#when i watch the world burn all i think about is you

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods IV

series masterlist - part III

Pairing - Geta x fem!reader x Caracalla

Summary - Geta and Caracalla force you further into their world.

Warnings - 18+, unedited, forced proximity, power imbalances, future dub-con, period typical sexism, mentions of domestic violence, masturbation, lonliness, dondus is a girly

Word Count - 2.5k

The majority of your morning passed in a similar fashion. You'd stand against the wall, leaving it on occasion to fetch Geta wine or do whatever else he bid you, which wasn't much. In the light of day and alone he seemed glaringly human. He flipped through the papers on his desk, offering the occasional scoff or scowl, and sometimes even appeared bored.

That was, of course, when he wasn't staring at you. You felt his eyes burning into the side of your face for minutes at a time but stood still, unwilling to meet his gaze. Geta would look down and then quickly up again as if determined to catch you in the middle of something. It would have been amusing if he was not the Emperor.

After several hours of this game, he sat back in his chair and let his pen fall to the table. "Tell the guards outside the door that they are to bring some food."

You bowed your head dutifully but stopped several paces from the door.

"Is there an issue?" he said mockingly.

"I. . .believe that would be my job," you said slowly, turning to face him. "I should fetch whatever it is you request."

Geta seemed to think about this for several seconds. He picked his pen back up and began tapping it against his desk. Tap tap tap.

"Ask them for whatever you want as well," he finally said. "I suppose you have not eaten?"

Your cheeks turned hot. True, you had not. You had been in such a rush this morning that you hadn't had time to stop by the kitchens for your usual morning meal. Geta had kept you so distracted that you had hardly even registered your own hunger.

"I do not believe it is appropriate for me to eat with you," you tried, tapping your nails against your palms.

"Is it appropriate to ignore the orders of the Emperor?"

"No - "

"Well, then."

His eyes dared you to argue further. Swallowing your words, you went to the door and spoke with the guard. You requested fruits and bread for Geta and a bowl of porridge for yourself. The guard's brows raised at the porridge and you shrugged, gesturing behind you as thought that was enough explanation. The guard seemed to think so and you watched as he disappeared down the corridor.

Your purpose here was a mystery to you. It was unusual to have a cupbearer who did only that. You had assumed you would fetch his meals, perhaps tidy up after him too. Instead you had stood at the wall for almost the entire morning. The biggest task was avoiding the Emperor's wandering gaze and it was by far the most exhausting.

"What would you usually be doing at this time?" he asked.

"Uh," you stammered, confused by the question, "I would be in the kitchen, I suppose, Emperor."

Geta tilted his head. You allowed yourself to look up and meet his eyes, desperate to read his mood. Every question felt like he was trying to slip you up, though for what purpose you did not know. Like that night in the entertainment hall, his tongue traced along his top and bottom lip. You found yourself watching the movement and forced yourself to look away.

"I am sure this is preferable, then," he seemed to decide to himself.

You blinked and couldn't help but ask, "My apologies, Emperor, but what is my purpose here?"

It was the most you dared ask but you wanted to know. If you did not then it was more likely you would make a mistake, take a wrong step in this dance he was forcing you through, and the consequences could be deadly. You had assumed you would take up all the responsibilities of a cup-bearer or maid but you were wrong. Now you were left floundering, wondering what to do next. You could not leave yourself any more vulnerable than you already were.

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Grateful for the interruption you rushed over, gladly relieving the guard of the tray of food and whispering a quiet thank you before letting the door fall closed.

Geta still had not answered your question but you carried the tray over to him, sliding it gently onto his desk. You pushed some of his papers aside to make more room and then stepped back, clasping your hands in front of you so as not to look so clueless.

Geta picked out your porridge from the rest of the food and scowled as if it was a personal offence. He pushed it toward you. "Take it. Sit. Eat."

Cautiously you walked away, picking out a chair furthest away from Geta's desk. You pressed your lips together and stared down at it, put off by the elegant craftmanship. You had never sat on something so expensive before.

"Sit,'" he ordered again, popping a grape into his mouth. He was watching you closely as though curious about what you might do. As if you had any other chance but to obey his commands.

You did as he bid, angling your body so that you would not have to face the full force of his stare. Never had you had such a little appetite but you spooned up a mouthful of porridge anyway. It clung to your teeth and was near impossible to swallow. You ate it mechanically, one spoon after another.

It was odd; you felt perhaps more bare now than when you had been forced to dress in front of Geta. Powerful people could demand anything in this world but there were a few things you had been able to rely on with your work in the palace. Food and sleep were two of them.

Caracalla had slipped into your room last night like it was nothing. The Praetorians had not questioned it. They could not and would not have stopped him. Now Geta insisted upon you eating in front of him and you could do nothing but force the food down and pretend that you were in the kitchen, alone, planning the rest of your afternoon.

The door opened once more and you paused. Caracalla shuffled in, Dondus perched upon his shoulders. The monkey spotted you before Caracalla did. She clambered down from his clothes and towards you, using your skirts to pull herself up onto your lap.

You offered her your fingers like before and she greeted you, chattering noisily. Perhaps you and her were not so different; both of you were there for the amusement of the Emperors and not much else. All the wine serving was a pretence but for what, you did not know.

This was the first time you had gotten a good look at Caracalla in the light of day. He seemed much brighter, more awake. The shadow of his illness lingered around his shoulders like a shrugged-off cloak.

Caracalla approached you, swiping his fingers along your bare shoulders as he passed. You almost squeaked as he forced himself beside you, giggling at your tense reaction.

"You should eat something, brother," Geta picked up a bowl of fruits and came over to hand them to his brother. The room felt unbearably hot with both of them in such close proximity. Geta spoke much more softly to his brother than he had you.

Caracalla accepted the bowl with little interest. He picked up a single berry and rolled it between his fingers. A smile tugged on the corners of his lips and he held it up.

"Open up," he demanded.

Flickers of mirth danced around Caracalla's face but his eyes were deadly serious. Last night you had been able to sway him into doing your bidding but you could see that was not possible now.

Geta lingered in front of you, waiting to see how the situation would play out. It felt like a test.

You parted your lips and Caracalla pushed the berry past them, swiping his fingers across your lips as you chewed. There was no humor now. This was something heavier, warmer.

Caracalla pulled his hand away from your face. He absentmindedly traced those same fingers across his own lips, eyes fixated on your mouth.

You tried to focus on your porridge. It was now stone cold. Caracalla let out a whine and demanded your attention back on him, pressing another grape to your mouth and watching hotly as you ate them.

"Good girl," he praised.

It felt like your blood was vibrating. The berries varied between sour and sweet, not unlike the man in front of you. Nonetheless you chewed them and swallowed them down. Your eyes danced across Caracalla's chest, unsure on where to settle.

You were not entirely prudish. You knew the contours and folds of your own body well and had even fumbled around with several boys in your time at the palace. You tended to find more satisfaction with your own hand.

This, though, was unlike any of your previous experiences. Bells were sounding in your mind. There was something oddly erotic about it. Part of you wanted to lean away, divert Caracalla's attention to something else, yet you found yourself leaning in, tilting your chin and letting Caracalla feed you.

It wasn't until Caracalla's hand began to slip between the folds of his own gold-embroidered toga that Geta stepped in. You averted your gaze and coughed, wiping the purple-pink smears from your mouth.

You could not read Geta. He pulled his brother from the chair and lead him to his own desk, away from you. Flustered, you poked your spoon around in the remains of your porridge. There was little point in eating anymore. You were full.

The afternoon trickled by. Snatches of conversation caught your attention but you made yourself turn away. They were not for your ears.

"Acacius has returned, victorious of course," Geta said. "He does not seem to enjoy it."

Caracalla cackled. "I know someone else who does not enjoy bloodshed."  

You looked up. Both stared at you expectantly. "I. . . I am sure the general and I could not be more different."

"Hmm," Geta's mouth twisted in thought. "He has requested time to spend with his family."

"You have granted him this?"

"No."

You could not hide the disapproval on your face quick enough. Geta barked a laugh, surprised. "What are you thinking?" he leaned forward in his chair. "Really, I must know."

"I am thinking I am not fit to advise an emp -"

"Not advice, then," Geta dismissed your concern. "Amuse us."

This could get me killed, you thought. Then again, was there anything that couldn't? They could have you taken out and thrown to your death if they felt the slightest inclination. Your mind wouldn't let you forget it.

"I think," you said slowly, "that the general would appreciate the rest. His lady wife, too. Perhaps if you let him have this  he would be more amenable in the future?"

The brothers shared a look and you clenched your teeth. Was this it? Your death? Your palms were sweaty as you slid them together and rocked on your feet.

"I do not see why we should let him have anything," Caracalla's face twisted. "He and his wife have been given privileges that no-one else has. They have been honored!"

"It wouldn't be for them," you said quickly, "it would be for you. Both of you. You are young; there is plenty of time for conquering. Some rest now means nothing. But it might get you things you want in the future - and rather than having to take them, they would be given."

You stopped, too nervous to continue. You were no advisor. You did, however, have an understanding of most people. Everyone except them.

If you gave something you were likely to get something in return. That, you understood. You had heard things about the general and his feelings towards the conquering he did for the emperors. Rome was already delicate enough. An uprising would shatter whatever fragile ground you stood on and, perhaps selfishly, you did not want that.

"Given," Caracalla echoed, fingers tracing the edge of some papers. "I like to be given things. Sometimes I take them too."

You thought back to the berries, his fingers on your face. He had taken something from you then but you were not sure what.

They did not address you again for the rest of the afternoon. They were entirely focused on their work. This time their voices were lowered enough that you could not quite hear them. It was better that way. You let your mind drift.

You took your meals with the emperors, wolfing them down and avoiding their leers. It could have been your imagination but the food tasted better than what you were used to.

The room had darkened considerably by the time you were dismissed.

"One of the guards will escort you to your new room," Geta tapped his fingers on the desk, "I expect you ready tomorrow morning."

There was an implication in the way that he spoke; you were to go to your room and remain there. No visiting friends in the kitchen or wandering about. They would know if you did.

Geta held out his hand expectantly. You took it in your own, tilting it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. These were hands that had never seen a hard days work. Hands that were gradually squeezing you tighter and tighter into a position that you did not want to be in. You cleared your throat and stepped back.

Caracalla stuck out his and you did the same. When you tried to pull away Caracalla tightened his grip on your hand. It took several tries to pull away.

As Geta had said, there was a guard waiting to take you to your own room. It still sounded strange in your head. Your own room. You’d never had your own space but you had never needed it more.

The room was distressingly close to the quarters of the emperors. In was just a nook in the wall, really, but more room than you'd ever had before. There was no windows; only a small wooden side table and a straw mattress atop a wooden frame. The guard let you in and then left you.

Your fingers traced the frame. It was simply crafted but unlike anything you had had before. It was sturdy. You sat on the mattress. Comfortable, too.

You stuffed your old tunics and the carving into the side table. Then you noticed a wooden peg jutting from the wall. A place for your new clothes. You hung them up reluctantly, wishing there was somewhere you could shove them out of sight.

This was it, then. You lay back on the bed and smoothed your hands over the sheet. You had thought you might be glad for the privacy. Instead, you were lonely. You longed for Alba and the faces of familiar servants. She was probably somewhere below you, settling down for her own night.

You gritted your teeth and pushed your face into the mattress. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring. You could feel yourself being propelled towards it and braced.

Authors Note - please leave likes, asks, comments & reblogs if you enjoyed, they keep me going!!

As you can probably tell, the emperors will not be getting assasinated in this one. They're still shitty leaders but the events that lead up to their deaths in the movie will be different.

taglist - @only4thefics @doodle-with-rhy @lover-rep-fanfic @claraisme23 @sashaphantomhive @multifandombtch @t6gse370 @merrymunsons @europixie @prestinalove @malfoycassimalfoy @jovial-cowboy

[bapeach]

Accidental love

Another long fic and I'm honestly very proud of it! I don't know anything about torn ACL's or anything so if stuff is wrong, just ignore it. I hope you enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :) Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader  Word count: 9.1k+  Warnings: depression, life-changing accident, cursing, happy ending Summary: After a life-changing accident, Y/N finds peace in her new life, but when Paige Bueckers faces her own injury, their worlds collide. ------------

Paige Bueckers

Of course, it was a name you knew. You’re a student at UConn, so if you didn’t know of her, well, you’d be living under a rock. Paige Bueckers is UConn’s star player. The golden student. The future of women’s basketball. A legend in the making… 

You could go on and on about the things you’ve heard about her. She always seemed to be present in your life in one way or another. A mumble in the hallway as you go to class, an edit on your TikTok fyp, a celebration post on UConn’s Instagram page…

You don’t know the girl personally, having only been in the same room as her a few times when you went and watched some of her games. You’ve heard a lot of good things about her. You respected her grind, the way she gave her all to basketball and was a great team leader. You’ve also heard she’s a sweetheart off the court and always tries to make people comfortable. She’s also really pretty, which you’re sure is a contributing factor to why she’s so loved. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. 

You’d had your own fair share of admirers because of your looks. You’d caught plenty of girls fawning over you as they ogled your muscles, giggling when you sent them a flirty wink. If you were honest, you were quite the player when you first came to university. You’d messed around with a few girls, never really getting into anything too serious. 

You just didn’t have time for relationships. You were too busy studying biomedical engineering while also having a job and hobbies. And boy, did you have hobbies. Ever since you were young, you were a very active kid. Your parents always had to beg you to come inside, only being able to persuade you with promises of weekends at the indoor playground/kid gym.

Growing up, you stayed active. You went for a run every morning and swimming at least once a week. You didn’t join your school’s sports teams because how could you only choose one? You spend every weekend doing a different sport until you run out, only to start over. Basketball, boxing, soccer, baseball, hockey... you did it all. Your all-time favorite, though? Rock climbing.

You think there’s nothing better in this world than rock climbing after a long week. Wind ruffling your hair as the bright sun shines on your back. Climbing as high as you can, your muscles burning as you strain them to their limit, your chest tight as you gasp for breath. But it’s all worth it, because in the end, when you reach the top and have a full view of the horizon? It feels like you’re on top of the world. Like you’re untouchable and all your hopes and dreams are within reach.

The thought of climbing always filled you with warmth and excitement. Even after climbing the same rocks over and over, you still felt in awe every time you made it to the top. Knowing that no matter what, at the end of the day, you could always count on the dusty stones beneath your fingertips always made a smile grow on your face. 

Well. That was before the accident, at least. Now the thought of it makes you feel a dull throb in your chest. 

The last time you went climbing, you’d gone with some fellow enthusiasts. It was a group of strangers you’d met at the indoor climbing hall. Their little club ranged from new climbers to experts, and you’d clicked with them immediately. The guide you went with was a middle-aged man who had over 20 years of experience, so you were excited to maybe learn some new things. He was a really nice guy, happy to see someone your age be so excited about his favorite activity. When you partnered up with him, you didn’t expect anything to go wrong. Daredevils like yourself never really think too much about the consequences of your actions or things that could go wrong, otherwise you’d be too afraid to do half of the things you do. So that day was like no other. At first at least.

When you had reached 3/4ths of the climb, it happened. Even now, 2 years later, you’re not sure what exactly happened. You only know that one moment you were gripping onto the rocky wall and the next you were falling. When you think about it, it all feels like a dream. It didn’t take you long before you hit the ground, but it somehow felt like ages.

You remember how distraught your guide was when you finally woke up in the hospital. You didn’t understand anything he was saying at first. He was crying too hard, stumbling over his words as he kept apologizing. Something about malfunctioning equipment? 

When the doctor walked in, you immediately knew something was very wrong. Your chest filled with an unbearable ache when you saw the sad frown on his face. After that, everything is pretty much a blur. You didn't hear anything after the words “paralyzed” and “never walk again” were spoken. Everything became muffled as your ears started buzzing. You felt your chest tighten, and this time not in a good way. You were drowning on dry land.

The next months were some of the darkest moments of your life. You felt like your world was ending. And it kind of was. Everything you thought you were, gone in a matter of seconds. Bound to a wheelchair for the rest of your life. You shut everyone out at first, but soon realized you couldn’t bear all of this alone. Your family was your greatest support. They were your greatest fans, always celebrating your wins, and now they were here to mourn your greatest losses with you as well. 

You lost quite a lot of friends after the accident. It was hard being friends with your sporty friends when you could only think about how you wished you could join them. Your friendships didn’t all end on a bad note, though. You knew that if anything was wrong, you could still call them, and they’d show up in a heartbeat. 

You also gained a few friendships. Some people you met at therapy, support groups, online forums,... You also found a friend in the guide you were with that day. While you hated him at first, too filled with pain to think clearly, you’d talked to him at a later point. He apologized profusely once more, but you forgave him quickly. It’s not like it was his fault. Besides, it was hard to hate him, the way he looked at you with so much guilt. He had kind but wise eyes, prominent smile lines, and his hair was graying a little, but he was still full of life and filled with passion. You knew this accident would haunt him for the rest of his life, and he didn’t deserve that, so you made sure to stay in touch with him. If only to let him know you were doing well and make sure he was too.

You still often think about the days when you could be wild and free. In the two years since the incident, you’ve changed a lot. You’ve calmed down greatly, becoming a lot more mature and wise. While you used to be the go-to friend for a crazy time, you were now the friend people came to for advice. You missed your younger self, but still felt like she was a part of you. You’d gone through so much, the change was only natural. And honestly? You were proud of the person you’d become. Sure, you weren’t perfect and still had your days when you felt like you couldn’t breathe and like the world was against you. But overall, you were at peace with your life. It’s also not like you’d fully lost your playful self. You still loved teasing your friends, pulling pranks, and causing mischief.

So yeah, while you didn’t know Paige personally, you definitely felt like you knew a lot about her from the media, the people around you, and even some of her friends. You’d met Azzi a year ago when she got injured during a game. She’d been destroyed when she realized she wouldn’t be playing again any time soon. Having to find something new to do, she’d made her way to the library, where she bumped into you. You started talking, and before long you two became pretty good friends. You listened to her situation and told her what you’d been through. 

At first, she’d apologized profusely, feeling bad about how she complained about not being able to play for a few months while you’d never get to do your favorite things ever again. You’d made sure the younger girl knew it was okay, and that you didn’t want her to feel like she couldn’t be upset just because you’d also gone through something. You’d spent hours with the girl talking about the adventures you used to go on and how much your life had changed. You made sure to tell her how happy you were despite everything, letting her know that no matter what, she’d be okay. 

While you don’t talk as much as you used to anymore, now that she’s back on the court, you still text each other every so often, smiling as you pass each other on campus. You didn’t blame her for becoming busy, you were excited to see her play with that bright smile on her face. You made sure to cheer her on and text her congratulations on her wins and “You did well” messages when the team lost. The girl appreciates you more than you know. Without you, she wouldn’t be where she is now. She’d learned so much from you.

Somehow, during your whole friendship, you’d never really met the team. Not that you really felt the need to. She had her friends, and you had yours. There was no need to mix up the groups. That being said, you didn’t really think you’d ever meet Paige or become close with her.

You were curious, though. As you wheel out of the library, you hear Paige’s name all around you. Two girls leaning in close as one gasps her name. A group of guys with their mouths dropped open as a video on their phone says the star athlete’s name. A professor walking past with a frown, mumbling, “... yeah, Paige Bueckers…”. 

When you reach your dorm, you open your laptop and search “Paige Bueckers” on Twitter. You immediately feel a pit in your stomach. The first tweet you see is a video with the caption “I’m gonna cry, I feel so bad for her”. You click the video and see why the basketball player was being talked about everywhere. At first, it looks like a normal clip from their most recent game. You see Nika passing the ball to Aaliyah, who passes it to a sprinting Azzi, who finally passes it off to Paige. You blink, and suddenly the blonde is on the floor, clutching her knee as tears stream down her face. You can see the worry and fear on her teammates’ faces, and the distraught but knowing look on Paige’s. A torn ACL. No doubt about it.

For a moment, your own accident flashes in your mind. The weightlessness as you were falling. Waking up and realizing you can’t move. You shake away the thoughts, blinking the haze from your eyes. You grab your phone to text the girl something, anything to make her feel better, but you pause. Right now, the last thing she’ll care about is a stranger texting her she’ll be okay when they probably don’t have any idea what she’s going through. Your thumb hovers over Azzi’s contact, but you end up closing the app. The brunette is probably too busy to talk, being too worried about her best friend. “I’ll talk to her soon,” you think to yourself before going on about your day.

You were right about talking to her soon. Only a week after the latest UConn tragedy, you see her. You were tucked away in your favorite corner of the library, a worn copy of your favorite book lying in your lap. You were surrounded by colorful pens, post-its, stickers, and tabs as you added new scribbles in the margins of the book (don’t worry, you’d gotten your own copy after the first time you read it).

Finishing a tiny doodle on the inside of the cover, you look up and see the younger girl. Beaming that wide smile of hers that could light up a dark room. The type of smile that makes you return the gesture before you even realize what’s happening. When she reaches your table, she greets you happily before looking back. It’s only then that you realize she’s brought company.

There she is. UConn’s basketball miracle in all her glory. Paige Bueckers. 

You look her up and down. She’s wearing her blue UConn tracksuit, her hair is in a bun, and she’s holding two crutches under her arms. Her usually bright blue eyes have become a darker color as a frown is set on her face. She didn’t want to be there, she wanted to be in her room, wallowing in her bed with a pint of ice cream. She doesn’t understand why Azzi felt the need to drag her out of the comfort of her own dorm to go meet some stranger that would give her the same stupid pitying looks she’d been getting from everyone around her. 

“Hey Ace,” you send her a grin before looking back towards the injured girl. “Hey, I’m Y/N,” you nod at her. She only frowns at you until Azzi turns and sends her a pointed look. “Paige,” the blonde sighs. You hide your amused smile, knowing she’d get even more annoyed if she thought you were making fun of her. 

“I figured it was finally time some of my favorite people met!” the brunette beams. When you catch her eye, you have a silent conversation with her. You knew why she was here with Paige. She was hoping you’d be able to help her best friend the way you’d helped her. You can tell by Azzi’s body language that she’s slightly on edge, not sure how you’d react. You send her a reassuring wink as you start talking, “About time! I’ve heard a lot about you, Paige,” you say gently. The girl only hums in response. 

You see Azzi frown for a second before her signature easy smile makes its way back to her face. “I was thinking we could all go for coffee,” she says, looking at you with hope in her eyes. “Sounds good to me!” you grin as you start packing up your stuff. Once you’re done, you glance over at Paige, who is looking around with a bored expression. You’re not offended at her not wanting to spend time with you. You knew what it was like to feel your world crash, and you’d also tried pushing people away. The blonde maybe didn’t want to be around you right now, but you’d make sure she realized that she’d be okay.

You put your bag on your lap before wheeling your way around the table so you could be right beside the basketball players. You see Paige’s eyes widen as she takes you in, only now having realized you were in a wheelchair. You let her observe you for a moment, seeing her emotions swim in her eyes. You could tell she was shocked and a bit embarrassed, but you also saw her frustrations as she clenched her jaw and started frowning again. “So that’s why Azzi wanted me to meet her. Just so she could tell me that whatever I’m going through is nothing compared to what she has to live with,” Paige thinks as she tries not to roll her eyes. 

You simply send her a smile. You don’t mind the anger that seems to radiate off of the girl. You know she’ll probably say and do stuff she doesn’t mean in rage, and you don’t mind being the person all that fury is aimed at. You know that at the end of the day, she won’t mean any of it, and you’d rather she tries to hurt your feelings than her sunshine best friend.

“Let’s go then, shall we?” you say with a raised brow and a tiny smirk before you start wheeling away. You lead the way through campus to your favorite coffee shop, making small talk with Azzi. You try to include Paige as well, but you don’t talk to her all that much, not wanting to overwhelm her. When you arrive at the shop, the brunette holds the door for you and Paige with a smile, her eyes twinkling. You thank her before following the blonde in. 

“Your usual?” Azzi asks as she walks in behind you. “Yes please, thanks Princess,” you say with a playful wink, a wide grin on your face. The brunette shakes her head in amusement, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. You make your way towards a free table in the back, waving hi to the barista that always calls you his favorite regular. Paige follows not long after, while Azzi waits in line to order the drinks. Once Paige sits down with a huff, slightly out of breath as she rubs the spots where she leaned against the crutches, you don’t say anything at first. The silence isn’t exactly fun, but it’s not a bad silence either.

When your friend makes her way to your table, you smile softly at her as you accept your drink. “Thanks, Ace.” “Of course,” she replies, her voice soft. She looks over at Paige for a moment before clearing her throat. “Listen, P, I know you’re hurting. Not just physically but mentally too. And I know how you feel like it’s the end of the world, but I promise you, it’s not. When I went through my injury and couldn’t play, I spiraled too. But then I met Y/N, and she made me realize that everything would be okay. I know you’re not happy about being here, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not allowed to be sad, but please just… talk to her. Y/N is an amazing friend to have, not just because she knows what it’s like to lose stuff, but just because she listens. She really listens, and she has a way of making you feel a little lighter on days when things seem impossible.” 

You look at her as she’s speaking, your smile soft as your chest feels warm. It was nice to hear her say such sweet things about you and trust that you’ll be able to help someone else she cares so much about. 

Azzi turns to you before continuing. “And Y/N, please don’t think we’re only here because I want you to help P. I’ve always wanted to introduce you two. I feel like you two could be great friends!” You lean over to grab her hand and give it a little squeeze. Of course, to anyone else it might’ve looked weird, the way you and Azzi hadn’t spoken in a while, and she only seemed to come back to you for help. You knew that wasn’t the case, though. The brunette was the definition of kindness. I mean, she has the nickname “The People’s Princess” for a reason. You didn’t feel offended at all, knowing this only proved how much she trusted you and how much you’d helped her in the past.

Paige’s jaw stays clenched a little longer, her brows furrowed. “I don’t need her help. I don’t need anyone’s help,” she thinks angrily to herself. When she looks up at her best friend, however, she falters. She knows Azzi doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. “I guess… if Azzi speaks this highly of her, then… she can’t be that bad.” You see her soften as she gives the brunette a soft nod. She turns to you, sighing softly before giving you a tentative smile. You grin at her as mischief swirls in your eyes. “Yeah, we’re gonna work out just fine,” you think.

As you drink your coffee, you talk about everything that’s been happening in your life lately, asking Azzi for details on what she’s been up to since you last talked. You make sure to ask Paige questions too, getting to know her more as well. You keep the conversation away from basketball or your own accident. There was a time and place for that conversation, and it wasn’t here and now. 

You stay in the coffee shop for hours, just chatting about everything and nothing. You manage to make both girls laugh a lot, one time even making Paige laugh so hard, her coffee comes out of her nose. She’d looked pretty embarrassed, her face turning a bright red, but she couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face. 

You’re in the middle of telling Paige a story about something you and Azzi had done a few months ago when the brunette’s phone went off. You pause your conversation as you look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Oh shoot! I gotta go, uh, do you guys mind if I head out?” she rambles, already getting up. You look at Paige, who’s already looking at you. You grin at each other before turning to Azzi. “Don’t worry, we’ll play nice,” you smirk. 

Once the brunette leaves, you think for a moment Paige will go back to her quiet self, but you’re wrong. “So? What happened next?” she asks, her eyes wide in a childlike wonder. Warmth blossoms in your chest. The people weren’t wrong when they praised the type of person the star athlete is. She was sweet, paid full attention to what you were saying at all times, and she was funny as hell. 

You continue the story, making the blonde chuckle and shake her head in disbelief. “There’s just no way Azzi did that.” You shrug with a smirk, “It’s all true.” She looks at you a little longer, eyes squinted, as she tries to find out if you're lying. When she realizes you’re not, she chuckles again as she leans back. 

You continue to look at her and notice her demeanor change. Her smile slowly leaves her face as her body becomes tense again. Somehow you’d managed to not make her think about basketball or her injury the whole time you were at the coffee shop, but now it seemed to all come back in one big wave. 

She frowns, leaning forward as she hesitantly meets your eye. “So… Are you finally gonna tell me to just suck it up and stop moping about my knee? Because at least there’s a chance I’ll still be able to play?”

You look at her for a moment. “Nope.” You push away from the table as you start rolling your wheelchair to the door. “W-Wait, what?” You hear Paige stutter, her chair screeching from how hard she scoots it away from the table. You grin, hearing the clattering behind you as the blonde struggles to grab her crutches to follow you. You thank the girl holding the door open for you as you roll into the warm afternoon sun. Paige huffs as she finally reaches you, a frown on her face. You can tell she’s not really upset, though, the way her lips are curling into a small smile.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorm… well… wheel you to your dorm…? Wheel to your dorm as you hobble along…?” Your eyebrows are furrowed as you rub your chin, trying to find the right wording. You hear Paige snort beside you as she starts moving. “Oh my god, bro, just shut up.” 

You stick your tongue out in response before speeding up a bit to match her pace. You two don’t talk for a moment, enjoying the nice breeze as birds whistle around you. “I had fun with you today, Paige,” you smile up at the girl. She smiles back at you. “I had fun with you too… I’m sorry for how I acted earlier, it’s just… it’s been really hard,” the frown from earlier makes its way back onto her face.

“Don’t worry about it, P,” you say with a smile. The girl returns the gesture, hearing you call her her nickname. “So uhh, you don’t want to tell, y'know, all that stuff about how it’ll all be okay?” She asks hesitantly. “Would you believe me if I did?” You ask without any judgment in your voice. “I’m not sure… probably not,” she says as she looks over sheepishly. “Then there wouldn’t be any point to it, would there?” You tease. 

She looks back ahead of her, but you stare a little longer. “I’ll tell you about my accident some day, but not right now. I don’t wanna tell you and have you just end up feeling bad, y’know? We had a good day, let’s not ruin it with my sob story,” you grin as you send her a wink.

Once you reach the blonde’s dorm, she looks at you with reluctant eyes. She doesn’t want to say goodbye just yet. “Give me your number, we’ll text,” you demand, not really giving her a chance to say no, but you both know she wouldn’t. You see her relax a little as she hands you her phone. Once you’ve put your number in and added a cheeky contact name, you give her back her phone. 

“Text me, alright? I know where you live now, so if you don’t, I’ll come find you,” you say with a teasing wink. “Yes, ma’am,” she grins. You two say your goodbyes before you make your way to your own dorm. You haven’t even made it out of the basketball player’s hallway before you hear your phone ding. Your stomach flutters and your chest feels warm. You were excited about your new friendship and were looking forward to getting to know the legendary player on a deeper level. 

Over the following weeks, you two continue to text every day, hanging out in the coffee shop a few more times too. Sometimes Azzi joins you, but more often than not, it’s just the two of you. You learn more about Paige’s family and friends and how life was living in Minnesota while she also gets to know you more. 

You can’t say every day you spend with the blonde is an amazing day. The girl’s injury was still fresh, so she was often grumpy and sad and found it hard to enjoy having to sit still in some coffee shop or library when she’d rather be out there playing ball. You never got upset with her though, you’d been there before, and you knew she just needed some silent support. 

One afternoon, your phone rings, bringing a smile to your face. You know who’s calling before you even look. “Hey, P,” you say, your grin clear in your voice. “Hey Y/N/N, whatcha up to?” she mumbles. “Just hanging out in my dorm, watching a show. What ‘bout you?” you reply, leaning back on your bed as you stare at the ceiling. “M’bored, you should come over… Some of the girls are coming over later… You should meet them,” she says. When you close your eyes, you can see her sitting in her room, one hand holding her phone as the other rubs her neck shyly.

“Sounds nice,” you murmur. You hear a soft sigh of relief on the other end. “Yeah?” Paige’s voice crackles through the phone, her tone hopeful. “Mhm,” you hum, “I’ll be there in like… 20 minutes?” “Ugh, 20 whole minutes?” she whines as you chuckle at how childish she could be. “Oh, I’m sorry? Do you want me to put my wheelchair in turbo mode?” You joke. “Oh my goddd, stoppp,” she groans, muffling her chuckles behind her hand. 

When you first made jokes about your injury and wheelchair, Paige had completely frozen, not knowing how to react. It had taken her a while, but now she was used to your stupid little jokes and knew you made them because you liked making people laugh.

You laugh softly at her reaction before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. You get out of bed, hopping into your wheelchair with ease, having been through this whole thing what feels like a million times before. You quickly get ready, grabbing a book Azzi had been wanting to borrow for a while and putting it in your bag before heading out. 

You were excited to see Paige and Azzi again and were curious to see what their other friends were like. You were pretty nervous, though. You’d be the odd one out in their usual little bubble. You didn’t let that stop you from going over, though. You’d never really been afraid to take leaps, and weren’t going to start now either.

When you make it to Paige and Azzi’s dorm in record time (the wind must’ve helped you make it there so fast…), you let your presence be known with your signature knock. Paige opens the door almost immediately with her trademark grin. “Hey P,” you smile as you wheel your way inside. “Hey Y/N/N,” she replies. “So, when’re the others gonna be here?” you say as you follow her towards her room. “Don’t know. Half an hour maybe?” she shrugs as she plops down on her bed. You nod your head as you look around. 

You’d been in the blonde’s room a few times already, but you still liked seeing if anything had changed. Her room was filled with the usual clutter, clothes thrown on the chair in the corner, a few water bottles next to her bed,...

She pats the space next to her, inviting you in. You wheel closer before heaving yourself onto the bed. Blue eyes follow your every move, ready to jump into action if you need help. Once you’re comfortable, you lean back and smile at her. “Grey's Anatomy?” you ask, your head tilted in question. Paige’s face immediately lights up as she leans over to grab her laptop. You continue the show where you’d left off last time before you hear commotion in the living room. 

You look over at Paige, who looks back at you with a pout on her face. You chuckle, sitting up a little straighter to hop back into your wheelchair. Once you’re seated, you wait for the blonde to grab her crutches and lead the way. You laugh softly at her huffing and puffing, knowing she’d rather watch her show right now than hang out with her team.

When you make it to the living room, you see KK, Nika, Ice, and Azzi chatting as they shrug off their jackets. When they notice Paige and you, they quiet down. “Y/N! Hey, I didn’t know you were here,” Azzi beams at you. “Guys, this is Y/N, the girl I’ve told you about, the one that helped me during my recovery,” she says cheerfully. KK, Nika, and Ice smile kindly at you before introducing themselves. 

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you guys,” you smile. “Only good things, I hope?” Nika teases. “Meh,” you reply with a smirk. The girls laugh before finding a spot to sit as you guys hang out. They leave 2 spots open on the couch for Paige and you, making you send them a thankful smile. 

You sit down and get to know the girls a little better. You could see why the UConn team was such a close-knit group. The girls were funny, sweet, and protective and treated each other like family. 

After a while, KK and Ice get bored and decide to turn on Paige’s PlayStation to play Fortnite. You continue to talk to everyone, laughing at the funny stories the girls tell you about Paige, trying to embarrass her. The blonde’s face turns a bright red as she complains about them being jerks, but her bright smile doesn’t leave her face. Your heart feels like it’s grown two sizes with how happy you’re feeling.

“Oh wait, Ace, I’ve got that book you asked for,” you say. You look towards your bag, seeing it near KK. “Hey KK, d’you mind grabbing my bag for me?” you ask the gaming girl. “Hm?” she hums distractedly. “Grab it yourself, bro,” she says, completely focused on the game. You see Azzi open her mouth to say something, but you hold up your hand to stop her. You send her an evil grin as mischief swirls around in your eyes. You make your face neutral, maybe even a little pouty, as you let out a sad sigh, “Alright.” 

You grab onto your wheelchair a little louder than necessary as you lean forward to move into it. KK’s head whips around so fast, you think she might’ve given herself whiplash. “WAIT, NO!” she yells, her eyes wide as she scrambles to get up to grab it for you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone move as fast as her at that moment. 

The girls around you slap their hands in front of their mouths to stifle their giggles. The younger girl looks at them with a pouty frown, feeling bad for forgetting you couldn’t easily get up to grab something. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles as she hands you the book. You send her a wink and a grin, letting her know you were just joking. You weren't offended about the fact she seemed to have forgotten. It showed you that the girls didn’t just see you as someone with a disability.

She sits back down next to Ice, sticking her tongue out at the still laughing girl. “s’not funny,” she mutters, staring at the TV as she continues the game. You could get used to hanging out with these girls. You loved the way they constantly teased each other, but never went too far. Many people were too scared to make any type of jokes around you, too focused on your impairment to realize you were also just a person. 

20 minutes go by before a phone rings. You recognize the ringtone as Paige’s and look towards the sound. Her phone is lying on the table near Ice and KK, who both look over for a split second before their attention goes back towards the TV. “KK, gimme my phone,” Paige demands, leaning forward to grab it from her. “Get it yourself,” the younger girl quips back, not even glancing at the blonde. Paige looks over at the other girls for a second, a “Seriously?” clear on her face. 

She grins before copying you. Sigh. “Fine,” she mutters, grabbing onto her crutches, making them bang against each other. KK looks back and deadpans at her. “Go ahead,” she says dryly, turning back to her match. 

“Bruh, what the hell,” Paige huffs as she gets up to grab her phone. You let out a deep belly laugh at the annoyed look on her face. The blonde turns to you with an unamused frown, as you send her an innocent smile and a shrug. 

You guys hang out for a few hours before it’s time to head back to your dorm. Your chest feels light when you say your goodbyes. Each girl gives you a hug with the promise of hanging out again soon. When you make it back to your room, you see you already have 2 texts from Paige. “had fun 2day, thanks for coming over” and “think KK likes you more than me”. 

That night, you go to bed with a wide smile on your face.

Days go by, and you stay in touch with all of the girls, but you mainly hang out with Paige. Today was another one of your planned hangouts, this time at your dorm, but the second the blonde arrived, you knew it wouldn’t be all fun and games. She’d just gone to physical therapy for her knee, and her face looks thunderous. She hadn’t slept well, constantly waking up because of her knee, she’s sick and tired of not being able to play, and physical therapy had gone horribly. 

When she walks in, she wordlessly flops down on your couch as she stares at the ceiling, a frown etched into her face. You go over to your fridge, grabbing a bottle of water for the both of you before returning to her side. You give her the bottle and wait patiently for her to talk. “I fucking hate this,” she fumes. “It’s been weeks since the game, why is everything still so… so… ughhhh,” she groans, unable to find the words. You give her arm a squeeze in support, but she shrugs you off, shooting upright as she continues her heated rant. 

You stay calm as you listen to her, knowing she needs this moment to blow off some steam. When she quiets down, heaving from all the talking, you quietly try to comfort her. “I know it sucks, P, but you need to just keep going, don’t give up. You’ll be on the court again soon enough, and it’ll be like you never left-” you can’t finish your sentence before Paige interrupts. 

“NO, YOU DON’T FUCKING GET IT!” she yells, her frustrations high. You wince slightly at the volume but don’t say anything. You give the blonde a moment to calm down and let everything sink in. You’re not offended, you know people say things they don’t mean in moments like this. 

Once she realizes what she just said to you, the one person who understands more than anything, she looks at you with guilt in her eyes. Her blue eyes having become a shade darker as they look at you sadly. You see tears starting to well up before she leans forward, putting her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers in shame. You lean forward again, softly grabbing her wrist to take her hands away from her face. You hold one hand between yours as you catch her eye. You give her a gentle smile, letting her know you’re not upset.

“I shouldn’t have yelled… I shouldn’t’ve said that,” she mumbles regretfully. “It’s okay, P,” you murmur, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’re not mad?” She looks at you like a kicked puppy. You shake your head with a smile, “I’ve been through worse. I’ll survive a pretty girl raising her voice at me.” She gives you a tiny, sad smile, leaning her forehead against your entwined hands.

You start telling her your story. The story of how you grew up, playing every sport under the sun, up until that one dreadful day. You tell her about the dark, depressive hole you fell into after you woke up paralyzed, the way you pushed everyone away, and how you thought nothing would ever be okay again. The whole time you’re talking, she looks you in the eyes, barely blinking as she listens intently. Her jaw clenches as her eyes become glassy when you talk about your depression. When you finish talking about what it was like the first few months after the accident, you pause for a moment, letting everything sink in.

“How’d you do it…?” She asks, her voice cracking with emotion. “It was hard… really fucking hard,” you start. “I pushed everyone away at first, but my family never gave up on me. They helped me realize that while it really fucking sucked… I was still alive. And I would find new things to care about. And I did!” You smile. “With all my free time, I started looking for new hobbies. I found out pretty quickly that I don’t have the patience for puzzles, and I poked myself one too many times to enjoy cross-stitching,” you say with a playful grin, making the athlete breathe out a little laugh.

“I learned that I have pretty good rhythm, so I was able to pick up playing the guitar and the piano pretty easily. I realized that doodling really helps me unwind after a long day, which is funny because it’s the complete opposite of how I used to relax. I got better and better at drawing and tried out a bunch of different mediums, but my favorite is still pencil drawings. I’d always loved reading but never made enough time for it, but now I try to finish at least one book a week… Uhh, I bought a PlayStation which I play on maybe a little too much, but you know what that’s like, Ms Fortnite addict.” You tease. She rolls her eyes, but you can tell that she’s no longer feeling so bad, a tiny smile decorating her face. 

You let silence fill the room for a moment. “I’m not saying this in a way of being like, ‘Stop complaining and get over it’, but I promise P, things will be okay. You’re the Paige Bueckers… It’s gonna take a lot more than a torn ACL for you to stop being you. Have some faith.” You send her a comforting smile as you squeeze her hand. She nods at you, her muscles relaxed as she finally lets out a relieved sigh. “Thanks… for everything,” she breathes. You shake your head with a smile, thinking it’s silly she’s thanking you for being her friend. “You don’t need to thank me for that… but you’re welcome. And thank you for including me in your group of friends… I don’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun.”

You two talk for the rest of the afternoon, ordering a pizza when dinner time arrives. After you’re done eating, you migrate to your bedroom, letting a movie play in the background as you keep talking about everything and nothing. You’re sitting on your bed, telling Paige a story, waving your arms animatedly as her blue eyes stare into yours. “... And then she looked at me and I almost passed out from laughing! You should’ve seen the look on Ace’s face!” you say, hiccuping a little from laughing. The blonde laughs along, her chest feeling warm at the sound of your laugh.

“So what’s up with that nickname anyway?” she questions as she leans her head on her hand. “Ace?” You ask. “Well, her name’s Azzi, but people call her Azz, so then I started calling her Ace, as in A C E, like in a deck of cards. The ace cards are the highest cards in the deck, and I think of her quite highly,” you explain.

“Okay, but doesn’t it depend on the game?” she asks, tilting her head like a confused puppy. “Hm?” “Well, isn’t the ace card the lowest in certain games?” she says with a raised eyebrow. You can’t help laughing as she says that. “God, are you always this negative?” You tease, giving her a little push. She rolls her eyes as she scrunches her nose, sticking her tongue out. 

You continue talking until the sky becomes dark. Paige looks out the window, a slight frown growing on her face at the thought of having to leave. “Do you wanna stay the night?” you ask nonchalantly, but you feel your heart beat a little faster. Her bright blue eyes find yours immediately as she looks to see if you’re joking. “Yeah, sure, if that’s cool with you,” she says as she fiddles with her necklace. You smirk at how nervous she seems. “I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t, now would I?” She slaps your arm lightly to shut you up. “Go ahead and grab some clothes from my closet,” you tell her, hopping into your wheelchair to go get ready for bed in your bathroom.

When you return, you freeze for a moment, your heart swelling at the blonde dressed in your clothes. When she looks over at you, you start moving again, letting her use the bathroom as well. A few minutes later, she returns, looking around a little sheepishly. You pat the bed next to you, sending her a calming smile. You continue talking a little longer, but slowly feel your eyes grow heavy. You fall asleep to Paige’s tired mumbling. The last thing you remember is a soft hand grabbing yours, entwining your fingers before you doze off.

After that night, your relationship with Paige changes. You feel like you’ve somehow become even closer to her and are happy to call her your best friend. You’re rarely seen without the other, always attached to the hip. You make sure to come with her to physical therapy for silent support, while she often joins you in the library as you finish another book on your list. Your favorite hangout spot is the coffee shop where you two properly talked for the first time. You make sure to go there every week, sometimes even being joined by the girls on the team (who you’d all gotten to know pretty well by now).

When the end of Paige’s recovery nears, you’re a little nervous. While you never blamed Azzi for getting too busy to hang out a lot after she recovered, you would still be upset if the same happened with the blonde. All your worries were for naught, however, when Paige continues to call you every chance she gets, sending you quick texts when she can’t. She often adds silly selfies as well, just to make you laugh.

You’ve known you’ve had a crush on the girl for a while now, but you never said anything. Paige needed to focus on getting better without any distractions. You also didn’t want her to think your whole friendship was based on you having a crush on her, so it was best you just kept quiet.

Paige, in return, was also too scared to tell you about her crush. She loved the friendship you two had and didn’t want to ruin it just because she’d caught feelings. She was afraid that every glance, every touch, and every soft smile was just you being a good friend. She couldn’t bear to lose you after everything you’d done for her, so she kept her mouth shut.

Azzi, being the observant friend she is, immediately knew about both of your feelings when she’d “caught” you two asleep on the couch, holding each other close. She made it her mission to get you two together. She started off by trying to convince Paige to confess, but that didn’t work out well, seeing as the blonde was too scared and always shrugged her off. Her next plan was to try to make you confess, knowing you were the bravest person she knew. That sadly also didn’t work, seeing as you were too considerate of others to think about your own feelings when you knew Paige could end up getting hurt. 

So here she was, back on plan A. “Come onnn, P, she’s head over heels for you, I’m telling you!” The blonde rolls her eyes so hard it gives her a bit of a headache. “Azzi, please, we’ve been over this before, let it goooo,” Paige groans, feeling butterflies flutter in her stomach at the thought of you liking her back. “No! I’m not gonna let this go. You two mean so much to me, I just want you guys to be happy,” she says with a sad pout on her face. Paige lifts her head from where she’s lying on her bed to look at the brunette, and groans again at the kicked puppy look on her face. She could never say no to her when she made that face.

Paige sighs and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “...How sure are you?” She mutters, looking over at Azzi with desperation in her eyes. The brunette gives her a soft but excited smile. “110%, P. You know I wouldn’t say this if there was even a slight chance I was wrong.” The blonde’s cheeks turn a soft pink as a happy yet slightly embarrassed smile shows on her face. “Okay then, how do we do this?”

You’re hanging out with a friend when you hear the familiar ringtone go off. You excuse yourself for a moment, picking up the phone. “What’s up, P?” You grin. “Hey Y/N/N!” You can hear the smile in her voice. “You’re coming to our next game, right?” she asks. “Uhm, hello? It’s your first game back on the court, of course I’m coming,” you tease, sounding slightly offended she felt like she had to ask. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chuckles, “jus’ wanted to be sure.” “I’ll be your biggest cheerleader, don’t even worry about it,” you promise. “Ight, I’ll hold you to that,” she replies before you two say your goodbyes.

When the day of Paige’s first game back arrives, you know the blonde is bursting with nerves. You meet up with her before the game to wish her good luck and to encourage her. Her leg shakes up and down as she bites her nails. Her eyes flit around the room as she nods along to what you’re saying, but you know she’s not listening. You roll closer to her, grabbing her hand and pulling it away from her mouth. You give it a gentle squeeze as she finally looks at you. “Don’t worry so much, P. You’ve been working your ass off for this moment, and you’re gonna do great, okay?” you say, trying to reassure her as much as you can. Her shoulders loosen as she finally takes in what you’re saying.

“Thanks, Y/N/N,” she mutters with a small smile. You give her a wink before you leave to wish the other girls good luck and to find your spot before the crowd starts filtering in. While Paige is extremely nervous about her first game back, she’s more nervous about what’s going to happen at halftime. She really hopes she won’t embarrass herself. She walks back over to her team, quickly going over everything again to make sure everything would go exactly the way she’d planned. 

The first quarter of the game flies by before she even knows it. She already scored 12 points, giving UConn the advantage. As she sits on the bench, listening to coach Geno, she looks around. Her eyes immediately find yours as you send her two thumbs up. She grins before locking back into the game. 

The second quarter goes by even faster, making Paige’s stomach clench with nerves. They were now 9 points ahead, so it was still anyone’s game. First, however, it was time for halftime. 

The blonde wipes her sweat on a towel, looking over at Azzi. The brunette gives her a reassuring smile before walking over to you. You don’t expect her to walk over but smile at her nonetheless. “Hey Y/N/N, how much do you trust me?” she grins. You raise an eyebrow at her, but the smile on your face doesn’t disappear. “With my life,” you reply. She sends you a beaming smile, giving your shoulder a squeeze as she wheels you onto the court. You chuckle as you ask her what’s going on. She simply says, “You’ll see.” 

Paige walks up to you, fiddling with her hands nervously. She bends down on one knee and starts talking, her voice quivering a little. “Y/N… I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” You open your mouth to tell her off, but she holds up her hand before you can say a word. “I know, I know, I don’t need to thank you… but I want to. When you entered my life, I was going through a very difficult time. I felt like I was drowning on dry land… But you? You were like my life buoy, not letting me sink. You’re this amazing, strong person, and you’ve made me want to be like you. To never give up and to look at life in a positive way, even when things go wrong.” She swallows harshly. You grab her hand and give it a squeeze, speechless at the girl's words. Your chest feels warm as your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of its cage.

“The past few months have meant more to me than you could imagine, and… I fell for you harder than I thought I ever could… So… I want to ask you this,” she says, still nervous but a bit more confident as she sees the adoration in your eyes. She stands up and accepts the flowers Nika gives her. She hands them to you as she steps aside. 

Your eyes tear up as you see the scene in front of you. The whole UConn team, as well as the opponent's team, are standing there. All holding various items. A few girls are holding cardboard signs with the words “Will you go out with me?” on them. Your free hand flies to your mouth as you look up at Paige. The blonde is already staring at you lovingly with a soft smile. You chuckle at the amount of love you’re feeling right now as you nod your head at her. You can barely hear the crowd cheer around you as you feel your blood rushing in your ears.

The star player’s smile becomes even wider as her eyes crinkle. She grabs your hand, placing a kiss on it as all players start making their way towards you. You get handed all kinds of gifts from the blonde. Your favorite book annotated by her, a Lego set you two had talked about getting, a new pack of expensive pencils, a guitar pick maker, and a bunch of other things. You feel so incredibly seen by her that you find it hard to keep your tears at bay.

Once you’ve received all the gifts and thanked Paige a bunch, you make your way back to your seat. You hear a few “congrats” aimed your way as fans smile widely at you. When you turn back to the court, you see the blonde already looking at you. She sends you a flirty wink, making you chuckle as you shake your head in amusement. While the circumstances of you two meeting weren’t the best, you thank your lucky stars that the universe guided you to the Paige Bueckers. UConn’s star player. The golden student. The future of women’s basketball. A legend in the making. The girl that stole your heart but gave you hers in return.

[natalievoncatte]

“Open your eyes and look at what you did.”

Lena was tired. Fixing the world was heavy work, especially when it involved cracking the secrets of the ultimate weapon of a dead empire. Myriad was tucked away safely in her lab behind shielding and laser grids and the most advanced security systems in the world, but was most of all protected by Kara’s reputation. Supergirl couldn’t just smash her way into a building and steal something, especially not now, with so much public scrutiny against her.

Lena was expecting a night at home. Not to relax -she hasn’t relaxed until her brother’s wormy lips, turning blue in death, spilled those four little words and cracked her heart in half, broke it into so many pieces that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men and not even Supergirl could put it together again. What was left of her capacity for that kind of love was gone now. Lex had started the process of ripping it out.

Lena has finished it, casting the bloody shreds on the icy floor of a mausoleum in the arctic, not turning back even once to see.

She knew the DEO was watching her every move, waiting for her to make a mistake that she could seize on. She knew they were itching to take her out. Kara would probably lead the charge herself. She’d crow about how she didn’t want to do this and didn’t want to hurt Lena and then she’d perp walk her like a villain of the week.

It wasn’t remorse that swirled in her stomach. It wasn’t regret that iced her veins. It wasn’t sorrow that made her eyes burn, and it wasn’t doubt that made the clicks of her heels echo in her empty lifeless penthouse.

She did not feel any of those things. Soon, no one ever would again. A world without lies, without strife, without pain. Those twisting, burning emotions would be gone. For everyone.

For her.

Lena froze when she heard the soft click of a hammer being thumbed back on a pistol.

“Turn around.”

Lena tensed. Alex. She should have expected this- Alex didn’t care about the rules when it came to her sister.

Slowly, Lena turned. Alex was right behind her, gun in one hand, phone in the other. She started to play a video on the screen. Lena recognized it at once as the Fortress of Solitude.

“Why?” Alex choked out. “Why did it have to be you?”

Lena pressed her eyes shut, scrambling for something to say. There was a real chance that this confrontation ended with her in a pool of blood on the floor.

“Open your eyes, you bitch! Open your eyes and look at what you did!”

Lena opened them and was confronted with what she had refused to see before, what she had turned from before portalling out. Like a biblical prophet she knew that if she but turned back for a last look she’d have been undone.

Alex recorded Kara locked in the cage as she approached, calling her sister’s name. Kara didn’t respond. She simply lay curled on the floor, faint green scratches scored in her exposed skin. As Alex drew nearer, Lena could hear Kara making a peculiar sound- a rhythmic, trilling thrum, a deep basso rumble as if she were… purring.

And sobbing.

Lena tried to look away but Alex’s expression tightened. Lena forced herself to stare into the screen- the picture blurred as Alex must have been fumbling with the Kryptonian controls. Finally, the crystal cage retracted.

“Kara,” Alex was saying. “Kara, oh my god, where’s Lena? Is she alright?”

Lena flinched. Alex’s jaw tightened as their eye briefly met.

Kara’s face was a mask of pain and grief, clouded with an agony deeper than any physical hurt.

“It was Lena.”

“What?”

“It was Lena. She took Myriad from the armory and she… she was so mad, Alex. It was like she h-hated me. She was lying the whole time after I told her who I was, she already knew and she was so mad. Alex I think she hates me now.”

Kara began to sob and make that damned purring sound at the same time.

“Don’t hurt her,” Kara whimpered, “don’t hurt her, Alex. She’s good, I promise she’s good she just needs our help.”

Alex turned off the video and pressed the muzzle of her gun to Lena’s forehead.

Lena closed her eyes.

“I have every reason to,” Alex began.

“Do it,” Lena hissed. “It’s what we both want, just fucking do it. She’ll get over it.”

“No,” Alex choked out, her voice drowning in emotion. “No she won’t, ever. She has an eidetic memory. If I blow your fucking head off like I should, her last memory of you will be that, what you did to her in her most sacred place, forever.”

“Good,” Lena snapped, opening her eyes. “Good. Then she’ll know how I feel.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Like she tore my heart out. I believed in her. I gave myself to her in a way I never have for anyone else. I let her in after I swore on my mother’s grave I’d never let anyone else hurt me like… like someone else did. She hammered her way into my life with her kindness and her concern and her comfort and it was all a FUCKING LIE, Alex!”

Lena sucked in a hitching breath and went on, forcing herself to go on as she blinked to force the tears from her eyes.

“It was all a lie. I’m just a Luthor to her, to you, to all of you. I sat in that apartment on game nights and movie nights and you all knew. You all knew, and you mocked me. So many cryptic comments and weird little jokes and now I know why. I let myself believe it. I let myself believe she wanted me. She kept trying to tell me something over and over and she kept backing away from it and…”

Lena froze.

The gun fell away, and Alex just stared at her.

“Oh my God. Oh my fucking God,” Alex gasped.

“No,” Lena protested, “no it’s not that!”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you? Holy fuck, how did I not see this before? You bought a billion dollar publishing company on a whim for her. The flowers, the way you looked at me before she told you I’m her sister. Jesus. Jesus Christ, Lena. You God damn drama queen.”

“I’m a drama queen? You pointed a gun at my head!”

Alex racked the slide back, and turned the weapon so Lena could see the follower of the empty magazine had locked it open. It was unloaded.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lena screeched.

“I came here to tell you to give me Myriad back and stay the hell away from my sister,” said Alex.

“You pointed a real gun at my head! I don’t care if it was unloaded, the first rule of gun safety is…”

“You thought it was something else,” said Alex.

“God damn it,” Lena began, but Alex cut her off.

“You thought she was working up to tell you something else. You thought she was going to confess her love, didn’t you?”

Lena went completely still.

She had know it, of course. She had known it the way that she knew the sun would rise in the east and set in the west, the way way she knew the stars would shine and the tide would beat against the shore. She had known it in the hollows of her bones, in places she forgot she could feel.

She had not known she knew it.

Lex’s words buffeted her from memory and she felt a knew shattering, even deeper this time.

“I fucked up,” someone said, only it was Lena, her own voice echoing from somewhere far distant. She was only dimly aware of the painful jolt in her tailbone as she slid down the cabinet behind her and her ass landed on the hardwood floor.

“When Lex told me, he proved it. He proved it. I didn’t want to see it but he proved it to me. I’m not what she wants. She’ll never want me like I want her.”

Alex looked down at her and Lena watched her expression shift, dancing through a dozen different emotions.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You have anything to drink here? Something good, I don’t want to pussy around with box wine. This is a whiskey occasion.”

Perplexed, Lena simply said, “Side cupboard, there’s a bottle of single malt and some tumblers.”

Alex didn’t bother with the glasses. She took out the bottle and uncapped it, whistling softly before she took a long pull straight from the bottle.

“Smooth,” she said, not even wincing. “Shit, this bottle probably costs a month of my rent.”

“It was my dad’s favorite,” Lena muttered. “My first drink was that scotch. He gave me a little sip when I was twelve. Lillian screeched at him for it.”

“She would, she’s a thundering bitch,” said Alex.

Alex sat down and passed Lena the bottle. She took a drink and passed it back, and they sat there in silence for a while, passing drinks back and forth.

“See I’m not a shrink or anything,” said Alex, “but if I had to analyze this situation I think what I see is you hurting Kara hoping that she’ll hurt you back and validate your feelings so you can stop feeling sad about her.”

“Fuck you,” Lena muttered.

“Not my type. Besides, bro code. My sister has dibs.”

Lena almost spat out a mouthful of scotch. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know when she’s doing the zoom zoom thing, she has a comms piece in her ear. I listen in on what she’s doing,” Alex began to imitate Kara in a grating falsetto. “Lena you have to jump!”

“What?”

“Remember that time she was going to let the entire city’s water supply be poisoned to save you?”

Lena took another pull before passing the bottle back.

“Yeah,” said Lena, not caring that her Irish accent was slipping out.

“Or that time she flew you to the DEO after Edge poisoned you?”

“She saves people all the time,” Lena protested.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t bridal carry them to safety and moon over them like a lovesick teenager and do the whole brushing their hair back thing. She says something corny and flies off. Unless it’s you. The whole world goes on pause when it’s you.”

“It can’t be.”

Alex took a way too long drink and looked at her.

“Did it never occur to you that she might have two secrets? That the one might compel her to keep the other?”

Lena rubbed at her eyes. The whisky was weighing heavily on her, and before she knew it, she was sobbing.

To her utter shock, Alex rubbed her back.

“Here’s what we do. You and me go get Myriad,”

“I’m too drunk to drive.”

“Then call your chauffeur, you spoiled rich brat,” Alex snapped, “and we go get Myriad and we go back to the DEO. You apologize and you and Kara talk this out, and you remember that if you ever physically harm my sister again I actually will shoot you.”

“Also,” said Lena. “You and I. You and I will go get Myriad, not you and me.”

Lena yanked the bottle back and finished it.

“Okay. Okay fine, let’s-“

There was a double thud as boot heels hit the balcony, a sound Lena had long grown used to. She and Alex both watched as Kara slid the balcony door open and swept into the penthouse, cape flaring majestically behind her.

God she was so pretty, and so handsome. She was like a brave knight in some fairytale, head bowed and jaw set like she was marching to a battle she wasn’t sure she could win.

Lena’s chest ached.

“We need to talk,” Kara intoned. “I’m not going to hurt you anymore, but I can’t let you do something you’ll regret forever. I…”

She trailed off as she saw a very drunk Alex sitting next to a very drunk Lena Luthor, the pair sitting against Lena’s kitchen cabinets and dishwasher, respectively, having clearly finished off the empty bottle of scotch that sat between them.

“What the hell?” said Kara.

“Did she just cuss?” said Alex.

“She did,” said Lena.

“What is this? What are you two doing? Alex, is that your gun?”

“Yeah,” said Alex. “I’m gonna get an Uber so you two can talk this out.”

“What?” Kara said, utterly baffled.

As she stood, Lena drew her legs up and hugged her knees. She looked away at first, then looked up and made herself meet Kara’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

With a tenderness that belied her strength, Kara gently raised Lena to her feet. She’d kicked off her heels and Kara loomed over her, soft hands that could crush steel resting gently on her arms. Lena couldn’t bear the weight of her concern. Seeing the worry in Kara’s eyes, the unconditional compassion, hurt her as much as staring into the sun.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” said Kara. “I’m the one who should apologize. You were right, Lena. I forced myself into your life and pushed past all your barriers but I never lowered mine. I tried to live in your heart but made you live like a guest in mine. You deserve better.”

“I don’t want better,” Lena whispered. “I want you.”

Kara went very still.

“You want me?”

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Kara.”

Kara took a half step forward and pulled Lena into an embrace, guiding her into a hug. As those arms like stone walls curled around her and the cape sheltered her against Kara’s unnatural, fever-hot warmth, Lena choked back a hitching sob. It almost felt like it would be okay.

“It’s alright,” Kara whispered. “It’ll be okay. We can come back from this.”

“How? I hurt you, Kara.”

“I forgive you.”

“You can’t just-“

“Shhh,” Kara nuzzled against the crown of Lena’s head. “I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

[revelboo]

I know Space Crack Peepaw (TFP Megs) stole his human away while the world around them burned, just to goad Optimus out of hiding. But was there anything else (Outside of their lack of survival instincts.) that drew his attention to them in the moment?

It was just a wrong place, wrong time situation. Reader was unlucky enough to be seen by a vehicon talking to one of the kids and assumed to be an ally. Reader was actually fussing at Miko for returning a book after drawing in it (it was doodles of Bulkhead and Wheeljack) 18+

Broken Arrow Pt 16

TFP Megatron x Reader

• It had come down to his own possessiveness to convince him to find you a cover up so everyone doesn’t see “what’s his” and you don’t know where the poor Vehicons found you the silky blush colored robe, but it’s at least covering the important bits as you sit on the arms of his throne while he- mostly snarls and threatens his followers. He’d already seized one hapless Vehicon that had shot you a curious look and slung the poor guy across the room. Apparently getting some hadn’t done anything to improve his temper or people skills

• Optics narrowing as he sits through debriefing after debriefing, he curls his servos around you and pushes the robe off one shoulder to show off your harness, grinning when you pointedly tug it back into place. And he catches your leash to twist about a servo, gently tugging just to annoy you. “Have you ever tried being nice?” You ask, little hands grabbing the leash and pulling. “Instead of just an asshole?” And you’re aware of the nearest Vehicon sidling quickly out of reach at your words in case Megatron takes it out on him.

• “Nice is weakness, pet,” he growls, hooking a claw carefully under your chin to tip your face up toward him. Before dropping the servo between your thighs, splitting the front of your robe. Damn him! Squirming and trying to shove his servo away as he strokes against you. Baring those sharp denta in amusement. Face flushing when another of his commanders walks up with a datapad, the mech frowning slightly as you wiggle trying to close your thighs and push his servo away, and the mech’s wings flick before he begins droning on about a potential energon mine. Startling when you gasp on a moan and hide your face against Megatron’s hand. “Problem, Starscream?” Megatron asks, propping his chin up in his other fist like he’s not doing anything, servo still petting.

• Expression daring Starscream to question him as he plays with you, listening the Seeker stutter, wings flicking as he tries to look everywhere but at you, as you make a strangled noise and rock yourself against his servo. Giving in. And he’s struggling not to laugh as Starscream all but runs off the bridge. “I like it better when you were threatening them,” you gasp. And he’s taking a savage delight in punishing you for denying him. The fact that it probably just scarred Starscream for life making it even better. Let them see you and know you’re his. Reminding you of it doesn’t hurt either, because it’s driving him crazy that you’d not surrendered fully to him. Can’t stop thinking about it.

• Instead of just making the other giant aliens and you really uncomfortable. And he won’t let up, stroking you lazily as the next poor bastard to traumatize walks up. Clinging to his servo as the giant spots you, his one optic flicking down to you as you can’t help but squirm and his antenna flatten back. At this rate, he might as well just fuck you on his throne and make everyone watch. Because as soon as he’s mass displaced again, you’re going to slap the heck out of him for this.

Previous

[obvi-the-best-soph]

we're all bound to break. (chapter 3)

alexia putellas masterlist: here requests: here

based on this request: this actually came from my own brain for once lol

word count: 1,049k

summary: your aunt pays you and alexia a visit.

genre: angst/comfort warnings: mean aunt? death of parents, fighting with family members, grief, struggling, possibly very bad spanish (sorry! i try lol).

chapter 1: here chapter 2: here chapter 4: here

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared down the woman who had dared to show up at the door. Tía - your aunt. The one who’d always been more of a stranger than family to you. The one who’d only ever cared about your parents’ money and now, it seemed, was here to claim what was left of them.

Alexia’s eyes flicked nervously between the two of you, her hand hovering near your shoulder as if to stop you from doing something you might regret. You didn’t care, though. Your whole body was consumed with the rage that had been building up for weeks now. The anger that had started as a small knot in your stomach, then festered into a full-on storm, and now, standing in front of you, was the person who had the audacity to add fuel to that fire.

“What the fuck do you want to take from me now, tía?” you repeated, your voice low but cutting.

The woman flinched at your words, but her posture remained stiff and composed. She was used to dealing with people who feared her, who catered to her every whim, but she wasn’t expecting this. You could see the shock in her eyes as she straightened up, her hand clutching a small, designer purse. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at you as if you were the one who had overstepped, not her.

“Y/N…” Alexia’s voice was soft, trying to calm the tension in the air, but you couldn’t be calmed. Not now. Not when the woman had the nerve to show her face after what had happened.

Your aunt cleared her throat, finally speaking in a voice that was as cold as her expression. “I’m here because I-”

“Don’t. Just don’t,” you interrupted her, taking a step forward. “I know why you’re here. You want to make sure there’s nothing left for me, don’t you? You want to take whatever my mamí and papá had, whatever scraps are left. You’re here for the money. What else?”

She looked taken aback by your directness but quickly recovered, her lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m not here for money, Y/N,” she said, her words deliberately slow and measured. “I’m here because you need to make some decisions about what happens next.”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you fought to control the burning rage inside you. “What decisions? What decisions are you talking about?” you spat, your tone sharp.

Alexia stepped in then, trying to ease the situation before it escalated further. “Chica, please. Take a step back. Let’s listen to what she has to say,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring, though her eyes were full of concern.

But you couldn’t listen. Not to her. Not to anyone who seemed to think they had a say in your life now that your world had been turned upside down. Your gaze didn’t leave your aunt’s face as you spoke again, this time more quietly but no less firmly.

“Leave. Right now. I don’t want anything from you. You don’t get to walk into my life like this, pretending you care after all these years.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and you could see the anger beginning to build behind her cold facade. “You’re going to have to face reality sooner or later, Y/N,” she said, her voice taking on a more threatening edge. “You don’t have anyone else left. You need to start thinking about what’s next, because you can’t live in the past forever.”

You took a deep breath, the words cutting deeper than any knife could. But you wouldn’t let her win. Not today. You turned your back to her and walked toward Alexia, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence.

“Come on, chica,” Alexia said softly, her hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to listen to her. You don’t have to let her get to you.”

But it didn’t stop the anger from bubbling inside you. Reality? Your reality was gone. What did she know about reality?

“You don’t get to talk about reality,” you muttered under your breath, your voice strained as you pulled away from Alexia’s touch and took a seat on the couch again. “Not after what you’ve put me through, not after everything you’ve let happen.”

Alexia sat beside you, her presence a calming force as always, though she was visibly upset by what had transpired. Your aunt, however, didn’t seem to care about the emotional toll this was taking on either of you.

“I’ll be in touch, Y/N,” your aunt said curtly, turning on her heel to leave, her heels clicking loudly against the floor as she marched out the door without another word.

The silence that followed her departure felt suffocating. The room seemed to close in around you, and you could feel your chest tightening, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Alexia didn’t say anything for a few moments. She just sat there, her hand resting on your knee, offering comfort in the way only she could.

You didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of anyone else. But the dam inside you had already broken, and all you could do was let the tears spill silently, staining your cheeks as you sat in the hollow silence.

“Amorcito…” Alexia finally whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m so sorry. I know this is... this is so much for you to handle. But you don’t have to face it alone. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall freely. You didn’t have the energy to stop them anymore. The woman who should’ve been there for you, your family, had just shown her true colours. And now, more than ever, you knew that you only had the team. You only had Alexia, Mapi, Ingrid, Lucy, Keira, and the others. They were the ones who truly cared.

Alexia pulled you into her side, wrapping her arms around you like a protective shield. You didn’t have to say anything. She already knew.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself lean into that comfort, allowing yourself to be held.

[kangnoeulsdoll]

Behind Closed Screens.

OF user!Se-mi x fem!reader

𐙚₊˚🪷⊹ ᰔ

synopsis: When you discover Se-mi’s secret OnlyFans account, your world shifts.

word count: 836

a/n: my next fic is definitely gonna be either Nana Osaki or Kang No-Eul :3

warning(s): suggestive

Your first clue was the late nights. Se-mi used to disappear into her office, shut the door for her job, and would not be heard from for hours. You'd imagined she was working on something important—a project at the office or one of her endlessly creative side interests she didn't actually share so often.

But now, as you "picked up" after her, you found out the truth.

Her laptop was on, the screen buzzing with a soft glow, displaying a website that made your heart skip a beat. OnlyFans.

It wasn’t just any profile—it was hers.

Sleek promotional photos of her in a bra and panties, soft videos with her voice topping the captions, and tens of thousands of likes and comments thanking her.

You felt your cheeks burn as you realized just how many people had watched her this way while leaving enormous amounts of tips and pleading for more.

"Enjoying the show?"

Her voice sent a jolt through you. You turned quickly, finding her leaning casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. She wasn't ashamed—in fact, she seemed to have been looking forward to this moment.

"Se-mi," you stammered, stepping away from the desk. "I—this isn’t what it looks like."

Her giggle was soft mumble as she approached you. "It’s exactly what it looks like," she teased. "You found my page."

"Y-you’re on OnlyFans?" You held it together, absorbing all flood of data.

She pressed back into the desk, out arched her finger across the laptop computer monitor and shut it down. "It’s a little hobby of mine," she admitted. "Something to keep life interesting."

You blinked, your heart pounding. "And you didn’t think to tell me?"

"I was waiting to see if you’d figure it out," she said, her smile widening. "You’re clever. I knew it was only a matter of time."

You weren’t sure whether to feel shocked or impressed. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few months," she said. "It started as a curiosity—something fun. But people really seem to like me." Tilting her head, she fixed her eyes in the darkness of her gaze. "You’re not mad, are you?"

Mad? No. Flustered? Absolutely.

"I don’t know," you admitted. "I just… I didn’t expect this."

Her hand found yours, her touch warm and grounding. "It’s not a big deal," she said softly. "It’s just me having fun, expressing myself."

"Expressing yourself?" you echoed, glancing toward the closed laptop.

She giggled and her other hand continued to hold it firmly on the arm, and so on. "You’ve always said I’m good at being confident," she murmured. "Turns out, other people think so too."

You choked, and your heart raced as it hit the sweet spot. "And what exactly do you… do on there?"

Her smile widened and she edged in, her breath warm under your ear. "Why don’t I show you?"

Her cheeks flushed as she flinched, the stare glittering with dark whimsy. "Unless, of course, you’re too shy."

I'm not shy", you blurted, to which a cute laugh escaped from the girl.

"Good," she murmured. "Because I’ve been thinking about involving you."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Involving me?"

She nodded and, using fingertips, lightly stroke over your chin to lift the head upwards to meet hers. "You’ve always been my biggest supporter," she said. "Why not let everyone else see what I see?"

You couldn't help but be drawn to her, the strength of her voice, which began to run down your back. But, it was a beginner's trip, a somewhat exhilarating and a somewhat overwhelming journey.

"I don’t know if I’m ready for that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"That’s okay," she said, her tone softening. "There’s no rush. But maybe… you’d like to see how I work?"

You blinked, your pulse quickening as she grabbed her laptop, flipped to the next page of her notebook and logged in. She managed the page without difficulty, retrieving her drafts.

"Here," she said, tilting the screen toward you.

The video was simple but captivating: Lying in bed in a silk robe. She wasn't making much progress—just fiddling with the hem of the robe, letting it fall off of one shoulder, her voice a bit of whisper every now and then, something you couldn't quite make out.

"People pay for this?" you asked, incredulous.

"Of course they do," she said with a grin. "It’s not just the visuals—it’s the attitude. The confidence. That’s what they’re here for."

"Still think it’s weird?" she asked, her voice low.

"No," you admitted, glancing at her. "I think it’s… incredible."

Her expression softened and she took your hand. "I’m glad you think so," she said. "Because I’ve got plenty of ideas—and you’d be perfect for them."

with Se-mi, life would never be boring.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

I remember on ao3 you mentioned you wanted to post Stan and Ford reacting to readers death, I wanted to ask if you could share it please?<3

grief wears your name | Stan and Ford react to reader's death

Grief hits everyone differently and the Pines family is no exception. Old men arent supposed to outlive you

a/n: certainly! thank u for reminding me, tw: death

Stanley

you'd think that a man who’s been through as much as Stan Pines would’ve learned how to process grief by now. but the thing about Stan is, he doesn’t process it, not really. he pushes it down so deep that even he forgets it’s there, until it sneaks up and slams him flat on his ass.

fuck that, fuck everything, fuck this world

hell, he wasn’t supposed to outlive you. not you. not with all the shit he’d done to his body over the years, the cigarettes, the cheap booze, the sleepless nights every time he looked in the mirror. it was supposed to be him first. the old man with bad habits and a lifetime of regrets weighing him down. that was the deal, wasn’t it? you're too young, bright, stubborn, alive, you were supposed to outlast him. supposed to be there when his time came, rolling your eyes at his dramatics and holding his hand as he went. that’s how it was supposed to go, fucking fuck

he got the call from someone he didn’t recognize. a voice muttered words he couldn’t make sense of. your name. your fucking name. his ears rang, his head spun and his fingers gripped the receiver tightly

“what the fuck do you mean, gone?” the person on the other end tried to explain, but Stanley slammed the phone back onto the hook before they could finish. no. no.

you couldn’t be gone.

he saw you last week. he watched you smile at him across the counter, teasing him about his fez like you always did. he swore you winked at him before you left.

and now you were just. . . what? erased from existence?

grief had a way of making him ugly, uglier than he already saw himself. his hands shook as if he’d been drinking all night, but the bottle on the table was full and untouched. even the burn of whiskey couldn’t numb this, so what was the point?

Stanley thought about the kitten he’d brought home when he was ten. it was starving, ribs like piano keys beneath its dirty fur, the meows little animal let out were so pitiful. he'd sworn he’d take care of it, even made a little bed out of an old shoebox and named it tiger. he fed it milk behind his dad's back. tiger died three days later.

Stan felt useless, he couldn’t save anyone.

Stan hasn’t touched the fez since you died. it’s sitting there on the bedside table, gathering dust. you used to steal it all the time, yanking it off his head with a grin. “this thing’s ridiculous, Stan,” you’d tease, shoving it onto your head crookedly. “i’m the boss of scam now. bow to me.” and he always played along, rolling his eyes, calling you a pain in the ass, but you only laughed at that. that laughter was gone.

when Mabel asked him about you last night, he had to get up and leave the room because he wasn't ready for that. she was just a kid, trying to understand why the world was so unfair and he couldn’t give her an answer because he didn’t have one.

“grunkle Stan? do you think. . . do you think they’re still watching over us?” how could he tell her he didn’t believe in anything like that anymore? that you were just gone, snuffed out, like you’d never been here at all?

Mabel’s curled in his lap like she’s five again, clutching her sweater-covered arms around her knees, her face a swollen mess of tears and hiccupping sobs. her little voice is hoarse from crying and she tries to explain, through broken words, about the stupid sweater she’d been knitting for you. she just finished it. it was supposed to be a surprise. she was going to give it to you tomorrow.

Stan wraps his arms around her, calls her “pumpkin” in the softest voice he can manage, but it trembles. he squeezes his eyes shut so hard it makes his head hurt, he hopes if he can just keep them closed tight enough, none of this will be real. but it is. it fucking is. and he doesn’t know how to tell a twelve-year-old that the world is this fucking cruel. he doesn’t know how to admit he feels like that little boy again, the one with a kitten dying in his hands and nothing he could do to stop it.

he buries his face in Mabel’s brown hair and mutters some useless lie about how “it’s gonna be okay”

Mabel's face against his chest as she sobbed. Stan held her tighter.

“i made them a sweater, grunkle Stan. i-it’s pink with little stars and they- they said they'd wear it when it got cold,” her sobs swallowed the rest.

what could he say to that? what the hell could anyone say? “they loved your sweaters, kiddo. you know they did.” he wanted to picture you in that dumb pink sweater, smiling like you always did when you wanted to make Mabel feel special. but all he could see was you gone. gone. and nothing he could do would change it

Stanford

when he got the news about you, his meticulously constructed walls crumbled in an instant.

he sat at his desk, the journal open in front of him, its pages blurred by the tears he didn’t realize were falling. his hands shook as he gripped the pen, but the words just wouldn’t come.

he’d been taught from an early age that emotions were illogical. when he was younger, his father had told him to “quit being such a baby” after Ford cried over a broken model ship. that lesson had stuck

he locked himself in his study, the same place he’d last seen you. everything was still exactly where it had been. the chair you’d sat in. the pen you’d picked up and fiddled with while listening to him ramble. he’d always been embarrassed by how much he talked around you, because words came so easily when you were there.

the guilt was eating him from inside

was it his fault?

had he been too focused on his work, too distracted to notice that something was wrong? had he missed a chance to save you?

he needed answers. needed to know. what had happened? why had it happened?

he buried himself in research, poring over every detail of the accident or the incident, as he came to call it. his obsession grew, consuming him. he didn’t sleep. didn’t eat.

Stan found him one night, hunched over the desk, muttering to himself about alternate dimensions and cosmic energy. “Ford, this isn’t gonna bring them back.”

Ford didn’t respond because Stan was wrong.

Ford wasn’t trying to bring you back. he was trying to rewrite the universe so you’d never been gone in the first place

Dipper tries to talk to him one day, pulling at the hem of his vest clumsily. “grunkle Ford, is it okay to miss someone this much? like. . .this much that it hurts? my chest hurts.”

Stanford doesn’t know how to answer that. he doesn’t know how to explain the way grief wraps itself around your lungs and makes it impossible to breathe. “it is, Mason, it means they mattered.”

Dipper doesn’t see how Ford presses his hands to his temples when he leaves.

Ford’s always been good at pretending he’s fine.

Ford’s grief was quieter, but no less consuming. the guilt, the helplessness, the horrible emptiness that stretched wider every time he thought about how he’d failed to protect you.

he couldn’t stop thinking about all the times you’d parodied him, mimicking the way he pushed his glasses up his nose or how he’d say “actually” before correcting someone. “actually, Stanford Pines, you’re so predictable,” you’d giggle, tapping the bridge of your nose in a mocking gesture

you used to drive him insane with it, in good way. his face would flush, his words would stumble, and he’d act all huffy while secretly loving every second. he never told you how much he adored the way you made fun of him

he found one of your notebooks the other day. it was tucked under a pile of his old research papers, pages scrawled with your handwriting. you’d doodled little caricatures of him in the margins, stick-figure versions of Ford with six fingers and exaggerated glasses, accompanied by sarcastic captions like, “the nerdiest but prettiest man i ever knew”

he stared at those drawings until his vision blurred from tears. then he shoved the notebook in a drawer and locked it.

...

Ford disappears the next morning.

he knows it’s selfish, leaving Stan and the kids to deal with all of this without him, a part of family, but he can’t be in that house another second. the walls are suffocating. so he grabbed his coat, your coat, the one you used to borrow when you’d say his was warmer and walked, his feet already knew where they’re going.

the woods. the same path you always loved, where the sunlight filtered through the trees beautifully, where you used to point out birds or mushrooms or anything that caught your curious eye. you’d tug on his sleeve to make him stop and look. and god, you were so beautiful when you smiled at him like that. Ford adored you.

Ford doesn’t remember sitting down in the clearing where you used to spend time together, his knees in the dirt, fists clenched in the grass. he hadn’t cried when he found out, hadn’t even let himself feel it because there were too many faces looking at him like he was supposed to have answers. now there’s nothing but the woods, only memory of you and the sound of his own ragged breathing breaking into loud sobs

Ford cries like a child. raw, aching grief pouring out of him in waves, making his glasses fog up, slipping down his nose and he doesn’t bother fixing them. his body doesn’t know how to process this kind of pain. his hands too busy clawing at the ground, hoping he could dig deep enough to find you again.

Ford Pines, the man who always thought he could think his way out of anything, is completely unmade.

he doesn’t know how long he sits there, crumpled against the base of a tree. his hands tremble as he takes the notebook out of his coat pocket, the one he used to write down little things you’d say or do that he didn’t want to forget. he flips through it now, pages ruined with his tears and it hurts worse than anything else. your handwriting’s there, little notes you’d leave for him.

“don’t forget your glasses!”

“your hair looks cute today <3”

“i love you, Ford.”

he shuts the notebook and presses it to his chest, it's the only part of you he has left.

the stars above didn’t care. the trees didn’t care. the world kept turning, indifferent to the fact that you’d been torn from it.

and Ford was left there in the cold void, feeling smaller than he ever had in his life.

[jjjjeonww]

yoon jeonghan - "married; but they hate eachother?" (pt 1)

this is part 1! ~~an arranged marriage with actor yoon jeonghan wouldn't be that bad right? would it seem bad if he was obsessed with you? word count - 543 summary: kae asks!

you sat rigidly beside Jeonghan, his hand clammy and sweaty as it gripped yours. you had to resist the urge to yank her hand away, her skin crawling at his touch. the forced smile plastered on your face felt more like a grimace as she stared ahead, avoiding jeonghan's intense gaze.

when the interviewer mentioned their upcoming wedding, your stomach churned. Private? Hardly. their agencies had turned their forced marriage into a spectacle, a cash cow to milk for all it was worth. they cared nothing for jeonghan's and yours mutual disdain, your twisted history of clashing egos and resentment.

jeonghan, however, beamed at the interviewer with a manic grin, squeezing your hand painfully. "oh, it won't be private at all," he gushed, his voice taking on a unsettling, almost obsessive tone. "i want the whole world to see us, to witness the love and devotion we share."

your heart dropped as jeonghan spoke, his words sending a chill down your spine. love and devotion? he was delusional if he thought she could ever feel that way about him. no, jeonghan's obsession had long since crossed the line into something darker, more sinister. but you could never know. to jeonghan, it was a secret he'd take to his grave.

you forced yourself to laugh along with him, playing the part of the blushing bride-to-be. but inside, you were screaming. trapped. suffocated by the lies and expectations weighing down on you. his thumb stroked over your knuckles, a possessive gesture that made you want to recoil.

all of his actions and words left you wondering; is he playing his part of the husband-to-be? or is there something more in what he's doing? .....

as jeonghan continued to gush about your impending nuptials, you couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that his enthusiasm was more than just an act. his eyes, when they flicked to yours, held a feverish intensity that made your blood run cold. was he truly playing his part, or had his obsession blurred the lines between fiction and reality?

his hand on hers felt hotter now, almost burning your skin. his fingers traced intricate patterns on your palm, his touch lingering just a moment too long to be purely for show. you fought the urge to pull away, to break the contact that felt so wrong, so violating.

jeonghan leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke to the interviewer. "i want to give y/n the wedding of her dreams," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "a celebration of our love, for all the world to see."

your breath hitched in your throat. his words sounded rehearsed, meant for the audience watching them, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that frightened you. with each passing moment, with every touch and word, you couldn't help but wonder - was jeonghan truly acting? he probably was right? you couldn't think that he was obsessed. he's simply doing what his manager told him too. to act. 1. act like the perfect man 2. act like the perfect future husband 3. act like he's completely and utterly obsessed with you. wait, that wasn't on the list. but is it 'act like' or 'show that' he's completely and utterly obsessed with you?

[gracie-eilish]

Peachy🧡✨🍑

Billie was always that friend. You know the one—the touchy, flirty, effortlessly charming type who could hug someone out of nowhere or plant a cheeky kiss on someone’s forehead, leaving everyone in a daze while she just smirked and walked away. It wasn’t like she was trying to make people fall for her (not on purpose, anyway); it was just her way. She was warm, tactile, and confident in a way that made her magnetic to everyone she met.

But recently, Billie’s affectionate attention had shifted… to you.

It started subtle at first: a lingering hug when she arrived at hangouts, an arm slung casually around your shoulder during movie nights, or a playful nudge followed by that signature smirk of hers. Slowly but surely, it became more frequent. A kiss on the cheek when she said goodbye. Her legs draped over yours when you sat next to each other on the couch. Fingers tracing lightly over your arm as she teased you about something innocuous.

You tried not to read into it. After all, Billie was like this with everyone…. right? It was just her personality. But, it was becoming harder to ignore the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach every time she hugged you or the way your face flushed when she leaned close, her voice low and playful as she called you a sweet nickname.

Like tonight.

The group had decided on a cozy night in at your place, and Billie had shown up fashionably late, as usual. The second she walked in the door, she zeroed in on you, her eyes lighting up in that familiar way that made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey pretty girl,” she said, smirking as she opened her arms wide.

You tried to play it cool, but there was no stopping the flush that crept up your neck as you stood up to greet her. “Hi, Billie.”

She pulled you into a hug, her arms wrapping tightly around you as if she hadn’t seen you in years instead of just a few days. Her cheek brushed against yours, and you could smell her cologne—a warm, woodsy scent that made your knees feel weak. It mixed with the sweet citrusy, floral perfume you had on, one Billie was starting to fall for.

“You smell so good, peach,” she murmured, her nose grazing your jaw, before pressing a quick kiss there.

You laughed nervously, hoping she couldn’t feel how fast your heart was pounding. “Uh, thanks. You, too.”

When she finally let go, she kept an arm around your shoulder, guiding you back to the couch where the rest of your friends were lounging. She plopped down beside you, her leg immediately brushing against yours, and you had to fight the urge to scoot away. Not because you didn’t like it—God, you loved it—but because you were terrified she’d notice how much her touch affected you.

The night went on, with the group laughing and chatting as Billie’s presence remained firmly anchored to your side. At one point, she stretched out on the couch, her head resting comfortably on your lap. She looked up at you with a lazy smile, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.

“Comfy?” you asked giggling, but trying to sound nonchalant.

“Very,” she said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You make a great pillow, babe,” she added before sending you a wink.

Your cheeks burned, but you managed a soft laugh. “Glad I could help.”

She stayed there for the better part of an hour, her fingers occasionally grazing your knee or tracing absentminded patterns on your hand. You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but all you could think about was how close she was, how warm her body felt against yours, and how much you didn’t want her to move.

Eventually, the group decided to watch a movie. The lights were dimmed, and everyone else settled into their usual spots, with Billie predictably sticking to you like glue. This time, she sat up and pulled you over to sit in her lap with your back to her front, her arm draped over your waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your breath hitched as she set her chin on your shoulder, nose brushing your cheek.

“You comfy, mama?” she murmured, her breath tickling your ear.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, hoping she couldn’t hear the slight tremor in your voice.

You could hear her smirk in her low hum, pressing a kiss to your hair, her arms tightening around your waist.

As the movie played on, you found yourself hyper-aware of every little movement she made—the way her chest rose and fell against your back, the way her hand occasionally squeezed your hip when something funny happened on screen, the way her laugh vibrated in you every time she giggled, whispering little cheeky add-ons into your ear. By the time the credits rolled, your head was spinning, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep pretending you were unaffected by her touch.

When the night finally wound down and your friends started trickling out the door, Billie lingered behind, helping you clean up. She didn’t say much at first, just quietly gathering empty cups and plates while you tried to steady your nerves.

“Thank you or staying to help Bills. You really don’t have to,” you said, breaking the silence.

She shrugged, flashing you a lopsided grin. “It’s no problem. Aything for you, angel.”

There it was again—that playful, flirtatious tone that always seemed to leave you breathless. You turned and busied yourself with stacking plates and setting dishes in the sink, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way your hands were shaking.

As she finished tying up the last garbage bag and set it down, she looked over at you with a curious look in her eyes.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. You’re usually so bubbly and giggly,” she said, stepping closer, leaning on the opposite side of the kitchen counter “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said a little too quickly, avoiding her gaze.

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure? You’re not mad at me or something, are you?”

“What? Oh my gosh no, of course I’m not mad at you,” you said, finally meeting her eyes.

Her expression softened and she let out a sigh of relief while she walked around to be closer to you. “Thank God. I’d hate to think I did something to upset you, baby,” she said, while reaching up to cup your flushed cheeks.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as her fingers lingered against your cheek. “You didn’t.”

She smiled, her thumb grazing your cheekbone. “You’re so cute when you blush, you know that?”

“Please, I am not blushing,” you scoffed playfully.

“Oh you so are,” she said, her grin widening. “And I think you know it, cutie,” she whispered directly into your ear.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat as she leaned back a bit, her blue eyes locked on yours. For a moment, you thought she was going to kiss you, but instead, she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering just long enough to leave you breathless.

“Goodnight, peach,” she murmured, her voice low and warm.

And with that, she turned and walked out the door, but not without turning around again to send a wink your way before closing the door, leaving you standing there, your cheeks burning and your heart pounding as you wondered if she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

And as Billie walked down the hallway further away from your apartment, her smirk only grew.

She totally knew what she was doing.

🍑✨☁️🧡

[goldenjaytime]

New song "The Desert" just released on YT. I'm so proud of this song. It's about Scar, framed through like, a Desert Duo-esque approach. Art by the phenomenal @cocoabats. Hope you enjoy! Lyrics under the cut!

LYRICS

I left you in the desert, left the rivers, left the sea Where the desert wind would tear the sand, like swords against the breeze Where the ghosts of who we left behind, would howl a rhapsody When I left you in the desert, I thought that you’d leave me

I left you in the desert, like the sun would leave the sky Left the bridges that we built and burned, the ones we left to die Left the hungry, left the needy, left the ever-watching eyes When I left you in the desert, you left your soul behind As you stayed there in the desert, the sun began to rise

And the desert showed you mercy And the desert held your hand And the desert killed you slowly ’Til your heart returned to sand

I left you in the darkness, where the sun can never reach Where the all-consuming silence hears the words you’d never speak Where the whispers lead to madness at the heart’s incessant beat All alone there in the darkness, where no-one heard the screams When I died down in the darkness, you died along with me

And the darkness bid you pity And the darkness set you free And the darkness killed you quickly When it dragged you down with me

I left you in the desert (in the desert) I left you in the desert (in the desert) I left you in the desert (in the desert) I left you in the desert (in the desert)

Did they ever show you mercy? Did they ever hold your hand? Did they kill you so damn slowly? That you didn’t understand? Did they look to you with pity? Did they laugh when you weren’t there? Did they think that you weren’t listening? Did they think you wouldn’t care?

I left you midst the sunflowers, with the shadows by your side Left you safe and warm and sheltered, in a world that never dies Where the past can’t be forgotten, where the story never ends

[siriuslylantsov]

morning glory

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: following the events of drunken confessions. the next morning after spencer tells you he loves you, albeit drunk and half asleep, you don't know if he means it.

tags: fluff, gn!reader, hangover but i dont dwell on it, whiny!spencer (lol), so so soft, r is so unsure but she just needs reassurance.

a/n: omg my first pt 2 as per popular demand (3 people asked), happy reading!

wc: 1.6k

i love you. 

three words that bounce from one end to the other in your head, like a pendulum, reverberating across the hard surface of your skull. it echoes through the small space of your ear canal, taking up entirely too much space. it repeats with the beat of your pulse, heart thudding in a steady rhythm. 

suffice it to say, you barely slept. running the words over and over for some kind of clarity. instead you preoccupied yourself with watching spencer sleep, like you are now.

with the sunrise, came light. light that filtered through the curtains just enough that you could see his face. his lips are slightly parted, soft puffs of air that don’t quite reach you. they’re pulled down minutely, in a little frown, seemingly how his face falls when he's unconscious. it's sweet. his eyebrows twitch, creasing momentarily, you wonder if he’s dreaming, or if it's a nightmare. 

your fingers itch to reach out and touch him, soothe the line. but he's so peaceful, you don't know if you want to wake him up. you never get to see him like this, without the weight of the world on his shoulders, unthinking. so you stall a bit, let the wave of serenity pass before it comes crashing down in the form of a violent hangover. 

you probably stay like that for an hour, an hour spent admiring his features. it's easier than confronting what he said. he’d stayed in the same position all night, curled up on his side, facing you. you’re leaning on your elbow now, looking down at him from above. his face moves, nuzzling into the pillow beneath his head. it causes that same stubborn strand of hair to fall loose. 

you give in and touch him this time, tucking the piece behind his ear. you trace a finger over his brow bone and then down the slope of his perfect nose. this causes him to stir, eyes fluttering open as he takes in his surroundings before they land on you. they instantly soften.

“morning,” you whisper, wary of your volume.

“hey,” he croaks, voice riddled in sleep. all his features pull up, twisted in a grimace as his head throbs. he rolls onto his back, bringing his fingers up to his temple, rubbing the pads of them in between his eyebrows. 

“where's your aspirin?” 

he hums in thought, or in pain, it's uncertain. “the um- drawer,” he points beside him aimlessly, eyes still closed. he's about to move to get it but you stop him, leaning over his body to reach the bedside table next to him. you reach over him, hovering awkwardly over his body. you shiver imperceptibly when his hand settles on your waist for support, an unconscious action, you suppose. when you find it, you give him a pill and he swallows, his hand falls back to his side.

“what time is it?” he grumbles.

“quarter to twelve,” you respond, barring a quick look at the analog clock that sat on his dresser. 

he harrumphs, something of acknowledgement. you didn’t think he’d be this grumpy waking up but you don't mind, it's awfully cute.

“it’s so bright,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut further, if possible. 

“your eyes are closed.”

“my retinas are burning,” he whines, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield him from the sunlight in a thespian flourish. 

“so dramatic,” you huff as you get up to close the curtains, the smile in your voice irrefutably evident. you peek out the window first, your car is still parked outside, you stayed the night!

when you sit back down on the bed, his head seeks you out, laying gently on your lap. you card a hand through his hair, the action seemingly appropriate. he lets out a hum, satisfied.

“do you remember much from last night?” you ask, trying to come off casual, the question is loaded to say the least. plus, you don't know if alcohol affects an eidetic memory the same way. maybe he remembers everything, like always.

“no,” he says with a little shrug. “well, i remember going to the bar and morgan spilling a shot on his shirt but that's it.”

oh. so not that differently.

“well, i'm sure he’ll appreciate you remembering that,” you chuckle, ruffling his hair. with a long sigh, you decide to not bring it up. it’ll come back to him, surely. you’ll wait for him to come to you about it. 

you lift his head off your lap and let him sink back into the pillows. “how about you freshen up and i’ll make you some toast?”

his eyes peek open, barely. “yes please,” he replies meekly, a small smile in tow.

-

you put slices of bread into the toaster on his counter, leaning against it as you wait. what happens if he doesn't remember? will you tell him? how do you even bring that up?

hey spencer! last night you told me you love me. do you?

the loud spring of the toaster startles you back to the moment. behind his bedroom door, you can hear the faint sound of his shower running and you remember you’re still in his clothes. god, you're gonna have to wear yesterday's clothes back home. you mindlessly take the hot toast out and set it on a plate, wincing when you hold them for too long. you put 2 more slices of bread in, for you of course. 

you decide to make some eggs too, pulling the carton out of the fridge and getting a pan from beside his sink. you move with surprising ease through his kitchen, like you’d been there before. you haven't, but again, it's so easy with spencer, it apparently extends to his home too. you hum absentmindedly, cracking an egg into a bowl and beating it with a fork. you don’t know it yet but spencer's watching you, having finished his shower.

-

it all comes back to him slowly, as he puts on a new change of clothes, skin still a little damp.

asking penelope for a drink, drinking it, thinking, thinking about you, you showing up? maybe he was magic. you sitting with him, talking to him, taking him home. he remembers stumbling up the stairs, his arm thrown haphazardly over your shoulders and yours hooked around his waist.

“you're so nice, y’know?” 

“yeah? you won't think so tomorrow morning.”

you tucked him in, stayed when he asked you to. you told him about your breakup and he told you, oh, he told you he loved you.

shit. 

he has to make this right. he's quick to feed his arm into the last sleeve and walk out of his room. however, he stops when he sees you. swaying lightly, humming a tune he recognises from last night, standing there in his clothes. he thinks he might die. clearly, he wasn’t paying much at all when he woke up earlier. damn headache. 

-

“i told you i loved you.”

your head snaps in his direction, unaware of his presence. you jump a little before calming. “yeah... you did,” you confirm, trying to keep your tone light. it wasn't a question but you still answer. he remembers.

“and you told me to tell you again when i wake up,” he recalls.

you chuckle quietly, “i didn't realise you heard that.”

“i did.”

you nod, slowly, expectantly, for him to say something else, anything else. 

“i love you.” there it is.

“you mean that?” your voice comes out way smaller than you intended. he still hasn't moved.

“of course i do,” he says with a sigh, inching his way closer. you look like you're going to spook.

“okay,” you breathe, looking down at your fingers, you begin to ramble. “it's just, last night- you were drunk and sleepy and well, tired and i didnt know if you were being honest or just saying it on whim.” 

he's suddenly in front of you and you can't look at him. he's fine with that, it makes it slightly easier.

“hey, i mean it. i love you. i’m sorry i said it how i did, it wasn't fair. and you don't have to say anything back, i just- want you to know.”

you look up at him now, eyes searching, and when you find sincerity in his eyes, you soften, muttering out a quiet “okay.” your lips twist to the side, trying not to smile, but glee fills out every nook and cranny of your body. he takes this as a good sign and lets out the breath he didn't realise he was holding, smiling back at you.

“so,” you start, seemingly casual. “how do you take your eggs?”

spencer laughs, amused by your change in topic. he nods toward the bowl of already beaten eggs, “scrambled.”

you nod, firmly. you pick up the bowl and move to the stovetop, but not before grabbing his fingers with your free hand and pulling him with you. 

your thumb glides along the curve of his forefinger as you hold it between your bodies, waiting for the pan to heat up. you’re biting your lip so much, you think you might draw blood. you’re unbearably happy. and you think you’re doing a good job of hiding it but you’re not. spencer can see the way you giddily twitch by his side, opting on not saying anything about it as he smiles softly.

“you love me,” you tease, singsong, dragging out the ‘love’. your head leans against his shoulder. 

“mhm,” he confirms. ”you’re never gonna let me live this down, huh?”

“nope,” you chirp, pressing a chaste kiss to his shirt.

reblogs and replies are appreciated | m.list

[burningembers91]

Starting Over - Seong Gi-Hun x Fem!Reader

Tagging: @kellyxo1

Follow up piece to:

Back Alley Bar

Help Wanted

Body Talk

Synopsis: Seong Gi-Hun’s relationship with you is a chance to start again, to be the man he always wanted to be. But his fractured relationship with his daughter still plays on his mind. He’s desperate to show her he’s changed, and to introduce the two most important people in his life.

A/N: please note that this was typed on my phone, so there are probably some errors 🫠

Seong Gi-Hun couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light, this free. The summer had been spent entirely wrapped up in a world that contained only you. For the first time in decades he wasn’t fixated on his next drink, his next opportunity to gamble. He was focused on spending as much time with you as possible. He relished the days you spent exploring the city, lazy evenings spent wrapped up in your sheets, making love until the early hours of the morning. He took you to the beach in Busan, lazing on the soft white sand with a book in your hand. He watched you swim in the crystal blue waters, your swimsuit clinging to you in all the right places.

He would never, for as long as he lived, understand what he’d done to deserve you. He’d come clean about his past, about his gambling, about his daughter and ex-wife, about the death of his mother. He’d been so sure you’d leave once you heard about all the awful things he’d done. But you stayed, telling him that he wasn’t that person anymore. You somehow saw through all the terrible shit he’d done, saw the man underneath the pain. You loved him unconditionally, and you made sure to tell him every day.

The summer break from university was just what you’d needed to reset and recharge. You were feeling so much more positive, and you were looking forward to starting your second term. Gi-Hun had been thinking about asking you to move in together. His job at the warehouse was paying pretty good money, and if you lived together, you wouldn’t need to work at the bar anymore. Money would still be tight, but he hated to see you burning yourself out. He wanted to help you pay for your schooling, give you something back when you’d given so much to him.

“What do you think?” He asked, when he brought it up one night over dinner.

“I couldn’t let you pay for everything,” you sighed. “The fees are extortionate.”

You were so stubborn, so fiercely independent but that was one of the things he loved most about you.

“I wouldn’t pay for it all,” he insisted, slipping his hand into yours. “But if I could help, even with just covering bills, it would allow you more leeway to pay for your course.”

He knew you hated working at the bar. You hated the long nights, the rowdy drunk customers who could quite seem to keep their hands to themselves. He’d taken to sitting with you each night while you worked, keeping you company. Some nights he found it hard to resist the smell of liquor, the strong fumes wrapping themselves around his senses like claws, digging deeper into his brain. On those nights, he’d step outside, taking a deep breath of air as he counted all the things he’d lose if he started drinking again. You were always number one on the list.

You could tell he found it difficult being around alcohol and you felt so guilty that he insisted on being with you at the bar. This job was bad for your mental health, but your desire to better yourself with your degree was stronger. You started to think that maybe he’d been right, that maybe if he moved in, you could quit the job you hated. It would give you more time to study, more time with Gi-Hun.

You finally relented, and he moved into your small apartment with you. You spent the last week of summer redecorating, adding new colour to the walls, buying new bedsheets and hanging up photos of the two of you. It was swelteringly hot that week, but somehow neither of you minded the stifling heat as you worked. You were so wrapped up in each other that a tsunami could flatten the city and you’d be none the wiser.

He’d started having thoughts about your future, thoughts about marrying you. He’d been given a second chance at life, and he wanted to make sure he got it right this time. He wondered if you saw children in your future, if he could perhaps get the chance to be the dad that he could never be to his daughter.

He passed a a jewellery store on his way to work every morning, the glittering diamonds beckoning him in. He saw one you’d love, but it was entirely out of his price range. For one brief, gut wrenching moment, he had the urge to go and gamble. Just a few Won on a couple of horses, to see if he could win big. Then he’d be able to afford that ring.

He felt sick to his stomach at the thought, the image of him standing in the betting hall causing bile to rise in his throat. He couldn’t believe he’d even thought of that, couldn’t believe his own stupidity and weakness. it was so easy to slip back into habits, and Gi-Hun realised he’d need to work harder than he’d thought to stay on track.

He avoided looking at more rings, too scared he’d stray from the path he’d worked so hard to stay on. He just wanted to give you the world, but his warehouse salary didn’t allow it.

You didn’t seem to mind though. You were happy together, but Gi-Hun constantly felt like he could be giving you more. More dates, more gifts, more money towards bills. He had to constantly remind himself that you didn’t want those things, that you were happy to just be with him. But he still felt like he needed to provide you with gifts and fancy dates; it was something he’d never bothered to do with his ex-wife, and he wanted to get his relationship with you right.

He also longed to fix his fractured relationship with his daughter. He’d not spoken to her since she moved to America, his calls and texts going unanswered. He didn’t blame her; he’d been a terrible dad. But he wasn’t the person he’d been when she left, and wanted to show her how much he’d changed.

It was late at night when the text came through. You were fast asleep beside him, Gi-Hun finishing the last chapter in his book before he turned in for the night. His screen lit up, buzzing loudly on the bedside table next to him. Picking his phone, his jaw dropped at the words.

“Hi dad, we’re coming back to Seoul in a few weeks. It would be really nice to see you.”

This could be his chance. His chance to heal his relationship with daughter, and introduce her to the woman he loved.

He couldn’t wait to show her how much he’d changed. He couldn’t wait to finally be the dad she needed. He could only hope she was ready to accept his apology.

[probablysimpledreams]

UA Touya has been on the brain so much lately

Enji refused to get him in on recommendations (and yes he becomes pissed years later when he learns Shoto was admitted on recommendations), so what does Touya do?

He passes the exam with a flawless score, getting into the Hero Course. He’s one of the strongest in his class. He’s so driven and passionate during training. He’s everything you’d want to see in a hero.

However, his attitude plus alternative style plus quirk makes fellow students…weary of him. He’s known to be rude. He only hangs out with people from other schools. He’s covered in burn scars and grafts.

Sadly, this starts many rumors. Shit like “did you know Touya is in a gang?” and “I heard he beats up kids…some hero he will be!” and “That Touya would be better off a villain than hero.” Due to all this plus all his energy focused on becoming a top hero, one no could ever forget, he keep to himself while at school.

So it’s a huge surprise when one day at lunch he finds you standing in front of him. Touya always ate outside in the courtyard where he could blast his music without any teachers yelling at him. He’s even more shocked when you ask if you can join him.

Why was a pretty thing like you talking to him? Didn’t you hear what they all say about him?

He’s suspicious, not sure what your motive here is. You explain that you wanted to eat outside because the weather was so nice for once, and while you were looking for a spot to sit you overheard his music and wanted to listen. His suspicions don’t fade, but he allows you to enter into his little world for the next hour. You two sit together and listen to his playlist, occasionally discussing the song/album before it fades into the next.

This exchange continues for the next few weeks. You both begin really looking forward to lunch everyday. You two begin exchanging songs, homework answers, even phone numbers. You two wave at each other in the hallway, exchanging small “hi”s and smiles. You’re walking alongside friends while he’s always alone. Huh.

One day your friend watches as Touya calls for you in the hallway. You run over to him, excitedly accepting the CD you asked him to burn for you earlier that week. You run back over to your friend and that’s when you learn the rumors. How he’s this big scary villainous guy, how you shouldn’t trust him.

But that’s nothing like the Touya you knew!

So that same day at lunch, you brought up the rumors. He seemed disappointed you finally heard them, thinking it meant his time with you was over. But instead you asked him to answer each question fully honest.

“Are you in a gang?” You laid down. He followed, body laying the other way but head right next to yours.

“Nah,” he chuckled and looked up at the sky. “My friends are just losers and refer to us as ‘The League.’ The only time things get violent is game night.”

You laugh at his answer, making his cheeks go pink and a slight pout form on his lips. You then ask your next question.

“Do you really get into fights with children?”

“Ohmygod it was ONE FUCKING TIME,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Shit wait that sounds bad.”

You laugh harder this time. “Touya what the fuck?”

“Okay okay look my youngest brother can be a handful. I took him to the playground one time and some badass kids made him cry,” he explains, feeling embarrassed at the memory.

“Touya no you didn’t-”

“I didn’t hurt them!! I just showed off my flame and made sure they knew to leave my brother alone….not my fault they started crying.” The look on his face is too cute as his embarrassment is clear. You can tell he’s not use to opening up like this and letting people truly see him. Your heart fluttered realizing you were becoming one of the few people who get to see him like this. Who gets to truly see Touya.

“Okay okay now final question,” you bite your lips nervously. “And you don’t have to answer it if you don’t wanna.” His eyebrow rose at your words, face turning to look at you. “How did you get your scars?”

It’s silent for a few seconds. 10 minutes go by. Then 20. Almost 30 before you speak up again.

“I’m sorry, pretend I never asked that. I just was-”

“It’s pathetic,” his breath is shakey. He’s facing the sky again, hand running through his hair. “It happened when I was a kid. I was desperate for my dad’s attention and overused my quirk a few times. One night I must have really overdid it. I don’t remember much from that day. I just woke up a while later with these gross skin grafts and my mom sobbing. Really haven’t seen the old man since. If he’s around he’s just with Shoto anyways and,” he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “Ah sorry I started rambling there.”

He turns to face, examining your face to gauge your reaction to the real him. He’s scanning your face for any signs of disappointment, disgust, dislike. His stomach turned at the idea of you feeling pity for him as well. God he really has to ruin everything didn’t he?

“You must be disappointed to learn I’m such a loser huh?”

But as usual you surprise him, flashing him a sweet smile as you respond, “nah, I like it. I think you’re cute.”

You then learned one more thing about Touya: being complimented makes his cheeks go dark red.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 59

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,500ish

Summary: Wade forces the group into a therapy session.

Warning(s): talk of death, sadness

Notes: I hope this isn't total trash. I think I completely overthought this chapter... Please share reactions! 

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

“Now,” Wade drawled, “who wants to get started?”

“Wade, forcing us to talk—“

“Is just want we all need,” Wade cut you off.

“You can’t keep us in here for long,” Logan retorted.

“Actually, I can since we can order anything from our phones. So, once again, who wants to go first?”

The silence was thick that followed. Your head hung as you wrung your hands together. Laura eyed you nervously while Logan leaned back against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he glared at Wade. Wade kept himself against the apartment door, twirling one of his golden guns.

“I could always start,” Wade broke the silence, “but I’m sure my story is not the one that needed here. We can do spin the bottle to decide or nose goes or—“

“Wade, stop,” you requested. 

You looked up at Wade with tears in your eyes, immediately putting Logan and Laura on edge. You almost had no control over your powers anymore. The slightest change in your emotions could be extremely dangerous for you.

“Don’t do this,” you pled. 

“Sorry, Buttercup,” Wade said with a simple shrug. “I’m just doing what has to be done. It’s what’s best for all of us… Wow. I’m really turning into the true hero type.”

Another wave of tense silence crashed over the apartment. But, as usual, Wade couldn’t stand silence for long.

“Maybe we should start with what happened on our way home from work,” he stated, a seriousness to his tone.

“I knew something happened,” Logan muttered.

“I was not a big deal,” you said, unable to look anyone in the eye.

Wade scoffed. “I had to scare off a drunk man who you clearly had a run in before.”

“What type of run in?” Laura asked.

“Well, he said that she burnt his jacket.”

“The night you came home with your hands burnt,” Logan whispered, putting the pieces together. 

“The man was clearly hitting on her and wanting more—“

“Enough, Wade,” you said, trying to keep yourself together. “Enough… I handled it then and I could have handled it tonight.”

“You shouldn’t be handling anything when it comes to your powers anymore, mom,” Laura said. “It’s too risky.”

You clenched your hands as they began to tremble slightly. Laura’s eyes fell to your hands as she began to worry about what your powers might do. Logan watched as Laura’s concern grew and could sense that you were growing more emotional. He pushed himself off of the wall and headed into the kitchen. 

“Don’t think you can get out of the fire escape, Peanut!” Wade shouted after him. “I will chase you down and we will have a repeat of the Honda Odyssey on our hands. But this time with witnesses. I’m sure that our Little Flame would love that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan muttered. He grabbed the water pitcher from the fridge, a cup, and a few towels before heading back into the living area. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of you. “Here. Just in case.”

You looked up at him, unable to stop the few tears that escaped your eyes. “Why? Why you do try to take care of me? You don’t… we barely know each other.”

“I… I’m trying to do better.”

“Better? For who? For you? For… for the m you lost? I… I can’t be a replacement, Logan. Just like you can’t be for me.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. You’re not a replacement and I’m not trying to be one for you… It’s… Yes, it’s a second chance in a way. This whole fucking new world is. And it’s not easy. But I’m trying to prove to you, to Laura, to Wade, to myself that I made the right choice by not following my instinct and walking away… Nothing good happens when I stay, but nothing good happens when I walk away.”

“I still don’t fully understand, Logan.”

Logan sighed. “Then… I guess I need to start from the beginning… I walked away from my version of you more times than I could count… I meet you for the first time when I first got to the mansion. I guess Wade would call the relationships an enemies to lovers. You didn’t trust me.” He smirked as he remembered his original you. “You were fiery and beautiful… and once I had your trust, you believed in me more than I have ever believed in myself… But I kept getting scared and I kept running. Every time I expected you to be there waiting for me to come back. I could see how much it was hurting you, you even fought me on it, but I continued to do it… Until one day, I came back after one of my longer stretches away and you had started something up with Hank.”

“Oh! Beastie getting some action,” Wade commented. You and Logan shot him a glare. “Okay, okay. I’ll remain silent over here.” Wade pulled out a small notebook and pen from his Deadpool suit. “Don’t mind me, just taking notes. Please continue.”

Logan moved his jaw around, trying to get back in a place where he could continue talking. “I confronted you about it and you put me in my place. But it still didn’t stop me from being an idiot… I left for the bar that night—“

“I know what happened,” you interrupted him. “You don’t have to say it again.”

“Yes, I do.” He met your gaze. You could see the seriousness in it and the sadness and guilt. “I do… You tried to get me not to leave… You called out for me, trying to get me to stay permanently… But I left anyway… I was drunk. More drunk than I ever have been… I only returned because I could smell the smoke… I knew it like the back of my hand. And I ran. But I got there too late… Flames were everywhere… students were dead… The X-Men piled like wood and burning… Hank had tried to save you… That much was clear. But he died trying… And you had died trying to save everyone else. I killed everyone who killed them and then some… This asshole,” Logan motioned towards Wade, “allowed me to have a second chance to be a better man… To be an X-Man—The X-Man. Yes, you’re here and you look like her, but you aren’t her and I am not trying to replace her with you… I just don’t want to lose what I’ve found. But I know that you’re struggling, seeing me. I know that I remind you of your husband. So, if my presence is only making things worse, I will walk away. Just say the word and you’ll never have to look at me ever again.”

“I don’t want that,” you whispered, shaking your head slightly. “I’m just… it’s hard… you look like him, but you’re not him. And seeing you has me realizing that I never fully grieved the loss of my husband—my family… On top of it all, my powers are dying—perhaps even killing me— and the only person I know can fix it, I’m not allowed to go near. I’m back in a year I’ve already lived, knowing that my past self and my husband are happily living not too far from here. It’s rough and I don’t want to burden anyone with my problems.”

“You’re not a burden, mom,” Laura said.

You shot her a watery smile as you reached over and grasped onto her hand. “Thank you, kiddo.”

“Any of us would do anything for you.”

“Kid’s right,” Logan agreed. 

“Like I told you earlier, Buttercup,” Wade spoke up, “I’ve got you.”

“I don’t want to put you guys out—“ You cut yourself off as flames began to flicker from your fingers. “Damn it.”

Laura took a towel and dipped it into the water. “Give me your hands, mom,” she requested.

You looked away as you offered her your hands. Laura gently wrapped your hands in the damp towel. Wade pushed himself off the door, tore off his mask, and sauntered over to you. His hands came up and held your face, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“You will always be my favorite superhero, Ember,” he told you, more sincere than you had ever heard him. “Even more so now. Your strength is more than your powers.”

“I don’t know how to do this… how to be helpless,” you cried.

“You’re not helpless, Buttercup. We’ll figure out your limitations and help you thrive where you can. You’re not one to give up and I’m not going to let you no matter how hard you try to.”

“None of us will,” Logan added.

“Just let us help you, mom,” Laura pled.

You swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” you rasped. “I’ll try.”

Wade pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he said. “Now, I think it’s time for a group hug!”

You laughed as Wade pulled you in for a hug and quickly reached behind you. He pulled Laura over who quickly joined the hug.

“Come on, Peanut!” Wade called, waving him over. 

“No,” Logan shook his head. 

“Come on, Logan,” you urged, glancing over at him. 

Logan’s eyes flickered from yours to Laura’s, who he could tell was hesitant but wondering if he was going to go through with it. “Fine,” Logan gave in and came over. 

Wade was quick to pull him in and the four of you hugged. It was a nice, weird family moment, but very much needed.

~~~

It was quickly decided that you were no longer allowed to walk home from work alone. Either Logan or Wade would be there with you or, in certain circumstances, Laura. Wade also insisted that you never work late on Thursdays and that becomes movie night. You were willing to make it work, though Logan wasn’t as big of a fan. You were forced to pinky swear with Wade that you would be honest when you weren’t feeling well, emotionally and physically. You quickly told everyone else that they had to do the same thing. 

As the days and weeks went by, it became easier for you to allow yourself to ask for help and let yourself be helped. Though, there were still times you wanted to hide away, you pushed through with the help of your make shift family. 

Unbeknownst to you, Laura, Wade, and Logan had teamed up to try to find you some help. Whether that help would be a telepath to reverse the damage that Charles had done or someone that could ease the pain that your powers now caused. Wade kept pushing for another multiverse adventure, but Logan and Laura were insistent that there had to be a solution nearby.

The summer flew by faster than you would like. It was late August now and you were getting your apartment set up for tonight’s movie night. Logan got off work early and got cleaned up before heading over to your place.

“Y/N?” He called as he entered the apartment.

“I’ll be right out!” You shouted from down the hall.

Logan entered the apartment fully and shut the door. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you appeared in the living room with a few blankets draped over your arms. “Just grabbing these.”

“I can take those.” Logan grabbed the blankets and pulled them from you.

“Thanks. I’m gonna finish up dinner.”

“Need any help?”

You looked back at him with a smile. “Sure.”

Logan’s brows furrowed as he turned to set the blankets on the couch. Something stirred inside him when you smiled at him. You smiling at him wasn’t a new concept, but there was something new that sparked within him. He shook the confusion off and headed into the kitchen where you were working at the stove. You could sense him behind you causing you to quickly grab a spoon and scoop up what you were cooking.

“Here,” you turned to him. “Try this.” Before Logan could protest, the spoon was slipped between his lips. “What do you think?”

Logan took the spoon from your grasp, something shooting inside of him like a bolt of lightning as his fingers grazed your hand. “It’s wonderful, doll.”

“Really? What a relief! I’m trying a new recipe and I didn’t know if you would like it.”

“Didn’t know if I would like it?”

You shrugged, turning back to the food. “You are the pickiest one out of all of us. Wade will eat anything and I already know which foods to avoid with Laura, you’re the one I’m still figuring out.”

Logan’s insides warmed at the thought of you worrying if he’d like what you made. It was pretty sure that he’d eat anything you made. “Well, I—“

“Mom! Mom!” Laura came bursting through the door with Wade hot on her tail.

“What is it?” You asked, hurrying from the kitchen with Logan. “Is something wrong?”

“I finished!”

“Our Little Wolf here got her GED!” Wade exclaimed.

“Oh, kiddo!” You rushed over and pulled her in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Good job, kid,” Logan congratulated. 

“Thanks,” Laura responded with a smile. 

“So what colleges are we going to try for?” Wade asked. “I’m sure me and Peanut can scare some Ivy League schools into admitting you.”

Laura shook her head. “I’m not applying anywhere. I can’t leave, mom.”

“Sweetie,” you breathed out, taking her head in your hands, “if you want to go to college, I cannot be the thing that stops you. You need to live your life despite what’s happening with me. Do you want to go to college?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will apply wherever you want to and we will figure out the rest when the time comes. Okay?”

“Okay.” Laura pulled you in for another hug. “I love you, mom. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“I love you too kiddo.”

Logan smiled at the sight of the two of you. He was always amazed at how you had raised Laura and the connection the two of you had. 

Wade caught the look that Logan was giving you and smirked. He knew that it was only a matter of time before one of you sparked feelings and he wasn’t surprised Logan was first. Wade had traveled through multiple universes and had seen that every Wolverine had an Ember in some way or another, like they were drawn together with an invisible string. And despite you and Logan having previous versions of each other, Wade had an inkling that the two of you were also meant to be. Wade walked over to Logan and nudged his side.

“Hey, Romeo,” Wade whispered. “I think it’s time to start making the moves.”

Logan scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen.

Wade laughed. “Oh, the fun has just begun.”

next chapter >

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound Hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer

Part 13

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

Part 14: To sneak

The lab was alive with the hum of machines, the glow of datapads, and the occasional chatter of the xenobotany team. But amidst the usual commotion, all eyes seemed to drift now and then toward the far corner of the room, where Neteyam crouched next to her. His large frame seemed out of place in the compact, human-scaled lab, but the way he leaned in close to her, his attention entirely focused, made it look as though he belonged there.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with some explanation about the latest plant sample they were analyzing. He didn’t say much, but the slight tilt of his head, the way his tail lazily swayed behind him, and the soft smile tugging at his lips spoke volumes. It was as if they were having an entire conversation in their own language, one that didn’t require words.

Kate, seated a few feet away, nudged Norm with her elbow. “Look at them. I mean, seriously. You’d think they’d been mated for twenty years already.”

Norm chuckled, his gaze following hers. “And yet, somehow, it’s still kind of sweet.”

Kate smirked. “You’re just saying that because you saw their first kiss on the CCTV footage last week.”

“Okay, first of all,” Norm said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I didn’t mean to see it. The cameras are for lab security, not spying.”

“Sure, Norm,” Kate teased, her grin widening. “And I didn’t hear you gush about how romantic it was. She’s a goner,” Kate remarked quietly, glancing at Max. “But who wouldn’t be? I mean, look at him.”

Max chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched the pair. “It’s not just her, though. He looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.”

Max leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know Jake’s been piling work on him lately, right? Testing him like crazy. And yet, somehow, Neteyam still makes time to come here. Every day.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Norm nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Without fail. Even if he’s exhausted, he shows up. I don’t know how he does it.”

Kate glanced over again, catching the moment when she stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Neteyam’s cheek. His tail flicked playfully in response, brushing against her legs and making her giggle. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” Kate said with a laugh. “They’re disgustingly cute.”

The others chuckled, though none of them looked away. There was something mesmerizing about the way they moved together. If she shifted, he shifted too, his body naturally adjusting to hers as though they were two parts of a single whole. And when she laughed—soft, unguarded, and full of joy—it was clear to everyone in the room that she wasn’t just happy. She was in love.

And Neteyam? The way his golden eyes softened every time he looked at her, the way his tail flicked lazily behind him, and the way his entire frame seemed to relax in her presence said everything that needed to be said.

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin. “It’s disgustingly sweet. But good for her. I mean, she got herself the literal Omaticaya prince. That’s like winning the intergalactic lottery.”

Brian leaned on his station, adding in a mock whisper, “But you can tell his title doesn’t mean anything to her. She’s so in love with him, it’s ridiculous.”

At that moment, she giggled, her laughter light and musical, as Neteyam’s tail playfully swiped against her side. She swatted at him halfheartedly, her cheeks dimpling with amusement. “Neteyam!” she scolded, her voice laced with affection.

Kate snickered. “Yup. Ridiculous.”

Norm, always the quieter observer, tilted his head as he watched Neteyam lean closer, speaking to her in a low, rumbling tone that none of them could hear. Neteyam turned slightly, crouched tightly beside her, his golden eyes never leaving her face. She tilted her head up, standing on her tiptoes again to press a quick kiss to his flat nose. He chuckled, low and deep, his hand brushing against her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kate sighed dramatically, waving a hand in the air. “All right, I’m officially done. Someone get me an insulin shot.”

Norm smirked. “Jealous, Kate?”

“Of her? Nah.” Kate’s grin widened. “But I’ll admit, it’s kind of awesome seeing them like this. She deserves it. They both do.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and turned to Max. “If this doesn’t make you believe in soulmates, I don’t know what will.”

Max grinned but stayed quiet, watching as Neteyam’s hand lingered at the side of her face. She leaned into his touch instinctively, her eyes sparkling as she gazed up at him. There was no denying it—they moved together as if tied by an invisible thread, perfectly attuned to each other in a way that felt almost otherworldly.

“She’s completely gone for him,” Norm observed quietly, his voice tinged with genuine happiness. “And you can see it’s mutual. She’s not even guarded around him anymore.”

“Yeah,” Kate agreed, her tone softer now as she watched them. “It’s nice to see her like this. I mean, we all knew she was head over heels for him, but now she’s just... glowing. She’s happy.”

“And he’s different, too,” Max added thoughtfully. “Not just the dutiful warrior anymore. He looks... at peace when he’s with her.”

As the group went back to their tasks, their teasing subsiding into fond smiles, the pair remained lost in their own little world. Neteyam reached for her hand, her much smaller fingers slotting between his effortlessly. For a moment, the noise and chaos of the lab faded, leaving only the quiet warmth they shared. And for everyone watching, it was impossible not to feel a little lighter, a little brighter, in the glow of their happiness.

*

The lab was hushed as the last of the team headed off to their bunks, leaving only the faint hum of machinery and the soft glow of the bioluminescent samples. Neteyam stayed close, his presence a steady warmth beside you as you focused on your datapad, scrolling through the day’s results. It was late—too late, really—but you were used to long nights.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent.

You blinked, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

Neteyam crouched beside your chair, his golden eyes gleaming in the faint light. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Neteyam, it’s the middle of the night. Do you know what Norm would do to me if I left the outpost? He’d lose his mind. Not to mention the forest is... well, you know, dangerous. Especially for me.”

His ears twitched, the faintest flick that betrayed his amusement. “Norm won’t know.”

“Because I’d be dead before I could tell him,” you shot back, your tone dry. You set the datapad aside and crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look.

He crouched beside you, his face level with yours, and the intensity of his expression made you falter. “You’ll be safe with me,” he assured you, his voice low but filled with conviction. “I promise.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “The golden child himself, encouraging reckless behavior? What would Jake say?”

His lips twitched into a faint smile, but he didn’t back down. “He doesn’t have to know.”

You gave him a pointed look, your tone light but tinged with concern. “Neteyam, you should be sleeping. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and I don’t care how much you try to hide it—I see it.”

Your words softened his smile, but he didn’t waver. Instead, he tilted his head, his ears flicking slightly downward, and his wide, pleading eyes met yours with a look that made your chest tighten. “Please,” he murmured. “It’s important.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You’re a monster,” you muttered, but the warmth in your voice betrayed your affection. “Fine. Let me grab my mask.”

His face lit up, and the flick of his tail behind him made you laugh despite yourself. You followed him out of the lab toward the airgate, muttering under your breath about how you must have lost your mind, but there was no real resistance in your steps. You grabbed your exo-mask from the wall and secure it on your head. The hissing of the compressed air relaed you slightly before you waited the airgate to open. You found yourself drawn to his excitement, even if you couldn’t fully understand what had him so eager.

“If I die, Norm is going to kill you. We are understaffed.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Neteyam teased, his tail swishing behind him as he led the way through the dimly lit outpost.

You reached the edge of the clearing where his ikran waited, its sleek, powerful form glowing faintly in the bioluminescent light of the forest. The sky above was thick with clouds, the faint rumble of distant thunder hinting at rain later. You paused, looking up at the looming sky with an uneasy expression.

“This feels like the setup to a bad horror movie,” you said, glancing at him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Neteyam chuckled, his voice warm and reassuring. “You worry too much.”

He extended his hand to you, his smile softening as he added, “Trust me.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking at the outstretched hand, then at his ikran, and finally back at his face. His earnest expression, the way his golden eyes searched yours with quiet confidence, was impossible to resist. With a sigh, you placed your hand in his.

“I must be insane,” you muttered as he helped you onto his ikran, his steady hands guiding you with care.

“You’ll see,” he said as he climbed up behind you, his arms securing you safely in place pulling you closer to his chest. “It’ll be worth it.”

You paused, glancing up at the dark sky. “You’re aware it’s probably going to rain, right? This feels less like a romantic adventure and more like a guaranteed soaking.”

Neteyam laughed softly, his hand resting on Tawkami’s neck as he reached behind himself to grab his kuru. “A little rain won’t hurt,” he said, his voice light with amusement as he made the bond with his ikran. “Besides, you trust me, don’t you?”

You sighed dramatically, though your smile lingered. “Unfortunately for my better judgment, I do.”

As you took off into the night, the wind rushing past you and the forest stretching out below, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and unease. Whatever he wanted to show you, you hoped it was as important as he seemed to think it was.

*

The cool wind would whipped against your face harshly if you wouldn’t wear the mask as the ikran soared through the darkened sky, its wings slicing through the clouds with a quiet power that left you in awe. You clung to Neteyam, your arms wrapped tightly around his arm, your heart thundering as the dense forest below blurred into an endless expanse of glowing greens and blues. The faint rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, a reminder of the coming storm.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and despite the comfort of his warmth against your back, unease prickled at the edges of your thoughts. Why did I agree to this? The forest was dangerous enough during the day, let alone at night, and the storm on the horizon didn’t help ease your nerves. But then you’d think of the way his eyes had silently begged you to follow him, the quiet desperation in his voice when he’d asked you to trust him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

His ikran let out a soft screech, tilting slightly as Neteyam adjusted its path. The wind grew colder, and you glanced overthe ikran’s shoulder, your breath catching as you spotted the faint glow of something ahead. As the ikran descended, the sight became clearer, and your unease melted into awe.

The Tree of Voice.

Even in your studies, you’d heard of this place—one of the most sacred site of the Omaticaya, the heart of Eywa’s connection to Pandora. Few humans had ever seen it, their stories now no more than whispered memories. But here it was, glowing softly against the darkness like a beacon, its long pink tendrils swaying gently in the breeze.

The ikran landed smoothly, its talons gripping the soft earth near the base of one of the smaller trees. Neteyam dismounted first, his movements fluid and precise as always, before turning to help you down. His hands were strong and steady as they guided you to the ground, your boots sinking slightly into the mossy soil. The air here was electric, charged not only by the approaching storm but by something deeper, something alive.

You turned in a slow circle, taking in the sight around you. The remains of the larger trees, destroyed long ago by the RDA, still stood as solemn reminders of that dark time, their trunks hollowed and charred. The war was 20 years ago. But nature had fought back. Around those lifeless husks, smaller trees had sprung up, their glowing tendrils dancing in the wind, pulsing softly with life. It was as if Eywa herself had ensured this sacred place was reborn, stronger than ever.

“It’s... incredible,” you murmured, unable to find words that did justice to what you were seeing. “Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the wind. “I shouldn’t—”

He cut you off with a gentle look and reached for one of the glowing tendrils, his fingers brushing it with reverence. The tendril responded to his touch, its movement graceful and alive. He glanced back at you, his golden eyes soft and thoughtful. “It is said to be a place for prayers to be heard,” he said, his voice quieter now, as if speaking louder would disturb the sacredness of the moment. “And sometimes... answered.”

You watched, transfixed, as he brought his neural queue forward. The strands of his kuru intertwined with the tendril, the connection seamless and natural. His eyes fluttered closed, his expression softening as if he were listening to a song only he could hear.

“They live within Eywa,” he murmured, the words carrying a depth of meaning that made your chest tighten.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The way the soft light of the tree illuminated his features, the serenity in his expression—it was like you were seeing a part of him you hadn’t fully known before. When he opened his eyes and looked at you again, a small smile tugged at your lips.

This is sacred to him. And he’s sharing it with me.

Without thinking, you reached out to one of the tendrils, your hand trembling slightly. Can I? Should I? The glowing pink strand seemed to move on its own, its gentle sway aligning with your hesitant motion. When your palm made contact, a jolt of warmth pulsed through you, startling but not unpleasant. The tendril pulsed faintly under your hand, alive and vibrant, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

“It’s alive,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe. You smiled, unable to help yourself, as you watched the tendril respond to your touch. No, you couldn’t connect with the ancestors like the Na’vi, but you could feel the vitality of this place, its sacredness. You glanced back at Neteyam, who was watching you now, his golden eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

Neteyam opened his eyes, his gaze immediately finding you. The warmth in his expression made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but feel that this moment was something rare, something you would never forget.

Neteyam’s heart swelled as he watched you standing beneath the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Voices. The bioluminescent light bathed you in soft pink hues, reflecting in your eyes as you gazed in awe at the sacred place. He’d dreamt of this moment, of sharing this part of himself with you, and now that it was happening, it felt more profound than he’d imagined.

Bringing you here wasn’t a decision he had made lightly. This place was the heart of his people, the connection to their ancestors and Eywa herself. It was sacred, almost untouchable, and to bring a human here was unthinkable to many—including his own mother. But to him, you weren’t just a human. You were his. His heart, his balance, his anchor in a life that sometimes felt overwhelming.

As he stood there, the wind tugging at his braids, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and gratitude that you were here with him.

“You’re beautiful in this light,” he said softly, breaking the silence between you. His voice carried easily in the stillness, and he saw the way your cheeks flushed faintly at his words.

You smiled, glancing at him. “I think you’re the one who fits here, Neteyam. Not me. This place feels... too sacred for someone like me.”

He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

“Neteyam,” you said softly, breaking the silence. The wind played with your hair, carrying your voice to him. “Why did you bring me here? Really?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze shifted to the glowing tendrils swaying in the breeze, and his jaw tightened as if he were searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady, laced with something that sounded almost like reverence.

“I heard you,” he said, his gaze flicking back to you. “A few days ago. With Kate.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you tilted your head slightly. “You heard me?” you repeated, unsure of where this was going.

He nodded, his ears flicking slightly downward in a gesture of vulnerability. “You said... you said you would never truly be a part of Pandora. That you could never fully understand this place. That no matter how long you lived here, it wouldn’t matter.”

Oh. The memory rushed back to you, unbidden. You and Kate had been joking—lighthearted banter about how Pandora seemed to resist human understanding when someone doing their job, how even the most advanced research couldn’t capture the soul of the planet. But the weight in Neteyam’s voice told you he hadn’t taken it as a joke.

You opened your mouth to explain, but he held up a hand, stopping you. His expression was calm, but there was a fire in his eyes that made your heart race.

“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Pandora isn’t about understanding. It’s about feeling. About connection. And you—” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before he continued. “You are a part of this place. Whether you see it or not.”

Realization dawned on you, and your chest tightened with a mix of guilt and defensiveness. “Neteyam, that was just... I didn’t mean it seriously. We were joking.”

But his expression didn’t change. His ears twitched slightly, and his tail flicked once behind him—a sign, you’d learned, of quiet determination. “You may have been joking,” he said softly, “but I don’t think you believed it was entirely untrue.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. He was right, in a way. There was a part of you that had always felt out of place here, like you were borrowing space in a world that didn’t belong to you. A world that, no matter how much you learned or loved it, might never fully accept you.

“I brought you here because I want you to see something,” he continued, his voice quiet but steady. “This place... it is the heart of my people. It is where we come to pray, to ask for guidance, to feel Eywa’s presence. And it is where I came before I met you. I prayed to Eywa to show me my path, to help me become the leader my father expects me to be.”

You tilted your head, your mask glinted in the light of the bioluminescent tendrils, curiosity replacing some of your unease. “Before you met me?”

Neteyam nodded, his gaze distant for a moment as if he were looking back on a memory. “It was a time when I was lost, unsure of the path ahead. I came here to ask Eywa for guidance—for a sign of what my life was meant to be. And then... I met you.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, and your breath hitched. “Neteyam...” you whispered, but he shook his head gently, urging you to let him finish.

“I didn’t understand it at first,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours. “Why Eywa would place someone like you—someone so different, so human—on my path. But the more I came to know you, the more I realized that it was not a mistake. It was her will.”

You blinked up at him, your heart racing as he continued. “From the moment I met you, you have been a part of this world. Not because of where you were born or what body you were given, but because of what’s here.” He crouched down before your, reached out and pressing a big hand gently over your heart. “Because of the way you see things. The way you care, the way you listen.”

His hand lingered, warm and steady, before he let it fall back to his side. “Eywa does not make mistakes,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine. “She brought you here. To me. That is all the proof I need.”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words, the raw honesty in his gaze, left you speechless. He truly believed it—that Eywa, the great life force of Pandora, had guided you into his life. That you were meant to be here, with him. The thought was overwhelming, humbling, and impossibly beautiful.

The depth of his words, the raw vulnerability in his gaze, left you speechless. You searched his face, looking for any hint of doubt, but there was none. He truly believed every word he had said.

“I never thought...” you began, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, trying to find the right words. “I never thought someone like you—someone so deeply connected to this world—could see me as anything more than... an intruder.”

“You are not an intruder,” he said firmly, his hand tightening slightly on your cheek. “You are a gift. I didn’t bring you here just to show you this place,” he continued, his voice softening. “I brought you here because this is where everything began for me. This is where I asked for guidance, and this is where I realized that you... you are my answer.”

His movements slow and deliberate, as though he were afraid of breaking the moment. His large hands found your arms gently, his touch grounding you as he brought his forehead to your mask. Overwhelmed by the closeness, the intimacy of the gesture, you closed your eyes.

“You are my prayer answered,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You are the peace I didn’t know I was searching for.”

Your hands trembled as they rose to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as though to anchor yourself. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. The wind whipped around you, the storm drawing closer, but in that moment, the world felt still, as though it were holding its breath for the two of you.

“Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “Just stay here, with me.”

*

The wind stirred gently around you, carrying with it the faint hum of life emanating from the Tree of Voices. Your masked head remained pressed against Neteyam’s, his warmth grounding - even through the thin glass-  you as his words echoed in your mind, a profound declaration that left your heart aching in the best way. His hands rested lightly on your arms, his thumbs brushing soothing circles against your skin.

Your eyes remained closed, tears drying against your cheeks as you let yourself be present in the moment, his presence filling you with a sense of peace you’d never known.

When Neteyam opened his eyes, intending to take in your face, his breath caught. His golden gaze widened in shock, his entire frame stiffening as his focus shifted over your head.

“Eywa,” he whispered, the word reverent and filled with awe.

“What?” you murmured, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his voice. You pulled back slightly, confused by the look of utter wonder on his face.

Neteyam didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the small, glowing spirit drifting gracefully through the air toward you. An atokirina—one of Eywa’s seeds, a sign of the Great Mother’s favor. The luminous tendrils of the seed pulsed faintly as it floated closer, glowing softly against the darkened backdrop of the sacred grove.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the atokirina descended. It hovered for a moment before settling lightly against your head, its tendrils brushing your hair with a gentle, otherworldly touch.

Neteyam’s lips parted, his ears twitching as his tail gave a subtle flick of astonishment. “I knew it,” he murmured, his voice a blend of awe and quiet conviction. His golden eyes burned with emotion as they met yours, his expression a mixture of pride, reverence, and love. “I knew Eywa brought you to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, overwhelmed by the weight of his words and the sight of the sacred seed resting against you. You lifted a trembling hand toward the atokirina, though you didn’t dare touch it, afraid to disturb the delicate moment. It lingered for a few heartbeats longer before floating upward, its tendrils swaying in the breeze as it rejoined the others dancing around the Tree of Voices.

“Neteyam,” you began, your voice trembling with disbelief. “What... what does this mean?”

He cupped your head gently, his touch firm yet tender as his thumbs brushed your temples just right behind the mask. “It means,” he said softly, his golden eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left you breathless, “that you are not just mine by chance. You are mine because Eywa willed it. She brought you to me for a reason.”

You couldn’t speak, the weight of his words and the sacredness of the moment rendering you silent.

“I’ve always believed it,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But now I know, without a doubt, that you are meant to be with me. Eywa has seen your heart, your spirit... and she accepts you.”

Your hands clutched his arms, seeking stability as your knees threatened to give out. “Neteyam,” you managed, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how to... I’m just—”

“You are enough,” he interrupted gently, his tone firm yet soothing. “You have always been enough.”

The wind shifted again, stronger this time as the impending storm drew nearer, but neither of you moved. The sacred grove seemed to pulse with life around you, as though the forest itself was acknowledging the connection between you.

And in that moment, standing in the heart of Eywa’s blessing, you felt it too—you belonged here, with him.

*

The first drops of rain fell like tiny cold pinpricks, pattering against the leaves and the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Souls. You tilted your head upward, squinting at the darkened sky as the rain intensified into a steady downpour. Within moments, the world blurred around you, the heavy rain making everything seem like a hazy dream.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, breathless sound that bubbled out despite the chill settling in. “I told you so,” you teased, brushing wet strands of hair out of your mask’s glass. The rain plastered your clothes to your body, the chill seeping into your skin, but the exhilaration of the moment kept you from caring too much.

Neteyam, soaked and unbothered, stood beside you, his hair clinging to his face, droplets catching on his bioluminescent freckles. He looked at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation before glancing at his restless ikran. The storm, with its rolling thunder and flashing lightning, made the creature uneasy, its wings flexing as it let out a low, nervous chirp.

“We can’t fly in this,” Neteyam said, his voice steady despite the weather. “It’s too dangerous.”

You nodded, glancing at the dark sky and the flashes of lightning in the distance. The wind whipped around you, pulling at your damp clothes and making you shiver. “So, what’s the plan?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth.

Neteyam tilted his head, his golden eyes scanning the forest as the rain poured down harder. “There’s a hunter’s hut nearby,” he said after a moment. “We’ll wait out the storm there.”

Before you could protest, he was already helping you onto his ikran. The creature’s discomfort was evident as it shifted and chirped uneasily, but it took off smoothly under Neteyam’s guidance after the bond, its powerful wings cutting through the rain-soaked air.

The flight was short but tense, the storm intensifying around you. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the forest below in sharp flashes. The rain stung your skin, and you clung to Neteyam’s arm, trusting him to guide you through the chaos. Finally, the ikran swooped down toward a sturdy tree where a small hut was built high above the ground. It was simple but well-constructed, designed to offer shelter for hunters caught in bad weather.

Once you were safely inside, you collapsed onto the woven floor, panting and dripping wet. The rain hammered against the roof, the sound a constant, soothing rhythm despite the storm raging outside. Neteyam secured the hut’s door and knelt by the small fire pit in the center, quickly lighting it to bring some warmth to the chilly air.

You turned to him, your clothes dripping water onto the wooden floor as you crossed your arms and gave him a pointed look but after a few moment you rached up just to wipe the glass of your mask. “I hope you’re happy,” you said, a teasing edge to your tone. “This is officially my last night alive, and I’m spending it with you.”

Neteyam arched a brow, clearly amused despite the storm raging outside. “Your last night alive?” he repeated, his voice warm and soft with mock offense.

“Yes,” you said with dramatic flair, stepping closer to him as you wrung water from your sleeves. “Because when I get back to the outpost, Norm is going to skin me alive for being out here in the middle of the night. He’ll probably hang my remains in the lab as a warning to others.”

Neteyam chuckled, his tail flicking slightly as he reached out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t regret spending your last night with me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. The storm continued to howl outside, but in the quiet safety of the hut, his presence made it feel like nothing else mattered.

*

The fire crackled softly in the center of the small hunter’s hut, casting flickering shadows on the woven walls as rain lashed against the roof. You sat close to it, trembling slightly, your soaked clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The chill had seeped into your bones, making it impossible to stop shivering.

Without much thought, you reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it over your head, tossing the wet fabric aside. Your pants followed, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

You didn’t realize what you’d done until you looked up and caught Neteyam’s gaze. He was staring at you, his golden eyes wide and unblinking, his expression unreadable. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and suddenly, you felt unbearably self-conscious. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you grabbed the crumpled woven blanket from the floor and quickly draped it over your shoulders, pulling it tightly around your body like a shield.

“How do you not freeze?” you asked, squinting at him through the dim firelight, your voice more accusatory than you intended. He was still soaking wet, his inky braids dripping onto his broad shoulders, and yet he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Like most Na’vi, he only wore a loincloth, his blue skin slick with rainwater, but he looked completely unaffected by the chill.

Neteyam tilted his head, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Our bodies are different,” he said simply, his voice low and calm, though there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes that made your cheeks burn even more. “We’re used to this.”

You huffed, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself. “Well, I’m not,” you muttered, shivering despite the fire’s heat.

Neteyam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand, his long fingers curling slightly in a beckoning gesture. “Come here,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of warmth and invitation.

You hesitated, your grip on the blanket tightening. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your chattering teeth betrayed you.

“Come here,” he repeated, more firmly this time, his golden eyes steady and patient as they held yours. There was no judgment in his gaze, no teasing—just quiet concern and an unspoken promise of warmth. “You’ll be warmer.”

Reluctantly, you shuffled closer to him, dragging the blanket with you. As you reached him, he uncrossed his legs slightly, creating space for you to sit between them. You settled hesitantly, tucking the blanket around yourself as you leaned against him.

The moment your back pressed against his chest, you felt his warmth envelop you like a cocoon. He was like a furnace, his body radiating heat that seeped into your chilled skin almost immediately. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh as the tension in your muscles began to melt away, your shivering subsiding. His arms came around you instinctively, his large hands resting lightly on your hips as he pulled you closer, and you felt his chin rest gently against the top of your still wet head.

“Better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself relax against him. “You’re not just warm,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against the blanket. “You’re unfairly warm. It’s not natural.”

Neteyam chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. “Unnatural?” he teased, his hands smoothing over the blanket covering you. “Or just lucky for you?”

You smiled despite yourself, nuzzling closer to him. “Lucky, I guess,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The storm continued to rage outside, the rain lashing against the hut and the wind howling through the trees, but it all felt distant now. All you could focus on was the steady rise and fall of Neteyam’s chest behind you, the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat against your back, and the way his arms held you so securely, as though he never wanted to let you go.

*

"Even when I won’t see the sunset anymore,” you said dramatically, your voice muffled as you nuzzled into his chest. “Because Norm will make me so dead.”

Neteyam tilted his head to look down at you, his golden eyes shimmering with amusement. “Norm wouldn’t dare,” he said, a playful edge to his tone. “I’d stop him.”

You laughed, the sound light and sweet, filling the small space of the hunter’s hut. “Oh, sure. But I bet Jake will lecture you into the next week. So, even just for a tiny bit, we’ll be even. Perfectly balanced,” you added with a smirk, “as all things should be.”

His smile widened, and he shook his head slightly, his braids shifting with the movement. “I’d take a thousand lectures from my father if it means spending a night like this with you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, your teasing expression softened. You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw, tracing the strong line of it before letting your hand rest on his shoulder.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” you said with a small, shy smile. But your tone was soft now, lacking its usual teasing bite, and your gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer than usual.

Neteyam’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression tender, and he leaned down to press his forehead gently against your mask. “I mean it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Every moment with you is worth it.”

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze, and you broke eye contact, nuzzling into his chest to hide your flustered expression. Absentmindedly, you reached for the blanket draped over you and pulled it up higher, tucking it around his broad shoulders as well as your own.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, your voice wavering. “Completely unfair.”

Neteyam’s arms tightened around you, his tail giving a lazy flick behind him. “Unfair?” he echoed, a smile tugging at his lips. “And yet, you’re the one making my heart race like this.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Stop being so smooth,” you said lightly, though the warmth in your voice betrayed the affection behind the words. You tilted your head up slightly, your mask brushing against his collarbone as you glanced up at him with a soft, playful smile.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your hair, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Never,” he whispered, holding you close as the storm raged on outside, the world beyond the hut feeling far, far away.

As you rested your head against his chest once more, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the blanket, you couldn’t help but think that, no matter how angry Norm might be—or how long Jake’s inevitable lecture might last—this moment was worth it. Every second of it.

Part 15: (Soon)

[rimouskis]

thoughts on social media use, algorithms, and the strangeness of being a human in the world:

I don't remember when I downloaded tiktok. It was either 2021 or 2022. I was working from home and had more unsupervised down time than I was accustomed to. It was easy to scroll and get lost in it.

The algorithm was good. It had my interests pinned so quickly that it was almost alarming. I suddenly felt reattached to youth culture, which was something that had been slipping out of my fingers as I aged into my 20s. I rather enjoyed getting to explain new jokes or memes or references to my older friends who weren't on the platform. It was, for a time, my favorite way to spend time online, aside from Tumblr.

And all I did was consume. I barely even commented on things, mostly because the constant notifications you couldn't silence when your comment got liked were annoying, but also because I didn't think I had much worth adding. It was entirely passive. Scroll, watch, scroll, scroll, scroll, watch, watch, scroll. An eternal feed of dopamine beamed right into my skull.

I stopped writing as much, though there were lots of things I could blame that on. I stopped reading almost entirely, though that had been true for a little while, so I also couldn't blame that on the app either, not really. It wasn't like I could point to the app and say "THIS THING IS RUINING MY LIFE!" because it wasn't. I was entertained. I felt informed because I started seeing some news items this way that I hadn't seen elsewhere. I was Connected To The Culture, and I've always enjoyed that. I found music I liked, and cultural critics I liked, and endless, endless amounts of Content that I liked.

My phone was old. So old, in fact, that the screen was made out of some sort of thing where the stark white like/comment/home icons on tiktok's interface literally burnt themselves into my screen. I was kind of embarrassed about that. I didn't use it a weird amount, I was on other apps, I had a life, I ran, I was outdoors whenever the weather was good, I was always busy around the city going to events and seeing people and going to hockey games. So what if I burned some icons into an old, faulty screen?

Then my life got blown up in short order, through no fault of my own, and it wasn't until I got a new, fully in-person job that I began noticing how much I was watching tiktok when I had a SECOND of free time at my job. It was more obvious when I was in an office that my fingers twitched with desire to scroll and watch short-form videos. It was embarrassing. It was like a smoker tic for a cigarette between their fingers.

Sometime in late 2023, I told my friends I wanted to stay off of tiktok more. I was sick of not writing like I used to. I felt like all my time was spent staring down at a little screen. In bursts and spurts, I would go a day or two without using the app, or only using it in the evening before I slept. I always ended up back on it, though.

It wasn't until March 2024 that I deleted the app off of my phone instead of just hour-limiting it. It was gone.

Funnily, some time later, maybe a week or two, I tried to redownload it. But, lo, my curated algorithm was gone. It had reset entirely, like it had forgotten me. My For You Page was gibberish, wholly unlike the fun, """"curated"""" (bleh) page I'd once had that could spoonfeed me stuff calibrated to my exact interests.

And just like that, the spell was broken. I deleted the app off of my phone forevermore. I left it logged in on my laptop, where the FYP was similarly broken, and I would—once every two months or so—go online to check on the pages I followed and watch a bit of their content. A mere five or so minutes would go by before I hit the end of my "Following" feed, and I'd close out of the tab, having seen all I wanted to see. It was kind of shocking how once the addictive, spot-on algorithm was destroyed, so too was my interest in the app.

That isn't to say my attention span has returned. It doesn't feel like it has. It wasn't like I smugly wiped my hands of algorithms, either. Even though I'd previously never used the "For You" tab on Twitter, I began clicking onto it. Then, a couple months ago, I started going into Instagram reels consistently, also having never done that before.

Twitter is, of course, a terrible place now filled with absolutely hateful bigots, but it's also a place unshakably dedicated to a culture of dunking and owning and getting one over another poster and being confrontational and being rude and being the first to say the most provocative, attention-grabbing thing about ANY topic.

It became deeply unpleasant to be on. It had been for a while, if we're being honest. I stayed off hockey twitter for months because I couldn't stand the horrible takes about the Pens, or about Geno's contract, or about how Sid should jump ship.

Instagram, meanwhile, was more insidious. I've never felt the kind of anxiety about my Instagram that I know bothers some other people—I deeply enjoy it as a tool of curation. I'm a hobbyist photographer. I like sharing snippets of my life (lol obviously, given what I'm doing right now). I love the language of images. I didn't really follow any influencers or news outlets, just old friends and acquaintances and family members and some small artists I enjoy. I muted the stories of people who shared incessant and oversimplified PSA graphics about the news or social issues. I kept it rather apolitical—that was what Twitter and sometimes Reddit were for.

When I started perusing the curated/algorithm Reels feed, though, I started to get sucked back in.

It was nice, at first. My tendency to stay away from political/news content meant I didn't get ragebait on there. In fact, the VAST majority of content I was served was interior design, furniture restoring/flipping, and home remodels.

It was really interesting. I liked seeing people's homes! I liked daydreaming about getting to do big-scale renovations with custom homemade cabinetry and wallpaper and gorgeous tiles. Sometimes I'd get recipe content, too, and vaguely crunchy-but-still-sensible environmentalist stuff.

I started noticing, again, how much time I was spending on it, but it also wasn't just taking my time.

All the beautiful new furniture made me want new furniture, too. All the starkly-beautiful and obsessive (and frankly stupid and overconsumption-informed) organization content made me want to improve my hall closet. Suddenly the interior design in my home—which had gotten compliments from everyone who'd ever stepped inside, from my landlord to my friends to my family—wasn't good enough for me anymore. I wanted a change. I wanted a gallery wall. I wanted a sideboard. I wanted removable wallpaper. I wanted beautiful, impractical, expensive storage. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted.

I've never been particularly influenceable, not when it comes to internet influencers. I'm very informed and watchful over my money. I know what I like spending on. I plan and I make it happen. And what influencers were often selling—clothes, makeup, beauty products—wasn't where I loved spending my money.

Home decor, though? Home improvement? Interior design? Turns out that could get me to open my wallet.

I did make some changes to my living space. I like them. I think they're beautiful and they solve both a storage issue I had and a oh-god-I-own-too-much-art-where-am-I-gonna-put-it-all problem I had. But I noticed what made me spend that money: seeing other peoples' beautiful homes.

I didn't like that.

I read AHP's "Culture Study" newsletter. I find her an interesting journalist and I usually find what she has to say, and what her guests have to say, to be interesting. This morning, she put out a newsletter talking about how she'd deleted Instagram from her phone before Christmas, and taken her email app off too while she was at it.

There are so many good chunks of this newsletter, but I want to share a few:

I find myself diverting my scroll energy to Facebook, where I still have an account to access dahlia groups, but it feels even more gross than before: a wasteland of AI accounts promising blue dahlias and weight loss reels and suggestions to friends of friends who haven’t updated their Facebook accounts in nearly a decade. It’s like a frat house basement at 10 am. Why the fuck am I here.

and

After years of people yelling at me in books, think pieces, and tweets (lol) to “break up with my phone,” “delete your social media accounts,” and “fuck Mark Zuckerberg,” turns out the thing that I needed was a whole conglomeration of quiet arguments and technological shifts that made my phone and the social media accounts on it feel less precious. Put differently, I haven’t come to value it less; instead, it’s become less valuable.

and

The amount of space these technologies take up in our lives — and their ever-diminishing utility — has brought us to a sort of cultural tipping point. I’ve sensed it over the last year, when my social feeds seemed to finish their years-long transformation from a neighborhood populated with friends to a glossy condo development of brands.

AHP articulated precisely what I'd been feeling. My curated feeds of people I'd CHOSEN to follow had been replaced with algorithms of content created by professional influencers who wanted my attention (to monetize it, to sell me things, to sell my eyes to a company, whatever).

I was disgusted by the few home renovation accounts I'd begun to follow posting their all-precious Amazon links of useless chintz. Twitter was plainly a hellhole. I'm sick of businesses and businesspeople deciding what I see in the desperate hope that I hand them money.

This has bled out to other parts of my life, even. Though I've lovingly heaped praise onto Spotify for giving me two new playlists of just-for-me algorithm-picked songs each week, I've gotten into watching and listening to DJ sets on Youtube (this and this were really enjoyable) because something that's become patently clearer to me was my own desire to experience curation.

I want to feel like what I read, what I hear, what I see, has been lovingly and intentionally made by another human because they loved it so much that they had to share it. Not because they wanted to sell me something. Not because an algorithm thinks that since I liked Song A, I'll like Song B, C, D, and XYZ based on other listener patterns. Because a real human put time and effort and a pinch of luck into discovering something and wanted to share it.

I'm getting off of Instagram Reels. I'm unfollowing the home decor/design pages I added into my feed. I'm debating deleting Twitter off my phone entirely. I'm tired of being fed ads, even if they're disguised as pretty home updates. I'm tired of being fed the worst news and the worst denizens of the internet all clamoring for attention. I'm tired of an algorithm determining what will suck up my attention.

So, all of this to say: it's been weird seeing people—friends, acquaintances, old coworkers—post on Instagram mourning the (very brief) death of Tiktok. The idea of the app being banned in the States, while worrying from a freedom of speech/oligarchy perspective, didn't bother me on a personal level as a now non-user. It's been weird noticing that my dad has started watching YouTube shorts in retirement. It's been weird seeing all the algorithms and feeling so claustrophobic about them. I want out. I want away. I can feel their presence like a shrinking room, the walls touching my skin.

This is pie-in-the-sky and naive, but it's why I like Tumblr. I shell out a few bucks a month so I don't even see ads anymore. I ticked the "do not show blazed posts" option for my dash. I don't go on the "For you" page. Every morning when I scroll my dash, I always reach the end, because I don't even follow all that many people. There is a finite limit to what I see. I can go a half hour without anything new appearing on my dash, some days. It can even get boring.

...it's nice. It feels self-curated. It's actually what I want out of social media.

Anyways, this is now a stupidly long post, and I don't have a closing statement beyond "I want to experience human-curated spaces that aren't trying to sell me shit" and "I want to stop subjecting myself to algorithms out of fear that I'm missing something or out of fear that I'll be bored."

I'll finish out with three more quotes from the AHP piece:

Not being bored is why you always feel busy, why you keep “not having time” to take a package to the post office or work on your novel. You do have time—you just spend it on your phone.

and

App Time is Time, App Energy is Energy

and

The world, filtered through the apps, is not the world we want for ourselves. And in many cases, it’s not the actual world we inhabit.