#I’ve not encountered a toxic one

[starwolfie]

You are so right! I didn’t expect this but�� they’re just a bunch of nice people 🥺

Wtf the LU fandom is so kind

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

i'm soooo glad you're back!!! love your writting so much, was thinking about some ghostface¡ tate or shit yk...like everyone who flirts with reader end murdered

i’m sorry this took me so long to do 😔 but i sorta did my own twist on this request, hope you don’t mind… i love it… anyway… :)

~~~

Lovefool

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: murder, smut, stalking, obsession, very toxic, manipulation, very minor talk of drug use… virgins, yeah idk what else it’s just stalker tate being crazy for you

summary: tate’s loved you since the first moment you met, and he would do anything to be with you… anything…

word count: 4.4

~~~

2011

You stare at the boy in front of you, a mix of emotions stirring inside you. He’s your age still, you aren’t too surprised at that. You’re more surprised at the fact that he’s in front of you. It’s been so long since the last time you saw him. You remember the pain, the pure fear that paralyzed your body the last time the two of you had an encounter. It still makes you uneasy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice weak.

He shrugs. “It’s Halloween.”

“There’s been plenty of Halloweens Tate and this is the first time I’ve seen you here. What do you want?” You reply in a harsher tone than.

Tate shrugs again and starts to play with the sleeves of his sweater. You can’t believe this is real. You want to close your eyes and pretend this is all a sick dream, though you haven’t slept in years. After a few seconds, you cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Tate the fact you even have the balls to try to find me is crazy, what happened? Did you suddenly feel some sense of guilt? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I don’t even care if you are sorry, I don’t care about anything except the one question I’ve wondered since the night it happened,” you say.

“What question?” He responds.

“Why?” Your eyes start to burn. “Why did you kill me?”

~~~

1993

Tate had never seen any girl as beautiful as you. Never. Not in a movie, not in a magazine, nothing. From the first time he saw you in kindergarten, he knew there was something special about you. Of course, he didn’t know it would grow into what it did until middle school when his hormones took over. His feelings for you quickly transitioned from a pure crush to a sick obsession. And the best and worst part of it all was that you had no idea.

You never really spoke to him. He was out of your league. You were popular, but not braindead popular like the people you surrounded yourself with. Tate had seen you in some of your classes. You were smart, you got the best grades in those classes. You had plans for yourself after high school, unlike your friends. That knowledge only made him admire you more.

The problems began when you started going out with one of the popular boys in your group, David. He was awful for you; Tate didn’t understand why you chose to have such a relationship with someone like that. He’d watch how David would wrap his arms around you in the hallways, leave small kisses on your cheeks, and whisper words in your ears that made your face turn bright red. It made him furious.

What did David have that he didn’t? Why was he so special? Tate knew he could give you more than David ever could. So, why were you with him?

Tate quickly became blinded by rage and jealousy.

At night he’d lie awake, the knowledge that you might’ve been out there opening your legs for another boy making him sick. That’s when the fantasies began. He imagined killing David. How would he do it? Where? In what way would leave the least amount of blood on his clothes? The image of his mutilated body consumed Tate’s thoughts. He liked it.

It was around that time that he had found the mask.

It was a strange mask he found in the basement. It had a long white face with black holes for the eyes and a long mouth. He wondered which resident of his house had left it there for him. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew from the second his eyes fell upon that mask was that bad things were going to happen.

He started going out at night and driving by David’s house. The mask he wore gave him a sense of power he never knew he could feel. At first, it was innocent. He’d simply drive down the other boy's road and look through his window for a few minutes before leaving. But all it took was one second of seeing you inside to blow the whole thing up. He was livid, seeing red. He decided he needed to bring his fantasies to life and get rid of David for good.

Halloween was when the opportunity to kill David became undeniable. By that point, Tate had been stalking the two of you for a month so he knew the basics. Which room was Davids, how to get into his house, and where his parents were most likely going to be. He had it all planned out. So, on Halloween night he put on the mask along with black robes that covered his entire body and ventured to the other boy's house, ready to kill.

He brought a knife, and when the time was just right, he snuck in through one of David’s open windows and started his game. He crept through the empty house, not making a sound. Getting to David’s room only took him a few minutes and what he heard from outside the door made him not regret his choice at all.

“Yeah, I know, listen she’s so close to finally giving it up to me and that’s what I’ve been working for this whole time. Once it happens, I’ll dump her, easy,” David spoke into his phone. His voice was cocky. It made Tate clench his jaw in frustration.

“Because dude, do you know how many girls from school I’ve already got under my belt? Y/N is just gonna be a name on my list. Yeah, whatever, I gotta go anyway I need to shower for the party, maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll drink too much. Okay bye.”

Before David could even get up from his chair, Tate kicked the door down and stormed in, too overpowered by his rage to think about anything but slitting the other boy's throat. He pounced on him, stabbing the knife into any part of his body he could reach. David screamed, but Tate quickly silenced him by shoving the knife down his throat. He felt empowered, he felt thrilled at the sight of his dead peer. It was amazing.

Tate didn’t waste much time gawking over his achievement, however. Once he was sure David was dead, he quickly pulled the knife out of the boy and fled out the window and back to his car. As he drove through the small neighborhoods of your guys' town, he wondered how big the news would be. Would you cry? He hoped you wouldn’t. Not over that asshole. You would move on, and Tate would wait however long it took.

~~~

The news of David’s death spread faster than wildfire and consumed Westfield High’s drama for weeks. Out of all the kids in the school, you took his death hardest. Seeing you so depressed almost made Tate regret his actions. He couldn’t bear seeing you tear up in class or show up to school two periods late. You weren’t like that.

However, as the days turned into weeks, you started to appear healthier and happier, and soon enough you were back to your normal self. Tate was glad, you were always so much prettier when you paid attention in class. He decided it was time for the second part of his plan to finally act. Though he was incredibly nervous, he knew it was then or never. He couldn’t risk you getting a new boyfriend that he’d have to kill again.

So, one day, he followed you into the library when the two of you coincidently had a study hall during the same period. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears. There you were. sitting at one of the tables alone studying, and he was going to speak to you. He’d thought up conversation starters all morning along with taking a few extra hits off his bong to help with the anxiety.

He shook the nervous thoughts from his head and grabbed his notebook from his backpack before walking in your direction. Your head was down, your hand moved aggressively across the paper as you wrote your notes. Tate stood at the other side of the table for a few seconds simply admiring you. His hands were shaky, his breathing uneasy. God, you made him lose his composure by existing. It was excruciating.

After he was done staring, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Hey y/n, do you mind maybe helping me with some of that psych homework?”

Your head shot up, your eyes instantly meeting his. He swore he couldn’t breathe. You, y/n, were looking at him on purpose. At that moment he didn’t care about what you were going to say, he didn’t care if you completely rejected him. All he cared about was how good it felt to have your eyes on him. Such innocent, loving eyes.

“Oh, yeah of course Tate that’s actually what I’m working on right now. Just sit, we can do it together. Unless you’re like super behind,” you answered.

“Are- Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the uncertainty. Did you really say yes to him?

“Yeah... should I not be?” You replied with a smile.

“No- sorry.” He sat down across from you. He could smell your perfume; he’d never been this close to you. “I just wasn’t sure if you even knew who I was.”

You chuckled. “How could I not know who you are? We’ve literally been in the same school system together since kindergarten.”

“I don’t know. You’re you know popular and stuff,” he said as he opened his notebook.

“Not really, besides even if I was that wouldn’t automatically make me forget anyone. But anyway, you can use my notes in a second, I’m almost done with the page,” you responded. You looked back down at your work and started writing again.

Tate nodded despite you not paying attention and watched as you wrote. He felt like that whole conversation was another one of his daydreams about you. Was he really sitting across from you? Or was it another mid-class nap? He cracked his knuckles to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and thankfully, he wasn’t. It was all real life.

“Sorry if this comes out as creepy, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while. I mean, when was the last time we even spoke?” You suddenly spoke, your eyes back on his.

“I guess you weren’t looking hard enough to see me,” he said with a shrug. All his confidence was a facade because on the inside he was losing his mind.

He noticed the way your cheeks slightly turned pink before you replied. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t. But I should have been.”

He knew deep down you were going to be his for so long, but at that point, he knew he had already achieved his goal. You were his.

~~~

“What is this place?” You asked as you clutched your cardigan around your body.

Tate smiled and grabbed both of your hands in his. “I told you it’s a surprise. Patience is a virtue.”

“I have patience, but I also have a lower body temperature than usual and it’s bothering me so I would really appreciate it if you’d just take me to the surprise already,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.

“It’s seventy degrees.”

“Yeah, but it’s also windy at the beach and it’s probably colder than seventy because of the ocean’s temperature.”

Tate sighed and leaned his head down to press a small kiss on your lips, a feeling he still hadn’t gotten over. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Terrible, naughty things I hope,” you replied, kissing him again. “But please lead me to your special surprise beach spot.”

Though he wanted to stand there and kiss you all night, Tate obeyed your request and began to lead you further down the beach. It had been a few months since the two of you started talking, and to say it progressed would be an understatement. Tate had truly underestimated how easy it would be to capture your attention. All you wanted was a sweet, caring, genuine boy and he could be all those things easily.

So, after a month of being friends, he asked you out and you said yes. The relationship grew deeper with each day, and it didn’t disappoint him one bit. He loved everything about you. The way you’d lie on your bed with him and talk for hours, the way you’d make your relationship with him public by holding his hand in the halls, and most importantly the way you never expected or wanted him to change to fit in with your friends. You liked him for who he was, and it melted his heart.

It was your three-month anniversary, and Tate wanted to make it special. Even though he knew before the two of you got together that you were a virgin, he didn’t know to what extent you were. He quickly became aware you had done most things already, just not full sex. At first, he was annoyed at the fact that you weren’t completely his because he had never done anything with a girl before you. But after the first night, you went down on him, he wasn’t that upset anymore.

On this night he planned to take the next step with you. He had it all set up. The blankets, the lights, all of it. As the sight of his setup came into view, he watched your face light up. You squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.

“Is this really for me?” You asked.

“Yeah, do you like it?” He replied.

You nodded and sped up to reach it, dragging him with you. Once you made it you dropped down to sit on the blanket, urging Tate to do the same. “This is so cool. You’re the first boy to ever do something like this for me. I love it.”

“I’m glad, I know how you like sentimental things,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “And I’ve been wanting to show you this spot for a while. I used to come here a lot as a kid and watch the waves with my dad... before he left. I wanted to make it special with you because you’re not like my dad. Right?”

“No, I’m not. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you like that. I lo- I like you Tate, a lot.”

Tate only stared into your eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his life. You almost said you loved him. He knew then that night was going to be the night you finally gave yourself to him. Something in your eyes made him certain. Your eyes were dark. You stared up at him as if he were the only boy in the world. There was a feeling in the air, one of lust and fear.

“I’ll never want to hurt you either,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I doubt I ever could.”

You gave him a small smile and placed one of your hands on his cheek. You caressed the skin with your thumb as you slowly started to lean your face toward his. He accepted your lips on him, kissing back instantly. It was the moment he’d been working up to for years. He was finally going to lose his virginity to you, and you to him. Nothing would ever compare.

~~~

The sound of Nirvana mixed with skin slapping filled Tate’s room. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips when he looked down at you. Your back was arched so perfectly, your waist looked impossibly small, and your ass looked incredibly big. The side of your face was smushed against one of Tate’s pillows. You were so red, so loud you had to bite your hand to spare the whole house from hearing. Tate took in a deep breath and slapped your ass, his thrusts not faltering for even a second.

“Fuck baby, you look so pretty right now. You take me so well,” he whispered. He wrapped some of your hair around his hand and yanked you up, making you practically scream. “Yeah, you like that. You like being manhandled y/n?”

You let out another moan but didn’t reply. Tate slapped your ass again and threw you back down to the mattress. He leaned over you, your sweaty body feeling perfect against his. He was close to finishing. He’d already made you cum a few times that day, so he wasn’t too concerned about where you were. All he was concerned about was getting closer to you before he came.

“I love controlling you, you’re so helpless. Fuck I’m so close,” he mumbled in your ear. “You’re mine, all fucking mine forever. I’ll kill anyone who even tries to take you away from me.”

You made a noise and Tate couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside you, his cock pulsing heavily. You groaned; his cock was hitting your cervix too hard it hurt. He waited a minute or so before finally pulling out and moving to the spot next to you on the bed. He’d never felt anything as amazing as having sex with you. He was breathless.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about what just happened that he didn’t notice your sad expression. When he eventually looked at you, he saw your frown. Immediately he turned to his side and faced you, reaching out one of his hands to brush a few of your hairs behind your ear.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked.

“Nothing,�� you replied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing you look sad; you can tell me whatever it is.”

You sighed and turned your head to meet his gaze. “Why do you like hurting me? Like during sex and stuff. You’re always so rough and I don’t know you’re really mean and sometimes the stuff you say is… scary.”

“How is it scary?” He laughed.

“You said you’d kill anyone who would try to take me away from you,” you said.

“Yeah, I would. I swear I’ve said this shit to you before. I would do anything for you, or to keep you,” he responded.

“Don’t joke about that Tate, you know I’m scared of killers because of what happened.”

“Oh, so this is about David? Why are you even thinking about him y/n he’s been dead for months. Do you miss him, or something is that it?” He questioned; his tone harsher than before.

You scoffed and sat up. “You’re seriously making this about me missing David?”

“Well, is that what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered before you stood up and started to get dressed.

“Oh, my fucking God y/n I’m sorry for whatever I said wrong while we were fucking. Can we just move on already? I don’t see what the big deal is,” he snapped.

“No, we can’t just move on. You scare me sometimes Tate like genuinely. I know you mean it all in a sweet way but it’s weird. I love you but you don’t hear me saying I’d kill people if they talked to you or looked at you a certain way. That’s not normal.”

Tate sat up. “I wish you would say those things. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. I’d do anything you ask; I would shoot up the fucking school if you wanted me to.”

You looked at him, he could see the terror and fear in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I am. I don’t get why you’re acting so scared. I’d never hurt you I don’t even think I could if I wanted to, you mean more to me than any person alive or dead,” he answered.

“You’re sick,” you mumbled. You grabbed your bag and walked to the door. “I think we need some time apart; you aren’t sane.”

His heart practically stopped. “What?”

“We need to stop seeing each other for a little while, I can’t take this insane shit Tate. I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I need you to get some help before I can be with you.”

Before Tate could reply, you left. All he could do was stare at the door, a million thoughts roaming his head. Did you really just break up with him? Was that it? Did you just throw away everything the two of you had because you felt his love was too strong? It didn’t feel real.

As the night progressed, he tried to call you, dozens of times. But each call was either declined or rang out. His anxiety grew with each ring of the phone. Why weren’t you replying? Who were you seeing? Did he really mean so little to you that you could leave so easily? His mind spun with scenarios, each one worse than the last. By the end of the night, he had convinced himself you were cheating on him, and the following days only worsened his state of madness.

You ignored him completely in school. Every time he tried to talk to you, you either turned away or walked away completely. It hurt him terribly. He couldn’t understand what had changed so fast. He chased you around the halls for days, trying his hardest to get your attention. But it never worked. And so, his love for you began to fade into an awful rage.

He couldn’t let you just walk away from everything the two of you shared. You were his. Only his. He couldn’t let you leave him, not like his dad. He hadn’t spent his entire life chasing you just to end up losing you. No. So, he began to formulate a plan. He’d leave you alone for a few days then calmly ask you to meet him at the beach, in the special spot he once made for you.

He wasn’t surprised that his plan worked. You were predictable.

When the night came, he made sure he was prepared. He snorted a line, packed his bag full of your favorite things, and set off. As he walked down the beach, he made sure the knife he hid was secure in his pocket. It was smaller than the one he’d used on David, but it would do the job just as efficiently.

You arrived a few minutes after him, a sad expression on your pretty face. He fought the urge to run to you with open arms.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. Only a few feet separated your bodies, he wished he could close it. But he needed to be patient.

You took a deep breath, you looked nervous. “Yeah, look Tate I... I’ve thought about it and I... I really think we should stop seeing each other for some time.”

“Why Y/N? I love you, so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I said, I can change, I won’t say shit like that ever again. I’ll be gentle, I swear. Just give me the chance I can be whatever you need me to be,” he replied desperately. He opened his bag and pulled out your favorite candy. “I love you; I really do. Please give me another chance.”

He watched your eyes fill with tears. You wanted to give in, he could see it in your eyes. But you only shook your head and wiped a fallen tear from your cheek.

“No. I’m sorry. Tate, you aren’t gentle, that’s not who you are. And I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

Tate swallowed hard. “You promised me you’d never leave me; you said you were nothing like my dad. Was it all a lie?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed and took a step closer to him. “I love you; I really do. That’s why this is so hard.”

“If you love me, why can’t we work this out? Don’t lie to me Y/N.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor could he stop his lips from quivering. He dug the bouquet of your favorite flowers out from his bag and held them out to you.

“Please,” he mumbled. “I need you.”

You caved. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight. He could feel your muffled cries on his chest, it pained him. You were a sensitive sweet girl; it was both your blessing and curse.

“Maybe in a few months, we can try again, I don’t know.” You looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “We just can’t be together right now. And I mean we’re going to graduate soon, and I might go to a college far away, how would that even work? But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that Y/N, you’ve already hurt me.” He dropped what he was holding and dug one of his hands into his pocket. He touched your face with his other hand, your tears covering his palm. “You’ve planned on leaving me this whole time. I wanted to give it another try you’ve made up your mind. I guess it just comes down to one thing.”

“What?” You asked.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he whispered before he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the side of your neck.

~~~

2011

“I killed you because I loved you,” he answers. “Because you were going to leave me and find someone else.”

All you can do is stare at him in silence. You think back to everything that happened. How could you have been so blind? It couldn’t have been your fault though. He would’ve killed you anyway. You think back to all the times Tate made you uneasy, all the times he would say things that creeped you out. Deep down you must’ve known that’s who he is. Maybe you knew all along.

Maybe you loved him because of his darkness.

You exhale a long breath. “We don’t have that long till midnight.”

“So?”

You shrug. “Wanna hook up?”

[bouquetface]

Astro Observations 5

ACCURACY BASED ON ENTIRE CHART. Looking at only one placement can only give general/surface level info.

💜 Scorpio moon can have a karmic relationship with women in general. They can have resentment and jealously for other women - although in their younger years they are reluctant to acknowledge this. There is a sub conscious/silent competition for power. Possible examples: Needing to be the most liked gf in your bf's friend group. Needing to be the most liked daughter-in-law your husband's family. However, this is not always the case.

Scorpio moon in a man's chart, I have noticed the above traits are seen in the mom. Their mom might share traits with the stereotypical boy mom. However, when the scorpio moon is placed in 7th house, I have seen these traits be less problematic. In 7th, there is almost a balance, the mom is deeply protective and involved with the child’s relationships but without being controlling. Rather, she may just like to be informed. Now whether, the child will submit the mother’s wishes depends on the child.

🧩 Virgo rising are ruled by mercury. They naturally want information. They’re good at researching & analyzing. They’ll try to get as much info as possible.

Virgo placements mixed with scorpio can create the best detective or stalker. EX: My virgo rising, scorpio sun friend stays updated on all her exes, her friend's exes even exes of her family members. She even has random info on the live's of people she barely talked to from her hometown.

☀️ All the eldest siblings I know almost always have prominent cap placements - cap sun or moon most often seen in my experience.

🧩 Middle & youngest children often have a prominent pisces or aqua placement. However, this won’t always be accurate. It’s just something I’ve noticed in the chart’s of people I know.

🍂 My cousin whose birth was a surprise was an Aqua sun. Aqua’s modern ruler Uranus is connected to themes of shock & sudden surprises.

❣️My cousin whose mom had several miscarriages before her birth is a scorpio sun. Scorpio is connected to taboo topics & endings.

🍎 My friend whose birth prompted her parent’s to move abroad is a sag sun. After her birth, they felt the need for a fresh start away from their own toxic families to start a new one. Sag is connected with themes of travel.

🌊 Neptune square ASC or First house ruler can be the worst. People make bullshit assumptions about you immediately. I’ve noticed most people with prominent & harsh neptune in their chart often have prominent aqua or pisces placements. You can need that ability to detach & shut out the outside world to handle the things people falsely believe about you.

🧩 7th House ruler in 1st House can indicate partnerships (romantic, platonic or business) want control of you & your image. You may encounter relationships with controlling & aggressive people. However, you may like people that take control for you.

🍎 Mars in 1st house & Mars in 10th can be a dangerous placement. You become a target for insecure men & women. They see the power you hold and sub consciously wish to take it away from you. The same can be seen in those with mars square or opposite asc. Certain people will want to compete with you.

mars in 1st may deal with physical abuse in relationships. This is an extreme though. For most, you encounter people who belittle you. People challenge your power & confidence.

🌙 Moon in 4th can manifest as having more femininity in the home. The number of girls could outnumber the boys in the home. You could have more sisters than brothers. Or you end up having more daughters than son.

❤️‍🔥 In my mom's chart she has asteroid child (4580) in sag conjunct neptune. My sun is in sag & my younger brother's sun is in pisces. However, rarely do I see the asteroid being this accurate. Sometimes, the sign of child can be more how you view the child rather than the actual sign of the child.

🧿 Groom (5129) conjunct Moon can give a spouse who takes on a traditional feminine role. The positive outcome would be a family orientated spouse who is very nurturing - ex: enjoys cooking, enjoys house work like painting, mowing the lawn, etc. They enjoy taking care of the home and family.

If harshly aspected, I have seen this as a women's husband refusing to work and provide for their family in any way. He became very lazy after marriage. He threatened she'd have to pay him alimony. Chiron was near her Groom conjunct Moon in Aries.

❤️‍🔥 Fama in 7th H - 7th H isn’t limited to spouse & friendships. It can show business partnerships & clients. I have this in my chart & I worked for a notable influencer. They aren’t A list or anything too extreme, she does have a fan base & make money through her social media though.

🩻 I’ve noticed doctors, nurses & vets often have prominent influence in 8th & 6th house. Most common: 2nd or 10th ruler in 8th or 6th H. You will see people at their most vulnerable, investigate & find/keep secrets about their health (8th H) and offer service (6th H).

🌙 Tropical Pisces Moon / Sidereel Aqua Moons tend to develop the habit of avoiding their emotions. They escape through daydreams, music, books or films. They can feel their own emotions through the character. It can feel safer that way.

& this placement can struggle with the inability to cry for months (maybe even years). They don’t properly process the situation until months or even years later. When it becomes too heavy to hold back, they can cry a lot. Randomly tearing up through the day, crying themselves to sleep.

[memezs-corner-of-the-osc]

Memez theory analysis ramble #2:

SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF TPOT 17.

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I’m dedicating a entire post to just the scenes with One and Doughnut because it tells us so much about One as a person:

Her demeanour throughout the altercation is something I’d like to bring light to.

One as a character is a manipulator who weaponises gaslighting by learning the characters psychologies to put them under pressure using her facade to sign as we’re all…..very aware by now.

What we learned here is are her downfalls: Temper and ego.

This is the face of someone who’s overly confident in everything she does, here she was not anticipating any failure in her plans.

I mean how could she possibly fail right, after all she’s tricked so many contestants-

And then reality hits.

Her egos down, she didn’t rehearse for this.

Now: let’s observe who one actually is under her act.

She resorts to violence to start with, trying to get a fear response from Doughnut.

Success: Ego back up tenfold.

She feels safe, like she has the upper hand.

So she starts her downfall: She starts giving Doughnut more information than he should know.

After all he’s going to take the deal, they all take the deal.

He can’t possibly escape and tell everyone after he just signs that little contract.

And so like the hawk she is she swoops back in to claim her prize, here she thinks she’s won in crushing the tough nut.

……unfortunately for her Doughnut is smarter then that and questions her, she hates being questioned as it ruins her whole shtick.

“Ughhh don’t worry about that Doughnut, after all is it so crazy to believe I’m just trying to help you?”

Mocking, condescending, setting up her “finishing blow”.

“Those friends of yours all agreed to it and look at all the fun they’re having!”

She can’t help herself and besides he’ll never get the chance to tell anyone so why not take the chance to unconsciously gloat to someone about it?

But it doesn’t work, he keeps questioning, second guessing and not trusting her act.

So she snaps and goes nuclear and goes to what she thinks everyone is can’t resist, themselves:

She tries acting like his friend one final little time, going with her plan B she set up.

She lays it all out, everything she knows about him and all the things in his life she rigged to happen in one last desperate attempt to regain control.

“Everyone gets to be a little selfish, it’s only fair.”

This is the line I’m going to go on a tangent on, it shows why One can do this guilt free.

She’s self justifying it constantly in her mind with a positive feedback loop, through her own delusions she sees fact.

It makes you wonder why she’s doing this and supports what I said last time, I still theorise she’s not here for the power, she’s here to make sure Two is powerless for her own pettiness.

One is a heavily Toxic abuser type person, she has warped morals that she bends to justify their own behaviour to herself subconsciously to get her own goals satisfied.

She has a ego or (at least acts like she has one to further her agenda) and will stop at nothing to the point of almost ending the universe to satisfy her needs.

And if she was friends with Two it would make sense if she used these manipulative tendencies on them and the other algibralians.

The scene with Six I will now circle back to basically confirms what I’ve been theorising with one quote: “She was supposed to be gone.”.

We have half her motive, this seemingly confirms One was exiled from the playground.

For what is yet to be seen.

Now let’s talk about the ending of the scene: What happens when someone defies her.

Let’s watch shall we:

She’s failed to make this man stoop to her level proving her psychology is wrong so she snaps, she’s never encountered this before.

She wants to feel like she’s won so she turns to a power trip, in a moment of rage she rips Doughnuts legs off and kicks him off to affirm to herself that she got the last laugh here and that letting him go is no issue.

I mean what can one man do without limbs-

And this right here is where I theorise Ones downfall begins, she got greedy adding Doughnut: a person who she knew could be a problem into the plan.

And where did it leave her?

With a wild card with context clues about what she was planning and with information about what’s behind her act on the loose, in her own greed I theorise she set in motion her demise.

And the kicker is even at the end she’s still affirming to herself that she didn’t really fail here by flying head first into the sun and that Doughnut was “just for good luck.“.

So I end off this essay of a post with a question: If this is how she treats her victims how did she treat her “friends”?

Thank you viewer for reading, the follow up to this will contain an analysis on Pencil (probably my favourite contestant by now) along with a few other misc things I want to talk about as this is already pushing it for this ted talk of a post.

[andersonsgirl]

𝐓𝐋𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒ᝰ.ᐟ

— all credits goes to these talented writers !! ◡̈

scroll for arcane ones

glue by @whore-era

angry ellie x sunshine trope oh my god i’m soft. i want to read this for the first time again. feel free to send me more wholesome fics like this :,).

off to the races & pt.2 by @aphrvdisiac

“you are in a poly relationship with new york's elite women, ellie williams and abby anderson, but living in the world of power, money, and lust possesses each one of you as the dynamic amongst you three becomes more volatile and violent.”

adittute ellabs x reader by @lanasblogasf

if you are into off to the races series then you could look through this acc’s for more drabbles based on the fic as well!

untethered ִby @millersfinest (five parts)

story takes place in new york where it is the year 2000 and you’re adopted in the millers family. after graduation, you had been back home for thanksgiving dinner when an old flame from childhood came back, despite an explosive ending. this is full of drama and the setting of this story feels like home with the animals & such.

doctor anderson by @zombholic

wbk i might be into older women…. there are five parts of the story line where reader is working at a coffee shop while encountering her favorite customer, dr anderson!! smau, short drabbles, & hcs made by the writer as well :) pls check it out i luv it!

street racer ellie by @cultemis

this is so hot. i love my car girls. that’s it.

and they were roomates ellabs by @eyesfullofsttars

more cutesie ellie & abby content. my pinterest board of them is kinda based on them living together & not tryna kill eachother plz.

using ellie as a prop for your ig story by @tthoroughfare

when ellie is pretending to be a new love interest on your story only for your ex to be jealous but it didn’t work. basically what the title says & it’s lowk rlly cute (but sad) how ellie is drooling over reader unintentionally LOL.

mean!abby on patrol by @vampirq

need ruthless abby right about neow

dealer ellie williams masterlist by @pearlcigs

i want more of this ugh, i remember checking back after the last part i just read every week LOL. idk how yall make text fics but this is saur entertaining & good.

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒 ᝰ.ᐟ

caitvi sandwich - returning to you after war by @yameoto

i believe this is the first catvi/arcane smut i’ve read once i was done w the show & lets say it’s forever in my favorites folder.

collateral by @00valentina-draws00

omg this series is everything to me

toxic!dealervi by @pearlcigs

idk whats up w me & toxic lesbian dealer smaus 😣

caitlyn kiramman’s controversial young gf by @r3starttt

this highkey inspired me for my older abby writings in my drafts :3 i think about this every day btw. it’s giving that song “i need someone olderrrr!!!” because i do need someobe older named caitlyn kiramman <3_<3

blinds wide open - stalker caitlyn & vi by @valalice

so much talent in one post. i def recommend this if you’re into dark reading!

i’ll be adding more. . .

[slytherinboysvip]

All alone| D.M

(Smut, Toxic ex Draco Malfoy, slight degradation, slapping)

You and Draco are exes, occasional fuck buddies, you miss him, but you don’t. (yes you do)

heavily based off “coming down” by the weekend

Draco Malfoy. Your ex, your fuck buddy, the person you desperately miss the most. The party boy. The breakup wasn’t recent, but it wasn’t that long ago either. You’ve managed to see Draco at each party Pansy’s dragged you to, and you’ve been told he’s been at all house parties since.

You were laying on your bed reading when you started getting a call from.. Draco. You answered the phone, almost too quickly but to no avail you heard a very intoxicated Draco. “Darling, I’ve been bad again. Sometimes I forget what you mean to me, I need you” You didn’t have time to respond before the call ended.

You called him back and he immediately picked up “You’ve never been the one to call me, Love” You rolled your eyes not wanting to deal with him tonight “Find some whore to fuck Dray”. You hung up the phone and he called right back, declined. Again , and again, and again.

Finally the texts started coming through, “I always want you when I’m coming down darling” “Come on Y/n I’m all alone, I know you are too” “You know you want me too love”. You wanted to say you were better than what you were about to do, but you sent the message, “Be here in 5”.

𓆙

A few pregame shots later you felt more ready for this encounter, not really knowing what to expect you heard the door knob wobbling “Y/n”. You opened the door and were immediately pulled into a kiss, Draco’s arms wrapping around your torso squeezing tightly, his lips hungrily going against yours.

Not even attempting to fight for dominance in the kiss, already folding into your ex boyfriends arms and loosing all sense his tongue entered your mouth and he pushed you against the wall. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue and it was strong. But his cologne. Fuck his cologne, it filled you senses, like a drug to you making you feel just as intoxicated as he was.

His hand snaked up towards your neck and grasped it, feeling his rings squeeze against your skin slightly pinching causing a soft moan to escape from your lips. “You always sound so delicious” Draco groaned pushing himself up against you, feeling how hard he was perfectly.

You couldn’t wait any longer, “Just fuck me already dray, please”. He wasted no time ripping your clothes off and throwing you onto your bed. He inched towards you taking his shirt off and inching his boxers down, hard dick immediately popping out making a noise plopping against his stomach. “mm fuck” you mumbled already dripping at the sight.

This was a sight you always fucking missed. Without hesitation he shoved himself into you letting out a groan “fuckk”. “I can never replace this fucking pussy” Draco’s pace began to quicken and you were getting used to the size already moaning out “Slow down dray fuck fuck” You tried pushing against his stomach slowing him down, but he pinned your hands above your head.

He still wore the chain you bought him, seeing it dangle above your head as he fucks into you does something. As fucking crazy as it sounds the thought of him wearing it even if he’s fucking someone else, he’ll always just want me. “Say you’re mine Dray” You looked him deep in the eyes, he didn’t hesitate before speaking “I’ll never stop being yours Darling”.

He brought his left hand down to your clit and started rubbing it in circles at a fast pace making you see stars. “Youre not done till I’m done slut” You came as those words left his mouth, he knew just how to make you cum. Overstimulation was his favorite how could you forget.

He continued pounding into you with no ending in sight, both his hands moved down to you hips pulling you as close to the edge as possible and slamming into you hard and fast. His head tilted back and he let his moans out without a care “Your pussy feels so heavenly, and being such a good girl”

You were in your own world of pleasure at this point, eyes rolling and a moaning mess; Draco slapped you back into reality- literally. “So beautiful”. “Thank you sir” You moaned out, missing the way things were but things feeling aligned in the moment. You could feel another orgasm building up and Draco could tell.

“Not yet darling. Go bend over your desk for me, end the night off right.” You tried getting up but were already feeling weak in the knees, though you could walk he lifted you and you balanced yourself over the desk. “Now spread those legs open for me princess”, you did as he said and his dick was slammed back deep into you swollen gushing pussy.

Grabbing onto your ass and giving it a tight squeeze he harshly slapped it a few times for sure leaving a bruise, “If you fuck another guy he’ll know your still mine” His thrusts somehow got rougher after that sentence, causing you to moan out in pain and pleasure. Your orgasm was finally building back up, knot building deep in your stomach ready to be unraveled.

“Please I’m gonna cum fuck!” You managed to let out before your words turned into moans and your eyes rolled back, he kept his pace and you felt his cum shoot into you “All fucking mine” He continued to thrust into you despite cumming, thrust becoming sloppier till he pulled out and watched the cum drip from your pussy.

“And you said we wouldn’t do this ever again” He mocked.

sooo it’s late asf and im very tired so for the time being this isn’t spell checked, my apologies!!!

[majinael]

"i need a friends to lovers kaiser x reader fic with a deep focus on his trauma and his toxic coping mechanisms and he's slowly doing better thanks to the reader, healthy love with the reader heals him, and he learns what it is to be loved :((

i don't want smut i want DEEP EMOTIONAL INTIMACY !!!!!!

i swear people don't get his character like i do, my baby needs LOVE"

from @krys4h

here we go for a part 1 :3

★michael kaiser x she/her pronouns reader (can be interpreted as GN)

★3,6k words

★songs associated : one & two

I had known Michael Kaiser since the day I was assigned as the team’s nurse. In my line of work, I’d learned to connect with every player on a professional yet friendly level—it was part of treating them with care. Most of them warmed up to me quickly, eager to share stories or jokes during their treatment sessions. But Kaiser? He was something else entirely.

Rarely injured, he was almost like a ghost in my office. When I did see him, it was brief, and he would insist he didn’t need anything. His arrogance would radiate even in those fleeting moments, accompanied by a dismissive smirk that said, I’m untouchable.

During my breaks, I often watched the team train from the sidelines or walked through the gym and facilities. It was fascinating to observe them push their limits, but truthfully, I was never particularly drawn to football. It felt more like a job perk than a passion.

The first real conversation I had with Kaiser wasn’t in my office or the gym but on the field during an unplanned encounter. After sitting at my desk for hours, buried in work, I needed a breather. Wandering aimlessly, I found myself by the field. It was supposed to be empty, yet there he was, surrounded by several soccer balls lying on the damp grass.

I stopped, my curiosity piqued as I watched him shoot a goal with such precision and power that it left me speechless. The ball sliced through the air like it was destined for the net, hitting its mark flawlessly.

“Impressive,” I murmured aloud, my voice breaking the silence.

Kaiser turned, his signature cocky smile already plastered on his face as his gaze landed on me. “Of course it is,” he replied smoothly, his ego inflating visibly. But before he could bask in my compliment, I raised an eyebrow and added, “But can you actually pull that off in a real match?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and almost condescending. “I wouldn’t train something useless,” he retorted, brushing off the challenge. But then, to my surprise, he launched into an explanation of the technique. “The Kaiser Impact Magnus,” he called it, and as he spoke, his words were laced with passion and precision.

I was captivated. His knowledge and ability to articulate something so complex left me staring, wide-eyed.

“That’s... wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “You’re really smart. I’ve never seen or heard anything like it. Would you mind if I watched you play? I promise I won’t be a bother.”

He smirked, tilting his head arrogantly. “Of course, you’d want to watch. Sit still, pretty.”

For the next hour, I sat on the barrier of the field, watching him train. His movements were mesmerizing—the way his blue-tipped hair framed his sharp features, the rise and fall of his chest as he pushed himself relentlessly, the calculation in his eyes as he analyzed every play. It wasn’t just skill; it was artistry.

I couldn’t help but stare, completely unaware of the stray ball ricocheting off the goalpost and hurtling toward me until it struck me square in the face.

Pain exploded across my nose as I fell back onto the wet grass. My vision blurred, and as I tried to gather my bearings, I heard footsteps approaching.

Kaiser loomed over me, his expression torn between amusement and mild concern. “Could’ve dodged that, y’know,” he said, a faint chuckle escaping. “Really, I can’t tell if you’re lucky or unlucky. The ball usually doesn’t even come this way.”

Blinking up at him with an innocent, dazed expression, I felt a sharp sting of both pain and embarrassment. My nose throbbed relentlessly, blood trickling down onto my shirt, while specks of wet dirt clung stubbornly to my cheek. He crouched slightly, pulling a tissue from his bag nearby, and for a fleeting moment, I noticed something unusual in his eyes—an almost imperceptible softness that seemed out of place.

What was he seeing? Whatever it was, it must have stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. I remembered an interview where he mentioned his fascination with faces of despair, but I doubted that was what I wore now. No, this wasn’t despair—it was vulnerability, raw and unguarded,I looked just like a defenseless kid and it lingered between us like a secret neither of us knew how to acknowledge.

“Don’t look at me like it was intentional,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Here. Wipe that off. You look horrible.”

Taking the tissue, I stood unsteadily, trying to laugh off my humiliation. “At least I’m fully awake now,” I joked, though my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

My optimism seemed to amuse him. He smirked, returning to his training, but as droplets of rain began to fall from the sky, I lingered.

“It’s raining,” I called out, expecting him to follow me inside. When he didn’t respond, I hesitated. “Michael? Are you not coming inside? You’ll get sick. Training can wait.”

He shrugged without looking at me, the raindrops glistening in his hair. “Worry about yourself. I’m fine.”

Something about his nonchalance struck a nerve. If I were as talented, as admired, as incredible as him, wouldn’t I take better care of myself? Yet, there he was, drenched in rain, pushing himself as though he had something to prove.

I watched him for a moment longer before turning away, a strange ache settling in my chest. Back in my office, I tried to focus on work, but the sight of him—so brilliant, yet so reckless—stayed with me. It wasn’t the first time I noticed how different he was from the others, but now, for some reason, I couldn’t shake the thought.

And for the first time, I wondered what it was that drove Michael Kaiser to treat himself like he was anything less than extraordinary.

The next morning, I made my way to the cafeteria at around 9 a.m., craving a much-needed coffee. While chatting casually with the bartender, I heard familiar footsteps behind me. Turning around with my coffee in hand, I spotted Kaiser lounging on one of the couches, his attention fixed on the TV replaying football matches.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I approached him. His usual cocky posture remained intact, but something about his red-tinted nose caught my attention. Without hesitation, I plopped down beside him.

“Red nose... Is someone sick?” I teased lightly, trying to catch his attention.

His infamous grin spread across his face, almost as if it were second nature. “Mind your business,” he quipped, barely sparing me a glance.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Well actually, I’m the nurse. This is my business.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. He turned to me, his grin softening into something that resembled amusement. “Fair,” he conceded, “but I’m not sick. Some idiot just threw a ball at me.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because that happened to me recently too.”

His gaze narrowed, a playful glint lighting up his striking blue eyes. “Are you calling me an idiot?” he asked, leaning slightly toward me, his tone light but teasing.

The sheer audacity of the situation made me burst into laughter, while I was taking a sip—resulting in the coffee exploding spectacularly all over my white shirt and on my face.

For a moment, silence hung between us before Kaiser’s eyes widened in disbelief. Then came his reaction: “You look insanely stupid right now,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching.

“I know,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning as I avoided his stare, mortified by my rather unusual clumsiness.

His laugh was instant and unrestrained, echoing in the nearly empty cafeteria. But it wasn’t his usual mocking chuckle; no, this laugh seemed genuine. His shoulders shaking as his eyes grew watery. It was... different. And somehow, the sound pulled me in.

Caught up in the absurdity of the situation and the rare warmth of his laughter, I found myself laughing too—though not at the coffee-stained mess I’d become, but as an answer to his laugh. Seeing Michael Kaiser, of all people, like this was oddly disarming.

“I should probably clean this up,” I said awkwardly after a moment, standing up to leave.

His gaze lingered on me as I walked away. I could feel it like a weight on my back, even as I disappeared into the hallway.

Left alone, Kaiser’s attention shifted to his reflection in the darkened TV screen. For a fleeting second, he caught sight of himself wearing an unguarded, genuine smile. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“She’s an idiot,” he though.

He shook his head, refocusing on the replay, but the corners of his mouth twitched again, the thought of witnessing another one of my shenanigans lingering in his mind far longer than he cared to admit.

As the day unfolded, I buried myself in paperwork for two and a half hours before rushing to the field. He was still there.

This would become a habit—an unspoken agreement. Neither of us addressed it, but it was clear.

When I approached, his trademark smirk appeared. "Are you stalking me, or are you missing me already?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I chuckled in response, leaning casually against the barrier. Before I could come up with a clever retort, he shot a ball directly at me. I barely dodged it this time.

"Good reflexes," he said with a slow clap, clearly entertained.

"Are you trying to kill me?" I shot back, sarcasm masking the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. My heart raced, but I kept my composure.

The ball rolled to a stop behind me. I picked it up and shot it back at him with, let’s say… slightly less precision. The ball missed him completely and soared into the goal instead.

His expression was a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "Lucky shot," he muttered.

I grinned triumphantly. "Skill only."

He scoffed. "Tch." And with that, he turned his back to me, resuming his drills, pretending I no longer existed.

I stood closer than usual now, watching him. "Don’t you have a water bottle?" I asked.

"Some idiot stole mine today," he grumbled. "When I find out who it is—"

I couldn’t help but laugh softly. If I were the culprit, I’d want to stay far, far away from Michael Kaiser.

Time passed, and at some point, he noticed me on the other side of the field, awkwardly mimicking his movements.

"That’s not how it’s done," he called out, exasperation lacing his tone.

He placed a ball on the ground, letting it roll for a moment before striking it with flawless precision. "Like that."

"You make it look easy," I said, walking closer to the goal. "Maybe I should try from here."

I attempted his move, but as the ball ricocheted off the goalpost and left the field I looked up at him.

"You’re terrible at this," he said, barely hiding his amusement.

"Good thing I’m not a footballer," I shot back. "But I can’t say you’re a good teacher."

His eyebrow arched. "It’s not difficult, you idiot."

"Not for the great Michael Kaiser," I teased with a chuckle.

He rolled his eyes but, to my surprise, set up another ball. This time, he explained each step while executing the move.

"That wasn’t so bad was it?" I asked proudly, succeeding after his clearer explanation.

He ignored me, returning to his training with a quiet huff.

I leaned against the goalpost, watching him intently. "I wish someone had taught me how to play football too. It looks so fun when you do it."

"Too?" he asked, his tone sharp. "I learned how to play alone."

I blinked, surprised. "No way. Your parents must’ve been amazing athletes then."

That’s when everything froze. He stopped mid-step, and for a moment, even the soft drizzle seemed to halt.

A lump formed in my throat. Had I said something wrong?

Without turning to me, he replied bitterly, "No, they're not."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, driving an invisible wedge between us. I felt like I’d crossed a line I didn’t even know existed.

Instinct told me to leave, so I did—quietly, without another word.

I spent the night overthinking it all, replaying the scene in my mind. For days, I didn’t see even a shadow of him. He hadn’t left his usual spots; our timings just seemed to miss each other.

And it left me wondering: What the hell just happened?

That was until I was called onto the field during a training match. Noel Noa scolded me lightly for not being there as I usually was, but the weight of my guilt over the situation with Kaiser left me too drained to respond.

A player had injured himself, and “as usual”, he refused to seek my help. I had a small idea of who it might be.

Fate had an odd sense of humor, I thought, bringing us together in the most inconvenient ways.

As I approached him, he sat on the grass, glaring down at it as though it had personally offended him. His posture screamed irritation, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Hello, Michael,” I greeted, keeping my voice even.

No answer. Just a sharp glare in my direction, like a dagger aimed straight at my chest. I swallowed hard.

“Let me take care of you,” I offered.

“I told him I didn’t need your medical attention. What part of that does he not understand?” His tone was biting, his disdain palpable.

I sighed softly and crouched in front of him. “Michael.”

His eyes widened slightly at the sound of his name before flicking away from mine.

“Please,” I continued, my voice gentler. “At least let me take a look.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, as if granting me a favor, and muttered, “I don’t need your help.”

“But I need your well-being,” I countered, my voice cracking faintly.

“No, you don’t,” he shot back, his tone quieter this time. “I’ll be fine.”

I tilted my head, offering him a patient smile. “I doubt Noel will let you play unless you let me take a look.”

That argument seemed to hit its mark. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from his pocket. It was smeared with sticky, drying blood. Someone must have stepped on it with their cleats. My stomach churned imagining the pain it must have been.

I sat down beside him and took his injured hand gently in mine, studying the wound. “This might sting a little,” I warned as I began cleaning the blood away with alcohol and tissues.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, focused on my task.

When I glanced up, I noticed his expression had softened. It wasn’t the usual arrogance or anger I’d come to associate with him—it was something different, quieter, almost vulnerable.

I continued cleaning the wound, careful and deliberate, as though I were handling something fragile. When I finished, I held his hand for a moment longer than necessary, expecting him to snatch it back. But he didn’t.

There was something profoundly strange about his demeanor. He sat there, a paradox of composure and vulnerability, his posture steady yet his eyes betraying a depth of confusion I’d never seen before. His gaze held an unnameable expression, something I couldn’t quite decipher, as if the moment we’d just shared was far more intimate than either of us had anticipated. The silence between us was heavy, not with tension, but with the weight of something unspoken, something fragile.

“Hey, Michael?” I asked softly. His head turned toward me, but he said nothing.

“Are you okay?” I added with a bright smile.

Still silence.

I stood up and rummaged through my bag. “Here,” I said, holding out a water bottle. “When Noel told me what happened, I knew it was you. I remembered you said someone stole yours last week.”

His gaze flicked between the bottle and me, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse.

So much gentleness and care all of a sudden was probably more than he could comprehend but he gently took it and looked up at me all in silence.

“I’ll tell Noel you’re good to go. If you need your bandages changed or anything else, my office is always open,” I said, standing.

As I walked away, I felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, as though I’d just witnessed something rare and fleeting—a glimpse of the real Michael Kaiser, the one hidden beneath the sharp edges and icy walls.

When I returned to Noel and reported that Kaiser was ready, he called him back to the field with a simple gesture. I sat on the sidelines, watching Michael play with an attentiveness I hadn’t felt before.

To me, he wasn’t just Michael Kaiser, the arrogant genius striker. He was someone I could call a friend. A friend I was proud to have, even if he could never know.

hiiii! I am trying so so hard to keep him in character xo, I hope you like this first part, the second part is here ;) don't hesitate to give me feedback love y'all

[rcgame-thoughts]

Support of Wincy and Soulless

A couple days ago, Wincy released a message regarding the state of her mental health. I don’t follow any of the writers on social media, so I don’t know all the details. The gist I’ve gotten is she’s been the subject of toxic comments on certain social media platforms. She’s taking a step back due to severe anxiety and panic attacks.

I have a lot to say about this. First of all, I cannot fathom what sort of complaints or demands players could possibly be throwing at her. Soulless is one of the best written stories on RC. It’s the one I have zero complaints about. IMO, Wincy is one of the best, if not the best writer in RC.

I’m gonna break down why Soulless and Wincy are so great.

Originality. The concept is fun and creative. A succubus comes to modern day earth and lives among humans. I don’t even know how she came up with an idea like that.

Depth. Soulless could have been sex, sex, sex. But it isn’t. It’s so much more. It’s about finding your identity when you are so different. It’s about how to trust, how to develop real relationships with people. About learning how to be vulnerable and how to both give and receive love.

An amazing MC. Imo, Vyxaria is the best MC in all of RC. She has a distinct, vibrant, unique personality. She’s strong and confident, yet still has insecurities. She’s unafraid to go for what she wants, but isn’t always sure of what she wants. She longs for companionship despite her demonic nature. She’s supposed to be evil, yet has a good heart. And she’s funny!

Wonderful LIs. Each LI has their own personality, their own backstory, their own arc. They are all physically attractive. They each get a decent amount screen time to develop their relationships with Vyxaria. And they have…

Real relationships. Each relationship is handled with respect. Each is beautiful. Even Threxio/a’s. We know Wincy’s going somewhere with this one, but we’re not there yet. They each have something to offer Vyxaria, and she grows from them. Through them she learns about vulnerability, self-acceptance, trust, morality, and support.

Female characters. For those who romance women, they get three options. I don’t romance women, but just by romancing Walter and being friends with Ava, I can tell that they are good. Ava’s relationship with Vyxaria is especially beautiful. Maybe one of the most beautiful in RC.

Humor. Soulless is the only book in RC that has me consistently laughing my butt off. Vyxaria is hilarious! The banter between the characters is funny, and they have different types of humor. Vincent is dry. Walter/Cynthia is a lovable golden retriever. Elliot’s reactions to Vyxaria are our reactions to Vyxaria. Having that mirror is great, because we know Wincy is laughing along with us.

Juicy sex scenes. I feel like I don’t need to explain this one. Even the encounter with Kang was 🥵. We also get CGs for each one.

This is a little thing, but I love that each sprite comes with a different color demon form. It makes rereading so much fun.

Unpredictability. The twists are really bold. You won’t see them coming. Wincy really knows how to hook you and keep you wanting more.

Anyways, that’s my love letter to Soulless and Wincy. Selfishly, I want more episodes of Soulless, but Wincy’s health is more important. I hope she’s able to get the rest and recovery she needs. Also, bullies suck. We need Vyxaria to make them go unf unf unf down a staircase. 😂

P.S. I loved Heart of Trespia too. I will never forget Wyatt’s punishment scene. I actually cried, and I am not a crier. It’s truly an epic read. (So much so, I created a dream cast list coming out right after this.)

[ashthesalamipiece]

“Explosive Encounters (of the Gassy Kind)”

Pairing: Bakugo x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff / Humor / Domestic Shenanigans

Warnings: Baby farts, mild language, Bakugo being Bakugo

---

You always knew Bakugo Katsuki had nerves of steel. After all, the man faced down villains without flinching, ran toward explosions like they were a minor inconvenience, and had the patience to deal with Deku daily. But today? Today was the true test of his endurance.

It started off sweet. Your three-week-old baby boy—chubby cheeks, tiny fists, and a surprisingly strong pair of lungs—was swaddled like a burrito and cradled in Bakugo’s arms. You were sipping lukewarm tea on the couch, watching your man try to lull your son into a nap with surprisingly gentle bouncing motions.

“See?” you smirked. “You’re a natural.”

“Tch. Of course I am. It’s not hard,” he grumbled, rocking side to side. “He even stopped cryin’. I’m a damn baby whisperer.”

And then it happened.

Pffffft.

It was soft, wet, and unmistakably dangerous. The air around Bakugo visibly shifted like a scene from a nuclear fallout.

His eye twitched.

“…Did that little monster just—?”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, stifling laughter. “Oh my god. I think that one came with a warning label.”

The baby squirmed in his arms, making a satisfied little grunt like he’d just claimed dominance over the household. Bakugo held him out at arm’s length like he was handling a ticking time bomb.

“You little gremlin,” he muttered. “You tryna gas me out of my own damn home?”

You doubled over in laughter as another pttbbt sounded off like a war horn from the baby’s backside.

“Again?!” Bakugo snapped, staggering back like he’d taken a direct hit. “What the hell are you feeding him?!”

“Tiny amounts of justice and breastmilk,” you managed through your giggles.

The baby cooed, clearly proud of himself.

“He’s mocking me,” Bakugo growled. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“I think he’s trying to bond with you.”

“He’s assaulting me.”

You got up and took your son from him, still laughing. Bakugo immediately started fanning the air around him like it was toxic gas. “I’ve smelled sewer leaks better than that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And yet you fought sludge villains.”

“I’d take sludge over that any day.”

You nestled the baby against your shoulder, who let out a tiny burp followed by one last triumphant toot. Bakugo stared in pure disbelief.

“That’s it. I’m getting him little explosion onesies that say ‘My Quirk is Farting.’”

You grinned. “Matching ones for Daddy too?”

His glare could’ve leveled buildings. “You do not get to call me that after what just happened.”

But despite the threats and dramatic retching noises, he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple—and another to your gassy baby boy’s head, muttering, “You better grow outta this, punk.”

Spoiler alert: He didn’t. But Bakugo loved him anyway. Even if he had to wear nose plugs during tummy time.

---

[venusphoriia]

— Lovesick Denial

;; ₍ # ₎ ⁀➷ Clarisse La Rue x Reader

─ Jealousy and bitter denial, not really a good combo, is it?

cw ཿ⠀ violence (nothing bad, promise ♡︎), nicknames (clarisse calls you princess, but no pronouns are used), jealousy, denial, high key toxic! clarisse, partially proofread. 2.5k words.

ପ a/n ; requested! lowkey hating this layout right now, but can’t come up with anything better at the moment </3 This took longer to post than I wanted to because I’ve been so busy. Lowkey lost motivation near the end. I hope you enjoy anyway, I might make a part 2.

Irritated. It was the first word that came to mind with how you felt when it came to capture the flag. You gripped your weapon tightly as you roamed the forest, jumping at the slightest sound. You grumbled curses under your breath, you were alone and seriously disadvantaged. You were annoyed, but most of all stressed. Normally, you would have wandered off—finding a decent hiding place until the unsavory game reached its conclusion, but unfortunately for you—Annabeth didn’t really give you the chance this time.

You sigh softly to yourself, tired of aimlessly walking through the forest. You lean against a nearby tree, hoping to rest a bit to replenish some of your energy. Your weapon was held loosely in your hand as you naively let your guard down. It was quiet, perhaps too quiet. The birds’ endless chatter was oddly soundless as the only thing that could be heard was the wind brushing through the tree’s leaves and… footsteps?

A spear pierces the tree’s trunk harshly, narrowly missing you. You jump, your body tensing as you stumble back a bit. You raise your weapon in defense, looking at the spear lodged into the tree before easily recognizing its craftsmanship. Your fingertips brush along your cheek, the small look of disbelief is quickly replaced with irritation as you see the fresh blood. You shoot her a small glare as she slowly approaches you with a smug look on her face.

“You know, it’s pretty dumb to be trying to take a nap out here, princess,” Clarisse mocks with a teasing tone of voice as she stops just a few feet away from you. The amused look on her face only grows once she notices you grow more irritated by her presence. She pulls back her spear, examining its sharp blade before looking back at you with a rather threatening smile.

You lower your weapon, your brows still furrowed slightly in annoyance. If there was anything you hated more than capture the flag—it was Clarisse, the notorious favored daughter of Ares. You’ve only had a few encounters, all of which you consider a displeasure, but if there was one thing you were known for, if not your antisocial personality, it was your smart mouth.

“Aww, I didn’t pick you as the type to care about my wellbeing,” You mock her tone, a clearly irritated smile resting on your lips as you made it clear you were in no mood for her teasing antics.

Clarisse scoffs, scowling softly as if almost genuinely offended by your words. If she was being honest with herself, she was. But, of course, the stubborn daughter of Ares would never admit to it, “I don’t.”

“Then why say something?” You retort, your tolerance really hitting its breaking point. The heat was starting to get to you more than you thought.

“Because,” Clarisse takes a step closer towards you, a small spark erupting from her spear. Her gaze is cold, calculating like a predator watching its prey. It irritated you, but also made every hair on your body stand on edge.

You subconsciously take a step back, trying to maintain some distance. Clarisse smirks at this before abruptly attacking you. It was a single strike, but its weight was as heavy as her pride. You barely managed to block on time, staggering back as you were completely caught off guard.

Clarisse smiles tauntingly as she continues her slow approach. She’s toying with you. You hold up your weapon, ready to parry her next attack. Your guard is up, but so is your anxiety. Clarisse was never known to go easy—especially in a game like this.

But something felt off about this interaction.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. Nothing about Clarisse’s actions made sense to you. She had a game to win, a flag to capture. Yet, she was wasting valuable time to toy with you. Not only that, but she was alone—usually she’d have at least one or two of her siblings with her. This didn’t seem like some regular bullying stunt—no, this felt personal.

“What’s with the confused look, princess?” Clarisse teases, that taunting smile never leaving her lips. She attacks you again, this time more viciously like she’s aiming to hurt you.

You narrowly block the attack, but not completely avoiding the damage. A small cut is left on your upper arm, you click your tongue in annoyance as you glance down at the new wound. You glare up at her, irritated.

“What’s the point of this?” You asked before finally delivering an attack of your own. It’s not as harsh or vicious as Clarisse’s, but the attack has enough weight to it, making it obvious you’re no longer taking this confrontation carelessly.

“Does there have to be a point to this?” Clarisse chuckles, easily blocking the attack. You don’t miss the way she subtly avoids the question, but she doesn’t give you much time to think about it much. She returns the strike, much more vicious than the last two.

This isn’t the first time you had to defend yourself against Clarisse. You’ve witnessed and experienced Clarisse’s fighting style first hand. Despite her hotheaded temper, she fought with pride, but most of all with reason—in her own right, of course. Her attacks are always cold and calculating, strike with purpose and aim to prove something.

So, why did her attacks feel so different? With each strike you blocked—or avoided—the next one felt more angrier and vicious than the previous. Like she was actively trying to kill you, but not at the same time. This felt like more than just some bullying stunt to you, it felt like she was desperately acting in defiance to something. Something close to a personal struggle, perhaps?

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. The fight was already lost.

You wince as your weapon broke, your own blade turning against you, cutting your skin. Clarisse wastes no time, electricity cracks from her spear as she follows up with her next attack. She hits you in the abdomen, sending you flying a couple feet away.

The wind is knocked out of you as you roughly hit the ground. You cough harshly, quickly trying to pull yourself to your feet. You mumble a few curses under your breath, your muscles sore and your legs weak. When you struggle to stand, you allow yourself to collapse completely to the ground.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up now,” Clarisse seems amused, the mocking tone of her voice sounding more like nails on a chalkboard as she lowers her spear. You feel a small headache beginning to form, whether it was from irritation or your harsh landing didn’t really matter to you.

You don’t even have the energy to retort, rolling over on your back tiredly. Fatigue hit you like a truck, and the pain was certainly no help. Your lack of response makes Clarisse worry a little. She holds her spear loosely in her hand, as she glares at you softly.

She opens her mouth to speak, but stops as you hold up your finger in response. She scowls slightly in irritation, but says nothing as she gives you a moment to gather yourself.

“You avoided my question,” You say, a little breathlessly. Your tone was rather blunt as if stating a fact.

Clarisse scoffs, looking away for a moment before responding, “I did not.”

“You did,” Your response is quick as you look over at Clarisse, nonchalantly.

She simply rolls her eyes before quickly changing the subject, “Are you going to continue laying there all day or—”

“You know that doesn’t sound like a bad idea…” You mumble, genuinely taking it into consideration. Your whole body ached and you weren’t really in the mood to get up just yet. Especially considering how you know you’ll be hearing an earful from Annabeth for disappearing so quickly into the game.

Clarisse chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief at your nonchalant attitude. A blaring horn breaks through the small silence and the sound of cheers follows—which is no doubt the blue team’s victory. A third win in a row.

Clarisse's grip tightens around her spear as she looks out into the distance in annoyance. You look at her for a moment before rolling your eyes, deciding to hold your tongue. You’ve already taken more of a beating than you liked.

You sit up, groaning at the dull ache of your muscles. Clarisse looks back at you, watching as you struggle a bit to stand, “Need some help?”

You pause, giving her a look of bewilderment as it took you a moment to realize she was being genuinely in her request. Never, in all your years of being at Camp Halfbood, did you ever hear Clarisse genuinely offer her help to anyone, “You serious?”

It was a genuine question, but your skepticism only irritated Clarisse, making her scoff before placing her spear away. She doesn’t even bother to retort with a harsh insult before walking towards you. She kneels down with her back turned towards you and you realize she’s actually being serious. You looked over her shoulder, your confused daze being met with a small irritated scowl. Too nervous to decline, you hesitantly wrapped your arms around her shoulders as her hands gently gripped your thighs. She carefully stands up, making sure you are steady and comfortable on her back before adjusting you a bit.

Your grip around her tightens a bit, holding her rather close, a little fearful that she may drop you. She oddly doesn’t comment on it, which leaves you with more questions with still zero answers. You truly had no idea what was happening. With every minute, Clarisse surprised you more and more. You wanted to protest, question—anything really—but was left rather speechless as she carried you all the way to the infirmary.

You felt the eyes of your fellow campers, by the looks on their faces they shared the same thoughts of disbelief as you do. Their curious stares and gossiping whispers don’t last long with Clarisse’s silent glare. With deathly shivers being sent down their spine, they quickly go back to minding their business, saving the gossip for later.

You, on the other hand, can only hide your face in embarrassment. The unwanted attention made you want to crawl into a hole, and you knew your friends would have a world of questions of their own. You just hope the attention won’t last long.

────

It did. Although their gossip quieted over time, their curious stares—borderline judgmental—continued to linger behind you. Everywhere you went, no matter how hard you tried to blend into the background—you could always feel at least one pair of eyes watching you. They picked and pried you apart, curious to know how you—a rather dull, outcast—caught the attention of the violent, prideful daughter of Ares.

You were an outsider, never cared for pride or glory. Alway in the background, taking great care to never stand out in a crowd. You were never a loner, but you weren’t exactly ‘known’ either. Average at best was the best way to describe you, but you never seemed to mind. In fact, you enjoyed it.

The life of a demigod was something you never enjoyed nor asked for. A quiet, content life was more of a goal of yours than anything else—anyone with two eyes and a brain could see that.

So, how? Why? What did Clarisse see in you?

Those seemed to be the most common questions when it came to you these days—unspoken, of course. Due to Clarisse’s temper, no doubt. Her anger and aggression has been at an all time high. Losing weeks of desserts due to recent outbursts was definitely not helping.

You took extra care to avoid her, and in turn, she did the same. Though, that only irritated her more. She was frustrated and confused. She had an idea of why she felt the way she did, but she was far too stubborn and prideful to acknowledge it. She wanted to ignore it, to smother the feeling until it withered into ash.

Of course, you were no better either. The same thought peeked into your mind, but you were quick to dismiss it. The simple thought—jokingly or not—of Clarisse even possibly thinking of you at all seemed impossible to even consider. Your friends were no help either, talking your head off with their own suspicions and delusions (as you put it).

So, when someone approached you, a camper known for his boldness and idiocy, it was hard to miss the way your blood went cold. A vicious sense of danger washed over you, your sense heightened. You could barely focus on the words he was saying to you as your eyes subtly scanned your surroundings.

You didn’t have to look for long, your eyes met her cold glare and your whole body went frigid. You knew that look well, you’ve seen it before, but never did you think you would see it directed towards you. It was a sort of jealousy, but felt so much deeper—almost a yearning.

“Hey? You listening?” His voice broke you from your trace, you realized you held Clarisse’s gaze for a few seconds too long. You look back at him with a forced, polite smile before nodding.

You hummed softly in acknowledgment as you tried to ignore the way Clarisse’s knuckles seemed to turn white as her glare hardened out of the corner of your eye. The poor boy didn’t seem to notice the look of worry on your face, too blinded by his own ego. He took your smile and desperate maintenance of eye contact as a sign of interest, which only fueled his rambling. Too bad you weren’t really listening to any of it.

Clarisse watched from afar, her gaze never drifting from you—her siblings are quick to notice her anger, but aren’t quite bold enough to say anything about. One, however, smiles mischievously as she follows Clarisse’s line of sight. She sees an opportunity to cause some form of entertainment, a plan that will also help Clarisse relieve some of her anger.

She smirks as she whispers into Clarisse’s ear, her tense form relaxing as a small, bone-chilling smile makes its way onto her lips. She looks away for a moment, considering the plan for a moment before nodding. A small chuckle leaves her sibling’s lips before she leaves, quick to put the plan into motion.

Clarisse looks back at you and you make eye contact once again. Only this time, the smile on her face fills you with a small sense of dread. You’ve known Clarisse long enough to recognize the cruel look in her eyes. She’s planning something. Something that would ensure at least one person is ending up with a broken bone.

You knew you would be an idiot if you continued to deny it any longer, and Clarisse slowly became aware of the same. A quiet realization, one that neither of you will acknowledge just yet, but one you’re both aware of no less.

She likes you, way more than she would like. And you had no idea how you were going to handle it.

© venusphoriia 2024 — do not copy or repost any of my works on any other platform, please and thank you !! ( ˘ ³˘)♡

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Futile Devices

Miguel O'Hara x civilian f!reader

Summary: The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 

Word Count: 8.2k (A behemoth of a fic, I'm so sorry guys)

Warnings: FWB, language, angst, reader is totally in love with Miguel, Miguel being a bit of an ass, probably a tad toxic? SMUT, p in v (no protection), cum play, low-key breeding kink? Like super low-key. Oral (f receiving). Miguel climbing through windows. Idk why I'm obsessed with that thought lmfao I make him climb through windows every chance I get. Idiots in love. Probably a rushed ending, sorry!

Thanks to @whatthefishh for beta-reading. Partly inspired by this.

Also, this is mega ultra cliche, we all know they're gonna end up together, so just enjoy the ride! It's not the destination, it's the journey 😌 Hope you guys enjoy, and if you do, pls let me know what you think! I love reading your comments!

MDNI pls.

...

It was always a mission getting to Miguel's office.

Headquarters wasn't built to accommodate civilians, the winding pathways and corridors a danger if one wasn't too careful.

You had to be extra careful. 

You hurried toward Miguel's office, heels clicking against clean tiled floors as you dodged a fuck ton of spider people and the inescapable attention of one annoying Peter Parker.

"Come on," Peter Parker number two hundred tried his luck again, "just one date. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go." 

"No." You rolled your eyes, swatting him with the manilla folder in your hands like you would a fly. 

“Look, all I’m saying is you should give me a shot. I’m funny.”

“So is every other Peter Parker I’ve encountered.”

“I’m different.”

“I doubt it.” 

He deflated, keeping up with your quick steps. “Who doesn’t like funny guys?”

“Me.”

“Sure,” he stretched the word out, unconvinced, "so if not funny guys then what? The ones with sticks up their asses, like Miguel?" He snorted with a shake of his head. You knew it was a sort of rhetorical question but you couldn’t help swallowing thickly, your hands gripping the folder a little too tightly. 

Yeah. Something like that.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach when Peter Parker two hundred raised his brows at your silence. So maybe he did want an answer.

"Nah, there's no way. I'll try again tomorrow." He smiled, shooting a web out in some random direction and swinging off toward the floor above. 

Fuck. That was close.

You breathed a sigh of relief, loosening your fingers over the folder before quickly hurrying toward your destination. 

You pressed your watch against the sensor outside of Miguel's office, waiting for the metal door to slide open. It didn't. You tried again. Still nothing. Again. It wouldn't budge.

"Ugh, come on, Miguel!" You banged the door with a tiny fist as if that would make a difference, "open up!" 

Lyla appeared suddenly, her sprite-like form circling your head once before she faced you.

"You probably shouldn't go in there," she warned, "he's in a…mood." 

"He’s always in a mood," your hands were on your hips now, the manilla folder crinkling further in your hand, "I need to report a couple of grievances—"

"Mmmmmm, I'm sure that's the last thing he wants to hear right now, Miss HR." God you hated when they called you that. You rolled your eyes, swatting her away with the folder which did nothing, of course, and pressed your watch against the sensor. 

"That's not gonna work, honey."

"So let me in." 

"Promise to be nice?"

"To who?" You snorted, "You or Miguel?" 

"Me," Lyla grinned, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, "forget Miguel." 

You sighed, cracking a smile, "Lyla, would you please let me into Miguel's office?" The Ai made a noise of approval, comically saluting you before granting you access.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya." She sang, disappearing from your sight. 

You sighed. Miguel's shifting moods were nothing new to you—not anymore. Back when you both worked at Alchemax, he was passive and less quick to anger. But that seemed a lifetime ago. 

Life progresses. People change.

“Mig?” You called out, peering up toward his solitary platform. You could hear the soft hisses of machinery, the yellow glow of Miguel’s holo screens illuminating the area above like a radiant star.

He didn’t answer. 

“Miguel,” you tried again, “we have some things to discuss.” You slapped the manilla folder against your hand as if he’d recognize the sound of formal complaints filed within the last week. 

The platform began to descend after a moment, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his figure came into view. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid as he swiped through the yellow screens.

“I told Lyla not to let anyone in.” His voice was cold, frigid even. He didn’t bother to face you, his eyes pinned to his screens as he leaned forward, the muscles of his back flexing through his suit. 

You couldn’t see what he was looking at but you could hear it: the soft giggles of a little girl, the cheers of a soccer game, the chuckles of a man now broken. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard the sounds of Miguel’s past. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.

“I-uh, got some reports to share with you.” You felt foolish. Lyla was right. HR complaints were the last thing on Miguel’s mind. 

“Reports of the anomaly on Earth 9811?” Your brows pinched in irritation. He knew those weren’t the reports you had. You were fucking HR, not on active duty, let alone a spider person. 

"No, you'd have to ask Jess or Gwen about that, but you need to listen—"

“I don’t want to hear it.” He grunted. You saw his hands form fists at his sides, the same hands that’d fisted your sheets in the throes of pleasure just days ago. 

You shook your head. It was not the time for that kind of thought. 

You carefully opened the crinkled folder, pulling out the paperwork you’d printed from your antique printer to read aloud from it.

“Peter Parker of Earth 5431-02 has formally filed a complaint,” you began, your eyes scanning the black text before releasing an exasperated sigh, “he’s saying you threw a chair at him?” Miguel grunted, the holo screens shutting off at his (Lyla’s) command.

“He’s an idiot.” Miguel snapped, finally turning to face you, his sharp features shadowed by the lack of light. He regarded you carefully, red eyes tracing your figure. You’ve grown used to the way his eyes lingered over you, especially when you were under him, his body pressed against yours, but sometimes you couldn’t help but squirm under his more severe gaze.

“Well, yeah,” you reluctantly agreed with a tilt of your head, “but a chair, Miguel?”

“It’s not like it hurt him...badly.”

“That's not the point."

“The point is that I got my point across.” Miguel snorted. 

"It's the principle. You don't go around throwing fucking chairs at the people who work for you!" 

"Mhm." 

"You're their boss! What kind of behavior is that?"

"Uh-huh." 

You were about ready to strangle him but knew your fingers couldn’t even go around his throat properly. You’ve tried before, under very different circumstances. You settled for pinching the bridge of your nose, as he often did, taking a breath to calm yourself before you completely lost your shit. "Listen to me."

"I'm listening, HR."

"Ugh, look," you pointed a finger up toward him, your brows knitted in obvious irritation, "annoying or not, he's still a member of the Spider Society, therefore, he has every right—”

“—to file a grievance under any circumstance as a result of an injustice, discrimination, or harmful behavior, and is to be given the respect to which every spider person is due as a valued member of the society. I know.” Miguel finished the legal jargon for you, hopping off the platform with an ease that’d always surprised you.

He stepped into your space, his large body casting a long shadow over you as he snatched the crinkled paperwork from your hands. 

“I’ll speak with him.” He grunted. You pursed your lips, watching as his eyes scanned over the page.

"Make it right, Mig. Apologize. Formally. Or informally. It doesn’t matter— there’s nothing normal about this place anyway.” You placed your hands on your hips as you leaned forward, aware of how he was suddenly gazing down at you. “Just be nice, okay? Compensate him with, I dunno, a minor mission. He always wants to get involved, so let him.” 

Miguel rolled his eyes, heaving a great sigh while running his hand through his hair. “Fine.”

“And no more throwing chairs to make a point.”

“Uh-huh, fine, anything else?” God, you wanted to smack him. You opted for snatching back the paperwork from his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles over your skirt-clad thighs before searching for the proper page.

“Yeah," you brought a finger down on the page, "the spiders are getting bored of the cafeteria food.” That was enough for Miguel's face to pinch in displeasure.

“What’s wrong with empanadas and churros?” He scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss the complaint, “And that stupid blue burger with my face on it?” He paused, eyes squinting for a moment, “You know what? That can go. Get rid of it.”

“Fine. Do I have permission to organize a survey?”

“For food?” 

“Yes, for food. They want options.” 

“Aye, por Dios,” Miguel grunted, waving his hand again, “Fine.” 

“Fine.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Nope.” You organized the documents back into the manila folder before handing it over to him.

“You know you could just send this electronically, right?” He looked down at the folder, his eyes tracing your neat cursive in black ink.

“I’m old-fashioned.” You shrugged, turning on your heels. You heard him snort out a laugh, a tiny thing that made you smile. He has a nice laugh.

“One more thing,” Miguel called out, demandingly. You looked over your shoulder at him as he regarded you with heavy eyes.

“What is it?” 

He boarded the platform once again, the machinery coming to life and slowly elevating him back to his preferred height. He tossed the folder somewhere over the desk, to be forgotten. It was the least of his worries at that moment.

You watched Miguel ascend above you like some kind of heavenly being, the yellow light of the holo screens illuminating his tan skin till he glowed molten gold. You waited on him with bated breath, his response sinking straight to your core.

“Keep your window unlocked tonight.” 

…

He loves it when you ride him. 

His large hands were glued to your hips as you bounced on him expertly, your cunt soaking him in your sticky juices. 

Most nights began this way—with Miguel's cock buried deep in your pussy after a long day of enduring his insufferable attitude. You'd fuck the stress out of him—fuck the astronomical weight of the multiverse off his shoulders if only for a few short hours.

"Been thinking about this all day." He groaned under you, throwing his head back over your pillow when he felt your walls grip his length viciously, fighting to keep him in.

"Yeah?" You gasped, your hands firmly planted on his bare chest as you made work of your hips, rotating them in delicious circles—the way he liked—your thighs spread wide to accommodate his massive size. "W-wasn't enough to curb that a-attitude though, huh?" 

Even amid the utmost pleasure—of Miguel's length hitting a spot that had you trembling—you found the strength to taunt him, your hazy eyes catching a glimpse of the twitch in his brow. That meant trouble.

Within seconds Miguel had you on your back, his imposing body trapping you against your mattress. His cock slipped out for a moment but he had no problem finding his way back into your slippery channel, snapping his hips strategically to reach as deep as he could.

You cried out, your hands scrambling to find purchase over his shoulders, your pretty manicured nails digging into his perfectly golden skin.

"F-fuck! Miguel!"

"Wanna say that again?" He growled, his face hovering mere centimeters from yours, "Go ahead, say it again." You did nothing but whimper as he pounded into you mercilessly, his cock stretching you open. 

"That's what I thought." Miguel chuckled smugly, delighting in your little chokes and stutters, egging him to keep pounding you relentlessly. You tried speaking—tried to articulate your words to him, but you couldn't, too cock drunk to focus on anything else but his gorgeous face twisted up in pleasure and his thick cock kissing the secret place within you.

He had you coming soon after, stars exploding behind your lids as you trembled in his arms. Your cunt squeezed him just right and he came, panting in your ear as he filled you to the brim. 

His spend stained your sheets when he pulled out, and as always, he watched it dribble out from your swollen cunt with lidded eyes. He wasted no time in taking his fingers and stuffing the mess back in.

“Keep me in there.” He muttered, swiping through your puffy folds one final time before he ripped himself from you. You immediately soured, keeping your gaze on him as he quickly cleaned himself off with a cloth you left for him on your nightstand. 

You admired his figure: the ripple of his muscles as he moved, the broadness of his shoulders, the glow of his skin in the dim lighting of your bedroom. 

Miguel was gorgeous. You’ve always thought so.

His suit glitched before coming to life, covering his sculpted body in the usual blue and red you've come to know. 

“Did…you want to eat before you go?” Dinner was on the stove, cold but still good. You sat up against your headboard, more of his spend leaking out as you fiddled with your fingers over the soiled sheets. 

Miguel shook his head, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I have to go.” He said, stepping forward, grabbing your hand, and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles. It was the only form of affection he’d allowed himself to give you. He’d never kissed you before. Probably never will. It wasn't part of the deal.

Your heart sunk, your skin searing where his lips had lingered. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Most nights ended this way—with your aching cunt full of his seed and your eyes wet with unshed tears as you watched him leave through your window, disappearing into the night.

…

A few days later, Peter B. Parker landed in your office. Quite literally. 

He plopped down on the seat in front of yours from seemingly nowhere, a messily packed diaper bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. He had his daughter snuggly pressed against his chest in her carrier, her chubby arms and legs flailing over his pink robe.

You yelped, dropping the pen in your hand, clutching your chest in freight. 

“Jesus! Where the hell did you just come from?!”

“Up there.” Peter pointed up. You followed his line of vision, noting the door to the air vent busted open, barely hanging from its hinges. “Sorry about the vent.” He offered sheepishly, taking a large bite of a slice of pizza he'd pulled from a greased-up brown paper bag. 

"You could've just taken the elevator!"

"Takes too long to get to the basement.” He said between a mouthful of pizza, “Why'd Miguel give you an office down here anyway?" 

"I'm scared of heights." You reminded him, watching Mayday struggle to release herself from her carrier prison. Peter snorted out a laugh, dropping the diaper bag on the floor while simultaneously taking another bite of his pizza.

“Doesn’t make sense to work in a place like this.”

“It was the deal I made when Miguel asked me to work for him. Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Have you tried the cafeteria pizza?" He asked suddenly, ignoring your demand and speaking with another mouth full of the greasy treat, "It's the new thing. Everyone's going crazy."

You smiled smugly. "I know. You’re welcome."

“Ah, I should've known Miss HR was behind this!” You rolled your eyes at the nickname, rummaging through your drawer before tossing him a few napkins.

“What can I do for you, Peter?” 

Mayday whined, crawling out of the carrier and over her father’s thighs. She hopped on your desk, scattering some of your paperwork. You quickly caught her before she tumbled off the edge, cooing at her before placing her in your lap. You squeezed her in your arms and she let out a scream of delight before squirming, reaching out in wonder at the different knick-knacks on your desk. 

“Right, almost forgot." Peter took the last bite of his pizza, wiping his face and fingers with the napkins you provided before his face morphed into something serious. "Is this guy bothering you?” He pulled out a yellow holo pad, one presumably given to him by Miguel, revealing a video of you and Peter Parker two hundred from the other day. 

You blinked, your eyes tracing the moving image carefully.

”Oh. Not really,” you finally said, ripping your gaze away from the screen, “Nothing I can't handle. Why?” 

“Miguel asked me to investigate the situation discreetly.” 

"Asked?"

"Well, demanded, you know Miguel," Peter shrugged, reaching down into the diaper bag and procuring a lollipop when Mayday began to whine, “he’s concerned. I figured it’d be easier to just ask you about it.” 

You frowned, grasping the sweet when he handed it over to you, pulling off the wrapper and placing it in Mayday's chubby hand, “That’s hardly discreet.”

“I didn’t wanna follow the guy around!” 

“He's making you do that?”

“‘Of course he is. Doesn't like the guy. He barely tolerates me!” 

You snorted. “Why does Miguel even care?”

"You know him better than any of us do. If anyone would know, it’s you." 

Well, that was true.

You knew Miguel before he created the Spider Society, before he was ever Spider-Man. You knew him before his addiction to Rapture, before he experienced fatherhood, before he lost Gabriella. 

Back when, to the world, he was just some guy in a white lab coat. 

But he was never just some guy to you. 

You’ve loved Miguel for years. You’d loved him in your early days at Alchemax, when he was fresh out of college and eager to begin his shaky career, back when you were hanging on to the corporation by a measly thread of an unpaid internship. You were a pair, stuck to each other like glue.

A few years later, when you both decided to take it a step further and mess around, well, that only ignited your feelings further. Miguel was an attentive lover. He knew your needs and fulfilled them, taking you to the heights of pleasure before humbling you just as smoothly with his strict rules about your agreement. 

He didn’t have time to cater to someone's feelings—didn’t have time for a romantic relationship when he had too much on his plate. But his sexual appetite demanded attention—and why not with someone he’s called a friend for years? 

You were just a friend. And that’s all you’d ever be. 

It was just sex. That's all it'd ever be.

“You okay?” Peter ripped you away from your thoughts, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered with a sigh, gently resting your chin over Mayday’s soft curls. “Is Miguel worried?” 

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend, of course he’s worried about you. Those were his words, not mine.” Peter shrugged, putting his holo pad away, “so is there a cause for concern?” The thought alone almost made you smile. Almost. Instead, you scoffed, shaking your head.

“I’m usually the one that handles these situations, you know.”

“And who’s supposed to help you?”

“I don’t need help.” 

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Miguel doesn't seem to think so. You sure?”

“Very.”

“Alright, I did my part!” He clapped his hands as if he’d successfully completed a mission, “Time to go, Mayday!” He stood, grabbing the babbling baby from you and placing her back in the carrier.

"She's precious." You said, gently pinching Mayday's drool-covered cheek as she teethed over her lollipop.

"Takes after her dad." Peter grinned, snatching up the diaper bag, "Listen, if you ever need any help—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get outta here, Parker." You shooed him away, quickly organizing your wrinkled paperwork together. You could still feel his eyes on you as you kept your hands busy, and when you finally looked at him he had a silly smile on his face.

"What?"

“You guys are idiots." He was still grinning.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he said, pressing a kiss to Mayday's red curls, "Just do me a favor. Don't mention any of this to Miguel, alright?" 

You crossed your arms, leaning back against your swivel chair. "Sure."

...

"So you think I need help?"

Miguel's hands immediately stilled on your hips as you stirred the boiling pasta over your electric stove. 

You didn't hear him come in, but you had a feeling he’d show up. It had been a couple of days since he’d fucked you, and there were many stressful days between then and now.

So you’d left your window unlocked just in case.

"What are you talking about?" He muttered, his fingers lightly dancing on your waist before pulling away completely.  

"Nothing." You huffed to yourself, cutting off the heat and getting on your toes to reach for the pasta strainer on the shelf above. After a second of watching you struggle, Miguel put a hand on your shoulder to stop you, reaching forward to grab it for you.

"Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” He finally said, observing you strain the pasta over the sink, the steam from the hot water engulfing you both in what felt like a thick cloud of tension. You peered over your shoulder at him, your eyes raking over his solid form.

“You know, Peter Parker two hundred?” You asked, witnessing his face contort from passive to extreme annoyance.

He sucked his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned back against your counter, looking so out of place in your tiny kitchen, his broad shoulders almost the entire width of your cupboard. “I told Peter to be discreet.”

“He said you’re worried about your only friend.” You continued to tease him, emphasizing the word as you lifted the lid to a pot where a homemade Pomodoro sauce was bubbling. 

“I said that?” Miguel muttered, feigning innocence, watching you take a spoon and scoop some of the red sauce for a quick taste. You could feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing the way your tongue licked off the remnants of sauce. 

You hummed in approval before scooping up some more and turning to offer Miguel a taste. You lifted the spoon toward him, and after a moment of contemplation, he hunched forward with arms crossed over his toned chest, mouth opening slightly to allow you to press the spoon past his lips. 

His eyes fluttered as he savored the rich taste, humming his own tune of approval. 

"Is it good?" 

“Mhm.”

You beamed, eyeing how he licked his lips like a satisfied cat, his fangs protruding slightly when he ran his tongue over them. The same fangs you’ve felt over your delicate skin from time to time. 

Miguel was a biter. You didn’t mind.

Miguel grunted, using his thumb to wipe off a bit of sauce that lingered near the corner of your lips. You inhaled a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering from the heat of his touch.

"What else did he say?" He murmured, looming over you, his hand now gently cradling the back of your neck, thumb caressing your skin. 

"T-that you're worried about me?" You breathed. Miguel pulled you closer suddenly, the faintest noise of surprise escaping you. His suit always felt strange under your fingers, the digitized fabric almost slippery, like fine silk. It was ridiculous how perfect you felt wrapped up in his arms. You sometimes wished he'd show up in civilian clothes. You missed his lazy outfits when he'd throw on an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats. 

You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him in anything other than his suit (and his naked form, of course). It meant he was always on the clock, devoting all his precious time to the multiverse. 

It meant that whenever he was alone with you, he considered it work.

And yet, the suit made you feel secure and safe—like nothing in the world could harm you. And there was truth to that, though the only thing harming you these days was Miguel himself. But that was your fault too.

The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 

You gazed at his full lips. You desperately wanted to taste them, to know how soft and warm they would feel molded against yours. If you were brave enough you might have stolen a taste, might have felt those sharp canines for yourself on your tongue.

Miguel’s thick fingers trailed into your hair, gripping the roots with just a hint of pressure, his lidded eyes taking in every part of your face: your brows, your eyes, the bridge of your nose, and your supple lips—wet and swollen from biting them so damn much.

"Maybe just a little," he finally answered, his shoulders shifting in a slight shrug. You could feel his length press against your hip, hot and throbbing, demanding attention. 

It filled you with pride knowing your proximity was enough to get him excited. It shouldn't though. It was only arousal. Basic primal instincts. 

You shouldn’t be feeling pride for any of this. You had to remind yourself of that.

You closed your eyes, willing your heartbeat to slow down just a bit. Could you really be this love-sick? So hung up on a man who was emotionally unavailable? If you hadn’t fallen before, then you knew you were plummeting now, so far gone that you’d let Miguel do anything to you.

So when he whisked you away to your bedroom, dinner long forgotten, you didn’t put up a fight.

He fucked you from behind. 

It was a tight stretch, your wet cunt fighting him as he tried pressing his swollen tip in with little luck. 

"Gotta let me in," he grunted, spreading your cheeks wide to gaze down at your twitching holes, "you're too tight. Let me in." 

"I'm trying," you panted, tears in your eyes as you buried your face into the sheets, "i-it's been a while." 

"It's okay," his large hands caressed the globes of your ass in comfort, "it's my fault. Haven't been fucking you enough, hm? S'my fault." Miguel rubbed his cock through your soaked folds a few times, the obscene noises of your sopping cunt causing him to grunt. 

"Goddamn, so fuckin' wet." He muttered before lining himself up and carefully pushing in again. You cried out, fisting the sheets when he successfully got the tip in. He groaned, the guttural sound masking your tiny mewls as he pushed on, your wet cunt coating him entirely in your sticky essence, easing his entry just a bit.

"Fuck, Miguel, it h-hurts." You whined, the stretch of him both painful and pleasurable as he bullied his way in, his girthy cock plunging through your fluttering walls. 

"Shh, I know." He rarely cooed as he did now, reassuring you with gentle noises and tender touches as he eased into you, balls deep in your core, “Look how good you’re doing for me. S’good.” A fresh wave of arousal dripped from you at his praise, your fluttering cunt allowing him to push and pull as he pleased.

He began a steady rhythm, holding your hips tightly to work you over his length, muttering to himself all the while as he watched how your creamy juices clung to his cock and covered his skin.

The pain quickly subsided into blinding pleasure. Miguel had you mewling into your mattress, your eyes rolling and drool slipping past your lips, your back impossibly arched, and your swollen cunt wetter than it’s ever been. The slapslapslap of his hips against your ass was loud in the quiet of your bedroom, your moans even louder when he skillfully hit something inside you that made you see stars every single time. 

You loved the feel of him, loved the stretch of his cock, loved how your cunt would ache for days after as if to remember him. 

“Coño,” Miguel growled, keeping a large hand on your lower back to keep you steady in your arched position, “you sound so pretty when I fuck you.” He suddenly gripped your hair, pulling you up as he curved over you, continuing to spill filth into your ears.

It was too much. 

“M-Miguel, I’m g-gonna—”

“Cum for me.” 

That was it. The dam burst within you, your eyes rolling back as you cried out, cunt spasming and gushing all over him.

“That’s it,” he muttered, sloppily thrusting into your tightening core, “good girl.”

“Miguel,” you continued to whine, grinding against him, “Fuuuck, I love you.” 

You didn’t even realize what you said until it was too late, so wrapped up in the bliss of it all that your mouth worked faster than your brain could think.

You froze when you felt him still above you. He released your hair, bringing his hand back to your hips before gripping them viciously, chasing his own release. He rammed into you faster, slamming his hips against your ass one final time before letting out a guttural groan deep from within the confines of his chest. You could only imagine how he looked: tan skin glistening, chocolate hair plastered against his brow and head tossed back in pleasure. 

Miguel said nothing as he gently removed his cock from your aching sex, letting his seed dribble out from you and soak into the sheets.

As soon as you turned around he was already in his suit, pushing a few buttons on his watch before he brought his wine-colored eyes to you. 

"I have to go."

“Mig?” You whispered his name softly, your naked body burning with embarrassment, “I-I’m sorry I—”

"I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was the same thing he always said, but it hurt twice as much. It was as if he were on autopilot, disconnected from what just happened. 

You felt your heart plummet into your stomach as you watched Miguel leave through your window with a speed he usually reserved for missions.

His spend caked your thighs. There was so much of it coming out of you, more so than usual, his cum ruining your sheets enough that you’d need to change them before bed. 

You sniffled, eyes watering, tears threatening to fall. He didn’t even kiss your hand goodbye.

You ripped yourself away from the soiled sheets, stomping over to your window as his cum leaked down your inner thighs before slamming it closed, locking it for good.

...

“You made this?” Miles exclaimed with a mouth full of spaghetti, clumsily twirling another forkful over his paper plate. You were handing out some of the spiders' leftover Pomodoro pasta from the previous night. You’d lost your appetite. It’d be a shame if you let it all go to waste.

“Yeah, eat up, there’s enough for everyone.” You scooped out more pasta from a Tupperware and onto a paper plate for Gwen. The younger girl’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed the plate, immediately slurping up a bite.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, lips covered in red sauce, “why are you working at the Spider Society when you could be a chef?”

“It’s because Miguel begged her to work here,” Miles quipped, a lone spaghetti hanging from his mouth.

“And who told you that?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Uhh,” his eyes flew over to Peter B., who was waiting patiently for his own plate of pasta to be served. You turned and narrowed your eyes at Peter, who chuckled nervously. 

“Listen,” he began, hands thrown up in surrender, “the kid got curious, okay? He was convincing, I mean, look at those eyes.” You huffed, snatching Peter’s plate and loading it up with pasta.

“You guys are annoying,” you muttered with no bite, shifting your gaze toward Hobie, who sat quietly with his legs thrown up on the table, “Hobie, fuck the government and all that, but you need to get your dirty boots off the table if you want some food.” 

Hobie sighed dramatically, letting his boots drop to the ground.

“Fine, boss lady.” 

Satisfied, you handed him a plate.

“So, let’s talk about you being a chef?” Gwen tried again, scrapping the remaining bits off her plate. 

“It’s just pasta,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, “anyone can make a Pomodoro.”

“My dad can’t.”

“…why?”

“He’s Irish.”

“And a bloody cop,” Hobie interjected, twirling his pasta with a plastic fork, “hate those.”

“Here we go,” Gwen huffed, the beginnings of an argument forming. You chose to ignore them, letting Gwen, Miles, and Hobie bicker between themselves.

You squirmed in your seat, crossing your legs to cure the throbbing within. You could still feel Miguel, the stretch of his cock, and the inevitable ache that lingered afterward. You were still full of him, your cunt wet even hours later, plaguing you with the thought of never feeling him again. 

You drummed your fingers over the messy table littered with paper plates and napkins, your body hunched forward, lost in thought.

“So…” Peter began, adjusting the collar of his pink robe, “you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to force it outta you?” You whipped your head to look at him, brows furrowed as you regarded him.

“What makes you think something’s going on?” You whispered, hoping the cafeteria was loud enough so the rest of the table wouldn’t hear.

“Something’s going on or you wouldn’t be whispering,” Peter whispered back, his blue eyes pinned to yours as he searched for answers. 

“It’s nothing.” You answered quickly, continuing to squirm in your seat, fighting to ignore your achy cunt. 

“Did you guys finally smooch?” You froze, your hands gripping the edge of the table with a force that made your knuckles go white. 

“Peter, what the fuck are you talking about?” You hissed, watching him happily eat his Pomodoro.

“You think I don’t know?” He challenged, “It might not be obvious to everyone else but I know what’s going on.” He winked at you, dabbing a napkin messily over his mouth.

Your heart was pounding, ready to beat out your chest, but you schooled your features as best you could. You swallowed thickly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to make yourself smaller. 

“Okay, fine, you know. What of it?” 

“Miguel’s being mopey.”

“Mopey?” You snorted, shaking your head, “He’s always mopey, isn’t he?”

“This is a different kind of mopey,” Peter raised a brow, “it’s actually kind of… frightening.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s got nothing to do with us, for once. Usually one of us pisses him off enough to throw things but he’s on a mission. Said he needed to clear his head. So what happened?” You sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I might have said something I wasn’t supposed to last night.”

“What?”

“We made a deal,” you explained in a whisper, “no feelings, just…you know,” you wiggled your fingers, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. Peter nodded, urging you to continue, “Well, I messed up.”

“How?”

“ItoldhimIlovehim.” You blurted out, your hands flying over your mouth. Peter blinked with a subtle tilt of his head, before a grin stretched over his lips. You groaned, now covering your eyes, “W-what is that, why are you smiling? Stop it.”

“I mean, one of you had to say it first.”

“Peter, you’re killing me here.” He rolled his eyes, inching close enough till your knees brushed against his.

“You don’t think the big guy feels the same way?”

“No!” You squeaked incredulously, “There’s no way. You should’ve seen him yesterday. He could barely look at me!” 

“You caught him off guard.”

“I know that, but he still could’ve said something. Anything.”

“He’s a guy. Guys are stupid.” You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. You turned to look at the other spiders. You knew they’d been listening given the way they all turned away immediately.

“Someone is stupid,” you muttered to Peter, feeling dejected, “and it’s definitely not him.”

...

You took a deep breath before placing your watch over the sensor.

The door to Miguel’s office didn’t budge, not to your surprise. Lyla must have blocked the systems again.

What were you even doing there? 

You hadn’t seen Miguel in about a week. That was ample time to inform you he wanted nothing to do with you. You couldn't blame him but still, it was…unprofessional. He was your boss at the end of the day. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have started fucking the head of the Spider Society. Your weak heart wouldn’t be in shambles if you didn’t.

It was a stupid move, you knew, telling someone you love them in the throes of passion when they clearly weren’t on the same page, unprovoked or not. He probably hates you. He must. 

You’d given yourself enough time to think it through and given yourself so many pep talks before deciding a professional relationship with Miguel was for the best. No more friends with benefits. 

No more keeping your window unlocked.

You took a breath and tried again. No luck. 

Did he fire you? That couldn’t be right. You were still in the system and able to enter HQ with your keycard just fine. 

“You’re always catching him at a bad time,” Lyla sighed beside you, whipping out her tiny little holographic phone, “he didn’t even want to take a photo! Unbelievable!” The small image on her screen revealed a snarling Miguel, clearly unamused by the bunny filter plastered over his face. It was cute, even if he looked a bit terrifying baring his fangs. 

Lyla shifted to face you, hands on her little hips as she looked you up and down.

“You look niiice,” she quickly snapped a photo of you, “no cute filter needed.”

“Uhh, thanks?”

“Now it’s your turn to say something nice to me.” The Ai grinned when you rolled your eyes. 

“You look…extra yellow today, Lyla.” 

“Thank you! I’m in default mode.”

“Okay, so I’ll just come back later then?” You rushed to leave but Lyla stopped you, zapping in front of you suddenly.

“Nah, I’ll let you in.” You could hear the door to Miguel’s office opening, “Fix him.” 

“What? How am I supposed to do that?” 

Lyla shrugged, “I dunno, I just know you’re the only one that can.” She waved farewell, disappearing in a glimmer of gold. 

You groaned, dropping your head in your hands for a moment to collect your thoughts. Your palms began to sweat—they always did when you were nervous—so you quickly wiped them over your black pencil skirt before facing the office entryway. 

It was dark as usual, the only light illuminating the area was Miguel’s bright yellow screens. They hung above him as he sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head turned lazily to regard you. 

“I heard you’ve been mopey.” You began, cracking a smile when he snorted. He shook his head, watching you slowly approach him like one would a wounded animal.  He didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation.

“What do you need?” 

“To talk to you.” You said, finding the courage to step into his space, leaning back against his desk and blocking one of the yellow screens.

“About?” 

“Us.” Miguel hummed, running a hand through his messy hair. He sat up in his chair but said nothing else, allowing you the space to speak freely.

“I-I wanted to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable,” you began to fumble with your fingers, unable to keep eye contact with him for very long, “I know that what I said was…crossing the line—”

“Did you mean it?” He asked abruptly, the question forcing your eyes away from your fingernails and toward his chiseled face. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy but swimming with curiosity.

“W-well, I mean, it was a moment of—”

“Did you mean it?” He repeated, his tone stern as he awaited a proper answer from you. You bit your lip, slowly nodding your head.

“Yeah. I did. Still do.” 

The silence that stretched wasn’t very long but it felt like an eternity. Miguel only stared at you, his jaw tight as he sat forward, his elbows resting on his toned thighs.

You wished you could read his thoughts, take a peek at what ran through his mind. He was always so good at hiding his emotions, never showing an ounce of what he felt. That wasn’t always the case but after Gabriella, he didn’t show much of anything. 

“I think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore,” you finally concluded, crossing your arms, “we should stop.”

“What?” Miguel’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean stop?” He was towering over you in a matter of seconds, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. Your heart was pounding, your hands flying to grip the edge of his desk.

“Mig, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Yes, we can.” He caged you in his arms, bringing his face just a few inches away from yours. He never had much of a problem with eye contact, but you did. You chose to look at his collarbones and the large swoop of his shoulders. It was intimidating and arousing all at once and you weren’t getting anywhere with this speech, were you?

“We can’t. Not when we’re not on the same page.” 

“Who says we’re not?” You felt his fingers graze the side of your face, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. You turned away, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the familiar prick of tears behind your lids.

“Stop playing with me.” You said, pushing him away with little luck. Miguel shifted slightly at your touch, watching you rub at your eyes. 

“I’m not.” 

“Then why have you not said anything for a week?” You hissed, the frustration threatening to boil over, “You’ve left me agonizing over this for a week, Miguel!” You wiped furiously at your cheeks, catching a few stray tears. “I’m such an idiot.” 

Miguel grabbed your wrists in his hands, yanking them away from your face. His concerned eyes met your wet ones, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Stop.” He demanded, taking your flushed face in his hands and wiping the wet streaks away with his thumbs. “Don’t say that about yourself.” You glared, cheeks puffed and swollen from the pressure of fighting away tears.

“Fine,” you snapped, ignoring the way he stroked your cheeks, “you’re the fucking idiot.” 

“I am,” Miguel agreed with a sigh, refusing to release you, “I didn’t know what to say. Thought you might have been lying—don’t look at me like that.” 

“You’re pissing me off.”

“I know, beba.” The endearment startled you for a moment, your glossy eyes peering up at him as a rush of excitement settled in your stomach. He’d never used endearing words with you before. It had you stumped for a second before you remembered yourself, your brows furrowing in irritation

“Why would you think I was lying? Mig, I’ve loved you for years, you buffoon!” Miguel loomed closer with every word before he kissed you, silencing you effectively. Your eyes fluttered, your lips unresponsive at first until he coaxed you into a gentle rhythm. 

Kissing Miguel was so much softer than you imagined. 

You thought he’d be all tongue and teeth, desperate to devour his victim. His kisses were syrupy and deliberate, steady and reassuring. He was taking his time learning the shape of your lips, the plumpness, how perfect they felt molded against his. 

“I’m sorry, beba,” he said between kisses, letting you snake your arms around his neck to pull him closer, “perdoname. I’m an idiot.” You hummed in agreement, continuing to assault his lips sweetly. You couldn’t stop kissing him if you wanted to, sneaking your tongue past the seam of his lips to taste more of him. 

He growled, tightening his hold on you, allowing you to taste at your leisure. He tasted fresh, like the spearmint gum he always had on hand.

“Perdoname,” he repeated, wanting so desperately for you to forgive his transgressions, slotting himself between your legs.

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” you teased, feeling the familiar ache of arousal blooming in your core, “show me how sorry you are.” Another growl ripped from him, animalistic and provoked. He wasted no time, pushing you down so that your back was flat against his desk and your legs were wrapped around his hips. 

He pressed a button beside you and suddenly, the platform began to elevate. 

“Mig,” you sat up in a panic, but Miguel only pushed you back down, lifting your skirt up till it pooled over your waist, “w-why are we moving up?”

“Privacy,” he grunted, spreading your legs, running his thumb over the soaked patch of your panties. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on something over the desk, your heart hammering in your chest as the ceiling seemed to loom closer.

“Y-you know I’m scared of heights!” You squealed when the platform came to a jutting halt, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t even want to think about how high up you were.

“It’s okay,” Miguel purred, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric, “you’re safe, you’re with me, beba, no tengas miedo.” 

“M-Mig, please,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for at that point, you just needed something, and whatever that was, he gave to you. You felt him push aside your panties, and you finally spared him a glance, almost choking at the sight of him mesmerized by the sweetness between your legs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, slipping a finger through your folds, “you dripping all over my desk.”

“Y-yeah?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed, easily ripping your panties apart before getting on his knees, “smell s’good.” He muttered, licking a stripe up with his fat tongue, scooping whatever mess you made. He moaned at the taste before completely diving in, eyes closed and large hands keeping your trembling thighs spread for him.

As always, you were a whimpering mess for him, mewling with every precise stroke of his tongue. It was the first time he’d done something like this, and god, it was nothing you could have ever dreamed of.  

He moaned into your cunt, the gentle vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. You trembled and whined with every loud slurp of his mouth over your clit, his tongue swiping over your precious bud before working his way down to dip inside your hole. 

“Fuck, Miguel,” your hands flew to his hair, your fingers weaving through the thick strands to keep his head in place. He skillfully nipped and licked the surface, lifting his face away slightly to spit into your cunt, watching it run through your puffy folds with lidded eyes before devouring you again.

“You taste fucking amazing,” he groaned, sucking your clit between his lips.

You threw your head back, letting out the prettiest moans for him. You forgot about everything, about where you were and how high up you were from the ground. You couldn’t care less as long as Miguel continued to eat from you like a madman. 

You could feel the tension in your abdomen, the clear sign that you were close. Miguel continued to drink from you, slurping obscenely at the fresh arousal that dripped into his mouth.

“Close?” He asked, giving you kitten licks, his hands squeezing your thighs encouragingly. 

“God y-yes, so close.” You could feel him smiling against your folds before starting up a vicious rhythm again with his eyes closed. 

With a loud cry, you came into his waiting mouth, your back arching and body withering over the table from the overstimulation. Miguel licked and sucked every inch of you, determined to catch every drop of your orgasm. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, releasing your grip from his hair and draping an arm over your eyes. Miguel stood, removing your arm and leaning over your fatigued body. He looked down at you with intense red eyes, his mouth and chin completely covered in your slick. You bit your lip when a smile curved at the edges of his lips before he swooped down to kiss you.

You moaned, completely aroused all over again from your own musky taste on his lips. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, allowing you a proper taste. 

“Perdoname.” He begged again over your lips before gently brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You giggled, pushing him away slightly so that you could sit up on your elbows. 

“Mm, I don’t know,” you teased, “you’re gonna have to try again.” Miguel shook his head, tapping a button on his watch, and allowing his suit to vanish. You gasped at his sudden nakedness, your eyes glued to his throbbing erection. Miguel grinned, fangs bared, tapping his cock over your sensitive cunt.

You closed your eyes as he immediately pushed in, moaning as he worked himself into your tight channel. 

In your euphoric state, you barely registered him grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles, whispering over your skin. Your ears picked up a few words, some naughty and some sweet, but your heart fluttered and your chest tightened when you caught the last two words before he began pounding into you.

“Te amo.”

[cece693]

So, this might just be an excuse to write a Steve bashing fanfic, but I couldn't help myself. The idea is basically this: Steve leaves you (you're dating) without a goodbye or explanation after the airport fight occurs. So (naturally) you gravitate towards Tony. Steve comes back and doesn't take it well. Hope you enjoy!

What You Left Behind

pairing: tony stark x male reader tags: past relationship with steve, steve bashing, reader moves on with Tony, pro Tony stark because why not, explicit sexual content, emotional angst, verbal confrontation, toxic behavior from steve

You hadn't thought Steve would leave—not really. You'd convinced yourself that somehow you'd always come first, that the deep nights spent wrapped in his arms, whispered promises against your skin, meant something more profound than duty or history. But reality had a sharp edge, and when Barnes resurfaced, broken and hunted, Steve’s loyalty crystallized swiftly around his best friend. He chose Barnes—perhaps the man he'd always wanted deep down—over you.

It felt like abandonment—because it was. Not just a physical separation, but an emotional detachment. He’d left you standing in the airport, eyes stinging with unshed tears as you watched him vanish alongside Barnes, shield in hand, never looking back. Yet you never blamed Barnes. He was a pawn caught in a twisted game that history played mercilessly. Your anger, quiet yet corrosive, was reserved entirely for Steve.

Months passed, during which you withdrew inward, throwing yourself into missions and assignments, barely surfacing for air. Tony, whom you'd always admired—maybe a little more than platonically before Steve—was a steady presence in your peripheral vision, watching, waiting.

One evening, after a particularly difficult mission, you found yourself nursing a drink in Tony’s penthouse. He was there, sleeves rolled up, eyes soft and understanding. He’d known heartbreak, betrayal, abandonment—the shattering loneliness of being left behind. “You know,” Tony murmured quietly, eyes glinting gently with compassion and perhaps something deeper, “he didn’t deserve you.”

“Maybe he didn’t,” you whispered back, staring at the amber liquid swirling slowly in your glass. Your throat tightened. “And maybe I always knew.”

You don’t quite remember who moved first—maybe both simultaneously—but suddenly your lips were brushing Tony’s, hesitant yet filled with pent-up longing. He tasted rich, intoxicating, every touch igniting a new spark between you. You took Tony upstairs, guiding him onto the bed with practiced ease, his eyes dark and filled with want. His breathing grew heavier as you stripped him slowly, savoring the flush that spread down his chest.

“God,” Tony moaned softly when your lips traced along his throat, marking him gently. You moved lower, pressing kisses down his chest, fingertips grazing his hips until he trembled beneath you.

“You sure about this?” you murmured, hovering over him, your eyes locking onto his.

“More sure than I’ve ever been,” Tony whispered, pulling you into another fierce kiss.

You entered him slowly, watching Tony’s face closely, the way his expression melted into pleasure, his grip tightening around your shoulders. You filled him deeply, steadily, losing yourselves to each other. Tony surrendered completely beneath you, vulnerable yet trusting, until you both shattered together in overwhelming release, his name leaving your lips in a breathless sigh.

That night changed everything. If Steve's absence hadn't already been enough to tell you to move on, it was Tony's gentle touches and lingering kisses that convinced you this was far more than a drunken, one-night encounter.

Pepper, Peter, Happy, and the others were delighted when you made your relationship known. And that in itself was liberating. The people who meant more to Tony than anybody accepted you, welcoming you wholeheartedly into their family without hesitation or doubt. It felt like you finally belonged again. Months passed, each day with Tony strengthening your bond—each stolen moment, lazy morning, and shared laugh solidifying your future together.

Then Steve returned.

The rogues were pardoned—half because the public still loved them, the other half because the world needed defenders when another threat presented itself. You'd planned on avoiding them entirely, content to move on, but Steve showed up at the Tower without warning, assuming nothing had changed.

It was early evening when he strode into the main living area, pausing mid-step as his gaze landed sharply on you, sprawled comfortably on the couch, Tony curled up warmly against your side. Something dangerous flickered in Steve's eyes, a mixture of shock, confusion, and anger swiftly settling over his features. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, eyes narrowing, voice ice-cold.

Tony stiffened beside you, but you gently squeezed his arm before standing to face your ex-boyfriend. “Exactly what it looks like, Steve.”

“I leave for one minute—”

“You left for nine months,” you correct, each word clipped. “You walked away from me—from us—without so much as a goodbye. I was patient, Steve. I let you chase Bucky across three continents before the Accords. Was supportive of your decisions even if they didn’t align with my own, and you know why?” Your voice shakes, anger and hurt clawing at your throat. “Because I trusted you. I trusted that my boyfriend would actually come back to me. I told myself we’d talk things through, fix whatever went wrong…but you never bothered.”

Steve sucks in a breath, but you press on, refusing to let him cut in.

“I waited, Steve. Texts. Calls. I tried everything. Hell, I even asked Sam if he’d heard from you. Do you know how humiliating it felt, searching for any hint of your plans, trying to hold on to a relationship you’d already abandoned?”

Steve’s throat works, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he slips into the same brittle, defensive posture that’s become so familiar since he left. “I had to protect Bucky,” he says flatly, almost dismissively. “I didn’t have time to stop by for tea and a heart-to-heart. People were hunting him like an animal.”

“I get that,” you return sharply. “I supported your decision to protect him—even if I didn’t agree with every extreme measure you took to do it. But it wasn’t just about Bucky, was it? You ran off to save him, leaving me to deal with the fallout of everything else.”

Tony stands off to the side, tension radiating through his posture. He’s trying to keep quiet, to let you handle this, but his protective streak is obvious in the worried flicker of his eyes. And Steve, of course, notices. “So you’re with him now? Mr. Shoot-First-and-Apologize-Never?” He scoffs, crossing his arms. “Great choice. You know, he’s got a track record of letting entire cities drop out of the sky, and that’s when he’s not actively trying to murder someone’s best friend in a parking garage.”

“Excuse me?” Tony bristles, fists clenching. “Wanna talk about track records? Because punching your problems away hasn’t exactly been a glowing success, Cap.”

“Says the man who upended the world with killer robots but thinks he’s earned a gold star because he donated some funds and co-wrote a few laws.” The jab lands, and you can feel Tony’s anger roil. You’ve seen the remorse he carries daily—the nights he wakes up soaked in sweat, replaying Sokovia in his head. Steve flings it around like cheap currency, as if it doesn’t cost Tony to admit he messed up.

“Enough." you snap, your voice steeling. “I’m done letting you talk to him like that. Don’t you dare walk back in here after nearly a year and act like Tony’s the only one who’s ever screwed up. You made your choice, Steve. You chose Bucky over everything. Over me. And I…” You swallow hard. “I had to find someone to lean on when you left. Someone who would stand by me, who wasn’t going to run off and disappear.”

“And Stark was the only other option?”

“If you’re fishing for cheap shots, try again. I’m not explaining the basics of how Tony and I got here nor do I owe you an explanation. Maybe you're just angry that I'm not a dutiful little trophy, waiting for the great Captain America to grace me with his presence again.”

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. “I thought you’d understand.”

“That I was just supposed to…what? Approve of you ghosting me for months while you played renegade with a handful of rogues? Steve, you hurt me. You don’t get to come back and pretend we can resume where we left off.”

He looks like he wants to argue—like he wants to push back with all the moral indignation in the world—but he glances between you and Tony, and something snaps in his expression: a raw, bitter mixture of disbelief and betrayal. “You made your choice,” he says, voice tight, so devoid of the warmth he once showed you. “I hope this works out for you, because when Stark screws up again—and we both know he will—I’m not going to be around to pick up the pieces.”

“You were never around to begin with,” you say evenly. “And I don’t need you to pick up anything. I’m not the same person you left behind, Steve.” For a moment, he just stares, eyes dark with anger and something almost like regret. But he sets his jaw and pushes past you, striding to the elevator. The doors slide shut with a harsh hiss.

Silence.

Behind you, Tony exhales, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry,” he offers, voice hushed. “I didn’t mean for any of that to—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You turn to him. “Steve's hurting, and he’s lashing out. Doesn’t excuse what he said, though.” You pause, letting out a slow breath. “I’m not going to let him treat you like a punching bag for his guilt. Not now. Not ever.”

Tony’s lips curve into a faint smile, gratitude shining behind his eyes. He lifts his hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “Thank you,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “For everything.” Tony’s fingers tighten around yours, as though he’s checking that you’re still real—still choosing him. You bring your joined hands to your lips and press a brief kiss to his knuckles.

“C’mon,” you say softly. “Let’s get out of the blast zone before Steve decides to storm back in for round two.”

Tony snorts, but the sound is thin. “Elevator cameras probably caught him seething the whole ride down. FRIDAY’s going to have a field day with the security footage.”

You guide him toward the kitchen, where the overhead lights are gentler and the hum of appliances fills the lingering silence. A pot of coffee still sits warm on the burner. You pour two mugs—Tony’s in the “Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart” cup he pretends he hates—and slide one across the counter.

He watches you over the rim as he takes a sip, brown eyes softening. “You really don’t blame me for any of that?”

“I blame you for a lot of things,” you tease, nudging his hip with yours. “Like leaving greasy wrenches on the couch and using the last of the oat milk without replacing it. But Steve’s anger? No. That’s on him.” Your smile fades, earnest now. “I meant what I said. You stayed. That matters.”

Tony sets the mug down and pulls you into his arms, arc reactor pulsing gently between you. “I keep expecting you to wake up and realize you deserve better than a walking cautionary tale.”

“Funny,” you murmur against his shoulder. “I keep thinking the same about you. Except I’m the cautionary tale.” You lean back, meeting his gaze. “So maybe we just keep proving each other wrong.”

A wry grin tugs at his mouth. “Deal.” He dips his head, kissing you—slow and certain, like signing a contract with lips instead of ink. When he pulls away he rests his forehead to yours. “You hungry? I can whip up something carbon‑loaded and terrible for my cholesterol.”

“You mean order something?” you deadpan.

“Hey, I’m a culinary savant when I want to be. I’ve watched Happy make omelettes at least twice.”

You chuckle, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Pizza’s fine, genius. But—” You glance toward the windows where the skyline glitters. “After we eat, maybe we should talk about what happens when Steve comes back. Because he will.”

Tony’s smile falters, replaced by a sober nod. “Yeah. He’s still part of the team—even if the team looks different now.” He exhales. “I can handle him throwing punches at me. I’m used to that. But if he aims for you again…”

“He won’t,” you promise. “Not while I’m standing.”

Tony’s gaze warms, fierce and fond. “That’s the thing—I don’t want you to have to stand alone.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a slim, silver keycard. “Been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment.” He presses it into your palm. “Full workshop access. Total clearance. It’s not a ring, but it’s the next best Stark‑level commitment.”

Emotion swells in your throat. “You sure? That’s basically giving me the launch codes.”

“I trust you with more than that,” he says quietly. “Besides, you already have the launch codes. I talk in my sleep.”

You laugh, eyes stinging. “Thank you.”

He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone. “Thank you for choosing me.”

A gentle chime sounds overhead—FRIDAY clearing her throat, if an AI could. “Boss, Captain Rogers has left the premises. He did not, however, punch any walls on the way out. Progress?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Mark it in the log, FRIDAY. ‘Rogers: zero structural damage, moderate emotional carnage.’”

“Logged,” she replies primly.

You shake your head, amused. “Let’s eat before another Avenger barges in.”

“Pizza incoming,” Tony declares, tapping the holographic interface on his watch. He pauses, smirks. “Extra pineapple. Just to spite the super‑soldier.”

[sodapopper]

Thoughts on calling out toxic fan behavior and the recent musical drama

I don’t often talk about fandom drama, because I prefer to write about the positive instead of the ugly. But with what’s recently come out about a specific group of musical fans, I’ve seen an influx of posts across all platforms expressing outrage at the situation—outrage I share. That being said, the sentiment behind many of these posts confuses me. The anger, while absolutely justified, seems directed at the general fandom, instead of the people actually culpable.

Don’t get me wrong, bad things have happened in the musical fandom. I’m not making light of that; I have friends who’ve witnessed/been victimized firsthand by the toxicity. But many, if not most, of the situations/behavior being spotlighted are not the fault of the general fandom, but a few specific people—the folks in the group chat leaked on reddit.

Brody being ambushed at stage door? It was by that one specific group. Emma, Sky, Trevor, etc being stalked? That group. Weird comments in Soc Saturday live? That group. Rush line bullying? That group. Inappropriate/rude stage door etiquette? That group. Violent commentary and threats? That group. Bullying fans online? Guess who—yeah, it’s still that one specific group.

Make no mistake, I want these people banned from the theater and made pariahs within the fandom. They deserve every consequence coming their way. Their behavior is despicable, their words unforgivable, and the damage they’ve done to an otherwise friendly theater fandom can’t be overstated. These people have repeatedly engaged in unspeakable conduct with little sign of remorse, and our outrage is both justified and righteous.

But it’s because of us, the general fandom—and the efforts of the folks in the reddit thread and the facebook group—that these issues came to light. Management is tightening security, the cast has been made aware, and according to the most recent update, the perpetrators’ families reached out about the situation to say these young people are facing appropriate consequences. (Which is why I haven’t named them, at the request of their parents.)

Besides several extremely bad apples, the Outsiders fandom (for the most part) is a reasonable, friendly place. It hurts my heart to see posts lashing out against the fandom at large, as if 100% were responsible for this situation instead of a few.

Those kids are wrong, and it sounds like they’re facing punishment for their actions. But I hope we don’t turn their misdeeds into a witch hunt within the fandom. Most of the people I’ve encountered here are polite and respectful, who love the show and wish only the best for the cast. As much as we should continue calling out toxic behavior, it shouldn’t be at the expense of everyone who happens to enjoy the show.

Language is important, and when I see posts make sweeping accusations against “the fandom” for things only a minority of folks are doing, it saddens me. Call out bad behavior, but don’t pull your punches and end up hitting everyone instead. Be specific! Know who you’re accusing! And if you’re not comfortable naming people directly, please be cautious how you phrase your anger—don’t lump the many into the actions of a few.

Every fandom has drama. Every fandom has bullies who try to ruin the experience for others. Every fandom has scandals and bad behavior and hateful deeds. But in the grand scale of what’s out there, ours is surprisingly unproblematic, compared to most other fandoms, and I think we should acknowledge that more. I’ve been a fan of many things for many years, and this is the only fandom in which I’ve felt safe enough to stop my habitual lurking and take a place at the table.

I love our cute little fandom, full of artists and writers and imaginative minds. I’m sorry for the horrible things that have happened at the hands of people who called themselves fans. I’m sorry the cast was ever made to feel uncomfortable and unsafe. But I also believe the majority of us are good, kind people, and I will continue to appreciate the efforts they’ve made to keep this space as respectful as possible.

We should never take good fans for granted. To all the people who love the story, who love the show, who’ve been touched in some way by these characters and carry a piece of the magic inside your heart, and who are as grieved by the misconduct as I am—I love you, I see you, and I’m glad you’re here.

Stay gold, my friends! 💗✨

[andivmg]

Please excuse my initial reaction, I was quite distraught after reading his statement. Now that i’ve slept on the situation and have a more clear head i can say that i whole heartedly do not accept his apology for a few reasons:

1. One of us clearly remembers that night in excruciating detail. I will forever wonder what actually happened that night and that is something that weighs heavily on me. Although the next day i “accepted” that he would never hurt me, I no longer feel that way. It was a very fresh wound and I wanted to believe him because I still loved him. However, after two years of sitting on this and reflecting I take that back. And I felt like he was excusing his behavior by saying he didn’t realize how drunk I was. Also the fact that he shared it in such detail made me extremely uncomfortable. I respected him enough to not share such intimate details and he did not have the same respect for me. I think he could’ve just said “she initiated intimacy in the way she normally did” and it would’ve gotten his point across just as well. Regardless, he still had sex with me when i was blacked out while he was in a conscious enough state to assess and remember the encounter in such vivid detail. That fact has not changed.

2. All the stuff about his friends is frankly of no consequence to me. Everything that happened with Friend A happened while we were broken up. And him bringing up Friend B felt unnecessary given the fact that we all discussed the matter with each other at the time it happened. I never cheated on him and i would like to stop that theory in its tracks. Him and I have spoken about this matter privately on numerous occasions so that is all I will say.

3. About the shower thing, I was coming out of the shower/bathroom. He had the discord call on speaker on his phone. So yes, I heard very clearly what George said and Luke simply ended the call, he did not call him out. I believe he is recalling a different instance where another one of his friends said that he wanted to have sex with me once i moved to Florida. I was not witness to it and he did tell me he stood up for me that time which is why I didn’t bring it up. I did not go into more detail about it because I was just using that one quote as an example of how some of his friends would speak about me in his presence. However this is already more than one instance of his friends speaking about me in that way, which leads me to believe it happened quite often when I was not around.

4. Intentionally or not, I felt he demonized BPD and used that as a way to invalidate a lot of what I said

5. He still called me a slur when he knew it was wrong because I was getting cancelled for it at the time. I do not believe he was actually confused as to the gravity of what he said to me

I would like to remind you that i know him personally. I lived through that. When I say we remember things differently I mean it. I think that he believes he is being truthful. However because I know him and I know what I experienced, I do not trust him. I do not believe that we were “equally” toxic. While I admit I made a lot of mistakes in the relationship, to me they do not justify all I endured. I repeat, you can believe what you want. This is a very nuanced situation but if you were looking to me to accept his apology, I do not.

[justwinginglife]

Hi- I’m Han

20's, She/Her, INFJ

ALL MASTERLISTS HERE Masterlist Code: Angst Smut Fluff Other *author's favorites

Full time slave to the work force, part time writer, FULL TIME SIMP. I currently write mainly LADS, JJK, Blue Lock, and Kaiju No. 8 (but I am an avid anime watcher so I do branch out to write one shots for other anime fandoms when I feel like it). My requests are open atm and I will write almost anything; that being said, I do reserve the right to decline certain requests. I mainly alternate between fluff and smut with the occasional angst.

I am a Raf and Caleb main but I love all the boys and write all the boys. However, for some reason this is the first fandom I’ve encountered where people will literally unfollow and/or be rude if they know who your main is and I’m not into that toxicity so I just thought I’d post my mains so you can go ahead and unfollow if it bothers you so much.

If you’re still here, I very much love interacting with you all, so please feel free to hop in the inbox or DMs and let’s have a chat about literally anything!

Barista at the @pixelcafe-network

Buy me a coffee.

(If you were here when my pinned post was such a chaotic mess, I'm sorry and I love you for being here that long lmaooo)

[katemoneymartinsgf]

Protective Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Reader has an interesting encounter with her mom, CC is there for it all.

Warnings: Toxic family

A/N: I really thought the kate fic was going to win that poll. Lmk if you still want me to post it. Also posting two fics in a week is crazy for me.

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You and Caitlin had been together for nearly three years, a relationship that had withstood the judgment and disapproval of those who should have supported you the most. Pursuing photography, joining the basketball’s media team at Iowa—these were choices your parents couldn't understand, let alone accept. But choosing Cait over them when they gave you that ultimatum was the hardest thing you'd ever done. Caitlin, though, was your rock. Her and her family had welcomed you into their lives, making you feel at home in a way you hadn't in years.

Now, in your fourth year at Iowa, things were better. The sting of your parents' rejection had dulled over time, and you were happier than you ever thought possible. You were at the grocery store with Caitlin when it happened—one of those moments that bring the past crashing back into the present.

The grocery store wasn’t usually your idea of a fun date, but with her anything could be an adventure. You walked into the store together, your hand securely in hers, laughing at the way she was rambling about how drinking water with your off hand is less efficient than with your dominant hand. This girl had an interesting mind.

It was a Saturday afternoon, She had practice very early today and you two had decided to do a little “grocery challenge” where you’d each pick out ingredients for a dish and see whose creation turned out best.

"Okay, so rules are simple," Caitlin grinned, pulling out her phone to set a timer. "We split up, grab what we need for our dish, and meet back here in fifteen minutes. Loser has to do the dishes."

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. "You know I’m not losing this, right? I’ve been practicing my culinary skills."

"Oh, I’m terrified," Caitlin teased, rolling her eyes dramatically. "But we’ll see, hotshot. Ready... set... go!" she said but followed it up with a fast “wait!”

You stopped in your tracks and turned around. She grabbed your face in her hands and gave you a sweet kiss.

“good luck buddy you’re gonna need it”

You both took off, laughing as you darted down different aisles. Caitlin made a beeline for the produce section, and you headed toward the dairy, each trying to gather your secret ingredients without the other seeing. Every so often, you’d pass each other in an aisle, sharing a playful wink or a mock-serious glare before rushing off to find the next item on your list.

The store wasn’t particularly busy, which gave you the freedom to really enjoy yourselves. Caitlin even managed to sneak a small bag of candy into your basket when she thought you weren’t looking, clearly planning to snack on it while she cooked. You pretended not to notice, already plotting how you’d use that information against her later.

You were just rounding a corner, checking the shelves for the perfect seasoning to complete your dish, when you heard a familiar voice behind you. It was so unexpected that you froze mid-step, the excitement of the challenge instantly draining away.

The familiar voice hit you like a ton of bricks. "Oh wow, it’s been a while," your mother said, her tone unmistakable. You froze, the playful mood of the grocery challenge evaporating in an instant. She was standing there with a friend, both of them looking at you with judgmental eyes. Your stomach twisted as the anxiety rushed in, the past crashing back into your present.

You turned slowly, dread pooling in your chest as you met your mother’s cold gaze. "How’s that photography dream turning out? Still with that girl?" she added, her words dripping with condescension. Her friend snickered, and you felt yourself shrink under the weight of their gaze.

All the fun you had been having just moments ago vanished. The lightness, the joy—gone, replaced by the familiar sting of shame and doubt. You couldn’t find the words to respond. You just wanted to disappear.

Then, like a lifeline, Caitlin appeared at the end of the aisle. She had that determined look on her face, the one that told you she’d seen everything and wasn’t about to let it slide. Her eyes met yours first, softening for just a moment as she took in your distressed expression. Then, she turned her attention to your mother”

"Is there a problem here?" Caitlin asked, her voice steady but laced with an edge that you knew meant she was ready to defend you.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed at Caitlin’s arrival, clearly displeased. "I was just having a chat with my daughter. Is that a problem?"

"Depends on what you consider 'chatting'," Caitlin replied coolly, moving closer to you, her hand finding its familiar place on the small of your back. The gentle tracing of her fingers instantly started to calm your racing heart.

Your mother’s expression hardened. "Maybe if you hadn’t led her astray, she’d be on a better path."

Caitlin’s eyes darkened "Led her astray? The only thing I’ve done is love her and support her. All you’ve done is make her doubt herself, question her worth. You don’t get to do that anymore."

Your mother’s friend shifted uncomfortably, clearly taken aback by Caitlin’s fierce defense. Your mother, however, seemed stunned, not expecting this kind of confrontation. Caitlin leaned in slightly, her voice a soft but firm whisper. "You lost the right to criticize her when you made her choose. And she chose to be happy."

Caitlin’s words hung in the air, leaving your mother speechless.

With a final glance at your mother, Caitlin turned to you, her expression softening as she placed a gentle kiss on your head. "Let’s go, baby."

The ride home was quiet, the earlier playful mood long gone. Caitlin kept glancing over at you, her concern evident, but she didn’t push. She knew you needed time to process.

Once home, you headed straight for the bathroom, needing a moment to yourself. You stared into the mirror, trying to make sense of everything, but all you felt was the sharp sting of your mother's words replaying in your mind. How could the person who was supposed to love you the most feel that way about you? A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, but Caitlin had already seen it.

She walked in silently, her eyes meeting yours through the reflection. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, holding you close. "It’s okay, sweetheart. I got you," she whispered, her voice steady, comforting.

You turned in her arms, resting your head against her chest as more tears fell. "I just... I don’t understand," you choked out, your voice trembling. "How could she... how could she feel like that about me? She's supposed to love me, but all she does is make me feel worthless. And even though I know better, I still... I still want her to love me."

Caitlin gently wiped the tears from your cheeks, her expression soft and full of love. "I know, baby. I know. But she doesn’t get to define your worth. You’re amazing, and strong, and kind, and I love you more than anything in this world. You’re doing so good right now, love. Think about all the hard work and sacrifices you made to get to this point. You stumbled and fell, but at the end of the day, you’re here, and you’re happy. No one can take that away from you. Especially not her." She paused, her thumb brushing gently across your cheek as she looked deep into your eyes. "I know it hurts that she doesn’t love you the way she should. That she doesn’t see how incredible you are. But you need to know this—she might not love you most in the world, but I do. I’m so proud of you,baby, for everything you’ve overcome, and for the person you’ve become. You deserve all the happiness in the world, and I’m going to be here, by your side, loving you through it all."

Her words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing the ache in your chest. You let out a small sniffle, managing a faint smile through the tears. "Are you only saying that because I take good pictures of you?"

Caitlin chuckled softly as she pulled you into another hug, placing a tender kiss on the top of your head. "Was it that obvious?" she teased, her voice full of warmth and affection.

You couldn’t help but smile a little wider, feeling the comfort of her embrace and the lightness she brought back into the moment. Caitlin had a way of making everything better, even on your darkest days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~