#I’m not saying that she didn’t have it worse

[deathsmallcaps]

I’m autistic and despite growing up with a Black Stepdad and Black friends, and thinking the Civil Rights movement and the Civil War were cool, and even going to schools with pretty inclusive curriculums, I sometimes repeated mean things I heard (often from my Dad) or did not give thought to how certain lines of questioning/conversation may feel different towards different people. I was, and still occasionally am, racist. Among other things.

(I initially grew up in an almost exclusively Black and white town that was roughly half & half, and later moved to an area that was more half & half Indian and white. I have only ever lived in the east half of the USA)

Sure I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Sure I did believe that everyone should be treated well. Sure I loved the Black people around me. I’ve never said the n-word - I didn’t even know it existed until I read Roots by Alex Haley. But I didn’t consider nuance, I didn’t consider feelings in my thirst for knowledge, and frankly, I have a tendency to be obnoxious. ALL normal things for an autistic person. But ALL things that are quite hurtful. After all, don’t we get hurt when someone stereotypes us?

Looking back, I feel like my Stepdad should have been more active in my social education. He wouldn’t have been educating some random white person who walked up and hurt him, he’d have been teaching his daughter (he’s always treated me how his family treats daughters, for better and for worse).

But my mom, the white woman, stepped up as a good ally. SHE gave me Roots. SHE talked me through dealing with ‘white guilt’ and how that’s nobody’s problem but mine. SHE encouraged me to educate myself, and to consider what I say before I say it. SHE helped me realize my privilege. With help from a psychologist, we both learned how to handle my social issues. And now I’d say I’m a more conscious person. It doesn’t hurt that one of my English classes focused on the Harlem Renaissance and another taught Othello and Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. Since then, I’ve sought out media and information by and about creators of Color and my relationship with my Black family members and friends has definitely improved.

I’m lucky guy. My autism is not the most debilitating in the world, and I do think it gives me valuable insight into said world. Acknowledging it helped me gain insight into how I work.

But I’m still an upper-middle class Anglo-American culturally-Christian white adult whose worst personal interaction with the cops is getting a speeding ticket. The only things I could possibly be oppressed about here is my sex/gender and if someone clocks my neurodivergencies. Maybe my allyship if its a REALLY crazy situation. It’s my responsibility to be aware of my privilege, love my fellow humans, and educate myself on how to respect others. Loving does NOT equal respecting. They’re different things. Just like how your family may genuinely love you but do not respect or understand you.

All those things on the news, about children getting shot because they’re wearing their hoodies up, or having a panic attack, or whatever bullshit excuse a white person with a gun can dream up. Those are extreme and something to be worried about. That kind of behavior should be condemned. But that doesn’t cover every single angle of oppression. And oppression isn’t just perpetuated by the nebulous concept of The System! It’s also perpetuated by Our Common Man. AKA, you and me sometimes.

Sometimes, you’re going to reach out in ways that have worked before and it’s not going to be appropriate. That hurts! But if you do your best to incorporate that info into what you’ve learned, then that’s awesome! I’m proud of you! You’re going to have to keep doing it though!!! And that’s okay!!! That just means you’re getting to live life!!!

Apologize and/or change the subject and educate yourself soon after. Those are some of the best skills you can have. You can’t go back, you can only improve the future.

Another really good bunch is being honest and introspecting on why certain things make you uncomfortable. Once you know, own it and desensitize! Be a good friend!

This is getting very long. If you want some concrete examples,

Some of these things happened because I am autistic. Some may have happened because I was a white kid. But for whatever reason it occurred, as an autistic older teen and now adult, I needed to learn from these experiences so I can help make the future better :). You are capable of learning these things too.

Problem: I once asked a Black friend how it was to be Black. I was trying to educate myself! It wasn’t appropriate though. I kept asking repeatedly, and we were like 13. She was a child and shouldn’t have to have the answer.

Solution: My mom redirected me to Black literature so I could learn from adults willing to talk about it. She didn’t owe me information, nobody does, but especially not kids.

Problem: I was 16 (in 2017). I was talking to a Filipino American* girl who was just coming out of homeschool. I wanted to be nice and relate to her, and I loved Disney. Turns out so did she! I asked if Mulan was her favorite Disney Princess. My thinking was ‘I like Tiana best but I really liked seeing Anna because we have the same hair color -> I know representation is important because (at the very least) it’s nice to see people who look like you being heroes -> Mulan is cool and the Asian princess ™. I was trying to relate and be kind. But that wasn’t appropriate. I made a general assumption, and made her uncomfortable. Mulan was a favorite of hers, it turned out, but that does NOT matter. A person’s relationships with their demographic’s stereotypes are extremely private unless shared. And it’s THEIR right to close it up again.

*despite Filipino and Filipina being gendered, when saying demographic information, such as ‘Filipino American’ about a woman, the trend is towards -o. I couldn’t find a direct answer, but multiple sources said Filipino-American about ladies.

Solution: Remember everyone is an individual and may not want to talk about all aspects of their life. Let them offer information about aspects that you aren’t knowledgeable about, like being of Filipino descent, or being homeschooled, or how it is being a Disney fan of Color. If they bring it up, offer responses like ‘I didn’t know that. Cool!’ Or make encouraging noises like ‘huh!’ Or ‘neat!’ So they know it’s safe to keep talking to you about a subject that is important but sensitive to them. And they might not ever bring these things up! And that’s okay. It’s their business. Retrain your nosiness elsewhere, it’s hard but possible :)

I must reiterate: A person’s relationships with their demographic’s stereotypes are extremely private unless shared - and it’s THEIR right to close the subject. And for the record, just because there is a Southeast Asian Disney Princess now (Raya), it would NOT have been appropriate to ask if her favorite was Raya. That’s still stereotyping, it’s just updated for the 2020s.

Problem: I love name meanings. I couldn’t find my one Indian-American classmate’s name meaning online, so I went up to him and after starting a pointed conversation, I told him my name’s meaning in the hope he’d tell me his. He did, but he was uncomfortable. Because I didn’t really talk to that guy before, and in a roundabout way socially coerced him into giving up information to a relative stranger. Information he probably didn’t care that much about, but it was obvious I only wanted one thing from him. It was rude and showed that I hadn’t really cared about him before I wanted something from him. And people generally don’t like being treated like living wikipedias of their cultures!

Solution: sometimes you’re going to have to accept you aren’t owed information. This also applies to my first example. If you can’t find information online, even if you find the perfect subreddit that welcomes questions like these*, they might not give you an answer. And that’s okay. It might drive you a little mad about missing that bit of information, but it will not end your world. Trust me. I’m putting a lot of personal mess-ups on here, I’m not going to start lying to you now.

*people don’t like being treated like walking Wikipedias for their cultures in general, but sometimes the armor of online anonymity makes people more comfortable sharing. Not always though. Maybe check other questions from other people in that subreddit or tumblr or whatever to find an appropriate format, or get a general sense of what kind of questions are answered happily. You may just have to let it go.

Problem: when I was 17 my mom introduced me to two women, a Black woman and a white woman. She told me offhandedly that one played in an American football adult league for fun. Being a feminist, I was really excited by that, because American football is a very male sport. I didn’t end up talking to either of them about it, but I sure thought a lot about that during that encounter. Afterwards, I said something to my mom that made it clear I thought the Black woman was the football player. She corrected me and said “You thought it was [her] because she’s Black,”. She was correct, I felt terrible for stereoptyping, and I cried (I cry easily). I wanted to go apologize or something. My mom pointed out that the apology would be for me, not for her. Which is an issue (I still struggle with this in many different contexts)

Solution: if you want to apologize, ask yourself ‘Am I doing this because I want the person I hurt to know how apologetic I am? Am I doing this because I want to hear ‘it’s okay’?’. If either of those has a yes as the answer, then reconsider making the apology. If the person really does appreciate apologies, then offer one. But keep it simple. Don’t mention your feelings or why you messed up. That doesn’t matter, and can make them feel guilty for their own valid feelings. And regardless, focus more on not repeating the behavior. That’s the best apology, even if you never see the person you hurt again. You hurt someone, so *I must stress this* it is NOT about you.

Problem: I’m going to college in a very white town (it fits my budget). My first week there, a white friend E was talking about her friend P, who I was to meet later that day. She mentioned they are a minority (E is from that white college town and is still learning too. She’s improved quite a bit. She doesn’t lead with that kind of information anymore) who was also from the area. I was confused. I had pretty much only seen white or white-passing people the last few days. I asked, and she told me they were Indian* and from a local people (among others. Like many Indigenous people, P isn’t from just one Indigenous or only-Indigenous culture). I was shocked. I was under the impression that all the Indigenous people from [college] area were killed or forcibly removed or assimilated.

*P prefers the term Indian when talking about themself or their family, due to their multiculturalism and preference to older terms, but the most polite thing is to refer to an Indigenous person by their People. So if you’re talking about M, your Salish friend, and for some reason his ethnicity comes up, call him Salish - not Indian, not Native American, not Indigenous. Unless he prefers those terms. Though individuals generally prefer the more culture-specific name. If you’re talking about a group of different people or peoples who are original inhabitants of the Americas or Australia or the Pacific Islands (and sometimes Africa), then use Indigenous. That being said, always defer to personal preference.

Solution: I let P bring up info about their peoples when they wanted. I looked up some things later. I also did some research and found that the Indigenous people of my [home] area weren’t all gone either. I had been taught in my state history class who they were exactly, and then they were never never brought up again. Then I learned about things like the Trail of Tears and residential schools, and assumed their culture was effectively dead. I was wrong, thankfully!

Problem: This is not exactly racist but I feel that it’s relevant. I’m talking to this guy right now. A couple weeks ago, we went out and I brought up a question that I thought was pretty normal for dates/conversations where you get to know one another. “What do your parents do?” After all, parents’ occupations affect you! He told me that his mom is working as a fruit seller after being laid off and his dad was laid off (his parents are divorced like mine) and is currently unemployed. FAUX PAS! Yikes. Both of my dads have histories of unemployment (my Dad likes to quit, my Stepdad has gotten laid off multiple times*) but all are employed right now. And I know how awkward (at the very least!) it is to be in that situation, especially money-wise.

Solution: I looked up bad questions to ask on dates later and yup! That was on there. Don’t talk money until you you’re serious. Apparently doing it so early on is a very white/privileged thing. One website I read even said that explicitly.

*Once you get laid off once, you’re often a new hire at a company. And being a new hire, you’re more likely to be laid off, because companies value seniority. Thus, a self-perpetuating situation unfortunately. I wouldn’t be surprised if other factors came into play - reminder: my stepdad is Black, and employers may use that information when choosing which new hire to let go. But we know for sure that seniority is definitely part of the issue.

General Reminder 1: Don’t ask to touch or talk about Black people’s hair. No comments about getting it wet, how it’s different from yours, how working with it must be different, interesting little factoids you may have learned about their hair, weaves, wigs, and so on. If you genuinely have curly hair at 2c-ish or higher (see picture), then it’s a different story. You may have something in common that’s fun to talk about! Comments on how nice it looks are sometimes okay, but consider: are you only saying these complements when it’s straightened or braided? Or only when it’s natural? If you really are only complementing them when it’s on one side of the spectrum, then that’s an issue. Respect Black hair as an art form or even just a part of existence, in its entirety.

Also don’t say it’s kinky or wild hair. Black people can sometimes use those terms for themselves but it isn’t for us. There’s literally a ton of historical laws and economies that have oppressed Black people’s hair and those are some of the things that we should just listen to them about.

This can applied to other cultures’/races’ clearly visible differences from your own features, too.

General reminder 2: look at the kind of things you like to watch, or read, or even react with, like memes. Are they making fun of the minority people in those books? Would that meme be as funny to you if the person in the picture had facial features more like yours? Are the people who look like the person in that meme using that meme? Are People of Color getting to talk and have non-stereotypical storylines in your TV show? Are they even there?

Lastly: You’ve read all this advice from a white person. Go seek out advice, stories and more from other sources!!! It might hurt in the moment but that’s just called growing pains. You will still make mistakes but you have to look to the future! Learning from the sources themselves will be a lot more useful towards creating a pattern of information and behavior your autistic brains can utilize :). Let’s all go be better allies!

The books and authors I mentioned are great places to start and another really good one that I cannot recommend enough is the Levar Burton Reads podcast. But don’t just read fiction. Crack open some history books or podcasts or tv shows. Give yourself some context. Personally I adore Wikipedia when I want to find out more but I don’t have a book. Okay I’ll stop.

idgaf how autistic you are stop being racist😭😭

[lologoinsolo]

Added after this one, Part 3

Cats and Their Men Masterlist

You stammer at the man as he holds what looks to be a calico. His face looks worse for wear despite how handsome he is. Cut lip and cheek that look as though maybe the cause is from the one wiggling in his hands. “Sir, the uh,” you look down at your phone for the time. “The stores about to close.” You look from him to the kitten and then back to him.

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m sorry. Really, I am but I’ve no idea what I’m doing.” He rubs at the baby’s head and she nips right at his finger. He groans, “why are you so mean? You were all cuddly in my lap and now you’re being hissy.”

You laugh a little at his lament and rub your own face. “Alright,” you can’t very well leave him like this. You’re sure the kitten would be more than happy to chew on something better than the man’s finger. “Come on,” you motion for him to follow. You don’t bother to page for someone to cover the front. The store’s about to close in 2 minutes anyways. “I’ll get you started, sir.”

“Kyle,” he grins when you quirk a brow, “just Kyle, none of that ‘sir’ business or else I’ll feel far older than I actually am.” He rests his kitten against his chest when she starts wiggling even more. “Curious little bugger, found her shivering at my front door.” There’s a glint in his eye as he retells his findings, “she didn’t even notice me grabbing her till I picked her up and look what she did to my face.” He says with dramatic flare when he holds her up to his eye view. The kitten merely blinks at him and her paws prod his nose.

You pull a cart since you have a feeling he’ll need a lot of things. He doesn’t give off ‘I already have a cat’ energy. “Serves you right for spooking her.” You joke about his woes when he gives you a playful glare.

“You’re only siding with her because she didn’t mark up your pretty face.”

You cough at that and push the cart more quickly down the aisle. You can handle getting yelled and cussed at but god forbid a handsome man says you’re pretty. “So,” you manage to say when he gives you a dazzling smile. He caught up quickly to your step and looks neither winded or strained. Why are all the tall men getting kittens? You inwardly roll your eyes, “you said a friend told you to find me?”

His brow raises slightly and he maneuvers his kitten to be more in his arms. “Yeah,” he simply says, “says you know a thing or two about cats.”

“Did he..” you look a bit hopeful, “did he say if he’d come back to the store.” Picking up some cat toys and placing some cute orange cat shaped bowls in the cart. “He uh, he left in a hurry last I saw.” You give a quick reasoning so as not to feel as desperate as you sound. You still feel the phantom touch of his hand. You never got his name…

“Can’t really tell,” he shrugs and he plucks some crinkle toys and tosses them in the cart. He doesn’t seem to care about pricing either. “Man’s unreadable unless you tell him a stupid joke.” There’s a short chuckle and flash of a memory that goes through his eyes.

You deflate a little, it wouldn’t make sense to feel like this. You don’t know mafia guy anyways. “Ah, well. If you see him, tell him he needs to take his cat to the vet.” Kyle nods and he perks up when he sees the cat clothing.

“When you get older, rug, I’m gonna buy you one of these.” He points to a cut pirate costume as if the kitten understands him. “You’ll hate me for it but at least I can get a picture out of it, yeah?”

You smile at his enthusiasm, from what you seem cats have never been a fan of clothing… but then again the clothing here doesn’t look— “wait,” you jerk your head to him, “rug? As in,” you gesture to the kitten that’s starting to meow when he pulls her back down from his shoulders. She must’ve climbed up there when he was looking through the clothes. “The cat?” You blink once then twice when he shrugs once more.

“Not really a naming guy, plus,” he rubs along her ears, “she was shivering on my rug. Figured I’d just say that and be done with it.”

Better than garbage, you think. “Well…” biting on your lip, “that’s unique.” Trying to save face, you don’t want to be too judgmental.

He gives you a look and then snickers, “I’m just kidding, love.” He comes close and you freeze slightly till he plops his kitten down in your hands. “About the rug name at least. I really am shit with names. Johnny’s better at naming animals.” Placing his hand on his hip and you wonder if that’s mafia guy but then you think maybe not. “If you got an idea then I’m all ears.” He turns on his side and he rubs his chin in thought. He mutters something and then walks off to the litter aisle.

You hold her in your hands. “A name, huh?” Bailey was the only name you could think of but that one’s been taken already… “hm,” you rub her nose to the top of her head. She seems to enjoy that as she curls into your fingers. “Pretty girl, what should your name be?” Humming softly in thought and leaning against the cart when Kyle comes back with a tub of litter and a nice looking litter box. You hadn’t expected to see the nice flex of muscle from his arms but you’re certainly not gonna complain about the view. “I got a secret to share, Kyle.” You say as he comes within earshot

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles and places the litter box in the cart first and then the tub. “What’s that? Promise I won’t tell a soul.” He makes an X over his chest.

“I’m shit with names too.”

His shoulders jump and he lets out a laugh. “Really?” Rolling his eyes, “guess we’re both in a pickle. Might have to stick with rug for now.” He rubs a thumb over his kitten's little head. She nips a little at his finger but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pats the top of her head like one would a dog.

“I think she hates that idea.”

“Very opinionated this one,” he takes over the pushing of the cart and you lead him down to the cat food aisle. You check her teeth and you are pleasantly happy that she won’t need formula. “Now,” he turns side to side to check the kinds of food the store sells. “What does my girl need?”

You give him a thorough answer after having learned your lesson with your mystery man. Explaining what he should and shouldn’t do and placing a weeks worth of 3 different foods. You then also speak about how he’ll need to see a vet. You checked her for fleas and you are incredibly happy to tell him that she only had one but that it’s still good for him to get some flea drops. After you give him the runaround once more around the store, checking for items you know she won’t need but she absolutely needs a carrot cat scratcher. You finally take him to your register so he can pay. Your manager looks none too happy about a remaining customer but your manager has nothing to remark when Kyle looks right at him.

“Okay,” you finally say after bagging all his items and placing them in the cart. “Here’s your receipt,” you pass it to him and you give a little pet to his kitten. “Sweet girl when she wants to be.” He chuckles around you and pockets his receipt.

“Only when she wants to, that’s for sure.” He lets out a low whistle, “cost me a high bill but only the best for her.” He tucks her a little closer and gives you a kind look. “Thanks for staying late for me,” he looks like he wants to say more but hesitates. “I’ll see you around?”

You blink and then nod quickly, “I’m always here, Kyle. Gotta make money,” you laugh shortly and his lips pull back so that you can see just a peep of his pearly whites. He takes his leave, chugging along his cart to place it in his car. He mouths something to his kitten when she tries to get out of his hands. Probably a scolding with how he tuts a finger side to side in front of her face. She’s hearing none of it though from how her tail flicks back and forth. You wave him goodbye and he waves back right at you before he steps in to drive away. You hope he’ll come back to tell you her name once he’s figured it out. You wonder if mafia guy will come back too…

[mcrdvcks]

— goodnight n go

chapter summary: You and Matt are childhood friends who met at the orphanage. But people always assume you two are dating.

word count: 3.6k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: as an og matt murdock stan, i can't believe i've never wrote for him. i hope this is accurate to his character!

and the title goodnight n go is a song by ariana grande from her album sweetener - which i fully believe is an underrated album

also i consider this taking place between dd s3 and ddba

warnings/tags: mentions of twirling/playing with hair, after endgame (so tony is dead😭), best friends to lovers, fluff, pining, oblivious idiots, slight angst, mention of injuries and blood

“And don’t forget to clean the coffee filter. I don’t want anyone getting sick. Again.” You said, grabbing your purse.

“I swear, sometimes your worse than my mother.” Foggy replied, sipping from his mug.

Karen quirked a brow, “your mother isn’t exactly a role model for parenting.”

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "She’s got a point, Foggy."

Foggy sighed dramatically, setting his mug down. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll clean the damn filter. But if I get coffee poisoning or whatever, I’m blaming you."

"You’ll live," you said, amused. You glanced at Matt, reaching out to fix the slightly crooked knot on his tie. "You should eat something before court."

"Not hungry," he replied, though he didn’t move away.

"You never are," you muttered, smoothing your hands over his lapels before stepping back. "Text me if you need anything."

Matt tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "You say that like you won’t just show up unannounced."

"Don’t tempt me." You grabbed your coat, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you later."

"See you," Matt said, voice softer now.

You gave a quick wave to Foggy and Karen before heading for the door.

Foggy exhaled loudly as it closed behind you. "That was totally normal. Super normal. Just two friends being weirdly affectionate in front of their other friends."

Matt ignored him, reaching for his cane. "We’re close. That’s all."

Karen shot him a look. "You’re also full of shit."

Matt just smirked and walked out.

---

It was late by the time you made it to Matt’s apartment, balancing a takeout bag in one hand as you knocked. You didn’t have to wait long—there was the distinct sound of locks clicking before the door swung open.

"You didn’t text," Matt said, leaning against the doorframe.

"You didn’t either," you shot back, stepping inside without invitation. "So I figured you probably forgot to eat. Again."

Matt sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he closed the door behind you. "You don’t have to keep feeding me, you know."

"You don’t have to keep skipping meals, but here we are," you said, setting the takeout on the counter.

Matt chuckled, walking over to the couch and sinking into it. "How was work?"

"Same as always. How was court?"

"Long," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "But we won."

"Then that calls for a celebration." You grabbed the food containers and joined him on the couch, handing him one.

Matt took it, his fingers brushing over yours briefly. "You really didn’t have to do this."

"Yeah, well, I was already out, and I know your fridge is probably empty."

Matt smirked. "You checked my fridge?"

You rolled your eyes. "Not today, but I have a pretty good guess. And considering you didn’t argue…"

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Fine. You got me."

You both ate in comfortable silence, the familiar hum of the city filtering in through the window. When you were done, you leaned back against the couch, letting out a content sigh.

Matt shifted beside you, his arm resting along the back of the couch. It was second nature when you tucked yourself closer, your head resting against his shoulder.

"You tired?" he asked, voice low.

"Mm, a little," you admitted.

Matt's fingers absently played with the ends of your hair, a familiar and comforting habit.

"You could stay," he murmured.

"You always say that," you said, eyes closed.

"And you always do."

You huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue.

---

The scent of coffee pulled you from sleep, warm and rich, mingling with the quiet sounds of the city outside. You cracked one eye open, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering—Matt’s apartment.

You stretched, groggy but comfortable, the sheets soft and warm around you. The space beside you was empty, but the dip in the mattress told you he hadn’t been gone long.

Dragging yourself up, you padded toward the kitchen, yawning as you leaned against the counter. Matt stood by the stove, pouring coffee like he had all the time in the world. He was still in the sweats and T-shirt he’d worn to bed, hair slightly messy, looking impossibly at ease.

"Didn’t wake you, did I?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"You and your super-hearing," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "I would’ve kept sleeping if your coffee didn’t smell so damn good."

Matt smirked, reaching for a second mug. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly as you stepped closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He huffed out a quiet laugh, free hand settling at your hip like it was second nature.

"Tired?"

"Mm. Your couch is comfy, but your bed is better."

"You say that like you weren’t the one who crawled in."

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, peeling away just enough to steal his coffee and take a sip.

Matt didn’t even try to stop you. "I was going to give you your own."

"You’re too slow."

"Or maybe I just like it when you steal from me."

You smirked against the rim of the mug, not missing the way his hand lingered at your waist. Instead of calling him out, you took another sip and turned toward the fridge.

"Pretty sure you don’t have food in here," you said, opening the door.

"You’d be correct," Matt said, completely unbothered.

You sighed, grabbing one of his hoodies off the back of a chair and pulling it on over your sleep shirt. "Guess we’re getting breakfast, then."

Matt hummed, setting his mug down before reaching out, fingers brushing over the sleeve. "You know you keep stealing my clothes, right?"

"You gonna do something about it, Murdock?"

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. "Not a thing."

You grinned, grabbing his cane and tossing it to him before heading for the door. "C’mon, Devil Boy. Breakfast is on me."

"Generous," Matt mused, following after you without hesitation. "Just don’t expect me to let you steal my coffee and my food."

You didn’t bother responding. He’d let you do both anyway.

---

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your outfit, eyeing yourself in the mirror one last time. It wasn’t often that you got this dressed up—definitely not for work—but a Stark Industries gala demanded something a little more refined than your usual jeans and hoodie.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. When you opened it, Matt stood there, looking effortlessly put together in a sleek black suit. The tie was perfect, the hair just slightly tousled, and the way he carried himself made it impossible to tell that he wasn’t seeing any of it.

"You clean up nice, Murdock," you teased, grabbing your purse.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "You’re one to talk."

His voice had that subtle shift, the one that always came when he was taking you in—not with his eyes, but in the way only he could. He wasn’t just listening to your words; he was listening to the way your breath hitched slightly, the way your heartbeat quickened when he leaned in a fraction too close.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. "Ready?"

"Always," Matt said, offering his arm.

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, his touch steady and warm as the two of you headed out.

---

The gala was exactly what you expected—sleek, extravagant, and filled with people who had more money than they knew what to do with. The chatter was loud, glasses clinking as servers weaved through the crowd with trays of expensive champagne.

Matt stuck close to your side, his fingers lightly grazing your arm as the two of you maneuvered through the room. It wasn’t like he needed to be guided, but the contact was easy, familiar.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" he murmured near your ear.

"Because I asked nicely," you replied, plucking two glasses from a passing tray and handing him one.

"Mm. That must’ve been it."

You huffed a quiet laugh, taking a sip. The atmosphere was buzzing, but Matt seemed relaxed—more than you expected.

"Surprised you’re handling this so well," you admitted. "Figured the noise would drive you insane."

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "I’m filtering most of it out. But you—" He shifted just a little closer, lowering his voice. "You’re easy to focus on."

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. He did not just say that with a straight face.

Before you could come up with a decent response, someone approached—one of your higher-ups at Stark Industries. You smiled, exchanging pleasantries, introducing Matt with an easy, "This is my friend, Matt Murdock."

Your boss smiled politely before turning to Matt. "It’s great to meet you. And what do you do?"

Matt’s lips twitched like he was holding back amusement. "I’m a lawyer."

"Ah, an honest profession," your boss said, clearly impressed. "And you’re here as—?"

"Her date," Matt said smoothly, with absolutely no hesitation.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Your boss nodded approvingly before launching into some talk about Stark’s latest legal team, but you barely heard a word of it.

Matt, meanwhile, looked completely unfazed. Like he hadn’t just said something that made your stomach flip.

The conversation wrapped up, and as soon as your boss was out of earshot, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low.

"Date?"

Matt just smiled, lifting his glass. "Figured that was easier than explaining whatever this is."

You squinted at him, but he only took a sip of his drink, calm as ever.

Damn him.

---

At some point in the night, the gala turned into something more social—music playing, people moving toward the open dance floor. You weren’t much of a dancer, but Matt, of course, looked completely at ease, even without seeing the way people moved around him.

"You’re staring," Matt said suddenly, lips quirking.

You scoffed. "I am not."

"You are," he countered, setting his empty glass down. Then, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he extended a hand. "Dance with me?"

You blinked. "You hate dancing."

"That’s not true."

"You avoid dancing."

Matt smirked. "And yet, I’m asking you."

You hesitated for half a second before sighing, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm as he pulled you toward the floor.

His other hand settled at your waist, light but certain. Yours rested against his shoulder, and for a moment, the world shrunk to just the two of you, the music humming around you as Matt led with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible.

"You’ve done this before," you murmured, impressed despite yourself.

"Few times," Matt admitted. "But this is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed it."

Your breath hitched, heart stuttering before you could stop it. And from the way his lips twitched, you knew he caught it.

"You’re doing that on purpose," you muttered.

"Doing what?"

"This. Being all—" You gestured vaguely.

Matt just smiled, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Maybe."

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you let yourself relax into him, your fingers idly tracing the fabric of his suit as the two of you swayed.

It didn’t feel friendly. It didn’t feel like some casual thing you could brush off. It felt like something else, something real, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name just yet.

And from the way Matt held you—careful, close, like he knew exactly what this was—he knew it, too.

---

It had been a few days since the gala, and life carried on as usual—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You pushed open the door to Nelson, Murdock & Page, a takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. The office was quiet, save for the sound of Foggy typing furiously at his keyboard and Karen flipping through a stack of papers at her desk.

"Tell me you guys have eaten," you said, setting the bag down with a thud.

Karen looked up first, lips twitching. "We have now."

Foggy groaned in relief, already reaching for the food. "You’re a lifesaver. Matt’s in his office, by the way."

You hummed in acknowledgment, grabbing the coffee before heading toward the glass-paneled room at the back. The door was slightly open, and Matt was exactly where you expected—leaning back in his chair, fingers pressed against his temple like he was nursing a headache.

"You look like hell," you said, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

Matt’s lips quirked at the sound of your voice. "And yet, you still bring me coffee."

"Because I’m nice," you teased, setting it in front of him.

Matt reached for the cup, fingers brushing yours in the process. You ignored the way your pulse jumped at the contact, shifting to sit on the edge of his desk.

"You should eat, too," you said. "I brought—"

"You didn’t have to do that," Matt murmured, cutting you off.

You rolled your eyes. "You say that every time, and yet here I am, making sure you don’t keel over from malnutrition."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, fingers curling around the coffee cup. "I appreciate it."

"You better."

There was a pause. The usual kind, the kind that never used to feel weighted—except, lately, it did.

Matt turned his head slightly, like he was studying you in that way he always did. "You okay?"

The question caught you off guard. "Me? You’re the one who looks like he’s been through hell and back."

Matt huffed. "Occupational hazard."

You folded your arms, watching him for a moment. His tie was slightly loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. The usual signs of Matt Murdock burning the candle at both ends.

You reached out without thinking, adjusting the knot of his tie like you had at the gala. He stayed perfectly still, letting you.

"You really need to take better care of yourself," you muttered, smoothing out the fabric before pulling back.

Matt caught your wrist before you could move too far, his thumb brushing over the inside of it—absent, thoughtless, but lingering.

"You do that enough for the both of us," he murmured.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it. His lips twitched.

Damn him.

You pulled your wrist free, shaking your head. "Eat your food, Murdock."

Matt smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Yes, ma’am."

---

A knock at your door this late was never a good sign.

You barely had time to process it before a second, weaker knock followed. Frowning, you unlocked the door and swung it open—only for Matt to nearly collapse against the frame.

"Jesus, Matt—" You grabbed his arm, steadying him as he exhaled sharply. His suit was torn in places, blood staining the red fabric, his lip split, and a nasty bruise was already forming along his jaw.

"You gonna let me in, or…?" His voice was rough, strained, but still laced with that familiar teasing edge.

You didn’t answer, just hooked an arm under his and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind you. Without hesitation, you grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and shoved him down onto the couch.

Matt let out a quiet grunt as he sat, shifting carefully. "You don’t have to—"

"Shut up." You dropped to your knees in front of him, flipping the kit open. "Take off the suit."

"You don’t waste time, do you?"

"Matt."

"Alright, alright," he muttered, wincing as he pulled the top half of the suit down, exposing bruised ribs and a gash along his side. He also took off his helmet.

You inhaled sharply but said nothing. This wasn’t new—you’d patched him up more times than you could count. But something about tonight felt different.

The room was quiet as you worked, disinfecting the wound, pressing gauze to the worst of it. Your hands lingered, fingertips brushing over the edge of a bruise, tracing the uneven rise and fall of his breath.

Matt didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, just slightly.

"You’re mad at me," he murmured.

You scoffed, pressing the bandage to his ribs a little harder than necessary. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Of course I’m mad, Matt," you snapped, voice low but edged with frustration. "You show up at my door looking like this, you don’t tell me where you were or how bad it was—do you even think about what it’s like for me? Sitting here, waiting for you to—"

Matt cut you off the only way he knew how.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t questioning. It was firm, certain—like he’d already decided long before this moment that it was inevitable.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away. His hands found your face, fingers ghosting along your jaw, mapping you out the way only he could.

You exhaled against his lips, your own hands grabbing onto his bare shoulders, nails pressing just slightly into his skin, but Matt didn’t pull away. If anything, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch light, careful—like he wasn’t sure how much he could take before you stopped him.

You didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back, frustration melting into something else entirely. The heat of it, the way he breathed against your lips like he needed this just as badly as you did—it sent your heart hammering in your chest.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, forehead brushing against his.

"Matt," you whispered, voice unsteady.

His hands stayed where they were, fingertips still curled against the base of your neck. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice low, rough. "And I will."

You exhaled, fingers flexing against his skin. "I don’t want you to stop," you admitted.

Matt’s breath hitched. You felt it more than you heard it—the way his chest rose sharply beneath your hands, the way his grip on you tightened like he was committing this moment to memory.

Then, as quickly as it started, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, deliberate.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, caught up in him, but when you finally pulled away, Matt’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing over your skin like he was still grounding himself.

"You’re still hurt," you murmured, running a hand over his ribs, where fresh gauze was now taped in place.

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. "You’re the one distracting me."

"You kissed me, Murdock."

"Mm. And you kissed me back."

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t move away. "You need rest."

Matt hummed, not agreeing but not arguing either. His hands finally dropped from your face, settling instead at your waist, like letting go completely wasn’t an option.

"You staying?" he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah. Afterall, you are in my apartment.”

Matt let out a quiet hum, his hands still resting at your waist, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. He wasn’t letting go, and you weren’t pulling away.

"You’re on the floor," he murmured.

"Yeah, no shit," you said, raising a brow.

His lips quirked. "Come up here."

You hesitated, but only for a second before shifting, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Matt adjusted just enough to make room, one arm draping along the back of the cushions. His other hand found your knee, thumb brushing absentmindedly against it.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, leaning your head back against the couch.

"How so?"

"You come here half-dead, I patch you up, and then instead of resting, you start—" You gestured vaguely between the two of you.

"Kissing you?" Matt supplied, smirking.

You shot him a look. "Distracting me."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was focused on you, listening. "Do you regret it?"

The question made your breath catch, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you reached over, your fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw, ghosting over the bruise forming there. Matt didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch.

"No," you admitted softly.

His grip on your knee tightened just slightly. "Good."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "You do need rest, though."

Matt hummed, clearly not in a hurry to move. His fingers slid up, resting lightly against the curve of your hip. "Stay?"

You exhaled, shaking your head. "Matt, I live here."

"Right. Convenient." He smirked, thumb brushing against your skin.

You huffed, shifting to lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, his arm slipping around you like it was second nature.

For a while, neither of you spoke. His breathing was steady, the warmth of him grounding, familiar. You could feel the tension in his muscles start to ease, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.

"You’re not going out again tonight, right?" you asked, voice low.

Matt didn’t answer right away, which was already an answer.

"Matt."

"I won’t," he murmured.

"You better not." You tightened your grip on his arm, just slightly. "Or I’m locking you in here next time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle. "Terrifying."

"Damn right," you mumbled, letting your eyes slip shut.

He didn’t say anything else, just pulled you closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

And for once, Matt actually stayed still.

i had a lot of fun writing this - the idea of falling in love with your best friend is just so cute! (curses to my childhood self for not having a male best friend to fall in love with😭)

it may be slightly unclear but reader is an engineer at stark industries!

and, one more thing, i'd love to write more of these two! if you have any requests, send them in! i fear that that shower scene in that ddba trailer has taken up my mind... so don't be surprised if i write shower sex with matt soon...

[willowcried]

ENTRE CANÍBALES!

you’re not sure how’d you ended up with shauna like this… again. it was the third time this month and you were not proud of your lack of self control. she sure as hell was.

her cold fingertips ghosted down your spine, and you shivered despite yourself. you clutched her shoulders tighter, as if holding onto her would make any of this more stable, more okay. coming to your senses momentarily, you pulled away in an attempt to catch your breath. “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

shauna barely let you finish the sentence before chasing after your lips, pressing her body flush against yours.

“why not?” she murmured between open mouthed kisses.

why not? because you had lottie. because lottie would never do this to you. because she believed in you, believed in something, like that meant anything at all. and shauna didn’t believe in shit.

nevertheless, you kissed her back, you let her take off your shirt and you took off hers. “shauna—” you weakly tried.

“don’t ‘shauna’ me like you’re any better. i’m not forcing you to do anything.”

oh, how you hated her guts.

but you might hated yours more for letting her get away with hers everytime. “you said that last time.”

“and you said last time would be the last time.”

her mouth tasted like guilt and something darker. not quite hate and let alone love. it was something worse.

maybe it was just hunger.

she bit your lip as she pulled away, smiling when you winced. she liked hurting you just enough. you liked it too.

“oh, baby, why you lookin’ at me like that for? are you mad or flustered?”

you inhaled sharply, the sound catching in your throat. baby. she used to call you that all the time—softly, lazily, like it belonged to you, like she wasn’t going to rip it away the second things got hard. yo should’ve expected it, should’ve seen it coming, and yet it still burned.

“you don’t get to call me that anymore.” you snapped her against the tree so quickly it startled even you, your eyes widening at the audacity. the nerve of her, to say it like it meant nothing. like it wasn’t a wound she’d left open. “you’re such an idiot.”

she scoffed, head tilting as her smirk deepened. “and what does that make you?”

you could say it made you weak. a liar. a disappointment.

but that wasn’t the full truth, was it?

the truth was that it made you hers.

it was in the way her teeth scraped against your jaw, her hands gripping your ribs like she wanted to feel the crack beneath her fingers. It was in the way she knew you—knew that you’d come back, knew that your body would betray you before your mind could even try to resist.

you wanted to rip her apart. you wanted to press your teeth into her shoulder and see how deep you could go before she bled. you wanted her to sink her nails into your back, leave marks that wouldn’t fade. you wanted to consume her in a way that wasn’t just metaphorical.

you knew she wanted the same.

because lottie was warmth, faith, a guiding hand. shauna was none of those things, and neither were you. you were something else entirely, something gnawing and desperate and ugly, and shauna understood that.

you didn’t have to explain it to her. she was the same.

“you gonna run back to her after this?” she whispered, her voice almost sweet, if not for the ragged breathing. “gonna let her kiss you with my teeth still on your skin?”

you should’ve pushed her away. should’ve gotten up, walked out, left her to rot in her own cruelty.

instead, you gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at you with gritted teeth. she smiled.

“shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

shauna kissed you like she wanted to devour you, her teeth scraping over your bottom lip, her nails dragging down your back, leaving welts you’d have to explain later. you shuddered at the sting, at the way she pressed her body against yours like she was trying to burrow under your skin.

it was always like this with her—needy, desperate, almost violent.

she hooked a leg around your waist, rolling her hips against yours, and you could feel her pulse racing just as fast as yours. your hands roamed over her bare skin, fingertips pressing hard enough to bruise, to brand. maybe you wanted her to wear them later, hidden under her clothes like a secret, like proof that she was yours even if neither of you ever said it out loud.

and fuck, she was.

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and Footballers - ONE-SHOTS

Masterlist (other parts here)

Discord Lovers - 2 (4k)

ONA POV THE SUGGESTION – (reference Sunsets and Footballers chapter 86)

Ona was sick of sitting with feelings that hurt. She was sick of being out with the team, but Lucy wasn’t there, and knowing it’s because she was with someone else. Someone she loved. And looking at the two of them – she knew that was it. They were the authentic relationship Ona wished for as a child. To love and be loved.

She knew she was a lot physically. She loved to touch and kiss and share affection. Being Spanish just made that worse than it already was. But although she was so well liked, Ona struggled to find connection with anyone. Lucy had been the first in years, and now… now she had found her person.

Only one person had enough wisdom and knowledge of the entire messy situation to talk to. She needed to talk to Alexia, but she hadn’t been responding in days. Her next best bet was Ridley, who was also not answering, though she didn’t know if it was because of her thing with Alexia. The closest person to Alexia was… no one. Ridley. And the closest person to Ridley was YFN, though she didn’t have her number. Instead, she had to go the roundabout route and luckily, she knew some of the Barca girls would have been near her. Refusing to call Lucy, she called her next best option.

“Hi Keira.”

“Hi Ona,” Keira said loudly, against the background noise.

“You’re out in town? England?”

“Yeah, I’m just in London.”

“Out with family?”

“At Lucy’s with her family and a few others..” Keira said, almost warily mentioning Lucy.

“Is YFN there? I’d like to talk to her..”

“Oh…” she paused, obviously surprised. “Yeah, she’s sitting right next to me actually. You want to talk to her?”

“Yes, please.”

There was another pause and she heard Keira say, “She wants to talk to you,” before the next voice on the phone was that of YFN.

“Hi Ona,” she said politely, as if it weren’t a strange thing that she’d requested her.

“Hola YFN, how are you?”

“Broken, but good. Getting better everyday.”

“That’s good!” Ona hesitated. “Uh, I was just wonder if you know where Ridley is?”

A pause so brief, she didn’t know if she was lying. “I actually don’t, sorry. I know she and Alexia are sort of out of contact right now.”

No shit. “Oh…”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just want to talk to Alexia about some things…”

“Can I help you with anything?”

Ona couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Would it happen to be about Luce?”

Fuck. She should have known YFN would see right through her. Ona opened and shut her mouth a few times, not knowing where she stood.

“I know you most likely don’t want to talk to me about it, but I get it… I do.”

Still, she had no idea what to say. It wasn’t like she was shy about these types of conversations, it was just unknown territory talking to the partner of someone she liked.

Thankfully, YFN let it sit there until she was ready.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for…” she immediately replied, and Ona knew it was the truth.

“Yes… and no – I…” She sighed, thinking about Lucy and how blinded she’d been by her feelings for her. She hadn’t been as hospitable towards YFN and she knew that. “It’s hard to find someone who like what I like…”

“Most footballers are gay, no?”

Not expecting that, Ona chuckled. “Si, but most are not for me.”

“Ah. Well. What hobbies do you have?”

“I mostly play football…”

“Well I hear you like to read?”

“Oh, yes!”

“What types of things?”

“Everything. The fantasy. The dragons. The sex.” She said, getting excited and knowing YFN would understand.

YFN laughed a cute, charming sound that made Ona feel comfortable.

“Hm, well. I think I may have just the perfect suggestion for you…”

“Oh?”

“Ona, you’re the type of person who needs to find someone to love you for you. Not Ona Batlle. You’re too authentic for that. You crave connection.”

How did she know people…her so well?! “I… do.”

“Ona, now just hear me out… what are your thoughts on anonymously meeting someone?”

“I.. I think it have lots of possibility, no? They get to know me for me but they might not like me.”

“Exactly. You can meet and talk to people without wondering if they’re just talking to you because you’re Ona Batlle. There’s a whole WOSO loving internet world out there full of online chats and-”

“I think I see some stories… they write stories, no?”

YFN gave a light chuckle. “They do and can get quite… interesting. I always keep an eye out on things so I know where the popularity is and what people are talking about. But there are a lot of people online who are self-confessed Ona lovers.”

Ona cringed a little at the idea. Before she could speak, YFN calmed her.

“Now just hear me out… there are a lot of your fans on the internet. They’re manic and obsessive and follow you and such, but some are different. Some have jumped out at me... there are authentic people. Not obsessive. But appreciative. They aren’t the people who harass you for photos and autographs after a game, they tend to just admire from afar. They like to see you do well, and are such a big supporter of you, even on your rough days. It makes me smile to see some of the things they write about you.”

“They.. writes stories?”

“Light-hearted fantasies, sure. Nothing like the dirty smut that everyone else seems to write.”

“Ah.. smut?”

Another more awkward chuckle. “Sex scenes and things with you. Listen.. I know it’s a lot, but I’ll send you a WOSO server link and just have a look through it, okay? When I see how they talk about you – something just clicks for me. Promise you’ll give it a thought? I’ll send you my phone number so we can keep in touch.”

Ona was unsure, but her curiosity won her over, especially with how YFN had described it. What the hell. With Alexia AWOL, she might as well. “I’ll take a look.”

THE BOX - (Reference Sunsets and Footballers chapter 98)

Ona pulled up at her house, relaxing at the sight she hadn’t seen since that morning. She’d had training, followed by interviews, photos, and then she had back-to-back catch ups with friends. Her social battery was well worn-out, and she was excited to just get home and call Rosie.

She couldn’t believe how quickly she’d become her comfort, even to the point of being teased by her teammates when they saw he grinning at her phone to her “secret lover.”

She slid out of her Cupra and shrugged her backpack on, walking towards her front door. Immediately, she froze. There was a box. Her eyes widened. It was her first package from Rosie. The one they thought was lost in the mail. Ona had been so hesitant to give her address, but she eventually decided that it was only fair given that she wasn’t fully open with Rosie about who she was.

She was practically jogging for it when she realised what it was. Crouching down, she smiled and her heart skipped a beat at the box with her address written in her handwriting. She reached out and stroked her fingers along the words. She was touching something that Rosie had touched.

Picking it up to inspect it, the box roughly beaten, but it was hers. And that made her smile.

Tucking it under her arm, she made her way inside, abandoning her backpack and setting the box down on the counter. She pulled her phone out and called her. She answered almost immediately.

“Hi, love.” Came that gorgeously sexy and reassuring voice from the other end. Ona took a breath, and closed her eyes for half a second just to hear it.

“It’s here.”

“…it’s…wait.. the box?!”

“The box.”

“I’d completely given up on it.”

“You and me both,” Ona chuckled.

“This has just made my day. I’m so happy! Have you opened it?”

“No, I wanted to be on the phone to you..”

“Mmn.” Ona always pictured that whenever she made that sound, she was biting her lip.

“Let it go.”

She made a surprised sound. “How did you..?”

“Your lip is mine. Be good.”

The next sound from her mouth was something similar to a moan. Ona imagined she was blushing, biting her lip and had caught herself again. “Mmnhmn. Yep. Open it please, I only have a few minutes and then I’m back to work…”

Grabbing the closest knife, Ona gently cut her way into the box.

“Just opening it now..” she said, giving Rosie the commentary she’d be wanting.

It was a box packed to the brim with snacks from her part of the world, her home. Sweet, savoury, all sorts. It was Rosie in a box. Ona’s heart skipped a beat knowing how special it all was, and how she’d individually chosen each thing she’d wanted her to try. Her bottom lip trembled, but not just from that. But because lying on top of everything, was her hoody.

Without instruction, she picked it up, unfolded it and pressed her face into the chest. Rosie’s perfume. This is what she smelled like.

And then she started to cry.

After their phone call, Ona laid in bed in Rosie’s hoody, her stomach fluttering like she was back in high school. She wore a content smile on her face, thinking about her. Knowing she was wearing something that Rosie had worn. And dreaming about meeting her. Touching her. Hugging her.

Just seeing her smile and watching to see if her dark eyes really would look like honey in the sun. Her little sunshine princess.

Right then, she knew she needed to tell YFN. Excitedly, she called her and it rung out. Remembering the event, she called Alexia instead.

“Hola Capitana, I’m sorry, I know you’re out, I was just trying to get hold of YFN?” Ona could practically see the confusion on Alexia’s face as her voice got further from the phone. "It's Ona... she wants to talk to you."

"Oh! Ona! How are you?" YFN said, excited that she was asking for her.

"Hola, YFN." Ona replied, unable to stop her grin.

The room was so loud around her that YFN was almost yelling. "Hola, Ona. Everything okay..?"

"Yes. I took your advice and uh... I think I met someone, but I don't know what to do."

“Ah, this is great news! Was it on the server I recommended?”

“Si.. er yes. Yes. Sorry, I know you are busy, I just want to tell you.”

“Oh Ona, that’s amazing. I don't even need to ask, because I can hear just how happy you are.” Ona blushed and was grateful she couldn’t see it. “Can I call you tomorrow? I want to hear all about her.”

Ona could tell she was being genuine. She always was. “After my morning training, okay? I will text you.”

“Perfect.”

The next day YFN called her almost immediately after Ona had texted. She seemed just as excited as she did about the topic of conversation.

Ona opened up about her – the woman she’d been talking to for months. Just her voice gave her comfort alone, with her cute islander accent as she spoke Spanish. Ona had hesitantly joined the server, only doing so because she trusted YFN. She’d made an anonymous account and started by following along with the comments and photos. YFN had helped her here and there with a good back story in case she was caught unawares. She didn’t ever intend on catfishing, she just wanted to be someone without the baggage that Ona the footballer had.

At the start, she’d been talking to someone else, and flirting of course. It was only natural. But then Rosie had come along, and that’s all she saw.

Ona had dropped everything just to be in her life. She was so warm and comforting. Somebody that everyone liked. But it was Ona she responded to first. Ona she flirted with openly in the server. Ona who she fell asleep to on the phone at night.

It had been terrifying, sending those first photos. She’d been so worried that she’d recognised her, but all Rosie saw was Ona for… Ona. Not the footballer. It had been even more terrifying to talk on the phone for the first time. Surely she’d recognise her voice? She hadn’t. Because it was just them, and Rosie had seemed just as nervous at the start.

It was a beautiful, personal thing between them, Ona’s moments talking to her were spent smiling and laughing so much her cheeks hurt…. which was counteracted by the feeling of guilt whenever she was alone.

Fuck. She had selfishly let this perfect, kind, caring, empathetic woman fall in love with a lie.

THE MEETING (reference Discord Lovers One-Shot)

Staring at the flight app, Ona nervously paced up and down her apartment, waiting for her to at least have disembarked the plane before messaging her.

Ona: Hi love, I see your flight landed safely. Welcome to Barcelona! Welcome to my home.. I know I’ve asked a few times but are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up from the airport?

She replied within minutes which felt like hours.

Rosie: Your home is beautiful. So much so, that I can see myself living here one day perhaps… It’s okay, we have a plan, yes?

The thought made her heart skip a beat and another wave of insecurity and guilt ran through her.

Ona: If you find me pretty, that is. And yes, we do..

Rosie: *eye roll emoji* I know you. Regardless of how you look. You’re my person. I’ll see you soon..

Her person.

Ona: I live just around the corner so message me when you’re there.

Rosie: Okay, love. What do you think the chances are that I’ll see one of the players?

Ona looked in the mirror and frowned. Disheartened, she messaged back honestly.

Ona: I dare say your chances are good, love.

Rosie: Don’t get jealous now, you know the only person I want is you.

Ona smiled at both the misinterpretation, and the reassurance.

“Will she want me?” She wondered aloud to the mirror, as if it were a Disney film and would somehow answer her.

Sighing, she looked down at the red bracelet from the first box she’d received. She’d worn it every single day, grumbling whenever she had to take it off for a game or hide it so Rosie wouldn’t spot it in photos.

Ona: I can’t wait to see you. To hold you. I’ll be the one with red bracelet on that you sent me…

Rosie: And I’ll be the one in the blue one you sent me…

Ona: Culers for life, we are.

Ona smiled at her phone like an idiot. For the next ten minutes she probably covered more ground in her apartment than during a 90-minute game. Plus stoppage. She’d cleaned her house to an immaculate level, hoping Rosie would still want to stay with her.

She’d dressed and undressed, never quite happy with the outfit, knowing that it would be the first thing she’d ever see her in.

Finally, she took a deep breath and checked herself in the mirror on more time, putting on a brave smile and leaving the apartment. She wandered down to a park just across the road from the café and found a ledge to lean against, fidgeting and staring at the front door.

Shortly after she’d arrived, a taxi stopped out the front and there she was. Even without seeing her before, she’d recognise her anywhere, even from the bits and pieces she’d seen in photos.

The shape of her body, the curve of her neck, the tattoo behind her ear. That beautiful tanned skin and those perfect, full lips. She was slightly shorter than Ona which they’d already joked about given how Ona was not at all tall.

She looked nervous, and excited. Ona couldn’t help but stare, completely smitten as Rosie smiled so bright at the taxi driver that she lit up the entire world.

Fuck.

She was beautiful. She was everything.. and more.

Grabbing her case, she paused outside the café to take a photo of it.

Ona smirked. What a tourist.

Rosie looked inside the café and just outside of it, though her eyes never went as far as Ona across the street. Not finding her – she walked inside and ordered, sitting down in a corner booth. She waited, fidgeting.

Ona frowned and looked at her phone. No message. She would have been concerned… however she knew she must have been just as nervous as Ona was.

Finally, her drink arrived. She took a large sip and set it down, taking a deep breath and touching her phone.

Ona’s phone buzzed and she scrambled for it.

Rosie: I’m at the café.

Ona: Okay baby, are you ready?

The last thing she wanted to do was push her. Everything from here on was on her terms.

Rosie: I think so..

Ona: On my way. Message me if you want me to wait at all... it’s okay.

Rosie: I want my hug.

Ona softened. All she wanted too, was to hug her. If that’s all she got from this, then she’d be happy with that.

Ona: Mmn. *smiling hearts emoji*

Ona waited for a few minutes, stuck between nerves, guilt and excitement. She watched Rosie fidget with her phone, the menu, her drink. Seeing her so nervous, she just wanted to be in her presence. And with that thought, Ona found her feet moving without her giving instruction – only when she opened the door to the café did she realise she was moving towards her.

As soon as the door opened, she felt Rosie’s eyes on her, and something inside her panicked. She didn’t look at her, instead looking down to make sure her phone was muted, and send a panicked text to YFN.

Ona: She’s here.

Before waiting for a reply, she grabbed a menu and pretended to look at it. When she got to the counter, she ended up ordering the same as usual, as well as a favourite sweet pastry of hers for Rosie to try.

She felt her phone buzz and looked down, expecting YFN.

Rosie: Baby, Ona is here.

She swallowed.

Ona: Are you going to say hello?

She knew full well that she wouldn’t.

Rosie: I don’t want to be one of those fangirls. I’m so much more than that. I respect her so much more than that.

Ona: I know… it’s why I love you.

When her name was called, Ona collected her drink and seeing YFN calling, she scrambled outside to answer.

“Hola Ona, is everything okay..?” YFN asked, as patient and comforting as ever.

“She’s here.” She said – her voice cracking. She’d been on and off the phone to YFN for the past few days in the lead up to Rosie visiting.

“Deep breaths,” she calmed. “You’re just panicking, and that’s okay. That’s normal.”

Her phone buzzed and she looked at it.

Rosie: Are you close?

She trembled and began to pace again.

“I… she’s here. I see her.”

“She’s in the café?”

“Si.”

“And you are in the café?”

“No.. I walk in but I panic and walk out.”

“Okay just close your eyes, take a few more deep breaths in and out… that’s it… and I want you to remember why you’re here.”

“Because.. because I want to meet her.”

“You want to meet the person you’ve fallen in love with. You want to give her honesty. She deserves to know who you are, and you deserve for her to know the real you, Ona.”

The tears were so close. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me?”

“Ona, listen to me. She feels just as strongly for you, as you do for her. She isn’t the type of person to walk away like that. She will probably need time… but it’s now or never. Be strong. Think of the relationship you could have with her. Think of what tomorrow may bring once this is over.”

“You’re right..” she said, and realised she’d stopped pacing.

She needed to be strong for her.

“Go get your girl.”

Ona hung up and turned around, walking straight for the café again. Swinging the door open, her eyes found Rosie. She startled, blushing and looking down at her menu, pretending to read it. Ona noticed her leg bouncing under the table.

Calming and slowing herself, she walked to the booth and slid in opposite her. God, she smelled great. Just like the perfume on the hoody she’d given her.

Rosie took a noticeable breath and looked up, startling yet again. Her eyes widened but not because of who she was, but rather like she had done something wrong. Behind her eyes ran thoughts a hundred miles-a-minute. She saw them swimming there, alongside so many questions and worries for Ona and what she needed.

Ona wanted to say something, but thought it was best not to. Nothing she could say would justify what she’d done. Her expression softening. The longer they sat there, the more Rosie’s eyebrows creased, her worry evident in her face. Ona sighed and communicated with body language.

It’s me.

“I… I.. d..did Mari send you?” she managed to whisper.

She was so kind and trusting that she hadn’t realised. She thought Mari had done this as a surprised. Ona hesitated and then slowly nodded.

“She said she’d be here soon..”

Ona didn’t say anything. She knew her guilt was now written all over her face. Rosie deserved all of the apologies in the world.

Suddenly, something clicked. Rosie looked down at Ona’s wrist resting gently on the table and spotted her red bracelet.

Ona’s eyes found Rosie’s blue one.

A tear fell down one of Rosie’s cheeks which immediately made Ona want to cry. To get on her knees and beg for forgiveness.

She felt her bottom lip tremble and slowly reaching out, offering her hand for Rosie to take. She didn’t move, but neither did Ona. She could be patient. She could be whatever Rosie wanted her to be.

Her extended hand seemed to be confirmation and Rosie inhaled sharply, her breath stuttering with her emotions. Her eyes flicked up to meet Ona’s.

And then she slid out of the booth and walked away.

Ona’s stomach dropped as she stared blankly at the empty seat across from her – her hand still extended across the table.

She was gone. This was really happening. She’d just lost her.

The tears began to roll down her cheeks, the flow unable to be stopped by anything. Ona pulled her hand back in and cuddled into herself.

“You forgot your xuixo.” Said a waitress – breaking her from her stupor.

Ona quickly wiped her tears away with the cuffs of her shirt while the girl gave her an empathetic smile and put the sweet pastry down on the table with two plates, one in front of Ona, and the other in front of the recently vacated seat opposite her.

“It.. it’s okay. It’s just for me.”

The girl gave her a reassuring smile. “She’ll be back.”

When Ona looked confused, she took a step back and gestured at the suitcase and backpack Rosie had left behind.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 37 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

AN: DId everyone have a good Valentine's day that celebrated? And a good week? Feeling nice and cozy? Ready to be home from our beach vacation? Good....

CW: Laurence, sexual assault, marital rape, Alastor being a unhinged murder baby, suggestions of people nomming

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!

“Where’d you get that dress?” Laurence hissed over your shoulder as you lifted your bag into the car. 

“Ma- Mother got it for me,” you corrected yourself. Speak properly, you’re in public and heaven forbid your words appear to be anything less than chipper. You tried to look him in the eye while you straightened again, but it was hard. It felt like Laurence was looking into your soul when your eyes met. Would he see your guilt? The weight of your sins on your heart?

“Did she now?” Laurence asked after a pause. “How generous of her.” 

“It was,” you agreed. “I’m rather fond of it, too.” You made a show of turning this way and that to show it off, just as a woman would in a happy marriage. 

Laurence only looked on wordlessly as he opened the car door, face still as stone. There was something in his eyes, in his face, you didn’t like. You almost asked him if he was alright, if something happened before you swallowed your fear induced curiosity. 

Instead of asking, you tried to smile and ignore it. If you worried, if you looked like you saw, it would only make things worse for you. All it would do was make you look like there was a reason for you to notice. The last thing Alastor needed was for you to act guilty. 

“How was your sister’s?” Laurence asked, sitting behind the wheel for a moment before starting the car. 

“It was lovely.” You fueled the smile on your face with memories of the sandcastle that hardly looked like a castle. 

“And the birth went well?” Laurence asked, eyes focused on the view out the back window while backing out of the parking space. You kept your eyes trained on the world passing by, searching for one face, one car that would make everything alright.

For a moment, a flash, a blink, you saw him. Alastor stood tucked close to the pillar and hidden from sight, watching you. Did he see you looking at him? 

You wanted to wave to him, to say some sort of goodbye, but you couldn’t. He couldn’t either. All you could do is trust him and hope that he saw you longing to be by his side. 

“Something wrong?” Laurence asked, “Did you leave something behind?”

“No,” you lied, knowing full well you had left behind your heart. It wasn’t like you could go back and get it, anyway. It would be impossible for you to go back and collect it. It was his forever. 

“And how was your weekend away?” Mimzy asked, sliding a glass to Alastor across the empty bar. She was closed, still prepping for the night, but that never stopped Alastor from making himself right at home. 

“It was wonderful,” Alastor said, smile spreading wider as he swirled the amber liquid in his cup. 

“Oh, Al.” Mimzy sighed, leaning on her elbow as she looked over the bar at him. “You’ve got it bad for her.” 

“I do,” he admitted. “I’m addicted to her.” 

“Be careful,” she reached out, wrapping her hand around his much larger one. “I wish I could tell ya that this’ll work out and you’ll get your girl, but Al, this is doomed. Don’t let it doom you. Keep your head about you, if you’re going to run around with her.” 

“I’ve got it under control.” 

You tried not to notice the dust clinging to railings and tables as you walked through the living room. There were footprints on the floors, marks left by someone walking shoeless through the house, the body’s natural oils leaving just the ghost of the step behind, illuminated by the sunlight. 

Laurence always told you it was proper to wear shoes in the house. You needed to be guest ready at all times. Even he kept himself to that standard. From the first day of your marriage, shoes were required if you were going beyond the bathroom. 

But there were footprints on the dusty floor. 

One set of footprints was smaller than the other. You had no children. Laurence had no sisters. There was no reason Laurence should walk shoeless through your house. There was no reason a woman should, either. 

He had brought her to your home. Hot, bitter something stabbed into your gut and chest. Why? Why did that hurt you? It shouldn’t. You told yourself that, blinking back tears. You had spent your weekend in the arms of another, so what if he did too?

The sound of your throat clearing awkwardly was loud in the silent house as you crossed to the stairs. The emotion locked in your throat made it feel dry and as dusty as your home.

Cold fear ran down your spine as Laurance loomed behind you. Your eyes struggled to leave those dainty footprints on the dusty floor. What a contrast it was to feel fear again after a weekend with nothing but the peace and warmth you had felt sheltered with Alastor. 

“Something wrong?” Laurance’s breath cascaded over your neck and shoulder, not bringing an ounce of comfort that came with Alastor’s breath doing the same. 

Your eyes remained locked on the footprints, far too dainty to have any chance of being yours. Had you ever actually been barefoot on this floor? Even once?

A painful lump burned in your throat and your eyes stung as you came to terms with the fact that he really had brought another woman into your home. It bothered you and worse still; the fact that it bothered you bothered you. 

There was nothing you wanted more than to run into Alastor’s arms, take shelter there and cry those bitter hot tears. He’d let you too, you knew that and oh, wasn’t that somehow worse still? 

The man you loved would hold you as you bitterly cried over the betrayal of another man. Surely it would hurt him to do so, not just to see your pain, but to know that you cared enough to be hurt. Would he still love you? 

The stairs creaked as your weight settled on each step. Mentally, you mapped those squeaky boards, as you did every time you climbed them, just in case there was a change. They creaked louder still under Laurance’s weight as he followed you up, presence suffocatingly close behind you. 

Had you always been this scared of him, or was it you had grown desensitized? Had Alastor spoiled you with his kindness, love and pleasure for so long that you’d forgotten how to live your life? Had a weekend truly been enough to grow accustomed to the safe shelter and happiness you found in Alastor’s arms?

Was the fear sharper now that time had ripped that all away? Was that why being in this house with him felt all the more terrifying? 

You’d grown complacent in your short time away and now utter terror at the prospect of your husband’s touch ran through your veins, sending your heart beating hard. Were your hands trembling? You didn’t dare hold them out to check. 

What would his touch bring you tonight? Had he sated his hunger, a hunger you had only begun to understand, with the owner of those tiny footprints? Was she the same woman from Mimzy’s? Or did he have other women? 

Would he still hunger for you tonight? Would he grip your arms too tight, pushing you to the bed? Would he rip your dress? 

Suddenly you regretted wearing it. You didn’t want to face the thought of it ripping, not the dress Alastor had gotten you. 

“I’m going to change out of this,” you said quickly, on impulse. “It ah- it smells like train.” It didn’t. It should have, but it didn’t because you had only spent an hour in the crammed car. 

Each step toward your wardrobe came faster than the last, though you tried to not let them be. You tried to pretend not to see Laurence’s eyes on you as you undid button after button.

You were, for the first time in days, acutely aware of the lingering ache in your side, left by ribs still healing even after weeks passed since their injury. It would ben weeks still until that pain stopped gripping you, if ever. The bruises were lighter now, shades of yellow hidden in your skin. 

You had been healing. Time with Alastor had been putting you back together again, a little bit at a time. Alastor’s voice smoothed over your worries. His touch healed bruising. 

As the fear rushed through your veins, the wrong pair of hands wrapped around your biceps from behind. You couldn’t help but question if it was worth it? Did the fear feel like this before? Or was it because you had gotten a poisoned taste of Alastor? 

Did it matter? 

Laurence pulled you to him. Each breath that washed over your neck made it harder to school your face. You knew how to do this, you’d done it time and time again. Go numb. Go still. Let it happen. 

So why was it so hard now? 

You knew why. You knew why a sob tried to fight from your throat as Laurance pushed your slip up your legs. You knew why the bed you didn’t remember landing on felt wrong. 

“Please, Laurance.” You couldn’t keep the whine from your voice. It felt like a lifetime ago when you had said something similar, whine and all to Alastor, and yet the meaning and desire between the two instances couldn’t be more different. “I just got home.” 

“I’ve been without my wife,” Laurance punctuated his words with the bullying press of his hips against you. How different he felt fighting his way inside you compared to Alastor’s fingers had. “A man has needs, and it’s his wife’s job to satisfy them.” 

It wasn’t like this with Alastor. That’s why it was so hard to lie there and submit.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in the poorly made bed. Hairs of bright red, not your own, lay on your pillow. 

She had been here too; you realized as tears fell from your eyes. Laurence had taken her into your home. He had taken her in your marriage bed. 

Had he lain with her? Surely he had. Her hair was on your pillow. Did he make her feel good in the same ways Alastor made you feel good? Or was he not capable?

Each jarring shake of your body as he bullied into you made it harder to breathe. It felt like you were being ripped apart. Had it always felt this way? Hurt this bad?

The blanket was rough against your face as you sobbed into it silently. Your mind conjures up an image of Alastor, sitting on the villa bed naked as the day he had been born and yet so vulnerable, a desperate attempt to comfort yourself.

Alastor, the man who would never take you against your will. 

Alastor, the man who would always leave you an out, never demanding more from you than you could give. 

Alastor, who taught you that love didn’t hurt. 

You wanted to hate him for that. You wanted to push his face from your mind. You wanted to turn away from him. 

As Laurence worked through your body, using you to please himself in a process you understood better now than ever in your life, you longed for Alastor. 

You longed for his soft touches. 

You longed for his sweet kisses. 

You longed for the joy in his laugh. 

He was poison; you realized, but he was also the antidote to Laurance’s poison. You were addicted to his sweet taste and there was no going back. Alastor may be poison to your marriage, to your reputation and your standing. That was true. 

But he would never do this to you. 

Alastor felt like electricity was running through his veins. There had been only a few times he had felt as alive as he did right now. It concerned him slightly how many of them took place over the weekend but that was alright, he’d examine that later. 

There was a thump in the back of the car but Alastor paid it no mind. They’d be where they were going soon enough. It wasn’t like the man had the strength to do any damage to the trunk, anyway. 

It was better he wake up now and be feisty instead of Alastor having to wait for them to get his senses about him. The hunt would start sooner if he was awake. 

“We’re just about there, old chap.” Alastor interrupted his humming, though the man likely couldn’t hear him. That was alright, he didn’t need to hear Alastor. 

The car bumped and rocked, sometimes jumping over large roots. They were a good way out, but that was just how he wanted it, too. They had turned onto the back road that led out to into the bayou just past his home almost an hour ago and not stopped since. 

Alastor’s grin spread wider when he spotted the end of the road. The car speed up, earning muffled screams from the back and then, when he slammed on the brakes, a solid thump as the body flew into the back of the trunk. 

“Just making sure you’re awake,” Alastor said, laughing as he cut the engine. The car rocked with the shifting of his weight when he stepped out of the car. Turning, he leaned back in and grabbed the rifle from where it leaned into the passenger seat. 

The barrel of the gun rested against his shoulder as he carried it, whistling a jaunty tune all the while as he made his way to the back of his car. Each step was paired with a flick of his hand, spinning the keys around his finger only to slap the underside of his fingers with a jingle. Another whistled step and another jingle of the keys. 

The sound of the key slotting into the trunk lock was loud in the silence otherwise silence, only accompanied by the tune Alastor whistled. The man inside stilled, but Alastor could still hear his pathetic whimpering, muffled as he opened the latch. The smell of urine wafted up from the trunk as it opened. Alastor’s nose wrinkled at the smell. 

It was alright, that’s why he had the tarps lining the bottom. 

“You’ve made quite the mess in here, haven’t you, Mr. Montemuro?” The man’s wide eyes reflected the moonlight as he scooted away from Alastor. “Ah, where are my manners?” 

Alastor slipped a knife under the knotted cloth gag tied around the man’s head and pulled. The blade cut through the fabric easily. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moreau. I swear, let me go and no one has to know about this. I swear! I won’t say anything.” 

“You see,” Alastor hummed as he slipped the antler hilted knife back into the sheath at his waist, “Even if we just put this behind us, that wouldn’t do anything to bring them justice.” 

“Bring who?” The man asked, blubbering pleas spilling from his lips as Alastor wrapped his hand around the man’s thick bicep. He was hefty, needing to lie off the fatty meats and rich sauces but far from the picture of glutton. That’s why Alastor picked him for tonight. 

Not that he wasn’t slated to die at some point- he was on the list. Alastor wouldn’t look the other way, knowing how this man treated his wife. He spent more money on women of the night than he did putting food on the table for his wife and children. Men like him were a waste of air. 

The least he could do was make himself useful. Alastor hadn’t been to the butcher yet and what he had in his icebox had been tossed before he left town or it would have gone rancid and stank up the house. 

Meat was expensive and, after all the spending of the weekend, he would rather not take on the expense. Not that he couldn’t afford it. He could, and Laurence was due for a payment this week, anyway. It simply would have left his accounts lower than he would have liked. 

Oh well, he smiled wider as he helped the man find his feet. There were always other options. 

“Please, let me go.” The man’s incoherent pleas occasionally gave way to something that made sense. Alastor swallowed the urge to praise him for getting that much out. 

“I fully intend to.” Alastor said with a manic, inhumanly wide grin. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be justice.” 

The ground was damp under his knee as he knelt to the side of the man, cutting the ropes that had bound the man’s legs. Crickets chirped around him, singing their songs. Alastor had learned early on not to be in front of or behind someone when doing this part. 

They would get a head start, but it was too risky to give that head start while he’s on his ass holding a bloodied nose. 

The man’s shoulder was sticky with sweat as Alastor turned him to face the swampy forest. One large step after the other took them closer to the forest’s edge. Adrenaline was coursing through Alastor now. Between the dangers of the bayou and the risk of a failed hunt, this was by far his favorite way to kill. 

“You know,” Alastor mused, “I have been feeling very wound up since I got back.” 

“Got back?” The man whimpered, trying to draw out the conversation. 

“I spent the weekend away with my girl,” Alastor chuckled, “She’s a lovely gal too. Had a great time. She accepts me, just as I am. Can you believe that?”

“She accepts this?” The man’s voice was thin with fear.

“Oh, this she doesn’t know about yet. But when she does, I’m sure she’ll accept it too. You see, our love is changing her. That’s what happens when you’re meant to be together and we’re clearly meant to be together.”

“You’re crazy.” Dirt and stones crunched under the man’s feet as he stumbled. 

“Ha! I am!” Alastor shoved the man forward as he laughed, “So you better run like your life depends on it.” 

The man wasted no time in doing as he was told, running clumsily through the brush, tripping over roots and stumbling. The man’s panting wails carried easily over the wet ground. Alastor’s laugh chased him, hot on his heels as if it was carried on the wings of some terrible demon. 

“Because it does!” Alastor finished as he watched the man disappear. That was alright, it wouldn’t take long at all to find him.

The trail was hardly a challenge to follow. Rippling waves in shallow water told a tale of where he had been and the splashing and screams told Alastor right were he was at any moment. 

This was Alastor’s territory. Glowing eyes watched on as he ran through the wet forest. He tried to avoid making more noise than he had to. It wasn’t always avoidable. His pray wasn’t going to hear him coming, anyway. Not over the sounds of his own wailing screams, at least. 

The man didn’t put up a good fight at all when Alastor descended on him. He had tripped and broken his ankle not even half an hour into the hunt. It dissapointed Alastor to have the challenge of the hunt cut short as he stalked through the darkness after the limping figure. 

The loud shot of his rifle echoed through the forest, sending sleeping birds in into sudden wakeful flight, filling the air with the sound of beating wings. The silence was quick to reclaim the night, echos dying as quickly as the shot had woken the animals. 

“Too bad, old chap.” Alastor said, kneeling to cut the clothing away from the man. “You didn’t make a very entertaining hunt in the slightest.” 

The body was heavy and awkward as Alastor drug it closer to the water’s edge. It wasn’t ideal. He’d have to be mindful of his surroundings and make quick work if he would not fall victim to a killer himself that night. 

Alastor used the cut shirt from the man to soak up water and wash the sweat and urine from the body. The work was meticulous. It was important to have a clean surface before he set on the next step. 

Once he was satisfied that the surface was clean if waste, he tossed the shirt into the water and followed by the pants. The soft hiss of his knife leaving the sheath was music to his ears. 

First, he pulled the carcass so that the head was hanging over the bank and the body on an incline. There was no reason to believe life still was present but Alastor slit the throat deeply anyway, allowing blood to pour out, aided by gravity. 

While he worked, Alastor hummed and thought of you. He wondered what your favorite cut of meat was. As he collected the rich roasts from the thigh, he wondered if you’d like similar cuts. Would you question the meats in his icebox? Would you question a taste different from you were used to? 

Would you accept this side of him? Alastor didn’t think you would, not right now, but in time? He just needed more time with you. You were meant to be his. 

Leaning back from his work, blood smeared and pooling around him in the darkness, Alastor couldn’t help but marvel at how his thoughts of you had changed over the time you had spent together. It happened as quickly as spring gave way to summer. 

How close he had come to not finding the one meant for him. And to think, he had considered sending you away once he had gotten you safe from Laurence, sending you away from what was where you belonged. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[callikari]

TWEETS TO RiKi — nishimura riki

7. am i COOKED!!!

you were sitting in the living room, your phone in your hand as you scrolled absentmindedly through social media. the conversation with your friends earlier weighed heavily on your mind. it was the first time you had openly admitted to them that you were falling for riki, and the more you thought about it, the more the words haunted you. how long had you been in denial? how long had you pushed down the feelings because you were too scared of messing things up?

it all felt so complicated, especially now that riki was flirting with leeseo. and the fact that he still thought decelis anon was her? that made it worse. you sighed, tapping away on your phone again, your fingers hovering over the screen. but you didn’t send it. you just stared, trying to calm your nerves.

you were distracted, though, not realizing that your phone was left open on the couch when you stood up to grab something from the kitchen. riki, quietly returning from the hallway after a meeting with the committee, wandered into the room. he stopped when he saw your phone screen—your confession to your friends was staring back at him.

idk if i like riki because it would be weird if i do since we were friends since FRESHMAN YEAR!!! and hes talking to leeseo when im talking to soobin AS FRIENDS ??? its soo wrong to see him in this way and its soo hard to even face him whenever im in the dorm with him

he stared at the message for a moment, blinking in disbelief. his mind was racing. she likes me?

there was no mistaking it now. his heart skipped a beat. and before he could second-guess himself, he looked up to find you coming back from the kitchen, completely unaware that he had just read your text.

“yn,” he called out, his voice soft but loaded with curiosity.

you froze, your heart sinking. “riki…?” you asked, feeling the tension rise in the air.

"is this true?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm as he walked closer to you. he pointed at your phone, his gaze focused on you now. “did you just say you like me?”

your stomach dropped, the words you never intended for him to see now hanging in the air like a weight. “riki, it’s not—”

“don’t lie,” he interrupted, taking a step closer. “just tell me the truth. i won’t be mad. i promise.”

you were torn between wanting to avoid this conversation and needing to let it all out. this is it.

you sighed, your gaze softening. you couldn’t lie anymore. “yes,” you said, barely above a whisper. “i like you, riki. i have for a while. and… i don’t know what to do about it. i didn’t want to admit it to myself, but here we are.”

riki stood there, frozen for a beat, as if trying to process what you just said. his lips parted, but nothing came out. you shifted nervously under his gaze, unsure of what to expect.

the silence stretched between you two, suffocating.

finally, riki spoke, his voice low. “i… i don’t know what to say.” he scratched the back of his neck, looking down at the floor, still processing. “but you— you like me?”

“yes,” you whispered, feeling the words hit you harder than you expected.

riki looked at you again, and for a moment, it felt like everything was suspended. his brow furrowed slightly, and he let out a quiet breath. “this is… a lot.”

you looked at him, your heart racing. did he not feel the same way?

he hesitated, glancing away for a moment. “i don’t want to mess this up, yn,” he muttered. “but… i’m not sure where to go from here.”

you nodded, trying to make yourself as small as possible in that moment. “it’s fine,” you said quickly. “i understand.” you hated how vulnerable you felt, but this was what you needed to say, even if it didn’t end the way you hoped.

riki, however, shifted closer to you, a softer expression on his face. “i don’t want to make things weird,” he said, voice gentler now. “but i’m not sure how to deal with this either.”

“yeah, i get it,” you said, giving him a small smile. “i guess we’re both confused.”

he chuckled, but it was a little strained. “yeah… but please don’t shut me out, okay?”

your heart fluttered a little at his words, even though there were no clear answers. “i won’t,” you said, trying to sound as steady as you could.

riki gave a small nod, his hand brushing against yours. it wasn’t much, but it was a quiet reassurance that maybe, just maybe, things would work out.

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AUTHORS NOTE — ooo whats next !!!!

TWEETS TO RiKi — @parkjjongswifey @stormy1408 @paradiseoflosers @blodwyn4u @lov4hoon @gyuudai @kittsnewera @rikidaze @notcamii @annybah @jvngw0nlvr @r1naqv @pkjay @nishikio @rairaiblog @stta-princess @haechology @aerijns @miniw0nz @httpzsho @athenaisonlinee @rikiscupid @starbyeol1512 @sunooqvrlsx

[yunpupu]

Full-Court Tension | J.YH

Pairing: Basketball Star! Yunho × Business Student! Reader

Trope: Enemies to Lovers

Genre: Romance, Drama, College AU

Word Count : 1.8k

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note : they are 17 episodes in total. this post has 10 episodes today. the other 7 episodes will be posted soon. i hope you’re gonna enjoy !! mwah <33

⤷ Episode 1: The Clash

The university was buzzing with excitement over the upcoming basketball championship. You, however, couldn’t care less. Your focus was on securing an internship at a top firm, acing your finance class, and maintaining your perfect GPA.

But then there was Jeong Yunho—the golden boy of the basketball team, adored by everyone, with an annoying habit of acting like the campus belonged to him. His cocky smirk and effortless charm made him the center of attention wherever he went. Unfortunately for you, his latest attention-seeking stunt had just turned into your problem.

“Hey, watch it!” you snapped as you dodged a stray basketball that nearly hit your laptop in the library.

Yunho jogged over with an easy grin, pushing back his sweaty bangs. “Relax, business major. It’s just a ball.”

You glared at him. “And this is just my entire thesis. Do you know what happens if it gets deleted? I fail. Unlike you, some of us can’t dribble our way to a degree.”

His grin faltered for half a second before he chuckled. “Wow, so dramatic. Maybe you should consider sportsmanship instead of stocks.”

You huffed, shoving your laptop into your bag. “Maybe you should consider paying attention instead of showing off.”

The tension between you two was undeniable. It had been like this since your first year—constant bickering, snarky remarks, and accidental encounters that always left you fuming. The entire campus had noticed.

“One day, you’ll admit I’m not the villain in your little business world,” Yunho teased as you walked away.

“That day will never come,” you shot back.

What you didn’t realize was that fate had different plans.

Episode 2: A Bet Worth Losing

The next time you ran into Jeong Yunho, it wasn’t because of an errant basketball—it was because of a bet.

“Wait, hold up. Say that again?” You blinked at your best friend, Seulgi, as she stirred her iced coffee.

“They’re short on student managers for the basketball team. Coach is desperate, and they’re offering extra credit,” she explained. “If you help out, Professor Kim will give you bonus points in Finance 302.”

You scoffed. “You want me to help Yunho’s team? No thanks. I’d rather fail.”

Seulgi raised a brow. “You sure? A few points could put you ahead of the curve for the scholarship competition.”

You hesitated. The business department’s scholarship was cutthroat, and every fraction of a grade mattered.

Before you could think too much, another voice chimed in. “Wow, the business genius is considering joining the court?”

Your head snapped up to see Yunho standing beside your table, a lazy smirk on his lips.

“Are you following me?” you accused.

He crossed his arms. “No, but I heard something interesting. You want extra credit? You, the ‘I don’t need help from anyone’ student?”

You bristled. “And?”

“And it just so happens that our team needs a manager,” he said smoothly. “Think you can handle it, business major?”

Your jaw clenched. The way he looked at you—half amused, half smug—made your blood boil.

Seulgi, of course, made it worse. “Ooh, I smell a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. But I’m not doing this for you. It’s for the extra credit.”

Yunho chuckled, leaning in slightly. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

As you stormed out of the café, Seulgi whispered, “You so just walked into your own downfall.”

And maybe she was right—because nothing could have prepared you for what was coming next.

Episode 3: Playing by His Rules

You regretted your decision the moment you stepped into the gym.

The sound of squeaking sneakers, bouncing basketballs, and loud, energetic voices filled the air. It was chaotic—nothing like the structured, calculated world of business you thrived in.

And then there was him.

Yunho stood in the center of the court, dressed in his usual jersey and shorts, sweat glistening on his skin as he effortlessly spun the ball on his finger. He looked annoyingly in his element. When he noticed you, that ever-present smirk returned.

“Look who finally showed up,” he called out, tossing the ball into the air before catching it smoothly. “You lost yet, business major?”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t lose. I just make strategic investments.”

“Let’s see how well that works here.” He tossed you a clipboard, and you barely caught it in time. “Your job is simple—record stats, track our plays, and keep up.”

“Keep up?” you repeated, raising a brow. “I wasn’t aware I’d be running drills with you.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make you aware of the height difference. “You might not be on the court, but this is my world now, and you play by my rules.”

You refused to be intimidated. “I don’t play. I win.”

“Guess we have that in common,” he mused before jogging back onto the court.

The next hour was pure torture. You barely had time to adjust to the fast-paced environment before the coach barked instructions at you. The players zoomed across the court, and you struggled to record their stats while dodging stray balls.

But the worst part? Yunho made sure you struggled.

Every so often, he’d call out a play too fast, forcing you to scramble. Other times, he’d smirk when you fumbled with your clipboard.

“You good over there?” he teased after making a perfect three-pointer.

“I hope you trip on your own ego,” you shot back.

His laugh was deep and rich. “Feisty. I like it.”

You scowled, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But deep down, you hated how easily he got under your skin.

By the time practice ended, you were exhausted, frustrated, and ready to quit. But then—

“Not bad for a newbie,” Yunho said, handing you a water bottle.

You took it hesitantly. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He grinned. “More like a challenge. Let’s see if you last the season.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, I’ll last. But will you handle losing to me?”

His smirk widened. “You really don’t like me, do you?”

“No,” you said firmly.

“Good,” he replied, stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “That makes this more fun.”

And just like that, you realized—this wasn’t just a challenge. It was a game.

And Yunho? He played to win.

Episode 4: Fouls and Flirting

You were convinced Yunho was trying to drive you insane.

It had been a week since you started as the team’s manager, and somehow, he found a way to get under your skin every single day. Whether it was “accidentally” calling you rookie in front of everyone, making impossible demands for stats, or flashing that annoying smirk whenever you got flustered—it was nonstop torment.

And today? Today was no different.

“Business major, catch!”

Before you could react, a basketball slammed against your clipboard, sending your neatly organized papers flying.

“What the hell, Jung Yunho?” you snapped, glaring at him.

He just shrugged, completely unfazed. “Reflex training.”

“I’m not on the team,” you huffed, bending down to pick up your scattered notes.

Yunho crouched down beside you, easily snatching up a paper before you could grab it. His fingers brushed against yours briefly, and you immediately pulled away.

His grin was way too smug. “Nervous?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I just don’t want to catch whatever inflated ego disease you have.”

His chuckle was low, teasing. “Ouch. You’re getting meaner. I like it.”

Before you could retort, Coach’s whistle blew. “Yunho! Less flirting, more practicing!”

Your entire body froze.

Yunho, on the other hand, had the audacity to smirk. “Yeah, business major. Less flirting.”

“You—!” Your face burned as he jogged off, laughing.

Seulgi, who had been watching from the sidelines, sauntered over. “You realize this is a classic romance setup, right?”

You scoffed. “Please. I’d rather date my Excel spreadsheet.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave you a knowing look. “So why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing,” you muttered, but your heart was still racing.

You absolutely despised Jeong Yunho.

So why did it feel like you were losing this game?

Episode 5: The Assist

You had survived two weeks of working as the basketball team’s manager, and if there was one thing you learned, it was this: Jeong Yunho thrived on making your life difficult.

Between his teasing remarks, impossible stat requests, and constant smirking, you were convinced he was doing this on purpose. But today? Today was different.

Because today, you were the one with the upper hand.

“Alright, listen up!” Coach clapped his hands. “This Friday, we’re hosting a fundraiser. The players will be running a three-point contest for charity. And the team manager—”

Your eyes widened.

“—will participate in a shooting challenge.”

You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

Coach grinned. “Yunho, since you seem to love bothering our manager, you’re responsible for training them.”

Yunho turned to you, his expression way too pleased. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

You groaned. “This is your fault.”

“I didn’t do anything… yet,” he said, tossing a ball at you. “Come on, let’s see what we’re working with.”

You hesitated before gripping the ball and stepping up to the free-throw line. You took a deep breath, aimed, and—

Clank. The ball smacked the rim and bounced off.

Yunho whistled. “That was painful.”

“Shut up,” you muttered.

He walked over, standing behind you. “Here, let me show you.”

You expected him to just give you pointers, but instead, he placed his hands lightly on your waist, adjusting your stance. Your breath hitched.

“You need balance,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual. “And follow through.”

His fingers brushed your wrist as he guided your shooting motion. You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of how close he was.

This was a trap. It had to be.

“Try again,” he said, stepping back.

You quickly shook off the weird feeling and focused. This time, when you took the shot—

Swish. The ball went in perfectly.

You turned to Yunho, expecting him to be smug, but instead, he just nodded, looking… almost impressed.

“Not bad, business major,” he said. “Maybe you’re actually good at something other than numbers.”

You smirked. “Careful, Jeong. You almost sounded nice just now.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your heart did something weird, but you ignored it. This was just basketball. Just another challenge.

So why did it feel like something was changing?

Episode 6: Overtime

You weren’t sure what was more frustrating—Yunho’s teasing or the fact that you were starting to enjoy it.

The fundraiser was in two days, and Yunho had been training you relentlessly. Every evening after practice, it was just the two of you in the gym, shooting baskets and exchanging snarky remarks.

And maybe—just maybe—you were getting used to it.

“Focus, business major,” Yunho said as you lined up another shot.

You rolled your eyes. “I am focused.”

“Are you?” He took a step closer. “Because you’ve missed your last three shots.”

You ignored him and took the shot. The ball bounced off the rim.

Yunho sighed. “Okay, that’s it.”

Before you could react, he grabbed the ball, dribbled twice, and spun around you—way too close—before sinking a perfect shot.

“Show-off,” you muttered.

He grinned. “I could say the same about you in class. Always acting like you know everything.”

“Because I do,” you shot back.

He laughed. “Right. So if you’re such a genius, why are you still bad at this?”

You glared at him. “I am not bad at this.”

“Prove it.” He stepped back, holding the ball out to you. “One-on-one. First to five points.”

You hesitated. “What do I get if I win?”

Yunho smirked. “What do you want?”

You thought for a moment before crossing your arms. “If I win, you stop calling me ‘business major.’”

He raised a brow. “And if I win?”

Your stomach flipped at the way he was looking at you—like he already knew he had the upper hand.

“If I win,” he said, stepping closer, “you have to admit that you don’t actually hate me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Oh.

So this wasn’t just a game anymore.

“Deal,” you said, ignoring the sudden heat in your face.

Yunho grinned. “Let’s play, then.”

Episode 7: A Game of Tension

The gym felt way too quiet as you stood across from Yunho, gripping the basketball. The bet was set—first to five points. If you won, he’d finally stop calling you business major. But if he won…

You’d have to admit you didn’t actually hate him.

Which, at this point, was becoming harder to deny.

“Ready?” Yunho asked, dribbling lightly. His eyes gleamed with pure confidence.

You took a deep breath. You can do this.

“Always,” you said.

The moment the game started, you realized just how outmatched you were. Yunho moved effortlessly, his footwork fast and precise. Within seconds, he drove past you and made an easy layup.

“One-zero,” he said, flashing you a smirk.

You gritted your teeth. “Lucky shot.”

But it wasn’t luck. Yunho was ridiculously good, and every time you tried to block him, he found a way past you. The score climbed—2-0, 3-0, 4-0—and panic settled in.

“I thought you hated losing?” Yunho teased, bouncing the ball in front of you.

You exhaled sharply. Focus.

The next time he moved to shoot, you faked left before lunging right, managing to steal the ball from him. Yunho barely had time to react before you sprinted toward the hoop and threw up a shot—

Swish.

Your first point.

Yunho blinked, surprised. Then, to your absolute horror, he smiled.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You ignored the way your pulse jumped and focused on the game. Slowly, you caught up—4-1, 4-2, 4-3. You could see it in Yunho’s stance now—he wasn’t underestimating you anymore.

“You’re actually trying now,” you said, wiping sweat from your brow.

Yunho’s eyes darkened slightly. “And you’re actually impressive.”

Your chest tightened.

But you had no time to process it, because the next play, Yunho was on you in a flash. His defense was tight, too close, making it impossible to move.

You tried to fake a shot, but the second you hesitated, Yunho snatched the ball from your hands and spun around for the final shot.

5-3. Game over.

Your heart pounded as he turned to face you, sweat dripping down his temple. His gaze was unreadable, but his smirk was still there—cocky, but softer somehow.

“You lost,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard. “I know.”

“And that means…” He took a slow step toward you.

You should have been annoyed, should have rolled your eyes, but instead—you felt warm. Trapped in his gaze, your heartbeat refusing to calm down.

You exhaled shakily. “Fine.”

Yunho tilted his head, waiting.

“I don’t… actually hate you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

A slow grin spread across his face. “Took you long enough.”

Your breath caught when he suddenly leaned in, voice lower than before.

“What else are you hiding, business major?”

And just like that, you realized—this game?

It was far from over.

Episode 8: Close Calls and Closer Moments

The gym was empty now, except for you and Yunho. The echo of the last basket still lingered, but your heart was louder—pounding in your ears as he stood way too close, that teasing smirk never leaving his lips.

“What else are you hiding, business major?” he had asked, his voice lower than usual.

You should’ve rolled your eyes. You should’ve walked away. But instead, you just… stood there, staring at him, way too aware of how warm the gym felt.

“You’re seriously enjoying this, aren’t you?” you muttered.

Yunho grinned. “Obviously. It’s not every day you admit you don’t hate me.”

You crossed your arms. “I said I didn’t actually hate you. Doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Not yet,” he shot back effortlessly.

Your stomach flipped, and you hated how natural he made this game of tension feel. Before you could respond, Yunho suddenly grabbed a stray basketball and started dribbling, his expression turning casual.

“Let’s make another bet,” he said, spinning the ball on his finger.

You narrowed your eyes. “No way. Last time, I lost.”

“Exactly,” he teased. “And aren’t business majors supposed to take risks?”

You groaned. “Fine. What is it?”

He stopped spinning the ball and held it out to you. “One last shot. If you make it, I’ll stop messing with you for a whole week. No teasing, no calling you business major.”

You hesitated. “And if I miss?”

Yunho’s gaze darkened slightly. “If you miss, you owe me a favor.”

You swallowed. “What kind of favor?”

He smirked. “I’ll decide later.”

Your pulse jumped. This was dangerous. Yunho was unpredictable, and knowing him, the favor could be anything.

But… a whole week of peace sounded tempting.

“Deal,” you said before you could overthink it.

Yunho stepped back, watching as you lined up your shot. You exhaled slowly, focused on the hoop, and—

Clank. The ball bounced off the rim.

Your stomach dropped. “No—”

Yunho caught the ball effortlessly, looking way too pleased. “Oops.”

You groaned. “That was rigged. The hoop is definitely crooked.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Excuses, excuses.”

You sighed. “Alright, fine. What’s the favor?”

Yunho dribbled the ball slowly, his gaze flickering with amusement. “I’ll let you know when I feel like cashing it in.”

“That’s unfair!”

“Life’s unfair, business major,” he said, way too smug.

You glared at him, but there was something in the air—something unchanged but different at the same time. The teasing, the tension, the challenge. It wasn’t just bickering anymore.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you wanted it to stop.

Episode 9: Off the Court

You should’ve known Yunho wouldn’t forget about the favor.

For the next two days, he said nothing about it—just continued his usual antics, smirking whenever you passed by, throwing random basketball terms at you as if you suddenly understood the sport, and still—still—calling you business major.

But when Friday rolled around, and the team’s fundraiser finally began, you realized too late that Yunho had been waiting for the perfect moment.

The gym was packed. Students, faculty, and even some local reporters had shown up for the event. The basketball players were running the three-point contest, and you were busy keeping track of donations and stats.

Everything was going smoothly until—

“You.”

You turned around only to see Yunho standing there, arms crossed, that look on his face.

“What?” you asked warily.

He tilted his head. “It’s time to cash in my favor.”

Your stomach dropped. “Right now?”

“Mhmm.” His grin was absolutely dangerous. “I want you to participate in the shooting contest.”

You choked. “What?!”

“You heard me,” he said. “Five shots. In front of everyone.”

You gaped at him. “Are you insane? I’m not doing that!”

“Yes, you are.” He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Unless you want to break our deal?”

You hated the way your heart skipped at the way he said that.

You hated that he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

And you really, really hated that you weren’t about to back down.

“Fine,” you said, snatching the ball from his hands. “But if I embarrass myself, I’m blaming you.”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you stepped onto the court, the crowd’s murmurs grew louder. Your hands felt clammy as you positioned yourself at the three-point line.

The first shot? Miss.

The second? Another miss.

You could feel Yunho watching, arms crossed, probably laughing at you.

The third shot—in.

The crowd cheered, and you blinked in surprise.

The fourth—another swish.

Your heart pounded. One more.

You took a deep breath, focused on the hoop, and—

A hand touched your back lightly.

“You got this,” Yunho murmured, just close enough for only you to hear.

Your stomach flipped, and before you could process anything, your hands moved automatically—

Swish.

Three out of five. You had done it.

The crowd cheered, and Yunho? He just grinned. “Looks like my training worked.”

You shoved the ball into his chest. “I still hate you.”

He just laughed, eyes gleaming. “Sure, business major. Sure.”

But as you walked away, heart still racing, you weren’t sure if that was true anymore.

And that realization?

It was more terrifying than any game.

Episode 10: Unspoken Truths

The fundraiser had ended successfully, but you were still reeling from what had happened on the court. Three out of five shots. You had actually done it.

But the real shock? How much Yunho had been right there by your side—encouraging you.

You couldn’t stop thinking about his words, his touch on your back when you were about to take that final shot. It was subtle, but it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

After the event wrapped up, you decided to leave the gym early, needing some time to clear your head. But as you reached the door, you heard footsteps behind you.

“Running away again, business major?”

You didn’t turn around. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Yunho’s voice came closer, and you could feel the space between you shrink with every step. “I thought we were done with the whole ‘I hate you’ thing.”

You finally turned to face him. “What makes you think that?”

He was standing so close now that you could feel the heat of his body, and his gaze was different—softer. No teasing, no smug grin. Just a look you couldn’t place.

“You didn’t hate me on the court,” he said quietly. “Not when you made those shots.”

You blinked, the memory of his hand on your back flickering through your mind. “That was just… strategy. For the fundraiser.”

“Mm.” He tilted his head, considering your words carefully. “I don’t buy that. Not after the way you looked at me when I told you to go for the last shot.”

Your breath caught. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.” He took a step closer, and your heart skipped. “Look, I get it. You’re all about control. You like your business plans and spreadsheets. But me? I’m not a part of any formula.”

You swallowed hard, his words sinking in. Was that it? Was he right? Had this entire time just been a series of calculated moves?

Or was there something else?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Sure you don’t,” Yunho replied, his voice low but full of something you couldn’t understand. “But maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to figure it out.”

Your heart pounded, and suddenly, the gym felt too small, the air too thick. You took a step back. “I’m leaving.”

“Not so fast,” Yunho said, his hand lightly brushing your arm, keeping you in place.

The contact was brief, but it sent a shock through you. “Yunho…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He studied you for a moment, as if trying to read you, before sighing. “I’m not saying we’re suddenly best friends or anything. But maybe—just maybe—I could be more than the guy who gets under your skin.”

Your breath hitched, and for a split second, you wondered if this entire time you’d been fighting against something that felt… real.

“You think you can change my mind?” You managed to ask, though your voice was quieter than you meant it to be.

Yunho smiled, but it wasn’t that cocky grin you were used to. It was softer, more genuine. “I don’t need to change your mind.” He leaned in just slightly, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin. “I just need you to stop pretending you don’t want to find out how this plays out.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if the game was over—or just beginning.

[floodonthefloor]

draft excerpt from the upcoming untitled assassins/arranged marriage fic for u

“…They didn’t tell you you’d be paired with a woman, did they?”

Alicent looks to Rhaenyra from the passenger’s seat— she’s still a little annoyed, actually, that Rhaenyra decidedly went to the driver’s seat without so much as asking if Alicent wanted to be the one to drive. 

“…Pardon?”

“The Company.” Rhaenyra turns on her signal to go left, shoulder checks. “They didn’t tell you.”

Alicent doesn’t answer immediately, because the question itself pisses her off, because the assumption behind it pisses her off, and Rhaenyra fucking pisses her off.

“Does it matter?”

Rhaenyra hums, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Not to me, personally.”

Alicent glances at her, searching for something—mockery, condescension— but there’s nothing of the sort. She turns back toward the window. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Alicent says again, more firmly this time.

A beat.

Then Rhaenyra speaks again. “…So it does.”

And her voice sounds like it’s coming from a smiling mouth, which pisses Alicent off, so she turns and glares again, and she was right— Rhaenyra’s got that shit-eating grin on her face again.

“No, they didn’t tell me,” she says. “They also didn’t tell me I’d be paired with a person so unapologetically —” fucking annoying and a fucking asshole— “Smug.”

“A woman who’s unapologetically smug,” Rhaenyra corrects with a drawl. She breathes out. “We’re supposed to be married, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you?” Rhaenyra grins. “Because you’re sitting there like you just got assigned to a prison cell instead of a partnership?”

“It’s a cover.”

Rhaenyra hums. “You do realize covers have to be convincing, hm?”

“Meaning?”

“It means—” Rhaenyra glances at her, amusement clear on her face. “—that you’re a little stiff for someone who’s supposed to be a blushing newlywed. People are going to think you married me under duress.”

Alicent scoffs. “We’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, we have— and you already regret it.” Rhaenyra shakes her head, faux-wistful. “Gods. And here I was, hoping for a honeymoon phase—”

“Could you— could you please stop talking.”

“But we’re having so much fun.”

“I’m not.”

Rhaenyra shrugs, unbothered.

“It’s just fascinating. I’ve never seen someone look so genuinely distressed by the idea of pretending to be married to me.”

“Forgive me if I don’t swoon at the prospect.”

“That’s fine,” Rhaenyra says. “You don’t have to swoon. You just have to be believable.”

Alicent frowns. “I can be believable.”

Rhaenyra huffs out a laugh. “You can’t look this uncomfortable when we have to interact with other people, you know.”

“I’m comfortable.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Rhaenyra shrugs, turns the corners of her lips down for a moment. “It’s just that you seem uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh.” 

There’s a silence, finally— but it only lasts about the length of some fucking hardware store ad before—

“Have you ever actually been with a woman, Alicent?

Alicent stiffens. “You— can you stop asking me inane questions so we can focus on the assignment —”

“I mean, I can tell you haven’t, obviously. But still— I figured I’d give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Alicent turns fully toward her, feeling her skin prickle all of a sudden. 

“You can te—you can tell,” Alicent scoffs in bewilderment; if it’s a little louder than it needs to be, that’s neither here nor there. “How does one tell whether or not someone is —” she gestures vaguely towards Rhaenyra— “Has been with— has— your proclivities —”

Rhaenyra barks out a laugh. “Proclivities? Holy gods, this is going to be a fucking riot —”

“This isn’t funny!”

Rhaenyra’s laughter lingers in the car, rich and genuinely entertained, which somehow makes it worse. Alicent’s grip tightens on her crossed arms— she considers reaching over, unbuckling Rhaenyra’s seatbelt, and slamming the emergency brake up to throw Rhaenyra through the windshield.

“It’s hilarious, actually." Rhaenyra swipes at her eye in a dramatic show of laughter, still grinning. “Proclivities. Like I’m some sort of—what? Deviant?”

“That’s not what I meant—” Alicent splutters. “I don’t— just because I’ve never— doesn’t mean —”

Rhaenyra glances at her, lips twitching. “Doesn’t mean what.”

Alicent reddens and turns toward the window, not dignifying that with a response, because the answer is no— she hasn’t been with a woman— but she also has only been with two men in her life so far because she’s enough on her plate without worrying about all of that.

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s irrelevant.”

“It’s entirely relevant,” Rhaenyra says. “If you’ve never been with a woman before, how exactly do you plan on selling this marriage?”

Alicent stiffens. “I don’t see how that is at all relevant to the assignment— get your hands off of me —!”

Alicent slaps Rhaenyra’s hand when she reaches it out to touch her knee— Rhaenyra brings it back to the wheel, shaking her head and scoffing, looking like she’s just proven something.

“See? Far too jumpy,” Rhaenyra says, shaking her head.

Alicent glares. “Sorry that I don’t appreciate being manhandled while I’m trying to focus on the mission —”

“Manhandled—” Rhaenyra lets out another huff of laughter. “I touched your knee— lightly, for a second —”

“For what reason, exactly —”

“To see how you’d react.” Rhaenyra shrugs. “If that’s going to be your reaction, we’re going to have a very hard time selling this marriage—”

“I’ll be fine —”

“What’s your plan for when we have to be affectionate in public?”

“We don’t have to be affectionate in public.”

“Gods, you are delusional,” Rhaenyra says, shaking her head. “How many married couples do you know who stand two feet apart at all times and refuse to make eye contact—”

“We don’t have to be obnoxious about it.”

“No, but we have to be believable.”

“I can be believable.”

“Mm. Debatable.”

Alicent rubs her forehead in frustration. “What exactly are you suggesting.”

“Practice.”

Alicent looks at her, horrified. “Absolutely not.”

“Hold my hand.”

“No.”

“Alicent.” Rhaenyra stops, pulls over— they’ve presumably arrived wherever it is they need to be to pick up the package— and she sighs. She reaches out her hand. “Just hold my hand.”

“Don’t be childish— this is ridiculous—” 

“I’m not the one being ridiculous right now. Hold my hand.”

“No.”

Rhaenyra lets out a bewildered scoff.  “Un-fucking-believable.”

Alicent feels her temper rising again to a boiling point, and she should just get out of the car or perhaps smash Rhaenyra’s head through the windshield and tell The Company they’ve gotten into a fatal car accident—

— But Rhaenyra keeps going. 

“I’m beginning to think they’ve sent you here to deliberately sabotage me— we’re fucked if you can’t even hold my hand — did they recruit you straight out of a finishing school, because this is fucking embarrassing for you —”

And Alicent doesn’t think— she just acts. She pulls Rhaenyra in and kisses her hard, pulls back just as fast— see? I can sell it, I can sell this stupid cover, I can sell it now shut the fuck up—

“— There,” Alicent says, breath short, face warm. “Enough practice for you?

Rhaenyra stares— for the first time since they’ve met, she actually looks speechless.

And then—

Then she smirks.

“Father above,” Rhaenyra says, blinking, voice thick with amusement. “Oh— this is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

Alicent makes a sound of utter disgust, throws open the car door, and storms out.

Rhaenyra’s laugh follows her the whole way.

[soleilapproves]

If you find it in you to still love me - part 1 / 3

(scientist!geto suguru x reader)

plot:

What’s worse than being accidentally sent to a parallel universe by a coworker you hate?

The answer: said universe being the dimension where you and your nemesis of a coworker are deeply in love.

chapter based tags: fem/afab!reader, physics and neuroscience jargon (I swear it’s nothing too intricate), enemies to lovers(ish)

series masterlist

—

The large auditorium was filled with bright eyed physicists, neurologists, and journalists from all over the world. Why wouldn’t it be? You, one of the intelligent scientists who is working on a five-year long secret project under the government, was presenting it to the world. Making this presentation its official debut (right after there was a press conference done to announce that the government had created a machine to travel to different parallel universes with.)

You just had to stay confident. You knew what you were doing—creating history. At least the bright stage lights made it almost impossible to see your audience.

“There have been rumors and there have been conspiracies about this. Many false claims as well, but I’m here to bare it all. Ladies and gentlemen, introducing, the Dimension Shifter 8.” The large screen behind you projects the image of a small chair with a helmet attached to it.

Uncannily, It looked like an electric chair.

“I know, I know, the design is a little…unsettling.” Your joke earns you a few laughs. “But, it actually represents the basis of the principle behind parallel universes.”

Hundreds of eyes trailed your figure as you walked across the stage to a table with a glass of water. It was kept there in case you got thirsty or cotton-mouthed mid speech. You take a small sip and place the glass down.

“I just created a new reality. By taking a sip of water, I created a new reality. Crazy, isn’t it? Because somewhere out there, is a dimension where I didn’t take a sip of water and continued with my speech.”

You hear faint scratches of pencils and pens against notepads and you giggle internally, thinking how a few years ago, you were in the exact same position.

“You see, different realities stem from right here,” you say as you tap your temple. “Your consciousness is split into multiple different universes. This machine just helps you travel to them. Ergo, your body doesn’t change. Just your consciousness.”

The scratches get a little louder.

“So, for example, say that I travelled to a universe where I was a man instead of a woman, I’d be conscious about the change in my body and so would my ‘other’ self.” He’d be a man aware that he’s in this—“ you point down your body with your index finger “—a woman’s body. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The presentation goes surprisingly well considering how nervous you were and the questionnaire that followed afterwards had exhausted you to the bone.

You were finally going to get the full night’s rest you’d been craving for the past few years. Working on one of mankind’s greatest inventions was taxing and you’d been holding on to your sanity by the threads of caffeine and free pastries in the break room.

But as soon as you entered your hotel room, you were surprised with a loud pop and confetti all over your woolen grey trench coat. At least you had packed your lint roller with you.

Your coworkers gathered around you, patting your back, giving you hugs and congratulating you on being the most popular panelist at the convention.

“It was so crazy, I swear one of the other panelists only had like, what? Ten listeners? People were tripping over each other to get a seat for your presentation!” Gojo clamored as he patted your head.

“Well, it was our work. I just presented it,” you bashfully replied as you walked over to your closet, taking off your coat to hang it in.

“Still, you’re the face of it and your credentials are what drove people to you. Which is why we’re going out to celebrate. Yaga’s buying,” Shoko said as she handed you a red solo cup. The ominous smell of the liquid inside was enough to tell you that it was another one of her famous cocktails that was guaranteed to get a person sloshed with one sip.

“Um…I’d love to drink this but my tolerance is not what it used to be back in college,” you say as you move away from Shoko and instead pull out your sleepwear from your closet. “I think I’m just gonna turn in for the night. You guys go out.”

Your coworkers looked at you with a dumbfounded expression. “Uh, did you not hear Shoko? Yaga’s buying. Even Nanami’s coming along and he’s a philosophical drunk. It’ll be fun, come on,” Gojo wrapped his long arms around you and gave you puppy dog eyes.

The man was more of an overbearing child than a scholar with multiple degrees.

You looked around the room, and everyone looked at you with hopeful eyes except for one person—Geto Suguru. He wasn’t even making eye contact, too busy with his pupils trained on his phone.

It didn’t surprise you that he hadn’t even spoken a word since you’d entered the room. The man despised your guts since the day you two had known each other.

You weren’t even sure why he felt that way. He just began throwing condescending remarks at you and simply ignored you right after work hours. Going as far as to pretending like you didn’t exist when you saw him at the same grocery store as you.

But the man finally broke his silence when Gojo began unnaturally whining. “Let it go. I told you she wouldn’t come,” he said without looking away from his phone. “Yaga texted me that he’s waiting downstairs. Said he’ll take back his offer if he doesn’t see us in five.”

All your colleagues (except Geto) gave you one last longing look, hoping that you’d change your mind and you simply shook your head. “I’m really tired,” you sighed out.

There was a collective groan from Shoko and Gojo but Nanami simply patted your back to congratulate you one last time as the trio walked out—leaving you and Geto alone in your room.

Geto walked over and stopped when he was nearly toe-to-toe with you. His obsidian gaze raked over your exhausted figure as his scent clouded your personal space.

You can’t help but feel exposed and self conscious for wearing a figure hugging dress, despite its modesty in length. Your heels help you feel taller than you usually do next to him but it’s of no avail because he still has to bend his neck to make eye contact.

He smelled like coffee and fragrant talcum. You had the scent memorized. It had a special seat in your amygdala, years of memories of working with him rushing into your head every time you smelled something faintly familiar.

You peered up at him with half-lidded eyes, sleep already taking over every single cell, melatonin slowly secreting into your system.

“I was there today…watching you. It was good.” His voice was smooth and rich; your skin felt like it was melting and fusing to the fibers of your linen pencil dress.

“I—“

Before you could thank him for his unexpected compliment, he had already brushed past you with a momentary palm on your waist and walked out the door.

The slamming of your door had jolted you out of your clouded haze.

—

Bright minds can also be catty. It’s what you’ve learned after being in academia and later on joining industrial research.

You just didn’t think that people would do it when the government was paying them to create something that elevated humanity to the next step of being a supreme civilization.

After the announcement of the Dimension Shifter 8, the federal research institute you were working under had announced for the need of human subjects to test out the machine. It had worked perfectly fine on animals with higher intelligence, such as monkeys, but now it was time to see if a person who had just travelled dimensions could give their own accounts of what they saw.

Meaning, the next half of your project was about to begin: the effects of one’s consciousness quantum jumping to another world.

There were a steady number of applicants who had sent their info in (mainly due to the compensation money) and they were set arrive the next morning.

“You cannot possibly expect me to work closely with him again. I can handle the final touches myself,” you tried to convince Yaga as your trainers squeaked against the lab facility’s tiles. The man was exceptionally tall at six feet and three inches, making it hard for your shorter stature to catch up with his much larger, and relaxed pace.

“I know you can. But Geto himself suggested that he should be there to correct and verify every tweak you make. He was adamant about it so I let him join,” the older man said nonchalantly. His years of being a Principal Investigator had taught him not to worry about employee dynamics.

Who cares about mental stability, amirite?

“Wait, Geto insisted? Does he know that it’s me who’ll be working with him?”

“Yeah,” Yaga coolly replied. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull. Either the man wanted to torture you or didn’t trust you enough to do anything.

You think it’s both.

Yaga ignores your clamoring when he walks into his office to settle into the massage chair a government official had oh so gratefully gifted him after the machine’s first prototype had been completed.

“Now, I’m exhausted and you have a whole night’s work ahead of you. Chop, chop!”

With a huff and a finger rubbing your temple, you walk to the authorized personnel restricted lab, where the greatest invention of mankind since instant noodles sat (this has been your opinion since you were a broke college student. The success of your career still cannot buy the rush of serotonin you’d get when you’d slurp the ultra processed, floppy noodles from a paper cup after a long day of studying and sucking up to professors.)

You immediately walk to the storage area where all the things you’ll need are kept: converters, amplifiers and, electrodes.

You carry them all in a cardboard box and place them on the counter next to the machine, which was placed on a small stage in the middle of the lab.

Your eyes glanced at the wall clock. It had been an hour since the work day had ended, and you half expected Geto to arrive much earlier due to his heavy distrust in you.

But surprisingly, he was late.

You continued tweaking the machine, checking the wires and tightening certain bolts. You noticed that the helmet adjuster was jammed so you tightened the screws and applied more lubricant for smoother movement.

You still weren’t convinced that the adjuster would move well so you sat in the chair and pulled down the helmet on your head. And as you had predicted, the adjuster stopped working as you tried to pull up the helmet. “Bingo,” you mumbled to yourself as you recorded the improvements you had made in past hour in your report book.

“Now, I’m just gonna slink out—“

“Planning on being a test subject? What? Yaga cut your pay or something?” Geto’s deep voice jolted you out of your work rhythm. You were still sitting in the chair when he had walked in.

The man effortlessly exuded charm. Compared to you, he was much more well dressed at work, sporting a simple long sleeved polo under his lab coat. Instead of ratty trainers, he wore comfortable ankle boots, making him look more like an attractive and laidback software engineer than an uptight physicist. His hair was always pulled back in a neat half-man bun, and sometimes he’d tie it up completely, giving you a small peak at the tattoos snaking up to the base of his neck.

Not that you thought about his naked, broad back that often. He just had good proportions and you were curious about his gym routine. Though you’d slap yourself on your face in front of the world before asking him that.

“The adjuster was stuck. I was just checking what’s wrong with it. Now I know,” you flatly answered.

“Sure,” he retorted as he grabbed a screw driver and squatted on the ground next to you as you were still sitting on the machine.

The fragrant smell of talcum wafted around you again. It was oddly comforting. Habitual even, with the way your brain would send phantom signals to your nose whenever you’d read his name on lab reports and research papers.

“I could’ve taken care of this by myself, you know. As much as you hate to admit it, I’m just as smart as you. I can figure out tiny mistakes.” You didn’t like the fact that you were basically being babysat by someone—you felt like your work was being questioned.

And by a peer of all people.

“Why didn’t you just ask Nanami to work with me?”

“He’s going on a date today.”

“Nobara? Gojo?”

“Said they didn’t wanna work overtime.” His replies were curt. Much like his concern for you.

“So you just decided to work until the next morning cause you’re such a deligient scientist?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Geto stared at you like he was going to swallow you whole. You could hear everything from how close he was next to you. The faint sound of him exhaling through his nose, his lab coat rustling as he continued working on the adjuster, and the slick sound of him licking his lips.

It kind of sounded like—

The lab is not a sexy place to be hot and bothered.

He didn’t wait for your answer though. He simply used his screw driver to tap on your report book that was sitting on your lap.

He changed the subject, “What have you done so far?”

“Uh, this and that. I was actually calibrating the machine when I noticed that the adjuster wasn’t—“

“You were calibrating?” His tone suddenly goes from deep and smooth to sharp and calculating.

“Yeah,” you replied with a small yet concerned voice.

“You did turn off the machine after that, right?”

Your brain was fuzzy. You couldn’t recall. The dread sitting in the pit of your stomach weighed you down, preventing you from moving your head and checking if the machine was on.

Were you… no, no way.

His focus had entirely shifted to you, screwdriver abandoned in the toolbox. He moved to sit across you, still on the ground.

“Hey, look at me, Did you turn off the machine? I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” Your eyes were wide with terror.

“Geto, I need you to look at the oscillograph,” you rasped out. Cold sweat began to trickle down your neck, wetting the collar of your shirt. You were starting to feel nauseous and lightheaded.

His glanced at the monitor behind you and his jaw went slack. “Okay, listen to me, I need you to be completely calm, when I tell you this—the machine is on and you’re being transported as we speak. Don’t move. We don’t know what could happen to you.”

“Geto, you need to get me out, please. I’m really scared,” you sobbed as tears began to flow down your face.

You didn’t give a damn about looking pathetic to your hated coworker because your brain was just about to be turned into quantum smoothie (no matter how hard you wanted to believe in your abilities of invention, there was still a small chance that this machine would destroy your consciousness on an atomic level.)

“It’s okay, I’m right here. For all we know, more than half of your current consciousness may have already travelled to another dimension. It would be dangerous to stop the machine now.” You could only wail harder at his conclusion.

His large hand holds your cheek as he earnestly looks into your tear-filled eyes. “I swear I will map the dimension you’re going to and bring you back in one piece. Just remember that I—“

Static fills your senses before you can hear Geto complete his sentence.

——

I haven’t proofread this so I’m sorry for any mistakes 😔

[socgf]

chapter 5 - half-truths and headlights (a little bonus chapter !!!!)

in which ... rosie has to tell darry where she's been all night and thanks god dally's a great liar.

dallas winston x curtis sister ! oc

wc: 502

warnings: none!

you really got me: masterlist

when we make our way up the porch stairs, i’m a nervous wreck, but dally’s fallen effortlessly into his typical swagger. he doesn’t give a second thought before barging in the front door, not that he ever gives a second thought before doing anything. and though i know darry can always see right through me when i lie, you’d only notice that my lipstick is smudged and my hair is messed up in the back if you were really looking.

darry’s reading a book on the couch, eyes heavy, and startles at the sound of the door. when he sees dally sauntering in before me, his entire body tenses like he’s ready for a fight. but before he can open his mouth-

“listen, darrel. all rosie was doin’ was her job and i came in loaded. had to sober me up, get me home so she wouldn’t get in trouble at work, and all.” he pauses. “i’ll tell you, ya got a real fuckin’ square as a sister.”

he’s really selling it, still slurring his words ever so slightly and grumbling like i ruined his fun. i silently bless him for doing the talking.

“that true, rosie?” darry’s anger slowly shifts into reluctant acceptance, but i have to finish the job.

i nod. “i couldn’t just leave him there, dar. i figured taking him to buck’s would just be worse.”

darry sighs, running his hand through his hair like our dad used to do, though he looked more tired than strict. “c’mon rosie, it’s late. get to bed, yeah?”

and i nod carefully, but i don’t want to go upstairs just yet.

then he turns to dally, keeping his tone firm. “you good to drive back now, winston? you know you can crash here.”

dally shifts his weight and i can see the slightest flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “nah. always am.”

darry just nods, a quiet truce passing between them.

dally catches my eye one last time before he’s heading out the front door, a look that says everything we didn’t say back in his thunderbird. but then he’s gone and it’s silent again.

darry hesitates for a moment, and softens his tone now. “you know you can talk to me, right? if he ever…” 

“i know, dar. don’t worry about me, i’m alright.”

“you’re tough, peach. but you’re gonna give me damn gray hairs, worryin’ bout you.”

and i feel like the worst sister in the world lying to him, and i silently swear to myself that i wouldn’t ever let dallas winston talk me into causing trouble again. though, as soon as that thought passes in my head, i kind of know it’s bullshit.

“love you dar. good night.”

i’m heading towards the stairs, and he’s closing up his book on the couch.

“love you too, peach.”

and as i settle back under my covers, i try really hard to forget the taste of rum and winstons on my lips, but i fall asleep with the image of one person on my mind.

a.n. this is very short and tiny and idk how convenient it is posting a multi part series on tumblr maybe i'll move to ao3. idk. i have like 10 more chapters left in my mind haha

also i feel bad tagging yall bc idk if u wanna be tagged for EVERY chapter so. sorry for spamming.

taglist:

@mrsdillonx @hailpacino @magefelixir @jujuheartz13 @coastershells @r0seb100d @awsomeemochick @mattdillonlvr69

[kayla-2]

Morrigan gets so much hate because Sarah writing is terribly inconsistent. She handled that Eris situation horribly and now people think Mor lying. Sarah has to work on her inability to continue the story without ignoring, disrupting, or completely changing plot points or simple facts of the story. You can add more information that don’t cause for major speculation on things already established.

The Eris story, elain/lucien mating bond, her completely contradicting herself by saying nesta killed Hybern when it’s been very clear that it was elain, the non-existent explanation of nestas powers, the Illyrians, admitting that Feyre taught nesta how to use a bow and arrow, Feyres pregnancy causing problems when the healer has fixed much worse issues, Feyre saying she didn’t want to rush to have a baby and Sarah IMMEDIATELY making her pregnant for someone else’s plot.

I’m being picky but so many arguments in the fandom has come from these things and literally no one is wrong. I’m worried about the next book🤣

[skyfallscotland]

So the other day I went on a bit of a deep dive and used the wayback machine to find some of my old fanfic (may you never see it) but I was reading through my old comments (as you do) on my most popular fic from back then, that I started when I was twelve, and my god I have to share this with you guys 😭😂

We have come a LONG way and I think I maybe just blanked a lot of this out to keep myself going, because if current me was copping this, she’d be out, no more fic.

Consider this my official apology for forever saying fandom is so much worse than it used to be…It’s only mostly worse 🤣🫶🏼 that bright period in there was obviously the decade after this one.

Shall we stroll down memory lane together?

(trigger warning: homophobia)

Now, I’m not claiming my work was amazing (again, I was TWELVE) it was honestly terrible. Cringe as hell. But it also clearly had some fans because I got a lot of decent comments too (hundreds on a 19k word HP fic that I abandoned after a few years, that then did not survive the second great ffnet purge), and a lot of those comments after I was like “GUYS I’M TRYING HERE I’M ONLY TWELVE!” etc were like “wait, you’re what now?!” So that’s kinda nice 😌

But the point is, we all start from somewhere. I’ve been doing this ‘gig’ a while, no one is good overnight, at ANYTHING. I don’t even think I’m that good at it now. If you’re predisposed to writing, it still takes practice! And apparently the guts to weather…this.

Welcome to the 2000’s ✨

• look, i don't care if you've lost your inspiration... just ramble until you do

LOL

• could you upload quicker? i want more of the story faster!

😂 there was a little too much honesty going around

• Did you have to stop, I just started reading this story today and I already have fallen in love with it. I don't like it when authors stop the story half way through.

Me either!!! But you know, I had to go to school so 🤷🏼‍♀️

• I hate you. I just want you to know that. Not finish! Blec!

BLEC!!

It’s starting to make sense to me why I have a serious anxiety about not having a few chapters written ahead of time, my therapist would say that’s buried trauma ✨

• why why whyyyyy! Why must you stop on a cliffhanger!

just call me rebecca

• WELL, one thing for sure, your chapter ALL so freaking short!

Lmao this one didn’t age well 😌

• It's pretty pathetic that YOU'RE one of those TYPICAL cliche, boring authors that go with the knowitall and gold-digging WHORES then say Luna, who's under used and under-appreciated!

I made Hermione and Ginny friends of Harry. Like they are in the book 🙃 this person also commented on every single chapter in this style, hating everything—I know because no one used anon. Hiding your homophobia? Apparently Not trés chic!

• You'r an awful pweson who'll burn in hell.

I made Harry gay.

• Why is Harry such a girl?

Again, he’s not, he’s just gay. I think he also went shopping and bought some jeans (hp 2000’s fic shopping montage, whaddup?! ✌🏼)

• cant rembet why i click on there but there not GAY Harry is 100% not fag

How sure are you, though? He had some real great tension with Diary Tom Riddle, if we’re being fair. Also, it was clearly marked. I took up some of that valuable 20 character summary space TO mark it but the homophobes kept coming 🥲

• I like slash, but it has to be well written, and it’s completly unrealistic and wrong for harry to be a bottom.

There…was no sex involved. He went shopping for some pants. He found another male attractive. I’m?? Also not sure how you inferred that he would be a dominant partner anyway because even with Ginny you know damn well she’s on top 😌

• disgusting! you ruined such a good story.

Pretty sure this was also about ✨the gay✨

• Look, I'm not trying to flame, but after all this time of waiting, why are there so little words?

I was busy with seventh grade algebra hun!! Also, I was drafting by hand on paper and uploading from the FAMILY DESKTOP COMPUTER. I had to zero out every time someone walked past, hello???

• this story was kind of creepy and i know for a fact that animals leave the losing animal in the ground to claim their teritory.

I…actually have no idea what this was about and also whether it’s true 😂

• Please update as soon as possible

I just picture this person with a deadpan expression, typing with their pointer fingers.

• There's a lot of stuff that's unexplained here, add a little more detail and the story would be a lot better.

ok VALID babe, valid, lots of this same sentiment and I TOOK that advice, like if I got this as a twelve year old to my (online) face, I’m positive your fav millionaire authors can handle it if they happen to see it floating by in the netosphere!

In saying all that, there were some really funny comments too. People were generally a lot more creative when leaving comments back then (aside from the general rudeness 20-30% of them exhibited lmao).

• please dont leave me hanging..i look pathetic when i hanging...trust me on this one...visualize a wet cat stuck on a towl rack

Help, I’m whEEZING 😂

•I have no words to describe how I feel about you right now. That isn't even a cliff hanger you obliterated the cliff and tossed us into an abyss of unknown danger!

Some things don’t change I guess, sorry bout it 🤷🏼‍♀️

• (football caoch voice) move move move! u have readers on u go go go!

🤣 it really do be feeling like that

• You sure you're 13? You seem more like a demented 18 yearold to me. 

Thank you *bows*

Final considerations: Why could no one spell or punctuate? Glad we’re past that era 😮‍💨

But no seriously I think this is why people who were around for the 90s, 00’s and 10’s are so critical of fandom today, because we weathered THIS and ended up with something really great, and now it seems that’s being threatened more and more.

So whenever you see pushback against “today’s fandom” it’s coming from a place of “dear god, we’ve been in the trenches and we do NOT want to go back” 🫶🏼

My dear current readers, I love you endlessly for not being these people, good lord.

[gottagobackintime]

Abby is such a shitty girlfriend. She doesn’t come with Carter to comfort him when his grandmother, who was more like his mother, dies because she has to go get her brother. Sure fine, I get it. I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same. But to then show up late to the funeral. AND bringing said brother, who can’t behave, who then disturbs the funeral…It would have been better if she hadn’t come at all at that point. Yeah, she wouldn’t have been there and he’d be angry and upset, rightfully so. But at least the funeral wouldn’t have been interrupted.

I also hate when other characters try to make out as if the character who was hurt, in this case, Carter. Should just forgive and forget. Like his dad saying that Carter didn’t ruin the funeral, and neither did Abby. HER BROTHER, WHO SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE, FELL INTO THE FUCKING GRAVE?!?! I’d say that that falls under ”ruined the funeral”.

Carter has supported her time and time again when it comes to her family and she can’t even give him enough time to get through a funeral.

[dykedvonte]

I think it says something that Jimmy absolutely destroyed the crew and ship in half the time Curly was captain. Like he couldn’t even get them past 2 full months before breaking down.

Like he really couldn’t be half the man he thought Curly was.

[angelnumber27]

It’s so embarrassing and heartbreaking being in so much pain over losing someone while knowing they don’t give a fuck if you live or die. Your favorite person becoming a stranger is a special kind of hell.