#literally take everything out from me at that time

[harrysfolklore]

red - cs55

summary: carlos is dating a singer who's 9 years younger than him, and it's all good until it isn't

folkie radio: okay guys i know that summary is so bad but this is basically inspired by red by taylor and i hope you like it 😭

MASTERLIST | PATREON

liked by gracieabrams, carlossainz55 and 2,937,499 others

yourinstagram mi corazon ❤️ @/carlossainz55

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username1 HELLO??

username2 WHATS GOING ON

popbase BREAKING: Pop sensation YN (20) confirms relationship with Formula 1 driver Carlos Sainz (29)

carlossainz55 Mi vida 🤍 Finally sharing you with the world

oliviarodrigo this is so cute! happy for you lovie 🥺❤️

username3 the ferrari jacket while recording SHES INSANE FOR THAT

lando about time you two went public! was tired of pretending i didn't know 😂

username4 her new boyfriend is an F1 driver??? THE POWER THIS HOLDS

sabrinacarpenter the way you've been glowing lately makes so much sense now 😍

username5 Carlos Sainz and YN?? We're living in a simulation 😭

username6 age gap discussion incoming in 3...2...1...

charles_leclerc Finally! No more hiding in Monaco 😂

username7 nine year age gap... thoughts? 🤔

taylorswift This makes me so happy! ❤️ Can't wait for you both to come over again!

username8 isn’t he a bit old for her?

username9 young popstar dating an older guy? i think i’ve seen this film before

username10 I LOVE THIS

username11 THE THIRD PIC HAS SUCH AURA

username12 this could be the ultimate power couple or a complete mess

liked by username1, username2 and 28,936 others

f1gossip🚨 Pop star YN supporting boyfriend Carlos Sainz at the Spanish GP! This marks her first public appearance in the paddock since confirming their relationship last week.

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username1 I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

username2 Carlos is literally 29 dating a 20 year old. I'm sorry but that's weird 🚩

username3 they look so happy! she fits right in with the ferrari family

username4 the way charles and alex have basically adopted her already

username4 not sure how I feel about this... she's barely out of her teens and he's almost 30?

username5 IM LIVING FOR THIS

username6 here's why this relationship is problematic: [thread]

username7 can we talk about how she's handling herself so professionally despite all the hate? queen behavior

username8 she's an adult who can make her own choices. stop infantilizing successful women.

username9 the paddock dynamics about to get interesting 👀

username10 BEST WAG ALREADY

username11 not trying to hate but 9 years is a big gap at that age...

username12 charles treating her like a little sister is everything

username13 age gap discourse aside, they actually look really good together

username14 anyone else notice how all the drivers seem to already know her? must've been dating longer than we thought

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popbase 🎤 F1 driver Carlos Sainz supporting girlfriend YN at her sold-out Madrid concert! She even changed some lyrics to reference their relationship 👀

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username1 carlos in boyfriend era is everything we needed

username2 not charles and alex being the ultimate supportive friends 🥺

username3 the security had to stop fans from taking photos of Carlos instead of watching the show 💀

username4 LOOK AT HIM BEING SO PROUD OF HER

username5 YN’s "Spanish nights" lyric change already trending on TikTok

username6 still weird seeing a 20yo performing for her 29yo boyfriend but go off I guess

username7 first she comes to his races, now he's at her concerts. COUPLE OF THE CENTURY

username8 "And all my Spanish nights are better with you" HELLO??? THE LYRICS???

username9 he looks at her like she hung the moon and stars 😭

username10 the age gap comments getting real old. they're obviously happy together

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liked by selenagomez, charles_leclerc and 1,879,022 others

yourinstagram 21 🤍 thank you for all the birthday wishes x

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username1 BIRTHDAY ICON

popbase YN celebrates 21st birthday with star-studded party in London. Notable absence: boyfriend Carlos Sainz.

username2 sometimes i forget that she’s still so young

alexandrasaintmleux You looked beautiful birthday girl ❤️ Love you x

username3 carlos was posting from madrid while yn celebrated in london... trouble in paradise?

username4 something's off... she usually writes longer captions

charles_leclerc Happy birthday pequeña! You deserve the world

username5 he was having dinner with friends in Madrid instead of being at his girlfriend's birthday??? 🚩🚩🚩

oliviarodrigo ily birthday girl! your 21st year is gonna be amazing 🤍

madisonbeer HAPPY BIRTHDAY GORGEOUS 🥹

username6 please tell me they didn't break up

username7 maybe he had commitments in madrid? stop assuming things

username8 age gap strikes again? 👀

username9 no carlos, no "te quiero" caption, no couple photos... something definitely happened

username10 CARLOS WTF DID YOU DO

username11 we knew this relationship was not going to last tbh

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TMZ EXCLUSIVE: F1 Star Carlos Sainz Missing from Girlfriend's 21st Birthday - Full Story

TROUBLE IN PARADISE? F1 STAR CARLOS SAINZ SKIPS GIRLFRIEND YN'S 21ST BIRTHDAY FOR BOYS' NIGHT

Pop sensation YN's star-studded 21st birthday celebration in London had everything - except her boyfriend. Formula 1 star Carlos Sainz (29) was noticeably absent from the festivities, instead posting Instagram stories of a dinner with friends in Madrid.

Multiple sources tell TMZ that Sainz COMPLETELY FORGOT about his girlfriend's birthday, leading to what insiders describe as a "major relationship crisis."

"He was posting stories and having fun in Madrid while YN was literally crying at her own party," reveals a source close to the singer. "Everyone was asking where he was, and she kept making excuses until she couldn't anymore."

The party, held at an exclusive London venue, was attended by music industry heavyweights and even several F1 drivers, including Sainz's teammate Charles Leclerc and his girlfriend Alexandra Saint Mleux, making the Ferrari driver's absence even more conspicuous.

Another source tells us that Sainz realized his mistake late in the evening when he saw social media posts about the party. "He immediately tried to damage control, but the damage was done. YN was devastated."

The 9-year age gap between the couple, which has been a topic of discussion since they went public with their relationship, is now being scrutinized again. "This is exactly what everyone was worried about," says our insider. "She's turning 21, and he's out there forgetting her birthday completely."

YN's team has not responded to our request for comment. A representative for Sainz said they "do not comment on personal matters."

Got a story or a tip for us? Email TMZNews@tmz.com

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liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 1,789,653 others

carlossainz55 Sometimes the biggest mistakes lead to the strongest promises. Te quiero más que nada en este mundo, mi vida. Forever making it up to you. ❤️

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username1 I CANT DO THIS

yourinstagram i love you more 🤍

username2 this is so..

alexandrasaintmleux My heart 🥺

lando back to being disgustingly cute I see

username3 THE WAY I CAN BREATHE AGAIN

username4 they're good y'all

username5 Carlos Sainz redemption arc starting strong

username6 not me crying over that caption

username7 well that was a quick resolution

username8 I'm still mad at him but this is cute

username9 NOT THE DAMAGE CONTROL POST OMFGGGGG

username10 this is gold

liked by username1, username2 and 39,378 others

gossiphub🚨 DRAMA ALERT: YN and Carlos Sainz in heated argument outside Mayfair club. Sources say tension arose after Carlos "got too protective" over other guys approaching YN inside. 👀

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username1 the way she stormed off... this isn't just about tonight

username2 he looks jealous af... carlos baby what are you doing

username3 anyone else notice this is the same club where her ex was spotted earlier? 👀

paddockgossip YN seen arriving at her apartment alone. Carlos reportedly went to Charles' place

username4 this man rly thought he could control a 21yo in her party era 💀

username5 age gap issues showing... she wants to party, he's in his settled era

username6 y'all don't know the full story, stop assuming

username7 she's literally crying... carlos better have a good explanation

username8 not me remembering all those "controlling boyfriend" blind items...

username9 WHAT IS HAPPENING

username10 this is why drivers usually date within the F1 bubble tbh

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liked by theweeknd, carlossainz55 and 2,796,554 others

yourinstagram singapore lights hit different when they're shining on you @/carlossainz55 ❤️ so proud of you mi amor. p.s. champagne is not good for silk dresses but worth it x

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username1 MY HEART

carlossainz55 The best lucky charm. Te quiero mi vida ❤️

charles_leclerc Get a room you two 🙄

lando mate was more excited to see you than the trophy

username2 THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME

lewishamilton Beautiful moment you two ❤️

username3 remember when we thought they were breaking up after the club incident? now look at them 🥺

username4 The Valentino dress with Ferrari red heels >>>>>

tmz YN and Carlos Sainz silence breakup rumors with stunning Singapore display

username5 he way the whole team loves them together

username6 AND YALL THOUGHT THEY WERE OVER

username7 age gap will always be a red flag

username8 THE FERRARI QUEEN

username9 CARLOS REALLY DID THAT

username10 ahhh im so happy she was there for his win

liked by landonorris, yourinstagram and 1,766,380 others

carlossainz55 Ending the year exactly where I want to be. Starting the new one exactly who I want to be with. 2024 ya estamos aquí mi vida @/yourintagram ❤️

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username1 I LOVE ONE COUPLE

yourinstagram forever mi amor ❤️

username2 YN choosing family dinner in Madrid over Hollywood NYE parties... we love this growth

username3 they could never make me hate them

scuderiaferarri 🤍

username4 carlos is turning 30 this wear which makes the age gap weirder

username5 YN3 is going to be full of love songs

username6 HES SO IN LOVE

landonorris My parents

username7 the way yn is literally younger than lando😭

username8 cuteee

username9 THEY'RE NOT BREAKING UP WE WON

username10 this is my family

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replies:

username1 THE RELIEF I JUST FELT

username2 y'all really had us scared for a minute 😭

username3 deuxmoi being wrong again what's new

username4 but what about the suitcases? 👀

username5 she's moving in with him besties, those weren't breakup suitcases

username6 idk something feels off... remember how she denied the club fight?

username7 the way she always defends him... giving Stockholm syndrome

usernamd8 she's literally trauma bonded, we saw how he acts in public

username9 STOP projecting your issues onto them omg

username10 Carlos: *breathes*

Y'all: RED FLAG RED FLAG

username11 notice how she didn't deny the "trouble in paradise" part 🤔

username12 defending toxic behavior again... girl we're trying to help you

username13 some of y'all need therapy instead of projecting onto celebs fr

liked by carlossainz55, oliviarodrigo and 2,011,289 others

yourinstagram some of my favorite memories will always be in red ❤️ but it's not the color i fell in love with, it's you @/carlossainz55. so proud of everything you've achieved and everything that's coming next. you'll always be my champion, no matter the suit 🤍 ps: i'm keeping the jacket.

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username1 IM CRYING

username2 i can’t believe carlos is leaving ferrari

carlossainz55 Mi vida, siempre ❤️ (and that's MY jacket 😤)

scuderiaferarri Once Ferrari Family, always Ferrari Family ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux the way I'm crying rn

username3 SOBBING. THE MEMORIES. THE JACKET. THE EVERYTHING.

username4 "not the color i fell in love with" STOP I'M CRYING

username5 CANT BELIEVE YN WONT BE A FERRARI WAG ANYMORE

username6 imagine yn in mercedes fits tho

username7 AND SOME OF YALL SAID THEY WERE BREAKING UP

username8 she’ll always be THEE ferrari girl

username9 this caption is so beautiful

username10 THIS COUPLE IS MY LIFE

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replies:

username1 the way he JUST posted about their anniversary two weeks ago???

username2 remember when he said "age is just a number when you find your soulmate" in that ferrari interview... aged like milk

username3 let's not jump to conclusions maybe-

username4 he fumbled THE BAG. she literally moved countries for him???

username5 imagine throwing away 2 years because you're having a midlife crisis

username6 I DONT BELIEVE THIS

username7 nah this is fake

username8 how many times people have said that they're over but turns out they're not tho

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liked by username1, username2 and 17,027 others

tmz YN steps out for the first time since breakup with Carlos Sainz news broke

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username1 LEAVE HER ALONE

username2 disgusting how they chased her down just to get pics of her crying. she can't even process her breakup in peace

username3 if you're sharing those photos you're getting blocked. respect her privacy

username4 my heart breaks for her. these 'photographers' are vultures.

lando Proper shameful this. Let her be.

username1 OMFG LANDO

username5 maybe if carlos hadn't dumped her by TEXT she wouldn't be crying in parking lots

username6 she doesn't deserve this. no one does.

username7 To any media outlets - we will report and block any accounts sharing these photos.

username8 yall SUCK

username9 i hope you're ready for that lawsuit

liked by oliviarodrigo, charles_leclerc and 2,836,944 others

yourinstagram healing sounds different for everyone. for me, it's always been putting pain into poetry and turning heartbreak into harmony. taking some time away to write my truth into existence. thank you for understanding 🤍

p.s. no, none of them are "nice" songs

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liked by username1, username2 and 38,927 others

dailymail SPOTTED: Carlos Sainz with Scottish model Rebecca Donaldson. Sources say they've been "quietly seeing each other" for a month. Apparently met through mutual friends... 👀

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username1 a MODEL?? this man really said "you're too young" to yn and then- i can't.

username2 respectfully deleting my carlos fan account. yn deserved better.

username3 "i need time to focus on racing" yeah focusing real hard i see

username4 the way he's trying to recreate his old relationship but with a "socially acceptable" age gap... embarrassing

username5 LEAVE HIM ALONE

username6 man poor yn

username7 he’s innocent idc

username8 OH CARLOS SAINZ GET READY FOR THOSE BREAKUP SONGS

username9 i always knew he was trash

username10 IM ON HIS SIDE IDC

liked by harrystyles, arianagrande and 3,749,886 others

yourinstagram RED.

13 tracks of what happens when you love someone scarlet and they leave you burgundy.

october 22.

produced by @/jackantonoff

available for pre-save now.

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username1 OMFG

username2 SHES COMING

charles_leclerc track 9 🎹🖤

↳ username1 IF CHARLES PLAYS THE PIANO I’LL DIE

oliviarodrigo screaming crying throwing up this is gonna be INSANE

lewishamilton Already pre-saved 🙏🏾

username3 CURRENTLY SHAKING AND CRYING IN MY LIVING ROOM

username4 charles really said "let me help end this man's whole career" with track 9

username5 not me calculating that track 5 is 10 MINUTES LONG... carlos better move countries

username6 she’s coming for BLOOD

username7 RED??? FERRARI RED

username8 NOT EVEN CARLOS’ FRIENDS ARE ON HIS SIDE

username9 album of the year already

username10 red bc carlos is a red flag so true

username11 this cover EATS

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liked by charles_leclerc, arianagrande and 2,947,922 others

yourinstagram RED. out now everywhere.

thank you for every tear that became a lyric, every memory that became a melody, and every heartbreak that became healing. special thanks to CL for the late night studio sessions, ASM for being the best friend ever and all of my collaborators for helping me bring this to life

and to the person who said i was too young to handle this life - watch me.

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username1 IM CRYNG

username2 CHARLES AND ALEX?

charles_leclerc proud of you piccolina ❤️ (track 9 was therapeutic)

alexandrasaintmleux i love you so much 💘

oliviarodrigo THE BRIDGE OF ALL TOO WELL???? actual perfection

username3 "you said if we had been closer in age maybe it would’ve been fine" ACTUAL CHILLS

username4 "i’ll get older but your lovers stay my age" SOMEBODY CHECK ON HIM

username5 charles playing piano while she sings about his best friend's betrayal... the LAYERS

spotify "All Too Well" breaks single-day streaming record

username6 THE SONG ABOUY HER 21ST BDAY HELLO??

georgerussell63 Amazing songs. You're incredible

username7 the way she ended a man's whole career while staying classy... queen behavior

username8 CHARLES PLAYING THE PIANO WAS BEAUTIFUL

username9 this is the album of the century

username10 BREAKUP ALBUM OF THE CENTURY CARLOS SAINZ YOU'RE SO OVER

liked by username1, username2 and 13,928 others

f1updates Carlos Sainz addresses YN's album 'RED' for the first time:

"Look, everyone has their version of the truth. The album is her art, her perspective. But let me be clear - I never cheated, I was honest about needing space. The age gap was a real concern. Meeting Rebecca happened after. That's my truth."

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username1 WELL

username2 not him lying AGAIN when track 11 has literal timestamps 💀

username3 this is getting uglier by the second

username4 LEAVE HIM ALONE

username5 stream red

username6 don’t care we’re all on yn’s side

username7 GASLIGHTER

username8 does he ever shut up

username9 they should be asking him questions about RACING not his ex gf

username10 this is just ridiculous

liked by oliviarodrigo, landonorris and 2,874,378 others

yourinstagram one month of RED. one month of healing. one month of turning heartbreak into history.

thank you for every scream-sing to track 5, every tweet decode, every dm sharing your own story🤍

p.s. someone asked if i regret being "too honest" in the lyrics. no. some people give you their truth in press conferences, i gave mine in verses.

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username1 IM CRYING

taylorswift Proud of you ❤️ welcome to the better off club

username2 IM SO PROUD OF HER

username3 "some people give you their truth in press conferences, i gave mine in verses" HELP WHY IS SHE SO ICONIC

username4 not a single skip on this album... even carlos' new gf had to private her spotify

sabrinacarpenter watching you heal has been the best part ❤️

charles_leclerc So proud of you !

username5 SHE KEEPS COMING FOR BLOOD

username6 are you ready to die carlos sainz

alexandrasaintmleux MY FAVORITE GIRL! couldn't be prouder

username7 i think about the lyric "said i was too young i was too soft can't take a joke can't get you off" every single day

username8 SO DAMN PROUD OF HER

georgerussell63 ❤️

username9 someday she'll be everything to somebody else why carlos ages horribly

username10 SHE MEANS SO MUCH TO ME

liked by username1, username2 and 489,278 others

williamsracing We're excited to announce Carlos Sainz will be joining Williams Racing for the 2025 season onwards. Welcome to the team, @/carlossainz55 🤝

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username1 OH MY LORD

username2 THIS IS WILD

username3 WAIT. "losing him was blue like i'd never known" FROM RED... SHE KNEW

username4 going from ferrari red to williams blue... she wrote this in the album TWO MONTHS AGO

username5 remember when everyone thought the "blue" references were about sadness? Girlie was dropping CONTRACT INFO

username6 LEAVE CARLOS ALONE

username7 she really buried the contract news in a breakup album... queen behavior

username8 loving him was RED (ferrari) and losing him was BLUE (williams) i can’t do this

username9 YN YOU SICK HUMAN BEING.....

username10 none of this comments are congratulating him we're all dissecting lyrics LMAO

liked by username1, username2 and 39,878 others

gossiphub SPOTTED: YN having dinner at Monaco's Hotel de Paris with mystery man. Sources say they spent 3 hours talking and left together in his car.

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username1 THE WAY HE'S HOLDING HER HAND UNDER THE TABLE I'M-

username2 MERCEDES BOY? 👀

username3 not me zooming in on the reflection in the window... that's definitely a british accent in the video snippet

username4 THIS IS GOOD KARMA

username5 carlos unfollowed [redacted] on insta... he knows something

username6 carlos sainz was found crying

username7 IS THAT SOMEONE FROM THE PADDOCK???

username8 streets say that's another driver...

username9 she's moving on already? wow

username10 THIS IS ABOUT TO GET INTERESTING

liked by georgerussell63, sabrinacarpenter and 2,827,299

yourinstagram but on a wednesday in a cafe i watched it begin again🤍

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[coldfanbou]

In Heat

Here we go! So I ended up going with the winner of the poll...mostly because where I live also went through a heat wave, so yeah. Anyway, here we are with some hot and heavy stepcest action...literally and figuratively

Length 2.8K

Eunbi X Mreader

Life was very hard right now, despite everything you and your family tried. The heat wave running through the area was unbearable in its own right. What made it worse was having to watch your stepmother walking around the house in her bikinis, day after day, she would be around in them. Her heavy bust had nearly spilled out more than a handful of times as she moved around the house. You could hardly look at her; you would get hard in seconds, staring at her perfectly shaped body. You didn’t say anything, though; it wasn’t your place, either, considering this was her home, too. Still it was a problem you couldn’t so much as leave your room without catching a glimpse of her bending over to pic something up, showing that perfect ass of hers off. 

You had dreams about her, about your father’s wife. You wanted Eunbi. She was absolutely beautiful, and those bikinis she wore left little to the imagination. 

You peeked out of your room, and with no Eunbi insight, you went to the kitchen, hoping to get something cold to drink. As you searched through the fridge, you heard her. “Honey? Can you get me something to drink, too?” Honey, that’s what Eunbi called you. It was weird enough to hear her call you, considering she was only a little bit older than you. Add in the fact that she was also your stepmother, and it was weirder. That being said, knowing that she had called out to you, you grab a bottle of water for her and head toward the living room.

Walking in, you see her in another bikini. Eunbi was lying on the floor, sweat running down her face and legs, just as slick from the sweating she was doing. You paused, taking in the sight before you, Eunbi had her legs spread, you could just see the blue of her bikini bottoms poking out from under the white skirt she had on. Her breasts were bulging out of the top of her bikini top. You were getting hard quickly, and it would be tough if she spotted that. You shake your head and walk over to her, placing the bottle beside her before turning on your heel, ready to walk out. “Honey,” you pause, hoping she didn’t see your bulge. “Do you think your father is going to come home soon?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “I don’t know Eunbi. He always goes on these sorts of trips. Sometimes he comes back in a day or two, and other times it’s like a month.” You say honestly. 

“Right,” Eunbi responds, dejected. “I knew he would be gone for work a lot, but I didn’t think it would be this lonely. Do you want to play a game? I could use the company.” There was a hint of hopelessness in her voice, and as much as you didn’t want to be in the same room with her for fear of her seeing your bulge. You also felt bad for her. You saw the relationship they had firsthand, you heard about how your father would stop his trips and finally settle down again, but since the wedding, he’s been gone more than ever. You understood how Eunbi must feel, being told one thing but then getting the opposite. 

“Sure, what kind of game did you have in mind?” You turn around, sitting as quickly as possible, trying to avoid staring at Eunbi’s heavy chest. You focus on her face, seeing a slight smile form as you accept the invitation. 

Eunbi purses her lips as she considers what game to play. She rolls onto her stomach, crawling over to the TV stand, searching through the drawers. You can’t help but stare at her ass, it shakes from side to side as she looks. It was shapely, and your imagination runs wild. You imagine what it must be like to take her from behind, feeling what must be the soft piece of flesh pressing against you as you drive yourself deep into her. 

Eunbi kneels, finding a game she thinks would be good for the two of you. She turns herself around and places the box in front of you, Jenga. “This should be a little fun.” She says, a slight smile on her lips. She lifts the box and begins setting up the game, block by block. “It’s been so hot, hasn’t it?” She says, her eyes glued to the growing structure. 

“Yeah, it’s been pretty hot.”

“I’ve had to wear my bikinis in the house. It’s insane we don’t have air conditioning; these fans aren’t helping either. Eunbi sticks her tongue out, focusing intently on the tower, making sure no piece sticks out. Sweat moves down her neck, running between her heavy mounds. Your thoughts go wild again as you imagine lapping up the sweat between her tits, the moans she would make a response fill your ears for a moment. Your cock twitches as you think about it. You shake your head and push the idea out. 

Eunbi finishes setting up the game and looks up at you, noticing where your eyes were. A slight blush moves across her face. “The game's ready. Do you want to go first?”

“Uh, no, you should go first. You set it up.”

“Okay,” Eunbi looks at the tower and nudges a piece from the very bottom, pushing it out slowly until she’s able to reach around and pull it out. The shake shakes slightly, but there isn’t a threat of it falling yet. Switching to your turn, Eunbi eyes you while you focus on the game. She scans you up and down, noticing the bulge in your shorts. More than shock, there was intrigue. Whether it was because of the heat messing with her mind or loneliness, Eunbi felt a pang in her chest. She squeezed her legs together and stared at the outline in your shorts. “Bigger,” she thought to herself, biting her lip. 

“There we go,” you call out, grabbing the piece you pulled out. 

Eunbi shifts her focus onto the game. She leans forward, giving you a look into the valley between her mounds. She only realizes what she is doing as she glances at you, noting how much you are staring at her chest. She pulls another block out, placing it back on the top of the tower. 

It was back to you. The game continued with both of you staring at the other when it wasn’t your turn. The desire each of you held for the other was growing. Eunbi, at one point, had removed her skirt, saying it was getting uncomfortable. It was difficult to concentrate with Eunbi in her bikini before, but now that you had an unblocked view of her shapely legs, it was another beast entirely. Eunbi noticed your cock twitch as you stared at her body. Seeing the reaction pleased her. She was craving more, her mind began to imagine how big you were, and it was getting her wet. Still, you both played on piece by piece, and the tower became more unstable.

The tower was becoming unstable, threatening to fall over at any moment. “How about we make this a little more fun?” Eunbi asks, a teasing smile on her face. 

You wonder what she means, “More fun?”

“Yeah, interesting might be a better word. How about the loser takes off a piece of their clothing?” She says boldly, almost confident that she would win. 

“I- that’s kind of…”

“Are you afraid you might lose to your mommy?” Eunbi teases, sticking her tongue out at you. 

“Okay, you’re on.” You reply, your competitive spirit stirring in response. You watch the tower intently. It was a mess of missing pieces, the middle pieces almost completely gone. You spot your target, though, one section already had one of the edge pieces taken, you would take the other, leaving a single middle piece to hold up the tower. You make slight taps to the piece, nudging it out of place before tugging it out and carefully placing it back on top. 

It was Eunbi’s turn. She glanced at you before turning her eyes to the tower. “You know I haven’t lost a game in a long time.” Eunbi wasn’t after a win, at least not in this game. She picked her spot, going for something risky. She licked her lips, waiting for what came next. Looking at the level where you just took a piece, Eunbi was going to “attempt” to flick the last piece out, getting rid of one level entirely. The confident look on her face had you convinced she’d be able to do it. Eunbi’s smirk faded as she smacked her hand against the block. The tower fell down one level, shaking before it collapsed. It was all going to plan. She sighed at the loss and placed her hands on her bikini top. “I guess I lost.” Without any sort of hesitancy she tugged at the bottom of her bikini top, her tits bouncing in their confines before she finally brought it over her mounds and released them. You were stunned, unable to look away from her perfect breasts as they bounced in front of you, a slick and glistening mess from all her sweat. Your cock was harder than ever. “A deal is a deal.” She said, twirling the bikini top around her finger. “Are you proud of looking at your mommy’s tits? Hmm?” 

You couldn’t speak or do anything—the sight before you completely envelops you. Eunbi chuckles and bounces, so her tits shake and jiggle for you. “Well? What do you think? Want to touch them?” Eunbi said, pressing the issue. She crawls toward you and takes your hand, bringing it close to her chest. “Do you?” She pauses, her thumb running across your palm. “Do you want to touch mommy’s tits? Because there’s something I want too.” Eunbi places her hand on your crotch, moving her hand along your clothed bulge. You gulp, never expecting to be in this situation. You don’t even notice your hand moving forward, until you feel her soft tits rubing against your palm. Eunbi bites her lip, containing her moan before smiling. She reaches into your shorts, her bare hand wrapping around your shaft. 

“E-eunbi,” you groan. 

“Shh, Honey, I need you.” Eunbi leans in, pressing her lips against yours. “I know it’s wrong, but it's been so long and seeing you so hard…” You will weaken, and you return the kiss, your hand squeezing Eunbi’s breast as she pushes you onto your back. Your hand slide down her sides, sliding underneath her bikini bottom as you grab her ass, fingers digging into her soft flesh. Eunbi moans into the kiss, allowing your tongue to explore her mouth. 

Nothing can stop either of you. Eunbi wanted you with her entire being. Her hand moved along your shaft quickly. She pulls your shorts down with her other hand, springing your cock free. She glances down, eyes widening for a second as she sees your size. The shock is replaced by satisfaction; you are bigger than your father, just as she had thought. Her hand squeezeds your cock, making your grunt and drawing a bit of precum out of you. 

You release your grip on Eunbi’s cheeks and move out, grabbing the sides of her bikini bottom and pulling them down. Eunbi kicks them off on you get them to her knees and sits on your pelvis, your cock rubbing against her slick folds. “I can’t wait any longer, Honey,” Eunbi moans. She rises and aligns herself with your cock sinking onto it in an instant. It’s a shock to your system just as it is for Eunbi’s. You both throw your heads back, whether it was finally getting the release you both wanted, the taboo of fucking your family, or something else you both came at that moment. Eunbi’s body tingled as she felt your cum shoot inside her. She had forgotten what it felt like, and she wanted more. 

Eunbi grinded against you at first, rocking back and forth causing your cock to rub against her walls but her body wanted more. She placed her hands on your chest and squatted over your, slowly rising before slamming herself back down onto your cock. “Keep going, Eunbi,” you groan, holding onto her waist and guiding her along your shaft as you thrust into her. You watch her tits bounce as she gets into a rhythm, sweat running down her body. You lean up, sticking your tongue out and running it between her heavy tits, lapping up her salty sweat before moving over to one of her nipples.

“Oh, wait baby,” Eunbi moans as she feels your mouth surround her sensitive nipple, your tongue swirling around the hard nub as you suck on her tit. Eunbi cries out from the pleasure, her moans getting louder as you switch to the other breast. 

She continues to ride you, her body growing weaker as you both move closer to another orgasm. “Eunbi,” you grunt. That was enough to tell her you were getting close, even if you hadn’s said a word she would’ve figured it out sooner or later, your cock was throbbing inside her again. Eunbi had to give up her squat position and ride you normally, giving you the position to grab her waist and thrust into her for the final few moments before you both were taken to heaven, rocked by intense orgasms. Eunbi collapses on top of you, breathing heavily. You tilt her head and kiss her. Your sweaty bodies felt like they were melding together. 

“That was amazing,” she says breathlessly.

“I can keep going, at least once more.” Eunbi nods and gets ready to ride again. “No, I want you from behind.” You lift the young woman, moving her beside you. Eunbi lies flat on the floor, her strength gone from the previous two orgasms. Just as well you had always imagined fucking Eunbi into the ground. You run your hands along her body, stopping at her ass and giving each cheek a squeeze. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought of this, Eunbi,” you whisper into her before aligning with her cunt. You push yourself back into the welcoming hole, stretching out your stepmothers pussy, pushing your cum out of her as you go deeper. 

“Deeper, baby. Make me cum again.” Eunbi feels your body weight against her as you push deeper. Her eyes twitch in their half-lidded state. Fully buried inside your stepmom you pull out and slam yourself back in, your pelvis pressing against her soft ass. The experience was better than you had imagined. You lost yourself nearly instantly, beginning to thrust into Eunbi like a wild beast.  “Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck your dirty mommy!” Eunbi screamed. You snaked your hands under her waist, lifting her ass up and giving yourself a better angle. You slam into her ass with every thrust, both of your minds melting into nothing as claim Eunbi. You hold Eunbi up with one hand, using the other to her clit, pressing it and making her get closer to cumming. Eunbi roars as the pleasure floods her body, she backs her ass into you, wanting you deeper as your cum spills out of her onto the floor. “Oh fuck!”

Eunbi curls her toes as she’s rocked by another orgasm, her entire body shakes before collapsing onto the floor with you on top of her, your cock buried inside her tight cunt, filling her with another load of your semen. You rest on top of Eunbi for a moment before rolling off of her. Your cum pours out of her staining the hardwood. Neither of you cares, though; the experience was like nothing else. Your bodies desire more, and if it weren’t for the exhaustion, the two of you would’ve continued to go at it like rabbits. 

You don’t know how much time passes before your strength returns and you're finally able to get up. Eunbi was in the same position. As you both get to your feet, you look at each other, wanting nothing more than to have sex again. Your body is tingling with excitement. Eunbi reaches out and grabs your cock, her hands rubbing the creamy mess. “I want you to ruin me every day. We can’t tell your father about this, but just know that I am all yours.” You tilt her head back and kiss her. Eunbi raises her leg to your side, and pushes your cock back inside her warm cunt. 

You spend every moment you can with Eunbi from morning to night, the two of you revel in each other’s bodies, having sex all over the house, marking each space as somewhere you’ve done it. Even when your father comes back, you find a way to sneak in a few rounds, but the time apart fuels your need for each other, and the moment he leaves for another trip, you claim his wife.

[siri-ike]

@lbjeff it's been forever since you showed up on my dash!

It all fit. The way he makes sure people are looking whenever he smiles. The way his dialect and mannerisms seem to change based on who he's talking to. Even the channels he watches. Everyone knows Damian loves animals, but Danny hasn't expressed any particular affection for them. Only facts. Emotionless facts.

Nightwing couldn't just let information like that go. The fact that Talia was most likely the one who spoke to him, left a bad taste in Dicks mouth. The taste of moistureizer and lies. That's his little brother. So, as one does, he snooped. He snooped hard.

The fentons are a pair of scientists, Jack and Maddy, and their daughter Jasmine. As expected, the public records also mentioned a deceiced son. One that apparently "died" during a camping trip 4 days before the two of them showed up.

Dick dropped a lot of prying questions, such as, "Do you know what you would act like if you didn't mask?", "Did you make friends there?", "Did you enjoy living with the Fentons?". The last one seemed to push him over. His tone flattened completely, and he stopped using any body language.

"When mother dropped me off with them, she said she might not bother to pick me up again." There was a stiff pause. "I wanted it to be true."

Dick has seen 10 year olds cry before (he couldn't handle it), but seeing a 10 year old remain perfectly stoic when he knows he needs to cry, hurt in a new way.

Dick crouched down to meet Danny at eye level. "Do you know what burnout is?"

"The reduction of a fuel or substance to nothing through use or combustion." Danny said off handedly as he rushed out the nearest door, obviously wanting to avoid the conversation.

Afterward, Danny disappeared into his room and refused to even acknowledge anyone's existence. Yet another clue that he wasn't over it.

He'd have to wait until Damian got home to learn more.

The Zoo was great! Even if he was forced to leave his Katana in the car and only got to keep his small knife on him. The argument of "I expect my sons to be capable of defending themselves even when they are unarmed" was certainly a trick to convince him to leave it behind. But Damian enjoyed it regardless.

He got to see sea-lions, the indoor rainforest where a bird threw a stick at him. He probably spent 3 full minutes giggling about that. Unfortunately, he missed all the feeding times. He spent far too much time admiring the elephants... and then the rhinos... and then the hippos... and then their 4 hour bonding trip turned into 6. They did have to leave at closing.

He almost forgot to ridicule Father throughout. He got in maybe two or three good insults. Mostly, he just spouted endless animal facts. He couldn't sit still the whole ride home. He wanted to tell Danny everything. Then maybe he would tell Richard. Perhaps Timothy could hear some of it. Pennyworth will ofcorse hear all of it many times over. Damian predicts this will be his main topic of conversation for the foreseeable future.

Damian dashed out of the car, in the front door, and made a beeline for the TV room. His exited smile faded when he saw Danny wasn't there. Did something happen? The other two were there, and Danny never wanted to be alone if he could help it. Or maybe he just acted like he enjoyed people's company. It's hard to tell with him. "Where is Danny?"

"He went to his room." Dick sounded concerned yet eager. How dare he take any joy in the anguish/moment of piece/literally anything that Damians brother might be feeling. It's so hard to tell. "Dami, do you know anything about the Fentons? They were the last family Dan-"

"I know who the Fentons are." Damian cut him off. They're the people who took Danny away from him for six months. "He will not be returning, Danny belongs with me. You can't get rid of him."

Show no weakness.

Demon Twins AU where Danny came to Wayne Manor with Damian

Dick threw himself on the couch next to Danyal. Damian was out of the house with Bruce for the next 2-4 hours after Danyal implied Damian would love to go with the zoo with his "dad".

The family of Bats couldn't help but notice their newest pair of members acted different when apart from each other.

He nudged Danyal, ignoring the feeling of a concealed weapon in his baggy pants.

Danyal looked over, raising his eyebrows, "Huh?"

"I've been curious, Danny why are you so..."

"Normal--- While Damian is a brat?" Danyal flipped through a couple channels as he spoke, still unable to make a choice on a show.

"I wouldn't put it like that, but yeah."

"er... so as the second heir, Mother decided to focus my education on, like, blending in to any environment for infiltration purposes. She even sent me to live with a few foster families so I would get an idea of how American families think an act." He stopped channel surfing so he could list them off on his fingers, "It was two weeks with the Burns, like, a day with the Mortons, and six months with the Fentons."

"Six months?" Dick questioned, alarmed. That was a long time for an infiltration mission for someone his age. How was he not attached?

Tim, who had taken up residency out of stabbing range for this conversation, set up with his lap top and a case file spoke up, "So, you're just masking all the time?"

"Affirmative." Danyal answered in the exact same way Damian did.

"Then why is Damian so..." Tim followed up, referencing his and Damian's contemptuous relationship.

"He's throwing fits to prove to me Father won't throw us out." Danyal shrugged. He ended up settling on an Animal documentary Damian would like.

[fromdove]

MY JASON TODD PHYSICAL APPEARANCE HEADCANONS !

welcome to my ted talk. go ahead and sit your semi-literate goblin ass down and take notes, because i am about to paint you a portrait of this man so vivid you’ll think i dipped my brush in the lazarus pit itself.

HETEROCHROMIA. one blue eye & one green eye. im a very big and firm believer on this. this is my religion. this is my prayer. jason todd's eyes are my gospel, and I am the devoted disciple on my knees at the altar. he's always had them, before the lazarus pit & AFTER the lazarus pit. (although after the lazarus pit id like to point out that his eyes got a bit brighter especially the green!). i saw fanart once of this—just one image—and it was enough to send me into a trance. my jaw unhinged like a snake

LARGE SHARP ALMOND EYES. eyes sharp enough to cut!! real real real. sharp enough to gut someone in an alley. you get looked at by him and feel like you need to apologize for crimes you haven’t committed yet. yup that. they soften when he looks at you tho bc ur his amazing angel faced baby.

HIS GODDAMN JAWLINE. the kind you see on statues. could cut diamonds. so perfect. brutal. Pythagoras would rise from the grave with a boner, calculator in hand, shaking and crying overwhelmed by the sheer geometry of him. drooling. weeping & erect.

6'4!!!!!!!!!! MY MAN IS TALL. A GIANT. GARGANTUAN. and that’s the final word. idgaf. don’t come in here with that “canon says he’s 6’0” nonsense. fuck canon. canon is a lie built by cowards. they've screwed up my babies too many times to count. my Jason ducks under door frames and casts shadows over people trying to insult him. he intimidates every man in a ten-mile radius just by standing up.

BULKY. (not crazy bulky like those steroid obsessed body builder protein-powder-in-the-veins monstrous freaks but still jacked af. (like in this picture: click here and here) . he’s jacked like a Greek statue, like a renaissance painting of a war god.

white streak. white streak 24/7 for the rest of infinity. all night. every universe. every reboot. i don’t care. Non-negotiable. he got it from the one and only pit. he tried to cut it, dye it, tried everything to get rid of it at first but it just kept growing back and the dye would never work on it somehow ??/ so he just gave up lmao

OKOK his nose. my fave nose to picture jason with is an sightly upturned nose with a bump in the middle. do you guys know what kind of nose im yappin about? here is a visual: click here

ive seen fanart with jason with the j scar and i just think it fits his character and backstory. yes it was from that makeup-smeared tragedy of a circus reject. but fuck him!! this is about jason peter todd. my baby is still hot af anyways so.

SHARP CANINES. BITE ME WITH THEM. LORDDD MOTHERR GODDD. Carnivore-coded. was he born with them? is it a lazarus thing? either way theyre sharp little bastards. He tries to be careful, he reallyyy does but sometimes, mid-kiss, they slip. he nips you. he pulls back, eyes wide, guilt-ridden. you’re breathless. he spews like a million apologizes coz the last thing he wants to do it hurt u. but u dont care bc it feels so goddamn good... STOP ME)

Full lips that look like they’re always swollen from a brawl or a kiss.. with a slight cupids bow. god. yes. the corners/edges of his mouth are sharp (does that make sense?? help). he also has scars extending from the corners that look like smiles, they only stretch a few centimeters out. not that long at all. joker’s parting gift, poetic as it is cruel. OH AND he has the Toji scar !!! this one right here: click here

dark brown hair thats wavy & fluffy heeheheh (2c textured.) not straight, not curly, that luscious in-between mess that stays tousled and tragic and stupidly sexy no matter what. fluffy. thick. ruffles in the wind like he's some sad, angry prince. you run your hands through it and he pretends he doesn’t melt. he is NAWT a victim of the male pattern baldness epidemic. bye no no no no he doesnt bald thanks to the lazarus pit.

THICK DARK & FULL STRAIGHT BROWSSS. IDCCC THIS MAN HAS THICK BROWS. These brows have seen things. They furrow when he’s pissed (which is like always lmao), They’re intimidating, god-tier brows kinda brows. oh oh and theyre also kind of upturned !

his fingers. jesusususususus. Veiny. Long-fingered. Calloused. Worn. His knuckles are always scabbed (from fights). His nails are short, His fingers could snap a neck, but you just want them on your throat for different reasons. And the rings? Thick, heavy, sharp. Some brass. Some iron. they double as weapons. like i just know if someone pisses him off the rings are going to hurt like straight up fucking hell.

this man has long lashes. like long enough to collect dew. Thick enough to cast shadows. curled at the tips. his lashes are criminal. like wtf. theyre the kind that make mascara cry. they frame his eyes and face perfectly

scars all over. he has the autopsy scar on his chest, he has scars on his back too. his face, arms, legs, everywhere. bullet grazes, knife cuts etc..his entire body is a war journal basically

he has eye bags and dark circles which is a given considering what he does and his lack of sleep. They're not “oh, I pulled an all-nighter” eye bags, theyre bruised purpulish blue with a bit of red. u can seen some veins. his eye bags r a little puffy. this paired with his sharp eyes make him look very very intimidating to others but not to u, bc wdym intimidating? he's my angel?? he would never hurt a fly?? tf?

a few extra's!!:

A slight scar on his eyebrow from a fall off a fire escape in crime alley when he was 12. Never stitched it (despite the constant nagging from bruce & alfred). he said the blood made him look cool. (my angel baby i love him)

a voice that’s deeper than you expect. gravelly. like he chewed cigarettes for breakfast and chased them with glass. but it dips soft when he says your name. unbearably soft. traitorously tender.

faint cigarette burn on the inside of his left forearm. from back when he thought pain might be the only thing that made him real. said it was an accident. it wasn’t.

A barely-there tremor in his right hand. Old injury. Nerve damage.

[rafesangelita]

…DBF!RAFE X SWAN!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚🦢⊹♡

DBF!RAFE X SWAN!READER who started the beginning stages of their secret relationship behind her father’s back when he found her crying one day at home. thinking she was all alone, she was hysterical as she paced the halls, her chest heaving as she tightly wrapped her arms around herself, a mix of both shame and rage weighing heavily on her heart. her parents promised her that they’d both be in attendance for what was supposed to be her big solo number that she put literal blood, sweat, and tears into, only for them to be nowhere to be found in the crowd of people watching the show. on top of her not having her ‘support’ system there, she was especially mortified at the fact that she messed up her routine as a result of not seeing their faces amongst the audience. rafe followed the sound of hyperventilative breaths until it lead him to find her curled up in the corner of her room, the soft pink tulle material of her tutu concealing her from his view. “y/n?” she jumped at the voice, her bloodshot eyes shooting up to meet dbf!rafe’s. he took one look at her mascara smudged face, and felt like he knew exactly what was going on.

DBF!RAFE X SWAN!READER who stayed in her room talking until her tears dried, dbf!rafe sitting across from her on the floor with his back resting against her bed frame. “they don’t understand how hard i worked for this. i just needed them there, and they couldn’t even do that.” rafe zeroed in on her slippers, his eyebrows knitting together as he spotted the red patches adorning her tippy toes. “is that blood?” he reached for her foot, her body tensing as he softly stroked the satin material. the last thing she expected from him was to be so tender, the unfamiliar gentleness of his touch making something stir in her chest. “yes.. it happens all the time though, it’s fine.” she hissed, pulling away from him. rafe’s jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling as she avoided his burning gaze. “you’re overworking yourself, don’t you think?” she scoffed, resting her face in her hands as she shook her head. “no, no, you don’t get it— i have to be perfect,” she swallowed thickly, “it’s the only way they’ll look at me.” rafe felt his fists clench at his sides, her words bringing him back to when he was her age and desperate for ward’s approval.

DBF!RAFE X SWAN!READER who have to cut their conversation short when they hear her father’s voice boom from downstairs, both swan!reader and rafe scrambling up from the floor as if they were getting caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. rafe left her room and snuck back downstairs where he pretended to walk out of the restroom, both him and swan!reader’s dad greeting each other as she listened in on them through the small crack of her door. “hey, man, thanks for waiting for me here, did y/n get dropped off from her recital already?” rafe cleared his throat awkwardly, his eyebrows knitting in faux confusion. “oh, i’m not sure—” swan!reader’s father waved a dismissive hand, motioning for rafe to follow him into the bar area. “it doesn’t matter, i heard she stumbled and took a fall,” he scoffed, “i pay thousands of dollars a year for her to be in that academy and she can’t even twirl and spin on a stage, ‘you believe that shit?” swan!reader felt like stomping downstairs and telling him that she only messed up because he wasn’t there, but instead she shut her door and let the tears flow again. it took everything inside of rafe to bite his tongue and keep his mouth shut.

DBF!RAFE X SWAN!READER who start having regular ‘talks’ when no one is home. it starts with him dropping by ‘accidentally’ when her parents are out, both of them sitting a safe distance away from each other on the couch, the space between them lessening with each visit. he’s then giving her his cell phone number, telling her that she could reach out to him anytime.. and she takes full advantage. it isn’t until they start sending photos of random things to each other throughout the day that rafe starts thinking about whether or not he should be engaging with her like this. considering he has known her father since their college days, he only feels a smidge of guilt before she’s calling him one day in tears, her voice shaking as she could barely get out a clear sentence. “just hold on—” rafe was already rushing out of his office when he heard her broken sobs, “i-i’m coming for you right now, alright? don’t worry.” in no time, he was pulling up in front of her academy, his heart lurching in his chest once he spotted her crying on one of the nearby benches, her pink duffle bag hanging off of her shoulder.

DBF!RAFE X SWAN!READER who end up back at his place due to swan!reader not wanting to go home, her arms crossed over her chest as rafe tried to talk her through her emotions. “i’m not going to justify what he did, because quite frankly, i know he’s an asshole, but your father just wants you to focus on your studies more—” her head shot in his direction, her eyes narrowing at his words. “so you think it’s fair that he has me taken out of my lead role?! he’s always saying that i’m not good enough but once i earn the chance to prove him wrong, he snatches it away from me?! i hate him..” rafe studied her for a moment, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he fought the urge to pull her into his embrace. he couldn’t understand why swan!reader’s father was the way he was, but it definitely wasn’t fair for her to be the one to take all the blows. “no, i don’t think you deserve that at all.” his voice is soft when he talks to her, it’s nothing like the harsh tone of her father’s when he’s barking out lectures. swan!reader can’t help but feel the overwhelming desire to feel him close, her feet moving before she can think. “can i?”

DBF!RAFE X SWAN!READER who find themselves approaching the line between right and wrong, dbf!rafe reaching for her hand as she stood between his thighs. pulling her down onto his lap, the two of them stare at each other, neither of them saying anything as rafe notices her eyes flicker down to his lips. “you’d make a really good dad,” she whispered, her hand feeling small in his, “you’re sweet and understanding..” rafe blinked, “..you don’t yell at me, you talk to me. i wish my dad was like that.” she pecked his cheek, her lips feeling pillowy soft against his skin. she continued pecking his face until she pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, both of them sharing a look as the air grew tense. “we shouldn’t do this.” rafe was already giving in to her advances, his hands snaking down to her waist as he dragged her hips up the growing bulge in his slacks. “so take me home, then.” she lifted her arms up as rafe slipped off her top, leaving her in nothing but a white lace bra and powder pink leggings. “you are home.” was all he said before lifting her up and taking her to his bedroom.

[angelic-sturniolos111]

*The New Avengers | headcanons

authors note: marvel tumblr is SO BACK BABY. we’re getting avengers tower fics again— i could cry 🥹 obviously don’t read if you haven’t seen thunderbolts* although there’s not really any spoilers in this anyways

marvel characters masterlist

marvel taglist

Yelena

has a cute array of various succulents on the windowsill of her bedroom.

owns more stuffed animals than the average adult female probably should.

she doesn’t really read all that much, but if she hears of a new bestselling book, or anytime she passes by a bookstore, she always buys a new book for Bob :’)

hates the color pink.

likes to coordinate pranks to pull on Bucky with John.

downloaded tinder just to try it out. made a profile. deleted said profile less than half an hour later. deleted the app. never again.

Bucky

in the early hours of the morning when everyone is still sleeping he’ll make his way to the tower gym, play a YouTube yoga routine on his phone, and do morning yoga. he’s very embarrassed about it for some reason, but it’s therapeutic for him. plus he’s like, 100 years old, so it’s good for his muscles and bones.

HATES the taste of beer. drinks the absolute fruitiest, girliest cocktails and has NO shame about it whatsoever.

really pushing for the team to agree to getting a cat as a pet to let roam around the tower and such. Bucky gives cat dad vibes idk.

asked Bob and Yelena to teach him how to use FaceTime so he can FaceTime Okoye :’)

journals every night before bed.

loves loves LOVES matcha tea.

makes sure he does the daily wordle.

Ava

has a passion for cooking and loves making new recipes for the team to try.

with her newfound freedom and autonomy, she looks back on pop culture moments she missed from her stolen childhood. she finds that she LOVES 1D and becomes a directioner later in life. better late than never.

loves to go to local farmers markets and festivals.

John

diehard Atlanta Falcons fan and always asks (demands) the team to watch the game with him.

Bob always says yes even though he has zero interest in football and has no idea what is going on 99% of the time (he’s just happy to be included :) )

Alexei also always says yes, but it’s because it’s an excuse for him to sit around and drink some beers… then he goes on and on praising “the great American sport” of football.

John hates doing laundry. hates it. like will literally wait until he doesn’t have a single clean pair of underwear left before doing it.

he likes to hit the gym/ train with Bucky even though Bucky outperforms him most of the time. john will pretend he’s not even breaking a sweat to keep his composure and make himself look “cool” for Bucky even though he’s going to collapse on the gym floor (hydra serum IS the fancy one).

John will never admit to it, will take this secret to his fucking GRAVE, but he absolutely loves Bridgerton. he sat in on Ava watching an episode and said things like “this is so stupid” “what is this shit” but then immediately went to his room afterwards and binged the entire series.

Bob

has posters of his favorite bands/artists plastered all over his bedroom walls like a damn teenager.

keeps a (rather large) poster of “the new avengers” on the wall in front of his bed so he can see it before he goes to bed at night and when he wakes up in the morning to start his day.

likes to paint yelena’s nails for her because it’s very calming and grounding for him.

“I mean— I- I can paint them! You know, uhm, like if that’s okay with you? Not in a weird way I- I just—”

“Sure Bob, you can paint my nails for me.” :)

always shyly compliments Yelena and Ava randomly “that’s a nice color on you” “your hair looks really nice today”

loves to sit on the balcony of avengers tower and just people watch, nature watch. really take everything in and ground himself.

gets really excited for holidays. he likes to go to the party store and decorate different rooms in the tower for whatever holiday is coming up.

downloaded Duolingo to learn some basic Russian to impress Yelena… but Alexei ends up appreciating it was more and presses Bob about doing his daily lessons so he doesn’t lose his streak.

Alexei

ice cream addict. LOVES ben & jerry’s. it got to the point where he was buying so much ice cream “for the team” that it was taking up all the space in the kitchen freezer. so, he bought a mini fridge for his room and he keeps them there for himself.

INSISTS that, at least once a week, the team has a “game night” with all sorts of board games, charades, etc… the team will grunt groan and protest everytime he asks, but ultimately they all end up having fun (and arguing like crazy)

watches love island. he 1000% watches love island.

snores SO FUCKING LOUD— like the team is begging Val to reconstruct his bedroom to make it soundproof. you can hear him snoring from down the hall.

never makes it through a single movie. falls asleep every. single. time. very dad of him.

please let me know if you like this because I haven’t written for marvel in YEARS, but I’m looking to get back into it! let me know if you want a part two, or if you want solo character headcanons :)

[itsnesss]

would you ever do a kimi antonelli x famous actor movie star reader! who is at the met gala and he is just like in love with her outfit and is complimenting her so much or something like that? even maybe when they do vogue grwms??

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡��𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you attend the met gala looking like a goddess, and kimi can't take his eyes off you

warnings | famous!reader, fluff, mild romantic tension, flirting, public attention / media speculation

word count | 0.9 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

The hotel room smells like fresh roses and expensive makeup. You’re seated in front of the lit-up mirror while your stylist finishes the final touches on your hair.

Your lips, painted a deep wine red, curl into a small smile when the Vogue assistant asks if you're ready to film the GRWM for their YouTube channel.

"Been ready since they said 'Met Gala'," you reply with a wink, adjusting your silk robe as the camera crew sets up.

This isn’t your first red carpet, but it feels like the most special one. This year, you’re not just attending, you’re one of the main attractions. Your movie is topping the charts, your name is everywhere: on posters, on blogs, in whispers behind velvet ropes.

And apparently, in the eyes of a certain Italian racing driver.

"We’re rolling in 3, 2..." the director says, and you let out a soft laugh.

The recording begins, and you talk about your dress, a custom Schiaparelli design, deep black with hand-stitched golden details. The sculpted corset gives off armor vibes, while the tulle skirt floats like smoke around your legs. You talk about the inspiration: constellations, baroque art, the kind of goddess who gets dressed to conquer the sky.

You don’t say it aloud, but you're hoping someone out there notices all the details you poured your heart into.

That “someone” shows up two hours later.

The Met Gala is already underway when your car pulls up to the Met steps. The second the door opens, camera flashes explode around you and the crowd screams like a wave crashing over your ears.

"You’ve got this," you whisper to yourself as you adjust your dress and your perfectly practiced expression.

You walk the carpet, you pose, you smile. Everything is routine… until you see him.

Kimi Antonelli. The breakout Formula 1 star. Dressed in a perfectly tailored tux, elegant and effortlessly youthful. He shouldn't be looking at you. But he is. Like you're the only person on that carpet.

As you approach, someone from the event staff tries to guide you away, but Kimi steps forward.

"Can I...?" he asks, his smile shy as he offers his arm.

Your laugh is more genuine than anything you've done tonight.

"You're going to escort me, racer boy?"

"Only if you’ll let me say you look like..." he pauses, glancing at you from head to toe, a bit dazed, "...like a piece of art. Literally. I think time stopped for a second."

Your cheeks heat up slightly. No one’s ever said it quite like that, so direct, so honest.

"That’s a pretty poetic line for someone who drives at 300 km/h," you reply, looping your arm through his. "Are you always this charming?"

Kimi chuckles, soft and genuine.

"Only when someone takes my breath away. And you... you did that the moment you walked in."

You walk beside Kimi as the flashes continue nonstop. Every step with him on your arm becomes a moment worthy of a magazine cover. The cameras aren’t just capturing your dress, they’re capturing the way he looks at you: unapologetically, fully present, as if the rest of the world simply disappeared.

"Did you know I was coming tonight?" you ask under your breath, still smiling for the Vogue Italia photographer.

"They invited me about a month ago," he replies. "But I didn’t know you’d be here. If I had, I would've dressed better."

"Better than this?" you glance at him briefly, taking in his look. "You're flawless."

He smiles, but glances down for a moment, slightly shy. So different from the actors you usually hang around. Younger, yes but also more transparent. Like he’s not trying to impress you… but somehow still doing it.

That’s when an E! News reporter appears with a mic and an excited grin.

"The two of you together! This is unexpected!" she exclaims. "Can we steal a second of your time for the fans?"

You nod politely, and Kimi though a little surprised stays right beside you. The questions are light. They ask about your dress, your movie, your prep for the night. But when the reporter turns to him:

"And you, Kimi? Are you here with our star tonight, or was this a coincidence?"

He doesn’t even hesitate.

"If it was a coincidence, it’s the best one I’ve ever had."

The reporter laughs, you laugh too. But there’s a quiet flutter deep in your chest.

"So drivers don’t just go fast they think fast too?" you tease.

"Only when they’re in danger," he says. "Or when they’ve got a goddess on their arm."

The interview ends with light laughs, but you're not the only one who noticed the exchange. As you turn toward the entrance, you spot a few people whispering. Some fans filming with their phones. The internet is probably eating this up already.

"You did that on purpose?" you ask Kimi, still holding onto his arm.

"Did what?"

"That line. Letting everyone think we’re together."

He gives a small shrug, but his eyes are dead serious.

"I didn’t plan it. But... if the world wants to believe it, I don’t mind."

The silence that follows feels warm. Unexpected.

And then, the doors to the Met close behind you. Classical music spills across marble floors, and golden light gleams off ancient sculptures. Everything glows, but nothing glows quite like the smile he gives you when he leans in and whispers:

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

Your heart skips.

"The whole gala?"

"The whole life, if you let me."

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚝 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you and paige made a promise to each other

There’s something about summer air in Minnesota that makes everything feel bigger than it is. The stars. The spaces between conversations. The ache in your chest when you look at someone a second too long and they don’t notice. Or maybe they do, and they don’t say anything.

You’re lying on your back on a trampoline in someone's backyard. Paige Bueckers is beside you, a little too close for comfort, a little too far to do anything about it.

The night smells like fresh cut grass and burnt marshmallows. The air’s sticky with warmth, the kind that doesn’t ask for a hoodie. There’s a party still going on inside the house, faint music filtering through the screen door—Drake, probably, or SZA. But out here, it’s just you and Paige, staring up at a sky that’s trying its best to impress you.

Paige sighs dramatically, the kind of breath that says “I’m about to say something stupid” before it even happens.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “what if we just... suck at dating forever?”

You turn your head toward her slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Are we starting the night with existential dread already?”

She laughs. “No, I’m serious. What if we just never find someone? What if this is it?”

You raise a brow. “You mean this as in... us lying on a trampoline hiding from people drinking warm White Claws?”

“Yeah.” She’s smirking now. “Like, this is peak romance and we didn’t even know it.”

You roll your eyes. “Speak for yourself. I’m still waiting for my movie moment.”

Paige grins, eyes catching the glint of the string lights that line the fence. “Okay, fine. But what if thirty rolls around, and you’re still single, and I’m still single—what then?”

“Then we cry about it on FaceTime and watch The Notebook in separate time zones?”

“No,” she says, voice dipping lower, almost hesitant now. “Then we marry each other.”

You blink.

She keeps her eyes on the stars like she didn’t just drop a loaded sentence between you. Like this is just a casual idea.

You shift, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can see her better. “Wait. Are you saying we make a pact?”

She nods without looking at you. “Yeah. A real one. If we’re both single at thirty, we just... do it. Tie the knot. Easy.”

You scoff. “Easy?”

“Easiest decision ever,” she says, finally turning to face you. “I already know your weird habits. You already know I leave two sips of everything because I have commitment issues.”

“You do.”

“You eat the same three things for lunch and have a playlist for literally every emotion.”

You smile despite yourself. “And?”

“And I like you better than I’ve ever liked anyone I’ve dated,” she says, softer now. “Not like, like like. Just... you’re my favorite person.”

Your heart beats louder than it should.

You mask it with sarcasm. “Aw, Bueckers. Is this your way of asking me to prom?”

“Prom’s next week,” she says with a smirk. “It’s too late. But thirty’s wide open.”

You laugh, pushing her shoulder gently. She exaggerates the motion like you tackled her. You’re both giggling now, bodies still bouncing slightly with the motion of the trampoline.

Then she quiets again. Voice small. Real.

“I’m serious, though. You and me. If it doesn’t happen with anyone else… why not?”

You stare at her.

She’s seventeen and golden and brilliant and so much more sure of herself than she should be. But there’s something in the way she says it. Not flippant. Not a joke.

Hopeful.

You take a breath. Hold out your pinky.

“Alright. If we’re both single at thirty…”

She links her pinky with yours instantly.

“We get married,” she finishes.

You nod. “Deal.”

And then, because you can’t help yourself, you whisper, “You’ll probably forget.”

She looks at you like you just insulted her entire bloodline. “I won’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I won’t,” she insists.

“You’ll be off winning WNBA championships and crossing people over or whatever.”

She grins, cocky. “Okay, true. But I’ll still remember.”

You shrug, like you’re not secretly hoping she means it.

“Alright then. It’s a deal,” you repeat, letting your pinkies fall apart, but not the moment.

She stares at you a second longer than necessary.

Then she rolls onto her back again, hands behind her head, eyes on the stars like nothing just shifted between you.

But it did.

You feel it.

You don't realize until much later that this was the night Paige decided what forever looked like.

And it was you.

Years have a funny way of moving fast when you're not looking. One minute you're seventeen on a trampoline. The next, you're twenty-one at a graduation party with someone else's lipstick on your cheek and your phone buzzing in your back pocket.

It’s a picture from Paige — her in cap and gown, beaming, with “UConn Legend” written in white marker across her mortarboard.

Paige: Made it. No torn ACL could stop me. Just the terrifying future ahead. Also I miss your dumb face.

You grin. Your heart squeezes a little, like it always does when she says something unexpectedly sweet.

You: Your dumb face graduated? Unbelievable. When’s the parade? I’ll bring confetti and judgment.

Paige: Confetti welcome. Judgment expected. You still owe me a post-college road trip btw.

You: You still remember that?

Paige: I remember everything.

You let that one sit too long before you respond. You always do.

You’re in Chicago by now. Paige is in Dallas, bouncing between WNBA training camp and events she’s been invited to. You FaceTime late at night — her hair in a messy bun, hoodie drawn up to her chin, bags under her eyes from practice.

“Tell me something good,” she says.

You’re curled on your couch, legs tucked under a blanket, nursing your third glass of boxed wine. “I got ghosted by a woman who said I was ‘too emotionally literate.’ So, that’s something.”

Paige groans. “God, that’s actually a compliment.”

“You’d think. Apparently knowing my attachment style is a red flag.”

She smiles. “Well, for the record, I like that you’re emotionally literate.”

You glance at her through the screen. “What about you? Any secret girlfriends I should hate on sight?”

She hesitates for just a second too long. Then shrugs.

“Nothing that stuck,” she says. “People get weird about the schedule. The travel. The fame thing.”

You nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.” There’s a pause. “Sometimes I feel like everyone I date wants a version of me that doesn’t really exist.”

She hums. “I don’t want a version of you.”

You look up.

She’s watching you through the screen.

“I just want you.”

Your breath hitches.

She catches herself. Backpedals fast. “As a friend! Like—obviously. Duh. I mean. Yeah.”

You laugh, covering your heart with sarcasm. “Smooth.”

She blushes. “Shut up.”

But later, as the call ends and you set your phone down, the echo of her voice lingers like something you should’ve held tighter.

You visit her. Not for any special reason — you just needed to get out of the city, and she said “Come over.” That was enough.

It’s late. You’re two drinks in on her couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, watching reruns of The Office for the thousandth time. She throws popcorn at you every time you quote a line wrong.

“I swear, your memory’s gotten worse,” she says, chucking another kernel.

You catch it in your mouth. “And yours is terrifyingly accurate.”

She shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you. “I remember everything. Seriously.”

You turn to her. “Everything?”

She nods.

There’s a lull.

And then she says, without looking at you, “I still remember the trampoline.”

You freeze.

“…What?”

She keeps her eyes on the screen. “That night. The pact. I meant it.”

Your throat goes dry. “Paige…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she rushes. “I just — I think about it sometimes. How easy it felt, you know? Being with you. Like maybe we already had something people spend years looking for.”

You don’t know what to say.

She finally glances at you. “You ever think about it?”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Sometimes.”

It hangs in the space between you.

You don’t kiss her. You don’t move closer. You both just sit there, holding the maybe of it.

And then the episode ends. The next one starts. Neither of you speaks again.

But she remembers that night too.

Your birthday. You’re in a new apartment in a new city. A new job. A new almost-girlfriend who doesn’t quite understand why your smile falters when Paige’s name pops up on your phone.

12:01 a.m.

Time’s almost up.

That’s all it says.

You stare at it.

Your almost-girlfriend is asleep beside you, breathing softly.

You don’t reply right away.

You lock your phone and turn toward the wall.

But your heart? Your heart answers back immediately.

You forget. You really do. With everything else going on — deadlines, bills, the mess of a half-put-together life — the pact feels like a dream from a different version of yourself.

You assume she forgot too.

It’s late.

Most of your birthday texts have come and gone. A few phone calls. One coworker sent a meme of a gravestone with “RIP your twenties” etched into it. You laughed politely. You don’t feel old, exactly. Just… removed. Like the years built a soft blur around who you used to be, and you're not sure which version of you today is the most true.

You spent the day with a few friends. Drinks. Takeout. Laughter that didn’t always reach your chest. Now, the apartment is quiet. Everyone’s gone. You’re in sweatpants, hoodie half-zipped, makeup long wiped away. You don’t feel particularly 30. You just feel… still.

The knock on the door is unexpected.

You glance at the time. 9:07 p.m.

Cautious, curious, you open it.

There she is.

Paige Bueckers.

In a jean jacket over a hoodie, hair pulled into a loose braid, cheeks a little pink from the cold. One hand holds a bouquet of tulips—white, your favorite. The other hand holds something small. Square. Velvet.

Your stomach drops.

“Hi,” she says.

You blink. “Are you—did I forget we were—?”

“No,” she says. “But I didn’t.”

You stare.

She shifts her weight like she might flee if you blink too hard. “I know this is a little insane. I know. I just… I didn’t want to let today pass.”

You glance at the ring box.

“Paige.”

“It’s not pressure,” she blurts. “It’s not—I’m not trying to, like, ambush you. I just remembered what we said. That night. On the trampoline. And I guess I’ve just… remembered it ever since.”

You step aside, nodding slowly. “Come in.”

She does. The air around her carries something familiar, a little wind, a little warmth, a lot of nerves.

You close the door. “You remembered.”

“Every year,” she says softly. “Every birthday. Yours, mine. I never forgot.”

You lean against the back of your couch. Your legs feel like they might give.

“And now that we’re here?” you ask.

She breathes out. Sets the tulips down on your kitchen counter. Still holds the ring box. Doesn’t open it.

“I didn’t know if I’d actually come,” she admits. “I’ve had it in my drawer for three months.”

“The ring?”

She nods. “I got it engraved. Dumb maybe, but…”

She flicks it open and shows you.

Since 17.

It knocks something loose in your chest.

“Paige…”

“You don’t have to say yes,” she says, voice quick now, scared of the silence. “I don’t even know what this is. Maybe you don’t feel the same. Maybe it’s just me still stuck in a night we barely remember the same way. But I couldn’t not come. I couldn’t—if there was even a chance, I had to try.”

You walk over slowly.

Her eyes track you like you might disappear.

You reach for the ring box, closing it gently with your fingers still over hers.

“I didn’t forget the pact,” you say.

She looks up, startled.

You laugh under your breath. “I didn’t let myself think about it. That’s different. I buried it under jobs and people and cities and time. But I remembered.”

Her voice wavers. “Then why didn’t you ever bring it up?”

“Because I didn’t think you meant it.”

She steps back like you hit her.

“I always meant it,” she says, almost breathless. “God. You think I kept texting you on every birthday because I was joking? You think I came to your city every chance I could just to hang out casually? You think I called you during every off-season just because I was bored?”

Your eyes sting.

“I thought I was the backup plan,” you whisper.

“No,” she says firmly, taking a step closer. “You were the plan. You were always the plan.”

You let the silence bloom.

There’s no music. No outside noise. Just your apartment and the hum of everything that never got said until now.

Finally, you speak.

“I’m not ready to say yes.”

She flinches. “Okay.”

“But I’m not saying no either.”

Her eyes dart to yours.

You take the ring box from her hands. “I want to say… give me tonight.”

“Just tonight?”

You smile softly. “Let me remember how it feels. Being around you. You. Not the past, not the pact. Just... this.”

She nods.

And then—almost like muscle memory—she moves to the kitchen to grab two glasses.

“You still drink that dumb hibiscus tea?”

You laugh. “Only when I want to feel mysterious.”

She pours the water. Boils it. Sits beside you on the couch like she never left.

And for the first time in years, nothing feels far away.

It’s barely morning when you wake.

Sunlight filters in through your kitchen window in faint, forgiving strokes. You’re curled up on the couch with a blanket around your shoulders and the faintest ache in your neck — a leftover from staying still too long in a moment that didn’t feel real.

Paige is sitting at the kitchen table.

She’s in the same hoodie from last night, her legs pulled up into the chair like she always did in college when she was trying to disappear. A mug of tea cradled in both hands, steam rising slowly into the soft quiet.

You watch her for a minute.

She doesn’t know you’re awake yet.

Her eyes are on the small velvet ring box sitting on the table.

Still closed. Still waiting.

Like her.

You shift, and the couch creaks slightly. She turns.

“Oh,” she says, voice low, careful. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you reply, stretching slowly. “Been up long?”

“Not really.” She hesitates. “Didn’t sleep much.”

You sit up, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like armor. “Too many thoughts?”

She smiles gently. “Something like that.”

You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “Want breakfast?”

She shakes her head. “I can get something on the way out.”

You look at her. “You’re leaving?”

“Well…” She looks down at the ring box again. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“I didn’t say no,” you remind her.

She nods. “I know. But you didn’t say yes either.”

You get up, feet padding softly on the wood floor, and walk to the table. You don’t sit yet. You just stand behind the empty chair across from her and look down at the ring box too.

It looks so small from up here. Insignificant almost. But you know better. There’s a lifetime tucked into that hinge.

“I wasn’t ready to say anything last night,” you say softly.

“I know,” she replies.

“I didn’t know how I felt. Still don’t, exactly. But…” You pause. “You stayed.”

She meets your eyes. “Of course I did.”

“And you didn’t ask for anything.”

“I didn’t come to ask,” she says. “I came to remind.”

You sit down slowly. Your fingers hover over the velvet box but don’t touch it. “Remind me of what?”

She swallows. “Of what we were. Of what we still might be. Of what I’ve been holding onto every time I said your name out loud like it meant more than just ‘friend.’”

You’re quiet for a long time.

She doesn’t fill the silence. That’s always been one of her best qualities—Paige knows how to wait without making it feel like pressure.

You glance at the box.

“You really bought this three months ago?”

She nods. “Didn’t know if I’d use it. But I couldn’t not have it.”

You press your palm flat on the table. Not touching her, not yet. Just there.

“It wasn’t a joke,” she says. “It never was. Even at seventeen. I meant it. Every birthday, every text. Every time I saw you with someone else and thought, ‘God, she deserves better.’ Every year we didn’t talk for a while and I still saved your number just in case.”

You lift your eyes slowly.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

She breathes in. Steady. Strong. “You were always the plan.”

Your throat tightens.

You nod once. Just once. Then you open the box.

The ring catches the light in the most unassuming way — not flashy, not grand. Just simple. Solid. Familiar.

You slide it out, turn it in your fingers, read the engraving again.

Since 17.

You set it gently down beside your tea. And finally, finally, you reach across the table and take her hand.

“I want to figure this out,” you say. “Not out of obligation. Not because of some promise made under the stars and trampoline nets. I want this because you showed up.”

Her eyes shine, lips parting in the tiniest smile.

“And because,” you add, “you’re the only one who ever waited without asking me to hurry.”

She exhales, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “So what now?”

You squeeze her hand. “Now we don’t rush.”

She smiles, wide and quiet and a little shaky. “So… I keep the ring?”

“For now,” you grin. “Don’t get cocky, Bueckers.”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “God, I missed that.”

You lean in. Just a little. “Then stay.”

“I will,” she whispers, squeezing your hand like it’s the only thing holding her together.

And maybe it is.

The house is loud.

Your daughter is singing the Bluey theme song at full volume from somewhere in the hallway. Your son is crying because the waffle you gave him broke in half. And the dog — all seventy pounds of golden retriever joy — is sprinting back and forth with a half-eaten stuffed duck in his mouth like it’s his job to personally raise the decibel level.

You’re barefoot in the kitchen, cradling a lukewarm mug of coffee in both hands like it might save your life.

There’s crayon on the fridge.

Your daughter added a rainbow to the corner of the calendar and signed her name in uneven block letters.

It’s a mess.

It’s perfect.

And in the middle of it all is Paige.

She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that used to be yours and a pair of shorts that are barely hanging on. Her hair is pulled into a half-bun, and she’s got a pink hair tie looped around her wrist because Jayda insists they match every morning.

She’s kneeling on the floor with your son in her lap, holding him and whispering something that makes him hiccup through his tears. Slowly. Gently. The same way she used to talk you down from a spiral when the world felt too big.

“Hey,” you say from the doorway.

She looks up. Smiles.

It still hits you. Every single time.

“Crisis averted,” she says, rubbing your son’s back. “The Waffle Tragedy will not go down in history.”

“Are you sure? I think he’s already drafting a memoir.”

Your son sniffles.

Paige whispers, “Tell Mama you’re okay now.”

He nods into her shoulder.

You walk over and crouch beside them, brushing his curls back gently. “Good job, little man.”

He reaches for you with chubby arms and mumbles, “Wuv you.”

“I love you too.”

Paige stands up slowly and stretches, arms high, groaning like she’s eighty. “I need like... six more hours of sleep and a coffee the size of my head.”

You hand her your mug. “You can have mine. I only drank half.”

She takes it and sips. “Lukewarm. Just how I like it.”

You grin. “Liar.”

She leans in and kisses you. It’s quick. Familiar. Soft. The kind of kiss that comes with a hundred other ones before it.

From the hallway, your daughter yells, “MAMA! MOMMY! THE DOG STOLE MY HEADBAND AGAIN!”

You both groan.

Paige mumbles against your mouth, “Your child.”

You pull back with a raised brow. “She’s literally your clone.”

“Emotionally. But the drama? That’s all you.”

You chuckle, standing with her now, arms brushing as you head toward the hallway chaos together. But then you pause.

She notices and turns.

You’re watching her.

The kitchen. The kids. The crayon art. The ring still on her finger, older now, a little scratched, a little worn, but still there.

“I was just thinking,” you say.

“Uh-oh,” she teases. “That’s dangerous.”

You smile. “You really did mean it.”

She tilts her head. “The pact?”

You nod. “All of it.”

Paige steps closer and takes your hand. The same way she did on your 30th birthday. Like no time has passed at all.

“I still do,” she says.

Your son tugs on your pant leg.

Your daughter runs in with the dog trailing behind her, headband around his neck like a crown.

And you?

You laugh.

You press your forehead to Paige’s and say, “God, I’m so glad you showed up that night.”

She smiles.

And you both turn, hand in hand, back into the storm you built together.

Because this?

This is forever.

And she always meant it.

[bratbby333]

was just thinkin about gojo if he played college baseball and it kinda spiraled from there…

baseballplayer!satoru who never misses the chance to show off—especially if you’re watching.

he is most definitely the starting pitcher. are you kidding? the aura? the charisma? the energy? he’s cocky and a total diva because he’s the team’s ace. their defensive lineup is nothing without his skills.

baseballplayer!satoru who has your initials stitched on his glove.

he is so superstitious and ritualistic that he will only wear his lucky batting gloves if you hand them to him. he’ll even throw a fit if you don’t give him a good luck kiss before the game because he’s absolutely certain that you’re the reason he’s preforming so well.

he’s not obnoxious about PDA (anymore), but he does always have a hand on your waist or around your shoulders. physical contact of some kind is a must or he’ll get pouty.

baseballplayer!satoru who loves all the snacks you pack for him. he claims he plays better when they come from you and he refuses to get anything store-bought because they don’t ‘taste the same’.

baseballplayer!satoru who gets mildly offended when you cheer too loudly for his teammates or even mention an opposing team.

he pouts and starts to sulk, his eyes narrowing in mock-suspicion. “i’m literally the best player on the field. you wouldn’t betray me like that…right…?” you just giggle and roll your eyes in response, squishing his cheeks fondly. he’s definitely still pouting, but it’s all facade. he’s actively trying not to smile and is hiding the fact that he’s melting on the inside at the sound of your laugh.

baseballplayer!satoru who always pushes himself to the limit and is absolutely exhausted after practice.

he’ll flop himself onto the bed, curling up against you with a huff. “babyyy…my body hurts. please love on me. it’s the only thing that’ll make me feel better.” and after about two minutes of head scratches he's out cold, head firmly planted on your chest as his fingers curl around your shirt. so big and bad on the field but turns to putty in your arms.

he’ll take you on long drives with no destination in mind, especially after a tiring day. the windows are down as the wind whistles through the car. the music is low, the melody soft and peaceful. his hand rests on your thigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

he talks about his dreams of going pro, but always ending with, “as long as you’re there, i don’t care where i end up. and when i make it big, im taking you with me. first-class. forever.”

baseballplayer!satoru who sometimes sneaks you onto the field after-hours.

he teaches you how to hold a bat, how to throw a pitch, and would most definitely make terrible innuendos the entire time. “Gotta get a firm grip, sweetheart. Can’t swing properly if you don’t wrap your hands around it just right.” you almost laugh. almost. “Don’t be shy. Give it everything you’ve got. Full body movement. Trust me—hips make all the difference.” this one earns him a soft slap to his bicep as you roll your eyes, but the smile on your face and warmth in your cheeks tells him everything he needs to know.

you show up for him every single day, on and off the field. but don’t think he doesn’t also support you 100%. in fact, his reciprocity always goes above and beyond. when you do something amazing—ace a test, get a promotion, anything—he leaves a gift box on your pillow or takes you somewhere nice. sometimes, he wears your name written on tape over the back of his jersey just to make a point.

“gotta let ‘em know who i play for.”

baseballplayer!satoru who takes you to all the college ragers and keg parties with him.

if someone starts flirting with you, he keeps his cool. however, he will slide in behind you, his arms snaking around your waist as he presses a few kisses to your neck. he’ll cast a sly glance at the person before looking down at you, “sorry, this one’s taken. isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he’d say, his smirk never wavering.

baseballplayer!satoru when he wears his backwards baseball cap and smirks down at you? dangerous. at first, he didn’t understand the effects—fidgeting with his hats is a compulsion at this point. but once he figured it out? he does it on purpose. he loves that it drives you crazy.

sometimes, during a heated makeout session, he’ll take it off and put it on you. he pauses, giving himself a moment to drink in the sight of you—lips swollen and eyes low. you gaze up at him with the cutest little smile while his thumbs trace your cheeks. he can’t help but bite his lip and mutter, “shit. you’re gonna be the death of me.”

and after a big win, he’s so hyped up and absolutely buzzing with adrenaline that he almost doesn’t make it all the way home. he pins you against the wall the second the door closes, growling in your ear, “i need you. now.”

his calloused hands run along your body as he roughly tugs on your clothes, lips sucking on your soft flesh while he nips at your skin.

baseballplayer!satoru who has an undeniable praise kink. i guess that's why he's such good team player...

he runs his mouth like it’s second nature—on the field, in the locker room, and especially when you’re beneath him. he's downright filthy. this man is obnoxiously confident, downright obsessed with you, and dangerously good with his words… he whispers praise and filth in the same breath, telling you how good you feel, how pretty you sound, and especially how lucky he is to have you like this. all his. “you like watching me on the field, baby? bet you like this more, huh?” he’s driven by his deep rooted desire for you to always know how badly he wants you. every moan, every arch of your back, every flutter of your lashes drives him crazy, and he’s not shy about saying it. “you hear that? that’s allll you. sounding so damn pretty for me.” “look at you—fuck, i don’t deserve this…my pretty girl—i don’t deserve you.” he gets especially talkative when you’re being quiet. if you try to bite back your sounds, he’ll go feral trying to break you open with his voice alone. “cmon, baby. don’t hide it. let me hear how good i make you feel.” you already know he’s got so much stamina, and if you don’t answer him the way he likes, he’ll thrust even harder, burying himself even deeper, trying to get those sweet sounds to fall from your lips once more. “say it, pretty girl. say who’s making you feel this good.”

and, when it’s just the two of you, the rest world fading into background noise, he’s soft in ways that only you get to see.

in his mind, he'd happily trade teasing smirks for sleepy smiles, his constant sexual innuendos for whispered “i love you’s,” and baseball caps for hoodie-covered cuddles. he still talks a big game, of course. that will never change. but now it’s about the future he wants with you, the tiny apartment he wants to share, the warm meals after practice, the wins you’ll celebrate together.

because to satoru, success means nothing if you're not by his side. you were always the real home run. his most valuable win.

author note! i know this has probably been done before but i have personally never read/seen any gojo x baseball before and the urge to write my own headcannons was too intense to ignore. i hope y'all enjoyed!

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[sidemari]

• Bun in the oven •

Some texts about you telling them that you’re pregnant and some headcanons about how they’re during the pregnancy. 

Characters included: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Keegan P. Russ, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, König, Nikto and Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader 

TW: Mild angst, mentions of abortion and insecurities, implied smut. But everything works out in the end. 

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You call him from the corner of the room, that nervous smile on your face. Soap knows right away that something big is coming — he feels it, like he senses danger on the field… But this time, it’s something different. Something good.

“Johnny… Do you remember the night you came back home after being away for so long due to that mission?” You tested the waters by avoiding telling the truth right away.

“Yeah… How could I forget that night?” He smiled warmly, his mind flashing with the images of that day. “What about it, hon?” 

“Well… You know we got carried away and…”

“And…?”

“We’re having a baby.” You finally share your secret. 

He blinks. Once. Twice. His usual playful smile disappears for a second, replaced by a stunned look, as if he’s trying to decode what he’s just heard.

“Are… are you serious?” You nod, and he… explodes with joy. He literally lifts you into the air with a surprised cry, almost laughing and crying at the same time.

“Oh my God! We’re going to be parents?! Aye, fuck, baby, is this really real?”

He kisses your forehead, then your belly, even though it hasn’t even changed yet. He murmurs a bunch of sweet things in that warm accent — promises, plans, dreams. And then he whispers very softly, just for you to hear:

“I swear I will be the best father in the world… to our baby. And the best man to you. Always.”

When the morning sickness starts, he becomes your personal bodyguard against any suspicious smells: “What the hell is that in the air?! It smells like poison, honey. Close that window!”

He researches everything about pregnancy and becomes the most emotional “expert” on the planet. He sends you messages like: “Did you know that the baby already has little fingers today? LITTLE FINGERS, BABY!”

He talks to your belly every day, telling them about his missions, his friends on the team, and asking if the baby prefers soccer or rugby: “If you kick now, it’ll be rugby, okay?”

He starts to become obsessed with photos. He takes a thousand selfies with you and your belly, even while you’re sleeping. 

He refuses to let you carry anything, literally: “Not even the bag. Not even the remote. Let me carry it, honey.”

He massages your feet every night, and even develops a ‘military relaxation technique’ just so you can sleep better.

He has a hospital bag ready with 30 unnecessary things, like three types of chocolate, a teddy bear, and a mini speaker to play Scottish music for the baby.

He’s always reminding you how beautiful you are, even when you feel uncomfortable and insecure. “No matter how big your belly is, you’ve always been the love of my life, and now you’re carrying our little miracle. And no, I don’t give a single fuck about those stretchmarks. You’re nurturing a life inside your womb and your body is adapting itself because of it. I still think you look damn hot and I’m forever thankful that those pregnancy hormones shifted you into a little insatiable thing.”

He gets touchy-feely, sometimes hugging you in the middle of the night just to say thank you. 

He makes up nicknames for the baby while he’s still in the womb, like “Little Soap”. 

He gets really emotional during the first ultrasound. He holds your hand tightly and tries not to cry… but fails miserably.

He makes special playlists with soft Scottish music, movie soundtracks and even records himself talking so the baby can hear at night.

He buys miniature army clothes, but also absurdly cute ones, like animal costumes, because “he needs to have style in the nursery”.

One day he shows up with a crib set up in the middle of the living room just because “he wanted to see if it would look nice in natural light”.

He learns to cook your favorite foods (even if it turns out to be a disaster) just so you can eat what you want safely.

He keeps notes with the dates of the first times: first kick, first time their heartbeat was heard, first photo of your belly. He’s creating a secret “dossier” of love.

He swears he’s going to be the most present father in the world. No matter how much life changes, he will always be there for you two. 

It was a quiet night at home. The sky was clear, with a million stars shining through the open window. You were sitting on the couch, with a cup of hot tea in your hands, and Soap was lying next to you, with his head on your lap, apparently tired from the intense mission of the day. The conversation was calm, but you knew it was time to tell him the news. He was so focused on caressing your stomach as you played with his hair, that he didn't notice how nervous you were.

"Did you know you're going to be the best dad in the world?" You said softly, feeling your heart race. Soap looked at you with a crooked smile, his eyes shining with evident affection.

"I have no doubt about that, love. But what do you mean, best dad? If I'm not, who will be, huh?" You laughed, but you were feeling overflowing with happiness. Suddenly, the moment was there, and it was as if time had slowed down just so he could hear your words.

"Well… I can't say who's going to be the best father, but you're the best for me, and… Our daughter is going to be very lucky." There was a pause. Soap stood up quickly, looking at you, confused, as if he hadn't quite understood. His eyes were curious, but his smile stubbornly wouldn't leave his face. 

"Wait… What?" He asked, his eyes shining even brighter. You laughed, feeling the heat rise to your face. 

"I… we're expecting a little girl." Soap's eyes widened for a moment and he was silent, processing the information. When it finally sunk in, he leaned forward, with a dazzling smile.

"A little girl?" he repeated, his voice full of disbelief. 

"Yes, a little girl," You said, your heart almost jumping out of your chest. "You're going to be the father of a little girl." And then, he simply laughed. A genuine, happy laugh, one of those laughs that seemed so honest that you felt your soul warm. He stood up from the couch, holding your hands tightly before he jumped close to you, not caring about the teacup that almost fell to the floor.

"Are you sure about this? A real little girl?" He asked again, his eyes shining with happiness.

You laughed then, finally, the feeling of nervousness disappearing. He was more excited than ever, and his happiness was contagious.

"I'm sure!" You answered, laughing along with him, the two of you hugging each other tightly. "We're going to have a daughter, Soap." He ran his hand over your belly, still not fully believing it, but with a sparkle in his eyes that didn't fade. 

"I promise that I'm going to be the best dad in the world. It's going to be a pleasure to watch our little girl grow up." You leaned back against the couch, feeling your heart beat faster. 

"I know you will." And as he continued to rub your belly, smiling like a fool and in that moment, you were more certain than ever that he was the kind of father who would do anything for her. 

Keegan P. Russ 

You hadn’t planned to tell him like this. You wanted something elaborate, symbolic… maybe a candlelit dinner, a note written in your nervous handwriting. But there, sitting on the couch, with his hand resting on your thigh and his eyes intently watching a movie, you felt the right moment — a comfortable, intimate silence, just the two of you.

“Keegan…” You began, your voice low, almost as if you were keeping a precious secret between your lips. He turned his face to you right away. He always did that — when you spoke, he listened. With his eyes, with his whole body. It was a habit of his to offer you his total presence.

“Is something wrong?” He asked immediately, already with that protective look that always came when you hesitated.

“No… it’s just...” You took his hand and brought it to your belly, as if that would be enough. Maybe it was. For a moment, he didn’t understand. He looked back at your face, at your eyes filled with unshed tears, at his hand under your still flat stomach, but which held a secret growing in silence.

“Are you...?” He didn’t finish the question, but his eyes said it all. You nodded, with a shy, uncertain, but hopeful smile. The air between you changed. He didn’t say anything for a second too long — but you saw it. His shoulders relaxed as if he had been waiting for this news without knowing. His eyes watered, and his mouth opened slowly, a whisper coming out between his lips:

“Are we becoming a family...?” The way he hugged you that night was different. It was a protective, reverent grip. As if you were made of porcelain. As if the most important miracle of his life was inside you — and it was.

The focused, meticulous soldier appeared in a new form: in nutrition spreadsheets, reminders on his phone with alarms for his snacks, vitamins, and appointments. He went with you to all of them—even when he was exhausted, even when he had just returned from a mission the day before. He sat next to you, held your hand, and listened intently to every word the obstetrician said.

Keegan was the type of person who didn’t say much, but showed it all through his actions. He learned to cook healthy meals even though he didn’t know how to cut a tomato properly at first. He would run his hands over his belly before bed every night, with a caress that felt like a silent prayer.

And when the symptoms got tough — the nausea, the aches, the bloating — Keegan didn’t run away. He showed up with tea (and if you refused to drink them, he’d force you to, saying it was for the good of the baby you were nurturing), warm blankets, and concerned eyes. He sat on the floor beside your bed when you didn’t want to talk. He was just there and it was enough. 

Sometimes, during the night, he would wake up just to check if you were still sleeping well. He would run his hand over your forehead, carefully adjusting your position, as if he could protect you even from nightmares.

Keegan, during your pregnancy, was as firm as steel and as gentle as a cozy blanket. He became your safe haven, your silent and constant guardian. He slept with his hand on your belly, talked to the baby when he thought you couldn’t hear, promised he would be there, always, that he would take care of you, that no one would ever hurt you both. 

You found him in the kitchen, cooking your latest craving: berry pie.

“Baby,” You called, leaning against the door frame. He looked up immediately, a small smile forming when he saw you there.

You walked over to him slowly, your heart racing, and pulled out the small pair of blue booties you had bought that morning.

“For when he gets here.” You said, placing the booties in his hands. A cheesy way to reveal the gender of your baby, yes, but those booties were just too cute for you to ignore. 

Keegan frowned, confused at first — until understanding dawned on him. He blinked a few times, in disbelief.

“A little boy?” He asked, almost in a choked whisper.

You nodded with an excited smile. He laughed softly, shaking his head as if he was still processing it. Then he pulled you slowly closer, resting his forehead against yours before spinning you around slowly and carefully to not make you nauseous.

“My little boy… Our little boy!” He murmured, his voice cracking with joy.

When the time arrives, Keegan is incredibly calm on the outside, but inside he is a whirlwind of emotions. He has never been so scared and so happy at the same time. He held your hand through every contraction, whispering “You can do it,” “I’m here,” “It’s going to be okay” like a mantra — as if his voice could protect you from the pain. When he heard the baby cry for the first time, his eyes filled with tears instantly. He tried to hide it, but the emotion overflowed in his eyes and in the way he smiled at you and when he held his son for the first time. He was completely mesmerized: his big fingers touched the little body with the greatest delicacy in the world, as if he was afraid of hurting his own son. 

Keegan refuses to sleep while you rest. He sits in an armchair with the baby on his lap, just observing every little detail of the newborn. When the medical team came back and found him with the baby sleeping on his chest, and you sleeping in bed, they said it looked like a scene from a movie. 

He talks to the baby even though he knows he doesn't understand: "You have your mother's eyes... And you'll be strong like her too." 

Takes pictures of the tiny feet, of the baby grabbing your finger, of you breastfeeding him, bathing him and sleeping with him and keeps them all in a folder that only he has access to.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

You realized something was wrong when you woke up with an upset stomach for two days in a row — and without having eaten anything heavy. The smell of the breakfast you loved started to make you nauseous… and that was the first warning sign. Kyle even jokingly commented: “Are you abandoning me in our sacred coffee ritual?” — and you forced a smile, pretending you weren’t worried. A few days later, you realized your period was late. A week. Then ten days. And then fifteen. And then, sweet fear hit deep in your chest.

You bought the test by yourself, on a quick trip to the pharmacy, and hid it in your purse as if it were a state secret. On a cold, slow morning, you took the test while Kyle was still sleeping. The silence in the bathroom was almost deafening as you waited the five minutes that the package indicated. Two lines. Two lines that changed everything. You stood still for long minutes, in the same position, holding the test with shaking hands and teary eyes. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You did both. The first thing you thought was: "How am I going to tell him?" — and right after: "Will he want this with me?" 

You tried to plan a cute way to tell him. A special dinner, a little box with the test and a note. But anxiety got the best of you. You told him in a simple way, on a normal afternoon, when it was just the two of you, sitting together. He noticed something different about you, and when you shared the secret you were carrying alone, time seemed to stop.

He was sitting on the couch, his eyes softly focused on you as you walked slowly toward him, your hands clasped in front of you, as if trying to contain your racing heart. He could tell right away — you were nervous.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked, his voice low, full of affection.

You nodded, but your throat was dry. You took a deep breath, then walked over and sat down next to him. His hand came naturally to yours, his warm, firm fingers wrapping around yours as if to say ‘I’m here, talk to me.’

“Kyle…” Your gaze met his, and there was so much tenderness there it almost hurt. “I’m pregnant.” For a moment, the world seemed suspended. His smile froze mid-smile, his eyes wide with surprise. You saw the emotion building there — first confusion, then a wet gleam in his eyes, as if he’d just heard something sacred.

“Are you… pregnant?” He repeated in a whisper, as if he was afraid to break the moment.

You nodded, with a small smile. His answer came in the form of a soft, almost breathless laugh, before he pulled you into a hug full of warmth and reverence. He held you as if you were made of glass, but at the same time with such intensity that your heart seemed to fit into his.

“We’re going to have a baby… Fuck’s sake!, that’s so amazing...” He whispered against your neck, as if he still couldn’t believe it. 

“Kyle… No swearing around the baby.”

“Copy that.” He smiled. “I'll be here. Every step, every beat of this little heart… I want to live it all with you.” After that, he placed his hand lovingly on your lower belly, as if he could already feel the new life you had started together. And in that moment, between soft smiles and slow kisses, the whole world seemed to fit between his arms.

He became obsessed with learning everything: he read medical articles, downloaded three different pregnancy apps, and asked the internet if certain strange food cravings were normal. 

He created a ritual: every night, he would lie with his head on her belly and whisper stories, just to “familiarize the baby with his father’s voice.” He would always say proudly: “Our baby will be born hearing the most beautiful accent in the world, honey.” 

He was so protective, but in a sweet way —  accompanying you to every appointment, carrying healthy snacks in his bag, and talking to doctors like you were a secret agent on a mission. 

When your belly started to grow, he bought funny “Loading… Baby 50%” T-shirts and forced you to wear them just to see your grumpy little face. No need to tell him they look awful, he’s already taking pictures of you. 

One day, he found you crying watching a random video of a stray dog being adopted and he just sat down with you, hugging you tightly, and getting emotional too, without even knowing why. 

He insisted on putting the crib together with his own hands. He made several mistakes, got his fingers stuck, and cursed the manual — but in the end, the crib was perfect.

When the contractions started, he went into military mode in 0.1 seconds. He grabbed the hospital bag, checked the checklist, warned everyone and took you to the hospital as if he was on a mission.

During the birth, he held your hand the whole time, letting you crush his fingers without complaining as he kept murmuring something along the lines of “Breathe with me. I’m with you.”

When the baby was born and cried for the first time, he cried too — the kind of silent, emotional cry that comes from deep in the chest.

He was paralyzed for a few seconds when he saw the baby in his arms, with teary eyes, whispering: “We did it. Look… we did it.”

You waited to find out the baby’s sex until the birth. It was a huge shock when the obstetrician said that a little boy had been born: “Hell yeah!”, he celebrated. “My little boy,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Our son...”

König

He finally returned from that mission that seemed to have no end. 

You call him by name with that soft voice that makes him feel weak to his knees. He notices something in your tone. The blue eyes fixed on yours with attention… and a hint of anxiety. “Was ist passiert, mein Schatz?” (“What happened, my love?”)

You take a deep breath, smiling with a nervousness that he immediately picks up on — and you finally say three words that change everything: 

“I am pregnant.” For a moment, he freezes. Not with rejection. Not with anger. But as if the world had gone silent. His eyes widen slightly, he takes a step back as if he’s been shocked, only to then approach you again with visible hesitation in his hands. The mask covers half of his reaction, but his eyes say it all. Pure vulnerability. The doubt of whether he deserves this. The desire to believe he still deserves to be happy. 

“Is it… mine?” He asks, his voice lower than ever.

“Of course it is, König!” 

When you say that — of course he knew it was his — König lets out a shaky sigh and puts his hands on his head, walking a few steps as if he doesn’t know what to do with his own body. Then he stops and he comes back to you. He kneels and he hugs your still-flat belly, pressing it against his face with an almost religious reverence.

“Mein Gott (My god)… you gave me a new life.” He murmurs, his voice hoarse and muffled.

Then he looks down at you, with teary eyes — the intimidating giant now looking like a lost, happy boy — and says something you would never forget:

“I never thought I would have something so precious. I will take care of you. The both of you. Even if the world falls apart… you will be safe.” 

In the first few months, König is on constant alert. Every moment of nausea, every different expression on your face, makes him stop everything to check if you are okay. 

He obsessively researches pregnancy in silence, on his cell phone, reading scientific articles, forums, and even mothers' groups — all in secret, with his eyes fixed on the screen as if he were studying military tactics. 

He tries to cook for you (with… variable results), just because he read that certain foods help with morning sickness. 

When your belly starts to grow, König starts talking to you when he thinks you are sleeping. He lies down next to you, his head resting gently on your belly, murmuring in German with a sweetness that seems unthinkable for such a huge man. "Dein Vater liebt dich sehr, mein kleines Wunder..." ("Your father loves you very much, my little miracle...") 

He starts to accompany you to every medical appointment as if they were a mission, paying attention to every comment from the doctors and nurses as if his life depended on it. 

When your belly is already heavy and your steps are slower, König starts carrying you to any place that involves stairs. Literally. He doesn't even ask. He just picks you up with the greatest care in the world, as if you were made of glass. 

When you start having false contractions, he goes into a state of absolute focus—the hospital bag has been packed for weeks, the routes have been planned, the emergency numbers are posted on the fridge. But despite this, he is always kind, always calm with you, even though he is seething with nerves inside.

He has internal crises of insecurity, but he never burdens you with them. He writes everything down in a hidden notebook, as a way of letting off steam. 

You find him on the balcony, the sky tinged with gold by the sunset. König’s back is turned, still, silent, as he usually does when he’s thinking too much. His large hands are resting on the railing, his broad body almost blocking the light. He turns when he hears your footsteps, and his soft gaze immediately lands on your belly with an almost reverent affection.

You smile, and he responds with that shy little smile at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still seeming to search for more signs that you’re okay.

“What did the doctor say?” He asks in a low voice, waiting for each word as if they were sacred.

You walk towards him, slowly, feeling your heart beat faster — not from nervousness, but from excitement. Then you take one of his hands and guide it to your belly.

“She’s fine,” You begin, looking into his eyes. “And yes... I said she.”

König’s eyes blink, as if it took him a second to process.

“She...?” He whispers, almost in disbelief. You nod, smiling even wider.

“We’re having a little girl.” His breath catches for a moment. His blue eyes — usually so restrained, so trained not to show too much — shine with immediate moisture. He kneels, letting his forehead touch yours while his hands wrap around your belly with a delicacy that doesn’t match its size.

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling him snuggle closer, his arms around your waist as if he wanted to protect the two of you from the entire world.

“She’s already so loved, König. By me… and by you.”

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready. But I’ll give everything. Everything. For both of you.”

“You’re already everything she needs. And everything I need too.” 

Nikto

The truth is that you found out you were carrying his child only in the third month of pregnancy. The missions, your dangerous job, the obligations, plans and goals, your own complex relationship with Nikto… all of this was too much for you to handle. The days became weeks and the weeks became months as you just ignored the symptoms, thinking that the nausea and exhaustion would pass. But they remained very present, and your suspicion only increased.

You took a pregnancy test, which came back positive. And to be sure, you also took a blood test some days after and then, an ultrasound, which finally revealed the baby's gender: a little boy was coming into the world. You did all this without saying a word to Nikto, fearing that he would hate the news. You weren't stupid, you knew he would soon realize something was out of place. Your body was changing, your symptoms were still present, and you even avoided exposing yourself to any kind of risk, as much as possible, unlike before.

He suspected the possible reason why this was happening, but he never forced you to admit anything. Not until you were ready.

When you told him the news, at first he reacted with silence and a hard look, trying to process the information. He’s not the type to show emotion easily, so you thought he was angry or indifferent… But inside, he would be conflicted. Part of him would feel vulnerable — the idea of ​​having created a new life would hit him harder than he expected. Another part would be on edge, worried for your safety and that of the baby, since his world is too violent for something so innocent.

But he wouldn’t shy away from responsibility. He just wouldn’t know how to show he cares in the traditional way. You’d see him more protective, more present, but also more silent. His love would be shown in actions, not words.

The base was silent that night—just the hum of the generators and the occasional sound of boots echoing in the hallway. He was sitting at the table, cleaning his weapon with the meticulous precision of always, his mask pushed up to his forehead, revealing those hard eyes… but that always softened when they landed on you. You walked in slowly, your fingers intertwined in front of you, your heart beating fast.

He noticed it instantly. He dropped the metal piece on the table and watched you silently. Not like a soldier, but like a man. Your man.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, standing up immediately, his tone low but attentive.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s not that. But… I need to tell you something. And it’s important.”

His eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms, his body firm as steel, but his gaze… almost nervous.

“I’m pregnant, Nikto.”

The silence that followed was as thick as the darkness outside. He didn’t answer. He just stood there, motionless, as if time had frozen. What did you expect? A scream? A sigh? A “how did that happen?”?

None of that came.

He walked towards you, slowly, as if he were stepping on unknown land. He stopped so close that you could feel the heat of his body. His gloved hand rose to your face — it hesitated in the air for a second — and then landed with a delicacy that no one would ever imagine that man was capable of.

“My son?” He murmured, his voice so low that it seemed like a secret between you and the universe.

Son… And he even had guessed the baby gender right.

You nodded, tears in your eyes, but smiling.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, there was something there. It wasn’t fear. Or anger. It was… instinct. A raw kind of love — unconditional, protective.

"How do you…" You hugged him, and that took him by surprise. It took Nikto a few seconds to hug you back, but when he did, he stroked your hair with affection. "How do you know it's a boy?"

"Is it?"

"I mean… yeah."

"Perhaps it was just my intuition." He kissed the top of your head, wanting to protect you from the world.

“You will not leave my sight.” His voice had returned to its firm tone. “I will take care of you both. From now on.” And then, for the first time since you met him, Nikto knelt down, making himself vulnerable before you. Lifting your shirt, he pressed his lips to your slightly swollen belly, so gently that it barely seemed real. But it was. It was his promise. No pretty words. Just presence. Just surrender.

Nikto was already a controlling person by nature, but from the moment he found out about your pregnancy, he became a constant shadow by your side. He checks safe routes before you go out, monitors the environment where you sleep, and leaves discreet trackers on everything you wear “just in case.” He doesn’t say, “I’m afraid something will happen,” he just acts—as if he could take on the whole world for you and the baby.

He’s not the type to say, “You look so beautiful carrying my son” but out of nowhere you find a soft blanket on the couch, hot tea on the table, or maternity clothes in your size neatly folded on the bed. When you ask him if that was his doing, he just answers curtly, “Maybe.” But if you insist, he might say, “I like to see you comfortable.” (And he looks down, because that was the most vulnerability he could show that day.)

If you’re lying down and you let out a whimper of pain or discomfort, within seconds he’ll be there, kneeling beside the bed, pressing his hands firmly against your back. He never comments anything, he just keeps going until he feels you’ve relaxed. When you say a weak “thank you” he’ll give you a quick nod and maybe — just maybe — press a kiss against your forehead before leaving the room.

At night, when you are dozing on the couch or in bed, he will slowly come over and, if he is comfortable doing so, he will rub your belly while speaking to the baby in Russian. They are short, almost military phrases, but sweet in his own way: "Your mother is stronger than anyone. You will get this from her." Or even: "You will not know war. I swear."

Even with all his confidence, he sometimes stays silent for long periods, staring at you from afar. When you ask him, he ends up saying something like: “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I only know how to fight.” It’s at this moment that you see his most human side. He’s not afraid of war, but he is afraid of failing you. And when you hold his hand and tell him he’s already doing more than enough, he doesn’t respond. He just squeezes your hand tightly — and doesn’t let go.

Simon “Ghost” Riley 

Hot and intense nights became common when the pressure of the world became great enough to suffocate you both.

You sought refuge in sex, night after night indulging your most primitive and sinful desires as a relatively effective, but twisted, way of enduring the horrendous reality of serving the country.

Even though you knew that being careful was relatively far from being part of your routine, you felt the world fall apart when the first symptoms began.

Nausea, fatigue and insecurity had become part of your essence and the fear of the future permeated your soul.

You tried to hide your pregnancy for as long as possible, not wanting to tell Simon, much less your team members.

Bringing an innocent life into the hell you lived was a senseless act. Then why did you feel so much love for someone who hadn't even been born yet?

You were almost four months pregnant when, during a mission, you fainted for no apparent reason. You weren't taking care of yourself enough — eating little, sleeping little and keeping so many secrets to yourself... It came as no surprise to anyone when your body couldn't handle all of that.

"Stay with me... Hey! She needs medical help!" Ghost shouted, looking around desperately, protecting your body as if you were the most fragile thing in the world at that moment.

Your consciousness slowly returned, and you realized that you were being carried by him to a safer place.

"I'm sorry." You stammered, feeling guilty for having interrupted the gathering of such important information.

"Don't apologize. I've never seen you so pale and weak like this, not even on worse missions." You were finally in a calmer place, still alone with him, and before other people entered the room to check on you, you decided it was time to tell him the truth.

"Simon, I..." You hesitated, wondering for a moment if being honest with him was really what you wanted.

"You...?" He encouraged you, squeezing your thigh affectionately, as usual.

"I... I'm pregnant." His eyes widened, and his grip on your thigh tightened, almost hurting you.

"What...?" He mumbled to himself, slowly fitting the pieces of the puzzle together and everything made sense — your extreme sensitivity to the tastes and smells that you usually liked, your endless naps, your hurried and unannounced trips to the bathroom, your lack of complaints about cramps, almost as if you hadn't had your period that month... It all made sense, and his head almost exploded.

"How did I not notice?" He whispered, pulling you close, hugging you tightly as if he wanted to protect you from all the evil in the world. "How far along are you?"

"Almost four months." You mumbled against his chest as he stroked your hair lovingly. "I think it was on your birthday..." 

That night... That fateful night.

"How are you feeling about this?"

"I... I don't know what to think..." Your hands involuntarily went down your body, caressing the slightly swollen belly due to the life that was developing there. "But I love them so much already..."

He smiled against your hair, hugging you tighter, a genuine happiness slowly forming inside his heart.

"I'm scared, Si." You admitted. "I'm scared of bringing them into this world only to suffer and see horrible things like the two of us."

"Hey, don't say that. Even in hell I found you. I found someone worth fighting for and waking up to everyday. Life isn't all bad, you taught me that yourself." You didn't answer, but he understood what you meant.

"Regardless of your decision — whether you’re keeping them or not — I will support you and stay by your side. Until my last breath." And he kissed the top of your head.

You couldn't muster the courage to abort that life. They were the fruit of the love between you and Simon and they were the best thing you had.

So you decided to keep it, to face the consequences of your acts, to carry the responsibility of bringing a life into this world. 

Months passed without you wanting to know the baby's sex, until Simon convinced you to investigate it.

"Guess." You murmured against his lips, your hands cupping his cheeks.

"Hmm, I have a feeling it's a girl." He secretly longed for one. You guided his hand so he could feel the baby moving, kicking you weakly every now and then.

"It's a girl! We're having a little girl, Si!" His heart fluttered with joy.

"Bloody hell, love... Fuck, I love her so much already. I can't wait to finally meet her."

He has a habit of murmuring sweet nothings your swollen stomach as his fingertips caresses the skin of your belly.

He doesn't let you lift a finger to do almost anything and he even asked captain Price not to allow you to leave the base for any more missions. He couldn't bait to lose both of you.

He helps you with your craving and pregnancy pains —  his massages are divine and melt away any tension you may be feeling.

Close to delivery, when you can no longer bear the weight of your very own stomach, he holds your belly gently with both hands, slowly freeing you from the weight of your little girl for a few seconds — seconds that relieve you absurdly.

Actually cries when he sees his baby for the first time — she's just so tiny, all wrapped around a blanket and her baby clothes, her foot is barely the size of his thumb and she's a little carbon copy of him in appearance. He's utterly glad you decided to keep her over five months ago. He couldn't imagine a world where you three didn't exist anymore.

He is completely disarmed by his daughter. He can face any enemy without hesitation, but if she cries in the morning or asks for something with that look in her eyes, he simply melts.

Protection is his second name. He checks locks, cameras, and sleeps lightly, as if he was still in the field. But the truth is that he just wants to make sure that nothing will hurt the two people he loves most in the world.

As your husband (fucking finally, right?), Simon is silent… but constant. He doesn't need big words; he shows it with actions. Coffee ready, blanket pulled up in the middle of the night, arm around waist without saying anything. He is simply perfect.

[makeyuomine]

written in the stars // part 1

Summary: (Y/N) was hoping for a quiet evening under the stars at the Griffith Observatory — a chance to clear her mind. But something shifts when she spots Harry, a graduate student in Planetary Science, during the planetarium show. What begins as a few curious glances soon turns into lingering conversations, shared stargazing, and a growing connection neither of them saw coming.

Tropes: Slow burn, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, academic/nerdy bf x grounded gf

Author’s Note: Hi readers ⭐️ This is a work of fanfiction inspired by the public persona of Harry Styles. All characters, events, and scenarios are entirely fictional and are not intended to reflect real-life individuals, situations, or relationships. This story was written purely for entertainment and creative expression — nothing here is based on real events.

Also please note this is my first time writing a fanfic in literal years, so I’m a little rusty.

Thank you so so much for taking the time to read. I hope you all enjoy.

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(Y/N) had grown up with the Griffith Observatory practically in her backyard, but it felt brand new tonight. She had decided to attend a showing at the planetarium that evening.

Maybe it was the mist drifting in from the hills, softening the sharp lights of Los Angeles like a veil. Or perhaps it was how everything had started feeling a little off lately—like her life had tilted half a degree on its axis, except no one had noticed. She wasn’t looking for an answer tonight, just a reason to keep going.

The planetarium dome smelled the same as it always had—clean, slightly metallic, like old projectors and cool air. She chose a seat in the center row, her favorite spot since childhood. When the stars would swirl and expand across the ceiling, it felt like she was floating.

"I should’ve gotten high first," she muttered under her breath.

(Y/N) adjusts herself in her seat, getting comfortable. A few seconds later, someone slid into one of the seats beside her.

Not right beside her, but close enough to notice.

She glanced over, expecting some bored couple or a tourist with a camera.

The man beside her was quietly silencing his phone, settling in for the show. He sat alone, entirely absorbed in his own world—and looked absolutely, maddeningly gorgeous.

He wore black jeans, scuffed Vans, and a button-up shirt, with a navy blue cardigan draped casually over his shoulders.

His hair fell in loose, tousled waves near his collar—like he'd been running his fingers through it all day without realizing. A soft leather notebook rested on one knee, a pen poised in his hand, like he was treating the show more like a study session than a casual outing.

He noticed her looking.

"You don’t strike me as someone who’s here for an Instagram post," he whispered, a half-smile playing at his lips.

(Y/N) arched a brow. "And you don’t strike me as someone who’s here for fun."

"That's right," he laughed, offering a hand. "I'm Harry."

She shook it. "(Y/N)."

There was a pause, the kind that crackled with the promise of more.

“I'm a grad student at the university here,” he said, eyes flicking up to the domed ceiling. "I study Planetary Science."

Her brows lifted. "That's amazing. So you do this for a living?"

"Well," he said, shrugging modestly, "I try to make sense of celestial chaos. Planets colliding. Moons forming. Rings collapsing into dust. Romance, really."

(Y/N) smiled and raised her eyebrow. "That’s your idea of romance?"

"Well, what's yours?"

Her eyes met his, lingering a second too long.

"I... I don't know, actually."

She felt slightly flustered. (Y/N) didn't expect to be talking about romance, let alone being asked what she considered to be romantic.

"I'm sure you do. We’re alive in the blink of cosmic time, and somehow, here we are."

The lights dimmed.

The dome came alive with light—stars unfurling in spirals and flares above them. (Y/N) tilted her head back, chest rising and falling slowly. She found herself unable to focus on the show—despite having seen it more times than she could count. Her thoughts kept drifting to the handsome grad student beside her, and the way he managed to make astronomy feel like poetry.

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe the universe had timing. That maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all chaos.

Next to her, Harry was silent. Still.

He watched the stars with quiet intensity, occasionally scribbling notes into his notebook. How he managed to write anything in the dim light, she had no idea—but she couldn’t look away. There was something about him that felt effortlessly poetic, like he belonged to the stars he was studying.

Sensing her watching him, Harry turned his head.

And when she turned—drawn by the same invisible thread that had pulled her to come here alone, he looked away, like he’d been caught in something intimate.

The narrator’s voice filled the dome again. Soft, reverent.

"Venus spins backwards, did you know that? Her sun rises in the west and sets in the east. No one knows exactly why, but she defied gravity and expectations."

She.

(Y/N) swallowed. She wasn’t sure if it was the narrator's words or the way Harry tensed, just a little, as if he felt them too.

When the show ended, the crowd shuffled out in a hush, like worshippers leaving a chapel. Outside, the night was velvet and full of echoes. The Observatory loomed behind them, glowing like a crown on the hillside.

She lingered at the edge of the terrace, arms crossed, watching the smog-shrouded city glitter below.

Harry joined her quietly.

"You didn’t ask why I came alone," she said.

"I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would."

(Y/N) turned to look at him and chuckled, "That’s surprisingly respectful for someone who called planetary destruction romantic."

He grinned, then grew more serious. "Why did you come?"

She hesitated. Then: "Everything’s changing lately. People, plans. It’s like…I don’t recognize anything I used to count on."

He nodded slowly. A few seconds passed before he spoke up, "Sometimes I look at Jupiter’s Great Red Spot and think about how it’s a storm that’s been raging for centuries. Longer than any of us will live. But even that’s starting to fade."

"Hm, is this your version of a pep talk?"

"I’m just saying," he smiled, his voice softer now, "even the most chaotic of things can’t last forever."

She didn’t mean to stare at him again. She didn’t mean to want more.

But she did.

He was brilliant and magnetic and too much for the moment she was in. But he’d made her feel something—for the first time in months.

They stood together in silence, the kind that felt less awkward and more like a pause the night was holding its breath through.

(Y/N) stared out at the city lights, scattered like fallen stars across the hills. Beside her, Harry did the same. When he wasn’t looking, she stole quiet glances—drawn to how composed he seemed, how effortlessly he carried himself, like he belonged in some other era.

After a long breath, Harry pulled out his notebook and jotted something down, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I should get going,” he said finally.

He tore a small slip of paper from the notebook and held it out to her—edges rough, his number written in a looping, deliberate hand.

“In case you ever want to talk stars again,” he said. Then, after a beat, his mouth curved with mischief. “Or chaos.”

(Y/N) took the paper, fingertips brushing his.

“It was really nice meeting you, (Y/N),” he added, extending his hand with that same steady warmth.

She shook it, and for a second, neither of them let go.

“Call me,” he said, his voice low as he took her hand, brushing a soft kiss against her palm.

He let her hand slip from his, the touch lingering just a little too long. She stood there, utterly speechless, only able to offer a small nod and a shy smile.

With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

She watched him go, lost in the sea of people, but something told her—he wouldn’t be gone for long.

And somehow, she knew she would stay with him, too.

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A/N: Thank you to everyone that took the time to read the first post of Written in the Stars! Please let me know your thoughts. Also make sure to drop any recommendations for other one shots, blurbs, etc.

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[metalheadmagneto]

hey, person with Narcissistic Personality Disorder here-- i have literally been grabbed by my arms and lead out of a lot of therapist's offices by security for literally no fucking reason besides mentioning my grandiosity before i knew what was wrong with me. "Bad Person Disorder" is a stigma EVEN AMONG PROFESSIONALS, you can see it all the time with Therapists who refused to treat Borderlines and Antisocials on the basis that they are "unstable and dangerous" that gloat about it online on pages that are upheld as "pillars of mental health" online. painting a picture of psychiatry as infallible (which is entirely what this kind of reaction is even if you deny it and try to say otherwise) is inherently dangerous to people with "Bad Person Disorders." NPD's entire section for "how it affects the person-with-NPD negatively" was removed in 1987 with the DSM-III-R (the reasoning was okay, as it was found that it didn't describe all NPD patients, but the fact of the matter is, it hasn't been restored in a tangible way for over 30 years, almost 40) and now people in the modern day genuinely fucking believe Narcissists don't have feelings or deserve help, including Therapists and professionals, and that people-with-NPD deserve to be psychologically tortured for the crime of having an ego or maladaptive behaviors that are not inherently abusive. look up "Narcissistic Abuse" and see just how much people assume person-with-NPD are monsters who deserve to be pushed to suicide, psychologically tortured and humiliated, or murdered for being equated to what is a unique class of Emotional Abusers, and mind you, Abusive Behavior is not unique to NPD patients and can be perpetuated even by people who do not have ANY diagnosable mental health conditions, which is actually quite frequent, moreso than Narcissists, who are a small minority of people and are often prone to being emotionally abused and manipulated as well because their entire sense of self is based on how they feel about themselves via how people perceive them publicly. Even Therapists perpetuate this idea. the stigma for Cluster B Personality disorders is real even in professional spaces except with very certain people who specialize in treating the disorder itself and talk about it with dignity. i am talking about NPD here specifically and how it affects me, because this is the only experience i can truly speak on. one of my therapists called me a "worthless parasite" and berated me for the entire duration of my visit while i was in an abusive relationship. her "cure" for me was "get a job." spoiler alert: it didn't work. i didn't go back. it was such a shameful and traumatic experience for me that i did not tell anyone what she told me until after i turned 25 (she told me this at 18). this kind of rhetoric pushes people into a hole and causes suicides among people with symptoms that make up the modern definitions of Cluster B Personality disorders (especially Black patients like my fiance with BPD who are Treated Worse than me) and this is just cluster b, not to mention everything else considered "severe" like DID or Schizo-spec disorders. i agree with creature-wizard. this is a reductionist take and shows you don't actually understand how psychiatry is used to oppress people with "incorrect behaviors" and how psychiatry is rooted in bigotry from the get-go. (and don't get me started on my how my child psychiatrist had me on such high doses of antipsychotics at 15 that it could have poisoned me, ruined my brain further than it managed to, and killed me. and then refused to switch medications and increased the dosage when i complained about side effects. this wasn't even for Cluster B symptoms-- this was for Schizophrenia. "professionals" hate us just as much as anyone else does. sometimes, if not more. the "science" these disorders are based on are bigoted in nature and used disproportionately to punish people, but especially those who are POC, to demonize them and push them to the fringes.)

When criticizing religion that promotes or claims some form of bigotry as a central belief, it's very important to remember that people who don't want to believe in god but want to be bigots will find new ways to frame and justify their bigotry.

For example, "women are more likely to be possessed by demons" easily turns into "women are more prone to mental illness that compromises their judgment."

"The gods decreed that these people would be our servants forever" easily turns into "these people never evolved intelligence like we did, and they need us to guide them and tell them what to do."

"You'll go to Hell if you do that!" easily turns into "This is what's destroying society! You're betraying everything your ancestors worked hard to create!"

"They worship evil gods! We have to convert them to our good and pure religion!" easily turns into "their culture is primitive and barbaric! We have to free them from these backward beliefs!"

Basically, remember that what you're criticizing is selfish, fearful, and manipulative behavior, which can and will emerge in any context; and that atheism is not a quick fix for systemic issues and deep-seated prejudices.

[husbandjoel]

baby, i | jesse tlou

summary: pregnant with jesse’s baby, you navigate the task of telling him plus everything that happens after the fact

pairing: jesse x fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

word count: 3.6k

trigger warning: bad language, kissing, sexual themes, mentions of smut and a breeding kink lol. pregnancy and child birth. this is just corny fluff tbh

a/n: there’s one thing i eat up more than husband!joel and that’s a devoted!dad. this is set in a world where dina and jesse never got together but jesse is still an avid no wrap but still tap guy x

gif credit: @pedgito

Two lines. Two perfect red vertical lines.

You thumped the test on the palm of your hand thrice, hoping a little shake of the urine saturated strip would miraculously alter to a singular vertical line with some shaking.

This was the fourth pregnancy test taken in the span of a week.

Positive, positive, positive and — yup — positive.

You snatched the box up, flipping it around to check for an expiration date. You did this for all four tests, you were amidst, essentially, the apocalypse so these little plastic things had a shelf life.

In date. For another year. OK. That could've been the issue for all four tests. Faulty the longer it had been unused. You were being optimistically obtuse.

Head hitting the tiled wall behind you as you sat on your bathroom floor, you thought back to the moment that you were pretty sure landed you in that exact predicament. If it were a police line-up, nine times out of ten, you would be able to pick it from the line without question; it was that blatantly obvious to recall.

Jesse had been announced as a new council member. He had worked hard, endless hours to ensure that Maria Miller and her band of council members could put their trust in him to be unbiased in the face of debates that could strike a nerve with his own personal views. He was the epitome — in your opinion — of what a council member should be.

You two celebrated by christening the council table after hours.

Legs held up by his hands, you were sat atop the wooden table, stark naked, as it juddered beneath you. Perhaps you got lost in the moment, Jesse was just so excited and in turn, that spiked your adrenaline levels as he came close to finishing.

        "Jesse—" You grabbed the nape of his neck, sweat taped his hair to his forehead, "—Put a baby in me."

        OK. You didn't think he would take your words so literally that he did, in fact, impregnate you that one and only night that you had begged for it. You cringed at the memory.

        If the bathroom could depict how you felt as you stared at yet another positive pregnancy test, it would be aflame with wails of terror.

        As your inner turmoil peaked, the front door opened and slammed shut announcing Jesse's arrival back to your shared home within the Jackson Commune. It was a new thing, a foreign concept to you both as you navigated how to live with the person you were in love with. Jesse had been the one to ask you to move in, and you — without hesitation — said yes.

        He even had pointed out the spare bedroom whilst moving your boxes in, suggesting that it would make the perfect nursery if you ever wanted to have a baby with him. Ah. That suggestion may have also been a contributing culprit.

        Now? Now you were scrambling to pick up the evidence of your fourth pregnancy test, profanities muttered under your breath as you looked around to rid the evidence. There was nowhere that wasn't an easy find, so, you resulted in stuffing it down your bra — wincing at the contact due to the soreness of your breasts.

        You went to stand as Jesse opened the bathroom door, the top of your head smacked against the ceramic of the sink bowl making both you and Jesse wince at the harsh contact. You cradled your head as Jesse rushed to your side, knees on the tiles as his large palm cradled yours.

        "Hey, baby." You squeezed your eyes shut. You had to tell him. After you were one hundred percent certain you didn't have a concussion.

        "What were you doing on the floor?" God, did he have to be so observant?

        Your head throbbed, "Oh. I was feeling a little sick again, sometimes just sitting on the bathroom floor cools me down."

        It was no secret that you had been throwing up. Profusely at that. It started after you had eaten your favourite dish, going green after the first bite, you hurled the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl whilst Jesse rubbed your back, confused at what he had done differently to your favourite dish that made you puke your guts up.

        After that, you had been sick more times than you could count. It made you miserable. Debilitating when it was near impossible to keep even water down.

        "We should really get you a check-up with the doctor." Jesse frowned, the pinch of his brow offered an insight to you that meant there was more on his mind than just you throwing up. Not that it didn't worry him throughout the day whilst he worked that you couldn't sustain a meal. But, you knew him.

        Something was afoot.

        "Is everything OK?" You perked up, tender headed but assured that there was no sign of concussion. You weren't seeing double of Jesse, as brilliant as that would have been.

        This had Jesse lean back onto his backside, his back against the tiled wall with his arms rested atop his bent knees. He exhaled deeply and shook his head with disappointment. Oh god. You thought. He's going to break up with me.

        Being a first time single mom wouldn't be so bad. Right? Right.

        Shaking the thought, you placed a reassuring hand on his bicep and he offered a weak smile. Oh fuck. He's really going to break up with me.

        "I made a mistake on Patrol this morning." Oh good! He wasn't going to break up with you. You were going to tell him you were pregnant after a few consoling kisses. He continued with gritted teeth, "It almost cost the life of another Patroller."

        You bared your teeth. Not so good. Maybe it wasn't the best time to tell him you were pregnant.

        You had to be considerate. Jesse took his job seriously. He was a perfectionist to the bone. If he made a mistake, which was rare, he would punish himself for a couple of days before he got over it. Usually it was minor things that he had slipped up on and you did your job as the doting girlfriend to assure him he was human and mistakes were little reminders that it was OK to not be pristine perfect at every given moment.

        Nevertheless, he was meticulous about rules and if it was at the expense of another life, you could presume that Jesse would carry the burden on his shoulders for weeks.

        An unexpected pregnancy announcement probably wouldn't have the effect you thought it would.

        Another time.

        Your nose bumped his side-profile, your hand rubbed the length of his back as he leant into your touch.

        "The key word is almost, here." You noted and he turned to look at you, noses just a kiss away from each other. You tilted your head and smiled, "They're still alive because of your quick thinking even after you made a mistake. That's what separates you from your error. Don't let it haunt you."

        Jesse mulled your words over.

        He nodded, a small quirk of the corner of your lips told you he would be over it much sooner as he swallowed your words of wisdom.

        "Since when did you become a prophet?"

        You'd tell him you were pregnant another time. For now, you were going to make his favourite dinner — nose tucked into your t-shirt whilst you did.

        -

        It was becoming more apparent that you were pregnant. It had been two gruelling weeks and one more pregnancy test for good measure that you had solidified the idea that you were carrying Jesse's baby. A small foetus that rained terror on your day to day life.

        You were still incredibly nauseous, even the scent of Jesse smelt like vinegar to you, making you screw up your face when he pulled you in for a morning kiss — it hurt his feelings but he loved you enough to not bring it up there and then. You had become overwhelmingly tired even when performing the most mundane task such as giving the horses at the stable some extra snacks. Not that, that was classed as a job but you enjoyed being the horses favourite.

        You'd pass out upright at council meetings. Everyone close to you knew that you preferred to be horizontal to sleep. It had annoyed Jesse, for the first time in your relationship, as they were discussing resources to vote on, there you were next to Ellie and Dina who had elbowed you after you let out the softest snore to alert those nearby that you had drifted off.

        You yawned into the palm of your hand as you sat with Dina as she prepped for her next patrol that afternoon. Her eyes flitted upward to your face before she halted her inspection of her gun; a smug smile on her face.

        "What?" You asked when she didn't stop staring at you. It made you feel as if there was something on your face.

        "Are you fucking pregnant?"

        Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets, "Dina—What the fuck?" You gawked, "You can't just ask a woman if they're pregnant. Who knows their background with it."

        "You're right. But you are pregnant. Aren't you?" She folded her arms across her chest in succession of her deduction.

        "You can't tell Jesse."

        Her hand slammed down on the table which made you jump. She externally celebrated with a fist pump, immediately calming herself by clearing her throat and clasping her hands together with her lips pulled into a thin line — as best as she could of course.

        "You have my word." She broke into a grin again, "Oh my god. He is going to shit!"

        "Yeah. I know. I'm working on it." You ran your hand down your face. It seemed whenever you had cemented the idea of telling Jesse your little, but growing secret, something else cropped up that overruled it.

        It was OK. You thought every time. You were patient and Jesse needed you. Although, you could only keep this kind of secret for so long before the swell of your stomach spoiled it for you.

        Dina sensed your apprehension and leant forward to squeeze your hand briefly before returning to clean her gun. "You know he will be ecstatic. Fuck, he will raise a second Captain Wyoming."

        "I know." You beamed, "I'm so happy."

-

        There was no time like the present and at that present moment of time, you had solidified the decision that you would tell Jesse when he got home from his Patrol meeting. Albeit exhausted, you were giddy to see his reaction, to finally spill the beans on your behaviour that deviated from your usual self with the Jackson Commune.

        You kicked the wet mud off your boots, scuffing the remains onto your doormat before entering. There was a dim light that glowed from the kitchen and you frowned, you were overly cautious at making sure that all electricity was turned off prior to exiting the house.

        Quick to check, you found Jesse sat at the small table you had inherited from Joel Miller, one leg shorter than the other, it was a mock-up table for one he was going to create for his and Ellie's home. He called it a 'house warming gift'. You loved it. It had character.

        He had a glum look to his face. Despite his resting face usually equating to one that read dismay, Jesse was putting this face on. Your shoulders fell; another night of not telling him.

        You were starting to think you'd tell him when you went into labour.

        "We need to talk." Jesse stated coldly and you felt the nerves creep up your throat. He never intimidated you, just those around you. Like a dog pissing on an object to claim their territory. Now, however, he was using his scary dog tactics.

        "OK. . ." You put your bag down on the table and sat across from him.

        He swallowed. "You need to be honest when I ask you this." Oh. Did Dina spill the beans? "I've noticed a few changes to your behaviour that have had me questioning things. For instance, you don't want to kiss me, and when you do, you grimace as if it pains you to do it. You've been a little withdrawn, you never tell me how your day was—" As Jesse listed the details of his concerns, the realisation creeped on your face, "—Not to mention, you've not been turning up to fulfil your duties for the Commune. These are all key factors to someone who may be possibly having an affair."

        What the fuck?

        You blinked at his accusation. Mouth agape, you had been accused of cheating on Jesse. The man you looked at as if he strung the stars. You, the woman who was head over heels, hopelessly devoted to Jesse — Captain Wyoming — were sat across from him with a finger pointed claiming to be a cheater.

        You couldn't help the laugh that escaped.

        "What is funny?" Jesse glowered.

        You swallowed the rest of the jest, "Nothing is funny. I promise—"

        "—Then answer me!" His voice was raised an octave. A rarity for someone like Jesse, but not impossible when pushed to the edge of his emotions. He wasn't so sure what he would do if he found out that you had been cheating on him.

        "Don't shout like that. You'll scare the baby." You said flippantly.

        "What?"

        "What?" You repeated as you digested what you had just slipped up on. Your hands gained clamminess, rubbing them against the fabric of your pants whilst a nervous giggle left the back of your throat.

        There goes the speech you had been reciting every morning for when you told Jesse the news.

        "Are you pregnant?" Jesse almost demanded with wide eyes and baited breath. His fingers twitched on the table as if he wanted to hold your hand.

        You scratched your neck, "Remember that time when you were appointed council member?" Jesse thought back to that moment as you nodded at his realisation, "Yeah. Turns out I kind of manifested it from begging that hard."

        The legs of the chair screeched from underneath him as he stood. He slowly rounded the table and knelt before you, hands coming to your stomach that hadn't reached the milestone of protruding from your clothes as of yet, but your jeans no longer fit your frame. He looked to you in awe, lips parted as he manually computed this revelation.

        It was a double whammy. Relieved you weren't cheating on him, but in fact, pregnant with his child. It all made sense now.

        "I'm a little offended you thought I was cheating." You feigned hurt as his thumb stroked your abdomen.

        He ignored you, "I'm going to try and be the best dad ever. Whatever it takes."

        You thread your fingers in his hair as he rested his cheek on your lap, "I know you will."

-

        The seasons changed and your stomach grew rounder, you bid a farewell to your feet, unable to see them from the protruding belly holding your baby.

        From the moment he found out, Jesse had been exceptionally thriving in the aspect of fatherhood. After the the night he found out, you had woken up to his side of the bed cold, and everyone knew that Jesse was a stickler for an early bedtime routine to ensure maximum hours of rest. Bare feet padded through your shared home, you had found Jesse hunched over his desk, muttering to himself as he shuffled a few priorities around in his life to give his full undivided attention to becoming a father.

        He would come home after Patrol, books on pregnancy, breastfeeding and babies stacked up to his chin. Quick to press a chaste kiss to your lips before delving deep into his studying on how to perfect all three — despite not being able to breastfeed himself, Jesse still wanted to be as knowledgeable and supportive to you when the time came.

        One time, as you were drifting off on the couch, Jesse strolled through from the kitchen, a half eaten apple in his hand that was browning, a book balanced between his fingers as he looked up with the concentration still apparent on his features.

        "Did you know about Perineal Massages?" He asked as you rubbed your growing stomach. You shook your head and he hummed, "It helps prepare the perineum for childbirth. We should do that tonight."

        You were positively glowing by the end of the Perineal Massages he suggested, that never ended up being just a Perineal Massage.

        OK, Jesse was relatively obsessed with the idea of you being pregnant with his baby. Come your third trimester, he would catch you waddling through, hand on back to support it before it crumbled beneath the weight of your child. He licked his lips, flipping the pages of the pregnancy book he had nose-dived into, to see if there was a possibility to keep a woman pregnant for the rest of their lives. Maybe it was a selfish indulgent fetish but he's sure he'd be forgiven.

        "I swear my throat might actually have caught fire from this heartburn." You had stated as you clutched your neck, "If your baby doesn't have a head full of hair, my suffering has gone amiss."

        Jesse looked up from the pages of the book, disheartened not to find anything on keeping a woman pregnant. He narrowed his eyes, "I read that's a myth. Hold on. I can find exactly what it said — I think I bookmarked it—"

        "—Jesse." You interrupted him with no guilt. Patience had been lost in the third trimester. Fingers pressed to the ache coming from your pregnant belly, you pleaded, "Knowledge break, OK?"

        Knowledge break meant stop explaining pregnancy to you through the bookmarks of the tenth book he's read about pregnancy and the astounding myths that came from it.

        Jesse closed the book in his hands, "Ah. Sorry." He was so inexplicably nervous to become a father that the extensive research where he read pages ten times over to digest the knowledge, became an irritant to you in your late stages of pregnancy. 

You smoothed your hand over your stomach, Jesse’s eyes flitting to your the stretched skin. Oh god, he was so obsessed with it. You smirked, he wasn’t so subtle with his wide-eyes as the corners of his mouth watered over you.

Who wouldn’t take advantage of that?

“Will you take care of me?” You feigned innocence, a slight pout of your bottom lip and Jesse pounced on you like a savaged animal. Head between your legs, you leant your head back and thanked the Council Members for choosing Jesse for the Council that night.

Timing was everything. And then you heard it before you felt it. A ‘pop’ before you felt a gush of water flush from between your thighs and all over Jesse. You eyes wide as he raised his head, hand swiped at his sodden face as he blinked the liquid out of his eyes.

Oh my fucking god. You stared wildly.

Jesse gasped, “Did you just—?”

“—No, Jesse.” You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, “My waters just broke.”

You had never seen Jesse crumble under pressure. He was the epitome of cool, calm and collected even back when you had patrolled the outskirts of the Commune with him, prior to the pair of you dating. Now, when the words escaped your mouth, Jesse was close to the term of a headless chicken, rug slipped beneath his feet — thankfully, catching himself — as he rushed to the bedroom to snatch the bag Maria Miller had helped you with that accumulated all specific needs for giving birth.

You winced, teeth gritted as your stomach tightened, before you managed to push yourself off from the couch. Eyes caught Jesse sprinting between rooms as you waddled toward the door.

“Whew. OK.” The contraction had passed, your hand still tightly pressed to where the striking pain had located from.

Jesse, in a thunderous panic, slid past your frame, bags tenfold in his muscular arms, before he swung the front door open, “Fuck, it’s happening!” He exclaimed into the night sky before the door to your home slammed shut, leaving you stood perplexed.

“Jesse?”

After a few seconds with baited breath, Jesse swung the door back open, wide-eyed with his broad chest heaving under his black t-shirt. He was by your side in an instant, hand under your elbow as he guided you through the threshold into the open air. You grinned knowingly.

“You forgot about me.” You teased and he tried to make face by sternly shaking his head.

“I didn’t. I was checking for any possible threats.” He was reading off his patrol script whenever he deviated from his own plan out in the wilderness. You knew. You had been there when Maria told him off.

You felt the contraction coming as he spoke. No time to retaliate, you hunched over and Jesse almost screamed in panic. There was no debate who was more calm, even when you were the one about to push a tiny human the size of a watermelon — or bigger, considering the height of Jesse.

Reassured with a smile from you, the pair of you continued your trip to the medical facility.

Jesse was going to be such a good dad.

Oh, and the baby had hair. Lots of it.

[ooooo-mcyt]

There is probably something to be said for how the Life Series winners have (or haven't) died.

Grian who threw himself off a cliff in grief vs Scott who was directly /killed before he could choose for himself vs Pearl who died automatically upon winning by nature of the game mechanics vs Scar who continued to live vs Cleo and Joel who both chose their own deaths. Martyn is the only weird one because his video says he ran out of time but I think he was technically /killed, so that one's actually debatable?

I think Cleo and Joel's victories were both very kind to them. They won, and then they, while celebrating, got to choose their own ending. They both got to end it on their own terms, and they were happy for it. I don't have much to say on them, I'm happy for them.

Grian, I categorize differently to Cleo and Joel. Partially because the tone was different- he was grief stricken and dazed, not celebrating- but also because I think it's debatable how much choice he had in the ending of Third Life. From the moment it was just him and Scar left, Grian seemed to be following what he thought the spectators wanted, not what he wanted. Technically he 'chose' how his season ended, but it didn't seem to feel like one to him, and that is important.

The tone of Scar's ending is highly dependent on whether you see his survival on Secret Life as a curse or a choice. I've seen fanart of him miserably pushing a button over and over begging for his win, or curled up and alone. But personally, I think Scar chose to stay, and I see it as an act of agency and maybe defiance (in large part because why wouldn't he just jump off a cliff if he wanted out? why wouldn't grian just /kill him? but also because thematically i think this makes more sense with the character.)

Then there's Pearl. She had the choice taken from her. I've seen Scott faulted for this, people saying he selfishly killed them both to spite Pearl or something, but I think that's misattributing the real problem, which is the game mechanic itself. No matter how Pearl won, whether by Scott killing himself or Pearl killing him, Pearl still would have died in the same moment, because she was tied to another person without any choice, and she literally physically was not allowed to live without him (nor would he have been allowed to live without her). Double Life's very core game mechanic was one that limited agency. (i do think it would have been good of scott to let pearl choose anyways, but pearl didn't seem to mind- she was very explicitly touched by the 'sacrifice'- and i think the real issue of the soul link would have been the main issue regardless of how they died)

I'd say Scott is the main player who was unarguably primarily limited by another person. Grian /killed him. Scott got to the end of his season, and before he could choose how to end it himself, Grian used commands to take that choice and kill Scott himself. Which I doubt was malicious, I'd say Grian was probably not thinking about it- after all, Grian seemed to view his own victory as belonging to the will of the spectators even as it made him miserable, he clearly didn't see the winner as someone with any real agency, so why would he think it was important to let Scott have any choice either- but regardless there was an unfairness to it, for Scott to be denied in victory, the choice, not even by the mechanics of the game, but by another person.

Martyn, as I said before, is a question mark for me, because I don't know whether he canonically ran out of time or was /killed (i think both are correct so choose your favorite i guess), but I'm not sure it matters too much, because whether he was denied agency by the game or by the will of the dead, he still wasn't allowed to choose his own ending, which is painfully ironic in a very cruel way considering Martyn's whole victory was about doing things his way instead of by tradition, morality, or how others think he should do it. Everything I said in Pearl or Scott's sections can apply here too depending on how exactly you think Martyn died.

And I just think it's fascinating, the differences in how exactly each winner died (or didn't) and what that implies regarding their victory and character arc as a whole.

[downbad4sylus]

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Proof of Life

(part one)

synopsis: Caught on the King of Onychinus’s lands, you spend a few interesting days in his encampment.

content: sylus x afab!reader; use of Y/N; slow burn; brief mentions of war; general angst; mostly proofread

word count: ~3.3k

a/n: thank you to everyone who’s joined the taglist and to all those who’ve enjoyed the first part! here is part two, hope you enjoy <3

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Fear was not something you were intimately familiar with.

You lived a life of privilege and luxury, protected by your father and the guards that surrounded you. You knew risk of course, sneaking out of your many homes throughout the years in the name of adventure, but the worst you suffered in doing so were some cuts and bruises you’d have to hide until they healed.

You’d never felt true fear until now.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drawing out everything except for him.

The King of Onychinus. The man engaged in a full out war with your father, hellbent on overthrowing his rule and taking over his country. Your country.

And you, the Princess of Linkon, the sole heir to the country the man before you had set his sights on.

You were dead.

There was no chance you walked out of this alive.

“Cat got your tongue, Princess?” the king drawled. With arms crossed, he stalked toward you.

You took an instinctive step back, your body shaking from the fear coursing through your veins. Was this it? Would he kill you right where you stand?

He was before you in no time at all, forcing you to tilt your head back to look at him. “Don’t you have something you wish to speak to me about?”

Your heart thundered so loudly you almost didn’t hear him. “I—”

He tilted his head expectantly.

You swallowed hard, but your throat felt like sandpaper. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but tremble.

He sighed, as if annoyed by your silence. “Luke, Kieran, bring her to my tent. I’ll be along shortly, I have something to take care of first.”

“You want us to interrogate her while we wait?” either Luke or Kieran asked.

“No,” the King snapped. “She is to remain unharmed until I determine otherwise. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Boss,” the other said, sounding dejected.

You didn’t dare feel relief, knowing the King could change his mind at any point and your life would be forfeit.

One of the soldiers grabbed your bound wrists and led you out of the tent.

Being free of the King’s unnerving gaze allowed you to think somewhat clearer.

You needed to find a way out of this. Needed to somehow convince the King that your safe return to your father was the best course of action for everyone. But how would you convince a man reputed to be a ruthless killer with no regard for human life beyond how he could use it for his own benefit.

However…

If you were to be returned to your father, what fate would await you there?

Your life was already one within a gilded cage that you’d worked tirelessly to escape, albeit temporarily. Your capture meant your father was right to keep you sequestered from the world, and your gilded cage would become an outright prison were you to go back to Linkon. Guards posted outside your door, your windows barred, every aspect of your life under strict scrutiny. You’d never be free again, not until you assumed the throne, accepting the destiny you’d been running from as Linkon’s next ruler.

You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, the only two options laid before you resulted in loss of life, the difference being one was literal and the other was figurative. Which was better? What were you supposed to do?

Lost in your inner turmoil, you slammed right into one of the soldiers’ backs as they stopped suddenly before another tent.

He turned around to look at you, at least, you were pretty sure he was looking at you considering he was still wearing a mask.

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” he asked. “Boss will kill us if he finds you hurt.”

“Um…no,” you murmured, slightly taken aback by the panic in his voice. “I’m fine.”

Both men’s shoulders slumped with relief, confusing you further. Not because of the way they feared punishment, but because of the almost comical way that fear presented itself.

Just what exactly was the dynamic between the King of Onychinus and his soldiers?

“All right Your Highness, in you go,” the other said, gently nudging you toward the tent flap.

“You’re leaving me alone in there?” you questioned.

“We’ll be right out here waiting for boss-man if you need us.”

“But don’t need us.”

You were unable to respond as they successfully pushed you within the confines of the tent.

Rather sparse furnishings greeted you upon entry, juxtaposed by the opulent decorations throughout. A double size cot topped with a ruby red blanket that looked to be made of the softest material, a well-crafted chest likely holding refined clothing befit for a king, a bear-skin hide as a rug, and a gold brazier filled with coals keeping the tent warm. It wasn’t extravagant by any means, but there was a quiet luxury to the King’s temporarily living quarters. You wondered idly what his bedchambers looked like at his royal castle.

The rope binding your wrists was starting to chafe so you decided to make good use of the brazier. As carefully as you could, you placed the rope on one of the coals, gritting your teeth as the heat licked your skin. You lifted your wrists when the heat became too much and pulled at the rope, loosening its hold. You repeated this process until the rope snapped and your hands were freed.

You massaged your tender wrists, surveying the interior of the tent once more before plopping onto the surprisingly comfortable cot. The blanket, as you suspected, was incredibly soft. Despite being in the most stressful situation of your life, you lay down atop this blanket, seeking comfort and warmth in a poor attempt to calm down.

It was impossible of course, you might have been comfortable but that didn’t negate the fact you were laying in the King of Onychinus’s bed, awaiting his return.

Listening to the unintelligible whispers of the two soldiers outside the tent, you wondered why you were brought here all of places. There was no denying you were a hostage, so shouldn’t you have been taken to some form of barracks? You certainly didn’t think the King was being kind to you, which begged the question why?

“Made yourself comfortable I see.”

You squealed, jolting upright to find the King standing at the entrance of the tent, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked. His fierce gaze zeroed in on your unbound wrists, his head tilting curiously.

“How did you manage that?” he asked.

You snapped to your feet, realizing that freeing yourself from your restraints might not have been the smartest idea. “The coals,” you muttered, cheeks blazing.

“Very clever, Princess,” he said, a genuine compliment. “Sit, let me look at your wrists.”

Suspicious, but not wanting to defy him, you slowly sunk down. He joined you on the cot, carefully taking your wrists in his much larger hands—

“Ow!”

Those hands wrapped around your wrists, his grip tight enough to aggravate your already sensitive skin.

You stared at him with wide eyes, scolding yourself for thinking he was being sincere. “What are you doing?” you hissed. “It hurts.”

“It’ll hurt more if you don’t answer my questions,” he threatened.

You scowled at him. “Quite an interesting interrogation technique.”

His lips twitched. “Think of it as motivation to answer truthfully.”

“Fine, ask your questions.”

“What was your true purpose in crossing the border?”

You blinked. “I told you already, I was stargazing.”

“Tch, you can’t possibly think I’m naive enough to believe that.”

“I wouldn’t possibly expect you to understand,” you sneered.

His fingers twisted around your wrist and you winced. “You best explain it then.”

Your cheeks heated again and you averted your gaze, unable to look at him as you murmured, “I sneak out all the time, to explore. Ever since the war began, my father has commanded I stay within the confines of wherever we’re living.” You took a steadying breath and met his eyes. “I don’t like it, so I escape from time to time. So, Your Majesty, I really was stargazing when your men found me.”

He searched for any sign of deceit, each passing second feeling like several minutes, until finally his fingers loosened. “It appears you’re the naive one here, Your Highness.”

“Listen,” you snapped, “this is the first time something has gone wrong so you’re the one who ruined my perfect track record.”

He cocked a brow, a smirk teasing his lips. “What an honor I’ve been bestowed.”

Was he…making fun of you?

How easily you had seemed to forget who this man was under the thrall of this…effortless banter. You didn’t even know his name.

“Since I answered your question, will you answer one of mine?” It was a risk, you knew that, you were in no position to be demanding anything.

“I’ll entertain it, yes,” the King was quick to respond.

“Why did you have your men take me here, specifically?”

He flashed you a disarming grin. “Haven’t you heard the saying, Princess? Keep your friends close”—he pulled you to him, breath fanning over your face—“but keep your enemies closer.”

Your mouth moved before your mind could catch up. “I’m not your enemy.”

“Aren’t you though?” he questioned. “You’re the only child of the King of Linkon, heir to the throne. This war is yours to inherit, that makes you my enemy.”

“I never wanted that fate,” you said firmly.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Not wanting it doesn’t change the truth of the matter.”

You tugged on your wrists. “It doesn’t mean I can’t dream.”

He sighed, finally letting you go. You chocked up the strange tingle around your wrists to lingering irritation as that was the only reasonable explanation for such a feeling.

“I sent notice to your father of your capture with the intent to negotiate your return. You’ll stay here until I receive his response.”

“You—” Your brows smashed together. “You don’t plan on killing me?”

He looked at you as if you were insane for suggesting such a thing. “That would spell more trouble than you’re worth, I’m afraid.”

You blurted a laugh, incredulous. “How kind of you, Your Majesty.”

He shot you a cutting glare. “A princess who spends her free time searching the stars for an answer to an impossible future is of no use to me.”

You reared back as though he’d slapped you across the face, tears pricking behind your eyes. It was a low blow, and it frustrated you that it hurt so badly.

Unfortunately for the King, you bite back.

“You know, I should really thank you, Your Majesty.”

His eyes narrowed but still, he asked, “For what?”

“For proving the rumors of your cruelty.”

He chuckled. “I’m capable of far worse than cutting remarks, Princess.”

You grinned, clearly taking him aback. “And yet you debase yourself by hurling such derisive insults at a poor, helpless woman like me.”

He sneered, brows bunching.

“As I said,” you purred, “cruel.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You maybe would’ve held your tongue had you known you’d be sharing the double size cot with the King himself.

You were as far away from him as you could manage without falling off the edge and yet it wasn’t far enough to not feel the warmth of his body next to yours.

After your spat, the two of you hadn’t spoken much, tension thick in the air. But it wasn’t a tension that made you feel as though your life was in danger, it was something different. Something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

Curious by nature, and ultimately your downfall, you held out an olive branch to the King.

“Hey,” you whispered into the darkness.

Nothing.

“I know you’re awake,” you continued.

No response.

You rolled your eyes and kicked your foot right into his muscled thigh.

“Oh my gods,” he groaned. “What do you want?”

You turned to face his back. “What’s your name?”

His head whipped to the side, those striking red eyes clear even in the dark. “What?”

“You never told me your name,” you said. “You know mine, it’s not fair that I don’t know yours.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing fair now,” he retorted.

You frowned. “We’ve met each other blow for blow, that seems pretty fair to me.”

He snorted despite himself, then let out a deep sigh as he lay on his back. “Fine.”

You waited, leaning closer to him in anticipation.

“Sylus.”

You blinked.

Rumors of the King of Onychinus had been circling from the moment he assumed the throne. Speculations of his visage—some of which included horns, wings, and a tail—were largely untrue as you now knew. The same could be said for his name, never once had you heard Sylus among them.

“Sylus,” you repeated, wanting to taste his name on your own tongue.

A near imperceptible shiver went through Sylus’s body. “Happy now? Can we sleep?”

You weren’t, not even close, your curiosity now rearing its ugly head.

“Why did you tell me?” you asked.

Sylus just stared at you.

And for some reason, you stared back.

“Because you asked,” he finally answered.

“Will you answer more of my questions?”

“No.”

You smiled. “You like me, don’t you, Sylus?”

He scoffed, giving you his back again. “Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales, Y/N.”

You were struck stupid hearing your name spoken for the first time. Sylus seized on the opportunity and pulled the blanket up, covering his ears. A clear message: conversation over. Not that you could form a coherent sentence at the moment anyway.

There was something about this man—Sylus—that grated on your nerves. Perhaps it was his arrogant attitude or his flippancy. Or perhaps it was how simply interacting with him stirred something long buried within your soul. A desire for more, to be more, to do more. To chase the danger laying mere inches away.

Who was this man, truly? This King of Onychinus? And why were you so drawn to him?

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Two days had passed since your capture with no word from your father. You’d barely seen Sylus, which, though not shocking, bothered you greatly for some inexplicable reason. He only came to the tent at night where he skillfully dodged any attempt at conversation. You didn’t understand why learning his name had made him so avoidant of you. And yet he was simultaneously ensuring you were taken care of and, on your second night, even offered you a bath.

That same night you’d awoken some time before dawn broke only to find yourself far closer to Sylus than when you had fallen asleep. The both of you had migrated toward the middle of the cot and were facing each other. To make matters worse, you each had a hand placed between you, the edges of your pinkies just barely brushing.

Waking to such an unexpected position had you scrambling back so fast you fell off the cot. Luckily you landed on the bear-skin rug, muffling the thud that likely would’ve woken Sylus had the rug not been there.

You couldn’t sleep much after that, and hadn’t really recovered since.

Coupled with exhaustion, you were positively bored to tears spending your days in Sylus’s tent. He had of course ordered you not to leave it under any circumstances and for once you’d actually heeded his warning.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing you slowly.

What better way to pass your time than to rummage through Sylus’s stuff.

Despite having taken a bath two nights ago, you had not changed out of the dress you’d been captured in. You figured the least Sylus could do was let you borrow his nice, clean clothes.

You replaced your dress with one of the many plain white shirts within the chest, glad Sylus was much bigger than you so that his shirt covered your more intimate areas. Much of your legs were still exposed, but what mattered was you were comfortable.

“Princess, are you hun—”

You whirled at the sound of Sylus’s choked off voice just in time to catch his gaze raking over your body.

“What are you doing?” he asked, making a point to look only at your face now.

“You said to make myself at home,” you answered with a shrug of your shoulder.

“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort. Or that you could borrow my clothes.”

“Even if you didn’t, you can’t expect me to traipse around wearing the same dress I was brought here in.”

Sylus’s sigh was long suffering, but…you swore there was something almost fond hidden deep within the exhalation. Surely your mind was just playing tricks on itself.

“My pants won’t fit you,” he said.

You grinned. “Who said anything about wearing pants? This shirt covers me just fine.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are not walking around a war camp with no pants on.”

“How chivalrous of you to mind my safety, Your Majesty, but I was told not to leave this tent.”

“Enough.” He spun on his heel, saying over his shoulder, “I will find you a pair of pants.”

You dropped into a deep curtesy, delicately lifting the edges of his shirt. “I am most grateful, Your Majesty.”

“You might very well be the death of me,” Sylus muttered as he swept out of the tent.

He returned some time later looking far more serious.

He tossed you a pair of pants and boots. “Put those on, then we’re leaving.”

You caught the pants but the boots clattered to the ground. “Leaving?” you repeated. “Leaving where?”

“I finally received word from your father,” he said. “He agreed to meet and negotiate your release as long as he has proof of life.”

“Does he think you killed me already?” you questioned.

Sylus shrugged. “It’s unclear, I assume it’s an excuse to be able to hand you off then and there.”

“You speak of me as if I’m merely a pawn on a chessboard.”

Sylus frowned. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

You blinked at the sincerity in his tone.

He turned, giving you a modicum of privacy. “Get dressed.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Your heart beat so fast you were sure Sylus could feel it against his back.

You sat behind him, arms loose around his waist, on a horse flanked by his two soldiers, Luke and Kieran. The four of you waited—ironically enough—near the flower field at the border for your father to arrive.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sylus hissed.

“I can’t help it,” you shot back.

You couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something was wrong but you couldn’t quite place your finger on why.

Sylus grabbed your hands, stilling them. It was an oddly intimate gesture, especially as the warmth of his much larger hands calmed you.

You didn’t have a chance to process this, or even pull away, as several people joined you by the flower field.

Your father led the charge, sitting proud atop his horse, his sharp gaze landing straight on where you sat behind the King of Onychinus.

And to where that King held your hands in his.

Sylus, entirely unfazed, dismounted the horse. “Stay,” he commanded you before approaching your father who had not gotten off his horse.

Your stomach was in knots as you watched the two kings regard each other.

“What terms do you wish to negotiate for your Princess’s safe return?” Sylus asked, voice cutting through the thick silence.

Your father didn’t do much as glance your way. “I’ve brought no such terms.”

What?

“Oh? Then why are we here?”

“This is a courtesy visit to inform you in person that I have no intention of securing my daughter’s return. You’re free to do with her as you wish, King of Onychinus.”

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

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[rosachae]

second skin | daniela avanzini x reader

⁍ song: a little death- the neighbourhood ⁍ genre: venom AU! venom is a wingman ⁍ a/n: not my favorite thing i've ever posted, but oh well. i was due for a dani fic. ⁍ wc: 5.4k ⁍ warnings: mentions of injury, fighting. ⁍ synopsis:

daniela didn’t mean to bond with an alien symbiote. she definitely didn’t mean to fall for her friend either. but when a red symbiote attacks the lab and y/n's life is on the line, secrets unravel fast. daniela has to decide if love is worth the risk of being seen for what she really is.

the biosky labs tower loomed over the city like it knew it was important. sleek glass walls, endless silver panels, and sharp geometric angles that screamed “cutting edge science happens here, now please don’t touch anything.” it was the kind of place that had five different security checks just to use the bathroom.

daniela didn’t belong here. not really. she adjusted her press badge for the fourth time as she stepped into the front atrium, pretending not to feel the weight of a literal alien parasite stretching beneath her skin. her boots squeaked on the polished floor. she hated that. why was everything so shiny in science buildings?

she was here under the guise of journalism—technically true. her editor had sent her to get a word from one of biosky’s board members about their latest green tech initiative. something about biodegradable plastic that disintegrated in sunlight. it sounded great in theory. but daniela hadn’t even brought her recorder. or a pen. she wasn’t here for the story.

she was here for lara.

lara worked in r&d and was one of the very few people daniela trusted. she was also the only one—aside from a sleepy convenience store owner, megan, who definitely wasn’t paid enough to deal with parasite-related trauma—who knew about him.

venom.

the symbiote pulsed beneath her ribs, barely contained, like a cat stretching its claws.

“you are stalling,” venom said, voice curling in her head like smoke. “why are we standing in the lobby like a lost child? do you need a map? or a chaperone?”

“i’m blending in,” daniela muttered under her breath, eyes locked on a very intense sculpture made entirely of test tubes.

“you are loitering. you look suspicious. we should eat someone.”

“we’re not eating anyone in the lobby. i have clearance.”

“coward.”

she sighed and started toward the security desk, flashing her badge at a man who looked like he bench-pressed microscopes for fun. after a quick scan and a deadpan stare, she was waved through to the elevators. inside, the air smelled like sterile metal. scientists in white coats passed by, talking about protein strands and molecular something-or-others. one guy walked by holding a tablet and a cup of black coffee that smelled four weeks stale.

daniela kept her head down, following the path lara had texted her earlier. take the east wing, pass the nanotech lab, avoid eye contact with the cryogenics intern because he will talk about freezing mice for twenty minutes. she rounded a corner and slipped into a side hallway marked ‘authorized personnel only.’ a security camera blinked at her.

“friendly little guy,” she mumbled.

“we should wave.”

daniela rolled her eyes.

this part of the lab was quieter. less tour-friendly. the walls narrowed, and the overhead lights buzzed in a way that made her molars itch. it was here, just past a heavy fire door, that she found lara. half-buried in lab equipment and looking very done with the world.

lara glanced up, goggles on her forehead and a pipette in hand.

“you’re late,” she said.

“you’re lucky i came at all,” daniela replied, stepping into the room, the door clicking firmly shut behind her.

lara raised a brow. “did he say that or you?”

“that was me.”

“hm. he’s rubbing off on you. hello, venom.”

a black tendril mists up out of daniela’s back, waving shortly in faux greeting. despite his simple gesture, his voice slurs teasingly in daniela’s mind.

“she looks delicious today. are you certain i cannot eat her? i have been craving indian.”

daniela rolled her eyes again, possibly the hundredth time that week alone, staying silent as venoms tendril retreated back into her. she pulled a small container from the inside pocket of her jacket. it was sealed shut, but the faintest red glow pulsed from within.

lara’s expression shifted immediately, serious now. curious. “that’s from yesterday?”

daniela knew what she was talking about immediately. she could still feel the pang in her ribs when she inhaled, fresh off a beating the night before. she could still remember the sound of megan’s voice, shocked and concerned, when she dragged herself into the chinese girls convenience store with a black eye and a very annoyed (very moody) symbiote bitching about the world as he knew it. megan didn’t even need to ask what’d happened. she simply grabbed her first aid kit and helped daniela stitch up. nothing a good dab of makeup couldn’t hide. 

and of course, she could still feel the way her heart dropped in her chest when y/n’s name filtered across the cracked screen of her phone. she was late. again. they were supposed to meet up with some of their other friends, lara included, for a birthday party of someone whose name daniela didn’t care to remember. truth be told, the latina had only agreed to go for her. y/n, who made her heart race and her palms clammy. y/n, who looked at her in a way that made her feel human– at least more than she did whenever she was reminded of the symbiote coiling through her like a disease she couldn’t rid.

daniela had long since gotten used to everything unusual. her life was flipped upside down the very minute she met venom, as he called himself, and he attached himself to the core of her being. he said they were ‘compatible’. that it would be ‘better this way’. sometimes, she couldn’t help but feel resentful. especially when y/n looked at her with those eyes, unaware of the monster she hid within.

daniela sighed. she’d already debriefed lara on what happened when she called her throughout the night, demanding answers on where she was, telling her how sad y/n was that she seemed to be avoiding her lately. daniela truly had every intention of showing up– she really did. except she couldn’t, not when she was attacked by a red-skinned symbiote she didn’t recognize, despite the primal familiarity that pronged through her like a knife. venom’s doing.

“yeah. the one downtown. he wasn’t like venom. he—i don’t know. didn’t talk. just looked at me like he wanted to melt my bones. he dropped this when we fought. i didn’t want to keep it on me.”

lara took the container carefully, like it might explode. “you did the right thing. i’ll analyze it. lowkey. don’t worry.”

daniela nodded, trying to shake off the memory of blood-red tendrils and that terrible silence.

“he was ugly,” venom said helpfully, his voice echoing through the silence of her mind. “and rude.”

before she could respond, voices echoed from the hallway. footsteps.

lara froze. “shit,” she whispered. “someone’s coming. probably y/n, she said she was coming by to check the cultures—”

the door opened, and there she was.

y/n stepped into the lab like a punch to the lungs. lab coat, clipboard. a soft smile that could melt steel beams. daniela stiffened immediately, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water down her spine.

“oh—hey,” y/n said, blinking. “daniela?”

daniela opened her mouth, but nothing came out. for a moment she simply stood, buffering as she stared at the girl who consumed her thoughts on the daily– much to venom’s displeasure.

“oh my god,” venom groaned. “not this again.”

 y/n tilted her head, eyes flicking between daniela and lara, then down to the mysterious container on the desk that was glowing faintly red. her brows lifted, but she didn’t say anything about it. not yet.

“i didn’t know you were stopping by,” she said, and god, her voice was soft. friendly. too casual, considering how daniela’s heart had decided to start jackhammering in her chest like it was trying to escape.

daniela cleared her throat, then immediately regretted it when it came out sounding like a dying engine.

“journalism,” she said, too quickly. “i’m here for journalism. official. press things.”

lara made a noise like she was choking on her own spit.

“right,” y/n said slowly, trying not to laugh. “because this is a very newsworthy hallway. here i was thinking you were going to apologize for ghosting me last night.”

despite the slight edge in y/n’s words, daniela could easily detect the light humor wedged between them. she wasn’t too upset, not really. not knowing what to say, the latina rubbed the nape of her neck.

“i’m sorry about that. some stuff came up…,” daniela mumbled, forcing a shrug. “besides, i’m here for work. some cutting edge stuff, you know? top secret. can’t print anything. very hush-hush.”

“you sound unhinged,” venom drawled. “get it over and done with, already. ask her to mate.”

daniela pointedly ignored venom when lara, mercifully, took over. “she was just dropping something off for me. we’re… collaborating.”

y/n looked at the container again. “on radioactive christmas ornaments?”

“biotech art,” daniela blurted.

lara turned away abruptly, coughing suspiciously into her sleeve.

y/n smiled, bright and blinding, and leaned against the edge of the table like she had no idea what she was doing to daniela’s already fragile composure.

“well, if you’re done with your… science drop-off, you should stick around for the tour. there’s a whole new wing they’re opening up today. i was just going to swing by and check it out.”

daniela blinked. did y/n just invite her to stay?

“she is inviting us,” venom confirmed, smug. “maybe we will stay. maybe we shall eat her?”

venom had lived inside of daniela long enough for her to know when he was joking, yet still she fought the urge of telling him to shut up. you’re not helping, she thought, knowing he would hear her loud and clear. 

“uh—i mean, yeah,” daniela said, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets to hide the way they trembled. “i’ve got time.”

“great,” y/n said, already turning toward the door. “come on. i’ll show you the part of the lab where we keep the really dangerous stuff.”

“yes please,” venom purred. 

lara shot daniela a look as she passed. it said you’re welcome in all caps and underlined three times.

daniela scowled at her but followed y/n out anyway.

they walked in silence for a beat, the bright lights above humming softly. the lab stretched around them, clean and cold, but strangely alive. screens flickered quietly in the background, machines whirred in glass compartments, and somewhere nearby, someone shouted about “rat genomes” and “ethical boundaries.”

daniela stayed a step behind y/n, watching the way she gestured when she talked, the way her hair bounced with each step. it was unbearable.

“just tell her,” venom said. “tell her you want to kiss her and then take her out for greasy tacos. it’s not hard.”

“shut up,” daniela hissed under her breath.

“sorry?” y/n looked over her shoulder.

daniela froze. “nothing. i was just, uh. admiring the… vent system.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “you’re weird.”

daniela bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “you’re just now realizing this?”

y/n laughed. and it echoed in daniela’s ribs like a song she hadn’t heard in years.

they kept walking, deeper into the facility, the air getting colder as the ‘tour’ moved into zones not quite meant for casual visitors. these halls weren’t all glass and chrome like the rest of the building. instead, they were quieter, older. wires snaked along the ceilings like veins. doors hissed softly when they closed behind them. daniela had the distinct feeling they weren’t really supposed to be here. yet, she couldn’t find it within herself to ask. afterall, y/n didn’t seem concerned. she tapped her badge against a side door, waving daniela in like it was nothing. of course, she followed.

every second daniela spent with y/n felt intoxicating, in it’s own simple way. they were friends. had been for years, ever since lara introduced them over a board meeting and hushed laughter. daniela had been enamored ever since. enamored by the sound of y/n’s laugh, the way her smile lit up a room, the way she managed to turn even her darkest days into something worth holding onto. 

and of course, the way y/n looked at her when she admitted at last years new year party she had feelings for her. it lived rent free in her mind-- a record that played on repeat when she lied down at night alone. y/n had said she couldn’t enter the new year without telling her how she felt. daniela wanted so badly to kiss her then and there when the clock hit twelve. to tell y/n that she felt the same way, that she had ever since their eyes met. but, she didn’t.

for all the things daniela avanzini had grown to adore about y/n, through it all, she still couldn’t find it within herself to be honest.

she was dangerous, a fact that kept her up at night whenever she seldom allowed herself to think. 

it tore her apart.

“this is where we keep some of the experimental containment,” y/n said, voice low in a way that sounded conspiratorial. daniela tore herself from her thoughts, focusing entirely on the girl. when y/n knows she has her attention, she continues. “technically, i’m not allowed to bring visitors in here, but technically, you’re a member of the press. so that cancels out, right?”

“definitely how rules work,” daniela replied.

y/n turned, walking backwards now. “so. what’s your angle?”

daniela blinked. “angle?”

“for the article. i know you’re not just here for lara.” she said it with a grin, playful, but there was something beneath it. interest. curiosity. maybe hope.

daniela floundered.

“this is your moment,” venom whispered. “say: ‘i came here for you.’ dramatic pause. raise an eyebrow. smolder.”

daniela stared dumbly. 

.…smolder? she thought. 

“you’re ruining this.”

“i’m just…” she exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “it’s been a weird couple weeks. i guess i needed to see someone i didn’t hate.”

y/n’s grin softened. “is that a compliment?”

“i don’t know. depends. do you still microwave fish in the break room?”

“that happened once.” y/n turned back around, but her ears were red.

daniela smiled to herself, just a little.

they entered a side lab that looked like the inside of a very expensive fridge. metal counters, thick glass tubes filled with murky liquid, something humming in the corner that daniela was pretty sure was alive.

“here,” y/n said, stepping aside. “this is where we keep some of the more unstable samples. things that didn’t bond properly. or bonded… wrong.”

daniela’s eyes moved toward a large containment chamber near the back wall. inside, a black smear floated in a thick solution, tendrils curling slowly like seaweed. it didn’t look like venom. it didn’t feel like him either.

she shivered.

y/n noticed. “you okay?”

“yeah,” daniela lied. “just—got a weird vibe. i’ve been writing too many horror articles lately.”

“maybe you’re just getting a sixth sense for drama,” y/n said, still watching her. “you always seem to show up right before things get weird.”

“maybe weird things just follow me,” daniela said, quieter this time.

“she doesn’t know the half of it,” venom added with a snort.

y/n laughed again, stepping closer. “well, for what it’s worth… i’m glad you’re here. you’re not as scary as you act.”

daniela blinked. the words settled somewhere deep in her chest, warm and dangerous. she opened her mouth to say something—anything—but she stopped when the lights flickered. just once. but it was enough.

y/n turned her head. “that’s not supposed to happen.”

the overheads buzzed again, flickering like a warning. the humming in the corner changed pitch. it was no longer soft. it was angry. from down the hall, something slammed. not a door, but something heavier.

daniela’s body tensed when not even a second later, the alarms started with a howl, shrill and piercing, bouncing off the sterile walls like a fire drill from the underworld. lights flashed red overhead, casting the lab in stuttering bursts of color—red, white, red, white—like a heartbeat in panic.

y/n spun toward the door. “what the hell—”

another crash. closer this time.

y/n reached for the wall intercom closest to her. “i-i don’t know what’s going on. i have to talk to central—”

a voice crackled through the lab speakers before she could touch it. not the system voice. not human.

“you have something of mine.”

the voice was wrong. low and sharp, like broken glass dragged across metal. it slithered out of the vents, from the walls, behind their ribs. daniela froze.

“was that…?” y/n didn’t finish the question. her eyes were on daniela now. questioning. uncertain.

daniela moved without thinking, stepping in front of y/n on instinct. her hand went into her coat, where venom curled just beneath her skin, already twitching with anticipation.

“stay behind me,” she said.

y/n looked at her like she was seeing her for the first time. “daniela, what’s going on?”

“he’s here,” venom growled, low and pleased. “our red friend. i can smell him. sharp. rotten. something’s wrong with him.”

the fire door at the end of the hallway slammed open, metal denting from the inside out like someone had punched straight through it. heavy footfalls echoed down the corridor.

venom murmured inside her. “he followed us. he knows. he wants it back.”

“daniela,” y/n said, more quietly this time. “what’s going on?”

she didn’t answer. couldn’t. not without unraveling everything.

and then he appeared. taller than daniela remembered from the day before. red and twisted, like someone had fed barbed wire to a blender. not just red—glowing, pulsing at the edges, veins running hot like lava through a human shape. not quite a man. not quite anything. the symbiote had taken over completely. its eyes that weren’t quite eyes locked onto daniela like it had been hungering for her.

“there you are,” the red symbiote said, grinning. “you took something that doesn’t belong to you.”

daniela spared a quick glance in y/n’s direction, swallowing when she notices the pure shock and horror engraved across her face. the exact kind of horror she lied awake at night worrying about, in the hypothetical situation y/n ever found out the truth. the last thing she ever wanted was for y/n to look at her, scared. like she was a moneter. 

daniela shakes her head, forcing herself to sound composed. “wrong girl.”

the red one tilted his head, almost amused. “you reek of him. of venom.” his smile widened. “don’t play dumb. give it to me, or i take it from the corpse of your little scientist.”

daniela hesitated. just a beat.

“decide,” venom snarled in her skull. “you can’t keep pretending. you’ll lose her.”

daniela grit her teeth. she didn’t want y/n to know. not like this. not with blood and glass and monsters in the walls.

but it didn’t matter.

daniela felt venom rise immediately, slithering under her skin, begging to be let out. not just asking. demanding.

“we need to run,” y/n said, backing up.

“no,” daniela said. “we can’t let him near the rest of the building.”

“what are you talking about? you don’t have a—”

the red thing moved.

fast.

a blur of red tendrils and inhuman muscle, tearing through the hallway like a beast. it slammed a desk out of the way like it was made of cardboard.

y/n grabbed daniela’s arm. “we have to go, now!”

daniela hesitated, just for the briefest of seconds. and then she moved. 

“let me out.”

she didn’t answer. she didn’t have to.

black surged up her throat, over her face, coating her arms in glossy armor and claws. her vision sharpened, blood roaring in her ears. she was in limbo. not quite herself, but also not quite venom. 

y/n screamed. not in terror—more like complete shock.

venom turned and grabbed her gently, claws retracting just enough, and launched both of them through an adjacent wall, crashing through a side corridor just as the red thing smashed into the room behind them. the floor buckled. glass shattered. something exploded in the distance. daniela ran, half-carrying y/n, venom’s strength barely strained. y/n clung to her with both arms, eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to ask something but couldn’t find a single word. they reached the elevator lobby, huge and open and full of windows.

and of course, the worst possible place to be.

behind them, the red symbiote burst through the wall like a monster out of a nightmare.

“no elevators,” venom said. “he’ll crush us before the doors even close.”

“stairs,” daniela snapped, pivoting hard.

but they were too late.

the red thing was already there, tendrils slamming into the ceiling above them, knocking loose steel beams and cables. one snapped, and then another. the floor near the stairwell cracked, tiles tumbling into the yawning black of the empty elevator shaft. daniela shoved y/n toward the edge to dodge a swing just a little too hard. immediately, she regrets it when y/n’s heels hit the crumbling floor. it gave way.

“no—!”

she slipped, and she fell. y/n didn’t have enough time to gather her footing before her body was tripping back in to the empty elevator shaft, a height that would certainly kill her on impact. her eyes met daniela’s for the briefest of seconds. 

daniela didn’t think. she let venom take over. completely. black tendrils lashed out like lightning, diving into the shaft. it all happened in a breath.

one second, y/n was falling. the next, she was dangling midair, suspended by something alien, staring up at venom. eight feet tall. snarling. glistening. unmistakable.

the creature reeled her back in like a fish on a line, gently depositing her to the floor. claws curled around her shoulders to steady her.

“are you hurt?” it asked, voice thick and dual-toned, daniela layered beneath the monster.

y/n blinked up at it. “…daniela?”

venom’s eyes narrowed. then softened, just a little.

“surprise,” daniela said through venom’s mouth.

y/n stared up at her—at venom, at daniela—with something unreadable in her eyes. not fear. not exactly. more like the world had just cracked in half and she was still waiting to see how far it would split.

neither daniela nor venom had the chance to say more before the red symbiote came crashing down the elevator shaft. venom immediately sprung into action. tugging y/n into an empty floor, the air tuned impossibly colder. the red symbiotes' movements were cold and fluid when he followed after them, like he knew he had time. like he enjoyed the anticipation. his body shimmered, pulsing with some internal fire. red tendrils dragged across the walls like claws on chalk.

“i should’ve known,” he purred. “venom always did have a soft spot. he likes the pretty ones.”

venom growled, deep and primal, and it echoed from every surface.

the red symbiote didn’t wait. he launched forward, a snarl ripping out of him, arms splitting into barbed whips of glowing red. venom met him halfway, their bodies colliding with a sound like metal being torn in half. they crashed into a far wall. stone cracked, glass burst, a light fixture dropped from the ceiling. daniela twisted under venom’s skin, trying to keep control, trying to aim the fury. the red one lashed out, slicing across her ribs with a jagged blade-arm. venom howled.

venom surged upward, slamming a fist into the red one’s jaw, then ducked under a retaliating swing and drove both claws into his side. red shrieked—inhuman and sharp—and retaliated with a burst of flame-like tendrils that seared across the lab floor.

y/n ducked behind a desk, eyes wide, watching the monsters tear each other apart in the glow of flickering red lights. she wasn’t scared. not really. just stunned. processing.

but when she looked at venom, at daniela, something else bloomed in her chest. recognition. it was her. the way she moved. protected her. even the way she swore under her breath as the red one got in another hit.

still daniela.

venom got the upper hand for a moment, grabbing the red symbiote by the throat and slamming him into the concrete hard enough to make the walls rattle.

“you’re not taking it,” venom snarled.

the red one laughed through cracked teeth. “you think i care about the girl? or you? i want what you stole. the fragment. give it to me.”

daniela faltered for a beat. the artifact. the glowing red sample. lara still had it—hopefully locked away somewhere deeper in the lab. this whole attack… it was never about her. not really. 

venom hesitated. just a second. the red one used it to his advantage. a tendril speared forward, aimed not at venom, but at y/n. daniela didn’t think. she threw herself in front of it. the impact sent her crashing into a column, plaster and sparks exploding around her.venom roared in pain.

“dani!”

daniela hit the ground hard, venom glitching and rippling around her like a damaged projection. her vision swam, but she doesn’t miss the way y/n raced over. she dropped to her knees beside her. 

“what the hell is this? how long have you—”

“not now,” daniela groaned, blood in her mouth.

the red one stalked forward. venom twitched, trying to stand, but the hit had been brutal.

y/n looked up at the monster barreling toward them. with a newfound sense of confidence, she did the only thing she could. she grabbed a fallen metal pipe and hurled it at the red symbiote’s face.

it bounced off with a sad little clang.

he paused, a look of mild offense striking his grotesque face. 

“seriously?” he muttered.

but it was enough.

the red one surged forward again, limbs splintering into hooked blades and writhing spears. he was a storm of red fury, blind and grinning, hammering toward them with all the heat of something barely held together by rage.

but daniela had already risen.

venom rippled over her like liquid shadow, scars mending mid-motion, claws curling longer, sharper. black tendrils writhed along her spine, ready, hungry. there was no hesitation now. no hiding. no pretending.

only her.

“you want it?” she rasped, voice layered and low, venom’s timbre wrapping around hers like thunder. “come and get it.”

she launched.

they collided midair, red and black blurring together in a screech of tearing metal and flesh. daniela let go of restraint. venom knew how to twist, how to hurt, and daniela guided it with fury like a blade.

the red symbiote struck hard, hammering her into a beam. daniela rebounded, claws dragging sparks off the wall as she swung low, raking open his side.

“you’re wasting your breath,” he snarled. “the fragment’s mine.”

venom lunged, wrapping both arms around the red one’s torso, and bit down.

the scream that tore out of the red symbiote was inhuman, rattling the air and shaking the glass.

his form flickered—unstable now, wounded, tendrils flailing. daniela twisted, slamming him through a row of reinforced lab tables. the metal bent like foil.

“dani!” y/n’s voice came from the side, urgent. “his core—bottom left! it’s destabilizing!”

daniela saw it then—a pulsing red glow beneath the symbiote’s chest. flickering, uneven.

she didn’t ask how y/n knew. she just moved.

venom surged up her arms, curling into a blade. she dropped, twisted beneath the red one’s next swing, and drove the blade up into the core.

there was silence, then a sound like pressure releasing—a deep whoomph, followed by a stuttering crackle of light. the red one staggered, glitching, body tearing apart from the inside out.

“no—no—NO—”

he clawed toward her, toward y/n, toward anything. but venom dragged him back. black tendrils crushed inward. one final twist. one last roar.

the red symbiote collapsed with a shriek and a shudder, its body dissolving into steaming sludge that hissed across the tile.

it was over.

daniela stood, swaying slightly. her breathing was ragged, skin streaked with ash and blood. the last of venom curled back beneath her skin, black retreating like ink down a drain.

and then she collapsed to her knees.

“daniela!” y/n was already moving, sliding across broken glass and debris to catch her. “hey—hey, stay with me—”

but her eyes were closed. still breathing. still there. just… barely. the room went quiet.

until something moved.

a ripple across daniela’s shoulder. black. liquid. alive. venom reemerged—not the full monstrous form, but a slick tendril that uncoiled upward, shifting until it formed a rounded head, eyeless and wet with that reflective sheen. small. almost calm.

y/n froze.

the tendril tilted, then spoke.

“she will be fine,” venom said, voice low and rattling. “we have taken worse hits.”

y/n swallowed. “you… you can talk without her?”

“we prefer her,” venom said, almost wistfully. “she is… fun. angry. but warm.”

y/n stared. “she never told me. about you.”

venom shifted, curling gently around daniela’s shoulder like a shawl. protective. oddly tender.

“she didn’t want you to run.”

y/n blinked. “what?”

“you are the reason she holds back. why she is scared. she believes she is a monster.”

the silence between them stretched long and deep.

“but you’re not,” y/n whispered.

venom moved again, this time toward her. not threatening. just… curious. his voice dropped lower.

“you smell like her heart.”

y/n let out a breath. “that’s either very sweet or very creepy.”

a pause. then, unexpectedly, a snort.

“she would say the same.”

y/n almost smiled.

“will she be okay?”

venom retracted a little, folding back down.

“she is waking.”

and just like that, the black melted away again. daniela stirred, a long groan tearing from her. her eyes fluttered open and the first thing she saw was y/n, sitting right in front of her, hair a mess, lab coat scorched, one scraped knee, and… smiling.

“hey,” y/n said softly. “nice of you to rejoin us.”

daniela winced. “you’re not screaming.”

“not yet.”

a beat.

“venom said i smell like your heart,” y/n added casually.

daniela’s eyes widened.

“oh my god—”

“don’t worry. he’s kind of sweet. in a nightmare slug kind of way.”

the lab was still screaming. alarms howled overhead in stuttering bursts. red lights strobed across shattered glass and scorched tile. from the stairwell, heavy footsteps echoed—boots slamming up the metal steps, guards or scientists or maybe cleanup crews, all just a breath too late.

but in the center of it all, daniela only saw y/n.

her lip was split. her side throbbed. something was probably fractured.and yet, she couldn’t help but frown. 

“are you... are you scared of me?” she asked, voice low, almost too quiet to hear beneath the sirens.

y/n looked at her like that was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.

“you caught me out of mid-air before i became elevator paste and then took down a rage-possessed lava monster,” she said. “so no. i’m not scared.”

daniela blinked.

y/n leaned closer. “maybe a little mad you didn’t tell me.”

“i didn’t want you to look at me like—like this.”

“well, tough luck.” her voice softened. “because this is how i look at you.”

daniela’s breath hitched when y/n reached out slowly, still cautious, even now. her fingers brushing against daniela’s jaw, hesitant like a question. and then she kissed her. 

it wasn’t soft. it was tired, and cracked, and tasted like smoke and adrenaline and blood—but it was real. daniela’s hands came up into y/n’s hair, pulling her closer like she didn’t care who saw, like she didn’t care if the building collapsed around them. y/n’s fingers curled against her waist, grounding her in the middle of the wreckage.

the footsteps were getting louder. someone was shouting orders. probably close. daniela pulled back just enough to breathe.

y/n’s forehead pressed to hers. “what now?”

behind her eyes, venom stirred. “they will have questions. annoying ones.”

daniela glanced at the ruined elevator, then back to y/n. “lara’s gonna kill me for not waiting.”

“she can wait.” venom’s voice was smug. “take the girl.”

black tendrils curled from beneath daniela’s feet. the world blurred. she grabbed y/n’s hand. didn’t ask.

“hold on,” she whispered.

and then they were gone—swept away through the broken ceiling like smoke, like a shadow vanishing into the night. alarms still blared behind them, questions still screamed in the stairwell. but none of that mattered now. for now, all that mattered was y/n.

and maybe—just maybe—it was time to give honesty a try.

venom purred somewhere beneath her skin.

“finally.”