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yannawayne · 10 months ago

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v. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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“Oh my god, stop! I do not need to see my own fucking thirst trap!” you groaned, quickly pausing the video. You turned away, face burning hotter than Metropolis's sun, and stared at the graffiti on the wall across from you.

You covered your face with your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “This is not how I pictured my debut.”

Morgan, still laughing her ass off, was clearly unfazed. She scrolled through the comments, her grin spreading even wider.

“You’ve gotta hear these,” she said, her voice barely containing her amusement. She began reading aloud, each comment more deranged than the last.

harry 🐾☕️ @ blehhidc ・1hr going to become a villain rn. pls choke slam me into Arkham.

ji ─ nightcrawlers #1 fan @ nightcrawler_updates・1hr i want nightcrawler to smash that helicopter on my tits

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Thursday, 9:40 AM - Stark Industries, Gotham City.

Morgan grins, clearly pleased with the result. “Not too shabby, right?"

"What. The. Fuck."

“Language, kid.”

You turn, seeing Tony standing at the door. He taps on the metal frame of the entrance with his knuckles, the sound echoing slightly in the spacious lab.

“That is suit A1. I call it the Crawler.”

He strides across the room, his footsteps echoing on the polished floor, and reaches a nearby table. The table is lined with various prototypes and gadgets, each more advanced than the last. He picks up a pair of gloves, black with red fingers and claws at the end, and hands them to you.

“Test the gloves out,” Tony instructs. “All the features are going to be introduced to you.”

You slip on the gloves and flex your fingers, feeling the suit respond instantly. As you activate the helmet's AI, a pleasant, slightly robotic voice greets you.

"Welcome, user. I am your integrated AI assistant. Please provide a designation."

Tony leans against a workbench, arms crossed, watching you with an expectant look.

“You gotta name 'em,” he says. “Any ideas?”

Running your tongue over your teeth, you hesitate. Your gaze drifts away from Tony and lands on Morgan, who’s standing a few steps back, arms crossed, watching with a curious expression. She raises an eyebrow, sensing your uncertainty, but doesn’t say anything—just waits to see what you’ll do next.

“Uh...” you start, the words coming slowly as you search for the right name.

For a moment, the lab fades into the background. Your thoughts drift back to your mother, and a familiar ache settles in your chest. You clear your throat, feeling a mix of emotions bubbling up. You’re not sure why, but something about this moment feels important.

“How about Maggie?”

The AI responds, "Designation accepted. I am Maggie."

You catch Morgan’s eyes, and she gives you a soft, almost tender look. There’s a warmth there, a silent recognition of what the name means to you.

“Maggie it is, then,” Tony nods approvingly, clapping his hands as he approaches.

“Now, I’ll give you the basic rundown,” Tony says, gesturing towards the suit with a casual flick of his hand, his tone all business. “Night vision, live communication with Morgan here, medical and vital scans, contacts to emergency numbers, a heater, and a hood. The gloves? Claws for fights. And the suit also connects to web-shooters.”

You twist your wrist, curious, and notice small rectangular devices embedded in your palms, integrated with the gloves.

Tony catches your eye and points to them. “Those web-shooters are designed to enhance your organic webs—make them shoot better, farther, stronger, and faster.”

"Nice," you mutter, flexing your fingers.

The helmet’s display suddenly shifts, bringing up a sleek interface that showcases the various features Tony just mentioned. The visuals are crisp and clear, icons representing each function appearing in a smooth, fluid motion.

Tony starts to circle you, his hands moving animatedly as he continues his explanation. “Then there’s the cape. And the advanced GPS with real-time tracking, so you’ll never lose your way, and neither will we.”

You let out a low whistle. “That is a whole hell of a lot. The media wasn’t joking when they said you were crazy about vigilante tech.”

“Crazy? I prefer ‘innovatively obsessed.’ Someone’s got to push the boundaries of what’s possible—might as well be the guy who’s not afraid to get a little nuts."

Reaching up, you pull the hood over your head, feeling it snap into place with a satisfying click. The suit responds instantly, the advanced GPS blinking to life on your helmet’s display, projecting a detailed map of Gotham right before your eyes. You catch a faint scent wafting through the helmet—clean and fresh, with just a hint of leather.

“Smells like a new car in here, Mr. Stark,” you grin, taking a deep breath.

"Happy to help, kid. Are we good to go?" Tony asks.

You nod, feeling the suit's snug fit as it conforms to your movements. Tony smirks as he grabs Morgan by the shoulders, steering her toward the door. Her sneakers squeak against the polished tiles as she resists slightly, more out of surprise than reluctance.

"Alright! Come on," Tony urges, pressing the buttons for the elevator. The sleek doors slide open with a soft whoosh.

Confused, you take a moment to let the suit decloak, watching as it seamlessly transforms back into the inconspicuous glasses and belt.

You raise an eyebrow, still unsure of what’s happening. “Go where?”

“The safehouse,” Tony replies with a shrug as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

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Thursday, 1:06 PM - ???, Gotham City.

"What the fuck wrong with you people?"

You step out of Tony's car, your eyes widening as you take in the sight before you. The building looms ahead, a decaying relic from another era. The "SOLD" sign is barely visible through the grime and neglect, and the structure itself looks like it hasn’t seen a lick of maintenance in decades. The windows are boarded up with splintered wood, and the paint on the facade peels away in large, ragged chunks, revealing the weathered wood underneath.

Tony and Morgan follow you out, donning hoodies and glasses to blend in and avoid drawing attention.

“You guys bought a building?!”

Morgan gives you a sheepish smile. Tony, on the other hand, claps a hand on your shoulder, his grin wide and unapologetic.

“Welcome to the new safehouse,” Tony announces with a dramatic flourish of his hands. “It’s got character, right? Sometimes, you’ve got to go a little off the beaten path to find the perfect spot.”

“Sorry,” Morgan chuckles, shaking her head. “Dad insisted. I guess we’ll see how well it lives up to that promise.”

Tony shrugs, unbothered. “Hey, it’s got the essentials: privacy, space, and with a little TLC, it’ll be great. Besides, it’s just a base of operations. You won’t be living here full-time.”

You glance at the rundown building, still skeptical. “I hope you’re right about this.”

“You’re killing me, kid. I’ve seen your old warehouse. This place? It’s a palace compared to that dump. I’ve already done some work on it,” Tony chuckles, shaking his head as he locks his car. You have half a mind to tell him that leaving a luxury car in this neighborhood might not be the best idea, but you hold back.

“This”—he emphasizes with a sweeping gesture—“will be better than anything you’ve had.”

With that, you all walk past a broken, torn-up gate, its metal barely hanging on its hinges and rusted beyond repair. Tony retrieves a key from his pocket, and with a satisfying click, he unlocks the door. You all follow him inside.

Inside, the space contrasts sharply with its run-down exterior. The walls were covered with graffiti. Books are scattered haphazardly in one corner, and some tech equipment is piled up in the organized chaos.

Large screens line the room, with a computer at the center, displaying a dizzying array of data streams, security feeds, and holographic schematics.

Holographic displays float above the desks, showing real-time analytics and project statuses. A central 3D map of Gotham rotates slowly, highlighting key locations and active missions with a soft glow.

Mechanical robotic arms are scattered throughout the space—some hanging from the ceiling, others mounted on the walls. They buzz and whir softly as they perform routine maintenance on your equipment.

Your jaw drops, and your shoulders slump as you take in the scene. Your eyes widen in disbelief, and you instinctively take a step back, as if trying to distance yourself from the sheer scale of the tech before you.

Morgan steps in behind you, her gaze sweeping across the room with recognition. She whistles low and turns to Tony, her eyebrows raised.

“So that’s where some of my old tech went.”

“Old?!” you screech at her. “This looks like a high-tech haven compared to what we were using before!”

Morgan rolls her eyes and nudges you playfully. “Dad likes to think anything not cutting-edge is ancient history. This is all yesterday’s innovations.”

“Yep. If this is ‘high-tech,’ I’d hate to see what you were working with before,” Tony snarks, shutting the warehouse door with a creak from the rusted hinges. “Bet you had a rotary dial phone in there too, didn’t you, kid?”

“Ha ha,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “But seriously, this setup is actually impressive.”

You look around, then toss your backpack onto a nearby table and pull out your old suit. It’s practically obsolete with the new upgrades, but you’re thinking of framing it for nostalgia’s sake. Tony’s gaze sharpens as he inspects the material.

“Wayne Tech? Is that Kevlar?” Tony says, his expression souring. “Low blow bringing that into my house.”

“Lower than you think,” you shrug.

“Alright, whatever,” Tony grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. “Get that thing out of my sight before I projectile vomit all over it.”

“Wouldn’t want to make you hurl before your next upgrade,” you snort under your breath.

“I’m going to do you a solid, kid, and pretend I didn’t hear any of that.”

Turning back to the central table, Tony snaps his fingers. Holograms flicker to life, projecting a variety of case files and news reports.

“Now, let’s get down to business.”

The holograms display a series of high-profile incidents, with the central image featuring Black Mask, his grim visage glaring out from multiple angles.

You frown and step closer, your eyes scanning the floating holograms. Articles about Oscorp Industries, research papers on spiders, and other related documents whir around, each highlighted with a soft, glowing outline.

Among the swirling articles and data, one catches your eye: an Octavius Burton article from your prom night.

Tony glances at you. “Everything here ties into what we’re dealing with.”

Humming, you step closer and press the Octavius Burton file. Morgan shifts beside you, her expression unreadable.

"That was the guy who attacked us at prom..." you say, turning to her.

Morgan nods and taps another hologram, revealing a new file marked “Confidential.” It’s from a government source, with its contents obscured by digital encryption.

The file opens to reveal classified documents, high-security footage, and a death certificate among them.

“He died a week ago,” Morgan says, scuffing her shoes against the floor, the sound echoing slightly in the room. “And for some reason, Blackgate officials are trying to keep it under wraps. He died after injecting himself with a serum.”

She pauses, her dark eyes locking onto yours with piercing intensity. “Lizard serum.”

Tony taps a few commands, and more files appear on the holographic display. These documents focus on Octavius's genetic research, showing charts, graphs, and notes on enhancing human abilities.

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Tony says, pointing to a dense document. “Octavius was obsessed with improving human potential, working on genetic modifications to enhance physical and mental capabilities.”

Morgan’s expression tightens as she explains, “He was trying to create a new kind of metahuman. The robotic arms were his first success, but the spider serum was supposed to be the next big leap. When the board rejected it and refused to fund him, he turned to more dangerous methods.”

Tony nods, adding, “And from what we know, it seems like he might have been successful with his spider serum research in some way.”

Morgan’s gaze shifts to you. You feel a burning sensation where you were bitten, and shift uncomfortably, tracing the spot on your skin with your fingers.

“But that serum was lost after his arrest. This lizard serum, however, is a completely different story. It’s not connected to him.”

You study the files closely, noting sections on enhancing strength, agility, and cognitive functions—some of which match your own research with Selina.

“Uh, he... I think he used to work with my dad. My late biological dad,” you say, scratching your cheek thoughtfully.

Tony’s brows shoot up in surprise. “Your dad?”

You nod, struggling to find the right words as you stumble over them. “Yeah, my dad worked at Oscorp. When I first got my powers, I found some of his old research on spiders. It’s almost identical to what Octavius was working on. He even thanked Octavius in one of his papers.”

“Freaky...” Morgan murmurs, her face scrunching into a grimace. “And now you’re—”

“I have the same powers after being bitten by a spider the night of Octavius’ attack,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Freaky indeed.”

The room falls into a heavy silence before Morgan speaks up.

"Stark Industries, uh... also used to do genetic research."

Tony tenses but doesn’t interrupt her.

“For medical purposes,” Morgan continues, “we studied serums based on animal genetics. My mom was seriously ill, and we explored genetic modifications to help her. One serum showed promise but ultimately failed.”

Tony’s eyes darken, and he lifts his head slowly, pain evident in his gaze.

“It sped up her sickness,” Tony says, sorrow seeping into his tone. “Despite the risks and the devastating consequences, I administered the serum because I was desperate. Desperate people make dangerous decisions. And... she wasn’t the only one affected.”

Tony’s face hardens, a shadow of regret crossing his features. “I thought I could make a difference, save lives. But instead, I caused suffering. My research led to deaths—people betrayed by the very hope I offered. I shut down that department the next day, but the damage was already done.”

His tone is cold, terribly cold, as he turns to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be alive. But you are. And there’s a reason for that. I need you to understand that. I need you to believe that what you’ve been given isn’t a curse—it’s a chance."

"I know," you murmur. "And I believe in that chance."

"That’s why I want to help you, kid," he says. "I owe it to everyone who was affected by these experiments. If I can do anything to make up for the past or assist you in this fight, then I will. Because it’s the least I can do."

Tony steps back and taps a button on the console. A hologram flickers to life.

“This is Curt Connors,” Tony says, gesturing toward the hologram. The image reveals a man with rugged features: high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and short-cut brown hair. He wears glasses and a lab coat, but what catches your eye is his prosthetic arm.

Tony continues, “Connors is currently researching lizard genetics. He’s got the Sionis family bankrolling him, so you know he’s not working with spare change. From what we know, he’s working on enhancements like Octavius was. There’s a solid chance he’s cooked up the serum that led to Octavius’s demise.”

Morgan steps closer, her fingers brushing the screen to bring up more data. “That’s why we need to find his research location and figure out exactly what he’s working on.”

You study the photo of Dr. Connors, zooming in on the details.

“So, that’s the mission then,” you murmur, your gaze fixed on the image.

Tony looks between you and Morgan. “Once we have a lead on Connors, we can plan our next steps.”

“I’ll dig into any leads I can find on Connors. But be ready for some dead ends. This guy doesn’t exactly advertise his work,” Tony says, waving his phone around.

You consider the situation, glancing between Tony and Morgan. “Do you want me to start searching for information tonight? I can patrol.”

“Slow your roll, kid,” Tony raises a hand, his tone cautionary. “I’m aware of your ‘find out the hard way’ track record. PEPPER’s medical reports on you say enough.”

“Uh, I’ve got enhanced DNA. I can handle it,” you laugh at him.

“Uh,” Tony mocks, “who cares? Keep getting beat up like this, and you’ll end up dead—and that’ll be on me. My wealth, connections, and power can only do so much to sway public opinion in my favor. I’m not exactly Bruce Wayne, you know.”

Tony had seen footage of you in action and read the headlines—who hasn’t? Gotham was crawling with spandex-wearing vigilantes darting across rooftops, each with a more outlandish name than the last. He hadn’t paid them much mind—aside from their flashy tech, they weren’t his concern. But then there was you: the serum, the connections. Once he dug into that, Tony found himself unexpectedly driven, despite himself, to keep you alive.

“Seriously? Enhanced healing, web-spinning, and super strength here,” you say, crossing your arms. “I’m not exactly made of glass…”

“If we want to get to the bottom of this lizard guy, we need you alive,” Morgan says, shooting you a look and pushing up her glasses. “So, you have to take it slow. Baby steps.”

She moves to a medical area in the corner and gestures for you to follow. You raise an eyebrow but comply. Her hands slide up your arm and roll up your sleeve.

“Starting with this.”

Morgan pricks a needle into your arm, and you yelp. You wince at the sting and the cold spreading from the needle, feeling the pressure as your blood is drawn.

“Dude! What the hell?” you exclaim.

“Blood sample,” she replies matter-of-factly. She extracts the sample and slaps a bandaid on your arm. “Have you ever thought about how your powers work? Or how modified you really are?”

Morgan moves toward a machine that looks like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. The device hums to life, its surface lighting up with a soft blue glow. A series of holographic displays flicker into existence, showing intricate scans and streams of data.

Morgan inserts the vial of your blood into a slot on the machine, and the device immediately begins processing the sample. The holograms shift and change, displaying molecular structures and DNA sequences.

Morgan studies the readouts. “Your DNA is... fascinating. The spider venom bonded with your cells.”

“You see this?" she points to a segment of the hologram. "This is where the venom altered your genetic structure.”

You grin, stepping closer to the display. “Yeah! I’ve seen this before. I… did some research on my own. The venom has this enzyme that acts as a catalyst, a transgenic catalyst, that facilitates its integration with human DNA. The spider’s genetic material introduces specific protein structures that enhance cellular regeneration and muscle density. Essentially, it’s rewriting my genetic code at a molecular level. The changes are so thorough that my cells keep churning out these proteins and enzymes, which is why my abilities are so persistent. It’s like I’ve got built-in bioengineering on a cellular level. And—”

You trail off, realizing you’re rambling. Coughing into your hand, you try to muster a serious expression. “Uh, sorry. I tend to geek out over this stuff.”

Tony blinks at you from his spot, and Morgan raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback.

“Sometimes I forget you’re actually smart,” Morgan says, narrowing her eyes. “Every time you show a hint of intelligence, it’s like a miracle.”

“Wow,” you grumble, flushing with embarrassment.

“It’s cute,” Morgan says with a smile, continuing to read the data. “Basic stuff. Super strength, enhanced healing... standard Spidey powers we’ve seen.”

A beep sounds as she taps another screen.

“Pain tolerance when you’re adrenaline-fueled is off the charts,” she murmurs. “If you ever needed surgery, the amount of anesthetic required would be dangerously high.”

Tony leans over her shoulder. “The dosage you'd need could drop an elephant—twice over.”

Morgan glances up, turning the tablet to face you. “Your reflexes and agility are beyond the usual. You’re faster and more responsive. But that means your body burns energy quickly. You’ll need a high-calorie diet to keep up with your metabolism.”

"I do," you shrug. "I burn through like six meals a day. Our grocery bills have never been higher."

“Well, did you know you need over 5,000 calories a day?” Morgan tilts her head. “I doubt six meals covers that.”

“Oh,” you flush. "How was I supposed to know that?"

“You figured out the science behind your powers on a genetic level, but couldn't figure out how much food you need?” Tony quips.

“…yes?”

“You’re killing me, kid,” Tony groans, raising an eyebrow as he pulls out his phone. “Great. I’ll make a note to increase your stipend for groceries. Feeding you might bankrupt me faster than any supervillain ever could.”

Tony steps out to take a call from his secretary, leaving you and Morgan alone in the lab. She’s absorbed in analyzing your results, mumbling to herself and scribbling notes on a ratty notepad. You let out a sigh, reactivating your suit and running your fingers along the edges of the emblem on your chest.

Spiders, lizards, bats, and cats... What’s with all these animals?

At least you’re not up against dinosaurs.

…

Yet.

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Thursday, 8:03 PM - Downtown, Gotham City.

This? This was awesome.

Swinging from the skyscrapers, you feel an adrenaline rush unlike anything you've experienced back in Queens. The swings are higher, the speed is faster, and the thrill is almost overwhelming.

Gotham’s downtown is a far cry from Queens.

Where once you swung past modest streetlamps and low-rise buildings, now you’re darting off glassy skyscrapers that pierce the sky. The towering structures and crowded streets of Gotham create a backdrop that feels almost alien—a dazzling, high-octane contrast to the familiar neighborhood you left behind. It’s like stepping into an entirely new world, and the exhilaration of it all is intoxicating.

"You know, after that big pep talk, I figured you'd want to take a breather," Morgan’s face appears on the screen of your helmet. She’s lounging in a chair at your new safehouse, clad in a dark tank top with her hair tousled and square glasses perched on her nose.

She looks every bit the quintessential “guy in the chair.”

“We’ve been looking over case files for hours! Cut me some slack for wanting to get some fresh air!” you retort, flipping through the air and executing a sharp swing around a skyscraper.

Morgan shakes her head, frowning. “You still have, like, two broken ribs.”

“Which will probably heal in about an hour,” you point out.

You swing onto a rooftop, landing with a skid as the rough concrete bites into your boots, the jarring impact vibrating up your legs. You brace yourself, absorbing the shock, then straighten up, brushing off the dust and debris clinging to your suit. The city lights glint off the sleek metal of your gear.

“Maggie,” Morgan’s voice carries a hint of pleading. “Run their vitals.”

A moment of silence follows, with only the distant hum of the city below. Then Maggie’s voice, calm and measured, comes through the earpiece, her data flashing across your visor. “Vitals are stable. No immediate signs of distress, but the injuries are fresh. Overexertion could lead to complications.”

Morgan’s face reappears on your helmet’s screen, her glasses glinting in the dim light of the safehouse. “See? Even Maggie agrees. Maybe it’s time to take it easy for a while.”

You let out a sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But come on, fresh air’s good for the soul, right?”

“I get it, but you should still be careful. Gotham’s not exactly known for being forgiving.”

You chuckle, stretching your arms above your head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Crime doesn't sleep. But for now, I’m enjoying the view.”

The adrenaline from your earlier swings starts to mellow, leaving a calm satisfaction in its wake. For a moment, it’s just you and the city, connected in a way.

Morgan's voice returns to your earpiece, lighter now. "You know, I’ve been thinking about something while you were out there."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing out over the city. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Well,” she begins, a hint of hesitation in her tone, “since I’m always in the thick of things with you, I’ve been thinking I might need a codename or alias. Something that fits my role.”

You chuckle, turning to look down at the bustling street below, a river of colors as people move like ants in the city’s labyrinth. “True. I have to call my guy in the chair something. What are you leaning toward?”

“Morgana,” she replies, a touch of pride in her voice.

You laugh, a genuine burst of amusement that makes your shoulders shake. “Really? Just adding a letter to your name? That’s what you’ve got?”

Morgan’s tone turns playful. “Hey! It’s better than nothing.”

“Alright, Morgana,” you snort, giving one last look at the cityscape before preparing to head back into the night. “You up for some monitoring? I’m heading back out. This city needs me.”

“Oh, so cool,” she laughs at your last line. “You’re like Batman.”

“He is the standard,” you reply, stepping to the edge of the building. The cold wind brushes against your suit and tugs at your hood. You pull it up, feeling the fabric tighten around your face as you squint against the biting breeze.

“Think you can get me a gig?”

“Sure. Give me a moment.”

On your visor, the map highlights various irregularities in bright, pulsing colors. Patterns of activity pulse in vivid reds and oranges, tracing a trail of anomalies through the city's grid.

Then, a prominent prompt flashes onto the screen, breaking through the overlay of data. It’s a high-priority alert, marked by a flashing icon and an urgent red border.

Morgan’s fingers dance across her laptop keyboard, the rhythmic click-clack of her nails echoing in your helmet. “Ready for your first big debut?”

You check the readout, eyes narrowing. “What’ve you got for me tonight, Gotham?”

Immediately, the visor's display shifts to show a live news feed. The screen splits, revealing a scene unfolding at Wayne Industries. The news anchor's voice cuts through the rush of wind and the hum of your suit’s systems.

"—reporting live from Wayne Industries. A helicopter has been hijacked and has stolen sensitive technology. The situation is escalating, and authorities are struggling to regain control. We have reports of the helicopter on a collision course with the city’s power grid."

The live feed is a frenzied mix of flashing lights and dark, ominous smoke. The camera, amateur and shaky, captures the scene with screams and frantic commentary. The helicopter wobbles dangerously close to the towering buildings, its movements growing more erratic by the second.

“Alright, Morgana, give me a location on that chopper. I’m heading in.”

“On it. I’ll track its trajectory and keep you updated. Be careful out there.”

With a flip, you launch yourself off the rooftop, the sensation of free-fall exhilarating. The city lights blur into streaks of color as you swing through the air. Each swing propels you higher and faster.

A few sharp, speedy webs later, you spot the helicopter's silhouette slicing through the thick, smoky haze—a dark, menacing shape against the illuminated skyline.

THWAP.

With a powerful swing, you fire a web at the tail of the helicopter, the line snapping tight and anchoring you securely. You grunt with effort, reeling it in and pulling with all your strength. The helicopter lurches violently, its spinning blades blurring dangerously.

Quickly, you fire another web, anchoring it to a nearby building. Using the momentum, you swing to the opposite side and shoot another web to stabilize the helicopter. The erratic spinning slows as the webs pull it into a more controlled, steady position.

“Alright, you glorified bucket of bolts,” you mutter, “let’s see how you like a little traffic jam!”

You draw back and hurl yourself toward the helicopter’s blades, cutting through the deafening noise. Multiple webs shoot from your wrists, encasing the spinning blades in thick, sticky threads. The helicopter’s spin slows, the blades eventually halting as the craft begins to tremble and sway.

Panting, you cling to the helicopter’s side, your feet firmly anchored on the fuselage. Through the cockpit, you see the hijackers, their movements erratic and panicked.

One lunges at you with a knife, but you snatch it away and web it to the helicopter’s side. “Whoa, careful there! You might poke an eye out with that thing.”

The hijackers scramble, their attempts to regain control clumsy and chaotic. D-grade criminals, you think, as you fire webs to disarm them, yanking their guns and knives away.

“This is just sad. I was hoping for some more action,” you quip, grabbing one hijacker by the collar and tossing him out of the cockpit. He flails wildly as he’s hurled into the air, but you’re quick to fire a web, catching him and securing him to a nearby rooftop. His face pales to a ghostly white as he dangles precariously above the city.

The second hijacker tries to take advantage of your distraction, but you’re on top of it. You spin, firing a web that catches him mid-swing. With a swift, decisive shove, you slam him against the side of the helicopter. He grunts in pain, and with a quick yank, you toss him out. Another web secures him to the same rooftop as his partner, leaving them both dangling high above the city.

You swing back to the rooftop where you left the men hanging and grin down at them. “Time for you guys to have a chat with the authorities,” you call out. “Hope you enjoyed your flight!”

KABOOM!

Before you can take another step, a violent shudder erupts from the helicopter. A plume of black smoke bursts from the engine compartment, followed by a sharp, bright explosion that momentarily illuminates the night sky. The helicopter's frame buckles and a series of smaller explosions ripple through it, sending debris scattering into the air.

“Oh boy,” you mutter, eyes widening as the helicopter, now belching thick, dark smoke, begins a slow, uncontrolled descent. Without a moment's hesitation, you dive after it, the wind roaring in your ears as you plummet. Your eyes stay fixed on the spiraling craft, webs catching falling debris to propel you faster.

Below, chaos erupts. Civilians scatter, their panicked screams piercing the clamor of the sputtering engines. Amidst the fleeing crowd, one woman remains frozen—her uniform and press ID visible. Trembling, she clutches her phone, snapping photos as the helicopter plummets closer.

"WATCH OUT!"

 ༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 8:34 PM - Downtown, Gotham City.

A Few Moments Earlier.

“Mister Ryder, I assure you, I am not insane!”

Vicki Vale’s voice slices through the cacophony of Gotham’s busy streets, sharp and urgent. Her frustration is clear as she clutches her phone with a vice-like grip, her manicured fingers pressing into the device. Around her, the city's frenetic pulse continues unabated—taxi horns blare, and the murmur of the crowd flows around her like a river.

Her eyes dart around, scanning the street, trying to make herself heard over the din. “I was there! The spider vigilante is real! I was nearly robbed, and they intervened directly!”

Her boss’s voice on the other end is clipped, dismissive. “Vicki, I understand your enthusiasm, but right now, we need to focus on what’s capturing the public’s interest. Wayne and Stark are making headlines. Why not go interview that Kyle girl? It’s a classic rags-to-riches story. The public eats that up.”

“Who cares about some civilian?!” Vicki’s frustration boils over. She steps into the crowded Gotham streets, where people glance at her momentarily before resuming their daily routines. “This vigilante could be huge!”

“Vicki, we’re on a tight deadline,” her boss interrupts firmly. “Unless you have solid proof and concrete details about this… Spider, I don’t see how this story fits. Stick to the Wayne-Stark coverage for now. We’ll revisit the vigilante angle if it gains traction.”

Vicki’s protest is cut short by a sudden, deafening scream. She swivels her head, then snaps her gaze upward, eyes widening in disbelief. Above, the helicopter spins wildly—a chaotic blur of metal and smoke, its descent wreaking havoc on the cityscape.

A figure emerges—a vigilante slicing through the smoke like a bolt of lightning. The red and black suit flashes against the darkening sky, the emblem of a bold, black spider spreading its legs wide.

Bingo.

Without a second thought, Vicki plunges into the heart of the chaos. Around her, the crowd is a roiling sea of panic and flight, but she’s single-minded. Her fingers fumble with her phone, desperately trying to position the lens toward the unfolding spectacle.

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

Flashes of light burst from her camera in rapid succession. Every captured frame is a fragment of the story she’s been hunting, and nothing—nothing at all—will pry this chance from her grasp.

KABOOM!

A deafening roar slams into Vicki’s ears, obliterating all other sounds, leaving only a sharp ring. The helicopter plummets in a swift, uncontrollable descent—a menacing blur of spinning metal and thick, black smoke, tumbling right toward her. Her eyes widen in horror, breath caught in her throat as the scene drags out in slow motion.

“WATCH OUT!”

The warning is almost too late.

A powerful gust of wind sweeps through, lifting Vicki off her feet. She screams, grabbing onto the nearest figure with a white-knuckled grip. The vigilante, clad in a red and black suit, swoops in, pulling her into the air.

“Whatever you do, don’t let go!” you shout over the howling wind. Vicki scrambles and her arms clamp around your neck.

You swing into action, firing a web at a nearby rooftop to secure yourself. With one hand gripping the web line anchored to the building, you hold up both yourself and Vicki, who is clinging to you with white-knuckled fear. Your other hand reaches out, shooting another web directly at the falling helicopter.

SNAP!

The web snaps into place, and you grunt as the sudden force pulls you, but the other web holds firm. With a mighty effort, you brace yourself, bearing the full weight of the 6,000-pound craft.

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter, biting your lip as you throw your head back. Pain flares up like a bad cramp, every muscle in your arm and back screaming.

“Pretty sure I just broke something,” you grimace, feeling the weight of the helicopter pushing you to the limit. But with adrenaline fueling you, you grit your teeth and somehow keep it suspended. "This is great. Love my life."

Vicki, initially shaking in shock, gradually starts to calm down. Before you know it, she’s unwinding one arm from your shoulder and frantically digging through her pocket for her phone. You flinch at the sudden shift in weight.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Lady! Will’ya stop moving?!” you scold, trying to keep both of you steady, but she’s too busy to care. Her attention is locked on her screen as she fumbles to activate the video function.

“Seriously? You’re recording now?”

Clinging to you with just one hand wrapped around your neck, she somehow keeps the lens focused on your helmet. Here she is, literally hanging on for dear life, yet still focused on getting that scoop.

You can’t decide if she’s brave, stupid, or both.

“My name is Vicki Vale, and I’m a reporter for Gotham Gazette!” she shouts, her voice slightly distorted by the adrenaline. “I’m witnessing an incredible act of heroism here! The Vigilante—”

Before she can continue, you shoot a quick, exasperated look at her. “Not the time for an interview!”

“Uh. We’re live, so if you could just—”

“Not the time! Seriously?” you hiss. “Can we save the interview for after I’m done holding up a helicopter?”

Vicki shoves her phone back in your face. “This is history! People need to know who you are. Give me something to work with!”

You let out an exasperated groan, eyes squinting against the strain. “Alright, alright! You want a scoop? One question only. What do you want to know?”

“Why are you doing this? What’s your mission here in Gotham?”

“I’m—” you pause, wincing as a fresh wave of pain hits. “I’m here to protect the city. People like you and everyone below deserve safety, and if I can help provide that, then... Shit!—that’s... that’s what I’ll do.”

The helicopter lurches again, and you grimace. “Just—okay! Got your story, right? Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

With a slow, controlled motion, you begin to lower the helicopter. The descent is careful, each web-strained inch guiding the craft to a safe landing. Finally, with a gentle thud, the helicopter touches down on the ground. The immense weight lifts from your shoulders, and you thank every god you can think of.

Jumping down, you land a safe distance from the wreck and gently set Vicki down. The streets around you hum with activity as emergency responders rush in. You let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling a sharp sting in your back—a problem for another day.

Vicki tucks her phone away, and as the adrenaline fades, you freeze. You know her—Vicki Vale. Columnist, gadfly, all-around troublemaker. The kind of trouble people crave and dread in equal measure.

She flashes a dazzling smile, perfect teeth catching the light as her nails trail up your bicep. You flinch, fighting to keep your cool.

“You’ve given me one heck of a story,” she purrs, her voice dropping an octave, laced with a flirtatious edge.

“So, what’s your deal?” she continues, leaning in a bit closer. “Secret identity? Hidden agenda?”

You glance at her, trying to maintain a professional tone despite the proximity. “Not interested in sharing more than I already have. Ha. Just… doing my job.”

Vicki smirks, clearly intrigued. “Well, I’ll keep digging. Heroes like you always have the best stories. And maybe… if you’re lucky, I’ll let you in on what I find.”

You let out a dry chuckle, feeling the heat from her proximity. “Glad to be of service. Just remember to stay safe out there.”

With a final nod, you shoot a web into the night and swing away, the cityscape unfolding beneath you as you disappear into the darkness.

What’s with you and redheads?

 ༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 10:41 PM - Batcave, Wayne Manor.

On one of the main screens of the Batcomputer, a news report flickers into view.

"—hat we’ve witnessed tonight is nothing short of extraordinary. A helicopter, which was hijacked and rigged to explode, was on a collision course with the city’s power grid. The situation seemed dire, but then, out of nowhere, a hero arrived."

The scene cuts to the video shot by Vicki Vale on her phone. Despite the shaky camerawork, the footage captures the exchange clearly.

“My name is Vicki Vale, and I’m a reporter for Gotham Gazette! I’m witnessing an incredible act of heroism here! The Vigilante—”

“Not the time for an interview!”

“This is history! People need to know who you are. Give me something to work with!”

“Alright, alright! You want a scoop? One question only. What do you want to know?”

“Why are you doing this? What’s your mission here in Gotham?”

“I’m—I’m here to protect the city. People like you and everyone below deserve safety, and if I can help provide that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The broadcast returns to the news anchors.

“The footage from journalist Vicki Vale offers an “unprecedented glimpse into the actions of this mysterious figure. It’s clear that Gotham has a new guardian, and their bravery hasn’t gone unnoticed. Though it’s only been a matter of hours since the incident, social media has already dubbed the vigilante 'the Nightcrawler.'"

A still image of Nightcrawler appears onscreen, frozen mid-swing through the skyline, one hand reaching out toward the helicopter.

"While their true identity remains a mystery, it’s evident that Nightcrawler’s heroics tonight have made a significant impact! Move over, bats, there’s a new hero in town—"

Before the news anchor can finish, a Batarang hurles across the room, embedding itself in the Batcomputer’s screen with a sharp, metallic thud. The screen sputters violently, sparks erupting around the jagged edge of the blade as the image distorts. The monitor flickers wildly, casting brief, chaotic shadows before it goes dark.

Bruce whirls around, eyes wide. “Damian!”

"I'm going to kill them!"

“Enough!” Bruce snaps, yanking off his cowl with a frustrated sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a headache, salt-and-pepper hair falling messily over his furrowed brows.

“Start from the top. What’s this about the vigilante?”

Damian, braced against his bike, glares through his mask. “Oh, I don’t know, Father. Maybe because just as we’re about to start patrol, some so-called minor vigilante swoops in and takes over the hijacking we were handling.”

He jabs a finger at the damaged screen, frustration crackling in his voice. “And on top of that, this ‘hero’ seems to have made it their personal mission to mess with my operations.”

“What operations?”

Damian’s jaw tightens as he spits out, “It’s… It’s Y/N.”

Bruce’s shoulders tense as he swivels his head, darting rapid, searching glances at Tim, Dick, Cassandra, and Jason.

“Alright, Damian,” Dick says, pushing himself off the control panel. “That’s a big bomb to drop out of nowhere. We need details. What do we know about this Spider?”

Damian, clearly agitated, rolls his shoulders and scoffs. “When I was assigned to track them—”

“No one assigned you,” Jason points out. “You’ve been on a one-man crusade to follow every shady character in Gotham. It’s practically your hobby at this point.”

“And it’s led me to this,” Damian hisses, slamming his fist against the edge of his bike. The impact sends a shudder through the entire vehicle. “So, if you’re done interrupting, maybe we can actually make progress. Remember the night of the dinner when they showed up, bruised and battered?”

“You’re saying it’s connected?” Tim narrows his eyes, sliding his laptop from the table and settling it on his lap. He flips the keyboard open, his fingers flying over the keys. “If we pull together all the recent incidents and sightings, we might spot a pattern.”

Bruce nods slowly, a deep-rooted fear gripping his heart. The threads of panic pull at him, a sensation all too familiar. It’s a feeling that surfaces whenever his insane, trauma-fueled, highly trained, rebellious sons sneak out—something that’s happened more times than he can count—and it never leads to anything good.

He’s caught in the well-worn groove of dread, like an old record that keeps skipping to the same track. The adoption jokes practically write themselves in his mind, but right now, he's too worried to laugh.

Selina and Bruce had always been a tangled mess of on-again, off-again.

When they were younger, the chase was a thrill, the romance intense. But when things got serious, the cracks started to show. Bruce was too immersed in his work as Batman, burning himself down to ash to save his city. Selina loved her freedom as Catwoman and couldn’t bear to watch him destroy himself.

Then, one storm-lashed night, everything changed. Selina appeared at his doorstep, Rain streamed off her like tears, and in her arms was a small bundle—a toddler, swaddled tight but still shivering, cheeks flushed and red.

It had been years since they’d last spoken. Bruce, barely containing his shock, asked if the child was his. Selina shook her head, the sobs barely intelligible as she murmured something lost to his ears.

Not his, he mourned.

But the connection was there. You were a mirror of his own younger self—the same tragic backstory, the same deep-seated sadness. In the quiet, lonely hours of the night, Bruce would find himself searching for glimpses of your life, his mind wandering to what might have been. You were his child in spirit, if not in blood.

His daughter—if not truly, then almost.

“A solid approach,” Bruce says, snapping back to focus. “Her safety is our top priority. We need to figure out how to protect her from whatever this threat is.”

“But what exactly are we protecting her from?” asks Dick. “We still don’t fully understand what this vigilante wants or why they’re fixated on Y/N.”

Cass steps forward, her hands moving fluidly.

“Sullen,” she signs.

Tim nods in understanding, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he updates the document.

“Does Selina know about this?” he asks, glancing up. “Y/N’s been looking more scrawny. They’ve put on some muscle, sure, but they’re clearly neglecting their health. We might have missed other signs.”

Bruce made a strangled sound in his throat. He mentally made a note to call Selina later.

Catwoman hadn't been on any heists recently—good for Gotham, but bad for Bruce.

Had they been struggling financially? He could easily arrange for groceries or some form of support—after all, it was the least he could do.

“Kid came in with a black eye,” Jason grunts, striding over to his gear. He slams rubber bullets into their chambers with a sharp clack, the sound echoing through the room. “And from what I see, they’ve been holding back on us. We should’ve noticed something was off sooner.”

Damian rubs his eyes in frustration. Guilt eats at him.

You'd been hiding injuries and sneaking around at odd hours, that much was clear. The Spider inflicted them deliberately, not just to hurt you but to send a message. It was a warning to the Bats that they could make things much worse if they got in their way.

“There was a cut on their ribs. A knife wound. The way it was done, so precise—there’s no way it was an accident or a stray hit. Someone wanted to hurt them, to send a clear message.”

Everyone’s head whips toward Damian.

Dick takes a deep, shuddering breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “She didn’t tell until after that night?”

Damian’s fingers dig into his own arms, leaving crescents of white where his nails press. “They’ve been hiding things from us. I should’ve seen it coming. I’ve been pouring over every encounter, trying to piece together what’s been going on. But there’s something we’re missing, and I—”

His voice catches, trembling with regret. “They must have been too terrified to speak out. It took them showing me before I finally caught on to what was happening.”

Bruce steps forward, his hand soothing over Damian's tense shoulders. “Son, now isn’t the time to blame yourself.”

Damian’s eyes blaze with frustration as he jerks away from Bruce’s touch. “How can you say that? They’re in danger because I didn’t see it coming!”

Bruce’s expression melts, mouth pressed in a concealed white-hot wrath. “It’s not about blaming anyone. What matters now is what we do next.”

“Alright.” Jason grabs his gun and starts loading it with a series of sharp clicks. He slides it into his holster and looks up. “Let’s say we find a connection. What’s the plan? Do we confront her directly or set a trap for the Spider?”

Bruce moves to the Batcomputer, slipping his cowl back on. “We can’t rush into anything. We need concrete evidence first. Confronting Y/N without it could put her in danger and jeopardize our position.”

He turns to Damian, a silent exchange passing between them.

Damian, on the edge of adulthood and just a step away from graduation, is nearly a carbon copy of his father—save for his far tanner skin and hooked nose. His deep-set eyes are shadowy pools that seem to contain entire worlds, while dark, inky waves of hair tumble over his forehead. His broad shoulders are as solid and sculpted as marble.

“For now, you’ll keep a close watch on her. Protect her if you need to.”

Damian strides toward the Batcomputer, his cape trailing behind him. He dislodges his Batarang with a deft flick, expression set in stone

"Of course."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 12:35 AM - The Safehouse, Gotham City.

The door groaned loudly as you pushed it open, its hinges protesting against the late hour. The dim light from the multiple screens flickered as you stepped inside, casting long shadows across the cluttered room.

With a weary sigh, you uncloaked, and your suit shimmered as it dissolved into nanotech, reforming into your glasses and belt. Sweat clung to your forehead as you ruffled your damp hair, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline. You removed the glasses with a swift motion, tossing them onto a nearby table cluttered with papers and gadgets.

Morgan looked up from her workstation, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of multiple screens. Various tabs and data streams flickered across her monitors.

"Sup. Doing research?" you asked, your voice hoarse from the night’s exertions.

Morgan’s grin widened, though she tried to hide it behind a bite of her lip. "You... could say that."

You slumped into a nearby chair, raising an eyebrow at her. Morgan leaned back, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the armrest. "That was one hell of a debut. The media is already all over it. They’re calling you the ‘Nightcrawler.’”

"‘Nightcrawler’?” you repeated with a grimace. “Not exactly... friendly. I preferred Spidey.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s badass!” Morgan grinned, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. She wheeled back to her desk, snatching a remote and pointing it at the large screen mounted on the wall. The screen flickered to life, and news footage of the event burst onto the display.

As the video played, Morgan leaned closer to the screen “See? They’re eating it up. ‘Nightcrawler’ has a nice ring to it. It’s got mystery, it’s got edge—”

"Oh my god. I’ve turned into the stereotype."

“What stereotype?”

“The emo Gotham hero stereotype,” you groaned, slouching further into the chair. “Dark, brooding, with a name like Nightcrawler. It’s like I’m fitting into every cliché.”

"Clichés are just classic for a reason!"

Morgan flashed a screen, and an image appeared: you—Nightcrawler—perched on a rooftop, the scene drenched in shadows. The red of your suit bled into the darkness. Your hood was drawn low, obscuring your face, while the city lights below flickered like distant stars in the void.

You squinted at the screen, oddly flattered. "Well... I guess if villains are scared, they’re paying attention. Strike fear into their hearts and all.”

“Exactly,” Morgan said with a nod. “Hell. There are even edits of you on TikTok now!”

"..."

"...You cannot be serious," you paused, trying to wrap your head around it. “TikTok? Really?”

“Yup!” Morgan’s grin widened as she glanced at her phone, swiped through her feed, and tapped on the tag #NightcrawlerEdits. She then turned the screen toward you, excitement practically bursting out of her.

Clips of your rooftop swings, dramatic landings, and quick takedowns looped across the screen, set to raunchy music and flashy edits.

You watched in shock and slight embarrassment. "Oh.my.god."

Morgan’s excitement only grew as she pulled up another video. This time, the video was a velocity edit. It featured you throwing your head back, straining against a helicopter's weight while Vicki clung to your neck. Your biceps were prominently flexed, and the background whizzed by in a blur of motion and color.

The accompanying song blasted, with the lyrics:

Push me down, hold me down Spit in my mouth while you turn me on I wanna take your light inside Dim me down, snuff me out Hands on my neck while you push it out And I'm screamin' out

Morgan burst into laughter, practically rolling on the floor.

“This is my favorite one,” she said, her eyes sparkling with tears.

You covered your face with your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “This is not how I pictured my debut.”

Morgan, still laughing her ass off, was clearly unfazed. She scrolled through the comments, her grin spreading even wider.

“You’ve gotta hear these,” she said, her voice barely containing her amusement. She began reading aloud, each comment more deranged than the last.

estellea @ abcdfuckyou・1hr

vicki lucky af. I’d be clinging on too if I were her

jennyjay @ metroboomingpolis・30m

someone give me a ticket to Gotham so I can throw myself off a building and let Nightcrawler save me. no cap 🧢

harry 🐾☕️ @ blehhidc ・1hr

going to become a villain rn. pls choke slam me into Arkham.

ji ─ nightcrawlers #1 fan @ nightcrawler_updates・1hr

i want nightcrawler to smash that helicopter on my tits

Of course, there were the occasional snarky comments but they were buried under an avalanche of over-the-top reactions and sheer, unrestrained heat.

“Hooooly shit!” Morgan howled with laughter. “This one called you mommy long legs─!”

"Morgan!" You cringed, peeking through your fingers. "Stop! I can't believe this shit. They turned my life-threatening mission into a fucking thirst trap.”

Morgan could barely catch her breath between laughs.

“Alright, alright. Enough,” you said, snatching her phone away. “Enough with the thirst traps! Let’s get back to work!”

Morgan’s laughter died down as she moved back to her spot at the computer, still grinning. “Whatever you say, Mommy Long Legs.”

You rolled your eyes and began to slowly pull off your undershirt. Morgan glanced up, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she maneuvered a robotic arm from the workstation to scan you.

Pepper’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Injuries detected: dislocated shoulder, torn muscles in back and bicep, a cut on the cheek, and minor abrasions.”

The robotic arm paused. “Recommendations: immediate treatment for the shoulder and muscle tears; clean and treat minor cuts to avoid infection. Rest and recovery are essential.”

“More injuries?” Morgan fake gasped, rising from her chair. She gave your forehead a playful tap with her knuckles. “What’s going on in that head of yours? It’s like you’re a magnet for trouble.”

“It’s not my fault!” you shot back, gesturing wildly. “You try catching a helicopter with one hand while some shitty reporter tries to interview you midair!”

Morgan just rolled her eyes. Quick on her feet, she approached the medical cabinet and gathered supplies. The room filled with a soft hum as a bunch of robotic arms whirred to life, their sleek forms extending and positioning themselves around you.

“Alright, superhero, let's get you your fix.”

One of the robotic arms gently secured your dislocated shoulder. Morgan adjusted its settings on a nearby console, her fingers moving deftly over the controls.

“You really need to stop making my job so interesting,” she muttered.

“You’d die of boredom otherwise,” you retorted, wincing as the arm held your shoulder in place. The brief, sharp pain of your bone realigning quickly faded as the shoulder was set back into position.

The remaining robotic arms moved in to treat your muscle tears. They applied a soothing gel and began a methodical massage, easing the inflamed muscles with each gentle stroke.

Morgan glanced up from the control panel, still adjusting the final settings. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid,” you say dryly.

“True,” she replies with a smirk, “but keeping you in one piece is its own reward.”

You raised an eyebrow. The tips of Morgan’s ears turned red and she cleared her throat awkwardly.

Typing in a few final commands, she lingered a moment, glancing at you with a faintly hopeful look. “So, any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Probably just going to sleep,” you said, stifling a yawn. “Deadlifting helicopters really takes it out of you.”

Morgan’s eyes lit up with an idea. “How about coming to Gotham Academy with me?”

“Why? Ugh. Please don’t tell me you want to go to class.”

Morgan shook her head. “No, no! I know the internship has both of us excused for the month, but I need to check out some files on Octavius Burton. He used to be faculty there, and I thought it’d be a good chance for us to revisit the oh-so-magnificent halls of our beloved school.”

You cringed. “Oh my god, I do not miss that place at all.”

Morgan pursed her lips. “You might run into Damian, though.”

You pause.

You thought about it for one second, then nodded.

“Gotham Academy it is.”

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

voomba sorry for the long ass paragraphs i write shit lore

ur like a redhead magnet girlypop

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman

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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

Text

Quarterback Chaos {JB9}

Part 3.

Navigation

Synopsis: Sometimes the press is right, sometimes they're wrong but what happens when their words spark a possesive streak that somehow leads to a secret becoming revealed that flips Joe's and Y/N's arrangement upside down.

Warnings: Suggestive/Spicy Scenes, Strong Language, Alcohol Use, Mature Themes, Mild Public Attention, Angst, & Betrayal.

Themes: Situationship, Jealousy, Possesiveness, Fame & Performance Pressure, Flirtation & Tension, Modern Romance, Group Dynamics, Female Empowerment, “No Strings” Situationship, & Luxury Lifestyle.

WC: 10.7k

A/N: y'all finna hate me for this?😅

Join my Taglists here or message me

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

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Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed in nothing but her robe, staring at the message from Carmen. Her phone lay in her palm, but her mind was racing a mile a minute.

Billboard wants a digital cover.

And they know who the song’s about.

She flopped backward dramatically, the oversized robe riding up her thighs as she groaned toward the ceiling.

From the bathroom, Joe’s voice floated out. “You good out there?”

She called back. “Define good.”

The door creaked open, and there he was — towel gone, now in black sweats and still toweling off his damp hair. His chain glinted against his chest, skin still dewy from the shower. And of course, smug.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What happened?”

Y/N held up her phone like it was a fire alarm. “Billboard knows the song’s about you.”

Joe blinked. “Wait, for real?”

“Carmen just texted me.” She sat up, tossing the phone onto the bed. “They want a digital cover and promo stuff. And if they know, the rest of the industry is about to connect the dots the second the single drops.”

Joe walked over, plucked the phone up and read the message. His brows lifted slightly. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Y/N exhaled and looked up at him, one brow raised. “So, Mr. QB1, how does it feel to be a muse?”

He shrugged one shoulder, grin creeping in slow. “I mean... can’t say I’m surprised.”

Y/N threw a pillow at him. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning down and planting a kiss to her cheek, “you’re still letting me stay.”

Before she could fire back, ding! — another message.

Kayla 🧨:

Sooooo… when can I leak the BTS footage of you making out with him in your jersey? Asking for the timeline. 😇

Y/N stared at it in horror.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t record anything… obvious,” Kayla added immediately when Y/N didn’t reply fast enough.

Joe peeked over her shoulder and burst out laughing. “She’s a menace.”

“She is the worst.”

But Y/N was grinning. Because underneath the chaos, the teasing, the slightly unhinged energy of her best friend and the very shirtless man beside her — something felt right.

Her phone buzzed again.

Carmen 💼🔥

Cover shoot rollout starts tomorrow. I want a promo photo. Something real. Something intimate.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The studio space had been transformed into a moody, sexy dream: low lighting, sheer curtains filtering the sunlight, a king-sized bed set in the middle of the room like a stage, draped in white and gray linens. The camera crew moved efficiently, setting up angles while the glam team added final touches.

Y/N stood in the center of it all — legs long, confident, commanding the room in nothing but an oversized football jersey and thigh-high stockings. Her hair was tousled, makeup sharp and sultry, the gloss on her lips catching the light every time she moved.

And Joe?

Joe was sitting on the couch just off set, arms crossed, jaw tight, doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn’t watching her like she was the main event at the Super Bowl.

Kayla plopped down next to him, sipping her iced matcha with a straw and way too much glee.

“Your face is screaming,” she whispered.

Joe didn’t look at her. “What?”

She leaned in like they were courtside. “That ‘I know what’s under that jersey and I wanna start a war over it’ face.”

He exhaled through his nose. “She looks good.”

Kayla’s eyes widened. “Good? Sir. That woman is out there looking like a dangerous decision wrapped in a highlight reel.”

Joe finally glanced over at her, fighting the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Kayla kept going. “Like, I know y’all said this was casual, but the way your eyes just followed her when she turned around? That wasn’t casual. That was national security threat. I saw a twitch.”

Back on set, the photographer called out, “Y/N, give me that ‘you know I’m the one they warned you about’ energy.”

And she did.

One hand resting at the top of her thigh, chin tilted down, lips slightly parted. Her expression said: I’m not the fantasy, I’m the reason you stopped sleeping.

Joe shifted in his seat, clearly fighting for composure.

Kayla clocked it immediately. “Oop. There it is. That was your 10-yard penalty for unsportsmanlike thoughts.”

He groaned quietly.

Y/N glanced over between takes and caught his eye for a split second. Her smirk said she knew. Her fingers played with the hem of the jersey — the one that looked suspiciously familiar — and she winked.

Joe was done.

Kayla cackled. “Go ahead. Fumble. She’s gonna break your whole playbook.”

The photographer called, “Last setup! Just lean forward on the bed, one knee up. Make it intimate but still powerful.”

Joe leaned back, dragging a hand over his face like it would ground him.

Y/N did as directed, her knee sliding up the bed, fingers tangled in the sheets, gaze smoldering straight into the lens. Every flash lit up her silhouette like a dream that didn’t come with a warning label.

Joe muttered, “She’s gonna be the death of me.”

Kayla grinned, raising her cup. “Cheers to that.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

A few weeks later…

Y/N sat cross-legged in her dressing room, scrolling through her phone as her glam squad touched up her makeup. Her new single had dropped just two days ago — and it was already climbing the charts. TikTok edits, fan theories, thirsty reaction tweets, and memes were everywhere.

The promo shot of her in the jersey? Iconic. Ubiquitous. Dangerously reposted.

And Joe?

Still silent online.

Still in her phone.

Still in her life… in the quiet, complicated, dangerously casual way they’d agreed on.

“Okay,” Carmen said as she stepped into the room, tapping her iPad. “You’re up for Billboard in fifteen. It’s not a live shoot — just the digital cover and feature interview. Keep it sexy, keep it vague, keep it... you.”

Y/N smirked. “So basically don’t admit who the song’s about.”

Carmen grinned. “Exactly. Let the internet keep guessing.”

Kayla popped into the room, sunglasses on indoors — like a true menace — and dropped onto the couch dramatically. “The internet doesn’t need to guess. They know. Every shot of your thighs in that jersey had Joe’s fanboys punching air.”

Y/N gave her a look through the mirror. “You’re not helping.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to help,” Kayla said, propping her feet up. “I’m just here for the tea and to make sure Mr. QB1 doesn’t go ghost when this interview hits.”

“He won’t.” Y/N said it a little too fast. A little too firm.

Carmen raised a brow. “You sure?”

Y/N paused.

The truth? Joe had been around — not as much as before, thanks to off-season training picking up again, but he checked in. Late-night FaceTimes. Random selfies. One-word texts that made her laugh in the middle of a studio session.

She hadn’t seen him since he left her hotel bed two weeks ago… but he never really felt gone.

Still, something about this next step — the Billboard interview — made it all feel very real.

And maybe that scared her a little.

Before she could spiral further, Carmen’s assistant knocked on the door.

“They’re ready for you on set, Y/N.”

She stood, smoothed her jersey-dress combo (again with the subtle nod), and took a breath.

Kayla smirked and whispered behind her, “You’re giving heartbreak with a touch of ‘he ain’t going nowhere.’”

Y/N chuckled under her breath. “That’s the goal.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Meanwhile…Joe sat in the lounge of the Bengals facility, headphones around his neck and Y/N’s single quietly playing through his phone as he scrolled.

The Billboard teaser post hit his feed.

Y/N. In that damn jersey again. Posed on the bed like she owned it — like she knew he was going to see it. The caption was simple:

"No names. All feelings." — Y/N for Billboard Digital Cover.

Joe let out a breath, shook his head.

This girl…

His phone buzzed.

Y/N:

👀 Don’t choke.

He smirked.

Joe:

I already did. And it wasn’t from football.

His phone buzzed again seconds later.

Kayla 🧨:

I KNOW you saw the jersey. And yes, she still has it. You’re welcome.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The Billboard feature dropped that Friday morning.

Y/N was mid-latte, sitting in her robe at the edge of her hotel bed, when Kayla burst into the room holding her phone like it was a detonated grenade.

“WE HAVE A PROBLEM.”

Y/N blinked. “Is this a ‘the internet’s on fire’ problem or a ‘you left the straightener on and burned your hoodie again’ problem?”

Kayla shoved the screen in her face.

Big bold text at the top of the Billboard article read:

“Y/N’s Breakout Single Has Everyone Guessing… But Fans Are Convinced It’s About Ja’Marr Chase 👀🔥”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “I—what?”

Kayla was already pacing. “Girl. They pulled up the game footage from that Ravens vs Bengals matchup — the same one you sang at — and now they’re convinced you and Ja’Marr had a moment.”

She kept scrolling.

“There was definite chemistry in the photos after the game,” one fan tweeted. “I’m just saying… #ChaseHer.”

Another theory connects the lyric “watching from the sideline, but he still got a front-row seat” to Ja’Marr’s injury that week. The internet was running with it — TikToks, memes, and fancams galore.

Y/N’s phone buzzed.

Carmen 💼🔥:

Tell me you didn’t write this about Ja’Marr. Please.

Then another.

Ja’Marr 🏈👟:

LMAOOOO why am I trending?? Did I miss the part where we’re dating???

Kayla was practically cackling now. “This is so messy. Like A+ mess. But also… iconic.”

Y/N dropped her head into her hands. “I can’t. Joe’s gonna see this.”

Cue: another notification.

Joe 🧊🏈:

Cute interview. Didn’t know you had a thing for wide receivers.

Y/N: paused.

Then came the follow-up.

Joe:

Should I be jealous? Or are you just trying to get me to break our ‘casual’ rule?

She stared at the text for a second too long.

Kayla peeked over her shoulder. “Ooooh, he’s pressed. That’s a lil possessive for someone who said, and I quote, ‘let’s keep it chill.’”

“I didn’t even say anything in the interview!” Y/N argued. “I kept it vague! The fans ran wild on their own.”

“But your eyes were screaming Joe the whole time,” Kayla said smugly. “And now he’s having a lil ego bruising moment. Honestly? I like this timeline.”

Y/N tossed a pillow at her.

Her phone buzzed again.

Joe:

I’ll be in your city tomorrow. Don’t worry, I won’t bring Ja’Marr. Unless you want him. 😏

Y/N smirked, fingers flying.

Y/N:

You’re hilarious. But you should know — the only one who got me out of that jersey… was you.

Kayla screamed in the background like the ghost of chaos incarnate.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The set was minimal but sexy — warm-toned lighting, sleek white couches, and gold accents to match the gold-certifiedenergy that surrounded Y/N these days. She looked the part too: soft glam, overlined lips, oversized jersey dress (a different one, not the one), and heels sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

The interviewer leaned forward, legs crossed, iPad in hand. “Y/N, this single… whew. You’ve got everyone talking.”

Y/N smiled, legs crossed, hands in her lap. “That’s what we want, right?”

“We have to ask—who was the inspiration?”

Y/N smirked. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“But you can tell us this,” the interviewer said with a wink. “Was he an athlete?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Maybe.”

“Was he at the game where you sang the national anthem?”

“…Maybe.”

The interviewer leaned in. “Fans are connecting a few dots. That Ravens-Bengals game? You were spotted in photos after the anthem with Ja’Marr Chase, Tee Higgins, and Joe Burrow.”

Y/N just smiled. “I meet a lot of people.”

“Ja’Marr Chase, though…” The interviewer grinned. “There was a picture floating around — you two looked close. One of the lyrics is, ‘He didn’t say a word, but the way he looked at me said more than enough.’ Fans are convinced it’s him.”

Y/N gave a single, low laugh. “People see what they want to see.”

“Are they wrong?”

That was when she slipped — just for a second. Her gaze flicked off-camera. Her smile twitched. Not at the mention of Ja’Marr — but at the memory of another set of eyes. Cold, blue, unblinking. Joe’s.

The interviewer didn’t miss it.

“That look right there,” they said playfully. “There’s something behind it.”

“I’ve said too much already,” Y/N teased, shifting in her seat. “Let the lyrics do the talking.”

“Speaking of which,” the interviewer continued, “That line — ‘front-row seat even when he's benched’ — fans think that’s about Ja’Marr being out that week.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh… was he?”

That little slip-up? Chaos. Because that meant it wasn’t about Ja’Marr. Or maybe she was just deflecting. The ambiguity was delicious.

The interviewer grinned like they knew they had gold. “So you’re saying—”

“I’m saying,” Y/N interrupted smoothly, “it’s a song about a feeling. About someone who got under my skin at the wrong time… but left a mark anyway.”

And boom. That was it. That was the moment that Twitter took and ran like it was 4th and goal.

Later that night, as the internet burned…

Kayla threw her feet up on the hotel ottoman, scrolling TikTok.

“She blushed when they brought up Ja’Marr,” one clip said.

“No, she hesitated when they asked about the anthem. It was Joe. You can see it in her eyes,” argued another.

Kayla shook her head and looked over at Y/N on the bed. “You’re a menace.”

Y/N didn’t look up from her phone. “I said nothing.”

“Exactly,” Kayla said, grinning. “And the girls heard everything.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The rumors hadn’t died down — if anything, they’d gotten louder.

Fan edits were everywhere. Headlines spun daily.

“Is Ja’Marr Chase Y/N’s Mystery Muse?” “New Pop Starlet Might Be Fumbling the NFL’s Finest Wide Receiver” “Y/N’s Song About a Bengal… But Which One?”

Even sports blogs had started dissecting her lyrics. It was out of control.

So her team did what any smart team would do: book a high-profile appearance with a built-in audience and just enough playfulness to control the narrative. Enter: Jimmy Kimmel Live.

Y/N walked out in a stunning burgundy leather two-piece — a cropped jacket and matching mini skirt that screamed I’m expensive and unavailable. Her heels clicked with confidence, her hair framed her face in soft waves, and that same smirk she gave Joe before walking away from him weeks ago? On full display.

The crowd cheered wildly.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jimmy grinned, “it’s the woman who broke the internet, broke the charts, and apparently broke half the Bengals’ locker room—please welcome, Y/N!”

The crowd lost it.

Y/N laughed as she sat down, crossing her legs with practiced ease. “Y’all are messy already.”

“Oh come on,” Jimmy said, flipping through his note cards. “I had like seven questions about your music and thirteen about who the hell that song’s about.”

Y/N shook her head, teasing, “You better ask the music ones first.”

They bantered, joked, laughed through a few light questions about her rise, her upcoming acting role, and how she balances both careers. Then… Jimmy went for it.

“So, this single—huge hit. Gorgeous vocals. Lyrics that cut a little deep,” he said, leaning forward with a knowing smile. “And obviously the fans have questions… Are you dating a football player?”

Y/N smiled — smooth, radiant, and untouchable.

“I’m dating my career,” she said, crossing her arms gently. “That’s the only relationship I’m focused on right now. Music, acting, creating things I love. That’s it.”

“Oh come on, not even a lil sideline crush?”

She tilted her head. “I mean… football players are cute. But no. It’s not about that for me. Not right now.”

Jimmy grinned. “So you’re saying the entire internet is wrong?”

“I’m saying I’m enjoying my life,” Y/N said with a shrug. “And people can enjoy the music without turning it into a dating show.”

Cut to: the internet immediately turning it into a dating show.

Meanwhile, back in Cincinnati…

Joe was on the couch, phone in hand, watching the interview replay from a clip on Twitter. His lips twitched when she said football players are cute, and again when she dodged the dating question like a pro.

But that last part?

“It’s not about that for me. Not right now.”

He leaned back, dragging a hand down his face.

Then picked up his phone.

Joe 🧊🏈:

Cute interview. Liked the part where I don’t exist.

A minute later:

Y/N ✨:

I didn’t say that. I said “no relationships.” You and I are… whatever we are. No label needed, right?

Joe:

…So not even a lil sideline crush?

Y/N:

You’re more like a halftime distraction. A very enjoyable one.

Joe:

You’re gonna be the death of me.

Y/N:

That’s the goal.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The Bengals practice field was buzzing — late morning drills, cleats hitting turf, coaches shouting over whistles. But over on the sideline? The real action wasn’t on the field.

It was between Joe, Ja'Marr, and Tee.

“Yo,” Ja’Marr jogged up, towel slung over his shoulder and a grin wide enough to be disrespectful. “You saw Billboard’s follow-up post, right?”

Joe didn’t even look up from his stretching. “Which one?”

“The one with my face on it,” Ja'Marr said, smirking. “Caption was, ‘Still think she’s not talking about him?’” He pulled out his phone and showed it to Tee, who barked out a laugh.

Tee leaned over. “Yo, you tryna tell us you were just chillin’ in the background and accidentally bagged the hottest rising star in the game?”

“Man, I was just standing there,” Ja’Marr grinned. “The vibe did the rest.”

Joe arched a brow, unfazed. “So you think a five-second interaction got you a charting single?”

“I mean, the footage don’t lie,” Ja’Marr said, patting his chest. “Apparently, I got that stare.”

Tee snorted. “Y/N saw his stats and said bet.”

Joe finally stood up, rolling his shoulders. Cool as ever. But the smirk tugging at his lips? Lethal.

“Cute,” Joe said. “But last I checked, she didn’t leave your hotel room in the morning wearing your shirt.”

Ja'Marr's mouth dropped open. Tee just let out a “DAAAAMN” loud enough to make one of the trainers look over.

“Nah,” Joe added, grabbing his helmet. “But keep enjoying your little fan theories.”

Tee wheezed. “You didn’t even deny it with your chest, bro. You said that like it’s classified intel.”

Joe shrugged, slipping his helmet on. “You know what they say… game recognizes game.”

“And yours is on the field, huh?” Ja'Marr teased.

Joe turned back over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “It’s everywhere, baby.”

They lined up for drills, but the jokes didn’t stop there. Every time Joe dropped back to pass, Ja’Marr muttered something about “writing another verse,” and Tee kept humming Y/N’s single under his breath like it was his own personal theme song.

And Joe? He played through it all. Laser-focused. Locked in.

But under that helmet?

He was thinking about that interview. About her.

And the fact that no matter what she told the public, she was still texting him under the table.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Two weeks later. L.A. heat. Cameras rolling.

Y/N was back on set — not for music this time, but filming for a lead role in a buzzy, soon-to-be-everywhere streaming series. Something sexy. Something serious. And just like everything else she touched, she was nailing it.

She was mid-scene, dressed in a sleek jumpsuit and heels, eyes locked on her scene partner — another actor from the industry’s rising elite, a known heartthrob with just the right amount of charm.

And Joe?

Joe was standing just outside the soundstage doors. Hat pulled low. Hoodie up. Arms crossed.

Watching.

Unannounced.

Uninvited.

Exactly how he planned it.

“You’re really out here playing roles with Mr. Movie Star?” he muttered to himself, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Damn right she is,” came a familiar voice behind him.

Joe turned to see Carmen, Y/N’s manager, arms full of coffee and her sunglasses pushed up in her curls. She raised a brow. “You stalking or supporting today?”

Joe smirked. “Both.”

She snorted and handed him a coffee. “At least be hydrated while you pine in silence.”

Inside, the scene wrapped. Applause. Y/N gave a gracious little smile and walked off toward her dressing room. She was halfway through unzipping her jumpsuit when Carmen stuck her head in.

“You’ve got a visitor.”

Y/N blinked. “Kayla?”

“Nope. The other quarterback in your life.”

Y/N groaned and fell back dramatically onto the couch. “Lord, give me strength.”

Carmen cackled. “He looks like he’s ready to fight that scene partner of yours.”

She stepped out of her trailer in bike shorts and an oversized hoodie, hair pulled back, makeup only half gone. Joe was leaning against the wall like a Calvin Klein ad come to life. His arms folded. His eyes on her.

“You didn’t say you were filming love scenes now.”

Y/N smirked. “Didn’t realize I owed you my call sheet.”

He didn’t move, but his jaw flexed. “Just interesting. You can play lovers on camera, but you can’t admit you have one off it?”

She stepped a little closer. Close enough to smell his cologne.

“We said no labels,” she reminded him, voice soft but sharp. “You made that rule, remember?”

Joe didn’t respond. Just looked at her. Long. Intense. Unblinking.

And damn, if that look didn’t do something to her.

“Relax,” she added, playful now. “You’re the only one who’s seen me without my wig glued down. That’s gotta count for something.”

He cracked a smile at that. “That’s… fair.”

She turned to walk back inside, but paused.

“And for the record? The song was never about Ja’Marr.”

Joe raised a brow. “No?”

“No,” she said, biting back a grin. “But keep getting jealous. It looks good on you.”

Then she disappeared into the trailer.

And Joe? He stayed there a little while longer.

Just long enough to know this thing between them wasn’t cooling off anytime soon.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

It was mid-afternoon when Kayla stepped out of her rideshare, iced coffee in one hand and sunglasses sliding down her nose. She was dressed like she owned the lot — which, in her mind, she kind of did. Being Y/N’s ride-or-die and unofficial bodyguard-slash-dance-captain had its perks.

She was halfway to Y/N’s trailer when she paused, squinting.

There he was.

Mr. QB1. Leaning against the production truck like he was about to drop the hottest verse on a Drake feature. Hoodie pulled up. Hands in his pockets. Eyes glued to the door Y/N had just walked into.

Kayla blinked. Then smiled. Slowly. Like a villain in a romcom.

“Oh, this is good.”

She pivoted hard, sneakers squeaking on the pavement as she changed direction and strutted right up to Joe.

“Well, well, well,” she sang. “If it isn’t the emotional support quarterback.”

Joe side-eyed her, smirking. “I thought I had at least ten more minutes before you started.”

“You wish. Boy, what are you doing lurking like a boyfriend with no press pass?”

“Just watching,” he said smoothly.

Kayla sipped her coffee with a dramatic slurp. “Oh, you watching alright. Watching her co-star touch her arm in that scene. Watching her kiss him on camera like she meant it. Mmm. I know your little competitive spirit is trembling.”

Joe’s smirk dropped just a little.

“She’s an actress,” he said, too even.

“She’s also the girl you’re fake not catching feelings for,” Kayla teased, stepping closer. “And yet here you are. Pop-ups, surprises, mysterious man in the shadows energy.”

“I’m supporting her.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” She leaned in with a smirk. “'Cause it’s giving boyfriend-lite.”

Joe didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed again.

“Relax,” Kayla said, patting his chest. “I’m not judging. I’m proud of you. You’re out here pretending not to care while being fully in your feelings. Growth!”

“I’m not in my feelings,” Joe said, straightening up.

“Sure,” Kayla said sweetly. “And I’m not about to go inside and tell Y/N her quarterback’s out here looking like he wants to throw hands at her co-star.”

Joe gave her a look. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” she grinned. “But only because I love chaos.”

Before he could respond, the trailer door opened — and Y/N stepped out in leggings, an oversized tee, and a top knot. Glowy. Barefaced. And completely oblivious to the standoff that had just happened outside.

“Hey!” she called to Kayla. “You bring my smoothie?”

Kayla turned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Better. I brought drama.”

Y/N blinked, looked over Kayla’s shoulder… and saw Joe. Still standing there. Still watching her.

That damn smirk tugged at her lips again.

“You still here?” she asked.

Joe tilted his head. “Guess you're hard to walk away from.”

Kayla groaned loudly. “Lord, if y’all don’t go somewhere and kiss in a janitor’s closet already.”

“Janitor’s closet?” Y/N repeated with a sharp look at Kayla. “Girl, what is wrong with you?”

Kayla just smiled sweetly and sipped her coffee. “Nothing. I just believe in locking people in tight spaces until they work out their unresolved sexual tension.”

Joe coughed, trying not to laugh, but that smug grin was fully back on his face now. Y/N caught it. And she hated how much she liked seeing it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned him.

“Like what?” he said innocently, but his eyes were already undressing her again.

Kayla fake-gagged. “I’m gonna leave before y’all start making heart eyes and pretending you’re still just ‘friends who have fun.’”

She turned on her heel and walked off, but not before calling over her shoulder:

“Y/N, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which means you’ve got, like, two options. And Joe?” She tossed a wink. “Keep it light-skinned romantic, okay?”

“BYE, KAYLA,” Y/N and Joe both yelled at the same time.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence.

The kind that wasn’t empty—it was loaded.

Y/N turned slowly, arms crossed over her chest. “You really just pulled up to set without telling me?”

Joe stepped closer, eyes steady on hers. “Didn’t think I needed an invite.”

She tilted her head, unbothered on the surface, but her heart was thudding beneath it. “You usually that bold, Burrow?”

He took another step. “Only when I know it’ll work.”

Y/N blinked, but didn’t back up. “This whole possessive energy you’ve got going on today? Kinda funny for a guy who says he doesn’t want anything serious.”

Joe’s voice dropped, smooth and edged. “I don’t want anything serious. Doesn’t mean I like people thinking someone else is touching what I—”

He cut himself off.

Y/N raised a brow. “What you what?”

Joe looked at her. Really looked. His jaw set. His eyes flickered from her lips back to her eyes like he was calculating whether to say it or show it.

“I’m not used to sharing,” he said instead.

Y/N tried not to let that hit too deep. She’d built a career out of discipline, focus, knowing when to walk away. But the heat radiating between them right now?

It was impossible to ignore.

“So what do you wanna do about that?” she asked.

Joe stepped in again. Now they were toe-to-toe. His voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me where the nearest closet is.”

Y/N laughed, soft but breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned in just enough that she felt his breath on her skin. “But you’re not walking away.”

“No,” she said, cheeks flushing. “I’m not.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Meanwhile…

Kayla sat outside in a folding chair, sunglasses on, watching the door like she was waiting for fireworks. She scrolled Twitter absently and muttered to herself:

“Five minutes. I give them five minutes before someone’s shirt comes off.”

A voice from behind startled her.

“Talking to yourself again?”

It was Y/N’s co-star. All tall smiles and magazine covers and just enough swagger to set off exactly the wrong alarms.

“Oh,” Kayla said, standing slowly. “You again.”

He smiled. “Just finished ADR. You waiting on Y/N?”

Kayla tilted her head. “Always.”

His eyes lingered a little too long on the trailer door.

And suddenly, Kayla’s instincts kicked in.

Something about his tone. The way he looked at the trailer. Like he knew who else was inside.

Like he wanted to know.

Kayla narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, this just got interesting…”

Kayla narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses, watching Co-Star Boy lean a little too casually against the side of a production cart. He was scrolling, but his eyes kept darting back to Y/N’s trailer.

Twice now.

And Kayla caught both.

She slid her phone from her pocket and fired off a text to Carmen: “Tell me why Mr. Netflix is hovering like he knows who inside that trailer. We watching him now too.”

No sooner had she hit send, the trailer door swung open. Joe stepped out first, hoodie still on but tension clearly in his shoulders. His eyes flicked across the lot—immediately clocking the co-star nearby.

His jaw ticked.

And of course, Co-Star Boy just happened to glance over and offer a half-smile.

Not a hello.

Just a smug little “oh, it’s you” nod.

Joe stared for a beat too long. Then walked off without a word.

Kayla stood and met him halfway. “Soooo…”

“She’s inside,” he said simply.

Kayla lowered her glasses. “And Co-Star Boy’s been giving whole villain arc vibes since you walked out.”

Joe gave her a look. “You watching him now?”

“Watching everybody. My girl’s a prize, and I don’t trust Mr. Tall and Touchy.”

Joe’s lip twitched into something between a smirk and a warning. “I’m starting to feel the same.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Inside the Trailer…

Y/N was finishing a touch-up in the mirror when Kayla walked back in.

“Your walking dildo made eye contact with your scene partner like he was about to call an audible and drop him on the concrete,” she said casually, kicking off her shoes.

Y/N snorted. “Why are men like this?”

Kayla shrugged. “Because men. But also, I don’t like the way Mr. Co-Star was looking at the trailer.”

Y/N paused. “Wait, for real?”

“Mmhm. Not he-likes-your-music looking. Like he-knows-something-he-shouldn’t looking.”

Y/N frowned, the edge of tension coming back. “I’m not about to do a whole scandal just because I look good on screen with someone.”

Kayla nodded, then smirked. “Well, you do look like you’d ruin lives in that jumpsuit. So, yeah. Be careful, sis.”

Y/N bit her lip, already reaching for her phone.

To Joe: You good?

From Joe: Fine. Watching. Still not sharing.

The tension in the air was palpable as Joe’s message hit Y/N’s phone, and she couldn’t help but feel a slight smile tug at her lips. Still not sharing? That one line felt like a challenge — like a spark was being lit. And he was clearly watching.

But as the minutes ticked by and Y/N finished up her prep, the soft buzz of the door opening snapped her back to reality.

Kayla sauntered in, her eyes dancing with mischief. “So, are we still pretending this whole thing isn’t about to turn into a full-blown soap opera?”

Y/N glanced at her phone, reading Joe’s message one more time, and then put it face down. "I’m not pretending anything. I just want to finish this session and get the hell out of here."

Kayla raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And you’re not about to call Mr. QB1 to handle whatever drama’s brewing with your co-star? Because that look he gave you earlier? Very I’m ready to run some interference energy.”

Y/N let out a breath, her gaze flicking back to the mirror. “I don’t need anyone to handle anything for me. I’m good. And the last thing I need is more heat on me right now.”

Kayla grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos. “You’re acting like you’re not into the heat.”

Y/N gave her a side-eye. “Just keep it cute, Kay. We have a show to get ready for.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Outside the trailer…

Joe was still lingering, eyeing the scene with her co-star and a few others. His phone buzzed in his hand, but his eyes were focused on the subtle interaction he was witnessing.

There was no mistaking it now — Co-Star Boy was definitely stepping into that territory. His posture, his words, everything about his vibe was just a little too much.

Joe didn’t respond to the message that just came through. Instead, he pocketed his phone and took a few more steps in that direction, his jaw tight.

"Yo," he called, getting the attention of one of the production assistants who was walking past. “Tell me, who’s the one in charge of keeping the boundaries around here?”

The assistant raised an eyebrow. “You talking about the co-stars? Or the cast?”

Joe grinned. “Both. Preferably the ones who think they can cross a line.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Back in the trailer…

Y/N was in the zone now, headset on, earphones in as she tested the sound for the upcoming session. The world outside felt distant as she got lost in her own head, humming lightly along with the beat.

But as she opened her eyes and looked up to check the mirror again, there he was — Co-Star Boy, standing in the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips.

Y/N froze.

He leaned against the frame, crossing his arms. “You know, I think we need to have a real talk about how much time we’re spending together. Can’t have you getting too cozy with your other favorite guy.”

The words hung in the air. And for a split second, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She didn't know if it was his bravado or if it was the fact that he seemed so sure of where her focus was.

Before she could even respond, Kayla was at her side. “Excuse me,” she said with a false sweetness, “You’re gonna need to leave her alone for the next hour. It’s time for work.”

Y/N shot Kayla a grateful glance as Co-Star Boy took the hint, looking a little too cocky for someone who was about to be shut down.

“Whatever you say,” he drawled, turning to leave. “Just don’t forget who your real competition is.”

Y/N didn’t even flinch, though her mind was racing. She felt a rush of adrenaline at how easily the tension could snap between her and him — just like that.

Once the door closed, Kayla shot Y/N a look. “He’s got some nerve.”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied, shaking her head. “But I’m not about to entertain it.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that day…

Joe was waiting by her trailer door when she stepped outside, looking like he hadn’t been there long. His smirk was back, more dangerous now, and it made her pulse race.

“You good?” he asked casually, stepping toward her as she walked to him.

“Fine,” she said, matching his tone. “Just… work stuff.”

Joe didn’t seem convinced. “Work stuff?” he repeated, his voice low. “Or ‘another guy trying to pull a stunt’ stuff?”

Y/N stopped and looked him in the eyes. “It’s not that deep.”

He stepped even closer, closing the space between them. “I don’t like the idea of anyone trying to push you around, Y/N.”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of his words.

Before she could respond, he leaned in slightly, his breath just brushing her ear. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Y/N stood there, her heart pounding in her chest, and before she even knew it, she was pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m not your problem to fix, Joe.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that night…

Kayla couldn’t stop laughing as she flipped through Y/N’s phone, watching the messages come in. “Girl, I know you’re about to lose your damn mind with all this tension.”

Y/N tried not to look too amused. “No. I’m good. We’re good.”

“Uh-huh,” Kayla said, her eyes glinting. “And that text I just saw? Definitely not ‘friends with benefits’ territory. That man is hanging on by a thread.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed again.

From Joe: You need anything tonight? Just say the word. I’m waiting…

Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, a part of her heart skipping. But her mind remained sharp, refusing to let the lines blur… for now.

Kayla looked over, sensing her moment to strike. “Tell me you’re not going to text him.”

Y/N looked up from her phone and gave her best friend a wicked grin.

“I’m just playing the game,” she said softly. Then, to herself, added with a knowing look, “And it’s a hell of a game.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N was sitting comfortably on the plush couch in the dimly lit, iconic studio of The Graham Norton Show, the warmth of the spotlight hitting her as the crowd eagerly awaited her arrival. She had her game face on—smiling, poised, answering questions about her latest song and the buzz around her new series. The promotional circuit had been a whirlwind, but she was used to it by now.

The camera flashed, and the host, Graham, leaned in with a grin that could only mean one thing: he was about to ask her something she wasn’t prepared for.

"So, Y/N," Graham said, leaning forward with his trademark cheeky smile. "We’ve been hearing a lot about your new music, your new show, and let’s not forget, the little bit of controversy that seems to be following you around. But there’s something that has really got the internet buzzing lately. A picture that was shared—"

Y/N’s stomach dropped, and she knew immediately what he was referring to. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come up, but of course, it did. The picture. That damn picture.

Graham clicked a button on his remote, and suddenly, the giant screen behind him lit up with the image: Y/N and Co-Star Boy locked in a passionate kiss. They were on set, caught in the heat of a scene, but the fans had no idea—it was just a scene for their show. They didn’t know that. All they saw was a snapshot, and the internet had run wild with speculation.

The crowd gasped in reaction, some of them giggling, some murmuring with curiosity. Y/N’s eyes flicked from the screen to the audience, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. The last thing she wanted was for people to misinterpret this as anything other than work.

Graham chuckled, his voice playful but with a hint of mischief. "Now, Y/N, can you shed some light on this for us? Is Co-Star Boy your new man? The internet seems to think so. You’ve been pretty private about your relationships, but this—well, this tells a different story."

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, the tension in her shoulders rising. She knew this was coming, but she didn’t expect it to hit so suddenly. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged into a headline about her personal life. She wasn’t ready for this kind of exposure.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled and leaned forward slightly, trying to maintain control. "Look," she said, her tone measured but with a subtle edge of annoyance. "That picture is from the set of my new series. It’s a scene between two characters. Just two actors doing their job, okay? So, no, I’m not dating Co-Star Boy. It’s all part of the role."

The crowd quieted for a moment, and Graham raised an eyebrow. "But you can see why people would get the wrong impression, right? I mean, look at the chemistry in that picture!"

Y/N laughed, but it was a little forced. "Well, we’re actors, Graham. That’s our job—creating chemistry, making the audience feel something. But off-screen, it’s just business."

She didn’t miss the way Graham’s eyes flicked to her, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let her slide by with it for now.

"Fair enough," he said, flashing his trademark grin. "But you’ve got to admit—there’s something going on, right? I mean, look at you two. The way he looks at you—"

Y/N shifted in her seat, feeling the weight of the question hanging in the air. She couldn’t quite escape the feeling that Graham was pushing her into a corner, trying to get a reaction out of her. She was determined not to give him one.

"Again," she said, leaning back and crossing her legs with a graceful motion. "It’s just a part of the job. And as for my personal life, I’m very private about it. I don’t need to share everything with the world. I’m just focused on my career—my music, my acting. I’m really proud of the work I’m doing right now, and that’s all that matters."

Graham gave her a knowing smile. "Of course, of course," he said, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. "But you can’t blame us for wanting to dig a little deeper into the mystery that is Y/N, can you?"

Y/N laughed, but it was tight, controlled. "I’m not a mystery, Graham," she replied, a playful yet pointed edge to her voice. "I’m just a woman who’s trying to make it in this industry, and I’m doing my best to keep my personal life private."

The tension was palpable, the crowd waiting for more, but thankfully, Graham moved on to the next topic.

As the interview continued, though, Y/N’s mind was still racing. The picture. The kiss. Her heart ached a little at the thought of how quickly the world would assume things. Her fans didn’t know the context—hell, she barely knew how to handle the situation. She was just doing her job. She wasn’t ready for this kind of drama.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that night, as the interview wrapped up and Y/N was back in her hotel room, her phone buzzed incessantly with notifications. She glanced at the screen, seeing dozens of tweets, Instagram posts, and articles tagging her in the kiss photo. Among them, a tweet stood out:

“Y/N and Co-Star Boy: New Couple or Just a Publicity Stunt? 🤔”

Before she could process it, another message came through.

It was from Kayla. “So… did the world just confirm your new relationship? Because, babe, I swear if you don’t call me right now…”

Y/N groaned and grabbed her phone, dialing Kayla’s number.

"Girl, I’m gonna lose it," Y/N muttered when Kayla answered. "This whole damn thing has spiraled out of control."

Kayla’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement on the other end. "Tell me about it. I’m already seeing the memes. There are thousands of them."

"Shut up!" Y/N replied, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "This is a mess."

Kayla’s laughter filled the line. "At least it’s a fun mess. I’m sure Joe is having a blast watching all of this unfold, huh?"

Y/N’s stomach tightened at the mention of Joe. She hadn’t heard from him since the interview earlier, and she wasn’t sure how he was taking all of this.

“Kayla, please don’t even bring up Joe right now," she said, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation. She didn’t need the added stress.

But Kayla wasn’t having it. “Look, I know this whole Co-Star Boy thing is messy, but the real tea here is Joe. What’s his take on all of this, huh?”

Y/N bit her lip, glancing out of the window. Joe. Her mind wandered back to their last encounter, to their heated moments in her hotel room. The tension between them had only grown since then. But this situation, with the public eye on her and the press creating a narrative about her and Co-Star Boy… it felt like everything had shifted.

"I don't know, Kayla. But I’m not thinking about Joe right now," Y/N replied, though the words felt like a lie as soon as they left her lips.

Kayla chuckled knowingly. "Right. Sure you’re not."

Y/N rolled her eyes at Kayla’s teasing, her phone still buzzing with notifications about the kiss. She knew she’d have to deal with it at some point, but right now, she needed to focus on something else. "I’ll call you back, okay?" Y/N said, trying to keep her cool despite the turmoil of her thoughts. "I have to take this."

Kayla’s voice was muffled with amusement on the other end. "Uh-huh, sure. Taking him call, huh?" she said, before Y/N hung up, already knowing her best friend was probably laughing her ass off.

The phone screen lit up, and it was a FaceTime notification from Joe.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before swiping to answer. She didn't want to deal with more chaos, but seeing Joe’s name pop up had her stomach flipping in anticipation, even though she was trying so hard to keep it casual. He was probably watching the same mess unfold online, and she wasn't sure if this conversation would be another tension-filled one or something more... comforting.

She took a deep breath before answering.

The screen flickered as Joe’s face appeared, grinning as usual, but there was a noticeable glint in his eyes. "Hey," he said casually, his deep voice sending a rush through her. "How’s it going, beautiful?"

Y/N let out a breath, trying to keep her expression neutral. "It’s been better," she replied, a little quieter than she intended. "You saw the interview?"

Joe’s smile faltered for a second, and Y/N couldn’t quite place what she saw in his eyes—something between concern and amusement. "Yeah, I saw it. That picture, huh?"

She scoffed and leaned back against the bed, running a hand through her hair. "I didn’t think this would happen. Of all people, why Co-Star Boy?"

Joe raised an eyebrow at her, his smile creeping back in. "You think I’m worried about that? Nah. It’s whatever." He looked like he was about to say something else but paused, taking a deep breath. "But, Y/N, I need to ask… do you want me to, I don’t know, clear the air or something? Let people know they've got the wrong guy?"

Y/N blinked. That wasn’t exactly the direction she thought this conversation would go. "Honestly, I don’t think I need you to do that. I mean, we’re both grown, right? I don’t need anyone to explain my personal life for me." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Besides, I don’t know what the hell this is anymore with Co-Star Boy, so I can’t expect you to play PR for me."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "I don’t care what they think. I mean, you’re definitely not with him. You know that, right?" His eyes softened slightly, his playful tone now carrying something else—something more intimate, like he was reminding her of the truth they both knew.

Y/N chewed on her lip for a moment, trying to decide if she should address the obvious tension between them that no one could ignore. Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door.

She froze.

It was late. No one was supposed to be stopping by. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if it was another interview request or—

"Hold on," she muttered, standing up and walking cautiously toward the door, eyes glancing back to Joe on the screen.

She cracked the door open, expecting to see a hotel staff member or someone else she didn’t recognize, but as soon as the door opened, her breath caught in her throat.

There, standing in the hallway with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, was Joe.

A small, teasing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Thought I’d drop by and see if you needed some company," he said, his voice laced with playful confidence, the way he always said things that made her heart race.

Y/N stared at him for a moment, her mind spinning as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that Joe had shown up in person, out of nowhere. She’d been half-expecting this conversation over FaceTime, but now that he was standing there in front of her, the energy shifted completely. The tension that had been simmering between them since last night seemed to bubble to the surface, and she couldn’t ignore it.

"Joe," she said slowly, looking back at her phone. He was still grinning at her through the screen, watching the whole thing unfold. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He leaned casually against the doorframe. "What? Didn’t you miss me?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes were more serious than usual. "I figured we could talk... face to face."

Y/N quickly pulled Joe inside before anyone could spot him, slamming the door shut behind them with a sharp thud. Her heart was racing as she stared at him, her pulse quickening at the realization that Joe Burrow had just flown across the globe to be here, in her hotel room, at the exact moment when everything was spiraling out of control.

“Joe,” she breathed, still trying to wrap her mind around it. “You seriously came all the way here?”

He gave her a smirk, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, stepping into the room and standing a little too close for comfort, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

Y/N took a deep breath, her mind reeling from everything that had happened over the past few days. The kiss with Co-Star Boy, the mess with the media, her private life being scrutinized—now Joe was here, standing in front of her, adding to the chaos.

Her gaze flicked back to Joe on the phone, a part of her wanting to back away from this situation altogether, but she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. "Kayla's gonna have a field day with this," she muttered under her breath, but Joe heard it.

"Let her," he said confidently, his voice low. "This is between us."

Y/N stood there for a moment, trying to decide if she was really ready to dive into whatever this was between them. But when Joe’s eyes softened, and his playful expression shifted into something more intense, something that made her pulse quicken, she found herself stepping aside and letting him into her room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and as Joe closed the distance between them, the air thickened with unspoken words. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, their tangled emotions, and whatever this thing was that had been building between them since the moment they met.

Y/N didn’t know what was going to happen next, but she did know one thing: with Joe here, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

And yet... maybe that was exactly what she needed.

The tension was undeniable.

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to keep her cool, but she couldn’t ignore the rush of emotions swirling inside her. “Why are you here, really?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been busy with the season. You didn’t have to drop everything for... this.”

Joe’s smile faded just a little, and he stepped closer, his gaze locking with hers. “I don’t like sharing, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Especially when it comes to you. So, I’m here to make sure that this whole ‘Co-Star Boy’ thing doesn’t get out of hand.” His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign that she would deny whatever was between them.

Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, though it was a little more nervous than usual. She rolled her eyes, trying to ease the tension. “Co-Star Boy?” she repeated, shaking her head. “There’s nothing between us, Joe. I’d rather swim with jellyfish than let that situation get any deeper. Trust me.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not buying it. “Jellyfish, huh?” he teased, a smirk dancing across his lips. “Guess that’s one way to get stung.”

She met his teasing smirk with a playful shrug. “I mean, I’d survive it. Probably get stung a few times, but I’d come out fine.” She stepped back slightly, trying to keep her distance, but it was hard with him standing so close, his presence so commanding.

Joe’s eyes softened, but only for a split second before the playful teasing returned. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her heart skip a beat. “But I think you’re enjoying this tension a little too much. You like the chase, don’t you?”

Y/N felt her breath hitch, but she tried to keep herself composed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but the slight tilt of her lips betrayed her. The tension between them was palpable, a thick, electric buzz in the air, and she could feel it building again.

Joe laughed softly, his eyes flicking down to her lips for just a moment before looking back up at her. “You’re good at pretending, Y/N. But not that good.” His fingers brushed lightly against hers, the touch almost innocent, but she could tell it was anything but.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to focus. “I’m not pretending anything, Joe,” she said quietly, but there was a vulnerability in her voice that she couldn’t hide.

Joe’s smirk faded again, replaced by something deeper, something more genuine. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “I know what’s going on between us. We both do.”

For a moment, the air was thick with silence. Y/N stood there, torn between wanting to keep up the banter and not wanting to let the conversation get too real, too quickly. But the pull between them was undeniable, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was caught in it.

She finally broke the silence, her voice softer than before. “I’m not ready for all that drama right now, Joe,” she said, though she knew he could probably see right through her. “I’m focusing on my career... not a relationship.”

Joe nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, right?” he said, his tone a little lighter now, though there was still that undercurrent of intensity.

Y/N was taken aback by how easily he was slipping back into their usual rhythm. But she wasn’t ready to go down that road yet. Not in front of the cameras, not with all the noise around her personal life. Not yet.

“I’m not trying to complicate things,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe stepped back slightly, giving her some space. “I’m not either,” he said, though there was a slight edge to his words. "But I'm not just going to sit around and pretend like there’s nothing between us. I want more than just… what we have. Even if it’s just for now."

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. Was she ready for this? To let the lines blur even further? She wasn’t sure.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Joe,” she said, her voice almost breaking. “Not you. Not anyone. Not like this."

Joe stepped forward, his hand gently brushing against her cheek. “You’re not hurting anyone, Y/N. You’re just living your life, and so am I.” He tilted his head, his voice softening. “But when it comes to you, I’m not backing down.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. She didn’t know where this was headed, but the way Joe was looking at her, the way the tension between them was thick enough to touch—it was impossible to ignore.

And just like that, she felt everything shift.

“You should stay,” she said, her voice barely audible, but it was enough for Joe to catch the underlying invitation.

His eyes lit up, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something else—something more than just playful teasing. Something deeper. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low, almost like a promise.

Y/N nodded slowly, not trusting her own emotions in that moment, but giving in anyway. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not tonight.

And so, as the tension finally snapped between them, they both knew that this was just the beginning of whatever it was they were about to dive into.

The questions, the drama, the back-and-forth—it would come, but for now, they had this moment. And neither of them was about to let it slip away.

Joe stepped closer, his fingers brushing hers once more. “Then let’s not waste any more time,” he murmured, as he leaned in to kiss her, the room filling with the tension that had been building for weeks since the last time they seen each other.

But for now, neither of them was thinking about anything but the here and now.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her outfit for the night, her mind still preoccupied with Joe's text from earlier. The flirtation was still fresh, but her and Kayla had made plans for a much-needed girls' night out, and Y/N was trying her hardest to focus on the fun ahead instead of the inevitable tension she and Joe had been dancing around for weeks.

Kayla was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone with a wicked grin plastered on her face. Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she heard her best friend snicker from behind her.

"What now, Kayla?" Y/N asked, her tone half-impatient, half-amused.

Kayla looked up from her phone, her grin only widening. "Girl, you are ridiculous," she said, sitting up and tossing her phone onto the coffee table. "Joe is literally insatiable. And you’re playing hard to get. Come on, what did he say in that text? You still haven’t told me." She waggled her eyebrows, nudging her best friend with her elbow. "I bet it was something hot, wasn't it?"

Y/N scoffed, but the tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "It’s just him being himself," she replied dismissively, as she grabbed her bag and started to head for the door. "He sent some stupid thing about me keeping him on his toes. But you know how he is. He thinks he's funny."

Kayla wasn’t letting it slide, of course. She stood up, trailing behind Y/N as she headed for the door. "He is funny, but that man’s got some serious need for you. I mean, come on, you can’t tell me you don’t feel it."

Y/N rolled her eyes again, not wanting to get too caught up in her own feelings—or the fact that, deep down, she did feel it. She was just too busy juggling everything—her career, her acting, her music—to get wrapped up in whatever Joe was trying to offer.

"Okay, enough," Y/N said, practically dragging Kayla out the door. "Let's just get to this girls' night and forget about all that for a while. I need a drink."

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Hours later, after plenty of laughs and drinks with Kayla and a few others, Y/N found herself back at the hotel, attempting to decompress after the whirlwind of the night. She was about to change into something more comfortable when she felt her phone buzz on the bed. A quick glance told her it was a message from Joe.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, curiosity getting the best of her. She typed a quick reply, something casual—“What’s up?”—and tossed the phone aside. But her heart skipped a beat when she heard it vibrate a few minutes later.

This time, the text was different.

"Still thinking about you... I’ll make it worth your while next time we’re together."

A smirk tugged at Y/N's lips, but she had learned by now not to get too attached to these types of conversations. She casually sent back, “Maybe, but I’m not sure you deserve it yet.”

She set the phone down again, finally sinking into the plush hotel chair with a sigh.

That was when the phone rang—FaceTime, the screen flashing with a familiar name.

"Joe?" Y/N answered, expecting his smiling face. But instead, her heart nearly stopped when she saw a woman’s face pop up on the screen.

Her smile was wide, almost too wide, and her eyes glittered with a mixture of confidence and something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“Hello, Y/N,” the woman said, her tone smooth as silk. “It’s so nice to finally talk to you.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She blinked a few times, her breath caught in her throat as her mind scrambled for answers.

“Uhm… Who are you?” Y/N managed to get out, her voice shaky despite how hard she was trying to sound cool.

The woman smiled again, her lips curling slightly as if she had anticipated this reaction. “I’m Michelle,” she said, her tone laced with an almost polite mockery. “Joe’s fiancée.”

The room seemed to shrink around Y/N as the words hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Fiancée?" Y/N’s voice came out barely a whisper as her heart stuttered in her chest. "Joe… is… engaged?"

Michelle’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something cold in her eyes. "Yes, we’ve been together for a while now," she said smoothly, her voice like honey, but there was an edge to it. "But I’m sure he’s told you we’re very open about... certain things."

Y/N’s blood went cold, and her fingers tightened on the phone, a mix of confusion, anger, and disbelief swirling inside her. She had no idea how to respond, her mind racing.

Michelle seemed to be enjoying the uncomfortable silence. "Don’t worry," she continued, her tone almost amused. "I’m not here to cause drama. Joe and I have an understanding. He enjoys… his little distractions. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t come back to me at the end of the day."

Y/N's mind spun, trying to process everything, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t just some casual situation like Joe had led her to believe. She had been used for something more than what she was told, and that sting was like a slap across her face.

Before she could respond, the screen flickered, and Michelle’s face disappeared. She was left staring at the dark screen, her heart pounding in her chest.

The room felt suffocating now. She didn’t know whether to be furious, heartbroken, or just utterly disgusted.

Y/N stood up abruptly, the phone slipping from her hands as her mind swirled with confusion and emotions. What had she gotten herself into?

Meanwhile, Kayla, who had been texting a certain someone back and forth all night, had been watching from the other side of the room, and she’d noticed the sudden change in Y/N’s demeanor. Her teasing smile faltered, as she picked up on the tension in the air.

"Girl, what just happened?" Kayla asked, standing up from the couch, her voice low with concern. "That wasn’t Joe, was it?"

Y/N looked up at her, still reeling from what she’d just heard. She didn’t know what to feel anymore.

“Yeah, that was Joe’s fiancée.” Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I guess I wasn’t the only one he was playing with.”

Kayla froze for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "Wait… what?!"

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9, @irishmanwhore

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vigilskeep · 7 months ago

Text

various and sundry artbook tidbits i found interesting (SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE VEILGUARD ARTBOOK. obviously)

faction & location stuff:

a sketch page from the very early days exploring shape languages for factions like elves, dwarves, wardens, the necropolis, tevinter, and rivain, also includes concepts for the mages’ college and the ben-hassrath

early rivain concept arts have npcs with a similar armour patterning to duncan’s, suggesting it’s a mark of his rivaini heritage like i always thought!

the depiction of the ““creation story”” suggests elves were mimicking the bodies of dwarves when they formed their own, not humans like i think mythal says in game flashbacks, which would make more sense timeline wise

there’s concept art of the city of ventus, which i believe is of particular relevance to mercar players? it’s right on the border of arlathan forest, and surrounded by magical statues holding out raised hands forming a ward along the tree line to keep it from encroaching

the home base was going to be a lovable fixer-upper of a ship given to us by isabela, named the dumat. this didn’t fit the spy theme they were originally going for, so they tried really really hard to make it a submarine without feeling anachronistic by making it sort of sea monster shaped. there are a lot of cutaways and schematics. they were going to give it a mystery engine that you would get light fetch quests to feed random objects: “ten dried lavender flowers, five quail’s eggs, three brass belt buckles, etc.....” the submarine then turned into an undersea mansion on the back of some giant shambling sea creature you would never get a good look at

later on there were some funny takes on the lighthouse specifically, like bringing back the sea creature theme to put it on the back of an interdimensional veil whale, or having it be the true location of the black emporium with a collection of eluvians that xenon the antiquarian lets you use

there’s a tiny concept art for a “high-speed aravel chase” in a canyon like a western

tevinter gladiators are mentioned a couple times. we WEREEE going to get to see the minrathous proving grounds :( there’s also a dwarven embassy concept art somebody take me out back and shoot me

there are a lot of ghilan’nain creature designs that didn’t make it into the game which is a shame but i can see why they would have been resource heavy

the antiva concept arts are so gorgeous. a lot of it got through! and definitely the overall Vibe made it. at some point it seems to have been antiva city itself; they don’t call it treviso and they mention the circle of magi as a major landmark

“The entrance to the Necropolis is like an inverted Tower of Babel. They seek knowledge in the grave instead of heaven.” <- this just rules as a line

for arlathan: “To differentiate it from previous forest and jungle locations in Dragon Age, we went with an autumnal colour palette. It has the benefit to feeling ominously like the end.”

the veil jumpers have a “skull halla” symbol that “implies their willingness to risk death”. did that end up in the game?

“With each faction, we explored a range of aspirational fantasies. For the Wardens, this ranged from knights in shining armour to butal tanks to a Nietzche quote: ‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.’”

there’s this concept among the warden armours for an insane orlesian noblewoman look with the winter palace morrigan corset and a piled high wig, but the skirts torn knee length and a serrated fan in hand. i’m kind of obsessed

“To bring more life to the world, we thought about what industries would keep the Anderfels afloat. We took the prominent Warden blue colour and envisioned an industry harvesting flowers, creating dye, and then weaving copious amounts of blue fabric.” this is probably where the flower quests in the hossberg wetlands started off conceptually? v cute

character stuff:

in completely different early versions of the game, solas had a “bad cop” right hand woman called reva

imshael the desire demon/choice spirit from the masked empire and inquisition was going to be a two-handed weapon warrior companion, and also sexualised now while in largely feminine form, which would have been a Choice. there is one art of him in masculine form, also sexy but still not showing as much skin as the feminine one

as i said, neve was going to be calpernia

taash was a rogue. (they’re still a light-armoured dual wielder so that checks out.) it seems like davrin was briefly a mage. at some points harding seems to have inherited bianca

saarbrak, another qunari companion, seems to have lastest the longest of the abandoned concepts. he’s the only non-canon one who got as far as having a place for him sketched into designs of the lighthouse: “saarbrak’s planning room”. mentions and sightings of what might be him are sporadic and i think you only see his name on that sketch, but i’m connecting it to the description “a potential qunari companion evolved from saarebas to dapper qunari spy, offering a deeper look into qunari culture”

the embroidery on harding’s clothes is how she passes the time while “waiting for days in a sniper perch” on missions. i just thought that was cute

#veilguard spoilers #long post

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cobaltperun · 7 months ago

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Eternal Flame (6) - Call Your Mom

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: For her it’s a passion, for you it’s an accident. And as she continues shining brighter and brighter with each role you are left mesmerized, drawn to her flame and cherishing every time she lets herself be vulnerable with you.

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Masterlist / First Part / Previous part / Next Part

Word count: 7.5k

-Throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason-

People around you were already dressed in warm clothing, wearing jackets and coats and warming up with coffee or tea or another hot beverage. Anyone who could spare the time seemed to stick around inside coffee shops or bars or any place that could offer any semblance of heat and cover from the morning cold. Compared to them you were fairly lightly dressed wearing only a thin long-sleeved shirt and jeans, you've kind of gotten used to the cold so this didn't bother you.

You still didn't order anything, instead you were just watching people going up to the baristas to take their orders and sitting down or just leaving for work or school or wherever. All the while, you were stuck here, with your suitcase next to you, and luckily it was for a rather pleasant reason. And the said pleasant reason just caught your eye as she walked right through the door.

Jenna came in with a man accompanying her. You did remember seeing him once when she needed to do an interview for her most recent movie, but since it was a busy day shooting you never got the chance meet him, but you definitely recognized him and you knew he was Enrique, her stylist. Almost instinctually you stood up which got her attention, because yeah, you stood out in the crowd for more than one reason. Your heart soared as Jenna, with a bright smile on her face pretty much ran up to you much to the amusement of her stylist.

She wrapped her arms around you and hugged you tightly. You could feel the slight shivering of her body and it wasn’t caused by the cold as she was properly dressed. In fact the soft material of her long and warm coat kind of tickled you. No, you knew what the reason for hers shivering was and you felt it too “Hey,” she whispered softly in your ear, as if she just needed an excuse to have her lips close to your skin.

“We'll see each other again, you know,” you assured her, knowing that was the thing making her feel uncertain and worried about the future. You haven't really been a part of this industry for long and she was much more aware of how things worked, how easy it was to never see someone again. On the other hand, you had a living example of a man that kept in touch with plenty of his co-stars so if Hugh could do it so could you. And you would absolutely do it for Jenna.

“I know,” she said, but you could feel her relaxing as the man she came with approached with a fond smile on his face. How much did he know?

The fond smile turned into a teasing grin. “Well I'll be damned, I knew you were eager to see her, but I didn't know you were this eager! If I knew, I wouldn't have kept you at that shop earlier,” Enrique laughed, and you had to grin when you saw Jenna blushing. Jenna blushing was perhaps one of your favorite sights to see.

“Don't tell her that!” Jenna complained as she separated from you and turned to look at her stylist, which also helped her hide the blush from you, but you just patted her on the back.

“Come on, it's adorable,” you said with a bit of a teasing grin on your face. Did you feel slightly bad for teasing her with Enrique? Maybe, but she was just too adorable when she got embarrassed. You turned to Enrique and offered him your hand. “I don't think we're properly met, nice to meet you I am Y/N,” you said and were honestly surprised when he, instead of shaking your hand, pulled you in for a quick hug.

“Jenna’s been telling me a lot about you, so let's skip the formalities,” accepting this meeting was probably the best decision you could have made because you were hearing so much about what Jenna's been doing behind your back that even missing the plane would be worth it.

You turned to Jenna with the most obvious shit-eating grin on your face. “Is that so?” you nudged her lightly as she suddenly found her feet to be very interesting.

“Let's just order something already,” she mumbled and sat down before you could pull her chair out. Well, you figured that was what you got for teasing her as much as you did.

The three of you made your orders, classics really, tea and coffee, you and Jenna ordered tea and Enrique ordered coffee, an espresso to be precise.

“So, should I get to know you or just let the two of you hang out while I play the third wheel?” Enrique asked and now it was your turn to be embarrassed because this time he was teasing both of you. The truth was this meeting was entirely so you could meet Enrique, and say goodbye to Jenna, but she told you Enrique was curious and this was a good opportunity in her mind. So, you both knew you’d mostly be talking to Enrique this morning.

You ignored the embarrassment and looked him in the eye. “Ask away,” you grinned a bit, hiding the slight nervousness about what he could ask you. There weren’t many things he couldn’t hear from Jenna, and some of those really weren’t something you wanted to talk about.

Jenna groaned and lowered her head on top of the table and hid it behind her hands, but Enrique had his goal and he would accomplish it.

He was having too much fun with this though, and the growing grin on his face was enough of a proof of that. “So, Jenna told me a lot about you, like a lot a lot, but she hasn't told me anything about your previous role.”

You actually felt relief that he asked about that and not something else.

“Enrique, come on!” Jenna clearly didn't want to put you on the spot but you really had nothing to be put on the spot for. You could easily tell them about Logan.

“It’s okay, Jen,” you smiled at her and she seemed relieved, but also curious now. Why didn’t she just ask? “I was in Logan with Hugh Jackman, I played Laura, the X-23,” you just shrugged, kind of enjoying the shocked looks on their faces.

“Wait you were in the Logan?” Enrique asked and then turned to Jenna who was slightly confused, she recognized Hugh’s name, of course, but she wasn’t familiar with Logan. “The big superhero movie, the end of the X-Men, and Hugh Jackman's last time playing Wolverine. It was a big hit back in 2017, hell, for some it’s the best superhero movie ever made,” Enrique explained for you and you saw Jenna remembering the movie you both just told her about.

And that's when it clicked for her. “I remember hearing about it, and my brothers were crazy about it,” she turned to you kind of annoyed “You told me you didn't have a lot of speaking lines.”

You raised your hands in defense. “I didn't! I spent over an hour and a half not saying a single line and even when I start speaking it wasn’t often,” you laughed and it really was like that. Laura was silent for almost the entirety of the movie, to the point of her finally talking being one of the movie’s funniest scenes. You weren't sure anymore but you were fairly certain you didn't speak for the first ninety seven minutes of the movie and then you went into a Spanish rant. Those were good times, and a very fun day on the set.

“Unbelievable,” Jenna shook her head but you could see the smile on her face giving away that she wasn't as annoyed as she was pretending to be.

“Damn that explains the action scenes you told me about,” Enrique told Jenna and then pointed at you “She was doing crazy things in that movie,” he then turned back to you “Was that a stunt double or did you actually do it?”

“No stunt double, I did it all, from jumping on top of the car to jumping over Hugh to fight scenes,” of course all of it was made possible with the ropes and the equipment and all the other things that make superhuman stuff look like the way it does. You remembered just how fun it was to do those stunts, you were a kid, excited to have Wolverine claws and act with Hugh and Patrick. Acting in Logan actually got you into martial arts because you had to take some classes and then you just continued.

Sometimes, you thought that was both a blessing and a curse.

Not that you blamed being on Logan for what happened and what's happening to you because you were absolutely certain that one way or another you would find yourself in martial arts. It would only be a matter of time.

“Guess I know what movie to watch when I get home,” Jenna still seemed annoyed that you didn't tell her any of this before and you just laughed.

~X~

About two hours later the three of you came to the airport and this was it, this was the moment you would go your separate ways. Her and Enrique were going back to California and you were going back to Denver. Jenna didn't want it to happen, she honestly just wanted to spend more time with you, to actually watch Logan with you and not just on her own or with someone from her family. She wanted to see your first movie with you. You were checking your ID and well you looked cute as you lightly chewed on your bottom lip. Were you as nervous as she was about separating? She hoped you were, she wanted to believe that, while she couldn't be sure if you liked her back, you weren't immune to her.

So, and ignoring Enrique’s teasing grin and everything he would be saying to her when they get on the plane, she stepped in front of you and put her hand on you own pushing it down so you would look away from your ID and look at her. “So, I've been thinking. I don't really want to watch Logan alone,” she should have been more direct about it.

You nodded, completely misunderstanding. “Oh, yeah, that's fine. I know superhero movies aren't your thing,” you missed the point you oblivious adorable dumbass.

“That's not what she wants, Y/N,” Enrique laughed and she couldn’t help it, she turned around and stuck her tongue out at him, which just made him laugh harder.

Jenna rolled her eyes at the antics of her stylist and dear friend. “What I meant is, how about you come by my place when you get the time? You know, meet my family and we can watch it together, because I really want to see you,” in more ways than one, she wanted to see you in that movie and she wanted to see you in person, and she wanted so much more from all of this between the two of you.

Jenna wanted you to meet her family, she wanted them to love you as much as she did, and she wanted to watch you get close to them. And maybe if you didn't have any other plans maybe you would come and visit during the holidays, depending on how your own family would react to that.

In her overthinking mind she already pictured meeting your own parents, wondering if you looked more like your mother or your father, or if you were just a combination of the two, and hopefully making a good impression on them. Maybe your parents could come with you one day and meet her parents and siblings and things would go from there.

It was way too fast, way too naïve, she knew that, but there was just something in your eyes that told her she wasn't rushing. That it could very well be the future between you, because that's how softly you were looking at her.

She watched as you swallowed hard and cleared your throat as if fighting something, some emotion that she couldn't exactly put her finger on and then you nodded. “Yeah,” your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat once more. “Yeah, I'd love that,” you said and she didn't understand why you got nervous, but she could tell it wasn't because of meeting her family or spending time with her. It was something else, something you weren't ready to share with her yet, and just perhaps it was related to where you were about to go all those weeks ago.

She’d keep those thoughts to herself for now. “I need to catch a plane, we’ll talk over the phone, OK?” she reached up, cupped your cheek and brushed her thumb across it. “Y/N,” she whispered your name as softly as she possibly could and rose up to her toes as you leaned down. Yet, at the last moment, she just changed her mind and instead of kissing you on the lips she just kissed your cheek. “Have a safe flight, and text me when you get home,” it was actually incredibly endearing how you just froze at the kiss even after she kissed you on the lips in that unscripted scene.

“Of course,” you stammered, and Jenna reluctantly pulled away from you while doing everything in her power to ignore how Enrique was looking at her

“Bye,” she waved back at you and left because missing a plane wouldn't be the best decision she could make right now. Even if she wished she could stay with you or just take you along.

~X~

Hugh was going to have a blast with this. You actually went and did the same thing he did! You fell in love with your co-star on your first role as an adult! Well that was one way to restart the career.

The apartment building you lived in was, for the lack of better term, pretty old but with sturdy and thick walls. Unlike those damn walls that allowed Mikey to figure out your and Jenna’s late-night hang-outs. But it was fairly close to the industrial areas so it was cheap as fuck and probably didn’t have the cleanest air, but you were honestly fine with that. It's been your home since you were about sixteen and a half years old.

You could move out, but given that you were restarting your career and that the gym you were working for wasn't that far away from here you just felt no need to do so. Besides it was a safe neighborhood, and as much as there were some other issues with it you never had to worry about Barbara getting mugged or anything close to that happening, when she visited you.

In fact, the only person threatening the security of your apartment was probably already inside it.

You climbed up the stairs because there was no elevator in the building and just as you suspected the doors were unlocked. “Best friend turned burglar says what?” you yelled from the doors. Cheers for thick walls, you could yell all you wanted.

“What?” Barbara predictably responded and peeked into the hall from the living room with a frying pan in her hand.

“What were you about to do with that?” you asked, more amused than anything and placed the suitcase down by the doors.

“Well, I didn't know if it was you or someone I didn't want to see, which is, you know, anyone but you,” she pouted and rubbed the bottom of the pan. “This baby was going to protect me,” you approached her and swiftly stole the pan right off her hands.

“This baby?” you asked with a smirk that you knew annoyed the hell out of Barbara.

“Not fair, I wasn't ready,” she huffed and tilted her chin up feigning the anger.

The poorly concealed grin gave her away.

“Ha! Like you ever are,” you took the pan back to the kitchen and went to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. “You know you could have just locked the doors,” you told her.

“Yeah, but then you would have to unlock your own door and that just doesn't feel welcoming after coming back home after two months,” her logic was flawed but she believed it wholeheartedly.

“That is exactly the scenario someone wants when they know their apartment should be empty!” you pulled out your phone from your pocket and quickly sent a message to Jenna saying you were back home and safe and sound and then for good measure you just snapped a picture of Barbara and sent it to Jenna.

“And this is the nuisance I found at home. Can you believe my luck? I wouldn't be surprised if she actually spent the two months at my apartment because that's just the way she is,” you were recording a voice message for Jenna just so Barbara would know for sure you were saying that about her.

“Lies! All lies! Y/N loves having me around,” Barbara denied and you kind of forgot to stop recording.

“You do know having someone around also means being there with them, and not in another state while you crash as their apartment, right?” you asked, dryly and if you weren’t used to Barbara being like this your eye would have probably started twitching by now.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say babe,” she laughed, and you just sighed and shook your head at that and run your fingers through your hair. It never crossed your mind just how much of the conversation Jenna would actually get. You intended just the first bit to be sent, but you unknowingly ended the message right after Barbara called you ‘babe’.

“I'm so lucky to have you as a best friend,” you didn't even bother going to the kitchen and instead just walked around the apartment, noting all the chores that would need to get done. There really was no point in going to the kitchen, as there was probably nothing there. Knowing Barbara, even if she did bring something along, she ate it out of nervousness, so the kitchen was barren and free from any source of nourishment.

“You absolutely are,” Barbara wrapped her arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for an one-armed hug. “I missed you, bestie!”

“It's good to see you too, Barb,” you eventually relented and admitted that you did miss her too. It has been two months and over the years you got annoyingly used to having Barbara in your life. “So, want to grab an early lunch, I'm starving,” you suggested without really having any specific food you were craving at the moment.

“Skipped breakfast?” she half asked half stated and you just shrugged. You had a piece of toast or something this morning. And you had a cup of tea. Could that be considered a breakfast? Well, you figured it depended on who you asked.

“Please tell me you ate well while you were filming,” Barbara had this stern look on her face and you actually smiled at that.

“I did actually. Well Jenna got me into a habit of having a breakfast with her, so I couldn't exactly skip it,” you were smiling because the memories of those days were pleasant but also because you knew knowing that would make Barbara happy.

She knew you sometimes struggled to take care of yourself. You’d just forget a meal or push yourself too hard. The loss of your parents did that to you. “I’m really going to thank that girl for doing something I couldn't,” Barbara said and pulled you into a hug, a proper one this time. “Keep doing that, alright, Y/N? Or I'll have to just steal your phone and call your girl and make her scold you.”

“You are never unlocking my phone,” you laughed at the empty threat, but the idea of getting Jenna involved in your issues truly bothered you.

“Yeah, sure, you know you have the most cliche password imaginable,” she poked you on the shoulder as the two of you have slowly made your way back out of the apartment, this time locking it.

“So, what is it?” you challenged her.

“It's my birthday!” she said with so much confidence you just burst out laughing, as she stood there, all proud and with her hands on her hips.

“I don't even know when your birthday is off the top of my head!” You were lying, you both knew it, but she asked for it! Your password actually wasn't her birthday, but you admired the guts to say it so confidently.

Barbara laughed and began going down the stairs. “Yes, you do know it, and I know you do. And if I tell you what your password is you're just going to change it, so no you're not getting that out of me,” all the while she kept being a few steps ahead of you and almost bouncing her feet excited to have you back once more.

You faked a sigh and looked up toward the ceiling. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hopefully take me out for a nice meal and pay for it,” she supplied and you figured that would work, and you knew just the place you could take her to.

~X~

Perhaps the most important person in your life, even more important than Barbara, was Hugh. And he made sure to reciprocate that almost family-like relationship. It came easy to both of you, he adopted his children, and you were an orphan for a few years now so the idea of a family bond that wasn't defined by blood wasn't strange to either of you. You've never called him ‘dad’ and he never called you his child but that was the kind of bond you had. You kept turning to him ever since you met him on Logan, and having him in your life was something you were incredibly thankful for.

And getting back into the industry and realizing how hectic and busy everything was just made Hugh’s dedication to keeping in touch with you and always checking up on you stand out even more.

Even though it happened almost four years ago the memory of your panic attacks and everything you did back then was still fresh in your mind.

~X~

‘Worthless piece of shit! You couldn’t do anything!’ those were the only thoughts going through your mind as you pounded the punching back again and again not even caring enough to put on gloves or anything that would protect your knuckles. You just kept punching and punching until your hands hurt and then some more.

The heavy chains you locked the door with when you entered the gym dropped onto the floor and the doors opened behind you but you just kept punching letting all the frustration out.

“Y/N! Hey, wait! Stop, just stop it!” Hugh grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you back and you didn’t know what stopped you from twisting around and slamming your fist into him.

“Hugh, let me go!” you yelled, demanding, close to breaking as your voice cracked and you still tried to reach for the bag and keep hitting it as if that would change anything about what happened.

“This won't help anyone,” he lowered his tone almost to a whisper, but you heard the pain in his voice loud and clear. “Listen to me, Y/N, this won't help anyone. Not your parents and especially not you,” he managed to pull you back just enough to get between you and the bag and just hugged you. And you finally unclenched your fists, the stinging sensation being almost too much as your hands trembled and drops of blood ran down your fingers. You absolutely messed up your knuckles but that was the least of the pain you felt.

“I can't change anything!” you gasped, burying your face in his chest and clutching at the collar of his shirt. “I'm not- I can't!” you were spiraling out of control, you couldn’t focus, you couldn’t breathe. You felt like you were choking, like you were being pulled under the water and just couldn't come up for air. The chains that kept the doors of the gym locked felt light compared to all the chains holding you down at the moment

“Let it out, I’m right here,” he whispered, patting you on the back. “We'll figure out a way, don't lose hope yet,” he tried to be strong for you, but you just broke right then and there and you wailed sobbing and crying on the verge of a panic attack that only his presence seemed to postpone. You lost count of just how many times Hugh pulled you back right from the brink of despair, but not even he could have prevented everything.

Or maybe he could have, if you approached him and told him what you intended to do.

~X~

The only reason you could help Jenna back when she had her own panic attack was because of how many times you went through them yourself. Sometimes on your own, sometimes with Hugh there to help you, sometimes with Barbara there to watch helplessly because how could she not be helpless? She was the same age as you and just lacked the experience to be able to do anything about it.

A knock on your door brought you out of your thoughts and you hoped to your feet, happy to see Hugh again after probably close to four months. Sure, you kept in touch, you texted and you talked over the phone, but it's still been a long time since you've seen each other face to face.

You opened the door and immediately got swept into a warm, strong hug, one you happily returned. “Looking good kid! I'm proud of you!” Hugh patted you on the shoulders and actually ruffled your hair. You would normally get annoyed by that, but you were just happy to see him and grinned, inviting him in and leading him to the living room where you already had some snacks and drinks ready.

“Right back at you! It's good to see you again, Hugh, though you really shouldn't have knocked. From the looks of it no one that comes in here knocks,” you laughed, although you were seriously considering not even locking the doors when you leave the place. After all, there was basically nothing worth taking, the only things worth anything really were your laptop and phone, and you often carried them with you. But other than those two things you just had a full equipped kitchen, a simple bedroom and living area and not a single piece of furniture in here cost a lot or was worth the trouble of taking it all the way down the stairs.

Funny how money not helping when it mattered made it seem worthless now that you once more had plenty of it.

“Talk! I want to hear everything about filming Scream,” Hugh looked ecstatic over the news that you were once again back in the industry, and you knew why. Well, there were plenty of reasons, first of all he thought you were one hell of a talented actress, seeing as he had the chance to work with you when you were just a kid, but perhaps more importantly he believed that going back to acting would pull you away from underground fights.

Maybe it would. After all Jenna did stop you.

Maybe you could hope that was your ticket out of that world.

“You are going to laugh about this, but I kind of did the same thing you did. I fell in love on the set,” you admitted though you felt extreme embarrassment over saying it out loud.

Like you predicted, Hugh laughed like a lunatic, and you were actually happy to hear him laughing like that. It's been way too long since you managed to pull that kind of laugh out of him. “Jenna, right? That's what you said her name is?” and of course he knew exactly who you were talking about and you just nodded.

“She's just incredible,” you paused, searching for the right words, as if any word could properly describe her. “She’s perfect. I have no words- she is-“ you were just saying things hoping your words would eventually form a proper sentence. “You know, you have to meet her! She's the kindest, most wonderful, and honest, and genuine person I have met in a long, long time,” in the end you managed to put what you thought and felt into words.

Hugh had this gentle smile on his face as he looked at you. “You got it that bad, huh? I'm happy for you, Y/N.”

“Say, you mentioned the movie you wanted to tell me about,” you knew you were changing the subject, too embarrassed to talk about Jenna. You honestly weren’t exactly eager to get that talk from Hugh even though you probably needed one right about now.

Hugh’s smile morphed into a grin that told you he knew exactly what you were doing but he went along with it. “Alright hear me out, you and I in a movie, playing father and daughter. How about that?”

You actually laughed at that. “Isn't that the same thing we did like seven years ago?” that was exactly the relationship you had in Logan and well if you could act with Hugh once again you would absolutely take the chance, but it was funny that you would be cast in a father daughter relationship again. That is if you accept it and then try to get the role and then you get cast in the role.

“I know, but I think you’ll like this one,” he set the script on the table and pushed it toward you so that's how it happened you accepted the script and set it aside to read tonight. The rest of the day you and Hugh spent on catching up on everything that happened over the past few months.

~X~

The late November rain didn’t surprise you much, even if Denver was really sunny. You were just about to fall asleep on your sofa, honestly feeling kind of numb. What day was it anyway? It’s been a few days since Barbara left to see her parents for Thanksgiving, so you’ve been on your own since whenever that happen. Your phone buzzed a few times in your pocket. You were tempted to ignore it, but it might be for the role you auditioned for, the one Hugh mentioned. Work would probably get your mind off things, but it wasn’t work.

It was better. Much better than work.

You smiled when you saw it was a message from Jenna, on Instagram. You opened it and saw it was a couple of photos, one of just Jenna, giving you a thumbs up while holding a piece of icy wind cake and text on the photo saying ‘You’ve got competition.’ You chuckled, figuring her mom made the cake, the second photo was of her family all posing for a family photo and having a Thanksgiving dinner. Damn, so it actually was Thanksgiving tonight.

21:54 Jenna Ortega: Happy Thanksgiving, Y/N! Thanks for the recipe by the way, my family loves it. ❤️❤️

You smiled, she looked really happy in the photos. And her family was huge, she told you, of course, but hearing and seeing a photo were two entirely different things. You still focused on her, on that brilliant, happy smile.

21:56 Y/N L/N: Thanks, Jen, happy Thanksgiving to you too. Save me a piece of cake?

You set the phone aside and figured you could at least drink something, only to remember your fridge was mostly empty at the moment. You really needed to go and get groceries. At least there was some strawberry juice in the fridge and some improvised pasta. Damn, you actually had to make an improvised pasta dish, of all the known recipes you ended up making some improvised abomination. Oh well, at least it was tasty.

22:03 Jenna Ortega: Come and get it Chef. Any chance you could give me a tiny sneak peak into your own dinner?

Well, now that was a tough task to complete. Still, it actually brought a smile to your face. It was almost funny how something as simple as texting Jenna made you feel so much better.

22:05 Y/N L/N: Sure

You snapped a photo of a glass of strawberry juice and sent it to her.

22:06 Jenna Ortega: Come on! Don’t tease me 🥺

You actually laughed at that, you could imagine to look of disappointment on her face.

22:06 Y/N L/N: I’m not, I didn’t make anything, I kinda forgot about Thanksgiving.

You noticed Jenna saw the message and set the phone aside when she didn’t respond. She hadn’t seen her family in roughly two months, hell, she had her eighteenth birthday away from them, so you figured she wanted to spend time with them.

But just as you got up to read the script Hugh left you once more, your phone began ringing and you raised an eyebrow seeing it was Jenna. You picked up and sat back down on the sofa. “L/N Delivery, how may I help you?” you said as professionally as you could with a grin on your face and heard Jenna inhaling sharply before laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said through laughter.

“Yeah, and you love it,” you said confidently making Jenna pause.

For a moment you feared you overstepped some boundary. “I do, don’t I?” she said a bit out of breath and just for a moment she even sounded playful, and you nearly choked on the sip of strawberry juice you just took. “Anyway, how come you forgot?” she quickly changed the subject.

“I lost track of dates, and no one reminded me,” you told a half-truth, you knew it was this week, but you did lose track of the days and dates. “How are you? Are you having fun with your family?”

You could almost hear her nodding and smiled, the chatter of the people in the background wasn’t nearly as loud as you expected, so she probably stepped aside. “It feels so good to be with my family again, I missed them all,” you guessed she glanced back at her family. “I had to do the dished today, and let me tell you, there was a lot,” she wasn’t even complaining, she actually sounded happy.

“Reeree, come on! Talk on your phone later!” you heard a female voice shouting and guessed Jenna was the one being called.

“It’s important!” Jenna yelled back and you felt the warmth engulfing you at that.

“Hey, we can talk later, go have fun,” you told her softly, knowing by now that she just called you to check up on you.

Jenna paused and you waited patiently as she made the decision. “When are you going to come here?” she asked.

“In a week,” you told her, while you and Jenna knew you’d visit her and meet her family, which was, to be honest, a bit frightening, you didn’t know when you would be able to come until a few hours ago, you just didn’t get the chance to tell Jenna about it. It was still only Thursday, so you didn’t think you needed to rush to tell her.

“Okay, I’ll see you then. Are you sure you don’t want to keep talking with me?” she still offered.

“I want you to have a good time and make up for being away from your family,” you assured her. You would never, in your most fever-induced dreams, tell her you didn’t want to talk to her, but you knew how much she missed her family, and you didn’t want to take away from her time with them tonight.

“Okay, sleep well,” she told you slowly, as if giving you one last chance to ask her to keep talking to you, but you remained committed to the decision that you made.

As much as you wished to keep talking to her, you knew you had to let her be with her family. “You too,” you were worried about her insomnia, and you could only hope she could fall asleep and not have troubles with it while she was back home.

Somewhat shaken out of your stupor by Jenna’s call and texts you opened the fridge again. Still, just as you were about to figure out how to celebrate Thanksgiving given the lack of food and drink in your fridge, your door slammed open and the first thing that hit you was the smell of homemade food. “Barbara if that's you I swear I'm going to kick your ass!” you yelled because there was no way a burglar just broke into your house that loudly and was smelling like food.

“Jokes on you my ass was already kicked by the bus I had to sit in! They didn't have the heating on my! My ass is ice!” yup, definitely Barbara. “Turn the heating on, Y/N, or I'll freeze to death and you'll be to blame,” she was actually shivering so off you went to turn the heating on and then you just stared at her, blinking, not sure if you should believe your eyes and ears and nose or just the logic that she should be with her family right now.

“Don't look at me like that I got tired of talking sports with my family. What? Did I say talking? I meant listening about it!” she pointed a finger at you, but then changed her mind and hugged herself to warm up. “And your sorry ass didn't even turn the heating on until I came here, so you should thank me for not freezing yourself. So, win-win for both of us!” she just sat down and dropped the bag filled with food next to her. And this was your life right now.

And you wouldn't trade it for anything, except maybe adding Jenna and Hugh to this as well.

But you figured this was pretty much perfect as it was.

“You're the best, Barb,” you whispered, desperately hoping she didn't hear you.

“I heard that! Say it again so I can record it and keep it to cheer me up I will play it on repeat, I will put it as my ringtone, I will keep it as the soundtrack of my life 24/7, now repeat what you said so I can forever remind you of it,” sometimes you wondered which one of you was an actress because damn did Barbara have a knack for being dramatic.

“I will never say it again,” you denied her the opportunity to have that kind of proof against you. Your pride would not survive it.

“Oh, come on, you know you think that! I know you do think I'm the best,” she kept pushing but you remained firm in your conviction not to ever again repeat those words to her, or well not forever, more like until she put her phone down.

With a pout she did put her phone down and you glanced at it seeing the recording was still on and you just winked at her. You were not about to say it.

“Spoil sport,” she turned the recording off and tossed the phone aside and you glanced at it seeing that the app was definitely closed so you walked up to her because you could never be too careful with her, leaned in from behind and whispering in her ear

“You're the best, Barb,” and instead of being thankful as every friend should be she just went and glared at you because you denied her of the right to record those words.

~X~

Several nights later you woke up in cold sweat as you usually did near the start of December. You set up, breathing heavily and barely holding back a scream of frustration as that same nightmare that plagued you over and over again every time the anniversary of their deaths came close plagued you once more tonight.

You looked outside the window. It was dark, completely dark outside and you knew you wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, and not even knowing what time it was you just slipped out of the bed, put on your coat and boots and just ran down the stairs into the street. It was empty, without even the drunks going back to their homes from another night of drinking, so it must have been really late, or really early but from the looks of it the Sun wasn't going to come up anytime soon.

You just began running, you ran like you were being chased by the nightmare that woke you up. You ran through the snow, the chances of slipping and falling not even crossing your mind for one moment. You were running toward the gym, knowing you could unlock and use it even this late at night. So, you rushed down the streets until you finally reached the doors and looked under the rug for the key. As usual it was there so with shaky fingers you unlocked it and step stepped inside hoping you could work out and exhaust yourself, thus working through all the emotions and tension within you. As if you were drawn to it, you went for the punching bag and you touched it like it was your oldest friend, as if the mere touch against the cold punching bag would start calming you down. For a moment it did, it did calm you down long enough to put the gloves on and then you began punching the bag as strong and fast as you could.

‘Do it, unplug them’ the decision that you made still haunted you. Those four simple words still ruined you almost four years after you spoke them to the doctor. And it wasn’t just those words, it was the fact that every single time you thought back to those words you were left wondering if you made that decision too early. You wondered if you could have pushed yourself just for a bit longer.

You weren't sure for how long you kept hitting the bag, you just knew the intensity and the speed of your punches kept decreasing gradually, until you just felt your like your hands were made of iron and you dropped them to your sides unable to keep going.

And then you just sat down, leaning your back against the wall and looking at the bag. It just wasn't enough, you got exhausted, sure, but it wasn't enough. It couldn't put your mind off it. It just wasn't good enough to be a stress relief.

You stayed like that for some time, just rewinding those events in your head until the doors opened and you saw Davis, the owner of the gym and the man who sent you the message about the event as he called it, walking in.

“Morning kid, figured you would pop up sooner or later,” he said dismissively while picking up the gloves you tossed at your side.

The laugh you let out was hollow. “Am I that predictable? I could have quit since I didn't show up last time,” you mattered but you both knew the truth and more importantly you knew he would say it.

“Why should I bother? I know how you are, I know you can't quit it. You skipped one fight, sure, but from the looks of it you'll be back for the next one, won't you, Y/N?” you hated that he was right. You hated that you thought you had the chance to quit, that you could find another solution only to run back right into this one.

“Yeah, when's the next one?” you asked, hating yourself even more for continuing this cycle.

There was a satisfied smirk on his face, and normally you would be annoyed with that, but the realization that you didn’t have the strength to quit underground fighting shattered your will to complain. “Tonight, actually. Same old place,” it was settles. There was no need to pick you up from somewhere there wasn’t a need to do anything but tell you when to show up and unlike last time there wasn't anyone there to stop you.

Jenna wasn't here to stop you.

So, tonight you will go and fight your stress and regrets away.

And if the guilt eats you up from the inside, then so be it.

How come you never thought of Jenna’s dad being a cop? Or how Jenna and her family finding out would affect your friendship?

In the desire to escape from the past you damn near ruined your future.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @freakshow2501 @osnapitzmel1 @belatrixdragon @ijustlovemaths

@niqmandu @justspance @mirage018

Masterlist / First Part / Previous part / Next Part

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x female reader #x reader #x female reader

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shiani25 · 3 months ago

Note

I really love the stories and artwork here. I'm curious, could you write a story with Starscream getting a new pair job just to piss off Megatron, but not "Oh I don't like it" but more "WHY ARE YOU NEON PINK"? Everyone knows it's revenge to piss of Megatron and even Knockout was surprised he would go that far, especially knowing how hard neon colors are.

"The Neon Menace"

Starscream had had it.

This was unacceptable.

It had been three days.

Three!

And Megatron had not noticed his new paint job.

Starscream had been subtle about it at first.

A tiny shift in the hue of his plating. A bit of polish. A slight enhancement to make himself look sleek and refined—like the second-in-command of the mighty Decepticon army should.

And Megatron?

Hadn’t even looked at him.

It was his job to notice!

That was what mates were for. To complement him. To admire. To worship his beauty!

And yet!

Nothing.

Not even a glance.

So Starscream did what any reasonable bot would do.

He doubled down.

The next day, he went bolder.

Polished his wings to super shiny, if the light was in a right position he could blind someone with them. Added a subtle (but very expensive) shimmer to his finish. Enhanced the red tones to really pop against the silver.

And still.

Nothing.

"Fine!" Starscream seethed. "If he doesn’t notice this time—"

A wild, desperate thought entered his mind.

Something Megatron couldn’t possibly ignore.

The next time he strutted into the Nemesis’s war room, he was a blazing neon pink.

A color so unnatural, so obnoxiously bright, it made Knockout wince.

And that was saying something.

"Starscream," Megatron’s voice was strained. "What in pit… have you done?"

Starscream smirked, crossing his arms. "Oh? So you did notice? How fascinating—considering you were blind to my previous changes."

Megatron just stared.

Not in awe. Not in admiration.

Not in any sort of reaction that Starscream had wanted.

Just… blank, horrified silence.

And then—

"Fix it."

Starscream scoffed. "Oh? You don’t like it?"

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose. "Starscream. You look like a fragging target."

"I look fabulous," Starscream corrected, flipping a wing dramatically. "This is style, Megatron. Something you clearly wouldn’t—"

"You are a neon beacon," Megatron snarled. "You might as well paint a bullseye on your wings and scream ‘shoot me!’ to the Autobots!"

Starscream froze.

The battlefield.

His perfectly streamlined colors had always been useful in the air, blending him in with Cybertron’s skies or Earth’s storms.

But this?

This was…

A death sentence.

Slag!

Starscream clenched his fists. "Well, I—" He straightened. "I don’t need your approval, Megatron! I can be both stylish and deadly!"

Megatron was already waving him off. "Go fix it before I have you shot down myself."

Starscream bolted to Knockout.

Knockout, who had already heard the entire fiasco through the ship’s comms, was barely containing his laughter.

"I have to say, Screamer," Knockout smirked, giving him a slow, dramatic once-over. "This is… a bold look for you."

"Enough!" Starscream hissed. "Fix it."

Knockout sighed theatrically. "Oh, now you want me to fix it? You seemed so proud of it earlier."

"Knockout!"

"Fine, fine," Knockout snickered, grabbing his equipment. "Let’s see what we’re working with—"

And then—

He froze.

"Uh… Starscream."

Starscream’s wings twitched. "What?"

Knockout tapped a finger against his plating. "What… exactly did you use to repaint yourself?"

Starscream frowned. "Some extra supplies from storage. Why?"

Knockout was quiet for a long moment.

Then he exhaled.

"You used permanent industrial-grade coating. It’s embedded into your plating."

Starscream froze.

"…What."*

"It’s… deep," Knockout hummed, inspecting further. "It’s embedded into your plating. If I try to paint over it, it’s just going to bleed through."

Starscream felt his vents stutter.

"No..."

Knockout patted his wing. "Yes."

"No, no, no—this cannot be happening!" Starscream screeched. "Knockout, you have to fix it! You must—"

Knockout laughed. "Oh, now it’s a problem? But it was so fabulous a moment ago."

"KNOCKOUT!"

#starscream #megatron #transformers #decepticons #transformers prime #knockout #tfp #megastar #request #maccadam #ai artwork

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

Text

Office Space 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you're an assistant to private and corporate investigator, Nick Fowler, and find yourself brought into the fold of his shady professional life.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, this reader is known as Elfie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Another thick folder falls on your desk. You look up as Mr. Fowler strides without a word into his office. No explanation, no directive, as ever he's elusive but demanding.

You sigh and push your mouse aside, bringing the folder in front of you. You open it up and find stacks of hand-written notes, receipts, and reports. You get the happy task of digitizing each one and sorting it into the electronic archive for investigation.

Your boss closes himself into his office as you sit in the vacant silence of the small lobby. It's no walk-in location. PI work doesn't exactly operate that way. Corporate investigations are even less advertised. Fowler does more than find the corruption, he scrubs it when necessary.

You expect the discretion of the work is why he hired you. You don't talk much. You do you work without question and clock out. Still, it doesn't keep you from after hours or early arrivals. He texts and you're where you need to be.

You sort through the thick folder. Chronological or by type? Some don't have dates and what would you categorize a cocktail napkin as? You get up and haul it all into the copier room. It's the smallest room in the rented space, made tighter by the filing cabinets and the industrial printer.

You unhook your laptop and bring it into the copier room. You put it on the narrow table and go to task. It's mindless work. You fall into the pattern of scanning, numbering, and cataloguing. The copier hums in the empty static.

No music, no noise. Your request for white noise was declined without consideration. You accept without argument. Fowler isn't the type to entertain pushback. He's the boss.

Whatever, you wouldn't trade the silence for the top ten on repeat at your previous retail gig. The people are enough to make you tolerate the isolation. Besides, it's a job, it's not meant to be fun.

You get your kicks after work; a drink with your fellow corporate drones down at Retro's. Thinking of, it's been some time since you had a spicy margarita. You pause your work and go to retrieve your phone from your purse. As you find it hiding in the middle pocket, Fowler's door opens and he promptly marches over to stamp his mug down on your desk. Shoot.

"Emergency?" He wonders as his blue eyes narrow at your grip on the phone.

"No, sir, checking the time," you lie and drop the cell back in your purse and hide it in your drawer. "Coffee?"

He doesn't answer, merely taps the brim and walks away. He leaves his office door open as he retreats. You give a tight smile to the empty office and snatch up the dark blue cup.

You take it into the little room meant to be some sort of break space. You don't take breaks and neither does he. You approach the expensive nespresso machine and go through the motions. Cappucino. You've become a pseudo-barista since you started the job.

The smell of coffee tempts you. You're permitted to have one of your own but you have to supply your own coffee and dairy. It's easier to hit the cafe on your way or pack a cup from home.

You carry it out and tentatively approach Mr. Fowler's door. You peer inside and clear your throat. He sneers at his phone without acknowledging you. You near and place his cup on the marble coaster beside his apple mouse.

"We have an extra mug?" He asks without looking up.

"Yes, sir, I think--"

"I don't need you to think, I need yes or no."

"Yes," you swallow down his bluntness. As you least you never have to wonder what's on his mind. He'll tell you.

"I'm in expecting someone in twenty minutes."

That's it. You have the pieces, put it together. His visitor will require their own beverage. Lovely. A rare drop-in is hardly exciting, more stressful. If they're important enough to come in, they're important enough to be concerned.

You go to find a second cup. You have your own, a red travel mug without a handle. You’ll leave the silicon lid in your drawer and give it a quick rinse.

You wait behind your desk, the mug clean and sparkling beside the nespresso in anticipation. You’ll go back to your scanning once you have the visitor settled. You know Fowler wouldn’t want them walking into an empty desk. In the meantime, you sift through another case file on your screen.

When the door opens, you pop up, overly alert. That’s not your usual state. This place makes you sleepy. You stand up to greet the man as he steps through.

He’s tall, taller than Fowler, but slender. While his shoulders are broad, the rest of him is trim. His blonde hair is kept neatly and his blue eyes are crystalline where your boss’ are dark and stormy. This man is like sunshine compared to the usual grim cloud over this place.

“Hello, uh, sir,” you smile, “you must be here to see Mr. Fowler.”

“Yes, that’s me,” he says breezily, “Jonathan Pine.”

“Okay, erm, I’ll let him know you’re here,” you round the desk, hitting your hip on the corner but hiding the pang it sends down your thigh, “uh, would you like a coffee?”

“How kind to offer, but no, I’m more of a tea drinker,” he replies, “pardon, but I didn’t get your name.”

“Elfie,” you utter instinctively, “er, excuse me, I’ll just go let Mr. Fowler--”

You scurry to the office door and it opens before you can reach it. Mr. Fowler steps out and sends you a sardonic look. You wince and step back out of his way. He struts by and approaches Jonathan, Mr. Pine properly, with his hand out in offering.

“Pine.”

“Nick,” the man answers familiarly, “long time.”

“Not long enough,” Fowler counters as they shake hands firmly. He’s a few inches shorter than Pine though hardly falters at the fact. “Elfie, coffee.”

“She did offer,” Pine intones, “I politely declined. You know it isn’t my style.”

“Mm, yes, I know your style too well,” Fowler rebuffs and lets him go, gesturing him through his office door. As he follows, he glances back at you and arches a brow. What did you do wrong this time?

#nick fowler #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #nick fowler x reader #jonathan pine x reader #series #drabble #office space #the 355 #the night manager #au #bad bosses

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yoonjae20 · 4 months ago

Text

Ric(hard) Fenton; Part 3

Read on ao3.

Masterlist. Previous. Next.

For several minutes after Jason gently laid Dick down, Jason just sits there, head in his hands as his world falls apart around him.

He doesn’t know how long it takes — it could have been minutes or hours until he pushes himself to stand. He hesitates at the door, looking over to where Dick and Danny are laying. Dick must have moved during his sleep because he has a hand grasped around the hem of Danny’s shirt. They look so peaceful like that — but the sight of Danny screaming as he gets repeatedly electrocuted and Dick’s face twisting with pain is still burned into his retina. The pit rage roars at the sight.

He leaves the building, hoping that he’ll be able to find his way back to it as he sneaks through the empty streets of Amity Park once again. He keeps to alleyways and stays out of the open, shoulders tense as he tries to make not a single sound. The city feels like a maze and the longer Jason trots through it, the more he wishes that he would have at least waited until Dick woke up — he has not a single clue where he is supposed to find an Ecto-Dejecto. The only clue he has is that Danny’s parents are crazy enough to build a portal into their basement — so he can only hope they are also eccentric enough that their home would stand out in the rows of family homes.

Now if he could only find his way out of the more commercial and industrial district of the town so he doesn’t have to stare at more skyscrapers, that would be great. Whoever decided on this infrastructure deserves hell. And he can’t even use the rooftops to orient himself from a higher vantage point because he of course forgot to bring his grapple hook with him and the skyscrapers are so high that even if he found a building with a fire exit ladder, they would block his view anyway.

Suddenly the hairs on his neck stand up on their own and Jason pulls his gun, about to shoot until he comes face to face with the Blob Ghost from before. He blinks away the Pit Rage, perplexed as the ghost nuzzles his cheek, radiating safe, happy, protect.

“Hey buddy,” Jason says, weirdly not being creeped out about the feeling of the ghost on his skin. “Think you could help me out?”

Confused, wary, scared.

“Do you know where Danny’s home is?”

Recognition, proud, excited.

“You do?” Jason feels a bit like a nut-jub talking to the ghost considering it can only communicate through emotions, but he still follows as it floats away. Better than wandering around lost even if it might lead him to the wrong house. He can start from there, if need be.

It’s a bit hard navigating the city with a ghost as his tour guide, considering it just phases through the buildings in its path, leaving Jason to scramble after it. It takes every bit of Bat Training for Jason to follow in its step and to not lose it. He slowly starts to understand what Dick and Danny meant by Blob Ghosts being a bit stupid — they seem to have a single-minded focus. If Jason lost sight of it, he doesn’t think the Blob Ghost would notice until he arrived where the hell it is leading Jason to.

By the time they come across the house he’s more than out of breath and sweaty. He stares at the big, bold sign titled “Fenton” and the large — whatever that is supposed to be on top of the roof and decides — yeah, there is no way this isn’t Danny’s home. The Blob Ghost makes a beeline towards it and disappears inside.

Jason goes up to the door and to his surprise it’s not even closed, but slightly ajar. He knits his eyebrows together — remembering how the one agent told Dick they had taken the Fenton’s from their home. As Jason steps into the house it becomes clear that there was some kind of struggle — a broken vase on the floor, several holes in the walls — obviously the Fenton’s hadn’t just offered themselves up. He glances at the photos of the wall as he searches for the basement door, finally able to put faces to the names.

Even from the pictures it’s easy to tell that they are a chaotic family and Jason is surprised to see that the latest picture includes Dick, the man standing between Danny and his sister as he beams at the camera. He wonders if the picture was made before or after the man regained his memories.

Despite the situation he is in, Jason can’t resist snooping around as he inspects the inside of the house — while he might not like to admit it, he’s still a Bat after all. There’s a half-assembled invention on the kitchen table next to a carton of milk as well as a box of cereal and ghost magnets pin a class schedule on the fridge. By the looks of it seems like it might be Danny’s. Jason almost steps into the shards of a broken bowl as he steps closer to read through it and he gags as the smell of spoiled milk hits his nose.

He steps back and tries covering his nose with the hem of shirt to no avail. His eyes trail the destruction from the kitchen to the front door. They probably overwhelmed whoever opened the front door before moving into the kitchen and surprising the other two. With the amount of agents they have, the Fentons had no chance.

He moves through the kitchen, side stepping the mess on the floor and finally finding the door leading down the basement. If he thought the rest of the house was messy but obviously lived in, the lab looks even worse. Mad Scientists fits the bill well — there isn’t a single surface that isn’t covered with either some suspiciously glowing chemicals, flasks, inventions or wires and machinery. And that isn’t even talking about the swirling portal that looks like a nightmarish Lazarus Pit.

He sees the Blob Ghost floating in front of it before it enters it, leaving Jason behind.

Jazon drifts to the computer and his eyebrows rise to the top of his hairline as he realizes it’s not even password protected. He decides against snooping in their files — he already lost enough time as is. He searches for Ecto-Dejecto and feels baffled when the blueprints detail it being a literal syringe with the words Ecto-Dejecto printed on it. He looks around the mess and lets out a big sigh — here’s to finding the needle in the haystack.

It takes him way too long to find where they store the serum. Jason thought the Batcave had many gadgets, but it’s nowhere close to the amount the lab holds. There’s also concerningly amount of weapons, making it obvious the Fentons must have been Ghost Hunters at some point in time — but he trusts Dick’s judgment of character. Dick would have never let Danny stay in this home if he was at risk of getting hurt by his parents.

Also Danny made it clear that most of the town, along with Jason and Dick themselves are liminal and he can’t imagine that the Fentons didn’t used to have alarms or internal defenses against ghosts or as Dick calls them “ectoplasmic entities” — especially with an open portal to the Infinite Realms. They would have been activated by now if they were still any.

He pockets the serum and makes his way back upstairs. Now to the bigger problem. How the hell is he supposed to find his way back to where he left Danny and Dick? He doesn’t have a guide anymore and he took so many twists and turns to follow the Blob Ghost that he lost all orientation. Not even speaking about the fact that he had wandered the town before that.

Jason sighs before he shakes his head. He doesn’t have time to hesitate, he just has to pick a direction and hope something seems familiar so he can retrace his steps from there. Mind made up, he heads across the street, but before he is able to duck back into an alleyway, something heavy hits his head. He has barely enough time to see a blurry white outline before he passes out.

Bruce is already in the Batplane as Tim explains the situation and the information he found out. Damian had insisted on coming with Bruce but he hadn’t relented. He already put two of his sons at risk because he made a mistake — he will not be doing another that will lead to their death again.

The comm line is charged with tension as Bruce mans the plane to fly to Amity Park at record time and Oracle directs him so he doesn’t interfere with any commercial flights. In the meantime Tim works on activating the tracker on Dick — after Bruce got lost in the time stream, everybody but Jason — Bruce hadn’t asked him although he wanted to — had agreed to wearing a tracker at all times as an emergency beacon in case they disappeared or got kidnapped.

He has a location once he sets down outside the city, leaving the Batplane behind. The sun will rise in an hour — he only has a small time window.

“Oracle, do we have eyes?”

“Negative, something seems to be interfering with the signal.”

Bruce grunts and the sign he walks past almost seems to be mocking him. ‘Amity Park — It’s calm here.’

“Avoid people in white suits at all cost,” Tim informs Bruce just in time as he ducks into an alleyway and hides behind a garbage can as a group of agents holding strange blasters walk past it, discussing something.

“I always thought Operative O was too cocky — he had it coming.”

Someone snorts.

“No one will be missing him, for sure.”

Bruce knits his eyebrows together as the voices fade. A casualty on their side? Jason, Dick and Danny have only been in Amity for mere hours. How has something already gone wrong?

“Did you copy that Red?”

“Copied. Operative O is one of the main agents assigned to Amity Park. He’s…” Tim hesitates rarely and it’s enough for Bruce to know that the man must be a big deal. “...rogue material.”

“Hood then,” Bruce affirms and strangely doesn’t even feel angry about the fact. “ETA for the signal?”

“15 minutes if you stay on the ground, 10 if you use shortcuts.”

“I’ll make it in 5.” Bruce aims his grapple at one of the roofs and swings himself up. They have no idea in which state they’ll find Dick in — according to Tim his signal has been stagnant for the last two hours. There’s also no guarantee that either Jason or Danny will be with him. “Prepare the Batplane for extraction.”

“Copied.”

Bruce runs across the rooftops, barely giving himself time to think as he hurries in the direction of the signal, using his grapple to catapult himself forward even as it strains his arms and shoulders. He slides down using the cord of the grapple, using minimal time to make sure they aren’t agents waiting in ambush before he storms into the building.

He’s barely two steps in before Danny lunges at him with an animalistic snarl, Bruce narrowly evading with a backward roll and getting cornered as his back hits the door. He holds up his hands in a placating gesture and it’s all he can do as the boy heaves with exertion, claws barely prickling his neck and drawing blood through his cowl.

The boy’s pupils narrow into slits as he takes in Bruce and bares his teeth at the man, sharp canines revealing themselves— and if he didn’t know better from Tim, he would think the boy is some kind of feline meta.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Bruce says calmly, eyes wandering to Dick’s prone form, but Danny instinctively blocks his vision, taking a few steps back.

“And why should I believe you?” Danny growls, distrust in his eyes.

Bruce frowns, mind reeling.

“I don’t hurt kids.”

Danny barks out a bitter laugh.

“Right,” he says sarcastically. “Only the bad ones.”

Bruce knits his eyebrows together, staying quiet.

“You are the one that implied I’m dangerous, that I need to be ‘vetted’,” Danny quotes and Bruce eyes widen — how long had the boy known? How did he find out? Did Dick tell him? — “See? Bet you are thinking of how to shut me up by now.”

Bruce’s thoughts screech to a halt.

“See that’s a difference between you and me. While my instinct is to trust, yours is to distrust,” Danny spits out. “But apparently not when it’s about me being a potential villain.”

“If you know I’m also Bruce Wayne... Why…” Bruce is almost afraid of the answer. “Why don’t you trust me?”

“BECAUSE YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!” Danny blurts out, panting hard before he folds into himself, voice barely a whisper. “You almost killed me — dropped me off like- like a pig to be slaughtered.”

Danny tears his shirt down in frustration, revealing gnarly, twisted scars — a vivisection scar.

“You want to know why I don’t trust you? This is what you did to me — you and your goddamn team of heroes.”

#dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #jason todd #danny fenton #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #part 3 #yoonjae20 writing #yoonjae20 #ric fenton au

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jetii · 2 months ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Four: Fault Lines

Chapter WC: 13,262

Chapter Tags/Warnings: this chapter is 50% awkward flirting and teasing and the other 50% is arguing and scene setting and existential dread

A/N: Point of order for military stuff that's happening in these next couple chapters: the 501st is typically referred to in canon as a battalion. I'm making some assumptions that they grow to the size of a legion by the end of the war, though they're still a battalion by the time the Umbara arc happens according to canon. Yes, it's a kids show and they play it pretty fast and loose with the terms but I can't stomach ambiguity SO! At this point, the 501st is a battalion.

A legion is the same thing as a brigade. Goldie and Booker as Senior Commander lead the 419th Brigade, which is comprised of 4 regiments or 16 battalions, or up to 9,216 troops total. Just to give you an idea of size. I spent forever building her army and naval forces, and I could keep yapping but that’s not what we’re here for lol enjoy the chapter 🫡

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Duro, 20 BBY

Duro is an industrial world, and not one you'd ever desired to visit. It's a grim, polluted planet, with few natural resources and an atmosphere thick with pollution. The factories that litter the landscape are a testament to the greed and avarice of the corporations who own them, and the few workers left to maintain them are often treated little better than slaves. The planet's only saving grace is the flotilla of orbital cities, floating above the surface, where the majority of the inhabitants live.

There's an air of desperation down here on the surface, a sense of hopelessness, and it's not hard to see why. The Duro have wrung every last drop of profit from their world, stripping it bare and leaving nothing but ruins. They're a race in decline, clinging to their fading legacy with grim determination.

The Republic has managed to maintain control of the planet with a small garrison of troops stationed at a posting called the Equatorial Communications Hub. The hub is a series of towers, each housing a relay connected to the orbital cities by a network of repulsorlift tubes. It's an ugly building that juts out like a spike amongst the ruins in the distance, its white exterior stark against the dark sky, and the Republic's flag flies proudly from the top.

You look around as your gunship flies over the factories and the crumbling buildings streaking past below. It's an eerie sight, a ghost town, and it's easy to imagine how much worse the situation could become if the Separatists gain a foothold. You can't help but think of Nadiem, the image of the burned, bombed-out buildings and the piles of rubble fresh in your mind. The same thing could happen here, if the 501st and your forces aren't successful.

"It's a damn wasteland," Wise calls out over the hum of the gunship's engines. He leans over, glancing down at the row of factories, his face pinched with distaste. "What a shithole."

"Remind me why we have to land here?" Snap asks from the copilot's seat, bracing his arm against the cockpit as the ship rocks violently. "It looks like it's gonna blow up at any secon—hey! Watch it!"

"I'm trying," Dash snaps, his eyes focused on the controls. He eases the ship around a smoking tower, narrowly avoiding a collision, and the squad lets out a collective sigh of relief. “You try flying in this mess and see how you do, okay?"

"Someone's touchy today," Screwball observes from the back of the ship. He's fiddling with his rocket launcher, inspecting the charge and checking the power level. "You get up on the wrong side of the bed, little brother?"

"Oh, fuck off," Dash mutters, and you can't help but smile as he shoots Screwball a look of annoyance that translates through his helmet. "I'm trying not to get us killed. So maybe focus on that instead of harassing me."

Screwball opens his mouth to retort, but Wise clears his throat, his voice booming over the comm.

"Enough," he commands, and the two of them fall silent. "Save it for the clankers."

Screwball nods, turning his attention back to his weapon. Dash sighs, and you reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. He's been tense since the battle on Nadiem, the strain showing in the tightness of his shoulders and the weariness in his eyes.

He's not the only soldier who's been affected, though. The rest of the men are tired too, the months spent in and out of combat without respite having taken a toll. They're all dealing with it in their own ways, but for some, the burden has been harder to bear.

Snap is usually the most laid-back member of the squad, but you've noticed that even he has become more serious, his usual jokes and quips replaced by grim silence. Wise has been snapping at everyone, and Screwball seems to be constantly on the verge of a breakdown, oscillating between bouts of manic energy and depressive moods. And Dash...well, he's just exhausted. He's been working twice as hard to cover for his brothers, and it's not going unnoticed.

“You’re doing well,” you murmur, and Dash nods, his hands tightening on the controls. You can see the faint tremors in his fingers, the result of too many hours awake, and you sigh.

You've barely had any sleep yourself, your dreams haunted by visions of destruction and death. The images are getting clearer, more detailed, and they're becoming harder and harder to ignore. You're no closer to understanding them, and it's been an exhausting effort.

But the Force is telling you that it's important. It’s giving you the tools, the warnings, and you have to trust that it will show you the way. Even if it means sacrificing your sleep and your sanity.

And, hopefully, this time, it'll be worth it.

“Really,” you insist. You squeeze his shoulder, trying to convey the sincerity of your words. "I know it hasn't been easy, but you're doing a great job. I'm impressed."

"Thanks," he mumbles, his head dipping forward. You can't see his face, but you can sense his relief. He relaxes for a moment until the ship shudders as a gust of wind buffets it, the hull groaning in protest, and his spine stiffens. “I think I'm getting better at this flying thing.”

"I'll say," you remark, watching as he guides the ship around a towering factory billowing smoke into the air. "It's been, what, two months since you've had a crash?"

He snorts, and you know he's rolling his eyes, though he’d never do that in front of you directly.

“I’m serious,” you laugh and pat his shoulder. “Keep this up, and I might even let you fly my fighter.”

“Really?”

His head snaps towards you, and his voice is so hopeful that you can't help but smile.

You've spent a lot of time with the clones under your command over the past few months, and it's a privilege to see their personalities come to the fore, to watch them evolve into individuals, rather than just identical soldiers.

Dash has been particularly receptive to your efforts. His eagerness to learn and his natural affinity for technology has made him Maelstrom Company's de facto pilot under Snap, and the responsibility has allowed him to step out of his brothers' shadows and into his own. And as he's grown, so has his confidence. You've watched him go from a nervous, shy kid to a capable soldier, and you're proud of the progress he's made.

And he's not the only trooper who's improved. The rest of the squad have made similar strides, and you've seen them all blossom, each man finding his own niche within the 419th and discovering his strengths and weaknesses. It makes you a bit sentimental, and a lot proud. They've become more than just soldiers, and you’re well aware that you’ve grown attached, far more than you probably should be.

It's something you never expected, at least not to this extent. You'd never wanted a command of your own, never wanted to be a general, content to let Obi-Wan do all the leading and all the commanding. And the idea of being responsible for so many lives had scared you, especially considering your past. You'd had no choice in the matter, and you'd accepted your role with a sense of resignation.

But as the weeks and months had passed, you'd slowly come to realize that it wasn't the burden you'd expected. It wasn't easy, not by a long shot, and the losses and the deaths weighed heavily on you. But there was something rewarding about the work, a sense of purpose and a sense of accomplishment. You were able to help people, and make friends while doing it, and that was something you could get used to.

"Maybe," you say, giving Dash a playful smile. "We'll see."

He chuckles and returns his focus to the controls, his shoulders squared with determination. The ship shudders again, and you brace yourself against the wall as the viewport fills with a haze of grey. The men curse and complain, their voices rising over the roar of the engines, and you bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap at them.

Dash guides the ship into a sharp turn, the engines whining in protest. The turbines kick in before the ship levels out again. You all breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Sir, we’ve got movement on the ground, coming from the eastern quadrant of the city," Snap reports. A squadron of droids lumbers through the empty streets in the distance, heading towards the hub. "Looks like an entire company, at least."

You study the group, watching as the droids march in formation. They're moving quickly, and you can see the blaster bolts flashing as they fire into the windows of the surrounding buildings. Your intel suggests this part of the city has long since been abandoned, but it doesn't seem to stop the droids from continuing their attack.

"There's no civilians there, right?" you ask warily.

"No sir," Snap confirms. "All civilians were relocated to the orbital platforms, and the area was deemed secure."

"I'm going to make a low pass," Dash announces. "Check for heat signatures."

You nod, and Dash pushes the controls, dropping the ship towards the city below. He's careful in his movements, weaving between the towering shells of factories and the crumbling remnants of the city's infrastructure.

The men around you lean forward, watching intently, their eyes fixed on the droids. The gunship drops lower until its belly skims the rooftops of the lower buildings, and the droids come into focus, the dim sunlight glinting off their metal plating.

“I’m not picking up any organics," Snap reports, studying the scanner. “We should—“

The radio crackles, and a voice cuts in.

“Gunship 2899, this is 501st Captain Rex, what is your location? Over.”

The men exchange a glance, and you lean over, bracing on Dash's shoulder as you activate the comm.

"This is General Anathorn," you answer. "We are inbound to the rendezvous point. What's your status, Captain?"

“Engaging enemy forces, General,” Rex replies, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Care to join us?”

You can't help but smile, and the men chuckle, shaking their heads. You feel a flutter of excitement, the anticipation of seeing Rex again causing your heart to beat a little faster. You've missed him more than you'd ever expected, and the thought of being together, fighting side by side, it fills you with a sense of relief that’s almost staggering.

It'll be good to have him back. And even better to fight beside him.

"I think we can manage that," you answer, and Rex's answering chuckle echoes through the cabin.

Behind you is a chorus of groans and gagging noises, and you turn, glaring at the rest of the men. They pretend not to notice, staring studiously out the viewport or checking their weapons. You roll your eyes, and the comm crackles, Rex's voice ringing out once more.

"Copy that, sir," he says, his voice betraying his smile.

"See you soon, Captain," you murmur.

“Looking forward to it.”

The line cuts out in a burst of static, and you step back, trying not to look too eager. You cross your arms, clearing your throat, and turn to face the men. You can feel their barely-contained amusement through the Force, and you try to ignore the flush of heat creeping up your neck.

"Don't say a word," you warn, but it’s too late. The cabin explodes with laughter and cheers, and you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

It's good-natured, and they mean well, but it's still embarrassing.

You'd thought you'd been subtle in hiding your affection for Rex, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that your efforts had been futile. More than once, the men have caught you messaging and comming him, and their reactions have ranged from concern to bemusement to downright delight. They'd always seemed supportive, even approving, but their behavior as the hours counted down until your reunion has turned their teasing from gentle ribbing into outright harassment.

They were enjoying this, and you weren't sure how to feel about it. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways this could end badly if you decided to actually do something about the feelings you've harbored for the clone captain. So much could go wrong.

But at the same time, there was an ache inside, a longing, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore. And with the way the men were behaving, you were beginning to think it might be okay to act on those feelings. At least a little. If the opportunity arose. Maybe.

"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Screwball asks, his voice thick with laughter.

"Denied," you mutter, and the men snicker.

Snap covers his mouth, his shoulders shaking with barely-contained laughter, before his shoulders finally straighten. "What's the plan, General?"

"The plan is to land, kill every single droid in our path, and save the Republic," you answer. You cross your arms, trying to hide your embarrassment, and give them a pointed look. "Any questions?"

A few hands raise. You roll your eyes.

"Any questions not about my personal life?"

They put their hands down, and you nod.

"Good."

The gunship banks, and the men brace themselves as it drops towards the street below, weaving through buildings and dodging explosions erupting from the ground. Screwball and another trooper slide open the doors before they kneel and arm their rocket launchers, two troopers poised on either side to provide cover. You can see flashes of light in the distance, and the distinctive boom of exploding ordnance echoes through the cabin.

A group of droids rounds the corner in formation, firing at the approaching gunship. The rockets launch, streaking towards the droids, and the resulting explosion is deafening, a cloud of smoke billowing out and engulfing the street. The men cheer as the ship rockets through the plume and joins two more of your gold-painted gunships, the trio descending in a wedge formation.

“Focus on the tanks,” you order over the comms. "Scramble the fighters and begin aerial strikes. Let's try to minimize the damage."

You look out the open door and watch as the three ships separate, each flying along a different trajectory. The droids in the distance are a sea of black and gray, their blasters flashing as they return fire. You can see the blue armor of the 501st slowly advancing, the clones moving in formation and using the cover of the buildings to their advantage. Your eyes roam the field, and your breath catches as you finally catch a glimpse of the one you’re searching for.

Before you can overthink your decision, you step up to the open doors and unclip your lightsabers from your belt. A cool breeze blows past your face, ruffling your hair and tugging at the sleeves of your robes, and the scent of smoke fills your nose.

"Cover me," you order.

Screwball lets out a quiet chuckle. "You got it, sir."

He readies his rocket launcher, aiming at the nearest group of droids, and fires. The missile soars through the air, and the droids are engulfed in a flash of orange and red, the explosion rocking the ship.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, and close your eyes. And then, you leap.

The wind rushes past your ears as you plummet, your body arcing gracefully through the air. You land in a crouch and ignite your sabers, deflecting the bolts that fly in your direction before you push out, sending a shockwave that knocks the nearest droids off their feet.

You sprint forward, closing the distance, and slash through the droids, cutting them down with a flurry of strikes. The metal parts clatter to the ground, and the droids fall, their circuits sparking and sputtering.

A gunship swoops down and fires down at the droids, and you take advantage of the distraction, sprinting through the street and cutting down the machines in your path.

“You really know how to make an entrance," a voice calls from behind you as a familiar warmth blooms in the back of your mind.

A thrill runs through you, and you turn and find Rex approaching, his pistols drawn and firing rapidly. He ducks and weaves, his shots finding their targets, and the droids collapse in a heap of scrap.

"I was trying to impress you,” you shout back. "Did it work?"

"Mission accomplished," he jokes. You block another shot, and he takes a step closer, covering your flank. The two of you stand back-to-back, a familiar position, and you can't help but grin. It's good to have him at your side again.

"You seem to be doing well," you remark as your squad disembarks from the gunships, landing in the midst of the battle. They fan out among the 501st, forming ranks and returning fire. "How are things here?"

“Just another day at the office,” Rex quips, and you snort, rolling your eyes. He takes down two droids with two precise shots and tilts his helmet toward you. “Your boys been behaving?"

"As well as can be expected," you reply. You throw your blade, impaling a droid, and it slumps to the ground. You catch the blade as it returns to your hand and twirl, deflecting a blast and slicing through another droid. "Though they've been getting a little out of hand lately."

"Out of hand, huh?" he asks. His tone is curious, but you can sense the hint of worry in the back of your mind.

"Nothing I can't handle," you assure him. "They're just teasing."

"Teasing?" he repeats, and the question is heavy with implications. "What about?"

"Nothing," you say quickly. A little too quickly. "Just...nothing."

You're saved from further questioning by a sudden barrage of blaster fire. You duck and roll behind the nearest cover, Rex following suit. You both kneel, peering around the corner. A tank sits at the center of the battlefield, firing relentlessly, and you sigh, rubbing your temples. There's a headache coming on.

"What are the odds that you're going to let me deal with the tank while you stay here?" you ask. Rex shakes his head, and you huff, unsurprised. "I didn't think so."

"No, but thanks for asking this time," he retorts, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Fine," you mumble. "Any other ideas?"

Rex gives a nod, tapping the side of his helmet. "Yeah. Just give me a minute."

His attention turns back to the battle, and you take the opportunity to study him, his armor and the lines of his helmet. The familiar jaig eyes emblazoned on the front of his helmet are freshly painted, the only similarity between this set of armor and his old one besides the blue pauldron.

You’ve grown used to seeing the phase two clone armor among your troops, but to see it on him feels strange. It's a reminder that the war has changed, and that the men, the clones, are evolving too.

But despite the new armor and the fresh paint, it's still him. Still Rex. You can feel his presence, his mind, his emotions. And you can feel his affection, a warmth in his aura that radiates from him and seeps into your own. He's clearly happy to see you, and the knowledge of it eases the doubts in your mind, soothing the fears you've harbored.

The war has taken its toll, but he's still here, and he's still yours.

Rex notices your stare and turns towards you, a question in the tilt of his head. You don't bother to hide the fact that you're looking him over, and he clears his throat.

"What?" he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, your thumb running along the line where the old fascia plating meets the new. Rex goes still with a slight intake of breath, his hands tightening around his blasters.

"This looks good," you tell him as your hand drifts down, touching the side of his chest plate over his ribs. There's another welded seam where the plastoid plates are joined, the edges smooth and polished. "Did you weld this yourself?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah. I did," he answers, his voice strained. He shifts slightly under your scrutiny, his emotions fluttering like a bird caught in a net. "Too attached to the old look, I guess."

"Well, I'm glad you're still you," you tease as your hand falls back to the hilt of your lightsaber. You shrug a shoulder and turn, looking out over the field. “I’ll miss the old pauldron, though.”

Rex lets out a huff of laughter, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“You can try to stab me again, leave your mark on this one too," he jokes, gesturing to the blue pauldron jutting out from his shoulder. "If it'll make you feel better."

"Don't tempt me."

Before either of you can say anything more, a sudden blast erupts. The ground shudders as the tank's shell explodes, sending a plume of smoke into the air. You both turn and peer around the edge of your cover, and you're surprised to find a crater where the tank once stood, its metal shell shredded and its engines smoking.

"Huh," you mutter. "Guess we don't have to do anything after all."

"Looks like the boys are enjoying themselves," Rex chuckles, nodding towards the group of 501st and the 419th as they charge the droids. "We should probably get in there."

"Right behind you, Captain," you reply, and the two of you emerge from cover.

You leap across the street, and the battle is on. The droids are already scrambling to regroup, but their efforts are futile. Your squads close ranks, firing on the enemy with practiced precision. At your side, Rex picks off the stragglers while you deflect the bolts that fly in his direction, using the Force and your blades to guide their trajectory away from his armor.

Within minutes, the field is littered with metal parts and smoking wreckage. The 501st cheer as they take down the final droid, and you sheathe your lightsabers, watching the men celebrate.

Rex holsters his blasters and leans against the pile of debris, breathing heavily. His helmet tilts towards you, and a breathless laugh escapes his lips as you join him, resting your back against the same chunk of rock. The two of you look out over the field, the silence broken by the occasional burst of cheering and laughter.

"It's good to see you," he says softly.

"It's good to see you too," you reply, your tone fond, and you reach out and lay a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answers. He lifts his hand, his fingers curling around yours. "Just tired."

“Liar,” you tease, giving him a small smile, and he huffs a laugh.

"Maybe a little," he admits. Rex's thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand, and you lean closer, pressing your shoulder against his. "Things have been rough lately. I've missed having you around."

"Yeah," you agree. You turn towards him, and the two of you face each other, the silence heavy with words unsaid. "Me too."

The moment stretches, and Rex's free hand reaches up and removes his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His blond hair is damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes are tired, but the affection in them is unmistakable. It's a look you're familiar with, and the sight of it never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

"So," he begins, his mouth curving into a smile. "You want to tell me what's going on with your boys?"

You groan and close your eyes, and Rex chuckles, shaking his head. You can feel his eyes on you, studying your face, and you can't help but flush a little under the intensity of his gaze.

"Is it that bad?" he asks, and you can hear the concern in his voice. "Is someone giving you trouble? Booker should know better."

"It's not like that," you say, opening your eyes and meeting his. He frowns, his expression thoughtful, and you sigh. "I'll tell you later. We've got work to do."

"If you're sure," he says, his brow furrowing.

"I'm sure," you insist, and you push off the wall. The rest of the troops are approaching, the 501st and 419th converging in the middle of the field. Your men greet their brothers, and a small crowd forms, the 501st exchanging handshakes and friendly ribbing with your men. Fives is among them, and he greets the members of the 419th like they're old friends, clapping them on the back and laughing.

You're happy to see the camaraderie between the two squads, and it's nice to see the 501st mingling with your troops. Rex is at the center of it all, trying to maintain some semblance of order, but his attempts are halfhearted at best. He's smiling, a wide grin, and you can't help but stare.

The 419th had never gotten much interaction with the rest of the army before, and it had made for a lonely experience. You've been in the Outer Rim for over three months, trudging through jungles and swamps and the occasional desert. But rarely have you done so with another army nearby. You'd often wondered if the isolation was on purpose, or if the 419th had simply fallen through the cracks. Whatever the case, the result had been the same, and you're grateful that the situation has changed.

You watch them all with a small smile, your thumb and forefinger pressed to the bridge of your nose in an attempt to stave off the headache building in your skull.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

"General!" Fives calls, catching your attention. He waves at you with a bright grin. "Over here!"

You roll your eyes, but join him anyway, the others clearing a path for you. The men stand to attention as you approach, and Fives gives a lazy salute.

"Good to see you, sir," he greets. "Been awhile."

"At ease," you tell him, and the men relax, dropping their hands. You give his shoulder a pat. "How are things? Everyone holding up?"

"We're hanging in there," Fives answers. You tilt your head, trying to get a read on his emotions, and he seems...happy, his aura calm and unbothered. You're relieved. Fives has had a rough go of things lately, and you're happy to see him looking well.

"Good. We're glad to have you," you say.

"We're glad to have you too, sir. We missed you," he replies. There's a teasing note to his voice, and his grin widens, his eyes glittering with mischief. He glances at Rex. "Some of us more than others."

There's a chorus of snickers, and you fight the urge to groan as Rex stiffens. The teasing has officially begun.

"Thanks, Fives," you mutter, and he just shrugs, unfazed by the dryness of your tone. Rex, on the other hand, is practically radiating embarrassment. It's kind of cute.

"Hey, no problem, sir," Fives replies, a cocky smirk on his lips. He steps forward, and a low, conspiratorial murmur fills the space. "He's been insufferable, by the way."

Rex's face pinches in annoyance. "Fives."

"He's been moping, sir," Fives continues, ignoring his captain. "He wouldn't stop complaining about the comm traffic."

"Fives." Rex's tone is a warning, and Fives turns, raising his hands in surrender.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he defends.

"Well, stop helping," Rex snaps. The 419th all exchange knowing looks, the 501st snickering amongst themselves, and he sighs. "Let's just...get back to work, shall we?"

"Yes, sir," Fives responds, and he shoots you a wink. "We'll see you later, General."

He gives a quick salute and turns on his heel, marching off with the rest of the 501st. They break apart, the clones heading towards their various squads and companies, and Rex gives you one final look before heading off to rejoin them. You can't help but watch him walk away, and the men of the 419th all chuckle, nudging each other and smirking.

"Get moving," you order, and they salute, heading towards the command post and their assigned duties. You sigh and follow after them, wondering how many times you can repeat the same words before they'll listen.

As the two armies make the trek toward the hub, the city stretches out around you, a sea of gray buildings and smoke-belching factories. The sun is low in the sky, and the air is filled with the haze of pollution, a thick blanket of smog hanging low over the buildings.

It's a depressing sight, and you can't help but notice the destruction. Broken windows and scorched walls, shattered glass and twisted metal, and the occasional skeleton of a destroyed tank or an abandoned transport. It's a graveyard, and the thought causes a sharp pang in your chest. This planet was already dying, and the war is only accelerating the process.

The Republic and the Separatists are little better than the corporations that have stripped Duro bare. They've come to pillage and plunder, to take what they can and leave nothing behind. And they're destroying a planet that was already struggling. A planet that could have been saved, had they been wiser.

But these are thoughts for another day.

You're tired, and your mind is foggy, the exhaustion of the past weeks catching up to you. You're still feeling the effects of the visions, the strain of using the Force and the toll of the sleepless nights, and it's hard to focus. Your steps are sluggish, and the ache in your head has returned, a dull throb behind your eyes.

The men notice, of course, and they give you concerned glances. Without speaking, Snap drops back and takes Booker's usual place at your side. The two of you fall in step, and he clears his throat.

"The rest of the men just arrived at the hub," he says quietly, his hand finding your elbow, steadying you. "I had Dash fly ahead. He said the comms are a mess. Apparently there was some kind of power failure earlier today, and they haven't been able to restore service. He thinks the Separatists are jamming the signal to the flotillas."

"And the fleet," you guess, and he nods. You sigh. You're starting to regret the lack of sleep. You'd been so focused on the mission, trying to compensate for Booker’s absence, and now, you're paying the price. You stifle a yawn, blinking the exhaustion away. "How are Anakin and Ahsoka?"

"Eager to get started," Snap answers. He guides you around a piece of debris, careful not to jostle you too much. "They want to start a recon mission tonight."

"Of course they do." You rub your eyes and lean further into his hold. "I don't know about you, but I could use some rest before we go chasing after any more droids."

"Agreed, sir," Snap replies, his grip tightening on your elbow. "Let's take it easy, okay?"

"Okay."

It's quiet, and you can tell the men are listening in, even as they try to pretend otherwise. Their concern is almost stifling, their auras full of worry and affection, and it's hard not to be overwhelmed.

You know that they care about you. It's not a new realization. But it's still a strange feeling, being surrounded by people who are invested in your wellbeing. You'd only just recently gotten used to Booker's constant worrying, his hovering and the way he seemed to know your moods better than you did. And now, he's not here, and the role has been passed on to Snap, who seems to have taken it upon himself to be your self-appointed caretaker.

You can't really blame him. You know you haven't been yourself lately, and the fact that you've been neglecting your own health is something you can't ignore.

It's just hard to remember, sometimes.

"Wise said he has something for you, if you want," Snap tells you. "For the headache."

"He always does," you sigh. You glance up at him, studying his expression, and he tilts his head, waiting patiently. "Is he mad?"

"He's Wise," Snap says, and you can't help but snort. That's a yes. "He'll get over it."

"He's worried about you," Screwball chimes in from behind you. "He always is. That's just how he is."

"I'm fine," you protest. They both gives you pointed looks, and you relent, sighing. "Okay. Maybe not fine. But I will be."

"You should have said something sooner," Screwball scolds, and the men around him nod. "We could have helped."

"I know," you admit.

You're not sure what else to say. They've given up so much for you already. You're not sure how to tell them that they've already done more than you could ever ask for. They've followed every order, every command. They've trusted your judgment, even though it's led to countless close calls and far too many brushes with death. They've taken your extra training in stride without complaint. And they've become more than soldiers. They're your friends, and you know how lucky you are.

"It's just a headache," you tell him. "Nothing to worry about."

Screwball doesn't look convinced, but Snap gives him a stern look, the two of them having some kind of silent conversation. They share a nod, and Screwball falls back, rejoining the others. Snap releases his grip on your elbow and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"Come on," he mutters. "Almost there.”

Your men are quiet for the rest of the journey, and the streets are empty, save for a stray droid here and there. The clones make quick work of them without you ever having to raise a hand, and by the time you reach the command post, the sun is low in the sky.

The hub is a massive building, a spiked tower rising above the surface of the city. It's an ugly mixture of modern utilitarian architecture and the ancient style of Duro's long-forgotten civilization, a reminder of a forgotten past, and the sight fills you with a sense of foreboding as you approach. The repulsorlifts connecting the hub to the flotillas have been shuttered, and the building looms, dark and ominous, against the setting sun.

Rex leads the way up the ramp and into the building, the rest of the men following close behind. You hang back, your gaze fixed on the tower. It feels as though the atmosphere itself is holding its breath, the air heavy with anticipation.

The door hisses open, and you turn, following the others inside.

The interior of the building is dark and gloomy, the hallways lit only by dim, flickering lights. The walls are bare metal, and the floors are lined with cables and conduits snaking through the corridor. It's a labyrinthine structure of hallways and empty rooms, and it takes you a moment to get your bearings.

Snap stays close, a silent sentinel at your side as the others form up around you. The two of you keep an eye on Rex’s back as you walk, and you can see him glance over his shoulder every so often in your direction as if checking to make sure you’re still there. You meet his gaze each time and give him a reassuring smile.

You walk until the hallway branches off, a makeshift sign directing toward the medbay the Republic has set up in the lower levels. Snap slows to a stop and nudges your arm.

“I’m gonna go talk to Wise and see if he has anything for your headache," he says. He pauses and glances at the group ahead of you. "You'll be okay?"

"Yes, Snap," you sigh, and he narrows his eyes and turns his head, cupping a hand over the side of his mouth.

“Hey Rex,” Snap calls out. Rex stills, the rest of the squad following suit. "I'm going to see if the Chief has anything for our General. Think you can keep her out of trouble until I get back?"

“Snap,” you hiss. He shrugs and turns back, a smug smirk on his face. You shake your head. "I'm fine."

Rex chuckles and turns, his expression playful.

"I think I can manage," he replies, and Snap gives him a salute, disappearing down the hallway. You're left standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, the remaining members of the 419th giving you curious looks. You roll your eyes and start walking.

"I should be offended by that," you mutter as Rex falls into step beside you, letting Fives take the lead.

"Nah," he replies. "It's good. They're just looking out for you."

"They're treating me like I'm fragile," you grumble.

"They're treating you like a sister," Rex corrects. He tilts his head towards the men, his voice soft. "Which isn't too far off."

"You're not helping," you grumble. You give him a sidelong glance, and he shrugs. "I can't believe they're doing this."

"I can," he retorts. His voice is gentle, and his eyes are bright. "You deserve it. And honestly, I'm glad. After the last time we saw each other—"

"Let's not talk about that," you interrupt, and he gives a quiet huff. "Please."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to," you mutter. Rex gives you a skeptical look, and you sigh. "It's just...I'm not sure how to...talk about it."

"Then we won't," he agrees. He's silent for a moment, and you can feel him studying your face. "For now."

"Thanks," you whisper, and he hums.

You walk in silence after that. You're acutely aware of Rex's presence next to you, the familiarity of his mind. It's comforting, and you're reminded again how much you've missed him. Even his emotions, which are often tumultuous, are a comfort. They're warm and affectionate, and they fill the space around you, wrapping you in a soft blanket.

It's nice. But it's also incredibly distracting.

By the time the squad emerges from the hallway, you're a jumbled mess of emotion. You're tired, and your head is pounding, and the last thing you need is another round of teasing. But with Anakin, you know there's no chance of avoiding it.

The rest of the clones disperse, and you and Rex continue on through the command center, a large, open space with the ceiling extending far overhead. There are catwalks lining the upper floors, and a series of computer consoles are arranged in neat rows, each console manned by a clone or a droid.

Rex leads you towards a raised dais with a holotable in the center of the room. Anakin and Ahsoka are there, along with several other members of the 501st, including Jesse. The trooper stands to the side, his arms crossed, and he greets Rex with a curt nod before his eyes slide over to you. A slight smile touches his lips, and it only widens when he takes in how close Rex is hovering next to you.

You roll your eyes. You're not sure why you assumed he'd be any less insufferable than the others. Jesse had been the one to tell you, explicitly, that Rex was in love with you, but he'd done so with such a straight face and had been so unflappable in the aftermath that it was hard to imagine him still teasing you about the potential relationship.

But apparently his patience and self-control were only a ruse, and he was just as bad as the rest of the men. You can only imagine what Rex had to endure in your absence.

Ahsoka looks up and meets your gaze, her expression shifting from frustration to relief as you and Rex ascend the steps. You're struck by how different she looks, her blue eyes still bright and full of life, but her expression older, her features sharper, and her aura heavier. She's grown since the last time you saw her, and the war has left its mark.

Still, though, she smiles just as brightly as ever, her excitement and happiness radiating through the Force. She darts around the holotable and embraces you in a hug.

"Master Anathorn," she exclaims, her voice muffled against your shoulder. You laugh and return the hug, giving her a squeeze. "It's so good to see you."

"Good to see you, too," you reply, and you step back, taking her in. "You've gotten taller."

"Have I?" she asks, her eyes crinkling.

"You have," you confirm.

She glances over her shoulder at her master, and you follow her gaze. Anakin is leaning against the holotable, his arms crossed. His gaze is fixed on the map, but he's clearly listening to the conversation. He looks older too, his hair slightly longer, his eyes a bit more tired, but there's still a spark of mischief in his gaze. He meets your eyes and gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Took you long enough.”

"Nice to see you too, Anakin," you sigh.

"Glad to have you back, Goldie," he replies, breaking out into a grin. He rounds the table and approaches, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze before he steps away. You grimace, and Ahsoka snickers.

"I forgot how much I hated that nickname," you grumble. "Any chance you'll stop calling me that?"

"Not likely," Anakin replies easily. You shake your head and glance at Rex, who's watching the exchange with a mix of bemusement and annoyance.

Anakin follows your gaze, trailing down to where Rex is still hovering on the step behind you, his hand balanced on the railing next to your hip. You can't help but notice how close he is, his armor almost brushing your back. Anakin arches a brow and smirks.

"Captain," Anakin greets. "You're late."

"Sorry, sir," Rex replies, his voice tight. He hesitates, glancing down at his hand, and shifts back, clearing his throat and tucking his hand behind his back. "We were delayed."

"Oh? By what?"

Rex clears his throat. "Droids."

"We were fighting your battles for you, evidently," you add with a glare. You're not sure what game Anakin is playing, but you don't like it, and the urge to defend Rex is too strong to ignore. "You could have at least mentioned that we had a Separatist blockade to deal with. Or did you forget about us?"

"We didn't forget about you," Ahsoka interjects quickly. She gives her master a look, and he holds up his hands, his expression innocent. "We're glad you made it."

"Thank you, Ahsoka," you say. You glance at Anakin and scowl. "It's nice to know some people have manners."

Anakin just smirks. Ahsoka sighs and turns, and Rex falls into step beside you as the four of you crowd around the table. There’s a brief, featherlight touch on the small of your back, a flash of gratitude in the Force, and the contact sends a shiver up your spine. You give him a sidelong look and find his expression is carefully neutral, his gaze focused on the holomap. His fingers twitch against the hilt of his blaster.

"Okay, well, let's get started," Anakin says, turning his attention back to the holotable. He waves a hand over the display, and a series of images and data files appear. "The Separatists have managed to cut off communications from the flotilla and are jamming our transmissions to the fleet. We need to get the signals back up, and soon."

He pauses, his gaze moving over the gathered group.

"Our intelligence suggests the Separatists are using a signal jammer located somewhere in the city," Anakin continues, pointing near the hub. "We’re guessing it’s a distraction while they prepare for their assault on the shield generators. It's only a matter of time before they start launching an offensive."

"And we can't let that happen," Ahsoka adds. She crosses her arms and leans against the table, her eyes narrowed. "The shield generators are located at the north and south poles of the planet. One is in the center of the capital city, and the other is on the edge of a small farming settlement. The Separatists are planning on attacking both at the same time."

"If they manage to destroy the generators, the shields will fail," Anakin says, a scowl forming on his face. "And once the shields go down, they'll launch their ships. And we'll be in big trouble."

"We'll have to divide our forces, split up," Rex says, and Anakin nods. "One group can take out the signal jammers, and the other two can protect the shield generators."

"Ahsoka is going to lead a team to find the location of the jamming device," Anakin says, nodding to the Padawan. He turns back to you just as Snap arrives, carrying a bottle of water and a small packet. "Goldie, how many men did you bring?"

"Three regiments, sir," Snap answers for you as he passes you the water and painkillers. You give him a grateful look and down the pills, chasing them with a sip of water. "A little over six thousand. They're ready to move out, just waiting on your orders."

"That's good. We're going to need them," Anakin says, and his eyes slide to Rex. "Rex, take the rest of the 501st with Goldie to the northern generator. I'll take two regiments to the south and rendezvous with Ahsoka when she’s finished."

"Understood, sir," Rex replies. He looks over at you and tilts his helmet in your direction. "What do you think, General?"

You study the hologram, and your gaze settles on the capital city, a collection of buildings and factories arranged in a circular pattern. A thick wall surrounds the city, and the shield generator is placed in the center, the structures surrounded by a complex network of defense cannons and guard towers.

To be honest, you're not thinking much of anything. Your head is pounding, and your thoughts are slow and fuzzy. But Rex is looking at you expectantly, and the rest of the group are waiting, so you force yourself to speak.

"It's going to be difficult," you say. You lean against the table, bracing yourself. "But we can do it. My only concern is Grievous' fleet. Our ships can’t hold him off forever.”

"We can't worry about them right now," Anakin says. "Our priority is keeping the Separatists from taking the shields down."

"Agreed," you sigh. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to ease the ache in your head. "Alright. We'll go north. We should try to reach the generator before the droids arrive."

"Copy that, sir," Rex says, and he raises a hand, signaling the troops. "Let's move out."

You nod at Snap, and he does the same, passing the message on to the troopers nearby to take to the regimental commanders. You push away from the table and turn, stepping away as the room bursts into a flurry of activity. Rex is by your side instantly, his hand finding your arm and guiding you down the stairs. You don't resist, letting him lead, and his grip tightens, a reassuring squeeze.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly. You shake your head, and he sighs, a sympathetic rumble in the back of his throat. "How bad is it?"

"Not too bad," you lie.

"Liar," he accuses. You let out a soft laugh, a small, strained noise that makes his brow furrow. "What do you need?"

"Some time alone," you murmur. "It's...hard, having so many people around."

"Okay," he says. "Can you hold on a bit longer? Just until we can get somewhere private?"

You nod, and he leads you through the bustling crowd, weaving between the troopers as they gather their gear and prepare for the mission. The room is alive with movement, the buzz of voices, and the clatter of armor and weapons. But you hardly notice. You keep your eyes down, focusing on the ground beneath your feet and the feeling of Rex's hand on your arm. It's comforting, grounding, and it's all you can do not to cling to him, to use him as an anchor.

It doesn't take long for him to find a quiet corner, tucked behind a stack of crates and out of sight. It's an out of the way alcove, dark and cool, and the noise fades into a distant murmur.

Rex pulls you to a stop, and you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your head fall forward. You can feel his worry, his concern, but he stays quiet, giving you the space you need.

He's always been good at that, at knowing what you need, even if you can't put it into words. It's something you've come to appreciate. Especially now, with the noise and the lights and the overwhelming press of his mind.

You let the Force flow through you, washing over you and clearing the fog from your thoughts. The painkillers kick in, and the sharp stabbing pain in your skull fades, leaving behind a dull ache. You focus on your breathing, on the beat of your heart, and the chaos around you begins to recede, replaced by a sense of calm.

When you finally open your eyes, Rex is standing next to you, his gaze fixed on your face. You give him a small smile, a slight curve of your lips that does little to reassure him.

"I'm okay," you tell him, and his jaw tenses, his brow furrowing.

"You're not," he counters, his voice low and soft.

"No," you concede. "But I will be. It's not the first time."

"It wasn't like this before," he says. "Is it—"

"No," you answer before he can finish. You know what he's going to ask, and you don't want him to. "It's not."

“Seems like it is,” Rex insists, his eyes searching yours. You sigh and rub your temples, your shoulders slumping. He's right. It's hard to argue. But the visions are still a raw, open wound. The memories too fresh, the feelings too raw.

You can't talk about it.

"I just need a minute," you whisper.

"Okay," he murmurs, and he steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. You feel his absence like a cold breeze, and a wave of frustration washes over you.

It's not fair how much you want him. It's not fair how close he is, and yet how far away. It's not fair—the war, and the rules, and the fear. You're tired of being afraid. Tired of keeping your distance. Tired of wondering if this is the moment everything comes crashing down. It's too much. You're so, so tired.

Without thinking, you close the gap, wrapping your arms around Rex’s waist and burying your face in his chest plate. You can feel his surprise, his hesitation, and the sudden spike of anxiety. But he doesn't push you away. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer and guiding you both deeper into the shadows, his grip tightening as the room continues to buzz with activity.

It's risky, the two of you so exposed. Anyone could see, anyone could walk by and catch you in each other's arms, but you don't care. The fear is a distant echo, buried under the exhaustion and the need to feel his body pressed against yours.

You can hear his heart pounding, the rhythm of his breathing, and the soft exhale as he rests his chin atop your head, his body molding to yours. You breathe him in, the scent of his armor, the clean smell of his skin, and the subtle spice of his aftershave. It's comforting and familiar, and it soothes the ache in your chest.

"It's not that bad," you murmur, and Rex scoffs, his grip on you tightening. "It's not."

"No. Of course not," he mutters. His cheek presses against the top of your head, his hand stroking your back. "That's why you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding," you retort, your voice muffled by his chest plate. He chuckles, and you sigh, leaning against him. "Fine. I'm hiding."

"It's okay," he whispers. "You can hide here."

"Thank you," you murmur, and his hand cups the back of your head, his thumb running over the skin of your neck.

"You're welcome," he replies. He pauses, and you can feel the hesitancy radiating through the Force, the weight of his thoughts. You wait, and eventually he speaks. "Are we okay?”

You know what he's asking. It's the same question that's been haunting you since you admitted you want more. It's the same question that's been plaguing your mind, keeping you awake, and torturing you with doubt. Are you okay? Are the two of you okay? Can things go back to the way they were? Or is this something that will change everything?

"I don't know," you admit. "I want us to be."

"Me too," he whispers.

"Then we will be," you promise. You close your eyes and rest your head against his chest, savoring the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms. "We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," he murmurs, his grip tightening, holding you close. You sigh and close your eyes, letting yourself relax. "Yeah, we will."

You stand there for a long time, just holding each other. Eventually, Rex pulls back, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“What’s going on with you? You don't seem like yourself." He tilts his head and brushes a stray hair out of your face, his voice soft. "Is this about the vision? You can talk to me, you know."

“It’s not about the vision,” you reply, and when his face turns skeptical, you sigh. “It’s not. It’s just a headache.”

“Have you talked to the Chief?"

"Of course I've talked Wise," you grumble. Rex frowns.

"Then why do I have the feeling you're not telling me the whole truth?" He tilts his head, his brow furrowed, his concern bleeding through the Force. "There's something you're not telling me. What is it?"

"Wise said that I'm probably just tired," you deflect. Rex arches a brow, his expression dubious. "It's just a side effect. And the lack of sleep isn't helping."

“A side effect of what?”

“I…”

"Side effect of what?" he repeats, lower this time. You pull away from his grasp, and Rex’s eyes narrow, his hands dropping to his sides. You can see the muscles in his jaw flexing, the frustration radiating off of him in waves. "Please don't tell me that it's nothing. Not again. Not this time."

"You're gonna be mad," you warn, and he shakes his head, his expression tight.

"Probably," he concedes. He lets out a breath and steps closer, his gaze locked on yours. "But I'm not going to stop worrying. So please, just tell me what's wrong."

You swallow and look away, biting the inside of your cheek. You shouldn't have said that. But you know that he'll see right through any lie you could possibly come up with, and, honestly, you don't have the energy for it.

You glance over your shoulder, scanning the crowd, but there's no sign of anyone paying attention to the two of you. Even so, you take his hand and lead him further into the darkness, until the two of you are hidden completely, a pile of crates blocking the view.

You take a deep breath and brace yourself, meeting his gaze.

“I healed someone on Nadiem. A child, with a serious brain injury," you confess. "It was...extremely taxing."

You watch as Rex’s expression shifts from suspicion to shock, his eyes widening. He takes a step back, his hands clenched at his sides, his mouth working, but no words coming out. After a moment, he just shakes his head and sighs.

"Of course you did," Rex says, his voice rough. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, a look of pain crossing his face. "When?"

"Not long before our last conversation," you admit. He curses, and you wince. "Rex, it wasn't—"

"It was," he cuts in, his voice tight. His jaw tenses, and he turns away, running a hand over his face. He mutters something under his breath, and the frustration in the Force is almost tangible.

You can't help but notice how tired he looks, his face lined with stress and exhaustion, his eyes heavy with dark circles. He looks haunted. Like he hasn't slept in days. Or weeks. You're not sure which, and the realization is painful.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he flinches. His head jerks up, his eyes finding yours, and he takes a step back, his expression guarded.

"Rex," you urge softly. "Talk to me."

"I just..." he trails off, his gaze drifting away. He sighs, his shoulders drooping, and he leans back against the crates. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't put yourself in danger like that. And you...you still did."

"It was an emergency, Rex," you say, your tone a mixture of exasperation and fondness. You take his hand and squeeze, and his fingers curl around yours. "Besides, it was…different this time. Yeah, my head hurts, but the way that it felt? I've never felt anything like it. It was incredible. I felt more in control than I ever have. The pain wasn't as bad, and the drain wasn't as severe."

Rex gives you a sidelong glance and tilts his head. "Why is that?"

"I don't know. I have a theory, but it's..."

"What?" he prods, his brow furrowing. He straightens up, and the curiosity is written all over his face. "You think you might have finally learned how to control the Force, right?"

"Yes," you confirm. You smile at him and step closer, your hands moving to his shoulders. “I trusted the Force, and it guided me. And it worked. Better than it ever has. The kid just walked out of the medbay the next morning, completely healed. It was a miracle, Wise said."

Rex frowns and glances away, his brows drawn together. He's silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the ground. When he speaks, his voice is soft.

"It doesn't change anything," he says, and you scoff, dropping your hands to your sides.

"It changes everything," you argue, and he shakes his head.

"Not if it puts you in danger."

"It was worth the risk, Rex," you say, and he huffs.

"Not to me."

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm. It's hard. Your emotions are bubbling up, threatening to boil over, and you're not sure what to do. You're angry, and frustrated, and hurt, and you can feel his anger too, and his fear. But there's something else, something deeper. There's a vulnerability there, an aching loneliness, and you can't bear to let it fester.

"Why?" you ask. "Why does it bother you so much? You know what I can do, Rex. It's not like this is the first time."

He shakes his head, his eyes dark. "It's not about the Force."

"Then what?"

"You," he says. His voice is rough, and his eyes are bright, burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's about you. You're always pushing yourself too far, putting yourself in the line of fire, and not caring about the consequences. That's what bothers me. You're so focused on saving everyone else that you don't realize you're going to get yourself killed. Or worse."

You take a breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I can't help it, Rex," you say, and his face twists, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "I can't turn it off. And I'm not going to apologize for trying to save lives. And, frankly, I'm getting tired of hearing about it. So, for once, can we not do this?"

"Not do what?" he asks, his voice rising. "Be concerned about you? Or worried about the possibility that you might not make it through the war? No, we can't not do that. Because that's my reality."

"That's not fair," you protest, and he shakes his head, pushing off the crate and stepping forward, closing the distance between the two of you in one stride.

"Neither is expecting me to be okay with the fact that you're constantly throwing yourself into danger," Rex says, his voice sharp. He leans closer, and the air between you seems to crackle, the Force rippling with energy. "Or worse, not even tell me about it."

"It's not that simple, and you know it," you hiss, and Rex shakes his head, his eyes blazing. "I can't—"

"Yes, it is," he insists, his tone firm.

"No, it's not," you retort. "You don't understand what it's like to have this power, to have the ability to help people, and not use it."

"And you don't understand what it's like to have to stand by, helpless, while the person I—" He cuts himself off, and his expression turns stricken. He takes a deep breath, swallowing hard, and continues, "The person I care about risks her life. Over and over again."

"I do," you argue. The anger coursing through you, hot and bright, burns through your veins, but you fight to keep it at bay. You fight to keep your voice down, even though the urge to do something, anything, is threatening to break free. "I do understand. Because that's what it's like for me too."

"It's different," he insists, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "It is."

"How?"

"Because it is," he snaps, his frustration seeping through the Force. "You're the Jedi. I'm just a clone."

"Don't," you warn, your voice low. The anger is replaced with a sharp pang of hurt, a deep, piercing ache that leaves you reeling. "Don't even start with that."

The two of you fall silent, breathing hard. Rex stares at you, his eyes wild, his expression a mix of frustration and pain. He looks at you, really looks, and the weight of his gaze is almost unbearable. You can't meet his eyes, so instead you stare at his chest, your heart pounding. You're shaking, and you're not sure if it's from the rage or the pain.

Rex is right, though. It is different. Your life is worth more than his, and the knowledge of it sits heavy in your chest. It's a bitter truth. An awful, painful realization that has been slowly eating away at you since the day you first met him, met all the clones. They were never meant to survive. In the eyes of the Republic, he's expendable, a replaceable cog in the machine of war.

And you hate it. You hate that the galaxy has so little regard for their lives. You hate that the Jedi Order has allowed the clones to be used like this. You hate that, no matter how much you try, no matter how much effort you put into saving their lives, it will never be as important as saving your own. And most of all, you hate that Rex knows it, too.

You close your eyes, trying to regain control, but the anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface. The ache in your chest is a physical pain, and it takes every ounce of strength not to lash out, to throw the boxes at his feet, to send them flying into the wall. To shatter the silence with a blast of power that would leave the entire room shaking.

But you can't. You can't risk it. The only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you from losing control, is Rex. The warm press of his mind, the familiar hum of his Force signature. It's the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. You cling to it, holding tight.

"Fine," Rex sighs, and he runs a hand over his head, his expression resigned. "But that doesn't mean it's not true."

"It's not true," you whisper. He raises an eyebrow, and you shake your head, the anger fading, replaced by a desperate, aching sadness. "I won't let it be true. I can't. Rex, you're—you're more than just a clone. To me. You have to know that."

"I know," he admits, his voice soft. He closes his eyes, and his shoulders slump. "I do. But that doesn't change anything."

"No," you agree. You swallow, the ache in your chest spreading. "I suppose it doesn't."

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the air heavy with the weight of your words. You can feel the pain, the guilt, and the sorrow radiating off him. And you know it's not going to get any easier. Not anytime soon.

You're exhausted, too tired to keep the fires of your rage burning, and every second passes leaves you feeling colder than the last. You don't have the energy to keep arguing, to keep trying to convince him that you're doing the right thing. Or that it's going to be okay. The truth is, you're not sure if it is. But you have to believe.

So instead, you reach for him, and Rex lets out a shuddering breath before he meets you halfway. Your arms wrap around his neck as you pull him into your arms, his chest plate pressing against yours, his arms encircling your waist, and he buries his face in your neck. You close your eyes and let him lean into you, his body curling around yours.

"Why are we doing this?" Rex asks, his voice a rough whisper. You can feel his lips move against the skin of your neck, his breath tickling the hairs at the nape. You shiver, and he presses closer, his fingers digging into your back.

"Doing what?" you murmur.

"Arguing," he answers. "We shouldn't be doing this. Not now. We should be...we should be celebrating, or...or doing something. Anything."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," he mutters. You pull back, looking up at him, and his expression is pained, his jaw clenched. "I just know it's not what I want. Is it—is it what you want?"

"Well, you know I do enjoy a good argument," you quip, trying to lighten the mood, and Rex gives you a deadpan look. You sigh and rest your forehead against his chest, closing your eyes. "No, it's not what I want."

"Me neither," he admits, and he lets out a shaky breath, his hand cupping the back of your head. "We've barely spoken for months, and the first thing we do is fight. Why are we fighting?"

"Because we're stubborn.”

"I'm stubborn," he corrects. "You're impossible."

"Oh, come on," you huff. "I'm not that bad."

"Worse," he counters, a smile tugging at his lips. "Definitely worse."

You kick his boot with the toe of yours as you glare up at him, and he gives a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You can't help but notice the way his eyes shine in the dim light, the hint of mischief and warmth, and you feel the last bit of anger fade away, replaced by a familiar sense of affection.

"Rex," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," he murmurs, his thumb moving gently near the spot by your ear. You lean into the contact, and his gaze softens, a look of tenderness settling over his features. "So much."

"So stop being mad at me," you plead. He sighs, his eyes searching yours. "Please."

"You make it very difficult not to be," Rex says, his voice laced with humor. "Especially considering your track record."

"I'm working on it," you grumble. "I'll try not to worry you so much, okay? I promise."

"Well, that's something," he says with a chuckle. You laugh, and he squeezes your waist, a playful tug. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

"You're too young for that," you tease. "Maybe an ulcer."

"Oh, well, as long as it's an ulcer," he drawls, and you snicker. He gives you a look, but it lacks heat, and he can't hide his smile. "Seriously, though. Please be careful. I have a bad feeling about this whole thing."

"I'll try," you reply. You stroke his cheek, his stubble scratching against your palm. "You too."

"Always am," he assures you.

He tilts his head, leaning into your touch, and his eyes slide shut. His forehead presses against yours, and his hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. His scent fills your senses, his presence enveloping you, and you close your eyes, letting yourself relax.

He feels so good, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, the weight of his hands on your hips grounding you. And it's only now, with the space between you closed, that you realize how much you've missed him. How much you need him. How much you love him.

You open your eyes, taking him in. He's so close, his lips inches from yours. All it would take is a shift, a tilt of your head, and you'd be kissing him.

"You should know that I...I..." Rex falters, and his eyes flicker open, a hesitant look on his face. His mouth works, but no words come out, and his grip on you tightens. "I'm..."

"What?" you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his jaw clenching.

"I'm—"

"Hey, Captain!"

Rex jerks back and yanks his hands away as if burned, and he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet and into the stack of crates behind him. You reach out, steadying him, and his cheeks burn as his eyes dart over your shoulder, his attention focused on whoever called his name. You turn to find Fives rounding the corner, and the trooper skids to a halt, his gaze darting between the two of you, his mouth hanging open.

"Fives," Rex greets, his voice strained. He straightens, adjusting his armor and clearing his throat, and his gaze lands anywhere but on the clone. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh…" Fives hesitates, his eyes flickering over to you. His face twists into an apologetic grimace, and you shake your head, a silent signal that it's fine. He nods, his expression easing, and he gestures vaguely over his shoulder. "I just...we're ready to move out. We're waiting on the two of you."

"Right. Right, of course," Rex replies, his voice thick. He glances down at you and clears his throat, his expression carefully neutral. "General."

"Captain," you murmur.

He looks at you, his eyes wide, his cheeks still flushed, and his mouth works silently. You can feel your brows rise in amusement, and his gaze darkens, a warning.

"I'll be right there," Rex says, his tone firm.

"You got it," he replies. He shoots you a glance before he turns on his heel and walks off, the bounce in his step telling you that he's enjoying this a little too much.

You sigh and turn back to Rex, his gaze locked on the crate next to you. He's avoiding your eyes, his lips pressed together and his arms crossed over his chest.

"So," you start, and his gaze snaps to yours. "Where were we?"

"Nowhere," he says, his expression pained. He shifts his weight and glances away, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Absolutely nowhere. That was...nothing. We can talk about it later."

"If you're sure," you say, and he nods. You can't help but notice the flush in his cheeks, the slight tremble in his hands. He's nervous. Really, really nervous. You're not sure why. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"That's what I want," he confirms, his voice tight.

"Okay."

Rex lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs his face, his hands falling away to grab his helmet off a nearby crate. He pulls it on, the hiss of the seals echoing in the space, and his posture straightens. The change is subtle, but it's noticeable. The air around him feels more controlled, the chaos and uncertainty giving way to focus and confidence. It's like a switch has been flipped. He's Captain Rex again, not the man who was inches away from kissing you.

You shake your head, a wry smile touching your lips, and he tilts his head, studying you. His gaze lingers for a moment before he turns and walks away, his strides purposeful, and you're quick to follow.

By the time you reach the entrance to the building, it’s nearly dark, and the streets are crowded with troopers filing into transports, tanks, and gunships. The air is filled with the buzz of conversation, the steady rumble of engines, and the whine of repulsorlifts. It's a chaotic scene, and the noise is disorienting, a dull roar that seems to fill your senses.

“Sir.”

You turn to see Snap and Wise approach, the latter adjusting his medpack on his shoulders as he walks. Wise gives you a once over, his brow furrowing while his gaze roams your face, as if he could see your headache if he looked closely enough. His gaze darts to Rex, and you can feel the disapproval radiating off of him.

"You good, sir?" Wise asks, his voice low.

"I'm fine, Wise," you reassure him.

"Uh-huh," he hums, clearly not convinced, and Snap gives him an exasperated look.

"That's the fourth time today," Snap warns. Wise scowls, his lip curling. "It's not going to work. Stop asking."

"It might," Wise mutters.

"It won't," he counters, and the medic lets out a huff. "We're ready, General. All units accounted for."

"Thank you," you say, and you glance at Wise. "Both of you."

Snap salutes and heads off, and Wise lingers, his expression unreadable. He sighs, shakes his head, and adjusts the strap on his pack.

"I'll ask again later," he warns. You shake your head, a faint smile forming on your lips, and he grunts and steps closer, lowering his voice. "And about whatever that was. With the Captain."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply smoothly, and you hold Wise’s gaze with raised eyebrows, daring him to call your bluff. His expression doesn't change, and the two of you stand there for a long moment, a silent battle of wills.

Wise finally breaks first, a heavy sigh escaping him.

"Yes, sir," he grumbles, though you know better than to think he’s going to let that go so easily. "You coming?"

"No, she's riding with me," Rex interrupts, and you turn to see him standing behind you, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture is casual, but there’s a tightness to his tone that catches Wise's attention, and the medic frowns. He nods in the direction of one of the 501st's gunships. "Orders."

"Of course she is," Wise drawls. He raises an eyebrow, and you can tell he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue, settling for a knowing smirk. "See you in a bit, sir."

Wise salutes, turns, and jogs off, his long stride quickly eating up the distance to his transport. He joins his brother, and the two of them climb inside, disappearing from view.

Rex catches your eye and jerks his head toward his ship, and you follow him, shaking your head at his blatant lie. You’re the highest ranking officer on the planet. There are no orders. But, as far as excuses go, it works, and you don't argue. You're not going to pass up a chance to spend more time with him.

"You’re giving me orders now, Captain?" you tease. "I should put you in the brig for insubordination."

"I think we're past that," Rex replies. He slows his pace, and you match him, the two of you walking side by side through the throng of troopers. He clears his throat and glances toward you. "Sorry. I just...now that you’re here, I'd rather keep you close. For everyone's safety."

"Right," you drawl. A smirk curls on your lips, and you nudge him with your elbow. "For everyone's safety."

"Yes," he says, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He gives you a pointed look that translates through his helmet. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," you laugh. "I'm just agreeing with you. For everyone's safety."

"General," Rex sighs.

"Captain."

His hand finds your shoulder, and he nudges you gently in the direction of the waiting gunship. “Just get on the damn ship, will you?"

"Alright, alright," you concede, holding up your hands. "You're getting very pushy."

"I'm trying to keep you alive," he replies, his tone flat. "It's a full-time job."

"A little dramatic, don't you think?" you quip, and he grunts in response. Rex's hand slides down your back before he gives you a light shove, and you stumble forward, biting back another laugh.

"Get going. Or I'm going to leave without you."

"You're lucky you're cute," you mumble. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he stiffens, letting out a choked noise. A wicked smirk spreads across your lips, and you tilt your head, your gaze fixed on his. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he croaks, and he gestures at the ship. "After you, sir."

"Thank you, Captain."

Rex sighs and shakes his head, his helmet tilted in a way that tells you he's rolling his eyes. But the exasperation doesn't last, and the fondness in his aura only intensifies. You can't help the flutter that passes through you at the feeling, or the smile that lights up your face as you turn and board the gunship.

It’s strange, how connected you feel to him now, as if the past couple of months have only heightened the bond between the two of you. His presence in the Force is stronger, more vibrant. You're acutely aware of his mind, his emotions. They're clearer, more defined, and the connection is easier to maintain. Rex is closer, in every way possible.

You can't help but wonder if it has something to do with the dream of the golden fields. If the two of you truly are linked in some way. That there's a future for the two of you.

Or maybe it's just the stress and anxiety of the mission, the fear that something will happen, and your other vision will come true. Maybe you're just worried. Or maybe you're just missing him.

Maybe this is how it's always been, and you've just been too blind to notice.

You don't know, and you're not sure if it matters. Not right now. As long as he's here, and the two of you are together. That's all you need.

Rex's hand finds yours as you grab onto the safety handle to steady yourself, brushing your fingers lightly before pulling away to grasp the one above his head. The gesture is small, subtle, but it's more than you could have asked for. It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, and neither is he. That no matter what happens, the two of you are in this together.

You can worry about the rest later.

taglist: @cyaretra @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @cw80831

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #reunited and it feels so good #every time i edit this chapter it gets longer god forgive me #these two make me just want to rrAAHHH #i am no closer to finishing the other chapters in this section btw #we may have another rex pov break next week

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velvetinkbym · 3 months ago

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Smoke & Starlight

Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

Masterlist || Previous chapter || Next chapter ~

Chapter two: Into The depths

The air in Zaun is thick—damp with humidity, laced with the sharp bite of oil and burning metal. It clings to your skin, heavy and suffocating, as you and Caitlyn navigate the maze of dimly lit streets. The neon signs flicker above you, buzzing like insects, casting eerie hues of green and purple against the slick cobblestone roads.

It’s nothing like Piltover.

And you stick out like a sore thumb.

You feel it in the way the people look at you—lingering, appraising. Some eyes are filled with curiosity, others with something darker. A group of men near a rusted-out bar murmur to each other as you pass, their voices low and slurred, their grins slow and knowing. A woman leans against the entrance of an alley, exhaling smoke through painted lips as she watches you with an amused smirk.

You don’t belong here.

Your grip tightens around the edges of your coat as you lean closer to Caitlyn. “Do you know where we’re going?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re meeting a friend of mine,” Caitlyn answers without hesitation.

A friend.

You resist the urge to scoff. You hadn’t even known Caitlyn had friends in Zaun. Or any friends at all, really. The Caitlyn Kiramman you knew was the daughter of a high-ranking noble—a perfect, polished Piltover girl who carried herself like she was always in control. Here, though, the weight of the city presses down on both of you, turning your confidence to unease.

Another burst of laughter from the bar makes your stomach twist. You don’t look back.

Caitlyn moves with purpose, scanning the streets like she’s been here before, or at least knows what she’s looking for. When the road narrows, she shifts slightly, walking closer to you, and for a second, her hand brushes against yours.

It’s brief. Barely a touch. But it grounds you.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until a voice cuts through the air—gruff, amused, unmistakably directed at Caitlyn.

“Well, well. Look what the Hexgate dragged in.”

A woman leans against a crumbling brick wall up ahead, arms crossed, smirking. She’s tall, broad-shouldered, with pink hair tousled wildly from the wind. A scar runs over the bridge of her nose, and her sharp eyes flick between you and Caitlyn with lazy amusement.

She lets out a low whistle. “Didn’t think I’d see you back here, cupcake. And with company.”

Caitlyn exhales sharply, something between relief and exasperation. “Vi.”

Vi.

The infamous Zaunite criminal—at least, that’s what Piltover’s reports called her. A brawler, a troublemaker, a wildcard. And apparently, Caitlyn’s friend.

Vi pushes off the wall, sauntering toward you both with an easy confidence, her gaze trailing over you with mild curiosity. “And you are?”

You hesitate. Caitlyn, however, answers for you.

“My wife.”

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up. Then, suddenly, she barks out a laugh. “No shit?” She claps Caitlyn hard on the back, nearly knocking her forward. “Guess congratulations are in order.”

You bristle, crossing your arms. “You’re the friend?”

Vi smirks. “That depends. If you were hoping for some fancy Piltover type, you’re outta luck.”

Caitlyn sighs. “She’s the one who’s going to help us.”

Your stomach twists again—not with unease, but with something more complicated. Caitlyn trusts her, but you don’t. Not yet.

“And you trust her?” you ask.

Caitlyn hesitates for only a second. “Yes.”

Vi chuckles. “Damn right she does.” She tilts her head toward a side street. “Come on, lovebirds. You’re not safe out here.”

You cast one last glance at the strangers still watching you before following Vi deeper into Zaun.

———————————————————————

Vi’s place is… different from what you expected.

It’s small, built into the side of a crumbling industrial building, but it’s clean—at least cleaner than most places you’ve passed. There’s a couch against the wall, a punching bag hanging from the ceiling, and a battered table cluttered with old blueprints and empty bottles. A single dim light flickers overhead.

Vi kicks the door shut behind her, stretching her arms behind her head. “Make yourselves at home, I guess. Not exactly a Piltover estate, but it’s better than the streets.”

You linger near the entrance, tense, while Caitlyn moves further in. Vi watches the two of you for a beat before shaking her head.

“Alright,” she says, plopping down onto the couch, propping her feet up on the table. “So are we gonna talk about the fact that you got married since I last saw you, or…?”

You shift uncomfortably. Caitlyn exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s complicated.”

Vi snorts. “No shit.”

Caitlyn shoots you a glance, then, reluctantly, she begins, “It’s an arranged marriage.”

Vi’s easy smirk falters for the first time. “An arranged marriage?” She turns to you, her expression unreadable. “You agreed to this?”

Your jaw tightens. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Vi’s gaze flickers between you and Caitlyn. Her smirk is gone now, replaced by something more serious.

“So what, you two just ran off together?”

Caitlyn nods. “If we stayed in Piltover, we wouldn’t be able to make our own choices. We’d be pawns in our families’ plans. This was the only way to take control of our own lives.”

Vi hums, thoughtful. “Well, can’t say I blame you. But escaping to Zaun isn’t exactly an easy fix. You’re gonna stick out like a couple of sore thumbs.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you mutter.

Vi chuckles. “Don’t worry, I know a few places you can lay low. But you better be ready for a fight—Zaun’s not exactly a fairytale escape.” She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Question is… you sure you wanna do this?”

You and Caitlyn exchange a glance. You think of Piltover—the suffocating expectations, the golden cage of your old life.

You inhale deeply.

“Yes.”

Vi grins. “Good answer.”

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cerastes · 6 months ago

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Today is Day 9 Of Me Playing Girls' Frontline 2.

Like any other gacha, the start is braindead because they need even the most non-sentient of creatures to be able to clear. This is nothing new, but it really stuck out like a sore thumb in this particular case because this game heavily uses the XCOM formula as its inspiration. For the uninitiated, the original 1994 X-COM: UFO Defense starts incredibly brutal and only gets harder as you advance. The 2012 reboot, XCOM: Enemy Unknown starts reasonably brutal and scales pretty harshly and always demanding you really, really are learning what your tools can do and what the game mechanics are as you basically fight an asymmetrical Civilization III game against an opponent that 1) outguns you most of the way and 2) fights you with the hatefulness one only reserves for someone that has fucked one's wife. GFL2 starts you off against enemies that require absolutely no tactical acumen whatsoever, that do not use cover, and that deal pitiful amounts of damage even if you yourself don't use cover. This lasts a little too long for comfort but again it's industry standard. Once you get to parts of the game that require sentience, it's fun to see how they've gone about the flow of combat: You're basically pitting your characters with their own special conditions, specialties and passives against many enemies that initially are simple as hell (they just move and shoot) but steadily become more complex and nuanced (enemies that target an area for bombardment at the end of their turn, enemies that can counter in specific circumstance, enemies that trap your enemies with overwatch fire, reaction intereceptions, AoE, etc). The system definitely has potential. I've yet to truly find anything actually challenging that wasn't me fighting enemies 10-20 levels higher than my units, but the fundamentals of cover and risk-reward are there even on-level; if you get shot at completely exposed, you are going to take hefty damage (unless you are rocking a Suomi shield).

The biggest departure from XCOM proper is that there is no accuracy: All attacks will always hit, unless certain abilities outright deny the damage -- like certain enemy Medics that can use the Anesthesia skill to negate one instance of damage -- and the game really favors a more aggressive style for both the player and the enemy through the Stability System: All units have a Stability counter, which decreases by certain amounts depending on the attack received. Once it's depleted, units can only benefit from the most bare and basic defensive effects of cover, which are not very good. Stability Break also may have additional special effects on certain enemies, chiefly bosses, resulting in extra damage taken, reduced attack power, changing forms, losing certain active or passive skills, etc. As a huge fan of systems like this, I Enjoy.

The game is gorgeous looking: The environments are highly detailed, the character models are incredibly well made, the guns are lovingly sculpted. I know the overarching meme is that it's got the best anime girl feet in the industry -- and it's true, they put more love into rendering and modelling these girls' feet, stockings and socks that I've seen parents put into raising their children -- but the model quality is truly overarching, they spared no effort in any obvious area, it's a really gorgeous looking game. The sound design and the music are all fine and have not wowed me in any special way, really, but visually, good lord, the game truly does go hard. Another thing the game does really well is video cutscenes, the action and choreography of actually very decently lengthy cutscenes they show pretty often go very hard, with good explosions, good gunplay, fluid and good looking motions, etc. The animation direction in GFL2 is really, really good, something I wasn't expecting given they've not really delved on this area particularly in previous games. They probably hired a really good studio for this-slash-got themselves some very talented and skilled personnel for it.

The game economy is Post-Mihoyo style: There's a set cast of Max Rarity characters, called Elites in the game's nomenclature, that inhabit a Standard Banner with absolutely fucking horrendous rates. 0.6% chance of rolling anything Max Rarity, 0.3% of an Elite Doll, 0.3% of an Elite Weapon. Besides this, there's the Limited Banners, which is every banner ever, meaning post-launch Elites are all Limited with a Limited Signature Weapon. In other words, shit sucks. The only saving grace is that the game, in thankfully true XCOM fashion, is much less about having Strong Individual Units, and much more about having a team with good synergy, and there's plenty of great non-Elites you'll have plenty of copies of. Gameplaywise, you won't get shafted by not having the Newest Woman With A Broken Kit, which is good. Signature Weapons so far from what I've seen are very nice to have but no functionality is tied to them and no character feels incomplete without their Signature Weapon or without multiples dupes, which is really good practice and a deal breaker for me if it's present. About the only stupidly broken character I can think off right this second is definitely Suomi, who supports so incredibly well that she lets you Not Play XCOM. She's seriously and hilariously busted and futureproofed.

The writing is pretty damn stiff. This is nothing new with Sunborn. The thing with Sunborn is that when it hits highs, they are VERY high, but the trip to those highs is clunky and stiff, with an overabundance of nothingburger technobabble and tacticool filler dialogue that, were this a megahit the way One Piece is, would definitely inspire a dogged group of fans to make a website that tells you exactly where to read and where to skip to avoid all the meaningless filler. Even if you like some tacticool, it's just SO much of it that serves no purpose. The characters are... Unfortunately, not super fun. Our old friend Oats, ahem, Groza (OTs-14) is there, and she's fun, but the rest of the characters have not done a good job to endear me to them: Colphne I'm pretty ok with, Nemesis and Krolik really have exhausted the fucks I can give for them by this point (I'm in Chapter 4). This is particularly painful in the case of Nemesis for me, a character whose design I really, really love and who I was looking forward to a lot. Nemesis' whole thing is that she literally cannot speak normally and has to communicate entirely in cryptic theater kid ramblings, and Krolik conversely only exists as the only person that can somehow accurately decipher what the fuck it is she's saying. This is charming for all of three cutscenes before it becomes very old and basically filler: Nemesis says "The embers of starlight long forgotten by statues lingers in the fingertips of the deaf" and Krolik replies with "Hah!? Who are you calling a coward?! I'll beat you up!" because Nemesis shittalks Krolik a lot, and that's the crux of both of their personalities. I know they are building Nemesis for something else but good lord it's torturous and stale. There's a Super Powered Child that I don't care about and she's the main plot device. Mayling is funny and endearing, and I like her. We meet characters from Ye Olde GFL 1 days and so far it's been pretty nice every time: Suomi, Lenna (UMP9), Kalina, Leva (UMP45), always a good time hanging with them. I particularly enjoy how divorced Commander and Kalina are. Oh, the Commander (your character) is an actual character, fully voiced and all, I like that a lot, and I like them. You can choose a male or female Commander, with fully 3D rendered distinct non-obscured, non-masked models and that's pretty damn cool. Still, can't help but miss the bangers that were ST AR-15, RO635, DEFY, and others from GFL1.

There's plenty of stuff to do without using Stamina, especially event stuff, but I fear that once you run out of it, you enter that weird limbo of "logging in, autoclearing the RNG drops mode, logging out". I'm not there yet but I dread reaching it. I know they just launched the game here (1 year old in CN) but, I guess I've been immensely spoiled by Arknights' several replayable game modes, this game, being XCOM in nature, would ROCK a roguelite mode or some sort of replayable game mode so much.

Overall, it's been a pretty nice time, as someone who dropped but nonetheless greatly enjoyed GFL, it's great seeing the Old Friends better than ever. My friend Suomi and my friend Tololo (CHILE MENTIONED 🇨🇱🇨🇱🇨🇱) are there for me and I'm glad to hang out with them again. I wish my friend Sabrina would also join me sooner than later :'). Color me surprised that so far, the gameplay seems both fun and has potential, but we'll see how it goes from here. Overall: Good first impression.

Say something nice about my friend Tololo

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nouvxllev · 1 year ago

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the girl across your street || p5 (FINAL)

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: You spent half of your life waiting for the right person to just step into your life and take over your heart by storm, someone who would think of you when they see a shooting star, someone who'd paint canvases of your face so the world would know who considered you greater than the Mona Lisa, someone who cherished you oh so dearly. Now, you can happily say with all your heart, you found her.

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: restating my statement on the previous chapter, this is the longest chapter of all lol

a/n: got a lovely suggestion from @ajortga (check out their stories btw, theyre amazing!) and an anon request for this part! i appreciate them and i wrote it to the best of my abilities.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || masterlist.

'...I still got love for you

Your braids like a pattern

Love you to the moon and to Saturn

Passed down like folk songs

The love lasts so long...'

"There's my favorite actress of all time, Jenna goddamn Ortega!"

You shouted with your arms out, ready for a hug, while running over to Jenna in the freezing cold. She was clad in a puffy hoodie and comfortable jogging pants, and she had her beanie on, wrapped around her head along with her own pair of headphones, preparing for the impact of your body-crushing hug.

"Y/n, y/n! No, slow down!" she screamed before toppling down to the snowy ground along with you, your arms wrapped around hers as you laughed together in harmony.

She sat up, your body going in rhythm with hers, "You really love that line, don't you?" She chuckled before cupping your cheeks with her hands. She muttered a quiet sorry, noticing how you flinched at the cold touch.

"Hey, you've finally accomplished your goal. You deserve it, Jenna." You loved saying her name, no amount of terms of endearment could ever beat the love and devotion you had for it.

Jenna looked at you, a smile covering her face as her dimples took over and her freckles became more visible to you, a sense of hopeless romance reflected in both of your eyes before pulling you in with her hands and planting her lips against yours.

It hasn't been one day since you last kissed her and oh how you missed the taste of her lips on yours. It's like your problems melted away by her scent and the taste of her lipbalm.

Before you knew it, you and Jenna had become the IT couple of the year. It even surprised you how the world knew the both of you were dating in the first place considering how Jenna never really posts on social media about her personal life and neither do you. But with how paparazzis work and how Jennas fans work harder than the devil, you can see now why your relationship with Jenna got blasted online.

Now, the two of you were the global love team, featured in commercials, advertisements for certain brands, and even you trying a hand at acting. You occasionally made appearances as Jenna's love interest in a show, though your role was more of a background character, the audience always loved seeing you together with Jenna.

In each film you directed, Jenna was sure to be in it, and she always became the character you couldn't bear to kill off even with a gun to your head.

Jenna always assured you that it was perfectly fine if her character was killed off since she's an amazing actress who pulls all her stunts so flawlessly, but watching her act getting shot in the head, stabbed, or possibly tortured in the horror movies you were set to direct? Just right in front of you? Hell, you'd rather do that to yourself with no pay.

But of course, like Jenna always ranted to you about, the entertainment industry was ass. Jenna warned you after you guys made it official that you'll be under the spotlight for a couple months, or even years. You couldn't go outside for even a minute without seeing a paparazzi literally in the bushes with a huge goddamn camera as if you can't see them. But if that was the price to pay just for Jenna to be beside you at all times, you'd deal with it even if you'll have paparazzi surrounding your coffin soon.

"Y/n?" she said, waving her hands in front of you, as if the only thing keeping you grounded was your tight grip on her waist. "I have something to tell you."

"Yeah? Yeah, sorry, what is it?"

"I'm moving in with you."

"What?"

Damn, you were certainly not ready for that.

"If— If that's okay, of course—"

"It's always okay, it's more than okay, Jenna!" You took her hands into yours, shaking them with excitement. "When are you moving? Actually, why are you moving?"

"It's been months into our relationship, y/n. I don't like how you always drive to my apartment every day just to see me." She stood up, lifting you by your grip, "also, I'm moving next week. I still have a schedule to clean up on."

You stood up alongside her, walking backward while facing Jenna as she walked beside you. "But driving to your apartment is my favorite part of the day, Jenna."

She sighed, "Okay, you choose, driving miles to my apartment or waking up beside me?"

"Definitely the latter." You picked, way too instantly, pointing a finger at her and clicking your tongue while she laughs.

"See? It'll be fun. For the both of us." She ran beside you then took your hand, pushing her body to be against yours as you smiled under your breath. Oh, how you loved being in her presence.

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The two of you approached the front door, kicking off your shoes while Jenna placed hers gently near the entrance. You turned on the lights as you headed for the kitchen, calling out, "You want something to drink, Jenna?" while noticing Jenna was still at the doorway.

She immediately turned the corner upon hearing your voice. A small smile played on her lips as she looked over at you, one of your hands on your hips as you scanned the refrigerator for ingredients. "I'm good. Thanks, y/n."

"Make yourself at home, Jenna. Since you are moving in," you said, glancing over your shoulder. You noticed Jenna looking around your house, finding the interior and atmosphere both familiar and yet vaguely new.

"You got it fixed?" she called out after noticing the DSLR camera you always loved and adored on top of the coffee table. You had it fixed for the holidays and for Jenna, of course, considering how both of you always enjoyed making videos with it in the past. You figured it was time to revive those memories.

"Yup! I had to. Its got my treasured moments in it." You approached her. After scanning your near-empty refrigerator, you took the DSLR camera in your hands and handed it to her. "I wanted to do a Christmas special on it, this time, with you on here."

"Christmas special?" She looked up at you, smiles and all. You remained the same for her—the one who always loved making videos, even if you were too scared to post them online or just didn't have a reason to. Nonetheless, you gave your best in those videos, and it truly brought out your happiest side.

"Didn't even know that was possible. I mean, no offense, but this looked like it got run over by a bullet train." She fiddled with your camera, turning it on and scrolling through the photos and videos. She was surprised to find old videos she hadn't seen the last time she turned it on.

You chuckled at Jenna's comment. "Okay, I'll admit it was pretty busted, but I found a technician who worked wonders on it. And about the Christmas special, well, it's going to be the first video I filmed in a long while."

"Long while? You haven't filmed something in this?" She looked at you, concern filling her eyes. She always knew you were the one in the friendgroup always recording a moment, even in the past she had heard, so why stop?

You sat down with her, "Ever since you left, I haven't been able to record. Even if I did, I'd just delete it anyway. Nothing is ever perfect without you, Jenna. I didn't realize how much it meant to me until I couldn't bring myself to do it without you." Your voice dwindled down into a whisper as you took her free hand that was beside yours, gently grazing your thumb on her palm. The vulnerability in your voice was something Jenna liked about you, how you spoke your mind whenever you were with her.

"I never knew," Jenna admitted, her fingers gently intertwining with yours. "I'm sorry, y/n."

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips before you checked your phone for the time. "Okay, sappy moment over!" You immediately stood up, putting your phone in your pocket, "I have to go and buy some groceries. Wanna to come, Jenna?"

"I'll stay if it's alright." She assured you, chuckling at how fast you got over the moment so quickly.

"More than alright. I won't be long anyway." You headed for the doorway, putting on your boots and coat, your hand already on the doorknob until you heard Jenna call out your name.

"Y/n! You forgot something!" She called out, approaching you with headphones in hand.

You looked over at her, already smiling at the fact that she was more than an inch smaller when you put on your boots. "Oh, right," you said before cupping her cheeks and giving her a quick peck on the lips, completely ignoring the fact that she was already handing you your headphones.

You gave a little wave and a quick goodbye before going out and closing the door behind you.

"Your headphones—!" Jenna called out before you were already running across the street with your hands in your pockets. Honestly, she was more surprised with your ability to forget everything in your vicinity rather than how you walked so fast.

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Your voice from the camera echoed throughout your bedroom, the room where the both of you had confessed your love for each other. Jenna laid comfortably on your bed, the window opened as cold air flowed into the room, and your camera held up high by her hands. She was watching an old video you had filmed before, you and Jenna in her old home, filming a cooking video, she’d think you’d call it.

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"Weeelcome to—hey Jenna, what should we name our cooking show?" You picked the camera up from the camera as it started recording. You went over to Jenna who was already prepping the ingredients needed, even she was in get-up, an apron and all. You contemplated if you could quickly go to the store and buy a chefs hat for her.

Jenna glanced up from her task, her eyes going to the camera before going to you. "Maybe just our names together? Jenna and Y/n."

You lowered the camera a slight bit, the perspective looking a little wonky, "But Jenna, that's so boring! We need more pizzaz." You looked at Jenna who was screaming towards the kitchen and the cupboards to check where her knife went.

"Then have you got something in mind?" She sharply asked, turning her heel around, "Have you, somehow, seen my knife? I swear it was just around the sink."

"Yeah, okay, great point, I have nothing as well." You placed down the camera on the counter, using a jar of whatever behind to keep it from falling down. "Here," you said with a cheeky smile as you presented the knife as if you were kneeling before a queen, and Jenna could only give you an unimpressed look.

You helped Jenna for a hot minute before turning to the camera once again, your full body being shown and a certain someone who was outside of view "Today, we're baking cookies—Jenna, c'mere." You held your hand to Jenna who wasn't in frame.

Jenna, still holding an unimpressed expression, walked over to where you were standing, joining you as you both appeared side by side in the frame. You appeared comically taller in the camera than Jenna, making you laugh just slightly before the shorter one punched you in the gut.

"Alright, anyway, let's bake some cookies!" You clasped your hands together, and Jenna could only look at you with eyes that conveyed love and adoration, wondering how you never noticed it.

Jenna picked up the camera and whispered, a little bit too loudly into the camera, "Side note, we have little to no experience at all at baking," she said, "We have absolutely no idea what we're doing!" You screamed from the background, already mixing in the ingredients, making her laugh before yelling that you made the wrong step.

"We're winging it, Jenna! God, who knew we could be such good bakers?" You exclaimed while mixing everything up, your hand was getting tired by how you whisked everything at such random paces, but Jenna didn't mind.

Everything was going smoothly, and perfectly Jenna could say so herself before her face scrunched up in confusion when you accidentally added salt instead of sugar.

Jenna's eyes widened, her warnings to stop you were a bit too late as you had already added half of the cup into the mixture. "Wait, oh fuck, y/n, y/n! That's a whole cup of salt!" She exclaimed, throwing her body against you as she tried to grab your arm that was pouring the sugar, but it was already too late.

You paused mid-mix, staring at Jenna, then at the bowl with a horrid expression. "Shoot!" You immediately, in instincts you'd defend until your dying days, dove your hand right into the mixture, as if your hand could magically pull out the tiniest ass bits of salt grains.

Jenna with all her might, restrained herself from bursting into laughter, "Okay, that's just so wrong, you can't just—!"

"Alright, alright!" You pulled your hands from the mixture, putting them up in the air in surrender as the gooey texture of incorporated eggs, flour, milk, and whatever was in there went down from your sleeves.

"Let's just make another batch." You turned to her, "let's just make another batch," you repeated.

"Y/n, we went through 3 batches already."

A moment of silence you both had as both of you looked at the batter you two worked hard on. Before a playful fight completely outraged from the both of you when you started to hand paint Jenna's face from the batter, creating silly drawings on her face as she ran away from you armed with a spatula to fend you off.

In the end, the both of you completed your task of baking cookies while using the same batch, and, well, they turned out... nice. On the camera, they looked really nice, and they kinda even smelled good from afar.

"Annnd, it's done!" You exclaimed, and Jenna tilted the pan slightly to give the camera a preview of the cookies.

After a bit of banter from the both of you, a minute passed by, and you two were holding cookies.

"They look... edible enough to eat anyway," Jenna said, inspecting them before looking towards you with your own cookie. "Cheers?"

"Cheers!" you echoed, holding up your cookie to Jenna's in a mock toast. The camera captured the moment as both of you took a bite simultaneously. And how your faces contorted into disgust.

"Y/n, just take it out, even I can't swallow this."

"Okay, good choice, oh god—!"

The last thing the camera recorded before it fell was you and Jenna quickly spitting out the bites into a nearby trash can and rushing over to the sink, pushing each other as you tried to turn the faucet on and rinse off the disgusting taste you both had in your mouth.

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Jenna laughed heartily as she scrolled through the numerous videos you both had filmed over the past months with the camera in her hand. She couldn't believe that your entire bond had been created over this camera—how you wanted to become a director and how she wanted to become an actress. It was surprising how well the both of you fit with each other, down to your interests.

She kept watching the videos you had filmed for the both of you. Jenna even went out of her way to roam around your room, looking for memory cards to see what other videos you both had done. That was until she opened a certain drawer in your table lamp, tucked away all the way to the end. She couldn't have spotted it if she hadn't opened it all the way.

Handwritten notes, letters, wilted flowers, keychains, an abundance of printed polaroid photos, and photos in general that you had kept, intending to give them to Jenna. These mementos had been tucked away in this drawer for months on end.

She didn't want to pry, but a part of her was drawn to the crumpled letter that stood out among the rest. When she opened it, it had pen scribbles and stains from what she assumed were tears.

The letter read,

To my Jenna To my dearest To Jenna

To the girl across my street, (9/27/2020)

You shouldn’t be the one I should be writing a love letter to at 1 in the morning, even if I know in my bones I’ll be writing letters for you until I rest for eternity. You shouldn��t be the one that keeps me up at night wondering if you’ll ever come back until now. You shouldn’t be the one that I subject my undying love to, the love that I kept reserved all these years, and yet you arrive and suddenly, all of it is yours. You shouldn’t be the one for me at all. But you are, and I hate that you’re everything I want in my life. I shouldn’t be mad at you Jenna. In fact, I love you. I love you so much, it hurts as I write this. I love you so much, I can’t look at myself anymore wondering what I would’ve done to keep you moving away from my life. Ever since I saw you, I felt like nothing in my life mattered more than being with you, even if I knew that was impossible. Well, until you suddenly picked me up after a horrible fall. I knew from everyone in my town that you were the most private person, you never opened up to them even if they always kept coming to your doorstep with leftovers from their family dinner. You told me that it was a bit overwhelming, seeing your fridge pile up everyday with everybody’s leftovers, you even got a lollipop from a kid. From our conversations, it was those random moments you told me from your life that I cherished the most, even if it was just something you remembered out of the blue. I fell mad in love with you, head over heels. No one would know falling in love with a great force other than me with you. I realized that when you invited me to your family's house for Christmas after you found out about the relationship I had with my parents, since then, I knew the love I had for you was soon going to drown me until my heart was filled with your name.

The way your family welcomed me with open arms as if I was someone, finally someone a part of something, I couldn’t bear to walk away anymore. The way you had introduced me to your siblings and cousins with a smile that I could only mistake for as a star, the way you had made me a part of your family, the way you made your family love me the way they loved you. I hate it, Jenna. I hate how your eyes brought revelry upon those who are grieving, how your touch brought forth the saints buried in the hearts of sinners, how your laugh would make every great poet struggle to illustrate the sound of your voice, how your soul brings every angel and saint to shame. I hate how you made me so happy, how you made the happiest side of me shine. I hate how I hate none of these things at all. I love everything about you, I can’t just pretend like I don’t. I love you, Jenna. I love you with all of my heart, each bone in my body yearns for yours, your very being became the muse of every thought, my soul is eternally yours forever, why did I let it be that way? And why until now, It’s still yours to keep? To rip apart? Yours to silently remind you that there’s someone out there who had their heart programmed to beat for you, and for only you. The day you left, I only realized how you were so important to me. It’s maddening how that was the first thought came to mind, how I fell so in love with your soul I completely forgot how you left me in pieces. How you didn’t text me, how you didn’t call me, how you didn’t even do the bare minimum as knocking on my door or maybe leaving a note to say you were leaving entirely. It’s been exactly a year since you left, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you ever since. A part of you still stayed with me, or maybe I just looked for you everywhere, hoping one day you’d appear beside me like nothing ever happened and grace me once again with that smile of yours that would last me a lifetime. Everything reminds me of you, Jenna. Every place, every home, every street, every film, every note that I hear from a song you’d used to sing to me with your stupid guitar you always wanted to master but never got the chance to. I’m in love with you, Jenna. I’m so in love with you to the point I can’t say it to your face. I’m yours forever more, and I hate that I am.

From, y/n. Happy Birthday, Jenna.

I wished I confessed to you more earlier.

"Jenna! Jenna!" A voice she loved, loved now more than anything, quickly pulled her out of her thoughts, banging against her own door. She pulled herself up from your bed, running towards the door in a hurry while holding the letter in her hands.

Jenna unlocked the door to see you. The love of her life, someone who wrote thousands of letters for her every day since she left, someone who had the stupidest idea to spend every inch of her savings to go buy her the headphones she always wished to own, someone who was now standing in the freezing cold.

"Jenna— Oh, Jenna, I forgot my headphones, and—and it was freezing like shit. God, I never knew there was a snowstorm coming in. I'm sorry I took so long I—"

You were cut off mid-sentence by her, who pulled you by your collar into a passionate kiss. The warmth of your house, the warmth of Jenna's body against yours, the warmth of her lips that brought every inch of your body to heaven was everything you needed to calm down. If only you had paused for a minute to take a glance at Jenna when you were rambling, you could only see her eyes in a lovesick gaze for you, you could see how much she loved you, you could see how she was everything you perceived her to be.

"Y/n," Jenna whispered, her voice a soft melody that resonated in the quiet room as you wrapped your arms around her waist.

You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Jenna's ear. "What… What was that for?"

"I love you," she whispered under her breath. "I love you," she added, one more time, as if you were going to disappear if she didn't.

"I love you too, Jenna. What's going on?"

"I just—I just love you so much, y/n. I always said I love you, but never added so much or expressed how much I loved you." Jenna was always straightforward when it came to talking. It was her nature, her style of sentence, how she spoke aloud, the quiet confidence she had whenever she spoke to someone; it was one of the characteristics she had that made you fall in love with her. But now, she couldn't express herself in the way she wanted to. She did, but it only fell short. The amount of love she had for you was something she could never express properly, even with a dictionary in her hands, it couldn't be possible.

It only took you a minute before figuring what had happened.

"You... you read the letter?"

"Yes—Yes, I read the letter, y/n. All of it."

"Well, what'd you think?" You almost thought that you had discarded the letters you wrote for her, but you kept the most important one of all.

She pulled you into a soul-crushing hug, "I love you. I'm sorry, I just love, love, love, you, y/n. I'm sorry if I'm not enough for you."

"Jenna," you whispered, gently pulling back to look into her eyes, "You don't know how much you're more than enough for me. You don't know how much your smile just means everything to me, good or bad, and your love is everything I've ever wanted. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Jenna's gaze softened, and a relieved smile played on her lips. "I'm just afraid that my love might fall short, you know? That I couldn't express it the way you do."

You cupped her face, your thumb gently grazing her skin, admiring her freckles. "Your love is perfect, Jenna, it's yours. I don't need grand gestures or expressions to make me feel happy. I just need you—your love, your presence, and everything that makes you who you are. Just, please, don't change that just for me—or for anyone."

The both of you kissed, the middle of the night while the orange light coming off from the kitchen flickered. A kiss, you knew, lasted only for a second. Or maybe even a few seconds, but this kiss lingered like a memory that lasted forever, a picture that was photographed and kept in a sealed case, stars that die but explode into a gorgeous nebula, a kiss that's worth for a thousand lifetimes.

Afterward, both of you watched the videos that you had filmed whenever and wherever. Jenna noted your habit of bringing the DSLR everywhere, capturing snippets of your private life where she wasn't in the frame. However, you quickly threw the camera against the headboard when she came across the holy grail of you trying out some skateboard tricks, where you horribly fell and got various scars on your leg.

In that moment, both of you probably knew you were going to stay with each other no matter what happened, or what challenges you faced. The way you both kissed then, in the doorway, was the most romantic kiss you had shared in your entire life. Probably not the most ideal of spots to decide to marry someone, but then again, who was the insane one who dated the girl across her street?

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Invisible string.

That was the saying for those who believe there's a string of fate binding people who were destined to be together, or for anyone who was in love for that matter. It's a sweet thing, you can say, considering how you're one of the people who truly believed in it. You spent half of your life waiting for the right person to just step into your life and take over your heart by storm, someone who would think of you when they see a shooting star, someone who'd paint canvases of your face so the world would know who considered you greater than the Mona Lisa, someone who cherished you oh so dearly. Now, you can happily say with all your heart, you found her.

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a/n: aaahhh this series has come to a close, thank you for all the love and support! now i can finally do another series with JO's characters or maybe just oneshots. (i have a fuck ton of drafts.)

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega

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accio-victuuri · 10 months ago

Text

xiao zhan elle september issue cover story

Xiao Zhan believes in simplicity. But in acting, he increasingly likes multi-faceted and complex characters.In other words, this is an authentic state of human existence. At a time when everything is being simplified, Be willing to admit that people are different,Seek communication possibilities, Be sensitive and defend complexity, This must require love and courage.

01.

After entering the entertainment industry, these things quickly became part of his daily life - cameras, spotlights, display screens, shields. Due to his profession and popularity, countless "Xiao Zhan" have emerged, including huge portraits on the facades of high-end shopping malls, the projections of an astonishing number of fans, or the appearance of characters in the film and television dramas that have been released one after another.

Right now, in the dressing room after the shooting, Xiao Zhan is holding his box of whole grain salad, vividly imitating the scene of meeting director Zheng Xiaolong.

"I was a little confused, so I asked the director whether he wanted me to be thinner or stronger. He said, 'Thinner, of course thinner, it will look so good and sharp.'" After a while, when we were taking the final photos, Zheng Xiaolong saw him again, "He said, 'Wow, you look good like this.'" From then until now, he has lost more than ten pounds.

Xiao Zhan, the source of all fission, is decent and relaxed. The glamour seen by the outside world is an added value for him. Sometimes he even forgets about it, "Really no one will care about you." Then he continues to talk about his work.

The most recent one is "Legend of the Hidden Sea", which was filmed in Hengdian for 5 months. The previous one, which also took 5 months to shoot, was "The Legend of the Condor Heroes: The Greatest Hero" directed by Tsui Hark. This is often the case with large-scale movies and long TV series. Once you join the crew, it takes four or five months. In 2022, his main filming work was "Where Dreams Begin" and "Sunshine by my Side", in 2021 it was "Yu Gu Yao", in 2020 it was "Ace Troops", and in 2019 it was "Douluo Dalu" and "Oath of Love".

There are constant offers for plays, so sometimes I can’t decide whether to lengthen or shorten the time between plays.

In the second half of 2019, when filming "Oath of Love", Xiao Zhan filmed during the day and recorded the variety show "Our Song" at night. Both were very challenging. The former was his first time to play the leading role in an urban drama, with little experience and great pressure; the latter was difficult because of the harmony, "You have to memorize all the harmonies that are different from the tune of the song and not be carried away."

"At that time, I felt it didn't matter. I would sleep for an hour or two and wake up feeling healthy again. But now my mind says it doesn't matter, but my body is protesting."

This year, he was filming in Hengdian. Later, one day, he found that his tonsils were inflamed and swallowing was very painful, but he went to work as usual. It was not until the director came over and asked him, "What's wrong with your eyes?" that he saw his eyes swollen in the mirror. By the afternoon, "I looked like a frog."

He had to go to the hospital. The symptoms themselves were common and could be stopped by taking medicine. But what he couldn't do was exactly what the doctor advised most: you need to rest.

More importantly, "My perception will become dull. I am really afraid of this, afraid of becoming mechanical and formulaic." He put the emphasis on the word "really". He chatted with his seniors, "They also said that you have to live and experience life."

In fact, a life in the spotlight is somewhat contrary to the life of ordinary people, but the profession of an actor requires him to touch as many wrinkles of life as possible.

A while ago, he watched a monologue in a variety show that depicted the current workplace situation of young people. Before entering the entertainment industry, Xiao Zhan had a studio and worked. He could understand the depression brought by work, but the new vocabulary and new tools that appeared in the workplace weakened his sense of resonance. He found that he was gradually disconnected to a certain extent.

02.

In early June, Xiao Zhan had a short vacation and went back to his hometown Chongqing. He likes to take walks very much, and one night he walked for several hours, visiting the old street, Jiefangbei, and the place where he used to work.

In 2014, 23-year-old Xiao Zhan graduated from university and worked as a designer in a design studio. Every weekday morning, he would transfer from Line 2 to Line 3 at Niujiaotuo Station, push through the crowds, and squeeze onto the light rail. Several times, he was pressed so hard that his face was pressed against the glass window.

He simply leaned against the glass to look at the Jialing River below, the strange reefs exposed in the dry season and the various people, some swimming in winter, some jogging, some fishing, with a very optimistic spirit.

He still likes to observe the people around him——

"Why are you still here so late?"

"People walking hurriedly must have just got off work and are in a hurry to go home. Their expressions and behaviors are just like when I used to catch the subway. It's the last one and you have to run. They are very panicked. Some takeaway guys are rushing forward regardless of their own safety. There are also some very leisurely people who sit there drinking beer, and then go home and start a new day."

"Everyone has their own wonderful story. It is everyone's life that makes up our society. So it's wonderful. Everyone is the protagonist. We are all filming our own biographies. What will the story of tomorrow be like?"

At that moment, he was like all those who have been busy working in a foreign country for a long time, and finally found that "I haven't been here for a long time, and there have been quite a lot of changes." "In fact, I am not particularly happy, and I don't have any other feelings. I am living, that's all."

Two and a half days later, Xiao Zhan left Chongqing for work and returned to Beijing, then to Shanghai, and then to France. This time he also called his parents. This was a long-awaited family trip, from France to Switzerland and back to France in a week. Every detail of the trip was magnified, their happiness, quarrels, or just ordinary walks, "all very vivid."

On the day they parted, they finished their meal at a restaurant in the south of France. The car that came to pick him up arrived and he had to leave first. Before leaving, his mother hugged him and told him to take care of himself. Rarely, his father also hugged him awkwardly.

"I used to think that work was everything and life wasn't that important. It was nothing more than having a place to sleep, getting up, going to work, finishing work, and resting. But now that my parents are older and I haven't lived with them for a long time, you feel as if each other's lives, even family members, are getting further and further apart." He especially doesn't want this to happen.

The way to avoid suspension and regain a sense of reality in life is not difficult to say. "When you have time, go out and take a look. The important thing is to feel life and the world. Even if it is something terrible or cruel, it is life, and it will burst out with energy when you need it."

03.

Halfway through the interview, Xiao Zhan suddenly said that he had a conflicting attitude towards long interviews. On the one hand, he was worried that he was not growing enough and would appear timid during the conversation. On the other hand, he wanted to unearth some subtle feelings through the conversation because he felt he was not good at recording them in words.

Observation, feeling, understanding and expression are the key to an actor's creativity.

"Dialogue is also muscle memory." Xiao Zhan said, "Although I am very i, I am not autistic. Because I think actors need to learn to express, express your inner thoughts, and digest the content handed to you by the other party."

Before the filming of "Sunshine by my Side" began, he met with the main creators and held several script meetings to deepen their understanding of each other and the characters. In the early stage of "Legend of the Hidden Sea", the producer also mentioned that he would discuss the script in detail and talk about a scene with many of his own understandings.

Xiao Zhan is not a professional actor. When he first entered the industry and filmed "Fights Break Sphere" and "The Wolf", he had strong doubts and asked himself, am I suitable for this? Constantly denying and overthrowing himself made him lose confidence.

Sometimes he is asked what he would be doing now if he had not participated in the talent show, debuted, or entered the entertainment industry at the age of 23. He has thought about it, but he has not looked back.

If you can't act well, then spend extra time taking acting classes, watching the monitor more often, and asking seniors for advice. With your full strength and hard work, you will slowly find the way.

Later, when the filming of "Sunshine by my Side" started, Xiao Zhan played Xiao Chunsheng, a child of a Beijing compound, who was completely different from him, even his accent was very different. He felt insecure. Before filming many scenes, director Fu Ning ran over and whispered to him, Zhan Zhan, don't be afraid, just speak bravely, if you feel it, just say it, in fact, the audience can feel your emotions and what you want to express.

He also gradually gained more self-awareness: "Technique may not be my forte, it depends more on feelings. Only when I have my own feelings can I have the confidence to interpret it. If I rely purely on some techniques, I think it is not moving enough."

It has been 8 years since Xiao Zhan made his acting debut. Looking at his resume, he has played leading roles in various TV series and movies. But he still feels that he is a newcomer and hopes to work with more experienced production teams in the future.

He doesn't think too much, and he doesn't actually know the work plan divided by year very well. He only cares about what the work arrangements for the next stage are, rather than "asking about things too far ahead."

"I still feel like a child, but actually I'm not anymore. It seems like I'm still in high school, but actually I've grown up." A child's mind means having curiosity, desire to explore, and imagination.

He puts these curiosities and explorations into the characters. "I mean, for me, when I dig into the character's background and past, I discover the complexity and contradictions of the character as a person and present them. In this way, some of his choices and motivations may be understood by the audience, and the work may be good, and you will have the current audience, right?"

source

#xiao zhan #oh so many things to unpack #but yeah gege you must rest! and we all should learn from that tbh the lack of sleep will kill you #his realization about his life and his parents makes me wanna cry #accio victuuri translation

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miorrtae · 3 months ago

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NEWS FLASH ᥫ᭡ TAEYEON SMAU

NF 21

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The days following the incident blurred together, indistinct and colorless. Y/N moved through her schedule mechanically, her body on autopilot, responding only to the demands of the industry that never slowed down. She showed up to work, rehearsed, filmed, and performed, but the fire that once fueled her had long since dimmed. Every movement felt rehearsed, every smile a practiced imitation of what it once was.

She hardly ate. Mealtimes became a ritual of pushing food around her plate, pretending for the sake of those around her before setting her chopsticks down in silent defeat. Sleep was an afterthought, something she no longer had the luxury of indulging in. Her body stole rest when it could—head tilted against the van window, eyes slipping shut between takes, muscles giving out just long enough for her to disappear into the void of exhaustion before someone called her name, pulling her back into the waking world.

Her members noticed. They always noticed. The dark circles under her eyes, the way her frame seemed more fragile than before, how the laughter that used to spill from her lips so easily had been replaced by silence.

“Y/N, here,” eunchae murmured, sliding a small packet of snacks in front of her. Their voice was careful, measured, as if speaking too loudly might scare her away.

She stared at it for a long moment, her fingers twitching slightly before she forced a weak smile. “Thanks,” she mumbled, but she made no move to open it.

Later, in the practice room, she sat on the floor, staring at her untied shoelaces, exhaustion weighing heavily on her limbs. The others were sprawled around her, taking a break between run-throughs, their chatter filling the space like white noise.

“I’m telling you, we need a vacation after this comeback,” natty groaned, throwing her head back dramatically, sweat clinging to her skin.

“Yeah, but where would we even go?” chungha mused, stretching her legs out.

“Somewhere quiet. A place where no one knows us.”

“That doesn’t exist,” karina laughed, though there was a hint of longing in her voice.

Y/N tuned them out, fingers absentmindedly twisting the fabric of her sleeve. The conversation swirled around her, voices overlapping and fading in and out, like she was underwater, watching the world move without her.

A gentle nudge against her shoulder snapped her out of her daze. She looked up, meeting a pair of concerned eyes.

“You okay?”

The words sat heavy in the air between them. Y/N forced a nod, the lie feeling thick in her throat. “Yeah,” she said, barely above a whisper.

No one looked convinced, but they didn’t push. They never did. Instead, the conversation carried on, as if acknowledging her silence too much might shatter her entirely.

And so she sat there, surrounded by voices, by warmth, by people who cared—yet feeling more alone than ever.

As the days dragged on, the weight of Y/N’s exhaustion became impossible to ignore, not just for her but for everyone around her. The rehearsals, the shoots, the relentless expectations—she carried them all in silence, her shoulders growing heavier with each passing moment. Even when she was surrounded by her members, she felt distant, as if there was an invisible wall between her and the world.

Then came the announcement.

The company’s decision to film a new lifestyle variety show meant that their already limited moments of privacy would become even rarer. Some groaned at the idea of cameras invading their personal space, while others tried to find the silver lining, cracking jokes about being reality TV stars.

For Y/N, it was just another thing to get through.

After an exhausting day of work, they trudged into the dorm, barely lifting their hands to greet the hidden cameras scattered throughout the space.

“We’re home,” jisun muttered, voice heavy with fatigue.

“Ugh, I forgot about these cameras.”

“Might as well give them a good show,” karina joked, striking a half-hearted pose before immediately collapsing onto the couch, burying her face into a pillow.

Y/N, however, didn’t acknowledge the cameras at all. She didn’t even glance at them. Without a word, she went straight to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

The show’s cameras captured the others as they slowly shed the weight of the day—eunchae rummaging through the fridge for late-night snacks, another sitting cross-legged on the floor, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. natty let out an exaggerated groan as they sank into the couch, pressing a cold water bottle against her face.

“That was brutal,” chungha mumbled, rubbing her sore shoulders.

“At least the choreo is coming together.”

“Mmm. Still, my legs feel like they’re going to fall off.”

The laughter that followed was light, exhausted but warm. But even as they joked and unwound, their eyes would flicker toward the hallway, toward the closed bathroom door, toward the room Y/N disappeared into.

When she finally emerged, she didn’t join them.

The show’s cameras captured her as she slipped beneath her blankets, curling into herself, motionless. The only sign that she was even awake was the slow rise and fall of her chest.

The others tried to carry on as usual, but their energy was dimmed. So jisun sighed, setting down her phone before pushing off the couch.

“I’ll go check on her.”

No one stopped her. If anything, the others followed, her movements slow but deliberate.

One by one, they entered her room, careful not to turn on the lights.

Jisun climbed into bed beside her first, pressing close, a silent presence in the darkness. eunchae slipped in on the other side, their warmth seeping through the blankets. Chungha reached for her hand, fingers curling around hers, grounding her in reality. Natty and Karina wordlessly tucked the blanket around her more securely, making sure she was warm, making sure she was safe.

They didn’t push. They didn’t ask questions.

They just stayed.

And for the first time in days, Y/N felt something other than emptiness.

And night, as the others drifted off to sleep, Jisun broke the silence.

“You don’t have to talk,” she murmured, their voice barely above a whisper. “But you can.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. For a fleeting moment, her resolve wavered. The weight of everything pressed against her ribs, the words threatening to spill from her lips.

But then, just as quickly, she swallowed them down.

Instead of answering, she turned away, staring at the wall.

Jisun didn’t push. She just squeezed her hand a little tighter and stayed.

The next day, the group arrived at the building with heavy steps, their exhaustion still lingering from the previous day’s grueling schedule. The air inside the practice studio was cold, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as they filed in one by one. The familiar scent of sweat and worn-out sneakers mixed with the sterile smell of the polished floors.

Y/N barely registered the hum of the studio as the others began stretching, quietly moving through the motions of warming up. Her muscles were sore from the day before, but she pushed them aside, focusing only on getting through the next set. The others exchanged glances, their faces tired, but no one said a word. They had all seen Y/N’s struggle, but they knew better than to bring it up. She’d shut herself off from their concern, retreating behind a wall of practiced smiles.

Y/N made her way to the center of the room, where the mirrored walls reflected her every move in sharp detail. The others followed, gathering in their usual formation as the choreographer called out instructions.

“Alright, let’s run the choreography from the top. Y/N, you’re leading,” the choreographer said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of caution.

Y/N nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on her, but she refused to acknowledge it. She focused on the beat, her body moving almost mechanically in time with the music.

The routine was a demanding one—sharp movements, quick transitions, and rapid changes of direction. The music pulsed through the speakers, filling the room with a sense of urgency. Y/N’s body, however, seemed slower than usual, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Her breath came out in short bursts, her chest tightening with each movement. She could feel the fatigue settling deeper into her bones, the pressure mounting in her temples, but she kept pushing, determined to keep up. Her arms were stiff, her legs uncooperative, but she forced herself to power through, matching the others step by step.

As they continued, the sweat began to bead on her forehead, trickling down her face and into her eyes. Her movements were slightly off—her footwork not as sharp, her turns a beat behind. She could hear the other girls behind her, their voices a steady rhythm as they moved through the dance, but she felt disconnected from it all. The steps blurred together, the music a distant thrum in her ears.

She glanced at the mirror, briefly catching her reflection—a pale face, hollow eyes, shoulders too rigid, a faint tremor in her hands. For a split second, she thought she might collapse right then and there, but she steadied herself, shaking off the thought.

After a few more sets, Y/N’s legs began to feel like lead. Each time her feet hit the ground, a jolt of exhaustion shot through her, but she pushed herself again and again. She couldn’t let the others see. They were counting on her.

Her vision started to waver at the edges, her limbs heavy and stiff. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, each one more difficult than the last. Despite her best efforts to hide it, she could feel the familiar pressure rising in her chest—the one that always came when she pushed herself too far. But she didn’t stop.

When the choreographer called for another round, Y/N’s body finally gave out. Her legs buckled beneath her, and before she could hit the ground, someone was there—catching her, steadying her, but it was already too late.

The room erupted in a flurry of motion—staff rushed over, her members leaping to her side, their voices a frantic mess of concern. “She’s burning up.” “Has she even eaten today?” “Someone get help.”

But Y/N didn’t respond. The world spun in and out of focus, her vision going dark around the edges as her body refused to obey. The sounds around her faded, muffled as though they were coming from a great distance. Her hands were shaking, her chest heaving with every breath, but it wasn’t enough.

The others hovered over her, their worried eyes pleading for her to say something, but she couldn’t find the strength to speak. The weight of her exhaustion pressed down on her, suffocating, and all she wanted was to disappear into it.

The cameras, always on, never captured the rawness of the moment. They stayed silent as the room took care of Y/N, ushering her off to the side, away from the recording lens. It was a small mercy.

The chaos in the room was palpable, but the staff moved efficiently, guiding Y/N to a nearby chair, away from the mirrored walls and the glare of the overhead lights. Her body felt like a dead weight in their arms, her skin hot to the touch as if she were burning from the inside out. Her breathing was shallow, rapid, and despite everything, the exhaustion still hung over her like a thick fog.

Her members gathered around her, their faces tight with concern but unsure of what to do. Jisun was the first to crouch down in front of her, her hands hovering around Y/N’s face as though she might break something fragile if she touched her too roughly. “Y/N,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the tension in the room. “Can you hear me?”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, barely able to focus on the faces around her. Everything was a blur—like seeing through a fogged window, everything distant and muted. Her mouth felt dry, and when she tried to speak, only a soft rasp escaped her throat. She opened her mouth again, but no words came.

The sound of shuffling footsteps reached her ears, and someone—she couldn’t quite tell who—handed her a bottle of water. She brought it to Y/N’s lips, urging her to sip. It took a moment before Y/N’s shaky hands reached for it, her fingers trembling as she grasped the bottle and took a small drink. The cool water seemed to bring her back to herself just a little, and she could hear the collective sigh of relief from her members.

“You need to rest, Y/N,” Jisun said, her voice soft but firm. “We can’t continue like this.”

Y/N wanted to argue, wanted to say she was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. She could feel the weight of their eyes on her, the expectation, the unspoken demand that she push through, keep going, keep being the person they all needed her to be. But it was too much. She was too far gone to fight it.

“I—I’m fine,” she whispered, but even to her own ears, it sounded hollow. Her body, however, betrayed her. She was barely holding herself upright in the chair, her head lolling slightly to the side, and her vision kept blurring, as if the world was slipping out of focus.

“Y/N,” eunchae spoke up, her voice laced with concern. “You need to go home. This isn’t normal.”

The rest of the group murmured their agreement, casting one another anxious looks, but no one moved to push her out of the room. It was clear that despite their care, none of them knew what the right move was. Should they let her rest, send her away, or force her to confront whatever was spiraling inside her? The room felt charged with uncertainty, the atmosphere thick with the weight of a decision no one wanted to make.

Y/N felt a flicker of anger in the pit of her stomach, but it was quickly swallowed by the overwhelming fatigue that gripped her. How had it come to this? How had everything she’d built, everything she was, become so fragile? She didn’t know how to explain it, not to them, not to herself. The burning sensation inside her chest wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, something deep and painful that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

“I don’t need to go home,” she managed, the words barely making it past her lips. Her voice cracked on the last word, and she winced, cursing herself for sounding so weak. She wasn’t weak. She couldn’t be weak.

Karina’s expression softened, but there was a hint of frustration in her eyes, frustration with Y/N for not taking care of herself, for not being honest. “Y/N, listen. We care about you. You can’t keep pretending like everything’s okay.”

Y/N wanted to shake her head, to tell them that she was fine, that they didn’t understand, that they couldn’t possibly understand. But she didn’t have the energy for that fight. Instead, she closed her eyes again, feeling the pull of exhaustion tugging her deeper into the chair, her head tilting back slightly as her breathing steadied.

In that moment, all she could feel was the unbearable heaviness of her heart—the ache that had been there ever since the confirmation, ever since Taeyeon had made her choice so public, so definitive. The thought of it, of everything unraveling so publicly, made her chest tighten even more, but she couldn’t bring herself to face it. Not now. Not here.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She didn’t know what she was apologizing for—everything, nothing, the failure to hold herself together, the brokenness she had hidden for so long.

Jisun hesitated before reaching out to touch Y/N’s hand gently. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. You don’t have to carry this alone.” Her voice was steady, warm, filled with understanding—something Y/N didn’t feel she deserved. But she didn’t pull away. Instead, she allowed herself to sink into the quiet comfort of Jisun’s presence.

The rest of the members stood there, unsure of how to move forward, but Y/N’s eyes slowly closed, retreating once again into the quiet, turbulent storm of her mind. They wanted to help, but there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. And as the minutes ticked by in tense silence, Y/N realized something she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit: she wasn’t sure how to fix herself either.

___________

The episode had barely ended when the internet erupted. Fans, usually quick to dissect every second of screen time, had noticed something unusual—Y/N’s absence.

While the other members laughed over takeout, teased each other about dance mistakes, and slumped onto the dorm’s couches in exhaustion, Y/N was a ghost. The few times she appeared, it was fleeting—lying in bed, back turned to the camera, or moving past in the background like an afterthought. Then came the moment that sent speculation spiraling: the group returning home after practice, sweat still clinging to their skin, dragging their sore bodies into the dorm. But Y/N was nowhere. Not sitting at the table eating, not showering, not even in her bed. It was as if she had vanished.

The internet caught fire. Where is Y/N? Why was she barely in the episode? Is she okay? The questions multiplied, clogging comment sections and trending worldwide within hours. Fans searched for clues, rewatching past content, analyzing schedules, even scouring blurry airport photos for signs of her. The theories ranged from mild—maybe she was sick, maybe she had solo schedules—to wild speculation about hidden conflicts, secret departures, or something worse.

Yet, no answers came. The other members, usually quick to engage online, said nothing. No reassuring live streams, no playful social media posts. Just silence. The group’s official account eventually posted a vague message, something about busy schedules and individual activities, but it only made the unease grow.

And Y/N? She sat curled up in the corner of the dorm, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen as the hashtags and messages flooded in. Some were worried. Are you okay? Please say something. Others weren’t as kind. If you’re going to act like this, just leave the group.

Her chest tightened. The weight of it all—the expectations, the pressure, the unspoken demand to always be present, always be smiling—felt suffocating. She thought about responding, maybe a simple “I’m fine,” but even that felt like too much. What could she even say? That she was exhausted? That the constant scrutiny had drained her to the point where she barely felt like herself anymore?

She exhaled shakily and locked her phone, setting it down beside her. But even with the screen off, she still felt surrounded—by the comments, the pressure, the inescapable presence of millions of eyes picking apart her every move.

Days passed, but the storm didn’t quiet. If anything, it worsened. Fans grew more restless, demanding answers. Articles speculated on her condition. Even some media outlets started covering the situation, labeling it “Y/N’s Disappearance: Mystery Within the Industry.” It was no longer just an online discussion—it had become a full-blown crisis.

And the company noticed.

The first meeting was impersonal. A few managers, a public relations officer, and a stiffly worded conversation about the growing controversy. They wanted a statement. Maybe a quick video, just a few seconds, smiling, waving, reassuring everyone that she was fine. That nothing was wrong. That the company wasn’t mismanaging her, that there was no conflict within the group.

Y/N sat in the conference room, staring at them. Smile. Reassure them. The words swam in her head, but all she could think about was how much effort even lifting the corners of her mouth would take.

“I’m tired,” she finally admitted. It was the first time she had said it out loud—to anyone.

The room fell silent. Some of the staff exchanged glances, others shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t the response they wanted.

One of the higher-ups sighed. “You have schedules coming up, Y/N. You can rest when—”

“No,” she cut in. “I need to rest now.”

That was the moment everything changed.

For the first time, they truly looked at her. Not as an idol, not as a product to be marketed, but as a person—one whose exhaustion was no longer something that could be ignored.

A second meeting followed. This time, it was more serious. Her manager spoke softer, her company’s CEO even showed up. They discussed the online response, her declining health, and, finally, the unavoidable decision.

A hiatus.

The official statement came the next day.

taglist + @gtfoiydlyj @sewiouslyz @xen248 @mineige @yjiminswallet @saysirhc @pandafuriosa60 @yeri-luvr

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