#....time to figure out what to write next

[moonlight-fox]

Varies wildly. But. For some (short) things it's stream of consciousness 'write it all down in a single go'. For others I'll have a single document and then sort of be doing...

Prose prose prose prose prose

<in the next couple of paragraphs this happens>

<And then this>

Prose prose prose prose prose prose prose

<and then this>

Prose prose prose prose prose

Which might be beat by beat or act by act depending on how I'm feeling beat by beat plans on what happens next that when I'm up for doing some writing on that work I can replace.

Though I'm currently transitioning from working in notepad to working in scrivener so my workflow is currently up in the air. To make that second approach work in scrivinr my current work flow is a manuscript for the short piece with individual files for each <bulleted what happens next> and then have a notes file that I've got on the right panel and be doing my writing in the left panel, with the <plan> over in the little window where you can make a quick note about the section to remind you what's in it in the corkboard view.

Meanwhile for the 3 year project with weekly updates I'd be writing the individual chapters in the stream of consciousness 'write it all down in a single go' and have a libre office spreadsheet with notes to myself on my plan, and which chapters I'd written and which I hadn't written and when each was going up online, with an estimation for how much of the stuff I hadn't finished but had started I'd written (So, "Yeah this is about halfway done, I'll slap a 50% into that sheet) and conditional formatting so when written it went green, when not started it was red, and anything in between was yellow, and a little section of the spreadsheet off to one corner for 'chapters I've written but haven't figured out where I'm going to place them' and sometimes I'd outline plot beats I needed to happen to know how many chapters related to the current arc and figure out what order things needed to go if that involved following multiple characters and what a natural pace for that - Seperate notepad file, obviously - with the most complicated arc from a narrative planning stage (arc 2) needing me to break out a flowchart once I'd figured out what all the story beats that needed chapters of their own (and possibly even had written them all) to figure out the correct order for them, and then filling out the stuff in between with side-content, world building, subplots that sometimes became heavily relevant for an arc and othertimes remained as subplots. Much less planning for those until I was wrapping up and had to think carefully about the use of the chapters I had remaining because...

...Well, obviously when I saw an opportunity to end a pokemon fanfic on Chapter 151 I did it, so which characters needed subplots wrapping up and how many chapters I had spare to do remaining one and dones or a Halloween two parter were limited.

...If I still had access to some I might have even broken out some project management software because it was basically just a dependency graph I was making.

And then in the final editing pass I'd add in the HTML for formatting before copying it into the relevant pages for my NeoCities page.

While for the epilogue I had about 20 different notepad files where I wrote each character's epilogue at various time stamps, and then made a spreadsheet to figure out what who was in which so I didn't miss anything while copying all of that into a master document, and then juggled the order of each person in each time zone until it felt like it flowed. That was fun to write and then left me with a narrative jigsaw after doing editing passes on each individually before stitching them together and then more editing passes when I was happy with the order.

...I'm not sure if I'd use scrivener for something I wanted to publish as HTML or not...

Like, maybe, and then copy paste into notepad before doing the HTML on it?

hello writers.

[sturnsblogs]

THE NEW BOY IN CLASS

Loser!Matt X Popular!Reader

—

You and Matt don’t really talk like that anymore.

Not like before.

You’ve been cool—cordial, even. You still pass each other in the hall sometimes. You still catch each other’s eyes when you’re both too tired to pretend you don’t notice. But whatever you were? That complicated little almost-relationship, situationship, whatever—it’s been over. Or at least, it feels like it is.

Now, you sit alone in English class.

You didn’t mind it, honestly. It gave you time to think, to space out, to keep to yourself. It’s quiet in a way the rest of your life isn’t.

Until today.

The teacher cleared her throat at the front of the room. “Class,” she said, folding her hands together, “we have a new student joining us today.”

You didn’t think much of it. Kept your eyes on the page of your notebook, doodling in the corner until a pair of footsteps drew your attention. You glanced up.

A boy walked in.

He was tall, wavy blonde hair that curled around his ears, piercing blue eyes that practically glowed under the classroom lights. He had a soft smile on his lips, the kind that wasn’t cocky—just kind. And he was looking directly at you.

You blinked.

He smiled a little more when your eyes met. Like he noticed you before anything else in the room. Like the rest of the class didn’t exist.

And to your surprise… you smiled back.

Across the room, Matt sat near the window. He hadn’t been paying attention until your smile happened. Until he followed your gaze and saw the way your body shifted slightly in your seat, just a little straighter, a little more aware. When he realized who you were smiling at, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch.

The teacher beamed, oblivious. “This is Noah,” she said. “Be polite, please.”

Noah gave a polite nod to the class but his eyes didn’t leave you. He didn’t even try to hide it. You weren’t sure why, but it didn’t feel creepy—it felt curious. He seemed soft, gentle, almost calm in a way that was unfamiliar to you. He was cute. Really cute. And he hadn’t looked away once.

The teacher scanned the room, then pointed. “Umm… you can sit next to Y/N.”

Your heart skipped.

Matt’s brows furrowed. His grip on his pen tightened.

Noah made his way to your table, sliding into the seat beside you. You tried to act normal, like your palms weren’t suddenly clammy.

“Hi,” he said, voice smooth and warm. “I’m Noah.”

You smiled shyly. “Yeah, I heard. I’m Y/N.”

He chuckled softly. “Nice to meet you.”

From across the room, Matt didn’t say a word. But his eyes were locked on the side of Noah’s face like he was imagining every possible reason to make him disappear.

Noah pulled his chair a little closer to the desk, angling his body slightly toward you like he was already comfortable sitting beside you. His eyes flicked over your face, not in a weird way—more like he was trying to figure you out.

“You’re really pretty,” he said casually, like it was just a fact.

Your breath caught a little in your throat.

You turned your head toward him, trying not to blush. “What?”

He smiled, eyes crinkling. “I said you’re pretty. I figured someone had already told you today, but just in case.”

You laughed quietly under your breath. “That’s bold for your first day.”

“I’m new. Gotta make an impression, right?” he grinned. “Besides, I say what I mean.”

You looked down for a second, biting your lip. “Well… thank you.”

Matt could hear everything. Every word. Every soft laugh that came out of your mouth. And it was killing him.

From across the room, he stared down at his paper, pretending to write while his pen hovered over the same question he hadn’t answered for the past five minutes. His jaw was tight, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. He didn’t even realize he was gripping his pen so hard until it snapped in half in his hand.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Nick, who sat beside him, glanced over. “Dude… what?”

Matt didn’t answer. He just kept glancing up—watching the way you leaned in when Noah spoke, the way you smiled at something he said, the way Noah looked at you like you were the most interesting person in the room.

It made his chest ache. Or burn. Or both.

Meanwhile, you were focused on Noah, genuinely enjoying the attention—gentle, respectful, and different. He asked about your favorite artists, where you grew up, if you liked the class. And he listened, like really listened. His smile never faded.

“You’ve got this calm thing about you,” he said at one point. “But I feel like there’s more underneath. Like you’re hiding something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s deep for second period English.”

He laughed, soft and low. “Sorry. I’m just good at reading people.”

You didn’t answer right away, just tilted your head and smiled again.

Across the room, Matt’s pencil had snapped next.

The bell rang, and the hallway flooded with voices and movement, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against tile.

Matt stormed out of the classroom, hoodie up, backpack half-zipped, his face tense. Chris jogged up beside him, brows already furrowed, sensing the storm brewing off his brother.

“You good?” Chris asked, trying to keep it casual but already bracing himself.

Matt shook his head with a humorless laugh. “Nah. Whatever.”

Chris tilted his head. “Wanna try that again but with real words?”

Matt gritted his teeth. “She was flirting with him.”

Chris blinked. “Who—Noah?”

“Yeah. Noah. Fucking new guy walks in for five seconds, gives her a smile and suddenly she’s blushing and giggling like he invented the sun.”

Chris tried to hold back a smirk but failed. “Well, he is pretty.”

Matt snapped his head toward Chris. “Chris.”

“I’m just saying!” Chris laughed, hands up in defense. “You’re not even dating her, Matt. What did you expect her to do? Sit around hoping you look her way between ignoring her?”

Matt clenched his jaw. “It’s not like that.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “It’s exactly like that.”

They turned a corner and slowed as the crowd thinned a little. Chris lowered his voice, more serious now.

“You switch up even in front of me and Nick, man. And we’re your brothers.”

Matt’s head snapped toward him.

“I don’t—”

“You do,” Chris cut in. “When she’s not around? You’re all about her. You talk about how pretty she is. How good she smells. How she laughs at your stupid jokes. You literally confessed to us you’re falling for her.”

Matt looked away, jaw clenching.

“And then,” Chris went on, “the second your friends are around, it’s like you don’t even know her. Like she’s some girl who got stuck hanging out with you. That shit hurts, bro. Imagine how she feels.”

Matt was silent. The only sound between them was the shuffle of their shoes on the tile floor.

Chris sighed, voice softer. “You keep acting like she’s the one playing games. But she’s not. You are.”

Matt didn’t answer, his hands buried deeper in his hoodie pocket. He stared straight ahead, his jaw tight, chest heavy with all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud.

Chris nudged him with his shoulder. “You’re an idiot, dude. But if you don’t fix this, you’re gonna lose her for real.”

Matt didn’t respond, but the sting in his chest said he heard every word.

—

A/N- what do we think of noah?

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[elaineiswithyou-blog]

Hacker Reader x 141 Poly

TW: Stalking, Theft, Pervy Soap (but reader is kind of into it)

Credit to @beloveds-embrace for the inspo

I also tried to write gender neutral, many feedback would be much appreciated. 

Being recruited was the easy part. You had been caught up in all kinds of social justice from exposing corporations to government cover ups, however, you could only evade for so long.  Laswell had been looking for a hacker and given that your punishment was either jail or working for the military, it was a bit of an easy choice. 

The hard part was dealing with the team. Laswell and her wife were nice, welcoming even but you couldn’t quite say the same for the others. Price didn’t want a new team member, content with the three underlings who caused him enough trouble, and he didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t the best with technology. Ghost didn’t trust you. They were never supposed to physically meet you, a demand you had in your work contract to be remote and never seen, a silent player behind the camera. It made him burn with distrust and worry. Soap was, well, conflicted? He was excited to be getting a new team member, but never getting to see them did make his invisible dog ears and tail droop with a big pout on his face. Gaz was also conflicted but for different reasons. He thought it was nice to have a new coworker, especially one that could cover their digital tracks in the age of the internet, but the lack of contact and warmth from you made him feel slightly off put

So they did what any team would, work together to find you. It was hard and it took them a couple weeks, not wanting to trip any of your sensors or alarms given that you were already on high alert working with the military. Unfortunately for you, once these men put their minds on something it was too late. What they hadn’t expected to find was you. You were cute? A lot softer than what they were expecting given what little information Laswell and Price had given them. And thus began their little game, basically stalking you. Once they found you and figured a way into your system, they began watching you all the time. Little did they know you wanted them to. After figuring out what they were doing a week or two into knowing them, it was obvious they wanted your attention so you let them have it, slowly leading them right into the path you wanted. After letting them watch you, which you had to admit was more of a turn on then you expected, you set your next clue. A small security camera outside your flat. All your other cameras were inside but this one gave the boys just enough information to find out where you would be.

You weren’t surprised the next time you went out on your regularly scheduled grocery run to find that your underwear was gone, mostly like Johnny’s doing given the search history he hadn’t even bothered to try and hide. The next part was even easier, cut the video feeds and the boys would come fleeing, almost too predictably. “Hello boys,”

[xazse]

HEYY GOING FERAL OVER LOSER GOJO❤❤❤❤❤❤ can you write more loser gojo pookie? Where reader is like ignoring him cuz she needs to focus on her studies and didn't have time for toru to give him that sweet relief and when he can't take it anymore he comes to her whiny and all needy. So reader stops her studying and rides gojo out?? And he's a total mess underneath, moaning, whimpering, and him digging his nails on readers back and reader is like disgusted and starts to regret riding him but keeps riding him anyways?? Lol idk. Just loser toru makes me go feral.

(Feel free to ignore this z!❤ ily n ur writings especially loser toru you inspire me to also write smut but i suck at writing lol and fear that if I do it would be so shitty n I don't want ppl to judge me lol. I love you, take care of urself z!

♡´･ᴗ･`♡)

(P.s. I'm actually obsessed with ur writings 😍)

More loser!gojo x female!reader

Notes: I know you submitted this awhile ago but omg this was tew hot to let go, thank you for your sweet words I love that you love my writing.

Don’t be afraid to start writing I was as well but I simply threw something out and it got love and that made me want to continue writing, you might not get a lot of love the first few posts but eventually you’ll have dedicated fans who’ll love anything you post!!

Annoying… that’s all that filters through your head as Satoru rambles about whatever the hell he’s been talking about for the past hour, you zoned out the minute Digimon came out of his mouth and that was within the first minute!

Everytime you attempted to let him know that you had a pretty big test coming up and needed the silence and solitude he would promptly shut up for a good ten minutes then start up his motor mouth, how was someone who was top of all his classes not pick up on simple social cues!?! It drove you insane when he did things like this.

Drowning out his voice was nearly impossible with the loud boom that came from his vocal cords when he’d get excited about a certain something. Regardless you know Suguru is too busy to keep him occupied so you’re the next best thing. You press your pen to your paper and focus… focus and even more focusing.

But Satoru is needy, extremely needy.

He doesn’t like being ignored so he does his next tactic by being in your space, he pulls up a stool next to you and hovers over your shoulder, leaning down to look at what you were writing, he even goes as far as to correct a mistake you had made during his endless torture of a mouth.

You’re about to light him on fire but notice his fingers trailing lightly up and down your side, fingers sticking and popping your tank-top, he’s obviously not even looking at the paper anymore but instead down at the flimsy material you call coverage, oh…

You hadn’t even realized how long it had been since that last time you had sex with Toru, he looks so lost with those hazy blue eyes that require attention, he’s probably been touching his poor cock just off pure flashbacks, you feel bad for the man: but not really, you’re curious as to how long it’ll take him to finally break and ask you.

You wanted to play and mess with him for a little longer but not even five minutes pass before he’s guiding your hand to his erect cock, it doesn’t take much to get him aroused so you’d bet he’s been like this for a while. He leans his head down to rest in the crook of your neck, hiding his reddened face.

“You’ve been… ignoring me.” He whispers more to himself than you, the way he drags it out makes it come out as desperation on his tongue.

“I’ve been busy Toru, you know that.” You bring yourself to your feet, sliding your chair into your desk and making your way to the bed. His eyes follow your figure and they land on you roughly patting the bed prompting him to slip in front of you, seated nice and pretty.

“Well? Take it off, all of it.” Snapping at him gets him to start undoing his belt but of course he’s clumsy and unorganized so it takes him a while.

He’s completely nude and sitting at the top of your bed, relaxing against your lush fluffy pillows. His cock hasn’t calmed down at all, still an angry red crying for your soft hands around it, you give him the gift of jerking him a few times, his sensitive dick reacting quickly along with his body thrusting forward.

Within a few seconds precum has started leaking and pooling inbetween your fingers, it’s gross really. You’re thinking about just getting him off, washing your hands and going back to your studies but something sinister grows in your belly, it’s been a while since you’ve had some so why not jump at this opportunity.

First before you even think of connecting with Satoru for the first time in a while you have him beg for it, beg for your cunt around his nasty cock. Just the pathetic excuse of a man he is, the pleas roll off his tongue with ease, he starts cruising low on his tongue, even telling you how much he loves you and how pretty you are.

You think you’ve collected enough of his juices, the loud squelches every drag of his cock is more than enough proof.

Riding his cock is an entirely different story, he’s sat up, face drowned in your chest as he cries out even more pleas.

“Feel’s so goodd” he slurs out as best as he can but the clench of your pussy doesn’t help at all, it’s wet and obscene the way your juices mix with his, a nasty concoction being made. You bury your fingers in his hair pulling him out of your chest every now and then to stare at his ruined snotty face, he’s crying just like the baby he is. The things your pussy does to him make him not himself, the way your walls fit so snuggly around him, or the way you press your hips against his drives him mad.

You bounce on his cock purely without his help, his stamina clearly not being all there he’s practically being used as a sex toy, and you make sure to tell him that, that’s all he is to you, something for your pussy to get off with. Of course he nods along and confirms everything that comes out your mouth, yes he’s a disgusting loser, yes he doesn’t deserve pussy this good, and yes he’ll buy you whatever bag is trending right now.

His sharp untrimmed nails dig into your back, Satoru is so clearly a bitch in heat, what kind of man is the one leaving marks in the woman’s back?

You’re not able to think about the nails not when you feel something leaking down your chest: his drool, you’re about to get off him and leave him high and dry but the way he whines for you, cries out your name has you second guessing.

So you continue riding and chasing your own high, he can cum as many times as he wants but you aren’t through yet, not even when hes flopping on the bed, spent and exhausted are you stopping, you chase that spark that sits and festers up.

[jaderabbitt]

Incidents (2)

in which there are many incidents where people forget you are the wife of one Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Singular Usage of Y/N, Mentions of Racism/Segregation, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Death, Reader flirts with a woman jokingly but is otherwise of unspecified sexuality, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: whipped for his wife!bucky, not a John Walker friendly fic, some angst, comedy, angst with fluff, not good at tagging xo Riga, Latvia

Approaching the “safe” house that Zemo had apparently owned did little to settle your nerves regarding the entire situation. Madripoor had gone to shit, and fast, and you could not believe that they had convinced Bucky that it was a good idea to become the Soldat again.

Whole lot that did.

The two men walking in front of you knew better than to try and rope you into their conversation, though it seemed that Zemo was doing a lot of the talking. Bucky simply walked alongside you, slowing his gait to match yours as you let the events of the past twenty-four hours stew in your head. He had even wrapped his warm blooded arm around your waist, but you refused to lean into his touch–instead, you crossed your arms as you walked. 

There wasn’t much that could’ve taken you out of your current state. 

Sensing vibrational pulses that were abnormal for the surrounding climate, would.

Your pace had slowed even further as you looked around for the source of where the waves were coming from. Bucky’s arm tensed around you, as if he had also sensed what you were searching for.

“–of course not, why would you? We are here.” Zemo announced, promptly stopping in front of a door.

“We’ll meet back here. I need to talk to her alone,” Bucky blurted out, pinning you with a look that said trust me. You nearly rolled your eyes instinctively at how this man was an assassin for so long, yet couldn’t even come up with a convincing enough lie in the moment. It was no wonder why Hydra had you as the espionage asset and kept him behind the scope of a sniper.

Sam’s brows furrowed as he watched the interaction. “Y’all good?” He asked, his eyes darting back and forth between your figures.

“Yeah. We’ll see you guys in a bit.”

Sam gave you both one last suspicious look before walking into the building. You stood watch as Bucky leant down to pick up what you instantly recognized as a Kimoyo Bead. Hissing between your teeth, you ran a hand down your face; you were in for it now…

Bucky stood back up and turned, seeing you with an open and outstretched hand. He winced as he dropped it into your palm, already sensing the headache building on the forefront of his wife’s head. You snatched the bead up, beginning to massage your temple.

“Sweetheart–”

“Save it, James.”

You had already begun walking towards where you felt the next bead’s pulse, following it like a breadcrumb trail. His jaw quickly snapped shut and he nodded, at least having the wherewithal to look a little guilty.

— — —

You found yourselves in between what seemed to be an alleyway. The walls of the buildings on either side were peeling–and an eyesore yellow color to boot. The street itself, however, was immaculately clean. 

Truly, the alleys of New York could never. You half expected a rat the size of Bucky’s forearm to skitter across any second. The edges of your lips quirked up as you remembered when you both found out just how big the rats had mutated to over the decades. Time and a place, you reminded yourself.

“You dropped something,” Bucky called out, clearly trying to rouse whichever Wakandan had led you here. Something told you that you both had an idea on exactly who. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

You quickly turned around, coming face to face with Ayo.

The grin that creeped along your face was inescapable.

“Ayo, you finally came to visit me?” You purred, sauntering up to the Dora Milaje warrior. While she had meant to be all intimidating and serious business, the minute her eyes went from Bucky to you, there was a noticeable glimmer that came over her. You had pressed your cheeks to hers on both sides, making faux kisses in greeting. While it wasn’t one that was customary in Wakandan culture, you felt it appropriate to greet your friend.

You took a glance back at Bucky, where his eye twitched and his jaw ticked–a sign you knew meant that he was grinding his teeth.

The Wakandan warrior curled a hand under your chin, which made you let out a pleased hum in response. Her eyes quickly darted back towards your husband, and narrowed back into the expression that anyone knew meant that she wasn’t going to ask twice.

“I am here for Zemo.” She said in Xhosa, her grip on you leaving as she approached your husband. “How could you free him?”

“We need his help,” he answered plainly, and you sighed. You knew that you did need the man, but that didn’t make him less of a stain upon the earth.

Ayo had begun to prowl around the ex-assassin, chastising him. “With time, will, and the resources, the Winter Soldier programming was removed from you like a rotten fur.”

“And I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for everything you and Shuri have done–”

“Zemo murdered our King T’Chaka at the U.N. The man who chose us–” she paused, glancing down for a second before correcting herself, “who chose me to protect him.”

“I understand–”

“Very little, if anything, of our loss and our shame.”

You watched Bucky search for the words–any words, really–to respond to Ayo in a way that justified what he had done. You truthfully couldn’t find them either. It had not been you who had freed the psychopath, but…were you not one in your own right, after what you did?

You held your tongue, but it did not feel good. You swore a vow–in sickness, and in health. You trusted your husband’s decisions, even if you didn’t agree wholeheartedly with them. You would figure it out. Together.

“He’s a means to an end.”

Hearing him speak the language of the country you both had betrayed broke your glass heart into aching shards. It reminded you of your days together in the peaceful land. You had taken quickly to the people and your small community, even volunteering to assist in the childcare of the tribe. They had been weary to allow an outsider to do so, but the king’s trust in you was not taken lightly.

“Eight hours, White Wolf. Then, we come for him.”

She had held her palm open for Bucky to place the beads in, but you were quick to approach and place them in his stead. Her other hand gently enclosed over yours before you could pull away.

“Aneeka and I miss you terribly, Little Lamb.” Ayo smiled, her eyes softening as she gazed into your own. 

You couldn’t help but pout at that, sighing in defeat.

“You know I am a faithful woman, Ayo–”

“Please stop flirting with my wife.”

“I know, Little Lamb. But, if you ever change your mind…” She gave a chuckle and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows as she began to walk away. You suddenly felt like the sun was sweltering as she winked back at you, and you bit your lower lip in return.

Bucky growled, grabbing you by your hips and pressing your backside to his front. You gasped as he bit down into the crook of your neck, effectively marking you in front of the other woman.

Hence, the name White Wolf.

– – –

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

You quirked an eyebrow at your husband as he shed his jacket on his way to the cabinets, giving his figure a once over. He caught your look as he glanced back to offer you a glass, but you shamelessly kept gazing. It was a shame you couldn’t see the angry red blush that was surely creeping along his chest as his head snapped back towards pouring a drink, almost hitting against the open cabinet door.

“You don’t say,” Sam snorted, looking back down at his phone.

“Well, I know crazy when I see one–”

“I’d be very careful with how you finish that sentence, dear.”

“–because I am crazy.”

“Nice save,” you smirked.

“Can’t argue with that.”

You plucked the decanter from Bucky’s hand, holding his right hand in your own, forcing him to pick up the glass with his metal one. He squeezed it gently as he took a sip of the whiskey, going on to argue about the shield once more with Sam.

His thumb rubbed circles into your skin, not even flinching as the door was slammed open by none other than John Walker himself. He simply sighed and made to grab the decanter again, and you knew he wished for nothing more than to regain the ability to get drunk in this moment. You shooed his hand away from the alcohol, taking a swig straight from the glass bottle when he turned his back towards you to look over at Walker.

Next thing you knew, a vibranium spear was embedded into the wall inches from Walker’s face.

You gave a low whistle, knowing that it had been a warning; the Dora Milaje don’t just miss. You smiled and gave a wave to the now weaponless warrior who had appeared. She gave an enthusiastic wave back upon recognizing you.

Bucky scowled and grabbed your hand, stopping you from distracting the ladies joining in on the fun.

He shamefully looked down as Ayo began to speak, knowing she was addressing him specifically.

“Even if he is a means to your end, time’s up.”

You tilted his chin up to look at you. The gray in his eyes always seemed to become more prominent when he was thinking negatively like this. He leaned into your touch near imperceptibly, very much aware of the situation in the room.

“Release him to us now.”

Your head snapped towards Ayo once Walker started addressing her. “Well, let’s put down the pointy sticks–”

Your husband was born during segregation and you don’t think even he would voice such a microaggression.

“...you might wanna fight Bucky and (y/n) before you tangle with the Dora Milaje,” you heard Sam say, only half paying attention to the conversation.

You watched in abject horror as John Walker went to touch Ayo. “Walker, don’t–”

The grimace that spread as you watched her lay Walker out on his ass was almost sympathetic. You were mostly just uninterested in being involved in the death of the newly appointed Captain America.

“We should do something.” Sam pointed out to you and Bucky.

The latter of which simply wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you against him, smirking like he was watching a cage match where his bet was winning.

“Lookin’ strong, John!” Bucky cheered sarcastically, making you snort.

“Bucky.” Sam hissed, looking to you as if he was asking you for help.

“You’ll land a hit eventually, Walker!” You added, looking Sam dead in the eyes.

You both begrudgingly conceded to stopping your affair-in-waiting-should-Bucky-fuck-up.

Watching your husband’s metal arm fall off his torso had startled you as much as it did him. You looked to Ayo, mouth agape, as she condemned him. The betrayal in his eyes as you locked gazes with him was nothing short of visceral. You quickly rushed over to pick up the fallen limb, helping him reattach it. His daze didn’t last very long; he never was one to allow himself to think instead of running on instinct alone.

“Buck, look at me.” His face locked back into an impassive expression, but his eyes couldn’t lie. Not to you. “I’m with you. ‘Till death do us part, remember?”

I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal. xo likes, reposts, comments appreciated <3 taglist: @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @mizz-kraziii @rafesgurl

[cherrygirlfriend]

idk what u are planning but could u write something about fragilefawn!reader remembering rafe? like she just knows him while he tries to understand her? pretty pls 🫨 and tyyy

can you tell me your name?

rafe goes to visit fragile fawn’s house and properly meets her for the first time.

thank you for the request!! i’m loving my fawn girl <3

rafe knew that it was stupid to worry about some girl he didn’t even know the name of; but after driving through the road you’d taken every day for that one week at the exact same time and not seeing you anywhere, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered to just drive by the house he’d followed you to that one night.

rafe had considered it to the point where he didn’t even register the moment he got into his car, or starting to drive, or even going down the road. he only realized it when he arrived right outside the house, when he saw a familiar figure standing at the front porch, sweeping leaves away. even though the house was hidden by surrounding trees, far and isolated from all the other people on the island, it was large, and based on the flowers planted around it, well taken care of.

rafe got out of the car, his loafers crunching on the gravel as he walked towards the entrance to the building, while you didn’t even seem to notice him, your head ducked low as you continued cleaning. as he got closer, he noticed just how different you looked when you weren’t in the long nightgown matted with dirt. right now, you had on a short-sleeved white ruffle-collared button-up, as well as a pair of dark brown shorts, your feet once again bare. as he got closer, he could see your lips moving and hear mumbled words, just unable to make them out, but even as he stood right in front of your house, it was as if he was a ghost.

the boy cleared his throat, and you looked up from the floor with furrowed brows, “yes?” you asked softly, “is there something i can help you with?”

“it’s me.” rafe said, but when your brows remained furrowed, he scratched the back of his head, “the shoe guy?”

“oh. oh! yes, that. your shoes were very comfortable.” you smiled warmly, “would you like them back? they’re right inside.” you leaned the broom against the wall. “no, ‘s not it.” rafe cleared his throat, “just wondered how come you weren’t doing it anymore. y’know, walking and shit.”

“oh.” you chuckled softly, clapping all the dirt off your hands as you sat down on the highest step, while the boy looked to the step right next to you, narrowing his eyes as he thought about whether or not you’d want him to join you. in the end, he ended up doing it, his longer legs reaching the lowest step. “it’s a thing i do.” you shrugged, “a full moon walk. for the three days before the full moon, i do a night walk, as well as on the full moon, and three days afterwards. i feel like it helps me connect with myself, and the world.”

rafe raised his brows and snorted, “you’re fuckin’ with me, right?” but your face remained passive, “you’re… serious?”

“don’t worry, i didn’t think you’d understand.” you chuckled softly, looking down at your feet. “i’ve always felt connected to nature in a way most people don’t. the world… speaks to me, in a way it doesn’t speak to others.”

“you sound insane.” rafe said bluntly, but you simply let out a chuckle, making the boy furrow his brows, “you not offended?”

“no.” you shrug your shoulders and look up at the sky, “when i tell most people about what my thoughts are like, what my brain is like, they just start avoiding me like the plague or say those things about me, just behind my back.” you look at him with a genuine smile, your eyes crinkling from the way you smiled, “honesty is refreshing. what’s your name?” you asked, telling him yours.

rafe narrowed his eyes and sized you up; what you were saying sounded like pretentious hippie shit to him, but the kindness in your eyes, the way the sunlight reflected in them, showing every last detail in them, just… made him trust you. “i’m rafe.”

“that’s funny.” you chuckled under your breath, making rafe furrow his brows. but just as he was about to ask what you meant by that, he could hear someone call out your name from inside the house. “duty calls.” you got onto your feet. rafe watched as you walked to the door and pulled it open before turning around to face him one more time. “it was nice to see you again, rafe. you should come see me again sometime.”

and then you disappeared like you were never there.

thank you for reading! send a request & check out my masterlist <3

taglist + some moots <3: @rcsbabydoll @inbred-eater @littlelamy @dollyfiles @nemesyaaa @filthyrafe @drewsephrry @houseofblve @jjslaybank @soldiersgirl

[gunwoo-bh]

The Night Shift - Part 5 [Min Yoongi x f!Reader]

MIN YOONGI x F!READER UniStudent!Yoongi AU SUMMARY: You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus’s 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t. Warnings: swearing, min yoongi being a cute flirty shit, teasing, reader not being used to attention is a warning because i feel that A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH. I am so excited, really, for all the love you've given this. Here's the next chapter. I also created a tag list at the end of each chapter or drabble I'll post, please do let me know if I forgot you. Send in an ask, or comment or like the chapter and I'll add you to it. I might take longer between chapter to posts as I'm figuring out where this is going considering I had no plan going into this. I hope you all enjoy! :D

THE NIGHT SHIFT

PART 5

You decided on day two of your new schedule that you are not a fan. 

Yes, having a normal sleeping schedule is quite nice. You see your friends more often, which is an infinite plus. But it’s busier, which you did not like. 

It's day three now, and you are cautiously optimistic that things have finally slowed down as the clock turns over to 9 p.m. With three hours left to go, you desperately try to work on your essay for your Korean language class. You have never worked a shift so busy before, and you’re positively tired. You’re staring absentmindedly at your laptop, distracted by the noise of students just outside the main area. 

You begin to type away, glancing up every once in a while to make sure everything is okay as you get lost in essay writing. This is the only time you get to have some decent studying time, at least for the next few days. Eunji’s mother and much younger siblings are in town visiting, staying with you for the week, and lovely humans they are. The kids are full of energy and love cuddling with their big sister to watch movies. 

Hwayoung and you have given them space for the next few days at the apartment, going out to study, but with your work schedule changing, it hasn’t been easy. It’s taking some time to adjust, and you know you will adapt, but it’s proven difficult.

You don’t know how much time passes until you’re startled by a hand appearing in front of your screen as you snap your head up at your intruder. You break out into a smile when your eyes lock with Yoongi’s. You quickly glance at what he placed in front of you, and bite your lower lip, “Ah, energy!” You grab the peeled tangerine and begin eating, “You scared me.”

You’re pouting when he leans on the desk, “Didn’t mean to, but I’ve been standing there waiting for you to notice.”

Your eyes grow wide, “You’re lying!?”

“Nope. Peeled the whole thing while you were staring at your laptop.” He licks his lips, a grin tugging at his mouth. 

Your mouth is open, processing what he’s saying, “I’m sorry?”

He shrugs, “Homework?”

“Korean Language class essay.” His nose wrinkles and upper lip pulls up, making you giggle as you cover your mouth. “Not a fan?”

He shakes his head, “Nope, I was good at it, but was never a fan of it.”

You pop another piece of tangerine in your mouth, “Thank you.” You raise what’s left in your hands, and he nods in understanding. “So, you stopping by just for this or to study?”

He looks around, looking back and nodding to the remnants of the fruit in your hand, “Just that,” you look so pleased at that, “oh, and this too…” his hand pops up over the counter, and he slips his phone in front of you. What’s more surprising is that it’s open on a brand new contact page.

Is he really…?

“Huh?” Why is that the only thing that comes out of your mouth?

It must amuse him because he’s chewing the inside of his cheeks, attempting to stop a grin from growing, “Could I get your number?”

Your hands gently grab his phone, pulling it closer as you glance at him once more, and you hum while staring at the device, “Mhm.” 

You enter your name and information, playfully adding the closest thing to a tangerine emoji next to your name as you hand it back, and he looks down at it. You hear your phone buzz right away, frowning while looking at him as you reach for your phone. It’s an unknown number and you can’t help the sheer happiness showing in your laugh lines when you add his number to yours. 

When you look up at him, he’s peeling another tangerine while looking at you, “So, any special reason for this?” 

He shrugs, “It’s better than only getting to talk here, no?”

He wants to talk to you, that’s what you take out of this. You nod, “Yeah, way better.” 

He looks around and says, “You off at midnight?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m meeting with my friends nearby, but I’ll come back and walk you home.” 

You want to protest his working you into his time, but he doesn’t give you a moment to do so, handing you the second tangerine. You take it, smiling as he grabs his bag and turns around to leave. You sit there, half a tangerine in one hand and another one in the other as you laugh to yourself. What is happening? 

You put both fruits down and text your friends right away, sending them a photo of the tangerines. 

You [9:27 PM]: You guys were right, he did show up ><

You put the device down to eat more of the tangerine, and you just manage to finish the first one when your friends respond. 

Hwayoung [9:31 PM]: I told you he would. He can’t stay away for too long. (wink emoji)

Eunji [9:32 PM]: Still treating you right I see? (flirty emoji)

You [9:32 PM]: He didn’t just come by for those. He asked for my number (blushing emoji)

You see both of them type at the same time and laugh softly at how excited they are for you.

Hwayoung [9:34 PM]: Atta boy!! 

Eunji [9:34 PM]: YES! Get that number! God, I’m so happy for you!!!

Hwayoung [9:34 PM]: You’ll have to tell us the whole story when you get home!! I wanna watch your face!

Eunji [9:35 PM]: Are you ridiculously happy right now?! Because I’m so happy for you!

You [9:35 PM]: I am! But you’ll also never guess what else?

Eunji [9:36 PM]: ??????

Hwayoung [9:36 PM]: Please just tell us!

You [9:37 PM]: He left, and he’s coming back to walk me home! ><

The onslaught of texts you get reacting to that makes you laugh harder, keeping your laughter as low as possible. You put your phone aside as you go back to writing your essay. You still hear it buzzing a few times before it goes quiet again. 

You're back on track now. You’ve done another walkthrough of the library and put away any stray books, helped a few people along the day, and you’re now trying to make headway with your essay, finally settling in for the last two hours of your shift. 

You don’t know why these last five minutes are going so slowly. The security guard has already shown up to wish you a good night. You stand up from your spot and gather your bag, and right as you’re thinking he might not show, you look up to see Yoongi on the other side of the turnstiles. You release the breath you had been holding as you meet him, exiting the library, and he’s looking at you with a soft smile.

“Good to go?” 

You nod, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, and he immediately extends his hand to you, “What?”

“Gimme the bag, lemme carry it.” Out of habit, you open your mouth to protest, but he’s already grabbing it from you. You’re walking along with him as he slings your bag over his shoulder like it’s nothing. 

Everything about him surprises you. He’s been so open with you and willing to be around you, even though a few weeks ago, you were essentially strangers. You watch him as he shoots someone a text, stuffing his phone in his jacket before looking over to you. 

“How was work?” He’s cutely chewing on his upper lip.

“I hate it.” You make him snort with your quippy response. “I mean it, I don’t like this shift, but I guess the more reasonable sleeping hours are nice?”

He smacks his lips and smiles, “What do you hate?”

“It’s way busier, and noisier. I liked that it was boring. I got to do all my work usually and I could even walk around. I guess I got comfortable with it?” You shrug as he nods. 

“And now, awful students are keeping you busy?” He’s teasing, and you can tell from his eyes.

Pouting at him, you nod, “Mhm. It sucks.” 

He laughs, and it’s really the first time you get to hear his laughter. It’s higher than his speaking voice and very boyish, but very nice all the same. Enough to give you butterflies at least, and you definitely try to ignore that feeling as he nudges you with his shoulder.

“You hungry?”

Your eyes snap up to his as you both come to a stop, “Always.”

Yoongi grins while looking around, “Wanna grab food?”

There is the smallest of insecure voices inside your head telling you to decline his offer, not to bother him considering how late it is, but you’re glad that you seem to like following your heart as you nod, “What did you have in mind?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know…what do you like?” 

“Fried chicken?” 

He looks over to his left then back at you, “I know a place. You wanna?”

You nod, eager to eat and to spend more time with him, “Yeah.”

You both walk off campus with you following him as he confidently guides you to a small restaurant just at the beginning of the main street near the University. You frown when you realize how very little you go out to new places, because you never even knew this was here as you walk in when Yoongi opens the door for you.

It’s nice and quaint, but it smells amazing as you smile when the wonderful owner welcomes you. She sees Yoongi behind you and says, “Ah! There you are, I was beginning to wonder where you went!” 

He shyly looks down, bowing and apologizing, “I’ve been busy with school and the restaurant.” She sweetly walks right over to hug him as he stands there and then she looks at you.

There’s a silent look shared between them as she personally guides the both of you over to a table and sits you down. You chuckle as she walks to the kitchen and you finally get a moment to look to Yoongi.

“You don’t just know a place. You know a place.” He blushes, rubbing the back of his neck as he slips his coat off. 

“She’s uh, she’s my mom’s best friend.” He confesses. 

You smile, biting your lower lip as you slip your coat off too, “That’s sweet.” 

He shrugs, “She always chastises me.”

“Why?” You’re amused by the imagery.

“I don’t visit often enough. I don’t eat enough. I don’t bring my friends enough. I don’t…” he trails off, pausing like he’s considering what he’s going to say next as he takes a quick glance at you, “I don’t have a girlfriend to show off…” he grabs the water already at the table. 

Your cheeks grow warm, looking over your shoulder to the kitchen as you wonder what his mom’s best friend thought when she saw you. They definitely shared a look when he briefly introduced you. 

“She’s a mom, I’m assuming?” He nods. “Then, I guess those are just mom things to worry about.”

He sighs, “She’s not just a mom. She’s Namjoon’s mom.” 

Your eyes grow wide as you snap your head back to where you can see her in the back, looking back to Yoongi, “Really?”

Yoongi nods, “Mhm.”

“So, you guys are really close?” 

Yoongi stays silent, looking over your shoulder, and Namjoon’s mom comes to your table, placing some side dishes and two beers. She smiles at both of you and says, “Are you two talking about me?”

You mouth the air, looking to Yoongi for help, and he thankfully provides it, “She has a class with Namjoon. I was just telling her–”

“I’m his mom!” She looks so proud when she announces it too, and you soften. 

Yoongi sits there as you talk to Namjoon’s mom, listening to her sharing stories of her son and Yoongi. You love just how embarrassed Yoongi gets when she tells some story about their teens as he stops her, “Wait, wait, can…can we eat and not tell every embarrassing thing Namjoon and I have done, because we’ll be here for days…”

Your eyes widen as you stare at him, biting your lip to stifle your laughter and mouthing, “Really?”

He nods, glancing back and forth, “I have to walk her home, we’re gonna eat and go, mhm?”

He and Namjoon’s mom, whose name you come to find out is Jungyoon or Mrs. Kim, are having a standoff staring context as she relents, “Fine. I’ll let you kids eat. Enjoy the food and let me know if you need anything.” 

You bow to her, smiling brightly as you look at the side dishes. She returns seconds later with many different kinds of chicken for you two to have as you thank her one more time. You glance up to him and he nods at you, digging into the food. 

Every bite brings a satisfying fullness to your starving stomach, smiling with every piece of chicken you eat. He reaches to open the beers but you stop him, shaking your head with a full mouth. You finish your bite, “I don’t drink. You can have it if you’d like.” 

He looks back to the cooler and stands up, taking the second beer with him and he returns with a soda for you instead, “This okay?” 

You nod, stunned into silence, “Mhm.” 

It’s nearly 1:30 am when you both finish eating and talking.

He’s much more of a talker than you had imagined and there’s so much you’ve found out about him. Time has flown by, and soon enough you are both saying your goodbyes to Mrs. Kim who sends you off with leftovers and a warm hug. 

Yoongi stands off to the side before she brings him into a hug, making you laugh at the wrinkle in his nose. You’re quickly learning he doesn’t seem to be a fan of physical affection, but that if anything, his love language seems to be acts of service. This man doesn’t stop with the smallest gestures that make your heart skip a beat. You fear you’ll have no heart left to skip if he keeps this up. 

He’s back to carrying your bag, but this time he leaves you to carry the leftovers sent home with you by Mrs. Kim. You did steal the bag directly from him without giving him any thought to be fair. 

You look up to him and smile, “Thank you.” 

His eyebrows raise, “It wasn’t much.” 

“It was, though.” He looks surprised by your soft, thankful tone. “I just appreciate it.”

You notice something about Yoongi. He really struggles with being thanked for what most would think of as sweet gestures, things that aren’t often just done with people you’ve just met. It seems to come naturally to him, despite, what some people have called, a cold appearance. 

Min Yoongi is soft. 

“So, do you often do this or is this new to you?” You’re teasing. You don’t actually expect him to answer.

“Do what?” 

“Take girls you’ve recently met to late night fried chicken and walk them home.” You feel your heart sink in your chest when you realize just how close to your apartment the restaurant was. Or have you been so in your head that you never noticed time passing?

The silence is comfortable, the ambient noises of the streets a comfortable background noise as you watch him. His face speaks for him more than he seems to be aware of too. You wouldn’t admit it to him, but you could watch him for hours probably. To watch the way his eyes process things, how they dance side to side or how quickly he’s blinking. Or the way he licks his lips, tongue sometimes poking out or how he smacks his lips together. Min Yoongi is very expressive, and his face tells a story. 

And while you’re getting to slowly understand what story he might be telling, nothing prepares you for what he says next. Yoongi comes to a complete stop, his face neutral as he takes you in. He licks his lips, exhaling loudly yet again.

“No.”

You think this is it, his answer, but he continues. 

“That’s specifically reserved for you.” 

“Oh.”

You don’t know what you expected but it wasn’t this, and he can tell. He’s satisfied with your reaction because he tugs you by the elbow, gently tugging you to keep walking up your street. You’re quiet, processing his words. You never expected him to be this bold, and honest. 

And that’s fucking hot.

“Cat got your tongue?”

You snap your head to him in mild shock, wondering if he knows you’ve compared his looks to being cat-like. You feel heat rise in your cheeks, opening and closing your mouth. The smallest whine leaves your lips and you use your free hand to feel how warm your cheek is. One quick glance to Yoongi tells you it pleases him to see you react like that. 

“Stop.”

“Mhm?” He looks at you, moving to face you. “Say that again?”

“I said stop.” You’re embarrassed, trying to hide your face as he chuckles. “Oppa, stop!”

Your eyes grow wide immediately, realizing what you’ve just said. Oh no. You look up to meet his eyes, and he doesn’t look nearly as shocked as you are. No, instead, he’s smirking and trying to hide his amusement from you, but failing. 

“I…I–” you start, but he chuckles, catching you off guard.

Should you be offended by that laugh?

“I’m not making fun of you, I swear. I’m sorry.” He extends his hand to your arm, gently tugging and squeezing it softly. “We’re close, let’s get you home, okay?”

You agree, following him the rest of the way as you try to tame your jittery heart. You look up to your building when you both come to a stop, shyly looking down to your feet. 

“So…” your voice is small, looking up at him. “I wanted to say sorry…”

“Why?”

“Because I called you Oppa, and I know we’re nowhere near close enough…” You admit.

Yoongi takes a few steps closer to you, leaning down to look into your eyes, “Can I be honest with you?”

You meet his eyes, a kindness yet playfulness about them, “Mhm.”

“It’s not the first time you’ve called me that.”

Your world turns upside down as you frown, “Huh?”

“We were right here the last time you called me that.” He glances around to your building. “I gave you the keychain.” 

“I don’t…I don’t remember that.” He smiles at that confession. “I really don’t.” 

“That’s okay.” He stands tall. “I do. And I don’t mind it.” 

“You don’t?” 

He shakes his head, grinning as he chews on the inside of his cheek, “I like it.”

You blush even more, “Oh…”

There’s a comfortable, but emotionally charged silence between the both of you. You look at him and he seems to understand the heaviness of this moment as he slips your bag off his shoulder, “Don’t overthink it, okay? It’s late and you said you had a class in the morning.”

You nod as you grab your bag and you look at him, “Okay.”

“Promise?” He holds out his pinky to you, staring at it for a moment before returning the gesture.

“Promise.” You say as he lets go of your hand. 

He smiles softly, hands in his coat as he nods to your building, “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The promise of that makes your eyes soften, smiling softly as you nod, “Goodnight, and thank you.”

He watches as you step into your apartment, every moment of the last fifteen minutes replaying in your head over and over the entire ride up to your apartment. Your feet take you into your apartment and through your routine. Leftovers are put neatly in the fridge, your coat hangs on the rack, you wash up and change before slipping under the covers of your bed. 

You’re staring at the ceiling when your phone screen lights up the room, reaching for it blindly in the darkness as your eyes adjust to the light. Unlocking it and going to your messages your breath catches in your throat as you read Yoongi’s very first text to you. 

Yoongi [2:13 AM]: I meant it. I like you calling me Oppa.

Here is the official tag list for this series. If I forgot anybody? Please comment or send in an ask, I will try to diligently add you! :D

tag list: @muchwita @kam9404 @ot72025 @lalazilz @janeelizabeth1216 @rinkud @yngisstuff @lolpanda94 @angelicbunnee @wubbz05 @illicitelle @legendarydreamqueen @flyxfall @mintmango-min @moorepls @gojomyoneandonly

Post separator credit to @hyuneskkami

[walnutcookie]

i dont consider myself a writer but i wrote a little something and i figured i should share some of my writing sometimes instead of letting it all rot in my notes...

for context, this is about rodger coming to life for the first time !! The lady in front of him is shanon (the handler assigned to babysit these two while they get adjusted to living at gearview) and the two working on toodles are delilah and arthur 👍

and for a liiittle more context, the tos toons were meant to sing songs, so they have voiceboxes. Thats the source of their voices, and from the lines they had already in their voiceboxes thats how they learned to speak other words. could they have just developed voices out of nowhere? probably, but on a whim i thought itd be more interesting to say that they adopted their voices from the voice actors who were hired to sing the songs they had written.

also important to note, the toons have memories of the character theyre meant to be and their friends/family and such, they know english and they know colors and basic stuff about life but they havent actually EXPERIENCED these things. its very different from just knowing what they are

warning for brief mentions of blood and a needle

It spread through his metal body like veins, like vines, a trickle of water, like tentacles.

Internal whirring became purring became a rhythmic huff, the panting of in-animated creatures unfamiliar to breathing.

With his body came a dull sense of awareness; his identity, fuzzy, like a dream. Someone in front of him called his name from a distance. Rodger. (It sounded like deja vu - a term he had yet to learn of.)

A walking dream. A culmination of pure imagination, creativity, and hope, pumped full of a selfishness that made him breathe, a heart that, thump, thump, thumped in his chest and his wrists, not his, but none other than his own.

It was painful to percieve. The colors swirled around him in agonizing shades of yellow and purple and brown, shades he could remember in his mind, overwhelmingly foreign to him.

He grounded himself by staring into the eyes of the person in front of him. Her words, impossibly soft and slow, processed like daggers. Her lips seemed to lag behind her sentences. With patience, she persisted, and prompted him to speak.

From inside the plastic face and metal bone of his head, a voice spoke, hoarse with unfamiliarity. Words he was never programmed to speak came in fragments. "My name is Rodger," came out with ease - he had sung such things before. Or, rather, someone had sung them for him.

She held up six fingers and asked him to speak again. "Six," he attempted, though instead produced a helpless grunt. He tried again. His voice box burned beneath his skin. It wasn't meant to produce those sounds. The lady spoke to him again in an assuring tone that made him wilt with failiure.

It was now that he realized he was sitting, though, exhausted, he made no attempt to stand. He had become aware of a motion to his left, and made the effort to turn his head.

Two people kneeled next to a hunched shape, a lifeless doll, its eyes closed in a way that was not quite like sleeping but not quite dead either. Powered down.

He started at the girl's face for a long, agonizing moment. He processed it, registered it, and a name settled into his voice box.

"Toodles." A single spoken name, cropped out of a song. He could not remember singing with her, nor singing her name, nor singing at all, nor speaking with her, nor anything about her besides her name. And yet, the sight of the slumped doll caused an overwhelming sense of something to flood his senses. He had known her and loved her for what felt like a lifetime. "Toodles," he spoke again, in the same tone, the same note, the same manner, the same recorded voice, like a broken record.

The needle went in through the crook of her neck. He could almost feel it himself. It was a horrifying sight that made his chest tighten and clench.

And then she blinked at him. She looked just as frightened and hurt as he was.

"There is nothing to fear," he wanted to say, with sudden desperation, though all that came out was another stutter of incomprehensible sounds. "You will be just fine." He wanted so badly for his words to reach her. With newfound energy, he reached one arm out, feeling the carpet scratch uncomfortably at his palm, then the other, dragging his weak body, anything to get closer. She was scared.

He didn't get far, but he was close enough to soothe her. He could see it on her face.

"Rodger!" came from the sweetest voice, a clipping from a lyric.

[maroonshirt81]

Hey, wanted to see if you would write carcar shifter au? One of them is like a cat shifter (or dog) and the other one figures it out? Cute fluff maybe? And possessiveness is always welcome!

this request hit me square in the chest with ideas... Even though I'd never have written a shifter AU of my own volition! This is why I love writing request fills! :D

not sure if the level of fluff is what you meant, anon – I'm an enemies carcar truther at the core, but I still think it's extremely fluffy.

carcar, 5k, squabbling neighbors with shared garden wall AU, cat shifter AU, ao3

****

Carlos Sainz Jr. loves his life – he has a job he likes, a close-knit group of friends, and a cute little house with the most beautiful garden anyone’s ever laid eyes on. All in all, it’s almost perfect, with one notable exception: the neighbor’s cat is trying to ruin it.

“He did it again,” he tells Oscar, leaning across the small stone wall that separates their gardens.

Oscar is currently elbows-deep in a pot full of soil, digging for potatoes and barely glancing up as Carlos complains to him. Even after a full minute of waiting for a response, a bored “Hm?” is all the reaction Carlos can draw from him.

“Your cat!” Carlos clarifies, gesturing toward a knocked-over flowerpot on his side of the wall, where scraps of red blossoms sway pitifully in the weak breeze. “Destroyed my beautiful geraniums!”

“I don’t have a cat,” Oscar says automatically, even though Carlos has seen the orange menace stroll right through Oscar’s terrace door multiple times. Carlos has no idea why Oscar keeps denying it. Specifically to piss him off, is his best guess.

“Besides,” Oscar adds, for once giving him more than the bare minimum of attention, though he still doesn’t bother to look up, “good on the cat. Those geraniums stink.”

Oscar’s own garden looks like a survivalist’s wet dream – neat rows of salad greens, vegetables, berry bushes, and fruit trees. Squash and pumpkins in containers to keep them from spreading too much. Little pots of herbs lining the terrace. Capital B boring. He wouldn’t know how to appreciate Carlos’s flower paradise to save his life.

‘Geraniums stink.’ What an asshole.

“You know what stinks worse?” Carlos fires back. “Cat poop! So just make sure the damn thing stays on your side of the wall!”

Oscar finally looks up, holding a couple of baby potatoes like he just delivered them from the pot’s womb. He has tiny hands. He’s struggling to hold like two potatoes in one.

“Not sure you know how cats work, mate,” he says, that awful Australian twang coating every word. “Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so sure the cat’s mine. I told you, it’s not. One day you’ll just have to accept that.”

“I know it’s yours because I’ve seen it walk into your house! And because it only started showing up after you moved in! And because it looks exactly like you!”

He probably shouldn’t have said that last part out loud, because now Oscar has an excuse to look at him like he’s lost his marbles. And sure, Carlos knows it sounds crazy, but it’s a well-known fact that many pets resemble their owners in disturbing ways.

“Sure, mate,” Oscar says after a long pause, leaving the statement unacknowledged for maximum psychological impact. “I’ll tell my imaginary cat to stay out of your garden next time I see it. Can’t promise it’ll listen, though. It’s a cat.”

Then he walks off, carrying his four potatoes in his dirt-smeared arms, back into his stupid house.

****

The next day, Carlos finds cat poop sitting squarely on the grave of his shredded geranium pot. The bastard hadn’t even tried to bury it. Carlos picks up the dried poop with his garden gloves and, in a blaze of rage, hurls it over the wall into Oscar’s garden.

A moment later, a pointed cough grabs his attention. He turns to see an unimpressed Oscar peeking over the too-low wall.

“Really?” Oscar says. “I know you’re not my biggest fan, but throwing poop at me is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Carlos feels a flicker of shame for half a second before anger swells again. He storms up to the wall, barely restraining himself from jabbing Oscar in the chest.

“I told you to watch the cat!” he scolds, Spanish blood taking control of his hands, which slice through the air in sharp, furious angles. “And what happens? He poops on my flowers! Poops!”

Oscar watches the animated hand gestures, entirely unimpressed. When Carlos finally stops, he has the audacity to just shrug.

“Still not my cat,” he says. “So I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

Carlos lets out a frustrated sound that he hopes comes off as firm and not whiny. “Why do you insist on lying?”

“I don’t lie,” Oscar lies effortlessly. “That’s like a big thing about me. Remember, the whole reason you don’t like me is because when I first moved in and you asked how I liked your garden, I told you the truth and you couldn’t take it.”

“You said my garden is an eyesore!” Carlos squawks. “Which is clearly not the truth!”

“It is to me,” Oscar shrugs again. “We just have different tastes.”

“It’s not about taste! Some things are inherently true! You can’t say my flower paradise is an eyesore – just like you can’t say I’m an eyesore!”

“You’re an eyesore,” Oscar shoots back without hesitation.

Carlos is momentarily stunned. Then, a horrific possibility dawns on him. “Oh my God!” he breathes. “You’re… are you blind? Are you blind and just never told me?”

“Carlos…” Oscar sounds more exasperated than Carlos has ever heard him. “You’re wearing the biggest straw hat known to man and freaking overalls. You look like you just escaped from a game of Stardew Valley. If I only saw you out of the corner of my eye, I’d think you were impaled in the middle of a cornfield asking if anyone’s seen your brain.”

“You are blind,” Carlos mutters, more to himself than to Oscar, who clearly isn’t listening. “And a liar. Blind and a liar.”

“Sure, if it makes you feel better…”

“No!” Carlos says firmly. “This isn’t about me feeling good. This is about you being a compulsive liar, which is a problem because you’re my neighbor, and I am suffering directly because of your untreated condition!”

“Oh my God,” Oscar sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m ugly!” Carlos demands, yanking off his straw hat so Oscar can properly admire his gleaming hair.

“Mate!” Oscar groans. “I never even said you’re ugly. Just that you’re an eyesore in that demented outfit!”

“So you do think I’m hot, then?”

Oscar glances at his wrist and widens his eyes slightly. “You know what?” he says. “I actually don’t have time for this. So – see you around, Carlos. And please try not to throw any more poop in my garden, that’d be ace. Bye.”

And just like that, he turns around and walks off, leaving Carlos fuming at the wall.

It takes until the very last second before he disappears behind the terrace door for Carlos to notice that he doesn’t even wear a watch on his wrist.

****

So, Carlos can’t get Oscar to admit he owns the cat. Fine.

He will, however, get him to admit that Carlos is hot, because that one’s about personal pride – plus, it would annoy Oscar so much more.

So the next time he sees Oscar out in the garden, Carlos sprints to throw on his overalls and straw hat – and just his overalls and straw hat! No shirt underneath. Just miles of sun-kissed skin and bare, defined arms. Carlos knows how to use what he’s got. He’s not like Oscar – three hunchbacks and two widow’s peaks in a trench coat. Well, beige shorts and a white T-shirt.

Okay, that was mean. Actually, Oscar isn’t ugly, even though most of his individual features should come together to make a weird and awkward whole. Somehow, it works. Maybe it’s his dry, quietly confident personality. Carlos doesn’t know and doesn’t care to think about it right now. He has something to prove.

“Mate,” Oscar calls from the other side of the wall as soon as Carlos steps out into the garden. That’s a new record for getting noticed. Carlos can’t help but feel a little smug. Then Oscar ruins it by adding, “You’re gonna get the most ridiculous tan lines!”

“At least I actually tan!” Carlos shouts back, heading straight for the garden hose. He briefly considers putting on a little show – dousing himself with water for that irresistible wet look – when Oscar announces, “Well, have fun with that. I actually have somewhere to be, so unfortunately I can’t stick around to laugh at the aftermath.”

And then he just packs up and leaves!

Carlos stares after him, limp hose in hand, denim overalls chafing against his freshly shaved chest.

What a let-down. Maybe Oscar really does think he’s ugly. That stings a little. Actually, it stings a lot.

To make matters worse, five minutes later, the damn cat is back. It sits perched on the wall between their gardens, staring unblinking as Carlos tries to soothe the rash on his chest by letting water run directly into his overalls.

For a moment, Carlos considers spraying the cat with the hose, but then decides against it.

For once, the cat isn’t doing anything. Just sitting and staring.

At least now Carlos can pretend he’s putting on the show for an audience.

****

When Carlos goes into the garden the next day – fully clothed this time to hide the angry rash across his chest – he turns on the hose only to discover it’s turned into a sprinkler overnight. The damn cat’s been chewing on it.

That’s when he decides enough is enough.

If the cat really doesn’t belong to Oscar, then Oscar shouldn’t mind Carlos catching it and dropping it off at the nearest animal shelter.

So Carlos devises a plan.

You catch more flies with honey, and you catch more cats with milk, he thinks, as he places a little dish of cream out on the terrace. Rich, full-fat cream – probably the finest thing the cat’s ever tasted.

Trap set, he retreats into a shady corner behind his morning glories, net at the ready, and waits.

The cat… is nowhere to be seen. Not in the first hour. Not in the second. Not in the third. After three hours of crouching, Carlos’s back is sore on top of his chest, and he gives up. He sets the net down and slips through the open terrace door into the kitchen.

That’s when he sees the orange monster sitting on the counter, teeth sunk into his $200 leg of jamón ibérico.

“Ayayayayay!” he shouts, clapping his hands in frustration, but the cat just gives him the same unimpressed look its alleged owner would. Only when Carlos circles the kitchen island, getting close, does the damn thing leap out of reach.

Carlos decides not to play his little games right now, and instead goes to inspect the damage done to his jamón.

“You really are a pest,” he mutters, grabbing the sharp knife on the counter to cut away the gnawed-on parts. “Did you not see the cream I put out for you?”

He turns, finding the cat sitting on his kitchen island – out of reach, but otherwise unafraid, even though Carlos is holding a big knife in his hand. There’s a vase full of fresh flowers from Carlos’s garden right next to the orange monster, so he hopes the cat isn’t clumsy.

He sighs and tosses the contaminated pieces of jamón onto the island. He’s not going to eat that, but just throwing it away feels wrong too.

“I see you’ve got expensive taste,” Carlos says, watching the cat dive into the scraps. “At least you have taste, unlike your owner…”

The cat glances up, licking his lips, and Carlos can’t help but snort.

“Seriously. You look exactly like him.”

“Meow,” says the cat, and Carlos swears it has an Australian twang. Another snort escapes him.

“Don’t know why he denies any and all connection to you,” Carlos rambles, like an idiot chatting with his nemesis in feline form as he cuts another piece from his $200 pig leg. “You’re kinda cute. For a cat, I mean. When you’re not actively ruining my life.”

The cat responds with another twangy “Meow,” and Carlos tosses it the fresh slice.

“Look at you!” he says. “You’re almost more talkative than your owner!”

“Meow.”

“Or maybe not. Can you say more than one meow in a row?”

“Meow.”

“Hm.” Carlos slices another bit of jamón, holding it up. “How about now?”

The cat falls completely silent, fixing Carlos with a dangerous look.

“Come on! Meow-meow. Not that hard, see? Then you get this.” He waves the jamón and mouths, “Me-ow, me-ow!”

Very, very slowly, the cat lifts a paw and touches the vase of flowers.

“Don’t you dare!”

The vase scoots an inch closer to the edge.

“I’m serious!” Carlos warns, but apparently, so is the cat, because the vase keeps inching.

Before it can end in disaster, Carlos throws the piece of jamón onto the counter, sighing in relief as the cat leaves the vase alone and devours its prize with a smug look on his face.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Carlos mutters. “Honestly, I didn’t think cats were this intelligent.”

“Meow,” says the cat smugly.

“Too bad you use your intelligence for evil.” Carlos grabs the plastic wrap on the counter and seals up the exposed side of the jamón. “That’s enough for now. Your owner will be very cross with me if I upset your little tummy.”

The cat scoffs, but doesn’t beg for more. He simply turns, jumps off the island, and deliberately hits the vase with a back paw mid-jump, sending it crashing to the floor. The cat is out of the open terrace door before Carlos can decide to throw his big knife at him.

Mission Animal Shelter: failed. But at least Carlos is sure of one thing – he still really, really hates that cat. For a moment there, he had almost started to warm up to it.

****

Carlos makes the mistake of leaving the window open while making pancakes the next morning.

Just as he’s sliding the last one onto the plate, he looks up, and there’s the cat, perched on the windowsill like Carlos hadn’t spent the night dreaming about skinning it alive.

“Ay!” he barks, quickly scanning the room for anything breakable. Unfortunately, there are a lot of flower-filled vases. “Did you come to break more of my things?”

“Meow,” the cat replies. Not a clear confirmation or denial. Carlos hopes it is the latter and sits at the kitchen island.

The cat hops down from the windowsill, onto the counter, then to the floor, and finally onto the empty stool beside Carlos, staring up at him expectantly.

“I’m not feeding you any more of my jamón after you broke my vase yesterday,” Carlos informs him, still bitter.

The cat simply blinks at him – or, more accurately, at the rolled-up pancake in Carlos’s hand.

“This?” Carlos asks, unrolling the pancake for the cat to get a better look. “You want some pancake?” He tears off a small piece and offers it to the cat, who eats it from his hand without hesitation. The whiskers tickle his palm, and the nose is cold and wet.

Carlos stands up and grabs a plate for his guest. Because. Well. He’s already talking to the damn thing, isn’t he? Doesn’t get much more idiotic than that. Besides, it’s kind of nice to have company.

The cat looks down at the pancake on the plate Carlos sets in front of him, then back up at Carlos, as if waiting for something.

“What?” Carlos asks. “Surely you don’t eat with a fork and knife!”

“Meow,” the cat says sarcastically.

“What then – toppings? Are you seriously demanding toppings?”

“Meow,” the cat confirms, and for a moment Carlos wonders if he should talk to someone about his delusions.

“I usually just eat them plain,” Carlos says, turning to rummage through his cabinets, looking for something a person without taste might like on their pancakes. “So I’m not sure I have any – oh! How about this?”

He pulls an unopened jar of Nutella from the depths of the cabinet and presents it to the cat like a waiter offering a fine bottle of wine.

“Meow meow!” the cat says enthusiastically, which shocks Carlos so much he nearly drops the jar.

“Okay, but – wait a minute! Let me google something first,” Carlos says, fishing his phone from his pocket and quickly searching whether cats can have Nutella.

“Oh,” he mutters, disappointed, when the answer is a very clear no. “Sorry, buddy, but I can’t give you this. It’s actually toxic for you.”

The cat, who just moments ago had been acting like his best friend, now hisses at him.

“Look, I’m not going to poison you!” Carlos insists. “Not just because I wouldn’t put it past your owner to take revenge, but also because I don’t want to find your diarrhea all over my precious flowers!”

Clearly, that mature reasoning and responsible decision-making displeases the cat, because it hisses again, grabs the pancake in his mouth like a dead mouse, and knocks the plate off the counter for good measure. Then he bolts, disappearing out the open window while Carlos just sighs and grabs the broom to sweep the shattered pieces off the floor.

****

“Oscar.”

“Carlos,” Oscar replies from half inside a blueberry bush.

“Can I give your cat a little bit of chocolate?”

Oscar goes still for a moment, then pokes his head out of the bush, eyebrows raised high.

“Still not my cat, mate,” he says. Carlos waits, just stares back, until Oscar returns to his berry-picking, half-disappearing into the bush again. Carlos waits some more until finally, from deep within the leaves, comes, “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Carlos says.

“I read somewhere cats are smart enough not to poison themselves with food they can’t tolerate,” Oscar elaborates, voice muffled by foliage. “So if it eats your chocolate, it’ll probably survive. Not that I care, because it’s not my cat.”

“Sure, Oscar. Thank you, Oscar,” Carlos says, feeling bold enough to decorate his words with a big smile, knowing Oscar’s too deep in the bush to see it. He turns to leave but stops. On a sudden whim, he picks one of the blue cornflowers growing in a small flowerbed bordering the wall and leaves it on top for Oscar to find.

****

The cat returns the next morning. Eats three pancakes with Nutella and doesn’t die.

When Carlos heads out to water his plants later, Oscar isn’t around – but a small basket full of blueberries waits for him on the little wall between their houses.

Carlos eats them wrapped in the rest of his pancakes and admits that some toppings actually taste good.

****

A week passes, and the cat becomes a regular guest in Carlos’s house.

It’s a problem. Kind of. Even though the more Carlos does what the cat wants, the less likely it is to break anything.

What’s a problem is the damn hair! Carlos finds it everywhere – he’s even spotted some stuck to his precious jamón iberico, and he doesn’t even want to know how much fur he’s accidentally eaten. Sometimes he starts imagining a hairball forming in his throat and gets all nauseous.

So when he spots Oscar’s ass sticking up over the little wall, bent over his lettuce patch, Carlos quickly jogs over to bombard him with more cat-related questions.

“What, Carlos?” Oscar asks before Carlos can even say a word. He seems busy putting up snail collars and doesn’t straighten up.

“There are cat hairs everywhere in my house!” Carlos complains to Oscar’s ass, which, now that he’s so directly faced with it, is a pretty nice ass, he must admit.

“And why is that?”

“Because your cat keeps visiting me and doesn’t understand the concept of cat-free zones!”

“Not my cat,” Oscar says, predictably.

“You should see my couch!” Carlos continues, hopping up onto the little wall and letting his legs dangle from Oscar’s side. “He napped on it the other day, and now my brown couch is orange!”

Oscar leaves the snail collars and finally straightens, crossing his arms as he faces Carlos. “Really?” he says. “You feed the cat, and now you let it sleep in your house? Are you sure it’s not your cat?”

Carlos hesitates.

“I don’t even know his name,” he mutters, brow furrowing.

“Uh-huh.” Oscar doesn’t look like he’s about to volunteer that information.

“Do I just give him one?”

“That’s usually how it works when you get a cat, mate.”

“Hm…” Carlos strains his brain trying to come up with a suitable name, but comes up empty. So he just sits and watches as Oscar goes back to work, legs still swinging off the wall.

“You’re still here,” Oscar points out once he’s done with the snail collars and sees Carlos still sitting there, staring at his… garden.

Carlos might have gotten a little distracted from brainstorming cat names.

“Yes,” he says, scratching his chin like he’s been in deep thought all along. “Hey, can I name the cat Oscar? He looks exactly like you. I don’t think any other name would suit him.”

“You can name it whatever you want, mate,” Oscar replies, completely unbothered. “It’s your cat.”

“Okay.” Carlos nods, satisfied. “And what do I do about the hair?”

Oscar gives a sigh so long, Carlos is surprised he hasn’t consulted his invisible watch and ran away yet.

“I don’t know, mate,” he says. “Brush it?”

“Brush it!” Carlos repeats, lighting up. Then he jumps off the low wall, jogging back toward his house with a quick, “Thank you, Oscar!” tossed over his shoulder. As he passes his bed of impressive gladiolus flowers, he pauses. Thinks. Swerves to detour into his garden shed and retrieve a pair of pruning shears, clips three of the most beautiful blooms, and puts them in a tall vase the cat hasn’t managed to knock over yet.

Oscar has moved on to his radishes by the time Carlos returns with the impromptu bouquet.

“Here,” Carlos says, placing the vase on the little stone wall between their gardens. “For sharing your cat with me.”

Oscar, for once, doesn’t manage to get out one of his signature sarcastic comments before Carlos turns and heads back inside.

****

He orders a special cat brush online. It looks strange – square, with little wiry hooks that don’t exactly look comfortable, but the website claims it has a massaging effect, so Carlos hopes the cat won’t hold it against him.

Carlos doesn’t end up naming the cat ‘Oscar’. Well, he does for one evening. But when he tells Lando on the phone that he can’t move because Oscar is asleep in his lap, the teasing is so relentless he decides the risk of confusion just isn’t worth it.

He lands on ‘Oscat’ instead. Still fitting, but clearer.

Oscat loves the brush.

Carlos hears him purr for the first time and is so startled, he nearly drops the damn thing. He knows cats purr, obviously, but he’s never had one do it in his lap – the vibrations are crazy, and it’s way louder than expected. Like the cat has his own little engine.

Carlos likes engines.

He sends a selfie of himself with Oscat in his lap to Lando, just to prove that the cat is real and that he is not cozying up with the terrible neighbor he used to complain about daily.

Though honestly, Oscar hasn’t been that terrible lately. He even smiles now when he sees Carlos step into the garden. Most days, there’s a little container of berries, herbs, or veggies left by Carlos’s door or on the wall between their gardens.

Sometimes, the cat sits next to the container, as if he brought it himself, and walks right into Carlos’s house as soon as the door opens, like he owns the place.

Carlos’s phone pings. Lando has responded to his selfie with a flood of “My dad with the cat he didn’t want” memes. Carlos rolls his eyes, puts the phone down, and refocuses on brushing the purring cat in his lap.

****

“So, Oscar…” Carlos begins, the moment Oscar steps through his terrace doors, carrying a large bag of fertilizer. Carlos is already waiting, seated on the stone wall.

“Carlos,” Oscar replies evenly, though he’s smiling again. Carlos still isn’t used to that. He momentarily forgets what he meant to say.

It’s not until Oscar is right in front of him that Carlos remembers his question.

“Are you really serious when you say Oscat doesn’t belong to you?”

Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. “Wow. And here I thought it had finally sunk into that thick skull of yours.”

“It’s just…” Carlos cuts in before Oscar can continue mocking him. “I don’t really think he belongs to me either, you know? I have no idea where he sleeps at night. He doesn’t eat the cat food I buy or use the litter box. He just comes over whenever he pleases, makes me fawn over him for an hour or two, then disappears again. Is that normal for cats?”

“Pretty much.” Oscar shrugs. “They’re independent. Maybe it has like four other people wrapped around its paws and just wanders from one house to the next. Maybe the other houses have better litter.”

Carlos is deeply displeased by that thought. He can live with sharing the cat with Oscar – but random strangers with superior litter boxes? No way!

“Well, how do I know he’s treated alright? Is he healthy? Is he getting all his shots? Can I just take him to the vet for a check-up, or will they discover some microchip inside him saying he belongs to some family with kids and take him away from me?”

Oscar must notice how serious Carlos is, because instead of making another joke, he just watches him quietly for a moment.

Then he puts the bag down and hops onto the stone wall beside Carlos, so close their shoulders are almost touching.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that cat, mate,” he says, staring straight ahead into his blueberry bush. “That thing eats, like, a jar of Nutella a day. You’d probably need a lab-made virus to take it down.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, still not looking at him. For someone so nonchalant, he’s terrible at pretending to be nonchalant. “It’s probably just some stray who adopted you. Would likely scratch your eyes out if you tried to take it to the vet.”

Carlos thinks it over. Long enough that Oscar eventually turns and meets his eyes.

“Look – you said the cat’s smart, right? I’m sure it’d let you know if it needed help.”

Carlos just nods. He doesn’t really have any words right now. He’s never seen Oscar’s eyes from up close like this. Though he’s very familiar with another set of eyes, which have different shaped pupils, but are otherwise an exact replica.

When he returns to his side of the garden, he stops by the rose bushes, clips a single white bloom with pink edges, and places it on the stone wall between them.

****

Carlos Sainz Jr. loves his life – he has a job he likes, a close-knit group of friends, a cute little house with the most beautiful garden anyone’s ever laid eyes on, and a very opinionated pet who likes to spend the evenings sprawled across his lap, purring like a helicopter about to lift off.

All in all, it’s almost perfect.

With one notable exception.

He’s pretty sure he’s developed feelings for his terrible, tasteless, snarky nightmare of a neighbor, and he has no idea what to do about it.

“Oscat…” Carlos murmurs, his voice barely audible over the purring. He’s lounging in a garden chair, one hand around a glass of wine, the other sunk into the cat’s fur. The cat still hears him, lifting his head and blinking his narrow, golden-brown eyes.

“Do you… do you think Oscar still hates me?”

The cat slow-blinks, then leans forward to gently bite Carlos’s finger.

“So… you think there’s a chance he might like me?”

“Meow meow meow!”

Carlos’s eyebrows shoot up. That is by far the most elaborate opinion Oscat has ever voiced about anything. He watches the cat try to act nonchalant by aggressively licking his paw.

“I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m ugly and annoying,” Carlos adds, almost to himself.

The cat scoffs. Scoffs!

And sure, Carlos is no expert on cats, but he’s been reading up a lot lately, and from all the knowledge he’s gathered, he’s pretty sure cats aren’t supposed to be this intelligent. Or able to hold up an entire conversation with a human being. Or eat jarsful of Nutella.

“So… if I walked over there right now, rang his doorbell, and asked him to join me for a glass of wine on my terrace… do you think he’d say yes?”

“Meow meow!” Oscat agrees enthusiastically.

Yeah. At the very least, cats shouldn’t be this sure about the answer some random human with their exact eyes, and exact looks, and exact accent would give about being asked out.

And maybe Carlos would not feel confident sharing his theory with another human soul, not even his closest friends, but… It just makes sense. It would explain why Oscar was always so adamant about how the cat doesn’t belong to him, and why he knew about the Nutella thing, and why he told Carlos not to take the cat to the vet. And why Carlos has never seen Oscar and Oscat at the same time. It would just… explain everything.

“Shit, I hope I’m not wrong about this,” Carlos mutters, setting down his wine.

Then, without warning, he grabs Oscat by the scruff and starts tickling the cat’s soft, white belly with his other hand.

Oscat wails. He curls into a croissant around Carlos’s hands – a sharp croissant with claws and fangs, but Carlos is determined, and Oscat’s hissing and wailing suddenly turns into squeaking and from there into high-pitched, breathless giggling.

It doesn’t happen gradually. There’s a big poof, and suddenly, Oscar the human is sitting in Carlos’s lap, face flushed right to the tips of his widow’s peaks, grabbing both of Carlos’s hands with his own, to stop the tickling.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other.

Then Oscar schools his expression into that trademark blank mask.

“Alright,” he says in the most flat, casual voice imaginable. “Congratulations. You got me.”

Carlos can feel a grin spreading so wide it makes his cheeks ache. “Hello, Oscar,” he says, as if Oscar has just walked out his terrace doors with a watering can instead of shape-shifted from a cat in his lap. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No,” Oscar says. “And for the record, I think you’re ugly and annoying.”

“And you,” Carlos laughs, “are a compulsive liar.”

Oscar shrugs. “Cats aren’t exactly known for their moral integrity.”

“So… is that a yes to the wine?”

Oscar glances down at where he’s straddling Carlos in the garden chair, still holding his wrists. “Are you going to offer me a chair first?”

“Hm…” Carlos says, still smiling. “No. I don’t think I will.”

“Want me to turn back into a cat?”

“Absolutely not!” Carlos laughs, freeing his wrists so he can wrap his arms around Oscar’s waist, making it abundantly clear how he’d prefer Oscar to stay.

Oscar’s face, which had begun to lose its flush, turns red all over again.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay?” Carlos asks, leaning in just enough to make his intentions clear.

Oscar doesn’t need more than that. He meets him halfway, all that fake nonchalance flying right out the window. He kisses like a guy who’d take any excuse to not have to explain why he was just being a cat purring in Carlos’s lap a minute ago, and he has obviously never heard of the concept of chapstick in his life. Despite all that, Carlos can’t get enough of him. The sharp edges have always been the most intriguing thing about Oscar anyway.

They don’t take a break until ten minutes later, when Carlos pulls back, breathless, to inform him, “If you ever shit on my flowers again, I’m taking you straight to the vet!”

Oscar just giggles, high and embarrassed, and kisses him again without even trying to come up with a snarky answer.

Except two seconds later Carlos hears the wine glass shattering on his terrace tiles.

Ah, well.

They’ll just have to drink from plastic cups from now on.

[one-green-frog]

NO BBECAUSE I WAS WRITING A REQUEST AND MY PHONE WENT OFF SO I DIDN'T KNOW IF IT ARRIVED TO YOU, (it it arrived then I'll change the plot) anyways, I'll try and send it again, Jason todd x Male reader who's (you choose) best friend's , jason doesn't like the reader much, so he decides to know him better by coming like red hood in his apartment early in the morning, he pretty much interrogates the boy who's not taking it all seriously. They get closer, the family notices Jason being more friendly, maybe because of someon, and tease him to take over for dinner the special person. THANKS FOR EVERYTHING 😼

Here At Midnight

The first time Jason saw you, he was angry. And not the kind of annoyed angry either, no, he was angry angry. There was something about you that just didn't sit right with him. To him, you weren't the friendly, charming person everyone else was so eager to want to believe you were. Dick had brought you in as his friend, new instructor at the gymnastics center where he worked. "Great with kids," he'd said. "Same sense of humor, really easy to get along with. Just a really nice person."

But Jason wasn't convinced.

There was something… off. Something in your smile that made his stomach turn. It wasn't jealousy, per se. Jason knew that something was off, he had this feeling in his chest He just knew there was more to you than you let on.

So he did what any good brother would do: he started to stalk you.

It wasn't a great plan, Jason never really had great plans, to be truthful, but it was good enough. A bit over-the-top in hindsight, maybe, but reasonable by his measures. He figured he'd just drop by, check to see if you'd made an error, find something out. And so Red Hood paid you a visit one night. Your apartment complex was in the bad side of town, which, to Jason, was reason #48 to be suspicious. Breaking in was a cakewalk, the window was not even locked. Sloppy.

And this is how you caught him, fully dressed up, armed, and fuming, in your living room/kitchen combination like he owned this place.

You were startled, sure. But not scared. Just confused. In all honesty, you genuinely had no idea what you could have done to make Red Hood appear in your apartment. You didn't sell drug, hadn't recently murdered anyone, weren't embezzling from crime families (as far as you knew), and generally kept your head down. Maybe you were losing your mind, maybe it was a dream, or maybe Gotham was just Gotham-ing that day.

You'd woken up in the dead of night craving a snack, cereal, hot chocolate, you hadn't decided yet, only to walk into your kitchen and find one of Gotham's most feared vigilantes standing next to the kitchen table

You didn't scream. You didn't lose it. You just stared at him, grabbed a bowl, and started filling it with your cereal. Because what the heck else were you going to do?

Jason didn't know what to do with that. Really, to say that he was surprised that you did not cower in fear would be the understatement of the year. You stared him down, then just kept on going about your business as if this were a normal Tuesday. He figured maybe you were pretending trying to keep calm.

But still, it really infuriated him.

He tried to rattle you. He was standing there with the gun, delivered a monologue of how he would be watching you, how you better sleep with your eye open, how you were on his radar. Your response? Slow blink and chewing your soggy cereal.

"'It's just suspicious how someone living around here just becomes best buds one day with one of Gotham's richest guys," he'd said, as if reasoning his home invasion would make it any better.

Your stone expression "Type shit." put the nails in the coffin.

He left. Irritated. Confused. Angry. He reminded himself that you were playing games, pretending, lying to your real self. So he did what he said he would do: he watched you. Day and night. He watched your movements, your habits, your friends. He kept an eye on your flat from a distance, followed you when you came home from work, even broke into your flat a few more times when you were out.

He was looking for filth. Something illegal. Anything.

But you? You were boring. The most illegal thing he ever caught you doing was stealing a $20 bill on the street. And even he had had to admit he'd do the same.

Still, the drop-ins persisted. Midnight visits became standard. At first, they were filled with threats and and warnings. But over time, they changed. Jason spoke more, about his day, the idiots he had to deal with, the criminals he beat up, the whole circus Gotham still was. Somewhere between the late-night complaints and the bubbly hanging out on your kitchen countertop while you toasted bread, something shifted.

You didn't even have to try hard. You just… treated him like a human being. Not like a time bomb, not like Gotham's boogeyman, not even like Dick's angry brother. Just a guy. A guy who was often irritated, sometimes lonely, and always tired. You made him feel safe.

And soon enough, his family also noticed his behavior.

The change was subtle, but real. Jason, typically described as feral or angry, trigger-happy was calm Maybe not sunshine-and-rainbows, but less angry. Smiling. Speaking more. Hanging around at the Manor. Almost having a genuine conversation with Bruce. The others were stunned. This wasn't the Jason they knew. This Jason seemed as if he could breathe again.

So naturally, they just couldn't wait to taunt him the absolute shit out of it.

"You have a boyfriend? That's kinda gay, bro."

It was non-stop. No peace. Tim, Steph, and even Damian loved it. But there was real support behind the teasing though. They could tell the difference you made, and they wanted to meet the guy who made it. So they invited you over for dinner.

Jason was mortified at first. But he agreed for you.

You were a bit nervous, understandably. You were meeting your friend's brother, a infamous crime lord, the family was made up of detectives and vigilantes who could sniff out lies at a mile radius. Even if Jason said that he didn't particularly care for them, you saw it in his eyes that he still wanted their acknowledgement. He cared, even if he didn't admit it, and that made you want to try it. To be liked. To be accepted, even a little bit.

Dinner was... insane.

The shovel talk was really a just a death threat to your life by Damian (naturally). Bruce tried to talk to you but was repeatedly interrupted by his own children. Everyone talked over everyone. There were way too many in-jokes and arguments about the Batmobile. Chaos, plain and simple. But you stood your ground. And better yet, Jason looked at you like you hung the stars.

That night, on the way home, he vowed next time would be better. You didn't even care, because to you, it was perfect in its own imperfect way.

And when he came back to the Manor, saw his siblings' teasing smiles and Bruce's nodding, knowing approval, he knew he'd made the right choice.

He chose you. And for the first time in years, he felt like maybe, possibly, he might have something good.

I am so sorry this took so long😭😭😭 i hope you still enjoy it and thank you for requesting

[vanillefawnn]

Leather & Lace 𖹭.ᐟ

Dean winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive content, Sam being the poor third wheel and getting stuck between you Dean's freakness, language

Summary: You like to leave Dean little trinkets when he goes on hunts, just little things to help keep you in his head when he's out on the road.

Authors note: I'm gonna tackle this man and get him PREGNANT !! (I also did NAWT proof read this sooo ye)

Dean wasn't a sentimental guy—not really. Not in the way people wrote sonnets about or cried over in movies. But there was something about you that rewired the whole system, made him soft in places he'd spent his whole life keeping armored.

It started with a polaroid.

The two of you at a diner somewhere in Missouri, your face squished against his shoulder, both of you grinning like idiots. He found it one morning tucked into the crease of Baby's dashboard, right between the speedometer and the gas gauge.

"Figured you'd miss my face," your neat hand writing read on the back.

He chuckled, thumb brushing over the image as he slid it into the glovebox. He would miss your face, hell, he already did.

From then on, it became a thing.

Every time Dean left for a hunt—wether it be with Sam or solo—there was always something left behind. A sticky note on the steering wheel that said "Drive safe, handsome. I'll be thinking about you." Sometimes, a folded square of paper that smelled just like you, perfume soaked into the fibers until it clung to the leather seats like memory.

Dean had never told you how much it meant. He didn't have to.

But then—somewhere along the line—it stopped being just sweet.

One week, he found a photograph.

And not the diner kind, either.

It was tasteful, if not exactly safe-for-work—your body clad in soft, black lacy lingerie, all curves and skin and confidence. Dean found it when he was rummaging for a cassette tape. Sam was two feet away, completely unaware.

Dean coughed—choked, really—and shoved it into his jacket pocket like it was a contraband. His ears were pink the entire drive to Minnesota.

The next time, it was a lipstick kiss on the rearview mirror. A perfectly formed pout of crimson that made his gut twist in all the right ways. He sat there for a moment, hand resting against the glass like he could somehow hold it.

Sam noticed that one.

"Oh my god," he'd muttered "Can you two not?"

Dean just smirked and peeled out of the parking lot.

But nothing—not one thing—compared to what he found this time.

He was loading up the impala, tossing a duffle into the trunk, shotgun shells rattling in his pocket. Sam was still inside. Grabbing coffee, grumbling something to himself about early mornings and the lore of the case they were working on.

Dean slide into the driver's seat, ready to start the engine—and froze.

There they were.

Hanging from the rearview mirror like the worlds most scandalous charm.

Baby blue lace panties.

Your panties.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Nope. Still there.

Delicate, floral patterns, tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand. His name was stitched in tiny cursive into the inner waistband—Dean, in pale silver thread. His jaw clenched.

The fuck were you trying to do to him?

He practically snatched them off the mirror, glancing around like some cop was gonna pull up and arrest him for public indecency. His fingers brushed the lace. Soft. Still warm from wherever you'd hidden them. Maybe even your skin. His brain was officially out of commission.

You'd attached a note to them, of course.

"Thought you might like to keep a little peice of me with you."

Dean was gonna die.

Actually, no—Sam was gonna die. Because the second he saw these? it was over.

Dean shoved them into the glovebox like they were ticking explosives, slamming it shut just as Sam rounded the corner with two cups.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

Dean cleared his throat. "Nope."

"Your face is red."

"It's hot."

"It's forty degrees."

Dean started the car. "Shut up."

Sam blinked. "Why does it smell like her perfume in here again?"

Dean said nothing.

Sam groaned, leaning back in his seat, already regretting this entire trip. "You two are disgusting."

Dean just smirked, hand resting on the wheel.

But later, that night, when they checked into a ratty motel, Dean opened the glovebox again—just to see them. To touch the lace. Hold them against his chest, breathe you in.

And that night, when he slipped between the sheets. He tucked the panties beneath his pillow and fell asleep to the ghost of your perfume and the sound of your voice in his head.

Yeah.

Maybe he was sentimental, after all.

[inlovewithladies]

Camera ready

A/n: probably a bit too soon to make another one buuut the idea struck so i had to start writing before i forget hehe OF!Abby anderson x Reader yall are roomates in college btw content warning: scent kink, subby abby, cunnilingus (abby receiving)

Your first sign should've been the ringlight, you found it in her room tucked neatly behind tubs of protein powder, weights and resistance bands in the corner. Of course, you brushed it off, thinking she was some tiktoker who you hadn't seen yet.

'But she's so chronically offline?' your brain tried to reason. You pushed it to the back of your mind before you could ponder on it for too long.

Then there were the noises, the little creak of her mattress next door, quiet grunting. Okay, weird but maybe she just likes to work out at weird hours! You dont get a killer figure like that just sitting on your ass all day. Even if she was watching porn or whatever, it was none of your business right? Though never in your wildest dreams did you think that Abby anderson, your sweet, introverted roomate was making porn. The discovery was an accident. You had forgotten your hoodie in Abby's bedroom so naturally you wanted to get it back. It was around eight pm at this point, Abby hadn't come out of her room in around thirty minutes. Only indication of her presence was the light coming from under her door.

Knocking three times, you slowly opened the door. The room was warm and well lit by the ring light, the gentle scent of the pine soap she always uses hung in the air, along with something muskier, sweatier.

Abby was spread out on her bed, legs spread, back arched. She was naked besides the grey sports bra but even that was pushed up to reveal her small tits, pink nipples erect from the air

One hand was between her legs, two fingers pumping in and out of her cunt while her other hand pressed something to her face.... your hoodie.. "fuck.. you always smell so fuckin' good- want you to bend me over so bad..." at this point you werent sure if she was talking about you or to the audience watching from her phone.

You should have backed off, closed the door and pretend you hadn't seen what you did, but you stayed, watching as her flushed face contorted in pleasure, her nose straining to take in bigger whiffs of you from the hoodie.

She was about to cum, you could tell, her face flushed red and her mouth was making a perfect 'o'. Thats when you decided to reveal yourself. "Putting on a show, Abs?" you ask nonchalantly, as if you hadnt caught your friend fucking herself to you. she shot up and tried to pull her bra back over herself, only managing to cover one boob. "shit!- I thought you weren't coming back till later," she stammered. Her body curled into itself like she wanted the earth to swallow her whole. "I-i was gonna wash it, i swear. i just.. i missed you, and-" you silenced her with a deep kiss to her lips. when you pulled away both of you were breathless, looking into eachother's eyes. you looked back at the phone still posted up on the table. "that thing still rolling?" you ask huskily. Abby swallows and nods. "good." You trail your hand up her thigh, stopping at her slightly sweaty abs. you tapped her abdomen twice as a way to tell her to lay back. she obliges of course, shuddering under your touch, eyes wide, lips parted. "You were thinking about me while you fucked yourself, baby?" "Y-yes.. yeah i- fuck, im sorry" you didnt respond, instead kissing a path down her neck while she completely took her bra off. Leaving a wet trail from her collarbone, taking the time to suck on her nipple for a moment before finally stopping at your main course. wet, pink, pulsating perfection lay in front of you, her hole clenching around nothing at all, as if she was aching for stimulation, her blonde bush the icing on an already delicious cake. You grabbed the phone from it's stand to give it a better view.

'finally' you thought. you'd wanted abby for months, since she moved in actually. how could you not? her pretty face, solid muscles and kind demeanor were far too much to resist. but you didnt focus on that for now. for now, your only priority was getting her off on your tongue. so you dived in, pressing hot, wet kisses to the skin surrounding her entrance. when your pressed your tongue flat to the general area of her cunt, you heard her breath hitch. you drag your tongue slowly up, focusing on her clit, peppering kisses to it with a gently suck. "Fuck..!" she gasps, trying to cover her mouth with her hand, you slapped it away. "dont. let them hear you baby" the phone was nearly forgotten, little pings could be heard as donations poured in as you readily lapped up her juices. your tongue flattened to grind against her, the gentle ridges stimulating her much better than her fingers could. abbys hand flew to your hair. your left hand comes up to rub her clit while you move your mouth to focus on her pussy.

you tongue prodded inside of her, licking wherever it could. Abby got louder, she swore she could never get off by herself again. "ohmygodohmygodohmygod, i cant, your so fucking good" you chuckled into her cunt, the vibrations only stimulating her further. abbys legs are shaking on your shoulders, muscles twitching like shes about to collapse, though you dont let up, not when her grip in your hair tightened, not when she started sobbing broken pleas of "Dont fuckin' stop- please dont stop, please!" you look up for a moment and you lock eyes. her eyes, green and glassy meet your own triumphant ones. shes looking down at you like youve ruined her for anyone else, like if you kept licking her like your life depended on it she'd give you anything. while you could only focus on her beauty, her dark blonde locks clinging to her sweaty skin, muscles rippling as she felt her orgasm approaching. "let go, baby" with one more hard suck to her clit, abby screams. she cums so hard its almost funny, her thighs clench around your head and shes babbling something about how good you are and how long shes wanted you. you keep licking at her until her orgasm is over. only when she finally relaxes fully do you come up for hair, soaked from the nose down. you reach for the phone, turning off the livestream before crawling up to her on the bed. "i think your fans liked it" you tease, abby whines and covers her face. you chuckle and kiss her cheek. "we can talk about it in the morning, abs" was the last thing you said before leaving the room. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ i tried to make it longer coz my last one was pretty short and honestly i wrote this for myself i js thought the idea was hot and yes i did infact nut to this im not afraid to admit it :P

[whitechocolate355]

full court press

part - 2

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd (pazzi)

(incl. uconn / hopkins players in the aau timeline)

word count - 5.6k

c/w - language

heyyyyyy guys.... guess who decided to write a 5.6k chapter instead of doing my math homework 🙋‍♀️ i decided to include nika in this chapter and maybe potentially more uconn/hopkins teammates into the aau timeline so pls lmk if you're struggling to understand 😘

btw thank u so much for the luvvvvvv 🥹 lmk if there's anything specific y'all want: oneshot requests, suggestions, etc. hope u enjoy!

chapter 2: not just a flight ---------------

Paige -

It had been two days since the flight— the flight that changed Paige's life, more than the blonde was willing to admit.

Two days since Azzi stepped off the plane, flashing her the warmest smile that seemed encoded in a secret language meant for only her.

Two days since the younger girl's suitcase began to move further and further away from the blonde, ripping at Paige's heart as Azzi's figure slowly faded into nothing more than a hazed blur.

Paige wasn’t sure why she was so disappointed. She didn’t know Azzi. They had known each other for what—five hours? And yet somehow the absence of the brunette bruised her heart, swelling and aching with pain.

.

.

.

After they'd stepped off they plane, they crossed paths again in the airport.

Though “crossed paths” wasn’t quite right.

That made it sound accidental. Coincidental. Like Paige hadn’t jogged half the terminal just to see her again.

Just 20 minutes before, Paige was desperately searching the airport, having lost Azzi when she stepped onto the shuffle bus, the crowd separating the two. Paige's head poked about the passengers frantically, but caught no sign of the pretty curls she was looking for.

When she had finally given up, sitting next to the trashed dairy queen to sulk in silence, her body tensed at the scent that had intoxicated her for the past 5 hours— lavender, followed by a wave of soft vanilla.

Her head, as if it were instinct, shifted in the direction of the scent, leading her eyes to the girl her heart was so desperately missing.

Without a second thought, Paige ditched her blizzard in one swift motion, her legs kicking into motion, faster than ever before.

She had never been a fan of running, which remained a constant tease from her teammates and coaches when they had to do conditioning.

Yet, she found herself running infinitely faster than she would in an actual game… to chase a girl.

Just what was she doing?

When Paige had finally caught up to Azzi in the airport tunnel, who seemed to be walking too fast, as if avoiding something, or someone, her sneakers squeaked slightly on the polished floor, the echo of wait up! dying on her lips when Azzi turned.

She tried to hide her heavy panting by placing a hand on her chest, weakly attempting to steady herself.

As Azzi's curls whipped to the side, her eyes looked at Paige in shock and confusion.

Damn, Paige thought.

That girl could pull off any emotion.

Paige's heart melted as Azzi began to approach her, until she noticed Azzi wore the same guarded look in her eyes— but this time, it felt different, as if a door was being shut this time, instead of opened.

She clutched her heart, soothing it from the odd pang of hurt she felt upon Azzi's cold gaze.

Why was her body being so dramatic?

Paige breathed out her nerves before finally stepping towards Azzi.

"What? You not excited to see me?" attempting to shrug off just how much of an impact this stranger had on her.

Hearing Paige's cocky remark, Azzi's surprised look shifted into a teasing curl on her lips. In one, swift motion, she reached to grab Paige's overtime hoodie by the collar, catching the blonde completely off guard.

Azzi had pulled Paige just inches away from her face, their chests now touching. The two girls remained frozen in position, staring deep into each other's eyes— neither willing to be the first to pull away.

Paige could feel Azzi's chest syncing with her rapid heartbeat, sending her mind spiralling out of control.

She was about to go into overdrive.

Azzi leaned in closer —which Paige didn't think was even possible at that point— to whisper a breathy, "I caught you chasing after me, Bueckers. You can drop the act" causing Paige's chest to momentarily collapse.

Instead of pulling away, Azzi's hand remained on Paige's purple hoodie, playing with the drawstrings without breaking eye contact, before finally pushing Paige's chest off of her. She chuckles, giving Paige a satisfied grin as if she were settling a score.

Fuck. Paige thought.

Was this girl really beating paige at her own game?

Trying so desperately to regain her composure, Paige shook off her body's reaction, replying cooly, "You should get your eyes checked then, princess." Hoping she'd successfully hidden the excited tremble behind her voice.

Azzi rolls her eyes and scoffs. Clearly, Paige's act had proven unsuccessful.

"What do you want?" she asks in a tone of annoyance, allowing Paige enough time to recover from her moment of weakness.

The blonde grinned to herself at how easily she could get a reaction out of Azzi.

Two can play at my game, she thought, slowly moving her elbow to loom over Azzi, resting comfortably on the pillar next to her.

"Why are you avoiding me, princess?" Paige asked, her smile curling into her classic, confident grin. She further leaned into the wall, trapping Azzi between her arm. A flicker of satisfaction shot across Paige's eyes as she noticed the brunette pressing her back closer into the wall, panting softly.

Paiges's voice lowered, "You know you want to see this face again" but something was different this time, because unlike the numerous counts of flirting she had experienced, she searched Azzi's face with hope and desperation, yearning for the gorgeous girl to mouth the words, "Yes I do", and send her heart into permanent cardiac arrest.

Snapping out of her trance, Paige tried with all her might to suppress these unexplained emotions from appearing on her face, reverting to her nonchalant attitude.

Azzi held her breath— sending a pulse of silence across the whole airport. A slow sigh escaping her chest.

“… Sorry, my grandparents wouldn't like me hanging out with people they don't know” Azzi finally muttered, avoiding her blue eyes— like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

Paige quickly moved her arm away from Azzi, unable to stop the hurt and shock plastered on her face. She stared at the floor, trying to gather herself once again. But this time, panic kicked in from the sinking feeling in her stomach, not attraction.

Did azzi really feel nothing? Was that really it?

“… I should go” Azzi began hastily, awkwardly shuffling past her. But Paige hadn't registered a word she said. As her tanned skin brushed past Paige's for the last time, Paige planted her face into her hands, cursing herself for letting her emotions run loose. Of course she didn't feel the same. What was Paige even thinking?

She'd made up an impossible scenario, and now she stood dumbfounded and hurt by a pretty, straight girl.

Paige almost said something—hey, i was gonna ask for your number, something stupid and casual.

Maybe she'd want to be friends, Paige thought to herself, knowing damn well that was the last thing she wanted. But still, Paige was willing to do anything, everything, to see the girl from the airport again.

Yet, Azzi was already wheeling her suitcase away. The wheels humming against the tile. And Paige was left with no choice but to watch until the crowd swallowed her whole. Again.

It shouldn’t have felt like heartbreak. It shouldn’t have felt like anything. But somehow, it did. It felt like everything.

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

Azzi -

Azzi didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Her hand tightened around the handle of her suitcase as the wheels dragged softly beneath her. Every step forward felt heavier than the last—like her feet were sinking into the ground in slow motion.

She had been completely caught off guard when Paige snuck up from behind her, especially since she had been walking at lightning speed toward the exit, desperately trying to avoid anyone that had blonde hair. She had told herself that, whatever she was feeling, would dissipate once they descended from cruising altitude. But touching down had only made things worse.

.

.

.

Tt had just been an elbow. A freaking elbow. Resting above her, brushing her hair, her shoulder, grazing the side of her neck.

But her body had responded like it was something else. Like something it shouldn’t have been.

God, why did her skin still feel hot where Paige had touched her?

Azzi blinked hard, trying to shake it off, but the absence of Paige's presence clung to her like sweat. No—worse than sweat. It was like she’d been branded.

There was something in the way Paige looked at her—confident, teasing, sure. But underneath it, just for a second, Azzi had caught it. the vulnerability. the hope.

And fuck, that did something to her, wanting so desperately to give into Paige's pleading eyes. But she knew better.

Her chest clenched as the memory flickered again, like a highlight reel on repeat: Paige’s grin faltering, her voice dipping lower, her eyes flickering down to Azzi’s mouth. The air between them had thickened.

Azzi swallowed.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d been flirted with before. She had never been one to be arrogant, but she knew she was attractive. With her toned stomach and curly lashes, Azzi knew she could get away with things using her appearance. And plus, some guys got bold when they heard she played ball. But this—this wasn’t the same.

This wasn’t some clumsy high school boy bragging about his vertical. This was Paige.

And when Paige leaned in close like that—smirking, playful, annoying as hell—it wasn’t just annoying.

It made her shiver. In a scary, but good way.

The kind that started at her spine and slipped lower, like lightning pooling behind her ribs. Like wanting.

Azzi let out a shaky breath.

She didn’t know what the hell that meant.

Did she… like girls? Was that what this was?

No.

Maybe?

Shut up, she told herself. Shut up shut up shut up.

She stared at the floor as she walked, her reflection flickering along the tiles. Her jaw clenched. She hadn’t even been able to hold eye contact when Paige’s chest touched hers—when their heartbeats synced for that brief, unbearable second. Her emotions started bubbling to the surface, the same emotions she needed so desperately to rid herself of. And in that moment, she'd been too afraid she might… do something.

Like lean forward... and kiss her.

Azzi’s face flushed.

What the hell was wrong with her?

It was just adrenaline. AAU. The nerves. It wasn’t real. Paige was just some arrogant stranger with a pretty face. A really, really pretty face. With the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, piercing at her heart each time she snuck a glance. And that slow, lazy grin like she already knew the effect she had—

Azzi blinked hard.

She was losing it.

She stopped walking and pressed her palm against a nearby pillar, grounding herself. A slow breath in, a slower breath out.

Even now, as she stood still, she could feel her. The warmth. The weight of her gaze.

Azzi curled her fingers, pressing into the heel of her palm until she felt the sting. She needed it. Needed something sharp to pull her back.

Azzi exhaled slowly, chest tight. No. she couldn’t afford to let herself get caught up. Not now. Not when everything she’d worked for, everything she’d trained for, was just a few days ahead.

There was no space in her life for confusion. Or distractions. Or… whatever the hell that went down between her and Paige in the airport tunnel.

Tearing herself out of her thoughts, she had to fight every urge to give into the invisible force pulling at her, begging her to turn around.

To look at her. The blonde. Only ten feet away from her.

But she knew. She knew there was no room for distractions.

Even as her heart pressed painfully against her ribs. Even as every part of her wanted to turn around, to say something—anything.

But it wouldn’t work. It couldn’t.

Whatever that spark was between them, it had lived in a moment, suspended 30,000 feet in the air. And azzi had convinced herself that was enough. It had to be enough.

Because if she let herself want more?

She was terrified she’d never be able to stop.

So with that, Azzi straightened herself up, and forced herself to keep walking.

She didn’t look back.

Because, deep down, she knew that the next time around, she wouldn't be able to walk away again…

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

Paige -

Her hotel was nice. Too nice. Marble lobby, complimentary lemon water, concierge who smiled like he knew who she was before she even gave her name. Paige was used to that by now—people knowing her before she knew them. That came with the territory.

So did the fans.

Trying to distract herself from the haunting incident two days prior, she decided to take the heat off at the gym. Picking up her backpack, she threw her bun into a messy bun, throwing on the first t-shirt she saw. She was not in the mood to put in effort.

The moment she walked into the lobby, a wave of them came at her like heat. Phones out. Eyes wide. Some of them were probably hoopers themselves, AAU kids in town for the same trials. Some were just… fangirls. The kind that wore Paige Bueckers merch and knew her middle name and posted compilations of her crossover highlights with dramatic music behind them.

Usually, paige leaned in. She gave them winks, peace signs, played it up for the camera. That’s what they wanted, and it was easy. She liked making people happy.

But today, she felt flat.

“Paige! oh my gosh, can i get a pic?”

“You’re my screensaver! Seriously! Want me to prove it?”

"Yeah, sure" Paige responded with a half-laugh. but her voice lacked its usual flirt. Its tease. She felt like she was watching herself from the outside.

As the crowd formed larger, desperate fans reached for her arms, her hands, her hoodie.

A short, desperate fangirl had clasped onto her drawstrings and suddenly, she was involuntarily brought back to Azzi playfully teasing Paige at the airport. The girl she was purposely trying to forget.

Who knew Azzi was such a flirt?

Paige had clearly underestimated the supposedly shy, innocent girl because damn— there's no way a supposed 'angel' could get Paige that turned on… without even touching her.

Blinking back into focus, the fangirl's touch paled in comparison to how Azzi made her feel. In fact, she just felt herself missing Azzi's hands more. Missing her more.

“Heyyy Paige” the girl cooed. Paige barely smiled. The fan was a head shorter than Paige, with her long, straightened hair falling out of her ponytail. Usually, Paige would let her stare linger for longer, feeding her fans' delusions by merely checking them out. And plus, the girl was pretty. Maybe even cute. But today, Paige was not having it. Not when the girl didn't have curly hair. Or dimples. Or had Paige wrapped around her finger with less than a breath.

“Once you make the team, how 'bout you take me out?” the girl whispered, eyes glinting. Paige’s jaw clenched, her tongue pressing to the inside of her cheek as she fought the urge to roll her eyes.

She used to thrive off this—off the attention, the flirtation. The chase. It used to be easy, effortless. Hust a wink here, a half-smile there, and they’d eat it up. She should’ve flirted back. Should’ve played along like she always did.

But the words caught in her throat like a missed layup.

Because she didn’t want to just take any pretty girl out to dinner. She needed it to be that pretty girl. The one who is ruining her even when she's not there.

Paige sighed. Azzi didn't even know who the blonde was, let alone that she was a famed basketball player. But something about the fact she didn't recognise paige, her fame, reputation, accolades— made her feel like herself again, which had been a long time coming.

Paige leaned in slightly, the movement slow, deliberate. The girl’s breath hitched, thinking she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.

But her voice was low, distant, almost cold.

“Sorry,” she said, eyes scanning the crowd again, searching—always searching—for a glimpse of tanned skin, or the scent of vanilla. “I’ve already got someone I want to take out.”

And without waiting for a response, she walked away.

The girl called after her, laughing it off with a flirty, “your loss,” but Paige didn’t even glance back.

She didn’t have the energy to explain that the real loss had happened two days ago. At baggage claim. With a smile that wasn’t hers to keep.

As Paige tried to escape the crowd, the fans continued to corner her— shoving their phones in her face, yelling in her ear. Paige tried to give them her attention, but fell short every time.

[20 minutes later…]

... “you too” she replied haphazardly to some dude, forgetting what he had said in the first place. She was trying desperately to not let it show that her chest felt hollow. “One at a time, guys.”

This is getting excessive. Paige sighed out loud.

But then—

Something caught her eye.

A flash of brown.

Curls.

Her heart jerked. She didn’t even know why, but before she could second-guess it, her body moved. She pushed through the crowd—“sorry, excuse me”—and scanned the far side of the lobby where she thought she saw—

Nothing.

Just air.

Her breath left her in a gust. She stood there, surrounded by voices, by praise, by people who adored her—and still felt completely alone.

I guess I'm not making it to the gym today Paige thought, as the swarm of fans surrounded around her again.

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

Azzi -

Azzi had barely dropped her bags on the bed before collapsing next to them, face-first into the duvet.

She shouldn't have looked back.

But she had.

And now Paige's face—those sharp cheekbones, that cocky smirk that didn't match the softness in her eyes—was burned into the backs of her eyelids. Every time she blinked, there she was. Laughing. Breathing. Existing too loudly in her memory.

Azzi groaned into the pillow.

"Get a grip, Azzi" she muttered to herself.

She rolled over, kicking off her sneakers, letting them thud onto the hotel floor. the room was nice—nothing fancy, but not gross either. A bit sterile. Too clean. The kind of clean that made her feel like she didn’t belong here. She wasn’t here to relax, anyway. This was work. She needed her focus completely on tryouts. She’d remind herself of that as many times as she needed. Which was a lot.

Needing to get rid of her thoughts, she peeled herself out of her hoodie, swapped her sweats for her favourite bike shorts and a loose tank. Rhe moment the fabric hit her skin, she felt better. Like herself. like Azzi, not some… dizzy little kid who got flustered on airplanes.

Downstairs, the hotel lounge buzzed with noise. Mostly fans. A lot of them were loud, swarming, high off energy drinks and TikToks, talking about some basketball player staying at the same hotel.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, side-eyeing the commotion as she passed by.

“Oh, great,” she muttered, loud enough for herself. “Some influencer with a jump shot.”

One girl giggled to another, squealing something about how “hot” she was, and Azzi snorted.

“Yeah, I’m sure she’s superrrrr talented,” she said under her breath, brushing a curl out of her eyes. “Bet she gets carried by her team just 'cause she looks good in compression gear.”

Azzi adjusted her own shorts—black, snug, doing her legs and ass some real justice—and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Even tired, she looked damn good. She knew that. But she didn’t need a crowd screaming her name to believe it.

The gym was mostly empty when she got there. Just a few other athletes doing warm-ups. Azzi plugged in her earbuds, started shooting around casually, letting the rhythm of the ball calm her. Bounce. Dribble. Pivot. Shoot. It was her language. The one place where everything made sense.

But then—movement in the corner of her eye.

Blonde. Tall. Confident gait.

Her heart skipped. No—clenched.

She turned, pulse stammering.

Only to realise it wasn’t her. Not Paige. not the girl she had only met a few days ago, yet couldn't leave her mind.

As she turned to make sure, praying she was in some lucid dream where Paige was really there, she was met with a brief smile. But not Paige's. just some guy. with similar hair and none of the presence.

Azzi let out a breath, shaking herself off.

“Get over it,” she mumbled, shooting again. “She probably forgot you already.”

.

.

.

Later, back upstairs, she found herself lingering in the lounge again. the crowd hadn’t died down. If anything, it had doubled. More fans. More phones. Still no actual player in sight.

Draping her towel over her shoulders, she leaned on a column, watching for a second. Curiosity got the best of her.

"Who the hell is this chick?” she muttered. “God, imagine being that full of yourself.”

But she didn’t move. Not yet. Just stood there, arms crossed, her flushed skin still gleaming from the gym, bike shorts hugging her hips, a bead of sweat trailing down her back.

And for a second—just a second—she'd hoped she'd see her in the crowd.

Not the mystery player. Not the star.

Her.

That same stupid smile. that same cocky charm and secret gentleness. The girl who had asked her about her book, and family, and why she looked away when she smiled.

But Azzi shook her head, scoffing to herself.

“Desperate,” she whispered, disgusted at her own weakness.

And with that, she turned and left.

Never seeing the way a certain blonde shoved past the last of the crowd, eyes wild, chest heaving—not for the fans, not for the cameras, but for a girl with curls who was already gone.

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

Paige -

The next few days blurred together. Paige tried to do the Vegas thing. walked the strip. Took a photo with a cardboard Elvis. Let her teammate from last summer drag her to a ridiculously overpriced buffet where they both ate three plates of shrimp and instantly regretted it.

She made it all look good on Instagram.

But the ache didn’t leave.

And neither did the memory of those curls.

.

.

.

"Nika i'm going to throw up" Paige groaned, eyes shut as if she could will the nausea—or the thoughts—away. she had instantly regretted letting her best friend 'cheer her up' before tryouts when Nika settled on a seafood spot.

"Don't be dramatic, Paige" Nika laughed, rolling her eyes. "Us Croatians eat your portion as a pre-breakfast snack" she beamed, as she admired the tower of empty plates on her side of the booth.

Paige lifted her head slightly, just enough to glare at her. “That’s because you have the digestive system of a raccoon.” groaning, slumping dramatically over the table.

Her forehead lightly tapped the surface as the half eaten plate of seafood stared back at her.

Nika only grinned, sipping the last of her lemonade with an obnoxiously loud slurp. “Maybe. but at least I’m not emotionally constipated.” Nika slowly added, searching Paige's eyes to see if she was finally ready to tell her what the hell was up with her the past couple of days.

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Paige groaned again and flopped back against the booth, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m not emotionally constipated. I’m just… thinking.”

Paige hadn't tell anyone about Azzi. There wasn’t anything to tell, really. Just a girl on a plane. A pair of knees bumping in turbulence. A voice that had sounded like a secret. And with tryouts nearing, Paige knew she had to push down those thoughts, because even though she knew was talented on the court, there was no telling how Paige would perform with Azzi crowding her mind.

“You’ve been thinking for three days straight, Paige. And not the usual basketball nerd stuff.” Nika leaned in, her voice softening.

“What’s going on twin?”

There was a long pause. Paige stared at the empty plate of seafood like it might offer her divine guidance.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled. “Just a girl on a plane.”

Nika blinked. “A girl?”

Paige didn’t look up. “Yeah. Just… Just a girl.”

Her voice was small.

Nika didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the quiet stretch between them. Then: “did she do something? like—were you okay?”

“No,” Paige cut in. “No. she didn’t—she didn’t do anything. That’s the thing.”

Nika leaned her chin into her palm. “Okay. So what did you do?”

Paige closed her eyes. The way Azzi had looked at her—like Paige had meant something, then suddenly didn’t. The scent of lavender and vanilla that still mingling in her mind. The way Azzi’s fingers had tugged on her hoodie like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she knew what it meant.

But she hadn’t known, had she?

“I don’t know what I did,” Paige finally said. “I don’t even know what I was expecting. We were on a plane. Then the airport. That’s it. But it felt like… I don’t know. Like something was there.”

“Was she hot?” Nika asked casually, like she was asking about the weather.

Paige choked on her Shirley temple. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I—I mean, yeah. kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Okay. she was stupid hot.”

Nika raised a single eyebrow. “And you’re just now figuring out you like girls?”

“I don’t—what?” Paige’s ears turned red. “No, i didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it,” Nika said with a shrug, sitting back.

Paige chewed on her lip, silent. Her thoughts ran in chaotic loops. The way her body had reacted to Azzi’s touch. The way her skin had buzzed when their chests pressed together. The way her breath had caught when Azzi whispered so close, her words sinking into Paige’s bloodstream like a drug.

She hadn’t felt like that before. Not ever.

It scared her.

“I don’t even know if she… y’know, likes girls,” Paige finally muttered.

“So you do like her,” Nika said, triumphant.

“I didn’t say—”

“Did you want to kiss her?”

Paige turned bright red and dropped her face into her hands again. Nika let out a low smirk.

“God,” Paige whispered. “I’m such a mess.”

“You’re not a mess,” Nika said, reaching across the table to flick her in the forehead. “You just like a pretty girl who maybe, probably, definitely liked you back. that’s not a mess. that’s just figuring yourself out” Nika reassured, giving Paige's hand a tight squeeze.

Paige cracked a small, reluctant smile, still hiding her face.

"And plus, do I need to remind you that we're twins? Which means if you're lucky, you'll have half my game" Nika smirked, punching a friendly jab into Paige's shoulder.

"You wish you could flirt like me" Paige shot back, her cocky attitude returning.

“Anywayyyy,” Nika hummed, standing and grabbing her tray. “Tryouts are tomorrow. You better figure out how to dribble without thinking about her face.”

“Her curls,” Paige corrected under her breath.

Nika paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Paige muttered.

But she was still smiling. Just a little.

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

Azzi -

Azzi was there early. Of course she was.

The gym was half-lit, sun creeping through the high windows, dust suspended like glitter in the air. She sat cross-legged on the polished hardwood, earbuds in, quietly stretching. Her body was calm, precise, automatic. Yet, her thoughts were anything but.

She’d already checked in, gotten her bib number, downed half a banana, and taped her ankles twice out of sheer anxiety. The place smelled like pine-scented cleaner, sweat and opportunity. Girls were starting to trickle in, some bouncing basketballs to loosen up, others clumped in nervous conversation. Azzi didn’t look up, trying to savour her moment privacy before she had to show out.

Until Nika sat beside her.

Azzi glanced over, surprised. A girl was plopping down next to her, messy bun, knee sleeves, already sweating like she’d run there from another state. She had a kind face, bold voice. One of those people who walked into a room like they were already friends with everyone in it.

“Hi,” Nika said cheerfully, dropping a water bottle and gym bag like they’d wronged her. “Don’t mind me,” she huffed, already sliding into a butterfly stretch beside her. “Just out-sprinted a girl from Indiana to get the last chocolate chip muffin.”

Azzi pulled out one earbud.

“You look locked in. Like terrifyingly focused. You always this intense or is this just pre-tryout anxiety?”

Azzi cracked a smile. “I guess a little of both.” she replied, massaging the back of her neck.

“Fair. Name’s Nika.” she grinned, reaching for her toes like it was the most natural thing in the world to stretch next to a total stranger. “I’m a point guard. East Coast rep. Croatia-born, Jersey-trained, drama-free. Well—mostly.”

Azzi gave a quiet laugh. “Nice. I'm a shooting guard. Virginia.”

“Ooh, Virginia. tough crowd,” Nika nodded approvingly. “You got that DMV energy. Like, stone-cold handles but won’t admit it.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”

“Oh, 100%. I only compliment people I’m scared of.” Nika gave her a playful nudge with her knee. “So, what’s your name?”

Azzi hesitated for half a second too long. This girl was so sweet. Yet, why did she feel like something was about to go wrong?

Nika didn’t seem to notice. she kept stretching, eyes scanning the gym. “Actually, wait—before you answer that, important question: you ever heard of Paige something-something from Hopkins, Minnesota? Kind of tall, light eyes, basically a human highlight reel.”

Azzi froze.

Paige?

Her paige?

And she's a hooper?

Nika kept talking, oblivious. “I played with her last summer at a camp in Arizona. She’s a point too. Cocky as hell but crazy good. Like, makes everyone look like they’re in slow motion. Total show-off. But in a loveable way, you know? And plus, her unselfishness more than makes up for it…” Nika trails on.

Azzi’s throat went dry. her hands stilled mid-stretch.

Nika turned back to her, eyes narrowing slightly. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said too fast. “just—Paige?”

“Mm-hmm.” Nika nodded, pulling her leg across her body into a twist. “I think she’s trying out for this team. But she’s not here yet. probably late ‘cause she was throwing up from the buffet I dragged her to yesterday. Shrimp regret is real.”

Azzi let out a weak, nervous laugh. Her heart skipping a beat.

No. no way. It couldn’t be her. It just couldn’t. Paige was a plane thing. An in-the-clouds thing. Not real life. Not this life.

Nika squinted, about to say more—

—but the coach clapped loudly. “Baseline! let’s move!”

And before Azzi could recover from Nika's words, the girls scrambled into lines. Azzi stood, trying to shake off the sudden tightness in her chest. She lined up, hands on hips, about to ask Nika about this so-called 'Paige'—when the gym doors opened with a loud creak— like it was in on the tension.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice said, smooth, unbothered.

Azzi’s stomach dropped at the sound.

It was her. she didn't even need to turn around.

Paige.

Her Paige.

The girl Azzi had sworn she’d never see again — and told herself that was for the better.

And yet… here she was. Jogging down the sideline with a lazy half-smirk, tossing her hoodie off mid-stride, revealing a tank top and that same unapologetic energy that had wrecked Azzi in a single flight.

Paige didn’t notice her at first. Her eyes scanned the court casually, just another gym, just another tryout.

Then she saw Azzi.

Paused.

Double take.

Her brow furrowed — like she was checking if her brain had finally cracked.

Nope. Still there.

Azzi.

Her Azzi.

The air between them crackled. Paige’s eyes darkened. Not flirtatious. Not curious.

But hurt. Cold. Sharp.

Why hadn’t Azzi told her?

Why did she lie?

Azzi could feel it all radiating off her — the questions, the disbelief, the betrayal. and worst of all, the fury Paige didn’t even try to hide.

Azzi's stomach twisted. Her feet were still on the line, but the rest of her felt like it had floated ten feet away. Her heart pounded against her ribs like it was trying to get out.

What was she supposed to do?

Say sorry?

Say, hey, remember when i said i visiting my family? Surprise! I lied. But only because I didn’t think I'd see you again and you kind of destroyed me a little bit so I panicked and ran?

Yeah. That would go over well.

Azzi dared to glance again. Paige was talking to a coach, face composed but her eyes—those eyes.

Azzi's gaze quickly shot away from Paige as she turned and jogged the rest of the way down to the baseline.

Not another glance.

Just a storm building behind every step.

The curious, teasing glint from the plane? Gone.

The soft smile, the shy laugh? Untraceable.

In its place was something cold and furious and unforgiving.

It hit Azzi harder than she expected.

Because she liked that smile. She had missed that smile. She had wanted to see that smile again.

But now?

Now Paige looked like she wanted to throw a basketball at her head. Or worse—ignore her entirely.

The whistle blew. Sprint time.

Azzi dug her feet into the wood, blinked, tried to breathe.

This was tryouts. This was her dream.

And the girl who had almost made her forget it entirely was standing three spots down, ready to outrun her, outplay her, and maybe—if she was angry enough—destroy her.

Azzi exhaled.

This was going to hurt... wasn't it?

💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙

💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙💗💙

[dark-l-angel]

hi :)

sorry to be a bother, but i read your batfam fic with a reader that was Omnilingual. could you write more of that if you have the time? i really enjoyed it. no pressure though.

thx, xoxo

Batfam x Omnilingual reader - Part 3

~ Batcave 3:47pm ~

The Batcave was quiet, save for the usual hum of computers and the occasional screech of Batarangs being thrown for practice. You were sitting at the computer terminal, trying to decode yet another criminal message. It was written in a language that you could understand, but it was so ridiculously complex that you almost felt like the criminal had thrown in a few extra words just to mess with you.

Tim was the first to approach, his usual curiosity painted on his face. "Find anything interesting?" he asked, peering over your shoulder. "Or are you just making random noises like a language professor on a caffeine high?"

You didn’t miss a beat. "Actually, I think this person’s throwing in fake words just to confuse me. It’s like a word salad with extra dressing. At this point, I’m ready to start translating it into interpretive dance just to get a clue."

Tim raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. "Please don’t. I don't think the world is ready for that level of chaos."

"Oh, it’d be beautiful" you replied, tapping away at the keys with dramatic flair. "I’d call it ‘The Dance of the Caffeinated Linguist."

Just as Tim was about to respond, Dick swung down from the rafters.. like he always did because of course he’d choose the most dramatic entrance. "What’s this? A new level of chaos in the Batcave?" he asked with mock seriousness. "You should warn me before you start a new performance art project."

"Oh, it’s coming," you said, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "I’m going to perform a reading of this criminal’s gibberish in a Shakespearean accent. It’s going to be a masterpiece."

"Can we not?" Tim muttered, holding up his hands like he was trying to ward off an invisible threat. "I’m still recovering from last week’s 'Ancient Languages Karaoke Night'."

"Fine" you sighed, pretending to pout. "I’ll save it for when we catch the criminal. It’ll be my Oscar-winning moment."

Dick shot a look at Tim, then back at you. "I’m just glad someone’s keeping things entertaining around here. But seriously, can you get this solved before Gotham becomes the first city to be attacked by interpretive dance?"

"Look, I’m on it, okay?" you replied, clicking through a few more tabs. "But this person clearly thinks they’re the next Da Vinci of wordplay, and I’m just trying to figure out if they’re trying to steal Gotham’s finest art or if they just really hate linguistics."

Suddenly, a voice echoed through the Batcave. "It’s not the art you need to worry about" Bruce grumbled as he stepped into view. "It’s the fact that this is all part of a larger plan."

You spun around in your chair, dramatically raising an eyebrow. "You mean this whole thing wasn’t just a convoluted riddle meant to entertain me?"

Bruce didn’t even flinch. "No. It was a convoluted riddle meant to get us all tangled in their web. And you’re the one who has to untangle it."

Tim leaned in close, smirking. "So... no interpretive dance then?"

Bruce shot him a look that would make lesser mortals cower. "If you’re looking for something to do, I suggest you start training. And for the record, 'language of the heart' is not an acceptable tactic to save Gotham."

You grinned. "But you’re missing the point. If the criminal is using this mess of words, it’s only because they know I’m the best at untangling it. I’ll solve this. And when I do, you’ll all be bowing at my linguistic feet."

Dick shook his head. "You’re going to end up making us feel bad about being linguistically inferior, aren’t you?"

You gave him an innocent look. "Oh, I would never. But you do have a point about the interpretive dance. I think it could be a group project."

Dick sighed, knowing he was never going to escape that idea. "I’m going to need a drink after this."

"So," you said, spinning dramatically in your swivel chair, "I’ve successfully translated the entire message from the suspect into : drumroll.. Basque, Japanese, Aramaic, and... interpretive emoji."

Part 4 cuz I'm generous 💖

~ Batcave 4:23pm ~

Dick, leaning on a table with his arms crossed and a look of pure I-can’t-do-this-right-now on his face, blinked slowly. "Interpretive emoji. You translated a criminal manifesto into emoji?"

You grinned proudly. "Yes. For clarity. Look.. see?" You flicked the screen to show your masterpiece.

There, in all its chaotic glory:

Knife. Fire. Cat with monocle. Dancing man. Explosion. Bread. Upside-down smile.

Jason, standing in the back like a deeply disrespected Greek chorus, groaned. "What the hell am I even looking at? Is this a threat? A menu? A rave invite?"

"I think it’s a threat and a rave invite," you said, dead serious. "Possibly catered."

Bruce walked in just in time to hear that. He stared. Then turned slowly to Alfred, who just sighed and silently handed him a stress ball.

"You’re playing with us" Damian said flatly from his corner of the Batcave, where he was cleaning his sword with a focus that screamed don't test me. "This is clearly a joke."

"It’s not!" you said, slightly offended. "I triple-verified the syntax! That monocle cat? It represents a code phrase in underground Polish slang that translates roughly to: (I see you, rich man.) It's poetic."

Damian blinked. "You made that up."

You stared back with a completely straight face. "You can't prove that."

Tim stormed in with a Red Bull in one hand and stress in the other. "Guys. While you were doing whatever this is" he gestured to the emoji threat, "I was tracking the suspect's GPS, and guess what? He's headed toward Gotham Library. Probably looking for a Rosetta Stone to keep up with you."

You gasped. "He’s challenging me to a duel of tongues."

"No. No one said that." Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. "No one wants that."

Jason clapped his hands once. "Alright. So the plan is : we follow the emoji trail of destruction, beat the crap out of a multilingual maniac, and let you finish your artistic interpretation project back here in peace."

"Exactly!" you beamed.

"God help us" Bruce muttered, already moving toward the Batmobile.

You hopped up and skipped after them. "Wait, wait! I can do live translations in the field. I just need-"

"No more emojis!" the entire Batfam shouted in sync, their voices echoing in the Batcave like a choir of traumatized brothers.

You paused. Thought about it. "…Okay. What about charades?"

Jason actually tripped.

[cryptidtumbleweed]

Mysterious disappearances, missing chunks of time, glitchy camera footage, faceless man-like monsters in the woods? Welcome to...

Marble Hornets has always had a special place in my heart ever since I stumbled upon it in 2019. It's a tradition for me to watch it every Halloween, and I still keep up actively with the comics and other things Troy, one of the creators, still does. The fanfics from the fandom have shaped my taste in reading and style in writing, and the art has inspired me.

So, what better use of my time than to smash it together with the most important show in my life?

---

Marble Owls is a Hunter and Luz focused au that follows the two trying to figure out what's happening to the people in their lives.

Two months ago, Edalyn Clawthorne went missing. One month ago, Hunter's father Caleb went missing.

Two weeks ago, Hunter went missing.

The police aren't doing anything.

Luz, having been infuriated by the cops not doing anything even before her own brother vanishes while on a walk at the local park, Rosswood Park, decides to take the matter to her own hands. As she searches for answers, thinking maybe Hunter for some reason ran away or went to look for his dad, she stumbles upon Hunter's diary and a video camera stuffed under his bed, hidden behind boxes. Deciding Hunter's safety trumps his privacy, she starts going through them.

The confusing, paranoid scribbles and weird corrupted footage of the woods only make Luz more worried and determined to get to the bottom of this. With the bits and pieces of clues she has, she sets out to follow the bread crumbs to track her brother down.

Hunter, affected by The Operator's influence, is slowly getting more and more paranoid. His dad's disappearance really messes with his head, only adding to the constant feeling of being watched that's been plaguing him for a while now.

While on a walk in Rosswood Park (totally not there trying to find Caleb), Hunter runs into a familiar face. He doesn't quite know the story behind why his father and Philip had a falling out, he was far too young when it happened. But Philip seems to sympathize with what he's been dealing with for the past month or so, so Hunter gives him a chance when he brings up having an idea what happened to Caleb.

The next thing Hunter knows is that he wakes up in a shack in the woods with no memory of how he got there, or how long it's been.

Philip and Belos were a fun thing to tackle for this. I played around with the idea of them being the same pesron/creature, but eventually settled for separating them. Belos is referred to as "The Operator".

The sickness:

The Operator's influence presents itself in a few ways; increasing paranoia being the strongest. Other effects are coughing fits that worsen the closer The Operator is, losing (sometimes significant) chunks of memory and seizures. As it progresses, the paranoia festers into aggression and violent outbursts. There is medicine to help it, but untreated it can lead to fatal incidents when interacting with other people. The Operator seems to prey on those who have struggled in their life.

Below are some other drawings I've made while workshopping this :)

Playlist:

AU go brrrr

[foreverromanticising]

renegade | ln4

(10 - the finale!) the perfect summer with lando quickly reaches its conclusion

lando norris x fem!reader | 2.6k words

(the last chapter!! full of angst!! howeverrrrr if enough ppl want it i would like to write a chapter about what's gonna happen in the future for these two so pls if u would be up for that lmk)

((also i have a new ln4 fic coming out on sunday so plssss stick around to give it a read))

masterlist<3

The clock had finally struck on the final day of Lando’s holiday in Greece, signalling that his summer break was coming to a close and it would only be a few moments before he was back in that car, hurdling down racetracks at unnatural speeds with the voices of a thousand people circling in his own mind. But as was life, all good things must come to an end. 

This time away under the sun had been heaven on Earth for him, the ultimate safe haven that he had been so desperately craving after the pressures of the season had kicked in and infiltrated any sort of peace he had been clinging onto. 

He had used the time perfectly, to his advantage, trying to work on his mindset. The last thing he needed for the rest of the season was to lose himself to the inevitable opinions of others, he had been trying to teach himself not to care about what other people thought about him. Not once over the past three weeks had Lando even looked at social media, or read any crappy articles written about him; he didn’t need to see it. All that mattered were the results that he could deliver on track.

But, his flight back home to Monaco was booked, early the next morning, and there was no chance that Zak would understand any of Lando’s reasonings if he pushed that flight back for an extra few days, just so he could keep you in his arms for those extra few days. Again, as all good things must come to an end, once the holiday was over, as was his time with you. 

Now, he knew the two of you hadn’t exactly discussed the ending of this vacation but he figured it was more a silent, mutual agreement. You had kept him distracted through every moment of quiet so he hadn’t been able to find the time nor the correct gap of time to bring this up but he knew you would understand - it was a summer fling, after all, and he was in no position to doubt your intelligence when it came to being sure that you would understand this too.

“So, what you doing then?” He found you in the kitchen, chopping up a variety of vegetables which he knew would be for the dinner that you had insisted you wanted to cook for everyone that night.

“Cooking dinner?” Your face flooded with confusion as you looked up from the chopping board and towards Lando, who stood across from you with his hands leant on the countertop.

“No, I meant about going home, we’re leaving tomorrow,” He approached the situation without a second thought of handling it in a delicate manner; he hadn’t thought much about what he was going to say, rather the thought that he had to say something had been eating at him so he wanted it to be as quick and painless as possible. “What are you gonna do?”

“I haven’t really thought about it much.” You shrugged your shoulders because you truly had no idea about what your plan was for tomorrow. You had spent days silently trying to figure out what Lando would do when the holiday was over, especially after Alexandra’s words, but you couldn’t figure out any clues.

“Well, we’re leaving so…” His words trailed off, hoping that you could maybe piece together what he was trying to say without him having to say it.

“Yeah, I know,” You were rather taken aback by his lack of care that he had taken towards the situation but you didn’t want to jump down his throat yet with your annoyance as you wanted him to explain - he could’ve had a plan for all you knew. “Where are you all going back to? London?”

“Monaco.” He said plainly knowing he couldn’t dance what he had been the whole time he had known you. There was hardly any point in hiding any truth from you now, not when he knew he wouldn’t have to see you again after that day.

“Cool,” You nodded like you didn’t already know this because you wanted to play this cool, to act far more relaxed than what you were, because the sudden change in Lando’s demeanour left you with a million questions for him. “And, what do you want me to do?”

“I dunno, are you going home?” Sure, it would’ve been great for Lando to keep the memories from that summer alive and well if could’ve followed him to Monaco but it simply wasn’t realistic for him; he had bigger things to worry about than keeping a - albeit special - summer fling alive. “I can help you book a flight, if that’s what you’re needing.” 

For the second half of the season, Lando couldn’t dare risk having any distractions. He needed to be on his own, he needed to learn how to harness his focus and skill into winning a championship. His car was successful enough, he had to make sure he was able to keep up with it. He couldn’t have you following him from Greece; that was where your story with him had started and he was ready to make sure it would end there.

“I can go home, yeah,” You weren’t sure what Lando was trying to say, or if he wanted you to pull the answers out of him for yourself. “Or I could come with to Monaco? Depending on how long you’’ll be there, I’ve always wanted to-”

“I’m going home to Monaco.” He cut you off as you tried to speak, throwing the truth in your face. 

“You said you lived in England,” You hated the fact that you had already suspected this to come from Lando at some point, you wanted to believe him; to believe that he truly did live in Glastonbury and Alexandra had simply misspoke. “You told me when I asked you lived in Glasto.”

“You asked me where I stay in England,” Lando shook his head and quickly corrected you, trying to pull himself out of the grave he had been digging for himself since the very first night with you. “I’ve got a place in Glasto, but I’m in Monaco more- that’s home.”

“Okay, so what?” You had figured this much already but you weren’t sure where this conversation with Lando was heading, his intentions that were usually laid out in front of you were now foggy, leaving you confused. “You don’t want me to come to Monaco?” You didn’t want to let Lando see the moment of weakness he had caught you in, knowing it was silly for you to be feeling this much after such a short amount of time but you couldn’t help the crack in your voice as you spoke.

“Not really, no.” He shook his head but dipped his eyes, trying to avoid any eye contact with you for he knew that if he caught your eye line his composure would crumble after one look at the tears building in your eyes. Seeing that look on your face would be enough to have him scooping you back up in his arms and bringing you to Monaco, begging you to stay with him.

“Yeah, and what does that mean for us, Lan?” Two weeks ago you had not even the cloud of a thought that this would be a question that you would have to ask Lando for you thought all of the nights twisted in his arms and sheets, all of the tears shed, and the whispered confessions were enough to solidify whatever connection you had between you. But, clearly, Lando had thought differently. “When am I gonna see you again? If you’re living in Monaco?”

“Well, I dunno, I’ve got work, y’know what it’s like.” He shrugged his shoulders and leaned up from the counter as he began to take a few pacing steps, his heart rate picking up as his anxiety kicked in and up a notch.

“You get time off from work, they don’t hold you hostage.” You didn’t want to let Lando slip through your fingers, not when you could easily tell he was trying to push you away; you wanted to keep him as yours, as the Lando you knew, the Lando that up until thirty minutes ago you wouldn’t have had a bad word to say about.

“It’s busy, though- I’m busy.” He sighed, looking back at you with an exasperated image painting his face.

“You’re not- you can’t be that busy, Lando.” Your words, though not many, carried weight for him; Lando, not Lan like he had grown used to and found solace within the way you said his name.

“C’mon, don’t do this, baby.” He shook his head, tears beginning to flood his own eyes, mirroring the way you looked back at him.

“Don’t,” You bit your lip in a measly attempt at keeping your tears at bay, not daring to let Lando see you weaker than how you already felt. “Don’t call me that, not when you’re doing this to me.”

“I’m not doing anything,” He ran his hand through his curls, tugging on the ends as he tried to calm himself back down. “This- we can’t- y’know, this has to happen. What did you think was gonna happen? We were gonna run away and get married? C’mon, it was just something fun, something for the summer.” 

“You don’t mean that, Lando.” You hadn’t expected this to ever come from Lando, at least not this soon. He hadn’t even tried to let what you had exist outside of the holiday and he was already stating that there was no point in trying. 

“I do, it won’t work.” Lando struggled to keep up against you, knowing he had more viable reasons than what he was telling you but he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to create a mess bigger than both you, not bigger than what he had already created.

“You’re saying that but I don’t know what you mean, why?” Your voice was raw and tired from the stream of tears that you had no control over, the hitched breathing that stopped you from appearing calm to Lando. “We could at least try, we’ll never know if we don’t try?”

“I can’t- I don’t work like that,” His eyes were bloodshot red with how relentlessly he had tried to rub them dry from the tears that continued to spill, despite his many attempts to stop crying. “I don’t need somebody, not like that, in my life. I’ve got too much shit right now, I can’t pile more on top of that- I can’t handle that.”

“You don’t even want to try, Lan,” You felt your chest tightens with every word he spoke as you couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. “Let me in, we can work through it together. You don’t have to do anything yourself, not if you open up and let me see you properly. It’s not a crime to have somebody in your life.”

“It’s just not the right time, not now, I can’t do it,” He was running out of excuses, the possibilities of what he could say to you were running thin but he couldn’t crumble, not yet. “You need someone better, you deserve someone that can give you everything. I’m a renegade, baby, and you need someone to be your rock, and that’s not gonna be me.”

“You can’t be that person for me? Or you just don’t want to?” You could see he was struggling, you knew he believed what he was saying from the pure state he was in but you wanted to fight past that and show him the truth. You wanted him to let you in. “You need someone too, Lan, you can’t just go through life struggling and not letting anyone in because of it. You can get your shit together and let someone in at the same time.”

“Please stop trying to fight me on this, I know this’ll be for the better- for you.” Whilst, he needed to be on his own to be free from distractions this season, he knew this would be better for you. You didn’t need to be dragged into the treacherous world of motorsport with him; you liked your freedom and being tied to him, in the limelight, would’ve been your worst nightmare - whether you  knew that or not - he knew what would be best.

“You’re serious?” You took one final deep breath, trying to keep your tears back and hold a calm conversation with Lando- seeking out one final moment of clarity with him. “You don’t want to see me again? You want me to go straight back to London and just stop loving you?”

“Baby, don’t say that.” He crumpled under your confession, wanting nothing more than to grab your hand and pull your body into his, to repeat those words back to you. But he couldn’t, not now.

“It’s the truth, Lando, something that you’re not willing to face,” You shrugged your shoulders, knowing you couldn’t hide from anymore. “Say you want me to go back to London, say that you don’t ever want to see me again.”

“It’s not like that, you know I want to see you-”

“It doesn’t work like that, you either want me or you don’t- there’s no in between,” You wanted to get down onto your knees and beg Lando to take you with him to Monaco, you wanted to beg him to never leave your side and for him to say this was all one huge, lousy joke. But you knew that was far from what could ever happen. “Tell me you want me to keep loving you, that you’ll get yourself together, and we can make this work- say it and we can pretend all of this never happened. Please.”

A moment of silence flowed between the two of you as Lando let your words settle against his skin, giving himself a moment to consider your words and if he wanted to go back on what he had said. But he knew there was no point, it was too far gone now.

“Do you have enough for a flight back?” His voice was quiet, almost ashamed of his own words but the least he could do now was make sure you could get home, comfortably.

“Yeah,” You nodded your head without thinking twice, knowing everything Lando had done for you the past few weeks had allowed you to keep your savings rather healthy. “Could you take me to the airport?”

“Now?” He couldn’t hide the shock that rattled throughout his voice but he wasn’t sure why he was so shocked - it wasn’t as though you were going to pretend nothing had happened and climb back into bed with him that night before going home tomorrow.

“Please.” You left Lando standing in the kitchen, trying to catch his breath and regain his composure, whilst you headed for the bedroom to grab your luggage. 

The bedroom that only a few hours ago held memories that you would’ve argued were some of the happiest of your life; your time with Lando had allowed you to truly be yourself without having to create a persona in order to please someone. Lando was happy with who you were, he hadn’t wanted you to hide from him.

He wanted to hear your laugh bounce off of the walls around you whilst he hovered over you, your back pressed against his sheets; you couldn’t deny the utter happiness that bubbled within that room from simply being with Lando. But, he wanted to close that chapter of his life with you before allowing it to properly flourish. You tried to fight him, to push against what he tried to take from you, but it was no use.