#uh I had what we call a crisis

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want a Refund || Trey Clover

When the universe dunks you into a dumpster fire of a novel as the villainess, survival is key. Except your husband, Trey Clover, turns out to be such a green flag that it gets a little harder to function.

Series Masterlist

You prided yourself on being a normal, decent person. Maybe even a good person, depending on who you asked. Sure, you weren’t out here saving kittens from trees or solving world hunger, but you did your part.

You recycled when you remembered, held the door open for strangers (if they were close enough, you weren’t that kind of hero), and even tossed bread crumbs to the pigeons outside your apartment every now and then. It wasn’t much, but it was honest work.

So, really, what you didn’t expect was to be completely betrayed by the universe. The betrayal began small, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear: the newest novel you’d been anticipating for months was sold out.

“Are you serious?” you grumbled, glaring at the empty display like it had just insulted your mother. A handwritten sign on the shelf read: ‘SOLD OUT! More in stock soon!’ in cheerful cursive, as if mocking you.

What were you supposed to do now? Go home empty-handed? Waste your perfectly good afternoon plans of curling up with a book? Absolutely not. Refusing to admit defeat, you scanned the bookstore until your gaze fell on the “New and Best-Selling” rack.

One book immediately caught your eye. The cover was... well, something. It looked like someone had raided a middle schooler’s stash of Barbie stickers, splattered glitter over the whole thing, and slapped on an aggressively curly gold font that screamed, I’M A ROMANCE NOVEL!

You sighed. “Fine. How bad could it be?”

It could be very, very bad.

The first red flag was the synopsis. It introduced Trey Clover, the Grand Duke, who loved his spouse, the villainess, with a devotion so pure it made you want to gag. But then came the second male lead, the Prince, who confessed his love to Trey and the villainess, because monogamy was too boring for this book.

And then there was the heroine. The synopsis just called her “the Saintess,” because why bother giving her a name when her only personality trait was being the worst human being imaginable? She appeared out of nowhere, became the Saintess overnight (because logic?), and made it her life’s mission to ruin the villainess’s life while somehow convincing everyone she was an angel.

Oh, and the Prince? The book had him slip on a rock and die halfway through the plot, like the author had a word count limit and didn’t know what else to do with him. The villainess ends up dying too, right aftetr asking Trey for a divorce to "protect him." The ending involved Trey marrying the heroine, despite spending the entire book side-eyeing her like she owed him rent.

You closed the book slowly, your soul drained of all joy. “What in the fresh hell did I just read?”

But no, you couldn’t let this stand. You were a taxpayer, a contributing member of society. You did not deserve this literary slap in the face.

With righteous indignation burning in your chest, you marched back to the bookstore. You slapped the book onto the counter with a dramatic flair that deserved a standing ovation.

“Refund,” you declared, glaring at the cashier.

“Uh... we don’t usually do refunds on books you’ve already read...” they began hesitantly.

“I don’t care,” you snapped, pointing at the glittering monstrosity. “This isn’t a book. It’s a hate crime against literature. A refund, please, before I start sobbing in public.”

After a long pause—and possibly fearing a customer service meltdown—they handed you store credit. Satisfied but still simmering with rage, you stomped out of the store, muttering to yourself about bad authors, worse editors, and the existential crisis of knowing someone got paid to write that garbage.

And that’s when karma struck.

A segway—a SEGWAY—came hurtling toward you at Mach speed, piloted by a man dressed in full medieval knight armor.

“MAKE WAY FOR SIR SCOOTINGTON!” he screamed, his voice muffled by his helmet.

You froze. Your brain could not process this level of absurdity in such a short amount of time. Was this a prank? A hallucination? Had the book actually been cursed and now you were living out its bad writing?

The segway didn’t stop. It hit you with a solid THUNK, sending you flying backward into a suspiciously well-placed pile of garbage bags.

As you lay there, buried under the remains of someone’s takeout and a very old banana peel, as your vision started to blur, you stared at the sky and thought:

Dawg, why me??

You woke up to the faint chirping of birds and the kind of silence that only rich people seem to afford. Something felt... off. The sheets were too soft, like they’d been spun from angel whispers and a mid-tier deity’s hair. Your pillow was the perfect combination of fluffy and firm, a far cry from the lumpy second-hand abomination you’d bought on sale three years ago.

Your eyes cracked open, squinting against the sunlight filtering through an elaborate, gold-encrusted chandelier. A chandelier. In a bedroom. You lived in a shoebox apartment; your idea of luxury was a lamp that wasn’t from a clearance bin.

You turned your head slightly, and your soul froze mid-exit.

There was someone next to you.

Your brain screeched to a halt, flashing every warning signal it had. Stranger. Bed. You. No.

The only living thing that should’ve been in your apartment was the stray cat you’d nicknamed Gremlin, and he sure as hell didn’t have human proportions or a steady breathing rhythm.

Slowly—painstakingly—you tilted your head to look at your unwanted companion.

It was a man. A very attractive man, sleeping peacefully on his side, glasses perched askew on the nightstand. His hair was a soft mess, his breathing even, and his entire aura screamed gentle husband vibes.

Then recognition sucker-punched you in the gut.

No.

No.

It couldn’t be.

You blinked. Looked again. Replayed every horrible memory of that atrocious novel you had read, and then read again because you hated yourself.

It was Trey Clover.

Male lead. Gentleman. Human embodiment of a warm cup of tea. The guy who was in love with his villainess spouse (you remembered her being dramatic but competent) before the world went full dumpster fire.

Your breathing hitched. You stared down at your hands, and they stared back—perfectly manicured, dainty, soft hands that had never touched a single dirty dish or over-scrubbed countertop.

The reality hit you like a segway knight at full speed.

You’d been isekai’d.

You fought the urge to scream into the pillow. Was this some karmic punishment for returning that book? Was your snarky review in the Reddit thread too harsh? Because this? This was an unholy level of irony.

Trey stirred beside you, his brow furrowing slightly as his hand lazily reached for his glasses. He slid them on, blinking sleepily as his gaze landed on you.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, groggy, and just a little raspy—the kind of voice you’d pay extra to have someone read you bedtime stories with. “You’re staring.”

For a moment, your brain blue-screened. Trey Clover—novel character and now your husband, apparently—was looking at you with concern, and all you could think was: At least he’s hot.

“…Nothing,” you croaked, swallowing down the rising tide of panic. “Just… processing.”

“Processing what?” he asked, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes, his entire demeanor radiating "adoring husband" energy.

You clenched the sheets in your fists, trying to will yourself to wake up from this insane fever dream. Unfortunately, the chandelier wasn’t disappearing, Trey wasn’t fading into mist, and your perfectly moisturized skin wasn’t breaking into your usual crusty dryness.

This was real.

And somehow, you were the villainess in a novel you’d once described as "a literary abomination designed to kill brain cells."

The sound of a soft knock at the bedroom door made you jump, nearly upsetting the tower of books you’d been flipping through in your attempt to figure out where in the dumpster fire of this timeline you were.

“Come in?” you called hesitantly, trying to shove the incriminating evidence of your non-villainess-like behavior—a half-written list titled HOW TO NOT DIE TRAGICALLY—under a pillow.

Trey stepped in, balancing a tray of food like he was auditioning for Husband of the Year. His hair was slightly mussed, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up just enough to show forearms that could inspire sonnets. The man was a walking Pinterest board, and it was unfair.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said with a small smile, setting the tray on the table. “You’ve been skipping meals, and that’s not like you.”

You laughed nervously, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Oh, um, yeah. Upset stomach. You know how it is.”

Trey raised an eyebrow, his smile unwavering but his eyes far too knowing. “Sure. And I’ll be here while you eat, just to make sure you’re feeling better.”

Oh, no.

You stared at the tray like it had betrayed you. Soup, bread, and some suspiciously perfect desserts that looked like they had been made by the hands of an angel. You couldn’t say no without sounding even sketchier.

“Right,” you muttered, picking up the spoon with the grace of someone about to face a firing squad. As you sipped, Trey watched silently, his chin resting on one hand, his soft gaze pinned on you. The air felt so heavy you could’ve cut it with a butter knife.

“Are you going to go through with it?” he asked suddenly.

You froze mid-bite, the words hitting you like a frying pan to the face. “Go through with… what?”

“The divorce,” he said simply.

You choked on your soup. The spoon clattered back into the bowl as you grabbed a napkin, trying to avoid literally dying of shock. Divorce? Divorce?! That wasn’t in the plan! You knew what happened after the divorce—the villainess died, and you weren’t about to let fate steamroll you into an early grave, again.

“What? No! Of course not!” you sputtered, waving your hands in frantic denial. “Why would I want a divorce? You’re, uh, great! Fantastic! A literal dream husband!”

Trey blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion before his expression softened into something warmer, almost relieved. “You… want to work things out?”

“Yes!” you blurted, nodding with enough enthusiasm to give yourself whiplash. “Absolutely! Let’s work this out. Together. Like a team.”

His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile that nearly melted you on the spot. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead that left your brain doing cartwheels. “Alright. I’ll hold you to that. I’ll be back for dinner, so rest up until then.”

He left the room, and the moment the door clicked shut, you flopped back onto the bed like a deflated balloon. The pillow muffled your scream of embarrassment as you kicked your feet, equal parts flustered and mortified. What was that? Why did he have to be so sweet? How were you supposed to survive this level of tenderness without combusting?

The door creaked open again.

You froze mid-giggle, legs tangled in the sheets like a caught fish. Trey stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised and looking like he was about two seconds away from bursting into laughter. “Forgot my pen,” he said casually, strolling over to grab the item from the bedside table.

You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. “Oh. Uh. Right.”

He paused on his way out, leaning down to kiss your cheek with infuriating gentleness. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you red-faced, flustered, and questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.

It had been such a nice meal. The kind where the food was good, the company better, and the wine just strong enough to make you feel warm and floaty but not stupid. Trey was smiling faintly at you over his plate, his rare but deeply satisfying I’m enjoying myself face in full effect, and you dared to think, Hey, maybe I can survive this isekai nonsense after all.

And then the restaurant door swung open, and your fragile peace shattered like a dropped wine glass.

The prince had arrived.

Trey’s face immediately darkened like a thunderstorm on the horizon, and you felt yourself lose a year of your life just from sheer dread. The prince was a walking disaster in human form, and you’d been hoping to avoid him like the plague. But the universe clearly hated you because here he was, sashaying through the restaurant like he owned the place.

“Oh no,” you whispered, gripping your fork like it could somehow protect you.

Trey’s jaw tightened as the prince spotted you both, his grin wide enough to make you wish the floor would open up and swallow you.

“Darlings!” the prince cried, crossing the room with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever off its leash. “Fancy seeing you here!”

You didn’t even get a chance to object before he grabbed a chair from a nearby table, spun it around dramatically, and wedged himself between you and Trey, plopping down like he’d been invited. Spoiler alert: he hadn’t.

“Your Highness,” Trey said through clenched teeth, managing to sound both polite and like he was ready to stab someone with a salad fork.

“Oh, come now, Trey,” the prince laughed, waving off the formality. “No need to be so stiff. After all, we’re practically family!”

You didn’t get the chance to ask how that made sense before he grabbed your hand—and Trey’s—planting a wet, sloppy kiss on each. The sound it made was unholy, like a boot pulling free from a swamp. You and Trey simultaneously stiffened, the same thought clearly running through your minds: Don’t cringe, don’t cringe, don’t cringe…

“I simply had to come over when I saw you two!” the prince gushed, oblivious to your visible discomfort. “The saintess—bless her kind, radiant heart—has been dying to see you both!”

You glanced at Trey, who was visibly restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“She’s throwing a ball this weekend,” the prince continued, clasping his hands together like he was sharing the world’s most exciting news. “And you must come. Truly, it’d be… well, treasonous not to, considering we’re both inviting you!”

Ah, there it was. The veiled threat disguised as politeness. You hated that this guy was smart enough to wield his royal status as a weapon, even if he made everything sound like it came with a complimentary gift basket.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “We’d be honored, Your Highness.”

Trey shot you a subtle look, one that very clearly said Traitor, but you knew he agreed. Anything to avoid another round of Wet Hand Kisses.

“Wonderful!” the prince declared, clapping his hands together. “I knew you two would understand. You always were the reasonable ones.”

He finally stood up, ruffling Trey’s hair in a way that made his eye twitch before striding off like he hadn’t just hijacked your peaceful dinner.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, you slumped back in your chair, utterly drained. “I feel like I need to bathe in holy water.”

Trey pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I should’ve poisoned his dessert last time.”

You stared at him. “You what?”

“Nothing,” he said, picking up his fork like nothing had happened. “Let’s finish eating.”

You could still feel the ghost of the prince’s wet kiss on your hand, and you shuddered. “Do you think we can fake our deaths before Saturday?”

Trey actually looked like he was considering it.

The ball was, against all odds, actually enjoyable. The lights glittered like fairy dust, the music was just the right level of lively, and the wine was strong enough to turn your earlier dread into a warm, floaty haze. Trey was by your side, charming in his tailored suit, and for once, the prince and saintess were blissfully absent.

"Maybe they got lost," you whispered to Trey, leaning in conspiratorially. "Or better yet, maybe they found a better party and decided to leave us alone."

Trey smirked, sipping his wine. "If only we were that lucky."

Your hopes were dashed, naturally, when the prince appeared out of nowhere like some unholy summon. One second you were lifting a glass to your lips, and the next, your arm was being yanked so hard you almost spilled your drink.

“Come now, my dear!” the prince declared, grinning in a way that felt more like a threat than an invitation. “Dance with me!”

Before you could even process what was happening, you were being twirled onto the dance floor. Across the room, you caught a glimpse of Trey being snatched by the saintess, who looked like she had all the coordination of a baby deer on ice.

The prince pulled you in too close, his breath an unholy concoction of garlic and what might’ve been sour milk. You tried to politely lean back, but he just leaned closer, grinning obliviously.

“You’re stiff, my dear,” he said, his voice low and entirely too sultry for someone who smelled like a kitchen accident. “Loosen up!”

Meanwhile, Trey was enduring his own nightmare. The saintess stepped on his foot with her stiletto for the fourth time, and you could swear you saw him wince in actual pain. She was chattering nonstop about something—maybe puppies, maybe world peace—you couldn’t hear over the sound of her heels clobbering the floor.

When the ordeal finally ended, you staggered back to Trey, feeling like you’d aged ten years. He looked equally frazzled, rubbing his shoulder like it had been yanked out of its socket.

“I’d say that was horrible,” he said under his breath, “but I think ‘horrible’ is too kind.”

Before you could respond, the saintess suddenly tripped. She wasn’t even near you—she was all the way across the room—but she hit the ground with a dramatic thud, and her dress promptly ripped down the side.

You blinked. “Wait, what just—”

“I knew it!” she screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at you from the floor. “You sabotaged me!”

The prince, for once, looked baffled. He glanced between her and you like he was trying to solve a complicated riddle. “But… she wasn’t even near you?”

“SABOTAGE!” the saintess shrieked again, her voice cracking.

The original villainess would’ve taken the high road, maybe pretended to be insulted or outraged. You, however, were just drunk enough to find the entire thing hilarious.

You laughed. Loudly.

And to your absolute delight, the crowd followed suit. Quiet snickers turned into outright guffaws as everyone around you dissolved into laughter.

The saintess gawked, looking like a wet cat as she scrambled to her feet. “You’re all… MONSTERS!” she shrieked, before fleeing the room with a level of dramatics that would make even a soap opera jealous.

The prince hesitated, torn between chasing after her or staying to glower at you and Trey. Finally, with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like “I hate my life,” he ran after her, disappearing into the night.

“Well,” Trey said, offering his hand with a faint smirk, “that was… something. Care to salvage the evening with a proper dance?”

You took his hand, letting him spin you onto the floor. The music softened, the crowd fading into the background as Trey pulled you close.

“You look stunning tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as you danced.

The compliment hit you like a sucker punch, leaving you so dazed that, in your flustered state, you impulsively dipped him instead of the other way around.

Trey laughed, eyes crinkling with genuine delight. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, cheeks burning as you held the pose.

But to your surprise, he didn’t protest. He let you dip him, even laughing as you pulled him back up. And when the dance ended, he kissed your cheek, sending your heart into a full-on meltdown.

“That,” he said, his voice filled with amusement, “was the most fun I’ve had at a ball in years.”

The tea party was a picturesque affair, all pastel tablecloths, delicate porcelain cups, and the kind of floral arrangements that screamed wealth and good taste. You were seated with Riddle, Cater, and Che’nya at a table tucked under a wisteria-laden gazebo, trying your best to survive the endless parade of gossip and sweets.

The conversation drifted naturally, like it always did, until someone—probably Cater—brought up the topic of Trey.

“Y’know,” Cater began, swirling his tea with exaggerated nonchalance, “Trey’s been looking at you like you personally hung the moon and stars lately. It’s kinda adorable.”

Che’nya leaned over, grinning like the Cheshire Cat he was. “So deep in love, it’s practically a romantic trench. What’s your secret, huh? Love potion? A really good pie?”

You chuckled, brushing off the comment, but then you glanced across the garden—and froze.

There he was, Trey Clover, the ridiculously perfect husband material that fate had handed you in this bizarre isekai life. He was standing a little ways off, chatting with a few nobles, but his gaze was unmistakably fixed on you.

When your eyes met, he smiled. Not just any smile—a warm, genuine, I-would-die-for-you-and-bake-you-cookies-afterwards kind of smile. It hit you like a runaway carriage.

Your chest tightened, your stomach flipped, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to pause.

Oh no.

Oh no.

You were in so deep.

Like, Titanic-hitting-the-iceberg-and-sinking-to-the-ocean-floor deep.

“Uh oh,” Cater sang, leaning closer with a smirk that could only mean trouble. “I know that look. Someone just had their Hallmark movie epiphany.”

You snapped out of it, cheeks burning. “What look? I don’t have a look!”

“Oh, you totally do,” Che’nya chimed in, his grin somehow wider. “It’s all dreamy and starry-eyed, like you’re in a fairy tale. Which, I guess you kinda are?”

Riddle, ever the straight man in these situations, regarded you with a mix of pity and exasperation. “Please tell me you’re not about to let these two meddle in your relationship.”

But before you could defend yourself, Cater was already leaning forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Cay-Cay’s got you covered! Wanna confess? I can totally set the mood—candles, roses, soft music…”

“I—what?” you stammered, still too dazed by your revelation to form a coherent response.

“That’s a yes!” Che’nya declared, clapping his hands together. “Alright, let’s brainstorm. Hot air balloon confession? Dramatic rain scene? Ooh, what about—”

“Absolutely not,” Riddle interrupted, his tone sharp as ever. He turned to you, expression weary. “I’ll make sure they don’t do anything absurd, but honestly, why not just tell Trey yourself? He’s your husband.”

You groaned, sinking into your chair as Cater and Che’nya continued to scheme with increasingly outlandish ideas. Meanwhile, Riddle looked at you like you’d just wired your entire fortune to a scammer and promised to fix it for you later.

Across the garden, Trey caught your gaze again, his brows furrowing slightly in concern at your flustered state. He started to make his way over, and your heart leapt into your throat.

Oh no.

Whatever happened next, you were absolutely not ready.

Riddle had been firm, as always. “A pie,” he said with the kind of authority you’d expect from someone sentencing a man to death. “It’s simple, heartfelt, and Trey would appreciate the effort. Not that I have time to indulge in frivolities like this, but… you’re lucky I know the basics.”

Turns out, Riddle did not know the basics. And neither did you.

What followed could only be described as a culinary catastrophe.

The kitchen looked like it had been struck by a flour tornado, with you and Riddle at its chaotic epicenter. Your attempt at pie dough was a war crime in the making—half stuck to the counter, half to your hands, and none of it remotely edible.

“Why is it stretching?” Riddle hissed, his face as red as his hair, holding one end of the dough while you gripped the other. The elastic monstrosity between you refused to snap, stretching longer and longer like some unholy noodle.

“I don’t know!” you shrieked back, your voice an octave higher than usual. “I followed the instructions! Mostly! Kind of!”

“‘Kind of’ isn’t good enough! Put some force into it!”

Riddle tugged one end of the dough like he was in a tug-of-war with a particularly stubborn ghost. You yanked back, and the dough elongated even further, wobbling ominously in the air.

That’s when Trey walked in.

He stopped in the doorway, taking in the absolute chaos: the flour-streaked counter, the rolling pin embedded in what used to be a bag of sugar, and you and Riddle holding opposite ends of the world’s saddest dough.

“What… exactly is happening here?” Trey asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You froze, still clutching the dough. Riddle looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“We’re baking,” you managed to squeak out.

Trey blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound warm and rich like honey. “Is that what you’re calling this?”

His laughter didn’t help your embarrassment, but the way he stepped forward, gently taking the dough from you and Riddle like a benevolent baking god, did. “Alright, let’s see if we can salvage this. Flour, water… and patience. You two watch and learn.”

You stood back, flustered and hopelessly smitten as Trey worked his magic. In minutes, he turned your disaster into a perfectly respectable pie crust. He even smiled at you both as if to say nice try, kids, and it made you feel oddly warm inside.

Still too mortified to admit the pie was meant for him, you let him finish it while Riddle quietly excused himself, muttering about overdue paperwork.

You did feel for Riddle, poor guy was stuck babysitting the Prince after all. Maybe the dough was sad because of his stress.

Later, Cater and Che’nya were far too pleased with themselves when they found you.

“So,” Cater said, grinning, “how’s Operation Swoon going?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you grumbled, remembering the dough debacle.

Che’nya’s grin widened. “Lucky for you, we’ve got Plan B: flowers! Romantic, classic, and impossible to mess up.”

You weren’t sure about that last part, but their enthusiasm was infectious. You ended up at a florist with Cater coaching you through every step, from picking out the blooms to tying a ribbon. By the time you were done, the bouquet looked gorgeous.

When you handed the flowers to Trey later, he looked… stunned. His eyes widened, his cheeks turned faintly pink, and his smile was so soft and genuine that you nearly dropped dead on the spot.

“For me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. Just, uh, wanted to thank you. For everything. You know.”

Trey cradled the bouquet like it was something precious. “Thank you. Really. This means a lot.”

And when he smiled at you again, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Cater and Che’nya’s meddling wasn’t so bad after all.

You were practically vibrating with excitement as you entered the restaurant, rare flower in hand. You’d spent far too much money on it, but it was worth it. Trey deserved nothing less. The merchant had waxed poetic about how the flower symbolized eternal devotion, and you figured it was the perfect way to set the stage for your long-overdue confession.

Trey was already seated at the table, his calm demeanor somehow both comforting and devastatingly attractive. When he saw you approach, his eyes softened, and that sweet smile of his—the one that made your knees weak—spread across his face.

You handed him the flower, and his expression lit up as though you’d just handed him the moon.

“For me?” he asked, his voice full of surprise and warmth.

“Of course,” you said, a little shy but mostly proud of yourself. “I thought it suited you.”

His fingers brushed yours as he took the flower, and before you knew it, you were holding hands across the table. The atmosphere felt perfect—soft candlelight, his warm gaze locked on yours, and your heart pounding like it had just discovered cardio.

This was it. The moment to confess that you loved him.

You opened your mouth, ready to pour your heart out—

And then she appeared.

The saintess, an uninvited hurricane in the form of a woman, swept into the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. You barely had time to process her arrival before she snatched the flower from Trey’s hand like a seagull stealing a french fry.

“Oh, Trey, you shouldn’t have!” she gushed, clutching the flower to her chest like a deranged soap opera villain. “How thoughtful of you to get this for me!”

Trey’s face froze in what could only be described as polite murder. His jaw tightened, his grip on the table visibly white-knuckled.

You, however, were already halfway to a breakdown. “Excuse me?” you sputtered.

The saintess ignored you entirely.

Enter the prince, the human equivalent of a golden retriever who’d been hit on the head one too many times. He trailed behind her, clearly regretting his existence. For once, he seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation and awkwardly tried to mediate.

“Ah, maybe I should—uh—just give this back,” he mumbled, reaching for the flower.

The saintess responded by shoving him.

The prince, unprepared for even the gentlest resistance, stumbled directly into Trey’s arms.

Trey, now holding a grown man like a bridal bouquet, froze. His eyes darted to you, silently screaming what do I do with this?

Before he could decide, the prince looked up at him, smiled coyly, and winked.

You might’ve laughed if the saintess hadn’t chosen that exact moment to drape herself across you.

“Oh, my dear friend,” she simpered, batting her lashes, “surely you understand Trey’s affection for me. You’ll support us, won’t you?”

You were too stunned to respond, stuck holding the saintess like an overly affectionate sloth. Across the table, Trey looked like he was begging whatever gods existed for an escape route.

Finally, something in Trey snapped. Gently—yet firmly—he set the prince in his seat like a toddler being put in timeout. Then, without a word, he reached across, grabbed the saintess by the arm, and unceremoniously deposited her in her own chair.

“You’ll have to excuse us,” Trey said, his voice smooth but his expression pure I’m done with this nonsense. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the restaurant, not even sparing a glance back.

Oh, and he definitely took the flower back.

In the carriage, Trey was silent, his expression unreadable. You hesitated before asking, “Are you okay?”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just… tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of not having moments with you for myself,” he said, his voice soft but full of frustration. “Every time I try to enjoy being with you, someone interrupts. I just… I want you. Just you.”

Your heart practically melted on the spot. Overwhelmed by his honesty, you leaned forward and kissed him—a gentle, tentative gesture that said everything you’d been too nervous to put into words.

Trey froze for a moment, then pulled you closer, kissing you again, this time deeper and with so much emotion that you thought your brain might short-circuit. His hands cradled your face, and the world outside the carriage ceased to exist.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his smile so radiant it made your heart skip. “I guess this means you’re mine?”

You nodded, breathless.

“And I’m yours,” he murmured, sealing the confession with another kiss that left you thoroughly, blissfully dazed.

It was supposed to be a simple stroll through the common garden—just you and Trey enjoying a rare moment of peace. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were basking in the warmth of Trey's smile when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

The prince.

And worse, the pebble.

You recognized it instantly—the cursed rock from the original novel, the one destined to send the prince spiraling into a tragic, fatal end. It glittered ominously on the path, as if taunting fate.

The prince, blissfully unaware, strutted forward like he owned the place. He stepped right onto the pebble, his foot slipping out from under him with comical precision.

In that split second, you knew what you had to do. Annoying as he was, no one deserved to die because of a glorified piece of gravel.

You lunged forward, grabbing the prince by the arm and yanking him upright just before disaster struck.

He looked at you, wide-eyed, for all of two seconds before breaking into a toothy grin. “Ah, so this is love,” he declared, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Fear not, my dear! Your feelings for me are obvious, and I, in my infinite generosity, shall grant you the honor of becoming my bride!”

Trey, who had been watching this unfold with his usual calm, suddenly stiffened. His hand slipped into yours, his grip firm but not unkind as he gently pulled you closer.

“Your Highness,” Trey began, his voice polite but laced with steel, “I think you may have misunderstood something.”

“Oh?” The prince arched a brow, clearly oblivious to the warning signs.

“She's already married,” Trey said, his tone so calm and measured it was borderline terrifying. “To me.”

The prince’s eyes lit up with excitement, not deterred in the slightest. “A rivalry for their love, then? Excellent! Let the best man win!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Riddle—ever the voice of reason (or exhaustion)—strode into the fray like a man who had been dealing with this nonsense for far too long.

“Your Highness,” Riddle snapped, looking entirely done with life. “What in the sevens are you doing?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the prince by the collar and dragged him away like a scolding parent hauling a toddler out of the candy aisle.

“You can’t just propose to married people!” Riddle hissed as they disappeared down the path.

Left in their wake, you spotted Cater and Che’nya lounging under a tree, shamelessly munching on popcorn. Cater caught your eye and waved, looking far too entertained by the whole ordeal.

“Did you see Trey’s face?” Che’nya whispered loudly. “I’d give it a solid nine out of ten on the jealousy scale.”

“Totally,” Cater agreed. “Hey, Alfred!” he called to the butler nearby. “Get me a glass of wine; this show’s getting good!”

Before you could decide whether to laugh or cringe, Trey’s hand gently tilted your chin, drawing your attention back to him.

“Focus on me,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours.

And oh, jealous Trey was adorable. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with a possessiveness that made your heart skip several beats.

Caught up in the moment, you leaned forward and kissed him, a quick but sweet gesture that left him blinking in surprise before a soft smile spread across his face.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Cater almost spill his wine in excitement, while Che’nya clapped like a seal.

“Now that’s spicy!” Che’nya crowed.

“I need another glass,” Cater sighed dramatically, as if the sheer romance was too much for his delicate heart.

But you didn’t care. Trey’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for once, the rest of the world faded away.

The war room was dead silent, the kind of silence so heavy you could hear the shuffle of maps and the scratch of quills on parchment. Every important figure of the empire was present—Trey and you, the Emperor and Empress, military generals whose scowls could crack stone, the Pope looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, and, shockingly, even the Prince, for once not actively trying to ruin someone’s day.

Strategies were discussed in grim tones. Supply lines, terrain advantages, possible reinforcement numbers—you and Trey were fully immersed in weighing the support your duchy could offer. For once, even the Prince managed to look engaged, though he was suspiciously chewing on the end of his quill like a kid stuck in detention.

Then, like an uninvited storm, the doors slammed open.

“Hellooooooo!”

Every head in the room turned as the Saintess waltzed in, an hour late, as if this were a garden party and not a high-stakes war council. She was dressed in what could only be described as a fever dream of bad taste: a dress so garish and bedazzled it could probably be seen from orbit, complete with absurd feathered accessories sticking out at odd angles like a startled peacock.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she sang, twirling unnecessarily as if this was a runway. “I couldn’t decide which dress to wear. Do you think this one looks good?”

The silence was palpable, charged with a collective secondhand embarrassment that could power an entire city.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering if you could claim an "upset stomach" for the fifth time this month. Then, unable to stop yourself, you deadpanned, “Yes. It’d make a great enemy flag.”

Trey choked on a laugh, quickly covering it with a cough. The Pope crossed himself, possibly praying for patience. One of the military generals muttered something under his breath, hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword. The Prince just buried his face in his hands.

The Saintess, predictably, burst into tears. “You’re so mean! I’m just trying to brighten up this dreary meeting!”

The Emperor looked deeply, soul-crushingly confused, glancing at the generals as if to ask, Does this happen often? Meanwhile, the Empress, seated beside him, was gripping the armrest of her chair so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

Trey sighed and leaned closer to you. “I’ll handle it,” he murmured, giving you a quick nod before standing.

He approached her like one might approach a wild animal, hands raised in surrender. “Saintess, perhaps we could discuss this outside—”

But no sooner had he stepped within arm’s reach did she trip. On purpose.

In what could only be described as an Olympian-level act of self-preservation, Trey sidestepped so swiftly she ended up flailing through the air like a failed acrobat.

She landed directly on top of the Emperor.

The entire room froze.

The Emperor looked down at the Saintess sprawled across his lap with the bewilderment of someone who just found a raccoon in their bed. The generals were wide-eyed, clearly waiting for his reaction before deciding if they needed to draw their swords. The Pope had started sweating through his robes, clutching his staff like it was his last lifeline.

And then, like an avenging goddess, the Empress rose from her seat.

Without a single word, she grabbed the Saintess by her feathered hairpiece and hauled her up like a disobedient child. The Saintess shrieked, limbs flailing, but the Empress dragged her toward the door with a grim determination.

“OUT.”

The doors slammed shut behind them, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Trey cleared his throat, brushing off his sleeves as if nothing had happened. “Well,” he said, returning to his seat beside you. “That was��� eventful.”

“Eventful?” you hissed, elbowing him. “She just dive-bombed the Emperor!”

Trey shrugged, lips twitching. “And yet here we are, still alive. I’d call that a win.”

Across the table, the Emperor straightened his robes, trying to reclaim what little dignity he had left. “Shall we… continue?” he asked, though his tone suggested he wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and a nap.

You nodded, biting your lip to suppress a laugh as the meeting resumed. Somehow, against all odds, you managed to get back to planning strategy. But you knew this story was one for the history books. Or at least for drunken retellings later.

The negotiation room was a grand affair, with gilded walls, an impossibly long table, and an air of tension so thick you could slice it with a butter knife.

The opposing kingdom’s crown princess sat across from your delegation, radiating intelligence and poise. Her every word was measured, her presence commanding, and she somehow managed to make a simple quill look like a weapon of mass destruction.

Meanwhile, your prince was... spinning in his chair.

“Wheeeee!”

You felt your soul leave your body.

“Your Highness,” Riddle hissed, his voice laced with the kind of fury only a man on the verge of a migraine could muster. “Compose yourself!”

The prince paused mid-spin, blinking like he’d just remembered where he was. “Right, right. Negotiations. Totally got this.” He picked up a quill and twirled it between his fingers like a toddler pretending to be an adult.

You buried your face in your hands, quietly mourning the future of your kingdom.

Across the table, their saint was the picture of grace, clasping their hands as though ready to bestow divine blessings upon the room. They exuded an aura of peace and righteousness that made you think, Ah, yes, this is what a saint should look like.

And then there was your saintess.

She was currently leaning against the wall, dramatically fanning herself with a peacock-feathered fan that you were pretty sure wasn’t hers. She’d arrived late, claiming she’d been “blessed by the spirits of fashion,” and was wearing a gown so covered in rhinestones that it could probably be seen from space.

You caught Trey’s eye from across the table. He looked entirely too amused, like he was moments away from bursting into laughter. You glared at him, silently begging him to take this seriously.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward as if to say, I’m trying.

Thankfully, the Empress had come along for damage control. She sat at the head of the table, calm and unflappable, effortlessly steering the conversation back on track whenever your prince derailed it with comments like, “So, how do you guys feel about dragons?”

When the opposing kingdom’s crown princess suggested an ambassador exchange as part of the peace treaty, the Empress visibly perked up.

“That’s an excellent idea,” she said smoothly. “In fact, we have the perfect candidate.”

You felt a sliver of hope. Maybe she’d suggest Riddle—he was intelligent, responsible, and would undoubtedly represent your kingdom well. Or Trey, whose calm demeanor and charm could win over anyone. Or—dare you dream—maybe even you, since you were clearly the only one in this circus who had a shred of common sense. And the two of you could move away from this hellhole.

“We’ll send the saintess,” the Empress announced, her voice dripping with what could only be described as malicious glee.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The crown princess on the other side of the table looked mildly alarmed. “Um,” she began, clearly searching for a polite way to decline.

“She’ll be an excellent cultural ambassador,” the Empress continued, her smile widening. “She’s... unforgettable.”

Riddle’s eye twitched, but he said nothing. Trey looked down at the table, probably to hide his grin.

The saintess, oblivious to the underlying implications, squealed in delight. “Oh my gosh, finally! I’ve always wanted to travel!”

The opposing kingdom reluctantly agreed—probably under the assumption that taking her would somehow count as reparations.

When you all finally returned home, the atmosphere was noticeably lighter, as though a glittery, rhinestone-encrusted weight had been lifted off your collective shoulders.

Trey leaned over in the carriage, his voice low and amused. “Well, I’d call that a success.”

“Success?” you laughed. “We basically tricked another kingdom into taking her off our hands.”

Trey’s smile was soft as he reached for your hand. “And we averted a war in the process.”

You sighed, but your heart skipped a beat when his thumb brushed against your knuckles. Maybe you could live with this version of “success.”

Without the saintess egging him on, the prince had downgraded from menace to society to mildly annoying NPC. He still popped up every now and then, offering unsolicited advice on topics he clearly didn’t understand, but Riddle—bless his overworked soul—had finally had enough. As royal advisor, he slapped the prince with permanent probation, effectively keeping him confined to paperwork and far, far away from you and Trey.

Life, for once, was peaceful.

So peaceful, in fact, that you and Trey found yourselves back at that restaurant—the same one that had become the backdrop for two very traumatic encounters. It felt like tempting fate, but Trey, ever the optimist, assured you that lightning wouldn’t strike thrice.

And for once, he was right.

The food was good, the atmosphere was cozy, and not a single insufferable royal barged in to ruin the evening. You both laughed, reminisced, and indulged in desserts that Trey—being the baking connoisseur he was—had plenty of opinions about.

By the time you left the restaurant, the streets were quiet, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The air was crisp but not cold, and everything felt oddly serene, like the universe was apologizing for all the nonsense it had previously thrown your way.

As you walked side by side, Trey suddenly stopped.

You turned to face him, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he knelt down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Trey—”

“Before you say anything,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with emotion, “I just want you to know that despite how things started between us... I’ve never regretted a single moment with you.” He looked up at you, his green eyes warm and sincere. “You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life making you just as happy.”

He opened the box, revealing a ring—simple, elegant, and undeniably perfect. “So... will you marry me? Again?”

You stared at him, your chest tight with emotions you couldn’t even begin to untangle. And then you laughed—because how else were you supposed to process the sheer ridiculousness of everything that had led to this moment?

“Yes,” you said, your voice trembling with joy. “Of course, yes.”

He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger with a smile that could have melted glaciers.

And then he kissed you—soft, slow, and so full of love that it felt like the world around you ceased to exist.

Somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard a cat knock over a trash can, but nothing could ruin this moment.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[salthusiast]

Violent Love Language

No Goggles Mark x GDA Agent Female Reader

Summary: After being sent on a quick mission by Cecil, you catch the attention of one of the variants.

Word Count: 6.4k

Invincible Masterlist

Warnings: Violence and blood. Also death (nobody important don’t worry).

“What is going on?!” You hear Cecil’s voice appear behind you. He must really like that teleporter. 

“It appears that multiple versions of Invincible have entered our dimension.” You say, clearing your stack of papers. You know Cecil is going to make you work for that paycheck today.

“No shit, many are we talking?” He asks.

“Sixteen, sir.” You reply, attempting to pull up any cameras you can access on your computer. You pull up the ones from the prison and see some weird Mohawk version of Invincible.

“Huh, well, that’s not what I expected.” You blink, taken aback briefly by the difference.

“It doesn’t matter what he looks like. We need to figure out how to stop them. Get every superhero on the planet out there.” Cecil commands.

You nod, getting ready to notify all the teams Cecil has at his disposal, which is a lot.

“Donald, come with me,” Cecil says, walking toward the door before pausing at the door and calling your name. 

You whip your head toward him, confused if you heard him correctly, “Yes, you come too.” He snaps.

You don’t want to piss him off more than he already is. You can’t imagine that dealing with a crisis like this is very fun. You’re stressed out with your current position, so you can’t imagine being the GDA director. 

“Everybody else, make sure that at least some heroes are trying to stop every single Invincible,” Cecil calls out before turning back toward the door, you and Donald following suit.

“I called you for a special mission. I tried to keep it on the down low as much as possible. However, with current circumstances, I need a favor.” The three of you continue to walk down the hallway. 

You start to feel a little anxious, “Whatever you need, sir. Will it be dangerous?” You ask.

He doesn’t immediately respond, “Usually no, but right now potentially.” He sighs. “I am trusting you with this job. It could potentially save millions of lives if you’re successful.”

Geez, no pressure. You feel yourself start to sweat, “If it saves lives, it is worth it. What is it you need me to do, sir?” You ask.

Cecil brings you to a new room, “You’re going to be looking for a black suitcase. In that suitcase, there will be about twenty small devices in there. They’re experimental, but hypothetically, they should be useful in dealing with Viltrumites. They’re portable versions of the chips that we implanted into Mark. They have a working radius of around fifty miles out.” 

You gape at him; you can't help but feel bad for Mark. You don’t know him personally, but he seems to be a good person. Cecil had made these intending to stop this dimension’s Mark, not other ones.

“Judge all you want about it, but it’s our best hope,” Cecil says, grabbing a watch-looking device. You recognize it immediately.

“Sir, where exactly is this located?” You ask, putting on the device.

Cecil looks at you solemnly, “Guardians HQ. If you’re lucky, you can find it and be in and out in five minutes. However, realistically, you’re going to have to pass all the security checks, which require everybody here to approve.” He sighs.

“I won’t lie, kid. There’s a large chance one of these Invincible variants will be there. If that’s the case, we’ll try and get you out of there. We’ll be monitoring from here.” Cecil gestures between himself and Donald.

You nod, “Yeah,” You take a deep breath, “Okay. Wait, so I get to use the teleporter?” You ask, feeling a little excited.

“Yes, you should just be going there and back,” Cecil explains, motioning for Donald to get everything ready.

“This isn’t coming out of my paycheck right…” You admire the watch. It looks simple, but you know this is very expensive. Cecil stares at you unamused. 

“Uh, okay, I’m ready. How does this— OH MY GOODNESS-” You feel yourself stumble as you land in Guardians HQ.

“Woah…” You look around, you haven’t been here before, not being a superhero. “Damn, really wish he gave me some idea of where it could be.” You mumble to yourself.

You look around the vast room, noticing a large desk. “Guess I’ll start here.” You rummage around briefly, not seeing anything catch your eye.

You spend the next ten minutes just trying to find the suitcase. Was Cecil trying to get you killed? He could’ve at least pointed you in the right direction.

Eventually, you find a door; there isn’t anything special about it. You go to see if you can open it. You try to twist the handle, failing miserably. “Oh, come on.” You groan.

You look at the screen on the door handle’s keypad, which requires higher security access. 

You turn around the room, “Uhh, if you guys can hear me, could you maybe unlock the door?” You point at it, feeling stupid.

Suddenly, a loud crash resonates in the room. You immediately try to find cover, but you’re standing out in the open. 

“Ah damn, I thought they’d be here.” You hear Invincible say, but you know it’s not the one you know. 

You slowly try and inch away out of sight. Maybe you’ll get lucky and he won’t see you?

“Cecil, I know you’re watching.” Not Mark announces in a sing-song tone. “Here! Let me get rid of all these cameras for you.” 

You watch as this Mark variant destroys every camera. Damn, you were relying on those. 

You try and see if there are any differences between this Mark and the one you know. He seems to have the older costume. Other than that, there doesn’t appear to be any differences in it. 

You squint, trying to see. Oh, no goggles, that's a choice.

Just as you try and find a spot to cover, you hear him laugh loudly, “Oh, ho! Look who we have here!” He calls your name out. You stiffen. How does he know you?

“It really is you! Damn, I started to actually miss you. I killed you in my world, you were a reallll challenge.” He floats just above you. You feel a little pathetic crouched down beneath him.

“Is that so?” You counter, feigning confidence. Cecil, where are you? You take a quick glance at the watch, hoping it'll activate, but it doesn't.

“Oh yeah, for sure! I was so sad when I killed you. I got you to scream for hours. You lasted so long. It was soooo cool.” He gestures excitedly. You nod as if interested. Keep him busy, somebody’s gotta come eventually.

“How nice.” You reply sarcastically. Not Mark nods enthusiastically, not noticing the sarcasm.

I still remember what you sounded like. “God, I can’t believe I get a second opportunity to do it.” He lands right in front of you.

“Woah, uh, maybe take a step back.” You step back, creating distance. You feel unnerved by the wide grin on his face.

“Oooh, setting up the match, huh? We’re getting serious. Okay, okay, I’ll play along!” He gets into a fighting stance. You stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

“For somebody who seemed to enjoy torturing me so much, I’m surprised I’m only the second version to have the honor to fight you.” You can feel yourself start to sweat. You are running out of ways to stall him.

“I know. I mean, I wanted to conquer other dimensions,” He waves a hand casually, “but this is fun too.”

You see a shift in the lighting above. You subtly glance up, finally somebody’s here. You can’t tell who it is, but you can see it’s not an Invincible. 

“Hmm.. yes, fun.” You reply uninterested. “You know what else is fun?” You ask, moving closer.

He starts to grin wider, getting into a more serious position, “What?”

You push him down the stairs, catching him off guard. You got lucky there. If he wanted to resist that, he definitely could’ve. You see the Guardians descend from the ceiling, restraining him.

You look towards the open door, which was locked earlier. You run towards it.

“Hey! AGH!” You hear him get hit. “DUDE IT WAS A ONE V ONE! RESPECT THE MATCH!” You hear him yell across the room. Ha.

You grab the suitcase waiting in the room, watching as the Guardians attempt to knock him unconscious. 

You frown, “You guys need him alive or something?” You ask, watching them beat down on Not Mark.

“Yeah, Cecil thinks he’s our best shot at getting answers.” You hear Darkwing reply. You nod, “Alright then. Not my business.” You start to walk away, “Wait, before I leave, can I do something?"

All the Guardians look at each other, “Sorry, it’ll just take a moment.” You set the suitcase down, taking a heel off your foot. 

You throw it as hard as you can at Not Mark, hitting him dead in the eye. “Hey! What’d you do that for?!” He frowns pettishly.

You grab the suitcase, picking it up again. You adjust yourself before looking him dead in the eye with a straight face, “Fun.” 

You turn around to walk away from the Guardians, feeling the odd sensation of being teleported once again.

All the Guardians watch, flabbergasted. “She’s got guts.” Darkwing breaks it, amused. Immortal nods, “Let’s just knock this guy out. There’s still more out there.” 

Not Mark remains on the floor, awestruck. How did this human come in here, trick him into an ambush, and then have the audacity to hit him? His eyes linger on where you teleported away. 

It was at this moment that he decided he would meet you again.

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

“That was a bold move, kid.” You hear Cecil’s voice. You look up, still nauseous from the teleportation, and his arms are crossed.

“He killed another version of me.” You justify, handing him the suitcase. “Even if I don’t have super strength to beat him up, I wanted to at least hit him for what he did. I would’ve slapped him, but I’m not stupid enough to go into neck snapping range.”

“Whatever," He sighs, "it’s done now. We’ll try and send these out with some teams. They should at least reduce the damage that could be done.” Cecil says, opening the suitcases. He grabs one of the devices.

“What about Mark, sir?” Donald asks, frowning. 

“If you can get in contact with him, tell him to get off the planet. Otherwise, it’s a small price to pay for the greater good. He’ll recover, humanity may not.” Cecil replies. Donald nods and goes back to typing.

Cecil turns toward you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Good work, kid. Sorry that you had to deal with that.”

You shrug, “It’s okay, he didn’t actually get the chance to do anything.” You reply. “What are you planning on doing with him? Are you sure you can restrain him?” You ask, frowning.

“We’re planning on implanting the same chip that Mark had into him. Don’t worry, we have a plan for what to do with him. We might be able to extract some answers out of him eventually.” Cecil sighs. “I don’t even know if we’ll be able to rehabilitate him.” He shakes his head. 

You know this is what Cecil does. While you may find some moral issues in using villains, you know this is how he works. There’s nothing you can do to change that.

You nod, “It’s worth a shot, sir.” You reply. “If we can have two Invincibles out there, that’d be a huge advantage.” 

“Yeah, that’s if he will change. These variants seem pretty set in their ways.” Cecil watches Donald work. “One step at a time. We need to get answers out of him first.” 

You nod, “Probably a good idea.” 

Cecil turns back to you before dismissing you back to your desk, “Thank you for your help.”

You nod, “Of course, sir. Call me anytime.”

—

“You sure he won’t wake up?” Darkwing asks, looking nervously at the body of the unconscious Invincible slung over Immortal’s back.

Duplikate walks up next to them, “I doubt it. If he does, Cecil told us he has a backup. We can also knock him out again.”

“We were lucky. If he wasn’t caught off guard, then we would not have knocked him out. He would’ve killed us all.” Darkwing responds solemnly.

Immortal slides the variant into the special cell that Cecil told them to put him in.

“Thank you, Guardians.” A scientist comes up to them, locking the special prison cell. “You needn’t worry about him escaping. You are free to go.” He smiles. 

The Guardians nod before rushing out of the Pentagon. Cecil walks into the room. “Is he up yet?” He asks.

The scientist shakes his head, “No, sir. We expect he’ll wake up in the next few minutes, though.” He taps his pen on the clipboard. 

“Good, all safety measures have been checked, yes?” Cecil asks. The scientist nods, “Yes, sir. He will not be escaping.” He responds. The two watch as the Invincible starts to stir.

“Agh, my head… Hey, where am I?” He looks around before making eye contact with Cecil. “You seriously think that I can’t escape this?” He sounds amused. He slowly stands up, walking up to the front of his cell. 

“Perhaps, but you will regret your attempts,” Cecil replies, his voice betraying nothing. 

The Invincible variant laughs, taking off his mask. “You had me knocked out, why not kill me?” He puts his finger through the mask and spins it.

“You aren’t in a position to be asking questions.” Cecil narrows his eyes.

The variant suddenly slams into the front of the cell where Cecil and the scientist stand. The scientist flinches back, but Cecil remains still.

“You truly think. I can’t kill you right now?” He laughs. “All it takes is— ARGH!!” He immediately falls down onto the ground, gripping his head. 

Cecil presses the button once again, cutting out the noise playing in the Invincible’s ear. “Like I said, you’re not in a position to be asking questions.” The variant looks up at him, the amused smile gone from his face.

"Now tell me why you’re here,” Cecil demands. 

The variant wipes the blood from his suit, “I’m not tellin’ you shit.” He smears the blood on his fingers to the ground. Suddenly, he says your name, the smile returning to his face.

“What?” Cecil asks, confused. “How do you know her?” He asks.

“Does it matter?” The variant rolls his eyes. “Where is she? I want to talk to her.”

“Sorry to say, we can’t do that.” Cecil didn’t sound very sorry.

The variant clicks his tongue, “Damn, guess you’re not getting a word out of me then.” He leans against the wall smugly.

“You can rot in this cell then,” Cecil replies.

The variant snaps and then does finger guns, “Oooh, so you see, that won’t work.” He laughs loudly. “I mean you’ll die eventually. I have centuries to escape, and trust me...” 

He leans towards the wall, placing his hands against it, “It will not take me a century to escape. You’re lucky if you last a week.” He pushes away from the wall, pacing in his room.

“Now, if you want answers. Bring her. It’s a win-win. I get the girl, you get your answers!” He grins widely, as if that’s a very fair deal.

Cecil sighs.

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

“Uh, what is it you need, sir?” You ask your boss over the phone. 

“It appears that the Invincible variant we captured refuses to answer any questions,” Cecil responds, annoyed, looking over toward the variant, who is grinning with two giant thumbs up.

“Okay..?” You respond, not liking where this is headed.

“I hate to involve you again, kid, but he will only answer questions if you are there,” Cecil replies exasperated.

You are frozen for a moment; this monster almost killed you. Why on Earth could he possibly want to talk to you?

“..Which cell is he in?” You eventually concede. You can hear Cecil sigh in relief. 

“Thank you, he’s in cell two hundred forty-three,” Cecil informs you. 

“I’ll be there in a minute.” You tell him before you hang up. 

You grab all your stuff and begin your long trek to the special prison Cecil has. It’s supposed to be able to withstand anything, but after seeing Omni-Man take a nuke, you aren’t certain.

You eventually get down to that level, and the security asks for your identification. You scan your card before walking in. You see Cecil and Donald standing at the end of the row.

You slowly approach, “There she is! I was wondering if you were gonna show!” You hear Not Mark (at this point, that’s his new name) call. 

“How long do I need to be here for?” You whisper to Cecil. 

“Long enough to figure out why they’re here and who sent them,” Cecil responds, matching your volume.

“You got your wish, now can you answer our questions?” Cecil asks, crossing his arms.

“Mmmm, I don’t know.” He looks at you and frowns. “I thought it was just gonna be me and her.” He looks disappointedly at Cecil.

You and Cecil share a look, you nod at each other, before he looks down shaking his head. “Everybody out! You get ten minutes with her, nothing more.” He states before the area clears out.

You shift uncomfortably, he is just watching you. He seems content just to stare at you. 

“What?” You ask, feeling scrutinized by his stare. He looks up at you, “You’re amazing.” He replies breathless.

You raise an eyebrow, “I’m amazing. After you told me that the other version of me you tortured was one of the best things you’ve done? Hate to break it to you, but I am just a normal person.” You cross your arms, looking at him. “I think you’ve noticed that already.”

He nods, “Of course I have. She was strong, sure, but you. You played me like a fool. When you hit me with that shoe at the end? Way to leave a guy with a cliffhanger.” He mockingly swoons.

You look at him unimpressed. “Very funny. Now we don’t have much time, so please just cooperate and answer these questions. It saves us both trouble.”

He nods enthusiastically, “Of course. What do you want to know?” He sits on the ground, criss cross, looking up at you like you hung the moon.

You ignore his gaze, “Why are you here?” You ask.

“Well… You see, I got into a fight with the Guardians. Oooh, I was so looking forward to actually fighting them. Instead, I met you.” He rests his elbows on his knees, holding his face with his hands.

“I was so enraptured by your presence that I got caught off guard.” He holds his hands out. “Now, I’m in prison.”

You look at him, glaring. “You know what I meant.”

He frowns, “Not big on jokes? We were chatting perfectly fine earlier.” He says to himself. You exhale annoyed.

“Sheesh, just playing! Okay, so this guy, right? He promised me the most fun dimensions for me to take over.” He shifts his weight onto his side. 

“What was his name?” You ask. 

“Angstrom Levy.” He says, and you freeze. “Oh, you’ve met?” He asks.

“Not personally, but I’ve heard stories.” You look down. “What exactly did he ask you all to do?” You ask.

“Eh, something about making everyone here fear Invincible. It seemed like he just wanted chaos, which I didn’t mind one bit.” He holds his hands up in surrender.

“How long are you guys meant to do this for?” You ask.

He shrugs, “Until he says stop, I guess.” 

“And when would that be?” You walk up closer to his cell. He stands up, meeting your gaze. His eyes glance down at your lips.

“I…” He stares at your face, “have no idea.”

You frown, “Helpful.”

“I try to be.” He grins.

You shake your head, rubbing your temples. This is way above your paygrade. “So, let me get this straight: Angstrom Levy brought over a dozen different versions of yourself,” He nods, “and he just told you guys to ‘cause chaos.” 

“Sounds about right.” He starts spinning his mask with his fingers again.

“And in return, he’d give you dimensions to conquer?” You frown.

“Yeeep.” 

“So you have no idea why he wants you guys to cause chaos?” You lean up against the cell. He leans against his cell, too, mirroring your action.

“To be honest, I didn’t particularly care.” He taps his finger against the cell. “But, I do know the me of this dimension did something to piss him off.”

You think back to the whole incident with the Mauler Twins and the other incident where Mark almost killed him. “Oh.” You respond.

“‘Oh?’” He quotes. “You gonna share with the class?” 

“I thought I was the one asking questions.” You look at him.

“And I answered! Come on, throw me a bone here, will you?” He grins at you, looking far more innocent than you know him to be.

You look at him unimpressed. 

“Please?! Come on. There’s nothing fun around here. You’re my only source of entertainment right now.” He leans against the wall dramatically.

“Glad to know I’m contributing to your lack of entertainment.” You respond, detached.

“Aha! There she is! I was wondering if you left all your personality back where we met.” He snaps his fingers and does finger guns at you.

You look at him blankly. “Cecil will be back any moment now.” You begin to walk away.

“Wait, wait!” He calls out, and you pause.

“Will you come and visit me?” He asks, giving you false puppy dog eyes. You know if he wasn’t in that cell, he’d probably kill you.

You scoff but find yourself smiling, “Why, so I can be a source of entertainment for you?” You ask, walking back to his cell. He walks up to where you are, and you both stare each other down.

“Perhaps.” He grins.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t look like you’re getting answers out of him.” Cecil walks in. You immediately distance yourself from the cell, breaking eye contact with Not Mark. He doesn’t move from where you two had your little staring competition.

“Forgive me, sir.” You look away from him, slightly embarrassed. “I did get answers, though.” You consciously ignore Not Mark, who is waving at you both to try and get your attention.

“We heard,” Cecil responds dryly, he does sound a bit amused though. He puts his hand on your shoulder, “Thanks for your assistance. Sorry we had to bring you out again for.. him.” You both turn to look at Not Mark, who grins innocently.

“Yeah, no problem.” You say, feeling as if it were very much a problem.

“Wait, Cecil, is she allowed to visit me?” Not Mark asks, butting into your conversation.

“That’s up to her.” Cecil says, at the same time you say, “It’s prohibited.”

You look at Cecil, distressed. “What? It pays to be in his good graces.” Cecil whispers to you.

“Yeah? What’s his good graces? Not breaking out and killing everyone?” You respond frustrated. Cecil raises an eyebrow before looking over at Not Mark. “Fair enough.” You sigh despondently.

“I can hear you two.” Not Mark comments helpfully.

You look at Cecil, and he nods. “You can head back now.”

You nod, ��Thank you, sir.” You start to walk away, ignoring Not Mark’s cries of “Wait!” and “Don’t go!”

You walk past the security, giving a nod of acknowledgement. You walk into the elevator.

Once you arrive on the floor, you were supposed to be on (before all of that happened). You sit down at your desk, grabbing your stack of papers you threw aside earlier. 

“How are the Guardians doing, or all the teams for that matter?” You ask your coworker, Bryan, casually.

He groans. “We’ve already seen at least three be eliminated or seriously injured.”

“Teams? Like they killed off entire teams?” You ask, shocked.

He nods, “Yep. Down and out.” He types frantically on his keyboard.

“…Have we managed to kill any of the Invincibles at all?” You ask hesitantly, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“At the moment? Four.” He responds.

“Oh, that’s more than I expected.” You look around the panicked room. Every person around you is frantically working. Crazy to think that not even 10 minutes ago you were talking to one of those Invincibles while everybody up here was stressing.

“Did you find out any valuable info from the one we captured?” Bryan asks.

“Not much. Levy sent him.” You start to log in to your computer.

“Levy? As in Angstrom Levy?” He asks, flabbergasted.

“Yep.” You pop your lips. “Turns out Mark didn’t kill him.” 

“From what I heard, there was no way anybody could survive that.” 

“Well, apparently he did. He wants revenge on Mark, I think.” You respond.

“Great, so he brought sixteen different Invincibles in order to kill our Invincible.” He sighs, pausing in his typing.

“Eh, basically. Apparently, they won’t stop causing damage until told to by Levy himself.” You tell him. “The captured one didn’t even know when that’d be.”

“Oh, so they could go on until they destroy the world?” Bryan laughs humorlessly.

“Yeah. I have no idea when—”

A loud crash resounds in the room. You and Bryan whip your heads around, looking at the giant hole in the ceiling. You look and see an Invincible floating over the rubble. 

You quickly glance at Bryan before you both scurry out of the room. You start to run out when…

“HOLY SHIT!” You hear him yell. You turn around to look at him, narrowly missing the body that was flung inches in front of your face.

You stare in horror, watching as employee after employee is murdered. You begin to run again. 

“Ugh damn it…” You frantically yank your heels off your feet. You run off to the exit. You, Bryan, and a few other coworkers manage to escape that room, but you can still hear the screams from where the crash was.

“Where is Cecil?!” Somebody asks. You shake your head. “Probably dealing with the other one we captured.” You groan. This Invincible is probably here to break that one out of prison.

“Let’s go, it’s safer in the halls than it is here.” You look at the remaining people, who nod. You start to run out again before the wall on your left explodes. 

“Other way, other way!” You yell, panicked. You push back against the remaining people. They start to head in the other direction. 

“Are all of you guys okay?” You ask. Out of the thirty of you in that room, seven (including you) made it.

“We should’ve just let him go.” You hear a coworker mumble, and everybody turns to look at them. “What? Am I wrong? This never would have happened if we didn’t keep that other one hostage.” You hear some murmurs of agreement.

“We don’t know that. The Pentagon might’ve been a target regardless of the Invincible we kept.” You frown, shaking your head. 

“Yeah? Well, we can’t be too sure, can we? How about we find out, huh?” The worker pushes past you all, heading back into the original room.

“What are they doing?” Bryan asks. You all watch as they run to their death.

Suddenly, static cuts in from the PA speakers: “Cell two hundred and forty-three is open.”

You all sit in silence for a bit before some people in your group begin to sob. 

The door the worker ran into earlier opens, and you all watch as a head rolls through the door. It is the head of that worker.

You all look up in horror. The Invincible variant crushes the head of the worker before looking up. 

You, being in the back, turn in the opposite direction. You think you’ll take your chances with random exploding walls over that. Bryan notices, and you motion him to be quiet, and duck so that the variant doesn’t see you two escape.

You both crouch, walking in the other direction. The group is still back there facing off against that Invincible. Do you feel bad for leaving them there? Yes, but you can’t dwell on it. It’s either all of you die, or some of you die. 

You don’t even hear the screams of them, just the wet slap of their bodies hitting the blood-soaked floor. You flinch, knowing that you two are now in plain view.

“Bryan, Bryan, we have to ru—” You turn to look at your friend, but pause in horror. The variant stabbed his hand right through him. You cup your hands up to your mouth, holding back a sob. You look at the variant before attempting to sprint away. You feel yourself get slammed into the wall, and you let out a soft “Oof!”

You look up in fear, the Invincible’s goggles block you from seeing his eyes. You can feel the tears roll down your face at this point. You don’t say anything, just stare at him silently as he raises his hand to strike you down.

Suddenly, you’re thrown to the ground, out of the Invincible’s grip. You look up.

“Dude, what are you doing here? God, you ruined my whole plan.” Not Mark pouts petulantly.

“I wasn’t aware you were here.” The other Mark replies.

“Well?” He does jazz hands. “I am! Now get out.” 

“Sure, whatever, just let me kill the human first. Angstrom said kill as many as possible.

Within an instant, Not Mark tackles the other one, sending a cloud of dust throughout the entire area. You cough, watching in both awe and horror. You attempt to stand up, but feel a sharp pain in your leg.

“Agh… shit.” You whimper, an action that seems to catch Not Mark’s attention. Within a millisecond, he’s in front of you, “Do you trust me?” He asks.

You blink at him, feeling the gust of wind from him speeding towards you. “Absolutely not!” You suck in air from the pain.

He grins, “Great.” He then grabs you bridal style before blasting into the air.

“OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” You attempt to yell over the rushing wind. You feel yourself suffocating, unable to breathe with the high speed and rushing wind.

“Aw shit, forgot humans can’t breathe when I move this fast. You think you can last a little longer?” You hear him ask. You try and nod, but can barely move against the strong force. 

Eventually, you come to a stop, he places you down gently on the ground. “Do not move. Go inside that building, I’ll be back shortly.” He points to a relatively run down looking building.

“What?! Where did you drop me off-” You watch him speed off back into the sky. “Unbelievable!” You yell out to nobody. Who is going to believe this happened to you today? Nobody! 

“I’m not waiting here, asshole.” You grumble to yourself.

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

You sigh, waiting inside the building.

“How long is his definition of ‘shortly'? It’s been days.” You lean your elbows on your knees. 

Luckily, despite its run down appearance the place Not Mark dropped you off at has running water and food. 

It took you a while to actually try and consume any of it, but you decided that you didn’t want to die in the middle of nowhere. You’ll take your chances. Worst-case scenario, Cecil pays for your healthcare. He is the one who put you in this situation anyway.

Suddenly, the door gets thrown open. You jump back into the corner of the room you’re in. You hear Not Mark call your name.

“Hellooo? Anybody here?” You hear him approach you before looking directly at you. “There she is!” He walks up to you.

You grimace in disgust, looking at him. He’s covered from head to toe in blood. 

“What’s wrong?” He frowns. “Do I have something on my face?” He asks.

You look him up and down again, “Blood.” You respond disgustedly.

He blinks, confused, “You don’t like the blood? I thought you’d like it.” He looks at the ground as if trying to figure out a puzzle. “I’ll be right back.” He zooms out of the room, the door shutting itself behind him.

You look at the spot he was just at, unimpressed. Suddenly, the door opens again, and his suit is clean. You furrow your eyebrows, “How’d you clean it?” You ask.

“Flew to space and back. It comes off.” He mentions casually, as if that’s normal. “Anyway, ready to head home?” He grins, looking at you, holding his arms out ready to carry you. 

You look at him, suspicious.

He rolls his eyes, “Oh come onnnn. If I wanted to kill you, I could’ve done that way earlier.” He raises a hand and waves it back. At your horrified expression, he elaborates, “I mean like… You know what I mean. I don’t want you dead. I kinda went out of my way to make sure you didn’t die.” 

You nod, “Oh, yeah, okay… So I should just let you whisk me to who knows where.” You feign calmness.

“I mean, yeah.” He shrugs before grinning widely. “OOH, unless you want to give me your address.”

You stare at him, trying to discern whether he is serious. He stares back, smiling, looking like a dog begging for a treat. 

“No!”

“Worth a shot.” He sighs dejectedly. 

He carries you back, flying a lot slower this time, but still fast enough where you can’t bring yourself to talk in fear of choking on air or on a bug.

You feel him gaze at you a couple of times and pointedly ignore his stare. Suddenly, he pauses, slowing to a stop mid-air. “What’s wrong?” You ask, panic growing. 

You see him groan before throwing out some earpiece in his ear. “Oh, they didn’t take that out when you entered the Pentagon?”

“I don't know, I should be asking you that.” He leans down to your ear. “Hold on tight.” He whispers.

“What? OH MY—” You see him attack something. It explodes in the air. You both watch the debris fall onto the earth.

“What was that?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“Angstrom.” He says, pulling you closer before flying back where he was originally headed. 

You go the rest of the flight in silence. It wasn’t like you could talk if you wanted to. The wind made it difficult.

“Andddd we’re here. Wow, we really did a number on this place.” You look down, seeing half the Pentagon decimated. 

Out of nowhere, ReAnimen jump up into the sky. Not Mark drops you out of surprise. You feel yourself fall, closing your eyes and bracing for the impact. God, was this finally it? After everything you survived today?

A pair of arms catch you, and you open your eyes to see the singular red light of a ReAniman. You try to lean back away from the undead creature. You know they work for Cecil, but it doesn’t mean that you have to like them.

“Oh, good you’re alive. How’d you live?” Cecil asks. You feel yourself questioning for a moment if he is actually happy to see you alive. You turn toward Not Mark. He is fighting the ReAnimen. 

“Woahh, I never fought these guys in my world. They’re kinda fun.” He slams five of them using the body of one he already killed. “I killed you before you got the chance to create them, but man, Cecil. Good stuff.” He hovers over them.

“He saved me.” You tell Cecil, not exactly sounding enthusiastic.

He raises an eyebrow, “From the other one that came?” He asks, you nod.

“Hm…” He pauses, looking at the ground before pointing at you suddenly.

“What?” You whisper.

All the ReAnimen slowly turn their heads toward you. “Wait, Cecil, what are you doing?” You ask, panic growing. He looks at you coldly. “Cecil…” You try again.

Not Mark, noticing the lack of new opponents looks down. He spots you getting circled before he immediately dives in and lands right behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” He asks coldly. The grin on his face from the fight earlier is nowhere to be seen.

Cecil suddenly holds his hand up, and all the ReAnimen halt. “I see.” He says to himself. He says your name, “I apologize for my actions just now. I just had to…” He looks at Not Mark, “test something.” 

You look at Not Mark and then Cecil. “Please tell me you aren’t thinking what I’m thinking.” You look at Cecil in disbelief.

“What is it?” Not Mark asks right behind you. You step forward to create some distance between you two, and he steps forward to compensate.

“Say, how about you work for the GDA, Mark?” 

You and Not Mark both gape at Cecil before both of you simultaneously cry out:

“Are you SERIOUS?!”

“Oooh.” Not Mark laughs loudly. “Yeah, absolutely not. Why would I ever work for you?”

Cecil looks at you, his eyes seem sympathetic, yet unapologetic. “You can work with her.” 

So now here you are. Watching an evil version of Invincible shake hands with Cecil Stedman. The deciding factor? Getting to work with you. Truly, you’d feel flattered if it were anybody else.

“Soooo we’ll be in contact?” Not Mark grins at you, leaning into your personal space. You step away from him, but he follows.

“Kill yourself.” You deadpan. 

He smiles wider, and you know he heard it. “Now, is that how you talk to the person who saved your life? Oh, and your new coworker.” He removes his mask.

You feel your eye twitch. Is this seriously your life now?

“Why the long face?” He mocks your traumatized expression before breaking character and laughing loudly. “Come on, let’s get to work!” He floats up, flying in circles around you in the air like a hyperactive dog. 

“This is my life now.” You tell yourself, Not Mark nods because of course he heard you.

“Our life now.” He grins at you. 

You groan.

Quick A/N: Yes, yes, I'll get back to writing for Viltrumite Mark. Unless you guys want more of this. Either way Viltrumite Mark pt 3 is up next :D

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Someday

You were just supposed to drop off her charger.

That was it. A quick in and out. Nothing dramatic.

Caitlin had left it charging on the kitchen counter that morning, halfway through her usual whirlwind routine of stealing your last granola bar and kissing you goodbye with toothpaste still in her mouth. She texted you at noon in all caps:

“BABE I NEED MY CHARGER I’M DYING”

Followed by:

“pls🥺”

“i’ll buy you dinner tonight and not even complain about your weird chinese order”

So naturally, you caved.

You texted her you’d swing by the arena. You told yourself you wouldn’t linger. Just hand it off in the tunnel, maybe tease her a little and go.

But then the door to the players’ hallway opens.

And Caitlin walks out holding a child.

A toddler. A little boy. Probably two, maybe two and a half. His cheeks are round and he’s got this feather soft baby curl thing going on His little nike sneakers dangling past Caitlin’s waist.

And she’s carrying him like she’s done it a hundred times.

Like he’s just part of her.

You stop walking. Actually, you stop breathing.

Caitlin hasn’t seen you yet. She’s murmuring something to the kid…something soft and he’s babbling back in that adorable toddler gibberish that sounds like half words and whole feelings. He tugs on her hair once and Caitlin just laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, not even flinching.

“Taytin fast!” the little boy giggles.

You blink.

He’s calling her Taitin.

You can’t even process that before Caitlin swings her body toward the tunnel, gaze scanning and then she sees you.

“Hey” she calls, like you’re the most normal part of her day.

She adjusts the little boy on her hip, one hand under his legs, the other keeping him snug against her side and walks over like nothing is remotely out of the ordinary.

“Baby” she says with that signature smirk of hers, “you’re early.”

You stare at her.

Then at the child. Who is now blinking at you with wide brown eyes like who’s this lady and why does she look like she’s having a full crisis.

“Hi,” you manage. “Uh..what’s..what is this?”

Caitlin glances down at the boy, then back at you, totally unfazed. “Oh. This is Zayn, he didn’t wanna hang in the locker room anymore and I was the only one he didn’t scream at so…”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal.

You blink again. “He… just let you carry him?”

Caitlin smirks. “Yeah. We bonded over applesauce pouches.”

Zayn tugs at her jacket and she looks down, murmuring something too low for you to hear, her voice unbelievably soft. Like sacred.

Your heart physically aches.

“You didn’t think to warn me that you were gonna show up holding a literal child like some kind of walking daydream?” you say, voice strangled with emotion.

Her brow lifts, amused. “Is that what I am now?”

You look at her, at the kid nestled into her shoulder like he belongs there. Her long fingers splayed across his tiny back. Her hair sprawled down her back.

“You’re…” you swallow. “You’re dangerous right now.”

Caitlin tilts her head, shifting Zayn slightly. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah” you mutter, eyes still locked on her. “Like, ‘I wanna marry you and raise a golden retriever and three kids in a house with a swing set’ dangerous.”

Caitlin actually chokes on a laugh.

You’re blushing now. Full body, no hiding it blush.

“I’m serious” you add quickly. “I’ve never wanted to propose to someone faster in my life.”

She quiets at that.

The teasing fades just enough to let something else slip in…a softness you rarely see in public. Her eyes flick over your face like she’s taking you in, memorizing the version of you that’s flustered and open and maybe a little terrified by how fast your heart’s racing.

“I…” she starts, then smiles, crooked and a little stunned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” you say, because it’s true. “It’s been you. It’s always been you.”

Caitlin’s smile goes crooked, and then sweet, and then entirely her.

She leans in until her forehead rests gently against yours, Zayn still tucked securely in her arms, his little hand now resting sleepily on her shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking about it too” she says quietly.

Your breath catches. “You have?”

She nods. “Not like tomorrow. But… yeah. Eventually.”

And suddenly, the chaos of the arena disappears.

It’s just the two of you. Caitlin with a child in her arms, looking at you like you hung the stars. You, trying not to lose your footing in a moment that feels way too much like the start of forever.

The kid yawns against her neck and Caitlin presses a soft kiss to the top of his head like it’s instinct.

You’re a puddle.

A full melted puddle on the concrete floor of a basketball tunnel.

When she pulls back slightly, you blink up at her heart practically exploding.

“Are you gonna give me that charger?” she asks with a teasing grin.

You hand it over with trembling fingers. “Don’t think this is gonna distract me from the fact that you just looked like a literal dad five minutes ago.”

Caitlin grins. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind next time I want you to spiral.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yeah, baby” she says, eyes soft again. “I really am.”

You’re not even out of the tunnel before you’ve saved the moment in your mind forever…Caitlin Clark, baby on her hip, forehead against yours, saying someday like she meant it.

And you know, without question that she did.

[pboogerswbb]

LET IT SNOW

Paige Bueckers x reader In which Paige and reader spend a snowy day babysitting reader's niece and nephew (loosely based on a request i got weeks ago) Warnings: fluff, suggestiveish? very very very sweet, will make you sick (fluff is very hard for me to write ok be nice) Wordcount: 2.9K A/C: happy christmas eve everyone <3 this is my christmas present to y'all so enjoy this while i take some time to rest and spend time with my family :) unfortunately that means you gotta wait for chapter 2 of so it goes for a little longer but i want to take a break for a few days from writing over christmas! i hope you understand. everyone who celebrates christmas pls spend it eating, drinking (if you're of age), and don't kill your family pls (i know that's much to ask over the holidays let's be real). i'll return to writing so it goes post christmas! MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS <3

-

“There’s a list of allergies on the fridge, if Mia throws a fit just put her in the stroller and walk her around for a bit, if she won’t calm down call me. Whatever you see in the fridge you can eat, and call me whenever! I’ll have my ringer up and-”

“Chloe-”

“and really call me whenever you need to! And have your ringer up too!”

“Chloe!”

Your aunt’s husband is pulling on her arm, trying to get her further than the front door but 10 minutes have already been spent going through everything for the day.

“Auntie Chlo we’ve babysat before. They’re in good hands,” you reassure, smiling brightly at her. She inhales deeply and chuckles when she realises how long she’s been rambling for.

“You’re right, the kids love you. Especially you Paige, they’ve missed you. Been showing them clips of your games!” Your aunt says, head tilting upwards to look at the blonde girl standing behind you, hands wrapped around your waist. 

You and Paige had been dating for over a year now, celebrating your first of what would be many anniversaries. In that short amount of time the blonde had made her way into the depths of your closest circle, becoming a part of your family. It happened effortlessly, the way she fit into your life, the way she clicked with your relatives. You swore they loved her more than you at this point. This was about to be the first Christmas she ever spent with your family, and just the idea of her with all your loved ones made your chest fill with warmth.

So when your aunt Chloe called you in a crisis on Christmas Eve, her babysitter getting sick at the last minute, you and Paige were quick to agree to look after your nearly 2-year-old niece Mia and 7-year-old nephew Leo. 

“Go! We got this aight,” Paige reassures, resting her chin on the top of your head as she does.

Pulled away by her husband, your auntie waves goodbye and closes the door, leaving you and Paige alone with the kids standing behind you. Before you can even react, Mia’s lower lip begins to quiver, the sight of her mother gone upsetting the small child. 

“Uh oh,” you mumble, Paige swiftly making her way to the little girl and picking her up, pouting her own lower lip to mirror the child.

“Are you sad because you miss mama? She’ll be back later, I promise,” Paige coos to Mia, rocking her in her arms. She’s wearing a white t-shirt despite the snow outside, for some reason she was always warm, and her biceps were growing more prominent as she held the child by her hip. The sight of Paige comforting your niece made your heart flutter, making it hard to tear your eyes away. watching Mia bury her face into the crook of Paige’s neck.

“We’ve got a really fun day planned for you!” You gleam at both of the children, ruffling Leo’s hair. He laughs but pushes your hand off, running to the kitchen.

“Can I have a cookie?” The boy asks, clearly taking advantage of the moment that his parents’ watchful eyes weren’t around.

“No-” you start but Paige is already following him to the kitchen. She was such a pushover, always had been with the kids. Just some pouting, eyes batting and she was ready to bend every which way for them.

“Paige!” You complain as the blonde easily reaches to the top shelf, grabbing a jar of chocolate chip cookies.

“What?” She asks unbothered by your scolding, handing a cookie to Leo, and taking a bite of one herself. “Wanted a cookie,” she mumbles, her mouth full.

“Cookie! Gimme!” Mia babbles, short hands reaching for the cookie your girlfriend is holding between her teeth.

“Oh good God…” you groan, rubbing your forehead, already knowing this was going to be a long day if the kids had the blonde wrapped around their finger this much already. But when Mia giggles as Paige feeds her a part of the cookie, you decide not to care. If there was a time to spoil the kids it was on Christmas Eve.

“C’mere,” Paige nods you over, grabbing another cookie. You scurry into the kitchen, grabbing Mia from her and kissing the little girl’s forehead. She giggles brightly, clearly in a much better mood. You nuzzle your nose into her soft cheek, eliciting more laughs from the baby. The whole time Paige can’t look away even for a second, her heart fluttering with affection. Paige was completely in love with you, and seeing you like this only made her feel it more.

“What are we gonna dooo all day?” Leo interrupts the moment, yanking on Paige’s shirt. She grins and ruffles his hair affectionately. Leo and Paige had bonded quickly the first time they met, and now they’re best friends. In fact Leo facetimes Paige weekly on your aunt’s phone.

“We’ve got some ideas.” The blonde says smirking.

-

The weather is perfect, the gentle winter sun not warming but making everything brighter as the rays reflect off the snow. Snowflakes fall softly from the sky, adding to the already covered ground as you walk behind Leo and Paige, holding Mia in your arms, trying to catch your breath as you climb on top of a hill.

“Isn’t this high enough?” You ask, glancing down, worrying that Leo would be too scared to get on the sled. Predictably so, the two in front of you look over their shoulders, immediately uttering the word “no” in unison

“Auntie Paigey and your big brother have gone cray cray,” you murmur to the babbling Mia, wrapped in her warmest winter gear. 

“Okay, here’s good!” Paige says, finally putting the sled she was carrying down, looking around the group.

“You wanna go first Leo?”

Suddenly the boy looks down, hesitating. It’s pretty steep, especially at first. You could tell he felt unsure, but Paige noticed it too.

“I’m actually lowkey scared, can we ride down together?” She asks, covering for the boy. For a moment your eyes meet with hers, wanting nothing more but to kiss her right now. Paige always had you weak in the knees, but the way she skillfully handled kids only made you love her more.

“Okay we can go together I guess,” Leo complains, deep down relieved. They sit down on the sled, Paige behind the boy, ready to steer.

“Wait!” She yelps, turning to you, blinking fast. “Kiss for good luck.”

Apparently she’d been feeling the same about the kiss.

Humming, you place Mia down on the ground to play with the snow, leaning close to Paige. Her warm lips press into yours, in a loving, gentle peck that let you know she wanted to do so much more, if it wasn’t for the company.

“Yuck!” Leo whines, making both of you giggle.

“Hey, have some respect for your auntie,” Paige grins and pushes the sled forward. Suddenly they’re riding down at such speed you can barely watch. Someone was bound to get hurt.

Both of them scream as the speed accelerates, the sounds echoing in the air. To your surprise they both make it all the way down safe and sound, Paige stopping the sled and jumping off.

“That was so fast!” Leo chuckles hysterically, making your girlfriend laugh too. You could hear them laughing all the way up where you were standing. 

“Ball,” Mia babbles, pointing at a pile of snow. Giggling, you sit down on the ground next to her, beginning to roll one snowball after the other and handing them to the girl. 

“Look Mia!” You gasp to get her attention. Her wide eyes turn to you, long eyelashes fluttering as she watches. You throw a snowball into the air, Mia’s eyes following as it crashes to the ground. Immediately she claps, a wide smile on her face to reward your efforts.

“Babe it’s your turn,” Paige’s voice says as she’s climbing up, trying to catch her breath.

You scoff, continuing to play with the snow for Mia. “Not happening P,”

“Oh you’re scared huh?” The blonde teases, a smug smirk spreading across her face.

Leo gasps. “It’s not scary at all! I was scared at first too!”

You roll your eyes, not falling for their games. 

“I’m playing with my girl here, you boys leave us alone,” you say, poking your tongue out at your girlfriend. She scoffs loud, walking over to you and wrapping her arms around your waist, lifting you up and throwing you over her shoulder with ease.

Leo laughs loud, pointing at the two of you. “Paige is not a boy!”

“Let me down!” You yelp, kicking your legs and arms but it’s no use. She’s much too strong, carrying you towards the sled. Your squeals make Mia laugh loudly, a wide smile spread on her face.

“Look after your sis for a bit, aight?” Paige tells Leo, placing you down on the sled. You’re still giggling, shaking your head.

“I’m not gonna! It’s scary!” You laugh, the blonde sitting snug behind you on the sled, wrapping her legs around you.

“Don’t be such a wuss,” she teases, her arms wrapping over your waist. Leaning in, you feel her hot air tickling against your ear as she whispers. “I gotchu ma, don’t worry.”

With that, Paige pushes off the snowy ground, holding onto you tight. Quickly the speed picks up, fluttering in the pit of your stomach. The freezing cold air tingles against your skin and your eyes water from the cold as you laugh.

“Ahhh P-“ you scream, turning your gaze backwards and finding that, to your shock, the blonde behind you is pushing on the ground to make you go even faster. “STOP!”

Paige giggles into your ear, her arms wrapping around you tight to hold you close. Soon it’s over as you reach the base of the hill, the speed finally slowing down and flutters in your abdomen disappearing.

“Told you it wasn’t so scary,” the blonde grins, helping you up.

“Uh yes it was,” you laugh, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it at the girl in front of you. Some of it gets onto her face, making Paige pause.

Her mouth turns into a tight smile and her blue eyes widen. Immediately you know you’re in trouble.

“Oh it’s like that huh?” She says and you squeal, already beginning to run when she starts to throw the powdery snow all over you.

“No no no no please!” You can barely breathe, gasping for air and trying to run, the snowy ground making your steps heavy. Paige, being a D1 athlete, easily reaches you. 

“Oh so now you regret it!” She laughs, snow falling into your coat, down your neck, making you scream louder as the girl chasing you wraps her arms around your waist, spinning you in the air. 

“Stop! Paige!”

“Say please,” she orders, her tone lighthearted.

You roll your eyes, hating having to admit defeat, but knowing it must be done.

“Fine! Please, please stop Paige please,” you whine, batting your wide eyes at the girl. She looks at you, finally putting you down and kissing your forehead.

“Wanna hear you just like that later,” she whispers the dirty words into your ear, lips brushing against your skin, tingling. Before you can scoff or tell her off, Mia’s loud cry disrupts the moment.

Both you and Paige hurry up the hill, towards Leo who’s holding his sister, bouncing him gently to soothe the little girl.

“What happened?” You ask, swiftly scooping Mia from the boy and trying her cheeks to see if she was cold. Nope, perfectly toasty from all the layers.

“Nothing! She just started crying!”

But then, studying her face, you notice the redness of her eyes, her mittened hands trying to rub them desperately.

“Aw, she’s sleepy,” Paige says, like reading your mind, grabbing the sled. 

“We should probably head back, she needs to take a nap,” you murmur, trying to soothe the girl in your arms, ear-piercing screams and cries spilling from her mouth.

All four of you hurry to the car, but no attempts to calm Mia down help. She’s exhausted, plump bottom lip quivering as she keeps crying the whole drive home. You could feel yourself getting exhausted, the loud noise becoming overwhelming and stressful. Paige could see it too, the way you were sighing and taking deep breaths. So when you return to the house, she grabs your hand and kisses it before getting up from the car.

“I’ll take her to bed okay? You rest ma,” she murmurs. Relief spreads all over your chest and you smile affectionately.

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask.

“Nah, I’m lucky. Got the best girl in the entire world.

-

After an hour of the faint sounds of Paige’s lullabies (off-key but she would never admit that) and trying to reason with the 2-year-old like that might help, the cries eventually quiet down. Leo is resting too, playing in his room. You’ve been in the kitchen, making spaghetti for all of you. Checking the clock you realise it’s been about 30 minutes since you last heard any sound from Mia, yet Paige still hadn’t returned downstairs.

Quietly, you sneak your way up the stairs, ever so carefully opening the door into the bedroom to not wake up Mia. But what you find makes your heart flutter - in the dimmed out room, Paige and Mia are both asleep, your girlfriend holding the little girl close. The blonde’s mouth is slightly ajar, soft snores escaping through. For a moment you just watch, allowing the love you felt for them both to spread. You walk over, make sure they’re both covered up by the blanket before sneaking back out, leaving them in bed.

“Leo, come eat dinner soon, ok?” You whisper to him in the other room. His eyes lighting up, the little boy gets up holding a toy dinosaur and follows you downstairs.

“Can I watch The Grinch while I eat? Please please please!” He begs, giving you puppy eyes.

“Mmkay, just this once,” you bend to his will, setting it all up for him. You can’t help but watch Leo getting snuggled up on the couch, a blanket around him, eyes wide staring at the TV. Leaning against the arch into the living room, you feel your body tired from the day, muscles aching and mind exhausted. But your insides are fluttering with warmth, no other word for the specific feeling but pure joy. Walking back into the kitchen you begin to make your own plate of food.

You let your mind wonder, and maybe it’s risky. It’s much too soon to be thinking anything close to it. But since it’s Christmas, you let yourself. Your mind comes up with vivid images of you and Paige, in a house of your own, decorating the tree - Paige the only one tall enough to place the star on top. You can see you two baking cookies and watching Christmas movies, hot chocolate in bed. 

And maybe, just maybe eventually, two children of your own. There are flutters in your heart thinking about building snowmen with your little family, roasting marshmallows in the fireplace, dressing them up in tiny costumes and sending family postcards to your relatives and friends. It felt so far away, yet you could see it so vividly. 

As if she had heard your thoughts, suddenly warm hands land on your waist, Paige’s reflection appearing in the window in front of you. Humming, her front presses flush to your back, fitting against you just right.

“I fell asleep,” she murmurs, burying her nose into your hair and inhaling. It’s like heaven, after a long day, to feel her like this again.

“I noticed,” you reply, beginning to make a plate for the girl as well. She watches closely, following every movement from behind you until her lips find your neck, beginning to press soft, loving kisses along the nape of it. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you hum, turning your head to face the blonde behind you. Hand reaching for your jaw, she pulls you into a gentle kiss, lips sliding against yours slowly. “Can’t wait to see you be a mom,” Paige whispers against your mouth, chest heaving.

A deep blush sets on your cheeks hearing the words, taking them in. The blonde watches your reaction, clearly trying to read you.

“I’m sorry if that’s too much to say this early but I-”

“No,” you shake your head with a smile. “I can’t wait for that either.”

Relief washes over your girlfriend, as she pecks your lips once more. 

“We’re gonna be so good ma, best parents in the world.”

Beaming with joy, both you and Paige walk into the living room where Leo is sitting, eyes glued to the movie.

“Yo! Scooch!” Paige tells the boy, who shuffles to the corner of the couch. Both you and your girlfriend sit in the opposite corner, holding your bowls of spaghetti and getting settled. The blonde quickly wraps an arm around you, pulling you to lean against her side. You’re snuggled up, feeding bites of food to each other and stealing kisses whenever the boy isn't watching.

“I love you,” Paige whispers into your ear, blue eyes sparkling with adoration.

“I love you too Paige,” you whisper back, cheeks rosy and heart fluttering from the perfect snowy day.

-

taglist: @xxloveralways14 @bueckersfive @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary @lovegalor333 @lupinqs @rosemariiaa @janaelalfysblunt @d3arapril @vamptizm

[tossawary]

I think it would be fun to do a "character swaps with older version of themselves" fic with Moshang. A post-canon Mobei-Jun who has been happily married for a while (probably at least 50 years old) accidentally touches some plot device artifact and time travels, swapping places with his 20ish-year-old self. Older MBJ wakes up in head disciple Shang Qinghua's bed where his younger self had been napping.

Younger MBJ lands in his own palace, where he is quickly found and fawned over by Older SQH, who can't help but think this MBJ is so cute. The System quickly confirms for Shang Qinghua that this situation has been sorted into a "multiple timelines" thing, so SQH doesn't have to worry about "protecting the timeline" by doing anything like hiding the fact that he's MBJ's husband. (So, there's an alternate timeline younger version of Airplane Bro now? He's just going to... ignore having an existential crisis about it. Yeah.)

Which is great because Older MBJ would not have thought about this at all as a potential issue. Older MBJ also thinks Younger SQH (Younger Airplane Bro) is incredibly cute and has no problem informing him that they're married in the future. Younger Airplane Bro is trying to figure what the fuck is happening, but he's having trouble thinking over the sound of how MBJ only became hotter: MBJ didn't get much taller, but he did get wider, heavier, more muscular, and hairier. Holy shit. Older MBJ doesn't even have any problems passionately kissing Younger SQH just to prove that they're married. And he smiles! He's so gentle and communicative! Comparatively!

("Luo Binghe is the Demon Emperor in my time," Older MBJ says. "Ah? Who's Luo Binghe?" Younger Airplane Bro lies very badly. "Hmmm, so you did know," Older MBJ says, and then makes some comment about LBH's husband that makes Younger SQH go, "HIS WHAT NOW?!")

Younger MBJ is trying to be cool, not really confused or scared, and Older SQH spoils him rotten by showing off the home that they're made together and how well the palace works to serve and defend MBJ. Linguang-Jun can't show up here because SQH will light him on fire if he shows his face. Younger MBJ doesn't even really like his SQH yet and is also struggling with how good Older SQH looks: a little taller, broader, relaxed and easygoing, answering all of his questions and explaining important things to him, dressed like a beloved demon lord's spouse, efficiently ordering everyone around. "Call me Gege," Older Shang Qinghua said with a wink, and it went straight to Younger MBJ's defenseless heart; he is developing new kinks immediately. Help him.

In the end, after a few days at most, they manage to switch Older and Younger MBJ back without too much issue. Older SQH is a little annoyed that his husband kissed an alternate timeline version of himself, but mostly because he sure would have liked that experience when he was only a disciple! Okay, SQH may have pet Younger MBJ's head and pinched his cheeks and hugged him and brushed his hair a little and shamelessly lavished him with good examples of human affection, but it's not the same!!!

Younger MBJ and Younger SQH in the alternate timeline are left in SQH's tiny head disciple house, completely flustered, sitting next to each other and barely able to look at each other. What. The. Fuck. Eventually, Shang Qinghua manages to say, "Uh, do you want to make out?" at the same time that Mobei-Jun says, "We should get married as soon as possible. Tomorrow."

[prettygirl-gabi]

Current & Forever

Pairing: Olivia Miles x Reader

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball (Notre Dame/TCU)

Summary: current girlfriend… try again…

A/N: final got an Olivia post for yall

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @zizi-bee-yapping

This house smells like every good memory I’ve ever had.

Cedarwood walls soaked with old lake water and lemon cleaner. Salt from air-dried swimsuits. Peeling screen doors that squeak like they’ve missed me.

The house my granddad built when I was a baby, back when my only job was eating applesauce and babbling nonsense on the dock while he grilled catfish and sang Luther Vandross like he meant it.

Now I’m grown. And my girlfriend—my beautiful, stubborn, “I transferred to TCU because I needed a fresh start and now I sleep like a baby at night” girlfriend—is sitting on the porch swing, wearing my old high school hoodie and peeling a mango with a paring knife like it’s a sport.

“Babe,” I call through the open screen door, balancing three bags of groceries on one arm and holding my phone in the other, “can you come help me with this haul?”

She grins and pops a mango slice in her mouth. “You just want me to look cute for your little TikTok haul, huh?”

“You do look cute,” I say, kicking the door closed behind me. “But also yes.”

Ten minutes later, we’re both in the kitchen. Sunlight spills through the back windows and glints off the quartz countertop Grandad installed with his own hands.

Olivia’s barefoot, hair tied in a messy puff, cutting strawberries while I set up my phone against a makeshift tripod made of cereal boxes.

I hit record.

“Hey guys,” I say with a soft grin. “So I’m at my childhood vacation house for the week and I’m here with Olivia, my current girlfriend—”

Olivia freezes.

She blinks.

Strawberry juice drips from the knife to the cutting board.

“Current?” she echoes, eyebrows lifting in slow motion like she didn’t just hear me say the wildest thing ever.

I keep going, because chaos is my love language. “And today we’re gonna do a lil grocery haul for y’all—”

“Current?” Olivia repeats, putting the knife down like it personally offended her. “What the fuck you mean current? No, no—cut the cameras. Cut this shit right now.”

I laugh. A full belly-laugh.

She doesn’t.

She marches over, hands slick from fruit juice, and cups my face with both palms. “Y/N. You looking at me?”

“Yes, Liv.”

“No, no, look at me.” She tilts my chin like I’m a kid who just got caught sneaking cookies before dinner. “You mean to tell me—after three years, after I flew you to South Bend for your birthday senior year, after we spent two months talking every night while I was thinking about transferring—you calling me your current girlfriend like I’m just filling in a slot until you rotate again?”

“Liv—”

“No. Uh-uh. Imma crash out on this camera, don’t play with me. I’m not your current girlfriend. I’ve been your only girlfriend. We started dating during March Madness three years ago and you’ve been mine ever since.”

I lean forward and kiss her.

Right on the mouth. Sticky strawberry hands and all.

Just a soft press, slow, right in the middle of her flustered rant.

Then I pull back, smirking. “Anyway, like I was saying before Olivia had a full crisis—”

She groans.

“—I’m here with my current girlfriend, Olivia Miles, and we’re gonna do a lil haul. Starting with… mini cornbread muffins, because someone decided she’s a Southern belle now that she transferred to TCU.”

Olivia shakes her head and backs out of the frame. “Cut the cameras, deadass. Ma, turn this shit off.”

I laugh and end the video, tossing the phone onto the counter. “It’s going in drafts. Relax.”

She doesn’t.

Not fully.

We finish unpacking the groceries in silence. Not the angry kind, more like the fragile kind where someone’s low-key spiraling and doesn’t want to say it out loud.

She keeps glancing at me. Like she’s trying to read something in my face that I didn’t write.

I step behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. “Baby,” I murmur, “I love you.”

“You sure?” she whispers.

“Positive.”

“‘Cause ‘current girlfriend’ kinda sounded like you had a future breakup already drafted in your Notes app.”

“Okay, first of all,” I chuckle into her neck, “if I ever wrote a breakup note, it’d be handwritten with tear stains and probably a pressed flower.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I know.” I kiss her shoulder blade, slow and reassuring. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere, Liv.”

Her fingers play with mine where they’re linked at her stomach. “You promise?”

“With everything in me.”

She turns to face me, eyes soft and searching. “Then baby me for the rest of the day. I’m serious. I’m fragile. I almost googled ‘what to do when your soulmate calls you her current girlfriend.’”

I laugh so hard I nearly choke on my own breath. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re evil,” she shoots back, smiling now. “But I still want the princess treatment. I want snacks. I want forehead kisses. I want you to call me your forever girlfriend in five different languages.”

“Deal,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the porch. “But first, mango and cuddles on the swing.”

Dinner is grilled shrimp tacos and a salad Olivia barely touches because she’s too busy making heart eyes at me across the table.

The cicadas buzz outside like a lullaby, and the old jazz playlist I found on my granddad’s iPod plays low in the background.

My phone’s sitting nearby, propped against a napkin holder. Not recording—just chilling.

Or so Olivia thinks.

Because I hit record five minutes ago. Just for us. Just in case.

She reaches across the table, wiping a spot of avocado off my cheek with her thumb. “You know,” she says softly, “I still think about the first time we kissed.

That night after Notre Dame lost and you found me crying in the locker room. You didn’t say anything. You just pulled me close and let me sob into your hoodie.”

“I remember.”

“You kissed my forehead,” she continues, eyes glassy now. “And you said, ‘No matter what happens next season, I’m proud of you.’”

I nod, feeling that old ache in my chest. The one reserved for people who own pieces of you you didn’t even know were missing.

“Well,” Olivia says, clearing her throat and meeting my eyes, “you’ve been my only girlfriend since that moment. So next time you wanna play TikTok clownery, just know—I’m not with it.”

She glances at the phone, realizing it’s been on this whole time.

And instead of panicking, she leans in and kisses me. Slow. With intention.

Then looks at the camera, back at me, and says, “You’re my forever girlfriend. So don’t do nothing like that no more, baby.”

I grin, cheeks flushed. “Yes, ma’am.”

The next day, I edit the video.

It’s got everything: Olivia ranting, me giggling, strawberry juice on her hands, kisses, eye rolls, mangoes, porch swings, soft music, real love.

I stare at it for a full five minutes before hitting “Post.”

Caption: when your forever girlfriend doesn’t play about her title.

Comments flood in before I even lock my phone.

@/ballislife: Nah she said “cut the cameras DEADASS” and meant it.

@/hoopsgirlfriend: current girlfriend is crazy. she lucky Olivia didn’t pack her bags.

@/livsmiles: she scared for her life now lmao

I turn to Olivia, who’s watching reruns of Living Single on the couch, and curl into her side. She wraps her arm around me like she knew I was coming.

“You see the TikTok yet?” I ask.

She pulls out her phone, sees the notification, and gasps. “Y/N! You posted it?”

“You looked so pretty being mad. I couldn’t help it.”

She groans but can’t stop smiling. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Forever, right?”

She kisses me again. “Forever, baby.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[27spoons]

thoughts on nat with a gf that's like WAYYY freakier than her? i just feel like it would be so funny when she finds out because i can just imagine she's like "i didn't think this was possible what the fuck" 😭

okay so i dont think nat is freaky until she starts trying..... like at first i wouldn't say she's "vanilla" but she def isn't that crazy... maybe some impact play and overstim but nothing insane

the first time you go "alright, should we set some ground rules?" nat goes "what" cus 1) no one has ever said that to her before, 2) wdym GROUND RULES what are we DOING, and 3) ....what are we doing...

nat has NO clue what half of the kinks you list off are. she just goes "uh-huh" and "yep" but it doesn't fully click until yall are like DOING it

like she's all smirks and talking shit until you open up your backpack and you have..... like.... four different types of rope, a blindfold, a gag, and a fucking 'aftercare kit' aujinbguiadhguiagh

"what do you mean pick which texture i like best?" "well, it's gonna be pretty tight around your limbs. so which ever one you think is most comfortable--" "WHAT DO YOU MEAN AROUND MY 'LIMBS'?"

you try and tell her what half of the stuff you have/are talking about is called but it goes in one ear and out the other (has to google "shibari for idiots") (spells it like "sheebary")

anyways. yall get freaky ONCE with stuff that isn't vanilla and nat's confidence is thru the ROOF. then ur like "so have you ever heard of blood play?" and she just. short circuits.

bonus: stuff nat will do

have a stroke when you say you need time to "set stuff up" (WDYM WE CANT JUST FUCK???? SET UP????)

take a water break 10 minutes in, pretending she's just "giving you a chance to catch your breath" or smth (she had to google something she got confused)

have a minor crisis when she realises she's into something that she would have been normally so opposed to (you talked her down from a panic attack after she realised she thought knife play was hot)

accidentally hurt you/herself and feel so fucking bad about it for WEEKS (she probably choked you too hard or smth. you have to explain to her that it's fine and that's why you have safewords and shit but she just feels like an asshole for hurting you)

forget to untie you/remove the gag after you're the one that gets restrained and takes a shower and leaves you there aiuhfhaduihhgag (SHE WAS HIGH SHE HAD TWO BRAIN CELLS OK!!)

lowkey gets addicted to being in subspace. i think we forget she has an addictive personality sometimes. the fact that you can fuck her and put her into this space where she doesn't have to think/feel? yeah. yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | January 6th-19th 2025

I hope everyone had a good start of the year! You're getting two weeks of fics because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy!

Complete

Buck Naked by disasterbuck/ @disasterbuck (Getting Together | <1K | Teen): Buck turned, slicking his wet hair back, and then yelped and covered himself comically with his hands when he saw Eddie standing there. "Eddie!" he exclaimed, his face turning red. "I'm naked!" "Obviously," Eddie replied. - Eddie finds it difficult to talk about his feelings because it always leaves him far too vulnerable and exposed. So, when he finally decides it's time to tell Buck how he feels, he has a plan to get them both on equal footing.

Wish you'd ask me (If I wanna be your baby) by paleredheadinascifi (Getting Together | 2K | Teen): “So, uh, you come here often?” “Do I come here often?” Buck repeats slowly. He does come here often. As does Eddie. They both come here all the time, at the same time, together. Or, why ask someone out on a date when you can just take them on one without their knowledge? Sounds flawless to Eddie.

the long way back by jaekyu (PWP, Post-S8 AU | 6K | Explicit): Eddie and Buck get trapped in a closet. There's a joke in here somewhere.

I want you so (god must be the greatest comedian I know) by paleredheadinascifi (Post-S8A, Eddie Moves to Texas | 6K | Teen): But that’s Eddie. You knew all that. You knew we’d find him sitting alone, in his rented, unfurnished house in El Paso, Texas — equally 7 and 700 miles away from the only places he’d ever call home, the only people he’d ever call family. You probably also knew, because you’re more observant than Eddie, and I mentioned it at the start, that Eddie Diaz was in the middle of a sexuality crisis that he swears came out of nowhere. We’re gonna let him have it, because he’s going through a lot right now. Eddie is learning, as many do, that there are five stages of the sexuality crisis. When we find him sitting alone in his sad unfurnished house, he’s freshly greeting stage one.

I'll be His and He'll be Mine by xylodemon/ @xylodemon (Post-S8 Future Fic, Friends to Fiancés | 6K | Explicit) "And now, in as much as you, Evan Buckley and Edmundo Diaz, have given and pledged your love and faithfulness, each to the other, and have declared the same by joining hands, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the State of California as Deputy Marriage Commissioner, I now pronounce you spouses for life." "You're crying." "You're crying." Christopher sighs under his breath. "You're both crying."

Do I Get To Have This? by EiraLloyd (Post-Poker Game Date, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): Their missing clothes and the fact that Eddie was currently using him as a human pillow were the only evidence that Buck's memories of the night before were real. Wildly, his first thought after replaying everything in his head was, This is not good one-night stand etiquette. I should’ve left already. “You’re thinking too loud,” Eddie mumbled, breath ghosting over Buck’s collarbone in a way that reminded him a lot of dim lights and couches and I’ve wanted to do this all night. (Alternatively, Buck and Eddie hook up after the poker game in 6x13, and Buck has a hard time believing it when he wakes up the next morning.)

Hopelessly Devoted To You by scarmaddiewrites (Friends to Fiancés | 7K | Teen): “Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. He felt his heart lurch in his chest, and he didn’t know why. He had no idea what he was planning to say—Good morning, maybe, or How was your night? Something normal, something casual. But when Buck looked up at him, that grin growing impossibly wider, his blue eyes sparkling like the ocean, Eddie blurted out something entirely unexpected.” Or Eddie goes from 0-100 real quick

can't hide from you by EiraLloyd (Post-S6E12: Recovery, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): Eddie keeps smiling at his phone like a lovesick fool whenever a certain person messages him. Hen, Chimney, Pepa, and Christopher all want to know when Eddie started dating again and who his new girlfriend is. (Or, three times someone wrongly assumes Eddie is texting a girlfriend when it’s just Buck, and one time someone rightly assumes Eddie is texting a boyfriend (and it’s Buck).)

the phone keeps ringing by EiraLloyd (Post-S7 AU, BuckTommy Break-Up, Buddie Getting Together | 7K | Teen): “Took you long enough,” she says in an icy tone. Her name tag reads Dot. “Do you usually make your boyfriend wait for you overnight?” “I’m not his boyfriend,” he says, voice equally icy. “I’m the guy who drove five hours to pick him up when the boyfriend—” ditched him. He manages to swallow back the words, not wanting to air Buck’s business to a stranger, but he can’t help but think, If I were Buck’s boyfriend, this wouldn’t have happened at all. (Or, after a date with Tommy goes wrong, Buck ends up stranded in Las Vegas without a way home. Eddie makes the drive in the middle of the night because there's never really been another option.)

I Know They’ll Be Coming To Find Me Soon by scarmaddiewrites (Post-S8A Spec, Kidnapping | 10K | Teen): The day Buck is supposed to drop Eddie off at the airport, he’s doesn’t show, and Eddie takes that as a sign that their friendship was over. That just doesn’t end up being the case. Or The Buck gets kidnapped season 8b speculation fic

Love Me Most by EiraLloyd (Post-S7E5: You Don't Know Me | 11K | Teen): Or, Eddie’s not impressed that Buck and Tommy’s first date was supposed to be dinner and a movie. He thinks he can come up with something more creative, and he takes Buck on a date to prove his point. It’s a fake date, obviously. It’s not like he’s in love with Buck or anything.

🔥 Next to your heartbeat, where I should be by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Sexting | 11K | Explicit): Eddie’s not a complete idiot. He knows this isn’t normal. He stands in front of a mirror in his underwear, the tightest pair he owns, and he poses for a picture at an angle he’s learned flatters his ass and the curve of his thigh, to send to his best friend. He knows this isn’t what most best friends do. He also knows most straight guys don’t spend extensive amounts of time staring at men’s thirst trap accounts, or thinking about how their best friends look half-naked, but… That’s not what Eddie is focusing on right now. He’s just focusing on feeling good, following the path that sparkles with joy, and refusing to overthink it. If happiness is Buck sending a meme of a guy with a nosebleed back to his shirtless selfie, then that’s what happiness is. Eddie has spent too long denying himself to let this be what stops his journey towards loving himself. It doesn’t need to make sense. It just needs to be positive. It’s not like he’s breaking any commandments, as Father Brian would say.

🔥 Kept On Swimming by EiraLloyd (Time Loop, Tsunami | 12K | Mature): He just needs someone to know that he tried. He needs someone to acknowledge that—that he did everything he could, and—and he tried. He might’ve failed, but he tried. He tried, he tried, he tried, he tried— Eddie swallows and asks, “How many times?” Buck stares. He lived through it once; that’s normal. He lived through it twice; maybe a déjà-vu or a hallucination of some kind or even a premonition. But three times— It has to be a time loop. Surely. (Or, Buck is trapped in a time loop on the day the Santa Monica Pier is hit by a tsunami. He makes it count.)

🔥 the forms of things unknown by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Sex Pollen, PWP | 13K | Explicit): Buck's mind goes blank: suddenly and perfectly blank like a briskly shaken Etch A Sketch, the tracks of his thoughts swept clean. Eddie's mouth is on his. Eddie's nose bumps his nose, and his stubble rasps, and Eddie is kissing him. And this is probably a bad idea. The thought surfaces briefly. This is probably a bad idea. They don't do this. They haven't talked about this. Until thirty seconds ago, he was perfectly certain that Eddie was straight.

The Elephant in the Room Never Forgets by exvichan (Post-S8A AU, Camping Trip, Getting Together | 19K | Teen): Secrets are spilled and truths brought to light when the 118 and their partners go on a camping trip. Oh, and there’s malaphors. Lots of malaphors.

🔥 the sweetest apparition by hyruling/ @hyruling (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Eddie Moves to Texas | 20K | Explicit): Buck glances over his shoulder and smiles. “Sorry, lost in thought.” “I would be too looking at a man that handsome,” she says with a glance at his phone as they move up. “Your partner?” Buck feels his cheeks heat. What the hell – Eddie isn’t here to hear him, probably wouldn’t care anyway. It’s easier than explaining the truth to this stranger. “Yeah.” “And he sent you to do all the Christmas shopping alone?” she teases with a grin. “Oh, no he’s, uh – he’s gone.” --- Or: Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

waiting for it (that green light) by pinkdoughnut (Drinking Games, Getting Together | 26K | General): “You don’t need to explain yourself,” Buck assured him, wishing more than ever that he could crawl out of his own skin. “I didn’t mean to push. I was just going along with the game—” “No, it just wasn’t meant to be like this,” Eddie groaned out finally. Buck sucked in a sharp breath, freezing in his step. “Like this?” Buck repeated carefully as he tilted his head slightly. “What… what does that mean?” - Or, Buck and Eddie finally realize they can’t keep pretending during a game of True American.

🔥 Finding Mr Christmas by JJK/@trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Canon Divergent, Reality TV, Christmas | 63K | Teen): "Welcome to Finding Mr Christmas! You’re all here chasing the same dream, to star in a Hallmark Christmas movie, and over the next few weeks we’re going to be putting you through your paces to see which of you has the most star quality and that ‘it’ factor that makes you shine above the rest." 🎄🎄🎄 An AU where Buck and Eddie meet as contestants on Hallmark's Finding Mr Christmas competition (and fall for each other).

WIP

🔥 there is no road by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (Post-S8A, Eddie moves to Texas | 4/6 | 58K | Explicit): Years ago, almost a full decade, Shannon had asked him to move and Eddie refused because he was trying to build a life for himself again. Eddie knows if he asks Buck, he’ll get that same refusal. Worse, Buck could say yes and Eddie would be uprooting Buck from the very life he built for himself. He doesn’t ask, and Buck doesn’t offer, and they pack up Eddie Diaz’s life in Los Angeles into cardboard boxes. Or: Eddie moves to Texas. Buck buys his house. There’s a love story somewhere in here.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 143/145 | 463K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 11/? | 69K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

🔥 Firelight by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Post-S7, Monster Eddie, HOH Buck | 8/10 | 47K | Explicit): When, in the worst of missing Christopher, Eddie suddenly finds himself having literally turned into a monster, Buck - who is also dealing with a newfound hearing loss diagnosis - is willing to do anything to protect him. Even from himself. OR: Eddie is a creature from Swedish folklore, feat. HOH!Buck

[Podfic] What's love got to do with it? by Pretzel26 // fic by ColorMeParanoid/ @color-me-paranoid (Platonic Boyfriends to Lovers | 2/30 | 10-20min | Mature): "Hear me out," Buck said. "Clearly, both of us are sick of dating other people. And we're a good fit, in pretty much every way that matters. So what if we're not in love? We don't need to be in love to be happy together." Eddie frowned. "So basically, we'd be boyfriends, without benefits?" "Yes!" Buck snapped his fingers. "Like platonic boyfriends! We'd get all the benefits of a relationship and none of the heartbreak." And maybe Eddie had finally lost his mind, or maybe it was from all the alcohol clouding his judgment, but the idea of it didn't sound half as crazy as it should have. *** After Buck’s and Eddie’s dates both end with disasters – proving once again that maybe dating just wasn’t meant for them – they decide to simply settle for each other. If there was one person in the world they'd ever trust with their hearts, it was each other. And who was a better person to date other than your very own best friend?

Podfic

[podfic] Starlight by half_bakedboy/ @half-bakedboy (Post-S7, Gewtting Together | 20-30min | General): On a rare, starry summer night, Buck and Eddie discuss what ifs and make decisions about their future.

🔥 [Podfic] rainbows have nothing to hide by slipofthetongue/ @burnthatbridge for hattalove/ @hattalove (Getting Together | 20-30 min | Teen): how is eddie diaz like kermit the frog? let buck and christopher count the ways. (Part 1 of the kermit verse)

🔥 [Podfic] Before the Night Fades by slipofthetongue/ @burnthatbridge // fic by MilenaDaniels/ @milenadaniels (Post-S4E14: Survivors, Outsider POV | 45-60 min | Teen): “I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box. “Okay?” “Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who." --- Or, EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night.

[Podfic] We're In This Together Now by fleurdebeton // fic by kristen999/ @thekristen999 (Major Character Injury | 20-30min | Not Rated): It was like walking into the world’s more confusing chemistry lab. There were long tables crowded with glassware, cookware, funnels, propane tanks, and tubing. Industrial sized glass bottles filled with various liquids were haphazardly scattered across the room. Eddie stared while Buck cautiously walked around one of the tables. They were inside a freaking meth lab. No, they were inside a ticking time bomb. Any of the bottles or barrels could contain any number of risks. Solvents, metals, bases, acids… “Looks like someone’s seen too many episodes of Breaking Bad,” Buck whispered.

[podfic] Starlight by half_bakedboy/ @half-bakedboy // fic by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Post-S7,Getting Together | 20-30min | General): On a rare, starry summer night, Buck and Eddie discuss what ifs and make decisions about their future.

🔥 [Podfic] Breathe by slipofthetongue/ @burnthatbridge // fic by kitkatpancakestack/ @kitkatpancakestack (Different First Meeting AU | 3-3.5h | Mature): After Eddie Diaz has a breakdown in the middle of a grocery store, he's forced to face the fact that he might not be dealing with his PTSD as well as he thought. At the urging of his aunt, he leaves to spend the summer in a small California beach town, where he meets a bright-eyed, blond-haired surf instructor who reminds him what it feels like to be alive.

Re-Read

🔥 [Podfic] rainbows have nothing to hide by slipofthetongue/ @burnthatbridge for hattalove/ @hattalove (Getting Together | 20-30 min | Teen): how is eddie diaz like kermit the frog? let buck and christopher count the ways. (Part 1 of the kermit verse)

🔥 [Podfic] Before the Night Fades by slipofthetongue/ @burnthatbridge // fic by MilenaDaniels/ @milenadaniels (Post-S4E14: Survivors, Outsider POV | 45-60 min | Teen): “I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box. “Okay?” “Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who." --- Or, EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

You meet Eddie Munson, the guy who your brother Dustin idolises. It does not go well...

🖤

Why did you have the insanely stupid idea to drive your brother to Hellfire Club tonight? You could have been with Tiffany and Chloe watching Breakfast Club for the millionth time or Nightmare on elm street. Gossiping about cute boys or anything else than this.

Except you had agreed to drive Dustin to his dumb club and he hadn't stopped talking your ear off about d&d and Eddie Munson and whatever else came into his head.

You adored your little brother but the two of you were so different in the things you liked and most people were stunned when they learned that the two of you were even related.

Dustin ploughed on about Eddie and you struggled to keep up. You hadn't met the guy your brother idolised, of course you had heard of him. Everyone in Hawkins had heard of Eddie 'the freak' Munson but the two of you ran in vastly different circles.

Naturally you were a little curious about him, he was the leader and dungeon master of the Hellfire member club, you vaguely knew of what the dungeon master did in d&d, Dustin had tried to teach you about the game a few times and certain things had stuck in your head.

"Please be nice to Eddie. He's so cool and I don't want you embarrassing me in front of him" Dustin begs and you're slightly offended by this, you were always polite to Dustin's friends, even when the little nerds got on your nerves.

"I'm always nice" Dustin snorts at this and you glare at him. Butthead.

"I think you'll like Eddie, the rest of his friends are cool too. Besides it will get you out of the house and stop you moping about Jacob" you wrinkle your nose at the mention of your ex.

Jacob was ancient history as far as you were concerned... He really was a self centered asshole and you're glad you didn't take months to figure that out. You were still upset that he turned out to be such a douchebag.

You pull up at Hawkins High and Dustin rushes to get to the drama club. Okay, so the two of you were a little late... Like over ten minutes because Chloe called you and was having a crisis about what to wear for her date with Taylor but that couldn't be helped?

"Eddie likes people to be on time, I can't believe you made me late" Dustin huffs and you follow him inside, trying to tune out his attitude.

"Henderson, care to explain why you're late?" A voice snaps from where the rest of the team are seated. This must be Eddie, he's on a chair that resembles a throne and is clearly the person in charge.

Your eyes flicker over his ring clad hands, the leather jacket and curly brown hair. Big brown eyes narrow at your brother who's pink cheeked and stammering.

"Uh, shit...uh sorry Eddie" Dustin throws you a contemptuous look but you're too busy looking at Eddie.

He really was very attractive. Unfortunately he opens his mouth again and that thought vanishes like a puff of smoke.

"Spit it out Dustin. We don't have all night and I'm already behind which I'm pissed about, you little butthead"

Butthead? Hey, who was he to insult your brother. Only you got that honour.

"Excuse me, exactly who do you think you're talking to?" Eddie's gaze meets yours and they widen for a second. Then he smirks. He even has dimples which makes him even hotter.

Asshole.

"This is between me and Dustin. What's it to you?". He asks and it's so cocky that you march right up to him and Dustin groans.

"I told you not to embarrass me" he whines and you ignore him and focus on Eddie who's watching you with an amused look on his face.

"That butthead is my brother and I'm the only one who can speak to him like that" you snap and Eddie's grin widens.

"I didn't realise Henderson had a sister and that still doesn't explain why he's late" you ignore the way your stomach clenches when Eddie appraises you.

"That's my fault so yell at me. My friend had a few problems" Dustin rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, like finding an outfit for her date was a crisis" you shoot him with an icy glare and he quietens. Eddie's eyes crinkle when he smiles and he puts his hand on his heart in mock horror.

"Oh no, not the dreaded date outfit conundrum" you grow a little flustered and you scowl. Seriously this was the guy that Dustin adored? Steve, now you could get why Dustin worshipped Steve but seriously, this guy?

"He's great isn't he?" Dustin grins at you and you gape, were you the only one here who thought Eddie was a cocky asshole? A very hot one but still an asshole.

"Oh he's perfect...a perfect pain in the ass" you reply sarcastically but mutter the last part under your breath. Eddie still hears it and laughs as he settles back on his throne.

"You sure she's your sister Dustin? Seems she needs to remove the stick from her..." The guys laugh hesitantly and you level one last vicious glare at Eddie before you storm out.

"I'll pick you up at nine thirty Dustin" you call back to him and Eddie's voice follows you out.

"I miss you already princess"

Ugh. Asshole.

I might make this a series, we shall see 💞

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 1

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you're not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“I think it’s best it comes from you,” Tony pats your shoulder. You stare at him in disbelief. 

“Me?” You bat your eyes dumbly. “But I just... I’m just passing along the information--” 

“Look, sweetheart, I’m in the middle of a PR crisis here.” He flashes his phone screen at you. The talk of Stark Tower has been his latest disaster out in the middle of nowhere. Usually, these things are forgotten but an unfortunate post has made the rounds. “You delivered the message perfectly, you can do it again.” 

“But, sir, with due respect, this isn’t exactly in my job description.” You walk backwards as he strides around his desk and tucks his phone away. 

“Your job is to do what I tell you to do. Now,” he looks at you, his eyes flicking up and down, “I think you’re the best possible carrier pigeon for this. Look at you. That ungodly asshole can’t be mad at you and I definitely am not telling him. Not without another explosion and I’m on probation right now.” He taps his chest and his suit expands around his body. “His brother should be wandering around, maybe he can help control the beast.” 

“Sir, don’t make me do this--” He goes to the window and hits the button to pop out the pane. 

“I pay you well enough, sweetheart, so get to work.” He jumps out and his helmet covers his head, blue flame blasting from his heels and gloves as he takes off into the sky.  

You cringe and look down. You should quit. You’ve been reciting the mantra to yourself for months; quit, quit, quit. You wish you had that choice. So far, your resume hasn’t baited any takers. Even with all your work for Stark Industries. Considering who your reference is, you’re starting to wonder. 

You glance around and steel yourself. You walk out of the office and down the hall. Your low heels click, in slow tempo with your dread. You trawl the top floor, searching for a certain blond giant. Thor isn’t anywhere to be found. You’ll have to try the compound... maybe you could just give them a call. 

No, you know Mr. Stark wouldn’t like that. Even if you could get a hold of either of the Asgardians, your boss would make you face the music in person. You take out your phone and scroll through the contacts. Most of them, you’ve never had to call, they’re only there for emergencies and usually, you’re not the one calling them for that. 

You put the phone to your ear as it dials. It rolls for so long, you’re certain you’ll get the voicemail. It picks up at the last moment, the line buzzing and unclear. 

“Hel-lo?” Thor’s deep baritone greets you. “It is the little assistant, yes?” 

You can just make out his hazy words. “Yes, Mr. Odinson? Can you hear me?” 

He laughs and you hear him shuffling around. The crackling stops and the line clears. “Mr. Odinson. You Midgardians. It’s Thor.” 

“Yes, Thor, well, um, where are you?” 

“Is there something the matter?” He asks as his tone turns dire. “Where are you, little one?” 

You ignore the question tossed back at you and clear your throat. “Um, it’s about... um, I think it would be best if we had this discussion face to face but Mr. Stark told me to pass on some news and yeah... I’d like to meet up if poss--” 

“Little one!” Thor appears before you, out of breath, his phone clutched in his hand. He didn’t hear a damn thing you just said. You smile. You’ve trained that expression so well, it’s almost believable. “Where is the danger?” 

You almost laugh. It’s endearing to have him so concerned. You doubt his brother will be as accommodating. 

“Hi, uh, like I said, it’s nothing serious. It’s erm, do you know where you brother is?” Your voice hits a pitch so high it makes your ears hurt. 

“Ugh, what has he done now? I swear, I’ve told him--” 

“It’s nothing he’s done. Well, it’s kind of it. Okay, um, Thor, I need to talk to your brother.” 

“Loki? You need to talk to him? No one wants to talk to Loki,” he narrows his eyes in consternation. 

“Yes, well, I have a job to do. I’d also appreciate if you’d be there to, you know, act as mediator,” you make yourself small as you push your shoulders up to your ears. “Please?” 

“Of course, little one, of course, let us go find that snake!” He grabs your arm before you can react and almost has you off your feet as he drags you down the hall. “I left him in the lobby. He isn’t fond of this place.” 

Maybe that will make this all easier, you think. 

Thor doesn’t slow down. You stumble with him as you struggle to keep your shoes from falling off. You tap his arm as you get to the elevator. 

“Really, we can take our time,” you assure him as he jams his finger into the down button.  

You’re really in no hurry for any of this. You’re almost hoping that if you put this off longer, someone else might just come along and tell them for you. You know that won’t happen but you can hope. Even so, Tony has more important things to do and as usual, you’re left with his grunt work. 

[moonsglare]

maybe hot take but i do think it’s entirely possible to romance arlecchino even if you didn’t know her before clervie died, it’ll just take a really, really long time. the slow burn of the century, even. obviously there are things you have to be, like an ally to the house and a fatui member, but beyond that it’s really just a waiting game. it’s the progression from colleague to ally to trusted confidant before she would consider even looking at you platonically. and then maybe years of being just friends, at least to her, before she realises that maybe what she feels for you at this point goes beyond the bounds of friendship.

of course, when she realises this, she vanishes off the face of teyvat for a good month or so to go on a nice emotional crisis bender. maybe she even deploys you to some other corner of the continent to very pointedly avoid your presence because uh oh, feelings, and she has 0 clue what to do. sucks to be her, though, because she is also very pointedly miserable without your company. not in super obvious way—it’s arlecchino—but her kids and subordinates will notice that she’s slightly… off. always looking to her side where you’re supposed to be, but aren’t. it takes her a while and maybe a trip to that old broken arena, looking out at the vast sea before she finally reconciles her feelings with herself.

she loves you. not the same way she loved clervie, never the same way—but she loves you.

when she calls you back to her side she most certainly does not breathe a word of this to you. and it’ll take her even more time to do that step, carefully assessing your every action and reaction. she asks the children about you more, and they share knowing glances. your likes, dislikes. hobbies and even guilty pleasures. she almost unconsciously starts to court you, but plays it off as fortunate coincidences.

the director of this new play at the epiclese happened to give me two tickets for free. care to join me?

there’s a new item on the menu at hotel debord. i intend to try it; i believe some of the children may enjoy such things. however, a second opinion would also be valuable. shall we?

(the fact that the play is a romance one and the menu item is a couples’ special is a fact she conveniently avoids bringing up.)

i imagine she’d confess eventually in a surprisingly casual way. maybe you’re both standing on the shore, watching the sunset. the both of you talk about unimportant things, but it’s only with you that arlecchino wants to indulge in these unimportant things, if only to hear the sound of your voice. she’d say the words under the light of the pale moon, always having been more comfortable under the silver light than that of the sun’s. she won’t say the words outright, no i-love-yous, but something just enough.

you are valuable to me, she’ll say, watching the waves roll, as if simply stating another unimportant thing. but her body betrays her, the subtle tense of her shoulders and the way her fingers twitch by her sides. you are not expendable.

it’s fine, though, because you’ve known her long enough to know what she means. and when she finally kisses you for the first time it’s with the slightest hint of hesitance and uncertainty, but there is a sincerity in her that you could not deny if you tried. that night you walk back to the house with your arm looped in hers, and as she watches you watch the world she thinks she could never go back to the one she had before you.

[glitter-stained]

A fun, happy dc story for a change

Look I can be very critical of Winick's writing because I'm so ambivalent about it but damn if it isn't, on a meta level, a really satisfying spite story.

At the core of this story, there is Jim Starlin. Now Starlin's writing has many flaws, not least of all the blatant racism and sexism. And if there's one thing Jim hates, it's Robin. He wants to kill that little boy so bad, oh how he hates that bright coloured child in tights that's just holding Batman back from reaching his true potential as an absolute badass... And hey, good news! Dc, in trying to bring a second Robin after the first got a new identity, has dropped the ball, and the new boy is unpopular amongst the fans who miss the previous iteration! This is his opportunity to kill Robin, definitely!

But how? People may not have voted him dead yet, but Jim is already planning, setting up plots and trying his damndest to get him killed. And the thing about Jim- the thing that makes him a good writer, you see, the thing that separates him from those losers who fail to see Batman's true potential, is that his writing is gritty. He's not afraid to write a true dark knight facing the grimdark horrors of a town laden with crime, to shy away from the real dark, gritty topic that are mature and dark like rape. And uh, sexual violence against women. And uh, serial raping and killing women. (I'm kidding, of course, I didn't forget the native american cult leader who bathes in blood to prolongate his life. Or about the kgb agent Batman straight-up kills after he tries to kill Reagan. Or about the suicides, god I haven't forgotten about that. Don't worry.) But anyway, sexual abuse in general is a big theme for Jim. It shows how serious and dark and gritty he can be. So he has an idea: why not make Robin a child sexual abuse victim and give him AIDS? That way that's a justification to write Robin unlikeable (by making him emotional when exposed to situations of sexual abuse, unable to restrain his anger when defending a prostitute...) and at the same time it's the perfect way to kill Robin! DC has been considering giving a character AIDS, it's perfect! It will show everyone how dark and gritty Jim's writing is, he can make Robin even more unlikeable on top of how people are upset about the transition between Robins, and then he can finally kill Robin! It's perfect! Jim is a genius!!!

Now, of course, we know that plan failed: first because dc rejected Starlin's idea for Jason to die of AIDS, and second because as soon as Jason (as a character, which is what DC apparently had a problem with) died, they fired Starlin as a Batman writer and introduced a new Robin, making Starlin's vehement campaign against a fictional fifteen years old completely vain.

So that's it, right? Crisis avoided, we almost had some even worst writing that what already was, everyone sigh in relief and go home?

Enter Judd Winick stage left.

Now, remember how DC wanted to give a character AIDS? In 2003, Green Arrow #43 reveals that Mia Dearden, Oliver Queen's ward and a csa survivor of underage prostitution, is HIV positive, and in #45, she takes on the mantle of the second Speedy, becoming, according to Wikipedia, the most prominent HIV-positive superhero to star in an ongoing comic book. (And also one of my favourite comics characters, but that's unrelated.) An important thing about Winick, who wrote those issues, is that he is personally invested in education about AIDS, continuing his friend Pedro Zamora's educational work after his death of AIDS-related progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy. (He also wrote a graphic novel about it, called Pedro and Me: Friendship, Loss and What I've Learned). So kudos! We finally got someone who has done research and actually holds respect for HIV+ people writing HIV+ characters. And Mia is so cool, man- but not only is she a really interesting character, she is, first and foremost, a survivor. That's how she characterizes herself, sees what happened to her: she did what she had to do to survive, and now she's a fucking superhero and she's here to help others and you know what she's not gonna do? Die "of AIDS."

Yeah, I haven't forgotten Starlin's terrible writing. And, if Winick's writing is any identification, it seems like he hasn't either. The idea of making the second Speedy a parallel with the second Robin isn't groundbreaking, but it's cool that it's there (and also, incidentally, a reminder that parallels are interesting and fun and backstories are not a finite resource characters can run out of or steal from eachother.) Anyway, this includes Winick altering Mia's backstory and making her a street kid to make it more similar to Jason's, as well as Mia's on-screen murder offering a nice parallel to Jason's ambiguous murder in Starlin's Diplomat Son (a parallel I can't help but regard with vindicative snark, because that's how you handle a teenager who has just caused, directly or not, a man's death out of hopelessness in a situation that felt impossible. A little snark of See? Now this is how it's done. Yeah, Starlin's Bruce isn't winning any parenting against Winick's Ollie, that's for sure.) So there it is! Our fun spite story, Winick taking on Starlin's terrible ideas, a teen vigilante and survivor taking on a hero identity to mirror a teen vigilant's loss and death, a good old fashioned schooling. Cool? Cool!

And then, in 2005, Winick buries Starlin's last remaining impact on DC by bringing back Jason Todd, in a move so audacious in the back-then landscape it would be kinda akin to bringing Ben Parker back to life in Spiderman's life as a villain (please don't tell me this happens in the comics I don't read Marvel and if someone wrote that I would honestly prefer not to know). Now, of course, the impact of Jason's death on the narrative can't and shouldn't be undone by that move, but that's not important, because that's not what Starlin wanted when killing Jason - he wanted to kill Jason/Robin, not give everyone grief-induced hallucinations where Jason/Robin had an incredibly salient place in the narrative, so he didn't get what he wanted anyway.

Personally, my view on Winick's writing of Jason is contrasted (and the fact that there are some elements of Starlin's characterization of Jason that I prefer to Winick's deeply amazes me, incredibly ironic situation. Which only serves to point that even Starlin' goal of making us hate his version of robin failed drastically, as me and my jaybin fan mutuals can attest. Sucks to suck!). But as much as some of the decisions frustrate me, do you understand how much of a power move it is to take this child, this victim who has been victim-blamed for years, and bring him back to life with a vengeance and a demand that his life mattered, that his death was a bad thing that shouldn't be tolerated? Do you know how good that story feels, especially to victims when reading it and see that indignation validated, that rebellion against the status quo and victim-blaming, how good it feels to see a "bad victim" that refuses to stay down ? And in the context of Starlin's intent to write Jason a CSA victim, Winick writing Mia, the HIV+ plot for them both- do you understand the genuine and violent glee I feel, that it's Winick that wrote Jason coming back to life and hunting down the narrative with a machine gun?

So yeah. This is the context in which I talk about acknowledging the csa subtext in Green Arrow: Seeing Red, but this post isn't about lecturing you to accept it as canon or imply that you're bad for not sharing that interpretation. It's about spite -towards Jim Starlin specifically. And it's about that interpretation, but the context in which it was written in general, is not just a victory against Starlin, that guy lost long ago, but the narrative equivalent of that Green Arrow meme about taking a funny selfie over a gravestone. In Seeing Red (specifically in the line that's discussed when questioning the csa headcanon), Jason tells Mia they are similar because of what they had to do to survive, framing the sexual trauma on Mia's part (and thus allegedly also on Jason's) again firmly on the side of survival rather than victimhood. Whether it's by becoming a villain or a hero, there's this rebellion against being an object to the violence, which is at the core of Starlin's treatment of sexual violence. This is fun. We're having fun. I'm repeating myself, but do you understand how satisfying, electrifying it is? I'm filled with unreasonable amounts of glee. You don't always need the context in which a story was written to enjoy it but in this case, doesn't this make it so much more enjoyable? (And on top of that, kudos to Winick for killing Captain Nazi, I hope it was as satisfying to write as it looked.) Anyway, Mia Dearden and Jason Todd, the characters that you are. I love them so much.

[cup1drul3z]

★ — All That's Left Between Us

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6 : ꜱʜɪᴛ ʜɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀɴ

ꜰᴀʀᴍʜᴀɴᴅ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 9.6ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Southern sevika, childhood bestfriends, Ex's to lovers, homophobia mentioned, internal hatred, cowboy sevika, farm owners daughter reader, size difference, breeding kink, fingering, dry humping

A/N : back 2 back chapters baby

Summary : Camp life brings you and Sevika closer, the tension finally breaking in a heated moment behind closed doors. But out in the woods, something feels off—like you're being watched. Between stolen touches and lingering unease, summer is starting to feel a lot more dangerous than expected.

Knock knock knock.

The sound came like a hammer to your skull—way too early, way too loud, and definitely not welcome.

You groaned softly, rolling toward Sevika, who was still half-wrapped around you like a human furnace. Her hand lazily slid down your thigh and then flopped uselessly against the mattress.

Another knock. Then a pause.

“Y/N?” Jinx’s voice drifted through the door—low, hesitant, not her usual chipper chaos. “I, uh… I need your help—”

Sevika groaned, long and guttural, and dragged a pillow over her face. “If that little gremlin wakes me up one more time, I’m teaching her what ‘camp quiet hours’ actually mean.”

But your eyes blinked open fully now. Because that tone? That wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t mischievous.

It was… nervous.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes and stumbling to the door in just a tank top and your shorts. You cracked it open, squinting at the already-too-bright morning sun.

Jinx stood there, hair frazzled worse than usual, camp shirt on backward, and her hands black with something that looked suspiciously like charred marshmallow—or maybe soot.

You blinked. “What did you do?”

“I—” Jinx looked over her shoulder, then back at you, eyes wide. “I fucked up breakfast.”

You opened the door fully, stepping out. “Like… how bad?”

Jinx didn’t even try to explain. She just turned and started speed-walking toward the mess hall.

“I just—I wanted to help! The other counselors were still asleep and Carol’s doing inventory, so I figured I could just, y’know, toast some stuff and reheat the eggs and maybe try the pancake batter—”

“Try?” you echoed. “Jinx, what happened?”

She stopped halfway down the path and turned to you, wild-eyed.

“There was a small fire. It’s out. Kinda. Mostly. But I broke the coffee machine and the pancake mix exploded and there’s glass in the oatmeal, maybe? I don't know, man!”

Sevika emerged from the cabin behind you, one boot half on and shirtless, rubbing at her face. “Why are we awake?” she muttered, voice thick with sleep.

Jinx threw her hands up. “Because I may have caused a localized camp crisis before 7 a.m.!”

You glanced at Sevika, who blinked at you once—expression deadpan.

“Your problem,” she muttered, and turned around, heading straight back to bed.

You sighed, looked down at your bare legs and messy tank top, and followed Jinx toward the chaos, muttering, “This is why we don’t let you near appliances…”

The closer you got, the stronger the smell hit you—burnt sugar, rubber, and eggs. A deadly combo.

Smoke trailed faintly out of the mess hall windows. One of the stoves was hissing. Something brown bubbled on the counter in a mug labeled “Camp Queen” and you were pretty sure it used to be cocoa.

Jinx pointed like a war criminal surveying the battlefield. “See?! I tried.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Go open a window. And maybe… find Carol.”

“Oh, she knows,” Jinx called as she ran off. “She screamed something about OSHA violations and left to get her clipboard!”

You looked around the room—scorched, sticky, barely salvageable—and sighed again.

Then you picked up a towel and started cleaning.

You stared down at the mess like it had personally wronged you.

The oatmeal was a lost cause—soggy, grey, and glittering faintly with shards of shattered measuring cup. The eggs were salvageable, if you squinted and added enough cheese. But the pancakes? They were still batter in a cracked bowl on the edge of the counter, looking sad and slightly runny.

You rolled your shoulders back, tugged your hair into a quick bun with the elastic around your wrist, and muttered, “Alright. Let’s fix this.”

You grabbed a clean pan, wiped it out with a dry towel, and cranked the heat. The pancake mix was too watery, so you added more flour—then remembered your bio mom’s trick.

You opened the spice rack, smiling at the dusty old tin of cinnamon and a half-used bottle of vanilla tucked behind a jar of paprika.

“Okay, okay…” you murmured, dumping a bit of cinnamon in, a little more vanilla, and—on impulse—a dash of nutmeg. The scent hit fast: warm, familiar, like Sunday mornings before your mom got sick, back when everything still smelled like syrup and laughter.

You ladled the new batter onto the hot skillet and held your breath.

The sizzle was promising.

Two minutes later, the pancake flipped perfectly—golden, fluffy, and smelling way better than anything deserved to smell at 7:15 a.m. in a smoke-scented mess hall.

Jinx returned just in time to see you plating a stack. “Ohhh shit,” she said, eyes wide. “That looks good.”

You smirked. “Here.”

You handed her a fork and she stabbed into the stack like a feral animal. One bite in, she stopped chewing, mouth full, face slowly turning red.

“Okay, wow. That’s—” she coughed once. “That’s got kick.”

You blinked. “It’s just cinnamon—”

“And nutmeg,” she wheezed, “and maybe the entire spice rack?! The kids are gonna think it’s like a cinnamon challenge!”

You stared at her. “It’s good, though, right?”

Jinx took another bite, chewed, and gave you a very shaky thumbs-up. “It’s... fire. Like literally. Like I might combust.”

You were about to argue when the worst thing possible happened.

The cowbell.

It clanged out front—Carol’s signature wake-up-call-and-breakfast-summons. Seconds later, the sound of pounding sneakers filled the path. The doors flung open and a tide of half-dressed, bed-headed children swarmed in like a plague.

“Oh no,” you breathed, eyes wide. “It’s too late.”

Counselors were dragging in behind them—Vi looked like she hadn’t slept, her hoodie halfway on, Sevika had reappeared in a clean tank top and a suspiciously smug look, and Carol stormed through the kitchen doors like a drill sergeant ready for war.

“WHO SET OFF THE SMOKE DETECTOR?” she barked.

“Long story,” you and Jinx both said at the same time.

But then—salvation.

A kid took a bite of the pancake and cheered.

“IT TASTES LIKE CHRISTMAS.”

Another chimed in: “I LOVE IT! IT’S SPICY PANCAKES!”

Carol blinked, took one of the plates, tasted a bite herself, paused—and then narrowed her eyes at you.

“You cooked these?”

You nodded slowly.

“…Do it again tomorrow.”

You exhaled, tension draining from your shoulders. Jinx collapsed next to the counter like she’d just survived a natural disaster.

Across the room, Sevika leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a slow, crooked grin.

You smirked back.

The sun had climbed high and hot, turning the archery field into a sweatbox of trampled grass and sunscreen fumes. You stood just past the caution line, squinting into the midday haze, your camp t-shirt clinging slightly to your back and your tan shorts already dusted with dry dirt. Your hair was frizzing out at the edges, heat turning every curl into its own rebellion.

You crossed your arms and glanced sideways. “Are we sure this is safe?”

Sevika stood a few feet away, arms folded, sunglasses low on her nose. She looked absurdly cool for someone standing in front of a weapons rack. “They’re shooting blunt arrows at foam targets from twenty feet away,” she muttered. “Pretty sure the biggest threat here is sunburn.”

“Or a rogue seven-year-old deciding they’re the target,” you replied, eyes trailing a camper who just released an arrow with their eyes closed.

The arrow flew comically wide, landing in the grass with a pitiful thump.

Sevika winced. “Okay, yeah. That one’s banned from Hunger Games night.”

You snorted and leaned against the post with a sigh. “Didn’t you say you used to be good at this?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I am good at this.”

You tilted your head, biting back a grin. “Wanna prove it?”

Sevika’s sunglasses slid down further on her nose. “Are you challenging me?”

“Unless you’re scared to lose in front of thirty children.”

A gasp rang out from behind you.

“OOOOHHHHHHH,” one of the kids screamed. “MISS Y/N’S STARTING BEEF.”

Another ran off to the other counselors yelling, “SEVIKA VS. Y/N! BOW SHOWDOWN!”

You groaned, already regretting your choices. But Sevika? She was thriving. She turned to grab one of the bows, flexing her arm just enough to make sure you noticed.

“Don’t embarrass yourself,” she said, passing you one.

You rolled your eyes. “I grew up around hunters, thank you very much.”

“Right,” she muttered, not hiding her smirk. “And I’m sure they trained you between riding ponies and picking peaches.”

“Oh, you’re done for.”

What followed was pure camp chaos.

A full crowd of kids had gathered behind the line, shouting over each other and waving half-melted candy bars as betting collateral. Jinx ran up with a notebook she’d stolen from someone’s cabin, shouting, “Odds are two-to-one in favor of Big Vika, but I’m giving bonus points for style!”

“That’s illegal!” Vi yelled from across the field.

“No rules, only vibes!” Jinx howled.

Carol walked by, paused, surveyed the situation, then muttered, “If nobody dies, I’m pretending I didn’t see this,” and kept walking.

You nocked your arrow, lips pressed together in concentration. Sevika watched you with that crooked grin, her stance relaxed, her fingers adjusting the grip like it was muscle memory. The air buzzed—not just with noise but energy.

“Loser cleans all the dinner dishes tonight,” you said, raising your bow.

“Loser sleeps on the floor,” Sevika countered, raising hers to match.

“Excuse me?!”

“Too late,” she smirked. “You already agreed.”

You both let your arrows fly.

Two dull thunks.

Yours landed just outside the red ring.

Hers? Dead center.

The kids exploded.

Screaming. Cheering. Someone threw a handful of Skittles into the air like confetti. Jinx was spinning in a circle like she’d just witnessed a historical sports moment. “OH MY GOD SHE ROBIN HOODED YOUR ASS.”

You turned to Sevika, jaw dropped. “Okay. Best of three.”

“Oh, now you wanna fight.”

“You’re going down.”

And for the rest of the hour, the kids were in heaven. You and Sevika alternated between competitive bickering and flirtatious sabotage—Sevika bumped your hip once during a shot and you nearly nailed the announcer tent. You flicked her ponytail while she was mid-draw and her arrow veered left.

Nobody remembered who actually won.

But by the time you walked back toward the cabins, hand brushing hers, sweaty and breathless and grinning so hard your cheeks hurt, it didn’t really matter.

The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, water rippling soft and slow while the younger campers shrieked and splashed in the shallows. Their laughter echoed across the dock like music—chaotic and sweet. You sat at the edge, bare feet dangling over the water, your chin resting on your knees as the breeze played with your curls.

Behind you, Sevika dropped down with a grunt, knees spread wide, forearms resting lazily across them. Her camp shirt clung to her back from the heat, and she rolled a blade of grass between her fingers like she was trying not to stare at you for too long.

But she was staring.

You felt it—every time her eyes traced your profile, lingered a little too long on your lips. The air between you buzzed with a new kind of tension. Not the fiery, rough kind from last night. This was quieter. Slower. Like the calm just before a summer storm.

“I think you actually let me win that last round,” you murmured.

Sevika scoffed, but it was half-hearted. “You needed the confidence boost.”

You glanced at her sideways. “You’re just mad I called you ‘Robin Hood with a god complex’ in front of thirty children.���

“You should be scared of arrows now.”

You bumped her shoulder with yours. “You love me.”

It slipped out before you could stop it.

The silence after wasn’t awkward—it was thick. Full. You didn’t even breathe until you felt her hand shift behind you, fingers brushing your back gently as she leaned in closer.

Her voice was low. “Maybe I do.”

Your heart kicked in your chest.

You turned, facing her now, close enough to see the freckles just under her left eye. Her lips parted, her gaze dropped to your mouth, and your own breath caught.

This was it.

That slow, heavy gravity pulling you forward like the kiss would be inevitable.

And then—

“Counselors!” Carol’s voice came like a thunderclap from behind, full of clipped professionalism and absolutely zero regard for your moment.

You jumped. Sevika groaned, already leaning back with a hand over her face like she’d been hit with a brick.

Carol marched up the dock with a clipboard clutched to her chest like a holy relic. “Just a heads up,” she said briskly. “We’re getting a small wave of older campers this afternoon. They had their reservation at Camp Brookpine canceled due to mold in the cabins, and since we have space, they’re being transferred here. Middle school to early high school range.”

You blinked. “That’s… a big age gap.”

Carol didn’t even pause. “Yes, which is why we’re only assigning three counselors to supervise them. Since they’re older, they won’t require full handholding like the younger groups.”

You knew what was coming before she even said it.

“Sevika, Jinx, and Caitlyn—you’ll be heading up that group.”

“What?” Sevika sat up straighter. “Whos Caitlyn?”

Carol looked mildly annoyed. “She’s trained in self-defense, CPR, and conflict mediation. The teens are gonna adore her.”

“I think they’re more likely to plot a mutiny,” Jinx muttered from behind Carol, holding a dripping pool noodle like a club.

Carol sighed. “Just… show them around, make them feel included. They’ll be arriving within the hour.”

Then she turned and walked off with the efficiency of someone who didn’t care about the romantic tension she just destroyed.

You exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Well… so much for kissing you.”

Sevika stood and brushed her hands off on her shorts. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

She leaned down, smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Middle schoolers don’t stay up late,” she murmured. “But I do.”

And then she walked away—boots heavy on the dock, already yelling at Jinx to stop hitting things with a foam noodle.

You were still smiling when the wind picked up, rustling through the trees like a warning.

Far off in the forest, something cracked.

But you didn’t hear it.

Not yet.

The bus hissed as it came to a full stop, its engine sputtering out like it, too, was dreading what came next.

The older campers filed out in clumps, dragging duffel bags, skateboards, and tangled earbuds behind them like a storm of hormones and dry shampoo. A few wore smug expressions like they already hated it here. Some rolled their eyes, some yawned dramatically, and at least one boy said, “This place smells like grass and sadness.”

“Lovely,” Sevika muttered under her breath.

You stood near the counselor’s cabin with Caitlyn beside you, clipboard in hand, her hair braided neatly down her back, expression unreadably calm. Sevika loomed to your left, sunglasses on and arms folded, looking every bit the “camp enforcer” the kids would absolutely make up rumors about before dinner.

One girl with long braids and glitter under her eyes smiled wide when she spotted you. “Oh my god, you’re so pretty. Are you like… a real counselor?”

You blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

Another girl with big sunglasses and a too-small tank top giggled. “You don’t look like the rest of these nature nerds.”

You smiled politely, cheeks warming as they swarmed closer, clearly deciding you were the safe adult to befriend. One offered you a jelly bracelet. Another asked what your skincare routine was. A third leaned over and whispered, “Does she—” she motioned toward Sevika, “—bite?”

Sevika, still wearing her sunglasses and a bored expression, didn’t even turn.

But the moment her head tilted just slightly in the girl’s direction—

She squeaked and scrambled away, muttering, “Yup, definitely bites.”

“She's not that scary,” you said with a laugh, glancing up at Sevika.

She didn’t smile—but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn was surrounded by three girls asking her how to get a body like hers and if she was “actually British or just faking it for the aesthetic.” Caitlyn answered all of them with deadpan charm, never once losing control of the clipboard.

Further down the path, Jinx had somehow already taught two boys how to start a water balloon war, and was currently using a rolled-up schedule sheet as a fake megaphone.

“Team Chaos, report to me if you don’t want to do any actual work!”

Carol caught wind of that in less than two seconds and dragged Jinx off for a “talk.”

You watched it all with your hands on your hips, shoulders already a little tense. The younger kids had been wild—but this? This was a new breed. Half of them looked like they’d grown up on TikTok and spite. And the way they looked at Sevika—like she was either going to murder them or teach them how to kill—was a little funny.

One of the boys passed you and muttered to his friend, “She looks like a final boss.”

Sevika heard that. She definitely heard that.

She leaned over to you and said, deadpan, “Should I start sharpening a stick just to mess with them?”

You snorted. “Please don’t traumatize the high schoolers on day one.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Day two.”

You shook your head, laughing as the crowd began to thin, kids being directed toward their new bunks by Caitlyn and a few junior counselors.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that the camp had just… shifted.

Older kids brought older problems.

And somewhere out in those woods, the story Jinx told—the one you’d tried to forget—still lingered like smoke you couldn’t quite clear from the air.

The crickets had finally replaced the children’s screaming, and the campfire was burned down to soft orange embers. You were sprawled across a log, your hair still damp from a quick rinse, cheeks flushed from s’mores and smoky heat. Around you, the other counselors lazed in varying degrees of exhaustion—Caitlyn flipping through her clipboard even now, Jinx playing with the last burnt marshmallow, and Sevika leaning against a tree trunk with one long leg stretched out, a soda can balanced on her knee.

“Alright,” Jinx suddenly declared, standing with a dramatic stretch, arms up and spine cracking. “Who’s down for a night swim?”

You blinked, glancing around. “Is that allowed?”

Jinx grinned. “Camp’s asleep. Carol’s asleep. The lake’s wide awake.”

And before anyone could argue, she peeled off her camp t-shirt, revealing a cotton-candy pink and blue striped swimsuit with one strap falling off her shoulder like it was made to be dramatic. She let out a loud, “WOOO!” and took off running barefoot toward the lake, sand kicking up behind her.

There was a beat of silence.

Then water splashed violently in the distance.

“…Well, shit,” Vi muttered, already tugging her own shirt off and calling back, “You better not drown before I get there!”

You laughed as Caitlyn shook her head, muttering, “Unbelievable,” but still stood and started walking toward her cabin with what you were pretty sure was a small smirk.

More followed—some counselors stripping down to their underwear, some ducking off to change, the quiet turning electric with the thrill of something forbidden.

You were already wearing your bikini beneath your shorts and shirt—had been all day. So you slipped your shirt off, dropped your shorts to the side, and brushed your hair back from your face, padding barefoot after the others toward the lake.

Behind you, Sevika stood slowly, her voice a low grumble: “Y’all are lucky I brought swim shit.”

You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see her heading for the cabin. A few minutes later, she emerged again—low-slung black swim shorts hugging her hips, and a tight black sports bra that clung to her chest in a way that made your throat go a little dry. Her tattooed arms were lit in silver-blue moonlight, hair tied back, jaw flexing as she caught your stare.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” she teased, brushing past you.

You didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.

By the time you reached the dock, the lake was alive with laughter—splashing, shouting, someone trying to push Jinx off a floatie and being promptly dragged under with her. The water glowed like ink and diamonds under the moon, warm and smooth like silk against your skin as you dove in.

You surfaced with a gasp, brushing water from your eyes—and Sevika was already next to you, floating lazily on her back, her voice rumbling through the quiet like a low drum.

“This counts as my shower, by the way.”

You snorted. “Noted.”

She cracked an eye open. “You still scared of the lake after that story?”

You paused, just slightly. “...A little.”

“Then stick close,” she said simply, and drifted a little closer, her fingers brushing yours beneath the water.

And for a few minutes, the world was perfect. Cool lake, warm hearts, distant laughter.

None of you noticed the figure standing just beyond the tree line.

Watching.

Waiting.

The water was warm around your waist, your hair slicked back as you laughed, wiping lake droplets from your lashes. The moon glimmered high above, casting silver across the rippling lake. Somewhere to your left, someone was humming an off-key version of a pop song while Vi and Caitlyn argued about if swimming at night counted as “reckless endangerment.”

Then Jinx’s voice cut through the chaos like a flare.

“CHICKEN FIGHT!”

Everyone froze.

You blinked. “Like… now?”

“NOW!” she yelled, already clambering up onto the broad shoulders of a guy with tight curls and an exasperated grin—clearly Ekko, her longtime partner in crime. “Get a team, coward!”

You turned, eyes landing on Sevika just as she raised an eyebrow at you.

“I know you’re not looking at me like I’m about to let you climb on my shoulders.”

You grinned wide. “Why not?”

“I could drown.”

“You’re literally the strongest person in this lake.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if I go down, I’m dragging you with me.”

You giggled and paddled over. She sank a little deeper, bracing her hands on your hips. “Up,” she muttered.

You braced one hand on her shoulder, one on her head, and hoisted yourself up. With a small splash and a breathy laugh, you settled onto her shoulders, thighs locked around her neck, her strong hands gripping your calves for balance.

“Comfortable?” she asked, dry as ever.

“Oh, so comfortable.” You leaned forward just slightly, brushing damp fingers through her hair. “How’s your view?”

Her grip tightened on your thighs. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Jinx was already howling across the water. “C’mon, cupcake! You better bring the heat!”

“You’re going down!” you shouted back, breathless from laughter.

Jinx raised her fists dramatically. “Let the Battle of the Century BEGIN!”

Ekko waded closer, grumbling under his breath, “I’m too old for this shit—”

And chaos erupted.

The waves slapped against your stomach as you reached forward, fingers locked with Jinx’s, the both of you laughing, shrieking, trying to knock each other off your human mounts. Sevika was a rock under you—solid, unbothered, smirking with every wave you swayed through. Ekko, meanwhile, cursed every five seconds as Jinx flailed and tried to pull your hair.

“FOUL PLAY!” you yelled.

“NO RULES!” Jinx screamed, trying to yank your arm while giggling so hard she nearly fell off.

It lasted maybe two glorious, chaotic minutes before Jinx miscalculated a grab and overreached. You saw it in her eyes just before it happened—the slow-motion panic.

“NOPE—no—”

Splash.

She and Ekko went under in a dramatic heap, water spraying like a mini tsunami.

You sat victorious atop Sevika’s shoulders, chest heaving, arms raised. The crowd of counselors watching from the shore erupted in cheers, clapping and laughing and screaming things like “CHAMPION!” and “SHE DESTROYED YOU, JINX!”

Sevika shifted beneath you, reaching up to grab your waist and slowly pull you down. As you slid off her shoulders and into the water in front of her, your chest pressed against hers, her hands naturally resting at your hips.

“Good work, sniper,” she murmured, smirking down at you, your bodies half-submerged, water beading on her neck.

You bit your lip, grinning. “You liked that?”

She leaned in just enough for her breath to brush your lips. “I like you on my shoulders.”

Your cheeks flushed, heart hammering as her fingers tapped gently against your hip.

You were about to kiss her again—right there in the water—when Jinx popped up between you with a mouthful of lake water.

“Next round!” she choked out. “I’m getting revenge!”

Ekko coughed behind her. “We need a break.”

You and Sevika dissolved into laughter, forehead to her shoulder as the summer night stretched on—wet, wild, and full of heat.

But just beyond the dock, behind a curtain of trees, something moved in the dark.

And it was watching.

The two of you left the lake after most of the others had either wandered off toward their cabins or stayed behind to float under the stars. Your bikini clung damp to your skin, the camp shirt you tugged on over it sticking in places as you walked barefoot down the gravel path. The laughter had faded behind you. The night was quieter now.

Too quiet.

Sevika’s steps were solid beside yours, boots crunching softly as she carried both your towels slung over her shoulder. She hadn’t bothered changing out of her swim shorts or sports bra, water still glinting off her collarbones in the moonlight. She looked calm. Relaxed, even. But the way her eyes kept flicking toward the trees said something else.

You noticed it too.

The air felt... heavier than before. The breeze was gone. The crickets had quieted.

“Hey,” you murmured, bumping your elbow into hers. “You alright?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Something’s off,” she said, low.

Your stomach tightened.

You turned your head, scanning the dark between the trees lining the path back to the cabins. The moonlight didn’t quite reach beyond the trunks. Just black between branches. Deeper than it should’ve been.

Like the forest was holding its breath.

“I think that story Jinx told is still messing with me,” you tried to joke, your voice barely above a whisper. “The one about the guy who killed his lover and lives in the woods, hunting down couples?”

Sevika’s jaw flexed.

You both paused at the edge of the clearing where the woods broke into a thin trail leading toward your cabin. The air here felt colder—cooler against your skin, like stepping into a shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Then—

Crack.

You froze.

A branch. Somewhere behind you. Not the soft snap of something falling from a tree—no, this was footsteps. Deliberate.

You whipped around, eyes wide, scanning the dark.

Nothing.

Sevika’s arm was suddenly in front of you, pushing you gently behind her. She said nothing, but her posture shifted—tense, alert. One hand resting against your hip, the other slightly curled at her side like she was waiting for something to lunge.

“Probably a deer,” she muttered. “Or raccoon. Might’ve followed the food trail back from the mess hall.”

But even she didn’t sound convinced.

You swallowed, voice tight. “Do raccoons break branches like that?”

She didn’t answer.

Another beat of silence. Still nothing.

She exhaled through her nose. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t argue.

You stuck close to her as you walked the last stretch, her hand resting on the small of your back, eyes never leaving the treeline. Your heart thudded hard against your ribs the entire time, ears straining for another sound.

But nothing came.

By the time your cabin creaked into view, the breeze had picked up again. The crickets returned. The forest breathed again.

Like nothing had happened.

But as you climbed the porch steps and Sevika pushed open the cabin door, you couldn’t shake it.

The sound. The stillness. The feeling of something watching.

And the faintest impression… that it wasn’t done yet.

You stood at the edge of the grassy field, sunlight beating down on your tied-back camp shirt as a swarm of kids buzzed around like bees high on sugar. The boxes of Color War shirts were stacked and sorted—bright reds and blues folded in neat piles, ready for that evening’s chaos.

“Blue if your birthday’s in the first half of the year,” you called out, holding up a navy tee. “Red if you’re born in the second half. Don’t lie just to match your best friend—Carol will find out and cry.”

Groans, laughter, and a couple dramatic fake sobs echoed around you as the line snaked forward.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you said, handing a red shirt to a sullen eighth-grader who only grunted in response.

You bent over the box again, digging for a smaller size when—

“Careful,” a low voice murmured near your ear. “You keep bending like that, I’m gonna start charging admission.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you straightened. “Do you flirt with everyone during team prep?”

“Only the hot ones.”

Sevika stepped up behind you without warning, close enough that your back nearly brushed her chest. Her hands slid casually onto your hips—warm, strong, confident—just enough pressure to make your breath catch.

“Sevika,” you warned softly, glancing around to make sure none of the kids were watching.

“Relax,” she murmured, nose brushing just behind your ear. “They’re too busy eating dirt.”

You giggled despite yourself, your voice catching with the hint of a breathy squeak. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” she said, squeezing your waist once before stepping back. “Now hurry up and feed those gremlins or we’ll have a riot.”

You turned with a flushed smile and gave her a playful glare, swatting her thigh with a folded blue tee before tossing it to a camper. “Go terrorize your own team, Red.”

Sevika grinned and started to back away toward the red team’s section, but not before giving you a once-over that lingered just a second too long.

“You’re wearing that for me, huh?” she called over her shoulder, motioning to your tied-up shirt and jean shorts.

“Shut up and get your lunch,” you laughed, cheeks burning.

With the last few shirts handed out and the chaos momentarily settled, you brushed your hands on your shorts and made a beeline for the mess hall, ignoring the way your skin still tingled where her hands had been.

The mess hall smelled like grilled cheese and suspiciously runny mac and cheese, which was apparently enough to distract even the most feral campers. You slid into a seat at the end of one of the counselor tables, your tray clattering down with a sigh. Your shirt still clung to the sweat at your back, and your ponytail was doing more flopping than holding anything up.

Caitlyn sat across from you with her own tray, looking far too composed for someone wrangling children all morning. Her posture was perfect, her camp shirt somehow unwrinkled, and her expression—mild, curious—told you she was mid-observation.

“Color War shirts look good,” she said casually, poking at her steamed carrots with a fork.

“Thanks,” you replied, taking a sip from your water bottle. “Didn’t think I’d be organizing middle school battlefield aesthetics this summer, but here we are.”

“You seem… in high spirits,” she added, raising an eyebrow. “Despite the heat. And the drama. And the older kids who keep trying to vape in the bathroom.”

You squinted at her. “Is there a point coming, or are we circling?”

She gave a small smile, tilting her head. “Just noticing how close you and Sevika have gotten.”

Your fork paused halfway to your mouth.

“…We’ve been close.”

“Mm. Sure. But the kind of close where she stands behind you like she’s ready to rip out the throat of anyone who looks too long? That’s new.”

You blinked, then laughed nervously. “Wow. You always this subtle?”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Just curious. She doesn’t open up to many people. Especially not here.” She popped a grape in her mouth, then added, almost too casually, “You like her?”

The question hit harder than you expected.

You looked down at your tray, poking the corner of your grilled cheese.

“…Yeah,” you said softly. “I do.”

She didn’t press.

Caitlyn just nodded once, then nudged her tray forward. “Eat up. Color War starts in three hours, and you’re gonna need energy to fend off whatever chaos Jinx unleashes.”

You smiled—half-grateful, half-nervous.

Because even with all the teasing and flirtation, this thing with Sevika… it wasn’t just a summer thing.

Not for you.

And if Caitlyn had already noticed—others would too.

After lunch, most of the campers were off in clusters—some playing kickball, others hiking toward the lake, a few just lounging in the shade trying to survive the afternoon heat. You were refilling water bottles at the spigot behind the mess hall, the old hose sputtering and squeaking every time you twisted the nozzle too fast.

That’s when you noticed her.

One of the new girls from the older group, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Pale, with long brown hair braided down her back, and a sweatshirt tied around her waist even in this heat. She wasn’t with the others. Just standing at the treeline beyond the arts and crafts shed, half-shaded by pine boughs, arms hanging loose at her sides.

Staring.

Not at you—but past you.

You turned slowly, followed her line of sight.

There was nothing. Just the mess hall. A couple counselors. Jinx chasing someone with a pool noodle.

Still… something about the way she was looking made your skin prickle.

You capped the water bottle and made your way over, soft footsteps crunching on the dirt path.

“Hey there,” you said gently, keeping your tone light. “You alright? Not feeling sick or anything, are you?”

She blinked slowly, as if only just realizing you were talking to her. Her eyes flicked to yours—unreadable. Dark.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly.

You hesitated. “You sure? Everyone’s down by the lake, if you wanted to cool off. It’s hot as hell today.”

Another blink. A pause. Then—

“I wasn’t watching you.”

You frowned. “I didn’t say you were.”

The girl’s lips pressed into a thin line. She looked down at her sneakers, one toe digging into the dirt like she was waiting for something. Or someone.

“I saw someone in the woods last night,” she said suddenly.

Your breath caught.

“What?”

She looked back up. “When we got here. After lights out. I woke up and looked out the window. Someone was out there. Tall. Not moving. Just… standing.”

You swallowed.

“Did you tell anyone?”

She shook her head. “Didn’t want to sound crazy.”

Your chest tightened.

“Well,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm, “if you ever see anything weird again, come find me. Or Sevika. Or Carol, even. It’s our job to keep you safe.”

The girl didn’t smile. Just nodded once. Then turned and walked off toward the cabins like it was nothing.

But the weight in your chest lingered.

You stared into the treeline for a long second.

That strange silence from the other night echoed in your memory.

And behind your ribs, something cold flickered.

The late afternoon sun draped long shadows across the field, striping the grass in gold and green. You stood just outside the supply shed, clipboard in hand, checking off the last of the Color War stations as a slow breeze lifted your hair and cooled the sweat at your temple. But your fingers still fidgeted—thumb brushing nervously along the silver charm at your neck. That girl’s words echoed in your head no matter how many times you told yourself she was probably just overtired. Or making it up. Or—

“You’re overthinking again,” Sevika’s voice drawled from behind you.

You turned to see her approaching, red team bandana tied around her bicep like some war general fresh out of a camp magazine. Her wide-leg pants were tucked slightly into her boots, the assigned camp shirt cut at the sleeves. She was holding two baskets filled with colored face paint, little squirt bottles of water, red and blue flags, and glow sticks for when the sun went down.

“I’m not overthinking,” you said, even though your voice cracked slightly.

She raised a brow and handed you a basket. “Right. That’s why you’ve been checking the same clipboard box for the last two minutes.”

You blinked, looked down, and realized she was right. You hadn’t moved your pen at all.

With a sigh, you finally scratched a check mark next to “Capture the Flag Prep – South Field.”

Sevika stepped beside you, eyes scanning the list. “Everything’s ready?”

“Just about. We’ve got flag stations marked. Face paint for team identity. Water bottles. First-aid kits. Rope lines for the ‘prison’ zone.” You paused. “Still waiting on Jinx to finish the obstacle course… which, I’ve been told, involves tarps and vegetable oil.”

Sevika grimaced. “Why is she like this.”

“She thrives on chaos.”

You both started walking toward the clearing where the kids would be gathering soon. The camp was buzzing with movement now. You could hear the thud of basketballs on pavement, the distant splash of someone being shoved into the lake, and Carol yelling about sunscreen from somewhere near the staff cabins. Everything looked… normal. Almost perfect.

So why did it still feel wrong?

You glanced at the edge of the woods.

Sevika followed your gaze, then nudged you gently with her elbow. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, or keep pretending I can’t see it all over your face?”

You hesitated, lips parting—then closing again. You wanted to tell her. About the girl. The story. The sound in the woods. But something about speaking it out loud made it feel too real. Like if you said it, you’d summon it.

“I just didn’t sleep well,” you said softly.

She watched you for a second longer, then nodded—like she didn’t believe you but wouldn’t press.

“Alright. But if you fall asleep during war prep, I’m painting a dick on your cheek in red.”

You snorted. “If I fall asleep, you have permission to.”

By the time you reached the main field, the campers were assembling into their teams. Blue bandanas tied around foreheads, red ones waving like war banners. Counselors shouted team names, fake chants rang through the trees, and Jinx was holding a megaphone she definitely wasn’t supposed to have.

“WELCOME TO COLOR WARRRRRRRRRRR!” she shouted in a monster voice that made half the kids scream and the rest laugh.

Vi snatched the megaphone out of her hands mid-sentence and tossed it into the grass.

“Seriously, Jinx.”

You couldn’t help but smile. You raised your basket and started walking between teams, passing out face paint and glow sticks, showing the kids how to stripe their cheeks and wrap the glow sticks around their wrists like bracelets.

A blue team girl tugged your hand and asked, “Are we allowed to smear paint on our legs, too?”

“As long as you don’t ruin your shorts, go wild,” you said.

Across the field, Sevika was crouched in the grass helping a boy tie a red bandana around his ankle like a battle charm. When she stood, the kid saluted her and sprinted back toward his teammates like he’d just had a moment with a god.

You caught Sevika’s eye and smiled. She didn’t smile back—but she winked.

That made your stomach flip harder than you wanted to admit.

As you stepped closer to the red team to finish handing out their gear, one of the older girls from your cabin sidled up beside you. Her cheeks were already streaked in red paint, and her eyes sparkled with adrenaline.

“This is gonna be so fun,” she said, almost breathless. “Everyone’s freaking out about the woods. It’s perfect.”

You froze, glancing down at her. “What do you mean… freaking out?”

She grinned. “There’s rumors. That someone saw a shadow last night near the boys’ cabins. Tall, like—super tall. Didn’t move. Just stood there. Like one of those old ghost stories.”

Your heart dropped.

But before you could say anything, a whistle blew. Carol stood in the middle of the field with her clipboard, yelling over the buzz.

“Teams to the starting line! First event in fifteen!”

Sevika appeared at your side, hip brushing yours.

“You okay?” she murmured again.

This time, you didn’t lie.

“…Something’s not right.”

Her jaw flexed. She nodded slowly. “Then stay close tonight. Don’t go into the woods. Not even for a second.”

You looked up at her.

“I mean it,” she said.

And the weight of it settled over your chest like armor—heavy, necessary, and too late to shrug off.

Because tonight, the woods weren’t just background.

They were watching.

The sun dipped lower behind the treeline, smearing amber and bruised orange across the sky. The colors stretched wide over Camp Pinewillow, golden light slanting across the grass as the air turned thick with warmth and sweat and something else—something quieter. Sharper.

The games had begun with harmless chaos: tug-of-war on the south lawn, sponge relay races near the mess hall, dodgeball with soft foam balls that Vi kept launching too hard. Kids shrieked and cheered, flushed with excitement and sugar from the buckets of lemonade Jinx had swiped from the kitchen fridge. You'd gotten smacked in the back of the knee with a rogue dodgeball and nearly collapsed, but Sevika was too busy heckling from the sidelines to show mercy.

Still, it was fun. For a while.

Then the light started to shift.

You were on the edge of the field helping one of the younger kids re-tie her glow stick bracelet when it hit you: the crickets had gone quiet. No birds. No rustling leaves. Just the distant hum of voices and Carol’s whistle slicing through the air like it was working too hard to be heard.

You glanced toward the woods.

Nothing moved.

Sevika must’ve caught the tension in your shoulders, because she was suddenly behind you, a firm hand on the small of your back.

“You alright?”

You nodded quickly. “Just… thought I saw something.”

She looked too. Her brows furrowed, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she kept her hand there—steady, grounding, protective.

It helped. A little.

You regrouped with the rest of the counselors as the final challenge was being set up. Capture the Flag. The classic.

Red team’s flag would be hidden in the woods past the rope line. Blue team’s was behind the volleyball courts. Rules were simple. Stay in bounds. No tackling. Capture the other team’s flag and bring it back to your base to win.

Simple.

Except nothing about the forest looked simple anymore.

You swallowed as the campers lined up at their starting points. The older kids were buzzing with nerves, their jokes too loud, their movements jittery. One of the boys was holding a glow stick like it was a sword, spinning it between his fingers like he was trying to keep himself distracted.

You stood near the edge of the field, clipboard in hand, as Jinx gave the starting countdown through cupped hands.

“Three! Two! One!”

A shrill whistle pierced the air and the kids scattered in every direction like ants kicked out of their hill.

You watched them vanish between trees and over hills, their bandanas flapping behind them like flags of war. A few stayed close to the sidelines. Some shot off into the brush with flashlights bobbing like fireflies. You lost track of them quickly.

But it wasn’t the kids who unsettled you.

It was the way the woods swallowed them so easily.

Like they were expected.

Sevika was nearby, her arms crossed as she scanned the edge of the trees. Every so often, she tilted her head like she was listening for something. Her jaw was locked tight, and her entire body held that still, predator-like calm you were starting to recognize—like she was waiting.

You edged toward her. “They’re okay, right? I mean, we’ve done headcounts and paired the older kids with younger ones…”

Sevika nodded. “They’re fine. It’s just a game.”

But even she didn’t sound convinced.

A loud whoop cut through the air as a kid emerged from the trees holding a red flag high above his head, his teammates shrieking in triumph. A flurry of footsteps followed as the rest of the blue team charged back toward their side, and the game shifted toward celebration.

Your shoulders eased.

But then you saw her.

The girl from earlier.

The quiet one.

She wasn’t celebrating. She was standing just inside the tree line, a few feet deeper than anyone else, half-hidden by shadows.

And she wasn’t looking at the flag.

She was looking deeper into the woods.

Frozen.

Still.

Like she was listening.

You started toward her—but before you could get close, one of the counselors called your name. You turned, just for a second.

When you looked back, the girl was gone.

The wind shifted.

And for a moment, it smelled like something old.

Something wet.

Something buried.

It had gotten dark. Too dark.

Color War was still technically going—teams were scattered in the woods and the fields, still chasing flags, still yelling—but the thrill of the game had shifted into something restless. The air felt different now. Heavy, like it was pressing down on the trees. And the trees... the trees didn’t feel like trees anymore.

You stood on the path leading away from the rope line, squinting through the dark, your breath puffing out too fast.

“Logan? Maya? Zeke?” you called, turning in a slow circle. “Guys, you’re not supposed to go this far!”

Nothing.

No answer.

Just distant whooping from the field. Then silence.

Your fingers reached instinctively toward your hip—but the walkie-talkie wasn’t clipped to your belt.

Your stomach dropped.

“Shit,” you whispered, patting your sides in case you’d missed it. It was gone. You must’ve dropped it somewhere near the rope line—but now, even the direction you came from didn’t look right. The trail was gone. Swallowed.

You pulled out your flashlight, hands trembling slightly, and clicked it on.

A narrow cone of light flickered weakly onto the brush. It didn’t reach far. You could see dust floating in the beam. Little white motes that looked too much like ash.

The light sputtered.

You hit the side of it. “Come on. Come on—”

It blinked once.

Twice.

Then died.

Everything went black.

Your chest rose sharply. The breath caught in your throat like a knife point.

You turned quickly, trying to remember which way the main field was—but the dark looked the same in every direction. No campfires. No lanterns. Just trees. Just—

Crunch.

Your blood froze.

The sound came from behind you. Footsteps.

Slow.

Deliberate.

You spun around, heart thudding, squinting hard to see anything.

Then—

Something moved.

A shape. Tall. Just between the trees. Standing like it was waiting.

And in its hand—

An axe.

Your scream tore through the trees, raw and wild and full of panic. You didn’t wait. You didn’t think.

You ran.

Branches whipped at your arms and face, tearing at your shirt as your feet scrambled over dirt and rocks. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to get away.

Behind you, the forest shifted. A crack of twigs. A whisper of leaves moving. A shadow dragging behind your own.

Your lungs burned.

Your legs screamed.

And still, you kept running.

Because you knew—

Whatever it was—

It wasn’t part of the game.

The game had run long.

Too long.

The humid summer night had sunk fully into the camp now, casting everything in a deep indigo that swallowed the tree line. The faint glow of flashlights bobbed here and there across the field as the last few groups straggled back toward the mess hall, most of them muddy, breathless, and loud from the adrenaline of the game.

Vi stood near the fire pit with a whistle tucked in her fingers, shouting over the chaos. “Alright! Bring it in! Color War part two tomorrow night! If you’re not back in ten minutes, your team forfeits flag points!”

Groans and laughter followed her call.

Sevika was further out near the edge of the woods, ushering a few campers through the rope line. She glanced at her watch—almost 10 p.m. Too late. Carol would lose it if the game dragged any longer. She tapped her walkie-talkie. Static. Just a little. But she could still hear Vi through the general chatter.

She looked back toward the trail, expecting you to come out of it any second.

But it wasn’t you.

It was your group.

Logan, Zeke, Maya, and Dani jogged up with flushed cheeks and dirt-streaked shins, breathless and grinning.

Sevika’s brows pulled together, stomach tightening.

“Hey,” she called, stepping forward, eyes scanning behind them. “Where’s—”

She didn’t finish.

Because Maya was already stammering.

“She was—uh—there was this thing, it was just a prank, I swear. Some of the older boys from red team, they said they wanted to scare her—just, like, a joke! They said they’d hide the flag and spook her a little, we didn’t think—she said she was gonna go after them and then—then we couldn’t find her—”

Vi was suddenly beside them, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you couldn’t find her?”

“I thought she was still with us!” Logan added quickly. “She had a flashlight and everything!”

“She’s got her walkie, right?” Vi asked, already reaching for hers.

Sevika’s jaw clenched. “She did.”

Before anyone could say another word, a sound shattered the night.

A scream.

Your scream.

Raw. Panicked. Blood-curdling. Ripping through the trees from somewhere deep in the woods.

The field went still.

Campers froze mid-step. Counselors stopped mid-word.

Sevika was already moving.

She didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t hesitate. Her boots hit the path with heavy, determined thuds, pushing past the stunned group as Vi called for a flashlight.

But Sevika didn’t need one.

She could hear it in her bones.

You were in trouble.

And nothing—nothing—was going to stop her from getting to you.

Your lungs burned.

Branches tore at your arms. Roots caught your ankles. You didn’t care—you kept running, breath ragged in your throat, the shadows clawing closer with every frantic step. You didn’t know where the path was anymore. You didn’t even know where you were. Just trees. Just dark. Just the impossible thud of footsteps behind you.

Then—open space.

The woods broke.

You nearly skidded off a low drop before catching yourself—your feet hit mud and the smell of algae and lakewater hit your nose like a wall. The lake.

You didn’t think.

You just ran straight in.

The cold hit your skin instantly, cutting through the heat of your panic as you dove under. You kicked hard, arms slapping water as you swam toward the opposite side—your flashlight lost, your breath choked. You didn’t even know if you were being followed anymore.

But you weren’t taking chances.

The far shore was close now—so close. You could see the slope where the counselors swam sometimes, the tree roots that dipped into the shallows like fingers.

You broke through the surface, gasping, clawing through the last few feet of water and scrambling onto the bank. Your fingers dug into moss and wet leaves, pulling your soaked body upward.

But then—

Pain.

Sharp. Piercing. Sudden.

You didn’t even scream right away. It was like your body forgot how.

Then you collapsed—hard—onto your side, your wet shirt clinging to your back as you looked down in disbelief.

Your leg.

Your knee.

There was an arrow in it.

An arrow.

You screamed.

This time it ripped out of you like it had claws.

Your hands trembled violently as you reached toward the shaft sticking out of your skin, the blood seeping around the wound mixing with lake water. You couldn’t even think—just pure panic, pure agony.

Then—

Footsteps.

Crunching leaves.

You dragged yourself back, palms scraping the dirt.

And the figure emerged from the trees.

Tall. Holding an axe.

But it wasn’t some faceless killer.

It was Ran.

She stepped forward, her face lit only by the pale moonlight. And behind her—three boys. Older campers. One of them holding a bow. Another laughing like it was a game. The third with wild eyes and shaking hands.

“Jesus Christ,” Ran barked, voice sharp and furious. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“She was running!” the boy with the bow shouted, defensive. “I didn’t mean to hit her like that! It was just supposed to scare her—”

“Scare her, not shoot her!” Ran snapped, rounding on him.

You stared up at them, the pain turning your breath into hiccupped sobs. Your leg was on fire. You were covered in mud, your hands shaking as you curled into yourself.

“Please,” you choked, voice barely a whisper. “Please, don’t—don’t hurt me—”

Ran turned back, and for a moment, her face looked almost horrified. “Shit,” she muttered, kneeling beside you, hands hovering near your shoulders. “Shit, shit, shit—I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t think you’d run like that—"

You flinched when she reached toward the arrow. She stopped, eyes widening.

“Hey, hey—no one’s gonna hurt you, okay?” she said too quickly. Her tone was frantic now. “We were just messing around. It was a prank. It wasn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

You tried to speak. Tried to move. But the pain was too much, and your voice just cracked into another sob.

The boys stood behind her, awkward, scared now too. Like they hadn’t realized this was real until blood was involved. One of them stepped backward. Another muttered something about going to get help.

“Shut up,” Ran hissed. “Don’t move. No one leaves until we figure out what the fuck to do.”

“We should take her back—” one of the boys started.

“No,” Ran snapped, eyes wild. “You think we can explain this? An arrow? We’ll get kicked out—fuck, we’ll get arrested! Just give me a second—”

“Please,” you gasped again, voice wet with tears. “Please—just let me go. Please.”

Ran looked down at you.

And for a split second—just one—something flashed in her eyes that wasn’t panic.

It was guilt.

And fear.

But not for you.

For herself.

“Okay,” Ran muttered, more to herself than to you, her palms hovering just above your knee. “It’s barbed, so if I just—if I turn it a little, I can maybe—”

“No!” you cried out, writhing as her fingers grazed the arrow shaft. Pain rocketed through your entire leg, blinding and sharp, worse than anything you'd ever felt. “Stop—stop please, I can’t—!”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your entire body shook like it was trying to run even though you were pinned to the earth by pain.

“Jesus, just hold still—”

She reached again.

You screamed.

And that's when Sevika arrived.

You didn’t see her first—but the boys did.

Their laughter cut off like a wire had snapped. One of them’s grin fell clean off his face. The bow clattered to the ground with a dull thud.

Sevika stood on the edge of the treeline like a storm breaking open. Her boots crushed through the underbrush, jaw tight, eyes locked dead ahead—on you. On the blood down your leg. On the arrow. On Ran’s hand.

Everything about her face changed.

“Get your hands off her.”

Her voice was low. Deadly. Rage threaded through every word like heat through iron.

Ran froze. Her hand jerked back from the arrow like it burned. “Sevika—listen, I swear—I didn’t mean for this to—”

But Sevika wasn’t listening.

She dropped to her knees beside you like the world had narrowed to just you and the arrow and the blood between you both. Her large hand cupped your cheek so gently it hurt. Her other hovered over your thigh, as if afraid even looking at it would make it worse.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” she whispered, voice cracking at the edges. “I’ve got you.”

“Hurts—” you sobbed, clutching the grass, your body half-curled. “It hurts so bad—”

“I know,” she breathed. “I know, baby. Don’t move, okay? We’re gonna get help.”

Behind her, the other counselors were arriving. Vi first, breathless and wild-eyed, followed by Caitlyn, Jinx, and Carol with a first-aid kit half-clutched in one hand and her radio pressed to her mouth.

“What the fuck is going on?” Vi barked, taking one look at the scene before her voice dropped. “Oh—oh no…”

Caitlyn stepped in quickly, kneeling beside Sevika and you. “Is that—an arrow? Is it barbed?”

Sevika didn’t answer.

She was still looking at the boys.

At Ran.

And then she stood.

Her whole body radiated fury.

“You shot her?”

Ran stood slowly, hands up, voice panicking now. “No—it was a prank, okay? I told them not to shoot, it wasn’t supposed to—she ran, and—"

“She’s bleeding!” Sevika snarled, stepping toward her. “You hunted her down like it was a goddamn game—”

Vi caught her arm before it could escalate. “Vik. Not here. Not in front of her.”

Ran paled visibly, shrinking back. The boys said nothing. One was crying now—actual tears. The other two looked like they wanted to melt into the forest.

Carol, still on her walkie, was muttering for emergency services. “...yes, arrow injury, female camper—counselor, yes—barbed, she’s conscious, bleeding, we need EMTs out to Pinewillow now—”

“Sweetheart,” Sevika said, kneeling again beside you, her fury momentarily caged by the shaking in your hands. “Hey. Look at me.”

You blinked up at her, vision blurred.

“I’m here.”

You nodded weakly.

“Good girl,” she murmured, her thumb stroking along your cheek. “Stay awake. Don’t close your eyes. You’re okay. I swear, you’re okay.”

But her eyes—her eyes never left Ran after that.

comment to be added to the taglist!

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[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Crossed Wires

Marshall had never been good at relationships. Too much time spent in the studio, too much baggage, too much… him. But somehow, you had slipped past his defenses. You were sharp, funny, and way too young for him. Young enough that when you first met, he’d almost walked away on principle.

But you weren’t just some girl chasing after the infamous Eminem. You saw him—Marshall, the man behind the music, the one who never quite figured out how to balance fame and real life. And somehow, despite his reluctance, despite the age gap, despite everything… he couldn’t stay away.

That’s why your relationship was a secret. One he hadn’t even told his daughters about.

So when you showed up at Hailie’s house on a Saturday afternoon, dressed casually with a bottle of wine in hand, the last person you expected to lock eyes with was Marshall Mathers. And by the way his face paled, he sure as hell wasn’t expecting you either.

“What the f—” He barely caught himself as his gaze darted between you and Hailie, who was cheerfully introducing you to some other friends.

You felt your stomach drop. “You’re… you’re her dad?”

He blinked. “You know Hailie?”

“Of course, I know Hailie! She’s my friend from college!”

Marshall ran a hand down his face, as if hoping this was some insane fever dream. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”

Hailie, still oblivious to the fact that a literal crisis was unfolding in front of her, grinned. “Dad! I didn’t know you knew Y/N!”

Oh, he knew you. Intimately.

Your eyes were screaming at him to say something, but he was still frozen in place.

“I, uh… yeah,” he finally mumbled. “I know her.”

Hailie beamed. “Small world, huh?”

You and Marshall shared a look, both internally panicking but externally forcing the most awkward smiles of your lives.

Yeah. Too small.

Marshall hadn’t felt this kind of panic since the last time he bombed on stage.

You could practically see the gears in his head jamming as he forced a stiff nod and stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets like some awkward teenager. Meanwhile, you were fighting every instinct to grab his arm and drag him into the nearest empty room for an emergency damage-control meeting.

But that would be suspicious.

So instead, you forced a bright smile, praying Hailie didn’t notice how your voice cracked when you said, “Yeah, totally a small world!”

Marshall, for his part, just grunted. Classic.

And just like that, the party went on.

Except now, you and Marshall were stuck in some twisted game of social survival, forced to act like two people who had not spent last weekend tangled up in his bed. And to make things worse? Hailie was curious.

“So how exactly do you guys know each other?” she asked, plopping down on the couch next to you with a beer in hand.

Marshall, standing across the room, immediately pulled out his phone. A second later, yours vibrated.

M: wtf do we say

You forced a laugh. “Oh, you know… mutual friends.”

Hailie raised an eyebrow. “Like who?”

Your phone buzzed again.

M: GIVE HER A NAME WTF

Your mind scrambled before blurting out, “Um, Nathan?”

Marshall’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Nate?”

Hailie looked skeptical. “My uncle Nate?”

Your phone vibrated so fast you swore it might catch fire.

M: yOU KNOW MY BROTHER??

You resisted the urge to glare at him. Not helping.

“Uh, yeah! I met Nate once,” you said, nodding way too enthusiastically. “At, um… a bar?”

Hailie squinted. “Nate doesn’t drink.”

God. Damn. It.

Your phone buzzed again.

M: you are the WORST at this

You swallowed hard. “Right, I meant, like… a coffee bar?”

Hailie blinked. “A Starbucks?”

Marshall coughed violently, probably to cover a laugh, and you shot him a do not start with me look.

“Yeah! Totally Starbucks,” you said, scrambling. “And we just… you know, started talking, and then I met your dad, and yeah.”

Hailie still looked suspicious, but before she could interrogate you further, someone called her name from across the room. She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at you. “I will be circling back to this.”

As soon as she walked away, you whipped out your phone.

You: We’re so bad at this

M: I know. We need to escape

You: We can’t. That would look even weirder.

M: …then we suffer.

You sighed, stealing a glance at Marshall, who was staring at his beer like it held all the answers to this nightmare.

Yeah. Suffering it was.

---

Marshall had survived rap battles, lawsuits, and the entire Machine Gun Kelly incident, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for Hailie’s suspicious glare as she cornered him in the kitchen.

“So,” she started, popping open another beer. “You and Y/N, huh?”

Marshall, who had been quietly texting you under the table, immediately locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket like a guilty teenager. “What about us?”

Hailie leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You tell me.”

Marshall played it cool, taking a slow sip of his drink. “She said we met through Nate.”

Hailie nodded. “Right. At a coffee bar.”

“…Yeah.”

“She doesn’t drink coffee.”

Marshall choked on his beer. “What?”

“She literally hates it. The smell, the taste, all of it. She orders hot chocolate when we go to Starbucks.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He already knew it was you, probably panicking.

You: SOS. SHE’S ASKING QUESTIONS.

Marshall took a deep breath. “Uh, well… maybe she was there for, I dunno, tea or some shit?”

Hailie narrowed her eyes. “You don’t drink coffee either.”

“Okay, what is this, the FBI?” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I just think it’s weird,” she said, studying him like a science experiment. “You never mentioned knowing her, and she never mentioned knowing you. And you”—she pointed at him—“are acting sketchy as hell.”

His phone buzzed again.

You: She smells fear. ABORT.

Marshall sighed, running a hand down his face. “Look, we’ve met a couple times. She’s cool. That’s it.”

Hailie hummed in a way that let him know she definitely wasn’t buying it. “Right. Just a couple times.”

“Yep.”

“Not, like, a lot of times?”

“Nope.”

“Not, like… at your house times?”

Marshall took another long sip of beer, avoiding eye contact. “Hailie, I swear to God—”

“I’m just saying,” she interrupted, smirking now. “You’re acting real weird over a ‘mutual friend.’”

His phone buzzed one more time.

You: Are we about to get caught?

He sighed, already feeling a headache coming on.

M: Probably.

---

You didn’t mean to break. You really didn’t. But Hailie was staring at you with that look—the one she used when she knew someone was full of shit. And you were. So full of shit.

It was only a matter of time before she cracked you open like a damn walnut.

So you did the only thing you could. You exhaled sharply, set down your drink, and muttered, “Okay, fine. You wanna know the truth?”

Hailie’s eyebrows shot up. Marshall, who had just entered the room, froze mid-step. “Y/N—” he started, warning in his tone.

“No, she’s right,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “This is stupid. The real story? We met on Tinder.”

Dead silence.

Marshall visibly cringed, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“A year ago,” you continued, ignoring him. “We started hooking up, then going on actual dates, and now… I guess we’re, like, dating-dating?”

Hailie’s jaw actually dropped. You didn’t blame her.

“You met my dad on Tinder?!”

Marshall groaned, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

“We didn’t know we both knew you!” you added quickly. “We never thought to, like, cross-reference our lives because—”

“Because why the fuck would I ever think to ask if my girlfriend is friends with my daughter?” Marshall muttered, pacing now.

Hailie blinked, looking between the two of you like she was witnessing some kind of twisted social experiment. Then, to both of your shock, she burst out laughing.

Like, full-on, can’t-breathe, tears-in-her-eyes laughing.

You and Marshall just stared.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed, gripping the counter. “You two are the dumbest people I have ever met.”

Marshall scowled. “Wow. Thanks.”

“No, really.” She wiped her eyes, still laughing. “Dad, you don’t date. You literally never date. And you”—she pointed at you—“don’t do Tinder hookups! How the hell did this even happen?”

You shrugged helplessly. “Honestly? No idea.”

Hailie shook her head, grinning. “I mean, it’s weird, but… holy shit, I’m so glad I got to watch you both absolutely crumble under pressure. That was amazing.”

Marshall just groaned, finally sinking into a chair. But under the frustration, you saw something else—guilt.

And you knew why.

After a beat, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Hailie… I didn’t mean to lie to you.”

She softened a little, still smiling but more understanding now. “I know.”

“I just—” He sighed again. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. And by the time I thought about it, it already felt too late.”

Hailie nodded. “I get it. But, like… you know you can just tell me things, right? Especially if they involve someone I actually know?”

Marshall chuckled dryly. “Yeah. Noted.”

She shook her head again, still grinning. “I cannot wait to tell Nate and Lainey about this.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, no.”

[empressdede]

Never Ending - 3

Previous Next

Yes… I know🤣 My updating schedule sucks. I’m working on it you guys. Hope you guys enjoy!!

Friday was two days away.

And Ciera had officially gone into panic mode.

Not that she’d admit that out loud.

“Okay, this one’s cute. Try it on,” Sadé said, shoving a blush-colored dress into Ciera’s arms.

Ciera groaned. “Sadé, it’s just a date. Not prom.”

“Just a date?” Sadé looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “It’s a date with Jonathan freaking Fatu. You’ve been fake-hating that boy since sixth grade.”

“I haven’t been fake-hating him,” Ciera mumbled, staring at the rack of dresses like one might jump out and solve her emotional crisis for her.

Sadé raised a brow. “You’re telling me you’ve been trading flirty insults for the past five years and you don’t like him?”

Ciera didn’t respond. She just turned and walked toward the fitting rooms.

“Uh-huh,” Sadé said, following. “Exactly what I thought.”

Inside the little fitting room, Ciera stared at herself in the mirror, dress still on the hanger. Her stomach was a bundle of knots she couldn’t untangle. It wasn’t just nerves. It was years—years—of wondering what it would be like if she ever stopped pretending she didn’t care about Jon.

And now it was here.

They were here.

A real date. A real moment.

She slipped into the dress, smoothing it over her hips and turning side to side. It was cute. Maybe a little too cute. She could already hear Jon’s teasing voice: “You dressing like that for me, Monroe?”

Her cheeks warmed.

She stepped out to show Sadé, who let out a low whistle. “Okay, girl. That’s the one. Jon’s jaw is gonna be on the floor.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” Sadé said. “You look amazing. He’s not gonna know what to do.”

Ciera smiled faintly at her reflection, but her eyes were far away.

Sadé caught the shift. “Okay, spill. When did this whole change of heart happen? You used to roll your eyes every time he walked past you.”

Ciera sat down on the little bench inside the dressing room and let the truth surface, quiet and honest.

“I never didn’t like him,” she said. “Even back then. He used to get on my nerves on purpose, but… he always treated me different. Like I wasn’t just another girl in class. Like he saw me.”

Sadé softened, sitting beside her. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Ciera said, fiddling with the hem of the dress. “I just… I know we’re young, but Jon gives me a feeling I’ve never felt before. It’s not just the jokes or the flirting. It’s the way he remembers little things. The way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.”

Sadé smiled. “So what made you say yes?”

Ciera thought about their phone call. The way his voice softened when he said he missed her. The honesty in his laugh. The way he admitted to wanting to try.

“I guess… I’m just done pretending I don’t want this too.”

Sadé bumped her shoulder gently. “Well, it’s about time.”

⸻⸻

Back at home, Jonathan was pacing his room like a man with a ticking clock in his chest.

“Dude,” Joshua said, lounging on the bed, “you’re wearing a path into the carpet.”

Jon ignored him.

“You asked a girl out, she said yes. Why are you acting like this is DEFCON 1?”

Jon stopped pacing, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I don’t wanna mess this up.”

Joshua raised a brow. “You? Mr. I-Win-Homecoming-King-Without-Trying? You’re scared of a date?”

Jon gave him a look. “It’s not just a date. It’s her.”

Joshua sat up. “Ohhhh. So you finally asked out the Monroe girl. Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t plan it,” Jon admitted. “It just… happened. And when she said yes, I didn’t even know what to say.”

Joshua laughed. “I know what you wanted to say: ‘Ciera Monroe, I’ve loved you since we were twelve.’”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, bro. You’ve had a crush on her since forever. Even when y’all stopped talking, you were always watching her.”

Jon didn’t deny it.

He sat down at the edge of his bed and stared at the floor. “I still don’t get why she said yes.”

Joshua shrugged. “Maybe she was tired of waiting for you to get your act together.”

“Or maybe she just pities me.”

“Come on, man. This is Ciera. She doesn’t pity people. She doesn’t even like people.”

Jon cracked a grin. “True.”

Joshua studied him for a beat. “You really that nervous?”

Jon exhaled. “Yeah. A little.”

Joshua tilted his head. “Why? This is the same girl you grew up with. The one you used to share your snacks with in fourth grade. The one who knocked your tooth loose when you teased her too hard in seventh.”

“She’s not just a girl to me,” Jon said, voice low. “She never has been.”

Joshua sat back, suddenly a little more serious. “Well if she means that much to you, then don’t let her slip again.”

“I’m not gonna.”

“I mean it,” Joshua said. “You let her walk away once because you didn’t know what you wanted. But this time? You do. So don’t mess it up.”

Jon looked over at his twin, eyes steady. “I won’t.”

Joshua smiled. “Then stop pacing and figure out where you’re taking her.”

Jon leaned back against the wall, a soft, disbelieving grin on his face. “You really think I have a shot?”

Joshua laughed. “You’ve always had a shot. You were just too scared to take it.”

Ciera stood in front of her bathroom mirror, testing lip gloss shades she wasn’t sure she’d actually wear. On the counter were outfit options, earrings, perfume she only used on special occasions.

Sadé had gone home hours ago, but her words lingered: “It’s about time.”

Ciera turned her phone over in her hands, the notification screen blank.

Friday’s almost here.

She didn’t know what Jon was planning. She didn’t even know what she wanted it to be. But she knew one thing for sure—this was real now. Not hallway jokes or teasing in class.

This was something they were both finally reaching for, after all this time.

She picked up her phone, typing out a quick message:

Ciera: You planning to wear that same hoodie from 8th grade on Friday?

Seconds later, a reply:

Jon: You remember that hoodie?

Ciera: It had a hole in the sleeve and smelled like your lunch.

Jon: Still got it. Might wear it just to mess with you.

Ciera: Please don’t. I’ll actually walk out mid-date.

Jon: You’d miss me too much.

Ciera: 🙄

Jon: You excited?

Ciera stared at the message for a long moment before typing:

Ciera: More than I want to admit.

A few seconds passed.

Jon: Same.

She smiled.

And somewhere, deep down, she knew this wasn’t the beginning.

This was the continuation—of every hallway glance, every smirk, every “accidental” moment they shared over the years.

Now it was real. Now it was them.

The buzz around school was typical for a Friday—kids eager to clock out mentally before the final bell rang. But today, the air around Ciera and Jonathan Fatu felt charged, different, as if everyone could sense something was coming.

“You sure you’re ready for this date, C?” Sadè asked, falling into step beside her, eyebrows wiggling. “You gonna be able to keep up with Loverboy?”

Ciera narrowed her eyes. “I’m ready. Don’t act like this is your date.”

Sadè grinned. “I’m just saying—you’ve been walking around with a glow, bestie. It’s giving ‘finally gonna kiss the boy I’ve been fake-hating since sixth grade.’”

“Shut up,” Ciera said under her breath, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. Her eyes skimmed the hall—and like clockwork, found Jon standing with his twin by his locker.

Joshua spotted the girls first. He elbowed Jon and loudly announced, “Look who’s here—the girl you’ve been simping over for five years.”

Jon didn’t miss a beat. “You mean the girl you were simping over before I stole your chance?”

Joshua rolled his eyes. “I didn’t even like her. I was twelve and she liked kicking me.”

“She liked kicking me too,” Jon replied smoothly. “That was her love language.”

Ciera tried to hide her laugh behind her hand, but Jon was already walking toward them with that cocky glint in his eye—the one that always spelled trouble.

Sadè stepped aside like she was watching her favorite rom-com unfold in real time. “You two need a moment?”

Jon stopped in front of Ciera, eyes roaming her face like she was the only person in the building. “So… you still coming tonight? Or should I cancel the moon and stars?”

Ciera crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know, depends. Is it an actual date or one of your weird prank setups?”

Jon smirked. “Nah, this one’s real. I promise.”

“You sound confident.”

“I am.”

There was something in his voice—soft, serious, sure—that made Ciera’s stomach flutter.

“Well,” she said, trying to recover, “I’m still deciding if I’m going.”

Jon leaned closer, his voice low. “You already said yes. Don’t act brand new now.”

Ciera tilted her chin. “You never know, I might change my mind.”

“Yeah?” he said, stepping back with a knowing smile. “You won’t.”

Joshua cut in, arms slung over both their shoulders like he was the proud older sibling. “You two are disgusting. I hope y’all at least kiss tonight so I can stop hearing Jon whine about how ‘Monroe looked real good in Chemistry today.’”

Jon shoved his twin off with a laugh. “Get outta here.”

Sadè, ever the instigator, added, “Ciera, if you don’t wear that dress we picked out, I’m throwing hands.”

“Relax,” Ciera said, rolling her eyes. “The date’s not till tonight.”

“Exactly,” Sadè said. “And don’t worry—I’m coming over right after school to supervise your transformation. You’re not going out there looking anything less than stunning.”

Jon’s eyes flicked to Ciera again, softer this time. “You already look good, though.”

Ciera glanced down, biting her bottom lip before offering him a smirk. “You trying to butter me up now, Fatu?”

“Is it working?”

“…Maybe.”

The warning bell rang, and Ciera checked the clock over Jon’s shoulder.

“I gotta get to class,” she said.

Jon stepped aside, his tone more serious now. “Tonight’s gonna be a night you won’t forget. I mean that.”

Ciera’s teasing smile faltered just slightly, his words sinking deeper than she expected.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied, then turned and walked away—fast, like she needed space to breathe again.

But even as she made her way to class, she felt the weight of his promise sitting heavy on her chest.

⸻⸻

In seventh period, Ciera sat in the middle row, notebook open but her pen unmoving. Mr. Carlson was droning on about World War II strategies, but none of it was landing.

All she could think about was Jon.

The way his eyes softened when he looked at her. The quiet confidence in his voice when he said tonight would be unforgettable. The tiny dimple that appeared when he smiled.

She’d been teasing him since they were kids. That was just their rhythm. It kept things safe, fun, predictable. But now?

Now everything was real.

He was really picking her up tonight. They were really going on a date.

And not just any boy. This was Jon.

The one who used to tug her braids and race her to the lunch line. The one who knew her favorite flavor of fruit snacks and the exact look she gave when she was pretending not to laugh.

Her pen finally moved across the paper—but all she wrote was his name. Just like she did when she was in the seventh grade.

And of course she’d end the day in the class she shared with him.

Jon walked in a minute late and slid into the seat next to hers with a whispered, “Hey.”

She didn’t look at him right away. She couldn’t. Her face was already too warm.

When she finally did, he winked at her.

And just like that, the butterflies returned.

⸻⸻

Ciera packed her textbooks into her locker with slow, distracted hands. Every so often, she’d glance over her shoulder, half-expecting Jon to appear again—but he didn’t.

Instead, Sadè came around the corner, a tote bag on her shoulder and a grin that stretched across her face. “Okay, Miss Date Night, let’s go.”

Ciera rolled her eyes. “You act like I’m getting married or something.”

“You might as well be. That boy’s been orbiting around you since middle school. Tonight’s the eclipse.”

Ciera closed her locker. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I’m just saying,” Sadè said, looping her arm through Ciera’s. “You better not chicken out. This is it. The start of your teenage love story.”

Ciera snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Tell that to your heartbeat,” Sadè said. “Now come on. We have hair to style and a dress to steam.”

As they walked out of the building together, Ciera took one last glance back down the hallway.

No sign of Jon.

But his words echoed in her mind anyway.

“Tonight’s gonna be a night you won’t forget.”

And for once,Ciera let herself believe him.

Short chapter cause life whooping my ass frfr🤣 but imma bounce back, I always do. I hope you guys enjoy!!

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[clioerato]

About Scars (on the face and the soul) Part 1

I've seen a lot of fanfics and fan arts where post-Upside Down Eddie struts around with badass facial scars. And sure — it’s cool, it’s hot, I love scars. I’ve got some myself (just not on my face). But here’s the thing: people seem to gloss over the fact that Eddie is a twenty-year-old, painfully single, possibly canonically gay guy living in a tiny town. And now he’s got a big, “ugly” scar across his face. Let’s not forget — most of that town already thought he was a freak, a weirdo, a satanist. Now, when he looks in the mirror, those insults aren’t just words — they’re his reflection. Who would want to be with him? With all his baggage, with that “ugliness,” with the nightmares that don’t end when he wakes up? We need to explore that side of the story more.

After everything that happened in the Upside Down, Eddie simply vanished.

The last time Steve saw him was in the hospital, though calling it a “visit” was generous—Eddie was unconscious, and all Steve could do was sit there, watching the twitch of his eyelashes and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It calmed Steve, the way the ocean or a crackling campfire might calm someone else. He clung to the sound of Eddie’s breathing, to the warmth of his hand, letting himself drown in the relief that Eddie was alive.

There was only one thing Steve wanted more than that—he wanted Eddie to wake up. He wanted to finally talk about the endless, desperate flirting that happened between them in the rare lulls between saving the world. Steve had things to say. Things to offer, if Eddie was willing. They’d survived another apocalypse, and Steve wasn’t such a damn coward that he’d let something real slip away because of a crisis over labels. Especially not after all those late-night talks with Robin. Lots and lots of talks, if we’re being honest.

But the moment Eddie opened his eyes, everything fell apart.

First, he stopped allowing visitors. Nurses just shook their heads and said he’d insisted—only immediate family. And when he was discharged, he disappeared from the Party’s life as abruptly as he’d entered it. Not even Dustin could reach him. The trailer park was gone, and no one had a clear idea where the government had relocated him. But Steve had a guess.

Which is why he’d spent the last forty minutes knocking on every door in this block of identical gray houses, asking if anyone knew where Wayne and Eddie Munson lived. No luck so far.

He wasn’t desperate—really, he wasn’t. If Eddie didn’t want to see him, that was fine. They hadn’t made promises. Eddie had every right to cut him out. But Steve, who had been through four apocalypses now, knew what the aftermath could look like—panic attacks, nightmares, the cold, creeping terror that never really leaves. He knew those things well. He just wanted to make sure Eddie wasn’t drowning in them.

He lifted his hand to knock on yet another cardboard-thin door when it suddenly swung open—and Steve found himself face to face with a balding man. He recognized him instantly. He’d seen him during those long hours at Eddie’s bedside.

He and Wayne hadn’t talked much—NDAs, age gaps, entirely different worlds—but they’d found a quiet rhythm. Trading vending machine coffee, sharing energy bars, draping each other with hospital blankets when the steady beep of a heart monitor lulled them into sleep in front of Eddie's hospital bed.

Steve: Uh… Wayne? I’m really glad I found you. Is Eddie home? Wayne: Steve? How the hell—did Eddie call you? Steve (awkwardly): No, not exactly. I’ve been… looking. I needed to make sure he was okay. Is he? Wayne: Hm. Look, kid. I don’t know what the hell happened with you two, and if I hadn’t seen you in that hospital, I wouldn’t let you past the porch. But… it’s you. Maybe he’ll talk to you. I’ve got to head out for work now, but promise me—if it looks like seeing you’s doing him more harm than good, you call me first and then you go. Deal? Steve: Yeah. Of course. I promise.

Wayne nodded and pulled a pen from his jacket. No paper—so he just scribbled his work number across the back of Steve’s hand and stepped aside, giving him a silent nod to enter.

The apartment was... empty. Gray. Bare, like it had just been moved into. Maybe it had. Steve didn’t know. But he’d expected more life here—more of Eddie’s chaos, his color, his fire.

Steve (clearing his throat): Eddie?

Something clattered behind a closed door. Not quite an answer, but not silence either. Steve walked toward it and knocked gently.

Steve: Eddie? Can I come in? Eddie (strained): Steve? No. Don’t come in. Steve: Okay, man. I won’t, if that’s what you want. But... we’re worried about you. I’m worried. Are you really okay? Eddie (softly): I’m fine. Now leave. Steve: Look, I’m not going anywhere until you look me in the eye and tell me that. I’ll wait. Eddie: So what, if I don’t come out, you’re just gonna sit there forever? Steve (seriously): Yeah. Eddie: ...Sure you will.

(Twenty minutes later)

Eddie: You’re not giving up, are you? Steve (quiet but firm): No.

Another sound from behind the door. Shuffling. Hesitant steps. Then—a click. The door opened a crack, just a few inches. Steve instinctively moved forward before Eddie’s voice stopped him.

Eddie: I said don’t come in.

Steve: Sorry. It’s just... I’m glad to see you. Even a little.

He couldn’t see much—just a glimpse of Eddie’s eyes, the curve of his mouth. Not enough to make out details in the dim room, but enough to know: Eddie was alive.

Eddie (with a bitter laugh): Yeah. Sorry, big boy. You probably don’t want to stand too close. I’m fresh off a tour of Hell, now with added undead vibes. Real charming. We could cosplay Beauty and the Beast for Halloween. All the candy’s mine.

There was something in his voice Steve didn’t recognize. Bitter. Self-loathing. And it pissed him off.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Eddie flinched, turning away, shrinking into himself. Not meeting Steve’s gaze. The first thing Steve noticed was the cane. Then his eyes moved upward—met Eddie’s eyes, skimmed over his nose, those full lips—and relief crashed over him.

He was alive. Eddie was alive.

But then Steve saw what Eddie had tried to hide. Jagged red scars slashed across his right cheek, stretching to the corner of his mouth, up toward his eyebrow. What bandages had concealed in the hospital was now exposed in raw, brutal truth.

Eddie (choked, fighting tears): Get out. Steve: Hey—it's okay. What’s going on? Eddie, talk to me. Eds…? Eddie (angrily, desperately): You found me. Happy now? You see it? The limp, the scars, the phantom pain that never lets up? I’m stitched together with fear and agony. I was a freak in high school, and now I look the part. Forever.

Steve (gently): Eddie, shhh... Can I—can I touch you?

Silence. Steve thought Eddie might be holding his breath.

Steve (softly): I don’t know what this feels like for you. I can’t take it away or fix it. But I saw you fight. I saw you save people when you could’ve run. You saved Dustin—he’s alive because of you. That matters. That never stops mattering. You’re not just your body. You’re... everything else.

Eddie (hoarsely): Jesus, you’re good at speeches, Harrington. But you forget something—I have to live like this now. Who the hell is gonna want this?

(He gestures bitterly at himself.)

You know, I used to have this stupid dream that one day I’d find someone. Someone to share my life with. But that dream ended with this goddamn scar.

Steve (smiling): I didn’t even notice it at first. Is it weird to say... it kinda suits you? Very metal.

Eddie: …

Eddie (finally, almost in a whisper): You really didn't notice the scar? Steve: No. I noticed you were alive. And… I noticed I missed you like an idiot.

Eddie let out a breath, quiet and shaky, like he'd been holding it this whole time. He didn’t smile—not really. But there was something in his eyes, something that flickered and caught light, like the last ember refusing to go out.

Eddie (quietly): You’re late.

Steve took a step forward, then stopped, his voice just above a whisper.

Steve: I got here as fast as I could.

Another pause. A heartbeat. Eddie’s fingers tightened slightly on the handle of his crutch, knuckles paling. But he didn’t move away.

Eddie: You still... drive me crazy, you know that?

Steve (softly, with a half-smile): Yeah. I was hoping that part hadn’t changed.

Their eyes locked again—no fear this time, no pretending. Just the quiet, aching truth between them. And then, so slowly it was almost imperceptible, Eddie gave the tiniest nod.

Steve stepped forward, closing the distance until their noses brushed. His eyes locked onto Eddie’s, catching the dilated pupils and the faint flush rising to his cheeks.

And this time, Eddie didn’t stop him.