#if she does one more news interview she’s going to explode | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theballadofharkness · 3 months ago

Text

She’s with the Director

Masterlist

Pairing: Maya Mason x fem!reader

Summary: When Hollywood’s strangest new director begins quietly shopping her next script, Matt Remnick loses his mind trying to find her. Mysterious, brilliant, and barely reachable, she’s the kind of director that could give him his Rosemary’s Baby… if he can track her down.

Maya Mason isn’t worried.

Because the strangest woman in Hollywood that the studio is chasing? She already has her.

Word Count: 9K

Warnings: explicit smut, strap-on use, MDNI

A/N: This is just a quick little Maya fic I wrote while catching up on The Studio finally, I definitely want to write more Maya so any suggestions would be great xo

Matt Remick bursts into the conference room like he’s just come from war… or worse, a breakfast meeting with Griffin.

He’s got that look. Wide eyes, rumpled blazer, the smell of overpriced oat milk clinging to him like defeat. But he’s grinning like he just found the last golden ticket in Hollywood. “Big news,” he says. “Huge news.”

The team’s already waiting, Sal is sprawled in his usual seat with a breakfast burrito and a hangover, Quinn tapping away on her tablet with one AirPod in, and Patty Leigh sipping tea like she’s three seconds away from biting someone.

Sal doesn’t look up from his phone. “You always say that and it’s never huge man.”

“No,” Matt says, too pumped to be insulted. “No, this is real.”

Patty sighs and sets her tea down with careful grace. “What is it Matthew? You look like you’re about to wet yourself.”

Matt drops his phone on the table, screen facing up. It’s paused on a still from Wolves at the Well, that shot, the one with the lake and the antlers and the girl screaming underwater. Instantly recognizable. Instantly iconic.

“She’s looking for a studio,” Matt announces, reverent. “She’s looking for a studio.”

Quinn looks up. “Who is?”

Matt lets the silence drag just long enough to be dramatic. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

A pause.

Quinn straightens. “Wait. Seriously?”

Patty’s brows raise, skeptical but intrigued. “She’s leaving her indie? I thought she was some kind of cursed forest nymph who only works with companies run out of moss-covered cabins.”

Matt is glowing now. “Nope. Word is she’s looking for a studio. Not an indie label, not some moody investor with a fetish for Icelandic grief dramas. A studio. She wants scale. Reach. And after Wolves exploded? She’s got leverage. She wants to tell bigger stories and still keep control. We can offer that.”

Patty leans back, calculating. “How sure are you?”

“I’ve got three sources,” Matt says. “And her agent’s being cagey, which means it’s real.”

Quinn stares at him. “She’s the biggest thing in film right now. Her movie’s still breaking streaming records. If she’s even considering going big…”

“She is,” Matt says. “And I want her here.”

Silence.

Patty lifts a brow. “You really think she’s going to give up witchy obscurity for a studio boardroom?”

Matt grins. “Not for any studio. But this one? If we pitch it right? We can blow A24 out of the fucking water.”

Patty leans back, amused. “And who, pray tell, is going to convince her?”

Sal whistles low. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the plan?”

Matt points around the room like he’s handing out weapons in a war room.

“Quinn- I want everything. Press, panels, podcast interviews. Get inside her head. I want to know what she wants before she does.”

“On it.”

“Sal- find out who else is sniffing around. What they’re offering, who she’s talking to. No one moves without us knowing about it.”

Sal nods, already typing on his phone.

Matt turns to Patty. “You’re producing the pitch. She’s not a ‘take her to lunch and flatter her’ type. She’ll want vision. Integrity. Respect. Sell her on what we aren’t.”

Patty gives a slow, dangerous smile. “I do love a challenge.”

Then Matt turns to Maya.

And the energy shifts.

She hasn’t spoken. Head to toe in Louis Vuitton streetwear, tight ponytail, three rings on each finger, legs crossed like she’s not even paying attention. But her jaw tightens at the sound of your name.

She’s already read your new script. She read it in bed while you lay next to her, legs tangled with hers, chewing the end of a pencil and asking if she thought the ending was too kind. She didn’t answer. She kissed you instead.

“You marketed Wolves at the Well,” Matt says. “She loved that campaign. She said it was the only time her work didn’t feel… diluted.”

Maya says nothing.

“She trusted you,” Matt continues. “You get her tone. You get her weird, terrifying mind. If anyone can figure out how to bring her in, it’s you.”

Maya exhales slowly. “She doesn’t do meetings. She doesn’t do people.”

Matt shrugs. “Then don’t make it feel like a meeting. Make it feel like whatever the hell she needs it to be. We just need her to talk to us.”

Maya tilts her head. “You want a horror film with a ten-minute silent sequence where a woman stares into a mirror and rips her teeth out one by one, and you think I’m the key to selling it?”

Matt grins. “Exactly. And I think you’ve still got a line to her.”

Her eyes narrow. “What makes you think that?”

Matt shrugs. “Because if I were her, and I trusted anyone in this hellhole, it’d be you.”

A beat.

Maya leans back in her chair, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says.

The boardroom becomes a war room.

Matt’s pacing again, sleeves rolled up like that helps him think. He’s surrounded by stacks of folders, half-eaten pastries, open laptops, and a terrifying number of Post-it notes.

“We can’t find her,” he says, hands in his hair. “I mean, what the fuck, we cannot find her. Where does she go when she disappears between projects?” he demands. “Nobody just vanishes anymore.”

“She does,” Quinn says, flicking through a spreadsheet. “She doesn’t have a personal Instagram, hasn’t been seen at a public event in eight months, and there’s literally one known address on file, some cabin in Northern California that may or may not exist.”

“She’s not completely off the grid,” Sal argues, waving his phone. “She liked a tweet two weeks ago.”

Matt spins on him. “What tweet?”

“It was about practical effects in horror. But the tweet got deleted, so…”

“So she’s alive, but elusive.” Matt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great.”

Sal doesn’t even look up from his screen. “No publicist, no assistant, no active socials. Her website is literally a black screen with a Latin quote and a candle that burns out if you hover over it too long.”

“That’s performance art, not contact information!” Matt snaps.

Patty sips her tea. “She’s a ghost with awards.”

Matt slams a file down. “I promised Griffin we were talking to her this week. I called her the next big thing. The anti-Marvel. The future of smart cinema. He said, and I quote, ‘We need her in the building before A24 eats our souls and pisses out another Oscar.’”

Patty doesn’t blink. “And you told him you had this in the bag didn’t you?”

“I panicked!” Matt throws his arms up. “And now we’re screwed.”

He turns, wild-eyed, to Maya, who’s lounging in her chair with one knee up, chewing on the end of a pen and looking like this is the most fun she’s had in months.

“You marketed her last movie,” Matt clings to the one link he has to you. “You got her. You understood her. You got into her head. If anyone knows where she might be, it's you.”

Maya stretches slowly, deliberately, and shrugs. “Maybe she’s just… busy. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

Quinn blinks. “Isn’t she developing something?”

“She’s always developing something,” Sal mutters. “The question is where. And with who.”

Matt’s pacing again. “We’re talking about the woman who made a horror movie about intergenerational trauma and demonic taxidermy and made it a hit. She’s brilliant. She’s unstable. She’s perfect. And she’s missing.”

Patty tilts her head. “She’s not missing. She’s choosing not to be seen.”

Matt points at her like she just unlocked the final puzzle piece. “YES. Exactly. She’s choosing. And we need to give her a reason to choose us. We need bait. Blood in the water. Something that says, ‘We get it. We’re not like the others. We won’t sand down your edges.’”

Sal sighs. “You’ve got a weird artsy cinephile boner for this woman haven’t you?”

Quinn looks toward Maya. “Seriously though… no leads at all?”

Maya shrugs again, slower this time. “Maybe I didn’t leave the door open far enough.”

Matt groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. We are so fucked.”

Maya just smiles. Calm. Knowing. Not offering anything. Not rushing. Not helping. Not yet.

Hours pass.

The conference room gets darker as the sun goes down, but no one bothers with the lights. The glow from laptops and phones and half-dead chargers is enough. A shrine to failure, if you asked Maya, which, blessedly, no one does.

Quinn ks scrolling with the intensity of someone hacking into the Pentagon. “Okay, I found a podcast she did anonymously five years ago under a fake name. I think it’s her because she mentions a childhood fear of mirrors and references a book no one else ever talks about-”

Matt cuts her off. “Is there an email?”

“No,” Quinn says, without missing a beat.

Sal’s got three tabs open: Reddit, IMDbPro, and a very messy spreadsheet titled WITCH LEADS. “Someone swears they saw her in Prague. Someone else thinks she’s living in a commune in upstate New York.”

Matt looks physically ill. “I told Griffin we had momentum.”

Patty snorts from where she’s taken up residence at the head of the table, reading over a dog-eared draft of one of your old scripts. “She is actively avoiding being found. This is artful silence. Intentional disappearance. She’s not playing hard to get. She’s playing divine to be untouched.”

“She has to want something,” Matt insists, like he’s trying to manifest you. “People don’t vanish unless they want to be chased.”

“Or left alone,” Quinn offers gently.

Matt groans and flops into a chair. “Why does she have to be like this?”

Maya, still perched like a cat on the edge of her chair, flips her pen between her fingers. “Because if she wasn’t like this, you wouldn’t want her half as much.”

The room stills for a beat.

Matt narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

Maya lifts a brow. “A little.”

“You know something,” he says, sitting up straighter. “You’re being weirdly calm.”

“I’m always calm,” she lies.

Quinn glances over. “Seriously, Maya, no old contacts? No secret email? No unlisted number?”

Maya yawns. “If I did, don’t you think I’d have used it by now?”

Patty side-eyes her. “Would you?”

Maya doesn’t answer. Because the truth is: she hasn’t even tried. Not really. She could send one message. Just one. And you’d answer. But where’s the fun in that?

Three long, caffeine-stained, sleep-deprived days since Matt declared, loud and confident, that you were in play.

You were not in play. You’re hovering above like a spectral deity, ignoring every pitch deck and soft outreach like none of it matters, which, to you, it probably doesn’t.

Griffin is starting to hover. “Any updates?” has turned into “When will I see something?” and now it’s morphing into That Tone—that sharp, glossy warning that means the countdown has started.

Matt is in executive hell.

So he does the only thing he can do to cope: gets drunk and high with Sal and spirals through someone else’s movie.

Before the film, though, they hit up a spot Sal swears will “cure all emotional disease”, a high-end Italian place in West Hollywood that’s all mood lighting, rich velvet, and wine lists the size of novellas.

They meet at a high-end Italian place with dark velvet booths, moody jazz, and wine lists thicker than a studio script rewrite.

“I can’t believe she’s ghosting us,” Matt says, sinking into the booth. “Us, Sal. She makes one demonic deer movie and suddenly we’re not worthy of her divine witch vibes?”

Sal takes a sip of red wine and shrugs. “You knew what you were getting into. This is why I date Pilates instructors.”

Matt ignores him. “You know what the worst part is? It’s not even rejection. It’s- it’s nothing. She hasn’t even acknowledged we exist. It’s like trying to cast a fucking spell and getting static.”

Sal leans back. “You’re mixing your metaphors, man. You need carbs. Or a Xanax.”

Matt raises his glass. “Or both.”

Matt waves for a martini like it’s a sedative. “She’s out there somewhere. I know it. And we’re gonna lose her. I can feel it.”

Sal shrugs, flipping open the menu. “Then let her go. Find another terrifying gay auteur.”

Matt glares. “She’s the terrifying auteur. There is no one else.”

But before Sal can mock him further, something shifts in the room.

Matt glances up and freezes. There, in a deep velvet booth lit by a golden sconce, sits Maya Mason.

All sharp cheekbones and matte lipstick, black Gucci suit jacket slung over her shoulders, wine glass in hand. Her posture says I’m relaxed, but her eyes are calculating, ever so slightly narrowed.

Matt freezes. Elbows Sal.

Sal glances over and lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t peg her for this level of bougie.”

Matt perks up. “Oh my god. Maya’s here. Should we go over?”

Matt starts to stand.

And then… you appear.

A soft, sudden presence moving through the space like perfume flitting over from the bar like a dream or a hallucination or some kind of punishment designed specifically for Matt’s crumbling sanity. You’re wrapped in silk and leather, a drink in one hand, your expression easy and unhurried.

You’re glowing under the amber light, glass in hand, lips glossed. You walk toward the booth without a second of hesitation. You slide in beside Maya, lean in, and press a kiss to her cheek. She murmurs something, barely audible, but her arm wraps around your waist. You settle into her side like it’s yours. Like it’s always been yours.

Matt’s mouth falls open. He grabs Sal’s arm, white-knuckled. “Is that…?”

“That’s her,” Sal breathes. “That’s her.”

“She’s been in the city this whole time?”

“In Maya’s lap.”

Matt blinks rapidly. “She’s the mystery of the industry. The director no one can contact. She communicates in riddles and metaphors and one-word emails and now she’s just… she’s just- here?!”

They both duck slightly behind the wine rack like two deeply uncool spies.

“Do we go over there?” Sal whispers.

“I can’t,” Matt hisses. “I’m wearing H&M.”

He peeks again. You’re laughing now, soft and warm, gently nudging Maya’s shoulder as you sip something golden from a heavy crystal glass. Maya says something and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. You smile up at her like she built the sky.

Matt slumps back down, clutching his drink. “We’re dead. Griffin’s going to turn me into a chair.”

Sal mutters, “Holy shit.”

Maya glances up and sees them. Her smile drops a millimeter. Her eyes narrow. Fucking hell. She takes a long, slow sip of her drink. Not because she’s thirsty, but because she needs a second to breathe through the coming wave of Matt’s voice, emails, frantic walk-and-talks, and existential screeds about visionary cinema.

You tilt your head. “Are you okay?”

Maya smiles at you, soft but thin. “Yeah. Just spotted something annoying.”

You turn, casually following her gaze, eyes landing on the two stunned men standing by the maître d’.

You clock them instantly.

Maya exhales, like this is exactly the kind of nonsense she’d been trying to avoid. She rubs your thigh under the table, gently, grounding.

“Listen…” she mutters. “Continental studio… Matt and Sal over there, they want to make your next movie.”

You blink again, surprised but not rattled. “They do?”

“They’re fucking gagging for it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “Is that why they look like they’re about to pass out?”

“Yup.”

You giggle softly and kiss her cheek. “How flattering.”

Maya sighs, resigned. “So much for a quiet night.” She holds Matt’s gaze for a beat. Then lifts her glass.

A quiet, unreadable toast.

Across the restaurant, Matt stares into the middle distance like he’s experiencing ego death. “I’m going to throw up,” Matt mutters.

Sal raises his wine. “To lesbian espionage.”

You’re halfway through dessert, some ridiculous tower of hazelnut praline and dark chocolate that Maya ordered “because you deserve nice things”, when the shadows shift beside your table.

You glance up.

Matt Remick is standing there, eyes wide, smile tight, like he’s just come face to face with a god and doesn’t know if he should bow or cry.

Sal’s with him. Two steps behind. A little too much wine, a little too confident.

“We’ve been trying to reach you!” Matt says, breathless.

Maya groans under her breath.

You blink. “Clearly.”

Matt laughs nervously, motioning at the booth. “Can we- uh- join you? Just for a minute. We don’t want to interrupt. Well, we are interrupting. But we don’t want to.”

You glance at Maya. She doesn’t say anything, just leans back, arms crossed, watching with the calm of a lion in tall grass.

You nod and gesture to the other side of the table. “Go on then.”

They slide in like two college freshmen sitting down with the headmistress.

Matt clears his throat. “First of all, let me just say… we’re huge fans. Everyone at the studio is. Your work is… it’s revolutionary.”

You give a polite, noncommittal nod. Maya sips her drink, unmoved.

Then Sal leans in, far too casually. “Didn’t know you were a lesbian!” he says, grinning. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that- I mean, honestly it’s my most searched porn tab.”

Matt physically recoils.

You blink. Once. Slowly.

Maya does not react. At all. Just shifts, placing her hand casually on your thigh under the table.

Sal keeps going, like a man joyfully flinging himself off a cliff. “No, seriously. I mean, it’s hot, right? You two together. Power couple. You got that dark academia meets streetwear vibe. Like if The Craft had a PR department.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head ever so slightly. “This,” you say flatly, “is who wants to make my movie?”

Matt slaps Sal’s shoulder hard enough to shake the table. “Ignore him. He’s… he’s not usually like this.”

Maya leans in then, finally. “Oh, no,” she says, voice syrupy with sarcasm. “He’s exactly like this.”

Matt’s smile stretches thinner. “We just wanted to let you know- if you’re developing something new, we would love to talk. No pressure, obviously, but our door is wide open.”

You study him for a moment, sipping your drink. You don’t answer right away. You just… let the silence grow. It stretches long enough that Matt starts to visibly sweat.

Then finally, you look at Maya. “I thought they were gonna be taller,” you say.

Maya snorts into her glass.

Maya’s been smirking the whole ride back. She kicked her heels off in the car, feet in your lap, your fingers tracing slow circles against her ankle while she casually recounted every second of Matt and Sal’s implosion over dinner like it was the highlight of her year.

“‘Didn’t know you were a lesbian!’” she says, mimicking Sal with a cartoonishly terrible voice. “‘It’s my most searched porn tab!’ Babe. Babe. I almost choked on my fuckin wine.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against the leather seat. “You loved it.”

“Oh, I loved watching you scare the shit out of them. I could feel Matt’s soul trying to exit through his eyeballs.”

You hum, smiling to yourself. “He really looked like he was meeting the cryptid he’s been chasing for years.”

Maya grins, sharp and smug. “And she was just sitting in my lap the whole time.”

Later, at home, you’re curled up in bed together. Maya’s shirt is unbuttoned, her skin warm against yours, one arm thrown over you like she’s never letting go. The lights are low. The city hums far below the windows.

She’s scrolling idly on her phone, probably reading headlines about someone else’s PR failure, when you shift closer, pressing your cheek to her collarbone.

“Maya?”

She hums in response, not looking away.

You trace your finger along the inside of her wrist, gentle. “Want me to pick your studio?”

That gets her attention. She lowers the phone and looks down at you.

Your eyes are soft, wide, full of something quiet and real. “Give you complete control over the marketing?” you ask, voice like silk. “Let you run the campaign. Do it your way. No committee. Just you.”

Maya stares at you for a moment. “You’d do that for me, baby?”

You nod, nuzzling into her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Of course I would.”

She exhales, long and slow, like she wasn’t expecting that to hit her so hard.

“Fuck,” she mutters, more to herself than to you. “I really got you, huh?”

You nod again, smiling, utterly gone for her.

She kisses your forehead, her lips lingering. Then she pulls back just enough to look down at you with a slow grin. “Yeah?” she murmurs. “Alright, baby girl. I’ll set up the meeting.”

You smile, nodding, and then lean in again, just a little, just enough to brush your lips along her collarbone.

She freezes for a second.

You press another kiss, soft and slow, just below her throat.

“Baby,” she says, voice a warning, a whisper.

You don’t answer. You just kiss higher, up the slope of her neck, the angle of her jaw, your breath warm against her pulse. You feel the way her arm tightens around you, like she’s trying to stay cool, trying not to let on that she’s already halfway gone.

Then she turns her head, catches your mouth with hers. It starts soft, slow and indulgent, her fingers slipping into your hair as your lips move against hers in lazy, exploring rhythm. You tilt into her, pressing yourself closer, one hand slipping under the open edge of her shirt to rest against her stomach.

Maya deepens the kiss like she’s claiming it, her hand sliding down your back, pulling you more fully into her lap.

She breaks away just long enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours. “You get like this when you make big promises?” she murmurs, smiling against your mouth.

You smile back, lips brushing hers. “Only for you.”

She kisses you again, hungrier now. Less patient. You’re still curled into her lap, fingers splayed across the bare skin of her stomach under her unbuttoned shirt, your lips brushing slow, reverent kisses up her throat like you’re praying to her body with your mouth.

She lets you.

Lets you worship her like this, patient and slow, kisses trailing higher, deeper, lips barely parting, breath warm against the spot just below her jaw that always makes her shudder. And when she does, when her fingers tighten in your hair just a little, you smile against her skin.

“Fuckin’ brat,” she mutters, voice thick, but she’s already tilting her head to give you more.

You kiss her jaw. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth.

Then you pull back just enough to whisper, soft and saccharine, “Want you.”

Her hand slides down to your throat, not rough, just there. Just holding. “Yeah?” she murmurs, thumb brushing under your chin, tipping your face up to meet hers.

You nod, lips parted, eyes wide and open in that way that always makes her lose her fucking mind.

“Want me to take care of you, babygirl?”

“Please.”

She kisses you hard this time, no patience, no softness. Just heat and teeth and tongue. Her grip on your throat tightens a little as she pushes you back into the pillows, climbing over you, her knee parting your thighs with practiced ease.

“You offering me your film and this sweet little body in the same night?” she growls, voice low and dangerous, mouth dragging down your neck now. “You trying to kill me, baby?”

You gasp as her teeth catch your collarbone. That makes her laugh, deep and warm, before her mouth returns to your skin.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, hot against your chest. “Mine to kiss, mine to fuck, mine to show off when the studio begs for your name and you’re sitting in my lap.”

Your fingers dig into her back, hips rising to meet her. “Yes, Maya…”

“You gonna be good for me?”

“Yes/ yes, I’ll be so good… ”

“You are good,” she purrs, trailing her hand down between your thighs, fingers slipping under your panties like you were made for her. “Always so fuckin’ good for me.”

And when her fingers finally slide into you, slow and deep, you cry out for her, high and sweet and already undone, and Maya grins like she just won. Because she did.

Her fingers are already inside you, deep and slow, dragging along that perfect spot that makes your thighs tremble and your breath catch in your throat. Maya’s body is draped over yours, shirt half-off, hair falling over her face as she watches you like she’s memorizing the way you fall apart.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet for me,” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “So sweet, baby. Can’t believe this perfect little thing belongs to me.”

Your hips rock up to meet her hand, helpless and greedy. “Maya…”

She curls her fingers just right and you gasp, eyes fluttering closed, head tipping back against the pillows. “Uh-uh,” she says, voice sharp, dominant. Her free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, forcing you to look at her. “Eyes on me.”

You do. Because how could you not?

Her smirk softens at the edges. “Look at you,” she whispers. “So powerful out there. Untouchable. And now you’re under me, legs shaking, begging to come.”

You nod, desperate. “Please- please, Maya…”

“I know, baby,” she coos. “I’ve got you.”

She fucks you with deliberate, punishing strokes that make your back arch, your nails claw at the sheets, your voice turn to broken little moans that only she gets to hear.

“Who makes you feel this good?” she demands, her mouth at your ear now, her pace unrelenting.

“You do,” you gasp. “You do, Maya!”

“That’s right.”

She doesn’t let up. Her thumb finds your clit, circling in slow, sinful rhythm as her fingers thrust deeper. You’re close. So close. And she knows it. She feels it.

“Come for me,” she commands, voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

And when you do, it crashes over you like fire, white-hot and consuming, your whole body shaking as you sob her name. She holds you through it, fingers still moving as you writhe beneath her, overstimulated and soaked.

You’re gasping, lips parted, body trembling and she still doesn’t stop.

“Again,” she says, quieter now. “I want one more.”

“M-Maya…” You’re already wrecked, legs weak, tears in your lashes.

But her hand doesn’t leave you. Her mouth kisses your throat, your cheek, your lips. Her eyes stay on yours.

“You said I had control, didn’t you?” she whispers.

You nod, crying out as she thrusts again. “Yes- yes- fuck- yes!”

“Good girl.”

You’re shaking.

Your chest is heaving, thighs soaked, voice cracked open into raw little gasps. And Maya still hasn’t let up. She hasn’t stopped touching you, hasn’t moved from where she’s curled against your body, fingers still inside you, lips still on your neck.

“Fuck, baby,” she murmurs, voice low and wrecked with praise. “You’re so good for me. So perfect like this.”

You can’t speak. Your throat is raw from moaning, your body so sensitive that even the smallest movement makes your hips twitch. But Maya isn’t finished. She licks into your mouth when you try to cry out again, muffling your moans with her kiss, letting your broken little sounds melt into her tongue as she keeps her rhythm steady.

“Come on, babygirl,” she says, voice molten. “One more for me. Just one more. You can do it. I’ve got you,” she purrs. “You’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you?”

You nod, tears spilling over as your eyes squeeze shut.

“That’s my girl,” she says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Fucking take it.”

Your climax hits harder this time, like lightning, like something primal cracking loose inside you. You sob her name, the sound helpless, wrecked, as your body arches into hers and the pleasure rips through you like fire.

Maya doesn’t stop. Not until you’re trembling, gasping, pleading for her mouth instead of her fingers. She finally slows, eases her hand out, kisses your cheeks, your wet lashes, your trembling lips.

“Shhh,” she whispers, wrapping herself around you. “I’ve got you, baby. You did so good for me. So fucking good.”

You collapse into her, boneless and broken and safe. She pulls you close, her hands now stroking soft and slow down your back, murmuring against your hair, “I’ve got you. I’m here. I love you.”

The room is still hazy with the aftermath, your body soft, spent, sprawled across Maya’s chest as she strokes your hair with slow, possessive fingers.

You’re trembling in that delicious, floating way. Your skin feels fever-warm, your lips swollen from her kisses, your thighs aching from being held open so long. Every inch of you is humming, fucked out and fully hers.

And Maya?

Maya looks like a goddess. Lipstick smudged, eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with satisfaction.

She presses a kiss to your hairline.

You breathe out her name like a prayer. “Maya…”

She hums, low and amused, fingers still stroking your spine. “That was sweet, baby. You took it so well.”

You nod, nuzzling closer. “Wanted to be good for you.”

“I know,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You were. You always are.”

There’s a pause. Then her fingers tighten a little in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. “But I think someone forgot her manners.”

Your breath catches. Your thighs instinctively press together.

“You gonna thank me properly?” she purrs, tilting your chin up to meet her eyes. “Or you gonna make me ask again?”

You whimper. “Want to. Want to thank you.”

She smiles, slow and dangerous, and shifts onto her back, guiding you between her thighs with the smooth confidence of someone who already knows what you’ll do. Who owns what you’ll do.

“Show me, then,” she says, voice all velvet and command. “Show me how grateful you are.”

You settle between her legs, kissing her thighs reverently, softly at first, until she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs you where she wants you.

She’s soaked for you. Already aching. And when your tongue finally drags over her, slow and sweet, she lets out a low, shuddering moan that makes your heart stutter.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, voice shaking now. “My good fucking girl.”

You lick into her like she’s holy, like this is your altar, and your worship is earned. You’re gentle, focused, letting her control the rhythm, her hand guiding your mouth, her hips twitching up against your tongue as she gets louder, messier, more desperate.

You moan against her, the sound sending vibrations straight through her.

“Fuck… fuck, yes- don’t stop, don’t you dare- ”

She comes with a sharp, broken cry, thighs clenching around your head, her voice shattering into a gasp of your name like it’s the only word she knows.

You stay there.

Kiss her through it. Lick her clean. Keep your mouth soft and open on her until she’s twitching, panting, tugging your hair to pull you off with a sharp hiss.

You look up at her, eyes shining, and whisper: “Thank you, I love you.”

Maya groans. “Fuck. Come here.”

She pulls you up, kisses you filthy, tasting herself on your tongue and rolls you into her arms, both of you ruined and radiant in the glow of it.

Sunlight spills through the curtains, warm and golden, casting a soft glow over your skin as you stretch slowly beneath the sheets.

You’re still a little sore. Your thighs ache in that perfect way, your lips are swollen from kissing, and there’s a faint, delicious hum still rolling through your muscles, reminders of everything Maya did to you last night. How she took from you. How you gave her everything.

She’s already awake.

Propped against the headboard, hair mussed, one arm lazily draped around your waist as she scrolls her phone with the other hand, wearing only her open silk robe and a smirk that spells danger.

You blink up at her, sleep-heavy. “What’re you doing?”

She doesn’t look away from the screen. “Texting Matt.”

You groan and bury your face in her hip. “Poor man.”

She grins. “He’s fine. I’m giving him the gift of hope.”

You peek up. “What’d you say?”

Maya hits send with a little flourish, then turns the phone toward you.

<Maya: You’re getting your meeting. Wear something that doesn’t scream ‘desperation.’>

You burst into sleepy laughter, curling closer to her. “You’re so mean,” you mumble against her skin.

She strokes your hair. “He’ll live. Probably already printing t-shirts that say I Met Y/N Y/L/N and Survived.”

You giggle again, then go quiet.

Maya glances down. “What?”

You look up at her, eyes soft. “I’m glad it’s you.”

She pauses. Smile fading into something warmer, deeper.

“I know,” she says, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Me too.”

Then her phone buzzes. A message from Matt.

Maya sighs dramatically and locks her screen. “This is what I get for letting the masses know you’re mine.”

You hum, smug. “You love me.”

She kisses you. “I fucking do.”

The conference room is spotless. Brighter than usual. Like someone turned up the lights to overcompensate for the impending dread.

Matt Remick is pacing again.

Quinn’s at the end of the table, calm on the outside, but absolutely sweating through her blouse. Sal’s already had two coffees, half a croissant and is fidgeting so hard the table rattles.

And Maya? Maya’s lounging in her chair like this is a boredom exercise, one leg crossed over the other, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses still on even though they’re inside. Her expression is unreadable, cool and calm, the faintest smirk playing at her lips.

“She’s late,” Matt says, not for the first time.

“She’s not late,” Maya replies, not looking up. “She’s theatrical.”

Quinn eyes the door like it might explode open at any second. “Do we stand when she comes in?”

Matt actually considers it. “I don’t know, do we?!”

“She’s not the fucking Pope,” Maya mutters.

Sal’s bouncing his knee. “I think I’m gonna throw up. What if she hates the pitch? What if she says nothing and just leaves?”

“She won’t leave,” Maya says, now finally pulling off her sunglasses, revealing that infuriating glint in her eyes.

“How do you know?” Matt asks.

And that’s when they all hear it: the elevator ding.

Everyone freezes.

Maya uncrosses her legs slowly, deliberately. “She’s here,” she says.

Sal stands so fast he knocks his chair back.

Matt smooths his blazer, then immediately un-smooths it, then just gives up and wipes his palms on his trousers.

The footsteps echo down the hallway.

Quinn breathes out, once. “Okay. Show time.”

Maya leans back in her chair, sipping her coffee from her obnoxiously big Stanley cup like the goddess of chaos she is. “She’s gonna eat you alive,” she says, deadpan.

Matt doesn’t know if she’s joking.

And then the door opens. You enter the room like a shadow falling over water, quiet, poised, the kind of still that makes people hold their breath without realizing it. The moment you step through the door, the air shifts. Matt bolts upright. Quinn straightens her notes. Sal tries to stand but mostly fumbles his coffee.

Maya’s already sitting back in her chair, legs crossed, wearing a black Gucci hoodie layered over a YSL T-shirt, obscenely expensive sneakers up on the edge of the table like this is a meeting she couldn’t care less about. But her eyes don’t leave you. Not once.

You take the head of the table. Say nothing. Let them sweat.

Matt starts first, of course. “We are thrilled you’re here. Honestly, this… this means a lot.”

You blink.

He keeps going. “We’ve been talking internally about what kind of slate makes sense for where film is heading, where you’re heading. And your voice? We think it defines the next era.”

Quinn jumps in. “Your work doesn’t compromise, and neither do we. You’d have creative control, a team that gets the tone, the language, the darkness.”

“We’ll protect your process,” Matt adds quickly. “We want to empower you, not get in your way.”

“We’ll give you whatever you want,” Sal says, before realizing how that sounds. “I mean, not whatever, but like… most things. Within reason. Or- outside reason, if it’s, like, cool.”

You stare at him.

Maya pinches the bridge of her nose.

You sit at the head of the table, spine straight, legs crossed, eyes focused on a fixed point in the distance like you’re seeing something no one else in the room can.

The others: Matt, Sal, and Quinn, are still mid-pitch. Words flying, ideas piling up on top of each other, offers and promises and desperate energy all funneled toward you.

And you’re still.

Maya clocks it immediately. She hasn’t said a word since you walked in. Just sat quietly off to the side in her usual luxury streetwear combo, arms folded, eyes locked on you.

But when your fingers twitch on the armrest, barely, like a flicker of static, she moves. Not dramatic. Not showy. Just real. She stands, walks over, and places her hand on your back. Palm flat. Warm. Steady. Her other hand rests on your forearm. No words. No looks exchanged.

And you exhale.

Barely a sound. But Maya feels it.

Your shoulders loosen. Your eyes slip closed. Not all the way, just enough to quiet the noise. You lean into the touch. Just a little.

And that’s when Quinn sees it.

It clicks, not in some cinematic, revelatory way. Just quietly. All at once. You’re not mysterious because it’s your brand. You’re not untouchable because you’re trying to be.

You’re just… different.

Your silence isn’t curated. It’s instinct. The long pauses. The blank stares. The way you drift just slightly outside the rhythm of a room. You’re not avoiding them because you’re a diva. You’re avoiding them because you’re anxious.

Quinn glances at Maya who is now gently running her thumb along your arm, still facing forward like she doesn’t want to make a scene, and sees it for what it is.

This isn't a strategy. It’s care. Maya’s anchoring you while the others scramble to impress you. And it’s working.

Matt hasn’t noticed. He’s still going, talking fast, trying to pivot into something with buzzwords. Sal keeps jumping in with half-formed ideas.

But Quinn watches the way your lips part just slightly, like you’re finally able to breathe again.

And Maya? Maya just mutters, quiet enough for only you to hear: “You’re good, baby. They’re just noise.”

You don’t respond.

You don’t have to.

Matt is mid-sentence, something about festival reach and global rights, his voice hitting that slightly manic pitch of a man dangling off the edge of a dream.

“- we’d leverage the marketing momentum of Wolves at the Well, of course, but frame this next project as your arrival. The next evolution of your vision, scaled but intact, and-”

“Matt,” Quinn says, calmly but firmly.

He falters. “What?”

She holds up a hand. “Just… give me a second.”

Sal blinks. “Wait, what-”

“No, seriously,” Quinn says, her eyes never leaving you. “Let’s stop. Right now.”

Everyone turns.

You haven’t moved. Still sitting there, Maya’s hand resting gently against your arm, your fingers now loosely curled into hers beneath the table. Your eyes are half-lidded, face soft but unreadable.

Quinn sees it again, the stillness, the disconnect, the focus. But also the touch point. Maya’s presence. The grounding.

Quinn leans forward, lowering her voice like she’s speaking across a sacred line. “We don’t want to pitch at you,” she says. “We want to work with you. However that looks.”

You blink slowly.

Matt looks confused. Sal is squinting like he’s missed half a conversation.

Maya says nothing. Just lets her thumb glide against your wrist again.

And that’s when you speak.

Quiet and measured like every word has to come out slowly, or else you’ll lose your nerve. “I want Maya to have everything she wants.”

Matt frowns. “What?”

You lift your gaze. Steady now. Direct. “I want her to have whatever she wants.”

A beat.

“I know you want me,” you continue, voice calm but unwavering. “But I only trust her.”

Silence. Not dramatic silence. Loaded silence. The kind that settles into every corner of the room and stays there.

Matt runs a hand through his hair, laughing, just once, like it escaped him. “Okay. Okay. Fine.”

Maya squeezes your hand under the table.

You sit there, spine straight, Maya’s hand still tucked gently over yours on the table. Matt looks stunned. Sal’s blinking like he missed a scene. Quinn is unreadable, but watching, always watching.

Then Maya clears her throat and stands. “Now give us the room.”

Matt blinks. “What?”

She jerks her head toward the door. “Out. Five minutes.”

Quinn nods immediately, dragging Sal by the arm. Matt hesitates, glancing at you one last time before sighing and following.

The door clicks shut.

And no one hears footsteps retreating because of course they don’t leave. They stay just outside. Pressed up against the glass wall like they’ve got a right to any of what’s about to happen.

Inside? Maya turns to you, arms crossed, eyes soft, but still sharp enough to cut.

“You were fucking incredible,” she says, quiet and sure. “You know that, right?”

You don’t answer. Not with words. You’re up before you know it, rising from the chair like you’re being pulled to her.

Maya barely gets her arms open before you’re on her, hands in her hair, mouth on hers, kissing her like you need it to live. It’s not graceful. Not curated. It’s messy. Desperate. Honest.

She catches you easily. One hand on your waist, the other fisting in the back of your shirt as your mouth moves hot and hungry over hers.

You mumble against her lips, voice cracking, “I was shaking. I was shaking, Maya.”

“I know,” she says, kissing you again. Slower this time. “But they didn’t see it. You held the room. You made the call. You were fucking brilliant, baby.”

Your hands are everywhere, cupping her face, grabbing her shirt, trying to climb into her skin. “I hate meetings,” you breathe. “I hate rooms like this.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to hide.”

“I know,” she says, grounding her palm at the small of your back. “And you still did it.”

She kisses you again, rough and claiming, and you melt into it, letting her hold your weight like she always does. Her hand slides up your spine, holding you tight, kissing you like she’s proud. Like you’re hers. Like you always have been.

Outside the door, Matt whispers, “Are they… are they making out right now?”

Sal nods, reverent. “I think she just cried on her a little.”

Quinn’s smirking. “She chose Maya, not us.”

And inside?

Maya breaks the kiss only to murmur against your lips, her voice hoarse.“You want me to tell them you’ve made your decision?”

You nod, breathless. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Tell them I’m yours.”

Maya grins. “Oh, they know.”

The door swings open.

Maya strides out like a woman who’s just pulled off the heist of the century. She’s grinning. Smug. Unbothered. Lips a little redder than they were ten minutes ago.

Sal looks up, stunned. Quinn raises an eyebrow, already clocking the lipstick situation.

Matt shoots to his feet. “Well?”

“She said yes,” Maya says, without ceremony. “You can unclench now.”

Matt nearly wilts with relief. “Holy shit. Okay. Amazing. What do you need? What do we need to-”

“I want a proper budget,” Maya cuts in, already gathering her bag like she’s about to leave a crime scene. “None of this pretend-support bullshit. I want a full team, proper spend, launch runway, and I want control of the marketing. Not a taste. Not a ‘collaborative’ voice. Control.”

Matt nods, fast, desperate. “Yes. Fine. Whatever she needs.”

“Good,” Maya says, slinging her bag over her shoulder, grin spreading. “You can tell Griffin she’ll be in touch with a script by the end of the week.”

Sal blinks. “She’s already finished it?”

“She’s already writing a sequel,” Maya says, breezing past.

“And where are you going?” Quinn asks, voice amused, arms crossed.

Maya flashes a wicked grin as she opens the door. “I’ve got a meeting with Mackie and Ron Howard at the Sunset Tower in twenty. And then I’m taking my girl home.”

Matt’s jaw drops. “You’re- wait, what?”

But Maya’s already gone.

And behind her? You trail after her quietly, your fingers brushing hers. Head down. Lips kissed raw. You don’t say anything to the room as you leave.

You don’t need to.

Because Maya already said it all.

The SUV is silent, the tinted windows shielding you from the chaos you just left behind. The studio’s glass façade disappears behind you like a fading mirage.

Maya’s sitting beside you in the back seat, legs wide, arm slung lazily along the backrest behind your shoulders. Her other hand rests firmly on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, idle circles through the fabric of your trousers.

You haven’t said much since leaving.

You don’t need to.

She breaks the silence first. Voice low. Warm. Slightly smug. “You were a fucking machine in there.”

You laugh softly, head dropping to her shoulder. “I was shaking.”

“And still owned the room,” she says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You didn’t just say yes to the deal, you dictated the terms. You looked Matt Remick in the face and said, ‘I trust her, not you.’ You could’ve spat in his latte and he still would’ve thanked you.”

You smile against her neck, quiet and dazed.

“I was just trying not to cry.”

Maya scoffs. “Yeah, well. You made me want to cry. Proud tears. Or maybe power-hungry tears. Still unclear.”

Her hand squeezes your thigh, harder now.

“Seriously, though,” she says, glancing at you. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

Then her voice drops even lower. “You know what happens to good girls who hand me entire marketing budgets and creative control?”

You lift your head slowly, lips parted, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.

“What?”

Maya leans in, grinning like the devil. “They get fucked stupid.”

The house is quiet when you get in.

Your shoes are off before you realize it. Your hands are a little shaky, your breathing shallow like you’ve just finished running, but it’s not fear. It’s the come-down. The crash after the biggest high of your life.

You’re going to direct your film. With a real budget. With real backing. And with Maya’s studio. You’re going to make your movie. And you didn’t cry. Not once.

You’re in the middle of the living room, fingers pressed to your lips like you’re still trying to convince yourself it’s real, when you feel her behind you.

Maya slides her arms around your waist from behind, her mouth at your neck. “You did it,” she whispers, low and sure.

You nod slowly. “I didn’t cry.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I talked. I said what I wanted. I told them to trust you.”

“You were perfect,” she says, and there’s no hesitation in it.

You turn in her arms to look at her, eyes wide and glossy. “I didn’t think I could-”

Maya cuts you off with a soft kiss. Then another. And then she pulls back, eyes dark. “You didn’t just do it,” she says. “You owned it. You handed me a whole fucking studio’s trust, like it was nothing. And you know what, baby?”

You shake your head, dizzy with her voice.

“I’m gonna make you feel everything tonight.”

She kisses you again, slower now, hands moving down your back to squeeze your ass as she walks you backward toward the bedroom.

“You trust me?” she murmurs.

“Yes.”

“Good. Strip.”

Your breath catches.

Maya steps back just enough to pull her gucci hoodie off. Her bra’s black, expensive, perfect. Her eyes never leave yours.

You pull your shirt off slowly, fingers fumbling slightly, body humming. By the time your clothes hit the floor, she’s already reaching into the drawer by the bed.

When she turns back, she’s got the harness on, low-slung, black leather, heavy with promise. Her eyes burn into you as she adjusts the straps, slow and practiced.

You’re already trembling.

“Get on the bed,” she says. “Hands above your head.”

You obey.

You always obey for her.

She climbs on top of you, straddling your hips, kissing you deep, one hand cupping your jaw, the other tracing down your throat. “Still with me, babygirl?”

You nod, lips parted. “Always.”

And then she takes her time. Mouth on your neck. Then your chest. Her tongue curling around each nipple, licking and sucking until you’re whining, arching up into her, begging already and she hasn’t even touched you where you need it.

“You gonna let me fuck you slow?” she whispers, kissing down your stomach.

“Yes… please… ”

“Gonna let me take care of you?”

“Yes, Maya…”

She kisses your thighs reverently. Then slips a hand between them, parting you gently. She leans down, kisses your clit once, softly. Then again. Then sucks it just hard enough to make you gasp. By the time she slides the tip of the strap into you, you’re already panting, needy, hands gripping the sheets. And still she moves slowly. Inch by inch.

“You’re so tight for me, baby,” she murmurs, watching you fall apart. “So fucking wet.”

You moan, high and desperate. “Please- please, Maya…”

“I know, babygirl. I got you.”

She fucks you with long, deep strokes, no rush, no teasing. Just possession. Her hand on your stomach to hold you down, her strap dragging against every perfect spot inside you as she watches you lose yourself beneath her.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to yours. “Say it.”

“I’m yours…I’m yours, Maya- fuck!”

“That’s right,” she growls, picking up the pace just slightly, her hips rolling into you in smooth, relentless rhythm. “All fucking mine.”

And when you come, crying out her name, back arching off the bed? She doesn’t stop. She kisses you through it. Fucking you deep and slow until you’re trembling, overstimulated, wrecked. Only then does she slow down, hands soft again, kisses returning to your chest, your face, your lips.

“Breathe, baby,” she murmurs. “You did so good. My perfect girl.”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as you collapse beneath her.

Safe.

Home.

And completely hers.

The room is low-lit and warm, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only comes after. After the chaos. After the fight. After the fuck.

You’re both in bed.

You’re curled into her side, skin bare but for the threadbare Stevie Nicks tee you stole from her weeks ago and never gave back. Legs tangled under the sheets, arms wrapped around her waist like you’re anchoring yourself to something real.

Maya’s already half reclined, propped against a velvet pillow, silk YSL pyjamas buttoned down just enough to flash the edge of her collarbone. She’s got a facemask pulled up on top of her head like she forgot she meant to use it. Her phone’s on the nightstand. She hasn’t looked at it in an hour.

The only light comes from the old black-and-white horror film flickering across the flatscreen, The Haunting, or maybe Carnival of Souls, something you love with too much reverence for anyone else to touch.

You’re transfixed. Eyes wide. Body relaxed in the way it only ever is when Maya’s hand is resting between your shoulder blades, fingers moving in lazy, absent circles.

She watches the screen for a minute. Watches you watch the screen. Then she laughs softly under her breath. It’s affectionate. Disbelieving.

“Jesus,” she murmurs, lips ghosting against your hair. “I’m dating the next big name in cinema and she’s still just a little cryptid watching ghost films in my bed.”

You don’t even look at her. “I heard that.”

“I meant it.”

You hum, small and smug.

She shifts slightly, brushing her nose against the crown of your head.

You’re not talking. But your hand’s curled into the silk at her waist, absentmindedly twisting the fabric between your fingers like you’re grounding yourself there.

It makes her chest ache.

There are meetings waiting in her inbox. Contracts to finalize. An entire launch strategy to sketch out for a movie that doesn’t even exist on paper yet.

But none of it matters right now.

Because you, her strange, brilliant, batshit little artist, are asleep in her arms, breathing slowly, dreaming vividly, probably whispering storyboards in your head as you drift.

She smiles, slow and full, and tightens her arm around you.

And for a moment, just a moment, Maya Mason, queen of twenty-city press runs and million-dollar deadlines, just lies there. Holding her girl. Breathing in your soft weirdness. Letting herself be still.

And as the film plays on, grainy and echoing with ghostly screams, you mumble something into her neck. Something half-formed and sleepy.

“Fog machines…”

She stifles a laugh.

“Yeah, baby,” she whispers. “You can have fog machines.”

#maya mason x reader #maya mason #Maya Mason x fem!reader #the studio #Maya Mason smut #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #kathryn hahn x reader

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r3starttt · 5 months ago

Note

Young reader x Caitlyn where reader is an influencer on TikTok / YouTuber and post a lot of soft lunch of Caitlyn ( we never see her face , like js their dates , Caitlyn’s Hand or her back )

And her fans quickly recognize Caitlyn ( how ? Idk crazy fans and the signature colour of Caitlyn’s hair )

The fans are going absolutely CRAZYYY over it.

Imagine this: you start off small, just making fun TikToks here and there. What begins as a casual hobby spirals into something bigger—you’re on YouTube, Instagram, Twitter, maybe even Twitch. Before long, you’re gaining traction, invited onto podcasts, and suddenly, every chance you get, you’re talking about Caitlyn. She’s the actress of the moment, starring in countless queer films, and you’re just like everyone else, hopelessly captivated by her.

It escalates. People tag you in edits of her, and you lean into it, making videos gushing over her because, let’s be real, there’s no way she’ll ever see them. After all, she has social media, but it’s handled by her team. She’s older, more private, and has never publicly talked about being into women. Meanwhile, you’re just a silly influencer with a crush on the unattainable. Or so you think.

One day, you’re invited to the premiere of her latest movie - your dream come true. You get to interview her. When it’s your turn, she surprises you, leaning in with a knowing look you know: “You’re the one who makes those videos, right?” She catches you off guard, and you’re stumbling over apologies. But then she replies again, casually, “I like your content. I’ve been following you for a while."

The internet erupts. Everyone’s talking about how Caitlyn actually knows who you are, how she seemed genuinely charmed by you during the interview. It’s the kind of thing people dream about. But for Caitlyn, it’s more calculated. She’s smart, too smart to let a relationship—especially her first public one—be exposed so easily. Later that night, she sends someone from her team to bring you to the afterparty. It’s discreet, casual, but enough.

It starts with Instagram messages, small conversations that grow into something more. Despite the walls she’s built around her life, you’re charming enough to break through. She’s giggling at your jokes, brushing her hair behind her ear as if she’s not one of the most sought-after actresses in the world. Eventually, she can’t resist, and she asks you out—not for a flashy date, but something quiet and thoughtful, just the two of you.

Caitlyn is not one to flaunt her wealth, but she’s meticulous, researching your likes and interests, piecing together the perfect date. Over time, the connection deepens. Phone calls turn into late-night visits at each other’s homes, and one night, under the soft hum of background music, she leans in, her hands cupping your face as she kisses you. It’s natural.

As the relationship blossoms, you respect her desire for privacy. You post subtle hints on social media—coffee cups at her favorite spot, a new brand of makeup you both love, glimpses of the places you go together. Caitlyn plays along, occasionally posting from the same locations, but always with enough time and space to keep people guessing.

The fans start noticing the small details: her dogs in the background of your Instagram stories, your sweater draped over her shoulders, matching jewelry. It’s a slow burn, a puzzle people piece together over months until the connection is undeniable.

And then, at one of her premieres, it becomes official. You’re by her side, her arm around you, a soft kiss shared in front of the cameras. The world explodes—some people are thrilled, calling it a dream come true. Others doubt it’ll work, citing the differences in your careers and lives. But you don’t care. Caitlyn starts mentioning you in interviews, and every time she does, the audience melts at how deeply she seems to care for you.

#needthat

#𝕽EQ'S﹕⠀ ❪ arcane ❫#A𝕽𝐂𝐇𝖎V𝕰 ( arcane )#caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn x y/n #caitlyn fluff #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman x you #caitlyn kiramman x female reader #caitlyn kiramman fluff #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane x female reader #arcane fluff

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honeydippedfiction · 9 months ago

Note

Can I request plus size!reader where she is dating Charles but instead of her getting hate and stuff for her looks, the fans actually love her and question how Charles can handle all of her? THEY ARE THIRSTY thank you- 🦥 anon

Anon I love you, I enjoyed creating this. It might be extra cheesy but🤷🏽‍♀️🫶🏽

All Mine

Navigation

WC: 2.6k

Warnings: Thirsty fans, Charles is clingy, Y/N is a smartass but she loves her man

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Click here to join any of my taglists

Charles Leclerc had always been known for his charm both on and off the track, but when the news broke that the Ferrari driver was dating a plus-size Black woman named Y/N, the internet exploded in a way no one quite expected.

Instead of the usual scrutiny that comes with being in the spotlight, especially for women who don’t fit the stereotypical mold, Y/N was met with nothing but love—and a lot of thirst. Leclerc’s fans couldn’t get enough of her confidence, radiant smile, and how effortlessly she seemed to handle herself next to the F1 star. But that wasn’t all. The conversation online quickly shifted to something a bit more… provocative.

“How does Charles even handle her?” one fan tweeted, accompanied by a gif of someone dramatically fainting. Another user posted, “Charles out here pulling a QUEEN like Y/N? Boy, you better be built for this!” with fire emojis.

The more they saw of the couple, the thirstier the comments got.

“Charles, blink twice if you’re okay!” one commenter joked after seeing a video of the couple laughing together at a party, Y/N playfully teasing him.

In an interview with a lifestyle magazine, Leclerc was asked about the dynamic between him and Y/N. His face lit up with a wide grin. “She’s incredible. I think I’m the lucky one, honestly. She’s got this presence… it’s magnetic.”

Y/N wasn’t shy about showing her love for Charles either, posting candid moments of the two together on her Instagram. One video that sent fans into a frenzy showed them dancing in their living room, Charles clearly struggling to keep up with Y/N’s moves.

The comments were on fire.

“How is he not on his knees for her 24/7?” one fan asked under the post. “Girl, you are TOO MUCH. Give him a break!” another joked.

At one point, during a Ferrari fan event, a group of women wearing matching T-shirts that read “Charles, can YOU handle her?” held up a sign that read, “Y/N, teach us your ways!”

Charles saw it and burst into laughter, shaking his head. Y/N, who was watching from the sidelines, waved at the group, flashing her signature smile.

“Maybe they should be asking me how I can handle him,” Y/N later joked on her Instagram story, winking at the camera.

From the moment I stepped into Charles’ world, I knew it was going to be intense. I mean, the guy’s an F1 driver, one of the most loved on the grid. But what I didn’t expect was the complete opposite of what I thought would come my way. The moment people found out about us—about me—it was like the fans flipped a switch. And not the kind of switch where they throw shade. Nope. These people were thirsty.

It started small. A few comments under pictures I posted of us together.

“You’re glowing, girl! But, uh, how is Charles handling all of that?” with a winking emoji.

I’d scroll through my Instagram and see stuff like, “We need to check on Charles’ endurance off the track!” or “How does a man with that much stamina survive with a goddess like her?” It made me laugh, honestly. But the more I saw, the wilder it got.

One night, we were at home, lounging on the couch, and I showed Charles a few of the more… explicit tweets.

“Charles, you good, mate?” I read out loud, barely able to contain my laughter. “Blink twice if she’s got you needing an oxygen mask.”

Charles took one look at the screen, his cheeks turning bright red. “They really think I’m struggling out here, don’t they?” he said, shaking his head with that boyish smile I adored.

I grinned at him, nudging him with my elbow. “I mean, they aren’t wrong. You barely keep up with me when we dance.”

“That’s because you don’t warn me before you start those Beyoncé routines in the living room,” he teased back, pretending to huff in frustration.

But the comments weren’t just about Charles. They were about me, too. The fans genuinely loved me, which was wild considering how harsh people can be. They loved my curves, my confidence, and how I didn’t shy away from showing affection to Charles in public. I was always expecting the backlash, the snide remarks about being a plus-size Black woman dating a guy like him. Instead, I was getting comments like, “Sis, PLEASE drop the workout routine because you look FIRE!” and “Y/N, I need your energy. Charles is lucky to even be in your orbit.”

The first time I saw the group of fans at a Ferrari event wearing shirts that said “Charles, can YOU handle her?” I couldn’t stop laughing. I waved at them, completely blown away by how extra they were. I guess I should’ve been embarrassed or something, but I wasn’t. I was feeling myself. And clearly, so were they.

Later, when Charles and I were back home, I sat cross-legged on the bed, still buzzing from the energy of the event.

“They really love you,” he said, leaning against the doorway, watching me as I scrolled through the photos of us.

I looked up at him and grinned. “They love us. Mostly because they think you can’t handle me.”

Charles raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Oh, really?” he challenged, stepping closer, his voice low. “They’re wrong, you know. I can handle you just fine.”

I shot him a playful look. “Prove it.”

The next day, I posted a picture of us—his arms wrapped around me, me standing on my toes to kiss his cheek, the two of us smiling like we didn’t have a care in the world. The caption read: He can handle me just fine, thanks for asking.

The comments? Pure chaos.

“I BET HE CAN! 👀🔥”

“Girl, we don’t need details, but we’re imagining PLENTY.”

“I’m screaming—this whole thing is too much, and I’m living for it!”

Life with Charles was like this. Fun, light-hearted, but also deeper than the public ever saw. Sure, they saw the surface—how he adored me, how we were always laughing together. But what they didn’t see was the late-night talks, the quiet moments where he’d trace patterns on my back, or the times he’d look at me like I was the only person in the world.

The fans were obsessed, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them. But if they knew just how lucky I felt to have him? I think they’d really lose it.

It was the night before the race, and we were in our hotel room, another triple header. The race schedule had been nonstop, and though Charles loved the track, the constant travel and media pressure was taking a toll. He’d just gotten back from practice, exhausted, sweaty, and clearly in need of a break. I was lounging on the bed, scrolling through my phone, when I heard the shower turn off in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Charles emerged, his hair damp and messy, a towel slung low around his hips. He looked up and caught my eye, offering me a small, tired smile. But there was something else—something heavy in the way he looked at me, as if he was holding onto something he wasn’t ready to say yet.

“You okay?” I asked, setting my phone down and sitting up on the bed.

He nodded, but instead of going to his suitcase to get dressed, he walked straight over to me and flopped down on the bed, still only in his towel. Without saying a word, he pulled me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest.

“Charles, you’re still wet!” I squealed, laughing as I felt the water from his hair drip onto me.

He just buried his face in my neck, mumbling something I couldn’t quite catch. I ran my fingers through his damp hair, letting him hold me, sensing he needed it. After a few moments of silence, I spoke up.

“What’s going on, baby?” I asked softly.

Charles sighed, his arms tightening around me. “I don’t know. Just… I missed you today.” His voice was muffled against my skin, and there was a softness in his tone that I hadn’t heard earlier.

I pulled back slightly to look at him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’ve seen me like, every day. What’s really bothering you?”

He hesitated for a moment, then finally admitted, “I’ve been seeing some of the comments again.”

I frowned. “Comments? What comments?”

“You know,” he said, his green eyes locking with mine, “the ones about you. The thirsty ones. People going on and on about how… how they’d kill to be with you. And I know it’s harmless, but sometimes… sometimes I just don’t like it.” He sounded almost shy as he said it, like he didn’t want to admit he was feeling jealous.

I couldn’t help but smile, finding it cute that this confident, world-class driver was feeling protective. “Charles, you’re not actually jealous, are you?”

He looked away, his face turning a bit red. “Maybe a little,” he muttered. “I just don’t like the way they talk about you. They don’t know you like I do. They don’t get to have you the way I do.”

My heart softened, and I leaned in to kiss him gently. “You know you’re the only one who has me, right? No one else even comes close.”

“I know,” he said, his lips brushing mine softly before he pulled back. “It’s just—sometimes I get these thoughts. Like… they don’t deserve to talk about you like that. You’re mine, and I don’t want to share even the idea of you.”

I laughed softly, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I belong to you, Charles. All of me. No one else gets to handle me like this.” I gave him a cheeky smile, knowing that would make him laugh.

And sure enough, his expression lightened, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “Damn right, they don’t,” he said, pulling me even closer. “I’m the only one who can handle you.”

I smirked, enjoying this clingy, vulnerable side of him. “You sure you can handle all of this, Leclerc? Because some of those fans seem to think you’re struggling.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, clearly pretending to be offended. “Oh, please. They have no idea what they’re talking about. I’m doing just fine.”

I giggled, giving him a playful shove. “You sure? Because the way you’re acting tonight makes me think you’re feeling a little insecure, Mr. Ferrari.”

“I’m not insecure,” he insisted, his voice a bit defensive but still soft. “I just… I want to make sure you know that I love you. And that… that I’m the only one who gets to be with you like this.”

I smiled, resting my forehead against his. “I know, Charles. And I love you, too. More than anyone could ever imagine.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. We just stayed there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away. Charles held me like he needed to remind himself that I was really here, that I was his.

Finally, I broke the silence. “You’re so clingy tonight. Is this what I should expect every time someone thirsts over me online?”

He laughed, his arms still locked around me. “Maybe. Guess you’ll have to get used to it.”

“I think I can manage that,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek before snuggling into his chest, both of us content in the quiet comfort of just being together.

Charles tightened his arms around me as I nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat comforting. The room was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting soft shadows on the walls, and the sound of the city outside faded into the background. It was just us in our little bubble, away from the noise and the track and all the pressures of the race weekend.

I could feel him relax a little, his muscles unclenching as he held me close. I traced small circles on his bare chest, smiling to myself. I loved this side of him—the part of Charles that wasn’t the confident, cool F1 driver but the sweet, vulnerable guy who just wanted to make sure I felt loved.

“So,” I murmured against his skin, “are you going to get clingy every time someone slides into my DMs or comments on my posts?”

He laughed softly, his breath warm against my hair. “Maybe I will. You’re my girlfriend—can’t let anyone think they have a chance.”

“Oh, they know they don’t have a chance,” I teased, looking up at him. “They’re just living out their little fantasies. It’s cute, really.”

Charles pouted, his brows furrowing just a little. “Cute for them, but not for me.”

I giggled, poking his side. “Aw, is someone a little jealous?” I teased, knowing exactly how to get under his skin.

He rolled his eyes, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted, grinning. “It’s not every day I get to see Charles Leclerc all jealous and possessive.”

He huffed, but his arms stayed firmly around me. “I’m not that possessive,” he mumbled, though I could tell he was lying.

“Oh, really?” I arched an eyebrow, sitting up slightly to look him in the eye. “Then explain why you’re clinging to me like I’m about to disappear.”

Charles’ green eyes sparkled as he met my gaze, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Because you’re the best thing in my life,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And sometimes I just want to make sure you know that. That you’re mine.”

My heart fluttered at his words. As much as I teased him, I loved how deeply he cared for me. His jealousy wasn’t about insecurity—it was about how much he valued what we had. I leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I know, Charles,” I whispered against his mouth. “I know, and I’m yours. Always.”

He kissed me back, his lips soft and slow, like he was savoring the moment. When we finally pulled away, he sighed, his forehead resting against mine. “I’m sorry for being weird about it. I just… I don’t want anyone thinking they can take what’s mine.”

I smiled, brushing my fingers through his damp hair. “No one could, even if they tried.”

He pulled me back down to lay against his chest, his hand gently stroking my back. “Good. Because I don’t think I’d survive without you.”

I laughed, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a while, we lay there in comfortable silence, my head resting against his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. The tension from earlier melted away, leaving only the warmth of being close to each other.

Just when I thought he had drifted off, he spoke again, his voice soft and teasing this time. “So… you’re saying if they thirst over you more, I get more cuddles?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned, pulling me closer. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”

I smiled against his skin. “I do.”

Charles let out a content sigh, his hold on me never loosening. “Good, because I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

And honestly, I didn’t want him to.

After a beat of silence, he added, “Just… promise me something?”

I tilted my head. “What?”

“If the fans keep getting thirstier, you’ll remind them who you belong to?”

I grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure they know exactly who’s handling me just fine.”

y/n

liked by fan1, fan2, charles_leclerc, and others

tagged: charles_leclerc

y/n: always asking how he can handle me, GIRL HOW CAN I HANDLE HIM. I’M SLURPING UNTIL IT’S FALLING OFF THE BONE😉😩🥵

[View all Comments]

arthur_leclerc: putain de merde, j’espère que maman mère verra pas ça [holy shit I hope mom doesn’t see this]

⤷ y/n: I will apologize later but rn…

lorenzotl: y/n please there are kids…

⤷ y/n: yes Lorenzo down my legs and soon to be swallowed

landonorris: I need you to log off

⤷ y/n: you’re not tall enough to speak to me like that you funky gremlin

charles_leclerc: Mon amour…

⤷ y/n: literally begging on my knees Sharl

⤷ charles_leclerc meet me in my drivers room 👀

⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.

CL16 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @xoscar03, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @omgsuperstarg

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 5 days ago

Note

oof, everything with izuku and shinsou in pez makes me so sad, is there any au where they’re friends? or do they ever get along better in the future?

I won’t say about the “getting along better in the future” bit because I’d rather that be revealed in the fic itself. I do have a fic where they’re best friends from nearly the very beginning of canon that I fondly refer to as my Fake Dating AU, despite the fact that there is no fake dating at all.

All Might and Inko are fake bitter divorcees.

I love this fic so much, it’s my favorite bnha fic next to pez, and it’s been sitting in my mind for years now. If I ever publish another bnha fic, it’ll probably be this one. More info below the cut for anyone who wants to avoid spoilers to a fic I may never write.

Fundamentally the issue is this:

A child

EXPLODES

At the UA Entrance Exam.

This is only like 20% Izuku’s fault, or, depending on how you look at it, 100% Izuku’s fault.

Unluckily for everyone, Monoma stole Izuku’s Quirk first out of everyone. He. Explodes. (Yes, I know that he just draws a blank when he steals OfA I came up with this before that became canon just ignore that ignore it).

Anyway it’s just his arm but this is still wildly traumatizing for everyone. While Aizawa is fucking booking it across campus and lawyers are getting contacted and ambulances are called and all exams are getting halted, three people respond:

Midoriya Izuku, wondering if he is legally to blame for this kid’s arm exploding

Shinsou Hitoshi, no idea what the fuck is going on, just there to force the kid with no arm to calm down and breathe so he doesn’t bleed out faster

Iida Tenya, confused, blood splattered, sprinting across campus to kidnap someone named Setsuna Tokage on Izuku’s frantic order

Monoma gets better, because Izuku had met Setsuna earlier in the day and correctly realized that Monoma may regrow his own arm if he copied Setsuna’s Quirk. But the entire exam gets canceled for everyone, and the three kids who were directly involved in the emergency response get held for their parents. Legally, they need to bring them back for interviews about what happened, and they need to get parents involved at that point.

Izuku has a problem, and it is this:

Everyone knows it’s his Quirk that made that boy explode.

But he didn’t have a Quirk this morning.

His mom knows this.

He frantically texts all might begging him to pick him up instead. The school won’t release him unless an adult comes to get him and he’s got no other options save his mom. He didn’t know how to tell the he got a quirk but he knows that making a boy EXPLODE is not the way to do it.

But it’s fine. All Might is coming. He will be here, and it will be fine then. This is so, so fine.

Izuku: “Mr. Aizawa, you don’t have to call my mom. I texted my—” Adult man who I meet 4-7 times a week in an isolated location without parental knowledge or supervision. But don’t worry, it’s just because he told me not to tell anyone. Haha, you don’t want to call the police on this man. “—dad.”

Aizawa, does not want to be here: we already called your mom kid.

Izuku: oh god

Aizawa: she was down as your emergency contact. But if your dad is coming instead, I’m sure that he’ll let her know

Izuku: that… sure does sound like the kind of information people that share a child would share

Aizawa, so fucking tired: okay

Now Izuku has a new problem:

His dad is coming.

He doesn’t have a dad.

His mom knows this.

He tries to frantically call off all might. All might does not respond. He is a model citizen and does not text while driving. Izuku is fucked.

Iida is picked up. Izuku waits. His mom arrives. There are tears. He tries to power walk her out of the building before anyone says the words “your sons quirk blew up a boy” out loud and in that order

Yagi Toshinori frantically enters the room, takes one look at him, looks at no other fucking people, and says “my boy are you alright”

Izuku: fuck.exe

This all makes more sense to Aizawa now. A haunting amount of sense. He needs to go day drink.

Aizawa, in haunting realization: so this is your son

All Might, did not plan this far ahead: … yes

Midoriya Inko, knows she did not have a child with this man: I’m sorry—

Izuku, panicked: HI DAD

What follows is a lot of eyebrow raising and hissed, cut off whispers and begging his mom under his breath to be fucking cool about this please please please. As a result, she does not immediately out the fact that she has no idea who the fuck this man is and she wants him arrested for something, she will figure out what.

The other result is that the vibes are so immediately and violently toxic that Aizawa and fucking Shinsou, who is also here, immediately comes to the conclusion that Izuku’s parents are bitter divorcees who have given up trying to keep it together for the kid and are just at each other’s fucking throats.

Aizawa, wants to know less about All Might’s personal life: … anyway your son’s Quirk was copied during the entrance exam and the arm of the child who did it. Exploded. You’ll need to bring your son in within the week to answer some questions for our records

Inko, shocked: my son doesn’t have a quirk

Izuku: fuck.exe

Aizawa, staring at fucking All Might, mildly: no it was definitely your son’s quirk

Yagi, never sweated harder in his fucking life: well… honey, uh, you know that on my side of the family there’s a history of late bloomers

Inko, saccharine: did I know that, sweetie? Because that sure sounds like something a mother should know about her child, but I’m not sure that I knew that. In fact, it may be that everyone just expected me to know that when I walked into this room without telling me

Aizawa:

Shinsou: :o

Aizawa: to be clear only one parent is needed for the follow up interview

Inko: he is Quirkless. He was always going to apply Quirkless.

Yagi: right right but, well, it seems that he has a Quirk now, so perhaps it’s best if he uses that

Inko: ONE THAT EXPLODES ARMS???

Yagi: I am certain it does other things too

Aizawa, staring directly at the ceiling: I’m sorry, I can’t let you leave here today if you may explode. When was the first time you used your Quirk and were you able to use it safely

Izuku, coughing slightly: technically I’ve never. Used. My quirk

Shinsou: :o :o :o

Izuku: so really it’s been a day of surprises for us all

Aizawa:

Izuku: but hey I got my Quirk guys. yayyyyyy.

Matters escalate. Inko unlocks her theatre kid background and accuses All Might of violating the custody agreement that they do not have. The words “I’ll kill you in this room” are said aloud and where other people can hear them. Izuku has to restrain his own mother.

Izuku asks if they could please have a family meeting. Aizawa says that they definitely should.

Izuku convinces his mother to not murder Yagi long enough to get them all into an empty bathroom, where she immediately starts beating all might, his lifelong hero and personal mentor, with her purse.

He transforms into All Might so she won’t try to kill him on the spot.

THE RESULTS:

Izuku’s mom is so fucking angry

She is so fucking angry

But she also knows that if shit gets revealed “I have all might’s quirk because I am his secret son” is 1000% better than “I have all might’s quirk because it’s transferrable and you can have it too if you torture it out of me.”

Inko will happily fake being bitter divorcees with all might if it means adding an extra layer of protection for her son. They’re doing this.

THE OTHER RESULTS:

Shinsou Hitoshi just sort of wanted to go to the bathroom and opened the door to find his fellow test taker with his mom and the world’s most famous man who was obviously the same guy as the dad from before, like they’re wearing identical clothes and everything, and after a moment of haunting silence says “I’ll use the other one” and just. Leaves.

Izuku: fuckfuckfuck.exe

Shinsous not a dick okay. He’s not going to leak the fact that the world’s most famous man apparently has a tinier, more unobtrusive form and he’s been using it to quietly white knuckle his way through the worlds most rancid divorce, fucking apparently. All Might’s saved like, a stupid number of people and possibly the world. He does not want to be this involved in All Might’s life and is hoping that he can confidently power walk his way out of this social interaction.

He cannot.

He has to suffer it. Nope, he’s not gonna tell anyone. Yes, really. If forgetting was an option, he’d have already done it. He promises. It’s all good. He’ll keep quiet.

He then has to have the same conversation with Aizawa.

Before they part, Izuku tells Shinsou that his Quirk is amazing and, a bit impulsively, asks him if he wants to train with him for the rescheduled exams. And Shinsou wonders if this is a trap and deflects with, “Oh you probably have a lot of people you can train with don’t let me hold you up.”

And no. No, Izuku really, really doesn’t.

And Shinsou remembers that while he knows this guy as All Might’s son, no one else does, and he was also thought to be Quirkless until an hour ago and obviously has a lot going on in his home life. So, a bit impulsively, he exchanges numbers with Izuku.

Which is how my AU where Izuku and Shinsou end up best friends before UA gets set up. It’s way too long to discuss in any detail, but some highlights:

The pre-UA friendship is actually Izuku, Shinsou, and Iida. Iida feels embarrassed because he was canonically coming down kind of hard on Izuku during the exam and then when boys exploded Izuku was in full control of the situation and acted the way a hero should and so did the other boy and next to them Iida must have seemed simply abominable and anyway Tensei cannot fucking take it anymore he simply cannot so he hunts Aizawa like an animal to a coffee shop so he can try and squeeze Aizawa for information about whoever the fuck the other boys are so Iida can just apologize or whatever the fuck honor demands and it’s just

Aizawa: no

Tensei: you don’t even know what I was going to say

Aizawa: the answer is no whatever it is

Tensei: you havent even heard my bribe yet

Aizawa: what is your bribe

Tensei: *sliding a coffee cup his way*

Aizawa: your bribe is coffee

Aizawa: in a coffee shop

Tensei: wait

Aizawa: so it’s essentially a market value of 400 yen is that it

Tensei: wait. Okay. This is a secret, off menu coffee with so much caffeine that you have to sign a waiver. They call it the nine engine locomotive. And it can be yours if you help me out here

Aizawa:

Aizawa: *walks over to the cashier*

Tensei: fuck wait wait

Aizawa: can I have the nine engine locomotive

Cashier: do you have a death wish

Aizawa: I have two jobs and one is teaching

Cashier: sir for you we can make it ten engines

Aizawa does admit that, to his deepest misfortune, he knows one of the parents of the kids in question. He can’t hand out their information but he can pass along the message. Izuku and Shinsou end up meeting with Iida for coffee and the three of them become friends and agree to train together for whenever they reschedule the exams for

This turns out to be a moot point because, as a result of this mess, the UA board of directors has to be informed that the student involved is all mights secret son and they lose their minds. He is All Might’s secret son who has a Quirk so powerful that it explodes lesser boys. They absolutely must have him at UA they’re sure he’ll figure out how not to explode. Nedzu, Nedzu, admit him now before he accepts from another school. Nedzu.

Nedzu has 97 screened calls and a headache.

The thing is that this has caused a bit of havoc. UA is usually the first school to hold their entrance exams. They usually get the pick of the litter. But now they have to laboriously replan and reschedule the entire practical exam for every single heroics applicant, which is causing conflicts with other courses’ exams, and they need to make sure that the new exam minimizes the risk of boys exploding for legal reasons. So they’re scrambling already without the Board suddenly deciding to just let in people for being all might’s son, which they can’t do. They’re even making Endeavor’s son sit the fucking exam. Do you want the number two hero to burn the foyer down. Do you. Because he will.

But the Board is insistent. Shiketsu will steal All Might’s secret son who explodes lesser boys out from under them. Admit him.

They end up fudging it as an early admission deal based on an extreme display of heroism. He saved an actual life are you saying that’s not enough to pass the exam?? Monoma is alive and has an arm thanks to Izuku’s quick thinking, which is saving UA from an incredibly costly lawsuit. He gets full rescue points. Boom. Call him right now tell him he’s in do it before shiketsu finds out all might has a secret son that explodes lesser boys.

And nedzu’s like. Okay. But if you want that reasoning to clear, it needs to be applied to all the boys involved.

And the Board is like, wasn’t the other one an Iida boy? Great family, great Quirk, great potential. Let him in.

And Nedzu says, And Shinsou Hitoshi.

Someone with a mind control quirk like his hasn’t made it into heroics in over 30 years. The revised exam won’t give him any real chances of changing that. It’s a trade off. They can cut corners for All Might’s secret son, but they have to give Shinsou Hitoshi a chance. Nedzu has a good feeling about him, anyway.

One morning, Shinsou wakes up to a letter, and it tells him, “Hello, we think you’re spectacular, and we’d like to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Won’t you say yes?”

Okay, it doesn’t say it like that. But it might as well be what he hears.

He calls Izuku. Izuku got the same letter. They scream on the phone with each other until they’re breathless and giddy.

But the thing is. UA. Also. Informed. Their Schools. Who. Made. An announcement.

Bakugou loses his fucking mind.

Bakugou didn’t even want Izuku applying to UA. Only for Izuku to be one of three people in history to get early admission offers?? He’s fucking furious. He wants to know how Izuku did it.

And the thing is? Izuku already decided that he wasn’t going to reveal his shiny new quirk to these people. He doesn’t want them to suddenly decide to treat him well because he’s not Quirkless anymore. Fuck them.

Anyway Iida Tenya, following multiple flowcharts and pro cons lists, decided that it was Acceptable Friend Behavior to surprise his new, dear companions at their schools to personally congratulate them on their early acceptance and potentially indulge in some celebratory beverages together. His school released earlier than theirs, as his school had modeled its academic structure to complete earlier in the day so that hero hopefuls could take advantage of the heroics exam prep courses it offered, which he had been excused from since he had secured early admission to UA. So it was a simple matter to head over to Aldera and catch some feral, frothing hooligan physically accosting his dear, dear friend with illegal Quirk usage no less. Iida, of course, verbally reprimanded the vagabond and marched straight to the office to report such deplorable behavior

Bakugou: who the fuck was that

Izuku, gaping after him: fuck—Iida, Iida wait

He didn’t stop him in time.

And despite Iida’s fervent and loud insistence as to what happened, the principal blames Izuku.

Iida’s someone who just cannot abide by injustice. It gets under his skin. It makes him angry. He gets more baffled and aghast and furious the more he sees how Izuku is treated. He also gets confused as to why they think Izuku’s Quirkless and, even if he was, what that would have to do with him being physically assaulted on school property.

The school, for all of its happy announcement, wasn’t actually happy that Izuku made it in. They actually called UA to make sure that they were talking about the right student, which was a fun call for Nedzu to get. They still don’t know that Izuku has a quirk, because UA didn’t tell them and neither did Izuku, so they think Izuku did some kind of first aid or something to respond to an emergency and got sort of waved into the program. So whereas Iida got a personal congratulations from his principal, Izuku got called up to the office to be asked if he really thinks that whatever minor first aid he performed means he’s ready for UA heroics? He’s taking a spot from someone who deserves it more, and it will look worse on them when it becomes clear he can’t do it. It’s selfish. He’d be better off declining it.

Izuku drags Iida off of his school grounds and to shinsou’s school. Shinsou’s got his backpack strap torn off and a fresh cut in his lip. He takes one look at Izuku and laughs, bitter and empty

Iida takes this arc the worst. He is very protective of his friends and does not want to abide by other students or adults abusing them. He wants justice.

The boy spirals. He is power walking to their schools every single day to pick them up. He is baking them high protein brownies and writing them little encouraging notes for nutritional snack packs he hand prepares. He is Exuding An Energy.

They start a shared google drive and he has an entire folder labeled “My Revenge Plan By Iida Tenya” that’s dedicated to compiling evidence regarding these injustices and one day taking away all color of power or authority from those who wronged his friends. Izuku and Shinsou don’t actually know what’s up with the folder (the google drive is sacred they’re not gonna go in his room some people have revenge plans it’s fine)

Later in the fic they invite Todoroki to join their google drive and he immediately, instinctively, and without need for explanation knows that this is the emotional equivalent of asking him to move in with them. He is honored and he is touched.

There’s a mini buzzfeed unsolved arc because Izuku and Shinsou are experimenting with shinsou’s quirk and Izuku says “hey what’s with those eight shadowy figures that watch me ominously in the distance every time you put me under” and Shinsou says “the fucking what” and Izuku says “the eight shadowy figures” and Shinsou says “say psych right now”

After determining Iida does not see them too they decide that Izuku is obviously deeply and profoundly haunted because of that one time Bakugou dared him to knock on the door of that old abandoned house everyone said was haunted and now the ghosts live in his bones. This conclusion is compounded by the fact that the past users find this fucking hilarious and decide to haze the newbie by playing it up

The issue is that Iida is extremely productive and decides that what they need is to make a tour of all major religions and sample their exorcism rituals and go from there. Izuku has had 11 exorcisms from multiple religions and now Catholic bishops won’t stop calling Iida because Izuku’s catholic exorcism was wildly and blatantly unsuccessful and they are very concerned that satan is within him and Iida is of the stance that if they couldn’t do it the first time he doesn’t see what “going to the Vatican” will do so good day sir. Iida is trying to ghost the Catholic Church he keeps blocking their number and they keep calling from a new one. Izuku is despondent he does not want to go to Rome

Eventually they have to admit to the adults in their life that Izuku is obviously, profoundly, and irreversibly haunted because they decide to just say fuck it and use it for warfare. It’s their nuclear option. Total wildcard. When they are out of all other options, Shinsou just puts Izuku under and sees what crazy shit those ghosts do. The first time they have to use it Izuku explodes into a hurricane of writhing and enraged tentacles that try to manually break shigaraki in half.

Shinsou, sweating, trying to open the folder labeled “hey there demons it’s me ya boi”

Aizawa, stone faced: why is one of the folders labeled My Revenge Plan By Iida Tenya

Iida: I don’t see how that’s relevant

Izuku: oh my gosh sensei you can’t just—

Shinsou: you can’t just ask what someone’s doing in the google drive sensei it’s sacred

Aizawa:

Shinsou: *hits play* *x-files theme song immediately begins to play* *defeated whisper* I forgot we did that

I cannot emphasize enough just the peak shenanigans of pre-UA Iida, Izuku, and Shinsou. They end up spending nearly every single day together. They sleep over at each other’s houses. They become just incredibly close and some days Shinsou can’t breathe from it, because he walked into that exam with no friends and no real hope of passing, and now some days he can’t believe that this is his life. He can’t believe he has this.

Iida’s living with his brother, who is handling the launch of the Mustufasa branch of Idaten, to take advantage of a private middle school in the area that is a feeder school into UA. They regularly have at least one student a year make it into the heroics program and multiple who manage to get into support, business, or gen ed. So throughout all this a very confused Iida Tensei is Doing His Best while his little brother and his friends end up hysterical after playing with a Ouijia board during a sleep over. He’s very confused because the other parents seem to think he is a parent and he is not he is not he’s too young and hot to be tenya’s dad. He’s in a parents group chat with Izuku’s parents and Shinsou’s dad and is like “am I. Did you mean to put me in here. Should I. Add my mom?” And then later it’s a source of great hysteria for him. What do you MEAN he’s in a group chat with All Might what do you mean all might told him that ingenium is one of his favorite heroes and Tensei didn’t even realize he was all might when he said it. Shouta shouta how could you not warn him—

When they get to UA and Izuku somehow gets two votes for class president (who the fuck voted for him Izuku didn’t even vote for himself) and ends up in a three way tie with Iida (shinsou and Izuku both voted for him he’s so type a it’s what the office needs) and Yaoyorozu and he hires Shinsou as his campaign manager to help him throw the election and Iida gets so affronted at what the resultant flyers say about his dear dear friend that he tries to passionately concede the election and Izuku is like “no I commissioned those also shinsou you’re fired” and Shinsou is like “hey every single thing I wrote is true”

Iida and Izuku but Izuku especially just acts like it’s a given that they’re going to be doing team ups with Shinsou when they’re older. Izuku commissions a voice modulator that can throw its voice between his and Shinsous to help obscure who’s talking in case anyone figures out shinsou’s quirk and Shinsou doesn’t know how to explain to Izuku that he thought no one would ever tolerate him as a hero, let alone be excited to work with him

#bnha #Midoriya and Shinsou friendship is something I love so so much #it just wasn’t right for pez #pez needed to have Izuku having not dealt with anything #Shinsou’s own problems were too intertwined with Izuku’s to manage the right effect if they had figured their shit out #Shinsou lives HAUNTED by the knowledge that Izuku is all mights secret love child for the record #he did not want to know that about him #Izuku’s unspeakably stressed because people are asking him if he’s All Might’s secret love child and he’s not but he’s pretending to be wha #the fuck do you even say then. also the only universe where Yagi’s agency hates him more than in pez is this one what do you mean you HID #A BOY. Yagi and Inko try to selectively gaslight people in their lives about how they’ve totally been married and divorced before there’s a #whole history that you know about 100% to mixed results. Yagi keeps trying to slide his ex wife and son into casual water cooler talk with #his most trusted staff and keeps getting greeted by horrified silence. it. is not working the way he hoped it would.#he keeps trying to convince his top staff that he always had a picture of Izuku on his wall it’s just there is a plant in the way and he’s #green see it’s a very understandable mistake but he /has/ had a son for many years he didn’t just get him don’t worry that’d be crazy talk

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rock-omelette · 3 months ago

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MAFIA AU

In the light (or more precisely, the dearth) of Mafia AUs in this fandom, I have resolved to shut my trap and make my own.

BASELINE (Gerald, Ivo and the Family Business)

The founder and patriach of the Botnik Family Business is Gerald, and immediate family consists of Maria and Ivo, his surviving grandchildren.

The Family Business started off as a fairly powerful gang, due to Gerald's own efforts in commanding a good portion of DC and San Francisco. But it didn't REALLY take off until he took Ivo in as his right hand man after the deaths of Ivo's father, who had been his eldest son.

Gerald did most of the raising, in some sense of the word. He didn't like Ivo much--Ivo was a neurotic, combative, insubordinate and was even more ambitious than he was. But Ivo was a GENIUS.

Gerald paid for Ivo's education, middle school to every doctorate. He had 3 PhDs by 25. He had 5 by 30. He had 7, technically, on account of several new academic developments in medical industry, but Ivo had always regarded the last two were just "honorary."

Ivo respected Gerald, but he knew he could be better, could be greater than Gerald ever could be. He started developing weapons in high school, and it was his idea to establish a military liaison selling his inventions in college. They took off focus from crude revenues like "Protection rackets" and instead focused on global underground arms dealing, mercenary work, biochemical drug testing and organ harvesting. The Family Business exploded. They were calling it a proper "Empire." People were more scared of Ivo than they ever were of Gerald, and all these combined, Ivo and Gerald's relationship only got more tetchy as they grew.

MARIA

Gerald discovered Maria in his 90's, and Ivo's 50's. She's the daughter of an old mistress, left on his doorstep when she died of cancer. Gerald fairly adored Maria from the get go. She's sweet, charming, kind and obedient.

He doesn't say it out loud, but Ivo suspects Gerald plans to name Maria as his heir whenever he finally dies despite...everything. Ivo doesn't HATE her. He has too much affection for family, or he'd have killed off Gerald years ago. No, he wishes he could hate her, but he doesn't really. Maria thinks he does though, and is fairly confused and frustrated by Ivo's cold shoulder. She hasn't got any other family. She's 14.

SHADOW

Maria is closest with Shadow, who was a homeless orphan Gerald randomly takes a liking to when he found him in DC. Gerald liked his moxie. Up until he found Maria he treated the kid as some kind of foster son of sorts (Ivo thinks Gerald's gotten sentimental in his old age. He DOES hate Shadow.), so now he entrusts Maria to Shadow as her primary bodyguard. They have a sibling-like relationship. Shadow is 17.

STONE

Stone is Ivo's right hand man, bodyguard and assistant, and he has been so for a decade.

Stone is an ex-CIA who discovered the Robotnik through work and has, shall we say, developed an obsessive one sided crush on Ivo through the years.

Like he's heard of Ivo since his years in active military duty, and his inventions never fail to be groundbreaking. And they only grow more and more impressive over time.

He's been trying to find a way to get on Ivo's radar for years. He gotta be smart with it. He got his chance when he was deployed for a retrieval mission by a ticked off general. It's an off-the-book mission. His fascination with the Mad Doctor is an open secret among the ranks, and his perfect ops record made him the perfect agent for the job. Ivo had managed to get some dirt on him that he's threatening to use as blackmail, and he needs Stone to steal it back from him.

Stone uses the opportunity to prove his worth. He steals the data, and "slips up", getting caught. He confronts Ivo face to face, and reveals his intentions to be an interview of sorts. Proving the fact that he had succeeded in his mission nonetheless. Ivo was greatly amused (and slightly impressed) by the sheer recklessness, audacity and skill.

He tells Stone to prove himself by assassinating the General who sent him on the mission in the first place, and to do it in 5 hours. Stone succeeds in 3. Ivo hires him. The rest is history.

MISCELLANEOUS

Rouge, Omega, Cubot and Orbot and Sage are all part of the family as well! Human AU. They are all Shadow's inner circle, and are exceptionally fond of Maria.

The goons are called Badniks, which consist of both human people and mass produced drones. 90% of any added human goons are done by Gerald. Ivo works primarily with his drones, because he thinks people are too "squishy, annoying, stupid and inefficient." The divide in loyalty is clear but unspoken--the drones and tech are more loyal to Ivo, and the people (save maybe a few like Stone, Metal and Sage) are more loyal to Gerald.

Ivo usually hates like. Touch and bodily fluids. He wears long sleeves and gloves. But he DOES enjoy killing and maiming and the like. He thinks its entertaining as all get out. Nothing like a good torture session to let off some steam.

Ivo walks with a cane sometimes. Not for any specific reason he just looks hot.

#stobotnik #Family Business AU #I had the bare bones for this and made it up as I go #this is all in my head and nothing concrete yet theres no. like. plot or fic to write #it just exists #open to questions obviously #choice of fic #Ivo Robotnik #Gerald Robotnik #Agent Stone #Maria Robotnik #Shadow the hedgehog #Team Shadow #this is movie based i havent touched the franchise otherwise #Ill make a separate post about Sonic and the Wachowskis if people are interested but they arent very relevant #well maybe Sonic and Longclaw a little

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befemininenow · 8 months ago

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It's even better when the outfit screams femme.

It's been over 3 months since you first joined B.U.S.T. and your loyalty to the team has been noticeably known. B.U.S.T. applications have exploded to over 300% in the past 3 months you first joined and the higher-ups can't keep up with the demand. They know it's all thanks to you and your ability to make the program known through social media and word of mouth among LGBT+ safe spaces. Just as you're admiring your feminizing figure and your new, high boots, boss stops by and interrupts you: "Hi, honey. I love your new boots btw! You look just as gorgeous as ever! I need you to stop by my office in 5 minutes. It's very important." You stop what you're doing and take a small breather and a glass of water before heading out and meeting her at her office. "Have a seat, hun. Let's start our meeting." You hope it's all good.

"You have developed so well within the company, you fit as the perfect model for our goal, miss." Your boss, the busty lady from the ad, reviews your progress portfolio on her side of the office desk. Rarely does anyone get a call from boss unless it's a higher-up, interview, or even get fired. For the former two, it's just a regular thing; for the latter, it means the end of their journey. You're not sure why you were even called to show up, but you prefer to stay quiet and respond to her questions calmly, like an obedient servant.

"You know, I just love how you respond to my questions without resistance. I think you're becoming more submissive *chuckle*" It may have sounded hot when you were just a weakling sissy, but now that word just sends shivers to your spine. At least back then, you were doing it willingly. Now, though, it's become a habit that's hard to break. "Look, it's been 3 months and it's usually the time period when I either let you go or extend your stay. I'm here to break you the news..." Oh god, what is she up to? You were enjoying the stay here and you hope you didn't strike a nerve to boss. "I'm promoting you to team lead! Congratulations, girl! You're one of us now!"

Wait, hold up. Team lead!? "R-r-really!? OMG! Team lead? That's like, awesome!" "Yes, girlie! Team lead! We figured it's the first step towards becoming a higher-up for B.U.S.T. since you have so much potential towards change and influence! Isn't that exciting?" There's so much you want to say, you feel like tearing up out of nerves and excitement. "I just want to say one more thing before you sign these documents for your new position." She hands over the list you gave her in the beginning towards your transition goal. "See that? You just passed and checked number 7 without realizing it. Guess what's next, hun?" You read the list and you read number 8...

"Take these, hun. It's estrogen. You're going to become a woman. Forever." Wait, HRT!? You want to say something on top of your lungs. For you, it's just a kink or a fetish. But inside, or outside, the answer is very different. "What do you say? Are you ready to become another sister of the team?" "Yes, boss! I'm ready to be a loyal sister forever!" No!!! How can it be!? This isn't what you wanted! You just wanted to feminize for humiliation, not become a woman! Right? Right? ..... Wrong!

(To be continued)

#feminizaton #tg story #tg fiction

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margareth-lv · 1 year ago

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🏳️‍🌈 Every girl needs a gay best friend 🏳️‍🌈

Last week, I wrote a post here about the morbid shyness of a certain music manager.

My text was based on an interview Caitríona gave in mid-February 2018, shortly after her so-called 'engagement' and after she'd just won the Irish IFTA for her work on Outlander.

In the interview, Caitríona talked about how she met her fake fiancé. In the February 2018 version, Caitríona met her PA through one of her best friends.

So I decided to look into the subject of this "best friend" who brought the unfortunate music manager to Caitriona.

What I'm going to write today is, I think, 100% obvious to veterans of the fandom. But for those just starting out, I hope it'll be news. And I, well, I'm somewhere in the middle, between newbie status and more than three years of wading through the facts and the myths.

For me, the fun part has been reconstructing the chronology of events. The dates are interesting.

*** *** ***

The beginning of my story is quite surprising. Because we reach Caitríona's 'best friend' by clicking on a link in an article published in 'People Magazine' on 15 August 2019.

The article is entitled: 'Everything to Know About Caitriona Balfe's Super Private Relationship with Husband Tony McGill' and it tells us that: 'the couple tied the knot in England last weekend'.

😱

What excellent investigative journalists People Magazine have (bravo, bravo!), that in a twelve sentence article they could link to a post from Donal Brophy's Instagram.

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

And look at this description:

"It’s unclear exactly when Balfe and McGill started dating, but the earliest evidence of their romance dates back to 2015, when a friend posted a video of her sitting on his lap at a bar in Ireland on Instagram. (McGill was not tagged and does not appear to have any social media accounts of his own.)"

🤯

Isn't that brilliant work from Starz/TPTB/whatever's PR Dept?

*** **** *** From the above it seems fair to conclude that the 'best friend' who brought Caitriona bad luck in the form of an unfulfilling music manager was Donal Brophy, because who else could it be?

*** *** ***

And now, let's take a quick look at the Instagram post (dated 1 January 2015) linked to the 'People Magazine' article. We all know it, of course! Here is the irrefutable proof of the passion between our two lovebirds: the rhythmic (and how sexy!) patting on the hip.

🥱

Well, hip-slapping is boring (and not at all sexy).

Far less boring, however, is the look on the music manager's face, the look that seeks Donal's approval (tell me I'm patting her well, do tell!). Could it be that, like the People Magazine link, this video was made to show? I wouldn't rule it out.

*** *** *** Now let's talk about dates: the sexy (not 🤢) slap on the hip was posted by Donal with a date of 1 January 2015, but two days earlier, on 30 December 2014, Donal shared another photo on Instagram featuring both the hapless music manager and Caitríona. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Perhaps the decidedly less seductive and sensual appearance of the 'fiancée' in the December photo was the deciding factor in "People Magazine" not publishing a link to it?

Who could know?

*** *** ***

It certainly wasn't love at first sight. The new boyfriend seems rather tired of Caitriona's presence. 😉

I know this is a mischievous conclusion. I am so, so sorry, my friends.

❓

But one thing is for sure: Donal is an old friend of Caitríona.

I haven't done too much in-depth research, but the oldest photo I've been able to find of both Caitríona and Donal is… a photo in a Flickr album belonging to Caitríona's ex-boyfriend, Dave Milone. The photo is dated… 2002.

😨

You get the idea - Caitríona's ex (and real) boyfriend, Dave, Donal, and after many, many years a new 'fiancé'. It feels like my brain is exploding. 🤯🤯🤯

*** *** ***

But back to Donal: I have a feeling that Donal may have been Caitríona's +1 at times when she did not have an official boyfriend.

*** *** *** And let's not forget: Caitríona has a sweet and tender relationship with Donal.

June 2013, Miss you babe!

December 2013, Caitríona on IG:

December 2013, Donal on IG:

April 2014: They even went hiking together in the Scottish Highlands.

I wonder, by the way, who was their mountain guide? Was it an unfortunate music manager? I think not.

I would rather point to someone else, someone who loves (and knows!) the (S)cottish (H)ighlands. But I won't name him.

⛰️🧗🏻‍♂️

*** *** ***

For those who are unfamiliar with the name Donal Brophy, here are a few words about his professional profile:

You know, it works for me: "While in New York, Donal was also known for epic parties. Everything he organized automatically became a “must-attend” event for New York’s most with-it residents."

You know, that kind of vibe (2007):

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

*** *** ***

Had he been Caitríona's false fiancé, it would have been easy for us to believe in the beautiful, loving bond that existed between them. But he was only the messenger of bad news. What wouldn't you do for your best friend?

❓

PS. Unless something has changed, Donal was married to Emrhys Cooper, a British actor, singer, dancer, and filmmaker. Together they run Idyllwild Pictures, an entertainment company.

Taken in July 2023:

[January 23, 2024]

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all-pacas · 8 months ago

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i know i've talked about it before but god. when house and chase are alone together their vibe is just.

chase is usually deeply and pretty happily subservient to house. he's the boss/mentor, chase is the underling. where cameron and foreman both push to be house's equal, chase really never does: he's happy to follow along. but then you get them alone. every now and then chase just strolls in and reveals he can see through house perfectly, and house … never really gets offended or annoyed by this. he's pretty indulgent. he even enjoys it. "sometimes i forget why i hired you," he says, pleased.

in the jerk chase calls him out for cancelling foreman's interview. unlike when foreman did the same, house admits it, clearly pleased to be caught. chase offers him advice:

CHASE: You cost him a good opportunity and gained nothing. HOUSE: I cost him a crappy opportunity. New York Mercy's where you go to treat boils and cysts and build a 401K. CHASE: If you want him to stay, tell him. HOUSE: I don't and there'd be no point. CHASE: You do. And the point would be to make him feel like he's wanted. HOUSE: He doesn't need that. CHASE: All right, then. It'd make him feel like maybe you weren't evil. He needs that. Talk to Foreman.

he gives him orders. and house doesn't push back, doesn't dismiss chase for trying to lecture him, answers honestly.

in human error, they actually briefly continue this conversation; chase's frustration at house not taking his advice leads to his outburst that leads to his firing. (not that house fired him for getting involved or nosy.)

and then no more mr nice guy comes around, and they go bowling. first of all: this is the only time in the series house has ever invited anyone who is not named wilson out without it being a bet or a bribe. he really needed a bowling partner and went chase. but the same thing happens.

CHASE: So what are you going to do to screw up Wilson's relationship so you don't have to listen to me while you bowl? HOUSE: I wish the best for them and their tragically deformed children. CHASE: Well, she's good… At being bad. You might not be able to destroy her. HOUSE: Well as long as I give it my best shot, I can hold my head high. CHASE: Cameron had this one insufferable friend. She wasn't going to get rid of her and I sure wasn't going to join them, so I just said, see her on Thursday's. I know it's not as exciting as an exploding birthday cake, but, hell, I don't want to hang out with her every night anyway. HOUSE: That's amazing. Cameron only has one insufferable friend?

(insufferable friend you will always be a legend) chase just! jumps in! gives advice! completely casually, like it's nothing, house not blowing him off or dismissing what he says. later in the episode, he takes this advice and tries to work out joint custody with amber.

it isn't that house never takes other people's advice. he quite commonly solicits opinions. cameron and foreman have also both offered house their takes, and he's sometimes even listened. but usually he's dismissive. he's sarcastic. he doesn't have a conversation about it, he listens and does what he wants. chase can just stroll in and say stuff and house engages.

and of course there's my favorite example of all, from the social contract, when house needs a surgery done:

CHASE: You want me to help you? Tell me why. HOUSE: Why what? CHASE: Why you care. The puzzle's solved. The guy's alive. And the odds of coming out of this surgery with that same status aren't that great. HOUSE: My patient has a quality of life issue. CHASE: He says awful things. Hardly a medical condition. HOUSE: When he leaves here, he's going to lose his family. He's gonna alienate the people he works with. And if he ever finds a friend who's willing to put up with his crap, he'll be lucky. Until he drives them away too. CHASE: …I'll see what I can do.

he gets the truth. house all but says i identify with this person, i want the surgery done for me. chase doesn't ask questions, he gets it. but also he asks house why, and he gets an answer. no bullshit, no evasion.

we've all joked about how chase gets house, but it's like. he really does. he's incredibly observant, he's good at reading people, it's why house hired him. but he also doesn't… push. he doesn't use this ability to push house. he's not constantly trying to poke and prod and fix and understand house (because he kind of already does), but in return it means chase can jump in and just say stuff. because he doesn't make demands, because he doesn't ask anything of house, the few times he does, house tends to respond honestly in return. it makes me. insane

#malpractice posting #something something prodigal son

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skymagpie · 10 months ago

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**TWW SPOILERS** & theory (hopium) discussion below

Happy launch day let's talk about our favorite wizard!

For those that have played or have at least seen the video, you know that Khadgar's fate is grim and that the general assumption (as wowpedia and the wiki put it) is that he is deceased. People have made a bunch of theories about it, so I am listing everything I know and have seen from the cinematic itself that might go in either direction.

In favor of Khadgar somehow surviving:

Unlike the previous major character death cinematics, Varian's, Vol'jin's and Saurfang's as example, Khadgar's cinematic does not show him actually die. The rule of no body = no death applies, as we never see him die on screen. Even if it's unlikely that he survived given that we saw the city explode, this video does play into the common trope when characters aren't truly dead and return later on.

There was a datamined wheelchair that most people believe to be a cut asset, but if you rewatch the video itself and focus only on his legs in the second half once he is injured, they do not move at all, even when it would be logical for the animation to have him move at least the knee or attempt to get up. (This was also brought up by another user.)

Khadgar turns to Xal'atath in anger, so he is neither pleading nor bargaining, however he also doesn't seem to want to keep fighting her. Instead, when she creates the black hole around herself, he willingly reaches out and allows his hand to "dissolve" before the scene cuts and we no longer see him. He reaches out of his own volition, and he groans in pain even before touching the black hole (which goes back to the above theory that he is already injured and just the strain of reaching towards it causes him pain).

Khadgar's toy, the Wonderous Wisdomball is disabled in the new zones. This is such a small detail, but it feels like the final nail in the coffin. A lot of people believe that they wouldn't have included this small detail if they didn't plan something more for Khadgar and if this was his final farewell - maybe they would've even given it more lines and the such so people can keep it as a memory.

There is that one shot of Khadgar's eyes as he whispers "Alleria." but it's a completely new animation and it's not drawing from the cinematic. Everyone else in that sequence is actually alive. It could be a memory, but it could be something else. (this sceenshot is from this video)

In favor of Khadgar being permanently dead:

Metzen kept hinting in the interview with Scott that he will kill a bunch of characters in the saga, to which Scott asked why is Khadgar first on the list and Metzen didn't reply, only laughed it off and said that there is no kill list - before comically looking back at Scott with a frown. He also mentioned that he is thinking of how to give respectful send off to the old characters so they can make space for the new ones. Khadgar's death above is as respectful as it can get for him, since we didn't see him suffer much and he went out a hero as he always was.

We saw his hand dissolve.

Dalaran exploded when whatever darkness swallowed Khadgar closed in on itself.

Xal'atath said "Goodbye, Guardian." so if anything, she would know what happens when you touch that black hole she summoned.

The wheelchair is from an untested Dalaran scenario and we know that Blizzard has previously cut things that were in the game files.

Patch 11.0 is Danuser's last patch, and Metzen took over since then. Metzen however said that he liked what Danuser did, but believed that there needs to be something bigger for the opening of the saga, so maybe even if Danuser was planning to bring Khadgar back, Metzen could change that now that he is our story lead.

There are few running theories that I saw people talking about, and while I cannot say I am vouching for a specific one myself, I am going to list them here:

Khadgar survives, he is in the void and he is injured, so he will be permanently disabled, possibly drained of his magic and no longer able to be The (unofficial) Guardian - hence the wheelchair.

Khadgar will return as a voided up raid boss and it will be up to us to put him down like Old Yeller, because Blizzard cannot do it themselves. 🙄

Khadgar survived, but his physical body is destroyed and he will become one of the Ethereals (this goes into the Khadgar and the Locus-Walker are the same entity theory).

If you have any other ideas, have seen something else in favor of either outcome or have a theory of your own, please let me know because I am looking for all the copium I can right now and we are just getting started with The War Within.

#khadgar #the war within

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kuroshadow4 · 2 months ago

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Interview with Kuro and Momochi

Shadow: Why am I here again? Haah? Host for Kuro and MMC? *Sigh* Fine Fine whatever let see- Do u guys want to introduce yourselves…?

Kuro: Hello I am Kuro

MMC: Hiii Everyone~♡♡ It's me, Veronica’s vocalist Mo-Mo-chi~♡♡

Shadow: Uh yeah and umm I guess I am the host- Shadow, I'm Kuro's demon let's just get this over with uhh question one, when did you discover Climax Records Kuro?

Kuro: Hmm I pass by a few times and keep on saying to myself I'll take a look but I finally decided to get into after I saw MMC

Shadow: Wow no wonder you keep on bugging me with pictures of that guy and showing it to me…

Kuro: S-Shut up Shadow! Mmc is literally next to me. Why are you exposing me?!

MMC start to giggle

Kuro: M-Move on to the next question I don't need this… *blush*

Shadow: Ayo MMC Kuro is blushing

MMC: I think it's cute♡♡

Kuro: I- PLEASE SHADOW MOVE ONTO THE NEXT QUESTION BEFORE I EXPLODE

Shadow: Alright Alright next question, this is for MMC what is the most annoying thing Kuro does to you?

MMC: Oh~ WHEN SHE AND HER FRIEND PUT ME IN THAT ANNOYING MACHINE

Shadow: Machine? Oh the Maker Machine, Oh yeah she made that ever since she met some new people and created something crazy about you, MMC. I will say you have all lot of versions of yourself

Kuro: …..Let me and my CHEERS squad Cook please

MMC: In fact I just got back from the machine before this interview start so after this interview I am gonna punish her~♡

Shadow: Is that even allowed in camera? OI STAFF

-We'll be right back-

Shadow: We are back- sorry about that whatever you guys heard please ignore it so uhh let's move onto the next question- Kuro how many versions of MMC you created?

Kuro: Hmm I think so far about 3 or 4 types of MMC but more to come

MMC: Are you kidding me- I have to go back to that Machine again when your “plan” is ready again💢💢

Kuro: Well by this point that machine is like your 2nd home I might upgrade it to a room then🤔

MMC: OI Shadow Can't you stop her from this madness aren’t you her demon can't u just possesse her and stop it

Shadow: Yeaaah~ But I don't feel like it doing it and plus she is gonna get really mad if she doesn't do her plans and I don’t want to deal that annoying trouble so yeah sorry MMC you have to live with it

MMc: It's even worse when her friends come over and do plans on me as well. They even help Kuro out too like Come On💢💢

Shadow: Aren’t they Cheers too? You aren’t letting your fans cook?

MMC: N-Not like that- *sigh* alright I admit this Most of their plans are good but like I am tired of being the machine…

Kuro: Great news MMC by the time this interview is over, I just upgraded the Maker Machine to a full size room so you can get comfortable while we CHEERS cook^^

MMC: ……

Shadow: Uhh ok let's just move on- this is for MMC- huh…H-hey Staff is this allowed?

Kuro: HUH?

MMC: What’s the question- can't be that bad?

Shadow: I- ok whatever- To MMC, what types of punishments do u use on Kuro or her CHEERS friends…

Kuro: …..eh…..

MMC: Oh~~ We going on that route huh alright I'll tell u~~

Kuro: MMC do you really have too….?

MMC: Yes, So her punishment is different on my mood but it's mostly ******

Shadow: Oi staff u are censoring that right

MMC: Fuck off

Shadow: Whatever MMC alright next question is for Oh? Me? Ok umm didn’t expect that but alright umm Has Kuro put you in her plans before?

Shadow: Yeah- she’s working on one that I am in, she might put more of me in the future

Shadow: Next Oh last one eh?

-Staff hand over a “special” question-

Shadow: Question from A-ko Eh?

MMC: SHADOW DON’ YOU FUCKING DARE READ ANYMORE OF THAT QUESION

Shadow: Huh? A-Ko? Oh- it’s A-Dash sigh I don’t want to deal with staff bugging me to read it so I am gonna finish this- It’s me the amazing vocalist from NSFW A-Tan, Does Shadow even talk or does they can’t, Momo-sama is here?! When is mine turn to do an interview…

MMC: CAN WE STOP THIS QUESTION PLEASE-

Shadow: Yeah umm We gonna end it before I explode too💢💢

Kuro: Guys- calm down…

MMC and Shadow: HOW THE HELL SHOULD WE CALM DOWN

Kuro: ….Staff cut the show please….

-Thank you for watching-

#dear vocalist #oc #mmc #momochi

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sweeethinny · 2 years ago

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headcanon: Ginny didn't leave the Harpies happy. Just imagine: she at the height of her career, even though she was a mother of three, married, still managed to juggle the hours and was preparing for the World Cup, everyone was watching her, when Gwenog left as captain and took her place someone who just didn't like Ginny. Everyone knew that there was a lot of intrigue between the two, that even though Ginny was calm, she often lost her temper, and when she wasn't scheduled to play in the Cup (being the most expected name to be there) she simply left the Harpies, and then her fight with the new captain explodes in the tabloids. The woman says that she was a terrible person to deal with, that she was overbearing, and even sells the piece of memory where the two are fighting in the locker room where Ginny seems to accept that she won't be playing in the World Cup. So she spends a whole year at home, rarely seen, and everyone says that the Great Ginny Potter-Weasley is dead, that she has let fame go to her head, and that within the sporting world she will never find herself included again, until The Daily Prophet announces her hiring. And when all the journalists run after her the week before the opening of the biggest journalistic event, where they will take her on stage to talk about her hiring, Ginny just smiles for the cameras and says she is not afraid of what lies ahead, because she knows she would never need to sell her memory so cheaply to support a lie. And one by one the women who played with her start to come forward and expose the truth, and then, when Ginny finally takes the stage and after a whole year of hiding, not only does she look stunning but she says she looks more than excited to cover the World Cup, and will be keen to secure the best interviews with all captains. Something like Look What You Made Me Do - Taylor Swift; and from the way she fell, she is reborn every time evidence is exposed in the media of the lawsuit she put the captain through, alleging moral abuse and the fact that she used a false memory to destroy Ginny's career.

#hinny #ginny weasley #ginny fits reputation era so well #my headcanon #sweet talks #maybe im doing a art about that

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heroescore · 7 months ago

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Heroes

Chapter 3 - Heck of a Ride

Phil couldn’t get a hold of Aiden after work. It was getting pretty late after all, so he was probably busy working and had put his phone on silent. Too excited to be hungry, Phil took a taxi to The Joint, bursting in while Aiden was eating a muffin while waiting for the next customer to come in.

“Fuck— Welcome to— Oh, it’s just you,” he said, wiping the crumbs off his cheek with his sleeve.

“Hey, just you is a paying customer,” Phil said, pulling his wallet out and slapping a couple bills on the counter.

“Fuck off, Phil,” Aiden said, rolling his eyes, “what you want?”

“Decaf,” Phil said, “as you can see, I’m already hyped enough and I can’t afford a heart attack right now.”

“I’m not supposed to judge customers, but why in the name of everything that’s sacred would you force me to make decaf?” Aiden said.

“Because I just basically got a huge promotion and I think my heart already exploded a little, let’s not make it worse,” Phil said.

“Duuude, why didn’t you open with that?” Aiden asked, tossing a dish rag at him.

Phil caught it and put it on the counter as he sat on one of the counter seats.

“Because I kinda need a bit of a favour,” Phil said.

“For the last time, I’m not creating fake accounts to upvote your stuff, that’s cheating,” Aiden said.

“No, no, listen,” Phil said, “with the interview with Mirage that’s being published tomorrow, they also wanna advertise towards supers to approach us for interviews where their privacy will be top priority. I might have to meet in sketchy alleys and such, but it gets me my own office and a new computer.”

“I’m not playing bodyguard in sketchy alleys,” Aiden said, serving him his decaf coffee and returning to his muffin.

“No worry, because to get that far, I really, really, really need a good first response to that first ad,” Phil said, “so I was wondering maybe, um...your friend could help me out with that?”

“First off, that would only guarantee one response, and secondly, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to jump onto something like that this early in his career. You should find someone more popular.”

“Dude, you— Your friend is literally my only lifeline into that world,” Phil said.

“And my friend barely has any connections too,” Aiden reminded him, “I’m sorry Phil. but this endeavour will have to rely on your own luck and skill.”

“I hate it when you get all wise with me,” Phil said, rolling his eyes, but he knew his friend was right.

But then he remembered something his friend tended to tease him with.

“So...when does Mirage usually come in for her coffee?” he asked.

“Random,” Aiden said, “if you wanna wait for her, go sit in a booth, I don’t want her to know you know me.”

“Fine, but I’ll want one of them muffins, because I haven’t eaten yet,” Phil said, taking his coffee and finding a booth.

Aiden rolled his eyes and prepared a small plate, dropped a muffin on it and brought it over.

Phil waited quite some time, burning through three muffins, many cups of decaf, and two phone calls about the arrangements for his promotion. Then finally, after he was about to give up and try and get some food before he would starve, a familiar superwoman stepped into the cafe.

“Good evening~!” she chirruped.

“Ah, welcome, Mirage. The usual?” Aiden asked.

“Yes, but first. I want to show you a modification to my suit~” Mirage said, turning a bit and showing a small, almost invisible zipper near her hip. “Ta-dah~!”

“...a zipper?” Aiden slowly asked.

“A pocket!!” Mirage said, zipping it open and pulling out a surprisingly large wad of bills, “or integrated wallet if you want it to sound cool and technical.”

“What a great idea,” Aiden said, “so now you can pay the three-fifty for your usual order~?”

“Yes! And I’m not sure how much I owe you, so just consider this a tip,” Mirage said, placing the whole wad of cash on the counter.

Aiden blinked for a moment.

“Ah, th-that’s very kind, but I’m not sure I can accept—”

“I insist!” Mirage said.

“If you don’t take it I might,” Mr Ecker said as he happened to step out of his office at that exact moment, carrying a box with fresh beans and storing it beneath the counter.

“Hgnn...I-I don’t know what to say, Mirage. Thank you,” Aiden said, somewhat shakily taking the money and tucking it away in his tips pocket.

While he went to prepare her coffee, Phil approached Mirage.

“Fancy meeting you here~” he said, trying to slip in smoothly, but almost tripping over one of the chairs.

“Oh! Hey Phil, what a coincidence!” Mirage said, “or wait. Who told you I’d be here?”

“Well, social media is a bitch,” Phil lied, “anyway, I wanted to share some amazing news with you if you have a moment?”

“Sure! Nothing in our area is on fire yet, so…”

“Great! Have a seat!” Phil said, pulling her to his booth, “ah, sir, could you bring her coffee there? Thanks!”

Aiden discreetly rolled his eyes and quietly brought over her coffee while Phil told Mirage about the impact of her interview, and that while it hadn’t even been published yet!

“Oh that’s wonderful news!” Mirage said, “and they’re going to place an ad for more interviews?”

“Yup,” Phil said, “I’m getting new stuff, my own office...they’re putting my face on the cover. And it’s all thanks to you!”

“Oh my!” Mirage said, “when I became a hero I imagined helping people as in pulling them from burning buildings, not...getting promotions.” she giggled a bit, “Although one shouldn’t just go into a burning building, it’s far too risky when you don’t have protective gear or powers, although there was that one time the fire department couldn’t reach someone and there was only smoke in the room so far so… what were we talking about?”

“Nothing, really. Talk away,” Phil said. Mirage raised a brow, then laughed a bit.

“You’re very cute, Phil. But I better get going~” She grabbed her coffee, winked at him, and disappeared.

“Cat!”

Black Cat rolled her eyes a bit, not even startled as Mirage suddenly appeared behind her and shouted her nickname. She came up next to her, sitting down on the ledge of the roof they were on, and bounced in her seat a bit.

“You’ll never believe what just happened!”

“I dunno, Mirage, after those murder chickens I might just believe anything,” Cat said with a shrug, “what happened?”

“Fair point,” Mirage said, before shaking her head and pulling a hand through her hair, “I called a boy cute.”

“...I assume you mean a guy your age? We’re not in high school, be specific,” Cat said.

“Sorry, yeah, a guy,” Mirage said, “he’s a columnist, I met him when taking Cross home the other day, and he asked if we could do an interview, and I thought heck why not? And he was so respectful with his questions, like he didn’t ask me about my job or daily life, really just things about my life as a hero instead, like Mirage is a separate person.”

“And you called him cute for that?” Cat asked, struggling to follow her line of storytelling.

“No, I did that earlier when I happened to run into him at The Joint, and he told me my interview got him a promotion, and I started rambling and I don’t even remember about what, so I was like ‘what were we talking about?’ and he goes ‘Nothing~ Talk away~’ looking all mesmerised. I think he has a thing for me.”

“And then you called him cute?” Cat asked.

“And went straight here to tell you about it,” Mirage said, nodding.

“Aight,” Cat said, grinning a bit, “when’s the first date?”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, I— Mirage can’t date, that’d be...so complicated.”

“Why, are you already in a committed relationship in your daily life?” Cat asked.

“God I wish,” Mirage said, “nah, I’m a single pringle in both lives, but like...what if things go bad and he outs me?”

“Then you don’t date him,” Cat said with a shrug.

“You make it sound so easy, girl…”

“Yeah, well, we both know it’s never easy,” Cat said as she got up, stretching a bit, “let’s go. I have a feeling something’s about to go down.”

The next morning, Phil woke up in the best mood. His face was on the magazine’s cover that was being printed today, and a preview of the interview and the ad Mr Leblanc suggested were already available online. #MirageInterview was trending on several socials by the time he left the apartment to go to work and size up his new office and equipment.

He had even been allowed to keep his old work laptop and use it privately, so he was planning to wipe it clean at the end of the day and give it to Aiden so he wouldn’t have to worry about his class notes.

Speaking of, when he went to wake his friend for class, he only found a note on his pillow with the words: “early shift before class.”

“An early shift after a closing shift?” Phil asked no one in particular, “that old man’s gonna work you to death if you’re not careful…”

Still, he didn’t let it ruin his mood as he locked the apartment door and headed out. He put in a pair of earbuds to listen to his favourite tunes as he headed towards the nearest subway station.

It was quite busy as was normal at this rush hour, but having to squeeze yourself between two sweaty businessmen to give up a seat for an old lady for about twenty minutes until his stop beat having to stand still in traffic for possibly longer...right? Not to mention the cost of getting a driver’s licence and owning a car.

No. Subway was definitely better, Phil told himself as he resisted the urge of suggesting deodorant to the businessmen. Fortunately they got off before him, and he got some breathing room to start moving towards the door, since he had a two-minute window to get off the train and squeeze himself into the next.

However, as he braced himself for the train to slow down...it didn’t. And when they reached the station, the train simply sped through. Phil frowned, stopping his music and taking his earbuds out, turning to the young woman next to him, who seemed equally confused.

“Did I miss an announcement?” Phil asked.

“No, there hasn’t been any announcement besides the stations,” the woman replied.

Phil cursed and looked around, for an emergency break of some kind. Two young men were already yanking on one, but it didn’t seem to be working. Phil made his way over to them.

“Hey, check the breaks in the other carts, I’ll go to the front and see what’s up,” he said.

They agreed right away and they parted ways again. Phil made his way to the front cart, nearly falling over as the train was clearly going too fast for the track. There were no drivers in the trains, as they were all controlled remotely, but there were supposed to be plenty of fail-safes in case said control was lost. But it appeared none of them were working.

When Phil finally made it to the front, where the main control panel was installed, he found a rather famous super pacing before it; Black Cat. It appeared she had already broken open the door and tried to override the controls, but nothing was working; emergency breaks, alert buttons, or even the intercom system to ask people to stay calm. Cat seemed to be on the phone, looking rather annoyed as she tried to get through.

“Miss?” Phil said.

“Stay in your seat,” she replied dismissively, trying to dial again.

“You’ll only have a signal near or on platforms,” Phil informed her, “you’re better off sending a text and retrying until it goes through.”

“I fucking hate providers,” Cat grumbled, but she followed his advice and sent a text instead.

And sure enough, when they sped past the next station, she managed to get it sent.

“Great, thanks,” she said, “now even though the emergency precautions seem to be broken, I’m sure they know they have a runaway train and cleared the tracks for us. So we shouldn’t have to worry about collisions. However, at this speed…”

“Keep it down, people will freak out,” Phil said.

“But they should be allowed to come to terms with the worst possible outcome,” Cat said.

“I’m sure some already are,” Phil said, “who did you text?”

“My partner. She can teleport people to safety,” Cat said.

“Are you sure that’s the best course of action?” Phil questioned, “there’s dozens of people on this train, she could exhaust herself before saving everyone.”

“....you’re the guy that did that interview,” Cat concluded.

“Yes, Phil Winter, huge fan, but for real, is there nothing else we can do?” Phil said, shaking her hand briefly.

“Sometimes hard choices need to be made,” Cat said, “even with our advantages we can’t save everyone. When Mirage gets here...we’ll do it Titanic-style. Women and children first, young before old. We should prepare the crowd.”

“...you’re right,” Phil said, “though I don’t like it one bit...we should warn them for the side-effects too.”

“Yes. Almost forgot. Everyone listen up!”

She explained the plan, asking people to pass it to the other carts. Some didn’t seem too happy with it, but most were just praying that there would be enough time to get everyone off. Some younger people offered to let an elderly citizen take their place, and before they knew it everyone was shouting at Cat.

Phil had seen it coming, considering she could be rather blunt while these people were scared and vulnerable. However, she couldn’t help them when they all yelled at her, so he got up on a seat and tried to shout over everyone.

“Everyone! Guys! Calm the fuck down!” he yelled, waiting for people to quiet a little before continuing, “they probably know they have a runaway train and the tracks should be cleared for us. We’re not going to crash into anything, so we got plenty of time to get everyone off safely, understood?”

People settled down a little at that, and Cat gave Phil a little nod. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he decided to take it as gratitude. At that moment, Mirage finally popped up beside them.

“Oh! I made it!” she said, “sorry for the wait Cat. After getting your text I had to find out which train you were on and where it’s headed so I went to headquarters and— Oh hi Phil!”

“Focus!” Cat snapped, forcing her friend to look back at her, away from Phil, who waved a bit awkwardly.

“What’d they say?”

Mirage answered in a hushed tone, not wanting people to panic.

“It’s bad.” she said, “They managed to clear the tracks as much as possible, but it seems they’re dealing with some kind of virus and they’re able to do less and less. They could eventually reroute this train back onto the track with another.”

“Better get to work then,” Cat said.

Mirage nodded in agreement.

“I’m taking you to the 124th so you can coordinate where to pick people up. They’ll need help after the jump.”

“Got it. What channel you on?” Cat asked.

“Six,” Mirage said, tapping her own ear piece, “I’ll only have clear reception above ground so, communication will be short.”

“And chaotic, I’m used to that,” Cat said, “you coming Winter?”

“M-me?” Phil asked, “no...stick to the plan. Titanic-style. Women and children first. I’ll stay here to keep people calm.”

The two masked women nodded, before disappearing. Barely two seconds later Mirage was already back to pick up a young mother with her newborn, followed by a young family with three young kids.

While she kept popping in and out, Cat had met up with Captain Carnahan of the 124th and coordinated with her to pick up the victims. Whenever Mirage dropped someone off, she yelled a landmark, so they would know where to send a unit.

Back in the train, Phil tried his best to help people stay calm, and warning them for the side effects of Mirage’s teleporting.

“It won’t hurt, really. You’ll feel nauseous and dizzy for a bit, but only for a minute or so.”

As the automatic announcements called another station coming up, Phil got his phone out and sent an SOS text to Aiden. He didn’t give any other info. But that wasn’t necessary. When they both finally got their hands on a decently working smartphone, they installed an app with which they could track each other. In case something happened to one of them; a sudden disappearance, mugging or an emergency text.

Phil wasn’t quite sure how well it would work while he was in the subway, but at least his friend would know something was up. Just after watching his text get through, he was suddenly thrown off his feet as the train switched tracks. And barely a moment later, Mirage appeared behind Phil, catching her breath a bit as she was already at her limit.

“HQ called…” she panted, “Switched tracks...other train ahead…”

“Oh shit,” Phil said, “how many people did you get off?”

“Less than half,” Mirage answered, shaking her head, “I-I don’t think I can do this…”

“Okay, okay, take a deep breath,” Phil said, “what about a caffeine booster?”

“They only make me stronger, not faster,” Mirage said. Phil nodded, thinking for a moment.

“How much stronger?”

“Uh...I dunno I never really tested?” Mirage said.

“Strong enough to move the whole train and everyone in it in one jump?”

“...not with precision, but maybe?”

“Let me think...we just passed Hunter College,” Phil slowly said,

“Central Park is just a block over, if they can clear an area for you, I’d say just plant us there. It’ll be a soft landing, if everyone braces themselves, worst case someone gets a concussion or a broken arm, so maybe some place near a hospital?”

“Mount Sinai hospital is right across the East Meadow,” Mirage said, “I sunbathe there on days off— I’ll tell them to clear the place, you tell people to brace themselves!”

She disappeared again, and Phil sent someone to spread the word in the other carts. Loose items were tucked under seats and tied in place with belts, coats, vests and shirts. Some old lady threw her groceries out the window, saying she would rather buy new ones than to be taken off the census by her melons and a pack of butter.

Meanwhile Mirage popped back up above ground and called Cat.

“Hey, tell them to clear the East Meadow asap, I’m taking the whole train there.”

“Jesus girl, how much time they got?” Cat asked, having put her on speaker, so the officers listening in immediately began calling.

“I dunno, a couple minutes?” Mirage said, “I’ll be aiming for the centre, pray for us!”

And then her signal went dead as she jumped back onto the speeding train, making sure everyone was prepared before finding Phil again, taking out her caffeine pills.

“If this doesn’t work…”

“Don’t go there,” Phil said, “if anyone in this city can do this, it’s you.”

“Right,” Mirage said, “do or die.”

With that in mind, she dry-swallowed two pills, told Phil to brace himself, and teleported herself to the front of the train. On the outside. There was barely enough room for her to stand on the ledge, but the wind pressed her against the window. It took a bit of struggle to turn around.

Through the window, she could see the people in the front cart all peering hopefully at her, ready to tuck in protectively should she manage to move the train or fail. She locked eyes with Phil, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Come on, Mirage,” she muttered to herself, “if there is a god…”

A light reflected off the window as they raced towards the other train. So it was now or never. She braced herself, but instead of a lot of pain, she found herself flying off the ridge as the train abruptly slowed down while its wheels dug itself into the dirt, daylight blinded her, and the grass that normally felt so gentle and soft bruised her as she tumbled off quite roughly. She spit some dirt out of her mouth as she looked up, finding the whole train had come to a stop on the grass.

“I...I did it…” she said, before everything turned black.

Inside the train had been pure chaos. People hanging on and screaming for dear life as the train collided with...something? Daylight blinded them too, the jump disoriented them, and many breakfasts were lost as soon as people dared to let go.

Phil only just about managed to keep his down as he made his way over to one of the broken windows, cutting his arm as he slipped through and stumbled past the train. A helicopter was hovering over them, telling people to stay put and that help was on the way, sirens were closing in fast, but Phil’s main concern was the woman who had just saved them. He found her some ways from the train, fearing the worst as she wasn’t moving.

“Mirage!”

He called out her name as he closed the distance between them, dropping to his knees next to her, and gently putting his head on her chest to listen for a heartbeat, or breathing...anything! It was hard to hear over all the sounds, and he was so focused he almost missed the approaching of hooves as a rather famous super approached them.

“Step away from her, sir!” he called as he dismounted his horse.

“She just saved a lot of people’s lives, I’m tryna see if she didn’t lose hers in the process!” Phil snapped, “I think she’s breathing— Ranger?!”

“If you really want to help her you’ll have no time for fanboying,” Ranger said, sitting next to him and searching for a pulse, before feeling her forehead. “She’s fine, just exhausted herself.”

“Will she need a hospital?” Phil asked.

“Technically, yes,” Ranger said, “but they’ll completely disregard her privacy. So unless she starts bleeding in places she shouldn’t be bleeding, we better get her out of here before the ambulance gets here.”

“Need a hand?”

Phil whipped his head around upon hearing the familiar voice, finding his best friend (in disguise) landing smoothly behind them. Ranger shot him a suspicious look, but a familiar voice in the back of his mind told him to trust the new super.

“Take her somewhere where she can rest safely,” he said, “stay clear of that helicopter, I’ll summon a distraction for you.”

“I’ll protect her with my life,” Cross said nobly, while behind Ranger, Phil mouthed ‘I’ll see you later.’ at him.

He gently took Mirage in his arms, carrying her bridal-style before taking off.

“You sir, with the wings! Do not leave the area!” someone shouted through a speaker from the helicopter, but Cross ignored them, while Ranger put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly.

Quite literally out of nowhere, a very large flock of birds showed up, flying between the helicopter and the super, making it impossible for them to follow him without crashing themselves. Phil gaped a bit, before snapping back to the present and turning towards Ranger.

“Say...I don’t suppose you’d like to give an interview for my column?”

“I think not,” Ranger said, “but some kids that frequent Times Square might love to take that offer.”

He took his horse by the reins and approached the police to report on what he knew about the incident, while Phil was coaxed into an ambulance to get checked for injuries.

Several hours later, he finally arrived home, having been given a ride by the police after being questioned extensively at the hospital. Since a lot of people pointed him out as having helped Black Cat and later Mirage, they decided he was their best bet to complete the picture of what had happened.

By the time he arrived home, the late afternoon news was already reporting some details of the incident, explaining that it had been the work of a hacker, but that things were back under control and subways were running as they should be again.

They showed amateur footage of the runaway train appearing in the middle of the meadow, the hype of Ranger’s very brief involvement, and someone was so popular he got his own item.

“Next up: An angel in New York City definitive proof of God? Theologists are skeptic.” a reporter said on the TV while Phil entered the apartment.

Aiden was pacing in front of the TV, while Mirage was passed out on their couch. When spotting Phil, he turned the TV off.

“Dude, I’ve been trying to call you for hours,” he said, “are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live,” Phil said, “and I lost my phone in the chaos. Gave the police your number in case they find it.”

“Okay,” Aiden said.

“How is she?” Phil asked.

“Um...about an hour after I put her down she got up, ate a spoonful of coffee grounds, then nearly missed the couch when she passed out again.”

“Damn,” Phil said, “is she...unconscious?”

“In a sense? I think she’s just sleeping,” Aiden said.

“And she didn’t recognise you from The Joint?” Phil asked.

“Not yet,” Aiden said, “but that doesn’t matter. She’d have to be really fucked up to rat me out after all this.”

“Fair enough,” Phil said, “Ranger seemed to trust you too.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what’s cooler, killing a T-rex or meeting Ranger and...well, sorta working together? He did cover my escape~”

“High five!” Phil said excitedly, holding up the hand he’d cut when crawling out of the train.

Aiden didn’t notice the bandage and enthusiastically smacked him right on the cut.

“AH! FUCK!” Phil yelled, holding his hand and cursing a lot more as he sat down on one of the chairs.

“Oh Lord, I’m so sorry— Hey, leave Jesus out of this!”

“You hit me on my wound, I’m sure Jesus will forgive me for slipping up!” Phil said.

“Don’t be so dramatic, I’ll grab you some ice,” Aiden said.

He headed over to the kitchen, finding a bag of frozen peas and tossing them at Phil. He reluctantly took the bag, holding it in his injured hand. Other than that, he got off pretty well, with only a couple bruises. Everyone on the train had gotten off very well, since the worst injuries were a couple concussions and a broken hip. And all thanks to Mirage, who slept off her exhaustion on their couch.

“Coffee?” Aiden asked.

“Fuck, please, yes,” Phil said, “hospital would only give me water.”

“You’re probably not insured for hot drinks,” Aiden said.

“Yeah, I declined pain relief too to keep the bill to a minimum,” Phil said with a sigh, “remind me to call my insurance when I get a phone back.”

“That comes later, you should rest now. You’ve been through a lot too,” Aiden said, getting out the French press, since it was Phil’s favourite, and he looked like he could use a pick-me-up.

“Thanks man...you’re right, it’s a lot to process, but it’s kind of hard to focus on that when we have a famous superhero sleeping on our couch!”

Aiden shook his head a bit as he waited for the coffee to settle, before pressing the plunger slowly and pouring a cup for Phil. As he walked past Mirage to give his friend his coffee, the scent seemed to rouse her from her sleep as she stirred a little.

“Hng...can I get a cup...of that?” she mumbled, before blinking her eyes open.

Her sight was a bit blurry, but she recognised the horribly undecorated room, and the young man in the chair.

“Phil…? Why are you holding a bag of peas?”

“Cut my hand,” Phil said, “how are you feeling?”

“Like I teleported a whole ass train,” Mirage said, slowly sitting up, while Aiden tried to be invisible, pouring her a cup of coffee and putting it down in front of her.

“Oh, thanks— YOU!”

She smiled gratefully at him, before gaping in shock as she recognised her usual barista. She looked between him and Phil.

“You two know each other?”

“He’s my roommate,” Phil slowly said, after receiving an affirming nod from Aiden.

“Your roommate?” Mirage said, “but then— Oh my God you’re—”

“Don’t drink the last sip, that’s French press coffee,” Aiden said, distracting her before she would blurt something out.

“Thin walls,” Phil said, detecting some confusion on the super’s face.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry!” Mirage quickly said, “jeez, now I feel like I owe you so much more than just a bunch of unpaid coffees!”

“Well, you did save me from getting eaten the other night, so let’s call it even,” Aiden said, “also your huge tip gave us a breather in paying rent.”

“Had I known you lived here I would’ve urged you to spend it on home improvements instead,” Mirage said, taking the coffee and carefully taking a sip.

“We’re getting the AC fixed?” Phil said.

“Good for you, but you’ll need more than that,” Mirage said.

“Why?” Aiden asked, “nothing else is broken?”

“Men,” Mirage sighed, “anyway, um...why am I here though?”

“You passed out after saving us and Ranger said the hospital would be a bad idea,” Phil said with a shrug.

“Whoa,” Mirage said, “I missed Ranger? Did you ask him for an interview?”

“Tried and failed,” Phil said, shaking his head sadly, “anyway, at that moment Cross showed up and Ranger told him to take you somewhere you could rest safely, so here we are.”

“Oh you boys are a Godsend,” Mirage said, “literally?” she added, looking at Aiden.

“I wish I knew,” he said with a shrug, “but I like to think God blessed me with these abilities so I can help people.”

“I can’t say I fully agree,” Mirage said, “but if there is a higher power out there, it’s nice to know they’re looking after us.”

“To each their own,” Aiden said, “when you boil all religions down to their core, we all believe in the same idea in the end; a higher power creating earth and its life, peace after death, etcetera.”

“...huh. You can even apply that to science,” Mirage said.

“See?” Aiden said.

“Okay, okay, very enlightening,” Phil said, “since you two are all buddy-buddy, any chance you can keep us in the loop on what happened on that subway?”

“Oh, the news said it was a hacker,” Aiden said.

“I heard, but like, what was their motive? Was there a ransom demand? Were they just psychotic?” Phil said, “I want answers!”

“Supers don’t typically investigate things unless they’re specialised in that,” Mirage said, “Cat and I...we typically just deal with a situation then hand everything over to the police.”

“Aren’t you ever curious?” Phil asked, “or ask follow-up questions? Like, don’t you want to know how the heck three dinosaurs suddenly appeared in the middle of New York-freakin-City?”

“Well, that’s different, since I’m a scientist and my lab happens to be investigating that,” Mirage slowly said, “but it’s worth a shot asking the police maybe? They’ll be more inclined to tell me than you so...”

“Girl I would love you forever if you could get me anything,” Phil said.

“She saved your life earlier, isn’t that enough?” Aiden asked, with an amused smirk, “and before you even met her you were already fangirling—”

“Yeah we get the picture dude, just let me express my gratitude however I want, thank you,” Phil said, his ears turning red a little.

Aiden chuckled a bit, before getting distracted by a rapping sound from his room. He raised a brow and went to check, finding a familiar super standing outside his window on the fire escape. She was probably there for Mirage, so he quickly went to open his window to let her in.

“Hi, how did you get up here?” Aiden asked, stepping back so she could climb in without stepping with her shoes on his bed.

“Climbing,” she said, before looking him over, “you look familiar…”

“I...work at The Joint,” Aiden quickly said, “you ever been?”

“Not in costume, but yeah, now that you mention it,” Cat said, “anyway, I’m here for Mirage and Phil.”

She held up a cracked phone, which Aiden instantly recognised.

“You found his phone!”

“Yeah and this address was logged. He needs better security on this thing,” Cat said, heading into the living room, “sup?”

“Cat?!” Phil said surprised.

“Oh hey Cat!” Mirage said cheerfully.

“Good to see you’re yourself already,” Cat said, before handing Phil his phone, “I took a call from some Wilson guy. You’re letting your boss yell at you like that?”

“Oh God,” Phil said, feeling even more embarrassed, “I am so sorry, he’s got a bit of a temper, like his job is so stressful, always having to make sure people make their deadlines in time—”

“I don’t care, I told him to shut it and show some respect.” Cat said with a shrug, before parking herself on the couch next to Mirage, “You don’t deserve to be talked to like that.”

“Preach!” Aiden said.

“Luckily his boss has taken a liking to me, so he can’t fire me for that,” Phil mumbled as he looked through his missed calls.

There were a lot from Aiden, and a couple from Mr Wilson. Then he checked his email, and found a message from HR that they had received a complaint from Wilson, but that they had disregarded it in light of his involvement with the East Meadow incident.

Relieved, he quickly shot them a message that he was unharmed and would be back to work tomorrow, before putting his phone away.

“What a day,” he sighed, “I should be losing my mind over having two heroes in my living room, but I’m pretty damn tired.”

“Oh you should really take your rest too, Phil.” Mirage said, before finishing her coffee, “We should leave you two alone now, I feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Nonsense,” Aiden said, “stay as long as you like.”

“I’d like to leave now!” Cat said loudly, “if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, I should be good to go,” Mirage said, “but first, I wanna give you my phone number. Both of you, if there’s anything, literally anything, you can call me, just not this week because I will be hibernating to recover from today.”

She held her hands out until the boys handed her their phones so she could save her number in their contacts. Then she thanked both of them with a hug, before taking Cat’s hand and disappearing.

“I still can’t believe that just happened,” Phil said, “pinch me, Aiden, I must be dreaming!”

“...she took our cup,” Aiden noted, pointing at the empty coaster, “I guess she forgot she was holding it…”

“I’ll text her,” Phil said with a sigh, “that was our only cup for visitors…”

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