#i know it is not easy. i still struggle. but you have to let that small soft kindness in you grow.

[takes1]

Hiii, I love all ur fics sm! Ur literally so talented omgg

I wanted to request a fic where Oikawa and short/academically inclined reader are friends with benefits. I think it would be fun to see them get jealous and tiptoe around their feelings for each other since they don’t wanna ruin what they have. Can it also be nsfw and could u add some angst pls? Thank youu!

f*cking jealous!oikawa in secret

hi! thank you so much!! hope this interpretation is alright!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / short!reader / jealous!oikawa / popular x loser trope / jock x nerd trope / tutor!reader / subby-switch!oikawa / switch!reader / oikawa with a nerd fetish / needy!oikawa towards the end / kind of hate fucking? / oikawa being mean / riding / implied oral / fluff, angst, and smut / reader with glasses / 1.8k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines

"You're sooo lucky to tutor him, (Y/n),"

Your hopeless friend sighed, scrolling through Oikawa's Instagram for the upteenth time.

"I'd give anything to spend that much time alone with him."

It was a little creepy, but you loved her. Other girls fawning over your secret fuck-buddy was something you had to -begrudgingly- get used to. It pained you more when it was somebody so close, but nothing was worth coming clean about it.

The last thing you needed during senior year was a target on your back.

"Oh, he's such a prick!" You wave her off and grab your drink from the café counter with a smaller, pleasant, 'Thank you.'

The table was more of a C-curved booth that your group had to shimmy into. The shape made it hard to get in and out of, rather serving as an ultra-cozy prison to focus on your studies, your caffeine, and your snacks.

As a way of not letting you off the hook so easily- your friends cracked open their notes, laptops, textbooks, while entertaining the 'absurd' idea that any of you could actually date Johsai's least eligible bachelor.

A bunch of star-students with decorated academic achievements was the only impressive thing about the patrons at your favorite, quiet, coffee house. With- maybe-- the exception of money in eyeglass prescriptions, or luxurious stationery that decorated the table.

Your voice stood as the most displeased, the most troubled, of the discussion. You flipped through the chapters, halfway forgetting what page you needed to be on, because you got caught up in his shortcomings.

"He doesn't listen- he takes my hours away from people who might actually need it- he's, obviously, got the biggest ego I've ever seen--, Oh- hold up."

It was a struggle to flip to your page and rummage around your pocket for your buzzing phone.

"Well, I'm glad somebody's got some common sense-," Was the only guy in your group, disgruntled at all the Oikawa-talk.

Oikawa's name flashed across your screen. Your body seized and you hugged it to your chest.

"Woah!"

"You good?"

"I'm just--gonna take this outside," You cleared your throat and sank all the way to the floor, crawling over shoes and bags from under the table to get far away from your friends.

It was on the second-to-last ring by the time you hurried outside. You hated him for many things, but the wind picked up, spraying a chilly mist all over your clothes, and you couldn't help but associate him with the feeling. Your hoodie was still inside, forgotten in your haste.

"What? I'm busy right now." You spat, shivering already.

"Don't fog your glasses up, princess."

His easy, light tone particularly bothered you. You groaned.

"Get to the point, pretty boy, I'm busy--,"

"I know. I just called to say you should stop talking about me. Reads as a bit... obsessive, don't you think?"

The breath you took to poke a hole in his 'obsessive' argument gave way to nothing- except a silent realization.

"You're- where are you?"

You squinted at the dark window, but it was one-way.

Oikawa watched you turn to the parking lot, smirking, from inside the cafe.

He sighed, a real airy, fake one; the one he knew you loved to hear from him in bed.

His voice was lower, closer to the receiver. "I thought you said you were busy?"

The audacity to call you obsessive, mixing with the adrenaline his sudden proximity shot into your system. You pressed 'end call.'

When you re-entered the cafe, you spotted him immediately. He was walking back to his booth, one away from yours, from the restrooms. Though you both saw each other, there was hardly an indication that you knew one another at all, thanks to so much practice.

It was, still, hard to watch him slide into a seat right next to some other girl.

So, he heard you talking shit about him while on a date, then left her to go call you? You rejoined your booth, and spared a mean glance over at him, like the absolute garbage he was. He returned it with lesser intensity.

-

You'd think, with his cock in your hand, he wouldn't bring up the events of that morning. It put him in a less-than ideal position.

"Y'knoww,"

He hadn't said anything yet, but your eyes were rolling. Used to the attitude, and equipped with a firm point to make, he continued:

"You should ditch- ahh, that little loser in your little friend group."

A little roll of your hips had him wincing- spreading the slickness all across his dick, from all the work he had put in, already.

You cocked your head at him, "Oh, yeah?"

Oikawa's eyes rolled back into his skull, a groan at how hot you looked, grinding on him. You were his perfect, nerdy little secret. He specifically wanted you to keep your glasses on today. It was a thing. You didn't understand it in its entirety, but it likely had a connection to the reason why he opted for a lowkey arrangement.

"And you should ditch that shallow whore--,"

"Oh my god!" He gasped, surprised to hear such a thing uttered from your mouth, "Fuuuck you're so jealous-!"

"Me?"

It was completely unfair and utter bullshit that he acted like his jealousy was nonexistent. To him, only you could get out of your pay grade. He pretended to forget that the only reason you were fucking multiple times a week was because he 'needed' you so bad. You felt a little exploited.

"That's so hot-aughhh!"

His big, strong hands were forcing your cunt against his slippery, thick cock, since you wouldn't move quite right.

"M-mmh-! Tha-t's-," You struggled, voice breaking, hands against his muscular chest, "Not- mh, fair."

Your textbooks, his assignment due in 40 minutes, were neglected on the floor across his bedroom. Your tutoring was basically roleplay. It turned him on as soon as you got to talking about the relevant class material, telling him that the work he had already done was wrong.

It turned you on too, to an extent. You liked that you got him stiff without trying, without touching. You loved when he pretended like he wasn't, but bounced his leg right next to yours, cleared his throat before every response, got caught staring like some depraved creature.

You were exactly his type. He was the hottest guy you'd ever met. Something had to give.

"I- ah, don't wanna--," He fucked you hard, like you had a ring on your finger, "See you talk to that loser again."

He couldn't stand the threat of being second place. A guy with such a precious ego needed to feel like you wouldn't leave him. While your social structure may have harbored the suggestion that this would be the case, it wasn't an accurate representation of your feelings.

The whimper lacing his voice grew as you placed a firm hand around his throat.

"Don't- date- other girls." You threatened through gritted teeth and bitten-back moan.

It was just your luck that the most ridiculous peacock of a man would have such a great dick, give you such great head, that you couldn't live and let this fucked-up situationship die. The timer of the semester ticked away, standing as an informal end to it, so neither of you had the gall to cut things off before you needed to.

He whined under your touch, bottoming out hard, keeping himself as deep as he could get.

The lonely bastard draped his arms around you and pulled you close.

"Mmh- you know I gotta- h-ah, keep up appearances for us, princess," His quiet mutter, spilled across your shoulder, forced a shiver down your spine.

His sheets smelled just like him.

You loosened your grip and decided to play with his soft, lush locks, taking in his scent, his touch- that feeling. Like you were his, but not in some twisted, shameful way.

You wanted one of his shirts but it wasn't that simple.

For the moment, you chased the dream, while he was still gentle and peppering you in kisses.

Maybe in some perfect world, he would let go of his status, be a little less weird about your intelligence, and you could have a boyfriend instead of a glorified dildo.

He sounded close, so you fucked him back, hand back on his throat; you wondered how many girls would be disappointed to know that Oikawa Tohru didn't last very long in bed.

"You wanna cum, pretty boy?"

A wince at your rough, loaded kiss. His grip was iron, his strength speaking enough for how mute you got him.

It was so quiet, so pitiful: "Pl-ease,"

God, he looked so cute all fucked-out. He only looked at you like that. Like he never wanted you to leave, like he couldn't breathe without you around him, like you weren't just friends with benefits.

Too bad you were just some freaky nerd-fetish.

He pulled out and you sat, buzzed, on his drained cock, more than satisfied with the sight of cum all over his stomach.

When you pushed up your fallen glasses, his cock twitched accordingly and reminded you of the only reason you existed to him at all.

Kissing, cleaning up, cuddling, all of the winding down was still commonplace between you. He wanted attention, you wanted time to chill before you had to go home. He even made it difficult to get dressed and out the door.

Today, he kept his arms around your waist when you attempted to get up, after 20 minutes of cuddling.

"Pleaaase stay," He whined, unable to hold you as firm as he wanted for fear he would hurt you.

You smiled.

"I need to study more tonight."

"Study here!" He pouted.

Right. Then this would happen all over again- because as soon as he would see a pencil between your teeth, he'd try to replace it with his cock.

"Really study," You pried his fingers off and got dressed.

He watched for a time, but needed to assert himself more in order to feel like he wasn't useless, or forgettable. He joined to get dressed, too, and kept a close eye on your seemingly unbothered expression.

"I'm sorry for cursing at you."

It was so unimportant that you had no idea what he was talking about.

"It's okay," Rolled off your tongue, fast.

Oikawa got twitchy. His sly attempts at dragging out your departure slipped through his fingers like sand.

"Let me help you with that," His unprompted kiss to your forehead, along with his gentle gathering of your things, left you a bit dazed.

You fixed your hair- hesitant to look at him.

"Thank you."

He insisted, like usual, to walk you home. You sighed and posed the same argument, the way you had for the past month. People would notice if you were together in any capacity. Rumors would start.

When he was done packing your books up, he was touchier, and hung over you like a cat rubbing itself all over your ankles as you walked to the door.

You rationalized that it had to be your glasses. It gave him some sort of kick. He barely let you out of his bedroom, let alone his house.

You forgot to ask for a shirt, but... maybe next time?

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu. (new) my imagines.

[smallestapplin]

getting obsessed with swerve thanks to your fic, could i request a swerve x human reader where he accidentally overstimulates the reader to the point where they squirt?? (it’s both the reader and swerve’s first time and they’re both so messy and affectionate)

at the end swerve is like absolutely flabbergasted at the reader squirting and he’s like “soooo… how’d i do?”

happy new year also!!!

-favicon anon 🩵🩵

I like the way you think! (Also sorry if there re any errors, my autocorrect hates me.)

Warnings : enby afab reader, squirting, swerve being a pussy fiend. Oral fem receiving

🔞Minors do NOT interact! Adults only!🔞

Word count : 2,212😔 I went a tad overboard.

-

-

-

You both are a little awkward, and who can blame you when Swerve is over twice your size, and who can blame him when you are so much smaller than him? Despite being a minibot he’s still at least four or five feet taller than you, not to mention how much thicker he is than you.

The size difference between you two is made more apparent as he leans over you, his cheeks flushed blue with energon realizing he’s finally going to get to taste you, to please you and finally make his claim. But you look so cute under him like this, removing any of your coverings, letting him fully see your soft body.

He’s never been with a human before, especially never interfaced with one! Primus, what if he messes up? What if he hurts you on accident? Oh, he’d never be able to live with himself if anything happened to you-

“Swerve, you’re overthinking it.”

The bot snaps for his thoughts by your voice, followed by a soft chuckle as you grab his right servo gently moving it to your face to kiss his palm. His cheeks burn with color, frame trembling slightly from the affection.

“I just don’t wanna hurt you, Doll.”

What a sweet bot you have.

“You aren’t doing to hurt me, I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much, okay?”

How can he answer when you look so pretty under him, it’s a chore keeping his optics from wandering down your naked body, how your chest slightly moves with each breath, how he can smell your arsoual even feel it in your weak EM field, beckoning him further, silently asking him to take you to have you.

He nods dumbly readily agreeing with easy before he could find his voice, stopping you just as you started to sit up.

“Can…can I prep you first? I-I wanna make you feel good and make sure you’re wet enough for me.”

Swerve knows you want to please him too, suck off his spike, and while his spike twitches and valve clenches at the thought, he knows your body is going to need a lot more prep with just how much bigger he is than you, he doesn’t even know if your human valve will be able to take all of his.

“Are you sure? I want to make you feel good too.” You sit up from his berth, wrapping your arms best you could around his neck and resting your forehead against his.

“I finally get to have you like this, I want to learn your body, see what brings you the most pleasure, see how I can make you tick-“

You’re cut off as he slams his dermas against your lips, effectively silencing you. Had you spoken anymore he might’ve just overloaded right then and there, and he can’t do that so soon when he hasn’t even gotten to touch you yet!

Swerve pulls off your lips and hangs his helm down on your chest.

“Don’t talk like that.” It’s cute how his vocie cracks and waivers just from a few dirty words.

“Ok, ok, use me how you wish then.”

His optics widen under his visor, watching you lay back in your pervious spot and spreading your legs just enough to give him a teasing view of your leaking slit, all the kissing and heavy petting earlier had gotten you going, you don’t want to stop now.

Swerve let’s out a strangled whimper at the mere sight, struggling to remain up right and now take you or devour you right then.

“Frag, you’re so pretty.”

You smile at him, a teasing laugh muffled by your hand.

“Not bad yourself, handsome-mm!” You’re cut off with a whine, dropping your head back against his berth as his tongue licks up your wet slit.

Swerve groans, ex-venting loudly at just the taste of you. The mech is quick to lose himself, his glossa lapping messily and wildly at your pussy, as if trying to devour you, drink up every drop of slick you have to offer him.

He's a fast learner, growing more and more confident and comfortable with setting a pace. He moans, groaning so loud against you, the vibrations making your thighs squeeze around his helm.

Fuck, the taste is even better

It's like a switch flipped inside him, going from hesitant and gentle, to a thirsty deprived man the second he tasted you and knew what made you tick.

What he lacks in true technique he makes up with pure, raw enthusiasm.

"H-hey I’m not- oh, haaa…so…so good..!”

You try to plead, try to reason with him, this is his first time going down on you he doesn't need to rush, but it's like he doesn't hear you, he can’t hear you. Shakily, you look down trying to meet the bright gleam of his visor, if only you could see his optics rolling back as he shoves his glossa into your clenching hole, messily slurping up all your dripping slick.

Stars above he can't believe he deprived himself of such a pretty valve! All this time such a fragging meal has been in front of him, and he had no idea! He has to make up for it, he needs as much as he can get, he needs more and then some.

You place a hand on his helm, trying to push him away to slow him down a bit, but yet it doesn't work. Swerve’s servos clamp down on your thighs, shoving his face plate impossibly closer to your pussy and making sure your thighs are tight around his helm.

There is no reasoning with a bot gone mad.

His grunts and feverish moans increase, making you look passed his helm to see his hips sloppily moving, humping the berth subconsciously, as if he has no idea he's doing it, merely fueled by his need for you.

You don't get time to think about it more before you're rocking your hips against his face plate, your eyes fluttering and crossing as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

Swerve is drooling, sounding more beast than machine as his body trembles. He had no idea giving pleasure would feel so good, it's like every sound, every twitch, every clench you make just sends a zap of ecstasy through him, making his heavy spike twitch and leak transfluid.

He can't get enough!

Swerve pulls his glossa out from you, licking along your hole to your clit, messily kissing your pulsing nub before wrapping his lips around it with a light suction. His valve clenches at how your thrash, near shrieking with him continuing to make you feel good after cumming not moments ago.

You dig your heels into his upper back strut, but the mild pain doesn't even phase him.

"Oh fuck, fuck, please, I can't!!" You can feel drool leaking down your chin, chilling your hot skin with the cold room air.

If he could just give you a moment, catch your breath-

Your back arches off the bed, a loud cry of yours echoes in the habsuite. Swerve kisses your clit once more, only pulling away to spit on your messy hole before moving one of his hands down and slicking up his middle and ring finger in the mixture of his spit and your juices.

His thick digits easily slide in, stretching you open around them.

"Swerve…you’re so…oh god.” you whine his name, missing the warmth of his intake but looking down you see him not even glancing up at you, clearly staring at your pussy, watching his digits disappear into you.

He's mesmerized, learning more and more about your body just makes him want to overload so badly.

You open your mouth once more, fully intending to talk him through fingering you, though you're swiftly cut off by a squeak ripping itself from your lips.

He's already moving his fingers, gently pushing them in and out, slightly curling his fingers, trying to find anything that makes you scream.

But he can't keep his intake off you too long, already licking and nipping at your throbbing nub, desperate to make you cum again, wanting to taste more of you. Your chest is heaving, panting and mewling as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

He's a fast learner, much faster than you expected, but that’s just the vicious need he has for you, it's like he's tuned to your body, watching and picking up the smallest cues you give and make.

You didn't expect him to find your g-spot so quickly.

"Ohhh fuck!...haaa..! Right there, please please right there!!" your voice breaks, whining for him to curl his fingers again.

And he happily does. His hazy optics finally glance up to your sweaty trembling body, watching in a daze as your hands grip his helm so tightly

Tossing your head back with a sob of his name, your cunt squeezing down on his fingers with your cum gushing around them. Swiftly, he moves from your clit to your hole, taking his digits out and licking up your mess.

His spike throbs, spruting his hot transfluid onto the berth below him, yet he can't stop rutting against the now soiled bed, no matter how sensitive his spike gets he can't help himself.

Now two for two, but his greed and thirst only grow.

Swerve wants more, to keep eating you out until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess beneath him, he needs it so much, pussy whipped for his little human. But he’s so desperate to shove his spike into you, your cute little valve is all spread open, taunting him, tempting him, clenching down on nothing to lure him into fragging you.

“Fuck me…please just fuck me already, I can take it.” You’re near tears, just needing his fat spike inside you.

Your pitiful expression sends him scrambling up, moving his helm from between your legs and finally placing your legs on either side of his hips. Your eyes widen at the sight of just realizing how much bigger he is than you, his dick especially resting over your pussy, as he grinds his fluid covered spike against your slit, mixing your juices together.

You doubt he’s going to fit, could he even fit all of that inside you?

“Is this okay? I don’t want to move without you sayin so.”

Before he could ramble on a moment further you’ve made up your mind, seeing the large bot above you shaking, his cheeks flushed blue with energon, and that dorky smile of his wavering.

You reach up grabbing his cheeks and yank his face down, slamming your lips against his muffling his choked sounds. You barely pull away from him to speak.

“Don’t make me beg. I wanna feel you inside me, fucking me, please?”

Swerve makes a dumb sound, exventing loudly as he weakly mutters a rushed out ‘yeah okay’ as he scrambles to carefully line up the tip of his spike to your needy hole and slowly pushes in. Swerve chokes at the feeling, you’re so tight around him even after all that prep! It’s like you’re trying to milk him of all his transfluid, make him overload again and again.

Drool drips down his chin from his open intake, his mouth forming an ‘o��� shape as he tries so hard not to blow his load early. You are fighting to take every inch of him, he’s so big! His chubby cock fills out your cunt so much, too much even.

Every push just makes his shaft drag across your sweet spot, putting pressure on them the more of his spike he makes you take, your eyes flutter, slowly rolling back into your head.

“O-ohh! Don’t, don’t clench like that—!!” Swerve squeals, his voice cracking as your pussy clenches down on his spike. The bot nearly overloads at the sight of your human valve gushing around him.

A cry leaving your lips as you cum again, though it’s swiftly morphed into a loud sob as Swerve’s hips buck into you, shoving more and more of his spike into your stuffed pussy.

His hips moving on their own, he can’t stop it! Feels so good so good, he’s losing his mind! He hunches over you, folding you in half to make it easier to rut into you, fucking you, intending to make his claim, fill you.

You’ve lost track of how many times he’s med you cum, even how long it’s been since he managed to push his spike inside you, molding your pussy to his shape within hours.

“Just one more, pleasepleaseplease one more, overload for me, take my transfluid-“

He keeps rambling, muttering and crying out words your muddled mind can barely comprehend.

You weakly whine, feeling yet another gush of hot transfluid filling your already stuffed pussy. Swerve barely stops himself from collapsing ontop of you, his body trembling at the effort to hold himself up, but he wants so much more.

He leans back with a heavy sigh, his fans working overtime to cool him down.

“So…um…did I do good?” He looks hopeful, like a dog waiting for praise.

As if he hasn’t just fucked you stupid for hours on end, your pussy still leaking his spent.

[bloatedandalone04]

Smile - Blurb

WC: 800 | Warnings: fluff, swearing, can be read as an add on to this fic.

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | RIP TikTok (I say as I still have it)

While you promised your boyfriend that you’d chill out on the more intense pranks and trends you saw going around on TikTok, you couldn’t stop yourself from indulging in the occasional harmless one. 

He was just too easy. The most perfect, unsuspecting victim. 

Drew was sorting through the clothing that was left over in the laundry basket when you walked into the room, a mischievous smile on your face. Both you and Drew fucking hated putting the laundry away, and so it just sat in the basket, barely folded but clean, tucked away in the corner of the room. You and he picked at it through the week until there was hardly anything left in it, and when you and he couldn’t tell if what was left in it was dirty or clean, that’s when one of you finally put the remnants away. 

When Drew turned and caught your eye, taking in the faint smirk on your lips, one of his own formed as he tried to smooth out a wrinkled shirt. “Hey, babe,” he greeted you, his eyes flickering from yours to your phone that was held in your hands as you stepped towards him. “What’s up?”

You grinned and watched as he re-folded a pair of your jeans. “Nothing,” you answered, moving closer to him until you were standing in front of him. Drew eyed your phone warily, his brows pressed together as he realized that you were once again up to no good and trying to get a reaction out of him for whatever new prank that had caught your attention this week.

At least he was aware of this one and not totally oblivious to it like he usually is when you pull pranks on him, the ones that required you to hide your phone so he wasn’t able to catch on. 

But that fucking smirk of yours never failed to put him on edge. And rightfully so. 

He turned his focus back to sorting through the basket that was nearly empty when you decided to progress whatever it was that you were up to. 

“Hey, baby?” you hummed, reaching up to grab his face in your hand, your fingers  and thumb softly digging into his cheeks as you turned his head so he was looking back at you. Drew was already smiling, purely out of instinct from having you near him, when you added, “Smile if you want to break up.”

You pointed your phone directly at him as his eyes widened and he tried to force the smile off his face, but you were laughing and had caught him off guard so fast, he was fighting a losing battle already. 

“Okay, wait-” he tried, but you let out an exaggerated gasp as his lips curved upwards out of habit. “No, wait, baby.” he rasped, reaching for you when you stepped away from him with a poorly hidden laugh. 

“You want to break up?” you questioned, knowing damn well that you were practically forcing him to smile. He couldn’t help himself around you. You made him happy, you were one of the funniest people he knew, of course he was going to smile or laugh when you randomly say something like that. 

“No,” he answered, ducking out of frame of your phone as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “You know I don’t, I just need a sec, okay?” he said, holding back another smile as he buried his face against your neck. 

“You’re still smiling!” you whined, trying to wiggle out of his grasp but he just held you tighter. 

“Because I wasn’t expecting that,” he replied, pressing a series of fast kisses to your cheek and jaw as you struggled to lift your hand that was holding your phone. “We’re not breaking up, babe. That wasn’t fair, I didn’t know you were going to say that.”

He was whining now as you pulled away and pointed your phone at him again. “Okay, try again,” you offered, and he stood up straight, his lips pressing into a straight line as he looked at you. He was ready for it this time. “Smile if you want to break up.”

Drew’s mouth stayed completely still, his eyes gazing into yours past the camera. Even as you held eye contact with him, he didn’t budge at all, and you smiled up at him. 

“Aw,” you cooed, moving closer to him as his hands instantly found their home on your waist, but he still wasn’t smiling. “You can smile now, baby.”

But he shook his head. “I don’t believe you,” 

You laughed because he was right. You were still filming, and he knew better than to give in before you stopped recording. But you knew how to get to him. “Drew,” you cackled, draping one arm around his neck. “I love you.”

And like you expected, his lips trembled a bit as he fought off another growing smile. “Fuck. Okay-”

“I knew it,” you huffed playfully as you ducked out of his arms and walked quickly towards the bedroom door. “I knew it.”

“That’s not fair,” he called after you as he shook his head, bending down to pick up the last remaining shirts in the bottom of the laundry basket. “How am I not supposed to smile when you tell me that?”

[guess-my-next-obsession]

endure & survive | ii. don't shoot

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x single mother!reader

chapter content: MINORS DNI, written in dual POV/first person POV, no description/name given to reader, reader is a single mother, age gap (twenty-ish years), grief, gun talk/threats

word count: 3.9k

series masterlist | previous chapter

JOEL 

“Easy, now. Don’t shoot,” I say, raising my hands slowly with my palms facing the woman currently aiming the barrel of a shotgun at my face.  

“Fuck you,” she spits, tightening her grip on her gun. “Go or I’ll shoot your head right the fuck off.” 

“The hell you will!” Ellie’s voice sounds from the stranger’s other side, causing me to let out a low curse. When I chance a glance at her, she’s holding her pistol like I taught her, aiming it at the woman’s head.  

“Ellie—“ 

“Who the fuck is she? Your ward?” the stranger asks, her brows furrowing as she adjusts her position to be able to watch us both.  

“I’m the one aiming a gun at your head, dipshit,” Ellie returns.  

“Hey,” I hiss, snapping my hand at her while remaining as still as possible. “Language.” 

“She’s trying to shoot you,” Ellie replies, as if I’m the senseless one here. She’s still young enough to enjoy the thrill of a fight. Me, on the other hand, I’m just trying to get out of this without a gunshot wound.  

“Haven’t tried yet,” the stranger corrects. “Just threatened to.” 

“And I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way,” I say, focusing back on the woman a few yards away from me. “We’re just passin’ through. Didn’t know anybody was out here. That’s all.” 

“Then you can continue passing,” she says, jutting her chin towards the treeline behind us.  

“Alright,” I say, backing away slowly. “Ellie, c’mon.” 

“What the fuck, Joel?” Ellie groans. “She has a fucking fireplace.” 

“And a gun pointed right at me,” I remind. “We can find someplace else—“ 

“Mama,” a tiny voice interrupts me, and I watch as a kid half Ellie’s age steps out of the cabin and onto the porch.  

“Baby, get back inside,” the woman—the child’s mother—commands, softening her voice for him.  

I watch as she struggles to pick who to focus her attention on—her son, or Ellie and I. In the end, it’s her son that wins as she lowers her gun and guides the boy to hide behind her leg, his skinny hands clinging to her worn and weathered sweater. 

“Shit,” Ellie says, lowering her gun as she shoots me a glance before turning back to the woman. “I didn’t realize you had a kid. Just so you know, I wasn’t going to shoot unless you shot first.” 

The woman lets out what I think is meant to be a chuckle, but sounds more like a scoff. “You do realize you’re a kid, too?” 

“Eh,” is Ellie’s only response, along with a casual shrug of her shoulders.  

“Listen,” I butt in, slowly making my way over to Ellie. “Clearly, you know what it’s like to have a kid out here in all this mess. We ain’t lookin’ to make any trouble for you and yours, long as you don’t make any for us.” 

“I’m sensing there’s more to this speech than just stating the obvious,” she says, her free hand still firmly grasping the hilt of her shotgun.  

“We’ve been out here in the cold for weeks now,” I say. Calmly. Hesitantly. If I wasn’t feeling as bone tired as this, as desperate for just a bit of warmth, I would never even consider bunking up with two strangers, especially with Ellie in tow. But even though it might not look like it, I know my limits. I know that if we keep on out here in this weather, there’s a chance we won’t make it another twenty miles, let alone the hundreds between here and Salt Lake.  

“Absolutely not,” she says, shaking her head adamantly as she backs her and her son up a step towards her front door. “You two could be infected for all I know. As good of a person I’d like to think I am, there’s no way I’m letting you in here with my son.” 

“We’re not infected,” I say, though I know those words have been spoken by plenty who hadn’t meant them. Or hadn’t realized yet. But all I’ve got is my word and the hope that she’ll trust it. “I know I can’t prove it, but I’m askin’ you to trust that I’d never put a kid in harm's way.” 

“You allow yours to carry around a pistol,” she says, pointing towards Ellie. “You bring her to break into random cabins in the middle of the woods. Your word doesn’t mean shit to me.” 

I know a losing battle when I see one. I can sit here and beg all I want, but she’s never going to cave. I can’t say I’d do any different if I were in her position. Hell, I actually kind of respect her more for it.  

“Alright,” I concede, even though it hurts to. Just a night in a warm, dry place would’ve been enough for me to regain some of the energy and fight I desperately need out here. But I ain’t about to stand here and grovel, strip myself down and prove to her that there aren’t any bites marring my skin, just scars and proof of the hard life I’ve lived. Besides, if she got even one look at Ellie’s wrist, we’d both be dead. It’s better this way. Safer. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.  

“Dude,” Ellie scolds—or whines, rather. I shoot her a warning look that does little to wipe the outrage off her face.  

“C’mon,” I order, stepping backwards towards the tree line. I might not have a gun pointed at me right now, but no way in hell am I going to turn my back on that murderous looking woman. 

Not when I know exactly what I’d do if I were in her position. 

READER 

Empathy’s a fucking bitch sometimes.  

I don’t want to let these two strangers onto my property. I don’t want to risk the chance that they’ll endanger Colt and I. But fuck, it’s cold outside, and the storm clouds brewing above us prove it’s only going to get colder.  

If it had just been the guy, I would’ve had no issue telling him to fuck right off. I would’ve had no issue shooting him dead if he refused to do so. But that kid with him fucked my hard exterior all the way up—even if she doesn’t talk or act much like a kid at all. She can’t be older than thirteen or fourteen, just a few years older than I was when the virus spread and changed the world for good. I remember what it felt like to be that young, dealing with things no generation before me had ever dealt with. I remember how scared I was, how hopeless I felt. And that was in the relatively new and safe confinements of the QZ. I couldn’t imagine being out here in the open that young. And fuck, I can’t imagine how anxious her dad, or whatever the fuck the guy was to her, must be, having no shelter or safety to run to if shit was to go down out here.  

And so, humanity coming out on top, I open my mouth and seal my son and I’s fate. 

“Wait,” I call out, just as the two of them reach the tree line. The girl—Ellie, I think her name is—stops first, spinning around like she’d been expecting this all along. The guy is next to turn, giving me a skeptical quirk of his brow as if he expected hadn’t expected this at all. “Even if I wanted to let the two of you into the cabin, there’s no room.” 

I see the light die a bit more in both of their eyes. The man purses his lips before giving me a solitary nod. “Alright.” 

“But there’s a shed right over there,” I say, pointing behind me to the small, wooden building on the other side of the cabin. “It’s not much, but there’s a furnace and firewood. I can heat up some water and let the two of you use the bathroom inside the cabin to clean up. Maybe see if I can spare some food.” 

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Ellie beams, already making her way across the snow. The man she’s with looks hesitant to follow, but he looks more hesitant to let her carry on without him, and so he joins her.  

“Thank you,” he mutters as he passes the porch, locking eyes with me as if he’s just as suspicious over my good will as I am about him and the girl’s intentions. I only nod in response and pull Colt tighter to me. He’ll no doubt have a million and one questions about our guests, seeing as we’ve never had any before.  

In fact, these two are the only people he’s ever seen, aside from me. He never even got to see his own father, and now I’m bringing two strangers into his life.  

Strangers that could kill us. Strangers that could infect us.  

All because of my stupid, empathetic, hopeful heart that’s telling me that there’s something different about these two.  

Something safe.  

JOEL  

“This is...” Ellie trails off as she scans the shed that’s hardly large enough to fit a twin sized bed—if we had the luxury of having a twin sized bed, that is.  

“It’s better than bein’ out in the cold,” I say, not giving her a chance to shit on the small space. It’s a miracle that woman didn’t shoot us dead, let alone that she let us stay on her property.  

I move over to the old furnace in the corner of the space and squat to check it out. The thing looks ancient, even to my old eyes, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The older the appliance, the less likely it is to need things we don’t have access to, like gas or electricity. And this old beast looks like it runs strictly off of good old-fashioned burning logs.  

“Alright, you stay put,” I order with a grunt as I stand upright. “I’m goin’ t’grab some logs. Maybe see about some hot water.” 

“What the fuck do I do, then?” she asks, lifting her hands before letting them fall to her sides. “Just sit here and freeze?” 

“Could make yourself useful and clean the old ashes out of the furnace,” I say with a shrug as I shove open the rickety wooden door. “Or you can sit there. Either way, you’re stayin’ put.” 

She grumbles something that I don’t manage to catch as I walk back out into the cold, but what’s new. Always a smart-assed remark from her loaded up and ready to go. Her and Bill would’ve had a hell of a time going back and forth.  

As I trudge through the snow, I try not to think about my now deceased friend and instead fix my attention onto the pile of logs I remember seeing on the other side of the cabin. Only when I reach the porch do I hear the sound of two voices—one feminine and soft and one tiny and energetic—going back and forth.  

“So they’re going to be living with us?” the boy asks, and from where I’m standing just around the corner, I can see him following his mother back and forth from the river to the back porch of the cabin as she fills buckets up with ice-cold water from the creek behind the cabin.  

“Not permanently,” she says with a sigh. “Just until the storm passes.” 

“Can I go play with the girl, then? Until the storm passes?” 

“No, baby,” she says, and another, deeper sigh slips free as she prepares for the inevitable follow-up question kids his age always have ready to go. 

“Why?” he whines, stomping his boot to emphasize his point.  

“Because,” she says, stopping in place to look down at him. “We don’t know them. We don’t know if they’re safe.” 

“She didn’t look infected,” he says softly, looking down at his shoes with a frown. “I just wanted to play.” 

Suddenly, I’m hyper aware that I’ve been standing here eavesdropping on an intimate moment between the two of them. Clearing my throat, I continue on toward them—toward the logs that sit in a pile a few feet from them. Instinctively, the woman reaches for her son and pulls him close. I don’t blame her or take offense. She doesn’t know me. It’s the same reason I told Ellie to stay put. 

“Just grabbin’ some logs,” I say as a way of greeting.  

“I’m about to start heating up some water for you two,” she says, gesturing at the buckets that sit full on the back porch.  

“Thank you,” I reply as I scoop up a few logs and tuck them under my arm, ready to go my own way and leave the two of them be.  

“Wait—” Her voice stops me, and I turn to face her with furrowed brows. “What was your name?” 

Right. Hadn’t had time to do the whole introductions thing with guns pointed at each other.  

“Joel,” I say, before tilting my head towards the shed. “And her name’s Ellie.” 

She tells me her name and then her son’s, Colt. When I lock eyes with the boy, he gives me a friendly smile and a timid wave.  

Poor kid. Being sheltered like this hasn’t taught him a thing about being friendly to strangers.  

But he’s not my problem.  

Neither of them are. 

READER 

It’s an hour after exchanging names that I invite Ellie into the cabin to use the bathroom. There’s no running water out here, just buckets of water collected from the creek out back that I’ve boiled on the wood-burning stove. Whoever owned this cabin in the days of old made a wise choice at keeping all the appliances ancient and manual. It was one of the many reasons Kit and I settled here to begin with. That and the cold weather that keeps stragglers from venturing this far north during the autumn and winter months.  

Her guardian—Joel—has chosen to remain close by as she uses the bathroom, lingering on the porch in the cold rather than sit in the old shed. I get it. He doesn’t trust me, and even though I’d never harm that kid without a good reason to, it’s a smart move on his part.  

Trust is a fragile thing these days. It’s something I’ve only ever given to one person. Something I’ve only ever received from two.  

“You hungry?” I ask, stepping out onto the porch with a bowl of steaming stew in hand. It’s not anything to write home about in terms of flavor and quality of ingredients, but it’s hot and it’s enough to fill a stomach. These days, that’s about as much as anyone can ask for.  

Joel tilts his head towards me, his brows furrowed as his eyes drift from mine to the bowl in my hand. There’s flecks of snow laying gently on top of his brown and grey curls, at the tips of his eyelashes. Clearly, he doesn’t want to accept the food, but with him out here turning into Jack Frost, there’s no way I’m backing down. “Listen, you don’t have to eat it, but I’m going to leave it out here with you in case you change your mind. When Ellie comes out, there’s food waiting for her, too.” 

“You put anything in it?” he asks, hesitating before lifting his hand to take the bowl from mine.  

“Running low on poison these days,” I say dryly, earning another one of those unreadable, unamused looks of his. I can’t say my face tells any different of a story. “Look, believe me or not, I didn’t poison the damn food. Just trying to do the decent thing here.” 

He sets the bowl down beside him and turns to face me a bit more, his jaw ticking as he studies me like an opponent. “I appreciate all that you’re doin’, lettin’ us stay here and all, but let’s not get this twisted. We’ve both got people to protect. I’m not takin’ any chances with mine, and I trust you’re not takin’ any with yours. Let’s just agree to take care of our own and leave all this other shit out of it.” 

Okay, asshole.  

“It was a bowl of soup, not my fucking hand in marriage,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “But you don’t want decency, that’s fine. I’m still going to offer what I can to Ellie because she’s a kid and deserves to be shown some decency.” 

“She’s fine.“ 

“She’s capable of telling me to fuck off just like you have,” I counter as I lean down and scoop the bowl off the porch. “Hope that pride keeps you warm and full tonight. Dick.” 

JOEL 

I might’ve been a little harsh earlier, but something about the way she was looking at me set me off. It looked too much like pity, maybe even judgement. She probably thinks I’m some reckless, negligent guardian who can’t take care of a kid. To be fair, I might be. But I’ll be damned if I let this woman I don’t know judge me and treat me like some charity case when Ellie and I are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves.  

It’s just this fucking storm rolling in that had us out here seeking shelter. The minute this blizzard rolls through and skies clear up a bit, we’re gone. And the less of a debt we owe, the better.  

Though I turned my nose up at the hot stew I was offered—a decision my stomach is angry at me for—I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to take a warm bath. Even if it was creek water. Even if the water only made it up to my hips. Warmth is warmth, and my aching bones have needed it more than I realized.  

Dragging a wash cloth over my arms, I marvel at the amount of dirt and grime I’ve been wearing for however long it’s been. Twenty years ago, I’d be disgusted. These days, I’m surprised it’s not worse. Even in the QZ, people just got used to being dirty all the damn time. You washed the important bits—the bits you planned on giving others access to—but the rest often went neglected. After all, what’s the sense in scrubbing yourself clean every day when you’re just going to get caked in blood and sweat and mud and ash the next day?  

I was surprised to see that our host had a decent stockpile of bar soaps underneath the sink. The smuggler I used to be would’ve swiped a good chunk of it for myself, but those days are long in the past now. Besides, she’s got that kid of hers to worry about keeping clean. No sense in letting all that soap go to waste on a man who doesn’t even have access to clean water most of the time.  

Using the already used bar that sits on the ledge, I lather my body up and take in the scent of Irish Spring—something clean and artificial and nostalgic all at the same time. It makes me feel a bit more human. A bit less like an animal trained for survival.  

Surviving is all I’ve done, even when it was the last thing I meant to do.  

I find myself wondering about Tommy, about his survival. I wonder if he’s somewhere with Irish Spring and warm meals or if he’s gotten himself into trouble. I wonder if he’s even alive.  

God, I hope he is.  

A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts.  

“Dude, did you pass out in there? The kid needs to use the bathroom!” Ellie shouts, clearly disobeying my command to head back to the shed and wait for me. I sigh, using the last bit of water in the bucket to rinse myself off before pulling the plug out of the drain.  

It only take me a minute to dry off and get dressed into the spare set of clothes I have tucked into my pack. They’re not much cleaner, but it’s better than what I’ve been wearing for weeks now. Eventually, I’ll have to break down and wash them in some creek when the weather gets warmer, but we’re a long ways away from that.  

“Sorry,” I mutter as I step out of the bathroom, finding Ellie sitting on an old armchair in the tiny living room that doubles as the bedroom. In the corner, on an old queen mattress, sits our host and her son, but only Colt looks my way.  

“Have a nice bath?” he asks, friendly and surprisingly well articulated for his age.  

I grunt in response before turning to Ellie. “I told you to wait in the shed.” 

“I was offered food,” she says, feigning manners I know she doesn’t possess. “It would be rude to turn it down.” 

“You’d think,” our host mutters under her breath, just loud enough for my shitting hearing to catch it.  

“C’mon,” I say, snapping my fingers at Ellie.  

“Thank you for the bath and the food,” Ellie says, earning a polite nod and a small smile from our host. “Colt, it was nice talking dinosaurs with you.” 

“You too,” he says with a giggle, kicking his feet off the edge of the bed. “Bye Ellie. Bye Joel.” 

Once again, I don’t reply.  

“You could be a little nicer,” Ellie says, rolling her eyes as we walk through the snow to the shed. “She told me how you turned her food down. Big mistake, by the way. Shit was gooooood.” 

“Got food of my own,” I grumble.  

“Ah, yes. Cold, canned beans. So much better than hot stew.”  

“I’ll be fine,” I say, and it’s true. I’ve had less and worse to eat in the last twenty years.  

“Just saying,” she says as we nestle ourselves into the small shed. I’m quick to get the furnace reignited, my hair too wet to be out in this cold for much longer. “She’s nice, Colt’s cool. Maybe you play your cards right and you’ll have a girlfriend and a stepson to come back to after we’re done in Salt Lake.” 

“Very funny.” 

“Seriously! She’s hot in like a mom sort of way. Why not?” 

“I’m good,” I say, shaking my head as I sit down against the wall and bask in the warmth of the fire. “Not on the market.” 

“But if you were—“ 

“She’d still be twenty some odd years younger than me.” 

“Boring,” Ellie yawns, curling up on the floor with her backpack as a pillow. “Whatever. Just trying to set your depressed ass up for some happiness.”  

“Can you act like a normal kid for one second?” I ask, my voice groggy with sleep. “Set yourself up for some sleep.” 

“Fuck you,” she mumbles, already halfway gone.  

“Yeah, goodnight to you too, kid.” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I slept in which hasn't happened in ages.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The world lurches to a halt. Your eyes flick open and you take in the white brick of the city station before you. Your shoulder is against the train window, your head slumped, and you are stolidly warm. You blink again and shift to sit straight. You look down at the tweed blazer draped across your front. 

“We’ve arrived,” Professor Smith declares as he fixes his glasses.  

“I... I’m sorry. I fell asleep,” you croak and gently push his jacket off, smoothing it then holding it out to him. The armrest between you has been flipped up. “Thank you, sir.” 

He grunts, likely at the use of the formal epithet. You just don’t feel right calling him by his name. He takes his blazer, “not at all. You needed the rest. I only thought you might be cold as they had the air on high.” 

“Thank you,” you repeat again. Things aren’t so different, are they? You’re still a burden. You still have nothing to give but take all you can get. 

“We will wait for the rush to pass,” he stays as he is as the other passengers rise and shrug into sweaters or jackets and take down their bags from compartments.  

You are in no hurry to go, you’re not quite sure what awaits you and the general public has always reminded you of your greatest insecurities. You see the women with their styled hair, winged liners, and sleek outfits. They are all put together meanwhile you feel as if you’re falling apart. 

Raymond stands only as the aisle clears and puts on his blazer. He brings down the bags and steps back for you to sidle out. You walk ahead of him gawkishly, unsure of where to go beyond the train. An attendant helps you onto the platform and you turn to look at your escort as he steps down coolly. 

“We’ll fetch a taxi to see us home. I’ll have you settled soon enough. I’m certain you cannot wait to be still.” He says. 

You nod and shrug, then offer another wilted ‘thank you.’ 

He guides you through the station and out the front doors. There’s a row of cabs waiting for the arrivals. He claims one and the driver helps in getting the luggage in the trunk. You don’t have much more than that duffel he took of your thrifted clothing. 

You cradle your injured hand as you pass through the city streets. It’s a beautiful place. Vibrant, huge, much more than the gray town you spent your life in. The curated hedges and bunches of petals, the endless business marquees and the arched park entrances put to shame all you know. It feels like a dream; the sort of fantasy only written or crafted onto film. 

Raymond is quiet, pensive as you peek over at him. His golden hair shines in the sunlight that peers through the window. He watches the windshield past the seat. Just look at him, you feel out of place. His refined attire, his straight posture, he is precise in every way. 

As the ride stretches on, you worry. The city thins as you reach the outer bounds and the sprawling greens are specked with large homesteads. The driver slows and pulls up a long drive, capped by a set of iron gates. The house behind the bars is a mansion and half. 

Raymond fiddles with his phone and the gates open on a motor. The driver pulls through and rolls all the way up before the front steps. You gape up at the immense modern castle. This is all his? This is beyond anything you’ve ever seen with your own eyes. 

The driver opens your door as Raymond lets himself out. You climb out and stand to the side awkwardly. You don’t belong in a place like this. 

The trunk snaps as your eyes cling to the grand facade. Raymond thanks the driver before the tires roll back toward the gate. He waits until the taxi is gone and then the gates whir shut. He steps up next to you with the bags in hand. 

“Go on,” he nudges you softly with his elbow. 

“This...” you pause and look at him. He’s older than you. And established. He must have a whole life aside from this disaster of a student he pities to the point of charity. “I don’t know. Your family... wouldn’t they be upset?” 

He looks at you keenly with his pale blue eyes, “it’s only me.” 

You frown and face the house again. Oh. You didn’t mean to presume, you just thought... 

“I’m sor--” 

“Ah,” he quiets you. “No more of that. I’m rather content in my solace. Now, you need settling. You’ve been through enough.” 

You grumble and nod. Your shame and self-pity keeps you speechless. He’s confusing to you. How can he not see how pathetic you are? Why is he doing all this? 

You ascend the steps next to him. He goes ahead of you only as you reach the doors and he pushes the left one inward, waving you through first. You enter, shoulders and head down, and stay on the mat as the polished floors gleam around you. 

You sway in horror. What must he have thought of your mother’s apartment? And he went into your room to fetch your clothing? Ugh, he must think you entirely helpless and disgusting. You cover your face without a thought. 

“Dear, are you unwell?” He asks as the bags drop on the bench heavily. 

“Um,” you part your fingers then peel them away. “No, I...” you chew your lip and put your arms at your side, “it’s a very pretty house. Big.” 

“Yes, so it is. Try not to get lost,” he snorts. “I’ll show you where you can hang your hat, in a manner of speaking, but first, shoes.” 

You look down at your sneakers. Right. You bend to untie the stained laces. The applique is falling away from the seams and the treads are streaked and scuffed with dirt. You wiggle them off and put them over on the tidy shoe rack. 

Raymond tucks his leather shoes away and scoops up the bags once more. You wait for him to guide you. He steps ahead of you and you trail him. 

“I’ll give you a brief lay of the land,” he proclaims as he leads you through an open square doorway. Beyond is a high-ceilinged room which could contain your mother’s entire apartment. “The den or sitting room, whatever you might call it. Feel welcome to spend your leisure here. I’m afraid I never use the telly much.”  

He stops as you peer around. You try not to show your awe but it’s all so fancy and sleek. The TV is mounted to the wall above a fireplace and the leather furniture is puckered and perfectly place, along with the wood and brass accoutrements that decorate the space. 

“The kitchen as well.” He herds you onward into the hall and down to the kitchen at the rear of the house. It is as refined as the rest of the house, vast even; so many cupboards, a large island, and all the appliances you could dream of. “Don’t hesitate to help yourself. I am rather fond of cooking so I don’t mind at all. Or if you would need some assistance with anything, I’ll be more than happy to help.” 

“Oh, thanks,” you fold your arm to your chest and wring your wrist with your other hand. 

“And should you require anything, I’m certain you will, you may simply let me know,” he says. “I assume you would like to be in one place for what’s left of the day. I cannot blame you. I am fatigued of the upending myself.” 

He takes you down the hall and back to the foyer. You follow him up the stairs that bend halfway and down another hallway that overlooks the entry over the banister. He stops at a door and nods. You sheepishly move to open it yourself as he keeps hold of the bags. 

You swing the door open gently and peek inside. You turn and reach for the bag, “I can--” 

“I’ve got it,” he insists and steps through. He lays the bag on the desk in the corner. “The maid comes daily. I will inform her to knock. This is you space.” 

“Oh,” you utter. 

“My room is further down, at the very end, should you need to find me, though I am more often in my office, between this door and mine,” he explains, “a loo across from you as well.” 

“Yes, sir,” you twiddle your fingers and look around. The room is amazing. The daylight beams through the sheer curtains and lights up the decor. Gold and ivory, brighter than the rustic tones of the first floor. 

“I will leave you to your own devices. I’ve smothered you, haven’t I?” He nears the door. “If you are up to it, I will be preparing dinner for six.” He checks his watch and clucks. “Do you prefer steak or chicken?” 

You wet your lips and stare at the doorway behind him. “Whatever you like, I'll eat... I could help--” 

“You will rest. Your hand needs healing. Your spirit too.” He girds. “There is a tub as well, and all you should need with it. Salts and the like.” 

“Thanks, um, I think I’ll just... rest.” 

“There’s the bookshelf as well,” he points. “Thought you mightn’t agree with my taste, help yourself to the selection.” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

“Very well, then,” he dips his chin and turns on his heel. 

He struts out and shuts the door in his stead. You stare at it. Dread curdles around you and makes you shudder. 

You shouldn’t feel worse, should you? But you do. He has such a nice life, a gorgeous house, a wonderful job. You don’t know why he should disturb it by inviting you in from the cold? 

Maybe he’s one of those people who uses those beneath him to build himself up. You’re a pet project for this man bored with his perfect existence. That must be it. After all, no man’s ever wanted anything from you but to make themselves feel big. 

You turn and cross the room. You stand at the window and gaze out at the lawn. Your eyes tinge with tears. You are still a slug. Still filth. You don’t want to stain his obsessively clean haven.  

Your legs wobble and you back away from the window. You stagger to the desk and sit in the swivelly chair. You lean your elbow on the desk and inhale with a quake. You hold your head as the memories swell in your head. 

Lee on top of you, hurting you, then all at once, chaos. Your mother, so helpless, so apathetic in her addiction, that she couldn’t do anything but squeal. He witnessed it all. 

How can he bear it? How can he be near dirt like you? The way he sanitizes everything around him, and himself. The intense attention to detail and spite for those out of order. You can’t live up to all that. You’re going to cross a line sooner or later and then what happens? 

You have no way home. He brought you here, on his dime. Now you owe him. As you always owed your mother just for being born, for being useless, a loser. That’s what Lee said and he wasn’t the first to do so. 

You shakily wipe under your eyes with your knuckle. You’re lost. You’ve always been, but right now, you are off in a desolate land. 

He might mean well. He might be honest, but that doesn’t make you feel any less a burden. That doesn’t take away the taint you’ve always carried. There’s no place for you in this world. Trying to find it, trying to better yourself, that proved it to you. You failed again and no matter what he believes or does, you’ll fail him too. 

You fail at whatever he expects of you. What that is, is a mystery. He’s seen what you are. Where you come from. You hide your face behind your hand and gulp as you think about it. 

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 14 : Between the Stars

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 5.7k

Chapter 14/18

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: This is a span of a couple days in their lives.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

You're sitting in the hair and makeup chair with Cece, your stylist, and a lifelong friend, and you’re kind of nervous. You thought you could handle things like this. After all, you’ve been around Hollywood’s elite for most of your life. You’re a decent performer, a great publicist, and you’ve always been good at working a room. Public speaking? No problem. Memorizing a script or delivering a speech? Easy. You’d probably do well at the whole celebrity thing. So, why does this have you on edge?

This press run has been something out of a dream—an opportunity for which you’re genuinely grateful. But still, your nerves buzz under your skin. You’d had a taste of fame before, back when you won that Grammy for songwriting, but this? This feels different. Your frontal lobe’s fully developed now. You’re painfully aware of every word, every glance, every judgment. And this time, the spotlight isn’t on your work. It’s on you—and something as personal as your relationship.

You try to focus as Cece chats about some new trend on a social media app you’re not even on. Her hands move precisely, sectioning your hair while Cole, your makeup artist, preps your skin. The two of them work in sync, and you feel utterly pampered. Every brushstroke and spritz is meant to make you shine. But even under their care, the knot in your stomach doesn’t unravel.

You smile at Cece’s story, pretending to keep up, but your mind wanders. You remind yourself you’re here for a reason.

Promote the single. Promote Velvet Rebellion's new album.

******

The softly lit studio is quiet and intimate. The setup is personal— a solid background, two chairs angled toward each other, and a table between them. Natasha is already sitting, effortlessly poised. She leaned back in her chair, the picture of laid-back confidence. Her faded red Rolling Stones shirt peeked out from under a well-loved leather jacket, paired with black jeans that clung just right and boots that had seen some stories. Everything about her was effortless, cool, and completely her. You couldn't hide your approval of the outfit as you complimented her.

"You look so good, baby," you cooed. "I love the leather."

She smiled at the compliment and watched as you sat down.

"Thank you," she said. "And you," she continued, "You look like a fucking dream. As always."

You wore a fitted button-down with rolled sleeves and wide-leg pants. There was just enough cleavage to be tempting, but it was the way the shirt hugged your curves and the pants draped around your ass that had her eyes glued to you.

"You know, we need to go shopping together more often," you said, "If you're going to show up looking this good."

"Well, it's not like you don't look good in everything." She paused for a moment.

"You're such a charmer," You laughed. "Shall we get into this whole interview thing?"

Natasha smirked, "Let's. Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

"Oh, you should start." You said. "Since you're the famous one."

Natasha let out a laugh, "Alright, famous one it is. " She shuffled her cards around. "Can your partner cook? What's their favorite dish?"

"Hmm, it's a little debatable whether or not you can cook yet," you answered. "You have some potential, but I don't think you've mastered anything."

"I'm getting there."

"Well, you've gotten a lot better. Anyway, your favorite is mac and cheese. Kraft, to be specific."

"It's comfort food."

"Yes, yes. I know," You looked at the camera. "She's lectured me on it a few times since I don't consider it a meal."

"And she's wrong," Nat said.

"Let's move on," You grinned. "What's their favorite TV show?" You took a moment to think. "Hmm, I think Natasha loves The Nanny. That's a classic, and we watch it together some nights. Right now, she's binging Sons of Anarchy."

"And what's yours?"

"Ooh, I'm a little embarrassed to say it. Mine's Pretty Little Liars. I know, I know. It's a bit juvenile, but there's no shame in guilty pleasure shows."

Natasha smiled, "I've seen an episode or two. Not my thing, but I can appreciate a good plot line."

"I guess the next question is," Nat continued. "Who's more likely to be late?"

"Natasha is."

"And Y/n is." She countered.

"Okay, okay. Maybe we're both a little late sometimes," You said. "Ohh, this is a deep one. How's your partner's relationship with their siblings? I guess we can answer for each other."

"You talk to your brother at least once a week, and I know you miss him," She tilted her head. "Your sister, you're quite close to her, too. I haven't met either of them yet, as they're both on opposite ends of the world."

"Yes, Chandra is in New York being her hot fashion model self," you nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Michael is somewhere in Europe right now with his wife and kids. They're travelers. Natasha's pretty close to her little sister, too. I think we both have pretty solid family units."

"Next question," Natasha said, glancing down at her cue card with a playful smirk. "Favorite quality about your partner. This one's easy for me. Y/n is incredibly supportive and nurturing. She's also a little badass. It's a sexy combination. I love that she can go from a power suit and killer heels to leggings and a messy bun in minutes and still be the same beautiful, confident, and powerful person. When we got together, I was attracted to her confidence and brains. She's still the same person she was when we first met—no Hollywood surprises with her."

"Wow, Tash," you said with a smile that softened your entire face. "You're too sweet. I don’t know how you do it, but somehow, you always make me melt." You paused, glancing at Natasha with a quiet reverence. "For me, Natasha is kind. And I don’t just mean she’s a nice person. There are perceptions you have when dating someone of status—whether they're a musician, athlete, or executive. Natasha is not only kind and considerate, but she’s humble. She’s real. What I love most about her is how she makes me feel safe. Not just physically safe but emotionally. I know I can tell her anything, and she won’t judge me or hurt me. She’ll always be honest with me. I think that’s why her music resonates so much. Especially our single, Obvious."

The perfect tie-in to the song—a natural choice and one that felt authentic coming from you. It left Natasha glowing, her smile stretching just a little wider.

"You're making me blush," She teased.

"I'm not even done yet," You smiled. "Natasha is smart. She is not just book-smart; she has a way of reading people that I find fascinating. And she's thoughtful. She thinks about the little things—like getting me a drink or bringing me my favorite candy after a long day at work. Or leave me a little note with my coffee in the morning."

Natasha looked bashful for a moment.

"You're one to talk," she said. "Y/n is... she's everything."

She reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing gently.

"I can't believe I'm so lucky to call her mine."

You gave her a wistful smile. "This whole interview is going to be a love fest."

"I don't mind," Nat grinned. “I’m sure the fans won’t either.”

"Me neither." You shuffled your cards. "I don't remember whose turn it is. What are your significant other's vices?"

"Oh boy," Natasha said. "She has a lot."

"I do not!"

"Okay, you don't. But let's see if we're talking about the good ones. She'll eat any sweets. Any. I'm surprised her teeth aren't rotten by now. And she can drink anyone under the table, no matter how hard they try."

"I've seen her get through an entire bottle of vodka and still sing the entirety of 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' perfectly," you said.

"Y/n doesn't have many bad habits. But, if I had to pick one, I'd say she likes to sleep in."

"I'd argue with that, but that's not a vice," You said. "My biggest vice is staying up too late. And sleeping in," You admitted, earning a laugh from Natasha.

"It's a miracle we get any sleep together," Natasha quipped.

"Alright, alright," You chuckled. "Favorite feature about your partner?"

"Oh, this is the one that made me pick these cards," She grinned.

"Is that so?"

"It is," Nat confirmed. "I don't know if I can pick a favorite. But if I had to choose, I'd say her smile. It lights up the room."

You were smiling, but not as wide as when she'd answered the question.

"That's sweet," You sighed. "I thought you were going to say my ass."

"I can't not say it, babe," Natasha said. "Your ass is... wow. It's a work of art."

"Well, I'll take that," You laughed.

"What's mine?" She asked.

"Easy," You replied. "Your eyes."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. They're so expressive. Like, I can tell how you're feeling without even hearing you. And they're so green."

"That's the second time today you've made me blush," Natasha said with a small, sheepish smile, brushing a thumb over the edge of her cue card.

"Oh, there's a lot more where that came from," you teased, grinning as you shifted slightly in your seat. "We're only halfway through this interview."

"I'm not complaining," Natasha replied, the corners of her lips quirking up. She glanced down at the next question. "Next question. What is something your partner does that drives you crazy?"

"You know, it's funny," you started, tilting your head as you thought about it. "Natasha is so quiet at home. She's like a little cat that sneaks up on you. In another life, she could be a spy or something."

Natasha's laugh was warm and unguarded. "You know I've had a few offers."

"No kidding."

"No, seriously," she said, leaning forward slightly, her tone suddenly playful but sincere. "A few of my friends in the business have suggested it. But that's not something I'd do."

"Why not?" you asked, curiosity lighting up your face.

"Because I wouldn’t want to keep secrets," Natasha explained, her voice softening. "From you. From my family. Friends. I'm a pretty open book."

"Yeah, that's understandable."

The rest of the interview went smoothly, with questions and answers flowing easily. It was fun, and it was comfortable. By the time you finished, you felt more confident and at ease.

When the cameras stopped rolling and the lights were turned off, you stood, smoothing your shirt before contacting Natasha.

"Good job, babe," You said.

"You, too."

She hugged you, wrapping her arms around you and pressing her lips against your temple.

"Thank you," she murmured.

You closed your eyes and breathed in her scent, letting it wash over you, calming the butterflies in your stomach.

"What do you think?"

"I think we did well," Natasha replied.

"So, I did okay? My public speaking skills haven't gone completely out the window?"

"I was worried about nothing," Natasha said, a gentle chuckle escaping her.

"Oh, shut up," You rolled your eyes.

"I mean it. You did great."

"Thanks, Tash."

She smiled and leaned in to kiss you. You responded immediately, your lips parting slightly, letting her taste their sweetness.

"Hey," she murmured. "Let's get out of here. I want to spend some alone time with my girl."

You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips, and you squeezed her hand.

"That sounds perfect."

"Not so fast, you two," Mitch stopped the both of you. "I still have a few TikTok posts that our social media manager wants to do."

"Seriously?"

"Sorry, it's not that bad," Mitch said. "You know the drill, Natasha. Let's get this over with. Then, you can go home and enjoy the rest of your night."

"Alright," Natasha agreed. "I'm going to have a drink after this," She said, pulling out her phone. "Let's do this."

Back in the dressing room is where the magic began.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely, as Natasha rolled her eyes with good-natured exasperation. Mitch handed her the phone, already queued up with the latest TikTok trend featuring one of the songs from Velvet Rebellion's album.

"This one’s easy," Ellisa, the social media manager for Velvet Rebellion, said, demonstrating a quick series of gestures. Natasha raised a skeptical brow at Mitch, watching the screen like she was analyzing a mission briefing.

"I feel like I’m too old for this," she muttered, passing the phone back to Elissa.

"You’re not old, Tash," you teased. "You’re seasoned. There’s a difference."

She shot you a mock glare, but the slight smirk on her lips gave her away. "Careful, or you’ll be joining me in this dance."

You laughed and held up your hands. "No way. I’m just here for moral support—and to thoroughly enjoy watching you do this."

Natasha sighed dramatically but started moving, mimicking the dance as best she could. Her moves were precise but slightly stiff, her usual grace overshadowed by the awkward rhythm of trying to keep up with a trend meant for teenagers.

"Is this even right?" she asked, glancing at Mitch.

"Close enough," Mitch replied, barely holding back a laugh.

You couldn’t help it; you started giggling; the sight of Natasha—usually so calm and composed—fumbling through exaggerated arm movements and head bobs was pure gold.

"Stop laughing!" she said, her voice laced with amusement as she paused mid-dance to point at you.

"I can’t help it! You’re just… too serious about it."

She cracked then, laughing along with you. "I’m serious because I don’t want this to haunt me on the internet forever."

"Trust me, no one’s going to be laughing at you," you said, still smiling. "Except maybe me. Forever."

Natasha finally finished the dance, breathing a relieved "Thank God" as Mitch nodded in approval.

"Perfect. That’s a wrap," Mitch said, pocketing the phone.

Natasha walked over to you, shaking her head. "You enjoyed that way too much."

"Every second of it," you admitted, still grinning. "But you looked adorable."

"Adorable wasn’t the vibe I was going for," she said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Well, too bad. It suits you."

*********

A simple coffee run wasn’t simple. Not when you were Natasha Romanoff. Even something as mundane as picking up her favorite drink from the shop down the street turned into an event. Cameras clicked. Voices called out. There was no privacy, no room for messy buns or sweatpants. Not when every step outside was under public scrutiny.

Natasha walked out of the little café with a drink carrier in one hand; her leather jacket pulled snugly against the chill. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes, but you could tell by the slight furrow in her brow that the swarm of paparazzi wasn’t something she could just shrug off today.

You stayed close, matching her pace, your hands tucked into your jacket pockets. Talking wasn’t an option. Not with the cameras so close, their lenses hovering like vultures. Still, the brush of her shoulder against yours was enough.

"Natasha! Over here!" One of them shouted, their voice cutting through the air. She didn’t turn.

Another chimed in, louder, more deliberate. "Natasha, how do you feel about Carol being out of rehab? Are you going to visit her?"

Natasha's jaw ticked, and you immediately knew it was a sore subject. You lead her over to her car, opening the door for her letting her duck inside while you tossed her things into the back seat.

You ignored them, keeping your focus on Natasha.

"They really can't help themselves, can they?" She muttered as you slid into the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on the window.

"No," You replied. "But you don't have to talk to them."

She let out a dry laugh, the sound hollow and bitter.

"Yeah, I know."

She took a long sip of her iced coffee to calm her nerves. Natasha shifted into drive, her jaw tightening slightly as she carefully maneuvered out of the café parking lot, avoiding one particularly bold photographer who refused to move out of the way.

You watched her grip the wheel a little tighter than necessary. "Tash," you said gently, glancing at the phone lighting up on the console. "Your phone’s ringing. It’s your mom."

She sighed, hitting the button to connect the call through the car’s speakers. Melina Vostokoff's familiar voice filled the car almost immediately.

"Too busy for your mother, I see," Melina teased.

"No, of course not, Ma," Natasha replied, shaking her head even though Melina couldn’t see her. "My schedule’s pretty clear for the next couple of days. We just have a couple more rehearsals later this week."

"Good, good," Melina said, and you could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind. "I’m calling because I wanted to ask about your new girlfriend. You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone!"

Natasha visibly stiffened, her eyes flicking to you for a split second before returning to the road. Meanwhile, you tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh, biting your lip as Melina’s voice continued, full of motherly curiosity.

"So, what does she do? Is she nice? Where did you meet her? Does she like borscht?" Melina fired off the questions with practiced ease, leaving no room for Natasha to respond.

You raised an eyebrow at Natasha, silently daring her to answer. Natasha sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Ma, slow down," she said, exasperation laced with affection. "She’s—"

"Does she cook? Does she get along with you-know-who? Does she have any bad habits I should know about? Natasha, you know I need to approve!"

That did it. You couldn’t hold back the laugh bubbling up in your chest, which slipped out before you could stop it. Melina, of course, didn’t miss it.

"Who’s laughing? Natasha, are you with her right now?"

Natasha sighed again, with a resigned smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, Ma," she admitted, glancing at you as you tried to compose yourself. "She’s right here. Sitting next to me."

Melina paused for half a beat before exclaiming, "Natasha! Why didn’t you say so sooner? Let me talk to her!"

Natasha groaned, leaning her head back against the seat for a moment. "Here we go," she muttered under her breath, shooting you an amused yet apologetic look.

You grinned, leaning closer to the speaker. "Hi, Melina. It’s nice to meet you... well, kind of."

"Ah, so this is the mysterious girlfriend," Melina said, her tone instantly warmer. "I have so many questions for you!"

"Okay, Ma, go easy on her," Natasha warned.

"Nonsense," Melina scoffed. "If I have questions, I want answers. Now, Y/n, tell me, where are you from?"

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the interrogation. "I was born and raised in Sherman Oaks, Los Angeles. Though I lived in Paris for a few years in middle school."

"Oh, wow, Paris," Melina said, sounding impressed. "How lovely. Did you live in the city, or were you more in the suburbs?"

"The city," you replied. "It was quite a change from L.A."

"And your family? Where did they go to school?"

"My parents both attended UCLA," You answered. "And my sister and I graduated from USC."

"Ah, a Bruin," Melina hummed, clearly pleased. "Very impressive."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Please, call me Melina," she insisted. "Or Ma, like my daughter does. Do you have any children?"

"Yes, I do, one she recently turned 10," you replied.

"Ten years old?" Melina mused. "So, she's probably in school now, yes?"

"Yeah, she is."

"I've done some research on you," Melina said. "So I've known most of those answers."

"Really, Ma?"

"You'd be surprised by the things I can find out about people, Natasha," Melina replied, a hint of a smirk in her voice.

"I don't doubt that," You chuckled.

"Natasha has a tour stop where I'm living currently," Melina said excitedly. "Hopefully, you will be over soon. And you will bring the child, yes?"

"If my schedule allows," you promised.

"You’ll make it work," Melina said with certainty. "I’ll even cook. Natasha can tell you I make the best borscht."

Natasha groaned softly, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. "Ma, don’t scare her off."

"Oh, please," Melina replied. "She doesn’t seem easily scared. I like her already."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest as Melina’s approval seemed to settle between the three of you. Natasha glanced at you, her gaze softening momentarily before she refocused on the road.

"Well, it’s settled then," Melina added. "You’ll come, and we’ll have a proper family dinner."

"I’ll hold you to that," you replied with a grin.

******

Watching a movie in the middle of the day started harmless enough.

After a morning full of errands and lunch with your friends, you had returned home and decided to spend the rest of the day curled up on the couch. It was supposed to be a quiet, relaxing afternoon, but having Natasha so close did things to you. This time, you were the big spoon, lying behind her with your hand on her belly. The shared body heat made her warm, and it wasn't long before she'd pressed her ass into you. She could probably later say it was innocent. She was only trying to get settled. Your breasts pressed into her back was also an accident. She wasn't trying to rub her ass all over you. But the little sighs that were coming from her mouth were unmistakable.

"You okay?" You murmured in her ear, nipping at the lobe.

"Hmmmm," Natasha hummed, leaning back into you.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked, sliding your hand underneath her shirt, your fingers drawing patterns across the skin of her belly.

"Nothing, just nice having you here," She said. "We never spend time at my apartment."

"You're right," You agreed, pressing your lips against her temple. "It's nice."

Natasha tilted her head back, seeking your mouth. She sighed, the sound muffled as you kissed her, your hand traveling up her ribs. You were so tempted to slide your fingers higher, cup her breast in your hand, and feel the weight of her, but you knew that if you did, it would escalate quickly. And you didn't want to be caught up in the throes of passion, naked and writhing against each other on the couch with no warning.

"I like this," You whispered, your fingers tracing the underside of her breast.

"Me, too," She murmured. She seemed to not play into your games, only offering you a bit of leverage to lift her bra underneath her hoodie. Her eyes closed, and her breathing became heavier, her nipple hardening under your touch.

"You're so responsive," You mused, tweaking her nipple. "It's like you're just waiting for someone to touch you."

"Not someone," She replied, her voice low and thick with desire. "Just you."

Her hips moved again, a slow grind as she sought more friction. This felt like the perfect moment to get her hot and bothered. Both of you were fully clothed, and there was no pressure to have sex—just a bit of fun.

"You're such a tease," You chided, twisting her nipple. She bit back a moan, her eyes opening for a moment.

"So are you," She countered.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked again, sliding your fingers to her other breast.

"About what you're doing to me."

"And what am I doing to you?"

"You're getting me all worked up and then not going to do anything about it."

"Oh, I plan to do something about it," You nodded. Your hands trailed down from her belly, and you pressed your knee between her thighs to give you space. You could feel her wetness seeping through her leggings, and it was enough to make your core clench.

"Is that so?" She gasped, arching her back. You kissed whatever part of her body you could find as you rubbed her through her pants.

"Do you like when I do this?" You asked, pushing harder into her.

"Yessss," She hissed, her hips rising.

"Does this turn you on, Tash? Having me fingerfuck you while fully clothed?"

"Shit," She breathed out. "Yes."

"Yeah, me, too."

The material was thick, but you could still feel her body heat, her arousal seeping through. You found a steady rhythm, rocking against her as your fingers pressed against her clit.

"Fuck, that's good," She sighed.

"You're so wet," You marveled. "All from this."

"God, you have no idea," She whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as you kept going, her hips rolling with your movements. "It's so fucking hot." For the next few minutes, there was silence from both of you—the occasional moan from Natasha and groaning on the couch with your movements.

"I want to see how wet you are," You finally spoke, moving the elastic of her leggings. She didn't protest as you pushed them down, leaving her underwear in place. Her legs parted just enough for you to dip your fingers underneath the cotton and into her slick folds.

"Jesus, Tash," You breathed out.

"Don't stop," She begged. "Please."

"I've got you, baby," You promised, finding her clit. You stroked her, keeping her on edge, the wetness coating your fingers. She was practically dripping now.

"I want you to come," You whispered. "Come on my fingers, Tash."

Your words were her undoing. Her body shuddered, her mouth falling open as her orgasm rushed through her.

"Holy shit," She breathed, her voice hoarse and shaky.

"Was it good?" You asked, kissing her jaw.

"So fucking good," She nodded. "God, you're amazing."

"Glad I could help."

She smiled and turned her head to kiss you. "I think I need to repay the favor."

"I would love that," You said. Her kiss was slow and deep, her tongue sliding against yours as her hand snaked behind your head. "I can't believe I get to call you mine." You whispered against her lips.

"Me either," She grinned.

You were about to tell her how lucky you were when the sound of a door opening caused both of you to jump.

"Hey, guys," Wanda called out, strolling into the room with a teasing grin.

You scrambled to help Natasha tug her leggings up, your hands moving as quickly as possible. "Hi," you answered, trying your best to look innocent, even though the heat in your cheeks said otherwise.

"Sorry," Wanda said, holding up a couple of grocery bags as if to explain her presence. "I'm leaving again. Just stopped by to drop these off."

"Okay," Natasha replied, her voice a little too casual as she fought to keep her expression neutral. "Have a good time."

"I will," Wanda said with a smirk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced between the two of you.

"We're not doing anything," you blurted, raising your hands to prove your innocence.

Wanda’s smirk widened. "Right. Well, don't have too much fun while I'm gone." She gave a knowing look over her shoulder as she left the room.

"Shut up, Wanda," Natasha called after her, rolling her eyes as the door closing signaled her exit. Natasha exhaled heavily, leaning back against the couch. "I really need to think about getting my place soon."

"Or," you countered, raising an eyebrow at her, "you could possibly think about spending more time at my house."

Natasha tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Are you trying to tell me something, or is this just a clever way to avoid interruptions?"

"Maybe both," you teased, leaning in closer. "Think about it. We could have lots of privacy. Lots of time alone."

Natasha hummed thoughtfully, her lips hovering mere centimeters from yours. "I'm thinking about it."

"Yeah?" You grinned, your heart fluttering in your chest.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Though, how would Isabella feel? Or even Sam. With me being there so much."

"You're worried about how my ex-husband would feel with you moving into my house?" You raised a brow.

"Not necessarily," Natasha shrugged. "But I did mention Isabella coming on tour with us, and he wasn't open to the idea."

"You told him about that?"

"At her party," Natasha said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Of course you did," you groaned, leaning back against the couch. "Nat, I love that you feel comfortable with him, but don’t tell him things before I’m ready."

"I thought you had, honestly," Natasha admitted, sitting up straighter.

"No, I hadn’t," you said firmly. "I wanted to talk to him about it first. Regarding Bella, we have a great agreement—50/50 custody, as you know. It works for us, but Sam can play hardball too."

"I know, baby," Natasha said softly, her hand reaching for yours. "I’m sorry."

"It’s fine," you exhaled deeply, the tension easing. "It’s just...a lot is changing. He hasn’t mentioned it to me yet, so at least he’s not against it, which is good. He’s chill. It’ll be a great conversation. And honestly, it’s football season—he’ll be working a lot. That’ll give me more time with her anyway."

Natasha squeezed your hand gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You’re right. And if it makes it easier for you, I’ll stay out of it. You take the lead with Sam."

"Thank you," you said, offering her a small smile. "I know you meant well. We’ll figure it out."

"We always do," Natasha replied, kissing your temple. "And hey, I promise to run things by you first from now on."

"Good," you teased, your smile widening. "Now, let’s talk about how you’ll make up for it."

Natasha grinned, leaning closer. "I’ve got a few ideas..."

********

The small bistro was quiet, the kind of place with soft jazz playing overhead and just enough tables to feel intimate. When you walked in, the faint clinking of silverware and the smell of fresh herbs greeted you. You scanned the room, noting how empty it was—a relief. This was the kind of conversation you didn’t want to be overheard.

Your eyes landed on Sam, seated near the window. He leaned back in his chair, an easy grin on his face as he chatted with a waitress. She laughed at something he said, her cheeks slightly pink as she poured more water into his glass. If you looked closely, she resembled you. Sam had a type.

You sighed and walked over, the heels of your shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor.

"Sam," you said, your voice cutting through their conversation.

He looked up, startled for a moment before his signature smile returned. "Hey! There she is."

The waitress stepped back, offering a polite nod. "Let me know if you need anything else," she said before disappearing behind the counter.

"Flirting already?" you teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

He shrugged, unbothered. "What can I say? She’s cute. Plus, it’s not like I’m the married one here anymore."

"You never could stop the wandering eye," you quipped, leaning back in your chair.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I wasn’t the one with the side piece, though, was I—"

"No," You rolled your eyes. "you never had problems watching either.'

He held up his hands in surrender, clearly enjoying himself. "Fair point."

"I can't believe you're the one who picked this place," you mused, glancing around the small cafe. "A little too romantic, don't you think?"

"What?" Sam chuckled. "You know I like good food."

"Of course," you replied dryly. "I want to talk about bringing Isabella on tour with me for a few weeks."

His smirk faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly, leaning back in his chair. "Bringing her on tour? For a couple of weeks? Yeah, your girlfriend told me about it."

"Yes," you nodded, watching him closely. "I think it could be good for her. She’s curious about what I do, and it’d be a great opportunity for us to spend more time together. Plus, she’d get to experience something different."

Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "It’s not that I’m against it, but are you sure it’s the best environment for her? I mean, all that traveling, the schedule, being around... well, Natasha."

You crossed your arms, not missing the way he hesitated. "Natasha is part of my life now, Sam. You know that."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "It's just when you fall in love with women, you fall pretty hard."

"And you don't think this is something different?"

"Honestly, I don't know," He said. "It's not my place to judge. My only worry is that Isabella won't be influenced by being with adults the entire time."

"That's why she'll be there, with me, her mother, for support," You argued. "I understand your hesitance, but I'm asking as a courtesy."

"A courtesy to me?" He frowned. "This isn't just about her coming along. This is about bringing people into her life with a reputation for being party animals. You can't blame me for questioning that. I'm not questioning your judgment. I'm judging theirs."

"If I had any sliver of doubt that she'd be exposed to anything we don't want her to, I will bring her home," You promised.

Sam sighed, toying with the gold ring on his finger. He seemed to consider your words momentarily, his gaze flitting over your shoulder. Then, his expression softened, and he leaned forward. "I can see how important this is to you," he said.

"It is," you confirmed, meeting his eye.

"You're a great mom," he went on. "The best, honestly. You're a great person. I trust your judgment."

"Thanks, Sam," you smiled, a weight lifting from your chest.

"But," he added, "if she's exposed to any of the bad shit, you'll bring her home. No questions asked."

"Deal," you agreed, holding out your hand.

Sam shook your hand, his grip firm and warm. "Alright then. We'll see what we can work out."

"You're the best," you grinned, relieved.

"I know," he said, his smirk returning.

You shook your head, biting back a laugh.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Nap now book later

Barbie dolls: Moonwater x gn! Reader

Word: 1.3k

Summary: you’ve been studying too much so your boyfriends pull you from it and make you take a nap

Warnings: regulus has anxiety, uh, regulus gets bullied by the portraits, one singular joke Abt not trusting Peter take it or leave it, tiny mention of rosekiller sorry partyvan fans 💔, regulus has a really hard day, you study too much, possible meal skippage, supposed to be Abt finals but we're kinda pass that so just pretend, dude I think that's it

Remus wasn't exactly one to stress out about his partners’ whereabouts. They usually found their way to him or vice versa. Regulus was particularly elusive so it was more like chasing a puff of smoke than it was trying to find your lovely boyfriend. Remus found comfort in knowing that, if he truly needed to, he could just look at the map.

The simplicity of his day was lifting his lips into a soft smile. He woke up at an acceptable time, not interrupted but James' loud singing. Shockingly. He made it to breakfast and couldn't be happier with Regulus tucked into his side grumbling away about his day. Remus spent some time in the library, picking out new books. Now, he was resting under a large tree, starting one of his new books. He couldn't put his finger on the last time he felt this relaxed on a weekend. 

Regulus was the kind to stress out about his partners’ whereabouts. He worried they'd get into detention, or get into a fight, or trouble, get lost in the forest, drown in the Black Lake, or somehow find a sinkhole.

This morning wasn't so bad. He woke up with Barty in his bed, though Regulus had told Barty to sleep with Evan if he had a nightmare. Crouch wasn't the type to follow instructions it appears. Much worse Barty had been playing with Regulus' hair the whole night. Now his curls were all tangled and pulled.

After Regulus managed to make his hair look moderately acceptable he found his way downstairs to the Great Hall. He plopped next to Remus already complaining about the whole ordeal. How unfortunate it was, Regulus would have to cut Barty's fingers off. It was the only solution. Nothing else could solve this.

Then after breakfast, he tried to calm his nerves with a walk to the Lake but then all he could think about was where you were. You could be anywhere in the entire castle. You hadn't shown up for breakfast. He hadn't seen you anywhere really. Sure it was the weekend but you usually appeared by now. 

Thus, Regulus started frantically searching the castle for you. He whipped his head around every corner, startling a young third-year blossoming couple away from each other.

Regulus asked the portraits, getting nothing but a few of them calling him mean names. One of them made fun of his shoes and he thought of taking it off the wall and throwing it. Eventually after exhausting himself and raising his anxiety to extreme levels, he decided to find Remus and ask him. Regulus knew Remus’ schedule like the back of his hand. The other hand was dedicated to your schedule, of course. Regulus knew it was a weekend but Remus still had routines. Deciphering Remus' location was easy enough. So as soon as Regulus caught a glimpse of Remus' curls under the big tree in the courtyard, he started sprinting towards Remus. 

The loud crunching of leaves is what startled Remus from his book, looking up to find Regulus huffing and puffing right next to him. Remus jumped a little, shocked Regulus was so close already. Remus closed his book and let out a huff, gently reaching out for Regulus. He slid his hand behind Regulus’ calf, staring up at the crazed pale gray eyes. 

“Hello Baby, you alright?” Remus asked. Regulus quickly shook his head, his curls flying this way and that. Remus hummed, it was often Regulus struggled with his anxiety. Regulus let out another huff, finally catching his breath. 

“Do you have the map on you?” Regulus asked, still looking over his shoulders for you. Remus nodded. 

“It's not like I’m giving it to Peter. Can't trust him with his food around stuff like that. He'll get stains on it. Don't even get me started on Sirius.” Remus said, still massaging the back of Regulus’ calf. Regulus huffed and stuck his hands out. Remus took the sign for him to pull the map out already, leaning it over to his school bag. He dug through the contents before finally finding the map and holding it up. Regulus let out a sigh and flopped onto the ground next to Remus. Remus pointed his wand at the map and pulled it open. Luckily it was just cold enough for most students to stay inside. Remus saw a straggler wandering by the other side of the courtyard but they weren't close enough to see anything of importance. 

Regulus’ eyes scanned the map, searching for your name and footprints. Remus stared blankly at the map, not sure who exactly they were looking for. Like a flash of light, Regulus' hand jumped out a gasp flying past his lips. His finger slammed into the map, a crinkling sound following it. Remus looked at it, finding your name. He frowned as Regulus pushed himself off the ground, speed walking off towards the exit of the courtyard. 

Remus quickly followed after him, swinging his bag onto his shoulder and crumpling the map to his chest. Regulus swerved through the halls, bordering sprinting. Remus followed after him, trying to keep his pace but ultimately falling behind. Regulus swung open the Library doors, slipping in and forgetting his boyfriend behind him. Remus sighed and followed suit, pulling open the Library door. 

Remus quietly followed Regulus’ warpath, awkwardly waving at the librarian on the way in. She rolled her eyes and returned to pulling books from the return. Remus skipped ahead, turning the corner to find Regulus standing next to a form that looked quite familiar. Regulus found you. Studying. Still. If his memory serves him right, you left dinner early yesterday to get started. He guessed you probably got kicked out of the Library around curfew and came back to hit the books before breakfast. 

Of course, they both noticed you were studying a lot but they hadn't realized just how bad it was. A little studying was good, a nice few hours was even better, but almost full days? 

Your head was resting on your arm, over a page of review questions. Open books were scattered around you, and your quill was limp in your hand. Remus hated the mess showing off the frantic studying you were putting yourself through. Regulus probably felt similar, glancing over his shoulder to send Remus a look. Regulus dipped down, kissing your cheek and lightly shaking your shoulder. You pulled your head up slowly. Your eyes were still squinted, glancing around the Library to find whoever woke you up. 

“Hello, amour. How long have you been studying?” Regulus asked, rubbing the back of your neck. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms up as you yawned. Regulus hummed, trying to urge you to answer his question. You shook your head, rubbing the sleep from your face. You looked up to Regulus, furrowing your eyebrows. 

“How long have you been studying, darling?” Remus asked. You grimaced, scrunching up your nose. You sighed and looked down at the spread of books and pages on your table. 

“Um since this morning.” You answered, picking up your quill again. Regulus leaned forward, snatching the quill from your hand. You groaned, reaching for it. Regulus stuck his arm out towards Remus. Remus took the quill, hiding it behind his back. You rolled your eyes and looked back at your books. Remus joined Regulus at his side, keeping the quill away from you. 

“Have you taken any breaks today?” Regulus asked. Your eye darted at him from the side. You stayed silent, pretending like you didn’t hear him. That was plenty of an answer for Remus. Remus leaned forward, closing the book in front of you. You scoffed. 

“I need to study. I have to be ready for the tests.” You said, trying to open the book again. Remus pressed his palm into the cover of the book, making sure you couldn’t open it. You glared at Remus, deciding to pick another book. You opened a history one next to you. Regulus reached over and pulled the book from your hands. You let out a sigh and sat back. 

“Darling, you’re going to do fine. Don’t you know that? You’ve been studying for days. You need to take a break, my love.” Remus said. Regulus held onto your hands, tugging you up from the chair. You complained on the way up yet still let Regulus pull you. Remus pulled his wand from his bag, swishing it at your library table. You paused in your complaints to Regulus, watching the books and papers order themselves into a neat stack. The stack lifted itself from the table, floating to Remus’ side. 

“Let’s go take a nap, mon amour,” Regulus whispered. You furrowed your brows and rolled your eyes at him. Your hands were still trapped in his hold. Regulus dropped one of your hands. You intertwined your fingers with him as he pulled you forward towards the Library exit. Remus followed after you two, steering the stack of books with his wand. 

Regulus tucked you into bed, scooting in behind you. He cradled you in his arms, holding you tightly. Remus set your belongings down before joining you two. He saddled in on the other side of you, cupping your face and smacking a kiss on your forehead. He hoped it would travel through that thick skull of yours and calm your worried brain.  You hummed and leaned closer to him, slipping an arm around his waist. You pressed your cheek into his chest. Remus cooed, holding on to the back of your head. Regulus looked at Remus over your shoulder, giving him a proud, though small, smile. You were resting. Later they’d hide your books so you couldn’t study for the rest of the day. 

[shivayagojo]

ITALY GP, italian heritage

masterlist

avaflorence

Channeling my Italian heritage with these idiots so I can win in Imola.

tagged: charlesleclerc , oscarpiastri

see comments below

senatorbiff: Does this mean Leclerc adopted Ava too? 😲 ↳avaflorence: No, I'm Seb's daughter. ↳fernandoalonso: Excuse me? 🤨 ↳avaflorence: Sorry, you too, old man (but you're more like my grandpa)

fernandoalonso: If I don't win, I'm rooting for you to win. 👍 ↳tedestry: nothing to see here. just nando supporting his two kids (max and ava)

florence4ever: MAMA I need you to win. I wanna hear the Belgian anthem again. ↳funeralfrost: A Porsche win in Italy would be the ultimate last laugh

charlesleclerc: No pic credits? ↳oscarpiastri: You said were you going to fill the gas and you just took that picture. ↳charlesleclerc: It looked good, no? ↳avaflorence: Be lucky you even got tagged.

porschef1: @scuderiaferrari truce? ↳scuderiaferrari: 1-2 finish and a truce. ↳porschef1: Understood (as long as we win)

f1

We're backing racing in Imola and it's sure to be nothing but excitement.

see comments below

funeralfrost: Norris went from challenging to Norris to letting Max through ↳bmb: Bottling his second place just like his race starts 💀

alexin: Lewis and Ava both know the camera is on them. Just in different ways. ↳avafanpage: I saw a yt compilation of her chasing down the camera man for like five minutes

cobretti18: pls Max win and make this is a close battle 🙏 ↳d_silva: Ava's too far ahead for the dutch man ↳pie4july: Even if Max won, Ava would somehow still be on the podium.

bootsncats: How tf have we only had one Ferrari podium? ↳prex: That Hamilton signing looking real bad now 🤣 ↳teamLH: What do you know about the 8 time champion Sir Lewis Hamilton? ↳yugi: pls just hop off

swissgirlie: She's been on the podium every single race. Ava's going to win! ↳florence4ever: Manifesting a win for MAMA

WHAT IS QUALIFYING without a bit of struggle for Porsche? In Q1, Vettel barely was able to squeeze into the next session, being a tenth faster than Colapinto in 17th. The only glimmer of hope for Porsche was that Ferrari had found pace, and not the McLarens. Leclerc and Hamilton was climbing back into the heights of the top 3 after a disastrous start to their seasons. Now, the stage for Q3 was set. The drivers included: Hamilton, Leclerc, Verstappen, Piastri, Florence, Vettel, Russell, Norris, Antonelli, and Hulkenberg.

PIASTRI went out first. For the next three minutes, he was the quickest man on the timing sheets. Leclerc got the closest, but was still two tenths off the pole sitter. It was all smiles in the McLaren garage. Until their fretted nightmare came. Lewis Hamilton, a man who was written off that the beginning of the season, snatched pole position by a tenth of a second. Cheers erupted from the Ferrari pit crew. A pole position. The first of the season. This could be the beginning of the turnaround. For the next set of laps, no man could challenge that time. However, who dared challenged next was not a man.

"We ride on board with Ava Florence - her first lap in Q3. Hamilton on pole, Piastri second. Where is Florence is going to finish in the pecking order? Her teammate is in fifth. That could be a good indicator where she will land. Martin, let's see this lap, shall we?"

"She's just making her away around the final corner of her out lap. Open the DRS hatch and now we begin! The pit straight is anything but straight. A slight left bend for Turn 1, approaching the Tamburello Chicane. Sweep left, nice right, a bit further and left again. Accelerate the whole time. Beautiful exit out of Turn 4. Short straight and now we're at Villeneuve. Turn 5, flat out. And then drop a couple gears for Turn 6."

"My goodness. First sector, faster than anybody by three tenths. Amazing."

"Indeed as past Tosa she goes and uphill for Piratella. You need total bravery for this corner and total bravery she has. Brilliant speed carrying uphill. Now for Acque Minerali. Easy to go wrong here. Keep the throttle planted through the first right bend then on the brakes for the second. Be careful of the gravel and she is. A quick left kink, Turn 13. Then Alta - tight, technical, but fast right-to-left chicane..."

"And sorry to interrupt you there, Martin, but another fastest sector for Florence. At Rivazza, the double left handers. No lock up for her. She sails smoothly through and the final corner. She crosses the line. She goes... ALMOST HALF A SECOND! HALF A SECOND FASTER THAN LEWIS HAMILTON! And Fred Vessuer did not expect that at all. Neither did Hamilton, I'm sure. And this is another masterclass to add for what is surely shaping up to be a sensational rookie season."

HENRY And that is pole position, Ava! What a lap!

FLORENCE Haha! Yes! Finally!

"That's her second pole position of her career. Her first, Suzuka, Round 3. I'm sure she'll be delighted for this after many rounds of struggling in qualifying."

porschef1

Ferrari, you still up for the 1-2?

tagged: scuderiaferrari, avaflorence

see comments below

scuderiaferrari: We're up for negiotiations ↳@porschef1: Hamilton x Ava coming soon ↳acidtrip: Don't do this to me! Don't give me hope!

delulu: Whatever magic voodo Ava got in Italy, keep giving her more ↳chemical: Saint Leclerc has blessed another driver but himself

florence4ever: POLE POSITION! ↳gigi: Someone check up on Ferrari fans. They're dying ↳lulu: Nah, even Ferrari fans like me love her ↳coolblonde: Everybody is a Ava fan.

ance: A German team in an Italian nation. I've seen this before ↳distro: german engineering just better

IMOLA GRAND PRIX STARTING GRID

AVA FLORENCE

LEWIS HAMILTON

OSCAR PIASTRI

CHARLES LECLERC

MAX VERSTAPPEN

SEBASTIAN VETTEL

GEORGE RUSSELL

LANDO NORRIS

ANDREA KIMI ANTONELLI

NICO HULKENBERG

CARLOS SAINZ

FERNANDO ALONSO

GABRIEL BORTOLETO

LANCE STROLL

ALEXANDER ALBON

PIERRE GASLY

FRANCO COLAPINTO

ISACK HADJAR

ESTEBAN OCON

OLLIE BEARMAN

YUKI TSUNODA

LIAM LAWSON

"Imola, where Romans first settled, and where the gladiators have returned. Ava Florence, her second pole position of her career, will be looking forward to continue her tremendous season, but she's got the more experience Hamilton behind her. This afternoon, it's a 3.05 mile track and it is wet at the moment. We had some showers coming in before the race schedule. One DRS zone on the first straight of the track. 63 laps ahead of us, let's see what comes out of this race."

"Rain is always an unpredictable factor in Formula 1. We get so many exciting moments in the rain. This one is going to be no different. We've got most of the grid starting in Inters, except for the likes of the Audi of Hulkenberg and the Redbull of Lawson."

"Tire strategy is going to play a key role here as rain is expected to last for a good portion of the Grand Prix. But now, the cars line up at the end of the formation lap. It's Ava at the top of the pack, followed by Lewis Hamilton, Oscar Piastri, and Charles Leclerc. And now it's five lights.... AND IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO! Oscar got a good start on Hamilton, he's side-by-side already. Florence leading the pack. Down Turn 1 they go - OSCAR GOES PAST HAMILTON. Verstapen on Leclerc. AND OH AN AUDI GOES OFF THE TRACK!"

"It's Hulkenberg. Hulkenberg went off the track. And now that's giving Sainz the clear move on Antonelli. He pushes to the inside and he moves on ahead."

"Already, we've swapping positions. Piastri had that beautiful start on Hamilton. He's in second. He's going to try and pass Ava. Behind it's a rivalry we've been asking for. Leclerc and Verstappen. It's going to Verstappen on the outside of Tosa. Round they go on the hairpin, Leclerc just having that edge. Verstappen not giving up though. He's alongside his rear right wheel... Leclerc cuts him off at Turn 8."

"Exciting stuff we're seeing. A lot of drivers are failing to find grip on these wet conditions. As there goes Esteban Ocon on Isack Hadjar. He's in P18 now. Like I was saying, staying on the track is going to be the most important thing because there's a lot of gravel and- Oh, Norris spins out. Just like I said. You have keep on the track."

"Lando Norris stuck on the gravel pits. He's going to try and find a way out. We have yellow flags out and this is reminding me an awful lot like the race with 2021. And if you're Hamilton, you don't want it to be like 2021 Imola. As now, past Turn 19, they hit the pit straight. Hamilton has the slipstream. No DRS, but he doesn't need it. He pulls past Piastri. Hamilton back into P2."

LAP 3:

"What's this? This is Nico Hulkenberg coming into the pits. So, obviously, the wet tires did not work out for the Audi. The track just not wet enough for it. We're watching Bortoleto and Alonso. And that's not much of a competition there. Bortoleto gets past the Aston Martin."

"Hamilton has cut down the gap to Florence to just five tenths. So, he's going to get a good chance the next time they come down the pit straight. Oh what is this? Russell goes a little wide on Tosa so that's Lando Norris coming through. He's gained an easy position."

"Sorry to cut off there, Martin. I said it was going to be an easy position for Bortoleto. I lied. Alonso is coming back through Minerali. Alonso has the better line, and he's going to swoop past Bortoleto. So, that is the difference between a rookie and a 43 year old F1 veteran. Alonso makes it very easy to get back into P12. There's also Esteban Ocon. He gets past Colapinto in the same corner Alonso got past Bortoleto. So, Ocon, finding very good pace in these inters. He's not that far off from the leaders."

...

"We said it earlier. Hamilton less than a car length away from Florence. Still no DRS. The stewards don't think its safe enough to activate. But Hamilton doesn't care. He's popping down the inside of Turn 2. Side by side! And Florence is off the track. Oh she had to cut it! HAMILTON IS UP INTO THE LEAD! And it's not over! Florence struggling to get back onto the track! Piastri moves up int P2."

"They didn't make contact, but it looked like Hamilton had to force her wide and then she went off the track. We might need a replay to see what happened. But, yeah, Crofty. She had trouble getting it back and Piastri took that chance to swoop in."

FLORENCE The chicane is way too wet!

HENRY Understood, Ava. But we don't think it's ready for wets.

"So, it wasn't Hamilton. The track is just too wet for her stay on it. But apparently, not wet enough for wet weathers. If you're just joining us, Ava Florence, the pole sitter, the race leader is now sitting in third with Hamilton leading for the first time this season."

BEARMAN Why are the shifts not working?

"That's Ollie Bearman complaining about the gears on his steering wheel. Hopefully, that won't become a persistent problem later in the race."

LAP 15:

"It's revenge season for Ava Florence. She's been chasing down Oscar Piastri for 13 laps. Down the pit straight. Still no DRS, but this track is proving you don't need to overtake. Down the inside, she goes. Is she going to recreate the move Hamilton did on her? Piastri backs off, Ava moves up. She's into P2."

"I think Piastri knew the track was still too wet. He saw what happened with Ava. He was right behind her. So, he doesn't want that happening to him."

"Ava is now clear of Piastri. The gap to Hamilton: 4.5 seconds. And what's happening here? Contact between Lawson and Stroll! Lawson clips his front wing! He tried to swerve on the other side of Turn 1, but calculated it wrong. And Lawson is definitely going to have to pit. That is going add another bad omen to his already bad weekend."

LAP 16:

"Verstappen has been slowly gaining on Leclerc. Or shall I say, Leclerc seems to be losing some pace. He's getting slower and slower with every lap. Is his inters starting to lose some grip?"

"I think so. He's been spending a lot of time in the opening stages defending against Verstappen so that might have cost him as now Verstappen tries on the outside of Tosa again."

"This time, Leclerc does not have the exit speed he needed. Verstappen, oh so close, storms on ahead. Verstappen up into P4. After the last couple of rounds, he's moved up into P2 of the championship standing and now looks like the real front runner to challenge Florence, if there is any."

LAP 26:

"There's Vettel coming out of the pit lane. He's behind Lando Norris. A bit of a hit and miss weekend for Vettel. Not a strong qualifying, but finding some sort of pace to keep it running. And now we're going to past the chicane. And I think from what we've been seeing, the rain is increasing, so we might see some cars coming into the pitlanes for wet weather tires... And, yes, we do. It's Piastri coming into. So Verstappen is now third, but none of top three have stopped, and I'm pretty sure they will."

"Yeah, let's just look at this stop by McLaren. Mighty fast. Gets him in, gets him out. Just what Piastri needs because he certainly has the pace to fight for the win. The top three have all exchanged places this race."

"We ride on board with Sebastian Vettel and WOAH! THEY RUNS INTO THE SIDE OF LANDO NORRIS! THAT'S A BIG CRASH AND SURELY BOTH DRIVERS ARE OUT OF THIS RACE!"

"That looked dangerous there. Just how fast they came crashing into the wall. What happened? Let's see... so it looks like Vettel and Norris are side by side. So, Vettel is looking for the overtake and I think his rear wheel just clipped the grass and it caused him to spin. And that took it out Norris in the process as well."

VETTEL I'm sorry there guys. Hit the grass.

RUDI That's okay, Sebastian. Confirm you're okay.

VETTEL Yeah, I'm fine.

"And that's going to be heartbreak for Porsche and Mclaren. They two teams on top of the constructors championships. Luckily for them, their others drivers are running into the top ten."

"There's a safety car... No, the race has been red flagged. Red flags on the track so we're going to have to pause the race for a while as they clean up this mighty crash. Luckily, both drivers are okay."

"Ava, how's this race been for you so far. You started on pole, lost it to Hamilton and Piastri. Moved up and now you're second. What are you discussing with the team?"

Ava: We were just discussing what happened with Norris and Seb because I was just told on the it's yellow flag, No, it's safety car. No, it's red flag. Bring the car back. So, just looked at the accident and good thing everyone is okay. Obviously, not the greatest for us. Seb didn't have pace but he was running in the points. So, now it's a bit more pressure to put up a good result.

"You have Hamilton ahead, but you're going to benefit hugely from the restart. What are your plans for that?"

Ava: This does benefit us hugely. I don't have to worry about catching up with Hamilton, but I mean the rain is increasing and so I'm not sure if I'm going to have the straight line I need to take Hamilton on the restart.

"And we are back! The red flag is lifted, and it's going to be a standing restart! Hamilton leads the pack as they return to their grid positions, but don't forget, Florence has been relentless all weekend and now she's right behind him. This restart will be crucial. Can Ava capitalize on this opportunity? The rain is still falling, and the conditions aren't getting any easier. It's a slippery surface out there as the cars get ready for another battle. The lights are going out again—AND WE'RE OFF! Hamilton with a clean getaway, but Ava Florence is right on his tail. She's pushing, pushing hard down towards Turn 2, and OH, SHE'S THROUGH! A brilliant move from Florence! Hamilton tries to defend but she's already past him by Turn 3! And there it is—AVA FLORENCE BACK INTO THE LEAD!"

"What a start for Florence. You can see Hamilton already trying to fight back, but it's Florence who leads as they headed into Turn 3. Florence just has to build this gap and keep it steady. Hamilton is not going to let off easy."

"Piastri, Verstappen, and Leclerc all looking to take advantage of any slip-ups ahead. Verstappen is already eyeing up Piastri. He's looking to make a move into Turn 4, not quite! Long straight. Plenty of time to catch up. Ocon, making up lots of positions on the restart. He's up into the points. A brilliant race Ocon is having. So is Fernando. And now, Verstappen, on the outside of Tosa! Again, he gets the overtake done on Turn 7. Verstappen is in P3."

"Verstappen gets the traction out of the corner, and Piastri is forced to concede the position. And that corner has just been magical for Dutch driver."

LAP 30:

"Hamilton is not letting up. The gap is anything but large. He's right there behind Florence, just half a second separating them. I'm sure her engineer has told her, Hamilton is faster on the first sector. The one they're heading into right now. Verstappen, meanwhile, is hunting down Hamilton and has his sights set on that second place spot. Quite a while to go, bu this is heating up nicely."

"As we go through the tight corners of the chicane, Hamilton is a little faster through there, but Florence's consistency on the brakes is keeping him at bay."

"You can feel the tension building between these two—it's like they're waiting for the other to make a mistake. And here we go again into Turn 2—OH, HAMILTON SLIDES! He loses a bit of time! Florence takes advantage!"

"Hamilton got too trigger happy. The track was too wet for a move like that. Florence is being cautious. She has to be. She doesn't want to go off the track."

LAP 35:

"Max Verstappen has now found his rhythm and is closing the gap to Hamilton. It looks like Piastri's battle with Verstappen has allowed the Dutchman to find some space to work with. Up ahead, Florence and Hamilton are still nose to tail, but Verstappen is gaining, gaining fast. Could we see another change in the lead soon?"

"Piastri is holding on, but I don't think he has the pace to challenge Verstappen right now. The McLaren is struggling to stay with the Red Bull, especially through the high-speed corners. And look at the grip—Verstappen's tires are working wonders!"

LAP 40:

"Well, looks like McLaren found some magical pace. Either that or Verstappen is falling. Because Piastri is right here into Tosa. And there we go—Oscar Piastri back into P3. The same move Verstappen did on him. He returns the favor."

"The rain is still falling, but the drivers are handling it better now. We've reached a relative stability in the race."

"Esteban Ocon is on an absolute charge! He's now up to P9. Ocon has found a groove."

LAP 58:

"Oh no! We've just heard over the radio—Ollie Bearman has pulled off to the side of the track. He's having a mechanical issue, and it looks like this could be a big one. Bearman is forced to retire from the race. What a shame for the young Brit, who had been running solidly in the midfield."

"I think it's the gears he was talking about earlier in the race. So, the team really should've done something about that. But with Bearman on the road like this. It means, the safety car will be brought out."

"And here comes the safety car—just as we approach the final laps. We're close to the end here so I'm wondering if the race will finish under the safety car."

"I think it will. We might get at best, one or two laps, but I think it's safe to say this is the end of what has been an exciting Grand Prix in Imola."

LAP 63:

"As we cross the line to begin the final lap of this thrilling race, it looks like the safety car will be leading the way to the finish Ava Florence will take the win here in Imola—her second victory of the season, and what a way to do it! The rain, the battles, the drama—it's been a race that had it all. Behind her, the same top 3 that made up qualifying, but the order had changed multiple times through the race. Hamilton secures P2, his best finish yet. And Piastri back on the podium after his win in Miami."

HENRY That's another race in the books, Ava!

FLORENCE Woo! That was stressful. I never want to be in that position again.

HAMILTON That was a tough race. I thank everyone back at the factory. Wonderful job here. Congrats to Ava, too. That was a good race from her.

f1

From pole to third to second to first, that is certainly an exciting way to win. Ava Florence wins the Imola Grand Prix.

see comments below

sirduke:If she isn't the best rookie we'veever seen, I don't know who is! ↳teamlh: Sir Lewis Hamilton ↳avafanpage: We'll see. If Ava wins the title, she'll take that crown!

delulu: The Florence-Hamilton 1-2 actually happened! ↳digi: I think I've got tears in my eyes 🥹

kiatra: RAH! HAMILTON ON THE PODIUM BABY ↳pcman: He really cooked this race 🔥

florence4ever: The manifestations worked! ↳prettybun: This is the greatest podium I've ever seen! Florence, Hamilton, and Piastri! ↳viscold: Imagine a Hamilton-Florence lineup ↳thebrow: Constructor Champions by round 5

idanz: Between her pole lap and this race, this is surely going to be an iconic f1 race in the future ↳lordshark: Future? It's iconic right now!

avaflorence

Pro tip: honor your (maybe not there) Italian heritage.

see comments below

k2gs: Oh she's an icon ✨ ↳vogue: We told you so ↳millie: Put her on the next cover pls

fernandoalonso: You deserved this one, chica ↳avaflorence: Thank you el senior (citizen) ↳tango23: Not the senior citizen ↳goldtrain: put some respect on the rookie alonso

lewishamilton: Incredible race. Pleasure to race against you ↳teamlh: GOAT 🐐 ↳delulu: Hamilton is about to go on a tear

charlesleclerc: How come they didn't work on me? ↳avaflorence: Try eating six pizzas before the race ↳charlesleclerc: Slices? Or... ↳avaflorence: ... no comment

WORLD DRIVERS CHAMPIONSHIP

WORLD CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPIONSHIP

A/N: Every time I feel burnt out from writing, I read all your comments and it gives me the motivation to continue writing this series even faster. Thank you so much for your kind words. This one is for you.

P.S: I'm curious. What's your favorite race so far?

[profoundathletecowboybanana]

Hey guys I’m feeling emo rn so have some random assorted Marvel/DC character headcanons:

Damian Wayne keeps his stress in his stomach. And he has a lot to stress about. Normally, however, he can release a good bit of stress during patrols and training, so it’s never really an issue. People think he hates getting injured/sidelined because he’s seen as weak/not training/etc, but really it’s because his body will effectively start to break down on him bc he’s too nauseous to eat or move or calm down

(Not rlly a headcanon but,) Wade Wilson still struggles with PTSD all the way back from his days in the military. He has an almost airtight raunchy, obnoxious asshole persona that is extremely effective in distracting people into forgetting about it or not caring about him enough to remember. He can never let himself relax from it because he’s scared he’ll fall into a funk he’ll never get out of. If he can play the part, he can BE the part, lest he reap the consequences. You can inflict a lot of pain on a man who can’t die

Spiderman has an addictive personality. Coupled with his atrocious coping skills, anything that could marginally be classified as a substance (coffee, alcohol, painkillers) is off the table 100%. He would never admit it, but sometimes he finds himself yearning for the slight high and perfect pain he felt from the initial spider-bite. It’s why he’s never tried to find the spider that bit him.

He had a beer at a friend’s house once and didn’t stop drinking for a month. Normally his metabolism would buzz right through it but he had been drinking so many for such a sustained period of time that he didn’t even realize it was gradually starting to build up in his system (and it was easier to function that way, with his brain turned off a little). Scared by how easy it was to get into and how much he liked it, Peter decided it was for the best if the only bottles he picked up would be for the purpose of smashing over a bad guy’s head

Clark Kent can tune out all of the sounds going on around the world. He can also tune them back in. Sometimes, in place of turning on sad music when he’s feeling down the way you and I do, he’ll tune back in to the world around him and listen to the screams of agony from people all around the world that he should be helping, and that he knows he can if he could just be Superman all the time. But he can’t quite bring himself to give up Clark Kent, and the guilt feels as though it’s going to consume him one day

Wally west is never good enough. He sets his standards to beyond what is capable, and inevitably feels himself fall short of them every time. It doesn’t matter if the people around him tell him he’s going above and beyond already. He’s seen great, unbelievable things be achieved in his time as the flash and if he can’t reach that in everything he does, as a hero, a parent, a husband, then the fastest man alive will always feel one step behind

Brucie Wayne specifically is friends with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. They like his style and music taste and he doesn’t care if they steal things from whatever gala he’s hosting as long as no one gets too hurt or killed. Brucie Wayne has been crafted so perfectly, however, that the fondness he experiences towards the two girls disappears with the persona, allowing Batman to take over and do what needs to be done in a fight. Batman doesn’t feel a thing as he dislocates Harley’s bad shoulder and burns Ivy’s vines. When Just Bruce is woken up by Alfred in the morning though, Brucie Wayne tucked aside until lunch and Batman resting in the back of his mind until the moon rises again, Just Bruce feels a sickening sense of guilt in the back of his mind that he can’t quite place.

Harley Quinn is so terrified that the acid messed up her brain beyond repair, that she has never tried to complete the research she once dedicated her life to despite the fact that her passion for it never died out. In fact, with the resources and loser morals she has now, it would be much easier to finish, but she’s rusty, and she can’t always think straight anymore, and she’s a doctor, damnit, and she will not put that title at risk by looking like a fool that don’t do some simple research. So at this point, she doesn’t even want to bother trying, despite Ivy’s assurances that she’s not as stupid as the joker made her feel.

There are whole groups of people online and in person that were created for the soul purpose of finding others who, under the effects of fear toxin, have had the joker be a disturbing focus of their fear. During these meetings, when Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, and Harley Quinn are all disguised, sitting next to each other in companionable grief, they forget all that Batman and Robin stand for and comfort each other in the sole wish that the dark night would just kill the bastard already.

The people of Gotham tend to agree in this sense. In fact, they actively advocate for it most of the time, firm in their stance that they would turn a blind eye for Batman if he’d do it just this once. It wouldn’t be compromising his morals, they assure, and they like to think they would trust Batman more if he took joker off the streets. They’re wrong. A man that strong and skilled and powerful? The only reason Batman gives any hope or safety to the people is the fact that no matter how “bad” you are, he will actively try and keep you alive. The people don’t realize it, but if they knew just how easy it would be for Batman to let his strength slip even once and kill someone, Gotham would never recover. Joker is not the greatest threat in Gotham, but having the privilege of the greatest threat being on their side, the people of Gotham don’t recognize who their biggest fear could really be

[igotanidea]

(7) Cheater: Dick Grayson x reader

part 1/ part 2 / part 3 / part 4/ part 5 / part 6

A/N: ladies and gentlemen I give you : THE FINALE! happy early b-day @pookieisme4life 🎁🎁 (I was about to wait till 24th but it turned out impossible I am so excited to post it!!!)

***

„Who the hell are you?”

Honestly, he could care less about the ID of the mystery person, nor he hoped for the actual answer, but the initial shock did just that.

They were driving towards some unknown destination that was allegedly the location of the place Y/N was taken to.

“Nice try, Nightwing. Keep dreaming” the person, who was already deemed as a woman, laughed, swirling abruptly yet skillfully.

“Seriously you can’t just expect me to address you in a hey, you way.”

“Valid point. For the sake of it, let’s settle on calling me Shadow.”

“Fine. Whatever. Now why are you helping me?”

“I did some bad things In my life. Maybe this is my way of making up for them.”

“Huh. Seeking redemption?”

“Pretty nice trope, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was actually pretty nice to be able to use humor even in dire situations. “I was always a sucker for the character who wants to do better in their life.”

“Yeah. At least you chose a better way to do so than my brother.”

“You mean Red Hood?”

“For someone I don’t know shit about, you seem awfully knowledgeable about my family ties.”

“Intel is everything, Nightwing. And yes, I know what your other brother, Red Robin, might say.”

“Who the hell are you?!” At this point Dick was really getting curious.

“A friend.” She responded, looking right at him, her eyes shining from behind the mask.

***

“Let me go!!”

“Easy princess. Behave or this might actually get worse for you.”

“LET ME GO!!” she struggled against the binding on her wrist and the sack put on her head.

“What did I tell you, you bitch!?” She was abruptly pulled out of the car and thrown onto the ground. “Do you have a death wish?!”

“Fuck you!”

“If I were you, I’d cooperate, you little slut. Otherwise we might have to scar that pretty face of yours more than it’s necessary.”

With a sharp movement the sack was torn off her head and she had to squint her eyes from the light that hit her eyes with excessive force, reinforced by the fact she had just spent god knows how much time in a dark car with eyes covered.

“Shit…” there was no possibility to hold back the hiss and a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes. Yes sunshine, you’re in deep shit.” The kidnapper kneeled to her level and caressed her cheek in a condescending gesture, obviously misreading her tears as a sign of fear and submission. “So pretty…”

“Piss off!” she acted instinctively, ending up with a slap on the cheek and stinging sensation that only added to her anger.

“Didn’t I tell you to behave?”

“I had a stinking sack on my head, maybe there was something wrong with my hearing at the time and – “ her head spun to the side as another slap, this time far harder landed on her cheek.

“Well you definitely heard me now. And if you didn’t I won’t hesitate to remind you again. Now get up, we’re taking you to the boss.”

Great.

She was in a freaking video game, when two brainless thugs captured her for a reason that was still a mystery to her and was now taking her to the den of a final boss on the level.

***

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Should she even be surprised that said den had a design of a video game? Dark, cold, adjourned with different kinds of weapons scattered here and there, huge desk in the middle and three monitors that took up the entire wall?

Almost grotesque.

But hey, who was she to judge the taste of Gotham’s criminals, right?

She probably should have been terrified, praying to every higher power to be saved by Batman, Red Hood, Robin or – damn – even Poison Ivy in the worst case, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to that particular emotion. It was like her brain refused to anchor in reality and everything turned into a freaking dream she was sure to wake up from any second now.

Though maybe getting back to reality in which Dick was still with Sienna and she was brokenhearted wasn’t really a good alternative.

Right. Dick.

Did he even notice her gone? Or was he too busy patching things up with his girlfriend, already forgetting about Y/N? The girl he claimed to love?

A kick in the back of the knees that send her to the floor (again) made her realize that while getting lost in her thoughts she missed the obviously very important and very detailed speech of the villain who was describing his wicked plan to take over the world and –

“Ouch!”

“Stupid bitch.”

“It hurts!” she tried to squirm away from the kicking but it was immensely hard with her hands still bound.

“Hold the fire, boys. Easy. The lady is our guest after all and this is not how we treat guests, is it?” The goons chuckled darkly, because clearly guests were deserving of a far more cruel and brutal treatment. “Now, now, don’t be scared little one. We won’t hurt you. Much. At least not until you give us what we want.”

The owner of a deep, husky voice, who clearly was the host of the party finally decided to step forward and show his face.

Well.

Not exactly showing his face.

***

 “Could you at least tell me who we’re dealing with here?!” Dick muttered, keeping his voice low as he and Shadow pulled at the abandoned building on the outskirts of Gotham. “Do you even know?”

“Why? Does it matter?” Shadow joked “Would you use a different contingency plan for Riddler and another one for Two Face?”

“Could you please stop joking about it? This is my girlfriend we’re talking about!”

The emotions started to come to the surface, and Nightwing started becoming uncharacteristically scatter-brained.

“Idiot. Keep it down!” Shadow hissed, pulling him behind the corridor crease, miraculously avoiding the watchful gaze of the guardian. “Here’s what I get for putting myself at risk. Nightwing announcing his presence to the entire compound filled with criminals. Get yourself together. Or is it too hard for you?!”

Dick grimaced. He hated himself at the moment. For both losing his cool, especially in front of someone who could hold it against him and for missing on precious time since every second counted.

“Y/N. Think about Y/N.” he muttered to himself “She needs your help. Now more than ever.”

He took a few deep breaths, calming down the storm inside him to the point where he was actually in control and capable of turning the fear and concern into anger.

If anyone touched his Y/N….

“You back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m back.” He opened his eyes, completely focused, eyes sharp, instincts on high alert. “Tell me who’s the fucker who dared to take her.”

“Black Mask.”

“Fucker.” The word left Dick’s lips without the involvement of his brain. That was how much he loved her. The golden boy, teasing, joking and playful nightwing turned into a machine, swearing and ready to freaking kill, almost Red Hood like.

“So? Ready to kick some asses?”

“After you.” The predatory smirk blooming on his face was a sign of incoming violence and spilling blood.

***

Her screams mixed with the ones coming from the corridor in a beautiful, gory cacophony of sounds. An ode painted with blood and pain. Maybe that was why for a longer moment no one in the room actually paid attention nor was willing to try and differentiate the sources of notes in the song.

 Or maybe it was the fact that the goons’ cries were extremely high-pitched, almost reaching the same key as the yelling of a woman trapped in the torture machine, losing strength with every passing second.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Black Mask laughed cruelly “you don’t get to pass out on me yet. Info first.” The iron grip on her wrist tightened even more, as if that was even possible, cutting into skin and muscle, amplifying the blood loss.

For the last whatever-time-passed she was kept on the edge of consciousness as if Black Mask was hoping that choking, hurting and injecting with some substance would cause her to lose inhibitions and finally blurt out the information he was so dead set on getting.

Who is Nightwing.

Who is Batman.

Any piece of information would turn out to be useful, but since the beginning of the questioning it became painfully clear that that stupid girl was either too weak or too strong to answer.

Too weak because it seemed that even the slightest amount of pain made her repeatedly pass out and too strong because on those intermittent periods where she actually was conscious and aware of the surroundings enough to talk was the one making her extremely stubborn and uncooperative.

And Black Mask was losing his patience.

Here he was, gracing that little scum with his presence instead of submitting her to the treatment of his lower men, with less than gracious methods and she had the audacity to be bratty.

A vicious circle in which he was using the moments to get information only to be refused, beating her again and ending up with a thoughtless body, achieving nothing, over and over again.  

He should have just stuck to using his rat, skillfully planted in Gotham.  

“Fuck!” he yelled seeing as once again she went limp on the chair only because he pulled her nail. “Stupid bitch!”

“Mmmmm…” Y/N muttered and for a moment the room was completely quiet save from her little whimpering.

And then –

“OUCH!”

“FUCK!”

“RETREAT!”

“The hell?” Black Mask walked to the door and looked through the peephole. “Fuck!” Seeing his guards and men being thrown in different directions, sounds of yelling and snapping bones alongside with blood streaming on the floor was not the best view before 7 p.m. and definitely not the best without his favorite drink. Under any other circumstances he would be giving zero fucks about the violence outside the safe door, but now – he had a plan to complete and no one, fucking no one would prevent him from succeeding.

The loud sound of a door’s guard crashing with the metal surface and pictorially sliding down with crushed skull caused Sionis to quickly recalibrate his plan.

Seemed like Red Hood was in the house. And not that Sionis was scared, but-

“Hold them back!” he yelled, grabbing the limp body of Y/N and rushing towards the safety exit, to the roof where his private jet was landed just in case of emergencies.

And this was clearly an emergency.

***

The door broke about 30 seconds after Black Mask rushed to the passage.

“You carry explosives with you everywhere?” Dick muttered, equally impressed and shocked.

“What? It comes in handy and -”

“AAAAH!” Both goons rushed at the two vigilantes before Shadow could finish a sentence, but their brave loud cries quickly turned to quiet, broken sobbing as they were laid down.

“Be a sweetheart and tell me where he went?” Nightwing leaned over the goon with an almost soft smile.

“mhm…” inert waving towards the passage was enough of an answer.

“Good boy. Thanks.”

***

“NO!!” she yelled as Black Mask was dragging her through the roof. Sudden realization of all the things that could go wrong making her much more valiant and strong. As long as she was still in Gotham and not exported to another city or – god forbid – country – could result in being deemed as another missing-without-trail- person.

That is – if someone was even looking for her in the first place.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes at the thought that she could be so easily forgotten.

And the terror she was holding back for so long, since the moment of being dragged into that black SUV, finally found a way out…

“NIGHTWING!!!”

***

“Y/N!!”

A dead man would hear that cry and even a dead man would rise from the dead at the sheer desperation beaming from the voice.

“Y/N!!! I’m coming!”

***

“You’re becoming a trouble!” Black Mask hissed, slapping her repeatedly, drawing another stream of blood this time from the broken lip.

“I – “

“I’m so done with you. Should have just killed you the second you turned out to be of zero significance to the cause. Now come here you little bitch-“

“No!!”

She blindly started to run away, only to trip (obviously) and ending up back in Sionis’ grip.

“NO!!”

He was too strong and she was too scared and stiff to fight anymore. Digging heels into the ground did no harm and was definitely no hindrance in being pulled towards the ledge of the 10-stories building.

“NO!!!!”

“Y/N!!”

Both the girl and Sionis froze for a moment as another male voice cut into the screaming match.

But it was too late.

***

“Go!” Shadow was probably the only one who didn’t lose cold blood.  “GO!”

***

She was falling.

And it was beautiful.

Knowing that she would finally be free of all the pain, of all the heartbreak, of the guilt coming with betraying another girl by sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend. Liberated from being stuck in the memories of the past when she was actually happy, before everything went to shit.

“I love you Dick…” she whispered, finally crashing to the ground.

***

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Oh, come on, not this again!” Shadow hissed, extremely dissatisfied with the fact that everyone she encountered was far more interested in getting to know her personality, rather than fearing her killer skills.

For Black Mask it took a record time of ten minutes before calling defeat and ending up bound and being taken by the GCPD.

***

“Y/N.”

She opened one eye and much to her surprise found out that she was not a celestial body looking at her bloodied pulp of a body on the pavement.

“I love you too…” the warm embrace around her was welcomed but in time started to become a little suffocating and her battered body refused to be squeezed.

“Dickie…”

“Shh… shh, I got you.” He whispered again, caressing her hair, kissing her forehead, doing everything to assure both her and himself that it was all over and that he got her, that she was safe and he would never let it happen again. Never.

“H-How? W-what happened-? I – I thought-“

“You thought so little of me, didn’t you?”

“Idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Fucking prick! I swear if it wasn’t for this – “ she swung her injured arm in the air “I’d slap the hell out of you!”

“I saved you!”

“I almost died and you’re making jokes!”

Oh. Right. Maybe, just maybe given the circumstances it was slightly inappropriate.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. You better.” She pouted, but he knew better, wiping the unshed tears. “It’s over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“What happened?”

“I’m an acrobat, remember? I jumped. And damn, I wish someone had that on video because it was really one of my best – Ouch! Ouch! Ok, ok! Stop it! Point taken!”

***

“How are we doing here?”

Once Sionis was seated in the back of a police car, hands were shaken and words of gratitude exchanged Shadow walked towards Dick and Y/n.

“I think she’ll live.” Dick teased with a smirk, predictably moving a safe distance away from his -- .

Right.

Maybe there was no happy ending after all with that messed up relationship thing hanging over their heads like a freaking axe.

“Can’t say the same about Nightwing though” Y/N pushed the thought away, settling on sending him a death stare for making fun of her again.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“I think you made up for whatever crime you were trying to redeem, Shadow. Thank you. I owe you. You saved my –“

“Girlfriend?” Shadow prompted, looking between Y/N and Dick, making them both blush in a bit of embarrassment.

“It’s complicated-“ they both said at the same time.

“Oh, trust me, it’s not complicated at all!” Shadow laughed

“What do you mean? You don’t know-“

“I know more than you think. Haven’t I proved that already?” Shadow turned around, making sure no one was watching and slowly took of her mask.

***

Fast forward. One week later.

Y/N was walking out of the hospital. It seemed like her arm was healing nicely and there were no complications, though her doctor was very stern while telling her she was supposed to rest and not get herself involved in any form of physical activity.

If he only knew that she was in a relationship with Gotham’s and Bludhaven vigilante.

“Y/N!”

Speaking of which, said vigilante was now honking at her from his Porsche.

“Showoff!”

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!

She laughed and jumped inside the vehicle.

“You’re supposed to hold the doors open for me!”

“Mh. Missed you too, sunshine.” He leaned over the gearbox kissing her with a cheeky grin. “How’s the hand?”

“She’ll live.”

“Quoting me already, princess? Careful, I might think you consider me a superstar or something.”

“Idiot!”

“Ouch! You’re hurting me. But I’m willing to forgive you, giving the circumstances of late.”

He started the engine and took the way to the city.

“Yeah. Crazy, right?” her head fell onto the car’s headrest and she sighed heavily. “I mean – who would have thought…”

***

Flashback

“S-Sienna!?”

“Hey you two.”

“h-hey? What do you mean “hey”?! What is this?! Some sick joke?!”

In her stupor Y/N missed the fact that Dick was as shocked (if not more) as her. Hence it couldn’t have been any conspiracy against Y/N’s mental health.

“Whoa! Whoa! Relax!” Shadow Sienna raised her hands in surrender “Dick-“

“The hell?! How do you know? Damn it-!” he forgot about all the rules of safety and tore off his mask. Getting to the bottom of this shit was far more important.

“- I meant what I said. Really! About that redemption arc! Just – just listen to me!”

“Five minutes.”

“It was all a scheme-“

“Well let me tell you, your explanation is starting off the wrong foot” Dick groaned, pulling Y/N to his side to strengthen her mentally.

“I am Black Mask’s niece in the second line!” Sienna explained dramatically “wait-! Wait-! I have no loyalty to him! Not anymore!”

“One minute left.” Dick hissed

“It was all a plan. He had some vague idea about the ties between the one Dick Grayson and Batman and Y/N and wanted to use all of you against each other.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Yes, fine! I was his spy for a moment, but then you two-. God! You love each other! And I just couldn’t- I couldn’t-“

Y/N wriggled out of Dick’s embrace and walked to Sienna, grabbing both her hands in her healthy one.

“Thank you.”

End of flashback

***

 “I really hope you took your golden visa with you, cause I am about to go crazy with this shopping spree.”

“Hey. No limits on Bruce’s cards. He won’t even notice the loss of a couple thousands and I got my girl back, so-“

“I think we should send-“

“I already took care of that.”

After all the trouble and drama they got their happy ending.

***

In another part of town a certain girl found a fruit and sweet basket on her doorstep. With a little, but meaningful card.

It seemed like she found her happy ending too.

One in which she was no longer used by anyone and treated as a villain.

With the view for a future of freedom.

@miraculous-panic @fullbelieverheart @xlatinaaxx @ietss @arfrona

@gracescor3 @jaysgirlx @fuzzym4m4 @peachmartini @xenop0p @madness1999sworld

@leovergurl

[ficandkaboodle]

Sometimes. You just gotta imagine you’re in bed, physically, mentally, and emotionally tired. Easy thing to do. But then the hard part comes in where you have to make Copia’s dialogue accurate to his speaking patterns.

Like he might not sound so totally, completely sage — he’s still learning to accept things, too, and struggles just like every other person. And he’s never been the best at translating sensitive thoughts on the fly anyhow. So it can be a bit jarring to think of him agreeing, but it’ll be done in his own way: “Yeah. Yeah, this moment sucks. The here and now sucks major, heavy, unwashed balls.”

You might even want to laugh a bit at it but everything just feels so exhausting, you can barely muster anything besides just laying there. He doesn’t mind. And if you don’t mind it, he’ll reach into the blankets and pull out your hand, holding it in his own. Clasped between them. It’s warm, given the gloves.

“I know you don’t want to be here in this moment,” sounds okay enough to come from him, so you let that stick. You may fumble a few times, trying to find the right words but as exhaustion begins to overtake you, you settle on something you think you can live with:

“Life is like that. We both know this. But I promise you: I won’t let you be in this moment alone. Okay?”

Okay.

Okay.

It’s not fun, it’s not great, it’s not even good.

But it’s okay.

And when you get the strength to get out of bed, the impression of his gloved hand holding your bare one still in your mind, you’ll move forward. It can still okay. But maybe once you gather your bearings, it could be good.

But for now, this sucks. And this is okay.

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ your domestic boyfriend is away on tour

fairy of shampoo | park jongseong x male!reader

pairing: jay x male!reader genre: fluff word count: 1.0k notes: ANOTHER JAY STORY!! I just can't get enough of this man ... had the inspo to do this and all I could search online was his videos ... im sure we all did that 😫

He's a little bit far away from you.

You let out a soft groan as you lean your head against the counter, exhaustion weighing down your body. Jay glances over, a teasing smile playing on his lips, but he can see past the surface. “Bored already?” he asks, his tone light, yet his eyes betray a hint of concern as they catch your yawning figure.

“Noo… Just tired,” you reply, your voice wavering slightly, the fatigue evident in every syllable. As much as he wanted to feel concerned, it was fascinating how you still denied it with such cuteness.

He tilts his head, studying you intently. “You can go to bed, honey,” he suggests gently, the warmth of his smile a soothing balm for your tired soul. “You don’t have to stay up with me.”

You fidget with the ends of your knitted sleeves, the gesture a familiar comfort. Yet, even the fabric feels heavy against your skin tonight. The warmth you’ve come to cherish is absent, leaving an emptiness that gnaws at your insides. It drains your energy, steals your motivation, and makes the night stretch endlessly. You might even say it’s worse than being sick; at least then, you could still muster the strength to do chores, much to Jay’s playful annoyance at your relentless spirit.

“But I want to…” you murmur, your voice barely breaking through the silence.

Jay chuckles softly, but the sound carries an underlying worry. He feels a tight pang of loneliness wash over him, a sensation he can’t shake off when he’s away on tour. He doesn’t like missing out on moments like these—seeing you feel small and tired, wishing he could wrap you in his arms and shield you from the harsh confines of this oh-so-cruel world. The glow of your face on the screen brings him comfort, yet it’s not enough. He yearns to be there beside you, to feel the warmth of your presence against him.

His band is on tour across the U.S., and while he knows it’s part of his job, it pains him to just leave you behind. If it weren’t for that demanding project at work, one that you swear will break your back, you could have been enjoying a cozy getaway together. The thought makes his heart ache.

“Look at you, you’re already so tired,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. “Are you even checking if the ramyeon is done?”

You jerk up at the reminder, the delicious aroma hitting you like a wave. “Ahhh!!” Panic sets in, and Jay can’t help but laugh at the sight of you scrambling to the kitchen. But behind that laughter lies a deeper worry; he can see how overwhelmed you’ve been lately, how the weight of the world rests heavily on your shoulders when he’s not there to support you.

As you brush your hair back, narrowly avoiding the smoke alarm again, he wishes he could be the one to take care of you. He knew that you being independent was never easy, and the thought of you feeling lonely without him makes his heart ache. You settle back in front of your laptop, a small pout on your lips, and he feels a surge of affection mixed with helplessness.

“Done?” he asks, hopeful as he seems to return from somewhere off-screen.

“Yeah…” you reply with a soft sigh. “I’ll let it cool down and maybe eat it later.”

He watches you closely, his heart swelling with concern and love. “Try to eat on time, honey.”

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, he sees the flicker of vulnerability in your eyes. “I’ll try,” you whisper, and he knows the struggle behind those words.

As you try to fix your posture atop your wooden bar stool, he picks up his guitar, cradling it with such care. “Want to fall asleep to me strumming some tunes?” he asks, his voice soft, almost intimate.

You beam a big smile stretching from one ear to another, warming his heart. It’s always a treat when he plays for you, and he feels that this will definitely be a moment of connection that will transcend the distance between you.

"Then go to bed." You look at him, almost begrudgingly. He could only chuckle back at you, knowing that little snark you had was coming out so slowly.

"Please?"

You huffed under your hot breath.

“Fine...” you say, surrendering to the comfort of your space. You then walked a little bit from your kitchen towards the warm confines of your bedroom. The ambient lights in your room create a cozy atmosphere, and you settle into bed, placing your laptop where Jay can see you clearly. He’s tuning his guitar when he notices you all bundled up in your sheets.

“I miss your warmth, Jay,” you confess, pulling the covers tightly around yourself. “I can still smell you from here.”

“Then just sleep like usual,” he replies, his gaze softening as he looks at you through the screen. “Fall asleep while I play your favorite.”

You nestle into your bed, the soft pillows reminding you of him. Seeing you so cozy makes Jay feel a little drowsy, but he fights it off since it’s still afternoon where he is.

With a gentle strum of his guitar, he begins to play your favorite song. The chords resonate beautifully, each note wrapping around you like a warm hug. His fingers dance over the strings, wanting the melody to wrap around you like his arms would if he were there, to soothe you and bring you peace. The chords resonate beautifully, each note a reminder of his love for you, a promise that you’re never truly alone, even when he’s miles away.

As the last note fades away, he glances at you, noticing your stillness. The sight of you peacefully asleep brings a wave of relief, and he can’t help but smile. It seems his music has worked its magic again—you’ve drifted off, cradled by the sounds of his affection. He wishes he could reach out and caress your cheek, to tell you that everything will be okay, but he knows he has to go now, called back to the reality of his afternoon stage practice.

“Good night, honey,” he whispers, his heart heavy with love and longing as he quietly ends the call, closing his laptop softly. He knows that while the distance separates you, the bond you share remains unbreakable.

| masterlist! | previous | next |

[aeternallis]

one of the things most frustrating to think about as someone who did go through the immigration system in the US is the fact that there seems to be a genuine belief by a significant portion of the populace in this country that the immigration system is a simple, straightforward process, when it most certainly is not.

for one thing, the applications to gain some form of legal status themselves are confusing af to actually read through. most of the applications uses legal, albeit confusing language and can be upwards of about 15-20 pages worth of documents you gotta spend time to actually pour through.

for example, currently the i-485 form (application for green card) sits at about 24 pages, and requires a couple of hours to fill out. for most immigrants who know little to no english, either they would have to sit with an english-speaking paralegal to help them, or one of their relatives who knows english would need to be the one to help them out.

the i-130 form (application for alien relatives) is about 12 pages, and just as hella confusing to go through.

the i-589 (application for asylum) and i-765 (application for worker's permit) aren't too bad in comparison, at about 7-8 pages, but even so, the legal language is still a hassle to try and understand.

oh, and did i mention that every one of these forms cost money to file and submit to uscis for processing? this is not counting the typical immigration lawyer's fees immigrants have to fork up in order to get some decent representation, most immigrants still need to make a living one way or another, or how else are they to provide for their families and give their children a better future? (and ya know, afford the fees to try and actually go through the process of gaining legal status here???)

not only that, answering any of the questions wrong on any of these forms could be enough for uscis to reject the filing or outright deny it. and no, ofc there's no refunds on the application fees.

for a country that has a horrendous literacy crisis, i would so love to see the rest of y'all try to take a gander at these forms and see if you don't lose your goddamn mind.

have i mentioned how fucking terrifying it is when uscis officers grill you during the interview process???? because yes, there is an interview component to most of these forms. as if their questions are literally designed for you to fail???!!

this is just a few aspect of the immigration process that's so broken right now, it might as well be a 10k puzzle piece scattered in a room.

the strenuous waiting time between processing of applications, the anxiety of the elections every goddamn year because politicians cannot fucking make up their minds with how immigration ought to be tackled in this country, all the while immigrants also have to deal with the stress of everyday life and whatever challenges that brings.

uscis is still working through a backlog of applications from decades ago, and some people in this country really have the goddamn audacity to think, "they have to get here legally and go through the process that way"???!

a fucking luxury (ignorant af though, mind you) for some of y'all to say, indeed, especially if all it took back then for your family to get here was through ellis fucking island.

my aunt petitioned my dad with the i-589 form over 38 years ago when he was still living in the philippines, and mind you, the visa number from that filing was only granted and mailed to my dad's old house last year in december 2024, when we went home to visit relatives for the holidays and long after he's already become a US citizen.

i'm not asking for people to change their minds about immigration or that this country ought to let everyone in, i knowwwwww the system is broken and terrible.

but what i am asking is for people to educate themselves and to be open-minded, to not dismiss the struggles of immigrants, because those who think that the immigration process in this country is easy are hella ignorant and will never understand the sort of anxiety illegal immigrants go through, for the sake of trying to provide a better future for their children

[redbo-and-simbo]

(So..he probably would've left her around the workshop, right?)

(Probably.)

(I haven't been by there in a while. I've mostly been with Seawatt or following the android. Maybe he's got some new gadget I could mess around with.)

(Or steal.)

. . .

(sculk sensor goes off)

(machinery starts whirring)

Wait- What?

ACK-!

(A wind charge?? From where??)

(vent grate is opened with a triggered lever)

WOOAH-!

(weight falls onto a pair of arms)

Got you.

(sounds of struggle)

Let go of me!

Would you quit squirming? I'm getting so sick of you running away.

(weight slams against a tabletop)

(pained hiss)

(a metal clasp clicks)

Wh- Hey! What are you doing? Get away!

(a sneaker slams into a visor and it clatters to the floor)

Shit-! Ow- I knew I should've done the legs first.

(another clasp clicks)

Whatever. Would you stop struggling? It's only going to make things harder for both of us.

Hey, don't you-

Stay still. Please.

(another)

I'm not going to hurt you.

You're literally strapping me to some weird table!

Touché.

(the final click of metal)

You just have to believe me. I don't want any harm to come to you.

(sounds of struggle continue)

..But you're only going to hurt yourself if you keep trying to escape again. You're dumber than you're supposed to be if you think you can break those clasps.

And stop looking at me like that. You're not in danger. I just know that you're stubborn, and you know how to worm your way out of problems. I knew I wouldn't be able to speak to you without you running off.

It's not favorable, but I'd advise you calm down, or else I'll just have to administer a drug to make you.

How can I be calm right now, man? I don't trust you.

Just take it easy..

(head suddenly slams into the table)

Get your hands away from me.

You're not in any danger, it's alright.

(breathing picks up)

(Does he really have to put his hands in my hair? Seriously?)

(Crap, right. He's an Evbo, too. He knows all my weaknesses.)

(I hate all this, but..)

(breathing slows and becomes more steady)

(His nails feel so nice..)

Theeere we go. Good.

Let's get that mask off of you.

(click)

(click)

(deep breath)

(gas mask is set aside)

Feels better?

...

Right. I should've guessed you wouldn't be so eager to speak.

Well, I still have questions. So as I observe you, I'd like for you to answer them. Sound good?

..I don't really have a choice, do I?

No, I assure you you do. There's no consequence to not answering.

(Get your hands of my face, dude. Ugh- My eyes are closed but I can still feel him staring at me.)

I suppose my first question is simple: you were sent to me by the Creator, yes?

(He'd kill me if I was just some rogue Evbo..)

Y..Yeah. I was.

What are you? Are you him? Or are you another one of his creations?

(I've gotta play into his insane ideas.)

No. I'm just- Something of a prophet. Is the um..best way I can put it.

So I was right..

What does he want from me? What do I need to do for him to accept me as his only marionette?

I can't say.

You can't say?

I'm..just supposed to tell him when the time is right.

(sigh)

I suppose it's beyond my understanding. I'm not sure why he picked you of all Evbos. You're no different than the rest.

(rustle of cloth being pushed up)

(sharp breath)

As far as visible physical differences—chapped lips, longer hair, decreased muscle mass—they're all just results of external factors. Wearing that mask, time, and, I'd assume, hiding in the vents so often you don't eat properly, respectively.

That hand feels so weird.

Hm?

(I didn't mean to say that out loud..)

The textureless one.

I figured.

..This undershirt's not yours. I suppose my theory about you finding Seawatt is correct?

...

Right. Then I suppose my project was worth pursuing after all.

Do me a favor and stay still and calm for me. I need to run some diagnostic tests.

What kind of tests?

I need to examine your physiology, and your brainwaves.

(two latches click open)

You're not even going to put up a fight?

My legs are still trapped. I can't really do much.

But you could still struggle, attack me, make a commotion until someone stops by to help you out. Yet you're doing none of that.

I'd almost say you enjoy having my hands on you.

...

(chuckle)

Your silence is telling, "Simbo."

(Ugh. Hate this guy.)

(rustling of cloth)

(a hoodie and shirt are dropped on the floor)

(clasps click again)

(visor is picked up from the floor)

I just have to hook up some stuff, alright? And don't worry, I wouldn't hurt someone sent by the Creator. That's too precious a resource to lose.

(..I know this is just a facade, but..I kind of like feeling important..)

. . .

. . .

(machine whirring)

(incoherent, analytical mumbling)

(writing)

...How's Widget, by the way?

Oh. That's right. You named her, didn't you?

The Viewers were saying you wanted to see her?

Yeah. And then I got stuck here.

(chuckle)

Right. I apologize for all this. It won't have to be like this next time. If you don't run off, anyway.

..I'll take your word for it.

Still skeptical, I see. I can't blame you. Regardless, I suppose you could pay her a visit before you head back to the vents.

She's in my room. Feel free to rest there, if you'd like.

Wh- Oh- Really?

Of course. You're welcome to at any time.

Right. Gotcha.

. . .

. . .

Alright, that's all the data I need to collect.

(clasps click one by one)

(shifting)

(clothes are grabbed off the floor)

..Thanks.

(clothes rustling as they're pulled back on)

No problem.

I'm gonna dismantle the machine I set up in the vents to get you down here. My room's the door over there.

Right. Uh.. Cool.

. . .

(door creaks open)

(sneakers step across a wooden floor)

(bed creaks as weight sinks onto the edge)

Hey there, kitty.

Mrrp!

[randomfoggytiger]

Dear Tiger, I have always recommended your blog to many people who are interested in the X-Files. My recommendation goes something like this: “Brilliant analysis, well-founded opinions, without unnecessary judgments about the actors' private lives. But beware! The blog is very fond of David and can't be impartial. It's not hostile, but, even unconsciously, it minimizes Scully's importance and Gillian's talent, to the detriment of Mulder and Duchovny. Imagine the blog as if it were a proud mother talking about a beloved child, extolling (and greatly exaggerating) their qualities, and ignoring their flaws. In conclusion, if you allow for this fierce protection of David, it's one of the best - if not the best - blog about the X-Files.” When I read his analysis of the questions posed by Anon, I couldn't help but smile and remember this recommendation of mine. Duchovny is lucky to have such loyal and positive fans, who get to see the best version of him, always. An excellent 2025 to you Tiger, I'll always keep coming back and recommending your blog.🥰🥰 PS: On this particular topic, I think about 85% of your analysis is correct - but there's about 15% that I disagree with, I think it's more of a speculation/interpretation favorable to Duchovny, than exactly the reality.

I was reading this feeling all fuzzy before I got to the "impossible to be impartial" bit. XDDDD

Ah, well. Do I come across as partial? o.o Hm, I can tone down my language in future if needed-- don't mean to come across as if I hero worship (or mentally coddle) DD. His personal life isn't intertwined with mine, for one; and he's also a man who behaved selfishly, made terrible mistakes, and didn't learn gratitude until AA. He's probably still selfish because all humans are; but he's also made personal changes, has grown a lot, and continues to prove-- via his work and actions and interests and mindset-- that he isn't regressing. I give him the charitability I hand to any other person I deem 'good' and 'doing their best'. Ultimately, I just get super happy for others who are trying and are succeeding or are on the path to their own version of success. :DDDDDD

I will say, you do raise a point I've been mulling over: I don't talk about Gillian as much as I do David solely because I haven't found a blog that gives me all her work/projects/interviews/etc. up front. Though I will stipulate that I don't see the sense in taking his side over hers-- there aren't sides in their relationship to me. And I'm fond of her, too! :))))))) She did incredible work on The X-Files, and incredible work afterwards. And she powered through the 90s as a divorced, single mom with mental health struggles, which is worthy of an award. Again, I simply have less easy access to her work. I do heavily disagree that I minimize GA's importance and talent, unconsciously or not: she's part of a team; and she carried the show on her back in David's absence. That more than wins her a medal of honor. Moreover, Scully is irrefutably a woman so forward-moving and inspiring in her own right that the Scully Effect was created in her honor. (She also inspired me to take better care of my nails. Her manicures are spectacular.) You can't have the show without her.

Now that I've got my comments out of the way, thank you so, so much for dropping in to let me know your thoughts! Your words were (and are) so kind; and the knowledge that you spread my work to others, and that they might enjoy it, too, is... it's wonderful. And if you have to buffer my blog ahead of time however you need, go ahead. As long as others know what they're getting into, I suppose. XDDDD It really does mean the world. We all have days where we wonder if we're just shouting into a void; and some days the void is wider and darker than others. But knowing that you and others think my meta is worthwhile... it puts a lot into perspective. And being described how you've described me is.. thank you. So, you know what? I'll wear "loyal and positive fan" with pride, even if you punch on "Impartial"-- it's how you honestly see me; and I'm not at all offended about that. Now that I've thought about it, I'm downright amused.

Lastly, disagreement is always welcome! If you want to share, I'd be curious to know what the particulars are-- it keeps me on my toes by forcing me to double check my own opinions. >:DDDDD

I'll definitely be rereading this ask in future when the void gets bothersome. Thank you, thank you!

[elllteo]

That voice has taught you wrong.

You can't outrun yourself, you can't guilt yourself away until you are left with someone "good".

You can't cut away a shadow, it will follow where you go.

You can't treat yourself like a solvable problem.

You are unfixable.

You were never broken to begin with.

Just taught wrong.