#because if i don’t offer something she never will and we just exist in silence

[touchlikethesun]

my mom: so that l-… that long john guy, what’s his deal here?

me:

my mom:

me:

me: do you mean lan zhan?

my mom: yeah probably i don’t know how to pronounce it

me: what do you mean you don’t know how to pronounce it????? wei wuxian literally says it 20 times an episode how how do you not know????

[p0orbaby]

Can we still request blurbs???

If so, can I request something for Alessia x Reader who is Leah's sister and doesn't know they're dating with them putting in so much work to hide their relationship and slip up by kissing/making out near Leah and are just like 'oh shit, we didn't tell her...'

-

Hiding a relationship from Leah, your sister and part-time private investigator, is no small feat. It’s like trying to smuggle a giraffe through airport security. You and Alessia have managed it for six months—a masterclass in secret hand-holding, coded texts, and absolutely no public displays of affection.

Until today.

The plan is simple: brunch at your mum’s house, then a lazy Sunday afternoon spent in different rooms to avoid suspicion. Easy. Leah’s upstairs, rummaging through old boxes, and you and Alessia are in the kitchen, ostensibly “making tea.”

Except Alessia’s leaning against the counter, giving you that smile, the one that makes you forget about common sense, gravity, and the existence of Leah Williamson.

“You’re staring,” Alessia teases, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re beautiful,” you shoot back, stepping closer. It’s meant to sound cheeky, but your voice dips in that way it does when you’re hopelessly gone for her.

She laughs, the kind of laugh that’s half breath and entirely trouble. “We shouldn’t—”

You kiss her before she can finish. It’s instinctive, automatic, and utterly stupid because, in your head, the kitchen is still safe territory. A kiss here doesn’t count as reckless.

Except it does.

The kiss deepens. Alessia’s hands find your waist. Your fingers twist into her hair. Somewhere in the haze of it all, you hear the creak of the floorboards, but you don’t register it—

Until Leah’s voice cuts through the room like a whip.

“What. The actual. Hell”

You and Alessia spring apart so fast you nearly knock over the kettle. Leah’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her face a picture of pure disbelief.

“Leah!” you squeak, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly. “Didn’t hear you come down.”

“Clearly,” she deadpans, eyes darting between the two of you. “What’s going on here?”

Alessia looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole. “Um…”

“Making tea?” you offer, holding up an empty mug like it’s evidence of your innocence.

Leah raises an eyebrow. “By sticking your tongue down each other’s throats?”

Alessia coughs, going beetroot red. You rub the back of your neck, scrambling for an explanation that doesn’t sound insane.

“We were… just… um… testing boundaries?” you try, but even as you say it, you know it’s stupid.

“Boundaries?” Leah repeats, her voice climbing an octave.

There’s a long silence. The kettle boils. No one moves.

Finally, Alessia takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, so we’re together.”

Leah blinks. Once. Twice. “You’re what?”

“Together,” you repeat, because apparently you like living dangerously. “Have been for a while, actually”

Leah’s face shifts from shock to something resembling betrayal. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“We were going to,” Alessia says quickly. “Just, you know… not like this”

Leah looks between the two of you, her disbelief melting into something more familiar: exasperation. “So, let me get this straight. My sister and my teammate have been sneaking around for months, making out in kitchens, and thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“Pretty much,” you say, shrugging helplessly.

There’s another pause, and then, to your surprise, Leah bursts out laughing. It’s not a comforting laugh, though; it’s the kind of laugh that says you’re both idiots, and I’m going to make sure you know it.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” she says, grinning wickedly. “You realise you’ve just handed me months of blackmail material, right?”

“Leah—”

“No, no. Don’t worry.” She waves you off, still laughing. “I won’t tell Mum. Yet”

As she leaves the kitchen, you and Alessia exchange a look of pure horror.

“She’s never going to let this go, is she?” Alessia asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not in a million years,” you reply, groaning.

Somewhere upstairs, you hear Leah yell, “Hope the tea’s worth it!”

It’s not.

[augustinewrites]

“i sent a text,” you mutter to yourself as you push and hold the door open with your foot. “and yet nobody came down to help me with the groceries.” 

you push the door shut with your elbow, turning around to see why exactly no one had answered your text. the three of them are sat at the dining table. megumi’s staring at the table, tsumiki’s staring at a painting on the wall, and satoru's glaring at the pile of phones in front of him.

“what is going on?” you ask, setting your bags on the countertop. 

“family meeting,” satoru answers, still glaring at the phones.

“really?” you ask, pulling out your chair to join them. “last time you called a family meeting, you wanted to discuss whether or not you could pull off an earring.” 

“that was a short conversation,” megumi quips.

“hey, i’m still confident that you’re all wrong and i’d totally rock an earring,” he tells you. “but that’s not what this is about. this is about tsumiki.” 

“oh,” you say, surprised by this turn of events. “i thought megumi got in trouble at school again.”

“he did.” 

“i did.” 

figures. you’d address that later. 

“and that’s why i was at their school, where i saw tsumiki about to skip class with - get this - with her boyfriend, who none of us knew existed.”

you exhale a heavy breath. “oh…” 

but your reaction must be too mild for your fiancé, who sends you a funny look. “‘oh?’ that’s a little light. she has a boyfriend that none of us knew about!”

an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. satoru looks at megumi, who looks at tsumiki, who looks at you. 

you actively work to avoid his gaze, further incriminating yourself.

“wait…do you know something?”

“can i talk to you for a second?” you ask, nodding your head toward the kitchen. he follows you over, but not before telling the kids not to touch their phones. 

“how are we handling this?” he asks, pacing back and forth with a deeply conflicted look on his face. you don’t think you’ve even seen him look this serious about something before. “‘cause i know i’m usually the fun parent and you usually bring the heat when it comes to punishments, but i’m already there, babe! she’s grounded. phone, gone! food, maybe! and she is forbidden from seeing this boy for–  till– till she’s in college.”

“satoru–”

“i can’t believe she didn’t tell us she had a boyfriend,” he mutters, not finished yet. “who is this kid, anyway? her boyfriend?” you roll your eyes when he even gags on the word.

“okay, okay,” you laugh nervously, rubbing your hands up and down his arms. “do you promise that you’re not going to freak out if i tell you something?”

“no.”

“fair enough,” you agree. “uh…i met her boyfriend.” his eyes widen, but you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything. “hold on! she only told me a couple of days ago because they just started dating two weeks ago. she was going to tell you, i promise.”

“but she’s too young to have—”

“satoru, keeping apart kids that are in love never works out for the people keeping them apart.” you loop your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “imagine if someone had told you that you couldn’t date me.”

“yeah, i know,” he grumbles. “i guess i’m just hurt that she didn’t tell me right away. we have a connection, you know. like you and megumi. last week when we went out for our weekly ice cream gossip session, she didn’t say a thing!” 

“you guys have weekly gossip sessions?”

“uh, yeah. as if you and megumi don’t talk shit about us illiterates whenever you go to the bookstore.” 

“i think we’re getting off track,” you deflect with a huff. “what are we going to do about the situation at hand?”

_____

at the sound of a knock on the door, tsumiki bursts out of her room. “i’ll get it!”

“be cool,” you tell satoru, who scoffs as he fixes his hair.

“i’m cool. the coolest. i’m like ice.” 

“i’m serious,” you grit as tsumiki pulls the door open. “do not be weird right now.”

you smile as tsumiki introduces you both, taking the bouquet of flowers that her boyfriend offers you.

“dinner’s almost ready, so make yourself at home in the meantime,” you tell him, filling a vase with water. 

“in the living room, preferably,” gojo adds stiffly. where tsumiki shoots him a look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “we’ll be in the kitchen, you’ll have plenty of privacy.”

“the kitchen and the living room are the same room,” she mutters.

“then you can pretend that we’re not even here,” he says, tone light. then, after a moment. “but remember that we will be here. the whole time.”

“okay, you need to take all of that and put it away,” you tell him sternly, handing him a stack of plates to put on the table. “welcome to the real world, babe. this is what raising teenagers is all about.”

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 8

pairing: you x drew starkey

The café smells of freshly ground coffee beans and warm pastries, a cozy refuge in the heart of downtown. It’s quiet, save for the hum of conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You hadn’t wanted to come—your instinct had been to ignore Odessa’s message and pretend it didn’t exist. But something about the vulnerability in her words, the quiet plea buried in her request, had made you pause.

Now, sitting across from her, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Odessa looks different than she did in the tabloid photos. Less polished, more real. Her hair is tied back in a loose braid, and her sweater is soft and worn.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Odessa begins, her voice hesitant but sincere. She wraps her hands around her coffee cup, as though it might anchor her.

You offer a curt nod, your guard firmly in place. “Why am I here, Odessa? What do you want from me?”

Odessa flinches, but she doesn’t shy away. “I don’t blame you for being sceptical,” she says carefully. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to. But… I wanted to set the record straight.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Set the record straight? Why now? Why not months ago when all of this was happening?”

“Because I was scared,” Odessa admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of what people would say, scared of making things worse. But I’ve seen how much this has hurt Drew. And… how much it’s hurt you.”

Your jaw tightens. “So, what? You’re here to tell me it was all just a big misunderstanding? That it didn’t mean anything?”

Before Odessa can respond, movement at the corner of your vision catches your attention. A man at a nearby table has his phone angled toward you, snapping pictures. Your stomach twists.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath.

Odessa follows your gaze, her expression hardening. “Ignore it.”

She hesitates, then nods. “That’s exactly what I’m here to tell you. The PR thing—it was fake. Every smile, every photo, every headline. It wasn’t real. Drew and I were never together. We were never anything more than friends.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You stare down at your coffee, the steam curling up like a ghost of something you can’t quite grasp.

“I know that now,” you say finally, your voice tight. “But it doesn’t change what it felt like at the time. It doesn’t erase the months I spent watching you two plastered across every magazine, every social media post. It doesn’t erase how small it made me feel.”

Odessa looks stricken, guilt flashing across her face. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think about how it would affect you. I didn’t think about how much it would hurt.”

Your eyes flick up to meet hers, sharp and unyielding. “No, you didn’t.”

The tension between you is palpable, a chasm filled with pain and regret. For a moment, it seems like the conversation will end there, the silence stretching too wide to bridge.

But then you speak, your voice steady. “You don’t need to apologize to me, Odessa. You weren’t the one who broke my trust.”

Odessa’s brow furrows, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“You don’t owe me loyalty,” you continue, your gaze unwavering. “You don’t owe me anything. Drew does.”

Odessa’s breath hitches at that, and you see the recognition in her eyes—the realization that the problem was never about her, but about Drew’s choices.

“I get it,” Odessa says softly, her voice strained. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I just thought you should know that Drew… he’s not the person he was back then. He’s been struggling with everything. With you, with me, with what happened. He’s really trying.”

You shift in your seat, your posture tightening. You don’t want to hear about Drew’s struggles—not from her. “That’s between me and him,” you reply, your tone firm. “I didn’t need to hear about Drew from you. What I needed was for him to be honest with me. To not lie, to not play games.”

Odessa opens her mouth to respond, but you hold up your hand, silencing her. “I’m not angry at you, Odessa. You don’t owe me any kind of apology. But Drew? He owes me everything. He’s the one who promised me something real and then shattered it with lies.”

Odessa lowers her gaze, nodding as she absorbs your words. There’s a quiet understanding between you now—no more apologies, no more empty explanations. The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of everything that has happened.

Odessa’s eyes grow glassy, as though the weight of her own guilt has finally caught up with her. She nods again, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says quietly, standing up to leave. “But I just want you to know that I never meant for this to hurt you. I don’t know if you’ll ever believe that, but… it’s the truth.”

You don’t say anything, watching as Odessa walks away, her shoulders heavy with her own regrets. It’s not your job to absolve her, but there’s a small part of you that feels lighter after the conversation. It’s done. You’re not the one who has to bear this burden any longer.

But as you leave the café, the unease you’ve been feeling for weeks doesn’t dissipate. It follows you out into the crisp evening air, a constant reminder that, despite the conversation with Odessa, the real battle is still ahead.

The photos hit the internet that evening.

“Odessa A’ Zion spotted with Drew Starkey’s rumored ex, Y/N! Are they teaming up or hashing it out?”

The headlines are relentless, the comments even worse. Your phone buzzes incessantly with texts and notifications, each one a reminder that your life is once again under a microscope.

By the time the party rolls around—a casual gathering at Jonathan’s place—you’re emotionally spent. The music thrums softly through Jonathan’s house, blending with the hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter.

You arrive an hour early, feeling a mix of anticipation and dread. Jonathan’s gatherings are always lively, drawing a mix of familiar faces and a few strangers. You don’t know what you’re hoping for—maybe just a distraction from the chaos your emotions have been in lately.

You nurse a drink as you make your way through the room, exchanging pleasantries with people you haven’t seen in months. But your focus is scattered, your mind drifting to places you’ve sworn not to go.

And then, like a gravitational pull, you spot him.

Drew stands on the far side of the room, laughing with Chase, his head tilted back in a way that’s achingly familiar. The sight hits you like a punch to the chest, your breath catching as memories flood you—the sound of his laughter, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

Your first instinct is to look away, to retreat before he notices you. But your feet refuse to move. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, watching him like he’s some untouchable star in a galaxy you no longer belong to.

Chase says something that makes Drew laugh again, but then his gaze shifts, scanning the room. When his eyes land on you, the smile falters, replaced by something you can’t quite name. Surprise? Hope?

Whatever it is, it makes your heart race.

He hesitates for a moment, as if deciding whether to approach you. Before he can make a move, Jonathan appears at your side, his grin as wide as ever. “You made it!” he says, his voice warm.

You force a smile, grateful for the distraction. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Jonathan glances over his shoulder, following your gaze to Drew. His smile falters briefly, but he recovers quickly, his tone casual. “You two talked yet?”

“Not really,” you reply, your voice tight.

Jonathan studies you for a moment, then sighs. “You know, he’s been asking about you. A lot.”

Your eyes dart back to Drew, who is now watching you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. “That doesn’t mean anything,” you say quietly.

“Maybe,” Jonathan says. “But maybe it does.”

Before you can respond, Jonathan claps a hand on your shoulder. “Look, whatever you decide, just know that it’s okay to take your time. No pressure. And hey, if you need a distraction, there’s beer pong in the back.”

You manage a laugh, nodding as Jonathan walks away. But your gaze drifts back to Drew, who is still standing there, as if waiting for a sign from you.

You’re not sure what possesses you to do it—maybe it’s the weight of his stare, or the way your heart seems to pull toward him despite everything. But you start walking, your steps slow and hesitant, until you’re standing in front of him.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice equally quiet.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The world around you seems to fade, the noise and chatter becoming a distant hum.

“You look… good,” Drew says finally, his gaze flickering over you before settling on your eyes.

“Thanks,” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You too.”

He smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same,” you admit.

There’s an awkward pause, heavy with all the things left unsaid. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he seems to be searching your face for something—what, you don’t know.

“I’m glad you came,” he says suddenly, his voice soft but earnest.

You look up at him, your heart pounding. “Why?”

“Because…” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “Because I miss you. I miss us. And I know I don’t have the right to say that, not after everything, but it’s the truth.”

Your breath catches, the rawness in his voice cutting through your defenses. “Drew…”

“I know I messed up,” he says quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I know I hurt you in ways I can’t take back. But I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying so hard to be better, for you. And I know it might be too late, but I just need you to know that I’m not giving up.”

You stare at him, your emotions warring between anger, sadness, and a longing you can’t quite suppress. “You can’t just say these things and expect everything to be okay,” you say, your voice trembling. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer, his eyes locked on yours. “I don’t expect it to be okay overnight. But I need you to know that I’m not the same guy who let you down before. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying. And I’ll keep trying, for as long as it takes.”

The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, and for a moment, you feel like you can’t breathe. You want to believe him, want to let yourself fall into the warmth of his words. But the scars he left are still too fresh.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“You don’t have to decide now,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “Take your time. Take all the time you need. Just… don’t shut me out completely.”

Your eyes fill with tears, and you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. “I don’t know if I can believe you,” you say honestly.

“Then let me prove it to you,” he says, his voice unwavering.

The moment stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Finally, you nod, your movements slow and hesitant. “Okay.”

A small, hopeful smile tugs at his lips. “Okay.”

And for the first time that night, you feel a flicker of something you haven’t felt in months—a spark of hope.

Your breaking point comes days later, when new photos of Drew and Odessa surface—old promotional shots from their PR arrangement that had been planned weeks ago.

Furious and fed up, you drive to Drew’s house, your emotions bubbling over in a storm of anger and heartbreak.

When he opens the door, his eyes widen in surprise. “Y/N—”

“You’re unbelievable,” you spat, shoving your phone toward him. “You said it was over! That you ended this PR nonsense with Odessa! Was that just another lie?”

Drew blinks, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“These pictures, Drew!” you say, your voice rising. “How could you do this to me? How could you—”

“Y/N, stop,” he interrupts, his tone firm but gentle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me see.”

You hesitate, then hand him the phone. His brows furrow as he scrolls through the images. “These are from weeks ago,” he says finally. “I didn’t even know they were coming out.”

Your anger falters, replaced by uncertainty. “You… didn’t?”

“No,” he says, his voice softening. “And I’m sorry you had to see them. But I swear to you, they don’t mean anything. I ended that for a reason—you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache, unraveling the tight coil of rage you’d held onto since the moment the photos surfaced. “I just—” you start, your voice trembling. “I can’t keep doing this, Drew. The public spectacle, the headlines, the constant reminder of everything I’m trying so hard to move past. I don’t know if I can take it anymore.”

His eyes soften, his voice steady but filled with quiet desperation. “I know I’ve made this so hard for you, Y/N. But I swear to you, I’ve changed. I ended things with Odessa, I’ve been doing everything I can to prove myself, and still—it’s not enough. I don’t know what else to do, but I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep trying until you believe me, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

You freeze at his words, your breath hitching in your throat. The rawness in his voice, the way his eyes search yours, as if you hold the answer to all his pain—it undoes you.

“You think you can just say the right things, and it’ll fix everything?” you whisper, your voice cracking. “It’s not that simple, Drew.”

“I know it’s not,” he says, stepping closer, his presence filling the small entryway like a tidal wave. “I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, or even at all. But I need you to know that I’m not giving up. Not on you. Not on us.”

The vulnerability in his eyes—the way he stands before you, utterly exposed—is too much. Something inside you snaps, the months of pent-up anger, longing, and heartbreak crashing together in a wave you can’t fight anymore.

Without thinking, without weighing the consequences, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to you, your lips crashing against his with a force that surprises even you.

For a moment, Drew freezes, his breath hitching in shock. But then his hands find your waist, tentative at first, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. When you don’t pull away, his grip tightens, drawing you closer, his body pressing against yours like he’s afraid to let go.

The kiss is messy, frantic, and unrelenting—a collision of every emotion you’ve both kept bottled up for too long. Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer as if you can erase all the distance between you. His fingers curl into the fabric of your jacket, his touch grounding you even as your head spins.

You can taste the salt of your own tears on your lips, feel the way his breath shudders against your cheek, and it’s all too much—not enough. He kisses you like you’re air, like he’s been suffocating for months and you’re the only thing keeping him alive. And in that moment, you feel it too—the way your broken pieces still fit together, jagged edges and all.

When you finally break apart, it isn’t because either of you wants to. You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as you stand there, tangled in each other’s space. Your chest heaves, your fingers still clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

Drew’s eyes flutter open, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. “Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I—I don’t deserve you. But I swear to you, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you don’t pull away. “You broke me, Drew,” you say softly, your voice shaking. “You broke me in ways I didn’t even know were possible. I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again.”

His hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “Then let me help you put the pieces back together,” he murmurs. “Even if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll do whatever it takes. Just don’t shut me out.”

You close your eyes, letting his words sink in, letting yourself feel the weight of them. For the first time in months, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—they aren’t beyond saving.

But you aren’t ready to say it out loud, not yet. Instead, you lean into him, letting the warmth of his embrace speak for you.

For now, it’s enough.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291 @rafegf-real @matthewswifeyy @fangirl-magic @snowtargaryen @slut-era @leather-n-velvet

[its-avalon-08]

Hi, could you write a Carlos x reader story where the reader is an actress and she’s promoting her latest film with her co-stars? There are a lot of rumors that her two main co-stars are very close to her, especially the lead actor, and they even went to an award ceremony and walked the red carpet together because Carlos couldn’t attend at the time. Carlos has a hard time dealing with the rumors, but the reader reassures him. However, during a viral interview, the reader’s co-star admits to having had a major crush on her and says he thinks she’s the most beautiful actress in the film. Carlos goes crazy, as does the internet, and he decides to accompany her to the Venice Film Festival to silence the rumors and show the guy that he’s the reader’s boyfriend.

{ i loved this one so much }

love bites and interviews (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, arguments, inappropriate comments, comfort

Carlos Sainz had never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. At least, not until Y/N came into his life.

She had this effortless way of bringing out his softer side, pulling out the parts of him that even he didn’t know existed. It was as if everything clicked the moment he met her. The busy life of a Formula 1 driver, filled with races, media obligations, and constant travel, felt more grounded whenever she was around.

It wasn’t just that Y/N was stunning, though she certainly was. It was the way she made him feel. When he’d come home after a grueling race weekend, tired and worn, she was always there, waiting with a warm smile and open arms.

Carlos could still remember the first time they realized what they had was something different, something extraordinary. They’d been dating for about six months, her rising star in the film industry clashing with his career’s demands. But no matter how hectic things got, they always made time for each other.

"Come here," he whispered, pulling her closer to him on their couch one night after a particularly long day. They didn’t need to say much; words weren’t necessary when they were together. The way she curled up against him, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on his chest, was enough.

"I missed you," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if confessing something profound.

"I’m right here," Carlos replied, his hand running through her hair. "I’m always here."

And that’s what they were—each other’s constants. They laughed, teased, and supported one another through everything. He would be on the track, pushing the limits of his car, and Y/N would send him little messages of encouragement just before his qualifying lap. She understood him in a way no one else could, and Carlos, in return, was her biggest fan, always there at her premieres, on the red carpet, or watching from the sidelines with pride glowing in his eyes.

Y/N loved how Carlos was both her biggest cheerleader and her calm in the storm. When the pressures of her own career weighed on her, she knew he’d be there, offering a sense of security she had never experienced before.

"Don’t worry, cariño," he’d say, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead whenever she was feeling overwhelmed. "We’ve got this. You’re not alone."

Their relationship wasn’t without challenges—between her film sets and his races, they were often separated by continents. But they never let it come between them. Instead, they embraced the distance, always making time for each other. Late-night phone calls, quick weekend visits, and thoughtful surprises were part of their routine. It was a love that thrived despite the odds.

"How did we get so lucky?" Y/N asked one evening as they sat by the fire, her legs draped over his lap, a content smile playing on her lips.

Carlos looked at her, his eyes softening in that way they always did when he was around her. "I don’t know. But I’m not letting it go."

And he meant it. He loved her fiercely, with all the passion and loyalty he poured into everything else in his life. Carlos Sainz might be known as a skilled racer to the world, but to Y/N, he was her best friend, her biggest fan, and the man she wanted by her side for the long run.

"Te quiero," she whispered, nuzzling closer.

Carlos smiled, pulling her even tighter against him. "Te quiero más."

There was no place he'd rather be than right there with her, no race more important than the one they were running together—building a life full of love, trust, and the kind of partnership people only dreamed of.

time skip

Carlos sat on the edge of his hotel bed, his helmet lying discarded on the floor. It had been a long day of practice laps and debriefs, and all he wanted to do was check in on Y/N. She was promoting her latest film tonight—one of her biggest projects yet. He had seen her glowing face on the live stream just before he hopped in the car for his final practice session, and she had looked stunning.

But now, scrolling through his phone, Carlos’s jaw tightened. The comments on her latest red-carpet appearance had shifted from admiration to something darker. Rumors.

"Y/N and Liam are so close! They should totally date." "Did you see the way he looked at her? Definitely more than co-stars." "Where’s Carlos? Trouble in paradise?" "Carlos didn’t show up. Maybe she’s better off with someone who can make time for her." "Look at Liam and Y/N—perfect red-carpet couple."

Carlos’s stomach twisted as he read through the comments. His fingers hovered over his phone, scrolling past photo after photo of Y/N, dazzling in her gown, standing next to Liam, her handsome co-star. The two of them looked great together, but the press seemed to think too great.

He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face as he switched to Twitter. It wasn’t any better. In fact, it was worse.

#YNLiam trending. "It’s like they’re already a couple! Where’s Carlos???" "Y/N looks happier with Liam than she ever did with Carlos. Just saying." "Carlos who? Liam’s the real leading man."

Carlos’s eyes narrowed as he read the flood of tweets. He tried to remind himself that it was all just noise—fans making drama where there wasn’t any—but it hit him harder than he expected.

"Where’s Carlos?" He could almost hear them taunting. He hated that he hadn’t been able to be there. He should have been the one standing next to her, not Liam. But racing came first, and the schedules had clashed. That’s how it was in their relationship sometimes.

Still, seeing people speculate—no, assume—that he wasn’t there for her, that Liam was somehow taking his place, it made his blood boil.

The door to the room clicked open, and Carlos quickly turned off his phone as Lando Norris walked in, slinging his backpack on the chair.

"You alright, mate?" Lando asked, glancing at Carlos’s tense expression.

Carlos tried to shake it off, but his frustration bled into his voice. "Have you seen the posts? About Y/N and her co-star?"

Lando raised his eyebrows, pulling out his phone. "No, but… I’m guessing it’s not good?"

Carlos let out a bitter laugh. "Not at all. People think… They’re acting like she’s with him, like he’s taking my place just because I couldn’t be there."

Lando frowned as he started scrolling. "Ah, I see what you mean. Man, the internet is a crazy place. You know it’s all just nonsense, right?"

Carlos nodded but didn’t say anything. He knew Lando was right—fans made up stories all the time. But this felt different. Seeing Liam next to her, the way people talked about them like they were some perfect red-carpet couple, it gnawed at him.

"It’s not the first time, you know?" Carlos muttered. "They’ve been like this since filming started. Always hinting that there’s something more between them. But this… It’s everywhere now. And I’m stuck here, in a completely different country, doing laps while they’re making up stories about my girlfriend with someone else."

Lando leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Mate, it’s just rumors. She’s your girl. She wouldn’t give them a second thought."

"I know," Carlos said, though his voice lacked conviction. "But the fact that people even think it’s a possibility… I hate it. I hate that I’m not there to shut it down."

Lando nodded, understanding the frustration in his friend’s voice. "Look, Y/N is your girlfriend. She’s with you for a reason, and everyone else? They’re just looking for drama. You’ll see her soon, and it’ll blow over."

Carlos didn’t answer. He glanced at his phone again, his eyes narrowing at one particularly snide tweet: "Carlos better be careful, or Liam’s gonna steal his girl."

Shutting off his phone with a sigh, Carlos leaned back against the bed. "I just want this to stop, Lando. I don’t like people questioning what we have."

"You’re the only one questioning it," Lando pointed out. "Y/N isn’t."

Carlos stared up at the ceiling, knowing Lando was right but still feeling the weight of everything press down on him. The race, the distance, the rumors—it was a lot to handle.

He just hoped Y/N knew that, no matter what anyone else said, he wasn’t going anywhere.

time skip

Y/N had just wrapped up another full day of press junkets, her phone buzzing in her hand as she walked into their apartment, exhausted but eager to see Carlos. She immediately spotted him in the living room, scrolling through his phone, his jaw set tight.

"Hey," she greeted with a soft smile, kicking off her heels as she walked over to him. "Long day?"

Carlos barely glanced up, his eyes glued to the screen. "Yeah," he muttered, but something was clearly bothering him.

Y/N sat down beside him, tucking her legs under her as she gently placed a hand on his arm. "Carlos, what's wrong? You’ve been distant all day."

Carlos finally looked at her, his brow furrowed. He hesitated before handing her his phone. The screen was paused on a viral clip—Liam, her co-star, sitting in a live interview, grinning like he just revealed something monumental. The headline underneath it read: Liam Opens Up About His Massive Crush on Y/N.

Y/N's heart sank. "What is this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she clicked play.

On the screen, Liam laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. "Yeah, I’ve had a huge crush on her from the moment I met her. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s not only talented, but the most beautiful actress I’ve worked with."

The interviewer’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly eating it up. "Wow, so are we saying there was some real chemistry on set?"

Liam winked. "Let’s just say… it wasn’t all acting."

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her stomach flipping as she watched. What the hell was he thinking? This was inappropriate—totally unprofessional. She couldn’t believe he’d said that, let alone in a live interview.

Carlos’s voice cut through the silence. "He thinks it’s funny," he said, his tone edged with frustration. "He thinks he can just say that, and people will laugh it off, like it’s a joke."

Y/N immediately placed the phone down, turning to him. "Carlos, I had no idea he was going to say that. I swear, I’m as shocked as you are."

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "This is exactly what I was worried about, Y/N. People already think there’s something going on, and now he’s feeding into it. That crush comment? It’s not a harmless joke—it’s fueling the rumors."

Y/N could see how upset he was, and it broke her heart. She grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. "Carlos, I’ve told you before—there is nothing going on between me and Liam. I don’t know why he said that, and I don’t find it funny. At all. It’s inappropriate, and I’m going to have a word with him about it."

Carlos shook his head, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "It’s not just about what he said, Y/N. It’s about the fact that he’s doing this publicly. He knows we’re together. He knows how this looks, especially after everything the press has been saying."

Y/N sighed, knowing he was right. Liam had crossed a line. "I’m going to fix this," she said softly. "You know how much I love you. None of this means anything to me. Liam is my co-star, nothing more, and I’ll make that clear to him."

Carlos glanced over at her, his eyes dark with frustration. "I don’t doubt that, but the world doesn’t know that, Y/N. And I don’t like how comfortable he feels saying those things. It’s disrespectful—not just to me, but to you."

Y/N nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "You’re right. It’s not okay, and I’ll handle it. But please, don’t let this come between us. We’re stronger than some stupid comments Liam made on TV."

Carlos exhaled sharply, his eyes softening as he reached for her hand. "It’s not about us, cariño. I trust you, I really do. But this… it’s just hard to ignore when everyone else is making it into a bigger deal."

Y/N moved closer, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. "I hate that you’re feeling like this," she whispered. "But you’re the only one I want, Carlos. Always."

He leaned into her, his arms wrapping around her waist. "I know," he murmured into her hair. "I just don’t like seeing people act like we’re not solid."

Y/N pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. "We are solid. Don’t let some stupid interview change that." She leaned in, pressing her lips softly against his, and for a moment, Carlos melted into the kiss, all the tension draining from his body.

But as they pulled apart, Y/N’s eyes hardened with determination. "I’m going to fix this, Carlos. I’ll talk to Liam, and I’ll make it very clear that this kind of behavior isn’t okay. No more rumors, no more inappropriate comments. Just us, like it’s always been."

Carlos sighed, his forehead resting against hers. "Thank you," he whispered. "I just need this to stop."

"It will," Y/N promised. "I’m on your side, always."

time skip and location change to - venice film festival

The Venice Film Festival buzzed with excitement, the flashing cameras and a sea of glamorous stars lining the red carpet. Y/N walked confidently alongside Carlos, who, for once, was right by her side at a major event. Fans had been waiting for their appearance together, and the internet was already on fire with the pictures flooding in.

But what really had people talking was the little love bite just peeking out from the collar of Y/N’s elegant gown. It wasn’t obvious, but anyone paying close attention—and the fans always did—could see the faint mark on her neck, and they definitely noticed Carlos’s proud, smug smile every time the cameras clicked.

As they made their way down the red carpet, hand-in-hand, the fans went wild, chanting their names, and Twitter exploded with hashtags like #CarlosandYNGoals and #CoupleOfTheYear. Carlos had kept her close all night, making it clear to everyone, especially to those starting rumors, that Y/N was his, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

"Smile, cariño," Carlos whispered into her ear as they posed for yet another set of photos. "The whole world’s watching."

Y/N grinned, turning her head slightly, showing off the faint love bite more boldly than before. "I think they already got the message," she whispered back, giggling at the cheekiness of it all.

Carlos chuckled, his hand gently squeezing her waist. "Let’s make sure they don’t forget."

But amidst the excitement, Y/N had another matter to attend to. As they reached the entrance of the festival, she spotted Liam with the rest of the cast, standing just inside the grand hall. Her expression hardened slightly, and she felt Carlos tense beside her when he saw him too.

"I’ll handle it," she murmured, giving Carlos a reassuring glance before slipping away from his side. He nodded, though his eyes stayed locked on Liam, clearly displeased.

Y/N approached Liam with calm determination. He turned to her, smiling, clearly unaware of the storm he had created. "Y/N! You look amazing tonight."

"Thanks, Liam," she replied, her voice cool. "We need to talk."

Liam blinked, surprised by her tone. "About what?"

"About the interview," Y/N said, crossing her arms. "The one where you said you had a crush on me and implied that we had ‘chemistry’ off-screen."

Liam shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that… I didn’t think it was a big deal. It was just a joke, Y/N. You know how the press is—they eat that stuff up."

"It wasn’t a joke to me," Y/N said firmly. "Or to Carlos. Do you have any idea what kind of rumors you started? People think there’s something going on between us. You made it worse."

Liam frowned, clearly taken aback. "I didn’t mean to—"

"But you did," Y/N cut him off. "And it’s disrespectful, not just to me, but to my relationship. Carlos is my boyfriend, and what you said crossed a line. We’re here to promote a film, not feed gossip. I need you to stop."

Liam’s face flushed, and he looked away, clearly uncomfortable now. "I… I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t realize it would blow up like this."

"Well, it did," Y/N said, her tone softening slightly. "I need you to be professional from here on out, Liam. No more comments like that, okay?"

Liam nodded, looking genuinely apologetic now. "Okay. I get it. I’m really sorry, Y/N."

"Good," Y/N said, glancing back at Carlos, who was watching them like a hawk from across the room. "Because you’re about to get another conversation, and it won’t be as nice as mine."

Liam followed her gaze, his eyes widening when he saw Carlos approaching. "Oh, crap."

Carlos strode over, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something much more intense. Y/N could feel the tension radiating off him as he approached. She gave him a small nod, signaling that she had said her piece, but Carlos clearly had something to add.

"Carlos, man," Liam started, already sounding nervous. "I—"

Carlos didn’t let him finish. "You thought that was funny? Saying you had a crush on my girlfriend on live TV?" His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it that made Liam visibly shrink back.

"It wasn’t like that, I swear," Liam stammered, trying to backpedal. "It was just—"

"Just what?" Carlos took a step closer, towering over him now. "Just you feeding into rumors? Just you making her uncomfortable? You know we’re together, and you still did it. Not cool, man."

Y/N could see Liam growing more and more flustered under Carlos’s icy stare. "I already apologized to Y/N, Carlos," Liam said, his voice shaky. "I didn’t mean to disrespect you, honestly."

Carlos’s eyes narrowed. "You didn’t mean to? You should’ve thought about that before running your mouth. Don’t let it happen again. If you care about your career, keep things professional. I don’t want to hear anything like that from you ever again."

Liam nodded furiously, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. "It won’t happen again, I promise."

Carlos gave him one last hard look before stepping back, his hand automatically reaching for Y/N’s again. "Good. See that it doesn’t."

As they walked away, Y/N squeezed his hand, a small smile playing on her lips. "You didn’t have to go that hard on him, you know."

Carlos smirked, his fingers brushing against the love bite on her neck as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I’m just making sure everyone knows you’re mine."

Y/N laughed, feeling the tension melt away now that it was all out in the open. "I think they got the message loud and clear, Sainz."

As they entered the grand hall, the cameras continued to flash, capturing their every move. Fans were already going wild on social media, uploading the pictures of them together, Carlos looking impossibly proud, Y/N smiling with that cheeky love bite on full display.

Twitter exploded with admiration:

“Carlos accompanying Y/N to the festival?? Power couple!” “Did you see the love bite?? Carlos is marking his territory 😂” “I need someone to look at me the way Carlos looks at Y/N. 🥺” “Carlos putting that co-star in his place? YES, KING.”

As they took their seats, Carlos leaned closer to her, his hand resting on her knee beneath the table. "I told you we’d shut this down, didn’t I?"

Y/N smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. "You did. And you were right. No more rumors. Just us."

Carlos pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice low and content. "Just us."

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIX: MAKE OUT FAKE OUT

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ An unlikely ally appears! “I know you’re Spinnerette.” . . . What. The. Fuck. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (the non-existent) threat of blackmail wc: 4.4k

Victoria’s been acting weird. You suppose it’s normal given the events from last week. Since then, multiple articles have come forth speaking of Robin and Spinnerette saving the day. The people of Gotham seem to be taking to their new arachnid friend well.

But back to Victoria—she struggles to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t stop her from being a stern teacher though, so you guess nothing other than that has changed. Whatever, you have better things to worry about.

Progress has been… progressing with the badassium. You’ve begun assembling the makeshift particle accelerator, but Karen estimates that you’ve only built three percent. And it took you that long. Have mercy.

You’re currently in the Den, looking over your creation.. The walls are lined with various tools and blueprints, and the centerpiece is the skeleton of the particle accelerator. You sigh, wiping sweat off your brow. This is going to take longer than you thought.

Karen’s voice chirps in your ear. “Perhaps taking a break would help clear your mind, [Name].”

You glance at the clock. It’s already past midnight. Maybe she’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.. Let’s call it a night.”

Robin meets you on the rooftop you’ve perched yourself on. He crouches next you, watching the streets below. Robin’s eyes follow the movement below with a practiced vigilance, his dark cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The city's nightscape is a blend of lights and shadows, with the occasional sound of sirens breaking the relative silence. He glances at you, his expression giving nothing away.

“Long day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“You ask, why?”

You groan, stretching out your stiff muscles. Robin tracks the movement. “Surely you wouldn’t come hang out with me just because you felt like it. I doubt one night of ass-kickin’ makes us friends.”

“This is not ‘hanging out’,” he grumbles, making you nod your hand in a ‘you’re proving my point’ fashion. “I am simply taking a short recess, you happen to be in my resting spot.”

“Yeah, uhuh.” You don’t believe him for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

“Batman wants you on the team.”

You damn near fall off the rooftop. “What.”

“Perhaps you are older than I thought, if your hearing isn’t on par,” he smirks.

“First of all, my hearing is way better than yours, fuck you,” you quip, quickly righting yourself. “Second of all…” you hesitate, “can we take a raincheck on that?”

Robin looks at you. “I… am busy right now. And do not have time for a team… yeah. Also, I just prefer to be alone.” The words come out choppy, as if you’re coming up with them on the fly (you are). That last part is a straight lie, you love your Avengers.

You know Robin obviously is skeptical, but he says nothing. “Why does Batman want me, anyway?”

Robin shifts slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You share the same goals we do. It only makes sense to join forces.”

Robin's words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city below. You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the unexpected offer. Joining Batman's team? The idea both excites and intimidates you. You've always admired the vigilantes of Gotham from afar, but becoming a part of that world was another matter entirely.

You don’t belong here. It was different when you were asked to officially join the Avengers, but fictional comic characters turned real? Your mind wants to melt. You don’t want to drag them into your mess.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but…” you sigh, and lean back. “...not right now.” And probably never. You clear your throat and stand up, Robin following. “Well, it’s been awkward. See you!” you rush out, quickly swinging away. Robin eyes you until you swing out of sight, thinking.

“They denied.”

Bruce sips his tea, humming. “Did they say why?”

Damian comes to sit next to his father. “Their reasoning was that they were ‘too busy for a team’ and preferred to be alone. It was very obvious they were hiding something, father.”

Bruce sighs, putting down his cup. “We’ll keep trying to convince them, slowly,” Bruce adds as he sees Damian moving to get up. “Stay cautious, but also stay amiable, Damian.”

Damian scoffs. “I am amiable.”

Bruce chuckles as Damian leaves.

Ms. Varley announces a project at the end of class the next morning.. The class groans loudly, of course. “It should be fun for you young folks,” she emphasizes, like it disgusts her. “It is a partner project,” the class lights up for a second, ��with your tablemate.” You swear you see a glint of satisfaction in her eye as the class slumps. You and Damian look at eachother. “Together you will explore unconventional perspectives on any known superhero or vigilante of your choosing.”

The projector shows a powerpoint labeled “Hot Takes”. A few snorts are heard. “I want you to to challenge yourselves boldly,” Ms. Varley states, walking around to pass out the rubric. “You’ll select a figure that intrigues you and craft a thesis that challenges the traditional view. Support it with thorough research and present your findings in a persuasive manner."

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about being able to defend your point.” Ms. Varley takes her place in front of the classroom. “This is your final project. From now until winter break, we will be spending our Fridays working on it. Only Fridays, so I suggest working on it with your partner outside of school.”

She sits down in her chair, signaling that she’s done talking for today. Buzz fills the classroom immediately, peers chattering and making plans. You scoot your chair closer to Damian. “I know what I want to do,” you declare.

“As do I,” says Damian, facing you.

“My take is better,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Damian scoffs. “I sincerely doubt you are capable of coming up with something adequate to the challenge.”

“Don’t be a hater Damian, it makes you look jealous,” you tease.. The bell rings, filling the class with sounds of hustle and bustle as students pack up. “Oh! Before you go,” you say, grabbing Damian’s wrist. You hold out your phone. “Number?”

Damian looks at your phone in confusion. You huff. “Your phone number, Dames. So we can contact each other and plan our project?” you clarify in a ‘duh’ tone.

You watch as he stares for a moment, before taking your phone and putting in his contact info. “You will come home to the manor with me,” he declares.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We will start working on it today,” he elaborates, handing you back your phone. You fumble with it for a second before shoving it in your pocket. “The faster we get it done the better.”

“Um, ok. Yeah, makes sense,” you gulp.

This time you’re the one distracted in ballet. Victoria huffs and snaps at you multiple times, so you figure she must be back to normal. Art class proceeds as norma, Ms. M making you practice your color theory. You hold back on designing new iterations of your suit, something you did a lot of back home out of sheer boredom.

Damian guides you out of the school with a hand on your back, like he did at homecoming. You wonder what exactly he is doing, since you know he feels the eyes and points at the two of you from other students. You sigh, hopefully nobody bothers you about it.

Alfred greets you at the gates, this time you make sure to actually get his name officially. Damian gets in the car first, pulling you in by the hand. Your shoulder bumps into his as you land with an ‘oof’. The ride to the manor is silent, leaving you twiddling with your thumbs. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long.

The manor looks imposing, standing here looking at it. It’s different from seeing it from WEBBERs point of view or from an inked page. Damian grabs your arm, snapping you out of your daydreaming. He leads you through the grand halls of the mansion, his steps confident and purposeful. The interior is as opulent as you imagined, with rich furnishings and tasteful decor that speak of wealth and history.

"Your family's home is... impressive," you remark, trying to break the silence as you’re dragged along.

Damian nods curtly, saying nothing. You sense there's more to his demeanor than just his usual aloofness.

He leads you to a spacious study lined with shelves of books and a large, fancy desk at its center. Papers are neatly organized, and a computer hums softly in one corner. Damian gestures for you to take a seat. You do, placing your bag down beside your chair. Damian sits next to you.

You take out your laptop and open a new powerpoint. “My idea was that we do it on Batman,” you state, turning to Damian. “I think Batman is part of a cycle of violence. I think that he does help and protect people, but he also enables a lot of the behavior from criminals.” You stand up and begin to pace the room.

“He inadvertently contributes to a culture that normalizes violence as a means to solve problems. I mean, all of his criminals eventually break out of arkham. Scarecrow literally attacked our school a while ago! Criminals respond to Batman’s intervention with heightened aggression and increasingly dangerous tactics, which results in a cycle where each side justifies escalating their actions in response to perceived threats.”

You pause, stopping your pacing. Damian is staring at you. You cough. “That’s all to say, violence begets violence, hurt people hurt people, yadda yadda,” you grin sheepishly.

Damian nods intently. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. After a moment of silence, he speaks, his voice calm yet decisive.

"Your perspective is not entirely without merit," Damian begins, his tone measured. "Batman's methods have indeed perpetuated a cycle of violence in Gotham. His reliance on fear tactics and physical force against criminals often leads to heightened retaliation and more extreme measures from his adversaries."

He shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. "However," Damian continues, "one must consider the broader context. Gotham City is a cesspool of corruption and crime, where conventional methods of law enforcement have repeatedly failed. Batman's presence, while controversial, fills a void where the justice system falls short."

Damian stands up abruptly, pacing the room with a controlled energy. "His actions, while extreme, have prevented countless tragedies and protected innocent lives. The criminals he faces are not ordinary. They are deranged, relentless, and would wreak havoc unchecked if not for his intervention."

He stops in front of the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. "Batman's commitment to justice is unwavering. He sacrifices his own safety and personal life to ensure that Gotham's citizens have a fighting chance against the darkness that plagues our city."

Damian turns back to you, his demeanor earnest. "Our challenge will be to present a balanced argument," he concludes, returning to his seat. "Acknowledging the complexities of Batman's methods while critiquing their consequences. We must delve deep into both sides of the debate to craft a compelling thesis."

You nod, absorbing Damian's perspective. You’re impressed, but yeesh. He could’ve been more subtle, in your humble opinion.

“I’m impressed,” comes a voice from the doorway. You and Damian turn around to see–

Bruce Wayne. You sigh deeply inside your mind.

“Father,” says Damian, looking a bit lost. “How long…?”

“Since your friend started speaking. I apologize, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I only meant to introduce myself when I heard your compelling argument, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, looking awfully apologetic. Of course, Batman himself heard all that.

He turns to you and sticks out his hand. “Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.” You shake his hand humming in affirmation.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you smile. Alfred comes in with some snacks and refreshments, placing them down on the table. You and Damian thank him, seemingly on autopilot. Bruce smiles at Damian.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

You rub your palms on your pants. “Welp,” you hum, sitting back down and pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I think he likes me.” You pour a cup for Damian and pass it to him. He sits back down as well, accepting the cup.

“I think he does, as well,” mutters Damian, sipping his tea.

The rest of the evening is spent refining your argument and laying out the skeleton on your powerpoint. Despite Damian's initial reservation about your abilities, you find that you complement each other well in terms of ideas and research methods. You check the time, it’s a little past nine.

“I should get going, I don’t wanna leave Nari alone for too long,” you say, beginning to gather your belongings. Damian raises a brow. “My cat,” you clarify.

Damian's eyes brighten very subtly. You know what he’s thinking, so you show him the picture you took of Jon holding Nari. “He’s cute, right?”

Damian analyzes your picture like it’s an art. He nods in approval. “You shall have to bring him over to meet Alfred.”

“The.. butler?” you question, as if you don’t know better.

“The cat.”

Damian walks you out of the manor where you find Bruce. His eyes spot you two approaching and nods in acknowledgement. “Alfred is already waiting outside for you,” he tells you. You nod and step outside, feeling the cool air hit you. You thank Alfred as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. Damian and Bruce are standing together on the porch. Bruce is telling Damian something, but he is only looking at you.

You send him a hesitant smile, and he nods at you.

Bruce watches the car drive off. “Still suspicious?” he asks.

“Nothing of note has happened,” Damian begrudgingly tells him. Bruce warmly chuckles.

“Well,” he starts, looking at Damian. “I like them.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “I do not like what you are insinuating.” Bruce shrugs innocently, stepping back inside the manor. Damian stands in the cool air for a moment, before following him inside. 

The dance instructor has a headache, so she says that you all can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t bother her. You sit against the far wall, laptop on your legs. You’ll use the time to finish the assignments you’ve been procrastinating on.

Victoria surprises you by sitting next to you. She surprises everyone else to, if their wide eyes are anything to go by. They quickly look away at her glare. “Hey, Vicky,” you mumble, unbothered.

She pretends to look interested in what you’re typing. Her eyes watch your fingers as they rapidly move across the keys. She clears her throat.

“I would like to practice some more after school. I expect you to be there,” she says primly.

You raise a brow, still looking at your screen. “There’s no practice today.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be asking you if there was. I just think… it would be beneficial to us.”

You look at her. She’s crossed her arms and is looking down at her lap. You exhale and nod. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t have anything planned after school anyway. Victoria nods, sitting beside you for the rest of the period.

Damian suggests that you come over again to work more on the presentation, but you have to deny. “I have a ‘special’ practice session with Vicky,” you wink.

Damian ignores your innuendo in favor of furrowing his brows. “You don’t have practice today.”

“First of all, what do you know?” you huff, putting your pencils away. “Second of all, you’re right. However, Vicky has ordered extra practice. Just the two of us.”

Damian grips his bag a little bit tighter. You wave goodbye as you leave the classroom, heading to the dance studio. Victoria’s waiting for you, still in her uniform. You place your bag down, suddenly tense. Victoria crosses over to you, grabbing your hand. “Shut the door,” she demands.

You obey, curious. “Something wrong?”

She fidgets with your web-shooter-turned-bracelet, like she’s looking for something. You’re not worried, the form it’s in right now gives nothing away, but you are really confused right now.

“Vicky?” you implore, trying to catch her eye.

“I…” she hesitates, before straightening her shoulders. “I know who you are.”

You furrow your brow. “What exactly does that mean–”

“I know you’re Spinnerette.”

.

.

.

What. The. Fuck.

You blink, because that’s all you can do. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. There’s no use,” she crosses her arms.

“Vicky, this is crazy. I’m not Spinnerette! Was it the Scarecrow attack? Are you still scared? Maybe you should see someone–”

“Spinnerette called my Vicky!” she snarls, pointing a finger at your chest. “No one calls me that but you.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, stepping back. You never would’ve thought Vicky would be the first to figure you out. Though you suppose you haven’t been as careful as you thought. Fuck, how could you be so careless? Do you still try to deny it? Surely it won’t be that hard, but clearly Vicky is smarter than you think.

“Perhaps she could be a formidable ally,” suggests Karen. “She may have access to resources we need.”

You straighten at Karen’s voice. She’s right, of course. Victoria’s loaded. She can throw money at people to get you the materials you need. Expensive, high quality material. There’s just convincing her…

And maybe… it’ll be nice to have someone else know in this universe.

You sigh and hold out your arms. “Fine, you got me. I’m Spinnerette.”

Victoria smirks victoriously. “Show me.”

“Show you…?” you mutter.

“Show me some proof.”

You blink at the audacity. She was just accusing you of being Spinner, and when you admit that you are, she tells you to ‘prove it’ to her!? You sigh, tired of it all.

You walk to the wall of the room, placing your foot on it and climbing up. It’s a comical sight, the way your body completely changes rotation effortlessly. You walk along the ceiling, moving back to Victoria. Jumping down, you purse your lips and spread your hands. “Happy?”

Victoria’s got a glint in her eye that makes you nervous. She nods, and you set your hands on your waist.

“Okay listen, you know now, there’s no going back from here. If you tell anybody–” you begin, voice taking on a threatening tone.

“–I want to help you!” she blurts.

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Let me help you do your… saving people thing!” she says, waving her hand around. She steps closer to you, eyes shining. Huh. Well, you were going to threaten her and her parents' credibility as members of society. Rich people always have some skeletons in their closets, and you sure as shit are capable of finding them. This is a surprising turn of events.

Still, you scoff. “This is insane–”

“I can be your sponsor! Like whoever makes all of Batman's stuff!”

“I would’ve never expected this from you—why do you want to help me?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing I do satisfies my parents!” she growls. Oh dear, backstory time. “They literally left me the company to inherit, but doubt my ability to run it. I pay attention, I get good grades and I do everything they say, but they still doubt me. I even try to get with stupid Damian Wayne.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even like him!”

“I know I can’t tell them you’re Spinnerette, but if I can successfully help you do what you do…” she curls her hands together. “Then at least I would know that I’m good at something.”

You’re left speechless. It’s like you’re listening to a brand new person. You place your hands on her shoulders. “You already are good at something, dance!” You gesture to the room. “You work harder than anyone else here!”

“Dance isn’t my future,” she scowls.

You purse your lips. You have no idea how she feels. The adults in your life have always let you be yourself. Even if they didn’t you’ve always had the backbone to tell people to step off and let you do your own thing. Rich people like Victoria’s parents can get pretty extreme. You wouldn’t be surprised if they disowned her for not wanting to inherit the company.

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Okay,” you mutter. Victoria stiffens in anticipation. “You can help.” You’ve been evaluating her this whole interaction. She’s a sheltered rich kid looking for adventure and on a weird journey of self discovery. She isn’t looking to rat you out (she kind of needs you, anyway).

She squeals and claps her hands, before clearing her throat and composing herself. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Arms crossed, you grumble out, “uhuh.”

“How do they work, anyway?” she says, grabbing your wrists, pressing around your bracelet.

“Uh, it won’t work in the state that it’s in–” a web shoots out of it, sticking to Victoria’s blazer. You guffaw. “Karen!” you gasp, knowing in the web-shooters’ bracelet form it wouldn’t shoot unless she made it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks cheekily. Traitor. God, she’s been waiting for someone else to talk to, hasn’t she?

 Victoria looks mystified by the web actively attached to her. “Who’s Karen? she asks as she tries to grab the web.

“Do not–!” you grab her hand. “–touch it.”

“Why? Oh, right. It’s sticky, huh?”

“Yes, Vicky. The spider webs are sticky–” the door to the dance room opens, and you stiffen. Shit, the web–

Victoria closes the distance between you two, jumping on you and wrapping her legs around your waist. You instinctively hold her thighs to support her, looking at her in alarmed confusion.

“What–” she silences you by pressing her lips against yours. All coherent thought goes out the window, because literally what is your life?

Her hands wind around your head, and her lips caress yours with a soft yet firm pressure. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you instinctively tighten your grip around her legs, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against yours and the taste of her lips make everything else fade away.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly pulls back, leaving your lips tingling. She gazes at you with a mix of mischief and satisfaction, running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. You stare at her in awe, your breath coming in short gasps. She's got balls of steel, no doubt about it. You just gained a whole new level of respect for her.

She looks to the side. “Oh, hi Damian.”

Oh god. You look to the entrance of the room and sure enough, Damian’s there. He’s looking at the two of you with wide eyes, unable to school his expression. He’s stopped dead in his tracks with your phone in his hand.

Wait… your phone!

You shift so Victoria’s back is facing him. You balance her with one hand, reaching between you two to get rid of the web that’s squished between you. You do it quickly, balling it up in your hand and setting down Victoria on the floor and heading over to Damian.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice I left it,” you smile casually, internally screaming.

Damian says nothing as you take your phone from him, stuffing it in your pocket. You place your hands on his chest and guide him out. “Okay. Bye now. Talk to you later!” He seems to finally realize what’s happening, brows furrowing and looking at you before you close the door in his face. You lean against it, listening. There’s no sound for a bit, before you hear Damian walk away. You sigh.

“Holy shit, Vicky. What the hell?” You can’t help but laugh. You throw the balled up web in the trash, making your way over to her. She’s got a cheeky smile on her face, hands behind her back.

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore,” you tease. She’s looking at you.

“I like you,” she says, making you freeze for probably the tenth time this afternoon. When will it end?

“I have feelings for you,” she elaborates, pacing. “I know that you don’t feel the same. I just…” she stops, turning to face you. Her eyes peer earnestly into yours. It crushes your heart. “...I know your secret. Now, you know mine.”

You whisper, painstakingly soft, “oh, Tori…”

She sniffs, swatting your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not in love with you or anything.”

Still, you feel like the worst human being ever. It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for her, you know that. And yet… you’re probably the first person she’s ever shown this side of her to. Dare you say, her first real friend.

You pull her into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She melts into your arms, gripping you tightly. Her light sniffles fill the room.”I’ll get over it,” she promises. You only hold her tighter. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws from you, wiping her tears.

“Okay, some ground rules,” you say, hopefully providing a much needed topic change

“Number one, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nods. “Obviously.”

“Number two, I call the shots. If I say do something, do it. I know better, it’s for the best.”

“Number three, this changes nothing. We can act like friends if you want, but if your grades start dropping or people start noticing you acting strange, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agrees. You heave out a sigh. “Go home, Tori.” You web over her bag and hand it to her. She goes sparkly-eyed again.

“Will you patrol?” she can’t help but ask.

“I think I deserve the night off. The Bats can handle it.” You grab your stuff and turn towards the door. “I’m gonna take a long nap when I get home.”

“Let me take you home then!” she blurts.

“Jesus, do all you rich kids have chauffeurs?” you ask. She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I just wanna lay down and not wake up for three years.”

Victoria bids you goodbye as you make you enter your apartment. You drop your bag, groaning at your stiff shoulders. You sag your way over to your bed, flopping face first into it. You knock out almost immediately, letting the stress of the day leave you. Spideys never have it easy, do they?

notes: y'all i've had that tori scene in mind since i first made her LMAO

[zeroseuniverse]

Moonstruck

Word Count: 1.2K Summary: Yuta confessing under the moonlight Genre: Fluffffffffff, hurt/comfort (minor) A/N: Jaeil doesn't exist

Yuta might literally be the cutest person she had ever met, they had been best friends for years, but as she got closer to the other NCT boys the clingier Yuta had gotten, which she didn’t mind in the slightest, it was just utterly adorable. She would move Mark's sleeves out of the way when they were at dinner to avoid food getting on them when Mark forgot to, then minutes later Yuta would be reaching with sweater paws, trying to act innocent. So she’d simply repeat the action towards Yuta with a fond smile as she watched his eyes glimmer with happiness.

Today was one of the days where he was particularly clingy, he had come home from his schedule to find her, Johnny, and Taeyong sprawled out around the living room, it seems Johnny had kicked her off of the couch partially with how she was upside down still trying to beat the two in a game, Taeyong had his head on her stomach and Johnny was simply trying to mess both of them up rather than focusing on himself winning. When the round ended the trio huffed, none of them had won, in sync all three began to stand up. They had planned to grab a snack after that round, but when their eyes landed on Yuta they could immediately sense something was off, “Yuta?” She called, trying to snap the man out of his trance, it worked. He took a few steps forward to grab her hand before walking to his room swiftly, pulling her into a cuddle session. He laid on top of her just allowing his brain to decompress as he listened to her heartbeat. It wasn’t unusual for this to happen, when Yuta had an off day he naturally sought her out. Naturally she should have known it was an off day, he had been texting her any second he could, asking for random selfies, and offering up a sleepover.

The two laid in bliss for a while, her hand massaging his neck and back as she hummed some tunes to lure him into a small nap. She wished she had noticed sooner, but when she felt her shirt beginning to dampen she froze, she tried maneuvering to see his face but he nuzzled into her stomach not allowing her to see. “Yu? Are you okay?”

He remained silent, the only notion that he had heard was that he moved her frozen hand towards his hair, asking for head pats. She wished she could chuckle at that moment because he really was a puppy, but she was too worried. “Yu, I know you’re not okay, so take all the comfort that you need from me. When you’re ready we can talk. I don’t like when you suffer alone.” She spoke so softly, the sound tenderly caressing his ears, allowing his brain to melt slightly as he finally felt seen after the long day of being invisible.

She hadn’t noticed she had dozed off, but when she woke up a few hours later the moon was shining through Yuta’s bedroom window and the man was standing at the window looking out at life outside, “You know, My mom used to tell me that you never know who you could end up loving.” His voice broke through the silence when he heard the sheets shuffle telling him she had sat up. She was confused, but she hummed, allowing him to say whatever he needed to say at the moment. “I think she was wrong.” was his continuation, confusing her even more, what was he on about? “From the moment I met you, I thought ‘I could love her’ it hummed in my brain every time I saw you. And then, it switched,” Yuta turned his body around so he was now facing his back to the window, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed. His face was totally serious, so different from his usual happy face, he was making sure she knew that he meant every word he was saying, and she did. Her heart was beginning to race, her throat drying as she prayed that this conversation goes the right way, “It changed to ‘I think I love her’ You got along with my friends, my family adores you, you take care of me. You are everything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. I didn’t actually come to terms with it until you started getting closer with Mark, it seemed like you guys were beginning to like each other and I panicked, I wanted all of your attention. Today, you were hanging out with our friends but the second I needed you, you were there. Now when you do things like this, how is it possible to not love you?” He hummed, beginning to move closer, her teary eyes were glimmering like stars, the stars that he couldn’t see from all of the light in the area, it made him smile.

“We take care of each other in a way nobody in my life has ever been able to do. We love each other in every move we make, but my love? It’s not platonic, it hasn’t been for a while. Today at my schedule I was so tired, all I could think of was coming home and trying to talk you into a cuddle session, but as I walked in, a switch flipped, I needed it more than anything. And when I laid down? I felt so safe, so please, accept me so we can create our own haven in each other.”

His words sounded so poetic, she had never experienced a love quite like this, he was so in tune with his emotions, so vulnerable. The tears kept welling up and her words got caught in her throat. After realizing she couldn’t get the words out she surged forward, her lips meeting his, allowing him to lead the way. So he did, they stayed joined until air became nonexistent in their lungs. As they separated, her stomach rumbled, the skipped snack from earlier making itself known. “Oh my! Let’s get you some food.” He offered with a chuckle, beginning to pull away even more, only for her to pull him back.

“I can eat later, I can only get a chance to share my feelings properly once, I won’t mess that up. I will accept you, always. I have always been yours. I don’t plan to go anywhere else, anytime you need me you can find me.” She smiled as she took in the admiration in his gaze, with a hint of mischief, which was worrisome. Her body was picked up and slung over his shoulder with ease, it happened faster than she had expected earning a yelp to erupt.

“Now that feelings have been spilled, how about a bedroom picnic, let’s get my girlfriend some food in her tummy.” He hummed, happily carrying her out of the room, their faces both glowing red. – “Did you get it?” Mark wondered as he peered over Taeyong’s shoulder to look at his phone, the two had sprung up from their beds the second they heard talking beginning to audio record the conversation through the phone, they had known Yuta was close to confessing and had simply been waiting, as soon as they got the chance they were so going to share the recording with the rest of the group.

[masterstr0ke]

PUSH AWAY ALL THE PEOPLE WHO KNOW ME THE BEST, BUT IT’S ME WHO’S BEEN MAKING THE BED.

PLATONIC!WELT YANG x GN!READER.

WARNINGS: self deprecating thoughts, dissociation, homesick for a home that doesn’t exist, angst to comfort.

WORD COUNT: 704

You sat on the bright red couches of the Astral Express, the window in front of and behind you show the intense beauty and vast nature of the Universe everybody lives in, but you’re not content like you usually are. You wanna go home, where’s home? you don’t know, but you’re homesick.

Everybody in the Astral Express knew something was off with you nowadays; You don’t hang out with March and take pictures anymore, you didn’t discuss with Dan Heng about the data bank anymore, you don’t offer Himeko coffee (that you desperately fail to perfect, but Himeko drinks it nevertheless), you don’t do Pom-Pom’s requests, you don’t sit in comfortable silence with Welt as you read whatever book you’ve chosen for the week, and you don’t wash off Stelle/Caelus’ clothes after she/he’s gone dumpster diving. Something’s wrong, and everyone’s felt it

You fidget with the watch you wear on your hand, not noticing the footsteps that get increasingly louder as they approach you. Eventually the couch dips beside you, you turn your head to see Welt, with a cup of tea, except he hands it over to you. “It’s late.” he spoke, keeping his words to a minimum.

“I don’t want the tea.” You spoke bluntly and turn your head away from Welt. He placed the cup down near the radio and faced you. “Look.. I’m not one to interfere-“

“Then don’t.” you interrupted him.

“Something’s wrong with you, and it’s not going unnoticed by anybody in the Express.” he paused. “We’re a family, and we look out for each other, so it’s our duty to take care of each other, and you need the help and the care.” He elaborated, his tone of voice so gentle, so kind.

“I don’t need help.” You spat out, before standing up and leaving for the sleeping chambers.

You laid on your unmade bed, it made you feel disgusting, but surely it was because you were, right? Surely it wasn’t just random and you were disgusting. You get out of bed, albeit with difficulty, and make your bed with heavy arms. You found your eyes tearing up all of a sudden, your body wasn’t heavy because you were tired, it was heavy from regret and guilt. All they want is the best for you, and vice versa. You never want to harm them, but you ended up doing just that.

You fell down to your knees beside your bed, clutching your bedsheets as you sob; A stupid replacement for somebody’s shirt, since nobody probably cares anymore.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door, which halted your sobbing. You quickly wiped away your tears and opened the door. Welt. You blink at him, and he stares at you, before he began speaking. “May I enter?” He asked, his voice so gentle, so kind. You step out the way and open the door wider for him to step inside, and he does just that.

You sit on your bed, and he closes the door behind him, what a gentleman. He sits down beside you, and put his hand on your shoulder, and leaned in closer to you. “Please, let me help you. Something’s wrong with you and it’s obvious you can’t overcome it alone. Please,” He pleaded. “Let me help.”

And with that you broke. Tears flowing out and stupid, stupid whines coming out of you. And yet he doesn’t push you away, he instead hugs you and rubs your back at an attempt to calm you down.

He was warm, and you liked that.

Slowly but surely you calmed down, and emotional exhaustion quickly caught up with you. You pulled away from him and yawned. “Thank you.” You smiled at him as you rubbed your eyes. “Don’t mention it.” He spoke as he returned the smile.

He stood up, and looked at you. “I’ll leave you to sleep.” He spoke calmly. “Sleep well, alright?” He requested with his so gentle, so kind voice. You nodded. “I promise.” You smiled.

“Goodnight.” He spoke before he exited your room, closing the door calmly behind him, what a gentleman.

You laid down on your bed and pulled the sheets over your head as you thought to yourself, maybe somebody does care.

[thedeviltohisangel]

Love Me Like I'm Brand New

a/n: HAPPY GIFT EXCHANGE @freakingata ! It is I, your Secret Santa! I have so thoroughly enjoyed chatting with you over these last few weeks and picking your brain about so many different topics. I hope you enjoy this fluffy, smutty, bantering take on Nessian and that you have the most wonderful holiday season ever!

@acotargiftexchange

warnings: slight smut

With a huff, she blew a strand of hair away from her eyes and focused on the scrawled recipe on the counter. It was a traditional Illyrian dinner of layered potatoes, root vegetables and fried onions then covered in stewed tomatoes before it was baked over the hearth. She had learned the recipe from one of the best. Gwyn had taken her along for tea at Rosehall where her mate’s mother had expressed her joy for the traditional dish and the warm memories it could stir in any who had transited Illyria. Nesta had thought about the date with a small star in her diary. And thought that such a surprise could be nice to mark the occasion.

If only the knife would cut the vegetables thin enough.

The coins were jagged and uneven. Didn’t lie flat in the stone dish the House had presented to her. There were hardly enough to make the third layer that Azriel’s mom’s recipe had called for. It was bordering on a disaster and she hadn’t even attempted to bake the layered delight. She was going to need her backup plan a lot sooner than she had anticipated.

“Nes?” She gasped and quickly looked down at her options. Smother the creation in tomatoes and hope for the best? Ask the House to rid it completely from existence? “Something smells good.” Plan A it was. 

“Don’t come in here!” Cassian startled in the doorway of their kitchen but followed her command. “Go sit at the table.” Her finger was extended elegantly and rigidly in the direction she wanted him to go.

“But you’re in here and so is…” he sniffed the air, “is that-”

“Go! Now! Or you will get oatmeal for dinner and watch me eat what you allege smells so good.” To his credit, he merely grinned at his mate. 

“If you’re trying to entice me, it’s working.” He took a step forward, she quirked an eyebrow, he took a step back. Her finger held steady. There was no use trying to win this battle. Cassian was a warrior to his core and the survivalist instinct of a warrior was to know which battles you could win. He was never going to win against Nesta because he didn’t want to. Didn’t need to. Having her in his life was blessing enough from the Mother. Nothing could ever make him tempt the fates into changing that. “I’ll get out of your way. Just know it smells exactly how it’s supposed to, Nes.” Because of course he had known behind her rigid spine and commanding tone was the exasperation of uncertainty. Of course he had known she was struggling to maneuver the components into the right shape and thickness and perfection that she was aiming for. And of course she hadn’t needed to say anything at all for him to know exactly what she needed him to say. 

Her smile was thanks enough.

----

“I do have one more thing I’d like to offer you tonight.” Cassian had just recently stopped eating after shoveling four plates of food into his mouth. Nesta had presumed his silence was a compliment and watched with a smug twinkle as he couldn’t get enough of the dish. Perhaps some expected an anniversary such as this to be soft and romantic and glow with the light of eternal love. But watching her mate moan around forkfuls of food had felt like the right language of love for their evening.

“Only one? I was hoping we could offer each other many, many things tonight,” he answered with a wag of his eyebrows. Cassian’s hands were slowly massaging away at the planes of his abdomen, swollen with too much food and aching for release.

“Well, while we wait for that Ramiel sized pile of food in your intestines to stop hurting you so, the thing I am speaking of is a bit more…sentimental. For the occasion.” Nesta dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin before she pushed her chair back and rose from the table. “I’ll be right back.” She moved with the grace of the dancer she was in her heart, the warrior she was in her soul and the queen she was in her bones. Cassian watched her with a soft smile on his face. Every sight of her felt like a dream. A blessing. Like the toils and hardships of his life had prepared him for the happiness of a love like this. A female to match him stride for stride and blow for blow. And the moments where she was soft, moments like tonight, he took such care. Always letting her know she was safe to just be.

“Dinner was present enough,” he remarked as she came back into the room with a tiny parcel held in her hand. It was wrapped in brown paper and held together by a red string, her fingers gripping it firmly as she sat back down and pushed it across the table. 

“I know. But when Azriel’s mother was describing the dish and the importance of it in your culture…this came up too. It didn’t feel right to have one without the other.” Cassian grabbed the gift and smiled as he pulled the string and slowly unraveled the wrapping until a wooden figurine dropped into his lap. A hand carved wooden Illyrian warrior. Complete with a shield and a spear. 

The room was silent as his eyes zeroed in on the object. An object that was essential in every young Illyrians life. All the females of the camp would carve them while they waited for news of the Blood Rite. And in the end, the budding young warriors would receive their toy warrior and hold it dear as a blessing for success on their own rite. “Normally, it’s not given as a gift and only given before the rite but we clearly are not traditional and she swore it was not offensive to give on a separate occasion-”

“Nesta.” There was emotion watering in his eyes and threatening to spill over. She held his gaze and struggled to keep her own eyes in compliance. “It signifies blessings on the road ahead. I can think of no other occasion more appropriate to receive a gift such as this.” Nesta smiled gratefully and with a tinge of relief. It was always a daunting experience to put her heart out on a platter to him. No matter how many times she did, no matter how many times he cared for it tenderly, no matter how many times he returned it full of love and healed vice scarred. She would always be waiting for the ugliness of a supposed truth to rear its head against her.

“Good. I’m glad I got the tradition right.” Azriel’s mother was nothing short of a saint. She would have to come up with some way to thank her at their next meeting for tea.

“Might I offer you a small version of a gift in return?” Nesta cocked her head at the way his spine went straight and a faint flush crept up his cheeks. He looked towards her Symphonia that was sitting at the end of the table. His chair pushed back gently and he rose, tapping the top of her Solstice gift once before offering his hand to her at the opening strums of the orchestra. “You’re not the only one who learned something new for the occasion,” he smirked. She laughed, not bothering to hold her happiness in, taking his hand and spinning into him with a practiced ease. It wasn’t smooth but it wasn’t as clunky as he used to dance. Cassian had practiced with her every chance he had. Music or not. He’d take her hand and spin her around and she’d count the steps out loud as they practiced the core movements of any ballroom technique. It left them as breathless as their sword fighting or dagger training and Nesta always reminded him just as much could be accomplished in the space of a waltz as could be in battle. That being proficient at both was a recipe for complete victory over any opponent. 

One song became two and two became four and it wasn’t until the candles lit by the House neared their end that the two of them even considering slowing their movements. It turned from a giddy and high paced jaunt to a slow and soothing sway to the sounds of the violin solo drifting from the musical sphere. 

“If you become too good of a dancer then it won’t be fun anymore,” she whispered into his chest, one hand wrapped tightly in his and the other resting over the reassuring thump of his heart. 

“Don’t worry. I can always find a way to step on your toes to humble myself.” His lips pressed to the top of her head as her own formed a chuckle. 

“I love you. Being with you makes me feel like me.” It was simple. But not something she could say about everyone. His hand cupped the cheek that wasn’t pressed to his chest so her gaze could be fully on him.

“I love you. Being with you makes me a better me.” The tip of her nose swiped down his cheek before her lips slotted against his. He always kissed her like he had the power to merge their souls together with his lips. As if the task hadn’t already been completed. The kiss was strong and meaningful and claiming, always reminding each other and the universe that they were it. They were going to dance together for eternity. Twine and tangle over and over again until everything disappeared into dust around them. 

The lurid feel of their lips together was matched by the agonizingly slow descent of his palms past the curve of her breasts, his thumbs leaving sparks along the path of her ribcage to her waist. Nesta hummed with content as they moved further still and palmed her backside with appreciation. “Are you having me for dessert on the table or turning a chivalrous leaf and taking me to bed?” she inquired.

“What if I take you to bed and I have my way with you and then we share dessert while still lying in bed?” Cassian’s eyebrows were raised like it might have been the most genius thought known to Prythian. 

Indulgent as ever, Nesta replied, “I love the way you think.”

It was impossibly warm and their scent mingled in an intoxicating manner as their bare skin pressed together. They hadn’t been able to make it to bed and had opted to make themselves comfortable on the fur rug by the fireplace, the pelt a soft cushion against her back as he sought to bring her ever closer. 

She surged to meet the hunger of his lips and tangled their tongues together obscenely with a moan as her own arousal lingered on his tastebuds. Her release was slick on her thighs as her hips canted upwards trying to chase the high the thick cock between his legs was going to offer her. The absolute delirium only his hips could thrust her into. The one she would never get tired of floating drunkenly into.

“You’ve already come twice, Nes, you’re a greedy little thing begging for more.”

“Who’s begging?” she snapped. 

“Your lips might not be but this pretty little thing hasn’t stopped quivering for my cock.” The pads of his fingers stroked her in a gentle circle, making sure Nesta could feel how wet she still was. How she clenched around a hollow emptiness and her clit was seemingly reaching for the friction of his touch. 

“Because we both know the minute you’re inside of me, you’ll lose all semblance of control.” Cassian scoffed.

“Shall we put it to the test?”

“We-” Her acceptance of his challenge died in her throat as he sheathed himself inside her with one claiming thrust. He opened his mouth, no doubt to tease her, when she made a demand instead. “If you choose to speak instead of fucking me right now, they will be the last words you ever speak.” The grin was no less wicked than his words would have been but he abided by her demands. He proved that coming twice was not enough. Would never be enough. That she always had more to give if he was the one asking for it, receiving it. She proved that big and tough Illyrian warriors could be reduced to a moaning mess if you stroked them just the right way. Wings included.

They came apart and they came together and they didn’t need words to explain what was swirling in their chest. They didn’t need words to explain what the days leading up to this day had meant to them. What reaching this day meant to them, for them. He spilled himself inside of her and she milked him for more and more and more. Nesta would always need more of Cassian. There would never be enough. She would never reach her fill when her heart and soul were always making room to welcome in more. 

And as they lay together afterwards, she told him as such. Not with her words but with her touch. A gentle trace down his cheek. A press of lips into his collarbone. A deep sigh of content as her arms hugged him tighter. Saying the words of love was easier for her than it had been after their death dance with Briallyn. Her confidence in her ability to love him as he deserved right along with it. Cassian whispered the words against her cheek and she let them fill her heart to the brim before it overflowed from her own lips and into the skin of his throat. Where they could take root and grow and flourish in the home that existed between the two of them. All they would ever need.

----

Nesta grunted with each clench and release of her muscles. Her fist had found its target against his skin more than once, which was a small elation inside of her, but she was refusing to yield. It was similar to dancing. Weaving a symphony not of music but of coil and tense and surge and retreat. At this point of her life, she preferred the training ring to the ballroom.

“He’s feinting left, you’ve got him!” Emerie called with a smirk from the sidelines. Gwyn hit her arm lightly.

“You know she hates when we try to chime in with feedback.” The priestess was really only half paying attention. For Azriel was conducting dagger lessons with a smaller group of females from the library and looking immaculately attentive while doing so. “Just let them flow.” It was advice Gwyn should be taking on her own and she was working on it. 

“Do you remember after everything with that psycho Queen when we were all together again?”

“How could I ever forget?” They had been sweaty and dirty and barely hanging onto consciousness. Gwyn had been livid that Nesta had made the choice to stay behind while her and Emerie had climbed to Ramiel’s peak. It had felt like, in that brief moment, all the work she had done to trust someone again had been eroded. With nothing but a pinch of Nesta’s fingers. 

“You were angry and worried. I was angry and worried. And we had held each other and cried and said how we were going to let her know exactly how angry we were with her.”

“But then we saw her and Cassian and nothing mattered anymore.” Upon their reunion, they hadn’t known how close the realm had been to losing its High Lord and Lady. How Nesta had given up a portion of her power to save the sister she loved. They had just known that they missed their best friend and she had appeared before them like a dream. Gwyn had even asked if she was still hallucinating from the pain of the rite.

“Yeah. All that mattered is that the three of us were together again. And that we had proved nothing could break us apart.”

“Valkyrie,” Gwyn hummed as she looked to Emerie with a smile. 

“Valkyrie.” The moment of serenity between them was disturbed by a loud groan and Nesta’s body rolling to a stop at their feet.

“Did you win?” the half-nymph asked hopefully. 

“Nesta lost as soon as she challenged me this morning,” Cassian teased as he adjusted the tape across his knuckles and stood to block the sun from his mate’s face. One time he had offered her his hand to aid in standing up and that had angered her to the point she almost beat him in the follow on sparring. She had made progress in learning how to accept his help and he had learned how to offer it so it was best received by her. Symmetry and balance. They were equals in the eyes of the Mother and slowly but surely in each other’s as well. Cassian didn’t care if it took every day of his immortal lifespan. Every day with her, with Nesta, with his mate, was nothing but a dream.

“I have a very different recollection of who was challenging who this morning.” She stood and raised a single brow, not bothering to wipe the dirt from the leather of her pants.

“Challenging or begging?” Nesta scoffed.

“If Illyrian men consider that begging, no wonder your women are so miserable.” It was at this point in the conversation the line began to blur into foreplay and Emerie and Gwyn took their leave. The melody was the same. They would bicker and banter but magnetism pulled them closer and closer until they seemingly had no choice but to press their bodies together and call the lessons over for the day. They were lucky when the Shadowsinger was able to assist in teaching. He was too focused on his regimented lesson plans to let Nesta and Cassian distract him. Well, unless Gwyn truly put her mind to it.

The two females walked towards the smaller group of priestesses while sharing a smirk as the sounds of bickering continued behind them but were slowly quieting, easing into the more personal threats and promises of the mated couple they loved more than anything. They deserved the love that was between them. Had earned it with their blood, sweat and tears. And the distinct quiet told them the arguing had ceased and the next phase of Cassian and Nesta’s evening had commenced. They knew they’d be at training in the morning and Nesta would be at their book club tomorrow night. Everything they did in between, well, they just hoped Sellyn Drake had the words to one day let them in on it.

----

“Today was the perfect day,” she divulged softly as her fingers played with the hair at the center of his chest. “I got to fuck you and fight you. All I could ever want.” Cassian chuckled and kissed the top of her head soundly.

“One kind of bleeds into the other, doesn’t it?”

“It does. But that is just the way I like it.” Her hand pushed at his shoulder until he was flat on his back, his eyes zeroing onto her breasts as she straddled his waist. “I can think of one thing to make this day even better.”

“Absolutely anything.” His voice was dazed as his thumbs stroked over her nipples.

“As if I was asking for your permission,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “House, may we have a slice of chocolate cake, please?”

“Now?” he asked with incredulity. A plate shimmered to life on his chest and Nesta smiled her thanks before using the accompanying fork to take a large bite. “I suppose if I was going to be relegated to being anyone’s table, it might as well be yours.”

“You’re not thinking about this the way I need you to.” They stared at each other for a few heartbeats. No look of understanding passed over his face.

Nesta took the tip of her finger and dragged it through the frosting of the cake and gently tapped it against the tip of his nose. His eyebrows shot to his hairline when her tongue followed along right after.

“Oh. Oh. Give me that cake.” The plate almost fell in his haste to situate himself properly in the bed and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped around her recent bite. Or the snort that followed along with it. Nesta covered her face in embarrassment but softened at the look in her mate’s eyes when he forced her wrist to move aside. “Don’t hide from me, Nes. I love every piece of you. Even the snorts.”

“Those are most certainly only reserved for you,” she relented with a blush. 

“My greatest treasure,” Cassian hummed as he helped himself to a kiss. Before she knew it, something cold was tracing the length of her sternum. She looked down to see a trail of chocolate frosting. 

“I think you understand the game now.” 

“I think I do too.”

[s-lverwing]

PECADO ; teaser

SUMMARY. Duty—the inescapable concept drilled into you from birth, embedded in your mind by relentless echoes and insistent tones. But now, since you’ve grown and become entangled in a tumultuous relationship with the King’s firstborn, duty has evolved into a word you loathe, a bitter reminder of the constraints and sacrifices that shapes your existence. As your world spins, the prospect of marrying Aegon's honorable twin, Maelor, intensifies the bitter irony of your plight, deepening your resentment and sense of betrayal from everyone.

PAIRING. aegon ii targaryen x targaryen!reader x maelor targaryen (aegon’s twin)

WORD COUNT. 1.3k

WARNINGS. just angst. english isn’t my first language. THIS IS MY NEW BLOG !! MAELOR IS AEGON’S TWIN !!!

A/N. I’m thinking so many thoughts. I want to make this a series, or smth but I don’t really know. I have 8k words now, and I want to keep going.

no betaed we die like viserys

She gazed at you, her lips parting only to release the haunting melody: “Pōja istin jehikagrī ēnka sir rāpūltan, isse iā rāpa, lyka nārhēdegon” (Their once bright hues now softened, in a tender, quiet loss).

Soon, the groans and heavy footsteps melded with the birds’ chirping and the distant murmur of voices from the hallways. Yet, the garden remained an isolated enclave, housing only Helaena’s ethereal song and your tumultuous thoughts. A palpable silence descended, compelling you to whip your head toward her.

Alicent’s only daughter was already regarding you with eyes brimming with worry and regret. It was uncommon for her to look at you this way, and the intensity of her gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

“Sealing the bond,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “One will drift away, the other will be chasing phantoms for an eternity” The innocence of her phrase was a dagger to your gut, making you want to retch, as you tasted bile on your tongue. Desperation clawed at you, and you fled, seeking refuge in the only place that could never offer you peace.

The room reeked of stale alcohol and sweat; a reminder of the first and last time you visited an inn. The once repugnant scent was now a grim familiarity. Each morning you arrived early, loyal as a hound and pristine as a dove. But not this morning; delicate petals from the garden were still tangled in your hair. You smell like fresh cut grass. And you’re late.

Aegon lay sprawled on his bed, utterly naked and feigning sleep. He was waiting, because even if he played the role of an idiot, a part of him still cared.

You swallowed hard, “Aegon?” Your voice trembled, a fragile thread of hesitation woven through it. Fear of him was not the issue; it was the looming dread, the haunting sense of something profoundly wrong, lurking just beyond the edges of your understanding.

The mere sight of him being humiliated by any member of his family or by himself was something you’ve become to accept, to make peace with. Aegon hasn’t been on a leash since he was a kid; since his father proclaimed Rhaenyra as his legitimate heir. And so he decided to indulge in the pleasure of the flesh… and alcohol — a sweet but ultimately lethal form of enjoyment. And the fact that he has harbored feelings for you doesn’t even move him into change. Not because of you, but for him. He deserves to be respected and the honor of a house such as the Targaryen. Though, he’s not even respected by his own kin. By his own parents. Viserys was old, and probably had an ounce of love for him which burned when he had realized he didn’t need more children to secure the bloodline. His firstborn was still very much alive; even if he was a woman. And Alicent only cherished his twin brother.

Aegon often wondered what it would be like to be the one born looking like a Hightower—instead of being a living reminder to his mother of the sacrifices she had to make, of her stolen childhood, and of every unavenged wound. Would he then be wanted as much as Maelor is? Deep down, he knew it was a futile dream. He tried not to care, but the fear of being crushed under the weight of everyone’s expectations gnawed at him incessantly.

After all, Maelor, has much more of a tender temperament and Aemond’s intellect and wit, which seemed to embody everything Aegon was not. His eyes were a warm, inviting brown, complementing his auburn hair—a perfect reflection of Alicent. He looked human, soft, approachable, and kind. In Aegon’s eyes, Maelor was the epitome of what Alicent desired, a role Aegon could never fulfill.

You dusted off your pale dress, swallowing down your rising frustration and anger. It wasn’t in your nature to be quick to anger, to point the finger, to blame others for their mistakes. But today, his actions felt unbearable. “Do—Do you even care?” Your voice sounded pathetic, a desperate plea for recognition, affection — just to be seen by your lover.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes. Everything was too bright, too loud for his liking, especially after Otto Hightower’s sermonizing. “Uhm—? Ah, oh,” He yawned, shifting to make himself more comfortable in bed. “Yes, sure.”

His indifference sparked a surge of anger within you, the bile rising to tinge your throat with its bitter taste. “I’m being serious.”

“Don’t speak so loud…” He groaned, dismissive. “You should go, I don’t want any of your services”

It makes your blood seethe, each word from him striking like arrows piercing through your heart. The indignity of being called a whore stings with a venomous edge.

It was always a struggle to engage in conversation with him when he was saturated with the remnants of last night’s excesses. But today felt especially grueling; your patience is unraveling, eroded by the relentless tide of his cruelty.

You approached his bed, standing close enough to block the sunlight that accentuated his handsome features. You wanted to scream, to hit him, hoping that maybe then he would love you, maybe then he would strive to be better and meet your mother’s expectations, so then they could be together. But Aegon wasn’t a fool; he knew you were the only one who forgave him every single time, without him even trying. Gathering all your courage, you spoke the words that had been festering within you: “You’re pathetic.”

So you think that too? He knew everything couldn’t be perfect. Aegon understood he was doomed, marked by fate’s cruel design. He knows this truth intimately… yet, despite everything, he clings to hope with a desperation that borders on madness. Because you’re the only one seeing him with different and softer eyes.

He can’t think because his mind is flooded with guilt, of everything that happened last night… Of everything he’s ever done to you, wether good or bad. But he keeps going, he doesn’t know anything else. “Go pester Maelor, he looks just like me. I’m sure he can entertain you… Maybe he won’t pleasure you as well as I do. But after all, all whores are the same, I’m sure he won’t mind”

Tears gathered at the corner of your eyes. His cruelty cuts deep, making you question if any of it is worth it—the sacrifices, the hurt, the strange looks, and your bleeding heart. Are they worth the fleeting moments of bliss? He’s capable of loving, and being kind — he has shown you that. Sometimes you like to fool yourself thinking that he actually cares about you, that maybe he thinks you’re more than just a pawn following everything he says… More than just a girl staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Thinking maybe, just maybe… he actually sees you.

But it’s the indifference, and his insolent words that creates a wall. One you’re too tired to try and bring it down.

You snort, deciding to play his game, ethough you know it will keep destroying everything. “Maybe I will, Aegon. Maelor has more honor in his little finger than you’ll ever have. You just wallow in your own filth.”

You speak with distaste, the words hurting you as much as they hurt him, because they come from a place of anger, a vengeful side you despise. It makes you want to throw up; the mere idea to succumb into your rage. After all, there’s pure dragon blood running in your veins, and it burns within you.

You turned around, unable to bear looking at him. If you meet his eyes, you’ll collapse under the weight of your own emotions and beg for forgiveness, even though it’s not your fault. You just wanted to make amends. “Do you know you’re throwing everything away, Aegon?” you ask, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken despair. You don’t expect an answer. He already knows.

first chapter

[vanderwoodlings]

how do you kill a feeling: a blair/dan playlist (x)

Tracklist and commentary under the cut:

This is also entirely country music, because, uh… I wanted to? And at least one person (hi Liz) seemed into the idea? Generally when it comes to GG, we skew more towards pop than anything else, so it was a fun experiment!

1. “Easy Silence,” The Chicks. And I come to find a refuge in the/Easy silence that you make for me/It’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me

2. “Walkin’ After Midnight,” Patsy Cline. [dan voice] I’ve been walking around the city all night with one paralyzing, all-consuming thought

3. “Found It In You,” Tiera Kennedy. The confidence to know that I can be happy/Just ‘cause you tell me that you got me.

4. “Friends Don’t,” Maddie & Tae. [Insert obligatory aromantic disclaimer that Friends Do, Thanks, here.] That aside, this is just… so stupid best friends in pining denial dair-coded

5. “I Try to Think About Elvis,” Patty Loveless. When you’re ass backwards crushing on Blair Waldorf and you would like to not be, please

6. “Hey, Good Lookin’,” Hank Williams. This one was one that just clicked as a dair song at random somewhere—something about the I’m gonna throw my date book over the fence bit especially—and sparked this playlist into being

7. “Lay It On Me,” Mickey Guyton. I want the truth and all your lies/I want your perfectly imperfect

8. “I’ll Be,” Reba McEntire. And mayhaps Dan has a white knight complex. I’ll be the rock that will be strong for you/The one that will hold on to you

9. “Marigold,” Paisley Fields. Marigold, bold and bright/Marigold, through spring and summer/You brighten up my night, marigold

10. “After I Fall,” Lee Ann Womack. And mayhaps Blair is a bit traumatized. After I fall, where do I stand/After my heart is in your hands/And you’ve got it all

11. “cowboy take me away,” Brittney Spencer. This one is in the Vibe—because God knows neither of them want to get out of the city and get dirt on their hands—it’s more something wild and unruly

12. “I Can’t Help It (If I’m Still in Love with You),” Johnny Cash. Dan pining moments

13. “This Kiss,” Faith Hill. I always love story imagery with Blair, so of course we’ve got Cinderella said to Snow White/“How does love get so off course/Oh, all I wanted was a white knight/With a good heart/Soft touch, fast horse.”

14. “Wrecking Ball,” Emmylou Harris. This song’s got the narrator offering a first date if the other person is in, in spite of the lack of privacy she’s got/the things the other person might know, which is very Gossip Girl, but there’s also something about the Meet me at the wrecking ball (wrecking ball)/I’ll wear something pretty and white that feels very Blair

15. “Death Of Me,” Reyna Roberts. Took this barely beating heart and brought it back to life/But this love might be the death of me.

16. “Starting Over,” Chris Stapleton. Gotta give them something good. And, honey, for once in our life/Let’s take our chances and roll the dice

17. “Grow Old with Me,” Sunny Sweeney. They all said we’d never fit so well together/Grow old with me, I’ll keep you young forever

18. “Jolene,” Dolly Parton. I’ve used this as a Blair’s Serena complex song before, way back on the blairena playlist and uh… I was right ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

19. “Milwaukee,” Wyatt Flores. Okay, yeah, wrong city, but—You can hate my eyes for watching you leave/You can hate my should have chased you down feet/…/Please don’t hate my heart

20. “What Brings Life Also Kills,” Kolton Moore & the Clever Few. Dear, I’m writing this for you/As I contemplate tomorrow/Why did it end so soon?

21. “Buddy,” Willie Nelson. S6 dangina hours!!!!

22. “Why’d You Come in Here Lookin’ Like That,” Dolly Parton. Exists in the theoretical Dan slut era of my dreams. He’s out slow dancing with every girl around/I’m a soft-hearted woman, he’s a hardheaded man/And he’s gonna make me feel just as bad as he can

23. “Foolin’ Ourselves,” Evan Honer. Welcome to the dairfair! We get a little chronologically blurry here for the sake of the Sound being right, but I trust y’all to follow along

24. “On the Other Hand,” Randy Travis. On one hand, I could stay and be your lovin’ man/But the reason I must go is on the other hand.

25. “Summertime,” Orville Peck. You and I/Bide our time/And I miss summertime

26. “Satin Sheets,” Tammy Wynette. If Serena gets “Jolene” (or even, sort of, the pseudo-honorable “On the Other Hand”), Chip gets this. Blair canonically sings Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man” about him (which really fucks me up), so I knew she had to be on here somewhere, but I wasn’t expecting something quite so suitable to jump right out. But your money can’t hold me tight/Like he does on a long, long night

27. “Your Someone,” May Erlewine. I thought that I was stronger/I willed myself to be/But love can be so tender/I feel a tenderness in me

28. “To June This Morning,” Ruston Kelly, Kacey Musgraves.

29. “Love is Alive,” The Judds. Love is a man and he’s mine/Love is alive/And at our breakfast table

30. “Love Is A Wild Thing,” Kacey Musgraves. There’s no way to stop it, so don’t try to

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Real Cowboys Don’t Run

Natasha Romanoff x female!OC

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit, eyepatch.”

“I think you’ll find yourself talking in no time, cowgirl.”

She smirked, feeling the dried blood on her face crack with the motion. The pain was excruciating but she’d never show it. She’s been through worse interrogations. Torture that not even SHIELD—corrupted as they are—could match.

“How about we start with a name?”

She merely yawns, looking around the dark concrete room.

“No? Alright then. You like steak? Lobster? Been a while since you ate.”

“I could go for some Mac n cheese. The box kind.” She says blankly.

“Really? You are not kidding right now?” She merely shrugs. “Fine then.”

He leaves the room and she’s left alone with nothing but silence and the metal cuffs digging into her skin. She breathes slowly, ensuring no aspect of her body language changes. She knows they’re watching.

2 hours and 43 minutes later—she counts each second that passes—a redhead woman stalks into the room. She sits carefully in the metal chair across from her. She does nothing but stare for 57 seconds. “Who are you?” The redhead finally asks. The blonde offers no response. Not even a twitch. “How about a name? Doesn’t even have to be a real one.” Absolutely nothing.

Natasha doesn’t show it, but she’s unnerved by the steely exterior. Never before had she been unable to read someone. She had perfected the art of body language at a disturbingly young age. Interrogations were her forte.

The stare down continues, neither party giving an inch.

“Look, I don’t know who you are. I don’t care. I just want to know why you were sneaking around that facility. If you pose no threat, you’ll be free to go.”

The blonde knows that’s a lie. They would never just let her go. But she won’t show it. Never give them anything, because a good interrogator will use anything and everything against you.

“Well since you’re feeling a bit shy, I’ll carry this conversation for the both of us. We tried to run prints but they’ve been burned off. Likely hydrochloric acid, according to forensics. Was it forced? Or did you do it willingly? Made killing a little easier, did it? One less thing to worry about?”

People usually jostle when she brings up the subject of murder, but the woman doesn’t move an inch. Natasha is having fun with this, though she knows she shouldn’t be.

“And then there’s the fact that you simply don’t exist. We ran facial recognition, DNA, toe prints, everything. Searched millions of records for something that might resemble you. Absolutely nothing. So tell me, where did you come from?” She leans forward.

The blonde woman smiles. “A farm.”

“Ah, yes. The cowgirl. I like the hat. And the belt buckle. It’s a cute touch,” she gestures to the silver buckle at the woman’s waist. “Tell me about this farm. Are we talking a normal farm? Or a place that breeds serial killers and mercenaries?”

“Cows. Potatoes.”

“Cows and potatoes. Nice. No serial killers?” The woman shakes her head in denial. “So why talk now? Why tell me this and not the goons who spent hours trying to beat it out to you?” The blonde offers no response. “C’mon, just tell me. Weak spot for beautiful women?”

The woman smiles slightly at that. It’s calculated, Natasha thinks. “Because no matter how much I tell you, Natalia Romanova, you will never get what you want. You caught me because I let you. You will never know who I am because I am no one. I am a ghost. Merely a puppet in the shadows. I cannot be broken. Believe me when I say many have tried and failed. I will tell you this much: I am not HYDRA, but I am not on your side. There are no sides in this game, Agent. I do what I need to. It has nothing to do with you. Never has, never will.”

Just like that, she leans back in her chair, her face set in stone once more. Natasha nods and leaves, refusing to show the anxiety she feels about the fact that the woman knows her name. Her real name.

One hour and twelve minutes later, several agents enter the interrogation room. They unchain her from the chair, leaving the cuffs on her wrists. After a bag is placed over her head, she’s escorted to another room. This one is a cell. With a toilet and even a blanket. There are no windows, but it’s an improvement. The cuffs arw removed and she is left alone in the cell.

Eventually a tray of Mac N cheese and a bottle of water is slid through a slot in the thick metal door. She eats it without worrying about poison, knowing they would’ve killed her by now if that’s what they wanted to do.

~

Tucked in the corner of the cell, she breathed deep and slow as she let her body sink to the floor before pushing through her pinky fingers, raising her body back up. Her feet remained still and straight in the air as she went through the exercise, determined to stay in shape throughout her captivity.

She slowly moves into a planche, loving the way her muscles strain with the movement. When the door beeps and clicks and the redhead enters, she doesn’t flinch. Agent Romanoff leans against a wall and watches.

The blonde woman moves into a tuck planche before sitting on the ground and taking a swig of water. “You like watching, do you?” Agent Romanoff says nothing but smirks. The blonde stands and wipes her face with a towel, leaving the rest of her body sweaty in her black sports bra and sweatpants. She watches Romanoff’s eyes as they move down her body, taking in the tattoos and scars.

“That’s a lot of scars for a cowboy.”

“I’ve been in my fair share of rodeos.”

“Touché. Do the tats mean anything?”

“They mean everything. But you’d never be able to figure it out.”

“I know. You’re an enigma. I’ve learned that by now.” She unlocks a door, revealing a basic shower. “Get cleaned up. You stink.”

When the blonde emerges from the shower—feeling much better, though she’d never admit it—there’s a fresh pair of sweatpants, underwear, and a t-shirt waiting for her. She gets changed and takes a seat on the concrete floor.

“Get up, we have places to be,” Natasha says as she enters the cell.

The blonde doesn’t budge. “Were you standing out there watching me change? That’s a bit creepy, Agent Romanoff.”

“You’re a prisoner. You’re being watched 24/7.” The woman’s smirk tells Natasha that she already knew that.

She stands and follows the agent out the cell door. “No cuffs?” The blonde asks.

“No cuffs. Don’t make me regret it.”

The woman chooses to remain silent, following Natasha through the maze of white hallways. They arrive at a conference room, a familiar man inside.

“Eyepatch! Nice to see you again.”

“Cowboy. Wish I could say the same.”

“Why did you drag me out of the comfort of my cell?”

“Well, glad to know you’ve settled in nicely. We’re done with these games, cowboy. We’re gonna sit down and talk like adults.” He gestures to a seat across from him and the woman takes it, showing no signs of nervousness.

“How may I be of assistance to you, Director Nick Fury?”

“You are very good. I will give you that. But I am better, Hallyn Chase.” He tries to shock her with the knowledge of her name, just as she’s done to them.

Hallyn remains stoic for several seconds before bursting into laughter. “That’s it? Seriously? I’ve been here for two weeks and all you’ve got is my name? That’s cute.”

“Your name is all I needed. Now we can have an actual, civil conversation. So tell me, Hallyn, why were you at the facility?”

Hallyn sighs, shaking her head with a click of the tongue. “I needed information. A friend of mine went MIA a while back. Just trying to find him.”

“Does this friend have a name?”

“Well, yes, he’s not an animal,” she states obviously.

“You’re not gonna tell me his name, are you?”

“No, no I am not, Eyepatch.”

“Well I appreciate the honesty. Moving on. You’re very skilled. What’s your background?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t you?”

“You know I can’t. And I won’t.”

“I gotta say, my first impression of you was military. But there’s no record of you. So special ops maybe? CIA even?” He asks the question even though he’s already fairly certain of the answer. He slides a picture across the table to her. Three MARSOC uniforms stand side by side, weapons in hand. Every face and name is blurred out. Hallyn merely raises a brow. “That’s you in the middle, is it not?”

“At one point that was me. Not anymore.”

“That’s what I thought. So you enlist in the marines, go into special forces, and kick ass. You get promoted to a team that’s so secretive, even I don’t know the name. Maybe you still work for them, maybe you’ve gone rogue. I don’t know. I don’t care. What I do wanna know is if you are a threat to me and my organization.”

“Nick Fury, the only threat to your organization is the one that’s already penetrated it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I think you know. I think you’ve suspected it for a while but didn’t want to believe it. But Steve Rogers cut off one head. Another one was bound to grow back.” His one good eye goes wide as Hallyn leans back in her seat. “May I go home now?”

“Does someone like you have a home?” Romanoff asks.

“No,” she answers honestly.

“You can stay here for the time being. Under close surveillance. Play this smart, and you just might find that I can be a useful ally.”

“I don’t need an ally.”

“Maybe not. But I guess we’ll see.” He nods at Romanoff and she grabs Hallyn’s arm, signaling her to stand. Hallyn gives Fury a nod before following the redhead.

Natasha leads Hallyn to a different floor in silence. They end up in a basic bedroom with a small attached bathroom. The walls and bedspread are white, much like a hotel.

“This will be your room for the time being. There are cameras in the bedroom and directly outside the door. None in the bathroom, don’t worry. You will be heavily monitored, but behave yourself and you just might earn a bit of leeway.”

“Really? That’s it? You guys snatch me up, beat the shit out of me, lock me in a cell, and then give me a bedroom and freedom?”

“Yes. Because for some reason, Directory Fury seems to trust you. Frankly I’m not sure what he sees.”

“Me neither. But I will not betray you, Agent Romanoff. You are not my mission.”

“What is your mission?”

“I’m not quite sure anymore.”

She hesitates for a moment. “What happened to you?”

“That’s a conversation for another day.” Hallyn answers vaguely.

Series Masterlist

[canyouhearthelight]

Nihilus Rex, Ch. 32: Sisters and Secrets

This post is dedicated to something that I am more than obsessed with in anything I write: realistic sibling relationships. Yes, siblings can be the bane of your existence during childhood and may still be so when you're an adult.

But it's equally likely that your sibling will be your partner in crime. So if you see shades of Sophia and Tyche in this, know that's because of my own relationship with my youngest sibling.

As always, co-written with the incredible @baelpenrose. Extra shoutout to @lavcircuts who may not realize it but reminded me today is Friday and that means I need to post!

I really hope you get it

And don’t live to regret it…

I hope you’re happy in the end.

I hope you’re happy, my friend” - Wicked, Glinda and Elphaba, “Defying Gravity”

Lash

Once Baba and Mama were asleep for a while, I took advantage and asked Mori to walk to the store with me.  While we were both aware that she had filled the freezer as much as possible with meals, there was an oppressive sort of silence that filled the apartment now that Lucas and the boys were back in Puyallup.  She gladly took up my offer, left notes with our parents, and practically shoved me out into the setting sunlight.

“This way,” I reminded her once we hit the bottom of the stairs. Years of habit told our feet to turn towards Uncle’s shop, but… “There is a market this way with Turkish coffee.”

Forcing herself to be cheerful, she clucked her tongue. “Not as good, but better than American.” 

Her imitation of Baba’s frequent words made a hard stone in my chest.  I reminded myself that Baba was still with us and blinked the tingling from my eyes. “I bet you can’t wait to get home,” I teased, gently bumping her shoulder with mine.

She shoved back with her hips. “I had to beg Lucas to take away the computer when I was looking at properties nearby,” she confessed.  When I gaped at her, she tugged my hair with a grin. “Who is going to cook until Mama is well?”

“Clearly you are,” I announced, thinking on all the food she had made ahead.  “And I know Fatima is waiting until you are home to come visit.  She told me so when I went to check on the girls last wee - Wait.” I stopped in my tracks and pulled Mori’s hand. “You are sending Fatima to check on us??”

Mori smoothed my hair and patted my hand, the way Mama did sometimes. “Fatima needs someone to fuss over, and Mama and Baba need fussing.  Mama won’t hurt for having little girls in the house after my boys, either.”

I groaned in mock-agony. “Again, you outmaneuver me!”  Coming to my senses, I squeezed her hand seriously, stroking her arm. “Thank you. I don’t think I could take care of them both without help, and you always know what to do.”

She tugged me to keep walking, well aware that we didn’t need to go to the store and were just getting out of the house for a talk. “So. Tell me about Nils.  Not what you told me at the hospital, I want the truth.”

There was a small bubble of hesitation, but it was immediately pushed down by a thousand memories of Mori and I chattering away into the night about things Mama and Baba would never understand. “I met him after a funeral,” I told her. “His best friend.  He picked a fight with some people he shouldn’t have, and thought I was going to jump from my bridge.”

Mori clucked again. “You and that bridge. Mama always hated it, but Baba talked her down.”

I grinned, letting a stray breeze hit my face. “Brayden had just screwed me over again, and this time he’d taken the money with him - “

“I never liked Brayden.” She’s never even met Brayden.

I pushed on. “Nils has a way with computers, and he got my money back - “

“And Brayden’s…”

“Am I telling this story, or are you?” I scolded. “Anyway, we decided to work together on some… less than legal things that would help people who had been screwed over.” I bit my lip, hesitant to be more specific.  “Beyond that, he lives on his own in a not-yet-gentrified apartment block, helps the homeless by letting them stay in a building I think he owns, and goes to college. Great relationship with his mom, but - you met his dad.”

“You never did let unfair laws stop you from doing the right thing,” Mori sighed. “And yeah, I would be telling you to run for the hills if he had a good relationship with Doctor Iceblock Godcomplex. I am going to assume the ‘less than legal things’ have to do with Baba’s car suddenly being paid off, and beg you not to confirm that. I already had one interview with the FBI, and I…”  She stopped in her tracks and trailed off, staring in the distance.  I let her sit in silence for a couple minutes until she slowly turned her head toward me and grabbed both my forearms. “Lash,” she hissed. “That wasn’t about the fire at all, was it?”

“I don’t think so,” I answered, slowly but truthfully. “Nils and I had nothing to do with the fire other than being there when it happened,” I swore. “I would never put anyone who was there at risk. Me, yes. Nils, if he was willing - which he probably would be. But our parents? Uncle? Imran?” I scowled and shook my head.  “We really were there to get coffee after a date.”

My sister pressed her fingertips between her eyebrows until the nail beds turned white. “Baba’s car, that was you and Nils?”

“Yes.”

“The men who were shot at the bank?”

“Were volunteers, and we did not ask, tell, or imply that they should pull guns on the police.”

Her fingertips migrated to massage her forehead. “Are Mama and Baba in danger?”

“Not if I can help it, no. I didn’t even want them at the cafe, although it had nothing to do with the rest.”

“Nosy, nosy aunties,” she exhaled, opening her eyes. “I swear, they should be studied as a force of the universe. Quantum mechanics probably hinges on nosy aunties.” Mori dragged me by my arm again, walking briskly for several minutes until we found a bench. Rather than sitting, she had us cross the street. “So the attack, that was real and you didn’t cause it.”

I swore viciously until she pulled me to a stop and levelled a glare that told me to wrap it up. “No, that was something separate that has been escalating despite several police reports,” I promised.

“So, I haven’t lied to a fed, that is nice,” she answered breezily. “Is Nils your boyfriend, or is that a cover?”  My face flushed with heat, and she started laughing. “Ooooo, more than a boyfriend, I see!  So you haven’t been crashing on someone’s couch all those nights you didn’t come home!”

“I will have you know, I did sleep on a couch,” I argued, indignant. “His bed is rock hard, Mori! It’s the worst!”

Her peals of laughter let me know that all was accepted and forgiven. “And the couch is better?”

“Like a marshmallow,” I shook my head. “It’s amazing.”

We walked for another block, elbowing each other in silence and erupting into giggles.  It was when we had stopped in front of a chocolate shop that Mori leaned over to ask the hard question. “How much trouble?”

‘Are you in’ went unsaid. I shrugged and carefully chose my words - for the people walking past, not for my sister. “The FBI haven’t asked directly about anything but the fire, and I didn’t lie to the agent,” I answered truthfully. “But we’re pretty sure that she’s here for more than just a fire.  I had nothing to do with the deaths of those guys connected to the fire.” Slight fib, but technically true from a legal standpoint. “Nils and I are… trying to make things better for people who have been getting the shit end of it all.  I don’t know how far that is going to go, yet, but I needed to make sure that if something happens, someone can tell Mama and Baba.”

My ear stung like fire when she flicked it with one long nail. “You are asking me to tell our parents if you are dead,” she hissed. “That isn’t fair.”

“I’m asking you to tell them if I’m arrested,” I clarified, managing to get my hand up in time that the next thump hit a knuckle. “I know it isn’t fair, but it’s even less fair to let them think I am a missing person if someone is able to let them know I am arrested or dead.”

“And why can your Nils not tell them?”

I raised an eyebrow and glared at her in my best ‘don’t be stupid’ glare.

She relented and held up her hands. “Okay, yeah, even I can tell he would be right there in it with you.  That’s at least somewhat fair.”  She placed one hand on my upper arm and rubbed it briskly. “Just… try to make it as long as possible before I have to make good on that promise?”

“Without a doubt,” I answered, shaking my head.  “Although…” She glared at me and I gave up the joke. “I met Nils’ parents the other night, and his mom wants to do a ladies’ day before you head home. You, Mama, me, and Ms. Katherine Andover.”

“Yay….” Mori cheered with zero enthusiasm. “Rich white lady day…”

I laughed and shook my head. “Oh, oh no. We pick the restaurant, and she’ll pay. I only ask that it isn’t the Ethiopian place, because apparently she eats there often.”

“Are you serious? She’ll pay?”

I nodded. “I can confirm, she is very adventurous with new foods, and the only thing that kept her from eating with her hands was that she didn’t know it was not just permitted but encouraged.”

“Crap,” Mori swore. “Now I don’t know if I want to try an expensive place, or if I want to watch the rich lady eat cheap ethnic food…”

I squeezed Mori’s arm with laughter. “Oh my god, I know, right?”

[hotchs-bitch]

Hiiii, hope you're doing good today 🤠 could i get a blurb from the Well Respected universe with Hotch and reader from before they got together 🥺 maybe her first day on the job or something, idk I'm feeling fluffy lmao

Hiiiiii <33 you absolutely can!!! I hope you’re having an amazing day. Also if I ever write a prequel chapter you have to pinky promise to pretend this doesn’t exist bc continuity errors give me a headache <3

Ps I do not think this is fluffy enough and I’m so sorry😭 pre relationship makes me so nervous to write fluff for cause I don’t want them to be TOO familiar yk

“Sir? The new agent is here to see you!” Garcia chirps from the doorway, and Hotch glances up from his paperwork without lifting her head. “I like her. She’s very… well, you’ll see!”

She flits away without a word, leaving Hotch only slightly nervous as to what she means. Her presence in the doorway is replaced by a shadow a second later, and then he sees you.

It’s a good thing that Hotch’s unwavering professionalism is one of his strong suits. Otherwise, god only knows what sort of embarrassing reaction he would have the first time he sees your smile. He blinks once, twice, snaps himself out of the haze he didn’t realize he had fallen into while you stick out your hand.

“Agent Hotchner, it’s nice to meet you. I’m here for orientation,” you say, and your eyes are so wide, your face is so eager, and Hotch is just grateful that your profiling skills aren’t as developed as his own. Yet.

He shakes your hand as he stands up from his desk, and nods when you introduce yourself. He commits both name and pronunciation to memory, then rounds the desk. “Let me show you around,” he offers, and when you nod he starts towards the open door.

“This is a really nice office,” you tell him, and he can’t tell if you’re trying to fill the silence or if you genuinely think that. “It’s an honour to work with you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Hotch hums, a short noise from somewhere in his throat. “Not all bad, I hope,” he murmurs. It’s fruitless; he knows you’ve probably heard all about what an overworked asshole he is. His reputation precedes him in most circles, for better and for worse.

“Not at all,” you assure him as he leads you to the conference room. When you start to turn in the wrong direction out of his office, he guides you with a hand on your back to keep you on track while letting you speak. “Well, I mean. I’ve heard a lot.”

A wry chuckle escapes him against his better judgement. “I’m sure you have. This is the conference room; every time a new case comes in, we meet here to go over the details. Garcia is currently transitioning us away from paper files, so we should be a little more high-tech in a few months.”

“Penelope, right?” you double check and he nods in answer while you look at the TV screen, chairs, and file folders. “She seems nice. Very bubbly.”

“She’s very nice. Bubbly is a good word for it,” he answers smoothly. Something about you is bringing his guard down, and he hesitates for a moment. “You’ve heard a lot, you said. About the team?”

You shrug one shoulder and follow him out of the conference room and down the stairs to the bullpen. “Some stuff about the team. Some stuff about the leader.”

Hesitancy is written all over your face. Hotch stops walking, forcing you to stop as well. When you make eye contact with him, he raises one eyebrow. Tell me more, it seems to say.

Maybe you’re feeling ballsy because it’s your first day, or maybe something about the arch of that eyebrow makes you want to tell him anything he wants to know. “They just never told me you’d look like that,” you murmur, averting your gaze again. “What’s next?”

That’s… well, it’s not what Hotch was expecting to hear. He files that thought away for later, then puts a hand on your back to guide you towards the cluster of desks that make up the BAU. “We’re full of surprises,” he says quietly, and it doesn’t take a profiler’s eye to see the way goosebumps rise on the back of your neck when you walk in front of him. “Let me introduce you to my team.”

[bunnakit]

i Need to Know about wip 6 👁️👁️

ask me about my wips 🌸

oh man so i shared some of this like two months ago but i've kind of expanded on it, so if you've read this before SORRY.

basically Gumpa and Techit (Not Me) were friends in their 20s that ran in a very similar crew as the boys currently do. they had a mostly casual fwb relationship, some feelings involved but nothing they ever admitted to. one day Techit took off and the next thing Gumpa heard he had begun working for Tawi of all people.

hurt and confused he tried reaching out but was never successful, it was like Techit had never existed in their lives. the huge blow eventually lead to their group falling apart and Gumpa isolated himself in his garage (until he met Black and the rest of the crew.)

Techit only took the job with Tawi because Tawi had incentivized him by offering to pay his sister's medical bills and provide treatment for her. sadly, the treatment didn't work and she passed away, leaving Techit still indebted to Tawi - though he'd never admit any of this, his pride is too strong.

somehow, Gumpa and Techit cross paths again, old passions flare up, and Gumpa decides he's allowed to make a terrible decision for just one night.

“We aren’t that different, Gumpa.”

“Except I didn’t become a corporate shill.” Gumpa is straddling him, sneering down at him, but it doesn’t seem to deter Techit from wanting him.

“Shut the fuck up Gumpa, we can’t all be content to live in a shitty rundown garage. To be forgotten.” Techit rolls his hips up against him and Gumpa suppresses a snarl at both the sensation and the memory.

“At least I’m free and not leashed like a dog. I’m surprised they let you out to play.” Techit surges up and presses his lips to Gumpa’s, anything to silence his judgement. He grips his hips tight and he knows it'll leave bruises tomorrow. Good. Something to remember him by.

Techit pulls away but Gumpa catches his lip between his teeth, biting until he can taste copper on his tongue. He barely hears Techit swear before he’s flipping them over and pinning his arms with his thighs. A drop of blood drips down onto Gumpa’s cheek as Techit wraps one hand around his throat - just the slightest of pressure, a warning, a threat, and a promise.

“You’re a junkyard dog and that’s all you’ll ever be! You have this stupid fucking moral superiority complex, well news flash Gumpa, not everyone adheres to your bullshit code, not everyone is content to fight for fucking scraps. Who the fuck are you to judge me?”

“We used to be fucking friends, Techit! We used to be more than that!”

“Used to! You don’t fucking know me anymore and you don’t get to judge me.” And it was true. Gumpa had no idea who his former lover had become. They’d fallen asleep tangled together one night and he'd woken up to a stranger.

[gregorygerwitz]

The Platt Gerwitz Siblings

“You’d better behave while we have that girl in the house.” “Why do I have to live with some little sister I’ve never met, exactly?” “Because your father decided to screw around and make her.” “Then why am I the one being punished?” “Gregory, you are not being punished for your father’s behavior.” “Really? Because it feels like I am.” “It’s only for a few months until the media finds something else to focus on. I’m sure she’ll be out of our hair again by the start of the school year.”

When the whispers began around the city about Gregory Gerwitz III and his affairs, enough people dug a little deeper than the surface. Within days, the articles and blog posts were everywhere, sharing theories with plenty of evidence that there was more than one child in the Gerwitz bloodline. In a desperate attempt to save his reputation and his marriage, Gregory made the decision to bring one of those children into his home, offered a nice house, paid for an expensive education, and that was enough for his lawyers to negotiate for full custody of a daughter.

The girl, Kimberly, was the perfect addition to the household. She was a few months away from starting high school, one signed check away from being accepted into her first year at one of the best prep schools in the city, the perfect age to be taught everything she might need to know for her future, and now every family picture would have every key component - father, mother, son, daughter. She was the perfect solution to all of his problems, and he hardly had to do anything at all - just sign a couple checks, and the paperwork that would legally change her last name to Gerwitz, and one of the extra rooms could easily be converted into any teenage girl’s dream bedroom.

The thing was, Kim didn’t want to be a Gerwitz. She didn’t want to go to an expensive private school with a uniform. She didn’t want to move into the big house. All it held was a father she didn’t even know, a step mother who ignored her existence, and a half brother who would rather scowl at her than actually give her a ride school. It was miserable, and isolating, and she spent all of her free time hidden away in her bedroom with headphones and school books. If she could make it through the next four years until she was a legal adult, she could take the money in whatever bank account her father had set up for her and get out, as far away as she could.

At least, that was her attitude through the summer and the first months of the school year. Then, things started to change.

“Look, Kimberly, I-” “I know you don’t like me, Greg. You don’t have to explain it all to me.” “What? No, I wanted to say... I know my mother can be a lot. She has a lot of high expectations, and a plan for everything. And if anyone deviates from her plan...” “Like her husband moving his child into her home? That’s a pretty big deviation.” “Yeah. Like that. It’s nothing against you, personally, I’m sure.” “Right...” “Do you want to do something today? I have to stay late for practice, but after that?” “What, exactly, would we be doing?” “I don’t know. I didn’t think this far ahead.” “Fine. But your mother will kill us if we’re late for dinner.” “Oh, believe me, I know.”

By the time the first snow of the season started to fall, there was a new energy in the house. Instead of scowling, Greg smirked across the dinner table when certain comments were made. The morning drives to school weren’t spent in silence anymore. Once a week, after they were let out of school and he was done with his fencing coach, they took the long way back to the house and stopped for ice cream. It probably ruined their appetites for dinner, but they both preferred to spend an extra hour together than sit in a quiet house for all that time.

They were pretending less, when it came to family photos, and Greg knew the best hiding spots at the winter charity gala so they didn’t have to mingle and make small talk. He even wove through the crowd so smoothly that he could swipe two glasses of champagne from a passing tray without anyone batting an eye. For the first time, in a dim back office with a little too much alcohol, they were free. There was no family pressure when no one could see them, and there was nothing to do but talk, especially when the champagne ran out and neither of them wanted to risk sneaking out to get more.

Tipsy discussions just happened to lead to secrets and confessions, and a stronger bond than any member of the family could have foreseen.

“Wanna know something else? I think you disrupt my mother’s plans less than I do.” “I doubt it. You’re perfect, and she hates me.” “She doesn’t hate you. She hates what you represent. And I only pretend to be perfect.” “You have a perfect GPA, you spend weekends with homeless animals, and you won all of your matches last year.” “Yeah, I’m perfect, for now. After I graduate next year...” “You’ll be perfect at college?” “She wants me to get a business degree here in Chicago and have an equally perfect girlfriend where all the cameras can see.” “So? You get to take over the family business and have a perfect wife and perfect kids.” “What if... what if I don’t want that? What if I want to go to MIT and have a boyfriend, instead?” “Oh...” “Yeah...” “...welcome to the disappointments, Greg.”

They probably should have known from the very beginning - those first four years weren’t an obstacle to everything she wanted. They were the easy part.