#he managed to stay under the radar

[shih-coulda-had-it]

my original tengu torino AU... the studio ghibli hodgepodge AU...

[puckinghischier]

Spotlight

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary - reader prefers to stay out of the spotlight being luke hughes’ girlfriend brings

notes - y’all asked for luke, so luke you’ll get. i wanted to try to get out at least one more fic for you guys before my semester kicks off tomorrow. i don’t know how often i’ll be able to write once things get going, but i’m going to try my best not to completely disappear again. i don’t really like the ending of this, but i hope you enjoy it anyways. happy reading! 🫶🏼

request - “go with me?” “only if you’ll hold my hand” “take my jacket, i don’t want you catching a cold”

[2.3k]

You were someone that absolutely hated the spotlight. You hated the feeling of eyes on you, the knowledge that every move you make is being observed and analyzed.

You flew under the radar all through school, until college. You managed to become valedictorian of your program, earning a highly sought after position with a company based out of New Jersey.

The city has always brought a sense of anonymity to you that you’ve enjoyed. The ability to be a stranger everywhere you go brings a certain comfort to you.

That is, until you met one of the most well-known men in Jersey.

You first met Luke at an event your company was hosting in partnership with the Devils to present them with a hefty donation for a new practice facility. You had tried to get out of going, suit and tie events not being your typical scene, but your boss informed you that you were required to attend.

Even wearing the most plain dress you could find, you caught the attention of none other than the team’s rookie defenseman. You had tried to politely make your exit, but Luke was too intrigued by the pretty stranger in the corner.

The two of you had spent the rest of the night talking, despite the feeling of every eye on you as Luke lead you back to a table. The two of you exchanged numbers at the end of the event, Luke inviting you out to a game. He offered to give you a ticket, but you informed him that your company had rink-side season seats, courtesy of the GM after the donation.

You attended games regularly after that night, blending in the sea of red with Luke’s own Jersey on your back—another perk of the large donation— while also chatting with Luke nearly every day over text, which eventually morphed into phone calls, then facetime calls when he was on the road.

Four months after your initial meeting, Luke decided to make it official and put a label on your relationship.

You had worried about the unwanted attention that came with being a ���WAG’ as you learned the other significant others on the team were nicknamed, but your feelings for Luke were greater than any discomfort you may experience.

Now, though, looking at the hoard of photographers that are stationed around the rink, your anxiety begins to spike a little.

“Honeybee, I promise it’ll be fine. They probably won’t even focus on us, anyways. They’ll want a few shots of me and Jack with mom and dad, but it’s likely they’ll be too busy on the guys with kids to even notice you’re with me,” Luke reassures you, crouched in front of you while tying your skates.

Today was family skate day for the team, Luke having asked you weeks ago to participate with him.

You agreed, despite your limited ability to skate, thinking it was just going to be the players and their families, no media presence. When you arrived with Luke this morning, however, and you saw the photographers trying to get pictures through the windows of Luke’s BMW, you realized you were wrong.

“I’m just nervous, Luke,” you tell him quietly. “I know if they release pictures of you with a girl during family skate it’s going to be the next big hockey gossip topic, and then it’ll feel like I’m under a microscope.”

Luke’s soft eyes look up at you, sensing the nervousness in your own.

“I know, sweet girl. But I promise, I’ll have Tom talk to the media and tell him to withhold any pictures of us together, if that makes you feel better?” he offers, picking up your now skate clad foot off of his knee and placing it on the padded floor.

You think about the offer, but realize it would still cause unwanted attention on you. You don’t want to be difficult, just invisible.

“No, I don’t want to overcomplicate things. It’s fine. Like you said, I’m sure they’ll mostly focus on everyone else,” you smile down at him, watching his own grin overtake his face.

“Well then, it’s time we finally get you acquainted with the ice. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot of it in your future,” he winks, standing to his full height and holding a hand out to help you off of the bench.

He helps you walk over to the entrance to the rink, steadying you after every wobble. Once you reached the gate, you hesitate, halting your movements.

“C’mon, Honeybee. Go with me?” Luke asks you, already having stepped on the ice.

Thinking about what this means once more, and the huge step it is, no only onto the ice but in your relationship, you hesitate for only a few seconds.

“Only if you hold my hand,” you tell him, your words going deeper than just ice skating.

“Always,” he responds, tugging your hands towards him when you step onto the ice, shakily keeping your balance.

“Well, look at you, Wallflower, out here skating with the big dogs,” Jack calls out, skating up towards you and Luke.

Looking over to give him a short smile, you try to keep a majority of your attention on not falling over as Luke slowly pulls you towards him as he skates backwards.

“Figured it can’t be that hard if you do it all the time,” you tease him back, the two of you becoming close friends over the course of yours and Luke’s relationship.

Jack, as rambunctious and rowdy as he can be, is one of the people who works the hardest to keep you out of the spotlight, other than Luke, of course.

On the rare occasion you decide to tag along for team outings with Luke, Jack will act as your own personal body guard, perfectly hiding you in-between him and Luke anytime there’s a flash of a camera or a squeal of a fan.

“Oh, yeah, make fun of the professional. Let’s see you do this,” Jack makes a big show of skating backwards while swiveling, then executing a very poor jump, but still managing to land upright on his skates.

You roll your eyes at him, only glancing up for a few seconds at a time, trying to keep your eyes on your own feet.

“Alright, Jack, that’s enough showing off. Give the poor girl a break,” you hear Ellen scold her middle child as her and Jim skate over towards the three of you, hand in hand.

“Hey, she started it. I was just trying to defend myself,” he holds his hands up in surrender.

Luke guides you over to one of the short walls, allowing you to hold onto it for support for a second, giving you a break.

“Don’t act like you have to have a reason to show off, it’s just your natural state,” you tease Jack again, earning a laugh from the rest of the group.

“You got me there,” Jack doesn’t argue, shrugging his shoulders in agreement.

“Jack! Luke! Over here!” you hear a voice yell, turning to look at the photographer a few feet away from you, leaning over the wall with his camera pointed in your direction.

You feel the spike of anxiety in your chest, attempting to scoot further down the wall to separate yourself from them, but nearly losing your balance.

Luckily Luke was right there to catch you. “Hey, it’s okay. They’ll just get a few pictures of our family together and then move on,” he assures you once he makes sure you’re steady enough to be left alone.

You watch as Jack and Luke position themselves in just the right way that you’re completely hidden behind them, the added bodies of Ellen and Jim only ensuring your hidden state.

The photographer snaps a few shots of the family before giving a thumbs up, looking down to check the quality of his pictures.

You let out the breath you were holding in, sagging a bit at the relief of avoiding any unwanted attention.

“See, told you there was nothing to worry about,” Luke skates over to you again, leading you away from the wall.

“Luke! How about a shot of you and your lady!” the same photographer yells out, causing your relaxed state to turn rigid in a heartbeat.

“Nah, man. No pictures for her today. Just me and Jack,” Luke replies, skating to stand in front of you, blocking you from the camera pointed at you.

“Oh, c’mon, man. The fans will love it!” the photographer tries again, attempting to move positions to catch a glimpse of you.

“He said, no, man. Go get some shots of Cap or something. She doesn’t want her picture taken,” Jack skates up, standing in front of both you and Luke.

The photographer rolls his eyes, agitated at the loss of a good picture opportunity. “Fine, whatever,” the man huffs, turning and walking towards Nico and his family.

“Thanks, you guys,” you mumble out, embarrassed at the interaction.

“I told you, no pictures if you don’t want them,” Luke turns to face you, taking your hands in his once again, pulling you out further onto the ice.

The rest of the skate goes smoothly, no more unwanted attention from the photographers, just you and Luke and his family skating in small circles and having a good time.

Towards the end of the skate, you start bringing your gloved hands up to rub at your red nose, the chill of the ice finally getting to you.

“You cold, Honeybee?” Luke asks you, knowing how chilled you get, even when wearing layers like you were right now.

“Yeah, it’s a little chilly in here. Not that you’d know,” you tease your boyfriend, gesturing to his full set of pads and jersey he was wearing. Not to mention his tolerance for the cold anyways.

He leads the two of you over towards the benches, leaving you leaned against the wall for a second before returning with something in his hands.

“Here, take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold,” he tells you, draping your favorite plaid jacket of his over your shoulders.

You put your arms through the large sleeves, loving how you were now engulfed in the smell of his cologne.

Thanking him, you lean up to give him a small kiss, not caring who was watching, lost in your love for your boyfriend.

“Alright, let’s get you out of these skates and back into your normal shoes before people start filing in for warm ups. I have a game to play and you have to get to your seat so you can watch your hunky boyfriend do his manly job of hitting people and chasing a piece of rubber on ice,” he tells you, causing you to laugh at him, bringing a hand up to ruffle his curls.

After helping you remove your skates, and pouting until you give him a good luck kiss, Luke shoos you away so you can make your way to your usual seat, Jim and Ellen opting to join you at the glass rather than sitting in a box with some of the other player parents.

The boys ended up winning their game, Luke coming straight out of the locker room after the game and picking you up in a celebratory spin, claiming you have to go skating with him before every game now.

You laugh at his superstitious self, grabbing his hand and walking towards the exit of the rink with him to join the rest of the team for celebratory drinks, not wanting to bail on Luke after such a game.

Weeks later, when you see an article containing the pictures from the family skate event, you click on it and scroll through the various snapshots.

You find yourself smiling at all of the family pictures of Luke’s teammates, enjoying how happy the guys are to have their wives and kids with them on the ice.

Scrolling all the way to the end of the article, you find yourself stopping on a couple pictures in particular, the familiar pit of anxiety forming in your stomach.

The last two pictures in the article are pictures of you and Luke. The first was taken when he was zipping up the jacket he gave you, the two of you looking at each other with so much fondness you could feel the love radiating from the picture.

The second is when you were craning your neck to give Luke a small kiss, the picture captured right before your lips touched, both of you smiling at the other with the same fond look in your eyes.

Your immediate reaction should have been a level three meltdown, your picture out there with Luke, officially, in an ESPN article of all places, but you were surprisingly calm. You should have been screaming and angry, having specifically told the photographer no pictures, but you couldn’t find that anger within yourself.

The pictures showcased yours and Luke’s love for each other so well, you wanted copies of them for yourself. Suddenly you didn’t care if people knew your name, or your face. You could care less if you were front and center on every hockey gossip page in existence.

All you cared about was the amount of happiness you saw on Luke’s face in the pictures, and how deeply you felt about him.

So, when Luke called you an hour later, panicked and telling you he was in the process of getting them taken down, you told him it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to be taken down, because you didn’t care if you had to stand naked in the middle of the rink during puck drop at his next game, you just wanted people to know you loved him with every ounce of your being.

Your aversion to attention be damned, seeing these pictures made you want to scream your love for him from the rooftop of the highest building in Jersey. You were still opposed to the idea of unwanted and unnecessary attention, but decided right here that there would be no more hiding. You were going to be there for Luke in any way he wanted or needed you from here on out. And if you happened to be caught in a few pictures on the way? Well, you guess you’ll just have to get them framed.

[spokenfromtheheartandsoul]

idk man like imagine how tired you'd be if YOU had to move to an entirely new place and start all over. not even because of the occupational hazards of your job which would have at least been expected if not reasonable (see: assassins) but instead because your trigger-happy younger brother decided to add live props to an impassioned karaoke performance on a whim and now you've found yourself a co-owner AND manager AND chef to an entire burger restaurant establishment. where the total number of employees other than yourself is a grand total of one (1) aka the same younger brother who has never touched a spatula in his life. and now you're just trying to make decent burgers while settling in to your new neighborhood and stay under the radar while your brother insists on exploring his sense of fashion by dressing in the brightest colors and prints known to man immediately following shifts at your real job (see: ASSASSINS) because it's not like it requires blending into society or anything. and then right when you think you're finally going to have a nice and peaceful friday night at home you get rear-ended by an unhinged and unnecessarily attractive mechanic who insists on fixing your jeep for free but is also SO maddeningly infuriating to interact with that you begin to question whether the free service is worth your sanity. because upon returning to pick up your car the Unhinged Mechanic begins an entirely unprompted striptease to reveal to you that he has - for reasons beyond your comprehension - decided to steal your burger pin. and then he starts going off about his sensitive nipples while he makes YOU take it off of him. and then as if all of THAT wasn't enough you also come home to find your younger brother delightedly getting groped in front of god and your respectable burger establishment in broad daylight while he nuzzles and adoringly stares into the eyes of the exact same cocky one-night-stand you EXPLICITLY warned him to stay away from. and then to top it all off the Unhinged Mechanic has now inexplicably shown up at your closed restaurant and has the audacity to demand service in return for having had to repair the jeep that HE damaged in the first place. because apparently the best place to have a beer is your CLOSED burger restaurant. and although you feel like your actions would be very justified in doing so, you somehow manage to refrain from killing him on sight because you are a Good and Reasonable Assassin. but this also means having to endure watching Unhinged Mechanic down no less than nine beers in one go all while he antagonizes you. and right when you finally decide to put your foot down and kick him out the Unhinged Mechanic decides that THAT is the perfect time to make a move on you. so now not only are you both exhausted and irritated and confused but ALSO sexually frustrated while having to forcibly remove him from your premises by his feet. imagine that. imagine you have to deal with ALL that in the span of 1 week without losing it and somehow YOU'RE the unreasonable and rigid one??????

[thelostconsultant]

The leak

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: Someone recorded you and your boyfriend having sex, and now parts of the recording are being released, letting the world know that you're seeing each other.

warning: mentions of sexual activities, bdsm-ish elements, dom!Oscar, dark!Oscar, aaaaaand that's it. I think. So MDNI.

note: It started out as something kinky, then I figured out who recorded and leaked the whole thing. This was meant to be a short drabble, something to take my mind off the other fic I'm working on...

This had to be a nightmare. 

Your phone began to buzz late in the afternoon, signaling message after message, but you didn't really care about it until your manager called and told you to check social media sites. And there they were, snippets and screenshots from a sex tape, showing you and your boyfriend in what seemed to be his hotel room two days ago.

Whoever recorded and shared this made sure to pick the spiciest parts. The most “popular” video was the moment he put the beige collar on you, then grabbed the golden chain to pull you into a hungry kiss. His orders could be heard crystal clear, and his dominant personality which was in such stark contrast with his usual behavior was now out in the open. 

Your first instinct was to send a message to your chronically online boyfriend, but then you realized this was an emergency and calling him was the best approach now. It didn’t take him long to answer, and his voice was so calm you thought he didn’t know anything. “Hey, baby, what is it? I’ve been thinking about you, are you–”

“Oscar, you haven’t checked social media sites lately, have you?” you asked, your voice thin from the anxiety that had taken over the moment you saw the first snippet. 

There was a short pause, then he went, “The videos? Yeah, that might be a problem.”

“Might be a problem? It’s already a problem!” you corrected him. “People know we’re together, and what’s worse, they know what we do in bed. We kept everything under wraps for a reason.”

Little did you know that Oscar was everything but surprised by this turn of events. Why would he be surprised when it was him who hid that camera in his hotel room, and it was also him who sent it out to someone he knew would spread it like wildfire. He remained an anonymous source, of course, but he knew it was all his work. And he was proud of it. 

He had been begging you to make your relationship official, but you were too worried about what your fans would say. So he decided to take matters into his own hands, showing the world what a good little girl you were for him. He was proud of you, he wanted to show you off, and he wanted you to come to as many races as you could. Just to be his lucky charm, and maybe the solution to releasing some stress if a session was frustrating. 

“Why don’t you come over until people move on from this? We can nestle in my apartment eating ice cream, watching movies… Come on, it’s gonna be fun,” he tried, his voice sickeningly sweet. 

You took a deep breath that you soon let out slowly, giving yourself time to think. “All right, my manager told me to stay under the radar anyway.”

“Great. See you soon then.”

He won. You come over, stay for a few days, and he’ll do his damn best to convince you to stay for good. You would have fun on your own. He would train you to be the kind of obedient little thing he always wanted you to be. Why would you need to make decisions when he can choose for you? You’d realize this was for the best, he just had to be smart and patient.

[necer0s]

One of the things that’s fascinating about Superboy to me as a shameless powerscaler is that he’s like. Right on the edge of being too powerful. There’s a line between characters that can be active heroes and beings that are so powerful as to basically be gods, who have to be shuffled off to their own corners of canon and only show up for really big cosmic threats so as to not break the plausibility of the setting. Superman stays out of Gotham, Silver Surfer stays out in space, Jean Gray dies if she goes full Phoenix. Kon should be in that category, but no one at DC pays enough attention to him to realize it.

Can you imagine? A character who is basically Jean Gray and Superman combined, but no one ever thinks about it because he wears silly shades and a leather jacket and his telekinesis has a minor range limitation that he’s outgrowing. If you seriously introduced a character like that, the idea of them being an oft-ignored minor character would be laughable.

And yet, somehow Kon sneaks in under the radar! At least part of it is the Kryptonian powerset, obviously. Between the various members of the Superfam and the many copies and parodies across different settings, we get used to treating all those very powerful abilities as one thing, so it doesn’t feel like as big a deal to add all of them onto one other power, especially when Tactile Telekinesis is often forgotten or underused by writers who can’t manage inventive power use.

But what it all adds up to is one of the most powerful characters in DC canon, with a huge amount of room to grow, being consistently treated as a minor sidekick. It’s truly wild.

[snazzydwarf]

(This was written in July oh dear-)

You know how in a lot of fics a de-aged Danny winds up in Gotham either via Clockwork putting him there, or Danny goes through a portal (either through his own volition or not) and ends up being taken in by one of the bats?

Okay that, but what if he was never picked up and ends up falling through the cracks and becoming one of the many homeless children wandering Gotham's streets, but unlike all the other street kids who know when to keep their head down Danny just doesn't have those fear receptors... like at all- It's almost scary with how the kid manages to just not give a single flying fuck about what is going on.

So after a while of wandering the streets and getting acquainted with the Gotham's inhabitants everyone slowly get's used to the kid wandering around, dropping their guard and greeting him with smiles when he toddles around the corner, looking for his next meal or piece of scrap clothing.

Perhaps it's this show of trust they begin to notice the strangeness that hangs around him like a cloud. The shifting coloured eyes, the coldness in his skin that never seems to go away no matter how much clothing the kid gets bundled in.

The fact that no one knows where he goes once they take their eyes on him? Spooky to say the least, but they're Gothamites! One shady, possibly meta, kid ain't gonna change anything.

So he becomes a staple in everyone's lives, and eventually learned his name is Danny. He talks about having an older sister called Jazz, two best friends and a puppy he named Cujo. (who let their kids watch Cujo???) They also learned he had an innate fear of The Bats, whenever one swept into the streets during their nightly patrol he would just... disappear. He became unfindable and wouldn't appear until the next day.

At first they thought it was him finding a safe place to sleep while the night rolled around and the Rouges came out to play, but that assumption was quickly squashed when he was caught wailing on one of the Jokers henchmen. The white makeup couldn't even cover up the black and blue bruises that covered his face.

It was comical, if not a bit frightening to see this small child practically a baby sitting upon a knocked out, grown ass man. His little stubby legs dangling off the side of his body, too small to even reach the ground.

Of course nothing stays under the Bats radar for long so he end up eventually getting spotted. However none of the Bats where expecting such resistance from the civilians when they offered to take the kid.

Now whenever the little tyke is bumbling around and a Bat (or any other vigilante associated with them) is in the area, it's all hands on deck to distract Danny and get him somewhere else.

[paceprompting]

We'll Meet Again

written for ‘shopping’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: no warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, pre-relationship, fluff, flirting, part two of "Need a Ride?"

Part One

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t mind the mall around Christmas.

Yeah, the tinny music through the building’s speakers might grate his nerves after a few hours, but Eddie made it a point not to be there that long in the first place. And with everyone so busy from Black Friday to New Year’s, he could slip through the crowds with little to no dirty looks in his direction.

Which meant shopping for Wayne’s Christmas present in peace.

He’d noticed it around Halloween, coming home after Wayne to find him passed out on the couch. His coat hung on one of the kitchen chairs, and Eddie had stared at it while eating a midnight cereal. The old man had the thing since before Eddie started staying with him, and the wear was starting to show.

The inner lining had started to come away, and the corduory fabric on the outside was a few patches from unsalvagable. Not to mention the ratty state of the fur collar.

It had taken until now, two weeks into December, to save up enough for a coat—after his half of the rent and gas money. At least for the good ones at Bloomingdale’s.

He’d planned to be in and out in under an hour. It took the longest just to get into the store, and then to the men’s section at the back. Eddie found the style he wanted immediately, and went to searching the rack for the right size.

“Branching out?”

He may have been overly confident about flying under the radar.

Eddie’s eyes shot to the other side of the rack to find himself across from Steve Harrington. Again.

It had only been a week since the night Eddie still wasn’t sure he hadn’t hallucinated—where Steve had given Eddie a ride home without asking anything in return. Eddie had lived in terror for two days at school thinking Steve would pop up behind him and demand repayment.

“How’s the van?” Steve asked.

Because Eddie hadn’t said anything. And for some reason Steve was waiting there until he did.

“Waiting to go to the shop,” Eddie finally managed, swallowing hard. “Sharing the truck with my uncle.”

Steve nodded, standing with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. Eddie peered around the rack and noticed that Steve didn’t have any shopping bags. Or any clothes laid over his arms, ready to buy.

Eddie raised a brow. “Something catch your eye over here?”

“Uh.” Steve blinked, like he’d been caught. He frantically scanned the clothing rack, plucking out a jacket that looked nearly identical to the one he was wearing. “This one.”

“Very you, Harrington.”

Steve held it up to his chest. “You think?”

It was ridiculous that that made Eddie chuckle. He spent twenty minutes with the guy, and he was already laughing at his charming, jock personality. Because Steve had been pleasant during that ride, even when Eddie tested the limits by changing the radio to a metal station.

Then Steve held the jacket out to him.

“Try it on.”

Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed. Then at the jacket, and back. “I can barely afford the buttons on that thing. I shouldn’t even touch it.”

Steve gave him a flat look, and shook the jacket. Eddie set his hands on his hips, and they remained that way until Eddie was sure Steve’s arm was going to fall off before he gave in.

He rolled his eyes, and went to strip off his own leather jacket, leaving Steve to join him. Eddie expected to be handed the garment, but when Eddie was just in his long-sleeve, Steve was holding the jacket for Eddie to slide his arms into.

Holding his breath, Eddie turned his back to Steve and eased into it.

It didn’t have the give of Eddie’s well-worn jackets, but it was warm. He examined the fit against his body, and definitely not what he thought were Steve’s eyes trailing over his torso.

“Alright, it’s nice,” Eddie admitted, glancing at Steve from under his lashes. “One tip for you, though,”

Steve set his hands on his hips, raising his chin. “Oh yeah?”

Eddie put on his stage smile, wide and bold.

“Black. Always.”

“Can I, uh, get you a pretzel or something from the food court?”

Eddie thought he was surprised that they’d walked out of the store together. And then Steve asked him that.

He stared at Steve, the question echoing around in his skull like a ping-pong ball. And Steve…looked almost nervous, pink tongue darting out along his bottom lip. Between the good will of that snowfall drive and the easy way Steve had stayed at his side this whole time, Eddie didn’t have an answer as quick as he usually would.

He almost wanted to say yes.

But it was less his decision to actually make.

“I really have to get the truck back. My uncle’s shift is starting soon, and I don’t want to make him late…” Eddie turned his shoulder toward the exit.

 Steve nodded, lowering his head. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Why was he apologizing? He’d never promised anything. He and Steve barely knew each other.

But maybe it was the somber way he’d made Steve say that same thing he had in his car in that knowing way—when now it was quite the opposite.

Steve recovered quickly, getting his hair out of his face with a quick movement. He put on that subtle smirk of his in the face of the rejection.

“It was nice to see you again,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, hearing the vapid state of his reply too late. “I mean, you too.”

Not better, Edward.

But Steve visibly held back a larger smile, rocking on his heels. Apparently, if Eddie wanted Steve not to think he was an utter waste case, he had to interact like a normal human.

“See you around?” Steve asked, pivoting like Eddie had never denied him.

And the mental whiplash had to be the only explanation for his answer.

“Sure.”

Part Three

[tanadrin]

how dumb am i if i think the political situation in the states in one that can be bounced back from. like im not convinced by the argument that this administration brings the end to america, but im also not totally convinced that it's the end of america as we know it. and not in the "it's been like this all along" cynical sense, in the "i kinda do believe the rule of law wins out in this fight" sense. not without effort, mind. (goes without saying it's a different case for the foreign affairs)

you're not dumb at all. most apocalyptically bad political situations are the result of a long chain of decisions and failures and whatnot, and there are frequently sequences of decisions and failures that lead to bad political situations which society then proceeds to recover from.

for all the ways in which trump II has tried to deliberately fuck things up, it has been lousy at, like, the actual consolidation authoritarian systems usually need to sustain themselves. the modus operandi of authoritarianism AIUI is usually

be popular (trump did not even win an absolute majority of the popular vote; as of election day he was more popular than he had been in a while, but he didn't have crazy high approval ratings)

do your gleichschaltung first, using your popularity as a cudgel. install loyalists throughout the institutions, rein in independent actors, woo important elements like the military onto your side

only then once your power base is secure, unleash your real agenda. this is when you can go nuts, because the opposition will be weak and disorganized, and you can use the security apparatus to brutalize them. obviously there's a whole range of authoritarianism between outright "elections are over forever" and competitive authoritarianism, but they all rely on some degree of conslidation

and this was sort of the plan! project 2025 was meant to be a long game, carefully rolled out and done in a way that would leverage a conservative-but-independent judiciary to give it the imprimatur of legality, to establish a lasting conservative victory that would be incredibly difficult to undo.

trump, uh. did not do this. both he and musk have really poor impulse control and no real tact. there are goals here, but the strategy is bad; they have no sense of how to consolidate power, even in the ordinary non-authoritarian way that involves just putting together a robust governing coalition. they've had to rely mostly on trump's cult of personality and popularity within movement conservatism to cow Republicans, the fact that things are generally still humming along with inertia from the previous administration so that most people aren't super tuned in to politics, and the fact that most people do not care about the eye-wateringly boring details of the management of the federal government to stay under the radar--but when you poll the shit they're doing, it polls bad, and the likelihood they will break something in a really dangerous way is high. dangerous for the country--and for them.

there's been some efforts to install loyalists, but they've come alongside efforts to gut the apparatus of institutions you'd actually need to be working at high capacity to really do an authoritarianism. he fired the cjcs but also is attacking the agencies that administer veterans' benefits (and he literally just wanted to replace the cjcs with a general he thought had a cool nickname!). people who are paying attention are pissed. allies are freaked out. we are only a month in to trump II!

there are lots of paths here that, with some difficulty, nonetheless end with trumpism failing. there are lots of paths that don't, of course. i don't want to be pollyannaish here. but i think this is genuinely a chaotic situation, a situation where teetering on the brink is an apt metaphor, because this is one of those moments where events that are minor at first glance can have really outsized effects, and nobody really knows what will happen next.

[driverlando]

🗞️ EXTRA EXTRA !! charles leclerc has a secret wife of five years and a 1 year old son, rumor has it they got married after 5 months of knowing each other

Congrats of 2k 💗💗💗

EXTRA EXTRA!! Charles Leclerc’s Secret Life Revealed: A Wife of Five Years and a One-Year-Old Son!

In a surprising twist worthy of a blockbuster film, the Formula 1 world has been shaken by astonishing news: Charles Leclerc, the talented Ferrari driver and Monegasque star, has reportedly been married for five years and is the father of a one-year-old son!

According to a flurry of rumours that have quickly gained traction, Leclerc, known for his composed demeanour on the track and spotless public image, has kept a significant part of his life under wraps. Sources close to the situation claim that Leclerc married his wife in a secret ceremony just five months after they first met.

A Secret Romance

The romance, described as whirlwind, reportedly began in 2018. At the time, Leclerc was emerging as one of Formula 1’s rising stars, having just secured a seat with Sauber. In a classic tale of love at first sight, the couple allegedly met at a mutual friend’s private gathering in Monaco. “It was electric,” an insider close to the couple shared. “They were inseparable from the moment they met. There was just an instant connection that no one could ignore.”

Despite the rapid pace of their relationship, sources say the couple chose to keep their love affair under the radar, a decision likely influenced by Leclerc’s burgeoning career and the intense media scrutiny that comes with it. The pair reportedly tied the knot in a private ceremony, attended only by their closest friends and family, with no hint of the event leaking to the public or the press.

The Hidden Family

For years, the Leclerc family has managed to stay out of the limelight. The couple’s close-knit inner circle respected their wish for privacy, allowing them to raise their child away from the public eye. The existence of their son, who just turned one, has only recently come to light, sending shockwaves through the motorsport community and beyond.

The secrecy surrounding their family life raises questions about how they managed to keep such significant personal milestones hidden from the media. Speculation abounds that the couple may have used their connections and resources to maintain their privacy. “It’s a classic case of the rich and famous living by their own rules,” one gossip columnist quipped.

A Perfect Storm

The timing of this revelation couldn’t be more dramatic, coming just as Leclerc is battling for a strong finish in the current Formula 1 season. The news of his secret wife and child adds a fascinating layer to his already intriguing narrative. Fans and media alike are now buzzing with questions: Who is this mystery woman? How did they manage to keep their relationship so secret? And, perhaps most intriguingly, why?

Some speculate that Leclerc’s desire for privacy might stem from a wish to protect his loved ones from the pressures of fame. “Charles has always been very private about his personal life,” a source close to the driver revealed. “He wanted to ensure that his family could live as normal a life as possible, without the constant scrutiny and intrusion that comes with being in the public eye.”

The Rumour Mill

As the world eagerly awaits more details, rumours and theories are flying thick and fast. Some suggest that the secretive nature of Leclerc’s personal life could be part of a broader strategy to maintain focus and control over his public image. Others believe it’s simply a case of a man wanting to keep his private life separate from his professional achievements.

While the identity of Leclerc’s wife remains a closely guarded secret, there are whispers of her being a non-celebrity, which could explain the lack of public interest in her identity until now. “She’s not someone from the limelight,” another source added. “They have been careful to avoid places and events where they might be spotted together.”

What’s Next?

As this story continues to unfold, one thing is certain: Charles Leclerc’s secret family revelation has set the gossip columns alight. The world will be watching closely to see how this revelation impacts his career and public persona. Will Leclerc finally open up about his personal life, or will he continue to keep the world at arm’s length?

For now, the Ferrari driver remains tight-lipped, with no official statement from his camp. However, fans and commentators can’t help but wonder how this will affect his future both on and off the track. Will this revelation prove to be a distraction, or will it humanise the driver, making him even more relatable to his fans?

Stay tuned as we delve deeper into the mystery surrounding Charles Leclerc’s secret life. The racing season just got a whole lot more interesting, and this is one story that promises to keep the paddock buzzing for a long time to come!

For more breaking news and exclusive gossip, keep your eyes on our feed. You never know what high-speed secret might come to light next!

[blackleatherjacketz]

Dreams

Aaron Hotchner x BAU Female Reader

Summary: Hotch calls you out on being distracted and won't let you leave the office until he gets to the bottom of it.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Mature Content, Power Dynamics, Sex Dreams, Profiling, Daddy Issues, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Spanking, Finger Sucking

Word Count: 2.9k+

Read More Criminal Minds

Hotch’s stone cold gaze burns into you from behind his desk, his lips pressed into a thin fine line as he smooths his hand down the length of his tie before settling into his seat. That harsh, judgmental glare is usually directed at the unsubs he’s interrogating or even family members he thinks might be hiding something important, but tonight it’s directed solely at you.

This can’t be good.

“May I ask what this is about, sir?” You sit down in the leather chair in front of his desk, keeping your spine as straight as possible in hopes of masking your growing anxiety. He’s never asked you in here alone after your initial interview, and you always assumed that that was a good thing; staying off his radar, out of his scrutinizing gaze. But then again, he had often asked Rossi and Garcia into his chambers on a regular basis, but that was only during business hours. Had you done something so terribly wrong that it warranted him keeping you here after closing time? Were you in trouble? Did Derek actually tell him that he saw your Tinder profile and that he matched with you as a joke? Was that allowed? Was he going to fire you? Because of something as menial as that?

He nods stoically, armed to the teeth with his classic unreadable expression as he takes you out of your anxious spiral. “Your paperwork from the last case we worked on was messy, to say the least, agent.” He opens the case file and slides it across his desk toward you, pointing to a handful of your mistakes underlined in bright red ink. “This is unlike you.”

The heat of embarrassment flushes your cheeks and warms its way down your neck as you lean forward to take a look at your sloppy paperwork. They were simple mistakes that could be easily remedied, but a lot more than you would normally make in a single week, let alone all of them clustered together into one single form.

Shit. He was right, this was unlike you.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll fix this immediately. I don’t know where my head was at.” You offer instinctively, attempting to collect yourself and stand up before he quickly motions for you to sit back down.

“That’s not all, agent. You’ve been distracted these past few weeks, showing up late more than not, unable to focus or be fully present on our cases. I hired you because you’re one of the best, and I don’t feel like I’m getting that version of you lately.” His tone grew soft but remained slightly wary, like thunder rolling off in the distance before a heavy storm approached. “Do you mind telling me what’s got you so distracted?”

No.

You’d been attracted to your boss from the very first moment you saw him, but it was something you had hoped would fade away over time, not build immensely with every second you spent within his orbit. You’d been able to manage your draw to him for the first six months under his wing, burying yourself in case work and impressing him with your extensive medical knowledge, but there was something about the way he looked at you on the plane that night. It was as if he knew what you were trying to hide this whole time, as if he was delighted by the knowledge that he kept close to his chest along with everything else. There was something about that glimmer in his eye as everyone else dozed on the jet that made you believe he felt the same way, but he would only let it slip just long enough to instill a delusion in you so great that it haunted your dreams.

Dreams that left you aching for his touch, yearning for his sweat to melt into your skin as he hoarsely moaned your name before nipping at your skin. Dreams that were so vivid, you had to convince yourself that they were fake, taking inventory of what interactions had actually happened, and which had been fabricated by the melatonin in your brain. No wonder your work has gotten sloppy.

“Nothing, sir.” You lie, fearing the worst if he finds out that you have some stupid school girl crush on him.

He exhales slowly, disappointment weighing on his breath as he leans forward in his chair to silently close the file. “Whatever it is that you’re dealing with is affecting your work, and I’d be remiss to ignore it. The last time I let something like this slide, another agent’s life hung in the balance.” He paused, no doubt referring to Prentiss’ ordeal with Doyle. “Now, why don’t you try again and give me the truth?”

You’re not getting out of this, are you? He’s going to find out the truth sooner or later, no matter how hard you work to cover it up. He always does. That’s his job, for Christ’s sake. How could you have been so arrogant to think that you could keep something like this from the best profiler in the country? From your own boss? How could you think that he wouldn’t catch on to the blatantly obvious signs you’ve been so desperately trying (and failing) to hide from him for months now?

“I just…” it pained you to start. “I just haven’t been sleeping very well lately.” It wasn’t a lie, per se. Your suggestive dreams had forced you to stave off the sandman as long as possible for fear that you might say his name on the jet or in the hotel room you shared with JJ while you slept. There were no secrets amongst profilers, especially in slumber, and he was so close to finding out yours, you just couldn’t risk it.

“No? And why is that?” He raises his eyebrows as he looks you over, pushing the file to the side. “Are you having nightmares? It took Reid a few months to adjust to this job, too, but eventually the nightmares faded. We have an excellent therapist I can refer you to if that’s what you need.”

“Not nightmares, sir, no.” You knew that if you lied to him outright he’d know immediately, his trust in you lost forever. You weren’t exactly sure which fate was worse, him losing respect for you or him finding out that you have feelings for him.

This was going to be more difficult than any case you’d ever worked on.

“Then what is it?” His expression remains neutral as he stares you down, patiently awaiting your answer.

You sigh heavily as you realize you’ve run out of time and euphemisms . Here goes nothing.

“I’ve been having … dreams about someone on the team, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it, how many times I’ve tried to bury it down, these dreams, these images have stirred something inside me that I can’t quite shake.” You look down at your feet as you nearly confess the whole truth, your voice wavering the closer you come to revealing yourself.

“Someone on the team?” He repeats back to you after clearing his throat, his tone a little more husky than normal. “What kind of dreams?”

As if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Sir, I…” you stammer, unable to form your lips around the words as that infernal heat returns to your cheeks, making you feel as if you’re about to catch fire right here in his office.

“Are these dreams… sexual in nature?” You’ve heard him say that word about a thousand times before, referring to the motives and orientations of the unsubs that you chased, but this time it was different. This time it was laced with something personal, as if he had suspected it all along, but couldn’t quite bring it to your attention until he had a solid case of irrefutable evidence.

Always the profiler.

“Yes, sir.” You swallow hard as he gets closer to the truth, beads of sweat forming at your temples as you watch the puzzle pieces click into place in his mind.

“And who are they about?” He keeps his eyes on you, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“It doesn’t really matter, sir.” Another lie, your sense of self preservation still fighting for its life in the recesses of your mind.

“No?” He tilts his head with a hint of a smirk as if your answer gave him everything he needed to know. “I think that it does. I could be more cautious about who I put you with in the field until we get all this figured out, keep you two separated in the office.” He leans forward onto his elbows, eyes sparkling with a scoldingly delicious sense of judgment. “Now, I want you to tell me who you’re dreaming about, agent, and know that if you try to lie to me again I’ll know.”

Shit.

“It won’t make a difference, I have to see you every day no matter who you pair me with.” You let the truth slip out a little quicker than you expected, surprising even yourself as you prepare to be berated, fired, or worse yet, laughed at.

Only that doesn’t happen.

The silence that follows your confession is monumental, hanging in the air between you two like a cloud collecting moisture from the seemingly calm bodies of water below it, growing darker and heavier with each passing second. It weighs you down, pushing onto your chest and almost paralyzing you until he says something… anything at all to break the silence and let the rain fall from the sky to wash away this painfully awkward moment of vulnerability.

“The bureau frowns on interpersonal relationships between its team members, especially those involving an agent and her superior officer.” He spouts off the official statement the FBI has ingrained into him since he joined, his usual robotic tone returning briefly before he takes in a slow, deep breath.

“I know that, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, you just…” you start rambling in a hurried attempt to take the focus off what he had just discovered.

He raises a hand to get you to stop, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in his throat before finally speaking again. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

What?! What did he just say? Are you still dreaming?

“What?” You blink a few dozen times in order to reorient yourself, attempting to decipher if this interaction is, in fact, real or imagined. You dig your thumbnail into your palm just to be sure, inflicting a flash of pain into your skin to ground you in this reality. You’re definitely not dreaming.

“If that’s something you actually want.” His words pierce that heavy cloud looming between you, releasing a steady stream of rain sprinkling down as the dark gray color fades to a sheer, translucent white. “If not, you should tell me now.”

You can barely catch your breath, barely find the words to express all the emotions you’d kept under lock and key for so long.

“No, of course I do. Of course I want it, I want you.” You can’t believe that he’s actually interested in this, that he’s entertaining the idea of being romantically involved with you at all. If he had felt the same way about you this whole time, harbored these forbidden desires along with you, then his stoic nature had definitely served its purpose in keeping it close to his vest. “You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” His mahogany eyes hold your gaze through thick, onyx lashes as his lips curl into a soft smirk. “Do you think I haven’t noticed all those stolen glances from across the briefing room, or how long they linger on my face and hands? That I’ve been blind to the way your pulse races whenever I touch you, or the way your breath hitches when I say your name or give you even an ounce of praise?”

Oh god, he’s good. He’s had you figured out this whole time, hasn’t he?

“How long have you known?” You finally manage to ask, straightening your spine in an attempt to regain some composure as that heat starts to spread from your neck and chest down into your core, forcing the muscles in your abdomen to clench.

“I’ve suspected it for a while now, but I had to be sure.” He leans back in his chair, that disciplinary look in his eyes replaced by something far more dangerous. “Tell me more about these dreams. What are we doing in them that keeps you so distracted?”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, your heart suddenly galloping in your chest. “Tell you… more, sir?”

“Do you call me ‘sir’ in these dreams, too?” He asks almost immediately, raising an eyebrow in eager curiosity.

The rest of the moisture that resided in that metaphorical misty cloud suddenly pours down in thunderous sheets of rain, nearly soaking you both in a layer of desire in the process. That heat inside of you is barely assuaged, though, and only continues to grow in intensity as his words taunt you to take the lead.

“Yes, sir, I do.” You respond breathlessly.

“Good girl.” He watches your face as you react to the term, as if he’s waiting for an unsub to fall into one of his traps that he’s so expertly laid before them, grinning from ear to ear when your blush only deepens.

“You’ve been profiling me,” you defend yourself as he clocks your daddy issues with little effort, trying to slow the rapid beating of your heart as you take the bait. “That’s not fair.”

He stands up from his seat and slowly walks around his desk, each step slow and deliberate until he’s standing in front of you, gently leaning his hips against his desk so that they’re now level with your eyes. “What isn’t fair, agent, is that you hid this from me when we could have done something about it months ago.” He folds his arms across his chest and looks down at you. “I don’t intend on letting you leave this office until we’ve fixed this problem, is that understood?”

“Yes.” You stare at his hips, eyeing the growing outline of what lies between them before shifting your gaze back up at his face through heavy lids.

“Good. Now, tell me more about your dreams.” He leans back just a little, the confidence of kings emanating from his newly relaxed posture. “Am I praising you or punishing you in them?”

“Punishing me.” Your stomach flips as you look down at your feet, still somehow ashamed of your subconscious desire.

“Punishing you, how?” He reaches out and grabs your chin, not allowing you to hide from the truth as he tilts your face upward, forcing you to look at him.

“I…” Your lip quivers as he squeezes your chin a little tighter, forcing that moisture to collect between your thighs as you rub them together.

“Use your words, agent,” he orders.

Goddamnit. Had he actually seen the content of your dreams, somehow? Or were you just that easy to read?

“You had me bent over your desk with my skirt up around my waist, your tie shoved in my mouth and your handprint on my cheeks,” you finally oblige him, letting your mind wander to the delicious details of your most recent dream, watching his breath hitch ever so slightly before he clears his throat.

“Did I, now?” He raises an eyebrow at your confession as he searches your face for any signs of deception. As if you would lie about any of this. “And the other times?”

“Other times?” You whisper as he lifts his thumb off your chin to brush it across your bottom lip, slightly tugging on it to view your teeth before letting it bounce back into place. You can see his pupils expanding with each passing second, those different shades of chocolate and mahogany blending together into the darkest shade of espresso you’ve ever seen. He’s looking at you the way he had in each and every one of your fantasies, only this time it isn’t some salacious trick of the mind; this time it’s real. “The other times I’m going down on you on the jet while everyone else sleeps, or you’re fingering me underneath the conference table while Garcia briefs us on a new case.”

He grins and pulls on your bottom lip again, watching in awe as he tugs it halfway down your chin, stretching it enough to smear some of your spit across your chin. “You've got quite the imagination… fantasizing about me degrading you on government property, right here in my office.”

“Mmm hmmm.” You hum as he slowly glides his thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue before you instinctively wrap your lips around it, tasting the salt of his skin for the very first time.

“Is that what you want? You want to be punished?” His voice is hoarse now, that last bit of control he has slowly evaporated away into nothingness. “Do you think you deserve it?”

“Mmm hmmm,” you repeat, sucking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle, stroking it with your tongue to show him what you can do.

“We’ll see about that.” He leans in close enough to whisper into your ear. “Now get up and bend yourself over my desk.”

[teecupangel]

(sorry in advance, I've been stewing over this for so long that this will be a long one xd)

I was re-reading your fics on ao3 again (sue me, im starved for desmond time travel content) and whilst reading Eagle of Alamut's description i realised '...wait a damn minute, it is true! all of Desmond's knowledge on past is from his ancestors!' (not everyone is as big of a nerd as shaun). Cue weeks of relentless daydreaming over Desmond in Reneisance Italy trying his damnest to lay low... but: 1) he does not know what is socially acceptable at the time (clothe and behaviour wise)

2) the animus likely shielded it's users from the more... er.. unsaviory historical accuracy (child marriage, smell, violence and mistreatment towards the poor, women, disabled)

3) politics, culinary arts, medicine and money value from that era are not common knowledge (or even fully known to todays historians)

4) Ezio was not known for his subtility...

...so while desmond may know who to strike in order to protect Ezios family from getting executed, what places he may know to avoid if he wants to avoid attention from the italian brotherhood.

He does not know what he was getting himself in to when he decided to travel back in time.

I can just imagine him thinking that he can finally retire and live his life, but then BOOM here comes the shock of sociatal injustices! religious violence! inequality! horrendous mistreatment of beggars and disabled people! and as a good man raised in the 21st century he obviously can't, in his right conciousness, just turn his back on these issues, on these people.

So here he is, in Rome of all places, doing his best to atleast stay hidden from the Auditore's, and consequesntly, the Italian brotherhood's, detection, as he stalks the bright rooftops of Roma as histories (probably) very first assasin turned vigiliante!

I can just picture him at one point or another, getting mistaken for a Spanish assasin and his only attempt at 'confirming' (read: encouraging misleading rumours), is to use the very little languistic knowledge the American education system has bestowed upon him. cue him very awkwardly trying to immitate a Spanish accent/ speak in Spanish. or just, you know, say the only words every student knows, 'Feliz Navidad'.

It would be so funny if Desmond’s Spanish are based on:

1) what little remains of Ezio’s Spanish (maybe on par or even worse than his French)

2) Basic Spanish that he learned on the Farm

3) Spanish songs he heard

So people think that Desmond is eccentric.

And Rich.

Because Desmond wants to help people but he doesn’t want to be seen as an Assassin so…

He becomes a supposed rich Spanish (Arabic would have sent a red flag to the Brotherhood) noble who came to Rome to live a life away from his ‘family’.

Why is he ‘rich’?

Well, killing nobles and other ‘evil doers’ will flag the Brotherhood as well so it would be better to just…

Leave certain incriminating evidence in the doors of their enemies and let them duke it out. Hey, if some things go missing while they’re too busy with their enemies, that’s just collateral damage.

Also…

Sometimes, things go missing when some people get into accidents.

It’s easy to buy the impoverish area in Rome. It’s a bit challenging to get doctors to treat them.

Until Desmond flashed the right amount of money, of course.

Desmond manages to stay under the radar by being part of the upper echelon.

An eccentric foreigner who helps the poor and sick out of the goodness of his heart.

Or… because he apparently believes that the way to heaven is through good will and not… paying the clergy.

Desmond knows that being seen as completely good is a bad thing as well so he lets rumors spread that he’s an opportunist who heals the sick and protects the weak to receive their loyalty. He gives them salary to become his guards (not that he needs any) and people whisper how loyal the poor are to someone who gives them bread.

And to hammer in that “no, Ezio, I am absolutely not connected to the Templars BUT I’m also not going to be a good ally, just leave me alone!” plan he has, he becomes a patron of the art.

Sexually progressive art.

The church hates him but tolerates him because Desmond does ‘donate’ (jokes on them, he donates what he stole from the church) and the artists love him because he commissions stuff with the same thing over and over again “whatever you want to paint/sculpt/work on but I want the Borgia men getting fucked in the ass while Lucrezia Borgia watches”

He’s not rich enough to actually be a threat (especially after Ezio starts wrecking shit up) and he keeps to himself most of the time.

But, of course, life always has it out for Desmond and he comes face to face with a wounded recruit at the edge of his property and…

Well…

He only wanted to heal him then send him on his merry way.

He didn’t expect Ezio to come barging in thinking said recruit has been kidnapped by the eccentric ‘possibly sexual deviant’ Lord Miles.

[banananutmuffin28]

HCs On Surviving Squid Game And Dating Kang Sae-Byeok & Ji-Yeong

A/N: I love them too much, your honor. @insane-hag, @eremikas-bby. Warnings: Very briefly and mildly suggestive

⋆You lucky, lucky bastard. Somehow, you managed to get not one, but two hot women after you?

⋆Even when they were supposed to be competing against you, they both always watched your back.

⋆One time, the three of you were squished into one mattress. It wasn’t exactly…comfortable, but hey, you got to have two pretty women pressed up against you, and that was a win in your book.

⋆Sae-Byeok keeps you away from Deok-Su and his gang.

⋆Ji-Yeong threatened Gi-Hun that if he let you get hurt, she’d be taking Sae-Byeok and you out of the team.

⋆The night before Marbles, a group of men in black uniforms had infiltrated Squid Game and knocked out some of the guards.

⋆Then, they took their outfits and pretended to be working for the game.

⋆Squid Game had always been under their radar, but they never had the clear, solid proof to truly prove that it was real. So, when Gi-Hun had ran to them in a fit of fear, their interests were peaked. They had to turn Gi-Hun away, pretending to not believe him so that they could track down where he would go.

⋆And now, they’re trying to be careful and aiming to shoot in such a way that it only looks like they killed the contestants. During the clean up, some of their moles will bring the “dead bodies” to a hospital.

⋆And, that’s how you, Sae-Byeok, and Ji-Yeong managed to all make it out alive.

⋆You had woken up on an unfamiliar bed, and demanded to know where Sae-Byeok and Ji-Yeong were.

⋆The nurse beside you had anticipated this reaction, seeing as the two women you were urging to see had woken up before you and demanded similar requests.

⋆She told you that they were safe, and ordered you to stay and rest.

⋆The first time you saw them both again outside of the games was in that very same hospital.

⋆You bolted toward them, completely tossing the nurse’s words out of the window.

⋆Fuck the gunshot wound on your head, you needed to make sure that they were okay.

⋆Sae-Byeok was holding back tears when you and Ji-Yeong fell into her arms.

⋆Ji-Yeong was openly crying though.

⋆Eventually, Sae-Byeok pressed her face into your neck, and you felt your collarbone grow wet. You tried to move your head, but Sae-Byeok’s gripe on you wouldn’t budge.

⋆Don’t worry though, you kept her secret.

⋆By the time you were released from the hospital (and the police station since you were all forced to give your testimonies), Sae-Byeok took you two to see her brother.

⋆Cheol was elated to see her, and it was adorable to see the normally stoic woman melt into her little brother’s embrace.

⋆But, when Cheol turned his gaze to you and Ji-Yeong (who Sae-Byeok had called her “very special friends”), you suddenly felt like you were under a microscope.

⋆Though he took kindly to Ji-Yeong, he gave you the stink eye.

⋆The kid looked you up and down, scrunched up his cute little face, and then simply walked away.

⋆Never had you felt so utterly roasted by a child. He didn’t even say anything!

⋆In an attempt to make you feel better, Sae-Byeok pats your back and tells you that he’ll warm up to you eventually.

—

⋆Since you’re dating two women who had been through hell and back, you’re extremely protected on both sides. Especially so if you’re a WLW (WLWLW?) throuple.

⋆They don’t want to ever risk losing you.

⋆Both Sae-Byeok AND Ji-Yeong will throw hands if someone gets your order wrong.

⋆Lord have mercy on the worker who does.

⋆We already know Sae-Byeok’s resting bitch face is terrifying, but when she uses it to its full potential?

⋆There’s a 50/50 percent chance the worker will collapse onto the floor.

⋆If Sae-Byeok’s death glare doesn’t do the job, then Ji-Yeong will.

⋆That girl may be short but MAN is she fierce.

⋆She will not stop demanding that they fix your order STAT.

⋆Think of her as an angry, deadly chihuahua (who may or may not sack someone in the face if the situation calls for it).

⋆Oh, and if someone purposefully tries to mess with you? Like, a random ass man stands up trying to intimidate you while also cussing you out?

⋆Don’t be surprised if Sae-Byeok and Ji-Yeong come home late that day.

⋆Shhh, don’t worry about it, they were just throwing away a dead body “taking out the trash.”

⋆Oh hey, look! Ji-Yeong bought fried chicken for dinner! Now hurry up and get some plates and don’t pay attention to the red stains on your girlfriends’ jacket.

⋆When you pressed for more information, Ji-Yeong just gave you a peck on your cheek and brushed you off.

⋆”It’s just ketchup!”

—

⋆When you guys sleep, you’re always sandwiched in the middle.

⋆Your face will be sandwiched in Sae-Byeok’s chest while Ji-Yeong will wrap her arms around your waist.

⋆Usually, Ji-Yeong’s hands will wander, her fingers dancing along the hem of your shirt.

⋆That little minx

⋆Her hands might caress your chest, or move down to rest on your thighs.

⋆When you inevitably blush, Ji-Yeong will simply pull away innocently.

⋆”What’s wrong, baby? I’m just trying to cuddle you.”

⋆(Sometimes Sae-Byeok notices the exchange and both your girlfriends will team up on you.)

⋆She would press one hand to the back of your head, keeping your head sandwiched between her breasts.

⋆The other will sink down to grab your ass.

⋆Might bite you once or twice. Or five.

⋆She’s just marking her territory.

—

⋆Sometimes, Sae-Byeok accidentally wakes you up at night by squeezing you tighter than necessary.

⋆Some part of her is scared that she’ll lose you two somehow, whether that be from her loan sharks or from enemies slinking back to enact vengeance.

⋆Sometimes, her mind will take her back to Squid Game, to when Ji-Yeong chose to sacrifice herself so that Sae-Byeok could live.

⋆Of course, you can’t have your girlfriend be so sad, so you kiss her nose and tell her that you and Ji-Yeong are right here.

⋆Your talking will wake up Ji-Yeong, who will crawl over to Sae-Byeok and flick her head affectionately.

⋆”You idiot, do you think you’ll lose us that easily? We all managed to survive Squid Game and our own personal hells. Don’t worry so much.”

⋆Then, before Sae-Byeok can retort, Ji-Yeong will wink at you and then pounce on Sae-Byeok, peppering her with kisses.

⋆You grin and join the dog pile.

⋆Sae-Byeok will grumble and try to weakly fight back.

⋆Her attempts are only half hearted though, because deep down she secretly loves it.

⋆(She’ll never admit it. But, that’s okay because you and Ji-Yeong already figured it out a long time ago).

⋆Eventually, your movements will die down and all three of you will lie down on top of each other.

⋆Ji-Yeong kisses you both on the lips and then ushers you to go back to sleep.

⋆You oblige, nuzzling into the crook of Sae-Byeok’s neck as you squeeze Ji-Yeong’s hand.

⋆You’re content.

[back2bluesidex]

Six Degrees of Separation - MYG [Preview]

✨ Patreon Membership Exclusive Series ✨

Pairing: Best Friend!Yoongi X Female Reader X Doctor!Seokjin

Theme: Angst, Unrequited love au, pining, more angst, eventual cheating and smut and fluff.

Word count: Each part will contain 1k to 2k words.

Summary: Break up hurts, but being rejected by the man you have loved for five solid years and losing him and his friendship in one damn night - only for him to show up a year later holding your cousin's hand all ready to tie the knot hurts more.

Break up hurts, but going through all six degrees of separation from the Man who was never yours - hurts a lot more.

Warnings: heartbreak, rejection.

Update Schedule: Every Tuesday 4:30 am UTC.

Read the full chapter

Chapter index:

Prologue

Degree 1: Shock

Degree 2: Denial and Desperation

Degree 3: Anger

Degree 4: Depression

Intermission - Meeting Seokjin

Intermission 02: Min Yoongi

Degree 5: Acceptance

Intermission 03: Hyeri

Degree 6: Moving on

Misconception

Pay The Price

Now you can also purchase the series without having to sign up for an active membership. 😋

Here is the purchase link.

“So, do you have anyone under your radar? Anyone you like?” Yoongi is funnily interested now. It’s probably the most interested he has been in your love-life. 

Again, the reasons stay unaware.  

“Yes. Yes, I do.” You manage to utter, heart already acting wild inside your ribcage. 

“Really? Who is it? Do I know him?” Your best friend perks up. 

Curiosity makes him look so young. You see the young, twenty one years old Yoongi whom you met through Jimin. You see the Yoongi with mint hair too focused on the bottle of your nail polish reading the chemicals that it contains, you see the twenty three year old boy who waited for you at the hospital lobby when you banged your head against the corner of your bed, you see the twenty four year old man who cried like a baby in your embrace when his grandfather passed away - right then you realized you never wanted to see him cry again. Right then you realized Yoongi’s happiness means more to you than your own. 

You see the twenty five year old Yoongi, the Yoongi who made you realize what jealousy is, the Yoongi who made you realize - you had fallen in love with him. 

“It’s you. I am in love with you.” it’s not you, it’s the memories you share with him that makes you speak, that makes you confess. You never meant to say these words without any preparation, you never meant to say these words until you reach your breaking point - maybe you have reached it after five years?

Your chain of thought has clouded your head so much that your mouth ran in its own accord.

And you regret it. 

You regret letting out the truth you have successfully hidden for the past five years because the look you see in Yoongi’s face can’t be compared to anything you have seen before. 

It’s a mixture of disgust, disappointment and hurt.

“W-what? Y/N you can’t-” 

“Why can’t I, Yoongi? Is it forbidden for me to love you?” You chuckle dryly. 

Yoongi closes his eyes, runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply. “If this is a prank, Y/N, I-” 

“It’s not a prank, Yoongi! I love you! I really do. I have been in love with you for the last five years but you are just too blind to see!”     

Yoongi turns his back towards you, as if looking at your face will pollute his vision now, “I wasn’t blind. I was just-  was just praying to be wrong, Y/N! Damn it! This is not right. You and I, we are friends! This is not-” 

While you have been praying for Yoongi to feel the same, Yoongi has been praying for the complete opposite. As his words sink in your blood, your vision starts blurring. 

“Yoongi, can’t you try?” You plead. Never in your life have you ever considered pleading with anyone for love - but when it comes to Min Yoongi, your resolves don’t last long. 

“No! No, Y/N! I can’t. You are my friend. My best friend. I can’t see you as anything else!” He finally looks at you, looks into you and rows his words deep in your soul. 

Yoongi takes a step back from your figure, then another, then another, “and just so you know… I have someone.” 

With that he walks away in the opposite direction, leaving you behind. 

The first stage of separation is Shock. 

They say shock happens on both physical and psychological level, that it leaves you feeling out of your own body.

As you stare at his retreating figure with tears making a mess on your face, you realize, you just reached the first degree of separation from Min Yoongi - a man who was never yours to begin with.

[the-winter-spider]

Waiting Room | 2/3

Bucky x reader (as always )

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Angst i guess sorta

A/N: So this is the next part to waiting room that was suppose to be just a One Shot but in easily convinced lol and I didn't really have a direction for the story to go in and this is where I landed, so hope you enjoy. There will be maybe another part or two so I can wrap it up. 

The night was cool as you walked away from the compound, the silence almost soothing despite the ache in your chest. You hadn’t made any plans, hadn’t packed anything more than a single bag. You just knew you couldn’t stay in that place anymore—not with the memories pressing in around you, with the sense that every hallway, every room, was echoing with what used to be between you and Bucky.

The city lights were ahead of you, casting faint glows against the dark sky, and for the first time, you felt completely unmoored. Your thoughts tangled in every step you took, as if each pace was a step away from the life you had built with the Avengers, and more painfully, from Bucky.

Hours passed as you wandered the city, barely aware of where you were going. You ended up at a small motel on the edge of town, paying cash for a room that barely had any light, just a bed with thin sheets and an old TV on a dresser. The emptiness of the room felt like it mirrored the hollow ache in your chest.

You set your bag down on the bed, letting out a sigh as you sank onto the edge, staring at the wall as thoughts of Bucky washed over you in waves. Images of him smiling, his quiet laughter, the way he’d hold your hand when no one else was around—all of it clung to you, heavy and unrelenting.

Pulling out your phone, you scrolled through your contacts to his name, thumb hovering over it. You knew he wasn’t waiting for your call; he’d made that clear. But part of you, the part that still remembered what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms, wanted him to pick up, to tell you this was all just a mistake.

Instead, you tossed the phone aside, burying your face in your hands as tears began to fall. You wanted to scream, to do anything that would make this feeling go away. The anger, the heartbreak, the deep sense of loss—the betrayal it all felt like it was crushing you.

The next morning, you took a breath and tried to piece together a plan. If Bucky wanted nothing to do with you, if the team was moving on without you, maybe it was time for you to do the same. You didn’t know how, but you’d figure it out. And maybe, someday, the memories would hurt a little less.

Days turned into weeks, and you managed to stay under the radar. You took on a few odd jobs here and there, avoiding anywhere that felt remotely familiar. You kept your phone turned off most days, keeping a low profile as you tried to settle into a new rhythm.

But at night, alone in that tiny motel room, everything came flooding back. The emptiness, the loss of the life you’d left behind, and the hollow ache that reminded you of the man you’d once thought would be by your side forever. You didn’t wanna feel anything at all anymore.

The motel was your base for now, a temporary haven between jobs. You knew eventually you would have to move but for now the dull hum of a broken fluorescent light above the bed was your only company most nights. You’d buried your old life, the Avengers, and everything you once fought for. Your existence was pared down to survival and the cold efficiency of violence.

You used old contacts from your past—people you’d hoped never to need again. Mercenaries, informants, shadowy figures from the underworld who didn’t ask questions as long as you delivered. And you did. Each contract was a blur, each mission a mechanical task you completed without hesitation or remorse. Slowly you were becoming less of who you were and more of what you were supposed to be before him.

Your skills made you valuable. Assassinations, high-stakes retrievals, contract killings—you took them all. It was work, and it kept you moving. You didn’t feel anything anymore, not the fear, not the guilt, not even the satisfaction of a clean job. You became a ghost, slipping in and out of places, leaving behind a trail of red.

Every kill was precise, methodical. You didn’t stop to consider who your targets were or what they’d done. The moral compass you once clung to was shattered, left in pieces back at the compound. You moved like a machine, your thoughts dulled by the monotony of violence. The whispers of self-destruction were your only companion now.

Weeks blurred into months, the days bleeding into each other. You didn’t follow the news, didn’t check your phone, didn’t want to know what was happening in the world you’d left behind. You didn’t see the press conference Tony had to hold, standing stoic as reporters peppered him with questions about your sudden disappearance.

“Agent Y/N has taken a leave of absence,” he’d said, his voice cool, calculated. “For personal reasons.”

That was all he gave them. No details, no promises of your return. When the questions turned toward your mental health, your stability, Tony’s jaw tightened, and he ended the briefing. Behind closed doors, the team was scrambling, doing everything they could to track you down. But you were a ghost, and ghosts didn’t want to be found.

In the quiet moments between jobs, you sat in the shadows of your rented room, staring at the ceiling. The weight of your kills didn’t register anymore; it was just a tally in your head, numbers climbing higher each week. You didn’t care who you were working for, as long as they paid and kept you busy. The emptiness was consuming, but you welcomed it. It was better than the pain.

You stopped dreaming. Stopped thinking about him, about any of them. The warmth of Bucky’s touch, the safety of his arms around you—it was a memory you refused to let surface. You buried it deep, alongside every other part of yourself that once cared, once felt.

When you weren’t working, you spent your time in dingy bars or cheap motels, drowning in silence. The weight of your solitude was your only companion. You avoided mirrors, avoided looking at the hollow shell you’d become. It didn’t matter anymore. You didn’t matter anymore.

Back at the compound, things weren’t much better. The team was holding together by a thread, every day marked by your absence. They didn’t talk about it openly, but everyone felt the weight of the void you’d left behind. Tony buried himself in his work, throwing up defensive sarcasm whenever your name was mentioned. Steve was more reserved, quiet, his concern etched into every line of his face, his thoughts a constant whirl of guilt, of what if, he was your leader, your friend, your family he should have done better. Natasha, Clint and Sam worked tirelessly to trace your steps, but you were always one step ahead, your trail going cold each time they got close.

Bucky, though—Bucky was a different story. He was unraveling. The stoic front he tried to maintain crumbled more each day. He’d catch glimpses of your room, still left untouched, and it felt like a dagger in his chest. Every lead that turned up empty, every mission he went on without you, only deepened the chasm of guilt and regret.

He didn’t show it around the others, but late at night, when the compound was quiet, he’d sit in the dark, gripping his dog tags as though they could anchor him. He replayed every moment, every word he’d said to you, the pain in your eyes when he told you it was “for the better.” He’d thought he was protecting you, sparing you from a life tethered to his darkness. But all he’d done was push you into your own.

Meanwhile, you continued to slip further into the shadows, your humanity fading with each passing day. The girl who once fought alongside Earth’s mightiest heroes was gone. Now, you were just a weapon, a tool for hire, drowning in blood and regret.

And you didn’t care if you ever came back.

The common room was silent, the atmosphere suffocating. The team sat around the dining table, their plates mostly untouched. It hadn’t been the same since you left—no, since you vanished almost a year ago. Conversations were hollow, laughter a distant memory. Every mission, every meeting, carried the weight of your absence.

Bucky sat at the far end of the table, his eyes fixed on his plate, though he hadn’t touched his food. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the clink of utensils against ceramic as Sam and Natasha picked at their meals. Steve was deep in thought, brows furrowed, while Tony sipped at a cold cup of coffee, his usual bravado long since dulled.

Suddenly, Tony’s tech pad beeped, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen, his eyes narrowing as he read the data. Without a word, he stood abruptly and made his way to the common room, his pace quick and determined.

“Guys,” he said, voice sharp as he entered, the pad clutched tightly in his hand. The urgency in his tone snapped everyone to attention. “I think we’ve got something.”

The team immediately straightened, all eyes on him. Bucky’s heart lurched in his chest, a flicker of hope and dread surging through him.

“What is it?” Steve asked, his voice steady but tense.

Tony didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tapped on the pad, and a hologram appeared above the table—a blurry snapshot of surveillance footage. The image was grainy, taken in some dimly lit warehouse, but there was no mistaking the figure in the frame.

It was you.

Your hair was shorter, your face leaner and paler than they remembered. Blood spattered your cheeks and clothes, your eyes sharp and cold. You looked like a ghost, hollowed out and deadly, a shadow of the person they once knew.

The room went deadly quiet, the weight of the image sinking in. Natasha leaned forward, her jaw tightening. Sam cursed under his breath, while Steve’s grip on the edge of the table tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“Is there video footage?” Steve asked, his voice low, barely concealing the mix of hope and fear in his tone.

Tony nodded grimly. “FRIDAY, play the video.”

The hologram shifted, and the grainy footage began to play. The scene unfolded in a dingy, run-down warehouse, dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights. Armed men moved through the space, clearly preparing for some sort of deal. But then you appeared, stepping out of the shadows like a wraith.

You were fast, efficient, and terrifyingly calm. Without hesitation, you took out each man with precision—gunshots, blades, hand-to-hand combat. It didn’t matter how many came at you; they all fell. The blood spattered across your face only made your pale skin look more ghostly, more detached from humanity.

What shook them most wasn’t the violence—it was you. Your expression never wavered, your eyes cold and emotionless. It was as if you were on autopilot, a machine programmed to kill. Even when a bullet whizzed past your face, barely missing you and sending a strand of hair flying, you didn’t flinch. You simply moved on to the next target, cutting through them like they were nothing.

Bucky’s stomach churned as he watched. His hands gripped the edge of the table, his breathing shallow. He could barely process what he was seeing. This wasn’t you. This wasn’t the person he’d loved, the person he’d pushed away to protect. This was someone else entirely—a hollow shell, deadly and unrecognizable.

When the video ended, the silence in the room was deafening. Tony rubbed a hand over his face, his usual sarcasm replaced with grim resolve. “That’s the most recent hit we’ve got. It’s from a week ago.”

Steve was the first to speak, his voice strained. “She’s not just surviving out there. She’s… she’s lost herself.”

Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “She’s always been a fighter, but this? She’s not fighting for anything anymore. She’s just… existing.”

Sam shook his head, his voice low. “She didn’t even blink when that bullet came at her. It’s like she doesn’t care if she lives or dies.”

Bucky pushed himself back from the table, standing abruptly. “We need to find her, I got to find her” he said, his voice rough, barely containing the storm of emotions threatening to spill over. “Now.”

Steve nodded, his resolve hardening. “Agreed. We’ve waited long enough.”

Tony tapped on his pad, pulling up a map. “I’ve got the warehouse location. It’s a start, but if she’s smart—and we all know she is—she’s already moved on.”

Natasha stood, her eyes locked on the map. “Then we track her. We use everything we’ve got.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with thoughts of you. The footage replayed in his head, the cold, detached look in your eyes, the way you moved without hesitation or fear. He knew he’d pushed you away to protect you, but now… now it felt like he’d only sent you spiraling further into darkness.

And he wasn’t sure if he could bring you back. But he’d die trying.

The hologram of the warehouse lingered in the air, casting a dull blue glow that accentuated the tension in the room. Tony continued scrolling through surveillance feeds, his movements precise but edged with frustration. No one spoke at first, the weight of your absence hanging over them like a storm cloud.

Sam finally broke the silence, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “Where is she even finding out about these deals? She’s not exactly walking into a coffee shop and picking up intel from strangers.”

Clint, seated at the far end of the table, narrowed his eyes, his mind already turning over possibilities. “Maybe old contacts?” His gaze shifted to Natasha, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, and her face was set in a mask of unreadable tension.

She didn’t look at him immediately. When she did, her eyes were distant, filled with memories she rarely allowed to surface. “Yeah,” she said quietly, almost reluctantly. “That’s likely.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Someone from your Red Room days?”

Natasha hesitated, her jaw tightening as she nodded. “Before SHIELD. Before the Avengers.” Her voice was cold, clinical, the tone of someone recounting a story they wished wasn’t their own. “There’s a guy… a fixer. He operated out of Eastern Europe, connected to black market arms deals, high-profile hits, anything illegal you can think of. If she’s working for him now…” She trailed off, swallowing hard.

Sam leaned forward, frowning. “Anything you’d like to share with the class, Nat? Because this feels like something we should’ve known before.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her gaze flickering toward Clint before settling on the table. “Before SHIELD, before Clint and I found her… she was lost. When she escaped the Red Room, she had nothing—no resources, no one to turn to. This guy took her in, gave her jobs, gave her a reason to keep moving. But it wasn’t a life. It was survival, barely.”

Clint leaned in, his voice lower now, as though he didn’t want to disturb the fragile truths being unearthed. “She was in deep. Mercenary work, hits, anything he wanted. She carried everything she owned in a backpack. She was running on scraps and rage. And the person she was back then compared to the one we know now…” He shook his head. “Night and day.”

Natasha’s expression darkened. “She was like a machine. On autopilot. He kept her that way with modified Red Room mind control.” Her voice softened, though her words cut like a blade. “Not enough to erase her, but just enough to suppress doubt, hesitation. Enough to make her compliant.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Bucky, standing slightly apart from the others, stared at the hologram of your face, his jaw clenched. His chest ached, a sick mixture of guilt and disbelief twisting in his gut.

Tony’s voice broke the quiet. “That wasn’t in her file.”

Natasha smirked bitterly. “Of course it wasn’t. Fury redacted it. He thought it would protect her if it ever came up.”

Clint’s voice dropped further, the weight of the memory heavy in his tone. “When Nat and I got her out, it was like detoxing someone from a drug. She fought us every step of the way. We had to tie her down to keep her from running back to him.”

Natasha nodded grimly. “She didn’t sleep, didn’t eat unless we forced her to. She was reciting mission protocols in her sleep like she was still under their control. It took months to bring her back to herself. And even then…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Even then, it was fragile.”

Steve’s eyes shifted to Bucky, whose hands were gripping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Buck, did she ever tell you any of this?”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged slightly, his face shadowed with pain. He shook his head, his voice hoarse. “No. Not like that.” He paused, swiping a hand over his face as he blinked away tears he couldn’t stop. “She… she never pushed me to talk about my past. She let me open up in my own time, my own way.” He let out a shaky breath. “I thought… I thought she’d do the same eventually. And she did, bits and pieces. But it was always vague, like she didn’t want me to see just how bad it was.”

He looked back at the hologram, the image of your face burning into his mind. “She risked her life for me, over and over again. And I didn’t even know the extent of what she’d been through.” His voice cracked. “She deserved better than that.”

“And now,” Natasha said softly, her eyes fixed on him, “she’s back in it.”

Bucky’s head dropped, his fists clenching as he whispered, “Maybe worse this time. She’s not just surviving—she’s destroying herself. And it’s my fault.”

“Buck,” Steve said gently, but Bucky shook his head.

“I thought I was protecting her,” Bucky said, his voice louder now, trembling with emotion. “I thought pushing her away would keep her safe. But all I did was push her right back into the darkness she fought so hard to escape.”

Natasha’s voice softened further, though it carried an edge of warning. “If she’s with him again, he won’t hesitate to use that mind control on her. And if he has… there’s no telling how far she’ll go before she burns out.”

Tony paced, rubbing his temple. “We need to find this guy. Shut him down. If she’s working for him, she won’t stop until someone makes her.”

Steve straightened, his face hardening with resolve. “Then we find him. Find out where he’s operating now.”

Clint nodded, pulling out his tablet. “I can dig up some old intel. He moved a lot, but if he’s still running the same kind of jobs, I can find a pattern.”

Natasha glanced at Bucky, her tone quieter now. “We find him, and we find her. But she’s not coming back willingly, Bucky.”

Bucky lifted his head, his eyes dark and resolute. “I don’t care how far gone she is. She’s still in there, and I’m not giving up on her.” His voice dropped, almost to a whisper. “She has to be.”

Tony tapped the screen again, zooming in on the hologram of your face. “Then we better move fast. Because from the looks of it, she’s already gone too far.”

The team exchanged grim looks, the unspoken weight of what lay ahead settling over them. For Bucky, though, there was no hesitation. No doubt. He would bring you back, no matter what it took.

The quinjet hummed softly as it cut through the night sky, a stark contrast to the tension filling the cabin. The team was locked in silent focus, each member mentally preparing for what they might find at their destination. Natasha sat at the controls, her face unreadable, though her grip on the steering controls was tighter than usual. Clint was beside her, reviewing maps and old intel on the fixer, his expression grim.

Bucky sat alone, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His metal hand flexed and clenched rhythmically, the only outward sign of the storm raging inside him. His thoughts churned relentlessly, replaying every moment since the breakup, every mission where he’d chosen to keep his distance, every chance he had to reach out and didn’t.

Steve, seated across from him, finally broke the silence. “We’ll get her back, Buck,” he said quietly, his voice steady but reassuring. “She’s still in there. We’ll bring her home.”

Bucky didn’t look up, his jaw tightening. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “And what if we don’t?” His eyes flicked up to meet Steve’s, and they were filled with a raw vulnerability that Steve hadn’t seen in years. “What if she’s too far gone, Steve? I thought I was protecting her, keeping her safe by pushing her away. But all I did was shove her right back into the darkness.”

Steve sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “You did what you thought was right. You were trying to protect her from getting hurt.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And now she’s out there, risking her life every day because I made her believe she wasn’t worth saving.” He paused, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know what I’ll do if we can’t bring her back. If she’s too far gone…Steve if we cant get her back….”

Steve reached out, placing a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She’s not gone, Buck. She’s still in there. We’ve seen her come back from worse, and she’s stronger than you think.”

Bucky’s eyes fell back to the floor, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. “I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive me. Hell, I’m not sure I can forgive myself.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the cabin, calm but commanding. “We’re coming up on the last known location of the fixer. This isn’t a guarantee, but it’s our best shot.” She glanced back at Bucky, her expression softer than usual. “You’ll get your chance to fix this, Barnes. But you have to be ready. She’s not the same person you knew.”

Bucky nodded, his resolve hardening. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

The quinjet began its descent, the lights of a small, industrial city coming into view below. Natasha expertly landed on the outskirts of the city, near an abandoned factory that matched the coordinates from her old intel. The team geared up quickly, their movements efficient and quiet.

As they approached the factory, Clint pulled up the blueprints on his tablet. “Looks like a standard setup—main entrance, back exit, and a few access points on the roof. If he’s still using this place, he’ll have guards posted. We’ll have to go in quiet.”

Natasha nodded. “I’ll take point with Clint. Steve, Bucky, cover the rear. Sam, Tony you’re our eyes in the sky.”

Bucky didn’t say a word as they moved into position, his focus entirely on the task ahead. His grip on his rifle was tight, his breathing controlled. But inside, his mind raced with what they might find.

As they entered the factory, the air was thick with dust and the faint smell of oil and metal. The sound of distant machinery hummed through the walls, but the place seemed otherwise deserted.

Clint scanned the area with his thermal scope, whispering, “Two guards up ahead, near the control room.”

Natasha nodded, and within moments, the guards were taken out silently, their bodies crumpling to the floor without a sound. The team moved deeper into the facility, tension building with every step.

Finally, they reached the main floor—a vast, open space filled with crates and scattered equipment. And there, in the center of the room, was a man seated at a desk, his back to them.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “That’s him.”

The fixer turned slowly, as if he’d been expecting them. His face was lined with age, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. He smiled, a cold, predatory grin. “Well, well. The Avengers. What an unexpected pleasure.”

Bucky stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. “Where is she?”

The fixer chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, you must mean out little shadow, our ghost. Quite the asset, isn’t she? A real work of art, that one.”

Bucky’s fists clenched, and Steve put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “Where is she?” Steve demanded.

The fixer sighed, feigning boredom. “She comes and goes as she pleases. I simply provide the opportunities. She’s quite effective, you know. Doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question. Just like old times.”

Natasha stepped forward, her gun trained on him. “What have you done to her?”

The fixer’s smile widened. “Only what she wanted. She came to me, broken and desperate. I gave her purpose, focus. She’s free now, free from all those messy emotions that held her back.”

Bucky’s voice shook with rage. “You didn’t free her. You turned her into a weapon.”

The fixer shrugged, unbothered. “She’s exactly where she wants to be.”

Bucky stepped forward, his voice deadly calm. “And where’s that?”

The fixer’s grin faltered for the first time. “You’ll never find her. She doesn’t want to be found.”

Bucky’s eyes burned with fury, but before he could move, Natasha pulled the trigger, shooting the fixer in the leg. He cried out, clutching his wound as he glared up at her.

“Where. Is. She?” Natasha repeated, her voice ice-cold.

The fixer coughed, blood dripping from his mouth as he chuckled weakly. “She’s already gone. But you’ll find her soon enough. If she wants you to.”

The quinjet touched down silently on the outskirts of the city. The team disembarked quickly, weapons drawn and senses on high alert. The abandoned office building loomed ahead, its shattered windows and graffiti-covered walls a testament to its long-abandoned state. Inside, though, it was anything but empty.

Tony’s voice was a low murmur as he held up his tech pad, showing the heat signatures inside. “Multiple targets on the top floor. Armed, moving in formation. Y/N’s in there, too.”

“Looks like another hit,” Natasha said grimly, her eyes scanning the building. “She’s taking out another crew.”

Bucky clenched his fists, his jaw tight. “We’re not letting her walk out of here alone.”

Natasha nodded, her voice steady. “Stay focused. We get in, neutralize the situation, and bring her back.”

The team moved as one, slipping into the building and making their way up the crumbling stairwell. The sound of muffled voices and footsteps echoed from above, the tension rising with every step. When they reached the top floor, they could hear it clearly now—the sharp commands, the clink of weapons, and then, suddenly, a scream cut short.

Tony raised his hand, signaling them to stop. He brought up the thermal view on his pad. “She’s already started.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as they crept toward the open doorway. From their vantage point, they could see you in the center of the room, moving with deadly precision. You were a blur of efficiency, taking out the armed men one by one, each movement calculated and lethal. Blood spattered across the floor and walls, and your face, but you didn’t falter.

The last two men in the room scrambled to take aim at you, but you were faster. You disarmed one with a quick twist of his wrist, driving a knife into his chest without so much as a flicker of emotion. The final man backed away, terror in his eyes as he aimed his gun at you, his hands trembling.

Before he could pull the trigger, you grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease. His struggles were futile, and the sound of his choked gasps filled the air.

“Y/N!” Bucky’s voice rang out, desperate and raw, cutting through the chaos.

You froze, your grip tightening on the man’s throat as your eyes snapped to Bucky. For a moment, the room seemed to stand still. The team watched, their weapons drawn but hesitating, waiting to see what you would do.

You stared at Bucky, your face blank, eyes devoid of the warmth they once held. Slowly, deliberately, you tightened your grip, and without breaking eye contact with him, you snapped the man’s neck with a sickening crack. His lifeless body fell to the floor with a thud.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bucky took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. “Doll,” he said again, his voice trembling. “What are you doing?”

You stood there, blood splattered across your face, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Your eyes flicked over the rest of the team—Steve, Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Tony—all standing ready, but hesitant to make a move.

The room was suffocatingly silent, the air thick with tension as you stood amidst the bodies of the men you’d just killed. You looked at them—at all of them—as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience. Your once-bright eyes were now cold, lifeless, your pupils blown wide, a sharp contrast to the dim light of the room.

Sam was the first to break the silence. “Her pupils are huge,” he said, his voice low, uneasy. “That’s not normal.”

Natasha’s face tightened. She took a step forward, speaking in Russian, her tone steady but filled with quiet authority. “Ты идешь со мной, младшая сестра. (You’re coming back with me, little sister.)” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Ты сделаешь это легко или трудно? (Are you going to make this easy or hard?)”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you nudged the last man’s lifeless body with your foot, shoving him out of your way with a detached, almost bored expression. Then, finally, you spoke, your voice flat, emotionless.

“ Трудно(Hard).”

Steve sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Are we really doing this? All of us, against her?”

Natasha didn’t break her gaze from you. “No. Just me.” She reached for her baton, switching it on with a low hum of electricity. “Let me try.”

Clint, standing off to the side, silently switched the arrow in his quiver to one tipped with a sedative, his fingers steady but ready. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were locked on you, his movements precise and deliberate like he’d done this before, which of course he has.

Natasha stepped forward slowly, her baton raised but not yet striking. She muttered under her breath, almost to herself, “Дежавю. (Déjà vu.)” Then, in a softer tone, she added in Russian, “Я тебя люблю. (I love you.)”

The words didn’t even register. You moved without hesitation, launching yourself at her with lethal precision. Your first strike was a blur, and Natasha barely had time to block it with her baton. But you were faster, stronger, and more relentless than she remembered. Within seconds, you had her on the defensive, your blows landing harder and faster than she could counter.

Natasha grunted as you landed a kick to her side, sending her stumbling. “Something’s off,” she groaned, clutching her ribs as she stood. “You’re stronger than before.”

Bucky had been standing on the sidelines, his fists clenched, watching you tear through Natasha with ease. His heart broke with every blow you delivered. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped forward, his voice cracking slightly.

“Sweetheart, please,” he said, his voice filled with desperation. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

You turned toward him, your face still expressionless, and in one swift motion, you pulled a knife from your belt and hurled it at him. Bucky’s reflexes kicked in, and he caught the blade mid-air, but the force of the throw pushed him back a step.

He dropped the knife, his hands raised in a defensive posture. “I’m not going to fight you,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the pain in his eyes. “But I’m not letting you hurt anyone else.”

You didn’t hesitate, launching yourself at him. Bucky blocked every strike, his movements precise, never once retaliating. He didn’t want to hurt you, but you gave him no choice but to defend himself.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted over his shoulder as he deflected another of your attacks. “It’s the serum! She’s got some kind of super-soldier serum!”

Steve’s eyes widened, his grip tightening on his shield. Sam glanced at Clint, who still had his bow drawn. “Will that sedative arrow even work on her if she’s got the serum?”

Clint shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

He loosed the arrow, and it flew toward you, but you moved faster than expected, catching it mid-air. The tip still grazed your arm, injecting just enough of the sedative to make you falter slightly. You wobbled for a second, your movements sluggish, but it wasn’t enough to stop you. You turned the arrow back around, flinging it directly at Clint with lethal precision.

Steve’s shield flew through the air just in time, blocking the arrow before it could hit Clint. The sound of metal striking the arrowhead echoed through the room, but before anyone could make another move, Tony stepped forward, his repulsor glowing.

“This is enough,” Tony said, his voice cold and decisive. He raised his hand, preparing to knock you out.

But before he could fire, Natasha, now back on her feet, grabbed a heavy metal pole from the wreckage around them. She moved quickly, her face set with grim determination.

You turned back toward Bucky, ready to swing at him again, your eyes still filled with that cold, mechanical focus. But Natasha was faster. She swung the pole with all her strength, aiming for the side of your head.

The impact was immediate. Your eyes widened briefly before your body went limp, collapsing to the floor in an unconscious heap.

The room was silent except for the sound of everyone’s heavy breathing. Bucky dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he gently cradled your head.

Natasha dropped the pole, her chest heaving as she looked down at you, a mixture of relief and sorrow in her eyes. “Я сожалею, сестра. (I’m sorry, sister.),” she whispered softly.

Steve stepped forward, his shield still in hand. “Let’s get her back to the jet. We’ve got work to do.”

[thesummerstorms]

There's no way at least a few of the Crows gathered for the show down in the Opera House didn't look at Lucanis and Arsinoë de Riva and pick up on the fact that they were involved, even if both parts of the couple thought they were hiding it like professionals.

Most likely, those Crows perceive this as Viago's attempt at a power play.

They're wrong; he's in the corner gritting his teeth and silently begging Arsinoë to stay under the radar for once in her life. Openly attaching herself to the first Talon as a romantic partner makes her a target. That's a complication for House de Riva as a whole, one the Talon part of Viago is already complaining about dealing with, but also in general he wants Arsinoë to live.

(Dellamorte spouses companions do not tend to live long, healthy lives.)

But to the traditionalist Crows' outside point of view, it makes sense for Viago to make a power play through his protege. In his handling of the Illario situation, Lucanis has just exposed the fact that he can, in fact, be manipulated by a soft heart. The way they see it, if Viago then manages to place his protégé as Lucanis's lover and House de Riva as his ally, much less if Arsinoe eventually marries Lucanis and they have children, then Viago will have a considerable amount of influence over the First Talon and the whole of House Dellamorte through her.

Hell, if Arsinoë and Lucanis have children, then after a couple of carefully placed accidents, Viago could even place House de Riva in the seat of first Talon by declaring that his protégé's children belonged to their mother's house.

I cannot stress enough that this is the opposite of what Arsinoë, Lucanis, and Viago all want. Arsinoë doesn't even want to be a mother under regular circumstances, much less as part of an entrapment scheme, and no amount of calculation would ever make Viago use her that way.

But Crows are Crows, and the traditionalists especially do not believe that the more "Reformist" houses like Cantori and de Riva (and now Dellamorte by virtue of Lucanis) don't have some long game they're planning.

So in an a not entirely unexpected move, a few of those Houses send their own agents, their best or most beautiful or most charming, to try and make Lucanis a "better offer" as it were.

Again, this isn't entirely unexpected. Viago can't do much directly without putting more spotlight on Arsinoë or confirming things that he doesn't mean, but Caterina still holds the real power at this point. She deals very harshly with anyone she catches in the attempt.

Arsinoë is a little upset at the disrespect towards her character, significantly more upset that Lucanis has to deal with it, but ultimately stays out of it except comforting Lucanis and deflecting any attempts made in front of her. Maybe the occasional bout of poison, since they've made up their minds about her relationships and reputation either way, but generally it is what it is unless she can spare Lucanis discomfort directly.

Lucanis can't help a certain level of emotional "what the fuck", even though Caterina warned him and Illario extensively growing up that Crows from other Houses might try to romance or bed them as a power play. Illario had responded to that by turning the strategy back on anyone who tried it, not to mention his regular contracts; Lucanis had never thought it would be relevant to himself.

The attempts are upsetting in what they reveal about how outsiders perceive him (weak, easy to manipulate, yes, but also potentially unfaithful which is much more infuriating) and Arsinoë (who's being slandered/minimized). They're also just generally uncomfortable and annoying. Yet he doesn't actually have the power to make them stop; professing his love for Arsinoë doesn't change the perception of those involved. It just puts more of a target on her back.

Spite is honestly the most pissed though. He doesn't even entirely get what's happening. The emotions bleeding over from Lucanis are confusing, even if he's growing to slowly understand emotions outside his domain from his attachment to his mortal host.

He does, however, understand that these other humans are INSULTING his human and their Rook, trying to separate them as if they aren't both Spite's, and trying to hurt them besides.

Spite has many, many ideas how to deal with an insult and a threat. There's a growing risk that one day Lucanis might be fed up enough to agree.

[fratttymatty]

Roots Changed

(All characters are 18+)

Ryan Thornton had always been the quiet, bookish kid. At 18, he was still the same shy, nerdy teenager who spent most of his time buried in science fiction novels, comic books, and the occasional video game. Ryan had come to terms with his place in life: an outsider in high school, an openly gay teen with few friends and even fewer social opportunities. His world was small but comfortable, a safe little bubble in the predominantly white suburb of San Diego where he’d lived his whole life.

But when his mom got a new job and the family moved across the city to a much more diverse, predominantly Latino neighborhood, Ryan didn’t know what to expect. The change was jarring. The new school was like nothing he’d known — crowded, full of energy, and with a culture that felt loud and foreign. The kids here were different, the language they spoke, the way they dressed, the confidence they carried — it was all so much more alive than what Ryan was used to.

In the first few days, Ryan stayed under the radar. He was determined to finish high school without any drama, just getting through the final year before heading to college. But that plan quickly unraveled when a group of the popular kids — the jocks and cheerleaders — took notice of him.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. He tried to keep his head down, but he couldn’t ignore the whispers in the halls, the way people looked at him — the way they sized him up. His pale skin, messy blond hair, awkward stance — all of it screamed “outsider.” It didn’t help that Ryan was the only openly gay kid in the school, and he often felt like an alien in the sea of confident, straight students.

One afternoon, during lunch, the inevitable happened. He was sitting alone at a table when Luis, the captain of the football team, and Sofia, the head cheerleader, approached him with their usual entourage. They towered over him, their presence intimidating, but Ryan couldn’t find the words to excuse himself.

Luis looked down at him, a smug grin on his face. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Ryan swallowed hard. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You don’t really fit in here, huh?” Sofia’s voice wasn’t unkind, but it was sharp. She appraised him like a project. “You’re a little too... quiet for this place. Too nerdy.”

Ryan felt his face flush. He had been used to this kind of thing before, but not quite like this. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting to disappear.

Luis smirked. “Well, we can help with that. Make you more... like us.” He exchanged a quick glance with Sofia, who gave a small nod.

“I don’t really—” Ryan began to protest, but before he could finish his sentence, they grabbed him by the arms. He struggled, but the group was too strong. Their laughter was loud and mocking, echoing in his ears as they pulled him away from the lunch table, past the curious eyes of the other students, and out to the school parking lot.

“What the hell is going on?” Ryan managed to say, panic setting in as they shoved him into the back of a van.

“We’re gonna make you one of us, gringo,” Luis said, the edge to his voice unmistakable.

Ryan’s heart pounded as the van started moving. “What are you doing? Let me out of here!” But the more he shouted, the less anyone seemed to care. They ignored him, speaking in rapid Spanish, laughing, joking, as if they’d done this before.

The van came to a stop in a neighborhood unfamiliar to Ryan, and they led him into a house that felt more like a base of operations than a home. An older man with tattoos covering his arms stood waiting for them, his expression serious, as though this was just another job.

“Sit,” the man said, gesturing toward a chair in the middle of the room. “We’ve got work to do.”

Ryan’s heart raced in his chest, but he was powerless to fight back. They tied him down, but it wasn’t painful; it was more like they were preparing him for something. The man — who spoke little — went to work, using strange tools and substances on him, altering his appearance in ways that made Ryan’s head spin. His skin, once pale and freckled, slowly darkened, turning a rich olive tone. His features shifted subtly — his jawline more defined, his nose more pronounced. But it wasn’t just his skin that changed.

The most dramatic transformation happened to his hair. Ryan’s once-messy, light brown curls were smoothed out, darkening into a deep, glossy brown. They styled it into a perfectly straight, sharp middle part. It was perfect, almost too perfect. His hair, which had always been unruly, now lay in neat, controlled waves on either side of his head, framing his face in a way that made him look... different.

When the process was finished, they released him from the chair, and Ryan was led to a mirror. He barely recognized the person staring back at him. The face was familiar, but the features were sharper, darker. His hair — sleek and controlled — was no longer his own. The new, confident posture, the athletic build, the deep brown eyes looking back at him — it was like he was staring at someone else.

Luis stood behind him, clapping him on the back with a grin. “Welcome to the team, hermano,” he said, his voice low and proud.

Ryan — or whatever was left of him — looked at himself in the mirror. The old Ryan Thornton was gone, replaced by someone else. Someone new. Someone who looked like he could be a football player. Someone who looked like he belonged here, in this world.

Luis wasn’t finished. “You’re Mateo Hernandez now. We’re not calling you Ryan anymore. You’re one of us, hermano.”

Mateo Hernandez. The name felt strange at first, foreign even, but when he said it aloud, it felt right, like it had always been his. Mateo felt stronger, more confident. He felt like someone who had a place in the world — a world where people like him didn’t get pushed around, a world where his old self didn’t matter.

Over the next few days, Mateo settled into his new life with surprising ease. His old identity, his old life as Ryan Thornton, began to fade. The change was too thorough. The way he spoke was different now. His accent was smoother, more natural, the slang coming to him effortlessly. His new friends, the jocks, the cheerleaders, they accepted him without hesitation. He was one of them now, and they treated him like family.

It didn’t take long before Mateo found himself walking the halls of his new high school with the same confident swagger as Luis or any of the other jocks. He laughed, joked, and participated in everything — the football games, the parties, the casual flirting with the girls in his classes. It all felt so easy, so right. The old Mateo, the quiet, awkward kid who once spent his days hiding in the library, was gone.

Mateo Hernandez was a high school jock. He was strong, he was popular, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he was pretending. He was who he was supposed to be.

And as for Ryan Thornton?

Well, Mateo didn’t even remember who that was anymore.

Mateo Hernandez had found his place. And he wouldn’t change it for anything.