#smart cookie universe :)

[writeshite]

Spencer’s head was swimming. You held his wrists just ahead of him in one hand, the other held him by his hip, what little freedom Spencer had was spent gripping the sheets and incessantly pleading to you. His knees had given out, but you held him up as much as you needed him to be, not that you were doing any sort of moving.

He whined softly, pushing back as best as he could to incite you, he winced at the stretch that accompanied his resolve, the pain had faded as you’d worked your cock as patiently and slowly as excruciatingly possible. You tut at his behavior, leaning closer, “I know what you want, darling, but patience is a virtue,” you reminded him.

You adjust your legs and Spencer’s head falls forward when your dick incidentally slips out, “Sorry, love,” pushing aside one of Spencer’s arse cheeks, Spencer mewled and you held him firmly before he could greedily push himself back onto your cock. It had been this way for an hour or two, slow fucking followed by stillness, Spencer was on the verge of tears with his begging. You move again, dick dragging inside Spencer, he felt like his body was alight, you languidly rocked against him, kissing the hickeys you’d left along his neck and shoulders.

Mercifully, you don’t stop indefinitely this time, pace increasing until the headboard was slamming against the wall, you release Spencer’s hands to focus on holding his hips, and Spencer clutches the sheets tighter. “W—what happened to patience?” He half snarks, gasping breathlessly.

“Hard to be patient when I’ve got you, love,” your response equally as breathless, you groan softly, “fuck…” Relief washes over Spencer and he sings a chorus of gratitude when you fuck him earnestly, his senses scramble further, the headboard banging against the wall a distant sound.

"Cookie?" You yawned, waking, you turned to see Spencer trying to hide his face in the nook between your neck and the pillows. You raise a brow and muse, “What’s got you all shy?”

Spencer mumbles something, blushing, burrows his face further and you note the flustered red hue present on his skin. “Didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart,” you tease, but Spencer doesn’t clarify himself, growing redder and quieter, you chuckled softly and bundle him in your arms.

[b0nelessdoodles]

espresso needing to weigh the moral pros and cons of the research he wants to conduct and shadow milk is just floating there like DO IT

(he's gonna do it 'cause that stupid blonde jock likes him a whole lot for reasons he cannot understand)

[kickassdoormat]

hear me out cake but I might have a type

[sarahsmi13s]

Home Is Where The Heart Is

18+ content MDNI

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x sarah grant (fem!oc) characters: sarah grant, jake seresin, the bradshaws (bradley, alyssa, and leia), the dagger squad, penny and amelia, sarah's team and assitant coach Cameron Kamp, misc characters warnings: language, military homecoming, pregnancy, pregnancy hormones, crying, brief mentions of religion, cheesy lovey dovey shit, THIS DOES CONTAIN SMUT, you have been warned, breeding kink, pregnancy sex, a ruined pair of jeans, oral (fem recieving), unprotected p in v (don't be dumb) word count: ~8.5k a/n: this story is inspired by ‘His Little Girl’ (bradley bradshaw x reader) by the lovely @roosterscockpit​​  ( @milesdickpic​ ) and characters from this story are mentioned. also, yes, the oc is based on me lol (well a fantasy version lol) PLEASE READ: i know it's been a while but this part in the story takes place in late June this is part 8 in the series, found here -> j and s universe loose summary: it's time for a reunion

They say home is where the heart is, but what about when your heart is on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean? Is that where your home is?

Cause that’s where Sarah’s heart was. Thousands of miles away, on a floating hunk of metal. It shouldn’t be there, it should be by her side. Her heart should be rubbing her back and cradling her growing belly. Not getting sonogram photos in the mail. 

But that’s where it was, because that’s where Jake was.

Their home rarely ever felt like one when he was gone. It was quiet and cold. 

Except for the days Sarah and Jake got to video call. 

Sure, it wasn’t exactly the same – but they would take what they could get.

“We still need to have a baby shower,” Jake said as he watched Sarah clean from her computer on the counter. “I’m not having one until you get home, Jake,” she answered, a sigh behind the words. She’d told him the same thing since after the gender reveal.

He sighed, watching her move around the kitchen, “Sarah, what if I’m not back by the time you have the kids? Then you’re stuck at home with nothing.” She shrugged and wiped down the counter, “I’ll go shopping then.”

“Sarah, the whole point of a baby shower is to eliminate the need for us to spend our own money,” Jake said, trying to get her to understand that it was okay to have one without him.

Sarah stopped cleaning and looked at him. “Jake, there are things I want to have your opinion on. Like strollers and carseats and cribs. I want to buy those things with you, I want to do all that with you.”

“Sugar…”

“Jake, I don’t want to do these things by myself. I’m already having to set up the nursery by myself.” 

He furrowed his brow, “The squad isn’t helping you?” She sighed and scratched her forehead, “No, no, they are. It’s just… I want your say in these things. I need your opinion.”

Jake gave her a small smile, “Sweetheart, the nursery doesn’t need to be fancy. We’ll be moving after the wedding anyway.” Sarah sighed and rubbed her belly, “I guess you’re right… I just miss you. They do too.” He nodded, “I miss you too Sugar. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“When do you come home?” She asked him softly, hand still rubbing her belly. He sighed, “I’m still not sure…” Sarah bit her lip and nodded.

“I’m so sorry, Sugar… I wish they would decide, I want to be home with you.” She gave him a shaky smile, “I know you do, Love… I want that too, but as long as you come home, I’ll be happy.”

Jake smiled at her, “I love you, Sugar.” 

“I love you too, Cowboy,” she smiled back before looking at the list on the fridge and sighing.

“What’s wrong Sarah?”

She shook her head, “Oh it’s nothing. I just remembered all the stuff I need to get for the banquet that’s not this Saturday but the next Saturday.”

Jake smiled, “How much have you gotten done?” Sarah groaned and rubbed her face, “None of it. And I have so much to do…”

She didn’t want to hang up on him, having him on her computer screen helped her to feel like he was home. Made the home feel less lonely, made her feel less lonely. And the twins got to hear their dad’s voice. 

“I don’t wanna hang up either Sugar…”

Sarah sighed and looked back at him. He always seemed to know what she was thinking, even a million miles away Jake could read her like a book.

She leaned on the counter, giving him a soft, loving look as she smiled. “But we both have things we need to do…”

Jake nodded, resting his head on his fist, “Unfortunately…”

“We’ll talk tomorrow?” Sarah asked, hopefulness in her tone but she knew it wasn’t a guarantee.

He nodded and sat up, “But I can’t video call tomorrow, so it’ll have to be over the phone.” She nodded and stood, her hand rubbing her belly, “We look forward to it.” Jake smiled, love engulfing his eyes as he looked at her.

“I can’t wait til I’ve got ya back in my arms Darlin’. The day can’t come fast enough.”

“I love you Jake. So do they.”

“I love you too Sarah. And you two little troublemakers in there, Daddy’ll be home soon.”

Sarah sighed and readied her cursor on the “End Call” button. “Bye Darlin’.” “Bye Sugar.”

They ended the call at the same time before their tears could fall. Both waited until the little light by the camera turned off before they broke down crying.

Over the next week and a half, Sarah and the squad got all the decorations ready for the banquet. They put together the centerpieces and planned out where everything would go.

The centerpieces weren’t too hard to make. One of them was simply a bouquet of daisies and greenery with a softball in the middle; the other was a vase with softballs in it and a yellow rose and green hydrangea flower arrangement on top.

Amelia had gotten extremely into baking, and she was actually quite good at it. So, to save a little bit of money, Sarah asked her to bake a few of the desserts for the team. Most importantly, gift softball cookies for the seniors with their name and number on them. Sarah, of course, bought her the ingredients and paid her for her work.

Other desserts would be brought by parents and players, along with fruit and veggie trays.

Cyclone offered to cook, grill or something, but the school insisted on paying for it to be catered since they weren’t paying for much else. 

So, the team decided on both pasta and barbeque. Sure, not exactly tied together, but girls like their options!

And with all of it being taken care of, all Sarah had to do was sit down and make the awards, which didn’t take very long at all. 

Then all she had to do was wait for the day.

The morning of the banquet Sarah woke up early, the twins wanting to start the day as soon as possible.

“Alright babies, okay okay I’m up,” she groaned as she sat up in her bed. She took a few breaths as she sat on the edge of her bed, massaging her lower back. “It’s 5:30, Penny and I aren’t setting the Hard Deck up until 10. Why can’t I just sleep in?”

She got out of bed and went to her and Jake’s closest to get her clothes out for the banquet. A shin length cream colored dress, one of Jake’s shirts that matched the school's colors, and a pair of tan Nike shoes.

Sarah was not about to wear heels, not with her sore and swollen feet. Sandals were also off the table, because again her feet were swollen and she couldn’t see past her belly to see her toes to paint them. 

Could she have gone to get them done? Sure, but the one smell that managed to make her sick this far into her pregnancy was the smell of a nail salon. So she had resulted to socks and using press ons or glue on nails from the store.

“Okay, I just need to wash my face and freshen up, then get dressed.”

She went to the bathroom and turned the water on to let heat up while she re-tied her bun and put on a headband. 

Once the water was warm, Sarah grabbed her morning face wash and wet her face. 

“Oh, Finley,” she hissed as she started to wash her face. 

Finley seemed to have a preference for being active early in the morning and loved to kick virtually the same spot all the time. 

“You have got to chill, baby girl,” she said, looking at the side of her belly that her daughter was occupying. “I know you’re excited about Mama’s busy day, just can you kick somewhere besides my bladder?”

She watched her belly move with another kick. “Thank you baby.”

After getting dressed, Sarah gathered what wasn’t already at the Hard Deck and put it in her car.

“Okay, now I won’t forget those… but what do I do in the meantime?”

She looked down at her belly, “Let’s start planning a shower, just so Daddy and Mama don’t have to start from scratch.” Sarah grunted a little at the kick she received, but it was gentle so it also made her smile. “Alright, laptop and my water cup and to the couch we go.” She set an alarm for 9 and sat on the couch. 

Opening her laptop, she went straight to Pinterest and began pinning ideas into a board for her and Jake to go through later. He may be on a ship in the middle of the ocean but he was still going to be a part of the planning process. She cared about his input and a few thousand miles wasn’t going to change that.

So for the next few hours she compiled ideas for decor and food, games and prizes. She found a few lists of items for a registry just to have something to go off of. 

By the time her alarm went off she had a lot of ideas in that board along with her having gotten distracted by food recipes and pictures of cows and puppies.

She got up and packed her laptop away in her bag before she grabbed it and her phone. Swiping her keys from the bowl, she locked up the house and went to her car.

Once she was seated and buckled, she put in an order at Chick-fil-A so she could pick it up before meeting everyone at the Hard Deck.

When Sarah got to the bar, pretty much everyone was already there, most likely cleaning or waiting for her to arrive.

She got out of her car and slipped her bag onto her shoulders before grabbing the food bags and the drink carriers. However, once she got situated with the drinks, she noticed the framed awards sitting in her front seat. 

“Shit,” she cursed, trying not to fumble the drinks and send them crashing to the gravel of the parking lot. “I just had to order drinks… shit okay Sarah, just do the easy, smart thing and sit everything down, pick up the awards and then grab everything else. You can do that.”

And she did exactly that, managing to tuck all the awards under her arms and then re-pick up everything.

Sighing, she walked toward the bar’s door, making sure to move carefully so as to not drop anything.

Inside, Penny noticed Sarah coming towards the bar, looking like a Jenga tower trying to walk and not fall over.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” she said, sitting up a bit straighter as she noticed Amelia come out of the bathroom. “Hey, Amelia, will you go help Sarah? She’s trying to do a single trip and I don’t want her to fall.” Amelia nodded and immediately went to go outside, “Yeah, sure Mom.”

As Amelia headed to the door, Sarah had stepped onto the sidewalk to go to the stairs.

But as she brought her other foot up, she didn’t get it quite high enough which caused her to trip.

She, thankfully, didn’t fall, but in her attempts to keep herself from falling forward she stuck her arms out to balance herself. And as she stood up straight to catch her breath and held her hand to her chest to calm her racing heart, she looked down and realized that her quick response had caused her to drop the awards and the two drink carriers.

She swore in frustration, “Dicks!” 

“Oh my god are you okay?” Amelia immediately asked as she opened the door, having seen the near fall just as she opened the door. 

Sarah nodded, “I’m fine, I just dropped the drink and awards…” Tears stung her eyes as she spoke, looking down at the mess at her feet.

Both Sarah’s shout and Amelia’s tone had caught the aviators’ attention and they immediately came outside.

“Hey what happened?” Bradley asked, coming out first with worry on his face as he looked between Amelia and Sarah. 

“I just tripped, Roo, I’m fine,” Sarah told him before sniffling a little bit. She cleared her throat a bit and held the bags of food out, “Least I didn’t drop the food.” Bradley nodded and took them, handing them off to Amelia.

He stepped forward and felt something crunch under his foot. When he looked down he realized that it was only ice but there was still shattered glass and some plastic from the frames that had broken off. He heard Sarah sniffle again.

Bradley looked at her, watching her shake out her hands before covering her face. He knew she was on the verge of tears so he tried to comfort her, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We can clean it up.”

“I dropped all the fucking drinks, I’m sorry guys,” she said, as annoyed frustrated tears slipped down her face. She huffed and looked at styrofoam cups that sat broken on the concrete. “I’m really really sorry guys. I just didn’t want to come back outside and I-”

“Hey, hey,” Javy said, gently grabbing her shoulders. “Hey, look at me.” Sniffling, Sarah lifted her gaze to Javy. “There she is. Hey, don’t worry about this, it’s just drinks.” Nat came over, her and Reuben squatting down to pick up the cups and carriers. “Yeah, it’s alright, there’s drinks inside or someone can go pick up drinks,” Mickey said, already pulling out his keys. Bob nods next to him, “Yeah, there’s a convenience store just up the road. Fanboy and I can go get drinks.”

At the reassurance from her friends, Sarah nods and wipes her face, sniffling as she calms down a bit. “Yeah… yeah you’re right. You’re right…” 

She took a deep breath and looked down at the mess again, tears gathering up again at the sight of the broken picture frames. But she swallows the tears and squats down, mumbling a little to herself to try and stay calm.

“The awards don’t need frames, the girls won’t c-” She stopped mid amendment when she turned them over, finding that the spilled drinks had soaked and stained the cardstock. “Damn it…”

She covers her face as the frustrated tears fall once more, “They’re ruined… this day is already off to a bad start…”

Javy shook his head and squatted down with her, “Hey, no, none of that pretty mama.” He tilted her chin up and wiped the tears from Sarah’s cheeks, “We still got all day to make up for this accident. Bob and Fanboy already left to go get more drinks, and did you bring your laptop?” She nodded, “Yeah, it’s in my bag.” “Good, I’m sure Penny has a printer in the office and you can reprint the awards in there. We can make the day better,” he helped her to stand and she giggled a bit as she wiped her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, Jav, you’re right. I guess it’s just the pregnancy hormones and the stress of today. Thank you.” He nodded and smiled, “Course, now let’s get inside and eat. I bet the little bugs are hungry.”

Just as he said that, Finnegan kicked Sarah’s bladder, “Yes, they are, but now I also reeeaaallly have to pee.”

They all laughed at that. “Then let's get you inside.”

After breakfast and the Hard Deck getting a thorough cleaning from the squad while Sarah reprinted the awards, they all went out for lunch before getting last minute decor and supplies.

When they got back to the bar they got everything set up. The squad moved picnic tables down to the sand to clear the deck as much as necessary while Penny, Amelia, Alyssa, and Sarah swept what sand they could off the deck. And one table was set up to hold gifts and awards.

After that was taken care of, decor such as banners and light were strung up. Rooster and Payback hung a flag sign that read “CONCESSIONS” above the door from the deck into the bar. The food and drinks would be set up inside to keep bugs and sand from getting into it.  

All of the table decor and smaller things would be set up later so they didn’t get snatched or knocked off and broken.

Once the big stuff was out of the way, the squad gathered in the bar to have a victory drink before heading home to shower and get ready.

While Sarah and the others headed straight home to get showers and change, Bradley had to take a quick detour.

“Bradley, where are we going?” Alyssa asked, realizing he wasn’t headed toward their home.

He chuckled a little, “You’ll see honey, but you can’t say anything. Sarah’s team wants to surprise her with something.” He turned toward the dockyard, “Or should I say someone?”

Alyssa’s brow furrowed, a little confused by the vagueness, but she went with it, “Alright.”

Bradley just chuckled, driving down the road before pulling into the dockyard and parking. “Okay, do you want to come with me or stay in the car?” Alyssa shrugged, “How long are you gonna be?” He shook his head as he unbuckled, “Not long at all, Honey.”

She nodded and rubbed her bump, “Okay, I’ll stay here, but I won’t promise I’ll be awake by the time you get back.” He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Rooster got out of the Bronco and jogged toward the docks.

There were a few people there still, but a lone pilot, off to the side on his phone, stuck out to him.

“Yo! Hangman!” 

Bradley waved with a huge grin on his face as Jake looked up at him, “Bradshaw! Took you long enough!” Jake walked over to him, pulling him in for a quick hug and patting him on the back, “Long time no see Rooster.” He chuckled, clapping Jake on the shoulder, “C’mon, let’s go. You hungry?” 

“Yes, I’m starving actually.” “Well, let’s get you to the house and you can eat the leftover pizza in the fridge. If Leia and Mav haven’t yet.” 

Jake nodded and chuckled, “Yeah, let’s go.”

A few hours later, after changing, scarfing down a few slices of pizza, and getting a lot of Leia cuddles, Jake and the Bradshaws left for the bar.

“Are you excited to see Aunt Sarah again Uncle Jakey?” Leia asked him from her spot next to him in the backseat. Jake nodded with a bright smile, “I am Leia, but she doesn’t know I’m home yet, so you have to keep it a secret. Can you do that for me?”

Leia nodded her head enthusiastically and saluted him, “Yes, operation don’t tell Aunt Sarah Uncle Jakey is home is a-go!” Jake and her parents laughed. “Thank you, Captain Bradshaw,” he said, saluting her back.

They both laughed a little more before settling.

Jake looked out the window, looking at the California sky as his mind drifted.

His only thoughts were of Sarah and the two little bugs she was carrying. Being on that carrier so far away, not being able to be near them at all made him feel horrible. He’d missed out on so many milestones of her pregnancy. Of course Sarah told him everything and sent him plenty of photos, but it just wasn’t the same.

Hell, he didn’t only miss her pregnancy milestones, he missed her career milestones.

This was her first year as head coach of the softball team and she took them to the state championship and won! Sure, he saw it through a phone camera and still celebrated with her. But he wished that he could have been in the moment with her. Share her joy with her in real time.

She got fucking coach of the year and he didn’t get to celebrate with her over dinner. He didn’t get to walk around the grocery store or the mall and tell everyone he saw that his girl was “an amazing coach with the plaque to prove it" just to see the shy smile on her face as she blushed.

But he was here now and he was going to make up for lost time.

Sarah walked around the bar, greeting players and their parents as they walked in. 

She honestly sounded like a gleeful broken record, greeting everyone in generally the same way. “Hi, so glad you could make it! We’ll be starting around 5, seating is outside but you’re welcome to play pool or darts as we wait until then.” And multiple variations of that.

Everyone mingled and played the various games inside the bar, a few of them going out to play cornhole, which was graciously provided by Warlock.

“Aunt Sarah!” 

At the sound of the littlest Bradshaw’s voice, Sarah gasped playfully and turned to greet her, “Leia Rey!! Oh how are you? Did you have fun with Papa Mav today?” Leia nodded and hugged her, “I did!” Sarah smiled at her, “That’s great! Well, I’m sure the girls would love to know you’re here. If it’s okay with your mama and daddy, you can go say hi.”

Leia turned to her parents with her puppy eyes, “Can I Mommy?” Alyssa nodded and laughed, “Yes baby, but don’t go outside unless you tell me or daddy okay?” “Yes ma’am!” 

She ran off to the group of girls, who immediately got excited to see her and lifted her onto the pool table.

“Those girls love her so much,” Sarah said as she turned back to Alyssa and Bradley. “Yeah they do.” 

Bradley was smiling like an idiot trying not to spill the fact that Jake was currently using his spare key to take Sarah’s car to kill time until speeches.

“Okay, I’m going to get some things situated, then I think that we’re gonna get started.”

Both Alyssa and Bradley nodded as Sarah smiled and walked away.

“Thank goodness… I’m so bad at keeping secrets,” Bradley sighed, rubbing his face. Alyssa chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, “Well, you’ve done good so far Honey. Just a little while longer.”

After checking what needed to be checked, Sarah got everyone’s attention.

“Hey! Hi everyone! We are so so happy you could make it out tonight, and be with us to celebrate your girls and the hard work they put in this year. First we are going to eat, then our AD, myself and Coach Kamp, and one of our seniors will give a speech, and finally we will end with awards and photos!”

The group clapped and cheered a little.

Sarah smiled and clapped her hands together, “Okay, I’m going to say grace really quick and then we can all dig in and go sit outside.”

She said a quick prayer over the food before everyone dug in and got a plate of food to go sit out on the beach.

About halfway through everyone’s second plate, or dessert, they decided to start speeches.

The Athletic Director was up first. He introduced himself and told everyone how long he had been with the school, and all that fun stuff. He talked about the team's stats over the season. Praised the girls and their dedication and effort, praised the coaches for their roles and impact on the team.

“I must say, we’ve had plenty of coaches over the years, but Coach Grant really stands out. She came here and brought an energy that the students adore. She’s done an absolute fantastic job, and no discredit to Coach Kamp. Both have created a team like none other, and it is their first official year coaching together. I can only imagine what the future holds for the program.”

Sarah smiled at him and shook his hand before a quick hug as her assistant took the microphone.

“Okay, so most of you know me, I went to school with a lot of either your younger siblings or older children,” Cameron said, pulling a laugh from everyone. “These girls have been such a delight and blessing to coach and watch progress throughout the season and I can only imagine where these seniors will go. Can we get another round of applause for the 2023 State Champs!”

The crowd clapped and whistled, dying down once Cam spoke again. 

He continued to brag about the girls sharing some funny things that happened before moving to talk about Sarah.

“Now, this woman right here, she is a beast. She came here last year being thrown into the head coach position of not one, but two sports. And she has absolutely killed it. She cares so much about her students and her players, and it’s truly a privilege to coach with her.”

Sarah chuckled and shook her head as Cam pulled her in for a side hug. “Stop, oh my goodness!” She fanned her face, “Pregnancy hormones and speeches don’t mix.” Everyone laughed and clapped as Sarah took over the microphone.

She smiled and wiped her eyes, “Oh gosh, so I’m going to apologize now for both my previous crying and any future crying that occurs.”

Sighing lightly, she looked around at everyone, “Wow… okay okay, so as most of you know, I am not from here, if you couldn’t tell from my accent. I come from a small town in Arkansas, one where everyone knows everyone. I wish I could say I don’t know how I ended up here, but we all know that isn’t true.”

Tears pricked her eyes at the vague mention of Jake, but she cleared her throat and pressed on. 

“But I feel like I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Truly, I feel so blessed. I hope I’ve proven to you this past year just how much I care for my students and players. I know the way I approach things can be a little different than coaches in the past but… that’s why I’m here. I want every one of your children to succeed on and off the field, and in and out of the classroom. And that means I will do what I have to to make sure that happens.”

She looked at the tables where the players sat, “This group of girls… they are so so hard working. And I hope I made as big an impact on them as they’ve made on me. I was so nervous, so unbelievably nervous to come here and start coaching. It’s… It’s very different from how I was coached. And I knew I was going to step on toes with how I was gonna coach my team. I want to thank you all for sticking with me and trusting me.”

Sarah let out a watery chuckle as she watched the seniors fan their faces and wipe their eyes. 

“Oh my seniors, I wish we had more time together. But I’m so very thankful for the time we had. My door will always be open to you, for whatever you need. And I know that you will be successful, whatever you put your mind to.”

Teary eyed with shaky smiles, the seniors got up and shared a group hug with her.

Parents and the school’s photographer snapped a few photos of the lovely moment before they pulled away, Lauren taking the microphone.

“Don’t put away your tissues just yet folks,” she said, wiping her eyes with a laugh. “All of us put a speech together and I was elected to read it. And I am so so excited.”

Lauren looked at Sarah, “Coach, I know you want to sit down, so we have a bar stool for you to sit on. Because you deserve to have a seat.” Sarah shook her head with a light laugh and sat on the stool. 

“I’m aware this sounds like the one I gave at the basketball banquet, but please bear with me, it’s worth it to listen to the end.”

The teenager pulled out a sheet of paper and cleared her throat, comically sipping a cup of water before starting.

“As student athletes, coaches make up a pretty big part of our career. They teach us so much more than our sport; they teach us valuable life lessons. Such as: leadership, teamwork, accountability, punctuality, and so many more I can’t name off the top of my head. These lessons will stick with us all of our lives, lessons that we won’t forget.

You thank us for taking a chance with you, Coach… But we want to thank you for taking a chance on us.

Thank you… for pushing us. For pushing us to be our absolute best on and off the field. We are sure there are countless times that you wanted to ring our necks, instead you lit a fire under our feet and didn’t let us settle for mediocre. Because we are so much more than that. Thank you for seeing that when we didn’t.

Thank you, Coach… for believing in us. For not letting us quit and taking time to show us how much you care. You have given us so much support in such a short time and we will forever be grateful for that. 

Thank you for the sacrifices you’ve made. The hours spent working with us and making us feel seen and heard. The hours you lost sleep over us because you could have slept in, especially the last 7-8 months, but you wanted to give us every opportunity you could to practice.

Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

Sarah was sobbing by the end, a shaking hand covering her mouth but not hiding the smile. Lauren and the other seniors were crying as well, all coming in for another hug.

“Okay, we have a gift for you. But don’t open it yet, okay?” Lauren said as she wiped at her cheeks. “And we have another surprise for you, but first the seniors have one more person we want to thank.” 

Lauren turned toward the door, gesturing with a slightly trembling hand while smiling, which caused everyone to turn toward the door.

“Will Lieutenant Jake Thomas Seresin please come to the stage?”

It almost took too long for his name to register in Sarah’s brain but the moment the blond aviator was stepping out of the Hard Deck, she was sobbing again. Slipping off the barstool with little grace, she ran as best she could to her fiancé with him meeting her quickly in an embrace. 

Sarah couldn’t form words through her tears, but she didn’t need to. She was clinging desperately to Jake’s jacket with one hand as the other threaded in Jake’s hair. Her hot tears wetted his neck but he didn’t care, she was in his arms again.

“I’m here Darlin’. I’m here,” he said lowly, cradling her head as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Tears pricked his own eyes, feeling the twins kicking as Sarah’s bump pressed to his abdomen. 

Sarah pulled back and rested her forehead on his, “You’re home… you’re really home.” Jake smiled and nodded, “I’m home Sugar.” She let out a watery giggle before kissing him deeply, fist balling in his shirt to make sure he wouldn’t go anywhere. 

Jake reacted similarly, both hands holding her jaw to keep her close before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and one hand on her bump.

The kiss was electric, months of separation being mended by this one act. Tears of longing turned to ones of joy as they mixed together on their cheeks. And in that moment, two souls were making up for time lost.

Everyone around them cheered, clapping and some were most definitely crying. 

Sarah and Jake lips disconnected as they laughed, meeting together again in quick succession before they turned to everyone with smiles. 

“Who knew? I know some of you knew, who was it?” Sarah asked, wiping her eyes and pointing an accusatory finger at them all. The crowd laughed and Jake kissed the top of her head, “I don’t know about the parents but the squad knew and the girls knew, this was actually their idea.”

Her jaw dropped and she looked at her players, “What?”

They all laughed and proceeded to explain that when Jake had video called the week before the state championship game that is when they planned everything. It was a simple plan really. Once they knew the date Jake was coming home, they all agreed that doing it at the softball banquet would be best because they wanted to be a part of the reunion.

“Oh my goodness, girls… thank you,” Sarah said before they all had a quick group hug.

When it disbanded, Jake kissed Sarah’s temple before sitting down, Leia immediately climbing into his lap. She smiled after him before getting back on the deck and grabbing the microphone.

“Alright, who is ready for awards?”

When they got home a few hours later, they were nearly on one another when the door closed.

“Sugar, while I love this dress, I need you to take it off before I tear it off of you. I’d hate to ruin it,” Jake nearly growled in her ear as she shut and locked the door.

She bit back the moan, but leaned back against his chest, “Take the food to the kitchen and meet me upstairs, Daddy.”

“As you wish, pretty mama~” Jake rasped in her ear, hand running over her bump before he nibbled her ear.

He turned to go towards the kitchen, smacking Sarah’s ass playfully before going to put leftovers in the fridge as she tossed her bag on the couch before going upstairs.

When she got upstairs and in the bedroom, she immediately started getting undressed. 

Her shoes got thrown toward the closet, her socks thrown haphazardly toward the basket by the bathroom door. She took Jake’s button up off and laid it on the bed before slipping her dress down her body and letting it pool at her feet. Last came her bra and panties, falling to the pile at her feet.

She put Jake’s shirt back on and went to the bathroom to wait for him.

Jake hadn’t even bothered to put leftovers in the fridge neatly, he shoved things over and found places where they would fit for now. 

He took the stairs two at a time, his tight jeans being both a hindrance and his drive to get to his bedroom faster.

When he got there, the first thing he saw was the pile on the floor next to the bed and both his jacket and shirt joined them.

“I’m in the bathroom Cowboy.”

A wolfish grin split his features and he toed off his shoes, thankful to have changed out of his work boots. 

He walked into the bathroom, seeing the love of his life with her hip against the counter, his shirt barely covering her nipples. “Oh, look at you, my gorgeous girl,” he drawled out, immediately putting his hands on her hips to pull her close.

“My handsome man~” She purred, her hands going straight to his chest. 

Grinning, he planted a kiss on her lips. Innocent and delicate at first before his hands were pushing the button down off her shoulders, immediately turning the kiss into hungry and desperate.

Jake pressed Sarah against the bathroom counter, his large, calloused hands roaming her now naked body.

“Fuck, Sugar, I missed you so damn much~” He grunted out between hot kisses.

Sarah’s head fell back, exposing her neck to her fiancé as her nails scratched his torso. “I missed you too Cowboy~” Her hand grazed over the bulge in his jeans before palming him, “I missed this too~”

His hips bucked involuntarily at her touch, craving the skin on skin contact. His body ached for her soft caresses and fleeting kisses, the chill left behind on his hot skin after her fingers danced along his muscles. He ached for her.

The low groan vibrated against her neck, sending a wave of arousal through her. Jake’s head nuzzled slightly against hers before he kissed her again.

Her hand threaded into his hair as his hands softly rested on both sides of her bump. His thumbs traced soothing circles on her skin and she brought him closer.

Jake moved to the side, just to get a better angle to deepen the kiss and bury his hand in Sarah’s hair. 

His unoccupied hand moved down to run its fingers through her folds. “Damn, pretty mama, so wet for me already~”

“You’ve been gone for weeks, Jake. The moment I saw you, my hormones went fuckin’ nuts~”

A needy growl bubbled in Jake’s throat as her hand palmed him in time with the movements of his fingers and she purred against his lips. 

After a few more seconds, Jake brought his fingers up to his lips before parting the digits and watching her arousal string between them in a poor attempt to keep them together. Moaning, he slipped the coated fingers in mouth, letting his tongue clean the silky sweetness off of them.

“Mmm, just as sweet as I remember~” 

She whimpered and captured his lips, wanting just a little taste. Jake responded in haste, his tongue dipping into her mouth and sharing whatever was left. The hand in her hair tugged a bit and the other cupped her neck as he pressed her against the counter.

When they pulled back for air, they rested their foreheads against each other.

“Jake, baby please, I need you between my legs. I’ve missed your mouth on my pussy, please~” Sarah begged against his lips. Her nose nudged his gently, contrasting her desperate plea to have him eat her out like a man starved.

He chuckled lowly and gently nudged her nose back, “You don’t gotta ask me twice, Sugar.”

He kissed down her body, following the goosebumps left by his fingertips until he was on his knees and lifting her leg over his shoulder.

Jake groaned at the sight before him. It was a sight he saw countless times before, but a sight that never got boring.

Humming, he pushed his tongue past her lips, moaning the moment his senses took in everything. His eyes fluttered shut and he worked her cunt from muscle memory. He didn’t need to see to draw pretty sounds from his fiancée’s throat. He knew every curve, every spot that made her putty in his hands.

Every swipe and flick of his tongue drew a moan from her lips. Desperate, pleading moans as her heel dug into his back.

Sarah gripped the counter, blindly trying to reach for Jake’s hair to ground herself. “Fuck Jake!” She managed to finally find his golden locks and thread her fingers through the strands. “Oh shit, don’t stop~”

Her moans bounced off the tile of the bathroom, echoing and letting Jake hear them for a second time. He could tell she was close, having been deprived of his touch for too long. He couldn’t blame her, he was desperate too.

Jake ran his hand up her leg, a feather light touch until he got to her entrance and easily pushed two digits inside. “Fuck Sugar… y’ so damn tight~”

“Oh fuck, Jake I’m gonna cum~”

“I know, darlin’. I know, cum for me~” He grunted out, his inflamed chest rumbling with the words as he curled and twisted his fingers.

Sarah’s head fell back, a strangled moan forcing itself from her throat as she pulled at his hair and white knuckled the counter to keep herself upright.

The sensation made Jake open his eyes, looking up to see his fiancée as she came. But his eyes caught sight of her baby bump, and Jake fucking lost it.

His lips wrapped around her clit and his other hand dropped to palm himself through his jeans. He moaned and hissed as she clenched around his fingers and lightning shot up his back.

Jake’s hips jerked as his cock twitched and he grinded harder against his own hand, chasing his high just as he brought his Sarah to hers. He saw dots behind his eyelids as his abdomen flexed and reached his peak.

The gentle tug of his hair pulled him back to the real world. Back to the bathroom where his future stood looking down at him with a fucked out expression on her face.

“You alright down there Cowboy?” She asked lightly with a soft smile as she caught her breath. He nodded, a grin splitting his face, “I’m fuckin’ amazing, Sugar…”

She giggled as he stood up, her eyes flickering down, “Oh, Honey, you um..” He chuckled and nodded, reaching over to turn the shower on, “I know, I know.”

While shower sex is usually very fun, Sarah did not want to stay in the shower any longer than she had to. She had been on her feet a lot that day and she was terrified of something happening and her slipping and falling.

So they saved it for the bed, not particularly caring that they had just gotten clean. Jake just got home and they were going to have proper sex, they could just have another shower in the morning.

After drying off, Jake laid down on the bed, Sarah crawling on after him.

“You’re sure about this Honey?” Sarah asked as she straddled Jake, her damp hair dripping onto his chest. “I don’t want to crush you.”

Jake chuckled and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, admiring his fiancée in the warm light of the lamp. “You won’t Sugar, I’ll be jus’ fine.” 

She nodded and guided her hands to the headboard, “I feel like this is not the position we should be doing this. Because my hips already hurt and I don’t feel like I look sexy up here.” He snorted a little, “I think you look sexy all the time, but if your hips hurt we can switch positions. Your comfort comes first Darlin’.”

“Okay, thank you Jake, because you would have been doing most of the work anyway,” Sarah giggled and moved off of him. He sat up and pecked her lips, “Of course Sugar, how do you want to do this?”

She hummed and kissed him as she thought, “Hmm, I definitely need to be on my side.” Jake nodded and kissed her neck, “We can do that. How do you want me, pretty mama?” 

“Inside me Jake, that’s where I want you.”

He hummed and pressed his lips to hers and laid her down, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

As she laid there, the golden light of the lamp made her glow even more than the pregnancy had.

“God you’re beautiful,” Jake nearly whispered. Though he was always confident when he complimented her, he was just so amazed by her.

He cupped her cheek, thumb grazing her cheek bone. She looked up at him, her warm, tender brown eyes filling this pit in his chest and making his eyes water.

“Fuck.. Sarah I.. I was so homesick… I missed those beautiful brown eyes, looking at me with so much love…”

Sarah teared up as well, her nose and throat burning with emotion as she held his hand to her face. “Jake…” He shook his head before leaning down to press his lips to hers. “It’s okay, I’m home now. I’m home.” 

She smiled at him, the infectious expression spreading to Jake’s face before he kissed her again. 

“Let me make up for the time I was gone,” he mumbled against her lips before kissing her shoulder as he moved to lay behind her.

Jake slid an arm under her neck to play with her breasts, his other hand sliding the head of his cock through her folds. 

“Fuck Jake, please~” 

He smiled and laced his fingers with hers as he pushed in slowly. 

Sarah gasped lightly, moaning as she squeezed his hand, “Ooohh fuuck, Jake~”

“Oooh now that feels like home~” Jake groaned, a playful twinkle in his eye. 

Sarah couldn’t help but laugh a little, rolling her eyes at him. “You’re not funny,” she responded, though her tone and smiling face portrayed the opposite. “Oh Sugar, I’m hilarious,” he said, gently squeezing her hip and nipping at her jaw.

She shook her head playful, making Jake laugh. 

When he sobered up, he placed a gentle kiss behind her ear before he started to slowly move.

The slow push and pull of his hips was both pleasuring and infuriating. She could feel every inch and ridge of his cock with every drag, but the pace left her crawling towards the edge.

“Jake, faster Darlin’, please~” She nearly whimpered, letting go of his hand to reach for his head, gripping his hair with gentle desperation.

It wouldn’t take much convincing, Jake was just as desperate as she was. Having been stuck on a carrier with nothing but photos and memories to get the job done. He needed this just as much as she did.

With a small, airy groan, Jake nodded and gripped under her thigh as the other hand massaged her breast. “As you wish, Sugar.” He picked up his pace, his top leg hooking over hers to both adjust the angle and give himself more room. It was faster, but still gentle – knowing that she was sensitive and didn’t want to do anything too rough or crazy.

“Fuck, Jake, I missed you~” Sarah moaned, pulling his damp hair and arching back into him. Her other hand fisted in the sheets, white knuckling the duvet as her fiancé fucked her. “I missed your tailor made cock filling me up~”

“Oh shit~” Jake rasped out against the skin of her neck, biting down on her shoulder as his hips snapped. “Oh! Jake~” She yelped out in surprised pleasure as she held his head in place. “Damn, Sarah, you can’t just fucking say shit like that~” 

He said that, yet he wanted to hear more. More about how they were made for each other, like puzzle pieces – a perfect fit. More about how they completed each other – two halves that made up a whole.

Sarah turned her head as best she could, arm hand moving to dig its nails into Jake’s hip. “You’re perfect for me Jake, so perfect~”

Jake’s head fell into the crook of her neck, a small grunt escaping and vibrating against her skin.

Propping himself up on his elbow, and while keeping his movements steady, he captured her lips desperately. His hand came up to cup her cheek as he deepened the kiss, swallowing her moans.

She disconnected their lips, “Jake, I’m close. I’m so fucking close~”

He pressed their foreheads together, his green eye watching her face intensely as he started to grope at her chest purposefully. 

The slacking of her jaw and the way her eyes fluttered shut as he gently tugged and rolled her nipples had him dangling on the edge himself.

“Oh fuck shit~” Sarah moaned out, her nails leaving crescent indentions and raised red trails on his hip before her hand moved to his thigh for the same purchase.

The short, one syllable moans hit Jake’s ears and he was reveling in them. Loving the way he could feel her clenching around him, her soaked walls fluttering as she vibrated his being with her moans of ecstasy.

“Shit, Darlin’, I’m close. I’m so close~” Jake panted, nearly whimpering as her nails dug into his thigh on a mission to replicate the art on his hip.

She moaned again, muffling herself with his lips before barely pulling back to whisper. 

“Let’s cum together baby~”

Jake was sure his eyes rolled back for a second before letting out a guttural moan as he locked their lips together again.

He desperately chased his high, doing his damnedest to get Sarah to hers.

“Ooooooh fuuuuck! Jake I’m gonna cum~”

“I’m right there Sugar,” he rasped out. “Just hold it a little longer.”

She whined and shook her head, “I can’t, I can’t~”

He nodded and pressed his lips to hers, waiting just a few seconds before growling against her lips, “Cum, fucking soak my cock Sweetheart~”

Simultaneously, the rubber bands in their abdomens snapped, both moaning out each other’s names in pleasure as they came.

After a few moments, the euphoria dampened as they caught their breath. 

Jake smiled and pressed his lips to hers, “I love you, so so much.” Sarah giggled, pecking his lips, “I love you too, Cowboy. I’m glad you’re home.” “Me too Darlin’. I missed having you by my side.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek before yawning a little.

He chuckled, lightly kissing her shoulder before gently pulling out, “Let’s get you cleaned up so you can sleep.” She hummed and nodded in response as he moved, quickly grabbing the still wet hair towel to clean her up with.

She hissed a little bit at the contact but hummed at the gentleness of her fiancé.

When he had her cleaned up, he kissed her thigh and stood up, moving to get clothes for them both.

“Wait, Jake, I need your help.” He turned to her, seeing her reaching for him, “With what?” She huffed a little, “I gotta pee and I’m stuck. I can’t sit up.” 

Jake covered his mouth and tried not to laugh as he went over to help her carefully sit up before standing. 

“Okay thank you, I’ll be right back,” she said before pecking his lips and waddling to the bathroom.

He shook his head with a light laugh and slipped on a pair of boxers before grabbing another pair and an oversized t-shirt.

Once Sarah came back, he helped her into the boxers and his oversized shirt before they got into bed.

“I think I’m about to have the best sleep I’ve had in months. Now that I have my heart back.” 

Jake looked down at her and smiled with a light chuckle before kissing her nose, “Were you this cheesy when we met?” “I think you rubbed off on me a little, but it only enhanced my already cheesy cheesiness,” she replied, pecking his jaw.

“But seriously Jake, you are my heart. I love you, forever and ever,” she said lowly, kissing his lips as his eyes glossed over a little. 

He let out a slightly watery chuckle, dampened by emotions as he spoke, “I love you too Sarah, forever and ever.”

hi... hello... yes yes i know it's been a while since i posted anything really related to this series

but i still hope you enjoyed! and yes i did get emotional at parts of this i hope you did as well

im going to be doing a back story piece for the series soon, and the next up date will be baby shower HC's and the birth is coming soon!

thank you so much for being here even though i'm very behind, i truly appreciate you all my darlings 🥰

I do have a pinterest board set up for this, just to help me get into the vibe (one is to help with future parts, one is only for the current parts)

SO

if you want to check it out and get more of a feel for the dynamic going on---- you can click right --->   here

if you would liked to be tagged in this series, please comment or reblog the masterlist linked at the top! or you can comment here!

j and s tags <333: @milesdickpic @roosterscockpit @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @sebsxphia @mayhemmanaged @nobody7102 @djs8891 @kmc1989 @marbledaesthetics @fangirlbang @penguin876 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @bellaireland1981 @memeorydotcom

[yellows-secret-blog]

No context unless someone asks for it

*At camp, sitting near a fire*

Hunter: Silva, you're from the fire island* right?

Silva: Why? Because I'm ginger?

Hunter: ...

Silva: yes I am, go ahead.

Hunter: I have... Reasons to believe, I might be a switched-child.

Silva: *raises a finger* give me just a second, kid.

*Silva turns around, walks into the woods, let's out a blood-curdling scream, comes back to the fire*

Silva: You aren't.

Hunter: But you didn't even-

Silva: You. Aren't.

*provisory name btw, I just created this place.

[orphiicheartd]

@niightravcns said : [ ASSIST ]: sender picks up and carries the receiver away for medical attention because they've been injured and can't walk easily. (Dorian @ Azul) 『 Meme || Accepting 』

          Azul truly despised Flight Class.

          Truly, genuinely, so very utterly–you name the synonym, he'll gladly tack it on for extra emphasis and it still wouldn't come close to the sheer extent of his loathing. And Vargas too, for that matter. Really, what did that man think coming up behind him and yelling so suddenly was going to do?? Inspire him to up and take off like all the others?! If only.

          Oh, well, he took off, alright. Shooting right into the air so fast his glasses were knocked askew, until he could get enough composure scrapped together to will his broom to stop. Which had also been a mistake, his speed considered, the abrupt halt jolting through his body harsh enough to throw him off and send him slamming right back down, and hard.

          Darkness spattered in flashing colors filled Azul's vision as the wind was knocked out of him, hearts thudding painfully in his chest as he instinctively fought to breathe, like a fish out of water.

          Vaguely he could hear the sounds of the others clamoring around, as though he were stuck in a fishbowl. Murky yells and footsteps, some seemed to rush towards him, some already there ( when? when did they get there- ). As he wheezed, body jerking and spitting up a spray of ink, once, twice, making them scramble back just as fast.

          Panic set in with each pained half-breath, each ache across his body as adrenaline would wear off. No, no, no, he needed...he needed to run, get out of here-

          Don't look at me. Don't look at me, not like this-

          Someone new approached–his bleary vision couldn't immediately make out who they were ( glasses, where were his glasses- ), not until the reached out and gingerly gathered him into their arms. Instincts had him trying to squirm away, before the familiar scent of the other had recognition flickering in his dazed expression.

          "B-bro-ther....!"

[thefirstsecretoceans]

Study Visionboard

[eonars]

bro im ngl im playing the fuck out of hellblade 2

[tojicide]

chapter one ── pest control. the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies

chapter summary. ┆ caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one.

series masterlist. ┆ next: chapter two.

Most days in Linkon City begin with sirens.

Loud, blaring, unmistakable screeches that cut through the early morning quiet like a blade, carving their way through alleyways and avenues alike. They seep into walls, curl beneath locked doors, and coil around the restless minds of those who have long since stopped flinching at their call.

To them, the inhabitants of this city, it is nothing more than background noise—a city’s heartbeat, rhythmic and ceaseless. But to you, it is a warning. A sign that the world beyond the window of your dorm room is a battlefield, and you, a stranger in its midst, are only beginning to understand the rules of this strange place.

Perhaps, in time, you will grow desensitized as they have. Learn to sleep through the wailing cries, to walk these streets without the ever-present weight of caution pressing against your ribs. In a way, they forbade you from venturing out, instilling a fear within you that if you did, you would be the individual these melodies chased—or worse, the victim they had been called for in the first place. 

The entirety of the first semester has passed, and you haven’t even finished unpacking. Your suitcase remains half-full, a tangible reminder that you do not yet belong here. That you still have a choice—to do something before this place sinks its teeth into you, before you become just another soul who mistakes chaos for comfort.

But that choice is an illusion.

Here, people like you make no difference. You are not a hero, nor anything close to it. You are just a student who knows better, one who recognizes that the sirens will always be there, a requiem for the city’s unrest. And the crime will persist, as will the men in uniform who fail to stop it.

Somewhere beyond the blaring wails, beyond the tangled skyline and shadowed alleys, someone is fighting a battle you will never quite understand.

And for now, all you can do is listen.

Yet, in a way, you know that this was exactly where you wanted to be.

Despite its rapidly deteriorating surroundings, Linkon University remained a place of prestige. Young children dreamed of acceptance into its ranks, babbling to their parents about how they, too, would one day make these halls their stomping grounds. Maybe it was naivety that brought you here. Or maybe it was the last remnants of a dream that hadn’t yet died on your tongue.

Or perhaps, it was the medical journalism program—a rare gem, dwindling into obscurity at every other university.

You were lucky to be accepted. But humbly speaking, luck had very little to do with it. Your stats spoke for themselves: a 1540 SAT, a 4.98 weighted GPA, more extracurriculars than you could count on both hands. A smart cookie, as written in the shining letters of recommendation that paved your way here.

And yet, imposter syndrome festered like a quiet disease, creeping into the spaces between your confidence. You have spent your entire life at the top. Always number one.

Here? You were number two.

Number two to whom? You did not know. Not yet, anyway.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb’s perfect life has unraveled in the span of a week and a half, but he positively swears it’s not his fault.

It’s yours.

Ten days ago, at precisely 12:57 PM, he endured the worst torment known to man: his seat in the lecture hall was stolen. A cruel move, truly. Class had been in session for four days, he’d claimed that seat twice—twice—and by the unspoken law of university students everywhere, that granted him full ownership. So why, then, were you sitting in his allotted property?

Looking back, Caleb sees only two possible explanations. The first: you had unknowingly taken the seat after enrolling just before the census date. The second: you were out to get him from the very start.

And personally? He’s convinced it’s the latter.

But alas, he hadn’t made a fuss about it then. It wasn’t like he’d just lost the single best seat in the entire hall—the one with perfect access to the exit, the projector, and the professor’s desk. But hey, he could be cool about this, right? Yeah… totally cool. So cool. The coolest.

Days passed, and everyone seemed to be settling into the spring semester just fine. The weather was getting warmer, flowers on the great lawn were blooming, and Caleb was thriving.

That was, until the unthinkable happened.

Time? 2:19 PM. Class? CHEM 001 AH. Location? The Grand Hall.

Caleb sat directly behind you, having resigned himself to the second best seat in the room, as the sound of pencils scratching against paper filled the otherwise quiet space.

Taking practice exams felt pointless. A waste of time, really. His efforts could be better spent elsewhere—like taking the real exam or absolutely demolishing his roommate Zayne in Apex Legends yet again. But instead, here he was, surrounded by classmates diligently scribbling away as the session inched closer to its eventual end.

And when it did, Caleb would have simply packed up and gone on his merry way—if not for the single most bone-chilling sentence he had ever heard in his entire academic career.

You were chatting with the girl beside you, talking about things he had zero interest in. Your shared biology class at 3 PM, your dorm building, plans to meet up at the dining hall later… blah blah blah. But then—an acronym. A single, horrific acronym triggered him like a sleeper agent.

“My GPA? Oh, it’s… 4.30. I think. To be honest, it’s been a while since I checked.”

His jaw went slack. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face.

A 4.30 GPA? No. No. That couldn’t be real. That could not be real.

But as his gaze flickered between the back of your head and your friend’s, he came to the most horrifying conclusion of all.

You weren’t lying. And if that were true… then that meant you had the same GPA he did.

Which meant that, depending on your course load and how well you performed, you could take his spot as number one in the class rank.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb burst into his dorm room, slinging his backpack onto his mattress before face-planting into it with a sound somewhere between a groan and a hmph.

Across the room, Zayne didn’t even glance up from his desk, fingers tapping away at his mounted laptop. Click, clack. Click, clack. For a stretch of time, that was the only sound in the room, rhythmic and endless—until he finally exhaled.

“Rough day?”

Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “The worst day.”

Zayne closed his eyes for a moment, like he was mentally preparing himself, before pushing away from his desk and turning his chair just enough to look at his roommate. “What happened?”

Still face-down on the bed, Caleb let out a long, exaggerated sigh—nowhere near as silent as Zayne’s. “I think I have to take trig next semester. Honors.”

That made Zayne pause. Brow quirked, he leaned back in his seat. “Why? Your counselor quite literally said you’re already on track to graduate with honors and as one of the top-ranked students in our year.”

That was the problem, though. Caleb wasn’t satisfied with being one of the best. He wanted to be the best—and now, that source of pride was under attack.

“Well, that was before I found out I’m sharing a GPA with some girl in my chem lecture,” he said, rolling onto his back to stare blankly at the ceiling. “Which means if I don’t get my shit together and pack on a few more honors courses, I’m cooked.”

Zayne laughed and shook his head. He turned back to his desk, plucked his glasses off the mousepad, and slid them on. “You should hear yourself right now.”

Caleb’s head snapped to the side, eyebrows pinching together easily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just amusing, is all.” his roommate smirked. “I find it endearing that you, Mr. ‘I can skip the final and still pass with a 94%,’ Mr. ‘I think I might take astronomy honors for fun this semester,’—”

“All riiight, I get it,” Caleb cut in. “What’s your point?”

Zayne was still clearly amused. “My point is that if you of all people feel threatened by a classmate you hardly know, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

Caleb hated that there was probably some truth to that. Not that he’d ever admit it. Being threatened by a classmate he barely knew? Please. He knew enough. (And yes, he had meticulously sifted through the entire roster of his chemistry class to stalk your Canvas profile. What? It’s… field research.)

“Y’know, you’re terrible at pep talks,” he muttered, folding his hands behind his head.

“I’m not trying to be,” Zayne replied easily. “But if you want my input—take the trig course next semester. Something tells me you’ll need it.”

Caleb rolled onto his side, fishing his laptop from his backpack as the weight of his evening workload settled in.

And maybe Zayne was right.

Maybe he would need all the help he could get.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

It wasn’t until six days later—today—that Caleb knew for certain fate was no longer on his side.

The professor’s voice cut through the shuffle of students packing up their belongings, all of which were currently praying that their first lab of the semester wouldn’t be a complete and utter disaster. It was a well known fact that Dr. Rappaccini was quite the harsh critic, and an even harsher grader. Her score on Rate My Professors was a whopping 2.8/5 for crying out loud.

“Alright, it’s time for you all to receive your lab partners for the semester. Before heading to the lab next door, please check the list of pairings at the front.”

Luckily, Caleb had committed the syllabus to memory and knew that each person was scored individually no matter how their partner performed, but it was recommended that the pair conduct their experiments together to save time and... okay, maybe he hadn’t memorized it as well as he thought, but at least he knew the core details, right?

Scanning the list, his blood ran cold. He squinted, hoping that the prescription of his glasses had failed him, but of course, it was unmistakable. Your name was printed next to his. Emboldened, unignorable, in a perfectly neutral 12 pt Times New Roman font.

The walk to the laboratory was a quiet one, and you were walking a few feet ahead of him without a care in the world. Reaching for the door handle, he twisted the metallic lever and gestured for you to enter ahead of him with a single nod of his head. It was a force of habit. He may not care for you as an academic peer, but you didn't directly wrong him in any way. Not knowingly, that is.

With a curt nod of your own and a sliver of a smile, you entered the class with a quiet 'thank you.'

And before he could follow in step behind you, the neverending line of your fellow classmates began to flood into the room, leaving him to stand idle while offering each of them a thin-lipped smile. It felt like an eternity before he was able to step inside of the laboratory too, and his first instinct was to map out the classroom to find the best possible seating arrangement. 

To his surprise… you’d already claimed the most optimal lab station, and as he approached, you made the first move to speak. 

“I hope you’re okay with sitting here,” you say, fishing out your sleek notebook and a bright blue pencil. “It’s the only lab station with equal access to the exit, the supplies cabinet, and the professor’s desk.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side as bewilderment etches into his features. Were you inside of his brain? He clears his throat, shaking away his confusion as he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright with this spot. Good choice.” 

Smiling, you nod too. “Cool.” 

A beat of silence passes, and you smooth your hands over the black resin material of the table, a movement that his eyes instinctively follow. Then, your hand raises and extends out to him, forcing him to blink himself out of his state of daydreaming. 

You say your name while tilting your head with a smile—this time, a smile with teeth—as you wait for his hand to take yours. “And you’re… Xia?” 

Raising his eyebrows, he shakes his head while a chuckle slips through his carefully crafted exterior. “Caleb,” he corrects, his firm grasp enveloping your hand as he gives it a shake. “Caleb Xia.”

“Ah, got it,” you remark, an epiphany dawning on you as you slip your hand from his hold. “Well, I’m going to go get our safety goggles.” 

But before leaving, you straightened, eyes glued to him—or rather, his head.

Huffing out a laugh through his nose, Caleb’s lip tugs up in the corner. “What are you doing?”

Tapping your chin, you sigh. “I’m trying to see if you have a big head. If you do, I’ll have to go fight tooth and nail for one of the ones with adjustable straps.” 

Rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm, he rests his elbow on the edge of the table before leaning his cheek into his hand. “Well, lay it on me. What’s your diagnosis?”

Humming, you tilt your head back and forth before nodding your head a single time. “Big-head syndrome. I’m positive.”

Caleb’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “I should take that as a compliment. Big head means big brain, you know.”

“Or a big ego,” you retort with a shrug, giving him a once-over with raised brows before whisking away towards the horde of students currently going to war over the remaining pick of the litter. 

Yeah, that too, he thinks. 

In your absence, he takes the liberty of prepping the lab for the both of you. Beakers? Check. Random substance that the two of you were going to be experimenting on? Check. Hydrochloric acid? Check. Sodium bicarbonate? Check—

“Safety goggles,” you state, plopping down on your stool and handing his pair to him.

Without missing a beat, he speaks. “Check.”

Drawing back slightly, you turn to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “Uh… yeah. Check.”

Faltering, Caleb slides the item onto his face as he stammers through his words. “I was just… never mind, let’s start.”

The class had settled into a low hum—the murmur of newly paired partners, the scribbling of notes, the soft hiss of chemicals reacting. 

As the two of you began the experiment, an incredibly prominent conclusion dawned on him: Disliking you as a person wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. As a competitor? You were treacherous. As a lab partner? You were… tolerable. Efficient. Annoyingly easy to work with. 

It wasn’t the end result that he was hoping for, if he were to be entirely honest with himself. He wanted you to be difficult to be around, he wanted you to be stuck up, he wanted you to give him a genuine reason to dislike you apart from being the root of his newfound insecurity. But you weren’t, and that was a problem. 

“Pass me the baking soda?” you ask.

“The sodium bicarbonate?”

“Yeah. The baking soda.”

Caleb tilts his head with a smile. “Also known as sodium bicarbonate.”

You glance his way, and your eyes met. “Congrats, big guy. You know big words. Now pass it.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Biting back a smile, he hands it over, only to retract it at the last second. “Wait. What’s it called again?”

Your force smile was all teeth. “Sodium bicarbonate.”

Finally relenting, Caleb places the bowl in your orbit with a triumphant grin. 

He was smart enough to know that this was a bad idea. Despite how easily the two of you worked together, he knew that he couldn’t entertain this any further. You weren’t just his classmate, his peer—you were his competition. And while he’s heard the saying keep your friends close, but your enemies closer just as many times as the next person, he knows that mixing any ounce of developing friendship with his pursuit for greatness would be wrong.

It would work best that way. You can’t be friends, and that’s okay.

And for the first time in what felt like ages, fate seemed to agree with him.

“Hmm,” Caleb soon rumbles, squinting at the beaker. “This isn’t lookin’ too good. You said you added the sodium bicarbonate, yeah?”

You frown, glancing up from your notes. Your stomach twists at the sight of the clock—barely any time left before the lab ends. The professor would be making her rounds any second now.

“What? I didn’t add it. You said you added it.”

Caleb flits his gaze to the side of your face. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”

Your head snaps toward him so fast he was surprised it didn’t snap right off. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

You exhale sharply, frustration creeping up your neck. “How are you gonna tell me what I did or didn’t do?”

Your pulse ticks up a bit faster than it naturally should, and your eyes rose up from the glass cylinder. Around the room, students were already wrapping up their conclusions while the two of you hadn’t even finished the experiment. You suck in a breath and push up from your stool.

“Fine. Fine. Can you just pass me the baking soda?”

Caleb nods, handing over the pre-measured bowl of sodium bicarbonate. While you worked to fix the mess, he jotted down a few quick notes. You added just enough of the powder to neutralize the acid—but not smother it completely.

And then? Silence. The two of you sat. Watching. Waiting.

Then, miraculously, the beaker decided to behave and the fizzing subsided.

Like clockwork, you both exhaled, shoulders slumping as small, victorious smiles tugged at your mouths—

Until yours vanished entirely. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Caleb falters, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“Well, you should have.”

“Why? If I hadn’t pointed out the weird reaction, we’d have been screwed.”

“Oh? If I hadn’t realized neither of us added the sodium bicarbonate—which was your responsibility, by the way—we would’ve actually been screwed.”

Tension thickened between you like a drawn bowstring. You clench your jaw and look away, scribbling down your final observations. Stupid man, you thought to yourself. And here you were, actually believing that this semester wouldn’t be a total shitshow, that maybe, just maybe, you’d gotten lucky.

Unfortunately not.

Then, your attention was caught by something out of the ordinary. Your gaze lands on his neck, and your breath hitched. Staring back at you was a small, multi-legged beady eyed monster. Sticking out your pointer finger, you still find yourself instinctively drawing back, as if it were out to get you next. “There’s a spider on—”

But before you could finish your sentence, Caleb winced, his veins tightening as he instinctively flicked the eight-legged menace off. You sucked your teeth, drumming your fingers on the table. So much for your timely warning.

Glancing his way, your brows elevate as you see the already forming bite mark on his neck. “Yikes. It got you good.”

“Did it?” he asks, raising a hand to rub over the mark with narrowed eyes. “Hm. Guess so, yeah.”

Reluctantly, you ask, “Are you okay?” 

With a nod, he picks up his pencil once more and works on finishing the last of his lab report. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Sighing airily, you can’t help the smile that tugs on your mouth. “Poor spider, being flicked through the air like that.”

Like routine, Caleb shot a glare your way. “Funny.”

“Thanks.”

With that, you left for the washing station. Meanwhile, Dr. Rappaccini stood from her desk, making her rounds. It was in that moment that a shrill of panic shot up his spine—the stimulation foreign, unfamiliar, and… terrifying. 

He could feel his heart rate shooting through the roof, a sweat break on his forehead, and his fingertips flex at his sides—all things that he wasn’t even conscious of. And before he knew it, he was glancing in your direction, noting that you were distracted. Good.

With a quick ease, he snatched up your notepad and erased a few numbers, replacing them with subtle, logicless mistakes. 34? Now a 26. 32 to the power of 5? Not anymore.

It wasn’t his proudest moment. Sabotaging his own lab partner’s work? Definitely not.

Ten seconds. That’s all it took to ruin you just enough. He slid the notepad back into place, brushing away the eraser shavings. Like clockwork, you returned, none the wiser.

Exhaling softly, you turned to him. An apology burned on the tip of your tongue, whether it was for the sake of seeking genuine reconciliation or your forced proximity for the semester was unclear. “Look, I just wanted to say that—”

“Now, you two,” Dr. Rappaccini’s voice cut you off.

You both turned as she scanned and picked up Caleb’s report, making a few marks with her fine-pointed marker before sliding it back into place. You glanced over, making note of his grade. 94.

Then, she picked up yours. A moment later, she handed it back. Your professor held up a roll of stickers, tearing two off before setting them down on the table.

Despite the vibrant designs on the stickers, your stomach dropped. Your grade was big, bold, and unmistakable. 82.

“Wait—Dr. Rappaccini,” you call after her, staring at the page with widened eyes of shock. “I… I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

“Well, your experiment was solid—your observations were well-written, and your documentation was precise. But your math?” She sighs. “Completely off.” A beat of silence. Then, a smile. “Don’t feel discouraged. You’re a good student as you are—no need to compare your scores to others.”

The implication was clear. She thought you were smart—just not as smart as Caleb.

Huffing, you toss your notebook onto the table, fingers curling against the edge of it.

“You got cut off earlier,” he says casually, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “What were you sayin’?”

Blinking, you tried to retrace your thoughts. “Oh, yeah… I was just saying that…”

Your voice trails, eyes drifting to your lab report. Caleb caught the flicker of realization dawning on you—and when you turned to him, his not-so-hidden grin said it all.

“I was just saying,” you snap, “that you’re an asshole whose handwriting looks like a drunk chicken clawed at my report.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he says with a shrug, peeling off his sticker to plaster it onto your shoulder. “Good luck on the exam tomorrow morning.”

And with that, he walks out of the lab.

“Yeah, you too,” you murmur, though he was already gone before he could hear the hissed “bitch” that followed.

Irritation pricks at your skin as you stuff—more like shove—your belongings into your backpack. Prick. So much for not knowing the single person you were beneath in the class ranks.

Guilt stirred in his chest as he walked towards his dorm building… but only a little.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

By the time Caleb stumbled back to his dorm, he felt like he’d been hit by a freight train.

He barely managed to push the door open before kicking off his shoes, letting his backpack slump to the floor with a heavy thud. His head swam, his breath uneven as he widened his eyes in a feeble attempt to stay awake. Slapping himself on the cheek, he quickly realized it was no use. His neck stung worse than it had when the spider first bit him, the dull throb pulsing beneath his fingertips as he rubbed over the puncture point.

"Are you drunk?" Zayne’s voice drifts from across the room.

"No," Caleb mutters, face buried in his pillow. "Just… tired. Really tired."

He sank into the thin mattress like dead weight, the springs groaning beneath him. With sluggish hands, he pulled his glasses from his face and tossed them onto the bedside table, missing by an inch. His breathing grew heavier, his skin slick with cold sweat. His pupils—blown wide as saucers—fluttered shut as he barely mustered the strength to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

And within seconds, he was out like a light.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The morning sun sliced through the blinds, painting golden stripes across Caleb’s bare back as he jolted awake.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, erratic breaths, but despite the abruptness of it all, he felt… alert. Fully awake in a way that didn’t exactly make sense.

Blinking rapidly, he reached for his glasses and slid them onto his face with a groggy groan. And then—he froze.

His vision was still blurry.

Frowning, he pulled his glasses off, breathed onto the lenses, and wiped them against his bedsheet. When he slid them back on—blurry again. He pulled them down. Clear. Glasses up. Blurry. Glasses down. Clear.

He stares at them in his hands. “...Weird.”

Setting the frames down, he threw his legs over the bed and staggered toward his closet—only to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Since when the hell did he have abs?

He flexed instinctively, stomach tensing under his own scrutiny. Then his gaze trailed up—to his arms. His biceps. His shoulders.

Turning, twisting, he inspected every angle of himself like a stranger in his own skin. He’d been in shape before, sure, but this? This was different. He would’ve noticed this.

Knuckles rapped against the door, making him flinch.

“Caleb? Are you awake? I forgot my key.” A pause. Then, “Are you feeling any better? You slept like a log last night—perhaps you’re catching a bug.”

"A bug?" Caleb echoes under his breath, flexing again just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “Holy shit… Uh, yeah, man, I’m good. Just—gimme a sec.”

Turning back toward his desk, he reached for his chair, only meaning to push it aside—but the moment his palm touched the wood, it stuck.

His brows furrow.

He yanks once. Then again.

Nothing.

His heartbeat quickens as he curls his fingers, attempting to lift his hand—and instead, he lifts the entire chair clean off the ground.

“What the—” His stomach drops. He waved his hand. The chair waved with it. Up. Down. Side to side. Still stuck.

“Caleb?” Zayne calls from the other side of the door.

Caleb whips his head toward the sound, panic tightening in his throat. Shit. He bolted across the room—chair still attached to his palm—and somehow managed to unlock the door just as Zayne strode in.

Zayne, clearly in a rush, barely spared him a glance as he grabbed a stack of papers from his desk, clipped them together, and breezed back out with a nod.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Caleb exhaled sharply—only to realize his hand was still stuck… to the doorknob.

Huffing, he gave it a firm tug, expecting it to pop free. Instead, the entire knob wrenched out of the door, hinges snapping with a loud crack.

"Shit."

He barely had time to process before his body betrayed him once again—this time, with a sharp thwip.

A thick strand of silk shot from his wrist, attaching him to his bedpost.

His pulse stuttered. 

"What. The. Fuck."

Another sharp tug. Another web. More panic. Before he knew it, his dorm room looked like a crime scene from some horror movie—threads of silk stretching from walls to furniture to the ceiling.

His gaze snapped to the clock on his desk. 12:56 PM.

"Alright," he mutters, inhaling deeply. "Exam starts in four minutes. I’m sticking to everything I touch. I’m half-naked. Cool, cool, cool."

But nothing about this was cool.

If anyone in the history of Linkon University could take an exam like this, it was going to be him.

series masterlist. ┆ next: chapter two.

a/n like & reblog if you enjoyed!! this was really fun to write :) also i should’ve mentioned it rly isnt specified how old reader is, just that she’s in college and just starting her second semester at linkon university :) she can be a transfer student (which is kinda what i had in mind), a first year, etc lol it doesn’t really matter bc i’m fine with that being a “plot hole”

i could not stop laughing while writing this at 4am bc i was just imagining caleb coming up with an elaborate ass internalized beef with reader and she’s just sitting in her chem lab like

taglist. (join it by commenting under this post)

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@that-one-scoundrel @joy-laufeyson @missaengg @wheatrice @gvenone @desiree-archive @jayhyunglover @flwerie @miffysoo @jijijihanji @ssetsuka @mglwhor3 @sureconfused @vorfreudevortex @honehbee42 @angelbeat994 @codedove @cheesemachine44 @mocha-the-muse @msanimeotaku181 @breadiestpuffs @idkwhatursayinh @hannahchk @rxelarailuj @littlebabyypeach @wooasecret @nikilig @theweevilofsweetreef @etsuniiru

[leng-m]

This past week or so has just been so logistically frustrating, as if the universe just doesn't want to cooperate. And it's one of those things that you can't really complain about because they end up being such small matters in the grand scheme of things? But like, the way they've staggered up over the last few days makes me want to tear my hair out.

Like, I wanted to upgrade my phone to meet the requirements for my work app; couldn't buy it over the internet without getting into a new contract, so I called my service provider, and they were like, "Yeah, go to a store to just buy a phone without a contract," and I go to the store, and they were like, "No you can't get a phone without a contract at the store. So what you do is buy the new phone with a new contract here, go home, call customer service and cancel the contract, and pay for the phone's value online." So I was O_O wtf, but I ended up doing it. And then I go to work the next day, try to get it reimbursed like IT said they would, only to find out I wasn't qualified for the reimbursement because I apparently allocated my benefits budget in January all to the health category and not the "flexible" category. And the only reason I decided to get a phone upgrade *without* a contract was because IT said I could get reimbursed for a new device (and not the plan).

But wait, it doesn't stop there! The new phones they sell don't come with their own chargers and ear phones anymore. So I had to buy a separate charger from amazon. And it came and it was broken!! I wanted to return it, and got sent a return label to print. I have no ink in my printer!! Now I need to buy cartridge just so I can return a charger that wasn't working all because I got a new phone that apparently no longer comes with one.

[writeshite]

“In all secrets there is a kind of guilt, however beautiful or joyful they may be, or for what good end they may be set to serve. Secrecy means evasion, and evasion means a problem to the moral mind.” — Gilbert Parker

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

Spencer pursed his lips in the usual manner of habit, drawing them to a sort of straight line as he struggled to answer his mother’s question. “What?” It’s ironic that he’s rendered to such short answers.

For all the times he’d written to his mother about his life, Spencer had never alluded to your relationship. You'd watched him draft the letter to introduce you to her as his boyfriend, the same one that had sat on the desk in his apartment. "Him!" His mother remarked, as though stating the obvious, she pointed to the bullpen where you were sifting through various files with other agents.

For all the comfort the BAU had offered, there was still the rest of the world. Spencer hadn't been scared per se, more avoidant of the matter. "I'm sorry, mother, I—I didn't know how to tell you." Spencer twists the pen in his hand.

"Your somebody," she calls you. "Is he a delinquent?" She eyes your tattooed arms warily.

"No!" Spencer exclaims, "He's amazing, he listens to me." You never told him to shut up, always lending an ear and never interjecting unless need be. "He cares about me," not the faux sort he'd been accustomed to from the ill-mannered, as his mother had called them once. "I care about him." Perhaps premature of him to declare so, considering your relationship was still in its infancy.

Whatever thoughts permeated his mother's mind were hers alone; if Spencer didn't know better, he'd say she looked almost relieved. A knock draws his attention, and you look to him for permission to enter. "You don't have to knock."

You huff amorously, "Didn't want to interrupt."

"At least he has manners," his mother remarks, and you chuckle as Spencer glances down, abashed.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.��

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

[kjhbsies]

Baked With Love

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Smallville Clark Kent x popular reader

synopsis: Y/N was the popular girl who wore her heart on her sleeve—for him. But Clark, caught between fear and pride, kept pushing her away… until her absence finally made him realize what he had lost.

wordcount: 3,505

note: 16+ angst to fluff

For most of his college life, Clark Kent had genuinely no idea why you liked him so much. It all began on a very unfortunate afternoon when Lex Luthor introduced you two. Lex had said...

"Clark, this is Y/n. She's a family friend from the city. Be nice."

You were effortlessly intimidating— born in a silverspoon, a wardrobe that looked like it walked straight out of a fashion magazine cover, and a confidence that Clark couldn't even fathom. You were loud, bold, smart-mouthed, and just happened to be jaw-droppingly pretty. Clark tried not to think about it, but he failed miserably.

Clark didn't feel uneasy with you, per se. But you weren't exactly his to pick for "people I'd like to be trapped in a room with." Not because you were mean. No, you were actually weirdly nice. You just had this energy. An unshakable presence that made Clark, the most powerful being on Earth, feel like an awkward schoolboy with sweaty palms.

One day, you popped in the barn, saying something about "needing fresh country air." Then the next week, you were lounging in his loft like you owned it, flipping through one of his books like you weren't just sitting in the sacred space of solitude he thought only he and Lana would occupy. Then there was the time you baked cookies and just showed up at the Kent kitchen, and Clark genuinely thought Martha had invited you. She didn't.

It was like you were on a personal mission to infiltrate every square inch of his life— and you were doing it so casually that no one really questioned it. Not even Clark.

Until Pete started teasing.

"Hey, look. Your girlfriend's here."

Clark would turn with a flush in his ears. "She's not my—"

But Pete was already laughing.

Even Chloe had chimed in. "You know, Y/n's got her sights on you, right? Like a missle. Might as well surrender."

Clark had no response to that. Mainly because he had just run into you in the hallway and accidentally inhaled whatever perfume you were wearing, which now lived permanently in his brain.

You'd greet him like it was the most natural thing in the world— "Hey, Clarkie." With that little smug grin like you knew you made him nervous. And maybe you did. Okay. Fine. You definitely did.

But to be honest, Clark didn't find any of it funny anymore.

Sure, despite being one of the popular girls on campus, you never acted like it. You were popular, yeah, but not in the usual sense— people gravitated towards you because you had personality. You were brilliant in class, always raising your hand with the kind of answers that made instructors nod like proud parents. You were involved in different university organizations, and somehow, you still made the President's List every semester like it was no big deal.

Basically, you were the kind of girl that many people admire. And yet, somehow, you had decided to direct that same energy to Clark. And it wasn't subtle, either.

You brought him snacks. You had saved him a seat in the library. You texted him stupid memes at night. You even helped him with his Physics project once— and looked good doing it, too, in that annoyingly cute shirt and eyeglasses.

But Clark had brushed it all off. It's not like he didn't find you attractive. He did. Painfully so.

You were a lightning in a bottle— vibrant, driven, and bold. And he was just... Clark. The farm boy with secrets a size of a planet, who spent most of his nights chasing off meteoric weirdos and hiding his abilities from half the people in this town.

You deserved someone normal. Someone who wasn't still half-tangled in the heartbreak that was Lana Lang.

You arrived at the Kent farm with a basket in hand, your smile as sweet as the scent of the freshly baked pastries you brought.

"Oh, Y/n. You always bring something so delightful." Martha beamed, ushering you in.

Clark, leaning against the barn wall, tried not to stare. You were just... too much. Too pretty, too kind, too good to be real. His mom always looked at you with sparkling eyes, and Jonathan always seemed to feel the same way.

When the two of you were finally alone, you turned to him, hopeful.

"So... you free this Saturday?" You asked casually, hopping to sit on a slab of wood. "It's my birthday. Lex is hosting something in his house. Nothing too crazy, just a small thing. A few people, food, music. Chloe and Pete are also invited. I was hoping you could come?"

Clark looked up from the hay he was pretending to be interested in. Your eyes were soft, curious, and earnest. He hated it.

"I... uh, I might be busy. Football stuff. The season's picking up, and my parents are going to be out of town this weekend. I'll probably be covering some chores."

You blinked once and then smiled faintly.

"Oh..." You said, trying to hide your disappointment. "Well, it's open if you change your mind."

You left him a cupcake on the table. Vanilla with pink frosting and sprinkles. He didn't eat it.

And Saturday came fast.

You woke up with butterflies in your stomach. Your room was filled with balloons Lex insisted having delivered, despite your protests. "It's your birthday, Y/n. Let people celebrate you for once." He argued.

You liked Clark. A lot. It wasn't some game. Not some challenge your friends had dared you to do. You weren't being ironic. Your feelings were real— surprisingly real— and Lex had raised an eyebrow once, muttering something like, "Well, that was unexpected."

But he didn't understand. Clark was real in ways no one else around you ever was. He didn't care about money or popularity or image. He was awkward and shy, yet grounded. And you loved that about him.

So you got ready. You wore your favorite dress. You styled your hair. You told yourself he'd show up. He had to.

By 8:00 PM, the living room was warm and full of laughter. Music played softly in the background. Your friends chattered around the dinner table, passing drinks and stories.

"Clark's coming?" Lex asked you as he handed you a drink.

You shrugged, smiling tightly. "I hope so."

Chloe had shown up with a gift and a knowing smile. "Clark and Pete didn't say anything to me. But maybe they're just late."

You nodded. But the hours passed.

9.00. No Clark.

10:00. Still nothing.

By 10:30, your phone screen was painfully blank, and your stomach had started twisting into knots.

By 11:00, the guests started filtering out. Some hugged you and wished "happy birthday" with laughter and light hearts. But all you could feel was this hollow building up in your chest. He wasn't coming; he never was.

"Come on," Lex said gently, wrapping a gentle arm around your shoulders. "Let's go back inside. Stop waiting for someone who won't show."

Unbeknowst to you, Clark was not at home. Wasn't working on some chores. He was at a party across the town. A big one— loud music, red solo cups, beer pongs, too many football jerseys, and girls hanging around. Pete and Clark had been invited there, and both of them reluctantly showed up.

Clark drank a lot. Way more than he should've. But not enough to get drunk (he couldn't, anyway), but just enough to blur the guilt.

The sun hadn't even reached its peak yet when you arrived at the Kent farm, your hands cradling a tray of leftover cake—chocolate hazelnut with buttercream, the one you baked yourself because it reminded you the first time Clark ever complimented something you made. You told yourself it wasn't a big deal. Just a small peace offering. Just a way to see him.

Maybe, you thought, he regretted not showing up. Maybe you could laugh it off, hand him a slice, tell him he owed you one, and pretend like the silence between you hadn't cut through your chest the night before.

But as you reached a gravel path leading to their porch, your steps faltered. An unfamiliar girl emerged from the front door. Probably your age. Wearing one of Clark's flannel shirts, barely buttoned. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick smudged, like she had just woken up.

You took a step backwards, hiding from their line of sight.

And then came Clark. Topless. Barefoot. Looking like a tragic painting of betrayal in broad daylight, sunlight washing over his body like it was trying to make him look holy. But there was nothing sacred about the red kiss marks littering his neck or the one at the corner of his mouth.

The girl turned, smiling up at him before heading to her car. And before she got in, she tiptoed and planted a soft, small kiss on his cheek.

He smiled back. Not awkwardly. Not nervously. Like it was easy.

You quickly backed away, ducking behind the side of the barn as Clark went back inside his house. The pain burned inside of you. It was sickening and humiliating.

God, you thought, I wore my favorite dress last night just for him.

Without a second thought, you immediately found the nearest trash bin and shoved the cake in with trembling fingers. You walked away without looking back.

"Why didn't you show up at Y/n's birthday party?" Chloe asked sharply, catching Clark mid-page of the local meteor-rock incident report. Pete, just beside him, visibly flinched and gave him a look.

Clark blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Chloe leaned across the table, arms crossed. "She was excited to see you, you know? Lex threw the thing in his house. It wasn't exactly as small as one would expect. So where were you?"

Pete tried to focus on his apple juice.

"I... we were busy. Football thing. Plus, I didn't think it was a big deal. I mean, she was always around, right? I figure she'd understand."

"Always around?"

Clark sighed. "She's just... always there, alright? Popping out of corners. Bringing pastries at 7 AM. Sitting in my loft like she owns it It's annoying. She's always tailing me, and I never asked her to."

Silence.

Even Pete stopped sipping on his juice.

And behind the bookshelves, hidden just out of sight, Y/n froze.

You had only come in to return Chloe's notes in your shared Philosophy class. You weren't even going to say hi. You were keeping your distance— just like you promised yourself.

"She's not so bad like you made it seem, Clark." You heard Chloe.

"I just want some peace," Clark muttered, clearly annoyed.

"You can't run away from her forever."

"I'd be glad to try."

But Clark didn't have to because that same week, you became an enigma after that. He didn't even have to dodge around the barn. Didn't have to wake up seeing your face first in the morning. You weren't popping in with muffins or sticking heart-shaped post-it notes around his loft window. You weren't waving at him in the hallways. You were just gone.

His brows furrowed every time he walked past your locker and found it unopened. He found himself always glancing at the entrance of their barn more than once, hoping you'd finally show up one morning. At the farmer's market, he wandered longer than necessary at the baking aisle booth, wondering if you'd suddenly walk by.

You didn't.

Jonathan asked him to take out the trash. And Clark, half annoyed, half distracted, grabbed the bin from the porch and stomped towards the compost. But when he opened the lid, he saw a cake box. Pink polka dots, cute bow— the one you always used.

His stomach dropped.

What's it doing in here?

Clark's grip on the edge of the box tightened. Guilt rolling in immediately.

You weren't annoying. You were just kind. Consistent. Loud in a good way. You liked him, and he treated it like a problem. And now, he realized what kind of an asshole he was.

He had to apologize. But he didn't know where to start. Finding you was not an easy task, either. He wandered through the halls, eyes scanning every classroom, but you weren't there. He went to the farmer's market three mornings in a row— hoping— praying— you'd be there. But you weren't.

He had gone two full weeks without a glimpse of you. He hated to admit how often he found himself pausing during the day, waiting. Hoping.

So when Lex rolled into their farm one day in one of his new ridiculously expensive cars, Clark barely noticed. He was too busy dragging the hay until he heard Lex's voice.

"Clark," Lex said, grinning. "Hope I'm not interrupting you."

And then Clark saw you.

You stepped out of the passenger seat, wearing jeans and a simple cropped tee, hair styled neatly. No designer boots. No bold lipstick. But Clark swore his lungs forgot to work.

You offered him a polite nod. "Hey, Clark."

And that was it.

Lex greeted the Kents, asking for a quick word inside. And then, it was just the two of you, sitting in silence, like strangers.

You took a seat on one of the old wooden benches, thumbing through your phone. Clark awkwardly stood by the wooden door for a few seconds, pretending to dust his hands, eyes flicking towards you every five seconds.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Lex got a new car."

You didn't look up. "Yeah, Lamborghini. He won't stop talking about it."

Clark scratched the back of his neck. "It's... nice."

"Yeah."

Silence again.

"Look, I— I'm sorry about your birthday. Me and Pete... we couldn't come."

You finally glanced up. "It's okay; you were busy."

Clark nodded, unable to say something else, especially now that you seemed uninterested in what he was going to say.

Earlier that week, he had stormed inside the Torch like a man possessed. Chloe looked up from her computer with an annoyed glare.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" She snapped, clicking through the keyboard.

Clark ran a frustrated hand along his hair. "I need a bit of advice. About Y/n."

Chloe didn't even look up. "Wow. That only took, what, half the semester? You realize she's been MIA, right? Like, completely ghosted. And now you want to talk?"

Clark sighed. "Chloe, please."

She glanced up, her eyebrows shooting up when she heard how desperate and wrecked he was.

"She won't even look at me now. She used to be everywhere, and now it's like she never existed. And— I— I don't know."

"You miss her."

"I do," He admitted. "I didn't think I would, but I do. It's like— I keep looking for her. Like she's supposed to be there, and when she's not—God, Chloe. It was driving me nuts."

And then she'd told him to just talk to you. Simple. Direct. No weird detours.

So when Lex called about the delivery that Thursday, Clark had thought maybe this is it. Maybe this was the moment the universe was finally giving him another shot. He had practiced a dozen versions of the same line in his head.

But when you descended the stairs in that usual, effortless way, bored eyes locked into the screen of your phone, he realized immediately— something had changed.

"Lex isn't here." You said, eyes darting at the box he was carrying. "You can leave it in the kitchen."

"I know," He replied, a little breathless. "I was hoping you'd be home."

You paused. "Really?"

Clark nodded, setting down the box of fruits and vegetables. "Been doing alright?"

You shrugged. "Same old. You?"

"Maybe." He shifted nervously. "I— I'm free this Saturday. If you wanted to— I dunno, go by the lake with us. Just hanging out."

You looked at him. "You don't have to pretend, you know?"

Clark blinked. "Pretend? I— I wasn't—"

"It's fine, Clark. If you don't like me, you could just say it to my face. I'm a smart girl, Clark. I'll understand whatever reason you have."

"But I don't—" He tried to move forward, to explain, but you were already walking away from him.

Down Main Street, past the closed café and the silent bookstore, hands in his jacket pockets, brows furrowed so deeply, Clark found himself walking in the streets of Smallville. His boots scuffed against the pavement with every distracted step, and his mind was loud— too loud.

He was driving himself mad.

So when Lex pulled up next to him in his Lamborghini, rolling down the window and watching Clark with one raised brow, it was hard to look anywhere but embarrassed.

“Late night for a stroll,” Lex said casually, but his eyes were sharp. Observing. “Don’t tell me the world’s strongest farm boy is out here moping.”

Clark gave him a dry look but didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.

Lex tilted his head. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like it,” Clark muttered.

Lex leaned his elbow on the edge of his window. “This about Y/N?”

Clark stopped walking.

Lex gave a small, knowing smile. “Figured.” There was silence for a beat, and then Lex said, almost thoughtfully, “You know… You really got the wrong idea about her.”

"Clark looked down. "Oh, yeah?"

Lex looked away briefly before adding, “Did you know that she waited by the door longer than she’d ever admit on her birthday? Kept peeking at the window, fixing her dress— her favorite one. And then, when you didn't show up, I know that broke her heart.”

Clark swallowed hard. "I..." He shook his head, trying so hard to convey coherent words but failing to do so.

“Don’t screw this up, Kent,” Lex said more gently now. “You think you’re the only one scared? That girl was brave enough to love you in front of everyone. Maybe it’s your turn.”

Clark didn’t speak. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his truck keys, and offered them to Lex.

Lex raised a brow. “What’s this?”

“I need your car,” Clark said, almost urgently.

Lex blinked. “You’re not going to wreck it, are you?”

“No promises,” Clark replied, already moving.

Lex rolled his eyes, but tossed him the keys anyway. “She’s at my house. Kitchen. Baking. Don’t ask what time it is.”

Clark was already gone before the sentence ended, a streak of blur and hope trailing behind him.

You were baking again.

It was your comfort. Your reset button. The world could fall apart but give you flour, eggs, and your favorite playlist and you could pretend everything was fine for a few hours.

You didn’t expect to hear tires screech in Lex’s driveway. Didn’t expect heavy, rushed footsteps across the porch. Didn’t expect the door to swing open like something out of a dramatic rom-com.

Clark Kent stood there, breathless.

Hair wind-swept. Cheeks flushed. Eyes wild with emotion. He looked like he’d run across all of Smallville just to get here. He had.

“Y/N..."

You blinked at him, surprised, a spoon still in your hand. “Clark?”

“I— I need to talk to you,” he said, stepping inside before you could shut him out. “Please. Just hear me out. I won’t screw it up this time.”

“Clark, I’m kind of—busy—”

“Please.”

You froze.

“I was stupid, okay?” He said. “I was scared. You’re… everything. You’re so vibrant and loud and brilliant, and I thought I wasn’t enough for that. I thought I couldn’t keep up with someone like you. But I was wrong. You make me better.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Clark beat you to it again.

“I like you,” He breathed. “I really like you. And I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t. I don’t want to keep lying to myself that losing you is somehow better than facing how much I care.”

You stared at him, heart thudding. “Clark…”

He looked desperate. “Please say something.”

“I liked you first. But that doesn’t mean I want to be someone you settle for. I don’t want to be some spontaneous decision because you’re lonely.”

Clark shook his head, stepping closer. “You’re not. You’re not a decision. You’re the only thing I’m sure of right now.”

There was still doubt in your eyes. Still guardedness.

So Clark did the only thing he could think of to prove he meant every word.

He kissed you.

Gently at first— carefully, like you were made of glass. But then you responded, melting into it with a small sigh, hands finding his chest, and it deepened— slow and sweet and real.

When you finally pulled away, slightly breathless and a little dazed, he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re it for me,” He whispered. “I didn’t see it before. But I do now.”

You smiled, just a little. “You’re gonna owe me, Clarkie.”

“I’ll bake,” He offered.

You laughed. “You can’t even toast a bread.”

He grinned, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Then I’ll learn.”

©kjhbsies

[mercurial-chuckles]

Half-baked, damn!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes, ft. Ransom Drysdale Warnings: Fluff | Language | You found yourself in a pickle | Crack fic | Poly relationship | A teeny bit of non-graphic threat | Allusions to the Blip (but canon-divergent, all's fine and dandy in this universe) | Unedited | ~1.8k | Let me know if I’m missing anything. A/N: This is a half-baked idea that couldn’t wait, so I’m serving it fresh while it’s still...meh. Kindly indulge. I've had quite a day 🥹🩷 And yes, the squirrel incident is inspired by true events from my own life. The left side of my face swelled up so much I had to see a doctor. EVERYONE--even the X-ray guy--had a good laugh...except for me. I was on pain medication for over a week, and now my family tells the story to anyone who’ll listen. It happened almost 12 years ago and I figured...take the inspiration from life. So, here goes🤭🙂‍↕️ Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner and Divider credits to me. Picture credits to the internet. Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

In your modestly chaotic life, a lot of unbelievable shit had happened.

Some of which you were still processing. Stuff that would blow people's minds if you ever played Two Truths and a Lie.

Like the time a squirrel slapped you silly when it fell from a tree while you were riding your moped. Stupidly perfect timing!

Or...

The time Captain America, the former Winter Soldier, and Iron Man broke into your tiny apartment--and in a dazed panic, thinking they were intruders or serial killers--you went full Tangled on Captain America (he was the first through your door), smacking him with your 8.6-inch cast iron pan (a graduation gift from your late Aunt Beth... poor pan, though, cracked right down the middle)

Between the Avengers breaking into your apartment, Tony Stark recruiting you for your weirdly diverse research skills when his AI evolved needing to play God, the purple guy snapping his fingers, then Hulk unsnapping them, and the absolutely insane realization that two ridiculously gorgeous, criminally kind-hearted supersoldiers loved you and you loved them just as much, life had basically blessed you with carefully crafted absurdity.

So, yes, you were proud--extremely so--to say that nothing could possibly surprise you anymore.

Fallacious thought, indeed!

Life could be chaos galore, royally so, because here you were, standing in the dimly lit street, face to face with one of your best friends from middle school, Ransom Drysdale.

He offered you a cookie, and you blinked in surprise, a noise of disbelief escaping you ungracefully as a wave of nostalgia hit.

An image of a boy, almost the pure and innocent reflection of the man before you--so disparate--popped into your mind. He hadn't even reached your height back then. He used to bring you cookies in a Tupperware every day without fail, as a thank you for always defending him from bullies. You used to be badass like that.

But that was a lifetime ago.

Now?

Now you were with two overprotective, over six-foot supersoldiers who made a big deal if you got a papercut.

Dope, right?

And after the shenanigans of Ultron and the blip, you realized you were better off in controlled environments. Plus, it was probably for the best...for the sake of your century-old men's healthy, pumping hearts.

Your career choice was fascinatingly fitting for you, and you were happy.

Ransom Drysdale, however, chose a career that was unimaginable. For someone as smart as he was, you had expected he'd be a writer, lawyer, scientist, hell, any damn thing, really. While not insipid, Ransom chose a surprisingly rad career as a mob boss for a huge Vibranium smuggling cartel. And this man who just dragged you out of the restaurant was no boy, nor did he have that pleasant smile. His smile felt too tainted, too twisted. He filled out a grey cashmere sweater, broad and towering, standing almost as tall as Bucky, maybe even on par with Steve's height. You couldn't really tell when he leaned against the lamppost, his shadow grazing your feet.

Ransom raised a challenging eyebrow, pushing the tissue-wrapped cookie toward you.

Was he just carrying them in his expensive coat?

Anyhoo, of course, you took the cookie, mumbling a thanks. It would've been rude not to, right?

You loved cookies. Ransom knew that. And so did your men, because Steve's voice, "Do not eat that" came sharply through your left earpiece--a Starktech microchip, conveniently concealed in your ear, which was covered by your hair.

You flinched, fearing and praying that Steve's hiss did drown in the silence of the night. God, if you could, you'd smack him. Why would he even think you'd eat it?

"Ya know, when I got the call for such a huge quantity, I had to come personally to see who it was. But I did not expect you," Ransom chuckled, munching on a cookie.

Me neither, Ransom. Me neither.

The only reason you were even on this undercover mission was that the guy, "the link," who took the orders had a type, and, quite unfortunately, you fit the bill. So, the team (minus Steve and Bucky, of course, because they were off on another mission, thankfully) had begged you to dress up and spend the evening flirting with some shady asshole to lure him into leading them to the big boss.

Easy peasy, sweetheart. They'd said.

It's for the people. They'd said.

All you need to do is get him to say the words. They'd said.

You really thought it was a super simple mission, too. If the guy asked too many questions, you just had to convince him of the technical aspects of why you needed so much Vibranium until his brain rotted.

Your role had a character, and she dressed up sexy, too. Me likey, you thought.

And while you were on your way to this fateful mission, Steve and Bucky got back from theirs.

Hell broke loose.

After a horrendous back-and-forth, you tried to convince them you'd be fine. "We got this, we're so close," Nat had exclaimed to your fuming boyfriends.

And you agreed with her. They got this. You believed in their "Easy Peasy" plan. And then Ransom Drysdale strutted up to your table in that fancy restaurant, crumbling the "easy peasy."

"I can't believe my sweet sunshine went rogue," Ransom exclaimed, pushing himself off the lamppost. He sauntered to your side, leaning against the brick wall, facing you with a teasing smile.

You cleared your throat, shrugging, "What can I say? I adapted after the…blip," you said, almost sounding wistful.

Hopefully, you did sound convincing. Gosh, you needed to get paid--preferably a dozen cognitive perception UTMs for your lab-- for all the improv you'd been doing ever since Ransom met you in the fancy restaurant instead of the supposed Edward Silas.

Ransom chuckled, leaning closer with a glint in his eye. "You have a special place in here, sunshine. You know that?" He winked and patted his chest.

Your heart tugged slightly at that.

What can you say?

You were a bit emotional, and those bouts of nostalgic reminiscence spread through your mind like a fog. The warmth of old memories clashed with a growing unease--a fear for yourself and the quiet terror of wondering if your borderline-cavemenish men would burst in, guns blazing.

Ransom was smart, and you'd give him that.

He led you to the side of the restaurant...a real impasse, a pickle of a situation. All three sides were boxed in with towering walls, the back end cluttered with a few garbage bins from the commercial space. The only exit was blocked by Ransom's men, standing stoically, keeping you trapped.

One of Ransom's men stepped forward and murmured something to him, but despite your best effort to listen, the blood pounding in your ears drowned out everything else.

Ransom chuckled softly, nodded, and waved the man away with a casual gesture.

If this went south... Would they make it in time to save you? Ransom had been your friend once. But would that be enough to keep him from pulling the trigger? The thought gnawed at you.

You gulped; this was not what Nat had prepared you for. This was not supposed to happen.

Ransom hadn't said a single incriminating word, no matter how much you had prodded after the initial shock of recognizing each other and the small talk about family. He'd clammed up, keeping everything vague and impenetrable.

You had to get him to talk. You had to.

"And what about you, Ransom?" You asked, trying your damned hardest to keep your tone casual. "What got you into all…this?" you gestured wildly.

Ransom shrugged, offering no answer. "So, what exactly do you need the package for?" He asked instead.

To pack you off to Wakanda so the Dora Milaje would Ka-boom your ass for stealing from them.

But you couldn't obviously tell him that.

"An experiment. I'm a scientist, you see. It's gonna be… let's say…profitable," you grinned conspiratorially, hoping you weren't coming off too creepy.

You immediately felt like you might've gone a little too far with the tone, but you held your ground, watching Ransom's expression. He simply hummed, eyes narrowing slightly as he finished his cookie. He dabbed his mouth with the tissue, carelessly tossing it.

You hated when people did that, and the urge to pick it up and throw it in the bin located a few feet away was itching.

"Don't," Nat's voice came too assured that you were thinking exactly that.

You stifled a curse, resisting the impulse, and cleared your throat instead.

Ransom said nothing, just continuing to stare at you in that almost unnerving way like he knew everything. Did he?

"So…" You started, hoping he'd talk details, plus the silence was killing you.

Ransom's grin stretched wider like he was really enjoying this conversation. He took another step closer, and your muscles tensed as the guards subtly shifted around. Your heart was pounding so hard, that you were convinced Ransom could hear it.

"Tell you what, honey," Ransom said, straightening up and stepping closer. A couple of his guards shifted forward, and you instinctively flinched.

"Why don't you come over to my place? We have a lot to catch up on, don't we? We can talk about the deal, and I'll personally deliver the package to you," Ransom grinned.

Before you could even begin to respond, Nat's voice crackled through your earpiece. "Play it cool. Stall. We're on our way."

You didn't even have time to appreciate the reassurance. Your eyes widened, anticipation ate you up like a termite, and you shifted uncomfortably on your feet, trying to compose yourself.

"Umm… sure, I mean, I've never done these dealings before," you stammered, forcing the words out. "It would be a great help. But only if… if it won't be an issue for you… Do you wanna fix a time? I'm free tomorrow afternoon… or anytime in the week…" You babbled, forcing an awkward laugh, praying your voice didn't shake.

Ransom's lips twitched. "Adorable as ever, aren't you, Angel?" He stepped back, tilting his head. "I told you, you have a special place in my heart. It's funny you think I haven't kept tabs on you, sunshine."

Then, without warning, he pulled a gun from under his coat, pressing it against your side.

Your heart thumped wildly.

"Wh… wh.." You couldn't even form a sentence, your brain short-circuiting as your mind went blank. In that split second, all you could think of was whispering, I love you to Steve and Bucky.

No. No. No. No.

"I don't wanna hurt you," Ransom said, almost apologetic. "But I have to protect myself, right? So why don't you ask your little boy band to back off before things get ugly?" Ransom's voice was low.

"Ransom."

"Come on, honey. We have so much to catch up on," he said smoothly, gesturing for you to move.

His guards were all ready with guns pointing in various directions.

You complied, walking beside Ransom as he led you toward the car. A guard opened the door, his own gun drawn, facing the street.

"I don't fucking think so," Bucky's voice boomed from behind.

Before you could even think or sigh, Bucky tackled Ransom to the ground out of nowhere, pushing Ransom's gun into your hand.

Then chaos.

In the next few seconds, the fastest action sequence of your entire life unfolded--Clint, Nat, Steve, and Bucky took down Ransom's guards with terrifying efficiency, it was almost mind-bendingly sexy.

Steve strode straight for you while Bucky held Ransom tight, staring him down.

"Buzzkills! You really need to learn to share. I mean, come on...We were having such a fun reunion, weren't we, Sunshine?" Ransom said smugly.

Steve grabbed your hand, firmly pulling you from behind Bucky and took the gun away from your shivering hands.

"Don't worry about the reunion," Bucky gritted, securing Ransom. "There's plenty planned for you, asshole."

And as Ransom was directed into the car, he turned to you and winked, flashing a smug, almost warning smile.

Steve's hold on you tightened.

"You were friends with that shit?" Bucky growled as he walked close to you.

You groaned, faceplanting into Steve's bicep with a muffled curse, because holy shit…

Well… did you enjoy this crumbly mess?

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[estapa-edwards]

DONE PRETENDING I DON'T LOVE YOU - M. CELEBRINI

Macklin Celebrini x reader

word count: 1.6k

requested? no

warnings: none!

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

You’ve known Macklin Celebrini for as long as you can remember.

Your moms met at a neighborhood bake sale when you were both in kindergarten. One shared cookie later, and you were practically attached at the hip. Elementary school, summer camp, even when he moved away for hockey—Macklin always found a way to call, text, or FaceTime, no matter how busy his schedule got.

You grew up together in the way that made people ask “Are you two dating?” more often than you could count.

But you never were. 

He was your best friend. Your person. The boy who used to tug on your backpack straps in middle school to make you laugh, who always made sure to walk you home after study group, who told off the guy who tried to kiss you at that party in grade eleven. The boy who hugged you so tightly the night before he left for Boston University, you almost couldn’t breathe.

Now he was in San Jose, chasing NHL dreams with the Sharks. And even though the distance had grown, he still answered your FaceTimes—like clockwork.

Tonight was no different.

Your screen lit up with a familiar name just as you finished curling your hair.

“Hey!” you greeted as Mack’s face appeared, slightly pixelated but still smiling. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, just got home from practice.” He leaned back on his couch, damp hair pushed back, wearing a Sharks hoodie. “You going somewhere?”

You glanced at yourself in the mirror, brushing some lint off your shirt. “Yeah, actually… I’m going on a date.”

His smile faltered.

“A date?” he repeated.

You nodded, biting back a grin. “His name’s Ben. He goes to my school, plays soccer. We’ve been talking for a few weeks.”

Macklin blinked. “Soccer?”

“Yeah. He’s sweet. Smart, funny. Thought I’d give it a shot.”

You watched the flicker of something in his expression—something tight and unreadable. He looked down for a second, then forced a smile back on.

“That’s cool,” he said, his voice a little too even. “So, like… where’s he taking you?”

“A little Italian place downtown.” You paused, watching him. “Why do you look like you just bit into a lemon?”

He scoffed. “I don’t.”

“You totally do.”

“I’m just—look, you sure this guy’s legit?”

You rolled your eyes, half-laughing. “You sound like my dad.”

“Well, someone’s gotta be,” he muttered.

The call ended shortly after. Mack said he needed to eat dinner. You said you needed to leave. But something felt different as you stared at the dark screen after hanging up.

Like you’d just disappointed someone important.

--- --- --- 

The next few days passed in a blur. You and Ben had a good time—he was cute, funny, polite. He held doors open, remembered your coffee order, and texted you good morning. It was all fine.

But it wasn’t great.

It didn’t make your heart race like it did when Mack smiled at you through a phone screen.

Still, you posted a photo with Ben on your Instagram story—just the two of you outside the restaurant, your hand resting lightly on his arm. You didn’t think much of it.

Until Macklin left you on delivered for nearly 48 hours.

When he finally texted, it was short: "Saw your post.""Cool guy."

You frowned at your phone, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

Two days later, you ran into him.

--- --- --- 

You weren’t expecting to see him in person until summer break, but there he was—leaning against your apartment building, arms crossed over his chest, baseball cap pulled low.

“Macklin?” you blinked. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” he said, dryly. “We had a few days off. Thought I’d come home.”

You launched yourself at him instinctively, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugged you back, but it didn’t feel like the usual kind of warm. It felt… off.

You pulled back and squinted at him. “Okay, seriously. What’s wrong?”

He tilted his head. “Nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “Liar.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again. For a second, you thought he might let it go. But then—

“I saw him,” Mack said. “Ben.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

He stepped closer, eyes locked on yours.

“I saw you with him. In that photo. And in person, too. You were walking downtown yesterday.”

You paused. “Were you following me?”

“No,” he snapped. “It was a coincidence. I was just getting coffee. But I saw you. And him.”

You tried to bite back the annoyance rising in your chest. “And?”

He shook his head, almost like he couldn’t believe he had to say it out loud.

“I can’t understand what you would see in him.”

The silence was sharp.

You stared at him, the weight of his words hitting harder than you expected. “Mack…”

“He doesn’t get you,” he said, voice low. “Not like I do. He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t know you hate pickles, or that you cry during Finding Nemo, or that you can’t sleep unless your closet door is closed. He doesn’t know that when you laugh really hard, you snort—”

“Stop,” you whispered, suddenly breathless.

His eyes softened. “I just don’t get it. Why him?”

You didn’t have an answer.

At least, not one you were brave enough to say yet.

You stared at him, mouth slightly open, the air between you thick with unsaid things. Mack still stood there, chest rising and falling a little faster now, as if the truth had punched its way out of him before he could stop it.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” you asked quietly.

He blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re acting like I’ve done something wrong for going on a date. Like I needed your approval first or something.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he said, clearly frustrated.

“Then what are you saying, Mack?” You stepped back, your voice rising. “Because it kind of feels like you're mad at me for not choosing you—except you’ve never asked me to!”

His mouth opened, then closed again. You shook your head, feeling your throat tighten.

“You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be angry about Ben if you’ve never once told me how you feel.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” he muttered.

You laughed, bitter and disbelieving. “Right. Because I was just supposed to know that my best friend has some kind of secret claim over me?”

“That’s not what this is about!” he snapped, stepping toward you. “This isn’t about claiming you. It’s about watching you settle for someone who doesn’t even deserve you.”

“Ben’s a good guy,” you said, more defensive than you meant to be.

Mack scoffed. “Ben’s a placeholder.”

Your heart stuttered. “Wow. That’s low.”

He didn’t apologize.

You shoved your hands into your hoodie pocket, trying to keep them from shaking. “You know, you’ve had years to say something. Years to tell me if there was something more than just us being friends. But you didn’t. You left. You built your whole life in San Jose. You FaceTime me and expect me to just… wait around for something you never promised.”

Mack looked like he’d been slapped. His jaw tightened, and he dropped his gaze for the first time.

“I didn’t want to mess things up,” he said finally. “You were the one constant in my life. The only thing that ever made sense. I didn’t want to risk losing that.”

You felt the burn behind your eyes, and you hated how much you understood that. Because you hadn’t said anything either. You were just as scared.

“Mack,” you said softly. “If you didn’t want to risk losing me, then why does it feel like you’re pushing me away now?”

His eyes flicked back up to yours, filled with something raw and real and unguarded.

“Because watching you with him hurt, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”

You let out a shaky breath. The silence that followed wasn’t angry—it was heavy, weighted with years of pretending.

“Do you like me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean… do you really like me? Or is this just some kind of jealousy thing because I’m not yours anymore?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I’ve liked you since I was fifteen,” he said. “When you wore that stupid glittery backpack with all the keychains, and I realized I’d never meet anyone who made me feel the way you did.”

Your chest ached.

“And I didn’t say anything because I figured… you deserved someone steady. Someone who wasn’t chasing pucks all over North America. Someone who could actually be there.”

You blinked fast, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I didn’t want someone else. I wanted you.”

Macklin stepped forward then, carefully, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt.

“You still do?” he asked, so quietly it nearly broke you.

You nodded. “I do. But you can’t just tell me this now and expect everything to change overnight. I need to know you're sure. I need to know that I’m not just convenient because I’ve always been there.”

He reached out, gently brushing your knuckles with his.

“You’re not convenient. You’re everything.”

The tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them.

“I hate that you made me say it first,” you whispered.

Mack gave a small, broken smile. “I’m sorry.”

And then, like gravity itself couldn’t fight it anymore, he leaned in.

His lips met yours in the softest, slowest kiss you’d ever experienced. Nothing urgent, nothing rushed—just the feeling of years and years of what-ifs melting into something real.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead stayed pressed to his.

“So,” you whispered. “What does this mean for us?”

He smiled. “It means I’m done pretending I don’t love you.”

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

[evilwizard]

Propaganda:

Gravity - She’s reality’s failgirl. Weaker than the weak force; so pathetic you barely even notice her unless you’ve got a planetary object. But watch out! Unlike electromagnetism, she’s smart enough not to cancel herself out with silly things like “positive and negative charges,” so she has a surprisingly big impact in places like “outer space” and “the inside of black holes.” (What is she doing in there? No one knows!)

Electromagnetism - The most charismatic of the fundamental forces, she can be whatever you want her to be. You want light? She’s on it. Lightning? No problem. She holds molecules together and makes all life on Earth possible—not to mention cookie clicker. And all other computers, I guess. I truly believe she can do anything. She should run for president.

The Strong Force - The name isn’t ironic! Sure, electromagnetism holds molecules together—but who holds atoms together? That’s right, it’s Ms. Strong Force. She’s a real powerhouse, but wildly under-appreciated… mostly because she’s just so good at her job it makes studying her really hard! You’re probably used to forces attracting two objects together—not the strong force! She juggles 3 quarks at a time, and is so good at it she actually gets stronger the farther the quarks get from each other! If and when her hold breaks, you better watch out, because we call that “an atomic blast.”

The Weak Force - Oh, the weak force. Just because she’s not as strong as the strong force, she gets stuck with that silly name! Well, she might not seem as important as the other fundamental forces, but if you’re a fan of [the heavy elements required for life], then you owe her big time! She has the remarkable ability to switch quarks from UP to DOWN, which allows neutrons to decay into protons (and protons into neutrons!) in the hearts of stars. Without all those extra protons, atoms wouldn’t be able to get heavy enough to allow for all the complexity we see in the universe! Everyone say “thank you, weak force!”