#they’re not annoying they’re just….

[little-jana]

"The Baby Glimmer"

Pairing: husband!Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, wanting a baby, heated/romantic fade-to-black intimacy, kissing

Summary: Where Aaron gets baby fever.

a/n: Well, since most of you voted for 2nd person writing, I'll try that from now on.

The first time you noticed it, you didn’t think much of it.

Aaron and you were walking through the mall one rainy Saturday afternoon, grabbing a few things for Jack’s school project. He’d been in need of some craft supplies and, as usual, Aaron wanted everything to be perfect.

You were strolling past a baby boutique on the way to the bookstore when Aaron slowed to a stop. He glanced at the window display—a collection of tiny onesies and soft teddy bears arranged artfully—and a soft, almost wistful smile crept across his face.

You stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He gestured to a fluffy teddy bear in the center of the display, its bowtie slightly askew. “That’s cute,” he said simply. “Babies would love it.”

You blinked. Aaron Hotchner, notorious for his stoic demeanor, commenting on teddy bears?

“Yeah,” you replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s… adorable.”

Aaron nodded, his hand briefly brushing against yours before he turned back toward the bookstore. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder, his voice calm and measured as always.

You stared after him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe he was just in a good mood.

---

Then there was JJ’s baby shower.

Aaron had insisted on going. “She’s family,” he’d said when you asked him about it. “It’s important to support her.”

And support her he did.

He spent the entire afternoon helping set up decorations, arranging tiny cupcakes on trays, and offering to hold the baby while JJ unwrapped gifts. It was… unexpected, to say the least.

At one point, you caught him holding JJ’s newborn, his expression so soft it made your chest ache. He was cooing gently, his deep voice low and soothing as he rocked the baby in his arms.

You tried not to stare. You really did. But the sight of Aaron Hotchner—gruff, protective, usually all-business—cradling a baby like it was the most natural thing in the world was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat.

“Wow,” Emily whispered, nudging you with her elbow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Hotch has baby fever.”

You laughed, brushing off the comment. “Please. He’s just being nice.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach fluttered when Aaron caught your eye across the room and smiled.

---

It wasn’t just JJ’s baby. It was everywhere.

You were at the grocery store one evening when it happened again. You had split up to cover more ground, and found him standing in the baby aisle when you came to find him.

“Aaron?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

He looked up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he held up a tiny pair of baby shoes. “Look at these,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “They’re so small.”

You stared at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. “Uh… yeah,” you said slowly. “Babies tend to have small feet.”

Aaron chuckled, setting the shoes back on the shelf. “Right. Of course.”

You watched him for a moment, suspicion creeping in. Something was definitely up.

---

The team noticed it, too.

“He’s acting weird,” Derek said one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee.

“Weirder than usual?” Emily quipped, smirking.

“No, like… softer,” Derek replied, gesturing toward Aaron’s office. “Have you seen the way he’s been with JJ’s baby? Or how he’s been staring off into space lately? It’s like he’s distracted by something.”

Emily glanced at you, her eyebrows raised. “Any idea what’s going on with him?”

You shrugged, playing dumb. “No clue. Maybe he’s just tired.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way Aaron had been looking at you lately—the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than usual, the way he reached for your hand more often, the way his touch was softer, more deliberate.

---

It all came to a head one quiet evening at home.

Jack was asleep, and Aaron and you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye all night, trying to piece together what was going on in that brilliant, complicated mind of his.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aaron,” you said, turning to face him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes warm and attentive. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ve been… different lately. Distracted. Is everything okay?”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was going to brush it off. But then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he reached for your hand.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he admitted, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s just… seeing JJ with her baby, and watching Jack grow up… It’s made me think about us. About our future.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “What about our future?”

Aaron’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “I’ve been thinking about having another baby. With you.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“A baby?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I know it’s a big decision, and I don’t want to pressure you. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About what it would be like to build a family with you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“Aaron,” you began, your voice trembling. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze filled with love and hope. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as tears spilled down your cheeks. You loved this man so much.

---

Over the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron’s words.

You watched him more closely than ever, noticing the way he doted on Jack, the way he smiled whenever you passed by a baby in the park, the way he held you just a little tighter at night.

And the more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take root in your heart.

It was a week later, during a quiet evening at home, that you finally found the courage to bring it up again.

You were sitting at the dining table, finishing the last of your dinner, when you set your fork down and looked at him.

“Aaron,” you said softly.

He glanced up, his expression instantly attentive. “Yes?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your shirt. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About having a baby.”

His eyes softened, and you saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his gaze. “And?”

You smiled, your heart pounding as you reached for his hand. “And… I think I want that, too. With you.”

Aaron’s face lit up, a smile spreading across his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmured, his deep voice warm and full of unspoken emotion.

You laughed through the tears welling in your eyes, unable to look away from the sheer adoration in his gaze. “I think I do,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

Aaron’s other hand reached up, his fingertips tenderly brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re really ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet and reverent, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble of this moment.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “With you? Yes. A thousand times yes.”

His dark eyes softened even further, the kind of look that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. He kissed you then—slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the motion.

When he finally pulled back, you noticed the faintest mischievous glint in his eye, something you rarely saw but secretly adored. His lips quirked into a small, almost playful smile.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly, “if we’re going to have a baby… shouldn’t we start practicing?”

You blinked at him, stunned for half a second before a breathless laugh escaped your lips. “Oh, really?” you teased, tilting your head as you looked at him. “You don’t waste any time, do you?"

His grin widened just a fraction as he leaned closer, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “Why would I, when we could make this moment count?” His voice was a low rumble now, filled with a heated edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifted—charged and electric, crackling with the kind of tension that made your pulse race.

“Aaron…” You whispered, your voice catching in your throat as he cupped your cheek, his touch so gentle yet so deliberate.

“Yes?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with just the faintest ghost of a kiss.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He hummed low in his throat, his other hand settling on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “I don’t plan to.”

The next kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was full of unspoken promises and barely contained need, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You gasped as he shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as though you weighed nothing. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours.

[booderedere]

Wow the fact I can genuinely read the vibes and different types of dynamics from each photo

(My interpretations)

(1 : soulmates who were destined to meet finally meeting for the first time. They’re unsure and awe-struck but they know they’re meant to be)

(2: One offers love and romanticism, the other burns their feelings carelessly with mindless, almost annoyed rejection)

(3: The masc is offering their true and genuin, protective love, the fem is hesitant from being hurt before but is learning to accept that the mascs intentions are true and pure )

(4: Unsure of eachother yet they feel a pull / drawn towards eachother. Not knowing why yet connecting anyways due to instinct)

(5: Mindless, casual feelings of indifference towards eachother. Nothing serious and only seeking to cure boredom more than anything. If they do genuinely like eachother it’s more out of seeing themselves in the other)

(6: One forces and shoves their love to the other yet refuses to accept any reciprocation. The other wants to let them know that they are loved just as much, but the orange sleeved one has too high of walls up to see it.)

(7: As long as I died by your side, I can die at peace)

(8: Loving a memory / idea of someone that’ll never truly happen or return)

(9: similar vibes to 3 yet the vibes are more flirtatious. One is saying ‘hey beautiful ;3’ whilst the other is thinking ‘should I…?’)

(10: deep companionship and bliss with each other. Nothing is as fun as when they’re together, true peace. )

seeking, yearning, reaching hands

[rosemariiaa]

~Caffeinated Crush~

𐙚- pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚-synopsis: Paige works at a bookstore, and Azzi is the girl who comes in every day but never buys anything. When a spilled coffee incident occurs, she learns Azzi is sketching her in a nearby cafe.

𐙚- this is so cuteeeee, yes i am still currently working on chapter 3 of RMH so you’ll have that soon, but for now enjoy these cuties! happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚-themes: fluff, au

𐙚- taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @juspeaks @imaginespazzi @pbaz7 @bueckersbitch @xxloveralways14 @d3arapril @lupinqs @pazzilover101 @ashortyluvsports @absolutelydreadful

enjoy!!!

I should’ve never let Nika get in my head.

My thumbs hover over the screen of my phone as I scroll through yet another endless TikTok, airpods blasting maybe the best R&B playlist handpicked by the queen. Anyway, the store is empty—of course it is. It’s barely 10 a.m., and no one is running to a bookstore this early unless they’re sixty or a morning person.

Not me, though. I’m here because Nika decided to call me lazy last week and the whole team agreed. Said all my NIL deals made me too comfortable, like I didn’t just have the Big East Scholar of the Year award, not to be cocky or anything but doesn’t that mean i’m smartest to ever exist? Exactly. But no, she just still had to run her mouth, so now I’m working this dumb part-time job at “Bound and Brew,” where the only exciting thing is the smell of cinnamon wafting in from the café next door.

Speaking of which, I mentally add a bagel to my lunch break checklist. Asiago, toasted, extra cream cheese—don’t judge me.

I glance at the clock on my phone. Still early. My chin rests in my palm as I lean on the counter, half-heartedly refreshing the store’s Instagram page. No new likes. Big surprise. God, I have practice tomorrow, and for what?

My earbuds buzz with a notification, but before I can check, the door chimes.

My eyes flicker up, and there she is. The girl with the brown, coily hair.

She’s been coming here for weeks now. Never buys anything, just walks around, poking through shelves like she’s on some personal treasure hunt. I’m pretty sure she works at the café next door—I always see her there, either taking orders or perched by the window with a book in one hand and a green matcha latte in the other. Matcha. It’s alright, I guess, but I can’t help the silent judgment. gatorade > tea.

Her eyes meet mine as she steps inside, and I clear my throat, pulling out one earbud. “Hey, what can I do for you?”

She smiles softly, the kind of smile that’s more polite than warm. “You’re fine. I don’t need help yet.”

Her voice is quiet, soft enough that it almost doesn’t match the confidence in the way she carries herself. She’s bundled in a gray puffer coat, her pink sweatpants tucked into winter boots. The UConn shirt under her jacket catches my eye.

She goes to my school? Weird. I’ve never seen her on campus.

I nod, going back to my phone, but I can’t help the way my eyes track her as she moves through the store. Her hands graze the spines of books, pausing occasionally to pick one up, read the back, then put it back in place.

She doesn’t rush. There’s something careful about the way she lingers in each aisle.

I shouldn’t be looking (staring) at her like this.I really shouldn’t, but her hair is just…nice. Thick curls that spring with life, framing her face like something out of a painting. And her skin? Smooth, glowing, the warm tone almost golden under the soft overhead lights.

Wow. I’m really gay.

I snap my attention back to my phone, pretending to scroll. My heart’s doing that annoying thing where it skips.

When I glance up again, she’s at the door. Leaving already. She didn’t pick up a book or anything again.

The door chimes softly as it closes behind her, and I’m left staring at the empty space where she just stood.

She’s really, really pretty.

And just like that, I’m shaking my head, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Get it together, Paige.

This is supposed to be a job, not some secret queer daydream.

By the time my lunch break rolls around, I’m practically counting down the seconds.

The café next door is my safe haven. Warm, cozy, and always smelling like cinnamon and espresso. It’s everything the bookstore isn’t. I step inside, stomping the snow off my sneakers, and head straight for the counter.

There’s no line, which is a small miracle, but then I see her pretty face again.

Brown curls, her same shirt, pink sweats, and those same bright eyes. She’s standing behind the counter, tying an apron around her waist.

Oh.

I knew she worked here! Scholar of the year i told you.

“Hi,” she says when she spots me. Her voice is just as soft as before, but there’s something about the way she looks at me that makes my stomach flip.

“Hey,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “Can I get an asiago bagel, toasted? Extra cream cheese.”

She nods, her hands already moving to jot down the order. “Anything to drink?”

“Just a black coffee,” I say. “Simple.”

She glances up briefly, the corner of her lips quirking like she’s amused. “Simple’s good.”

Her gaze lingers a second too long, and I feel the faintest heat creeping up my neck. There’s something about the way she’s looking at me, like she’s trying to figure me out but doesn’t want me to notice. I definitely noticed.

I glance at her name tag, needing some kind of distraction. “Azzi,” I murmur under my breath. It suits her.

She catches me looking, her cheeks tinting the slightest pink as she fiddles with the pen in her hand. “It’ll be ready in a minute,” she says quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thanks, Azzi.” Her name rolls off my tongue easier than I expect, and the way her eyes widen just a little makes it worth it.

Azzi ducks her head, pretending to check the order screen, but I can see the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. She’s shy, reserved even, but there’s something so genuine about the way she carries herself. It’s almost refreshing.

As I wait, I glance around the café, the hum of chatter and clinking mugs filling the space. A few students are hunched over laptops in the corner, and there’s an older couple sharing a slice of cake by the window. The atmosphere is cozy, intimate, like something out of a movie.

“Bagel and coffee,” Azzi calls softly, placing my order on the counter.

I step forward, and for a split second, our hands brush as I reach for the tray. Her fingers are warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside, and I swear I see her inhale sharply before quickly pulling away.

“Thanks,” I say again, trying to meet her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, like she wants to say something else, but instead, she bites her lip and busies herself wiping down the counter.

As I turn to leave, I catch her glancing at me again, her gaze lingering on my face before quickly darting away.

I smirk to myself, holding back a chuckle. So she does notice me.

Sliding into a seat by the window, I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes drifting back to Azzi. She’s leaning against the counter now, flipping through what looks like a notebook, nah definitely a sketchbook. Her curls bounce slightly as she moves, and there’s a faint smile on her lips, like she’s lost in her own little world.

For some reason, it’s hard to look away.

I finish my bagel way too fast, but instead of leaving, I sit there for a while, pretending to check emails on my phone while sneaking glances at her. She’s busy now, taking orders and chatting with customers, but every once in a while, her eyes flicker over to me.

It’s subtle—barely noticeable—but it’s enough to make my chest tighten.

When I finally get up to leave, I make a point to walk past the counter.

“See you around, Azzi,” I say, letting her name hang in the air.

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Yeah, uh—see you,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing as she fumbles with a stack of napkins.

I chuckle to myself as I step back into the cold, the warmth of the café lingering in my mind.

This job might not be so bad after all.

—

The next morning, Paige finishes practice, her muscles aching but her mind buzzing with anticipation. She now knows Azzi works morning shifts, and though she tells herself she’s just stopping by for breakfast, there’s no denying the extra pep in her step as she drags Nika along with her to the café.

As they walk in, the comforting aroma of coffee and freshly baked goods fills the air. Paige’s eyes scan the room, immediately finding Azzi at the counter, focused on a stack of receipts. Her heart skips a beat.

Paige shrugs off her hoodie, tossing it onto the back of a chair at an empty table by the window. She and Nika sit down, glancing over the breakfast menu. Paige tries to act casual, but Nika, ever observant, leans in.

“Calm yourself down and find something to get.” Nika pipes up.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, burying her face in the menu.

Just then, Azzi glances up and notices them. Her expression softens, and she waves, a shy smile spreading across her face.

Paige beams back, her cheeks tinged pink as she waves back.

“Hi,” Azzi greets, approaching their table. Her soft voice makes Paige’s heart flutter.

“Hey,” Paige responds, a little too quickly.

“What can I get you guys?” Azzi asks, pulling out her notepad.

“I’ll have eggs and a croissant,” Nika says, glancing between Paige and Azzi with a knowing smirk.

“I’ll take some pancakes,” Paige says, handing Azzi the menu.

Azzi jots down their orders and looks up. “What would you like to drink?”

“Orange juice,” Nika answers.

“And—” Paige starts, but before she can finish, she and Nika both say in unison, “Coffee, black.”

They burst into laughter, and Paige sneaks a glance at Azzi, whose dimples appear as she smiles.

“Got it,” Azzi says, gathering the menus and walking back toward the counter.

Paige’s eyes linger on her retreating figure, her gaze drifting downward until Nika snaps her fingers in front of her face.

“Yo twin, is that the girl you keep talking about in your sleep?”

Paige’s head snaps toward Nika, her eyes wide. “What? In my sleep?”

Nika leans back, smirking. “Yeah, I heard you last night saying her name over and over again. ‘Azzi, Azzi,’” she mimics, feigning a dreamy voice.

Paige’s face flushes. “Shhh! I don’t—whatever, I just say random stuff when I’m sleeping.”

“Sure, sure,” Nika says, winking. “But you keep staring at her. And she keeps looking over here.”

Paige shrugs, slipping into her usual cocky demeanor. “Well, I mean, it’s me. Can you blame her?”

Nika rolls her eyes. “Cocky ass.”

A few moments later, Azzi returns with their food. She sets Nika’s plate down first.

“Thank you,” Nika says with a grin.

As Azzi places Paige’s plate in front of her, she hands her the coffee. But before Paige can grab it, another worker bumps into Azzi from behind, sending the coffee spilling onto Paige’s shirt. Azzi stumbles forward, gasping as she falls right into Paige’s lap.

“Yo!” Paige snaps, turning to the worker. “Can’t you watch where you’re walking? You just made her fall.”

The worker mumbles an apology and scurries off as Azzi scrambles to her feet, her face burning red.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Azzi stammers, her voice shaking.

Paige brushes it off, trying to calm her down. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. But I do need a new shirt now.”

Azzi looks stricken. “I—I think I have an extra one in the back. Come with me to the bathroom?”

Paige stands, turning to Nika, who is smirking like the Cheshire Cat.

“Shut up,” Paige warns, flipping her off as she follows Azzi.

In the bathroom, Azzi motions for Paige to wait while she fetches a shirt. As soon as she leaves, Paige peels off her stained hoodie, leaving her in a sports bra and sweats. She grabs a paper towel, wets it at the sink, and wipes the remaining coffee off her stomach.

When Azzi returns, she pauses for a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly hands Paige a black t-shirt.

“Sorry again,” Azzi murmurs.

Paige grins as she pulls the shirt over her head. “You’re good. Thank you.” She smooths the fabric and gives a playful twirl. “See? Good as new.”

Azzi giggles, her dimples deepening.

Paige’s expression softens. “You have a really pretty smile.”

Azzi ducks her head, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” she says softly. “We should probably head back before my boss notices.”

“Lead the way, Miss Azzi,” Paige says, motioning dramatically toward the door.

As Paige returns to the table, Nika raises an eyebrow. “Everything good?” she asks, smirking.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, sitting down.

Once they finish eating, Nika and Paige pack up to leave. As they’re about to walk out, Paige glances around, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Azzi. When she doesn’t see her, she sighs and heads for the door.

Just as she steps outside, she feels a light touch on her back. Turning, she finds Azzi standing there, holding a folded piece of paper.

“Hey,” Azzi says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to say sorry again about your shirt.”

“I told you, it’s okay,” Paige says, smiling. “Things happen. And I love my new shirt.”

Azzi smiles nervously, then holds out the paper. “Okay, um, don’t think this is weird, but it kinda is? but it’s also- anyway I wanted to give you this.”

Paige takes the paper and unfolds it, her eyes widening at the detailed sketch of herself.

“Woah,” she breathes.

Azzi shifts on her feet. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. I just did it for fun.”

Paige fakes a pout. “And here I thought you did it because you liked me.”

Azzi blinks, her cheeks flaming. “Well… that too,” she admits quietly.

Paige grins, her confidence swelling. “This is so good I could literally kiss you right now.”

Azzi’s voice drops to a whisper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Paige steps closer, her hand cupping Azzi’s cheek as she leans in. Their lips meet, soft and tentative at first, before deepening into a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

When they pull apart, snowflakes drift around them, settling in their hair. Paige grins. “So, if I asked you on a date right now, would you sketch me again?”

Azzi laughs, her dimples showing. “Maybe.”

“Pretty please?” Paige pleads, pouting dramatically.

Azzi rolls her eyes playfully. “Fine fine. Since you’re begging.”

Azzi glances over Paige’s shoulder, spotting Nika in the distance, pumping her fist in the air and yelling, “Go gays!”

“Isn’t that your friend?” Azzi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “I don’t know her.”

[puckstories]

thinking about drunk quinn

I feel like Quinn gets like, clingy drunk. Like when he’s drunk he’s emotional and clingy and annoying in the most adorable way 😭 (lowk not represented in this though I was just writing idk) -Honey

It’s a little after midnight when Quinn stumbles into your shared room, his silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. The faint smell of smoke and beer clings to him—remnants of the night spent with the boys around the backyard fire pit, their voices and laughter echoing long after you’d slipped away. You’d retreated an hour ago, completing your nightly skincare routine before sliding into bed, letting the familiar comfort of Sex and the City drown out the muffled sounds of their conversations.

The door clicks shut behind him, and he leans back against it, a crooked grin on his face that tells you everything you need to know. He’s drunk. Not the tipsy, half-lit version of Quinn you’re used to seeing on rare occasions, but properly drunk—the kind that has him swaying slightly, his head tipped back like the ceiling might steady him. He rarely drinks. Never during the season. Even in the offseason, it’s only the occasional buzz, just enough to relax. But tonight, it seems, was an exception.

You glance away from the TV, your eyes trailing over him. His cheeks are flushed, a faint pink spreading from the cold air outside or maybe from the beer warming his bloodstream. He meets your gaze and grins wider, his lopsided charm cutting through the otherwise ungainly way he’s standing.

“Hey there, killer,” you say, an amused tilt in your tone.

The laugh that tumbles out of him is unrestrained, airy, like he’s been holding onto it for too long. He lets it echo around the room before it fizzles out, leaving him breathless but grinning. For a moment, he just stays there, one hand braced against the door, like he’s trying to hold himself together. Then he pushes off it, his steps uneven but determined as he makes his way to you.

When he flops onto the bed beside you, the mattress dips under his weight, and the smell of him—beer, smoke, just a hint of cologne, and the crisp winter air—wraps around you. He buries his face in the pillow for a second, mumbling something incoherent before turning his head to look at you. His eyes are bright, glassy, but there’s a tenderness in them that’s unmistakable.

“Hi, baby,” he says, his voice low and affectionate, the words soft but warm enough to spread through your chest like the coziest blanket.

You shift, propping yourself up on one elbow, your head resting lightly on your hand. Your free hand finds its way to his hair, fingers slipping through the soft, dark strands. He shuts his eyes the moment you touch him, like the simple motion is enough to quiet the world around him. A faint, lazy smile tugs at his lips, and you feel him exhale, his whole body softening as if he’s giving in to some invisible weight he’s been carrying.

He leans into you instinctively, his body inching closer like its second nature. The space between the two of you disappears as he buries himself deeper into the warmth of the bed and the comfort of your hand.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s already falling asleep, but then his eyes flutter open again. They’re slightly unfocused, still hazy from the alcohol, but there’s a warmth in them that makes your heart ache a little. His gaze drifts lazily around the room, as if he’s piecing together where he is, until it finally lands on the glowing screen of the TV.

“What’re you watching, baby?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, the words slurred just enough to make you smile.

“Sex and the City.” You murmur, keeping your voice quiet like you don’t want to break the spell of the moment.

“Ah, I should’ve known,” he says with a lopsided grin, his laugh bubbling up almost before he’s finished speaking. It’s a carefree, loose kind of laugh, the kind you don’t hear from him often, and it fills the space between you like a favorite song you haven’t heard in a while.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes flicking back to you. “How many times have you seen it now?”

You smile, shrugging. “Enough to know Carrie’s about to make a terrible decision in this episode.”

He chuckles again, his head sinking further into the pillow. “That’s, like, every episode.”

“Exactly,” You agree, dragging your fingers through his hair again, this time scratching lightly at his scalp. His smile widens, and he lets out a contented hum, the sound vibrating against the quiet hum of the TV.

“You’re too good to me,” he mumbles, his voice trailing off as his eyes grow heavier. The words are simple, but the way he says them—low, honest, and just a little slurred—makes something stir in your chest.

“I know.” You hum, leaning in to press a kiss against his cheek.

[taelophone]

Poolboy ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ TWs: Frat Boys™ . Reader never catches a break like once . Reader is the Phi-Si sweetheart . Slight Angst (?) . Porn w Plot . Penetration . ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ this fic is literally 6k words. bye.

What happens when you take one young woman, cram her into a frat group chat, and send her off on a summer vacation with said frat?

Hoots of joy and teal water splashing from the deep ends of the pool sounded against your eardrum as you flipped through a 2005 Vogue magazine. You had just arrived at your frat brother's summer villa, courtesy of Carson’s rich father.

You were the sweetheart of Phi Kappa Psi, a title you don’t even recall earning before being dragged along by your foot by a bunch of techy dudebros with a strange fixation for beer and computer science. More times than not, you felt like you were babysitting toddlers who treated their lives like toys they could fix.

When things went wrong and the brothers began to fight, you’d hear your name being shouted in deep whiny tones before two or more men would approach you with annoyed expressions. Heads tilted up, shoulders slouched, and their hands stuffed in their hoodie pockets before angrily talking over each other about whatever they were mad about.

What children.

But besides being the driving force for many makeups and peacekeeping, you valued your brothers deeply. Perhaps that was why they dragged you along by your unwilling ankles— because they knew you’d cave eventually…or they could just kidnap you.

Kidding! They’re not. It was a joke until you felt 5 pairs of hands dragging you out of your little apartment room while all clamoring about a chapter retreat and how they needed you to tag along.

So now you’re sitting on a scorching hot chaise recliner with a little glass full of some sort of alcoholic bomb that was probably mixed in a bathtub over seven thousand kilometers away from home.

You watched as each of them splashed around in the pool, their shouts of joy filling the air as they did their best to drown the person nearest to them. Empty beer bottles clanked and collided together in the pool water, the grace of god keeping them from shattering and raining hell on the impish boys.

You turned your head around, ensuring things were alright at the grill as saw two shirtless brothers named  Logan and James manned the grill with plastic tongs and debated whether or not to pour another bottle of bear on the brisket.

“Yo!” A loud voice said, cutting through the noisy chaos as he adjusted his black and grey baseball cap. “We found a fat fuckin’ stack of Playboy mags in the basement by the bar. Don’t start running or we’ll all know you’re a virgin.”

A wave of tame laughter washed over the young men before the splashing and thrashing went back to normal. You counted the amount in the pool, ticking off each head of black, blonde, or brunette before you realized you were missing at least one brother.

You sat up, immediately shifting your sunglasses to rest on your head and doing another head count. But the question remained; Where’s Luigi?

Luigi was arguably the most level-headed of the frat or at least the one with a prefrontal cortex that hadn’t been completely damaged by alcohol poisoning. But boy, that man could drink.

“Hey guys, I’m gonna go look for Luigi. Please chill, don’t kill each other. And clean the pool, please, that’s fucking disgusting” you sighed, tucking your sunglasses between the stretchy black fabric and your heated skin.

You stood up, fixing your hair a little and making sure your baby hairs didn’t look fuzzy and crazy before waltzing into the large, neoclassical villa in pursuit of the missing man. On your way through the hall, you caught sight of 4 men standing in a circle around a TV with beers in their hands while completely entranced with some hallmark movie that they more than likely rented.

“Hunter!” You called before grimacing at the amount of beer cans that littered the floor.

The group of boys whirled their heads, facing you for half a second before the raven-haired boy mumbled a “yeah?” from his television-fueled trance. You toddled up behind them, peering above their shoulders so you could see what they were watching.

A Paris Proposal. On the Hallmark channel.

You bit back a laugh, watching their eyes lock themselves into the terrible acting like it was a gift from the heavens. They were locked in— watching in complete silence with slightly parted lips.

“Have you seen Luigi?” You asked, your brows pinching together in confusion before you turned to face Hunter.

“Uhhh…He was just playing foosball with Brennan a while ago…He should be down in the basement still,” he mumbled, not even sparing you a second glance as he watched the television with pin-straight posture.

“Thanks,” you said, making your way out of the large living room and sliding down the hall on some random white caster board lying around the smooth, glossy hardwood floors. You wobbled side to side, your ankles doing all of the work before you hopped off the board in front of the basement stairs. 

When you reached the bottom of the basement stairs, you were greeted by only four brothers. Two at the foosball table, and two fighting for dominance over a Ms. Pac-Man arcade machine. But still no sign of Luigi.

“Hey, guys. Have any of you seen Luigi?” You asked, stopping at the side of the Foosball table to watch Anthony and Israel begin to sweat from manning each handle and rod.

“He’s in the back playing pool by himself. He’s being weird, he won’t talk to us. I think he had his AirPods in but we couldn’t see cuz he wouldn’t take that fuck ass Adidas hoodie off,” Anthony mumbled, looking up from the playing field for half a second before Israel shot a speeding goal into the open space between his second goal of players.

“DUDE! What the FUCK, bro!” He groaned, slamming his fist down onto the table.

You stifled a giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground as you folded your hands together and made your way to the back of the basement. Back past the bar, you passed a group of men huddled together reading some sort of magazine.

 The further back you moved, the more the background noise seemed to fade away into a quiet buzz. Soon you made it to the pool room, the walls decorated with various sports memorabilia and jerseys signed by deceased football players.

When you heard the dull marbled noise of phenolic resin knocking against each other, you saw the familiar deep brown curls leaning over the pool table with a smooth pool cue between his thumb, pointer, and middle finger—the hold of a closed bridge.

 He was focused, his hoodie up over his head as his eyes darted across the green fabric in a search for the best way to get all object balls in each hole. You tapped his shoulder, giving him a gentle indication of your presence before he turned his head in your direction.

His eyes were still trained on the pool table, almost like he was in some kind of stupor. He hummed, a low acknowledgment of your presence as he continued to ponder his next move across the table.

“I saw that you weren’t outside. Couldn’t find you so I wanted to make sure you were good,” you said, your hands resting on the reddish mahogany.

He paused, darting his pupils up in thought before he cleared his throat and turned to face you fully.

“Sorry…I was really focused. Yeah, I’m okay,” he nodded, leaning his pool cue against the table and crossing his arms. “The noise was just too much for me.”

You nodded in understanding, the epiphany sinking in as you crossed your arms against your chest as well. To say outside was overstimulating was an understatement— everything in the world seemed to be happening at once in such a short amount of time.

“Yeah, that’s…valid,” you said, a hand coming up to your forehead as you gently caressed the wrinkles that formed as you raised your brows.

“If you want, like…space, I guess? I could go back upstairs or try and get like…the guys out of the basement. Or you could go upstairs, but I’m sure there’s at least someone upstairs,” you offered, propping yourself up on the pool table to give your aching ankles a break.

“Nah it’s fine…you can stay, I was getting bored,” he murmured, picking up his pool cue once more and bringing his attention back to his solo pool match.

You nodded, clearing away from the pool table to drag a stool over to your semi-quiet corner of the basement. He seemed content with just sitting in silence while you watched him play, and It was honestly better this way, as he wasn’t completely alone and he had someone else to talk to.

“Did you know that the color goes all the way through the resin? It’s not just on the surface,” he murmured, holding up the blue ten-billiard ball.

“I didn’t know that actually…that’s pretty cool,” you nodded, a fraction of a second passing before the voices from the game room began to get a little too loud, indicating a festering fight between someone that you’d ultimately have to mediate or stop entirely.

“Okay, I’m so sorry, I have to go. If they break shit we’re all getting banned and I actually like this villa, have fun!” You scrambled, nearly falling off of your stool as you zoomed towards the conflict.

He watched as you toddled away, giggling under his breath at your panicked expression and the way you stumbled a little as you got up from your seat. Adorable— like a clumsy little bunny struggling to find their footing while it ran through a field.

Albeit a sticky, beer-coated field full of bottles and shiny with pool water. But it’s ok, global warming will get us there in 50 years or less.

After a long day of mediating ear-piercing petty fights between the brothers over the stupidest things— like who keeps drinking all the beer or whose turn it is to take out the trash, the sun began to say his goodbyes as he dipped between the trees and the hills to make way for his wife of the night. 

Her big, gaudy, and full being slowly began to rise, bringing her many twinkling sons with her while kissing the day goodnight. Now, the only source of illumination was the thick veils of pale white light shining over the calm black waters of the pool.

Some brothers found themselves unconscious at the poolside, the Natural Light brand beer knocking their lights out as the alcohol kissed the surface of their medullas. Some found themselves passed out on the patio chairs, too tired to even get up and migrate to the warm villa.

Shirts were strewn about, followed by a shoe now and again, and the usual loud yells of freedom and joy seemed to quell into snores that were almost as loud as their triumphs over the skies. When you verified that everyone was okay and nobody had overdone it, you snapped a picture of everyone’s sleeping forms. 

A core piece of your memory that you had managed to capture in the small confines of a digital screen.

You made your way back inside, upstairs and to the left in pursuit of the large room you secured for just existing amongst the sea of men. You gathered your little shower crate of things, your pink and fuzzy Ralph Lauren bathrobe, and your dental care before making your way into the bathroom to have a hot shower.

The gentle droplets ran down your skin, freeing your body from any early morning grime or lingering dead skin. Soft soapy suds cleansed your soul, relaxing the tangled and knotted wires in your mind as you took a quiet moment to process.

With the rough layer of your sleepless morning freshly shed, you stepped out of the shower feeling fresh and new. You brushed your teeth, finished your skincare, and detangled your hair before putting it into two braids so you could manage it in the morning.

Your head finally hit your pillow, the cozy silk cooling the side of your face as you closed your eyes, ready to repeat the morning in just a few hours.

And oh boy, did it repeat.

Before your eyes could even crack open, you heard the low murmurs of multiple men as they discussed if they should wake you up or if they should just order food. As soon as your eyes opened, ripe annoyance bloomed at your temples as you saw six pairs of eyes staring back down at you.

“What the actual fuck,” you sighed, watching as they stared down at you like some sort of foreign object.

“Can you make us pancakes?” Brennan asked, eliciting nods and murmurs of approval from the other young men around him.

“What…pancakes—what the fuck are you…no. No, I cannot make you pancakes. Go door dash or something,” you huffed, sitting up and rubbing your eyes before stretching the drowsiness away.

There was a loud conjoined sound of disapproval, swears, and murmurs of “I told you it wouldn’t fucking work” as they all filed out of your room one by one.

You got up following their absence, throwing on a pink zip-up hoodie, a white tank top, and some pink fuzzy shorts. Once you were ready for the morning, you made your way downstairs to greet the survivors of last night.

Once unconscious, twice dead, and three times the headache as they all recovered on the couch, all occupying the living room while watching some sports channel.

Somewhere between the lines of you starting the sleek, smooth, and electric stove in the kitchen, the pack of animals that sat on the floor of the living room decided to all go on a morning run to get breakfast. Leaving you with the whole villa to yourself for about two or three hours.

You made yourself a stack of 3 fat pancakes with a side of scrambled egg whites with American cheddar and herbs. Wait, where are the plates, maybe they broke them when—

THUD!

What. The. FUCK.

You whirled your head around, your neck jetting out to find the source of the noise while you held onto the wooden handle of the metal spatula.

Silence. Thick and heavy…impenetrable as you stood amongst the quiet kitchen. The longer you stood, the heavier it got.

Until Luigi emerged from upstairs, sporting a tired and pained expression with a hand pressed to the side of his face. It didn’t take long for you to put two and two together— Luigi had fallen out of bed.

“Morning…” he rasped, immediately making his way to the kitchen digging in the massive cooler, and placing a cold can of beer on the side of his face.

You watched in slight concern, scanning his features to check for any visible bruises before returning his greeting with a quiet “good morning” of your own. 

“Where’d they all go?” He asked, scanning over your form as you cut strawberries into hearts to put on your pancakes.

“They went on a run. And then they’re gonna go get breakfast cuz I told them I wasn’t gonna cook for them,” you murmured, popping a sliver of sweet strawberry into your mouth.

“Oh. Damn…” he sighed, looking down at his feet with a slight pout.

“They literally just left like twenty minutes ago, but I can make you something. I’d rather cook for one person than like thirty,” you shrugged, giggling at the cutely shaped berries on your plate.

“Actually…” you murmured, pulling out a second plate and adding one of your three pancakes onto the plate along with some of your scrambled egg whites.

“Your protein intake must be in the negatives…” he chuckled, graciously accepting the white and square porcelain plate from your hands. “No meat, no egg yolk, no protein shake.”

“God forbid a girl makes a meal to her tastes,” you sighed, rolling your eyes before adding honey and light syrup to your pancakes. “Frat boys and their fuckin’ protein talk…”

You snorted, a smirk on your face as you began to eat your pancakes while using your free hand to fill a mug full of the only non-alcoholic substance in the house. Skim milk.

“Sorry, that’s my bad,” he chuckled, removing the near-frosted beer can from the side of his face and flicking open the tab with his teeth. He chugged most of the can in one go before setting it on the counter and crushing it with a flex of his forearm.

“Thank you for the food. You didn’t have to share, that was really nice,” he smiled, pulling open the utensil drawer in the counter, pulling out just a fork before digging into his soft and fluffy strawberry pancakes. 

You nodded, giving him a thankful smile as you finished your breakfast together in silence.

If you had to choose between any of the brothers, you’d choose Luigi without a doubt. Not only was he respectful and actually used his brilliant mind, he seemed to have an almost intimate amount of compassion for you.

Way before the title of sweetheart and the pledges of Phi Kappa Si, Luigi was just some dork who you hung out with in your dorm room. Cooped up with your knees to your chest, you would sit with a couple of friends and just chat back and forth about whatever came to mind.

Life, intimacy, Italy, the green Luigi, different types of Pokémon, and various types of plants. When your time wasn’t always occupied by someone else, or when it wasn’t weird to be alone together, your quiet bond had the potential to sprout into red roses of intimacy.

Over time you had grown closer with shared laughs and stupid inside jokes. Back-and-forth banter grew casually sexual, heavy innuendos slipped from both of your lips with even heavier eye contact with every word.

There were days when you’d find yourself on his flexed thigh, just sitting there and doing nothing but holding a casual conversation. Those were the days of your early freshman and sophomore college journey.

But now you had your foot out the door— freshly graduated with both feet on a rocky path to independence. Luigi no longer was your flirty best friend who carried the weight of your deepest testaments, but just another acquaintance in the frat you monitored.

It was upsetting, of course, but things change and people can grow apart with time. It seemed as though that was just what happened between you and Luigi. 

“Don’t drink that, it’s got spit in it,” Luigi warned, nodding his head upward subtly as you went to take a sip of your skim milk. Your eyes ran over the clear glass, a grimace forming on your face as you pushed it away from you.

“Do we not have water?” You asked, crossing your arms and setting your plate down on the counter next to Luigi’s.

“Nah… just get some from the sink,” he shrugged, scraping the remnants of his breakfast from the plate and shoving it into his mouth like a human garbage disposal.

After all, his name meant big eater. He seemed to live up to the name.

“Embodying your last name I see…” you joked, your eyes flicking back and forth between his plate and his face, his lips slightly glossy with the honey, syrup, and the blood of strawberries on his bottom lip.

“Absolutely… All I heard growing up was,” he began, pausing to let his tongue dart out to clean his plush and pink bottom lip.

 “Mangia, mangia! Sei troppo magro!” He recited, his tone growing a bit smoother following the sudden switch of his tongue. Italian— the romantic language of southern Europe, where the towers lean and the men preen.

Your eyes fought the urge to widen as shock and slight arousal flooded your mind— his boyish giggles following his wave of authentic nostalgia were the sweetest hymns of joy. His voice was already attractive, but nothing was more sexy than a man who knew his native tongue.

“I didn’t know you spoke Italian…” you said, failing to mask the slight breathiness in your tone as you clumsily slotted your dirty dishes into the sink, the honey-maple and strawberry residue falling atop Luigi’s plate with a loud clink that almost made you jump.

“Really? I thought I told you…” he hummed, his brows raising a fraction as he stared down at you. He leaned back, his palms gently gripping the edge of the marbled counter as he kicked a foot back. “I probably didn’t, actually…I don’t speak it often.”

You hummed, tilting your head to the side slightly as you traced the outer shell of your ear to calm your nerves. 

“Wait, say something else” you asked.

“That’s exactly why I don’t,” he chuckled, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“C’mon, please?” You smiled. “I’ve gotta hear it from you now.”

He sighed sarcastically— a long, drawn-out, and heavy gust of sweet wind from his lungs as he rolled his eyes as far as his sockets would allow with a smirk.

“Only because I love you,” he chuckled. “Farei qualsiasi cosa per te, ama. Sei così carina.”

It was like a pink and gaudy glass pane shattered into a thousand glimmering little pieces— slicing through your mind as you replayed the words again and again in your mind. You had no idea what it was he said, but it sounded so good coming from his mouth.

From his little proclamation of loving you, clear evidence that the spark between the two of you still flickered with the flames of burning fascination, to the quick work his tongue made enunciating his Italian dialect. Everything about this moment was intoxicatingly attractive.

“What does that mean?” You asked, an innocent tilt of your head as he chuckled at you.

“It means you have a really big forehead and your little frog face is cute,” he joked, stretching his arms up a little to alleviate some of the tension stored in his spine.

In that moment you stopped to admire what he was wearing— a navy blue zip-up hoodie and black sweatpants with a white drawstring. When he stretched his hoodie traveled up a bit, revealing his defined V-line and trimmed happy trail.

Good fucking god this man is so hot.

You cleared your throat, pulling down his hoodie before he finished stretching with a chuckle.

“Whore. Cover your midriff, slut,” you joked, giving him a disapproving glare and a tut-tut-tut of your tongue.

“Slutshaming me for stretching is crazy,” he laughed, a gentle furrow of his brows as he bonked your head gently with his large hand. “C’mon, let’s go play pool.”

You chuckled, holding onto his arm gently like it was a natural reaction. Cold nostalgia flooded your brain, the light and freezing liquid invading every crevice of your brain as the memories of long nights spent holed together in a dingy old dorm that had seen its fair share of emotions.

“What is it with you and pool?” You sighed, still following him through the kitchen and down to the game room anyway.

“Pool,” he began, his head leaning forward a bit as if it was helping him enunciate his words. “Is like chess. I like thinking about what I can do before I do it…helps me focus and it’ll help me think critically later in life.”

You nodded, chatting away with Luigi about pool and different types of ways to hold a pool cue as you ran your manicured nails along the walls. The drywall made its parched and scratchy sounds under your nails, the stimulation ceasing as you withdrew your fingers from the wall and greeted the pool table once again.

“I feel the need to tell you now that I don’t know how to play pool,” you blurted, picking up a pool cue in your dominant hand and tapping it on the floor twice for good luck.

“It’s okay, I’ll show you,” he smiled, tossing his cue back and forth between each of his large palms before it settled in his left hand.

He lifted the triangle from the object balls carefully, making sure each one was in place before beckoning you to come closer to the table. You obliged, quickly slinking your way beside Luigi.

“So hold it with your right hand…yeah, like that. Then you put it over your thumb…mhm… and bring your pointer finger up,” he instructed, his hand ghosting over yours to correct any errors in your hold.

“And then lean over and push the cue forward” he nodded.

You leaned forward, your hips awkwardly hitting the table as your pool cue missed the very thing you were aiming at. Oops.

Luigi choked back a loud laugh, turning around to face the wall and taking a deep breath before sighing with a wide grin. When he calmed down, he turned back around and placed his arm over yours, his hand wrapping around your wrist as his chest pressed against your back.

You could feel his body's warmth. If you focused hard enough, you were almost certain you could feel the steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat in his chest.

He leaned forward, taking you with him until your upper body was almost parallel to the grassy green fabric of the pool table. Your breath caught in your throat, and an fire crept up your cheeks as you tried not to inhale his scent like a weirdo.

Aftershave, nautical soap, and warm cotton.

“Like this, see?” He asked, driving your dominant hand forward to hit the object ball. “If you don’t lean forward you’re gonna miss your shot. It makes everything so much easier when you’re just starting.”

As Luigi forced your arm forward, helping you hit the cue ball again and again, you swear you could feel his crotch brush against the fat of your ass once or twice. A sign you hoped you weren’t overlooking.

“What’ya doing back there?” You mused— a light and flirtatious tone to your words that he could easily shoot down if he wanted to. But the thing about Luigi and his sneaky self…is he didn’t want to.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he chuckled, his hands snaking their way down to your gentle hip bones as he leaned up off of you. You missed the warmth of his chest on your spine already, longing to bask in his layered scent once again. 

“I think you do, but that’s okay,” you chuckled,  dropping your hold on your pool cue to wrap your hand around Luigi’s instead, lacing your fingers together. “You’ve never been a liar, don’t start now.”

He chuckled, guiding your hips back and forth against the steadily rising tent in his sweatpants. Of course— he was fake-banging you while giggling like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Luigi, you're acting like a middle schooler… don’t be crude,” you chuckled with a light eye roll.

He laughed in response, shaking his head free of his immature thoughts as he gave a final sigh. He ceased his movement against your behind, his heavy palms rubbing up and down your sides with the feather-light touch of all the saints above.

How he wanted to ravage you whole, they’d have to cover their little cherub eyes with the soft feathers of their wings while their hands covered their mouths to muffle their scandalized gasps. The heavens would tremble with each loud little whine and moan he’d pull from you that echoed up to the skies.

“I’d do you so dirty on this pool table…” he murmured, more or so to himself as his hands came to squeeze your hips possessively.

You hummed, poking your hips back against him as your nails traced random shapes into the green fabric. You heard him sigh, deep and heavy as he suddenly went still.

“Now you’re just being a brat,” he chuckled, pulling at the fabric of your shorts. “This okay? We can stop if you want—“

“Do not,” You began, gripping his wrist with the force of an agitated bull, red and fiery with lust and want. “Stop. Keep going.”

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled, his hand hooking into your shorts and sliding the pretty pink fabric down your knees.

“Pretty…” he murmured to himself, running the pad of his thumb down the soft cotton fabric of your panties.

You shuddered a bit at the scandalous contact, the gentle but firm touch sending sparks of electricity across the planes of your skin. He was so deliberate with every touch to your body…almost like he had years of practice.

Which you knew wasn’t true, as he had only been with roughly two people across his lifespan. As tragic as it was to admit out loud, Luigi was just really really good with anything involving his hands.

He earned a quiet whine from your soft lips, your hands dropping your pool cue clumsily as it clattered on the hardwood floors. Your hands gripped the edge of the pool table, the cherry-tinted dark wood as he continued to fidget with your achy clit through the fabric.

“Luigi…” you sighed, your brows furrowing with frustration and light taps of euphoria. “Stop teasing, you’re being evil.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he purred, an impish smile on his face that you wished you could see. He lowered his sweatpants, just enough for his rigid and raging bulge to become visible from the thin cloth of his boxers.

He chuckled, the sound ruminating deep in his chest as he gently pressed his sheathed bludgeon against you, rocking you back and forth along his length with small sighs and quiet whines. He could feel your pretty panties dampening with his slow and deliberate thrusts, a knowing smirk forming on his cherub cheeks.

“You better pray the guys don’t come back soon…” he laughed, freeing his girthy dick from his boxers, the shiny pearls of precum dribbling down the grapefruit-pink tip onto the floor.

He hooked his fingers in your panties, pulling them down with angelic affection before he bumped his fat tip against your glistening cunt. Sticky, sloppy, short-lived noises reverberated through the game room, bouncing off the walls and striking your eardrums with sin.

“Sorry,” he murmured, an apology that confused you slightly as he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just like rain, designed to warn you of lightning that would leave you cowering and trembling with its loud cracks of thunder, you failed to heed the warning he gave you.

He pushed in, eliciting a sharp inhale filtered by his teeth. He was huge and thick like the fat beer bottles that lay stagnant on the floor in various locations in the house.

You yelped a little, the mix of precum and slick doing little to nothing to aid the stretch as he speared you apart and filled you up. It took everything in you not to kick your legs as he slowly slotted himself between you.

“Aww, it’s okay…I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he cooed, gently holding your hand as you squeezed around him— both your hand and your cunt.

You moaned out, broken and dissonant as you pressed your free hand to your mouth like your life depended on it. Even though you were pretty sure everyone was out of the house, you didn’t want to wake up any potential late sleepers who could very much still be two floors up.

“Ah, no,” Luigi said, withdrawing your hand from over your mouth. “Don’t do that, get loud…let the world know who’s sweetheart you really are…”

He began moving, his hips moving against yours slowly. He could feel you soaking your inner thighs and his dick, the slick and slippery sounds growing louder as he began to piston in and out of you with increasing speed.

You could feel him abusing that spongy spot deep in your core, dragging across the inside of you and sending sparks of electricity through your veins. Each breathy moan and whine he pulled from you only served as motivation to keep him going, postponing his hips against yours like a fervent bull.

By now you should be embarrassed; the table beneath you had begun to subtly rock with the force of his thrusts, your arms were trembling, and your face was pressed into the green fabric of the playing field as pathetically loud moans spilled from you. 

“Tight—! God, you’re squeezing me I can barely fucking move..” he grunted, putting in extra work to refrain from squeezing your hand hard enough to fracture your bones. He huffed above you, deep moans of his own escaping from the back of his throat.

There was a whiny and high tone in his words like an angel crying above you as he sucked in deep breaths of air that only satiated him until the next. The frequency of your moans grew as the knot in the pit of your stomach began to tighten, warning you of your looming orgasm.

“Close…!” You whimpered. If it wasn’t for Luigi’s strength, or maybe the added support of the pool table, you were positive your legs would have buckled and given out a long time ago.

“I know,” he purred, his free hand coming up to your neck and gently squeezing around its sides.

It wasn’t long until your limbs seemed to lock up— ice froze your limbs in place as your lower legs kicked in place. With a loud moan, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you painted the man behind you with a pretty shade of white.

Oh my god, he isn’t slowing down.

Your eyes shot open as quickly as they could when you felt his chest lean against your back again, his low grunting in your ear as he continued to fuck into you. He kissed your temple, muttering soft “I’m sorry, baby’s” into your right ear as your moans began to grow hoarse and whiny.

“I’m so sorry…you feel too fuckin’ good, you can give me another, right?” He coaxed, turning your face toward his with a firm hand on your jaw. 

You were panting, all in your fucked-out glory as your eyes welled with salty tears; a testament to your overstimulated arousal. He had never seen something so beautiful in his life.

From what you could see through your fogged and warbled vision, his nose was an affectionate rose. Rouge and rampant with his rough thrusts, the stimulation was driving you more insane than you swore you were.

You reached back, weakly pushing at his toned pelvis in a last-ditch effort to save yourself some dignity.

“Move your hand,” he instructed, his eyes staring sternly into yours as he slowed his near cervix-bruising pace.

“Too much…too much, can’t—…Can’t take it” you babbled, not even sure if that was what came out of your mouth. Your brain was much too foggy to process words, much less say them.

“You’re going to take it though,” he cooed, letting go of your jaw and standing up straight, instantly revoking his body heat from your back.

He grabbed your wrists with his large hand, keeping them still above the curve of your behind. Seeing his large hand restraining your smaller ones unearthed a strange fuzz in his mind that sent his dick twitching madly, triggering a strained string of profanities to fly from his lips.

His muscles and bones tensed up, the veins in his hands and arms flexing slightly as he stilled. Being aroused hadn’t rendered him stupid, though, and with a grunt of your name, he pulled out of you and spilled hot and sticky ropes of cum all over your behind.

You yelped, immediately whining as he fucked you into a twitchy and sensitive second orgasm, a shaky breath pulling from your lips as you went limp on the pool table.

“You sound pretty, too.”

[angelfic]

dick grayson x reader

warnings — dark-ish manipulative themes, violence, dick is practically partaking in self harm on the streets. a/n; dick grayson is a little manipulative like we have to face facts here in the same way he’s a fuckboy. this is accurate dick characterisation on steroids kinda… argue with the wall

manipulative!DICK GRAYSON who purposely gets hurt so you feel bad for him and suddenly forget what you were mad at him about.

dick hates it when you two argue, especially because it’s mostly only over the small stupid things. it doesn’t happen that often, but it always affects his performance during patrol.

the only thing on his mind when he’s punching the living daylights out of some criminal on the street is what could you possibly be thinking about right now? are you still mad at him? you’re probably pissed. in his head, you’re throwing darts at a picture of him pinned up on the door and it’s stressing him the fuck out.

not only does this make him a little extra violent, but he also can’t help letting these thugs sneak in a terribly aimed punch or two which, under normal circumstances, they’d never be able to land.

it’s like the part of his brain that concerns you is working a little faster than the rational part, because immediately he’s thinking about how you’re going to patch up the cut on his cheek with your cute little pink band-aids and he’s not going to complain about it once.

he looks a little deranged in a fight because suddenly he’s grinning as he’s beating the shit out of this goon who is now more terrified of him than he was before. because this isn’t just nightwing, the vigilante. it’s an adrenaline junkie whose breath hitches a little when he gets hit, but he’s not winded in the slightest. it’s almost like he enjoys it.

when it gets like that, they try a little harder to fight back and the knives come out. dick’s eyes practically light up when they start slashing around. they think they might have a change against him when dick let’s them take a swipe at his torso, but once they’ve made no more than a superficial cut, he’s grabbing their arm and twisting it until the knife clatters to the ground and they’re wondering how the hell they thought they could win.

the high he’s feeling doesn’t come down once he’s neutralised the threat. in fact, he’s feeling even more jittery when he’s sitting outside the window to your shared apartment, lightly tapping on the window.

he gets a little worried again when you glance over at him, and then at the clock before sighing deeply at the time. you’re still annoyed, but it’s okay. he anticipated that.

you open the window, barely sparing him a glance before walking away.

“it’s late, dick. i could have been asleep.”

“i’m sorry,” he replies, his voice a little breathless when he sees the little pyjama shorts you’re wearing with the hearts on them. you mistake this for him being in pain, which in fairness, he is.

dick has to stop himself from looking too happy when you furrow your brows and rush over to him. “you’re bleeding.”

“just a scratch,” he downplays it, letting your gentle hands help him through the window and onto the couch. he doesn’t resist one bit, allowing himself to wince with each movement.

when you’ve grabbed the first-aid kit and you’re patching him up, his eyes don’t leave your face for even a second. he hates seeing you upset over anything, but he can’t lie. he’s practically giddy when he sees that your expression has changed swiftly from irritation to concern.

you ask him what happened and of course he shields you from the vigilante life, because he’d die before putting you at risk. so all he says is that he’s sorry, he was just distracted tonight.

“i’m sorry,” you sniff, cleaning his cuts and bandaging him up. he doesn’t even need you to be the one to apologise, he’ll gladly say sorry first if it’ll stop you being mad at him. “we argued before and now you’re hurt and—”

he reassures you it isn’t your fault and that he’s the one who’s sorry for upsetting you in the first place and then you’re kissing the bruise on his face and he’s enjoying the way it stings, because your lips are brushing against his skin and all he smells is your vanilla body lotion.

you don’t see the way his lips are twitching into a small, satisfied smirk when you cuddle up next to him and tuck your head under his chin, careful to avoid pressing on his injuries. you feel him relaxing, but you don’t know it’s because he’s gotten exactly what he wanted.

he really doesn’t want you blaming yourself, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way your hand was running through his hair.

“promise me you’ll be more careful, dick. i don’t want you getting yourself hurt this often anymore.”

“i promise i’ll try my best, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and warm as he traces circles on your thigh. he chuckles at the way you pout at him. “it’s not like i do it on purpose.”

a/n cont.; this is darker than anything else i’ve written but i literally couldn’t help it i thought abt this ages ago and then saw this on tiktok and it was like id been possessed:

[wttcsms]

sae, who only agreed to this date to appease his publicist. according to her, people are far more interested in hot athletes when they’re rumored to be dating someone, and that’s all this “date” is: an elaborate scheme to boost both his and his date’s publicity. he figures this date will be boring, so he gets rin to tag along. tells his publicist to spin a story abt the itoshi brothers going on a two-man for all he cares. he just wants to bond with rin, fix whatever weird energy is between them now that its evident rin’s not gonna outgrow his angsty emo teenager phase. he tells his date to bring a friend.

he doesn’t anticipate his date bringing you — international model and heiress. you’re rarely ever seen in public, but apparently you’re here as a favor to your best friend. that, and you’re apparently also a major soccer fan. sae’s used to people gushing over him, but he’s not sure what the feeling in his chest is whenever he sees you drop your nonchalant act and start animatedly chatting with rin about soccer. if you really wanted to know, you should’ve asked him.

or: sae, who spends more time focused on you (and by extension, his annoying younger brother) than the girl he’s supposed to pretend to be seeing

[venti-tangents]

General Rafayel Relationship Headcanons

F!MC, no use of Y/N. These are based on my interpretation of the text in Love and Deepspace

sfw

1. His works contains traces of his MC almost everywhere. Rafayel is known for not drawing humans, but that doesn’t stop him form incorporating his lover in everything he creates. Those who look closely will find the flow of the painted ocean to be similar to the flow of her hair, the colours of the fish lifted directly from her wardrobe—Rafayel’s devotion is clear in his paintings, for all to see.

Intertidal zone reveled a lot about how Raf gets inspiration for his craft—and how much of it comes form his MC (sometimes to the point where it concerns him)

2. He wants be around his lover at all times. They don’t have to be talking, touching or even directly interacting—just her presence is enough for him.

3. Cuddliest boyfriend on the planet. I think it takes a bit for his super cuddly side to come out, but when it does, he is almost always attached to his MC. He’s addicted to her warmth, and loves how soft she feels in his arms. Perhaps a small, yet ever growing part of him feels as though she will never forget him again, so long as he can keep her in his arms.

I just know that the MC and Rafayel are most annoying couple you know, if the recent event stories are anything to go by lol. They’re all over each other all the time

Abyssal Chaos gave us rafmc cuddling in front of a window, Tailwag Obsession gave us rafmc cuddling on the floor with a cat by their side, the list goes on and on

4. Banter never ends with this guy. No matter how long him and his MC have been together. On the other hand, long, philosophical discussions are also common place.

5. Raf can canonically sense his MC’s emotions. I read him to be incredibly emotionally mature, and knowing of what his MC needs, and how to provide it to her.

In many of his 4 star audio cards, Raf is shown taking care of MC emotionally. He pulls back when she needs quiet (Rainbow Strokes), is pushy when she’s hesitant, is reassuring when she feels insecure (flowery words). He pulls her out of the house when she’s down(sparkling traces), he lulls her to sleep when she needs him to (sleep aid, memory replay)

6. On the flip side, I think Rafayel loves to be pampered. He melts so easily when his MC provides him with reassuring words and actions (Omniscient perception, intertidal zone, sea god event story).

7. This is a bit of an underdeveloped thought in my head, but Rafayel has a rather possessive side, as shown in his most recent stories. The lumarian words he uses to describe his feelings for the MC literally translates to “You’re mine,” and he talks a lot about leaving his “mark” or “colour” on her.

I think he also likes being claimed by the MC—he wants her to possess him just as much as he possesses her. I wonder if part of this comes from his fear of taking too much from the MC, wanting too much from her, so her being possessive over him calms those fears

nsfw

1. I used to think of Raf as a switch top, but as I learned more about him, I would say he’s mostly a vanilla (no power exchange) verse (tops and bottoms/ gives and receives).

In other words, I think him and his MC don’t really exchange power in their dynamic outside of the sea god - devout follower bond. I think they’re very back and forth about giving and receiving, leading and following in almost every interaction they have.

When him and his MC do decide to play with power dynamics in bed, I think he leans towards taking the dominant role; as much as I love subby Raf, I can’t recall a time in the game where he *truly* summits to MC (in the context of bdsm dynamics). Even when the MC attempts to take control, he flips the dynamic the second she falters. Even when she ties him up (ie. Tipsy Invitation, Promised Wildfire), he makes demands of her in a way that goes further then provocation.

I’ve spoken on this before, back when gem affection came out, but I think Rafayel gets off on “turning the tables” on his lover. Very siren like of him

2. Body worship. He’s absolutely enamored with his lover’s body, obsessed with every part of it. He’ll leave kisses everywhere, so that even if his lover forgets him, her body will never forget his touch

On the other hand, he would love to have his body worshiped too. He wants his lover’s touch *everywhere*, to the point where he finds himself feeling the ghost of her lips all over his body long after their last encounter. In the moment, it serves as a reminder of her obsession with him, that his devotion is reciprocated. He is a god after all—what’s the job of a devout follower if not to worship her god.

3. Scent Kink. He’s OBSESSED with how his lover smells.

4. The biggest tease to ever tease. Off the top of my head, I think of fiery undercuts, but he’s a huge tease in all of his cards

5. I read Rafayel as an incredibly passionate lover. I think to him, intimacy is sacred—it’s not just pleasure to him, but rather him and his lover surrendering themselves to one another. It’s deeply romantic to him, and an exercise in trust

[tsundanire]

Whore

“Boo, you whore,” Dream groans as his beloved daughter slips out of his lap and trots towards George—actually trilling in greeting. 

“Well hello to you too gorgeous girl,” George replies, adding in the occasional meow when Patches responds. “Who’s the best, sweetest, most darlingest girl? Yes, it’s you. Don’t listen to Daddy. He’s just jealous you like me better.” 

“You’re a whore too, George. You both are.” Dream sighs, hands in the air like he’s giving up the fight.

George strides over, Patches tucked firmly in his arms. When he sits, it’s pressed right against Dream’s thigh. Where they touch is warm, and leaves Dream’s brain feeling a little fuzzy. 

“You okay?” It’s the first time George has broached the topic—one they steadfastly ignore out loud. 

Dream inhales, then exhales very slowly through his nose as he considers the shit show of the last few days. “I’m..” Dream opens and closes his mouth a few times but the words don’t come out.

Instead of saying anything, George slips his whole body into Dream’s lap. Patches is still wrapped in George’s arms, but they’re all huddled together now, with George’s head pressed to Dream’s chest. It takes a few minutes, but Dream can feel the tension and stress slowly melting away. 

“I think I should call Martin.” There’s a heavy weight to these words, and he knows George can feel it too. 

It’s like saying ‘I love you’ in so far as each word is innocuous on its own, but you put them together and say them to someone specific and it can change everything. And yet, saying them to George was still far easier than what he wants to do now.

“Do you want any help with that?” George replies, fully aware of the gravity of what Dream is saying. And Dream loves him even more for not making it out to be a huge deal. “I have nothing on for a bit so if you want me to go too?”

“No that’s—” Dream inhales again, exhaling a shaky breath. “It’s fine. I think we might be able to do it over video call.” 

Patches hears a sound in the distance and it has her scurrying out of George’s lap—probably Milo or Naomi, or God forbid..both. When she’s gone, and only George remains in his lap, Dream still feels surprisingly calm. 

“You know those whole emotional support pets?” George chews on his lip as he mulls the thought in his head. 

“Yeah? What, you think Patches? Nah, she’s great for me but neither of us are particularly great at actually going places.” Dream laughs quietly.

“No, I was wondering if they did that for people? Like emotional support people?” 

“Isn’t that just therapy?” 

“Idiot,” George huffs like he’s trying not to laugh, and is, instead, mildly annoyed that his idea was shot down. 

——

Later, when George is busy torturing Sapnap with his presence, Dream sits on his bed, his phone in hand, just staring at the call screen. It’s a stupid button, that’s all he had to press. But the weight was strong. 

At the door, a little trilling noise grabs his attention.

Patches pushes her way in, hopping onto the bed at his side. Immediately she sank into a loaf and purred, filling Dream with an almost ethereal calm. His large palm sinks into her fur, grounding himself in the vibrations of her pur. He hits ‘call’.  

“Hello?” Comes an older, cheerful male voice. 

“Dr Martin? It’s Clay. I-” Dream inhales like he’s gearing himself up to kill the Ender Dragon. “I’d like to schedule a therapy appointment with you.”

-END-

For @alittledizzy I hope this is fluffy enough. <3

[scoops-aboy86]

Here’s an out of the ordinary career option for Steve: teppanyaki chef. You know, the guys at Japanese hibachi restaurants that do the whole show of cooking your food right there at a big grill on the table and tossing food into people’s mouths and flipping their cooking implements like it’s no big. 

Inspired largely my the fact that I had teppanyaki earlier this week and the chef, in addition to flipping eggs into his hat and then onto his spatula to break them, was making shrimp fried rice and spelled “I” with the shrimp, “❤️” with the rice, and “U” either the veg and egg. 

Just picture Steve, in the goofy tall hat that does even fewer favors for his hair than the Scoops hat, doing that with the same goofy grin on his face as during the lightsaber handshake bit.

Maybe rockstar Eddie comes in with the band and an entourage one night. He notices Steve making silly faces back and forth with Robin (one of the bartenders or a seating host or something) across the room, and thinks it’s cute. He joins in making silly faces at Steve, who is *delighted* and 100% starts doing it back because usually the customers are too wrapped up in their own lives to notice. 

Robin is a little annoyed that her work buddy has been co-opted for the night, but once she gets a better look at Eddie she just rolls her eyes and laughs under her breath because he is definitely Steve’s type. Then her eyes move a fraction to the left and she notices Corroded Coffin’s manager, Chrissy Cunningham, and immediately goes 😍 for the rest of their stay.

Steve is supposed to spread his attention equally around the table, and he sort of does, but Eddie definitely gets more food tossed in his mouth than anyone else. Maybe he brought a date (possibly a groupie, possibly just someone willing to put out for a celebrity, he’d just sort of shrugged like “okay, sure” when they attached themself to him) for the evening that he’s totally ignoring, because as far as he’s concerned no one else is as interesting as the pretty chef. The date gets visibly more grumpy, which the rest of the band definitely notices, but they all just sort of roll their eyes and sigh because Steve is definitely Eddie’s type, sorry friend, don’t know what to tell ya. Eventually the date gets up saying they’re going to the bathroom, but they take their coat. It takes Eddie, like, half an hour to notice. 

And Steve keeps doing those little flippy things, like with his ice cream scoop and the nail bat, all. The. Time. It’s not even a gimicky restaurant thing, he’s just Like That. He says he can do it with anything and Gareth immediately produces drumsticks (I have never met a drummer who did not have drumsticks on them at all times, often even when another pair has been confiscated), and Steve takes about three seconds to figure out how to twirl them like a pro. Eddie is already removing a ring to propose. Chrissy makes some sort of comment about being in the color guard for marching band (in addition to cheerleading) and speculating whether Steve could spin a saber or rifle and he’s so confident he could do it that Eddie is like, “When is your next break, that could be our honeymoon baby” because he is going to eat this man alive. 

Suffice it to say, Steve ends the night with his dick sucked and within a week he’s gotten Chrissy’s number for Robin, who he’s been talking up incessantly. A month later, he puts Gareth in touch with Will about some sort of artistic commission that Gareth wants, which eventually leads to Will finally ending his pining over Mike streak. 

Steve has to formally apologize to Jeff and Doug for not having any more single friends to introduce them to, but he promises to keep an eye out. In the meantime, have they ever tried Purple Palm Tree Delight? Because he knows a guy…

[natsaffection]

Auge um Auge. p. 2 | N.R

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger! reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 6,4k

A/n: we are slowly getting to the point..

Natasha entered the small café, the familiar scent of freshly roasted beans and quiet murmurs wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She glanced at the barista behind the counter, ordered a black coffee, and found a seat at the bar. Her head was full of unanswered questions. The voice on the phone earlier had been polished, calculated, and far too composed. It had set off her instincts. She hated being at a disadvantage. And now, with her dead phone, she felt even further removed from the case.

As she waited for her coffee, her eyes wandered to a wall-mounted television above the counter. A breaking news report had caught the attention of a few patrons. On the screen, a news anchor spoke in a serious tone: “We continue our live coverage of the ongoing situation at the national bank, where an as-yet-unknown group of robbers has taken hostages. Details remain scarce, but sources confirm that the group is well-organized and heavily armed.”

The footage switched to shaky video of the bank exterior, where armed officers and barricades had been set up. Natasha herself briefly appeared in the footage, an image of her stepping out of a black SUV earlier that day. The caption read: “Agent Natasha Romanoff, FBI, leads negotiations.” She grimaced, annoyed at the media’s interference. The last thing she needed was her face plastered all over the news. Her coffee was served, and she took a long sip to collect herself.

“Tough day?” a voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts. Natasha looked up. A young woman stood nearby, holding a charger in her hand and smiling warmly. Natasha hesitated before replying. “You could say that.” The woman nodded toward Natasha’s phone on the table. “I noticed you staring at it like you were waiting for a miracle. Dead battery?” Natasha glanced at her phone and then back at the stranger. “Yes.”

“Here.” the woman said, stepping closer and offering her charger. “You can use mine.” Natasha’s instincts flared. She didn’t like accepting help from strangers, especially in the middle of a delicate situation. But the alternative was sitting in silence, stewing in her frustration. She took the charger with a curt nod. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” the woman replied. She sat at a nearby chair and pulled out her own phone. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway..” she added, nodding toward the television. Natasha followed her gaze. The broadcast had switched to a panel of commentators speculating about the robbers’ motives. Words like “calculated,” “anti-establishment,” and “dangerous” flashed on the screen.

“They’re turning it into a show.” the woman said casually, her eyes still on the television. “Whoever’s behind this knows exactly what they’re doing.”Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You seem pretty certain about that.” The woman shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “I mean, just..look at the timing. They didn’t pick any random day. This is deliberate, as the news said. They’re playing chess while everyone else is still playing checkers.”

Natasha studied her closely. There was something about her, something a little too self-assured, a little too relaxed. Most people wouldn’t start a conversation about a bank robbery with an FBI agent. “And you’re an expert on bank robberies?” Natasha asked coolly. The woman laughed softly and shook her head. “Not at all. I’m just good at reading people. It’s a habit.” She extended her hand. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Natasha hesitated, then shook her hand briefly. “Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said with a disarming smile. “You don’t have to answer, but… you’re involved in this, aren’t you? I mean, you were on TV.” Natasha stiffened slightly, her professional walls snapping back into place. “What makes you think that?” You gestured to the screen. “You just have this..presence. Like someone who’s used to handling high-pressure situations. And the whole ‘lead negotiator’ thing gives it away a bit too.” Natasha let out a dry laugh and shook her head. “The news always exaggerates.”

“Maybe..” you said, tilting your head. “But from what I can see, you seem like someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t know anything about me.” You shrugged and leaned back in your chair. “True. But I can tell you’re the kind of person who notices things others miss. The kind who doesn’t stop until they have the whole picture.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. The compliment was both flattering and unsettling. “And what’s your angle in all this?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “No angle. Just making conversation. But..if I were you, I’d think about why these people are doing this. It’s not just about the money. It never is.” The words hung in the air as Natasha considered them. You were good, too good at reading the situation for someone claiming to be just a casual observer. But Natasha couldn’t decide whether it was intuition or something else.

“Thanks for the charger.” Natasha said finally, standing up and pulling her phone from the outlet. “Anytime.” You replied lightly. “Good luck with..whatever you’re dealing with.” Natasha paused, her gaze lingering on you for a moment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye. But with the bank heist occupying her thoughts, she decided to let it go for now.

Once Natasha was out of sight, you leaned back in your chair, a satisfied smile on your lips. The encounter had gone exactly as planned. You planted the seed of curiosity and perhaps even doubt in Natasha’s mind. More importantly, you gotten the chance to observe Natasha up close. Your gaze returned to the television, where the news once again showed images of the bank. Your eyes lingered on Natasha’s image on the screen, her sharp features framed by the chaotic scene. “This is going to be interesting,”

Back in the tent, officers bustled between monitors and plans, their voices low but urgent. Natasha stood at the center of the room, arms crossed as she stared at a large screen displaying a live feed from outside the bank. “Still no movement?” she asked sharply, glancing at a young officer monitoring the cameras. “None. They’ve barricaded all entrances, and their signal jammer is still active. Nothing from the hostages either.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. It had been hours since her first call with Lisbon, and with each passing minute, the situation felt closer to disaster. She turned to the negotiator standing beside her. “Any progress?”

He shook his head. “They’re not answering the phone.” Natasha’s patience was at its end. She hated waiting, it gave her too much time to think, to doubt, to overanalyze. And right now, her instincts were screaming that she was missing something.

“Keep trying.” she ordered. “And get me a psychological profile on Lisbon. I want to know what drives him.” Meanwhile, inside the bank, the robbers were busy implementing the next phase of their plan. Nairobi and Rio worked in the printing area, carefully calibrating the machines. The hum of the presses filled the room, drowning out the muted murmurs of the hostages. Berlin, ever the perfectionist, strode through the atrium with calculated calm. He glanced at Denver, who stood guard near the hostages. “Keep them calm. If they panic, it’ll spread.” Denver nodded, spinning his weapon idly in his hands like a toy. “Got it.”

In the manager’s office, Tokyo leaned against the desk, her eyes glued to the monitors displaying various camera feeds. “Lisbon.” she called into her headset. “Any updates?” At a safehouse, you sat before your laptop, your headset snug over your ears. “The cops are getting restless. Romanoff’s in charge, and she’s sharp. She’s not buying into the manifesto distraction like we hoped.”

“Lissbon, Romanoff is on her way to the cafe again." said the professor through headphones. you sigh and head back to the café. At first, you didn’t think much of it when you were told you’d be sitting in the café near the bank for most of the robbery. But over time, it starts to feel like you live there.

Natasha ordered her usual black coffee and took the same seat at the counter, her thoughts racing as she replayed the day’s events. The news was still playing on the TV above the counter, but this time she ignored it, too absorbed in her thoughts. She pulled out her notebook and began jotting down ideas and observations.

“Tough day again?” asked a familiar voice. Natasha looked up sharply. It was the same young woman as before standing by her table with a coffee cup in hand. She carried the same casual confidence, but there was something about her..calculated. “You again.” Natasha said, her tone wary. “Do you live here or something?” You chuckled softly, gesturing to a nearby table. “Something like that. Mind if I sit?” Natasha hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. You took a seat across from her and sipped your coffee. You glanced at the notebook on the table, tilting your head. “You’re working again. You really don’t know how to take a break, do you?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m working?” You shrugged. “The focused look, the notes, the way you tap your pen like you’re trying to crack a code.” Natasha didn’t respond, her skepticism growing. This woman was too observant, too present. And now, she had shown up twice, both times during critical moments in the investigation. “Are you always this curious?” Natasha asked, her tone sharper than she intended. Your smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

“And what exactly is your occupation?” Natasha pressed, leaning forward slightly. “Oh, nothing exciting..” You replied nonchalantly. “I freelance. Mostly tech stuff.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. Tech. Her instincts screamed at her to dig deeper, but before she could respond, her phone vibrated on the table. She glanced at the screen, a message from the command tent.

As Natasha picked up her phone, You leaned back in your chair, your expression unreadable. This was the moment you have been waiting for. While Natasha was distracted, you discreetly slid a small USB drive onto the table, letting it fall just beside Natasha’s bag. The move was deliberate but casual, designed to look like an accident.

“Oops..” You said, bending down to pick it up. As you did, your hand brushed against Natasha’s bag, and you deftly slipped the ID card hanging from the strap into your palm. It was a bold move, but one you had practiced dozens of times. You straightened up, holding the USB drive with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Butterfingers. Natasha gave her a mildly suspicious look. Something about the moment felt off. “Do you always carry USB drives around?” Natasha asked. You shrugged. “Part of the job. Tech stuff, remember?”

Natasha thought carefully. Your timing, your confidence, your casual remarks? It was too much of a coincidence. And then there was the USB drive. Tech stuff..Lisbon was a tech expert. Could there be a connection? “Where were you this morning?” Natasha asked suddenly, her voice sharp. You blinked, visibly caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” Natasha said, her eyes boring into Y/N’s. “Where were you?”

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business..?” You replied, your tone calm but defensive. Natasha’s coffee sat untouched as she fixed You with an intense stare. The timing was too perfect. Your tech background, the way you navigated conversations..it all pointed to something bigger. Her instincts were screaming at her: this was no coincidence. “You haven’t answered my question.” Natasha said, her voice low but authoritative. “Where were you earlier today?” You blinked again, visibly confused. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters because you’ve shown up here twice now, and each time, there’s something off about you. You’re too calm, too observant. Who are you really?” You sat up straighter, your brows furrowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just-“ Before you could finish, Natasha abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sudden movement drew the attention of a few other patrons, but Natasha didn’t care. She stepped closer to you, gripping your arm. “W-What the hell are you doing?” You asked, your voice panicked as Natasha’s grip tightened. “Let me go!”

Natasha maneuvered you to stand, lightly pressing you against the wall near the counter. Her hand rested on your shoulder, blocking others’ view of the confrontation. “You’re hiding something.” Natasha growled, her voice low but intense. “And I don’t have time for games.“

“I’m nobody!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as you stared at Natasha with wide, frightened eyes. “I-Idon’t know what you’re talking about! I was just trying to help you!” Natasha’s jaw tightened as she studied your face, searching for any hint of deception. Her instincts told her you weren’t innocent, but there was something about you. Something raw and genuine. You looked so young, so honestly terrified.

“I..I just wanted to help..” you repeated, your voice trembling. “With the charger. That’s all. I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I haven’t done anything.” Natasha hesitated. The quiver in your voice, the glimmer of tears in your eyes, it struck a chord in her. The iron wall of her professional demeanor cracked, and doubt began to seep through.

“What’s going on here?” The barista approached quickly, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. She looked from Natasha to you, still pressed against the wall. “Sarah, please, do s-something!” you pleaded, your voice shaky but sharp. Natasha’s hand fell from your shoulder, her expression momentarily uncertain. “She’s hiding something. There’s something about her that doesn’t add up.”

“Hiding?” the barista echoed, her brow furrowed. “Ma’am, I see Y/n here almost every day. She always sits at that table over there, works on her laptop, drinks the same coffee. She’s not a criminal, if that’s what you’re implying.” Natasha’s lips parted slightly, the weight of the barista’s words hitting her like a punch. She glanced back at you, and now you looked more vulnerable than ever, your arms crossed protectively over your chest.

“Is that true?” Natasha asked softly. “Yes!” you snapped. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I’m not a threat. I’m no one!” Natasha took a step back, running a hand over her face. The adrenaline of the confrontation ebbed, leaving behind a nagging sense of guilt. What had she just done? “I..” Natasha began, faltering as she searched for the right words. She looked at you, your wide, hurt eyes still fixed on her. “Shit, i’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I was wrong.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your hands trembling slightly as you adjusted your jacket. “You think?” The barista crossed her arms, glaring at Natasha. “You should leave. Now.” Natasha raised a hand, her tone softening. “Wait. Please.” She turned back to you, her green eyes filled with remorse. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have..I thought you were someone else. That’s no excuse, but I made a mistake.” You still wouldn’t look at her. “A mistake? You cornered me, scared me half to death, and you call that a mistake?”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right. I crossed a line. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m sorry.” The sincerity in her voice gave you pause. Finally, you looked up, your gaze lingering on Natasha’s face. “This won’t happen again, will it?”

“No..” Natasha said firmly. “I swear it.” You exhaled shakily. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle another ‘mistake’ like that.” Natasha nodded slightly and grabbed her things to leave the café. She had let her frustration cloud her judgment, and it had almost cost her. Inside the café, you sank back into your chair, your thoughts racing. Despite the encounter being part of the plan, Natasha’s intensity had still caught you off guard. Your heart was still pounding, but a small, triumphant smile crept onto your face. You had used the time to plant the tracker in her ID card, ensuring that any computer she used would now send its data directly to you.

“I did it..” you murmured softly to yourself, taking a sip of your coffee. “Hook, line, and sinker.” The barista returned, her expression concerned. “Are you okay? That woman was intense.” You nodded, your voice calm but quiet. “Yeah. Thanks for stepping in. I think she was just..stressed or something.”

“Still..” the barista muttered, shaking her head as she walked back to the counter. “People really need to learn some manners.” You watched her go before turning to look out the window, where Natasha’s figure disappeared into the distance. Her apology had felt genuine, and for a brief moment, you almost felt bad about deceiving her.

But only for a moment.

Hours had passed since Natasha’s tense encounter with you at the café. Back at the command tent, the atmosphere was still tense as officers pored over blueprints, monitored live feeds, and updated Natasha on the robbers’ movements. She stood at the center of the chaos, issuing orders with calm authority. “Any updates from the negotiator?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the live drone footage of the bank.

“No response yet.” an officer replied. “They’re still blocking us.” Natasha exhaled and crossed her arms. The robbers’ silence was unnerving, and her gut told her they were planning something big. She turned to a tactical officer at another station. “I want a perimeter check in twenty minutes. We can’t afford any blind spots.”

She stood in front of the evidence board, arms crossed, staring at the clues laid out before her. But none of it was sinking in. Her jaw was tight, her frustration from earlier still simmering under the surface. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the café. To the moment you flinched when she raised her voice. To the confused, almost hurt look in your eyes. She was just a kid, Natasha thought bitterly. And I snapped at her like she was a suspect.

“Natasha..” Maria’s sharp voice cut through her reverie, tinged with curiosity. “What’s going on with you?” Natasha blinked, tearing her gaze away from the evidence board. “What do you mean?” Maria crossed her arms, studying Natasha closely. “You’ve been distracted the whole time. You didn’t even notice when Hillman suggested reviewing the hostage profiles.”

Natasha let out a sharp breath and ran a hand over her face. “I’m fine. Just..scattered.” Maria raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Scattered? Or something else? You’ve been off your game since you came back from the café.” Natasha stiffened, but the way Maria said it made her heart sink. She turned away, trying to focus on the evidence again. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing..” Maria insisted, stepping closer. Her voice softened. “Come on, Nat. Talk to me.” Natasha hesitated, her shoulders tense. Finally, she muttered, “I think I overreacted. To someone who didn’t deserve it.” Maria frowned and leaned against the edge of the table. “What happened?”

“There was this..girl.” Natasha admitted, her voice low. “At the café. I thought she might be hiding something, but she wasn’t. She was just sitting there, minding her own business. I was frustrated, and…” She sighed, shaking her head. “I intimidated her.” Maria tilted her head, watching Natasha with a sympathetic expression. “You’re only human, Natasha. Mistakes happen.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. “She looked so scared, like I was about to arrest her. And for what? Sitting in a café? She didn’t deserve that.”

Maria was silent for a moment before speaking. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, Nat. And I’m guessing that girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you can’t let it eat you up. Let it go. We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Natasha nodded, but as Maria walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed you more than just an apology..

You sat at your usual spot in the corner, your laptop open in front of you. The trap you’d set for Natasha had worked perfectly, and now the flood of incoming data was organizing itself neatly into folders on your screen. Police reports, internal communications, tactical maps..everything Natasha had been working on in the command tent was now in your hands. You leaned closer to the screen, your lips pressed into a thin line as you scrolled through the files.

This is gold, you thought, clicking on a folder labeled Command Session Protocols. Inside, you found detailed summaries of police strategy, schedules, and assignments. You smiled to yourself as you saved the files into an encrypted folder on your own system. Just as you reached for your coffee cup, the scrape of a chair startled you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up and saw none other than Natasha sitting across from you. The agent held a steaming cup of black coffee in her hand, her sharp green eyes fixed on you, though they didn’t seem hostile. You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Natasha said, taking a sip from her cup.

“Uh-hi..” you managed to stammer, quickly snapping your laptop shut and leaning back in your chair. You tried to compose yourself, but the shock lingered. You hadn’t seen Natasha come in, hadn’t even felt her presence until she was already there. Natasha smiled faintly, clearly noting your surprise. “Didn’t expect to see me here, did you?”

“Not really.” you admitted, your voice regaining a bit of steadiness. Tilting your head, you slipped back into your usual charm. “I figured someone like you would be too busy running the show to take a break.” Natasha chuckled softly and set her cup down. “Even I need a moment to breathe sometimes.”

A brief silence fell between you as Natasha studied you. You worked hard to appear casual, even as your mind raced. You wondered how much Natasha suspected, or if this was just another coincidence. “How’s your day going?” you asked lightly. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Why not?” you asked with a small laugh. “You seemed pretty stressed the last time I saw you. Thought I’d check in.” Natasha shook her head, smiling slightly. “You’re something else, you know that? I corner you, nearly arrest you, and here you are asking how I’m doing.”

“Well..” you said with a grin, “you apologized, so I figured we’re even, right?” Natasha chuckled, her shoulders relaxing. “You have a unique way of looking at the world.”

“Makes life more interesting.” you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. “Besides, I think it’s good for someone to ask how you’re doing for a change. You seem like the type who worries more about everyone else than yourself.” Natasha’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “You’re not wrong.” You tilted your head, genuinely curious. “So? How are you?” Natasha hesitated, as though weighing whether to answer. Finally, she shrugged. “I’ve had better weeks. The situation at the mint isn’t exactly going according to plan.”

“Figured as much,” you said, your tone light but not mocking. “You seem like someone who hates it when things don’t go the way you want.” Natasha smirked. “You’re not wrong about that, either.” You both laughed, the tension between you slowly dissipating. For a moment, it was easy to forget you were on opposite sides of a high-stakes game.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself genuinely enjoying Natasha’s company. She wasn’t just the sharp, intimidating agent from the tent..beneath the armor was warmth, a quiet strength you couldn’t help but admire. Natasha, too, noticed the shift. Something about your direct, candid demeanor was refreshing, your refusal to tiptoe around sensitive topics. It was a rarity in her world. “You’re interesting.” Natasha said suddenly, her tone thoughtful. You raised an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“You don’t back down.” Natasha replied. “Most people would’ve run a mile after what happened earlier. But you’re still here, like none of it fazed you.”

“Oh, it fazed me.” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I figured you were just having a bad day. Plus, you apologized. And I have a soft spot for good apologies.” Natasha laughed, shaking her head. “You really are something.”

“I get that a lot.” you said with a grin. As the conversation wound down, Natasha felt a strange sense of calm. She couldn’t explain it, but being around you made her feel..lighter, somehow. It was a dangerous feeling, one she couldn’t afford. And yet, she hesitated. “Well.” Natasha said finally, finishing her coffee. “I should get back to work.”

“Saving the world and all that?” you teased. “Something like that,” Natasha replied as she stood. She gave you one last look, her expression softer. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too.” you said, your smile warm. As Natasha left the café, you let out a slow breath, your heart still pounding. Opening your laptop again, you stared at the stolen files. The weight of what you were doing pressed heavily on you, but you shook it off. It’s just a job, you reminded yourself. Don’t get sentimental. But as you watched Natasha walk away, you couldn’t help but wonder if you already were.

A day went by and the robbers had gone silent again, and the clock was ticking. Natasha sat at her laptop open and fingers poised on the keyboard as she scrolled through surveillance reports. Her green eyes narrowed, focused but heavy with fatigue. A sudden ping broke her concentration. She frowned, looking at the notification on her laptop. It wasn’t from the internal system, this was something else. The subject line was blank, and the sender’s email address was an untraceable string of numbers and letters.

Natasha hesitated, her instincts instantly on alert. She glanced around the tent, ensuring no one else had noticed the message. With a deep breath, she clicked it open. The message was short and cryptic:

Check Camera 3, Sector D. You’re being watched.

Her heart skipped a beat. A quick glance at the room confirmed no one else had seen the email. She tapped a few keys, pulling up Camera 3’s feed. Who sent this? And how do they know about the cameras? Leaning back in her chair, Natasha considered her options. Whoever had sent this wasn’t part of her team. Was it one of the robbers playing games? Or..someone else? She typed a quick reply, her fingers moving instinctively.

Who is this?

The reply came almost instantly:

Someone who sees what you don’t.

She wasn’t sure if it was a trap or a genuine lead, but her instincts told her to check. Turning to the nearest officer, she barked, “Pull up the south rooftop on Sector C. Now.” Within seconds, the thermal feed for the rooftop appeared on the screen. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place. But then a faint heat signature flickered near the edge of the building. “Zoom in.” Natasha ordered.

The image enhanced, revealing a figure crouched low, partially obscured by a vent. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the unmistakable glint of a weapon. “Sniper..” she muttered. “Get a team up there now.” The tent sprang into action, but Natasha was already focused back on her laptop. She typed again.

How did you know that?

The reply was quick:

I have my ways. :)

Natasha smirked faintly, though suspicion still tugged at her. She had a feeling she knew who was behind this. There was only one person who had the audacity to meddle in her investigation like this.

She typed again.

Let me guess. Sitting in a café right now?

For a moment, there was no response. Then:

Maybe. Should I order you something? ^^

Natasha let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Unbelievable. She closed her laptop with a decisive snap and grabbed her jacket. “I’m stepping out.” she told her team, her voice clipped but calm. “Keep me updated.”

The café was quiet, its usual hum subdued in the late hour. Natasha spotted her target immediately. You were sitting in your usual corner, your laptop open, fingers lazily typing as if you didn’t have a care in the world. The sight was almost comical. Natasha approached, crossing the room with her usual purposeful stride. You looked up as the agent reached your table, your expression shifting from mild surprise to a wry smile. “There she is.” you said smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “Didn’t expect you to stop by this fast.”

“Didn’t expect you to send me an anonymous email.” Natasha shot back, one brow arched. “Or are you in the habit of hacking federal networks for fun?” Your smile widened as you gestured to the empty chair across from you. “Depends. Did it work?” Natasha paused for a moment before pulling out the chair and sitting down, her green eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re lucky it did. Otherwise, this conversation would be going very differently.”

“Lucky?” you tilted your head, your tone playful. “I think you mean skilled.” Natasha couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to pull something like that. You don’t exactly scream ‘hacker extraordinaire.”

“People are full of surprises..” you replied, shrugging. “I just happen to have a knack for seeing things others don’t.”

“Like the sniper.” Natasha said, leaning forward slightly. “How did you know about that?” You hesitated, your playful demeanor faltering for just a second. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation.” you admitted. “The robbers, the police..you. I noticed the patterns in their movements, and… I wanted to help.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Help? By hacking into a federal system and sending cryptic emails?”

You met her gaze evenly. “Would you have listened to me otherwise?” Natasha didn’t answer right away. She hated to admit it, but you had a point. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re playing a dangerous game.” You leaned forward, your voice soft but firm. “I’m not playing. Those people in the bank- hostages don’t have time for bureaucracy and red tape. You’re good, Agent Romanoff. But even you can’t see everything.”

For a moment, Natasha didn’t respond, studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. There was something undeniably impressive about your confidence, your skill. But there was also something reckless, something that could get you in serious trouble. “You’re smarter than you look.” Natasha said finally, her tone lighter. “But you’re also reckless.”

“Reckless gets results.” you shot back, grinning. “And it got your attention, didn’t it?” Natasha shook her head, laughing quietly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know..” you said with a shrug, leaning back in your chair. “So, what now? Are you going to arrest me?” Natasha smirked. “Not tonight. But if you pull another stunt like this, I might reconsider.” You grinned, raising your coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

Natasha stood, her expression thoughtful as she looked down at you. “You’ve got talent. I’ll give you that. But if you’re serious about helping, you need to stop sneaking around and work with me.” You raised an eyebrow. “Work with you?”

“You heard me.” Natasha said. “You’ve already proven you can spot things we miss. Use that skill the right way.” Natasha sat down again, her curiosity piqued. You had proven yourself capable almost dangerously so, and Natasha wasn’t the type to let something like that go unquestioned. Crossing her arms, she leaned forward slightly, her green eyes fixed on you.

“You know..” Natasha began, her voice even, “people don’t just wake up one day and decide to hack federal systems. How’d you learn to do all this?” You hesitated, your fingers toying with the edge of your coffee cup. “It’s not exactly a fun story,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off. Natasha raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Humor me.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. For a moment, you stared at your laptop, as if debating whether to answer. Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter, tinged with something Natasha couldn’t quite place, bitterness, maybe, or sadness. “I didn’t have much of a choice.” you said, your gaze fixed on the table. “I was on my own by the time I was nineteen. No family, no safety net. I had to figure out how to survive.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t interrupt. “I wasn’t exactly the nine-to-five type.” you continued, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “So I started picking up skills. Little things at first, how to crack a Wi-Fi password, how to fake a document or two. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept the lights on.”

“Sounds more like survival than a career choice.” Natasha said softly. You shrugged. “It was. But somewhere along the way, I realized I was good at it, really good. I could see patterns other people missed, find loopholes no one else thought to look for. It became…I don’t know, a way to take control of my life. When you don’t have much, knowing you can outthink the system? That’s power.”

Natasha nodded slowly, sensing there was more to the story but not wanting to push too hard. “And that’s how you ended up here?” You let out a short laugh. “Not exactly. I stopped doing illegal stuff a long time ago, if that’s what you’re asking. These days, it’s more about staying curious. Finding puzzles to solve.” You gestured toward Natasha. “And you? You’re one hell of a puzzle.” Natasha smirked faintly, though her gaze softened. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” you asked, tilting your head. “Some basement-dwelling computer geek?”

“Something like that.” Natasha admitted with a small chuckle. “Not someone like you.” You shrugged, your smile faint but genuine. “Life doesn’t exactly hand out guidebooks. You make do with what you’ve got.” There was a pause, a moment of quiet understanding between you. Natasha could tell you were holding back there was more to your story, more pain buried beneath the surface, but she didn’t press. She knew what it was like to guard your past, to only share the pieces you were ready to reveal.

“You’re impressive.” Natasha said finally, her tone softer than before. “I’ll give you that. But you need to be careful. Pulling stunts like this..hacking into federal systems, sending anonymous messages, it’s not going to end well for you. You met Natasha’s gaze, your eyes steady. “I knew the risks when I sent that email. I just thought…maybe you’d understand.”

Natasha’s expression flickered, a hint of something unspoken passing across her face. “I do.” she said quietly. You blinked, surprised by the honesty in Natasha’s voice. “But if you really want to help..” Natasha continued, “then you need to work with me, not around me. No more anonymous emails. No more hacking my system. We do this the right way.” You hesitated, searching Natasha’s face for any sign of deception. Finding none, you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Natasha leaned back, studying you carefully. “Why’d you really do it? Helping with the sniper, I mean. Why take that risk?” You exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I know what it’s like to feel trapped. To think no one’s coming to help you.” You paused, swallowing hard. “Those hostages… they don’t deserve that.” For the first time, Natasha saw a crack in your armor, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. She nodded, her voice softer. “Neither did you.”

You looked down, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup. “I got through it. Doesn’t mean it was easy.” Natasha’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, a quiet respect forming between you. She stood, pulling her jacket over her shoulders. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for. Just…don’t waste it.”

You looked up, a flicker of warmth in your eyes. “You’re not as intimidating as you think, you know. Natasha smirked, her signature confidence returning. “Don’t push your luck.” As Natasha walked toward the door, she paused and glanced back. “I’ll be in touch.”

You raised your coffee in a mock toast. “I’ll be here.”As Natasha left, a faint smile tugged at her lips. You weren’t just a hacker or a nuisance. You were a survivor..sharp, resourceful, and far more than you appeared. And Natasha couldn’t help but be impressed.

[canideformed]

No ill will because I can (somewhat) understand the sentiment—but this is a problematic attitude.

I get it. I know. People on the internet are dicks. Everything is going to offend someone. But if you hesitate to do something because a hypothetical person might get mad at you… that’s not good. Especially when said thing you’re now hesitating to do is represent a minority.

Because here’s the thing. Yes, somebody might get mad. But if nobody steps up for a minority because they’re scared of what people (who probably mostly aren’t even going to be part of said minority) will say, that is not a good thing. People should be okay making mistakes and not being universally loved. You should be able to take a few annoying assholes online at the cost of giving a minority a positive representation. The fact that some people aren’t only leads me to assume it’s because of a lack of emotional maturity or some sort of bigoted attitude. Again, I don’t mean anything bad by it. Me pointing out an attitude that isn’t great, that it might potentially be bigoted or a result of emotional immaturity, is not meant to be negative per se. I’m just pointing it out because this is not an attitude I find productive.

And look, if you’re not part of a minority you’re representing, the fact is that you may get something wrong. Even people who are parts of the minorities they’re representing can perpetuate bigotry. But accidentally fucking up when trying to put more representation of a minority out into the world and learning from your mistakes is 1,000x better than 1. never standing up for anybody or representing diversity because you don’t want to be criticised and 2. never fucking up and thus never learning that that attitude/stereotype is flawed in the first place.

And like, again. You can always ask people. You can ask me about being physically disabled, deformed, and a cane user. You can ask me about being intersex and trans. There are people you can go to to ask about this stuff. And our opinions should matter more to you than internet asshole #49672.

Really wish I saw more art of deformed characters. More diversity in bodies. I feel like people are scared to draw us because they’re worried they’ll do it wrong or something. But 1. wrong and trying is better than nothing, and 2. you can always ask somebody for input. There are always people who are willing to answer your questions, you just have to find them. My asks are always open and I know a to of other people who are like that, too.

[gotham-daydreams]

Suspicions

Day 3 {Challenge Masterlist}

Getting close, but not close enough. Something's wrong here. How could they have known? Who did this?

[Yandere Batfam × Gender Neutral! Cop Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of suicide (only briefly talked about in dialog), cults, occult like acctivites, weird behavior (?), arson (sort of).] (Note: Unless otherwise specified, it's to be believed that actions involved with harming, hurting, or heavily injuring the self are not talking about the Batfamily or the reader. Still, you have been warned.)

------------

Unlike the previous two days, this one starts off rather eventful - which is honestly more common and normal than anyone in the Wayne family liked to admit, but really, it wasn’t their fault they all just worked better in chaos. Nevertheless, for those that weren’t up already, the day is smooth sailing until they exit their rooms - or wherever they slept - and are left to find what’s happened in the batcave.

Tim is one of the last to find out, as he just gets his slow morning started - grabbing a cup of tea to help him wake up instead of coffee, rubbing his eyes to get the tiredness out of them, and starting things off officially with a plate of breakfast. Once that’s done and out of the way, he finally gives himself a good, simple stretch before heading down to the batcave. It’s only there, does he see the mess unfolding.

It’s subtle, sure, but with how long Tim has technically been a Wayne, well, he can tell when something’s going on. Bruce is drinking coffee, and Cassandra, while out of the suit, already looks to be itching to put it back on again. Tim noticed that Stephanie had slept over while he was on his way to the kitchen earlier, but didn’t think much about it - though what caught his attention was the fact that not only was Jason here, but that he was awake. Huh.

“What’s going on here?” Tim asks, voice having its usual echo as he takes a sip of his tea, approaching the little crowd by the batcomputer - taking note of Barbara’s presence as well, have any of them slept?

Cassandra seems to take note of him first, and perks up, though just as she goes to supposedly explain what they’re doing, Jason cuts her off. Instead, he straightens himself out, and asks, “Hey, have you or any of your birds seen anyone weird around, lately? Like, extra shady or just new? Like they come from out of the city?”

Tim raises a brow at the question, “This is Gotham? Every other person looks like someone shady- and what does ‘extra shady’ even mean? And besides, Gotham is a big city, newcomers come in and out everyday,” he points out, and though his response only gets an annoyed groan out of Jason, he can’t help but remain curious, “why? What’s going on this time?”

Jason seems to ignore Tim’s own question, and instead asks, “Okay, have you seen anyone with some weird symbol on them? Something simple that represents a sun, maybe on their neck, wrists, arm, or just some exposed part of their body?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t,” Just as Jason looks like he’s going to throw something, or someone, Tim adds, “but I think a few of the birds have, and- hey, some new officers came in from Metropolis, right? What’s up with that?”

Just as Jason goes to open his mouth again, Cassandra gives him a nudge, and gestures for Tim to come over.

From there, he’s given the gist, and he has the reasonable reaction of just, being confused. While he understands what’s going on, what he doesn’t get is the supposed group itself. While they do seem to be working towards this ‘Red Dawn’, is it something they’re working towards, or merely preparing for? Is there something on that specific day that will happen, and will allow… well, whatever they’re hoping for, to happen? There are a lot of things that are undetermined, but Tim is on board with the general goal - they have to learn more about these people, what they want, and put a stop to it since it has to be something bad that people are killing themselves over it. You were right when you said that the only people they were hurting were themselves, but they were still people, and what if their influence spreads? What if they rope in more people, only for them to die-

Duke rushes into the cave, a smile of sorts on his face and he hurries around the space, gathering a few things here and there - mostly his gear, but some other things too - quickly, as if in a hurry. It was hard not to notice, seeing as he was the only real movement going on in the room and it drew the attention of those at the computer. Tim was the first to question it, asking, “What’s the rush?”

“Patrol!” It was an easy enough answer, but something felt off about it, though Tim couldn’t put a finger on it - no one really could, but those that were paying more attention did notice something.

“Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?” Barbara points out, and Duke pauses, chuckling briefly before grabbing his helmet.

“Right- thanks! Anyway, gotta go-!” With that, the young vigilante rushes out of the cave after hurriedly putting on his suit and gear. A few of those in the cave stare, raising a couple of brows or just looking confused before ultimately returning to what they were doing – even if such a sight weirded them out. Cassandra, however, couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at the sight as she watched Duke rush out of the cave.

He seemed… really excited to be going on patrol… hm.

Duke could hardly focus on where his feet were going as he rushed out of the house, a warm sort of feeling blooming in his chest as he made his way out of the cave, and through the front door – nearly bumping into someone on the way out. Even if he was able to just barely move out of the way, a quick, “Sorry! I’ve really got to go, Selina!” Leaves him, the words tumbling out of his mouth like how he almost trips over the single step in front of the door. Leaving behind a confused but amused catwoman all the while.

Getting to the city is easy enough, and even more so with a small tug in his chest seemingly guiding Duke somewhere. Does he know where? Not particularly, but he can’t help but have a good feeling about this.

Dropping down in an alley, Duke peaks around a corner to get a glimpse of the city before slipping out – only to bump into someone… somehow.

Shaking it off, he goes to say something – only to stop himself when he sees who it is, what a coincidence. “Oh, [Last Name], what’re you doing here?”

You glance over your shoulder, and raise your brow at the sight of the teenager, “Grabbing breakfast? Why else would I be waiting in line at this breakfast spot?” A small, amused chuckle escapes you as you offer a hand to help him up, and it’s only then that Duke notices he fell at all.

“Oh! Yeah, that… um, makes sense?” Grasping your hand, he pulls himself up and glances to the side awkwardly. This wasn’t very professional, was it? As a vigilante, he was supposed to be better than this – and more, well, vigilant! He had to get it together, he couldn’t embarrass himself in front of you!

Clearing his throat, Duke meets your eyes once again, “Seems like things are busy here, huh?” Just what the hell was he trying to do? Duke couldn’t understand – he had patrol to do, he couldn’t just sit here and make small talk-

“I guess you could say that, it does seem busier than it has been the last few days, but nevermind that- what’re you doing here, Thomas?” Your grip loosens on his hand, but Duke can’t find it in himself to let go. Not after what you just said, and so casually at that – like knowing his secret identity was common knowledge and not, well, secret!

Duke’s mind races, with him staring at you like your face alone will provide all the answers, and in the midst of his disbelief, a breathless, stunned, “What?” Slips past his lips, and your brows seem to furrow.

“Is something wrong, Thomas-?”

“How-” Duke can barely even speak, his eyes blown wide. He wants to pull away, but it’s like your hand is the only thing keeping him grounded – making him almost hate how real it feels, especially as his hold tightens. With him now grasping onto it like he’s both afraid to let go, and desperate to cling onto something, but what? Duke doesn’t know. Hell, he’s almost scared to know, and that confuses him even more. “How do you know who I am?” It’s a simple question, but it’s spoken so quietly and hesitantly that it’s like Duke himself is unsure if he should’ve spoken at all, or if he even said it to begin with. As if, for a moment, he couldn’t tell if he managed to speak at all, or if his eyes and the way his hand shook had asked the question for him.

It’s beyond confusing, and honestly making Duke’s head hurt the more he tries to make sense of everything. The world spins, and yet zeros in on this moment at the same time, and Duke almost feels like he’s about to fall or even collapse all over again-

Then, he sees your smile and how you turn more towards him, and it’s like he can breathe all over again.

“Well, you’re adopted- or at least being taken care of by Mr. Wayne- aren’t you? It’s pretty hard to not know you, Thomas, especially in Gotham. Which- is sort of like Mr. Wayne’s little empire, don’t you think?” You respond easily, words almost playful as you carefully rest your other hand over his – most would pull away or tell him to stop because of how much it hurts, but you don’t. Almost like you can’t feel it, or just see how much the small action means to him – to hold onto something steady, unmoving, and undeniably real in this moment of confusion, dread, and fear. Maybe it’s both, but who’s to say.

Duke struggles to respond, only managing to stutter out an, “I-” a few times before you decide to spare him once more.

“Granted, I’m surprised to see you out and about so early. A growing boy like you needs his rest, doesn’t he?” Your fingers brush against the back of his hand, and it’s only then that Duke realizes that he’s feeling it on his skin, not though his gloves or suit – and he finally looks down. When… did he put on civilian clothes?

Regardless, he can’t help but ease. The tight tension in his shoulders drops, and Duke exhales, relieved. “Right- well, I was just out grabbing a quick bite to eat. Always good to get outta the house, yeah?” He replies easily, the excuse coming easy to him – and as if on cue, his stomach rumbles… Did he eat breakfast this morning? When’s the last time he’s forgotten something like that?

Your expression softens, and you give a small shrug, “‘Suppose you’re right, can’t really argue with that.” You glance down at his stomach before looking back at the teen, and pull your hand back – an action that makes Duke’s hand twitch before he lets it fall back to his side. “How about you join me?”

Duke can’t help but be taken aback by your request, and stammers a little as he straightens up and says, “I couldn’t- I can’t-”

“Oh, c’mon. It’ll just be a little bite, and besides, I’ve already got a table. Breakfast’s on me, yeah?”

“I really shouldn’t-”

“[Last Name]?” A waiter calls out, causing you to perk up.

“Ah, that must be it! Now, c’mon,” you gesture for Duke to follow you inside, “I promise I won’t keep you long. But consider this my thanks for yesterday- I definitely underestimate how big Gotham really is.”

The young vigilante hesitates, unsure if he should follow you or try to decline again. After all, he still had patrol – and with this weird group going around, he couldn’t afford to just go off and push aside his duty for breakfast, could he? In situations like this, it was best to stay on top of things and remain vigilant, wasn’t it?

Duke feels his stomach growl much more insistently this time, and he can practically feel the painful pinch of the void growing inside it… It wouldn’t be good if he did patrol on an empty stomach, would it? After all, he had to be in top shape to properly perform his duties, right? Being on an empty stomach wouldn’t do him any good, and would only hinder him further…

“You comin’, Thomas?” The teen’s feet before he could fully process your words, but he offers a nod and agreement all the same.

Bruce would understand, right?

The waiter leads you and Duke to a booth, and from there, things go smoothly. The silence isn’t as bad as one would think, and for those that didn’t know any better – they’d think you were friends or had some friendly relation since conversation flowed seamlessly and easily. It wasn’t long before your orders were made, with you encouraging Duke to order whatever he liked, and the wait was practically nonexistent. Though, that’s only to be expected when you two got along so well. It may have been weird in any other circumstance, but here, it wasn’t. It was natural, just like everything else was.

Really, only those on the outside looking in could notice anything, and someone eventually did.

Cassandra had felt that something was weird, and with how Duke’s body language had read this morning, she couldn’t help but be curious. Not to mention worried, especially since they had enough things to worry about. So, seeing her brother eating with a cop from Metropolis was… weird to say the least. It felt weirder knowing it was you for some reason, but she couldn’t explain why. You couldn’t have possibly been the reason for Duke’s excitement, could you? No, that didn’t make any sense – unless… you knew each other previously? Would Duke have left something like that out?

Just seeing something like this spawned too many questions, and Cassandra wasn’t getting any from standing across the street. Especially not when your body language reads as calm, happy, and oddly enough – full of energy, along with a trace of confidence. With Duke being almost… too happy, too calm and content for someone that was supposed to be a stranger. You were helping them on the case, of course, but they didn’t know you as civilians. They weren’t supposed to, and yet Duke didn’t have the suit on – where was it?

… She could stand there until you both left, but something told her that wasn’t going to get her anywhere either. Something told her that she had to approach, if only to confront you and get Duke out of there herself. To help him get back on track if anything, and to get some sort of explanation if she was smart about things.

So, approaching the establishment, Cassandra steps inside and wastes no time heading over to where you and Duke are sitting. Resisting the urge to just grab you by the collar and get answers out of you, she simple rests a hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze – which is more than enough to grab your attention.

Looking up at her, a confused expression passes by before another bright smile rests and makes itself home on your face. “Ah, You must be Cain, correct? Or would you prefer Cain-Wayne?” A light laugh escapes as you add, “It’s a bit of a tongue twister, but the choice is really yours, young one.”

Surprised, Cassandra can’t help but blink before her expression hardens and he brows furrow. Taking note of her confusion, you simply say, “I haven’t been here for long, but word travels fast in Gotham! Besides, who wouldn’t know about the children Mr. Wayne has taken in? You’re all a very common topic amongst the city folk, and from your expression – I’m willing to assume you’re surprised to hear that.” There was something in your tone that made those last few words of yours almost sound sarcastic. Cassandra couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it made her narrow her eyes all the same. What were you trying to get at-?

“Cass?” Hearing Duke’s voice makes Cassandra glance at him for a moment, and the look in his eyes rubs her the wrong way. He shouldn’t have an expression like that, not for a stranger, even if you are from Metropolis. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were still… home.” The small pause in his words doesn’t slip past her, and it certainly doesn’t make Cassandra feel any better either, but it isn’t enough to make her leave.

Even as she doesn’t say anything, her eyes say enough, and you notice how Duke tenses slightly while under her gaze. You don’t understand what they’re saying, or whatever they seem to be communicating, but you’re not bothered by it. Communication was a universal thing, after all, and you’ve seen many people find all sorts of ways to do it – with or without words. It’s something you’ve picked up on with time, but that’s a given considering things.

Nevertheless, you speak up and interrupt… whatever it is that’s going on here. “Why don’t you join us, Cain? Thomas was just finishing up, but it’s like they say; the more the merrier!”

Cassandra seems taken aback by your offer, and so does Duke, but you only focus on her for now. Despite not having said a word, it’s like you can feel her growing quieter, and just as you go to say something else, she glances at Duke before promptly taking a seat next to him – nearly pushing him towards the window just to create some space for herself.

Naturally, Duke responds with a surprised, “Hey!” At the sudden intrusion of his space, but ultimately does little to get it back, and instead moves over to grant Cassandra her desired space.

From there, you carry on as you did before, but the younger ones across from you seem awkward – you can’t decipher a reason for this, not on your own, but a few eventually come to you and you try to work around it as best you can. At the start, things are strained and it’s obvious that there is something more than what both are deciding to show. Which, while smart, is inconvenient at best.

Regardless, you do what you can to spark conversation. Duke responds well enough after a few questions that ease him back into the flow of things, but Cassandra takes a while longer. Though that only makes sense since she’s just gotten into things, and is only starting to get into that flow as well. It’s not hard to notice that she’s simply just observing for now, and most likely wants to keep it that way, but you didn’t make that offer for her to just watch.

You start with something to drink, offering coffee since that seemed to be a common choice around here, and even take a sip of your own beverage while you were at it, and ask if Duke wanted anything else. It’s always the little things that count, but of course Cassandra remains as she is, and doesn’t respond. It’s only after a good minute or so does she get something, though if it’s to ‘blend in’ easier or because she genuinely wanted something to drink, you couldn’t tell – but that didn’t matter. Eventually, she gives you small responses by nodding or shaking her head, among other small gestures that seem to give just enough information to count as some sort of reaction. Cassandra was responding and reacting more to things Duke was saying, but that didn’t bother you. She was beginning to ease up, and that’s what ultimately counts.

Then, you’re given a golden opportunity as her stomach gives a small rumble. It’s barely noticeable, and not even Duke hears it, but Cassandra does and you notice her reaction well enough to tell. Of course, you give her the same offer you gave to Duke earlier – and even if she is more hesitant and reluctant, you take a risk and push things as you get her something. Just as before, the wait is hardly long at all – even if Cassandra seemed to feel it more than you did – and when it comes, it takes her a bit to even poke at it, but she caves eventually.

From there, everything eases just as it did before. Whatever you picked, she ends up liking it, and the conversation flows much better now that Cassandra is less tense. Your smile from before remains, and the morning carries on splendidly.

However, as with all things, it eventually comes to an end as you get a notification on your mobile device, and a small huff escapes you. Things are coming along, but it’s time to call it – you’ve been here long enough. You signal for the check, and once it arrives, you simply say, “Well this has been nice, hasn’t it? I don’t know what I expected, but I’m pleasantly surprised by both of you. This has been… eye opening, as one would say,” you muse, another light laugh escaping you, “but I’ve kept you both for long enough. I’m sure you both have places to be.” You don’t even look as the waiter takes the check back after you slip on your Rose Bank card.

Duke seems to tense slightly, and stops you from standing as he shoots up from his seat, “Wait, do you have to go right now? If there’s anywhere you need to go, I could take you-” You wave him off, and shake your head.

“There’s no need, I know my way around well enough, but thank you-” Cassandra moves to stand as well, and before she can even fully get out, Duke scrambles to get out of the booth and stand in front of you.

“You just got here a bit ago, right? I’m sure I can still help-”

“Thomas, I assure you I’m fine. I’m just heading back to the station,” you handle the check and slip your card back into your wallet when the waiter comes back around. Duke struggles to speak, and Cassandra seems concerned. Hm.

Exhaling softly, you give the teen a pat on his shoulder, “If anything happens, remember, you can always contact the GCPD if need be, alright?” Duke didn’t seem too pleased with that response, but all it takes is one more long look before he averts his gaze and nods.

“Yeah, yeah… alright.” You grin, and give him another pat.

“Perfect! See you around, kid!” With that, you leave without a second thought, feeling more confident then before – and Cassandra could tell. Of course she could, but before she could think about why you were going to the station this early in the day, her eyes drift back to Duke, and she can’t help but pause. His body language and overall attitude is completely different now… but… why? What could have made him so upset?

The young vigilante glances up when she hears the small bell of the door, indicating your leave… and she doesn’t know why, but she can’t help but feel disappointed.

— — — — — —

Making your way to the station is easy enough, and as you check the time, you hear someone clear their throat behind you. Just in time.

You turn around, and are greeted by the sight of blue eyes and dark hair – honestly, if his face shape was different, you’d think he was Bruce. It’s almost weird that they aren’t biologically related, but that’s the funny thing about genetics, you suppose.

Nevertheless, you offer a smile as always, “I got your call, but I didn’t expect to be meeting you in Gotham this soon, Grayson. You really are punctual. Though noon is an odd time to meet up, don’t you think?” Richard – or as everyone apparently calls him, Dick – just gives a smile of his own that borders on a smirk, and shrugs nonchalantly.

“Couldn’t think of a better time, and besides, it isn’t that bad. It’s just in time for lunch!” You hum at his response, finding it a bit curious before giving a nod.

“Well, when you put it like that it almost sounds smart,” You chuckle out, watching as his face contorts slightly. “Regardless, I got your call. You wanted to discuss the case?”

Dick doesn’t seem to appreciate your little jab, nor how you brush past it so fast – but just huffs before giving a nod. “Yeah, some guys said you’d know some things…? Or that someone here did?” You raise a brow before a look of confusion settles on your face.

“A few of us here do, but the one that would know the most would be detective Greenwood,” yet, you pause, as if thinking for a moment before adding, “I assume the situation in Bludhaven has gotten worse?”

The sigh that escapes him is telling enough, even more so with how he rubs the back of his neck, and the nod he gives is almost guilty. “Yeah… and even saying that feels like you’re sugar coating it.” Hm, must be like Metropolis then – that’s good to know. “I guess Ludwig told you?”

“Among a few other things, but just gave a general idea,” Dick visibly deflates at your words, and so, as if extending an olive branch of sorts, you gesture to a cafe nearby. “How about we get you some coffee and a quick bite to eat, hm? Can’t imagine getting here was an easy trip.”

Dick’s practically already following you to the small shop when you make your offer, and a low, exaggerated groan escapes him. “You don’t even know the half of it, it’s like Gotham’s become some highly sought out tourist destination overnight! It’s insanity, I tell you- makes no sense! The people who live here don’t like it enough as it is, why would anyone else want to be here?”

You shrug your shoulders, and guide both of you over to the cafe, “Not a clue, but it is weird when you put it like that. But maybe it’s nothing, who knows? We’ve got enough to deal with, anyway.”

“Tell me about it… not like there's anyone around here that wants to deal with this kind of weather. It feels way too warm for fall, if you ask me.” Dick mumbles, making his way over to the counter to order, and you only partially shrug, giving another nod in half agreement. You didn’t feel a difference, but it could just be because you’re used to it.

“I guess so,” you say, pulling out your wallet to pay – seeing as you offered to begin with. Obviously, Dick notices and doesn’t move to stop you, but can’t help but raise a brow.

“Aren’t you going to get anything?”

You glance at him for a moment before huffing softly, almost as if amused by what he said, and just hand the cashier your Rose Bank card to pay.

“I had a filling brunch.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Despite everything that’s been going on, this is probably one of their more organized efforts to tackle the night – which is really saying something, since there’s always been attempts, but it’s hard to be orderly amidst chaos. Something that Gotham practically breeds, even if this particular strain comes from out of town.

Tim and Duke are in the manor running tests on the organic material Stephanie and Jason had managed to get from the other night, with Barbara doing similar work in the clock tower. The others are out in the city, with Bruce running some things by Gordon, Selina being god knows where, and the others tracking some shipment while taking care of minor crimes and such along the way.

It’s almost… weird how coordinated this ‘cult’ seems to be, not to mention just how many people seem to be in on this thing. There didn’t seem to be an exact number at the moment, and if they really did split up, then there may even be more members that they weren’t aware of that have taken refuge outside of Gotham-

Point is, there were definitely a lot of people in this cult. Maybe even too many to coordinate and organize, at least for them to work so in sync with one another as they were now. It’d make more sense if they were only in Gotham, but until they got Clark’s report, no one could be sure of that – even if Dick responding so readily when Bruce had called him in was telling enough on its own. There was also the possibility of there being multiple organizers and leaders for this, which seems like the obvious choice, but even so – who could get a system in place that works this smoothly? It’s almost unnatural. Uncanny, even. Not to mention it doesn’t make sense if there’s no incentive for these people to be doing all of this-

Tim couldn’t figure it out, anyway. It felt like there was still so much they didn’t know yet, and like one thing was happening right after the other. Despite not being out in the city himself, he could use his birds as his eyes to see outside while he remained in the cave – so, in a way he was also tracking the cult. What Tim found weird himself is that you didn’t think the cult had a proper name, or that they weren’t called after the event all of these groups seem to be working towards. It made the most logical sense that they would be, or at least something similar to it – but you, someone who's been working on this case longer than anyone they knew at the moment, disagreed. Why? Regardless, aside from this supposed ‘Red Dawn’, what incentive did… well, anyone have to be a part of the cult to begin with? Did the event itself grant them something? What even was the Red Dawn? What did it have to do with all this soil and sand?

There were too many questions and not enough answers, but he supposes that’s why they’re even investigating to begin with. Though, if Tim had a say in this – it feels too organized to be something that only started three or so days ago. Have they really only been in Gotham for just a couple of days? If what his birds are seeing is real, then it’s more likely that they’ve been here for months-

[“Oh, would you look at that? They split again. Geez, really makes you wonder why they’re moving this stuff around like this. Seems ssseriously inefficient if you ask me.” Jason’s voice sparks in the commlink, tone sarcastic and rough.]

[“Agreed, there hardly seems to be a purpose to such tactics.” Damian huffs, going quiet for a moment only to add, “Unless they really are trying to distract us.”]

Tim perks up at this, and uses a nearby bird to perch on top of one of the telephone lines that go across the street. Watching as the next load of… whatever this cult was hauling and bringing around, drives off down the street. Some of it in a truck, and the other half of it in various cars. Not exactly subtle, but it would be hard to keep track of it all if one person was trying to keep tabs on things. Especially if said person was human.

[“Gonna have to agree with you guys, these people… they’re doing something, alright.” Stephanie chimes in, the suspicion clear in her voice.]

“What does that mean?” Tim can’t help but ask, trying to focus on the sample he’s analyzing, but can’t help but focus more on what his birds are seeing – especially when it’s more interesting the shuffling through samples of dirt.

[Stephanie sighs, “Seems like they’re trying to spread this stuff all around. Parks, gardens, bakeries, flower shops- all kinds of places, and from the looks of things? Whatever they’re doing here, it’s getting to other civilians as well. Guards and employees are helping them, and not just to open the back door either.”]

[“Someone open the front door?” Jason asks rhetorically.]

[Stephanic stiffs a chuckle, but Cassandra responds with a curt, “Yes. And storage.”]

[Jason was quiet for a moment before a small, “... Right, ‘course they did.”]

With his birds, Tim is able to follow as many trails as he can – and upon noticing a particularly weird detail, his brows furrow. “They… looped back around.”

[“Yep, I see them. Right back at the gardens… weird.” Stephanie confirms, sounding equally confused.]

[“They’re obviously trying to play us, but why? So they can plant more of this… red shit everywhere?” Jason can’t help but question.]

Tim shakes his head, which the closest bird to Jason and Damian emulates, “No, that doesn’t make sense. They’ve got loads of this stuff all over Gotham- I don’t see why they’d need more, unless…” He grows quiet, thinking for a moment before he looks down at the sample he’s supposed to be examining. Were they thinking of this the wrong way?

[“Unless… what?” Stephanie asks.]

He tries to think of a way to explain it, fumbling for a moment before just saying, “Well, do we even know what this stuff does?”

[“That’s what we have you looking at it for, yeah? Shouldn’t you or Barbara, or hell- even Duke know?” Jason chips in again.]

[Damian sucks his teeth, “Of course you can’t even do the one job we actually give you, Drake.”]

Tim can practically feel the disdain in Damian’s voice as he says his last name, which makes his brow twitch – but he shakes it off. He tries to, at least.

“I’m trying! I just… don’t know what I’m looking at, or why, okay? This whole situation is… weird.”

[“Look, Tim, people… people died over this stuff. There’s gotta be something weird about it. Maybe weird chemicals or…?” Stephanie tries to suggest.]

The watcher huffs at the reminder, but ultimately relents as he gives it another look while still having his birds keep tabs on things. All he sees is the same thing, and as he increases the magnification on the microscope, he only finds himself growing more… confused. More weirded out than anything, and a little curious, sure, but confused all the same.

Leaning back, he takes a breath, “I don’t understand, it looks alien… but how can that even be possible?”

[“We work with aliens, is it really that strange, Drake?”]

“I know that- but this is like- different! The organisms in the dirt are being taken over by something- and it’s like it’s both trying to take over and adapt to it?”

[“Like… a parasite trying to get used to its host?”]

“Kind of? It’s hard to explain… and this substance in the dirt- no wonder some of it looks like sand…”

[“So, instead of ‘getting used to’ the host, it’s killing it.” Jason suggests.]

“Yeah, like it can’t adapt properly or… is valuing infection over adaptation. It seems to feed on organic material and create more- but there’s something weird about it too.”

[“... And that is?”]

Tim hesitates for a moment, unsure himself, before eventually just putting the idea out there. “Well, at this pace… if their plan is for it to infect all the organic material in Gotham for whatever reason, then this is a seriously inefficient way to do it. Their plan here isn’t to have this stuff in all the dirt - at least, not to change it all. It seems more like a byproduct of whatever they’re trying to do with it.”

[“Well, what’s in the dirt, Tim?” Stephanie asks.]

“That’s the thing- I have no idea. It’s like its own organism, but I haven’t seen anything like this. It’s completely alien, and I doubt it’s the friendly kind.”

[“Well- I have to agree with you there. If it was… well, who knows how this would go. But nothing about all of this particularly screams ‘friendly’.”]

[“Did the people shooting themselves give that away?” Jason sarcastically quips.]

[“The purposefully suspicious activity certainly doesn’t help.” Damian adds, sounding equally pleased.]

Tim zones out of the conversation, glancing back at the samples Jason and Stephanie were able to bring in that he hasn’t fully looked at yet. The samples themselves don’t seem to ‘decay’ necessarily, and it seems to take them a while to eat away at the dirt or sand they’ve been ‘mixed’ with – from the looks of things, anyway.

No, if anything it gives the impression of a substance trying to reach homeostasis. Since, it’s either that or it’s trying to revert back to it’s original state for… whatever reason. Whatever other material it produces in that process is simply a byproduct of its efforts. The real question is why. Why is it trying to change? Why is it working to do… whatever it’s trying to do?

Mindlessly, Tim’s blank eyes drift over to where Duke was sitting, only to pause.

The teenager was hunched over, entirely focused on the task at hand – and whereas that isn’t inherently a bad thing, Duke hardly seems to be breathing, like the smallest gust of air or wind will tamper with the sample so much. Taking too much precaution when it comes to treating it. Not like it’s dangerous, but like it’s precious, like handling something more fragile than glass.

The sight alone makes Tim feel unnerved, and as his senses heighten – its only then does he pick up on the faintest smell. What… what is that-?

[“Oh shit- we’ve got to bounce. Now-!”]

[“Agreed. How did you even manage to-?”]

[“Let’s save the questions for when we’re out of the burning warehouse.”]

Tim blinks, eyes blowing wide as he looks away from Duke and focuses back on what’s going on. Using one of his birds, he can see that a warehouse is, in fact, on fire – and it is growing fast. “Steph-”

[“Already made the call, fire department is on the way but- how in the world did you guys even manage to set the whole place on fire?”]

[“Don’t lump me in with this brainless brute-” Damian’s complaint is cut off.]

[“I didn’t even expect the stuff to catch that fast! Just- ugh,” Jason groans, the subtle sound of the warehouse coming apart is just barely audible through the comlink. “Do everyone a favor, and keep those samples away from fire. That shit lights faster than propane.”]

“Even if it spreads quickly, how did the fire get strong that fast?!”

[“Hell if I know! You said this crap is alien, right? How is anyone supposed to figure it’d have so much kick!?”]

“You knew it could set on fire?!”

[“Last I checked, dirt isn’t flammable- of COURSE I DIDN’T KNOW!”]

[“Guys! Just- focus on getting out of there! We can figure out all of this once we regroup. Meet me and Cass at the station. We need to tell Bruce about this.”]

Tim glances at Duke once again, who’s hand twitches slightly, and the watcher grows quiet before looking back at his own sample.

… Could this night get any weirder?

— — — — – – – – – – — – – –

Eventually, towards the heart of the night, Bruce is able to reach the batcave once more, and everyone recounts what they found or learned – minus certain individuals.

The discussion is as chaotic as one would imagine, but the main points get across eventually, albeit between suspicions a few of them had, and more speculation on what could be going on. The biggest question is why this group had chosen Gotham of all places, if they really have been here recently or have been in the city for longer, who Tim and Cass were able to identify as members of the cult, and so on.

Whoever was organizing this was clearly doing something to the people following them. How perfect everything seemed to flow without their presence was uncanny and unnatural, not to mention how readily members have killed themselves without a hint of hesitation. Honestly, it was terrifying – and the fact there was still so much left unknown wasn’t helping. Not knowing who was behind this, or at least in charge of the group in Gotham was setting them back – and the risk of confrontation was too high. There was no telling if they’d dispose of themself just as quickly as the other members of the cult, but that was assuming there even were other leaders in place.

They certainly had their influencers and people who brought in more members into their cult, but for some reasons… most of the vigilantes had a feeling that there wasn’t. That there was just one person in control – the lack of evidence on that end didn’t help, but they sort of just knew. Regardless, it wasn’t enough to fully dismiss anything, even if some of them were pretty set on a couple of things. Duke, Jason, Stephanie, and Cassandra in particular. Bruce was… well, himself, but he seemed to have his mind set as well even if he left the door open for possibilities.

If this was really alien, who knows what they’re dealing with – and if what Clark said earlier was true, then it’s definitely mind altering, at the very least. Though, that did pose another question entirely about you and the cops that came in from Metropolis.

Were any of you under the influence of this… alien substance?

They weren’t given much time to dwell on that as something pops up on the batcomputer – a notification of sorts. “Ah, must be Clark.” Bruce mumbles, already working on displaying and finding out all the information Clark had gathered.

A map of the United States first flashes onto the many screens, before red dots begin to appear on the map. Like little fairy lights, they flicker on, and don’t stop until it looks like the country has got the bad case of chickenpox. Then, it zooms out, showing the whole world map, and more dots appear. They’re sparse in some areas compared to others, but the message is made clear enough.

Yet, before anyone could fully digest even the point Clark was trying to make, the funniest thing happens.

The dots begin to move. They weren’t just markers, they were trackers.

Some move faster than others, all of them blinking for a moment before shifting, showing their movement. There aren’t any labels, but the direction seems to be clear enough. Especially as the map zooms back into the United States, and shows the movement there a little more clearly.

On the East Coast, all of the dots closest to there seem to be moving towards two cities in particular – but before it can be shown where they are clearly moving towards, the power cuts. The batcave is swallowed by darkness, and the vigilante family is left in complete darkness for a few moments. The cave being the most dark any of them have seen it, and the silence near deafening.

It doesn’t take long for the lights to flicker back on, but they have the oddest shade of pink, and as everything powers back on – the ventilation is still paused, and something else has taken place of the map on the batcomputer – it’s taken over every screen even remotely connected to the advanced computer, actually.

A red solar eclipse with a timer right on the bottom, counting down. No explanation, nothing aside from the eclipse and countdown.

There’s no way someone in the cult could’ve got into the system, and especially not tonight when they were all on high alert and keeping an eye on them! It wasn’t possible, the security in the cave and manor would’ve been enough to stop anyone from getting in, or at least notified any of them if someone had gotten in. Hell, Damian’s sense and trigger would have alerted him if anyone had so much as stepped onto the property that wasn’t supposed to be there. There are too many precautions put into place for this to happen – and for the sight to stay on screen as well.

That didn’t leave many possibilities, and it was less about the why and more about how this could even happen. Which, amongst the options to shift through… with the threat they were dealing with here, only one seemed to stick out and seemed the most plausible.

There was a traitor among them.

[ladykatibeth]

I have to admit as much as there is a toxic yaoi kind of vibe with Stobotnik—part of the appeal for me is that it’s kid cartoon villain toxic yaoi. Sure they’re out for world domination—but they’re doing it in the most silly way possible. All the flair, little serious effort.

Eventually they settle into a dynamic that’s just Sonic and Co vs the Robotniks but it’s got zero actual stakes on either side. Sonic and Co is invited to their wedding, and then they’re back at fighting each other a week later.

Despite this Robotnik and Stone are fulfilled by trying to plan and execute evil schemes despite never succeeding (they are annoyed by this) and Sonic and co also get to let some energy out by thwarting them. Symbiosis.

[cecoeur]

Kind of a little bit 🤏🏼 repulsed by the yacht. Like private jet I guess I can rationalize (gross). weekly plane travel for the job…it serves a need and is probably economical for him in the long run. But a yacht serves no purpose but to be a massive lawn ornament. It is solely a status symbol and a physical reminder of obscene and frankly unnecessary wealth. Sure, it’s his money and he earned it so he can spend it how he wants. Doesn’t change that it’s ostentatious as hell.

[grudgecollector]

Afterglow | Nam-gyu / American!Reader

You're reading part three

Story Summary: Nam-gyu gets a new job and finds himself falling for the girl behind the deli counter.

Words: 1.6k

Tags/Warnings: Canon divergence, Thanos lives, fluff, suggestive themes (no smut), implied smoking weed

A/N: This man has taken a over my whole BRAIN HELP ME

Also thank you guys for all the support on these past two parts because holy shit... YOU GUYS ARE CRAZY, so glad to know there's so many other Nam-gyu truthers amongst us.

This man is really getting me through whatever sickness shit I'm going through right now

PART TWO | MASTERLIST

There was a slight chance of snowfall today, it made you happy to know you wouldn’t have to return back to work for another day. Able to enjoy the chilly weather inside, cuddled up against Nam-gyu on his couch. 

Your fingers mindlessly playing with one of his blankets thrown over the both of you. Listening to him and Su-bong playfully argue over what couple was going to last throughout the entire show. 

“But they’re so annoying…” Your boyfriend commented, pointing at the screen a little as the two coupled contestants talked to each other on screen. 

Nam-gyu groaned, running a hand over his face as Su-bong paused the show for what seemed like the fifth time. He stood up from his chair, putting his finger right over the female contestants face, a small smirk on his lips. 

“You see that?” Su-bong said, pointing back and forth between the two people on screen.

“What are we looking at, dumbass?” Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, throwing his arm back over your shoulder as you leaned into him a little more. His fingers squeezed your bicep softly. 

“Passion.” Su-bong whispered, “Look at the way she’s looking at him, she wants him sooo bad, bro.” 

“They barely know each other!” 

Days like these quickly became your favorite over the last eight months. Peaceful nights spent in the comfort of Nam-gyu and Su-bong’s apartment.

At first you worried that you were invading their personal space. 

In the beginning it was clear that you were still not used to being with someone like this after your last, less than savory, relationship. 

But Nam-gyu has been so sweet to you throughout your relationship, passionate words whispered in the darkness of his bedroom, leaving gentle kisses pressed on your knuckles before pulling you closer. 

“What do you think?” Su-bong asked, directing his eyes to you, “Don’t they just seem so passionately in love to you?” He threads his fingers together in front of his chest, patiently awaiting your answer. 

You laughed, “Honestly? No-” 

“Wrong!” Su-bong interrupted, raising his hand, “You guys are so blind, come on!” 

Nam-gyu and you laughed at Su-bong’s dramatics. 

“You guys are useless. And that’s the truth.” The man standing in front of the tv ran a hand through his blue hair, letting out an exaggerated sigh before shaking his head. 

Nam-gyu’s hand slipped from your bicep to your back, blunt nails scratching softly against your shirt. His head leaned against the back of the couch, listening to his friend continue to ramble on some more, occasionally unpausing the show to further attempt to prove his point. 

“Dude… Just sit your ass down and watch the show already.” Nam-gyu sighed finally. 

You softly push against his chest, “Hey he’s just really passionate about his reality tv couples.” 

“Yeah, fuck you Nam-gyu.” Su-bong flipped him the bird playfully, earning one back from your boyfriend. 

“Fuck you too Thanos.” Nam-gyu teased. 

~~~

Nam-gyu bites his lip softly, smoothing over the weighted blanket before glancing over at his door. He felt so cold, his hands shaking a little from the bite of chilly air.

Maybe I smoked a little bit too much... He thought to himself

He brought his shaky hands up to tuck his hair behind his ears, moving to take his socks off. 

Arms wound themselves around Nam-gyu’s waist, making him let out a little sigh. One hand securing itself on your forearm. A warmth spread through Nam-gyu’s chest, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. This truly had to be a dream. 

He turned around slowly, hands finding their way to your cheeks, thumbs softly brushing against your skin, watching you blink up at him. He was sure that if it was possible he would have hearts in his eyes. 

He was so hopelessly, and pathetically in love. This is real passion… Nam-gyu thought to himself. 

Never in his life did Nam-gyu think he would feel such a way about someone. In the past his feelings were always so fleeting, leaving him within weeks, the stress of relationships straining his patience.

He was honestly scared to make things official at first, scared that things would end up being the same. 

But after getting to know you as deeply as he has, he couldn’t see himself wanting to be with anyone else. 

“I love you so much.” He whispered so softly, his eyes taking in every part of your face as he held you close. 

Your fingers tightened around the waist of his hoodie, a small tearful smile coming to your lips. 

“God, you’re gonna make me cry.” You laugh, bringing a hand to rub away a stray tear. 

Nam-gyu knew all about your past relationship, the hardships you went through. It was a difficult time in your life, and you found it so hard to put yourself back out there afterwards. Sinking back into the shadows, hoping nobody looked twice in your direction. 

You had been utterly terrified to get into another relationship when Nam-gyu proposed the idea. Simply asking for a date, a night together at some semi-fancy restaurant. He could feel how hard your hands shook when you grasped onto his that night, a nervous sweat forming on your palms which you quickly apologized for. 

Selfishly, Nam-gyu was happy that you were just as scared as him. 

Maybe it wasn’t for the same reason, but diving into something like this shook the man to his core. Terrified that at any second his happiness could be ripped from under him. Terrified that you would somehow find out about the horrible things he’s done. 

But every time he looked into your beautiful eyes, those thoughts melted away. You made him forget how suffocating his life was.

His fingers smoothed away the teary trails, a smile spreading across his face. 

“You’re just so beautiful too.” He continued, laughing softly at the small sob that fell from your lips, “So perfect…” 

“Nam-gyu…” You whispered quietly, a small laugh coming from you as well, “Shut up.” 

He cupped his hands back around your jaw, bringing you in for a soft kiss. He wasn’t bothered by the occasional tear that would slide against his skin.

Instead he brought you closer, pouring all of his unsaid words into you. One hand fell to your waist, pressing you flush against his body. 

Both of your hands found their way to his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as your lips slotted together so perfectly. Soft sighs leaving the both of you. 

Nam-gyu felt like he could kiss you for the rest of his life, your lips were so soft, teeth biting against his bottom lip forcing a small moan from his mouth.

You were going to be the death of him, he knew it. 

His hand tightened itself on your waist, brows drawing together as he felt his whole body begin to heat up under your touch. He disconnected your lips, trailing kisses from your cheek to your jaw, nipping every now and then as he got closer to your neck. 

You tilted your head back a little, allowing him better access as he left open mouthed kisses against your warm skin. His thumb caressed your throat gently as he bit down a little harder near your the collar of your shirt, forcing a small whimper from your parted lips. 

“Nam-gyu…” You sighed out his name, making his heart flutter in his chest. 

He lifted his head, staring at you with lidded eyes and a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips, “So… you sure you still want to go to sleep?” He teased, thumb trailing along your bottom lip. 

“Get on the bed already, dick.” 

~~~

“Morning, lovebirds.” Su-bong winked as he made his way into the kitchen, going up to the fridge and grabbing the carton of orange juice. 

You looked up from your phone, readjusting your feet under Nam-gyu’s thigh. The both of you were sitting next to each other at the small dining table, enjoying the snowy morning together, quietly scrolling through your phones. 

“Morning.” Nam-gyu yawned, bringing another spoonful of cereal into his mouth absentmindedly. 

Su-bong turned around, looking up from his cup of orange juice, “So what’s going on to- Holy fuck!” He cut himself off. 

He rushed over to his friend, forcing Nam-gyu’s head to the side, and jabbing a finger into one of the prominent bruises you left just above his collarbone by accident. Oops… you thought to yourself, laughing a little. 

“Was she trying to suck the life out of you, bro?” Su-bong looked between the two of you with wide eyes. 

Nam-gyu slapped his hand away, a small chuckle coming from him. “That’s nothing, you should see the one I left on her-” You slapped his shoulder, making him laugh harder. 

“You guys are nasty as fuck.” Su-bong scolded, shaking his head in disappointment. 

You knew better than to take his jabs seriously. Su-bong brought home a new girl every other week, if not more.

Sometimes you were unfortunate enough to be in the apartment when those moments would occur. Making it so you and Nam-gyu have to turn the volume to his TV up a lot louder than you liked. Just so you could drown out the god awful sounds that float through the horribly thin walls of his apartment. 

“Oh please, like you can say anything.” Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, “You’re like a fucking horny dog sometimes.” 

“What can I say? I can’t keep the girls off of me, man.” Su-bong plopped himself down in the seat across from Nam-gyu. “Anyway, what I was going to say… What’s going on today?”