to care.

he took your seat on the sofa, ramen balanced on his lap. you shook your head in disappointment, leaving him to himself and deciding it was time for bed.

the bathroom was small and cracked in places, but it was good enough for what you could afford. you brushed your teeth quickly, refusing to look at your tired face in the mirror above the sink.

you didn’t need physical proof of how you felt.

soft whispers echoed through the walls. you paused, unsure where they were coming from. you cracked the door open, noticing the dim nightlight glowing in hanuel’s room.

namgyu’s voice spoke quietly, the soft tone he only used with his daughter.

“appa’s gonna go and come back, and we’re gonna live a better life, i promise you,” he said.

you watched as he gently brushed back her bangs, smiling down at her.

he pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“and you’ll finally get the ballet shoes you dreamed of.”

tears burned in your eyes. you couldn’t bring yourself to listen anymore. whatever plan he had, you wanted nothing to do with it. nothing he ever did that involved money ever ended well. you wiped your tears, pulling the sheets over your cold body. you willed away the heartache, the pulsating headache, and everything else racing through your mind, and drifted of to sleep.

the following day at work, an unfamiliar man appeared. no room reservation, no name. just a briefcase and a question.

“would you like to play a game?”

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❪ notes ❫ . i’ve been working on this all day today and yesterday, and think it might be the longest chapter i’ve written ever???? anyways enjoy bcos it’s just about to get worse from here :)

❪ taglist ❫ . if you wanna be added to the taglist for all future chapters let me know!

[adoringaffliction]

Apologies

Joel Miller x Naive!Reader

Warnings: angst and comfort, Joel yells at reader, reader is a little stupid, oral (fem receiving), religious imagery

Summary: Joel is an angry man, but he never wants to make you cry.

MDNI 18+

All you could think about after you bought the dress was how pretty Joel would think it was. You wanted to look nice for him. You’d never had anyone to please and now that you did you were determined to do it right. But when you came home the reaction you were hoping for was far from the current situation you were in. 

“We were saving for important things Y/n! And you bought a dress?! A dress!,” Joel shouted. Joel grabbed the hem of your dress and pulled it up for you to look at. “All of my hard work. I work to feed you. Not to put you in fancy fuckin’ dresses.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t think-,” you stammered, tears starting to brew in the corners of your eyes. 

“You see that’s the real problem y/n. You don’t think. Not a thought runs through that dumb little head of yours. You get these fantasies that everything is going to be okay, that this will all be over soon. News flash! It’s not. I work my ass off every day to provide you the necessities you need to live, and you fuck me over. You spend our money on stupid shit.” 

You looked down at your feet avoiding looking at Joel,”I’m sorry.” You sobbed a little harder when he stomped away to the bedroom, leaving you in the middle of your kitchen alone. You stood in your own shame and lack of understanding. All you had wanted was for him to tell you that you looked pretty. All you wanted was to feel like you were worth his attention. In your head you understood that Joel gave up a lot to be with you. He gave up women his own age. Women of more experience, and most of all his own supplies. All he did was provide. 

You really felt stupid now. You crumpled to the floor and leaned back against the kitchen cabinets. Hiding your face in your hands you rocked back and forth uttering self deprecating affirmations that only ended up making you cry more. 

After what felt like a long time you heard the door at the end of the hall open and Joel’s footsteps get nearer. You didn't look up. You stayed curled up in a ball on the floor. You sniffled and saw his feet right in front of you as you opened your eyes. 

“Okay, c’mon, stand up,” Joel commanded, voice softer than before. You obeyed, unfolding and rising, but never meeting his eyes. His arms wrapped around you pulling you close to him and resting his chin upon the top of your head. “M’sorry for yelling,” he whispered into your hair. 

“It’s okay I was stupid-”

“No, we’re not doing that. You’re not stupid and what I said was mean. It’s just frustrating when I work so hard and see you using our resources for frivolous things honey. I wish I could give you everything you want, but I can’t.” 

“I just wanted to look pretty for you.” 

“Oh, sweetpea… you’re always pretty for me-”

“But I feel so inadequate and I just- I just want you to know that I appreciate you choosing me instead of someone else…” You said finally looking up and meeting his brown eyes. 

His brow furrowed in confusion as you spoke. The ache of misunderstanding etched into his skin,”Honey I will never choose anyone but you, you have to know that…” But he could see in your face that you weren’t entirely convinced. This bothered Joel. There was nothing in the world that he wanted more than you. To see you smile, to hear you laugh, to hear you moan his name when no one else was awake but the two of you…

“Let me prove it to you.” Joel wrapped his hands around you and hoisted you into the air effortlessly, years of tough labour evident in his strength. He carried you to your shared bedroom and laid you gently across the covers of your bed. 

“This dress is gorgeous on you sweetpea…”

“Thank you Joel,” You smiled softly up at him and Joel could’ve sworn that he felt his insides melt. Melt into a golden fluid whose only purpose was to force him to understand that all that mattered was you. You and your skin, and the musk that emanated off of it. Every small miniscule change in your facial expression. Every strand of hair. Every eyelash that clung to the other, savoring the moisture of your salty tears. Tears that he had caused. Tears brought about not from overwhelming pleasure, but shouting and anger. Joel had never been more determined to correct the misfortunate way he had spoken to the one girl he truly loved. 

Joel pushed your dress up your body and watched as it scrunched around your midriff. The process revealed white cotton panties that clung to your every curve. He pressed gentle kisses to the seams of the fabric. One after the other whispering small,”I’m sorry”s in between kisses. 

“Please let me make it up to you honey,” He pleaded, the softness of his words colliding with the gravely sound of his voice. His eyes met yours as you nodded. With that he pulled your panties to the side and gently kissed over your cunt finally pressing a firmer kiss to your clit. Small whimpers left your lips as Joel made out with your pussy, taking his time and making sure each and every inch of you was attended to. 

Joel’s tongue was warm and experienced, each flick making you feel like you were getting further and closer to god. If god even existed in a world like this, but if he did, you were sure it was the man whose head rested between your thighs. 

You could feel the rough texture of his stubble rub against the delicate skin of your inner thighs. Each expert lick of Joel’s tongue felt like heaven, the feeling amplified by his uncoordinated groans every time your thighs pressed themselves to the sides of his head. You hand crawled down grasping for purchase within his hair. You tugged and he groaned. Your mouth fell open and broken gasps resonated out of it, your lips stretching to meet your jaw as it spread wider and wider. 

Joel wrapped his lips around your clit and your back arched off of the bed. His tongue swirled around the bud as he looked up at you expectantly. Joel knew you were close, it was only a matter of time before-

“Joel- oh- I’m gonna cum-” and with that your legs twitched and your fingers tightened as they threaded themselves through his salt and pepper locks. A sigh left your lips and your back finally fell back into a neutral position as you came down. Joel separated himself from your cunt to look up at you. The baby hairs that clung to the sweaty skin of your face. Your flushed lips and cheeks, and the rise and fall of your chest as you tried to catch your breath.

He smiled,”I will only ever choose you.”

[wisteria-bae]

I want to clarify something right out of the gate:

When I said, “Here’s how it was broken down to us,” I referenced what I was taught. I’m not erasing African culpability or trying to push a one-sided narrative. If your experience or education taught you something different, that’s fine, but just as you speak from your experience, so do I.

True facts don’t become racist just because they’re inconvenient, or because you think the other person has a racist reason for bringing them up.

That’s a misread of my point. I never said the fact itself is racist, I said the timing and framing often reveal a motive. When a person suddenly becomes a historian the moment racial injustice is mentioned, only to deflect blame or shut down dialogue, that’s bad-faith distraction. That context matters.

Also, ‘trading with other people for stuff you want for an advantage’ doesn’t make them victims.

At no point did I call anyone a victim. I said some African leaders made decisions out of fear or the pressure of power struggles. That’s not victimhood; that’s political realism. Motivation doesn’t absolve guilt.

So they sold Africans the surplus guns that wouldn’t sell to Europeans. That doesn’t seem like a sinister plot, that seems like getting rid of old stock.

This is exactly what I meant when I said people rarely extend nuance to European participants. When Africans participate, we dig deep into motives, tactics, and economic reasoning. But when Europeans exploit with outdated weapons, faulty deals, and false promises, it suddenly becomes “just business.” Why does nuance disappear when it’s not convenient?

So why do you describe Africans as just ‘selling’ and say white people ‘stole’? There was a lot more ‘stealing’ going on by black people than white people, even by your own argument.

That’s not what I said. I acknowledged both theft and trade. The transatlantic slave trade included kidnapping and purchase. Some Africans were sold, and others were abducted, just like some European colonists bought enslaved people, and others ran illegal slaving expeditions. Both happened and can be true at once without canceling each other out.

I feel like you’re describing your own rationalizations here, but in a deflecting way.

I’m unsure why you feel that way, but that’s not what I’m doing. I explained what I was taught, added some context, and expressed that both sides played roles in a complex, brutal system. I was acknowledging, not deflecting.

Again, the statement usually implies white people alone enslaved black people, and leaves out who did the majority, assuming the speaker even knows most of it was black on black. And I don't think most people do. In most mainstream discourse, the role of black slavers is entirely ignored. If white people are held responsible for something actually done by black people, that's racist and should be corrected, just like the converse.

I hear what you’re saying, but we’re approaching this from two angles. The majority of the initial capturing and selling being “black on black” doesn’t erase or exclude the European role in building the system that brought Africans to the Americas, especially to places like the U.S.

African Americans’ historical focus often starts with what happened once our ancestors were on this side of the ocean. That’s the beginning of our lineage: chattel slavery, plantations, Jim Crow, redlining, mass incarceration.

We’re not ignoring certain parts of the story; we’re focusing on the parts that shaped our communities, our identities, and the generational trauma we’re still unpacking today.

We know Black people sold and captured each other; that part’s not hidden or ignored anymore. But that truth doesn’t cancel out how European powers created, scaled, and profited from a system that turned human lives into generational property. That’s what our education and conversations tend to center out of relevance to our lived reality.

Which brings me to a question I‘m curious about. As a Black non-American, do you believe that how the transatlantic slave trade was taught to you, compared to how we learn about it here in the U.S., is more accurate or complete? And if so, why do you think it's being taught so wrongly and different?

So a black woman was released from jail five months after she was arrested for "abusing a corpse" because she had a miscarriage in a restaurant bathroom.

Her name is Mallori Patrice Strait, and she is 33 years old. This is her.

I distinctly recall raising concern that this would happen to women in anti-abortion states when this happened to Brittany Watts in Ohio and I distinctly recall pro-lifers saying this wouldn't not lead to women getting arrested for miscarriages.

It's also not lost on me that these two women are black, and pro-lifers spent years arguing that their policies were meant to "protect the black population."

While you all justify Adriana Smith's case in Georgia, I wanna hear the 'pro-life' explanation for this.

I want all the "protect black babies" people and the "abortion is black genocide" people to step forward.

I just want to talk.

[aismoker]

Exactly 3 years ago, Brent and Chris had met each other. It had been love on first sight. To celebrate this joyful ocassion, they had decided to book a weekend in a new hotel in the city, The Bear Inn. According to the advertisment they had seen, it would be a unique experience.

When they entered, they were welcomed by the owner, a friendly big, hairy man, wearing a black shiny shirt with a bear's head on it. The man introduced hinself as Papa Bear. Brent and Chris thought it was an odd name, but they were mostly annoyed by the fact that the guy was smoking a cigar. Indoors! This was so going to end up in their review!

They didn't know any other hotel in the area and thwybwere both tired of the trip, they decided to check-in anyways. After check-in Papa Bear handed them a welcoming drink. He called it Bear Essence and he said it was home made. It was a weird black liquid, that smelled a bit odd, like sweat and cigars, but it could also be that it was simply Papa Bear, as he was very.... musky. They decided to take the plunge and they both emptied their glasses in one go. The liquid was bitter, but it didn't taste bad. As they both put their glasses back on the counter, they started to feel sleepy. They both couldn't surpress a yawn.

Papa Bear saw it and smiled: "Seems like you two boys are tired of the journey. Let me bring you to your room." The two men nodded meekly and followed Papa Bear. They walked behind him in the trail of smoke, but for some reason it didn't bother them. They actually thought it smelled quite nice.

Papa Bear stopped in front of one of the doors and ooened it. "Here you go, boys." He then took a deep drag and walked to Chris. He planted his lips on his and gave him a smokey kiss. He then did the same to Brent. They werw dumbfounded, but then they started to giggle. "Good night, boys, tomorrow you will feel like new!" "Good night, Papa Bear," the men answered in unison. They then entered the room.

The room looked odd, with a large shiny black bear head directly above the bed. But Brent and Chris didn't really pay attention to it, still flaberhasted by what just had happened. They stripped out of their clothes and slipped under the covers. As they lay in each other's arms, Brent said sleepily Chris: "Well, that was something..." "Yeah," Chris replied, while yawning again, "but it felt good, don't you think?" "Yeah... Papa Bear is a sweet guy... and pretty hot too," Brent answered. "Let's spend some more time with him tomorrow," Chris suggested, but he didn't get a reply. Brent had fallen asleep and Brent followed suit quickly after.

They slwpt dep that night, dreaming both strange dreams, with Papa Bear involved in all of them. Thwybslept sondeep, that theybdidn't notice, that at midnight the eyes of the bear's head above thwm started to emit a red light and cigar smoke was coming out of its mouth.

The next morning, Chris and Brent stepped out of the hotel, puffing proudly on their third cigar of the day. Papa Bear had been right. They felt like new. Especially after Papa Bear had come to give them special room service. After that, they had decided to prolong their stay indefinitely... as Papa's Cubs,. They were now heading out, hunting for new potentials. Papa Bear's orders.

[ladykailitha]

Steve and the D&D Game

An AU where season 4 never happens because Hopper lives and El doesn't lose her powers. So they kick Vecna's ass before summer is out.

Steve takes it upon himself to inform Eddie that since he is now the DM for his kids here is a list of things NOT have in his campaigns and why.

Like very detailed reasons why this would absolutely traumatize the freshmen and he has very good 'non-NDA breaking' reasons and Eddie is just staring at this list in his hands like "WTF"

No demogorgons- Will was kidnapped right after they failed to defeat one in their D&D game

No doglike packs of any kind- Dustin and Lucas were attacked by feral dogs

Nothing with all teeth and no faces- Mike has an irrational fear of the tooth fairy and all those teeth she collects (this is entirely made up and pisses Mike off that HE was used for that!)

Which is great everything is going along great until Halloween when Eddie runs a horror one-shot and it's about kids being kidnapped and experimented on and when the freshmen get irrationally into the story, Eddie comes to Steve for clarification on that one.

That one is a little hard to explain without explaining who El is and what happened to her but he thinks he does a pretty good job.

Now poor Eddie is freaking out because how is he supposed to navigate kids so thoroughly traumatized so Steve offers to listen to his DM notes before each session.

Eddie weaves these tales and Steve always quick to naysay things that would actually harm them but leaves twists and turns in place because he wants them to have fun too.

Soon enough he starts to enhance Eddie's storytelling.

Steve's all like: Oh don't have the twist bad guy be the wizard, it's always the wizard. Have the twist bad guy be the paladin who's been corrupted by Vecna but glamoured so the party can't tell he's broken his oath.

Eddie does so and absolute giggles in delight when Mike figures it out before the final betrayal comes because Mike has played paladins before and something feels off. Eddie makes him roll the appropriate roll and is giddy when he succeeds.

So now Vecna is without his fateful servant and Eddie is thrilled because Steve just keeps making his campaigns better.

All this made juicier when they realize that the human paladin is really Kas in disguise and they manage to convince Kas to turn his sword on Vecna.

All along the way, Steve is suggesting characters that might help the freshmen through said trauma. Like having queer NPCs so certain members *cough cough Byler cough* understand that it's okay to be queer.

Or carefully curated adventures like their own but without the triggering elements from Steve's list.

Finally on the night before the final session, Steve is trying to listen to what Eddie is saying, but he can't take his eyes off his lips.

He says something off hand that's actually kinda brilliant and Eddie is all "That's so brilliant I could kiss you!"

To which Steve replies "I really wish you would."

Eddie blinks at him for a moment before doing just that.

And then when the next day Lucas announces that the basketball team is in the championship. Eddie bummed because after that night they can't use the drama room, because the school musical is about to start rehearsing. So Steve offers up his big house for them to play in over Spring Break, so all of Hellfire is there to see Lucas sink the final basket to win the game.

And Erica is there to play Lady Applejack. Not to replace Lucas, but because since it's over when everyone is out of school, they agree to add her for the finale so they get all the help they can. She rolls the Nat 20 at the end that kills Vecna with Kas's sword.

Then Steve and Eddie announce their relationship to Hellfire and everyone is thrilled. But especially Mike and Will.

[m-robinavitch]

7 + robby x jack’s sibling

Trope Tuesday! Send an ask with a trope from this list with a character and I’ll make a shitty blurb for you!

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Abbot!Reader

Trope: Best friend’s sibling

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap relationship

“You should just stay the night man, it’s late and you’ve had a few drinks,” Jack said- pointing to the couch, trying to convince his friend to stay over.

“Yeah Robby, it’ll make me feel better knowing you’re safe,” you smiled innocently. Robby only had those drinks to calm his nerves, because every time Jack left the room or turned- you were on him. Kissing his neck or jaw or stealing his breath from his lips. He tried shoving you off, not because he didn’t want you, no- Robby and you have been fucking behind your brother’s back for years.

You were, what Jack liked to dub as- the accident. You were born when Jack, was in his late teens. A complete mistake on your parent’s part- apparently vasectomies should be checked every year or two. Oh well. You loved your brother. His name was your first word, you crawled into his bed when you had nightmares, you scribbled letters to him while he was deployed overseas, you were the flower girl in his wedding with his late wife, yours was the bed he crawled in when she died because he couldn’t sleep alone and needed to cry- and you never judged him for it.

Only, some years after he became an attending in Pittsburgh- he brought along a tall, attractive man one Christmas. You were home from college and instantly you were enamored with Robby. Jack thought it was cute at first- the way you took up Robby’s time and attention that first time you met. Asking him about being an ER doctor “I’m an ER doctor too? You never care about my experience?” “Jackie I’ve heard enough from you- go help mom in the kitchen” And about places he travelled to. “I was literally deployed all over the map” “This isn’t about you right now Jack” And maybe before he left you worked up the courage that only a delusional girl could have- you kissed him. You and Robby were the last ones awake and he and Jack and your sister in law were leaving in the morning so you kissed him. And he let himself kiss back for a moment- just a second before he realized how wrong it was. You were his best friend’s sister- the forbidden fruit. That didn’t stop the way he let you crawl into his lap and continue kissing him.

The next time was when you went to visit Jack and your sister in law that summer after the Christmas kiss. Jack was working mornings with Robby in the Pitt, and you had spent the day exploring the city by yourself before you made your way to the hospital to go home with your brother. Only he got more busy and-

“Robby can take you home- he’s already done for the day,” instant heart eyes- Robby could feel himself stuck between a rock and a hard place- also know as his dick because he’s been thinking about you since Christmas. He wanted to disagree but then there would be questions as to why so there you sat in some parking garage- straddling Robby in the driver’s seat while kissing along his neck. This was so wrong. So fucking wrong but you grind into him and-

The next time was when you came into town for a few days to explore job opportunities with some college friends. Jack and your sister in law made the guest room up for you but you insisted on spending the time with your friends in a hotel like young adults do. Only you lied to both your family and your friends. You spent those days in Robby’s bed for the first time- learning exactly what sex should be like with someone who cared about you.

And now you’re here, years later- visiting your brother for the weekend because you honestly missed him. And like he always does when you’re here- he invites Robby for dinner. And after everyone says good night you wait an hour or two, practically vibrating in your skin because once you know Jack’s asleep- you all but run to the living room. Robby’s awake. He always waits up for you. Hungrily kisses you while pulling you into his lap- throwing whatever thin shirt you wore to bed to the floor so he can kiss along your chest like he’s come to know you enjoy.

“Missed you so much sweetheart-” his earlier frustrations with you were gone- taken over by hunger and desire now. “Been thinking about this all fucking month-“ since you told Robby you were coming for a visit he’s been eagerly waiting. And as he groans just a little too loud when you sink down onto him- you cover his mouth with your palm while you set a fast pace on his lap. No matter how many times you’ve done this with Robby- it was always a stretch. Always made you tense and whine at the feeling. One day you’ll tell your brother that his best friend has been fucking his sister- just not this time.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Worth The Risk

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: When you and your boss get stuck working late at the Embassy, a heated accident makes the two of you realize that maybe some things are worth the risk. Written for @zepskies 5K follower celebration!

Tropes: Little tiny bit of grumpy sunshine, Tiny bit of shy/awkward reader, Boss and Secretary Dynamic, Soft! Javier. Mutual Pining.

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: I'm labelling this one as 18+ (just in case)! Sexual situationish? Cursing, Super awkward situation, Make out session, References to sex (there's quite a bit), References to Javi being a tiny bit of a slut *said affectionately* (because we all love him for it), Loverboy! Javi, Accidental Handjob (I don't know what to call it)? Reader is kinda awkward, Reader has anxiety, Reader being a little bit self-deprecating? Reader has a bit of a developed backstory for the fic, Javier being a little bit self-deprecating? Javier might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I have never written for Javier before, so please, PLEASE be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

A/N: Alright Alex, happy 5k! This one rolled out of me due to the very, VERY inspirational gif that you sent me (still can't look at it for too long without stroking out 🤣). I'll have to return the favor someday 😈 But to everyone else, this one is really just something silly that was living rent free in my head so enjoy!

There is something magical about rain.

The gentle patter against a rooftop like a soothing melody, the racing droplets down a window that you can trace with your fingertips, the distant rumble of thunder over the mountains shaking through the lush green forests, the heady smell of rain that comes moments before a downpour, the flash of lightning that captures the world in shades of black and white- it makes the rest of the world melt away, isolates you to one single place to bask in the enchanting sounds and beauty of it all.

Anything can happen in a thunderstorm.

Of course there are some things that are not magical about rain.

The feeling of the cold droplets slipping below your collar and trickling down your spine, the squish of your soaked socks and shoes when you step into a puddle that was a little deeper than you thought it was, the flash of lightning above your head that is a little too close for comfort followed the deep crack of thunder…

Or when you’re fighting for your life with a stubborn umbrella in a heavy downpour that won’t do the one job it was literally made for and you end up looking like a drowned rat by the time you get to where you were going, and you’re too embarrassed to go in so you just turn to take the walk of shame home, and end up running into your “so sexy it should be a crime” boss.

Not speaking from personal experience or anything…

The raging thunderstorm that pummeled and shook the American Embassy was trying it's best to rival the storm that Noah survived, and was also unfortunately keeping you from your warm bed past midnight on a Tuesday.

An umbrella would have been worthless at this point given that the rain seemed to be coming up from the ground and because your ancient Nova had refused to start this morning and you'd walked to work, you were stuck.

But you didn't mind staying late for one reason:

Javier Peña

The level of crush you had on your boss was shameful, but you hadn't meant for this to happen, honest! He was just, so, so…

Javier sighs where he sits at his desk, leaning back to prop his feet up on the strong metal table top while the muscles of his right arm strain against the sleeve of his orange button up, making your throat constrict.

Sexy.

Which yes, maybe it was a bit of a cliché, a secretary falling in love with her boss that was way out of her league in every single way, but you were.

Sure Javier had a reputation with women. Goodness knows you had heard every single scandalous whisper about his numerous escapades and seen every sultry look from the women who passed by the office hoping to catch a glimpse of your boss hard at work. The same women who told you how lucky you were to work with Javier and how jealous they were of you.

They didn't need to be. You knew for a fact that Javier didn't see you as more than just his secretary.

How you ask? Because of the way he treated you.

You'd seen Javier charming someone back to his apartment- the moves, the smirk, the mischievous glint in his whiskey colored eyes when he knew he had someone on the hook, and the low rumble of his chuckle that made you lose all feeling in your legs. You'd seen the same song and dance at every Christmas, New Years, and whatever other holiday that you were celebrating at the Embassy party.

But around you, Javier was a different man.

Yes he still had the same charm, but he was softer. He genuinely would ask you how your day was going whenever he walked by, listened to you whisper whatever gossip you picked up at the water cooler on the fifth floor or in the break room and laughed with you, suggested places to order lunch from where he knew you would find something too, walked with you to your car when it was late, and whenever he went out with Steve he always brought something back for you, whether it be a nice cup of well-needed coffee or a Cocada from your favorite bakery down the street.

He was a good boss. Anyone would be lucky to work with him.

Plus you'd seen the kind of women he was interested in and you weren't one of them. You weren't confident or outgoing. Sure you'd speak to your boss, Steve, and a few people around the office when you had to, but you were not okay with just striking up a conversation or joining a group mid-sentence because that was like a suicide mission. Plus being as clumsy as you were, you'd probably take a few steps towards the group then eat it on the musty carpets.

And you certainly didn't dress like any of them- well, some of them dressed for their profession and that was okay, but you definitely couldn't imagine wearing anything like that around the office.

Your wardrobe consisted of oversized sweaters, long flowy skirts, and soft dresses that draped rather than squeezed your boobs into submission and didn't prop them up to say "hello." But you wanted to be comfy at work because you were there so many hours during the day and you didn't think that you'd be able to breathe if you wore anything tight when you sat down.

That wasn't to say that you didn't "try" when you were at work, just that your sense of style was more… reserved than the women you saw Javier gravitate towards.

So basically you were trying to not be attracted to your boss, and after three years all your crush had done was triple in size and follow you around like a smelly water buffalo.

Javier sighs again, drawing your gaze up from the stack of notes you were organizing into chronological order for him. His eyes skate over to you, a weary smile twitching at the end of his lips before his attention drops back to the folder perched in his lap.

Everyone else had gone home for the night, and usually by now Javier would have gone too, but he had a meeting with Ambassador Noonan in the morning and was trying to prepare.

Maybe he needs some coffee.

You think to yourself as you rise from your cluttered desk making your way to the small break room two rooms down the corridor, not noticing the way Javier's eyes follow you.

He had told you to go home earlier, told you that he had this handled, but you refused. Javier didn’t understand why you wouldn't go, but he was happy you didn't, because it meant that he got to be with you for just a few more hours than normal. Got to hear your soft sigh as your shuffled through papers, got to see the way your face got that cute scrunch when you were concentrating, and got to smell the bright mist of your citrus perfume whenever you walked by. The same perfume that he had to stop himself from trying to gulp down from the air like a man dying of thirst in the dessert, because the way you smelled was like a drug to him. It made him feel like an addict of the worst kind.

And then also made him feel like the scummiest guy on the planet because he was your boss and shouldn't be having any of those thoughts about you, but he couldn't help it. Not when since the first day he met you, Javier felt his dead heart start to beat again. Not when being in the same room with you was like standing too close to the sun, blinded and filled with so much heat he thought it would all come pouring out of him like molten lava.

Javier Peña had it bad. Steve often teased him about it and Javi shrugged him off, but Javier knew in his heart that there wasn't much he could do to change it.

Because he wanted more, but he knew that he shouldn't.

You busy yourself with the steps of making coffee. Measuring out the grounds, filling the pot with water, etc. And when you have two mugs filled to the brim with the elixir of life, you turn to go back to the office.

Unfortunately what you didn't know is that Javier came to see what you were doing, and at the exact moment you turn around with much more enthusiasm than someone should have at 12:39 on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, Javier enters the room.

You crash into him, pouring the entire contents of both mugs onto the front of his shirt and down his pants.

Javier makes a sound like a wounded animal.

Coming from someone who had been shot in the past, you now knew that taking scalding hot coffee seemed to be the same level of pain as a bullet wound.

"Shit!" You scream, placing the empty mugs on the counter before turning back to note the prominent stain all over Javier's lower stomach and the front of his blue jeans.

Before Javier can reach for the paper towels to clean himself, your hand comes down hard on the center of his chest, stress fueled anxiety giving you almost superhuman strength as you shove him backwards into one of the plastic chairs that sit idle around the pathetic table.

A startled yelp comes through Javier's lips as he stumbles back in surprise, landing unceremoniously in a chair, stunned. You don’t give him time to process the events that happened in the last three seconds, before you're dropping to your knees in front of him, paper towel roll in hand, scrubbing furiously at his lap.

"Oh fuck, Mr. Peña I am so SO sorry!" You babble, working your hands back and forth on the front of his pants, leaning over him. "I didn’t know that you were coming in here and I wanted to make us some coffee because I know that you've been working so hard tonight and-"

Javier groans low under his breath. "It's okay I-" He tries to push you away, but you continue to dab and wipe at the coffee that has soaked through his jeans.

"It's not okay! You could have second or third degree burns." You stare up at him wide eyed.

One of his hands is fisted on his knee, the other gripping the plastic edge of the table like a lifeline, his jaw clenched tight as you work your hands over him.

"I'm fine-" He says through gritted teeth, brown eyes flashing with something that looks a lot like pain.

Maybe we should go to the hospital!

"No, you're not here-" You prop yourself up, placing your hands on Javier's muscular thighs, your face level with his crotch, and blow.

Javier's body constricts, his knuckles turning white from grabbing the table.

"Is that better?" You look up at him again, eyes wide and hopeful, anxiety and embarrassment flooding the synapses in your brain. You were so worried of Javier being in pain, of him being hurt, that you weren't considering the opposite.

Because Javier Peña is trying not to come in his pants like a damn teenager.

He lets out a strangled sound, but doesn't answer, so you try again, blowing over his crotch and hoping that it soothes the scalded flesh.

“You have to stop-“ Javier says in a breathy whisper, face contorting in something that looks like pain. His dark hair is scrunched and wild, sweat beading along his forehead, and his eyes squeezed shut as if he can’t look at you.

Can you sue someone for spilling coffee on you?

“Don’t worry I think I can get it all off!” You say, beginning to frantically dab at his pants again.

Javier was in hell… but fuck it felt a lot like heaven.

He was trying his best not to focus on what you were doing. His mind flitting from photos of M-19 personnel massacred by Pablo Escobar, photos of plane crash victims, memories of drug busts, to other images of whatever else could take his mind off of what was happening in his lap, but nothing was working.

Not when you were kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear and worry for him, wearing one of those handmade oversized sweaters that Javier thought made you look unbelievably cute, soft hands rubbing, dabbing, and squeezing him, your cool breath rushing through his coffee soaked pants, and with you apologizing over and over in that sweet voice of yours.

The same one that Javi tried not to think about in the dead of night when all was quiet and he was alone, when another voice inside his head (that sounded remarkably like Steve) told him not to start something with his secretary-

But Javi couldn't help it.

You were unlike anyone he'd met in his entire life. You were soft, kind, generous, with a smile that always made something deep inside Javi break whenever you looked at him. The same smile that he sought after a day without end, because it was the only thing that made him feel like what he was doing meant something after years of him sinking deeper into the mire.

The moment that you started working for him, Javier found himself excited to come to work and that was something that warranted a whole fleet of flying pigs.

You shouldn't be working here, let alone living here. Whenever you didn't show up to work or were a few minutes late Javier's mind went right to the worst, that something had happened to you. That someone had done something and he was too late, because Colombia chewed up and spat out the kind of person you were.

It was why he couldn't bear the thought of you walking alone to your car after work, and why he seemed to be in the same neighborhood on the weekends when you made your way to the market down the street from your apartment to go grocery shopping. It was also why he was trying his best to keep his distance from you, because someone like you had no business being with someone like him.

"Fuck." Javi half moans, because he can’t keep it in.

You look up at him,  still frantically wiping the front of his pants with a coffee stained paper towel. Javier isn't looking at you, his head is tilted upwards at the ceiling and his eyes are squeezed shut, sweat beading along his hairline, breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Shit, Javi I'm so, so sorry. I know it hurts. I'm going to go get some ice." You try to rise from the ground, but Javier's hand comes down on your shoulder to stop you.

"Please don't." His teeth are gritted together.

"But you're hurt. You could have a burn or-"

"I don't."

"How do you know?"

"Cariño-" Javier chuckles, his eyes blink open, turning a honeyed whiskey in the light. "I stopped thinking about that the second you dropped to your knees and started cleaning me up. It doesn’t hurt. And if you keep doing what you’re doing we’re going to have a bigger problem.”

“What do you mea-“

It still doesn't dawn on you what he's talking about or why he would stop thinking about hot coffee burning him until your gaze lowers again to his lap.

Anything you’re about to say evaporates from the tip of your tongue.

In your eagerness and embarrassment, you'd forgotten exactly what it would have felt like for him when you scrubbed, dabbed, and blew on the front of his pants for the past two minutes.

Oh. My. Damn.

You think to yourself as you see the outline of Javier's large erection straining against the zipper of his coffee stained jeans.

How does he- nope nope not thinking about that right now.

By now your face is so warm with embarrassment you're sure that if someone were to crack an egg it would be fried to perfection in seconds. The heat rivals the eruption of mount Vesuvius, rivals the surface of the sun if someone ran a train full of gasoline into it. There is no coming back from this, no rock big enough to hide under, no cave dark and deep enough to cover your shame.

You lean back on your heels, dropping your face into your hands. "I am so sorry-" The word had lost all meaning given how many times you'd said it within the last five minutes, but given the situation, you had no idea what to say.

To say you were mortified was an understatement. You were so embarrassed that you wanted the faded musty maroon carpet to come up and swallow you whole, so embarrassed that you wanted to go outside, open your mouth, and see if you could drown in the heavy downpour.

I'm never going to be able to show my face here again. I'm going to have to quit my job and change my name. And without a job I'll never have enough money to pay my rent or feed my cat, and if I can't feed my cat he's going to eat my face while I'm sleeping and-

Javier coughs out a laugh, the same one that usually made you feel like you'd swallowed sunshine, but not now. Especially not now not when you could call your own time of death.

You could imagine the gravestone:

Here lies so and so died, when she accidentally gave her boss a handjob.

You could also imagine the ridiculous rumors that would stem from this moment. The things that everyone would say about you the second they found out about this.

You can’t move, can’t even breathe.

The longer you sit there the worse you feel. Embarrassment, shame, and anxiety prickles along your skin, jumping and crackling through every nerve ending, making tears burn in your eyes. You wanted to curl up into a little ball under your desk and rot.

It was the single most embarrassing moment of your life and you knew that there would be no other event that would ever top it.

Javier slides out of his chair to kneel in front of you, whispering your name, but you can't look at him, can't do anything.

The thought of running outside into the thunderstorm crosses your mind, but you’d worn heels today and you didn’t think you’d get far running. And it would have been even more embarrassing if you slipped and busted your nose open on the marble floor in the lobby, because you knew that Javier would insist on driving you to the hospital and you didn’t want to sit through that car ride if your life depended on it.

He says your name again, this time gently pulling your hands from your face.  “Why are you crying?” Worry flickers behind his golden gaze, thumbs brushing over the soft skin of your wrists.

“Because I’m embarrassed. I mean I touched you- touched it- I-“

My great grandchildren will still feel my shame. It will haunt them from beyond my grave. They won’t know a moment of peace!

“If anyone should be embarrassed it’s me.” Javier chuckles.

“I don’t think you still have enough of a sense of shame for that Mr. Peña.” You sniffle out a laugh.

It was true. You knew his reputation, had heard the rumor mill a hundred times over, not to mention you had fielded a number of angry phone calls directed at your boss all of whom you’d told them that Javier wasn’t there, while he stood there and made frantic gestures with his hands.

“Oh back to Mr. Peña I see.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Javier's touch trails sparks against your skin, making your throat tight.

“Huh?" You blink in confusion.

“A minute ago you called me Javi.”

"I did?”

It was hard to think when he was still holding one of your wrists in his warm calloused hands. The same hands worn rough from years of holding a gun, and the ones that had only ever treated you with kindness in the three years that you'd worked for him.

"I don't think I've ever heard you call me anything other than 'Mr. Peña' since you got hired." He raises an eyebrow, signature smirk in place.

"Oh well- that's because I- um. You're my boss and I- I ."

I don’t want to get used to calling you anything else because then I won’t be able to stop.

"I like it when you call me Javi." His fingers trace across your chin, making your cheeks heat.

Any semblance of shame or embarrassment that you felt was quickly fading away with his touch. It was the most that he'd ever touched you, except for the few accidental brushes of your fingertips whenever you handed him things, or whenever he somehow was grocery shopping at the same market and he would gently place his hand on the small of your back to lead you through the crowded stalls.

You never understood why he shopped there too. It was thirty minutes in the opposite direction of where he lived.

This isn't happening. This is just a daydream I'm having and-

“But I don’t like it when you cry.” Javier’s mouth pulls down into a frown. “I promise it’s okay-“

“I’m sorry-” You wipe at your eyes with the back of your free hand.

You couldn't seem to stop saying it. But again you honestly didn't know what else to say. Sorry seemed to cover a multitude of sins. Not to mention the way that Javier was touching you and looking at you right now, and the energy that seemed to pulse and thrum through the air was making your head a little fuzzy.

Before you can say or do anything more, Javier leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You were just trying to help.”

Your hand falls automatically to the front of Javier's orange button up, gasping softly in surprise. He freezes, eyes wide as if he can’t believe that he did it either.

And he can't. Javier didn't meant to, but he can't stand to see you cry. Not when each time you did, it was like the sun was hidden behind the clouds and not when it was like a piece of himself was dying. And he didn't think that you should be embarrassed about this, because you were honestly just trying to help him.

The odd energy pulses again, threading through the air between the two of you, as neither one pulls away. His dark gaze is on you, hesitant, as if he's waiting for something you can't see. Some subtle que or tick that only he knows.

The spicy smell of Javier's aftershave floods into your nose, familiar in the best way, and the feeling of the warmth of his body only inches away makes your brain short circuit.

For the first time in the three years that you'd worked for Javier, you don't feel like his awkward secretary, because the way that he's looking at you… it makes you feel like more.

Javier leans forward just a hair, your hand still resting on his shirt, and brushes his lips against yours, eyes open, gauging your reaction. A sigh works it's way through your parted lips as you sink into the kiss, the hand you have resting on his shirt curling enough to feel the subtle shift of his muscles move and it's exactly what Javier needed.

His lips fall against yours with fervor, hands skating down the fabric of your sweater and finding your hips with ease, before he pulls you into his lap, not breaking the kiss.

It's unlike anything you could have imagined, more than any fantasy you could have made up in your head. The feeling of his supple lips, the tickle of his mustache, the warmth that surges up, up, up in a fluid wave through your body, the taste of the peppermint and stale coffee-

It’s addictive, maddening, hypnotic.

He groans into your mouth, the sound not unlike what he made moments ago, his hands subtly pushing up the edge of your sweater to find the heated skin of your waist fueling the spark that burns through your body. Goosebumps trace along your flesh with a heavy hand, the white hot fire that comes with the feeling of his skin on yours traveling from the base of your throat to the pit of your stomach.

“Javi-“ You breathe his name on a gasp, earning a groan from the man beneath you as he pulls you harder against him, moving his lips down the column of your throat into the shadow of your jaw whispering things in Spanish that you can’t understand. Your hands move up the expanse of his chest and find refuge in his hair, the dark locks falling beneath your fingertips, soft and curled slightly on the ends. Your name comes out of his mouth in a throaty whisper, rumbling up through where your chest is pressed against his.

You'd never heard anyone say it like that before, almost reverent, cherished, like you're his. As if after all this time you've always been his and it's always led to this moment. And it makes something inside break open and flood into the cavity of your chest.

Then all at once he stops, pulling back from you, pupils dilated slightly, looking at you in a daze, his chest rising and falling in rapid gasps.

“We shouldn’t- I shouldn’t.” His voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

The embarrassment is back tenfold, because now that you’d felt him under you, felt the urgency of his touch against your body, his lips soft against your mouth you don’t know how the hell you’re going to do anything else whenever you see him.

“I'm sorry-“ You mutter before you can stop it, and try to move back off of him, misunderstanding what he means.

Javier kisses you again, holding you firmly on his lap, eyes darker than you'd ever seen them.

“Please stop apologizing.” He murmurs against your lips. “I meant that I don’t want it to happen like this. I at least want to take you out to dinner first. You're-" Javier swallows. "You deserve that."

You blink in surprise. It wasn't that you thought Javier wasn't a gentleman, it was that you weren't expecting him to say something like that. Not when there was no one left in the entire embassy and he didn't have to stop...

But with this pause, reality came roaring back in.

He's my boss. What would other people say?

“Are you sure that’s not a bad idea?” Your fingers gently move through the strands of hair at the back of his head, which makes Javier sigh and lean into your touch.

“It’s the worst idea. Been trying to not ask you out for three years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Javier chuckles

“It is a bad idea.” You bite the inside of your cheek.

It was. Beyond bad. Practically forbidden. Not to mention you knew for a fact that Javier would probably think you were just too weird and awkward to care about a follow up date and then it would ruin the relationship the two of you had.

But you wanted to say yes. That's an understatement, you wanted to scream yes from the mountaintops and perform a rendition of "The Hills Are Alive" with Julie Andrews.

"Terrible, cariño." Javier smirks a little wider, the grip he has on your waist tightening with a promise that flashes in his dark eyes.

“Maybe not coffee.” You say hesitantly.

"Yeah, that'd probably be safer.” Javier admits. “Though I think if I took you out for a drink there’s always the possibility you could spill your martini and stab me with an olive skewer.”

Your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

"But it's worth the risk." He murmurs leaning his forehead against yours.

"Some things always are." You echo with a soft smile, listening to the rumble of thunder shaking the brick, mortar, and glass of the embassy. The rest of the world melting away and leaving you just with Javi for a few precious moments when all hell rages outside the white washed walls and musty carpets.

Anything can happen in a thunderstorm, you just never imagined something like this.

A/N: Again Alex congratulations on the 5k and giving me such an inspirational gif for your challenge! It was fun for him, and of course to watch some Narcos again 🥰

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going!

Taglist:

@angrydragon90 @jollyhunter @kmc1989

[keirareidss]

making amends - s.r

♡ summary: you regret your time in high school so when you have the chance to make amends, you jump at it pairing: spencer reid x bully!fem!reader warnings: mentions of bullying wc: 2.5k based on this request

High school, for you, was... an experience. You like to think of it as just an earlier chapter of your life that has passed. You've grown and changed as a person, what happened in high school was in your past. You didn't like to think about it.

So when you got a job at the BAU as a profiler and found that you'd be on the same team as someone from your high school who you had a... difficult relationship with, you immediately got worried.

Spencer Reid was the smartest person you've ever known. He was twelve years old when he graduated high school, meanwhile you were eighteen and struggling to keep your grades up. You were jealous, that's why you did the things you did, or rather, didn't do.

You ran with a crowd of popular girls in high school, the kind that were popular for the wrong reasons. They were bullies and, looking back on it, you're ashamed to have been affiliated with them. Now, your name was associated with some people's worst memories in school. But you never actually did any of the bullying, you just stood by and watched, as if that made it any better.

You were always told by those anti-bullying campaigns that being a bystander was just as bad as doing the bullying and you'd roll your eyes. Your young self always thought that what you were doing wasn't wrong. You weren't actually hurting anyone, were you?

But then you met Spencer Reid. He was a child prodigy and, frankly, you were jealous. Maybe that's why you never said anything. When Spencer joined your high school, your 'friends' immediately set their sights on him. He was an easy target, a scrawny kid who didn't have any friends and couldn't defend himself.

They'd pick on him every day, calling him names, pushing him around, and you'd stand there, every time, laughing awkwardly. You always felt bad for the little dork, he never deserved any of it.

Seeing him now, successful, using his big brain for good, surrounded by friends he considered family, you were honestly quite proud of him.

"Everyone, meet our new profiler." Aaron Hotchner introduces you to the team in the conference room and you can see Spencer's eyebrows furrowing as he tried to recall where he's heard your name before. He lifts his head, making eye contact with you, his face unreadable as he finally remembers.

"Nice to meet you all." You gave a small smile to the people sitting around the table. You had your first case with the team in California. When you got on the jet (you were still amazed that team had their own jet), you noticed Spencer sitting by himself.

"Is this seat taken?" You asked, stood next to the one across from him. He glanced up at you from the file in his lap, shifting uncomfortably.

"Uh..." You sighed, understanding what he was trying to express. You moved to sit on the other side, across from your boss. The rest of the team filed onto the jet and you were of to Sacramento.

"Alright, Rossi and Prentiss head to the last dump sites, Derek and I will go back to the house, JJ, talk to the family, and you two will go to the morgue, try to find a signature." Hotch orders, finishing by looking at you and Reid. Before anyone could leave, Spencer spoke up.

"Um- actually could I switch with Prentiss?" You looked at him, hurt. No, you didn't have a right to be upset. Of course he didn't want to work with you, why would he?

"Is something wrong?" Hotch asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"I just think I'd help more at the dump site." Spencer lied.

"Fine. Reid go with Rossi, Prentiss, you head to the morgue." Everyone left for their individual tasks, Spencer avoiding your stare as he sped out of the conference room, his cheeks red.

"Alright, what was that?" Rossi asked him as they made their way to the dump site.

"What was what?" Spencer asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"Why didn't you want to work with her?"

"It's nothing." Rossi raised his eyebrows. It was clearly not nothing. Spencer rarely vocally disagreed with Hotch's orders. Something had to have happened to make him do so.

"If you say so." He shrugged. You and Emily were having a similar conversation in transit to the morgue.

"Did something happen with you two?" Prentiss asked, her tone soft but prying.

"You could say that." You muttered, looking over the file in your lap. Emily stayed silent, waiting for you to continue. "We knew each other in high school. I was... not the nicest person."

"Wait... did you, like... bully him?"

"Well, not exactly?" You sighed, frustrated with this conversation, yourself, your inability to put it into words, your past actions, you could go on. "I was friends with this group of girls and they liked to pick on him, well maybe 'pick on him' isn't the right choice of words. I don't want to go into specifics because it's really more of Spencer's story to tell but... I didn't do any of the bullying, I just never said anything." You finished, blushing in embarrassment.

"Oh, that's rough."

"I know. I feel so bad. I mean, I've grown and changed, and I'd like to be his friend but I don't know he'll be able to forgive me."

"Knowing Spencer, I bet he will."

"Really?"

"Yeah. If you're being genuine and you really have changed, he'll see that." You sighed, deep in thought. You did truly want to be his friend and you couldn't deny his attractiveness. But that would mean a big long talk and those always made you uncomfortable but for him, it was worth it.

You didn't know the little eleven year old prodigy that went to your high school. You knew your friends had talked to him a few times and the stories they told you of the nasty things they'd said to him made your heart hurt.

You were the type of kid to sit back and stay silent when something happened. You hated confrontation, terrified of it. So when you started seeing what your friends were doing to him, this bright eyed young boy, you felt even worse.

They'd push him in the hallways, taunt him with cruel words, vandalize his locker and his stuff, but there was one thing that was the worst of them all.

You had just sat back and watched as the girls you had called your friends laughed at him as the football team stripped him naked and tied him to a goalpost. You watched as tears streamed down his face, a pit in your stomach as your 'friends' pulled you away in a fit of giggles.

In that time, you had thought about how lucky you were that you were on the good side of those girls, that they hadn't chosen to pick on you instead but now, looking back, you wished you had said something.

You wished you could have spared that young, brilliant, optimistic boy from the horrible things he went through.

As the case progressed, Spencer avoided you like the plague. Understandable, but still a little painful. And once it ended, he had even more reason to evade you.

"Come on, Reid. One drink."

"Morgan, you know I don't drink." Spencer protested weakly. You stepped into the conference room where the team was packing up.

"So one water then. It doesn't matter what you have, just come celebrate with us." He caught your eye and you quickly looked down.

"Alright, fine. I'll come." Spencer sighed and Derek grinned at the success. He walked towards the door, stopping next to you on the way.

"You're coming too, right mama?" He nudges your shoulder.

"Uh..." You hesitated, glancing at Spencer. Maybe it'd be better for you to go back to the hotel and give Spencer the space he'd been wanting from you.

"Come on. Don't be a stick in the mud." You chuckled a bit, conceding.

"Fine."

The team headed to the bar where you got a large table for seven. Derek went up to get drinks for everyone. As the night went on and everyone got drunker, Spencer stood up to take a breather outside. No one at the table noticed, apart from you. You hesitated for a moment before following.

Opening the door forced a cool breeze over your skin. When you stepped out, you immediately spotted Spencer on the small porch area, leaning on the railing.

"Hey." You said softly, stepping closer. He glanced back at you before pulling his gaze back to the horizon.

"Hi." He responded as you stepped up to him. You leaned against the railing beside him, staying silent for a few moments, gathering your thoughts.

"Look, I-"

"I wanted to-" You both spoke at the same time. "Oh, sorry, you first." You said.

"No, no, go ahead."

"Okay, um... I just... I thought we should talk." When he didn't respond, you continued. "I don't know if you remember me-"

"I do." He said and you could hear the bitterness in his tone.

"Right, why wouldn't you." You agreed with a small awkward smile. "Uh, well, first I want to formally apologize and say that I'm sorry. For everything that happened to you in high school." He turned to look at you now, half not expecting that to come out of your mouth. "I was a stupid kid, and I know that doesn't excuse it, but, really, I didn't know what I was doing. My friends- those girls were horrible to you and I should have done something."

"It wasn't your problem."

"No but it was. I watched everything they did to you. I just stood by and watched." Your tone was harsh, but not against him. Towards yourself, feeling hatred for your past actions. "I'm so sorry for everything you had to go through. You didn't deserve any of it."

"Thank you for saying that." He said after a moment of quiet thought.

"Look, I've changed since high school, I like to think I'm a different person now, and I truly hope that you can forgive me and we can be friends. But if you don't want anything to do with me, I understand."

"I just... can I ask why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" You didn't expect this. For him to dig into the past like that but, you supposed he deserved to know.

"I guess I was scared. I mean, those girls basically ran the school, I was terrified that if I spoke up they'd come after me next but... I should have taken the risk. I doubt it'll make you feel better but, if I could go back and change what I did, I would."

"Thank you." He said plainly.

"Do you... have any other questions?" You asked, confused by his simple response.

"No, not really. I... I think I need some time to think."

"Y-yeah of course. I... I guess I'll leave you alone then." He turned back to the railing, looking down at the ground and you stepped away, heading back inside. You already felt like a weight had lifted from your shoulders just from speaking everything out loud. You just hoped he could forgive you.

You were getting ready for bed that night in the motel when there was a knock on your door. You shuffled over to the door in your pajamas, opening it to find Spencer on the other side.

"Hey."

"Hi. I, um, I was thinking and... I forgive you."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. It actually seems like you've changed and I think we can be friends." Crossing your brain was the fact that you wanted to be more.

"Good, I- I'm glad." You sighed in relief. You really had wanted to be his friend, it seems like he really grew into himself and, to be honest, he wasn't all that bad looking.

"Do you maybe wanna get coffee tomorrow? After we land?"

"Yeah, definitely." You shut the door after he left excited and looking forward to getting coffee with your new friend.

~♡~

You sat in a cozy cafe, Spencer across from you, a coffee in his hand. This whole situation felt like a date, maybe a little hopeful on your part, but you didn't want to bring it up to him.

The current topic of conversation right now was a book Spencer was really into right now and trying to get you to read. You weren't big into reading but you'd buy every book he recommended to you if it got you closer to him.

"It's really interesting actually, I can lend you my copy if you want."

"Yeah, that sounds great."

"Really? Great, I'll bring it to the office tomorrow." You continued chatting but instead of parting ways at the end, you suggested you swing by his apartment to grab the book so you can read it tonight. He gave you directions as you drove to his place and you waited in his entryway while he ran and got the book.

"Do you wanna come in?" He asked a little awkwardly.

"Oh, no, I should get home." You got the sense that he was done with social interactions for the day and just wanted to wind down so you didn't want to impose. "Thank you for loaning me the book."

"Of course." You both lingered, wanting to continue the conversation.

"You know, you've really grown up since high school." You said, staring up into his entrancing brown eyes.

"Have I really?" He asked sarcastically, chuckling.

"Well, I meant- you've just- you're really.... you're kind of hot." Your face flushed immediately as Spencer's eyes widened.

"What?"

"I mean, you- you've grown into yourself."

"Thank you?" You let out an awkward laugh, staring at the floor, wishing a hole would open up and swallow you into it. "I'm glad you think so." He still sounded unsure.

"I'm being completely honest here. It's kinda one of my life goals after I got out of school."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh. Honesty is key." You grinned, making him chuckle. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence. You slowly leaned closer to him and, surprisingly, he leaned in as well. You met in the middle, his lips soft on yours as his large hand cupped your jaw.

The kiss was soft and sweet, simple with no tongue, just gentle presses against each other's lips. When he pulled away, he stayed close, looking down into your eyes.

"I- I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" You said and he chuckled a bit.

"Yeah. Let me know if you like the book." You said your goodbyes and you headed down the hall, feeling giddy about your new relationship, one that you didn't even know where it was going, and unbearably happy that Spencer had forgiven you.

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