#but without offensive comments

[obi-wann-cannoli]

Second year page stable brawl you will always be famous

[the-blossica-fan]

Vila was made a support because she'd be too powerful as a DPS 😭🙏

So true Comrade, so true

Vila would probably inflict burn because this girl can cook

They had to nerf her for the sake of every enemy and comrade and thus became a support

[barin-mclegg]

It's weird to learn about a thing you are completely on the outside of (to me). Like, I fall under so many labels, and felt pretty connected to them pretty dang fast, but sometimes I look up a thing and discover that, say, plurality is a thing.

And I have so many questions and most of them are insanely rude, and I have so many thoughts and most of them would be insanely mean to spout around, but I only know that bc I looked in to it. And suddenly I understand the people saying offensive shit not knowing it's offensive, and the people asking incredibly personal shit not knowing it's incredibly personal (though in same cases... I mean come on, use your damn brain).

Idk, I think it's good for everyone to be an outsider to a community at least once, and to acknowledge that and explore that and through that, learn to not be an ass to uneducated people.

If anyone's up to answering rude questions about plurality that would be great though bc I do not understand some shit and I don't want to be an ass :(

[savyir-genesizz-the-wizard]

I think that people who say that if you give your kid an unusual name they will be bullied, grandly underestimate how little it takes to be bullied in primary school

I remember kids with very common name being bullied for them. There was a girl who was bullied for being short and a boy who was bullied for "having Down's syndrome" (he didn't have it). I was bullied because it was easy to make me cry and other kids found it funny.

Like I genuinely believe that there is nothing you can do to either make your children bullied or to make it stop (my parents had to move me to different class).

[tardis--dreams]

Some of those doctors make hating oat milk their entire personality. I hate them. Cannot pretend to find them funny or like i give a shit. Fucking pretentious assholes

[niffty24]

I'm whining about fanfic

I wanna read your fic my dear but there's so much GD poetry that I'm as annoyed as I am confused. I don't want to reread the damn paragraph 3 times to figure out what tf you're saying

[stzrgirl4norris]

P1 in World History - OP81

Oscar Piastri x Historian!Reader

summary: no one understands how Oscar suddenly dropped facts after facts on the most random historical events

based on this request (by my favorite ever)

liked by mclaren, redbullracing and 1,300,000 others

f1 🎥 Grill the Grid: High School Edition is HERE

Watch our drivers struggle with math problems, historical dates, and chemical reactions 👀

Spoiler alert: we had some surprises.

view all comments:

lando who gave oscar a cheat sheet? be honest

charles_leclerc I would like a rematch with no ancient greek questions please

yukitsunoda0511 I said “napoleon” for everything. Not my fault it worked twice.

mclaren We are also surprised. Very surprised.

redbullracing Gonna have to bring this up to the stewards 🙂‍↔️

fernandoalo_oficial finally, someone knows I was there when Caesar was stabbed

alex_albon me watching oscar answer every history and geography question with his arms crossed like he’s on who wants to be a millionaire😭

user bro oscar even corrected the quizmaster once. is he ok?

user oscar casually dropping historical facts like it’s not suspicious at all…

user i'm so glad they are f1 drivers and not doctors or something

user why did oscar answer all of that without blinking? i’m scared 💀

user nah bc that man answered “Battle of Waterloo” like it was a pop quiz at dinner. WHO ARE YOU 😩

user oscar's not real. he’s a government experiment gone rogue

user the way he SMIRKED when he got the Cold War question right?? sir who are you trying to impress 😭😭😭

user idk if i want to kiss oscar or force him to write my next essay

user charles i expected more from you

user no but Lando getting the math question was so sweet

user when max said “well technically…” I felt that in my bones.

> user he maxplained that whole video and still lost

> maxverstappen1 I want a rematch

Oscar Piastri just added to his Instagram Story

"Great read 👍"

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, mclaren and 757,000 others

SkySportsF1 🎤 Oscar Piastri revealed or us the secret behind all his world history knowledge:

“It just sort of happens when you date a historian. Everything becomes a lesson. She once paused a movie to explain Dutch colonialism.”

View all comments:

user not me googling “how to become a historian”

user she paused a movie to explain Dutch colonialism and he STAYED??? yeah he’s in love your honor

user no bc i’d explain imperialism mid-makeout if he asked 😭

user that household must be insufferable

user I too wanna monologue to Oscar during breakfast

user imagine pausing a movie to rant about colonialism and he looks at you like it’s the hottest thing ever? god i’m weak

user and he LISTENED??? he RECALLS the info??

user she taught him centuries of world history and what did he give her back? driving lessons?

user “everything becomes a lesson” sir that is the dream 😭 i want to analyze the French Revolution over dinner too

user this is what happens when you date a girl who annotates books and knows who Franz Ferdinand is

user i want what they have. and by that i mean him. and also her brain. pls.

lando so you’re telling me i lost to oscar in Grill the Grid bc his gf is smarter than everyone at McLaren combined?

> oscarpiastri: you lost because you said Napoleon invented the calendar > yourusername: to be fair… he did change the calendar. you were just off by a few emperors > lando: OH MY GOD SHE’S HERE I’M SORRY PLEASE DON’T QUIZ ME

alex_albon oscarpiastri she paused a movie to explain colonialism and you didn’t RUN? bro you’re in deep

> oscarpiastri: i stayed. i took notes. there was a powerpoint. > yourusername: in my defense, it was really bad colonialism. like offensively inaccurate. > user: i am obsessed with the fact that she said “bad colonialism” like it’s a genre of film > user: alex is 100% pretending he gets this rn

georgerussell63 I want to add to the conversation that just 5 minutes ago during a chat this man casually cited the Meiji Restoration.

danielricciardo nah bc when she paused the movie he just sat there?? with his mouth shut?? couldn’t be me 💀

> yourusername he nodded. he asked questions. it was adorable. > danielricciardo stop you’re going to make the rest of us look bad

mclaren Confirmed: Oscar is now banned from date night and team trivia. Unfair advantage.

user WHY IS SHE SO CASUAL IN THE COMMENTS I’D DIE

> user she’s literally explaining history and being hot about it > user no bc she called it “bad colonialism” and suddenly I need a PhD >user someone make a TikTok of her best comments, we’re documenting greatness in real time

charles_leclerc If my girlfriend taught me history i’d listen too 🥺

> alexandrasaintmleux you can't even tell me who painted the Mona Lisa > charles_leclerc I said "history" 🙄

user do you think Ferrari can hire her to do something?

> user omg what would she even do there? > user anything is better than what they have ❤️ liked by charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, lando, mclaren and 2,400,000 others

oscarpiastri Turns out there are so many good museums in England Also I now know what mercantilism is now.

view all comments

lando i want her to quiz me

charles_leclerc I refuse to learn, but i’m proud of you

georgerussell63 do you think she tutors for fun?? asking for me

alex_albon you’re literally a walking historical source

danielricciardo please ask her to explain the entire French Revolution to me in meme format

maxverstappen1 you scare me but i respect it

user THEY ARE TOURING HISTORICAL LOCATIONS 🥹🥹🥹🥹

user i know he’s got a napoleon bobblehead

user dating a historian and surviving is proof he’s the chosen one

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, mclaren and 8,150 others

yourusername He said “teach me everything” and now he can name every Cold War proxy war. Proud of my little historian-in-training. Also yes, he scored higher than some of my students on the practice quiz.📚💋

view all comments

oscarpiastri Cold War was a vibe

georgerussell63 okay but she’s intimidating in a hot way

> oscarpiastri don’t call my girlfriend hot. LEAVE. > georgerussell63 it was a compliment 😅😅😅

charles_leclerc imagine being forced to learn at dinner 😔

lando can she explain the space race to me using memes and finger puppets

> oscarpiastri are you 2??

user “cold war was a vibe” i’m IN TEARS

user she’s not just teaching him history. she’s giving him range

user whatever taylor swift said about you know how to ball i know aristotle

user i would risk it all for her to yell about the ottoman empire in my kitchen

hattiepiastri just watched him explain the industrial revolution like it was a bedtime story

kimiantonelli who even knows what happened in 1848????

> user aren’t you supposed to be learning that in school?

user is this a kink thing?

user dating a historian sounds like a trap. a sexy, educational trap.

maxverstappen1 can you prepare me for the next grill the grid?

> yourusername sure thing!! > oscarpiastri NO

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 1,450,000 others

mclaren Study season. Quiz night prep. We no longer know if this is for history or Hungary GP. 🧠🏁📚

view all comments

oscarpiastri she just asked me to rank my favorite Enlightenment philosophers. it’s 10pm. i said Kant and she said “incorrect.”

> yourusername it was a trick question. you were supposed to say “you, darling” > oscarpiastri i’m logging off before I get in trouble > user I NEED THEM TO ADOPT ME

lando does this mean i can’t cheat???

> oscarpiastri she said next time you cheat off me she’s quizzing you on Byzantine trade routes > lando nevermind i’m studying. i’m SCARED.

yourusername Quiz night winner gets free coffee. Loser gets a 20-minute lecture on the French Revolution.

> mclaren we are printing flashcards as we speak

alex_albon imagine prepping for Hungary and getting hit with “define the Treaty of Utrecht” over breakfast

> oscarpiastri: she did that. literally. it was before coffee.

charles_leclerc what’s happening? Why is everyone smarter now.

> georgerussell63 she’s infecting the grid with knowledge. we’re not safe > fernandoalo_oficial finally.

user this is the power of a woman who annotates books and kisses you mid-lecture

user can’t wait until one of them starts mixing up tire degradation with the fall of the Ottoman Empire

[dumbdomb]

image of my tags from reblog, which read: it ain't women's lingerie if a man's wearing it though. that's men's lingerie now. and he looks real good in 'em too. 😘

hey, that's cool. nothing wrong with women wearing women's lingerie. i responded in tags with additional positivity about men wearing lingerie. my pov was that clothes are pointlessly gendered and my tags reflect the position that if a man is wearing lingerie, then he could feel good about it as a man. your response changes the original post, which was not about women, but i hold the same position i wrote in my tags: if a woman is wearing lingerie, then it's women's lingerie and she'd look real good in 'em too. 💖

thinks abyout men in women's lingerie and runs fast as fuck face first into a brick wall

[kisssukuna33]

Thinking about your Chef HusbandSukuna! Who always uses you as his personal food critic whenever he experiments with a new dish. You are the first to taste it before it goes into the restaurant menu. When you question him about it one time he said you're his personal lucky charm because whenever you taste a new dish first it instantly becomes a hit in the menu.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who has a whole wall dedicated to you and the pics of you two together in his restaurant. Oh but did I mention about the big wall art next to those pics? A wall art of you smiling that he painted himself. He still talks about that art piece proudly to this day.

Chef HusbandSukuna! who has no problem attracting customers. His restaurant is widely known in the town as one of the best spots but the only problem he faces is when people come into his restaurant being attracted to something other than his food. You can only imagine the amount of thirsty comments from both men and women under his restaurant reviews.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who HATES it when people flirt with him even after clearly seeing the wedding ring he wears daily. That's why he lets his co-workers do all the serving and he rarely comes out of the kitchen until someone ask for his presence.

And whenever a customer flirt with him or ask for his number he straight up points to the wall art of you displayed in the restaurant and murmur "my wife" as he go back into the kitchen unbothered.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who never lets you cook anything in the kitchen. He always prepare you food and snacks whenever you ask him without complaining and you slowly came to realize that's his way of showing his love for you. And when he prepares food for you it's never anything simple either,he makes sure his wife eats a 5 star meal everyday.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who takes it as personal offense whenever you recommend take out for dinner. He doesn't understand why you want to eat that unhealthy junk shit when you have a whole chef as your husband.

"Just say you don't love me anymore"

"Kuna.. You are being dramatic I asked it for a change not because I don't love your cooking"

"Then marry a fast food worker that way you can eat junk shit everyday"

"Sukuna!!"

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who always decorate your bento box so cutely when you go to work. He doesn't miss with the hello kitty shaped rice balls and the heart shaped vegetables everytime. One time you remember your coworker asking if you're married to a woman because they refuse to believe a bento box that cute was a work of a man.

Safe to say your coworker was even more suprised after seeing the intimidating 6'4 tatted man who came to pick you up later.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who always knows to prioritize you over his beloved restaurant. You are sick? Yeah he closes the restaurant and stay by your side all day taking care of you. You want to go on a date? Say no more restaurant is closed within a minute. You took a day off ? yeah the restaurant is closed that day. You wonder how he even keep up the popularity of this restaurant like this.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who always loves telling people the story about how you two met and how his restaurant took off after he started dating you. In his eyes you were a blessing given to him. He always wonder how his life started getting better and better after meeting you. A cold heart that was completely untouched by everyone started melting at the presence of yours.

But one thing he knows is that he's going to cherish the blessing given to him for the rest of his life.

[inkandapex]

butterflies

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After a tough triple header, Lando’s feeling the pressure, and you’re there to offer him comfort. As he opens up about his struggles, a surprising confession slips out.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: swearing, mental health

The triple header was finally over. But it had chewed Lando up and spat him out along the way.

Three weekends. Three countries — Japan, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia — each one stacking exhaustion, frustration, and pressure on his shoulders like invisible weights he couldn’t shake off.

It had started so well. Pole position. A first win of the season. A lead in the championship standings. For a brief, brilliant moment, it felt like everything was falling into place.

And then, almost overnight, it began to unravel.

A costly mistake during qualifying. A crash in Saudi that left him stranded in P10 on the grid. Every misstep gnawed at him, louder and sharper than any of the praise that followed.

His team, his fans, his family, they all tried to reassure him. Finishing P4 from a backfoot start was an incredible recovery. They told him they were proud. They told him to hold his head high.

But Lando being Lando, he carried the weight of every mistake like a scar carved into his chest.

Everyone saw it, the way each race seemed to pull him a little further away from himself. The slump of his shoulders, the blankness in his gaze when he thought no one was looking. When he scrolled through his phone late at night, the hateful comments and cruel jokes flashing across his screen, dissecting him, mocking him, criticizing every tiny misstep like he wasn’t even human.

Hours after the Saudi race, the four of you — Max, P, Lando, and you — ended up crashing in Lando’s hotel room, ordering a late dinner to fill the silence no one really wanted to break.

Lando was half-sprawled across the sofa, lazily scrolling through his phone. His leg bounced restlessly up and down, his other hand busy chewing at the edge of his thumb, a nervous habit he never quite managed to shake. You watched him from your spot across the sofa, feeling the unease bleeding off of him in waves.

Max and P had disappeared to pick up the food, leaving just you and Lando behind in the low hum of the AC in the hotel room.

You sighed, placing your phone down in your lap.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked gently.

Lando glanced up, almost like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. His leg kept bouncing, hand slowly dropping from his mouth. “Hm?” he mumbled.

“You want to talk about it?” you repeated, shifting forward so you were properly facing him. “Whatever’s been bothering you.”

He cleared his throat, mirroring your movement like it gave him something to do. “I’m good,” he said, a little too quickly.

You didn’t buy it for a second.

“You’re clearly not, Lan,” you said, frowning. “When’s the last time you had proper sleep? No offense, but... you look like shit.”

He actually chuckled at that, a low, rough sound. Five years of friendship meant he expected nothing less than brutal honesty from you.

“I’m fine, Y/N. You worry too much.”

“Because I care,” you shot back, voice softer now. “You’re too hard on yourself, you know that? You’re doing a great job—"

“—I’m not,” he interrupted sharply, voice cracking just slightly. His hands scrubbed roughly over his face. “I’m not. And I should be. Everyone expects better from me, and I can’t fucking deliver.”

The words spilled out fast, like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

You felt your chest tighten at the way he said it, like it wasn’t frustration talking. It was something deeper. Defeat.

Quietly, closing the gap, sitting closer to him without a word. You didn’t try to tell him he was wrong. You didn’t start listing achievements or statistics he already knew by heart. Instead, you leaned your shoulder against his, solid and steady.

“You’re allowed to have bad days, Lan,” you said simply. “One race doesn’t erase who you are. What you’ve built. You’re not just... results on a page.”

He didn’t respond immediately. His leg stilled. His phone slipped from his hand onto the cushion.

For the first time all night, he let himself lean into you, just a little. Just enough. Head ever so gently resting on your shoulder

And for now, you took that as a win.

You sighed, letting your head rest lightly against his, your fingers finding his hand and tracing slow, soothing circles across the back of it. "It’s only been... what? Five races?" you said quietly. "You’ve got so much more ahead of you, Lan."

He let out a bitter laugh, low and tight in his chest. "It’s only been five, and I’ve already fucked up every single one," he muttered. "If I haven’t ruined the whole race, I’ve made at least one critical mistake every damn time."

"You’re not perfect, Lan," you said, squeezing his hand a little tighter, grounding him.

He shook his head against you, the words tumbling out faster now, rough around the edges. "Oscar’s not making mistakes like I am. And Max — everyone keeps saying he shouldn't be that fast in the Red Bull, but he is. He's that good. And me—" He broke off, swallowing hard.

"You’re not Oscar," you said firmly.

"You’re not Max... you’re not Lewis either. You’re Lando. And that’s more than enough."

You pull away slightly, shifting so you’re fully facing him, needing him to see that you mean every word. "It breaks my heart to see you like this," you say quietly, your voice thick with feeling. "Doubting yourself. Look how far you’ve come, Lan. You should be proud."

He offers a small, tired smile, nodding once. "I know..." he murmurs. "It’s just— sometimes it gets too much, you know? I knew what I was signing up for, but... that doesn’t mean the comments, the criticism, all the shit people say... it doesn’t mean it doesn’t get to me. I wish I didn't care so much about what others thought about me"

Your heart twists painfully in your chest. Without thinking, you squeeze his hand again, anchoring him. "Then you wouldn't be you anymore...and we know you’re worth more than anything they have to say," you say, shrugging like it’s the simplest truth in the world. "I want you to be world champion, Lan. I want you to chase every dream you’ve ever had. But if it means losing yourself in the process..."

You shake your head, voice turning fierce with emotion. "If it means losing the Lando I know and love? Fuck the championship."

"Yeah?" His head snaps toward you, a smirk pulling at his lips, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"You love me?"

You roll your eyes, suddenly finding your nails very interesting, anything to distract from the heat creeping up your neck. "Out of everything I just said, that’s what you choose to focus on?"

He laughs, a real one this time, soft and a little mischievous, and nudges his knee against yours. "I love you too, you muppet."

He sighs, settling back against your shoulder like it’s the only place he wants to be. "Having you here with me... it helps," he says quietly.

"I hope you know that. You make everything easier."

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest, and press a soft kiss to the top of his head before resting yours against his again. "Mind saying that again?" you tease, voice light. "Maybe once Max gets back... just so he can hear who your favourite friend really is?"

Lando laughs, and it’s music to your ears, its bright, real, almost like you could see the weight slowly lifting off his chest. "Oh, trust me," he says, nudging you. "He knows he lost to you a long time ago. He doesn’t give me butterflies in my tummy like you do."

You chuckle, a surprised laugh slipping out. "I give you butterflies?"

"Oh, shut up..." Lando muttered, letting out a soft yawn as he nuzzled closer to you, his face buried in your shoulder. "Sometimes I feel like you rile me up on purpose."

"Hey, I do not!" you protested, slapping his leg.

"Ow!" Lando dodged, laughing through the pain. "Alright, fine. Maybe it’s just my tiny crush on you talking."

You smirked, teasing him. "You have a crush on me? How old are you, ten?"

Lando shot you a playful look. "How old are you, ten?" he mocked, sticking out his tongue. "I’ve liked you for a while now, you knob."

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. What the hell? Was he serious, or was he just messing with you? You sat there, stiff and dumbfounded, unsure of what to make of it.

"You're just tired. Sleep it off," you said, trying to brush it off, though your mind was spinning.

"I’m fucking exhausted," he yawned again, his eyes already fluttering closed. "But it doesn’t make me a liar." He shifted slightly, his voice softer now.

"You can even ask Max when he comes back."

Silence.

You couldn’t think of anything to say. Your mind raced with a thousand different scenarios, trying to figure out if he was joking or if there was something real in his words. Surely, he was just messing with you, right?

"Since when?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

No response. Just the hum of the AC and Lando’s steady breathing. As much as you wanted to wake him up and demand answers, you knew he needed the rest more than you needed clarity.

You stayed still, afraid to disturb him. Just enough movement to pick up your phone and scroll through your feed, passing the time as you waited for Max and P.

Lando's head was now resting gently on your lap, his legs curled up in a relaxed position, peacefully asleep. Not long later, Max and P arrived, chatting softly as they entered the room.

As soon as they were both in view, you held a finger to your lips, signaling them to keep quiet. P smiled, nodding, and walked over to the kitchen to grab some utensils. Max, however, made his way over to you with the bags of food in hand.

"Finally got him to sleep, huh?" Max said with a grin.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Took a while, but he's resting."

Max took the opportunity to pull his phone out of his pocket, immediately snapping photos of you and Lando.

You quickly grabbed the throw pillow beside you and tossed it at him.

He dodged it with ease, raising his hands in surrender. "He’d want photos," he said, the smirk never leaving his face.

He’d want photos? Now you were even more confused.

You cleared your throat, trying to brush off the confusion as you gathered your thoughts. "He... uh... he said something to me before he nodded off."

Max’s attention was fully on the food now as he unpacked the containers, "Yeah?"

You took a deep breath, still unsure of how to approach it. "He told me he had a crush on me..." you said with a nervous chuckle.

Max didn’t even flinch. He continued unpacking, casually licking the sauce off his finger, "Oh, you really didn’t know?"

You frowned, your confusion deepening. "What do you mean?"

Max shrugged, clearly not fazed. "I've always assumed you noticed it by now... or that P had told you a while back." He casually shrugged again, tossing the food containers onto the counter. "Thought you were just pretending you didn’t know until he actually confessed."

No fucking way. After all these years of keeping your feelings to yourself, to find out this man — the one napping on your lap right now — likes you too?

"You're fucking with me," you laugh in disbelief. "Since when?"

Max scoffs, clearly amused. "Since months after you two first met?"

"I'll help P out, I’ll grab some ice too," he adds, before heading off into the kitchen.

You stay frozen, your mind racing, still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions.

"Believe me now?"

Lando’s voice pulls you from your trance. You glance down, finding him looking up at you with sleepy, half-lidded eyes and a cheeky grin tugging at his lips.

You roll your eyes, reaching down to pinch his cheek. "You’re so annoying."

"Secrets out..." Lando chuckles, sitting up and stretching. "Gotta take you out on a proper date now."

"I’d love that, actually." You smile softly, feeling a warmth spread through you. Without thinking, you offer him the box of spring rolls.

Lando reaches for a spring roll, popping it into his mouth with a relaxed smile.

"This is good," he says, rubbing his tummy in satisfaction. "Gotta keep the butterflies fed."

[cosycryptid]

Modern AU where the party have a famous paranormal investigation and unsolved mysteries youtube channel. Steve is in the background of their first ghost hunting video because he wasn't going to let them go and stay overnight in an abandoned building without supervision. Their audience finds Steve's sarcastic comments and parental attitude towards the kids really compelling and most of the comments on that video are begging for him to become a regular in their on location videos. Before long, Steve is a reoccurring presence in their videos playing the skeptic/concerned parent role.

For example:

Dustin: I’ve connected the dots guys. This must be the work of a demon.

Steve: You didn’t connect shit. It's just an old creaky building.

Dustin: I’ve connected them.

—————————————

In an abandoned hospital.

Max: Hey this giant metal door has some kind of engraving on it.

Lucas: Oh cool, it looks like old graffiti.

Steve: Yeah that’s great, do you know what else it looks like? Rusty as shit. Now get back here and don’t touch anything because your parents are gonna be so pissed if they find out you had to get tetanus shots at 2am on a Saturday because I let you wander around an abandoned hospital with a bunch of shady ass camera men. No offense.

Camera man: None taken.

Mike (from the doorway): Guys! Will, El and Dustin found an operating theatre and there are a bunch of old scalpels and needles and stuff in there.

Max: Awesome, let’s go.

Steve: No! No! Let’s not go! Let’s stay as far away as possible from the room full of potential infections. Where are Dustin, El and Will? They didn’t go inside the room, did they?

Mike: See, I could answer that, but I don’t think you’re gonna like it.

—————————————

While exploring a ‘haunted’ hotel:

Mike: Hey look, all of Steve’s bitches are in this room.

El: There is nobody in there.

Mike: Exactly.

He turns to look directly into the camera with a sly grin and the others start laughing.

Steve: Yeah, yeah. You’ll be laughing when I drive home without you.

—————————————

At the same hotel.

Steve: Dustin. Your little light box thing is broken, it’s been flashing on and off for the past five minutes.

Dustin: Oh my God, Steve! That means it can sense a spirit. Why didn’t you say anything?! Did you not listen to my long and detailed explanation of how the equipment works?

Steve: I’m gonna be so honest with you. No, I didn’t.

—————————————

On their Mothman episode trip to point pleasant.

Steve, staring at the statue (we all know which one): Ok, but why is he kinda…

Lucas: Please stop talking.

Dustin: No sexualising the cryptids please, Steve.

Steve: If they didn’t want anyone to sexualise Mothman, then why would they give his statue such a defined ass and abs?

Max: I mean, he’s not wrong.

—————————————

Eventually, Steve gets peer pressured by the comments into starting his own channel. And since he still has no idea what he wants to do with his life, he decides to go ahead and do it.

At first his audience are super confused because his content is a hard pivot from the supernatural and unsolved mysteries content people are used to seeing him in. He mainly reacts to DIY haircare videos and gives tips on how to do what the people in the videos were trying to do properly without risking ending up bald.

He also makes wholesome baking videos, and has a side podcast with Robin, where they talk shit for 3 hours about anything they want - usually celebrities and assholes on the internet - as well as having a segment where Robin makes Steve watch a movie he's never seen and they review it. People who came from the paranormal channel still love his content because he’s funny and sassy and his videos are surprisingly helpful at times. He’s soon catching up to his friends in subscriber numbers.

Eddie and his band have a channel where they upload music videos, live performances and backstage/tour vlogs. They also make the occassional song covers where they take requests in the comments for metal versions of pop songs. Eddie also has a side channel where he runs D&D campaigns with other influencers (he hates that word).

One day he’s doing a Q&A and when someone asks which influencers he’d like to invite for his next campaign, he mentions Steve and says he’s been secretly watching his videos for a while and they’re kind of a guilty pleasure. He’s even tried some of Steve’s hair care tips because his hair was looking a bit frazzled under the heat of the lights on stage and it was getting in his way during performances. Now he swears by them because his hair has never looked or felt better.

Steve’s never seen any of Eddie’s videos but he starts watching them after that, he particularly likes the metal versions of pop songs because it makes the genre more accessible to him. Sometimes he makes joke song suggestions in the comments. Every single time, the song he suggested gets covered.

The boys are all insanely jealous of this new development because they’ve been fans of Eddie’s channels for years and have been bringing up references to some of his campaigns in their videos to try and get him to consider them for the next one, but so far have had no luck. Meanwhile, Steve, who doesn’t even know the first thing about D&D has his full attention. Steve was going to ask Eddie to consider asking them out of the kindness of his heart, but after they’ve given him a little too much attitude over it, he decides he’s gonna join the campaign instead just to spite them.

Cue Steve going from completely clueless to kind of a decent player and the two of them going from fascinated with each other to constantly flirting and appearing in each other’s videos.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Could you write a Dad!oscar where baby piastri insists on “driving” like her dad. Maybe she takes over his simulator at home, and he sets up a little toy car for her in the paddock. The other drivers and team members can’t stop laughing at how serious she is about it, and he’s just the proudest dad ever.

Future Champion

The paddock buzzed with the usual hum of excitement as the race weekend unfolded. Engineers scurried around, laptops in hand, as the scent of hot asphalt and motor oil filled the air. It was just another Friday, the start of practice sessions, but for Oscar, it was a bit more special.

His two-year-old daughter, Yn, was spending the weekend at the track with him.

Yn clung to his hand as they strolled through the McLaren garage, her wide eyes scanning everything with an endless curiosity only a toddler could possess. Her brown curls bounced with every step, her other hand clutching a half-eaten snack that was already crumbling against her tiny fingers.

"Daddy, what's that?" she asked, pointing at the sleek orange car parked in the garage.

"That's my car, sweetheart," Oscar said softly, crouching down to her level. "That's what I drive on the track."

Her lips parted in awe, as if she was seeing magic for the first time. "You drive that?" Her voice was filled with wonder.

He chuckled, brushing a stray curl from her face. "I do. I'm going to drive it in a bit. You want to watch me?"

Yn nodded enthusiastically, her snack momentarily forgotten. "I wanna see!"

Oscar smiled as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Alright, baby. You'll sit with Uncle Lando while I drive, okay?"

As if summoned, Lando strolled over, dressed casually in his team gear, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Hey, Yn," he greeted, wiggling his fingers at her. "Ready to hang out with the coolest person here?"

Yn blinked up at him with mild confusion before turning back to Oscar. "Daddy’s cooler."

Oscar let out a laugh, lifting her into his arms. "You heard her."

Lando gasped in mock offense. "Betrayed by a two-year-old!" He shook his head dramatically. "I thought we were friends, Yn."

She giggled, clinging tighter to Oscar's neck. "Daddy's best."

Oscar's heart melted at her words, and he squeezed her gently before passing her over to Lando. "Be good for him, okay? I'll be back soon."

Yn pouted for a second, but she allowed Lando to take her, nestling comfortably in his arms. "Drive fast, Daddy."

"Always," he promised with a wink before disappearing toward his car.

---

The rumble of engines filled the air as free practice one began. Yn sat perched on Lando's lap in the McLaren garage, oversized headphones protecting her little ears. Her attention was glued to the screens showing the track, her eyes scanning for any glimpse of her dad.

"He's there!" she squealed suddenly, pointing at the screen as Oscar's car zoomed through a corner.

"Yep, that's your dad," Lando confirmed, bouncing his knees slightly to entertain her. "He's pretty fast, huh?"

Yn nodded vigorously, her face lighting up with pride. "He's the best driver ever!"

Lando chuckled, adjusting her headphones when they slipped slightly. "You're his biggest fan, aren't you?"

"Yes!" she declared without hesitation, her little hands clenched into excited fists.

When the practice session ended, Oscar returned to the garage, pulling off his helmet with a relieved sigh. Before he could even process his engineers' comments, Yn wriggled out of Lando's grasp and sprinted toward him.

"Daddy!" she cried, throwing her arms up.

Oscar bent down, scooping her up in one swift motion. "Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, still catching his breath. "Did you like watching me drive?"

Her face was flushed with excitement. "I wanna drive like you!" Her words tumbled out in a mix of gibberish and enthusiasm, barely understandable.

Oscar tilted his head, frowning slightly as he tried to decipher her excitement. "You... you want to drive?"

Yn nodded, her curls bouncing again. "Yes! Like you!" Her tiny hands made a vague steering motion, as if that would clarify things.

Lando, watching the exchange with amusement, scratched his head. "Is she asking for driving lessons?"

"I think she is," Oscar murmured, his lips twitching into a smile. He shifted Yn to one hip and turned to a nearby intern. "Hey, could you grab the small McLaren car from the storage room?" he asked softly, and the intern scurried off immediately.

Yn tilted her head in curiosity. "What car?"

"You'll see, baby," he assured her, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

Minutes later, the intern returned with a sleek, kid-sized McLaren car—a perfect replica of Oscar's race car. Yn's eyes grew impossibly wide as she wiggled out of her father's arms.

"For me?" she gasped, reaching out to touch the shiny surface.

Oscar crouched down beside her. "Just for you," he confirmed, opening the tiny door. "Come on, let's get you in."

With his gentle guidance, Yn clambered into the car, her face glowing with delight. Oscar carefully closed the door, adjusting her position as she fidgeted excitedly.

"Alright, sweetheart," he said softly, pointing to the miniature steering wheel. "You hold this to steer. And if you press this button, the car will move."

Yn's fingers curled around the wheel as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever held. "Like you, Daddy?"

"Just like me," he promised, giving the car a soft push forward.

Her delighted squeal filled the pit lane as she rolled down the smooth surface, her tiny hands steering with intense concentration. She was serious—dead serious—about this.

Lando let out a low whistle. "Wow, she's already better at this than half the grid."

Oscar laughed quietly, his heart swelling with affection as he watched her. "She takes after her father."

It wasn't long before the other drivers began to notice the tiny McLaren zipping (well, crawling) around the pit lane. Max, emerging from the Red Bull garage, stopped mid-step, his brow arching as he spotted Yn.

"What is that?" Max asked, pointing toward her.

Lando leaned against a wall, grinning. "Future world champion."

Charles wandered over next, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the toddler making her slow but determined way across the lane. "Is that... Yn?"

"Yep," Oscar confirmed, not even trying to hide the pride in his voice.

"She's very focused," Charles noted, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "Maybe a little too focused."

"She's serious about this," Lando agreed. "I mean, look at her. That level of dedication at two years old? Insane."

Yn, meanwhile, was entirely unbothered by the growing audience. She tightened her grip on the wheel, her lips pressed into a little pout of concentration as she maneuvered her car in circles around the pit lane. To her, this was the most important thing in the world.

Oscar crouched down again when she rolled back toward him. "You're doing amazing, baby," he said softly. "You like your car?"

Yn beamed up at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I love it!"

Lando clapped his hands together. "Alright, Oscar. When are you signing her to McLaren?"

Oscar chuckled, scooping Yn up as she reached her arms out for him. "Give her a few more years," he teased, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "She'll be ready in no time."

Yn snuggled against his chest, sighing contentedly. "I wanna drive like you always, Daddy."

His heart melted right there on the pit lane. "And you will, sweetheart. One day, you will."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hope you guys enjoyed this! My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[motomamita]

bestfriend!könig × female!reader

warnings: +18, smut, emotional manipulation, sex!

imagine being the only person who showed up to könig's birthday party.

it was just you and him, in his house, with a lot of drinks and food that he himself had bought to celebrate. the sound of the clock on the ceiling seemed to stun you and he remained dejected, with a half-drunk can of beer.

you knew that könig had invited more people, people who had pretended to be his friends throughout the semester to humiliate him on such an important day for him. you could see on his face how much he regretted having trusted them, and at the same time how grateful he was that at least you, his best friend, had shown up.

"come on kö, don't feel bad. we can have fun just the same, just us!"

apparently you were naive enough not to notice how weird könig was in general. he hardly talked to anyone, and when he did, he would make comments that were out of place and a bit offensive to others. but you couldn't blame him no matter how hard you tried and ignored your friends' warnings about him.

"what a shitty birthday.."

he murmured as you lit the candles on his birthday cake that you had baked especially for him.

"don't say that, come on, make a wish."

you moved his cake closer to him, letting the candlelight illuminate his masculine, scarred face and cold gaze.

"i don't think my wish will ever come true."

"what? tell me, maybe i can help you!"

upon hearing you, könig did not hesitate to tell you: he wanted to lose his damn virginity with you.

you hesitated for a few seconds, not sure what you had just heard. his eyes filled with tears that he didn’t try to hide and he looked into your eyes begging you to help him make his wish come true. what else could you do? his day was already disappointing enough without you leaving him alone with a huge erection in his pants. you had to help him.

in a matter of seconds you were lying on the table, your skirt pulled up to your waist and könig on top of you fucking you clumsily. his cock entered you roughly and without rhythm, in a very inexperienced way. some strands of his hair fell on your face and his eyes never stopped looking at you.

"you're the best friend any man could wish to have... your pussy feels so good."

könig clumsily grabbed your breasts over your clothes and pinched your nipples. you moaned in pain but didn't try to run away or push him away, you wanted his birthday to end well.

it only took a couple of deep, slow thrusts for könig to end up inside you, moaning your name and kissing your mouth and face. you hugged him by the shoulders, pulling him towards you and letting him sob with pleasure on your neck.

"this is the best birthday of my entire life."

[geminiwritten]

soulmate ; bob reynolds

fandom: marvel

pairing: bob x reader

summary: you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé (soulmate au)

notes: okay, listen, this was never supposed to see the light of day... this was what i would write between other fics when i felt blocked or wanted to be dramatic and wax lyrical about loving lewis pullman... so basically, this is me not-so-subtly saying i would abandon everything i know and love for him... please be kind! this one feels weirdly personal because it's so emo??? but regardless, i hope you enjoy and would love, love, love to hear what you think! (p.s. happy birthday to me!)

warnings: swearing, angst, mention of slight age gap (with bucky), heartbreak (lots), crying, fainting, the void (almost), alcohol consumption, acotar reference (if you squint), so many metaphors, nudity, and horniness very slightly bordering on smut (yes, i still managed to make it horny) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!

word count: 14951

Mates. 

It’s not something you hear about often—and it happens even less. 

Centuries ago, it was something creatures hungered for. Something that drove them. Compelled them to find their one true mate and, well… mate. 

But that was long ago. Now, it’s rare. Fabled. Forgotten by most. Even fewer still are lucky enough to have one. 

There are other words for it now—soulmate, twin flame, kindred spirit, true love. Softened, romanticised. Colloquial terms thrown around like confetti at a wedding. Used to describe someone you choose to love. Not someone you’re bound to by something older than time. 

Because mates? Real mates? They aren’t chosen. They’re fated. Selected by some ancient magic. A gift from the gods—or whatever existed before gods. Two souls born within the same lifetime, tethered by something invisible and unbreakable. And if they meet? 

Well... no one really knows what happens then. 

You see, with a world this big, teetering on the edge of collapse, stuffed to the brim with people all trying to survive—who has time to go chasing destiny? Who’s got the energy to scour the globe in hopes of locking eyes with some cosmic stranger? 

Sure, the sex would probably be mind-blowing. But sex can be plenty good without a soul-deep connection plucking the strings of your orgasm. 

Which is exactly why no one really cares about mates anymore. Most people don’t even believe they exist. And those who do? They’re usually just lonely—reaching for hope, not magic. 

And you? Well, you’re more than happy in the arms of your sex god super soldier fiancé. 

Or at least… you were. 

- 

“Do we have to?” Bucky sighs, his face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble grazing your skin. 

You giggle and squirm beneath the weight of his body—his very naked body. 

“Come on,” you say, half-heartedly shoving at his chest. “We’re already going to be late. Besides, you can’t possibly be ready to go again.” 

He lifts his head, blue eyes glittering with mischief. “Sure about that, doll?” 

He shifts, and you feel it—thick and heavy, pressing insistently against your hipbone. 

Your eyes go wide, heat pooling between your thighs. “Aren’t you supposed to be like... over a hundred?” 

He chuckles, sliding down a little, clearly aiming for your breasts. 

“Technically, yes. Biologically, no.” 

You hum, enjoying the rasp of his beard as it brushes against your skin. “Still,” you tease, “even biologically, you’re almost an old man.” 

His head snaps up, eyes wide in mock offense. “Excuse me?” 

You giggle again, trying to wriggle free. As much as you’d love to stay tangled up with him all morning, you really don’t want to be late—again—and keep his teammates waiting. They’re not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type, but not in a bad way. More like the sarcastic, sharp-eyed, chaos crew who’d never let you live it down if you showed up looking freshly ravished. And honestly? You’re not in the mood to be roasted before coffee. 

“For that little comment,” Bucky says, shifting to straddle you as the blankets fall away, “I’m cutting you off.” 

You try to look up at his face, but your attention is… elsewhere. More specifically, the part of him that obviously doesn’t agree with this whole cutting you off plan. It’s hard—painfully hard—and staring right at you, begging to be touched. 

You lick your lips, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Cutting me off?” 

He nods, sliding off the bed and taking his gorgeous body with him. “Mhm. You’re cut off. For at least twenty-four hours.” 

You scramble after him, following him into the ensuite like a woman on a mission. “Twenty-four hours?!” 

His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin, but he keeps it together. “Yep.” He turns to you, leveling you with a mock-stern look. “You called me old.” 

You jut your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “It was just a joke.” 

He leans in and kisses your pouty lips. “Well,” he murmurs, “maybe next time you’ll think twice.” 

Then he turns to the shower and cranks on the hot water, leaving you standing there like a sulking child who’s just been denied dessert. 

As the two of you shower and dress in companionable silence, a twinge of guilt starts to settle in your chest. Maybe you shouldn’t have made that crack about his age. 

He didn’t seem offended—but still. The age gap is real. It’s not something either of you acknowledges often, but maybe you should be a little more mindful. He is the older one. The one in the public eye. The one who constantly fields backlash from idiot reporters and politicians, all desperate to dig up something to use against him. 

And now that you’re engaged—engaged—right as he’s stepping into this whole New Avengers thing? The spotlight on him is brighter than ever. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to pick your playful jabs a little more carefully. Just for a while. 

“Hey,” you murmur, lacing your fingers through his as you step into the tower elevator. “Sorry about before.” 

He hits the button for the main floor, then glances at you with a puzzled little frown. “For what, doll?” 

You shrug. “Calling you old.” 

He chuckles—low, rough, and unfairly attractive. “Don’t be sorry. I’m a big boy. I can take a joke.” 

There’s a beat of quiet as the elevator hums around you. Then, he leans in, lips near your ear, breath warm on your skin. 

“I’ll just have to punish you for it later.” 

Anticipation sizzles beneath your skin, adrenaline zipping down your spine before settling between your legs—a place Bucky’s words have a habit of landing. 

Before you can fire back something smart—or filthy—the doors slide open, and you're greeted by the wide, sunlit expanse of the New Avengers common room. 

“Finally!” Yelena calls, her head popping up over the back of the couch. “You’re like… twenty minutes late.” 

“It’s not my fault,” you say quickly, slipping away from Bucky toward the kitchen. “All Barnes.” 

He shoots you a look, lips twitching, then turns back to his teammates, moving toward where most of them are crowded around the living room setup in the centre of the huge space. Everyone is here except their newest specially-abled member—Bob. 

You haven’t met him yet, and honestly, you’re not exactly eager. You know he’s got… issues, to say the least. And with all the other complications this group brings, you’re already close enough to being overwhelmed. How they came to be Earth’s Mightiest Heroes 2.0? You’ll never understand. 

You busy yourself in the kitchen, fixing coffee and some breakfast while Bucky and his team dive into their meeting. You don’t live at the tower—you and Bucky have a small apartment a few blocks away—but you’re more than comfortable here. At first, coming along to all the meetings and mission briefings felt like a drag, but eventually you got to know everyone, and now, it doesn’t bother you so much. 

An hour later, the meeting slips into something more casual. Bucky excuses himself to take a phone call, and Ava disappears—literally—so you take the opportunity to settle onto the couch, half-listening as John and Alexei bicker over what to watch on TV. 

John wins, and you’re stuck watching college sports. 

“I read your book,” Alexei announces, turning to you with a proud smile—his back now to John. 

You tilt your head, frowning. “My book?” 

“Yes, yes.” He slings an arm over the back of the lounge, turning fully toward you. “The one you told me to read.” 

You stare at him, confused, for a beat longer than you’d like—until realisation dawns, followed swiftly by mortification. 

“Oh my God, no,” you mutter, face burning. “No, Alexei, you didn’t—” 

“The one about the faeries,” he says proudly. “It is a little naughty, but it is good.” 

“You!” Yelena gasps from across the room. “You’re the one who told him to read those books!” 

You sink deeper into the plush couch, hands flying up in surrender. “No, I swear—I didn’t tell him to! He asked what I was reading, and I... I told him. That’s it. I never told him to read them!” 

John groans. “He hasn’t shut up about those porn books all week.” 

From the kitchen, Bucky turns sharply, halfway through his phone call. His eyes land on you—wide with amusement, brows lifted in mock surprise, the phone still pressed to his ear. 

“They’re not all naughty,” Alexei says with a small frown—and you’re not sure if he’s defending himself or you. “There is fighting and magic too. They are good books.” 

You can’t help but let a quiet giggle slip past your lips. “Which one are you up to?” 

His eyes sparkle with excitement. “I just finished the second book.” 

You sit up and lean toward him, ignoring the dirty looks from Yelena and John. “Oh my God, did you love it? The second one is my favourite.” 

Alexei nods eagerly. “I loved it. They are perfect together. Much better than the blond man.” 

“Much better,” you agree with another soft laugh. 

“I have question, though,” he says, his smile faltering into a curious frown. “How can they be mates if they are born hundreds of years apart?” 

Yelena scoffs. “The book has soulmates too?” 

You turn to her with a playful smile. “They’re mates, not soulmates. Like, fated mates. It’s not as lame as it sounds.” 

“It sounds very lame,” she deadpans. 

“It is not lame,” Alexei argues. “It is beautiful.” 

Yelena rolls her eyes and John lets out a disbelieving laugh, still focused on the TV. 

“You know,” you say slowly, leaning forward to catch John’s eye on the other side of Alexei, “some people actually believe in mates. Like real soulmates.” 

“Yeah—desperate people,” John quips. 

You roll your eyes. “No—I mean, yeah, but not just lonely people. Some still think fated mates are real. Rare, but real. Like some kind of ancient, sleeping magic. Most people won’t find theirs, because the world is too crowded now. But centuries ago, it used to matter. In some cultures, it still does.” 

Yelena snorts. “Still sounds lame.” 

You’re just about to respond when Ava phases in beside you, startling you. 

“It’s true,” she says plainly. “I’ve heard stories.” 

You ignore your spiked pulse and tilt your head. “You have?” 

She nods. “Yeah. You know, when I was stuck in a lab for most of my childhood. I read a lot. Learned a lot. There are a few different versions, but some cultures still believe in real mates.” 

Yelena frowns, but leans in—clearly intrigued. “This is ridiculous. There is no way every person has someone they are destined to be with. If that were true, we’d know more about it.” 

“Not everyone has one,” you say. “It’s actually pretty rare.” 

Ava raises a sceptical brow. “So, you believe in mates?” 

You shrug, your cheeks warming with a touch of embarrassment. “I don’t know.” 

“How do you know so much about it?” Yelena asks, a small smirk tugging at her lips. 

You press your lips together, buying a moment to decide whether or not to tell them your story. But really—why not? It’s not like you have anything to hide. Mate or not, you’re happy with Bucky. And you know you will be for the rest of your life. 

“Okay,” you begin, leaning forward, elbows resting on your knees. “A few years ago, I was at this gala—something for work—and this woman approached me…” 

- Five Years Ago - 

You tip the champagne flute to your lips, emptying it in one gulp. 

“Wow,” you mutter to yourself. “These fancy events are stingy with the refreshments.” 

An older couple nearby gives you a dirty look, but you ignore it and wander off in search of another waiter with another tray of tiny, unsatisfying champagne flutes. 

“Excuse me?” 

A woman steps into your path before you can reach the next tray. She’s older, with a lined face and silver-grey hair that falls almost to her hips. Her floral dress flows a little too gracefully for a ballroom with no breeze, and the many pieces of jewellery adorning her neck and arms clink softly as she moves. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says with a small, serene smile. “But I had to speak to you.” 

You tear your eyes away from the waiter retreating with your drink. 

“That’s okay,” you reply, turning to meet her gaze—only to falter when you notice her eyes. They’re not hazel or green or brown. They’re gold. Entirely gold. 

“Sorry, I—uh, I don’t think we’ve met?” 

You offer your hand, which she takes gently, though her eyes never leave your face. They scan your features like she’s searching for something—something buried. Something you’re not sure is even there. 

“No, we haven’t,” she says, stepping a little closer. It’s invasive, but her strange energy keeps you frozen in place. “I don’t normally do this. I usually keep my… visions to myself.” 

Oh, God. She’s a fucking loon. 

You let out a soft, awkward laugh. “Visions?” 

She nods. “I’m not crazy.” 

Sure, lady. 

“My family is gifted—well, some of us are,” she continues. “I prefer to keep to myself, but when I saw you, I had to say something.” 

You frown. “Say what?” 

“You have the mark.” 

“The… mark?” 

“Yes,” she says, and you realize she’s still holding your hand as she gently places her other over it. “In your fate lines.” 

Your eyes dart around the room. Why is no one noticing this weird little encounter? 

You glance back at her—into those strange gold eyes. “My what, now?” 

Her brows pull together slightly. “You don’t believe in fate?” 

“I believe in free will.” 

She smiles. “The two aren’t so different. Fate offers the door. Free will decides whether you open it.” 

“Okay...” you murmur. “So I’m marked?” 

“You have the mark,” she corrects. “The mark of a mate. Your other half. The dark to your light. You’ll know him when you feel the pull. It won’t be gentle—it never is, for ones like you.” 

Your brow creases. “Ones like me?” 

She studies you again—longer this time. Her smile is faint, but her eyes are deep, unblinking. She’s not looking at you. She’s looking through you. Still searching for something beneath your skin. 

“You’re not ordinary,” she says softly. “Neither is he—at least, he won’t be when you meet. That’s why it matters. You two were made for something bigger. Together, you’ll either shift the course of something… or break it entirely.” 

Okay. Definitely time to find that waiter. And take the whole damn tray. 

She leans closer, her voice a whisper now—but somehow heavier. “This isn’t about belief. It’s about design. You can walk away—fate gives the door, not the hand that turns the knob. But when the moment comes, it won’t feel like a choice. Not to you. Not to him. Because something in the marrow of your bones will know.” 

You swallow hard, the hairs on your neck standing straight. 

She glances around once, then leans in—like she’s sharing a secret. “There will come a time when everything depends on whether you hold onto each other. Or let go. And if you let go…” Her lips press together, almost regretful. “Well. I suppose the universe will just have to adjust. Somehow.” 

And then, like smoke in a breeze, she slips into the crowd—leaving your pulse racing and the taste of stardust on the back of your tongue. 

- Present - 

“Were you on drugs?” Yelena asks—not accusing, just curious. 

You shoot her an unimpressed glare. “No.” 

Of all the faces in the room, Alexei’s is the most excited—his eyes practically sparkling. 

“Did you go after the mysterious woman?” he asks, leaning in. 

You shake your head. “No. I went after the waiter and took his tray.” 

Yelena snorts. “So you were drunk.” 

“I wasn’t drunk,” you argue. “Yet, at least.” 

Ava tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “Did you believe her?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know. It sounds far-fetched, but… look at the last ten years. Super-people, aliens, sorcerers, magic. It’s not that hard to believe in the grand scheme of things.” 

Alexei leans closer, dropping his voice. “Do you believe Barnes is your mate?” 

No—but you’re not saying that out loud. 

“Sure,” you say, your voice just a little too high. “I mean, assuming I believe the woman—which I never said I did—” 

“You do,” Yelena cuts in. “I can see it in your eyes.” 

You shoot her a look. “Whether or not I believe her... I love Bucky. He’s my person. I don’t care if he’s my cosmically assigned soul partner or not. I want him. Only him. End of story.” 

Yelena breaks into a cheesy smile. “Aw, you are so cute. Sappy, and a little gross, but cute.” 

You roll your eyes as she pushes off the lounge and heads toward the kitchen, where Bucky is still muttering into the phone. John’s attention is glued to the TV—you’re not even sure he heard your story. And Ava phases out again, disappearing somewhere into the tower. 

After a moment, Alexei turns to you, voice lowered. “Are you scared?” 

You frown. “Scared of what?” 

“If you meet your mate.” 

You laugh—softly, uneasily—ignoring the sharp twist of anxiety in your chest. “I don’t even know if I believe in that. So why would I be scared?” 

“Because,” he says, glancing toward the kitchen, “you’ll either have to break his heart, or break your own by refusing fate.” 

His words hit harder than they should. For a moment, it’s like your lungs forget how to work—air punched right out of your chest, heart pounding hard and fast against your ribs. 

You’ve never thought about it like that—because you’ve never truly believed the strange woman’s prophecy. You met Bucky nearly a year later, and the thought never crossed your mind. 

Not until now. Not until you had to retell that bizarre encounter out loud. 

And sure, you could keep telling yourself you don’t believe in it. But there’s always that one question that lingers. 

What if? 

What if what she said was real? 

What if Bucky isn’t your mate? 

What if you find him? 

What if she was right—and you can’t stay away? 

What if the choice comes down to breaking Bucky’s heart… or your own? 

- 

“You okay?” Bucky asks, his fingers laced with yours as you walk down the corridor toward the elevator. 

You’d spent the last few hours watching TV with Alexei and John—mostly talking about books—while Bucky worked. You tried to push all the weird questions and swirling doubts out of your mind, but it wasn’t easy with Alexei’s constant interrogation. 

“Yeah,” you reply quietly. “Just tired.” 

He squeezes your hand. “You sure?” 

You glance up and meet his baby blues—so sincere it makes guilt creep up your spine. You can’t just tell him you’re scared he’s not your person... That would break his heart. And for what? Some cryptic message from a strange woman about a mark you’ve never even seen? Or believed in. 

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, his eyes snapping away from yours. 

You frown and follow his gaze, eyes widening when you see the end of the hallway swallowed in black. 

“Um,” you lean into him, “what the fuck?” 

“It’s Bob,” he says, slowly backing away. “He’s having a nightmare.” 

You glance up at your fiancé. “He’s still sleeping?” 

“Yeah, he has trouble actually sleeping,” Bucky replies. “That’s why he’s in his room all the time. He’s trying to sleep, and then whenever he does... it’s this shit. I thought I had nightmares, but this kid…” 

Your heart thuds heavy in your chest—but not fast. Not panicked. You should be panicked. But you feel calm. Strangely calm. Even as the darkness creeps across the floor and walls, inching toward you as you back away. 

“What happens if we touch it?” you ask, hesitating mid-step. 

Bucky tugs your hand, urging you to keep moving. “Nothing good.” 

Your head tilts as you watch the inky mass crawl, swallowing everything in its path. Your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—but you know better. 

“Is it cold?” you ask, eyes still fixed on the darkness. 

Bucky frowns. “What?” 

“The darkness,” you say, glancing up at him. “Is it cold? It doesn’t seem cold.” 

He stares at you like you’ve just asked if it tastes like chicken. “It doesn’t really... feel like anything,” he says, eyes darting between you and the growing shadow. “Now, come on. We’ll take the stairs and warn the others.” 

You stop short, frowning. “You’re just going to leave him?” 

He looks at you like you’ve lost your damn mind. “Well, no. We’ll go in if we have to, but it’s usually better to wait it out. He’s getting better at managing it. It usually stops before it spreads too far. So, we try not to interfere unless we need to.” 

“He shouldn’t have to deal with it by himself,” you argue. 

“I know that,” Bucky says, tipping his head slightly as he studies you. “We all know that. And he knows we’re here for him. But we can’t sleep beside him every night—if we do, we get pulled in the second he starts dreaming. He knows we’ll help him if he needs it, but he’s trying to learn how to control it on his own.” 

You feel an ache to run in after him—a man you barely know—to dive into that abyss. But you know it’d be stupid. You’re not like Bucky or the others. Not enhanced. Not particularly special. You probably wouldn’t last a second inside whatever hellscape awaits you in that darkness. 

“Okay,” you mutter, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Let’s go.” 

You backtrack through the tower to the common area and give the others a heads-up. Then, taking the route furthest from Bob’s room, the group filters out. Yelena and Ava decide to hang back and keep watch, while Alexei and John head off in search of lunch. 

You and Bucky say your goodbyes—for the second time today—before heading down the street toward your shared apartment. 

“What was all that, hm?” Bucky asks gently, his voice soft but his eyes sharp with concern. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still want to go back. The darkness hadn’t scared you—it hadn’t even really deterred you. All you could think about was the man trapped inside it—scared and alone. Gifted with powers like a god, but still powerless against his own demons. 

“Nothing,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Just feeling a little extra empathetic today.” 

He studies you a beat longer, but you keep your eyes fixed ahead. After a minute or two, he sighs, letting go of your hand and wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you in close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring something too quiet for you to catch—but you’re pretty sure it’s an I love you. 

Once back at your apartment, you curl up on the couch together and start watching a movie—one you insist Bucky has to see, since he missed out on so many years of excellent pop culture. About an hour in, the pressure in your chest finally starts to lift—the weird heaviness that had been stopping you from telling Bucky what was really wrong. But instead of relief, guilt settles in, and you quickly turn to him. 

“Buck,” you say softly. 

His eyes are on his phone. “Bob’s fine now. Yelena said he woke up and wasn’t even rattled. Said the nightmare was bad, but he found it easier to stop.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s good. I’m glad.” 

He locks his phone and tosses it onto the couch beside him, giving you his full attention. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah—um, about before. I’m sorry for not listening to you. For arguing. It was weird, and I was kind of lost in my own head.” 

He leans forward, takes both of your hands in his, and doesn’t speak—just laces your fingers together and watches how his hands swallow yours. 

You clear your throat, hesitating. “Do you remember when I told you about that strange woman who came up to me at The Vantage Summer Gala a few years ago?” 

His gaze lifts to yours, steady. “Of course. The lady who told you about your soulmate.” 

“Well,” you begin, “I was telling the others about it—Alexei brought up those books I supposedly told him to read, and... I don’t know, we ended up talking about soulmates, or whatever. And after I told them the story, Alexei started asking weird questions. Like if I believed her. If I think you’re my soulmate. And then... what if you’re not? And—and—” Your voice catches, throat thickening. “And w-what if—” 

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around you. “You’re not about to cry over something dumb Alexei said, are you?” 

You let out a watery laugh, your eyes welling as you press your cheek to his shoulder. 

“I knew something was eating at you, doll,” he whispers into your hair, breath warm against your skin. 

You sniffle, blinking fast. “It just feels so stupid.” 

“Nothing’s stupid if it hurts you,” he says firmly. “And you don’t ever have to keep things from me. I don’t care how small it feels—if it’s bothering you, I want to know.” 

“Okay,” you mumble into his shirt. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he sighs, pulling back just enough to look at you, still holding you close. “Don’t ever be sorry for being upset.” 

You swipe the back of your hand beneath your nose. 

“Now listen, okay?” He takes your hands again, holding them tight. “This might not help, but I need to say it.” 

You frown but stay quiet, holding your breath like it might help hold back the tears. 

“I know you’re unsure about what that woman told you,” he starts, “and I don’t know if soulmates are real or if fate really gives a damn about people like us. But I know what I feel when I look at you, and when you look at me.” He pauses, just for a beat. “I love you. And not because the universe says I should. I love you because you’re kind, and sharp, and stubborn as hell. I love the way you get quiet when you’re overthinking, and the way you look at me like I’m someone worth staying for.” 

A few tears slip down your cheeks as he takes a shaky breath. 

“But if one day, you find out there is someone else—if that soulmate thing is real, and you meet him and your whole world shifts—then I won’t hold you back. Even if it kills me, I won’t be the reason you’re not happy.” 

The tears start falling faster. 

“Do I want that? Hell no. I want you. Here. With me. Always. But loving someone means putting them first, even when it hurts. So if it ever comes to that… I’ll let you go. But until then… I’m all in. Every part of me is yours. No marks. No fate. Just choice. And I choose you.” 

His voice wobbles as he finishes, his eyes shining with unshed tears. 

You swallow a sob and take a deep breath, willing your voice to work. 

“I love you too,” you whisper, a little pitiful after his brilliant speech. 

He grins—and you barely get a second to appreciate it before he’s on you. His lips crash into yours, his hands gripping your body as he presses you back on the couch. The movie is long forgotten as he kisses you like you're the only place he’s ever felt at home. 

You start fumbling with his shirt, trying to undress him, but barely make it far before his phone starts buzzing. 

He groans and pushes up, and you let him go—his line of work is literally life or death. 

“Everything okay?” you ask. 

He nods, tapping out a quick reply before locking his phone again. “Yeah. Just John asking about tomorrow night.” 

“The foundation ball thing?” 

“Yep,” he sighs. “Can’t wait.” 

You lean in until your lips are just inches from his. “Can I come?” 

He frowns. “I thought you didn’t want to?” 

“I didn’t,” you say. “But now I do. I think I need to be there.” 

His expression softens as he leans in to kiss you again, murmuring, “Of course you can come.” 

- 

You feel strange under the glowing lights of the lavishly decorated ballroom. You haven’t even stepped foot in a place like this since your encounter with the fate lady—which isn’t helping that nagging anxiety that hasn’t let up since yesterday. But you’re still here, dressed to the nines and sipping champagne, because you knew you had to be. You just felt it. In your bones. 

“Wow, you clean up nice,” Yelena says, her eyes sparkling as she approaches. 

You’re at a high table near the back of the room, conveniently close to the bar. 

“And excellent choice in location,” she adds with a wink. 

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of these kinds of functions unless there’s copious amounts of alcohol involved.” 

“I’m not a fan of much without copious amounts of alcohol,” she says dryly. “But I imagine you’ve got a little PTSD from this kind of thing. Especially after the voodoo lady read your palms.” 

Her tone is teasing, but her words still prick your chest like tiny needles full of panic. 

“Very funny,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll meet a crazy woman tonight who can tell you all about your future.” 

She scoffs. “No thank you. I am perfectly happy keeping that a mystery.” 

You snort softly into your glass and take a generous sip of champagne. 

“I’m pretty sure the only reason Alexei came tonight was in hopes of getting his fortune told,” she says, glancing across the room to where he’s talking to Bucky. “You know he hasn’t shut up about it for the past twenty-four hours? He even asked me to help him use a computer so he could research.” 

“Oh my God,” you giggle. “I’m so sorry.” 

Before either of you can say anything else, Alexei catches your eye and his face splits into a grin. He waves enthusiastically, then quickly excuses himself and begins weaving through the crowd. 

“Oh, great,” Yelena sighs. “He’s coming over here.” 

“You are here!” he exclaims, earning a few curious glances from nearby guests. “I am so excited to see you. We have much to talk about.” 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. “Hey, Alexei. Yelena was just telling me you’ve been doing some research.” 

“Lots of research,” he confirms, setting his beer down on the table. “I know everything about mates. Ask me anything.” 

Ignoring the sting of nerves rushing through your veins, you start to search for a safe question—something that won’t set your anxiety on fire. 

“How do you know if you’ve met them?” Yelena cuts in before you can speak. 

Alexei’s eyes light up. “Ah, good question. It is obvious. You cannot deny it once you meet them. It feels like gravity is gone, and they become your only tether to the earth. You don’t need oxygen. You don’t need water. You just need them.” He smiles proudly and nods at both of you. “Now ask me what happens when you touch them.” 

You frown, curiosity getting the better of you. “What’s the difference? Between simply meeting them and touching them?” 

“There is all the difference,” he says, frowning like you’ve just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “You see them, and yes, you know—but you still have choice. When you touch them, you cannot change mind. You can try, but it is too painful.” 

You tilt your head. “Like... it actually hurts? Or it’s just emotionally difficult?” 

“It physically hurts,” Yelena answers, and your gaze snaps to her. “You’ve acknowledged the connection, so you can’t go back to being without them. It feels like you’re being torn apart the further you try to get away.” 

You raise your brows, surprised by her sudden expertise. 

“What?” she snaps. “I was helping him use the computer, okay?” 

You press your lips together to stifle a laugh and turn back to Alexei. “Okay, so what happens if you don’t like your mate?” 

He scoffs, throwing his head back dramatically. “It is not possible. These two people are designed to be together, from birth. It is deeper than souls or magic. You cannot even describe it. There is no way two beings created for each other could possibly dislike one another.” 

“Okay...” you say softly, “but what if you deny it?” 

“Deny it?” he echoes. “You cannot—because you will not want to. The second you find them, you will ache for them in ways you cannot explain. No one else will ever fit. No one else will ever satisfy. You will crave them in your blood, in your breath. Denying it would be like trying to unmake the sky.” 

His words knock the breath out of you for the second time in twenty-four hours. You nearly stumble back at their weight—at the way they land straight in your chest. 

“This part is interesting too,” Alexei continues, ignoring the way your face has paled. “Before you meet them, you feel it.” 

John appears beside you, setting his drink down on the table and eyeing Alexei with a frown. “What do you mean, feel it?” 

“When you are close to meeting them, everything shifts,” he says. “Just a little. Sometimes it feels like anxiety. Sometimes it feels like peace. But always, it feels like something is happening—something inevitable. You start going places without knowing why, saying yes to things you would normally refuse. There is a pull in your gut, something telling you where to go. Like the universe is nudging you to where you are supposed to be.” 

The words hang in the air, humming like static before a storm—until Yelena’s voice slices through the tension. 

“Walker,” she snaps, frowning. “Where the hell is Bob?” 

John blinks, taken aback. “I don’t know. I thought Ava was with him.” 

You glance between the two blondes, blinking slowly. “Wait—Bob is here?” 

“Yes,” Yelena says, clearly irritated. “He asked to come. Said he needed to be here—I don’t know. I felt bad saying no, he never leaves the tower.” 

John exhales sharply. “I’ll go find him.” 

Yelena turns to Alexei. “Can you go track down Ava? Let us know if she’s with him.” 

“I’ll tell Bucky,” you say quickly, already moving as you slip away from the table and into the crowd. 

You move through the crowd with steady purpose, weaving between glittering gowns and polished tuxedos, eyes scanning for that familiar face. 

Bucky. You’re looking for Bucky. 

The ballroom thrums behind you—laughter, clinking glasses, the low swell of music—but it all begins to blur. Your heartbeat picks up, not with panic, but with something else. Something you can’t name. A shift beneath your skin. 

You slip through a side door, into a wide corridor draped in golden light. The hush is immediate, swallowing the noise of the party like a dream closing over waking thought. The silence buzzes in your ears, and the air feels... heavier. Thicker. Like the world had been holding its breath, and you just stepped into the exhale. 

You walk slowly, drawn forward without thought. Each step echoes, like it belongs to someone else. 

And then—you see him. 

At the far end of the hallway, half-turned as if he wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay, stands a man. Tall. Tousled brown curls. Shoulders hunched just slightly in a way that says he doesn’t quite know how to fit inside his own skin. His head lifts as if sensing you, like a string inside him just snapped taut. 

His eyes meet yours. 

It’s not a lightning bolt. It’s not an explosion. It’s worse—or better. It’s everything. The moment stretches, distorts. A pressure builds in your chest, like gravity has decided to anchor you only to him. 

You can’t breathe. 

The world doesn’t blur—it sharpens. Every detail. The rise of his chest as he inhales, the exact shade of his deep blue eyes, the way his fingers twitch like they know something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, like a long-lost note finally striking true. 

Your mouth parts, but there’s nothing to say. 

He takes a step forward, unsure. Almost afraid. 

And you realise—you weren’t searching for Bucky. Not really. 

You were being led to him. 

“D-Do I know you?” His voice carries down the corridor—low, deep, wrapping around you like silk and smoke. 

“No,” you whisper, even as every part of you screams yes. 

He’s still a few feet away, and you’re not even sure he heard you—but his head tilts, just slightly, like he did. Then he takes a step. And another. 

Drawn forward like the tide answering the moon. 

His movements are slow, deliberate—like he’s caught in the pull of something he doesn’t understand, only knows he has to follow. Eyes locked to yours, wide and dark, shimmering with a quiet awe you can’t name. 

He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you—close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Close enough to forget how to breathe. But you don’t need to breathe. Not now. Not when he’s here. 

He is your oxygen. Your gravity. 

He is everything you will ever need. 

Everything you want. 

He is everything. 

“Hey—there you are.” The voice crashes into you like a wave shattering glass. 

You jolt, snapping your head toward Bucky as he rounds the corner, a sheepish grin on his face, completely unaware of the world he’s just torn apart. 

“Bucky,” you mutter, as if reminding yourself of his name. 

Bucky frowns, curiosity sharpening his gaze as it flicks between you and the man beside you. “Bob?” 

You whip back to Bob, eyes widening at his outstretched hand—fingertips hovering just a breath from your arm. 

You flinch as if burned, stepping back before he can touch you—and his eyes snap up, darkening with something raw and wounded. The crack in your chest widens, because you feel it too. The sting of refusal. The ache of distance. The desperate, inexplicable need to feel his skin against yours—a need neither of you understands, but both feel deep in your bones. 

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice is tight as his eyes settle on you. 

You meet his gaze, a sharp pang of guilt slicing through your chest—because the face you love isn’t the one your heart seeks anymore. Your eyes? They’re drawn only to Bob. To memorise every line, to trace every curve. To know him more intimately than your own reflection, more deeply than the shadows behind your closed eyelids. 

“I was—I, uh—looking for you,” you say, forcing your gaze to stay with him. 

His posture stiffens, guarded—something you know all too well after years together. His brow furrows as his sharp eyes dart between you and Bob. He can sense it—whatever it is. The shift in gravity, the subtle movement beneath the earth. He knows there’s something more, but he doesn’t know what. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. 

He fixes his gaze on you. “Are you okay?” 

You nod slowly, then glance at Bob—you can’t help yourself—and it feels like surfacing from deep underwater, finally able to breathe. “Bob,” you whisper. 

Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Of course. You two haven’t met yet.” 

He wraps an arm around your waist and Bob’s eyes flare with heat—anger. He moves as if to shove Bucky away, but you find his gaze and silently plead for restraint. 

You swear his eyes darken a shade, but he holds back. Jaw clenched, shoulders rigid—tense—but no longer coiled to strike.  

“Bob,” Bucky says, eyes flickering between the two of you—clearly not missing the silent exchange or the way Bob’s body tensed. “This is my fiancé.” 

Time stops—or at least, it feels that way. Bob’s eyes don’t leave yours, that same wounded look returning—only now, it’s splintered into something far more devastating. Like he’d caught a glimpse of heaven—just for a moment—before being ripped from the sky and cast down. Down through the clouds, through the earth, all the way into fire. 

He was so close. So close to having everything. To having you. 

Now all that’s left is ash in his mouth, and a slow, burning fury aimed at the man standing beside you. A man he calls a friend. A teammate. 

“I need to go,” you whisper. “I—I feel sick.” 

Bucky’s arm tightens protectively around you. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

You shake your head, eyes stinging. “I need to leave. Can we go—” your voice breaks as you glance up at him, wide-eyed and pleading, “—please.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll take you home, doll.” Then he turns to Bob. “Yelena’s looking for you. Come on.” 

Bucky guides you back through the same door you’d slipped through earlier, back into the chaos of the ballroom. The music, the chatter, the laughter—it all feels like it’s coming from underwater. The world keeps spinning, blissfully unaware that your axis has tilted. 

A few guests nod or greet Bucky as he passes, but he doesn’t stop. He can feel the way you’re swaying beside him, the way your weight leans harder against him with every step. He’s moving fast now. He knows something’s wrong. 

So do you. 

Your vision swims. The lights blur into streaks of gold and silver, voices folding into one another like crashing waves. 

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Yelena. Then Alexei. Then—Bob. 

Bob. 

You spot him behind Yelena, eyes wide and wounded, standing like a ghost at the edge of your unravelling world. 

He’s the only thing that makes sense in the chaos. 

The only thing that’s clear. 

And all you want to do is reach for him. 

But you can’t. 

Not here. Not now. 

Not ever. 

Because you love Bucky. 

Because you chose Bucky. 

“Bucky,” you murmur, barely audible, “Need t’ go…” 

His arm tightens again. “I’ve got you.” 

“Is she okay?” Yelena’s voice cuts through the noise. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers, urgency creeping into his tone. “I need to get her out of here—now.” 

You try to blink, but your eyes don’t open again. 

The music and chatter twist into a storm—deafening, chaotic, pounding against your skull. 

You try to move, to breathe, to see—but nothing works. 

Your eyelids are too heavy. 

Your lungs feel like they’re filling with water. 

Your chest is caving in under the weight of it. 

Everything is too heavy. Too loud. Too much. 

Then— 

The world cuts out. 

Everything stops. 

- 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Yelena’s voice is muffled, but still clear. 

“Keep it down,” Bucky hisses, his voice low—laced with urgency and… grief.  

“I came here to ask if you knew what happened to Bob last night, because he’s been acting weirder than usual,” Yelena snaps, no softer than before. “But I did not come here for bullshit—I get enough of that from Alexei.” 

Bucky exhales a long, tired breath. “Maybe we need to talk to Alexei.” 

“Why the hell would we do that?” Yelena demands. “Whatever he’s been on about these past few days isn’t real. He’s off with the fairies—literally. Do not tell me you actually believe in all that stupid soulmate crap.” 

There’s a pause. A thick, heavy silence as you try to peel your eyelids open. But you can’t. They’re too heavy. 

“You didn’t see what I saw, Yelena,” Bucky says, voice strained. “The way they looked at each other... it felt—I don’t know. Like something cracked open. They were just standing there, but it was like all the air got sucked out of the room. I could feel it—the whole world shifting.” 

“You sound like Alexei,” Yelena replies, deadpan. “So you’re either on drugs, hit your head, or you’re trying to be funny.” 

“Why would I joke about the woman I love being inextricably bound to another man?” 

Your eyes snap open. Heat licks up your spine and burns behind your eyes as your vision adjusts to the harsh morning sun. 

“Okay. So, drugs. Or you bumped your head,” Yelena says, voice carrying through your bedroom door. 

“Yelena,” Bucky pleads, voice cracking. “Please. I don’t know what happened, but I know something did. I need your help.” 

She sighs. “Okay, fine. But you asked for this.” There’s a pause before she adds, “I’ll call Alexei.” 

Your mouth is dry and your whole body aches with stiffness as you sit up, rubbing at your burning eyes. The sun through the window is too low and too bright for it to be your usual wake-up time—so you know you’ve overslept. 

You throw back the duvet and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, curling your toes into the plush carpet you and Bucky picked out together. You’d chosen it the second you stepped into the flooring store. The saleswoman warned you off it—something about loose threads and visible tread marks—but it was just so unbelievably soft, you couldn’t imagine choosing anything else. 

The day it was installed, you and Bucky spent the first fifteen minutes making carpet angels, laughing like idiots, and revelling in the feel of it beneath your skin. Then you spent the next hour defiling the brand-new flooring. There’s still a stain you never managed to get out—thankfully hidden beneath the bed. 

Your stomach twists with nausea, bile climbing your throat until you gag. You scramble to your feet and rush into the ensuite, gripping the basin for dear life as you cough up nothing but stomach acid. 

Tears well up, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks before your mind can even catch up. 

You feel wrecked. Totally and utterly ruined. Chewed up and spat out by the universe. 

You don’t understand anything. It’s like you’ve been dropped into the centre of the labyrinth without a torch. But there’s a rope inside your gut—tugging, steady and sure—pulling you in a direction that promises escape. Only, it’s not leading you toward where you should be going. Not to Bucky. 

No, the rope is dragging you toward someone else. Your mate. The man from last night. Bob. The only thing your body seems to crave. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, letting your heavy eyelids fall shut as you slowly straighten. 

You avoid your reflection in the mirror as you strip off and step into the shower. You can’t look at yourself right now. You’re not just confused—you’re scared. Something inside you has changed, irrevocably. And you know that the moment you admit it, you’ll lose the power to stop it. 

Once you’re showered and slightly less of a wreck, you wrap yourself in a comfortable pair of sweats and an old hoodie—one you haven’t worn in a while, since you usually prefer to steal Bucky’s. But not today. You tried to put on one of his sweaters, but the smell made you gag. And then you started crying again. Because yesterday, his scent was one of the most comforting things in the world to you. But not anymore. 

Now, all you can think about is Bob—where he is, what he’s doing. And you know he’s thinking about you too. You can feel it. 

After another few minutes of tears, you dry your cheeks and take a deep breath before stepping out of the bedroom and padding down the hall. When you reach the lounge room, the low chatter dies instantly, and three pairs of eyes turn to you—wide and full of concern. 

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, brows drawn tight. “How are you feeling?” 

“Great,” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze. 

“You do not look great,” Alexei says flatly. 

Yelena rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Alexei. She knows.” 

You curl up on the far end of the three-seater lounge, putting as much distance as possible between you and Yelena. Bucky is on the two-seater, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and Alexei is perched on one of the dining room chairs with his back to the TV. 

It’s on, but the volume is muted. 

“So,” your eyes flick toward Yelena, “what’s all this about?” 

She sighs, her gaze darting to Bucky before settling back on you. “I came over to ask Barnes if he knew what happened to Bob last night, because he was acting strange—stranger than usual. But instead, I get told a bunch of bullshit about this ridiculous soulmates thing that Alexei has been going on about. And now I’m being forced to entertain the idea that it might be real. So... explain.” 

You frown. “Explain what?” 

“Whatever happened with you and Bob last night,” she says, waving a hand like the answer should be obvious. 

You blink a few times, brows pulling tighter as you glance down. The room thickens with silence, tension rising in the air. The only sound is Alexei’s heavy breathing. 

“What do you mean... he was acting strange?” you ask softly. 

Yelena sighs again, tipping her head as if searching for the right words. “He was... weirdly calm. And not the kind of quiet, anxiety-ridden, dissociative ‘calm’ he usually is. He was actually peaceful. It was kind of alarming. So Ava stayed up all night to keep watch. We thought it might be the ‘calm before the storm’—you know, before one of his other personalities came out to play—but... nothing. He went to bed and slept. No noise, no darkness. Ava even phased into his room to check he was still there. And he was—sleeping peacefully.” She pauses. “He was... talking, though. Kept saying your name.” 

You swallow—hard. “My name?” 

She nods. 

“Okay,” you mutter. “That doesn’t really mean... anything.” You glance at Alexei, like he might save you. “Right?” 

“Doll,” Bucky says softly, voice tight, eyes still locked on the floor. “You were sayin’ his name all night too.” 

You choke on nothing. Your chest tightens, lungs aching, heart leaping into an erratic rhythm. 

“Alexei,” Yelena says sharply, turning toward her father. “Assuming this ridiculousness is real—how do we know for sure?” 

Alexei raises his brows, eyes fixed on you. “She knows. And so does Bob. There is no magical way of asking the universe. They just know.” 

Yelena’s head snaps back to you, her eyes wide, expectant. “So?” 

A few silent tears slip down your cheeks, and you blink quickly, trying to keep the whole dam from breaking. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, rearing back slightly. “I’m sorry.” 

You let out a weak, watery laugh. “Why are you sorry?” 

She shrugs. “For being harsh, I guess? I don’t know. I’m just... confused. It’s hard to believe any of this is real, but—” 

“Why else would it affect them so much?” Alexei cuts in, gesturing toward you. “Whether or not you believe it, you cannot deny something has happened. Look at her. You think this is what happens when she simply meets someone new? Of course not—that would be crazy.” 

“Couldn’t it be something else?” Yelena presses, brows knit. “Like, maybe Bob’s powers just—” 

“You said it yourself,” Bucky interrupts, “he’s been better lately—especially last night. You really think that’s a coincidence?” 

“Did not the crazy lady say it to you?” Alexei asks, eyes locking on you. “That you and your mate were something special?” 

You nod slowly, sniffing and wiping the wetness from your cheeks. A beat of silence stretches between the four of you as you try to compose yourself, pressing down the guilt and that strange new sensation pulling you toward your mate. 

“So... what do we do?” you ask, your voice hoarse as it slices through the quiet. “How do we stop it?” 

“Stop it?” Alexei echoes. “You do not stop it. It’s not possible.” 

Your bottom lip quivers. “But Bucky—” 

“This isn’t about me,” Bucky says, eyes dark as he finally looks up. “If Bob could control himself after just meeting her, then this could be—this could help him control his powers. He might be able to use them without the other two showing up.” 

You frown, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he turns to Yelena. “She could help him. This could help the whole the team.” 

Frustration bubbles beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire through your veins and making your heart pound. “This isn’t about the team, Bucky,” you snap. “This is about you and me.” 

Nausea swirls low in your gut, your body physically rebelling at your own words—this attempt to reject your mate. Because you don’t want to. Not really. But you know you should. You chose Bucky. And you’re going to stick with that. 

Even if it kills you. 

“Barnes...” Yelena says softly. “I’m not sure if—” 

“This isn’t about me!” he exclaims, turning toward her sharply, his expression stormy. “Not anymore.” 

You watch him with wide, watery eyes. “Bucky. Please. I don’t—I don’t want this... I don’t—” Your voice catches, breath halting as you fight for the words. “I don’t want... him.” It burns to say it, but you know it’s what Bucky needs to hear. “I want you. I choose you.” 

His face softens, blue eyes turning almost cerulean—the way they do when he’s close to tears. 

You turn to Alexei. “Couldn’t I just... help Bob? Be there for him to help control his powers and—and still be with Bucky?” 

Alexei chuckles—low and soft, full of quiet contrition. “You could try. But it would be difficult... being so close to him, wanting him in a way you cannot explain, and holding yourself back. Not to mention the physical and emotional pain you would put him through.” 

“So,” Yelena pipes up, “this could make Bob worse?” 

Alexei shrugs. “Theoretically, yes.” 

“Can’t we just try it?” you ask, your voice cracking halfway through as more tears spill down your cheeks. 

Yelena scoots closer and gently places her hand on your knee. She’s not entirely sure what to do—your body language is still guarded—but you offer her a soft smile as her thumb begins to trace small, calming circles. 

“We can try it,” she says quietly. 

Bucky nods, watching you with a heavy expression and the faintest spark of hope behind his eyes. “It’s worth a shot.” 

Alexei leans forward, his eyes crinkled and mouth pulling into an awkward grimace. “Well... there is one more thing.” 

You all turn toward him, frowning. 

“Do you remember what I said last night? About... it being different when you touch?” 

You nod slowly. 

“If you want to try just being his friend, then you cannot touch him,” he says. “Not at all. And you will want to—badly. But you cannot.” 

Yelena lifts a brow. “Why?” 

There’s a pause—an awkward silence while Alexei searches for the right words. 

“You will not be able to... resist, as you say. When you first see him, it is all spiritual. Like fate. An invisible string pulling you together, but...” he hesitates, brow furrowed. “When you touch, it is more... physical.” 

You suck in a sharp breath. “Physical?” 

“Yes.” He nods. “Like... sexual. You will not be able to—” 

“No, no,” Yelena cuts in, eyes wide as they flick toward Bucky. “We do not need to unpack this. She just won’t touch him.” She looks at you pointedly. “Right?” 

You nod. “Exactly.” 

Never mind that your fingertips are already burning. That your whole body is buzzing, restless with the ache to be near Bob again. The idea of his skin against yours sparks like a live wire and makes every nerve ending flare to life. You feel lit up—like something dormant inside you has snapped awake. Like a part of you was missing, and now that you’ve found it—felt it—you can’t breathe without it. 

Yeah... this is going to be fine. 

- 

The day has been long. Maybe the longest you’ve ever lived through. 

You tried to read. You tried watching TV. You even went for a run—which turned into a walk, which turned into a slow lap around the block before you forced yourself back inside. Because all you really wanted to do was find Bob. Go to him. Be near him. 

It’s strange. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You know him—somehow. Like he already belongs to you, and you to him, even though you’ve only met once. Barely exchanged a handful of words. 

Your whole body aches for him in a way you don’t understand. You feel like you’re fading without him, like staying away too long might cause you to unravel entirely. The idea of never seeing him again makes your stomach churn. 

But you can’t let it show. You have to remember you chose Bucky. He’s your person—not this stranger with eyes that feel like home. You gave your word. You said yes. 

So you’re going to marry Bucky. 

Even if it’s not what you want anymore. 

Even if he’s not what you want anymore. 

“You sure you’re feeling better?” Bucky asks, stopping at the door to the bathroom. 

You’ve been standing in a towel, staring at your reflection for at least five minutes now, trying to will yourself into being stronger. To shake this feeling. To silence the strange, restless hum beneath your skin—like stardust catching fire. Like gravity itself has shifted, bending around you, pulling your soul toward Bob’s with a force so fierce it almost hurts. 

You clear your throat. “Much better, I promise.” 

He gives you a small smile—weak, but still there. 

There’s a beat of silence. A stretch of unfamiliar energy between you, tense and fraying at the edges. As if the universe itself is rejecting the bond you once believed was written in the stars. 

But the stars had nothing to do with you and Bucky. Not really. 

Now you know what it truly feels like when the stars choose. When they bind one soul to another. 

“I love you,” he says softly, his voice hoarse. “Regardless of everything. Whatever you choose—I love you. I always will.” 

Your eyes fill with tears—easily, instantly. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I wish I could—” 

“Don’t,” he cuts in, nearly choking on the word. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” 

“But—” 

“Doll, I’m serious.” He steps forward, hesitating before reaching out with his flesh hand. You take it, and he gently pulls you a step closer. 

“I know what I said before—about the team. That shouldn’t have been what I was worried about. But it was easier, you know? Easier to focus on something practical than to face the truth. Which is… I think I’m going to lose you.” 

You shake your head, tears already spilling. “No, you’re not—” 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, forcing a tight, sad smile. “Maybe it’s meant to happen. Like… literally written in the stars, right? And if being away from him is hurting you, I won’t be the one who makes you stay. That’s the last thing I want.” 

He looks away, jaw working, before he meets your eyes again. “So just… forgive me. If I shut down. If I don’t know how to deal with this. If I can’t always stick around when—if—you choose him.” His voice trembles. “Because it’s going to hurt, doll. More than I probably know how to handle. But I meant what I said—I’ll let you go.” 

He blinks fast, but a few tears escape anyway, carving slow trails across his cheeks. “If that’s what’s right—for you, for him, for fate or the universe or whatever this is—then I won’t fight it.” 

He pauses, breathing deep.  

“But you have to promise me something.” His voice steadies, just a little. “Don’t hurt yourself for me. Don’t hold back. Don’t settle. Don’t lie to yourself just because you made a promise before everything changed. Before you knew what this really was. Can you promise me that?” 

You swallow hard, your breath catching in short, shallow gasps as you try not to scream. All you can do is nod. 

“Good,” he whispers, his fingers brushing the ring on your left hand. 

Then he leans in, eyes fluttering shut as he presses a soft kiss to your damp cheek. 

A sob breaks free from your chest, more tears falling fast as he slowly turns and walks away—leaving you standing there, crying for what feels like the thousandth time today. 

Not because you don’t love him. 

But because you don’t want him. 

And you hate yourself for that. Hate that you’re doing this to him.  

But there’s nothing in you strong enough to stop it. So all you can do now is try not to hurt him more than you already have. Try to make it work. 

Which is exactly why you’re going to the tower tonight. 

To see Bob. To talk to Bob. 

Because this thing—whatever it is—it involves him too. 

And that’s something everyone else seems to have forgotten. 

After drying your eyes—and then your body—you change into a fresh pair of sweats and another old hoodie. You pull on a pair of sneakers, run a brush through your hair, and head out the door. You don’t care about looking good right now. You don’t even care about looking decent. You just want to see Bob. 

The walk to the tower is quiet. Bucky doesn’t try to hold your hand, and you don’t notice until you’re standing outside the looming building—when nerves start to creep in and you suddenly wish you had something to hold on to. 

You glance his way, mouth parting—to ask for his hand, for comfort—but then you feel it. 

That pull. 

It threads through you like a live current, drawing you forward, calling to you like a heartbeat echoing in someone else’s chest. Like the ache of a memory you’ve never lived. 

“You ready?” Bucky asks softly. 

But his voice barely reaches you. It sounds distant, like he’s speaking from another room—or underwater. Muffled beneath the steady thrum of your pulse. 

You nod, eyes fixed ahead as you step through the doors. Into the elevator. 

You wait—still, silent—breath caught in your chest. 

Then the doors open. 

The moment you step into the common room, the air changes. 

Alexei, Yelena, Ava, and John are gathered near the TV, the low hum of a movie playing as they speak in hushed tones—careful, like they’re trying not to break something fragile. But none of them are the first thing you see. 

It’s Bob. 

He’s sitting alone on the far couch, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced loosely as he stares at nothing in particular. Like he’s been waiting in stillness. Like he knew. 

His head lifts before you even take a full step into the room. 

The moment your eyes meet, the rest of the world exhales. Or maybe it holds its breath—you can’t tell. All you know is that everything inside you goes quiet. The noise, the ache, the confusion—it all stills beneath the gravity of him. The pull. 

You don’t move at first. Neither does he. It’s like your souls got there before your bodies could catch up. Like the space between you is still catching fire. 

And then, gently, you walk toward him. Just a few steps. He rises slowly, hands by his sides, eyes locked on yours with a look so open, so raw, it nearly undoes you. 

No one speaks. 

Not until Ava lets out a soft, wide-eyed breath from the couch. “Holy shit.” 

The others glance between you and Bob, exchanging looks, but no one interrupts. No jokes. No commentary. Just the quiet understanding of people who have just witnessed something that feels... bigger. 

You stop in front of him. Close, but not touching. His breath hitches. Yours does too. 

Still, neither of you says a word. 

You don’t need to. 

Because whatever this is—this ancient, aching thing that lives between your ribs and beneath your skin—it’s speaking loud enough for both of you. 

Yelena clears her throat, gaze lingering on Bucky. “Okay… yeah. I get it now.” 

You blink rapidly, like you’ve just slammed back into your body after falling out of it. Slowly, you step back, eyes flicking toward the rest of the team—but refusing to snap straight back to Bob. 

“This is crazy,” Alexei says, his grin so wide and his eyes so bright it looks like he might actually combust. 

John pulls a face, nose wrinkled, confusion and mild disgust written all over him. “I can, like… feel it too.” He looks at you, alarmed. “Why?” 

You shrug, breath caught in your throat, your voice nowhere to be found. 

There’s a beat of silence, thick and humming with the weight of unspoken words and the flood of questions swirling through everyone’s minds. 

Then John claps his hands together, loud and abrupt. “Okay, so… how do we figure out if she can control him?” 

That snaps the room back into motion. 

“I don’t think it works like that,” Ava mutters, folding her arms. 

“How the hell would you know?” John fires back. 

Alexei lifts a brow. “She is not here to control Bob.” 

“Oh. Okay. Did you read that in one of your magic manuals?” John scoffs. 

“Walker, please,” Yelena sighs. “Now is not the time to argue.” 

They start talking over one another, voices rising and overlapping like a wave about to crash. 

And then— 

“Wait.” 

The single word is soft. Barely audible. 

Bob. 

Everyone turns, and the room falls back into a heavy silence. 

He shifts slightly on his feet, shoulders drawn tight, eyes fixed on the floor for a beat before flickering up to you. His voice is uncertain, but steady enough. “I… I’m confused.” 

There’s a pause. 

“What do you mean?” Yelena asks gently. 

Bob swallows, glancing around the room before his gaze returns to you. 

“Well… whatever this is, I feel it. I know it. I know—” His voice falters as he looks at you again, softer now, “I know you. You’re… mine.” 

You don’t flinch. You don’t look away. 

He blinks, grounding himself. 

“But… I don’t understand what’s happening. Why it’s happening. Or… what you’re all talking about.” 

You open your mouth, but Bucky speaks first, stepping forward. 

“She’s not staying,” he says quietly, almost scared to say it out loud. “Not really. She’s… choosing me.” 

Bob’s brows pull together, dark blue eyes widening. 

“I mean… she’s here to help,” Yelena jumps in, a little too quickly. “Just to help. While we figure things out.” 

“Help,” Bob repeats, like he’s trying to fit the word into a sentence that doesn’t quite work. 

You finally speak, voice low. “I’m not leaving you. Not completely. But I also… I made a promise. And right now, I’m trying to keep it.” 

Bob’s eyes search yours—not angry. Not desperate. Just… aching with the effort of holding something too big for his hands. 

And somehow, that’s what hurts the most. 

Because those words taste like acid in your mouth. Burning your tongue like white-hot lies. 

You don’t want to keep your promise—not now. Not when he is standing there, looking at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. You don’t want to walk away to protect someone else, even if that someone else has your heart in his hands too. 

All you want is this. Him. The man in front of you. 

You want to hold him. To reach across the impossible space between you and wrap your fingers around his and never let go. To tell him that whatever force carved your souls from the same star had it right. That you don’t care about the plan or the past or the path you promised to walk. 

You just want to stay. 

You want to lace your soul into words and place them in his hands. 

To tell him that you’ll keep him safe. 

That you’ll be the light when his world goes dark. 

That you’ll be steady when everything else shakes apart. 

That he doesn’t have to be alone anymore. 

That you’re his. 

Because you are. You always were. Even before you knew. 

And walking away from that feels like trying to cut the sky in half and pretend the stars won’t notice. 

“I—I don’t understand,” Bob says, his voice firmer now, edged with something darker. Something dangerous. “She doesn’t want this.” 

You exhale sharply, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Bob, please.” 

His eyes snap to you, wide and shining with everything he can’t bring himself to say. But you don’t need words. You don’t need promises. You just need him. 

“You don’t want this,” he repeats, softer now. Almost broken. 

You swallow hard. “I do. This is what I’m… choosing.” 

His brow pulls tight. “Why?” 

“I made a promise,” you say again, as if saying it enough times might make it true. “And I want to keep it.” 

You don’t. 

“But I’ll still be here when you need me. We can still… be together. Just… not completely.” 

Bob’s eyes shift to Bucky, dark blue bleeding into molten silver. “She’s choosing you?” 

The energy in the room changes again. 

The air goes still. No static hum. No crackle of power. Just… silence. 

Heavy and unnatural—like being buried underwater. A crushing pressure that squeezes your lungs until you forget how to breathe. 

Bob’s jaw tightens. You can see it—feel it—in the tension radiating off him. In the flicker of silver that sharpens, flares, then fades again in his eyes. 

“You’re lying,” he says quietly. 

Your breath catches. 

“I can feel you,” he continues, voice raw, trembling just beneath the surface. “That’s what this is, right? This connection? I feel you, and you feel me. So I know you don’t want this.” 

“Bob—” 

His hands clench into fists at his sides. “No. Don’t say it again. Don’t say it’s your choice. Don’t say it’s a promise. Because that’s not what you’re feeling.” His voice cracks, then drops into something lower. Rougher. “You want me. I know you do.” 

A faint pulse of cold slips through the room—sharp and unnatural, like a draft from somewhere that shouldn’t exist. It kisses your skin, raises every hair on your arms, and sinks deeper, like ice threading through bone. 

Ava shifts her weight uneasily. John glances toward Bucky, tense. 

“I don’t understand,” Bob says again, and this time his voice is breaking. “Why are you lying to me? Why are you choosing something that hurts you? That hurts us?” 

You open your mouth, but the words aren’t there. They’ve drowned somewhere in your throat, tangled in the ache behind your ribs. 

“I can feel your heart,” he whispers, silver light blooming behind his irises again. “And it’s breaking.” 

There’s a pause. A beat where no one dares to speak. No one breathes. 

Then Yelena steps forward, her voice steady. “Bob, please. You need to—” 

But he cuts her off, eyes flashing silver as his anger sharpens, gaze snapping to Bucky. “Why won’t you let her go?” 

Bucky swallows and takes a step back, his blue eyes wide and watery, flicking between you and Bob. “I—” 

“She’s not yours,” Bob says, his voice so deep it echoes through the room—through your mind. “You can’t keep her.” 

The room tenses. Silence coils thick around you, something ethereal seeping into the air like gasoline waiting for a spark. 

“Bob,” Yelena tries again, louder now, more urgent. “You need to calm down. Now.” 

You glance at the floor—at Bob’s feet. Shadows crawl across them, creeping upward, inch by inch, slowly consuming him. 

Panic flickers across his face. He knows he’s slipping. The power inside him swells—cold, fierce, pressing outward. 

His breath comes faster, fists trembling. “I’m… I’m sorry—” 

The air snaps, taut like a wire pulled too tight. His power spirals, wild and uncontained, slicing through the room in jagged bursts like shards of ice. 

The darkness creeps higher with every breath, swallowing him slow—leaving nothing in its wake but shadow, nothing but void.  

“This was supposed to help,” John snaps. “She was supposed to help him, not make it worse!” 

Alexei steps forward, eyes locked on you. “You need to go to him.” 

You shake your head, slow and small, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I—I can’t.” 

Ava backs away, her body flickering as she prepares to phase. 

“Bob, look at me,” Yelena says, steady but firm. “Breathe. You are not alone.” 

But his eyes stay on you. That look—raw heartbreak etched into every line of his face, love twisted with fear and confusion— 

It fractures something inside of you. 

“We need to get out of here,” Ava calls from a few feet away. 

John starts backing up, his eyes wide and locked on Bob—as if waiting for a sign to turn and run. 

“We cannot leave him,” Alexei says. “We go in, if we have to.” 

“Bob,” Yelena pleads. “You’ve got this. Please. You can control this.” 

Everything starts to blur. 

The shouting becomes a wall of noise, voices crashing over each other, words slurring until they’re nothing but static—a low, violent hum in your ears. The blood rushes louder. Your head throbs, a sickening, rhythmic pounding like your skull is splitting apart from the inside out. 

You want to scream. 

You want to tear at your skin just to feel something real, to make the pain physical—tangible—because at least that would make sense. You want to tell them all to shut up. To stop talking. To just let you breathe. 

You want to drop to your knees and scream into the void until it spits him back out. 

Bob. 

Bob, whose body is almost completely swallowed by shadow. 

Bob, whose eyes—silver and scared—are locked on yours, pleading. Begging. 

Bob, who holds your heart in his shaking hands. Who owns your soul, even now. Even as you’re walking away from him. 

The one thing you need… and the one thing you’re denying yourself. 

And for what? 

For the heart of someone else? For a promise that was never meant to cost this much? 

You would burn the whole damn world to save him. 

You’d tear the universe apart just to keep from breaking that heart. 

But this? This is breaking yours too. 

Bucky’s voice cuts through the chaos—barely louder than a whisper, but somehow it reaches you. Steady, but breaking. 

“It’s okay,” he says, eyes locked on yours even as his own brim with tears. “Go to him. I’ll be okay.” 

You shake your head, lips trembling, a silent protest caught in your throat. But deep down, you know he means it. You feel it—the weight of his acceptance, the way he's choosing love over possession. Choosing you, even if it breaks him. 

“I don’t want to let you go. God, I don’t. But I can’t be the reason he breaks.” 

Your chest aches so deeply it nearly folds you in half. But there’s something else there too—something small and warm and unspeakably grateful. You don’t deserve this kind of kindness. But he’s giving it anyway. 

“You still have a part of me. Always will.” His voice falters, but his eyes stay soft. “But he needs all of you right now. And I… I just want you to be safe.” 

A sound escapes your throat, half a sob, half his name. You take a shaky breath, tears sliding down your cheeks as you step toward him—not to stay, but to say thank you without words. 

His smile is soft. Cracked around the edges. Brave in the way only someone who’s breaking can be. 

“It’s okay. I promise.” 

You nod once. Swallow hard. Squeeze your eyes shut—steadying yourself. Then turn back toward him. 

Bob, who’s almost gone—his form nearly swallowed by the creeping dark, his features carved in flickers of silver and shadow. He stands there like a man on the edge of oblivion, barely tethered to this world. Just a silhouette of the boy you love, wrapped in light and ruin. 

His eyes find yours, and for a second, everything stills. 

Even now, almost lost to the void, he sees you. Only you. 

You take a step forward, your body trembling with the weight of it all—the fear, the guilt, the unbearable ache of loving something you might be too late to save. 

“Bob,” you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, like a lifeline. 

The darkness claws higher, curling up his neck like smoke. But his eyes—those bright, breaking eyes—shine through it all. The fear in them cuts through you like a blade. Not fear of what’s happening to him. 

Fear that you won’t come. 

That you’ll leave. 

That he’ll lose you, too. 

“It’s okay,” you say—to him or yourself, you’re not sure. 

You lift your hand and move forward, closing the space with slow and careful steps—like one wrong move could shatter the world. 

One step, then another—until you’re standing toe to toe with him. The shadow writhes beneath your feet, hungry and alive, but the moment you enter his space, it curls back. Like it knows you. Like it fears you. 

Or maybe it just recognises what he loves. 

The air is ice. He’s trembling. His face—barely visible now—flickers in and out of shadow like a dying flame. You reach for him, slow and sure, your fingers brushing the centre of his chest. 

Right over his heart. 

And the darkness parts. 

Just slightly—splitting like oil pulled from water, leaving a sliver of fabric beneath your touch. His heart stutters. Yours lurches. 

Then you press your palm flat. 

And a soft light blooms. 

Not blinding, not loud—just a soft, golden glow that seeps from beneath your hand like a memory. Gentle and warm. It spreads slow, steady. The shadow recoils, peeling back inch by inch, retreating from the light, from you. 

Everything stops. 

The void is gone. 

Your ears are filled with the sound of your own pulse as you stare into those dark blue eyes—like the ocean kissed the sky and gave birth to this colour just for him. 

He looks so fragile now. So tired. Wrecked not just by the strain of his powers, but by the weight of you. Of your touch. Your choice. 

You, choosing him. 

For a moment, you just stare at each other—memorising every line, every flicker of emotion—though you already know his face by heart. You’ve always known him. In dreams. In shadows. In the quiet corners of your mind. Drifting through memories and half-sleep, like your souls were stitched together before time ever started. 

Always there. Always waiting. 

“You okay?” you whisper, your voice faint, barely real. 

He nods. 

Then you collapse into him, arms winding around his waist, clinging like you’ll never let go. 

And you won’t. 

Not ever. 

There’s still guilt. A lingering ache for the hurt you’ve caused. A hollow echo of someone else’s heart breaking. 

But right now, all you feel is Bob. His arms around you, pulling you in like a lifeline. His face tucked into your neck, curls brushing your skin like a secret only he gets to know. 

All you want is Bob. 

All you need is Bob. 

You can’t believe you ever thought you could live without this. 

Without him. 

Trying to choose someone else would’ve destroyed you. You see that now. 

You feel it. 

At some point, you shift to the couch. The others are gone—when exactly, you’re not sure—but you’re grateful. You need space. Time. And Bob needs rest. 

Which he finally gets. For a few hours. 

You settle at one end, sinking into the soft cushions, with Bob’s head resting in your lap. His arms wrap around your thigh like a vice—steady strength even in sleep. You play with his curls, trace the line of his jaw, and rub gentle circles along his back as he drifts. 

You’re exhausted, but sleep eludes you. You don’t want to waste a single second with him. Never before have you wanted someone so fiercely. All you need is to feel him here—safe, alive, with you. 

So you stay awake. Occasionally you shift, easing pins and needles or aching muscles, but Bob barely stirs. He nuzzles into your lap, your lower belly, holding on as if you’re the only thing keeping him from unravelling. 

It should feel strange, wrong even. But nothing has ever felt more right. 

You know this man better than you know yourself—of that, you are certain—and no part of you hesitates or doubts. This is real. The most real thing you’ve ever known. 

You know it’ll be complicated. Awkward with the team, even more so with Bucky. You’ll have to hide it from the world for a while. But none of it matters—not one bit—when the boy in your lap breathes softly against your skin. His lashes dark on flushed cheeks, lips parted with a stray drop of drool on your thigh, and that aching, desperate pull in your chest growing stronger with every breath. 

He sleeps until the sun starts to set, and you stay with him. At one point, you turn on the TV and pick a random movie, but your eyes rarely leave Bob. You don’t need him to wake—you’re perfectly content just being near him—but when his lashes finally flutter open, your breath still catches. 

He stretches slowly, shifting against you like a cat basking in the sun all day. Then he rubs his eyes and sits up, blinking blearily, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips. 

“You stayed,” he murmurs. 

You nod. 

Without him, your body feels cold, but you resist the urge to cling to him. He needs space to wake fully, to stretch his limbs and shake off the last vestiges of sleep. 

“Where are the others?” he asks. 

You shrug. “Not sure. They’ve been gone all day.” 

He nods slowly. “Did you—Did you leave at all?” 

“No,” you say softly. “Stayed right here.” 

He shifts closer, one hand finding yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world—as if his hands have known yours for years. 

His brow creases. “You must be starving.” 

You bite your bottom lip, weighing up your next response. Because yes, you’re hungry—but there’s something else you’re craving. Something more urgent, more raw than anything you’ve ever known. Something you need more than you want. Something Alexei warned you about, and you didn’t quite believe—until now. Now it claws at your chest, primal and fierce, relentless and aching. 

“There’s… something else,” you say slowly. “I don’t know if you—” 

“I do,” he cuts in. 

Your lips part, breath catching in quick, uneven gasps as you hold his gaze—captivated, utterly pinned by the raw hunger burning in his eyes. 

His brows lift ever so slightly, a subtle twitch—a silent question hanging in the air. You nod. 

Then he moves forward, hands cupping your jaw—careful but urgent, as if he can’t quite believe you’re real. 

The world fractures—time fractures—and everything narrows to a single, blazing point where your lips slam together with the force of a thousand storms. 

It’s raw. Fierce. Like the universe just exploded inside your chest. 

His mouth devours yours—claiming, desperate—fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You burn and tremble, caught in a tidal wave of need and relief that steals your breath. 

The air hums with electricity, silence shattered by ragged gasps and the wild pounding of your hearts—syncing, breaking, snapping together like a sacred, unspoken vow breaking free. 

Every nerve screams alive, every touch sending sparks crashing like fireworks. It’s hot, heavy, frantic—a beautiful chaos that feels like coming home after being lost forever. 

You taste everything—fire, desperation, the sharp tang of longing—and drown in it, surrendering to the moment where nothing else exists but this. 

When you finally pull back, your foreheads collide, breaths mingling in ragged gasps. His eyes are dark, wild, shattered open, and in that look, you know this bond has broken through every barrier, every shadow, every doubt. 

You’re his. 

And he’s yours. 

“I need you,” he whispers, voice rough, cracking, as his hands slip beneath your shirt. 

“I know,” you breathe, arching into him, trembling. “I need you too.” 

- 

“Do we have to?” Bob sighs, face buried in the crook of your neck, his curls tickling your bare skin. 

You giggle, placing a kiss to his shoulder, perfectly content beneath the weight of his body—his completely naked body. 

“I mean,” you murmur, fingers trailing down the dip of his spine, “you’re already late. Is there really any point in going at all?” 

He lifts his head, deep blue eyes shining with adoration as he looks at you. “Exactly,” he says, soft lips twitching. “Besides, I can think of a thousand other things I’d rather do.” 

He shifts, and you feel it—hard and heavy, pressing insistently against your lower belly. 

Your lips curl into a smirk, heat blooming low and hot between your thighs. “And what exactly might these other things entail?” 

He chuckles, sliding down slightly, tracing his tongue between the valley of your breasts. 

“So many things,” he murmurs against your skin, “all of them involving me inside of you… in one way or another.” 

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth wraps around your nipple, drawing a breathy sigh from your lips. “That sounds…” you gasp when his teeth graze the sensitive bud, “very good.” 

He looks up again, lips parting from your skin as he gives you a soft, boyish smile. His eyes are bright—almost pale blue in the morning light spilling through the windows—and he looks so damn pretty. His curls are mussed, his cheeks are pink, and his skin is pressed flush against yours in the most delicious way. Even after weeks of having him—weeks of giving yourself to him in every possible way—you still can’t get enough. 

“Does that mean we’re staying?” he asks, hands gliding up your ribs toward your breasts. 

You giggle, flinching at the ticklish drag of his fingertips across your bare skin. There’s nothing you want more than to stay right here with him—forever. You don’t care if his teammates are waiting. You don’t even care if they blame you for holding him hostage. All you want is to stay tangled up with Bob until something human forces you to stop devouring each other—either sleep or hunger, the usual culprits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, a dopey, lovesick smile curling your lips, “we’re staying… but on one condition.” 

His brow furrows, and he sits up a little further, his hard cock grinding against you in the most distracting way. 

“Bob,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, hands flying to his shoulders to hold him still. 

He laughs softly, low and cheeky. “Yes?” 

“I need you to fuck me,” you say, cheeks flushing pink—despite the fact that he literally just did, not five minutes ago. “Again,” you add. “And again, until I can’t walk.” 

When your eyes open, you find his—dark and hungry, a stark contrast to the sweet, boyish softness from just seconds ago. 

“And then I want pancakes,” you say with a small smirk. 

His lips curve before he surges up and crushes his mouth to yours. Your chest aches. Your stomach swirls. Every coherent thought in your head vanishes. You’ve kissed Bob hundreds—maybe thousands—of times by now, and still, every kiss is earth-shattering. Every kiss steals your breath, stops your heart, and reminds you that this man was made for you. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

You let out a breathless sigh as he trails kisses down your jaw, his mouth sucking a bruise into the soft skin of your neck. “I love you too.” 

- 

Mates are rare. They're not just lovers or partners—they’re soul-deep bonds that tilt the earth, shatter reality, and leave everything else dull by comparison. They’re not easy. They break hearts just as easily as they heal them. But when you find yours, there’s no doubt. No fear. No force on earth strong enough to pull you away. 

Because despite everything—despite the hurt, the heartache, and the chaos—you know with absolute certainty that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. 

With Bob. 

END.

[cherrixpie]

HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part two of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it. only, you had some very perceptive friends.

↬ sfw; mostly fluff; wc: 3.4k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor! reader

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“Be careful,” you whispered to him, words leaving your lips and being breathed in by Theo’s, just a fraction of an inch apart from yours. “Someone might already be up,” you said worriedly, pushing lightly at his chest. “Go!”

Theo didn't want to go. In moments like these, having you pressed up against your dorm door, hair disheveled from sleep, looking just about ready to be devoured, it was hard to keep being the sensible one. But you were right. Stealing one last kiss, full of morning breath and murmured Italian endearments, Theo parted from you. “See you later, principessa,” he promised seductively, relishing in the little blush that took over your cheeks.

“If you aren't taken apart by a stray griffindor on your way back,” you retorted in a hushed tone and Theo chuckled carelessly. Sparing you one last glance, heavy with something undefined, he took the stairs down. The wooden steps of the griffindor tower creaked faintly under his careful steps, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of the early morning.

The griffindor common room was empty, save for the dying embers in the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. In a few steps, he had crossed the length of the room and paused near the portrait hole, his sharp eyes scanning the room one last time before pushing the frame open, scrunching together his eyebrows when the fat lady stirred and muttered something in her sleep.

He stepped into the cool corridor, reminiscing in the memories of last night. A particularly haunting nightmare had made him restless, so restless, in fact, that he couldn't resist to grab his broom and fly a few rounds around the quiddditch pitch. Only, that hadn't helped the images popping up in his head any time he closed his eyes. So he flew up to your window daringly, knocking and damn near giving you a heart attack.

Luckily, your fellow dormitory students were already fast asleep when you opened the window for him. After some exchanged hushes of worry and excitement, you had pulled him into your bed, letting him engulf you in a hug as you rested against his chest. Which was how you awoke the next morning, with you getting him out of your dormitory before your friends woke up.

Theo congratulated himself on sneaking out of enemy territory unseen. Enemy, of course, except for you. A smile tugged at his lips in spite of himself as his mind vividly recounted your hands in his hair, soothing him to sleep. There was no other person who he could trust this unconditionally, not just with his body, but with his soul. Soul. Unbelievable, that he was starting to lament over such sentimental crap. But looking into your eyes, it was a challenge not to become one of the lovesick, sappy idiots he used to sneer at.

“What are you doing here?”

Theo was ripped out of his reminiscent haze by a shrude voice and he cursed himself for letting down his guard and deviating from his usual vigilance. Ron Weasley stood in front of him, panting in his quidditch attire with a broom clutched in his hand. Tensely, he stared at Theo, looking just about ready to jump him.

“I didn't know borrowing books was a reasonable offense now,” Theo remarked with a disparaging smile, brushing past the ginger without a second glance to avoid further questioning.

The boy opened his mouth in protest and shot around in the direction Nott had taken off, but the corridor was empty, save for the portraits who had watched the exchange with mild interest. Some of them sniggered and Ron threw a nasty scowl their way, pushing open the portrait hole. Strange. But he shrugged it off, opting to catch a few minutes of sleep before breakfast.

“Have you slept a single hour last night?” Hermoine asked pointedly when you yawned for the third time since breakfast. Propping up her book so Slughorn wouldn't catch the two of you whispering, she raised a brow. “You look really tired, maybe you should-”

“I’m fine,” you cut her off with a reassuring smile, copying down the ingredients for an amortentia potion. Indeed, you had been a little caught up with staring at your sleeping boyfriend's face last night other than sleeping. But how were you supposed to rest when your heart beat like a jackhammer at his arm around your waist. “You’ll just have to coordinate the brewing, I’m afraid, or I’ll release a biochemical weapon onto the class.” Hermoine laughed.

Just then, Slughorn demanded the class’s attention, waving a sheet of parchment in his hands. “For this lesson, I thought we would switch things up a bit.” A loud groan echoed through the class and Hermoine and you exchanged exasperated glances. Only Slughorn seemed truly delighted by the idea as he flattened the parchment, reading out the assigned pairs.

Hermoine got paired up with Malfoy, to her great displeasure, but when Slughorn got to the letter ‘P’, he paired up Harry with Dean and you with- “Mr Nott,” Slughorn announced, rolling up the parchment. “Please, get together in your assigned pairs. You have one hour to brew an amortentia potion. Start … now!”

“Poor us,” Hermoine sighed, packing her things. Oh, yes. Poor you. Sneaking a glance at Theo, you saw him hoist his quill, parchment and books into his arms to come over. The bags under his eyes were a little more pronounced than usual, and you knew why. Looking at him made your heart beat louder once more. “It’s just one hour,” you attempted to comfort Hermoine who took off, steering towards a very displeased looking Malfoy.

“May I sit here?” a grave voice whispered way too close to your ear. Flinching, you jerked your head back and made room for Theo to sit, sending him a firm look. But no movement disturbed the perfect symmetry of his features as he sat down, collecting the ingredients on the table before you. Shyly, you dared brush your hand with his and saw his perfect lips twitch in the corner of your eye.

His hand fell under the table as if by chance, and he hooked his pinkie finger around yours, squeezing it gently. A silent exchange. Releasing your hand, Theo opened his book and propped it up, igniting the fire beneath your cauldron with a simple flick of his wand. If you hadn't known better, you’d have been deeply intimidated by the irked glance he spared you. “Focus, Potter. I don't want to fail this lesson because of you.”

“Are your skills so poor they deflate in the presence of my humble self?” you retorted, attempting to suppress a grin. He was better at this, at controlling his expression to a tee, masking his true feelings with indifference and disdain. You, on the other hand, were faced with the challenge of not breaking out into a bright smile any time you two locked eyes, if you didn't want to blow your cover.

Without another comment, Theo assigned the task of cutting up the ingredients to you, giving you exasperated looks any time you didn't chop them up fast enough. But when your half-finished potion let out a loud hiss and puffed out a thick cloud of smoke, as described in the instructions, he leaned over, a tender smile on his lips. “You’re doing very good, tesoro,” he whispered and left you scrambling to hide your gleeful smile once the smoke had subsided.

Catching Zabini staring at the two of you, you kicked Theo under the table who understood immediately and gave you a slighting glare. "Careful, Potter. If you don't chop those properly, Slughorn's going to lecture both of us."

You gave him an equally dirty look, pointing the cutting knife at him. "Why don't you do it, then? Afraid you'll ruin those perfectly manicured nails?" Theo's eyes glinted, lingering in the knife until they flickered up at your eyes and you recognized the expression. Of course Theo liked knifes, you thought to yourself sarcastically and went back to chopping the ingredients, with Theo still looming over you, the sole focus of his attention.

"Didn't notice you fancied my hands so much, Potter." Yes, he did. Only a week ago had he teased you about it when your gaze lingered on them for a second too long. Long enough to catch his attentive eye and earn you a string of teasing comments and insinuations that had left you as a flustered mess. Feeling someone's eyes on you, you glanced up and met Hermoine's, so you turned to Theo sharply and glared as convincingly as possible.

"You're a distracting batard, you know? And if I get caught making mistakes because of you, I'm blaming you in front of Slughorn." The amused expression in his eyes revealed to you just how entertaining this was for him, this throwing around backhanded insults, flirting just subtly enough to avoid suspicion, teetering the edge with every sentence and challenging himself to absolute composure and self control. And you found yourself growing quite excited in expectation of his retort, eyes lingering on the dangerous curl of his perfect lips.

"Oh no," Theo remarked with faux distress. "Anything but the wrath of a Griffindor with hurt feelings." You'd have loved it to shove your elbow into his side, but settled for a cold glower. "One of these days, I'm going to wipe that smirk off your face, Nott."

Theo sure wasn't lying when he chuckled: "Looking forward to it, Potter." Casually, his gaze brushed over the ingredients you had chopped increasingly unevenly over the course of your banter. "If you're trying to sabotage this potion, you're doing an excellent job."

Caught red handed, you pouted at him defiantly, knowing it would rile him up. "I don't need your approval, Nott." When he replied, his voice was much closer to your ear than expected. "That's funny, considering how much time you spend trying to impress me."

Jolting back in your seat, you looked around the room frantically, but for once, your classmates seemed to mind their own business. But still, you turned back to Theo with fake fury laced into your tone. "Impress you? Please. You'd be lucky if I even noticed you existed outside of this table."

A delighted little smile made its way to Theo's stone cold expression, soon replaced by a mocking expression. "Oh, I think you notice plenty, Potter."

Every single one of his snide comments and remarks, eagerly returned by you, were accompanied by a glint of amusement in his eyes, and if he was feeling particularly bold, a soft squeeze of your thigh under the table. The first time he did it, you flinched and caught a weird look from Hermoine. When you frowned at Theo, he simply smiled indesipherably.

Slowly, your potion started taking on it’s signature smell. Breathing in, you could've rolled your eyes when the smell of smoke penetrated your nose, paired with that of parchment and mint. When you looked up, you found Theo already looking at you with an unmistakably hungry expression that had you blink meekly in your seat before burying your flushed face in your potions book.

At the end of the lesson, your potion was as pinkish as described in the instructions and Slughorn smiled at you both with a pleased expression. “Amortentia indeed. Miss Potter, Mr Nott, you make a rather fine pair, this is just right. Not that I would have expected anything less from either of you…”

You resisted the urge to look at Theo, because you knew whatever expression graced his face, it would surely make you smile traitorously. With an extra O on your wrap sheet, you left the classroom for lunch with Hermoine, Harry and Ron, eager to meet with Theo later that day. But your plans were cut short when Hermoine asked: “Will you be in the common room tonight? I heard the library is closing early.”

“Really?” you exclaimed in surprise. The library had been your common excuse for dates with Theo, and you also sensed that Hermoine was watching your reaction closely. “Well,” you said, feeling it would be suspicious if you didn't agree, “I guess so, yeah.”

“Good,” Hermoine said heartily as you strolled past the Slytherins and you resisted the urge to look at Theo. “Because Harry, Ron and I-” Both boys violently shook their heads at her and she rolled her eyes. “Fine, because I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Already suspicious about what that ‘something’ might be, you forced an unasuming smile upon your face. “Great, just great.”

Hermoines eyes bored themselves into your back as you excused yourself to go to the toilet, watching your frame diasappear behind a corner. Ron raised his brows as he stilled in his step. “You coming, or what?” Shooting him a nasty look, she trailed along, but before she could scold Ron, he raised his voice once more, in a blatant attempt to distract her. “Hey, guess who I ran into this morning leaving the Griffindor tower?”

“Who?” Harry and Hermoine asked and Ron lowered his voice for dramatic effect. “Theodore Nott,” he revealed theatricly, clasping his hands together. “Said he was 'borrowing a book' but he looked like he was in quite a hurry, and pretty disheveled at that. And you know how prim and proper that bloke strolls around the halls. Hair like a bird’s nest, I tell you.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Bet that he planted some kind of trap there, maybe we should check the common room tonight.”

“Maybe,” Hermoine said, lost in thought, looking out of the window onto the grey sky.

“Maybe he was looking for our quidditch strategies,” Harry speculated, taking to steps at a time. “We're playing them this weekend, after all.”

“Yeah, that’ll be it!” Ron exclaimed, but Hermoine did not look convinced.

Neither of them brought the topic up again though, until it quite literally ran into them. As they walked around a corner, they saw Nott himself striding out of a corridor and disappearing in the direction of the great hall. “What was he doing in the corridor of the girl's toilets?” Ron laughed once he was out of earshot. As daring as he was, he was not stupid enough to challenge Nott to an altercation.

But the topic of lunch soon became the more pressing one as they entered the great hall, no one noticing your late arrival, disheveled hair or un-tucked shirt.

Theodore Nott would not describe himself as a romantic. In spite of his Italian heritage, he was everything but sappy. In fact, he thought he had a rather raw opinion of life and the world. Theo did not smile to himself while delving in memories, he did not savor touch or words, he didn't spend afternoons thinking of dates, he didn't believe in love as anything other than hormones. Until you came along and disrupted his whole worldview.

Relationships had always been transactions for him, mostly sexual, pushing people away before he had a chance to get attached. Theo didn't need love or pining or butterflies in his stomach, or daydreams of you, there was a damn war on the doorstep. And that it had to be you, specifically. But of course, he would fall for someone so far out of his reach that he had to go to truly ridiculous lengths to see you. And still, it was worth it a hundred times.

“Mate, you have been staring daggers at the Griffindor table for the last five minutes,” Blaise said, nudging him and making Theo blink in irritation. He had been watching you intently as you talked with your friends, trying to balance food, the conversation and the book you had to read for your next lesson. Cute. Utterly endearing, in fact.

“It’s scary. You haven't blinked once for at least five minutes,” Blaise continued, stealing the untouched food from Theo’s plate who couldn't care any less. You had just risen from your seat, almost tripping over the bench and laughing about your mistake as you threw your back over your shoulder and hurried out of the hall. When Theo showed no reaction to his comment, Blaise nudged him again and Theo begrudgingly took his eyes off you. “What's got your head in a wrap, you old grump?”

“Nothing,” Theo said, rubbing his eyes. Not only had he had a nightmare, he also had had a hard time sleeping last night when you were just inches from him, in your fucking bed in your cute pyjamas and those starry eyes, looking just about ripe to be devoured-

“Theo, how much did you sleep tonight?” Enzo asked worriedly, a spoonful of sauce halting its movement halfway to his mouth.

“And more importantly, where?” called Mattheo from next to him, flicking his fork at Theo that he dodged.

“Common room,” he muttered, but the boys glanced sceptically at each other. “You weren't on the quidditch pitch all night, were you?” Draco groaned and rolled his eyes when Theo didn't answer. “Hey, the team needs you at your best this weekend, if Potter wins I might actually have to throw myself off the Astronomy tower!”

“And what a loss for the world that would be,” Theo remarked sarcastically, prompting the others to laugh while Draco kicked him under the table.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” you asked expectantly, sitting down on the couch next to Hermoine who glanced at you wearily. It was almost midnight and the common room was empty, save for the four of you lounging by the fire, the sound of the cackling fire occasionally disrupted by a short conversation.

“You…,” Hermoine hesitated, “You’ve been a little distant lately and we were just wondering… is everything alright?” You were so stunned by the question which you really should have seen coming that you didn't answer for a few seconds. Blinking at the three frowning faces in varying stages of worry and suspicion, you smiled.

“That's really sweet of you, but I’m fine, really. Just… a lot of school,” you said, giving them a convincing smile.

But Hermoine didn't seem satisfied with your answer. “You told me you would visit the library last week. Well, I was there. You weren't.” Right. You hadn't been at the library because you had snuck out to the school grounds, making your way to the lake swiftly where Theo was already waiting for you.

Sometimes the two of you needed words and sometimes you didn't. That day, you didn't. Instead, he had guided you between his legs to sit down, his arms engulfing you from behind and shielding you against the cold. Lost in your individual trains of thought, you had watched the shimmering reflections of the enlightened windows decrease in number until there was only the cool light of the moon. That was when Theo had risen at last, pulling you up with him. He had taken your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and the two of you had walked back to the castle. Like the gentleman he was, he had even taken you to Griffindor tower and kissed you good night, dismissing the risk of Filch catching him.

The two of you had barely talked that evening, but it had left you so calm and fulfilled as if you had shared a heartfelt conversation. And maybe you had. Maybe you had discovered other means than words to convey your feelings to each other.

“It was kinda crowded in there,” you tried to talk your way out of the situation, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. Once more, you were reminded that nonchalance was not something you could simply pick up from somebody- or you’d have lied your way out of this one already.

“Oh, come on,” Ron groaned, shooting you an exasperated look. “You’re acting weird. You’re always off doing something, and when you’re with us you’re not really there because we gotta talk to you several times for you to notice it!”

“Now, that's a massive exaggeration!” you protested, folding your arms over your chest. Sure, maybe you’d gotten lost in thought a few times over the last months, but not remotely as often as Ron made it sound.

“You’re acting shifty,” Ron pressed, pointing an accusing finger at you. “And I know shifty!”

Hermoine rolled her eyes at him, looking like she was contemplating a crime. “I only wanted to say,” she sighed, “that we're a bit worried. Is there maybe… I mean,” - she raised her brow suggestively - “Are you … seeing someone?”

“What?” Harry exclaimed and splurted out a full mouth of butterbeer into the hissing fire, seeming utterly stunned by the possibility. “You mean-” He looked from Hermoine at you and back again. “Wait, seriously?”

“Well,” Hermoine interrupted him. “It's really none of our business. We just wanted to make sure.”

“Wait a second,” Harry chimed in and you couldn't help but laugh at the incredulous on his face. “This is serious, I need to know this, I’m your brother!” “When did you start getting all browy and overprotective?” you sneered, laughing at his expression. “What do you even care? Did I pry when you started dating Cho?”

Harry mumbled something under his breath, but Ron looked amused. “Assuming you won't reveal the identity of whatever bloke you’re dating-” “Hold up, when did I confirm I was dating anybody?” “-who might the mystery man be?” The topic seemed much more interesting to him than his potions homework which lay discarded worryingly close to the fire. Propping himself on one elbow, he scanned you up and down. “I bet you’re not dating Seamus or Dean or we would know. And you don't seem like the type to go for older guys.” He glanced at Hermoine. “Someone in Ravenclaw maybe?”

Hermoine’s glare had him growing quiet. “This is childish, Ron. And who says she isn't dating a girl?”

“You all seem pretty dead-set on the dating theory,” you remarked but it went unheard, or at least overheard.

“As long as it’s not a Slytherin,” Ron told you in a comforting tone, “It's fine and we’ll live with it.” As if it was a truly ridiculous idea, he began bellowing with laughter, but you only joined in half-heartedly. If you had needed any more confirmation that nobody could know about you and Theo, here it was, laughing you in the face.

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[bunny-jpeg]

lust is a loaded hand gun

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, ferrari!reader, baby fever, seduction, cowgirl position, alcohol/drinking, breeding, the reader wants to have a baby and chooses to have it with max, max is not aware

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part 2: love is a kick to the stomach

this sounded stupid. but you wanted a baby. and while that was an easy task for most women, you knew that there was something impersonal about picking from a catalogue. reading profiles felt weird, like you were looking for a used car rather than the biological other half of your child. even if you'd raise them without a father, you'd rather have a night of passion than an awkward doctor's visit.

charles leaned back in his seat and asked, "why don't you and i just make one." he shrugged his shoulders. he considered himself close to you. you had been teammates for a little over two seasons and prior to that you knew each other. he didn't mind being the one to help you bring a child into the world, "i can be his uncle and he'd never know."

but, as close as you were to your teammate. you had other drivers in mind.

you made a face, "no offense, charles. but it would feel like doing it with my brother." being teammates meant you two knew too much about one another. you worked well as teammates and rivals because you were more like siblings. while you appreciated the offer, you felt it was weird.

charles asked, relaxed in his seat, "why are you doing this anyway? isn't there a million ways for you to have a child."

you shrugged, "i want to be a mom, i don't know. leave my seat behind to another woman and let her make all the history. i'm honestly tired. i've reached the peak and now." you sighed, "i want something else. i've got enough money to retire and let my future child retire before they're born." you crossed your arms, "i don't want to be doing this shit until i'm forty and just degrade in the skills department. end on a high note." while it was not an insult to other driver's on the grid. you felt bad that they never got to really be parents due to the schedules.

"so you need to seduce a driver to make that happen."

you nodded, out of the corner of your eye you spotted the driver you had your eye on. while you eyed the man crossing your path, your voice got softer, "and i think i know just the driver."

charles looked over to the direction you were looking at. he noticed who was walking by and he looked back to you, shoulders dropped, "max. you're going to seduce and have a child with max?"

you looked back to charles and shrugged, "why not? what's not to like?" max wasn't a perfect man, sometimes you wondered about the mechanics of his brain. but, you knew your child with him would lay waste to the track in the future.

"i can name a few. do you want them alphabetically or severity of it?" charles asked.

you gave him a look, "it wouldn't be hard to get him to sleep with me. you, me and the rest of the garage has seen how he looks at me. i mean who else do i have to choose from? either they're too old, they're rookies, or they have girlfriends. and i'm not getting a heel in the eye because i'm trying to have a baby."

charles rubbed the bridge of his nose, "i think you just like him."

you tensed up for a moment, "no. this is all just simple. scheming... nothing more. i don't expect to trap him with a child. he is free to live his life after i'm done with him."

charles found it hard to believe. not on your end, but max's. he had heard at sickeningly lengths about how max felt for you. it was probably the most eloquent the driver had ever been. if you got pregnant by him, he'd be getting a ring the next day. he sighed once more, "then have fun with the wold champion. i'd say to be safe, but i think being unsafe is the whole point of this."

you gave the once over of max in the near distance and smiled, "don't worry charles, you'll get all the details in the morning." which earned a groan from your teammate.

-

it started over a bottle of wine and ended in the motor home of red bull. you and max had gotten frisky over the evening. you wondered if anyone was selling the photos of you two in the back of the restaurant to tmz or some other trashy outlet. you had shared two bottles of wine over dinner. the benefit of being as wealthy as you were, you could throw the cash onto the table and giggle as you stumble out of your place.

you knew someone had a photo of max kissing you at the table to 'taste' the sauce that came with your meal. as if he couldn't take some from the plate.

but back in the motor home, you had dropped your purse by the door. in the dark of the place, you two were starting to get undressed. heels kicked to the wall, your bracelets set on the coffee table. your dress was on the floor by the bed, your bra over the lamp by the bed and your panties on the bed.

"i'm on top." you said as you kissed max's lips. he tasted like wine and fine dining. he tasted and smelled expensive. in all fairness he could be worth more than a micro nation. he was not an easy man to buy, but the currency of sex was in high demand. max wanted you, and you knew that because he got on his back without much argument.

you were both naked on the bed. the faint lights gleamed through the large windows as you rubbed up against max with no other lighting. you could see his face against the shadows of the night. his blue eyes were like gems and they pulled you in. whoever he ended up with would be very lucky.

but tonight you needed him. he was an important piece in your plan. you rubbed against him and with a little help, you sank down onto his cock. while cowgirl wasn't the best position to try and get pregnant, but it ensured that your plan would work. any position is a working one.

"you're beautiful."

"i know." you said as you rubbed yourself against him. you braced your hands on his strong chest. he was a handsome man, he was good at what he did and he was a winner. you knew anyone would be lucky to have him, but tonight was the perfect partner. you knew a child with him would be perfect.

you continued to rub up against him. the roll of your hips were methodical. this wasn't the first time you slept with a man. you moaned when max groped your breasts, massaged the flesh between those bear paws he called hands. soon you sank on his cock and shuddered, feeling the heat raise in your belly.

this was a mission, no time to get attached. you were both tipsy from the alcohol and the driver under you were more handsy than ever. you try not to feel the emotions that came with it. the feeling of being attached to someone you were having sex with. you batted charles' assumptions about your feelings for max out of your mind as you rode the dutch driver.

you were determined to get pregnant tonight. you measured it all down to a t, all you needed was for max not to get whiskey dick. you curved your back to get closer to him, your lips met his as you moved up and down. his cock was snug in your, but it went in almost perfect. the blunt head hit against the furthest parts of you. your heart hammered in your chest as you moved your hips.

you pushed hair out of your face before your braced your hands on his chest once more. he was very toned, you almost wanted to joke about what happened to his slightly kinder chocolate addiction. but that was neither here nor there.

"you feel so good." he grunted, "why haven't we done this before? fuck." he panted, he could feel the heat in his cheeks as you rode him. he had been with others before but being under you was a pleasure no money could buy. you were really good at it, knowing exactly how to make him feel good.

"good things take time." you panted, part of you wondered what would happen if you covered his mouth. you didn't need the dirty talk, this was a mission. if you wanted a casual friends with benefits, you'd try something online or another in the paddock. fucking max was a certainly that you'd get pregnant. it didn't have to be intimate or soft. it was a means to an end, and you'd get there no matter what.

the sounds of your fucking filled the room as you continued to move against him. you raked your nails down his chest, catching his nipples which made him moan. he was cute on his back, letting you take over. you wondered how deep his affection for you went.

you didn't want the emotional baggage of it all. tonight you were both drunk and having sex in the motor homes. it would be a one night stand before you two finished out the season. you could feel the heat across your back as you stared at him.

his eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open as he panted heavily. there was heat in his face and you felt something tug in your chest. he was beautiful, you hated to admit it. but max verstappen was a pretty boy.

he was already blissed out, his noises forced you by the movement of your hips. you licked your lips and without thinking, you left a mark on his collarbone. it was stupid, but it excited your further.

you continued to move against him. your breasts bounced with each move of your hips. you felt moans in the back of your throat and a hum in your soul. pleasure was close and it wasn't long before you really worked yourself onto his cock and finished.

the tightness around his cock made max's back arch a little bit. he could feel the heat in the back of his head. his heart pounded as he watched you continue to ride his cock. he panted heavily and soon climaxed as well. you made sure to get everything you could out. you kissed him once more before you stopped. when you pulled away you got off of his waist and laid down on the bed.

"wow." he said out of breath.

you didn't want to talk. instead you turned your head to kiss him on the lips to keep him quiet. there was no time for mushy romantic bedroom talk. you needed him to fall asleep before you could leave.

you tried to count down the seconds, placing kisses across his heated face. you reminded yourself that there would be some lucky enough to keep him for life.

when you pulled away from his lips after one last kiss, he curled up beside you and right then fell asleep. you stayed awake, when the heat cooled in your body. you hoped your mission was a success. the lust and the alcohol still made its rounds in your body. but you were lucid enough to find your clothes in the dark and slip out of the motor home before morning.

you'd never bring up the event to max, only briefly mentioning it to charles. you'd drive harder after that, in the end you'd secure a world championship. as you kissed the trophy and your country's national anthem played, you were already pregnant with your child.

-

your retirement was a shock to max. you could've easily decorated your home with many trophies over the next few years. but at the end of the 2024 season, you bowed out. you thanked fans and told them that it was a new chapter in your life. and then like that you fell off the face of the earth over the off-season.

max tried to find ways to contact you. where did you go? what happened? why leave at the height of it all? the more he thought about it, the more questions were raised in his head. he asked around the paddock, even going as far as to ask charles where you went. the other drive shrugged and told him that you moved back to your home country with a "little extra luggage". there were no social media posts. nothing. it nagged in the back of his brain for what felt like a lifetime. what happened to ferrari's princess?

it wasn't until almost three years later, max had claimed another world championship. it felt like these days he was riding high. he was still the best. but as he walked into the paddock to train for the upcoming season, he stopped in his tracks. he felt like he was splashed with cold water.

there you were, three years older with a glow to you. you were laughing with charles and lewis, you looked different but in a good way. you were in overalls and a ferrari shirt underneath. you were more curvy than you were when you were driving. and while you were still beautiful like the sun, pulling max in. what made his stomach drop was who was in your arms.

a young boy, with big curious eyes and round cheeks. he held onto you tightly, his small fists in the fabric of your shirt. he seemed curious about the track, but not scared of how big it all felt. while max would've assumed that you got married and had a child as a lot of people did. but that's not what had happened.

max knew right away at the first glance of your son. looking at him was like looking at max's childhood photos. even in features that matched your own, your son carried a lot of max in him. the itch in his brain after you fell off the earth all those years ago came back, this was where you went. the boy looked like him and if he was right about the boy's age then dates lined up. there was no question. max verstappen was your son's father. and when you noticed him staring. you simply smiled and gave him a wink, shifting the boy in your arms and pointing at the me. when your son smiled, max felt something in his gut. looking at you, holding your (his) son, made max feel like he was home. and all those feelings he had been carrying poured back into his head and heart. the same emotions that allowed you to bed him. <3

sequel: love is a kick to the stomach