#He made BAKLAVA

[hacash]

my whole approach to the Nate x Jade scene can be split roughly down the middle 50/50 between

‘Nate made headway with his crush when he learned to stop pretending to be something he isn’t and embrace his own dorky self in spite of his hangups and struggles, I’m so proud’

and

‘Jade had no interest in Nate until he started having a bad day and then she immediately thought yes, that damp pathetic little man who mimics his gran to woo women is the one for me; she is truly relatable’

[magpie-sherlock]

@baileyboo2016

Sweet Gestures

Collaboration with screaming-but-i-have-four-swords! Go check out the art!

“So, I noticed you like sweets.”

Hyrule, who was trying to play coy while scooping sugar into his palm, startles and sends white grains flying across Legend and Ravio’s kitchen. “What—no—what?”

Ravio laughs and moves closer so he can bump shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with liking sugar. But if you want something, I’m pretty sure I can make a recipe.”

“Oh. Yeah.” There isn’t the expected excitement.

“Or, I mean, you’re welcome to the sugar…?” Did he misread the situation?”

Hyrule only curls further into himself. “Sorry, I can clean up the mess.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about?” Ravio’s brows furrow; how did this conversation go wrong so quickly?”

“Um.” The traveler stares at his shoes, shoulders hunching. “Sorry, please excuse me.” Then he darts from the kitchen, bumping into Wild on his way out.

The champion watches him go, then turns to Ravio. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know! I said I noticed he likes sweets because he’s been taking sugar from the jar. I can make him a treat if he wants? And he just—shut down.” The merchant turns pleading eyes on Wild. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you are fine.” He claps a hand on Ravio’s shoulder and moves to help him sweep up the sugar on the counter. “Hyrule can be sensitive, that’s all. He’s had to protect himself for a long time. It’s hard to let others in.”

“Is it…a secret?”

Wild shrugs one shoulder. “I think Rulie would really like it if you made him something, though.”

Ravio nods, turning to pull out his cookbooks. “Let me think of something you couldn’t have on the road.”

Throwing a two-fingered salute, he saunters back out. Ravio returns to his cookbooks. What can he make that will be special, but also sweet? Not candy; Wild already makes honey candy for them on the road. Maybe…a pastry? He has been meaning to try that new recipe he found. Mind made up, he turns to pull out ingredients. ~

So the first batch is…well, calling them an eyesore is a compliment. Ravio gives a deep sigh before dumping them all in the trash. He’ll get better in round two. Maybe he’ll start prepping more dough so he doesn’t have to wait each time for the chilling period. At least he’s got all day.

Making more dough is a good idea because the second batch is also inedible. Most of the heroes have wandered into the kitchen and been chased out already. Legend sticks his head in, looks at his frazzled housemate, and abruptly retreats.

The third batch is burnt, because Ravio got distracted after putting them in to bake. He’s got more dough, but…after this, he’s going to be out of butter.

“Link!” He pops his head out the back door, making Four—sitting on the stoop—jump. “Link—oh, hi Four. Have you seen Legend?”

“I’m here, I’m here! What’s the racket about?”

“My hero!” The merchant gushes, batting his lashes. Legend’s face puckers. “I need more butter. Do you mind running out and grabbing some?”

“More butter? Didn’t we have plenty?”

“Yes.”

“Does this have to do with whatever you are burning in my kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“Do I get to eat it when you are done?”

“…yes.”

“Fine.” Legend rolls his eyes but reaches a hand down to pull Four up. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? What did I do?”

“You existed within my eyesight,” the vet deadpans.

“I can be shorter.”

Ravio leaves them to bicker, turning back to the dough he already had. This time, he’ll get it right. ~

By dinner time, the group decides to trek to Kakariko for dinner out, as Ravio’s turned the kitchen into what Legend deems, his own personal nightmare. Why is this so hard? Sure, it’s got a lot of finicky steps, and temperatures to follow, and layering the dough, and—

Maybe he should have picked something easier.

…he definitely should have picked something easier. ~

The group returns and goes to bed late, still giving the kitchen a wide berth. It’s after midnight when Ravio finally pulls out a perfect batch of baked goods and transfers them to cool.

Then he collapses in a chair, exhausted. Frustration sapped his patience hours ago, but the sweet does smell delicious. He’ll just wait for them to cool a little longer. It probably wouldn’t hurt to rest his eyes…just for a moment… ~

“Ravio? Ravio!”

The merchant mumbles something into his sleeve, then raises his head to blink at the blurry shape before him. “Hyrule? Is something wrong?”

“It smells really good in here. And then I found you asleep on the table. Shouldn’t you…go to bed?”

It takes another long moment for Ravio’s brain to catch up to the situation. “Oh! I made you something!” He’s out of the chair with a yawn, going to check on the baked goods. They’re cooler, but still a little warm. He transfers one to a plate and thrusts it at the healer.

“Um.” Hyrule takes it, a little nonplussed. “It's…late?”

“Oh. Yeah, you probably don’t want sweets this late, sorry. You can try it at breakfast.” He reaches for the plate, but Hyrule just pulls it into his chest. “Or you can try it now,” he amends.

“Is this what you were baking all day?”

Ravio grabs another pastry, carefully pulling the parchment away from the side. “Yeah. A little harder than I thought, but I think these ones turned out pretty well.”

Hyrule turns his around, then sucks on this thumb when it comes back sticky. His eyes light up and he takes a bite. Ravio copies him.

Butter and sugar are sandwiched between layers of dough. It took a lot of work to get it to roll out at the right consistency without melting, but the result is layers of light pastry. The sugar on the outside is caramelized and slightly sticky. While the butter is melted into the dough, each bite oozes richness.

Hyrule moans and shoves more of the baked good in his mouth. “Dis is the befst ting I’ve ever had. Dun tell Wild!”

It takes Ravio a second to decipher the words through his full mouth, but then he grins. “I’m glad you like it. And I agree, this is pretty darn good.”

The traveler swallows before speaking again. “How did you manage to make something sweeter than straight sugar?”

“The magic of baking?”

They both giggle and go back to their treats. Hyrule gives him another shy glance. “Really, thank you for going to all this effort. It means a lot.”

“You deserve it, Hyrule. And if this is one way I can help? I’m happy I got the chance to do so.”

The traveler’s smile is as sweet as the sugar they eat.

[plomegranate]

i love palestinian and arab culture so much.

my grandma wearing thobes around the house and making us tamriyeh. my cousins wedding when we all wore thobes and keffiyehs and took photos downtown and we danced with someone playing the guitar on the street and this lady stopping us to tell us we all looked so beautiful. walking the graduation stage in a thobe. the girl who liked to guess arab peoples ethnicities telling me "you're wearing tatreez... do you want me to write 'palestinian' on your forehead?" the keffiyeh my brother keeps on the drivers seat of his car.

my dad sending me off to my last semester of college with 2 pomegranates and a jar of palestinian olive oil. my cousins wife coming up with new ways to make zaatar and cheese pastries. me and my grandma sitting on the floor and making waraq 3neb- my job was to separate the leaves so she could roll them easier. my mom sending me and my brother to school with eid cookies for my teachers and tasking us with delivering some to the neighbors. my aunt glaring at me and piling more food on my plate and then asking if i was still hungry (i wasnt). my mom always telling me to invite my friends and cousins over for dinner and asking me what they like to eat. my family getting my dad knafeh instead of cake for his birthday. the man who told me i made the "best fetteh in the western hemisphere".

the man in the shawarma shop who gave me my fries for free and baklava i didnt order because we spoke about being palestinian while he took my order. the person on tumblr who i bonded with because we are from the same palestinian city. the girl i met on campus who exclaimed "youre palestinian? me too!" because i was wearing my keffiyeh. the girl in my class that showed me the artwork about palestine her dad made and donated for fundraising. the couple in the grocery store who noticed my palestinian shirt and talked with me for 20 minutes and ended up being a family friend. the silly palestinian kids i tutored sighing in disappointment when i told them i was born in america because they were hoping that id have been born "somewhere cooler". my friends family who bought me dinner despite me being there by chance and having met me for the first time the day before.

the boys starting uncoordinated dabke lines in my high school's hallways. the songs about the longing and love for our land. the festivals and parties and gatherings where everything smells like shisha and oud. memories of waiting in the car for an hour as my parents talked at the doorway of their friends homes. my cousins and i showing up at each others homes with cake or fruit or games as if it was the first time we ever visited even though we always say "you dont have to".

kids stubbornly helping to clean and make tea after a meal while being told to go sit down because they are guests. the necklaces in the shape of our home countries. people hugging and laughing and acting as if theyve known each other for years because they come from the same city or know people with the same last name. the day i finally got to bully my friends into letting me pay the bill because i had a job and they were still students. my moms friend who calls us every time she's at the grocery store to see if we need something

palestinian people are so resilient and hardworking and charitable. they love their culture and their community and are so quick to share and welcome anyone in. everyday i am so thankful and proud to be part of such a warm and lovely culture

[tenuousnessless7]

As someone who likes to cook/bake for the people I love I am always giddy whenever a piece of media uses food as a shorthand to establish relationship dynamics (even if it’s not something one character made for another - the baklava scene at the beginning of the Old Guard comes to mind). And obviously there’s a lot of this in Lockwood & Co, but an underrated moment imo is when Lockwood requests ghormeh sabzi from George in episode 2, because it establishes so much about their relationship so quickly. Not just in the warmth of the request (“I’ll love you forever, mate”), but also because this is a dish we can assume George introduced Lockwood to because it’s Persian, and he’s requesting it after an extremely rough night, which suggests that it’s become a comfort meal for him. And the implications of how much George must cook for Lockwood and how much Lockwood relies on George are so apparent in that simple request. Idk it just gives the friendship a sort of lived-in feeling that sells, very quickly, how close they are.

[victoria-grimesss]

tear you apart - part II

masterlist

-> Pairing: König x fem!reader

-> Words: 3.5k

-> Warning: MDNI! nfsw, fem!reader, dominant!könig, size difference, over the desk, blindfold, unprotected sex, rough sex but there’s aftercare, google translate German.  

~> A/N: first time writing smut please go easy on me I beg of thee. 

It’s been a couple days since the training session with König. You've built up a nice routine around the new base and made some friendly conversations with some other new recruits both bonding over the complexities of your new home away from home. 

Would it be weird to say you miss the presence of the colonel? 

Is it strange that you’ve already become so attached to having him near those few times. Having his eyes gaze into you as though you’re all that exists? 

No right? 

 Right. 

 He haunts your dreams, appears to you when you’re most restless to smooth your hair under his touch and whisper sweet things to you, how he wants to be your eternal love, to live a life filled with passion and fire. Your veins run with lava as his hand in your hair traces down to your neck, so small in my grasp, he tells you, how easy it would be to wrap my hand around and squeeze, he says it so sweetly to you. You hum listlessly, lost in his gaze and willing for his touch. You are mine and mine only you understand? You always wake before he even takes off a glove, you're drenched in sweat and the blankets stick to you. But these dreams are common since you’ve met him. You wonder if he dreams the same; if he’s coming to you in these dreams and expressing his deepest desires. 

Silly girl you think, he wouldn’t. 

 Sometimes you think you see him, the corner of your eyes play tricks on you. He’s too big to move that fast, but you feel the burn of his eyes on the back of your head when you’re in the kitchen making your morning drink at times. It feels the same as it did when he laid eyes on you in the meeting room, electric.

 “L/N!” You turn, it’s your captain.

“Sir.”

“Look honey I’m runnin late and these papers need to go to the big guy you mind handing them over? Thanks a lot.” He basically shoved them into your arms and you have to gather them up quickly as to not let them end up as a heap on the cold floor. This whole interaction lasts the better of 30 second.

Your eyes roll at the pet name and how this work could have been shoved on anyone else but no, gotta be the new girl. 

A new girl who most definitely totally doesn’t have a crush *ehem* ~ creepy infatuation with the boss. ~ 

 You vaguely remember the way to his office; the captain shot some directions at you as he walked away from handing off his task to you. 

To the left then the right then the door second to last one on the right. You repeat these as you readjust your grip on the papers.

 As you approach you grow more and more nervous, it’s just your super-hot boss who you’re giving papers to nothing more nothing less. But your hand stays still at your side, your other full of papers.

Just knock.

Your hand is in front of the door, and you knock loudly making your presence known.

 “Enter.” He sounds just as he did last time. Domineering.

You open the door slowly, the light in the hall behind you flickers and your heart beats in time with the moth's wings that fly directly towards that light. You feel like that moth drawn to the light. 

He sits at his desk, papers in his hand, he’s shed his utility helmet and usual mask for a plain black baklava which is fitting all the same for him. The whole room smells like him, it envelopes you and swallows you whole as you close the door. 

His eyes stay on the papers but his concentration isn’t on them anymore, it’s on you.

You’ve come to him, as he thought you would. His mind has been on nothing but you, your file is always on his desk, he’s memorized every word on it.

His favorite colors are now those of your eyes, hair, lips and skin. You’ve become his very own Medusa and he can’t help but become stone when he sees you. If only you knew the grasp you had on him. If only you would grasp him and hold him tight.

 “You have something for me yes?” The lamp behind him casts him as a shadow and illuminates his figure but his eyes are bright.

You walk closer, the room is quiet besides some soft music on the record player on the far side of the room next to another door. 

“The captain requested I bring you these papers, important intel I suppose.”

“Shame. And here I was thinking you’ve just come to visit me.” There’s that teasing tone again. 

Your cheeks heat up despite your best effort to maintain a cool façade. You’re upset you don’t have a mask to hide your expression.

 You hand him the papers, neatly organized now. He reaches with one hand and takes them from you, his gloved hand brushes yours and you lock eyes, goosebumps race up your arm from the point of contact.

You grin and look down.

“I would think you’d have more interesting visitors than me colonel.”

He grows stiff at your mention of rank, calling him by his title. 

His eyes scan the papers noting the important parts.

“Schatz, you are the most important visitor I’ve had the honor of having.” His gaze is heavy on you.

You are still at his words, is he insinuating what you think he is? 

He’s holding bait right in front of your face. 

“I highly doubt that sir, a guy like you must have many visitors….I’m sure you have many beautiful suitors.”

You bite.

He chuckles, it’s low and deep and he groans at the end. 

“I have my eyes on one Ja. She has become the object of my attraction.”

Your heart skips a beat wondering if he means another woman besides you. You bite your lip wearing at the skin. You open your mouth to start and then close it.

He watches your mouth as you do so and wishes to feel it upon him, as you take him wholly.

“Speak, do not hold your tongue.” 

“I-I um I suppose I’m just curious as to what woman could gain your attraction. To be honest sir I thought you were married.”

His attention is most definitely no longer on the papers, or anything job related. His mind wholly encompassed by you and your words. 

He hums lowly and you imagine that it vibrates his chest.

“Come to this side of my desk Schatz.”

You obey, walking to the other side of his desk and standing next to him, facing the door you entered in.

“My desk, do you see any family portraits?”

“No sir.”

He takes off his gloves and you feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.

“Do you see a wedding band?”

“No sir.”

After this he stands, his full height towering above you combined with the soft music, dim lighting, and the way he looks down at you makes your knees weak and your lower stomach burn. He walks over to the door you entered and stands for a moment. You wonder if you’ve asked too much, dug yourself a hole and he’s about to ask you to leave.

“I’m sorry if I stepped over the line I didn’t mean it, I can leave if you want.” He locks the door. Your heart locks up all the same at the sound.

“No, Schatz I’d rather you stay, and I think you'd rather stay too. Am I right?” He turns his head to look at you and the way he’s standing you can see all the muscles in his back defined from the lighting and you yearn to rake your nails over them and leave a well-deserved mark. 

“I would.” Your words are breathy, and you hardly know if you spoke at all but his response confirms you did.

He walks back over to you and your feet are stuck in cement. He stops when he's behind you. You can hear his breathing behind you so you know he’s actually there, he's real and this is real.

“You know I watch you right? Does it frighten you?”

“No colonel.”

“None of that here, not anymore. Just König ok Süßes Mädchen

Your knees actually nearly do give out this time, God he’s too much. Your breathing is quick now and you feel feverish he’s not even touching you yet but standing there and you don’t know what will kill you first your rapid heart rate or the anticipation.

“You want me, Ja?

“God yes.” You nearly whine and he lets out a deep laugh. He readjusts his stance.

“Do you usually get this worked up before you’re even touched?” His voice is lighter now, he’s teasing.

“Only for you.” You say almost immediately.

“Say that again.” His voice is dark again and it makes your stomach twirl.

“Only for you König.” You’ve stepped headfirst into the lion’s den and you know there's no going back from this, you thought it was just a silly crush but this is so much more, for the both of you.

He inhales deeply and lets it out, even with his mask you can feel it lightly on the back of your head. 

His head is spinning with thoughts of what he wants to do to you, you were making him crazy. 

“Ich schwöre bei Gott, Liebling, du wirst mein Tod sein.” [I swear to God darling, you will be my death.] You're not sure what he said but you hear his groan at the end so it must be erotic. 

“Konig, please.”

“Shhh quiet Schätzchen.” 

There's a beat of silence and you think your heart stops then you feel his hand on your back. It travels up until he gets to your hair, he grabs a handful of it but doesn't pull or tug, just holds. You’re growing wetter by the minute and you ache deeply. You rub your thighs together and that’s when he pulls. 

He tugs you back into him and your head is pointed up now so he's looking directly down at you. You whimper and his eyes are nearly pitch black as he stares at you, he drinks you in as if you’re the last bit of water on earth.

“Scheisse you know if we do this there is not going back, I will not let you lay with another and I will never lay with anyone besides you.” His words echo in your head and you weigh your options,

Option A: sleep with König, your superior and maybe face some very serious consequences.

or…

Options B: go back to your room and absolutely resort you what’s in your bedside drawer to relieve yourself…..

Survey says, option A all the way.

“I wouldn't want it any other way sir.” You make sure to say it extra breathily as to draw him into the spiral he's sent you into.

His grip tightens ever so before he releases and you stumble a bit but a hand on your waist catches you and the coals within you are stoked even more to where they rage into an inferno.

“I would like to share more of myself with you eventually but for now... This will have to do.”

He says no more before fabric is enclosed around your eyes and your vision darkens. It must be his regular mask because it smells so strongly of him it makes you dizzy, his scent all encompassing.

“König.”

“My name sounds so sweet when it comes from your lips, I beg to hear more of it.”

His hands, both of them, are on your middle now he holds you steady and moves them upwards and cups your breasts above your uniform you let out a soft breath.

He closes his eyes and inhales deep against your crown.

“I knew you would smell wonderful Mein Schatz. You feel like heaven in my hands you know that?”

His hands move to the buttons of your uniform and he wastes no time in discarding it to the ground along with your undershirt. 

“Turn around.” 

You turn around and he once again grabs tight on your hair pulling your head back and exposing your neck.

He pulls up his baklava knowing he won’t be seen.

He bites.

Hard.

You let out a shameless moan and quickly slap a hand over your mouth, but he grabs your wrist and holds it behind you back your other hand is grabbing onto his hair.

“You’ll express your pleasure. I want everyone to hear so they know I’m occupied.”

He’s sucking dark bruises into your neck and leaving teeth marks in his wake. He lavishes in the way your skin tastes. He knows you sweat at some point today and your perfume is on his tongue.

“König please, I need more.”

“Gladly.” You feel him smile on your skin.

Next thing you know you’re spun around again and you’re pushed down over the desk his hand heavy on your neck.

“Stay.” He commands.

His hand is removed and he works at your pants pulling them down and to your ankles, he slides his hands all around the newly exposed skin and you hear his drop to his knees.

“Mein Gott, you are something to behold, you are beautiful you know that?”

You blush the heat growing hotter between your thighs.

There’s no time to respond before he’s diving into your heat tongue hot and wet upon you as he sucks and licks like his life depends on it.

“You taste divine, I could die here and die a happy man Liebling, scheiße” 

You moan and your cheek touches the cold wood of the desk as he continues his ravaging.

“König please, I need-need more.”

He hears your pleas and it spurs him on, he’s desperately hard in his pants and palms at it a few times before collecting your wetness and entering one then two fingers. 

“Is this enough for you? Or do you need more? So bedürftig.” He teases as he pumps them in the out in a come-hither motion getting quicker and quicker. 

Your breathing picks up. It’s in short pants now as you get close and closer to the edge. He can feel you squeezing his fingers tighter and he latches his mouth back on as his fingers works faster.

“Come on Schatz give me a show.” He smiles and teases and he just can’t get enough even as you try to thrash and tense on his fingers reaching your high you chant his name and he’s heard nothing sweeter.

“You make such beautiful noises Meine Liebe .” He bites at the inside of your thighs as he stands.

You hear a belt buckle and a zipper undone, mouthwatering in anticipation as you’re still coming down from your previous high.

He takes himself out and strokes it slowly a few times placing a hard harshly on your hip as he lines himself up and teases the tip at your entrance.

He’s massive compared to you and he’s burning up looking and predicting the way you’ll feel around him.

“Schatz, one last chance to change your mind.” He grits through his teeth.

“Please König, I need you badly.” 

He takes not a second longer after you answer to sink fully into you and to say you’re surprised is an understatement. He’s huge, incredible deliciously huge and the stretch of him knocks the breath from your lungs and he bends over you, his whole body laying just above you so his mouth is right next to your ear.

“You feel even more incredible than I could ever dream, you wrap around me so sweetly.”

He pulls back and braces both of his hands on your hips with a bruising grip and starts moving, he’s deliberate and calculated with his movements thrusting deep and harsh.

You moan loudly with the blindfold all your other senses are heightened. You grasp and scratch behind you trying to slow his movements you mind hazy with only thought of how good he’s making you feel. 

“P-please, god König.” You can hardly make out your own thoughts, he groans and continues his onslaught of torture on you.

You try to slow him again but this time he takes a hold of your wrists and slams them down onto the desk. You continue to moan with abandonment.

“You’ll take what given to you, understand?” He leans down and kisses your cheek, panting you can feel the sweat on his face combining with yours.

Leaning back, he watches the way he enters you and the noises are unholy, seeing you bent over his desk so willing and drunk off of him nearly makes him cum right then and there.

Suddenly a knock at the door.

He doesn’t stop and you clamp both hands over your mouth now. He growls deep in his chest.

“Busy.” He grits out.

They knock again but he doesn’t stop.

“Are you fucking kidding me? c’mon be a good girl and let them know I’m busy.” His accent is heavy and laced with need.

You can hardly think straight and his words sound underwater. You only become semi-conscious again when he picks you by your shoulder, up holding you up to his chest by your neck as he continues his onslaught.

“Take your hands off your mouth unless you want me to tie those up too, I told you to tell them I’m busy.” He growls right by your ear and he thrust particularly hard and deep you choke on your sobs and a moan rips from your throat. It’s so erotic you hardly recognize yourself, the last knock was cut short, and you hear quick shuffling down the hallway. 

“Braves Mädchen, so good for me. Fuck, need you to cum with me I won’t last much longer.”

“F-fuuck don’t stop.”

The coil within you is growing and winding and you feel you’re heading headfirst into a spiral panting and calling his name with no care for the outside world you reach up and claw at what you can reach of his expansive shoulders certainly leaving marks and he groans and grinds to show his appreciation.

“Cmon, give it to me, give it to me.” He says, each thrust his hand on your hips growing even tighter and his thrusts getting sloppy as he nears his high. He grips your jaw now slipping a finger into your mouth and you taste yourself on them and the coil snaps.

Your ears are ringing, white blinds your vision, and you’re overcome with oxytocin unlike no other.

König fills you deeply grinding to the hilt so none of him is left exposed.

You feel boneless and limp in his arms but completely and utterly satisfied.

The blindfold is removed and he’s tapping your cheek, the finger that was in your mouth leaving spit in its wake but you have no care.

“Y/N, Y/N, come in back to me Schatz.” You open your eyes and hum.

“So good.” You hiccup and you see he has his baklava fully on but his eyes are crescent shape, his eyes look lovely when he’s smiling.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” He’s pulling out and you wince but he’s quickly pulling his desk chair out for you to sit and gain you sanity back.

“That’s putting it lightly...” you can’t seem to wipe the dumb smile plastered on your face.

He’s pulling up his pants and re-buckling his belt, you get butterflies watching him do it.

He then walks to what looks like a bathroom connected to the office, coming back with a washcloth and cleans you gently kissing the top of your head.

“Cmon let’s get you dressed then yeah. As much as I love seeing you in my chair like that, we’ll play that scenario out another day.” He picks up your panties and stuffs them into his pocket and helps you put on your pants.

“I need those König.” 

“I’ll buy you some more, these are for my personal collection.” You huff, legs feeling like jelly, and he rubs your back as you’re buttoning your jacket.

“Very well, I won’t fight a losing battle for those, at least they’re not my favorite pair-

“I’d like those as well.”

“Stop it!” You both laugh and he sounds so wonderful worry free. 

He gives you some water and sits back at his desk. You stand in the same spot you were in before everything happened.

“That was a great pleasure and I hope it brought you the same.” God he’s so formal after just rearranging your guts, you laugh like a schoolgirl.

“I did, I um, would love to do this again, or just spend more time with you.”

His heart lights up and he knows he’s got you for good,

“Schatz, my door is always open to you, granted both my office and bedroom door.” He winks at you and you blush.

You walk to the door and look back at him before you leave.

“Don’t forget about those papers I brought you.” You fake authority.

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs and watches you until the door is closed.

He takes your panties out of his pocket already missing your presence next to him, next time can’t come soon enough.

[nocofamilyau]

Did Cody ever achieve his goal of being a billiards champion as mentioned in Before We Die? Actually, since I asked, did the other gen 1 contestants achieve their goals from the song (excluding DJ and Bridgette whose goals were the most achievable)?

I hc that Dave also likes cue sports and Cody is secretly thrilled over this cuz it means father and son bonding.

While nothing too huge, Cody did get that billiards champion title in college, mainly just from clearing everyone out at the campus bar. As for the others, I'll just go in order the song went in (minus DJ and Bridgette like you said):

Leshawna, while not a billionairess per se, is pretty well-off working as a counsellor and running her own teen help centre in the heart of the city where she lives nearby

Sierra's life goal definitely did not happen officially (sucks to be her)

Lindsay made a guest appearance as a one-off character on a once-popular soap opera in her early 20's

Courtney would have definitely achieved her dream of being a lawyer

After the whole boyfriend-kissing love triangle fiasco of World Tour, Gwen probably didn't have the best time during the final stretch of high school so she skipped prom entirely (she believed it was worth it in the end)

Harold has a sick ninja star and katana collection at home and occasionally works summers as a head counsellor at Sensei Steve's Ninja Camp

Well, while nobody took any notice, Alejandro was able to keep a job taming lions for a while under a different name

Owen's actually quite well known across the country for his 'Oh-Nuts', a nut butter-filled pastry that's basically a fusion between a cream donut and baklava. He invented it while messing around in the kitchen with the munchies one night, but didn't reach true popularity until he tried making them on one of those Masterchef-like shows he participated on (it's one of the few reality competition shows he won AND managed to get something out of)

I have no idea how much of a bucket list item fixing up parallel bars can be, but I'm guessing Tyler must have achieved it at some point to... questionable results

As for that headcannon about Dave,, I will gladly take it and make it real

[evis-gossip]

His mission.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

Categories: Light angst, fluff, mostly hurt/comfort.

Warnings: Protective! Ghost (he’s a warning okay). Talk of injuries. No use of Y/N. Allusions to long hair and small body.

Word count: 0.8k words

A/N: Pls have in mind I’m super new to this fandom and have never played COD, hence, I got no clue about the lore. Feel free to let me know fi anything's wrong.

You were his mission. The 141 had to find you, unharmed if possible, forced if necessary.

But when he found you, his heart clenched. Simon didn’t even think he had feelings anymore, and yet, your curled up frame, in the corner of the room, barely covered in a thin hospital gown, the skin exposed littered in cuts and bruises, shaking and whimpering, cold and most likely terrified, he found himself questioning his own lack of feelings.

Something deep inside him made him want to protect you at all costs. Take you and cradle you in his big arms, hold you close and wipe your tears away. And that’s exactly what he did.

He put his weapon down, under Gaz and Soap’s curious and nearly judgmental gaze. He approached you as if it were the case of a small animal, with extended hands and a cautious heart.

You hide your face between your knees, expecting the hurt, the pain to come, it never did. His warm hands settled softly on your back and your knee, trying to bring a kind of comfort he never known himself. “Hey, there” he sounded surprisingly soft, but you still whimpered “It’s alright, you’re safe now”. He didn’t hesitate to sit himself right next to you, while the rest of the squad secured the perimeter.

It took some coaxing, but he finally got you to let yourself be touched without crying. He wrapped you up in his baklava and scooped you up in his arms, cradling you like a small child. He carried you effortlessly to the aircraft, bowing to himself to not let you go unless absolutely necessary. Every time he heard you wince when he accidentally pressed his calloused hands to a bruise, he had to physically restrain himself from finding the monsters that did this to you and beating them to a pulp. But first, he was going to get you cleaned up, find out who you were and protect you with his life.

He got to the plane before you fell asleep on his chest, which wouldn’t have been the worst, but it wasn’t his plan. This was: he sat down on his designated spot and sat you down on his lap, the baklava tight around your shoulders. He pulled his skull mask off so that you saw his face and hopefully, recognized (trusted) him when you woke up. He brushed your hair back with his rough hand, mostly to make you look at him. His blonde hair was disheveled and his brown eyes tired, but kind, the type of kindness neither of you remember receiving in a long time. Maybe that’s why he took to you so easily.

“Name’s Simon. What’s yours, angel?” He broke the silence, almost in a soft whisper, bringing you out of the spell that had you lost in his eyes. You nearly squeaked as you hid your face in his chest. On one hand, he was disappointed he couldn’t get a word out of you. On the other, he was glad you found comfort in him. He still held close for the remainder of the flight, caressing your back gently, lulling you to sleep.

By the time you woke up, you were still in his arms, being carried to the medical tent at camp. He had the highest respect for his superiors, but right now, he was ignoring their orders to report the mission immediately. That could wait. He needed to make sure you were taken care of, everything else was secondary. He laid you down gently on the cot, but you whimpered and he was quick to cradle you again. You let yourself be checked over as long as he was holding you. The nurses said you needed rest, lots of fluids and mostly nutrients. He felt his heart in a tight fist at hearing you were suffering severely from malnutrition and dehydration. They had you hooked to an IV and on sedatives. Before he knew, you were out like a light, and again, not a word from you.

He wiped your still wet cheeks before finally laying you down on the cot, never tearing his eyes away from you. He had your tiny hand wrapped in his, and in your pale state, but peaceful slumber, he had the quiet to realize against his will, that he could never let you go. He didn’t even know your name. You were his mission. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. Price came by to get a mission report and “inspect the target”. Simon didn’t like the sound of that. They could run tests, get fingerprints, find your identity, what they had done to you, later. Right now, they had you, so they could fuck right off.

He had you, and he would keep you safe.

[bunny-jpeg]

girl's place - simon "ghost" riley

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader rating: 18+ summary: You remembered playing with matches as a child. You also remembered playing with lighters as a teenager that was paired with the occasional shoplifting. You weren't a problem child, but you had you niches of delinquency.

And somehow you ended up in the military. While most were in active duty, you found comfort on base working in the offices. Most of the day was spent filing paperwork. But unlike most of your fellow soldiers, you had a shadow. Or perhaps a ghost.

If the military didn't scrub away the delinquent behaviour that lingered from youth, Simon Riley made sure you were next to saintly.

tags: pwp, power dynamic, rough sex, punishment, spitting, spanking, degrading, a touch of misogyny (aka a lot of it), mean!ghost, breeding kink

a/n: okay, i want to apologize to feminism...

join my discord! (18+)

You remembered playing with matches as a child. You also remembered playing with lighters as a teenager that was paired with the occasional shoplifting. You weren't a problem child, but you had your niches of delinquency.

And somehow you ended up in the military. While most were in active duty, you found comfort on base working in the offices. Most of the day was spent filing paperwork. But unlike most of your fellow soldiers, you had a shadow. Or perhaps a ghost.

If the military didn't scrub away the delinquent behavior that lingered from youth, Simon Riley made sure you were next to saintly.

-

You knew you were in trouble the moment you stepped foot in your ghost's quarters. Simon was there in his baklava, a tank top that showed off all the toned muscles of his arms, and uniform pants. It was probably as casual as he could get.

He was reading something you didn't get the title of before he put it down and rose from his desk. You could see the assortment of weapons, mainly knives on the desk. It made you swallow nervously.

  ”Hello, love.“ He said as he approached you. He was so much bigger than you, not only in height but in sheer size. It always put him in the more domineering position.

  ”Hello, Simon.“ You replied.

You could feel his smile under the mask. You shifted from one foot to another. He took you by the chin and made you face him.

  ”A little birdie told me that you've been misbehaving.“ He tilted his head to the side, “You know how I feel about bad girls.“

Your eyes darted in another direction, ”It wasn't even that bad.“

He chuckled softly, ”Getting a little too aggressive with the new recruits is quite bad. I heard a few had to go into the infirmary.“ He paused for a moment, ”You should be in your office doing your paperwork. Not training the new men. You're simply too small.“

  ”I'm not that small.“ You tried to correct it.

He replied, ”If not small then weak. If they got a good right hook in then I'd have to go kill someone.“ He then added, ”Look at me when I'm talking to you.“

You had no choice but to look at him once more. He stroked your cheek with his thumb, then pulled his mask up which was followed by him leaning down for a kiss. He further invaded your space and made you feel smaller. Weaker, even.

You moaned into the kiss, it was firm. But not wet and messy. He wrapped his other arm around you and pulled you close to him. With your bodies pressed together, you could feel his erection in his uniform pants.

  ”Simon.“

  ”It's sir tonight. You don't get the privilege of using my name when you're being a stupid girl.“ He growled. He really didn't like you out of the office and possibly in the line of danger.

You whimpered in response and you leaned into him for another searing kiss. You wrapped your arms around  him and kept your eyes closed as you kissed him. You whimpered when his grasp tightened once more.

When he pulled away and put the mask back up. Those hard eyes stared down at you. He waited for a moment before he reached behind you and grabbed the meat of your ass.

  ”Now are you gonna be a good girl, or stand there?“ You could tell he was raising his eyebrows. He used both hands to grab at your ass, then he left a quick smack across the cheek. “Get to it.”

You scurried to the desk and pulled down your pants. Which left you bottom half bare except for the pretty pink panties you wore. A drastic difference between the uniform pants you wore and the delicate underwear that was underneath them.

But only he knew you wore them. You said they were comfortable, but he believed that it was because you liked to tease him. The little secret you shared.

He was close behind. And from behind you, he grabbed your throat and pulled the panties down to your knees. He then guided you forward. Some of the paper on the desk was shoved to the edges to make room for you. You felt a heat run through you as you were manhandled.

It was him trying to send a message, you were simply a weak little girl. And you had to listen to the much bigger, stronger man. Even when he tried to teach you this lesson, it never seemed to stick. You were dead set on defying, Simon.

Such a silly girl.

He kept his hand on your throat, the calloused fingers remained firm on your skin. Not enough to bruise you, but enough to keep you in your place. Once again, a reminder.

He was the dominant one in the relationship. The one who wore the 'pants'. You didn't have to worry your little head about anything while he was around.

You just had to sit there and go 'yes, sir'. And let him fuck you silly once in a while.

  “You've been a bad girl, lovie.” He said in your ear, “You go around with your head held high. You think you're above it all, that you are Miss Wonder Woman who can do it all.” He chuckled darkly in your ear, “But I know better.”

You swallowed, ��Simon.”

  “No, no.” He said, “I know you better than yourself. You've been told your entire life that you can do anything you put your mind to. That you're unstoppable. No man can clip your wings.” He slapped your ass, the sound filled the room.

You let out a whimper.

  “I know what you want. Tired of proving yourself. Tired of fighting to be the top dog. I'm pretty sure if I told you I bought us a little place in the country, you'd have your bags packed by the count of four.“ His voice was low, in contrast with the loud noise of his slaps.

Your cheeks grew warm from his words. Inside of you there was a war waging between him being right and him being wrong. But you'd never admit to him that he was right. You'd branish your teeth and prove your worth till he fucked the drive out of you.

  ”You know I'm right. You'd be in the car by the count of ten.“ He chuckled once more, ”Living out in the country, away from this. You'd be my wife, my little doll I kept safe at home. No need to play with the big boys when you can play house all day. Isn't that what most women want?“

  ”No.“

  ”Liar.“ He laid another slap on your ass, ”You know I hate liars.“ His voice was laced with venom, a hot rush went through you as he tightened his hold on your throat a little more.

  ”I enjoy my job.“

  ”But you'd enjoy raising my brats more.“ He replied.

The thought of him breeding you made your stomach flip and your pussy grow wetter. You felt flushed in the apples of your cheeks as he continued to swat at your ass.

He kept you pinned in place, he knew that he held power over you. You were just a dumb little girl trying to play with the big boys. But he knew better.

He laid a few more smacks across your ass as he continued his dirty talk. He wanted to make you as flustered as possible before he put you in your place.

  ”Poor little girl who never got the attention she needed, comes crawling to the biggest man on base and has him fuck all the girl power shit outta her. Makes her a dumb little doll droolin' on my cock. You should be at home makin' me dinner.” His voice was hot. It left you  trembling.

You tried to form a comeback but your mind drew to a blank. Your heart was racing and your ass was sore. You felt your body tremble from the situation you found yourself in. If your head was clearer you would've fought back with whatever he said. But instead you were second guessing yourself if he was right.

  “Yeah, you know I'm right, girlie.” His voice was dangerous and low again. He could probably hear your heartbeat, “Ra ra girl power cannot kill the idea that your place is between my legs, in a home I bought, raising the kids I put in ya.”

  “Simon.”

  “Don't start. You'll never win. So accept it, let me be the big strong man. You can be the cute little homemaker I fill up every evening.” He purred as he massaged your ass cheek with his strong hand, “Pretty girls like you should be kept dumb. Keep ya young.”

You let out a small whimper as you felt him grab into the muscle of your ass. His grip was hard and left you trying to buck away from him. But from the grip on your throat, you weren't going too far.

  “I could take you out.” You gave one last ditch effort to prove him wrong. You were stubborn like that. Like when you were told to stop playing with matches. When someone told you 'no', you doubled down.

He squeezes your throat once more and pushes you down onto the desk. Not hard enough to knock a tooth out, but enough to physically put you in your place. He laughed. It came from deep in his chest. Your comment HUMORED him. He leaned over you, his clothed cock up against your back. He was dangerous now, “Stupid little girl. They all think like that, but yet I'm still here. Everyone thinks they can kill a ghost. But not even a man could do it. What makes you think a silly little girl would be able to? I bet if I fucked you hard enough, you'd forget how to even hold a gun.”

You swallowed and squirmed under his rough touch, “Fuck you.”

  “Oh no, girlie. I'm going to fuck you. And I'm going to make sure that it all takes. Hard to be on the field when you got two little Riley boys inside of ya.” It was almost  a threat.

And yet you were aroused.

He rubbed his cock up against your ass more. Some of the wetness from your pussy smeared against the front of his uniform pants. He shuddered in response, he too was getting aroused.

He had you by the back of the neck now to keep you pinned to the wood of the desk. Under his rough touch, where you belonged.

  “I know you better. I know you want that kind of life. I know you hate this, that's why you're always actin' up. So I punished you, the only one who'll stand up to you. Maybe I should breed ya sooner rather than later. Leave you all achy and sore because my brats won't give you a moment of peace. Then you leave the army and move somewhere quiet to raise the hellions. But we're not stopping at two.” He let go of you to undo his pants, “I'm thinkin' closer to five. Something to keep your hands full.”

You stayed still as he got his impressive cock out his pants. You trembled as he rubbed it up against you, occasionally brushing against your pussy. You whimpered pathetically, which only made him chuckle.

   “Stupid girl.” He said.

  “Please.” You whimpered.

He smirked under the mask, “You'll learn.” Then with one hand on your neck and the other on his cock. He guided his length into your sweet sex.

You tensed up and shifted as best as you could to make the stretch more bearable. It still stings every time. It felt like it pushed your organs into your throat. Especially when he was battering your poor cervix.

He groaned, it came from deep in his chest as he felt your tight heat around his cock. It felt so good. It was a rush he couldn't find anywhere else.

  “See, a nice hole to fuck. A nice womb to breed. Now stay there and let me do all the work. Just try not to wake up the whole base by being a loud mouth whore.” His voice stung but it only made the slick between your legs grow.

Simon was something else in the bedroom. When he had you under his thumb like this. You felt your eyes roll back a little from the sheer force of his thrusts.

  “Fuck.” You moaned.

  “That's it, that's my girl. My good girl. See you don't have to be runnin' around like a lost puppy. You just need me to fill your holes and make ya feel good.” His voice was low and gruff. It made you hot all over.

  “Please, Simon.” You arched your back as his pace became brutal. You clawed at the wood of the desk and felt his hard cock bully against the end of your pussy.

 “I wanna mark ya, inside and out.” He said, “Keep ya nice and fat with my kids.” He chuckled as he pulled the mask up once more and began to kiss at your neck. His hands were on your breasts over your shirt.

He toyed with them, large hands massaged them. You let out a small noise from the tiny bit of pain he caused you. You arched your back more and held onto the desk tighter.

The sounds of sex filled the air between you two as he fucked you bareback. He was so domineering, so strong that it made you a little weak in the knees.

  “You're mine, lovie. Mine to fuck, breed, own.” He grunted, “No need to think with that head of yours when you got kids to chase down. At home, safe and sound. Where you belong.”

You whimpered and tried to come up with a response. But it was near impossible to come up with something when it felt like his cock was nudging up against your broca area in your head.

  “Please.”

He chuckled darkly, “That's what I thought. Good girl.” He continued his rough pace. The desk creaked under the both of you as he held you tightly against him. His hands grabbed at your breasts further.

You wondered how dark the bruises would be on your chest.

  “I can't get enough of you. That's why I have to keep ya safe. Keep you bred like a good girl, you'd like that wouldn't ya.”

  “Simon, ah!” You whimpered as you felt pleasure course through your body. You felt trapped between his thick body and the heavy wood of the desk as he battered against your womb.

He kissed your neck once more, “You'd look so good. Knowing I take care of everything. You just have to sit there and look pretty. Cook me some meals, put the kids to bed and stop this little goal of being the best.”

You swallowed. When he praised you like this, when you behaved you were his good girl. When he was able to soak your insides with his cum, you were his favorite girl.

He'd only breed a good girl. Not the delinquent you once were. He wanted a proper wife, who'd raise his kids RIGHT. He watched your back arched and came to the conclusion that you COULD behave.

You just needed a full womb first to reach your potential.

The two of you continued to fuck. You let out small moans as your body was used like a toy. Simon made sure to make you feel good even if it felt like he was moving your stomach into your throat.

  “Good breedin' girl.” He purred, “I make you good, silly girls like you need to be kept bred so you keep out of trouble. But don't worry, I'll make that happen. Nothing won't fix ya like a couple of kids and a big house.”

You whimpered and he turned your head to him so you could passionately make out. He rutted against you and your body screamed for him.

You gasped into the kiss as he grabbed your hips one more time. The sound of the desk scratching against the floor mixed with your noises and the general noises of sex was all you could hear in the room.

  “Please.” You moaned. You had been told your entire life that you could do anything. That you were invincible. Nothing could stop a powerhouse like you. As Simon said, ra ra girl power. But a part of you deep in your core wanted to be a dumb little housewife, servicing a husband and keeping the babies taken care of.

You moaned into the kiss once more before he pulled away and grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back. He leaned in and took in your scent.

  “I want to ruin you for other men.” He said honestly. His own primal urge to breed with the little girlie hanging around the base.

If he didn't breed you and kept you taken care of, then a worse man would. One who didn't know every inch of your skin, or didn't understand what your true intentions in life were.

But he'd take care of you, that was a promise. Nothing was going to stop him from taking what was his. And if he kept your womb nice and painted, then no other man could do it. He'd make sure you reeked of his cum at all times.

  “Ah!” You gasped.

  “Good girl.” He purred.

You felt pleasure begin to run through your body. Your body ached for him. Your legs trembled as he continued to thrust deep into you. It was a good kind of pain, the kind that left you panting.

  “Fuck.” He grumbled, “Fuckin' good girl for me.”

  “Please, Simon. Ah! Breed me.“ You groaned in response. The feeling was becoming overwhelming and left you in a state of euphoria.

You two panted and groaned as your bodies moved together. You held onto the wood and let him do as he wished with your body.

After all, he knew better.

With a few more hard thrusts, you both finished at the same time. You could feel his hot cum deep in you. You whined as you went flat against the desk, your brain felt like it had broken in half from the intense feeling.

Simo slowed down and laid on the last smack on your ass before he pulled the mask down. He held your hips and gave one last push inside of you to make sure it was all inside of you.

He chuckled and pulled out, ”Good girl.“ He said, ”Now take it all and make me a few brats. If not, we'll just keep trying'.“

His breathing was heavy as he pulled you away from the desk and got your underwear over your ass. THe drips of cum that spilled out made a dark patch on the front of the panties.

Your head was in a daze, your hair a mess. You couldn't even keep your mouth fully closed. He pushed back your hair and pulled you into his arms.

  ”Alright my stupid little wife, why don't you come back to your senses before I send you out.“ His hand dipped back into your pants as he played with your clit.

Maybe he'd need to take you a few more times before it all took? That didn't sound like a bad idea. Keep you out of the office and in his bed till there was no choice but for you to get pregnant.

A shiver ran through him at the thought. He agreed with himself. That did sound like a good idea.

Anything to keep his dumb little girl nice and bred.

xoxo, bunny

[cloudcountry]

Hi AUBURN!! YOU HIT 3K, CONGRATS OMG THATS AMAZING! I wish you health and so so so much happiness ❤️❤️

Would it be alright if I asked for a slice of baklava (I'm so down bad) with strawberry bubble tea? (IM SO FUCKING DOWN BAD)

*sneakily slides a 100 dollar bill over* wink wink

YOU DIDNT PICK A CUP SO UH. WILD CARD.

an order of romantic fluff with jamil viper!

The hotel room smells of coffee and the noises from the city and far more muted than he thought they would be. The dinner he ate with you sits heavy in his stomach, along with the anxiety of knowing it’s just the two of you.

Is this a bad idea?

It could turn bad very quickly. It’s not because of you (never because of you) because he’s the one with all of the baggage, all of the issues, all of the ugly things you’ve taken into your hands and helped him with, even though his situation has not changed.

Even though his situation may never change. But among the things that will never change, there is you, and your never-ending patience for him. It flows like a river, nourishing him until he can stand tall again after a hard days work, just like you used to do in school.

But you’re not in school anymore. You’re celebrating your four year anniversary, and Jamil is so happy you’ve made him your home.

He’s old enough now to acknowledge just how much he suffered, and he’s old enough now to know that the bitterness and anger at how he was treated will never leave him. You never once expected it to, which is one of the may reasons why he cares so much for you.

You step out of the bathroom, hair freshly washed, sparkling with joy. He sees the age in your skin, the way your eyes crinkle, he sees the way you turn to him and smile so sweetly. He knows he looks much older, too.

His fingers toy with the little box he has clenched in his hand.

Were his palms always this sweaty?

He squares his shoulders, opens his mouth to finally pop the question, and prepares to accept the role of husband, if you’ll have him.

[rookiesbookies]

Pregnant brat reader here with a sfw req this time with the same cod men from before bc that was scrumptious

The men are in the nursery, cradling their newborn to soothe them. Reader walks behind them, kissing their cheek (or wherever she can reach) and she whispers “I just fell in love with you all over again.”

Can you tell I have severe baby fever atm

Oh its ok I get baby fever too. If I wasn’t still too young and trying to get a degree first, oh boy. I also get it every time I look at Neil Ellice’s face (Soap’s va/reference).

Lowkey you’re making me fall more in love with these boys, hope this is all you hoped for my loving anon.

To all my readers and anons- Keep requesting this account is my hobby LMAO

Price

Price is already softly crying but now you’ve made this man want to sob. He puts the baby down since it’s late, poor thing basically just got cleared to go home.

He kneels by the crib, finger still in the baby’s grasp as it sleeps and Price is just done for. He’s doing everything possible not to wake this baby. He’s so grateful he got this chance, and he’s not going to waste it.

Now Price is going to need soothing because his heart can’t take this moment. His hand is over his mouth to help him choke down sobs. Just you and him and now the kid he always dreamed of? He’s going to be the best dad and there’s nothing that can stop him.

Soap

It’s crazy how forgetting to put on a condom once can change your whole life.

He immediately plants a kiss back on your head, telling you to go get rest. He’s going to spend the first months of this baby’s life sleeping in the room with it. The faintest cry or struggle has him up. He’s already got it all planned.

Never going to make this life feel like an accident, no this child is an accomplishment of good sex and a wonderful choice to keep it. Maybe it wasn’t an accident after all, maybe it was meant to be.

He mumbles all kinds of thanks to the universe. He’s already named Simon and the rest of the 141 the godfathers, he couldn’t stop making mafia jokes. But now he has no jokes or witty comments, just love for his wife and his baby.

Ghost

Simon is scared shitless.

He lost his last family, he can’t lose this one too. He’s already updated the house’s security. But maybe he should upgrade it more. There’s so much more he can do, he can feel his heart rate rising.

He mumbled endless promises of safety. You have to remind him the live in the moment, that those are all things that he can do tomorrow.

Thats when he starts to get emotional. You can see it in how he squints before he pulled off his baklava.

This is one of two days that’s proven Simon Riley still exists somewhere in Ghost. This proves that Simon Riley didn’t die. This proves what Price told you when you married him, that Ghost was a fortress built to protect Simon.

Gaz

He’s been crying since the baby was born. It’s not sobs but to him this child is the ultimate testimony of your love. Of your marriage even. He still doesn’t believe it. His world now revolves around this baby.

He still doesn’t believe its his child. Sure it looks like him but would an angel like you truly grace him with this? After all the terrible things he’s done and seen in the midst of battle?

He plants a kiss right back, running his thumb over the cheek of the baby. He knows he has to put it to bed but can't he hold his kid a little longer?

He may just stay here, just for one night. Just with his kid. He has so many stories to tell. He has to introduce the baby to his team and his family.

He knows he has to wait, but he cant help it.

Konig

He still doesn’t believe it. His anxiety tells him it’s a trap set by the enemy, that he couldn’t be loved, that a woman wouldn’t want to have his offspring.

But that all melts away when he turns to see you. He’s holding a baby he was surprised your body could push out, he knows this child is his without a doubt because of its sheer size and weight.

He places fluttering kisses all over your face.

He mentions keeping the baby in your shared room, just so he can keep an eye on it he swears. Oh he promises it won’t disturb you he swears.

It wasn’t even an option to tell him no, he was already carrying the baby in on arm with a secure hold and the crib in another. He hasn’t taken his eyes off your baby for even a second and getting him to sleep will be another struggle.

Krueger

Sebastian isn’t crying, you’re crying. What do you mean there’s tears coming down his face? No, that's sweat, it’s really warm.

He never needed you to tell him you loved him at the start, but when you started to he realized his heart wasn’t made of stone after all.

Now he’s holding this little creature thats half you and half him and he’s just breaking down.

This is a second chance at life for him and he swears he’s going to do better than he started off with.

In your eyes, this murderer looks like an angel with the light seeping softly through the windows against him as he holds your sweet baby.

For the first time in a long time, he prays. He prays to not mess up and for protection for his family. Its soft, under his breath and you would barely hear it, but he prays.

Keegan

When the baby was born the whole team of ghosts showed up. It was a moment of pride.

He turns to kiss your lips right back as he walks over to the rocking chair. Oh he could get the baby a little mask and armor. Could be a mini ghost.

The team fell straight in love but none could love this baby more than Keegan.

And how he looks at you? Its like you hung the stars… which you did help him do, there’s lots of stars hanging from the nursery ceiling, but you gave him a baby. He would trade the sun for his little family, unafraid of turning nocturnal if it meant keeping this moment.

He mumbled about this meaning worth all the fighting. Promises to always come home falling from his mouth so easily.

Edit: im dropping this incase you havent seen it tol

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

[glassrowboat]

Ruffled Crow. Dottore.

Really just a few headcanons.

Dottore, once upon a time, used to be really bad about safety measures once upon a time, but now there's eyelash stations in every section of his lab along with showers and signs to remind people to wear their safety glasses on every door. Though, he did assign the task of handling that to his segments.

Each segments hair is synthetic, so instead of it being able to grow itself they would have to uproot their hair and fix a new one much like you would do a doll for their new wig (aka the good old push pin method) if they wish to change it.

Dottore has a chemical burn under his mask from an experiment gone awry that caused one of his eyes to go blind. Nowadays, it's been changed out for a robotic eye. It may or may not be like bluetooth connected to the monitor on his mask.

The bracelet Yelan lost that she cherished as family heirloom was actually made by him. When he was in that lab in Liyue (Childe’s story quest for a reminder) he had started tinkering with the idea of making the prototype for what is now his network with how Dottore communicates with his segments. This is why he ended up breaking out in a hysterical fit of laughter when Pantalone brought it to him one day out of the blue and asked him if he knew what it was. 

He knows how to swing dance. It's just you have to be careful with him because those stupid (cunty) boots of his are a hazard. One time they may have even gotten caught on your pants leg and tripped him. A fact he still denies. 

Dottore has a child segment he finds himself disassembling and reassembling every few years. To see the face his own parents turned away running around with a smile, giddy and without worry, is something that always has his stomach turning without fail. So wouldn't it make sense he simply ignores the thing before he turns it to a pile of parts again? So why is he currently building the little boy again with gritted teeth?

Major sweet tooth. To the point he had done some bullshit scientific method to make the perfect baklava. Still, Dottore finds himself preferring the one his mother made.

He does not have any game. Sorry guys, but this is the same man who prefers to hide away in his lab rather than interact with other people. You can't tell me he knows how to flirt, and it ends up affecting any romantic relationship he has because he knows about such practices in theory, but not in reality. It can make his time with you rather....well, let's just say he tries.

(Welder Dottore is so real in my heart, guys) The reason Dottore's bangs are uneven isn't because of a fashion choice, despite the fact he says it is. Rather, it's because one time when he got too wrapped up in his excitement, Dottore didn't properly secure his hair behind the welding mask, and it caught on fire. The only reason he hasn't let it grow back out is because he knows Pantalone would call him out that it was never a fashion choice in the first place. 

He has worked with Sandrone on multiple projects. Their research tends to lean towards the same subject, so it only makes sense that they have collaborated multiple times even if their interactions can be tense and full of snark. But a like, mind that can challenge your ideas is what Dottore needs so he can reach new heights, no? 

His sharp teeth aren't natural. They're the result of one of his first experiments. After all, he didn't have any willing subjects besides himself now, did he?

[uknowmesblog]

Ah, ah, I am an awful person for taking so long to write again.

Guilty as charged, I had a hell of week and It's still going strong. Pray for my soul, I have flour in my nose.

!!TW!!

FOUL language, kind off groping/pawing. Soft punisment. Virgin Reader. (I m a sucker for this trope and I won't be sorry)

No minors pls, I can't deal with this.

Also, does anyone know how to do a materialist? I m not the smartest 🤓

Oh what a debriefing it was, hands on you all the time. Small whispers almost passed without a second thought, your pussy literally weeping every time Johnny threw one of his panty-melting smile. You left the space dizzy, barely remembering where is that damned room you we're assigned, your mind a battle ground between hating the situation you are in and enjoying all the attention you could get.

Male attention wasn't a thing in your life, your dad scarring them like he was a rabid dog. No one will touch the daughter of a high military rank man, risking to dissappear like dust in wind out of nowhere.

And when you grew up? Your mind was already made, you would grow old with lots of cats and maybe a parrot just for the effect. Lost was the idea of even a fuck, your virginity now collecting dust figuratively.

Now two men, three if you take in consideration Price who's smirking from time to time, gave you more attention and more touches than you could register in your slow mind. (If you'll have awareness, you would count four.)

"Jesus christ" You sighed, closing your door and resting your forehead against it, cool wood taking the edge off a bit. After diner you had plans, something soft for your first night ready. Nothing scandalous, just taking a break.

═════ ◈ ═════ 

Dinner passed fast, you had some kind chicken and mashed potatoes. Good enough to not starve, you almost had a tantrum over the fact there wasn't dessert but one glare from Ghost had you bite your tongue. His baklava rised over his nose, scarred full lips staying flat as you glared at your food.

You listened as everyone was moving around their rooms until silence enveloped the whole space and you gracefully tiptoed outside, finding a spot concealed in shadows under the full moon.

It's cold, your fingers tightened around the pack of smokes as you seated yourself on some sort of decorative rock. A military base with decorative rocks, making you snort as your lips wrapped around a cigarette. You didn't smoke in a while, deciding is way too expensive and your budget was tight as a nun's ass. But now you had enough to live off a while, maybe two months at best.

Your new salary sounds good on paper, but it is worthy to risk your whole life for extra money? You don't have an answer as you look at the sky, lips puffin a cigarette. Your eyes fall on your phone, distracted by the sound of it, not hearing the silent men with a skull baklava approaching you.

One palm wrapped around your mouth, the other gripping your wrist making you drop your phone on the floor.

"Shh, it's jus' me" He whispered, hot breath fanning against your neck. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he only tightened his hold on you. You huffed annoyed, his low and raspy chuckle making you shiver.

"You are such an annoying little doll, aren't you?" His hand leave your mouth, wrapping around your throat. "So mouthy, so bratty" his hand travelled further down, making your breath hitch.

"Now keep it nice and quiet for me luv, your punishment will be easy tonight"

His fingers cupped your cunt over your pants, making you yelp and trash. He slapped it twice stopping you yelp, stopping all the movements.

"Stay still, you won't want Johnny to hear you, he will be between these pretty thighs s'fast you will cum before even thinking about it."

Your eyes rolled back, his fingers dropping under your waistband and finding your dripping pussy welcoming all hot and bothered.

One finger gingerly rubbing your clit, your breath coming out panting. This is so wrong, deep in your mind you know this is power imbalance and he shouldn't be doing this.

You should stop this, you should cry for help.

But a depraved part in you it's enjoying the way his fingers are working you higher and higher, so close to -

"No, not tonight ' He retreated himself so fast, like you are burning and he just got some of it.

"W-what?" You blinked, confused and worked up.

"Good girls receive pleasure, brats receive the punishment. " The audacity of this man, made you open your mouth instantly.

"Isn't like I can touch myself?"

"You could do that and receive a worde punishment " He looked at you with that impassive face, the only thing showing his sick pleasure it's the bulge that was showing off a lil too much.

"And trust me I will now" He grunted, tilting his head.

"You can't be serious, you can't just ban masturbating"

"Watch me, if you want me to finish what I started, you can beg tomorrow on your knees." He turned around, leaving you flustered and confused. Red cheeks, eyes ready to shed tears and a pussy leaking wetness ready to be stuffed.

Your plan just backfired, you need to find something new thats sure!

@brxghtlxghtz @niresenrab @nes-kopi @chickennn-soupp @clear-your-mind-and-dream

Its short ik ik, Don't kill me.

I had some time today at work and I said why not? I need a break from life.

[37sommz-archive]

✼. INVITATION | 2019.

CH. 05. NOW PLAYING: essence by wizkid [fluff, suggestive]. ✼.⠀summary: michaela makes a promise, 2.5k. ✼.⠀view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request.

✼.⠀MARCH 14, 2019 — melbourne, australia

“P9, Michaela. That is points at home; well done.” 

Eugenio’s voice crackled into Michaela’s helmet. The celebratory shower of applause from the Alfa Romeo garage echoed alongside his voice, adding to the near imperceptibility of his speech. 

Though the sweat from the Melbourne heat simmered underneath Michaela’s baklava, she could only focus on the calming fact relayed to her by her engineer—points in her debut race. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you all. Cheers to the new season,” she responded with a sigh of satisfaction. It wasn’t long after that when she heard her father's voice leak into the radio. A gentle, “Amazing drive, Mickey. We’re eternally proud” only magnified the moment's euphoria. 

Though it was nowhere close to a podium, Michaela figured keeping up with Kimi Raikkonen just ahead in P8 was more than worth celebrating. Finally reaching the garage and kicking the engine off, Michaela hopped out of the car's cockpit with practiced grace. Fist bumps and energized embraces from the team personnel eager to congratulate the rookie driver.

Rushing to embrace her family before turning away to be weighed, her sister, Courtney, was the one to remind her that she had joined a small list of modern drivers who had scored on debut. A whisper of Hamilton and Prost and Villeneuve slipped through her lips and into the shy ears of her younger sister. 

Varied strengths of celebratory pats and friendly hugs kept Michaela in a daze as she floated from the Alfa Romeo garage to the weighing platform. Words of congratulatory relief left the lips of the remaining 17 drivers excluded from the parc ferme madness. 

As she pulled the straw of her energy drink to her mouth, a particularly firm clap on the back shook her from her daze. A familiar German accent filled her ears before she could fully regain control of her breathing. 

“You might have the biggest balls here. Solid drive, Mick.” Helmet in hand, Sebastian Vettel’s acknowledgment drew chuckles of appreciation from the nearby Perez and Hulkenberg. 

Rolling her eyes in response to the senior driver’s sense of humor, Michaela threw a friendly punch into his shoulder. Quickly engaging in light-hearted conversation with a few of the surrounding drivers, Michaela found herself back in that daze. As if totally disconnected from her body, it wasn’t until she was sitting on the floor of her parents’ living room that Michaela realized the magnitude of her achievement. 

The Sommers had taken it upon themselves to invite several drivers to a small cookout after the race. Though George, Lando, Alex, and Pierre, the usual guests, had made their way over, Pierre and Lando’s parents were in tow. Michaela was more than shocked to see Antonio Giovinazzi find his way among the group. Somebody—likely her father—must have extended his invitation to a plus one, Michaela figured. The familiar face of his friend Olivier stood out to her almost immediately. 

Between the chilly November night, they shared in Abu Dhabi and the race in Melbourne, the two had shared little more than polite half acknowledgments. Michaela never got around to calling him back. Not that she planned on it or even truly believed he’d give her the time of day. It must have been that same sense of self-sabotage that Pierre had once mused would “obliterate any potential for romance.” She had called him a dick at the time, remembering the long eye roll she responded with at the time. Sitting there on the floor with her head leaned against her mother’s legs, her hands pulling Michaela’s hair into two neat Dutch braids, she couldn’t help but realize he was right. As he often was, frustratingly. 

It was Pierre’s mother’s words that shook her out of her thoughts. “Have you met Antonio’s friend? The French one?” The question was innocent, but Michaela couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the older woman knew more about him than she let on.

“Briefly,” she decided would suffice to satiate Pascale’s curiosity. Sitting to his mother’s left, Pierre seemed to perk up at the mention of Olivier. Leaning over to mention something to his mother in French, Michaela gritted her teeth as she strained to catch what the Frenchman could be saying. 

“English, Pierre,” she almost begged, embarrassment written all over her face. 

Her mother and sister sensed the discomfort on the youngest Sommers’ face. Courtney, jumping up to sit on the other side of Pierre, tapped him on the shoulder. Reciprocating her energy, Pierre whispered into her ear as well. A delighted laugh left the lips of the Australian two years his senior. 

Courtney let out a more boisterous laugh in response to her younger sister’s irritation. Her amusement spurred on additional laughter from Pascale and Pierre, who were both keen on the secret. Catching her breath, Courtney couldn’t shake the smile adorning her glossed lips, the very same brand Michaela used for hers, at the newly revealed information.

“You know him?” Courtney almost exclaimed from her seat directly across from her sister. Rolling her eyes once she recognized the hidden implications of Courtney’s question, Michaela sighed against Miriam’s legs. 

“Yeah, he used to drive F3,” she muttered. Miriam began to chuckle herself, knowing her daughter’s self-imposed avoidance of romantic interaction. “Not with me, though.” The words are tacked on quietly, parroting information she learned from Antonio—Alfa Romeo’s reserve driver.

“Where did you even meet him?” Miriam questioned calmly, trying—more than could be said about the giggling pair of 20-somethings—not to set off the youngest child.

“In Abu Dhabi,” was muttering one more by the embarrassed Australian. “He was at the club I went to with Alex.” Finally catching on to the unspoken, Miriam’s words faltered in her throat until she caught Pascale’s eyes and fell into a fit of laughter herself. A short “Oh!” left her lips between her amusement, triggering a teasing snicker from Pierre.

“Did you text him back?” He spoke up from his side of the room. A glint in his eyes not unfamiliar to Michaela made her skeptical of his intentions in posing the question.

“No…” she drawled out slowly, eyes squinting at the older driver. A sudden gasp from Pascale broke their staring contest, and she excitedly spoke with a clap of her hands.

“Why not? He’s so sweet, and he’s French!” Her eyes widened cartoonishly. The blues become brighter still as she symbolically adopts a schoolgirl’s interest in Michaela’s love life.

Miriam’s amused chuckle at the added “qualification” only added to the heat Michaela couldn’t shake from her face. The embarrassment seemed to radiate off of her very being, only serving to make her increasingly wary of drawing attention from the other side of the room. 

When her mother laughed, her father noticed. It was one of the criteria a younger Courtney had added to her blue and purple ‘Cute Things Daddy Does for Mummy’ list, the same one that still hung in her childhood room. Michaela remembers the differences in their rooms, even in their childhood years. Courtney, the romantic, decorated her room head to toe with posters from her favorite movies, while Michaela, the anti-romantic, hoarded posters of her favorite circuits.

“I don’t do relationships,” Michaela spoke under her breath. Her hands found their way to her warm cheeks, wishing them to cool down before turning her attention away from the group, catching sight of her father seated with a beer in his hand, speaking animatedly—by some cruel coincidence—with Olivier.

“It’s lonely at the top,” Miriam hummed, reaching for her glass of wine. As Michaela exhaled deeply in response, Pascale echoed the statement hanging in the air. “If you’re worried about a man understanding your commitment to your career, don’t waste your time. They won’t.”

Hums of appreciation spiral through the air from the three other women in the small circle. Michaela catches Pierre’s eyes, suppressing a giggle as it rips through her. A bratty scowl rested upon his face at his mother’s words, his mind scrambling to find the right words to defend himself in an effort to prove he was exempt from her quip. 

Before he could get the words out, his mother added to her statement. A carefree, “Just find a polite one and keep him around for a good lay” leaves Pascale’s lips before the rest of them can even begin to process the thought. It is Miriam who chokes on her wine first, reaching over the center table to grasp the Frenchwoman’s hand in her own. The two parents giggle together over the idea as if a congratulations. 

Their three children look on with uncomfortable sighs, Michaela herself seemingly the most painful. Her lips curl up into a tense grimace before a deeper set of voices snaps her out of her discomfort. A low French accent hits her ears first before the others—Italian and Australian—can strike her as familiar. Her heart quickens once she lays eyes on the owner of the husky voice, his hazel eyes having yearned for hers from across the room over the last several hours. 

Ignoring Pierre's stray whistle coinciding with his mother's shushes, Michaela shakes herself from her lavender cloud. A quirk of his head towards the kitchen is all it takes to rouse her from her place on the floor. She could not bring herself to care if she were aware of the eyes tracking their movements. The husk of his scent and the drawl in his voice almost hypnotized her from the beginning.

Only vaguely aware of the sound that fails to emit from the shocked few now seated in the living room, Michaela finds comfort leaning into the countertop behind her. Olivier’s near-golden eyes sweep the length of her body, leaving her burning to feel his touch on her. It is a clear of his throat that only accelerates her misery, pulling in a breath as his hand sweeps through his dark curls. 

“So?” is what Olivier opens with. A twitch in her features draws a small chuckle out of him. “If I was that bad, you should have just told me then.” When Michaela can only furrow her eyebrows in confusion, he laughs once more. His hand lifts his beer to his lips, taking a gulp as if drawing strength from the alcohol. 

“You never called,” he almost whispers as if embarrassed. The odd tone strikes Michaela, who straightens up in anticipation of his following words. “You wanted me to call?” Her voice is just as soft as his, and her eyes struggle to look anywhere but into his. 

He waves off the question with an immediate scoff, breaking eye contact for just a moment as he carefully places his chilled beer on the counter behind him. Taking a confident step forward, a hand reaches out to her before hesitating and falling back to his side. 

Deciding to cross them, he answers her decisively, “Of course, I wanted the pretty girl to call.” It’s smooth as it rolls off his tongue, twirling with the French accent that dances through the sentence. This time, it was Michaela’s turn to break eye contact, the ‘pretty girl’ being the last thing she heard before falling back into her desperate yearning.

“Plus, I’m quite a fan of yours.” 

The sentence draws a giggle out of an embarrassed Michaela. The Australian’s heart fluttered beneath her blushing skin, leaving Olivier with practical stars in his eyes as he watched her fluster. Anyone else would find the behavior distinctly out of character for the ultra-competitive driver. Her usual gentle cockiness was replaced with an unfamiliar coyness that nearly left her paralyzed to his charms. 

Wordlessly, Michaela finds a surge of courage, tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder before taking a step forward to shorten the gap floating between the two of them. The move brings a falter to her steps as she takes in a whiff of his cologne. Expensive-smelling is what she decided the scent was. As Michaela places her out in wait, Olivier’s features twist with confusion. 

Her simple request, "Hand me your phone, I'll put my number in," shocks him immensely. 

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken promise. A scoff leaves his lips, a playful sound that betrays the spark of curiosity in his eyes. In one fluid motion, his honey-toned hand reaches into his pocket, releasing his phone from its confines and placing it in her waiting hands. Her short, manicured fingers wrap around the device, the touch sending a jolt of anticipation through him.

With an ease that hints at a confidence typically seen in her Sauber racesuits, Michaela's thumbs dance across the screen, her name and number slowly appearing on his contacts list. She adds the details with a quickness, a desire to commit to the action before her mind can intervene. 

"Okay?" 

The question is a challenge, her voice laced with a vulnerability that dares him to reject her. Her lips quirk upwards, a gentle smile that contrasts with the doe eyes locked on his, pleading for approval.

"Perfect." 

The affirmation falls from the Frenchman's lips, the single word a decisive praise that sparks a giggle from Michaela. A uncharacteristically delicate hand rises to cover the lower half of her face, as if willing herself to hide her reaction. The sound is melodic, a sweet note that hangs in the air between them.

The room around them fades into the background, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses receding until all that remains is the crackle of tension between their bodies. It is Olivier who bridges the nearly nonexistent gap, his movements an act of casual seduction. A hand snakes down to rest on the curve of her lower back, the touch sending a shiver down her spine. His fingers draw loose circles into the material of her shirt, the caress featherlight yet full of intent.

As if drawn by an unseen force, Michaela's hands find their way up the length of his firm torso, coming to rest on the broad expanse of his shoulders. The contact burns unexpectedly, the heat of his skin seeping into hers. The air between them thickens, heavy with the weight of unspoken promises. His breath intermingles with hers, a mix of anticipation and desire. 

"Promise you'll answer?" 

The question is a whispered desperation, a plea for reassurance.

Words become useless as her lips find his, the contact a jolt of electricity that sears through them. The 'yes' is unspoken, conveyed in the press of her mouth and in the sweep of her tongue. She pulls away before he can fully process the sensation, leaving him longing, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic motion. A soft "I promise" is her parting gift, the honeyed words hanging in the air like a promise of more to come.

With a grace that contradicts the turmoil bubbling inside her, Michaela leaves the kitchen, her steps a slow withdrawal back into the familiar safety of the living room. He remains still, his phone still clutched in his hand, her number and name staring back at him. A challenge and invitation consuming him totally.

✼.⠀taglist:⠀

@cha-hot @certifiedlesbianbaddie @nichmeddar

@d3kstar @thewannabewriter @hwalllllllelujah

@pacmacs-macs @thearchieves @doodlehunz

@lavisenri @evie-119 @bxdbxtxh

@seaweed-orchid @glitterquadricorn @99snse

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@emilyval1 @scarlettwidow3000 @anotherblackreader

@sv5beehives @mynameisangeloflife @tellybearryyyy

@melancholyy-hill

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXX. “gut feeling”

parts: previous / next

plot: in an untoward evening, Bruce gets protective.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, violence, drugging, aggression, description of injury, angst, nausea/vomit, basically Gotham being Gotham

words: 6.7k

a/n: oooowieeee Bruce is really starting to show his more flustered side 🤭

PHOTOS: EMT Says Bruce Wayne “Lucky to be Alive" After Harrowing Crash on Tower Grounds

You'd been walking the sidewalk just before Rai's when you got the news alert. Even with his warning, one that left you for a few seconds when first staring at the phone, it was like being pummeled by a brick. Tethered to your screen, flipping through the photos TMZ posted like they were scripture. After a few heavy exhales, you gathered yourself enough to walk inside. The familiar 'Welcome in!' before a double-take. "Y/N? What are you doing here? You said you left?"

In all honesty you'd forgotten about your last conversation, the last moments before tragedy, and hadn't prepared for what you'd say to people outside of what you were to tell Mar. You did your best to laugh it off, but he wasn't taking it. He walked around the register and stood in front of you, right by the Oreos. "Always been able to read you, friend. Tell me, what's on your mind?"

Ding! The door opened to a cluster of women and Rai gave you a playful finger wag. "Foiled this time."

You joined half of the pack as they perused the drink aisle, then the other that clustered by the deli. He was almost out of tabbouleh, and the second best thing in your opinion—baklava—was being thirsted after by the two people in front. You decided to get some pita and hummus to go.

Rai didn't have time to talk to you with the line of people behind you, and for a brief moment you thought about staying—but your bed was calling your name, so you kept it simple. "I decided to stay for a few more weeks, at the very least. I'll be back soon for more tabbouleh." You winked at him, smiled, and found yourself right back where you had rotted the past 36 hours.

Rai sent you a text about fifteen minutes later. Heard you're a big journalist now girl! How does it feel to be published?

The message stopped you in your tracks; it was the first time someone had mentioned the interview without also mentioning Bruce Wayne. It brought tears to your eyes. He was the first person truly interested in your experience with it, about how it was just a project, not the person, that was the cool part.

I'm staying a bit longer for the election. Especially with how much traction my interview got, I think I carved out some legitimacy for myself to maybe make a difference reporting on the mayoral campaign.

He must've gotten swamped because your next text from him wasn't until an hour later. Whatever keeps you near Gotham and tabbouleh makes me happy. Bouleh on me next visit.

It was a running joke how often you ordered it; it was almost a hyperfixation, the flavor of it orienting you to time and place whenever things got harried. You learned a few months after being here that you needed some routine and, well. That was yours. The glow of your iPad screen was also an ever-present friend:

SEARCH: Marian Grange

Google showed that Grange was the former district attorney, a big-time lawyer taking on some very high profile cases in her time. A handful of years ago she had made her way to Gotham—notably, with just enough years of residency to run for Mayor this calendar year. Since coming to the city, she hadn't taken on any more cases, submitting wholly to the pursuit of... socializing? She was often pictured with the elite, holding hands with a beaming smile, endlessly pictured throughout her public-facing Instagram going to various fundraisers and luncheons. Per her campaign website, she wanted to stop the 'targeting' of the city's rich. Out of the many filler words on her 'issues' page, that was the only information you could glean.

SEARCH: Sebastian Hady

Hady's 'issues' page was a bit more complex: in addition to his position of taxing the churches, he wanted to put out an immediate hit on the batman. He'd attempted to run for mayor in the past two elections, falling short of winning enough votes to make the final matchup, and it was clear why: his politics were inconsistent. Tax the churches, but don't tax the wealthy; increase taxes on the poor, so they could 'bootstrap' their way out of their 'unfortunate predicament'. As out of touch as Grange was, Hady made your stomach flip. He'd been a political science major, with no real experience due to being denied access to Gotham University's Public Administration graduate program. Outside of running incessant campaign ads on late-night television and blaring his oversaturated frame across the city streets, he'd mostly laid low.

SEARCH: Lincoln March

BRRT BRRT. BRRT BRRT. "Mar?"

"Have you seen the news? I didn't have any reception in the lounge."

Every time she went to the Iceberg Lounge you wanted to hold her by her collar and give her a desperate talking-to. You gripped the phone tighter. "It's dangerous, you know the type of shady shit that's gone down there the past few years?"

"So you haven't seen it." She slurped away on a drink. “Sour as hell.”

Ding! You pulled your phone away from your ear to see the TMZ article. Your gut cinched.

"It's all anyone's talking about. People are getting into massive arguments on Scypher about it, it's fucking crazy."

"Arguments?" You bit the inside of your cheek.

She scoffed on the other line. "You're joking, right? Some people are saying he was DOA and had to be revived!"

A lurching clump of bile hurtled into your mouth, forcing you to double over and squeeze your mouth shut. Everything about that sentence haunted you, from the almost incredulous way she delivered it to Gotham's colloquial use of shorthand when describing being killed. He might've been fucking dead? Fuck, fuck...

"Hello? Y/N? Hello?" She groaned. "You're acting weird. Haven't even told me why you're still in the city."

"Don't you think it's a heavy fucking thing to talk about like that? You can't throw around someone being, someone being fucking, dead!" You were more shrill than you meant to be, but you didn't exactly have the resources to control your tone while you clutched your stomach and held your breath, not wanting to taste the vomit you'd just swallowed.

"Shiiit, I thought you didn't like him." If she turns this into a conversation about dating...

"I already saw it earlier."

"Think it'll interfere with your interview?" The sound of background whistling and whooping created an unsettling soundscape.

"I really don't care if it does."

"Pretty rude of the guy, in my opinion. Stealing your thunder like that?"

She's drunk. She doesn't know any better. Hell, might even be wasted. Still, your hand shook with anger to the point you had to set the phone on your comforter and scoot back from it. You pressed your palms flat against your mouth to keep from screaming. Screaming what, you didn't know. You were beginning to understand what it was like for Bruce to talk to you as you struggled to speak through gritted teeth. "That's really disrespectful, Mar."

"I'm jooookingg!" She cackled and you heard a clatter. "Oh shit hahaha, my phone. Hello? Still there?"

Don't want to be. "Yeah. Do you need me to call you an Uber?"

"Nahh, this guy's taking me home."

"What about Gianna?" She always hung around Gianna; you'd only met her once when Mar got picked up, and only for about five seconds, but after a brief look over her socials (and an impressive LinkedIn) you were inclined to think she was a good influence. Gianna had to be with her.

"I haven't asked her to be exclusive yet, you know that." Her words were beginning to slur.

"Who's the guy?"

"Some dude I met at the bar, he's super fuckin' rad."

"I'm sending an Uber to your location. Come up to my apartment, we'll spend the night together." Did she always leave with someone when she didn't go out with you? You pictured her being preyed upon, studied in the pulsing lights of the club. It made you sick.

"Okay bossy. No." She giggled to herself. "His apartment is like half a mile north, he's walking me." She hung up. Jesus. You threw on your sneakers, grabbed a taser, and raced outside, scanning your apartment fob to access the free-use bike garage. Iceberg Lounge was about a fifteen minute walk south.

It was terrifying biking on the streets of Gotham. Half the street lamps didn't work, and the drivers were all fiendish assholes who drove like they wanted to smear bodies on the pavement. You'd almost thought yourself lost until you spotted a glint of her neon pink cami.

"Hey!" You tried not to sound too menacing; maybe this was a rare good guy in Gotham, and he was gonna tuck her in safely to his spare bed and make sure she had a nice, non-laced drink of water at her bedside. No fucking way. "Hey,"

"Y/N?" Mar looked shocked at your arrival.

You dismounted your bike and grabbed her hand. When you did, the man grabbed your forearm. You ignored him and spoke directly to her. “Let’s head back to my place.”

”Interrupting our date.” The man laughed, but it was indignant. He still wasn’t loosening his grip on your arm. Getting a closer look at Mar, she was disheveled; her straps were sliding off her arm, exposing the top of her bra; her belt was halfway undone, yet her lipstick was pristine.

“We have a rule to not go home with people when we’re drunk.” You flashed him a smile, his green eyes dark and menacing. Why do I always notice the eyes?

“Sounds like BS to me.” He tried to laugh again when he said it, which only pissed you off. He probably thought he was one of the ‘good guys’ and didn’t understand why no one ever called him for a second date. You snaked your left arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to you. A quick once-over noted him wearing a thick leather jacket with white cuffs, and dark blue jeans with rips in the knees. His shoes were a nondescript pair of white Nikes. “You seem perfectly sober, interesting.” Mar was unsteady in your grasp, her weight leaning slightly too much into you, her knees wobbly. Did he fucking slip her something?

You swatted away his hand, which had a butterfly effect; he swiftly grabbed your ponytail, yanking on it so you were removed from between them. He grabbed her by the elbow as you stuttered back, tears springing into your eyes from the tension of having your hair yanked. He couldn’t quite walk as fast as he wanted to, her legs catching on every crack in the sidewalk. In this city that meant a long, treacherous walk anywhere, and an opportunity for you to strike.

You pulled out your taser and ran closer to him before slamming your finger on the trigger. A small catch of electricity came from the tip, then faltered. It’s not charged. Fuck. He turned toward the nearest apartment complex, and you lunged for his neck. He was tall, but not too tall, and there were a few steps he’d climbed to the doorway. You were able to wrap your palm around half of his neck, pulling him down hard on the concrete. Before he’d even smacked the ground you jumped down the stairs and slammed your foot into his balls, as hard as you could, your left foot skipping atop the concrete with the force as it struggled to balance. He cursed, spit flying out of his mouth as he clutched his groin. Mar was barely holding onto the siderails at this point, confirming she’d been slipped something. His legs thrashed wildly, his grunts filling the empty sidewalk. He caught your ankle and you fell back, smacking your head against the bottom stair. For a few seconds all you could do was breathe, the air knocked out of you and your vision blurry, stilted. He rose to his knees, and you scrambled back. By the grace of whatever God may or may not exist, you were able to get back on your feet before he did. The transition made you wildly dizzy, and before you knew it you fell to your knees again.

Mar was barfing off the edge of the railing, crying. You figured she had no idea what was going on, just knew that it was bad; the first and only time you’d been roofied was out with Mar one night. You’d tasted your drink and within a few minutes you were feeling woozy. Make it ten minutes later, and the room was a glowing haze of smoke and mirror—literally. You were seeing double everywhere you looked, locked in your own cage of whatever someone else did to you. Thankfully Mar had enough experience to notice the initial signs of being drugged (at least, in someone else) and had immediately called an Uber and notified the staff of the bar. She’d tended to you the rest of that night, and when you woke up her eyes were buggy and bloodshot. “I stayed up all night watching you. I didn’t want you to like, choke in your sleep or something.”

You attempted to raise your head, but it was pounding, whiting out your vision when you tried to support it with just your neck. You grabbed your phone and managed to open it to your phone app, but he smacked it away. You watched through bleary eyes as it soared into a bit of bark dust beneath some shrubs, landing face-down. All you saw was a gentle emanation of dark blue light. It called someone.

“HELP!” You shouted, hoping that whoever it was would hear you. Most of your contacts (you didn’t have too many) had access to your location information. You’d gotten scared after a few harrowing abduction stories in the Gazette and sent a mass text to the people in it with your info. Someone would call, and it would be fine. “CALL 911.”

Mar slumped to the ground and balanced her head against the railing, tears streaming down her cheeks. This part of town was deceptively barren, of course it was. The man grabbed you by the ankles and you screamed, jerking your legs until one broke free. “HELP!”

A part of you thought it would be okay—until you remembered Batman wasn’t on patrol tonight. Your heart sank as you watched him latch both hands onto your other ankle… and then he dropped you. He turned and walked halfway between the road and the apartment doors—why wasn’t anyone coming out to help?—and faced you, his mouth slobbery and in a slack grin. He shook out his body and flexed his fingers, taking a moment to hype himself up. You tried to sit up again, grinding your molars with the effort, but you nearly blacked out. The only thing that came to mind were the earthquake drills from elementary school, of hiding under your desk with your hands over your head to protect from falling debris. He was falling debris. Inevitable. You wrapped your hands around your aching head. Pressed your elbows together in front of your nose. Tucked your chin, barely, to protect your neck. He took off in a sprint for you, his sneakers connecting brutally with your thigh. You screamed, and he kicked it again. And again. And again. “See how you like it, fucking bitch.”

Mar screamed behind you; weak, but undeniable. “Stop it,” She stumbled toward you as his foot barreled into you with unbridled ferocity. She grabbed onto his arm and he shoved her off. She reached back out, her nails digging into his skin. He shouted and shoved her hard against the railing, turning his attention on her. She had enough bearings now to dodge a single hit, rolling out of the way before another landed square between her shoulders. You were busy incrementally lifting your head from the cement, centimeter by slow centimeter sitting upright. The man wiped the arm of his jacket against his mouth, muttering. “Bullshit fucking cunts.” He slammed his foot between her legs, and she yelped, rolling over onto her stomach. A wave of nausea stormed through you.

She was slowly rising, but he slammed his fists into her back and she buckled. Her face hit the pavement so hard you hoped her nose wasn’t broken. She started coughing, stringy spit dribbling off her lips. At this point he turned back to you with a sneer. “Guess I’m getting double tonight.”

Sick freak. The pain was edging out your fear, and resignation was teetering towards fruition. You only needed a few more minutes to get your bearings. Long enough to heat up a fucking hot pocket. He slapped you across the face, and you fell back to exactly where you were. Flat against the ground. Thundering head. Unable to sit up, arrested by searing pain.

The sound of skin slamming into skin disoriented you. Thudding, smacking sounds pierced the air, peppered with the man’s grunts and yelps. He sounded like a hit dog. What, the fuck? You shoved your palms against the ground to support your weight, but it wasn’t working. You physically grabbed your jaw and the back of your head and tilted it up, holding it there to watch the scene unfolding a few feet in front of you. A horrible hollow sound echoed just as the man was hurled against the opposite railing, his chest nearly touching his shin as his body bent around the metal. His opponent was adept at fighting; fully hooded with a black shirt wrapped around the bottom half of his face, a thick, baggy jacket bulking his frame, gauze wrapped around his knuckles. You couldn’t make out his full face, but the feeling you got told you all you needed. It wasn’t quite fear, not quite comfort, or peace, but an indisputable sensation of safety. You let your head fall back, too fast, as you sobbed cries of relief.

The mystery man kept trying to fight back, but not a single hit landed. You saw it all in the lower half of your vision. Saw the guy try, fight, and run, and the other stoop down to Mar and help her sit up. Once she was in a safe, neutral position he turned to you—Bruce’s eyes were framed with black, paint smearing down his cheekbones and into his brows. He took your arm and attempted to pull you up to the same position, but you squealed. “I hit my head,”

He sat back like he was calculating something for a moment before cupping his left hand at the base of your head. Holding you like an infant, he slowly tilted you upright. He held his hand just above your neck a few seconds longer. “Gonna let go.” Tentatively, he did, and you resisted your torso’s urge to flop back down.

A car pulled up right then, one you hadn’t seen before. It was flashy, but not a sportscar. He noticed your eyes follow it and lowered his voice. “It’s mine. I’ll take you both home.” He paused, gesturing with his head. “Do you know her?”

You tried to nod but you felt like your head would snap off your neck. “Yeah. My friend. I think, she was drugged.” The pulsing in your thigh was violent, and you worried you might have fractured something. He gave you a once-over, then looked back to her. “I’ll help her in first.”

Bruce tried to help her stand, but she shook her head. “Y/N,” she called out weakly, moving to her hands and knees to crawl toward you. She managed to make her way to your side, panting with the effort. “Who is, why,”

Shit. “Um, he’s my friend. I called him when, when the guy, shit,” Your head was in agony. You struggled to form coherent thoughts, let alone speech. How, clear is she? Recognize? Him? Disguise?

“I trust you.” Her voice no stronger than a whisper. She reached her arms out to him, and he walked over to help her up. He wrapped his arm around her back and to her armpit, hoisting her up and steadying her to the car. The side door opened as he walked up, and he helped her sidle in. He waited a few seconds while she adjusted, then grabbed the seatbelt. You heard him say something, but couldn’t… only if you want maybe? About the seatbelt?

You blinked and he was holding out his hands for you. The scarred, dirty hands that now had traces of fresh blood from reopened knuckle scabs soaking through the gauze. It made you faint thinking about him at the… Arkham. All at once you sat up, the motion sending you reeling. “Fuck!” Your hands trembled as pain ravaged your head, all the blood simultaneously leaving and filling it. “No, you shouldn’t, fuck,”

He squatted to your eye-level. His stare didn’t waver once. “You’re, recovering, I don’t, thanks,” Between every word was a gasp of pain.

His tone was firm, leaving no room for disagreement. “I’m glad you called. I’m taking you home.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine.” He held out an expectant hand for you to take. You anticipated having to pull your own, but to your surprise he pulled you up with you barely feeling the ground whatsoever. He carried the bulk of your weight, snaking his arm on top of your shoulders instead of under, allowing your neck not to bobble as you both walked. The last time you’d been this close to him you hadn’t known his identity. You recalled his hold being so firm you couldn’t escape, how afraid that had made you until you’d realized it was him. You stopped trying to force your balance and let him guide you the last steps to the car; the door opened automatically again, and he helped you slip in beside Mar. She had her head against the back of the seat, eyes half shut.

“Need help?” He had a finger looped around the seatbelt. Your cheeks heated, and you stammered out a no. He shut the door, and you painstakingly buckled yourself. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you refused to buckle up, and how long he would sit there demanding you put it on before you finally gave in, having sufficiently annoyed him.

When Bruce climbed in, you felt like a child who forgot their lunch on the way to school. You asked him to retrieve your phone, explaining it was under some shrubs by the entryway. Not ten seconds later he was back in, wiping dirt off the screen before handing it back to you. He was so fucking fast.

Mar didn’t talk during the drive, and neither did Bruce, so neither did you. You kept one eye on her at all times, making sure she didn’t fall asleep before you could check if she had a concussion or not. You figured you did, and you were not looking forward to checking in the mirror later looking at the damage done to your left leg. Now I match Bruce. A bitter thought.

You’d had the wherewithal prior to leaving to bring your keychain with you, tucked nicely into your pocket. By some stretch he hadn’t kicked just a few inches higher, which would have probably left you with a gaping wound from the jagged ends of the keys fileting your hip. You held the fob out the window when he pulled up to the garage, and in another blink he was helping Mar out.

“Can you stand?” Mar was slumped into his shoulder as he supported her weight. “Might have to carry her.” She looked exhausted, with her eyes glazed over, her face sweaty. You watched her chest with diligence, and per usual he sensed you, reading you like he was superhuman. “Her respiration’s normal. You can check the rest of her when you get your bearings.”

You unbuckled and tried to stand, but even shifting halfway out the car scared you. The ground phased in and out of your vision, the depth completely lost. As much as it burned… You sighed. “Take her up first. I think I need help walking.”

You handed him your keychain and he went on his way. Only after he’d disappeared up the elevator did you question it. I let her go up alone with a man? In this state? You couldn’t berate yourself much though, because a strong swell of defensiveness ravaged you. It was like the you before and you now were dueling. Condemning your judgment and rationalizing it, back and forth.

There was truly just something about him. Maybe you were infantilizing him and the past week was clouding your judgment. Maybe he moonlighted as Batman to cover up his serial killer tendencies. Keep the cops trained on an alternate identity, a vigilante. But he made you feel safe. He always made you feel held. Even when your mind took over and convinced you he was wrong, convinced you you should be afraid, your body never internalized it. That gut feeling you got around other men; the other men at city hall, the other men at the club, some of the men in your undergrad classes, even some of the professors… your stomach never curdled like that around him.

You didn’t think about it any further.

Bruce jogged out the elevator and helped you out. You ignored how your stomach fluttered being pressed so close to him, fought the tears that begged at the edge of your eyes, and let yourself sink into his chest. At some point you closed your eyes and concentrated on the roughness of his jacket against your cheek, and the patter of his heartbeat. Warmth. Alive. Breathing. Secure.

You being so close to him made him keen to his breathing. His body felt tingly and dizzy. He held you tighter. Every exhale fluttered the hair in front of your face, wisping it across your eyelashes. Was his breathing too loud? Were you falling asleep? He rustled you slightly, just taking a step slightly too hard, not wanting you to—your lashes fluttered, having caught you right before slipping into dreamland. He needed to keep you awake, at least long enough to do a proper assessment. Long enough to make sure you weren’t going to die.

Walking through your doorframe was a beast he realized too late; too narrow to both walk through wide, after your left hip caught on the strike plate and you cried out. He hated how much it felt like someone squeezed his chest when he saw you in pain; if you or your friend had been any less injured, he would’ve taken more time on the perpetrator.

He sat you delicately on the couch, instructing you to sit upright as much as you were able. He unwrapped the cloth from over his mouth, shoving it into his jacket pocket. He asked if he could touch the back of your head, and you agreed. His fingers were as gentle as a cat’s whisker, delicately sifting through sweaty clumps of hair that, if it weren’t for even the air moving past it causing flinching pain, might’ve made you soft, weak. You startled when he removed his hand. “Can’t feel any bleeding, no cuts.” His voice was soft, his eyes scanning everywhere but yours. You were glad.

He asked the date, gave you a few words to recall back, and shined a light in your eyes. You recoiled like he’d slapped you when he pulled out his flashlight, the light causing physical pain. On the jump back, your leg brushed the pillow to your left, and he stared down at it. “May I?” You nodded and he pulled up your shorts; you were biting down on your tongue as his pinky grazed the bruise. “How bad is it?” It was at this point, when he didn’t immediately respond, that you realized he’d turned off the lights in your apartment and only left the lamp on in the corner. Thoughtful.

“Already bruising.” He grimaced, seeing the speckled outline of the shoe’s leather binding indented in harsh red streaks along your leg. His grimace made your face fall; he hardly grimaced like that when he had a fucking gaping wound in his leg. “What? Tell me.”

He shook his head. “A bad bruise, that’s all.” He grabbed your shin lightly and asked you to bend your leg. Then put weight on it. Twist left to right. Flex your hip. Everything worked normally. Still, his brow was twisted together, looking like he was gnawing on his cheek. You eyed him skeptically. “What?”

This was the second time he’d pulled someone off of you in less than six months. Your entire thigh would be lit dark scarlet in just a few days. He’d called Gordon the second he got into his car, and whispered an ID to his watch to ping over when he went to get your phone. He was sure they got him, but all he could think about was brutality; he didn’t like the things he was imagining, the drive to crack all the fingers off the man’s hand and shove them into his petrified, quivering mouth, and the equal drive to wrap you in a hug that never ended to make sure no one else harmed you.

You saw the movement of all these thoughts across his face, but the only source you could track them to was hesitation to tell you the extent of your injury. “Do I need to go to the hospital?”

He wanted to scour every inch of you to look for more lacerations, bruises, bleeds. For possibly the first time ever, he didn’t trust his estimation. You needed a professional, just in case. In case he missed something. In case you’d jostled your brain too much, in case the man had loosened a clot in your leg. He nodded. “I think you should.” He could take a back way there, walk you up to the doors and then put you in a wheelchair at the entrance. His mask would cover up enough, probably. He’d bring your friend with you. She could be checked out too.

You looked to his bloodless palms and fingertips that had just explored your scalp. Down to the splotches across your leg. “Why?” You felt like shit, yeah, but…?

“I might be wrong.”

”About what?”

”The extent of it.”

”What, like a brain bleed?”

”Exactly like that.”

You flicked your gaze up to your bedroom door. “I can’t leave her. Is she okay?” You moved to get up, and it was painful, but you managed. You slammed your hand on his shoulder for emergency balance, and you begrudgingly accepted his support across the living area. Mar was on her side in bed, squinting at her phone that seemed to already be on the lowest brightness. You whispered. “I got it.”

He let you go and walked back to the living room, and you shut the door behind you. You limped over to her and sat on the edge, tapping her ankle to alert her. Slowly her eyes moved to yours. The lipstick that had been untouched was now smeared across her cheeks, and her eyeliner bled and cracked off. “Are you, okay?”

”I think so. Are you?” You were doing exactly what Bruce just had; scanning her body at rapid speed, analyzing for any signs of injury. She looked a bit scraped up on the heels of her hands and knees, and you asked her to turn to take a look at her back. There was still the rough, muddied outline of his shoe from where it connected on her spine, but nothing else of note. Some general redness, and when you touched it she groaned, but didn’t shriek.

You looked into her eyes, but knew you had no idea what to look for. “Did he check you out already?”

She nodded, leisurely. “Shined something in my eye and told me to say stuff, I don’t remember what though.” Her words were still slurred, and the top of her nose was scraped, but nothing looked broken. You thought of the kick he’d done between her legs, and asked if she felt any pain there. She almost giggled. “Bastard forgot I don’t have balls. But, how,” She winced as she adjusted, her back rippling with it. “Cool is it he thought, I did.” She sighed and returned her attention back to her phone.

“Do you have pain anywhere?”

She glanced down at her palms and then pointed to her nose. Her biggest thing then was being drugged, and yours was whatever head thing you had going on paired with a throbbing leg. The thought of leaving your warm bed to go to a bright–fuck, BRIGHT–hospital made you want to actually die. You were gonna take your chances tonight. Oh, it was making you sick thinking about it…

“I’m gonna get some meds. Want some?” Whew, just a few steps through to the kitchen. I can do it! I’ve done it a lot! At least half of the journey is carpet, if I do eat shit. She nodded again (you were very jealous she was able to bob her head), and began your slow shuffle to the kitchen. The second you appeared in the doorway, Bruce jumped to your aid. You waved him off. “I think I’ll stay home.” You grabbed the counter for support.

“I’m taking you in.”

Furrowing your brow hurt your aching head. “I’m gonna take some meds, it’ll, be fine.”

“Then I’m staying.”

He sounded like a scolding parent. You shot a look at him and felt the ground wiggle beneath you. You squeezed your eyes shut which only made it worse. Tried to refocus on the medicine cabinet. So high…

“Let’s go.” He made his voice a bit louder, sterner. You finally scooted close enough to reach the handle, and now worked up the courage to grab it. You rustled around in there for a moment.

“You’re not really going to take that, are you?” His tone was biting. Footsteps, then he snatched the bottle of ibuprofen out of your hand. “Do you want to have a brain bleed?”

Shame coursed through you, another one of his thousand cuts. When you were able to look back at him, he had his eyes shut tight and his lips pursed, one hand holding the bottle and the other gripping the counter. He saw you looking at him and hastily turned away. The pop of the plastic bottle on the marble punctuated his apology. “Sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his hood removed somewhere between your bedroom and the couch. He huffed and tilted his head back to stare at the dark kitchen light. His shoulders rose and fell with every cycle of breath, one for every three blinks. The room was silent like that for a minute. He was so angry… no, he was nervous. Upset.

He caught your eye when you turned and his face fell into something softer, more vulnerable. “You’re not going, right?” He gave the smallest shake of his head and flicked the bottle a few inches. He didn’t wait for your answer. “I’m staying.” He made his voice strong, though you both knew you could kick him out and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Bruce,”

“You’re both incapacitated, leaving you here alone, it’s, it’s not an option.” He was getting flustered. You always took him there. He didn’t stutter, he never caught on his words, never caught on the sidewalk, never overlooked a pedestrian, fuck. His voice was raising, only slightly. His breathing got shallower, his fingers feeling chilled. “I need a minute.” He put his hands over his head and walked to the other side of the room, pacing in front of the couch. The fact the silence felt thick made you want to cut it. “I’ll be fine,”

“Please!” He dropped his hands at his sides and stood facing the cushions.

Deep breath in. Hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. He felt his chest start to release. Inhale, hold… exhale. Hold. Inhale, hold… exhale, hold… the feeling was coming back into his fingertips. Inhale, exhale. Hold… Inhale, slow, hold… exhale, slow, hold. Blink. Blink. Look at the wall. Couch. Hands. Jacket. In, out.

Another big sigh and a small shake, and he looked over his shoulder. He swallowed back globs of saliva that threatened to drown his vocal folds. His cheeks were pink, from what he had no idea. “I’m upset this happened to you.” He figured some transparency wouldn’t hurt, seeing as he’d just watched you get bludgeoned on the sidewalk and the… events of the past weekend. His jaw flexed. “And your friend.” He groaned, feeling frustrated tension fill him again. “I heard your shouting from blocks away. There were plenty of people.” His hands tightened in and out of fists, a motion you never failed to dial into. “No one did a damn thing.”

“Seems about right.” You slowly reached for the ibuprofen and put it back in the cabinet, letting it fall shut with a small tap.

Bruce was facing you now. “You don’t seem fazed.”

You shrugged, but couldn’t raise your shoulders in any meaningful capacity. “People don’t give a shit here.” You winced, as another blow of pain emanated the circumference of your skull. “Of course you don’t,” You flinched, speaking causing coils of pain to vibrate in your head. “Get it.”

He held back the full extent of his response, because he had a full argument sitting on the tip of his tongue. “I’ve seen the worst of it as him. I get it.” His enunciation begged no comment, but it was steamrolled.

“You don’t.” It was going to hurt to push all the words out at once, but the adrenaline of more friction with him was enough fuel to edge it out, momentarily. “You’re only able to be him because of your very unique, situation.” It was suffering to continue talking. “Even if people wanted to, to be you.” You took a small breather, placing both hands on the edge of the counter as the world whizzed by. “We can’t. We have, work, school, people are, shit.”

“We can talk about it later.” He walked to the cupboard and drew some water from the sink. You noticed him rinse it twice before filling. He held it out to you. “Drink. Sips.”

Some muscle in your finger had to have direct access to your brain because when you extended your arm fully to grab it, as soon as your pinky gripped the glass, you shuddered like you’d flicked a nerve. The glass clattered to the ground, exploding shards across the floor. When you ventured to move, he stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it.” He didn’t want you tripping with how unsteady your gait was. He moved to your side and grabbed some paper towels, squatting once more to gather the biggest chunks. “There’s a, broom. In the closet by the door.”

“Y/N?” Mar had made her way out of your room in a drunken shuffle. She’d said your name but her squinted, hazy gaze was focused entirely on Bruce, who was now facing her without his hood, without his mask, almost entirely exposed save the black around his eyes. Her eyes widened. “Is that…”

In your periphery you noticed Bruce’s eyes flick up to yours as his hands slowed. For once he was silent, letting you take the lead–naturally, it was the first time ever you didn’t want to. Fuck.

[the-golden-comet]

✨OC Reddit AITA Tag✨

Aha! A crossover from Reddit! Thank you for tagging me here @paeliae-occasionally , here @willtheweaver and here @theink-stainedfolk ❤️✨

Rules: Make an Am I The Asshole? post (look at r/amita or r/AITA for examples if you haven’t seen them) for an OC. The community will then vote to see who is the asshole in the given scenario.

Noah from YWIMC is a redditor, so he’d probably be on this forum:

AITA for giving my roommate the cold shoulder after he dragged me to a party?

Hey, everyone! I had an argument with my roommate, and I’m trying to see whether or not I’m in the wrong here.

So for context, I (25M) am NOT a partygoer. I’m in grad school ffs, I have deadlines to meet and my thesis to do. I can’t waste time at college drinking my grades away. This behavior concerned my roommate (1000+M 28M), who is the direct opposite. He loves to chat, goes out to parties, and is generally a really cool guy to be around. He’s usually really nice and careful about my boundaries, but there have been a few things that annoyed me.

For starters, he sometimes comes into the bathroom while I’m showering despite me telling him to give me privacy. Recently he started sleeping in the same bed as me after his evening prayers. It was awkward at first, but these little things I could let slide…until last week.

So roommate (let’s call him A) approaches me while I’m finishing up one of my assignments. He’s all like, “Hey, OP. There’s a party tonight and I think you’ll really benefit.” Um hello?? I told him that he could go without me and that I was busy with my project. A huffs and stated that, “You’re always working on your computer. Relax a little, sadiq.” Again, I told him I was busy and that he could take my bag (He can’t go too far without it; it’s a weird thing that’s a little hard to explain) if he really wanted to go. A was adamant that the party wouldn’t be the same without me.

This is where I may be TA, but wasn’t sure: I told A that I didn’t want to be around a group of C averages pissing my college tuition away, and that if he wanted to associate with that crowd he could go right ahead. A finally leaves me alone and goes to the party, letting me finish up my paper.

But then, A came BACK to the apartment, grabbed me, and forced me to go to this frat house. (Thank God I finished my paper and hit save before he did this). It was loud, people were obnoxious, and I was tense the whole time. I ended up taking an Uber home early, and have been giving A the silent treatment since.

So, AITA for not wanting to go to a party with my roommate?

Update: A has since apologized and made me baklava, but I’m still pretty pissed.

This is fun. I’m going to (gently) tag: @tragedycoded , @wyked-ao3 , @gioiaalbanoart , @jev-urisk , @drchenquill , @honeybewrites , @nczaversnick , @finickyfelix , @autism-purgatory , @sableglass , @words-after-midnight , @aintgonnatakethis , @ominous-feychild , @mysticstarlightduck , @saturnine-saturneight , @davycoquette , @thecomfywriter , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @lychhiker-writes , @zackprincebooks , @paeliae-occasionally , @agirlandherquill , @avaseofpeonies , @topazadine , @thatuselesshuman , @moltenwrites , @rivenantiqnerd , @writeahurricane , @differentnighttale , @houseplantblank , @lavender-gloom , @smellyrottentrees , @48lexr , @saebasanart , @theaistired , @mundanemoongirl , @fantasy-things-and-such , @clevah-girlboss , @inseasofgreen , @corinneglass , @alinacapellabooks , +open tag for whoever wants to join!

[growingstories]

Hiding on a Greek island - part 2

Massimo, a 40-year-old ex-special forces operator, had spent his career as a bodyguard for high-level individuals. He was dedicated to protecting his clients and had even saved Eduardo's life after he was shot. they When found themselves in danger, they sought refuge on a secluded Greek island, where they hid in a house.

However, life on the island posed new challenges for Massimo. His usual active lifestyle, focused on fitness and staying in shape, was disrupted. With no gym on the tiny island and the house situated on a hard-to-reach hill, exercise became a rare occurrence for him. On top of that, Eduardo, who was disabled at the time, relied on Massimo for transportation, making it difficult for him to prioritize his own well-being.

To add to the problem, the couple who cared for them, Stavros and his wife, provided ample amounts of delicious food. Eduardo's waistline began to expand rapidly without his usual exercise routine, and Massimo's chiseled abs were concealed beneath a layer of fat. Both men found solace in eating, with Massimo's frustration and boredom driving him to consume even more. Eduardo jokingly commented on his bodyguard's growing waistline, further highlighting the issue.

Eduardo's blossoming romance with Alexios, the baker's son, exacerbated Massimo's weight gain. As Massimo frequently chauffeured the couple around the island, he found himself with ample idle time. Meanwhile, Eduardo and Alexios retreated to their private rooms, leaving Massimo with little else to occupy his time but eating. Alexios made sure there were plenty of pastries, and Massimo indulged to fill the void he felt. As he overheard the intimate sessions between Eduardo and Alexios, he used food to cope with his embarrassment.

Though Massimo's muscles remained intact from years of training, they were merely concealed beneath the accumulating fat, giving him the appearance of a massive bull. However, when he met Alexios' sister, Olympia, who had returned from university, his attention diverted. They struck up conversations and enjoyed coffee during Massimo's waiting time, making the hours feel less monotonous. Olympia made a point to provide him with deablelect pieces of fresh baklava during their interactions, further fueling his growing appetite.

One fateful night, with Eduardo and Alexios in the house, Massimo took the opportunity to secretly go on a date with Olympia. Their evening was filled with passion and excessive indulgence in alcohol, inhibiting Massimo from safely operating his scooter back to the house. They succumbed to the dangers of drunken driving and spent a passionate yet secretive night together. Knowing the importance of his duty to protect Eduardo, Massimo departed early in the morning. Olympia, however, ensured he left with a substantial breakfast for the three men and an additional pastry for Massimo's journey. This clandestine affair continued for weeks without Eduardo noticing Massimo's prolonged absences.

As the weeks passed, Eduardo's weight continued to climb. Despite his cramped polos and snug attire, he relished in the image of being the strong, larger bodyguard. Olympia also found pleasure in her relationship with Eduardo, making certain that her secret boyfriend was never left hungry. Unbeknownst to Alexios, his sister mirrored his actions, ensuring Massimo's insatiable appetite was always satisfied. Consequently, Massimo found himself steadily catching up to Eduardo's weight. The sight of two vain, macho men succumbing to their weakness for pastries thrilled Alexios, encouraging him to keep them coming.

When Massimo deemed it safe to return to Italy, he felt a mixture of sadness to leave Olympia and relief at resuming his normal routine. Upon their return, Massimo yearned for the familiar restaurants he had missed and indulged in his favorite dishes several times a day for a week. Meanwhile, Eduardo decided to return to Greece and open a hotel, whereas Massimo found solace in being back on the mainland. After six weeks of savoring his favorite delicacies, Massimo's weight became noticeably larger. Realizing his need to get back into shape if he were to continue his career as a bodyguard, he attempted to go to the gym. However, after two years away from lifting weights, he quickly grew disheartened and found himself seeking comfort at the nearest bakery, ordering a light version of the baklava he had grown accustomed to in Greece, longing for Olympia's presence.

Feeling lost without a clear purpose, Massimo spent hours on the sofa, binge-watching Netflix and ordering copious amounts of food. His weight continued to climb, and Eduardo began to miss his loyal companion from their time in hiding. Concerned, Eduardo reached out to Massimo, checking in on him. Massimo confessed his struggles with weight gain and his failed attempts to get back in shape. Uncertain of his future now that bodyguarding seemed out of reach, Massimo's spirits plummeted. Eduardo, not wanting to lose Massimo's companionship, offered him a new position on the island as the building and construction manager instead of his bodyguard. Grateful, Massimo accepted the offer and boarded the first boat back to the island, where he was warmly greeted by Alexios and Olympia, who presented him with a hearty lunch. Massimo's heart swelled with joy as he settled back into his old routine, even if he was much larger than before.

Reuniting with Eduardo, Massimo discovered that both had significantly gained weight. Unbeknownst to them, Olympia and Alexios had secretly fostered their lovers' weight gain, acting as feeders to satisfy their desires. Massimo confessed his affair with Olympia to Eduardo, who found the revelation amusing and enlightening. Realizing why Massimo had gained weight so rapidly, Eduardo asked Olympia to be his girlfriend, an offer she happily accepted. The couple moved into a small apartment above the bakery, where Olympia would prepare a sumptuous breakfast for Eduardo each morning and pack a substantial lunch. Eduardo, in turn, would order snacks from the bakery for the workers, and he would return home to a lavish dinner and passionate intimacy as a way to unwind. Their weight continued to climb, but both men found contentment in their lives. They had everything they desired, and there was no limit to their indulgence.