#every time we go over a bridge i'm like BRIDGE!! and she's like the light is shining on the water. i saw a heron. and i'm like ROMANCE

[starsinthesky5]

joe answers questions about his relationship with songbird at fanatics fest?

a/n: back to our normal programming

the stage at fanatics fest was buzzing, floodlights bright and hot, the sports and entertainment fans electric with anticipation as kay adams sat across from joe on the sleek interview couch. his fingers played absently with the wristbands on his wrist, the black "reputation" one receiving most of his attention—spun around twice, then tugged flat against his skin. he looked good. stupidly good. black pants, navy blue button-up marini shirt, chain peeking out from his neckline, his curls still damp from the humidity outside. his posture was loose, legs spread comfortably apart, one ankle resting on his knee, but there was an ease to him that only surfaced when he was being asked about her. present in a way he rarely let himself be in public.

he blinked out at the crowd, eyes catching on the blur of phones held above, glittery poster boards waving in the lights, the rolling tide of cheers vibrating through the stage beneath his sneakers. there were a thousand faces trained on him, every one of them waiting for a quote, a headline, a spark. but none of it made him glow the way he did when he spoke of her. when her name passed his lips, it was like something unlocked behind his eyes—like tension rolled off his shoulders and the corners of his mouth tipped up without thought. it wasn’t just that he smiled, it was the kind of soft, unguarded brightness that curled into the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the kind that made him blink slow, like he was savoring the feeling. he didn’t just light up. he lit whole rooms on fire with it.

kay smiled wide, leaning forward just a little, her cue cards forgotten in her lap. "okay, joe. we gotta talk about it," she said, voice dancing with mischief. "everyone’s seen the photos, the clips, the way you two were looking at each other at nfl honors, at fashion week, the grammys...the people want to know...how are things with you and america’s favorite lover girl?".

joe’s ears flushed pink before the grin even reached his lips, slow and irrepressible, like a rising wave he had no hope of stopping. the mention of your name settled something in his chest, like something was clicking into place. his fingers paused on the wristband he’d been fidgeting with, smoothing it once more before letting his hand fall to his thigh.

he looked out at the crowd, then back at kay, then away, like if he held eye contact too long he might spill something private without meaning to. but the crinkle near his eyes deepened, that soft little line she loved so much. the one that only came out when he was truly happy. "things are good," he said at first, the words clipped, almost like he was trying to hold back. then, softer, more certain—"really good,".

he paused for a second, glancing down briefly like he was centering himself before continuing. :we’ve both been busy, you know. i'm training for the season, she’s in album mode right now. reputation comes out in july, and i’m not just saying this because i’m biased, but it’s...insane. like, she poured everything into it. it’s sharp and honest and big, but it’s also really vulnerable in places," he laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck with that sheepish look he only ever wore when talking about her. he just couldn't help himself from singing her praises, even when the question was about how their relationship was going. "some of the songs...i mean, she definitely called me out a few times in there. in the best way. in the way only someone who really knows you can,".

he looked up at the crowd then, scanning their faces, but his eyes were somewhere else entirely. back in their kitchen, maybe. "she played me the final mix of one at home, on this beat-up little speaker we’ve had forever. she had pesto sauce on her shirt, hair a mess, dancing around in socks and talking over the chorus. and then mid-bridge, she just pointed at me and went, 'that’s your part', i didn’t even know what to do. i just stood there, frozen. like...that’s a moment you don’t forget. i wasn't used to the whole 'muse' thing, but it honestly felt more rewarding that anything i've done with football. there's something special about being the reason someone writes like that, with so much love and infatuation,".

there was a small murmur of laughter and soft "awws" from the crowd, and kay leaned in, intrigued. "are we talking heartbreak songs? love songs? power anthems? give us the scoop,".

joe smirked, tapping his fingers lightly on his knee, but there was a fondness blooming behind his eyes. "all of the above. you know her range and versatility. she's everywhere. but the love songs? those hit different. i remember last october, we were just lying on the floor in the living room after dinner, don't ask why, and she played me a track straight from her phone, still rough around the edges, an unmixed demo, just raw. she was playing delicate i think. when it ended, she didn’t say anything for a second, and then she looked at me and said, 'that one’s yours' and i was—," he let out a breath, eyes glassy with something close to awe. 'i didn’t even have words. i still don’t, honestly,".

kay grinned knowingly, “people are saying you’ve gone full simp, burrow. that you're done for,”.

he didn’t flinch. just nodded, slow and sure, like that was a label he didn’t mind carrying. "yeah. i am," he said it with quiet conviction, his voice steady and warm. "i don’t care what anyone says. i’ve never had someone care for me like the way she does. so completely, so fiercely, without any hesitation. and i’d be a fool not to meet that kind of love with everything i have. every piece of me. she deserves it more than anyone,".

the crowd erupted in a symphony of cheers, a cascade of sweet, playful whoops sweeping through the stands like a warm breeze. joe lowered his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously again. his other hand fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, as if seeking solace in the familiar fabric. his eyes darted down momentarily before rising to meet the sea of faces, blinking quickly as a rush of overwhelming emotion surged up his throat, leaving him momentarily lost for words.

"she’s kind of...redefined everything for me," he said after a beat, voice quieter, like he was admitting something inviolable. "i used to be real private, real closed off. not because i didn’t care. just 'cause i didn’t know how to share any of it. the pressure, the highs, the lows. but she sees through all that. she doesn’t just tolerate it—she understands it. she makes me softer, but not in a weak way. in a real, stronger way. like i can be all of me. and still be enough,".

"aww, how sweet!" kay smiled while pouting, then tilting her head with curiosity. "okay but i’ve gotta ask—what’s something about her that no one sees? something that isn’t in the interviews or on stage?".

joe huffed out a soft laugh, eyes glinting as his thumb drifted to the chain around his neck—his tell when he was speaking from someplace deeper. he didn’t rush the answer, just let the silence stretch for a beat as he sorted through the thousand tiny memories that surfaced all at once. when he looked up, it was with a smile that softened every angle of his face. "she’s so damn funny," he said, the crowd rippling with laughter. "i know the world sees her as this force—elegant, intimidating, magnetic—but she’s a total menace in private. i mean, she does full-on skits. cartoon voices, dance moves, fake commercials. she once made up this ridiculous song about the pasta sauce we ruined—i’m talking backup vocals and all. it was stuck in my head for��days. and it wasn’t even good, it was just her," he paused, lips quirking into something fond and disbelieving. “but that’s the thing. she’s brilliant. a literal genius. and somehow, she’s also the girl who hides under the comforter to scare me when i come out of the shower, who steals the covers in the middle of the night, eats the last bite of dessert, and makes me laugh when i forget how,".

kay burst into laughter, tipping her head back as joe leaned into the joke. "okay," she said, grinning, fanning herself theatrically, "that was way too sweet. you both are genuinely everyone's obsession for all the right reasons, i mean come on," she added, joe shrugging playfully in reponse as if he wasn't sure if that was true or not even though he knew it definitely was.

she gave him a playful elbow, eyes still sparkling. "so when’s the collab coming? is joe sheisty dropping a verse on reputation?".

joe laughed, leaning back with his arms crossed like he was really thinking about it. "i think the world is not ready for that. she says i’m tone-deaf—which i won’t argue with—but maybe i’ll make the ad libs on the next album,",

"she better at least let you do the thank you note inside the physical copy packaging," kay joked.

"she doesn’t have to. every lyric she writes is already a thank you to me, to her fans," he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice softened even the loudest corners of the crowd.

she smiled as she shook her cue cards at him, "you two really are something," she said through a grin, eyes shining like she was genuinely delighted by everything he'd told her. "the internet’s boyfriend is officially off the market, folks. you hear that? all of tiktok just gasped in unison,".

joe looked right into the camera, voice low and steady, the barest hint of a smirk playing at his lips, "happily. no trade clause in this contract,".

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Honey, I'm home

Pairing: Juju Watkins x Singer!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Genre: Fluff | Secret Relationship | First-Person POV

Summary: Soft Launch pics to Hard Launch kisses

I was sitting cross-legged on my couch, phone in one hand and a bowl of fruit in the other, scrolling through my notifications. My newly released song was everywhere—TikTok, Twitter, Instagram. Fans were analyzing the lyrics, dissecting every line, and trying to figure out who it was about.

They had no idea.

"THIS HAS TO BE ABOUT SOMEONE!" one tweet read.

"Who broke her heart, who healed it, and how do we thank them?" another fan wrote.

I smirked, taking another bite of pineapple. The thing was, the song wasn’t about heartbreak—it was about her.

Juju.

My secret girlfriend.

We had been soft launching each other for months—her wearing my merch at post-game interviews, me casually posting a pic of our intertwined hands without showing her face, her commenting a simple emoji under my pictures. Subtle, but not too subtle. Enough to keep the fans guessing.

Then, she went and turned it up a notch.

Juju Watkins tagged you in a post.

I clicked the notification, and my breath hitched. It was a mirror selfie of us from last night—me leaning against her, half my face visible, and her hand resting on my waist. But what caught my eye was the gold chain around her neck, shining under the dim lighting.

My initials.

And I had the same exact chain with hers.

As if that wasn’t enough, she posted the picture on her Instagram story, with my song playing over it.

The internet went insane.

The next evening, I was in the kitchen, live on Instagram, breaking down the meaning behind the song while cooking.

"Okay, so the first verse is about meeting someone when you least expect it, right? Like, you don't go looking for love, but it just—" I snapped my fingers, "—finds you. That's what happened to me."

The comments were rolling in.

"WHO???"

"Drop the name, girl."

"Soft launch era over???"

I chuckled, stirring the sauce on the stove. "Y'all so nosy."

Just then, the front door swung open.

"Honey, I'm home!"

My soul left my body.

I whipped my head around, eyes wide as Juju strolled into the kitchen, completely unaware that I was live.

The comments blew up instantly.

"JUJU???"

"NAH, DID SHE JUST SAY 'HONEY, I'M HOME'?"

"WE KNEW IT!!!"

Juju finally noticed my phone propped up against the spice rack. Her eyes widened slightly, but instead of backing out, she smirked and walked straight up to me, wrapping her arms around my waist from behind.

"Wait—Ju, I'm live," I whispered, but it was too late.

She kissed my cheek, then my jaw, then—oh. Right on the lips.

The live chat lost its mind.

I groaned, laughing against her lips. "You really just did that?"

Juju grinned, resting her chin on my shoulder. "They were gonna find out eventually, might as well be now."

"HARD LAUNCH LETS GOOOOO."

"Juju said 'idc no more' LMFAOOO."

"I KNEW IT WAS HER I JUST KNEW IT."

I shook my head, playfully pushing her away. "Fine, since you're here, you can help me cook."

Juju held up her hands. "Oh no, last time I helped, you almost set the kitchen on fire."

"That was your fault!" I shot back.

She smirked. "Okay, sure. Babe"

I roll my eyes, "Judea I swear,"

She gasped. "Not you using my full name on live!"

The comments exploded again.

"JUDEA?? WE GETTING GOVERNMENT NAMES NOW???"

"This live is the gift that keeps on giving."

Juju laughed, grabbing a spoon and stirring the sauce. "So, tell them about the bridge in your song. I love that part."

I side-eyed her but continued, "Okay, so the bridge is the most personal part for me. It’s about realizing that love isn't about being found, it's about being seen—and wanting to stay right where you are."

Juju's smile softened. "That’s my favorite line."

I turned back to the camera. "Alright, y’all. That’s enough tea for tonight. Dinner is almost ready, and somebody needs my full attention."

Juju smirked. "Damn right."

And with that, I ended the live, knowing the internet would be in shambles for days.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[elleetlalune]

๑bound to be | lhs

⤷genre: smut, strangers to lovers.

⤷sypnosis: In which, an insomniac college student meets who she thinks is the most beautiful man alive, she doesn't pay much attention to him at first, until one not so beautful night.

⤷warnings: smut, protected sex (be like them yall), oral (f receiving), tiny tiny angst, fluff, fingering, f.cum eating, inlove heeseung (we love it), Softdom!hee, subv!reader.

2.5k words

You had tried everything.

From white noise to sleeping pills, yet it seemed like you were cursed. You simply couldn't sleep.Ever. Every night, you'd find yourslef rolling in your bed, hugging your pillow for some sort of comfort or scrolling endlessly on your phone just to make time go by faster.

And tonight was one of those nights.

It's 3AM, and you're laying on your back, mindlessly tracing imaginery patterns on your ceiling, your roommate was gone which only made you feel even more..alone.

It was raining heavily outside, you looked out your window, almost as if you were pulled out of your bed, you got up, put on a coat and took your umbrella leaving your dorm.

Outside, the streets were ghost-empty, as if everyone had fled from the city, you were alone walking down the Han river, who didn't seem as peaceful as usual.

You leaned into the railings, watching the once still river, now alive with small waves from the strong wind that had seemed to scare everything away.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice a young man standing not so far away from you.

Himself drowing in his own discarded thoughts.

But him, he did notice you, he just decided not to act upon it.

The streets lights were flickering and the trees swaying to the rythm of the wind.

You looked at your left and that's when you saw him.

He looked way more peaceful than you, but then if he was he wouldn't be standing here, drenched in rain despite his umbrella, alone, and for a split second your gaze met his, unable to hold it anymore you quickly looked away, your gaze falling once back on the agitated river.

This little routine of yours continued for the next few days, meeting that same guy, yet you never found the courage to go talk to him.

Well atleast until today.

You had just left your late night class, dressed in an oversized sweater and jeans, it was cold and well..night, so you were in a way or another dressed like a polar bear.

You sat at the bench, watching the moon and the very few stars that you were lucky enough to catch in your sight, your headphones playing we fell inlove in october, your hair slightly disheveled from the wind.

Then it happened.

The mysterious guy sat next to you.

He sat next to you.

He didn't pay much attention to you, apart from having increased the speed of your heartbeat. He was simply looking, just like you.

You tried acting nonchalant, because anything else would be beyond embarassing, not for him..for you.

"What are you listening to?" He gently spoke up, awakening you from your trance, you looked at him for what seemed like a while, you had never seen him upclose before and saying he was handsome would be an insult.

He was nearly perfect, his nose a perfectly tilted bridge, his doe-like eyes that seemed like they could alone make you fall inlove, his plump pink lips that.., he was mesmerising, he was an angel.

"we fell inlove in october, by girl in red" you answered, your voice a little too shaky for someone that was faking confidence.

His perfect lips curled into a small smile, before looking back at the view. "You like girl in red?" His head tilting ever so slightly.

You simply nodded your head, not trusting your voice enough to let out another word.

"I like her too, her songs are good." He says, almost talking to himself due to your lack of response, not because you're uninterested, but because you're drowning in your own lake of fluttering feelings.

"I'm Heeseung, by the way" You looked at him, finally putting a name over the face you'd seen so many times, you smiled softly before answering.

"I'm yn" He nodded, taking in your features, who were quite hidden due to the many many layers you had on, but still he had managed to memorise your delicate face, an almost invisible smile spreading across his features, a smile you totally missed.

"yn, you come here often, don't you?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing a little, he had noticed you every.single.time you had set foot in here.

"Yeah, I come here everytime I can't sleep." You don't even notice the words you had just blurted out, before he chuckles, a chuckle that does something to you.

"Well you can't sleep every day?" he asks, his voice laced with amusement but also a hint of curiousity.

"You could say that.." You mutter, your hands fiddling with the silver rings on your fingers.

To your disappointment, he stands up, smiling down at you, his hands deep in his pockets.

"It's getting late, you should go home, yn." You nodded, knowing going home wasn't going to do you any well.

"Goodnight." His voice gentle, just as gentle as a mother's caress, you looked up before saying back. "Goodnight, Heeseung."

It had been a week.

A week since your little talk with your shaped-by-the-gods acquaintance.

But since then, he just well..disappeared?

You came to your usual spot every day, at the very same hour, Heeseung just wasn't there.

Now?

You were sitting on that bench, as per usual, but something was different.

You were clad in a pretty pink mini-dress, your hair styled perfectly, but the difference was..you were crying.

Not sobbing, more like bawling your eyes out. The reason? Your date left you hanging like a fucking piece of shit.

You had dressed up, all dolled up, he had asked you out two days prior, you were unbelievably excited, but then as hours went by your date was nowhere to be seen.

So now you were back to where you belong, on a dirty bench by the stupid han river, alone.

Your body was tired, standing up was a burden, but your mind? Oh it was wide awake.

You felt stupid, for believing that for once someone actually liked you, wanted you, saw you.

Silent sobs left your glossy lips, on which you had spent hours looking for the perfect lip-combo, for nothing after all.

Then you saw him.

Looking at you leaning on the railing.

He slowly approached you, kneeling down infront of your sitting form, his doe-eyes softly looking at you, worry laced on his gaze, flashing with something nearly unrecgonisable. His hand landed on yours, softly stroking them.

He doesn't say a word, neither do you, he just silently comforts you.

"What's wrong?" Heeseung finally speaks up, and that's when you break.

Tears aren't stopping, if anything they're just increasing.

Heeseung stands up, before softly wrapping his arms around your smaller frame.

Is this a dream?

You stiffened at first before letting yourself go and hold back onto him, your tears wetting his shirt, but he couldn't care less.

"I-..My date didn't show up." You confessed looking away, embarassed, pulling away from his warm embrace.

"Well he's a bastard that doesn't have the balls to go out with a pretty girl like you." He says, tucking a stray hair strand behind your ear, his voice soft yet stern.

You don't answer, a slight blush creeps up to your cheeks, he notices it, of course but doesn't say anything.

"Let me take you out on a date, let me show you what a real man is." He says taking your hands in his, his eyes refusing to look anywhere but at your soft features, a face he couldn't ever get out of his mind, a face he had been thinking about a little to much.

His words hit right at your heart, as if cupid had shot his arrow right in your heart.

"You don't have to.."You say, a smile saddened heart adorning your face.

"But I want to, plus it would be stupid to waste such a beautiful outfit on a bad day,right?" He finally smiles at you, his perfect lips stretching into a grin.

You honestly don't know how it all happened.

From crying all tears in your body, to going on a date with Lee Heeseung.

He had brought you to his favourite restaurant, it was fancy.

A bowl of chicken alfredo pasta infront of you and lasagna infront of him. He was eating, but you?

You were looking at him.

"Do you like it?" He asked his voice gentle, as he wiped his mouth with the tissue paper. If you liked it? Oh, you loved it. He was out here treating you like an absolute queen, he was looking at you like you were the only one in his eyes.

"It's really good, thank you Hee." You said the nickname slipping from your lips, a small smile adorning his god-sculpted features.

"No need to thank me, like I said earlier, I wanted to do this," He said, his bigger hand landing softly on your smaller one, softly stroking it.

"I want you, yn" He continued as he noticed the rather..shocked face you had. "More than you can imagine, and I know it may seem stupid cause we practically don't know anything about eachother, but I mean it, I really do." He looked at you a soft small on his face. "Please give me a chance,yn. Let me prove to you that I'm the man you deserve."

Oh.My.God.

Those were the only words that spun around your head.

"I..I like you too, Heeseung." You didn't believe your own words, you had confessed your everlasting love for him without a stutter, an agressive blush crept up your cheeks.

Everything led to another and now you're in his...apartment?

Slamming the door close, he pushed you against it and kissed you ever so passionatly.

His lips molding perfectly on-top of yours, he tasted so sweet, like a forbidden fruit, his plump lips that were begging to be kissed seemed like they were made for yours.

He easily lifted you off the ground, a gasp escaping your mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist.

Your tongue brushed against his, making him let out a small groan.

You felt a pool of arousal in between your legs,a wave of embarrasemnt washed over you as he grinded your nearly soaked panties on his bulge.

His lips teased your neck, he bit,licked to sooth, everything all at once, leaving purple-ish marks all over your collarbone and neck.

Pushing you on the bed, he stroked your hot core with a finger, a sly smirk appearing on his face.

"Already this wet, darling?" His question making you squirm, "Stop teasing.." You mumbled, your body nearly begging for him.

"I need to hear you say it, baby" He tugged his finger at the waistband of your panties.

"I need you, hee."

"So bad.." As if your words had activated something in him, you watched whatever was left of fear or confusion disolve into absolute lust and hunger.

He pulled the baby pink lacy panties down and stooped his head down to your pulsing core, his nose hitting your oversensitive clit, his tongue lapping at your wet folds like a hungry man.

"Fuck, you taste so sweet" His voice vibrating against your pussy, he was eating you out like he hadn't eaten anything in years.

"T-this is..so good.." You managed to whimper out, soft moans leaving your mouth as you bit onto it.

You felt the knot in your stomach loosen, getting closer to your climax, he had gotten you so worked up in moments.

"Hee,I'm..I'm cumming" you let out, his tongue moving skillfully at your now puffy folds, while his fingers moved in and out of your pulsing hole.

"Shit, cum in my mouth, I wanna taste every drop of you, baby" He groaned, a sultry moan escaping your mouth before your milky release came straight on his tongue.

He was licking every spot clean, nothing could go to waste. It wasn't his fault you just tasted so sweet.

He looked at you, the lower part of his face glistening with your..magic?

He unzipped your dress, taking it off swiftly, leaving you in your bra, which followed right after.

Your own hands messily unbuttoning his pants unable to contain your dripping need for him, as you pulled them down, revealing his throbing cock, boxers doing nothing to hide it.

His shirt going over his head, before his pulled his boxers, freeing his growing erection.

You hadn't seen much dicks in your life, but you could tell, He was big, a challenge (That you were more than willing to take).

His cock slapped against his lower abdomen, it was leaking pre-cum, a slight praise that you weren't the only one on cloud 9.

A teasing smirked was on his face. "Like what you see?" You looked at him, eyes drooping. Like was an understatement.

"Hee, please... fuck me."You whined, pulling him closer by his neck, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Taking a condom from your bedstand, he rolled it down his lenght, before slamming onto you.

You both moaned in unison, the sound of skin clapping and wet squelching gradually filled the bedroom.

"Fuck, you're so tight"He groaned , his hands resting on your hips.

You swore you could feel him in your stomach (even though impossible), tears of pleasure filled your eyes, as cries and moans fell from your lips.

"Hee! Oh my..You're.." you couldn't even form correct sentences as he strocked your gummy walls with his cock.

"I know, baby, I know" With each thrust , he filled you completly, leaving no room for doubt, his tip hitting your cervix deliously.

A wave of pleasure surfaced, you were shaking, biting your lips to stop yourself from screaming out his name.

"I-..I'm cumming" You let out as a moan

"Yeah,baby? Cum on my fucking cock, wanna feel you" He thrusted deeply inside of you, feeling your pussy tighten.

As the knot finally unclasped in your tummy, covering his cock with your release.

"Just like that." He moaned, before chasing his own high, his cock twitched in you, while his face contorted in pleasure, as he threw his head back.

"Fuck.." and just like that, his hot release shot in the condom, leaving him lazily thrusting in and out of you before falling on top of you, trying not to hurt you.

"That was amazing, you're amazing" He whispered in your ear,placing a small kiss on your neck.

After getting cleaned up, you sighed looking at him. "I honestly don't know how it all happened." He smiled, that same smile that made you fall for him and chase another man thinking you could never have Heeseung.

"Me neither, but maybe it's just that we're bound to be." He looked at the ceiling, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You mean bound to be together,right?" To which he chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night.

And that night was the first one in years in which you slept like when you used to be a carefree kid.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe you are bound to be.

[gaykarstaagforever]

I was going to do a whole journalistic deep-dive of this, but upon further reflection, 1) that would require labor I don't want to do, and 2) everyone but me is probably aware of this kind of shit and over it by now.

But I want to talk for a moment about a new "Country Gospel Christian" artist that is "blowing up" on YouTube and Spotify right now (I'm being sarcastic) named Aisha Sparkle.

YouTube Music, forever may it functionally persist, decided to drop one of her songs into my stream. Curious, I DuckDuckGo'd her.

Oddly enough, no image results matched the picture of the lady tied to the track.

Okay, fine. DuckDuckGo isn't perfect. There's still Google. Let's see.

Okay. She's pretty!

...Is that...the same lady?

Wait. Who the hell is that?

And none of these look like the track art, which looks like this:

Who is THIS, then? There is no way two country gospel singers have that same weird name --

......Wait a minute.

......OH YOU BASTARDS.

Yeah so this is AI generated, at least partially. All these tracks and entire albums have been dumped online, everywhere, in the last couple days, all with different lazy AI art.

The songs themselves are at least some kind of guided AI, because they're lyrically a little awkward at times, but sound like actual songs, with structure. Or it's just a really good AI, trained on this kind of music.

Honestly, the bar for white people "praise and worship" music is so low, it's hard to tell. Just endlessly mash up a handful of vaguely-positive Christian-esque platitudes, maybe start with a hooky chorus, and literally anyone or anything can generate one of these, and it sounds...good enough.

Then synth the music and get an AI voice of a white lady, and bam. Time to generate some money!

I just did one on ChatGPT, with the chorus "We Rise in Glory":

"We Rise in Glory" Verse 1: We lift our hearts, we lift our hands, To honor You, our Maker, Lord, With every breath, we praise Your name, Forever we will worship You, forever we will stand. Pre-Chorus: Through every trial, through every storm, You hold us close, You keep us warm. Our hope is sure, our faith is strong, We’ll rise with You, our souls belong. Chorus: We rise in glory, we rise in grace, Lifted by Your love, we seek Your face. With hearts united, we stand as one, In Your glory, our victory's won. We rise in glory, we rise in You, Our hearts surrender, our spirits renewed. Verse 2: The chains are broken, the dark is gone, Your light has come to lead us on. We run the race, we press ahead, In the power of the cross, we are led. Pre-Chorus: Through every trial, through every storm, You hold us close, You keep us warm. Our hope is sure, our faith is strong, We’ll rise with You, our souls belong. Chorus: We rise in glory, we rise in grace, Lifted by Your love, we seek Your face. With hearts united, we stand as one, In Your glory, our victory's won. We rise in glory, we rise in You, Our hearts surrender, our spirits renewed. Bridge: Let the heavens declare, let the earth sing loud, We are rising, we are shining, we wear the victor’s crown. By Your power, by Your might, we stand, In Your glory, we find our land. Chorus (Reprise): We rise in glory, we rise in grace, Lifted by Your love, we seek Your face. With hearts united, we stand as one, In Your glory, our victory's won. We rise in glory, we rise in You, Our hearts surrender, our spirits renewed. Outro: We rise in glory, we rise in You, Forever faithful, forever true.

Tell me that's in any way substantially different than this:

We all know this is doable and relatively easy now. But it's still amazing to run into it in the wild.

Whoever did this isn't even hiding it, obviously. The AI photos are lazy, and they're flooding the platforms with it. Which is the point. People who stream this kind of music probably won't notice that it's AI slop, because it is just good enough to pass as the mid thing they like.

And they don't seem to notice or care, judging from the YouTube comments.

...Assuming any of those are even real. That's probably part of the algorithm pumping, fake engagement.

Again, we all know this is what can be done now. But to stumble into it is still jarring. Especially when YouTube Music just drops it into an auto playlist.

Interesting note: why didn't DuckDuckGo show me any of these pictures? And why, then, did Google?

My guess is, while both are now using AI in search results, DuckDuckGo might still be sensible enough to weed out AI slop from search results. Because no one is looking for AI slop. And of course Google absolutely does not care, because they want to be the world's foremost AI slop company.

I went hard for awhile with AI art, to understand how it's made and all its quirks. And maybe that taught me something. I don't know. I assume everyone can become canny enough to sniff this crap out.

And clearly we have to, because this kind of thing is only going to get worse.

...Also AI-generated fiddles don't sound quite right. And the lyrics are always off in subtle little ways. And all the songs are around 3 minutes and don't have instrumental breaks.

...Also, Aisha Sparkle? That was the first red flag. It's probably some esoteric SEO thing, but it's so transparent. Issa Sparks would be better. Traylor Switch. Take it seriously, you bums.

All of this still requires a careful human hand to pull off atm, and shockingly, people scamming Christians for money are only willing to work so hard at it. Usually because they don't have to.

And that's certainly not something you need AI for. But damn if it doesn't make it faster!

Also NO, I'm not the one doing this. I like making fun of terrible people, not being one. Plus, why put all of this work in to make garbage for maybe a little bit of money, temporarily? Just make a good thing, if you can, and that could maybe generate a little money forever. You have to really just care about money NOW NOW NOW and nothing else to commit yourself to shit like this.

And if I cared about money, I wouldn't pay to use Tumblr. Like, come on.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Maybe Simon Riley and famous reader?? Like the reader is a singer and dedicates a song to him and we get to see a sort of soft and proud side of him?

I had to actually go through my playlist to find the right vibe for this. Such a sweet request 🥹

Song on repeat while I wrote this is "Just the two of us" by Bill Withers and Grover Washington, Jr. Cover version by The Macarons Project. Listen to the gorgeous cover here

Pairing: Simon x famous!reader

pov: Simon's

Title: To my Love.

"Okay, Manchester, it's almost time for me to close out for the night!" Her voice rings out above the cheering of the stadium. People are chanting encore and begging for another song. She laughs into the microphone, "I love you all, but I most certainly promised someone that I would try and wrap up on time."

There's a shout from somewhere closer to the stage for just one more song, please. She relents with a soft laugh, "Fine, but I'm thinking a new song for the city that has my heart."

There's more cheering and backstage, Simon tilts his head to the side because he understands the double meaning. His girl is always saying in interviews and on hot mics that her heart is in Manchester, England. She's not even from here, and when people ask about her own hometown, her smiles turn shy and sweet. She never says what or who she means, choosing to keep their relationship private. It's for her safety and his peace at mind.

Sure, he doesn't do the award shows, the public facing red carpets, and he blends in as one of her body guards; but her inner circle knows who he is and sees the two of them behind closed doors. He's a little shocked at the mention of a new song. He knows every lyric that gets written down in the little song book he got for her.

She looks off stage towards him and bless the smile she gives him. It makes his stomach flip and flop, and he knows that he is smiling like a love struck fool. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and the surgical mask on his face shifts, a clear indication that he is smiling back. This woman makes him feel things he hasn't in years. She kisses his scars, holds his hand with a grin, and every time she says his name, it's like hearing an angel whisper to him. He's not a praying man, does not believe in God or karma, he's lived too bloody a life for those thoughts, so finding someone to love him was never a possibility.

Yet here she is getting ready to debut a new song that she just told him was written with only him in mind. No other hands have touched this song, and it was written for him, and she's singing it as a public declaration of her love for him. The sentiment makes him ache in the best ways, turns him into puddy.

"What is that girl doing?" Her manager hisses, "did we approve of this?" She's fussing with a stage hand demanding to know what track is about to be played. The DJ cues up the music. It's a sweet swell of music. Light on the ears, there's no producer tag, no booming base, or 808s. The flip from high energy to sweet melodies instantly calms the crowd to silence.

Yeah, this wasn't planned. It's in the same vein as their relationship, unplanned and sweet. Simon didn't mean to fall in love with her. It sorta just happened. What was supposed to be a favor for a friend of John's, just the team providing extra security for some starlet, turned into a miracle.

She sings about him, sweetly. A true love song. She sings about loving someone at their best. She sings about loving the ugliest parts of someone. She belts her heart out on the bridge, words about finding true love and knowing that it won't always be easy. Her voice cracks, warbling on lines about broken people and loving them and slowly putting them together again, pretty gold holding the pieces together.

By the time the song is over, the longest and shortest four minutes in his life. And to think, someone wrote about how they loved loving him for four minutes, him of all people, he's got tears in his eyes. His body is moving before he can process it. There are people calling for him to stay backstage. He thinks he hears one of his teammates, and he doesn't know or care. All Simon Riley can see is his girl, his song bird, the mask is off and he's pulling her into a kiss.

There's distant cheering he is sure of that. The audience probably thinks that this is staged. It's not. Her manager will probably try to spin some silly narrative to the press and all of her fans. Whoever is on lights earns their paycheck because every light except the spotlight on them goes out.

And then slowly even that light fades, too, to the sound of thunderous applause.

ngl...I'm crying. Thank you anon.

[sherewrytes]

Love and Gunshots, Eren x Black Reader

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

I'll re edit this when I'm better, in the mean time happy reading

Taglist: @topshotdivaa @prettypink-princesss @burpzz @niaizzy1623 @jcoleisbetter @msjaeger @hidd3nbimbo

Chapter 3: Trapsta

Eren POV

The days following that night on the bridge were marked by an aching tension, a gnawing restlessness that settled deep in my chest. I couldn’t shake her presence, the way she stood there with her chin raised, eyes brimming with defiance and something else—something she wasn’t ready to admit. It was as if her essence had seeped into my veins, an unrelenting current that refused to let go.

Every corner of the city whispered her name. The dim alleys where shadows stretched long into the night, the crowded bars where laughter and shouting overlapped like a deafening wave—even there, I couldn’t escape. My world had become a labyrinth where every path led back to her. Each step I took, every breath I drew, carried the ghost of her scent and the memory of her touch.

I found myself on that same bridge again, leaning against the cold metal railing, the wind biting at my skin. The night was deep and dark, the stars above obscured by the city’s light pollution. The silence was broken only by the distant hum of traffic, a lullaby to the restless. The city lights flickered on the river’s surface below, creating a distorted mirror that seemed to mock my turmoil.

“Back so soon?” Her voice sliced through the night like a blade, sharp and sure. I turned, a smirk playing at my lips as Y/n stepped out of the shadows, her figure outlined by the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp. She looked both fierce and fragile, like a flame that could either warm you or burn you alive.

“Could say the same for you,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from her. There was something magnetic about her presence, something that made my pulse quicken and my carefully constructed walls start to crack. The air between us was electric, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

She folded her arms over her chest, a defensive move that did little to hide the vulnerability beneath. “What is this, Eren? Some kind of sick game?”

I took a step closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. The scent of her perfume—soft, intoxicating—wrapped around me like a chain. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed, searching mine for an answer I couldn’t give. Silence fell between us, thick and suffocating, as we stood on the precipice of something we weren’t ready to name. The wind picked up, tangling her hair and sending shivers down my spine.

“You’re going to ruin everything,” she whispered, the words trembling as they left her lips. I saw the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed as if the confession itself had been painful.

I reached out, my fingers brushing against her cheek, and for a heartbeat, she didn’t pull away. The contact sparked something primal that sent a shiver down my arm. “Maybe,” I said, voice low and laced with something dangerous, “but maybe some things are meant to be ruined.”

A flicker of fear flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by defiance. She grabbed my wrist, her grip firm and unyielding, sending a shock through my system. Her touch was fire and ice, a paradox that left me breathless. “This has to stop, Eren. Whatever this is, it’s going to destroy us both.”

I leaned in, so close that our breaths mingled, the space between us shrinking to nothing. Her eyes locked onto mine, their wariness mingling with something deeper, something she tried to hide. “Then let it,” I whispered, my voice a challenge, a promise.

For a moment, the world stood still. The city around us, the chaos and noise—it all faded into the background. All that existed was her, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the fire in her eyes that matched the storm in my own. I felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins, daring me to push the boundaries, to see just how far we could fall.

Then, just as suddenly as the moment had come, she pushed me away, the spell broken. The sharp sting of rejection cut through me, and I felt the urge to pull her back, to hold on until she stopped fighting. My hands clenched at my sides, every muscle straining against the need to close the distance again.

“This isn’t over,” I said, more to myself than to her, my voice hoarse with unspent emotion.

She looked at me one last time, something unreadable flickering across her face before she turned and walked away into the night. The sound of her footsteps echoed long after she disappeared from view, a haunting reminder that the battle had only just begun. The darkness swallowed her, and I stood there, the taste of her defiance and fear lingering like smoke in the back of my throat.

I leaned back against the railing, eyes closing as the night wind stung my skin. My heart pounded with a ferocity that refused to be quelled. This was more than a game, more than an obsession—it was a descent, and neither of us was prepared for how deep it would go.

The morning light sliced through the half-open blinds, casting thin, golden stripes across the room cluttered with evidence of last night’s excess. The tang of cheap perfume and stale liquor hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid hint of smoke from cigarettes I barely remembered finishing. Annalise was sprawled across the sheets, limbs draped in a careless tangle, her blonde hair fanning out like a halo that mocked the sharp edge of her smirk. She was a means to an end, a temporary balm for an itch I needed to scratch, a way to drown out the nagging pull of Y/n’s absence.

A sharp knock at the door jolted me from my reverie, rattling through the haze of leftover adrenaline and exhaustion. Before I could react, the door swung open with a force that made the hinges groan, and Ony stormed in, eyes dark and deadly. He scanned the room, pausing on Annalise just long enough for his expression to harden into something venomous before snapping back to me, flames in his stare.

Annalise slid off the bed with a lazy stretch, a wicked grin spreading across her lips as she walked over to Ony. Her eyes glimmered with mischief as she reached out, brushing her hand over his chest, nails grazing his skin. “See you tonight, baby,” she purred, her voice a deliberate taunt before she sauntered out of the room, hips swaying with calculated arrogance. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence followed was electric, the air between us crackling with unspoken threats.

Ony’s fists clenched at his sides, muscles coiling beneath his skin like taut wires ready to snap. His chest rose and fell with heavy, deliberate breaths. I leaned back against the headboard, letting a smirk curve my lips, the deflection coming as naturally as breathing.

“I thought this was about Anna,” I said, tilting my head with a mocking lift of my brow.

He rolled his eyes, the gesture sharp and dismissive. “No. She’s fucking Connie too,” he spat, voice dripping with disdain. The room fell into a momentary silence, a pause heavy enough to suffocate. Then, without warning, he surged forward, grabbing the front of my shirt and yanking me off the bed.

The floor rushed up to meet me, and I landed hard, the impact reverberating through my spine and knocking the breath from my lungs. Dazed, I barely had time to process before Ony was on me, his fist a blur as it connected with my jaw. The pain exploded, hot and electric, radiating through my skull. I laughed through the blood that seeped into my mouth, the metallic tang fueling the reckless defiance simmering in my veins.

“That all you got?” I taunted, wiping the blood from my split lip with the back of my hand. The sting sharpened my senses, cutting through the fog of pain and exhaustion. Ony’s eyes flashed with something primal, an emotion too raw and fierce to name. He yanked me up again, our faces inches apart, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was a low snarl, vibrating with barely controlled rage. “I know she’s been sneaking out to meet you. You’re going to get her killed, Eren.”

The words landed like a punch, heavier than any blow he’d thrown. For a moment, the room blurred at the edges, the implications sinking in, pressing down like a weight on my chest. But I couldn’t let him see that. Couldn’t let him think he had the upper hand.

“Better me than you,” I said, my voice cold, defiant. The smirk returned, a mask of indifference that belied the chaos inside me.

Ony’s eyes flared, and before I could brace myself, he slammed me against the wall, the plaster cracking under the force. The impact rattled my teeth, but I barely registered it before we were grappling, fists flying, the room dissolving into a blur of raw, unfiltered violence. Each punch, each shove, was a testament to the unspoken war between us—a fight not just for dominance, but for the fragile line that tethered Y/n to safety.

Breath came in ragged gasps, muscles aching, skin slick with sweat and blood. Ony’s knuckles connected with my ribs, sending a shockwave of pain that nearly buckled my knees. I retaliated with a strike to his jaw, the sharp crack echoing in the small room. His expression flickered with surprise before morphing into a snarl, and he tackled me, sending us both crashing onto the floor.

Pinned beneath his weight, the pressure on my chest made breathing a struggle. His eyes bored into mine, seething with rage and something else—something that looked a lot like fear. He gritted his teeth, fists still poised for another hit.

“Why do you not want me around Y/n?” I gasped, the question tumbling out before I could stop it.

Ony’s expression darkened further, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he held back words that seemed to scorch the back of his throat. Finally, he released me, shoving me back to his feet with a glare that promised this wasn’t over.

“You’re going to get her killed.” The echo of his words chased me long after he turned and left, the door slamming behind him like a final warning.

I glared at Ony, wiping the blood from my lip and smiling. “Maybe I love her, you don’t know.” His eyes widened, a flash of shock breaking through the mask of anger, and before I could react, he grabbed me by the shirt again and swung at me with another bone-jarring punch. I watch Ony storm out of my room and then my apartment. Ony slammed the door so hard it rattled the door frame. The sound echoed in the room, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence that sat heavy in the air. I blinked, staring at the spot where he’d just been, trying to process how the night had turned on its head so fast.

My jaw tightened as his words replayed in my mind. "You’re going to get her killed." What the hell did he mean by that? I wasn’t about to sit back and let Ony dictate who I could and couldn’t see. Not when it came to her.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face as I tried to shake off the frustration bubbling up in my chest. Ony’s my boy, but he doesn’t get it. She’s different. Quiet, soft, nothing like the girls who hang around the block, hoping to catch a piece of me. She doesn’t even know the power she’s got... or maybe she does, and that’s what’s driving me crazy.

I sat back on my bed, reaching for a cigarette to smoke, eyes narrowing. The tension in my body refused to ease, and I smirked bitterly. One can try to keep her away from me, but he doesn’t know me like that. I always get what I want.

Your POV

The hinges of the front door creaked as I slowly pushed it open, my heart thundering in my chest. The house was dark, just as I’d left it hours ago, but something about the stillness felt… off.

I slipped inside, easing the door shut behind me. My feet moved cautiously over the hardwood floors, barely making a sound as I crept towards the stairs. The thrill of sneaking out was long gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease.

“Where were you?”

The voice sliced through the silence, low and sharp, and I froze. My stomach dropped as my eyes darted to the living room. At first, I couldn’t see him, but then a faint glow from the streetlights outside caught the outline of Ony slouched in the armchair, his arms crossed, his face shadowed but unmistakably stern.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat rising to my face. "I was—"

“Don’t even try it,” he cut me off, leaning forward so the light caught his expression—cold, angry, and something else I couldn’t quite place. “You think I don’t know where you were?”

My pulse quickened. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

“Eren,” he spat the name like a curse, shaking his head. “Of all people, you went to see him?”

My mouth opened, but no words came out. What could I say? I wasn’t sorry. Not even close.

“You don’t understand,” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t understand?” Ony’s laugh was bitter as he stood, his presence towering over me now. “You don’t understand, Y/N. You don’t know what kind of man he is, what kind of life he lives. And I’ll be damned if I let you get caught up in that.”

I clenched my fists, feeling my frustration bubble over. “You can’t tell me what to do, Ony! I’m not a kid anymore!”

“And yet you’re acting like one,” he shot back, his voice rising now. “Running off in the middle of the night, sneaking around with someone like him? Do you have any idea what you’re playing with?”

I flinched at the venom in his words but held my ground. “You think you know him, but you don’t. He’s—”

“He’s dangerous,” Ony interrupted, his voice hard now. “And you’re going to get yourself hurt. Or worse.”

We stood there, the weight of his words hanging in the air. My mind raced, my heart still pounding, and for a moment, I felt like a kid again—caught, cornered, and desperate to break free.

The air was thick with tension, each breath feeling heavier than the last. My heart raced, but I wasn’t about to back down. Not this time.

Ony stood in front of me, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin crawl. His words echoed in my mind—dangerous—but what did he know? Was he so sure about Eren, about everything, just because of the rumours and the past? His past?

"You don't know him like I do," I finally said, my voice shaking with a mix of defiance and something else I couldn't place. "How long have you known Eren? A few weeks? Maybe less?"

Ony's face twitched like he wasn't expecting me to question him back. Good. I wasn’t some naïve kid anymore, living in his shadow, following every word he said without thinking for myself. I stepped forward, my feet hitting the floor with more force than I meant.

"What about you, Ony?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "You think you know the kind of life he leads, but how long have you been doing this? How many more people have you hurt in your ‘game’?”

His jaw clenched, a flicker of something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite read. But it wasn’t fear. No, he wasn’t afraid of me. It was something darker, something more resigned. “You don’t get it.”

I took a step closer. "No, you don’t get it, Ony. You're talking like you're the only one who’s been in this world. Like you’re the only one who’s seen the violence, the dirt, the blood. But Eren... he’s different from you."

Ony scoffed, but I wasn’t done. "He’s been through shit—stuff you couldn’t even imagine—and yeah, maybe he’s dangerous, but you’re not some saint either. You’ve been in this world longer than Eren. Hell, longer than any of us. So don’t stand there and pretend you know what’s best for me, for my life, just because you’ve been around longer.”

I swallowed, trying to steady my breath, but it felt like the walls were closing in. "I need to figure this out. I need to know who he is. I need to understand why I feel this pull to him. Don’t act like you’ve got all the answers, Ony, because you don’t."

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out, his anger pushing him to something he couldn’t take back. But instead, he exhaled sharply, almost as if the weight of my words had hit him harder than he cared to admit.

“You don’t know what you’re messing with.” His voice dropped, quieter now, but just as sharp. “Eren’s a ticking time bomb. And when it blows, you’ll be the one left standing in the wreckage.”

I stood there, feeling the intensity of his gaze bore into me, but there was no turning back now. I was done being scared, done hiding from the truth.

“Let it blow then.” My voice was steady, unwavering. “Let it all come crashing down.”

Ony’s expression shifted from anger to something sharper—something colder. He took a step closer, his presence almost suffocating now, and I felt a chill run down my spine, but I stood my ground.

“This is the man you want, Y/N?” Ony’s voice was low, dangerous, as he shook his head. “Him? Eren? For real?”

I didn’t flinch. “You don’t get it, Ony. I don’t need your approval.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned in, his eyes locked onto mine. “Eren’s a fucking mess. And you wanna get tangled up in that? Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Don’t make me call Aunt Marsha and tell her what you’re up to.”

I froze for a second, the mention of my mom slicing through me like a knife. "Don't you dare bring my mom into this," I hissed, my teeth gritting as the tension crackled in the air between us.

Ony didn’t seem fazed. “I will if I have to, Y/N. You think you know what you’re doing, but you’re playing with fire. This is the last time I’ll warn you.” His voice was dangerously calm like he was speaking to a child. “Stay away from Eren.”

Something inside me snapped. I wasn’t a kid. I wasn’t going to let him control me, not like this.

I tilted my chin up, looking him dead in the eye, and said, “I don’t give a fuck.”

For a long moment, Ony just stared at me, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His face twisted in disbelief like I’d slapped him across the face. “Excuse me?”

I wasn’t backing down. “I said I don’t give a fuck.”

He blinked like he was processing what I’d just said, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. But then, something broke in his expression. He laughed, a sharp, almost incredulous sound like he couldn’t believe his ears.

“Nah, nah. You must be trippin’.” He shook his head, still laughing. “You think I’m gonna let you throw your life away over this?”

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even blink. “You can keep laughing all you want, Ony, but this is my choice. Not yours.”

The tension in the room grew thick enough to choke on, but I held his gaze, refusing to look away. “Stay the fuck out of my life.”

Ony’s laughter faded, but there was still that cold edge to his stare. He looked at me like he didn’t know who I was anymore like I was some stranger standing in his living room.

Ony’s sigh was like the air leaving the room, heavy and resigned. He rubbed his hand over his face, a tired motion as if he was worn out by the whole thing like this conversation was more of a burden to him than a warning. He stared at me with a mixture of frustration and disappointment.

“You’re an honour roll student,” he muttered, his voice suddenly low, almost sad. “Look at the fucking hood around us, Y/N. You want in that life? The life I’m in? The trapping, the pushing, the constant paranoia? You always gotta be on your toes ‘cause of the opps lurking around? You think this is what you want?”

His words hit me, hard. The weight of them, the harshness, the reality he was trying to drill into me. But I wasn’t some naive little girl, and I wasn’t going to let his guilt trip pull me back into a corner.

“You want a man in that life?” he continued, his voice growing sharper. “Don’t fuck your life up for one man, Y/N. You know he’s fucking around with other girls, right? Do you think you’re so special? Do you think you’re important? Don’t be dumb.”

I blinked, his words stinging, but something inside me snapped—something raw and real. I felt my chest tighten, the anger rising like a tide I couldn’t hold back.

“You think I don’t know?” I finally shot back, my voice colder than I meant it to be. “You think I’m stupid?”

His face twisted in disbelief like he was expecting me to fall apart, to let his words break me. But I wasn’t about to.

“You’re right about one thing,” I said, my voice steady now. “This life you’re in—trapping, pushing, the constant danger—isn’t something I want. But I’m not some stupid girl who’s gonna let you tell me what I can and can’t want.”

Ony looked at me, his expression hard, his jaw clenched as he watched me with growing frustration. But I wasn’t done.

“Yeah, I know about Eren.” I swallowed, feeling the tightness in my throat. “I know what kind of man he is. And you think that’s gonna scare me away? That’s gonna stop me from wanting to know him?”

He threw his hands up, frustrated. “You think this is some cute little love story? Do you think you can just waltz into his world and get a happy ending? It doesn’t work like that.”

I took a step forward, my fists clenched, but I wasn’t shaking. “I don’t need you to protect me, Ony. I’m not some kid who needs you to shield me from the world. I’ll make my own choices.”

Ony stared at me, incredulous, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. For a second, I thought he might explode, might lash out. But instead, his shoulders sagged, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“You’re making a huge mistake,” he said, his voice almost quieter now like the fight was draining out of him.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The choice was already made. I was done listening to his warnings. I was done being told who I could and couldn’t care about.

“I’ll make my own mistakes,” I whispered, but I said it with conviction. “And I’ll live with them.”

I turned to leave, feeling Ony’s gaze on my back, the weight of his disappointment heavier than I wanted to admit. But nothing was going to stop me now.

My feet pounded against the stairs as I stormed up to my room, the sharpness of Ony’s words still echoing in my ears. The frustration, the anger—it all felt like a storm building inside me, one I couldn’t outrun, even if I tried.

I could feel the tears starting to prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not yet. I wouldn’t let him see me break.

But as I slammed my bedroom door behind me and leaned against it, my chest tight, the tears came anyway. It wasn’t just the anger I felt—it was the hurt. The deep hurt that Ony, my cousin, could speak to me like that. He’d never done that before. Not even in the middle of our biggest fights. He was the one who’d always been there for me, the one who'd protected me, but now it felt like he was pushing me away.

I wiped my eyes furiously, pacing the room as my thoughts swirled. How could he say those things to me? How could he be so cold, like I was just some naive kid who didn’t know what she was doing? Was I making a mistake?

No. I had to stop myself. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t the same girl anymore. I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me what I could and couldn’t have. Not even Ony.

But the doubt still lingered. He had never spoken to me like that before. Never in all the years, I’d known him, even when we fought over the stupidest things. It felt like I had shattered something between us, and I wasn’t sure if it could ever be fixed.

I let out a shaky breath, sitting down on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall, lost in thought. Why did it have to be this way?

Why couldn’t I just want what I wanted without everyone trying to control it?

Eren’s POV

I walked into Connie’s place, the door creaking shut behind me, and immediately the smell hit me—the thick, heavy scent of weed. Connie’s place always had that vibe, a comfortable chaos where nothing was ever off-limits. The faint buzz of a stereo in the background, the low murmur of voices, and the haze that hung in the air made everything feel slower and more relaxed. But that vibe didn’t match what I saw when I stepped into the living room.

There was Ony, slouched back in the armchair, a fat blunt dangling from his fingers as he lazily cleaned his AR-15. He looked like he was in the middle of something, but his eyes—those cold, sharp eyes—shot straight at me the moment I walked in.

I moved closer, past him, toward the couch where Annalise was sitting in Connie’s lap. She didn’t even look up at first, too busy with her hands working a joint in between her fingers. But as soon as I leaned down, I placed a soft kiss on her cheek, a brief moment of affection that she responded to with a smile, the corner of her mouth curling up.

“Hey, baby,” she said, her voice light, her hand still rolling the joint like it was second nature.

I sat down beside her, but something about the atmosphere in the room felt off. Ony’s gaze never left me, a heavy, calculating stare that made my skin prickle. The air between us was thick, filled with an unspoken tension.

I could feel it before I even said anything—the simmering hostility. Ony’s expression was cold, eyes narrow as he took another drag from the blunt. His fingers gripped the gun tighter, methodical, as if cleaning it was more of a distraction from whatever was going on in his head.

“What’s up, Ony?” I asked, my voice casual, but I couldn’t ignore the way he was looking at me. It was like he was waiting for something, some opening to lash out.

He exhaled smoke slowly, the room thick with the scent of it, and without breaking eye contact, he muttered, “Nothing. Just cleaning my shit.”

I raised an eyebrow, knowing that wasn’t the full story. I could feel the undercurrent of frustration radiating off him, but I wasn’t about to back down. Not now.

I leaned back on the couch, glancing at Annalise, who seemed oblivious to the tension building in the room. But Ony? Ony was staring me down like he was waiting for me to make a move.

“You’re still fucking with her, huh?” Ony finally spoke, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. “After all this time? You think you got her under control?”

My chest tightened, the irritation rising as his words sank in. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, my voice sharp, as I shot him a glance that was heavy with annoyance.

Ony scoffed, his lips curling into something close to a sneer. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? You think I don’t know what you’re doing with Y/N? Playing around with her, messing with her head? Man, you’re seriously out of your mind.”

I leaned forward, my temper starting to flare. “What’s your problem with her? You still think you can control who she talks to, who she fucks with?” I felt the edge in my voice, but I wasn’t backing down.

Annalise looked up from what she was doing, sensing the shift in the mood. But Ony wasn’t having it. He flicked the ash from his blunt, his gaze never leaving me. “She’s a fucking honour roll student, and you’re dragging her into this life. Don’t act like you’re a good guy in all of this, Eren.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling the tension escalate. Ony always had a way of pushing my buttons, but I wasn’t going to let him bait me into a fight. “I’m not dragging her into anything. She’s her fucking person.”

He laughed bitterly, his eyes flicking to Annalise for a split second before he shot me a look that was all too familiar. “Yeah? And you think she knows what she’s getting into? Do you really think you’re the one who gets to decide what’s best for her? Come on, man, don’t be dumb.”

I stood up suddenly, my chair scraping against the floor. “You wanna talk about dumb? You really wanna lecture me about what’s best for her when you can barely keep your shit together?”

Ony stood up too, slow and deliberate, the tension between us thickening. But before anything could escalate, Connie called from the other room, his voice cutting through the silence. “Yo, chill out, both of you.”

I looked at Ony one last time, the animosity thick between us, and then I turned back to Annalise. She didn’t seem to care about what was going on.

I eyed Connie and Annalise, the air thick with unspoken tension before I let out a laugh that didn’t reach my eyes. “Guess you were right, Ony,” I said, glancing back at him with a smirk. “Anna’s really fucking... loving the crew.”

Annalise rolled her eyes, not even giving me the satisfaction of a response. She just kept working, her fingers still focused on rolling the joint like everything was normal, like there wasn’t this storm swirling around us.

I was about to speak again when the door to the apartment creaked open, and Jean and Reiner strolled in, their usual swagger making its entrance before their words did. They dapped up everyone in the room, completely ignoring me.

“Yo, the fuck?” I muttered, irritation bubbling under the surface. “Since when we beefing?”

Jean didn’t even spare me a glance before he replied. “Cause I heard you’ve been making trouble for Y/N’s life, man.”

My eyes narrowed, and I could feel the annoyance rising in me. “If anyone’s got a fucking problem, they can shoot me. Ain’t nobody gonna stop me from doing what I want.”

That was when Ony moved.

It was quick, too quick for me to even process. I felt the sharp pain before I realized what had happened. A burst of fire shot through my thigh, and I staggered back, looking down at the dark stain spreading through my pants. My hand automatically reached for the wound, but the pain was already searing, burning through me.

Ony stood there, his cold eyes locked on me, his gun still pointed toward the floor. “You talk too much, Eren,” he said, his voice low and calm, like he hadn’t just shot me in the fucking thigh.

I gritted my teeth, fighting through the shock. The room was quiet for a second, the air heavy with what had just happened. The others, Jean and Reiner, looked on, no one daring to make a move. I could feel the blood beginning to pool, the sting of the bullet still fresh.

“What the fuck, Ony?” I spat, trying to stay on my feet, but the pain made my vision blur. “You really wanna do this right now?”

Ony didn’t flinch. “You’ve been warned, Eren. I told you to stay the fuck away from Y/N.”

Jean finally stepped forward, a half-smirk on his face. “Guess that’s one way to shut you up.”

Reiner didn’t say a word, but his eyes flicked to the wound and then to Ony. I could see the hesitation in his stance, but he didn’t interfere.

I swallowed the pain, the anger, and everything else building up inside me. “This shit’s far from over,” I growled under my breath, my vision clearing as the adrenaline kicked in. “You’ve made a mistake, Ony. But I’m not done.”

But Ony just shrugged, the same cold expression on his face. “You keep thinking that, Eren.”

And that was all he said before turning away, walking back to his chair, and picking up the blunt like nothing had happened.

Connie let out a heavy sigh, his eyes flicking between me and Ony before settling on me, a mix of frustration and disbelief on his face. Annalise, on the other hand, looked like she’d just seen a ghost. Her mouth was hanging open, and she was frozen, eyes wide as she looked between me and the blood seeping from my leg.

“Annalise!” Connie barked, his tone sharp, and she snapped out of her daze. She hurried off to the other room, her feet scrambling across the floor, her movements quick and jerky like she’d just woken up from a bad dream.

Connie pulled his phone from his pocket, already dialling as he stepped closer to me. His jaw was tight, muscles in his neck twitching with the annoyance he clearly didn’t want to show. “Goddamn, Eren,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head before he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hange, it’s Connie. We’ve got a problem.”

I gritted my teeth, trying to focus, trying to keep my head straight despite the pain. My leg was on fire, the blood rushing faster now, soaking through my pants. But I wasn’t about to show weakness. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though the words were strained, the pain threatening to overpower me. “Just need to patch it up. I’ve had worse.”

Connie didn’t even look at me. “Shut up, Eren. You’re not ‘fine.’ You’re lucky Ony didn’t blow your fucking leg off.”

The truth of that hit me harder than I cared to admit. Ony wasn’t playing games anymore. I knew he wasn’t the type to hesitate, but this? This was something different. He wasn’t going to just let me walk away anymore.

Annalise came back with the first aid kit, her hands shaking as she knelt beside me, her expression conflicted between worry and disbelief. She quickly opened the kit, pulling out gauze and bandages. I could see the hesitation in her hands, the way she was trying not to look directly at the blood, but she was quick. She knew what she was doing.

“I’m sorry, Eren,” she muttered, her voice softer than usual. “I didn’t... I didn’t know he was going to...”

I shook my head, forcing a chuckle through the pain. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

As she applied pressure to the wound, I gritted my teeth, trying not to wince too hard. The burn of the bullet in my leg was making it harder to focus on anything else, but I wasn’t about to show weakness.

Ony, though, was silent. The only sound was the faint flicker of the blunt burning down to the filter in his fingers, and the occasional deep drag he took as he watched me, a quiet satisfaction behind his eyes. It wasn’t just about the bullet. It was about power and control. He wanted me to feel this.

Connie’s voice cut through my thoughts as Hange picked up on the other end of the line. “Yo, Hange, we need you here. Eren got hit. It’s bad, but it’s not fatal.”

Hange’s voice came through quickly. “Got it, I’m on my way.”

Connie ended the call, his gaze flicking back to me with a look that was less about concern and more about the chaos that was about to unfold. He didn’t have to say it out loud, but I knew. This wasn’t just about a bullet wound anymore. The tension was building, and there was no way we were leaving this room without something else going down.

[mxtheialurks]

I'm here, baby. Part 1 Part 2

Hello there, so I noticed there were not a lot of Patti LuPone fics. Or... perhaps I have already read all of them...? But here it is, a 'Hollywood' fanfic between Avis Amberg and !Singer Reader. Pairing: Avis Amberg x !Singer Reader Word count: 2928 Warnings: none

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“Get your head out of the gutter, kid!” Ernie yells, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look down and realize with a jolt that you’ve overfilled a customer’s gas tank, the fuel spilling over the edges.

“Oh my God, Ernie! I’m so sorry, I—”

Ernie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Save it, kid. Go to my office. We need to have a little chat,” he says, his voice calm but heavy with disappointment.

From the small office window, you watch as Ernie talks to the man whose car you overfilled. Your stomach twists in knots as the man laughs, pulls out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and drives off, still chuckling.

Inside, you sit anxiously, rubbing your temples as your mind spirals. Am I going to get fired? Suspended without pay? The possibilities whirl around your head like a storm until Ernie finally walks in. He lights a cigarette, inhales deeply, then coughs out the smoke.

Before you can say a word, he cuts you off. “Alright, what’s going on with you, Y/N? You’ve been so out of it lately. Did that guy say something to you? Something about... Dreamland?”

Your heart races, and a nervous sweat beads on your forehead. Ernie notices immediately, his expression softening as he drops to one knee in front of you.

“Tell me,” he says gently. “Did he?”

Tears spring to your eyes, and your voice wavers as you manage to stammer, “Yes, and I—I just froze...”

Without hesitation, Ernie pulls you into a hug, his large arms wrapping around you protectively. “There, there, kid,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You know you don’t have to do anything like that, right? You’re here to help me out, not deal with people looking for a good time. That is not why you’re here.” He reminds you. 

He pulls back, his voice breaking slightly as he continues, “I know how hard it’s been at home since your mom—my sister—passed away.”

You sniffle, wiping your eyes, as Ernie stands up and pats your shoulder. “The guy whose tank you overfilled? He’s an old buddy of mine. Didn’t realize you were Martha’s daughter until I told him. He laughed it off and even handed me a hundred bucks as an apology.”

He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulls out the bill, and presses it into your hand. “Now, go wipe those tears and buy yourself something nice, okay?”

A small smile breaks through your tears as you hug him tightly.

“Happy 23rd birthday, kid,” he says softly, kissing your forehead.

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After shedding your gas station uniform, you head to the town’s boutique, Uncle Ernie’s words ringing in your ears. It’s not often you get the chance—or the means—to splurge on yourself.

The boutique feels like another world, the faint scent of vanilla candles mixing with the polished wood floors and soft hum of instrumental music. Your gaze drifts instinctively to the rack where that dress once hung.

You’ve been dreaming about it for months—a red dress with a daring slit that cuts mid-thigh. It was perfect in every way, except for the price tag. You’d promised yourself you’d buy it someday, but that day never came. Life has a way of pushing dreams aside for bills and groceries.

“Looking for something, miss?” a cheerful clerk asks, breaking your thoughts.

“Yes,” you reply, hesitantly. “Do you still have that red dress? The one with the slit—”

Before you can finish, she nods knowingly. “Wait here.”

You tap your fingers against the counter as she disappears into the back. The minutes stretch long, and your heart pounds with a mix of hope and apprehension. Then she returns, holding it.

“Here you go,” she says with a smile, presenting the dress like it’s a treasure.

Your breath catches as you take it in your hands. The fabric is even softer than you remember, the color more vibrant. Without a second thought, you pull out your wallet, the crisp bills from Uncle Ernie making it possible.

Moments later, you step out of the boutique, a grin spreading across your face. The dress swings from your hand, a symbol of something rare and precious—joy that’s yours alone.

Back at your apartment, you hold the boutique bag in hand, still glowing with excitement when a voice startles you.

“What’d you get, kid?”

“AHHH!” you scream, nearly jumping out of your skin. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ernie! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you exclaim, clutching your chest and gasping for air.

“What? Can’t an uncle visit his darling niece?” he replies, unbothered, taking a drag on his ever-present cigar.

“We just saw each other earlier! What do you want?” you ask, exasperated.

He chuckles, his laugh as gruff as his demeanor. “Well, kid, I figured you’d spend your birthday alone in this crappy apartment, so I’ve got a surprise for you. I’m taking you to dinner—me, you, Aunt Ellen, and my good friend Avis.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Avis? You mean Avis Amberg? The owner of Ace Studios?”

Ernie nods smugly.

“Why would a big shot like her come to a birthday dinner for someone she doesn’t even know? Ernie, I’m nobody—”

“Kid, nobody is nobody in this town,” he interrupts, jabbing the air for emphasis. “Once Avis meets you, she’ll see what I see—someone who’s something.”

You snort at his dramatics.

“Come on, Y/N,” he persists, rubbing your shoulders. “You’ve always wanted to be a singer, right? Who knows—maybe she’ll have you record backing tracks for her movies. Whaddya say, hmm?”

You let out a resigned sigh. “Alright, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit!” he exclaims, slapping his thigh with glee. “Now doll up. Wear that sparkly red dress of yours—”

You freeze, narrowing your eyes at him. “Wait a minute. How do you know I have a ‘sparkly red dress’ in this bag?” You hold up the sheathed garment for emphasis.

Ernie smirks, his cigar bobbing in the corner of his mouth. “Kid, you’ve been gawking at that dress every time we passed Ursula’s boutique. You think I don’t notice? Besides,” he adds with a mischievous waggle of his eyebrows, “Ursula and I go way back.”

Your face twists in disgust as you chuck a shoe at him. He ducks out of the way, laughing as he retreats toward the door.

“See you at seven, kid! Don’t be late!” he calls out before disappearing with a slam of the door.

You sigh, glancing at the dress. “This better be worth it,” you mutter, already dreading the evening ahead.

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Seven on the dot, just like Ernie said. You stand in front of the restaurant, purse clutched tightly in hand. The cool evening air does little to calm the nervous energy coursing through you. Dolled up and dressed to the nines, you mutter under your breath, “Simple birthday dinner, my ass.”

The thought of the Avis Amberg being inside makes your stomach twist. What if you say the wrong thing? Or laugh awkwardly?

After a minute of deliberation—and a deep, shaky breath—you step inside. Warm air envelops you, carrying with it the sweet and savory aromas of high-end cuisine. The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the room, but it does little to drown out your own thoughts.

At the front desk, you muster your courage. “Reservation for Ernest West?”

The receptionist smiles and nods, promptly leading you to a private room.

On the way there, your thoughts race. A private room? How much did Ernie shell out for this? And with Avis Amberg as an audience? You grip your purse tighter. Oh boy, this is going to be interesting.

The doors to the room swing open, revealing a warm and intimate space. Ernie is the first to greet you, his arms wide as he strides toward you with his trademark exuberance.

“There she is! The woman of the hour!” he exclaims, pulling you into a hearty hug.

Your eyes sweep over the table. To Ernie’s right sits Ellen Kincaid, his ever-gracious wife, offering you a warm smile. Beside Ellen is none other than Avis Amberg herself. The moment your gaze lands on her, it’s as though the world stops spinning.

Avis is a vision in red, every detail impeccable—from her perfectly coiffed updo to the shimmering jewelry that catches the light with every movement. You glance down at your own dress, also red, and feel a pang of insecurity. Great, of all colors to wear tonight...

But Avis is unfazed, her sharp eyes already reading you, assessing you in a way that makes your palms sweat.

Ernie, oblivious to your internal panic, guides you to the table and pulls out a chair. Ellen stands to greet you, kissing both your cheeks warmly, while Avis remains seated, her gaze fixed on you like a hawk sizing up its prey.

When your eyes finally meet, she smiles—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips. Extending her hand, she says, “And you must be the birthday girl.”

You take her hand, shaking it a little too eagerly. “I am—”

“Avis Amberg,” you finish for her, your voice steady despite your nerves.

Her smile sharpens into a grin, her grip firm but elegant. “Well, well, looks like someone did their homework.”

You laugh awkwardly, the sound escaping before you can stop it. Realizing how unpolished it sounds, you quickly cease, pressing your lips together. Ernie catches it, grinning as he moves to his seat. He leans down to kiss Ellen, who playfully smacks his chest.

“Avis, you know us Wests. We always do our homework, ain’t that right, sweetheart?” he says with a wink in Ellen’s direction.

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Yes, darling, you do. Oh, Avis, if I haven’t mentioned it yet, our darling Y/N here is an aspiring singer—with a voice that could bring down stadiums.”

Avis raises a perfectly arched brow, her red lips curving into a faint smile as she looks at you. “Hmm? If Ellen here speaks so highly of you, perhaps I should have you perform at one of my events.”

Your face flushes as a nervous smile spreads across your lips. “Oh no, Miss. Amberg, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you ramble, trying to wave off the compliment. “Singing is more of a hobby, really. I couldn’t possibly be as good as Ellen says.”

Ellen and Ernie exchange incredulous looks.

“Nonsense, kid!” Ernie exclaims, his voice booming with pride. “I’ve heard you sing plenty while working the register, and believe me, my customers stick around just to hear you. Take some credit for once, will ya?”

His laughter fills the room, and even Avis seems amused as she leans forward, her interest clearly piqued.

“You let your niece work at your gas station, Ernie?” she asks, her tone half-curious, half-teasing. “How is it that I’ve never seen her?”

Ernie smirks, waving his hand dismissively. “That’s because you never get out of your goddamn Cadillac, Avis!”

The table bursts into laughter, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eases. Still, the realization dawns on you: Avis Amberg is a regular at Golden Tip.

No wonder the boys at the station always seemed to have a little extra spring in their step, boasting about their big tips from “the lady in red.” So it was her all along—the powerful woman who spent money like it grew on trees.

As the laughter dies down, Avis rests her chin on her hand, her sharp gaze locking onto you. “Well, Y/N, it sounds like you’ve been hiding a talent that the world deserves to hear.”

Her words make your heart race, but the warmth in her tone sparks something new: hope.

“Thank you, Miss Amberg,” you say, your tone polite but still tinged with nervousness.

“Oh, baby,” she waves a hand dismissively, her bracelets jangling softly, “you may call me Avis. You’re making my back ache with all the pleasantries.”

You chuckle lightly, a genuine smile breaking through as you nod. “Well then, thank you, Avis.”

Her lips curl into a grin, pleased by your adjustment. “That’s better,” she says, leaning back in her chair with an air of satisfaction. “Now, tell me, Y/N—what’s your favorite song to sing?”

Her question catches you off guard, and you falter for a moment. “Oh, well, I guess it depends,” you say, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “I like singing jazz, mostly. Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald… their music speaks to me.”

Avis’s eyes light up, the mention of such timeless legends clearly striking a chord. “Ah, the classics,” she says, a touch of admiration in her voice. “Music that comes from the soul. You have good taste.”

Ernie beams at the exchange, clearly proud of you. “See, Avis? Told you the kid’s got it. I’d bet my bottom dollar she could belt out something right here and knock our socks off.”

You quickly shake your head, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh, no, I couldn’t! Not here, not now,” you stammer. “I mean, I’m flattered, but I’m not exactly… prepared.”

Ellen chimes in with a gentle laugh, “Oh, don’t mind Ernie. He loves putting people on the spot. But if you ever want to perform, Y/N, I’m sure Avis would love to hear you.”

Avis nods, swirling her glass of wine thoughtfully. “Indeed. There’s something about live music, especially when it comes from a genuine place. You’d be surprised how often talent like yours gets lost in the noise of this town.”

Her words carry weight, and for a moment, you feel as though she’s speaking directly to your deepest fears. Lost in the noise. Ernie, ever the optimist, claps his hands together. “Lost? Not this kid! She’s got a voice people’ll remember. Ain’t that right, Y/N?”

You give a shy smile, nodding slightly. “I guess so. I mean… I hope so.”

Avis’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before she raises her glass. “To hope, then. And to talent that deserves a stage.”

Everyone joins in the toast, raising their glasses with a clink. You sip your drink, the warmth of the moment settling into your chest. For the first time tonight, you feel like you truly belong at the table.

The dinner continued with laughter, stories, and a surprising ease that settled over the table. Ernie, true to form, dominated the conversation with his larger-than-life anecdotes, and Ellen balanced him out with her gentle humor. Avis occasionally chimed in, her remarks sharp and observant, but never unkind.

By the time dessert arrived, you were almost convinced you could get through the night without further incident. That is, until Avis set down her fork, leaned forward, and fixed you with a look that felt both intimidating and encouraging.

“Y/N,” she began, her tone measured, “tell me, what do you really want? In this town, I mean. Surely you’re not content to spend your life working at your uncle’s gas station.”

The question landed heavily, and the table went quiet. Ernie gave you a small nod of encouragement, while Ellen offered a reassuring smile.

You swallowed, your fingers gripping the edge of your napkin. “I… I want to sing,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to perform. To be out there in front of many people, the spotlight is only for me. My voice ringing deliciously in their ears, I want to become a broadway star” 

Avis studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Watching you enunciate every word, how your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. Her gaze lingers for a while there and when you finally finish she meets your eyes with enthusiasm. 

“Let me tell you something about this town,” she said, her voice soft but commanding. “It doesn’t matter who you know—or don’t know. What matters is how badly you want it and what you’re willing to do to get it. Talent can only take you so far. The rest? That’s grit.”

You nodded, absorbing her words, though a part of you still doubted your place in a world as ruthless as hers.

Avis seemed to sense this. “You’ve got a spark, Y/N. I can see it. The question is, what are you going to do with it?”

Before you could answer, Ernie jumped in, his voice full of enthusiasm. “That’s what I’ve been telling her! She’s got the goods, Avis. She just needs the right person to see it.”

Avis’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Well, Ernie, perhaps that person is sitting right here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You mean…?”

“I mean,” Avis said, setting her glass down, “I’m planning a charity gala next month. I always need fresh talent for Ace Studios. I have been thinking about it, expanding from motion pictures to Broadway plays and musical numbers. It’s not a guarantee, but if you’re willing to audition, I could give you a shot.”

The room seemed to tilt as her words sank in. An audition? For Avis Amberg? It felt too good to be true.

You managed a shaky nod. “I—I’d love to. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Avis said, her tone playful but firm. “The real work starts now, baby.”

------------------------------------------------------------ A/N: Will do a part two or more if you're interested in reading more. Hehe.

[burningember0802]

Three's Company Ch. 5

A/N: So I know I literally *just* posted about how I was going to try and write this chapter within the week but I started it and swear I got possessed or something and suddenly I was done and it was 2.7k words.

so we are back again with our stupid attendings who fucked up reallll bad. We’re also learning a little bit more about reader and her past! And about why she possibly acts the way she acts! Let the groveling begin!

Warnings: sexual content in some chapters, cursing, medical inaccuracies, suicidal tendencies, mention of death, PTSD, yelling, heavy angst, domestic violence, mental breakdown, injuries (let me know if I'm missing anything!)

Word count: 2.7k words

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Ever since the incident between the three of you where both Jack and Robby yelled at you on the same day things haven’t been the same, as expected. The next time they each worked with you they couldn’t help but notice the way you entirely pulled back from them. How your comfortability with them had taken one small step forward to take six steps back and it was all their fault. The guilt ate at them. You were like a completely different person, a shell of the girl they had known, the light that once filled the room when you walked in dimmed. 

You had not only pulled away from them, but everyone in the ER. Robby and Jack got the worst of it of course. There was no more casual conversation with them, no more smiles, no more coffee exchanged with Jack in the middle of shifts, no more playful bickering over patients with Robby. You seemed like you were walking on eggshells around them, acting like a scared doe waiting for the second the shoe is going to drop and they snap at you again. You had pulled away from everyone else in the ER too, acting much more reserved and quiet than before, no longer the confident, intelligent resident everyone in the Pitt loved. Mel and Samira had noticed it too, noticing how you talked to them less, didn’t stick around to chat after shifts or texting in between shifts. You still talked to people, trying not to worry anyone too much, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes like it used to, that light behind them gone, anxiety left in its wake. 

This was eating Robby and Jack alive, the guilt and shame gnawing at their stomachs, twisting and turning with every glimpse of you. They knew they shouldn’t have acted the way they did and that they needed to apologize but they didn’t know how, didn’t know how to get you to listen to them, trust them. They had been watching you closer in the ER during your shifts with them, observing you, trying to dissect your presence, trying to find something to help them make this up. Even Dana had noticed the shift in you, watching you closer than normal, knowing your past and how it can affect you sometimes. She even confronted Robby and Jack during a shift change once, cornering them in the family room. 

“What the hell did you two idiots do to our best resident?” Dana asked them sternly, hands on her hips, no greeting, no ‘hello, how are you?’, just straight to the point. Both men ducked their heads like dogs getting scolded for getting in the trash, Jack’s lips tightening into a fine line and Robby’s face twisting in what almost looked like pain, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “We fucked up really bad…” Jack mumbled, feeling like a child in trouble, but he knew he deserved it. “No shit, now what did you guys do?” Dana asks, her eyebrows raised in expectation. “We both yelled at her badly in front of everyone on the same day while she was working a double…” Robby mumbles quietly. Dana pinches the bridge of her nose, letting out a strained sigh. “God you two fucked up worse than I thought. You have to fix this, and soon.” She says poking a finger at the two men, a pointed look on her face. They both nod, shame riddled on their faces. Dana gives them another look before leaving the two of them to do their normal shift change briefing. 

The next day had gone on normally, or as normal as things can be for you in the ER right now while you’re constantly avoiding whatever attending you’re working with, ignoring the concerned glances you’re getting from your coworkers, and the way said attendings keep staring at you. The day seemed like it was going to be a decent one until you were pulled aside by Dana while you were walking through the ER, pulling you aside to the nurses station. “Hey, could you possibly do me a favor?” Dana asks hesitantly, both of you leaning on the nurses station counter. “Sure? What is it?” You asked, brows furrowed in confusion. “Well we have a girl in exam room 3, here for what seems to be domestic violence injuries. She seems really scared and is hesitant to let us get Kiara for her to talk to.” Dana says, a soft look on her face. 

Robby hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, he really didn’t. But still he found himself standing at the nurses station going through patient charts over and over, his back towards you and Dana just so he could hear the seemingly sensitive conversation between the two of you. “I was wondering if you could possibly talk to her? I think talking to someone who has experience with it will help ease her anxiety, especially someone her age range.” Dana explains to you, worry on her face. You stand there for a moment, taking in her words, contemplating her question before you take a deep breath and nod. “Thank you so much hun. You don’t know how helpful this is. So while you talk to her Robby and I will stand in there with you to help with things as needed and unfortunately it’s typically policy for attendings to be there when broaching a topic that will involve the social work department.” Dana explains, a nervous smile on her face. She knew that things between you and the main attendings weren’t great but she hoped this wouldn’t stop you from doing this. 

When she told you Robby was going to have to be there when you talked to her your stomach dropped to your toes, your heart rate picking up slightly. You knew you needed to do this though, for the patient’s sake, so you took a deep breath and nodded again. Dana stepped away long enough to grab Robby who was still standing at the nurses station acting like he wasn’t listening. Then the three of you walked into the exam room where the patient was. She had multiple bruises on her arms and a broken wrist, many of the bruises being in the shape of someone’s hands or from someone gripping her arms. She was a similar age to you, around 25, only a few years younger but she looked so small right now. The girl was sitting in the hospital bed wearing a gown from the examinations they had to do, a scratchy hospital blanket thrown across her legs, her hands in her lap. It was obvious she had been crying, her eyes red and glassy, her figure shaking slightly. 

You walked into the exam room quietly and sat in the chair next to her bed facing her, Robby and Dana standing to the side. You offered her a weak smile, one that wasn’t returned. “So I heard that someone in your life might be hurting you?...” you say softly, your own hands planted in your lap firmly, a soft look on your face despite the tension radiating in your body. The girl looked at you, her face scrunching a little. “Did they send you in here to tell me how stupid I am for getting myself in this situation and that I need to just leave?” She says, frustration in her voice. You shake your head softly. “No…I’m a doctor here…a 3rd year resident. I’m here to talk to you for a little, be an ear to listen if you want…someone who knows what it’s like.” You explain quietly, the patient’s face softening slightly. “What do you mean you know what it’s like?” She asks, her voice wavering slightly. You swallow the lump in your throat, letting it join the anxiety twisting deep in your gut. “When I was around your age, from when I was 21-25, I was in a domestic violence relationship and let it get worse than it should’ve…” You say, your voice steady and calm, your gaze locked on your hands in your lap. You could feel the eyes of the patient, Dana and Robby on you.

“He said it was an accident…that he’d never do it again…he said he loved me…” The girl in front of you said, her voice strained and her eyes watering. “They say that but they don’t mean it hun. It isn’t an accident. It will only get worse. It starts with the anger during small arguments, and then comes the yelling, then comes the name calling, then comes the throwing of items around the house, then comes them throwing items at you, and then they put their hands on you. The first time it happens they cry and scream that it’s an accident, that they love you, that it won’t happen again…but it will. It’ll happen again and again. I let myself fall into that trap of manipulation and it ended with me covered in bruises, a broken cheekbone, a broken collarbone, and two broken ribs. I’m lucky I wasn’t beaten to death honestly. It got this bad because I believed him, believed he loved me, that it was my fault, that it wouldn’t happen again…but it was a lie. He didn’t love me, not really. He loved the control he had over me. No one who truly loves you will ever lay a hand on you without consent.” You explain, meeting the girl's gaze. She started crying softly as you spoke, the weight of her words hitting her like a bus. “I’m scared…I don’t know what to do…” She whispered through her tears. “That’s why we’re here. I didn’t leave because I thought I couldn’t. I had nowhere to go, no one to talk to, no support system. We’re here to help though, we have resources for this, people who can help. Do you have anyone you can talk to about this? Anyone you can stay with right now?” You ask the girl softly, placing your hand on her gently. She nods through her tears. “Good, that’ll help a lot. We have our social worker Kiara coming down to talk to you, show you some resources, some people to talk to that can help. It’ll be okay. I promise. It may not feel okay today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even in a week, but one day it will. I promise. Here…here’s my number, call or text me if you need anything or someone to talk to.” You say softly, grabbing a paper from nearby and scribbling your number on it before handing it to her.

 “Thank you…” The girl sitting in front of you whispers. “How do you move on from it? How do I become okay again?” She asks quietly. You let out a sigh, looking at her again. “Well it’ll probably take awhile, a lot of work, a lot of therapy but my biggest thing was not letting him hold me back, not letting him stop my life because I was scared, because I was upset. That just proves him right, shows him the control he still has over you. So my biggest piece of advice is to feel your feelings, but don’t let them control you. There will be times where they take over, where you feel like you’re right back in that situation again, flashbacks coursing through your head, but those will get better over time.” You explain to her, a soft, empathetic look on your face. The girl nods again, taking in your words. Then at perfect timing the social worker, Kiara, enters the room quietly. You introduce Kiara to the patient in front of you, making sure the patient is okay before you, Robby, and Dana leave the room. 

As Robby listened to you talk about your experience with domestic violence he felt sick to his stomach, the bile bubbling up in the back of his throat, begging to get out, to expel the awful feeling in his gut. He knew that wouldn’t fix it though, and wouldn't take the guilt and shame that filled his being away. He felt anger building up in himself as well, his jaw ticking at your words as he clenched his teeth. He couldn’t believe someone could do that to anyone, let alone you. You, who lit up every room you walked into, who was the kindest and empathetic person he ever met, who had a special skill for making everyone feel comfortable no matter the situation, who made funny faces at the kids in the ER to cheer them up while they got tests done, who lit up his world. The mental image of you battered and bruised in the way you described hurt him, made his chest twist and ache in a way it never has before. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let you go, protect you forever, show you that he’d never let it happen to you again, that he’d never do that to you. He knew he couldn’t though, that he had no right to, especially after what he and Jack did. 

As he listened it hit him exactly what he and Jack did, how bad they really fucked up. He realizes that he and Jack had most likely triggered you and the trauma response and fear you had gained from your experience. This realization hit him like a bus, the guilt and shame worse than ever. He understood now why you had acted the way you did, why you completely drew back from everyone, especially them. You were doing the only thing you knew how to do to protect yourself, to keep yourself from getting in that situation again. He knew he needed to talk to Jack as soon as he got here for shift change, and that they needed to figure out how to make it up to you, to apologize for their actions. 

Once you left the room you left no time for Dana and Robby to talk to you, ask you any questions about what you said. You knew Dana knew the story of everything, she’d been a close family friend for years, a mother like figure to you. But you could see on Robby’s face that he was itching to talk to you and you knew you couldn’t handle it right now. Once you were clear of the exam room you quickly walked to the staff bathroom, shutting and locking it behind you, praising whatever deity was out there that it was a single stall. The door shut and the lock clicked and everything hit you. Every ounce of tension, anxiety, PTSD, etc. hit you…hard. You walked quickly to the toilet, your knees barely hitting the ground before the contents of your stomach were emptied into the toilet in front of you. After it was over you wiped your mouth and sat there for a few minutes, your chest heaving, almost hyper ventilating. The room felt like it was closing in on you, like you couldn’t breath and everything felt heavy. You stood up and leaned on the bathroom sink, staring at your figure in the mirror, your chest heaving, your face flushed, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. The girl in front of you in the mirror scared you…you looked like the girl who was beaten by someone she thought loved her, who was too scared to say anything. Your thoughts were rushing in your head, a headache already coming on. You turn on the sink and splash your face with some cold water, drying it off with your shirt, hoping it would bring you back to reality, save you from the impending breakdown. As much as you wished it worked you still found yourself curled into yourself in the corner of the bathroom, the feeling of the cold tiles under your skin. Your knees were drawn up to your chest, your head shoved against your knees, hands over your ears, your figure rocking in an attempt to comfort yourself as your body wracked with quiet sobs, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The world felt like it was closing in, like it was too loud, too much, and you were all alone.

[unholyhelbig]

Can we have a bounty hunter au with nat?

Title: Double-Crossed: The Deceiver and Hunter

Main Masterlist | Send in Requests

Ship: Bounty Hunter!Nat x Con man!Reader

Summary: After evading Natasha Romanoff for four years, karma finally catches up with you, and throws you into a world that you'd much rather forget.

Dt💕: @thinking1bee

Warnings: Cannon-typical violence, gun use, Blood, kidnapping (technically), petty cons, evasion, sexual themes, mentions of incarceration, mentions of divorce, restraints, unsafe actions in a car, and horrible grammar, I don't proofread!

[A/n: So... may have gone a little overboard with this one. I'm open to keep going if people are interested!]

Natasha’s natural scent reminded you of sweet tea; a lingering scent of citrus and sugar cane and something fresh that combined into something else tantalizing and familiar and all too much like home. In an enclosed space like this where your body heat mingled and you were near enough to see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose from the summer sun, you could do nothing but smell her.

The world around you was hazy. Softened by the rain that fell in sheets and made the lights of the city blur just beyond the glass. Your skin was damp and clothes suddenly uncomfortable and cold from the air that blasted through the car. Your fingers itched to shut it off but you refused to move more than you already had, eyes staring lazily at the woman you’d known since you were no more than ten years old.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Natasha.”

“You’re so sure.”

“It’s not your style. What’d you do with Cassie?”

It was taking a great deal of self-control to keep your voice steady. Even. A few more seconds and you’d be trembling from the cold and fear and shock of it all. You were calling her bluff. You didn’t know her style anymore. She very well could have painted the brick wall with Cassie Lang before turning her creative tendencies to the inside of the car. You’d certainly pissed her off enough to warrant the stroke of her brand of brush.

She looked beautiful in this toxic blue light. It filtered through the windshield and made her look ghostly. Her lips pale and kissable. Not the thoughts you should be having with a handgun wedged painfully against your ribs. But you couldn’t quite help yourself. She’d always been the love of your life, as stubborn as she was.

Natasha scoffed, had the audacity to roll her eyes at your silent accusation. “Please, the last thing I want to do is create more of a mess than you already have. You find people low enough to work with you, they’re bound to be bought out. What have you been pulling with your little schemes anyway? Six, seven hundred a week?”

She wanted you to answer and you wanted to pout. Sometimes it was less than that. You’d met Cassandara Lang at a bus station just south of Philly a month and a half ago. She’d offered you a cigarette and a light when the wind had just started to get bitter. You didn’t’ realize how cold you were until the sweet tobacco warmed you up while the two of you waited under buzzing fluorescent lights, fingers slowly chapping to an ugly red.

You didn’t know too much about her, but she was nice enough and was beautiful enough to disarm any man that had two good working eyes. It’s why your latest grift worked so damn well. Where you were rough around the edges, Cassie was unblinkingly soft and blonde and smelling of fresh fruit. She could bat her crystal blue eyes and sell water to a fish.

It was simple enough, really. The two of you would target gas stations up and down the east coast. Little mom-and-pop operations, nothing that was a chain. She’d exit the very car you sat in now in her fancy sundress and scour the ground in a panicked, aloof state.

“Oh, my ring!” Cassie laid it on thick every time. She wasn’t southern. She was from upstate New York but could fold her tongue over her words like hot honey after listening to you slip into your own hometown draw two or three times. It was disarming. “I lost my engagement ring and I’m supposed to get on a plane. I just can’t miss my flight!”

The man behind the counter, and you always chose a place with a man because they were just desperate enough, would assure Cassie that if he found it he’d ship it to her with information she left behind. They’d certainly be a reward. A hefty one that accompanied the warm kiss she left just close enough to the edge of his lip, lip gloss sticky on his cheek. A lingering memory of the girl in the red sportscar that smelled like peaches.

That’s where you came in.

The ring was in your pocket. Gilded and not worth more than a few nickels, if that. You always made a show of nonchalance when finding it on the ground in plain view of the attendant. Waiting just enough time for him to keep his eyes peeled for the ring himself. It had to turn up somewhere, right? A ring just doesn’t vanish.

“Hey, kid, that’s my ring.”

“Your ring?”

“Yeah, my ring.” Breathless. Easy. Pliable.

“There a reward?”

Whatever was in the cash register ended up in your pocket by the end of the night and he never heard from the girl in the sundress again. She was parked a few blocks up with a manila folder filled with identical rings in the glovebox, ready to pull the same scam on the next sucker that was dumb enough to fall for it. The money always covered gas to keep the two of you on the road, and any hotels and food you needed.

You weren’t stupid enough to ask Cassie Lang what she needed to keep moving for, and she never asked what you were running from. What mattered was staying quiet and staying busy. There would be a time when your past caught up with you and she broke away. A price. You wondered how much she was bought for.

Knowing Natasha Romanoff it was a growled threat, a promise to keep her life, and a couple of hundred bucks. You didn’t blame Cassie. Not really. Neither of you did anything past pleasantries, and something like this was miles over the line. Too many stakes in a poker game that neither of you agreed to play in the first place.

“Oh, come now, baby don’t be like that. I’ve spent the last few months trackin’ you down. The least you can do is be honest with me.” She pressed the gun closer to your ribs. “Lot of people have a bounty out on your head.”

You shrugged, let out a small sigh “I have a talent for pissing people off. Ask your mother, she’s never liked me.”

Natasha made a small noise of agreement in the back of her throat. “You going to come quietly, or must you make a scene?”

“Oh, Natasha, you know I never come quietly.”

You were 75% sure that Natasha wasn’t going to shoot you. She needed you with a beating heart if she wanted any type of payout for the struggle you’d been putting her through. Reeling back and spitting in her face was more of a gamble than you were willing to take on a good day. But it happened to be a bad day.

It bought you enough time to open the car door, to feel a few drops of sweet rain, before Natasha’s iron grip curled around the collar of your jacket and dragged you back into the car. Further this time. You caught another whiff of that oaky sweet scent that she carried.

It gave you a moment of solace before your temple came down hard against the dashboard with a dizzying crack. The taste of metal filled your mouth, a ringing so strong in your ears. Natasha was swift with her retaliation.

“Fuck,” You groaned.

“devochka,” Natasha brought her face close to yours, having the nerve to brush hair from your eyes, still holding your cheek against the dash. “You always did make my job interesting. But, if you’re going to spit in my face you better make it worth my while.”

Another noise that sounded much too pitiful for your liking escaped you, suddenly much too tired to fight her off, your vision pulsing at the edges and eyes fluttering, and breath lingering in your lungs expelling softly.

It could have been the head trauma, it could have been the blue light fading from the rain, but there was a softness to her serpentine eyes. Quiet and contemplative, and barely there. But there all the same.

The ache was dull and started at your shoulder. It pulsed uncomfortably down to your elbow and through the right side of your body with each bump of the moving vehicle. You were docile enough to slip in and out of consciousness, swallowing down the rising nausea that threatened to surface at the bumpy ride until you were jostled by a particularly rocky bump. 

Your head hit the coolness of the window, jolting you from whatever faux peace you had cultivated. A groan spilled past your lips as you threw your face back from the offender. It was much too bright, offensively so. You greedily sucked air in through your nose and tried to gain sense of your surroundings. 

A car, a shitty one by the looks of the tan interior. It rumbled down the highway with mild difficulty, but the thought of breaking down didn’t worry you as much as the fact that your wrists had been zip tied to the handle of the door, forcing your palms close. The plastic dug in stingingly, but you gave a test tug regardless. 

Your eyes narrowed as you slow turned to the driver seat. You meant to make a noise that sounded threatening, but even to your own ears it came out as something pathetic and whiny. It caught her attention anyway- even as she closed her perfectly painted lips around the red straw of a gas station drink. 

“Good morning, darling” She thrust the styrofoam cup your way, you eyed the pigment at the tip. “Thirsty?” 

“How do I know you didn’t drug it?” 

Natasha scoffed, “I’m driving.” 

When you didn’t answer her, she shrugged and placed the drink back in the cupholder. Your body was thrumming with phantom pain of being contorted in different uncomfortable positions for hours at a time. You wouldn’t put it past her to slip something into your bloodstream just to keep you under. You were compliant that way. She could get you to the bookie without too much of a fight. 

It irked you that she was the one to slap the cuffs on after all this time, though, in a way, you knew it was coming. Natasha didn’t take kindly to being wronged. You had known that when you did the wronging in the first place, but it wasn’t enough to stop you. It lit something in her. A chase that satisfied her immensely. It was written in her body language now; relaxed. Content. 

Outside, a blur of birch trees gave way to greenery and spanish moss that settled something uncomfortable in the pit of your stomach. The vegetation was familiar, all the way down the coated forest floor. Your jaw clenched, working away at the building spit that lingered there, but it wouldn’t allow you to swallow. 

VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS 

The obnoxious blue sign cut through the foliage and your sleep-hazed eyes tracked it until it was out of view. South. You were headed south. The humidity that seeped into the shitty car was an indication of that, if not the marker that you’d just passed. The stone dropped further into your gut. You gave another test pull of your restraints. 

“Natasha,” You looked at her again, meeting that neutral green gaze of hers. So frustratingly patient. “Where are we going?” 

She didn’t have to say it. There was a crack of guilt that flashed across her features for just a moment. You wouldn’t have caught it had you not been paying close attention. She wasn’t capable of such a complex emotion, not anymore. But there it was, like a firecracker in the night sky. It fizzled in grandiose just as fast as it came. 

“No,” You whispered, tugging at the zip ties once, then twice, and then frantically until you felt that edged plastic cut so deep that it was nearly warm. “No, no, no. Natasha seriously. There has to be somewhere else. Every goddamn state on the east coast has charges against me if you just-” 

You put your foot up on the dashboard for more leverage and started tugging backwards with your full body weight. The panic was building in your chest, clawing at the back of your throat like acid. The car was already a small space with a crap a/c unit, but sweat had instantly coated your entire body. The handle refused to budge, the plastic not even giving a warning crack of frailty. 

“Jesus fucking christ, what is this door made of?” 

Shaking the restraints a few more times gave you more wiggle room, just stole your breath from you. You were resulted to a panting, disheveled mess in the passenger seat, hair falling into your eyes and sticking to the damp of your forehead. 

Natasha let out a sigh and picked up the cup, “Thirsty?” 

Resigned, you swallowed a few gulps of the cold generic cola before recoiling. It settled nicely in your stomach, the wash of sugar and carbonation bringing you further from the haze of your hours of unconscious travel. You slumped in the seat, sniffing. 

Natasha hummed. “Good girl. You can listen when you want to. Right now, I need you to listen. We’re going to drive to Red Creek and I’m going to give you over to Steve Rodgers and collect the massive reward they’re offering for you, and it’ll be damn satisfying after all the bullshit you’ve put me through.” 

“Some people consider that foreplay, Natty.” 

“Stop talking. We’re listening, remember?” She snapped, words cutting like a blade. “After I drop you off at that station, I never want to see or hear from you again. No letters from whatever prison cell they throw you in. I don’t care where you rot, as long as you do.” 

Frankly, you didn’t care where you rotted either. Prisons were all the same, all metal and concrete and routine and looking over  your shoulder at the slightest prickle of worry or discontent. The institution didn’t matter. Where Natasha Romanoff decided to indite you sure as hell did. Red Creek Florida was the last place you wanted to be. Second to the passenger seat of this car. 

The unsteady beating of your heart thrummed with the stinging bite of the plastic ties. You’d drawn blood, rusted and heavy around its edges. Your skin looked like a messy finger painting, all the colors mixing together to create a sickly brown. Any further attempt would rip through old wounds. Cause more pain. 

You let out a tight breath, slumping to the side. “Rodgers is in charge now?” 

Natasha’s fingers tightened on the leather steering wheel with a creaking noise. She hadn’t expected small talk, something so soft and resigned from you, wiggling your fingers to get some type of feeling back in them. It sent pins and needles to your elbows. 

“That was always his path. Some people pick something and stick with it.” 

You swallowed the artificial sour-sweet taste on your tongue, head lazily lolled to the side. It was easy to watch Natasha, one of your favorite pastimes. She has always been beautiful, the serpentine of her eyes and the softness of her skin around sharp features. Her jaw was clenched and her stare was trained on the road, but she was familiar. Her scent enveloped the cab of the car, all citrus and floral and a hint of sweat. 

“Natasha, I have to tell you something.” 

“I don’t want to hear a fucking thing you have to say.” 

“One thing and then I’ll shut up.” 

Again her fingers tightened around the wheel. “I don’t believe you.” 

The silence opened the floor. She glanced at you once, then twice. It was an invitation to speak and you weren’t about to let it fly out the window. A nervous coil formed in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure if you wanted to vomit, pass out, or both. Instead, you took a deep breath of cold, stale air. 

“My parents still think we’re married.” 

Natasha hit the breaks with the delicacy of a cement block. Your body shifted with the sudden change in momentum, forehead slamming against the dashboard, expertly heated by the sun. You felt the ache immediately radiating from the center of your head and filling your vision with stars. That was the second time she’d nearly rendered you unconscious in the past twenty-four hours. 

“What the hell!” You snarled, frantically looking around the road. An interstate in the middle of nowhere, dwarfed by trees. She’d taken a calculated guess. There were no other cars around. “You could have fucking killed us, Natasha.” 

She shook her head. “No, I think I might already be dead and burning in hell. My sorry excuse for an ex-wife just told me that she’s been lying to her parents for the last four years about the fact that we’re very much un-hitched because she’s a jackass that gets off on petty crimes instead of my fingers.” 

“When you put it like that it sounds bad.” 

Natasha was across the console, the collar of your shirt wicked around her slender fingers. She pulled you as close as she could with your binds tugging at the raw skin of your wrist. You swallowed a whimper of pain, wouldn’t give her more of an advantage than she already had. 

“It is bad. So, very bad for you y/n. Before, I was annoyed, extremely fucking satisfied about finally getting my hands on you after all these years. But now? Now I’m considering skipping the bail altogether and killing you myself.” Her grip loosened minimally, eyes still hard and brazen with anger. “I can’t believe you.” 

She shoved you back just as hard, your spine hitting something plastic and unnecessary on the inside of the car door. You swallowed the sudden dryness in your throat, heat still coloring your cheeks from her earlier comment. She could shoot you between the eyes right here, and no one would come looking. 

Instead, she eased her foot off the brake and kept driving on the long, curvy road, the softness of her voice breaking the hair-thin silence. “Why would you do that?” 

You were expecting a lot of things from Natasha, but not raw emotion. Her words were pinched with a sadness that made your shoulders droop. They threatened to tremble from the pain of it all. The same scenery you’d grown up peering at suddenly became more interesting to you. A horse here and there, a plow that stopped in the middle of a field, mailboxes crafted by the owner of the home. 

“There were enough broken hearts going on, Tasha.” You whispered, not keen on meeting her eyes. You knew she could hear you. “I didn’t want to crack my mother’s in two. She always loved you more than me. Said you were the best thing that could ever happen to her daughter.” 

You heard the leather of the steering wheel creak under her tightening grip, but she didn’t say anything. Neither of you did. She didn’t have the strength to deny the statement, and with the incessant pounding in your head, you didn’t either. 

The next time you stirred, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon. You hadn’t exactly fixed your posture in your sleep, but your neck had released some of its stiffness and the zip ties around your wrists had been loosened at some point. Not by your struggle, but by the deliberate movement of someone else’s hands.  

It wasn’t hard to recognize Red Creek. It hadn’t changed since you’d left. The small fishing town bordered the marsh, filled your lungs with a heady sea smell that clung to your skin. Thick sections of forest dripping with deadened Spanish moss accepted the darkness of nightfall sooner than the nicely trimmed green grass, the mismatched houses that all had windchimes and kitschy lawn ornaments.

Natasha’s jaw clenched in a way you had always clocked as distaste. Distaste about the drapes you’d brought home from the thrift store. Distaste about eggnog ice cream, soon to be spat out. Distaste about you.

You’d alerted her to your wakefulness with a stuttered exhale. Streetlamps were soon to come on, they did like clockwork at 7pm every night. It had been your timer as a kid, waist deep in marsh water and reaching into the darkness for minnows that always seemed to slip through your fingers, but nestled so simply into Natasha’s.

“You’re not patient enough,” she giggled with her full chest “If you want to catch a fish, you’ve gotta stay still.”

“Nah, it’s all about being fast. Quick like lightening. They won’t even see it coming.”

Most of your evenings in the wetlands ended in the two of you wrestling in the shallow water, swallowing more of the silt than you’d like to admit. You never actually caught more than a dozen fish with your hands, but that didn’t matter when Natasha was smiling so genuinely and splashing water onto your face.

It was strange- being back here. There was an unsteady feeling of remiss in your chest, dripping down to your stomach. Just because you’d grown up here, fell in love here, lost your love here, and ran as far as you possibly could, didn’t mean a thing. They were buildings and roads and parks and schools that could be anywhere.

Natasha turned the headlights off before she pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office. It was nothing more than a small building repainted in a soft golden yellow. It reminded you more of a stand that would sell snow cones. But, it was bigger on the inside, filled with two holding cells and four desks that held the whole police force.

She sat still for a moment after shutting off the ignition. In the stifled silence, you could hear the gentle push and pull of cicadas, screeching their husky songs. “I’m sorry about this.” She said customarily, but the corners of her lips quirked up like the beginning of a lie.

“You’re enjoying this.” You scoffed.

“A little.”

With a show of mercy, she used her pocketknife and expertly snipped away the zip ties after tugging at the door. Your aches had aches, but she wouldn’t allow you to catch your footing in the stifling, heat-ridden, air. She had a hand wrapped around your upper-arm, dragging you to a standing position.

You winced, flexing the stinging stiffness from your wrists as Natasha kicked the door to the beater car closed. She kept a hand on you at all times, an unwelcome heat brewing in your belly at the familiarity. It was traded with the sickly-sweet office scent that filled your lungs when you were shoved into the station.

Copy paper and burnt coffee. You’d been here before as a teenager when you were caught at a party that you’d snuck out to get to. They’d thrown you in a cell to teach you a lesson, and you were always sure that your father had told them to do just that until day broke.

Your eyes swept across the room out of habit. It was sleepy like the rest of the town. An officer was tinkering with the water cooler, banging the side of his hand against the plastic jug with an empty tap. He shot his gaze over to the front door at the sound of it closing.

“No fucking way.”

He’d straightened to his full height, closing the short distance. Up close, you recognized him. He wasn’t baby-faced anymore, his muscles filling out the sleeves of the uniform. He had meticulously combed hair and a trimmed beard that must have taken some time to groom. ‘Stark’ was written across his left breast in white thread.

“Romanoff? Y/L/N? I thought the two of you got out of town a long time ago. Heard you were in New York!” He laughed loudly, taking in your appearance with a glint in his eyes. The way you were being forced under Natasha’s hand to stay put. “What is this? Some kind of kinky sex thing?”

“Gross, no.” Natasha bit out.

You sighed dejectedly, mumbling “Gross? I wouldn’t go as far as gross.”

She gave you a shove, thankfully not hard enough to send you sprawling across the tile. Tony raised a curious eyebrow at the both of you, trying to gage the dynamic as his fingers absently traced his tactical belt. You wondered for a moment if all the times he hit his head playing football was catching up to him or if this was just typical small town cop mentality.

“I’m here to bring her in.” Natasha sounded out when he wasn’t quite getting it. “Petty larceny, auto-theft, embezzlement. I can keep going or you can pull it all up on that little computer of yours, pay me, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Tony made a show of moving behind the nearest desk, pulling his shoulders back as if he were playing a part in a play. He deliberately typed slow, shooting the both of you a smile. The exasperated stare you shared with Natasha was the only time in the last twenty-four hours that you’d agreed with her on something.

 “Y/n Y/l/n has active warrants for petty larceny alright.” Stark clicked his tongue. “She clearly stole your heart, Natasha. Nothing else.”

He turned the screen to face the both of you. A horrible copy of your license photo mid-sneeze was at the forefront, digitized versions of your fingerprints, and an absolutely clean record. Squeaky clean. Not even the night you’d spent behind those bars.

“What the fuck?”

“Bullshit.”

The two of you spoke at once. Natasha leveled you with a glare that reminded you that she was the one in charge. You snapped your jaw shut and straightened your spine. When she moved to get a closer look, Tony swiveled it back around. “You- You have to check the whole database.”

“I did Nat. There’s nothing. You’re both really committed to this bit, huh? Gotta admit, it’s a nice change from perimeter checks and suspended boating licenses. It’s good to know you two have fun.”

She let out a tight breath, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Irritation that settled into a growl. When she turned, those serpentine eyes cut through you like the sharpened blade of a priceless sword. She was close then, close enough to smell the sugar cane and the earthy scent on her. Her lips pressed to the shell of  your ear, words barely audible.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, dvornyaga, but it ends here. Right where it started.”  

[rpmemes-galore]

Chappell Roan : The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess album ... sentence starters

tw for some sexual content and language

"Is it casual now?"

"You're losing it lately."

"I'm so sick of online love."

"It's gonna cause a scene."

"You wonder why I'm bitter…"

"I just wanna get to know ya."

"You coming home with me?"

"We're hot, we're drunk, wow."

"Won't make my mama proud."

"Mini skirt and my go-go boots."

"But I can't help what I can't help."

"Baby, why don't you come over?"

"Let's make this bed get squeaky."

"So slow down, sit down, it's new."

"Got so close, but then you lost it."

"Oh my god, you are heaven sent…"

"If karma's real, hope it's your turn."

"It's comical, the bridges you burn."

"Should've listened to your friends."

"If I didn't love you, it would be fine."

"Fell in love with the thought of you."

"So, baby, let's get freaky, get kinky."

"I thought you thought of me better."

"It's hot when you have a meltdown."

"Do you picture me like I picture you?"

"She showed me things I didn't know."

"Every place leads back to your place."

""Here we go, again. Everything is fine."

"Not overdramatic, I know what I want."

"And he was wearing these fugly jeans."

"Touch me, baby, put your lips on mine."

"Wishing you the best, in the worst way."

"This is what I wanted, this is what I like."

"Oh, some good girls do bad things, too."

"Can't be a good, good girl even if I tried."

"I try not to care, but it hurts my feelings."

"I love a little drama, let's start a bar fight."

"It's all in my head, but I want non-fiction."

"You're hating yourself, I'm feeling myself."

"I know you want it, baby, you can have it."

"I could be the one, or your new addiction."

"Never waste a Friday night on a first date."

"Now I'm choked up, face down, burnt out."

"I've been a good, good girl for a long time."

"But, baby, I like flirting, a lover by my side."

"So, now when we kiss, I have anger issues."

"I don't want the world, but I'll take this city."

"Could go to hell, but we'll probably be fine."

"Every night's another reason why I left it all."

"Got what you wanted, so stop feeling sorry."

"Ruined my credit, stole my cute aesthetic…"

"'Cause if we do coffee, it's never just coffee."

"I try to be the chill girl but, honestly, I'm not."

"We're leaving the planet and you can't come."

"People say I'm jealous, but my kink is karma."

"You'll say that you're sorry. I know that's a lie."

"Can't meet you for dinner at the Italian place."

"Um, can you play a song with a fucking beat?"

"Here come the excuses that fuel the illusions."

"That’s my type of fun, that's my kind of party."

"Who can blame a girl? Call me hot, not pretty."

"You don't have to stare, comе here, get with it!"

"I guess we could pretend we didn't cross a line."

"And you're getting pissed off, it's getting me off."

"'Cause everything good happens after midnight."

"If you really wanna leave, I'll never make you stay."

"No need to be hateful in your fake Gucci sweater."

"To think, I almost had it going, but I let you down."

"No one's touched me there in a damn hot minute!"

"I'm feeling kinda freaky, maybe it's the moonlight."

"I'm feeling kinda freaky, maybe it's the club lights."

"There's no one else who could. the only one is you."

"You sent him pictures and playlists and phone sex."

"I heard you like magic. I've got a wand and a rabbit."

"I kinda wanna kiss your girlfriend, if you don't mind."

"We've done this before, and I don't need it anymore."

"It's not attractive wearing that dress and red lipstick."

"If it hasn't happened, yet, then maybe you should go."

"Who knew that we'd let it get this bad when it ended?"

"He doesn't have what it takes to be with a girl like me."

"I hate that I let this drag on so long, you can go to hell."

"My friends call me a loser, 'cause I'm still hanging around."

"Baby, do you like this beat? I made it so you'd dance with me."

"I'm too scared to say half of the things I do when I picture you."

"Nothing good happens when it's late and you're dancing alone."

"And you're getting called out, 'cause you're running your mouth."

"'Cause if we have wine, 'cause if we have wine. I know that's a lie."

"Lying to your friends about how he's such a goddamn good lover."

"What's it take to get your number? What's it take to bring you home?"

"Should've listened to your friends 'bout his girlfriend back in Boston."

"Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out, is it casual now?"

[chrattvibe]

coworker!matt x coworker!reader.

Friday, 2:46 p.m.

The office has that post-lunch gray light—the kind that comes in through the windows but doesn’t quite fill the room. The monitors glow brighter than the sky outside. Somewhere, a low instrumental playlist plays just loud enough to cover the endless typing.

Matt shifts in his chair, one hand on the mouse, the other holding a coffee that’s long gone cold. He has three tabs open with presentations, an Excel sheet he uses as a mental dashboard, and the agenda for the retail client he’s been dragging around all morning. As an account manager, his job is to bridge the gap between the client and the internal team. Translate needs, deadlines, budgets. Solve. Coordinate. Sometimes, put out fires before anyone even smells smoke.

"Hey" a soft voice slips through his office door.

She’s holding her phone, earbuds tangled around one hand, and a few printed pages in the other. Hair up, a gray sweatshirt, and that spark of energy she somehow manages to hold onto—even on a Friday afternoon, when everyone else is already halfway out the door in their heads. She’s a community manager. Her world is posts, captions, trends, clever replies. She has to make the brand feel like a real person. One that speaks every day—and never repeats itself.

"Um, Abby asked me to drop this off" she says, placing the pages on Matt’s desk.

"Ah, you're a lifesaver, I was just about to go grab it." he replies with a half smile, giving the papers a quick glance. "Thank you so much."

She just nods and heads out of Matt’s office with a smile, tossing Abby a knowing wink for letting her be the one to bring them over.

A few hours later, Matt walks past the content area on his way to a meeting. He usually doesn’t stop, but this time he pauses when he sees her focused, earbuds on. He taps the edge of her desk lightly with his knuckles.

"Got a sec?"

She pulls out one earbud and looks up.

"Depends... if you're about to ask what song to put on your story, I'm out" she teases, raising one eyebrow as she leans back in her swivel chair. “I’m juggling five things already.”

Matt grins.

"Not that. Just a quick one. I wanted to check if you updated Stella’s calendar with the stuff we went over in yesterday’s meeting."

She turns her screen toward him, showing the meticulously crafted calendar.

"Yep, updated it this morning. Dates are aligned with the latest feedback, and I left comments in the last column to mark the changes. Sent it to your inbox earlier."

Matt leans in a little, nodding. He already knows. In fact, he read the email the second it came in. But he’ll never complain about an excuse to talk to her.

"Perfect. Thanks for that."

She gives him a small nod and a half smile. He’s already walking off toward the meeting room again, but the exchange—brief, almost routine—leaves a subtle warmth in his chest.

He likes people who are sharp, efficient, on top of things.

Or maybe he just likes her.

—chrattvibe.

masterlist!

taglist!

[surielstea]

Caretaker

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Reader is sick & Az being the best bf ever

Warnings: slight suggestiveness, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: Literally wrote this when I was sick asf and high on cough medicine so I hope this makes sense 😭😭

2.2k words

My body tremors as another weak cough racks through me, my throat pulsing at the feeling. Watery eyes form tears, sliding down the bridge of my nose and dripping onto the plush pillow beneath my head.

I stare out the floor to ceiling window, marveling at the way the sidra morphs starlight into rainbow refractions. I sniffle, one of my nostrils completely closed off and making it a challenge to breathe. It was late. I didn't know the exact time but from the moons position in the sky I could guess it was far past midnight.

My mate hadn't come to bed and I debated clambering out of this all too hot bed to go and find him, wrap my arms around his waist and guide him back to our bed. But I can't expose him to whatever virus plagued me, in turn getting him sick, no matter how badly I missed his touch. It was already a risk to share the same bed, I couldn't push it.

Madja stopped by earlier and gave me a tonic to help ward off the cough but there was nothing she could do beyond that. I took the tonic minutes ago, the effects still settling in, I just hoped the cough would cease long enough for me to be able to fall asleep.

It's been days, my mate was convinced I was getting worse. He surveyed me like usual, but his gaze turned soft and pitiful every time a raucous cough came over me. Shadows kept me company, swirling fluidly against my back in a reassuring manner, the chill touch of them making me cool off from my heated state.

There was a soft knock at the door and I didn't have to look to know who it was. I adjusted under the covers, using my strength to sit up and lean against the headboard, teary eyed but making eye contact with the large winged male in the doorway. "Az." My voice was practically a whimper, a feeble excuse at calling for him.

"My love," He drew a long exhale, my sickness seemingly weighing on him as well.

"You can't be in here." I murmur, wiping my tears and wishing it was his hands instead of mine doing the act.

"I miss you." He offers me a soft smile as he tilts his head against the frame of the door, his silhouette from the hallway light made him look like some sort of angel.

"I don't want to get you sick." I shake my head, holding my arm out as if to shield him away but we both knew I held no power at the moment.

"It wouldn't be so bad," He tries to lighten the mood with a shrug. "I'd be off work, we could quarantine together. We'd read and cuddle and I could actually go within a ten feet radius of you." His words were convincing, and the idea has a smile tugging at my lips. That is until a croak of a cough rattles my body and I remember how irritating this illness is. I wouldn't want him to have this, ten foot radius or not.

"It's hard enough to stay away from you, don't tempt me." I sigh, allowing my bones to sink into the large matress.

"Worth a try." He mirrors my smile. "Do you need anything? Tea or soup?" He asks and I twist my lips to the side as I ponder what he could give me that would ever amount to how badly I want him and him alone. "A good book perhaps?" He arches a perfect brow. It pains me how well he knows me.

"A book would be nice." I hum and he pushes from the doorway, excited to accomplish a new task. His gaze lingers on me before he closes the door and his silent footsteps recede down the hall.

I look back out the window while I wait, fiddling with the mating ring around my fourth finger. My cough seemed to have settled, I'll have to tell my brother to increase Madja's salary for her admirable work — or maybe I'd pay her directly myself. As soon as I'm better I will, whenever that might be. I release a long sigh and allow my eyes to shut for a moment, I must've slept for half the day earlier but that didn't stop the rest from weighing at my heavy lids.

Before I dared slip into a sleep the spymaster opened the door with a multitude of items in his hands. I couldn't help but smile. The night courts intimidating Shadowsinger was at my door, with soup and tea and a book, taking care of me. He had one of the world's deadliest knife's at his thigh and he probably used it to cut open my tea bag.

"Az, I'm gonna cry." I warn. My already watery eyes verging on tears as I think about how much he does for me.

"No don't cry." His brows crease as he sits on his side of our bed, placing a bowl of soup down on my nightstand. "I tried to follow your mom's recipe but it won't be as good." He frowns and there's nothing more I want to do then kiss the pout off his perfect face. "And this is hot, so don't drink it for a few minutes." He places a steaming cup of tea beside the soup. "And this," He holds up a worn paper back book. "I went to Nesta and asked her for the best romance novel she could think of and she gave me this so." He places it on my lap. "Hopefully it's as smutty as you hope." He mutters beneath his breath and I flush hot but blamed it on my fever.

"Thank you." My voice was a rasp, he looked to my eyes. Hazel laced with love and admiration, the emotions reflecting on the golds and greens of his irises.

"Get some rest after eating, you have to get your strength up so I can get my sparring buddy back." He placed a hand on my forehead to check my temperature, something on his expression falls when he doesn't notice any difference from the last time he checked my temperature.

"Is Cassian not good enough anymore?" I scoff.

"He's not you." He huffs and an upside down smile spreads over my expression.

"I know you're sick but I really want to kiss you." He admits and just the idea makes me feel warmer inside. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him into me, his upper half hovering over me as I plant my lips onto his. I grin against the sensation, it's only been a few days but gods, how did I forget how perfect it felt to have his mouth against mine?

He pulls back first and I debate chasing him back but he pecks my forehead and I settle for it, leaning back onto my headboard yet again. "I'm going to finish up an assignment then I'll come to bed, okay?" He gets up from the bed and my eyes follow.

"Mhm." I nod tiredly.

"If I find you reading that book when I get back I'm taking it away." He warns and I bite my bottom lip mischievously.

"Goodnight lovely." A shadow tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as I watch him make his way to the door.

"Night Az." I muse in reply, already reaching for my bowl of the nostalgic meal.

—

About an hour later I had finished my entire bowl of soup and cup of tea. Both of them reminding me of my mother humming her favorite songs as she sewed her dresses, of Rhys teaching me how to fly before I could even walk, of Cassian brawling with my brother when he first moved in, and of Azriel's warm embrace.

I was curled into a ball with a mage light over my head, flipping through the pages of the romance novel Nesta lent me. It was a fantasy with just the right amount of erotica, the kind that would make any female flush. There were a few times when I'd have to close the book and take a breather before opening it back up, which meant it was perfection.

The door opened with a creak and I slammed the book shut the way a teenage boy might with a nude magazine. Azriel crinkles his brows at me and I look at him guiltlessly. "Evening handsome." I greet and he blinks at me like I'm crazy.

"Why are you being weird?" He utters, coming further into the room and closing the door behind him. I fold my lips inward to keep myself from laughing or possibly exposing that I was reading absolute filth just moments ago.

"Just reading." I shrug innocently and he narrowed his gaze in on me but seemed to let it go when striding over to the armoire to change. I watched him shamelessly as he stripped off his shirt, golden tan skin inked in swirling black. He shuffles through the drawers, giving me a full show of his muscular back and those large wings. My breath hitched as I stare without caution and a small chuckle sounds from him. He knows I'm watching, and at this point I can't find it in myself to care.

"Are you flexing on purpose?" I ask him as he discards his leathers for a pair of lounge pants.

"I'm not flexing love." He confesses and my stomach does backflips. Cords of muscle rippled from his shoulders down to his bulging arms, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little turned on. And he was just standing there. He turns to look at my tinged cheeks and it only makes me blush more. The eye contact just might kill me. The nonchalance and causality of it made my stomach churn, as if he wasn't standing there in front of me shirtless.

"You're teasing." I set my book on the nightstand and sink down into my pillows.

"How so?" His question is half a laugh because he knows what he's doing.

"I can't have you right now." I whine like some sort of child, pulling the blankets up and over my head so I don't have to look at his chest that seemed to be sculpted by the gods themselves. The bed sinks and I know he's now beside me. I can't help but gravitate towards him only to stop myself because I know cuddling would get him sick.

His strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls my back to his chest.

"No, Az I don't want to get you sick." I protest, pulling away with the weakest strength since the predicament at hand wasn't all too bad.

"I already told you I don't care if I get sick." He brings me in closer and who was I to deny my mate's embrace?

It was nice to lay beside him, nice to have his warmth radiating onto me. I missed him even if it's only been a few days, even if he still sleeps beside me every night. I missed the physicality of it. Azriel's never been one for touch but sometimes I go through phases where if I don't have my hands constantly on him I'd collapse.

So I allowed myself to lean into his chest, matching my breathing to his and intertwining my hand with his scarred one. "I love you." He hums into my shoulder, placing gentle kisses to the crook of my neck and a soft smile spreads across my lips.

"Would you still love me if—" I begin but he doesn't let me finish,

"Yes." His tone is confident and didn't waver for a beat.

"You don't even know what I was going to say." I pout and I feel him shake his head against me.

"As long as you're still you, I love you." He professes and I flip around to look at his golden eyes that the stars themselves were outmatched against.

"I love you too." My voice is a mere whisper but a wide grin takes over his face, revealing his dimples. His smile was so bright I thought for a moment that sun wouldn't rise in fear of rivaling it. "And I'm totally getting you sick." I threaten but he doesn't seem to mind, especially not when I lean forward a few inches in order to kiss that grin.

"Sleep, love." He coerced and pulls me into his chest, his wing draping over me like a blanket, blocking out any seeping light from the moon outside. "I'll be here in the morning." He muses, smoothing a scarred hand over my hair. He continues to play with the strands until I'm drifting off into that touch, his warmth inviting me to sleep.

Azriel was quick to follow, once he noticed my breathing even out. Shadows settle around us as his lids grow heavy and his weight falls into the bed. With me in his arms it was easier for him to sleep, the comfort of knowing I'm safe while in his hold pushed him further into that sweet relief of rest.

[gullemec]

Cross the Line

Golden Cage - Chapter Five

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Truth or Dare, Murder, and Sex. Or, you and Butcher go on a road trip.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, nipple play, dirty talk, creampie, discussions of previous murders, language, unsafe driving, attempted flashing, One Bed Trope™️, reader has poor self esteem and is Going Through It, straight up vehicular manslaughter, brief description of dead bodies

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Here she is!! My first ever f/m smut scene! Please be kind. Also a very action-packed chapter. Please read the tags before diving in because there's a LOT happening here.

Monday morning rolls around with an alarming speed, the pace of your days having taken a decided turn toward the speed of light. 

It had nothing to do with your apprehension around being with Butcher again, you were sure. 

Certain. 

The plan, not unlike the last plan, is supposedly simple. As the CytoGenix van carrying the vials of V2 makes its way upstate, you and Butcher will tail it at a distance, waiting until the time is right to strike and run the van offroad using a spike strip.

You've thought up about two thousand ways this could go wrong. You could probably think of a thousand more, but your brain started to hurt when you tried.

You pull your bag over your shoulder, every step to Butcher’s van downstairs weighed down by a strange mix of adrenaline and dread. He’s waiting for you, leaned against the driver’s side door with his usual cocky smirk, dark aviators shielding his expression.

“Look alive, sunshine,” he says as you climb in. “Big day ahead.”

You settle into the passenger seat, forcing yourself to play it cool. The hum of the engine fills the silence as you pull away, but within moments, the tension in the van feels as suffocating as the thick summer air.

The first two hours crawl by. Small talk feels like dragging a boulder uphill, each attempt to bridge the gap between you met with curt, monosyllabic responses. Weather. Traffic. A half-hearted quip about a roadside diner that doesn’t even earn a smirk from Butcher.

It’s maddening. Days ago, this man had kissed you like the world was ending. Now, he's talking about the possibility of impending rain. You feel insane.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

“Truth or dare,” you say, throwing it out like a grenade

Butcher glances at you, his brow furrowing beneath his sunglasses. “The fuck did you just say?”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath about it being a child's game. “And how exactly do you suppose we play truth or dare in a moving vehicle, hm?” He asks. 

“I don't know, but what I do know is that we have a four and a half hour drive ahead of us and if this awkward silence is going to continue, I'm going to jump out of the window right now.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “What are you, twelve? What’s next, a round of bloody ‘I Spy’?” He shoots you a look of bemusement before returning to the road, ignoring your request. 

He's not getting away that easy. 

“Look, it's either truth or dare, or we talk about the k—”

“Jesus Christ, alright I'll play your fucking game,” he relents. 

Success. 

You nod toward him expectedly. 

“What?” He asks 

“Truth or dare? You have to pick, it's kind of how the game is played.”

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “Fine. Truth.”

You pause to think for a second, racking your brain for a good question. You could, of course, go straight for the jugular, asking him why he pulled away from the kiss, why he didn't push you down on the couch and take everything you were willing to give him right then and there. But you think that might be a little intense for a first question, so you settle on something easier. 

“How many people have you killed?”

His reaction is instant, an incredulous laugh that’s more bark than humor. “Straight for the jugular, eh? You don’t muck about.”

“I’m curious,” you say, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole point of the game?

“Sweetheart, if knowing how many people I've kidnapped is a second date question, this has gotta be a fifth date question.”

“Okay,” you say thoughtfully. “Well, if you count all the late night stake outs, and if you count our first date, the one where you kidnapped, me as three dates, which I do, I think we're well past the fifth date by now.” You raise your eyebrows at him, laughing.  

“Alright, alright,” he huffs. The smirk on his face betrays the fact that he kind of wants to play, but his tough facade necessitates that he put up a valiant fight about it first. 

But once your laughing subsides, his grin falls, and you realize that this was perhaps not the best question to ask. His eyes are fixed on the road when he answers you. 

He exhales sharply, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I lost count. Got to twenty-five, maybe thirty, last time I bothered to keep track.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, but there’s no pride in it. “You happy now?”

His admission is like a shock to your system. You knew that he'd killed before, having tossed the idea around in your mind, considering the things you knew about the man you were unquestionably attracted to. He has killed, yes, but he has also lost. He has lost everything, and he has helped, and he has been kind, too. And yet, hearing the words from his mouth, putting a number, if only estimated, on the amount of times a life has been lost at the same hands that were wrapped tenderly around your body only days ago, sends a painful jolt to your heart. 

“I know what you might think,” he starts, his voice faltering. “You think I'm cold and evil, or whatever.” His fingers readjust around the steering wheel, an anxious tic you're picking up on. “But I had to do it. I believed it was for some… greater purpose, I guess. I believe that, but maybe because I have to.”

You're speechless. You weren't expecting this sudden moment of vulnerability in Butcher, this emotional nakedness. If you're honest, it scares you, because it causes the sand beneath the already unsteady foundation of your relationship with him to shake. You have to say something, anything. 

“How do you feel about potentially killing two more people today? Does it make you nervous?” You ask. You're vaguely aware of the van driving ahead of you, a pinprick dot of white on the endlessly winding highway. 

He sighs, then smirks, looking entirely too pleased in comparison to his somber expression only moments ago. “Uh–uh, your turn now.”

He's got you there. 

“Truth,” you say, and it's only fair that he throws you a hardball too. But he doesn't. 

“What’s your favorite memory with your mum?”

The question throws you for a moment, its tenderness blindsiding you. You have so many, you could almost argue that this isn't an easy question at all. All the same, your mind wanders to the same memory that always pops up when you ask yourself this question. 

“My seventh birthday,” you begin, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “Dad was off in the Bahamas for some meeting, and I didn’t have any friends because we’d just moved. So it was just me and her. She took me to Coney Island, and we spent the whole day there. Rides, games, cotton candy. It was the best.” A tear twinkles in your eye, but you wipe it away before it comes to fruition. 

He looks like he's about to say something, maybe offer some comfort or ask a follow up, but you're too quick for him. 

“Now you, truth or dare?”

He picks dare, following your lead and ignoring what you shared about your mom. You appreciate his ability to pick up on your nonverbal cues. 

You resist the urge to reach across the console and brush your fingers through his wild, wind-tousled hair. You let yourself imagine for a moment a scenario in which the two of you are out for a drive on a beautiful day for pleasure rather than business, where you might entwine your fingers with his on the center console. But these thoughts are dangerous, and you need a distraction. 

“Drive in the oncoming lane for ten seconds.”

“Are you bloody mental?” he snaps, glaring at you. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, and you want me to pull a stunt like that?”

You shrug, and you relish in the utter frustration that Butcher exudes, the way his accent comes out in full-force when he's this worked up. 

“You said dare,” you counter, your tone teasing. “A dare’s a dare.”

He groans, muttering a string of expletives as he slows the van. “You’re a bloody pain in my arse, you know that?”

“Slow down a bit, so they won't see us,” you suggest, your voice low to control the giggles that threaten to peek out. “Come on, Butcher.”

He hesitates. It's a sick kind of satisfaction knowing that, if it was anyone but you, Butcher would have probably just let you jump out the window at this point. 

“One, twooo… Threeeee…” You exaggerate your words, giving him every opportunity to acquiesce to your demands. 

Finally, you feel the van slow and dip to the left as Butcher careens into the oncoming lane. 

This is getting too easy. 

You count out the next ten seconds slowly, agonizingly. 

Ten. 

Nine

Eight. He shifts his eyes between you and the road, imploring you to call off the dare. Absolutely not. 

Seven. 

Six. 

Five. A speck materializes on the horizon. An oncoming car. 

Four.  The speck transforms into a white sedan. 

Three. “I'm switching lanes,” he yells. “Three more seconds!” You argue back. 

Two. You can tell now that there are two passengers in the sedan. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

One. The driver of the sedan lays on the horn, the loud bleat sending shockwaves through your system. 

Butcher swerves back into the right lane, a chorus of curses spilling out, the sedan’s honking fading out behind you. Your laughter spills out, obnoxious and loud and absolutely drowning out Butcher’s string of profanities. Shortly after he course-corrects, the white van falls back into your line of sight. 

No harm, no foul. 

Butcher’s breathing evens. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you retort, still grinning.

“You better pick dare this turn. I didn't realize we weren't playin' fair,” he smirks, and you're knocked back again. It's criminal how this man speaks, so deep and yet so melodic, his accent and charm breaking down whatever defenses you still had standing. 

“Do your worst,” you dare, and he smiles widely. For a moment, you feel a real flare of heat in your chest. You don't want to think about what you'd realistically do for this man right now, but the thought crosses your mind, sending a pang to your core. 

“Flash the next car that drives past us.”

Now it's your turn to blanch at the request, your face scrunching up in response. 

“You can't be serious,” you say. 

He simply nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead in feigned concentration. 

Well, the best way out is always through. 

You pull your seatbelt off, balancing on your seat and the console as you pull yourself through the van’s open sunroof. You pretend not to notice Butcher's right arm snaking protectively around your left leg. 

You watch as a dark green truck materializes before you, a lone cowboy hat wearing man inside. You pinch your fingers around the edge of your shirt. The truck speeds by as you begin to lift it up. Suddenly, the arm wrapped around your leg pulls down, forcing you back into the van. 

“Hey! What was that for?!” You exclaim, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion. 

“You weren't seriously going to flash that truck, were you?” He asks. 

You nod. “I mean, yeah? You dared me to do it. A dare’s a dare.”

He huffs and puffs, shaking his head intermittently. He's frustrated with you, and it's pissing you off. 

Time to turn the tables. 

“Okay, well it’s your turn now I guess. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he says smugly, and you laugh, because you know what you say next is going to shake him. 

You take a second to stare at him, an unabashed good look at him. The way the breeze tousles his dark hair, the angle of his jaw catching the golden hour light. The warmth in the glow softens him somehow, makes him seem almost human, almost kind. You can't deny that you want him, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

"Did you like it?" you ask abruptly, your voice low but clear.

Butcher furrows his brow, clearly puzzled. "Like what?"

"When you kissed me," you clarify, your heart pounding in your chest. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

The silence that follows is deafening. You hear him inhale sharply, see the slight hitch in his posture as the words settle between you. His face shifts, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. He stares straight ahead, jaw tightening, fingers curling around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

Your pulse quickens. Oh, God. Why did I say that? The weight of your own recklessness presses down on you. Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity as he struggles with something unspoken, his lips parting as if to say something—

Your heart stops.

—and then, with a sharp gasp, his hand slams the horn and his foot hits the brake.

"Oi! Cunts!" he shouts, jerking the van to a sudden halt. Both of you lurch forward, your seatbelt biting into your shoulder.

Your head snaps toward the road just in time to see the CytoGenix van swerving off into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

The spell is broken. The tension you’d built up between you vanishes, replaced by adrenaline and a sinking sense of inevitability.

At least he'd stopped you before you'd shown your tits to some unsuspecting cowboy. 

Butcher’s face hardens, his attention fully back on the road as he mutters a string of curses under his breath. He keeps driving for another mile, the air in the van heavy and stifling. It’s as though the cracks you’d glimpsed in his armor have sealed up entirely, leaving only the impenetrable man you met at the start.

Finally, he pulls off just past a mile marker, the van grinding to a halt on the side of the road. He throws it in park and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

"Out," he orders, his voice clipped.

You blink at him. "What?"

"Get out of the van," he repeats, this time more firmly.

Despite every instinct screaming at you not to trust him, you obey. He follows you out, slamming the door behind him, and gestures toward the dense line of trees. "Start walking. Don’t stop ‘til you’re deep enough in that you can’t see the road anymore."

“Now wait a goddamn minute,” you fight, “I want to be a part of this. You're not exiling me to the woods while you do the dirty work. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, his tone cold and final. “You don’t want this blood on your hands, love. Trust me.”

Your temper flares. "You’re such an asshole, you know that?" you spit, heat rushing to your face.

You're all bite, all fight, until you see the look on his face. The harsh lines of his face are softened, his eyes weighed down with something heavier than anger. Guilt? Regret? He doesn’t want to do this, you realize. He thinks he’s protecting you.

And maybe you just don't have much of a fight left in you anymore.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "But don’t think for a second I’m letting this go."

Without waiting for a response, you storm off into the forest, branches snapping underfoot as you push past ferns and brush.

You find a mossy rock and sink down beside it, hugging your knees to your chest. The familiar ache of being abandoned washes over you, pulling you back into yourself. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, closing your eyes and imagining the comforting embrace of your mother. The memories come easily, like they always do. Her laugh, her warmth, the way her hand always found yours when you were scared.

You lose track of time sitting there, flipping through those memories like pages in a well-worn book. Hours could have passed, or maybe it’s only minutes. You don’t know, and for a while, you don’t care.

It’s the crunch of heavy footfalls that pulls you back to the present. You blink up to see Butcher looming over you, his expression grim and drawn.

"If a van crashes in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it even make a noise?" you quip, smirking despite yourself.

He scowls. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"Either that was the quietest car crash in history, or you lost them," you say, crossing your arms.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "They never came through. They’re holed up at the motel for the night. We’ll head back, stake it out, and wait for them to move on." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the road.

He extends a hand to help you up, but you ignore it, pushing yourself off the ground and brushing dirt from your clothes. Without a word, you start walking ahead of him, back toward the van.

"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, falling in step behind you. 

The short drive back to the motel is silent, the energy between the two of you having soured considerably. You stare out the window, arms crossed, seething. You're pissed and you want him to know it, to feel it. The mission feels like a joke, like you’re a joke. No matter what you do, you’ll always be the inept kid getting in the way.

The Piney Point Motel comes into view just as the sun dips behind the pines, the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. You spot the CytoGenix van immediately, parked conspicuously by the entrance of the motel. As far as you can tell, it's empty. 

“Did they really just… leave it there?” You ask, incredulous. 

Butcher chuckles. “Your old man really should stop cuttin’ corners on security.”

A flurry of hope stirs in your chest. “So we could just break into the van and steal the vials, right? And then no one would have to get hurt?”

He gives you a look, one that’s half pity, half impatience, before gesturing to the motel’s facade. Security cameras dot the walls, floodlights primed for motion. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like your dad could learn a thing or two from Piney Point.”

And just like that, the spark fizzles. 

Butcher pulls the van into a shadowed corner of the lot and kills the engine. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed.

You stare at him. “Well, are we going in?”

“Nah. You can crawl in the back if you wanna sleep. I'll take first watch.”

He can't be serious. 

“You want me to sleep back there?!”

He shrugs. “Or up here, but I don’t reckon it’s any comfier.”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Or—and hear me out—we could sleep in the motel right in front of us?”

“And risk losin’ ‘em? Yeah, no thanks.”

You argue back and forth but the man is an infuriating, unflinching wall of stubbornness. Eventually, you give up, arms crossed as you glare at the moonlit motel. You consider going and getting a room just for yourself, but you reason that Butcher won't hesitate when he sees the men leave and you'll be left behind. Sleep tugs at you, but you refuse to crawl into the cramped backseat. Not after this.

The moon begins its arc across the starlit sky. Stars scatter above you, brighter and clearer than anything you’ve seen in years. You step out of the van, stretching stiff legs, the cool night air brushing against your skin. For a moment, you forget your frustration, gazing up at the wide, sparkling sky. It reminds you of Muskoka, your last vacation with both parents—before the office bedroom became your dad’s permanent home.

The ache of the memory lingers as you climb back into the van, only to find Butcher slumped in the driver’s seat, snoring. His chin tucked into his chest, a low rumble filling the space. You burst into laughter before you can stop yourself.

Butcher jerks awake, eyes darting wildly until they land on you. His expression shifts to a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Alright, laugh it up,” he grumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “Your turn to keep watch. Good luck stayin’ awake.”

You plant your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “I’m dead tired, and so are you. We need actual sleep, Butch. I’ll pay for the rooms. Final offer.”

He pretends to consider your offer like the thought of a bed, even a springy motel bed, doesn't sound downright heavenly right now. After a moment of feigned thoughtfulness, he pulls himself from the driver's seat and stalks toward the motel. 

“Don't look so pleased,” he mutters as he stalks past you. “We’re up at 4:30, no later. Understand?”

You trail behind him, hiding your grin. Right now, you’d agree to anything.

~~~

The reception area of the Piney Point Motel looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. The wood-paneled walls are warped in places, lined with crooked shelves cluttered with knick-knacks, miniature ceramic animals, a faded “World’s Best Grandma” mug, and a jar of mints that looks more like a trap than an offering.

Behind the counter sits a bespectacled woman in her sixties, a paperback romance novel in one hand and a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside her. The air smells like pine-scented cleaner and stale smoke. She looks up as you and Butcher enter, giving you both a thorough once-over.

“Hourly or overnight?” she asks flatly, like she’s heard every excuse in the book.

The question hits you like a slap. Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Butcher doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll take two rooms for the night,” he says, ignoring your mortification.

The receptionist shakes her head with a lazy shrug. “Only got one room left. One bed. Last two-bed went to a couple of truckers about an hour ago. It’s that time of year.”

You and Butcher exchange a look, sharp and synchronized.

“No,” you and Butcher say in unison, your sharp tone and immediate refusal surprising the older woman. 

But your mind wanders back to the van, it's aging leather upholstery and stiff cushions and lingering coffee smell. The weight of your eyelids expands tenfold at the thought. No way in hell are you going to be prepared for what tomorrow brings if you have to sleep in there. 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the key from the receptionist’s outstretched hand, replacing it with a stack of bills.

“What d’you mean, fine?” Butcher asks, trailing after you as you head to the room. His boots echo dully on the cracked linoleum floor. “We’re better off in the van. Safer, too.”

You ignore him, jamming the key into the lock and twisting hard. The door creaks open to reveal a shoebox-sized room with peeling wallpaper, a squeaky ceiling fan, and a bed that looks like it’s seen more fights than rest.

Still, it’s a bed.

Without a word, Butcher follows you inside, closing the door behind him. For a man so determined to sleep in the van, he seems strangely reluctant to leave now. You glance at him, confused but unwilling to ask.

“You’re not staying, are you?” you finally say, half-turning to face him.

“’Course I’m stayin’,” he replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not leavin’ you alone in some dodgy motel where the closest weapon’s probably that broken lamp in the corner.”

You blink at him, torn between irritation and a flicker of gratitude. Before you can respond, he smirks and brushes past you toward the bed.

“Dibs,” he declares, flopping onto the mattress with all the grace of a drunk elephant. The springs groan in protest, but he doesn’t care.

“No, no! Absolutely not!” You shout, but he's already stretched his arms behind his head, feet crossed. “You're not taking the bed, you didn't even want this room!”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, tucking his hands behind his head. The smugness radiating off him is enough to set your teeth on edge.

“You're an asshole, you know that right?”

“Yeah, you keep remindin’ me,” he says with a grin. “Now are you gonna stand there gawkin’ all night, or are you gonna make yourself comfortable?”

You grab the pillow out from behind his head and secure it alongside yours down the middle of the bed, creating a makeshift wall between your bodies. 

“What’s this, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Great Wall of Don’t-Touch-Me,” you deadpan, climbing onto your side of the bed and glaring at him over the makeshift divider.

He chuckles, low and amused. “You think I’m gonna bite?”

“More likely that I’d be the one biting you,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

The second the words leave your mouth, your cheeks flush hot. You busy yourself adjusting your pillow, pretending you don’t see the way his grin widens.

“Noted,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make you shiver.

You roll over, facing the wall. The bed creaks as Butcher shifts, and you’re hyper-aware of his presence. His scent, the warmth radiating off him, the way the air seems heavier when he’s near.

Neither of you bother crawling under the covers, facing away from each other to make it extra-clear that this is a no-nonsense, all-business sleepover. 

“Goodnight, asshole,” you mutter, hoping the bite in your tone masks the thrum of nerves in your chest.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice softer than you expect.

You want to savour this moment, but you're out in seconds. 

~~~

Suspended in a haze of warm sunlight, the cool edge of unreality covers you like a blanket of fresh snow. Strong arms wrap securely around your waist, across your chest, their weight pressing into you like a protective cocoon. The scratch of a beard grazes your neck, and the faint warmth of breath tickles your skin. Gentle snores vibrate against your back, a low, steady rhythm that lulls you further into the dreamlike state. You fight to stay there, curling deeper into the embrace, savoring the rare, fleeting serenity.

But serenity never lasts. A creeping discomfort nags at the edges of your mind, like an itch you can’t quite reach. The illusion splinters. The sunlight grows sharper, the weight around you heavier, the awkward press of something hard on your ass undeniable.

Your eyes snap open, reality crashing in. It’s blindingly bright, far too bright for what should be the early, predawn hours. Panic spikes through your system as you take in the scene, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You thrash instinctively, and Butcher’s grip loosens just in time for him to tumble unceremoniously off the bed.

“Bloody hell!” Butcher groans from the floor, rubbing the back of his head.

Your voice comes out in a frantic rasp. “Butcher, wake up! We slept in!”

The words are like a starter pistol. He’s up and moving in an instant, yanking on his boots while simultaneously reaching for the door.

“Shit! Goddamn it, move! Move!” he barks, his voice sharp and commanding.

The two of you are a blur of motion, grabbing, stumbling, swearing. Your bodies move on autopilot, faster than your sleep-addled minds can process. In seconds, you’re in the van, Butcher slamming the door shut and peeling out of the motel parking lot with reckless urgency.

Anxiety builds in your chest, each erratic swerve of the van feeding the dread coiling tighter inside you. As you glance back at the motel, the sight of an empty parking spot—a lone Mustang where the CytoGenix van had been—confirms your worst fears. They’re gone.

Butcher’s jaw tightens as he accelerates onto the highway, weaving through lanes with a focus that’s almost terrifying. The towering pines blur into streaks of green on either side of you as the van hurtles forward. You scan the horizon frantically, desperate for a glimpse of white metal that refuses to appear.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before Butcher finally slows the van, pulling into a deserted roadside gas station. It’s eerily quiet, the pumps sitting idle, the building dark and lifeless.

“This is the last stop for miles,” Butcher says, his voice low and grim. “That's the last stop they would've made before going to the lab.”

The weight of his words slams into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, panic tightening its grip. This was it, the window of opportunity to intercept them had closed. It was all your fault. You’d fought tooth and nail for the motel room last night, insisting you both needed the rest, convincing yourself it was a small indulgence that wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.

You were wrong.

Maybe he was right, maybe your father was right, maybe they're all right, everyone who's ever doubted you. It's cruel, the way that the frayed threads of meaning in your life seem to continually fall from your grasp. 

Shame and guilt crash over you in waves, heat rising in your face as your chest constricts painfully. You blink back tears, but they gather stubbornly at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Butcher, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your voice trembling. “I—I screwed up. This is all my fault.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he stares out the windshield. The silence stretches, unbearable. Fear claws at you, the thought of him cutting you loose from the Boys—or worse, giving up on the mission entirely—hitting like a punch to the gut.

“Please,” you continue, desperation creeping into your tone. “I know I fucked up, but don’t… don’t give up on this. Don’t give up on me.”

Butcher’s head swivels toward you, his eyes softer than you expect. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost unrecognizably so.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand. “Breathe. It’s okay. Hold your apologies, yeah? We’re not done yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, not the anger, the harsh words, the fury you thought you deserved. Instead, his calm confidence throws you off balance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Butcher…” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“Just wait,” he says, lips quirking into a faint, reassuring smirk. “Keep it together. We’ve still got work to do.”

With that, his foot presses down on the gas pedal, the van lurching forward and pinning you back against the seat.

You're certain you've never driven this fast before, not even during those rare joyrides with your father in his Bugatti. The van rockets forward, moving like a bullet out of a gun, the world outside warping into a blur of trees and sky as the tires scream against the asphalt. Your grip on the door handle tightens with every jolt, the tension in the cabin as visceral as the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Despite the chaos of the day, the abrupt wake-up, the panic, and Butcher’s uncharacteristic gentleness, the unbridled anxiety screaming inside you speaks only of the lives of the two men in the CytoGenix van, unknowingly hurtling toward their end. Anxiety claws at your chest, raw and unrelenting. You shut your eyes and try to focus on breathing, but it’s no use.

“Oi, cunts!” Butcher’s voice explodes, and your eyes snap open.

Thirty feet ahead, the CytoGenix van comes into view, its white exterior glaring against the green blur of forest on either side. To your right, the trees abruptly fall away, leaving nothing but a battered guardrail and a steep ravine beyond.

“Hold on tight,” Butcher orders, his tone calm but edged with a manic sort of energy.

Before you can question him, he floors the gas pedal. The van lurches forward, barreling into the oncoming lane to overtake the other vehicle. Butcher twists the wheel expertly, positioning your van just ahead of the CytoGenix one. Then, in one brutal motion, he jerks back and rams into the side of it.

The impact is bone-rattling. Your body slams against the seatbelt, the van shuddering violently as both vehicles swerve erratically. For a moment, you lock eyes with the other driver, his face contorted in a mix of rage and confusion. But Butcher’s already at it again, pulling back just enough to ram the CytoGenix van a second time.

This hit sends the other van wobbling wildly, the driver fighting to regain control. Your ears ring, blood rushing so loudly that you’re not sure if the scream you hear is yours or simply imagined. And then, with a final, sickening crunch, the CytoGenix van plows through the guardrail and plunges down the ravine.

Butcher swerves hard, narrowly avoiding the gaping hole in the guardrail. The side of your van scrapes against what remains, metal shrieking as sparks fly. He brings the van to an abrupt stop on the shoulder a hundred yards ahead, slamming the gearshift into park. The engine dies, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the cabin.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Holy shit,” Butcher echoes, his grin wide and reckless.

You both sit there for a moment, staring straight ahead, before the tension breaks. Anxious laughter bubbles out of you, and to your surprise, Butcher joins in. The two of you volley expletives back and forth between bursts of laughter, the absurdity of the situation sinking in.

When the laughter subsides, Butcher reaches for the door handle. “Stay put,” he says firmly. “You’re not gonna want to see this.”

That sends your adrenaline spiking all over again. You throw your door open and stomp after him, slamming it behind you. “No. You’re not doing this. Not again.”

He turns to face you, brows furrowed. You jab a finger into his chest. “I’m capable of this, Butcher. And if I’m going to be part of the Boys, I need to prove it. No more babying me.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. The tension between you is almost unbearable as you silently plead with him to understand. To let you have this. To understand just how important this is, how this transcends the circumstances you currently find yourselves in. Finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he gives a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

Together, you make your way down the ravine, the incline steep and unforgiving. Butcher offers his arm to steady you when you stumble, and you grudgingly accept. At the bottom, the wreckage comes into view. The CytoGenix van lies on its side in a shallow creek bed, its back doors hanging open.

You rush to the driver’s side, heart hammering in your chest as you peer inside. For the past week, nightmares have plagued you—visions of Adam and Emily lying lifeless in the wreckage. But when you see the two men slumped in their seats, necks twisted at unnatural angles, neither is familiar. Relief washes over you, mingling uneasily with guilt.

“They’re nobodies,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Butcher. “Collateral damage.”

His hand falls heavy on your shoulder. “The hard part’s over,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “It gets easier from here.”

You desperately want to believe him. 

You both turn your attention to the back of the van. Butcher grips one of the broken doors and yanks it free with a grunt. Inside, a sleek black lockbox gleams ominously. Without hesitation, Butcher brings his boot down on it, cracking it open.

Inside are rows upon rows of vials, their green liquid glowing faintly in the fading light. You pick one up, holding it between your fingers and marveling at its beauty. The liquid seems alive, swirling and shimmering with an otherworldly energy.

And then, without thinking, you hurl the vial at a nearby tree. You watch in awe as the glass shatters, the glowing substance splattering across the bark and dripping onto the forest floor.

“Shit—I don’t know what came over me—” you start, but Butcher is already laughing, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” he says, grabbing a vial and smashing it under his boot. You both gape at the way it explodes under his foot, staining his boot like a glow stick, before you burst into shared laughter. 

You both fall into a wild, unhinged rhythm, smashing vial after vial. The forest around you glows eerily, the remnants of V2 painting the trees and ground in streaks of neon green. Laughter bubbles out of you, uncontrollable and cathartic, as the absurdity of your destruction takes hold.

When only one vial remains, Butcher reaches for it, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. We should keep one. For testing. Just in case.”

He looks at you, then smirks. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You keep me around for more than that.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something darker, more intense.  The air shifts between you, the laughter forgotten as your proximity feels suddenly charged. Whatever force is behind the constant push and pull of your attraction to Butcher is now pushing in full force, the glowing green crime scene around you fading into nothing. It's just you and him and the screaming urge inside of you to untether. 

Butcher advances toward you, pulling your face into his hands, crashing his mouth into yours. This time you get the chance to react, the opportunity to reciprocate. And you do, wholeheartedly. You pull at the lapels of his jacket, fingers fumbling for purchase in his wild hair. His hands move over your body, down your back and across your ass, squeezing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are wild. “Someone’s gonna notice the skid marks and the guardrail. We’re gonna have company soon if we don’t move.”

“Back to the motel?” you ask, bold and breathless.

His answer is immediate. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he grabs your hand, practically pulling you back up the ravine toward the van.

You had a taste of Butcher's penchant for speeding earlier, but something about the way he races down the road back to the motel now has butterflies erupting in your stomach. His right hand is placed firmly on your left thigh, your own hand keeping his there. You're ashamed to admit that his touch alone is driving you crazy. 

Thank god you never had time to return the key this morning, because you both race back to the room, his mouth in your ear, arms encircling your waist as you fumble to unlock the door. The second the door closes behind you, he has you pushed up against the door, his tongue parting your lips and hands digging into your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lets a hand fall to your ass, squeezing tightly. He lifts you up, wrapping both of your legs around his middle. You moan at the way his hands explore you, the closeness of your bodies. 

“Do that again,” he instructs. 

“Make me,” you dare. 

He throws you down on the bed, both of you using the opportunity to work your shirts off. He spends an unabashed moment staring directly at your tits, chest heaving. Like you're a work of art he can't wait to defile. You unbutton your pants before Butcher pulls them off of you, leaving you bare before him, save for your underwear. He crawls up onto the bed, knees nudging your legs open, his imposing frame towering over you. 

“You have no idea how goddamn much I've thought about this,” he admits. Your eyes search his face, hands combing through his hair. He kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth, before moving down to place licks along your collarbone. He moves down to your nipples, your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up in silent request. 

“Please,” you beg. “Don't stop.”

And, with your permission, he practically rips the soft cotton as he pulls them down, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. You share a glance, both with bated breath, before he finally puts his mouth on you, eating you like a man starved. 

Your head tilts back involuntarily as he licks at you, alternating between languid, savoring strokes, his wide tongue exploring deep inside of you, and quick, tight little circles over your clit. You've never been the kind of woman to be particularly loud or vocal in bed, a complaint you'd heard from lovers in the past. But now the moans fall freely as you fall apart on Butcher's tongue. Your sounds only serve to egg him on, his fingers digging deeply into your plush inner thighs, his growls reverberating through your pussy, matching your low moans. You barrel embarrassingly quickly toward the edge. 

“‘m so close,” you whimper. 

He doesn't stop, every determined movement a silent encouragement for you to chase your high. 

Your hands reach down, tangling in his messy hair. He responds, deepening the push of his mouth against your core, rhythmically drawing his fingers back and forth against your inner thighs. Your fingers clench around the tendrils of his hair, pulling so hard you know it must hurt him. He doesn't seem to notice, his rhythm never stalling. Then, starbursts exploding behind your eyelids as you fall over the edge, legs clamping involuntarily around his head. 

Dizzying, pure, unadulterated bliss.

Head falling back against the pillow, you're sure you've never come this hard before. Your limbs are absolutely weightless, cheeks flushed. A euphoric smile on your lips stretches so wide you're certain you look deranged. 

But not to Butcher. 

“You're so bloody beautiful,” he says from between your legs, and you can do nothing but laugh deliriously in response. 

He gazes up at you, working his way back up between kisses to your stomach and swirling his tongue over your pert nipples. You grasp a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him up to kiss him on the mouth, your other hand reaching down to encircle his hard length. 

You're pleasantly surprised at how much of him there is, pumping his thick length several times before you position him at your entrance. 

You feel his body jolt involuntarily as his cock makes contact with the wetness he just created.

“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, words refusing to form on your lips. 

He shifts his hips forward and you gasp sharply as he breaches you. You reach your other hand down to caress his ass cheek, pulling him in deeper, desperate for more.

“Fuck yes,” you moan. “Yes, Billy, just like that.”

That's all he needs before he's driving himself deep, stopping only when he's fully seated inside of you. You gasp as he stretches you out, like he's splitting you right down the middle. He pulls your knee up, hooking it over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper. You whine at the fullness, earning a growl from him. 

“You like this, baby?” he asks as he pulls back, looking down to where your bodies connect before plunging himself back into you. “Fuck, because I really like this.”

“R‒really like this,” you manage to sputter out. “P‒please, please, fuck me Billy.”

“I got you, love,” his voice is raw. He sets a punishing pace, his cock filling you over and over and over again, pushing you toward the brink of something you've never experienced before. 

Your hands wander over him, tracing every scar, fumbling through his hair, squeezing his ass as you pull him in even deeper. You want to memorize everything about this, the sweet aroma of his sweat, the weight of him atop you, the stream of consciousness filth that flows from his lips as he falls more and more pussy drunk. 

He reaches down, thumb on your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His mouth explores your chest, dividing his attention between your nipples and sensitive, open neck. You bound toward your release, fingers scraping down his broad back. 

“Fuck, fuck, Billy, I'm gonna come,” you moan between huffs. He continues, pace unrelenting. 

Then, stars. 

Expanding blooms of light, full-body eruption. Sweet release, a dynamite stick in your core, exploding out your mouth in a silent scream. You heave around him, bucking your hips, impaling yourself deeper on his cock. He fucks you through it, half words falling from his lips into your mouth. 

Tha's right. 

Mm, baby. 

You go’ it. 

It's all too much, the soft moans escaping your mouth, the image of you in ecstasy before him, falling apart on his cock. He's too close behind you to stop now. 

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come. Where d’you want it?” he asks frantically. 

You can't help yourself. “Inside,” you beg. 

He really doesn't try to make it a habit of denying you, and he certainly won't start now. He groans, spilling himself inside of you. You moan at the heat that grows between your legs. 

He collapses atop you, the weight of him pushing you I to the cheap, springy mattress. You feel the wetness spill out onto the bed beneath you. 

“Holy shit,” you manage to get out between gasps for air. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit is right,” he agrees. 

Over the next eight or so hours, you and Butcher acquaint yourselves with each other, very, very, closely. On the bed, on the floor, against the dresser, in the shower, on the bed, again. You speak only a few times in rushed half sentences, too preoccupied with finding out just how many orgasms you can achieve in one go to think about much else. All of the tension that has stewed since the day Butcher first laid eyes on your dazed face has been unleashed in Room 206 at the Piney Point Motel. You stop only long enough for Butcher to drive twenty minutes down the highway to retrieve a bag of greasy fast food, hastily devoured fuel to allow you both to continue at least a few more times. 

By the time you both succumb to your utter exhaustion, you're sweat-sticky and bone-tired, with a soreness between your legs you know is going to have you walking funny tomorrow. You don't notice it though, because Butcher has you pulled in his arms, lips on your ear, your heart firmly in the palm of his hand. 

@bluemerakis@mystic-writings@imherefordeanandbones

[supercorpkid]

Would it really kill you if we kissed? Final

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Kara Danvers x B!D!Reader, Alex Danvers x B!D!Reader, Lena Luthor x Reader, Esmé Danvers.

Word Count: 3360.

Previously on part 2. Part 3 of 3 :)

You touch down on the rooftop of your apartment building, the cool night air sharp against your skin, a reminder that you're back in National City, back to the familiar world you tried so hard to leave behind. Once inside, you let your bag drop to the floor, the sound echoing in the silence, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of it—like you thought coming back here would make any of it feel better. But here you are, alone in your apartment, as if you could somehow outrun everything boiling up inside you.

You slump down onto the edge of your bed, and the silence presses in, thick and suffocating. You want to tear it apart, rip through this emptiness just to feel something else, anything else. But all that’s left is the quiet of the apartment against the loud of your raging mind.

You try to remind yourself why you came back—how you told yourself that being away from your sisters, from Lena, would give you space to breathe. But the air here feels no less heavy, and every time you close your eyes, you’re back on that island, hearing your own voice cut through the night,. Every word you threw at Kara and Alex loops through your mind, over and over, until you can barely tell where the anger ends and the regret begins.

And then, there it is, unbidden: the memory of Lena’s smile, her soft laugh, the way her hand lingered just a fraction too long when she’d touch your arm. You wonder what she’s thinking now—if Kara told her what happened, or if she just thinks you’ve vanished, abandoning this one fragile connection you were terrified to admit even to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. You’ve burned the bridge, and you don’t deserve to look back. But the ache doesn’t ease; it settles deeper, a constant reminder that you’ve pushed away everything and everyone that mattered, leaving you with the raw, hollow ache of being completely alone.

The next day, you fly to Midvale, drawn back to the place that’s always felt like home. J’onn and M’gann assure you they have things covered, their gentle understanding a stark contrast to the turmoil you’re carrying. But here you are, hoping that maybe, while back home, the guilt from burning all those bridges won’t feel as heavy.

The moment you arrive, Eliza’s face lights up, her arms open wide for you. “My little girl,” she says softly, pulling you into the kind of hug you didn’t realize you needed. “Wait—I thought you were all off on an island somewhere? Didn’t you go for a vacation?”

"Hmm, yeah. I—I had to come back early because of this… thing." you reply, the words clumsy on your tongue, but she doesn’t press. 

Instead she scans your face. Eliza might not be your birth mother, but damn does she know you like one. She can see right through you, and you don't know if you're just that easy to read or if the people in your life just know you deeply.

"Well then, come in. Let's do the thing." She guides you inside the house, and you try to distract yourself with old feelings and memories instead of the new ones.

It's later that day when Eliza settles on the couch next to you, watching you with that quiet, gentle patience she's always had. "You know,” she begins softly, “you’ve always had the heart of a hero.”

“I think you’re confusing me with Kara,” you mutter, eyes fixed on the floor, but Eliza shakes her head, smiling.

"No, I'm not. Kara was always about the big thing—saving the world. But you, you've always been about the little things. Feeding the homeless, nursing birds and cats back to health, getting stray dogs into the house…" She sighs and you bite your lips so you don't smile at the memories. "You didn't even use your powers most of the time."

"Well, if I remember correctly, I wasn't allowed to."

"Oh, like that ever stopped the two of you." she chuckles, and despite yourself, you smile at the memories. "When you two landed here, Kara was mad most of the time. Just angry at the world and I got that, she had every reason. But you were always so kind. A sweet little thing ready to help anything that moved. Oh, and let’s not forget the plants,” she adds with a wink.

“Where are you going with this?”

She breathes deep. "That always worried me."

"What? You worried about me?"

“Still do, sweetheart. You had every reason to be mad too. But you never let your feelings show. You keep so much inside, bottled up.” Eliza reaches for your face, her hand soothing on your cheek, and you lean into the touch you so desperately need. “I don’t know what happened, but you’re allowed to be a mess, to explode, to embrace the difficult feelings.”

You lean into her hand, your eyes stinging. “Well, you might be glad to know that I… finally let it out.”

She nods slowly, eyes full of warmth. “And that’s okay. Just don’t hold on to those feelings for too long. Don’t let them chip away at the good, sweet part of you.”

You nod, her words sinking in as you finally let yourself breathe. Maybe it’s time to start processing all of this without the anger clouding it, without the need to keep defending your heart. You’re home now, and maybe here, you can start to sift through everything, piece by piece, until it hurts a little less.

Over the next couple of days, you stay in Midvale, trying to get your shit together while Eliza makes sure you’re giving yourself the space to feel every hurt, every regret you’ve been holding back. Slowly, you reconnect with parts of yourself you’d almost forgotten in all this mess, while Lena's words take root in some deep place inside—a place that cannot simply be brushed off or resolved, only managed.

You're not alone. You have to stop being alone.

When you finally feel ready, you head back to National City, determined to face the aftermath of your choices. The first thing you see when you walk into your apartment is Kara—waiting for you. The sight of her feels like a punch to the gut, all the words you’d left unspoken swirling around in your mind.

"Kara!" You manage to squeak out, your heart racing. "You're—you're back!"

Kara lets out a small sigh, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words has landed squarely on her just now. "I can't believe you said all those mean things and just... left us to sit with them."

You look down, biting the inside of your mouth, your heart tightening. "I know. I'm sorry. I—I guess I couldn't handle you being disappointed in me."

Kara’s expression softens, her gaze finding yours. "I would never be disappointed in you," she says quietly, stepping closer until she’s just a breath away. Her voice holds a warmth that reaches past your defenses. "I just don’t understand why you went so long without telling me any of this. Why would you keep it all to yourself?"

"Because I was afraid," you admit, the words coming out barely above a whisper. You clench your hands together, holding back the wave of emotions threatening to spill over. "Afraid to lose you. To lose everyone, actually." Your voice shakes, and you blink hard, forcing down the tears currently burning your eyes. "I can’t lose you, Kara."

Kara reaches out, her hand gentle as it lands on your shoulder. "You’ll never lose me, Y/N." she murmurs, her voice filled with an honesty that you can’t ignore. "But I don’t want you to feel like you’re losing yourself just to be my sister, or some idea of what you think I need you to be."

You breathe in, taking in the truth of her words, letting them settle into the cracks you’ve been trying to ignore. "It’s just... it’s exhausting, Kara. Trying to keep up with you and everything I need to be. And it hurts. All of it."

"I never wanted you to feel like that," she says, her voice filled with regret. "I thought we were doing this together. But now I see, I was so focused on how much having you by my side helped me, how much I needed you, that I didn’t think about how it felt for you."

You meet her eyes, finally allowing yourself to let down some of the defenses you've built up. "I didn’t know you needed me, I just felt like I was just fading into the background. Just the other hero, the one who's supposed to fit into your world. I didn’t want you to feel like I was letting you down."

Kara’s thumb traces gently along your cheekbone, wiping away the last of your tears. “You’ve never let me down, and you were never just another hero.” Her words are like a balm on a wound that’s been aching for too long. “Maybe I got so used to you being my strength that I forgot to let you lean on me too. But you’re not just my little sister or my backup out there. You were never second best to me. You’re everything good that I wish I could be.” Her voice wavers, a crack slipping through her steady tone. “I’m sorry that I haven’t always shown you that. And I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to be someone you didn’t want to be.”

The raw honesty in her voice, the way her words strip away the last remnants of the defenses you’ve held, reaches deep inside you. You take a shaky breath, nodding as the fear that’s held you silent finally dissolves, leaving only the truth between you.

"I guess things will change a little if you really want me there."

"Oh trust me, knowing you're there with me it's what makes me like supering so much." Kara’s hands cup your face softly, grounding you in this moment. “And Rao, Y/N, I’m not in love with Lena. I never was, and I never will be. And even if I was…” She pauses, her gaze unwavering. “I would always put your happiness above mine.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper, your heart clenching.

“It’s true. You mean everything to me. But also—Lena’s just my best friend. I love her, but not like that, okay?” Kara’s voice is gentle, pleading. “Please, do something about it. You deserve to be happy with her. You’ve held back for so long, and I hate that you felt you had to.”

A small, trembling smile breaks through as the weight of everything you’ve been carrying finally lightens enough for you to throw your arms around your sister, pulling her into a hug that’s been building since this whole thing started.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you and pushed you away,” you whisper, a smile breaking through the last of your tears. “I missed you every day.”

“I missed you too.” Kara’s voice is soft, and you can hear the smile in it—a warmth that melts away the tension in your body, easing the ache you’ve been holding onto. The closeness, her arms around you, feels like the piece you’d been missing all along.

For a moment, you both stay like that, wrapped in the quiet, finally able to be vulnerable without walls, without all the unspoken weight between you. In her arms, with her smile in your ear, the ache doesn’t just ease—it starts to heal.

Kara places a soft kiss on the top of your head, her arms still holding you close. “Now go. Go talk to Lena.”

You pull back slightly, hesitating. “Are you sure? Are we… good?”

Her smile is gentle, warm. “I think we haven’t been this good in months. So yeah, I’m sure. Go to her!”

Your heart swells, and you lean in, pressing a grateful kiss to her cheek. “I love you,” you murmur, the words carrying more weight than ever.

Her smile widens, eyes shining. “I love you, ie.”

With that, you take a steadying breath, feeling stronger than you have in a long time, ready to face whatever comes next. And next is… Alex.

You knock on her door, expecting to be greeted with anger, but instead, you’re met with a soft, “Hey! Come on in. We’re still unpacking!”

“Auntie!” Esmé jumps onto your leg, her face lighting up with joy as you scoop her up and plant a smooch on her cheek, earning a delighted giggle. “Where were you?”

“Oh, I went to visit your grandma.”

Alex glances up from her bag, raising an eyebrow. “Did you really go to see Mom?”

“Yep.” You set Esmé down, and she dashes off, following Kelly's call to help organize her room—basically code for leaving you and Alex alone.

“So I don’t have to go full mom on you?” Alex asks, crossing her arms playfully, and a smile tugs at your lips.

“Guess not.”

“Good.” Alex steps closer and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, her warmth soothing. “Sorry I didn’t keep your secret.”

“No, Alex, you were right. It was eating me alive. I don’t know how I didn’t explode earlier. I’m sorry for making you feel guilty; you are the perfect big sis.” You offer her a soft smile, genuine gratitude flowing between you. “I’m glad I finally got it all out in the open.”

Alex reaches for your arm, her touch reassuring. “Feel better now?”

You nod. “A bit guilty from all the yelling, but yeah. I guess I needed that. It’s like the weight’s been lifted.”

“Have you seen Lena yet?” she asks, her expression turning serious.

“No. Just Kara.”

“Alright then. Thanks for stopping by. Don't leave without saying goodbye to your niece again. And go confess your feelings to Lena, or I swear to God, I’ll tell her myself.”

You narrow your eyes at her, half-serious. “Just because this worked once doesn’t mean it will work again.”

“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure it will.” she says with a smirk, a glimmer of encouragement in her gaze.

You give her balcony door a soft knock, peering in to see Lena by the couch, a drink in hand, looking more tired than before the vacation. Her bag still sits half-unpacked nearby. At the sight of you, she scowls but heads over, unlocking the balcony door and stepping aside for you to come in.

“Hey, Lena,” you offer, voice soft.

“Don’t ‘hey Lena’ me,” she snaps, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I’m mad at you!” She turns abruptly and heads toward the kitchen, leaving you standing by the door, unsure whether you should follow. “How could you? We were all excited to spend time with you, to finally have you around without your lame ass excuses, but you spent most of the time there hiding behind a six-year-old, and then you just got up and left without a word!”

“Lena, I’m so—”

But she doesn’t let you finish. “Did I not deserve a goodbye? Do I really mean so little to you?”

The hurt in her voice strikes deep, and you take a step closer, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “No! Lena, you mean everything to me! I just… I couldn’t face you. Not with everything I was feeling.”

She finally turns to look at you, her eyes sharp, a blend of anger and pain. “Then tell me. What was so unbearable that you couldn’t talk to me? Because I was there baring my heart open to you. And you —you just left me! You left us! What's the point of a family trip if you're not even there?”

You swallow hard, heart pounding as you force yourself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You're right, I never should've left."

"Of course I'm right!" Her hands turn into fists, angry bubbling up and you let her have her outburst, because now you understand how important they are. "I tried everything, Y/N. I begged you for your time. I tried to have you open up to me, but you just kept shutting me off! You've been shutting me off for months now, and God, what did I do to you?” Lena’s voice breaks. “What did I do to deserve it? Why do you hate me now?"

"I don't. Lena, baby, I could never hate you." You force yourself to come closer even though you are terrified of her reaction to what you're about to say. "I actually love you so much, I was scared of the feeling."

"What?"

"I love you, Lena. I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you."

Lena’s expression falters, the anger flickering into surprise, maybe even shock. She stares at you, words failing her as she searches your face, as if trying to decipher if she heard you right, if you’re serious. The silence stretches thin, and for a split second, you’re sure you’ve gone too far, that you’ve finally broken something you can’t fix.

But then, slowly, Lena’s shoulders drop, and a softness replaces the tension in her eyes. “You… you love me?” she whispers, her voice barely more than a breath.

You nod, a shaky exhale leaving your lips as you finally let the words settle into the open. "I love you. I know it might seem impossible after how I acted, and I know I messed up by pushing you away. But, Lena, every single moment, I’ve been in love with you. It was just… easier to hide than to risk losing you over it.”

"God, you're—you're infuriating, Y/N Danvers!" She grabs the collar of your t-shirt with surprising strength, prompting you closer. "If you didn't spend all of your time running and hiding from me, you would see that I'm also in love with you!"

“You are?” you almost stumble back in shock, but she’s holding you so tightly that you barely move. “You really feel the same?”

"Yes, darling.” Her tone is suddenly so sweet and soft, and yet she doesn’t let go of you. “I really do feel the same. Now you already made me wait for too long, so… Would it really kill you if we kissed?"

Your heart races as her words sink in, the weight of her admission filling the air between you. You stare into her eyes, searching for any hint of doubt, but all you see is warmth and a fierce determination that makes you feel like the only person in the world. 

"It might kill me if we don't."

Without a second thought, you close the distance, your lips finding hers in a rush of pent-up emotion. The kiss is electrifying, a fire that you both had been trying to deny for far too long. Lena’s hands release their grip on your collar and tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if she’s afraid you might vanish again. You melt into her, relishing the sweetness of the moment, the soft taste of her lips awakening every nerve ending in your body.

When you finally pull away, breathless, Lena’s eyes shine with a mix of mischief and sincerity. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Actually, I was terrified.” you joke, and she rolls her eyes at your antics.

“Well then, how about another kiss to make you feel less scared?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up as you lean in again, savoring the sensation of her against you, the way her lips move with yours, the warmth radiating from her body. In that moment, the past feels like a distant memory, and all that matters is this connection between you both.

As you pull back, breathless and smiling, Lena’s gaze is intense, filled with promise. “You’re not going anywhere this time, right?”

“Never again.” you reply, your heart full of certainty. “I’m right where I wanna be.”

[httpscomorg]

Little Red

Summary: You're a little pissed off at one of your partners, but he of course, makes up for it.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Wade x Reader x Logan

Warnings: Mention of sex. That’s it really. Heavy foul language?

Word Count: 2004

(I don't check for grammar, I'm too lazy for that shite)

“They’re in my sights, I’m moving in.” You look down at him from above the dark bridge, gun trained on the enemy as Wade moves in, gun pointed in their direction as they search for both of you, and you grin, you had them cornered and they didn’t even know it.

“Wait…” You mumble, sweeping your gun over the area again. “I thought there was three…”

“Shit-“ Then you hear it, the gun as it shoots you right in the back, your gun powering down for the next 10 seconds.

Fucking laser tag.

“Haha, I got you!” Peter pokes your forehead, pushing your head back playfully before running off for the last five seconds you had left, waiting for your gun to power back up.

Were you winning? Absolutely. Were you having fun? Most definitely. Should you all be out on a mission right now? We don’t talk about that.

There’s arcade music as your gun powers back up, and you immediately go back into ‘Call of Duty mode,’ as you like to call it, treating it as if it was a real mission and you didn’t just get shot in the back.

Turning a corner you see a blue glow, that meant Wade was there, your other partner having left already claiming the game wasn’t fair to them. Just because they’re blind, doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

“One is in the back left corner of the room, I’ll get the two on the opposite bridge.” Wade tells you, crouch running to get to the other side, cause who really gives a fuck about no running rules in laser tag rooms? Once the gun is in your hand and the vest is strapped around your front, the rules no longer apply, it was every man, or woman, for themselves, and you took it pretty damned seriously.

You turn the corner, the end of your gun pointed ahead with only 12 seconds left on the little screen, and so you rush it, moving into a jog to get to the end, searching for Kurt, and finding Peter, shooting him straight in the side while he’s looking up at Wade, satisfied with the 10 second time out, that meant he was done about 7 seconds early, so you pass him, ignoring the stupid look of defeat he gives you. You always start, and end with the first and last shot, and you always win. Today would not be the day you lost. So with your gun at the ready, you spot Kurt, he’s got his gun trained up where Wade is, you can tell by the blue glow, and he was waiting for Wades vest to pop up, but you knew it wasn’t going to, so you get close enough for the gun to catch onto the sensors, and you pull the trigger, but it doesn’t push down, instead of the classic video game gun sound, there’s a power down button as the lights turn on, cancelling out the neon and black lights, a groan leaving your throat.

“Why didn’t you shoot me?” Kurt laughs, standing up and looking at Wade again who was now scaling his way down the bridge over to you, Kurt, Peter, and Jane. Scott had also left the room because he was scared of lasers.

“I thought I had enough time for a takedown!” You smile largely, Wade coming up from behind you and lifting you around the waist, waddling awkwardly as he walks you to the exit.

You get out, looking up at the scoreboard. As usual, flawless accuracy, and the most points, you sigh. Thank you Clint. The winning team? Well, Wade picking you up and twirling you like a princess is enough to answer that question, obviously the blue team won. Meaning 500 tickets would be sent into your wristband, and your team wouldn’t be able to play again for thirty more minutes.

“Who won?” Al comes up behind you smiling, holding the big stuffie that she wants to believe is a teddy bear, no one had the heart to tell her…

“Uh, who do you think won?” Wade wiggles his finger directly in front of Al’s face.

“Judging by your hot breath on my face regardless of the mask, I’m assuming you and little red won?” Little red. You love Wade, but God that nickname was getting to be a bit much.

“You’re just mad you couldn’t see.”

“Bitch I got more shots than you probably.”

“Which would be impressive if your kill to death ratio wasn’t seven to twenty three.”

“Girls, come on, the pizza should be ready, and Logan should be here any minute now.” You grab Wades gloved hand, and you gently guide Althea over to the table where Scott was sitting, a small cup of tickets on the table, and a large box of pizza, only two missing. But you weren’t hungry, you were just excited to see Logan.

“Face it, he’s not coming.” Jane nudges you, grabbing a slice for herself, but you were pretty dedicated to looking towards the door, hoping his grumpy ass would peek in at any minute now. But to no avail.

“After this, we should do the race track.” Wade points at Kurt with the tip of his pizza, the weird bastard was eating it crust first. As if Wade couldn’t get weirder.

“Ze race track?” Kurt lifts the two litre bottle of coke, pouring it into a styrofoam cup with some ice that was half melted as you look down at your watch. Logan should’ve been there by now, he promised he’d be there… Surely he didn’t forget. Right?

“Yea, I mean one of us is bound to beat little red in racing, right?” Wade chuckles, looking at you looking at the doors.

“Right? Little red?” You feel a hand on your shoulder and you throw on a smile. “You can’t be good at racing too.”

“Actually, Tony Stark taught me himself.” Is what you would’ve said, but you’ll pass on that for now, those are stories for another time. “Wade, I will kick all of your asses in racing… I could beat you all with my eyes closed.” He smiles.

“Wanna give that a try?”

“No, I wanna go outside for a moment…” You answer quickly, it sounded almost sarcastic, but by the way Wade's chest heaves up and down in a silent heavy sigh, you know he’s disappointed. You were completely reliant on Logan, but you couldn’t help it. That bitch saved your life. And he wouldn’t even show up to an arcade for you now. “I just need a breather…” Wade nods, letting you go, a pat on the shoulder for comfort.

“Well, we’re gonna go practice rounds with five year olds as a replacement, and maybe we can even get Al driving. I'd love to see what she looks like behind a wheel completely unaware of another car in front of her.” You chuckle dryly, taking a step back.

“I’ll be right there, I promise.” You mumble the promise, stepping out of the large arcade and you go over to your truck, climbing into the bed and then onto the roof, sitting with your legs crossed as you open your phone, first checking Logan’s location, which as usual, was turned off. So you call him.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

And guess what?

It fucking rings.

You groan, opening your texts with him, the last one he sent being, “I’ll be there baby, I promise. Tell Wade I love him too.” Which makes you feel a wave of hurt just stroke through your body.

You call the number again for some reason. And it rings, and rings. Then it doesn’t.

“What the fuck?” Did this motherfucker just decline my call? Who the fuck does he think he is? You call back, and this time it only rings once before it’s sent straight back to voicemail. So again, you call, same thing. So you call again and again until you’re sure his voice box would be full of frustrated grumbles and groans from your side. “You motherfucking bitch…” Is what’s in the last voicemail until you open your camera app. Only to discover a fucking wall.

And that was it.

You hop off the roof of your truck, opening the door and starting the engine, letting it roar to life despite the snow as you buckle up quickly and swing out of the parking lot. You were not letting this motherfucker ignore you.

You take a sharp turn, speeding down the roads when you could, the little sticker on the back of your licence plate a warning for police not to pull you over.

“What the fuck could this ancient piece of art be possibly hiding from me?” You start yelling at nothing, wishing Wade was sitting next to you. “You save the fucking world with someone and you think you know a guy… especially one that’s been fucking inside of you.” You’re talking to the snow on your windshield now. You knew you’d get attached when you agreed to being in a relationship with Wade and Logan. You’re latched onto the two unkillable fucks like a leech, and until they see you when you’re out of your prime, you weren’t going anywhere, and they sure as hell weren’t gonna push you away. Especially not on the birthday that they all promised to be at. Which honestly, if it was just you, Wade, and Logan, you would’ve been completely satisfied. But with Logan missing, it just felt like a teenage hangout, Wade counting as a child.

You pull off the road, driving up the gravel quickly to the little cabin the three of you had put together, and you turn off the engine of the truck, throwing yourself out of the drivers seat, jamming the keys into the front door, and you push it slab of wood open, basically slamming it behind you before you freeze at the red coating the hardwood floor.

Rose petals…?

Your eyes squint in confusion. And you take another step inside. Red rose petals lead to the bedroom. Little fake candles lit up in the kitchen and living room. And you could barely hear two voices arguing with each other in the bedroom. Wade and Logan…

Logan…

Wade?

How the fuck-

Kurt…

You groan, taking slow and calculated steps towards the bedroom, you weren’t big on surprises, especially since on the other side of the wall there’s usually just a man with a gun.

But as soon as you step into the bedroom…

“Surprise!” Wade shouts, conferring thrown into the air, and there’s glitter flying at you, making you turn away but it just covers your clothes and the floor, not reaching your eyes, nose, or mouth.

Wade was standing in jeans and a pink polo now, his suit and mask kicked into the corner as if it was expertly hidden, and he even managed to get Logan to wear something else from his usual beater and jeans. He was now just wearing elmo pyjamas and a pink hoodie.

“Happy birthdayyy little red!” Wade sings, clapping his hands and running up to you for a hug, which you of course give him, sending a death glance towards Logan who just laughe, taking a few steps towards you.

“I know, I promised to go to the arcade, but baby I am more than two hundred years old, pac man isn’t exactly my thing…” He grabs your waist, wrapping one arm around you and smiling.

“So you set this up…?” He nods, and you feel Wade come up behind you.

“Figured we’d give you a break and let you relax while we take care of you…”

“It was my idea…” Wade chirps, and Logan growls. “Mostly my idea… the sex part was my idea…” His hands also rest on your waist, smiling against your neck as Logan stares down into your eyes.

“Happy birthday, little red…” He leans down, kissing you, and suddenly the nickname doesn’t seem all that bad.

[magewritesstories]

[ SPENCER REID ] GIRL DINNER

cw. you and spencer are alone in the bullpen after a long case and you introduce him to girl dinner, guest starring spencer's glasses bc why not. [ fluff ] note. i used what my comprehension of girl dinner is but there's a lot of different opinions on what it's supposed to be. wc. 622

THE BULLPEN IS QUIET AS THE CLOCK STRIKES 11:30 PM. Spencer sat in his office, wondering why he ever took Emily up on the offer of becoming Unit Chief.

The pile of unwritten reports seemed never-ending, and the pile of written ones barely growing.

The man sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, casting a glance out his office window to look at the single lit light coming from your desk, where you're also hunched over a profile.

He quickly checks the time on his watch and gets up.

"You should head home, it's late," he stated, leaning against Luke's desk, which was parallel to yours.

You looked up from the report in your hand. "It's okay, I'm almost done anyway—what about you?"

"That doesn't count, I'm unit chief," he replied with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"I didn't realize unit chiefs weren't human," you replied with a teasing tone.

Spencer just shrugged. "I told JJ I'd write her share of reports so that she could go home and spend some time with Henry and Michael. What's your excuse?"

"Just looking at the pile of unwritten reports on your desk made me tired," you answered. "I didn't want to add to it."

"I don't mind, you know."

"I know, but just because you don't mind doesn't mean I should take advantage of it every time—besides, believe it or not, I had nowhere to be anyway."

You gave him a small smile that made his heart flutter.

He stayed quiet for a minute (by accident) before quickly clearing his throat. "Uhm, have you—have you had dinner?"

"Sort of," you shrugged. "I had girl dinner if that counts."

Spencer frowned as he said something he found himself saying a lot more often with you around, "I—I don't—I don't know what that means."

You used your pen (pink with a small kitten attached to it—probably from Penelope's 'Batcave') to point at the empty plate sitting at the far edge of your desk.

"I had a small container of yogurt, a cup-o-noodles, and some apple slices," you explained.

"That's just a bunch of different snacks," Spencer blinked in confusion.

You shook your head as you corrected him, "Actually, it's a bunch of leftovers I found in the fridge—don't tell Terry, he's very serious about his yogurt."

"Still not sustainable," he countered with a smile, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"It's three out of the five main food groups," you replied with a grin. "Besides, it's not like I eat like this every day. I just didn't want to waste time getting dinner when I wasn't that hungry anyway."

You leaned against your chair, spinning slightly, as you looked at the slight crease between his brows.

"Tell you what, boss," you said, "If my choice of dinner bothers you that much, why don't we go out?"

"Wha—what?" he asked, snapping out of his daze.

You smiled at his flustered expression. "For dinner, obviously. C'mon, my treat, y'know, for being such a great boss."

"I—I—"

"It'll be fun," you insisted. "There's this great Thai place that opened a few streets down from that bar we went to the other day. JJ said you don't know how to use chopsticks, and I would love to see you try."

Spencer shook his head. "I taught myself, actually. I can use them now."

"Great, I guess you can prove it to me," you replied.

"You really think that place is still open right now?"

"Yep, opening hours are from 7 to 2," you answered. "So if we can finish these reports before then, we should be fine."

Spencer sighed before giving you a smile. "I'm going to try."

"Great, it's a date!" you exclaimed as he turned back around to walk to his office.

You were going to give him a heart attack one of these days.