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igotanidea · 1 day ago

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Bait: Jason Todd x reader

aka: the one when Jason's family is using you to renew relationship with him

She certainly did not expect to see a huge bouquet sitting on top of her desk on rainy Friday morning.

And definitely did not want them.

Cause if there was one thing sure in the world it was that those flowers couldn’t have been a gift from Jason.

And if not from Jason this meant she had a secret admirer.

And since she was a taken and very in love woman, a man creeping on her could turn into a big problem, especially considering the fact that she was taken by no one else but Red Hood, who wasn;t a big fan of sharing.

“Y/N! Look, those came for you, this morning.”

“Uh. I see.” She muttered, trying to act unfazed by the excited squeals of her office bestie. How could she be so happy about it? And what the hell was her definition of morning if it was barely 8.30 am?

“You look like you’re mad about it.”

“I’m not mad about it-“

“Then what is it about?” God save Y/N from the office gossip and curious coworkers.

“Nothing. Nothing, it’s nothing.” She put a smile that was equally as big as it was fake, hoping it would be enough to nip this ridiculous conversation in the bud. “I got a lot of work, you know. How about we talk during the lunch break, how does that sound? Good? Great, see you later then!” Before anyone managed to chip in and threw their opinion into the newest office sensation Y/N closed the door to her room, using the unusual force of will power into not locking them. This place definitely didn’t have enough men on board, cause as much as she was a fan of women and their greatest cheerleader a firm full of girls could turn into a hen house at times.

Only after taking a few inhales and exhales did she begin the inspection of the gift, created from her favorite plants.

Hence – the person who sent it must have known her.

She started counting in her mind the amount of people who were close enough to dare to gather such knowledge, successfully limiting it to about 5 individuals.

Second clue was wrapping paper. The kind that only one flower shop in this silly city used. A very expensive one, hence someone truly must have put an effort into this.

And that made her narrow her suspect circle to three people.

But the final tell tale was a card, sticking innocently from the bottom. A teeny tiny note as if someone who endowed her hoped the recipient wouldn’t notice it.

Ha! Good try, but not when it came to Y/N. Honestly, living with Red Hood made her not as vigilant, as almost paranoid and sensitive to every detail.

Back to the gift card.

Two words. Two completely harmless words that under any other circumstances would mean absolutely nothing.

Thank you.

Oh hell no!

***

“Hello?”

“Dick! What the hell!?”

“Hello Y/N. So good to hear you too, how’s your day going?”

“Don’t try to placate me!”

“I swear you became so aggressive since living with Jason-“

“What the hell?!” she cried out again, circling the desk and the flowers as if it was a predator only waiting for the right opportunity to pounce at her, not that he could see it through the phone.

“I take it, you got my gift?”

“Oh, I got your gift, all right. Thank you! I’m not doing you any favors, wing! I merely managed to get Jason to talk to you about-“

“Which was a small miracle by itself and I figured it would be nice to –“

“- to what? To freaking bribe me!?”

“Bribe you?!” Dick gasped, acting dramatically even through the phone “I’m hurt, Y/N. It’s nothing more but a token of my gratitude.” She could almost see his shit-eating grin through the phone.”

“It’s a freaking bribe, Dick!”

“It’s a token of gratitude!”

“Oh yeah? And what will you ask in return? Cause I know for sure I am being used to get to Jason. And that’s both betrayal to Jay and – “

“I would never use my favorite sister-in-law to – “

“I am not your sister in law!”

“Yet.” He cut her off with a hint of humor in voice. “But since we’re already speak I’ve been thinking that maybe you could – “

“Oh, what? What? Dick? I cannot hear you! I’m entering the tunnel – I’m – losing – the – connection….”

She hated using such a lame excuse to hang up on her boyfriend’s older brother but clearly, using any rational argument against Dick Grayson while in his playful attitude was completely futile. And a loss of energy, that she didn’t have in abundance.

But once again, she was starting to realize that forming a relationship with Jason was equal to getting into a mess of connections with his entire (huge) family.

***

She should have left those flowers in the office and that mistake became painfully clear the second the crossed the threshold of her and Jason’s apartment. There were no logical arguments against doing otherwise, besides the fact that it was upcoming weekend and no one would water thema and they would turn into dry sticks on Monday and since Dick bought them for her it would be a waste of money and –

Yeah, yeah, women logic.

Though, men’s logic was working in quite different, mysterious ways….

“Jay? I’m home! Something smells nice in here!”

Coat ended up in the wardrobe, shoes on the shelf, bag on the hanger and without much thinking she followed her nose to the kitchen, eyes landing on her boyfriend in that silly no bitchin in my kitchin apron, bustling about.

“Hi princess.” Obviously, he didn’t even have to turn around to sense her presence. “How was work today?”

“Like a sledgehammer. I swear, sometimes I feel like strangling half of the people there.”

“Do you need help with that violent activity?” he grinned and finally spun to face her, heading for a kiss on the forehead when his sharp gaze laser focused on the thing she was still holding in her hands. Laser gaze that turned from playful and loving to accusatory and cunning in a second. And regardless of how amazingly swiftly Jason was switching between his two personas, such transformation also send a shiver down her spine.

Not a nice kind of tremble.

“Y/n?”

“Um…”

“You got something to say to me?”

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear-“

“Princess.”

“I can explain!”

“Good. Good, sweetheart, because explanation is all I’m asking about.” Jason grinned, but it was the grin of Red Hood, who was expecting a low blow, right into the groin.

He stepped closer, wrapping one arm around her waist and using the other to carelessly toss the bouquet somewhere far away.

“I can’t remember buying them.” He pointed out, now sneaking the other arm on her, effectively but subtly preventing her potential escape.

“Hm? Oh no, you didn’t. In fact you haven’t bought me flowers since my birthday last year and – “

“nun-uh. Back to the point, Y/N.” he smiled again “where did you get them? Who did you get it from?”

“It’s not what you think!” She struggled against his grip.

“You have no idea what I think, love.”

“I’m not cheating on you!”

“I know.”

“Then what’s with the squeezing and hugging and – “

“Can’t a guy hold his girlfriend after a long day apart?”

“Since when are you so cuddly all of a sudden?!”

“Since some fucker is clearly trying to flirt with my woman!”

Oh…

He called her his woman. Not a girlfriend, not a girl, not any other sweet yet infantile word of affection.

His woman.

Making their entire relationship seem way more serious than –

Still being enraged and holding her captive until getting the info he wanted.

And that made her get back to reality from the cloud nine she was floating on.

“Who was it baby?” he whispered, leaning to nuzzle into her neck.

“No one!”

“Mhh. Don’t think so.” His lips moved upwards and to her ear. “You are protecting someone, I can tell. If it makes you feel any better, I can promise I won’t do any permanent damage. Just a broken leg or an arm as a reminder to keep a court mandated restraining order….”

“I take it you’re the presiding judge in this case?”

“Of course…” he kissed her briefly, rubbing soothing circles on her waist. “But cross my heart, no shooting, bleeding out or spine twisting.”

“Those are your arguments to convince me?”

“I can kiss you senseless and make you feel so high you’d babble it, but figured it was nice to try and ask.”

“Huh! Lucky me.” She scoffed.

Of course she could just tell him, but that would probably cause an interstate scandal and a very heated argument in a Wayne family.

If only Jason knew the scope of conspiracy against him-

She spaced out for a moment and those few seconds were used by Jason to take a look at the flowers on the floor and quickly get into the same conclusion about the donor she had earlier at the office.

“I’m going to fucking kill him!”

“What? NO! What happened to the no permanent damage!?”

“This is not permanent damage! This is terminal damage!” Jason yelled, grabbing his jacket and keys.

“And where is the difference in – Jason!? Jason! Where the hell are you—Oh my god….”

***

Living with Red hood under one roof was sure as hell far from peaceful, but never in her wildest dreams she wouldn’t think that it would get to such an extreme as chasing her biker boyfriend thought Gotham In a car.

***

“Where the hell is he?!” Jason busted through the door of Wayne Manor, acting like his usual self.

“Jason, what-“ Bruce looked up from his newspaper, displeased but not surprised by the commotion.

“I swear to God, when I get my hands on him-“

“Jason!” Y/N busted through the doors a few minutes later, and her appearance made quite a noticeable effect.

“Y/N.” Something akin to a smile bloomed on papa Wayne's face, getting as far as making him stand up and approach her. “So good to see you.”

“Yeah, um – nice to –“

“Listen, I’ve been thinking about something-“

“Yeah? You were?” she stuttered, looking above Bruce’s shoulder, helplessly observing Jason and Dick strangling, pushing and pulling, acting like two mad wrestlers in front of camera, much to Batman’s obliviousness. “Um… Bruce-“ her efforts to put his attention to the display of violence behind him came to nothing.

“Later. Now, I know you’ve been struggling to gather finances for your post-grad-“

“What? The hell you know that? Did you run a background check on me!?”

“And I was thinking I could loan you the amount –“ he skillfully omitted her question getting right to the point.

“L-loan me-?”

“Look, there’s no shame in asking your family for help. It’s natural.” Y/N could not believe the words Bruce was aiming her way. Family help? How could he be such a freaking hypocrite? When was his effing family help when Jason was struggling?

“Uh…” she groaned in total shock, while Dick and Jason were now running around the Manor, like a two five year olds playing chase, making so much noise it was getting almost hilarious that Bruce chose not to hear it.

“And I was hoping to see you and Jason at dinner on Saturday? And maybe next Saturday? And maybe every Saturday?”

Was that hope in Bruce’s voice?

“Over my dead body!” Jason’s yelling tore into the conversation and finally Bruce sighed, acting almost forced to intervene.

And the fact that his two sons were laying on the ground, one being half-choked the other flat on his back with the first on top of him made zero impression.

“Those are not funny words to use, Jason.”

“Those are when I say it.” Jason smirked almost vindictively.

“Get off Dick, Jason.”

“Like hell I am going to get off him.”

“I don’t know what I did!” Dick whined theatrically

“Don’t give me bullshit, Grayson! You bought her flowers!”

“As if it was the first time—AAH!”

It took the combined efforts of Y/N, Bruce and even Alfred (who had a miraculous talent of showing up when most needed) to stop Jason from knocking out Dick’s teeth.

“You!” he hissed, throwing his hands around, before grabbing onto Y/N and pulling her into his chest. “You are all a bunch of mentals! Using my girl to get to me! She’s not your fucking toy!” he held her even closer as if she was a precious baby, unaware of being treated like a pawn and having to be protected at all cost. “I swear if she wasn’t here I would –“

“Father, what is all that noise?” Damian was standing on top of the stairs, looking down at everyone, both metaphorically and literally.

“We have guests.” Bruce stated with a flat tone.

“Oh, Y/L/N, good. I got those books you were looking for and –“

***

- and she was forbidden to ever contact any of his family members ever again.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff

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wernerherzogs · 1 day ago

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some of my fave buddie fics for anon in no particular order! please mind all the ratings, tags, and warnings of these works while browsing:

plot-focused:

about the present series by Amiril

The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now.

boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook)

Three months later, things are mostly back to normal.

And then there's an accident.

the city is a jungle and i’m a beast by putanauhere (TRUST ME.)

“There are no wolves in Southern California,” Buck states, another bit of trivia. He just doesn’t know it’s a lie.

The Things All Come and Gone by moodlighting

“I didn’t—it’s not that I couldn’t be alone,” Buck explained, pausing to find the right words. “I just. Wanted to be here.”

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings

Evan Buckley wakes up without eight years of his memories with some guy named Eddie Diaz on his bedside. Which could mean nothing.

lonely little love dog by littleghost

When the 118 is closed for reconstruction after an earthquake, Buck is a floater for different stations around the city. He tries not to let it get to him. Much.

kerosene by mandolare

He doesn’t— need more of Eddie. This is enough. This is plenty. This is more than anyone else has of him; he can deal with the marrow-deep want that’s begun to choke him every once in a while.

all my little words by youbetsya

Eddie: Did you just send me an email??

Buck: yeah lol

Eddie: Why…

I dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. Just stuff to print when your printer is broken

Buck: did you read it?

Eddie: Not yet

Too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me

Buck: just read it dude 🙄

instructions on not giving up by Wildehack (tyleet)

Eddie gave up in July.

Live and (Don't) Let Die by xylodemon

The guy gets straight to the point, asking, "What do you need?" in a dull, bored voice.

"My best friend is going to die. I want that to… not happen."

"No small feat, bringing back the dead. And it comes at a cost."

It's Eddie. Buck says, "Yes," without a second thought.

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea

“Okay, but what are the rules?”

Ravi stares. “The rules for…?”

“Casual sex.”

Ravi continues to stare. It is 5:39 in the morning.

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by Talls

In which Eddie keeps secrets and Buck is incredibly normal and rational and even brave about his reaction to this.

here’s my hand, there’s the itch by signetsealed

"I wasn’t kidding when I said I could talk about Chris all night,” Eddie says. His voice is quiet and close in Buck’s ear. “But that’s not why I called.”

been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later.

Downward Facing Doggy Style by Survivah

Eddie and Buck pick up a new hobby while Chris is in Texas.

slaughterhouse by kithmet

Eddie announces he’s leaving. Buck, naturally, begins a slow descent to madness.

Choosing Joy 'Verse series by ithilien22

In which Eddie mends fences with Chris, starts something new with Buck, and navigates the complex emotions he has around his parents.

the sweetest apparition by hyruling

Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

pluperfect by unreckless

Buck is always good for a ride to the airport. He’s good at lots of things, like being a good friend and goodbyes.

beating the horse by doitgently

Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants.

Burn a bridge, learn how to swim series by WatermelonShots (AvocadosUnderTheEaves)

In which there is some unexpected making out, some pining, one third of an existential crisis and a lot of unhelpful advice. Not necessarily in that order.

you drew stars around my scars by ladieslunching

Someone at the 118 doesn't know how to leave Buck's clipboard alone. Buck would be a lot more upset about it if it didn't bag him the love of his life.

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind.

ripples all the way down by iriswests

This is the tumultuous road to finding out what Buck truly wants, paved by pebbles.

throw a bone, i’m finally home by fleetinghearts

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie says softly, torn between unbearable fondness and an ache that threatens to crack his breastbone.

when everything's on fire by beartowns

Eddie and Chris move in with Buck after a fire. Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, buys a house with Eddie, and realizes he's in love. In precisely that order.

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies

The problem is—well.

Actually, backtrack for a sec. There were a few problems.

Eddie’s got a whole lot of them, lately, and maybe that was The Problem.

Something in the Air (Is Giving Me Bad Ideas) by paramountie

After Christopher comes back from Texas, Eddie makes an important decision: he is not going to blow up his life anymore.

crossed the muddy line by Anonymous

Eddie Diaz is from El Paso, Texas; a fact which accounts for both more and less than he ever expected it to.

the tortured poets department by colonoscopys

The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up.

still by brewrosemilk

For the first time, Buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. Dirt to dig at. A door to break through. Something. There’s nothing.

somewhere to stand and stay by teaspoon

“What are you doing right now?” Eddie asks. He sounds distracted; Buck can tell immediately that he’s driving.

authentication by v_greyson (greyson)

"Yeah, Eddie picks the guys so I don't make stupid decisions," Buck says, flicking through menus to pick a new racetrack.

The combination of Hen munching peanuts and looking back and forth between them makes Eddie feel like he's a zoo exhibit. Best Friends, captured in the wild, still feral, exhibiting behaviors heretofore unknown to science.

"Well, good luck with - all that," Hen says pointedly to Eddie. She is definitely not talking about the video game.

keeping score by arcanaphora

After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia.

if i said you could never touch me by marviless*

Eddie pulls back from him with a half-confused, half-concerned furrow in between his eyebrows. “Buck?”

Buck sags against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, wiping the back of his forearm against his forehead in a mixture of frustration and newfound exhaustion. “Sorry.”

Counting Pulses by tinyydancerr*

Eddie Diaz’s life is going great. He’s in therapy, he’s got a great girlfriend, a great kid, his friend is getting married to the woman of his dreams, and his best friend just came out to him.

Now his best friend is dating their new friend.

Things are going great. He promises.

porn-heavy (only a few of these are straight up pwp though):

Feel You Forever by semperama

“Is this…” Eddie meets his eyes again. “Is this new?”

a mess of my creation by Anonymous

They’re in the fucking bunk room. There’s someone snoring in the bed over by the bathroom, a good twenty feet and two beds away, and Buck doesn’t know if it’s Hen or Chimney or Bobby, but they’re in here, they’re asleep, and this is awful, this is so fucking unprofessional and if they get caught they are going straight to HR.

blood in the highs and count the stars by seachanged

“Go on,” Eddie says, nosing into the soft spot under Buck’s jaw.

Buck laughs, a little hysterically. ”You’re not serious.”

look straight ahead if you like it slow by hattalove

“This gets you going, huh?” Eddie grins, propping himself up on his elbows so he can move higher on the bed, reach the pretty pink bow of Buck’s mouth. “Devotion? You being it for me?” He stretches up toward Buck’s ear, whispers: “Monogamy?”

hang me up on your bedroom wall by eddiegettingshot

“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel.

“Eddie, I—”

“You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?

buck and eddie's red hot infidelity summer series by cranberrymoons

He’s not thinking about it. He’s not. He’s definitely not.

the moon like a spotlight by dykeries

Three months after Eddie moves to El Paso, Buck comes to visit.

this ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living by glorious_spoon

"You guess," Eddie repeats under his breath, but he sounds amused. He sets the boxes down and kicks the door shut behind him to wind through the chaos of Buck's half packed away kitchen. "You're insane."

love's not a game by thatbuddie (talktothesky)

“So that goal, huh?”

Buck groans, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him as his toes curl up, the fire that’s been building up inside him for what feels like hours sizzling and uncontrollable in its path through Buck’s body.

i might kiss you on the back of your neck (because it’s christmas time) by sibylsleaves

Five Times Captain Diaz and Recruit Lieutenant Diaz fail to sleep together and one time they do.

would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? by brattybuckley

Evan Buckley is currently on cloud nine.

Well–

Honey on the Vine by sirencalls

Buck wakes up to an Eddie with stubble for the first time in months and refuses to let a good opportunity to go waste.

lock me down tonight by lecornergirl

Buck tells everyone Eddie talks him into it, but when it comes to Eddie, he’s never needed much convincing.

Mind Blowing Mess by EtoileGarden

"I’d like to have a threesome. I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” Taylor eyed him for a moment, and then leaned a little further over the table, her chin in her hand. “Have you ever had one before?”

songs and poems and promises by lesbianrobin

“It’s crazy how different sex is with men,” Buck says, and everyone around him groans.

rodeo queen by okanus

“What’s the saying again? Save a horse…hm, y’know, I don't quite remember the rest of it.” Eddie can’t help the smile curving up the corner of his mouth.

“You’re an asshole,” Buck says, scowling. The tips of his ears are pink.

yes god don't speak by detectivemeer

“You’re staring.”

“What.” Eddie says. “No I’m not.”

#sorry that tumblr ate your ask and my og response!#also sorry that this is just a short sample but otherwise i'd never get this done.#buddie #911 fic #911 #fic #fic rec #anonymous #a response #please let me know if any link is broken!#and please appreciate that this took Ages on mobile 😭#like. literally about three hours and i'm not counting the three (3) drafts i'd lost before this 😭#long post #eta: two recs here don't have links bc apparently i'd reached the limit of 100 links per post. fuck. and sorry.#hopefully you can google the links yourself!#those are the fics marked with *. apologies to the authors i didn't know about this limit 😭#buckeddie #oh and also i kept it 1 work per 1 author #but as usual i encourage everyone to check out the authors' other works

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kxsagi · 2 days ago

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Hiiii!! I like your account very much and the way you write is great. I thought something like, sae x fem reader, reader is cheerful, understanding, playful and talkative. She's always the one who initiates the conversation, the contact with Sae. But one day, she's worried that Sae is uncomfortable, so she doesn't talk to him or hug him, so what if Sae noticed?

“𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐃 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐬”

a/n: thank you so much!!! this was kinda easy to write bc i am definitely this type of person lol

also, guys i swear i see requests in my inbox, i write them down for future reference, and when i’m about to write them, they’re like gone??? 😭

like i was gonna write it, i just need a couple days because i have other things going on, and i will respond if i am not comfortable writing it lol

(art credits go to immmso_ko on X)

sae itoshi isn’t used to being the one who reaches out first.

he doesn’t need to.

not when you’re around.

you, with your sunshine grin and warm hands. you, who waltz into his life every morning like you’re the human embodiment of a golden retriever with a caffeine addiction.

you, who hum off-key to whatever song’s been rotting in your brain all week. who pops into the kitchen just to press a surprise kiss to his cheek and dramatically declare, “that was your daily serotonin dose. you’re welcome.”

you, who casually slip your fingers under the hem of his shirt when you hug him just to be a little nuisance about it. “oh wow, your back is so warm. you’re like a human heater. lucky me.”

sae rolls his eyes every time. pretends to be annoyed. but he never stops you.

and maybe that’s the problem.

because now, he’s starting to think he’s been too good at pretending.

it takes him a while to figure out what feels off.

at first, he thinks maybe he’s just in a fouler mood than usual. his teammates were particularly slow during training. his coach was nagging more than necessary. the post-practice traffic was a nightmare.

but then he walks into the apartment.

and it hits him.

the space is… quiet. too quiet.

no overenthusiastic “sae!! you’re home!!” followed by you practically launching yourself at him like a feral cat on catnip. no sudden, unsolicited dance breaks in the kitchen while you wait for the water to boil. not even a playful jab about how he never texts you when he’s on his way home.

just… silence.

he finds you on the couch, scrolling through your phone. when you glance up and smile, it’s small. polite. the kind you’d give to a coworker you barely tolerate.

okay. weird.

he figures maybe you’re just tired. long day or whatever. but no, even when he sits next to you, you don’t do… anything.

you don’t tuck your legs over his lap. you don’t lean against him or comb your fingers through his hair like you usually do when he’s within a five-foot radius.

you’re not touching him.

the realization makes his eye twitch.

he’s not even being subtle about his staring at this point. he’s glaring at you like you’ve personally wronged him. and you, being the self-aware ray of sunshine that you are, notice immediately.

"what’s wrong?" you ask softly.

he narrows his eyes. "you tell me."

you blink. "huh?"

"you’re acting weird," he says bluntly, and you blink again, caught off guard by the sharpness in his voice.

"what? no, i’m not," you say with a too-quick shake of your head.

he squints at you. unimpressed. he’s not letting this go.

"you are," he deadpans, voice low and flat.

and that’s when you start to sweat.

you glance away, suddenly very interested in the coffee table. "i’m not," you mutter under your breath, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

but he’s not buying it.

"yes, you are."

"no, i’m not."

"you are."

"i’m not."

he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. his eyes narrow further. "you are."

"i’m not!!"

a brief, heated staring contest ensues.

… you lose. obviously.

you sigh, slumping back against the couch. your shoulders sink slightly, and for the first time tonight, you look… sheepish. almost guilty.

"i just…" you exhale softly, voice quieter than before. "i didn’t want to be… too much."

his eyes flicker. "what?" he mutters.

your fingers pick at a loose thread in your sleeve, suddenly avoiding his gaze again.

"i wasn’t sure if you liked it when i… y’know, talk so much. or cling to you all the time. you never… complain or anything, but you never really initiate either, so…" you trail off, your voice growing smaller. "i thought maybe you were just putting up with it. so i didn’t want to, like… overwhelm you or make you uncomfortable."

sae stares at you.

and suddenly, he feels like a massive fucking idiot.

because here you are, walking on eggshells around him – him – when all you’ve ever done is make his life warmer. brighter. easier.

and what did he do?

he let you think he didn’t want it.

he presses his lips into a thin line. swallows down the brief twinge of self-loathing and quietly reaches for your hand.

the moment his fingers brush against yours, you freeze slightly. but when he intertwines them with deliberate slowness, you blink, clearly caught off guard.

"don’t do that again," he mutters, voice low but steady. "don’t pull away."

your brows furrow slightly, confused. "but i thought –"

"don’t," he cuts you off, and you immediately fall silent. he squeezes your hand slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, gaze unwavering.

"i like it," he mutters, voice a little strained, almost like the words are foreign to him. "when you talk. when you touch me. i…" he inhales sharply, eyes narrowing slightly, almost annoyed at himself for being so bad at this. "i like it. alright?"

you blink at him, wide-eyed.

he waits for you to say something. anything.

but then you just… burst into laughter.

his eyes narrow slightly, but before he can ask what the hell is so funny, you’re suddenly climbing into his lap.

and for once, he doesn’t flinch.

he exhales sharply when your arms wrap around his neck, pressing yourself against him like you’re trying to fuse your body with his. your fingers immediately find their way under his shirt, cool palms pressing against his bare skin like they belong there.

"you’re such a grump," you mumble into his shoulder, voice muffled but clearly teasing. "but you’re my grump."

he rolls his eyes, exasperated. but his arms tighten around you anyway.

"don’t push your luck," he mutters.

but he makes no effort to let you go.

#the grumpy x sunshine trope is always so adorable #sae needs his sunshine (me)#sae itoshi #itoshi sae #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x fem reader #vitamin D withdrawal symptoms

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astraloverflow · 3 days ago

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Good Cop, Bad Cop (They're Both Bad)

Basically cop!König and cop!Ghost pull you over Since my current König post is going to take a while, I decided to cook up this little post for you guys, I hope you enjoy it :) If there's enough traction, maybe I'll make a part 2, lemme know what you guys think <3 TW: power dynamics oh my, manipulation, implied smut, implied non-con/ dub-con WC: 4046 MDNI

The asphalt stretches ahead, darkness swallowing far beyond your line of sight. Your dim, aging headlights carve a soft path through the void for your eager eyes to make out, their yellow glow flickering against the cracked asphalt; trees loom on either side, their twisted branches reaching, almost as if to grab you. The night is thick and quiet— too quiet. Each bump in the road rattles through your hands on the wheel, a reminder that you’re alone out here. Or at least, you should be.

You push your foot on the gas, watching the speedometer climb up, noticing an abandoned car on the side of the dirt as you whiz by it. It’s customary to see at least one on these long deserted back roads. You’ve always wondered what ends up happening to these cars that are left behind by their owners. Do they rust away, staying on these streets? Do they get towed away? Broken into? Stolen?

You don’t think much more of it and continue tearing up the road, tapping your finger idly on the steering wheel, mimicking the music beating loudly through the speakers, wanting to get home as fast as possible. You’ve never been a fan of driving at night, especially not this late and alone.

Suddenly, the headlights of this so-called abandoned vehicle come to life in the distance, flashes of red and blue catch your attention from the rearview mirror, and your heart sinks in dread, “fuck.”

The police car eases its way off the gravel that lines the side of the street and onto the concrete. For a moment, the car gets smaller and smaller, your speed creating distance between the array of flashes, and you hope that this distance consumes the car straight out of your sight. To your dismay, the vehicle starts to speed its way to you, lights becoming more pronounced and more difficult to ignore.

You curse yourself and pivot your foot from the gas onto the break, slowing your vehicle down steadily. Due to the sheer speed you were driving at, it takes a moment for the car to decelerate. The dial on the speedometer shifts counterclockwise and you watch as the numbers slowly crawl down, as if dying. After a few seconds, the car is slowed enough to pull it onto the shoulder of the road, tires crunching as they make contact with the gravel, the car rolling to a stop. Your heart is pitter-pattering in your chest, and your hand that was shaking from the sudden rush of adrenaline reaches for the transmission to push upwards on the knob, parking the car, doors unlocking with a click at the gear change. Your foot lifts off the break, and the car steadies itself with a small roll, tires locking. Instinctively pressing down the red and white triangle button on top of your audio system, the hazard lights flick on, imitating the tick of a metronome to illuminate the crushed rocks beneath the vehicle slightly. You’ve never so much as stolen anything before, being pulled over and having to face authorities in these conditions makes your stomach sink into a pit. As you ruminate, the police cruiser slows behind you, parking itself, lights still flashing wildly. You lament the situation, thoughts flooding your mind about how stupid it was for the cops to be here in the first place. It’s practically empty almost all of the time on these backroads, especially at this hour of the night; it doesn’t make sense to you why any kind of law enforcement would wait for a driver to pass by just to nail them with a ticket.

You almost forget that you’ve been pulled over, sucked into your thoughts, until you see a large figure exit the vehicle from the rearview mirror. Your heart jumps at this, and you quickly reach for your glove compartment to grab your vehicle registration, closing the door with a thud. A sharp knock at the window makes you jump and turn your head. He was fast, you thought you had at least a few more seconds. The officer bends at the hip after a moment, leering into the car, and you push down on the window switch, watching the glass disappear into the driver's side door.

You strain your eyes trying to make out his face in the dark, noticing that it is obscured by some sort of cloth, the only part visible being his eyes. You’ve never seen an officer hide their face before, let alone with a piece of fabric.

“License and registration,” he says, accent cutting through the silence like a knife, reaching your ears.

“One second, sorry,” you stammer, grabbing your wallet in the middle console, unzipping it and pulling out a plastic card. You hand him both the registration papers and your license, and he takes them, gloved fingers brushing against your own for a fleeting second. Your heart jumps at this contact, already overstimulated by being pulled over— you retract your hand, placing both your palms onto your lap, beginning to think of excuses.

He stares down at the card, holding it in his large hand. Your name leaves his lips as he repeats it, reading it off of the thin piece of plastic, “Do you know how fast you were going?” His eyes flick up, boring into your own. The dark makes it hard for your brain to construct his eyes, but the light from your dashboard is enough to see the cold expression he holds in them, blue irises a thin line around his blown pupils.

“Uhm.. no officer,” you hesitate, a bit quieter than you had hoped for your words to come out.

“About thirty over,” he states matter of factly before looking into your car, eyes catching your outfit, “What are you doing out this late?”

You feel your mouth go dry at this. The truth is you were just at a house party, celebrating the end of a successful-ish semester. It was about 1:30 am now as you sat in your car trying to come up with any semblance of a believable story. You told yourself you weren’t going to drink, not having a ride back home, being forced to take yourself back to your place through the outskirts of the city at the end of the night. You told yourself. You even made sure to reject any and all alcohol until a close friend of yours urged you, drunkenly begging you to take a shot to celebrate finishing classes. “One can’t hurt, just drink some water after, you’ll be fine, please, for me?” Your friend’s words ring in your ears, and you wallow at yourself for being guilted into taking two more after their initial coercion. It’s been an hour since that, but fear creeps up at the thought of a breathalyzer test. Although you felt sober, you knew the test would not reflect that, and would get you in trouble with the bulky officer staring down at you from your left. It was best to just not act suspicious, take the ticket, and reap the consequences to your bank account later.

“I was just at a friend’s house. Stayed up too late watching a movie, so I decided I needed to get home,” you respond, lying through your teeth, hoping it was convincing enough, feigning a small smile nervously.

The man hums in thought and you feel relief, thinking he bought your lie. He pauses before speaking up again, “Wearing that?”

You look down at your outfit, a pair of jeans and a tiny top that did little to preserve your dignity. You wish you brought a sweater. Arms almost immediately wrap around your waist, insecurity filling you whole. “Yes...” You murmur, hoping he won’t question you further than that.

He breaks eye contact and motions towards the vehicle parked a few feet behind yours, almost like he was calling someone. You watch from the rearview mirror as another figure steps out, this time from the passenger's seat. Their silhouette looked almost entirely black, except for the white on their face that reflected the red and blue lights spinning on the top of the car. The figure’s boots made contact with the ground and crunched softly as they made a few strides towards the other man. “Ran a check, looks good on my end. Yours?” His voice was deep, with an accent behind it that you could only assume was from somewhere in England, something rough and commanding in its tone.

“Can’t say the same,” the taller man speaks out, eyes flickering to yours for a brief moment before quickly shifting away to meet the man standing beside him. The officer with the white mask makes his way toward the other, and as he closes the gap, your mind scrambles to make sense of his appearance. Squinting, you notice that the mask covering his face is white, with strange grooves etched into it that resemble the jagged shape of a skull, deep and haunting. His eyes are like dark, void-like holes that seem to bore right through you as he passes, there’s something unnatural about the way he carries himself, something predatory, and you can’t seem to pry your eyes away.

“What’ve we got ‘ere?” The shorter man, not to imply that his height was by any means unimpressive, chimes, his voice oddly casual. He leans towards the open window of the car, placing one forearm on the side of the metal encasing you safely, almost like a prison.

“Suspected intoxication,” the hooded man speaks up, his tone flat and emotionless. His words hang in the air, each one settling in your chest with an increasing heaviness. The other hums, eyes scanning you once more, but unlike the cold blue ones of the officer standing behind him, his gaze isn’t as icey, there’s something deeper in it, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“You been drinkin’ sweetheart?” His voice is laced with a syrupy sweetness that makes your stomach flip. The term ‘sweetheart’ rolls off his tongue like a curse, and the word itself feels out of place as if he’s using it to control the situation, to unsettle you. The question hits you hard, and your stomach drops with the weight of an anchor. The unease in your gut tightens into full-blown dread. Something about this doesn’t sit right with you. This isn’t how any regular traffic stop should feel, is it?

When you don’t immediately answer, his voice shatters the silence again, colder now, sharper, “Talk to me.”

You feel your throat tighten, words barely escaping your lips as you answer meekly, “I haven’t..” It’s almost a whisper, barely audible against the growing noise in your head. The man at your window continues to stare at you, eyes piercing, trying to get a read of the situation, searching for any information he could use against you.

“Ghost.” The voice calls from behind him, a demand. The man you now know as Ghost turns, his posture stiff, his gaze flicking to the other looming behind him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses, voice laced with annoyance. Shaking his head with a slight scoff, turning back to face you, his eyes crinkle in the corner softly, and you imagine that behind his odd display of a face, is a smile— though something about this situation makes it feel like a threat.

Watching this play out is frightening, to say the least. You feel your pulse quicken, and every second that passes tightens the knot in your stomach. You don’t know if this is the experience most people face when pulled over at night, or if it was just your terrible luck. You don’t have any prior experience to compare it to, but something in your heart screamed at you that this was wrong, something was terribly wrong here.

You stare at Ghost, now leaning forward slightly as he tilts his head. His voice breaks through your racing thoughts, low and silky, ��Why doncha step outta the vehicle for us?”

Your body freezes. You aren’t entirely sure why you reacted this way; regardless of what it was, the suffocating feeling, the lead weight against your chest did not waver. Every single instinct inside you is telling you to get out of this situation.

“Did’ja hear me?” His voice shatters through the silence again, sharper now, and the calm, almost bored tone from before disappears, replaced with a command, “Turn the ignition off, n’ step out, love.”

The instructions linger in the air like a final warning, and despite every fibre of your being telling you to refuse, your shaking hands reach for your keys nestled in the ignition and you twist, the engine dying, along with the lights at the head of your vehicle. Holding the keys in your hand, you step out of the car, hesitantly. Ghost steps back to give you space to open the car door and exit. You stand and immediately notice how he dwarfs your height, looking down at you through his skull mask, arms crossed over his police vest. The red and blue spinning on top of the police car creates a cast of colours, allowing you to still make out the scene in front of you despite the darkness that engulfs the scenery. You notice a dark streak across the white letters that read out ‘POLICE’ across his chest. In blue light, it looks almost black, but as the red circles back around, you make out a faint scarlet colour.

Blood?

Your eyes focus on it, your heart skipping a beat. Though the thought barely forms in your head before he speaks again, “Hands against the car, love, turn around.”

You blink, not understanding or comprehending the sudden demand, “What?” You ask, almost automatically, surprised at his sudden order.

“Gonna search’cha. Turn around, hands on the hood of the car. It’s standard protocol, isn’t that right König?” He remarks, turning to look at the man behind him. His words are so casual, so rehearsed, and it takes you a second, but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the looming presence of the larger man, König, who just nods in approval.

You aren’t well versed in what your rights are exactly, despite seeing countless posts online urging you to become aware in case some cop tries to take advantage of your ignorance. You think back on those moments you’ve scrolled past and feel regret, maybe you should have been more cautious, should have taken some more time to read up on it. The thought of outright saying no flicks through your mind, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came; you’re not entirely sure if you have the right to refuse, so you comply and turn to face your vehicle slowly, moving your arms to place your trembling hands on the hood, still warm from the engine. “Good girl,” he whispers with a growl from behind you.

The words make your skin crawl, sending a wave of nausea through your gut. You want to turn around, stand your ground, and demand answers. You want to scream at him, ask why he pulled you over in the first place, especially here, in this deserted, dark stretch of road. But your body is frozen, your limbs heavy with a deep, paralyzing dread. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

As you find the courage to open your mouth and protest, a wall of muscle presses up behind you— the air is forced out of your lungs in a sharp, startled gasp, and all that escapes your throat is a choked sound, trapped and desperate. It dies instantly at the pressure as if your body knows it’s powerless to stop what’s happening. A nudge from something stiff, something heavy, something warm, presses against your lower back, and the sensation almost makes you fall forward, but you keep your hands on the car, shakily. “What are you doing?” You ask, heat rising to your ears, your voice quiet and cracking, breaking under the weight of the situation.

“Just gonna check ‘ya angel, no need to panic.” Ghost’s voice is smooth as his hands start to move along your sides, gliding over your trembling skin with cold precision as he pushes his hips into you, eliciting another small yelp from you that serves to bring heat straight to your face at the feeling of his hardness against your spine. He then slowly moves down each leg, bending at the knees to pat down your thighs, not before grabbing at the skin, and moving to your ankles. You’re humiliated, and you have to stifle the urge to ask him why this is even necessary. Your top is small, and your pants are tight against your skin, they’d be able to see if you had anything in your pockets, concealed away. His leather-clad hands are along your body. And then, he stands back up, his hands lingering near your stomach, just shy of touching your chest. You can feel the tension hanging between you two, the thin line between a normal pat-down and something much worse. His fingers hover, almost hesitant as if testing the waters, “You don’t mind, do ya?”

You blink at this, your head spinning. Is this normal? He asked for permission, didn’t he? Maybe you’re overthinking. Maybe he’s just doing his job, and you’re just nervous. But the doubt gnaws at you. You’ve heard of cops acting imposing, standing tall with a panoptic gaze, demanding submission without ever needing to speak a word. You’ve heard stories of them using that authority to cross boundaries with people— no, to break them entirely.

You’ve always struggled with confrontation. You’ve tended to let things slide before and made excuses for bad behaviour. It’s like a habit, but this, this is different. This is too much. The unease deepens into something darker. Something inside you screams to fight back, to speak up, to demand that they stop.

But all that comes out is a whisper, barely audible, “I’m a little uncomfortable.” The words feel weak, but you force them out, your voice trembling. You hope that’s enough— that the honesty will be enough to make him stop.

He was teetering the edge of patting you down, and groping you; you’re not sure if this is what a standard pat down is considered to be. You’ve seen people get checked at the airport after stepping through the scanners, lighting up with a flash, at the indication that something was out of place— it was quick, fast, non-invasive. But this. This felt like he was about to grab at your very soul, so tightly that it might as well burst in his hands, deflating any sense of pride or dignity you had left with a harsh crack and spill of the contents. “Poor thing’s uncomfortable,” Ghost murmurs with a frown, turning to look at König.

The other man doesn’t say anything at first, his towering figure casting a long shadow over you, but when he speaks, his voice is commanding, “Enough, Ghost.” Relief surges through you as Ghost steps back, his lips curling slightly in irritation as he clicks his tongue, finally, some distance. But your pulse doesn’t slow; it races, your heart still pounding in your ears, as the confusion and fear hang thick in the air, choking the space around you. Maybe they’ve decided to let you go now, but something in you tells you this isn't over.

Your thoughts are silenced as your hands are suddenly grabbed from where they were resting, being maneuvered roughly behind your back. The sudden action makes you lose balance and fall forward with a yelp. When you make a move to straighten your torso up, a hand reaches the nape of your neck to keep you pinned to the hood of your car roughly, your chest and side of your face becoming dirty with the dust covering your vehicle. The taller man leans over your body, and you’re brought to your tippy toes as he does this, his erection pushing harshly against your ass. The cloth on his face drapes over your shoulder as he brings his mouth close to your ear, “You’re too soft with her, asking if it’s okay if she doesn’t mind. Slut like her doesn’t care about shit like that. Look at what she’s wearing… Begging for it, on display for us.” The way he spoke into your ear made your heart seize up. He spoke directly to you, but referred to you in the second person, dehumanizing you even further, not even addressing you as equal to them. This was beyond humiliating, beyond anything you would have expected.

“Get off of me,” you protest, with a tone less than convincing. The one holding you down laughs, a chuckle breaking through his throat.

He thinks this is some kind of joke.

“Fuck, Ghost,” he chortles, the sound low and sinister, dripping with mockery. “You should see how she’s trembling under me right now. It’s pathetic,” His voice cuts through the stillness, like a sharp blade, and the way he savours the words makes your stomach churn. Each laugh feels like a slap to your senses, echoing in your skull, ringing louder than the panic surging through your veins.

“Fucking bitch doesn’t even know we aren’t actually cops,” he says, and just like that, the ground shifts beneath your feet and your entire world is upside down. Your breath has ceased, and your lungs feel as if they were taken straight out of your ribcage. “We put on a good show for you though, right? Pulling you over like that? Saying you were going 30 over, Ghost saying he ran a check on you.” A laugh spills from his lips again, thick with satisfaction, and every syllable feels like it's pulling you deeper into a pit of dread.

It’s as if time stops. The world tilts sideways, and your body goes cold. The weight of his words presses down on you, and you realize, with sickening clarity, that everything you thought you understood was a lie. The badge, the uniforms, the flashing lights— all of it was just a performance. A sick game.

“Cops in this area have no backbone,” König starts, with a sickening satisfaction lingering on the ends of his words, “They were so easy to take down too, Schatz, you have no idea.” Another laugh billows out from his chest, “Where else do you think we got this uniform from? The cruiser?”

Your heart is pounding so loudly, and everything starts to click. The blood on Ghost’s vest, you should have known. You want to move, to escape, but your body feels like stone. The world around you is suddenly too small, suffocating like the walls are closing in with every laugh, every word. You want to scream, but the sound won’t come. A tear runs down the bridge of your nose and König hums, leaning in close to you to breathe in the scent of your fear, “Love breaking girls like you, fuck.”

Ghost remains silent in the corner, his eyes watching, but you can’t tell if he’s complicit or detached from the cruel charade. You’re too far gone to care now. All that matters is the cold truth sinking into you like a heavyweight. Your mouth goes dry, the room spinning as the sick realization settles in harshly. You weren’t just caught in a trap. You were the prey, and every moment of this has been designed to break you, to twist you into their game.

Your eyes look backwards to meet Ghost’s, and you plead to him with begging eyes, for him to say anything, to get the man on top of you off, give you some sense of respite, some room to breathe, some time to process what is happening. As you thought you were starting to make progress, looking at Ghost with such a sad, pleading look, König notices and glares down at you. He leans into your ear again and speaks words that make you feel like you’ve died, a million times over and over again, “Oh Schatz,” he chuckles with a small sigh, sounding almost disappointed at your display, “Don’t look at him like that, he’s just waiting his turn.”

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bruisedboys · 2 days ago

Note

Never listen to aggressiv anons, your garbage is really good garbage.

If you’re feeling up to it I’m always in a remus mood, you’re so good at writing him as confident and don’t get me wrong it always makes me swoon, but i was wondering if the roles were switched and remus was the shy one for a change🥰

hi lovely thank youuu for your request!! I’m very nervous cos this is the first proper thing I’ve written in like forever… if it’s bad don’t tell me 🙉

shy!remus x fem!reader

Remus can’t figure out why you like him. He’s awkward, and weird, and too tall, and he’s got two very handsome, much less shy, best friends, plus a lot of other friends (much cooler than him), whom he assumed you’d go for before him. He was mistaken. You’re all over him.

He watches as you approach the table where he, James, Sirius, and a few other friends have set up base for the night. It’s loud in the pub, busy and warm, but you’re moving towards him like he’s the only person here.

“Remus! Hello,” You say happily, coming to a halt in front of him. You don’t offer a hello to anyone else, though Remus chalks it down to the fact they’re all busy talking, or drinking, and he’s been sitting there at the edge of the group quite in his own world.

He blinks up at you. You look lovely. You always do, but you’ve put your hair up in a way he’s never seen you do before. Remus thinks it makes your shoulders look really nice, then realises that’s a totally weird thing to think.

“Hi,” he manages. He’s shy, but he’s not usually this shy. It’s just, you’re beautiful, and he’s got a huge crush on you, and you seem almost equally endeared with him. It’s a little absurd, in his opinion.

You give him a once over, eyes raking from his face to his knees and back up again. It’s quick enough that he shouldn’t catch it, but he does, and then blushes so hard he’s sure you could cook an egg on his face.

“You look nice,” you say breezily. Your eyes zero in on his hair. “Did you cut your hair?”

Remus blinks. “I— yeah, I did,” he says, a little stunned. He hadn’t expected you to notice. It’s not much shorter than it was before, and no one other than Sirius noticed it, and that’s ’cos Sirius is a hair freak.

He’s suddenly self conscious of it. His hand moves to the back of his head, tugging at the hair there. “S’it look bad?” He asks you.

You shake your head vigorously. “No, what? It looks good,” you say, like it’s obvious.

You reach out and run your hands through his freshly cut hair, fingers pushing against his scalp. Remus’ heart goes wild and his stomach does that thing where he suddenly almost feels nauseous, but in a good way.

“I like this length on you,” you say, giving his hair a gentle tug. There’s a sort of lilting cadence to your tone that Remus has come to learn indicates you’re flirting. It sure works. Remus feels like he’s been lit on fire, heat licking up his neck and settling at the tips of his ears.

“Thank you,” he says, almost choking on the words.

You grin. You must know what you’re doing to him, he can see it in your eyes. He figures the permanent blush on his face doesn’t help.

“You’re welcome,” you say back, dropping your hand from his hair. You give his shoulder a squeeze and it’s like jolts of electricity go through his arm. “Move over? I want to sit next to you, handsome.”

Remus goes a bit blind. He obliges, much too happy to do whatever you want, shuffling across the bench to make room for you. You slide in next to him, somehow too close but not close enough, and start chatting to him animatedly about your day.

Remus tries to listen, he really does, but it gets a bit difficult when your hand finds his knee under the table. Your sweet perfume washes over him, your thumb rubs the knee of his jeans, and all he can think about is how much he’d really, really, like to kiss you.

Sirius catches his eye from across the table and smirks. He’s in for a long night.

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lastoneout · 21 minutes ago

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Sorry to pull this out of the tags also but I was thinking, and another reason I genuinely think anyone who is interested in art but feels like they suck too much to make it should really just stay away from AI and actually just give drawing a chance is because AI cannot create new art styles. It can only make copies of what you put into it, so much so that if you want something in a specific style you have to tell it the name of the artist you want it to mimic because it cannot make something that doesn't already exist. If all you ever fed it were drawings of stick figures that's all it would ever know how to do.

But humans can make new art styles, every person's art is unique. And when it comes to ONE(author/artist behind Mob Psycho 100 and One Punch Man) and Rich Berlew(author and artist of Order of the Stick), if these guys never just started making their comics we wouldn't have ever been able to see these expressive, funny, strange, and just all around captivating pieces of art!

The image I used of Order of the Stick isn't actually exactly what it looked like at this start, this is:

And THIS is what Order of the Stick looks like now:

And while it does still look similar, it's clear how much Burlew has improved and grown comfortable in his unique artstyle, how far he's come in the last 21 years. The lighting, the line art, the panel layout, all of it has improved while still essentially just being stick figures. And I cannot even begin to describe how much I fucking LOVE the way this comic looks.

Switching to ONE, his art started out super rough

And while One Punch Man did get a new artist...I genuinely think the "better" art has lost a lot of the charm the original had. I'm so glad that ONE did Mob Psycho 100 himself and that the anime mimicked his style rather than trying to make it look more standard like OPM did, because my god, this guy's stuff conveys humor in a way that is as brilliant as it is unique. It's rough, but the roughness doesn't take away from the impact or emotions, it honestly adds to them, and overall it's incredible to see how much ONE has improved, but also how much it still looks like his art:

I do not want to live in a world where ONE and Rich Burlew didn't make their comics because they were too scared of their art looking bad. I don't want to live in a world without these stories and these dynamic and original art styles. Burlew's art legit has given me confidence, I always felt bad that when I finished and colored my art all my lines were so thick and smooth and coloring-book-esque, it's why most of what I post is like, sketches, colored or not. But after reading Order of the Stick I legit cried a little because for the first time I didn't feel bad about just doing the kind of line art that feels right to me, which looks like this:

So fr, please if you want to make art just make art. Everyone's art is unique in one way or another and if you just rely on AI all the time we'll never get to see styles like ONE and Rich Burlew's and again, I don't want to live in a world where we don't get to see all of these amazing, imperfect works of art. I want to see YOUR art, because it's yours, and the world is a better place with your art in it.

ethics of making AI images aside, I do find a bit amusing the kinds of sob stories and mental gymnastics people make up to pretend like drawing is this super technical skill with an impossibly high barrier of entry when its like one of the first hobbies toddlers pick up

suddenly a lot of people think they got the next Lord of the Rings in their head but they were never able to turn their stories into anything tangible because the evil elitist artists are hogging all the talent and skill and they need a bajilion years of training or something as if one of the most popular manga and anime of the past decade wasn't made by a guy that draws like this

#long post #ALSO READ ORDER OF THE STICK I AM NOT ASKING

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verstappenverse · 2 days ago

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Call Me When You Breakup (Role Reversal)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’re with the wrong person, and Max knows it. So do you. He won’t ask you to leave but he’ll be here, hoping, aching, waiting. Just… call him when you do.

Authors Note: Okay so when I was writing Call Me When You Break Up, I genuinely couldn’t pick whether Max or the reader should be the one in a relationship bc I loved both versions too much, so… I wrote both. Figured I’d share this one too in case you needed a little comfort after the first one! (Spoiler: this one ends has a happier ending, promise 💕)

1.6k words / Inspo / Masterlist

Max knows he's in trouble the moment he sees you with him.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. Shouldn’t feel like something inside him is being wrenched apart, piece by piece. But it does. Because that’s not where you’re supposed to be.

You should be with him.

Instead, you’re laughing at something your boyfriend just said, your hand resting lightly on his arm, and Max feels like he’s suffocating in plain sight.

Because he knows that laugh. He knows your real laugh, the one that starts low in your chest and crinkles the corners of your eyes. This one is polite, forced, paper-thin.

You're fading right in front of him, and he doesn’t know how no one else sees it.

"You’re staring."

Lando’s voice pulls him back to reality, but Max doesn’t bother denying it. What’s the point? Everyone knows. They’ve always known.

Lando follows his gaze across the restaurant, shaking his head. "You really gonna keep doing this to yourself?"

Max exhales sharply, gripping his glass tighter. "What choice do I have?"

Lando scoffs. "I don’t know, maybe tell her how you feel instead of sitting here like some lovesick idiot?"

Max wants to. God, he wants to. He’s rehearsed it a thousand times, in the car, in the shower, in those sleepless hours past midnight when he’s certain no one will hear his heart breaking. But it’s never that simple.

Because you’re in a relationship. One that looks fine from the outside. One that checks boxes. One that convinces everyone… except Max, that you're happy.

But Max knows better.

Because he’s seen the way your boyfriend talks over you when you’re excitedly telling a story. How he interrupts, how he subtly corrects you. How he walks ahead without waiting, and rarely looks back to see if you’re still with him. How he only reaches for your hand when people are watching, when it can be seen, posted, admired.

But still, you stay. And Max doesn’t understand why. Because you were meant for him.

You know it too. He sees it in the way your eyes linger on him a second too long. The way your laughter always falters when he looks at you like this, like he’d burn the world down if you asked him to.

But you never ask.

And Max? He’s stuck waiting.

We’re so meant for each other. When will you wake up.

The words sit heavy in his chest, but he swallows them down. Because as much as he wants to say them, to beg you to choose him, it has to be you.

Call me when you break up.

He thinks it almost every time he sees you. It sits there behind his teeth, aching to be said. A quiet, desperate plea. Because he can’t say it first.

You have to want it. Want him.

Until then, he’ll keep watching from across the room. Holding his breath. And praying that one day, you’ll finally stop pretending.

And come home to him.

It gets worse before it gets better.

Max tries to move on. Tries to shove the feelings down, bury them beneath podium celebrations and mindless distractions. He flirts with women he doesn’t care about, lets them kiss him in the shadows of clubs, lets them wrap themselves around him like temporary bandages, but their lips never feel right.

Because they’re not yours.

You’re the only person who’s ever made him feel like he doesn’t have to win to be worth something.

He tells himself he’s fine. That if he says it enough, he’ll start believing it.

But then he sees you again.

You’re sitting alone in the paddock, scrolling through your phone, and you look exhausted. Not just physically, but in the way that sits deep in your bones. Like you haven’t been happy in a long time.

Max doesn’t think. He just moves.

"Hey."

You glance up, startled, before a slow smile spreads across your face. "Hey, Max."

It’s stupid, how much just hearing his name in your voice makes his chest ache. How his whole world rearranges itself around that one sound.

He sits beside you, close enough that your knees brush. "You okay?"

You hesitate just for a second before nodding. "Yeah. Just tired."

You’re lying. He knows it. You know he knows it, but you don’t elaborate, and Max doesn’t push.

Because this isn’t his place.

Not yet.

So he swallows the things he wants to say. Swallows the part of him that wants to take your face in his hands and ask what happened to the girl who used to give him hell just for fun. The one who could make him laugh with a single raised eyebrow, who used to challenge him just to see if he’d rise to it.

He forces himself to play the part. The best friend. The one who listens but never crosses the line. The one who waits in the background, hoping that one day you’ll finally wake up.

But waiting is hell.

Especially when he sees it clearer than ever that you’re not yourself anymore. Not the girl who used to light up every room, not the girl who used to challenge him on everything just to make him laugh. You’ve gotten quieter. Like the wrong love dimmed your light.

And Max? He wants to be the one who brings it back.

He wants to remind you what it feels like to be loved loudly. To be listened to. To be challenged and adored in equal measure. He wants to be the arms you fall into, not because you’re tired, but because it finally feels safe. He wants to fight with you and for you, and he wants to laugh until you can’t breathe, until your face crumples in that way that only happens when you’re so happy you forget to hold it all in.

The call comes finally at 2 a.m.

Max is half-asleep when his phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with your name. His heart lurches before he even picks up.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Then—

"Can I come over?"

Your voice is raw, like you’ve been crying, and suddenly Max is wide awake.

"Yeah," he says immediately, already sitting up. "Of course."

You don’t offer an explanation. You don’t need to.

Because he already knows.

You show up at his door twenty minutes later, eyes red-rimmed, wearing the same clothes from earlier.

Max doesn’t ask what happened. He just steps aside, letting you in.

You sink onto his couch without a word, pulling your knees to your chest. Max sits beside you, close but not touching. Waiting.

It takes a minute before you finally speak.

"It’s over."

The words send a jolt through his chest, but he keeps his expression careful. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t know." You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I feel like an idiot... I should’ve left a long time ago, but I was scared. Of being alone. Of starting over."

Max swallows hard. "You’re not alone."

Your eyes flick to his, something unreadable swirling in their depths. "I know."

A beat of silence. Then—

“Were you… waiting for this?”

The question slips out of you like a confession, small and uncertain, but it lands like a thunderclap between you.

Max doesn’t blink. Doesn’t deflect with a joke or pretend he didn’t hear. His eyes stay locked on yours, steady and unflinching, like he’s bracing for impact.

“Yeah,” he says, simply. “I was.”

“Max—” you breathe, voice thick and trembling.

But he cuts you off gently, a hand lifting like he’s physically trying to slow the moment down.

“Don’t,” he says softly, eyes searching yours. “Don’t say anything if you don’t mean it, not because you feel guilty, or because you’re hurting, or because I’ve been stupid enough to love you this long.”

“I think part of me always knew,” you continue, blinking hard. “That I was supposed to end up here. That it was always going to be you. But I kept talking myself out of it. Because you were safe. And I didn’t think I deserved safe.”

“You deserve everything,” Max says hoarsely.

You nod, a few tears finally escaping down your cheeks

Max is still watching you like he doesn’t dare breathe, like if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear again.

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t feel what I feel.”

His grip tightens instinctively. “What do you feel?”

You swallow hard, but your voice is clear now. Certain. “I’m in love with you.”

Max exhales like he’s been underwater this whole time and finally broke the surface. His hand rises to cup your jaw, thumb catching a tear before it falls.

“Say it again,” he whispers, eyes shining.

You smile through the tears. “I’m in love with you.”

“I love you too,” he says. “I’ve been yours since the beginning”

And then you’re kissing him.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy, a little desperate. There’s hesitation in the way your lips press to his, like you’re testing the waters of a dream you never let yourself have. But Max doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find your waist, anchoring you to him, pulling you into his lap like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if there’s any distance between you. His fingers slide into your hair, and he kisses you like it’s the only language he’s ever been fluent in.

Like he’s been waiting forever.

You gasp softly into his mouth, and he slows down, gentling it, letting you set the pace. Letting you feel safe. Loved. Wanted.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the small space between you. Your eyes stay closed, your voice barely more than a breath.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Max exhales, brushing your hair back behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten.

“You’re here now,” he says, thumb ghosting across your cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

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livinghalfway · 2 days ago

Text

Younger Years Pt. 9

Masterlist

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence. Word Count: 2219

Robin was silent as he moved in sync with Batman and Orphan as they jumped from rooftop to rooftop. His chest simmered with anticipation the closer they got to tonight's targets. It had taken almost everyone to stop him from leaving the cave when the location had been confirmed. The only thing that truly stopped him in the end though was information, information on who took his brother just earlier today.

The GIW or otherwise known as the Ghost Investigative Ward. The name alone normally would have been enough for him to write the group off as a joke. That was before Drake had shown them all the government official paperwork backing them up though.

It was quickly determined that the organization must have set up somewhere around Crime Alley as the van wasn't seen again on the cameras. That is something that Robin would have loved to sic Red Hood on knowing that he would not take kindly to others causing problems in his backyard.

Alas, Jason hasn't been talking to any of them for the past week or so after his argument with Bruce. Even going as far to get rid of all tracking devices connected to himself. Normally, the family would let him take his time away to cool off, but this situation is not something that they can simply wait for.

It was decided that Nightwing would be the one to find and explain to Hood all that has happened over the past few hours. Meanwhile, Red Robin and Spoiler are out on their normal patrol routes as well as on active standby for back-up if this interrogation starts to go south.

"ETA two minutes, are targets still in place?" Batman asks through the comms as the three of them slow to a stop on a nearby building; waiting for the all clear to approach.

"Targets haven't moved, you're good to proceed at will." Oracle's voice is calm and even as she responds. "The lights are on, anticipate them being awake and aware."

"Noted."

With that they all make their way closer to the entry point, and it isn't until they're standing on the balcony that they hear the target's voices coming from inside the hotel room. Batman gives a sign to stay quiet as they listen in.

"- not answering any of our calls, and now it's pitch black outside! It's been hours, Sam!"

"Which is why we need to come up with a plan for what we're going to do tomorrow. Going out this late into Gotham is just asking for trouble."

"Right, a plan." the voice is stressed, "We need to figure out what had Danny running out of the building first and foremost then. Something about that place had him on edge, from the moment we got there he was acting weird."

"You don't think it has anything to do with Damian Wayne do you? I always assumed his adamant avoidance was a joke, but Danny said he would run if he saw him and he did just that."

Hearing about how his brother was avoiding him was not getting any easier.

"But why? Clone? Alt-self? That's not something that would scare Danny away this much."

"…What about a twin?" the feminine voice sounds hesitant to even voice the thought. If only she knew how right she was. Which is exactly why they need to interrupt this conversation now before they can think about it any further.

Batman seems to think the same thing as he knocks on the balcony door not a moment after. From inside the room all sounds quickly deafen for a few seconds before a quiet masculine voice asks, "Hello?"

"You did not just say hello!"

"I panicked ok!"

His father knocks once more, and this time the door separating them is opened very slowly. In front of them now stands Samantha Manson with Tucker Foley standing not too far behind her.

"Batman, Orphan, and Robin," she says slowly as she looks at them, "is there a reason you're here?"

"Let's discuss inside," his father says.

"Can you answer my question first?" Sam asks, her voice full of judgement and determination now.

Neither group does anything for a few seconds, and once it becomes clear that the girl wasn't going to give in Batman lets out a quiet sigh, "It's about your friend, Daniel Fenton."

The two teens immediately snap their heads to look at one another at those words; eyes filled with shock. Whatever silent conversation they seem to be having comes to an end with a nod from them both. Sam then moves aside, and opens the door to let them inside.

The first thing Robin does once inside is fully take in the appearance and body language of the two targets. While Sam put on a confident front it was obvious to tell how nervous she was right now. Tucker on the other hand wasn't trying to hide his own emotions right now.

Looking at them it's hard to think that these are the people whom Danyal would call friends. That despite only knowing each other for four years probably knows more about his own brother than he does.

"What about Danny?" Tucker quietly asks. "Do you know where he is?"

"A witness saw him getting grabbed and reported it. The vehicle had G.I.W. written on it, and the information we found on them seemed concerning. Do you know anything about them?" Batman calmly states.

The anger that rises from Sam is immediate, "The GIW! The GIW has Danny!"

Robin was meant to be silent during this interrogation, but that doesn't stop him from speaking up anyways, "So you do know who they are, what do they want with your friend?"

Sam with anger still ringing turns away, and starts to pace across the room. Tucker meanwhile starts to fidget with his hands as he answers with a question of his own instead, "What- what do you know about the Anti-Ecto Acts?"

"Explain them." Batman practically demands.

"They basically say that all ecto-entities are non-sentient, and can therefore be captured and experimented on."

At the same time Oracle's voice comes through the comms, "I'm looking at them now, B. I don't know how anything like this got passed, but this is going to need the Justice League stepping in to put a stop to it."

"Hm, and what do they classify as being an ecto-entity?"

"Well," Tucker looked towards Sam who was still fuming in the corner, "uh…"

"Worried, scared, nervous, apprehensive, why?" Orphan says gently as she speaks to him.

"Is there a reason you are hesitant to answer?" Robin questions as well. If there's more to this they will need to know now.

Before Tucker can answer any of the questions thrown at him a loud thumping sound fills the room. That is when Sam storms back over to her friend's side, cradling the hand that she hit the wall with. "Maybe he doesn't want to because you're all asking questions as if you don't already know the answer to begin with!"

Batman tilts his head before asking, “Why do you think we know?”

“You’re Batman! You really want to look me in the eyes, and tell me you don’t know?” The Manson girl does have a point, Robin decides. The fact that Batman does in fact not know the full story for what is happening is astounding especially when it’s something causing trouble in Gotham. “As if you don’t agree with them!”

“The fact that these acts came to be is a huge negligence on both my and the Justice League part. They were not something that was known to us as of today.” His father’s voice is soft, serious as he speaks. “What we need to know now though is how your friend, Daniel Fenton, comes into play. You said they are taking ecto-entities, what makes Daniel an ecto-entity?”

Both look as if they still don’t believe what Batman is saying. While he can appreciate that his brother’s friends aren’t immediately spilling all his secrets it is annoying that he doesn’t have the answers he needs to help Danyal. What Robin knows though is that something must have happened for his brother to be an “ecto-entity”.

“Can- can we have a few minutes to discuss alone?” Tucker asks with a nervous smile on his face. All that tells him though is that these two clearly know something that they don’t want to accidentally reveal.

At first it seems like Batman is going to decline the request, but Orphan speaks up before he can, “Yes, we will be waiting just outside.” Putting a hand on Batman's shoulder she gently turns him around, and gestures for both of them to exit the room. Unsurprisingly, he listens to her silent command.

Once the balcony door is closed Robin immediately starts his tirade, “They know something, and they don’t plan to tell us; it’s suspicious. These two will need to be heavily monitored from this point forward.”

“They're scared and don’t trust us. We all want to protect Danyal; give them a chance.” Orphan argues her point to him before her voice takes on a more gentle tone, “you’re jealous.”

“I’m not!” he defends himself while feeling his face heat up, “I’m just concerned! I have absolutely no reason to-!”

“Robin.”

“Batman!” Oracle says at the same time as his father, her voice urgent.

“Oracle report.”

“Nightwing checked in with me a few minutes ago about Red Hood, and it turns out he hasn’t been seen for two nights. The last night he was spotted was when he had a run in with Black mask’s gang. It was a rough fight for all parties included apparently. He’s checking out Hood’s apartment, and a few warehouses he’s been active in recently.”

“Hm and he’s not just with the Outlaws?”

“He’s never left the Alley unattended without some kind of notice before. Regardless of if he was avoiding everyone at the time.”

“Let me know once Nightwing checks in again.” Batman grunts, “Anything of importance retaining to our situation at hand?”

“I’m searching the GIW’s database now for everything they’re specially hunting for so I’d keep any more questions based around Danyal then the GIW themselves.”

“We’ll keep the rest of the interrogation brief then, and reconvene in the cave to discuss what you’ve found on the GIW.”

Robin wanted to make it known that he wasn’t happy with this decision as he would have preferred they stay for as long as needed to get every piece of information the two know. He keeps quiet though knowing that his father would not change his mind. Batman may see a couple of nervous kids trying to be brave in front of him, but he knows that they have the key to every question he has about his brother.

As if on cue though, a knock cuts through the air before it begins to slowly open to reveal Tucker, “We’re uh ready to continue now.”

Silently they step inside once more, and before anyone else can say anything Robin is already speaking up, “Why did the GIW take your friend?”

Batman gives him a disapproving look, but otherwise doesn’t say anything about his outburst.

They watch as Tucker takes a calming breath, and with a reassuring nod from Sam he finally gives them the intel they’ve been asking for, “Danny’s parents are ecto scientists, he’s grown up with this type stuff in his house. A while ago though he was alone down in the lab when one of the experiments they had been working on suddenly went wild.”

“After that Danny’s ‘ecto-levels’ were a lot higher, and because of that the GIW now considers him free game to take.” Sam finishes where Tucker left off.

When they finish their tale Robin makes sure to take a glance towards Orphan to see what she thinks about what they’ve been told. That is when he sees her subtly make a couple hand signs.

Lie. Half-truth.

He really wants to push them on the subject, but Batman puts a hand on his shoulder, a silent command to keep quiet for the time being as he takes over, “And they tracked him to Gotham, or was that just a coincidence?”

“Danny’s been having issues with the GIW for a while now. We found out that they were looking for someone here, and we decided to find them first; to give them a warning about what’s coming their way.” Sam responds.

Truth.

“Who? We can find them, and protect them. We’ll pass along anything you want them to know.”

“We didn’t have a name, all that we know is that they’re a revenant, and that the sensors the GIW use have picked them up all around Crime Alley.”

Truth.

“Revenant?”

“It’s- it’s someone who has returned from death.” She explains to them.

The room feels as if it’s suddenly much colder as they all take in the implications of what she said. There’s only one person they know that has returned from the dead, and frequents Crime Alley. Someone who is currently MIA, and doesn’t know that he is currently being hunted.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, Oracle has an update for them, “Code: 15H4G-RH. Red Hood has been taken.”

#dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #batfam #damian and danny are twins #dc x dp au #danyal al ghul

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 2 days ago

Text

Glitch

Pairing: Javier Peña x Steve's Little Sister Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: "We were supposed to be just friends." Warnings: smut, infidelity, secret relationship, jealous javi watching you touch yourself, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m), fuckin' in steve's bathroom yet again, cum eating, panties used as a pocket square, washington d.c. Words: 6,800

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for the past week and well, it's time to let these two start figuring things out. My thanks, as always, to @devineconjuring for her dot eating and telling me this is some of the hottest smut I've written. 🙂‍↕️

Suburban Sparks Masterlist Masterlist

—-

In the month following Nomad’s opening night and your reunion with Javier, the two of you find a balance that works. Friends.

Indeed, Javier Peña–the heartthrob of your late-teenage dreams, the man who made every other person pale in comparison—is now your friend.

A friend who has been to four of your performances, always sitting in the same seat in the back. A friend you call every night to say goodnight, waking him just so he can hear your voice. A friend you travel thirty minutes on the subway to visit on the very few nights you’re free from rehearsals or performances, no matter how tired you are. A friend you kiss hello and goodbye, your lips sometimes lingering against his longer.

Yes, a friend. A friend who you lie to your boyfriend about. Poor Elliott doesn’t even know Javier exists or about your feelings for him.

Tonight, your friend is visiting your apartment for the first time. You straighten up your tiny place as much as you can–tucking away your pile of to-be-finished crafts, dusting off your hardly used entertainment console, hiding the pile of newspapers you kept from those months of you and Javi reading the news. You double-check to make sure the ripped photo of him is well hidden in an old book on your bookcase. You chuckle at the selection—Persuasion by Jane Austen. You’re fine with Javi thinking you’re an eclectic hipster, but not an eclectic stalker hipster.

You recognize the quick succession of knocks at your door. Your nervous hands smooth down the wrinkles on your dress as you hop up from the couch and open the door.

Your friend Javi strides in with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. Friends, right?

“You don’t have any sort of doorman or buzzer?” he asks, his voice low and tinged with concern.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Did you even check to make sure it was me?”

“Well, no, but I recognized the knocks.”

He grumbles, his shoulders shrugging in exasperation. “You live in the middle of Washington, DC. Anybody can just walk up the stairs and knock on your door—or do even worse.”

“Wow, you do know my brother, huh?”

“S-sorry, I just—I don’t like the idea of you being so vulnerable.”

“I’ll use the peephole next time.”

“And that needs to be covered, too."

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

He sighs, holding out the wine and bouquet to you. “And these are for you… as long as you cover your peephole right now.”

“I’ll grab a Post-It.”

—-

Two glasses of wine sit amongst crumpled napkins and scattered foil wrappers. Javi’s dark leather jacket is draped over the back of your tattered lounge chair while he relaxes on your couch, an arm stretched out and resting on its back. His side is warm against yours as your knees are tucked to the side, your head resting against his chest.

You’re not paying attention to the newscaster’s voice as they drone on and on about stock markets and the UN. All you can focus on is the feel of Javi’s fingers, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your shoulder. You sure are sitting mighty close for a friend.

“I told you those tacos would be better than anything you had in Laredo,” you tease, angling your head to look at him.

“It’s just like I remember it,” he says, thick eyebrows lifting high when he realizes what he just said.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you lean back. “Like you remember it?”

His eyes dart away, a hint of red coloring the apples of his cheeks. He shifts slightly beneath you.

“I, uh, went there.”

"You did? When?"

“A couple months ago. Before that impressionist exhibit left the Smithsonian. I wanted to feel like I was closer. To you.”

“Jav…” you breathe out, your heart skipping a beat at his confession. You can’t bear to think of him wandering your neighborhood, trying to feel closer to you.

“I missed you, and I was thinking that maybe if I could just see the places you go, eat the food you love, walk the streets you walk, it would somehow make me feel closer to you again. I was a goddamn fool, thinking that would be enough.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, a stray lock falling against his forehead. “I understand why you moved on. And right now, I’m trying. I’m trying so hard,” he sighs, his head briefly tilting back before his eyes meet yours. He reaches his hand out, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek. “But… I can’t just be your friend.”

Your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you savor the warmth of his hand on your cheek, the honesty in his voice.

“I know,” you whisper. “I tried to move on with Elliott. But whenever he said my name, touched me, anything, all I could think about was you.”

The confessions settle heavily in the air between you, drawing you together. He kisses you tenderly, strong arms encasing you as your hands wrap around the back of his neck, soft curls slipping through your fingers.

His tongue glides along the seam of your lips, inviting you to part them. You open for him, a soft moan escaping. His tongue slips inside, exploring your mouth, a low groan sent from Javier’s throat vibrating through you when your tongue meets his.

There’s a steady thrum from his heart pulsing against your palm when it settles against his chest. The same heart you wondered if you ever had, let alone will ever have again.

A trail of kisses travels from your lips to your chin, his lips dragging along the contour of your jaw and down your neck. The sharp point of his nose nuzzles against your neck when he kisses you there. His hands roam your body slowly and reverently, finally able to take his time and not have to hide.

He’s been so patient, letting you take the lead, never rushing you, always holding himself back. Allowing you to stay with Elliott, though he knows you only ache for him. The month of barely restrained longing that lingered between you is erased as his fingers slip under the hem of your dress, running a trail up and down your thigh.

"Jav," you breathe.

He hums against your skin, long and low, growling when he inches higher, tracing the hem of your panties resting against your hips.

This is why you missed Javier. Elliott would touch you, but it felt so different compared to this. A pang of guilt flashes through your overwhelmed heart and brain. Sweet, patient Elliott, who always tried so hard to please you. You’d made excuses: you were tired, had a headache, needed to memorize lines. But the truth was, his touch was never Javier’s. Ever since those pillowy lips met yours in your brother’s dark kitchen, you knew there would never be anybody else.

You clutch at the fabric of Javi’s shirt, pulling him back to your lips, kissing him with need. Your fingers cradle his jaw, feeling the stubble and sharp lines of his face, so unlike Elliott’s smooth, soft skin.

“Baby,” he groans against your lips, pulling you onto his lap, strong hands planted against your back, fingers spreading wide and pulling you tight against him.

“I missed you,” you admit in between kisses.

Javi stands, surprising you when he lifts you with him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you across the small apartment to your bedroom.

He gently lays you down on your bed before standing at its edge. He’s made of golden, domineering shadows when you stretch over to turn your bedside lamp on. He’s so gorgeous it makes you breathless. You ached to feel his touch, prayed to see him again, and now… he’s here, broad chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths that betray his barely contained desire for you.

“Is this the same bed?” he asks, his voice low.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, arching an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

A finger trails along the edge of the mattress. “Where you’d think about me,” his eyes lock on yours. “Where you’d touch yourself and imagine it was my hands on you instead?”

Your body heats at his words. Memories of lonely nights spent on the phone until the early hours, aching for him, come rushing back. Nights where you’d close your eyes and picture his strong hands on you again, his lips trailing kisses across your body, his deep voice gritting out your name.

“Yes,” you admit softly.

“Show me.”

You inhale at his request, nodding and holding his gaze as your fingers trail down the buttons of your dress. Slowly, you unfasten each one, the fabric parting to reveal more of your skin. His eyes follow your every movement, fists clenched against his sides like he’s feening to touch you.

Your dress falls open, leaving you exposed in your delicate lace bra and matching panties. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t put them on in hopes Javier would see them. A sly smile tugs at your lips as you watch Javi’s eyes turn from brown to black with desire.

You ghost your fingers over the sheer fabric of your bra, breath hitching when you tease your nipples through the thin lace. Goosebumps follow the trail as you glide your fingertips down your body to your ribcage and across your stomach.

When you reach the waistband of your panties, you pause, running your fingers along the thin band. Javi’s jaw is clenched, a muscle in his cheek ticking with tension.

A surge of confidence lights you from within when you see the outline of arousal straining against his jeans. Capturing your bottom lip between your teeth and sliding your hand lower, you spread your legs wide for Javier to see the soaked gusset of your panties. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you cup yourself through the thin lace of your panties, hips lifting slightly off the bed as you stare into Javi’s dark eyes.

“Is this what you’d imagine?” you ask breathlessly. “My hands pretending to be yours?”

“Yes,” he rasps.

Pulling your panties down and gently kicking them away with your foot, you’re fully exposed. Your hand slips between your slit, and you gasp as your fingers graze your pussy, puffy and dripping with need. You’re so wet your fingers easily glide across your clit down to your entrance.

"I'd picture your hands," you pant, your hips rocking against your touch. "Your mouth. The way you'd look at me like you're looking at me right now."

“Would you think about me while with him?” Javi asks, his whole body taut with restraint.

Him… Elliott. Your hand pauses, and a surge of guilt meets your arousal as it pangs against your heart at the thought that Javier would ever think you could move on.

“No, don’t stop,” he rasps. “Tell me.”

You swallow hard, your fingers slowly petting yourself. “Yes,” you whisper. “I’d try to imagine it was you touching me, not him. But it never felt right.”

“Did he ever make you feel as good as I did? Even just on the phone?”

You shake your head. “No. His hands were too soft and hesitant. I wanted… I needed…”

“What did you need, cariño?”

"You," you breathe out.

His jaw clenches tighter. "Did he make you cum?"

You nod your head. “But we barely did anything. He was very respectful, but when we did, I-I was always thinking of you.”

A low growl escapes Javi's throat when he climbs on the bed, stalking towards you, stopping right in front of your cunt that’s aching with need. His hot breath fans across you, eyes locked on yours as he leans in, the tip of his nose deliciously bumping against your clit. A slow, deliberate line is licked up your pussy, and you gasp at finally feeling Javier where you’ve been craving him; you’ve thought about how good his pouty lips felt against your cunt since the first lick against it. His eyes flutter closed as he tastes you, a low groan rumbling in his chest. Just as you’re about to reach down and pull him closer to you, he pulls away.

“Does Elliott’s tongue feel as good as mine?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“No,” you pant. “No one can make me feel like you do.”

Brown eyes search yours before he nods, lowering his head and sealing his mouth over you. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in his thick locks as he licks and sucks at your clit, drawing patterns that have you writhing and moaning. He grips your thighs, holding you open as he devours you like you’re all he’s ever craved.

He slips a thick finger inside you, groaning as you whimper his name. He slowly pumps it in and out, his tongue swirling on your clit. Heat coils low in your belly, spreading warmth between your thighs. You’re so close, teetering right on the edge—until another finger enters you, curling inside, running along the velvet spot that makes your legs tremble.

He works you, pulling his fingers out, tracing your hole slowly before diving back in. His tongue flicks against your clit as he seals his mouth around your sensitive bud and sucks.

“Oh god,” you moan, your hips rocking against his face.

He hums against you, your hands tightening in his hair as the pressure inside you builds.

You’ve missed him so much. Ever since you had him in that guest room, his touch is all you’ve dreamed about. You thought you’d lost it forever, until now–right now–as he swipes his tongue against your clit and thrusts his fingers into your pussy.

Javi’s eyes lift to meet yours, dark brown looking almost black with desire. The sight of him between your thighs–mustache glistening with your arousal, nose resting against your lips, brows furrowed in concentration as he makes you cum–seems like it’s right out of every single dream you wished to have.

You shout his name, back arching off the bed, toes curling, pulling at his hair as your orgasm lights through you.

He doesn’t stop, licking and sucking you through it, drawing it out until you’re too sensitive and tears are pricking at your eyes. Only then does he pull his mouth away, his fingers still buried inside you.

His eyes stay locked on your cunt, his fingers slowly pumping, watching intently as your pussy pulses for him, your walls still clenching him.

Your chest heaves as you come down from your high.

He looks up at you reverently. “God, I missed you,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh as he pulls his soaked fingers out.

You reach for him, pulling him up your body until his face is level with yours. You kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, relishing in the taste of your desire for him.

As you kiss, your hands roam over Javi's broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles melt under your touch. You tug at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He breaks the kiss and sits back on his heels, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his golden skin. You instantly reach out, feeling the smattering of hair on his chest beneath your palms before moving down to his belt buckle.

He helps you undo his belt and jeans. He kicks them off, along with his shoes and socks, until he's left only in his briefs. You unhook your bra, tossing it aside as Javi's eyes roam over your now-naked form.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

It’s hard to believe this is only the third time he’s touched you like this.

"Javi," you whisper, sliding your hands down his chest to the waistband of his briefs. With a swift tug, you pull the fabric down, freeing his cock. What a sight. You haven’t been allowed to take all of him in like this–he stands long, thick, and hard, jutting from the thick nest of dark hair at the base. You trace the vein up to his head, glistening with a pearl of precum. He’s gorgeous.

He watches you, dark eyes never leaving your face as you wrap your hand around him. You give him a slow, languid stroke, savoring the feel of him. Warm, soft, hard. A hiss escapes his lips, his hips bucking slightly.

You lean forward, pressing a tender kiss to his chest, right over his heart. You stay there for a moment, feeling the steady beat of his heartbeat against your lips.

“I need you,” you confess against him. “I’ve needed you for so long.”

He cups the back of your head, gently pulling you up for a kiss. His lips move against yours, your tongues tangling against one another.

He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m here,” he promises, breathing against your mouth. “I’m here now.”

You pull him down with you as you lay back against the sheets. He hovers above you, his weight supported by his forearms caging your head. The weight of him warms you as he settles heavily between your thighs. He’s so hot and hard against your core as you shift your hips up, trying to make contact.

“Javi,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He reaches between your bodies, guiding his cock to your entrance. He watches you, his eyes locked on yours, as he slowly sinks inside. Oh, the stretching sting of him makes you lose your breath.

“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes fluttering closed for a second before snapping open again, watching every emotion cross your face as you adjust to the size of him. He moans low in his chest as he fills you completely. Finally, you feel complete, the months of longing dissolving away as he slowly begins to move inside you.

He rocks in and out, long and slow. His head tilts down, watching himself move, cock sliding in and out, disappearing with every deep thrust. The sight of him so focused on watching himself fuck you is too much—his lips slightly parted, his thick brows furrowed, the sharp slope of his nose. You can’t resist. You lean up and kiss the top of his nose.

He looks back up at you, a slight smile lifting his lips as he still drives into you. “What was that for?” he asks, panting against your lips.

“I don’t know,” you gasp as he fucks you harder. “You’re gorgeous.”

His mouth crashes to yours, kissing you harder and deeper as his hips snap against yours faster. He moans into your mouth, swallowing the sounds you gift him as he slams into you, your headboard clanging against the drywall.

You’re slick and wet from the ache of wanting him all this time, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

“Oh god, Javi,” you moan, your nails biting into his shoulders as you cling to him.

He pushes deeper and harder, arms trembling, his face tight with concentration. “Say my name,” he grits. “Say it again.”

You obey, loudly crying out his name as your orgasm swells inside your body, sparking you from within. Your cunt clenches Javi’s cock–you’re so tight around him that his pace stutters, his hands clasping the sheets as he braces himself. He swallows your gasps and moans as your orgasm consumes you, his hips faltering and getting sloppier as he nears his own release.

Your fingernails claw against his back, leaving thin red marks against his golden skin as you fall apart around him. Your name is moaned out as your tight cunt pulses and squeezes his cock. His thumb begins sweeping tight, firm circles against your clit as you force your eyes open, staring into his brown eyes as your second orgasm shatters you.

“Javi,” you breathe. His lips find yours as his hips stutter to a halt, buried as deep as they can as your pussy milks him. He pulses inside you, spilling himself in warm, thick shots that fill your accepting cunt. He moans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he kisses across your heated skin.

He slowly collapses, pliant and heavy on top of you, his lips leaving a gentle kiss against your chin. Neither of you move, both of you content basking in the sensation of finally feeling each other’s skin and heat after months of distance and heartbreak.

The last thing you hear before falling asleep that night is a contented sigh from Javier as you rest your head on his bare chest.

Definitely friends.

—-

Definitely friends. Friends who have sleepy morning sex after the alarm on Javier’s watch wakes both of you up at 6 AM. Friends who shower together, kissing as you both wash each other. Friends who stare longingly into each other’s eyes when Javier leaves your apartment, your chin clutched between two fingers before he leans in and kisses you goodbye.

“You’re right. Your place is perfect,” he says, giving you one last kiss before he leaves. “Except for the door situation.”

—-

Elliott notices your distance, but the sweet man allows you it. It’s so hard to even look at him, his big green eyes so honest and kind. You haven’t been the same since Javi left those flowers in your dressing room, but you go through the motions with Elliott as much as you can. What else can you do?

Acting is your one true love, so the whole living a double life thing works for you as you think of Javi’s touch when Elliott’s fingers brush against yours, or when you tell Elliott you’re exhausted as he offers to take you out.

You feel terrible whenever he sends you a tender smile or a sweet compliment.

“You’re quiet again,” Elliott notes one night after a performance, grabbing your hand.

You force a smile you don’t feel. “Just tired.”

You’re sure he doesn’t believe you, but he won’t push it. He never does.

Maybe he knows you’re untethering yourself from him, just waiting for the play to end… or maybe he’s just too good of a guy to call you out on it.

You still have a month left of performances, but that still doesn’t stop you from waiting for everything to blow up.

—-

A pretty tablecloth–embroidered with flowers that bloom throughout it–covers the table; fancy-looking dishes and wine glasses are set atop. Candles and vases filled with white and pink roses are set along the length of the table. You smooth down the shiny fabric of your dress; it’s also covered in flowers, making you feel like you match the tablecloth.

“Kid,” Connie catches your attention. She nods towards the house, signaling you to follow her. You know what this is going to be about. Damnit.

You follow her in, softly shutting the door behind you.

She leans against the counter–the same one Javi pushed you up against the first night you met him. “I’m sure you know Javier’s going to be here.”

“I do.”

“And Elliott’s coming too?”

“He is.”

“Damnit, Kid,” Connie sighs. “You and Javier know to behave?”

“We do.”

You need to tell him, you know that?”

“Who? Steve? I know.”

"No, Elliott. Hun, I've seen the way you and Peña look at each other," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "Elliott’s a good guy, and he’s going to see it.”

“And Steve?”

“Look, Steve is still oblivious, but the longer this goes on, the more and more likely it’ll be that he’s going to see something.”

“I know. I just… don’t know how to tell him.”

Connie sighs a long, drawn-out exhale. “I’m not happy keeping this secret from my husband. I’m sure you’re not happy keeping it from Elliott. But it feels wrong to hide and lie about something… so important.”

You nod, the guilt quietly gnawing at your insides.

“I know.”

“But,” her serious tone turns lighter. “I did seat you across the table from Javier, so you’re welcome.”

Damn Connie, she can never deny a good love story.

—-

Steve and Connie’s parties are always legendary, especially when they’re celebrating their wedding anniversary. A full bar sits stocked with specialty cocktails and drinks, a mixed CD curated by Steve–featuring his and Connie’s favorite songs–plays on the stereo he lugged outside earlier this afternoon, and torches and lanterns glow across the expansive yard. Your parties are much more… chill–a bunch of ashtrays laid across your various watermarked table tops, one of your friends lightly strumming the old guitar your ex-boyfriend left you, maybe a cheap case of beer or a jug of Carlo Rossi wine if you’re feeling fancy.

You’re midway through your second glass of wine, with Elliott’s arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close. You wonder if he feels the way your spine stiffens when you first spot Javier walk out of the French doors to the patio.

He looks so gorgeous and broad in his light brown jacket over a crisp white button-down shirt with the top two buttons hanging open. Good god, his shoulders look even broader.

His eyes scan the crowd, no doubt searching for you. He spots you across the crowded yard and gives you a small, secret smile that makes your heart flutter.

Connie walks over to him, hugging him hello before you see her tell him something, his eyes glancing towards you before he nods.

Javi makes his way through the crowd, stopping to shake hands and exchange pleasantries with familiar faces. As he passes you, his hand brushes against your back ever so slightly, making you choke on your drink.

“You alright?” Elliott asks in your ear.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stutter, trying to smile through the sparks lighting through your body at Javier’s touch.

It’s torture, constantly watching Javi as you try to pay attention to Elliott and the other party-goers. This was a bad idea.

—-

You splash water on your face, trying to cool down your skin, overheated from the warm summer night and Javier’s presence. Jesus, it’s not even dinner time yet, and you’re already praying this damn party is almost over.

knock knock

You knew it.

You smirk at your reflection in the mirror before gently opening the bathroom door.

Javier slips inside the bathroom, gently closing the door and locking it. Then, his body is immediately pressed against yours.

Same white tile bathroom, same feel of the countertop edge pushing against your skin. It feels just like that morning all those months ago.

He kisses you, his needy mouth all over yours.

“I've been wanting to do this all night," he whispers.

Your hands slide up his chest to rest on his broad shoulders. “Javi, we can’t. Not here. Everyone’s outside. Dinner’s soon.”

But even as you protest, you tilt your head, giving him better access to your neck as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your throat.

"Just a minute. Give me just one minute with you."

You could never deny him, even if it risks getting caught. You whimper softly. “One minute.”

All this secret running around is getting to be ridiculous, but before you can worry about it, his hands roam down your body, bunching your dress up and running his fingers along the gusset of your panties before slipping them to the side. “Jesus baby, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”

He just touched you like this a few mornings ago before he left your apartment in the same suit he wore the day before, borrowing an old tie you had thrifted to keep up appearances.

You want to protest. You want to tell him he needs to leave. Steve and Elliott could easily catch you. But you stay silent, your head falling back, your teeth biting into your lip to stifle a moan as his fingers explore your slick folds.

He turns you around, your eyes meeting his in the mirror.

"You can't expect me not to want to fuck you when you show up looking like this, can you?" he growls, his hands gripping your hips.

Before you can respond, he bends you over, your hands instinctively clutching the edge of the countertop.

Javi lifts your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist.

“Fuck, I-I can’t wait any longer,” he growls. He reaches down, unzipping and freeing his cock.

He grabs your panties and tears them off easily. Damn lace.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”

Javi runs the head of his cock through your wet folds, coating himself in the wet you’ve gushed out for him since he stepped into the backyard. He thrusts inside you, his eyes staying on you through the mirror as he begins to move. Your teeth dig into your lip to stifle a moan as he drags his cock in and out of you.

Slow and deep. Slow and deep. Slow and deep. He’s driving you crazy. You push back against him, silently begging for more.

Javi’s hands grip your hips tighter as he begins moving in you faster.

If you listen close enough, you can faintly hear the party outside over the sound of your quiet gasps and the light slap of Javi’s hips against your ass.

His rhythm quickens, his hips snapping against you with more urgency. Your fingers grip the counter’s edge tighter as you struggle to stay quiet. The mirror begins to fog slightly from your panting breaths.

“Look at me,” Javi growls softly.

You look up, a moan escaping your mouth when you see the intensity in his eyes. One of his hands slides up your back, tangling in your hair. He tugs gently, arching your back as he drives deeper into you.

You’re close, brought on by the way he’s looking at you, the way his cock stretches you, and the risk of somebody coming up the stairs.

“I’m close,” you grunt, barely above a whisper.

His hand snakes around to rub your clit. “Cum for me, baby. Nice and quiet now.”

Your walls clench around his cock as you silently orgasm, eyes wide staring at him as he grits his teeth and chases his own release.

“Fuck, I’m cloooose,” he growls as he pulls out, gripping his cock. “Suck me, baby.”

You move quickly, turning and kneeling down on the cool, tile floor.

You wrap your lips around Javi's thick cock, taking him deep into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his shaft as you bob your head. He groans softly, his plush bottom lip captured between his teeth, his fingers tangling in your hair.

“That’s it baby, you looks so good.”

Javi’s hips start to thrust slightly, pushing himself further into your mouth. Your throat relaxes, letting him slide in deeper.

You look up at him through your lashes, holding eye contact as he hits the back of your throat. He watches intently as his cock disappears between your lips.

Your hand comes up to gently massage his balls as you hollow your cheeks and suck him harder.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” he grunts, his grip tightening in your hair.

You double your efforts, sucking harder and faster. Your free hand strokes what doesn't fit in your mouth, twisting slightly as you move up and down his shaft.

Javi's breathing grows ragged, his thighs tensing beneath your fingers. With a low groan, he begins to pulse in your mouth. Hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat as he finds his release. You keep sucking, swallowing around him as he empties himself.

His fingers gently stroke through your hair as the last aftershocks roll through him. He cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"Swallow it all, baby.”

You stare into his dark eyes as you swallow every drop of him.

Javi's thumb traces over your bottom lip, wiping away a stray drop and pushing it into your mouth.

"Good girl," he praises softly.

You rise on slightly shaky legs, smoothing down your dress. Javi tucks himself away and helps straighten your dress.

He reaches under your dress, his rough palm sliding over your bare skin. He grabs your ass, squeezing gently as he pulls you flush against him.

"Be careful out there," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. "You don't have any underwear on now."

“You’re such a jerk sometimes,” you slap his arm.

"You're so beautiful,” he whispers as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. His eyes roam over your face, drinking you in before he leans in and kisses you.

“Go on ahead, baby,” he whispers.

You reluctantly pull away and slip out of the bathroom to rejoin the party, your little secret tucked away for now.

—-

Connie calls everyone for dinner underneath the roof of their large gazebo. It’s one of your brother’s pride and joys. The perfect place for his wife to set up a beautiful table full of vases, candles, and little framed placeholders.

Elliott pulls out your chair as you take your seat at the table, the absence of your underwear making you acutely aware of every movement.

Javier takes his place across from you, his eyes meeting yours briefly with a knowing glint.

Everyone ooh’s and ahh’s as Steve brings over a large chunk of prime rib on a fancy platter. You sigh, already preparing yourself for a plate full of salad and rolls.

Steve stands at the head of the table, raising his glass. "I'd like to propose a toast," he announces. "To my beautiful wife. You’ve stayed by my side through thick and thin, Colombia and beyond. I couldn't ask for a better partner in life. And to our friends gathered here tonight, thank you for being part of our family." Steve raises his glass higher. "Speaking of family, to my little sister, who just finished her first ever lead role. I can’t believe how talented you are. I’m so proud of you.” Steve’s voice falters as he chokes up in pride. Elliott places a soothing hand on your back as your breath catches at your big brother’s support. “Anyways, to good food, good friends, good family, and the best wife a man could ask for."

Everyone raises their glasses in agreement. You catch Connie's eye, and she gives you a subtle wink before you look across at Javi. His gaze is heated, his eyes looking right at you as Elliott rubs your back. For the first time, you actually feel like you’d like to know how it feels like to celebrate an anniversary, to look across the table and see the person you love, to spend the rest of your life with someone… just as Elliott leans forward and places a tender kiss against your cheek.

Javi shifts in his seat, his eyes narrowing, until he scratches against his chest pocket, drawing your attention downward. That's when you notice it–a flash of delicate lace peeking out from his pocket. Your eyes widen as you realize what it is. Your panties are folded neatly and tucked into his jacket like an ornate pocket square.

It’s right there at that moment you know you need to let Elliott go. He’ll never be Javier.

—-

You’re exhausted. Nomad only had its last performance last week, and you just got done with the first rehearsal for the director’s next play, Saturn’s Sprites. This time, Elliott did not get cast.

You rest your head on the train window as it buzzes against the tracks, taking you across the Potomac to Arlington.

Last night’s conversation with Elliott still weighs heavily on your heart. You went to bed last night, tossing and turning as you remembered how his face looked when you finally told him you couldn’t stay with him. The confusion, flashing into hurt, then turning to a quiet resignation… somehow, that felt worse than if he shouted at you.

"There's someone else, isn't there?" he'd asked, his voice calm as you sat across from him at that little café you both used to love.

Your silence was answer enough for him.

“It’s the guy from your brother’s parties, the one with the mustache. Isn’t it?”

You looked down at your untouched cup of tea. Another nod.

“He wouldn’t stop looking at you. I could see it. I was just hoping it was one-sided,” he sighed. “I guess I was wrong.”

He didn’t even storm out. He wished you luck and left the money on the table for your order. That’s the kind of man Elliott was, decent to the end.

The subway doors hiss open, and you step out onto the familiar platform. You’ve memorized how many steps it takes to ascend into the more upscale streets of Arlington.

You’re thankful you changed into a light cotton dress when the bright summer sun reflecting off the Potomac hits your skin as you make your way to Javi’s apartment.

You buzz the familiar intercom.

“Yes?” Javier says, always a hint of uncertainty in his voice, even when he’s expecting you.

“It’s me,” you reply.

There’s a pause, then a buzz, and the door unlocks.

You take the elevator, leaning against the shiny wall as it takes you up to his floor. The now familiar ding alerts you that you’ve arrived.

The hallway is cool compared to the heat outside, your sandals tapping softly against its low carpet.

You’re always tempted to pinch yourself whenever Javier Peña answers his door. All broad-shouldered and golden-skinned. His mustache lifts up in a smile, his brown eyes warm when he steps aside and lets you in.

This was something you used to dream about.

“How was work?” you ask before depositing your purse on the table that now has two placemats on top of it.

“Same old bureaucratic bullshit.” He pulls you in close for a hug before kissing your lips. “How was Elliott?”

“He knew. I didn’t tell him about… us, but… he expected it. He took it better than I expected,” you sigh. “I hope he’ll be okay.”

“He won’t,” Javi says matter-of-factly.

“Hm?”

He holds you close, tightening his arms around you. “You’re impossible to get over. Trust me, I’d know.”

You stay held in his arms, relishing in the comfort of Javier and his words. You sigh, trying to cover your yawn.

He pulls away, his brown eyes roaming over your tired features. “Go take a seat. I’ll get you a beer.”

You flop comfortably on his black leather couch, sinking into the coolness. “I’m so tired. The whole Elliott situation, along with finally starting on rehearsals–which have been insane, and the director’s a lowkey maniac.”

Javi nods as he grabs two bottles of beer and hands one to you before he settles on the couch beside you. Without a word, he gently lifts your feet onto his lap, his strong hands beginning to knead your soles.

You breathe out a long, happy sigh, taking a sip of your beer before launching into your tale of woe.

“So, it’s the same dude that directed Nomad, right? God, you wouldn’t believe this guy. He’s got us doing all of these ridiculous exercises. Today, he wanted us to 'encompass’ trees for a warmup. I stood there, silent, acting like a gentle breeze was wooshing past me for like… three minutes.”

You throw your head back against the cushion and sigh.

“How in the hell is that going to to let me understand my character better? I mean, I get it, we’re supposed to be nymphs in this production, but come on…”

He chuckles lowly as his thumbs work small circles into your arches. His eyes flick up to meet yours when you let out a small moan when he hits a particularly tender spot.

“Sounds like you need a distraction.”

“I do.”

In one fluid motion, he grabs your ankle and tugs, pulling you across the smooth leather until you're sprawled in his lap. His strong arms encircle you, one hand splayed across your lower back while the other cups your face.

His thumb brushes softly across your cheekbone.

“This distracting enough?” he whispers, his lips quirking into a small smile.

He kisses you, softly at first, then with growing urgency. Your hands thread through his hair at the nape of his neck, his hand on your back pressing you closer, molding your body to his.

He peppers kisses down to your neck, nuzzling the sharp angle of his nose against your skin.

“Stay tonight,” Javi says, his lips against your collarbone.

As if you could resist.

—-

My permatags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon

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adragonsfriend · 3 days ago

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I think this is time loop movie for our times, actually. Instead of some lame asshole who mainly needs to figure out how to be polite (eg. Groundhog Day, a lovely movie, no shade to it), the protagonist is some person beaten down by having basic needs denied, and through the time loop they get the freedom to get out of the stress state for a while (maybe they were specifically expecting to wake up on the day they weren’t going to be able to make rent/other stressful event). They’re kind of a boring loser at first, but gradually they encounter they regain energy and creativity starts showing through they never knew they had, and they can take lessons, eat what they want, turn the heat up, get their hair done, tell their landlord and boss to fuck off as much as they want (all the stuff Groundhog Day guy could’ve done whenever he wanted if he’d been less of an asshole). Instead of the usual limits like Groundhog Day guy not being able to leave the tiny town, the protagonist has enough time/random malfunctioning ATMs spitting money to buy whatever they want and travel basically anywhere they want in the world. Coincidences line up to let them in to odd places, talk to people that wouldn’t give them the time of day usually. We see them explore and achieve so much without the pressure of necessities. They revel in that for a long time.

The turn back toward the real world is in how the protagonist gets to know people. Their neighbours and community, maybe they call their siblings they haven’t talked to in ages. They get to know what everyone is struggling with and what they’re great at. There’s suddenly time to do all the research people on TikTok are saying you should do about finance or applications or whatever. In fact there’s time to do it for your neighbours too. So Sue who ends up on the hospital everyday loop can know they can challenge the hospital a couple of dumb charges just by calling, and Dion knows about that scholarship he got in one of the loops, and Louisa can find out about she really shouldn’t sign that contract with the bank.

Basically protagonist finally comes out of the time loop with a lot of things still sucking, but in a position to suddenly have a giant leg up in community organising. Even for their own situation, it’s not totally fixed, but they know at least a couple people they can call on to alleviate it, because they’ve actually had the time and space for thought to find those people instead of being trapped in endless stress and necessities. It’s so far from fixing everything.

But the audience sees all this person would be capable of if they just . weren’t . trapped .

Unfortunately I think I would legitimately enjoy being stuck in a time loop unless the events of the day itself were super horrifying or tragic. Once I figured it out I would be so relieved just to not be overwhelmed by time pressures and responsibilities that it would take me 1000 years to get bored

#I cannot figure out what holiday to use to make it an homage to Groundhog Day #it needs to be something longer than one day I feel given the premise of no limits #12 days of Christmas maybe?#pride month? black history month?#actually no I know. it’s called like ‘8 weeks to Labor day’#choosing 8 is mainly for the slant rhyme with ‘day’

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unholyhelbig · 3 days ago

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Hi,

I love the fics and honestly think you’re one of the amazing writers in here.

I was wondering about the Wandanat x reader fic the beast you’ve made of me, I was wondering if there will be more parts ? As I read the last part there is on there and I wanna know what happens next

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 5/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 4,212

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, cannon-typical violence, mentions of pain, sweating, general mentions of pain, gun use, horrible grammar I don't proof read we know this

[a/n: hi! God, it's been months. I had a bit of writers block when it came to this one but I'm back on my Wandanat bullshit, so thank you all for your patience. Not sure how I'm feeling about this one.]

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The Avengers compound had an extensive library that was settled with a thin layer of dust. Most of the editions were well past your time this go around. Not the dozens of other lives you had suffered through. The spines were bound in genuine leather and the pages crackled when you pulled them apart. You would wager that no one had been here for a long time, at least, not in the last decade.

Wanda’s hazel eyes tracked you from left to right, and then left again, as you paced the carpeted floor. Large stretches of golden sunlight were interrupted by her shadow, her silhouette suffering your constant movement. It was warm in here, much too warm for your liking. Your skin felt damp.

“Okay, you’re making me nauseous.”

Wanda had stood up during your last lap and you ran directly into her. Every spot where her skin touched yours burned viciously and you were thankful for the already present heat masking your blush. The Witch gently closed the book and you reluctantly let her take it from you.

“I fear that Grimms Fairytales are not going to be of much assistance here, darling girl.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but snapped your jaw audibly shut. Darling girl was bold. Sure, she’d sprinkled a few leg-weakening pet names in there, but this nearly seemed deliberate. Your mind was swimming too much to hold onto that life raft at the moment, so you let out an indignant huff.

Wanda had been tasked with watching you. Steve didn’t say it outright, but you knew that Thor’s visit had him shaken, figuring that if the woman in front of you could deliver some tilting blows to Thanos himself, she could probably handle you.

Natasha was buzzing with anger, nearly vibrating out of her skin. Her wife didn’t’ make a move to comfort her, explaining to you that when Natasha got like this, it was better not to poke the bear with a stick unless she wanted to lose a hand, or both.

It left the two of you in the library that had considerably less answers than you were anticipating. The mythology section of the collection was empty save for the book that Wanda had just pried from your hands. The only wolf had gobbled up a poor, defenseless grandmother before stealing her nightgown.

She watched you carefully for a few moments before she adjusted the pillow on a window seat and sat until she looked relatively comfortable. She’d taken your only distraction from the pain that still ebbed against your side from broken glass. You started to fidget.

“Come here.”

“What?”

She sighed and patted her lap, like the answer should have clicked in your head right away. It certainly didn’t. Not only were you searching her face, but your own mind for what she wanted you to do.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“This morning. I almost took you and Natasha out in the non-date kind of way.”

She scoffed again, murmuring a simple ‘come here, then.’ That left no room for argument. Your body seemed to give in when you sat next to her on the cushion, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. God- maybe you were tired.

Wanda guided you gently until your head was laying on her lap. You breathed in her scent, like fresh rain over lilacs. She carried the same floral shampoo that Natasha did, but somehow, it hung sweeter on her skin. You were tense, relaxing under her nimble fingers as she started to glide them in a steady rhythm through your hair.

A content sigh, laced with the smallest bit of a growl, escaped you as you finally gave in and curled closer to her. You could feel your eyes grow heavy, the comfort of her simple touch settling over you like a blanket.

“Go ahead and sleep, baby.”

“m’don’t want to hurt you,”

“You won’t.” Wanda assured, “I’ll protect you.”

Affection bloomed from the center of your chest. You turned your head, looked up at her. There was so much care in her gaze. She smiled softly down at you, moved her fingers across the small scar under your right eye, a constant reminder of crumbled ice on a fateful day.

“Don’t give me that look. I mean it. Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll keep the memories at bay.”

Her reassurance seemed to be enough for you to give in to the remaining exhaustion, your cheek back against the soft fabric of her pants, breathing in that intoxicating scent. Wanda’s fingers continued to trace patters at the small of your neck, through your hair. You swore, you heard her release a hum in a melody you couldn’t place, before you allowed yourself to sleep.

Wanda Maximoff had known pain before. It attracted like a magnet, dutifully dragging the metal of unwanted memories back to the surface each time she got too close. She’d been good, she’d been bad, and most of the time, she conceded to being both. There was a thin line that she threaded, and Natasha Romanoff loved her immensely on either side.

There was anguish radiating off you in waves. She felt the emotion in her fingertips where they met your skin, so soft and pale with exhaustion. This was the first time in the last two weeks that she had seen an expression of peace across your features, and she quite liked the image.

The witch could feel your curse pulsing through your veins, just as much as she could feel your warm weight against her lap. You let out the softest bit of a whimpered breath and snuggled closer, as if she were your liferaft on a choppy sea.

She was growing exhausted herself. While she’d had a certain fondness for her godly teammate, his sneering display in the conference room had left her rattled. The sun that flowed through the room was warming her, but not to an uncomfortable degree. She leaned back on the window and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of your steady breathing.

“You need to wake up, miss.” Wanda was leaden with sleep, eyes heavy and taking in lungful’s of grassy scent. The ground beneath her was damp, but soft, so she pressed her cheek closer to the moisture and tried to bat away the presence pestering her.

“Please, I’ll take no pleasure in leaving you. Not with it out here.”

It. Such a simple, yet vague word that ebbed away at the last of the tiredness that plagued her. Since she was a girl, even before the poking and prodding of Hydra’s sadistic minds, she could tell the difference between a dream, and reality.

Life had a haze to it, a softness around the edges that her dreams rivaled. They felt all the more real than her daily endeavors, and at first, that sent a steel rod of fear through Wanda. But, she’d grown to love the control she held over her dreams. They all meant something, perhaps more than her waking hours.

When she sat up, her head rushed with blood with a comfortable and familiar whoosh. The person kneeling next to her was a stranger. A slight thing with dark skin and cornflower eyes. They blinked curiously at Wanda. A long and scruffy beard hung from their chin, full of small flowers, embedded in the curls. They had a feminine figure, a masculine expanse of shoulders.

They smirked at her. “You do not have to stare, miss. I am well aware of what I look like.”

“No, that’s not… I didn’t. You’re lovely.”

Blush had found its way to Wanda’s cheeks, and she allowed herself to be pulled to her shaky feet by the stranger. They smelled of sugar, and the slightest hint of cinnamon that reminded Wanda of a kitchen after a meal had been cooked. They smiled more genuinely this time, and the tension seemed to exit the conversation as soon as it had entered.

“What’s your name?” Wanda asked.

They frowned. “I don’t think I have one anymore. Now, we really do need to get a move on. Do you hear the thunder?”

She didn’t hear a thing past the bubbling stream and the desperate squawks of birds’ way up in the trees. These woods were lovely, but she had no time to ponder them. The nameless stranger took long strides towards their destination, and while Wanda hadn’t a clue what they were running from, she didn’t want to stick around and find out.

The stranger seemed to know where they were going, hopping easily over logs, and letting their bare toes curl into the dampness of the stream. Wanda’s fingers brushed across leaves, and rough tree bark. Though the compound was surrounded by forest, it was much too manufactured. This was wild, this made her want to howl into it’s silence.

“The beast has been pulling against us lately,” they explained, reaching a hand out and helping Wanda over a large, smooth boulder that had been warmed expertly by the sun. “For decades, we’ve known peace in our own right. As peaceful as one can be against their will. As far as prisons go, this is a beautiful one.”

Snowcapped mountains stretched far into the sky, into the endlessness of nature. She’d been imprisoned and this did not seem like one. There was room to roam, there were crops, and animals that stalked through the same trees they did. She had no right to judge-however- dreaming or not, their struggle was not her own.

“Come, I am not alone.”

Wanda was lulled with kindness, and well aware that nothing could hurt her here. She followed the Stranger to a small cabin that cut through the clearing in the forest. A stone well was nearby, as was the looming skeletal structure of a barn, slanted and rotten through.

The Stranger knocked and did not wait for an answer before pushing her way into the home. The same scent they carried bombarded Wanda with warmth. Oil lamps, and books were strewn about. It was cluttered, but comfortable. A fire crackled in a stone hearth, and a large-bearish man turned towards them, a book dwarfed within his paws.

A woman was at the stove, slowly turning a stews content around. She flicked glowing green eyes in their direction, lilting her head like a curious feline. Her movements were catlike and calculated, teeth pointed into little knives.

“They do not have names either.” The Stranger nodded solemnly.

“How long have you been here?” Wanda asked.

The bear man responded in his deep, jaded voice “Forever.”

“The dwarves, they tricked us. All of us.” The cat woman scooped broth, potatoes and carrots into separate bowls, the yellow steam curling around the oil lamp and it’s flickering flame. She frowned. “Something from each stolen in order to prevent Ragnarök.”

Wanda had heard that before. Thor said it; the second coming, an apocalypse of Asgard. It was the catalyst for your imprisonment in the first place. She was having trouble grasping the purpose of the stranger, of the cat woman and the bear man, and the place her conscious was lingering in now.

“Their chains were not strong enough. They needed elements from nature to make binds that would hold a Beast as large and dangerous as the one that they feared.”

Bear man hoisted himself from the sofa in front of the fire. He wedged a crutch under his arm that Wanda had not noticed at first. He walked with a limp and loomed above her, covered in hair, claws as long as her fingers. She gazed up at him, suddenly surrounded.

“The sound of a cat’s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of birds.” The Stranger explained. They plopped down in a creaky kitchen chair, reached for the stew before the Cat woman batted their hand away.

“All of that… for chains?”

The Stranger sneered, plucking a flower from their beard and plopping the color in the middle of the bland stew. “It’s worked, hasn’t it?”

When she stirred, the sun had lowered significantly from its point in the sky. A sorbet glow moved across the discarded book of mythology and a blanket had been draped over her shoulders. She woke gently, as she always did, with a certain degree of elegance that evaded most of the avengers.

Natasha was at the one table in the room, her chin resting on her folded arms. She’d been watching Wanda for some time now; the slow rise and fall of her chest, the comfortable expression on her face while she held you. She still held you now, her grip tightening in her own sleep.

Adoration had replaced the anger in Natasha’s eyes from earlier in the day. Though, her knuckles were wrapped in a thin layer of gauze, a clear sign that she had taken most of her frustrations out on a punching bag in the gym without the proper precautions. Wanda fought the urge to press her lips against them, to soothe the pulsing pain.

“She’s really taken a liking to you,” Natasha whispered. Her voice held no malice, no jealousy. It was like a soothing balm, despite the small frown that formed against her features. “I put myself between her and a literal God today. A friend.”

“It’s naive of us to think of her as helpless.”

You were curled so easily into Wandas side, soft snores escaping you. Your fingers had found purchase in the fabric of the blanket, pulling it close, wrapping yourself up. It was the most peaceful she had seen you since you’d met. She ached to hold you in the same way, but swallowed the feeling in exchange for letting you rest.

“In the atrium the other day, she couldn’t take a punch. I think this version of her is helpless. If what Thor is saying is true, then she could bring about the apocalypse.”

“Yes, in Asgard.”

Natasha breathed out, traced her fingers over the soiled gauze. She couldn’t look Wanda in the eye when she used this pleading tone. She would fold for her wife, and fold for the girl that she held in her arms. They were much too persuasive.

“Do you blame her? She was prosecuted simply because of her lineage. The whole family was. I don’t think Loki is a good guy, especially after what he did. But when you’re born into a world that thinks you’re a bastard, a mistake, and treats you like one, it’s easy to fall into the projected legends, don’t you think?”

The spy let the statement linger. Her entire life she was trained to be a killer to the point where her own thoughts were blurred into nothing but a red ledger. It had taken Clint Barton to pull her out, one single person to rip her from a life of killing. Maybe you just needed someone to care.

A small, content whimper escaped you, and Natasha looked at the way the golden sunset highlighted your features. You’d pressed yourself even closer to Wanda, if that was possible. The Witch stared at you with a soft gaze.

“What do you suggest we do, darling?” Natasha asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“They are going to bring the fight to us, stop at nothing until they have her back in chains.” Wanda frowned, a small crinkle of frustration smoothing against her nose. “We bring the fight to them. We fell Asgard before they can fell us.”

Natasha’s warmth was inevitable as she adjusted your stance. Her amber scent filled your lungs stronger than it ever had before. All of your senses were on fire. Every inch of her lean figure was pressed against your back. She gently corrected your hips, aligning them with the target.

She was taller than you by a few inches, her breath hot on your cheek and smelling oaky. You struggled not to sigh into her. That would be wrong. She was Wanda’s wife, and they were in a committed and happy relationship.

They both flustered you beyond comprehension. Wanda had her soft touches and her commanding tone. Natasha with her assured guidance and rumbling voice. The pet names, and the lingering hands had you reeling.

“Okay, kitten, it’s important to keep your arms slightly bent.” Her hands trailed down your arm, sending shivers that you couldn’t suppress up your spine. You could feel her grin, whole body flushing with soft pink color. “Good girl. Now you’re going to aim slightly left of your target and gently squeeze the trigger. You’re going to get some kickback, so watch your nose.”

You pulled in a steadying breath. Natasha’s hands wandered around your waist and to your stomach. Again, she corrected your stance. It was ever-so-subtle. You closed your eyes for a short moment, trying to focus before pulling the trigger.

It was loud, making your ears ring. The kickback was rough against your wrist, but Natasha held you steadily. The fact that she was holding you at all made you dizzy. You’d blown a few holes through the target at the far end of the range, all just south of the belt.

“Well,” She chuckled, leaning her chin against your shoulder. “That’s one way to do it. Not necessarily fatal, but I’m sure they’ll wish it was.”

You crinkled your nose and set the gun safely down as she had instructed. Everything about it felt unnatural but you wished for her to keep holding you close as she was. You knew that she was trying her best. Both she and Wanda were. But guns weren’t your thing. Neither was hand to hand combat or the blood tests, or the stretching days of sleep deprivation.

You were aching for your routines with Jennifer in the legal offices and the shitty lifetime movies and the sodium-filled takeout that the two of you would indulge in over box wine. All things that you took for granted. All things that you ached so heavily for you could cry. It was a pit in your stomach so dense you could almost feel it.

In fact, you could feel something. A cold sweat that you attributed to the proximity of Natasha started to collect in the palms of your hands and the small of your neck. But it was quickly spreading.

Natasha seemed to notice, moving her hands to your hips and frowning at you. “You alright, volchitsa?”

“I don’t like guns,” You swallowed the muted nausea, leaning your back against the nearest wall, reveling in the coolness. “Is it hot in here?”

“No, but you’re burning up.”

She was a spy. You don’t know how you thought you could get one over on her or ignore the sudden turn of your stomach, not when a sharp pain ripped through your middle and dropped you to a knee with an indignant huff. Sweat dripped off the tip of your nose. She stabilized you with a swiftness that only she could.

“I can’t quite seem to stop embarrassing myself in front of you, can I?” You whimpered out.

“No, you really can’t.” Natasha carded her fingers through damp hair, the motion soothing. “You going to knock out on me? Go to another time period?”

You grit your teeth, tucked your head “Don’t think so, this is different.”

It was different. Something was clawing deep within you, wanting to get out. The arm that wasn’t holding you up found purchase around your midsection as if it were trying to keep your insides in. She saw the desperation in your eyes. Must have, because you were moved back to the safety of your room.

You were not delusional. It was a prison cell, a fancier version of the holding container that they’d kept you in before. It was meant to keep you in just as much as it was meant to keep everyone else out. Natasha had tucked the gun in the back of her pants before leading you back here. Carrying you, perhaps. You’d been too disoriented to know.

“It’s… hot” You said again, curled in on yourself at the edge of the bed “You don’t think it’s hot?”

Before she could answer you were pulling your shirt off, pleased by the temporary relief that it granted you. Then the jeans and the socks. This left you in a pair of tight boxer shorts and a sports bra. The lights were too bright and your skin felt like it was crawling.

“FRIDAY.” Natasha called out, tracking you carefully “Can I get a reading on vitals, please?”

A mechanical voice recalled. “Body temperature: 232 Fahrenheit, Heart Rate: 325 BPM.”

“Perfect. Please send Wanda down right away.” Natasha dragged her gaze up and down your mostly nude body. “I believe I’ll need my wife’s assistance.”

“Right away, Mrs. Romanoff.” FRIDAY responded. “Temperature is now reading 245 Fahrenheit.”

Stupid fucking robot.

You’d turned on your side now, the sheets beneath you saturated in sweat. Your breaths had changed from soft pants to deep growls of discomfort. All you could feel was heat and sharp pains. This is what you had imagined death to feel like. These horrible waves of discomfort that were never ending.

“I think,” You turned your face into the mattress fully, snarling something deep and wild. Natasha’s hand was on your back as a grounding force. “fuck.”

“What is it baby?” She was pleading with you. A brokenness in her voice that you’d never heard from her before. One that you wanted to stop. You wanted everything to stop. “How can I help you?”

“You need to… leave… don’t want to hurt you.”

You repeated the same sentiment that you had with her wife just hours before. Natasha wanted to deny you. Of course, you wouldn’t hurt her. But then your spine shifted under her palm. Each vertebrae seemed to quake and clack together as if a handler had moved the handle of a whip at the base. You groaned and clenched your fingers into the fluff of the mattress at the motion. You were in insurmountable pain, and she could do nothing to stop it except obey.

“Okay,” Natasha whispered, not sure of herself. “Okay. I’ll be right outside that door. FRIDAY will monitor. Helen is on her way.”

She got a choked groan in response. Willing herself to leave was difficult. Closing the door behind her was worse. She found herself in the same observation room that was mute to your screams. Deep in her gut, she knew what was happening. It was logical. It was in all the horror movies. It would be impossible to witness much less go through.

Wanda burst through the corridor, her socks skidding on the linoleum. Natasha softened her crash landing with her shoulder, didn’t try to push her back but kept her from going further. She’d learned long ago that telling Wanda not to do something would get her nowhere. It would set her back ten paces, perhaps even twenty.

“What’s happening? propustite menya, ya khochu yeye uvidet'.”

Natasha shook her head, resolute. “It’s better if you don’t. She’s in pain.”

“And you’re out here?” a raw type of accusation surged through Wanda’s words, she moved to pushed past Natasha again, was stopped once more. She could overpower her wife, but knew better not to. Instead, nailing her with an exasperated glare. “Why?”

“She asked me not to, begged me. Y/n just figured out what she is and now it’s coming to the surface. She wants to lick her wounds in peace. We should grant her that at the very least, even if we want to storm in there and nurse her through it.” Natasha’s voice cracked, she blinked, looked away dejectedly. “She knows we’re here. Right here.”

Wanda crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unhappy, but conceding. She stalked over to the viewing window guiltily. Natasha felt as if you were more of an animal than ever, trapped within these four walls.

“Natasha?”

“Yeah, baby?” She couldn’t peel herself from the door, had her eyes clenched shut. There was a pounding headache.

“Where the fuck is she?”

That got her away from the wall, pressing her fingers up against the window, breath fogging the glass. Wanda was true to her word. The bed was empty. The containment unit was empty. The entire room was visible from where the two of them stood.

“FRIDAY I need a location on y/n?” She was met with silence, tepid green eyes meeting Wanda’s with nothing short of fear. “FRIDAY?”

With a fizzled snap, the lights flickered out, plunging the two of them into darkness. Natasha felt her heart in her throat for a single moment. A fearful and tense moment that instantly dried her throat in the pitch black. Her forehead thumped against the glass in annoyance. In defeat.

Behind the glass, something that suddenly seemed as thin as paper, two glowing eyes stared unblinkingly at her. Tracking her in ways that she could not track back. Warm breath fogged up the divider. She could feel it, touch it

“Shit” Natasha drew out the word. “Do you think she’s pissed I keep calling her kitten?”

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