#SHES NOT THE NORMAL ONE SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

[gf2bellamy]

heyyyy

i love love love the sunshine!reader x post!prison spencer fics, they’re so so cute

If you could, could you write one with them where they’ve gotten together recently and they’re coming back from a case that hit reader particularly hard, and she kinda just shuts off which is so unusual for her. So spencer’s so concerned and confused and he wonders if he did anything wrong and when he asks her about it, she just completely breaks down and cries her entire life’s hurt out to him and he finally realizes why she tries to be the sunshine in everyone’s life (cuz she grew up without it) and he just wants to protect her from the world

(im so so sorry if this is so detailed and long) (also i really yearn for angst/ hurt comfort if you cant tell) (you can totally ignore this, i dont really mind <3)

thankyouuuu smm <3

unhappy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying , mention of a rough case , spencer making food for reader a/n: hiii !!! i hope you like this <3 ( also i love flangst too <3 )

Spencer stood beside you in the small kitchenette of the jet, watching as you absentmindedly stirred honey into your tea. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Do you want to solve a Sudoku?” 

Normally, it was the other way around—you were the one who pulled out your puzzle book with a bright smile, nudging him until he joined in. But tonight, you hadn’t even reached for it. Spencer had noticed how quiet you’d been since the case wrapped up.

You barely glanced at him before shaking your head. “No, I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice exhausted. Then, without another word, you picked up your cup and walked away. 

Spencer watched you retreat to your seat, concern settling deep in his chest. You were always the one who tried to lift his spirits after a hard case, the one who made sure he wasn’t drowning in his own thoughts. For you to be this withdrawn… it wasn’t like you. 

For the rest of the flight, he didn’t press you.

Instead, he simply sat beside you, letting his knee rest lightly against yours—a small offering of comfort. You didn’t react, but you didn’t move away either. He kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, wondering if he had done something wrong. Had he been too wrapped up in the case to notice you struggling? Had he missed something? The thoughts gnawed at him. 

When the jet finally landed and everyone gathered their things, Spencer, as always, carried your bag to your car. Normally, you’d roll your eyes playfully and tease him with a “What a gentleman.” But tonight, there was no teasing. No light chatter. Just silence. 

Spencer placed your bag down beside you, studying your face as you unlocked the car. 

“I came with Emily,” he said carefully. “Is it alright if I drive with you?” 

It wasn’t entirely true—he could have easily gotten a ride home another way—but that wasn’t the point. He just needed to be next to you, to make sure you were okay. Pretending to need a ride was just an excuse. 

You looked up at him, and the sadness in your eyes made his heart clench. He hated seeing you like this, so unlike yourself. 

“Yeah, sure,” you murmured, trying to force a smile, but it faltered before it could fully form. You gave up and just got into the car, and Spencer followed, settling into the passenger seat. 

The ride was quiet. Spencer made a few attempts at conversation—small observations about the case, about a book he’d read recently, about how Rossi had nearly fallen asleep with his head against the window—but you only responded with a few short words.

Eventually, he gave up and just stared out the window, worried. 

When you pulled up to his apartment building, Spencer hesitated before unbuckling his seatbelt. He turned to you, studying the way your fingers gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. 

“Do you want to come up?” he asked softly. 

You blinked, barely meeting his gaze. “I-uhm…” Your fingers tapped absently against the leather of the wheel, the hesitation clear in your posture. 

Spencer scrambled for another reason, another way to make it easier for you to say yes. “You can come get that book I told you about,” he added quickly, even though he didn’t really care about the book. He just wanted to get you inside, to keep you from going home alone to sit in silence with your thoughts. 

For a moment, he thought you might say no. But then, you let out a quiet sigh, too exhausted to argue. 

“Yeah… okay,” you whispered, turning off the engine. 

Relief washed over Spencer as he stepped out of the car, waiting for you to follow. 

The two of you walked quietly into his apartment. As soon as you stepped inside, you toed off your shoes, your movements sluggish with exhaustion. Spencer set your bag down near the door, watching you carefully. 

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked gently, already thinking of what he could make you. 

You shook your head without hesitation. “No, that’s fine,” you murmured, your voice quiet.

Spencer frowned slightly but didn’t push. Instead, he watched as you stepped toward his bookshelf, running your fingers lightly over the spines of his meticulously arranged collection. 

“Which one was it again?” you asked, tilting your head as you scanned the titles. 

“The one on the second shelf, third from the right,” Spencer supplied, stepping closer. “But you don’t actually have to give it back. That was just an excuse to get you up here.” 

Your fingers froze on the book spine, and for the first time that night, you turned to look at him fully. His honesty caught you off guard.

A small, tired smile ghosted over your lips. “Yeah, I figured.” 

Spencer’s gaze softened as he took a slow step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to talk about it?” He watched you closely, his eyes filled with concern, as he waited for a response. 

You bit your lip. Spencer could see you trying to hold it together, but he knew you weren’t fine—not by a long shot. Without another thought, he moved closer and gently pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

That was all it took.

The moment you felt his warmth, the dam you had built up inside cracked. Your tears came in a rush, soaking the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him tightly. Spencer’s heart tightened at the sight, but he held you even closer, one hand moving to the back of your head, threading through your hair in soft, steady motions. 

“It was so awful, Spencer,” you whispered between sobs, your voice shaky as you gripped his shirt.

Spencer pressed his cheek against the side of your head, his other hand moving in slow, soothing circles across your back. He didn’t need to say anything, not yet. He knew you just needed to be held, to let it out.

His voice was gentle when he spoke, full of understanding. “I know," he murmured. "I know. I know it was hard” 

You clung to him, your face pressed against his chest. You let out a shaky breath, your voice muffled. “Everything is,” you whispered. 

You couldn’t stop the tears. Spencer felt his heart tighten in his chest at the sound of your pain. His instinct was to hold you tighter, to shield you from the world’s cruelty, and he did just that, tightening his grip around you as though he could absorb some of your suffering. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for just a moment before he whispered, “I’ve got you.” 

The simple words were a promise, a vow. And he meant them with every fiber of his being. He didn’t let go of you—not for a second. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t try to offer solutions. He just held you. Let you cry. Let you feel. 

Time passed. Your sobs became softer, less desperate. His hands gently stroked your back.

Eventually, the tears began to slow, and you pulled back slightly, your face flushed with emotion. Spencer’s hands were immediately there, his fingertips brushing away the last of your tears, his touch tender and careful. 

You sniffed, trying to gather yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice small, fragile, as you wiped at your eyes. 

Spencer’s eyes softened even more as he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. He made sure you met his gaze, wanting you to see the sincerity in his eyes. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice soft. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

His voice grew even softer as he added, “I’m here for you, always.” 

A small, shaky breath escaped your lips. You stared up at him, still feeling vulnerable, but in a way that felt safe now.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but filled with the depth of gratitude that words alone couldn’t capture. 

Spencer’s gaze softened even more. He shifted slightly, his hands still resting gently on your face, and then he let out a soft chuckle.

“You know, crying is actually a biological response that releases endorphins, which are natural painkillers. So technically, you just gave yourself a free therapy session. Pretty efficient if you ask me. ” he said, giving you a sheepish grin. 

You couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle of your own, your lips curling into a smile.

Spencer looked down at you, his eyes warm and soft. “See? I can still get a smile out of you, even if it’s just a little one,” Spencer said, his voice teasing but gentle, his lips curving upward in a small, knowing grin. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out, the small smile not leaving your face. You kept your hands on his waist, absentmindedly toying with the fabric of his shirt.

Spencer’s fingers brushed a loose strand of your hair from your face, his touch soft and tender.

“Do you want something to eat now?” he asked, his voice gentle. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb continuing to make slow, soothing circles along your skin. 

You paused for a moment, realizing you had been so caught up in everything that you hadn't even thought about food. As the thought crossed your mind, you realized you were hungry.

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled weakly, the exhaustion still in your voice, but it felt a little more like your usual self. “I think I could eat something.” 

Spencer’s smile softened, reaching for your hand, as he gently led you toward the kitchen. 

His kitchen was small, but organized, just like everything else in his apartment. He pulled out a chair for you at the tiny table , his hand lingering on the back of it as you sat down.

Spencer moved quietly, pulling open cabinets.

“I could make grilled cheese,” he offered, glancing over his shoulder. “Or, if you’re not in the mood for that, I have ingredients for pancakes. Though I should warn you, my flipping technique is… inconsistent.”

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Spencer’s chest tightened at the sound. There it was. That little spark of you—the one that had been missing all night.

“Grilled cheese is perfect,” you murmured, resting your chin in your hand. Your voice was still quieter than usual.

Spencer nodded, turning back to the stove to hide the way his lips twitched upward. He could feel your eyes on him, studying his movements.

“You’re staring,” he said lightly, not turning around.

“Am not,” you lied, but he heard the smile in your voice.

“You are. And statistically, people who deny staring are actually staring 87% of the time.”

You snorted. “You just made that up.”

“Maybe.” He peeked over his shoulder, grinning when he caught your amused expression. “But you can’t prove it.”

The playful banter was familiar. It was you—the real you, the one who always found a way to smile even on the hardest days. The one who had, more times than he could count, pulled him out of his own spirals with nothing but a joke or a gentle nudge.

Spencer flipped the sandwich with only minimal cheese casualties, then slid the plate toward you. You took it gratefully, your fingers brushing his for just a second.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a small bite.

He leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed, watching as you ate. He wanted to memorize this—the way your nose scrunched slightly when you chewed, the way your fingers tapped idly against the plate when you paused to think.

“You’re doing it now,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Doing what?”

“Staring.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he tilted his head, his voice softening. “I’m just… glad you’re feeling better.”

You looked down at your plate, but not before he caught the faint pink dusting your cheeks. “Me too,” you admitted. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to just… let it out.”

Spencer hummed in understanding. He knew better than anyone how easy it was to lock things away, to pretend you were fine until the weight of it all became unbearable.

And then, halfway through your plate, you spoke.

“I think I scared Emily today.”

Spencer paused, glancing up. “How so?”

You toyed with your fork, avoiding his gaze for a moment before sighing. “I just… didn’t say anything the entire day. And you know how she is—she kept trying to get me to talk, but I just… couldn’t.”

Spencer nodded, understanding. Emily wasn’t one to let things go easily.

“She’ll get it,” he said softly. “She knows how these cases can get under your skin.”

You hummed, pushing a piece of food around your plate absently. “Yeah. I just… I hate being like this.”

Spencer studied you for a moment before stepping closer, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “You’re allowed to not be okay sometimes,” he murmured. “Even sunshine has to set.”

The words were quiet, but they made you look up at him, your eyes softening.

And then—

A real smile. Small, but real.

“Since when did you get so poetic, Spencer?”

Spencer felt his cheeks warm, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I read a lot.”

You laughed—actually laughed—and the sound was like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Spencer’s chest tightened. There she is.

You finished your food, then leaned back in your chair, finally looking more like yourself—your usual brightness seeping back in, bit by bit.

Spencer couldn’t help the small, private smile that tugged at his lips. 

You caught his expression and narrowed your eyes playfully. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he said, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him. “Just… it’s good to see you smiling again.”

Your grin softened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “Well, I do have a pretty great grilled cheese chef.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Flattery won’t get you a second sandwich.”

“Are you sure? Because I do have a very convincing puppy-dog stare.” You demonstrated, widening your eyes exaggeratedly.

He groaned, but he was already standing up to make another.

Because for you he’d do anything , if it meant that he got to see that light in your eyes again.

[issues4him]

Bluecollar! Rafe doing no shave November (insert that hot mustache picture of him that makes everyone wet) and reader wants to pounce on him everytime she see’s him

blue collar!rafe participates in No Shave November

cw: smut, 18+, f receiving oral

he didn’t even warn you. just came strolling through the front door on november 1st like it was a normal day—dirty work jeans, flannel rolled up to the elbows, lunchbox in one hand, that damn mustache already growing in with purpose.

you blinked. nearly dropped the bowl of mac and cheese you were fixing for the kids, “rafe,” you said flatly, eyeing his face. “what the hell is that.”

he just smirked, dropping a kiss on your cheek like he didn’t just walk into this house looking like a grown man with a mustache kink, “no shave november,” he said proudly. “it’s for charity.”

you snorted, “charity, my ass.”

but by day three, it was full-blown scruff. by day five, the mustache was locked in. and by the end of the first week, you were on your knees pretending to “look for a toy under the couch” just to get a better look at that strong, hairy jaw from below.

he caught you staring constantly. in the mornings, when he was tying his boots. at lunch, when he took his hat off and wiped his brow. at night, when he leaned over you on the couch and whispered something teasing in that low, husky voice. you were obsessed. and he knew it.

“you keep lookin’ at me like that, baby,” he’d murmur, tugging you into the hallway while the kids watched cartoons, “and i’m gonna forget i haven’t showered yet.”

“i don’t really give a damn at the moment,” you’d mutter back, already yanking his belt loose, “please keep the flannel on.”and God help you if he ever got his mouth on your inner thighs now—that scruff burned in the best way. you were squirming under him like a woman possessed.

by the end of the month you’d made rafe go down on you too many times to count. just the feeling of his scruff ticking your inner thighs pushed you to your climax like no other. which is why, currently, you were already breathless before he even got his hands on you—just from the way he looked, the way he spoke in that low gravelly voice all damn day.

he had you laid out on the bed—sweatshirt tugged up, nothing but one of his old t-shirts and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. his big hands hooked behind your knees, spreading you wide with ease, and that damn mustache was already brushing the inside of your thighs as he kissed his way up slowly. you whimpered when he got closer—his stubble dragging across your sensitive skin, leaving a delicious burn in its wake.

when his mouth finally landed on you, it was over. his lips sealed around your clit, tongue slow and firm, and the scruff of his jaw dragged perfectly with every stroke—not too rough, but just enough to make your hips jerk and your toes curl.

but it was the mustache that ruined you. the way it brushed with every flick of his tongue. the way it rubbed and lingered right where you needed him most. the way you swore you could feel every bristle, soft but scratchy, dragging right over that one perfect spot

“f-fuck rafe!…” your fingers dug into his thick hair, hips grinding toward his mouth without shame. you were already close, embarrassingly fast, and he knew it. you could feel him smile against you—cocky bastard.

“mhm,” he growled, voice muffled against your soaked heat, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. “come on, baby. so fuckin’ pretty when you cum for me.”

you were gasping, whining, clenching the sheets. the pressure built, swirled, snapped—and you were gone. eyes squeezed shut, back arching, his name tumbling from your lips in a broken moan as he licked you through it—slow, greedy, savoring.

even when your body twitched with oversensitivity, he didn’t stop. just kept pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your swollen clit, the mustache still rubbing you raw in the best way. you whimpered, legs trembling, “s-stop rafe—‘s too much—”

he finally pulled back, face shining, mustache soaked, lips curved into that devastatingly smug smirk, “damn,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning up to kiss you, slow and deep. “no shave november’s been treatin’ us real good, huh?”

[tucsonhorse]

And when you're on the stand being questioned and the other lawyer out of the blue asks you for your child's pediatrician's name? And you hesitate because you're not thinking about that right now or you ask "how is that relevant?" because you've just been talking about something like your work hours? Those are normal responses to a seemingly sudden change of topic, but in that situation people will do exactly what you did, construe it as not caring about the child. This lawyer isn't telling the parent anything they don't already know, they're literally helping them be ready for a situation they've never been in before.

Consider also: I don't remember my *own* clothing or shoe size even when not under stress, and that's true of many people I know. Neurodivergent people may lose words or shut down in a new place like a court room and be unable to answer unexpected questions. That doesn't make them an unfit parent, it means that the situation is unusual and they don't have coping mechanisms to handle that moment. There's a big difference between being in a situation in which food is being discussed/consumed and needing to be able to ensure that your child doesn't eat peanuts and being in a court room where there is discussion of having your child taken from you and unexpectedly being asked for a list of widely varied facts and trying to come up with the words to express your knowledge completely out of the blue.

Then there are situations where one parent has information like this deliberately, maliciously withheld by the other parent. A friend of mine married a man who already had a daughter from a previous relationship (don't remember if he was divorced or they'd never married). His daughter's mother had literally kidnapped her when the daughter was like 5 and he didn't see his daughter for a couple years. When he finally did get to see her again it was only at her mother's whim because her mother constantly lied to the courts (and got her own mother to as well) about having allowed him visitation and made up nasty lies about him which were believed because he had a history of drug use.

Fast forward almost 10 years and he's happily married, has a son with his wife who is about 4, his wife and son adore his daughter who is now just barely 14 and he is *still* fighting with his daughter's mother for custody. She trained the daughter to lie about her father, which the daughter herself told the court appointed child advocate, she fights against and "forgets" days he and his wife are supposed to have custody, the mother even makes her daughter throw away any clothes or gifts she gets from her father and step mother. And because of this dynamic, he is unlikely to know her pediatrician's name off the top of his head, because it probably took a court order for the mother to tell him. And he may not know his daughter's best friend's name because maybe her best friend changed in the month since her mother has allowed him to talk to his daughter without her mother on the phone dictating the daughters every word.

So no, needing to be prepared to answer basic questions about a child's shoe size and allergies and told *why* it's relevant doesn't mean the person is a bad parent. They might just be bad under pressure, or neurodivergent, or the whole custody case may be such a mess that why does it matter if the parent knows the child's shoe size right now when the other parent is actively demanding their child lie about the first parent and literally kidnapped the child.

[rafedarling]

hiii, saw your requests were open and wanted to ask if you could write something for dad!drew where his daughter is basically in like a revel teenager phase? she has a boyfriend which is not the best influence and it's just kind of mean to her parents so drew has to scold her but then one day she comes back from school being all sad because her boyfriend broke up with her, so he also conforts her with the break up. thanksss

𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

pairing: husband!drew starkey x wife!reader

summary: your teenage daughter, ellie, is deep in her rebellious phase complete with a questionable boyfriend and a sharp tongue toward you and drew. tensions rise as drew steps in to set boundaries, but when ellie’s world crumbles after a breakup, he’s there to pick up the pieces, reminding her what family’s really about.

warning(s): english is not my native language. mild language, emotional themes (parent-teen conflict, breakup sadness), light mentions of a toxic relationship dynamic.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @issabellec7 @alexxavicry

You lean against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching Drew pace back and forth in front of the fridge. His jaw’s tight, and you can tell he’s trying to keep it together. Ellie’s upstairs, door slammed shut like it’s been every night this week, and the air in the house feels thick with unspoken words.

“She’s sixteen, Drew,” you say, voice soft but firm.

“She’s testing us. It’s normal.”

He stops pacing, running a hand through his hair is still a little messy from filming earlier.

“Normal? You heard how she talked to you at dinner. ‘Whatever, Mom, you don’t get it.’ Like you’re the enemy here.”

He shakes his head, exhaling hard.

“And that kid she’s dating? Ethan? I don’t trust him. She’s sneaking out, coming home late, and I swear she smells like smoke half the time.”

You bite your lip, because he’s right.

Ellie’s been a hurricane lately, snapping at you over little things, rolling her eyes at Drew’s attempts to joke with her, and clinging to her phone like it’s a lifeline to that boyfriend of hers. Ethan’s a lanky kid with a smirk you don’t like, always hovering too close when he drops her off. You’ve seen the way he talks over her, the way she shrinks a little around him, and it twists something in your chest.

“I’ll talk to her,”

Drew says finally, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“She’s gotta hear it from me this time.”

You nod, even though you’re not sure how it’ll go. Drew’s always been the softer one with Ellie, movie nights, piggyback rides when she was little, teaching her to surf last summer.

But lately, she’s been pushing him away, too, and you know it’s eating at him.

The next night, it comes to a head. You’re folding laundry in the living room when you hear the front door creak open way past curfew. Ellie’s boots scuff against the hardwood, and Drew’s already on his feet, meeting her in the hallway.

“Ellie, where’ve you been?”

His voice is calm but edged with something harder. You peek around the corner, catching sight of her, her hair messy, mascara smudged, that oversized jacket Ethan gave her hanging off her shoulders.

“With friends,” she mutters, not meeting his eyes.

“God, why do you always have to make a big deal out of everything?”

“Because it’s midnight, and you didn’t text us,” Drew says, stepping closer.

“You know the rules. And don’t act like this is nothing, your mom and I have been worried sick.”

She scoffs, tossing her bag onto the floor.

“Maybe if you guys weren’t so controlling, I wouldn’t have to lie about it.”

You feel your stomach drop, but Drew doesn’t flinch.

“Controlling? Ellie Starkey, we’re trying to keep you safe here. That boyfriend of yours… he’s not good for you. You’re different since you started hanging out with him, and not in a good way.”

Her eyes flash, and she steps toward him, voice rising.

“You don’t even know him, Dad! You just hate him because you hate me having a life. You and Mom are so embarrassing, always up in my business like I’m some kid.”

“You are a kid,” Drew snaps, louder than you’ve heard him in a while.

“You’re sixteen, not twenty-five, and you don’t get to talk to us like that. We’re your parents, not your punching bag.”

Ellie freezes, and for a second, you think she might back down. But then she spins on her heel, stomping up the stairs.

“Whatever. I don’t need this.”

The door slams again, and Drew stands there, hands on his hips, staring at the empty hallway. You walk over, resting a hand on his arm.

“She didn’t mean it,” you say quietly. “She’s just… lost right now.”

He sighs, pulling you into a quick hug.

“I hope you’re right.”

A week later, everything shifts. You’re in the kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner when Ellie shuffles in, her backpack still slung over one shoulder. Her face is puffy, eyes red, and she doesn’t say a word just drops into a chair and stares at the table.

You set the knife down, glancing at Drew, who’s just walked in with a script in hand. He stops short, brows furrowing.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer at first, just sniffles and swipes at her nose with her sleeve. You move closer, sitting across from her, but Drew beats you to it, crouching down beside her chair.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, voice gentle now, all that frustration from before gone.

“Talk to me. What happened?”

Her lip trembles, and then it spills out.

“Ethan broke up with me.”

Her voice cracks, and she buries her face in her hands.

“He said I’m too boring, that I don’t ‘get’ him. And he’s already texting some other girl from school.”

You feel a pang of anger toward that little punk, but Drew’s already got it covered. He pulls a chair over, sitting close enough that his knee bumps hers.

“Ellie, listen to me,” he says, steady and sure.

“That guy? He’s an idiot. You’re not boring, Ellie, you’re smart and funny and way too good for someone who’d treat you like that.”

She peeks at him through her fingers, eyes glassy.

“Then why’d he dump me?”

“Because he’s a dumbass who doesn’t know what he’s got,”

Drew says bluntly, and you can’t help but smile a little.

“Guys like that they don’t see what matters. You deserve someone who’s gonna respect you, not tear you down.”

Ellie sniffs again, dropping her hands.

“I thought he liked me. I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” you chime in, reaching for her hand.

“You’re figuring stuff out. That’s what this age is for.”

Drew nods, brushing a strand of hair out of her face like he used to when she was small.

“And hey, I know I’ve been hard on you lately. I’m sorry if it felt like I was coming down too tough. I just… I see you changing, and it scares me. I don’t want you to lose yourself over some guy who doesn’t deserve you.”

She looks at him, really looks at him, and her shoulders slump.

“I’m sorry, too, Dad. For being such a jerk. I didn’t mean to make you guys hate me.”

“We could never hate you,” you say, squeezing her hand.

“Never,” Drew echoes, pulling her into a hug.

She resists for half a second before melting into it, burying her face in his shoulder like she hasn’t in months. You catch his eye over her head, and he gives you a small, tired smile, relief and love all mixed together.

Later, after she’s eaten something and gone to bed, you and Drew sit on the couch, his arm around you.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into him. “She’s got us.”

And in that quiet moment, with the house finally still, you know it’s true.

[skiesuconn]

all the ways i stay

paige bueckers & azzi fudd യ notes: it took me a while to find satisfaction with this, but i’ve finally settled on it. i figured i’d jot something down quickly while i work on chapter 3 of the argent. fic. it’s still in the making, but trust me, it’ll be worth the wait. in the meantime, i hope you enjoy this quick blurb i had in mind. also, i highly recommend playing the song mentioned later on—it really brings the moment to life. happy reading, lovelies.

paige never thought she’d be sitting through a rom-com marathon with azzi, yet here they were, limbs tangled on the couch, a half-empty popcorn bowl wedged between them. the air smelled like butter and whatever candle azzi had burning—something warm, vanilla, a little too cozy for a night where paige had fully intended to roast every movie choice.

but azzi was taking this seriously. too seriously.

the notebook had been playing for all of five minutes, and already, azzi was watching like it was a high-stakes thriller, arms crossed, one perfectly manicured hand occasionally reaching up to twist a curl between her fingers. paige, meanwhile, was sprawled out, one socked foot nudging azzi’s thigh, head tipped back against the armrest like she was suffering.

“this is the dumbest shit i’ve ever seen,” paige muttered, watching ryan gosling pull off some grand romantic gesture. “like, imagine a guy hanging off a ferris wheel, threatening to let go unless you agree to a date. that’s not romance, that’s blackmail.”

“he’s being dramatic. it’s supposed to be sweet,” azzi countered, eyes still locked on the screen.

paige huffed a laugh, shifting so her shoulder knocked against azzi’s. “oh, so if i dangle off a balcony and demand you take me to chipotle, that’s sweet? good to know.”

“you wouldn’t last five seconds. your upper body strength is—” azzi let her gaze flick down to paige’s arms, the definition obvious even under her hoodie. she cleared her throat. “never mind.”

paige smirked. “oh no, finish that thought, princess.”

“no.”

paige, who lived for this kind of thing, propped herself up on one elbow, getting close enough that azzi’s perfume curled around her senses. she smelled expensive, like warm florals and a hint of something soft, maybe honey. she should be paying attention to the movie, but instead, she was studying the way azzi’s lashes brushed her cheek when she blinked, the exact shade of brown in her eyes. totally normal. not a problem at all.

“admit it,” paige drawled. “you just got distracted by the guns.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“i do. i hate you so much.” but azzi’s mouth twitched, and her hand, traitorous thing that it was, had found its way to paige’s wrist, fingers pressing absentmindedly into the skin there.

paige noticed, but didn’t comment. instead, she shifted again, nestling further into azzi’s space like she had every right to be there. “okay, but you have to admit this movie is trash. a seven-year breakup over a letter she never got? and then she gets engaged to some other dude just for funsies?”

“it’s about fate.”

“it’s about bad communication.”

“well, not everyone’s an oversharer like you.”

paige grinned. “first of all, rude. second of all, if you ever fell in love with me and wrote me letters for a year, i’d totally read them.”

“good to know,” azzi said dryly, but her fingers curled slightly around paige’s wrist, like she was holding on without thinking about it.

paige caught it this time. dragged her thumb over the inside of azzi’s wrist, slow, lazy. “you’re holding my hand, princess.”

“no, i’m not.”

paige laced their fingers together, making it undeniable. “yeah, you are.”

azzi let out a long, suffering sigh, but didn’t pull away. instead, she rested her head against paige’s shoulder, like it was easier than fighting whatever this was.

“shut up and watch the movie.”

paige smirked. “yes, ma’am.”

azzi groaned. “don’t call me that.”

“whatever you say, sweetheart.” paige turned her head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to azzi’s temple. it was casual, effortless, like second nature. azzi’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move. didn’t push paige away.

paige still thought the movie was ridiculous, but if it meant getting to sit like this, wrapped up in azzi’s space, maybe rom-coms weren’t so bad after all.

paige stretches out on the couch, head sinking into azzi’s lap like she owns the place. which, technically, she does. well—half of it, at least.

"story: five out of ten," paige announces, dragging a lazy hand through the air. "sure, it's the usual love story. boy meets girl, they fight, they make up, they cry… whatever."

azzi snorts, idly combing her fingers through paige's hair. "so poetic."

paige tilts her head up, grinning. "what can i say? i have a way with words."

"yeah," azzi deadpans. "like a drunk guy at karaoke."

paige gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "wow. that was personal."

azzi hums, twisting a strand of blonde between her fingers before flicking it back into place. "well, i’d give it an eight."

paige jerks up like azzi just said something blasphemous. "eight? for that?"

"it's a classic." azzi shrugs, like that explains everything.

paige squints. "so is canned tuna, but you don't see me crying over it."

"maybe because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon," azzi muses, lips twitching.

"okay, rude." paige flops back down, arms crossed. "also, i think we’re ignoring the real issue here. you, azzi fudd, are a rom-com crybaby."

"i am not."

paige smirks. "oh, really? then explain why you sobbed over that one scene in 10 Things I Hate About You last week?"

"because heath ledger was singing in the bleachers, and that’s a valid reason!"

paige hums, tapping her chin. "mm. i dunno. seems a little wimpy to me."

"i'm emotionally intelligent," azzi corrects, flicking paige’s forehead.

"mm. tomato, tomahto." paige closes her eyes, perfectly at peace, until—

"you know," azzi starts, voice all sweet and innocent, which immediately puts paige on edge, "when we're old, you’ll be the one looking for your eye contacts only to realize you’ve had glasses on this whole time."

paige's eyes snap open. "excuse me?"

"just saying." azzi grins, all dimples and mischief. "you give off that energy."

paige sits up, pretending to be offended. "i do not give off ‘losing my own glasses while they're on my face’ energy."

"you so do," azzi counters, biting back a laugh.

"i'm literally the most capable person you know."

azzi raises an eyebrow. "paige, last week you spent ten minutes looking for your phone while you were on a call."

paige squints. "…that proves nothing."

"and two days ago, you left your car keys in the fridge."

paige huffs. "that was one time."

"mm-hmm." azzi pats her cheek, eyes sparkling. "sure, babe."

paige flops back down, grumbling, but as azzi goes back to running her fingers through her hair, she lets the thought settle.

growing old with azzi.

being with her through all the ridiculous, mundane, beautiful little moments life throws their way.

paige isn't sentimental. not really. but the idea sticks, burrows into her chest in a way she can’t shake.

she smacks azzi’s thigh, lightly. "you're annoying."

azzi just laughs, warm and soft, and yeah—paige thinks—maybe she wouldn't mind losing her glasses if it means azzi’s the one to find them for her.

the room still smells like buttered popcorn and the faintest hint of azzi’s vanilla-scented lotion. the air’s a little stuffy from them being curled up on the couch for hours, so paige cracks a window while azzi smooths out the blankets, fluffing the pillows back into place.

"teamwork makes the dream work," paige announces, dramatically tossing a handful of snack bags into the trash like she’s steph curry sinking a three.

except—

clunk. one of them bounces off the rim and lands just outside the bin.

"except when you miss." azzi deadpans.

paige squints. "i meant to do that."

"mm-hmm." azzi picks up the stray bag, dropping it in as paige gathers up the cups. she takes a final glance around, making sure everything's set for the next movie marathon.

when she's satisfied, she turns to paige, a little smirk playing at her lips. "good job, partner."

paige barely has time to process before azzi leans in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to her lips. it’s barely a second, but it’s enough to make paige's brain short-circuit.

"oh." paige blinks, a slow grin creeping onto her face. "so i get kisses for cleaning? noted."

"don't push it." azzi nudges her toward the kitchen, but there’s no real bite to it.

paige busies herself grabbing the cupcake cups while azzi starts setting out ingredients. she fills a few with nuts—strictly for herself, since azzi's allergic and she’d rather not spend the night in the er. then she loads up the rest with fruit, especially kiwi, because azzi swears it tastes like happiness. she adds pineapple and strawberries too, then tosses in some dark chocolate and a generous amount of gummy bears.

azzi watches, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. "so… you’re just making a personal charcuterie board of sweets?"

paige shrugs. "some of us like variety."

azzi snorts. "some of us just like sugar."

"pot, meet kettle." paige gestures at the chocolate chips azzi’s been sneakily snacking on.

azzi flicks a marshmallow at her, and paige, never one to back down from a challenge, pops it into her mouth midair with a smug look.

"show-off," azzi mutters, but her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh.

they settle into a rhythm, prepping ingredients for the ultimate snack session. paige, of course, insists on making s’mores, because what’s a cozy night without them?

azzi leans against the counter, watching paige work, arms brushing every so often. the night is easy, familiar, filled with little moments like this—bickering over snacks, stolen kisses, the kind of comfortable chaos that only comes with knowing someone like the back of your hand.

and honestly? paige wouldn’t trade it for anything.

azzi pads over to the kitchen, where stewie is curled up in his usual spot, breathing slow and steady. he looks peaceful, like he doesn’t have a single thought in that fluffy little head of his.

she crouches down, rubbing his ears, voice soft. "he’s literally perfect."

"mhmm." paige barely glances up, focused on skewering a marshmallow.

"paige, look at him," azzi insists.

paige, still hunched over the stove, murmurs, "kinda busy making s’moresess right now."

azzi squints. "s’moresess?"

"shhh." paige waves a hand, half-heartedly. "it’s a process."

azzi shakes her head, muttering something about her girlfriend being a lost cause, and moves behind paige, arms slipping around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

paige stiffens slightly but doesn’t stop what she’s doing—at least, not until azzi exhales slow and warm against the shell of her ear.

paige’s brain? fried.

her grip on the skewer slips, and the marshmallow nearly meets a fiery demise.

"azzi." her voice comes out a little strangled.

"what?" azzi hums, feigning innocence as she straightens up, leaving paige standing there like a malfunctioning robot.

"you—" paige exhales sharply through her nose. "you almost made me burn the s’more."

"tragedy," azzi deadpans, already moving toward the kettle.

paige glares, but it’s weak at best. instead, she focuses on plating everything while azzi makes herself a cup of tea and grabs some coconut water.

the dorm is spotless, the only sound the occasional clink of dishes and the low hum of the kettle. the candles caroline gifted azzi flicker gently, their scents—vanilla and lavender—mixing in the air, making the whole space feel warm, intimate.

it’s just them. no distractions.

azzi leans against the counter, stirring her tea, watching paige with something unreadable in her eyes.

paige, finally done, turns to face her, a cocky little grin playing at her lips. "so, did you come over here just to sabotage my s’mores, or…?"

azzi takes a slow sip of her tea, gaze steady. "maybe."

paige squints. "that’s evil."

"you love it."

paige sighs, defeated, but she can’t hide the way her smile softens just a little.

azzi kneels beside stewie, fingers ghosting over his soft fur, careful not to wake him. his little chest rises and falls in the slow rhythm of deep sleep, curled up on his uconn-themed dog bed—matching blanket and all. of course azzi had to go all out. paige swears this dog has more school spirit than half the team.

paige finishes up in the kitchen, setting the last plate down before making her way over, dropping onto the floor beside azzi. but while azzi’s watching stewie, paige is watching her.

azzi looks peaceful, more than she has in weeks. this semester drained the hell out of her—paige saw it firsthand, the late nights, the stress, the way azzi pushed herself through it all. and yet, right now, in this tiny little moment, she’s soft, calm, just existing.

paige leans back on her palms, studying her, a quiet sort of pride settling in her chest. that’s her girl. the girl she had all her firsts with.

and tonight? well, she’s about to have another first with her.

azzi really should stop making paige feel like her heart's a metronome—this can't be normal.

paige’s thoughts swirl for a second as she watches azzi, completely unaware of the storm brewing in paige’s head. “if Azzi asked me to climb a mountain right now, i'd probably do it just to see her smile. how much do I need to pay for her to stop being this cute?”

“this is why I’m not allowed near dogs,” paige thinks, watching stewie snooze. "one pet and suddenly I'm invested in a team of athletes who can't even talk."

azzi shifts, catching paige’s gaze. there’s that smile again—the kind that makes paige feel like the world stops for just a second. “Not that I mind,” she thinks, "but damn, this girl has me wrapped around her finger."

and honestly? paige is okay with it.

they’re talking about nothing and everything all at once, voices low, lazy, like the world outside doesn’t exist. sitting cross-legged on the floor, the snacks long forgotten, azzi’s hand moves in slow circles over stewie’s ear, careful not to wake him.

paige, propped up on one elbow, watches her with that look—soft, amused, completely gone. azzi catches it, and for a second, wonders if she needs to take notes because damn, paige's stare is next level.

azzi meets her gaze, smiles, something quiet passing between them.

paige leans in first, and azzi follows, her free hand slipping to paige’s side, fingers pressing just enough to ground them both. she smiles into the kiss before it deepens, slow and sure, like every time they kiss, it means something more. because it does. because it always does.

when they pull back, paige, still close enough that azzi can feel her breath, grins.

“hey az,” she murmurs, voice teasing. “remember that night a few years back when we slow danced on the porch and i stepped on your feet like… fifteen times?”

"of course i do, paige," azzi says, voice soft but sure. "that memory’s engraved in my brain."

she remembers everything—the exact date, the thick warmth of summer, the way the night unfolded like a scene straight out of one of her movies. “And honestly? The embarrassing foot stomping was just part of the charm,” she thinks. the way it led them here, to something that feels eerily similar to what’s about to unravel.

paige raises a brow. "woah, was i really that bad?"

azzi grins, playing with paige’s fingers absentmindedly. "kind of."

paige groans, leaning her head back dramatically. "well, i was nervous, okay? i was dancing with the girl of my dreams."

azzi snorts. "oh yeah?"

"yeah," paige says, eyes locked on hers now. "you were wearing your mom’s pearls that day. that dress i thought was pretty on you, though—let’s be real—all of them were. swear, you could wear a trash bag and i’d still go crazy." she shrugs, lips twitching. "doesn’t even matter what you wear. you are your outfit. if that makes sense."

azzi flushes, her smile growing. she tugs paige closer by her hoodie, pressing their lips together. paige grins into it, hands finding azzi’s waist as the kiss deepens.

when they break apart, azzi hums, eyes playful. "i think the romance movies really got to you, huh?"

paige scoffs. "hey, i’m not the one who wants to watch them."

"that’s true."

"but i wasn’t finished with my little speech, actually," paige adds, tilting her head.

azzi rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. "oh? go on, then."

paige squeezes her fingers, something shifting in her expression—something softer, something certain. "wanna dance?"

azzi’s face lights up instantly. "right here? right now?"

paige nods. "right here. right now."

“Oh god, we’re doing this,” azzi thinks, trying not to grin like an absolute fool.

without hesitation, azzi takes her hand. paige, playing the gentleman, offers it with a dramatic flair, one hand behind her back like she’s in some old-timey movie. “Oh yeah, I’m totally swooning now,” azzi thinks, trying to keep her cool. azzi laughs, but she takes it.

they step into the open space in the kitchen, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge. the soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, filling the room with something unspoken. something warm. something that feels like them.

as they settle in, azzi tilts her head. "are we doing a silent slow dance, paige?"

paige blinks. "my bad." she pulls out her phone, scrolling for a second before pressing play. the soft, melancholic notes of my love mine all mine by mitski fill the air.

azzi raises a brow. "since when do you know this song?"

paige smirks. "since sarah put me on."

azzi laughs, shaking her head. as the first seconds of the song settle over them, paige—who’s just a little taller—takes azzi’s hands. azzi sighs, already knowing how this is going to go. "please don’t step on my feet."

paige grins. "can’t promise that."

azzi smiles, and they fall into place like they always do. her head finds paige’s shoulder, her hands finding her waist, and paige isn't forcing a thing. they just fit. like they were made to be here, in this moment, like this.

the song is calm, and so are they, just swaying together. the stillness, the trust, the years of knowing each other—it all settles between them like a quiet understanding. azzi closes her eyes, memorizing every movement, the way their breaths sync, the way their heartbeats seem to fall into rhythm.

paige looks down at her, eyes soft, full of something deeper than words. she presses a gentle kiss to azzi’s head and whispers, "i love you more than you’ll ever know."

azzi lifts her gaze, the candlelight flickering in her eyes. "i love you more than i ever thought i could love anybody."

paige swallows. their bodies are so close, and as the second verse starts, azzi wraps her arms around paige’s neck, resting her chin on her shoulder. her curls brush against paige’s face, tickling her cheek.

"you can put your feet on mine," paige murmurs. "i’ll lift you with ease."

azzi snorts. "you’re ridiculous."

"and yet, here you are, playing into it," paige teases.

but azzi does it, stepping onto paige’s feet, letting her take the lead. it’s ridiculous, yeah, but it’s them.

paige smiles, eyes slipping shut, and this time, azzi’s the one watching her. with nothing but love.

she presses a soft kiss to paige’s cheek, and paige’s lips curl into that cocky smile—the one that always makes azzi feel something she can't quite name.

the way paige’s whole face lights up just from being near her… that’s the kind of love scientists should be writing articles about.

as the song fades out, azzi’s fingers trace lazy circles on paige’s back. they haven’t moved, still molded into each other, warm from the dance, from the love they just shared. they were always meant for this moment.

"can we just stay like this forever?" azzi murmurs.

paige chuckles, looking down at her, at the soft smile on azzi’s face. "and who’s gonna break ankles if we do?"

"kamorea can handle that," azzi says, completely serious.

paige laughs, shaking her head. as azzi pulls her hands back, she really looks at paige. paige is holding her hands now, thumb brushing over her skin, absentmindedly tracing small circles—no, actually tracing azzi’s name on the back of her hand.

azzi bites her lip. "gotta say, you improved. you didn’t step on my foot once."

paige nods, all cocky. what azzi doesn’t know is that paige spent her free time watching dance tutorials. even asked tim—azzi’s father—for tips.

"thank you," paige smirks. "i’m a natural."

azzi scoffs. "sure."

"should we go back to the movies?" azzi asks.

paige stretches. "yeah, just gimme a sec. gotta use the bathroom."

"okay." azzi leans in, pressing a quick kiss to paige’s cheek before heading back to the room.

but paige doesn’t go to the bathroom. instead, she crouches by stewie’s bed, quietly filling his bowl with water, making sure he’s set for the night. she grabs a few dog treats and places them beside him, scratching behind his ear as she whispers—(keep in mind, it’s a dog):

"i’m gonna marry that pretty girl someday. i know you’re her #1, but i’m never gonna stop loving her."

stewie snores in response. paige grins, giving him one last pat before heading back.

when she walks in, azzi’s already curled up, waiting for her with a look of love and safety. paige jumps into bed, and azzi immediately rests her head on paige’s chest.

"let’s do frozen again," azzi mumbles.

paige laughs, pressing a kiss to azzi’s head. "i’m covering your eyes when olaf loses his head."

azzi gasps and smacks paige’s leg. "rude."

as the movie starts playing, the soft glow of the screen flickering against their faces, azzi reaches for a s’more, breaking off a piece for paige. she turns to her, eyes warm, lips curled into a soft smile.

“open,” she says, holding it up.

paige laughs, tilting her head back slightly, and obliges. azzi stuffs the piece in her mouth, giggling as paige tries to chew through the marshmallow, cracker, and chocolate all at once.

“i love you,” azzi murmurs, almost absentmindedly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. because it is.

paige, still chewing, looks at her with the kind of softness that makes azzi’s heart ache in the best way. she swallows, then leans in, brushing her nose against azzi’s.

“i’m right here,” paige whispers, voice thick with certainty, “not going anywhere. always gonna take care of you.”

azzi blinks, the words settling deep in her chest, something warm and overwhelming blooming inside her. she presses closer, burying herself into paige’s arms, where everything feels right.

paige holds her like she’s never letting go.

[lexiputellas]

"Negative," from the Broken Vows series.

You stare at the test.

Negative.

The word feels like a slap, even though it’s the third time you’ve seen it. The third time you’ve felt the slow unraveling of hope inside you, piece by piece, like something delicate being torn apart with careful hands.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub, the test still in your grasp, as if holding onto it will change something. Your fingers tighten around the plastic until your knuckles turn white. The silence in the bathroom is suffocating, thick with the weight of another failed attempt.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You and Alexia had talked about it late at night, wrapped up in blankets, your voices quiet with sleep. The conversation had started with Nora, with her birthday, with how fast she was growing.

"Would you have more?" she had asked suddenly.

"More what?" you said, kind of oblivious.

"A baby."

You had blinked at her, surprised. "I don’t know. Do you want one?"

"Seeing Nora grow… it makes me miss when she was a baby. It gave me baby fever."

"Oh, and you’re the one carrying this time?"

She had laughed. "I wouldn’t be as successful as you were with Nora. Five hours and a normal birth? You’re a pro."

You had smiled, entertained by the thought. "We could try for one."

And just like that, it began.

Endless appointments. The careful planning. The nervous excitement. It was her embryo in you, a perfect mix of both of you. You would have a mini Alexia again. The thought had made you dizzy with happiness, more than you ever expected.

Until it started to go wrong.

You tried once. Negative.

A second time. Negative.

The third? Today.

Apparently, no baby for you.

You really thought this was supposed to be it. You didn’t even know you wanted another one until you couldn’t have it. The pregnancy test looks at you like it has betrayed you, and that’s when you start to sink.

The grief is quiet at first. It starts in your chest, a dull ache, then spreads through your ribs, your throat, your stomach. You feel empty—physically, emotionally.

Alexia’s voice pulls you out of it.

"Amor?"

She’s standing at the door, already dressed for the day, her hair still damp from the shower. Her eyes land on the test in your hands, and for a second, she doesn’t say anything. Just watches you.

And that’s worse.

Because if she were oblivious, if she made a joke, if she brushed past it, maybe you could swallow this down. Maybe you could get up, throw the test away, and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.

But she’s looking at you like she knows.

Like she feels it too.

Alexia kneels in front of you, her hands gentle as they reach for yours, prying the test from your fingers and setting it aside. She cups your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks, and only then do you realize you’re crying.

"I’m sorry," you whisper.

Alexia frowns. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I thought this time—" Your voice breaks, and the words die in your throat.

She doesn’t let you finish.

Instead, she pulls you against her, wrapping her arms around you, holding you like she’s trying to keep you from shattering completely.

"It’s not your fault," she murmurs into your hair. "It’s not your fault."

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face into her shoulder. She’s warm. Solid. Safe. And for a moment, you let yourself fall apart in her arms.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

At some point, Alexia moves, tilting your chin up so she can look at you. "We’ll keep trying."

You shake your head. "I don’t know if I can do this again."

She exhales softly, nodding. "Okay. Then we won’t. Not until you’re ready. Or maybe not at all."

You don’t know if you’ll ever be ready.

Alexia your kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your tear-stained lips. She doesn’t rush you, doesn’t tell you to move on, doesn’t try to fix it with empty words.

She just holds you.

Eventually, she shifts, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before standing. She reaches for your hands, tugging you up with her. Your legs feel unsteady, but she doesn’t let you go.

"Come on," she says softly. "Let’s go to bed."

You hesitate, glancing toward the bathroom sink, toward the test that still feels like it’s staring at you. Alexia follows your gaze before gently nudging your chin so you’re looking at her again.

"Leave it," she says. "Come with me."

You let her lead you back to bed, let her pull the covers up around you, let her wrap herself around you like a shield against the world. She doesn’t ask if you’re okay. She doesn’t try to make you talk. She just stays.

And as you lie there, curled into the warmth of her body, feeling her fingers tracing slow patterns against your skin, you realize something—

You don’t know what’s going to happen next. You don’t know if you’ll try again, or if you’ll ever be ready.

But Alexia is here. She’s always here. Or so you thought.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto’s Guard Dog – Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Word count: 420

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: Y/n continues her ruthless campaign against The Hobbit, but when a reporter questions her devotion to Toto.

________________________________________________________

Y/n was losing her goddamn mind.

It had been two days since Toto texted her Good girl, and she had not known peace since.

Every time her phone buzzed, she jumped. Every time she heard his voice in the garage, her stomach did a little flip. Every time he looked at her, her brain short-circuited like a teenage girl in a Wattpad fanfic.

And the worst part?

He knew.

Oh, that smug Austrian knew.

Because now, Toto was having fun with it.

The subtle touches? The lingering glances? The slightly-too-low murmurs of “Come, schatzi” when he wanted her to follow him somewhere?

He was playing a game.

And Y/n was losing.

Her downward spiral came to a head during the next race weekend.

It started off normally—meaning she made fun of Christian Horner at least three times before noon.

First, she tweeted:

“Watching The Hobbit talk about cost caps is so funny. Like sir, weren’t you just on trial?”

Then, when he walked by in the paddock, she turned to Carmen Mundt and said, loudly, “Is it just me, or does Christian Horner have the energy of a man who peaked in high school?”

And finally, during a press conference, when a reporter asked Horner about his thoughts on Toto, Y/n let out a very obvious fake yawn from the Mercedes side of the room.

It was perfect.

But then came the interview.

She had just finished hyping up Lewis when the Sky Sports reporter smirked at her. “So, Y/n, you’ve become quite the defender of Toto Wolff this season. A real… guard dog, if you will.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Someone has to keep The Hobbit in check.”

The reporter laughed. “And Toto? What does he think about it?”

Y/n opened her mouth—then shut it.

Because suddenly, she felt it.

A presence.

His presence.

She turned her head just in time to see Toto standing a few feet away, watching her with that infuriating smirk, arms crossed, looking like a man who thoroughly enjoyed being talked about.

“Oh, he loves it,” she said before she could stop herself.

The reporter raised an eyebrow. “Loves it?”

Y/n locked eyes with Toto.

His smirk deepened.

And before she could chicken out, she smiled.

“Of course,” she said, tilting her head. “He’s obsessed with me.”

Toto huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he walked off.

And Y/n?

Y/n realized—

She might not just be Toto’s guard dog.

She might be his favorite one, too.

[itsaintmebabe]

off the ice

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ chapter one !

summary: after ignoring y/n one too many times, vi finds herself desperate for the attention she never realized she wanted.

pairing: hockey player! vi x sports med trainer!fem! reader

notes: finally watched arcane and now i NEED vi so im making a series about her XD

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ chapter two / series masterlist

The music was loud, the bass vibrating through the floor as Y/N weaved through the crowded house, a red solo cup in hand. She wasn’t much of a party girl, but Mel had convinced her to come, promising it would be fun. Walking beside Mel and Jayce, she adjusted the hem of her black mini skirt, feeling slightly overdressed despite Mel’s insistence that she looked hot. Knee-high boots clicked against the wooden floor, and the tight black top she wore clung perfectly to her frame. She had confidence, until Vi walked in.

Vi was a presence. She didn’t just enter a room, she took up space in it, demanded attention without even trying. Y/N had always noticed her before, but tonight, Vi looked particularly good, her usual confident smirk in place as she laughed with a few of her hockey teammates.

Y/N had always thought Vi was hot, but she never did anything about it. Vi never really talked to her beyond what was necessary for sports medicine, and Y/N wasn’t about to throw herself at someone who barely acknowledged her. But that didn’t stop her from crushing. That didn’t stop her from getting butterflies when Vi took her helmet off pushing back her sweaty hair out of her face during practice or from stealing glances at her in the locker room while taping up a teammate. Mel had been the one to really notice.

“You stare at her like she’s the answer to all your problems,” Mel had teased while they were getting ready for the party.

Y/N had groaned, shoving her shoulder. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Mel grinned. “Maybe tonight something will finally happen.”

But whatever hope Y/N had was dashed in an instant.

Jayce, who had walked ahead, clapped a hand on Vi’s shoulder as he passed, causing Vi to turn sharply and in the process, her drink sloshed forward, spilling directly onto Y/N’s top.

Cold. Sticky. Immediate discomfort.

“Oh shit, I’m-” Y/N started, looking up at Vi, expecting an apology, some form of acknowledgment. Instead, Vi barely spared her a glance. Her gaze slid right past Y/N as if she wasn’t even there.

“Hey, Mel,” Vi greeted casually, as if she hadn’t just drenched Y/N in beer.

Mel’s eyes widened in disbelief, her grip tightening around her drink. “Are you serious?”

Vi, already engrossed in conversation with Jayce, didn’t even react.

Mel turned to Y/N, her mouth slightly agape. “Wow. Okay, asshole.”

Y/N forced a laugh, grabbing napkins from the counter. “Yeah. Whatever.”

But it wasn’t whatever.

Because Vi had acknowledged Mel. She had greeted her like normal. And yet, she didn’t even glance at Y/N. Despite the fact that Y/N had been working with the hockey team for months. It was like she was invisible. That cold dismissal stung more than Y/N cared to admit.

Later, in the upstairs bathroom of the frat house, Y/N furiously dabbed at the stain on her top while Mel leaned against the sink, watching her with an unimpressed expression.

“She didn’t even look at you,” Mel pointed out.

Y/N huffed, tossing the now-useless napkin in the trash. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“I thought maybe something would happen tonight,” Mel mused, crossing her arms. “You look so hot!”

Y/N scoffed, finally meeting Mel’s gaze in the mirror. “Guess that doesn’t matter.”

Mel studied her for a moment. “Or she’s just an asshole.”

Y/N let out a humorless laugh. “Well, whatever it is, I’m done looking stupid having a crush on someone who obviously wants nothing to do with me.”

The next morning, Vi strolled into the sports med room like she owned the place, her heavy boots announcing her arrival before she even spoke. Y/N, who had been organizing supplies, knew it was her before she even saw her.

“Yo, need a hand,” Vi announced casually, holding up her loosely wrapped fingers.

Y/N didn’t look up.

Vi frowned. “Hello?”

Silence.

Vi scoffed, stepping closer. “Uh, did you not hear me?”

Y/N finally lifted her head, locking eyes with Vi. Her gaze wasn’t warm or friendly like how Y/N usually was when Vi would come around. Instead, it was indifferent, unimpressed. Then, without a word, she turned towards the door and called out, “Mel! Can you take this one?”

Vi’s eyebrows shot up. “The hell? You’re literally right here.”

Mel, stepping into the room, took one look at the situation and snorted. “Oh, this is rich.” She crossed her arms, glancing between Vi and Y/N. “Yeah, I got it. Have fun last night Vi, got nothing to apologize for?”

Vi scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She just turned back to her work, methodically organizing the supplies as if Vi wasn’t even in the room.

Mel sighed and started wrapping Vi’s hands. “Maybe you should probably try giving a damn next time you ruin someone’s night.”

Vi opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, completely thrown. She’d known Mel for a while since she and Jayce started dating and had never had an issue with her but now, now Mel had a new hostility in her tone that definitely had something to do with Y/N. She was used to people fawning over her, not straight-up ignoring her. And yet, you didn’t just ignore her, you dismissed her.

For the first time in a long time, Vi felt completely off her game.

As Mel continued wrapping, another girl from the hockey team walked in, holding her wrist. “Hey, Y/N,” Claire greeted, smiling. “Think I twisted this last night. Can you check?”

Y/N turned, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant. “Of course,” she said, immediately moving to help. Her voice was warm, her smile soft. The stark contrast to how she had just been with Vi was enough to make the pink haired girl’s jaw tighten.

Vi didn’t even realize she was staring until Mel finished tying off the wrap and smirked at her. “You’re good to go, by the way.”

Vi barely reacted. Her hands were fine. But her focus was entirely on Y/N, on the way she smiled at Claire like she hadn’t just looked at Vi like she was nothing minutes earlier.

And for some reason, Vi couldn’t look away.

[thef1diary]

I GOT A GHOST!MAX GENIUS IDEA (imo at least)

Not sure we can classify this as fluff but at least it’s not smut…

sooooo since max always keeps an eye on reader, what if they somehow start to be more domestic around each other ? Tbh I was thinking about reader being clumsy and loosing keys/hairties/anything and ghost!max is just here popping in the radio telling her where she misplaced her stuff

Im in a cute mood

-🐱

— this is so cuteeee 🥹 I love me some ghost!max fluff

The spirit box crackled to life as you huffed in frustration, flipping over your couch cushions in a desperate search. 

“Under the sink.”

You froze, hand hovering midair. “What?”

“Your keys,” Max’s voice rasped through the static, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Under the sink.” 

You frowned, skepticism warring with the knowledge that he was somehow never wrong about this kind of thing. So, you made your way to the kitchen, crouched down in front of the sink, and swung open the cabinet door. 

Sure enough, your keys sat there beside the dish soap bottles, looking as out of place as you felt. 

You groaned, snatching them up. “How the hell did they even get here?” 

“You put them down when you grabbed a new roll of paper towel to clean up the RedBull you spilled as soon as you came home yesterday. Forgot, as usual.” 

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You know, most ghosts are scary. Why aren’t you like most ghosts?” 

“Are you saying that I’m not the first ghost you met?” The response was quick, his voice spreading throughout the room. 

You scoffed, shoving your keys into your pocket. “If I had met another ghost before you, I would’ve made better life choices.” 

“Doubtful,” Max shot back. “You lost your keys under the sink, schat. I’m pretty sure decision-making isn’t your strong suit.” 

“Oh, screw you!” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You rolled your eyes, yanking open the fridge to grab a bottle of orange juice. “You are awfully invested in my lost belongings. Makes me wonder if you’re the one misplacing them.”

A crackle of static. “Now, that would be entertaining.”

You frowned, glancing over your shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it,” Max continued, his voice buzzing over the spirit box like he was enjoying this far too much. “You stumbling around, cursing under your breath, flipping over everything in this place while I sit back and watch? That’s some quality entertainment.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You are messing with me.”

“Unfortunately not. You’re doing a fantastic job losing things all on your own.”

You grumbled something under your breath, setting the juice bottle down on the counter with more force than necessary. “Again, most ghosts haunt people. Make their lives miserable. You just float around and laugh at me.” 

“I’d haunt you properly if you weren’t so fun to watch.”

You groaned. “How generous of you.”

He chuckled, the radio crackling in amusement. You made a show of twisting the cap off the orange juice, pouring it into a glass, still glaring at nothing in particular. The kitchen was warm from the afternoon sun, light spilling in through the windows, and despite your annoyance, the whole thing felt… domestic. Normal.

Just you and Max. Even though it looked like you were talking to air, his presence was comforting. 

Your fingers grazed your pocket, checking for your keys out of pure habit. But the second you felt nothing, your stomach dropped.

“…Shit.”

Max didn’t even hesitate. “They’re on the counter.”

Your head snapped up. Your keys sat right there next to the fruit bowl, mocking you.

“Are you kidding me?” You stomped over, grabbing them with an annoyed huff. “I just put them in my pocket.”

“You did.”

“Then how—?”

“You took them out and fiddled with it,” Max answered smoothly. “Then you tossed it on the countertop before opening the fridge.” 

You opened your mouth, then snapped it shut, realizing he was right.

Again.

If you could’ve seen him, you were sure he was smirking. 

“You are insufferable.”

“And you are very lucky I’m here, or else you’d lose everything.”

You grumbled something under your breath, shoving the keys deep into your pocket this time. “I don’t need a ghost acting like my personal assistant.”

“Well, you’ve got one anyway.”

You groaned, pressing a hand over your face. “I swear, Max—”

“Oh, by the way.” His voice hummed through the static, playful, smug. “Before you go crazy looking for it later, you left your hair tie in the fridge after you came home from your run this morning.” 

You began shaking your head. “There’s no way…” you murmured as you opened the fridge door again. 

Unfortunately for you, he was correct. The hair tie was abandoned next to the carton of eggs. You stared at it. Then the fridge. Then back at the hair tie. 

Slowly, you turned around, not facing anything in particular. Your lips pressed together into a thin line again as you resisted the urge to throw said hair tie, wanting to hit Max but didn’t want to lose it again. “You love this, don’t you?” 

The static buzzed. His laugh curled around the edges of the sound, smug and teasing.

“More than you know.”

want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your thoughts—filthy or not—and I’d love to write you a little drabble <3

[sangunary]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🫀ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Bacterium!!

Invincible × Bacteria Reader!

Sypnosis: When the big hero fell inlove with the idiot with major problem!

IMP: Reader have all black eyes and have a slight disability (Extra finger on the right) She's a biotic entity not human!

Warning: Gore, Our boy is pathetically inlove, slight obsession, cheating, nonconsensual kissing, mentioned of sex, no smut.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

Mark Grayson have no clue on what you were or what you are capable of.

One thing that stand out about you is how detached you are from human custom and how chaotic you were and most importantly how loveable you were.

His first encounter with you happens when he angrily flew to Cecil location only to saw you naked and how you instantly captured his attention, he was flustered as he tried his best to not let his eyes wonder.

His anger disappeared as fast as it appeared. His eyes locked with yours as he felt shiver down his spine, your eyes lack any emotion or any light it was dark as a void, he felt as if he was falling through that void.

Cecil was fuming when he saw his face shoved him out the room causing him to disrupt the eye contact. After that he realised you were a biotic entity created by the government and was given over to Cecil care so he can shape you into a hero.

Mark step up to be your tutor afterall you have no idea of human decency, no manners, can't speak English and have to be taught like a kid. You were unpredictable, violent and peaceful at times.

You were a ticking time bomb but Mark felt like he had to help you. You two were somewhat alike. Just Mark was half alien and You were very rooted to Earth, perfect Match if you ask God!

But your first day at his house was the worst.

You poke at your food and stare at him like he insulted your whole family.

"No" a single word and everyone else eyes is on you as you push the food off the table. The sound of the plate breaking was very loud.

"I told you, you can't just throw things when it's not to your liking" Mark stood up as he again pick up after your mess.

His mom's glare was very evident but he didn't pay any attention either. He's not in the mood to go against his mother for your sake.

"What would you like?" Debbie trying her best asked you.

Your lip pursed as another single syllable exist from your mouth.

" Raw... "

Your voice was loud and clear and the silent that follows was extremely loud.

Turns out you could only eat fresh food extremely fresh. Anything cooked was considered too dirty according to you.

Mark being the mature one ended up always using his super speed so the food is extremely fresh for your liking.

You eat very messy as well, you completely ignore the fork and knife presented for you and decided to dive in with your hands. fresh blood drooling down your chin and onto your lap or hair as you chow down on the raw meat. At first he avoids looking at you but... The way you eat was captivating in a way.

The way your lip twitch as you swallow your food, even tho it was oddly disgusting you look extremely good with crimson red... The sounds you made after swallowing the meat was very luring for him.

Another problem is you like extreme temparature and that means you like to snuggle and you have no problem crossing boundaries.

Sometimes he found himself suffocating during his sleep only for him to see you laying ontop of him with atleast three thick blanket. Sleeping like a cat acting like you own him.

It was very normal for him to find you on his bathtub naked surrounded by ice cube the window wide open and the electric fan right at your face.

Inorder to not cause any comission he decided to nail shut his bathroom window because he felt uneasy knowing that anyone get to see you naked.

Another major problem is that... he have this feeling whenever he wake up next to you his heart just jump sending small electric feeling throughout his whole body. That sacred feeling only happens when he thought or see or even better touch you.

He tried to avoid it trying to use his girlfriend as an excuse but he knew he was being a bad boyfriend. To feel better he tried to introduce you to Amber as a friend.

When you did finally get to meet his girlfriend it wasn't as he planned it out.

"Hello im Amber" his girlfriend introduced herself not offering any handshake he could tell that his girlfriend will despite you.

Amber glared at you her lip turn into a small frown. He already explained to her that you weren't normal meaning you needed to be excused more than normal.

Maybe she doesn't like how Mark eye's beam a little when he told her about you? Afterall he was very terrible at hiding how much he adore you.

"Y/n" You told her your name and forcefully take her hand to shake it.

After a minute of holding her hand you let it go, like you were throwing away unwanted paper.

"... Disgusting" you spit out.

Mark soul left his body as he spit out his drink.

If he make the wrong move he might lost a girlfriend.

"Wait wait- She doesn't meant it like that... She can see bacteria mayb-" Mark stop himself, he was making the situation worser.

After that he make sure you never see Amber again. Although Mark ended up being in a rocky situation with Amber because of you.

Since you're a fusion of bacteria you don't work like a normal human. Mark understand which is why he tried his best by buying biology book and watching national geography with you for some reason.

"What do...?" you spoke out as you pointed at the tv.

Mark didn't know how to explain to you that the animals were mating.

"They're making babies..." The moment the word left his mouth he was overfilled with shame, he could word that better.

"Babies?" You ask confused, you tilted your head slightly and stare at him asking him to explain.

"So, when animal or people mate they have a chance of having babies... Do you remember the time you call that animal squishy... that was a human baby" Mark tried his best to explain adding abit of gesture.

"Oh... Squishy baby" You nod as your attention went straight to the tv again.

"...Can I have squishy?" You ask curious.

Mark stay silent, this felt like playing hangman for him. "Sure..."

"Me you squishy?" you ask again.

Mark groan as he mentally slap himself. He didn't understand why he felt a rush of excitement but he felt extremely guilty.

"Sure... Can you even have a baby?"

That was a question he wish he did not asked he doesn't care eitherway.

He likes it when you fondly trace his scare, it felt intimate and he cherished that moment.

The loopy smile you gave him after you accidentally kill another bad guy was very tempting for him.

"I did no mean" you blur out, your hand's holding together infront as you gave him that loopy smile.

He look behind you. As he sigh.

Blood all over the white car. You can't control your power and the worst part is that you can control mind's.

As you can't control your power you sometimes think that people or Mark only keep you close because you're controlling them , which was not true.

When you can't control your power while controlling a mind their brain explode. It wasn't a painless dead, the explosion was very slow and painful.

"It's alright..." He always forgave you, he will always forgive you. It doesn't matter what you did.

Deep down he knew even if you ended up killing his mom he will forgive you one day because... It's the right thing to do.

Mark was obviously falling inlove with you while having a girlfriend, even Debbie could tell.

He went extra miles just so he could sit right next to you during movies, dinner, lunch, anything. He told himself it was to protect you or protect people from your wrath it was obvious that was never the case.

If you're there Mark is there hell Rex even make a whole joke about how Mark is like your translator, shadow, teacher, protect and even a boyfriend .

Amber and him had numerous fight because of such jokes. She said you were a problem which made Mark extremely mad, you weren't a problem or a nausea or a burden you were pure and just like an angel if you take out all your personality.

You like the same comics as him, watch national geography together while holding hand's!

He told you he just wanted to see how your extra finger was and holding it with his pinky was a way to comfort you. Which was totally not an excuse to hold hands.

Mark swear to everyone in the universe that you were just too tempting. It was as if the universe decided to create you as his soulmate.

He doesn't see how he's the one training your brain to like the same thing as him, he doesn't see how he's forcing you to like him cherish him and love him as much as he love you.

He doesn't understand how kissing you during new year while he have a girlfriend was wrong. It was simply fate to him.

Afterall the world wouldn't have made you if you weren't for him only.

[saatorus]

she won't go away— a sukuna fic

art creds to to_0fu (twitter/x)

pairing — college sukuna! x reader

synopsis — of all the people in your chemistry course, you get stuck with ryomen sukuna—the most insufferable, arrogant asshole on campus. he barely does any work, runs his mouth like it’s a sport, and somehow manages to make your life even more exhausting than it already is. if this project doesn’t kill you, he just might.

teaser wc — 1.8k (long for a teaser but i'm desensitised to any word count below like 100k words)

actual wc — 20-25k (gonna try and force myself to stick to this and not go into the 30s..)

tag list status — open!

warnings — explicit sexual content!!! sukuna being an absolute vile dick and saying questionable shit (i need him to be at least a lil canon compliant), mentions of reader and sukuna telling each other to go die, reader not being meek and letting him walk all over her, mentions of feeling insecure, multiple crash outs, angst?? will add more as i go along!

“That ‘little homework’ is forty five percent of our grade,” you bite out.

“Don’t give a fuck,” he grunts, sounding bored.

You inhale deeply. “So, I was thinking—”

But he groans, dragging a tattooed hand down his face. “Are we seriously doing this now?”

“Yes, we’re seriously doing this now,” you snap.

He exhales sharply through his nose, glaring. “God, you’re fucking annoying.”

You’re not sure whether you should be offended or hurt. On one hand, obviously as a normal human being, being spoken to like this from a person you’re quite literally talking to for the first time is bound to hurt your feelings. On the other hand, this guy’s dickhead personality is kind of well known through your university. Your grip on your pen tightens, but you keep your voice even.

 “I’m annoying because I want to pass?”

”You’re annoying because you talk way too fuckin’ much.”

 That stings more than you’d like to admit.

You grit your teeth, ignoring the way your stomach tightens, and push forward anyway. “If we divide the research today, we won’t have to meet up as often,” you say, firmly. “I assume you’ll want to do as little work as possible, so let’s just—”

“Holy shit.” Sukuna pushes his chair back with a loud scrape, fixing you with an exasperated look. “Do you ever shut up?”

You blink, stunned.

Toji snickers.

“Oh, come on,” Sukuna scoffs, throwing up a hand. “You’re gonna sit there all wide-eyed like I just kicked your fuckin’ puppy? You started it.”

Your fingers twitch against the table.

“Started what?” you ask, voice dangerously calm.

“This whole thing—acting like I’m some bum ass delinquent who needs a babysitter.” His eyes narrow. “If you wanna play boss, go find some other loser to be a bitch to.”

Your patience snaps. “Or you could just not be a lazy asshole. Do you lack brain cells? You’ve seriously told me to shut up like 5 times in the span of about ten minutes. Do you have a problem where you can’t focus?”

The air between you shifts.

Sukuna’s jaw tics. His expression darkens, something sharp flashing through his eyes, but then his lips pull into something crueler than a smirk—something with edges, something dangerous.

“You think I’m lazy? Got somethin’ wrong with me because I can’t take your nerdy bitching?” he asks, voice low.

You hesitate, but only for a second. “Glad you have the ability to comprehend what I said.”

That makes him grin. “And you think I’m an asshole?”

“Yes.”

He hums, tilting his head. Then he leans forward, just slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice drops into something smug, mocking—

“Then why the fuck are you still talking to me?”

Your blood boils.

What the fuck is his problem?

You lean forward too, matching him, refusing to shrink under his gaze. “Because I have to, dumbass,” you snap. “I tried to change my group. I begged. I offered to do extra credit. I would have written a whole goddamn thesis if it meant not sitting across from you—but guess what?” You gesture sharply between you. “I’m stuck with you.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Tragic.”

You let out a frustrated breath, gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turn white. “So, as much as I’d love to pretend you don’t exist—”

“Then do it,” he interrupts, tone dry.

You blink. “What?”

“If you wanna pretend I don’t exist, go ahead,” he drawls, leaning back lazily. “Do the whole project yourself. You’ll probably enjoy it, since you’re clearly getting off on playing group leader.”

“Oh, my god.” You clench your fists, barely restraining yourself. “Why are you such a dickhead? Parents not teach you basic respect?”

“Because you don’t shut the fuck up,” he snaps, finally looking genuinely irritated.

Your lips part, incredulous. “I’m literally just trying to do the fucking project? Like any normal human being?”

“No, you’re trying to control shit,” Sukuna says flatly. “Like this is some big deal—like I haven’t passed a million of these useless classes already.”

You stare at him. “You think this is useless?”

He smirks. “Yeah.”

Oh, you hate him.

“Some of us actually give a shit about our grades, Sukuna.”

“You know my name? Cute.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to stay calm, trying not to launch your textbook at his stupid, perfect face. “I don’t care how many classes you’ve passed,” you say, voice taut. “You’re doing this one with me. I care about this project. And if I have to suffer through working with you, you can at least pretend to give a shit.”

He tilts his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Mm. No.”

You exhale slowly, trying—failing—to stop your hands from curling into fists.

“I swear to god—”

“What, huh?” he cuts in, voice dripping with condescension. “You gonna whine to the professor again?” He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Pathetic.”

Your jaw tightens.

He grins, like he’s won something. Like he’s getting exactly what he wants—like this is a game to him, something to toy with, something to waste his time on.

And you refuse to let him win.

So, you straighten your spine, lift your chin, and meet his gaze without flinching.

“Fine,” you say, voice steely. “If you want to half-ass this, be my guest. Just don’t expect me to pick up your slack.”

Sukuna watches you, amused, as if he’s waiting for you to crack.

When you don’t, he smirks.

“We’ll see.”

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to keep your voice level.

“Well, unfortunately for you,” you say stiffly, “you actually have to do your share.”

Sukuna snorts. “Says who?”

“The professor.” You cross your arms. “Since apparently, students have been slacking on group projects, we have to submit proof of collaboration—meeting logs, progress updates, actual proof that we’re working together.”

His expression darkens.

You fight the urge to smirk. Suffer.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters.

“Nope.” You press your lips together, trying to hold back your pure satisfaction. “So, congratulations, Sukuna. You have to meet up with me at least once a week.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, glaring at you like you’re personally ruining his life. “You’re telling me I have to sit through this shit every week?”

“Yep.”

“You specifically?”

“Yep.”

Sukuna groans, dragging a hand through the unruly pink strands of his hair. Then, just as you’re about to remind him that this is literally his problem for being a shit student, he lifts his head—eyes raking over you in a slow, lazy once-over.

And then, he smirks.

You freeze.

“What?” you snap, immediately on edge.

His smirk widens.

“Nah, I was just thinking,” he drawls, tipping his head back against his chair. “If you were hotter, this would be way less painful.”

Your stomach drops.

The words hit you like a slap, and for a second, all you can do is sit there, stunned, completely caught off guard by how casual—how easy—it is for him to say something like that.

Like it’s just true.

Like it’s a fact.

Your fingers dig into your sleeve.

And the worst part? It’s not even the insult itself that stings—it’s the sheer, blatant dismissal. The fact that he looks at you and immediately decides you’re not worth even pretending to be interested in. As if you were hoping for his attention. As if you were seeking his approval.

You clench your jaw.

“Yeah?” you say, voice flat, emotionless. “Well, if you were smarter, I wouldn’t have to carry your useless ass through this class.”

His grin falters, just barely, but you see it—and for once, it’s your turn to smirk.

You lean forward, matching his posture, tilting your head mockingly.

“Guess we’re both disappointed, huh?”

For a moment, Sukuna just stares at you.

And you don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, how his fingers twitch against the table like he’s fighting the urge to rip you apart.

Good.

Then—he exhales sharply through his nose, tipping his chair back slightly, acting unfazed even though you saw the flicker of irritation in his eyes. “Damn,” he muses, voice slow, dragging. “Didn’t know you had a mouth on you.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head. “Didn’t know you gave a shit.”

Sukuna scoffs. “I don’t.”

“Then shut the fuck up and do your work.”

He lets out a low, mean laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

“Generous?” You nearly choke. “You’ve been nothing but a dick since the moment I sat down.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Could be worse.”

Oh, you want to strangle him.

Instead, you inhale sharply through your nose, pressing your palms flat against the table before forcing yourself to stay on track. “Whatever,” you say, shaking your head. “Here’s the deal: we have to meet at least once a week. I don’t care where. I don’t care when. But we need to get the work done, and I need proof that you were actually present—because if we don’t, we both fail.”

Sukuna glares at you, as if the very concept of responsibility offends him.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face again. “You’re really gonna be a hardass about this, huh?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t care about failing?”

“Not really.”

Your eyes narrow. “Then why are you even in this class?”

At this, he finally drops his chair back down onto all four legs, leaning in slightly. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, voice lower, more serious. “I don’t need this shit. I’m here because my old man thinks I should at least pretend to give a fuck about college.” He smirks, sharp and taunting. “But don’t get it twisted—I don’t actually give a fuck.”

You pause, studying him, trying to piece together the weight behind his words.

Of course, you know he comes from money. Everyone does. The Ryomen family name carries weight, old money, power, prestige—so it makes sense that college, for him, is just some bullshit obligation rather than a means to a future.

Still, something about the way he says it—how bitter it sounds—sticks with you.

Not that you care.

You roll your eyes. “Right. Got it. Poor little rich boy.”

His smirk drops.

For a second, there’s silence.

Then—

“You know what?” Sukuna says, voice eerily calm. “Fine. I’ll meet up with you.”

You blink, a little thrown off by how easily he gives in.

“…Okay?”

“But.” His gaze darkens, and the corner of his mouth twitches, almost like he’s daring you to argue. “You work around my schedule.”

Your stomach twists with irritation. “That’s not—”

“Not my problem,” he cuts in smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t do morning meetups. I don’t do last-minute bullshit. And if you start bitching about how I ‘don’t take this seriously,’” he mocks, voice lilting high, “I will walk out and leave you with an automatic fail. Or whatever the fuck happens to your grade if the other person doesn’t do their part. Got it?”

Your blood boils.

But what can you do? You already tried to get reassigned.

So, through gritted teeth, you say, “Fine.”

Sukuna smirks.

“Good girl.”

a/n: very overused trope but i love college au sukuna. sorry for making him a total asshole but i promise character development!!!!! i looove a good enemies to lovers, as seen with my take on nerdjo lolol!!! also yes this fic is based on "she won't go away" by faye webster and yes this song and it's lyrics will be making a cameo in my fic heheh... hope you all liked the teaser!!

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapter 423

Brief summary: Alberu wakes up and shows the dignity of a hero. Cale begins his "purification" of GoC's divine item.

==========

Sun God Angelina was cute. When Alberu was not responding to her messages, she kept increasing the number of exclamation marks. 😂😂😂

Ting! Once again, the distorted quest window revealed its presence. [Urgent Subquest: Show them the dignity of a hero!!!] The number of exclamation marks at the end of the sentence increased from one to three. '…' Alberu was dumbfounded. 'What is dignity?' The dignity of a hero, what is that? It was mind-boggling.

So how did Alberu show a hero's dignity? By pulling off a cool pose as he drew the Sword of the Sun. 🤣🤣🤣

Instead, he lowered his head before drawing his sword. He looked at the Pope, the saintess, Sir Boltien, the bishops, and the others looking at him. His faint smile was suddenly regal and dignified. Alberu Crossman, crown prince, but practically ruling a country. It was a moment that revealed his true character. “…….” “…….” The people of the church could not open their mouths easily at the sight of Alberu Crossman, who was somehow different than just a hero. Alberu slowly drew his sword. “Ah.” The saintess felt an indescribable thrill as she saw the sunlight pouring down from the ceiling and the same light emanating from the sword. Even the saintess above the canyon gasped at the power unleashed by the God of Chaos. A sublime, glorious light that radiated into the night alone, where even the sun was nowhere to be seen. At the center of that light, a hero vomited blood until the light was extinguished. The Pope was already weeping wordlessly. “…….” Cale's expression turned shaky at the sight, so sublime, so solemn, and yet sacred. 'Wow.' He was amazed. Alberu Crossman drew his sword, not too fast, not too slow, like he was in a movie. And he did it with the coolest posture and expression. That bastard didn't normally drew his sword like that. Now that's a- -He's bluffing. The Dominating Aura was not wrong these days. “…….” Alberu, who had finished drawing his sword, looked around at everyone and opened his mouth. “The Sun God sent me here.” The Pope's mouth opened. “Ah, ah- As expected-!” The saintess squeezed her eyes shut and opened them, gazing into the sunlight. . . . “The sun will always shine on you, even here.” A Hero to save the world! Alberu Crossman's appearance was certainly that of a hero. The sun, in particular, matched with him like a painting. And even after four days of unconsciousness, his gleaming eyes and majestic appearance were enough to shake the hearts of the Sun God church.

Alberu learned best from Cale about bluffing. 🤣🤣🤣

Moving on, Alberu indeed met Angelina while unconscious. She did not make a deal with him, but informed him of what would happen in the future.

Saint Jack's successor would be someone from the dark elves as her sign of reconciliation to them. And if Alberu decided to reveal his dark elf form to the public, she would bestow upon him her blessing to quell any doubts about him.

However, Alberu was not too keen on revealing his secret to the public. He did not want to cause his citizens confusion. And he had also liked the freedom he had when he was in his dark elf form.

The pope gave Alberu a pure white helmet, asking him to be their hero. Alberu accepted it, thus fulfilling the qualifications needed to fully use the power of the Sword of the Sun.

[*The more support you receive from the followers of the Sun God, the greater their support for you as a hero, the greater your ability to use the Sword of the Sun!] Alberu sighed. 'At any rate, I'll be more comfortable with it than I was last time.' I won't have to spill as much blood as Cale Henituse, will I? Sword of the Sun. The limits of this sword were unknown, but it seemed that after last time, Alberu wouldn't be coughing up blood or passing out, although he might become unable to move due to fatigue. He could feel it in his gut. 'Good.' Alberu turned away, satisfied.

Alberu, why are you copying Cale? Look, that's definitely a 🚩flag there. I won't have to spill as much blood as Cale Henituse, will I? Yeah, right... You'll definitely be spilling a lot of blood in the future. 🤣🤣🤣

With Alberu's business done, it was now Cale's turn. Getting the Purification of Chaos skill was easy because he only needed to tear the scroll, so Cale prioritized GoC's divine item.

Angelina tried to talk to Cale, but GoC's divine item seemed to be blocking it. Fortunately, she managed to give Cale a clue on how to turn its chaos attribute to a non-attribute one, which was to "defeat it."

Thus, Cale began his "purification" of the Knife of Chaos by wrapping it first with a cloth dipped in holy water, and then... stomping on it repeatedly! 😂😂😂

Apparently, the Knife of Chaos was similar to the crown that coveted dragon blood. So to "subdue" the divine item, Cale stomped on it. He even asked Paladin Boltien for a hammer to fasten the process. Of course, the Sun God church people were shocked and confused at Cale's actions. 😂😂😂 And Alberu? He spouted his classic line, "This is driving me crazy." 🤣🤣🤣

Ending Remarks Cale's physical "purification" was so funny that it overshadowed Alberu's hero acting today. 😂 Next chapter would be a continuation of his physical purification. But could he really lift a hammer with that frail body of his?

[bisnacktual]

Ok so since you guys really liked the last Anti-Tulpar post I will be doing another one <3

The Anti-Tulpar crew meetig their normal au <3

Jimmy

The one who caused it

He was cleaning in the storage room and saw a giant machine

When he tapped it out of curiosity though it turned on and... BOOM

He comes face to face with his canon self

“who are you? Are you me?“ he’d ask canon Jimmy

He’d be so surprised and when he turns around he’d see the others and just go “OMG-“

the awkwardness with having to explain to the others what happened 😭😭😭 (he got smacked by everyone </3)

Curly

Was steering the ship as per his job sipping whiskey

Hears the loud boom and falls out of his chair like “WHAT THE FUCK?!“ 😭😭😭

walks in and sees the canon tulpar crew and is just stunned 💀

Starts yelling at Jimmy and has to be broken up by canon Curly </3

Gets very pissed off with canon jimmy and throws down with him 😭😭😭

Meets his canon counter part and asks if he was dropped as a baby 💀

Is annoyed af with both Jimmys the rest of the day </3

Daisuke

Is doing paperwork when he hears it and drops his coffee 😭

Immediately picks himself up and goes to the storage to see Curly yelling at Jimmy

Decides to fuckin ignore it and goes straight for canon Daisuke who is panicing 💀

“SHUT THE FUCK UP“ he’d yell as he aggressively shakes canon Daisuke

Canon Daisuke begins to yapp to anti-tulpar Daisuke 😭

Just walks out like “im so done with this shit“

Is followed and annoyed by canon Daisuke before Daisuke gets bored and just hangs with anti Anya 😔

Anya

Is working in the vents above when the boom happens and she ends up slamming her head on the top of the vent 💀

Is like “OW WHAT THE SHIT“ and climbs out

Goes to the storage where she sees 2 Swanseas, Curlys, Daisukes, and Jimmys 💀

Canon Anya is trying to calm everyone down </3

Just stares in confusion 💀

Walks over to canon Anya and asks “why the fuck haven't you slapped Jimmy yet“

Canon Anya just stares in confusion and is like “what?...“

Lets just say that Anti Tulpar Anya taught canon Anya how to fight (oh and Canon Anya told Tulpar anya what canon Jimmy did to her so yk what happened)

Swansea

Is in the kitchen cleaning when the boom happens

Is so confused and just hears a scream come from the storage

Immediately notices his canon self

“why the fuck do you look like a housewife“ Canon Swansea would say in such an angry tone it would catch Anti Swansea off guard 😭😭😭

Offered to make them food, he’s such a cutie patootie <3

Fucking died when they liked it <3

(made small talk with Anti Jimmy)

ANYWAYS HOPE YOU ENJOYED FEEL FREE TO MAKE ANY REQUESTS <3

(*cough* smut is allowed but anything ra.pe and I will report you since I dont support it in any way)

[pasukiyo]

THIS LOVE IS OURS

finnick odair x fem!mentor!reader word count: 1,205 warnings: allusions to trauma synopsis: another year, another reaping, another hunger games. another year of mentoring a new set of tributes. another year of sending them off to their deaths. another year of shouldering the burden of all this grief. but, at the very least, she has finnick. as long as she has finnick, she knows love must not be over. and as long as there is love, there is hope.

 She doesn’t know how Finnick Odair manages to find his way to her apartment. Surely, she thinks, he would've been caught on a surveillance camera on the way up. She can’t imagine a single cranny in the entire Tribute Center, the entire city, the entire country where the Capitol didn’t have eyes. 

 Oh well, she thinks, too tired to think more of it. What matters is that he’s here, standing in the doorway of her temporary bedroom, the orange glow of a tribute’s campfire on her television reflecting in his eyes. 

 “I’m not going to ask you how or why you’re here,” she says, breaking the silence. Finnick, though his lips are pursed, grins, simply staring back at her, arms crossed over his chest. “But I don't entirely agree with it.”

 “Good,” he replies, pushing away from the doorframe, letting it shut itself behind him as he makes his way towards the bed. “My secrets are invaluable to keep.”

 She finds it within herself to roll her eyes just as the anthem begins to emit from the television speakers and  she shifts her position in the bed, creating space for him, inviting him in. The mattress dips beneath his weight and she looks at him, the glow of the television behind his head giving him an unearthly aura, as if he was made of starlight, carved from the moon. 

 “That makes eighteen tributes fallen with only six remaining from the following districts: 1, 2, 4, and 7.”

 Her head falls back to the pillows and she squeezes her eyes shut, hoping the harder she squeezed, the duller the ache in her head. She hears the bed creak and the voices of Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith gradually soften until they’re but a low murmur in the background. She peels a single eyelid open just as Finnick sets the television remote down, twisting around and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

 For a moment they simply blink at one another, the familiarity of each other’s presence giving them an air of ease, like for a moment, things were normal and they were not mentors for tributes in death games for the Capitol’s entertainment. For a moment, she looks at Finnick, feels him in the space of the bed beside her, and can almost trick herself into believing this was her life all the time. More than just stolen moments a handful of times each year, if that. More than just two pawns in the Capitol’s chessboard. More than animals lined up for the slaughter. 

 Finnick still sits up on the bed beside her as if he’s unsure, as if he’s still waiting for her permission. Touching, being close, intimate after all, does not come easy when one has endured what they have at the hands of the Capitol. 

 But it’s different with Finnick. Of course it is— he is not Capitol, he is not corrupt, he is not bad. 

 He’s Finnick. Simply Finnick Odair, her Finnick. And if there’s one thing she knows for sure about him, it’s that he is safe, her safe place. 

 So she softens her gaze, words unneeded to tell him she needs him. 

 Finnick practically melts. 

 Perhaps she is what he needs too. The way he melts into the mattress beside her, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her into his chest until their hearts beat against each other, until they’re fitted together like two pieces of glass— broken, but still one in the same— makes her think this is so. 

 Warmth so rare, she can only dream of it most days envelops her and she thinks she can cry by just how safe she feels. To feel this safe, this comfortable is a luxury— they both know it. To be reveling in it almost feels like a sin, treachery when the Games continue to exist, when they persist even at this very moment. 

 She could not save her tributes this year. She’d barely managed to save her own self since her own Games. She still fights to save herself everyday. The weight this burden of living feels too much for her to shoulder. She nestles her nose against Finnick’s chest, her stomach feeling hollow, her throat burning with grief. 

 It’s Finnick’s arms that tighten around her body that remind her that this burden is not hers alone to shoulder. She is not alone in her grief. She is never alone, so long as Finnick exists. She feels it in the way his fingers weave through her hair, his fingernails like soft whispers against her scalp, his lips against the crown of her head, drawing her nearer into him, breathing her in. 

 These unspoken truths hang in the air, for there was no space, no crevice where they could fit between them. She reaches for his face, sliding her hand along the line of his jaw until his ear rests between her middle and forefinger. The pad of her thumb caresses the space just below his eye and she lifts her head, just enough to catch his gaze again. 

 But when she looks up, she finds that his eyes are closed, as if her touch is enough to tranquilize him, lulling him with just the pad of her thumb. She takes the time to drink him in, the way his lashes flutter against his skin, the crease between his brows, the way his lips part and come together again as if he’s replaying a memory, something he said, over and over again. 

 She, herself, tries to recall how they feel when they’re against hers. The way his mouth would collect hers as if she were fragile, as if he were fragile. Kissing Finnick was never uncertain but always felt more like a reassurance, as if testing whether this— kissing, intimacy, love— could really be tender, whether it was something other than seizing and squeezing and taking and hurting and burning. 

 “Finnick?” She whispers his name, so quiet she fears he won’t hear her. 

 His lashes flutter when his eyes peel open. He hums in reply and she can feel it against her chest, over her still beating heart. 

 “You still with me?” She asks, lifting her hand so that her thumb can caress just beside his eye. 

 The television screen reflects in his eyes again but all she sees is him. The Games, the Capitol, the country, the world does not exist. The only thing she can bring herself to believe in now is that Finnick is here and Finnick is hers. 

 Finnick gazes back and another unspoken truth dances in the air above them: what they have is theirs and theirs alone. No one can take them away from one another. Whether they’re here together in this moment, or in their respective districts, or thrown into the hands of the Capitol, what they have is sacred, holy ground that no one will ever be able to touch. As long as they have one another, there will be hope. And as long as there is hope, there is love. And this love is nobody’s but theirs. 

 Finnick leans in, presses his lips to the center of her head, to the bridge of her nose, to her own. “Always.”

a/n: so... how are we all feeling after sunrise on the reaping 😆😆😆

TAGLIST

@sallowsarchives

@michelle-26

@jxxey3

[lanaroff]

House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 7

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

The soft glow of morning filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. You blinked slowly, your body heavy with exhaustion, but something warm and familiar anchored you in place.

Wanda.

You didn’t know how you ended up there. Sure you remember seeking for Wanda’s comfort after the events of the night before. But you didn’t recall, and never assume, that you would end up in bed with Wanda.

She lay beside you, still lost in sleep, her face relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in years. Her breath came slow and steady, her lashes resting against her cheeks.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

You just watched her.

It was muscle memory, the way your body recognized Wanda’s warmth, the way waking up next to her felt like a life you once had—one that had slipped through your fingers.

And for a moment you let yourself remember the old days, when waking up next to her was as normal as breathing. You remember how much you loved wrapping your arms around her. How the whole world disappear when you two snuggle in bed laughing together, stealing kisses and saying sweet nothings to each other.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, staring at Wanda, memorizing the way the early light made her look almost ethereal.

Then, without waking, Wanda shifted, instinctively seeking out for you in her sleep. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close with a sleepy sigh.

Your throat tightened.

Slowly, Wanda started to stir. Her fingers curled against your side, her breathing changed, and then, she blinked her eyes open.

“Y/N…” Her voice was thick with sleep, but there was something else in it, too. Something raw.

You hesitated for just a second before pulling her close, pressing Wanda’s head against your chest.

“I don’t know if I should,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “but I missed this so much.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping your shirt tightly. Her body started to tremble, soft sniffling filling the quiet space between them.

“I can’t lose you again,” Wanda whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t care what happened, I don’t care what you did, I just—I can’t lose you.”

You shut your eyes, inhaling sharply.

Wanda pulled back slightly, looking up at you, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You hesitated, but Wanda’s gaze held you, steady and patient.

“I didn’t think I deserved to,” you admitted finally. “Didn’t think I deserved you.”

Wanda’s brows furrowed, and you felt the need to keep going before the words got stuck in your throat.

“I—” You exhaled shakily. “Hydra made me do it, Wanda. I thought I was just eliminating a target. I followed orders like I had been trained to, like I had done a thousand times before. But then I found out who she was.”

Wanda’s breath hitched, but she didn’t interrupt.

“She was Fury’s daughter.” You let out a bitter, broken laugh. “And I didn’t even know. Not until I saw the aftermath. Not until I realized exactly what they made me do.”

The words felt like poison spilling from your lips.

“I wanted to go back to you. I almost did.” You inhaled sharply. “But I couldn’t, Wanda. Because I deserved everything that happened after. I deserved to lose you, I deserved to suffer. I told myself you were better off without me, that you would move on, that you’d find happiness without—”

You broke off, your voice cracking under the weight of it all.

Wanda was silent for a moment, just looking at you, like she was seeing all the shattered pieces you had been trying so hard to keep together.

Then, her expression softened.

She reached up, cupping your face with both hands. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

You tried to look away, but Wanda wouldn’t let you.

“You were forced to do that,” she said, voice firm. “You were manipulated and used, just like Hydra has done to so many people before you.”

You shook your head. “But it doesn’t change what I did.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Wanda admitted, eyes filling with something deep and raw. “But it also doesn’t mean you deserved to be alone.”

“When you didn’t came back to me I thought you had died. I really believe it, because I thought that everything was perfect . And in my head there was no reason for you to decide not to come back.” Wanda continued. You just lay there and listen carefully knowing she was opening her heart to you.

“But now, I see how wrong I was. How blind I was. I don’t judge you Y/N. How could I? You were just trying to survive, and I’m sorry I failed to see it.” She said as she caressed your face.

That was it.

The breaking point.

Without warning, your chest caved in. The weight of it all, the sleepless nights, the loneliness, the constant ache—it crashed over you, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

You started crying.

Not the silent kind. But the kind that shook your entire body, that made it impossible to breathe, that cracked something deep inside you.

“I’m so tired, Wanda,” you choked out. “I just—I miss you so much. I just want to stop feeling like this. I just want everything to be normal again.”

Wanda didn’t hesitate.

She wrapped her arms around you completely, pulling you close, whispering softly against your hair.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”

You sobbed into her shoulder, clinging to her like she was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

Wanda held you, running her fingers through your hair, pressing soft kisses against your temple.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised, voice fierce through the softness. “I don’t care what it takes. You’re mine, Y/N. And I’m not letting you go.”

You didn’t say anything.

She just held onto you.

For the first time in years, you didn’t feel alone.

⸻

After getting ready for the day, you took a deep breath, trying to settle the weight in your chest. The conversation with Wanda had drained you, but there was still one more thing you needed to do.

You needed to talk to Natasha.

You had avoided it long enough. Natasha had been kept in the dark about so much, and you knew you owed her answers—owed her an apology.

Your feet felt heavier than they should as you made your way to Natasha’s room. You hesitated only for a second before knocking.

A few seconds passed before the door swung open, revealing a surprised Natasha.

You barely had time to register the look on her face before Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re still here?”

You frowned. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “I checked your room last night. You weren’t there, so I assumed you left on another one of your missions.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach. Of course, Natasha would think that. That was all you had done for years—run off without a word, disappear without a trace.

“Can I come in?” You asked.

Natasha hesitated for only a second before stepping aside. You walked in, letting the familiar space settle around you. You had spent countless nights in this room, talking about everything and nothing with the one person who always had your back.

And now, you were here to fix what you had broken.

Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed, watching you carefully. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

You exhaled slowly. “I should’ve told you everything a long time ago. I should’ve—” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry, Nat. For shutting you out. For leaving. For everything.”

Natasha’s expression softened, but her voice remained firm. “Why didn’t you tell me? Out of all people, I would’ve understood.”

You clenched your jaw. You had known this question was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to answer.

“That’s exactly why,” you admitted. “I didn’t want you to understand.”

Natasha blinked, her brows pulling together.

“I didn’t want anyone to justify what I did. I didn’t want sympathy, or forgiveness, or understanding. I wanted to suffer. I deserved to suffer.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you forced herself to keep going. “That’s why I didn’t say anything, Nat. That’s why I left. Because I couldn’t let you—or anyone else—make me feel like I wasn’t the monster I had become.”

Silence settled between them.

Then, Natasha shook her head. “You’re an idiot.”

You huffed out something close to a laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

A beat passed before Natasha reached over, squeezing your hand. “You don’t deserve to suffer, Y/N. And you’re not a monster. You did what you had to do to survive. I get it.”

You felt something loosen in your chest at those words.

You nodded slowly. “I’m ready to have my best friend back. If—if you still want that.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You really think you can get rid of me that easily?”

Relief flooded you s a genuine smile broke across your face. “God, I missed you.”

Natasha grinned. “Missed you too.”

For the first time in years, things felt right between you two.

But before you could get too sentimental, you cleared your throat. “One thing, though.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Oh boy, here we go.”

“I need you to stay out of the whole Fury situation.”

Natasha’s expression darkened slightly. “Y/N—”

“I mean it.” You held your gaze. “I know you want to help, but I need to handle this on my own.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, clearly fighting the urge to argue. But after a moment, she nodded. “Fine. I’ll stay out of it.”

You smirked. “Good girl.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Don’t push it.”

And just like that, both of you slipped back into the easy rhythm you had always had. You cracked a few more jokes, teasing each other like old times, and for a little while, it almost felt like the years of distance had never happened.

Almost.

But for now, it was enough.

Tag list: @seventeen-x @womenarehotsstuff @redhoodte @ayrtonwilbury @justyourwritter69 @casquinhaa @womenarehotsstuff @justarandomreaderxoxo @yelldontwhisper @raven-ss @chickenlittlsblog @username23345 @justyourwritter69 @ayrtonwilbury

[liketolaugh-writes]

More Good GIW AU/Building Bridges, in celebration of finally making progress. <3

---

"What are all of those for?" Flore asked, stopping by the library corner where Agents N and G seemed to be sharing a pile of books, some of which appeared to be so ancient that they must have been brought over straight from HQ.

"I sent in a request for any records we have of ancient cases of high liminality or ectoplasm exposure," N explained, looking up from his book.

"Danny?" Flore asked, sitting down a respectful distance from the ancient books. She hadn't met the Fentons' son yet, but she'd certainly heard N and G talk about him enough.

N nodded. "G said something about his accident was ringing a bell, and listen to this," he explained, and reached for one of the newer books that had been set aside. A translation. "A twelfth century account from a Spanish priest. As he seemed to take his last breath, a whirlpool of the brightest spring leaves seemed to swallow him before my eyes."

"A natural portal," Flore recognized, startled. Natural portals were incredibly rare, and it was always jarring to hear something like that described by someone from so long ago.

N nodded. "It continues, when he emerged once more, I could not tell if he had been cursed by the Devil or blessed by God. He was healed, but he evermore had the countenance of a very sick man, and power no normal man could dream of. At times, he resembled nothing so much as the ghost of himself." Flore pursed her lips. "I know, it doesn't quite fit, but it's something. Maybe the effect wasn't as strong because Danny didn't actually go into the portal. And this."

N shut the book and set it aside, retrieving another that had been placed only a little to one side. He was on a roll now; there was no stopping him from explaining everything they'd found.

"A blacksmith's diary from the Edo era," N explained, increasingly excited. "This has several conversations with a ghost that had fallen through a natural portal and become stranded in the real world, I couldn't believe they let me borrow it. Listen: I asked him what became of living people that found themselves in the spirit realm, as he found himself here. He told me that they become immersed in ghostly energy, such that they become something unique. A marginal being. A living ghost." He tapped the page. "The last one has a couple possible translations in the footnotes. Demihuman. Half-spirit. Or just 'halfa.'"

"That's crazy." Flore tried to imagine that. "Do you think that's describing what happened with the priest's friend, or someone more like Danny?"

N shook his head. "They don't talk about it any more after that," he admitted, clearly crushed by this information. "It's probably the first, but if nothing else, it's evidence that the changes can be much deeper than we realized. Maybe you can be so liminal that it starts to rewrite your biology." He looked entirely too excited by the idea. "Because there's one more, listen-"

N shut the second book and leaned over to grab the last, an older book.

"Nineteenth century case study," he told her, flipping it open. "The patient's case is most peculiar, inexplicable to any practitioner of modern medicine. Her heart beats so slow and soft that I thought she must surely be dying, yet it has been a year and she seems in good health. Furthermore, she is cold; her skin is as cool as a winter's day even in the middle of summer, yet she does not shiver. Once, I witnessed her hold her breath for longer than it takes to boil a pot of water." He shut the book again. "There's more, but I think you get the gist of it."