#and i think it’s a cover but i’m not confident on that

[hipstersfoundmyrobot]

Over the past ten years, Danny Fenton’s life has been a whirlwind, and that’s an understatement. Nonetheless, despite being the Ghost King and a consultant for the JLD as Phantom, Danny’s life is ordinary. Or as ordinary as a halfa king could manage.

Danny remembers being 17 and feeling so helpless and overwhelmed, especially when Jazz moved away for college. He didn’t expect that to be the end of his struggles. His sister coming back for Christmas break with the Justice League in tow was not on his bingo card, nor were his parents and Vlad being tried for supervillainy or the Anti-Ecto Acts and the GIW being a hoax. However, according to Tucker, the most surprising part of their senior year was their trio graduating with near-perfect attendance and good grades.

Nowadays, life is good for Danny. While his responsibilities as the High King of the Infinite Realms and his attachment to his haunt keep him from leaving Amity Park, he has found balance. After his identity as Phantom was revealed to the town, the community rallied in support of the half-dead teenager who saw his parents go to jail. Following Jazz’s insistence, he has enrolled in an online Astronomy and Engineering degree, which he finds much easier than high school. He doesn’t even have to worry about money, being the new owner of FentonWorks and DalvCo.

All in all, life is, finally, cutting the halfa some slack, which is why he now has more free time to fill, ergo his current situation. Sam, Tucker and Jazz are debating on his computer screen about what hobby he should try.

“Danny, dude, I’m telling you, you should take programming classes. We could make our own video game and-“Tucker’s excited rant cuts off as Jazz mutes the both of them.

“After the ecto-contamination of everyone in Amity, you’ll probably find a lot of people willing to join an environmentalist group. You know my activism rubbed off on you.” Sam’s voice is almost covered by the deep sigh that escapes Tucker and Danny can’t help but smile at his best friends’ antics.

“You guys, we’re trying to figure out something Danny would like. Baby brother, what is something you’d like to do ?” Danny can’t help but miss his sister when he sees her exasperated smile at his friends’ insistence that he tries something they like.

Leaning against his desk, his face in his hand, he shrugs, a bit embarrassed. “Actually, I did have an idea but I’m not sure.” On his screen, his sister’s face is open and supportive, meanwhile, Sam and Tucker don’t seem to have noticed they were inaudible. “I, maybe, wanted to try streaming ? You guys obviously don’t have as much time to play video games with me and it’s really not the same on my own… I like the idea of finding a community of people who enjoy listening to my weird space and ghost rants without having to leave Amity. Not that the Parkers aren’t my friends but—” He pushes his hair out of his face with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess I want to meet new people ? But I don’t actually want to meet them.”

“That sounds great, Danny.” Jazz, supportive as always, finally unmutes the two.

“Yeah dude, I’m down to help you set it all up. You’re gonna need equipment-“

“And you’re gonna need to ectoproof it too. Are you going to hide your identity ? Acting like ghosts and your powers are the norm would be so funny.”

“Right, you could ask a ghost artist to make your channel art. You clearly already have a niche thing going, you know ?” His Fraid’s excitement makes Danny feel more confident in his idea.

“What do you guys think of the name CosmicSpecter ?”

Jason has been back in Gotham for about two years. His relationship with his family is still strained but it is improving. He has a good thing going with Red Hood and his gang. However, he is still plagued by the Pit Madness, despite his best efforts he still doesn’t feel like himself. Meanwhile, everyone around him has accepted, however reluctantly, that this is who he is now, but Jason refuses to. He knows this isn’t him, but he is resigned that the foreign rage trying to control him will torment him until his (next) dying breath.

Maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the scary TubeYou algorithm that has him clicking on the livestream thumbnail while tittering close to the Pit Rage. The guy has 463 subscribers and 6 current viewers and he’s halfway through a burrito when Jason joins. The light is dim, and his eyes seem to be reflecting the light. A meta, maybe ?

“Hiya ‘botched-resurrection’, nice to see a fellow undead here.” He takes a swig of a too green liquid from a soda bottle and flashes the camera with a wide smile. “We’ll go back to playing once I’m done eating. This new joint opened a few years ago, since our town isn’t under a fake government lockdown anymore, and honestly, I’m pleasantly surprised. My sister is probably relieved I’m eating something other than a burger.” The guy’s eyes widen slightly when a $20 donation comes through from one ‘jazz_hands’. “Really Jazz ? ‘Twenty whole American dollars in hopes you’ll eat healthier food one day’. There are real vegetables in here you know ? You’re being too harsh. Also stop sending me money as an excuse to embarrass me on stream.”

This is the start of the prologue I'm posting on ao3 tomorrow probably, I'll link once it's up

Streamer Danny AU, but he’s a really minor streamer. Like, he does it mainly just for his own fun and only has a few intermittent viewers.

But somehow Jason finds his channel anyway, and something about his voice is captivating. The pit rage quiets down in his presence. So he starts tuning in to basically every stream, or just putting on the VODs in the background to fall asleep to.

And on the other side, Danny takes note of this new subscriber who’s quite possibly his first truly dedicated viewer. So he starts interacting with him on stream sometimes - greeting him when he shows up in the chat, specifically asking/answering questions, etc

Needless to say, this did not help Jason’s growing semi-parasocial crush in the slightest…

[bueckersstuff]

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x OC

Genre: competition for dominance, long overdue desire, uconn royalties, angst, enemies to lovers, mad in love but denial paige, happy ending yayy

Authors Note: Hi guys, so this is a one - shot but I think it's too long to be called that. I wrote this in one sitting afraid I'll lose the plot if I chose to post it in chapters. Enjoy!

Present Day

The bass pulsed through the walls of The Tavern, a heartbeat that thrummed beneath the floorboards. Paige had barely stepped inside when she spotted her friend, Taylor, waving her over from a booth packed with soccer players.

"Finally, you made it! Where’s your teammates?" Taylor greeted, tipping her beer toward Paige. "C’mon, meet my squad."

Paige approached, her six-foot frame moving effortlessly through the crowd. She had barely scanned the faces when she spotted her.

Xena.

Legs crossed, draped over the couch like she owned the place, a sly smile playing on her lips as she leaned toward a wide-eyed brunette, some fan hanging onto her every word. Xena’s fingers twirled a loose strand of the girl's hair, her voice low and smooth.

Something twisted in Paige’s chest. Annoyance? Interest? She wasn’t sure, but it was enough to make her jaw clench.

“Xen, stop corrupting the fans,” Taylor joked, nudging the girl playfully. "Paige, meet the legend herself—Xena. Team’s best striker."

Xena’s head lifted slowly, her dark gaze locking onto Paige’s. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, like she’d been expecting this moment.

"Paige." Xena’s voice was honeyed, edged with something unspoken.

Paige’s brows lifted slightly. "You know me?"

Xena hummed, sipping her drink. "Who doesn’t know the pride of UConn basketball?" Her tone was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something pointed.

Paige smirked, tilting her head. "And yet, I don’t know you." She lied.

A flicker. Barely there, but Paige caught it—the briefest shadow of something in Xena’s eyes before she covered it up with a laugh. "Guess I’m not that memorable."

The air between them thickened. The team chatted around them, but the moment belonged to just them—silent, taut. Then, as if breaking a spell, Xena turned back to her fan, dismissing Paige with an easy flick of her attention.

Paige exhaled sharply, tearing her gaze away. What the hell was that?

The night bled on, filled with cheap liquor, stolen glances, and conversations Paige wasn’t listening to. Xena had disappeared at some point, but Paige hadn’t missed the way she’d moved through the club—fluid, confident, untouchable.

When Paige finally spotted her again, she was slipping through the back door, a hand running through her hair, her head tilting back as she inhaled the cold night air. Paige’s fingers twitched against her glass. Go.

She didn’t think—just acted.

The moment she stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind her, Xena was already turning back toward the entrance.

They collided.

Hands—Xena’s at Paige’s waist, steadying. Paige’s at Xena’s back, pressing. The contact was electric, an unspoken challenge sparking between them.

Xena’s breath hitched first.

“Following me, UConn?” Xena’s voice was soft but taunting, her fingers tightening just a fraction at Paige’s hip.

Paige scoffed, but she didn’t step away. "I don’t chase."

Xena’s lips parted slightly, just for a second, before she smirked. "Good. Because you’d never catch me."

Paige’s grip on her back flexed, just enough to let Xena feel the strength beneath her fingertips. "That so?"

Xena’s thumb traced over the hem of Paige’s shirt, barely noticeable. Barely innocent. "Mm," she murmured, eyes flickering between Paige’s lips and her gaze. "You don’t strike me as the kind to play fair."

Paige swallowed, her mind clouding with heat, confusion, and something deeply dangerous. "Depends on the game."

Xena exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You have no idea what you just walked into."

Paige tilted her head, eyes darkening. "Then show me."

For a moment, it felt like something was going to break.

Then—Xena stepped back.

Not a retreat. A warning.

"Careful what you wish for, UConn."

Then she was gone, slipping past Paige, leaving behind only the ghost of her touch and a storm in Paige’s chest.

Paige stood there, fists clenching and unclenching, lips tingling with words she didn’t say.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

1 Year Ago, The Tavern

The music was different that night—slower, sultrier, drowning in red neon haze. Paige wasn’t supposed to be there. It was offseason, and she had workouts early, but something about the buzz in her veins had made her reckless.

She had been waiting for her drink at the bar when she felt it—someone moving close, just close enough to set her nerves on fire.

"Didn’t take you for the type to party on a Tuesday," a voice murmured at her ear, smooth, familiar.

Paige turned her head slightly, enough to catch dark eyes, a teasing smirk, and the scent of something warm and intoxicating. She knew this girl—Xena. Some soccer player, quick on her feet and sharper with her words.

"Didn’t take you for the type to be watching me," Paige shot back.

Xena chuckled, resting a casual elbow on the bar beside her. "Hard not to when you walk in like you own the place."

Paige smirked. "I usually do."

The bartender slid Paige’s drink across the bar, and before she could reach for it, Xena was there, fingers brushing against hers as she stole the glass.

Paige raised a brow. "That mine?"

Xena took a slow sip, tongue flicking out to taste the rim before handing it back. "Now it is."

Heat coiled low in Paige’s stomach, something dangerous curling in her chest. She took the glass back, mirroring Xena’s movement, deliberately placing her lips where hers had just been. Xena watched, eyes dark and full of something unspoken.

That night had blurred after that. A challenge in the way they danced—Xena pressing close, Paige pulling back, both of them waiting for the other to break. And then outside, against the alley wall, lips hovering but never touching, breaths tangled between them.

Paige had wanted it. Fuck, she had wanted it.

But Xena had just smirked, fingers ghosting over the pulse at Paige’s throat.

"Not tonight, UConn."

And then she had walked away. No explanation. No promise of later. Just gone.

Paige had stood there, burning, furious, confused.

She had told herself she forgot about it. But now, standing outside The Tavern with Xena’s voice still lingering in her ears, she knew that was a lie.

Paige pushed off the wall, exhaling hard.

Careful what you wish for, UConn.

She turned and walked back inside, shoulders rolling with tension. The night went on, drinks passed between hands, conversations shallow and meaningless. But Paige felt it—the weight of Xena’s presence still lingering, even though she was nowhere in sight.

When she finally left, she told herself it meant nothing.

The week that followed, Paige drowned herself in the familiar rhythm of morning workouts and late-night shooting drills. She let Nika and the rest of her teammates pull her into study sessions and casual nights out.

But every now and then, when she wasn’t paying attention, she found herself looking. Searching.

Xena didn’t show.

On the other side of campus, Xena pretended she didn’t care.

She went about her days the same way—practices, classes, the occasional night out with her teammates. But in the quiet moments, she found herself gripping her phone too tightly, resisting the urge to check if Paige had posted something, if their paths would cross again.

She told herself it was nothing. That Paige was nothing.

But she had always been a bad liar.

Three Years Ago

Xena had always been protective of her little brother, Leo. He was only twelve at the time, still in that reckless stage where he thought he was invincible. Their family had come to visit UConn that weekend, walking through campus while their parents gushed over her scholarship and upcoming freshman season.

Xena had been distracted, half-listening, her cleats slung over her shoulder, when it happened.

Leo had been messing around, running ahead, pretending the sidewalk was a balance beam. Then, in a split second, he tripped.

Straight into the street.

Xena’s heart shot to her throat, her feet frozen. She tried to scream, to lunge forward, but before she could move, someone else did.

A tall girl in a UConn basketball hoodie—blonde ponytail swinging, reflexes sharp as a blade—had stepped off the curb without hesitation. One second, Leo was in danger. The next, he was yanked back by the scruff of his hoodie, landing hard against the girl’s chest as a car sped past, missing him by inches.

Leo gasped, his hands fisting in the stranger’s sweatshirt.

"Hey, you good?" her voice had been firm, steady, like she’d done this a hundred times.

Leo nodded frantically, eyes wide as saucers.

Xena’s parents rushed forward, thanking the girl, fussing over Leo, but Xena… she just stood there.

She should’ve spoken. Should’ve said something, anything.

But she didn’t.

She just watched as the girl gave Leo a reassuring pat on the back, smiled faintly, then walked away before Xena could even catch her name.

Later that night, when her parents kept talking about how grateful they were, how it was a miracle, Xena found herself searching online. UConn women’s basketball—blonde, tall, fast reflexes.

That’s when she found her.

Paige.

From that day forward, she kept tabs. Not obsessively, not in a way she’d admit, but enough. Enough to see the articles, the highlight reels, the moments where Paige Bueckers owned the court like she was born for it.

Enough to wonder what it would’ve been like to say thank you.

The first time she saw Paige in person again was at The Tavern.

She hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t planned it. But the moment she spotted her at the bar, standing under the red glow of neon lights, it was like something in her tilted.

She hadn’t even thought.

She moved toward her, pulse thrumming, intentions clear. Say thank you. Make it quick.

But when Paige turned, locking eyes with her, everything shifted.

Up close, she was more. More intense, more magnetic, more everything.

Xena’s throat went dry. Fuck.

"Didn’t take you for the type to party on a Tuesday," she murmured instead.

It wasn’t what she had meant to say. But it was what came out.

Paige arched a brow, unimpressed. "Didn’t take you for the type to be watching me."

Xena almost laughed, almost said, I’ve been watching you for three years.

Instead, she leaned closer, let herself feel the heat rolling off Paige’s skin. "Hard not to when you walk in like you own the place."

Paige smirked. "I usually do."

Xena wanted to say something smart. Witty. Playful.

But all she could think about was that day—Paige’s hand gripping Leo’s hoodie, pulling him to safety. How effortless it had been for her to save him.

The words tangled in her throat.

Before she could stop herself, she reached for Paige’s drink, fingers brushing hers as she lifted it to her lips.

"That mine?" Paige asked, voice edged with challenge.

Xena held her gaze, lips parting just slightly as she took a slow sip. Fuck, she tastes good. "Now it is."

Something dark flickered in Paige’s eyes, something hot and unfamiliar. Xena should’ve backed off, should’ve turned the conversation back to what she had meant to say.

But instead, the moment spiraled—dancing, touches that lingered too long, breathless almost-kisses.

Xena had gotten so close, felt the warmth of Paige’s body pressing against hers, so fucking close.

She wanted it. God, she wanted it.

But her throat tightened with something that felt too much like guilt. This hadn’t started as a game.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do when things got too real.

She pulled back.

"Not tonight, UConn." And she walked away.

Paige had stared after her, something raw in her expression, and Xena had clenched her fists, forcing herself not to turn back.

Later that night, she had stared at her ceiling, cursing herself. Why didn’t you just say thank you?

Present Day

The stadium was packed. Paige thrived under the pressure, under the roar of the crowd, the weight of expectation. She moved like she always did—smooth, lethal, untouchable.

Until she saw them.

A cluster of soccer players just a few rows back from the court. And at the center of them—Xena, sprawled out like she had all the time in the world, watching her.

Paige nearly faltered mid-dribble.

Kk noticed. "You good?"

"Fine," Paige muttered, setting her jaw.

The game resumed, but Xena wasn’t done.

Every time Paige glanced up, there was something new—a mocking little wave, a slow, exaggerated clap when she scored, a smirk around the straw of her drink.

When the final buzzer rang, Paige had barely stepped off the court when she heard it.

"Nice work, UConn."

She turned, her pulse still thrumming from the game, sweat cooling against her skin.

Xena was waiting just outside the tunnel, leaning against the wall like she had all the time in the world.

Paige rolled her eyes, yanking at the towel around her neck. "What, here to recruit me for your fan club?"

Xena grinned. "You’d look good in our colors."

Paige scoffed. "Don’t need the distraction."

Xena’s gaze flickered over her, slow and deliberate. "Funny, ‘cause you looked pretty distracted back there."

Paige took a step closer, ignoring the way her skin tingled with every inch that closed between them. "If you think you got in my head, you’re delusional."

Xena tilted her head, smug and infuriating. "That so?"

Paige’s fingers twitched. She wanted—fuck, she didn’t even know what she wanted. To shut Xena up? To wipe that smirk off her face? Or to do something else entirely?

Xena must have seen it. Because she leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make Paige’s breath hitch.

"Tell me, UConn," she murmured, lips almost brushing her ear. "Are you mad ‘cause I was watching… or ‘cause I know you liked it that I’m here?"

Paige’s stomach dropped.

She opened her mouth, but Xena was already stepping back, a satisfied little smirk on her lips.

"See you around," she said, like it was inevitable.

And maybe it was.

The moment Xena stepped into the basketball arena, she knew she was playing with fire. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

If she couldn’t have Paige’s attention one way, she’d get it another.

So she leaned back, smirking, making sure Paige saw her. The little waves, the slow claps—it was all intentional.

And it worked.

Paige’s movements were sharp but just a little off. The thought sent a thrill through Xena’s chest.

And when the game was over, when Paige finally stormed toward the tunnel, Xena was already waiting.

"Nice work, UConn."

Paige barely slowed, wiping sweat from her face. "What, here to recruit me for your fan club?"

Xena grinned. "You’d look good in our colors."

Paige scoffed, but Xena saw the way her shoulders tensed. "Don’t need the distraction."

Xena tilted her head, drinking in the sight of her—messy hair, flushed skin, sharp edges softened just slightly by exhaustion. She wanted to touch her.

Instead, she let her words do the damage. "Funny, ‘cause you looked pretty distracted back there."

Paige’s jaw tightened.

Xena stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Tell me, UConn. Are you mad ‘cause I was watching… or ‘cause I know you liked it that I’m here?"

She felt it, the shift in Paige’s breathing. The way she sucked in a sharp inhale, her composure cracking for just a second. Xena had expected a sharp retort, a push back. Instead, Paige just stared at her, something unreadable in her expression.

For the first time, Xena felt uneasy.

Then Paige scoffed, rolling her eyes, and the moment passed.

"See you around," Xena teased, flashing her signature smirk before turning to walk away.

But as she disappeared into the crowd, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just fucked up.

Because for the first time, Paige actually looked lost.

And Xena doesn’t know what to do with that.

So she walked away, again.

Days after, she tried to push it from her mind. The way Paige had held her gaze like she wanted to rip her apart and pull her closer all at once. The way Xena had almost expected her to chase after her in the tunnel, to demand an answer, to call her out for whatever the hell was happening between them.

But Paige hadn’t chased her.

She had just watched.

And that was somehow worse.

Xena wasn’t expecting to see her again so soon.

The week had been normal, or as normal as things could be. Soccer practice, classes, casual flirting with girls she didn’t care about. She had almost convinced herself that the tension at the game had been nothing. That Paige wasn’t actually affecting her.

But then—fate, or maybe just bad luck.

Xena was heading out of the student center, earbuds in, mind half-focused on her phone when—

A solid, unmoving force. A warm body against hers. Hands catching her waist.

Paige Bueckers.

The realization hit Xena half a second after impact, but by then, her hands had already found purchase on Paige’s hoodie, gripping the fabric out of instinct.

Paige had caught her. Held her steady.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Xena’s breath stalled in her chest, the proximity too much, too sudden. The smell of Paige—something clean, something faintly like sweat and mint—wrapped around her like a noose.

Then Paige’s hands flexed against her waist, just a little, before she let go.

Xena forced herself to step back, straightening, masking the split-second of unbalance with a smirk. "You should watch where you’re going, Bueckers."

Paige raised a brow. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

Her voice was calm, unreadable, but there was something in the way she looked at Xena—something new. The frustration from the tunnel? Gone. Replaced by something smoother, more deliberate.

Xena tilted her head, studying her. "So, what, you just happen to run into me? You following me now?"

Paige exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Not everything’s about you, Xena Blackwood."

That shouldn’t have affected Xena. It shouldn’t have sent a sharp thrill through her spine.

But the way Paige said it—so effortlessly dismissive, so unbothered. Fucking hell.

Xena wasn’t used to that.

She stepped closer, testing the space between them. "You sure? You seemed pretty locked in on me back at the game."

Paige’s smirk didn’t falter. She just hummed, tilting her head slightly. "Did I?"

Xena opened her mouth, ready to push, ready to find the crack in Paige’s armor.

But Paige? Paige moved first.

Not away. Not back. But forward.

The shift was so subtle, so precise that Xena almost didn’t register it until she felt the whisper of Paige’s breath near her jaw.

She stilled.

And Paige fucking knew it.

"You talk a lot," Paige murmured, her voice so low Xena barely caught it. "Always trying to get under my skin. Wonder why that is."

Xena swallowed. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered."

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, one that vibrated in Xena’s chest. Then, just as quickly as she had closed the space, she pulled back.

And that—that control, that command of the moment—left Xena pissed.

She should have been the one leading this push-and-pull. She should have had Paige stumbling, not the other way around.

But Paige just patted Xena’s shoulder, fucking patted her, before stepping around her like this was nothing more than a casual run-in.

"See you around," Paige said over her shoulder, voice laced with quiet amusement.

Xena turned, watching her go, jaw clenched.

Paige had played the game differently this time. And for the first time in a long time, Xena wasn’t sure if she was winning.

Paige almost didn’t go.

She had excuses lined up, perfectly reasonable ones. Practice had been brutal. She had an assignment due. She didn’t care about soccer.

But then Nika had grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the dorm before she could finish a sentence.

"Come on, twin," Nika had grinned. "You need to touch grass. Literally."

So now she was here, sitting in the stands with half the basketball team, watching UConn’s women’s soccer squad take the field.

And then she saw her.

Xena.

The sight of her sent a sharp jolt through Paige’s stomach—unexpected, unwelcome.

She wasn’t even doing anything special. Just standing there, one hand on her hip, eyes locked ahead, but fuck. She looked different out here.

Paige was used to seeing her in dimly lit clubs, draped over some girl with a smirk that dared you to want her.

But here, under the bright stadium lights, hair tied back, uniform clinging to her body, expression sharp with focus—this was a different Xena.

Paige leaned forward, elbows on her knees, watching as the game started.

She hadn’t realized how physical soccer was.

Basketball was fast-paced, sure, but this? This was relentless. A nonstop fight for possession, bodies colliding, elbows flying. The stamina alone was insane.

And Xena?

She was fucking electric.

Paige tracked her movements without meaning to. The way she cut through defenders like they weren’t even there. The way she anticipated plays before they happened. The sheer force of her presence.

This is what she looks like when she’s serious.

Paige had seen glimpses of it before—the sharpness in Xena’s eyes when she was taunting her, the edge in her voice when she was trying to get under her skin.

But now, this version of Xena wasn’t playing games.

And Paige felt it.

She hated that she felt it.

Hated that it made something tighten in her chest.

She hated it even more when things started to go wrong.

It started small.

A late tackle here, an extra shove there. The other team was losing, and frustration was creeping into their movements.

Xena was still controlling the game, but Paige could see the shift—the rising tension, the way the opposing players were getting reckless.

And then it happened.

A loose ball. A collision.

Xena went down hard.

Paige barely had time to register it before a second impact came—a knee to the ribs, a cleat clipping against her thigh. The whistle blew, but it was too late, and the damage was done.

Xena didn’t get up.

She rolled onto her side, a sharp, pained gasp slipping from her lips, one hand clutching her ribs.

And then Paige saw the blood.

Her brain barely kept up with her body.

One second, she was sitting in the stands, and the next, she was moving.

Nika shouted after her, but Paige didn’t stop.

She was on the field before she could think twice, shoving past staff, past trainers, past everyone, until she was right there—right in front of Xena.

Xena was trying to push herself up, but she barely made it an inch before her body gave up.

"Fuck," she hissed, dropping her head back onto the grass. "That hurt."

Paige stared, frozen.

Xena’s lip was split. A bruise was already forming along her cheekbone. Blood smeared down the side of her thigh where the cleat had caught her.

She looked wrecked.

And for some reason, Paige couldn’t fucking breathe.

"Goddamn it, Xena," she managed, voice tight.

Xena blinked up at her, dazed. Then—because of course she fucking would—she smirked.

"Didn’t know you cared, Bueckers."

Paige’s jaw clenched. "Shut up."

She dropped to her knees beside her, hands hovering uselessly. What the fuck was she supposed to do?

Xena winced as she shifted, sucking in a sharp breath. "I’m fine."

"You’re bleeding," Paige snapped.

Xena’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened, eyes flickering over Paige’s face like she was committing every second of this to memory.

"You’re mad," she murmured.

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No, I’m—" She stopped, grinding her teeth. "Fuck, Xena, yeah. Yeah, I’m mad."

Xena hummed, head tilting slightly. "Why?"

Paige opened her mouth, then shut it.

Because she didn’t know.

Because this was supposed to be Xena’s thing—getting under her skin, making her feel off-balance.

But now Paige was the one sitting here, angry and scared over someone she had sworn she wasn’t supposed to care about.

The medical team finally pushed through, kneeling beside her.

Paige started to move back, but -

A hand wrapped around her wrist.

She looked down.

Xena’s grip was weak but intentional.

"Paige," she murmured.

And for the first time, there was no teasing in her voice. No smirk. No walls.

Just her.

Paige swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

Xena’s fingers tightened slightly.

Then, so quietly Paige almost didn’t catch it—

"You came."

Paige felt those words.

A lump rose in her throat, and she wanted to look away, wanted to not feel the way Xena’s voice had softened just for her.

But she couldn’t.

So she just curled her fingers around Xena’s hand—just for a second, just long enough to anchor them both.

Then she let go.

Xena’s eyes tracked her as the medics lifted her onto a stretcher, the connection breaking as they started moving.

Paige sat there, in the middle of the field, hands curling into fists.

She had no idea what the fuck had just happened.

But she knew one thing.

She wasn’t walking away from this the same.

The moment Paige stepped off the field, the questions started.

First, from her teammates. Nika was the loudest, of course. "What the fuck was that, Paige? Since when do you care about soccer?"

Paige ignored her, pushing past them, heading straight home.

Then came the media.

She saw her name already trending on Twitter before she even left the stadium. “Paige Bueckers rushes onto the soccer field—concern or controversy?”

Clips were circulating. People were asking why she —a basketball player, someone who had no business in that game—had reacted like that.

And Paige didn’t have an answer. Because she didn’t know either.

Paige couldn’t sleep. She had tried. She had laid in bed, stared at the ceiling, turned her phone on Do Not Disturb.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Xena.

On the ground. Bleeding.

The look in her eyes when she had reached for Paige’s wrist. You came.

Paige exhaled sharply, rolling onto her side, clenching her jaw. Why the fuck did it bother her this much? Why did she feel like she had taken a hit just watching Xena go down?

Frustrated, she grabbed her phone, unlocking it without thinking.

Her fingers hovered over Instagram.

She had never searched Xena before. Not once. But now?

Now she was pulling up her profile before she could talk herself out of it.

And fuck, she hated how easy it was to find her. Hated how her username popped up immediately like Paige had been meant to do this.

Her page was a mix of game clips, candid locker room moments, and too many fucking thirst traps.

Paige scrolled mindlessly, stopping on a video from last season.

The caption was simple: “One of my best games.”

Paige clicked it.

The clip played.

Xena—fucking hell, Xena was dominant.

Paige had watched her play earlier, had seen how good she was, but watching it now—raw, unfiltered, no distractions—was different.

She was fast. Calculated. Ruthless.

Paige clenched her jaw.

She had known Xena was good. But this? This was something else.

And that made the anger creep in again.

Because this was the girl who had been knocked to the ground tonight. This was the girl who had been targeted.

Paige scrolled back up to the top of Xena’s page, biting the inside of her cheek.

Then she saw it.

A recent post. A photo dump.

Most of it was random—locker room pictures, city views—but the last slide caught her attention.

A spread of food. A simple caption: “My favorites.”

Paige stared at it.

An idea started forming before she could stop it.

She sat up, rubbing a hand over her face. What the fuck are you doing, Paige?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t want to know.

But somehow, she was already grabbing her jacket, slipping on sneakers, and heading for the door.

Paige didn’t ask where Xena was.

Not directly.

Instead, she messaged someone she knew from the soccer team, throwing in a casual, “Hey, is Xena okay?”

The response came back fast.

“She’s fine. Got stitched up. Why?”

Paige hesitated. Then—

"Just wondering. Heard she got hit bad."

The reply came almost immediately.

"You could just ask her yourself, you know."

Paige ignored that.

Instead, she sent a quick, “Where is she staying?”

There was a pause. Then—

"…Why?"

Paige clenched her jaw. Then, before she could overthink it, she typed,

"Coach asked me to check in."

A lie. A stupid, unnecessary lie.

But it worked.

A minute later, she had an address. And before she could think, before she could stop herself—Paige was already on her way.

The apartment door looked normal. Paige had no idea what she had expected. She stood there for a second, bag in hand, shifting her weight.

Then she knocked.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

The door opened, and there she was.

Xena.

Freshly stitched, bandaged, but still looking at Paige like she was the biggest surprise of the night.

Paige stared.

Xena arched a brow. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Paige clenched her jaw, lifting the bag. "Brought food."

Xena’s eyes flickered to it, then back to Paige.

For a beat, she said nothing.

Then—slow, taunting, amused—she leaned against the doorframe.

"You stalked my Instagram, didn’t you?"

Paige hated how hot her face felt.

"Shut up," she muttered, shoving the bag into Xena’s hands.

Xena took it, still watching her, still smirking.

Then she opened the bag.

Paige saw the exact moment she recognized the food.

The smirk faded. And for the first time tonight, Xena looked at her softly.

Paige’s stomach twisted.

She hated it. Hated it because she didn’t know why she had done this. Didn’t know why Xena’s face, battered and bruised, made her want to do something, anything to fix it.

Xena studied her for a second longer.

Then she sighed, stepping back, opening the door wider.

"You coming in or what?"

Paige hesitated.

Then—before she could change her mind—she stepped inside.

The first thing Paige noticed about Xena’s room was the smell. It was clean. Not in a clinical way, but fresh—like vanilla and something warm she couldn’t place.

The second thing she noticed?

It was small. Smaller than she expected, considering how big Xena’s presence always felt.

And the third thing? Xena was struggling.

She had the bag of food clutched in one hand while the other pressed against her ribs as she limped toward her bed.

Paige rolled her eyes, stepping forward before she could stop herself. "Jesus, just sit down."

Xena let out a breathy chuckle, plopping onto the mattress with an exaggerated wince. "Damn, Bueckers. Didn’t know you were so bossy."

Paige ignored the way that sent heat down her spine.

"Didn’t know you were so bad at getting your ass kicked," she shot back.

Xena smirked up at her, eyes sharp despite the bruises forming along her jaw. "It's soccer. Shit happens. "

Paige crossed her arms. "Who was the one who tackled you?"

Xena waved a hand, tearing open the takeout container. "Some frustrated defender. It happens."

Paige frowned. "Yeah, well, it shouldn’t happen."

Xena arched a brow. "What, you gonna fight them for me, Bueckers?"

Paige scowled. "Maybe."

The smirk on Xena's lips deepened, and Paige immediately regretted saying anything.

Xena balanced the food container on her lap, shifting slightly—only to wince when the movement pulled at her ribs.

Paige sighed, stepping forward without thinking.

"Here, idiot." She grabbed the container before Xena could drop it, sitting down at the edge of the bed and placing it on the nightstand instead.

Xena blinked at her.

Paige blinked back.

And suddenly, the space between them felt very small. Too small.

Paige’s pulse hammered against her ribs, but she kept her face neutral.

Xena, on the other hand? She knew.

Paige could see it in her eyes—the slow realization, the way her lips curled up like she was about to say something dangerous.

Paige needed to change the subject. Fast.

"So, when can you play again?"

Xena leaned back on her elbows, smirk still intact. "Couple weeks. Maybe less if I can sneak past the trainers."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Yeah, ‘cause that’s a smart idea."

Xena shrugged. "Gotta do what I gotta do."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet," Xena mused, gaze dropping—slowly, deliberately—to Paige’s mouth. "You’re here."

Paige swallowed.

Her brain short-circuited for a full three seconds before she forced herself to look away.

Bad idea.

Her eyes landed on Xena’s thigh—bruised, but still strong, still—fuck.

She shot to her feet, clearing her throat. "I should go."

Xena tilted her head, amused. "Already?"

"Yeah," Paige muttered, suddenly needing distance. "You need to rest."

Xena didn’t look convinced. "You sure you don’t wanna stay?"

The words were innocent enough, but the look in her eyes?

Not so much.

Paige clenched her jaw.

She wanted to. God, did she want to.

But Xena was injured, and Paige was too wired, too restless, too fucking tempted.

She needed to leave before she does something stupid.

So instead, she dug her phone out of her pocket and handed it to Xena. "Here."

She raised a brow. "What’s this for?"

"Your number," Paige said flatly. "In case you need anything."

She hummed, taking the phone. "So thoughtful, Bueckers."

Paige ignored her and waited as she typed, fingers moving lazily across the screen. After a moment, she handed the phone back.

Paige glanced at the contact name.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star

Paige huffed, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Really?"

Xena grinned. "Accurate, though."

Paige rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. For a second, she considered saying something else—something normal, like rest up or see you later.

But she didn’t trust her mouth not to betray her. So she just nodded and walked out.

Paige barely made it back to her dorm before her phone vibrated. She pulled it out, expecting Nika or one of her teammates.

But instead—

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Appreciate the food, Bueckers. Didn't know you had a soft side.

Paige stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

For a moment, she considered ignoring it.

But then—

Paige: Don’t get used to it.

A beat passed.

Then—

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: No promises.

Paige groaned, flopping onto her bed.

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. So why the fuck did she already want to see her again?

Paige hadn’t seen Xena in two weeks. Not on campus. Not at the gym. Nowhere. But the texts? Those hadn’t stopped.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Do you always take care of your enemies like this? Or am I special?

Paige: Enemies? You flatter yourself.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: I tend to have that effect on people.

Paige: Delusional.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Are you thinking about me right now?

Paige: No.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Liar.

Paige had stared at her screen way too long after that one.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Send me a pic.

Paige: Of what?

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Of you. What else?

Paige had scoffed, rolling her eyes. Not happening. But the heat crawling up her neck had been undeniable.

Paige: Why do you even have my number?

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: You gave it to me.

Paige: Biggest mistake of my life.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: But you’re still texting me.

Paige had shut her phone off after that one.

Two Weeks Later

Paige was leaving class, one hand adjusting the strap of her bag, the other pulling out her phone.

And then—

It started ringing. She frowned at the screen.

Xena.

She hesitated, then swiped to answer. "What—"

"Look right."

Paige froze. Her head turned instinctively.

And there she was.

Leaning against the wall, phone in one hand, a smug fucking smirk playing on her lips.

Paige’s breath hitched.

Because Xena wasn’t just here—she's fine now.

No limping. No injuries. Just standing there, grinning like she hadn’t just made Paige’s heart nearly combust.

"You’re—" Paige started, words failing. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Xena pushed off the wall, pocketing her phone. "Came to see you, obviously."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Xena stepped closer. "Because I owe you dinner."

Paige blinked. "What?"

"For last week." Xena shrugged. "Consider it a thank-you."

Paige crossed her arms. "You don’t owe me anything."

Xena tilted her head, eyes flickering down Paige’s body slowly, deliberately. "Let me take you out, Bueckers."

Paige swallowed. "You’re impossible."

Xena grinned. "And you like it."

Paige hated how true that was.

Xena drove them to some lowkey spot just outside campus—a hole-in-the-wall diner with neon lights and a too-good smell wafting through the air.

Paige raised a brow. "This is where you’re taking me?"

Xena smirked. "What, you too fancy for greasy food?"

Paige rolled her eyes. "I just didn’t take you for the type."

"And what type am I?" Xena challenged, opening the door for her.

Paige stepped inside, glancing at her. "Annoying."

Xena chuckled. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

They sat in a booth, menus in hand. Xena didn’t even look at hers. "You should get the cheeseburger."

Paige raised a brow. "And why’s that?"

"Because it’s the best thing here," she said simply. "And you look like someone who needs to be impressed."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Cocky."

"Accurate."

"Fine." Paige sighed, closing the menu. "But if it’s shit, I’m never listening to you again."

Xena grinned. "Deal."

Food came fast. Conversation flowed faster.

Somewhere between bites of what was, unfortunately, the best cheeseburger Paige had ever had, and Xena's teasing remarks about how she should "listen to her more," something shifted.

It wasn’t just banter anymore. It was easy.

It was Xena asking about her upcoming game and actually listening when Paige answered.

It was Paige asking about Xena's s recovery, about how she really felt after the injury.

It was Xena admitting, after a beat of hesitation, "It fucked me up, Bueckers."

And Paige, without thinking, reaching across the table, thumb brushing over Xena’s wrist. "You’ll be back."

Xena holding her gaze, softer than ever. "You think so?"

Paige nodding. "I know so."

And then—

The moment broke.

Xena smirked, pulling her hand back. "Careful, Bueckers. You’re starting to sound like you care."

Paige rolled her eyes, heat creeping up her neck. "Shut up and eat your food."

The drive back in the car was quiet. Not awkward. Just charged.

Xena drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, throwing her a glance. "Did you have fun?"

Paige sighed dramatically. "Shockingly, yes."

She grinned. "Knew it."

They pulled up outside Paige’s dorm.

Paige unbuckled, hesitating. "Guess I’ll see you around."

Xena smirked. "You will."

Paige went to open the door. But then—

"Wait."

She turned back. "What—"

Xena leaned over, voice dropping. "What if I don’t wanna wait another two weeks?"

Paige’s breath hitched.

Xena’s gaze flickered to her lips—brief, intentional, dangerous.

Paige’s pulse spiked. "Then don’t."

Xena exhaled sharply, fingers tapping against the wheel. "Fuck, Bueckers."

Paige smirked. "Goodnight, Xena."

And with that, she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Her phone buzzed before she even reached the door.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Goodnight, Paige.

It had been a week.

A whole week since that night at the diner. Since the teasing, the eye contact, and the electricity humming between them.

A whole week since Paige had last heard from Xena.

At first, she ignored the nagging feeling in her chest. Maybe Xena was busy. Maybe practice was brutal. Maybe—

But then, nothing. No texts. No calls.

Paige had tried.

Paige: Yo, ghosting me already?

Paige: Xena?

Paige: Seriously, what’s up?

Paige: Fine. Fuck this.

She wasn’t one to chase. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now. But then she saw her.

Paige was walking past towards the athlete's center when her breath hitched.

There, standing against the glass windows, was Xena.

And she wasn’t alone.

Some girl stood close—too close—smiling up at her.

Paige watched as the girl reached out, fingers trailing along Xena’s wrist before moving up to touch her cheek.

Xena just stood there, smiling softly, nodding at whatever the girl was saying.

Something inside Paige snapped.

Before she could stop herself, she walked inside, straight past them.

"Paige—"

Xena’s voice cut through the air, sharp, urgent. But Paige didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t care.

Not when her chest was burning. Not when her throat felt tight. Not when she knew damn well that she had no right to feel like this but couldn’t help it.

She stormed into their locker room, hands bracing against the cool metal, taking deep breaths.

Get it together.

She wasn’t yours.

Xena could do whatever the fuck she wanted.

Paige clenched her fists, swallowing hard.

So why the hell did it feel like she’d just been punched in the gut?

Her teammates noticed. Nika nudged her as they laced up. "You good, dude?"

Paige forced a smirk. "Always."

Azzi shot her a look. "You’ve been weird all practice."

"I’m fine," Paige snapped, harsher than she meant to.

Her teammates shared glances but didn’t push.

After practice, as they packed up, Nika tossed an arm over Paige’s shoulder. "We’re hitting the Tavern tonight. You in?"

Paige barely hesitated. "Fuck yeah."

She wasn’t about to sit in her dorm thinking about Xena.

She needed a distraction.

And if that distraction came in the form of loud music and shots of tequila, so be it.

The Tavern

The energy hit her the moment they stepped inside.

Music thrummed through the air, bodies swaying, laughter echoing across the dimly lit space.

Paige let herself relax, let the atmosphere dull the sharp edges of her thoughts—until she saw her.

Xena was sitting in a booth, with her teammates.

A drink in hand, eyes distant, lost in thought.

No girl.

No soft smiles.

Just her.

Paige’s stomach twisted.

She wanted to go to her.

She wanted to demand an explanation, to yell at her, to—

No.

She reminded herself of what she saw earlier. Instead, she headed for the bar. She had barely ordered when—

"Déjà vu, huh?"

Paige stiffened.

That voice. Low. Amused. Fucking dangerous.

She turned her head.

Xena had slid onto the stool beside her, close enough that Paige could feel the heat radiating off her.

Paige narrowed her eyes ahead. "What do you want?"

Xena answers softly. "To talk."

Paige didn’t turn. "Not in the mood."

Xena tilted her head, studying her. "You sure? Because I think you’re always in the mood to fight with me."

Paige finally looked at her, and fuck, there was fire in her eyes. Not that she can help it at this point. "You think this is a game?"

Xena sighed, leaning in. "No. But I think you miss me."

Paige’s jaw clenched. "You disappeared."

Xena sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Paige—"

"Don’t fucking Paige me!" she snapped, turning in her seat. "You disappear for a week. No texts, no calls. And then I see you, all smiles, letting some girl fucking touch you I —" and Paige stopped herself, exhaling hard. "It doesn’t fucking matter."

Paige was willing herself to cool the fuck down because people are already staring.

"Can you let me explain?" Xena was trying to hold her arm but Paige kept swatting it away.

"Fuck off, Xena." Paige was hurt, though she had no right. But still, she thought they are on the same page. She felt betrayed.

Xena stilled, maybe she felt herself on the verge of also losing it. She stand beside Paige, who's still sitting.

"Come outside. Let's talk." Xena wasn't about to make them a spectacle in front of their schoolmates.

"Oh, so now you want to talk?" Paige bit back hard. She wasn't about to lose to this godforsaken woman who's making her absolutely mad.

Xena sighed deeply, and loudly before looking at her eyes again. The lights passed through it, and although it was just a moment, Paige clearly saw the look on Xena's eyes.

Red-rimmed, troubled, hurt, lost, almost pleading eyes.

So before she says something stupid again, she stands up, grabbed Xena by the hand towards the back of the pub.

"Now what? I'm giving you two minutes to talk and then I'm done here." Paige deadpanned.

Xena hesitated, jaw clenching. "I lost my phone."

Paige frowned. "What?"

"Someone took it at the gym. Or I misplaced it. I don’t fucking know." Xena looked away, exhaling sharply. "And between training, school, and therapy, I just—I didn’t have time to explain."

Xena continues, eyes glassy, frustrated. "And then I see you today, and you just walk past me like I meant nothing."

Paige was about to crumble, but the thing that ticked her off still lingers. "You were happily smiling with some girl — "

"She’s my fucking therapist."

Paige stopped.

Her heart pounded. "What?"

Xena exhaled sharply, running her hands through her hair. "She’s my therapist. She was checking in on me, okay? My stitches, my wrist, my fucking cheekbones. She was happy my bruises are gone, that I’m good now."

Paige swallowed hard.

Her throat burned. Her anger cracked, giving way to new emotions.

Guilt.

Shame.

Fucking everything at once.

Paige exhaled, voice softer now. "I’m sorry."

Xena scoffed. "Yeah? Didn’t fucking seem like it when you were out here losing your shit on me."

Paige clenched her jaw. "I thought—" She cut herself off, hands balling into fists. "Fuck, Xena."

Xena looked at her, deeply, daring her to do much worse. "You're so hot when you're jealous, did you know that?"

And suddenly, there wasn’t any space between them anymore.

Paige surged forward.

Their lips crashed together, months of tension exploding between them.

Xena groaned, fingers tangling in Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in harder.

Paige pushed her against the wall, deepening the kiss, teeth scraping, hands gripping hips—fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was all heat, all fire, all fucking want.

People started filtering out of the bar, their voices pulling them apart, but Xena wasn’t done.

She grabbed Paige’s wrist, pulling her toward the parking lot.

"Come with me."

Paige didn’t hesitate.

They reached Xena’s car, and the moment the doors shut—

They were on each other again.

Xena straddled Paige in the passenger’s seat, hands in her hair, kissing her senseless.

Paige groaned into her mouth, nails digging into Xena’s thighs. "Fuck, you drive me insane."

Xena panted, lips swollen. "Right back at you."

Paige’s hands wandered, Xena’s breath hitched—

But then—

A voice outside.

They both froze.

Laughter.

People walking past.

Paige swallowed hard, forehead resting against Xena’s. "We should stop."

Xena exhaled sharply, hands still gripping her waist. "Yeah."

Neither of them moved.

Xena smirked. "You’re not letting me go."

Paige chuckled, eyes dark. "Not a chance."

"Come back with me," Xena offered, voice low, edged with something undeniable.

Paige stared at her.

This wasn’t a question. It was a challenge. A dare.

Her body screamed yes.

Her mind? Dangerous. Stupid.

Xena smirked, reading her hesitation. "Scared?"

Paige’s jaw ticked. "Drive."

Xena’s grin was pure fucking sin.

The second the door shut behind them, it was over.

Paige shoved Xena against it, her mouth crashing onto hers, hands tangling in her hoodie, hungry.

Xena groaned, pulling her in, her grip rough, her touch possessive.

The air was thick, charged, fucking unbearable.

Paige barely registered the room, only that the back of her legs hit the bed, and then they were falling into it.

Xena pinned her down, lips trailing down her neck, teeth grazing, teasing.

Paige sucked in a sharp breath, gripping Xena’s waist, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything—

A pause.

Xena hovered above her, breathless, eyes scanning Paige’s face.

A silent question.

Paige swallowed, heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Then she reached up, fingers curling into Xena’s shirt, pulling her back down.

"Shut up and keep going."

Xena’s grin was the last thing Paige saw before she stopped thinking entirely.

Paige had spent too much time fighting this.

Fighting Xena.

Fighting herself.

But there were only so many nights she could lie awake, replaying every look, every touch, every fucking feeling that Xena made her feel.

So, standing outside the athlete dorms, hands stuffed in her hoodie pocket, heart pounding like a goddamn drum, Paige inhaled deeply and knocked.

It only took three seconds for the door to swing open.

Xena stood there in sweats and a cropped UConn soccer tee, hair damp like she’d just showered, eyes widening at the sight of her.

"Paige?"

No teasing. No smirking. Just genuine surprise.

Paige swallowed. "Can I come in?"

Xena hesitated for a second before stepping aside. "Yeah, of course."

Paige walked in, pacing once before stopping, turning to face her. "Okay, look."

Xena crossed her arms, leaning against the door. "Should I be worried?"

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No. I mean—fuck, I don’t know." She ran a hand through her hair, huffing. "This is—"

"Spit it out, P," Xena said softly.

Paige locked eyes with her. "Be mine."

Xena’s breath hitched.

Silence hung between them—thick, heavy, waiting to crack.

"Paige—"

"No, listen," Paige interrupted, stepping closer, voice firm now. "I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want the games, or the push and pull. I don’t want to spend another fucking second pretending like I don’t think about you all the time. I just want you."

Xena just stared at her, like she wasn’t sure if this was real.

"So be mine," Paige repeated, softer this time.

Xena let out a small, breathless laugh, running a hand through her hair. "You make it sound so easy."

Paige tilted her head. "Isn’t it?"

Xena looked at her, searching, feeling.

And then she was closing the distance, grabbing Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in until their lips met, slow and deep, nothing like before—

This wasn’t fire or recklessness or anger.

This was certainty.

This was everything Paige had been waiting for.

Xena pulled back just enough to whisper, "Yeah. Okay. I’m yours."

Paige grinned, feeling light, victorious, complete.

"Damn right you are."

The world didn't change overnight.

But they did. And maybe that was enough.

The days passed, filled with stolen kisses in hallways, late-night talks in Xena’s dorm, meeting both their families. Imagine Paige's surprise when she finally learns about Leo, and how Xena has been plotting about her. Damn, the butterflies on Paige's stomach were indescribable.

Paige sat front row at Xena’s next game, arms crossed, locked in.

When Xena scored, she ran past the stands, pointing at Paige with a cocky smirk.

Paige only shook her head, smirking right back.

Xena came to every basketball game she could, watching Paige dominate.

One night after a win, Paige found Xena waiting by the locker room doors, arms crossed.

"You were a little off in the third quarter," Xena teased.

Paige rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

Xena leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Come over tonight?"

Paige smirked. "You don’t even have to ask."

They weren’t perfect.

They bickered. They teased. They pushed each other’s buttons.

But they also made each other better.

Stronger. Happier.

And maybe they didn’t have it all figured out yet—

But Paige knew one thing for sure.

Whatever this was?

She wasn’t letting go.

Not now.

Not ever.

[cybrasigilism]

could u maybe do like mutual virginity loss with player 125? like both of them r so shy and awkward,, i think it would be adorable.,.

So Anxious (Park Min-su/Player 125 X F! Reader SMUT)

warning: smut, no way | not proofread | lowercase intended | sub x sub | virginity loss | riding | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinions of the character differ from your own

character: park min-su (player 125)

A/N: decided to make this one an out of the games kinda post! i absolutely adore the idea of the reader being just as shy and nervous about the whole ordeal as min-su, thank you for the cute request! hope you enjoy :)

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

➤ since you were both serious about having you first be with someone special, you guys definitely tried to talk it out beforehand. but you both ended up becoming too flustered to really continue.

“how are we gonna be able to do it if we can’t even talk about it?”

“i don’t know…i still want to though..”

➤ when you guys eventually decided to get to it, you initiated the kiss but pulled away almost immediately, covering your face sheepishly.

“sorry! am i moving too fast?”

“n-not at all!” (he was definitely blushing himself, conflicted whether or not to hide the tent in his pants considering what you two were trying to do here)

➤ at first, you guys tried making out in the typical position— you being underneath him. but, you could tell min-su wasn’t exactly confident like this, so you guys switched up to where you would be straddling him. this drove him nuts of course

➤ once you guys got into the groove of things, your nerves began to calm. sure you were both shaking, but it had a bit more to do with the sheer anticipation now coursing through your bodies each time your lips met. it wasn’t made any better when min-su eventually snuck his hands up your shirt, caressing your bare back with his cold palms. the noise you made startled him, which you felt bad for

“oh, i’m sorry.. was that too much?”

“no! no, your hands are just c-cold.. that’s all..”

“ah, did you want me to stop or-“

you shake your head “feels nice, don’t stop on my account.”

➤ you’re unsure if you should at first, but you start to grind on him, drawing a unexpected moan from beneath the kiss you were currently sharing. you broke the kiss as you started to subconsciously grind harder, avoiding eye contact out of embarrassment at the expression that must have been painting your face just then. you could tell min-su was repressing his voice just as much as you were your own— you were both positively petrified to make any sound at all, in fact. but, some stifled moans made their way past as he shifted his grasp from your back to your hips.

➤ when you guys actually ended up having sex, it was a swift matter for both parties. i mean, let’s be real here. you were both completely inexperienced virgins, you couldn’t be surprised that you guys both wound up cumming fast. however swift it may have been, you enjoyed it nonetheless. he wasn’t too big, so it didn’t hurt too badly, but it was enough to make you feel better than your fingers ever could.

➤ oh yeah, and you guys could forget about masking those moans of yours any longer. the moment you sank down onto his dick, min-su was a goner. you had never heard him make such a sound in all your life, and you even asked him if he was alright initially. sure, you may not have been so vocal at first contact, but as soon as you started moving that completely turned on its head.

➤ after the fact, you both just kind of laid there next to one another. silent. come on, you had just changed the trajectory of your friendship forever, that was a lot to process. after a moment though, you both found that neither of you could wipe those stupid grins off your faces. you had just changed the entire path of your friendship, forever. and you were both okay with that

AAAA thank you so much for this adorable request! i absolutely loved writing some soft smut, however short it may have been :) thanks for reading again, and i’ll see you on the next one!

as always, any advice/constructive criticism on how to improve my writing is appreciated and requested! have a fantastic day/night lovelies 💋💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @strangelife122 @agorsnotworld @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet

[everdeensworld]

VDay prompts: 9&10, hotch x fem!reader (could be gen neutral, bau!reader too!) Aaron saying the dialogue

prompts: #9 “just keep your eyes closed.” “you’re not leading me to my death are you?” #10 “i hate valentine’s day, it’s pointless.” “i’m going to change your mind, go out with me.”

authors note: haha! don’t worry about it, thank you for the request!

prompt list

“i hate valentine’s day, its pointless.” being a hopeless romantic, hearing aaron say that in such confidence had urged you to change his mind.

he and been a pessimist as long as you knew him, but you knew he enjoyed holidays like christmas and halloween, the bau had always made them into a big deal, and he did have a young son, so you knew those days were very magical for kids, for his son, so therefore they were magical to him too.

but hating valentine’s day! you just could not allow it, and this was the perfect opportunity you couldn’t pass up, having feelings for your boss was taboo, but after gaining a friendship with him, it felt a little less taboo.

“i’m going to change your mind, go out with me.” you said to him in full confidence, which had caught his usually stoic self off guard, he lets out a little laugh, assuming you were just kidding.

“i’m not joking, go out with me.” you say, then clearing your throat. “if you want to that is.”

he stared down at your face trying to decipher wether or not you were really being serious, slowly his face softened. “okay, alright then, i will go out with you, you better dazzle me, i do hate valentine’s day after all.”

you smile, gleefully. “of-course, nothing less for you.”

that’s how you got to where you are now, his eyes covered with a blindfold, and you were covering that with your hand, for good measure, leading him to where you’d be having your date.

after he had agreed you had spend most your free time planning for it, you’d been hopelessly in love with aaron since you’d met him, and taking him out on valentines day could be the chance to finally have him love you back.

“do i have to have this blindfold on?” he asked with a grumble, almost stumbling over a tree stump, trying to reach up to take it off but you swat his hand away.

“just keep your eyes closed!” you tell him, in a firm voice, eliciting a soft chuckle from him.

“you’re not leading me to my death are you?” he asked, feeling you lead him down a path that was pretty narrow, he hears you let out a soft huff.

“don’t you have any faith in me aaron, you’re too— work mode.”

before he could make a witty response back, you let go of his hand and swivel around to him, “okay, we’re here, you can take off your blindfold now!”

he’s quick to take it off, deep down he knows he’d been looking forward to this, even if he claimed he hated valentine’s day, he couldn’t, not when you loved it.

his eyes searched the area, it was a little patch of grass, a few candles and a picnic blanket decked out with treats, snacks and meal foods, his eyes widened.

maybe it was high-school of him to feel like he had butterflies, it had been a while since he’d experienced anything remotely romantic.

ever since he’d lost his ex-wife, he steered clear of love, it scared him, he didn’t think that he deserved it, and he didn’t think anyone would want a man with all his baggage, not only that he had a young son.

he didn’t want to put anyone in danger, and he didn’t want to put you in danger.

the role-reversal was quite a strange feeling on his part, he’d never had someone lead him to a picnic with, blindfold on, or ask him to be their valentine so sweetly, but it was quite freeing, it made him feel liked, worthy.

not that he didn’t mind being the one to make romantic gestures, in fact, if you hadn’t been the one to ask him out, he had shamefully, got a corny valenties card with a bee on it that said ‘bee my valentine.’

after all, before you had boldly asked him out on a date, he pretended he didn’t care for valentine’s day.

he was glad he didn’t have that to show, seeing the effort you had put in for him, he would’ve looked like the world greatest asshole. “this is… wonderful.” he smiled.

“is it?” you look up at him. “i know it’s a bit.. uh, girly, i hope you don’t mind, i just thought that even men deserve to be doted on every once in a while.”

the hesitant look on your face made his heart swell, “it’s perfect, i think valentine’s day is creeping up on me..” he smirked, making you grin with excitement.

“well! now we’ve got to make you love it, i’ve got champagne, and all your favourite foods.” you say, leading him to the picnic blanket, he followed willingly.

what you didn’t know was, you’d already had him hooked on valentine’s day, he loved it, though watching you try and convince him a little bit longer wouldnt hurt.

[fredshroomz]

Thinking about how in ancient Rome, the wealthy were pretty much hairless. Waxed, shaved, creamed, softened, stripped of body hair until smooth. I think of that, and I think of our favorite little guy.

HE’S SO COVERED IN HAIR!!!!!

This makes me think that Caracalla either didn’t care to adhere to beauty and nobility standards of his time, OR he simply put up too much of a fuss to be made hairless. He probably got waxed once and then demanded that everyone who laid a hand on him that day be executed. How dare they inflict pain upon him, and in such a mundane way at that?

His legs, his chest, probably everywhere else that the sun doesn’t shine on. Geta is smooth like a baby, Caracalla refuses to have even a single square inch stripped clear. Maybe for especially important occasions, but even that would be a gamble.

Caracalla clearly gives no fucks about his public perception. Geta clearly cares extremely deeply. The common people wouldn’t know that their tyrant emperor doesn’t shave… But Geta knows, the slaves know, their guards and their whores know. It probably drives Geta up the fucking wall. His brother who doesn’t care about anything but his whims, and himself, tortured and shaking beneath the burden of false confidence. Of his leadership that boiled down to blindly scrambling for a solid surface in the dark. It puts these infinitely close individuals, who shared a womb and a childhood and their beatings and traumas, even further apart. I’m sick. I’m SICK.

[halfway-happyyy]

It'll All Work Out

summary: you are casually involved with a one Mister frank castle, but still have unfinished business with one of his biggest adversaries, matt murdock. angst and soft feelings ensue.

warnings: brief mentions of violence

pairings: frank castle x reader, matt murdock x reader

You awaken in the morning hush to the familiar sounds of the city coming to life around you. Millions of dust particles dance and shift in a ray of 5 AM light from the crack in your curtains. A warm weight shifts next to you, and an impossibly toned arm circles your torso ever tighter. For some inexplicable reason before you turn, you half expect to find a shock of unruly umber hair and ruddy, stubbled cheeks beneath a pair of gorgeous hazel eyes. 

And then, a barely noticeable smile lifts Frank Castle’s lips skyward, and you’re back where you’re supposed to be, as if you’d never left at all.

“Mornin’,” He murmurs and lifts the back of your hand to his lips, brushing it softly.

“Morning, Frank.” You kean into his touch, craving more of it always, as if enough of it will make you forget the way that he felt beneath you.

Frank traces a deliberate fingertip down the bridge of your nose, his molten bronze eyes alert and shining brightly in the inky light of dawn. “Last night was nice.” He offers.

And he’s not lying.

You can still feel the scorching heat from his fingertips on every inch of your body; an inexplicably satisfying ache still exists at the apex of your thighs from being stretched a little too fully by him… “Every time with you is nice.” You take cover from his gaze in the hollow warmth of his neck. The low reverberation of his chuckle against the top of your head causes a tremble to wrack your body, and his hold on you tightens involuntarily. 

When you’re close like this- when there’s no telling where either of you end or begin, it’s entirely too easy to lose yourself in all of it. Your home has been a safe space the last six months. There are no cuts to be patched up, no ghosts in the shadows, no goodbyes.

No Matthew.

“You’re a million miles away.” 

His gravelly tone is teasing, but there is a hint of something else beneath it that causes tidal waves of guilt to ebb away at you and you swallow thickly before answering- “I’m right here.” It’s as much a reassurance for him as it is for you.

A sudden vibration pierces the imminent stillness of your bedroom, the sound of it foreign and unfamiliar, and you frown against the jut of Frank’s collarbone. “Who’s even up at this hour?” His voice is thick with the weight of recent sleep. 

The ringing stops, and you think with relief, that it’s the end of that, but less than a minute later, it starts again and you groan in unconcealed frustration. 

“Whoever it is needs you.” 

Turning in Frank’s embrace, you reach for the phone on your bedside table and blanch at the name flashing across the screen. 

MM.

Frank recoils against you; it’s so quiet in the bedroom that you can hear the particular hitch of his breath as it catches in his throat. He doesn’t have to ask what MM stands for. “Better answer it, sweetheart.” His tone is frigid, touching dangerously close to full-on hostility. He presses a final, chaste kiss to the rounded curve of your bare shoulder, lifts the duvet from his body and swings his legs over the side of your bed.

You watch the muscles in his toned back ripple and flex as he bends down to retrieve the pieces of his clothing abandoned in the searing heat of passion the night before. 

“Frank, I don’t want you to go.” And it's God's honest truth.

A melancholy laugh exits his mouth in the form of a huff, as he shrugs his shoulders. “I’d be lying if I said I wanted to leave, sweetheart.” 

So stay…

“He’s never stopped loving you.” His voice was a wine glass on the precipice of shattering entirely. “And maybe I was on my way there, too.” 

God, this was never part of the plan.

Frank clears his throat, trying in vain to rid his voice of emotion. “I’m confident in my feelings for you. Have been from the moment you poured me that damn cup of coffee,” The creases next to his eyes deepen as he revisits the memory. “But the fact of the matter is that he beat me to it. And as nice as the last six months have been, there are three of us in this bedroom and it’s getting a bit crowded.” Where you expected his gaze to be angry or accusatory, it’s anything but.

Tears prickle threateningly behind your eyes as you hug your arms tighter to your frame. “I’m sorry, Frank.” 

He’s fully dressed now and standing at your window, his hulking figure silhouetted by the breaking morning light is a sight for sore eyes. He shrugs after a while. “He needs you.” 

And what about you?  You want to ask. Don’t you need me to?

But it’s Frank Castle. And he hasn’t really needed anyone for a long time- at least not the way that most people do. 

So, he gathers you in his arms for a final time, presses his lips to your forehead, and takes his leave to go. But before he vanishes from sight completely, he hesitates on the landing of your stairway and turns back to you, his penetrating gaze still just as dazzling as ever. “Right person, wrong time.” 

Right person, wrong time. 

From where you are, you hear the sound of your front door opening, but miss the sound of it closing. Instead, an indecipherable noise emanates from Frank, followed by a humorless laugh. “Well, this is rich.” 

Your heart skips a beat as you throw on an old shirt and take the stairs two at a time. At the bottom, you’re met with a scene that’s still difficult to piece together. Matt is hunched up against the side of your house, beaten and bruised from what looks like a brutal fight. Taking inventory of the damage, you notice a violet bruise blooming beneath his left eye, a shallow cut on his cheek seeps crimson blood, and he’s favouring his ribs. 

“You always were a little too good at taking a beating, Murdock.” Frank spits. 

Matt shifts, wincing from the pain. “If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.” 

“This isn’t funny, Matt.” 

He won’t look at you. Not yet. 

“Do you need a hospital?” Frank asks, finally. 

Matt shakes his head. “Just rest.” 

And it’s the look that Frank leaves you with as he climbs onto the back of his motorcycle; he needs you. He disappears at the end of your street and you find yourself missing his strong, protective reassurance almost immediately. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Matt’s voice is hoarse, and causes goosebumps in waves on your arms. 

“And yet somehow, you always manage to.” You sigh and slide down the wall next to him. Taking his hand in yours, you’re shocked at how cold it is and you turn to him, concerned. “How long have you been out here?” 

Matt clears his throat. “A couple of hours, give or take.” 

“You can’t keep doing this, Matt.” Your statement is quiet, almost lost to the white noise of the city around you. “It’s just too painful.” 

His unseeing gaze is focused on something ahead when a single tear cascades down the front of his cut cheek. It’s an unfamiliar sight; in the many years that you had known him, he’d only let himself cry once or twice. Placing an arm around him, you pull him to you and hold him as tightly as he allows you. When a light rain begins to fall, you tell him it’s time to go in. 

He reluctantly gets up, groaning in pain as he follows you back into your house. While the bathtub is filling, you get to work searching for the proper supplies to start patching him up. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” You ask, and take a step between his parted thighs. “Or shall I rely on my imagination?” 

He gazes up in the direction of your voice, and you can not help but lose yourself in his beautiful hazel eyes. “Lately, I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat,” His voice is low and raw with emotion. “And I worry because I don’t feel anything. I just don’t feel anything.” 

His eyes close and you feel your heart splinter.

Ripping open an alcohol swab, you take the back of his head in your hands and warn him that what you’re about to do will sting. You pass it over the cut on his cheek and he flinches against you, his body rigid with discomfort. 

“I get worried that I’ll stop feeling everything one day.” He grunts.

So, under the cover of darkness you become the devil of hell’s kitchen and start fights you’re not always sure you’ll win. 

“A valid fear,” You agree. “You did feel that, though.” You gesture to his cheek, and he only frowns in reply. 

Matt clears his throat, his expression suddenly earnest. “Frank-” You shake your head, your heart twinging at the sound of his name out of Matt’s mouth. The rest of the words fizzle and fade in his throat. 

“Stand up.” You instruct, quietly. And he does as he’s told. You take the hem of his shirt in your hands and carefully lift it up over his head. “Jesus Matthew…” You release a pent-up breath as you notice the smattering of fresh bruises that decorate his upper body like a warzone. He recoils when you pass a delicate fingertip over a particularly dark spot. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks, kid…” 

The sound of your nickname makes you falter. It had been years since you’d last heard it, and where it should have incited immediate frustration, you are surprised to find you’d missed it. Next to go are his pants, which pool on the floor around his feet. Stepping out of them, he shimmies the black boxers from his body and steps into the all-encompassing comfort of the steaming bath. 

Turning to make your exit, a fragile noise rips from the hollow of his throat before he asks if you’ll stay. After a couple of minutes of silent deliberation, you nod your head and take a seat on a stool next to the bath. 

Matt sits in silence for a while, the only other noise in the room is the subtle pitter-patter of rain on the skylight above you. Scars of varying degrees of seriousness decorate the expansive planes of his alabaster chest, and it’s all you can do to keep from reaching out and tracing them. When enough time has passed, you fill a jug from beneath the sink with warm water and pour it over Matt’s head. Pouring a dollop of shampoo onto his head, you work the mixture into a lather in his hair and rinse that out as well. When you’re finished rinsing out the conditioner, he stands up for you in preparation of the body wash. You watch, wide-eyed as water drops race themselves in misshapen lines down the length of his lithe body, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of it all. Taking the soapy sea sponge in your hands, you make quick work of his entire body. 

“Feels good,” He murmurs when you’ve poured the final jug of warm water over him. 

While he finishes up in the washroom, you make quick work of changing over your bed. He wanders in a little while later, his hair still slightly damp despite him toweling off. Lifting the corner of your weighted duvet, he sidles in next to you, and all of it is almost painfully familiar; like he’d been here all along, like he’d never even left at all. 

You both are nose-to-nose now. Every scar, every fleck of green suspended in a sea of hazel is on display for you, and any resolve you might have had before fades entirely. “I did mean what I said earlier, Matt.” 

He reaches a warm palm up to caress your cheek. 

“You pick and choose when it’s convenient for you to let me in and I just… I can’t keep doing it. You’re breaking my heart.” A single tear slips from the corner of your eye, and he doesn’t see it- cannot see it, but his thumb catches it and brushes it away. 

He’s never stopped loving you.

“You’re it for me, kid. I’ll never leave you again.” He doesn’t say what you both know is true; that he’ll never stop doing what he does to protect the city he cherishes so deeply, but there is a truth to those pretty words that simply wasn’t there before. “That is, if you’ll have me.” 

You capture his lips in a kiss that might as well be the last one you’ll ever have, and when you eventually pull away, you’re both breathing hard. Wordlessly, you guide his hand to the spot above your rib cage where your heart beats a slow, steady rhythm. 

“I love you, Matthew.” 

I love you, I love you, I love you

[lloveboo]

ALL THE WAYS WE BURN - a Kim Mingyu fanfic

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader, ceo!mingyu x employee!reader

genre: office romance, sexual tension, yearning, heavy angst, slow burn

pervious chapter: Under His Gaze

Chapter Three – A Step Closer

Nova

The conference room was filled with the low hum of conversation as the project team gathered, flipping through their notes and preparing for the next phase of the project. I adjusted in my seat, next to Lila who was scrolling through her tablet with furrowed brows.

A team member took the lead standing at the front of the room and clicking through slides as he outlined the upcoming steps. My focus wavered between the presentation and the quiet shifts in Lila’s demeanour beside me. I didn’t think much of it at first.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her press a hand against her lower stomach her fingers were gripping the fabric of her shirt just for a moment before she let go. Her brows pinched ever so slightly with a flicker of discomfort across her face before she masked it completely.

I leaned in slightly towards her, keeping my voice low. “You okay?”

Lila barely glanced at me, offering a small and tight smile. “Yeah, just a little off today.”

I studied her for a moment. She was a hard worker, dedicated, sharp, and efficient but something about the way she dismissed it didn’t sit right with me.

I let it go. If she wanted to talk about it, she would.

The presentation continued and by the time it ended Lila was back to her usual self, making sharp remarks about the next steps and assigning tasks with precision. If she really wasn’t feeling well, she was good at hiding it.

As we gathered our things, my eyes caught movement outside the glass walls of the conference room.

Mingyu.

He was walking past with effortless confidence, the sleeves of his designer shirt rolled up slightly. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his suit pants and his dark eyes flickered towards the room as he passed.

Towards me.

Our gazes met for just a second, one heartbeat, then another.

Then he was gone.

I swallowed, pressing my lips together as I grabbed my notes. I need to get it together.

Later in the day, we were in the office canteen for lunch and I noticed Lila’s odd behaviour again.

We sat together with a few other coworkers, discussing work and our plans for the weekend, but Lila wasn’t eating much. She picked at her food absentmindedly, barely contributing to the conversation.

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked again.

She blinked, like she hadn’t realised she had zoned out. Then she smiled, reassuring. “Yeah, just not that hungry.”

I hesitated, but eventually nodded. It wasn’t my place to push but something still felt off.

And then I felt it.

A presence.

My skin prickled before I even turned my head, and when I did.

It was him.

He was at a nearby table, seated with Vice CEO Seungcheol and a few other high-rank executives. He wasn’t looking at me at least not obviously, but I caught the way his posture shifted ever so slightly when I turned toward him.

I shouldn’t have stared.

But I did.

And when he finally glanced my way even for the briefest second, my breath caught.

He looked away first, continuing his conversation as if nothing had happened.

As if my heart wasn’t racing like I’d just run a marathon.

That night, after I got home, my phone buzzed with a message from Lila.

Lila: Hey, I haven't been feeling well so I won’t be able to come in tomorrow. Can you cover my presentation?

I sat up in bed, reading the message twice.

The presentation.

The one in front of Mingyu, Vice CEO Seungcheol, and other high-ranking executives. It was the presentation that Lila and me worked on, the one that she was supposed to present as the team leader.

My heart thumped harder in my chest but instead of panic, something else settled inside me. It was determination.

I took a deep breath and texted back.

Me: I got it. I hope you get some rest.

Tomorrow, I’m going to have to prove myself again.

The soft chime of my alarm pulled me from my sleep before the sun had even fully risen. I reached over silencing it with a groggy moan but I didn’t have the luxury of lying back down. Today was too important.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed I rubbed the sleep away from my eyes and forced myself up. The apartment was still quiet, Charlotte doesn’t need to wake up for school for another hour, which gave me enough time to make some final tweaks to the presentation.

I wrapped myself in a hoodie and made my way to the small desk in the corner of the living room, where my laptop sat.

I had gone over Lila’s notes last night, memorising key points and making sure I was fully prepared but there were still some details I wanted to refine. A stronger opening. A clearer explanation of one of our projections. And more precise visuals.

I lost track of time as I worked, immersed in detailing the slides until I felt satisfied.

A soft creak behind me made me turn. Charlotte stood in the hallway rubbing her eyes and her hair messy from rolling in her sleep.

“You’re up early,” she mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness.

I smiled, closing my laptop. “Big day at work.”

She yawned, stretching her arms. “You’re always working hard.”

“I don’t mind” I said, getting up and guiding her towards the kitchen.

We made breakfast together scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit. It was our usual routine, a comforting normalcy before we both left for the day.

As we ate, Charlotte studied me. “You look nervous.”

I swallowed a bite of toast, raising an eyebrow. “Do I?”

She nodded. “Is it because of that CEO guy?”

I nearly choked. “What?”

“Mingyu,” she said casually, taking a sip of her juice. “You always talk about how intimidating he is.”

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my expression neutral. “I mean, he’s my boss. And he’s… definitely intimidating.”

And devastatingly handsome. And smart. And—

Charlotte smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Well, good luck.”

We finished breakfast and she headed her way to school and I headed to the office.

I arrived earlier than usual, stepping into the near-empty office. The hum of conversations and soft tapping of keyboards filled the air as a few early birds worked at their desks.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the conference room.

This was it.

I spread out my notes, pulled up the presentation on the large screen, and went over everything one last time. My hands were steady, but my heart was a different story, beating just a little too fast.

I can do this.

But the moment I thought about who would be sitting at the head of the table watching me with his dark eyes, my stomach flipped.

I clenched my fists shaking off the nerves. This wasn’t about him. It was about proving myself.

Slowly, the room began to fill. Executives, team members, and finally him.

Mingyu walked in with Seungcheol beside him, his presence commanding even in the casual way he adjusted the cuff of his suit.

His gaze flicked to me and just for a second it felt like everything else had faded.

But then he took his seat, expression unreadable, and the meeting officially began.

I exhaled and stepped forward.

The moment I started speaking, my nerves melted away.

I presented with confidence, explaining the project’s development, breaking down the projections, and answering questions with ease. This was what I was good at, analyzing, thinking ahead and proving that I deserved to be here.

I could feel eyes on me but one pair burned hotter than the rest.

He sat back in his chair, his sharp gaze unwavering, his fingers lightly tapping against the table as he listened. His expression was still unreadable but I could tell he was paying close attention.

When I finished explaining a key point about design efficiency I paused, scanning the room.

Then, a deep voice cut through the silence.

“How do you plan to handle the risk factor if unexpected costs arise?”

Mingyu.

I turned my head, meeting his gaze head-on. He was challenging me. Testing me.

And I wasn’t about to back down.

“By building contingency plans into the budget,” I answered smoothly. “We’ve allocated a percentage for unforeseen costs, ensuring flexibility without sacrificing quality. Additionally, we can adjust materials if necessary while maintaining the original vision.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Mingyu’s lips curled slightly. “Good.”

A rush of satisfaction bloomed in my chest, but it was quickly replaced by something else when I realized, he was still watching me.

The air between us thickened. His gaze didn’t waver, even as the discussion moved forward. It was like an invisible thread had formed between us, pulling us closer in a room full of people.

I forced myself to break eye contact, heart pounding.

Because I liked the way he looked at me.

Mingyu

Nova commanded the room effortlessly her voice was steady and her confidence unwavering. I leaned back in my chair, one elbow resting on the armrest as I watched her. She had everyone’s attention but I doubted anyone else was analysing her as intently as I was.

I knew she was sharp, I had seen a glimpse of it during our first meeting. But now, watching her handle herself under pressure, I felt something tighten in my chest.

She wasn’t just presenting; she was owning the space. Every word was intentional, every slide backed by solid reasoning.

I let my gaze wander, taking in the way her fingers barely trembled as she clicked through the slides, the soft glow of the projector casting shadows along the delicate curve of her jaw. And then there was her figure, the way she stood so gracefully that it made it impossible to look away.

I shifted in my seat, jaw clenching. This was business. Just business.

“That’s an ambitious approach,” I said, letting my voice cut through the air. She turned towards me brown eyes locking onto mine. “But have you considered the logistical limitations? Your plan assumes the project site will accommodate such changes without delay.”

Something flickered in her expression.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied without hesitation. “I anticipated that concern, which is why I included an alternative timeline with buffer periods for any structural adjustments. If you refer to slide fifteen—” she clicked the remote, shifting the slide “—you’ll see that we’ve already accounted for potential setbacks.”

I didn’t reply immediately. I just watched her. The way she held her ground with such confidence was an unshakable force.

Smart. Quick. She hadn’t just prepared, she had anticipated.

I tightened my grip on the arm rest.

“Not bad,” I said evenly, hiding my approval beneath a layer of professionalism.

She held my gaze for a fraction of a second longer before continuing. The presentation carried on, but I found myself only half-listening. My focus kept drifting to the way she moved, the way her fingers brushed over the table as she gestured, the way her perfume lingered in the air when she passed by me.

It was maddening.

The meeting finally wrapped up chairs scraping against the floor as everyone stood to leave. Nova was busy gathering her notes, her focus entirely on her papers.

“I need you to stay,” I said, my voice low but firm.

Her head snapped up.

The last few executives filed out leaving the room eerily quiet. Nova hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the files she was holding before she straightened her posture.

“Close the door,” I added.

She did.

I gestured to the seat adjacent from me. She lowered herself into it while looking at me.

I didn’t speak right away. I let the silence stretch, let the weight of my stare settle on her before I finally said, “Lila is taking maternity leave.”

Surprise flickered across her face. “Oh,” she murmured before quickly regaining her composure. “That makes sense. She mentioned not feeling well recently.”

I nodded. “She’s my most hardworking employee. But now, this project needs a new lead.”

Her breath hitched.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “That’s going to be you.”

She blinked, lips parting slightly.

For the first time since I’d met her, she looked momentarily speechless. But then, she swallowed, straightened her shoulders, and said, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. I promise I won’t disappoint you.”

I studied her, noting the way her fingers curled slightly against the table, the way her breathing had subtly changed. “You’ll be working closely with me from now on,” I said, my voice dipping slightly lower. “I expect the same level of dedication that Lila provided, if not more.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I understand.”

A moment passed.

The tension in the room thickened, stretching between us like an invisible thread had pulled too tight. My gaze flickered downward just for a second, taking in the slight press of her nails against the wood, the way her chest rose and fell just a little too quickly.

Too close. Too tempting.

I forced myself to lean back. “That’s all for now,” I said smoothly. “Be ready tomorrow morning. We have a lot to go over.”

Nova exhaled, standing up. “Yes, sir.”

She turned to leave but hesitated at the door.

Her grip on the handle tightened.

And then she left.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, I exhaled slowly and ran a hand down my face.

This was going to be a problem.

— S.

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows

[xreaderdumpster]

Some playlist head canons for the X-Men

Not sure why but lately I’ve had ideas involving songs for the X-Men characters! So below I’ve given each character 7 songs I think would be in a playlist for the characters! Feel free to disagree, this is all my personal opinion ;w; Also this isn’t music accurate for the 90’s so suspend your disbelief!!

Scott- Cosmic Dancer by T. Rex, Talking in your sleep by The Romantics, Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons, Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter (defo a guilty pleasure artist introduced to by Jubilee), Where is my Mind by the Pixies, Heroes by David Bowie and I believe in a thing called love by The Darkness (see “I’ve got you”, he’d defo do this song at drunk karaoke).

Gambit- The Pretender by Foo Fighters, Fuck me like you mean it by Steve Rodriguez, Chk Chk Boom by Stray Kids (gives me very Gambit does tricks to this song vibes), Ma Belle Evangeline from Princess and the Frog (obviously), Powerless by Waterparks (kind of a good song he’d sing to Rogue), Good Old-Fashioned Lover boy by Queen and Iris by Goo Goo Dolls.

Logan- Paint it black by Rolling Stones, Walk this way by Aerosmith, Southern Nights by Glen Campbell, Midnight Ride by Orville Peck (introduced to him by Rogue, would defo do a drunk duet to this song), Hurt by Johnny Cash, Barn Raising from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (I head-canon that he secretly loves classic MGM musicals like Seven Brides and Calamity Jane) and Automobile by KALEO.

Rogue- Timber by Kesha, Can’t Remember to forget you by Shakira and Rihanna (sexy dancing in the club to this song with Morph and Jubilee), All the things she said by t.A.T.u., The Reason cover by Lady Parts (just gives me Rogue vibes!), Maneater by Nelly Furtado, Die with a smile by Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars and When you’re gone by Avril Lavigne (still got a lil emo/goth phase in her and this song is just sad enough to fit the vibes of both goth and the rest of her music with Avril).

Jean- Me and my husband by Mitski (gives her and Scott vibes), Chain by Fleetwood Mac, Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy (didn’t want to go with the obvious “The Phoenix choice from this album), Like real people do by Hozier, SOS by Abba (again, about her and Scott), Light my Love by Greta Van Fleet and Defying Gravity from Wicked.

Storm- Woman by Doja Cat, Cobra by Megan Thee Stallion, Thunderstruck by AC/DC (I’m sorry this is an obvious choice!!!), Confident by Demi Lovato, Little wolf from Epic: The Musical, My love mine all mine by Mitski and Good Riddance (Time of your life) by Green Day (feels like she’d connect with this song somehow, introduced to Green Day either by Morph or Gambit).

Hank- It’s All Right by Jon Batiste, Just a man from Epic:The Musical (I feel like he’d quite like the concept of this musical), Minecraft by C418, Concerning Hobbits from Lord of the Rings, La Vie en Rose cover by Louis Armstrong (gives me big jazz fan vibes), My baby just cares for me by Nina Simone and Sonata No. 14 “Moonlight” by Beethovan.

Jubilee- Crazy by LE SSERAFIM (was hard to narrow down a couple of K-Pop songs but this gave me the most Jubilee vibes), Girls just wanna have fun by Cyndi Lauper, You belong with me by Taylor Swift (she’d 100% be a Swiftie!), Bed chem by Sabrina Carpenter, Guess by Charli XCX, Just Dance by Lady Gaga and She’s homeless by CreepP (a good dance song when she’s out with Morph and Rogue).

Morph- Queer as in fuck you by Dog park dissidents, Tragedy cover by Brian David Gilbert, Abracadabra by Lady Gaga (Jubilee and Morph are both big fans of Gaga!), Dancing by myself by Billy Idol, I’m still standing by Elton John (headcanon that they love dancing), Let’s dance by David Bowie and Joyride (circus night) by Freshman Biology (original works too but this one’s funnier and they give the vibe they’d like parody music).

[cherry-smokes]

My Strange Lady ch. II

Steve begins to learn more about the strange woman who works at the local library. He might even be beginning to call her a friend. ch. I Paring: Single dad!Steve Harrington x oddball!reader Word Count: 3.1K Note: this is a reader insert, I just don't really use y/n in my work so instead the reader goes by the nickname Birdie here. Also, a slowwwwww burn. Sorry y'all I love to yearn.

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The library garden is beautiful. Steve had never really bothered to check it out before. It’s a small thing. Two benches with a few small trees and flower bushes. There’s a small swing set as well. It’s sun bleached and Steve is willing to bet it creaks like crazy. The trees are decorated with bird houses. Simple ones, probably a little unstable but the wood is engraved beautifully. He can’t help but wonder if you had anything to do with that.

All last night Steve’s tossing and turning had nothing to do with the looming distress that came with loving someone more than yourself. Instead, his mind was clouded with ideas of you. He could hear your bird call in his dreams. The way his name slipped from your lips as if you had known him much longer than you really did. He can’t help but feel that you might be that kind of person. The kind that immediately knows everything someone is hiding behind their eyes. He wonders what you might have seen behind his.

He can’t tell if that fills him with dread or excitement.

As he walks hand in hand with Robbie, approaching you on one of the benches, he thinks it might be excitement. You’re wearing a long skirt today. Big worn leather boots and a tube top along with another cardigan. You must get cold easily. He wishes he could will the cool breeze to stop for you.

“Hi Miss Birdie!”

You look up from your lap revealing a sketchbook where you’ve begun drawing a bird.

“Good morning Robert.”

You look behind the child and right at Steve. You stare for a bit and he thinks you might be checking him out. He feels himself stand a little taller, shoulders rolling back with a small rush of confidence.

“Good morning Steve. There’s a stain on your shirt.”

Not checking him out, got it. He looks down and finds a rogue ketchup stain from the hash browns they had that morning. He was so caught up on making sure Robbie didn’t ruin his nice outfit he hadn’t even looked at his own.

“Oh sh-ooot.”

You lean over into your bag. You’re starting to remind him of Mary Poppins with that thing, even more so when you pull out a small pack of wet wipes. "I get stains all the time." You hand it over to him and he gives you a small nod as a thank you. Robbie takes it upon himself to sit right next to you. Pressing against your side and looking past your arm at your drawing.

“What kind of bird is that?”

“It’s a Robin. There was one on that branch over there a bit ago. It left. Maybe it’ll come back.”

Robbie begins giggling. He leans into Steve’s side when he finally joins them on the bench, wet wipe shoved into his pocket.

“What are you laughing about bud?”

Robbie covers his face like he’s about to share a secret. It wouldn’t be a good one considering how loud he says it through his giggles.

“It’s a Robbie. It’s a Robbie bird.”

“It’s a Robin.”

Your voice lacks any malice. Like you’re genuinely convinced the kid just heard you wrong. Robbie just shakes his head no.

“I’m gonna call it a Robbie bird.”

You look perplexed. Eyes moving back and forth from your drawing to the kid.

“Okay.”

The boy just giggles louder. Steve notices the way you can’t help but smile a bit too. It’s contagious, he knows the feeling.

Eventually Robbie does grow bored of bird watching. Which apparently to you, means waiting for birds to come around so you can watch them. The boy runs off to the creaky swings, leaving Steve alone with you.

“I’ve never been out here. You were right it’s nice.”

You don’t look up at him as you finish up your drawing. You reach up to the tree behind you both and pull a small berry from it. Crushing it on the bench to rub the pigment onto your page. It shades the Robins chest a dull red.

“I know it is.”

He’s hitting a dead end here. He thinks for a second you might not be interested in talking to him but you glance at him like you’re expecting him to continue the conversation.

“Do you come out here often?”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. They sound more like a bad pick up line than a genuine question and he technically already knows the answer. You at least come every Sunday morning. He’s sure you’ll tell him that too.

“Sort of. The first two weeks I was working here I spent inside rebinding all the damaged books and reorganizing some of the shelves. Deborah’s got me up front now, I think she wants to retire soon.”

Well. That kind of answered his question. He thinks.

“Would you take her job if she did?”

You shrug.

“Well, do you like your job?”

“I like the clicking sounds the keyboard makes. I like this garden, and the shelves look much nicer than they did before I fixed them...I think I like parts of my job.”

Steve nods.

“I think I get what you mean. I kind of feel the same way.”

“Where do you work?”

He leans back into the bench. Making himself a little more comfortable as he keeps an eye on Robbie.

“Uh, the hospital.”

"Are you a doctor?"

"No I uh-I work the front desk."

“Like a receptionist?”

He breaths out through his nose. “Yeah. Like a receptionist.”

It’s not what he expected to be. He knows it’s not the most impressive job. It doesn’t really scream ‘I’m financially stable and successful enough to provide for two people and maybe a third if anyone is interested!’

“Hm…I wonder what sound your keyboard makes…”

He’d like to start looking at you with a look other than confusion on his face. The more you talk to him the further from that goal he gets.

“What parts do you like about your job?”

He really thinks about it. He shows up doesn’t he? He hasn’t gone totally insane sitting behind the desk so there must be something.

“Uhm…well I like…talking to people. Most of them show up in bad moods, or in pain. It’s nice to try to make them feel better I guess. I know I’m not the one helping them but it’s nice to at least send them to the right door. Plus the kids always get super excited when I pull out the candy jar.”

You hum. For a moment you don’t say anything. Sitting in comfortable silence. Which Steve has never enjoyed, there’s nothing comfortable about silence to him. He feels it in this moment though. He hears the breeze, the creaky swing set, and the sound of pencil against paper.

“What does Roberts mom do for work?”

Suddenly the silence is daunting again. He doesn’t want to tell you about how much of a mess that part of his life was. He loved Mandy-Amanda. At least he thought he did. After she left he realized that wasn’t the kind of love he was looking for. Amanda was a lot like the people his parents like to hang out with. Steve felt like he fit in with her well enough until he realized he wasn’t fitting in, he was shoving himself into a suit that wasn’t his size. Then she got pregnant and he thought that maybe they could make something work. Amanda and Steve weren't totally different. You could say they came from similar backgrounds. While Steve tried to avoid becoming his parents by raising Robbie differently, Amanda avoided becoming her parents by not becoming one at all. He’d be lying if he said he wasn't still angry at her. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t understand why she left too. Love is weird.

“I’m not sure.”

You catch the look in his eyes. Steve thinks his theory was right when he sees the way your own soften. Like you know everything he’s trying to avoid saying, and you’re letting him believe you don’t know otherwise. You pretend you’re changing the topic for your own sake and not his.

“Before I moved here I had this friend. Well kind of. We spent a lot of time together at least. I knew a lot about her. She talked a lot. I never knew what she did for work though. I convinced myself she worked at a salon because her hair always looked nice and she was always giving me recommendations of what to do to my hair but she could have just really been into hair. Who knows.”

“Why didn’t you ask her?”

You shrug. “It never came up.”

“You still talk to her?”

You shake your head no. It doesn’t seem to bother you the way it would bother him.

“Don’t you get lonely?”

“No, I’ve got Theodore. He’s great company.”

He should have known you had someone. That’s always how it goes right? Steve starts making up this fantasy in his head that maybe he still has a shot at meeting someone special and then they hit him with the whole ‘my boyfriend would love you! Please come over for drinks so you can witness what true love looks like!’ thing.

“Oh! How long have you been together?”

“Two years. I think he might be getting lonely though. I’m thinking about getting him a friend.”

Steve wouldn’t need you to find him a friend. He can make his own. He’s a grown man. What’s Theodore doing with his life if he’s sending you out to find friends for him?

“Can’t he do that himself?”

You look at him like he’s an idiot. “There aren’t really rats in my apartment for him to find Steve. Unless they’re hiding in my walls.”

“Theodore’s a rat? Like…a real one?”

You nod your head and reach into your bag once more. Pulling out various objects before settling on a small stack of Polaroids of Theodore. The rat. He’s dark brown with black beady eyes and pink ears. He’s honestly kind of ugly, though Steve doesn't have the heart to tell you. He can’t wrap his head around why someone would want a pet rat.

“Of course you have a rat.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to implicate but I feel like you’re trying to implicate something.”

He’s glad you don’t seem to get offended easily, you have this air of confidence around you that he’s kind of jealous of. “I just mean that you don’t seem like the kind of woman who would have a conventional pet.”

You smile at him like he just told you the ground you walk on is golden. “Thank you Steve.”

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Steve and Robbie have begun a nice routine with you. Weekends are being spent at the library and Steve can’t complain. Not only is Robbie tearing through books like never before, but he’s also gotten to know you better.

You get cold easy, as he guessed. Your best friend is your rat. Who you adopted on a whim whilst at the animal shelter. Originally you had gone in looking for a cat. However, you felt terrible thinking that Theodore would never be adopted and that he was probably terrified being surrounded by so many predators. Birds aren't the only think you know too much about. You know everything. It doesn't matter what random comment Robbie makes, somehow you're able to turn it into a full conversation. Steve loves it. He never cared too much for school but he thinks he would have been valedictorian had you been teaching him instead.

You've become a friend. A constant in not only Steve's life but Robbie's as well. Which is why Steve was quick to agree with his son about inviting you to his birthday party on Friday. He was in the middle of making the invitations. With Robins help, although she was mostly just sealing the envelopes. The invitations are a formality. Everyone who matters already knows when to show up. Most of these are going to be handed out to Robbie’s classmates tomorrow anyways.

"Dad! Can we make one for Miss Birdie!?"

"Of course we can, I don't have her address but I could drop it off at the library tomorrow before school okay?"

His son nods enthusiastically, messing around with his crayons as he doodles on some of the invitations. Adding his own personal touch to them.

"Who's Miss Birdie?"

Steve realizes now that he's had you all to himself. Well, him and Robbie have. He's kept his friendship with you private. He'd like to think it wasn't intentional but it kind of was. He couldn't help but notice that his feelings have become a little more than friendly. His chest tightens when he thinks about you. It's worse when he sees you. He finds you so endearing. The way you disarm him, how honest you can be without any fear of judgement. When he's typing away at his work computer all he can think about is how you like the sound of your own. How maybe you're both typing at the same keys in different places. When he sleeps his heart aches at the thought of you sleeping under the same moon, hoping that you're warm under piles of blankets. If he so much as mentions you he's scared Robin will see the way his pupils practically turn into hearts. He hasn't felt this way since he was a teenager.

"She's our bird watch buddy!"

"....since when do you guys watch birds?"

Steve sets the invitation he was working on aside. "We started a while ago. Miss Birdie runs it, she works at the library and Robbie wanted to join her club."

Steve is grateful that his son has the same affinity for talking as his aunt because Robbie takes the attention off Steve as he begins telling her everything he's learned about birds from you. Robin is so busy entertaining her nephew she doesn't see Steve's smile as he writes out your invitation.

─────────── · 𓅫 · ───────────

The next morning Steve wakes up late. In his rush to get Robbie dressed and fed he overlooks his own appearance. Robbie looks as presentable as ever. Hair done neatly, a nice long sleeved stripped shirt and little overalls. Steve however, pulled on whatever wrinkled sweater he found in the clean pile he had forgotten to fold and his tried and true jeans. He forgoes his own breakfast as he rushes to put some Eggo's in the toaster for his son. It isn't the most nutritious breakfast so he packs a few extra snacks in Robbie's lunch box to make up for it. He can't help the guilt that eats at him this morning.

The guilt dissipates, if only a little as he walks Robbie up to his classroom. Just in the nick of time. Robbie is flustered as his dad gives him a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

"You won't forget right? You're gonna go right now?"

"Yes Robbie, I pinkie swear I will drop the invitation off right now."

Robbie furrows his brows as Steve holds out his pinkie. He interlocks his small one with his fathers as they both lean in to kiss their thumbs.

"See. I promise. I love you, be good today okay?"

"Mhm, love you dad."

Steve knows stopping by the library will make him late for work. He tells himself he'll do it anyways because a pinkie swear is sacred. Technically, Robbie would never know whether Steve dropped off the invitation before or after work but he has morals okay! It totally isn't because he thinks seeing you might make his morning a little less shitty.

If that was the case he would have been right. His day somehow feels brighter when he walks in and sees you standing by one of the shelves. You're in your own world, too busy neatly organizing the books to notice him until he's right by you. You don't flinch, but you do a double take and suddenly you don't look so stoic. A soft smile decorates your face when you realize its him. It makes him all gooey inside.

"This is new."

He looks down at himself. Not exactly sure what you're talking about. "What is?"

"You don't usually come in on weekdays. Or without Robert."

You turn towards him now. Books forgotten in the cart behind you.

"Well I'm just trying to keep you on your toes. Can't have you getting bored of us."

Your hand reaches up and suddenly any air of coolness he had is gone. You brush his wild hair down, he remembers he didn't even get a chance to look at himself in the mirror this morning. He can't imagine what his hair must look like if you feel the need to fix it for him. It's been a really long time since someone has touched him like this. He lets you do it until you feel content.

"I'd never get bored of you."

When you become a parent you get used to always being considered a team. An entity. For years now it's been 'Steve and Robbie.' He loves it that way don't get him wrong. Loves his son more than anything, but he can't help but beam at the fact that you said you'd never get bored of him.

"...Oh! Yeah...uhm-well I-I was just stopping by to drop this off."

He sounds like a dork. He feels more silly than when he was striking out in a sailors uniform at the mall.

You take the envelope from his hands. The words 'For Miss Birdie' are written in his neatest handwriting.

"Robbie's birthday is this Friday and we wanted to invite you. You totally don't have to go if you don't want to. It's not going to be anything crazy but- y'know I-we like you and we wanted to extend the invitation."

You look up at him with this look he can't really describe. You hold the envelope like its something precious in both hands and press it against your chest.

"Thank you Steve. I would really like to go. I-thank you."

"Great!" He responds a little too eagerly, he clears his throat before speaking again. "Yeah no, that's great. We'll see you then."

You nod at him and he waves at you before turning around to leave. He looks back at you once to wave again. A second time just to look at you. You've turned back to your books, but you don't move to grab them. Instead you bring the envelope up to your face, covering your smile with it.

Steve shows up to work thirty minutes late. His coworker Sally makes a face at his appearance. "Rough morning?"

Steve smiles as he sits behind the reception desk.

"Great actually."

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[new-author3]

Title: A Red Encounter

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton & S/N (Female Reader)

Summary: In the vibrant setting of the Monza Circuit, S/N, a sports journalist, has an unexpected encounter with Lewis Hamilton, Ferrari’s newest driver. A casual conversation in the paddock sparks curiosity and leaves the possibility of a promising future lingering in the air.

Warnings: Light romantic interaction, Formula 1 setting.

Word Count: Approximately 400 words.

It was a typical race day at the Monza Circuit, and the paddock was buzzing with energy and anticipation. Lewis Hamilton, now dressed in Ferrari’s iconic red, walked through the paddock with his usual confidence. Italian fans greeted him warmly, and he responded with smiles and waves.

You, S/N, a renowned sports journalist, were there to cover the Italian Grand Prix. Your work had taken you to circuits all over the world, but there was something special about Monza—especially with Hamilton’s recent move to Ferrari.

As you reviewed your notes near the Ferrari garage, you sensed a presence beside you. Turning around, you found yourself face to face with Lewis Hamilton, his signature smile lighting up the atmosphere.

"Hello, S/N. How are you?"

Surprised but maintaining your professional composure, you replied:

"Lewis, what a pleasure to see you. I’m doing well, thank you. And you? Ready for the race?"

He nodded, glancing around at the people rushing back and forth, making last-minute preparations.

"Always. Monza has a unique energy, don’t you think?"

Lewis spoke casually, but there was passion in his voice, his eyes gleaming as if he were at home. In a way, he was. Ferrari was now his home, and this circuit was his stage.

"Yes, Monza is one of the few places that has this kind of energy. The fans' euphoria, the passionate crowd, the thrill of being here to see their favorite drivers… It’s a day they’ll remember forever. Anyone who attends a race never forgets the excitement and joy of this moment."

I spoke with enthusiasm, almost as if I were a fan. In a way, I was. After working for so long as a sports journalist, I had seen every kind of emotion—pure joy, tears of excitement from meeting a favorite driver who once seemed unreachable.

Lewis met my gaze, and I held his. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. As if we were the only two people there. We stayed like that until a noise from the crowd brought us back to reality.

I looked away, offering a small, embarrassed smile, and Lewis did the same. We continued talking, but there was a certain tension between us—unspoken, yet undeniably present. We carried on as if nothing had changed.

We discussed the circuit’s atmosphere, the fans’ expectations, and how important this race was for Ferrari. Hamilton mentioned how he had always dreamed of driving for the Scuderia and how determined he was to bring success to the team.

"A part of me always held onto this dream of racing in red. I couldn’t be happier to finally make it happen," he said with conviction.

Before leaving to prepare for the race, Lewis looked directly into my eyes and said:

"It was great talking to you, S/N. I hope to see you again soon."

"You too, Lewis. Have a great race!" I wished him with a warm smile.

He walked away, leaving me with the feeling that this encounter was just the beginning of something bigger.

That day’s race was intense, and Hamilton showcased all his skill behind the wheel, securing a podium finish and reinforcing his status as one of the greatest drivers of all time.

As he celebrated with the team, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing I had just witnessed a historic moment in Lewis Hamilton’s career and Ferrari’s journey.

The next morning, the front page of my newspaper featured a photo of Lewis holding the trophy, with the following headline:

"Lewis Hamilton, seven-time champion, proves that age is no obstacle and claims victory in Monza with incredible overtakes. The best in the world is back."

Author’s Note:

If you ask me, I’ll say he’s an eight-time champion. But if you disagree, that’s fine—just don’t come here to talk nonsense, please. And “the best in the world” is just a way of saying it. For many, Lewis Hamilton is the greatest driver, but that’s just my opinion.

I hope you enjoyed the story! Leave a comment on what I can improve. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

[cryingpariah]

I simply cannot keep having these conversations with y’all I really just can’t.

You do realize you’re comparing Boa Hancock, a woman who was kidnapped as a child to be a slave for the upper echelon of the world of One Piece, forcibly branded like cattle, made to eat a devil fruit for the entertainment of her captors, and only escaped due to the grace of a fellow slave while still decades later being haunted by her time in captivity to Donquixote ‘Papa let’s go buy some slaves!’ Doflamingo and expect anyone to take what you’re saying seriously??

“B-B-But Boa is a bitch!! 🥺🥺🥺She kicks kittens and puppies and baby seals!! 🥺🥺🥺She looks down on everyone just cause she’s pretty!! If you really think about it 🤓🤓🤓 she’s worse than Doflamingo-!”

Doflamingo killed his father. He shot his father point blank while he was still holding his baby brother. A baby brother that he would also go on to kill. He’s committed canonical atrocities worthy of getting him the lowest level of Impel Down. He is by no means a decent person let alone better than Boa in any respect. He’s just a moderately attractive man with abs and that’s why you people are so willing to let everything he’s done slide.

As for this “evidence” provided in the screenshot, it’s a request. A request from a fan. It's common knowledge that unless it’s a cover story, all individual cover pages are non-canon.

But hey, good job drinking that Doflamingo Kool-Aid. I’m sure he’ll personally want to thank you for defending his slaver owner honour against *checks notes* a former slave.

Lastly, I want to touch on that last comment, saying very confidently that Boa is not a good person. I ask you this: Should she be? Do people deserve to have her kindness again? Should she, as a character, break down those carefully crafted walls just so dude-bros lurking in TikTok comment sections will find her more palatable? I certainly don’t think so.

[ysabelyaps]

Guys I accidentally lost the anonymous ask, BUT I do know that it was made so yk here it is.

Jealous?

⇠✧❀✧⇢

Summary: Famous singer Se-Mi comforts her jealous girlfriend after her latest concert

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: bro idk ass writing? And fluff and happiness so if you’re allergic to that yk..

A/N: I’m on another road trip back home so, I have time to write this. Although I’m like, really lazy but I hate having it put in drafts bc it ruins my thought process so it’s just.. short. I’ll make a part 2 if you want though. Hopefully it’s good enough.

⇠✧❀✧⇢

“Baby, come on. You know I only have eyes for you. Don’t be mad.” Se-Mi says, trying to get you to talk to her. Of course, to no avail. This all started when she had her latest concert and decided to have a meet and greet afterwards and sign autographs and take pictures and stuff.

Well one fan got a little too close for your liking. Obviously you knew it wasn’t exactly Se-Mi’s fault, but it still upset you. So now here you were, sulking, pouting and giving her the silent treatment.

You guys were already official to the public and all that, so there was no need for Se-Mi to hide you or for you to be scared someone would hit on her thinking she was single.

Yet you were sitting on the couch, back to Se-Mi, still jealous and it’s been a few hours already.

“Babyyy.. come on. Talk to me, please? What if I buy you food, will that appease you? I won’t do the meet and greets anymore if you want.”

“..if you buy me food I might consider it..” Of course, Se-Mi knew you well enough to expect this and pulled out takeout from Panda Express.

“Here, happy?” You took the food and started eating it.

“..yeah” you mumbled, covering your mouth full of food with your hand.

“So, should I stop the meet and greets? Or do you just wanna be a part of it? Ooh, you know. I’ve always wanted to have you be part of my concerts, would you do that?”

“I can’t sing.” Se-Mi gives you a look, you could sing. Kind of, not idol level, maybe shower idol level. You could play an instrument though, a lot of them. Since you were young you liked to play instruments.

“What about playing guitar then? Or drums, or violin or piano, or you know anything. My songs’ genres vary”

“Se-Mi, I’m not a concert person. I’m not one to go on stage.”

She rolled her eyes, “But I’ll be there” she held your hand, pulling your waist towards her and looking at you with pleading eyes. “Just one concert? Please?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be talking me out of jealousy”

“I thought I did that already.”

Oh my lord.

⇠✧❀✧⇢

After like three hours of deciding between just being part of the meet and greets or stopping them completely and 3 hours of Se-Mi begging you to be part of her concert to at least play an instrument if not sing.

You guys finally made a decision.

Se-Mi would include you at the meet and greets, you would coordinate them and you had rules made with strict guidelines on how close you could be for pictures. Was that toxic? Maybe a little, but Se-Mi went through the rules and thought they were reasonable so no objection there.

And you also decided you would perform for one of her concerts, backing vocals and instrumental because she really wanted you to sing at least a little.

Were you confident it would go well?

No, not really like at all.

Were you and Se-Mi happy by the end of the conversation?

Yeah, pretty much.

And you were fed, and that’s all that really matters.

Kidding.

Se-Mi sent a text to her manager about all the new things that were discussed between the two of you while you laid on her lap, watching the tv. Before eventually, you guys decided to call it a night.

Lights out.

[spicyicymeloncat]

WINX

I love drawing these kids over and over because they are so fashion tm!! Maybe I’ll do their fairy designs later

Unfiltered colours under cut

[warriormoustache]

Got my first shrimp goby pair last week and this is my impression of them so far.

[aether-link]

Not to be too soft on main but, the dumb hc brainrot thoughts of Kavik getting Yangchen’s trust once more to be able to touch her hair.

Styling it, brushing it, building their trust more from the bonding experience.

[sonic-wildfire]

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